23-07-2026, 04:18 PM
Kulkarni lay on his back, chest still heaving, a satisfied smile spreading across his weathered face. His dream—the one he'd stroked himself to countless nights, the forbidden fantasy he'd nurtured since the day this beautiful Kerala girl moved in next door—had finally become reality.
She's mine now. This sweet young wife. Mine.
Beside him, Devika stirred. The satisfied glow on her face flickered, replaced by something else. Awareness. The reality of what they'd done settling over her naked skin like morning frost.
She sat up slightly, instinctively crossing her arms over her breasts. Her eyes scanned the bed—looking for something to cover herself, to hide the evidence of her transformation from proper wife to willing lover.
No bedsheet. Kulkarni never bothered with them. Just the fitted sheet beneath them, now damp with their mingled sweat and fluids.
Her gaze landed on the black saree—still crumpled on the floor where he'd unwrapped it from her body hours ago. The wet fabric had dried somewhat, wrinkled and creased from their passion.
She reached down. Grabbed it. Pulled it onto the bed.
Kulkarni watched with interest as she spread the six yards across them both. She arranged it carefully—covering their bodies from waist to chest, tucking the edges around them like a makeshift blanket.
The intimacy of the gesture struck him harder than their fucking had.
She's using her saree as our bedsheet. The same saree her husband probably bought for her. Wrapping us both in it like we're...
Like they were married.
The thought made his cock twitch despite having just emptied inside her.
Devika settled back down beside him. The black fabric covered them both now—her fair skin and his darker, older flesh hidden beneath cotton that carried her jasmine scent mixed with rain and sex.
She rested her head on his shoulder. One arm dbangd across his chest. Her naked body pressed against his side—soft breasts flattening against his ribs, her thigh overlapping his, her pussy still leaking his cum against his hip.
Under another woman's saree. Under a young married woman's saree. Lying with her like a husband while her actual husband worked night shift across the city.
The wrongness of it—the delicious, intoxicating wrongness—made him harder than any aphrodisiac could.
Devika felt it. Felt his cock stirring against her thigh. She smiled despite herself. Small. Secret. A woman's smile when she realizes her power.
But then her face crumpled slightly. Her smile faded. Those big doe eyes filled with something that looked like tears.
"I'm so bad," she whispered. Her voice trembled. "Look what I became, kaka. I'm a terrible person. Terrible wife. My amma would die if she knew. My family would disown me. Arjun would—"
"Shh." Kulkarni turned on his side, facing her. The saree shifted with them. He cupped her face gently. "Don't do this to yourself."
"But it's true. I came here knowing what would happen. I let you... I wanted you to... and it felt so good and I don't even feel sorry and that makes me—"
He silenced her with a kiss.
Just a peck. Soft press of lips. Tender. Reassuring.
When he pulled back, his thumb brushed away the single tear that had escaped down her cheek.
"You're not bad, Devika. You're human. You're a woman with needs that weren't being met. That's not badness. That's nature."
"But I'm married—"
"To a man who ignores you. Who treats you like furniture. Who's more interested in his laptop than his beautiful wife." Kulkarni's voice was gentle but firm. "What we did tonight—that wasn't sin, beta. That was two people giving each other something they desperately needed."
She bit her lip. Searching his face for... what? Absolution? Permission to feel less guilty?
"You made me feel beautiful," she whispered. "Wanted. Like I mattered. Arjun hasn't made me feel that way in... I can't remember when."
"Because you do matter. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever touched, Devika. And if your husband is too stupid to see that, too busy to appreciate you, then he deserves to lose you."
The words were manipulative. Self-serving. Everything a sixty-seven-year-old man should feel ashamed for saying to his neighbor's twenty-four-year-old wife.
But they were also true.
Devika's face softened. She leaned forward. Kissed him again—longer this time. Deeper. Gratitude and need mixed together.
When they separated, she glanced at the clock on his nightstand.
12:17 AM.
Her eyes widened. "Oh god. I came here at nine. We've been... for more than two hours..."
"Two and a half," Kulkarni corrected. His voice carried satisfaction. Pride. "And worth every second."
She should leave. Should return to her flat. Clean herself properly. Change into fresh clothes. Sleep in her own bed so when Arjun returned from night shift in the morning, she wouldn't look exhausted and well-fucked.
Should maintain the pretense of faithful wife waiting dutifully for her hardworking husband.
But something inside her refused to move.
Something that wanted to stay exactly where she was—wrapped in her own saree like a blanket, naked against this old man's body, his cum still warm inside her pussy.
