01-03-2026, 11:07 PM
The days after that fateful Wednesday blurred into a haze of dread and reluctant acceptance for Athidhi and
Kamal. The suburban flat, once a fragile sanctuary of their broken marriage, now felt like a prison of
memories. Every creak of the bedframe, every faint jingle of the hip chain she hadn’t dared remove, echoed
Gupta’s promise of permanence. But the tycoon was not a man who left loose ends dangling.
Two days later, at precisely 7:00 a.m., Athidhi’s phone vibrated on the nightstand. She was still curled against
Kamal’s chest, both of them awake but silent, when the screen lit up with Gupta’s name. She answered with
trembling fingers.
“Listen carefully, my beautiful puppet,” Gupta’s voice purred through the speaker, smooth as aged whiskey
and twice as intoxicating. “Your little suburban charade ends today. Pack everything you own—clothes,
documents, that pathetic mangalsutra you still cling to like a shield. Both of you. Wednesday morning, 10:00
a.m. sharp, my driver will collect you and your luggage. You are moving into my residence permanently. No
more hiding behind cheap curry smells and threadbare sofas. You will live as my personal puppets—available,
obedient, displayed whenever I desire. Refuse, and the murder files land on the commissioner’s desk by
noon. Kamal rots. You visit in a widow’s white saree. Understood?”
Athidhi’s breath caught. She glanced at Kamal, whose eyes had gone dead again. “Yes… sir,” she whispered.
“Good girl. Oh, and one more thing—bring the hip chain. I want it on you the moment you cross my threshold.
Rahul has been… impatient.”
The line went dead.
The next forty-eight hours were mechanical hell. They packed in silence: two battered suitcases for Kamal’s
faded lungis and vests, three for Athidhi’s sarees, salwar suits, and the few pieces of jewelry that still carried
the ghost of their old life. She folded the deep maroon chiffon from that night with shaking hands, the fabric
still carrying the faint scent of sweat, cum, and expensive cologne. Kamal said nothing. He simply stared at
the suitcase as if it were a coffin.
Wednesday dawned humid and merciless. At 9:45 a.m., a sleek black Mercedes glided up to their crumbling
building. The driver—silent, uniformed, eyes averted—loaded their luggage without a word. Athidhi wore a
simple cream salwar suit, hair tied in a loose braid, mangalsutra hidden beneath the dupatta like a guilty
secret. Kamal sat beside her in the back seat, staring out the window at the Mumbai traffic that had once felt
like freedom.
The drive to Gupta’s residence took them from the suburbs into the glittering heart of South Mumbai.
Towering glass spires gave way to a private gated estate overlooking the Arabian Sea. The mansion was a
modernist palace: white marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, a private infinity pool shimmering under the
morning sun, and an underground garage that could swallow twenty cars. As they stepped out, the salty sea
breeze mixed with the scent of gardenias from the manicured lawns.
Gupta waited on the grand steps, dressed in a casual white linen kurta and trousers, looking every inch the
king in his domain. Rahul stood two steps behind him—six-foot-two of sculpted menace in a black tank top
and joggers, arms crossed over his massive chest, that familiar hungry smirk playing on his lips.
“Welcome home, puppets,” Gupta said, voice velvet and steel. He didn’t wait for greetings. He snapped his
fingers at the staff—two silent maids in crisp uniforms appeared instantly. “Take their luggage to the east
wing servants’ quarters. Kamal will sleep there when I allow it. Athidhi… you belong wherever I decide.”
Kamal’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Athidhi’s knees felt liquid.
Gupta stepped forward, cupping Athidhi’s chin with two fingers, tilting her face up. “Tonight is our first night
under this roof. My large master bedroom—king-sized bed, mirrors on every wall, soundproofed for your
screams. You will be ready by 8:00 p.m. Shower with the rose-oil I sent last week. Oil every inch of that silky
skin until it glows. Wear only the hip chain, the black-beaded mangalsutra, and that sheer black saree from
the island. No blouse. No panties. Hair open, kajal heavy, lips glossed. Kamal will sit in the corner chair—
watching, silent, unmoving. But you, my sweet whore, will not look at him. Not once. Not even a glance. If
your eyes stray toward your husband, I will have Rahul fuck you in the corridor while Kamal holds the door
open. Clear?”
Athidhi’s voice was barely a whisper. “Yes, sir.”
Rahul chuckled low. “Can’t wait to hear those moans again, memsaab. Louder this time, now that you’re home.”
