20-11-2025, 09:21 PM
Hours crawled past. Chandrani blinked awake to near-darkness pierced by a single, guttering kerosene flame. Javed sprawled beside her on the narrow cot, his chest rising and falling steadily. The scratchy wool blanket lay tangled around his waist. Outside, the rain still fell, a softer sigh now. Disoriented, she pushed herself upright. Pain lanced through her hips, her inner thighs. She swallowed, the metallic aftertaste of cheap liquor thick on her tongue. Her discarded sari, blouse, and petticoat lay crumpled on the damp earthen floor near the washroom partition. Moving stiffly, she swung her bare legs over the cot’s edge, her feet flinching from the cold dirt floor. With precise, unhurried motions, she gathered her clothes. Her fingers trembled only slightly as she hooked the blouse closed over her breasts, its silk cool against her skin. She wound the damp sari methodically, pulling the *pallu* securely over her shoulder, every movement deliberate, rehearsed. A shield reassembled stitch by stitch.
SUMMARY^1: The cot’s rhythmic creaking signaled the beginning of Chandrani’s claimed fate, audible even through the rain—Chottu smirked in understanding before slipping away. Hours later, Chandrani awoke stiff and sore beside Javed, now asleep. The rain had softened. Moving gingerly, she dressed methodically, reassembling her sari with deliberate precision, each fold restoring her outer armor despite lingering tremors.
Behind her, a low chuckle rumbled from the cot. She glanced over her shoulder. Javed lay watching her, his dark eyes gleaming in the low light, tracing the arch of her spine beneath the newly dbangd silk. His gaze lingered intently where the blouse’s hooks met beneath her *pallu*. A slow smirk spread across his scarred face. She finished pinning the sari’s pleats, smoothed the fabric over her hips, and turned fully to face him. Tilting her chin up, she arched an eyebrow, her own lips curving into a deliberately provocative smile. "Dekh kya rahe ho?" she asked, her voice husky but controlled. *What are you looking at?* Her gesture encompassed her dbangd form. "Tumhare liye toh kuch nahin chhupa hua hai. Sab dekha tumne." *There's nothing hidden for you. You've seen everything.* The words hung heavy, not with shame, but with a weary acknowledgment and a challenge. Was he truly satisfied now?
Before he could answer, three sharp, urgent knocks hammered against the low door – Chottu’s frantic rhythm. Javed’s smirk vanished instantly, replaced by cold alertness. He rolled off the cot with predatory grace, shrugging into his worn vest without breaking stride. The heavy bolt screeched as he flung the door open. Rain-soaked and panting, Chottu stood hunched in the alley’s gloom, eyes wide with panic. "Bhai!" he gasped, voice trembling. "Bahut gadbad hai! ", he gestured him outside.
Chandrani strained to listen through the drumming rain as Javed stepped outside. Chottu’s hissed Hindi pierced the downpour: "...security officer checkpoint...two kilometers...asking questions...white Ambassador..." Javed’s sharp command snapped back: "Gaadi nikalo subah tak!" *Get the car out by dawn!* The door slammed shut again, the bolt crashing home. Javed stalked back inside, water dripping from his hair. His gaze pinned Chandrani where she stood, dbangd but exposed. "Car fixed," he stated flatly, wiping rain from his jaw. "But I have urgent work." He jerked his chin towards the door. "Chottu drives you home. Now."
