[SilverArrow]

The wet, rhythmic sound of Ranga’s cock sliding between Monica’s compressed breasts filled the living room, mixed with the low murmur of the muted television and her broken, unwilling breaths. Her hands stayed locked on either side of her own soft flesh, holding the channel tight even as shame burned through her. The head of Ranga’s cock emerged glistening near her chin with every upward thrust; the base ground heavily against the damp crotch of her panties.

Then a low, strained groan from the bedroom — not loud, but clear enough to cut through everything.
“Moni… ca…”

Ranga’s hips stilled at once. The thick shaft remained buried between her breasts for one frozen second. Monica’s eyes flew open, panic flooding her face.

“Ranga—” she gasped. “Rakesh is awake. He’s asking something.”

She shoved at Ranga’s chest, voice rising into a sharp, urgent hiss.


“Get off my tits. Now. Wear your pants and go see what he wants. I’ll put something on and come”


Ranga pulled back. His cock left the tight space with a wet sound, still heavily erect and shiny. He stood, breathing hard, and reached for his trousers. He yanked them up over the rigid length, the outline still obvious as he left the belt unbuckled. Bare-chested, he moved toward the hallway without another word.


Monica scrambled off the sofa, heart hammering. She snatched the nearest thing she could get her hands on— a thin, pale robe hanging near the bedroom door — and pulled it on with shaking hands. She was so worried what happened to Rakesh, she did not bother to see whether the robe was even appropriate to wear or not!


Her robe was short and almost transparent in the low light. Nothing underneath except her damp black cotton panties. The robe clung to the full shape of her nude breasts; the soft weight of them shifted freely with every movement. The thin fabric did little to hide the dark outline of her nipples or the clear impression of the panties against her ass. She did not wait to find a bra or anything else.
In the bedroom, Rakesh was half-raised on one elbow, shivering hard. His face was flushed and damp, eyes glassy.

The effort of speaking had left him weak.

Ranga stepped to the side of the bed.

“You need water?”.

Rakesh managed a small nod. Ranga poured from the bottle on the side table and held the glass carefully to his lips.

Rakesh drank in short, shaky sips. Ranga set the glass down and pulled the extra blanket higher over his shoulders.
“Fever’s coming up again,” Ranga said quietly. “Stay still Rakesh bhai!”
Monica appeared in the doorway a few moment later. The flimsy robe hung loosely around her. As she rushed into the room the soft weight of her nude breasts shifted clearly under the thin fabric; the neckline dipped just enough that the upper curves of her tits were clearly visible.


She went straight to the bed and pressed the back of her hand to Rakesh’s forehead. The heat shocked her.
“Shit… it’s burning a lot”

Her voice was tight with real fear. She looked at Ranga.

“Pass the thermometer quickly Ranga”

Ranga handed it over to her. Monica slipped it under Rakesh’s tongue and waited, one hand still resting on his shoulder. When she checked the reading her face went pale.

“103.5.”.

She turned to Ranga, eyes wide.

“It’s a lot Ranga! What do we do? Hospital emergency?”


Ranga kept his voice calm and practical.


“Not yet. Apply a cold compress or ice bag to his forehead and neck first. I’ll call the doctor right away and tell him the update. If he says yes, we may go to the hospital right away”


Monica nodded once and gave her phone to Ranga “Here is the number call him.. I will rush and get the ice bag”


She hurried out of the bedroom. Rakesh’s fever-blurred eyes followed her for a moment. Something about the way the robe clung to her sexy nude body and the fact that she seemed to be wearing almost nothing except those cotton panties registered dimly, but the heavy heat and shivering made his vision unclear and hazy.
In the kitchen Monica yanked open the freezer, pulled out the ice bag, and wrapped it quickly in a thin cloth. Her hands were still trembling — from the sudden interruption, from the fever reading, from the fact that she was standing in her own kitchen essentially naked under a flimsy robe while the man who had just been fucking her breasts was in the next room with her dangerously sick husband.


She returned back to the bedroom and placed the cold pack carefully against Rakesh’s forehead


“I’m here, jaan,” she said, softer now, the panic pushed down by the need to keep him calm. “Just breathe. We’re handling it.”


Ranga was already on his phone in the doorway, speaking in a low, steady voice to the doctor. The drawing room behind him still held the scattered buttons, the torn kurti of Monica, her badly tattered Bra, the open whiskey bottle, and the clear evidence of what had been happening minutes earlier.


Monica kept the ice pack in place, one hand resting on Rakesh’s arm, the thin robe doing almost nothing to cover the body that Ranga had just been enjoying. She looked up at Ranga.
“What did the doctor say?”


Ranga lowered the phone.


“We should keep the ice pack continuously and monitor him for the next thirty minutes. If it climbs again after that, we have to take him in. For now, wait.”


Monica nodded. She adjusted the cold pack with careful fingers, shifting it slightly so the chill covered more of Rakesh’s temple and the side of his neck. The wet robe clung to her with every small movement. The soft weight of her nude breasts shifted freely underneath; the neckline had loosened again, and the upper curves were clearly visible in the low bedroom light.

Ranga began to walk in the room.


Time passed. Monica checked the thermometer again. 102.1. The worst of the spike was easing. Rakesh’s shivering lessened. His breathing lengthened.

His eyes opened halfway. The voice that came out was thin and slow.


“It’s so late… you both… still awake?”


Monica’s hand tightened on the ice pack. A small, self-conscious pause. She became suddenly aware of how little the robe was covering — the way the damp fabric stuck to the full shape of her naked tits, the clear outline of her nipples, the fact that she was essentially nude underneath except for the thin panties.


“Ranga Saab is just… helping,” she said, the words careful. “In case things went worse and we needed to take you to the hospital. We were watching a movie in the living room to pass the time”

Rakesh’s gaze drifted toward Ranga for a moment, then back to her. The fever still blurred the edges of his perception. He managed a weak, apologetic sound.

“Sorry Monica… you couldn’t sleep after a long office day. Thank you, Ranga Saab”


Ranga stopped pacing. A small, controlled grin touched his mouth.

“Don’t worry about us. We’re fine. You just relax and sleep. That’s all you need to do.”
She continued the slow, gentle pressure of the ice pack against Rakesh’s forehead.

“Temperature is coming down, jaan… just rest now. We’re right here.”

Ranga remained near the foot of the bed, watching. The thirty minutes of monitoring stretched ahead of them — Monica holding the ice pack and the edges of her barely-there robe, Rakesh drifting in and out of medicated sleep, and the unfinished, dangerous tension of the living room still waiting only a few steps away.

[SilverArrow]

Rakesh’s breathing had deepened. The medicine and the falling temperature were pulling him under, but not completely — his eyelids still fluttered at long intervals, and the occasional small shift of his shoulders showed he remained faintly aware of the room.

Monica sat on the edge of the bed, ice pack held carefully against his forehead. The thin robe had loosened again; the soft weight of her bare breasts moved freely underneath whenever she adjusted the cold pack. She kept her voice low and even.

“Temperature is better now, jaan… just sleep…”

Ranga moved quietly. He sat down on the same side of the bed, close enough that his thigh pressed against hers in the dim light. For several long seconds he did nothing. Then his hand closed around her free wrist.

Monica’s body tensed.

He guided her hand slowly, deliberately, across the short distance and pressed her palm against the hard shape inside his open trousers. The heat of him registered instantly through the fabric. Monica’s fingers curled in pure reflex, then tried to pull away.

