06-02-2026, 10:08 PM
(This post was last modified: 11-02-2026, 01:43 AM by Indian True Lust stories. Edited 2 times in total. Edited 2 times in total.)
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"You wear red so well, sauteli," Komilla whispered in her ear.
Shweta gasped, her body stiff. The touch was not a touch. It was a brand.
Danny moved next. He had blue gulal in his palm. He didn't throw it. He stepped behind Shweta. His other hand grabbed her waist, pulling her back against him. She could feel his chest on her back. He brought his blue hand around and slapped the powder hard on her flat stomach.
"Oops," he laughed, his voice right next to her ear. "Colour got a bit low."
Shweta whimpered. The slap stung a little, but it was the shock that made her shake. His hand stayed on her stomach, rubbing the blue powder in circles, spreading it, making her skin tingle.
Arjun came from the front. He had green gulal. He looked at her, a hungry look in his eyes. He took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look up at him.
"Open your mouth," he said, his voice low.
Shweta shook her head, tears in her eyes.
"Arjun, don't," she begged.
But he just smiled. He pinched her cheek, hard, making her gasp. As her mouth opened, he blew a big puff of green powder right inside. It filled her mouth, coating her tongue, making her cough. It tasted dry and chemical. She felt violated.
"Swallow it," Komilla ordered from the side, watching her with cold eyes.
Shweta coughed again, some of the powder flying out. She felt sick.
Rashmi, who was watching with a crazy smile, now joined in. She had a bottle of water. She poured it all over Shweta's chest. The thin, light-coloured saree stuck to her body like a second skin. It became see-through, showing the black lace of her bra. Her nipples were hard, pointing through the wet fabric.
![[Image: A-casual-photo-of-a-voluptuous.jpg]](https://i.ibb.co/d46SmZFY/A-casual-photo-of-a-voluptuous.jpg)
"Now we can see the real colours," Rashmi giggled.
Danny's hand was still on her stomach. Now he slid it up, under her wet saree, his rough fingers touching the soft skin above her navel.
"Look at that," he breathed. "So soft."
Shweta tried to push his hand away, but Komilla grabbed her wrists from behind.
"Na na na," Komilla scolded. "No touching. Only receiving."
Arjun's hands went to her breasts. He didn't waste time. He grabbed them hard, one in each hand, squeezing them through the wet saree and bra. His thumbs found her nipples and rubbed them back and forth, making them even harder.
"See? She likes it," Arjun said to the others.
Shweta shut her eyes, a tear escaping and running down her cheek, mixing with the red gulal on her neck. Her body was betraying her. A hot feeling was spreading from her chest, down to her stomach.
Danny's hand moved lower. It went past the waistband of her saree, under her petticoat. His fingers explored, searching. He found the edge of her panties. He traced the line of lace with his fingertip, so slow it was torture.
"Let's see if she's wet from the water, or from something else," Danny chuckled.
Shweta squirmed, a desperate sound coming from her throat. "Please... stop..."
Rashmi laughed and poured more water on her legs, making the fabric cling to her thighs. Komilla let go of one of Shweta's hands and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back.
Shweta opened her eyes. Raj was standing there, watching everything. His face was pale, his eyes wide with horror and shock. He looked like a statue. He wasn't moving. He wasn't saying anything. Just watching.
"See? He's enjoying the show," Komilla lied in her ear. "He always wanted to see you like this."
Danny's fingers finally pushed aside the thin fabric of her panties. One finger slid inside her folds, finding her clit. He rubbed it once, twice, a slow, firm circle.
Shweta's whole body jerked. A gasp escaped her lips. It wasn't a gasp of pain. It was a gasp of pure, unwanted pleasure.
"Found it," Danny said with a grin.
Arjun was still mauling her breasts, his hands rough and possessive. Komilla was still holding her hair, forcing her to watch her husband's blank face. Rashmi was now pouring the last of the water over her ass, her hand following the water, squeezing Shweta's butt cheek.
They were all over her. Hands were everywhere. On her neck, her breasts, her stomach, between her legs, on her ass. They were not fucking her, but they were owning her. Every touch was a claim. Every laugh was a victory.
Danny's finger started moving faster, rubbing her clit in a rhythm that made her legs weak. She could feel the pressure building inside her, a wave she couldn't stop.
"No... please... no..." she moaned, but it was a weak sound.
"Let go, jaaneman," Arjun whispered, squeezing her nipple hard at the same time Danny's finger pressed down.
The wave crashed. Her body arched, a silent scream on her lips. Her hips bucked against Danny's hand. For a horrible, wonderful second, her mind went blank. All she could feel was the pleasure ripping through her.
And then, it was over.
They let her go.
Danny pulled his hand out. Arjun let go of her breasts. Komilla released her hair. Shweta fell to her knees on the floor, a mess of colours and wet fabric. She was shaking.
