Adultery Mirna – Vikram's Innocent Hotwife [COMPLETED]

[heygiwriter]

Chapter 100 - Mirna and bharath goes deeper while swathi and vikram starts


Bharath’s eyes cracked open dark, sated and he tightened his hold.
“Morning… or afternoon,” he murmured  voice gravel-rough from sleep.
She smiled — tired, shy  pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

“We should shower…”

He rolled them both — still joined — and carried her to the bathroom without pulling out. She laughed — weak, breathless — arms looping around his neck as he walked.




Sex - in the Shower

The shower enveloped them in a thick, swirling haze of steam and heat — water pounding down in relentless, heavy sheets that turned the glass walls misty and opaque, blurring the world outside into soft gray shapes. Bharath set Mirnaa on her feet beneath the spray, but he never let her go. His strong hands slid beneath her thighs with possessive certainty, fingers digging into the soft flesh just enough to leave faint red imprints. In one smooth motion he lifted her again, pinning her back against the cool, slick tiles with his body. 


The sharp contrast between the scalding water cascading over her skin and the cold ceramic pressing into her spine made her gasp — nipples tightening instantly into hard, aching peaks.



He thrust up into her without preamble — slow at first — letting her feel every thick, veined inch as he stretched her tender, still-sensitive walls once more. She clung to his broad shoulders — legs wrapping tight around his waist — ankles locking at the small of his back, heels pressing into his muscles as if anchoring herself against the storm he was unleashing. Water sluiced down their bodies in warm, glistening rivulets — streaming over her breasts, down her stomach, mixing with the fresh arousal leaking from her core, running in silky trails along her inner thighs to swirl around their joined bodies and disappear down the drain.

He started gentle — rolling his hips in deep, languid circles — grinding so deep the head of his cock pressed insistently against her cervix with every slow withdrawal and re-entry. Then harder — faster — hips snapping upward with controlled violence — slamming into her with wet, echoing slaps that mingled with the shower’s roar and her rising moans. Her back arched off the tiles — breasts crushed flush against the hard planes of his chest — stiff nipples scbanging roughly against his skin with every thrust, sending sharp, electric sparks racing straight to her already overloaded core.

She moaned into his mouth — lips parted wide — tongues tangling messily as water poured over their faces, dripping from lashes, running into open mouths. The standing position let him grind the base of his cock against her swollen clit on every powerful upstroke — relentless, unyielding pressure that had her trembling within minutes. Her nails dug into his shoulders — leaving angry red crescents — thighs quivering uncontrollably around him as the coil inside her tightened unbearably.

“Bharath… I can’t… too soon…” Her voice cracked — desperate — pleading.

“Come for me,” he growled against her lips — voice rough with raw need. “Let me feel you shatter.”

She did — violently — walls pulsing and clamping down around him in rhythmic spasms — crying his name in broken, high-pitched sobs as her orgasm ripped through her. Her body shook uncontrollably — legs tightening like a vise — heels digging harder into his back — gushing hot and slick around his cock in pulsing waves. He followed seconds later — a low, guttural groan rumbling from his chest — hips jerking erratically as he spilled deep inside her again, thick ropes of cum flooding her already overflowing core, mixing with the water streaming endlessly over them.
They stayed locked together — joined, panting — foreheads pressed — chests heaving in sync. Water continued to rain down — cooling now — until the spray turned tepid. Only then did he ease out — slow and deliberate — letting her feel the long, dragging pull of every inch. A small gush of their combined release followed — warm and thick — trickling down her inner thighs to swirl away with the water.

Tub – One Hour

Bharath turned off the shower with a quiet twist of the knob. He filled the deep, freestanding tub with steaming water — added a generous handful of fragrant bubbles that foamed up thick and white, filling the air with the soft scent of jasmine and vanilla. He eased her down first — settling her carefully between his legs — her back resting against his chest — head pillowed on his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her from behind — hands moving lazily, soothingly — stroking the soft curves of her breasts, tracing slow circles over her stomach, gliding along the tops of her thighs — gentle now, reverent, easing the deep ache he’d created. He kept fondling her breast and teaser her vagina..

They soaked for a full hour — quiet at first — just breathing together — the water lapping softly against the porcelain, bubbles popping lazily around them. Then talking — soft, murmured words — voices low and intimate in the steam-filled room.


Mirnaa shifted slightly — wincing as the warm water kissed her tender, swollen core — a small hiss escaping her lips.


“Bharath…” she whispered — voice small, tired, almost fragile. “Can we do something else today? Other than sex? I’m… really tired. Atleast until night”

He kissed her temple — slow, lingering — lips brushing damp skin, tasting the clean salt of the shower.