“Ranga—” she breathed, the protest so quiet it was almost only air. “Don’t… not here…”

He did not release her wrist. He kept her hand exactly where it was, forcing her fingers to shape themselves around the thick, rigid length. With his other hand he reached for the edge of Rakesh’s blanket and drew it across both their laps, covering the point where her hand disappeared into his trousers. Only then did he push the fabric down far enough for her bare skin to meet his.

Monica’s breath shook once. She kept the ice pack perfectly steady on her husband’s forehead.

“I’m serious…” she whispered, still barely audible. “He’ll notice…”

Ranga’s reply was only a low sound against her ear.

“Then don’t let him. Keep talking to him. And keep your hand moving.”

She swallowed. For a long moment her hand stayed still around him, the thick shaft heavy and hot against her palm. Then, with the same controlled precision she used for the ice pack, she began to stroke his hard erect penis!
The movement was slow, experienced, and unwilling all at once. Her fingers closed firmly, sliding from base to head in even, measured pulls. When she reached the tip of the cock she gave a small, deliberate twist with her wrist — the kind of practiced motion that showed she knew exactly how to work a cock even while every part of her mind rejected the setting. The blanket hid everything. From Rakesh’s angle there was only his wife leaning over him with an ice pack and the quiet shape of Ranga sitting close beside her.
Monica’s voice stayed soft and wifely.



“That’s it, jaan… breathe slowly… the fever is going down…”


At the same time her left hand continued its filthy, expert work under the blanket. She stroked Ranga with short, tight pulls, thumb brushing the wet head on every upward movement, fingers squeezing just enough to make the shaft flex in her grip. The contrast was absolute: the gentle, caring pressure of the ice pack in one hand, the slow, sassy, unwilling handjob in the other.


Ranga’s breathing deepened. He kept one hand lightly over hers under the blanket, not forcing the pace, only ensuring she did not stop. Every time Rakesh’s eyelids twitched, Monica’s stroking hand froze for a second. Every time the ice pack needed adjusting, she performed the motion with perfect calm while her other hand kept the thick cock sliding through her fist.


“You’re good at this,” Ranga murmured, so low only she could hear. “Even when you hate it.”


Monica’s jaw tightened. She answered him only by giving the next stroke a sharper twist at the head, a small, sassy act of defiance that still served him. Then she leaned closer to Rakesh and spoke in the softest voice she owned.


“Sleep now Rakesh… we’re right here… nothing to worry about…”


Under the shared edge of the blanket her hand never stopped. The wet sound of skin on skin was completely muffled. The ice pack remained steady. And in the dim bedroom, with her husband drifting in and out of fevered awareness only centimetres away, Monica continued the double task — one hand nursing, the other delivering a controlled, filthy, unwilling handjob that neither of them was willing to end.


Ranga’s hand stayed lightly over Monica’s under the blanket, keeping her fingers wrapped around the thick, hard length of him. He spoke in a low, even voice close to her ear.


“Chalo , let’s go to the bedroom.”


Monica’s stroking hand faltered for half a second. Her reply came out in a sharp, low hiss that still managed to stay unheard for Rakesh.


“Have you completely lost it? He’s barely stable. I’m not walking away from my husband who’s still fighting this just because you decided the monitoring period is over. Sit down and keep your hands to yourself.”


Ranga reached across with his free hand and laid his palm flat against Rakesh’s forehead. He kept it there for several long seconds.


“Fever’s fully down,” he said, still quiet. “There is no risk now. He’s stable.”


Monica let out a short, incredulous breath through her nose. Her hand under the blanket continued its slow, tight strokes almost automatically.


“Stable doesn’t mean you get to drag me into the next room like this is some hotel. He’s not even properly asleep yet. His eyes are still opening every few minutes. How exactly do you expect me to just stand up, leave him here, and walk into the bedroom with you while he’s lying right there? Use your brain for once.”


Ranga turned his head toward the bed.
“Rakesh bhai. How are you feeling now?”
Rakesh’s eyes opened halfway. The voice that came out was hollow and thin.
“I’m… okay.”

Ranga looked straight at Monica, the meaning clear.
“See.”

Rakesh’s gaze drifted to his wife. The drowsiness was heavier now. He managed a small nod in her direction.
“You both… go rest. I’m fine.”

Monica’s jaw tightened. Her hand kept moving under the blanket — a deliberate twist at the head, a firmer squeeze — even as she leaned closer to Rakesh with the softest version of her voice.

“Can you actually manage and get to sleep properly please? We’re right here ..please don’t worry .. Just try to sleep Jaan!”


Rakesh’s eyes were already closing again.

“I’m sleepy… I’ll sleep.”
The words settled into the quiet room. Monica’s fingers gave Ranga one last, sharp, almost punishing stroke under the blanket before she slowly withdrew her hand. The absence of his cock in her grip left her palm warm and faintly slick. She adjusted the ice pack one final time with care, then stood.


Ranga rose with her. The blanket fell back into place over Rakesh’s legs. Neither of them spoke as they moved.
The walk from the edge of the bed to the bedroom door took longer than the actual distance required. Monica stepped carefully, the thin robe shifting with every movement, the soft weight of her nude breasts swaying underneath. She paused once at the side of the bed to make sure Rakesh’s breathing had fully evened out, her expression still carrying the leftover sass of the argument. Ranga waited behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body.


Then she stepped through into the master bedroom.

Ranga came after her. The door closed behind them with a quiet, final click. The distance between the two rooms was only a few metres, but the shift in air and the sudden absence of Rakesh’s breathing made the space feel completely separate.

[SilverArrow]

Latest episode is live!!!

[SilverArrow]

The door closed with a quiet click.

Monica stood just inside the master bedroom and already knew what was coming. The thin robe was the only thing left between her and the rest of the night. She could feel Ranga’s presence behind her, the heat of him, the same controlled patience he had used in the other room. She did not turn around immediately.

“Don’t,” she said, voice low and sharp. “I know exactly what you’re thinking. We’re not doing this.”

Ranga stepped in close. He did not answer at first. He simply reached up and took both edges of the robe at her shoulders. Monica’s hand came up and caught his wrist.

“I’m serious. Take your hands off.”

He began to pull anyway. The fabric slid down her arms in one continuous, unhurried motion. It caught for a second at her elbows; he tugged it free and let it drop to the floor. The soft, heavy weight of her bare breasts settled freely. The earlier marks from his mouth were still visible on the skin. In the dim light her nudity landed hard — the full curves, the dark nipples, the way they moved with her breathing. Only the damp black panties remained.

Monica turned at once, one arm rising across her chest, the other already pushing at him.

“Ranga, stop. We can’t fuck again. Not tonight. Not while he’s right there on the other side of that wall. Put the robe back on me and walk out.”

Ranga’s mouth curved in a low, sinister sound that was almost a laugh. It carried no humour — only certainty.

“Nothing’s stopping this now,” he said. “You already know that.”

“I said no.” Monica’s voice stayed bold even as he stepped closer. “You’re not listening. I’m not doing this a second time in one night. Get away from me.”

He did not get away. He caught the wrist of the arm she was using to cover herself and pulled it down, exposing both breasts fully. Monica tried to yank free. He held on.

“Look at your tits,” he muttered, gaze moving over her openly. “Asking me to suck ..is it not? You’ve been walking around this house with these under that thin robe the whole time.”

