[Suresh@123]

Deepa lay motionless on the king-sized marital bed, her voluptuous body stretched out like an offering. Her smooth arms remained raised obediently above her head, resting on the pillow, making her heavy breasts thrust upward. The red lace bra barely contained them — the thin material stretched tight, her dark nipples visibly hard and poking against the fabric with every rapid breath. Her soft, flat tummy quivered violently with high tension, the deep navel glistening with tiny beads of nervous sweat that caught the light. Lower down, the tiny red panty clung to her freshly shaved pussy like a second skin. The crotch was already damp, a dark wet patch slowly spreading as unwanted arousal mixed with sheer panic.
Her heart pounded wildly inside her chest — LUB DUB… LUB DUB… LUB DUB — the sound so loud in her ears that it drowned out everything else. Each beat sent fresh waves of fear through her veins. Sweat trickled from her smooth underarms, down the sides of her breasts, and into the deep valley of her cleavage. Her thick golden thighs pressed together tightly, but the position left her completely vulnerable and exposed.
She kept her eyes fixed on the bedroom door — the 2cm gap taunting her. Every second felt like torture.
Ten more minutes… she thought desperately, her mind racing. Why is he taking so long? What if Charan suddenly comes home for lunch? What if a neighbor walks in? What if Rahul forgets something and returns? Oh God… I’m lying here semi-naked on my husband’s bed, shaved smooth, wearing only red inners like a cheap whore… all because a blackmailer ordered me to. How low have I fallen? Just a few days ago I slapped him in public. Now I’m obeying every filthy command. My body is betraying me again… why am I getting wet?
The humiliation burned hotter than ever. She was a married woman, a respectable housewife, yet here she was — arms raised submissively, breasts heaving, pussy leaking into the red panty — waiting helplessly for a younger rowdy who had ruined her life. The tension was unbearable. Her tummy shivered continuously, the muscles fluttering visibly under her golden skin. Her navel rose and fell with every shallow breath. She bit her full lower lip hard, trying to control the soft whimpers threatening to escape.
LUB DUB… LUB DUB… LUB DUB…
Time crawled. Five minutes passed. Then seven. Still no sound. The silence was its own kind of torture. Deepa’s mind tortured her with vivid images — Charan’s loving face this morning, Rahul’s trusting smile, and then Johnny’s cruel smirk as he buried his thick 9-inch cock inside her. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, but the images only grew stronger.
This is pure torture… lying here half-naked as per the orders of a blackmailer. My husband is out there celebrating his success, and I’m waiting to be used again on the same bed. If anyone walks in right now… my life is finished. Yet my nipples are so hard… my pussy is dripping… what is wrong with me? Have I really become his slut?
Suddenly — CREEEEEEAK.
The sound came from the main door downstairs. Someone had pushed it open.
Deepa’s heart nearly stopped. LUB DUB… LUB DUB… LUB DUB… The beats turned frantic, hammering against her ribs like a drum. Her entire body tensed. Her tummy shivered violently. Fresh sweat broke out across her skin, making her underarms shine and her navel glitter even more.
He’s here… Oh God, he’s really here…
Her eyes flew wide open, locked on the bedroom door. She didn’t dare move. Her arms stayed raised above her head exactly as ordered. Her heavy breasts rose and fell faster now, the red bra straining with each panicked breath. The wet spot on her red panty grew noticeably darker.
Heavy footsteps echoed from the staircase — slow, deliberate, confident. Each step made her flinch internally. She could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears.
LUB DUB… LUB DUB… LUB DUB…
The footsteps reached the landing. Then they stopped right outside the bedroom door.
Deepa’s breathing turned shallow and ragged. Her thick thighs trembled. A fresh trickle of arousal leaked from her smooth, shaved pussy, soaking the red panty further. She wanted to scream, to run, to cover herself — but she stayed frozen in position, arms raised, body displayed, completely at his mercy.
The bedroom door slowly pushed open with a soft creak.
