Yesterday, 04:31 PM
(This post was last modified: Yesterday, 04:59 PM by heygiwriter. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Chapter 41: The Mask hates The Monster, While Vikram fucked Malar
Bharath barely glanced at the nurse in the white saree asking if he was okay. His mind was fixed on the informer—blood on his arm, adrenaline still pumping, no time for small talk.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, brushing past her without really seeing her face. She wore a mask anyway, just another hospital worker in the chaos.
Mirnaa watched him rush off, blood spots trailing on the floor from his scratches. Something about him felt familiar—strong, calm under pressure—but she pushed it aside. She turned back to the old man, helped the staff lift him onto a stretcher, then noticed the blood drops again.
She asked a co-staff to take care of the old man and decided to follow the trail.
She wasn’t aware he was a cop—or ex-cop. He looked rich, yet rough: beard, slight booze scent, clothes expensive but worn like a man who didn’t care. Almost like any normal drunk who stumbled into trouble.
The blood spots led down a quiet corridor. She heard muffled thuds—fists on flesh, grunts, a low growl.
She turned the corner.
Bharath had the informer cornered in a storage room—door half-open.
Kick after kick, punches landing on the face, the informer crumpling against the wall. Bharath’s voice was low, furious: “You spoiled it. You sold us out.”
The informer whimpered.
Bharath pulled a knife from his belt—small, sharp, glinting under the fluorescent light. He pressed it to the man’s throat.
Mirnaa froze.
What she thought was a hero moments ago—jumping to save a life—now looked like something else entirely. A monster. A henchman. The kind of man who destroyed families. The kind who haunted her nightmares from childhood—the ones who killed her parents, who took everything.
Her heart hammered. Past hurts flooded back: the henchmen who tore her world apart, the cop uncle who saved her at 15. But this man… this man was both. Hero and beast.
She backed away silently, trembling.
She rushed to security, whispered urgently: “There’s a fight in the storage room—someone with a knife.”
Then she fled to the nursing room, locked herself in a cabin, sat on the floor, breathing hard.
She wanted to forget that face.
The head nurse knocked later.
“Mirnaa? Day after tomorrow we have a big-shot gathering. They asked for staff nurses at the venue. I already informed them—you need to go. All staff will wear sarees, badges given by them. No hospital names mentioned. VIPs coming.”
Mirnaa nodded through the door, voice small.
“Sure, ma’am.”
She stayed inside a while longer, trying to steady her breathing.
But the image wouldn’t leave: Bharath with blood on his shirt, knife at a man’s throat.
Hero one minute.
Monster the next.
And she had looked right into his eyes.
Meanwhile, 400 km away …
Vikram had just locked the door with Malar.
As she turned to him and asked,
“Mama, why are you locking it?”
Vikram smiled.
He came and sat on the bed, asked her to sit beside him.
Malar hesitated but sat at the corner.
She began:
“Mama, my son will come in 2 hours from college… I should get back soon. What is the business plan you want to speak with me? How much should I invest?”
Vikram said, “So you came all the way to speak business, not to spend time with me?”
Malar laughed. “What, mama? Are we kids? I’m married and have a kid…”
Her face turned pale, realizing what he meant.
“Mama, do you still love me after what I have done?”
Vikram said, “I could not forget every single betrayal you did to me. The money you sent, the letters you gave, the umbrella we shared together… I know you loved me the same way I did. But what happened in the middle when I went to pursue college studies? How did Vicky claim you—my love, my innocence?”
Malar stood up. “Mama, those are in the past. Nothing can be changed. It doesn’t matter if I really loved you then, or if I carry the same weight, or if I never loved… Nothing matters. All that matters is I know I’m at fault, I caused you pain, and I’m at a place I need help.
I thought you would never see me—even in the hospital three years back you said you will revenge me—but now hearing my condition, you came to see me. I believe you forgot all and it’s in the past. I came against Vicky’s warning and wish… I came all the way trusting you will open a window that would end my miseries.”
Vikram laughed louder.
Malar asked, “Mama, why are you laughing?”
Vikram asked back, “So you are aware that you caused me pain, and you think now I’m good I would help you? How good am I looking now?”
