Adultery The Rural Posting: Shipra's ordeal.

[Suraj76626]

Chapter 31: Part 2: A Point of No Return

Shrutika leaned back against the headboard of her hotel bed, her laptop balanced on her knees, the glow of the screen illuminating her focused expression. The room was silent, except for the occasional rattling of the old, unreliable window ac and the soft rustle of scattered papers she had been pouring over for the past hour.
 
The sudden vibration of her phone on the nightstand broke her concentration. She glanced at the caller ID—Vikrant. A small, tired smile crossed her lips as she picked it up.
 
She answered the call, her voice calm but carrying a hint of exhaustion. "Hey, Vikrant."
 
"Hey, Shruti," Vikrant's voice came through, warm and familiar. "You sound exhausted babe? I guess the first day really took its toll on my poor wife." There was a teasing edge to his tone, but beneath it lay genuine concern.
 
Shrutika exhaled sharply, shutting her laptop before sinking back against the pillows. "Yeah, it was a hectic first day, but I’m fine. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but Ambruj is worse than I imagined. This place is a textbook case of what happens when corruption and crime spiral out of control. It’s underdeveloped, filthy, and filled with people who lack education and basic civic sense. And the security officer station? No better. The staff is inefficient and unfit, the infrastructure is crumbling—and above all the way they looked at me, it seems none of them have seen a female officer before."
 
She paused, taking a steadying breath. "And then there’s Kodape, the previous SHO—nosy as hell and clearly unhappy about handing over the charge. Let’s just say this isn’t exactly an ideal first field posting." A wry smirk tugged at her lips. "But then again, I’m not here to fix this mess or set things right, so who gives a damn? I have my own agenda, and I’ll deal with whatever comes my way to see it through." 
 
A brief silence hung on the line, as if Vikrant was carefully choosing his next words. "I know you will, Shrutika. I have no doubt about your strength and determination. But…" He hesitated, his tone growing heavier. "This won’t be easy. I have a feeling this is bigger than both of us. What you’ve taken on won’t just test your resolve—it will challenge your morals. The real question is, how far are you willing to go to achieve your goal?"
 
Shrutika’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the blank hotel room wall. Her voice, when she spoke, was low and resolute. "As far as I have to, Vikrant. There’s no going back now. I’ve waited too long for this opportunity—too long to let anything stand in my way. If I have to break rules, if I have to sacrifice a few morals along the way, so be it. I won’t rest until I see this through. I can’t rest until it’s done."
 
Her words hung in the air, heavy with conviction. Vikrant was silent for a moment, letting the weight of her words sink in. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, laced with both admiration and concern. "Don’t take this the wrong way, Shruti. I’m not questioning your resolve or commitment. I know how personal this is for you. But if you let me, I can make things easier without you getting your hands dirty. With my connections, I can smooth the way for you. I’m not bragging—I’m just being practical. And I’m worried about you."
 
Shrutika exhaled slowly, her voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of deep-seated rage. "I know you mean well, Vikrant. And I can’t thank you enough for standing by me through all of this. But this—I have to do myself. I won’t find peace unless I see it through with my own hands. I hope you understand. That said, if things go south, I won’t hesitate to call for your help."
 
Vikrant sighed, his concern evident even as he tried to inject some lightness into his words. "I get it. And no matter what, I’ve got your back. Always. Just… promise me you’ll be careful. I want my wife back in one piece, okay?"
 
A small smile touched Shrutika’s lips, her expression softening for the first time. "I will be. Don’t worry about me, Vikrant. I can take care of myself."
 
"I know you can," he replied, his voice warm and reassuring. "Alright, I have to go now. All the District Magistrates have a video conference with the CM’s office about the upcoming election preparations. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Love you."
 
"Love you too," Shrutika said, her voice gentle now, the earlier edge gone. She ended the call and set her phone down, her gaze drifting back to the documents scattered across the bed. The room felt quieter now, the weight of her mission pressing down on her once more. But there was no hesitation in her heart. She had made her choice, and she would see it through—no matter the cost.
 
***********************************************

You still want me to stop and head back?
 
Fuckkkkkkk.....Noooooooo...... Keep going.... I am so close..... Fuck me harder you bastard.
 
What if someone walks on us Shipra? 
 
I don't give a fuck... Just keep going... Oh Godddddd.... Ohhh my Godddddd.... don't you dare stop now!
 
Just a moment ago, you dreaded the idea of a little outdoor fun.
 
And now, listen to yourself—moaning like a wanton little slut, ready to put on a show for any perverted stranger who happens to stumble upon us. I wonder, Shipra, is it the danger that excites you? The thought of being watched, of some stranger standing in the shadows, stroking himself to the sight of you so shamelessly coming apart under me
 
And you know what wouldn’t surprise me?
 