Before Chandrani could protest the suddenness, Chottu’s grinning face reappeared in the doorway, sodden but triumphant. "Ji, Bhai! Bilkul taiyyar hoon!" he chirped, stepping fully inside. His eyes, sharp and knowing, swept over Chandrani’s meticulously dbangd sari, lingering where the pallu covered her chest. A slow smirk spread across his face, mimicking Vikram’s insolence. "Gaadi mein intezaar karunga, Madam," he announced, the Hindi overly formal. "Thak gayi hogi... *Aaram ki zaroorat hai.*" *Waiting in the car, Madam. You must be tired... need rest.* His emphasis on *aaram* — rest — was thick with insinuation. He gave a mock bow, cheekbones gleaming. "*Poori tarah se.*" *Completely.*
Heat prickled Chandrani’s neck. Confusion warred with mortification. *Did he... hear?* The rhythmic creaking echoed in her memory. Chottu’s smirk confirmed it – he knew *everything*. She turned sharply away, facing the grimy wall. Her fingers flew to the stray hairs escaping her bun, tucking them with trembling precision. The coarse wool blanket smell clung to her skin beneath the silk. She focused fiercely on the wall’s cracks, the peeling paint, anything but their predatory gazes. The pretense was fragile, brittle.
Javed ignored her reaction. Water dripped from his vest onto the packed earth floor. "The mechanic finished," he grated, snatching his grease-stained jacket from a nail near the door. "Roads cleared faster." He shrugged into the jacket, his movements brusque, focused elsewhere. "Something urgent. Can’t waste time." He jerked his thumb towards Chottu, dismissing Chandrani entirely. "He takes you." His tone brooked no argument.
Chandrani forced herself to turn. Chottu’s smirk was predatory, his eyes tracing the curve of her pallu. She drew herself up, spine rigid. "Dhanyavaad, Javed," she murmured, her voice low but clear. *Thank you.* The gratitude felt like swallowing broken glass, but politeness was armor. "For arranging the drop." She held his gaze, her own expression shuttered.
Javed paused while shrugging on his stained leather jacket. His eyes flickered with dark amusement. He took a deliberate step closer, his wet vest clinging to hard muscle. Rainwater dripped from his beard onto the packed earth floor. "Shukriya?" he rasped, his voice rough with boundless contempt. A slow, mocking smile spread like oil across his lips. "Koi shukriya nahin." *No thanks needed.* His gaze slid insolently down her dbangd figure, lingering where her breast swelled beneath the silk. "Mera hi din achha tha." *Just my lucky day.* He paused, letting the rain hammer fill the silence. His smile widened, brutal and explicit.
He leaned in until his liquor-scented breath fogged her face. "Har roz toh Chandrani Rai jaisi high society ki mahila neta..." His voice dropped, gravelly and intimate. "...*neechay* ki seva karne ko nahin milta" *....* The crude Hindi hung in the damp air like a slap. Chandrani didn't flinch. A slow, deliberate smirk touched her own lips – cold, predatory, mirroring his insolence. She held his stare for a heartbeat longer, a silent agreement forged in mutual disgust, then turned on her heel. The damp silk whispered against her bruised thighs as she swept past him without another word, pushing past the sackcloth curtain into the driving rain where Chottu waited, grinning by a dented white Maruti Esteem.
The headlights carved oily paths through the flooded alley. Inside the car, the sour stench of old vinyl, wet leather, and Chottu's cheap tobacco mixed with the clinging kerosene smell beneath Chandrani’s silk. Rain hammered the roof like frantic fingertips. "Badi mushkil se nikali thi Bhai ki gaadi, Madam," Chottu chirped, steering with bony wrists, eyes flicking constantly to the rear-view mirror. "*Aaj toh..."* *Today though...* His unfinished sentence dangled, thick with implication. Chandrani stared straight ahead, her profile a carved mask against the streaked window. She saw only the distorted reflections of neon signs bleeding into puddles. His smirk deepened. "Thak gayi hogi? *Poori tarah se?*" *Tired? Completely?* She remained rigidly silent, her nails digging crescents into the palm concealed beneath her pallu. His knowing chuckle died in the engine’s grumble.