The day dragged in exquisite torture. The maids showed them to their assigned spaces: Kamal’s small,
windowless room off the kitchen wing; Athidhi’s clothes were taken directly to Gupta’s walk-in closet. She
spent the afternoon alone in the marble bathroom attached to the master suite, following every instruction
to the letter. Hot water cascaded over her body as she lathered the rose oil into her skin—neck, shoulders,
the heavy swell of her breasts, the soft curve of her belly, down to the smooth waxed mound between her
thighs. The hip chain—delicate gold with its tiny silver bells—clicked into place around her hips, the sound
already a Pavlovian trigger. She dbangd the sheer black saree low, the pallu barely covering her nipples, the
fabric translucent enough to reveal every contour.
At 7:55 p.m., she knelt outside the master bedroom door as instructed. Kamal was already inside, seated on
a heavy teak chair in the far corner, still in his vest and lungi, hands gripping the armrests so tightly the wood
creaked.
Gupta opened the door at exactly 8:00. He wore only black silk pajama bottoms, his chest bare and toned.
Rahul lounged on the massive bed—king-sized, four-poster, dbangd in crimson silk sheets—wearing nothing
but loose grey shorts, his muscular frame glistening under the dim golden lights. The room was a temple of
indulgence: mirrored walls reflecting every angle, a crystal chandelier casting soft shadows, floor-to-ceiling
windows overlooking the moonlit sea, and a plush velvet chair positioned perfectly for viewing.
“Come in, puppet,” Gupta commanded softly.
Athidhi crawled inside on her hands and knees, the hip chain tinkling with every movement, saree whispering
against the marble. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, exactly as ordered. She could feel Kamal’s presence
in the corner like a burning shadow, but she did not look. Not even a flicker.
Gupta closed the door with a soft click that sounded like a prison gate sealing. “Tonight, Athidhi, you become
fully ours under this roof. No more suburban flat. No more pretending. You are my live-in whore. Kamal is my
live-in cuckold. And this room… this bed… will be where we break whatever is left of your dignity, slowly,
deliciously, night after night.”
He circled her once, like a predator admiring prey. “Stand.”
She rose gracefully, eyes still downcast. The sheer black saree clung to her oiled curves, nipples already stiff against the fabric from the cool air and rising fear.
Gupta stepped close. His fingers traced the line of her jaw, then down her throat, brushing the mangalsutra
that rested between her heavy breasts. “Look at your wife, Kamal,” he said without turning. “See how her
body already knows who it belongs to. But she won’t look at you. Not tonight. Not ever unless I allow it. Her
eyes stay on me, on Rahul, on the ceiling if I command. Your presence is for your humiliation only.”
Rahul rose from the bed, his massive frame casting a shadow. “Let’s heat her up properly this time. No rushing.”
What followed was not mere sex. It was an orchestrated symphony of seduction, drawn out over hours, every
touch calculated to make Athidhi’s body sing while her mind fractured under the weight of Kamal’s unseen gaze.
Gupta began with the pallu. He tugged it gently, letting the sheer fabric slide off her shoulders like liquid
night. It pooled at her feet, leaving her completely bare except for the hip chain and mangalsutra. The tiny
bells jingled as she shivered. He didn’t touch her breasts yet. Instead, he stepped behind her, pressing his
chest to her back, his lips hovering at her ear. Warm breath tickled her lobe. “Feel that, puppet? Your
husband is watching every inch of this. But you can’t see him. You can only imagine his eyes on your naked
body. Does that make your pussy wetter?”
A soft whimper escaped her. “Y-yes, sir…”
Rahul moved in front, dropping to one knee. His large hands cupped her hips, thumbs stroking the sensitive
skin just above the hip chain. He leaned in and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her navel—slow, wet,
tongue circling the deep hollow exactly as Gupta had done before. The bells tinkled wildly as her belly
quivered. He sucked gently, then harder, teeth grazing the rim, tongue dipping inside to taste the rose oil and
her natural salt. Athidhi’s breath hitched; her hands instinctively reached for his shoulders.
“No hands yet,” Gupta murmured, catching her wrists and pinning them behind her back with one strong
grip. “Just feel.”
Rahul’s mouth traveled lower, kissing a trail down the soft swell of her lower belly, stopping just above her
smooth mound. He inhaled deeply, savoring her scent, then blew cool air across her heated skin. Her thighs
clenched. A single bead of wetness already glistened at the top of her slit.
Gupta released her wrists only to slide his palms up her sides, cupping the undersides of her heavy breasts.
He lifted them slightly, thumbs brushing the outer curves in lazy circles—never touching the nipples. “These
are mine now. Full-time. Every morning, every night. Kamal used to wake up to these, didn’t he? Now he
wakes up to the sound of you moaning my name from the other wing.”