If some filthy bastard were to step right up, unzip his pants, and shove his cock into that eager little mouth of yours. I bet you'd take him without hesitation, wouldn’t you, Shipra?
 
You’d love it, wouldn’t you?
 
Being used. Being seen. Being nothing more than a hungry, needy little slut, desperate for whatever she's given.
 
Shut up,.,...Just... shut the fuck up Patode. I don't care who sees... I don't care about anything but this.
 
I’m cummmmingggggg… ohhhh Godddddd… Fuck! Fuck! Fuckkkkkkkkkkkk!"
  
The lewd symphony of her own unrestrained moans, the guttural groans of Patode, and the wet, obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh filled Shipra’s ears through her headphones. Each filthy echo sent a shiver down her spine, the explicit soundtrack of her own depravity pulling her deeper into the moment. Her phone screen flickered in the dimly lit room, the glow illuminating her face as she stared, mesmerized, at the scandalous footage playing before her.
 
With her pyjama pulled down to her knees and Shipra laid sprawled across the bed, her body still aching from the unsatisfying, sweat sex with Alok, she felt frustration coil inside her. One hand clutched the phone tightly, eyes glued to the screen, while the other burrowed into the soaked fabric of her panties, fingers moving in a desperate frenzy, seeking the release she had been denied.
 
It wasn’t that Alok's performance was pathetic in bed. But the past few weeks had unraveled something within her—something wild, untamed, and insatiable. Patode had shown her what it meant to be desired, devoured, used in the most deliciously sinful ways. He had stripped away her inhibitions, exposed the shameless, wanton slut hiding beneath the surface of her respectable life, and she had ended up embracing it without hesitation. Every encounter with him had pushed her further into depravity, making her hunger for things she never even knew she wanted.
 
Now, returning to Alok’s gentle, predictable lovemaking felt like trying to sip water when she was desperate for wine. It wasn’t enough. Not even close. She needed more than soft caresses and whispered endearments. She craved rough hands and commanding words, the exhilarating loss of control, the sheer ecstasy of being taken without restraint.
 
Her body had changed, her expectations had shifted, and the desires swirling inside her had grown far beyond what Alok could ever provide. Romantic sex was no longer enough. She needed passion—raw, reckless, unfiltered passion. And once a woman had tasted that kind of pleasure, there was no going back.
 
Lying awake beside Alok after an unremarkable session, she tried—desperately—to silence the hunger gnawing at her core. But no matter how hard she tried, her mind kept drifting back to her dalliances with Patode. The way he had taken her, owned her, ravished her—it was impossible to forget. She twisted and turned in bed restlessly trying to ignore her thoughts. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw herself writhing beneath him, felt his touch lingering on her skin like an unshakable imprint.
 
And unable to control her urges, she soon found herself slipping out of bed into the guestroom. Her anticipation rose, and her pulse raced as she fumbled with her phone. Her fingers moved with desperate urgency, navigating through her gallery until she found it—the video Namrata had shot the night before. With a few swift swipes, the screen flickered to life, and there it was. Grainy yet unmistakably vivid. The rawness, the unfiltered pleasure, the forbidden indulgence captured in every frame. She plugged in her headphones, drowning herself in the obscene symphony of pleasure.
 
Her breath hitched as she watched herself on screen—laying on the cot under Patode in the open lawn, her legs stretched wide, her nails raking down his back, crying his name, urging him to go harder, devoid of any shame or guilt.  She couldn't recognise the woman in the video, the way she surrendered completely to lust, the way she acted so slutty, she wondered if she could ever feel the same with Alok. A whimper escaped her lips as her fingers plunged deeper into her totally wet cunt, fueled by the stark contrast between the passion she craved and the lackluster duty of marital obligation.


 
Her hips bucked against her own touch, her breaths turning into ragged gasps. The contrast between the quiet, controlled life she led as Alok’s wife and the reckless, insatiable woman she became in Patode’s arms made her head spin. She wasn’t just seeking pleasure; she was chasing the intoxicating power of being desired, of being utterly devoured.


 
But no matter how desperately she tried, her frantic fingers were a poor substitute for the wild, unrestrained pleasure Patode had given her. They couldn’t match the way his monstrous cock had stretched her open, filling her so completely that she felt split apart, utterly ruined in the best way possible. She missed the unbearable fullness, the way he had driven into her, reaching depths her fingers never could.
 


