Adultery Fathima - wife to slutty broker (With Pics)

[Cuckoldindian]

Update 12:

Her thoughts were a whirlwind as she lay there, her eyes wide open in the dark. The feeling of the sand between her toes, the taste of the salty ocean on her lips, the roughness of Rajesh's hands as they explored her body – it was all still so vivid, so real. She could feel his breath against her neck, his heartbeat pounding in her ear. Her hand slid down her stomach to the apex of her thighs, her fingers lightly brushing over her swollen flesh. She bit back a gasp, the memory of their encounter sending a jolt of arousal through her.
 
Aslam's arm lay heavy across her waist, his snores a gentle reminder of the world she was supposed to inhabit. But Fathima's mind was still on the beach, on the waves crashing against the shore as she had ridden Rajesh with an abandon she had never felt before. She felt a twinge of guilt, but it was quickly buried under the avalanche of desire that consumed her. Her hand grew bolder, her fingers circling her clit, mimicking the rhythm of their lovemaking.
 
Her breath grew ragged, her hips rising to meet the ghostly touch of his phantom kisses. In her mind's eye, she saw not her husband's sleeping form but Rajesh's intense gaze, the way his eyes had darkened as she had taken him in her mouth. The room spun around her, a cocoon of lust and longing that seemed to have no end. She moaned softly, trying to keep the sound from escaping, but the pleasure was too intense, too overwhelming.
 
Her orgasm was like a lightning strike, a sudden explosion of sensation that made her toes curl and her back arch off the bed. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, the pleasure ricocheting through her body like a thousand little explosions. When she finally came down from the peak, her chest heaving with quiet gasps, she felt a strange emptiness. It was as if she had been filled with a hunger that no amount of food could ever satisfy.
 
Fathima rolled onto her side, her eyes still closed, the aftershocks of her climax rippling through her. Her hand remained between her legs, her fingers lightly playing with her sensitive flesh, savoring the lingering sensation. The guilt that had been niggling at the back of her mind was now a full-blown storm, raging and uncontrollable. But even amidst the chaos, she couldn't ignore the fact that she felt more alive than she had in years.
 
Her eyes snapped open at the sensation of the bed shaking. She looked over to see Aslam standing beside her, fully dressed in his banking attire. The stark contrast between his formal wear and her nakedness was almost comical, but she couldn't find the humor in it. "What time is it?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep and lust.
 
"It's 7:30, Fathima," Aslam said, his voice a gentle prod into the reality she was trying to escape. The digital clock on the bedside table blinked back at her, the red digits taunting her with the time she had wasted in the throes of her illicit fantasy.
 
Fathima sat up with a start, the sheets slipping down to reveal her nakedness. Her hand still playing between her legs. But Aslam seemed oblivious to her internal turmoil, his eyes focused on the phone in his hand as he checked for any last-minute work emails.
 
"I am leaving for work," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to shake the very foundation of her reality. The words echoed in her ears, a stark reminder of the mundane routine that awaited her once he was gone.
 
"Can you come early from work?" she asked tentatively, her voice a soft caress in the early morning light. "I will have to go shopping. I need to pack for Mumbai." The words slipped from her lips like honey, sweet and sticky with the promise of something more.
 
Aslam's eyes snapped up, his gaze piercing through the fog of his early morning routine. "Mumbai? What's in Mumbai?" His curiosity was palpable, a thread of tension stretching between them.
 
Fathima's heart skipped a beat. She had to be careful, had to maintain her façade. "An investor's meeting," she replied smoothly, her voice as clear as the rainwater that still clung to her skin. "It's a big deal for Elite Properties, and they want me to handle it." She watched as understanding dawned on his face, the pride at her professional growth warring with the suspicion that had crept in.
 
"Okay, no problem," Aslam said, his tone measured, "but I can't come early tonight. I have work." His eyes searched hers, looking for any hint of deception, but she had become a master at hiding her true feelings. "Go shopping alone," he added, a hint of resignation in his voice. "Just make sure you're safe."
 
As the door clicked shut behind him, Fathima couldn't help the smirk that tugged at her lips. She picked up her phone, the screen lighting up the darkness of the room. The message from Dsouza was like a beacon, illuminating the path she had chosen for herself. Two days of meetings in Mumbai, and a ticket attached. The thrill of her secret life washed over her again, the promise of more power and passion too tantalizing to resist.
 
