Adultery Weekday Wife [COMPLETED]

[Sherlocked]

Sumu crawled up the length of her body, his movements predatory and deliberate. In the blue-tinged darkness, Shweta could see his face as he hovered over her—his lips, chin, and nose were slick, glistening with the wet evidence of his devotion to her pleasure. The sight was primal, stripping away the last veneer of civilization from the room.


His hands moved to the open front of her blouse, tugging at the damp fabric. Shweta didn't feign modesty; that ship had sailed the moment she entered this room. She arched her back, lifting her torso off the mattress without prompting, aiding him as he peeled the sticky cotton from her skin and tossed it aside.


She lay there, completely without a shred of thread on her body, exposed and vulnerable under the looming form of her husband's *Borda*. The cool breeze of the air conditioner washed over her naked skin, raising goosebumps, but it did nothing to cool the inferno raging beneath her surface.


Sumu lowered his heavy frame, pressing down on her. The sensation was overwhelming—skin against skin, heat against heat. Her large breasts flattened against the wall of his chest, the soft flesh spilling out from the sides, her nipples, hardened by the cold air and arousal, digging into his pectoral muscles.


His face hovered just inches from hers again. Shweta stared at his mouth, mesmerized by the sheen of her own fluids coating his lips. A dark, twisted desire curled in her belly—she wanted to taste herself on the face of her husband's brother. She wanted to reclaim her own arousal from another man's mouth. The taboo of it made her squirm, a sharp jolt of lust firing through her lower abdomen.


She reached up, her hands clamping around his head, and pulled his face down. Her mouth opened, and her tongue darted out like a snake, eager and venomous. She began to lick around Sumu’s lips and chin, tasting the musk and the salt, reveling in the flavor of her own sin. She rubbed her cheek against his, the rough rasp of his stubble scbanging against her soft skin, a friction that sent shivers down her spine. She turned her face, dragging her tongue across his cheek, marking him.


Sumu groaned, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated against her breasts. He turned his head, his tongue finding her earlobe. He licked across the sensitive skin, then swirled inside the shell of her ear, his hot breath sending violent tingles cascading down Shweta’s body, making her toes curl.


Her hands traveled down the expanse of his broad, sweat-slick back, her fingers tracing the valley of his spine and the hard knots of muscle. She reached lower, hooking her thumbs into the elastic band of his shorts. She pulled, her knuckles grazing his skin. Sumu broke the contact with her ear, reaching one hand behind his back to help her shove the fabric down. He kicked his legs free, and soon his shorts landed beside her discarded panty on the floor.


They were skin to skin, completely unbarred. Sumu took Shweta’s hand, guiding it down between their bodies to his raging manhood.


Shweta’s whole body shivered as her fingers closed around him. Her *sankha* and *pola*—the sacred white conch and red coral bangles that marked her as Ani’s wife—wrapped around the hard, throbbing manhood of her brother-in-law for the first time. The heat radiating from his sex seared into her palm.


She gasped, her eyes widening in the dim light. She was surprised—shocked, even—at the length and thickness of him. She had only ever known Ani. Her husband was average, familiar. Sumu was something else entirely; he was much longer, much thicker than anything she was used to.


Without realizing it, she began to stroke him, her grip tentative but fascinated. The motion drove Sumu crazy. He hissed through his teeth, his hips beginning to gyrate involuntarily against her hand. The precum of his arousal leaked from the tip, making him slick and slippery. The fluid dripped over her fingers, wetting the sacred *sankha pola*, lubricating the symbols of her marriage with the essence of her infidelity.


The room fell silent save for their jagged, ragged breathing and the soft, rhythmic *clink-clink* of her bangles hitting each other as she worked him.


Sumu couldn't take it anymore. He covered her hand with his own, stopping the motion, and guided his hard manhood upward. He rubbed the length of it along her swollen, sensitive lips, spreading the moisture. He rubbed the large, flared head of his penis along the opening of her vagina, teasing the entrance, mixing his precum with her own wet arousal.


Shweta could feel the sheer size of the head straining against her, a blunt pressure that made her whimper in a mix of fear and forbidden anticipation.


Sumu positioned himself, placing the tip of his penis against her entrance. He looked into her eyes, his gaze dark and unfathomable, and gave a push.


