[SuitAndSyahi]

Meanwhile, on the other side…

Sarla was walking towards the society gate while talking on the phone. Her voice was low but confident.
“Haan… Memsaab toh bahut tough hai, lekin maine himmat nahi haari,” she said with a smirk. “Aaj thoda sa taste laga diya. Ab dheere-dheere usko apne jaal mein fasaaungi. Bas kuch dinon ki baat hai. Phir hum log ek acchi deal kar lenge aur khoob saara paisa kamaayenge. Uske baad yahan se nikal ke aish ki zindagi jeeyenge.”
Sarla laughed softly as she ended the call, a satisfied and determined look on her face.
It was a hot Thursday afternoon, around 2 PM. At that hour, most people were either busy in their offices or, if they were at home, hiding from the scorching heat. Those who could afford it were usually fast asleep inside their air-conditioned rooms.
But inside Ritu’s flat, things were far from quiet.
Ritu lay completely naked on the cool kitchen floor, her body trembling despite the oppressive summer heat. Her legs were spread wide, dbangd over Sarla’s shoulders. Sarla’s face was buried between Ritu’s thighs, her mouth hungrily devouring Ritu’s dripping pussy. She licked and sucked with intense passion, as if she wanted to drink every drop of juice from Ritu’s body.
Ritu was completely lost in pleasure. Her mind had gone blank. The only thing she could feel was the overwhelming hunger between her legs and the relentless, skillful tongue of Sarla.
Just an hour earlier, Sarla had come to the flat for her regular housework. Ritu had been in the mood to send her away quickly, but then a phone call had pulled her into the bedroom. When she finished the call and returned, she was stunned by what she saw.
Sarla stood in the kitchen, completely naked. Her clothes were neatly folded on the side table. She was waiting for Ritu with a seductive, inviting look in her eyes.
All questions, all hesitation, vanished from Ritu’s mind in that moment. Within minutes, both women were naked on the kitchen floor. Their bodies pressed together desperately, as if this was the last day of their lives. They kissed, touched, and devoured each other with raw, uncontrollable lust — two hungry bodies lost in the heat of forbidden passion.


One week later.
After dinner, Arjun and Ritu lay on their bed in a soft, intimate moment. The lights were dimmed, and a gentle breeze from the air conditioner filled the room. Arjun was propped up against the pillows, recounting details of his recent business trip and the challenges at the office. Ritu listened attentively, her head resting on his chest, nodding and reacting with genuine interest to every word.
Arjun had noticed the change in her almost immediately. Over the past week, Ritu had become noticeably happier, lighter, and more affectionate. The constant bickering and small arguments that used to fill their evenings had reduced dramatically. He didn’t know exactly what had caused it, but he was grateful for it.
Feeling the warmth of the moment, Arjun gently pulled Ritu closer, his hand sliding down her back. Their eyes met, and the air between them thickened with desire. It had been a long time since they had been this close.
Without another word, Arjun kissed her deeply, passionately. Ritu responded with equal hunger, her hands running through his hair as she pulled him on top of her. Their bodies pressed together, clothes slowly discarded between heated kisses and eager touches.
They made love that night with intense passion — the kind they hadn’t shared in months. Arjun moved inside her with deep, powerful strokes while Ritu moaned beneath him, her nails digging into his back. Their rhythm built steadily, raw and urgent, until both of them reached a shattering climax together, breathless and trembling in each other’s arms.
Afterwards, they lay tangled in the sheets, Arjun holding Ritu close, a satisfied smile on his face. Whatever had changed in her, he was simply happy to have his wife back — warm, loving, and full of life.
It was 1 AM. Arjun was in deep sleep beside her, breathing heavily, completely spent. He had given Ritu everything he had earlier that night — his love, his attention, his body. But even then, something was missing.
The raw passion.
The rough grip.
The kind of hunger that bordered on wild.
Arjun would never be that man. And Ritu had slowly started accepting it.
She lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, her body still buzzing with unfulfilled desire. Sleep felt miles away. Quietly, she slipped out of bed, wearing nothing but a thin satin nightie that barely reached her thighs. She walked to the balcony, sliding the glass door shut behind her.
