Adultery Car driver Iqbal's daughter Fathima weds Business magnet Manohar's son Rahul

[opendoor]

Hyderabad’s Old City—it is a world unto itself. In a narrow alleyway where even an auto-rickshaw cannot squeeze through, arrangements for a *Nikah* (wedding) are underway at Iqbal’s home. Iqbal—a hardworking cab driver who has lived his life with integrity, never once cheating anyone—hit the "lottery" a year ago. And by lottery, I don't mean the *Bhagyalakshmi* lottery; rather, he secured a job as a driver in the home of a prominent businessman in Jubilee Hills.



Likewise, his *Begum* (wife) also found an opportunity to work there, handling the household chores.


He considered the "lottery" he won just a week ago to be far greater than the one he had won a year prior. That—precisely that—was his mistake.


Once, this was a society where bonds were forged based on love.


Now, people forge bonds based solely on money.


Time: 10:43 AM



Sitting alone in the bathroom, Fatima is consumed by anguish. Arrangements are being made for the *Nikah* of 19-year-old Fatima to a groom aged 65.


When her daughter failed to emerge from the bathroom even after a long while, her mother, Haseena, wept bitterly and pleaded with her husband, Iqbal, begging him to call off this alliance. Enraged, Iqbal delivered a stinging slap across his wife’s face, then summoned his son, Qasim, and commanded him: "Go reason with your sister... she must be ready within ten minutes!"


They lived in a modest two-room dwelling; the arrangements for the actual wedding ceremony had been made at a separate venue.


Qasim walked over and knocked on the door of the room where his sister had gone to bathe. "Fatima... hurry up and get ready... Baba is absolutely furious."

Hearing her brother's voice, Fatima opened the door, tears streaming down her face.

Upon seeing his sister, he wept and pulled her into a tight embrace. Unable to bear the sight of tears in the eyes of his sister—who was usually so lively and cheerful—Qasim held her close (as she stood clad only in her panties and bra) and showered her with kisses. "Hush, Fatima... just close your eyes and endure this for one day, and your life will be a paradise," he murmured.

Fatima sank to her knees, yanked down her brother's shorts, and grasped his uncircumcised member in her hand. "Don't you know exactly what kind of paradise I crave, Qasim Bhai?" she asked, before eagerly taking his seven-inch cock into her mouth and sucking on it. In that instant, the sorrow that had clouded Qasim's eyes vanished, replaced by joy—a joy that surged through his very member.

He gripped his sister's head firmly, holding it fast as he thrust into her mouth with vigorous, rhythmic strokes. As his cock plunged deep down her throat with such force, eighteen-year-old Fatima experienced an overwhelming sensation—a pleasure so intense that tears spilled from her eyes. Yet, these were not tears of sadness; they were tears born of the exquisite, almost painful sensation of her brother's cock filling her throat to its very depths. After holding it there for a full minute, he abruptly pulled out, lifted his sister to her feet, and kissed her tenderly. "Fatima... go on now... get ready. You only visit India once a year, and when you do, you'll have plenty of money. We'll book a room at a five-star hotel and enjoy ourselves even more than this," he promised.

Fatima, her eyes flashing with anger, grabbed his cock... Pressing down firmly with her hand, she said, "Hey! After letting my pussy go dry for a whole year with that old man, do you expect me to serve *your* cock for just one day? I don't want this marriage!"

Just then, Iqbal opened the door and walked in.

Seeing his daughter clad only in a bra and panties, and his son standing completely naked, he flew into a rage and whipped off his trouser belt.

Before Baba could strike them with the belt, she knelt down right in front of him, swiftly yanked down his trousers, and—with eager haste—pulled his semi-erect cock out of his underwear; she spat on it wetly, then instantly took it into her mouth and began to suck on it.

Iqbal’s rage instantly cooled.

And for Qasim, a feverish craving began to rise.

Still holding onto his sister, he threw her onto the rope cot nearby, yanked off her panties, and began licking her smooth, pale pussy; meanwhile, as Fatima—who was sucking on her father’s cock—looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, the 45-year-old Iqbal felt as though he were in heaven.

That money—which took such immense toil to earn...

And this pleasure—which came without any effort at all.



What does he/she want? "You want the pleasure that money brings? Very well—we’ll marry you off to an Arab Sheikh. Then, whenever you visit India, I can fuck you and find my pleasure that way."

