17-03-2023, 04:55 AM
(This post was last modified: 02-07-2026, 01:25 AM by rehanalina. Edited 2 times in total. Edited 2 times in total.)
Chapter 3
I slipped into the room, settling into the plush chair and letting the anticipation build. A mere five minutes passed before I heard a soft knock at the door. “Who is it?” I called, feigning ignorance. “It is me, Alina,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “Come in,” I invited, the command laced with eagerness.
She stepped inside, pausing just beyond the threshold, uncertainty etched across her features. The air thickened with palpable tension, charged with an electric undercurrent of desire. I studied her like a predator assessing its prey, every suppressed feeling surging to the forefront. The sight of her—hesitant yet alluring—stirred something primal within me. It was time to reveal the depths of my true self.
“What are you doing here, Alina?” I ask, my voice low and commanding.
“You called me here, Sachin,” she replies, her tone wavering slightly.
“For what
?” I press, watching her closely as the silence stretches between us. She hesitates, her eyes darting away, searching for the right words.
“Answer me when I ask,” I say, my tone sharp, authority lacing my words. The sudden shift in my demeanor catches her off guard, and I can see her pulse quicken.
“For making love,” she finally stammers, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson.
I let out a laugh, rich with mockery. “Not making love, dear. You came here for sex. Am I correct?”
“Yes,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Not like this. Tell it completely,” I insist, leaning closer, my gaze piercing.
“I came here for sex, Sachin,” she confesses, her blush deepening, the peach hue of her kurta set blending seamlessly with her embarrassment.
“So what does that make you?” I ask, my question hanging in the air like a challenge.
Her brow furrows in confusion. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll tell you, my dear Alina,” I say, savoring the moment. “That makes you a slut who comes at the beck and call of a stranger, your pussy leaking like a common whore.”
This time, her expression shifts to one of shock, the weight of my words pressing down on her like a heavy cloak. I can see the flush of humiliation creeping into her cheeks, but beneath that, there’s a flicker of defiance in her eyes, an eagerness battling against her hesitation. “I am not one and this is not good,” she protests softly, her voice trembling slightly.
I rise from my seat, closing the distance between us, my presence enveloping her. “We will see about that,” I murmur, my fingers deftly slipping the Dupatta from her shoulders. She stands frozen, her breath hitching as I make my move, the air thick with tension. Her heartbeat quickens, a telltale rhythm that betrays her growing anticipation.
Towering over her at six feet two, I can’t help but notice how small she appears—vulnerable yet captivating. I gently cradle the back of her head, tilting it upwards to meet my gaze, and then I press my lips against hers, capturing her in a kiss that is both commanding and tender. For a moment, I feel her body tense in surprise, but soon she surrenders, melting into the kiss.
Time stretches as we become lost in each other, my tongue tracing the contours of her mouth, savoring the sweet warmth that envelops us. She responds eagerly, her lips dancing against mine with a growing urgency, the heat between us crackling like electricity. “Dude, this is fire!” I whisper, excitement bubbling just beneath the surface. “I just came in my shorts.”
“Just from kissing?” he teases, his tone playful.
“I have so much more to do to Alina. Wait and watch; let me continue,” I reply, my voice low and filled with promise.
As we finally pull apart, gasping for breath after what feels like an eternity, I take a seat on the bed, my gaze locked onto her flushed cheeks—the evidence of the most exhilarating kiss she’s ever experienced. “Did you like it, slut?” I ask, relishing the shock that flickers across her face before she nods, breathless.
“Say yes sir,” I command, my tone firm yet enticing.
“Yes sir,” she replies, her voice quivering slightly, “I really loved it.”
I let a smirk play on my lips, savoring her rapid adaptation to my commands. “Now it’s time to move ahead,” I announce, the pulse of excitement thrumming through my veins as I weigh the tantalizing options before me—should I lead her into soft, lingering pleasure or unleash a more feral side? A moment of stillness washes over me, and clarity dawns; I know precisely how to proceed. “Remove your Kurta and place it on the chair. Then come here and kneel like a good girl,” I add, my voice firm. “Quick.”
