11-04-2026, 11:25 PM
The Sunday morning sun filtered weakly through the winter haze, turning their balcony into a quiet little cocoon. Monica and Rakesh were sipping coffee at the small table outside, still in their night clothes — she in a loose satin slip that barely reached mid-thigh, he in just boxers. The plan they had set in motion with Bagha was now real, and the air between them hummed with that familiar mix of excitement and nervous energy.
Rakesh set his mug down and leaned back, stretching. “So… today’s the day we meet Sadlur. I’ve been thinking. Meeting him right inside the basti feels too risky. Let’s do it smarter. Near the market area —under that big banyan tree. Public enough that nothing funny can happen, but quiet enough for a proper chat. You talk to him one-on-one. I’ll loiter around pretending to buy veggies and groceries… keep an eye on you the whole time. Safety first, baby. At least we know I’m right there if anything feels off.”
Monica tilted her head, a slow, sassy smile spreading across her lips. She crossed her legs, the slip riding higher on her smooth toned thighs. “Hmm… I like it. My protective husband playing bodyguard while I handle the dirty work”
She took a sip of coffee, eyes sparkling with mischief. “But Rak… what exactly do I even ask him? ‘Hi, I’m the memsaab who needs high quality gaanja for my NRI friends’? Sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud.”
Rakesh chuckled,
“Be straightforward, Mon. It’s just gaanja — super common here. No need to overthink or act shady. Tell him the truth: we’re going to Manali with college friends from the US, we want really good quality stuff for the trip, and we heard he’s the guy who can supply it fresh. Keep it casual, confident… like you. You’re good at that.”
Monica raised an eyebrow, playful but a little uncertain. “Alright… but I’m wearing something decent today. No cleavage parade for the entire bazaar to enjoy. I don’t need random uncles and shopkeepers getting a free show while I negotiate with him” She stood up, stretching languidly, the satin slipping off one shoulder. “Give me twenty minutes to get ready.”
By late morning they were at the western end of the local market, under the sprawling banyan tree whose thick roots made natural benches. The place was busy but not crowded — weekend shoppers, vegetable vendors calling out prices, the faint smell of fresh coriander and onions in the air. Rakesh had parked their car a little away and was now casually browsing a vegetable cart twenty metres from the tree, eyes never leaving Monica.
She stood under the tree looking effortlessly elegant in a fitted green turtleneck sweater that hugged her full breasts and narrow waist, paired with snug white trousers that accentuated the curve of her taut, round ass. Her long hair was tied in a loose ponytail, kajal-lined eyes calm and confident. She looked like any well-off wife waiting for her husband..
Rakesh’s phone buzzed with a text from her: He’s here. Stay chill, baby ?
Sadlur arrived exactly on time, riding a well-maintained Royal Enfield. He was exactly as Bagha had described — rough, ugly in a brute sort of way, heavily muscular with thick arms and a broad chest that strained against his faded grey shirt. Short-cropped hair, a jagged scar above one eyebrow, and a thick moustache. But his demeanour was surprisingly professional — calm, no-nonsense, the kind of man who didn’t waste words.
Monica stepped forward with a friendly smile as he killed the engine and swung off the bike. “Hi… Sadlur ji? Bagha saab spoke about you. I’m Monica.”
Sadlur gave a small nod, eyes flicking over her once — slow, appreciative, but not crude. “Haan memsaab. Bagha ne bataya tha. Boliye… kya chahiye?”
Rakesh pretended to inspect tomatoes but his gaze was locked on them. He watched Monica laugh lightly at something Sadlur said, then lean in a little as she explained — the Manali trip, old college friends flying in from Los Angeles, the need for “really good quality” stuff so the whole gang could relax properly in the mountains. Her voice carried just enough for Rakesh to catch fragments: “...not the weak stuff, Sadlur ji… something fresh, strong… we’re going to be there for 2-3 days ”
Sadlur listened, nodding professionally, but his eyes kept drifting — tracing the way her turtleneck stretched across her chest when she gestured, lingering on the swell of her ass when she shifted her weight. Monica handled it with perfect sassy confidence — smiling, meeting his gaze straight on, even teasing lightly when he asked about quantity.
Rakesh felt a strange twist in his stomach: pride mixed with a sharp, uncomfortable heat. His wife was standing there, bold and beautiful, chatting up a dangerous-looking dealer like it was the most normal Sunday errand.
Then suddenly, Sadlur said something low, gesturing towards his bike. Monica’s eyes widened for a split second, then she thought for a while and nodded. Before Rakesh could process it, she swung one long leg over the pillion seat, holding Sadlur’s broad shoulder for balance. Her fat, round ass prominent due to the fabric of her plazo pants squeezed tightly into the narrow seat behind him..She settled in close — very close — her chest almost brushing his back as she adjusted her grip.