But before she could revel in her illicit plans, the phone rang, the shrill sound piercing the quiet. The name on the screen sent a jolt of excitement through her body – it was Rahul. Her pulse quickened, and she swiped to answer, her voice a low whisper. "Hello?"
 
"Hey, Fathima," he said, his voice filled with urgency. "I need a favor. There are two big-shot clients coming in tomorrow to view an office space. I need you to help me close the deal. Think you can handle it?"
 
Fathima's smirk grew wider, the thrill of the challenge setting her pulse racing. "Of course," she purred, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "What's in it for me?"
 
Rahul's voice grew low, a seductive promise in his tone. "I'll make it worth your while, I promise," he said, the words a caress that sent shivers down her spine. "Half the commission. That's a big deal, isn't it?"
 
Fathima's mind raced with the implications of his proposal. More money meant more power, more control. She could feel the excitement building within her, a thrilling cocktail of greed and desire. "What exactly do you need me to do?" she asked, playing coy, though she already knew the answer.
 
Rahul's voice grew a little gruffer, a hint of his own hunger seeping through the line. "Just be your charming self, Fathima," he said, the double entendre not lost on her. "You know how these types are. They want to feel important, to be wined and dined. And they always have an eye for a pretty face." His words were a clear invitation to use her sexuality as a weapon in their cutthroat world of real estate.
 
Fathima's smirk grew wider at the thought. She had done it before, used her feminine wiles to get what she wanted. It was a heady feeling, a rush of power that she had grown to crave. "Alright," she said, her voice a silky purr. "I'll help you out. But remember, half the commission."
 
Rahul chuckled, the sound sending a thrill down her spine. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it," he assured her, his tone filled with a confidence that made her stomach flutter. "Just wear something... persuasive." The way he emphasized the word made it clear what he was asking for.
 
Fathima couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. This was a challenge she was more than ready to accept. She had always enjoyed the art of seduction, the subtle dance of power and desire. And if it meant splitting a hefty commission with Rahul, then all the better. "I'll make sure to wear something that will make their wallets a little... looser," she responded, her voice dripping with innuendo.
 
Rahul's chuckle was cut off abruptly by his sudden shift in tone. "Fathima, about what happened in the Sheraton restroom," he began, his voice now a tremor of uncertainty.
 
Fathima's smirk froze on her lips. She had almost forgotten their impulsive encounter, the one that had started this whole whirlwind of secrets and lies. But she had learned to be a master of the game, to never let her guard down. "What about it?" she replied, her voice cool and collected, betraying none of the turmoil his words had stirred within her.
 
There was a pause on the line, the kind that stretched and grew heavy with unspoken confessions. "I just... I wanted to make sure we're on the same page," he said, his voice a tightrope of tension. "It's not going to affect our professional relationship, is it?"
 
Fathima took a deep breath, her hand still resting between her legs, the memory of her beach encounter still pulsing through her. "Rahul, it will never happen again," she said firmly, her voice a soft yet unyielding whisper. "We were both drunk. It was a mistake." The words felt strange on her lips, a lie wrapped in the truth. But in the world she had crafted for herself, it was a necessary deception.
 
On the other end of the line, Rahul was silent for a moment, the tension palpable. She could almost hear the cogs turning in his mind, the calculation of his next move. Finally, he spoke, his tone a mix of relief and something else – something darker. "Okay, Fathima," he said slowly. "I understand. It won't affect our working relationship."
 
But even as she assured him, Fathima knew it was a lie. She had tasted the forbidden fruit, and now she craved it more than ever. The thrill of the secret, the danger of discovery – it all added to the potent cocktail of her newfound power. She had seen the way men looked at her, the way they leaned in when she spoke, eager to catch every syllable that dripped from her lips like honeyed poison.
 
With a sigh, she slid out of bed, her naked body leaving a damp imprint on the sheets. Her legs were still unsteady from the aftershocks of her climax, but she managed to make her way to the bathroom. The shower was already running, the steam curling around her like a seductive mist. She stepped into the warm embrace of the water, letting it cascade over her body, washing away the stickiness of her guilt along with the rainwater.
 