Her fingers tremble slightly as she begins to peel away the fabric, but there’s a mischievous glint in her eye that tells me she’s enjoying this. The Kurta slips from her shoulders, revealing her snug peach leggings that hug her curves perfectly. A delicate gold necklace rests between her bra-clad breasts, accentuating their fullness. She stands before me, radiant and enticing, her headscarf framing her face, making her look even more irresistible. My body tightens with desire, a primal urge surging within me, urging me to pin her against the wall and claim her.
With deliberate slowness, I open my zipper, pulling out my semi-hard cock. I catch the flicker of realization in her eyes as they widen, taking in the size of me. A dark satisfaction curls in my chest at the thought of how her husband must pale in comparison to what I offer. When fully hard, I’m a commanding nine inches, thick enough not just to stretch her but to utterly dominate her today.
As I watched the scene in front of me, my rival’s wife on the floor topless just a bra, her pristine makeup now in tatters and the sheen of my cum on her face, there was on odd satisfaction in me and just watching her struggle made me hard again.
I asked her to remove her bra and leggings as she regained composure and lie down on the bed. She followed my commands obediently and lied down on the bed. I stood up and removed all my clothing, I could see the shine in her eyes as she saw me nude, years of working out had made me look nothing short of a model.
I stood there with my cock in hand “spread your legs bitch and show me your Pussy” and she spread her legs, her pussy was shaved clean and was shining with wet ooze that was flowing from her. Asked her to turn around and go on all fours, her ass was the best part of her and it did not disappoint from this angle. I wanted to tear it apart but thought it should wait.
“Turn back,” I said, my voice cutting through the humid air of the room. “Show me how you touch yourself when you’re alone.”
She rolled onto her back,
the mattress shifting beneath her weight. Her thighs parted, the peach leggings gone now, leaving only smooth skin and the glistening evidence of her arousal. Her fingers hovered above her mound for a heartbeat—hesitation, performance, prayer—before two of them dipped into the wetness and drew slow, deliberate circles around her clit.
I watched the rhythm build in her hips first, that subtle rocking that betrayed her even when her face remained composed. “The other hand,” I said. “Your nipples. Show me they’re mine.”
Her free hand rose, trembling slightly as she rolled the dark peak between thumb and forefinger. The gasp that escaped her was involuntary, unguarded. I let her continue this way—fingers working in tandem, breath coming sharper, the musk of her filling the space between us—until the flush spread from her chest to her throat like wine soaking through silk.
“Inside now,” I commanded. “One finger. Let me see how wet you’ve made yourself.”
She obeyed, sinking a single digit into the tight heat, her knuckles glistening when she withdrew. I made her add the second, then the third, until she was fucking herself with three fingers, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. I moved between her legs then, close enough to smell the cardamom still lingering in her hair, and pressed my thumb against the swollen bud above her pumping fingers.
Her spine arched off the mattress, breasts straining upward, nipples dark and taut. The shriek that tore from her throat was almost inhuman—primal, surprised—as her body seized. Liquid surged from her in rhythmic pulses, splashing her thighs, my wrist, the sheets beneath her. She kept coming, kept gushing, her eyes unfocused and mouth slack with shock at her own capacity for pleasure.
I gave her the time she needed—the heaving chest slowing, the fluttering eyelids settling. When her breathing steadied, I positioned myself between her drenched thighs and pressed the head of my cock against her entrance.
The scream this time was different—sharper, edged with something like fear. I held still, feeling her walls flutter and resist around just the tip, watching pain etch itself across her features. When her brow unknotted slightly, I pushed deeper, another inch, another cry. I waited again, letting her adjust to my thickness, to the intrusion, to the reality of being filled beyond anything her body had known.