Rakesh’s heart slammed against his ribs. He pulled out his phone instantly and typed on WhatsApp : What’s happening? Where are you going?
Her reply came as the bike started : Everything okay, baby. He’s a good guy. Says he’s not here from tomorrow — has to go out of town. His godown is just on the other side of the highway. He’ll supply it right away. I said yes. Chill.
Rakesh watched the bike roar to life. Monica’s arms went around Sadlur’s waist as they whizzed past him. Her ass looked even more prominent pressed against the seat, thighs snug against the man’s hips. The bike disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust.
He stood frozen for a second, vegetables forgotten. Another text from her a minute later: Listen ! You go home and relax… I’ll be right back after this.
Rakesh walked back to the car slowly, pulse still racing. On the way into the building he crossed Bagha at the gate. The watchman gave him a quick, knowing glance — nothing said, just a slight nod. Rakesh wondered if Bagha had any idea where his wife had just gone on the back of Sadlur’s bike. He went upstairs absent mindedly.
Almost an hour and twenty minutes later the doorbell rang.
Monica stepped in looking fresh, cheeks slightly pink from the cold ride, ponytail a little messy. She was carrying a small, nondescript black polythene bag. She kicked off her shoes and grinned at Rakesh, who was standing in the living room
“Mission accomplished, baby,” she said sassily, holding up the bag. “Four top-quality packets — fresh, sticky, smells amazing. Sadlur was actually a fun guy, nothing alarming honestly"
Rakesh looked at the packet as Monica continued " I waited outside the godown — it’s just an old paints warehouse on the highway side. He went in, came out with this, i paid him .. and then.... then he offered me chai. I thought it would be rude to say no… so we had chai inside. Nothing weird. Then he dropped me right back near the market.”
She walked over, ass swaying, and pressed the bag into Rakesh’s hands. “See? Good stuff, right?”
Rakesh examined the packets, relief and that same twisted heat mixing in his chest. “Looks decent… Vishal and Deepak are going to lose their minds.”
Monica laughed, that bold, sassy laugh he loved. “Even me and Saloni plan to get properly sloshed in Manali, not just the boys. Fair’s fair.”
He set the bag down and pulled her close, searching her face. “The guy was safe, right? No red flags?”
Monica smiled, tilting her head with pure mischief. “ Yea...Well-mannered, professional, even cracked a couple of jokes. Just looks scary with that big, muscular body of his.” She paused, eyes sparkling. “Why? Were you worried for me, Rak?”
“A little,” he admitted, voice low.
Monica bit her lower lip, stepping even closer so her breasts brushed his chest. “You should have seen me getting on his bike… I had to hold his shoulder and literally squeeze my ass into that tiny seat behind him. The bastard had taken up the entire space — I had to sit all close and cozy, thighs pressed against him the whole way.” Her voice dropped into that teasing, erotic lilt. “And on both trips — to the godown and back — the ride was so bumpy… my nipples got so hard from the vibration and the cold wind. I could feel them poking against my bra, all sensitive. Then the lucky bastard started closing in deliberately, leaning back a little more on every turn so his broad back pressed fully against my tits. It was like he was making sure he felt every single brush… that slow, constant boob massage the entire ride. I was so conscious, Rak… but what could I have done ? "
Rakesh’s grip on her waist tightened, a low groan escaping him. The image of his wife pressed tight against that rough, muscular dealer flooded his mind. “Fuck, Mon… so the dealer literally had the most sexy customer of his life today. Imagine him riding with your soft, full tits rubbing all over his back — that constant massage must have driven the bastard mad. Bet he’s still hard thinking about it.”
Monica giggled, playful , leaning into the joke. “Oh totally. Poor guy probably had the best ride . Every bump and I was practically giving him a free tit-job from behind. He even slowed down once or twice on purpose, I swear — like he wanted to enjoy it longer.”
Rakesh grinned, voice dropping dirtier. “Lucky slum bastard. Most men in that basti only get to jerk off thinking about you… and he got the real thing — your hard nipples dragging across his back for an hour. Bet he’ll be replaying it tonight while he strokes himself.”
Monica laughed again, but when the jokes turned even filthier - she placed a finger on his lips, still smiling but firm.
“Alright, alright… let’s not build too many fantasies now,” she said jokingly, eyes twinkling. “We got the stuff, mission accomplished, and I’m home safe. No need to turn one bike ride into a full porno in our heads, baby.”
Rakesh smiled,
Monica rolled her eyes with a laugh. “Now , we should call Vishal and Deepak…and confirm if all the bookings are done. We leave Friday morning right ? ”
Rakesh nodded, already dialling, but his mind still radiating heat !
