23-02-2026, 11:03 PM
(This post was last modified: 23-02-2026, 11:03 PM by heygiwriter. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Chapter 136 – Day 7 Night : Its Vikram's Show Time
Chennai – Vikram’s Beach House – Noon
Vikram didn’t eat lunch. He sat alone at the dining table, plate untouched, staring at the empty chair opposite him. The house was silent — Mirnaa and Bharath had left hours ago for their “date.” He had watched them go: Bharath holding the car door open for her, Mirnaa giving him one last apologetic glance before climbing in.
He wasn’t hungry. He was calculating.
They had taken the bait — both of them. Bharath thought he had won. Mirnaa thought she had fought for something noble. They believed Vikram had surrendered, that he had given up.
But Vikram knew his control.
He looked around the empty hall — at the cracked almirah door, at the faint scent of jasmine still lingering from her morning flowers.
He spoke to the silence, voice low and certain.
“I lost once. I won’t lose again. This time… I will win.”
Hours passed.
Evening – ECR Resort & Return
Somewhere in the late afternoon, Bharath and Mirnaa had gone for water theme games — slides, wave pools, lazy rivers. Bharath played like a kid , splashing her, chasing her through the spray, making her laugh until her sides hurt. He knew exactly how to keep her mood high, engaged, happy — every moment building toward the night.
They had a quiet dinner outside, seaside restaurant, candlelight, her favorite dishes. She ate little, smiled a lot, but her eyes kept drifting, uncertain, guilty.
Around 8:30 PM she pulled out her phone and texted Vikram:
“Should I bring you some food from the hotel? Your favorite mushroom roast?”
Vikram’s reply came almost immediately:
“I cooked for you. I ate it. If you’ve had enough, leave it.”
Mirnaa stared at the message.
Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. She just prayed his normalcy would stay — that he wouldn’t break when she came back.
By 9 PM the Thar pulled into the driveway.
Bharath waved casually as they entered.
Vikram was sitting in the living room — single lamp on, book in hand but unread.
Mirnaa’s face was half-blushed, half-uncertain — the day had been joyful, but the night loomed.
Bharath came back from the guest room.
“Mirnaa, wear the pattu saree. Wear these flowers in your hair. Come like a newly wedded woman.”
Vikram stood from his place. Walked to the bedroom without a word.
Mirnaa followed him quickly.
They didn’t quarrel. Both were numb.
She went near him — close enough to touch.
“Tonight… after he is satisfied… I will be back. Even if it’s midnight.”
Vikram looked at her — calm, unreadable.
“I don’t care.”
Mirnaa shed a tear.
“Please, Vikram… understand.
He loves me a lot. I don’t know how I’ll prove this…
I’m stuck between two people who love me most.”
Vikram laughed — short, bitter.
“He doesn’t love you.”
He caught her face gently between his hands — thumbs brushing her wet cheeks.
“I know you.”
He released her. Sat on the edge of the bed.
Mirnaa sat quietly beside him for a moment — then stood.
She got ready herself: the new sandal-white mixed pattu saree, gold jewelry, fresh flowers pinned in her hair.
She looked like a newly wedded woman — beautiful, traditional, torn.
Bharath had already decorated the entire guest bedroom — rose petals on the bed, fairy lights, brass lamp, glass of milk on the nightstand. He took a photo of the setup. Sent it to Mirnaa.
Vikram glanced at her phone from a distance.
“bastard,” he muttered to himself.
By 11 PM Bharath knocked on their door.
He was in a white shirt and dhoti — simple, traditional, like a groom.
They looked like a pair.
Bharath came near. Didn’t wait for anything.
He lifted Mirnaa in his arms — bridal carry, effortless.
Mirnaa was shocked.
“I will send her back in the morning. Good night, Vikram,” he said.
Mirnaa dropped her head. She bit her lip — let it happen.
He carried her carefully down the steps.
She was skeptical — heart racing — but determined.
She decided to leave her hesitance behind tonight.
To treat Bharath better — to give him the farewell he wanted.
They entered the guest room.
Mirnaa was astonished by the decoration — every detail perfect, romantic, intimate.
“How did you do all this alone?” she whispered.
Bharath smiled.