The night air was slightly cooler, but the summer heat still lingered. Ritu leaned against the railing, gazing up at the bright full moon. Her mind wandered — back to the kitchen floor, Sarla’s hungry mouth, the way her body had shaken with uncontrollable pleasure. A small, secretive smile played on her lips.
What Arjun could never give her, someone else could.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the figure standing in the shadows of the opposite balcony. A dark silhouette, half-hidden behind a pillar, watching her intently. The person’s eyes traced every curve of her body under the moonlight — her bare legs, the way the thin nightie clung to her breasts, her messy hair glowing in the silver light.
A slow, hungry smile spread across the watcher’s face as they continued to stare at Ritu, unnoticed.
The very next week, Ritu’s office began insisting she return to work physically. New clients had been onboarded, and her presence was needed to coordinate with her team. The work-from-home arrangement that had given her so much freedom suddenly ended.
As a result, her secret, passionate encounters with Sarla became almost non-existent.
Now, their meetings were limited to brief, stolen moments in the morning. Sarla would come to the flat early, helping with small chores while Ritu got ready for office. Every time their eyes met, the air crackled with raw, unspoken desire. Sarla’s gaze would linger on Ritu’s body — hungry, lustful, and frustrated. Ritu felt the same pull, her body aching for the kind of wild pleasure only Sarla could give her.
But both of them knew they had to be extremely careful now. One wrong move, one careless moment, and everything could fall apart.
In this way, fifteen tense days passed.
The longing between them kept growing stronger with every passing day, turning into a slow-burning fire that neither could fully extinguish.
The Tuesday afternoon sun hung low and heavy, pressing its warmth against the concrete corridors of the society. Ritu’s meetings had been cancelled without warning—an unexpected mercy after weeks of back-to-back deadlines. She had taken the half-day without a second thought, the idea of returning home early bringing a quiet relief. The cab ride had been slow through the traffic, but now, as she climbed the familiar stairs to their second-floor flat, her steps felt lighter.
Until she reached the gate.
It stood ajar.
Just a few inches, but enough for the metal latch to catch the light oddly. Ritu froze, her bag slipping slightly from her shoulder. The afternoon was too still; even the usual distant sounds of children playing in the compound seemed muted. Her heart gave a hard, sudden thud. Burglars? The thought flashed sharp and cold. She opened her mouth to shout, but the sound died in her throat. What if Sarla was still inside, working? What if calling out made things worse?
Her fingers tightened around the spare key in her palm, its edges biting into her skin. She moved forward carefully, pushing the gate open just enough to slip through without a sound. The hinges gave the faintest protest. Inside the small entrance, the air felt thicker, charged with something she couldn’t name.
The drawing room lay quiet and orderly. Cushions arranged neatly on the sofa, the low centre table polished, afternoon light slanting across the tiled floor in long, lazy bars. No signs of struggle. The kitchen beyond it gleamed—dishes put away, the counter wiped clean, the faint smell of jeera and fresh coriander still lingering from lunch. Everything in its place. Too much in its place.
Then it came.
A low, scbanging sound from the direction of the bedroom. Furniture shifting. The soft drag of wood against tile.
Ritu’s breath caught. She pressed herself against the wall, heart hammering so loudly she was sure it would betray her. Slowly, she slipped off her sandals, leaving them by the door. Bare feet on the cool floor, she moved forward like a shadow, one hand trailing along the wall for balance. The corridor seemed longer than usual, the familiar photographs of her and Arjun on their wedding day watching her silently as she passed.
Another scbang. This one heavier, followed by the rustle of fabric and a quiet exhale—human, unmistakably.
Ritu reached the half-open bedroom door. Her pulse roared in her ears. She leaned in, peering through the narrow gap, careful not to cast her shadow across the threshold.
Ritu’s breath stalled in her throat as she peered through the narrow crack of the half-open bedroom door.
On their bed — her bed — lay a woman with her hair wildly scattered across the pillow. Her legs were pushed back sharply, ankles nearly touching her own shoulders in a brutal, folded position. Her body jerked in violent, rhythmic shocks, each thrust forcing a fresh wave through her glistening, sweat-soaked skin. The sheen of perspiration covered her completely — breasts, stomach, thighs — evidence that this had been going on for a long time. A piece of cloth, perhaps one of Ritu’s own dupattas, was stuffed tightly into her mouth, muffling the desperate, broken sounds that still managed to escape with every deep jolt.