This patience was its own torture—feeling her heat surround me in increments, watching her face cycle through resistance and acceptance, knowing Rehan had never made her work this hard, stretch this wide, surrender this completely.
When I finally seated myself fully, our hips flush, I could feel her heartbeat through her cunt—rapid, terrified, alive.
I began to move. Slow rolls at first, letting her feel every vein, every ridge. Then I lowered my mouth to her breast, catching the nipple between my teeth, sucking hard enough to leave marks her husband would find later. My tempo increased, hips snapping harder, the wet slap of our joining filling the room.
She began to unravel. Her eyes rolled back, showing crescents of white beneath fluttering lashes. Her fingers clawed at the pillow behind her head, knuckles white with the effort of holding on. The moans turned to sobs turned to something wordless and raw, her body jerking beneath me with each deep thrust, her breasts bouncing with the violence of my rhythm.
I shifted to kneel upright, spreading her legs wider, watching my cock disappear into her again and again, watching her cunt cling to me on each withdrawal, pink and swollen and ruined. Her head thrashed side to side, veil long discarded, hair a dark tangle against the pillow, makeup streaked in paths of sweat and tears.
She was gone—lost in the sensation, in the overwhelming physicality of being taken, in the chemical surrender of endorphin and adrenaline and shame. Her body moved without her consent now, hips rising to meet each thrust, seeking more even as she whimpered for relief.
This was what I wanted—Alina Khan, principled wife, devoted '., ambitious professional—reduced to nerve endings and need, to the simple biology of being fucked senseless by a man who was not her husband.
The relentless rhythm continued for a solid ten minutes, my thrusts deep and unyielding. Each time I dipped down to capture her breasts with my mouth, she spiraled into another earth-shattering orgasm, her body trembling like a live wire beneath me. The echoes of her pleasure surged through every inch of her, yet I pressed on, driven by the need to ignite my own release.
As I maintained the relentless pace, I felt her excitement building again. With a sudden shift, I lifted her from the bed, keeping myself buried deep inside her as I flipped her onto her stomach. “Lift your ass, slut,” I commanded, the first words spoken since our bodies had begun this primal dance. She obeyed without hesitation, arching her back obediently, and I seized the moment, fucking her with the ferocity she deserved.
My pace quickened, each thrust more urgent than the last. I tugged at her scarf, riding her with a fervor that bordered on wild abandon. I could see the struggle in her eyes as the fabric tightened around her throat, yet there was a spark of thrill in her expression—she craved the roughness, pushing back against me with equal fervor.
We were both nearing the edge, the tension coiling tighter. As I felt the wave of my impending orgasm rise, I pulled her upright, my hands gripping her breasts hard. Our bodies convulsed together, my grunts mingling with her cries, a symphony of raw desire. Hot streams of my release flooded inside her, spilling over as she trembled from the force of it, pooling on the sheets beneath us.
Exhausted, we collapsed onto the bed, our bodies slick and spent. I reached out, gently patting her head, calling her my slut and teasing her about how I had filled her, suggesting she might have a future as a whore. She turned to me, her lips crashing against mine in a fierce kiss, and whispered, “Thank you.”
Me: “That was incredible.” I couldn’t help but grin, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through me. “I came three times during that. It’s already three in the morning, and now that the story’s wrapped up, thank you for that. Let’s log off.”
K: “Story’s not over yet,” he replied, a teasing glint in his voice. Just as we lay there, the silence thick with anticipation, my phone buzzed to life. It was Sharma. I set the phone to speaker mode, and his voice crackled through. “Hey, Rascal, you took the whore without me. Where is she now?”
I smirked, leaning back against the pillows, relishing the moment. “The whore is with me, sir. Come to room 102; she’s all primed for you.”
Alina turned her head toward me, a playful smile dancing on her lips, her eyes sparkling with mischief. The glimmer in her gaze spoke volumes—it was a promise of the wild night ahead.
