Adultery Weekday Wife [COMPLETED]

[Sherlocked]

That was all the invitation Sumu needed.


He released his grip on her wrists, letting her arms fall slack against the door. He watched her face in the spectral blue light, searching for any lingering trace of the dutiful wife who had walked into the room moments ago. But she was gone. The resistance in her eyes flickered and died, replaced by a dark, dilated surrender that mirrored his own obsession.


He leaned in and let his lips claim hers. It wasn't the bruising, frantic violence of the afternoon on the stairs. This was different. This was a slow, deep assertion of ownership. He kissed her like a man drinking from a fountain after a lifetime of thirst, tilting his head to deepen the angle, plunging his tongue deep into the warm cavern of her mouth.


He tasted the minty freshness of her toothpaste, a domestic flavor that clashed intoxicatingly with the frantic, raw sweetness of her desire. He sucked on her tongue, drinking her in, tasting her sweet saliva. Shweta met him halfway, feeding more of herself into his mouth as if desperate to quench his thirst, to drown his rationality so he wouldn't stop. Her arms, now free from his grip, drifted up slowly, hesitantly at first, before wrapping tightly around his neck. She pulled him deeper into the kiss, pulling him deeper into their sin.


Sumu broke the kiss, his forehead resting against hers, his breathing ragged and harsh in the quiet room. Shweta didn't pull away. Her hands roamed over his naked chest, her fingers tracing the hard, defined slabs of muscle, exploring the body she had worshipped from the rooftop for so long.


Sumu stepped back slightly, his hand finding the end of her saree. He tugged gently.


Shweta understood. She turned on her heel, a slow pirouette in the center of the room. Sumu held the fabric, unwinding her, unwrapping the gift he had obsessed over for the last couple of weeks. The cotton fell away layer by layer, swirling around her ankles until the last strand slipped from her body.


She stood facing the door, her back to him. Sumu moved in instantly, wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her from behind. He pulled her flush against him, his hips snapping forward so that his raging hardness pressed firmly into the crack of her ass through her petticoat.


His hands fumbled for the drawstring at her hip. One tug, and the knot gave way. The petticoat loosened, sliding down her legs to pool around her ankles in a ring of white cotton.


Sumu slid his hands down her hips to pull her bottom back into his manhood, intending to grind against the fabric of her panties. But his hands met only warm, bare skin.


He froze for a microsecond, surprise flaring in his chest. She wasn't wearing any underwear. Beneath the saree and the petticoat, she had been completely naked from the waist down. The realization that she had walked across the hall, past her sleeping husband, in such a state of readiness sent a fresh shockwave of lust through him. His sleeping shorts and her thin, sweat-dampened blouse were now the only barriers left between them.


His hand slid around her hip, diving between her thighs. He found her mound instantly. It was soaked, a hot, slick testament to her need.


Feeling his rough palm cup her private most part, Shweta threw her head back against his shoulder and moaned in pure pleasure. Sumu grabbed the entire area in his large palm, his fingers kneading the soft flesh. He pulled her ass hard into his erection, helping her rotate her hips. She followed his lead, welcoming the soft, crushing touch of her buttocks against him, welcoming the friction that promised to end her ache.


He started rubbing his fingers along the length of her wet opening, bathing his digits in her juices.


"Ohhh... Borda..." Shweta whimpered, the pleasure intense and blinding. She began to writhe against him, twisting like a snake, her body seeking more pressure, more contact.


Sumu moved one hand up to her neck. He swept the heavy mass of her hair aside, creating a curtain that exposed the nape of her neck and the expanse of her back to him. Shweta turned her head to the side, pressing her cheek against his shoulder, offering herself.


Sumu began to rain kisses down her neck, his lips hot and wet against her skin. He moved to her shoulder, biting gently, then licking the spot to soothe it. He was marking her, claiming territory that wasn't his. His hand between her legs continued its relentless work, his middle finger slipping shallowly in and out of her, teasing the entrance.


Shweta’s knees went weak, threatening to buckle under the assault of sensation. She reached back, grabbing a handful of his thick hair, tugging him closer, silently encouraging him in his feast.


Sumu dropped to his knees behind her.


He kissed his way down her spine, his unshaven chin grazing her skin through the gap in the back of her blouse. He stopped at the small of her back, rubbing his face against the curve, tasting the salt of her dried sweat. His arms wrapped around her stomach, holding her steady as his face moved lower.


He buried his face between her buttocks, inhaling deeply, taking in the raw, musky smell of her arousal.


Shweta gasped, her body stiffening in shock. "What are you doing, Borda?" she exclaimed, her voice high and breathless. "Please... remove your face from there. It's dirty!"


Sumu didn't heed her words. The taboo only fueled him. He kept his face buried in the ass of his brother's wife, breathing her in, while his hand reached around to rub her clitoris with a rhythmic, maddening pressure.


He stood up abruptly, the sudden motion making Shweta sway. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him. His eyes were dark holes in the blue light. He shoved his shorts down, kicking them away until they joined the pile of Shweta’s petticoat on the floor.


