17-10-2025, 12:35 PM
Scene 3
The studio was filled with the slick sound of their bodies moving together and Ananya’s soft, unrestrained moans. Samrat held her tightly, his face buried in her neck, lost in the rhythm. The camera's shutter was a constant, almost frantic counterpoint to their movements.
Amidst the haze of pleasure, Ananya’s eyes fluttered open. Her gaze drifted past Samrat’s shoulder towards the figure of the photographer. Kabir was moving with them, his eye pressed to the viewfinder. But as he shifted his stance, Ananya’s eyes caught something else. Through the thin fabric of his trousers, it was impossible to miss. Kabir was also fully erect, a stark, rigid line betraying the professional calm he projected.
A slow, knowing smile spread across Ananya’s face. It was a smile of power, of shared, illicit knowledge.
The clicking stopped.
Kabir had lowered the camera. He saw her smile, and he knew that she had seen him. Their eyes locked over Samrat's heaving shoulder. The professional barrier between them evaporated in an instant, replaced by a raw, palpable tension. The air crackled.
Samrat, feeling the subtle shift in Ananya's body, the slight change in her rhythm, slowed his thrusts. He pulled back just enough to look at her face.
Samrat: "Ananya? Everything okay?" Ananya? Sab theek hai?
She didn't answer him. Her eyes were still fixed on Kabir. Then, slowly, she turned her head and kissed Samrat deeply, a silent reassurance. But the energy had changed. They all felt it.
Kabir raised the camera again, but his voice, when he spoke, was different. It had lost its clinical detachment. It was deeper, huskier.
Kabir: "Stop. Hold that position." Ruko. Usi position mein raho.
They froze, Samrat still buried deep inside her, their bodies slick with sweat.
Kabir: "Good. Now, Samrat... let her down. Slowly. Lay her on the floor. Right here." Achha. Ab, Samrat… use neeche utaaro. Dheere se. Use farsh par lita do. Yahin par.
Samrat, caught in the intensity of the moment, obeyed without question. He gently lowered Ananya to the cool, smooth studio floor. She lay on her back, exposed and vulnerable, looking up at both men. Kabir moved closer, crouching down, his camera aimed like a weapon. The evidence of his arousal was now even more obvious.
Kabir: "Spread her legs, Samrat. Wider." Uski taangein phailao, Samrat. Aur chaudi karo.
Samrat knelt between her legs, pushing her thighs apart. Ananya’s breath hitched, her gaze flickering from her husband to the photographer who was now just a few feet away.
Kabir: "Now, go down on her. I want to capture the pleasure on her face when your tongue touches her. Don't look at me, look at her. But know that I am watching everything." Ab, us par neeche jao. Main uske chehre par khushi capture karna chahta hoon jab tumhari zubaan use chhuegi. Mujhe mat dekho, use dekho. Lekin yeh jaan lo ki main sab kuch dekh raha hoon.
The studio was filled with the slick sound of their bodies moving together and Ananya’s soft, unrestrained moans. Samrat held her tightly, his face buried in her neck, lost in the rhythm. The camera's shutter was a constant, almost frantic counterpoint to their movements.
Amidst the haze of pleasure, Ananya’s eyes fluttered open. Her gaze drifted past Samrat’s shoulder towards the figure of the photographer. Kabir was moving with them, his eye pressed to the viewfinder. But as he shifted his stance, Ananya’s eyes caught something else. Through the thin fabric of his trousers, it was impossible to miss. Kabir was also fully erect, a stark, rigid line betraying the professional calm he projected.
A slow, knowing smile spread across Ananya’s face. It was a smile of power, of shared, illicit knowledge.
The clicking stopped.
Kabir had lowered the camera. He saw her smile, and he knew that she had seen him. Their eyes locked over Samrat's heaving shoulder. The professional barrier between them evaporated in an instant, replaced by a raw, palpable tension. The air crackled.
Samrat, feeling the subtle shift in Ananya's body, the slight change in her rhythm, slowed his thrusts. He pulled back just enough to look at her face.
Samrat: "Ananya? Everything okay?" Ananya? Sab theek hai?
She didn't answer him. Her eyes were still fixed on Kabir. Then, slowly, she turned her head and kissed Samrat deeply, a silent reassurance. But the energy had changed. They all felt it.
Kabir raised the camera again, but his voice, when he spoke, was different. It had lost its clinical detachment. It was deeper, huskier.
Kabir: "Stop. Hold that position." Ruko. Usi position mein raho.
They froze, Samrat still buried deep inside her, their bodies slick with sweat.
Kabir: "Good. Now, Samrat... let her down. Slowly. Lay her on the floor. Right here." Achha. Ab, Samrat… use neeche utaaro. Dheere se. Use farsh par lita do. Yahin par.
Samrat, caught in the intensity of the moment, obeyed without question. He gently lowered Ananya to the cool, smooth studio floor. She lay on her back, exposed and vulnerable, looking up at both men. Kabir moved closer, crouching down, his camera aimed like a weapon. The evidence of his arousal was now even more obvious.
Kabir: "Spread her legs, Samrat. Wider." Uski taangein phailao, Samrat. Aur chaudi karo.
Samrat knelt between her legs, pushing her thighs apart. Ananya’s breath hitched, her gaze flickering from her husband to the photographer who was now just a few feet away.
Kabir: "Now, go down on her. I want to capture the pleasure on her face when your tongue touches her. Don't look at me, look at her. But know that I am watching everything." Ab, us par neeche jao. Main uske chehre par khushi capture karna chahta hoon jab tumhari zubaan use chhuegi. Mujhe mat dekho, use dekho. Lekin yeh jaan lo ki main sab kuch dekh raha hoon.
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