“But that’s for tomorrow,” I added, feeling the thrill of what was to come. “So let’s log off and get some sleep now.”
I slipped into the room, settling into the plush chair and letting the anticipation build. A mere five minutes passed before I heard a soft knock at the door. “Who is it?” I called, feigning ignorance. “It is me, Alina,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “Come in,” I invited, the command laced with eagerness.
She stepped inside, pausing just beyond the threshold, uncertainty etched across her features. The air thickened with palpable tension, charged with an electric undercurrent of desire. I studied her like a predator assessing its prey, every suppressed feeling surging to the forefront. The sight of her—hesitant yet alluring—stirred something primal within me. It was time to reveal the depths of my true self.
“What are you doing here, Alina?” I ask, my voice low and commanding.
“You called me here, Sachin,” she replies, her tone wavering slightly.
“For what
?” I press, watching her closely as the silence stretches between us. She hesitates, her eyes darting away, searching for the right words.
“Answer me when I ask,” I say, my tone sharp, authority lacing my words. The sudden shift in my demeanor catches her off guard, and I can see her pulse quicken.
“For making love,” she finally stammers, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson.
I let out a laugh, rich with mockery. “Not making love, dear. You came here for sex. Am I correct?”
“Yes,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Not like this. Tell it completely,” I insist, leaning closer, my gaze piercing.
“I came here for sex, Sachin,” she confesses, her blush deepening, the peach hue of her kurta set blending seamlessly with her embarrassment.
“So what does that make you?” I ask, my question hanging in the air like a challenge.
Her brow furrows in confusion. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll tell you, my dear Alina,” I say, savoring the moment. “That makes you a slut who comes at the beck and call of a stranger, your pussy leaking like a common whore.”
This time, her expression shifts to one of shock, the weight of my words pressing down on her like a heavy cloak. I can see the flush of humiliation creeping into her cheeks, but beneath that, there’s a flicker of defiance in her eyes, an eagerness battling against her hesitation. “I am not one and this is not good,” she protests softly, her voice trembling slightly.
I rise from my seat, closing the distance between us, my presence enveloping her. “We will see about that,” I murmur, my fingers deftly slipping the Dupatta from her shoulders. She stands frozen, her breath hitching as I make my move, the air thick with tension. Her heartbeat quickens, a telltale rhythm that betrays her growing anticipation.
Towering over her at six feet two, I can’t help but notice how small she appears—vulnerable yet captivating. I gently cradle the back of her head, tilting it upwards to meet my gaze, and then I press my lips against hers, capturing her in a kiss that is both commanding and tender. For a moment, I feel her body tense in surprise, but soon she surrenders, melting into the kiss.
Time stretches as we become lost in each other, my tongue tracing the contours of her mouth, savoring the sweet warmth that envelops us. She responds eagerly, her lips dancing against mine with a growing urgency, the heat between us crackling like electricity. “Dude, this is fire!” I whisper, excitement bubbling just beneath the surface. “I just came in my shorts.”
“Just from kissing?” he teases, his tone playful.
“I have so much more to do to Alina. Wait and watch; let me continue,” I reply, my voice low and filled with promise.
As we finally pull apart, gasping for breath after what feels like an eternity, I take a seat on the bed, my gaze locked onto her flushed cheeks—the evidence of the most exhilarating kiss she’s ever experienced. “Did you like it, slut?” I ask, relishing the shock that flickers across her face before she nods, breathless.
“Say yes sir,” I command, my tone firm yet enticing.
“Yes sir,” she replies, her voice quivering slightly, “I really loved it.”
I let a smirk play on my lips, savoring her rapid adaptation to my commands. “Now it’s time to move ahead,” I announce, the pulse of excitement thrumming through my veins as I weigh the tantalizing options before me—should I lead her into soft, lingering pleasure or unleash a more feral side? A moment of stillness washes over me, and clarity dawns; I know precisely how to proceed. “Remove your Kurta and place it on the chair. Then come here and kneel like a good girl,” I add, my voice firm. “Quick.”
