Adultery The Rural Posting: Shipra's ordeal.

[sexypreeti]

Chapter 30: An Illusion of Escape: Part 2

"It's frustrating, isn't it Patode?" Namrata said softly, her voice carrying a mix of frustration and resignation. She sat on the edge of the bed, gracefully slipping out of her jeans, peeling the fabric off her long, slender legs with effortless ease.

"You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped," she continued, tossing the jeans aside and running a hand through her tousled hair. "If she chooses to stay with a loser like Alok, constantly being treated like she’s nothing more than an afterthought, that’s on her. I’ve exhausted myself trying to make her understand that there’s nothing wrong with chasing your own desires, your own happiness."

Namrata’s eyes met Patode’s, sharp and unwavering. "Alok doesn’t care about her or his son. For him his aspirations are more important than his family. He doesn’t see her as a woman with her own wants, her own wishes. To him, she’s just a convenience—a stepping stone for his success, someone to burden with all his responsibilities as a man. And yet, after everything you’ve done for her… she's still so unsure."

Patode remained silent, his jaw clenched, eyes clouded with disappointment.

"All we ever tried to do was help her,"  Namrata added, her tone softening. "These six months—this escape—was supposed to be her chance to break free from the suffocating routine, to rediscover herself beyond the labels of a wife, a daughter-in-law, and a mother. It was never about cheating or infidelity just to pacify lust; it was about healing, about indulging in what she’d been denying herself for so long."

She paused, her fingers tracing the edge of the bedsheet absentmindedly. "It could’ve helped her marriage, you know. Given her a way to vent out all her frustration, and find the peace of mind she needed. But… if she still can’t see the difference between a life lived and a life endured, then maybe she was never ready for it."

Namrata’s words hung heavy in the air, mingling with the silence that followed—an acknowledgment of both their efforts and the inevitability of choices that weren’t theirs to make.

"You're right, Namrata," Patode finally spoke, his voice laced with frustration and irritation. He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched tightly. "But I just can't stand to see a fine woman like her—so full of life, intelligence, and beautiful—waste herself trying to be a pawn to a pathetic man like Alok." 

His eyes darkened, the anger bleeding into something rawer, something almost vulnerable. "She deserves so much more than that selfish fool. She’s brilliant, strong, and passionate… there’s a fire in her, Namrata. I’ve seen it, felt it. And I know I can ignite it fully, burn away all that doubt if only she’d surrender—if only she’d let me."

The words hung heavy, thick with unspoken desires and expectations unmet. His frustration wasn’t just with Shipra’s hesitation; it was with the resistance she still showed, the resilience that refused to be tamed even after everything. He had expected her to be his wanton slut by now—to crumble beneath the weight of his dominance, to submit with the eager desperation he’d meticulously cultivated. But instead, she resisted. Even after yesterday—after the carefully calculated display of control, after the heat and the hunger—there was still a flicker of doubt in her eyes.

And it infuriated him.

Because deep down, he didn’t just want her obedience. He wanted her to choose him, to crave the surrender he offered, to abandon the illusion of control she clung to so tightly. But she hadn’t. Not yet.

And that gnawed at him more than he cared to admit.

Namrata leaned back on her hands, exhaling deeply, understanding the weight behind his words but not his true intentions. "You’ve been the better man in every possible way, Patode. You have done more than enough for her. You’ve supported her since the day she arrived here—whether professionally, emotionally and sexually in which her husband has constantly failed her. You even saved her modesty, behind which she is currently trying to hide her true slutty self. You gave her the freedom she craved, the passion she thought she’d lost. You showed her what it feels like to be wanted, to be seen, to be truly alive. And still, if she can’t recognize that, it’s her loss—not yours."

Patode sighed heavily, his mind racing with thoughts of how to shift the tides in his favor, worried that Shipra might return to her old life once she spends a few days with Alok and her son.

Unbeknownst to them, Shipra stood quietly just outside the door, her phone clutched tightly in one hand and her mangalsutra in the other. The weight of their words pressed against her heart, stirring a whirlwind of emotions. She had been on the verge of leaving, torn between the woman she had become over the past few weeks and the wife she had always been. The pull of her responsibilities battled fiercely with the desires she had tried to suppress, leaving her stranded between two worlds—unsure of which one truly belonged to her. 

Namrata rose from the bed; her movements deliberate and confident. “Forget her,” she said, her tone firm yet laced with an undercurrent of desire. With a swift, fluid motion, she pulled her top over her head, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. Standing in the center of the room clad only in her pink bra and panties, she exuded an air of bold sensuality.

She tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a seductive smile as her eyes locked onto Patode’s. “Forget that thankless bitch,” she repeated, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Let me take care of you.” Each word was deliberate, dripping with promise. She took slow, deliberate steps toward him, her hips swaying gently with each movement, the confidence in her stride unmistakable.

As she closed the distance between them, her hands reached out, her fingers deftly working to unbuckle Patode’s belt. Her touch was deliberate, teasing, as she unzipped his trousers, letting them slide down his legs. Her eyes never left his, holding his gaze with an intensity that was both commanding and inviting. “Let me pleasure you,” she murmured, her voice low and husky, “like a man like you truly deserve.”

Shipra stood frozen, her back pressed lightly against the cold wall just outside the door. A strange, suffocating mix of guilt and jealousy washed over her in relentless waves, leaving her breathless. She couldn’t quite name the emotion clawing at her chest, but it was sharp and persistent, refusing to be ignored. Somewhere along the blurred lines of professional courtesy and fleeting personal moments, she had developed a soft corner for Patode. It wasn’t love—no, it wasn’t that. Love was something sacred, something reserved for the man she had married. But what she felt for Patode was different. It was a complicated tangle of gratitude, affection, and an unsettling warmth she hadn’t felt in years.

Patode had been there in ways Alok never was—offering support without judgment, attention without indifference. It was because of Patode’s quiet intervention that she’d been granted leave to see her son today. A simple act, really, yet it carried more weight than it should have, precisely because it came from someone who didn’t have to care. And that care had nestled itself somewhere deep inside her, growing roots she didn’t know how to pull out.

She felt indebted to him, an obligation that went beyond polite words. Thank you seemed too small, too hollow to match the gratitude swelling inside her. There was an urge—a reckless, irrational urge—to give him something more, something that crossed the boundaries she’d spent years carefully maintaining. But every time she found herself standing at that invisible threshold, her feet refused to move forward. Guilt was the wall, and her own moral compass was the gatekeeper, refusing to let her forget who she was supposed to be.

As she stood there, lost in the swirl of conflicting emotions, she realized the hardest battle wasn’t between right and wrong. It was between the woman she had become—lonely, unfulfilled, quietly yearning—and the wife she was expected to be: dutiful, loyal, unwavering.

Just as Shipra stood there, teetering on the edge of decisions she wasn’t ready to make, her phone pinged again—a sharp, jarring sound that snapped her from the whirlpool of emotions swirling inside her.

Great. I won't have to skip the coaching.
Just make sure to be here before 10 in the morning.
Aarav is feeling fine for now but it will be better if you are present with him for a few days.

It was another text from Alok. And yet again his words were brief, clinical, stripped of any tenderness or affection. His message wasn’t filled with relief that she, his wife, was coming home. It was simply an acknowledgment of convenience—that Aarav’s mother would be there to shoulder the responsibilities. Not his partner. Not Shipra, the woman beyond the role.

It was the final push Shipra didn’t know she needed—the subtle, indifferent sting of Alok’s message slicing through the fragile threads holding her together. As a mother, she felt an undeniable wave of relief knowing Aarav was doing fine. That part of her heart remained untouched, pure, rooted in something sacred that no amount of neglect could tarnish. But as a wife, the words hit differently—sharp, cold, and unforgiving. They irked her beyond measure, not because they were cruel, but because they were casual. Detached. The kind of words you send to a colleague, not to the person you once claimed to love.

There she was, grappling every day with emotions she didn’t know how to name—trying to maintain her sanity amidst the chaos, to preserve the modesty she’d been conditioned to hold sacred. And the one person who was supposed to ground her—her husband, the man whose presence should have been her anchor—was the very reason she was drifting. His indifference didn’t just hurt—it unraveled her. It made her question the years she’d spent believing that patience was a virtue, that sacrifice was love, and that enduring was the same as living.

And in that fragile moment, standing alone with nothing but the cold glow of her phone and the hollow echo of Alok’s words, Shipra felt drawn towards the escape Patode offered. Her heart, once anchored by guilt and obligation, now beat with a strange, unfamiliar rhythm—a reckless pulse that whispered of liberation. It wasn’t love that pulled her; it wasn’t even lust. It was the intoxicating allure of escape. The raw, untamed promise of feeling something—anything—beyond the dull ache of neglect.

Maybe she wasn’t losing herself after all.

Maybe she was finally finding what she truly deserved—something beyond mere existence, beyond being seen as just a wife or as a mother.

Her feet, no longer bound by the chains of guilt, moved on their own. Slow at first, hesitant, as if testing the weightlessness of her newfound freedom. Then faster, driven by a force she could no longer suppress.

