Yesterday, 07:43 PM
**********************************************
Brrrriiiing… brrrriiiing… brrrriiiing…
The phone rang at 7:40 in the morning.
Alokk surfaced from sleep like a man who had been in coma for sometime. For a few seconds he had no idea where he was—or why the fucking world had the audacity to exist at this hour.
Brrrriiiing… brrrriiiing…
The sound drilled straight through his skull.
He groaned and burrowed deeper into the pillow, pulling the sheet over his head.
“Fuck off…”
The phone kept ringing.
This was the third call.
Half-asleep, Alokk had blindly slapped at the phone, somehow found the screen, and disconnected the first couple of calls without even opening his eyes. He had barely registered the vibration before sinking straight back into the heavy, drunken blackness.
Now the third call had apparently decided to drag him back into the living world by force.
“Brrrriiiing… brrrriiiing…”
“Goddammit!”
Alokk jerked awake, immediately regretting it.
His head throbbed. His mouth tasted like a dead rat soaked in tobacco and rum. The cheap rum from last night sat in his stomach like a lump of molten shit, while the stale sweetness of tobacco coated his tongue.
The dark cramped room in the back of his mobile repair shop smelled of stale smoke, sweat, and spilled liquor. An empty rum bottle lay on its side near the bed. Two crushed cigarette butts floated in an overflowing ashtray.
Brrrriiiing… brrrriiiing…
“Who the fuck calls someone this early in the morning?”
He stared murderously at the phone glowing on the floor beside the bed.
For a moment, he considered letting the bastard call until the battery died.
Then it rang again.
“Fuck you!”
He kicked the sheet away, swung his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately stumbled as his foot caught in the tangled fabric.
“Shit!”
He nearly went down.
Grumbling and swearing under his breath, Alokk bent awkwardly, keeping his injured hand tucked against his body, and reached for the phone with the other.
His fingers brushed it.
It slipped away.
“Motherfucker!”
He reached again.
The phone continued screaming against the floor.
BRRRIING… BRRRIING… BRRRIING…
“Whose mother has died at this fucking hour?”
He finally grabbed it, squinted at the screen through swollen, sleep-heavy eyes and answered without bothering to check who was calling.
“Hello?”
His voice came out rough and gravelly.
He cleared his throat and immediately regretted that too.
“Who the fuck is this?” he croaked, his voice thick with sleep and irritation. “You’d better have a damn good reason for waking me up at this hour…”
“It’s me, Chetan, you asshole,” Chetan shot back, the anger in his voice barely disguising the strain underneath it. “I’ve been having sleepless nights, pacing around like a fucking lunatic, while you, motherfucker, are sleeping like a baby and ignoring every call I make.”
Alokk let out a tired, contemptuous grunt.
“Listen, loser, whatever trouble you’ve got yourself into isn’t my problem. I didn’t ask you to come back here. I didn’t drag you into this mess, and you’re not in this situation because of me.” His voice hardened with every word. “So watch your tone. And unless you’ve got something that’s actually worth my time, I’m hanging up.”
He paused, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Bloody ungrateful bastard. Wakes me up in the middle of the morning and starts talking to me like I owe him—”
“Okay…”
Chetan's voice had changed.
The anger was gone. So was the swagger. What remained was a low, almost defeated murmur.
“I’m in.”
Alokk frowned, suddenly more awake.
“What?”
“I said I’m in.”
There was a long silence on the other end.
Then Alokk gave a short, incredulous laugh.
“What did you just say, hotshot?” he asked, sitting up against the headboard. “I didn’t quite catch that.”
“I’m in with whatever you're proposing,” Chetan repeated, even more quietly.
And just like that, the sleep drained out of Alokk entirely. He swung his legs off the cot and put his bare feet on the cold floor, and something began to move behind his face — slow, warm, pleased. A smile spreading like oil on water.
So the pretty boy has finally come down into the gutter with the rest of us.
“Chetan,” he said, and something in his voice had changed. The hostility was gone, replaced by a softness that was almost affectionate. “My brother. I’m glad you’ve realised this soon enough—that I’m the only person offering you a way out of this mess. Follow my instructions, and you won’t just get yourself out of this situation. You might even find a way to get over your breakup.”
