17-01-2026, 11:26 PM
Hi, it's Chaitali here again, your forever-flushed, heart-pounding storyteller who's lived through more twists, surprises, and body-shaking ecstasy than any woman should admit. Oh god, where do I even begin with this Dubai trip? It's been a few months since that mind-melting Goa adventure—the yacht orgies, the rest day's slow-burn teasing talks that left me dripping without a single touch, and that final night where I watched from the shadows as Razzaq turned Chhaya and Shilpi into quivering messes, only for Chhaya to sneak off with Sammir for her own secret, hole-stretching destruction while the others slept. Life had gone back to "normal" after we all parted ways—Manish and I returned to Delhi, our marriage stronger than ever, our home sex life exploding with role-plays inspired by the memories (him as Razzaq, me begging for his "bodyguard" to watch). The group chats fizzled a bit—everyone busy with work, families, the usual grind—but the fire never died. I'd masturbate to flashbacks: Razzaq's thick cock filling my ass while Sammir's tongue teased my nipples, the salt of the sea mixing with cum on my skin during the yacht DPs, the shock of seeing the full group arrive like a pornographic ambush.
Then, out of the blue, a call from Razzaq. "Chaitali, habibti," he purred in that deep Arabic accent that still made my pussy clench. "Come to Dubai. Let me host you and Manish. Business for him, pleasure for you." My heart raced—Dubai? With Razzaq? Manish was thrilled; his company had ties there, and a "hosted trip" meant luxury without the bill. We booked flights for a week, but Razzaq insisted on handling everything: private jet, five-star accommodations, the works. "Three days in my private villa," he said mysteriously. "For you, especially." I packed my sluttiest outfits—see-through lingerie, micro-dresses, no panties policy—and we were off.
The flight was a tease in itself. Razzaq had sent a private jet—leather seats, champagne flowing, a flight attendant who discreetly looked the other way as Manish and I joined the mile-high club in the back cabin. He bent me over the armrest, hiking up my skirt, eating my pussy from behind until I came on his tongue, then fucking me slow and deep while whispering, "Imagine what Razzaq has planned for you." I came again, picturing it—his commanding hands, Sammir's silent watch. By landing, I was soaked, nipples hard against my top.
Dubai hit us like a wave of opulence: the heat, the skyscbangrs piercing the sky like giant cocks, the scent of oud and spices in the air. Razzaq greeted us at the airport himself—tall, bearded, in a crisp white thobe that hid his powerful build, but his eyes devoured me like I was dessert. Sammir loomed behind him, that hulking shadow, his dark gaze flicking to my cleavage with a hint of the hunger I'd seen in Goa. "Welcome, friends," Razzaq boomed, hugging Manish like a brother, then pulling me close—his hardness pressing against my belly for a split second, making me gasp. Subiya was there too, her abaya hugging her curves, veil framing her beautiful face, but she kissed my cheeks with a knowing smile. "We've missed you, Chaitali."
We were whisked to his mansion first—a sprawling palace in the Palm Jumeirah, all marble floors, gold accents, infinity pools overlooking the gulf. Manish's "business" started immediately—Razzaq introduced him to investors, sealing deals over hookah and tea. I lounged with Subiya by the pool, her in a modest bikini that still showcased her firm C-cup breasts and round ass. We talked—her life as the third wife, the jealousy with the others, how Razzaq's sessions kept her addicted. "He owns me," she confessed, her hand brushing my thigh. "But sometimes... I crave more." Her touch lingered, electric, but we didn't act—yet.
That evening, the first surprise: dinner at the Burj Al Arab, the sail-shaped icon. We dined in a private suite, underwater views of fish swimming by like living jewels. Razzaq gifted Manish a Rolex—business perk—but whispered to me, "Your gift comes later, habibti." The food was divine—caviar, lobster, wines that made my head spin. Subiya's foot found mine under the table, toes tracing my calf, while Razzaq's hand rested on my knee, fingers inching up. Manish noticed, smirking—our marriage thrived on this.
