Today, 08:31 AM
This is another version of the above episode :
The Delhi sun, a relentless hammer, beat down on Vasant Kunj. Dust motes danced in the stagnant air, shimmering like malevolent fairies.
Sid, a man whose skin seemed perpetually coated in a film of grime and stale sweat, wiped a forearm across his brow. The stench of cheap liquor clung to him, a permanent aura.
He eyed Mily’s apartment door, a predatory glint in his bloodshot eyes. Twice, she’d spread her legs for him, her desperation for her mother’s surgery a raw, open wound he’d expertly exploited. One and a half lacs. A pittance for a life, a fortune for a man like him, a king’s ransom for a woman like her.
Now, a different kind of hunger gnawed at him. He rapped knuckles on the door, a series of sharp, insistent thuds. Silence. He waited, a smirk twisting his lips. He knew Amit, her husband, was at his dead-end job, probably dreaming of the day he could afford a second-hand scooter.
Piu, their four-year-old, would be napping, lost in the innocent dreams of childhood. This was his time. He tried the handle. Locked. Of course. A low growl rumbled in his chest. He kicked the door, a dull, resonant thud echoing in the quiet stairwell. Again. The old wood groaned, splintering around the frame.
One more forceful kick and the door burst inward, tearing away from its hinges with a splintering shriek. “Mily!” he bellowed, his voice raw, laced with triumph. The apartment, usually a haven of quiet domesticity, now felt violated. The air, heavy with the scent of spices and something faintly floral, seemed to recoil from his intrusion. He stalked inside, his heavy boots scuffing the polished concrete floor.
The living room was neat, almost sparse, a testament to Mily’s careful management of their meagre resources. A single silver anklet, glinting on a low table, caught his eye. It was hers. He found her in the small bedroom, standing before a cracked mirror. She wore a deep maroon saree, its silk a rich contrast to her fair skin.
Her black hair, still damp from a recent wash, cascaded down her back, catching the light. She turned, her eyes wide, startled, reflecting the shattered door frame behind him. Fear, stark and undeniable, bloomed in their depths. “Sid? What are you doing here?” Her voice, usually soft, was a strained whisper. Her hand flew to her throat, a nervous flutter. He didn't answer, his gaze raking over her, lingering on the curve of her hip beneath the saree, the swell of her breasts.
A slow, lecherous smile spread across his face. He began to unbutton his shirt, each movement deliberate, a perverse declaration. His fingers fumbled with the buttons, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “What do you want?” Her voice shook, a tremor that ran through her entire body. She backed away, one step, then another, until her back pressed against the wall.
He ripped his shirt open, revealing a chest matted with coarse black hair, a thick golden chain glinting amidst the tangle. The sour smell of him, a cocktail of stale sweat and cheap whiskey, filled the room. He unzipped his trousers, letting them fall to his ankles, then kicked them away. His erection, thick and veined, sprang free, a grotesque monument to his desire. “You know what I want.” His voice was a low growl, thick with anticipation. He took a step towards her, then another, closing the distance.
Her eyes, wide and terrified, darted around the room, searching for an escape that wasn't there. Her breath hitched. “No, Sid, please. Not again.” Her voice cracked, a desperate plea. He grabbed her arm, his grip like iron. The silk of her saree rustled as he pulled her closer. Her skin, soft and smooth, felt like fire against his rough hand. He pushed her down onto the bed, the mattress groaning in protest. The saree bunched around her, a vibrant pool of color. “Get down.”
His voice brooked no argument. He pointed to his throbbing cock. Tears welled in her eyes, silent rivulets tracing paths down her fair cheeks. Her hands trembled as she reached for the knot of her saree, her fingers fumbling with the fabric. The rich material unwound slowly, reluctantly, revealing the smooth curve of her back, the delicate line of her spine.
She slipped it off, letting it pool around her waist. Beneath it, she wore a simple black bra and matching panties, a stark contrast to the vivid saree. He watched, a primal satisfaction unfurling within him. He ripped off her panties, the elastic snapping. Her dark pubic hair, a soft bush, was already damp. He pushed her head down, his hand firm on the back of her neck. “Open up.”
A whimper escaped her lips, quickly stifled. She hesitated, her body rigid with revulsion. His grip tightened. “Now!” She lowered her head, her lips, trembling, brushing against the tip of his cock. The texture, slick and warm, sent a jolt through her. She took him in, slowly, tentatively, her mouth barely wide enough to accommodate his girth. The taste of him, metallic and faintly sour, coated her tongue. Her stomach churned. He groaned, a guttural sound of pleasure.