***********************************************

"Ma'am, is this seat empty?" Chetan enquired politely, sliding his phone away from his ear as he navigated through the narrow aisle of the crowded bus. His backpack brushed against the seats as he carefully made his way to the back, his eyes scanning for an empty spot amidst the sea of weary travellers.

The woman seated by the window glanced up, her face framed by dark hair that was nearly tied into a ponytail, a few loose strands escaping to brush against her cheek. She shifted slightly, removing her handbag from the aisle seat, and gave a brief nod in affirmation.

"Thanks," Chetan responded with a courteous smile, settling into the aisle seat beside her. Without missing a beat, he brought the phone back to his ear. "Yes, Vaibhav bro, what were you saying?"

"Dude, I thought you'd leave on Sunday. Everything all right?" Vaibhav's familiar voice crackled through the line, tinged with concern.

"All good, bro. That was the original plan, but something came up at home," Chetan replied, glancing out of the dusty window as the bus rumbled to life. The city was slowly fading behind them, replaced by stretches of open roads and scattered trees. "Actually, I got a work opportunity back home, so I had to head back urgently."

"Oh, that's great!" Vaibhav responded, his tone lightening.

"Yeah, it's a bit sudden, but I’ll manage. I’ll inform you whenever I’m back in Pune for sure. Thanks for all your help, buddy," Chetan added sincerely.

"Don’t mention it. Have a safe journey!" Vaibhav disconnected the call, leaving Chetan with a momentary silence, filled only by the hum of the engine and the occasional creak of the bus.

Turning slightly toward his seatmate, Chetan decided to break the monotony. "Where are you heading, ma'am?" he asked, his tone casual and friendly.

"Ambruj," she replied, offering a polite yet distant smile before turning her gaze back to her phone. Her posture was composed, her demeanour exuding an air of professionalism that made her seem slightly out of place among the rustic charm of the intercity bus crowd.

"Me too!" Chetan responded, his voice laced with a hint of excitement at the coincidence. "You don’t seem to be from Ambruj. Are you visiting some relatives?" His curiosity got the better of him, his words tumbling out before he could reconsider.

"No, it’s work-related," she replied curtly, her voice firm, the conversation neatly clipped at the edges. She didn’t even look up this time, her attention fully reclaimed by the glowing screen in her hand.

Chetan picked up on her subtle cues—the measured tone, the minimal responses, the deliberate focus on her phone. She wasn’t interested in small talk, and he knew better than to push. He leaned back into his seat, letting the silence settle between them like an invisible curtain.

But despite the unspoken boundary, he found his gaze drifting toward her occasionally. There was something intriguing about her—perhaps it was the contrast she presented, dressed in a crisp salwar paired with jeans, a combination that subtly blended traditional elegance with modern practicality amidst travellers clad in casual, travel-worn clothes. Or maybe it was the quiet confidence she carried, a kind of self-assuredness that piqued his curiosity.

Chetan found his gaze drifting toward her again, his curiosity getting the better of him. There was an effortless grace in the way she sat, scrolling through her phone with focused precision. But just as he lingered a moment longer, their eyes met—she had turned her head unexpectedly, catching him red-handed. His heart skipped a beat, and he quickly averted his gaze, pretending to be engrossed in the chipped armrest of the seat, his fingers awkwardly fidgeting with the strap of his backpack.

To his surprise, she didn’t seem fazed by it. Instead, she broke the silence.

"Do you belong to Ambruj?" she asked, her voice calm, devoid of any indication that she’d noticed his awkwardness.

Chetan straightened up, a little flustered but relieved to be pulled into the conversation. "Yes… yes, it’s my hometown," he fumbled slightly, then cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Why do you ask? If I may ask," he added, attempting to sound casual.

"Are there any hotels there?" she enquired, her tone professional and to the point, as if she was ticking off a mental checklist.

"Well, there are," Chetan replied, eager now to engage. "But they’re not like the ones in Pune. It’s not a very commercial district, so you might not find something as fancy as you'd expect." He leaned slightly forward, his confidence returning with the flow of conversation. "But lucky for you, my family is in the event management business, so I can recommend the best hotel there. And hey, if you mention my name, you might even get a discount." He flashed a modest grin, hoping to impress her with the subtle flex.

"Thank you, that would be quite helpful," she replied with a polite nod and a faint smile, enough to send a small jolt of satisfaction through him. "I’m Shrutika Arora," she added, introducing herself formally.

"Myself Chetan—nice to meet you," he responded warmly, slightly regretting the overly formal "myself" but brushing past it quickly. "So, what brings you to a quiet district like Ambruj? If you don’t mind me asking," he continued, genuinely curious now.