Grabbing his daughter’s head and thrusting hard into her, he said, "Fatima, my dear... this marriage will put an end to all our hardships. The moment the wedding is over, we too can live in Jubilee Hills—that’s how much money the Sheikh promised us. He was absolutely shaken by your beauty, my child. Just close your eyes and endure it somehow."

She pulled his cock out of her and replied, "Baba... the first time you fucked me, I did close my eyes and endure it. As your thick cock forced its way into my tight pussy, the burning sensation was indescribable. The next day, when Qasim Bhai fucked me, the pain was unbearable. 

But after a while, I found myself craving that very burning sensation... craving that very pain. Baba, even though we live in this filthy hovel, we are happy here. How many men get to have a young pussy like mine available to fuck whenever they desire? Baba, we don't need bungalows in Jubilee Hills... a small place in your bed is all I need."

Realizing that her husband and son had gone inside and settled in, Haseena also entered the room.



The son was burying his face in his sister's pussy...

The husband was fucking his daughter's mouth...

She, too, approached with a look of fury, grabbed her daughter's breasts, and began sucking on them, saying, "It was the sight of these very breasts that shook the Sheikh to his core! After we sent him your photo—and he was already captivated by your beauty—I went ahead and sent him a photo of you while you were bathing... Your..." "He was captivated the moment he saw your breasts... Fatima, beauty like this isn't something everyone gets to possess. If you agree to this *Nikah*... we'll come visit Dubai every now and then, too... and we'll have a real blast there," she says.




"Oh? So... will *you* climb on top of that Sheikh and give him a good shake, too?"


No matter what anyone else might say, they are demonstrating right here—in the flesh—exactly where Fatima will find true pleasure.

"Hmmmm... Oh, Baba... Harder... Keep going... Ahhhh... Fuuuuck me... Umm... Not in... my ass... Yours won't... fit in there... Brother's is too small... Ah... Aaaah... Ooooh... *smooching sounds*... Ufff..."

(A shout from outside) "Iqbal Bhaiyya... will 10 kilos of mutton be enough for the feast?"

"Not 10... get... twen... tyyyy... ki... loooos... slaughtered... Ahhhhhh... O... kay?" Ufff... Oh my... Just to bite... my... breasts... you have such a crazy obsession, don't you? Hmmmm... Hey... don't cum inside my pussy... The groom will get upset...

(.) (.)

Jubilee Hills... A sprawling bungalow... 50-year-old Manohar Bhatia. Having moved to Hyderabad from North India thirty years ago, he worked tirelessly in the export business and amassed a fortune worth hundreds of crores.

Manohar, who is known for being extremely tough in business, is equally strict in his personal life. He does not forgive even the slightest mistake; having risen to the top through sheer hard work, he places immense value on money.

He earns solely so that his family can live happily. Being constantly busy with business, he settled down late in life—which is why he married at a relatively advanced age.

21-year-old Rahul, 18-year-old Shruti.

Children as precious as gems.

They were his one and only weakness.

Did you think it was chain-smoking?

No.

Then what?



His darling daughter, Shruti... a paragon of beauty... a golden doll. It was only after she was born that his business truly flourished.

What a business requires is intellect... and capital.

Not superstition.

For those who would argue otherwise, Manohar’s life serves as the perfect rebuttal.

He had yet another weakness.




"Wait—earlier you said he had *only one* weakness... and now you’re mentioning another? Pick one and stick to it, Open Door!"

"Okay, okay... as you wish."



The moment he woke up in the morning, he would sniff the panties Shruti had discarded.



Add another ten crores to ten crores, and you get twenty crores... and an acquaintance with an MLA.

Add another hundred crores to a hundred crores, and you get two hundred crores... and an acquaintance with a Minister.

But what happens when you add a thousand crores to a hundred crores? He would gain an introduction to the Chief Minister... and could expand his business to a national level.

That is precisely why he forged an alliance with Veer Pratap Singh's family—a family worth a staggering 1,000 crores. A marriage alliance was arranged with Veer's daughter—the beautiful, pampered darling, Kajal. It was sheer luck that such a match could be secured.


Once, society forged bonds based on love.

Now, people forge bonds based on money.


