29-11-2025, 04:37 PM
The car ride home was a silent, throbbing tension. The scent of the hospital – that sterile, lemon-and-bleach smell – still clung to their clothes, but underneath it was something else, something raw and animal. Moli kept her hands clenched in her lap, feeling the ghost of Sumu’s knee against hers, hearing the echo of her own double-edged words. He’s been very thorough. Subimol’s grateful, hazy smile flashed in her mind, and a fresh wave of shame-soaked desire twisted in her gut.
Sumu drove with one hand, the other resting on his thigh, his knuckles white. He didn’t look at her, but the energy between them was a live wire, humming and dangerous.
The moment the front door clicked shut, the silence shattered.
He was on her before she could drop her purse. His body slammed her against the door, the wood solid and unyielding at her back. His mouth crashed down on hers, not a kiss but a claiming, all teeth and desperate tongue. She met his ferocity with her own, her hands flying to his hair, yanking his head back to bite at his lower lip.
“Oh jethima,” he growled against her mouth, his hands already at the waist of her sari. “The way you talked to him. ‘He finds all the right spots.’ You were fucking me with your words while he lay there.”
“He has no idea,” she panted, her head spinning as his fingers worked deftly at the folds of her sari. “His good boy. His devoted nephew.” The elaborate pleats of the silk came undone with a whisper, the pallu sliding from her shoulder. Sumu grabbed a handful of the fabric and pulled, the entire six yards of material unraveling from her body in a rustling heap at their feet, leaving her in just her blouse and petticoat.
He devoured the sight of her, his eyes dark and wild. “He told me to look after you. To make sure you weren’t lonely.” His hands cupped her heavy breasts through the thin choli, his thumbs roughly circling her nipples until they were hard pebbles against the fabric. “Tell me, Jethima. Are you lonely?”
“You know I am,” she gasped, arching into his touch.
“Show me,” he commanded, pulling her by the hand, stumbling down the hall towards the master bedroom – their bedroom, hers and Subimol’s.
He pushed her onto the vast bed, the familiar floral duvet cover cool against her bare back. He stood over her, stripping off his own clothes, his gaze never leaving her body. “He’s lying in that sterile bed, and I’m about to fuck his wife in his.” The vulgarity was a deliberate weapon, and it hit its mark, making her clench with need.
He didn’t gentle her. He covered her body with his, his mouth finding hers again in a searing kiss as his hands ripped at the hook of her blouse. The fabric gave way, and her breasts spilled free. He groaned, lowering his head to take one taut nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, his tongue lashing it until she cried out.
“Is this how he takes care of you?” Sumu muttered, his mouth moving down her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her petticoat and dragged it down her legs, tossing it aside. He spread her legs, his hot breath hitting her core. “Does he lick your cunt like this? While he’s thanking you for being a good wife?”
His tongue was on her then, a flat, brutal stroke that made her back bow off the bed. He devoured her, his hands pinning her hips down as he licked and sucked, his stubble rough against her inner thighs. He talked between laps, his voice thick and muffled. “He said… I was a good boy… for looking after you.” He plunged his tongue inside her, and Moli screamed, her fingers tangling in the sheets. “Is this… what he meant?”
“Yes,” she sobbed, her hips bucking against his face. “Oh god, yes.”
He moved up her body, his cock, hard and insistent, pressing against her entrance. He didn’t enter her. Not yet. He looked down at her, his face flushed, sweat already beading on his forehead. “Tell him,” Sumu breathed, his voice a low, vicious command. “Tell your husband what his nephew is doing to you.”
Moli turned her head to the side, towards Subimol’s pillow, the scent of him faint but still there. A fresh, brutal thrill shot through her. “Subimol,” she moaned, her voice cracking. “Your boy… he’s taking such good care of me. He’s filling me up. He’s fucking the emptiness right out of me.”
That was all the permission Sumu needed. He drove into her with a single, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. She cried out, her nails digging into his back. He set a punishing rhythm from the start, each snap of his hips a deliberate profanity in the sanctity of the marital bed.
He fucked her with a raw, possessive anger that she met thrust for thrust. The headboard slammed against the wall in a steady, rhythmic beat. Sweat slicked their bodies, making their skin slide together, glistening in the dim light filtering through the curtains.
Then, with a guttural sound, he rolled them over, pulling her on top of him without ever slipping out. “Ride me, Jethima,” he demanded, his hands gripping her hips. “Show him how his nephew takes care of his wife’s needs.”
Moli rose above him, her body sheened in sweat, her breasts swaying. She moved on him, a slow, grinding roll of her hips that made him curse. She looked down at his face, at the blatant lust and triumph there.
“He thinks you’re in the guest room, Subimol,” she whispered to the ceiling, her voice trembling with the effort of her movement. “But your cock is buried so deep inside me I can’t remember his face.”