Pics ::
Monica with Sadlur on the Royal Enfield
![[Image: 1775895219393.png]](https://i.ibb.co/d0bdMDL7/1775895219393.png)
![[Image: 1775895006262.png]](https://i.ibb.co/BVSR45xJ/1775895006262.png)
Rakesh set his mug down and leaned back, stretching. “So… today’s the day we meet Sadlur. I’ve been thinking. Meeting him right inside the basti feels too risky. Let’s do it smarter. Near the market area —under that big banyan tree. Public enough that nothing funny can happen, but quiet enough for a proper chat. You talk to him one-on-one. I’ll loiter around pretending to buy veggies and groceries… keep an eye on you the whole time. Safety first, baby. At least we know I’m right there if anything feels off.”
Monica tilted her head, a slow, sassy smile spreading across her lips. She crossed her legs, the slip riding higher on her smooth toned thighs. “Hmm… I like it. My protective husband playing bodyguard while I handle the dirty work”
She took a sip of coffee, eyes sparkling with mischief. “But Rak… what exactly do I even ask him? ‘Hi, I’m the memsaab who needs high quality gaanja for my NRI friends’? Sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud.”
Rakesh chuckled,
“Be straightforward, Mon. It’s just gaanja — super common here. No need to overthink or act shady. Tell him the truth: we’re going to Manali with college friends from the US, we want really good quality stuff for the trip, and we heard he’s the guy who can supply it fresh. Keep it casual, confident… like you. You’re good at that.”
Monica raised an eyebrow, playful but a little uncertain. “Alright… but I’m wearing something decent today. No cleavage parade for the entire bazaar to enjoy. I don’t need random uncles and shopkeepers getting a free show while I negotiate with him” She stood up, stretching languidly, the satin slipping off one shoulder. “Give me twenty minutes to get ready.”
By late morning they were at the western end of the local market, under the sprawling banyan tree whose thick roots made natural benches. The place was busy but not crowded — weekend shoppers, vegetable vendors calling out prices, the faint smell of fresh coriander and onions in the air. Rakesh had parked their car a little away and was now casually browsing a vegetable cart twenty metres from the tree, eyes never leaving Monica.
She stood under the tree looking effortlessly elegant in a fitted green turtleneck sweater that hugged her full breasts and narrow waist, paired with snug white trousers that accentuated the curve of her taut, round ass. Her long hair was tied in a loose ponytail, kajal-lined eyes calm and confident. She looked like any well-off wife waiting for her husband..
Rakesh’s phone buzzed with a text from her: He’s here. Stay chill, baby ?
Sadlur arrived exactly on time, riding a well-maintained Royal Enfield. He was exactly as Bagha had described — rough, ugly in a brute sort of way, heavily muscular with thick arms and a broad chest that strained against his faded grey shirt. Short-cropped hair, a jagged scar above one eyebrow, and a thick moustache. But his demeanour was surprisingly professional — calm, no-nonsense, the kind of man who didn’t waste words.
Monica stepped forward with a friendly smile as he killed the engine and swung off the bike. “Hi… Sadlur ji? Bagha saab spoke about you. I’m Monica.”
Sadlur gave a small nod, eyes flicking over her once — slow, appreciative, but not crude. “Haan memsaab. Bagha ne bataya tha. Boliye… kya chahiye?”
Rakesh pretended to inspect tomatoes but his gaze was locked on them. He watched Monica laugh lightly at something Sadlur said, then lean in a little as she explained — the Manali trip, old college friends flying in from Los Angeles, the need for “really good quality” stuff so the whole gang could relax properly in the mountains. Her voice carried just enough for Rakesh to catch fragments: “...not the weak stuff, Sadlur ji… something fresh, strong… we’re going to be there for 2-3 days ”
Sadlur listened, nodding professionally, but his eyes kept drifting — tracing the way her turtleneck stretched across her chest when she gestured, lingering on the swell of her ass when she shifted her weight. Monica handled it with perfect sassy confidence — smiling, meeting his gaze straight on, even teasing lightly when he asked about quantity.
Rakesh felt a strange twist in his stomach: pride mixed with a sharp, uncomfortable heat. His wife was standing there, bold and beautiful, chatting up a dangerous-looking dealer like it was the most normal Sunday errand.
Then suddenly, Sadlur said something low, gesturing towards his bike. Monica’s eyes widened for a split second, then she thought for a while and nodded. Before Rakesh could process it, she swung one long leg over the pillion seat, holding Sadlur’s broad shoulder for balance. Her fat, round ass prominent due to the fabric of her plazo pants squeezed tightly into the narrow seat behind him..She settled in close — very close — her chest almost brushing his back as she adjusted her grip.