Just a little longer, she told herself. Five more minutes. Then I'll go.
"Tell me about Kerala," Kulkarni said suddenly. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her bare shoulder. "Your home. Your family. Before you married."
The request surprised her. Most men—especially after sex—didn't want conversation. Didn't want connection beyond the physical.
But Kulkarni looked genuinely interested. His grey eyes held curiosity. Warmth.
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything. What was little Devika like? Were you always this shy? This proper?"
She laughed. Soft. Real. "Very proper. Very good girl. Always listening to elders. Never talking back. Studying hard, praying regularly, helping amma with cooking. Perfect daughter."
"And now look at you." His hand slid down her spine. Cupped her bare ass beneath the saree. Squeezed. "Lying naked with an old man under your wedding saree. What happened to perfect daughter?"
"She moved to Pune." Devika's voice carried something between regret and liberation. "She got lonely. She got curious. She got... corrupted."
"Corrupted by me?"
"By you. By this city. By..." She paused. Met his eyes. "By discovering I'm not who I thought I was."
They talked like that for nearly an hour. About Kerala's monsoons and Pune's heat. About her college days and his youth in Maharashtra. About silly things—favorite foods, embarrassing moments, childhood dreams.
Like lovers. Like friends. Like two people who'd known each other for years instead of months.
And between the words, they touched. Small intimate gestures that felt more meaningful than the fucking had.
His fingers threading through her hair. Her palm resting over his heart. A gentle kiss on her forehead. Her lips brushing his jaw.
"You talk too much, kaka," Devika teased during a pause. "Old men should save their energy."
"Old men?" His eyes flashed with mock offense. "Did I seem old when I was fucking you for twenty minutes straight? When I made you come how many times? Three? Four?"
"Five," she admitted. Her cheeks flushed. "I lost count after three."
"Exactly. So show some respect to your kaka who can still perform better than your twenty-eight-year-old husband."
"Respect?" She raised one eyebrow. "You want respect while you're lying naked under my saree?"
"Yes. Absolute respect." He pulled her closer. Kissed her nose. "Respect for my stamina. My technique. My thick cock that stretched your tight pussy better than Arjun ever—"
She slapped his chest. Light. Playful. "Don't be crude!"
"I'm being honest." He caught her hand. Brought it to his lips. Kissed her palm. "Tell me I'm wrong."
She couldn't. Because he wasn't wrong.
They fought like that—stupid playful arguments that dissolved into kisses. About who initiated what. Who moaned louder. Whose fault it was that the sheets were ruined.
"Your fault for being so wet," he accused.
"Your fault for making me wet!"
"Your fault for coming to my flat in transparent saree."
"Your fault for being such a perverted old man!"
"Old again? I'll show you old—"
He rolled on top of her. Pinned her wrists above her head. The saree tangled around their bodies.
She giggled. Actually giggled—a sound he'd never heard from her before. Young. Free. Unburdened.
He kissed her laughing mouth. She kissed back. They wrestled gently under the makeshift blanket, all pretense of shame evaporated.
When they separated, both breathing hard, Devika's hand slipped under the saree.
Found his cock.
It had softened after their first round. But the moment her fingers wrapped around the shaft, it began responding.
She stroked slowly. Tentatively. Not looking at him. Just feeling the way his flesh hardened in her palm.
"Getting excited again, kaka?" Her voice was teasing. But underneath—real arousal. Real hunger.
"Can't help it when a beautiful woman touches me." His breath hitched as she squeezed. "Especially when that woman is you."
She stroked more confidently now. Up and down. Spreading the residual cum and her wetness that still coated him. Feeling him grow thick. Hard. Ready again.
This is insane. We just finished. He's sixty-seven. He shouldn't be able to...
But he was. His cock swelled to full erection in her hand. Hot. Heavy. Pulsing with renewed need.
"I want it again," she whispered. The confession felt liberating. No shame. No pretense. Just honest want. "I need you inside me again, kaka."
"Yes." His voice was rough gravel. "I need you too, beta. Need to feel your sweet pussy around my cock. Need to fill you up again."
She released him. Sat up. The saree fell to her waist, baring her breasts.
Then she did something that shocked them both.
She climbed on top of him.
Straddled his hips. One knee on each side of his body. Her wet pussy hovering over his erect cock.
But before settling down, she grabbed the saree. Wrapped it around her body from chest to waist like a towel. Tucked the end firmly between her breasts.
Kulkarni stared. "What are you doing?"
"I'm shy." Her voice was small. Embarrassed. "Being naked in front of you... again... I can't..."