“Stop talking like that—”

He pushed her backward until the edge of the mattress hit the backs of her thighs. She sat hard. Before she could rise again he was over her, one knee between her legs, both hands already on her breasts. The first touch was not careful. He cupped the soft weight of them hard, thumbs dragging across the nipples, then lowered his mouth and took the right one between his lips.

Monica’s back arched.

“Ranga— don’t— get off—”

He sucked with open, animal hunger, drawing the nipple deep, teeth grazing the sensitive skin around it before closing and pulling harder. His other hand squeezed the left breast roughly, fingers sinking into the soft flesh, rolling and pinching the nipple until it stood tight. Monica shoved at his shoulders. The resistance was real, but he did not shift.

“Stop— you’re hurting— ah—”

He switched to the left breast without releasing the right, mouth moving across the valley between them, sucking marks into the upper curve, then sealing over the nipple and drawing on it with the same relentless pressure. Spit glistened on her skin. Her breasts moved under his hands and mouth with every pull. Monica’s protests stayed sharp and continuous, but her voice had begun to fray at the edges.

“I said we can’t— Ranga, listen to me— get your mouth off—”

He ignored every word. He pushed her further back onto the mattress, pinned one of her wrists above her head, and used his free hand to lift and squeeze one breast while his mouth worked the other. The wet, hungry sounds of him sucking filled the quiet room. Monica twisted under him, still trying to close her arms across her chest, still trying to push him away. Each time she managed to create a few centimetres of space he closed it again, mouth returning to her skin with the same devouring focus.

“You’re not listening,” she said, breath uneven, the bold edge still present even as her body reacted. “I told you no. This stops right now.”

Ranga lifted his head only long enough to look at her, mouth wet, eyes dark with the same certainty as before.

“It doesn’t,” he said, and lowered his mouth again.

He sucked harder this time, taking as much of the soft flesh as he could, tongue pressing flat against the nipple before he bit down just enough to make her gasp. His hand on the other breast was equally rough— squeezing, lifting, thumb dragging back and forth across the tight peak. Monica’s free hand curled into his hair and pulled, trying to drag him off. He did not lift. He simply moved to the other side and began the same treatment, leaving the first breast flushed, wet, and marked.

The thin panties were still the only thing left on her body. Her naked tits rose and fell under his mouth and hands, the glorious full shape of them completely exposed and completely claimed in the dim bedroom light. Monica kept protesting, voice sharp and helpless by turns, but Ranga’s weight and the relentless focus of his mouth overpowered every attempt to stop him. The door stayed closed. The distance to the other room remained only a few metres. And the slow, dominant claiming of her bare breasts continued without pause.

[Shabaz123]

Awesome hot update bro...

[SilverArrow]

Ranga’s mouth left her breast with a wet, audible pop. Cool air rushed over the spit-slick skin; the nipple tightened further in the sudden absence of heat. Monica’s chest rose and fell hard. The soft flesh still carried the imprint of his fingers and the darker marks his sucking had left. She pushed up on her elbows at once, the mattress dipping under the shift of her weight.

“That’s enough. Get off me. We’re done.”

He did not move away. The heat of his body stayed close. One hand remained braced beside her shoulder, the other already sliding down the curve of her waist. His fingers found the elastic of the damp black panties and hooked under it on both sides. The cotton was warmer than the rest of her skin where it had been pressed against her, and slightly sticky.

Monica’s eyes widened. She grabbed at his wrists; her nails scbangd lightly over the backs of his hands.

“Don’t you dare. Ranga— I’m serious. Leave them on.”

He began to pull. The motion was slow enough that she felt every centimetre. The elastic stretched, then released with a soft snap against her hipbones. Cool air touched the newly exposed skin of her lower belly. The thin fabric peeled away from the soft mound beneath, clinging for a second to the damp hair before giving way. Monica twisted and tried to close her thighs. The inner surfaces brushed together, slick. He pushed one knee between them; the rough fabric of his still-on trousers scbangd the sensitive skin of her inner thigh as he kept the legs apart and continued the downward drag.

“Stop— you’re making this worse than it needs to be—”

“Lift.”

“No.”

He pulled harder. The panties stretched tight across the widest part of her thighs, the damp crotch turning inside-out for a moment and releasing a faint, intimate scent of her arousal into the small space between them. Monica’s face burned. She turned her head toward the pillow, jaw locked, but he did not rush. He worked the fabric down past her knees— the soft scbang of cotton against skin, the quiet rustle as it gathered— then over her calves. When the panties finally cleared her ankles he held them up between two fingers. The dark, obvious wetness in the centre was impossible to miss. He let them drop to the floor with a soft sound.

Monica was completely naked. The air of the bedroom felt cooler against every newly exposed inch. She immediately tried to cover herself— one arm banding across her breasts so the soft weight pressed against her own forearm, the other hand pressing between her legs. Ranga caught both wrists. His grip was warm and dry. He pressed them lightly into the mattress above her head; the sheets were cool under her knuckles. She was held open under his gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, voice tight with humiliation and the residual heat still pulsing between her legs. “You’ve made your point. Let go.”

He released her wrists only long enough to stand. The mattress shifted as his weight left it. Monica scrambled to sit up; her bare breasts swayed with the sudden movement and she crossed one arm over them again. Ranga’s hands went to his own trousers. The metal of the button clicked. The zipper rasped down. He pushed the fabric over his hips and stepped out; the trousers hit the floor with a heavier sound than her panties had made. His cock rose thick and heavily erect, the head already flushed dark and shining with a thin bead of moisture at the tip. The shaft looked rigid, veined, the skin stretched tight. In the low light it seemed almost blunt with readiness.

Monica’s eyes dropped to it despite herself. The size of it registered in a single hot pulse low in her belly before she forced her gaze back to his face.

“Put that away,” she said, the bold edge still present even as her voice roughened. “We’re not going any further. You’ve already stripped me. That’s enough for one night.”

Ranga stood fully naked across from her, making no move to cover himself. The air between them carried the faint mixed scent of her wetness and the warmer, cleaner smell of his skin. His gaze travelled over her body without hurry— the marked, spit-shined breasts, the soft indent of her waist, the bare mound still glistening faintly where the panties had been.

“You’re still talking,” he said, voice low. “But you’re the one who’s fully naked first. And you’re still wet.”

Monica held his eyes, chin lifted. Completely exposed on the edge of the bed, the cool air and his open stare both registering on every inch of bare skin, while he stood over her with his cock hard and waiting. The thin robe and the black panties lay discarded on the floor. The door stayed closed. And the slow, degrading completion of her stripping left the air between them stretched tight, unfinished, and thick with everything that had not yet happened.

[SilverArrow]

Monica was still trying to keep one arm across her breasts when Ranga’s hand moved lower. His fingers brushed the soft skin just above her mound, then settled directly over the thin strip of dark hair that ran down the centre. The rest of her was smooth — shaved clean on both sides — leaving only that neat line of hair ending right at the top of her slit.

He touched it openly. He spread her with his thumb so the outer lips parted and he could see the pink, already-wet flesh underneath. His thumb came away shiny with her. He stroked the thin strip of hair again, slower, feeling the soft texture against the smoother skin on either side.

“This,” he said, voice low with open satisfaction. “Shaved, but not all the way. Just this thin strip left. Looks deliberate.” He rubbed his thumb through the hair and then lower, dragging it directly over her clit. “When did you do this?”

Monica’s face burned. She tried to close her thighs; he kept them open with one knee. Cool air hit the wet skin he had just exposed.