Athidhi’s head fell back against Gupta’s shoulder. “Sir… please…”
“Please what, puppet?” He nipped her earlobe. “Beg properly. But remember—no looking at him.”
“I… I need more… my body is burning…”
Rahul chuckled against her thigh. He parted her legs gently with his knees, then dragged his tongue in one
long, slow stripe from the inside of her knee all the way up to the crease where thigh met pussy. He stopped
short, repeating on the other leg. Up, up, agonizingly slow. Each pass left a trail of fire. The hip chain bells
rang softly with every tremor.
Gupta finally rolled her nipples between his fingers—light at first, then pinching, twisting just enough to make her gasp. He rolled them in time with Rahul’s teasing licks, creating a rhythm that had her hips jerking
forward involuntarily. Her moans started low, almost embarrassed: soft “ahh… ahh…” that grew breathier as
the heat built.
Rahul parted her outer lips with two thick fingers, exposing the slick pink inside. He didn’t dive in. He traced
the edges with the tip of his tongue—slow, deliberate circles around her clit without touching it, then down to
her entrance, lapping at the fresh wetness but never entering. “Tastes even sweeter knowing your husband is
right there,” he growled.
Athidhi’s moans climbed higher. “Ohhh… Rahul sir… please… don’t tease…”
Gupta spun her around suddenly, pressing her back against his chest again. Now she faced the mirrored wall
directly opposite Kamal’s chair. She could see herself—flushed, breasts heaving, nipples dark and stiff—but
the angle and Gupta’s command kept her eyes from drifting to the corner. She stared at her own reflection
instead, forced to watch her own degradation.
“Eyes on the mirror, puppet,” Gupta ordered. “Watch what we do to you. Kamal sees everything. You see only what I allow.”
He cupped her breasts from behind, presenting them to the mirror like offerings. Rahul dropped to his knees
again and finally closed his mouth over one nipple—sucking deep, tongue flicking rapidly, then switching to
the other. Wet, obscene sounds filled the room. Athidhi’s moans rose another octave: “Ahhh… ahhhhaa… oh
god… it’s too much…”
Gupta’s free hand slid down her belly, fingers toying with the hip chain, making the bells jingle in a
maddening rhythm. He dipped lower, circling her clit with two fingers—light pressure, then none, then light
again—edging her mercilessly. Rahul sucked harder on her breasts, alternating sides, leaving them shiny with
saliva. Her hips bucked. The moans turned desperate: “Sir… please… I’m going to… ahhhhhh… no, don’t stop…”
They stopped.
She cried out in frustration, body trembling on the edge. Gupta laughed softly. “Not yet. We’re just heating you up. Kamal, look how her thighs are shaking. She’s never been this wet for you, has she?”
They moved her to the bed—slowly, reverently. Gupta laid her on her back in the center of the crimson
sheets. He tied a black silk blindfold around her eyes with deliberate care. “Now you truly can’t see him. Only
darkness and our voices. Feel everything. Hear everything. Moan for us, puppet.”
The blindfold plunged her into sensory overload. She could hear Kamal’s ragged breathing from the corner.
She could feel the cool silk beneath her, the heat of two bodies flanking her. But she couldn’t see. The
humiliation burned hotter than ever.
Rahul positioned himself between her thighs. He lifted her legs over his broad shoulders and began the
slowest, most torturous oral assault imaginable. His tongue traced every fold—outer lips, inner lips, circling
the clit in widening spirals, then narrowing until she was sobbing. He sucked the swollen bud gently, then
harder, then released and blew cool air. Gupta, meanwhile, straddled her chest, feeding his thick cock
between her lips. Not thrusting—simply resting it on her tongue, letting her taste him while Rahul ate her alive.
Athidhi’s moans were no longer contained. They echoed off the mirrored walls, raw and rising: “Mmmph…
ohhhhh… sir… your tongue… ahhhhaa… deeper… please… I can’t… ahhhhhh!” Each cry climbed higher, louder,
more broken. The blindfold amplified everything—the wet sounds of Rahul’s mouth, the jingle of the hip chain
every time her hips jerked, Gupta’s low groans of approval.
They edged her three times. Each time she approached the peak, they pulled back—Rahul lifting his mouth,
Gupta withdrawing his cock—leaving her writhing, begging incoherently. “Please… I’ll do anything… fuck me…
break me… just let me cum… oh god, Kamal is listening… I’m sorry… ahhhhaa… please!”