As she lathered her skin with the sweet-smelling soap, the bathroom door creaked open. Fathima's heart leaped, but she didn't turn around. It was Lakshmi, her voice a teasing purr. "Bathing without me?" she cooed, her eyes raking over Fathima's naked form.
 
Fathima stiffened, the water suddenly cold against her back. "Lakshmi, you scared me," she managed to say, trying to keep her voice steady. "I thought it was Rahman. He's always looking for an opportunity with me."
 
Lakshmi leaned against the sink, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. She was dressed in a figure-hugging dress that left little to the imagination, her hair still slightly damp from her own sweat. "Oh, I'm sure he is," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "But you seem to be handling his advances quite well."


 
Fathima felt a flash of irritation, but she bit her tongue. Lakshmi had always had a sharp tongue, one that could cut through the thickest of facades. But she had learned to give as good as she got. "Maybe I'm just better at playing the game than you," she replied coolly, her eyes never leaving Lakshmi's reflection in the mirror.
 
Lakshmi's smirk grew wider, and she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that was almost a purr. "Did your boss fuck you yesterday?" she asked, her eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. "Is that what you're so good at, Fathima?"
 
Fathima turned to face her, a smile playing on her lips. "No, he didn't fuck me," she said, her voice as smooth as silk. "But I had a good time teasing Rahman." She watched Lakshmi's expression shift, the jealousy in her eyes flickering like a candle in the wind. "You know how it is," she continued, "just a little harmless flirting to get ahead."
 
With a knowing smile, Fathima handed over the shower scrub to Lakshmi, instructing her to scrub her back. Lakshmi took it, her eyes never leaving Fathima's face, the challenge clear in her gaze. Fathima knew she was baiting her, but she was in no mood to play games. "Just remember, Lakshmi," she said, her voice dropping an octave, "the only person you should be worried about in this game is me."
 
As Lakshmi's hands moved over her skin, Fathima felt a strange mix of emotions – anger, arousal, and a hint of something darker. She closed her eyes, the water cascading down her face, as Lakshmi's words echoed through her mind. "So, that's why Rahman was fucking me harder this morning, calling me 'annie'?" Lakshmi's voice was a sultry purr, her fingers digging into Fathima's flesh a little too hard for comfort.
 
Fathima opened her eyes and met Lakshmi's gaze in the mirror. She couldn't help the smile that curled her lips. "So he is imagining me while you fuck him, ah!" she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "Is he good?" It was a deliberate provocation, a test to see how far Lakshmi would go.
 
Lakshmi's eyes narrowed, her grip on the shower scrub tightening. "He's not bad," she admitted, her voice laced with spite. "But if you want the best sex, you should try someone with experience." Her hand slid down Fathima's back, pausing at the curve of her ass. "Someone like your father-in-law." The words were like a slap in the face, a blend of challenge and mockery that sent a jolt of something unidentifiable through Fathima's body.
 
Fathima's smile didn't falter, but the muscles in her jaw tightened. "You fuck my father-in-law still, I thought you stopped," she said, her voice a cool, deadly whisper. The shower water washed away the bubbles, but the tension remained thick between them, a palpable force that seemed to cling to their skin. Lakshmi's smirk grew into a full-fledged smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
 
"Oh, I didn't stop," Lakshmi said, her voice as smooth as the soap sliding over Fathima's skin. "I just got better at hiding it." Her hand slid down Fathima's side, her fingertips grazing the sensitive flesh just above her hip. "And I fucked him yesterday, right here in your bed," she whispered, her breath hot against Fathima's ear. "While you were out playing the good wife."
 
Fathima's stomach twisted, a strange mix of disgust and arousal swirling within her. "I don't see my father-in-law in that way," she murmured, her voice as soft as the falling rain outside. But even as she said the words, she couldn't help but wonder if there was some truth to Lakshmi's taunt. After all, she had used her sexuality to get what she wanted in her own life. Was it really that much of a stretch to think that Lakshmi had done the same?
 