"But I already saw everything—"
"I know. But still. Let me keep this on. Please?"
The sight of her—naked from waist down, wrapped in black saree from waist up, straddling his lap with flushed face and mussed hair—was somehow more erotic than full nudity had been.
She looked like a village bride on her wedding night. Modest. Shy. Covering herself while preparing to be claimed.
"You look beautiful," he breathed. "Sexier than any woman I've ever seen."
She smiled. Pleased. Then positioned herself over his cock.
I've never done this position. Never been on top. Arjun only knows missionary—me on my back, him pumping away for three minutes then rolling off.
But she'd seen this in videos. The adult films she'd secretly watched on her phone late at night when loneliness and curiosity overwhelmed her guilt.
Woman on top. Riding her man. Taking control of her pleasure.
She wanted to try. Wanted to be that woman.
She lowered slightly. Felt his cock brush against her entrance. The thick head pressing. Seeking.
She reached down. Grabbed his shaft. Guided him to her opening.
Then sank down slowly.
"Ahh—!" They moaned together.
Her pussy was still slick from their previous fucking. Still stretched. Still coated with his cum. He slid inside easily—inch by inch, filling her completely.
When she was fully seated—his cock buried to the hilt, his balls pressed against her ass—she paused.
Just sat there. Impaled. Adjusting to the sensation of being penetrated from this new angle.
It felt different. Deeper somehow. Like he was reaching parts of her that missionary never touched.
She bent forward. Pressed her saree-wrapped chest against his bare torso. Found his mouth.
Kissed him deeply. Passionately. Her tongue invaded his mouth while her pussy gripped his cock tight.
Small movements of her hips. Grinding. Circling. Not fucking yet. Just feeling.
She moaned into his mouth. He swallowed the sound. His hands found her hips beneath the saree. Held. Guided.
When she sat back up, she tossed her head. Let her long hair fall down her back. Raised her arms and gathered the thick black mass, twisting it, piling it atop her head.
The motion lifted her breasts beneath the saree. Made the fabric strain. She looked wild. Primal. A goddess performing some ancient ritual.
Then she began moving.
Slow at first. Rising up until just the head remained inside, then sinking back down. Up and down. Establishing rhythm.
Kulkarni's hands gripped her waist. His fingers dug into the soft flesh above her hips. He guided her movements—not controlling, just supporting.
"That's it," he groaned. "Ride me, Devika. Take what you need."
She did. She rode him with increasing confidence. Faster. Harder. Her thighs burning. Her pussy clenching.
The saree wrapped around her chest began slipping. The tucked end loosened with each bounce. The fabric shifted lower.
She didn't care. Didn't stop to fix it.
When the saree finally unwrapped completely—falling away to pool around her waist—she still didn't stop.
Just kept riding. Breasts bouncing with each movement. Fair skin flushed with exertion and arousal.
She bent forward again. Pressed her naked chest against his. Kissed him hungrily.
Kulkarni wrapped his arms around her back. Held her tight against him. Then he lifted his hips.
And fucked up into her.
Hard. Fast. Brutal thrusts that made her scream into his mouth.
"Ahh! Ahh! Kaka!"
He pounded into her from below. His cock driving deep. His balls slapping her ass. The wet sounds of their coupling filling the room.
She couldn't keep up. Could only hold on. Could only take what he gave her.
When he stopped—buried deep, pulsing inside her—she whimpered.
"Feed me," he commanded. His voice was raw. Desperate. "Feed me your breasts, Devika. I want to suck your nipples while you ride my cock."
She straightened. Cupped her heavy breasts. Lifted them toward his face.
He latched onto the left nipple immediately. Sucked hard. His tongue circled the sensitive peak. His teeth grazed.
She resumed riding. Slower now. Grinding her clit against his pubic bone with each downward stroke. Feeding him her breast like a mother feeds her child.
"Other one," he gasped. Released the left nipple with a wet pop. "Give me the other."
She shifted. Offered her right breast. He sucked it into his mouth. Harder than the left. Teeth scbanging. Making her gasp and moan.
They stayed like that for nearly an hour.
Her riding his cock with slow grinding movements. Him sucking her breasts—alternating between left and right, covering her chest with love bites and saliva. Both lost in sensation.
Devika came three times. Maybe four. The orgasms blurred together into one continuous wave of pleasure that never quite crested, never quite fell, just rolled through her endlessly.
She was so wet. Could feel their combined fluids leaking from where they joined. Coating his cock. Dripping down his balls. Soaking the sheet beneath them.