Raj was still just standing there. His face was a mask of nothingness. He had watched his wife be used, had watched her orgasm from another man's touch. Komilla looked down at Shweta, a satisfied smile on her face.
Rashmi’s laughter was a sharp, drunken crack in the humid air. She didn't walk; she stumbled, a whirlwind of colour and intent, straight into Raj's lap. Her body, slick with a sheen of sweat and smeared powder, slammed against his. she spilled while stumbling some of the drink on Raj's shirt and colours too while she fell on him.
"Drink, hero!" she commanded, her voice a husky giggle.
She didn't wait for an answer. Her free hand, sticky with blue gulal, grabbed the back of his neck, her fingers digging into his skin. She pressed the rim of a wine glass to his lips, tilting it sharply. The deep red liquid flooded his mouth.
Then came the real assault. Her hips, clad only in thin, wet fabric, ground against him. It wasn't a suggestion; it was a statement. The first grind was a hard, deliberate circle, her pelvic bone crushing against his. He choked on the wine, his eyes flying wide in shock.
"Swallow it, Raju," Rashmi breathed, her face inches from his.
He did, a mechanical gulp. His eyes were already starting to lose focus, the alcohol hitting his system like a punch.
She ground against him a second time, slower this time, a filthy, rhythmic rocking that was impossible to ignore. He could feel the heat of her through his clothes. His body, betraying his mind, started to respond. Another glass of wine was pressed to his lips, and this time, he drank without being told. The world was beginning to blur at the edges.
"Pool time!" Komilla sang out, her voice cutting through the haze. It was a declaration, not a suggestion.
She moved with predatory grace, her target clear. She didn't grab Shweta's arm. She snagged the dangling end of her pallu, the silk already damp and clinging. With a sharp, yanking motion, she started pulling, dragging a stunned and silent Shweta across the patio like a doll.
Rashmi, seeing the game, disentangled herself from a now-pliant Raj and skipped after them.
"Let's help the bride get ready for her bath!" she chirped.
She caught up to Shweta and her hands went straight for the shoulder of her saree. With a deliberate, teasing slowness, she peeled the wet, clinging silk down Shweta's arm. The fabric reluctantly released her skin, exposing the trembling curve of her shoulder and boobs.
"See?" Rashmi whispered, her lips brushing against Shweta's ear. "Your sindur is crying." She traced a single finger down Shweta's collarbone, following a path where the red vermilion had mixed with sweat and water, creating a thin, dripping line that looked terrifyingly like a trail of fresh blood.
Komilla was on her other side. Her eyes were dark, fixed on Shweta's chest. She didn't hesitate. Her hand cupped Shweta's breast through the sheer, wet blouse, her thumb instantly finding the peak of her nipple and pressing down.
"Mohit was crazy about these cherries yesterday," Komilla murmured, her voice a low, possessive hum. "He said they tasted like candy. Should we all have a bite?"
The answer was a splash. With a collective shove, they sent Shweta stumbling backward into the pool. The shock of the cold water stole her breath as she went under, a silent scream swallowed by the chlorine-blue water.
She surfaced, gasping and sputtering, her hair plastered to her face. Before she could get her bearings, three big splashes announced the arrival of the men. Mohit, Arjun, and Danny plunged in, their laughter echoing off the tiles.
Arjun was on her in a heartbeat. He was a shark, and she was his prey. He grabbed her arm and spun her, slamming her back against the smooth, wet tiles of the pool edge. The impact knocked the air from her lungs. He pressed his full body against hers, pinning her with his weight. She could feel every muscle, every contour of his chest and stomach. And she could feel his erection, a thick, hard ridge pressing insistently against her thigh through his swim trunks.
"Holi is about getting coloured everywhere, na?" he growled, his voice a low rumble against her ear.
He scooped a handful of bright green *gulal from a floating tray and, instead of throwing it, he smeared it directly onto her bare midriff. His palm was rough, the action possessive. He painted her stomach in broad, aggressive strokes, the colour shocking against her pale skin.
His hand didn't stop. It slid down, his fingers hooking under the delicate waistband of her petticoat, which was now the only thing covering her lower body.
"Let's see how sacred this little gold chain really is," he whispered, his fingers toying with the mangalsutra that rested on her hip.
Shweta bucked, a desperate, panicked movement, trying to dislodge him. But she was trapped. Danny materialized behind her, his arms like steel bands. He seized both her wrists in one of his large hands and yanked them behind her back, arching her body painfully. His breath was a hot, sour cloud in her ear.
"Relax, baby," he slurred, his voice thick with liquor and lust. "Your dear husband is too wasted to give a damn. Look at him."
He forced her head to turn. Through the water and her own tears, she could see Raj. He was slumped in a chair, a fresh glass in his hand, his head lolling to one side. His eyes were open, but they were vacant, staring at nothing.