He pressed down, urging her deeper. Her throat worked, struggling to swallow him. Her eyes, squeezed shut, were wet with tears. He thrust, a thick, insistent rhythm, her head bobbing with each movement. The delicate skin of her inner cheeks stretched, strained. He pulled out, then plunged back in, a repetitive, punishing motion. “Good girl,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust. “Such a good girl.” He pulled her up, her face flushed, her lips swollen and glistening.
He pushed her onto her back, her black bra still clinging to her breasts. He tore it off, the fabric ripping with a harsh sound. Her breasts, full and pale, spilled free, her dark nipples already erect. He leaned down, his mouth closing over one, suckling hard, his tongue rasping against the sensitive skin. She arched her back, a small gasp escaping her lips. He moved lower, his tongue tracing a path down her stomach, past her navel, stopping at her already wet pussy.
Her clit, a tiny bud, pulsed between the folds of her labia. He licked, a slow, deliberate sweep, then sucked, drawing her into his mouth. The taste of her, musky and sweet, filled his senses. Her hips began to buck, a frantic, involuntary movement. He groaned, delving deeper with his tongue, circling her clit, then flicking it with the tip. “Oh… oh, god…” Her voice was a broken moan, barely audible. Her fingers tangled in her hair, pulling at the strands. He ate her, his mouth a hungry maw, his tongue a relentless instrument of pleasure.
He heard the squelching sounds of his tongue against her wet folds, the soft gasps she couldn’t suppress. He pulled away, his face smeared with her juices, a triumphant grin on his lips. He climbed on top of her, his weight pressing her into the mattress. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his. He saw the fear, still there, but now mixed with something else, a desperate, animalistic need that her body couldn't deny.
He positioned himself, his cock, thick and hard, pressing against her entrance. “Look at me, Mily.” She tried to turn her head, but he held her face firm, his eyes boring into hers. He pushed, slowly at first, then with a powerful thrust. A sharp gasp tore from her throat. He filled her, stretching her, his cock a solid mass inside her. “Ah… ahhh…” He began to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm, his hips grinding against hers. The bedsprings creaked a mournful protest.
Her hands, delicate and trembling, found his back, her shapely nails digging into his skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks. She wrapped her ankles around his waist, pulling him deeper, seeking a perverse comfort in the invasion. “Faster,” she gasped, her voice raw, barely recognizable. “Faster, Sid!” He obliged, his thrusts growing more powerful, more insistent.
The bed slammed against the wall with each impact. Her head thrashed on the pillow, her hair a dark tangle. Her moans grew louder, uninhibited, primal. “Oh, god, yes! Yes!” A small noise, a whimper, came from the doorway. He ignored it, lost in the rhythm, in the intoxicating rush of her pleasure, her desperation.
Her eyes, wide and unfocused, stared up at him, a mixture of agony and ecstasy swirling within them. He pulled out, a wet, sucking sound filling the air, and flipped her over. She landed on her hands and knees, her bottom raised, a perfect target. He grabbed her hips, pulling her back against him, his cock pressing against her asshole. “No, Sid, please, not there…” Her voice was a broken plea, but he was beyond listening. He pushed, a slow, deliberate invasion.
Her body tensed, a sharp cry escaping her lips. He heard the tear, a small ripping sound. She cried out, a guttural shriek of pain. He ignored it, pushing deeper, stretching her, filling her. He began to thrust, a relentless piston. Her whimpers turned into desperate gasps, then to full-throated moans. Her hips bucked, a desperate rhythm against his. Her hair, a dark curtain, swung with each movement.
“Mummy!” The small voice, shrill with alarm, cut through the haze of his lust. He paused, his body momentarily frozen. He turned his head, his eyes, still clouded with desire, focusing on the doorway. Piu stood there, a tiny figure in a pink nightgown, her eyes wide, her small face contorted in confusion and fear. Her dark hair, still mussed from sleep, framed her innocent face.
She stared at them, at her mother, naked and writhing, at the ugly man on top of her. “Mummy!” she cried again, a sob catching in her throat. Mily’s head snapped up, her eyes, glazed with pleasure and pain, meeting her daughter’s. A fresh wave of tears streamed down her face, a silent scream of shame and horror. Piu rushed forward, her small fists balled. “Leave Mummy alone!” she shrieked, her voice surprisingly strong. She began to pound on Sid’s back, her tiny fists thudding against his sweaty skin. “Bad uncle! Leave Mummy alone!” He barely registered the blows, her small fists no more than an annoying buzz. He looked at Mily, her face a mask of anguish. Her eyes pleaded with him, a silent entreaty to stop, to spare her this final, crushing humiliation. But he couldn't.