It didn't slide in easily. He was too thick for her. The occasional, routine sex with Ani had not prepared her body for what Sumu had to offer. As he forced his way past the entrance, stretching her beyond her limit, Shweta screamed in pain.


The sound was sharp, but it didn't leave the room. Sumu was ready for it. He crushed his mouth onto hers, muffling the cry into a desperate kiss, swallowing her protest. He stopped, holding himself still, buried only an inch inside her. He waited for her to adjust, his heavy breathing blowing hot against her cheek, letting her body accommodate the intrusion.


When he felt her muscles relax slightly, he gave a final, decisive push, driving himself all the way to the hilt.


Another muffled scream vibrated against his lips, vibrating down into his throat. He held her tight, savoring the taste of her mouth, sucking on her soft, plump lips to distract her. He traced the outline of her mouth with his tongue, soothing her, while his manhood throbbed deep inside the hot, tight depth of her.


They lay there motionless for a moment, locked together like pieces of a puzzle that shouldn't fit but had been forced together. Shweta’s breathing became more regular as the sharp tearing sensation subsided, though she still felt full to the bursting point, as if a hot iron rod had been inserted into her.


Realizing she was ready, Sumu began to move.


He withdrew slowly, the friction intense, and then thrust back in. Shweta whimpered lightly, a sound of discomfort blending into acceptance. Her hands wrapped tightly around his back, her nails digging in, scratching long red welts into his skin, leaving physical marks of their forbidden coupling that he would have to hide for days.


After a few minutes, the pain began to recede, replaced by a hot, intense pleasure that bloomed from her core. The fullness that had hurt now felt grounding, filling a void she hadn't realized was there. Her whimpers shifted, deepening into throaty moans—*“Unnhhh… unnhhhhh…”*—that harmonized with Sumu’s guttural grunts.


Their combined juices lubricated the path, making the movement slicker, faster. Sumu’s penis glistened with their mixed fluids, pulling out and plunging back in, churning the wetness until some of it overflowed, pooling on the grey bedsheet, staining it damp and dark.


The atmosphere in the room was heavy, thick, and sick with sin. In that semi-dark, dimly lit space, two bodies were hopelessly entangled. The light blue glow from the night lamp and the stark white numbers of the air conditioner display were just enough to make their silhouettes visible—a two-headed beast of lust writhing on the bed.


The sounds of their union filled the silence: the wet *slap-slap* of his hips meeting her buttocks, the squelching sound of Sumu’s manhood pistoning into Shweta’s slick vagina, and the incessant, condemning *clinking* of Shweta’s *sankha pola* keeping time with her moans.


*“Uuunnhhh… uuunhhmmmm… ooohhhhmmm…”*


A floor down below, the house was peaceful. Sumu’s parents slept, snoring softly in their old age. Across the hall from them, Ani’s mother slept, clutching her prayer beads, completely oblivious to the fact that upstairs, her dear daughter-in-law, the loving wife of her only son, was being violated—and was willingly participating—in the bed of his own cousin. The man Ani had looked up to all his life was currently burying himself inside Ani’s wife, and she was accepting the strong, hard manhood of her husband's brother with open arms and spread legs.


While the whole house slept through the hot, humid summer night, the heat radiating off the two bodies in the upstairs room was more than any machine could ever hope to cool down.


Back in the room, the rhythm shifted. Sumu had increased the speed, his hips snapping forward with a fervor that bordered on animalistic. He wasn't just making love; he was driving into her, seeking the very core of her being. And Shweta, far from retreating, met him with equal desperation. She lifted her pelvis, arching her lower back to meet his thrusts halfway, inviting him deeper into the forbidden depth of her than he had ever gone.


The room filled with the wet, rhythmic *slap-slap-slap* of skin colliding with skin, a carnal metronome that kept time with the soft, broken moans escaping Shweta’s throat. The sound was maddening, driving Sumu crazy, stripping away the last of his civility.


He needed more of her. His mouth abandoned her lips and descended, finding one of her heavy, swaying breasts. He buried his face in the soft mound, inhaling the scent of her sweat and skin. He latched onto the nipple, sucking on it hard, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before he grazed it lightly with his teeth.


