24-10-2025, 04:45 PM
(This post was last modified: 24-10-2025, 04:46 PM by ashuezy2. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Saga 10 - Scene 1 - Husband + Wife + Usman
=============================
Sameer waited in the shadows of the dressing room until he heard Dipa finish cleaning the living room and retreat towards the master bathroom for a proper shower.
His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs. He couldn't stay. He couldn't confront her. But he couldn't leave either. Not yet. He had to see this through. He had to witness the next act.
He slipped out of the dressing room, grabbed his keys and wallet from the entryway table, and let himself silently out the front door. He got into his car, parked a little way down the street, and reclined the seat, watching his own house. Waiting. The hours crawled by. He smoked cigarette after cigarette, the image of his wife being ravaged by beggars, her subsequent self-pleasuring, and her seductive call to Usman replaying in his mind like a pornographic film loop. He was sick with jealousy, disgust, and the most profound, soul-consuming erection of his life.
At precisely 9:00 PM, an auto-rickshaw pulled up in front of the house. An older man got out. Usman. He looked different from the frail patient Sameer vaguely remembered seeing months ago. He stood taller, moved with a confident stride, his eyes sharp and alert as he surveyed the house. Sameer watched, his breath catching, as Usman walked up to the front door and rang the bell.
The door opened almost immediately. Dipa stood there, bathed in the warm light from the hallway. She was wearing a sheer black gown made of very thin fabric that left little to the imagination, her huge breasts barely contained, her nipples dark, hard points visible through the fabric.
The moment she saw Usman, her face lit up with a raw, unadulterated passion that Sameer had never seen directed at him.
Dipa: Usman!
Before Usman could even speak, Dipa launched herself into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, her mouth crashing onto his in a deep, desperate, tongue-tangling kiss. Usman, far from being the frail old man, reacted instantly, his arms locking around her, crushing her against him, lifting her effortlessly into the air as he devoured her mouth.
Usman: (pulling back slightly, breathless) I missed you so much! Why did you leave me? I thought…
Dipa: Shhh. Come inside. We will talk. We will do more than talk.
She slid down his body, landing softly on her feet, and pulled him into the house, closing the door firmly behind them.
Sameer waited a full minute, his hands shaking, then got out of his car.
Using his spare key, he let himself back into the silent house. He could hear their voices, low and intimate, coming from the living room. He crept down the hall and slipped back into the shadows of the dressing room, positioning himself at the crack in the bedroom door.
Dipa was sitting sideways on Usman’s lap on the main sofa, her sheer black gown offering Sameer a tantalizing view of her bare ass cheek pressed against Usman’s trousers. Usman’s arms were wrapped around her, his hands possessively cupping her breasts through the thin fabric. They were kissing again, slow and deep, like lifelong lovers reunited.
Usman: Ten days… you stayed for ten days. And then you vanished. I thought I had imagined you.
Dipa: I am real, my love. And I am yours. I had to go back. But I couldn't stay away. I missed this too much.
Usman: You missed me? Or you missed what I do to you?
Dipa: Both. I missed your strength. I missed your taste. I missed feeling you inside me.
Usman chuckled, a low, confident sound. He kissed her again, his hands moving more boldly now, sliding under the black sheer gown, his fingers finding her already hard nipples.
Usman: You are always ready for me, aren't you? Always full. Always aching.
Dipa: Only for you, Usman. Only your touch makes me feel like this.
Liar, Sameer thought, a fresh wave of agony and arousal washing over him.
Usman began fondling her breasts, his thumbs rubbing her nipples in slow circles, making her moan softly into his mouth.
Usman: So heavy. So perfect. My hands… they remember the feel of you even when you are gone.
Dipa: Then take them. They belong to you.
She arched her back, pushing her chest out, offering herself to him. He lowered his head, his mouth closing over one nipple through the sheer fabric, sucking hard.
Dipa: Ahhh… yes… just like that…
Her hand slid down Usman’s chest, over his flat belly, to the noticeable bulge in his trousers.
Dipa: And you… you are ready for me too. Hard already. Just thinking about me makes you hard, doesn’t it, my old gangster?
Usman: (muffled against her breast) Everything about you makes me hard. Your smell. Your taste. My sources told me about filthy beggars putting their hands on you… did they fuck you well? Did they make you scream like I do?
Dipa: (a low, throaty laugh) They were nothing. Animals. You are my king. Now, take me. I need you inside me.
She began to unbutton his shirt, her fingers working quickly. He released her breast, his eyes blazing with a possessive fire.
Usman: Not yet. First, I want to taste the rest of you. I want to taste where those beggars were. Show me.
He pushed her gently off his lap, making her stand before him.
Usman: Take it off. All of it. Let me see the body that belongs to Usman Bhai.
Dipa smiled, a slow, deliberate movement. She reached for the hem of her black sheer gown and slowly pulled it up, over her head, letting it fall to the floor. She stood naked before him, her body bathed in the soft lamplight, her breasts heavy, her cunt glistening. Sameer watched from the shadows, his own cock aching, tears streaming silently down his face. His wife, his goddess, offering herself completely to another man, while he could only watch, hidden, helpless, and utterly enthralled.