Ritu’s fingers dug into the doorframe, her body turning cold even as heat flooded her face.
She forced herself to look at the man responsible for this.
He was older, heavily built, his skin a deep, sun-baked brown from years of working outdoors. Strands of grey streaked through his dark hair. His body was thick — a heavy mix of muscle and fat that spoke of raw strength rather than gym discipline. He had locked the woman’s legs against his sides, gripping her thighs with large, rough hands, and was pounding into her with animalistic force — fast, deep, relentless thrusts that made the bed creak. His face was contorted with effort, sweat pouring down his forehead and neck, dripping onto the woman’s heaving chest.
He fucked like a beast in heat, hips snapping forward again and again with single-minded hunger.
Ritu stood frozen, unable to look away. A storm of emotions crashed through her — sharp disbelief, rising nausea, a cold blade of fear, and something darker, more complicated, twisting beneath it all. Betrayal. Confusion. A strange, unwanted heat.
Ritu remained rooted at the door, her body trembling, when the man suddenly pulled back. His thick, glistening cock slipped out of Sarla with a wet sound. It was heavier than Arjun’s — noticeably thicker around the shaft — though roughly the same average length. No condom. Nothing. A thick, creamy layer of white liquid coated his entire length, some of it dripping slowly onto the bedsheet. The sight told its own story: this wasn’t the first round. Sarla had already taken him multiple times before Ritu had come home.
The man gripped his cock, stroking it once as he looked down at Sarla’s wrecked body with raw hunger. Then, without warning, he thrust back inside her in one brutal stroke.
“Saali kutiya… ohhh meri randi Sarla,” he growled, voice thick with lust, “is palang pe teri chut ka bhosda banane ka jo maza hai, woh ghar ke us sakht bed pe kahaan milega?”
The words hit Ritu like a slap.
Sarla.
Her Sarla. The same woman who had touched her so tenderly these past weeks, who had initiated their secret intimacy while Arjun was away. The woman Ritu had started falling for. And here she was — legs folded back, body covered in sweat and another man’s cum — being used like a cheap whore on the very bed Ritu shared with her husband.
A storm of emotions exploded inside Ritu’s chest. Betrayal burned hot and sharp. Anger. Humiliation. A sickening twist of jealousy. The woman she had let into her body, into her thoughts, was now spreading her legs for this sweaty, rough labourer in her own home. The same house where they had crossed every limit.
She wanted to burst in. Scream at both of them. Drag Sarla off that bed and slap the truth out of her. But fear held her back — cold, practical fear. What if the man turned violent? What if neighbours got involved? What if this became a bigger mess she couldn’t control?
Her phone suddenly rang, loud and jarring in the silence of the corridor.
The sound yanked her back to reality. Heart pounding, Ritu snatched her phone from her bag and bolted. She ran out of the flat, not even bothering to close the gate properly, her bare feet slapping against the stairs as she descended quickly to the basement level.
Only when she reached the dimly lit basement parking area did she stop, leaning against a pillar, breathing hard. Her hands were shaking as she looked at the screen. It was her colleague from the office.
Behind her, up in the flat, the man had frozen mid-thrust. He had heard the phone ringing. With narrowed eyes, he pulled out of Sarla, quickly walked toward the bedroom door, and peered out into the drawing room and entrance area. His thick, still-hard cock bobbed heavily as he checked whether someone had entered the house. His face was alert now, scanning for any sign of an intruder, any movement in the shadows.
Down in the basement, Ritu stared at her ringing phone, the world spinning around her.
The dining table felt unusually quiet that evening. The warm glow of the overhead light fell softly on the simple dal-chawal, sabzi, and roti that Sarla had prepared before leaving. Ritu sat across from Arjun, mechanically lifting small bites to her mouth. Her movements were slow, almost automatic, as if her body was present but her mind had wandered far away.
Arjun paused with a piece of roti halfway to his mouth. He had been watching her for the last few minutes — the distant look in her eyes, the way her gaze kept drifting toward the bedroom door.