"But Rahman?" Lakshmi pressed, her voice a seductive purr. "You've been eyeing him for a while now, haven't you?" She stepped closer, her breasts brushing against Fathima's back, the warmth of her skin a stark contrast to the coolness of the shower. "I can see it in the way you look at him, the way your voice changes when you talk about him." Her hand slid around Fathima's waist, her fingertips playing with the sensitive skin of her belly. "Do you want him?" she whispered, her breath hot against Fathima's neck.
 
Fathima's heart pounded in her chest, the line between reality and desire blurring. "I won't deny it," she murmured, her voice thick with a mix of anger and arousal. "But how can I, Lakshmi? He's my BIL, my husband's brother. It's not right."
 
Lakshmi's laugh was low and throaty, her hand sliding further down to cup Fathima's sex. "Oh, but it is, Fathima," she said, her voice a siren's song. "You're already playing the game, aren't you? Why stop now?" Her thumb began to rub slow circles around Fathima's clit, the sensation making her knees wobble. "Let's make it interesting," Lakshmi continued, her breath hot on Fathima's neck. "I'll plan something for tomorrow morning. Something that will show you just how sweet the forbidden fruit can be."
 
Fathima's eyes snapped open, the fog of desire dissipating in the face of Lakshmi's blatant challenge. She stepped out of Lakshmi's embrace, the water now cold on her skin. "What are you talking about?" she demanded, her voice shaking with a mix of anger and fear. Lakshmi's smirk grew wider, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, you'll see," she said, her voice a sultry promise.
 
And with that, Lakshmi leaned in and kissed Fathima hard, her tongue invading Fathima's mouth with an aggression that took her by surprise. Fathima's body responded instinctively, her arms wrapping around Lakshmi's waist as she kissed back, their tongues dancing together in a passionate duel. The taste of Lakshmi's mouth was like a drug, sweet and bitter, a taste of the forbidden that she hadn't expected to crave.
 
But as quickly as it had begun, Lakshmi pulled away, her eyes gleaming with victory. She stepped out of the shower, leaving Fathima gasping for breath, the water now cold against her skin. "I'll see you tomorrow," she called over her shoulder, her laughter echoing through the bathroom. "Be ready for the main event."
 
Fathima stared after her, a mix of anger and confusion swirling within her. Lakshmi had always been a wild card, but this was something new. Her thoughts racing, she stepped out of the shower, her body trembling. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself, trying to shake off the feeling of Lakshmi's hands on her body.
 
The bathroom mirror fogged over, and she wiped a clear spot with her hand. Her reflection was a blur, her eyes dark with unspoken desires. She knew what Lakshmi was up to – pushing her buttons, trying to get under her skin. But why? Was it because of the power she had over Fathima, the way she could manipulate her with just a few words? Or was there something more, something that Lakshmi wasn't telling her?
 
Fathima stepped out of the bathroom, the plush towel barely concealing her wet body. The apartment was silent, the only sound the distant hum of the air conditioner. She walked into her bedroom, the floor cool beneath her bare feet. Her closet was a sea of colors, each dress a silent promise of the life she had left behind. But she didn't want that life anymore – she wanted the rush of adrenaline that came with her secret affairs, the power that thrummed through her veins with every whispered secret.
 
The door to her room creaked open, and she knew without looking that it was Rahman. She took her time, casually turning towards the door, her eyes meeting his hungry gaze. He was standing in the doorway, his eyes unabashedly raking over her exposed cleavage. "How do you correctly come when I'm in such situations?" she asked, her voice as smooth as the silk that whispered against her skin.


 
Rahman's gaze snapped up to meet hers, his eyes dark with desire. "I... I'm sorry, Anni," he stuttered, a hint of color rising to his cheeks. But she could see the raw need in his eyes, the way his pupils dilated as he took in the sight of her. She knew he wasn't sorry – not really. He was just surprised she had called him out on his blatant staring.
 
"What you need now?" she repeated, her voice a seductive purr as she flicked her hair over her shoulder, sending droplets of water flying through the air. The towel slipped slightly, revealing the swell of her breasts. She knew the sight was tempting, knew the power it held over him.


 
Rahman swallowed hard, his eyes flicking away from her chest. "Mom and Dad are going out for a wedding," he said, his voice a little too high. "They asked me to tell you."
 
Fathima raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quirking up into a smug smile. "A wedding, you say?" she mused, the towel still clutched tightly to her body. "How convenient."
 