“Don’t touch me like that,” she snapped, anger sharp and immediate. “It’s none of your business when I shaved. Get your hand off my cunt.”

Ranga kept his fingers right where they were. He traced the strip once more, then pushed the tip of his thumb between her lips and rubbed slow circles over the slick entrance, feeling how easily it gave.

“You kept the strip on purpose,” he said. “Not fully bare. Just enough hair so it still looks like a proper cunt. You thought about it while you were shaving. Didn’t you?”

Monica’s eyes flashed. The sass came out colder and sharper.

“I thought about hygiene, not about satisfying whatever animal fantasy you’re running in your head. There’s a difference. Stop touching it.”

Ranga let out a short, pleased breath at the bite in her voice.

“There it is. That mouth. Keep talking like that.”

“I’m not talking for your entertainment,” she shot back. “I’m telling you to stop.”

“And yet you’re still wet.” He dragged his thumb up over her clit again, deliberate. “Feel that? You’re dripping on my hand while you’re busy being angry.”

“That’s not an invitation. Get off me.”

He ignored the order completely.

Then he went down.

He didn’t ease in. He shoved her thighs wide with both hands until the muscles stretched, dropped his head between them, and sealed his mouth over her cunt in one aggressive motion. His tongue drove straight through the thin strip of hair and split her open. He licked her with long, flat, filthy strokes — starting at the bottom of her entrance, pushing inside just enough to taste her, then dragging all the way up over her clit and the soaked strip of hair above it. He did it again, harder, pressing his tongue flat so he could feel every fold. The thin strip of hair was immediately plastered wet against her skin. Spit and her own juices mixed and ran down the crack of her ass onto the sheets.

Monica’s back arched hard.

“Ranga— fuck— stop— get your mouth off me—”

He lifted his head just enough to speak, lips already shiny.

“You taste exactly like you did in the cabin. Still trying to pretend you don’t want it.”

“I’m not pretending— ah— get off—”

He sealed his mouth over her again and sucked her clit between his lips, pulling on it with strong, wet suction. Monica’s hips jerked.

“God— you bastard— stop sucking like that—”

He released her clit only long enough to push his tongue deep inside her, fucking her with it in short, aggressive thrusts, nose buried against the wet strip of hair.

“Still talking,” he muttered against her, the words vibrating into her. “Keep going. Tell me how much you hate it.”

“I do hate it— fuck— Ranga—”

He pushed two thick fingers inside her while his tongue returned to her clit, working it in tight, relentless circles. Her cunt was already soaked; the fingers slid in to the knuckle and he curled them hard against the front wall.

Monica’s hips jerked up against his face. A louder, more helpless moan tore out of her.

“Ah— God— your fingers— stop curling them like that—”

“Why? You’re clenching around them.” He curled them again, harder, while he sucked her clit. “Feel that? Your cunt’s sucking me in while your mouth keeps saying no.”

“Shut up— don’t talk— just— ah— fuck—”

He didn’t shut up. He kept eating her and fingering her at the same time, the wet sounds loud and continuous in the quiet room.

“You’re getting louder,” he said against her. “Your husband is right on the other side of that wall. Try to keep it down.”

“Then stop— making me— ah—”

He sucked harder, fingers thrusting deeper. Monica’s thighs trembled violently on either side of his head. The thin strip of hair was completely soaked and flattened. Every time she tried to close her legs he forced them wider with his shoulders. Her cunt clenched around his fingers in helpless pulses.

“Ranga— I can’t— I’m going to— fuck—”

“Then cum” he said, voice rough, still licking. “Cum on my tongue while you’re still trying to hate it.”

The protests kept breaking apart into shorter, higher cries and raw moaning as he kept her pinned, spread, and thoroughly, degradingly consumed.

[SilverArrow]

Ranga was fully on her now.

His mouth sealed over her cunt without any remaining restraint. He licked through the thin strip of hair like it belonged to him, tongue pushing deep between her folds, then dragging up to suck her clit hard enough to make her hips jerk. He speared his tongue inside her again and again, fucking her with it while his nose stayed pressed against the soaked strip of hair. The wet, filthy sounds filled the quiet bedroom— open sucking, the soft obscene noise of his tongue working her open, his breathing harsh against her skin.

Monica’s back arched clean off the mattress. A raw, high cry tore out of her throat. She had never been eaten like this. Rakesh had never once gone down on her in all their years together. The contrast hit her in a single, overwhelming wave— the forbidden, animal thoroughness of Ranga’s mouth versus the careful, limited sex she was used to. Her thighs trembled violently on either side of his head. Her hands twisted in his hair, no longer trying to push him away, only holding on as the pleasure spiked hard and continuous.

“Fuck— Ranga— ah— God—”

He only growled against her cunt and sucked harder, two fingers pushing back inside her and curling while his tongue kept working her clit. Monica’s voice broke into open, helpless yelling. Her hips rolled up against his face in short, involuntary thrusts. The thin strip of hair was completely plastered wet against her skin. She was so close the edges of her vision had started to blur—

A faint groan came from the other room.

It was low, thin, and unmistakable.

Monica’s entire body locked.

“Rakesh—”

The word came out sharp with sudden panic. She shoved hard at Ranga’s head.

“Stop. Stop right now. I have to go.”

Ranga lifted his mouth from her with a wet sound, lips shiny, irritation flashing across his face. He muttered a low, harsh Hindi curse under his breath—“Saala”—directed at the interruption, at Rakesh, at the timing.

Monica was already scrambling up. Her legs felt unsteady. She pushed her hair back from her face with shaking hands, trying to order it. Ranga reached down, grabbed the thin robe from the floor, and tossed it at her.

She caught it against her chest.

“How am I supposed to just wear this?” she hissed, still breathless. “I’m completely naked underneath. He’s going to notice—”

“It’s dark,” Ranga snapped, voice low and tight. “He won’t understand anything. Go. Check on him. And come back quickly.”

Monica pulled the robe on with quick, clumsy movements. The thin fabric clung to her still-damp skin. Her bare breasts shifted freely underneath; the neckline dipped too low. She dragged a section of her hair forward over one shoulder, using it to cover as much of the open cleavage as she could, then tightened the belt with a hard knot. She did not look at Ranga again. She simply opened the door and stepped into the short hallway.

The other bedroom was dimmer. Rakesh was fully awake, propped slightly on one elbow, face still flushed but clearer than before. His eyes found her the moment she appeared in the doorway.

“You all right, Monica?”

The question was soft, concerned. Monica felt the residual throb between her legs, the wetness still slick on her thighs under the robe, the taste of panic still sharp in her mouth. She forced her breathing steady and stepped closer to the bed.

“Yes,” she said, keeping her voice even. “We were just watching the movie. That’s all.” She paused, then asked directly, “Do you need something?”

Rakesh gave a small, tired nod.

“Fever’s come down. I’m sweating a lot. Can you switch on the fan?”

Monica managed a small smile. The expression felt thin on her face.

“Yes. Of course.”

She moved to the switch by the door and turned the fan on. The blades started their slow rotation, sending a soft current of air across the bed. Rakesh settled back against the pillows with a quiet exhale. Monica stood there a second longer than necessary, the thin robe the only thing covering her fully naked body, the marks of Ranga’s mouth still hidden under the fabric, the unfinished heat of what he had been doing to her still pulsing between her legs.

Behind her, down the short hallway, the master bedroom door remained slightly open. Ranga was still in there. Waiting.

