Adultery Weekday Wife [COMPLETED]

[Sherlocked]

"Did you like making me a bad wife?" she asked, the question coming out in a breathy, jagged whisper that ghosted over his lips. "Huuhh, Borda? You are so bad..."


She shifted her weight slightly, grinding her pelvis against his, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him. Her eyes glinted in the dim light. "What would your brother say when he finds out that his precious *Borda* nailed his wife while he slept just a few feet away? How would it make him feel, Borda? To know you are claiming what belongs to him?"


Hearing these forbidden words falling from Shweta’s lips poured liquid fire into Sumu’s ears. The taboo reality of it—the betrayal, the proximity of the sleeping husband, the sheer audacity—made his blood roar. He groaned gutturally, his manhood twitching violently inside her wet warmth, responding to her taunts with undeniable physical need.


He reached one hand up, his large palm cupping the side of her face. His thumb brushed over her flushed cheek, tracing the line of her jaw with a possessive familiarity. A confident, arrogant smirk mirrored hers.


"How would he find out, Shweta?" he whispered back, his voice rough with lust. "Would you tell him? Would you look him in the eye and tell him that you left him in his cold bed to come into his brother's room after midnight?"


Shweta’s smile widened, her blood boiling with a mixture of shame and overpowering lust. The secret was their bond now, a heavy chain locking them together. She didn't answer with words; she answered with her body. She began to gyrate her hips, a slow, rolling motion that churned the friction between them. She felt the thick head of his cock hitting walls deep within her, deeper than she had ever felt in her life before. It was a fullness that bordered on pain but dissolved instantly into blinding pleasure.


"How does it feel, Borda?" she panted, her head thrown back slightly as she rode the rhythm. "To make love to your brother's wife? How do I feel?"


Sumu groaned, his hips bucking upward to meet her descent, driving himself ruthlessly into her. "Ohhh, you feel so good, Shweta. So tight... and so fucking hot."


At his words, Shweta clamped down. She gripped his throbbing manhood like a vice with her internal muscles, milking him, squeezing him until he hissed through his teeth.


"Ohh, Borda, you feel so good too," she moaned, the pleasure making her voice tremble. "You are soo deep inside me... you reached in places your brother never could... never even touched."


The admission hung in the air, the ultimate betrayal of Ani’s manhood. Sumu surged up, brushing his lips against hers, tasting her breath, sealing the pact.


"You needed someone like me, Shweta," he rasped, his hands moving down to grip her wide hips, controlling her pace. "A body like yours... it cannot be satisfied by my brother. He doesn't have what it takes to handle this. I am glad God brought us together."


Shweta looked down into his eyes, her pupils blown wide, completely surrendered to the sin. She leaned down, kissing him deeply, and murmured against his mouth, "I'm glad as well, Borda..."With that admission hanging heavy in the humid air, Shweta straightened her spine, making herself upright. She placed her palms flat against Sumu’s broad, heaving chest, her manicured nails digging in to tease and pick at his flat nipples. She began to move, taking charge of her own pleasure.


At first, the rhythm was slow, a deliberate, grinding rotation of her hips. She circled her pelvis, savoring the terrifying fullness of him, feeling the pressure stretching her deep inside—a sensation completely alien to her marital bed. Then, the tempo shifted. Driven by a hunger she hadn't known she possessed, she began to bounce faster. She slammed her weight down on his thickness, her hips snapping in frantic circles.


Sumu watched her from below, his eyes glazed and dark, like a man drunk on forbidden wine. Above him, the beautiful, reserved wife of his cousin was transformed into a wanton goddess. As she rode him, her massive breasts bounced and jiggled violently with each impact, a hypnotic display of flesh and lust. Her head was thrown back, her hair cascading down her spine like a dark waterfall, eyes squeezed shut in concentration.


Unable to resist, Sumu reached up, his large hands engulfing both of her heavy breasts. He began to knead them roughly, fingers sinking into the soft yielding flesh. Shweta moaned loudly, a guttural sound of pure pleasure, and thrust her chest forward into his grip, offering herself completely while her hips never ceased their relentless pounding.


"Tell me, Shweta," Sumu grunted, his thumbs circling her areolas. "Who does it better? Me... or my brother?"


Shweta didn’t hesitate. The answer tore from her throat, stripped of any loyalty to the man she married. "It’s you, Borda! There is no comparison... none! You fill me completely... you break me!"


A satisfied grunt rumbled through Sumu’s chest. He slid his hands down to her wide, soft ass, fingers digging into the plush cheeks. He squeezed hard, leaving red marks on her pale skin. "Then ride me, Shweta. Show me how much you needed this."


And she did. She rode her brother-in-law with the desperation of a starved woman at a banquet. Sweat dripped from her forehead, landing on his chest, mingling with the sheen of perspiration covering him. Her feminine fluids slicked his shaft, running down to soak his pubic hair, creating a wet, slapping sound with every collision of their bodies. Her fingers clawed at his chest, drawing lines of red, but neither cared.


Suddenly, Sumu roared. He gripped her waist and, with a surge of athletic power, rolled them over, pinning her to the mattress.