Shrutika opened her mouth to respond, but her phone buzzed sharply, cutting her off. "Excuse me," she said, her expression shifting as she glanced at the screen. Without waiting for a response, she answered the call, her tone transitioning into something more authoritative.

"Good evening," she greeted back to the person on the other side. "No need, Shinde. I’ve already arranged for a hotel. And there’s no need to inform the local officials either—I have some personal work to handle first," she continued crisply, her voice carrying a quiet authority that contrasted with her earlier polite demeanour. Chetan couldn’t help but listen, his curiosity deepening with every word.

"What about the file I requested? Is it ready?" she asked, her tone sharpening slightly. There was a pause as she listened intently, her brows narrowing in concentration.

"Okay, thanks, Shinde. I’ll check it right away," she replied before ending the call. Her face softened slightly as she turned back to Chetan.

"Sorry about that," she said with a polite smile, her earlier sternness fading into the background. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "If you don’t mind, could you hold this for me? I’ve got some official work to look into."

Before Chetan could even nod, she pulled her handbag onto her lap, rummaged through it, and took out a sleek tablet. She handed him the bag casually, as though they were old acquaintances, not strangers who’d met barely an hour ago.

"No problem. You go ahead," Chetan replied, taking the bag with both hands, his fingers brushing briefly against hers. It was a simple gesture, but it felt oddly significant in the quiet hum of the bus.

Shrutika didn’t seem to notice. She was already absorbed in her tablet, her fingers gliding across the screen with swift precision. Her face was lit softly by the glow of the screen, her brows furrowed slightly as she scrolled through documents.

Chetan leaned back into his seat, slipping his headphones on, but the music was just background noise now. His mind kept drifting back to the mysterious woman beside him—Shrutika Arora—whose sharp professionalism hinted at a story much deeper than casual small talk.

The bus rumbled on, the landscape outside blurring into streaks of green and brown, but inside, amidst the quiet rustle of pages, occasional phone beeps, and the soft hum of engines, an unspoken connection lingered in the shared silence.

***********************************************

The bedroom was soon filled with the sound of the cascade of water from the showerhead raining down on the glistening naked bodies of Namrata and Patode, steam swirling around them, blurring the boundaries between heat and desire. Namrata stood close, her fingers lazily stroking Patode's thick, hard shaft, her touch confident and possessive. Her dark hair clung to her damp skin, framing her face, where a wicked, sultry smile played at the corners of her lips. "It's good that Shipra decided not to join us" she whispered, her voice low and thick with heat, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Now I have you all to myself." She let her fingers trail slowly down his length, squeezing just enough to make him grunt softly in response.



Their naked bodies pressed closer under the warm spray, skin slick and sensitive to every touch. Namrata's breath grew heavier, mingling with the mist around them. She tilted her face up, her lips inches from his ear as she continued, her words dripping with raw hunger.

"I need a good, hard fuck before I leave tomorrow, Patode. Yesterday, that ungrateful bitch hogged all your attention." Her nails grazed the base of his shaft before gliding back up, a slow tease that sent a shiver through him. She licked her lips, her eyes dark with lust. "I'm going to miss this monstrous dick of yours."

Patode's lips curled into a cocky, knowing grin. Without a word, he gripped her hips, pulling her roughly against him, the hardness of his arousal pressed firmly into her belly. "I know you'd come running back to me, my little slut," he growled, his voice rough with desire.

Before she could fire back with another sharp, sultry retort, his mouth claimed hers in a fierce, hungry kiss. Their tongues collided with the same intensity that burned between their bodies, a clash of dominance and desperation. His hands roamed her slick curves, gripping her ass, kneading it as he pushed her back against the cool, tiled wall.

Namrata moaned into his mouth, arching into him, her legs wrapping around his waist, eager, needy. The contrast of the cool wall against her heated skin only amplified her desire. His cock throbbed against her entrance, and she ground her hips shamelessly, desperate for more.

Just as Patode was about to push his thick meat into Namrata's eager, waiting cunt, the bathroom door creaked open with a sharp, unexpected sound, cutting through the steady rush of the shower drawing their attention behind them.

There, standing in the doorway, was Shipra-completely nude. The soft glow of the bathroom light highlighted every curve of her body. The only things adorning her milky white, porcelain-skinned, supple and sexy body were small, delicate earrings, a few thin bangles that clinked softly as she moved, and silver anklets that shimmered with every step.