Every jolt over potholes sent fresh aches radiating from her hips, her inner thighs. The phantom scbang of the wool blanket, Javed’s crushing weight, the pungent mix of liquor and sweat – it all flooded back. Not transactional leverage, whispered a treacherous voice inside her. Those times with aging ministers in sterile hotel suites, efficient, calculated, their tremulous hands fumbling at her buttons – cold chess moves towards power. Even those weeknd at jorawar's place...she spent time watching TV, as the tired old big shot slept like pig most of the time near her after little action. Tonight? No negotiation. No calculation. Just raw, bruising hunger answered with something darker: a yielding born of exhaustion and… what? The visceral memory flashed: arching instinctively, her calf hooked over Javed’s corded shoulder, pulling him deeper, grinding against the relentless thrusts, the shocking fullness stretching her to the brink. A brute’s cock, thick and unyielding, filling her completely in a way those polished diplomats never could. Heat bloomed low in her belly at the memory, shame warring with the echo of unexpected pleasure. He lacked finesse, yes – no lingering kisses, no teasing exploration, just direct, driving force. Yet… he’d pinned her wrists, held her gaze in the dark, and ridden her rhythm until her back arched off the scratchy wool, a choked gasp torn from her throat not once, but twice. The sheer, undeniable power of it, forcing release through friction alone. Why cooperate? Lift her leg? Wrap around his waist? Because, the treacherous voice hissed, after years of calculated fucks for favours, that crude, overwhelming *fullness* felt like reclaiming something primal. Something stolen.
Outside the streaked window, the chaotic neon smear of the slum dissolved into wider, rain-slicked avenues. Chandrani kept her gaze fixed forward, her profile rigid against the distorted reflections. Chottu’s knowing smirk burned into her peripheral vision. "Thak gayi hogi?" he repeated, louder, his Hindi insolently casual. "*Poori tarah se?* Ustad ne kiya poori mehnat, toh..." *Tired? Completely? Ustad put in all the effort, so...* He let the vulgar implication hang, chuckling. Chandrani’s nostrils flared. Jarringly, amidst the disgust, another phantom sensation pulsed: the thick, relentless stretch, the rasp of his calloused hands on her hips, the guttural groan vibrating through her chest as she clenched around him. A fresh wave of heat prickled her skin beneath the silk, utterly unwelcome.
Slowly, deliberately, she turned her head. The streetlights flickered across her face, casting her sharp cheekbones in predatory relief. "Haan," she murmured, voice husky but edged like broken glass. "Mehnat toh achhi thi. Lekin..." *Yes. The effort was good. But...* Her gaze slid pointedly down Chottu’s wiry frame, lingering where his thighs barely filled the driver’s seat. A slow, deliberate smirk curled her lips. "Tumhari *poori* height ka toh Javed ka *ek hissa* bhi nahin." *Your entire height isn’t even one part of Javed.* She arched an eyebrow, letting the crude double meaning settle like dust. "Toh chup chap gaadi chalao." *So drive quietly.* Chottu’s smirk froze. His bony fingers tightened on the wheel, knuckles whitening. For a breathless moment, the only sound was the rhythmic thump of windshield wipers. Then, with a jerky nod, he faced forward, grip rigid. Chandrani exhaled through her nose, victorious.
The apartment building loomed—stark, modern, a fortress against the monsoon’s chaos. Before the Esteem fully halted, Chandrani shoved the door open, silk whispering against bruised skin. Chottu’s muttered curse—"Bhadwi" *Bitch*—faded beneath the drumming rain. She didn’t glance back. Her bare feet slapped against wet concrete, climbing the steps two at a time, her sari’s pleats clinging to her damp thighs. The lobby’s fluorescent glare burned her eyes. The watchman—paan-stained teeth, rheumy gaze—half-rose from his stool. "Madam, barish mein—" *Madam, in the rain—* She swept past without slowing, her pallu a sodden banner behind her. The elevator’s mirrored walls reflected her wreckage: smudged kajal, hair escaping its bun, the blouse’s top hook undone. She jabbed the button, jaw clenched.