He wasted no time, diving back into her with renewed violence. He hooked one of her shapely legs over his shoulder, opening her up completely to his assault. As he thrust, pounding into her with animalistic force, he turned his head and pressed his face against the sole of her raised foot. He licked her arch, his tongue dragging wetly over her skin, before moving to her ankle.


There, the silver *payal*—a loving gift from Ani meant to symbolize her marital status—clicked softly against Sumu’s ear. Sumu rubbed his face against it, licking the silver chain, deliberately tainting the husband’s gift with the lover’s saliva. It was a degradation, a claiming, but Shweta was not in a state to notice the symbolism.


She could focus on nothing but the massive manhood of her brother-in-law piston-ing deep inside her, hitting spots that had gathered dust for a year. The friction was unbearable, electric.


"Oh, Borda... Borda, please!"


Shweta could not hold on any longer. With a violent shudder that racked her entire frame, she released herself. "Ohhh Bordaaaa... this feels so good!" she screamed, her voice cracking as waves of ecstasy shattered her reality.


Sumu watched her face distort in pleasure, the sight pushing him over the edge. He followed her moments later, groaning as he emptied himself. He crashed down on top of her, his weight heavy and conquering.


Instinctively, Shweta wrapped her legs tight around his waist, her ankles locking at the small of his back. She pulled him in deeper, sealing him against her, as if she wanted his cum deposited directly into her uterus, craving the biological permanence of his betrayal.


They collapsed into the mattress, panting heavily, the room filled with the musk of their long lovemaking. Their bodies were slick, sticky with sweat and mixed fluids, adhered together by the heat of the night. Sumu eventually rolled over, lying next to her, his chest heaving as he stared at the ceiling.


Shweta lay beside him, her limbs heavy and useless. But her mind was clear. She felt light, empty of tension, and utterly triumphant. Guilt was a distant ghost; right now, all she knew was that she had just experienced the best sex of her life.The silence of the night returned to the room, heavy and suffocating, yet Shweta breathed it in like fresh oxygen. She sat up slowly, the muscles of her core aching with a delicious, unfamiliar fatigue. She pulled the grey sheet up to her neck, shielding her nudity not out of shame, but to savor the lingering warmth of his skin against hers for a moment longer. Leaning down, she kissed him softly on the chest, right over his thudding heart, tasting the salt of his sweat.


She slid off the bed, her legs trembling slightly as they took her weight. Quietly, she gathered her discarded clothes—the tangled saree, the petticoat, and the blouse that had been ripped in their earlier frenzy—from the floor. Clutching the bundle to her chest, she paused at the door, her hand hovering over the latch. She turned back to look at him.


Sumu was watching her, propped up on one elbow. The sheet had pooled around his waist, exposing the defined ridges of his abdomen. There was a lazy, possessive smile playing on his lips, a look of absolute ownership that sent a fresh shiver down her spine.


"Don’t look so smug, Borda," she whispered playfully, the use of the familial term now laced with a rich, new meaning—a dirty secret wrapped in a title of respect.


"How can I not?" he challenged, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. "You’re walking back to his bed with my seed inside you. And you came to me willingly."


Shweta’s smile turned dark and resolute. The shy, lonely housewife was gone; in her place stood a woman awakened. She slipped out of the room, shutting the door softly behind her, leaving Sumu in his bed.


The hallway was warm and dim, a stark contrast to the cool air of Sumu’s bedroom. Shweta tiptoed across the floor, her body moving with a newfound grace. She was exhausted, yet an electric current seemed to buzz beneath her skin. The intense arousal was finally receding, leaving behind a warm, slick trail down her inner thigh. With every step, she could feel the heavy residue of his climax, thick and warm, gravity pulling it down from her womb, dripping slowly from her soaked vagina. It was a visceral, sticky reminder of her betrayal, and she loved it.


She reached her own bedroom door, her breath hitching in her throat as she slid the bolt open. She slipped inside.


Ani hadn’t moved an inch. He was still sleeping soundly, deep in the exhaustion of the steel plant, his arm wrapped tightly around a pillow as a poor substitute for the wife who had just abandoned him. His back was to the door, his breathing rhythmic and heavy.


Moving with practiced stealth, Shweta quickly stripped off her wet, musky clothes. She dropped the ruined blouse and the stained petticoat into the bottom of the laundry basket, burying them under Ani’s work shirts. She glanced at the bathroom door but shook her head. She didn’t shower; she didn't dare risk the noise, but more than that, she didn't want to wash him away just yet. She simply wiped her thighs quickly with a corner of the bedsheet to catch the excess fluid and then, naked and unwashed, she slid into the bed beside her husband.


The old bed creaked under her weight, the hard mattress unyeilding, but Ani remained dead to the world. She curled up next to him, her back pressing against the warmth of his body. Her heart, which had been racing with adrenaline, began to beat slowly, satisfied.


She closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of the room—detergent and stale air—but all she could smell was the musk of Sumu on her own skin. The sound of Ani’s gentle snoring filled the silence. It was no longer a symbol of her loneliness, nor a reminder of his absence. Now, it sounded like the soundtrack of her success.


She drifted off, a deep, peaceful sleep claiming her, with her husband lying oblivious against her back, and his brother’s seed drying sticky and claiming inside her.