Her fingers tremble slightly as she begins to peel away the fabric, but there’s a mischievous glint in her eye that tells me she’s enjoying this. The Kurta slips from her shoulders, revealing her snug peach leggings that hug her curves perfectly. A delicate gold necklace rests between her bra-clad breasts, accentuating their fullness. She stands before me, radiant and enticing, her headscarf framing her face, making her look even more irresistible. My body tightens with desire, a primal urge surging within me, urging me to pin her against the wall and claim her.
With deliberate slowness, I open my zipper, pulling out my semi-hard cock. I catch the flicker of realization in her eyes as they widen, taking in the size of me. A dark satisfaction curls in my chest at the thought of how her husband must pale in comparison to what I offer. When fully hard, I’m a commanding nine inches, thick enough not just to stretch her but to utterly dominate her today.
As I watched the scene in front of me, my rival’s wife on the floor topless just a bra, her pristine makeup now in tatters and the sheen of my cum on her face, there was on odd satisfaction in me and just watching her struggle made me hard again.
I asked her to remove her bra and leggings as she regained composure and lie down on the bed. She followed my commands obediently and lied down on the bed. I stood up and removed all my clothing, I could see the shine in her eyes as she saw me nude, years of working out had made me look nothing short of a model.
I stood there with my cock in hand “spread your legs bitch and show me your Pussy” and she spread her legs, her pussy was shaved clean and was shining with wet ooze that was flowing from her. Asked her to turn around and go on all fours, her ass was the best part of her and it did not disappoint from this angle. I wanted to tear it apart but thought it should wait.
“Turn back,” I said, my voice cutting through the humid air of the room. “Show me how you touch yourself when you’re alone.”
She rolled onto her back,
the mattress shifting beneath her weight. Her thighs parted, the peach leggings gone now, leaving only smooth skin and the glistening evidence of her arousal. Her fingers hovered above her mound for a heartbeat—hesitation, performance, prayer—before two of them dipped into the wetness and drew slow, deliberate circles around her clit.
I watched the rhythm build in her hips first, that subtle rocking that betrayed her even when her face remained composed. “The other hand,” I said. “Your nipples. Show me they’re mine.”
Her free hand rose, trembling slightly as she rolled the dark peak between thumb and forefinger. The gasp that escaped her was involuntary, unguarded. I let her continue this way—fingers working in tandem, breath coming sharper, the musk of her filling the space between us—until the flush spread from her chest to her throat like wine soaking through silk.
“Inside now,” I commanded. “One finger. Let me see how wet you’ve made yourself.”
She obeyed, sinking a single digit into the tight heat, her knuckles glistening when she withdrew. I made her add the second, then the third, until she was fucking herself with three fingers, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. I moved between her legs then, close enough to smell the cardamom still lingering in her hair, and pressed my thumb against the swollen bud above her pumping fingers.
Her spine arched off the mattress, breasts straining upward, nipples dark and taut. The shriek that tore from her throat was almost inhuman—primal, surprised—as her body seized. Liquid surged from her in rhythmic pulses, splashing her thighs, my wrist, the sheets beneath her. She kept coming, kept gushing, her eyes unfocused and mouth slack with shock at her own capacity for pleasure.
I gave her the time she needed—the heaving chest slowing, the fluttering eyelids settling. When her breathing steadied, I positioned myself between her drenched thighs and pressed the head of my cock against her entrance.
The scream this time was different—sharper, edged with something like fear. I held still, feeling her walls flutter and resist around just the tip, watching pain etch itself across her features. When her brow unknotted slightly, I pushed deeper, another inch, another cry. I waited again, letting her adjust to my thickness, to the intrusion, to the reality of being filled beyond anything her body had known.
This patience was its own torture—feeling her heat surround me in increments, watching her face cycle through resistance and acceptance, knowing Rehan had never made her work this hard, stretch this wide, surrender this completely.