The sight of her, her lovely body trembling beneath him, her eyes begging, only fuelled his depraved desire. The image of her daughter, crying, punching him, was a perverse aphrodisiac. He gritted his teeth, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Shut up, kid!” he snarled, a crude, dismissive wave of his hand.
He slammed into Mily again, a deep, powerful thrust. Her body arched, a guttural groan ripping from her throat. Her eyes rolled back in her head. He felt the familiar surge, the building pressure. He closed his eyes, his hips pumping furiously. Piu’s cries faded, replaced by the rhythmic thud of his body against Mily’s, the wet, squelching sounds of their coupling. Her moans, now laced with a desperate, shattered pleasure, filled the room.
He felt the hot gush, a searing wave of release. He groaned, a deep, satisfied sound, his body shuddering with the force of his climax. He emptied himself inside her, a thick, warm torrent. Her body went limp beneath him, a spent vessel. He pulled out, a loud, wet pop, and collapsed onto her back, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
The air, thick with the smell of sex and sweat, hung heavy around them. Piu’s sobs, quiet now, mingled with Mily’s choked whimpers. He rolled off Mily, his body slick with sweat. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, a triumphant smile on his face. He felt sated, utterly drained. He heard Mily’s ragged breathing, the soft sniffles of her daughter. He didn't care. He had taken what he wanted.
He sat up, his cock still dripping, and looked at Mily. She lay on her side, her body curled into a fetal position, her face buried in the pillow, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Piu, her small body trembling, was huddled at the foot of the bed, watching her mother, her innocent eyes stared blank, she didn’t not understand anything but the fact that the uncle was hurting her mother.
He stood up, his legs still unsteady. He grabbed his trousers from the floor, his movements slow, deliberate. He zipped them up, the sound a harsh rasp in the silence.
He didn't bother with his shirt. He glanced at Mily one last time, a fleeting moment of something akin to pity, quickly extinguished. He had paid her mother's medical bills, hadn't he? This was just… extra. He walked out of the bedroom, past the shattered door frame, leaving behind the wreckage of a woman and her daughter’s innocence. The Delhi sun still beat down, relentless and unforgiving, on Vasant Kunj, on the old colony, on the lives forever altered by his cruel desires. The dust motes still danced, shimmering like malevolent fairies, in the stagnant air.
The Delhi sun, a relentless hammer, beat down on Vasant Kunj. Dust motes danced in the stagnant air, shimmering like malevolent fairies.
Sid, a man whose skin seemed perpetually coated in a film of grime and stale sweat, wiped a forearm across his brow. The stench of cheap liquor clung to him, a permanent aura.
He eyed Mily’s apartment door, a predatory glint in his bloodshot eyes. Twice, she’d spread her legs for him, her desperation for her mother’s surgery a raw, open wound he’d expertly exploited. One and a half lacs. A pittance for a life, a fortune for a man like him, a king’s ransom for a woman like her.
Now, a different kind of hunger gnawed at him. He rapped knuckles on the door, a series of sharp, insistent thuds. Silence. He waited, a smirk twisting his lips. He knew Amit, her husband, was at his dead-end job, probably dreaming of the day he could afford a second-hand scooter.
Piu, their four-year-old, would be napping, lost in the innocent dreams of childhood. This was his time. He tried the handle. Locked. Of course. A low growl rumbled in his chest. He kicked the door, a dull, resonant thud echoing in the quiet stairwell. Again. The old wood groaned, splintering around the frame.
One more forceful kick and the door burst inward, tearing away from its hinges with a splintering shriek. “Mily!” he bellowed, his voice raw, laced with triumph. The apartment, usually a haven of quiet domesticity, now felt violated. The air, heavy with the scent of spices and something faintly floral, seemed to recoil from his intrusion. He stalked inside, his heavy boots scuffing the polished concrete floor.
The living room was neat, almost sparse, a testament to Mily’s careful management of their meagre resources. A single silver anklet, glinting on a low table, caught his eye. It was hers. He found her in the small bedroom, standing before a cracked mirror. She wore a deep maroon saree, its silk a rich contrast to her fair skin.
Her black hair, still damp from a recent wash, cascaded down her back, catching the light. She turned, her eyes wide, startled, reflecting the shattered door frame behind him. Fear, stark and undeniable, bloomed in their depths. “Sid? What are you doing here?” Her voice, usually soft, was a strained whisper. Her hand flew to her throat, a nervous flutter. He didn't answer, his gaze raking over her, lingering on the curve of her hip beneath the saree, the swell of her breasts.
