16-11-2025, 01:19 PM
Divya turned slowly, her arms still raised, the pale blue kurta pulling taut across her back, the fabric whispering against her skin. The kitchen light cast harsh shadows, highlighting the faint sheen of sweat on her exposed underarms and the curve of her shoulders. Ramesh's eyes devoured her, his breath quickening as he stepped closer, his presence a suffocating heat.
He didn't touch her immediately, instead, he circled her like a wolf, slow and deliberate, his gaze lingering on the way the salwar pants clung to her ass, the soft jiggle of her flesh with each nervous shift of her weight. "Look at you," he murmured, voice low and sleazy, dripping with crude appreciation. "All dressed up like a proper aunty, but I know what's underneath—wet and waiting."
He reached out finally, his rough hand sliding under the kurta's hem, fingers grazing the soft skin of her lower back, tracing up to the dupatta and tugged it away completely. It fluttered to the floor like a discarded veil. "Keep those arms up," he ordered, his tone laced with that cruel amusement.
He pressed his body against her from behind, his hardening cock grinding against her ass through his jeans, the friction rough and insistent. One hand snaked around to cup her breast over the fabric, squeezing possessively, thumb flicking the nipple until it peaked visibly against the cotton. The other hand dipped lower, pressing between her thighs, rubbing her pussy through the salwar, feeling the growing dampness. "Spread your legs a bit, aunty," he whispered, hot breath on her neck. "Let me feel how much you've been thinking about this all day."
Divya's body trembled, a mix of revulsion and that unwelcome heat building despite her will. She complied with a small step apart, her breath hitching as his fingers pressed harder, circling her clit through the thin material. He leaned in again, nose burying into her left underarm this time, inhaling deeply with a guttural groan, the scent sharper now, mingled with her rising arousal, making him grind harder. "Mmm, that's my good girl, sweaty and ripe just for me."
His free hand yanked the kurta's neckline down slightly, exposing more of her cleavage, and he pinched her nipple raw, twisting until she whimpered.
It was too much—the sleaziness of it, the casual violation in her own kitchen, where she'd cooked for her family a thousand times. Tears welled up, hot and uncontrollable, spilling down her cheeks. Her arms ached, but she lowered them suddenly, spinning to face him, shoving his hands away with surprising force.
"Stop! Just... stop," she sobbed, voice breaking, chest heaving. She backed against the counter, dupatta forgotten on the floor, her face a mask of anguish.
"Ramesh, please... let's talk. Really talk. Like humans. Why are you doing this? I... I treated you like family. When Mohit brought you home, I saw a boy who needed kindness—a friend for my son. You were just... like my son, harmless. I made you tea, asked about your studies, your dad. I never... never gave you a reason to see me like this."
She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, her words tumbling out genuine and raw, pleading for some shred of the boy she thought she'd known.
"I'm a wife, Ramesh. Ajay's wife for twenty years. We built a life, a home. And Mohit... he's my world. I'd die for him. I was faithful, devoted—a simple woman who prayed every morning, cooked with love, never strayed. What did I do to deserve this? Is it because of your mother? The pain of losing her? Or... or something I said, or did? Tell me. Help me understand you.
Because right now, you're destroying me, and I... I don't know if I can take it anymore."
Her voice cracked, eyes searching his, desperate for empathy, for a crack in his armor, a heart-to-heart that might salvage something humane from this nightmare.
Ramesh paused, his smirk fading slightly, frustration flickering in his eyes. He'd thought her broken, pliant after last night, but here was that fire again, that guilt-fueled fight. It irritated him, this reminder she wasn't fully his yet. He stepped back, running a hand over his face, hiding the annoyance.
"Talk? Fine, let's talk," he said, voice controlled but edged with manipulation. "You want to understand me? It's simple—you're everything I never had. Warm, curvy, motherly. Yeah, my mom's gone, left a hole. But you? You are so pure, so homely, so conservative. You filled it that first day, with your smiles, your food. The way you carried yourself so effortlessly. The way your lips moved when you spoke, the way your bangles clinked when you worked around the house. You were so unattainable, so far from the filth of my mind of my desires, so innocent and I wanted to corrupt you, soil you, defile you as I wanted to get that woman out, which you buried so deeply in the characters of a mother and wife that you played. And now... you're mine to take. Don't fight it, Divya. It's good for you too—admit it, your body's screaming for it. Stop the guilt; Ajay's away, Mohit's clueless. Be the woman you are now."