Malar said, “You look good, mama—like always back then and now, even more…”
Vikram stood from the bed and started unbuttoning his shirt.
Malar said, “Mama, what are you doing?”
Vikram said, “You said I’m looking good, right? See what I am.”
Vikram removed his shirt and turned back. Marks of so many wounds were on his back.
“Did you see that?”
Malar’s eyes melted. She touched each one.
“Can you spot the wound you caused?”
Malar searched his body…
Vikram pointed to his chest. “You caused inside. The pain, the trauma—even after my marriage I get those visuals. You and Vicky gave me that trauma!”
“I’m sorry, maama…” Malar fell on his feet.
Vikram raised her up, hands gripping her shoulders hard enough to bruise. His eyes burned into hers—cold, unyielding.
“There is one way I could get past this…”
Malar stayed silent in shock, breath catching.
Vikram’s voice dropped to a growl. “I just want Vicky to witness how I’m sexing with you.”
Before Malar could even react, Vikram sealed his lips on hers—crushing, possessive, no gentleness. He forced her mouth open with his tongue, invading deep, tasting her fear and hesitation.
She stiffened, hands pushing weakly at his chest, but he didn’t relent. He kissed her like he was claiming back every lost second, every betrayal.
She hesitated, then went limp—resistance crumbling under the weight of his anger.
Vikram broke the kiss only to yank her saree pallu down in one violent tug. The fabric tore slightly at the seam. She gasped, looking down at her exposed blouse, breasts straining against it.
“Mama, I’m married and—”
She looked at how quickly Vikram dropped his pants—his white boxer brief shoved down, thick cock springing free, hard and throbbing with years of pent-up rage.
Before she could finish, his hands grabbed her waist, slamming her against him into another brutal kiss. Eyes closed, tongues clashing, he devoured her mouth for five full minutes—long, punishing, leaving her lips swollen and breathless.
Vikram pushed her backward onto the bed.
Malar crossed her arms over her chest—her huge breasts trying to spill out of the blouse.
Vikram stood over her, voice low and dangerous. “Twenty minutes more, your husband will be here.”
He went back to the door and unlocked it—deliberately, loudly.
“For the wounds. For the pain I endured. I’m asking you to support me so I will have a remedy. By making him watch.. Allow me to love you at least once.”
That one word sold her out.
He came on top of her—weight pinning her down—and tore open her blouse, buttons popping and scattering across the floor. She resisted—hands pushing at his chest—but it was weak, namesake, confused. He unhooked every hook with rough fingers, exposing her heavy breasts.
He removed her bra in one motion, grabbed both breasts hard, squeezing until she whimpered. “You became more sexy,” he snarled. “Never thought you would have these huge back then.”
Vikram swiftly forced her legs apart. His cock scratched her entry—rough, impatient. He leaned down, breath hot against her ear.
“This is how Vicky fucked you, right?” That day in theatre store room?
One hard push—his thick penis forced inside her in a single brutal thrust. She shouted a big “Aahhhhhhhhhhh… maamaaa!”—pain sharp, body arching off the bed.
“For our childhood love,” he growled.
He bent down, caught her neck in a tight, unforgiving grip—fingers digging into the soft flesh just enough to make her gasp, her pulse hammering against his palm. His eyes locked on hers, dark and merciless, every ounce of twenty years of buried rage pouring out.
“This is for every lie,” he snarled, voice low and vicious. “Every time you chose him. Every time you let him take what was mine.”
He slammed into her harder—brutal, punishing thrusts that made the bedframe groan and the headboard bang against the wall. Their bodies shook violently with each impact, her breasts bouncing wildly, sweat already slicking their skin.
![[Image: fuck-hardcore-scaled.webp]](https://cdn.xgifer.com/227721/fuck-hardcore-scaled.webp)
Malar’s legs spread wider instinctively, thighs trembling as she tried to take him deeper, her hands clawing at his arm—not to stop him now, but to hold on as the pain twisted into something hotter, sharper.
Her moans grew louder—raw, broken sounds that started as protest and ended in desperate need. The bruises on her throat bloomed under his fingers, red and angry, marking her as his in that moment. He squeezed tighter for a heartbeat—enough to make her eyes flutter, her breath hitch—then released, only to grab her jaw instead, forcing her to look at him.
