06-12-2025, 12:20 PM
The afternoon sun, a pale, indifferent eye, bled through the thin curtains of Mily’s Vasant Kunj home.
Dust motes danced in the muted light, tiny, shimmering specks in the oppressive quiet. Her left ankle, slender and pale, bore the cool weight of a silver anklet, its tiny bells silent, waiting.
Her fingers, still faintly perfumed with the scent of fresh coriander and market dust, traced the rim of a chipped teacup. Amit, her husband, was at his paltry job, leaving her at peace but today, it was a gaping maw, ready to swallow her whole. The memory of two days prior, a brutal exchange of her dignity for her mother’s life, clawed at her throat. One lakh fifty thousand rupees, a sum that felt like an entire universe, had bought her mother a chance, and in turn, sold Mily to a devil named Sid.
The sharp, insistent rap on the door ripped through the stillness. Mily flinched, the teacup rattling against the saucer. Her heart hammered, a frantic drum against her ribs. No one ever called unannounced. Amit’s friends were rare, and her own few acquaintances always phoned. The sound came again, louder, more demanding. Dread, cold and slick, coiled in her stomach. It couldn't be. Not him.
She moved towards the door, her pale yellow saree rustling like dry leaves. Its silk, once vibrant, now felt heavy, clinging to her skin. Her chocolate-colored lipstick, applied with care that morning, suddenly felt like a garish mask. She peered through the peephole, her breath catching. Sid. His face, a landscape of unshaven stubble and dull, bloodshot eyes, filled the tiny circle.
A primal scream caught in her throat, but no sound escaped. “Mily, open up!” His voice, a gravelly rasp, penetrated the thick wood. The door shuddered under another heavy knock. She stood frozen, her mind a frantic scramble of denial and terror. *He wouldn’t. Not here. Not now.* The knocking intensified, a relentless assault. “I know you’re in there. Don’t make me break it down.”
Her hand, trembling, fumbled with the latch. The click echoed like a gunshot in the silent flat. Sid pushed the door inward before she could even fully open it, his heavy frame filling the narrow entryway.
A wave of stale sweat, cheap liquor, and something vaguely metallic, hit her first. He hadn't showered in days, she knew that much. His eyes, dark and predatory, raked over her, from the top of her head to the silver anklet peeking from beneath her saree’s hem. “Well, well, kya maal lag rahi ho, ready for me ??,” he sneered, stepping over the threshold without invitation.
The door slammed shut behind him, severing her connection to the outside world. Mily stumbled back, her hand flying to her chest. “What are you doing here? Amit is… he’ll be home soon.” The lie felt thin and brittle, even to her own ears. Sid chuckled, a low, guttural sound that vibrated in his chest. “Amit? That little worm?
He wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you, Mily. He’s probably busy counting pennies.” He took another step, his presence dominating the small living room. “You look… edible. That yellow suits you. Makes your skin glow.” His gaze lingered on her lips, then dropped to her chest, where the saree’s fabric strained subtly over her 34B curves.
He reached out, his fingers, thick and calloused, snagging the edge of her saree. The delicate silk bunched in his fist. “Too many clothes, Mily. Always too many clothes.” A cold shiver ran down her spine. “No! Please, Sid. Not here. Someone will see.” Her voice was a desperate whisper.
He ignored her, his eyes fixed on the fabric. With a swift, brutal tug, he slipped the saree from her shoulder. The soft material slipped from her fair shoulder, revealing the pale curve of her shoulder, the dark strap of her black bra. Her breath hitched. “Black. Knew it.” A predatory grin stretched across his face.
He pulled again, stripping the remaining fabric from her body. The pale yellow saree slithered to the floor, pooling around her feet like a discarded skin. She stood before him in her petticoat and black blouse, suddenly feeling naked despite the remaining layers. His hands, rough and unyielding, moved to the buttons of her blouse. “Such a pretty thing. Hiding all this.” Each button gave way with a small pop, exposing more of the black lace beneath.
The blouse fell open, revealing the swell of her breasts, barely contained by the delicate fabric of her bra. She crossed her arms, trying to cover herself, but his eyes were already devouring her. “Stop it, Sid. You can’t—” “Oh, I can.” His voice was low, menacing. He grabbed the hem of her petticoat, pulling it up with a single, sharp motion. The thin cotton rode high on her thighs, then bunched around her waist. He ripped it downwards, the fabric tearing with a sound like a sigh.