What she managed to coax from herself was barely an orgasm—just a fleeting wave of pleasure that did nothing to soothe the raging fire inside her. If anything, it only made her hunger grow, her frustration deepening as the ache between her legs remained unsatisfied. Still, she kept rubbing, chasing something more, her body writhing as she tried in vain to recreate the mind-numbing bliss she had felt in Patode’s arms.
 
But it was useless. No matter how much she touched herself, no matter how vividly she replayed last night in her mind, it wasn’t the same.
 
With a frustrated sigh, she finally set her phone aside, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. She lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to gather herself. But just as she was about to get up and return to her bedroom, her phone screen lit up with a notification. A familiar thrill shot through her veins even before she picked it up.
 
It was Patode.
 
Her heart thumped against her ribs as she opened the message.
 
Patode:
"Still online this late at night. Seems like my little slut can't sleep. I guess her wimp of a husband didn’t fuck her properly—didn’t make her cum hard enough to drift off, satisfied and exhausted. Isn't it slut?"
 
A sharp breath caught in her throat. Her fingers tightened around the device. Shame flushed through her, hot and unwelcome, but so did something else—something darker, more dangerous. The worst part? He was right.
 
But she fought it—at least for a moment.
 
Shipra:
"Nonsense. It’s nothing like that. I was just about to go to bed. Don't bother me Patode."
 
She hit send, her fingers trembling slightly. Maybe if she pushed him away, if she denied him, she could claw back a shred of self-control.
 
But Patode by now could read her like an open book.
 
Patode:
"No need to get defensive, my little slut. I know how wimps like your husband act in the bedroom.
I bet he was so overwhelmed getting laid after so many days that he came within minutes—without even bothering to please his wife. And I’m sure that sissy didn’t even realize how much his wife’s cunt has loosened up from all the adulterous fucks she’s been taking from her colleague behind his back."
 
Shipra sucked in a breath, her stomach twisting into knots.
 
He was disgusting. Arrogant. Filthy. But everything he said was true.
 
Alok hadn’t noticed. Not the difference in her reactions. Not the way she had barely responded, how she had to fake her pleasure just to make it end. Not the way she had been left restless, unsatisfied, still aching for something more.
 
Something only Patode could give her.
 
Her grip on the phone tightened.
 
Shipra:
"Shut the fuck up, Patode. You’re so full of yourself. I am not horny or frustrated, and I am going to bed now."
 
She wanted to believe that saying it would make it true. That if she typed the words, it would somehow rewrite the reality of what she was feeling.
 
Patode:
"Typical Shipra. Lying to herself again.
It was Disappointing, wasn’t it?
The sweet, romantic sex with your husband.
Now you see the difference, don’t you, Shipra?
Now you know only I can satisfy your needs. That wimp was never enough for you."
 
With every word, Patode stripped her down—not just physically, but mentally, emotionally. He unraveled her with ease, knowing exactly which strings to pull, and which buttons to press. And the worst part? Shipra knew it too.
 
She wasn’t just talking to him. She was slipping back into the intoxicating grip he had over her. No matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, a part of her wanted this. She wanted to feel desired, wanted to feel owned the way only he could make her feel.
 
But Patode wasn’t the type to relent. He thrived on her resistance, fed off the cracks in her defenses. And he shattered them effortlessly.
 
Before she could compose a response, another message arrived.
 
Patode:
"Come on Shipra… why so shy now? You weren’t so shy when you were begging me to ram your cheating cunt out in the open last night. Don’t play innocent, Shipra. Tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll stop texting."
 
Heat flooded her face. A mix of shame and arousal twisted inside her. He made it sound so filthy, so depraved—but it was the truth. That raw, primal hunger she had felt with him was unlike anything she had ever known. With Patode, there was no pretense of soft, romantic love. He fucked her like he owned her, and she had surrendered to it completely.
 
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She wanted to deny it. She should deny it.
 
But she couldn’t.
 
Her silence was all the answer he needed.
 
Patode:
"I’ll take that silence as a yes. Now don't act like a modest housewife with me. We both know what a slut you really are and why you're awake so late. Alok left you high and dry, didn’t he?"
 
She bit her nails, her mind a storm of conflicting emotions. The fact that he knew—that he could read her so well—only made her feel even more exposed.
 
Her fingers hesitated, then slowly typed out the one word that sealed her fate.
 
Shipra:
"Yes."
 
On the other end, Patode smirked. Got her. Not that he had ever doubted. She was already his—body, mind, and soul. No matter how much she tried to play the dutiful wife, he knew the truth. She belonged to him in ways Alok never could claim.
 
Patode:
"Well then, let’s fix that. Tell me, what my slut is wearing?"
 
Shipra:
"Top and pyjama."
 