A slow, lecherous smile spread across his face. He began to unbutton his shirt, each movement deliberate, a perverse declaration. His fingers fumbled with the buttons, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “What do you want?” Her voice shook, a tremor that ran through her entire body. She backed away, one step, then another, until her back pressed against the wall.
He ripped his shirt open, revealing a chest matted with coarse black hair, a thick golden chain glinting amidst the tangle. The sour smell of him, a cocktail of stale sweat and cheap whiskey, filled the room. He unzipped his trousers, letting them fall to his ankles, then kicked them away. His erection, thick and veined, sprang free, a grotesque monument to his desire. “You know what I want.” His voice was a low growl, thick with anticipation. He took a step towards her, then another, closing the distance.
Her eyes, wide and terrified, darted around the room, searching for an escape that wasn't there. Her breath hitched. “No, Sid, please. Not again.” Her voice cracked, a desperate plea. He grabbed her arm, his grip like iron. The silk of her saree rustled as he pulled her closer. Her skin, soft and smooth, felt like fire against his rough hand. He pushed her down onto the bed, the mattress groaning in protest. The saree bunched around her, a vibrant pool of color. “Get down.”
His voice brooked no argument. He pointed to his throbbing cock. Tears welled in her eyes, silent rivulets tracing paths down her fair cheeks. Her hands trembled as she reached for the knot of her saree, her fingers fumbling with the fabric. The rich material unwound slowly, reluctantly, revealing the smooth curve of her back, the delicate line of her spine.
She slipped it off, letting it pool around her waist. Beneath it, she wore a simple black bra and matching panties, a stark contrast to the vivid saree. He watched, a primal satisfaction unfurling within him. He ripped off her panties, the elastic snapping. Her dark pubic hair, a soft bush, was already damp. He pushed her head down, his hand firm on the back of her neck. “Open up.”
A whimper escaped her lips, quickly stifled. She hesitated, her body rigid with revulsion. His grip tightened. “Now!” She lowered her head, her lips, trembling, brushing against the tip of his cock. The texture, slick and warm, sent a jolt through her. She took him in, slowly, tentatively, her mouth barely wide enough to accommodate his girth. The taste of him, metallic and faintly sour, coated her tongue. Her stomach churned. He groaned, a guttural sound of pleasure.
He pressed down, urging her deeper. Her throat worked, struggling to swallow him. Her eyes, squeezed shut, were wet with tears. He thrust, a thick, insistent rhythm, her head bobbing with each movement. The delicate skin of her inner cheeks stretched, strained. He pulled out, then plunged back in, a repetitive, punishing motion. “Good girl,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust. “Such a good girl.” He pulled her up, her face flushed, her lips swollen and glistening.
He pushed her onto her back, her black bra still clinging to her breasts. He tore it off, the fabric ripping with a harsh sound. Her breasts, full and pale, spilled free, her dark nipples already erect. He leaned down, his mouth closing over one, suckling hard, his tongue rasping against the sensitive skin. She arched her back, a small gasp escaping her lips. He moved lower, his tongue tracing a path down her stomach, past her navel, stopping at her already wet pussy.
Her clit, a tiny bud, pulsed between the folds of her labia. He licked, a slow, deliberate sweep, then sucked, drawing her into his mouth. The taste of her, musky and sweet, filled his senses. Her hips began to buck, a frantic, involuntary movement. He groaned, delving deeper with his tongue, circling her clit, then flicking it with the tip. “Oh… oh, god…” Her voice was a broken moan, barely audible. Her fingers tangled in her hair, pulling at the strands. He ate her, his mouth a hungry maw, his tongue a relentless instrument of pleasure.
He heard the squelching sounds of his tongue against her wet folds, the soft gasps she couldn’t suppress. He pulled away, his face smeared with her juices, a triumphant grin on his lips. He climbed on top of her, his weight pressing her into the mattress. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his. He saw the fear, still there, but now mixed with something else, a desperate, animalistic need that her body couldn't deny.
He positioned himself, his cock, thick and hard, pressing against her entrance. “Look at me, Mily.” She tried to turn her head, but he held her face firm, his eyes boring into hers. He pushed, slowly at first, then with a powerful thrust. A sharp gasp tore from her throat. He filled her, stretching her, his cock a solid mass inside her. “Ah… ahhh…” He began to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm, his hips grinding against hers. The bedsprings creaked a mournful protest.
Her hands, delicate and trembling, found his back, her shapely nails digging into his skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks. She wrapped her ankles around his waist, pulling him deeper, seeking a perverse comfort in the invasion. “Faster,” she gasped, her voice raw, barely recognizable. “Faster, Sid!” He obliged, his thrusts growing more powerful, more insistent.
