21-12-2025, 07:59 PM
Out in the corridor, the evidence of their frantic unraveling lay strewn across the floor like the debris of a storm. Shweta’s crimson saree lay in a ruined heap, a pool of dark fabric on the mosaic tiles, while her petticoat was bunched up near the water filter, an abandoned shell of her modesty.
Inside, the sudden drop in temperature hit their overheated skin with a physical shock. They were both drenched—a slick mixture of humidity, exertion, and the nervous sweat of transgression. The room was bathed in the low, electric-blue glow of the night lamp plugged into the corner socket, while the digital display of the air conditioner cast a faint, clinical light across the bed.
Sumu placed her on the mattress—his mattress, the very altar where this obsession had begun weeks ago. He stood over her for a moment, his chest heaving, staring down at the woman who was forbidden to him by every law of blood and society.
Shweta propped herself up on her elbows, her hair a wild, dark halo around her face. Her lips were swollen, bruised a deep red from the violence of his kissing. In the blue half-light, she looked like a creature from a fever dream. Her chest, clad only in the damp, translucent blouse, rose and fell in rapid, shallow gasps, the sweat on her cleavage beginning to cool and prickle in the AC draft. Below, her cotton panty was visibly damp, a dark patch at the center betraying the depth of her arousal.
She couldn't see his eyes clearly against the backlight, but she could feel the weight of his gaze. And she could see the silhouette of his desire—his erection straining angrily against the fabric of his sleeping shorts, a rigid demand that made her breath hitch.
A shiver raked through her body, a mix of the sudden cold and the terrifying anticipation.
Sumu didn't let her freeze. He moved, the mattress dipping heavily as he crawled over her. Shweta’s elbows gave way, and her head fell back against the grey pillow. His body covered hers instantly, a heavy, hot blanket that sank her deep into the soft mattress.
Instinct took over. Shweta spread her legs, opening herself to accommodate his weight. The sensation was electric—the searing heat of his erection grinding against the damp cotton of her panty, the friction sending jolts of pleasure radiating through her thighs.
Sumu lowered his face until he was hovering mere inches from hers. They were both panting, their breaths mingling in the small space between them—hers sweet and erratic, his heavy and ragged. He cupped her face with one large hand, his fingers sliding into her hair, while his thumb traced the outline of her swollen lower lip. He rubbed it gently, then pressed the pad of his thumb into her mouth, wetting it with her own saliva.
The intimacy of the gesture snapped the last of Shweta’s control. With a whimper, she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down.
They collided again, devouring each other with a renewed, starving intensity. Sumu kept his thumb between their lips, letting their teeth clash against his skin and each other, his tongue plunging into her mouth to war with hers. Shweta’s legs came up, wrapping tightly around his waist, her heels locking at the small of his back to anchor him.
Sumu began to grind his hips, a slow, rhythmic gyration that rubbed his hardness deep into the cleft of her buttocks and against her wet opening. Shweta met his rhythm, using her legs to pull his hips harder against her, needing to feel the pressure, the solidity of him. Her hands slid down his sweat-slick back to his buttocks, snaking beneath the elastic band of his shorts. Her nails dug into the firm muscle of his ass, urging him on.
Somewhere in the haze of lust, a fragment of reality floated through her mind. *This is Borda. This is Ani’s Borda.* Two weeks ago, she couldn't have conceived of this in her wildest, most shameful dreams—lying half-naked, legs spread, grinding her sex against her husband’s cousin. But the thought didn't stop her; it only poured gasoline on the fire. The taboo was a drug, and she was overdosing on it.
Sumu finally tore his mouth from hers, a long, glistening strand of saliva connecting them for a heartbeat before it broke. He didn't speak. He shifted his weight, straddling her hips, and looked down at her chest.
His fingers, trembling slightly with adrenaline, went to the hooks of her blouse.
*Pop. Pop. Pop.*
The sounds were loud in the quiet room. He peeled the wet fabric aside.
Shweta’s breasts spilled out, heavy and magnificent in the blue light. They did not sag, their fullness heaving with her rapid breaths, the dark nipples hard as pebbles and pointing accusingly at the ceiling.
Sumu didn't waste a second. He lowered his head and captured one breast in his mouth, his tongue swirling hot and wet over the sensitive peak. Simultaneously, his large hand engulfed the other, kneading the soft flesh roughly.
"Ahhh!" Shweta arched her back, thrusting her chest upward, offering herself to the double assault. The sensation was overwhelming—the wet suction on one side, the possessive grip on the other.
Sumu’s free hand began to roam. It slid down her ribcage, over the curve of her hip, and settled on her mound. The heat radiating from her was intense, soaking through the damp cotton of her panty. He rubbed his palm over her, feeling the slickness, before sliding one finger inside the leg hole, pushing just a little deep into the wet folds.