“I don’t understand what the fuck you’re talking about,” Chetan replied, his voice calm and steady now. “But let me make one thing very clear—I’m not agreeing to do a damn thing until I hear your proposal. So, if you’re finished gloating, tell me what the fuck comes next.”
“Fair enough,” Alokk said, the faintest hint of a smile audible in his voice. “Tell me something. Do you know where Pagati Bank’s Kasegaon branch is?”
“Yeah. The one near the sugar factory, just before the Hanuman temple,” Chetan replied, utterly confused.
“Yes, that’s the one,” Alokk said eagerly. “There’s a tea stall opposite the road, right in front of the branch. You know the one with the blue bench? Meet me there.”
“Why there?” Chetan asked, suspicion creeping into his voice. “Why can’t we meet at our usual spot?”
“Because the person who can help us is inside that bank,” Alokk replied, a cunning smile spreading across his face. “I’ll tell you everything when you get there. Not over the phone. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to sleep. Eleven o’clock. Don’t be late.”
“Okay,” Chetan muttered, letting out a long, exasperated sigh. “Eleven.”
The call ended before he could ask anything else.
**********************************************
Thup thup...thuppp...thuppp
Ahhh...ahhhh...ahhhh...ahhhh
The erotic sound of wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin and soft broken moans burst through the speakers the instant the video call connected—loud, raw, and indecent in the quiet of Namrata’s morning room. She lunged for the volume, fingers fumbling, heart already hammering as the sound dropped to a thick, intimate thud that still filled the space around her.
The feed was shaky at first, a blur of pale light and motion. Then it steadied.
Shipra’s round, full ass filled the frame—smooth, firm, and flushed a deep rose where it met Patode’s hips. She was on all fours on the narrow cot, knees spread, back arched in a deep curve that pushed her hips higher. Her white thong was yanked hard to one side, the thin strip of fabric digging into the soft crease of her thigh, leaving her glistening pussy completely exposed. Thick, clear arousal coated her folds and the insides of her thighs; every hard thrust from behind forced a fresh, wet sound as he drove into her.
![[Image: b11kju.gif]](https://i.ibb.co/20Jchcz5/b11kju.gif)
Patode's cock—thick, veined, shiny with her juices—disappeared and reappeared in long, deliberate plunges. The head flared as it dragged out almost to the tip, stretching her open, before he slammed forward again, balls tapping against her clit with a soft, wet smack. Shipra’s naked torso stretched forward. Her arms were locked straight, hands clamped around the edge of the cot so hard her knuckles whitened. Sweat sheened across her back, catching the early light; her hair clung to the damp skin sprawled across her back.
The cot creaked and groaned under them, metal frame protesting every deep thrust. In the corner, a careless heap of clothes—her pink top, the white lower she had worn only minutes earlier, his discarded shirt—and the torn foil of a condom packet. The same pack Namrata had pressed into Shipra’s hand before leaving for Mumbai.
The camera pulled back slowly. The terrace of Patode’s house came into view: low brick walls, a water tank in the corner, the quiet stretch of neighboring rooftops and green fields still wrapped in a thin, silvery fog. The horizon was soft and peaceful, birds just beginning to call. Against that calm, the scene on the cot was pure heat—Shipra’s moans low and broken, Patode’s breath harsh as he fucked her harder, the wet slap of their bodies the only sound that belonged to the morning.
Namrata sat frozen, phone trembling in her hand, the private, filthy reality of the terrace burning itself into the screen while the rest of the world outside remained still and unaware. Her hand moved instinctively to her mouth in shock.
"Oh god," Namrata whispered, her voice low and filled with disbelief as her eyes got fixated on the screen. The words lingered in the quiet stillness of her Mumbai bedroom.
“You two are at it again… in the open. Damn, Shipra.” A slow, crooked smile curved her lips even as a flicker of something sharper—concern, recognition, maybe a little envy—touched her eyes. “You’ve really thrown every last scrap of shame out the window, haven’t you? Turning into a complete, shameless slut for Patode’s cock.”
The video call switched to the front camera and Patode’s face filled the frame—flushed, lightly sheened with sweat, eyes dark and heavy-lidded with lust. A cocky, satisfied smile played across his mouth. Behind him the early light still painted the terrace gold, and the wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin hadn’t stopped; Shipra’s soft, broken moans continued in the background, low and throaty, each one timed to the deep thrusts he was still giving her.