“I’ve made my choice, Patode,” Shipra said, her voice low but steady, carrying a weight of finality mixed with raw desire. There was no hesitation in her steps as she entered the bathroom. Her eyes, dark and filled with something wild and untamed, were locked onto his.

Her mangalsutra, the symbol of her commitments and the life she was supposed to uphold, had been left behind-carelessly tossed onto the bed amidst her discarded clothes, along with whatever guilt she might have carried.

Namrata didn’t move. Her hand stayed on Patode’s chest, her fingers idly tracing the contours of his muscles, though the playful ease in her touch had faded. A slight frown crept onto her face as her surprise quickly shifted to irritation. She glanced from Shipra back to Patode, her eyes narrowing slightly, reading the unspoken tension between them as clearly as if it had been spelled out.

Patode turned toward Shipra, his expression unreadable, the usual spark of arrogance in his eyes dulled by something more indifferent. He set Namrata down gently, the heat of her touch still lingering on his skin, and faced Shipra fully.

“And what would that be, Shipra?” he asked, his tone flat, almost bored, as if her declaration was just another fleeting moment in a string of many.

Shipra stepped closer, her anklets chiming softly against the steady rush of water. She stood tall, her bare body glistening with a light sheen of moisture, but it was the fierce determination in her eyes that stood out the most.

“The choice of being here. With you, Patode,” she replied firmly. “I’m done pretending. I don’t care about anything else right now—only this. I want to be… just myself.”

Her words hung in the air, mingling with the warmth of the steam and the lingering scent of desire. But before Patode could respond, Namrata’s voice sliced through the tension, sharp and unapologetic.

"You had your chance, Shipra,” Namrata continued, her hand sliding down Patode’s side, fingers wrapping possessively around his still-hard cock. Her grip tightened slightly, a silent claim in the gesture. “But you chose to act all high and mighty. Now, go back to that controlling husband of yours and pretend everything to be okay in your life. I don’t plan to share tonight.”

Her frustration, simmering since the evening, boiled over in her words, each one laced with bitterness and scorn. She wasn’t done. Not yet. Her hand tightened around Patode’s length, her anger feeding the raw edge in her voice.

“You’re such an ungrateful bitch, Shipra—a complete hypocrite. After behaving like a desperate slut all night yesterday—and even this morning—you showed up here again asking Patode for another favour. And then, when it was time to show even a shred of gratitude, you pull back, pretending you’re above all this. As if playing the part of the guilt-stricken, hesitant woman will somehow erase what you did.”

Namrata leaned in slightly, her gaze piercing, voice dropping to a harsh whisper filled with scorn, “But you know what, Shipra? You’re not fooling anyone here,” she hissed, her eyes narrowing with contempt. “Deep down, you loved every second of it, didn’t you? The thrill of forbidden adulterous pleasure, the rush of crossing that line you swore you’d never touch. Every wild, unrestrained thrust of Patode’s cock driving into you, pulling out parts of you that you’ve kept buried under all that pretense. Every reckless moment when you weren’t shackled by the perfect little facade you wear for that pathetic excuse of a husband.”

Shipra stood frozen in place slightly taken aback by Namrata's rant but her eyes betrayed a flicker of emotion—guilt, maybe, or embarrassment. 

Namrata pressed on, relentless, “That’s why you came crawling back,” she spat, her gaze never wavering from Shipra’s face. "The way Patode fucked your brains out last night—relentless, unapologetic—ruined you for anything else. You thought you could just taste that kind of freedom and walk away? You thought you could go back to Alok, play the perfect little wife, and pretend that it was just a mistake?” Namrata let out a soft, bitter laugh, her voice dripping with mockery.

“He made you feel things you’d forgotten you could feel. The way he had you—moaning, begging, completely lost in it—wasn’t just about the pleasure. It was the way it made you feel alive again, wasn’t it? Like you’d been sleepwalking through your life until he woke you up. You knew, right then and there, that Alok never was and would never be enough."

Namrata continued, her voice dropping to a taunting whisper. “You couldn't control the temptation, Shipra. Your slutty little cunt is aching again, isn’t it? Twitching with need. You want to feel that reckless, shameless ecstasy again, don’t you? You want Patode to ruin you all over again.”

She stepped forward, closing the gap between them, her eyes burning with a mix of anger and satisfaction.
“But not tonight,” Namrata hissed. “Not unless you redeem yourself for being such an ungrateful, lying little bitch to a wonderful man.”

The bathroom fell into a tense silence, the only sounds the steady patter of water and the faint, rapid beats of hearts racing beneath the surface of all that unspoken tension.