“If you say it that way…” His hand drifted lower — cupping her gently between her legs — not teasing, not demanding — just holding — warm palm soothing the puffy, sensitive folds. “Then Goa may not be enough.”

He nuzzled her neck — voice dropping to a husky murmur:
“I need you trained at your house even. How is it for you?”

Mirnaa winced again — shifting carefully — feeling the deep, throbbing ache flare inside her with the movement.

“I’m really tired…” Hervoice cracked slightly — half laugh, half exhaustion.
 “I couldn’t even stand with you inside me in the shower. You saw me slip, right?”

He chuckled — soft, warm — the sound vibrating through her back where she leaned against him. He kissed her shoulder — lips brushing the faint red mark his teeth had left earlier.

“Okay. No more today. We’ll rest… play in the night.”

His arms tightened around her — protective now — letting her relax fully against him. The water lapped gently — bubbles popping — steam rising in lazy curls — wrapping them in a cocoon of quiet intimacy as the afternoon light slowly shifted across the bathroom floor.



Lunch & Beach Wander – Afternoon

They dressed lightly — she in a soft cotton sundress that clung slightly to her damp skin, he in loose linen shirt and shorts — and walked hand-in-hand to a quiet beachside café for late lunch. Fresh grilled fish, chilled coconut water, mango slices — simple, restorative. She leaned against his shoulder while they ate — stealing small kisses — but when his hand drifted too low on her thigh, she gently pushed it away with a tired smile.
“Later…”

He respected it — thumb stroking her wrist instead.

After lunch — they wandered the private stretch of sand — barefoot — waves lapping at their ankles. He stole kisses — soft, lingering — backing her against a palm tree, hands on her waist, her hips. She allowed it — smiling into his mouth — but pulled back when his fingers started to wander under her dress.

“Not here…” she whispered — cheeks pink — voice shaky. “It’ll turn into more…”

He laughed — low — and kissed her forehead.
“Later.”


Evening – Cultural Show & Movie

They drove into town for a local cultural performance — traditional Goan folk dance, fire jugglers, live music under string lights. Mirnaa leaned against his shoulder — mesmerized — his arm around her waist the entire time — thumb tracing lazy circles on her hip.
After — a late movie in a small, nearly empty theater — dark, quiet. His hand rested high on her thigh — stroking idly — but he didn’t push further. She relaxed — head on his shoulder — feeling strangely safe, strangely… loved.





Dinner & Return – Night

The seaside restaurant glowed softly under strings of warm fairy lights, candles flickering on every table, casting golden pools across white tablecloths. The ocean rolled in the background steady, low thunder  while the scent of grilled crab curry and fresh coriander drifted on the breeze. Bharath and Mirnaa sat close knees brushing under the table   sharing a bottle of chilled white wine that tasted of citrus and salt air. She wore a simple off-shoulder sundress the thin cotton still carrying the faint warmth of the day’s sun while he sat in an open linen shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms corded and tanned.

They ate slowly savoring each bite her laughter soft and tired when he fed her a spoonful of curry from his fork. She looked at him across the small table eyes soft, unguarded  candlelight dancing in her pupils.

“Thank you… for today,” 
she whispered  voice barely carrying over the waves.

Her fingers brushed his on the tablecloth  tentative, grateful.
“For letting me rest. For… being gentle when I needed it.”

Bharath’s smile was slow  dark promise flickering behind the warmth in his gaze.
“The night’s not over,” he murmured thumb stroking the inside of her wrist once slow deliberate.

She flushed a small, knowing shiver running through her — but didn’t pull away.

They finished dinner in quiet intimacy her hand resting in his as they walked back along the moonlit path to the villa. The night air was cool against her bare shoulders — carrying the faint salt tang of the sea  but inside her body still hummed  tender, aching, alive with the memory of every touch from the night before.

Back at the villa — lights dimmed to a soft amber glow
Bharath locked the door behind them. 

The room felt smaller , more intimate shadows pooling in the corners, the sound of waves filtering through the open balcony doors like a distant heartbeat.

He turned to her — eyes dark, intent — and reminded her quietly:

“What you should do at night.”
Mirnaa’s breath caught 
a small, shy smile curving her lips. 

She stepped close — close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body 
and lifted her hands to the buttons of his shirt. 

Her fingers trembled slightly not from fear, but from the quiet thrill of ritual 

 as she worked each button free, slow and deliberate. 