Time: 10:43 AM

Sitting alone in the bathroom, Rahul was consumed by anguish—wondering why he had to get married at the mere age of 21. His father had settled down late in life, and consequently, everything else in his life had happened late as well. Determined that his son should not suffer the same fate, he had arranged Rahul's marriage at the age of 21.

Rahul's distress wasn't about the fact that he was getting married at 21...

It was the very fact *that* he was getting married at all.

This was the age to enjoy life to the fullest; if he were to fall into the trap of marriage, he would lose his freedom.

When they were sent to a coffee shop for the traditional "marriage meeting"—so he could get a look at Kajal—she had scoffed, "Not some cheap place like this!" and dragged him off to a five-star hotel instead.

Rahul... why do you look so glum?

She took off her shirt.

"I'm talking to *you*, Rahul... say something."

She then removed her bra as well.

"Rahul, you're keeping your head down instead of looking at a stunning figure like this... Does it not get you aroused?" "I brought you here for that very test..."

In a fit of rage, Rahul threw Kajal onto the bed, fucked her hard and fast, ejaculated inside her pussy, and lit a cigarette. "Kajal... I don't want a loose pussy like this," he said. Kajal, equally furious, snatched the cigarette from his hand, took a deep drag, and retorted, "Is your cock a virgin? Didn't you fuck your own sister? Didn't you fuck your own mother? You prick... is there one moral code for men and another for women?"

Rahul’s ego was bruised; determined to give her a fitting reply, he said, "Fine, Kajal... once we’re married, I won't lick any woman's pussy. Likewise, you won't suck any man's cock. Okay?" As she began putting her clothes back on, she spat out, "I loathe a husband who imposes conditions on me. In fact, I loathe the very concept of a husband. I only showed up for this matchmaking meeting because I couldn't stand my father's nagging anymore." She turned to leave.



Rahul found it immensely entertaining to toy with beautiful, wealthy, and arrogant women. So, taking the gold chain from around his neck, he tossed it at her and said, "Kajal... I don't have a habit of fucking for free. This gold chain is worth 10 lakhs. I doubt your hourly rate exceeds 10 lakhs, does it?" As soon as he said that, she felt a burning rage deep within her; turning around, she grabbed his cock and declared, "You’re exactly the kind of man I want as a husband! I’ll suck my father’s cock right in front of you; I’ll get fucked by my boyfriend right in front of you. This marriage? I’m totally okay with it!" Then, flinging the diamond necklace from her neck right into his face, she spat out, "Go adorn your sister’s pussy with this, and then go fuck her!"—and stormed off.

And just like that... his ego wounded, he agreed to the marriage. He agreed back then solely to crush the arrogance of a woman like her. But now... forget about this specific marriage—he decided he didn't want to get married at all.

He hurriedly finished his bath and stepped out... without even drying himself off.

After his bath, it was always his mother who dried his body for him.



It had been a habit for twenty-one years.

His mother, Pavitra—while drying his body, she pleaded with her son, gently stroking his still-flaccid cock: "Hey... even after you get married, *I’m* still going to be the one drying you off, okay? Even if you’re fucking your wife at night, don’t you forget about me during the day, okay?"

A crazy mother... a crazy love.

"Mom... I don't want this marriage."
"Don't say that, darling... I hear your uncle is worth thousands of crores."

"Oh, come on! Even if he has assets worth thousands of crores, his dick isn't going to be thousands of inches long, is it? To get fucked, a six-inch dick is enough... and to eat, a handful of food is enough... that's all you really need."

"In our house, it’s not Mom who has the guts to stand up to Dad... it’s my little sister."

"That’s why, after Mom finishes drying him off, he calls my sister to help him get dressed—not into wedding finery, mind you, but just into his regular clothes."

"As she helped tuck her brother's dick into a pair of extra-large underwear, she remarked, 'Hey, I told Dad he should start a company that manufactures underwear even bigger than this!'"

"Why?" "Are these underpants not big enough for his cock?"

Shruti chuckled suddenly... "Dad doesn't actually need underwear at all, you know... His is only two inches long. Anyway, why have you put aside your wedding attire and dressed in regular clothes?"

"Hey! You knew I wasn't interested in this marriage, yet I specifically told you to somehow convince Dad to call it off, didn't I? What happened?"