Mohit swam up in front of her, a look of pure, predatory hunger on his face. He reached out and, with a single, brutal tug, ripped the remaining part of her saree—the pallu—away. It floated for a second before sinking. Her thin, wet blouse was now the only barrier, and it was completely transparent, clinging to her breasts like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination.
"Absolutely fucking beautiful," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine awe.
He reached out and took her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. He didn't just touch them; he rolled them, pinched them, pulling and teasing them until they were hard, aching points. As he did, a shower of bright orange powder rained down from above, coating her face and shoulders in a fine, stinging dust.
The sharp sound of a phone camera cut through the splashing. Komilla was floating a few feet away, her phone held up, her expression one of cool, detached amusement.
On the pool deck, Rashmi had climbed back onto Raj's lap. She was straddling him, her back to the pool, facing Komilla's phone.
"Look how she's enjoying it, Raj!" Rashmi moaned, her voice loud and theatrical. She began to roll her hips, a slow, exaggerated simulation of sex. "Look at your wife! She's having the time of her life!"
Raj's jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful. But his eyelids were heavy, half-closed. The wine glass dangled from his limp fingers, a tiny amount of red liquid spilling onto the patio stones.
Shweta thrashed in the water, a useless, desperate motion. Her legs, streaked with dissolving colours, clamped together in a final, futile attempt at protection.
"Stop—please—" The words were a choked whisper, torn from her throat.
The plea died as Danny wedged his knee between her thighs from behind. He forced her legs apart with his powerful leg, his knee pressing up hard against her most sensitive place.
"Begging just makes my dick harder," he panted, grinding his knee against her in a lewd, rhythmic motion.
The water around them was no longer blue. It was a murky, swirling mess of red, green, orange, and purple, a disgusting soup of their violation.
Arjun's attention returned to the mangalsutra. He grabbed the thin gold chain, his fingers closing around it. He pulled, hard.
"Gold looks so much better on the floor," he said, his voice cold.
With a final, vicious tug, he snapped the chain. The small black beads and gold pendant broke free and plopped into the cloudy water, disappearing without a trace. It was a sinking sin, a visual end to her vows.
Komilla swam closer, lazily swirling a glass of wine she must have brought to the pool's edge.
"Don't worry about him," she lied, her voice smooth as silk. "Raj won't wake up for hours. He's completely gone."
But Raj wasn't gone. On the chair, as Rashmi arched her back and moaned for the camera, his fingers twitched. It was a small, almost invisible movement, but it was there. Rashmi saw it. She grabbed his limp hand and dragged it up, forcing it inside her own shirt, pressing his palm against her breast.
"She's loving this!" Rashmi cried out, aiming Komilla's phone at Shweta's tear-streaked, terrified face. "Tell them, Shweta! Tell them how much you love it!"
Mohit, tired of waiting, seized a handful of Shweta's hair at the roots. He wrenched her head back, exposing the long, vulnerable line of her throat.
"Open," he ordered.
He picked up a half-full bottle of red wine from the pool edge and tilted it, pouring the dark red liquid directly into her mouth. It gushed in, too much.
"Still wearing a petticoat?" he laughed. "Such a traditional slut."
His fingers hooked into the string. With a loud riiiip, he tore it. The wet cloth floated away. Her pussy was now naked in the cloudy water.
Arjun whistled. He smeared purple powder on her stomach.
"I wonder if her husband ever made her this wet," he said.
Shweta's knees got weak. She started to sink, but Mohit held her up. His thumb found her clit under the water and rubbed it in slow, hard circles.
A sound came from her throat. A moan. It was a sound of pleasure, and she hated herself for it.
"Shhh," Komilla said softly, swimming closer. "Just enjoy your real wedding night."
"Look at her—she's dripping!" Rashmi announced to the phone screen.
She moved Raj's limp hand higher up her own leg, right near her pussy. His nails, not moving, dug into her skin. It was sharp enough to make little red dots of blood.
But Rashmi just moaned louder for the video.
"Raj is so bad at pretending to be drunk," she whispered against his open mouth. His eyelid twitched. Just a little.
In the pool, Shweta's back slammed against the hard tiles. Danny was on her, pinning both her wrists above her head with one hand.
"Time for the real colours," he grunted.
With his other hand, he grabbed the front of her wet blouse and ripped it open. The buttons popped off and sank. The broken chain of her mangalsutra slithered into the water.
Arjun grabbed a pot of thick, oily yellow paste. He poured it right between her boobs. It was slow and thick, like honey. It oozed down her ribs, leaving a hot, sticky trail.
Mohit leaned in and caught a yellow trickle with his tongue. Then he opened his mouth and bit down on her nipple. Hard.
Shweta let out a sharp shriek that bounced off the walls.