“Because i love you...This is going to be the biggest memory we both can’t forget.”
Vikram — in the master bedroom — connected his laptop to the CCTV feeds. Started watching.
He typed a message:
“Assembled ready?”
Reply:
“Yes.”
Vikram sat motionless in the dim blue glow of the monitors. The secret room was silent except for the low hum of the cooling fans. His eyes were locked on the feed from the guest room — crystal clear, every angle, every sound captured in perfect detail.
Bharath stood in the middle of the decorated room, looking at Mirnaa like she was the only thing that existed in the world.
“I love you,” he said, voice thick with emotion.
Mirnaa didn’t say it back. She just looked at him — eyes shimmering, lips slightly parted, caught between shame and something warmer she didn’t want to name.
He stepped forward and hugged her hungrily, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her body flush against his.
Their mouths met — not gentle, not tentative. A deep, starving lip-to-lip kiss.
Their tongues danced immediately, sliding, tasting, exploring. Soft wet sounds filled the room as they devoured each other.
Mirnaa’s hands clutched his shirt, then slid up to his neck, pulling him closer even as tears slipped from the corners of her closed eyes.
Bharath broke the kiss, breathing hard, forehead resting against hers.
“We look like newly married,” he whispered, voice husky. “I’m going to undress you — one by one.”
He tugged her saree pallu. The heavy fabric slipped from her shoulder. Half the saree cascaded down, pooling at her waist, revealing the deep neckline of her blouse and the curve of her breasts.
He lifted her in his arms again — bridal carry, effortless. She gasped, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. He threw her gently onto the bed. Her breasts bounced under the tight blouse as she landed among the rose petals.
Bharath climbed over her immediately. He kissed her boobs hungrily over the blouse — mouth open, sucking through the fabric, teeth grazing her nipples. Mirnaa bit her lower lip hard, a soft moan escaping despite herself. Her body was responding — nipples hardening, heat pooling between her legs. She was getting turned on, and she hated how easily it happened.
Bharath lifted his head, smiling down at her.
“We missed something important.”
She asked breathlessly:
“What?”
“You didn’t carry the milk to the room — the ritual.”
She let out a shaky, fake-playful laugh and lightly beat his chest.
He grinned.
“I need to taste your body with honey coated. Let’s go to the kitchen and fetch something.”
She followed — adjusting her slipping saree as best she could.
They walked out of the room together.
In the hallway, Bharath suddenly pulled her saree again — harder this time.
The entire saree slipped off her body and fell in a heap in the living room.
She gasped.
“Why?”
He grinned, eyes dark with lust.
“A small kink. Let me detach your clothes everywhere in the house. Leave a trail of you.”
Mirnaa lightly beat his arm again, cheeks burning.
They entered the kitchen. She took a glass of milk.
He grabbed a small jar of honey.
Back in the room, their lips locked once again — deeper, wetter.
He pushed her onto the bed.
Slowly unbuttoned her blouse. One hook. Two. Three.
The fabric parted, revealing her black lace bra and the soft swell of her breasts.
He asked, voice rough:
“Undress me.”
Mirnaa’s hands trembled as she turned to him.
She unbuttoned his shirt slowly, kissing every exposed inch of skin.
Finally she kissed deep on his chest — open-mouthed, tongue tracing his muscles.
He couldn’t wait. He tore the blouse away — it flew and landed near the door.
“Go easy,” she whispered, voice shaky.
She removed his dhoti. He was left in tight black boxer briefs, the thick outline of his erection clearly visible.
He undressed her petticoat in one tug. It pooled at her feet.
Now she was just in bra and panties.
They smooched again — tongues tangling, saliva mixing.
Her body was fully aroused — nipples stiff against the lace, panties damp between her legs.
Bharath smiled. Turned his back to her.
“Undress me. Kiss your friend.”
Mirnaa pulled his boxer brief down slowly.
His thick, heavy erection sprang free — veined, throbbing, already leaking precum at the tip.
He looked down at her.
“Did you forget?”
Mirnaa gave a small, naughty smile — shy but aroused.
She leaned forward. Let her tongue tease the swollen head.
Licked the precum slowly, tasting him. Bharath groaned deep in his throat.
He couldn’t contain anymore.