[SilverArrow]

Monica stood beside the bed, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the mattress. The thin robe was belted tightly, but the fabric was still slightly damp in places and moved against her skin whenever she shifted. Her hair was pulled forward over one shoulder, only partly covering the open neckline. Underneath, she was completely bare; the soft weight of her breasts settled freely with every breath. The fan turned slowly overhead, the soft current of air cool against her ankles.

She wanted one last clear reading before she left him for the night.

She reached for the side table. The thermometer was not there. She checked the edge of the mattress, fingers brushing the fold of the blanket, then the small shelf near the headboard.

“Where did it go…” she murmured. She leaned closer to Rakesh, keeping her voice gentle. “Jaan, did you move the thermometer? I’ve looked on the table and it’s not there.”

Rakesh’s eyes opened halfway. His voice was thin and tired.

“No… I haven’t touched anything. It was there earlier, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Monica said. She straightened and called toward the open doorway, tone calm and practical. “Ranga Saab— have you seen the thermometer anywhere? It’s not on the table.”

From the master bedroom his reply came back after a short pause, steady and unsurprised.

“It should be right next to him. Check behind the bottle.”

“I did. It’s not there.”

There was the sound of footsteps. A moment later Ranga appeared in the doorway. He had pulled on a dark vest and trousers— nothing else. The vest sat close against his chest; the trousers sat low on his hips. He stepped into the room without ceremony.

“I’ll look. Maybe it fell.”

Monica moved aside slightly to give him space. “I’ve already checked this side. Try near the leg of the table.”

They searched in the dim light. Ranga crouched, ran his hand along the floor, then checked the windowsill. Monica re-checked the near side of the bed, bending to look under the edge of the frame. The robe shifted with the movement; the thin fabric pulled briefly across her bare breasts before she straightened again.

“Nothing here,” she said.

“Got it.” Ranga stood, holding the thermometer between two fingers. “It had slipped behind the water bottle. Easy to miss.”

Monica took it from him. Their fingers touched for a second— warm, brief. She kept her expression even, turned back to Rakesh, and slipped the thermometer under his tongue.

“Just keep it there for a few seconds,” she told him softly. “Don’t talk.”

Rakesh gave a small sound of agreement. The seconds stretched. When Monica read the number she let out a quiet breath.

“Hundred point six,” she said, looking down at him. “Much better than before. You’re properly out of the danger zone now. You need to sleep.”

Rakesh nodded, eyelids already heavier.

Monica glanced at Ranga, then back to her husband. Her voice stayed soft but clear.

“I’ll sleep too. And Ranga Saab has decided to stay the night… considering how high the fever was earlier.”

Rakesh’s gaze shifted to Ranga. The gratitude was genuine, if weak.

“Thank you. I’m feeling better now. Really.”

Ranga’s mouth curved in a small smile that did not reach his eyes.

“You sleep. I’m fine.”

Monica added the practical reason without hesitation.

“These fevers can come back in the middle of the night without warning. He’s still not completely out of danger. It’s better if Ranga Saab is here. Just in case we need to do anything.”

Rakesh nodded again.

“Alright… thank you. Both of you.”

“Good night,” Monica said. “We’ll finish the movie and then sleep. You rest properly.”

“Good night,” Rakesh murmured. He turned slowly onto his side, facing away from the door. The bed sheet slipped with the movement, exposing the damp collar of his undershirt.

Monica stepped back from the bed. As she moved toward the doorway the hallway light caught her at an angle. The thin robe clung for a moment to the curve of her hip and the unsupported weight of her breasts. The fabric shifted with her step— no strap, no line of panties, only the clear movement of bare skin under the single layer. The neckline dipped as she walked.

Rakesh, not yet fully under, saw it.

The absence hit him with a confused, delayed jolt. Monica never went fully naked under a robe. Even on ordinary nights when it was only the two of them she almost always kept panties on, often a soft bra as well. She was particular about it. In the mornings the watchman sometimes knocked early, delivery boys came with milk or groceries, the maid arrived without warning— she had said more than once that it was better to have something on underneath, just in case. Fully nude under the thin fabric, with another man in the house, was completely unlike her.

Why is she like this tonight?

The question formed clearly for a moment. His heartbeat picked up, an uneasy pulse against the heavy drowsiness already settling over him. He tried to hold the thought— *she never does this, not even with me, why tonight, why with him here*— but the medicine was crushing. The room tilted. The edges of the question blurred, slipped, and then dissolved into a thick, spinning dark as sleep took him completely.

Monica stepped into the hallway. Ranga followed a pace behind her. The door to Rakesh’s room remained slightly open. Behind them the fan turned steadily over the now-unconscious man, while the unfinished heat of the master bedroom waited only a few steps away.

[val.coutinho]

Hot.... Hot.... Hot..... Updates
Really some work of art and thinking.... I'm sure all the readers are going to love it... You have some excellent writing skils....
It really got me hard while reading the updates..... Hope Ranga fucks the brains out of her while Rakesh sleeps deep in slumber
Awaiting next updates soon.....

[Blackdick11]

Latest updates are fucking awesome, totally worth the wait

No doubt about it, ranga’s gonna fuck monica’s brains out this time, and rakesh’s voice will go unheard, though the real worry is that loud-ass pounding, wet moaning, and bed-slamming from the master bedroom might wake him up.

[wxxxx]

On behalf of the readers, a special request to the esteemed author "SilverArrow": please bring about a speedy recovery for Rakesh—Monika’s husband—and move the story forward. Readers are losing patience; they are frustrated by the repetitive sexual encounters between Monika and Ranga. Readers want to see Rakesh unexpectedly discover his wife, Monika, engaged in sexual activity with Ranga. Readers want Rakesh to then secretly watch them, become aroused, and masturbate to ejaculation. Furthermore, once Ranga has left, readers want to see Rakesh use his tongue to lick clean his wife Monika’s pussy—the very same pussy that Ranga had just been using.

[qazmlp]

Rightly said...But still much kudos to the writer.

[Herbiee]

Last updates are awesome. Extremely hottttt…..

[Bakchod Londa]

The temperature’s already high, boss… and I have a feeling it’s only going to get more intense... Not just Ranga, Monica got left high and dry too, dripping wet and completely unsatisfied, all because of ramesh’s constant fucking interruptions... my guess is this time both of them are gonna avoid him completely until they finally quench their thirst and fuck each other senseless...

[SilverArrow]

The door closed behind them.

Monica barely had time to turn before Ranga’s hands were on her. He pushed her backward hard. The edge of the large queen bed hit the backs of her thighs and she went down onto the soft mattress with a short, startled sound. The marital bed— of Rakesh and Monica— sank under her weight. Ranga followed her down immediately.

“Ranga— wait—”

The protest came out thin, already more whimper than command. He did not wait. He caught the belt of the thin robe, yanked it open, and dragged the fabric off her shoulders in one continuous pull. The robe flew toward the corner of the room and landed in a heap. She was fully naked underneath. Her nude breasts settled heavily against her ribs; and she looked so completely irresistible naked under Ranga’s predatory eyes!
Monica tried to push herself up on her elbows. Ranga shoved her flat again, one hand pressing into the centre of her chest. With the other he dragged his own vest up and over his head, then shoved his trousers down and kicked them aside. His cock sprang free— thick, heavily erect, the head already dark and wet. He looked down at her spread on the bed that belonged to another man and made a low, satisfied sound.
“Stay down.”