“Ritu,” he said gently, trying to pull her back. “Kya baat hai? Aaj din kaise tha?”
Ritu blinked, forcing a small smile as she looked at her husband. “Theek tha. Meetings cancel ho gayi thi, isliye thoda jaldi ghar aa gayi.” Her voice sounded normal enough, calm even. But inside, her thoughts were miles away, replaying the same disturbing images again and again.
Barely two hours earlier, she had watched from the basement stairs as Sarla and that man slipped out of the flat together. Sarla’s hair was still messy, her sari slightly dishevelled, walking close behind the thick-bodied man with the grey-streaked hair. After they disappeared down the society lane, Ritu had forced herself to go back upstairs. The flat had smelled of sweat and sex. With shaking hands, she had stripped the bedsheets, stuffed them deep into the washing machine, and put on fresh ones. She had wiped down the bedside table, the floor, even aired the room — trying desperately to erase every trace of what she had witnessed.
Now, sitting opposite Arjun, she nodded along as he spoke about his long day at the office and the upcoming Mumbai project. She gave the right responses at the right moments — “Haan,” “Achha,” “Theek hai” — but her mind refused to stay in the present.
What should I do?
Confront Sarla tomorrow? Throw her out immediately? Tell Arjun everything? Or stay silent and pretend nothing had happened? The questions circled endlessly in her head, tangled with anger, confusion, and a strange, lingering hurt. Sarla had touched her, kissed her, made her feel desired in ways Arjun hadn’t in a long time. And yet, here she was — letting that粗 man fuck her raw on their marital bed like a cheap randi.
Arjun reached across the table and lightly touched her hand, concern softening his features. “Tum theek toh ho na? Aaj kuch alag lag rahi ho.”
Ritu squeezed his fingers back, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Bas thak gayi hoon. Kuch nahi hai.”
She continued eating in silence, the food tasting like ash in her mouth. Outside, the night sounds of the society drifted in — distant television noise, a scooter starting — but inside her chest, everything felt heavy and unresolved. She still didn’t know what her next move would be.
A tense week dragged by in the small 2BHK apartment.
Every morning, Sarla arrived at her usual time, moving through the house with quiet efficiency. But now there was a new persistence in her behaviour. She would find excuses to come close to Ritu — refilling her water glass while she worked from home, lingering near the study table, or asking unnecessary questions about lunch. Her eyes carried a silent plea, a desire to bridge the growing distance. She wanted to talk. She wanted the old closeness back.
Ritu, however, kept her walls firmly up. She buried herself in her laptop, took sudden phone calls, or invented household tasks that kept her physically away. “Sarla, main busy hoon,” she would say curtly, or simply walk into another room without explanation. The warmth that had once existed between them had turned into cold, professional silence.
Finally, on the fifth day, Ritu could not take it anymore. She placed a heavy stone on her heart and confronted Sarla in the kitchen.
“Sarla,” she said, her voice steady but cold, “ab tum apne kaam se kaam rakho. Humare beech ka rishta sirf naukrani aur malkin ka hai. Kuch aur nahi. Samajh gayi?”
Sarla froze while wiping the counter. For a moment, pain flashed across her face, quickly replaced by something harder — a quiet defiance. She nodded slowly, but the look in her eyes said she was not pleased. Still, she didn’t argue. From that day onward, an invisible line had been drawn.
Two days passed after that conversation.
By eleven in the morning, the house usually echoed with the soft sounds of Sarla working — sweeping, washing, cooking. But now there was only silence. The clock ticked past eleven, then twelve. Sarla did not come. Ritu checked her phone repeatedly. No calls. No messages. Nothing.
The next day, the same thing happened. And the day after that.
Five days in total.
The flat felt strangely empty without Sarla’s presence. The floors were not as spotless. The kitchen lacked its usual order. Ritu found herself doing small chores she had long forgotten — making her own tea, folding clothes, wiping dust from the shelves. Every time she passed the bedroom, memories of that afternoon flooded back — the sweaty bodies, the crude words, the betrayal. Yet Sarla’s sudden disappearance brought a new kind of unease.