The petticoat joined the saree on the floor. Mily stood before him in her black lace bra and matching panties, her skin milky white against the dark lingerie. Her left leg, exposed now, showed the silver anklet, glinting in the dim light. It felt like a spotlight on her shame. “There,” he breathed, his eyes tracing the curve of her hip, the delicate lace of her panties. “Much better.” He took another step, closing the distance between them.
The stench of him, a cloying mix of stale sweat and unwashed body, enveloped her. He grabbed her chin, his fingers digging into her jaw. “Now, open up.” Her lips, still glowing with chocolate lipstick, trembled. She tried to turn her head, to resist, but his grip was iron. “No.” He squeezed harder. “I didn’t ask. I told you.” He pressed down his rough smelly lips upon her and shoved his tongue inside. Sucked her tongue as Mily struggled not to vomit from the stench. He licked mostly of her lip gloss.
He released her chin, his hand moving to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her dark hair. He pushed her down, forcing her to her knees before him. Mily’s knees hit the rough carpet with a soft thud. Her eyes, wide with fear and humiliation, stared at the dark fabric of his trousers, then up at his face.
His expression was devoid of mercy. “Come on, Mily. You know what to do.” He unzipped his fly. The sound was loud, definitive. His cock, thick and engorged, sprang free, dark and veiny and smelly. It pulsed, a living thing, right before her face. The smell of it, musky and distinctly male, filled her nostrils.
She hesitated, her gaze flicking from the throbbing head to his unyielding face. “Don’t make me ask again.” His voice was a low growl. Slowly, her hands, still smelling of market dust, rose. She took his heavy shaft in her grasp, her fingers barely encircling its girth. It was hot, slick with pre-cum. Her stomach churned.
She looked up at him, a plea in her eyes, but he only stared back, his face a mask of expectation. Her lips parted, revealing the tip of her tongue. She took the tip of his cock into her mouth, the taste of him, salty and metallic, a shock to her senses. She gagged, a small, involuntary sound. He pushed her head down. “No. Deeper.” Tears welled in her eyes, hot and stinging. She swallowed, forcing herself to take more of him. Her tongue flicked around the head, tasting the pre-cum, the musky scent filling her mouth. She felt the rough texture of his foreskin against her lips, the thick vein pressing against her palate.
She moved her head, slowly at first, then with more rhythm, trying to make it quick, to get it over with. His hips began to thrust, a slow, deliberate rhythm. His fingers tangled deeper in her hair, gripping it, guiding her movements. She felt his balls slap against her chin, the soft skin brushing her jaw. Her throat ached, stretched to its limit. He groaned, a deep sound of pleasure, as she sucked harder, her lips sealing around his shaft, pulling him deeper into her mouth. She felt the throb, the growing pressure, the increasing speed of his thrusts. She was just a vessel, a mouth, a body to be used.
Shame burned through her, a hot, searing flame. Suddenly, he pulled back, his cock slipping from her mouth with a wet *shlick*. Mily gasped for air, her throat raw. “Good girl,” he rasped, zipping up his trousers. He grabbed her arm, pulling her up from the floor. She stumbled, regaining her balance. He led her to the sofa, its floral pattern faded with time.
“Now, for the main course.” He pushed her down onto the cushions, then pulled her legs apart. Her black lace panties were still clinging to her hips. He hooked his fingers into the delicate lace, and with a swift, decisive motion, yanked them down. The thin fabric tore, snapping around her ankles before he kicked them away. Her pussy, clean-shaved and glistening with a faint moisture of fear, was exposed.
The labia, a delicate pink, quivered slightly. Her clit, a tiny pearl, peeked out from its hood. Sid knelt before her, his face inches from her core, he spread her milky thighs and placed them on his shoulder. He leaned in, his nose grazing her pubic mound. She could feel his breath, hot and heavy, against her sensitive skin. He took a deep breath, inhaling her scent. “Hmm, sweet. Very sweet.” Then, his tongue, rough and wet, flicked out. It landed directly on her clit.
Mily gasped, a sharp, involuntary sound. Her hips bucked, a jolt of unexpected sensation shooting through her. His tongue was relentless, circling, flicking, sucking. He opened his mouth wider, taking her clit and part of her inner labia between his lips, sucking hard, like a hungry child at a breast. “Ah! N-no!” The protest was weak, lost in the rising tide of sensation. Her fingers, shapely and adorned with short, neat nails, clenched into fists.
