Adultery Wife's Submission to husband's Enemy

[girrich9486]

The night refused to end.

Vikram didn’t rush. That was the cruelest part. He let silence settle after the fourth round — only the soft drip

of the last melting ice cube in the crystal bowl and Shailaja’s uneven, hiccuping breaths filled the penthouse.

On the monitor, Karthik remained exactly where he’d been ordered: naked, kneeling, semen drying in sticky

streaks on his thighs and the carpet, shoulders trembling with aftershocks of shame. His cock hung soft and

spent between his legs, yet it twitched faintly every time Shailaja whimpered.

Vikram crouched beside the bed. Traced one fingertip through the obscene mess leaking from between her

thighs — the pale swirl of his cum mixed with crystalline meltwater — then brought that glistening finger to

her lips.


“Clean it,” he said quietly.


Shailaja’s tongue darted out instantly. She sucked the finger deep, eyes fluttering closed, tasting salt and

frost and her own ruined arousal. A tiny, broken moan vibrated around his knuckle.


“Good girl,” he murmured. “Your husband is watching you lick another man’s cum off my finger while wearing

the mangalsutra he tied around your neck.”


Karthik made a small, wounded sound — half sob, half plea.






Vikram stood. Walked to the bedside table. This time he didn’t reach for ice.

He lifted a slim black velvet pouch.

Inside: three smooth, heavy glass plugs graduated in size, each one chilled to near-freezing in the bowl

earlier. The largest was unmistakably thick — almost obscene for anal use without long, patient preparation.

Shailaja’s eyes widened when she saw it.

“No…” The word slipped out involuntarily — soft, frightened, aroused.

Vikram smiled. “Yes.”






He returned to the bed. Flipped her gently but firmly onto her stomach. Pulled two thick pillows under her

hips so her ass lifted high, presented. The camera tripod had the perfect angle: her face turned sideways

toward the lens, mangalsutra dangling, heavy breasts squashed against charcoal sheets, thighs spread, pussy

still gaping and leaking.

He poured a thin stream of chilled lube directly onto her untouched rear hole. She flinched at the cold.

“Relax,” he told her — almost kindly. “Or it will hurt more.”


First came the smallest plug.

He pressed the rounded, icy tip against her resistance. Circled. Pushed.

Shailaja hissed through clenched teeth. Her fingers clawed silk sheets.

“Tell your husband how it feels,” Vikram ordered.

“C-cold…” she gasped. “Stretching… so full already… and it’s only the small one…”

He twisted it in slowly — millimeter by millimeter — until the flared base kissed her rim.



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She shuddered violently. A long, quivering moan poured out.

Karthik’s breathing hitched audibly over the speakers.

Vikram left the small plug seated. Reached for the medium one — noticeably thicker.

He removed the first with a wet pop. Shailaja yelped at the sudden emptiness.

Before she could recover he pressed the second against her — colder, wider.

This time she screamed outright when the widest part breached her — sharp, startled, rising into a long wail:

“TOO THICK… AHHH… IT BURNS… COLD… AHHHHHH!”

He didn’t pause. Kept steady pressure until it sank home. Her back arched like a bow. Thighs shook. Fresh

tears tracked down her cheeks.

“Look at the camera,” Vikram said. “Let him see your face while another man trains your ass.”

Shailaja turned her head. Eyes glassy, mascara streaked, lips swollen and parted. She stared straight into the

lens — straight at Karthik — while her body trembled around the frozen intrusion.

Vikram tapped his phone.

The monitor split-screened: one half showed Shailaja’s wrecked expression and raised ass; the other showed

Karthik’s face — mouth open in silent horror, fresh tears spilling, cock stirring traitorously back to half-

hardness despite having come minutes earlier.

“Touch yourself,” Vikram told him. “Slow strokes. No coming. Just edge while I open your wife’s virgin ass for

my cock.”

Karthik obeyed instantly. Hand wrapping his reviving shaft. Slow, tortured pulls. Whimpers leaking from his

throat.

Vikram gripped the base of the medium plug. Began to fuck her with it — shallow thrusts at first, then deeper,

twisting on every withdrawal so the cold glass dragged against sensitive inner walls.

Shailaja’s screams turned rhythmic — punched out of her with each thrust:


“Ah! … Ahh! … AHHH! … PLEASE… TOO DEEP… TOO COLD… DON’T STOP… AHHHH!”