But she shook her head, tears flowing freer. "No... I can't. I'm not that. Please, Ramesh... let's eat. Or... or just leave me alone tonight." Her plea was earnest, a last grasp at normalcy.
Frustration boiled over—he slammed a hand on the counter, making her flinch. "Damn it, I thought you were done with this shit. Fine, we'll eat." He turned abruptly, grabbing plates from the cabinet with rough clanks, spooning curry and rice onto them, the steam rising like his temper. He set them on the small kitchen table, pulling out a chair with a scbang. "Sit. Eat with me. Like a good... wife." The word was laced with sarcasm, a manipulative twist to pull her in.
Divya hesitated, her stomach churning, with no appetite, just nausea from the inner war. "I... I can't. Not like this." She backed away, arms crossed protectively over her chest, the sleeveless kurta feeling even more exposing under his glare.
His eyes narrowed, frustration mounting—he'd expected submission, not this lingering resistance. "Sit down, Divya. Or I'll make you. You think you can fight me? After everything? Eat, and maybe I'll be gentle tonight." He softened his tone falsely, a predator's lure, but inside, anger simmered at her unbroken spirit.
She shook her head again, sobbing quietly, the guilt too heavy. Ramesh huffed, pushing back from the table, his eyes scanning the room for distraction.....or leverage. They landed on the DVD collection tucked in the living room shelf, visible through the doorway. He stood, walking over slowly, fingers trailing the spines. "Mohit showed me this once," he said casually, pulling out a disc labeled "Ajay & Divya - Wedding." "Never got to watch it. Today, I will."
Divya's face drained of color, blood rushing from her head—she swayed, gripping the counter. "No... Ramesh, please. Not that. Anything but that." It was her marriage video, pure and playful, captured joy from a day of vows and laughter, now about to be tainted.
Ramesh ignored her, shoving the disc into the DVD player next to the TV. The thing buzzed and clicked as it started up, the screen jumping a bit before the video kicked in. Old, shaky footage from a cheap camera. There she was, younger, in her red sari loaded with gold threads that looked heavy and itchy under the lights. Her face was all smiles, nervous but happy, with family crowding around, yelling jokes and clapping. The priest's voice came through the speakers, chanting those long, drawn-out words, the sound a bit scratchy like the disc was worn.
Divya's stomach dropped, her face going pale, heart thumping so hard she felt it in her throat. "Ramesh, no... please, turn it off." Her voice shook, tears starting right away, hot and messy down her cheeks.
That day....it was all coming back: Ajay's hand holding hers, steady and warm, the fire hot on her face, everyone cheering like life was perfect. Now it felt like a punch, seeing it here while this nightmare played out.
He grabbed her hands instead, holding them tight in his, rough palms squeezing hers like he was trying to comfort her. He pulled her close on the couch, his voice dropping low, whispering right in her ear.
"Shh, Divya, it's okay. Just watch with me. This too shall pass, you know? Everything that's happened—your life, meeting me—it's all led to this exact moment. You're right where you're supposed to be." His words came out soft, like an elder calming someone down, but it twisted everything. The irony hitting her hard, him talking sweet while ruining her.
She tried to pull away, shaking her head. "No, Ramesh... this is my wedding. With Ajay. It's sacred. Why are you doing this?"
He chuckled low, still holding her hands, his thumbs rubbing circles on her knuckles. "Because it's hot, that's why. Seeing you all innocent there, and now... with me. Don't fight it. It's fate or whatever. Just let it happen." He let go of one hand, reaching for her kurta, tugging it up slow over her head. She didn't stop him, too numb, the fabric catching on her arms before he yanked it off, tossing it aside. She wore no bra as the previous night's ministrations had left her breasts sore.