“Hi, my favourite single slut,” he said, voice a little rough, a little breathless. He rolled his hips once, slow and deliberate, and the sound of wet flesh meeting wet flesh carried clearly through the phone. “How’s Mumbai treating you? Missing my cock yet… or have you already let some city boy get between those pretty legs of yours?”
His smile widened, teasing and openly judgmental. “Because my cock’s been missing you. Let me know if you fail to find some well endowed hunk like me, I will happily come up there and take care of you the same way I’m taking care of this cheating, cock-hungry friend of yours right now.”
Namrata shifted on the bed, sliding back until her shoulders met the cool wall. She kept the phone steady, legs crossed and her free hand rested high on her bare thigh, thumb tracing absent circles against her skin.
“Hello, Patode.” Her voice was steady, almost casual, but her eyes stayed locked on his face. “No luck yet in Mumbai. It will be hard to find anyone with your kind of… appetite. Or your charm. And especially with a monster cock like yours.” A small, knowing smile touched her mouth. “But don’t worry. If I keep striking out, I’ll come back down there and let you ravage this slut properly. You know I will.”
“I don't doubt that,” he said, voice dropping into a conspiratorial murmur. “Once you’ve had a real man stretch you open and fill you the way you need, those soft city boys won’t ever be enough again. Just like Shipra here who really can't get enough of my dick since she returned back.”
Patode raised the camera high as if taking a selfie. It gave a wide angle look to Namrata of him fucking Shipra.
“Now you are just teasing me Patode," Namrata continued a little turned on. "But I am happy that Shipra is kept well-fucked. She must have missed it while being with that wimp Alok," she chuckled. "You're really pushing her boundaries further every day. It’s good… seeing she hasn’t slipped back into playing the pious, guilty little thing the moment I left.”
Patode’s smile turned darker, more private. He gave another slow, deliberate thrust—hard enough that Shipra’s moan cracked into something higher. His eyes flicked sideways, toward the woman still on her hands and knees behind him, then back to Namrata.
“Oh no, don’t worry about her going back to her old self. That's not happening and she proved that last night.” A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “Want to know exactly what your sweet, sanskari little friend did?"
“Absolutely,” Namrata spoke excitedly, voice dripping with filthy curiosity. “Tell me every dirty detail.”
Patode paused his relentless strokes and leaned forward, driving his thick cock balls-deep into Shipra until his hips were flush against her ass and his face was near her ear. He placed the phone on the cot facing her flushed, fucked-out expression and whispered in a heavy, teasing tone, “Should I tell her about your filthy sexcapades last night, Shipra? Should I tell him about the old stranger?"
![[Image: b11kfv.gif]](https://i.ibb.co/kVmz9h98/b11kfv.gif)
“Noooo,” Shipra’s voice barely crept out of her throat, raw and shaky. But even she wasn’t sure if she was begging him not to reveal the secret to Namrata or just frustrated because his cock had stopped moving, leaving her stretched and throbbing for more. “You promised you wouldn’t tell her anything if I…,” she stopped mid-sentence, face burning with shame even as her pussy fluttered around him.
“My dear Shipra,” Namrata cut in, voice dripping with sarcastic condescension, “you’re on your knees getting fucked naked on the terrace of your lover, livestreamed like a desperate cam whore with your cunt stretched around his cock, and you’re still trying to save face by hiding one little daring act from last night? Come on. This innocent act is getting old and pathetic. Besides, even if you don’t confess, I’ll hear every filthy detail from Patode anyway. So stop pretending and let me hear the raunchy juicy commentary about your last night adventure."
Shipra lifted her head, face flushed red with shame, mouth open and eyes half-lidded with pleasure. “Fuck you, Namrata. You just enjoy being a bitch, don’t you?” she snapped.
"Haha, yeah I love it babes," Namrata’s laugh was low and wicked. She leaned in closer into the camera. "Even more knowing I made this happen," She gave Shipra a slow, aggravating wink and continued. "But right now I am not the one on all fours getting dicked down. So who's the real bitch Shipra?"