"I agree,” Patode finally broke the tense silence, his voice calm yet edged with irritation. His sharp gaze settled on Shipra, his expression unreadable, but there was no warmth in his tone—only finality.

“I’ve had enough of your drama, Shipra. All I’ve ever done is try to help you. I never asked you to leave that pathetic excuse of a man. I never asked you to hate him. In fact, I even went out of my way to get your leave approved so you could spend time with your family. And what do I get in return?” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Your endless doubts. Your whining. Your pathetic back-and-forth as if I’m the one causing you all this trouble.”

He took a step closer, his presence commanding, his voice unwavering as he continued.

“And now, you are here again, standing in front of me, claiming you’ve made your choice. But we both know how this ends, don’t we?” His eyes bore into hers, challenging, almost daring her to deny it. “You’ll stay for a while, let yourself get lost in the pleasure, in the freedom. And then, as you spend some time with that wimp, you'll yet again drown in guilt, convincing yourself this was all some terrible mistake.”

He paused, letting his words sink in, letting Shipra feel the weight of her own cycle of indecision. Then, his voice dropped lower, a dangerous edge creeping into it.

“So, as Namrata said, if you really want this—if you want to experience the kind of pleasure that awakened your inner slut last night, the kind that left you breathless and free—then stay. Accept whatever punishment I deem fit for being an ungrateful little bitch who can’t make up her mind.” His lips curled into a smirk, the arrogance in his tone unmistakable. “Or walk away now, and we end this. For good. No more second chances. No more crawling back.”

“I understand your frustration, Patode,” Shipra began, her voice measured yet tinged with emotion. “It might seem like I’m using you, like I’m playing with your emotions—but you have to understand how difficult this is for me. As a married woman, to—”

SMACK

The sharp crack of a slap echoed through the bathroom, cutting Shipra off mid-sentence. Her head snapped to the side, her cheek instantly stinging from the force of the blow. She stood frozen for a moment, her breath hitching in shock.

Namrata lowered her hand, her lips curling into a smirk—equal parts irritation and amusement. She let out an exasperated sigh before tilting her head, her voice dripping with condescension.

“Oh, cut the bullshit, Shipra,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Wake up, already. No one here is judging your morals—because none of us give a damn about them. And as for your precious modesty as a married woman? It would’ve been ripped apart by those thugs, your MMS making the rounds for men to get off to—if not for Patode. So do us all a favor and drop the lecture."

She took a step forward, closing the distance between them, her presence looming, her tone razor-sharp. “We are all consenting adults here, indulging in a little no-strings-attached fun. That’s all this is. That’s all it has ever been, and that’s all it will ever be.” She let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “You act as if we’re trying to corrupt you as if we’re the villains in your little morality play. But the truth? We’re offering you something real—an escape. A release. A way to finally purge all that resentment, all that frustration you’ve been bottling up inside. Your precious marriage, the one you clutch onto like a lifeline, isn’t giving you what you need. It’s holding you back, suffocating you. You know it. We know it.”

She leaned in, her gaze unrelenting, stripping away every excuse Shipra had left. “No one here is asking you to break your marriage, Shipra. If anything, we’re giving you a way to survive it. To detox from all the negativity, you keep drowning in. To feel alive again, instead of burying your emotions and pretending they don’t exist. You can keep telling yourself that you’re different, that you don’t belong here, that this isn’t who you are. But if that were true, you wouldn’t still be standing here, torn between guilt and temptation. The act is getting old.”

A slow smirk curled at her lips, dark amusement flickering in her eyes. “So if you’ve made your choice, then stop with the fucking whining and show us your commitment.”

Namrata’s irritation was palpable now, her voice thick with disdain. “Your never-ending drama is proving to be a big turn-off. So stop wasting our time. Either stay, accept your own desires, and take the mind-blowing fucking you are here for, or walk out that door and let me enjoy myself at least.”

The finality in her words lingered in the heavy, steamy air. Shipra remained motionless, her cheek burning, her pulse racing—not just from the sting of the slap, but from the choice laid out before her.

“That should knock some sense into her,” Patode chuckled, amusement lacing his voice as he stepped behind Namrata, pulling her back against him. His grip was firm yet possessive, his body pressing into hers, the heat between them unmistakable.

“Don’t let your friend spoil our mood,” he murmured against her ear, his voice a husky whisper. His hands slid down her hips, fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles before traveling up to claim her breasts. He cupped them with a firm grip, kneading their fullness with an almost lazy confidence, as if he had all the time in the world to explore her.



Namrata let out a soft gasp, her head tilting instinctively to the side as Patode’s lips found her neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin. The contrast of his rough hands and the teasing graze of his tongue sent waves of pleasure coursing through her, making her body arch into his touch.
 