On the fourth build-up, Gupta finally gave the command. “Cum for us, puppet. Loud. Let your husband hear how we own you now.”
Rahul sucked her clit hard, two thick fingers curling inside her, stroking her G-spot relentlessly. Gupta
pinched both nipples at once. Athidhi exploded. Her scream tore through the room—“AAGHHHHH… OH
FUCK… I’M CUMMING… SIR… AHHHHHAAAAA!”—higher and wilder than anything she’d ever released before.
Her body convulsed; clear squirt arced from her pussy, soaking Rahul’s chin and the sheets. The hip chain
bells rang like frantic wind chimes. She thrashed against the blindfold, tears soaking the silk.
They didn’t let her recover.
Gupta flipped her onto all fours, facing away from Kamal’s corner. The blindfold stayed on. He entered her
pussy in one smooth, deep thrust—buried to the hilt. Rahul knelt in front, feeding his massive cock into her
mouth. They began a slow, synchronized rhythm: Gupta’s long, deliberate strokes grinding against her cervix,
Rahul’s thick shaft sliding over her tongue. The moans resumed immediately, even louder now, muffled
around cock but still climbing: “Mmmph… ahhh… too deep… ohhhhh god… I’m yours… both of you… ahhhhaa…
don’t stop…”
Gupta reached around and rubbed her clit in slow circles while pounding steadily. Rahul held her hair gently,
guiding her mouth. They talked to her the entire time—filthy, possessive praise mixed with reminders of her new reality.
“You’re never leaving this house, Athidhi. This bed is your new marriage bed.”
“Every morning you’ll wake up with one of us inside you.”
“Kamal gets the servant’s room. You get our cum.”
Her second orgasm hit like a tidal wave. She screamed around Rahul’s cock, the sound vibrating through him.
Her walls clamped down so hard Gupta groaned. Fresh squirt sprayed across the sheets. Still they didn’t stop.
Round after round unfolded in the vast bedroom. They took turns—Gupta in her pussy while Rahul licked her
clit from below; Rahul in her ass while Gupta sucked her nipples raw; both of them inside her at once, double
penetration that made her voice crack into hoarse, continuous wails: “AAGHHHH… BOTH HOLES… I’M
BREAKING… OH FUCK… SIR… AHHHHHAAAA… I CAN HEAR KAMAL BREATHING… I’M SORRY… I’M YOURS…
FOREVER… AHHHHH!”
They made her cum six times that night—each one louder, wetter, more shattering than the last. The
blindfold kept her world reduced to sensation and sound: the slap of skin, the jingle of bells, the wet squelch
of her overflowing pussy, Gupta’s and Rahul’s grunts of pleasure, and beneath it all, the faint, tortured
breathing of her husband in the corner.
Only when the moon had climbed high over the sea did they finally finish. Gupta came deep in her pussy with
a long, satisfied groan, flooding her until it leaked out around his shaft. Rahul followed in her mouth, holding
her head gently as she swallowed every drop, coughing and gasping. They lowered her trembling body onto
the ruined sheets—covered in sweat, oil, cum, and her own squirt. The hip chain still jingled faintly with
aftershocks. The mangalsutra lay sticky between her breasts.
Gupta removed the blindfold at last. Athidhi blinked, eyes glassy, cheeks streaked with tears and mascara.
She still didn’t look toward Kamal. She couldn’t. The shame and the afterglow fused into something new—
something permanent.
Gupta kissed her forehead almost tenderly. “Welcome home, puppet. This is just the first night. Tomorrow we
begin your training schedule. Rahul will take you in the pool at sunrise. I’ll have you in my office after lunch.
Kamal… you clean the sheets in the morning. With your tongue if I feel generous.”
Rahul stretched, muscles rippling. “Sweet dreams, memsaab. Your new life starts now.”
Kamal remained in the chair, face ashen, cock straining painfully against his lungi, eyes hollow with the
knowledge that there was no escape. The mansion had swallowed them whole.
Athidhi curled into Gupta’s side as he pulled the crimson sheet over them both. In the darkness, her body still
hummed with the echoes of her own screams—higher, louder, more broken than ever before. The slow
seduction had become a lifelong symphony, and the puppets had no strings left to cut.