The apartment door swung open before her key touched the lock. Ashok—rumpled cotton kurta, sleep-heavy eyes—blinked at her. "You’re late," he mumbled, rubbing his stubble. "i thought you will stay at—" His gaze flicked over her damp sari, paused at her bare feet. A frown creased his forehead. "Car trouble?" Chandrani brushed past him, her silk whispering against his arm. The scent of kerosene and male sweat clung to her skin. She made for their son’s room, her soles silent on the polished marble. The nightlight’s glow revealed her five years old, limbs splayed like a starfish, one foot dangling off the bed. She adjusted his blanket, inhaled his childish musk—ink, sweat, the faint tang of mango shampoo. Safe. Whole. Unbroken. Her throat tightened.
.
She peeled off her blouse first, hooks catching on the raw skin of her wrists. The sari slithered to the bathroom tiles in a sodden heap. The shower’s scalding jets erased nothing. Javed’s handprint bloomed livid on her left ass—five distinct welts where his calloused fingers had dug in during that brutal doggy-style pounding. She scrubbed until her skin burned. His dried cum clung stubbornly to her pubic hair, flaking under her fingernails. Another stain, another secret. Her breasts ached where his teeth had grazed her nipples, the marks faint but unmistakable. The soap’s floral fragrance turned cloying, nauseating. She gagged once, spat into the drain.
Toweling off, she avoided the mirror. The high-necked cotton nightgown—Ashok’s favorite, dotted with prim yellow daisies—slid over her damp skin like a shroud. The fabric itched. She yanked it down too hard; the hem ripped at the seam. A petty satisfaction curled through her. The bedroom was dark, Ashok’s silhouette already slack under the sheets. His soft snore grated her nerves. She slid in beside him, the mattress dipping under her weight. His warmth radiated, oblivious.
Ashok stirred, mumbling into his pillow. "How was the day, baby?" His voice slurred with sleep.
Chandrani stared at the ceiling, fists clenched beneath the daisy-patterned duvet. "Ashok," she said, voice razor-edged, "today your wife was stripped naked by a criminal. He fucked her non stop for hours and made her come twice."
Ashok's snore hitched—a wet, guttural sound. "Mmmnice, darling," he mumbled, tongue thick with sleep. One hand flopped limply onto her thigh, fingers twitching like a dying insect before going still.
Chandrani rolled onto her side, facing the wall. The cotton sheets smelled faintly of detergent and stale sweat. Outside, the rain had softened to a drizzle, pattering against the window like muffled whispers. She closed her eyes, but the darkness behind her lids was alive with flickers—Javed's shadow looming, the rough press of his lips against her neck, the relentless rhythm of his hips driving into her. She exhaled sharply, kicking the duvet off her legs and dozzed off.
SUMMARY^1: The cot’s rhythmic creaking signaled the beginning of Chandrani’s claimed fate, audible even through the rain—Chottu smirked in understanding before slipping away. Hours later, Chandrani awoke stiff and sore beside Javed, now asleep. The rain had softened. Moving gingerly, she dressed methodically, reassembling her sari with deliberate precision, each fold restoring her outer armor despite lingering tremors.
Behind her, a low chuckle rumbled from the cot. She glanced over her shoulder. Javed lay watching her, his dark eyes gleaming in the low light, tracing the arch of her spine beneath the newly dbangd silk. His gaze lingered intently where the blouse’s hooks met beneath her *pallu*. A slow smirk spread across his scarred face. She finished pinning the sari’s pleats, smoothed the fabric over her hips, and turned fully to face him. Tilting her chin up, she arched an eyebrow, her own lips curving into a deliberately provocative smile. "Dekh kya rahe ho?" she asked, her voice husky but controlled. *What are you looking at?* Her gesture encompassed her dbangd form. "Tumhare liye toh kuch nahin chhupa hua hai. Sab dekha tumne." *There's nothing hidden for you. You've seen everything.* The words hung heavy, not with shame, but with a weary acknowledgment and a challenge. Was he truly satisfied now?