She came without warning — ass clenching brutally around the plug, pussy gushing fresh slick onto the

sheets, a high, shattered keen ripping from her throat.

Vikram pulled the plug free. Her hole gaped for a moment — pink, glistening, twitching — before slowly trying

to close.

He didn’t give it time.

The largest plug — brutally thick, heavily flared, still icy — was already in his hand.

Shailaja began shaking her head frantically. “No… no no no… it won’t fit… please…”

“It will,” Vikram said simply.

He pressed.

She screamed — long, animal, throat-scbanging — as the widest part forced her open. Her entire body locked.

Toes curled. Fingers tore at sheets.

“BREATHE,” he commanded.

She tried. Failed. Another piercing wail.

Inch by frozen inch he sank it inside until only the wide base remained visible, stretching her rim to its limit.





Shailaja sobbed openly now — great, heaving cries mixed with helpless moans.

Vikram leaned over her. Kissed the nape of her neck almost tenderly.

“You took it all,” he whispered. “Such a good slut for me.”

He left it seated. Climbed behind her. Aligned his cock with her dripping pussy.

And thrust in — one long, merciless slide.

The double fullness — thick cock stretching her cunt, massive chilled plug filling her ass — destroyed her.

Her scream cracked the air — raw, endless: “FULL… SO FULL… I CAN FEEL BOTH… AHHHHHH… RIPPING ME

APART… VIKRAM… FUCK… AAAAAAHHHHHH!”

He fucked her like that — hard, possessive strokes — the plug shifting with every thrust, pressing against the

thin wall that separated cock from glass. Each movement sent icy shocks radiating through her core.

She came again almost immediately — violently — pussy spasming, ass clenching so hard around the plug

that Vikram groaned.

He didn’t stop.







Flipped her onto her back. Legs pushed back until her knees framed her face — obscene, exposed angle. The

plug’s base now clearly visible between her cheeks.

He re-entered her cunt in this position — deeper, more punishing.

Every downward stroke drove the plug even harder against her front wall.

She couldn’t form words anymore — only continuous, hoarse screams and broken sobs.

Karthik was openly weeping on the monitor — stroking frantically, hips jerking, begging: “Please… let me

come again… I can’t… I need… please…”

Vikram looked straight into the camera while pounding Shailaja.

“Come,” he ordered. “But this time say it clearly: ‘Thank you, Vikram, for fucking my wife better than I ever

could.’”

Karthik broke instantly.

“Thank you… Vikram… for fucking my wife… better than I ever could…” Voice splintered. “Please… keep fucking

her… ruin her… she’s yours…”

He erupted — weaker spurts this time, body shaking, face a mask of utter degradation.

Vikram smiled.

Pulled out of Shailaja’s cunt. Gripped the base of the massive plug.

And began to fuck her ass with it — fast, brutal — while his other hand rubbed vicious circles over her swollen

clit.

She detonated — longest, loudest scream of the entire night — body seizing, squirting hard across his wrist

and the sheets, ass pulsing around glass, pussy empty and clenching on nothing.






Only then did he remove the plug — slow, deliberate — letting her feel every ridge as it left her gaping.

He slid back into her pussy for a final time.

Fucked her through the aftershocks — slow now, deep, grinding.

When he came it was with a low, possessive growl — flooding her again while she whimpered his name like a

prayer.

Afterward he didn’t pull out immediately.

He stayed buried inside her. Reached for the last large ice cube remaining in the bowl.

Pressed it flat against her overstimulated clit.

She jerked, gave one last shattered scream — weak, exhausted, euphoric.

Then silence.

Only panting.

Vikram finally eased out. A thick river followed — cum, meltwater, her own release.

He gathered her against his chest — bridal carry — and turned so they both faced the camera.

“Look at your wife, Karthik,” he said softly. “Completely mine tonight. Marked inside and out. Still shivering

from ice and cock.”

Shailaja’s eyes fluttered open. Met her husband’s on the screen.

She didn’t speak.

She only looks — small, wrecked, radiant — and whispered two words:

“I am sorry karthik?”

Karthik’s sob was answer enough.

Outside, the Gurgaon skyline glittered on — indifferent.

Inside the penthouse the night finally, reluctantly, began to fade.

But the hunger — theirs, all three of them — only grew sharper.





And Vikram order to Karthik your wife will be there by 1 hour. By that one hour you have to stay nude... Once she come lick my cum drenching


from your wife's pussy......karthik replied yes sir....




To be continued...