![[Image: pale-skinned-elena-koshka-cums-on-the-co...caled.webp]](https://cdn.xgifer.com/178887/pale-skinned-elena-koshka-cums-on-the-couch-with-bbc-stretching-her-pussy-scaled.webp)
She tried to speak—mumbled something incoherent against his lips—but he swallowed it, fucked her harder, hips snapping with punishing force. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, obscene and relentless. Her nails dug into his back, leaving red trails, urging him on even as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.
He broke the kiss, rose up slightly, one hand still gripping her jaw, the other sliding down to pinch her nipple hard—twisting until she cried out, back arching off the bed.
“You feel that?” he hissed.
“That’s what you stole from me. Now take it back—all of it.”
He slammed in one final time—deep, brutal, grinding against her clit—and she shattered.
![[Image: cute-scaled.webp]](https://cdn.xgifer.com/121220/cute-scaled.webp)
Her orgasm hit like a storm: walls spasming violently around him, a high, broken wail tearing from her throat, juices soaking the sheets beneath them. Her legs locked around his waist, pulling him deeper as she convulsed.
Vikram followed seconds later—roaring as he buried himself to the hilt, flooding her with hot, thick spurts, filling her completely until it leaked out around his cock, dripping down her thighs. He stayed inside her, hips still twitching, riding out every last pulse, marking her in the most primal way.
He collapsed over her—sweat-slicked, breathing ragged—face buried in the crook of her neck. His cock still throbbed inside her, spent but not softening yet.
Malar’s hand came up slowly, trembling, and caressed his hair.
“You… unleashed it all,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “You’re free from the burden now. It all went out.”
Vikram lifted his head, looked down at her—tear-streaked face, swollen lips, bruised throat, breasts marked with his fingerprints, body trembling beneath him.
“I said everything,” he said quietly,
“but missed telling you this… I loved you once. And that’s true.”
She stared at him for a long moment—eyes glassy, conflicted, vulnerable.
![[Image: xxx-scaled.webp]](https://cdn.xgifer.com/196422/xxx-scaled.webp)
Then she pulled him down and lip-locked him—soft at first, then desperate, tongues tangling again like they were drowning in each other.
Bharath barely glanced at the nurse in the white saree asking if he was okay. His mind was fixed on the informer—blood on his arm, adrenaline still pumping, no time for small talk.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, brushing past her without really seeing her face. She wore a mask anyway, just another hospital worker in the chaos.
Mirnaa watched him rush off, blood spots trailing on the floor from his scratches. Something about him felt familiar—strong, calm under pressure—but she pushed it aside. She turned back to the old man, helped the staff lift him onto a stretcher, then noticed the blood drops again.
She asked a co-staff to take care of the old man and decided to follow the trail.
She wasn’t aware he was a cop—or ex-cop. He looked rich, yet rough: beard, slight booze scent, clothes expensive but worn like a man who didn’t care. Almost like any normal drunk who stumbled into trouble.
The blood spots led down a quiet corridor. She heard muffled thuds—fists on flesh, grunts, a low growl.
She turned the corner.
Bharath had the informer cornered in a storage room—door half-open.
Kick after kick, punches landing on the face, the informer crumpling against the wall. Bharath’s voice was low, furious: “You spoiled it. You sold us out.”
The informer whimpered.
Bharath pulled a knife from his belt—small, sharp, glinting under the fluorescent light. He pressed it to the man’s throat.
Mirnaa froze.
What she thought was a hero moments ago—jumping to save a life—now looked like something else entirely. A monster. A henchman. The kind of man who destroyed families. The kind who haunted her nightmares from childhood—the ones who killed her parents, who took everything.
Her heart hammered. Past hurts flooded back: the henchmen who tore her world apart, the cop uncle who saved her at 15. But this man… this man was both. Hero and beast.
She backed away silently, trembling.
She rushed to security, whispered urgently: “There’s a fight in the storage room—someone with a knife.”
Then she fled to the nursing room, locked herself in a cabin, sat on the floor, breathing hard.
She wanted to forget that face.
The head nurse knocked later.