He forcefully made her lie on her back. Pulled her bra away in one motion — threw it.
Her full breasts shook free, nipples dark and erect.
He attacked them aggressively — sucking hard, biting the soft flesh, leaving red marks.
Mirnaa moaned, back arching, hands in his hair.
One sharp pull — her panties came off. She was completely naked.
He spread her legs wide. Her shaved pussy was glistening, swollen, ready.
He teased his thick tip against her entrance — rubbing up and down her wet slit, coating himself in her juices.
Precum mixed with her arousal.
Mirnaa was in ecstasy — breathing fast, hips twitching.
Bharath whispered, voice rough:
“Invite me. Call me. Beg me.”
Mirnaa left her last trace of shyness.
“Take me, Bharath. Come inside me. Love me… as you always do.”
He spread her legs wider. Positioned himself. Pushed forward.
His thick penis tip entered her vagina — stretching her slowly.
Vikram — watching the live feed — pulled out his phone. Dialed and said
NOW.
Mirnaa lay on her back in the center of the bed, completely naked, legs spread wide, her body glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, nipples dark and swollen from Bharath’s earlier bites, her shaved pussy slick and open, lips parted and flushed. She was trembling — part anticipation, part lingering shame — eyes half-lidded as she looked up at him.
Bharath hovered above her, knees braced between her thighs, his thick erection heavy and throbbing, the swollen head already slick with her wetness and his own precum. He leaned down, lips brushing her ear, voice low and rough with need.
“After a taste… I’m going to fuck you like mad, Mirnaa.”
He shifted his hips forward. The blunt tip of his cock pressed against her entrance — hot, insistent. He rubbed it slowly up and down her slit once, twice, coating himself in her arousal. Mirnaa’s breath hitched, hips twitching involuntarily toward him.
Then he pushed.
The thick head breached her — stretching her slowly, inch by inch. Mirnaa gasped — sharp, needy — fingers clutching the sheets. Her inner walls fluttered around him, welcoming despite the ache of his size. Half his length slid inside her in one smooth glide, filling her completely, the sensation overwhelming.
She moaned — soft, broken — back arching off the bed.
The phone rang.
The sharp, insistent ringtone cut through the haze — the special one Bharath had set only for Manya.
His entire body locked. Eyes widened in instant panic.
He reached blindly for the nightstand — still buried half inside Mirnaa — and grabbed the phone.
“Manya?” His voice cracked. “Why are you calling me?”
Manya’s voice came through — broken, sobbing, desperate.
“Bharath… I m in Chennai,I lost the way. I’m broken. I just need to hear one word.... Just tell me you love me…”
Bharath’s face drained of color. His hips jerked back instinctively — his thick cock sliding out of Mirnaa with a wet, obscene sound. She gasped — suddenly empty, aching, shocked — her pussy clenching around nothing.
He scrambled off the bed — erection bobbing, still glistening with her arousal — grabbing clothes in a frantic rush.
Mirnaa lay frozen — legs still spread wide, thighs trembling, pussy open and slick, swollen from his brief intrusion.
She stared at him in stunned silence.
“Bharath… we’re in the middle…”
Manya on the other side, voice small and wounded:
“Oh… you married? Got a new wife?”
Bharath panicked, fumbling with his boxer briefs.
“No no! She is not related to me at all!”
He yanked on his pants, shirt half-buttoned, shoes in hand. He didn’t look back.
“I’m coming, Manya. I love you. You’re the only one i love... Where are you?”
He ran out the door — bare feet slapping the floor, leaving Mirnaa alone on the bed. and his voice fades.
She stayed frozen for several long seconds.
The room spun. The rose petals beneath her felt cold now.
The fairy lights mocked her — twinkling like they were laughing.
The man who had just been inside her — who had begged her to beg him — had pulled out and left her naked, dripping, open, for his old flame.
She sounded like a joke to herself.
Tears welled — hot, fast, unstoppable.
Is this worth fighting your husband for?
Her inner voice answered — cruel, clear.
You deserve it, Mirnaa.
She looked around — the beautiful decorations, the scattered clothes, the rose petals crushed beneath her body — all of it mocking her.
The glass of milk still sat untouched on the nightstand.
The honey jar lay on its side.