He climbed over her, forced her thighs wide with his knees, and rubbed the head of his cock along her slit once, twice, coating himself in the wetness that was still there. Monica’s hands came up against his shoulders.

“We shouldn’t— not on this bed—”

He pushed in.

The first thrust was hard and complete. He buried himself to the base in one continuous drive. Monica’s back arched. A raw, broken sound tore out of her throat as she stretched around him. The soft mattress dipped deeply under the force. He did not give her time to adjust. He pulled back and drove in again, harder, the wet sound of it sharp in the quiet room.

“Fuck— Ranga— slow—”

He ignored the word. He set a punishing rhythm from the start— deep, heavy strokes that forced the air out of her lungs each time his hips met hers. The bedframe began to creak. Monica’s bare breasts swayed with every impact. She turned her face into the pillow; he took a handful of her hair and pulled her head back so she had to look at him.

“Look at me while I fuck you Monica!”

“You’re a bastard—” The words came out shaky, half protest, half something else. “This is— ah—”

He fucked her harder. The headboard knocked against the wall in a steady, violent rhythm. The sheets twisted under her back. Monica’s legs locked around his waist almost against her will, heels digging into the backs of his thighs. Every thrust drove him against the deepest point inside her. The stretch burned and then blurred into a thicker, darker heat.

“— Ranga—No ..No..No..Ahh ..Ahh..”

“Take it, I know you just love it”

He shifted his angle and the next stroke dragged the thick head of his cock firmly along the front wall of her cunt. Monica’s mouth opened on a higher, helpless sound. Her nails scbangd down his back. The wet slap of skin on skin grew louder. The mattress shook. A pillow slid off the edge of the bed and hit the floor.

He reached between them and pressed his thumb hard against her clit, rubbing in tight, rough circles while he continued to pound into her. Monica’s thighs trembled. A raw cry left her that she could no longer swallow.

“Ah— God— fuck—”

“Yes like that … Louder… Louder … I said Louder” Ranga cried in raw ecstasy

He kept the dual assault going— deep, aggressive thrusts and relentless pressure on her clit— until the first orgasm ripped through her. Her back arched clean off the mattress, her cunt clenched hard around him, and a long, broken moan tore out of her throat. He fucked her straight through it, never slowing, forcing the aftershocks to keep coming until she was shaking and oversensitive beneath him.

“Ranga— wait— I can’t—”

He pulled out only long enough to flip her onto her stomach. Monica tried to push up on her hands. He caught her hips, dragged them up into the air, and thrust back into her from behind in one brutal stroke. The new angle was deeper. She dropped onto her forearms with a muffled cry, face pressed into the sheets that still smelled faintly of her husband’s cologne.

“Fuck— that’s too much—”

He took a handful of her hair and pulled her head back. His other hand gripped her hip hard enough to leave marks. He drove into her with long, heavy strokes that made the entire bedframe shudder. The headboard slammed against the wall. The sheets pulled free from the corners. Monica’s breasts hung and swayed beneath her with every impact. The wet, filthy sound of his cock moving in and out of her filled the room.

“You’re so wet,” he muttered, voice rough. “Dripping on the sheets badly”

“Shut up—” The protest was weak, broken by another hard thrust. “Just— ah—”

He reached under her and found her clit again, rubbing it in time with his strokes. Her arms gave out. She collapsed onto her elbows, face in the mattress, cunt pulsing around him in long, helpless waves while he kept fucking her through it.
He did not stop.
He did not stop.

Ranga kept driving into her from behind, the thick length of him forcing her open with every heavy stroke. Monica’s face stayed pressed into the sheets that still carried the faint scent of her husband’s cologne. Her earlier protests had thinned into broken, continuous sounds. The resistance that had been in her voice was gone; what replaced it was raw, open response.

“Fuck— Ranga— don’t stop—”

He pulled out abruptly. Monica made a short, involuntary noise at the sudden emptiness. Before she could push herself up he gripped her hips, dragged her sideways across the mattress, and flipped her onto her back again. He hooked his arms under her knees and shoved them high and wide, folding her nearly in half until her thighs pressed toward her own shoulders. The position left her completely exposed and open, the thin strip of hair above her cunt soaked and flattened, her entrance already red and used.

“Hold your legs,” he ordered.

Monica’s hands came up almost automatically, locking behind her own knees to keep herself folded. Ranga lined up and thrust back in at the extreme angle. The depth was immediate and punishing. A raw cry tore out of her as the head of his cock pressed hard against the deepest point inside her.

“Ah— God— that’s too deep—”

“You can take it.” He began to fuck her in short, brutal strokes that made the entire bedframe shudder. The headboard slammed against the wall. “Tell me how it feels.”

Monica’s voice came out broken between the impacts.

“It feels— like you’re going to split me— fuck— keep going—”

“You like this position more than the last one?”

“I don’t know— just don’t stop— harder—”

He gave her harder. The mattress shifted under them. The sheets pulled further free from the corners. Sweat ran down his chest and dripped onto her stomach. Monica’s breasts were pushed up toward her face by the extreme fold of her body; they moved with every thrust. The wet, filthy sound of his cock driving into her filled the room.

“This bed is going to break,” she gasped.

“Then let it break.” He drove in deeper, holding himself buried for a second before pulling back and slamming home again. “You’re dripping down onto his sheets. You feel that?”

“Yes— fuck— I feel everything—”

He pulled out again, breathing hard. Monica’s legs dropped, trembling. Before she could close them he flipped her once more— this time onto her side. He lifted her top leg high against his chest, almost to his shoulder, and pushed back into her from a lateral angle that forced every thick inch along a different path inside her. The stretch was sharper on one side, grinding and relentless.

Monica’s hand scrabbled for the edge of the mattress.

“Ranga— this angle— ah—”

“Better or worse than when I had you on your back?”

“Different— deeper on one side— don’t stop talking, just fuck me—”

He laughed once, low and rough, and set a punishing rhythm. The bedframe groaned continuously now. The headboard knocked a steady, violent rhythm into the wall. Monica’s free hand reached back and gripped his thigh, pulling him into her even as the intensity made her voice break.

“You’re so fucking tight like this,” he muttered. “Your cunt’s gripping me every time I pull out.”

“Because you’re too thick— ah— God— keep that pace—”

He reached around her and found her clit, rubbing it in tight, rough circles while he fucked her sideways. Monica’s third orgasm built fast and broke hard. Her whole body tightened; a long, open cry left her throat as she pulsed around him. He fucked her straight through it, never easing the angle or the force, until she was shaking and oversensitive and still pushing back against him.

“I can’t— Ranga— it’s too much—”

“You can.” He pulled out, manhandled her onto her hands and knees again, then pushed her shoulders down so her chest was flat to the mattress and her ass was raised high. He spread her open with both thumbs and thrust back in from behind at the steepest angle yet. The position left her completely presented, face turned to the side against the sheets, breasts crushed into the mattress that belonged to her husband.

“This,” he said, voice rough with effort as he began to pound into her. “This is the filthiest one yet. Look at you. Ass up on his bed, taking every inch.”

Monica’s reply was muffled and raw.

“Shut up and fuck me— harder— I want to feel it tomorrow—”

He gave it to her. The pace became almost savage. The entire queen bed shook violently with every impact. The headboard slammed into the wall hard enough that the sound carried. The mattress springs protested in a continuous, strained rhythm. Monica’s hands twisted in the sheets. Every thrust forced a broken, helpless sound out of her. The wet slap of skin on skin was loud and continuous.