“And where’s your man, Namrata? Dicking you down? Oh right… you don’t have one.” Shipra grinned through the thick haze of pleasure, her voice dripping with heat and spite. She pulled herself higher on her elbows, arched her back hard, and slammed her hips back with deliberate, greedy force—swallowing every thick inch of Patode’s cock in one deep, wet thrust. A louder, wetter moan tore from her throat, half defiance, half pure need, the sound raw and shameless as her pussy clenched tightly around him.
“At least I have two dicks to pleasure me… fill me whenever I want." She paused, eyes locked on Namrata, openly enjoying the way the smile was wiped clean off her face.
“And three—” she lifted her right hand, slowly splaying three fingers so the point was impossible to miss, “—if I count last night.” Shipra winked, then brought those same fingers to her mouth. In a slow, deliberately obscene display of carnal hunger she dragged her tongue up each one, lips wrapping and sucking lightly before she slid the wet fingers down between her spread thighs. Two fingers found her swollen, throbbing clit and began rubbing in tight, slick circles while her hips kept working—fucking herself harder and deeper onto Patode’s cock, the wet slap of skin on skin growing louder and more filthy with every self-driven thrust.
![[Image: b11kme.gif]](https://i.ibb.co/Y49fdG60/b11kme.gif)
The scene turned purely carnal. Shipra’s full, heavy breasts swung sensually with every slam of her hips, soft flesh bouncing, nipples grazing the sheets. Her face had gone completely wanton—lips parted, brows knitted in ecstasy, soft broken gasps and moans spilling out as she chased her own pleasure. She looked every bit the shameless pornstar, lost in the heat of being watched, used, and still defiantly claiming every drop of it.
“Ouch, bitch… that one hit below the belt.” Namrata’s smile was tight, a flicker of genuine offense flashing behind her eyes even as satisfaction curled at the corners of her mouth. She drank in the sight of Shipra—flushed, dripping, still rocking herself on Patode’s cock with that new, unapologetic fire.
“But finally, there’s the old Shipra I’ve been trying to drag out. Sexy. Bold. Bitchy as hell. Way to go, girl," her voice softened just a fraction, the teasing edge giving way to something closer to real concern.
“Now… if you’re done taking shots at my empty bed, tell me what the fuck Patode made you do. And don’t you dare say he forced you into some weird shit.”
Continued to next post....
Brrrriiiing… brrrriiiing… brrrriiiing…
The phone rang at 7:40 in the morning.
Alokk surfaced from sleep like a man who had been in coma for sometime. For a few seconds he had no idea where he was—or why the fucking world had the audacity to exist at this hour.
Brrrriiiing… brrrriiiing…
The sound drilled straight through his skull.
He groaned and burrowed deeper into the pillow, pulling the sheet over his head.
“Fuck off…”
The phone kept ringing.
This was the third call.
Half-asleep, Alokk had blindly slapped at the phone, somehow found the screen, and disconnected the first couple of calls without even opening his eyes. He had barely registered the vibration before sinking straight back into the heavy, drunken blackness.
Now the third call had apparently decided to drag him back into the living world by force.
“Brrrriiiing… brrrriiiing…”
“Goddammit!”
Alokk jerked awake, immediately regretting it.
His head throbbed. His mouth tasted like a dead rat soaked in tobacco and rum. The cheap rum from last night sat in his stomach like a lump of molten shit, while the stale sweetness of tobacco coated his tongue.
The dark cramped room in the back of his mobile repair shop smelled of stale smoke, sweat, and spilled liquor. An empty rum bottle lay on its side near the bed. Two crushed cigarette butts floated in an overflowing ashtray.
Brrrriiiing… brrrriiiing…
“Who the fuck calls someone this early in the morning?”
He stared murderously at the phone glowing on the floor beside the bed.
For a moment, he considered letting the bastard call until the battery died.
Then it rang again.
“Fuck you!”
He kicked the sheet away, swung his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately stumbled as his foot caught in the tangled fabric.
“Shit!”
He nearly went down.
Grumbling and swearing under his breath, Alokk bent awkwardly, keeping his injured hand tucked against his body, and reached for the phone with the other.
His fingers brushed it.
It slipped away.
“Motherfucker!”
He reached again.
The phone continued screaming against the floor.