Kulkarni's breathing grew ragged. His sucking became frantic. His hands gripped her ass with bruising force.
"Devika," he groaned against her breast. "I'm close. Fuck, I'm so close—"
She rode harder. Faster. Chasing her own release while pulling him toward his.
His cock swelled inside her. Thickened. She felt it growing, preparing to erupt.
"Yes," she gasped. "Yes, kaka, do it. Fill me up again. Give me everything—"
He didn't warn her. Didn't ask permission.
Just pulled her down hard—impaling her completely on his cock—and came.
His roar was animal. Primal. His whole body went rigid. His cock pulsed violently inside her pussy.
Hot cum flooded her. Spurt after spurt. Coating her walls. Filling her womb. Mixing with the load he'd already deposited there earlier.
The sensation triggered her final orgasm. She threw her head back and screamed. Her pussy clamped down like a vice. Milking him. Draining him. Taking every last drop.
They came together. Moaning. Grunting. His seed painting her insides while her walls rippled and clenched.
When the waves finally subsided, she collapsed onto him.
Her sweat-slicked body pressed against his. Her face buried in his neck. His softening cock still inside her. His cum leaking from her stretched pussy.
Neither moved. Neither spoke. Just lay tangled together, breathing hard, hearts racing.
Devika's eyes drifted closed. Exhaustion pulled at her. Sweet satisfied exhaustion that came from being thoroughly fucked.
She felt Kulkarni's chest rising and falling beneath her. Felt his arms wrapped around her back. Felt his cock sliding out of her pussy—soft now, followed by a rush of warm cum.
She should get up. Should clean herself. Should go back to her flat.
Should. Should. Should.
But her body refused to move. Refused to leave this warm cocoon of post-orgasmic bliss.
She slept.
A gentle pat on her ass woke her.
"Devika, beta. Wake up."
She stirred. Blinked. Lifted her head from Kulkarni's chest.
"Mm?"
"It's two AM." His voice was gentle but insistent. "You should go back to your flat. Sleep in your bed. Before Arjun comes home."
Reality crashed back. She sat up quickly. Looked at the clock.
2:17 AM.
Oh god. I fell asleep on top of him. We've been here for five hours.
She climbed off his body. Her legs shook. Her pussy ached—well-used, stretched, leaking his seed.
She found her saree on the bed. Wrapped it around herself hastily. No time for proper dbanging. Just wound it around her body a few times, tucked the end between her breasts.
Her blouse was still damp but wearable. She pulled it on. No bra—that was somewhere on his dresser, claimed as his trophy.
No panties either. They'd disappeared in the tangle of clothing.
She'd have to walk back to her flat with Kulkarni's cum leaking down her thighs. With no underwear. With her body still flushed and marked from hours of fucking.
The thought should have horrified her.
Instead, it made her smile.
Kulkarni walked her to the door. Naked. Completely unselfconscious about his nudity. His cock hung soft between his legs—that same cock that had been inside her just minutes ago.
At the door, he caught her wrist. Pulled her back against him.
Kissed her.
Deep. Thorough. Ten full minutes of kissing—tongues tangling, lips sucking, small moans bleeding from both their throats.
When they finally separated, both were breathing hard again.
"I wish I was born in Kerala," he whispered against her lips. "I wish I could have married a Kerala girl like you. Had you as my wife. Fucked you every night for forty years."
The words twisted something in her chest. Sweet. Sad. Impossible.
"But you weren't," she whispered back. "And I'm not yours. I'm Arjun's wife."
"For now." His eyes held hers. Serious. Intense. "But you came to my bed tonight, Devika. You gave yourself to me. That makes you mine in ways your marriage never will."
She couldn't argue. Couldn't deny.
She kissed him once more. Quick. Desperate. Then pulled away.
Opened his door. Checked the corridor—empty, dark, silent.
Slipped out.
Her anklets chimed softly as she crossed the few feet to her own door. She unlocked it quietly. Stepped inside.
Closed the door behind her. Locked it.
Her flat was dark. Empty. Cold. Nothing like Kulkarni's warm bed.
She walked to her bedroom on unsteady legs. Didn't bother showering. Didn't change clothes.
Just collapsed onto the bed—still wearing her wrinkled saree and damp blouse, Kulkarni's cum slowly leaking from her pussy onto the mattress, her body marked with love bites and scratches and the evidence of her betrayal.
She should feel guilty. Should feel horrified.
Should hate herself for what she'd done.
Instead, she felt satisfied. Complete. Like she'd finally found something she didn't know she'd been searching for.
Her eyes drifted closed. Sleep pulled her under like a gentle tide.