He pulled her against his naked body, his hot, rigid shaft pressing intimately between their stomachs. His hands went to the front of her blouse. With a violent rip, the buttons popped, flying into the shadows. He tore the fabric from her arms and threw it away.


She stood before him completely naked, her breasts heaving, her skin glowing in the dim light.


Sumu didn't wait. He bent and scooped her up effortlessly into his arms. Shweta reacted instantly, wrapping her legs around his waist and locking her ankles behind his back to secure herself. She clung to his neck, her breasts flattened against his chest, her face buried in the crook of his neck.


She lifted her head, her lips brushing against his ear, and whispered the surrender he had been waiting for.


"Take me to your bed."


The surrender in her voice sent a jolt of electricity straight to Sumu’s groin, more powerful than any physical touch. His manhood, already hard as iron, twitched violently against the soft, pale flesh of her inner thigh, acknowledging her command. He tightened his grip beneath her thighs, his fingers digging into the plush curves of her bottom, lifting her slightly higher to settle her weight against his hips.


He began to walk, not with the hurried pace of a thief, but with the slow, deliberate stride of a conqueror. The few steps from the center of the room to his bed felt heavy with significance. The reality of the moment crashed into him with intoxicating force: he was carrying Ani’s wife. The woman who had been forbidden, the woman who wore the vermilion of his cousin’s name in the part of her hair, was now hanging completely naked off his body, clinging to him as if he were the only solid thing in her world.


The thought maddened him. Just few feets away Ani was sweating in his sleep in this hot, humid night, dreaming of this woman. Here, in the cool, blue-lit hum of the air-conditioned room, Sumu was stealing his future.


Shweta didn't let him think for long. She pulled his face down to hers, her mouth capturing his in a wet, ravenous seal. Her tongue darted out, hot and eager, swirling inside his mouth, tasting him, claiming him. She tasted of forbidden desire, a flavor that made his blood boil.


With every step he took, the friction between their bodies sent shockwaves through them both. Because her legs were locked firmly around his waist, his rigid length was pressed directly against her sex. The movement of his stride caused the broad head of his penis to brush rhythmically against her slick, weeping entrance. She let out a muffled moan into his mouth, her hips instinctively grinding forward, seeking more friction, wetting the tip of his shaft with the evidence of her betrayal. She was ready, dripping and open, practically begging to be filled before they even reached the mattress.The knowledge of who slept in the room separated by couple of concrete walls twisted in Sumu’s gut, not as guilt, but as a dark, combustible fuel. Ani had always looked up to him, treating Sumu not just as a cousin, but as an elder brother, a mentor, a pillar of stability. I the stifling, humid darkness of his room, Ani was likely sprawled on a mattress that had grown too thin, exhaustion from the steel plant dragging him into a coma-like slumber despite the heat. He was suffering to build a life for the woman currently wrapped around Sumu’s waist. The sheer, absolute wrongness of stealing his brother’s wife, of carrying her like a prize into his own air-conditioned sanctuary, made Sumu’s erection harden beyond anything he had ever felt. It was harder than the steel Ani broke his back over; it was a weapon of conquest.


Shweta felt it, too. With every heavy step Sumu took toward the bed, that iron-hard ridge of flesh thumped against her wet heat, sending electric jolts shooting through her groin and straight up her spine. The friction was maddening, a promise of the devastation to come. She knew Ani was only a few dozen feet away, separated by nothing but a layer of concrete and the silence of the sleeping house. The proximity didn't stop her; it stripped her bare. She had discarded every shred of modesty the moment she begged Sumu to take her. The terrified, lonely wife was gone, replaced by a woman consumed by a hunger that only this man—her husband’s own blood—could satisfy.


She didn’t wait for the mattress. The walk from the door to the bed felt like an eternity, and she needed to touch the reality of what she was doing. Without breaking the ravenous seal of their mouths, she loosened her left arm from around his neck, keeping her right arm locked tight to anchor herself. Her hand slid down between their sweating bodies, seeking the source of the heat that pressed against her.


Her fingers brushed his waistband before diving lower, wrapping around the thick, throbbing root of his manhood. It was massive, hot as a furnace rod, and pulsing with a life of its own. As her small hand engulfed his length, she began to stroke him, matching the rhythm of his stride.


*Click. Clack.*


The sound was sharp and distinct in the quiet room. The red coral and white conch shell of her bangles—the *sankha* and *pola* that marked her as a married woman, as *Ani’s* wife—struck against Sumu’s rigid cock. The auditory symbol of her fidelity was now sliding up and down the shaft of her lover. The sensation of those sacred bangles wrapping around his penis, combined with the soft, skilled pressure of her palm, was too much. Sumu groaned into Shweta’s open mouth, the vibration of his pleasure humming against her tongue, as the rhythmic clicking of her betrayal heralded their approach to the bed.He lowered her onto the mattress, refusing to break the savage kiss that had consumed them in the hallway. Shweta felt the bed sink beneath their combined weight, the high-quality memory foam molding to her back—a stark, luxurious contrast to the hard antique *palanka* and thin cotton mattress she shared with Ani across the hallway. But the cool, soft cotton of Sumu’s sheets did nothing to douse the fever burning through her skin; if anything, the softness made her feel even more vulnerable, more open to him.