![[Image: blindfold-002-1.gif]](https://i.ibb.co/zWb7YnMZ/blindfold-002-1.gif)
![[Image: Ez-Qd-KI4-Vo-Aga-YBo.jpg]](https://i.ibb.co/BVNpjpxS/Ez-Qd-KI4-Vo-Aga-YBo.jpg)
![[Image: i-1.jpg]](https://i.ibb.co/vxk79n6B/i-1.jpg)
![[Image: tumblr-o490du-Bnq-B1u8nrlwo4-500.gif]](https://i.ibb.co/ymHB5q7z/tumblr-o490du-Bnq-B1u8nrlwo4-500.gif)
![[Image: img678254-15.png]](https://i.ibb.co/vCkdXn6m/img678254-15.png)
To be continued.......
Tomorrow is the last update........ Hope you enjoy
Kamal. The suburban flat, once a fragile sanctuary of their broken marriage, now felt like a prison of
memories. Every creak of the bedframe, every faint jingle of the hip chain she hadn’t dared remove, echoed
Gupta’s promise of permanence. But the tycoon was not a man who left loose ends dangling.
Two days later, at precisely 7:00 a.m., Athidhi’s phone vibrated on the nightstand. She was still curled against
Kamal’s chest, both of them awake but silent, when the screen lit up with Gupta’s name. She answered with
trembling fingers.
“Listen carefully, my beautiful puppet,” Gupta’s voice purred through the speaker, smooth as aged whiskey
and twice as intoxicating. “Your little suburban charade ends today. Pack everything you own—clothes,
documents, that pathetic mangalsutra you still cling to like a shield. Both of you. Wednesday morning, 10:00
a.m. sharp, my driver will collect you and your luggage. You are moving into my residence permanently. No
more hiding behind cheap curry smells and threadbare sofas. You will live as my personal puppets—available,
obedient, displayed whenever I desire. Refuse, and the murder files land on the commissioner’s desk by
noon. Kamal rots. You visit in a widow’s white saree. Understood?”
Athidhi’s breath caught. She glanced at Kamal, whose eyes had gone dead again. “Yes… sir,” she whispered.
“Good girl. Oh, and one more thing—bring the hip chain. I want it on you the moment you cross my threshold.
Rahul has been… impatient.”
The line went dead.
The next forty-eight hours were mechanical hell. They packed in silence: two battered suitcases for Kamal’s
faded lungis and vests, three for Athidhi’s sarees, salwar suits, and the few pieces of jewelry that still carried
the ghost of their old life. She folded the deep maroon chiffon from that night with shaking hands, the fabric
still carrying the faint scent of sweat, cum, and expensive cologne. Kamal said nothing. He simply stared at
the suitcase as if it were a coffin.
Wednesday dawned humid and merciless. At 9:45 a.m., a sleek black Mercedes glided up to their crumbling
building. The driver—silent, uniformed, eyes averted—loaded their luggage without a word. Athidhi wore a
simple cream salwar suit, hair tied in a loose braid, mangalsutra hidden beneath the dupatta like a guilty
secret. Kamal sat beside her in the back seat, staring out the window at the Mumbai traffic that had once felt
like freedom.
The drive to Gupta’s residence took them from the suburbs into the glittering heart of South Mumbai.
Towering glass spires gave way to a private gated estate overlooking the Arabian Sea. The mansion was a
modernist palace: white marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, a private infinity pool shimmering under the
morning sun, and an underground garage that could swallow twenty cars. As they stepped out, the salty sea
breeze mixed with the scent of gardenias from the manicured lawns.
Gupta waited on the grand steps, dressed in a casual white linen kurta and trousers, looking every inch the
king in his domain. Rahul stood two steps behind him—six-foot-two of sculpted menace in a black tank top
and joggers, arms crossed over his massive chest, that familiar hungry smirk playing on his lips.
“Welcome home, puppets,” Gupta said, voice velvet and steel. He didn’t wait for greetings. He snapped his
fingers at the staff—two silent maids in crisp uniforms appeared instantly. “Take their luggage to the east
wing servants’ quarters. Kamal will sleep there when I allow it. Athidhi… you belong wherever I decide.”
Kamal’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Athidhi’s knees felt liquid.
Gupta stepped forward, cupping Athidhi’s chin with two fingers, tilting her face up. “Tonight is our first night
under this roof. My large master bedroom—king-sized bed, mirrors on every wall, soundproofed for your
screams. You will be ready by 8:00 p.m. Shower with the rose-oil I sent last week. Oil every inch of that silky
skin until it glows. Wear only the hip chain, the black-beaded mangalsutra, and that sheer black saree from
the island. No blouse. No panties. Hair open, kajal heavy, lips glossed. Kamal will sit in the corner chair—
watching, silent, unmoving. But you, my sweet whore, will not look at him. Not once. Not even a glance. If
your eyes stray toward your husband, I will have Rahul fuck you in the corridor while Kamal holds the door
open. Clear?”