Rahman's eyes darted back to her chest, unable to resist the allure of the barely concealed flesh. "Yeah, they're leaving tonight," he replied, his voice thick with lust. "It's going to be a long weekend for all of us."
 
Fathima's smile grew knowing, the power she held over him was intoxicating. "Okay, Rahman," she said, her tone a sultry whisper that seemed to echo through the room. "Don't you have college today?"
 
Rahman's eyes snapped up to meet hers, the hunger in his gaze unmistakable. "College?" he repeated, his voice thick with desire. "I... I don't have classes today." He took a step towards her, his eyes never leaving hers, the tension between them as palpable as the humidity outside.
 
Fathima felt a thrill at the raw need in his eyes. She knew she had him hooked, knew that she could reel him in whenever she wanted. "Okay then," she said, her voice a purr. "Come with me shopping today. I need help picking out something... special."
 
Rahman nodded, his eyes glazed over with desire. "Sure, Anni," he murmured, the endearment slipping easily from his lips. He had called her that before, when they were alone, when he thought no one would hear. But today, it felt different – it felt like a declaration of his intentions.
 
Fathima watched him leave, her heart racing. She knew she had him under her spell, knew that she could manipulate him to do whatever she wanted. With a smug smile, she turned back to her closet, letting the towel fall to the floor. Her hand trailed over the soft fabrics, lingering on the dresses that would leave little to the imagination. She had always been a good actor, playing the part of the innocent wife and the temptress at work. But now, she was starting to enjoy the game she played, the thrill of keeping her secrets and the power it gave her.
 
Her eyes fell on a simple black shirt and a pair of tight blue jeans. With a knowing smile, she pulled out a lacy push-up bra that would do wonders for her already ample cleavage. She knew that Rahman had a weakness for her breasts, and she was more than willing to use that to her advantage. Dressing quickly, she applied a touch of makeup, enhancing her natural beauty with a seductive smoky eye and a shade of lipstick that would drive men wild.
 
The buttons on her shirt were all closed, she did not want the neighbors to gossip. Fathima was aware of the whispers that could travel through the walls of their apartment complex, the judgments that could be cast by eyes that saw too much. But as she buttoned her shirt, she couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement at the thought of the secret she was keeping from everyone, especially Aslam. Her heart pounded in her chest as she stepped into the living room.


 
Rahman was sitting on the sofa, his eyes glued to the TV, but she knew he was waiting for her. His eyes flickered towards her, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he took in the sight of her. Fathima felt a twinge of satisfaction – she had dressed to kill today. The tight jeans and the shirt that emphasized her curves, the way her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders – she knew it was all for him.
 
"Shall we go?" he asked, his voice a little too eager, a little too hopeful.
 
Fathima looked over at him, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "We shall," she replied, her voice a soft purr that sent a shiver down his spine. She could feel the anticipation building in him, his eyes flicking to her breasts and back to her face as if he couldn't decide which was more tempting.
 
As they stepped out into the bustling streets of Chennai, the heat and the smells of street food mingling with the sound of honking horns, Fathima felt a strange sense of exhilaration. The wind played with her hair, lifting the ends and tickling the back of her neck. She knew that today was going to be different from the others – she could feel it in the air, taste it on her tongue like a sweet, forbidden fruit.
 
Rahman looked over at her, his eyes hungry. "Let me get my motor bike," he said, his voice gruff with anticipation. Fathima nodded, watching him as he jogged down the stairs, his lean body moving with the grace of a predator. The engine roared to life, a beastly sound that seemed to resonate with the pulsing rhythm of her own heart. He was so eager, so willing to please her – it was almost comical.
 
When he returned, she climbed onto the back of the bike, placing her arms around his waist and leaning slightly away from him. She felt the heat from his body, the vibrations of the engine thrumming through her. But she kept her distance, her breasts pressed against the cool leather of his jacket. It was a deliberate move, a reminder of the power dynamics at play. She knew he wanted her.
 
They sped through the crowded streets of Chennai, the wind whipping through her hair, the occasional jolt from a speed bump causing her breasts to brush against his back. Each time it happened, she felt a little thrill, a spark of excitement that ignited a fire deep within her. She knew it was wrong, that she was playing with fire. But she couldn't resist the temptation, the rush of adrenaline that came with each touch.
 