When I finally seated myself fully, our hips flush, I could feel her heartbeat through her cunt—rapid, terrified, alive.
I began to move. Slow rolls at first, letting her feel every vein, every ridge. Then I lowered my mouth to her breast, catching the nipple between my teeth, sucking hard enough to leave marks her husband would find later. My tempo increased, hips snapping harder, the wet slap of our joining filling the room.
She began to unravel. Her eyes rolled back, showing crescents of white beneath fluttering lashes. Her fingers clawed at the pillow behind her head, knuckles white with the effort of holding on. The moans turned to sobs turned to something wordless and raw, her body jerking beneath me with each deep thrust, her breasts bouncing with the violence of my rhythm.
I shifted to kneel upright, spreading her legs wider, watching my cock disappear into her again and again, watching her cunt cling to me on each withdrawal, pink and swollen and ruined. Her head thrashed side to side, veil long discarded, hair a dark tangle against the pillow, makeup streaked in paths of sweat and tears.
She was gone—lost in the sensation, in the overwhelming physicality of being taken, in the chemical surrender of endorphin and adrenaline and shame. Her body moved without her consent now, hips rising to meet each thrust, seeking more even as she whimpered for relief.
This was what I wanted—Alina Khan, principled wife, devoted '., ambitious professional—reduced to nerve endings and need, to the simple biology of being fucked senseless by a man who was not her husband.
The relentless rhythm continued for a solid ten minutes, my thrusts deep and unyielding. Each time I dipped down to capture her breasts with my mouth, she spiraled into another earth-shattering orgasm, her body trembling like a live wire beneath me. The echoes of her pleasure surged through every inch of her, yet I pressed on, driven by the need to ignite my own release.
As I maintained the relentless pace, I felt her excitement building again. With a sudden shift, I lifted her from the bed, keeping myself buried deep inside her as I flipped her onto her stomach. “Lift your ass, slut,” I commanded, the first words spoken since our bodies had begun this primal dance. She obeyed without hesitation, arching her back obediently, and I seized the moment, fucking her with the ferocity she deserved.
My pace quickened, each thrust more urgent than the last. I tugged at her scarf, riding her with a fervor that bordered on wild abandon. I could see the struggle in her eyes as the fabric tightened around her throat, yet there was a spark of thrill in her expression—she craved the roughness, pushing back against me with equal fervor.
We were both nearing the edge, the tension coiling tighter. As I felt the wave of my impending orgasm rise, I pulled her upright, my hands gripping her breasts hard. Our bodies convulsed together, my grunts mingling with her cries, a symphony of raw desire. Hot streams of my release flooded inside her, spilling over as she trembled from the force of it, pooling on the sheets beneath us.
Exhausted, we collapsed onto the bed, our bodies slick and spent. I reached out, gently patting her head, calling her my slut and teasing her about how I had filled her, suggesting she might have a future as a whore. She turned to me, her lips crashing against mine in a fierce kiss, and whispered, “Thank you.”
Me: “That was incredible.” I couldn’t help but grin, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through me. “I came three times during that. It’s already three in the morning, and now that the story’s wrapped up, thank you for that. Let’s log off.”
K: “Story’s not over yet,” he replied, a teasing glint in his voice. Just as we lay there, the silence thick with anticipation, my phone buzzed to life. It was Sharma. I set the phone to speaker mode, and his voice crackled through. “Hey, Rascal, you took the whore without me. Where is she now?”
I smirked, leaning back against the pillows, relishing the moment. “The whore is with me, sir. Come to room 102; she’s all primed for you.”
Alina turned her head toward me, a playful smile dancing on her lips, her eyes sparkling with mischief. The glimmer in her gaze spoke volumes—it was a promise of the wild night ahead.
“But that’s for tomorrow,” I added, feeling the thrill of what was to come. “So let’s log off and get some sleep now.”
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