Her tits bounced free, heavy and full, nipples getting hard from the cool air. Ramesh marveled at the sight of her naked breasts, looking at those hickeys the lust bites he gave her the previous night.
"Stand up," he said, voice still that fake gentle. She did, legs shaky, and he pulled down her salwar and panties in one go, the waistband snapping against her thighs as they hit the floor. She stepped out, naked now, skin prickling, the mangalsutra dangling between her breasts like a joke.
Ramesh stood too, peeling off his t-shirt—damp and stinky from the day, that strong sweat smell hitting her right away. He kicked off his jeans and boxers, his cock springing out half-hard, balls hanging heavy, the whole area musky and sweaty. He was all sticky, body odor strong, like he hadn't showered on purpose. "Come here," he said, sitting back on the couch, pulling her down to kneel in front of him. The video kept playing—Ajay putting a garland around her neck, everyone clapping loud.
He grabbed her head, not rough but firm, pushing her face right into his balls. The skin was moist, warm, hairy, that thick, salty smell filling her nose—sweat and cum from earlier, marking her like he wanted it stuck in her head. "Smell that? That's me, all over you now." Her eyes stayed on the TV, glued to it, watching her old self laugh while her nose rubbed against his sack, the pubes tickling her cheeks, the stench making her eyes water. "See that? You were his back then. Now you're down here, sniffing my balls like a good mature slut."
Divya choked back a sob, whispering, "Ramesh... this is wrong. I was happy there. With Ajay. We had a life." Ramesh grabbed her head firmly and lodged his balls in her mouth as she started muffling and gagging while speaking.
He stroked her hair, still whispering like he was soothing her. "I know, I know. But look how far you've come. That girl's gone. This is your reality. Keep watching."
On screen, the priest was talking about vows, and Ramesh spat into his palm, a thick glob, smearing it right into his hairy armpit, mixing with the sweat there. The smell got stronger, wet and gross. He pulled her up by the hair, gentle but controlling, shoving her face into the pit. "Inhale deep. Slow breaths. That's it—breathe me in while your wedding plays."
She did, nose buried in the coarse hairs, the mix of spit and sweat salty and overwhelming, filling her lungs. "Why... why this?" she mumbled, voice muffled.
"Shhhh take your tongue out and give it long licks", Ramesh interrupted her and turned his own head towards his armpit and kissed her deep as they both started licking the armpit and each other’s tongue.
"Because it sticks," he said, grinning down at her. "My stink in your head, every time you think of your wedding day."
He grabbed her hand, wrapping it around his cock—thick and veiny, getting harder in her grip. "Stroke me now. Nice and slow."
She started pumping, hand sliding up and down the shaft, feeling it throb, pre-cum leaking sticky on her fingers. The video showed her and Ajay circling the fire, hands linked, and she kept stroking, eyes locked on the screen, tears mixing with the sweat on her face.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" he whispered, still in that pacifying tone. "All that guilt... let it go. This is your moment now." His free hand reached down, rubbing her tit, pinching the nipple hard enough to make her gasp into his armpit. "Keep breathing deep. Stroke faster."
He could see some of his coarse hair strands on her face around her lips as she looked at him with half open eyes with her mouth slightly apart. Ramesh spat in her mouth and she gulped it down submissively as some of his spit trickled down by the side of her mouth to her chin.
This was an hyper erotic sight for him. Divya the beautiful married wife and mother of his friend in all her glory with all the marital accessories on her sitting naked and sweaty with her face buried in his stinky sweaty armpit.
She sped up, hand slick now, the wet sounds mixing with the video's chants. "Ramesh... I can't....."
"Shh, it's okay," he cooed, like comforting a kid. "Everything led to this. You're mine now—feel how hard you make me?" He pulled her face away finally, spitting in his palm again, smearing it on her lips and nose this time. "Taste and smell that."
Then he stood, pulling her up, bending her over the couch arm, facing the TV. The mangalsutra scene was coming up. Ajay holding the chain, hands shaking, happy nervousness around.