The mall was bustling with activity, the air-conditioned oasis a stark contrast to the heat outside. The scent of perfumes and cologne mingled with the aroma of food from the food court, creating an intoxicating blend that filled her nose. As they weaved through the crowds, she felt a sense of freedom, a break from the confines of her apartment and the prying eyes of her in-laws.
 
Entering the first store, Fathima's eyes lit up like a child in a candy store. She picked up a few tank tops, their fabric as thin as a whisper, the vibrant colors a stark contrast to the muted tones of her usual attire. She held them up to her body, imagining the way they would cling to her skin, revealing just enough to make men stare. Then she moved to the mini skirts, her fingertips grazing the fabric as she selected one that barely covered her ass. It was a bold choice, but she knew it would serve its purpose – to keep Rahman's eyes on her and off the other women they might encounter.
 
Rahman followed her, his gaze lingering on every curve she revealed with each item she held up to herself. When she pulled out a minidress, his eyes went wide. "Anni," he said, his voice laced with a hint of concern, "it's small, I think?"
 
Fathima turned to him, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "It's perfect," she assured him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's for a party at work, and I want to make sure all eyes are on me." She stepped closer, allowing the fabric of the dress to brush against his thighs as she held it up to her body. The dress was indeed tiny, a daring choice that would leave little to the imagination. It was short enough to show off her shapely legs and tight enough to accentuate every curve.
 
Rahman's eyes were glued to her, his voice a mere whisper. "But, Anni, it's... it's not exactly what I would call 'work appropriate.'"
 
Fathima's smile grew, the challenge in his eyes only fueling her desire to push the boundaries. "Exactly," she murmured, her hand trailing down the length of the dress, her nails scbanging lightly against the fabric. "That's the point."
 
With a knowing look, she sailed into the trial room, the flimsy garment a silent promise of what was to come. The door clicked shut behind her, the sound echoing in the quiet space. She could feel Rahman's gaze on her through the crack in the door, his anticipation palpable. She slipped out of her jeans and shirt, leaving them in a heap on the floor. The dress slid over her body like a second skin, hugging every curve and leaving nothing to the imagination. She twirled in front of the mirror, watching the way the material clung to her, revealing the lacy black lingerie she had chosen to wear underneath.
 
"Rahman," she called out, her voice a siren's song. "Come here, I need your opinion." The door creaked open, and he stepped inside, his eyes wide with desire. He swallowed hard, trying to compose himself, but Fathima could see the hunger in his gaze as it traveled over her body. "What do you think?" she asked, turning to face him, the dress's hem brushing against her bare thighs.
 
He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "It's... it's perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. She could feel the tension in the air, a living, breathing entity that seemed to pulse with every beat of their hearts. She knew she had him, that he was hers to do with as she pleased. The power was intoxicating, a heady rush that made her feel alive in a way she never had before.
 
"Now you can go out and wait," she said, her voice a soft command that sent a shiver down his spine. He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers, his need for her almost tangible. As he turned to leave, she leaned forward slightly, her skirt riding up to expose the lacy edge of her black panties. The mirror behind her reflected the sight, and she watched as his eyes widened, his gaze lingering on the exposed flesh.


 
Fathima couldn't help but smirk as she saw him bite his bottom lip, the desire in his eyes unmistakable. She enjoyed the power she held over him, the way he was putty in her hands. She knew that she could manipulate him into doing anything she wanted, and it was a thrill she hadn't anticipated. She had always been the good wife, the obedient daughter-in-law, but now, she felt like she could rule the world.
 
Rahman stepped out of the trial room, his eyes never leaving her. He leaned against the wall, his body tight with restrained passion. Fathima watched him, her heart racing as she stepped out of the dress, the cool air of the room caressing her naked skin. She slipped into the  attire she had arrived in, the stark contrast to the sexy outfit she had just tried on only adding to the thrill of her secret.
 
As she unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt, revealing the lacy bra beneath, she knew she was playing a dangerous game. But the thrill of it all, the power it gave her, was too much to resist. She could see the way Rahman's eyes widened, the way his breath hitched in his throat. She was in control, and she reveled in it.


