10-09-2025, 08:27 AM
(This post was last modified: 10-09-2025, 08:28 AM by ashuezy2. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Scene 8: The Performance
Setting: Room 401. The scene continues seamlessly from the end of the last. Mrs. Sharma is on her knees before Rahul, the horrifying act from the previous scene still in motion. The only sounds are Anjali's shattered breaths and the harsh buzzing of the hotel's air conditioning.
Rahul’s eyes are half-closed in pleasure, his hand still resting on the back of his mother-in-law's head. He is not satisfied. He wants more. He wants every last shred of her dignity.
Rahul: His voice is a husky command. "Kiss me. Give me your tongue."
Mrs. Sharma complies without hesitation. Her movements are no longer her own. She is lost, an actress in a play she can't comprehend. She raises her head and presses her lips against his. The kiss is deep, an act of total surrender that sends a fresh wave of revulsion through the room.
Rahul breaks the kiss, a string of saliva connecting their lips. A cruel, triumphant light dances in his eyes. He reaches for the front of her sari blouse. With deft, almost practiced movements, he unhooks the [i]pallu from her shoulder and yanks it free. He then begins unbuttoning her blouse, one button at a time.
[/i]
When the last button is undone, he rips the garment from her body and, with a flick of his wrist, throws the flimsy piece of silk. It flutters through the air and lands directly on Anjali’s face, covering her eyes. A soft, pathetic whimper escapes her lips.
Mrs. Sharma is now exposed from the waist up. Her bra is no match for her full, heavy E-cup breasts, which spill from the top and sides. Her nipples, hard and dark with arousal, are leaking small beads of milk, a testament to the hormonal chaos and extreme stimulation her body is undergoing.
She remains on her knees, impassive.
Without being told, her hands move to her own waist. She unwraps the silk sari, letting it pool around her. The petticoat and her simple underwear follow, until she is completely naked before him, her body bathed in the harsh hotel lighting.
Rahul gestures to the armchair he was leaning against earlier. He sits down, his erection jutting proudly from his lap.
Rahul: "Ab mere paas aao." Now, come to me.
He pats his thighs, an invitation. Mrs. Sharma rises and walks to him, her steps steady. He guides her to turn around and sit down, directly onto his lap. With a single, powerful thrust, he impales her. He is inside her.
A loud, sharp cry rips from Mrs. Sharma's throat. It's not a cry of pain or protest, but of pure, overwhelming physical sensation. Her head throws back, her face contorting with an expression of raw, involuntary pleasure.
Her large breasts heave, and something water like leaks from her nipples, tracing paths down her skin. Her vagina, already fully wet, clenches around him.
She is lost. Her mind is gone, but her body has found a terrible, vibrant life of its own, right here in the heart of her family's ruin.
Setting: Room 401. The scene continues seamlessly from the end of the last. Mrs. Sharma is on her knees before Rahul, the horrifying act from the previous scene still in motion. The only sounds are Anjali's shattered breaths and the harsh buzzing of the hotel's air conditioning.
Rahul’s eyes are half-closed in pleasure, his hand still resting on the back of his mother-in-law's head. He is not satisfied. He wants more. He wants every last shred of her dignity.
Rahul: His voice is a husky command. "Kiss me. Give me your tongue."
Mrs. Sharma complies without hesitation. Her movements are no longer her own. She is lost, an actress in a play she can't comprehend. She raises her head and presses her lips against his. The kiss is deep, an act of total surrender that sends a fresh wave of revulsion through the room.
Rahul breaks the kiss, a string of saliva connecting their lips. A cruel, triumphant light dances in his eyes. He reaches for the front of her sari blouse. With deft, almost practiced movements, he unhooks the [i]pallu from her shoulder and yanks it free. He then begins unbuttoning her blouse, one button at a time.
[/i]
When the last button is undone, he rips the garment from her body and, with a flick of his wrist, throws the flimsy piece of silk. It flutters through the air and lands directly on Anjali’s face, covering her eyes. A soft, pathetic whimper escapes her lips.
Mrs. Sharma is now exposed from the waist up. Her bra is no match for her full, heavy E-cup breasts, which spill from the top and sides. Her nipples, hard and dark with arousal, are leaking small beads of milk, a testament to the hormonal chaos and extreme stimulation her body is undergoing.
She remains on her knees, impassive.
Without being told, her hands move to her own waist. She unwraps the silk sari, letting it pool around her. The petticoat and her simple underwear follow, until she is completely naked before him, her body bathed in the harsh hotel lighting.
Rahul gestures to the armchair he was leaning against earlier. He sits down, his erection jutting proudly from his lap.
Rahul: "Ab mere paas aao." Now, come to me.
He pats his thighs, an invitation. Mrs. Sharma rises and walks to him, her steps steady. He guides her to turn around and sit down, directly onto his lap. With a single, powerful thrust, he impales her. He is inside her.
A loud, sharp cry rips from Mrs. Sharma's throat. It's not a cry of pain or protest, but of pure, overwhelming physical sensation. Her head throws back, her face contorting with an expression of raw, involuntary pleasure.
Her large breasts heave, and something water like leaks from her nipples, tracing paths down her skin. Her vagina, already fully wet, clenches around him.
She is lost. Her mind is gone, but her body has found a terrible, vibrant life of its own, right here in the heart of her family's ruin.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)