Arjun had noticed her distraction but had not pressed too much, assuming it was work stress. Ritu, meanwhile, kept wondering. Was Sarla gone for good? Was this her way of punishing Ritu? Or was something else at play — something connected to that thick-bodied man with the grey-streaked hair?
Whatever the reason, the silence felt heavier with each passing day. Ritu still didn’t know whether she felt relief… or a growing sense of dread.
The clock on the wall showed 10:07 PM. The apartment was quiet except for the soft tapping of Ritu’s fingers on her laptop keyboard. Arjun had left hours ago, rushing to his cousin’s place after receiving the distressing news of the accident. She had stayed back because of an important early morning presentation. The house felt unusually large and empty without him.
Ritu was deeply focused on her spreadsheet when the doorbell rang, sharp and sudden in the silence. She startled, her heart jumping. Who could it be at this hour?
She got up slowly, tightening the belt of her night robe. Walking barefoot to the door, she hesitated for a moment before leaning forward to look through the keyhole.
It was Sarla.
She stood outside under the dim corridor light, looking calm but slightly dishevelled, her dupatta dbangd loosely over her shoulders.
Ritu’s grip tightened on the doorknob. After five days of silence, here she was. A mix of anger, curiosity, and unease stirred inside her. She unlocked the door and pulled it open.
Sarla looked up, her dark eyes meeting Ritu’s directly.
“Come in,” Ritu said, her voice colder than she intended.
Sarla stepped inside without a word. The familiar scent of her rose soap and faint sweat filled the entrance as Ritu closed the door behind her. The click of the lock sounded louder than usual in the quiet flat.
Ritu crossed her arms, keeping a safe distance. “It’s almost 10:30, Sarla. What are you doing here at this time?”
Sarla stood near the sofa, her hands clasped in front of her. She looked around the familiar drawing room for a moment before her gaze returned to Ritu.
“Main aapse baat karne aayi hoon, Madam,” she said softly. “Bahut din se soch rahi thi… aaj aana pada.”
Ritu didn’t offer her a seat. The tension between them was thick, almost tangible. The memories of that afternoon two weeks ago — Sarla folded on the bed, that man thrusting into her — flashed through Ritu’s mind again.
She waited, eyes narrowed.
Ritu stood near the sofa, arms still crossed tightly over her chest. The silence in the apartment felt heavier now with Sarla standing just a few feet away.
“Kya baat karni hai, Sarla?” Ritu asked, her tone sharp. “Aur woh bhi itni raat ko, almost 10:30 baje?”
Sarla shifted slightly on her feet, looking down for a moment before raising her eyes again. Her voice was low and tired.
“Madam… jis ghar mein hum rehte the, uske makaan malik ne suddenly ghar khali karwa diya. Unhone bola tha ki unko ghar bechna hai. Hum sab ko sirf do din ka time mila. Purani family ke saath nayi jagah shift hona pada… bahut pareshani hui. Isliye main na toh kaam pe aa payi aur na hi aapko phone pe bata saki.”
She paused, swallowing hard.
“Sorry Madam.”
Ritu let out a slow breath, some of the hardness in her expression softening just a little. The explanation made sense, even if it didn’t erase everything she had witnessed.
“Theek hai,” Ritu said finally. “Lekin yeh sab baat phone pe bhi toh ki ja sakti thi. Ek call kar deti toh main samajh jati.”
Sarla nodded quickly. “Ji Madam, aap bilkul sahi keh rahi hain. Main phone karna chahti thi… lekin main kuch aur bhi aapko batana chahti thi. Woh baat phone pe nahi keh saki.”
She took one small step closer, her voice dropping slightly.
“Woh baat jo main aapko personally batana chahti hoon.”
Ritu’s body tensed again. Something in Sarla’s tone — a strange mix of hesitation and quiet determination — made the air in the room feel thicker. The wall clock ticked loudly in the background. Outside, the society had gone almost completely silent.
Ritu narrowed her eyes, waiting.
“Bol,” she said curtly. “Kya baat hai?”
Ritu’s patience was wearing thin. She stared at Sarla, waiting.
Sarla took a slow breath and spoke, her voice quiet but steady.
“Madam… aapko mujhse woh baat nahi chhupani chahiye thi.”