Shweta cried out, a loud, broken moan that echoed off the walls.
Sumu withdrew his hand and began to slide his body down the length of hers. He stopped when his face was level with her midriff.
The navel.
It was right there—the deep, vertical indentation that had started this entire madness when he saw it exposed in this very bed. He buried his face in her soft stomach, inhaling the musk of her skin, his tongue darting out to swirl inside the dip of her belly button. He licked a wet, hot trail across her abdomen, worshipping the skin he had coveted from afar.
Shweta’s hands flew above her head, her fists gripping the grey bedsheet, twisting the fabric as tension coiled in her belly.
Sumu moved lower. His face hovered over her panty, the scent of her arousal hitting him full force—salty, feminine, and undeniably inviting. He reached behind her hips. Instinctively, Shweta lifted her buttocks, aiding him.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband and dragged the panty down, stripping it off her legs and tossing it carelessly into the shadows of the room.
She lay completely exposed before him. Her thighs fell open, her sex glistening with slick nectar, waiting.
Sumu didn't hesitate. He grabbed her hips to hold her steady and buried his face between her legs.
The first touch of his tongue was a shock that made Shweta gasp, her hips bucking off the mattress. He tasted her—the salt of her sweat, the sweetness of her desire. It was a flavor he had never known, illicit and intoxicating.
He began to feast. His tongue darted inside her, flicking against the swollen nub of her clitoris, lapping at the juices flowing freely from her. Shweta lost all reason. The sensation of Sumu’s warm mouth on her most private place, the wet, rhythmic slaps of his tongue, drove her to the brink of insanity.
Her hands left the sheets and found his head. She grabbed handfuls of his thick hair, her fingers tightening, pulling his face harder against her crotch.
"Ohhh... Borda..." she whispered, the forbidden title slipping out on a moan, breathless and shattered. "What are you doing... oh god..."
Sumu didn't stop. His hands moved up to knead her breasts again while his mouth worked relentlessly between her legs, drinking her in, marking her as his own.
The air-conditioned room was filled with the wet, sloppy sounds of their pleasure and Shweta’s rising cries, a symphony of betrayal playing out in the blue dark.
Miles away, in the cramped, stale air of the worker's dormitory, Ani turned over on his thin mattress, sinking deeper into a dreamless, exhausted sleep. He lay oblivious in the dark, unable to guess, even in his worst nightmares, that back in the sanctuary of his ancestral home, his wife was writhing in ecstasy, her legs wrapped around the head of the brother he loved and trusted most.
Inside, the sudden drop in temperature hit their overheated skin with a physical shock. They were both drenched—a slick mixture of humidity, exertion, and the nervous sweat of transgression. The room was bathed in the low, electric-blue glow of the night lamp plugged into the corner socket, while the digital display of the air conditioner cast a faint, clinical light across the bed.
Sumu placed her on the mattress—his mattress, the very altar where this obsession had begun weeks ago. He stood over her for a moment, his chest heaving, staring down at the woman who was forbidden to him by every law of blood and society.
Shweta propped herself up on her elbows, her hair a wild, dark halo around her face. Her lips were swollen, bruised a deep red from the violence of his kissing. In the blue half-light, she looked like a creature from a fever dream. Her chest, clad only in the damp, translucent blouse, rose and fell in rapid, shallow gasps, the sweat on her cleavage beginning to cool and prickle in the AC draft. Below, her cotton panty was visibly damp, a dark patch at the center betraying the depth of her arousal.
She couldn't see his eyes clearly against the backlight, but she could feel the weight of his gaze. And she could see the silhouette of his desire—his erection straining angrily against the fabric of his sleeping shorts, a rigid demand that made her breath hitch.
A shiver raked through her body, a mix of the sudden cold and the terrifying anticipation.
Sumu didn't let her freeze. He moved, the mattress dipping heavily as he crawled over her. Shweta’s elbows gave way, and her head fell back against the grey pillow. His body covered hers instantly, a heavy, hot blanket that sank her deep into the soft mattress.
Instinct took over. Shweta spread her legs, opening herself to accommodate his weight. The sensation was electric—the searing heat of his erection grinding against the damp cotton of her panty, the friction sending jolts of pleasure radiating through her thighs.
Sumu lowered his face until he was hovering mere inches from hers. They were both panting, their breaths mingling in the small space between them—hers sweet and erratic, his heavy and ragged. He cupped her face with one large hand, his fingers sliding into her hair, while his thumb traced the outline of her swollen lower lip. He rubbed it gently, then pressed the pad of his thumb into her mouth, wetting it with her own saliva.
The intimacy of the gesture snapped the last of Shweta’s control. With a whimper, she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down.