A deep, primal moan escaped her lips, vibrating in the quiet room. He pressed his face deeper into her, his nose buried in her wet folds, his tongue a constant, demanding presence. He licked, he sucked, he swirled, his stubble scbanging against her tender skin. The heat built, a coil tightening in her belly. Her body, despite her mind’s protest, responded. Her pussy pulsed, a silent throb. “Sid!” The name tore from her throat, a desperate plea, a nascent cry of pleasure. Her hips arched higher, pushing herself into his mouth. Her fingers, no longer fists, flew to his head, tangling in his sparse, near-bald hair. She dug her nails in, pulling him closer, deeper into her wetness.
The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over her. His tongue worked faster, harder, a relentless rhythm. He pushed his face even further, his breath hot against her perineum, his tongue tracing the sensitive seam. The pressure in her core became unbearable, exquisite. “Oh! Oh, God!” Her body convulsed, a violent shudder rippling through her. Her back arched, her legs trembled. A loud, guttural scream tore from her throat, raw and primal. Her pussy contracted around his mouth, spurting hot, slick liquid. She came, a shattering, earth-shaking orgasm, her body writhing, shuddering against the sofa cushions. The taste of herself, mingled with his saliva, filled his mouth.
He pulled back, his lips glistening, a smear of her juices on his chin. He licked his lips slowly, savoring the taste. “Delicious.” Mily lay panting, her body still trembling, her eyes squeezed shut, hot tears escaping from beneath her lids. Shame, profound and suffocating, washed over her. She had come. She had *begged* him to make her come.
He stood, pulling her up with surprising ease. He lifted her into his arms, her body feeling strangely light and pliant after the shattering climax. She didn’t resist, too spent, too humiliated. He carried her through the short hallway, past the small temple with its flickering diya, into her bedroom. The room was cool, shadowed. He laid her gently on the bed, her body sinking into the soft mattress. Her eyes fluttered open, seeing the familiar ceiling, the faint pattern of the wallpaper. This was *her* bed. Amit’s bed. He stood over her, his eyes still dark, still predatory. He reached down, his fingers finding the delicate clasp of her black bra.
With a practiced movement, he unhooked it. The lace parted, and her 34B breasts, pale and full, spilled free. Her nipples, already erect from the previous encounter, stood proud and dark. He leaned down, his mouth, still smelling faintly of her, covering one of her nipples. He suckled, a deep, pulling suction that sent a jolt through her. His tongue swirled around the tender peak, then he took the whole areola into his mouth, tugging gently.
Mily moaned, a low, helpless sound. He moved between her legs, his knees pressing against her thighs. His cock, still hard and throbbing, brushed against her wet pussy lips. The sensation was a shock, a jolt of electricity. “Ready for round two, Mily?” His voice was a low murmur against her ear as he leaned down, his breath warm on her skin. She didn’t answer, couldn’t. Her eyes were fixed on his face, a mixture of fear and a strange, unwelcome anticipation churning within her. He positioned himself, his cock pressing against her opening.
He looked down at her, his eyes locking with hers. Then, with a slow, deliberate push, he entered her. Mily gasped, a sharp intake of breath. He was thick, filling her completely. The initial discomfort quickly gave way to a stretching, a fullness that was both painful and intensely pleasurable. Her muscles clenched around him, involuntarily. He began to move, a slow, deep thrust, withdrawing almost completely before plunging back in. The bed creaked with the rhythm.
His hips bumped against hers, his hairy chest crushing her soft breasts. She felt the coarse hair against her sensitive skin, the weight of him heavy on her. He lowered his head, his mouth finding hers. His lips, rough and demanding, covered hers. His tongue pushed past her teeth, invading her mouth, tasting of her, of himself, of stale liquor. He kissed her deeply, forcefully, his tongue intertwining with hers, a rough, intimate dance. His teeth scbangd against her lip, a sharp sting. He pulled back from her mouth, his lips moving to her neck, sucking, biting gently, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses.
His breath, smelling faintly of alcohol, was hot against her skin. He bit her shoulder, a gentle nip that still left a faint mark. “You’re so tight, Mily,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his hips still grinding against her. “So good.” Her hands, almost unconsciously, rose to his back. Her fingers dug into the flesh, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt. She wrapped her milky thighs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting more of the heavy, stretching fullness. The primal rhythm took over.