Rakesh’s heart slammed against his ribs. He pulled out his phone instantly and typed on WhatsApp : What’s happening? Where are you going?
Her reply came as the bike started : Everything okay, baby. He’s a good guy. Says he’s not here from tomorrow — has to go out of town. His godown is just on the other side of the highway. He’ll supply it right away. I said yes. Chill.
Rakesh watched the bike roar to life. Monica’s arms went around Sadlur’s waist as they whizzed past him. Her ass looked even more prominent pressed against the seat, thighs snug against the man’s hips. The bike disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust.
He stood frozen for a second, vegetables forgotten. Another text from her a minute later: Listen ! You go home and relax… I’ll be right back after this.
Rakesh walked back to the car slowly, pulse still racing. On the way into the building he crossed Bagha at the gate. The watchman gave him a quick, knowing glance — nothing said, just a slight nod. Rakesh wondered if Bagha had any idea where his wife had just gone on the back of Sadlur’s bike. He went upstairs absent mindedly.
Almost an hour and twenty minutes later the doorbell rang.
Monica stepped in looking fresh, cheeks slightly pink from the cold ride, ponytail a little messy. She was carrying a small, nondescript black polythene bag. She kicked off her shoes and grinned at Rakesh, who was standing in the living room
“Mission accomplished, baby,” she said sassily, holding up the bag. “Four top-quality packets — fresh, sticky, smells amazing. Sadlur was actually a fun guy, nothing alarming honestly"
Rakesh looked at the packet as Monica continued " I waited outside the godown — it’s just an old paints warehouse on the highway side. He went in, came out with this, i paid him .. and then.... then he offered me chai. I thought it would be rude to say no… so we had chai inside. Nothing weird. Then he dropped me right back near the market.”
She walked over, ass swaying, and pressed the bag into Rakesh’s hands. “See? Good stuff, right?”
Rakesh examined the packets, relief and that same twisted heat mixing in his chest. “Looks decent… Vishal and Deepak are going to lose their minds.”
Monica laughed, that bold, sassy laugh he loved. “Even me and Saloni plan to get properly sloshed in Manali, not just the boys. Fair’s fair.”
He set the bag down and pulled her close, searching her face. “The guy was safe, right? No red flags?”
Monica smiled, tilting her head with pure mischief. “ Yea...Well-mannered, professional, even cracked a couple of jokes. Just looks scary with that big, muscular body of his.” She paused, eyes sparkling. “Why? Were you worried for me, Rak?”
“A little,” he admitted, voice low.
Monica bit her lower lip, stepping even closer so her breasts brushed his chest. “You should have seen me getting on his bike… I had to hold his shoulder and literally squeeze my ass into that tiny seat behind him. The bastard had taken up the entire space — I had to sit all close and cozy, thighs pressed against him the whole way.” Her voice dropped into that teasing, erotic lilt. “And on both trips — to the godown and back — the ride was so bumpy… my nipples got so hard from the vibration and the cold wind. I could feel them poking against my bra, all sensitive. Then the lucky bastard started closing in deliberately, leaning back a little more on every turn so his broad back pressed fully against my tits. It was like he was making sure he felt every single brush… that slow, constant boob massage the entire ride. I was so conscious, Rak… but what could I have done ? "
Rakesh’s grip on her waist tightened, a low groan escaping him. The image of his wife pressed tight against that rough, muscular dealer flooded his mind. “Fuck, Mon… so the dealer literally had the most sexy customer of his life today. Imagine him riding with your soft, full tits rubbing all over his back — that constant massage must have driven the bastard mad. Bet he’s still hard thinking about it.”
Monica giggled, playful , leaning into the joke. “Oh totally. Poor guy probably had the best ride . Every bump and I was practically giving him a free tit-job from behind. He even slowed down once or twice on purpose, I swear — like he wanted to enjoy it longer.”
Rakesh grinned, voice dropping dirtier. “Lucky slum bastard. Most men in that basti only get to jerk off thinking about you… and he got the real thing — your hard nipples dragging across his back for an hour. Bet he’ll be replaying it tonight while he strokes himself.”
Monica laughed again, but when the jokes turned even filthier - she placed a finger on his lips, still smiling but firm.
“Alright, alright… let’s not build too many fantasies now,” she said jokingly, eyes twinkling. “We got the stuff, mission accomplished, and I’m home safe. No need to turn one bike ride into a full porno in our heads, baby.”
Rakesh smiled,
Monica rolled her eyes with a laugh. “Now , we should call Vishal and Deepak…and confirm if all the bookings are done. We leave Friday morning right ? ”
Rakesh nodded, already dialling, but his mind still radiating heat !
Pics ::
Monica with Sadlur on the Royal Enfield
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)