Ramesh spread her legs apart wider, dropping to his knees behind her. "Gonna eat this married pussy first, make you drip while he ties that knot." His hands gripped her ass cheeks, spreading them rough, the air hitting her wet folds. He buried his face in, tongue lapping flat and hard at her slit—sloppy, wet sounds filling the room as he sucked her juices, tasting salty and tangy. "Fuck, you taste like a mother now," he mumbled against her, voice muffled, vibrations buzzing her clit. His stubble scratched her inner thighs, rough and irritating, while his tongue plunged in deep, fucking her hole with it, nose pressing into her ass crack, that sweaty stink of him mixing with her scent. He slurped loud, crude, like he was starving— "Mmm, so fucking wet for your son's friend, huh? While hubby puts that chain on you." His fingers joined, two shoving in knuckle-deep, curling to hit her spot, pumping fast as his mouth clamped on her clit, sucking hard, teeth grazing just enough to sting.
Divya's legs shook, moans escaping despite her sobs. "Ramesh... stop... it's my wedding video....how can you do this..." But her hips pushed back, grinding on his face, the video showing Ajay smiling as he lifted the mangalsutra. The chants droned on, clashing with the wet smacks of his tongue and fingers.
He pulled back, face shiny with her slick, standing up quick. "Now you're ready, bitch." His cock rubbed her pussy, head catching on her entrance, as he tapped it against her folds, teasing. "Beg for it, mummy. Tell me to fuck you while Ajay claims you."
She whimpered no, but he thrust in anyway, slow at first—stretching her wide, the burn making her gasp. "Take it, you slut—feel my dick while your man's on screen." He started pounding, thap thap thap of skin slapping, wet and loud, his balls smacking her clit with each drive.
"Hear that? That's your pussy loving it." His hands grabbed her tits from behind, squeezing hard, nipples pinched between fingers. "Cum when he ties it, whore. Make it dirty forever."
The knot tightened on screen—Ajay's hands pulling it snug. Ramesh rammed harder, thap thap thap echoing, one hand yanking her hair to force her eyes on the TV. "Yes, mummy—squeeze that cunt for your boy." She broke, orgasm hitting like a slap, pussy clamping down, milking him as she cried "Ajay.......!" Ramesh grunted "Fuck ahhhhhh yes," shooting cum deep, hot spurts filling her, leaking out with each final thap. They collapsed, the video cheering fading, her wedding smile frozen on screen.
He didn't touch her immediately, instead, he circled her like a wolf, slow and deliberate, his gaze lingering on the way the salwar pants clung to her ass, the soft jiggle of her flesh with each nervous shift of her weight. "Look at you," he murmured, voice low and sleazy, dripping with crude appreciation. "All dressed up like a proper aunty, but I know what's underneath—wet and waiting."
He reached out finally, his rough hand sliding under the kurta's hem, fingers grazing the soft skin of her lower back, tracing up to the dupatta and tugged it away completely. It fluttered to the floor like a discarded veil. "Keep those arms up," he ordered, his tone laced with that cruel amusement.
He pressed his body against her from behind, his hardening cock grinding against her ass through his jeans, the friction rough and insistent. One hand snaked around to cup her breast over the fabric, squeezing possessively, thumb flicking the nipple until it peaked visibly against the cotton. The other hand dipped lower, pressing between her thighs, rubbing her pussy through the salwar, feeling the growing dampness. "Spread your legs a bit, aunty," he whispered, hot breath on her neck. "Let me feel how much you've been thinking about this all day."
Divya's body trembled, a mix of revulsion and that unwelcome heat building despite her will. She complied with a small step apart, her breath hitching as his fingers pressed harder, circling her clit through the thin material. He leaned in again, nose burying into her left underarm this time, inhaling deeply with a guttural groan, the scent sharper now, mingled with her rising arousal, making him grind harder. "Mmm, that's my good girl, sweaty and ripe just for me."
His free hand yanked the kurta's neckline down slightly, exposing more of her cleavage, and he pinched her nipple raw, twisting until she whimpered.
It was too much—the sleaziness of it, the casual violation in her own kitchen, where she'd cooked for her family a thousand times. Tears welled up, hot and uncontrollable, spilling down her cheeks. Her arms ached, but she lowered them suddenly, spinning to face him, shoving his hands away with surprising force.