BRRRIING… BRRRIING… BRRRIING…
“Whose mother has died at this fucking hour?”
He finally grabbed it, squinted at the screen through swollen, sleep-heavy eyes and answered without bothering to check who was calling.
“Hello?”
His voice came out rough and gravelly.
He cleared his throat and immediately regretted that too.
“Who the fuck is this?” he croaked, his voice thick with sleep and irritation. “You’d better have a damn good reason for waking me up at this hour…”
“It’s me, Chetan, you asshole,” Chetan shot back, the anger in his voice barely disguising the strain underneath it. “I’ve been having sleepless nights, pacing around like a fucking lunatic, while you, motherfucker, are sleeping like a baby and ignoring every call I make.”
Alokk let out a tired, contemptuous grunt.
“Listen, loser, whatever trouble you’ve got yourself into isn’t my problem. I didn’t ask you to come back here. I didn’t drag you into this mess, and you’re not in this situation because of me.” His voice hardened with every word. “So watch your tone. And unless you’ve got something that’s actually worth my time, I’m hanging up.”
He paused, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Bloody ungrateful bastard. Wakes me up in the middle of the morning and starts talking to me like I owe him—”
“Okay…”
Chetan's voice had changed.
The anger was gone. So was the swagger. What remained was a low, almost defeated murmur.
“I’m in.”
Alokk frowned, suddenly more awake.
“What?”
“I said I’m in.”
There was a long silence on the other end.
Then Alokk gave a short, incredulous laugh.
“What did you just say, hotshot?” he asked, sitting up against the headboard. “I didn’t quite catch that.”
“I’m in with whatever you're proposing,” Chetan repeated, even more quietly.
And just like that, the sleep drained out of Alokk entirely. He swung his legs off the cot and put his bare feet on the cold floor, and something began to move behind his face — slow, warm, pleased. A smile spreading like oil on water.
So the pretty boy has finally come down into the gutter with the rest of us.
“Chetan,” he said, and something in his voice had changed. The hostility was gone, replaced by a softness that was almost affectionate. “My brother. I’m glad you’ve realised this soon enough—that I’m the only person offering you a way out of this mess. Follow my instructions, and you won’t just get yourself out of this situation. You might even find a way to get over your breakup.”
“I don’t understand what the fuck you’re talking about,” Chetan replied, his voice calm and steady now. “But let me make one thing very clear—I’m not agreeing to do a damn thing until I hear your proposal. So, if you’re finished gloating, tell me what the fuck comes next.”
“Fair enough,” Alokk said, the faintest hint of a smile audible in his voice. “Tell me something. Do you know where Pagati Bank’s Kasegaon branch is?”
“Yeah. The one near the sugar factory, just before the Hanuman temple,” Chetan replied, utterly confused.
“Yes, that’s the one,” Alokk said eagerly. “There’s a tea stall opposite the road, right in front of the branch. You know the one with the blue bench? Meet me there.”
“Why there?” Chetan asked, suspicion creeping into his voice. “Why can’t we meet at our usual spot?”
“Because the person who can help us is inside that bank,” Alokk replied, a cunning smile spreading across his face. “I’ll tell you everything when you get there. Not over the phone. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to sleep. Eleven o’clock. Don’t be late.”
“Okay,” Chetan muttered, letting out a long, exasperated sigh. “Eleven.”
The call ended before he could ask anything else.
**********************************************
Thup thup...thuppp...thuppp
Ahhh...ahhhh...ahhhh...ahhhh
The erotic sound of wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin and soft broken moans burst through the speakers the instant the video call connected—loud, raw, and indecent in the quiet of Namrata’s morning room. She lunged for the volume, fingers fumbling, heart already hammering as the sound dropped to a thick, intimate thud that still filled the space around her.
The feed was shaky at first, a blur of pale light and motion. Then it steadied.
Shipra’s round, full ass filled the frame—smooth, firm, and flushed a deep rose where it met Patode’s hips. She was on all fours on the narrow cot, knees spread, back arched in a deep curve that pushed her hips higher. Her white thong was yanked hard to one side, the thin strip of fabric digging into the soft crease of her thigh, leaving her glistening pussy completely exposed. Thick, clear arousal coated her folds and the insides of her thighs; every hard thrust from behind forced a fresh, wet sound as he drove into her.
