Adultery Fathima - wife to slutty broker (With Pics)

[Cuckoldindian]

Update 7:

Fathima's heels clicked against the marble floor as she made her way to the main door of the office, her thoughts a tumultuous storm. She couldn't believe what she had just allowed—what she had just encouraged. Yet, as she stepped into the elevator and the doors slid closed behind her, she felt a strange sense of exhilaration. Her cleavage had become a weapon, a tool to be wielded in the cutthroat world of real estate. It was a heady power, one that she hadn't experienced before.

 
The elevator descended, and she stared at her reflection in the gleaming chrome, her eyes dark with the knowledge of what she had done. She had played the game, and she had won—but at what cost? Her marriage, her dignity? Fathima took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts aside. This was her world now, and she had to navigate it as best she could.
 
As she stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby, her heels echoed off the marble floors, the sound bouncing around the grand space like a declaration of her newfound power. She walked towards the main door, her eyes straight ahead, refusing to meet the curious gazes of her colleagues. She knew they were whispering about her, their eyes lingering on her exposed cleavage, their thoughts full of speculation and envy.
 
And there it was, parked right outside, the autorickshaw that had become a symbol of her double life. The same one she had stepped into just a few hours ago, feeling like a different woman. The same one that had borne witness to her flirtations and the beginnings of her affair with temptation.
 
"Home, Fathima madam?" Rajesh's voice was thick with the same hunger she had noticed earlier, the same hunger that had made her feel alive. But now, it just made her feel cheap.
 
Fathima nodded, her throat tight. "Yes, please," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the rumble of the autorickshaw's engine. She slid onto the back seat, her legs pressed together, her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection. She needed space, she needed to think. The leather of the seat was sticky with the heat of the day, and the scent of stale sweat and diesel filled her nostrils. But she didn't care. She had made her choice, and now she had to live with it.
 
As the autorickshaw pulled away from the curb, she felt Rajesh's eyes on her. Glancing up, she saw his gaze flick to her cleavage, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. A strange feeling grew in the pit of her stomach, a mix of disgust and excitement. She had played this game before, but it had never felt quite like this. With a deep breath, she leaned back, her breasts pushing against the fabric of her kurta.
 
Her heart raced as she watched the desire in his eyes grow. The power was intoxicating—the power to make a man want, to make him ache with need. Slowly, she reached up to adjust the neckline of her top, revealing more of her ample breasts to the warm evening air. The fabric of her kurta slid down, exposing more of her creamy skin, the lace of her bra peeking out.


 
Rajesh's gaze snapped to her, his eyes hungry. "Your... family," she began, her voice a low murmur that seemed to resonate in the enclosed space of the autorickshaw. "How are they? Do you have children?"
 
He shook his head, his eyes never leaving her cleavage. "No Madam," he said, his voice gruff. "I don't have a family. Never married."
 
Fathima's heart skipped a beat. The weight of his gaze was intense, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. "Oh," she murmured, her voice a soft purr. "That's too bad."
 
Rajesh's eyes remained glued to her chest, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "It has its... perks," he said, his voice strained.
 
Fathima felt a thrill run through her as she realized the effect she was having on him. "Perhaps," she said, her voice a soft coo, "you're not looking in the right places."
 
Rajesh's eyes snapped up to meet hers in the rearview mirror, his gaze intense. "What do you mean, Madam?" he asked, his voice thick with desire.
 
Fathima's smile grew wider, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Well," she began, her voice a seductive murmur, "sometimes, people need... companionship." She let the word hang in the air, the unspoken implications heavy between them.
 
Rajesh's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles white. "Madam," he stammered, his voice thick with a hunger that went beyond the physical, "I have my hands for the needs."
 
Fathima's smile grew more alluring as she leaned closer to the partition, her eyes never leaving his in the mirror. "Rajesh," she purred, "sometimes hands are not enough." Her words hung in the air like a seductive whisper, hinting at the unspoken desires that simmered between them.
 
The autorickshaw pulled up to their apartment complex, the engine sputtering to a stop. Fathima reached up to adjust her dupatta, the fabric gliding over her warm, flushed skin as she covered the tempting expanse of her cleavage. She stepped out of the vehicle, her legs feeling unsteady. The scent of their shared desire lingered in the air as she turned to pay him.
 