Her last thought before darkness claimed her:
I'll deal with consequences tomorrow. Tonight, I'm just going to feel good.
And she did.
She's mine now. This sweet young wife. Mine.
Beside him, Devika stirred. The satisfied glow on her face flickered, replaced by something else. Awareness. The reality of what they'd done settling over her naked skin like morning frost.
She sat up slightly, instinctively crossing her arms over her breasts. Her eyes scanned the bed—looking for something to cover herself, to hide the evidence of her transformation from proper wife to willing lover.
No bedsheet. Kulkarni never bothered with them. Just the fitted sheet beneath them, now damp with their mingled sweat and fluids.
Her gaze landed on the black saree—still crumpled on the floor where he'd unwrapped it from her body hours ago. The wet fabric had dried somewhat, wrinkled and creased from their passion.
She reached down. Grabbed it. Pulled it onto the bed.
Kulkarni watched with interest as she spread the six yards across them both. She arranged it carefully—covering their bodies from waist to chest, tucking the edges around them like a makeshift blanket.
The intimacy of the gesture struck him harder than their fucking had.
She's using her saree as our bedsheet. The same saree her husband probably bought for her. Wrapping us both in it like we're...
Like they were married.
The thought made his cock twitch despite having just emptied inside her.
Devika settled back down beside him. The black fabric covered them both now—her fair skin and his darker, older flesh hidden beneath cotton that carried her jasmine scent mixed with rain and sex.
She rested her head on his shoulder. One arm dbangd across his chest. Her naked body pressed against his side—soft breasts flattening against his ribs, her thigh overlapping his, her pussy still leaking his cum against his hip.
Under another woman's saree. Under a young married woman's saree. Lying with her like a husband while her actual husband worked night shift across the city.
The wrongness of it—the delicious, intoxicating wrongness—made him harder than any aphrodisiac could.
Devika felt it. Felt his cock stirring against her thigh. She smiled despite herself. Small. Secret. A woman's smile when she realizes her power.
But then her face crumpled slightly. Her smile faded. Those big doe eyes filled with something that looked like tears.
"I'm so bad," she whispered. Her voice trembled. "Look what I became, kaka. I'm a terrible person. Terrible wife. My amma would die if she knew. My family would disown me. Arjun would—"
"Shh." Kulkarni turned on his side, facing her. The saree shifted with them. He cupped her face gently. "Don't do this to yourself."
"But it's true. I came here knowing what would happen. I let you... I wanted you to... and it felt so good and I don't even feel sorry and that makes me—"
He silenced her with a kiss.
Just a peck. Soft press of lips. Tender. Reassuring.
When he pulled back, his thumb brushed away the single tear that had escaped down her cheek.
"You're not bad, Devika. You're human. You're a woman with needs that weren't being met. That's not badness. That's nature."
"But I'm married—"
"To a man who ignores you. Who treats you like furniture. Who's more interested in his laptop than his beautiful wife." Kulkarni's voice was gentle but firm. "What we did tonight—that wasn't sin, beta. That was two people giving each other something they desperately needed."
She bit her lip. Searching his face for... what? Absolution? Permission to feel less guilty?
"You made me feel beautiful," she whispered. "Wanted. Like I mattered. Arjun hasn't made me feel that way in... I can't remember when."
"Because you do matter. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever touched, Devika. And if your husband is too stupid to see that, too busy to appreciate you, then he deserves to lose you."
The words were manipulative. Self-serving. Everything a sixty-seven-year-old man should feel ashamed for saying to his neighbor's twenty-four-year-old wife.
But they were also true.
Devika's face softened. She leaned forward. Kissed him again—longer this time. Deeper. Gratitude and need mixed together.
When they separated, she glanced at the clock on his nightstand.
12:17 AM.
Her eyes widened. "Oh god. I came here at nine. We've been... for more than two hours..."
"Two and a half," Kulkarni corrected. His voice carried satisfaction. Pride. "And worth every second."
She should leave. Should return to her flat. Clean herself properly. Change into fresh clothes. Sleep in her own bed so when Arjun returned from night shift in the morning, she wouldn't look exhausted and well-fucked.
Should maintain the pretense of faithful wife waiting dutifully for her hardworking husband.
But something inside her refused to move.
Something that wanted to stay exactly where she was—wrapped in her own saree like a blanket, naked against this old man's body, his cum still warm inside her pussy.
Just a little longer, she told herself. Five more minutes. Then I'll go.
"Tell me about Kerala," Kulkarni said suddenly. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her bare shoulder. "Your home. Your family. Before you married."