Ritu’s eyebrows drew together in confusion and shock. “Konsi baat chhupayi maine, Sarla? Mujhe kuch samajh nahi aa raha hai.”
Sarla took another small step forward, closing the distance between them. Her eyes held Ritu’s gaze without flinching.
“Hum dono toh kayi baar itne kareeb aa chuke the, Madam,” she said softly, almost intimately. “Us waqt jab aapne mujhe apne paas aane diya tha… jab humne ek dusre ko chhua tha. Aise mein aisi baatein chhupana theek nahi hota.”
Ritu stood frozen, her mind struggling to process what she was hearing. A cold wave of disbelief washed over her. Sarla was coming even closer now, her movements slow and deliberate, the faint scent of her body filling the space between them.
Before Ritu could respond, Sarla’s voice dropped to a low, husky whisper.
“Meri chudai ka maza toh pura liya tumne us din… darwaze se khade khade dekh kar.”
The words hit Ritu like a slap across the face. Her breath caught sharply in her throat. Heat rushed to her cheeks — a violent mix of shock, embarrassment, and rising anger. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
For a few seconds, the room was deathly silent except for the ticking of the clock.
Ritu finally found her voice, though it came out trembling with rage. “What the hell are you saying, Sarla?”
Sarla didn’t back away. Instead, a strange, knowing smile played on her lips as she watched Ritu’s reaction.
Ritu’s face twisted with rage as she unleashed a torrent of fury on Sarla. “Get out!” she screamed at the top of her voice, her words dripping with venom. She shoved Sarla hard, pushing her toward the open door with both hands. Sarla stumbled backward, her eyes wide with shock.
Just as Sarla opened her mouth to scream, a large, heavy hand clamped brutally over her lips, muffling her cry into a pathetic, choked whimper. The stranger’s powerful grip silenced her instantly. Before she could react, he twisted her arms behind her back with terrifying strength, pinning them in place. His broad chest pressed firmly against her back, trapping her body against his, completely blocking any chance of escape.
Ritu froze.
In that horrifying moment, everything clicked. She remembered exactly how it had happened. When Sarla had first entered the house, she had been standing near the sofa. Ritu herself had been positioned with her back to the main door—completely unaware, completely exposed. She hadn’t seen the stranger slip inside. Not a sound. Not a movement. He had been there the whole time, lurking silently in the shadows of her own home.
Now the door was still open, but the trap had already closed.



Ritu’s blood ran cold.
The man standing behind Sarla was no stranger. The same heavy, sun-darkened body. The same thick arms glistening with sweat. The same grey-streaked hair matted against his forehead. Ramesh — Sarla’s husband. The man she had watched pounding into Sarla on her own marital bed just days ago.
He had slipped in behind Sarla like a shadow while Ritu was distracted. The door was still ajar, but escape now felt impossible.
Sarla’s expression had completely changed. The pleading, teary look from moments ago had vanished. In its place was a calm, almost victorious smirk.
“Memsaab,” Sarla said softly, her voice dripping with mock concern, “agar logon ko pata chal gaya ki aap dusron ki chudai chupke se dekh rahi thi… toh bahut bura lagega na? Society mein kya sochenge? Ritu Madam, itni cultured aur modern, dusre aurat ke pati ke saath…?”
Ritu’s face burned with humiliation. Her mouth opened but no words came out. The shame was choking her.
Before she could recover, Ramesh stepped forward. His large, rough hand shot out and caught Ritu by the waist, pulling her closer with surprising strength. His palm was hot, calloused from years of manual labour, pressing firmly against the thin satin of her night robe.
“Arre… sara maza dekh ke hi lene ka irada hai kya?” he growled, his voice low and thick with lust. His other hand moved boldly upward, fingers brushing over the curve of her breast before flicking her nipple through the thin fabric of her nighty. He pinched it lightly between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it slowly. “Itni der tak darwaze pe khadi ho ke humari chudai dekh rahi thi… ab sirf dekh ke hi kaam chalega?”
Ritu gasped sharply, her body jerking at the sudden intimate touch. “What— let go!” she hissed, trying to twist away, but his grip on her waist only tightened, fingers digging into her soft flesh.