“Mirnaa? Day after tomorrow we have a big-shot gathering. They asked for staff nurses at the venue. I already informed them—you need to go. All staff will wear sarees, badges given by them. No hospital names mentioned. VIPs coming.”
Mirnaa nodded through the door, voice small.
“Sure, ma’am.”
She stayed inside a while longer, trying to steady her breathing.
But the image wouldn’t leave: Bharath with blood on his shirt, knife at a man’s throat.
Hero one minute.
Monster the next.
And she had looked right into his eyes.
Meanwhile, 400 km away …
Vikram had just locked the door with Malar.
As she turned to him and asked,
“Mama, why are you locking it?”
Vikram smiled.
He came and sat on the bed, asked her to sit beside him.
Malar hesitated but sat at the corner.
She began:
“Mama, my son will come in 2 hours from college… I should get back soon. What is the business plan you want to speak with me? How much should I invest?”
Vikram said, “So you came all the way to speak business, not to spend time with me?”
Malar laughed. “What, mama? Are we kids? I’m married and have a kid…”
Her face turned pale, realizing what he meant.
“Mama, do you still love me after what I have done?”
Vikram said, “I could not forget every single betrayal you did to me. The money you sent, the letters you gave, the umbrella we shared together… I know you loved me the same way I did. But what happened in the middle when I went to pursue college studies? How did Vicky claim you—my love, my innocence?”
Malar stood up. “Mama, those are in the past. Nothing can be changed. It doesn’t matter if I really loved you then, or if I carry the same weight, or if I never loved… Nothing matters. All that matters is I know I’m at fault, I caused you pain, and I’m at a place I need help.
I thought you would never see me—even in the hospital three years back you said you will revenge me—but now hearing my condition, you came to see me. I believe you forgot all and it’s in the past. I came against Vicky’s warning and wish… I came all the way trusting you will open a window that would end my miseries.”
Vikram laughed louder.
Malar asked, “Mama, why are you laughing?”
Vikram asked back, “So you are aware that you caused me pain, and you think now I’m good I would help you? How good am I looking now?”
Malar said, “You look good, mama—like always back then and now, even more…”
Vikram stood from the bed and started unbuttoning his shirt.
Malar said, “Mama, what are you doing?”
Vikram said, “You said I’m looking good, right? See what I am.”
Vikram removed his shirt and turned back. Marks of so many wounds were on his back.
“Did you see that?”
Malar’s eyes melted. She touched each one.
“Can you spot the wound you caused?”
Malar searched his body…
Vikram pointed to his chest. “You caused inside. The pain, the trauma—even after my marriage I get those visuals. You and Vicky gave me that trauma!”
“I’m sorry, maama…” Malar fell on his feet.
Vikram raised her up, hands gripping her shoulders hard enough to bruise. His eyes burned into hers—cold, unyielding.
“There is one way I could get past this…”
Malar stayed silent in shock, breath catching.
Vikram’s voice dropped to a growl. “I just want Vicky to witness how I’m sexing with you.”
Before Malar could even react, Vikram sealed his lips on hers—crushing, possessive, no gentleness. He forced her mouth open with his tongue, invading deep, tasting her fear and hesitation.
She stiffened, hands pushing weakly at his chest, but he didn’t relent. He kissed her like he was claiming back every lost second, every betrayal.
She hesitated, then went limp—resistance crumbling under the weight of his anger.
Vikram broke the kiss only to yank her saree pallu down in one violent tug. The fabric tore slightly at the seam. She gasped, looking down at her exposed blouse, breasts straining against it.
“Mama, I’m married and—”
She looked at how quickly Vikram dropped his pants—his white boxer brief shoved down, thick cock springing free, hard and throbbing with years of pent-up rage.
Before she could finish, his hands grabbed her waist, slamming her against him into another brutal kiss. Eyes closed, tongues clashing, he devoured her mouth for five full minutes—long, punishing, leaving her lips swollen and breathless.
Vikram pushed her backward onto the bed.
Malar crossed her arms over her chest—her huge breasts trying to spill out of the blouse.
Vikram stood over her, voice low and dangerous. “Twenty minutes more, your husband will be here.”