Her breath hitched as her own desires took over. One of her hands slipped behind her, fingers curling around Patode’s thick shaft, stroking him with eager, practiced movements, feeling him twitch under her touch while the other hand slid down between her legs, her fingers seeking out the growing ache in her soaked folds, pressing and circling in a rhythm that matched the heat building between them.



They didn’t break eye contact with Shipra. She stood motionless, her chest rising and falling unevenly, her wide eyes locked onto them. Though she remained rooted in place, her body betrayed her—her lips parted ever so slightly, her breath shallow, the unmistakable flush of arousal creeping up her skin.

She wanted to move, to say something, to break the moment—but she couldn’t. She could only watch, helpless against the desire pooling low in her belly, torn between hesitation and the undeniable pull of temptation.

“Get on your knees, Shipra,” Patode’s voice rang out, deep and commanding, reverberating through the bathroom. The sheer authority in his tone sent a shiver racing down Shipra’s spine. Her submissive side—so carefully restrained, so often ignored—stirred to life, eager to yield, desperate to obey. 

Patode's hand slipped between Namrata’s thighs, fingers brushing teasingly against her slick heat before tapping her inner thigh—a silent signal. Namrata, instantly understanding where this was headed, parted her legs wider without question, a wicked smile curving on her lips.

Patode’s gaze flicked back to Shipra, his eyes sharp and unwavering. “Crawl over here like an obedient little  bitch,” he ordered, his voice dropping to a growl. “and make yourself useful—get your friend ready for me.”
Shipra, already emotionally vulnerable, found the weight of submission settling over her like a second skin, familiar and intoxicating. Without a word, without resistance, she sank to her knees. Then, slowly, she lowered herself onto all fours and began to crawl.

Namrata let out a soft, amused chuckle as she watched Shipra approach, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Now, this is what you really are Shipra,” she purred, running a teasing hand down her own body. “A submissive little bitch in heat who gets turned on being treated like a slut.”

She spread herself wider, one hand slipping between her thighs, fingers gliding through her clean-shaven pussy. Slowly, deliberately, she parted her slick folds, exposing the glistening pink flesh and engorged clit beneath. Her breath hitched slightly at her own touch, but her smirk remained as she locked eyes with Shipra.
“Now, lick me,” Namrata taunted, her voice velvety smooth, dripping with authority. “And watch how foolish you were trying to resist as Patode tears this cunt with his monstrous dick making me cum over and over again." 

The room seemed to shrink around them, the atmosphere charged with anticipation. Shipra, her heart pounding, obeyed without hesitation, her tongue darting out to taste the salty sweetness of Namrata's arousal. Her movements were tentative at first, but as the tension in the room grew, so did her confidence. She could feel Patode's presence looming over them, his dominance a tangible force that seemed to guide her every action.
 
Namrata's breath hitched as Shipra's tongue worked its way over her sensitive flesh, her hands tangling in Shipra's hair to guide her movements. "That's it," she murmured, her voice a mix of encouragement and command. "Just like that. Go deeper. Make me all wet and ready."

Namrata's hips swayed in a hypnotic rhythm, perfectly synchronized with the movements of Shipra's tongue. Their eyes remained locked, an unspoken connection fueling the intensity of the moment. Meanwhile, Patode was thanking his stars for another opportunity to execute his dark plan—to bend Shipra to his will, to completely break her, and to claim her submission entirely. 



In one swift, effortless motion, Patode slid his hands beneath Namrata’s thighs and lifted her, drawing a surprised giggle from her lips. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her body moulding against his as he spread her legs wider, positioning her just above his crotch. Her wet, glistening folds hovered mere inches above the thick, throbbing length of his cock, the heat between them electric with anticipation.

His rock-hard cock stared right at her, the slick tip practically teasing her lips, daring her to obey. Shipra was beyond the point of hesitation now. The fleeting taste of freedom she had experienced the night before had consumed her thoughts. All she wanted was to escape the weight of her troubles, even if just for a moment.

Her lips parted as she leaned in, her breath warm against Patode’s skin. She bit her lower lip briefly, anticipation swirling in her chest before her trembling fingers reached for Patode’s cock, her action hesitant yet desperate. But before she could make contact, he stepped back, his eyes dark with amusement and control.

“You don’t get the privilege of serving me, Shipra,” he said, his voice smooth yet laced with dominance. “My sluts don’t just get to act out without consequences. When they misbehave, they pay for it. Unless you give me a damn good reason to forget your ungratefulness, or Namrata decides to plead for mercy on your behalf, you won’t so much as touch me. Instead, you’ll focus entirely on pleasing Namrata—while you suffer, burning with the torturous need for the release you know only I can give you.”