Shweta gasped, her head falling back against the grey pillow, her neck arching in ecstasy. One of Sumu’s hands was planted firmly on the mattress to support his weight, the muscles of his forearm corded and trembling. His other hand gripped Shweta’s hip, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, pulling her forcefully into his thrusts, ensuring she took every inch of him.


Shweta’s hands were no longer passive. They were wrapped tightly around his neck, her fingers combing through the hair at the back of his head, gripping his scalp. She pulled his mouth harder against her breast, pressing herself into his face, silently inviting him to suck and bite the flesh that was only ever meant for her husband. The taboo of it—the image of her brother-in-law nursing at her breast while buried inside her—poured gasoline on the inferno raging in her belly.


She could feel Sumu increase his speed again, the friction becoming blindingly intense. It was pushing her toward an edge she had been skirting for weeks, a precipice she had been afraid to look over. But now, with the *clink* of her *sankha pola* ringing in her ears and the fullness of him stretching her, she couldn't hold back. The simmering tension that had begun with a stolen glance on the terrace was now boiling over.


"Oh... oh god..." she stammered, her eyes rolling back.


An intense pleasure ripped through her body, something sharper and more overwhelming than anything she had ever felt in her life with Ani. It started in her toes and crashed over her like a tidal wave. Her orgasm exploded, a violent contraction of muscles that gushed out of her vagina, drenching Sumu’s manhood in hot, slick nectar, worshipping him even as he violated her vows.


Her whole body trembled as if struck by lightning. She couldn't control herself; the pleasure was too great, the sin too sweet.


"Ooohhhhh Dadaaa..." she moaned, the forbidden title slipping out in a haze of ecstasy, "what am I doing... ahhhhhhhhh..."


She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, locking her ankles, pulling him ever closer, needing him to fill the void completely. Her hands left his hair and raked down his wide, sweat-slick back, her nails digging in deep, scoring red lines into his skin. She mashed his hard chest against her soft, heaving body, trying to merge with him.


The sensation of her inner muscles clamping down on him, combined with the sting of her nails and her desperate, taboo cries, sent Sumu over the edge.


He groaned, a deep, guttural sound torn from his chest. He exploded into the depth of his brother's wife, pumping stroke after stroke, releasing his hot juice into her. All their pent-up forbidden desires, the weeks of stolen glances, the guilt, and the lust, came to an exploding finish.


He emptied himself completely, filling her womb with the evidence of their betrayal. Their mixed juices flowed out of Shweta’s vagina, hot and sticky, dripping along the cleft of her buttocks and pooling on the grey bedsheet beneath them.


They both shuddered through the aftershocks of their orgasms, seeing stars for a few moments, their breaths mingling in the cool air. In those brief, suspended seconds, they were devoid of their identities. There was no brother-in-law, no sister-in-law, no husband waiting in Durgapur. There were just two bodies, glistening in sweat even in the air-conditioned room, bound together by fluids and pheromones.


Miles away, in the cramped, stale air of his dorm room, Ani twisted and turned in his hard, lumpy bed. The night was hot and humid, the fan overhead spinning uselessly against the thick air. He wiped sweat from his forehead, staring at the peeling paint of the ceiling, completely oblivious to what just happened back in his home.


He could never imagine, not in a thousand lifetimes, how his *Borda's* cum was currently flowing out of his wife's vagina. He could not conceive that the back he had hugged so many times was now marked with the red scratches of his wife's nails. He lay there, worrying about the heat and missing Shweta, unaware that she was slowly drifting into sleep in the arms of another man, his softening manhood still inside her, plugging her, keeping them connected even as consciousness faded.


Back in the cool room, their ragged breathing began to steady, slowing into the rhythmic cadence of exhaustion. They were completely drained from the last hour's activities. The storm had finally subsided, but the evidence of its fury was present all over the room.


From the discarded clothes strewn in the hallway to the underwear spread across the floor, and finally to the devastated bed, the sheets twisted and stained from all their passion. The cool air from the AC finally soothed their heated skin, drying the sweat on their entangled limbs. While Ani still turned in the unforgiving heat of the steel city, his wife lay in a cool, comfortable place, wrapped tightly around his *Borda*, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.