He went back to the door and unlocked it—deliberately, loudly.
“For the wounds. For the pain I endured. I’m asking you to support me so I will have a remedy. By making him watch.. Allow me to love you at least once.”
That one word sold her out.
He came on top of her—weight pinning her down—and tore open her blouse, buttons popping and scattering across the floor. She resisted—hands pushing at his chest—but it was weak, namesake, confused. He unhooked every hook with rough fingers, exposing her heavy breasts.
He removed her bra in one motion, grabbed both breasts hard, squeezing until she whimpered. “You became more sexy,” he snarled. “Never thought you would have these huge back then.”
Vikram swiftly forced her legs apart. His cock scratched her entry—rough, impatient. He leaned down, breath hot against her ear.
“This is how Vicky fucked you, right?” That day in theatre store room?
One hard push—his thick penis forced inside her in a single brutal thrust. She shouted a big “Aahhhhhhhhhhh… maamaaa!”—pain sharp, body arching off the bed.
“For our childhood love,” he growled.
He bent down, caught her neck in a tight, unforgiving grip—fingers digging into the soft flesh just enough to make her gasp, her pulse hammering against his palm. His eyes locked on hers, dark and merciless, every ounce of twenty years of buried rage pouring out.
“This is for every lie,” he snarled, voice low and vicious. “Every time you chose him. Every time you let him take what was mine.”
He slammed into her harder—brutal, punishing thrusts that made the bedframe groan and the headboard bang against the wall. Their bodies shook violently with each impact, her breasts bouncing wildly, sweat already slicking their skin.
Malar’s legs spread wider instinctively, thighs trembling as she tried to take him deeper, her hands clawing at his arm—not to stop him now, but to hold on as the pain twisted into something hotter, sharper.
Her moans grew louder—raw, broken sounds that started as protest and ended in desperate need. The bruises on her throat bloomed under his fingers, red and angry, marking her as his in that moment. He squeezed tighter for a heartbeat—enough to make her eyes flutter, her breath hitch—then released, only to grab her jaw instead, forcing her to look at him.
“Look at me,” he growled. “See who’s inside you now. Not him. Me.”
He bent lower, crashed his mouth onto hers in a deep, devouring kiss—teeth clashing, tongue forcing its way in, claiming every inch of her mouth while his hips never slowed.
Each thrust drove deeper, hitting her G-spot with ruthless precision, sending electric shocks ripping through her core. Her walls clenched around him—tight, wet, greedy—betraying her completely.
She tried to speak—mumbled something incoherent against his lips—but he swallowed it, fucked her harder, hips snapping with punishing force. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, obscene and relentless. Her nails dug into his back, leaving red trails, urging him on even as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.
He broke the kiss, rose up slightly, one hand still gripping her jaw, the other sliding down to pinch her nipple hard—twisting until she cried out, back arching off the bed.
“You feel that?” he hissed.
“That’s what you stole from me. Now take it back—all of it.”
He slammed in one final time—deep, brutal, grinding against her clit—and she shattered.
Her orgasm hit like a storm: walls spasming violently around him, a high, broken wail tearing from her throat, juices soaking the sheets beneath them. Her legs locked around his waist, pulling him deeper as she convulsed.
Vikram followed seconds later—roaring as he buried himself to the hilt, flooding her with hot, thick spurts, filling her completely until it leaked out around his cock, dripping down her thighs. He stayed inside her, hips still twitching, riding out every last pulse, marking her in the most primal way.
He collapsed over her—sweat-slicked, breathing ragged—face buried in the crook of her neck. His cock still throbbed inside her, spent but not softening yet.
Malar’s hand came up slowly, trembling, and caressed his hair.
“You… unleashed it all,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “You’re free from the burden now. It all went out.”
Vikram lifted his head, looked down at her—tear-streaked face, swollen lips, bruised throat, breasts marked with his fingerprints, body trembling beneath him.
“I said everything,” he said quietly,
“but missed telling you this… I loved you once. And that’s true.”
She stared at him for a long moment—eyes glassy, conflicted, vulnerable.
Then she pulled him down and lip-locked him—soft at first, then desperate, tongues tangling again like they were drowning in each other.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)