He smirked as Shipra swallowed hard, her thighs pressing together involuntarily. He could see it—the frustration, the helpless yearning. And he revelled in it.

Namrata, savouring every moment of Shipra’s humiliation, let a slow, wicked smile spread across her lips. Keeping her gaze locked on Shipra’s, she reached for Patode’s cock, guiding it to her slick entrance with deliberate slowness—teasing, daring, challenging Shipra to lose control, to break, to act like the desperate slut she was being reduced to.

“Don’t waste your hopes on me,” Namrata purred, her voice dripping with amusement. “I have no intention of begging for you. I’m more than capable—and more than happy—to take care of Patode myself.”

Her smirk deepened as she sank onto him, her eyes never leaving Shipra’s, reveling in the torment flickering across her face.

"Are you ready, Namrata?" he taunted, stepping back slightly. "It’s time to satisfy that itch of yours… and show Shipra exactly what she’ll be missing when she’s stuck with that pathetic wimp, Alok."
 
A shiver ran through Namrata at his words, her breath hitching. “Ohhh yes, Patode,” she whispered, her voice thick with desire. “I can't wait any longer.” 

Patode responded with equal hunger, his grip easing on her thighs as he slowly lowered her onto his cock.
“Ohhh Godddd Patode your dick feels so good,” Namrata cried in pleasure, her voice trembling with pleasure as inch by inch, her drenched pussy stretched to take him, greedily swallowing his full length. The erotic sight unfolded right before Shipra’s eyes, and sent a jolt of raw arousal through her body.

Patode set a steady rhythm, thrusting into Namrata as he lifted and rocked her against him, his grip firm on her thighs. The slick sounds of their joining filled the steamy air, each wet slap igniting a deeper need within Shipra. She could feel her own arousal dripping between her thighs, her body betraying her restraint.

The ache had become unbearable, a relentless throbbing that demanded relief. Unable to resist any longer, her hand slipped between her legs, fingers gliding through the slick heat pooling at her folds. A sharp gasp tore from her lips as she found her swollen clit, circling it in desperate, trembling strokes.

She bit down on her lip, her body writhing, struggling to match the raw pleasure Namrata was lost in—but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Her fingers couldn’t fill the aching void, couldn’t satisfy the need clawing at her insides.

She knew exactly what she craved. The same ruthless, mind-shattering pleasure she’d drowned in last night. She needed Patode’s cock stretching her open, tearing her apart, ruining her—reducing her to nothing but a desperate, begging mess, hungry for more… and more.



The sight of Patode’s cock plunging in and out of Namrata, glistening with her arousal, was too much to bear. Lust took hold of her completely. Without thinking, she lunged forward, her tongue darting out to taste the intoxicating mixture of their pleasure.



Namrata shuddered at the sensation, a breathless cry escaping her lips as Shipra’s tongue flicked against the point of their connection. Patode groaned, the added stimulation making his thrusts even more forceful.

Oh fuckkkkkk...... Ahhhhhh...Ahhhhhhhhhhh...Ungggggggg

The bathroom was soon filled with the sounds of unrestrained pleasure—Namrata’s breathless moans, Shipra’s eager whimpers, and the deep, commanding grunts of Patode, lost in the throes of indulgence.

"Look at yourself, Shipra," Patode sneered as he pulled back once again, his voice thick with condescension as his dark gaze bore into her. "So desperate for pleasure. So hungry for physical intimacy. I don’t even have to force you anymore—you are acting like a filthy little slut all on your own."

His thrusts never faltered, slamming into Namrata with unrelenting force, yet his attention remained fixed on Shipra. He watched her with a knowing smirk, taking in the way her breath hitched, the way her body trembled with need as witnessed the sinful act unfolding inches from her face.
 
"And yet," he continued, his tone laced with mockery, "you still refuse to see yourself for what you truly are. You cling to your pathetic morals, to this illusion of being a dutiful wife, denying yourself the real ecstasy of raw, unrestrained sex." He let out a low chuckle, his amusement cruel. "But this slutty act isn't enough to redeem yourself. Today I'll show you how I treat ungrateful bitches like you. Tonight, I'll put you to your right place."

Continued to the next post.....

A small correction here Suraj 

" dressed in a crisp salwar paired with jeans, a combination that subtly blended traditional elegance with modern practicality"

A salwar is nothing but what is worn alongside a kurta like a loose trouser. 

So Kurta would have been the correct word to use...