That's the moment,
Bharath panicked, Mirna cried but one person smiled, he know its his victory..
Chennai – Vikram’s Beach House – Noon
Vikram didn’t eat lunch. He sat alone at the dining table, plate untouched, staring at the empty chair opposite him. The house was silent — Mirnaa and Bharath had left hours ago for their “date.” He had watched them go: Bharath holding the car door open for her, Mirnaa giving him one last apologetic glance before climbing in.
He wasn’t hungry. He was calculating.
They had taken the bait — both of them. Bharath thought he had won. Mirnaa thought she had fought for something noble. They believed Vikram had surrendered, that he had given up.
But Vikram knew his control.
He looked around the empty hall — at the cracked almirah door, at the faint scent of jasmine still lingering from her morning flowers.
He spoke to the silence, voice low and certain.
“I lost once. I won’t lose again. This time… I will win.”
Hours passed.
Evening – ECR Resort & Return
Somewhere in the late afternoon, Bharath and Mirnaa had gone for water theme games — slides, wave pools, lazy rivers. Bharath played like a kid , splashing her, chasing her through the spray, making her laugh until her sides hurt. He knew exactly how to keep her mood high, engaged, happy — every moment building toward the night.
They had a quiet dinner outside, seaside restaurant, candlelight, her favorite dishes. She ate little, smiled a lot, but her eyes kept drifting, uncertain, guilty.
Around 8:30 PM she pulled out her phone and texted Vikram:
“Should I bring you some food from the hotel? Your favorite mushroom roast?”
Vikram’s reply came almost immediately:
“I cooked for you. I ate it. If you’ve had enough, leave it.”
Mirnaa stared at the message.
Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. She just prayed his normalcy would stay — that he wouldn’t break when she came back.
By 9 PM the Thar pulled into the driveway.
Bharath waved casually as they entered.
Vikram was sitting in the living room — single lamp on, book in hand but unread.
Mirnaa’s face was half-blushed, half-uncertain — the day had been joyful, but the night loomed.
Bharath came back from the guest room.
“Mirnaa, wear the pattu saree. Wear these flowers in your hair. Come like a newly wedded woman.”
Vikram stood from his place. Walked to the bedroom without a word.
Mirnaa followed him quickly.
They didn’t quarrel. Both were numb.
She went near him — close enough to touch.
“Tonight… after he is satisfied… I will be back. Even if it’s midnight.”
Vikram looked at her — calm, unreadable.
“I don’t care.”
Mirnaa shed a tear.
“Please, Vikram… understand.
He loves me a lot. I don’t know how I’ll prove this…
I’m stuck between two people who love me most.”
Vikram laughed — short, bitter.
“He doesn’t love you.”
He caught her face gently between his hands — thumbs brushing her wet cheeks.
“I know you.”
He released her. Sat on the edge of the bed.
Mirnaa sat quietly beside him for a moment — then stood.
She got ready herself: the new sandal-white mixed pattu saree, gold jewelry, fresh flowers pinned in her hair.
She looked like a newly wedded woman — beautiful, traditional, torn.
Bharath had already decorated the entire guest bedroom — rose petals on the bed, fairy lights, brass lamp, glass of milk on the nightstand. He took a photo of the setup. Sent it to Mirnaa.
Vikram glanced at her phone from a distance.
“bastard,” he muttered to himself.
By 11 PM Bharath knocked on their door.
He was in a white shirt and dhoti — simple, traditional, like a groom.
They looked like a pair.
Bharath came near. Didn’t wait for anything.
He lifted Mirnaa in his arms — bridal carry, effortless.
Mirnaa was shocked.
“I will send her back in the morning. Good night, Vikram,” he said.
Mirnaa dropped her head. She bit her lip — let it happen.
He carried her carefully down the steps.
She was skeptical — heart racing — but determined.
She decided to leave her hesitance behind tonight.
To treat Bharath better — to give him the farewell he wanted.
They entered the guest room.
Mirnaa was astonished by the decoration — every detail perfect, romantic, intimate.
“How did you do all this alone?” she whispered.
Bharath smiled.
“Because i love you...This is going to be the biggest memory we both can’t forget.”
Vikram — in the master bedroom — connected his laptop to the CCTV feeds. Started watching.