“You like being used like this?” he asked, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.

“Yes— fuck— yes— don’t stop—”

“Louder.”

“Yes— I like it— harder— use me—”

Ranga’s rhythm shortened.

The long, heavy strokes became shorter, more urgent, each one driving him as deep as the extreme angle would allow. Monica felt the change immediately— the way his grip on her hips tightened hard enough to bruise, the way his breathing turned rough and uneven against her back. The bedframe creaked under the final, aggressive thrusts. The headboard knocked harder against the wall.

“Ranga— wait—” Her voice was raw, almost gone. “Don’t cum inside me. Pull out. I’m serious— don’t—”

He didn’t answer. He drove into her twice more, hard and complete, then buried himself to the hilt and locked there. His hips pressed flush against her raised ass. His cock throbbed once, heavily, deep inside her.

“Ranga— I said don’t—”

He started cuming anyway.

The first pulse was thick and strong. Monica felt it as a hot, sudden flood against the deepest point inside her— a heavy spurt that filled her and kept coming. Her cunt clenched around him instinctively even as a broken, frustrated sound left her throat. The second pulse followed hard on the first, even thicker, the heat of it spreading. A low, guttural sound tore out of Ranga’s throat. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips hard enough to leave immediate marks.

“You bastard— I told you—”

He stayed buried, cock jerking inside her with each successive pulse, ignoring every word. Thick ropes of cum pumped into her in steady, heavy spurts— so much that she felt herself growing fuller with every throb. Some of it began to leak out around the base of his cock almost immediately, warm and slick, running down the inside of her thigh in a slow, filthy trail. The wet sound of it was quiet but unmistakable between their breathing.

Monica’s body kept responding against her will. Her cunt fluttered and clenched around the still-hard length of him, pulling more of his release deeper even as excess spilled out onto the already-ruined sheets. She could feel the heat of it, the volume of it, the way it coated her insides and mixed with her own wetness. A raw, exhausted sound left her throat as another smaller pulse of his cum filled her.

Ranga held himself locked against her for a long time, hips still pressed tight, cock still twitching with the last weaker spurts. Sweat ran down his chest and dripped onto the small of her back. His breathing was harsh and open against her skin. Only when the final throbs had faded did he give one last, slow grind of his hips, pushing the last of his release as deep as it would go.

When he finally pulled out, the retreat was slow and thick with the mess he had forced into her. His cock left her with a wet sound. The sudden emptiness made Monica shudder hard. A heavy, continuous trickle of his cum immediately followed— thick, warm, mixed with her own juices— sliding down from her open cunt, over the thin strip of pubic hair, and down the inside of her thigh to pool on the sheets beneath her.

She remained in the presented position, chest flat to the mattress, ass still raised, feeling the slow, filthy drip of everything he had just pumped into her against her clear request. The marital bed was a wreck beneath them. The air smelled of sex and sweat. And the evidence of his climax was still leaking out of her in a warm, steady trail onto the sheets of her marital bed she shared with her husband.

[SilverArrow]

They did not speak after he pulled out.

The wreckage of the bed held them. Sheets twisted and half-dragged from the corners, damp and stained. Monica stayed where she was— chest down, one leg still bent— until the last fine tremors left her thighs. Ranga finally rolled onto his back beside her. Neither of them reached for the clothes scattered across the floor. The thin robe stayed in the corner. His vest and trousers stayed where they had been kicked. The air cooled slowly around their bare skin.

Exhaustion took them without ceremony. Monica’s last clear sensation was the faint, distant turn of the fan in the other bedroom and the residual heat of him still leaking out of her. Then sleep closed over both of them— deep, heavy, the kind that followed extreme use of the body.

Grey morning light was already in the room when she woke.

For a second the ceiling looked ordinary. Then the aches registered in sequence: the deep, used soreness between her legs, the faint sting of fingerprints on her hips, the tender pull of marks on her breasts where his mouth had been. She turned her head.

Ranga was already awake. He lay on his side facing her, completely naked still, watching her with a small, unreadable smile.

Monica’s eyes sharpened at once.

“Rakesh.” She pushed herself up on one elbow; the sheet slid down, leaving her breasts bare in the morning light. “His fever. Did you check?”

“He’s sleeping,” Ranga said. “I looked in earlier. Breathing was steady. I didn’t wake you.”

Monica sat up fully. The sheet pooled around her hips. In the grey light the evidence of the night was plain— faint bruises on the soft inner curves of her breasts, darker fingerprints on her hips, thin red lines on her thighs. Between her legs she was still slick and sore. She felt the residual wetness of him with every small movement.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. The full length of her bare body was visible for a moment before she bent and picked the thin robe up from the corner. As she straightened, her gaze caught on the discarded black panties near the foot of the bed— stretched, damp, one side seam partially torn from the way he had dragged them off her the night before.

A short, irritated sound left her.

“You always have to ruin my panties,” she said, voice low and pure sass as she pulled the robe on. “These were expensive. Every single time. You can’t just take them off like a normal person— you have to destroy them.”

Ranga’s mouth curved, openly amused.

“Wear another pair.”

Monica shot him a look while she belted the robe.

“Shut up Ranga .this is not funny!” She walked to the wardrobe, opened it, and took out a fresh set— a simple nude bra and matching panties. She stepped into the panties first, then fastened the bra with quick, practiced movements, still speaking over her shoulder. “Next time you feel the urge to rip something, buy your own.”

Ranga rose and pulled on his trousers, then the vest, watching her the entire time. The domestic ordinary act of dressing felt almost absurd against the state of the bed behind them.

“I will quickly go and check on Rakesh,” Monica said, already moving toward the door. “Then I have to get ready for office!”

They stepped into the short hallway together. Monica paused only long enough to smooth her hair and adjust the neckline of the robe so it sat more decently over the new bra. Then she opened the door to Rakesh’s room.

The fan was still turning. Rakesh was awake this time— propped slightly against the pillows, eyes open but still heavy with residual medication. He looked up as they entered. For a brief second something flickered across his face at the sight of them together so early, in the same doorway. Then the drowsiness smoothed it over.

Monica moved straight to the side of the bed, thermometer already in hand.

“Morning. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Rakesh said, voice still thin. “Head’s heavy. But better.”

She slipped the thermometer under his tongue and waited. Ranga remained near the foot of the bed, silent. When Monica read the number she nodded once.

“Below 100 degrees. Properly down. You still need rest, but the worst has passed.”

Rakesh’s gaze moved from her to Ranga and back again. The medication made his thoughts slow, but the question still formed.

“Did you both manage to sleep last night? It must have been late after the movie.”

Monica’s expression stayed calm, practical, the familiar wife-face already fully in place.

“We finished the movie and slept. Ranga Saab had to adjust on the sofa— it isn’t the most comfortable, but he managed. I checked on you a couple of times in the night. You were stable.”

Rakesh nodded slowly, accepting the explanation the way the medicine made him accept most things at the moment.

“Thank you. Both of you. I know it was a long night.”

“It’s fine,” Monica said. She set the thermometer back on the side table and straightened the edge of his blanket with quick, efficient hands. “You just rest. I’ll have the maid keep the noise down when she comes. Do you want water?”

“Later.” Rakesh’s eyelids were already drifting again. “I’m all right.”