Patode's cock—thick, veined, shiny with her juices—disappeared and reappeared in long, deliberate plunges. The head flared as it dragged out almost to the tip, stretching her open, before he slammed forward again, balls tapping against her clit with a soft, wet smack. Shipra’s naked torso stretched forward. Her arms were locked straight, hands clamped around the edge of the cot so hard her knuckles whitened. Sweat sheened across her back, catching the early light; her hair clung to the damp skin sprawled across her back.
The cot creaked and groaned under them, metal frame protesting every deep thrust. In the corner, a careless heap of clothes—her pink top, the white lower she had worn only minutes earlier, his discarded shirt—and the torn foil of a condom packet. The same pack Namrata had pressed into Shipra’s hand before leaving for Mumbai.
The camera pulled back slowly. The terrace of Patode’s house came into view: low brick walls, a water tank in the corner, the quiet stretch of neighboring rooftops and green fields still wrapped in a thin, silvery fog. The horizon was soft and peaceful, birds just beginning to call. Against that calm, the scene on the cot was pure heat—Shipra’s moans low and broken, Patode’s breath harsh as he fucked her harder, the wet slap of their bodies the only sound that belonged to the morning.
Namrata sat frozen, phone trembling in her hand, the private, filthy reality of the terrace burning itself into the screen while the rest of the world outside remained still and unaware. Her hand moved instinctively to her mouth in shock.
"Oh god," Namrata whispered, her voice low and filled with disbelief as her eyes got fixated on the screen. The words lingered in the quiet stillness of her Mumbai bedroom.
“You two are at it again… in the open. Damn, Shipra.” A slow, crooked smile curved her lips even as a flicker of something sharper—concern, recognition, maybe a little envy—touched her eyes. “You’ve really thrown every last scrap of shame out the window, haven’t you? Turning into a complete, shameless slut for Patode’s cock.”
The video call switched to the front camera and Patode’s face filled the frame—flushed, lightly sheened with sweat, eyes dark and heavy-lidded with lust. A cocky, satisfied smile played across his mouth. Behind him the early light still painted the terrace gold, and the wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin hadn’t stopped; Shipra’s soft, broken moans continued in the background, low and throaty, each one timed to the deep thrusts he was still giving her.
“Hi, my favourite single slut,” he said, voice a little rough, a little breathless. He rolled his hips once, slow and deliberate, and the sound of wet flesh meeting wet flesh carried clearly through the phone. “How’s Mumbai treating you? Missing my cock yet… or have you already let some city boy get between those pretty legs of yours?”
His smile widened, teasing and openly judgmental. “Because my cock’s been missing you. Let me know if you fail to find some well endowed hunk like me, I will happily come up there and take care of you the same way I’m taking care of this cheating, cock-hungry friend of yours right now.”
Namrata shifted on the bed, sliding back until her shoulders met the cool wall. She kept the phone steady, legs crossed and her free hand rested high on her bare thigh, thumb tracing absent circles against her skin.
“Hello, Patode.” Her voice was steady, almost casual, but her eyes stayed locked on his face. “No luck yet in Mumbai. It will be hard to find anyone with your kind of… appetite. Or your charm. And especially with a monster cock like yours.” A small, knowing smile touched her mouth. “But don’t worry. If I keep striking out, I’ll come back down there and let you ravage this slut properly. You know I will.”
“I don't doubt that,” he said, voice dropping into a conspiratorial murmur. “Once you’ve had a real man stretch you open and fill you the way you need, those soft city boys won’t ever be enough again. Just like Shipra here who really can't get enough of my dick since she returned back.”
Patode raised the camera high as if taking a selfie. It gave a wide angle look to Namrata of him fucking Shipra.
“Now you are just teasing me Patode," Namrata continued a little turned on. "But I am happy that Shipra is kept well-fucked. She must have missed it while being with that wimp Alok," she chuckled. "You're really pushing her boundaries further every day. It’s good… seeing she hasn’t slipped back into playing the pious, guilty little thing the moment I left.”
Patode’s smile turned darker, more private. He gave another slow, deliberate thrust—hard enough that Shipra’s moan cracked into something higher. His eyes flicked sideways, toward the woman still on her hands and knees behind him, then back to Namrata.