Johnny stood in the doorway, filling the frame with his muscular body. He was dressed casually in a tight black t-shirt and jeans, a wicked, satisfied smirk playing on his lips. His eyes immediately devoured the erotic sight before him — the beautiful married woman lying obediently on her husband’s bed in nothing but red lace bra and panty, arms raised submissively above her head, body glistening with nervous sweat, tummy shivering, breasts heaving, and the obvious wet patch between her legs.
For a long moment, he just stood there, drinking in every detail. His gaze lingered on her smooth underarms, the deep glittering navel, the way her red bra pushed her heavy breasts together, and the way her red panty clung to her freshly shaved mound.
“Fuck…” he breathed, voice low and thick with lust. “Look at you, Deepa baby. So obedient. So fucking hot. Lying here on your marital bed exactly as I ordered… arms up like a good little slut… pussy already leaking for me.”
Deepa’s face burned with shame. Her voice came out as a broken whisper, trembling with tension. “Johnny… please… my husband might come… close the door properly… I’m begging you…”
Johnny stepped inside and closed the bedroom door behind him with a soft click, but he left it unlocked — another deliberate act of risk. He walked slowly toward the bed, his eyes never leaving her body. He stopped at the foot of the bed, towering over her stretched-out form.
“You followed every instruction perfectly,” he said, voice dripping with dark satisfaction. “Shaved smooth… red inners… arms raised… door ajar… Good girl.”
He reached out and traced one rough finger slowly from her raised wrist, down her smooth underarm, making her shiver violently. Then lower — over the curve of her breast, circling the hard nipple through the red lace without touching it directly. Deepa’s tummy fluttered wildly under his gaze.
“See how your body responds even when you’re terrified?” he murmured. “Your nipples are rock hard. Your panty is soaked. Your tummy is shivering so erotically. You hate me… but your married cunt is dripping for me.”
Deepa’s heart continued its frantic rhythm — LUB DUB… LUB DUB… LUB DUB… She kept her arms raised, too scared to move. Tears of shame and panic welled in her eyes.
“Please… not today… Charan is back… if he comes home early…”
Johnny only smiled wider. He climbed onto the bed, kneeling between her spread thighs. His hands gripped her soft waist, thumbs pressing into the warm flesh on either side of her glittering navel.
“The risk makes it hotter, doesn’t it, bhabi?” he whispered, leaning down until his breath fanned her cleavage. “Now keep those arms up. Don’t move them. Today I’m going to enjoy my married whore slowly… while your husband is out there thinking everything is perfect.”
Deepa’s entire body trembled with intense tension — fear, shame, guilt, and dark arousal all crashing together. Her heart pounded louder than ever.
LUB DUB… LUB DUB… LUB DUB…
She was completely trapped — semi-naked, shaved, displayed on her marital bed, waiting for whatever filthy pleasures Johnny had planned, while the real world outside the slightly risky door threatened to destroy everything at any moment.






Deepa’s heart hammered violently against her ribs — LUB DUB… LUB DUB… LUB DUB — each beat so loud she was sure Johnny could hear it. She lay frozen on the marital king-sized bed, arms obediently raised above her head, smooth underarms fully exposed and glistening with nervous sweat. Her heavy breasts rose and fell rapidly inside the red lace bra, the thin fabric stretched tight over her stiff, aching nipples. Her soft tummy shivered uncontrollably, the deep round navel glittering with tiny droplets of sweat that slowly trickled down toward the waistband of her tiny red panty. Between her thick, golden thighs, the red panty was already soaked, the dark wet patch clearly outlining the shape of her freshly shaved, swollen pussy lips.
Johnny knelt between her spread legs, his muscular body towering over her. He didn’t rush. His dark eyes roamed slowly over every inch of her displayed body, savoring the sight of the married woman lying helplessly on her husband’s bed, waiting for him like an obedient slut.
“Look at you…” he murmured, voice low and thick with lust. “Arms up exactly as I ordered. Red bra pushing those big tits up so nicely. That tiny red panty already wet for me. Your tummy shivering so beautifully. You’re terrified… but your body is ready.”
Deepa’s breath caught in her throat. A soft, broken whimper escaped her lips. “Johnny… please… my husband could come home any minute… Charan is back… this is too dangerous…”
Johnny smiled wickedly. He placed both hands on her waist, his rough palms sliding slowly over her warm, soft skin. His thumbs traced lazy circles just above her hips, pressing gently into the yielding flesh. He leaned down, his face hovering inches above her quivering tummy.