Rajesh's gaze was unabashedly fixed on the spot where her breasts had been revealed moments ago. He took her money, his hand brushing against hers in a way that was definitely not accidental. She felt a shiver of excitement run down her spine, the same thrill that had consumed her in Mr. Dsouza's office. This was new territory for her, and she wasn't sure if she liked the way it made her feel—powerful yet somehow vulnerable.
 
Fathima stepped out of the autorickshaw, her legs feeling like jelly beneath her. She took a deep breath, willing herself to be calm as she approached the apartment complex. She knew that her heart was racing, and she could feel the heat in her cheeks as she adjusted her dupatta, ensuring that her cleavage was no longer on display. She didn't need the neighbors to see her like this—half-undressed, half-wild with desire.
 
Inside the cool, silent lobby of the building, she took the elevator up to the third floor, the doors sliding closed with a soft whoosh that seemed to echo her racing thoughts. The mirrored walls reflected her image, and she couldn't help but notice the smudges of lipstick on her teeth, the slight messiness of her hair. She looked like she'd been ridden hard and put away wet, and she felt a strange sense of pride at the sight. She was living a double life now, and it was thrilling.
 
As the elevator ascended, Fathima's thoughts swirled like the patterns in the marble floor—Robert, Mr. Dsouza, even Rajesh. The way they had all looked at her today, the way their desire had been so palpable, it was like a drug. Her hand hovered over the button to call the elevator back down, wondering if she should go back out, find more men to feed her new addiction. But she knew she couldn't—not yet. She had a husband to face, a life to maintain.
 
With a deep breath, she stepped out onto the third floor, the soles of her heels clacking against the cold, hard tiles. She reached into her purse for her keys, her hand shaking slightly. The house was silent, the emptiness echoing through the hallway as she unlocked the door.
 
The moment she entered, she heard it—a low, guttural moan that sent a shiver down her spine. It was coming from Rahman's room, the door slightly ajar. Her heart hammered in her chest, a mix of fear and excitement. Was he in trouble? Was he okay?
 
Fathima took tentative steps down the hallway, her heels clicking against the cold tiles. The moan grew louder, and she recognized it—it was the sound of passion. Her mind raced as she approached the open door. What was she going to do? Walk in and pretend she hadn't heard?
 
Her hand hovered over the doorknob, her heart hammering in her chest. The door was ajar, and she couldn't resist the urge to peek inside. What she saw made her freeze in shock. Lakshmi, the maid, was stark naked, her chocolate-colored skin gleaming with sweat as she rode atop Rahman, Aslam's younger brother. His eyes were closed, lost in ecstasy, his hands gripping her hips as he thrust up into her.
 
Fathima's breath hitched in her throat. The sight of them together was like a slap in the face, a stark reminder of the secret lives that could unfold right under one's nose. Lakshmi's breasts bounced with every movement, her moans filling the room as she ground herself down on Rahman's erection. His own moans matched hers in intensity, the muscles in his arms and back tensing with every stroke.


 
Her hand had slipped into her pants almost of its own accord, her thumb finding her clit and rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles. The fabric of her panties was already damp with arousal, the friction sending waves of pleasure through her body. She couldn't look away from the scene in front of her, her mind racing with a mix of anger and desire.


 
Lakshmi's breasts bounced in time with her hips, the sight of them making Fathima's mouth water. She felt her own nipples harden, straining against the confines of her bra. The moans grew louder, more urgent, and she couldn't help but wonder if she should join them, if she could satisfy the desires that her husband's brother clearly had. But she knew it was wrong, that it would only lead to more heartache and pain.
 
As if sensing her presence, Lakshmi turned her head and looked straight at Fathima, her eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made Fathima's knees go weak. The maid's smile grew wider, her eyes sparkling with a mischief that was almost taunting. And then, she did the unthinkable—she began to hunch her hips more vigorously, grinding down on Rahman's cock with a ferocity that was almost animalistic.
 