The request surprised her. Most men—especially after sex—didn't want conversation. Didn't want connection beyond the physical.
But Kulkarni looked genuinely interested. His grey eyes held curiosity. Warmth.
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything. What was little Devika like? Were you always this shy? This proper?"
She laughed. Soft. Real. "Very proper. Very good girl. Always listening to elders. Never talking back. Studying hard, praying regularly, helping amma with cooking. Perfect daughter."
"And now look at you." His hand slid down her spine. Cupped her bare ass beneath the saree. Squeezed. "Lying naked with an old man under your wedding saree. What happened to perfect daughter?"
"She moved to Pune." Devika's voice carried something between regret and liberation. "She got lonely. She got curious. She got... corrupted."
"Corrupted by me?"
"By you. By this city. By..." She paused. Met his eyes. "By discovering I'm not who I thought I was."
They talked like that for nearly an hour. About Kerala's monsoons and Pune's heat. About her college days and his youth in Maharashtra. About silly things—favorite foods, embarrassing moments, childhood dreams.
Like lovers. Like friends. Like two people who'd known each other for years instead of months.
And between the words, they touched. Small intimate gestures that felt more meaningful than the fucking had.
His fingers threading through her hair. Her palm resting over his heart. A gentle kiss on her forehead. Her lips brushing his jaw.
"You talk too much, kaka," Devika teased during a pause. "Old men should save their energy."
"Old men?" His eyes flashed with mock offense. "Did I seem old when I was fucking you for twenty minutes straight? When I made you come how many times? Three? Four?"
"Five," she admitted. Her cheeks flushed. "I lost count after three."
"Exactly. So show some respect to your kaka who can still perform better than your twenty-eight-year-old husband."
"Respect?" She raised one eyebrow. "You want respect while you're lying naked under my saree?"
"Yes. Absolute respect." He pulled her closer. Kissed her nose. "Respect for my stamina. My technique. My thick cock that stretched your tight pussy better than Arjun ever—"
She slapped his chest. Light. Playful. "Don't be crude!"
"I'm being honest." He caught her hand. Brought it to his lips. Kissed her palm. "Tell me I'm wrong."
She couldn't. Because he wasn't wrong.
They fought like that—stupid playful arguments that dissolved into kisses. About who initiated what. Who moaned louder. Whose fault it was that the sheets were ruined.
"Your fault for being so wet," he accused.
"Your fault for making me wet!"
"Your fault for coming to my flat in transparent saree."
"Your fault for being such a perverted old man!"
"Old again? I'll show you old—"
He rolled on top of her. Pinned her wrists above her head. The saree tangled around their bodies.
She giggled. Actually giggled—a sound he'd never heard from her before. Young. Free. Unburdened.
He kissed her laughing mouth. She kissed back. They wrestled gently under the makeshift blanket, all pretense of shame evaporated.
When they separated, both breathing hard, Devika's hand slipped under the saree.
Found his cock.
It had softened after their first round. But the moment her fingers wrapped around the shaft, it began responding.
She stroked slowly. Tentatively. Not looking at him. Just feeling the way his flesh hardened in her palm.
"Getting excited again, kaka?" Her voice was teasing. But underneath—real arousal. Real hunger.
"Can't help it when a beautiful woman touches me." His breath hitched as she squeezed. "Especially when that woman is you."
She stroked more confidently now. Up and down. Spreading the residual cum and her wetness that still coated him. Feeling him grow thick. Hard. Ready again.
This is insane. We just finished. He's sixty-seven. He shouldn't be able to...
But he was. His cock swelled to full erection in her hand. Hot. Heavy. Pulsing with renewed need.
"I want it again," she whispered. The confession felt liberating. No shame. No pretense. Just honest want. "I need you inside me again, kaka."
"Yes." His voice was rough gravel. "I need you too, beta. Need to feel your sweet pussy around my cock. Need to fill you up again."
She released him. Sat up. The saree fell to her waist, baring her breasts.
Then she did something that shocked them both.
She climbed on top of him.
Straddled his hips. One knee on each side of his body. Her wet pussy hovering over his erect cock.
But before settling down, she grabbed the saree. Wrapped it around her body from chest to waist like a towel. Tucked the end firmly between her breasts.
Kulkarni stared. "What are you doing?"
"I'm shy." Her voice was small. Embarrassed. "Being naked in front of you... again... I can't..."
"But I already saw everything—"
"I know. But still. Let me keep this on. Please?"