The words hung in the air, a final, blasphemous confession. Sumu’s eyes widened, then darkened with a feral approval. He gripped her hips harder, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, guiding her frantic rhythm as she rode him on his uncle’s side of the bed.
“Sumu!” Moli cried out, her voice breaking as she slammed down onto him, over and over. “Sumu! Sumu!”
With a sudden, powerful roll, he pinned her beneath him, the damp sheets tangling around their legs. He entered her from behind, one arm wrapping around her waist, his hand finding and roughly squeezing her large, heavy breast. His other hand pressed her face down into the pillow that smelled of her husband.
She was mewling, a continuous, desperate sound. She couldn’t take it anymore. She turned her head, straining against his grip, her tongue extending in a silent, lewd invitation.
Sumu released her breast and grabbed her jaw, his fingers pressing into her cheeks. He pulled her face toward his, capturing her extended tongue with his own mouth. He sucked on it, hard, drinking the sweet, warm saliva from his Jethima’s mouth.
“How does that feel?” he mumbled against her lips, his hips never stopping their relentless piston. “How does your nephew’s cock feel inside your married pussy?”
“So good,” she slurred, her words distorted by his grasp. “So fucking good.”
He released her suddenly, rolling away. The cold air hit their glistening bodies. “Wait.”
Moli lay panting, confused, watching his shadowy form move across the moonlit room. He returned a moment later, a small, ornate container in his hand. Her sindur.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his expression unreadable. “To the world, I'm just your husband's nephew,” he said, his voice low and intense. “But just for the two of us, tonight, I want to put this on your sinthi.”
Moli pushed herself up on her elbows. “What? Sumu, what are you doing?”
“It’s symbolic,” he explained, his eyes burning into hers. “I don’t want to marry you. I want to fuck you. But knowing I’ve marked you with this, that I’ve put this right here,” he touched the parting in her hair, “where only he should… it makes it more forbidden. It makes you more mine.”
A fresh, shocking wave of arousal washed through her, so potent it made her dizzy. The depravity of it was the most potent aphrodisiac she’d ever known. “Put it on me,” she breathed.
He opened the container. Using his fingers, he carefully filled the part in her hair with the vibrant red powder. It was messy, intimate. Grains of it spilled over, dusting her forehead and the tip of her nose like crimson freckles. With her disheveled hair, her puffy, well-kissed lips, and the bright red sindur, she looked utterly debauched. A sacred symbol profaned.
Sumu stared, his chest heaving. He could not control himself any longer. He mashed his lips against hers, tasting the metallic hint of the sindur, and pushed her back down onto the bed.
Sumu drove with one hand, the other resting on his thigh, his knuckles white. He didn’t look at her, but the energy between them was a live wire, humming and dangerous.
The moment the front door clicked shut, the silence shattered.
He was on her before she could drop her purse. His body slammed her against the door, the wood solid and unyielding at her back. His mouth crashed down on hers, not a kiss but a claiming, all teeth and desperate tongue. She met his ferocity with her own, her hands flying to his hair, yanking his head back to bite at his lower lip.
“Oh jethima,” he growled against her mouth, his hands already at the waist of her sari. “The way you talked to him. ‘He finds all the right spots.’ You were fucking me with your words while he lay there.”
“He has no idea,” she panted, her head spinning as his fingers worked deftly at the folds of her sari. “His good boy. His devoted nephew.” The elaborate pleats of the silk came undone with a whisper, the pallu sliding from her shoulder. Sumu grabbed a handful of the fabric and pulled, the entire six yards of material unraveling from her body in a rustling heap at their feet, leaving her in just her blouse and petticoat.
He devoured the sight of her, his eyes dark and wild. “He told me to look after you. To make sure you weren’t lonely.” His hands cupped her heavy breasts through the thin choli, his thumbs roughly circling her nipples until they were hard pebbles against the fabric. “Tell me, Jethima. Are you lonely?”
“You know I am,” she gasped, arching into his touch.
“Show me,” he commanded, pulling her by the hand, stumbling down the hall towards the master bedroom – their bedroom, hers and Subimol’s.
He pushed her onto the vast bed, the familiar floral duvet cover cool against her bare back. He stood over her, stripping off his own clothes, his gaze never leaving her body. “He’s lying in that sterile bed, and I’m about to fuck his wife in his.” The vulgarity was a deliberate weapon, and it hit its mark, making her clench with need.
He didn’t gentle her. He covered her body with his, his mouth finding hers again in a searing kiss as his hands ripped at the hook of her blouse. The fabric gave way, and her breasts spilled free. He groaned, lowering his head to take one taut nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, his tongue lashing it until she cried out.