“Shhh… the danger makes it sweeter, baby,” he whispered, his hot breath fanning her navel. “Keep your arms exactly where they are. Don’t move them even an inch.”
Deepa’s breathing became shallow and ragged. Her chest heaved faster, making her breasts strain harder against the red bra. She kept her arms raised, fingers gripping the pillow tightly, her smooth underarms shining with fresh sweat.
Johnny lowered his head and pressed his lips softly to her navel. He didn’t suck hard — he teased. His tongue circled the deep dip slowly, licking up the salty sweat, then dipping inside with gentle, wet strokes. He sucked lightly on the sensitive skin around it, making her tummy flutter violently.
Deepa’s breath caught sharply in her throat. “Haaa…” A helpless moan slipped out before she could stop it. Her hips twitched involuntarily.
He continued the slow torment, kissing and licking her navel for long, unhurried minutes, occasionally blowing cool air into the wet dip, watching her skin break out in goosebumps. His hands never left her waist, squeezing and caressing the soft curves.
Then he moved higher.
His mouth trailed wet kisses up her trembling tummy, over her ribs, until he reached the underside of her heavy breasts. He kissed the soft, creamy flesh slowly, deliberately avoiding her nipples. His tongue traced the deep valley of her cleavage, licking the sweat that had gathered there.
Deepa’s breath hitched again. “Johnny… oh god… please don’t…”
But her body betrayed her. Her nipples hardened even more, aching painfully inside the lace. She could feel her pussy leaking more, the red panty growing wetter.
Johnny looked up at her face, eyes dark and commanding. “Keep looking at me, Deepa. Eyes open. I want to see the shame and the hunger in them.”
She forced her eyes to stay open, tears of humiliation and unwanted arousal shimmering in them. Her heart continued its frantic rhythm — LUB DUB… LUB DUB… LUB DUB…
Johnny finally hooked his fingers into the cups of her red bra and slowly pulled them down, folding the lace beneath her breasts so they spilled out fully — heavy, round, and trembling. Her dark nipples stood erect, begging for attention.
He cupped both breasts in his rough palms, lifting them gently, feeling their weight. His thumbs brushed lightly over the stiff peaks — feather-light circles that made her gasp.
Deepa’s breath caught in her throat once more. “Ahhh… haaa…”
He lowered his mouth to one nipple and began the slowest, most torturous teasing. His tongue flicked the tip lightly, then circled it in lazy, wet strokes. He sucked gently, rhythmically, pulling the sensitive bud into his mouth with soft pulses, then releasing it with a wet pop, only to repeat the process. He gave the same passionate, unhurried attention to the other nipple — licking, sucking, occasionally grazing his teeth very lightly, never giving her the hard pressure she secretly craved.
Deepa’s entire body trembled. Her raised arms shook. Her tummy quivered nonstop. Sweat poured down her sides. Her pussy clenched emptily inside the soaked red panty, leaking steadily.
“Johnny… please… it’s too slow… I can’t take it…” she whimpered, voice hoarse with tension.
But Johnny only smiled against her breast. “That’s the point, baby. I want you burning. I want you dripping and desperate while your husband might walk in any second.”
He spent what felt like an eternity on her breasts — sucking, licking, kissing the soft flesh all around, making her nipples shiny and swollen. Every time her hips tried to lift toward him, he pressed them back down firmly.
Finally, he moved lower again.
His hands slid down her sides, over her hips, and hooked into the waistband of her tiny red panty. He peeled it down excruciatingly slowly, inch by inch, watching her face the entire time. The thin fabric stuck briefly to her wet folds before coming free, revealing her completely smooth, pink, married pussy — swollen outer lips glistening with arousal, inner folds peeking out, clit already erect and throbbing.
Johnny spread her thick thighs wider apart and settled between them. He blew a gentle stream of cool air directly onto her dripping cunt.