Komilla clapped her hands, loud and happy.
"Perfect! You two are in sync! Should we take a vote on who gets to strip her next?"
Rashmi turned the camera, getting a super close-up of Shweta's face. She filmed the smeared red sindur and her long eyelashes that were wet and fluttering.
"Tell me, dear bahu," Rashmi cooed in a sweet, mean voice. "Does your Raj lick you this slow?"
The camera lens got a little foggy from the heat. Mohit's mouth was moving lower, kissing down her stomach. Under the dirty water, his fingers found her pussy and spread her lips open.
Shweta gasped. The sound was loud in the quiet air. Her thighs started to shake.
Komilla swam right up to her, her face close. She was holding a small silver key, letting it dangle from her fingers.
"The farmhouse's basement," she said softly, pressing the cold, wet key into Shweta's hand. "We keep toys down there. For wives who forget their promises."
Shweta's fingers closed around the key, the metal digging into her palm.
But Danny saw it. He snatched it away with a dirty laugh.
"Oh, this is good," he said. "Let's see if she begs prettier when a vibe is buzzing inside her."
Mohit grabbed Shweta by the arm and dragged her out of the pool. She was a mess. Her saree was floating in the water torn in multiple places. Her panty dragged to a corner exposing most of her ass. Her bra strips are broken and the wet bra is just handing on her nipples.
![[Image: A-casual-photo-of-a-disheveled-1.jpg]](https://i.ibb.co/W4FGzq2k/A-casual-photo-of-a-disheveled-1.jpg)
![[Image: A-casual-photo-of-a-disheveled.jpg]](https://i.ibb.co/Zs7s5QN/A-casual-photo-of-a-disheveled.jpg)
Rashmi followed with the camera. She zoomed in on Shweta's ass, on how the wet silk was stuck to it, showing the shape and even the thin line of her thong.
"Such a modern bride," Arjun taunted, coming up to pinch her side. "I bet your Raj never tore your clothes off like a real man."
"You're staring," Rashmi said with a dirty smile.
She climbed right onto Raj's lap. Her hands went to his shorts. She opened the button and pulled his dick out. It was soft in her hand at first. She started to stroke it, slow and easy, her fingers moving up and down the shaft. She was looking right at his face.
"Hey guys!" Rashmi called out to the others in the pool. "He's getting a hard-on! I think he's enjoying the show!" She laughed. "He likes watching his wife get tossed around. Keep going! Don't stop until he cums!"
Her thigh moved against his lap, rubbing up and down. The thought of fighting back just melted away.
"See how wet she is?" Rashmi purred, nodding her head towards Shweta in the pool. Shweta's saree was floating away like trash, and her bra was ripped open, her breasts completely out. "And you're just sitting here, getting hard."
"Don't worry," Rashmi whispered in Raj's ear. She pushed her hips down, grinding on his hard dick in a slow, dirty circle. "I'll make sure you enjoy the show properly."
Behind them, Komilla giggled. She was holding her phone up like a professional, moving the camera back and forth. First, she filmed Shweta being held down in the pool. Then, she filmed Raj sitting with his dick out in Rashmi's hand. She was making a movie of their shame.
Rashmi kept stroking him, her hand moving faster. She was grinding her hips on his lap, matching the rhythm of her hand. Raj's head was leaned back, his mouth open. His eyes were half-closed, but they were still looking at the pool. At his wife.
Finally, his body stiffened. A low groan escaped his lips. He came, his release spurting out and streaking Rashmi's inner thighs. It was warm and wet, and it made the silk of her dress stick to her skin in a very dirty way.
When Rashmi stood up, Shweta was lying sprawled on the tiles by the edge of the pool. Her beautiful saree was in tatters around her. Her chest was moving up and down, she was breathing so hard.
Rashmi walked over to her. She slapped Shweta's bare ass, hard. It made a loud smack sound and left a bright red handprint on her skin.
"We'll buy you new clothes," Rashmi said, stepping right over Shweta's shaking legs. "After all, you earned it."
She gave a little wink. It was like a knife twisting in Raj's gut as he watched her walk away.
"Come join us if you want the real thing, sweetheart," Rashmi called over her shoulder to Shweta. "Or clean up your drunk husband. Your choice."
Shweta's body ached. It was a deep, painful ache she hadn't felt in years. But under the pain, there was a feeling of being so, so tired, and a deep, hot shame that burned her.
She looked over at Raj. He was still slumped in his chair. His pants were still open, his dick hanging out. His face was blank, like he didn't know where he was.
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As Shweta approached the poolside all of them stopped their conversations and was gazing her beauty. The air felt heavy, like right before a storm. Komilla walked around Shweta, her eyes sharp like a knife.