"Stop! Just... stop," she sobbed, voice breaking, chest heaving. She backed against the counter, dupatta forgotten on the floor, her face a mask of anguish.
"Ramesh, please... let's talk. Really talk. Like humans. Why are you doing this? I... I treated you like family. When Mohit brought you home, I saw a boy who needed kindness—a friend for my son. You were just... like my son, harmless. I made you tea, asked about your studies, your dad. I never... never gave you a reason to see me like this."
She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, her words tumbling out genuine and raw, pleading for some shred of the boy she thought she'd known.
"I'm a wife, Ramesh. Ajay's wife for twenty years. We built a life, a home. And Mohit... he's my world. I'd die for him. I was faithful, devoted—a simple woman who prayed every morning, cooked with love, never strayed. What did I do to deserve this? Is it because of your mother? The pain of losing her? Or... or something I said, or did? Tell me. Help me understand you.
Because right now, you're destroying me, and I... I don't know if I can take it anymore."
Her voice cracked, eyes searching his, desperate for empathy, for a crack in his armor, a heart-to-heart that might salvage something humane from this nightmare.
Ramesh paused, his smirk fading slightly, frustration flickering in his eyes. He'd thought her broken, pliant after last night, but here was that fire again, that guilt-fueled fight. It irritated him, this reminder she wasn't fully his yet. He stepped back, running a hand over his face, hiding the annoyance.
"Talk? Fine, let's talk," he said, voice controlled but edged with manipulation. "You want to understand me? It's simple—you're everything I never had. Warm, curvy, motherly. Yeah, my mom's gone, left a hole. But you? You are so pure, so homely, so conservative. You filled it that first day, with your smiles, your food. The way you carried yourself so effortlessly. The way your lips moved when you spoke, the way your bangles clinked when you worked around the house. You were so unattainable, so far from the filth of my mind of my desires, so innocent and I wanted to corrupt you, soil you, defile you as I wanted to get that woman out, which you buried so deeply in the characters of a mother and wife that you played. And now... you're mine to take. Don't fight it, Divya. It's good for you too—admit it, your body's screaming for it. Stop the guilt; Ajay's away, Mohit's clueless. Be the woman you are now."
But she shook her head, tears flowing freer. "No... I can't. I'm not that. Please, Ramesh... let's eat. Or... or just leave me alone tonight." Her plea was earnest, a last grasp at normalcy.
Frustration boiled over—he slammed a hand on the counter, making her flinch. "Damn it, I thought you were done with this shit. Fine, we'll eat." He turned abruptly, grabbing plates from the cabinet with rough clanks, spooning curry and rice onto them, the steam rising like his temper. He set them on the small kitchen table, pulling out a chair with a scbang. "Sit. Eat with me. Like a good... wife." The word was laced with sarcasm, a manipulative twist to pull her in.
Divya hesitated, her stomach churning, with no appetite, just nausea from the inner war. "I... I can't. Not like this." She backed away, arms crossed protectively over her chest, the sleeveless kurta feeling even more exposing under his glare.
His eyes narrowed, frustration mounting—he'd expected submission, not this lingering resistance. "Sit down, Divya. Or I'll make you. You think you can fight me? After everything? Eat, and maybe I'll be gentle tonight." He softened his tone falsely, a predator's lure, but inside, anger simmered at her unbroken spirit.
She shook her head again, sobbing quietly, the guilt too heavy. Ramesh huffed, pushing back from the table, his eyes scanning the room for distraction.....or leverage. They landed on the DVD collection tucked in the living room shelf, visible through the doorway. He stood, walking over slowly, fingers trailing the spines. "Mohit showed me this once," he said casually, pulling out a disc labeled "Ajay & Divya - Wedding." "Never got to watch it. Today, I will."
Divya's face drained of color, blood rushing from her head—she swayed, gripping the counter. "No... Ramesh, please. Not that. Anything but that." It was her marriage video, pure and playful, captured joy from a day of vows and laughter, now about to be tainted.
