Me(Sonalika) - How I love my Father in law(3 Videos) - Scene 9 - Gold*

[ashuezy2]

Scene 5

Morning came, but the sun didn't bring clarity. It brought a dirty, feverish need.
I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, and realized with a jolt: I didn't want Lokesh to come home. Lokesh. My husband. The planner. The Microsoft Excel guy. The man who lived his life in rows and columns, where every kiss was scheduled and every rupee accounted for. He was safe. And he was boring.

I wanted Babuji. God help me, I wanted the old man. I wanted to be back in that suffocating room. I wanted to crawl under his heavy, musk-smelling blanket. I wanted to strip off my  saree and press my skin against his dry, feverish body. I wanted to go down on him, take his cock—old and dormant or not—into my mouth and suck the life back into it. I wanted to be the reason he breathed. I wanted a manly man, someone who took what he wanted without sending a invite first. Babuji was chaos; Lokesh was just a spreadsheet.

6:00 AM. The sound of a taxi engine cut through the quiet morning. Tires crunched on the gravel outside. I got up, splashing water on my face to hide the flush of my night thoughts. I wrapped my pallu tight—the armor of the dutiful wife—and walked to the main door.
I expected Lokesh standing there with his laptop bag and his dusty face, ready to ask about the electricity bill. I opened the door. Lokesh was there. But he wasn't alone.

A woman stepped out of the taxi behind him. She wasn't from Meerut. She wasn't from my world. She was tall, wearing a pencil skirt that stopped above her knees—something I wouldn't dare wear even in the bedroom. Her hair was cut short, streaked with bold brown highlights, bouncing as she moved. Her lips were painted a sharp, glossy crimson.
Lokesh was smiling. Not his polite, "I am home" smile. But a real smile. A smile I hadn't seen in three years.

"Sonalika," he said, too cheerful, too loud. "Meet Riya. She's my colleague from the Gurgaon office. She’s never seen the real UP, so she decided to tag along for the weekend. She’ll be staying with us."

I stood frozen in the doorway, clutching the doorframe. "Hi, Sonalika!" Riya waved. Her voice was confident, breezy. She touched Lokesh’s arm lightly as she laughed at something the driver said. Touch. It was casual. It was practiced.

I saw it instantly. The chemistry. The invisible wire connecting them. The way he leaned toward her when he picked up her bag. The inside jokes in their eyes. He was enjoying his weekdays with her in the shiny glass offices of Gurgaon, and he was dumping his weekends on me in this dusty house. I wasn't his wife; I was his weekend caretaker.
She was the "Weekday Wife." I was the servant.

Jealousy is a cold poison, but today, it turned hot. I looked at her modern clothes, her confident posture. Then I looked down at my simple saree, my bare feet. I felt small. But then, a darker thought rose up like bile: You have her? Fine. I have something you will never suspect.

I didn't notice Babuji come up behind me. He must have walked quietly, or maybe the noise of my own heart drowned him out. He stood in the shadows of the hallway, leaning on his stick, watching the scene outside through the open door.

He looked at Lokesh laughing with the skirt-wearing woman. He looked at Riya’s legs. Then he looked at me. He saw the hurt on my face. And he smiled. A wicked, knowing smile. He knew. He realized instantly that Lokesh had just handed him the key to the lock.
He took a step closer to me, standing right behind my back, so close his breath hit the nape of my neck. Lokesh was too busy paying the driver to notice.

"Doosri biwi..." (Second wife...) Babuji whispered, his voice low and rasping, just for me. "Looks like my son is busy playing games in Gurgaon. He brought his mistress home to show you."

He chuckled, a dry, dusty sound. "Let him have his fun, Sonalika." He leaned in closer, his chest pressing against my back, hidden from the view of the street by the doorframe. His hand grazed my hip—a fleeting, daring touch.
"You have me now. I will keep you warm and wet."

I didn't pull away. I didn't scold him. I looked at Riya laughing. I looked at my husband ignoring me. And then I leaned back, just a fraction of an inch, into Babuji’s touch.
"Yes," I thought, the anger turning into a dark, twisted arousal. "You bring your mistress, Lokesh. Sleep with her in the guest room for all I care. Because while you are busy with her..."
I glanced back at Babuji over my shoulder. His eyes were burning holes into my blouse. I gave him a tiny, almost invisible nod.

I will have my revenge, I promised myself. And I will have it on your father's bed, screaming his name while you sit in the next room.

"Welcome home, Lokesh," I called out, my voice sweet as poisoned honey. "Come inside."