He pounded into her, each thrust deep and deliberate, stretching her, filling her. The bed thumped against the wall with each powerful stroke. “Faster,” she gasped, her voice raw, barely audible. “Please, faster.” He obliged, his pace quickening, his grunts growing louder. He moved inside her, a relentless piston, driving her deeper into the mattress. Her body bucked and arched, meeting his thrusts, her hips rising to welcome him. The friction was intense, a burning pleasure that built and built. Her pussy slicked around him, making a wet *squelching* sound with each pull and push. He leaned down, his mouth finding her ear. “Almost there, Mily. Almost.”
A wave of sensation hit her, stronger than before. Her muscles spasmed around him, milking him. Her nails dug deeper into his back, leaving angry red marks. Her legs clamped around him, holding him captive. “Ah! Oh, God!” she cried out, her voice cracking. Her body convulsed, another powerful orgasm racking her. She clung to him, her nails digging into his skin, tears of shame and release streaming down her face, mingling with the sweat on her temples. She felt him stiffen, felt the hot gush inside her, a warm, thick flood.
He groaned, a deep, ragged sound, and collapsed on her, his weight crushing her, his breathing heavy. He lay there for a few moments, his body heavy and still on hers, his cock still buried deep inside her. Then, with a loud *plop*, he pulled out, his body still slick with sweat and her juices. The sudden emptiness was jarring, cold. He rolled off her, turning her over onto her stomach. Her face was buried in the pillow, her body still trembling.
Her back was exposed, pale and vulnerable. He leaned down, his tongue trailing a hot, wet path from her shoulder blade down her spine. The unexpected sensation made her shiver. He licked, a long, wet swipe, then bit her skin gently, leaving a faint red mark just below her shoulder. “My mark,” he whispered against her skin. He grabbed her hips, pulling her back against him.
His cock, still hard, pressed against her ass. He lifted her left leg, bending it at the knee, pushing her hips up, exposing her ass. He pressed his cock against her wet pussy lips again, then, with a hard push, he plunged into her from behind. Mily cried out, a muffled sound against the pillow. The angle was different, deeper, stretching her in a new way.
He grabbed her breasts, his rough hands squeezing, kneading them from behind. The sensation was overwhelming, a mixture of pain and pleasure. He drove into her, a relentless rhythm, his hips slamming against her ass cheeks. “Faster!” she begged, her voice hoarse, her face still buried in the pillow. “Faster, Sid! Deeper!” The words, raw and desperate, tore from her throat. Her body, betraying her mind, craved the brutal friction, the deep, animalistic thrusts. The words from a very beautiful housewife and mother of one turned him on more.
He gripped her breasts harder, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He pounded into her, a primal, unthinking rhythm. Her ass cheeks slapped against his hips with each thrust, a rhythmic *thwack*. He leaned down, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of her lower back, licking, sucking, leaving another wet mark.
Her body was a vessel, responding to his every command, every thrust. The world narrowed to the sensations, the rhythmic pounding, the feeling of him filling her completely. She felt the pressure building again, a familiar coil tightening in her gut. He groaned, a long, drawn-out sound, his hips slamming into her with increasing force.
He pulled her hair, tilting her head back slightly. “Here I come, Mily! All for you!” He came, a hot, thick gush, splashing deep inside her. Mily howled, a guttural, primal sound, as her own climax slammed into her, a violent, shuddering wave that shook her to her core. Her body spasmed around him, milking his spent cock, her legs trembling, her fingers clutching at the bedsheets. He pulled out with a final, wet *plop*, his breath ragged.
He stood up, his body glistening with sweat, his face flushed. He didn’t look at her. Mily lay on the bed, her body spent, her pussy aching, her mind a blur of shame and exhaustion. The scent of sex, of him, of her, hung heavy in the air.
He walked to the corner, pulling on his trousers, then his shirt. He didn’t say a word. The zipping of his fly, the rustle of his clothes, were the only sounds. She heard the soft click of the bedroom door, then the front door opening and closing. Silence. The afternoon sun still bled through the curtains, indifferent. Mily lay there, tears silently tracking paths through the sweat and grime on her face. Her body throbbed, raw and violated, yet strangely hollow. The silver anklet on her left leg glinted in the dim light, a silent, glittering testament to her shame.