=============================
Sameer waited in the shadows of the dressing room until he heard Dipa finish cleaning the living room and retreat towards the master bathroom for a proper shower.
His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs. He couldn't stay. He couldn't confront her. But he couldn't leave either. Not yet. He had to see this through. He had to witness the next act.
He slipped out of the dressing room, grabbed his keys and wallet from the entryway table, and let himself silently out the front door. He got into his car, parked a little way down the street, and reclined the seat, watching his own house. Waiting. The hours crawled by. He smoked cigarette after cigarette, the image of his wife being ravaged by beggars, her subsequent self-pleasuring, and her seductive call to Usman replaying in his mind like a pornographic film loop. He was sick with jealousy, disgust, and the most profound, soul-consuming erection of his life.
At precisely 9:00 PM, an auto-rickshaw pulled up in front of the house. An older man got out. Usman. He looked different from the frail patient Sameer vaguely remembered seeing months ago. He stood taller, moved with a confident stride, his eyes sharp and alert as he surveyed the house. Sameer watched, his breath catching, as Usman walked up to the front door and rang the bell.
The door opened almost immediately. Dipa stood there, bathed in the warm light from the hallway. She was wearing a sheer black gown made of very thin fabric that left little to the imagination, her huge breasts barely contained, her nipples dark, hard points visible through the fabric.
The moment she saw Usman, her face lit up with a raw, unadulterated passion that Sameer had never seen directed at him.
Dipa: Usman!
Before Usman could even speak, Dipa launched herself into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, her mouth crashing onto his in a deep, desperate, tongue-tangling kiss. Usman, far from being the frail old man, reacted instantly, his arms locking around her, crushing her against him, lifting her effortlessly into the air as he devoured her mouth.
Usman: (pulling back slightly, breathless) I missed you so much! Why did you leave me? I thought…
Dipa: Shhh. Come inside. We will talk. We will do more than talk.
She slid down his body, landing softly on her feet, and pulled him into the house, closing the door firmly behind them.
Sameer waited a full minute, his hands shaking, then got out of his car.
Using his spare key, he let himself back into the silent house. He could hear their voices, low and intimate, coming from the living room. He crept down the hall and slipped back into the shadows of the dressing room, positioning himself at the crack in the bedroom door.
Dipa was sitting sideways on Usman’s lap on the main sofa, her sheer black gown offering Sameer a tantalizing view of her bare ass cheek pressed against Usman’s trousers. Usman’s arms were wrapped around her, his hands possessively cupping her breasts through the thin fabric. They were kissing again, slow and deep, like lifelong lovers reunited.
Usman: Ten days… you stayed for ten days. And then you vanished. I thought I had imagined you.
Dipa: I am real, my love. And I am yours. I had to go back. But I couldn't stay away. I missed this too much.
Usman: You missed me? Or you missed what I do to you?
Dipa: Both. I missed your strength. I missed your taste. I missed feeling you inside me.
Usman chuckled, a low, confident sound. He kissed her again, his hands moving more boldly now, sliding under the black sheer gown, his fingers finding her already hard nipples.
Usman: You are always ready for me, aren't you? Always full. Always aching.
Dipa: Only for you, Usman. Only your touch makes me feel like this.
Liar, Sameer thought, a fresh wave of agony and arousal washing over him.
Usman began fondling her breasts, his thumbs rubbing her nipples in slow circles, making her moan softly into his mouth.
Usman: So heavy. So perfect. My hands… they remember the feel of you even when you are gone.
Dipa: Then take them. They belong to you.
She arched her back, pushing her chest out, offering herself to him. He lowered his head, his mouth closing over one nipple through the sheer fabric, sucking hard.
Dipa: Ahhh… yes… just like that…
Her hand slid down Usman’s chest, over his flat belly, to the noticeable bulge in his trousers.
Dipa: And you… you are ready for me too. Hard already. Just thinking about me makes you hard, doesn’t it, my old gangster?
Usman: (muffled against her breast) Everything about you makes me hard. Your smell. Your taste. My sources told me about filthy beggars putting their hands on you… did they fuck you well? Did they make you scream like I do?
Dipa: (a low, throaty laugh) They were nothing. Animals. You are my king. Now, take me. I need you inside me.
She began to unbutton his shirt, her fingers working quickly. He released her breast, his eyes blazing with a possessive fire.
Usman: Not yet. First, I want to taste the rest of you. I want to taste where those beggars were. Show me.
He pushed her gently off his lap, making her stand before him.
Usman: Take it off. All of it. Let me see the body that belongs to Usman Bhai.
Dipa smiled, a slow, deliberate movement. She reached for the hem of her black sheer gown and slowly pulled it up, over her head, letting it fall to the floor. She stood naked before him, her body bathed in the soft lamplight, her breasts heavy, her cunt glistening. Sameer watched from the shadows, his own cock aching, tears streaming silently down his face. His wife, his goddess, offering herself completely to another man, while he could only watch, hidden, helpless, and utterly enthralled.
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