“Oh no, don’t worry about her going back to her old self. That's not happening and she proved that last night.” A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “Want to know exactly what your sweet, sanskari little friend did?"
“Absolutely,” Namrata spoke excitedly, voice dripping with filthy curiosity. “Tell me every dirty detail.”
Patode paused his relentless strokes and leaned forward, driving his thick cock balls-deep into Shipra until his hips were flush against her ass and his face was near her ear. He placed the phone on the cot facing her flushed, fucked-out expression and whispered in a heavy, teasing tone, “Should I tell her about your filthy sexcapades last night, Shipra? Should I tell him about the old stranger?"
“Noooo,” Shipra’s voice barely crept out of her throat, raw and shaky. But even she wasn’t sure if she was begging him not to reveal the secret to Namrata or just frustrated because his cock had stopped moving, leaving her stretched and throbbing for more. “You promised you wouldn’t tell her anything if I…,” she stopped mid-sentence, face burning with shame even as her pussy fluttered around him.
“My dear Shipra,” Namrata cut in, voice dripping with sarcastic condescension, “you’re on your knees getting fucked naked on the terrace of your lover, livestreamed like a desperate cam whore with your cunt stretched around his cock, and you’re still trying to save face by hiding one little daring act from last night? Come on. This innocent act is getting old and pathetic. Besides, even if you don’t confess, I’ll hear every filthy detail from Patode anyway. So stop pretending and let me hear the raunchy juicy commentary about your last night adventure."
Shipra lifted her head, face flushed red with shame, mouth open and eyes half-lidded with pleasure. “Fuck you, Namrata. You just enjoy being a bitch, don’t you?” she snapped.
"Haha, yeah I love it babes," Namrata’s laugh was low and wicked. She leaned in closer into the camera. "Even more knowing I made this happen," She gave Shipra a slow, aggravating wink and continued. "But right now I am not the one on all fours getting dicked down. So who's the real bitch Shipra?"
“And where’s your man, Namrata? Dicking you down? Oh right… you don’t have one.” Shipra grinned through the thick haze of pleasure, her voice dripping with heat and spite. She pulled herself higher on her elbows, arched her back hard, and slammed her hips back with deliberate, greedy force—swallowing every thick inch of Patode’s cock in one deep, wet thrust. A louder, wetter moan tore from her throat, half defiance, half pure need, the sound raw and shameless as her pussy clenched tightly around him.
“At least I have two dicks to pleasure me… fill me whenever I want." She paused, eyes locked on Namrata, openly enjoying the way the smile was wiped clean off her face.
“And three—” she lifted her right hand, slowly splaying three fingers so the point was impossible to miss, “—if I count last night.” Shipra winked, then brought those same fingers to her mouth. In a slow, deliberately obscene display of carnal hunger she dragged her tongue up each one, lips wrapping and sucking lightly before she slid the wet fingers down between her spread thighs. Two fingers found her swollen, throbbing clit and began rubbing in tight, slick circles while her hips kept working—fucking herself harder and deeper onto Patode’s cock, the wet slap of skin on skin growing louder and more filthy with every self-driven thrust.
The scene turned purely carnal. Shipra’s full, heavy breasts swung sensually with every slam of her hips, soft flesh bouncing, nipples grazing the sheets. Her face had gone completely wanton—lips parted, brows knitted in ecstasy, soft broken gasps and moans spilling out as she chased her own pleasure. She looked every bit the shameless pornstar, lost in the heat of being watched, used, and still defiantly claiming every drop of it.
“Ouch, bitch… that one hit below the belt.” Namrata’s smile was tight, a flicker of genuine offense flashing behind her eyes even as satisfaction curled at the corners of her mouth. She drank in the sight of Shipra—flushed, dripping, still rocking herself on Patode’s cock with that new, unapologetic fire.
“But finally, there’s the old Shipra I’ve been trying to drag out. Sexy. Bold. Bitchy as hell. Way to go, girl," her voice softened just a fraction, the teasing edge giving way to something closer to real concern.
“Now… if you’re done taking shots at my empty bed, tell me what the fuck Patode made you do. And don’t you dare say he forced you into some weird shit.”
Continued to next post....
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