The bed slammed against the wall with each impact. Her head thrashed on the pillow, her hair a dark tangle. Her moans grew louder, uninhibited, primal. “Oh, god, yes! Yes!” A small noise, a whimper, came from the doorway. He ignored it, lost in the rhythm, in the intoxicating rush of her pleasure, her desperation.
Her eyes, wide and unfocused, stared up at him, a mixture of agony and ecstasy swirling within them. He pulled out, a wet, sucking sound filling the air, and flipped her over. She landed on her hands and knees, her bottom raised, a perfect target. He grabbed her hips, pulling her back against him, his cock pressing against her asshole. “No, Sid, please, not there…” Her voice was a broken plea, but he was beyond listening. He pushed, a slow, deliberate invasion.
Her body tensed, a sharp cry escaping her lips. He heard the tear, a small ripping sound. She cried out, a guttural shriek of pain. He ignored it, pushing deeper, stretching her, filling her. He began to thrust, a relentless piston. Her whimpers turned into desperate gasps, then to full-throated moans. Her hips bucked, a desperate rhythm against his. Her hair, a dark curtain, swung with each movement.
“Mummy!” The small voice, shrill with alarm, cut through the haze of his lust. He paused, his body momentarily frozen. He turned his head, his eyes, still clouded with desire, focusing on the doorway. Piu stood there, a tiny figure in a pink nightgown, her eyes wide, her small face contorted in confusion and fear. Her dark hair, still mussed from sleep, framed her innocent face.
She stared at them, at her mother, naked and writhing, at the ugly man on top of her. “Mummy!” she cried again, a sob catching in her throat. Mily’s head snapped up, her eyes, glazed with pleasure and pain, meeting her daughter’s. A fresh wave of tears streamed down her face, a silent scream of shame and horror. Piu rushed forward, her small fists balled. “Leave Mummy alone!” she shrieked, her voice surprisingly strong. She began to pound on Sid’s back, her tiny fists thudding against his sweaty skin. “Bad uncle! Leave Mummy alone!” He barely registered the blows, her small fists no more than an annoying buzz. He looked at Mily, her face a mask of anguish. Her eyes pleaded with him, a silent entreaty to stop, to spare her this final, crushing humiliation. But he couldn't.
The sight of her, her lovely body trembling beneath him, her eyes begging, only fuelled his depraved desire. The image of her daughter, crying, punching him, was a perverse aphrodisiac. He gritted his teeth, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Shut up, kid!” he snarled, a crude, dismissive wave of his hand.
He slammed into Mily again, a deep, powerful thrust. Her body arched, a guttural groan ripping from her throat. Her eyes rolled back in her head. He felt the familiar surge, the building pressure. He closed his eyes, his hips pumping furiously. Piu’s cries faded, replaced by the rhythmic thud of his body against Mily’s, the wet, squelching sounds of their coupling. Her moans, now laced with a desperate, shattered pleasure, filled the room.
He felt the hot gush, a searing wave of release. He groaned, a deep, satisfied sound, his body shuddering with the force of his climax. He emptied himself inside her, a thick, warm torrent. Her body went limp beneath him, a spent vessel. He pulled out, a loud, wet pop, and collapsed onto her back, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
The air, thick with the smell of sex and sweat, hung heavy around them. Piu’s sobs, quiet now, mingled with Mily’s choked whimpers. He rolled off Mily, his body slick with sweat. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, a triumphant smile on his face. He felt sated, utterly drained. He heard Mily’s ragged breathing, the soft sniffles of her daughter. He didn't care. He had taken what he wanted.
He sat up, his cock still dripping, and looked at Mily. She lay on her side, her body curled into a fetal position, her face buried in the pillow, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Piu, her small body trembling, was huddled at the foot of the bed, watching her mother, her innocent eyes stared blank, she didn’t not understand anything but the fact that the uncle was hurting her mother.
He stood up, his legs still unsteady. He grabbed his trousers from the floor, his movements slow, deliberate. He zipped them up, the sound a harsh rasp in the silence.
He didn't bother with his shirt. He glanced at Mily one last time, a fleeting moment of something akin to pity, quickly extinguished. He had paid her mother's medical bills, hadn't he? This was just… extra. He walked out of the bedroom, past the shattered door frame, leaving behind the wreckage of a woman and her daughter’s innocence. The Delhi sun still beat down, relentless and unforgiving, on Vasant Kunj, on the old colony, on the lives forever altered by his cruel desires. The dust motes still danced, shimmering like malevolent fairies, in the stagnant air.
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