They collided again, devouring each other with a renewed, starving intensity. Sumu kept his thumb between their lips, letting their teeth clash against his skin and each other, his tongue plunging into her mouth to war with hers. Shweta’s legs came up, wrapping tightly around his waist, her heels locking at the small of his back to anchor him.
Sumu began to grind his hips, a slow, rhythmic gyration that rubbed his hardness deep into the cleft of her buttocks and against her wet opening. Shweta met his rhythm, using her legs to pull his hips harder against her, needing to feel the pressure, the solidity of him. Her hands slid down his sweat-slick back to his buttocks, snaking beneath the elastic band of his shorts. Her nails dug into the firm muscle of his ass, urging him on.
Somewhere in the haze of lust, a fragment of reality floated through her mind. *This is Borda. This is Ani’s Borda.* Two weeks ago, she couldn't have conceived of this in her wildest, most shameful dreams—lying half-naked, legs spread, grinding her sex against her husband’s cousin. But the thought didn't stop her; it only poured gasoline on the fire. The taboo was a drug, and she was overdosing on it.
Sumu finally tore his mouth from hers, a long, glistening strand of saliva connecting them for a heartbeat before it broke. He didn't speak. He shifted his weight, straddling her hips, and looked down at her chest.
His fingers, trembling slightly with adrenaline, went to the hooks of her blouse.
*Pop. Pop. Pop.*
The sounds were loud in the quiet room. He peeled the wet fabric aside.
Shweta’s breasts spilled out, heavy and magnificent in the blue light. They did not sag, their fullness heaving with her rapid breaths, the dark nipples hard as pebbles and pointing accusingly at the ceiling.
Sumu didn't waste a second. He lowered his head and captured one breast in his mouth, his tongue swirling hot and wet over the sensitive peak. Simultaneously, his large hand engulfed the other, kneading the soft flesh roughly.
"Ahhh!" Shweta arched her back, thrusting her chest upward, offering herself to the double assault. The sensation was overwhelming—the wet suction on one side, the possessive grip on the other.
Sumu’s free hand began to roam. It slid down her ribcage, over the curve of her hip, and settled on her mound. The heat radiating from her was intense, soaking through the damp cotton of her panty. He rubbed his palm over her, feeling the slickness, before sliding one finger inside the leg hole, pushing just a little deep into the wet folds.
Shweta cried out, a loud, broken moan that echoed off the walls.
Sumu withdrew his hand and began to slide his body down the length of hers. He stopped when his face was level with her midriff.
The navel.
It was right there—the deep, vertical indentation that had started this entire madness when he saw it exposed in this very bed. He buried his face in her soft stomach, inhaling the musk of her skin, his tongue darting out to swirl inside the dip of her belly button. He licked a wet, hot trail across her abdomen, worshipping the skin he had coveted from afar.
Shweta’s hands flew above her head, her fists gripping the grey bedsheet, twisting the fabric as tension coiled in her belly.
Sumu moved lower. His face hovered over her panty, the scent of her arousal hitting him full force—salty, feminine, and undeniably inviting. He reached behind her hips. Instinctively, Shweta lifted her buttocks, aiding him.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband and dragged the panty down, stripping it off her legs and tossing it carelessly into the shadows of the room.
She lay completely exposed before him. Her thighs fell open, her sex glistening with slick nectar, waiting.
Sumu didn't hesitate. He grabbed her hips to hold her steady and buried his face between her legs.
The first touch of his tongue was a shock that made Shweta gasp, her hips bucking off the mattress. He tasted her—the salt of her sweat, the sweetness of her desire. It was a flavor he had never known, illicit and intoxicating.
He began to feast. His tongue darted inside her, flicking against the swollen nub of her clitoris, lapping at the juices flowing freely from her. Shweta lost all reason. The sensation of Sumu’s warm mouth on her most private place, the wet, rhythmic slaps of his tongue, drove her to the brink of insanity.
Her hands left the sheets and found his head. She grabbed handfuls of his thick hair, her fingers tightening, pulling his face harder against her crotch.
"Ohhh... Borda..." she whispered, the forbidden title slipping out on a moan, breathless and shattered. "What are you doing... oh god..."
Sumu didn't stop. His hands moved up to knead her breasts again while his mouth worked relentlessly between her legs, drinking her in, marking her as his own.
The air-conditioned room was filled with the wet, sloppy sounds of their pleasure and Shweta’s rising cries, a symphony of betrayal playing out in the blue dark.
Miles away, in the cramped, stale air of the worker's dormitory, Ani turned over on his thin mattress, sinking deeper into a dreamless, exhausted sleep. He lay oblivious in the dark, unable to guess, even in his worst nightmares, that back in the sanctuary of his ancestral home, his wife was writhing in ecstasy, her legs wrapped around the head of the brother he loved and trusted most.
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