With every inch of skin revealed toned chest, the faint trail of dark hair leading downward she leaned in and pressed her lips to the newly exposed flesh. Soft kisses reverent tasting salt and warmth and him.


When the last button gave way  she pushed the shirt off his broad shoulders  fabric whispering to the floor and kissed the center of his chest right over his heart  lingering there as if sealing a vow.

Bharath’s hand slid into her hair  gentle at first  then fisted lightly  tilting her face up so he could see her eyes.
“Good girl.”

He stepped back eyes raking over her then reached for the thin straps of her slip. In one sharp, practiced motion fabric tore a quick rip that left her standing naked before him  dress pooling around her ankles like spilled moonlight.

“Tonight,” he said voice thick with hunger “anal. That’s the lesson for you.”

Mirnaa froze eyes widening  shock flickering across her face like lightning. Her breath stuttered  hands instinctively moving to cover herself  though she’d been bare to him for days.

He stepped closer  cupped her face in both hands  thumbs brushing her cheekbones  forcing her to meet his gaze.
“I’ll take it slow,” he promised — voice low, steady. “I promise. You trust me?”

She swallowed hard — throat working — searched his eyes for any lie. 
Found only hunger… and patience.
She nodded slowly — small, trembling.
“Yes… my love.”

Bharath exhaled — a low sound of satisfaction  and led her to the bed. He arranged pillows under her hips  lifting her ass slightly positioning her on her stomach - vulnerable, open. She buried her face in the pillow breathing fast body tense with anticipation and fear.
He fetched the lubricant from the drawer — squeezed a generous amount into his palm warmed it between his fingers until it glistened. He knelt behind her  one hand stroking down her spine in long, soothing strokes — calming her  while the other circled her tight entrance with slick, gentle pressure.

“It’s called speed bump style,” he explained softly — voice soothing, almost instructional. “Slow circles at first… relax for me, baby. Breathe.”


The initial touch made her tense — a sharp inhale  muscles clenching instinctively against the unfamiliar intrusion. 

The ache was immediate — tight, burning — but he didn’t push.
 He circled , patient  letting the lube do its work whispering praise the whole time.

“You’re doing so well… just breathe… let me in.”

One finger — slow — careful — breached her. She whimpered — hands fisting the sheets — but the lube eased the way — the sting fading into strange, full pressure as he worked deeper. A second finger followed — stretching her wider — scissoring gently — preparing her. Her breathing turned ragged — pain and curiosity warring inside her — hips twitching despite herself.

When he finally pressed the head of his cock against her  slick with more lube — she tensed again — breath hitching.


“Relax,” he murmured  hand stroking her lower back. “Push back against me… just a little.”

She did — tentative and he slid in ,slow,  inch by careful inch. The stretch was intense, burning bright at first — making her gasp into the pillow — tears pricking her eyes. But he paused — letting her adjust — whispering:


“Breathe… you’re taking me so beautifully… feel how full you are?”

The pain lingered — sharp, almost too much  but the lube and his patience softened it , turned it strange, full  strangely pleasurable as her body opened around him. When he seated himself completely, hips flush to her ass 

she moaned low — long — hips rocking back instinctively.

He moved carefully 
shallow thrusts 
letting her feel every inch sliding in and out 
hand stroking her back, her hair
whispering constant praise:

“So good… so tight… you’re perfect… feel how good it is now?”

The ache eased — melted — bloomed into heat  pleasure curling low in her belly. 
Her moans turned needy 
hips pushing back to meet him 
body learning the rhythm. He fucked her steadily 
deeper — building speed — until the pleasure overtook the last threads of pain.

she came — quiet, shuddering — walls pulsing around him — crying his name into the pillow.


He followed  groaning deep  spilling inside her ass — hot pulses that made her tremble through the aftershocks.

Afterward 
he pulled her close 
rolled them onto their sides — still joined 
kissed her deeply — slow — tasting her surrender.

“That’s it,” he murmured against her lips. “Is that what you feared and avoided with Vikram?”

She looked into his eyes 
dazed, flushed — and kissed him voluntarily — soft, needy — tongue stroking his — answering without words.

Bharath groaned — low 
rolled her onto her side again 
entered her pussy this time 

slow, sideways — deep, 
intimate strokes that built gently until they both came once more 
quiet, shuddering 

bodies locked together.
They hugged — still joined — and drifted into sleep.

He whispered against her hair:
“Oral lesson is pending.”

She smiled sleepily — voice soft:
“Tomorrow, my love…”
The night passed early — nude, horny, yet Mirnaa felt strangely… lovely.