Monica glanced once at Ranga. The look was brief and sharp— a private reminder of everything still unsaid, of the wrecked bed two doors away, of the fresh bra and panties she was now wearing over the marks he had left. Then she turned back to her husband with the same composed, caring expression.

“Rest now Jaanu. I have an important client meeting so have to go to office in the morning, but will come back as soon as the meeting is over. Rakesh, can you manage alone for that time ?"

Rakesh tried sitting straight " Oh yes please, I feel all right .. I will take the medicines on time , you just don't worry Monica!"

"Are you sure Rakesh ? "
" Absolutely Monica! " Rakesh tried answering firmly ..

Ranga entered the room
" How are you doing Rakesh bhai ?"
Rakesh smiled " I am fine now Ranga Saab.. Yesterday was bad .. actually fever suddenly was bad!"

Ranga smiled " Aree bhai, I know , your sweet wife was so worried, I told her just give him timely medicines hevwill be just all right!" Ranga said and chuckled at Monica!

Rakesh looked at Monica and then Ranga " I.. I am sorry Ranga Saab.. because of me both of you couldn't sleep properly at night! "

Ranga smiled " oh don't be sorry Rakesh! I did not mind at all, after all Monica served me good home made dinner..Why Monica ji ?"
Monica felt a deep flutter in her heart as Ranga looked at her deviously. Whatever happened last night was just so vivid, and yet this filthy Man was playing games!
In an absent mind, Monica nodded " Yea..glad if you liked it!"
Very quickly changing topics, Monica looked at Rakesh " Rakesh., I will prepare breakfast and keep it on the dining table, have it before 10:30 AM since you need to have medicines... I will be back from office as soon my client meeting ends..Pls take care!"

Rakesh nodded weakly " Yes Monica you don't please worry!"

She stepped out first. Ranga followed. In the hallway the domestic tension sat thick and quiet between them— the sleeping man behind one door, the ruined marital bed behind the other, and the ordinary morning already beginning around the two people who had spent the night destroying the space that belonged to all three of them.

[val.coutinho]

Excellent update too hot to handle simply extraordinary..... One of the best sex to be had while husband is away in fever in the next bedroom.... What will he ask Monica in the morning when she goes to check on him... Will he ask her if she enjoyed the fuck or will Monica explain herself to him about the extra ordinary sex she had with Ranga only time and the author will tell...

Excellent update dear author...... Awaiting another update maybe with another raunchy 2nd round of sex... If possible before she goes to work

[SilverArrow]

They stepped into the hallway and pulled Rakesh’s door mostly closed behind them. The flat was still quiet. Morning light had begun to strengthen through the living-room curtains, catching the dust motes in the air. Monica adjusted the belt of her robe once more; the fresh bra straps sat neat under the thin fabric, but every small movement still reminded her of the faint bruises beneath. The residual soreness between her legs was a steady, private pulse.

Ranga spoke first, voice low and practical, as if the night had never happened.

“I’ll go to the municipal office today. Deshmukh has been fooling around with the file long enough. Another week of this and the whole café timeline collapses.”

Monica glanced at him, already turning toward the kitchen.

“Then tell him clearly what we want. No more polite delays, no more ‘I’ll look into it.’ We can’t keep waiting like this for eternity. The project is stuck because of him, and I’m not in the mood for another round of excuses.”

“I’ll deal with it,” Ranga said. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, watching her. “He understands pressure when it’s applied the right way. I’ve handled men like him before.”

Monica gave a short nod, the practical side of her already sorting the day into clean compartments.

“Good. Just don’t create a bigger problem than the one we already have. We need the file cleared, not a war.”

She continued into the kitchen. Ranga followed as far as the doorway and stayed there, arms loosely crossed. Monica opened the fridge. The cold air brushed her bare calves under the robe. She took out eggs, the packet of bread, and the small steel container of leftover sabzi from the previous night. She set them on the counter with efficient, slightly sharp movements, then spoke without looking at him, voice dropping so it would not carry toward Rakesh’s room.

“I’m making breakfast, then I’m going for a proper shower. I stink, Ranga. Your cum is still all over me. I can feel it. I need to wash every bit of it off before I leave this house and sit in front of the client.”

Ranga’s mouth curved. The amusement was quiet and unmistakable.

“It’s dried by now. Stuck to your skin in places. Especially between your legs. And your tits still look red from last night— hope you are not hurt.”

Monica shot him a flat look over her shoulder, the wooden spoon already in her hand.

“Shut up, Ranga. Don't distract me. This client meeting is important and I am not even half prepared for it!”

He only looked more entertained. The small smile stayed.

“When is the meeting? What’s it about?”

“Eleven-thirty.” Monica cracked two eggs into a bowl with sharp, precise movements. The shells went into the bin with a short clatter. “These guys are coming from Jaipur ... I don't even know how my manager got me into this project..Just a random decision he always ends up making... nothing surprising.”

Ranga nodded once, still watching her whisk the eggs.

“Good. Wear something nice. The navy one you wore last month looked good on you.”

Monica gave him a dismissive glance as she reached for the bread and dropped two slices into the toaster.

“I’ll see. I’m not dressing for your approval.”

She switched on the stove, set a pan down, and poured a little oil. The ordinary smell of heating oil and toast began to fill the kitchen. She moved through the motions— eggs scrambled with quick flicks of the wrist, sabzi reheated, toast buttered— with the same efficient, slightly sharp energy she used for everything else. The domestic routine sat in sharp contrast to the wrecked bed two doors away and the residual stickiness she could still feel on her inner thighs under the fresh panties.

Ranga remained in the doorway a moment longer, the small satisfied curve still on his mouth.

“You want me to take the plate in to him?”

“No.” Monica plated the food with neat precision— eggs, toast, a portion of sabzi— and set it on the dining table with a glass of water and the morning medicines already arranged beside it. “I’ll do it. You stay out of that room unless he calls. The less he sees us moving around together this morning, the better.”

She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel, then turned toward the bathroom.

As she passed the living room she spoke without slowing down, voice still carrying the same dry edge.

“I’m going to shower. Don’t go back into the master bedroom until the maid has been and gone. The bed is a disaster— sheets, everything. I’ll deal with it later. And if the maid asks why the room looks like that, I’ll handle it. You say nothing.”

Ranga, already seated on the sofa with his phone in hand, looked up.

“Understood.”

Monica stepped into the bathroom, closed the door, and locked it with a deliberate click. The sound of the shower starting filled the small space. Under the hot water the dried evidence of the night began to wash away— the residual stickiness on her inner thighs, the faint salt of dried cum on her skin, the lingering scent of him that still clung to her. She stood under the spray longer than necessary, eyes closed, letting the heat work on the aches he had left in her body: the deep soreness between her legs, the tender pull of the marks on her breasts, the faint bruise of fingerprints on her hips.

She washed thoroughly, methodically, the same way she handled everything else— until the water ran clear and the only thing left was the ordinary scent of her own soap. When she finally stepped out, wrapped in a towel, the flat was still quiet except for the low sound of Ranga’s voice on a phone call in the living room. The domestic morning continued— ordinary on the surface, thick with everything unfinished beneath it.

[Blackdick11]

It's Hot. Insanely hot, bro... once again, you just impressed us with your extraordinary writing... apart frm rakesh, every other man, whether ustad or ranga has fucked monica’s pussy rough and raw.... i wish he could see with his own eyes the movie going on in the master bedroom, yesterday night, the scene unfolding where monica and rnga are fully lost in their passionate wild act ;)