Ramesh ignored her, shoving the disc into the DVD player next to the TV. The thing buzzed and clicked as it started up, the screen jumping a bit before the video kicked in. Old, shaky footage from a cheap camera. There she was, younger, in her red sari loaded with gold threads that looked heavy and itchy under the lights. Her face was all smiles, nervous but happy, with family crowding around, yelling jokes and clapping. The priest's voice came through the speakers, chanting those long, drawn-out words, the sound a bit scratchy like the disc was worn.
Divya's stomach dropped, her face going pale, heart thumping so hard she felt it in her throat. "Ramesh, no... please, turn it off." Her voice shook, tears starting right away, hot and messy down her cheeks.
That day....it was all coming back: Ajay's hand holding hers, steady and warm, the fire hot on her face, everyone cheering like life was perfect. Now it felt like a punch, seeing it here while this nightmare played out.
He grabbed her hands instead, holding them tight in his, rough palms squeezing hers like he was trying to comfort her. He pulled her close on the couch, his voice dropping low, whispering right in her ear.
"Shh, Divya, it's okay. Just watch with me. This too shall pass, you know? Everything that's happened—your life, meeting me—it's all led to this exact moment. You're right where you're supposed to be." His words came out soft, like an elder calming someone down, but it twisted everything. The irony hitting her hard, him talking sweet while ruining her.
She tried to pull away, shaking her head. "No, Ramesh... this is my wedding. With Ajay. It's sacred. Why are you doing this?"
He chuckled low, still holding her hands, his thumbs rubbing circles on her knuckles. "Because it's hot, that's why. Seeing you all innocent there, and now... with me. Don't fight it. It's fate or whatever. Just let it happen." He let go of one hand, reaching for her kurta, tugging it up slow over her head. She didn't stop him, too numb, the fabric catching on her arms before he yanked it off, tossing it aside. She wore no bra as the previous night's ministrations had left her breasts sore.
Her tits bounced free, heavy and full, nipples getting hard from the cool air. Ramesh marveled at the sight of her naked breasts, looking at those hickeys the lust bites he gave her the previous night.
"Stand up," he said, voice still that fake gentle. She did, legs shaky, and he pulled down her salwar and panties in one go, the waistband snapping against her thighs as they hit the floor. She stepped out, naked now, skin prickling, the mangalsutra dangling between her breasts like a joke.
Ramesh stood too, peeling off his t-shirt—damp and stinky from the day, that strong sweat smell hitting her right away. He kicked off his jeans and boxers, his cock springing out half-hard, balls hanging heavy, the whole area musky and sweaty. He was all sticky, body odor strong, like he hadn't showered on purpose. "Come here," he said, sitting back on the couch, pulling her down to kneel in front of him. The video kept playing—Ajay putting a garland around her neck, everyone clapping loud.
He grabbed her head, not rough but firm, pushing her face right into his balls. The skin was moist, warm, hairy, that thick, salty smell filling her nose—sweat and cum from earlier, marking her like he wanted it stuck in her head. "Smell that? That's me, all over you now." Her eyes stayed on the TV, glued to it, watching her old self laugh while her nose rubbed against his sack, the pubes tickling her cheeks, the stench making her eyes water. "See that? You were his back then. Now you're down here, sniffing my balls like a good mature slut."
Divya choked back a sob, whispering, "Ramesh... this is wrong. I was happy there. With Ajay. We had a life." Ramesh grabbed her head firmly and lodged his balls in her mouth as she started muffling and gagging while speaking.
He stroked her hair, still whispering like he was soothing her. "I know, I know. But look how far you've come. That girl's gone. This is your reality. Keep watching."
On screen, the priest was talking about vows, and Ramesh spat into his palm, a thick glob, smearing it right into his hairy armpit, mixing with the sweat there. The smell got stronger, wet and gross. He pulled her up by the hair, gentle but controlling, shoving her face into the pit. "Inhale deep. Slow breaths. That's it—breathe me in while your wedding plays."
She did, nose buried in the coarse hairs, the mix of spit and sweat salty and overwhelming, filling her lungs. "Why... why this?" she mumbled, voice muffled.
"Shhhh take your tongue out and give it long licks", Ramesh interrupted her and turned his own head towards his armpit and kissed her deep as they both started licking the armpit and each other’s tongue.