 
They walked to the cashier, her hips swaying with each step, the dress whispering against her legs. But as they approached the checkout, Rahman's gaze flicked away from her, focusing instead on a couple a few feet away. Fathima followed his gaze, her heart skipping a beat as she recognized the woman. It was her, the one she had caught him with in the parking lot just a week ago. She felt a flash of anger, but she quickly tamped it down. Instead, she let a smug smile play on her lips.
 
"Rahman," she said, her voice sweet and innocent, "that was the woman you were with in the parking lot right?"
 
He stiffened beside her, his eyes flicking to hers before darting away again. "Yes," he admitted, his voice low and gruff. "But she's nothing to me now. She broke up with me."
 
Fathima's smile grew, the sweetness in her voice now edged with something darker, something more predatory. "How unfortunate," she murmured, watching as the couple laughed, their hands entwined. "But it seems she's moved on quite nicely," she continued, her eyes lingering on the boy's muscular arms.
 
Rahman's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. "Yes," he said through gritted teeth, "she broke up with me and now she's with that college hotshot." Fathima could see the anger in his eyes, the betrayal that still burned. It was a weapon she could use, a way to bring him closer, to make him want her more.
 
"It's okay," she said, her voice soothing, her hand reaching out to stroke his arm. "You're so much better than him, anyway." Her touch was a promise, a silent pact that she knew would have him eating out of her hand. "Look at you, all successful and handsome. Why would she ever want someone like him?"
 
Rahman's eyes searched hers, looking for any hint of deceit. But all he saw was sincerity, a spark of something that made his chest tighten with hope. "I don't know," he murmured, his voice thick with a mix of anger and longing. "But I can't help but feel..."
 
Fathima leaned in closer, her voice a gentle caress. "Feel what?" she asked, her hand still resting on his arm, her thumb tracing slow, soothing circles.
 
"I just can't believe she would choose someone like that over me," Rahman said, the pain in his voice raw and palpable. "He's just a kid, no future."
 
Fathima's smile grew, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous light. "Ok, leave that," she murmured, her hand sliding down to his hand. "Come on, let's go look for a dress for you."
 
Rahman looked at her in surprise, his eyes flicking from the dress he had been holding to her face. "For me?" he repeated, his voice filled with confusion and a hint of excitement.
 
Fathima nodded, her smile widening. "Yes," she said, her voice a siren's call that seemed to resonate through his very soul. "I want to see you in something that makes you feel as good as I do in this dress." She took the dress from him, her fingertips brushing against his as she did so. The contact was electric, sending a shiver down his spine.
 
They moved through the store, her hand in his, as they laughed and chatted. It was easy, natural, as if they had been friends for years, sharing secrets and stories. Fathima knew that this was a dangerous game, but she couldn't help the thrill it brought her. She had never felt so alive, so in control. The dresses they passed were a blur of color and fabric, but she had her eyes set on the prize – a sleek black number that she knew would look stunning on him.
 
When she found it, she held it up against his chest, her fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. "This one," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "It'll make you look like a million bucks."
 
Rahman took the dress from her, his cheeks flushing slightly. He knew it was a bold choice, something he never would have picked out for himself. But with Fathima by his side, he felt invincible. He could feel the heat from her hand on his chest, even as she stepped away. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way his heart was racing.
 
Fathima watched him with a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She turned away, grabbing a few more t-shirts and jeans that she thought would look good on him. They were all tight, form-fitting pieces that would accentuate his body in the same way that her dress had accentuated hers. She tossed them into the basket casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for them to be shopping for clothes together like this.
 
As they approached the cashier, she couldn't help but sneak a peek at the lingerie section. It was as if it called to her, beckoning with its delicate lace and seductive whispers of what lay beneath. Without a second thought, she slipped away from Rahman's side and made her way over, her hips swaying with the grace of a sultry siren.
 
Rahman's eyes followed her, his cheeks flushing a darker shade of red. He knew he should follow her, but his feet felt rooted to the spot. The thought of walking into that section with her, surrounded by all those intimate garments, was too much for him to handle. He felt a strange mix of excitement and fear, his heart hammering in his chest.
 