Before he could answer, three sharp, urgent knocks hammered against the low door – Chottu’s frantic rhythm. Javed’s smirk vanished instantly, replaced by cold alertness. He rolled off the cot with predatory grace, shrugging into his worn vest without breaking stride. The heavy bolt screeched as he flung the door open. Rain-soaked and panting, Chottu stood hunched in the alley’s gloom, eyes wide with panic. "Bhai!" he gasped, voice trembling. "Bahut gadbad hai! ", he gestured him outside.
Chandrani strained to listen through the drumming rain as Javed stepped outside. Chottu’s hissed Hindi pierced the downpour: "...security officer checkpoint...two kilometers...asking questions...white Ambassador..." Javed’s sharp command snapped back: "Gaadi nikalo subah tak!" *Get the car out by dawn!* The door slammed shut again, the bolt crashing home. Javed stalked back inside, water dripping from his hair. His gaze pinned Chandrani where she stood, dbangd but exposed. "Car fixed," he stated flatly, wiping rain from his jaw. "But I have urgent work." He jerked his chin towards the door. "Chottu drives you home. Now."
Before Chandrani could protest the suddenness, Chottu’s grinning face reappeared in the doorway, sodden but triumphant. "Ji, Bhai! Bilkul taiyyar hoon!" he chirped, stepping fully inside. His eyes, sharp and knowing, swept over Chandrani’s meticulously dbangd sari, lingering where the pallu covered her chest. A slow smirk spread across his face, mimicking Vikram’s insolence. "Gaadi mein intezaar karunga, Madam," he announced, the Hindi overly formal. "Thak gayi hogi... *Aaram ki zaroorat hai.*" *Waiting in the car, Madam. You must be tired... need rest.* His emphasis on *aaram* — rest — was thick with insinuation. He gave a mock bow, cheekbones gleaming. "*Poori tarah se.*" *Completely.*
Heat prickled Chandrani’s neck. Confusion warred with mortification. *Did he... hear?* The rhythmic creaking echoed in her memory. Chottu’s smirk confirmed it – he knew *everything*. She turned sharply away, facing the grimy wall. Her fingers flew to the stray hairs escaping her bun, tucking them with trembling precision. The coarse wool blanket smell clung to her skin beneath the silk. She focused fiercely on the wall’s cracks, the peeling paint, anything but their predatory gazes. The pretense was fragile, brittle.
Javed ignored her reaction. Water dripped from his vest onto the packed earth floor. "The mechanic finished," he grated, snatching his grease-stained jacket from a nail near the door. "Roads cleared faster." He shrugged into the jacket, his movements brusque, focused elsewhere. "Something urgent. Can’t waste time." He jerked his thumb towards Chottu, dismissing Chandrani entirely. "He takes you." His tone brooked no argument.
Chandrani forced herself to turn. Chottu’s smirk was predatory, his eyes tracing the curve of her pallu. She drew herself up, spine rigid. "Dhanyavaad, Javed," she murmured, her voice low but clear. *Thank you.* The gratitude felt like swallowing broken glass, but politeness was armor. "For arranging the drop." She held his gaze, her own expression shuttered.
Javed paused while shrugging on his stained leather jacket. His eyes flickered with dark amusement. He took a deliberate step closer, his wet vest clinging to hard muscle. Rainwater dripped from his beard onto the packed earth floor. "Shukriya?" he rasped, his voice rough with boundless contempt. A slow, mocking smile spread like oil across his lips. "Koi shukriya nahin." *No thanks needed.* His gaze slid insolently down her dbangd figure, lingering where her breast swelled beneath the silk. "Mera hi din achha tha." *Just my lucky day.* He paused, letting the rain hammer fill the silence. His smile widened, brutal and explicit.
He leaned in until his liquor-scented breath fogged her face. "Har roz toh Chandrani Rai jaisi high society ki mahila neta..." His voice dropped, gravelly and intimate. "...*neechay* ki seva karne ko nahin milta" *....* The crude Hindi hung in the damp air like a slap. Chandrani didn't flinch. A slow, deliberate smirk touched her own lips – cold, predatory, mirroring his insolence. She held his stare for a heartbeat longer, a silent agreement forged in mutual disgust, then turned on her heel. The damp silk whispered against her bruised thighs as she swept past him without another word, pushing past the sackcloth curtain into the driving rain where Chottu waited, grinning by a dented white Maruti Esteem.