"Such a devoted wife," Komilla said, her voice sweet but full of poison. "But I saw you in the car with Mohit, grinding your ass on his lap when Raj was just outside. And later? On my balcony, completely dressed as a new born baby." She stopped and smiled. "If I hadn't come..."
Danny laughed, a dirty sound. "Mohit would have planted more than just holi stains, no?"
Arjun laughed and leaned against the wall saying "I bet her sindur would have smudged everywhere. Thankfully you intervened komilla, otherwise Mohit would have played holi before all of us"
Shweta's face turned red. Her hands held her pallu so tight her knuckles were white. She felt trapped.
Komilla dipped her hand in a plate of bright red gulal. She walked to Shweta. Before Shweta could move, Komilla’s hand went to the side of her neck, her thumb pressing right on her pulse point. She smeared the red powder there, slow and hard.
"You wear red so well, sauteli," Komilla whispered in her ear.
Shweta gasped, her body stiff. The touch was not a touch. It was a brand.
Danny moved next. He had blue gulal in his palm. He didn't throw it. He stepped behind Shweta. His other hand grabbed her waist, pulling her back against him. She could feel his chest on her back. He brought his blue hand around and slapped the powder hard on her flat stomach.
"Oops," he laughed, his voice right next to her ear. "Colour got a bit low."
Shweta whimpered. The slap stung a little, but it was the shock that made her shake. His hand stayed on her stomach, rubbing the blue powder in circles, spreading it, making her skin tingle.
Arjun came from the front. He had green gulal. He looked at her, a hungry look in his eyes. He took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look up at him.
"Open your mouth," he said, his voice low.
Shweta shook her head, tears in her eyes.
"Arjun, don't," she begged.
But he just smiled. He pinched her cheek, hard, making her gasp. As her mouth opened, he blew a big puff of green powder right inside. It filled her mouth, coating her tongue, making her cough. It tasted dry and chemical. She felt violated.
"Swallow it," Komilla ordered from the side, watching her with cold eyes.
Shweta coughed again, some of the powder flying out. She felt sick.
Rashmi, who was watching with a crazy smile, now joined in. She had a bottle of water. She poured it all over Shweta's chest. The thin, light-coloured saree stuck to her body like a second skin. It became see-through, showing the black lace of her bra. Her nipples were hard, pointing through the wet fabric.
"Now we can see the real colours," Rashmi giggled.
Danny's hand was still on her stomach. Now he slid it up, under her wet saree, his rough fingers touching the soft skin above her navel.
"Look at that," he breathed. "So soft."
Shweta tried to push his hand away, but Komilla grabbed her wrists from behind.
"Na na na," Komilla scolded. "No touching. Only receiving."
Arjun's hands went to her breasts. He didn't waste time. He grabbed them hard, one in each hand, squeezing them through the wet saree and bra. His thumbs found her nipples and rubbed them back and forth, making them even harder.
"See? She likes it," Arjun said to the others.
Shweta shut her eyes, a tear escaping and running down her cheek, mixing with the red gulal on her neck. Her body was betraying her. A hot feeling was spreading from her chest, down to her stomach.
Danny's hand moved lower. It went past the waistband of her saree, under her petticoat. His fingers explored, searching. He found the edge of her panties. He traced the line of lace with his fingertip, so slow it was torture.
"Let's see if she's wet from the water, or from something else," Danny chuckled.
Shweta squirmed, a desperate sound coming from her throat. "Please... stop..."
Rashmi laughed and poured more water on her legs, making the fabric cling to her thighs. Komilla let go of one of Shweta's hands and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back.
"Look at your husband," Komilla commanded.
Shweta opened her eyes. Raj was standing there, watching everything. His face was pale, his eyes wide with horror and shock. He looked like a statue. He wasn't moving. He wasn't saying anything. Just watching.
"See? He's enjoying the show," Komilla lied in her ear. "He always wanted to see you like this."
Danny's fingers finally pushed aside the thin fabric of her panties. One finger slid inside her folds, finding her clit. He rubbed it once, twice, a slow, firm circle.
Shweta's whole body jerked. A gasp escaped her lips. It wasn't a gasp of pain. It was a gasp of pure, unwanted pleasure.
"Found it," Danny said with a grin.
Arjun was still mauling her breasts, his hands rough and possessive. Komilla was still holding her hair, forcing her to watch her husband's blank face. Rashmi was now pouring the last of the water over her ass, her hand following the water, squeezing Shweta's butt cheek.
They were all over her. Hands were everywhere. On her neck, her breasts, her stomach, between her legs, on her ass. They were not fucking her, but they were owning her. Every touch was a claim. Every laugh was a victory.
Danny's finger started moving faster, rubbing her clit in a rhythm that made her legs weak. She could feel the pressure building inside her, a wave she couldn't stop.
"No... please... no..." she moaned, but it was a weak sound.