Athidhi’s voice was barely a whisper. “Yes, sir.”
Rahul chuckled low. “Can’t wait to hear those moans again, memsaab. Louder this time, now that you’re home.”
The day dragged in exquisite torture. The maids showed them to their assigned spaces: Kamal’s small,
windowless room off the kitchen wing; Athidhi’s clothes were taken directly to Gupta’s walk-in closet. She
spent the afternoon alone in the marble bathroom attached to the master suite, following every instruction
to the letter. Hot water cascaded over her body as she lathered the rose oil into her skin—neck, shoulders,
the heavy swell of her breasts, the soft curve of her belly, down to the smooth waxed mound between her
thighs. The hip chain—delicate gold with its tiny silver bells—clicked into place around her hips, the sound
already a Pavlovian trigger. She dbangd the sheer black saree low, the pallu barely covering her nipples, the
fabric translucent enough to reveal every contour.
At 7:55 p.m., she knelt outside the master bedroom door as instructed. Kamal was already inside, seated on
a heavy teak chair in the far corner, still in his vest and lungi, hands gripping the armrests so tightly the wood
creaked.
Gupta opened the door at exactly 8:00. He wore only black silk pajama bottoms, his chest bare and toned.
Rahul lounged on the massive bed—king-sized, four-poster, dbangd in crimson silk sheets—wearing nothing
but loose grey shorts, his muscular frame glistening under the dim golden lights. The room was a temple of
indulgence: mirrored walls reflecting every angle, a crystal chandelier casting soft shadows, floor-to-ceiling
windows overlooking the moonlit sea, and a plush velvet chair positioned perfectly for viewing.
“Come in, puppet,” Gupta commanded softly.
Athidhi crawled inside on her hands and knees, the hip chain tinkling with every movement, saree whispering
against the marble. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, exactly as ordered. She could feel Kamal’s presence
in the corner like a burning shadow, but she did not look. Not even a flicker.
Gupta closed the door with a soft click that sounded like a prison gate sealing. “Tonight, Athidhi, you become
fully ours under this roof. No more suburban flat. No more pretending. You are my live-in whore. Kamal is my
live-in cuckold. And this room… this bed… will be where we break whatever is left of your dignity, slowly,
deliciously, night after night.”
He circled her once, like a predator admiring prey. “Stand.”
She rose gracefully, eyes still downcast. The sheer black saree clung to her oiled curves, nipples already stiff against the fabric from the cool air and rising fear.
Gupta stepped close. His fingers traced the line of her jaw, then down her throat, brushing the mangalsutra
that rested between her heavy breasts. “Look at your wife, Kamal,” he said without turning. “See how her
body already knows who it belongs to. But she won’t look at you. Not tonight. Not ever unless I allow it. Her
eyes stay on me, on Rahul, on the ceiling if I command. Your presence is for your humiliation only.”
Rahul rose from the bed, his massive frame casting a shadow. “Let’s heat her up properly this time. No rushing.”
What followed was not mere sex. It was an orchestrated symphony of seduction, drawn out over hours, every
touch calculated to make Athidhi’s body sing while her mind fractured under the weight of Kamal’s unseen gaze.
Gupta began with the pallu. He tugged it gently, letting the sheer fabric slide off her shoulders like liquid
night. It pooled at her feet, leaving her completely bare except for the hip chain and mangalsutra. The tiny
bells jingled as she shivered. He didn’t touch her breasts yet. Instead, he stepped behind her, pressing his
chest to her back, his lips hovering at her ear. Warm breath tickled her lobe. “Feel that, puppet? Your
husband is watching every inch of this. But you can’t see him. You can only imagine his eyes on your naked
body. Does that make your pussy wetter?”
A soft whimper escaped her. “Y-yes, sir…”
Rahul moved in front, dropping to one knee. His large hands cupped her hips, thumbs stroking the sensitive
skin just above the hip chain. He leaned in and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her navel—slow, wet,
tongue circling the deep hollow exactly as Gupta had done before. The bells tinkled wildly as her belly
quivered. He sucked gently, then harder, teeth grazing the rim, tongue dipping inside to taste the rose oil and
her natural salt. Athidhi’s breath hitched; her hands instinctively reached for his shoulders.
“No hands yet,” Gupta murmured, catching her wrists and pinning them behind her back with one strong
grip. “Just feel.”
Rahul’s mouth traveled lower, kissing a trail down the soft swell of her lower belly, stopping just above her
smooth mound. He inhaled deeply, savoring her scent, then blew cool air across her heated skin. Her thighs
clenched. A single bead of wetness already glistened at the top of her slit.