Back at the mansion, Razzaq announced the villa plan. "Manish, stay here with Subiya for hosting. Chaitali comes with me to my private villa for three days. Sammir will ensure safety." My heart pounded—three days alone with Razzaq? Manish nodded, excited: "Enjoy, jaan. I'll be fine." But Razzaq leaned to him: "I have a surprise gift for you too, friend. Three nights of pleasure. Wait for it." We parted—Manish kissing me deeply, his hand squeezing my ass. "Come back full," he whispered.
The drive to the villa was tense—Razzaq's limo, tinted windows, Sammir driving silent as stone. Razzaq pulled me onto his lap, his cock hard under his thobe. "I've dreamed of you, Chaitali," he murmured, untying my dress top, exposing my breasts. His mouth found my nipple—sucking hard, teeth grazing, while his fingers dipped under my skirt, finding no panties, circling my clit. "Wet already, slut." I moaned, grinding against him, but he stopped short of making me cum. "Patience."
The villa was a dream—secluded on a private island, all glass walls, infinity pool merging with the gulf, bedrooms with king beds and mirrors everywhere. No staff—just us three: me, Razzaq, Sammir. "Your home for three days," Razzaq said, stripping me completely in the living room. "No clothes allowed." Naked, exposed, I felt vulnerable yet empowered. Sammir watched from the shadows, bulge returning.
Day 1: Morning surprise—breakfast in bed, but Razzaq tied my wrists to the headboard, blindfolded me. "Guess the touch." Hands, tongues everywhere—Razzaq's mouth on my pussy, sucking my clit until I bucked; Sammir's rough fingers pinching my nipples, twisting just to the edge of pain. "Ahh, Razzaq... Sammir!" I gasped, cumming hard. They switched—Sammir eating my ass, rimming deep while Razzaq fucked my mouth. Twist: a vibrating plug in my ass all day, remote in Razzaq's hand, buzzing at random—during lunch, pool swims, making me cum unexpectedly, legs shaking.
Afternoon: Beach walk, naked—private sands, waves lapping. Razzaq fucked me in the surf—standing, legs around his waist, cock deep in my pussy as waves crashed. Sammir watched from the shore, stroking himself. Evening: Massage—oiled by both, four hands turning to fingers in holes, double penetration with fingers while they sucked my toes, nipples. I came screaming, squirting.
Night: Bondage—tied spread-eagle, teased with feathers, ice, then cocks. Razzaq in ass, Sammir in pussy—DP that stretched me to breaking, orgasms chaining until blackout.
Meanwhile, back with Manish: Razzaq's gift arrived—a knock at the mansion door. Manish opened to find a woman—Madhavi Desai, a popular Bollywood actress in her 40s, similar to Madhuri Dixit but with her own flair: timeless beauty, dimpled smile, voluptuous curves (36-28-38), long black hair, expressive eyes that could seduce with a glance. Dressed in a saree that hugged her figure, she smiled: "Razzaq sent me. For three nights." Manish's jaw dropped—Madhavi, star of countless hits, dancer extraordinaire, here as his "gift"?
She stepped in, saree falling like petals, revealing lingerie that accentuated her full breasts, flat stomach from dance, round ass swaying. "I'm yours," she purred, kissing him deeply, tongue exploring. Manish, stunned but aroused, led her to the bedroom. She danced for him—sensual, hips rolling like in her movies, stripping slow. "Fuck me like a fan," she whispered. He did—eating her pussy on the bed, her juices sweet as she moaned his name. She rode him cowgirl, breasts bouncing, grinding until he came inside her. Twist: she's a squirter—flooding him during orgasm. Night one: positions galore—doggy with ass slaps, 69 where her tongue rimmed him, anal (her first surprise—tight, begging for more). He came on her face, in her mouth, inside her.
Day 2 for me: Surprise—yacht again, but just us three. Razzaq and Sammir DP'd me on the deck—Razzaq in pussy, Sammir in ass, waves rocking us. Orgasms in the sun, cum on my skin. Evening: Role-play—me as harem slave, them as masters. Whipped lightly, begged for cocks. Twist: Subiya video-called, watching, masturbating as they fucked me.
For Manish: Madhavi's dance turned erotic—lap dance leading to blowjob, her lips like velvet. She revealed kink: light BDSM—tied him, teased his cock with feathers, then rode him reverse, ass jiggling. Surprise: she's bi—called a "friend" (another actress cameo, but fictional), threesome ensued. Madhavi ate her friend while Manish fucked her doggy.