"Let go, jaaneman," Arjun whispered, squeezing her nipple hard at the same time Danny's finger pressed down.
The wave crashed. Her body arched, a silent scream on her lips. Her hips bucked against Danny's hand. For a horrible, wonderful second, her mind went blank. All she could feel was the pleasure ripping through her.
And then, it was over.
They let her go.
Danny pulled his hand out. Arjun let go of her breasts. Komilla released her hair. Shweta fell to her knees on the floor, a mess of colours and wet fabric. She was shaking.
Raj was still just standing there. His face was a mask of nothingness. He had watched his wife be used, had watched her orgasm from another man's touch. Komilla looked down at Shweta, a satisfied smile on her face.
Rashmi’s laughter was a sharp, drunken crack in the humid air. She didn't walk; she stumbled, a whirlwind of colour and intent, straight into Raj's lap. Her body, slick with a sheen of sweat and smeared powder, slammed against his. she spilled while stumbling some of the drink on Raj's shirt and colours too while she fell on him.
"Drink, hero!" she commanded, her voice a husky giggle.
She didn't wait for an answer. Her free hand, sticky with blue gulal, grabbed the back of his neck, her fingers digging into his skin. She pressed the rim of a wine glass to his lips, tilting it sharply. The deep red liquid flooded his mouth.
Then came the real assault. Her hips, clad only in thin, wet fabric, ground against him. It wasn't a suggestion; it was a statement. The first grind was a hard, deliberate circle, her pelvic bone crushing against his. He choked on the wine, his eyes flying wide in shock.
"Swallow it, Raju," Rashmi breathed, her face inches from his.
He did, a mechanical gulp. His eyes were already starting to lose focus, the alcohol hitting his system like a punch.
She ground against him a second time, slower this time, a filthy, rhythmic rocking that was impossible to ignore. He could feel the heat of her through his clothes. His body, betraying his mind, started to respond. Another glass of wine was pressed to his lips, and this time, he drank without being told. The world was beginning to blur at the edges.
"Pool time!" Komilla sang out, her voice cutting through the haze. It was a declaration, not a suggestion.
She moved with predatory grace, her target clear. She didn't grab Shweta's arm. She snagged the dangling end of her pallu, the silk already damp and clinging. With a sharp, yanking motion, she started pulling, dragging a stunned and silent Shweta across the patio like a doll.
Rashmi, seeing the game, disentangled herself from a now-pliant Raj and skipped after them.
"Let's help the bride get ready for her bath!" she chirped.
She caught up to Shweta and her hands went straight for the shoulder of her saree. With a deliberate, teasing slowness, she peeled the wet, clinging silk down Shweta's arm. The fabric reluctantly released her skin, exposing the trembling curve of her shoulder and boobs.
"See?" Rashmi whispered, her lips brushing against Shweta's ear. "Your sindur is crying." She traced a single finger down Shweta's collarbone, following a path where the red vermilion had mixed with sweat and water, creating a thin, dripping line that looked terrifyingly like a trail of fresh blood.
Komilla was on her other side. Her eyes were dark, fixed on Shweta's chest. She didn't hesitate. Her hand cupped Shweta's breast through the sheer, wet blouse, her thumb instantly finding the peak of her nipple and pressing down.
"Mohit was crazy about these cherries yesterday," Komilla murmured, her voice a low, possessive hum. "He said they tasted like candy. Should we all have a bite?"
The answer was a splash. With a collective shove, they sent Shweta stumbling backward into the pool. The shock of the cold water stole her breath as she went under, a silent scream swallowed by the chlorine-blue water.
She surfaced, gasping and sputtering, her hair plastered to her face. Before she could get her bearings, three big splashes announced the arrival of the men. Mohit, Arjun, and Danny plunged in, their laughter echoing off the tiles.
Arjun was on her in a heartbeat. He was a shark, and she was his prey. He grabbed her arm and spun her, slamming her back against the smooth, wet tiles of the pool edge. The impact knocked the air from her lungs. He pressed his full body against hers, pinning her with his weight. She could feel every muscle, every contour of his chest and stomach. And she could feel his erection, a thick, hard ridge pressing insistently against her thigh through his swim trunks.
"Holi is about getting coloured everywhere, na?" he growled, his voice a low rumble against her ear.
He scooped a handful of bright green *gulal from a floating tray and, instead of throwing it, he smeared it directly onto her bare midriff. His palm was rough, the action possessive. He painted her stomach in broad, aggressive strokes, the colour shocking against her pale skin.
His hand didn't stop. It slid down, his fingers hooking under the delicate waistband of her petticoat, which was now the only thing covering her lower body.
"Let's see how sacred this little gold chain really is," he whispered, his fingers toying with the mangalsutra that rested on her hip.