Fathima's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. The sight of Lakshmi, her body moving in such a wanton, shameless way, was more arousing than she could have ever imagined. And yet, she felt a stab of jealousy—this woman, this servant, was experiencing the passion and desire that she herself craved.
 
Her fingers moving with a newfound urgency. She watched Lakshmi's every move, her eyes locked on the maid's face as she felt herself getting closer to the edge. Lakshmi's moans grew louder, her eyes never leaving Fathima's, and Fathima could feel the heat building in her core, her body begging for release.
 
Her breath came in ragged gasps as she matched Lakshmi's rhythm, her own hips moving in time with the couple's silent symphony. The walls of the hallway seemed to close in around her, the only sound the slap of skin on skin and the muffled cries of pleasure that filled the air. She knew she should be disgusted, that she should be outraged—but all she felt was a desperate, primal need to come.
 
The sound grew louder, Lakshmi's moans reaching a crescendo as Rahman's thrusts grew more frantic. Fathima watched, her own body responding to the raw, carnality of it all. And then, with a final, guttural cry, Lakshmi threw her head back, her body tensing as she came. The sight of the maid's ecstasy was too much, and Fathima felt her own orgasm crash over her, her knees buckling as she stumbled backward, her hand still buried in her pants.
 
Lakshmi's eyes had never left hers, and as she came down from her high, she met Fathima's gaze with a knowing smile. Fathima felt a blush spread across her cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and anger. How could she have been so careless? But the woman's smile was infectious, and she found herself smiling back despite the situation.
 
Withdrawing her hand from her pants, Fathima took a deep breath and turned away, walking down the hallway as if she hadn't just caught her brother-in-law in the throes of passion. Each step was a battle against the desire to run back and join them, to revel in the raw sexual energy that still hummed in the air. But she knew that would only lead to more trouble.
 
When she reached her room, she closed the door with a quiet click, the sound echoing through the apartment like a gunshot in the stillness. Locking the door behind her, she leaned against it, her body still trembling from the intensity of the scene she had just witnessed. The room was a sanctuary, a place where she could be herself without fear of judgment or consequence.
 
Her eyes fell on the clock—it was 6 PM, the sun setting outside, casting a warm orange glow through the curtains. She thought back to early that morning, when she had seen Lakshmi sneaking out of Rahman's room. Had she known then what was happening, she might have felt differently—but now, the image of them together was burned into her brain, a constant reminder of the hidden desires that lurked beneath the surface of their everyday lives.
 
Just as she was about to slip into the shower to wash away the day's grime and the sticky residue of her illicit pleasure, there was a knock on her bedroom door. Fathima froze, her heart racing.
 
The door swung open, and there stood Lakshmi, her usually pristine sari a disarray of wrinkles and folds. The maid's makeup was smudged, her hair disheveled, and there was an unmistakable glow to her skin. The same glow that Fathima had seen on her own reflection just moments ago.


 
Lakshmi sailed into the room without a word of apology or embarrassment, her eyes dancing with a mischief that made Fathima's stomach flip-flop. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of resentment towards this woman who had just claimed what she had been secretly craving for so long—the raw, unbridled passion that had eluded her in her own marriage.
 
"Madam," Lakshmi said, her voice low and smoky, "How was it? Did you enjoy?"
 
Fathima's eyes snapped to Lakshmi, her heart racing. "What are you talking about?" she demanded, her voice shaking slightly.
 
Lakshmi's smile grew wider, her eyes sparkling with a knowing look that made Fathima's cheeks burn. "I saw you in the hallway," she said, her voice a sultry purr. "Your little... performance."
 
Fathima felt the color drain from her face. "What are you talking about?" she asked again, her voice barely above a whisper.
 
Lakshmi walked closer, her hips swaying with a confidence that seemed almost predatory. "Don't play coy with me, Madam," she said, her voice a low purr. "I saw the way you looked at us. I saw the hunger in your eyes."
 
Fathima's cheeks flushed hotter than the spicy curries she had eaten for lunch. "Ok, fine," she admitted, her voice strained. "But what you did was wrong. And Rahman is young, he's still in college."
 
"Wrong?" Lakshmi echoed, her smile never wavering. "Or perhaps it is that you are jealous, Madam."
 