Deepa’s breath caught sharply in her throat. Her hips jerked. “Shhhh… haaa…”
He started with the slowest, longest licks possible — flat, broad strokes of his tongue from the bottom of her slit all the way up, deliberately avoiding her clit. He licked her outer lips, sucked them gently into his mouth one by one, then traced every fold with patient, burning slowness. His tongue dipped shallowly into her entrance, tasting her sweet nectar, then withdrew, only to repeat the teasing cycle.
Deepa’s moans grew broken and desperate. “Ahhh… Johnny… please… touch my clit… I’m dying…”
But he refused. For long, agonizing minutes he licked and sucked everywhere except the one spot she needed most. Her pussy leaked profusely now, clear juices coating his chin and dripping down to soak the bedsheet.
Only when her thighs were shaking violently and her raised arms were trembling did he finally focus on her clit.
He circled the swollen bud with the tip of his tongue — painfully slow, deliberate circles. Then he sucked it gently between his lips, pulsing softly, never increasing the pressure too quickly.
Deepa’s breath kept catching in her throat. “Haaaa… oh god… Johnny… haaaa…”
Her entire body was on fire. Tension, shame, fear of discovery, and overwhelming arousal mixed into a intoxicating storm. Her heart still pounded — LUB DUB… LUB DUB… LUB DUB — while her smooth underarms shone with sweat, her navel glittered, her heavy breasts heaved, and her freshly shaved pussy dripped endlessly onto the marital bed.
Johnny looked up at her flushed face, lips shiny with her juices, and whispered huskily:
“Tell me, Deepa… does your husband make you this wet? Does he tease you this slowly? Or do you only leak like a fountain when a younger man like me owns you on his own bed?”
Deepa could only sob softly, arms still raised submissively, body burning with the slowest, most intense seduction she had ever endured — every second filled with the terrifying possibility that the door could open and her entire world could collapse.
The tension was unbearable.
And Johnny was nowhere near finished


Deepa lay trembling on the marital king-sized bed, arms still obediently raised above her head, smooth underarms glistening with sweat. Her heavy breasts heaved with every shallow breath, dark nipples stiff and shiny from Johnny’s slow, torturous sucking. Her soft tummy quivered violently, the deep navel glittering like a wet jewel. Between her widely spread thighs, her freshly shaved pussy was completely exposed — swollen, pink, and dripping profusely, clear juices leaking steadily onto the bedsheet beneath her ass. The tiny red panty lay discarded somewhere on the floor.
Johnny knelt between her legs, his face hovering inches above her soaked cunt. His lips and chin were already shiny with her nectar. He looked up at her flushed, tear-streaked face with dark, hungry eyes, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
He didn’t dive in. Instead, he blew another gentle stream of cool air directly onto her throbbing clit.
Deepa’s breath caught sharply in her throat. “Haaaa…” Her hips jerked involuntarily, but his strong hands pinned her waist down firmly.
“Tell me, Deepa baby,” Johnny whispered, his voice low and filthy, “does your husband ever make this married pussy drip like a broken tap? Look how wet you are… leaking all over his bed just because I’m breathing on it.”
Deepa’s face burned with shame. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, but his commanding tone forced them open again.
“Eyes on me,” he ordered softly. “Answer honestly. When Charan fucks you at night, does your cunt get this sloppy and desperate?”
Deepa’s voice came out as a broken, humiliated whisper. “No… please don’t ask that… haaa…”
Johnny chuckled darkly. He leaned closer and dragged the flat of his tongue in one excruciatingly slow lick from the bottom of her slit all the way up, stopping just before touching her swollen clit.
“Slurrrp…”
Deepa’s breath caught again. Her tummy fluttered wildly. “Ahhh…”
“Be honest, bhabi,” he continued, licking her outer lips with lazy, wet strokes. “When your husband puts his average cock inside you, do you moan like this? Or do you have to fake it now… after tasting what a real thick cock feels like?”
He sucked one swollen outer lip gently into his mouth, rolling it between his lips while his eyes bored into hers.
Deepa’s raised arms trembled. Fresh tears of shame rolled down her temples. “Johnny… stop… it’s wrong… haaa… I love my husband…”
“But your body doesn’t lie,” Johnny murmured against her folds. His tongue dipped shallowly into her entrance, tasting her deeply, then withdrew slowly. “Feel how your cunt is clenching and leaking for me? Tell me, Deepa… whose name do you think about when Charan is thrusting on top of you? Mine?”