The sight of her—naked from waist down, wrapped in black saree from waist up, straddling his lap with flushed face and mussed hair—was somehow more erotic than full nudity had been.
She looked like a village bride on her wedding night. Modest. Shy. Covering herself while preparing to be claimed.
"You look beautiful," he breathed. "Sexier than any woman I've ever seen."
She smiled. Pleased. Then positioned herself over his cock.
I've never done this position. Never been on top. Arjun only knows missionary—me on my back, him pumping away for three minutes then rolling off.
But she'd seen this in videos. The adult films she'd secretly watched on her phone late at night when loneliness and curiosity overwhelmed her guilt.
Woman on top. Riding her man. Taking control of her pleasure.
She wanted to try. Wanted to be that woman.
She lowered slightly. Felt his cock brush against her entrance. The thick head pressing. Seeking.
She reached down. Grabbed his shaft. Guided him to her opening.
Then sank down slowly.
"Ahh—!" They moaned together.
Her pussy was still slick from their previous fucking. Still stretched. Still coated with his cum. He slid inside easily—inch by inch, filling her completely.
When she was fully seated—his cock buried to the hilt, his balls pressed against her ass—she paused.
Just sat there. Impaled. Adjusting to the sensation of being penetrated from this new angle.
It felt different. Deeper somehow. Like he was reaching parts of her that missionary never touched.
She bent forward. Pressed her saree-wrapped chest against his bare torso. Found his mouth.
Kissed him deeply. Passionately. Her tongue invaded his mouth while her pussy gripped his cock tight.
Small movements of her hips. Grinding. Circling. Not fucking yet. Just feeling.
She moaned into his mouth. He swallowed the sound. His hands found her hips beneath the saree. Held. Guided.
When she sat back up, she tossed her head. Let her long hair fall down her back. Raised her arms and gathered the thick black mass, twisting it, piling it atop her head.
The motion lifted her breasts beneath the saree. Made the fabric strain. She looked wild. Primal. A goddess performing some ancient ritual.
Then she began moving.
Slow at first. Rising up until just the head remained inside, then sinking back down. Up and down. Establishing rhythm.
Kulkarni's hands gripped her waist. His fingers dug into the soft flesh above her hips. He guided her movements—not controlling, just supporting.
"That's it," he groaned. "Ride me, Devika. Take what you need."
She did. She rode him with increasing confidence. Faster. Harder. Her thighs burning. Her pussy clenching.
The saree wrapped around her chest began slipping. The tucked end loosened with each bounce. The fabric shifted lower.
She didn't care. Didn't stop to fix it.
When the saree finally unwrapped completely—falling away to pool around her waist—she still didn't stop.
Just kept riding. Breasts bouncing with each movement. Fair skin flushed with exertion and arousal.
She bent forward again. Pressed her naked chest against his. Kissed him hungrily.
Kulkarni wrapped his arms around her back. Held her tight against him. Then he lifted his hips.
And fucked up into her.
Hard. Fast. Brutal thrusts that made her scream into his mouth.
"Ahh! Ahh! Kaka!"
He pounded into her from below. His cock driving deep. His balls slapping her ass. The wet sounds of their coupling filling the room.
She couldn't keep up. Could only hold on. Could only take what he gave her.
When he stopped—buried deep, pulsing inside her—she whimpered.
"Feed me," he commanded. His voice was raw. Desperate. "Feed me your breasts, Devika. I want to suck your nipples while you ride my cock."
She straightened. Cupped her heavy breasts. Lifted them toward his face.
He latched onto the left nipple immediately. Sucked hard. His tongue circled the sensitive peak. His teeth grazed.
She resumed riding. Slower now. Grinding her clit against his pubic bone with each downward stroke. Feeding him her breast like a mother feeds her child.
"Other one," he gasped. Released the left nipple with a wet pop. "Give me the other."
She shifted. Offered her right breast. He sucked it into his mouth. Harder than the left. Teeth scbanging. Making her gasp and moan.
They stayed like that for nearly an hour.
Her riding his cock with slow grinding movements. Him sucking her breasts—alternating between left and right, covering her chest with love bites and saliva. Both lost in sensation.
Devika came three times. Maybe four. The orgasms blurred together into one continuous wave of pleasure that never quite crested, never quite fell, just rolled through her endlessly.
She was so wet. Could feel their combined fluids leaking from where they joined. Coating his cock. Dripping down his balls. Soaking the sheet beneath them.
Kulkarni's breathing grew ragged. His sucking became frantic. His hands gripped her ass with bruising force.
"Devika," he groaned against her breast. "I'm close. Fuck, I'm so close—"
She rode harder. Faster. Chasing her own release while pulling him toward his.