"That’s exactly why I slipped into his bed last night. I figured if I held his two-inch cock in my hand, he wouldn't say no to anything I asked for. But your luck just sucks, man. When I asked him to stop your wedding, he replied, 'Fine, I'll just get *me* married at that very same auspicious time instead. And the groom? None other than Kajal's brother.' So, I shut my ass up... and opened my pussy instead. For a two-inch cock, a pussy is definitely the better option."

"Tch, tch... You're so selfish. Alright... I asked you to withdraw 10 lakhs—did you do it?"

"No."

"Tch, tch... I made a mistake by even telling you."

"I didn't withdraw 10 lakhs—I withdrew 20! If you're throwing a party for your friends, you need at least that much cash on hand, right?"

"Awesome! If you know any other nice girls like yourself, let me know—I'll marry one of them!"

"Wait... you mean *two* wives? I don't think Kajal would agree to that."

"If I keep chatting with you, the auspicious wedding time is going to pass us by."

(.) (.)

Time: 11:15 AM

Narrow lanes... There isn't even enough room for an auto-rickshaw to squeeze through—so how on earth is an Ambassador car supposed to fit? Baba... Qasim Bhai and I will come to the function hall in an auto-rickshaw.

Beti, you shouldn't come in an auto; you must come in a car. The boy has sent a Mercedes.

Baba... even an Ambassador car wouldn't fit—so how on earth would a Mercedes fit? You go and wait by that Mercedes. "Khasim Bhayya and I will take the auto as far as the Benz car."

"Alright... take care."

The auto started moving.

(.) (.)

Time: 11:15 AM

The Benz car started moving... not the Benz car Fatima was supposed to board, but the one Rahul had gotten into.

The function hall was located on the outskirts of the city.

Inside the car were Rahul and his younger sister, Shruti.

The others were traveling in separate cars.

(.) (.)

Inside the auto, Khasim received a phone call. Apparently, the Chicken 65 wasn't sufficient to go with the Biryani; a friend was calling to ask him to pick up ten plates from a hotel on his way.

They were just another 200 meters away from crossing that lane; Khasim asked the auto driver to stop in front of a café located there.

The auto came to a halt.

Khasim got out.

The auto started moving again... Khasim didn't notice.

It turned into a side lane... then into another lane from there... weaving through lane after lane, it finally reached Nampally Railway Station.

Time: 11:35 AM

As Fatima hurriedly stepped out, the auto driver—Shivanna—placed the 1,000 rupees he had on him into her hands.

For a brief moment, a whirlwind of emotions swirled in Fatima's eyes. She didn't even have the time to properly thank Shivanna, who had done so much for her; she simply grasped his hand and wept.

"Behen... you don't have much time. It would be extremely dangerous if anyone were to spot you. Go quickly now... Ahmed is waiting for you."

"Anna... you take care. You, here in Hyderabad..." "Don't stay here... go back to your hometown. If they catch you, they won't let you live."

"They don't have the guts for that. If they dare set foot in our neighborhood, we'll chop off their heads—every single one of them—and sell them at the mutton shop."

Covering herself with a veil, Fatima ran swiftly and boarded the Mumbai Express, which was halted there.

Ahmed would be boarding at the next stop, Patancheru—that was the source of her confidence.

Time: 11:35 AM

They had almost reached the function hall located near Patancheru. Rahul flashed his cock at his younger sister.

Blushing, she whispered, "Hey! The driver will see! Besides, with the wedding just an hour away, why do you have this sudden urge *now*?"

"Hey, the 'urge' isn't mine—it's *yours*, isn't it? *I* just need to pee. I'm going to go take a leak and come right back."

"We're almost there! Just hold it in!"

"I can't wait that long. Hey, brother—pull the car over to the side for a second. I really need to take a leak."

The car came to a halt.

Rahul got out.

Shruti got out, too.

"Where are *you* going?"

"I need to pee."

"You, too?"

"What? Do you think *I* don't get the urge? Tch, tch... Go over there and find a private spot to do your business."

Shruti watched as Rahul walked away to find a place to relieve himself.

One minute passed... then two minutes... *How long does it take him to pee? He's always like this. The filthy bastard—he'd probably screw Mom and then piss right in my face! Well, from now on, little Kajal will be the one keeping him in line.*

Five minutes passed... then ten minutes.

(.) (.)

"Iqbal Bhai... the bride is nowhere to be found!"

(.) (.)

"Manohar Saab... the groom is nowhere to be found, either!"


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