Day 3: For me—villa orgy with toys: fisting attempt (slow, lubed, Razzaq's hand in pussy), double anal tease (plugs). Twist: Sammir alone with me—fucked like mad, cumming in all holes. Evening farewell: Razzaq gifted jewelry, promised more trips.
For Manish: Madhavi's final night—romantic, then wild: outdoor fuck under stars, her squirting on his face. Surprise: she's Razzaq's "investment"—actress on his payroll for such "gifts."
We reunited—stories shared, marriage hotter. Dubai twisted us forever.
Then, out of the blue, a call from Razzaq. "Chaitali, habibti," he purred in that deep Arabic accent that still made my pussy clench. "Come to Dubai. Let me host you and Manish. Business for him, pleasure for you." My heart raced—Dubai? With Razzaq? Manish was thrilled; his company had ties there, and a "hosted trip" meant luxury without the bill. We booked flights for a week, but Razzaq insisted on handling everything: private jet, five-star accommodations, the works. "Three days in my private villa," he said mysteriously. "For you, especially." I packed my sluttiest outfits—see-through lingerie, micro-dresses, no panties policy—and we were off.
The flight was a tease in itself. Razzaq had sent a private jet—leather seats, champagne flowing, a flight attendant who discreetly looked the other way as Manish and I joined the mile-high club in the back cabin. He bent me over the armrest, hiking up my skirt, eating my pussy from behind until I came on his tongue, then fucking me slow and deep while whispering, "Imagine what Razzaq has planned for you." I came again, picturing it—his commanding hands, Sammir's silent watch. By landing, I was soaked, nipples hard against my top.
Dubai hit us like a wave of opulence: the heat, the skyscbangrs piercing the sky like giant cocks, the scent of oud and spices in the air. Razzaq greeted us at the airport himself—tall, bearded, in a crisp white thobe that hid his powerful build, but his eyes devoured me like I was dessert. Sammir loomed behind him, that hulking shadow, his dark gaze flicking to my cleavage with a hint of the hunger I'd seen in Goa. "Welcome, friends," Razzaq boomed, hugging Manish like a brother, then pulling me close—his hardness pressing against my belly for a split second, making me gasp. Subiya was there too, her abaya hugging her curves, veil framing her beautiful face, but she kissed my cheeks with a knowing smile. "We've missed you, Chaitali."
We were whisked to his mansion first—a sprawling palace in the Palm Jumeirah, all marble floors, gold accents, infinity pools overlooking the gulf. Manish's "business" started immediately—Razzaq introduced him to investors, sealing deals over hookah and tea. I lounged with Subiya by the pool, her in a modest bikini that still showcased her firm C-cup breasts and round ass. We talked—her life as the third wife, the jealousy with the others, how Razzaq's sessions kept her addicted. "He owns me," she confessed, her hand brushing my thigh. "But sometimes... I crave more." Her touch lingered, electric, but we didn't act—yet.
That evening, the first surprise: dinner at the Burj Al Arab, the sail-shaped icon. We dined in a private suite, underwater views of fish swimming by like living jewels. Razzaq gifted Manish a Rolex—business perk—but whispered to me, "Your gift comes later, habibti." The food was divine—caviar, lobster, wines that made my head spin. Subiya's foot found mine under the table, toes tracing my calf, while Razzaq's hand rested on my knee, fingers inching up. Manish noticed, smirking—our marriage thrived on this.
Back at the mansion, Razzaq announced the villa plan. "Manish, stay here with Subiya for hosting. Chaitali comes with me to my private villa for three days. Sammir will ensure safety." My heart pounded—three days alone with Razzaq? Manish nodded, excited: "Enjoy, jaan. I'll be fine." But Razzaq leaned to him: "I have a surprise gift for you too, friend. Three nights of pleasure. Wait for it." We parted—Manish kissing me deeply, his hand squeezing my ass. "Come back full," he whispered.
The drive to the villa was tense—Razzaq's limo, tinted windows, Sammir driving silent as stone. Razzaq pulled me onto his lap, his cock hard under his thobe. "I've dreamed of you, Chaitali," he murmured, untying my dress top, exposing my breasts. His mouth found my nipple—sucking hard, teeth grazing, while his fingers dipped under my skirt, finding no panties, circling my clit. "Wet already, slut." I moaned, grinding against him, but he stopped short of making me cum. "Patience."