He circled her entrance with the tip of his tongue in slow, teasing spirals, never pushing inside fully.
Deepa’s breath kept catching in her throat. “No… please… don’t make me say it… shhhh…”
Johnny moved slightly higher. He placed the softest, feather-light kiss directly on her swollen clit, then pulled back.
Deepa’s entire body jolted. A desperate whimper escaped her. “Ahhh… Johnny…”
“Answer me,” he demanded softly, blowing cool air on her clit again. “When you cum with your husband, is it this strong? Or do you close your eyes and remember how I stretched your tight married hole and made you squirt like a whore on this very bed?”
He finally gave her clit a slow, deliberate lick — long and flat — then sucked the sensitive bud between his lips with gentle, rhythmic pulsing.
Deepa’s back arched off the bed. Her heavy breasts bounced. Her smooth underarms shone brighter with sweat. “Haaaa… oh god… it’s… it’s different… haaa…”
Johnny released her clit with a wet pop and looked up again, eyes gleaming with victory.
“Different how, baby? Tell me. Is my tongue better? Does it reach places your husband’s cock never can? Be honest while I eat this cheating pussy.”
He dove back in, licking her slowly and thoroughly — long strokes covering her entire slit, occasional gentle sucks on her clit, and deep, lazy thrusts of his tongue into her dripping hole. Every movement was deliberate, burning, and maddeningly slow.
Deepa’s moans grew louder and more broken despite her shame. “Ahhh… Johnny… your tongue… it’s… it’s making me crazy… haaa… please don’t ask more…”
But Johnny was relentless.
He pulled back again, replacing his tongue with two thick fingers that he slid slowly along her slick folds, teasing her entrance without entering.
“Tell me, Deepa… when Charan cums inside you, do you feel full? Or do you secretly wish it was my thick 9-inch cock flooding your womb instead?”
He pushed one finger inside her — painfully slow — curling it gently against her front wall while his thumb brushed her clit in tiny circles.
Deepa’s breath caught violently in her throat. Her thighs shook. “Haaaa… it’s… bigger… yours is bigger… oh god… I’m ashamed… please stop asking…”
Johnny smiled triumphantly and added a second finger, stretching her slowly, pumping in and out with controlled, deep strokes while his tongue returned to her clit — slow, wet circles that built the fire higher without letting her cum.
“Such a honest slut,” he praised between licks. “Your husband is out there celebrating his big tender win, thinking his faithful wife is waiting for him… and here you are — arms up, legs spread, pussy dripping on his bed while a younger man fingers and licks you. Does that make you wetter, Deepa? Knowing how wrong this is?”
Deepa sobbed softly, her raised arms trembling, tummy shivering nonstop, breasts heaving. Every slow thrust of his fingers, every lazy lick on her clit, every filthy question pushed her deeper into a burning sea of shame and arousal.
“Johnny… I can’t… haaa… I’m going to… please let me cum… I’m burning…”
But Johnny kept the pace torturously slow. He curled his fingers against her G-spot with precise, unhurried pressure while his tongue flicked her clit in gentle, rhythmic strokes.
“Beg properly, bhabi,” he whispered against her soaked flesh. “Tell me whose pussy this is now. Tell me who fucks you better — your loving husband or the man who blackmailed you. Say it while you look into my eyes.”
Deepa’s eyes were glassy with tears and desperate lust. Her breath kept catching in her throat as the slow, intense teasing pushed her right to the edge but refused to let her fall.
Her heart still pounded — LUB DUB… LUB DUB… LUB DUB…
The risk of the unlocked door and the possibility of Charan or Rahul returning at any moment made every second feel like pure erotic torture.
Johnny continued his slow, burning seduction — fingers pumping lazily, tongue working her clit with maddening patience, filthy questions pouring from his mouth, forcing her to confront her own shameful transformation with every wet lick and thrust.
Deepa was completely lost — ashamed, dripping, trembling, and helplessly burning under his control on her own marital bed.





To be continued.... Pls give feed back