Dust motes danced in the muted light, tiny, shimmering specks in the oppressive quiet. Her left ankle, slender and pale, bore the cool weight of a silver anklet, its tiny bells silent, waiting.
Her fingers, still faintly perfumed with the scent of fresh coriander and market dust, traced the rim of a chipped teacup. Amit, her husband, was at his paltry job, leaving her at peace but today, it was a gaping maw, ready to swallow her whole. The memory of two days prior, a brutal exchange of her dignity for her mother’s life, clawed at her throat. One lakh fifty thousand rupees, a sum that felt like an entire universe, had bought her mother a chance, and in turn, sold Mily to a devil named Sid.
The sharp, insistent rap on the door ripped through the stillness. Mily flinched, the teacup rattling against the saucer. Her heart hammered, a frantic drum against her ribs. No one ever called unannounced. Amit’s friends were rare, and her own few acquaintances always phoned. The sound came again, louder, more demanding. Dread, cold and slick, coiled in her stomach. It couldn't be. Not him.
She moved towards the door, her pale yellow saree rustling like dry leaves. Its silk, once vibrant, now felt heavy, clinging to her skin. Her chocolate-colored lipstick, applied with care that morning, suddenly felt like a garish mask. She peered through the peephole, her breath catching. Sid. His face, a landscape of unshaven stubble and dull, bloodshot eyes, filled the tiny circle.
A primal scream caught in her throat, but no sound escaped. “Mily, open up!” His voice, a gravelly rasp, penetrated the thick wood. The door shuddered under another heavy knock. She stood frozen, her mind a frantic scramble of denial and terror. *He wouldn’t. Not here. Not now.* The knocking intensified, a relentless assault. “I know you’re in there. Don’t make me break it down.”
Her hand, trembling, fumbled with the latch. The click echoed like a gunshot in the silent flat. Sid pushed the door inward before she could even fully open it, his heavy frame filling the narrow entryway.
A wave of stale sweat, cheap liquor, and something vaguely metallic, hit her first. He hadn't showered in days, she knew that much. His eyes, dark and predatory, raked over her, from the top of her head to the silver anklet peeking from beneath her saree’s hem. “Well, well, kya maal lag rahi ho, ready for me ??,” he sneered, stepping over the threshold without invitation.
The door slammed shut behind him, severing her connection to the outside world. Mily stumbled back, her hand flying to her chest. “What are you doing here? Amit is… he’ll be home soon.” The lie felt thin and brittle, even to her own ears. Sid chuckled, a low, guttural sound that vibrated in his chest. “Amit? That little worm?
He wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you, Mily. He’s probably busy counting pennies.” He took another step, his presence dominating the small living room. “You look… edible. That yellow suits you. Makes your skin glow.” His gaze lingered on her lips, then dropped to her chest, where the saree’s fabric strained subtly over her 34B curves.
He reached out, his fingers, thick and calloused, snagging the edge of her saree. The delicate silk bunched in his fist. “Too many clothes, Mily. Always too many clothes.” A cold shiver ran down her spine. “No! Please, Sid. Not here. Someone will see.” Her voice was a desperate whisper.
He ignored her, his eyes fixed on the fabric. With a swift, brutal tug, he slipped the saree from her shoulder. The soft material slipped from her fair shoulder, revealing the pale curve of her shoulder, the dark strap of her black bra. Her breath hitched. “Black. Knew it.” A predatory grin stretched across his face.
He pulled again, stripping the remaining fabric from her body. The pale yellow saree slithered to the floor, pooling around her feet like a discarded skin. She stood before him in her petticoat and black blouse, suddenly feeling naked despite the remaining layers. His hands, rough and unyielding, moved to the buttons of her blouse. “Such a pretty thing. Hiding all this.” Each button gave way with a small pop, exposing more of the black lace beneath.
The blouse fell open, revealing the swell of her breasts, barely contained by the delicate fabric of her bra. She crossed her arms, trying to cover herself, but his eyes were already devouring her. “Stop it, Sid. You can’t—” “Oh, I can.” His voice was low, menacing. He grabbed the hem of her petticoat, pulling it up with a single, sharp motion. The thin cotton rode high on her thighs, then bunched around her waist. He ripped it downwards, the fabric tearing with a sound like a sigh.