The headlights carved oily paths through the flooded alley. Inside the car, the sour stench of old vinyl, wet leather, and Chottu's cheap tobacco mixed with the clinging kerosene smell beneath Chandrani’s silk. Rain hammered the roof like frantic fingertips. "Badi mushkil se nikali thi Bhai ki gaadi, Madam," Chottu chirped, steering with bony wrists, eyes flicking constantly to the rear-view mirror. "*Aaj toh..."* *Today though...* His unfinished sentence dangled, thick with implication. Chandrani stared straight ahead, her profile a carved mask against the streaked window. She saw only the distorted reflections of neon signs bleeding into puddles. His smirk deepened. "Thak gayi hogi? *Poori tarah se?*" *Tired? Completely?* She remained rigidly silent, her nails digging crescents into the palm concealed beneath her pallu. His knowing chuckle died in the engine’s grumble.
Every jolt over potholes sent fresh aches radiating from her hips, her inner thighs. The phantom scbang of the wool blanket, Javed’s crushing weight, the pungent mix of liquor and sweat – it all flooded back. Not transactional leverage, whispered a treacherous voice inside her. Those times with aging ministers in sterile hotel suites, efficient, calculated, their tremulous hands fumbling at her buttons – cold chess moves towards power. Even those weeknd at jorawar's place...she spent time watching TV, as the tired old big shot slept like pig most of the time near her after little action. Tonight? No negotiation. No calculation. Just raw, bruising hunger answered with something darker: a yielding born of exhaustion and… what? The visceral memory flashed: arching instinctively, her calf hooked over Javed’s corded shoulder, pulling him deeper, grinding against the relentless thrusts, the shocking fullness stretching her to the brink. A brute’s cock, thick and unyielding, filling her completely in a way those polished diplomats never could. Heat bloomed low in her belly at the memory, shame warring with the echo of unexpected pleasure. He lacked finesse, yes – no lingering kisses, no teasing exploration, just direct, driving force. Yet… he’d pinned her wrists, held her gaze in the dark, and ridden her rhythm until her back arched off the scratchy wool, a choked gasp torn from her throat not once, but twice. The sheer, undeniable power of it, forcing release through friction alone. Why cooperate? Lift her leg? Wrap around his waist? Because, the treacherous voice hissed, after years of calculated fucks for favours, that crude, overwhelming *fullness* felt like reclaiming something primal. Something stolen.
Outside the streaked window, the chaotic neon smear of the slum dissolved into wider, rain-slicked avenues. Chandrani kept her gaze fixed forward, her profile rigid against the distorted reflections. Chottu’s knowing smirk burned into her peripheral vision. "Thak gayi hogi?" he repeated, louder, his Hindi insolently casual. "*Poori tarah se?* Ustad ne kiya poori mehnat, toh..." *Tired? Completely? Ustad put in all the effort, so...* He let the vulgar implication hang, chuckling. Chandrani’s nostrils flared. Jarringly, amidst the disgust, another phantom sensation pulsed: the thick, relentless stretch, the rasp of his calloused hands on her hips, the guttural groan vibrating through her chest as she clenched around him. A fresh wave of heat prickled her skin beneath the silk, utterly unwelcome.
Slowly, deliberately, she turned her head. The streetlights flickered across her face, casting her sharp cheekbones in predatory relief. "Haan," she murmured, voice husky but edged like broken glass. "Mehnat toh achhi thi. Lekin..." *Yes. The effort was good. But...* Her gaze slid pointedly down Chottu’s wiry frame, lingering where his thighs barely filled the driver’s seat. A slow, deliberate smirk curled her lips. "Tumhari *poori* height ka toh Javed ka *ek hissa* bhi nahin." *Your entire height isn’t even one part of Javed.* She arched an eyebrow, letting the crude double meaning settle like dust. "Toh chup chap gaadi chalao." *So drive quietly.* Chottu’s smirk froze. His bony fingers tightened on the wheel, knuckles whitening. For a breathless moment, the only sound was the rhythmic thump of windshield wipers. Then, with a jerky nod, he faced forward, grip rigid. Chandrani exhaled through her nose, victorious.