His cock swelled inside her. Thickened. She felt it growing, preparing to erupt.
"Yes," she gasped. "Yes, kaka, do it. Fill me up again. Give me everything—"
He didn't warn her. Didn't ask permission.
Just pulled her down hard—impaling her completely on his cock—and came.
His roar was animal. Primal. His whole body went rigid. His cock pulsed violently inside her pussy.
Hot cum flooded her. Spurt after spurt. Coating her walls. Filling her womb. Mixing with the load he'd already deposited there earlier.
The sensation triggered her final orgasm. She threw her head back and screamed. Her pussy clamped down like a vice. Milking him. Draining him. Taking every last drop.
They came together. Moaning. Grunting. His seed painting her insides while her walls rippled and clenched.
When the waves finally subsided, she collapsed onto him.
Her sweat-slicked body pressed against his. Her face buried in his neck. His softening cock still inside her. His cum leaking from her stretched pussy.
Neither moved. Neither spoke. Just lay tangled together, breathing hard, hearts racing.
Devika's eyes drifted closed. Exhaustion pulled at her. Sweet satisfied exhaustion that came from being thoroughly fucked.
She felt Kulkarni's chest rising and falling beneath her. Felt his arms wrapped around her back. Felt his cock sliding out of her pussy—soft now, followed by a rush of warm cum.
She should get up. Should clean herself. Should go back to her flat.
Should. Should. Should.
But her body refused to move. Refused to leave this warm cocoon of post-orgasmic bliss.
She slept.
A gentle pat on her ass woke her.
"Devika, beta. Wake up."
She stirred. Blinked. Lifted her head from Kulkarni's chest.
"Mm?"
"It's two AM." His voice was gentle but insistent. "You should go back to your flat. Sleep in your bed. Before Arjun comes home."
Reality crashed back. She sat up quickly. Looked at the clock.
2:17 AM.
Oh god. I fell asleep on top of him. We've been here for five hours.
She climbed off his body. Her legs shook. Her pussy ached—well-used, stretched, leaking his seed.
She found her saree on the bed. Wrapped it around herself hastily. No time for proper dbanging. Just wound it around her body a few times, tucked the end between her breasts.
Her blouse was still damp but wearable. She pulled it on. No bra—that was somewhere on his dresser, claimed as his trophy.
No panties either. They'd disappeared in the tangle of clothing.
She'd have to walk back to her flat with Kulkarni's cum leaking down her thighs. With no underwear. With her body still flushed and marked from hours of fucking.
The thought should have horrified her.
Instead, it made her smile.
Kulkarni walked her to the door. Naked. Completely unselfconscious about his nudity. His cock hung soft between his legs—that same cock that had been inside her just minutes ago.
At the door, he caught her wrist. Pulled her back against him.
Kissed her.
Deep. Thorough. Ten full minutes of kissing—tongues tangling, lips sucking, small moans bleeding from both their throats.
When they finally separated, both were breathing hard again.
"I wish I was born in Kerala," he whispered against her lips. "I wish I could have married a Kerala girl like you. Had you as my wife. Fucked you every night for forty years."
The words twisted something in her chest. Sweet. Sad. Impossible.
"But you weren't," she whispered back. "And I'm not yours. I'm Arjun's wife."
"For now." His eyes held hers. Serious. Intense. "But you came to my bed tonight, Devika. You gave yourself to me. That makes you mine in ways your marriage never will."
She couldn't argue. Couldn't deny.
She kissed him once more. Quick. Desperate. Then pulled away.
Opened his door. Checked the corridor—empty, dark, silent.
Slipped out.
Her anklets chimed softly as she crossed the few feet to her own door. She unlocked it quietly. Stepped inside.
Closed the door behind her. Locked it.
Her flat was dark. Empty. Cold. Nothing like Kulkarni's warm bed.
She walked to her bedroom on unsteady legs. Didn't bother showering. Didn't change clothes.
Just collapsed onto the bed—still wearing her wrinkled saree and damp blouse, Kulkarni's cum slowly leaking from her pussy onto the mattress, her body marked with love bites and scratches and the evidence of her betrayal.
She should feel guilty. Should feel horrified.
Should hate herself for what she'd done.
Instead, she felt satisfied. Complete. Like she'd finally found something she didn't know she'd been searching for.
Her eyes drifted closed. Sleep pulled her under like a gentle tide.
Her last thought before darkness claimed her:
I'll deal with consequences tomorrow. Tonight, I'm just going to feel good.
And she did.
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