Fathima's laugh was like a siren's call, echoing through the mall and drawing him closer. She held up a scrap of lace and silk, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Oh, Rahman," she teased, "feeling shy, are we? You didn't seem so shy when you saw me in just a towel." Her voice was a purr, a soft challenge that sent a jolt of electricity through his body.
 
With a flick of her wrist, she led him into the lingerie section, the air thick with the scent of desire and the whispers of silk. The lights were low, the shadows dancing across the walls, creating a sensual atmosphere that seemed to wrap around them like a lover's embrace. He felt his heart pound in his chest, his palms growing damp with nervous excitement as they moved deeper into the heart of the store.
 
Fathima held up a lacy black bra, the cups barely there, the fabric as delicate as a spiderweb. "What do you think?" she asked, her voice a soft murmur that seemed to caress his ears. "Would this look good on me?" She twirled it around her finger, the lace fluttering like a dark butterfly.
 
Rahman's eyes went wide, his cheeks flaming red as he took in the sight of the lingerie. He stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Y-yeah, it... it's... nice," he managed to say, his eyes darting around the store as if searching for an escape.
 
Fathima giggled, enjoying his discomfort. She held up a pair of matching black lace panties, the same delicate fabric as the bra. "And these?" she asked, her voice a sultry purr. "What do you think?"
 
Rahman swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the garments in her hand. He had never seen anything so... intimate, so revealing. "They're... um... they're nice," he stuttered, his cheeks flaming.
 
Fathima giggled again, enjoying the effect she had on him. "You're so cute when you're flustered," she said, her voice a soft caress that seemed to wrap around him like a warm blanket. "Now, let's pay for these and get out of here before we cause a scene."
 
They approached the cashier, their basket filled with a mix of clothes that seemed to shout their secrets to the world. Fathima felt a thrill of excitement as the cashier scanned each item, the total growing higher and higher. When the final number flashed on the screen – 58,000 Rs – Rahman's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "What the...?" he sputtered, looking from the total to her in shock.
 
"It's okay," she said soothingly, her hand sliding into her purse to withdraw her credit card. "I've got it." She swiped the card with the confidence of a woman who knew she could handle anything. "Rahman, cool down," she whispered, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. "I'm working now, remember?"
 
The words hung in the air like a challenge, a reminder of the unspoken deal they had made. Her hand lingered on the card reader, the plastic card gliding through the slot with a smooth, metallic whisper. The cashier's eyes darted between them, curiosity piqued by their intimate exchange.
 
Fathima looked at Rahman, her eyes dancing with the thrill of the game. She knew he was hurt, that the pain of his recent breakup still stung like a fresh wound. But she also knew that he was weak, that he craved the attention and validation she could give him. And she was more than willing to play along, if it meant keeping him wrapped around her finger.
 
They walked out of the shop, the sound of the door chiming a sweet victory in her ears. The mall was bustling with life, the smells of food and perfume mixing with the distant hum of music. Fathima felt like she was on top of the world, her heart racing with the thrill of the power she wielded.
 
"Anni," Rahman said, his voice a little too eager. "Can we take a selfie?" He held up his phone, the screen reflecting the hope in his eyes. "It'll be good. If I post it on Instagram, she'll see it."
 
Fathima leaned in closer, her heart racing. The dress was doing its job, her cleavage displayed like a prize. "Yes," she whispered, her voice a seductive purr. "Do it."
 
Rahman's thumb hovered over the button, his eyes flicking from the camera to Fathima's face and back again. She watched as he took a deep breath, his hand steadying. "She'll know what she's missing," Fathima said, a devilish smile playing on her lips. She reached up, her hand brushing against his chest as she tried to cover herself up, but he caught her wrist, his grip firm but gentle.
 
"Let it be," he murmured, his eyes dark with a mix of anger and desire. "Let her see." And with that, he snapped the picture, the flash of the camera lighting up their faces for a brief moment. The image was saved to his phone, a tangible piece of evidence of their growing bond, a declaration of war against the woman who had hurt him. Fathima felt a thrill of excitement at the thought, her pulse racing as she stepped back and looked at the photo.


 
The dress had done its work, her ample cleavage displayed in all its glory. She knew that the woman in the picture was going to be furious, but she couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. This was power, pure and simple. The power to make someone feel something so intense just by being near her, to make them crave what she had. It was a heady feeling, one that she had never experienced before.