Patode:
"Boringgggg... If I were your husband, I wouldn’t allow you to wear a single piece of clothing. That lusty body of yours should always be on display, ready to be used."
 
Shipra’s breath hitched. The way he spoke, the dominance dripping from every word, sent a pulse of heat straight between her legs.
 
Patode:
"Now lose the t-shirt and pyjama. Send me a hot pic."
 
She swallowed hard. A part of her wanted to obey. The thought of stripping down, knowing he was watching, knowing he would stroke himself to her body, sent a fresh wave of arousal through her.
 
But something in her still resisted.
 
Shipra:
"No way. I’m not sending you my pics."
 
Patode:
"Come on, Shipra. You can crop out your face. I just need to see that sexy body of yours. I am desperately missing it. And you want this too. Entertain me and I'll get you off."
 
Before she could reply, another message popped up—this time, not just words.
 
A video.
 
She hesitated for only a second before tapping on it.
 
Her breath caught.
 
There, in the dim light, was Patode’s hand wrapped around his thick, fully erect cock, stroking it slowly. The deep, guttural groans he let out sent shivers down her spine.


 
A jolt of arousal shot through her. Her nipples hardened instantly, and a fresh gush of wetness pooled between her thighs.
 
She should stop. She should put her phone down.
 
But she didn’t.
 
Her fingers moved on their own, pushing her pyjama down just a little, raising her t-shirt just enough to tease him with her bra-covered boobs. She angled the camera carefully, making sure to crop out her face, and snapped a selfie.


 
Her heart pounded as she hit send.
 
Seconds later, his reply came.
 
Patode:
"What am I, your high college boyfriend? Don’t be such a tease. Be a good obedient slut and show me some real assets."
 
A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine. It was happening again.
 
That same dangerous thrill she had always felt with him was creeping back in, curling around her like an intoxicating fog. The filthy, commanding way he spoke to her—the way he stripped her of her dignity and turned her into nothing more than his plaything—ignited something deep inside her.
 
God, why did this turn her on so much?
 
Her fingers trembled as she laid back on the bed, her pulse racing. With slow, deliberate movements, she grasped the hem of her bra and pulled it upward, exposing the soft, quivering flesh beneath. Her supple, juicy tits bounced free, her nipples already stiff with arousal.
 
She hesitated, just for a second, her heart hammering against her ribs. Then, biting her lip, she raised her phone, angling the camera from above. She knew exactly how to capture herself—how to tease, how to make him ache for her. She made sure to crop her face out before pressing send.


 
The response came almost instantly.
 
Patode:
"Damn… those juicy fucking milk tanks. I miss sucking them so badly. I swear, the moment I get my hands on you, I’m going to squeeze every drop out of them."
 
A deep, shameful heat spread through Shipra’s body at his words. Her thighs squeezed together involuntarily.
 
She knew he meant it. The way he had ravaged her before—the way his mouth had latched onto her sensitive peaks, sucking, biting, marking her—flashes of it all came rushing back.
 
She let out a shaky breath.
 
Patode:
"Now get rid of that damn pyjama and show me what kind of trashy little panties you wear for that wimp."
 
Her fingers instinctively moved to the waistband of her pyjama. She undid the cord, then slowly slipped it down her legs, the cool air grazing her feverish skin as she peeled it away completely.
 
Her top and bra followed.
 
Now she was bare, save for one last piece of fabric.
 
She turned onto her side, her body twisting at the waist as she adjusted her camera angle. Lowering the lens, she positioned it perfectly from below, making sure to capture exactly what he wanted—a close-up of her panty-clad ass.
 
The thin strap of lace wedged tightly between her cheeks, barely covering anything. The fabric was sheer enough to hint at the soft folds beneath, the curve of her dripping slit peeking through.


 
She took the shot.
 
Her hands shook slightly as she reviewed it. It was filthy. Obscene. But that only made her wetter.
 
With a deep breath, she hit send.
 
Patode:
"Holy fuck, bitch. You really know how to get me excited. How can that wimp ignore such a hot woman? Pathetic loser.
I would have ravaged you all night—kept you pinned down, made you beg for every inch until you couldn’t take it anymore.
 
And look at those panties.  Completely soaked. That slutty cunt of yours is dripping for me, isn’t it?
Why don’t you stop teasing and show me everything? Get rid of that tiny tiny dirty panties of yours and let me see how much of a filthy little whore you are for me.
 
Go on. Send me a stripping video. I want you fully nude for me. And I’ll tell you exactly how I’m going to ruin you all over again when you come back."
 
Shipra's stomach fluttered as she read his words, a dark thrill curling inside her.
 