Gupta released her wrists only to slide his palms up her sides, cupping the undersides of her heavy breasts.
He lifted them slightly, thumbs brushing the outer curves in lazy circles—never touching the nipples. “These
are mine now. Full-time. Every morning, every night. Kamal used to wake up to these, didn’t he? Now he
wakes up to the sound of you moaning my name from the other wing.”
Athidhi’s head fell back against Gupta’s shoulder. “Sir… please…”
“Please what, puppet?” He nipped her earlobe. “Beg properly. But remember—no looking at him.”
“I… I need more… my body is burning…”
Rahul chuckled against her thigh. He parted her legs gently with his knees, then dragged his tongue in one
long, slow stripe from the inside of her knee all the way up to the crease where thigh met pussy. He stopped
short, repeating on the other leg. Up, up, agonizingly slow. Each pass left a trail of fire. The hip chain bells
rang softly with every tremor.
Gupta finally rolled her nipples between his fingers—light at first, then pinching, twisting just enough to make her gasp. He rolled them in time with Rahul’s teasing licks, creating a rhythm that had her hips jerking
forward involuntarily. Her moans started low, almost embarrassed: soft “ahh… ahh…” that grew breathier as
the heat built.
Rahul parted her outer lips with two thick fingers, exposing the slick pink inside. He didn’t dive in. He traced
the edges with the tip of his tongue—slow, deliberate circles around her clit without touching it, then down to
her entrance, lapping at the fresh wetness but never entering. “Tastes even sweeter knowing your husband is
right there,” he growled.
Athidhi’s moans climbed higher. “Ohhh… Rahul sir… please… don’t tease…”
Gupta spun her around suddenly, pressing her back against his chest again. Now she faced the mirrored wall
directly opposite Kamal’s chair. She could see herself—flushed, breasts heaving, nipples dark and stiff—but
the angle and Gupta’s command kept her eyes from drifting to the corner. She stared at her own reflection
instead, forced to watch her own degradation.
“Eyes on the mirror, puppet,” Gupta ordered. “Watch what we do to you. Kamal sees everything. You see only what I allow.”
He cupped her breasts from behind, presenting them to the mirror like offerings. Rahul dropped to his knees
again and finally closed his mouth over one nipple—sucking deep, tongue flicking rapidly, then switching to
the other. Wet, obscene sounds filled the room. Athidhi’s moans rose another octave: “Ahhh… ahhhhaa… oh
god… it’s too much…”
Gupta’s free hand slid down her belly, fingers toying with the hip chain, making the bells jingle in a
maddening rhythm. He dipped lower, circling her clit with two fingers—light pressure, then none, then light
again—edging her mercilessly. Rahul sucked harder on her breasts, alternating sides, leaving them shiny with
saliva. Her hips bucked. The moans turned desperate: “Sir… please… I’m going to… ahhhhhh… no, don’t stop…”
They stopped.
She cried out in frustration, body trembling on the edge. Gupta laughed softly. “Not yet. We’re just heating you up. Kamal, look how her thighs are shaking. She’s never been this wet for you, has she?”
They moved her to the bed—slowly, reverently. Gupta laid her on her back in the center of the crimson
sheets. He tied a black silk blindfold around her eyes with deliberate care. “Now you truly can’t see him. Only
darkness and our voices. Feel everything. Hear everything. Moan for us, puppet.”
The blindfold plunged her into sensory overload. She could hear Kamal’s ragged breathing from the corner.
She could feel the cool silk beneath her, the heat of two bodies flanking her. But she couldn’t see. The
humiliation burned hotter than ever.
Rahul positioned himself between her thighs. He lifted her legs over his broad shoulders and began the
slowest, most torturous oral assault imaginable. His tongue traced every fold—outer lips, inner lips, circling
the clit in widening spirals, then narrowing until she was sobbing. He sucked the swollen bud gently, then
harder, then released and blew cool air. Gupta, meanwhile, straddled her chest, feeding his thick cock
between her lips. Not thrusting—simply resting it on her tongue, letting her taste him while Rahul ate her alive.
Athidhi’s moans were no longer contained. They echoed off the mirrored walls, raw and rising: “Mmmph…
ohhhhh… sir… your tongue… ahhhhaa… deeper… please… I can’t… ahhhhhh!” Each cry climbed higher, louder,
more broken. The blindfold amplified everything—the wet sounds of Rahul’s mouth, the jingle of the hip chain
every time her hips jerked, Gupta’s low groans of approval.