The villa was a dream—secluded on a private island, all glass walls, infinity pool merging with the gulf, bedrooms with king beds and mirrors everywhere. No staff—just us three: me, Razzaq, Sammir. "Your home for three days," Razzaq said, stripping me completely in the living room. "No clothes allowed." Naked, exposed, I felt vulnerable yet empowered. Sammir watched from the shadows, bulge returning.
Day 1: Morning surprise—breakfast in bed, but Razzaq tied my wrists to the headboard, blindfolded me. "Guess the touch." Hands, tongues everywhere—Razzaq's mouth on my pussy, sucking my clit until I bucked; Sammir's rough fingers pinching my nipples, twisting just to the edge of pain. "Ahh, Razzaq... Sammir!" I gasped, cumming hard. They switched—Sammir eating my ass, rimming deep while Razzaq fucked my mouth. Twist: a vibrating plug in my ass all day, remote in Razzaq's hand, buzzing at random—during lunch, pool swims, making me cum unexpectedly, legs shaking.
Afternoon: Beach walk, naked—private sands, waves lapping. Razzaq fucked me in the surf—standing, legs around his waist, cock deep in my pussy as waves crashed. Sammir watched from the shore, stroking himself. Evening: Massage—oiled by both, four hands turning to fingers in holes, double penetration with fingers while they sucked my toes, nipples. I came screaming, squirting.
Night: Bondage—tied spread-eagle, teased with feathers, ice, then cocks. Razzaq in ass, Sammir in pussy—DP that stretched me to breaking, orgasms chaining until blackout.
Meanwhile, back with Manish: Razzaq's gift arrived—a knock at the mansion door. Manish opened to find a woman—Madhavi Desai, a popular Bollywood actress in her 40s, similar to Madhuri Dixit but with her own flair: timeless beauty, dimpled smile, voluptuous curves (36-28-38), long black hair, expressive eyes that could seduce with a glance. Dressed in a saree that hugged her figure, she smiled: "Razzaq sent me. For three nights." Manish's jaw dropped—Madhavi, star of countless hits, dancer extraordinaire, here as his "gift"?
She stepped in, saree falling like petals, revealing lingerie that accentuated her full breasts, flat stomach from dance, round ass swaying. "I'm yours," she purred, kissing him deeply, tongue exploring. Manish, stunned but aroused, led her to the bedroom. She danced for him—sensual, hips rolling like in her movies, stripping slow. "Fuck me like a fan," she whispered. He did—eating her pussy on the bed, her juices sweet as she moaned his name. She rode him cowgirl, breasts bouncing, grinding until he came inside her. Twist: she's a squirter—flooding him during orgasm. Night one: positions galore—doggy with ass slaps, 69 where her tongue rimmed him, anal (her first surprise—tight, begging for more). He came on her face, in her mouth, inside her.
Day 2 for me: Surprise—yacht again, but just us three. Razzaq and Sammir DP'd me on the deck—Razzaq in pussy, Sammir in ass, waves rocking us. Orgasms in the sun, cum on my skin. Evening: Role-play—me as harem slave, them as masters. Whipped lightly, begged for cocks. Twist: Subiya video-called, watching, masturbating as they fucked me.
For Manish: Madhavi's dance turned erotic—lap dance leading to blowjob, her lips like velvet. She revealed kink: light BDSM—tied him, teased his cock with feathers, then rode him reverse, ass jiggling. Surprise: she's bi—called a "friend" (another actress cameo, but fictional), threesome ensued. Madhavi ate her friend while Manish fucked her doggy.
Day 3: For me—villa orgy with toys: fisting attempt (slow, lubed, Razzaq's hand in pussy), double anal tease (plugs). Twist: Sammir alone with me—fucked like mad, cumming in all holes. Evening farewell: Razzaq gifted jewelry, promised more trips.
For Manish: Madhavi's final night—romantic, then wild: outdoor fuck under stars, her squirting on his face. Surprise: she's Razzaq's "investment"—actress on his payroll for such "gifts."
We reunited—stories shared, marriage hotter. Dubai twisted us forever.
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