The petticoat joined the saree on the floor. Mily stood before him in her black lace bra and matching panties, her skin milky white against the dark lingerie. Her left leg, exposed now, showed the silver anklet, glinting in the dim light. It felt like a spotlight on her shame. “There,” he breathed, his eyes tracing the curve of her hip, the delicate lace of her panties. “Much better.” He took another step, closing the distance between them.
The stench of him, a cloying mix of stale sweat and unwashed body, enveloped her. He grabbed her chin, his fingers digging into her jaw. “Now, open up.” Her lips, still glowing with chocolate lipstick, trembled. She tried to turn her head, to resist, but his grip was iron. “No.” He squeezed harder. “I didn’t ask. I told you.” He pressed down his rough smelly lips upon her and shoved his tongue inside. Sucked her tongue as Mily struggled not to vomit from the stench. He licked mostly of her lip gloss.
He released her chin, his hand moving to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her dark hair. He pushed her down, forcing her to her knees before him. Mily’s knees hit the rough carpet with a soft thud. Her eyes, wide with fear and humiliation, stared at the dark fabric of his trousers, then up at his face.
His expression was devoid of mercy. “Come on, Mily. You know what to do.” He unzipped his fly. The sound was loud, definitive. His cock, thick and engorged, sprang free, dark and veiny and smelly. It pulsed, a living thing, right before her face. The smell of it, musky and distinctly male, filled her nostrils.
She hesitated, her gaze flicking from the throbbing head to his unyielding face. “Don’t make me ask again.” His voice was a low growl. Slowly, her hands, still smelling of market dust, rose. She took his heavy shaft in her grasp, her fingers barely encircling its girth. It was hot, slick with pre-cum. Her stomach churned.
She looked up at him, a plea in her eyes, but he only stared back, his face a mask of expectation. Her lips parted, revealing the tip of her tongue. She took the tip of his cock into her mouth, the taste of him, salty and metallic, a shock to her senses. She gagged, a small, involuntary sound. He pushed her head down. “No. Deeper.” Tears welled in her eyes, hot and stinging. She swallowed, forcing herself to take more of him. Her tongue flicked around the head, tasting the pre-cum, the musky scent filling her mouth. She felt the rough texture of his foreskin against her lips, the thick vein pressing against her palate.
She moved her head, slowly at first, then with more rhythm, trying to make it quick, to get it over with. His hips began to thrust, a slow, deliberate rhythm. His fingers tangled deeper in her hair, gripping it, guiding her movements. She felt his balls slap against her chin, the soft skin brushing her jaw. Her throat ached, stretched to its limit. He groaned, a deep sound of pleasure, as she sucked harder, her lips sealing around his shaft, pulling him deeper into her mouth. She felt the throb, the growing pressure, the increasing speed of his thrusts. She was just a vessel, a mouth, a body to be used.
Shame burned through her, a hot, searing flame. Suddenly, he pulled back, his cock slipping from her mouth with a wet *shlick*. Mily gasped for air, her throat raw. “Good girl,” he rasped, zipping up his trousers. He grabbed her arm, pulling her up from the floor. She stumbled, regaining her balance. He led her to the sofa, its floral pattern faded with time.
“Now, for the main course.” He pushed her down onto the cushions, then pulled her legs apart. Her black lace panties were still clinging to her hips. He hooked his fingers into the delicate lace, and with a swift, decisive motion, yanked them down. The thin fabric tore, snapping around her ankles before he kicked them away. Her pussy, clean-shaved and glistening with a faint moisture of fear, was exposed.
The labia, a delicate pink, quivered slightly. Her clit, a tiny pearl, peeked out from its hood. Sid knelt before her, his face inches from her core, he spread her milky thighs and placed them on his shoulder. He leaned in, his nose grazing her pubic mound. She could feel his breath, hot and heavy, against her sensitive skin. He took a deep breath, inhaling her scent. “Hmm, sweet. Very sweet.” Then, his tongue, rough and wet, flicked out. It landed directly on her clit.
Mily gasped, a sharp, involuntary sound. Her hips bucked, a jolt of unexpected sensation shooting through her. His tongue was relentless, circling, flicking, sucking. He opened his mouth wider, taking her clit and part of her inner labia between his lips, sucking hard, like a hungry child at a breast. “Ah! N-no!” The protest was weak, lost in the rising tide of sensation. Her fingers, shapely and adorned with short, neat nails, clenched into fists.