“Is this how he takes care of you?” Sumu muttered, his mouth moving down her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her petticoat and dragged it down her legs, tossing it aside. He spread her legs, his hot breath hitting her core. “Does he lick your cunt like this? While he’s thanking you for being a good wife?”
His tongue was on her then, a flat, brutal stroke that made her back bow off the bed. He devoured her, his hands pinning her hips down as he licked and sucked, his stubble rough against her inner thighs. He talked between laps, his voice thick and muffled. “He said… I was a good boy… for looking after you.” He plunged his tongue inside her, and Moli screamed, her fingers tangling in the sheets. “Is this… what he meant?”
“Yes,” she sobbed, her hips bucking against his face. “Oh god, yes.”
He moved up her body, his cock, hard and insistent, pressing against her entrance. He didn’t enter her. Not yet. He looked down at her, his face flushed, sweat already beading on his forehead. “Tell him,” Sumu breathed, his voice a low, vicious command. “Tell your husband what his nephew is doing to you.”
Moli turned her head to the side, towards Subimol’s pillow, the scent of him faint but still there. A fresh, brutal thrill shot through her. “Subimol,” she moaned, her voice cracking. “Your boy… he’s taking such good care of me. He’s filling me up. He’s fucking the emptiness right out of me.”
That was all the permission Sumu needed. He drove into her with a single, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. She cried out, her nails digging into his back. He set a punishing rhythm from the start, each snap of his hips a deliberate profanity in the sanctity of the marital bed.
He fucked her with a raw, possessive anger that she met thrust for thrust. The headboard slammed against the wall in a steady, rhythmic beat. Sweat slicked their bodies, making their skin slide together, glistening in the dim light filtering through the curtains.
Then, with a guttural sound, he rolled them over, pulling her on top of him without ever slipping out. “Ride me, Jethima,” he demanded, his hands gripping her hips. “Show him how his nephew takes care of his wife’s needs.”
Moli rose above him, her body sheened in sweat, her breasts swaying. She moved on him, a slow, grinding roll of her hips that made him curse. She looked down at his face, at the blatant lust and triumph there.
“He thinks you’re in the guest room, Subimol,” she whispered to the ceiling, her voice trembling with the effort of her movement. “But your cock is buried so deep inside me I can’t remember his face.”
The words hung in the air, a final, blasphemous confession. Sumu’s eyes widened, then darkened with a feral approval. He gripped her hips harder, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, guiding her frantic rhythm as she rode him on his uncle’s side of the bed.
“Sumu!” Moli cried out, her voice breaking as she slammed down onto him, over and over. “Sumu! Sumu!”
With a sudden, powerful roll, he pinned her beneath him, the damp sheets tangling around their legs. He entered her from behind, one arm wrapping around her waist, his hand finding and roughly squeezing her large, heavy breast. His other hand pressed her face down into the pillow that smelled of her husband.
She was mewling, a continuous, desperate sound. She couldn’t take it anymore. She turned her head, straining against his grip, her tongue extending in a silent, lewd invitation.
Sumu released her breast and grabbed her jaw, his fingers pressing into her cheeks. He pulled her face toward his, capturing her extended tongue with his own mouth. He sucked on it, hard, drinking the sweet, warm saliva from his Jethima’s mouth.
“How does that feel?” he mumbled against her lips, his hips never stopping their relentless piston. “How does your nephew’s cock feel inside your married pussy?”
“So good,” she slurred, her words distorted by his grasp. “So fucking good.”
He released her suddenly, rolling away. The cold air hit their glistening bodies. “Wait.”
Moli lay panting, confused, watching his shadowy form move across the moonlit room. He returned a moment later, a small, ornate container in his hand. Her sindur.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his expression unreadable. “To the world, I'm just your husband's nephew,” he said, his voice low and intense. “But just for the two of us, tonight, I want to put this on your sinthi.”
Moli pushed herself up on her elbows. “What? Sumu, what are you doing?”
“It’s symbolic,” he explained, his eyes burning into hers. “I don’t want to marry you. I want to fuck you. But knowing I’ve marked you with this, that I’ve put this right here,” he touched the parting in her hair, “where only he should… it makes it more forbidden. It makes you more mine.”
A fresh, shocking wave of arousal washed through her, so potent it made her dizzy. The depravity of it was the most potent aphrodisiac she’d ever known. “Put it on me,” she breathed.
He opened the container. Using his fingers, he carefully filled the part in her hair with the vibrant red powder. It was messy, intimate. Grains of it spilled over, dusting her forehead and the tip of her nose like crimson freckles. With her disheveled hair, her puffy, well-kissed lips, and the bright red sindur, she looked utterly debauched. A sacred symbol profaned.
Sumu stared, his chest heaving. He could not control himself any longer. He mashed his lips against hers, tasting the metallic hint of the sindur, and pushed her back down onto the bed.
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