Fathima's eyes flashed with anger at the accusation. "How dare you?" she spat out, her voice trembling with barely contained rage.
 
Lakshmi shrugged, her dark eyes unflinching. "It is the truth," she said simply, her voice devoid of any remorse or apology. "Rahman, he is a man with needs. And who can blame him for looking?"
 
Fathima felt the anger bubbling up inside her, but she knew Lakshmi wasn't entirely wrong. Rahman had always had a wandering eye, and she had often caught him staring at her before she had even started working at Elite Properties. But she had never dreamed he would act on those desires, especially with their servant.
 
As if sensing the storm of emotions churning within her, Lakshmi took a step closer, her hand sliding up Fathima's arm in a way that was both comforting and possessive. Before she could react, Lakshmi's other hand slipped into the waistband of her pants, her fingers brushing against the damp fabric of her panties.


 
Fathima's eyes widened in shock, her body tensing as Lakshmi's touch grew bolder. But she couldn't deny the way her breath hitched, the way her body responded to the maid's touch. She tried to push Lakshmi away, her voice a strangled protest, but her muscles refused to cooperate. Lakshmi's fingers moved with a confidence that spoke of experience, her touch sure and steady as she found Fathima's slick center.
 
"Madam, you are soo wet," Lakshmi murmured, her breath hot against Fathima's ear. "Does watching us make you want more?"
 
Fathima's body betrayed her, a soft moan escaping her lips as Lakshmi's fingers danced over her sensitive flesh. She felt a mix of shame and excitement, her mind racing with the implications of what was happening. Lakshmi's hand was unyielding, her touch unmistakable in its intent as she explored Fathima's arousal.
 
"Madam," Lakshmi whispered, her voice a seductive caress, "Did you see Rahman's dick?" The question was so blunt, so unexpected, that Fathima could do nothing but gasp in shock. The thought of her brother-in-law's nakedness was still fresh in her mind, the image of him and Lakshmi together burned into her retinas.
 
Fathima's breath caught in her throat as Lakshmi's fingers continued to work their magic, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt the beginnings of another orgasm build. "No," she managed to choke out, her voice thick with lust. "I couldn't see properly since you were above him."
 
Lakshmi chuckled, her breath warm against Fathima's ear. "Tomo morning," she whispered, her voice a siren's call, "5.30 AM. The door will be ajar." And before Fathima could protest, Lakshmi leaned in and pressed her full, lush lips to hers.


 
For a moment, Fathima was frozen, her mind racing with the implications of this brazen act. But then, something shifted within her, something primal and uncontrollable. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she kissed Lakshmi back, her mouth moving with a hunger she didn't know she had. The maid's lips were soft and insistent, her tongue dancing against Fathima's in a way that made her knees weak.
 
Lakshmi's hand slipped out of her pants, and Fathima felt the loss like a cold emptiness. But before she could protest, Lakshmi was gone, leaving Fathima standing there, her body trembling with need. The door clicked shut behind her, and she heard Lakshmi's retreating footsteps as she left the room.
 
Fathima stumbled to the bed, her legs barely able to hold her up. She collapsed onto the mattress, her body feeling like it was on fire. Her mind raced with the memory of Lakshmi's touch, the taste of her lips, and the promise of what was to come the next morning. She knew it was wrong, that she should feel nothing but disgust and anger. But she couldn't shake the feeling of excitement that was bubbling up inside her.
 
As she lay there, the room grew darker, the shadows playing across the ceiling as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. The air grew thick with anticipation, the silence of the apartment only broken by the distant sounds of the city outside. She couldn't bear to look at herself in the mirror, couldn't face the woman she had become. Instead, she curled into a ball, her eyes squeezed shut tightly as she tried to push the images from her mind.
 
But the taste of Lakshmi's kiss lingered, a heady mix of sweetness and spice that seemed to cling to her like the scent of jasmine that wafted through the window. Fathima had never kissed a woman before—never even considered it. Yet, as she lay there, she found herself replaying the moment over and over, the softness of Lakshmi's lips, the way she had moaned into her mouth, the heat of her breath. It was a sensation she had never felt, one that both scared and excited her.