A deep, primal moan escaped her lips, vibrating in the quiet room. He pressed his face deeper into her, his nose buried in her wet folds, his tongue a constant, demanding presence. He licked, he sucked, he swirled, his stubble scbanging against her tender skin. The heat built, a coil tightening in her belly. Her body, despite her mind’s protest, responded. Her pussy pulsed, a silent throb. “Sid!” The name tore from her throat, a desperate plea, a nascent cry of pleasure. Her hips arched higher, pushing herself into his mouth. Her fingers, no longer fists, flew to his head, tangling in his sparse, near-bald hair. She dug her nails in, pulling him closer, deeper into her wetness.
The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over her. His tongue worked faster, harder, a relentless rhythm. He pushed his face even further, his breath hot against her perineum, his tongue tracing the sensitive seam. The pressure in her core became unbearable, exquisite. “Oh! Oh, God!” Her body convulsed, a violent shudder rippling through her. Her back arched, her legs trembled. A loud, guttural scream tore from her throat, raw and primal. Her pussy contracted around his mouth, spurting hot, slick liquid. She came, a shattering, earth-shaking orgasm, her body writhing, shuddering against the sofa cushions. The taste of herself, mingled with his saliva, filled his mouth.
He pulled back, his lips glistening, a smear of her juices on his chin. He licked his lips slowly, savoring the taste. “Delicious.” Mily lay panting, her body still trembling, her eyes squeezed shut, hot tears escaping from beneath her lids. Shame, profound and suffocating, washed over her. She had come. She had *begged* him to make her come.
He stood, pulling her up with surprising ease. He lifted her into his arms, her body feeling strangely light and pliant after the shattering climax. She didn’t resist, too spent, too humiliated. He carried her through the short hallway, past the small temple with its flickering diya, into her bedroom. The room was cool, shadowed. He laid her gently on the bed, her body sinking into the soft mattress. Her eyes fluttered open, seeing the familiar ceiling, the faint pattern of the wallpaper. This was *her* bed. Amit’s bed. He stood over her, his eyes still dark, still predatory. He reached down, his fingers finding the delicate clasp of her black bra.
With a practiced movement, he unhooked it. The lace parted, and her 34B breasts, pale and full, spilled free. Her nipples, already erect from the previous encounter, stood proud and dark. He leaned down, his mouth, still smelling faintly of her, covering one of her nipples. He suckled, a deep, pulling suction that sent a jolt through her. His tongue swirled around the tender peak, then he took the whole areola into his mouth, tugging gently.
Mily moaned, a low, helpless sound. He moved between her legs, his knees pressing against her thighs. His cock, still hard and throbbing, brushed against her wet pussy lips. The sensation was a shock, a jolt of electricity. “Ready for round two, Mily?” His voice was a low murmur against her ear as he leaned down, his breath warm on her skin. She didn’t answer, couldn’t. Her eyes were fixed on his face, a mixture of fear and a strange, unwelcome anticipation churning within her. He positioned himself, his cock pressing against her opening.
He looked down at her, his eyes locking with hers. Then, with a slow, deliberate push, he entered her. Mily gasped, a sharp intake of breath. He was thick, filling her completely. The initial discomfort quickly gave way to a stretching, a fullness that was both painful and intensely pleasurable. Her muscles clenched around him, involuntarily. He began to move, a slow, deep thrust, withdrawing almost completely before plunging back in. The bed creaked with the rhythm.
His hips bumped against hers, his hairy chest crushing her soft breasts. She felt the coarse hair against her sensitive skin, the weight of him heavy on her. He lowered his head, his mouth finding hers. His lips, rough and demanding, covered hers. His tongue pushed past her teeth, invading her mouth, tasting of her, of himself, of stale liquor. He kissed her deeply, forcefully, his tongue intertwining with hers, a rough, intimate dance. His teeth scbangd against her lip, a sharp sting. He pulled back from her mouth, his lips moving to her neck, sucking, biting gently, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses.
His breath, smelling faintly of alcohol, was hot against her skin. He bit her shoulder, a gentle nip that still left a faint mark. “You’re so tight, Mily,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his hips still grinding against her. “So good.” Her hands, almost unconsciously, rose to his back. Her fingers dug into the flesh, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt. She wrapped her milky thighs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting more of the heavy, stretching fullness. The primal rhythm took over.