Same day in abroad - Early Morning

The flight from Delhi had been a restless red-eye  cabin lights dim, engines a constant low drone. Vikram stepped off at 5:03 AM  shoulders knotted, eyes gritty, the unanswered silence from Mirnaa’s phone gnawing at him like a fresh wound. Krish walked beside him 
calm on the surface  but Vikram noticed the way his friend’s thumb kept rubbing the wedding band on his left hand, small circles of anxiety.


A black SUV waited outside arrivals  keys handed over by a silent attendant. The drive to Swathi’s flat took twenty minutes through pre-dawn streets cool air, empty roads, glass towers reflecting the first pale streaks of sunrise. Vikram stared out the window at the passing skyline — Burj Khalifa a distant silver needle trying not to check his phone again.


They parked in the underground garage of a sleek high-rise. The elevator ride was quiet  mirrored walls throwing back their tired reflections. Krish’s thumb never stopped moving.

The doorbell chimed once  soft, melodic.
The door opened.

Swathi stood there  already dressed for the day in a simple yet elegant cream kurta and palazzo pants, hair neatly braided, light gold earrings catching the hallway light. She had clearly been expecting them makeup subtle, eyes bright despite the early hour. Her smile was warm  genuine but carried that familiar edge of knowing confidence.

She stepped forward and threw her arms around Krish first  pulling him into a tight, fierce hug.

“I missed you,” Krish murmured — voice low and rough — burying his face in her hair for a long second.

“Me too,” she whispered — fingers threading through the back of his shirt — then she pulled back and turned to Vikram.
“Welcome, Vikram… finally to my house.”

She stepped close and hugged him arms around his shoulders  body pressing lightly against his for a brief, warm moment. Then  without hesitation  she leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek. The touch of her lips was gentle but deliberate warm, slightly moist  leaving a faint trace of her rose-tinted lip balm on his skin.

Vikram stiffened  stunned  the unexpected intimacy sending a jolt through him.

She kissed me… right in front of him?

Memories flashed  years ago  stumbling into a room and finding them both nude, laughing, unashamed. 

Stop it Swathi don't scare him... he might feel offended, 
Kris said its her way of thanking.. please don't feel irritated by her. 
You saved me now right she is giving a kiss on cheek for it.

Vikram saw them playfull.

“You deserve it,” she said softly — almost tenderly. “Come in.”

The flat was modern open plan  city lights glittering through floor-to-ceiling windows. Marble floors cool underfoot.
A baby’s soft cry echoed from deeper inside.

Vikram cleared his throat — voice unsteady.
“Sorry… I didn’t get any gifts for the baby.”

Swathi laughed — light, musical.
“You coming here is itself a big gift.”

She glanced at him.
“Come — I’ll show you the baby.”

Krish then turned to Vikram.
“First  drop your bag. Third room is yours. Same as the master bedroom city view. Go freshen up. I’ll take care of the bags.”

Vikram not sure whose order he should follow, but he took krishs lead, he  followed the hallway to the guest room. It was spacious  king bed, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the waking city, en-suite bathroom gleaming. He set his duffel on the luggage rack unzipped it to pull out a fresh shirt  then paused. The quiet of the flat felt too loud. He heard Swathi’s voice  soft cooing to the baby  and Krish’s low reply.

Krish tied a tower and went into shower.

Curiosity or something darker  tugged at him.
He stepped back into the hallway  followed the sound.

The bedroom door was ajar. Pale blue walls  crib under a window with a view of the  building tower glowing in the distance. Swathi sat in the bed .. blouse unbuttoned, her two big breast are out hanging...baby latched on, feeding quietly. The soft sounds of suckling and her gentle humming filled the room.

Vikram froze in the doorway.

Swathi looked up  no embarrassment  no move to cover or adjust.
What Vikram you came to see baby, I'm feeding, i will come with aby in few minutes wait in hall.

Vikram said sorry , i should have knocked the door .



“You’ve not seen me already?” she said  voice gentle, teasing. 
“You saw me nude long back — what’s the big deal?”


Sat awkwardly on the cushioned chair opposite to her room in hall. 
eyes averted  then drawn back despite himself.

Swathi finished feeding  burped the baby  then rose  blouse still neatly in place, dupatta adjusted. 
She walked to Vikram  baby cradled against her chest  and handed the little one over.

As she transferred the child his hand brushed her breast— soft, warm — deliberate.
Their eyes met — held.

Something electric passed between them — unspoken — dangerous — familiar.
Vikram swallowed hard  throat dry.

Swathi smiled — slow, inviting — voice barely above a whisper.
“Welcome home, Vikram.”