He typed a message:
“Assembled ready?”
Reply:
“Yes.”
Vikram sat motionless in the dim blue glow of the monitors. The secret room was silent except for the low hum of the cooling fans. His eyes were locked on the feed from the guest room — crystal clear, every angle, every sound captured in perfect detail.
Bharath stood in the middle of the decorated room, looking at Mirnaa like she was the only thing that existed in the world.
“I love you,” he said, voice thick with emotion.
Mirnaa didn’t say it back. She just looked at him — eyes shimmering, lips slightly parted, caught between shame and something warmer she didn’t want to name.
He stepped forward and hugged her hungrily, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her body flush against his.
Their mouths met — not gentle, not tentative. A deep, starving lip-to-lip kiss.
Their tongues danced immediately, sliding, tasting, exploring. Soft wet sounds filled the room as they devoured each other.
Mirnaa’s hands clutched his shirt, then slid up to his neck, pulling him closer even as tears slipped from the corners of her closed eyes.
Bharath broke the kiss, breathing hard, forehead resting against hers.
“We look like newly married,” he whispered, voice husky. “I’m going to undress you — one by one.”
He tugged her saree pallu. The heavy fabric slipped from her shoulder. Half the saree cascaded down, pooling at her waist, revealing the deep neckline of her blouse and the curve of her breasts.
He lifted her in his arms again — bridal carry, effortless. She gasped, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. He threw her gently onto the bed. Her breasts bounced under the tight blouse as she landed among the rose petals.
Bharath climbed over her immediately. He kissed her boobs hungrily over the blouse — mouth open, sucking through the fabric, teeth grazing her nipples. Mirnaa bit her lower lip hard, a soft moan escaping despite herself. Her body was responding — nipples hardening, heat pooling between her legs. She was getting turned on, and she hated how easily it happened.
Bharath lifted his head, smiling down at her.
“We missed something important.”
She asked breathlessly:
“What?”
“You didn’t carry the milk to the room — the ritual.”
She let out a shaky, fake-playful laugh and lightly beat his chest.
He grinned.
“I need to taste your body with honey coated. Let’s go to the kitchen and fetch something.”
She followed — adjusting her slipping saree as best she could.
They walked out of the room together.
In the hallway, Bharath suddenly pulled her saree again — harder this time.
The entire saree slipped off her body and fell in a heap in the living room.
She gasped.
“Why?”
He grinned, eyes dark with lust.
“A small kink. Let me detach your clothes everywhere in the house. Leave a trail of you.”
Mirnaa lightly beat his arm again, cheeks burning.
They entered the kitchen. She took a glass of milk.
He grabbed a small jar of honey.
Back in the room, their lips locked once again — deeper, wetter.
He pushed her onto the bed.
Slowly unbuttoned her blouse. One hook. Two. Three.
The fabric parted, revealing her black lace bra and the soft swell of her breasts.
He asked, voice rough:
“Undress me.”
Mirnaa’s hands trembled as she turned to him.
She unbuttoned his shirt slowly, kissing every exposed inch of skin.
Finally she kissed deep on his chest — open-mouthed, tongue tracing his muscles.
He couldn’t wait. He tore the blouse away — it flew and landed near the door.
“Go easy,” she whispered, voice shaky.
She removed his dhoti. He was left in tight black boxer briefs, the thick outline of his erection clearly visible.
He undressed her petticoat in one tug. It pooled at her feet.
Now she was just in bra and panties.
They smooched again — tongues tangling, saliva mixing.
Her body was fully aroused — nipples stiff against the lace, panties damp between her legs.
Bharath smiled. Turned his back to her.
“Undress me. Kiss your friend.”
Mirnaa pulled his boxer brief down slowly.
His thick, heavy erection sprang free — veined, throbbing, already leaking precum at the tip.
He looked down at her.
“Did you forget?”
Mirnaa gave a small, naughty smile — shy but aroused.
She leaned forward. Let her tongue tease the swollen head.
Licked the precum slowly, tasting him. Bharath groaned deep in his throat.
He couldn’t contain anymore.
He forcefully made her lie on her back. Pulled her bra away in one motion — threw it.
Her full breasts shook free, nipples dark and erect.