He pounded into her, each thrust deep and deliberate, stretching her, filling her. The bed thumped against the wall with each powerful stroke. “Faster,” she gasped, her voice raw, barely audible. “Please, faster.” He obliged, his pace quickening, his grunts growing louder. He moved inside her, a relentless piston, driving her deeper into the mattress. Her body bucked and arched, meeting his thrusts, her hips rising to welcome him. The friction was intense, a burning pleasure that built and built. Her pussy slicked around him, making a wet *squelching* sound with each pull and push. He leaned down, his mouth finding her ear. “Almost there, Mily. Almost.”
A wave of sensation hit her, stronger than before. Her muscles spasmed around him, milking him. Her nails dug deeper into his back, leaving angry red marks. Her legs clamped around him, holding him captive. “Ah! Oh, God!” she cried out, her voice cracking. Her body convulsed, another powerful orgasm racking her. She clung to him, her nails digging into his skin, tears of shame and release streaming down her face, mingling with the sweat on her temples. She felt him stiffen, felt the hot gush inside her, a warm, thick flood.
He groaned, a deep, ragged sound, and collapsed on her, his weight crushing her, his breathing heavy. He lay there for a few moments, his body heavy and still on hers, his cock still buried deep inside her. Then, with a loud *plop*, he pulled out, his body still slick with sweat and her juices. The sudden emptiness was jarring, cold. He rolled off her, turning her over onto her stomach. Her face was buried in the pillow, her body still trembling.
Her back was exposed, pale and vulnerable. He leaned down, his tongue trailing a hot, wet path from her shoulder blade down her spine. The unexpected sensation made her shiver. He licked, a long, wet swipe, then bit her skin gently, leaving a faint red mark just below her shoulder. “My mark,” he whispered against her skin. He grabbed her hips, pulling her back against him.
His cock, still hard, pressed against her ass. He lifted her left leg, bending it at the knee, pushing her hips up, exposing her ass. He pressed his cock against her wet pussy lips again, then, with a hard push, he plunged into her from behind. Mily cried out, a muffled sound against the pillow. The angle was different, deeper, stretching her in a new way.
He grabbed her breasts, his rough hands squeezing, kneading them from behind. The sensation was overwhelming, a mixture of pain and pleasure. He drove into her, a relentless rhythm, his hips slamming against her ass cheeks. “Faster!” she begged, her voice hoarse, her face still buried in the pillow. “Faster, Sid! Deeper!” The words, raw and desperate, tore from her throat. Her body, betraying her mind, craved the brutal friction, the deep, animalistic thrusts. The words from a very beautiful housewife and mother of one turned him on more.
He gripped her breasts harder, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He pounded into her, a primal, unthinking rhythm. Her ass cheeks slapped against his hips with each thrust, a rhythmic *thwack*. He leaned down, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of her lower back, licking, sucking, leaving another wet mark.
Her body was a vessel, responding to his every command, every thrust. The world narrowed to the sensations, the rhythmic pounding, the feeling of him filling her completely. She felt the pressure building again, a familiar coil tightening in her gut. He groaned, a long, drawn-out sound, his hips slamming into her with increasing force.
He pulled her hair, tilting her head back slightly. “Here I come, Mily! All for you!” He came, a hot, thick gush, splashing deep inside her. Mily howled, a guttural, primal sound, as her own climax slammed into her, a violent, shuddering wave that shook her to her core. Her body spasmed around him, milking his spent cock, her legs trembling, her fingers clutching at the bedsheets. He pulled out with a final, wet *plop*, his breath ragged.
He stood up, his body glistening with sweat, his face flushed. He didn’t look at her. Mily lay on the bed, her body spent, her pussy aching, her mind a blur of shame and exhaustion. The scent of sex, of him, of her, hung heavy in the air.
He walked to the corner, pulling on his trousers, then his shirt. He didn’t say a word. The zipping of his fly, the rustle of his clothes, were the only sounds. She heard the soft click of the bedroom door, then the front door opening and closing. Silence. The afternoon sun still bled through the curtains, indifferent. Mily lay there, tears silently tracking paths through the sweat and grime on her face. Her body throbbed, raw and violated, yet strangely hollow. The silver anklet on her left leg glinted in the dim light, a silent, glittering testament to her shame.
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