The apartment building loomed—stark, modern, a fortress against the monsoon’s chaos. Before the Esteem fully halted, Chandrani shoved the door open, silk whispering against bruised skin. Chottu’s muttered curse—"Bhadwi" *Bitch*—faded beneath the drumming rain. She didn’t glance back. Her bare feet slapped against wet concrete, climbing the steps two at a time, her sari’s pleats clinging to her damp thighs. The lobby’s fluorescent glare burned her eyes. The watchman—paan-stained teeth, rheumy gaze—half-rose from his stool. "Madam, barish mein—" *Madam, in the rain—* She swept past without slowing, her pallu a sodden banner behind her. The elevator’s mirrored walls reflected her wreckage: smudged kajal, hair escaping its bun, the blouse’s top hook undone. She jabbed the button, jaw clenched.
The apartment door swung open before her key touched the lock. Ashok—rumpled cotton kurta, sleep-heavy eyes—blinked at her. "You’re late," he mumbled, rubbing his stubble. "i thought you will stay at—" His gaze flicked over her damp sari, paused at her bare feet. A frown creased his forehead. "Car trouble?" Chandrani brushed past him, her silk whispering against his arm. The scent of kerosene and male sweat clung to her skin. She made for their son’s room, her soles silent on the polished marble. The nightlight’s glow revealed her five years old, limbs splayed like a starfish, one foot dangling off the bed. She adjusted his blanket, inhaled his childish musk—ink, sweat, the faint tang of mango shampoo. Safe. Whole. Unbroken. Her throat tightened.
.
She peeled off her blouse first, hooks catching on the raw skin of her wrists. The sari slithered to the bathroom tiles in a sodden heap. The shower’s scalding jets erased nothing. Javed’s handprint bloomed livid on her left ass—five distinct welts where his calloused fingers had dug in during that brutal doggy-style pounding. She scrubbed until her skin burned. His dried cum clung stubbornly to her pubic hair, flaking under her fingernails. Another stain, another secret. Her breasts ached where his teeth had grazed her nipples, the marks faint but unmistakable. The soap’s floral fragrance turned cloying, nauseating. She gagged once, spat into the drain.
Toweling off, she avoided the mirror. The high-necked cotton nightgown—Ashok’s favorite, dotted with prim yellow daisies—slid over her damp skin like a shroud. The fabric itched. She yanked it down too hard; the hem ripped at the seam. A petty satisfaction curled through her. The bedroom was dark, Ashok’s silhouette already slack under the sheets. His soft snore grated her nerves. She slid in beside him, the mattress dipping under her weight. His warmth radiated, oblivious.
Ashok stirred, mumbling into his pillow. "How was the day, baby?" His voice slurred with sleep.
Chandrani stared at the ceiling, fists clenched beneath the daisy-patterned duvet. "Ashok," she said, voice razor-edged, "today your wife was stripped naked by a criminal. He fucked her non stop for hours and made her come twice."
Ashok's snore hitched—a wet, guttural sound. "Mmmnice, darling," he mumbled, tongue thick with sleep. One hand flopped limply onto her thigh, fingers twitching like a dying insect before going still.
Chandrani rolled onto her side, facing the wall. The cotton sheets smelled faintly of detergent and stale sweat. Outside, the rain had softened to a drizzle, pattering against the window like muffled whispers. She closed her eyes, but the darkness behind her lids was alive with flickers—Javed's shadow looming, the rough press of his lips against her neck, the relentless rhythm of his hips driving into her. She exhaled sharply, kicking the duvet off her legs and dozzed off.
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