"Because it sticks," he said, grinning down at her. "My stink in your head, every time you think of your wedding day."
He grabbed her hand, wrapping it around his cock—thick and veiny, getting harder in her grip. "Stroke me now. Nice and slow."
She started pumping, hand sliding up and down the shaft, feeling it throb, pre-cum leaking sticky on her fingers. The video showed her and Ajay circling the fire, hands linked, and she kept stroking, eyes locked on the screen, tears mixing with the sweat on her face.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" he whispered, still in that pacifying tone. "All that guilt... let it go. This is your moment now." His free hand reached down, rubbing her tit, pinching the nipple hard enough to make her gasp into his armpit. "Keep breathing deep. Stroke faster."
He could see some of his coarse hair strands on her face around her lips as she looked at him with half open eyes with her mouth slightly apart. Ramesh spat in her mouth and she gulped it down submissively as some of his spit trickled down by the side of her mouth to her chin.
This was an hyper erotic sight for him. Divya the beautiful married wife and mother of his friend in all her glory with all the marital accessories on her sitting naked and sweaty with her face buried in his stinky sweaty armpit.
She sped up, hand slick now, the wet sounds mixing with the video's chants. "Ramesh... I can't....."
"Shh, it's okay," he cooed, like comforting a kid. "Everything led to this. You're mine now—feel how hard you make me?" He pulled her face away finally, spitting in his palm again, smearing it on her lips and nose this time. "Taste and smell that."
Then he stood, pulling her up, bending her over the couch arm, facing the TV. The mangalsutra scene was coming up. Ajay holding the chain, hands shaking, happy nervousness around.
Ramesh spread her legs apart wider, dropping to his knees behind her. "Gonna eat this married pussy first, make you drip while he ties that knot." His hands gripped her ass cheeks, spreading them rough, the air hitting her wet folds. He buried his face in, tongue lapping flat and hard at her slit—sloppy, wet sounds filling the room as he sucked her juices, tasting salty and tangy. "Fuck, you taste like a mother now," he mumbled against her, voice muffled, vibrations buzzing her clit. His stubble scratched her inner thighs, rough and irritating, while his tongue plunged in deep, fucking her hole with it, nose pressing into her ass crack, that sweaty stink of him mixing with her scent. He slurped loud, crude, like he was starving— "Mmm, so fucking wet for your son's friend, huh? While hubby puts that chain on you." His fingers joined, two shoving in knuckle-deep, curling to hit her spot, pumping fast as his mouth clamped on her clit, sucking hard, teeth grazing just enough to sting.
Divya's legs shook, moans escaping despite her sobs. "Ramesh... stop... it's my wedding video....how can you do this..." But her hips pushed back, grinding on his face, the video showing Ajay smiling as he lifted the mangalsutra. The chants droned on, clashing with the wet smacks of his tongue and fingers.
He pulled back, face shiny with her slick, standing up quick. "Now you're ready, bitch." His cock rubbed her pussy, head catching on her entrance, as he tapped it against her folds, teasing. "Beg for it, mummy. Tell me to fuck you while Ajay claims you."
She whimpered no, but he thrust in anyway, slow at first—stretching her wide, the burn making her gasp. "Take it, you slut—feel my dick while your man's on screen." He started pounding, thap thap thap of skin slapping, wet and loud, his balls smacking her clit with each drive.
"Hear that? That's your pussy loving it." His hands grabbed her tits from behind, squeezing hard, nipples pinched between fingers. "Cum when he ties it, whore. Make it dirty forever."
The knot tightened on screen—Ajay's hands pulling it snug. Ramesh rammed harder, thap thap thap echoing, one hand yanking her hair to force her eyes on the TV. "Yes, mummy—squeeze that cunt for your boy." She broke, orgasm hitting like a slap, pussy clamping down, milking him as she cried "Ajay.......!" Ramesh grunted "Fuck ahhhhhh yes," shooting cum deep, hot spurts filling her, leaking out with each final thap. They collapsed, the video cheering fading, her wedding smile frozen on screen.
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