He attacked them aggressively — sucking hard, biting the soft flesh, leaving red marks.
Mirnaa moaned, back arching, hands in his hair.
One sharp pull — her panties came off. She was completely naked.
He spread her legs wide. Her shaved pussy was glistening, swollen, ready.
He teased his thick tip against her entrance — rubbing up and down her wet slit, coating himself in her juices.
Precum mixed with her arousal.
Mirnaa was in ecstasy — breathing fast, hips twitching.
Bharath whispered, voice rough:
“Invite me. Call me. Beg me.”
Mirnaa left her last trace of shyness.
“Take me, Bharath. Come inside me. Love me… as you always do.”
He spread her legs wider. Positioned himself. Pushed forward.
His thick penis tip entered her vagina — stretching her slowly.
Vikram — watching the live feed — pulled out his phone. Dialed and said
NOW.
Mirnaa lay on her back in the center of the bed, completely naked, legs spread wide, her body glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, nipples dark and swollen from Bharath’s earlier bites, her shaved pussy slick and open, lips parted and flushed. She was trembling — part anticipation, part lingering shame — eyes half-lidded as she looked up at him.
Bharath hovered above her, knees braced between her thighs, his thick erection heavy and throbbing, the swollen head already slick with her wetness and his own precum. He leaned down, lips brushing her ear, voice low and rough with need.
“After a taste… I’m going to fuck you like mad, Mirnaa.”
He shifted his hips forward. The blunt tip of his cock pressed against her entrance — hot, insistent. He rubbed it slowly up and down her slit once, twice, coating himself in her arousal. Mirnaa’s breath hitched, hips twitching involuntarily toward him.
Then he pushed.
The thick head breached her — stretching her slowly, inch by inch. Mirnaa gasped — sharp, needy — fingers clutching the sheets. Her inner walls fluttered around him, welcoming despite the ache of his size. Half his length slid inside her in one smooth glide, filling her completely, the sensation overwhelming.
She moaned — soft, broken — back arching off the bed.
The phone rang.
The sharp, insistent ringtone cut through the haze — the special one Bharath had set only for Manya.
His entire body locked. Eyes widened in instant panic.
He reached blindly for the nightstand — still buried half inside Mirnaa — and grabbed the phone.
“Manya?” His voice cracked. “Why are you calling me?”
Manya’s voice came through — broken, sobbing, desperate.
“Bharath… I m in Chennai,I lost the way. I’m broken. I just need to hear one word.... Just tell me you love me…”
Bharath’s face drained of color. His hips jerked back instinctively — his thick cock sliding out of Mirnaa with a wet, obscene sound. She gasped — suddenly empty, aching, shocked — her pussy clenching around nothing.
He scrambled off the bed — erection bobbing, still glistening with her arousal — grabbing clothes in a frantic rush.
Mirnaa lay frozen — legs still spread wide, thighs trembling, pussy open and slick, swollen from his brief intrusion.
She stared at him in stunned silence.
“Bharath… we’re in the middle…”
Manya on the other side, voice small and wounded:
“Oh… you married? Got a new wife?”
Bharath panicked, fumbling with his boxer briefs.
“No no! She is not related to me at all!”
He yanked on his pants, shirt half-buttoned, shoes in hand. He didn’t look back.
“I’m coming, Manya. I love you. You’re the only one i love... Where are you?”
He ran out the door — bare feet slapping the floor, leaving Mirnaa alone on the bed. and his voice fades.
She stayed frozen for several long seconds.
The room spun. The rose petals beneath her felt cold now.
The fairy lights mocked her — twinkling like they were laughing.
The man who had just been inside her — who had begged her to beg him — had pulled out and left her naked, dripping, open, for his old flame.
She sounded like a joke to herself.
Tears welled — hot, fast, unstoppable.
Is this worth fighting your husband for?
Her inner voice answered — cruel, clear.
You deserve it, Mirnaa.
She looked around — the beautiful decorations, the scattered clothes, the rose petals crushed beneath her body — all of it mocking her.
The glass of milk still sat untouched on the nightstand.
The honey jar lay on its side.
That's the moment,
Bharath panicked, Mirna cried but one person smiled, he know its his victory..
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)