It wasn’t just the filth he spewed—it was the sheer hunger in his words, the raw, unrestrained lust that dripped from every message. He wanted her. Needed her. And he made no effort to hide it.
 
She bit her lip, staring at the screen.
 
Patode was disgusting. Shameless. Cruel.
 
But God, did she love the way he talked to her. The way he treated her. Like she was nothing more than a toy for his pleasure. Like he owned her.
 
And she liked being owned.
 
A slow smirk curled at the corner of Shipra’s lips as she carefully propped her phone against the pillow, angling it just right. The camera captured everything below her neck—her flushed skin, her heaving chest, the seductive arch of her body.
 
Her breath came in slow, measured waves as she pressed ‘record.’
 
This wasn’t just a picture. Not just a tease.
 
This was something more.
 
Her pulse thrummed with excitement, the thrill of crossing yet another line making her core clench with anticipation.
 
Rising onto her knees, she let her fingers dance over her waist, grazing the elastic band of her panties. A deliberate pause—letting the tension build, letting the moment stretch—before she hooked her thumbs into the fabric.
 
A quiet moan slipped past her lips as she felt just how soaked she was. The slick heat between her thighs was undeniable, the proof of her depravity glistening against the soft material.
 
Slowly, teasingly, she began to peel them away.
 
The waistband slid down her hips, inch by excruciating inch, revealing more of her bare skin to the hungry eye of the camera. The fabric clung to her damp folds before finally coming free, pooling at her knees.


 
But she wasn’t done.
 
She leaned forward, hands pressing into the bed for support, making sure the camera got the perfect angle—giving it a lingering, intimate view of her heavy, succulent breasts swaying as she slipped the panties completely off her legs.
 
The act was slow, methodical. A deliberate show of submission.
 
Now, she was naked.
 
Completely exposed.
 
A shiver ran through her, not from shame, but from the sheer filthiness of what she was doing. Of what she was about to do.
 
And it only made her wetter.
 
With her heart pounding, Shipra reached for her phone again. Her fingers trembled, not from hesitation, but from the raw, unfiltered need coursing through her veins.
 
She pressed play.
 
The video unfolded before her, a forbidden masterpiece of depravity.
 
The camera had captured everything—every scandalous detail in crystal-clear HD. The gleaming heat between her thighs, the unmistakable sheen of arousal coating her skin, the hypnotic sway of her breasts as she moved, lost in her own wicked pleasure.
 
She should feel ashamed. She should delete it.
 
But instead, she watched.
 
And the more she watched, the closer she came to an orgasm.
 
A hot flush spread across her cheeks, creeping down her neck, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. She could already picture Patode’s reaction—the sheer hunger that would darken his eyes, the growl of possession that would rumble in his throat.
 
The thought alone sent another pulse of pleasure through her core.
 
She hesitated, her thumb hovering over the send button.
 
She knew what she was about to do.
 
She knew the risk.
 
But the high—the sheer thrill—was intoxicating.
 
Her husband lay asleep in the next room, unaware that his wife—his faithful, loving wife—was sitting here, naked, soaked, and on the verge of handing herself over completely to another man.
 
A man who owned her in ways her husband never could.
 
The realization sent a sharp jolt of arousal straight to her core. Her free hand slipped between her parted thighs, fingers teasing the slick heat there.
 
She was so close. She needed it.
 
Then, with a breathless exhale, chucking concerns and guilt out of the window she was about to hit send when—
 
A sudden cry pierced through the air.
 
Mummmyyy
 
Aarav's frightened voice reverberated through the hall.
 
Her body went rigid, a sharp jolt of reality slamming into her like ice-cold water.
 
"Shit—"
 
The lust, the fog, the feverish haze—everything shattered in an instant. She fumbled with her phone, her pulse now racing for an entirely different reason.
 
Aarav’s cries grew louder.
 
Panic surged through her as she quickly typed a message, her fingers shaking as she scrambled to explain.
 
Shipra:
"Sorry, got to go. My son is up."
 
She didn’t wait for a reply.
 
Her heart hammering in her chest, she tossed the phone onto the bed and hastily grabbed her clothes. She pulled her top over her head, yanking it down in a frenzy, then struggled into her pyjama, nearly tripping as she rushed toward Aarav’s room.
 
The door creaked open as she entered, her breath still uneven, her body still humming from the unfinished pleasure. But she shoved it all down, forcing herself to focus.
 
Meanwhile, miles away, Patode stared at his screen, his arousal instantly turning into frustration.
 
Patode:
"Damn it, Shipra. Running off like this? It's not done. You owe me for leaving me hanging. 
Fuck."


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