Shweta bucked, a desperate, panicked movement, trying to dislodge him. But she was trapped. Danny materialized behind her, his arms like steel bands. He seized both her wrists in one of his large hands and yanked them behind her back, arching her body painfully. His breath was a hot, sour cloud in her ear.
"Relax, baby," he slurred, his voice thick with liquor and lust. "Your dear husband is too wasted to give a damn. Look at him."
He forced her head to turn. Through the water and her own tears, she could see Raj. He was slumped in a chair, a fresh glass in his hand, his head lolling to one side. His eyes were open, but they were vacant, staring at nothing.
Mohit swam up in front of her, a look of pure, predatory hunger on his face. He reached out and, with a single, brutal tug, ripped the remaining part of her saree—the pallu—away. It floated for a second before sinking. Her thin, wet blouse was now the only barrier, and it was completely transparent, clinging to her breasts like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination.
"Absolutely fucking beautiful," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine awe.
He reached out and took her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. He didn't just touch them; he rolled them, pinched them, pulling and teasing them until they were hard, aching points. As he did, a shower of bright orange powder rained down from above, coating her face and shoulders in a fine, stinging dust.
Click.
The sharp sound of a phone camera cut through the splashing. Komilla was floating a few feet away, her phone held up, her expression one of cool, detached amusement.
On the pool deck, Rashmi had climbed back onto Raj's lap. She was straddling him, her back to the pool, facing Komilla's phone.
"Look how she's enjoying it, Raj!" Rashmi moaned, her voice loud and theatrical. She began to roll her hips, a slow, exaggerated simulation of sex. "Look at your wife! She's having the time of her life!"
Raj's jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful. But his eyelids were heavy, half-closed. The wine glass dangled from his limp fingers, a tiny amount of red liquid spilling onto the patio stones.
Shweta thrashed in the water, a useless, desperate motion. Her legs, streaked with dissolving colours, clamped together in a final, futile attempt at protection.
"Stop—please—" The words were a choked whisper, torn from her throat.
The plea died as Danny wedged his knee between her thighs from behind. He forced her legs apart with his powerful leg, his knee pressing up hard against her most sensitive place.
"Begging just makes my dick harder," he panted, grinding his knee against her in a lewd, rhythmic motion.
The water around them was no longer blue. It was a murky, swirling mess of red, green, orange, and purple, a disgusting soup of their violation.
Arjun's attention returned to the mangalsutra. He grabbed the thin gold chain, his fingers closing around it. He pulled, hard.
"Gold looks so much better on the floor," he said, his voice cold.
With a final, vicious tug, he snapped the chain. The small black beads and gold pendant broke free and plopped into the cloudy water, disappearing without a trace. It was a sinking sin, a visual end to her vows.
Komilla swam closer, lazily swirling a glass of wine she must have brought to the pool's edge.
"Don't worry about him," she lied, her voice smooth as silk. "Raj won't wake up for hours. He's completely gone."
But Raj wasn't gone. On the chair, as Rashmi arched her back and moaned for the camera, his fingers twitched. It was a small, almost invisible movement, but it was there. Rashmi saw it. She grabbed his limp hand and dragged it up, forcing it inside her own shirt, pressing his palm against her breast.
"She's loving this!" Rashmi cried out, aiming Komilla's phone at Shweta's tear-streaked, terrified face. "Tell them, Shweta! Tell them how much you love it!"
Mohit, tired of waiting, seized a handful of Shweta's hair at the roots. He wrenched her head back, exposing the long, vulnerable line of her throat.
"Open," he ordered.
He picked up a half-full bottle of red wine from the pool edge and tilted it, pouring the dark red liquid directly into her mouth. It gushed in, too much.
Danny's hands were on her waist under the water.
"Still wearing a petticoat?" he laughed. "Such a traditional slut."
His fingers hooked into the string. With a loud riiiip, he tore it. The wet cloth floated away. Her pussy was now naked in the cloudy water.
Arjun whistled. He smeared purple powder on her stomach.
"I wonder if her husband ever made her this wet," he said.
Shweta's knees got weak. She started to sink, but Mohit held her up. His thumb found her clit under the water and rubbed it in slow, hard circles.
A sound came from her throat. A moan. It was a sound of pleasure, and she hated herself for it.
"Shhh," Komilla said softly, swimming closer. "Just enjoy your real wedding night."
Rashmi’s camera phone zoomed in close, right on Shweta's shaking lips.
"Look at her—she's dripping!" Rashmi announced to the phone screen.
She moved Raj's limp hand higher up her own leg, right near her pussy. His nails, not moving, dug into her skin. It was sharp enough to make little red dots of blood.
But Rashmi just moaned louder for the video.
"Raj is so bad at pretending to be drunk," she whispered against his open mouth. His eyelid twitched. Just a little.
In the pool, Shweta's back slammed against the hard tiles. Danny was on her, pinning both her wrists above her head with one hand.