They edged her three times. Each time she approached the peak, they pulled back—Rahul lifting his mouth,
Gupta withdrawing his cock—leaving her writhing, begging incoherently. “Please… I’ll do anything… fuck me…
break me… just let me cum… oh god, Kamal is listening… I’m sorry… ahhhhaa… please!”
On the fourth build-up, Gupta finally gave the command. “Cum for us, puppet. Loud. Let your husband hear how we own you now.”
Rahul sucked her clit hard, two thick fingers curling inside her, stroking her G-spot relentlessly. Gupta
pinched both nipples at once. Athidhi exploded. Her scream tore through the room—“AAGHHHHH… OH
FUCK… I’M CUMMING… SIR… AHHHHHAAAAA!”—higher and wilder than anything she’d ever released before.
Her body convulsed; clear squirt arced from her pussy, soaking Rahul’s chin and the sheets. The hip chain
bells rang like frantic wind chimes. She thrashed against the blindfold, tears soaking the silk.
They didn’t let her recover.
Gupta flipped her onto all fours, facing away from Kamal’s corner. The blindfold stayed on. He entered her
pussy in one smooth, deep thrust—buried to the hilt. Rahul knelt in front, feeding his massive cock into her
mouth. They began a slow, synchronized rhythm: Gupta’s long, deliberate strokes grinding against her cervix,
Rahul’s thick shaft sliding over her tongue. The moans resumed immediately, even louder now, muffled
around cock but still climbing: “Mmmph… ahhh… too deep… ohhhhh god… I’m yours… both of you… ahhhhaa…
don’t stop…”
Gupta reached around and rubbed her clit in slow circles while pounding steadily. Rahul held her hair gently,
guiding her mouth. They talked to her the entire time—filthy, possessive praise mixed with reminders of her new reality.
“You’re never leaving this house, Athidhi. This bed is your new marriage bed.”
“Every morning you’ll wake up with one of us inside you.”
“Kamal gets the servant’s room. You get our cum.”
Her second orgasm hit like a tidal wave. She screamed around Rahul’s cock, the sound vibrating through him.
Her walls clamped down so hard Gupta groaned. Fresh squirt sprayed across the sheets. Still they didn’t stop.
Round after round unfolded in the vast bedroom. They took turns—Gupta in her pussy while Rahul licked her
clit from below; Rahul in her ass while Gupta sucked her nipples raw; both of them inside her at once, double
penetration that made her voice crack into hoarse, continuous wails: “AAGHHHH… BOTH HOLES… I’M
BREAKING… OH FUCK… SIR… AHHHHHAAAA… I CAN HEAR KAMAL BREATHING… I’M SORRY… I’M YOURS…
FOREVER… AHHHHH!”
They made her cum six times that night—each one louder, wetter, more shattering than the last. The
blindfold kept her world reduced to sensation and sound: the slap of skin, the jingle of bells, the wet squelch
of her overflowing pussy, Gupta’s and Rahul’s grunts of pleasure, and beneath it all, the faint, tortured
breathing of her husband in the corner.
Only when the moon had climbed high over the sea did they finally finish. Gupta came deep in her pussy with
a long, satisfied groan, flooding her until it leaked out around his shaft. Rahul followed in her mouth, holding
her head gently as she swallowed every drop, coughing and gasping. They lowered her trembling body onto
the ruined sheets—covered in sweat, oil, cum, and her own squirt. The hip chain still jingled faintly with
aftershocks. The mangalsutra lay sticky between her breasts.
Gupta removed the blindfold at last. Athidhi blinked, eyes glassy, cheeks streaked with tears and mascara.
She still didn’t look toward Kamal. She couldn’t. The shame and the afterglow fused into something new—
something permanent.
Gupta kissed her forehead almost tenderly. “Welcome home, puppet. This is just the first night. Tomorrow we
begin your training schedule. Rahul will take you in the pool at sunrise. I’ll have you in my office after lunch.
Kamal… you clean the sheets in the morning. With your tongue if I feel generous.”
Rahul stretched, muscles rippling. “Sweet dreams, memsaab. Your new life starts now.”
Kamal remained in the chair, face ashen, cock straining painfully against his lungi, eyes hollow with the
knowledge that there was no escape. The mansion had swallowed them whole.
Athidhi curled into Gupta’s side as he pulled the crimson sheet over them both. In the darkness, her body still
hummed with the echoes of her own screams—higher, louder, more broken than ever before. The slow
seduction had become a lifelong symphony, and the puppets had no strings left to cut.
To be continued.......
Tomorrow is the last update........ Hope you enjoy
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