"Time for the real colours," he grunted.
With his other hand, he grabbed the front of her wet blouse and ripped it open. The buttons popped off and sank. The broken chain of her mangalsutra slithered into the water.
Arjun grabbed a pot of thick, oily yellow paste. He poured it right between her boobs. It was slow and thick, like honey. It oozed down her ribs, leaving a hot, sticky trail.
Mohit leaned in and caught a yellow trickle with his tongue. Then he opened his mouth and bit down on her nipple. Hard.
Shweta let out a sharp shriek that bounced off the walls.
Komilla clapped her hands, loud and happy.
"Perfect! You two are in sync! Should we take a vote on who gets to strip her next?"
Rashmi turned the camera, getting a super close-up of Shweta's face. She filmed the smeared red sindur and her long eyelashes that were wet and fluttering.
"Tell me, dear bahu," Rashmi cooed in a sweet, mean voice. "Does your Raj lick you this slow?"
The camera lens got a little foggy from the heat. Mohit's mouth was moving lower, kissing down her stomach. Under the dirty water, his fingers found her pussy and spread her lips open.
Shweta gasped. The sound was loud in the quiet air. Her thighs started to shake.
Komilla swam right up to her, her face close. She was holding a small silver key, letting it dangle from her fingers.
"The farmhouse's basement," she said softly, pressing the cold, wet key into Shweta's hand. "We keep toys down there. For wives who forget their promises."
Shweta's fingers closed around the key, the metal digging into her palm.
But Danny saw it. He snatched it away with a dirty laugh.
"Oh, this is good," he said. "Let's see if she begs prettier when a vibe is buzzing inside her."
Mohit grabbed Shweta by the arm and dragged her out of the pool. She was a mess. Her saree was floating in the water torn in multiple places. Her panty dragged to a corner exposing most of her ass. Her bra strips are broken and the wet bra is just handing on her nipples.
Rashmi followed with the camera. She zoomed in on Shweta's ass, on how the wet silk was stuck to it, showing the shape and even the thin line of her thong.
"Such a modern bride," Arjun taunted, coming up to pinch her side. "I bet your Raj never tore your clothes off like a real man."
While all the chaos was happening to Shweta in the water, Rashmi was busy with Raj.
"You're staring," Rashmi said with a dirty smile.
She climbed right onto Raj's lap. Her hands went to his shorts. She opened the button and pulled his dick out. It was soft in her hand at first. She started to stroke it, slow and easy, her fingers moving up and down the shaft. She was looking right at his face.
"Hey guys!" Rashmi called out to the others in the pool. "He's getting a hard-on! I think he's enjoying the show!" She laughed. "He likes watching his wife get tossed around. Keep going! Don't stop until he cums!"
Her thigh moved against his lap, rubbing up and down. The thought of fighting back just melted away.
"See how wet she is?" Rashmi purred, nodding her head towards Shweta in the pool. Shweta's saree was floating away like trash, and her bra was ripped open, her breasts completely out. "And you're just sitting here, getting hard."
"Don't worry," Rashmi whispered in Raj's ear. She pushed her hips down, grinding on his hard dick in a slow, dirty circle. "I'll make sure you enjoy the show properly."
Behind them, Komilla giggled. She was holding her phone up like a professional, moving the camera back and forth. First, she filmed Shweta being held down in the pool. Then, she filmed Raj sitting with his dick out in Rashmi's hand. She was making a movie of their shame.
Rashmi kept stroking him, her hand moving faster. She was grinding her hips on his lap, matching the rhythm of her hand. Raj's head was leaned back, his mouth open. His eyes were half-closed, but they were still looking at the pool. At his wife.
Finally, his body stiffened. A low groan escaped his lips. He came, his release spurting out and streaking Rashmi's inner thighs. It was warm and wet, and it made the silk of her dress stick to her skin in a very dirty way.
When Rashmi stood up, Shweta was lying sprawled on the tiles by the edge of the pool. Her beautiful saree was in tatters around her. Her chest was moving up and down, she was breathing so hard.
Rashmi walked over to her. She slapped Shweta's bare ass, hard. It made a loud smack sound and left a bright red handprint on her skin.
"We'll buy you new clothes," Rashmi said, stepping right over Shweta's shaking legs. "After all, you earned it."
She gave a little wink. It was like a knife twisting in Raj's gut as he watched her walk away.
"Come join us if you want the real thing, sweetheart," Rashmi called over her shoulder to Shweta. "Or clean up your drunk husband. Your choice."
Shweta's body ached. It was a deep, painful ache she hadn't felt in years. But under the pain, there was a feeling of being so, so tired, and a deep, hot shame that burned her.
She looked over at Raj. He was still slumped in his chair. His pants were still open, his dick hanging out. His face was blank, like he didn't know where he was.
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