26-07-2026, 10:39 PM
(This post was last modified: 26-07-2026, 10:40 PM by SilverArrow. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
As the car wind up near their modest house, standing near the courtyard porch were Ustad’s uncle and aunt.
"Ustad! My boy!" his uncle called out, his sharp face instantly softening into a proud, beaming smile as he stepped forward with open arms.
Ustad kept his left arm locked tightly around Monica’s waist, holding her close as he greeted them.
"Tauji, Taiji..." Ustad rumbled, his voice filled with calm confidence. "Meet my wife, Monica. And this..." Ustad gestured carelessly back toward the SUV, where Rakesh was stepping out looking pale and flustered, "...is Rakesh. A friend from Delhi who came with us for Bheem's sister's wedding”
"Ahai! Look at her!" the aunt gasped lovingly, entirely ignoring Rakesh and rushing straight to Monica. She took Monica’s hands, beaming with rural pride. "So glowing! She looks like a pretty queen Ustad Beta! Ustad, you brought such a beautiful bahu home!"
The uncle chuckled warmly. "You were speaking the truth after all, Ustad Beta! A girl like this... no wonder you turned down the village proposals!"
Conscious of rural modesty, she quickly raised her fair hands, trying desperately to pull her crimson silk blouse up over her heaving 36D breasts. She adjusted her dupatta, pulling it tightly across her front to cover the deep cleavage.
But the tailored silk was far too tight; the plunging neckline strained violently against her volume, and her heavy breasts spilled right back out over the border. Her earnest attempt at modesty only made her look more provocative.
Ustad noticed her struggle. "Don't bother, Monica," he murmured against her ear. "You look perfect."
Monica bit her lower lip as she smiled blushingly at his aunt.
The aunt, beaming with affection for her new niece-in-law, quickly fetched a wide brass platter filled with blood-red kumkum water for the traditional entry ritual.
"Come, beta” the aunt said softly to Monica.
As the aunt placed the brass dish on the threshold, she suddenly glanced over her shoulder at Rakesh, who was standing awkwardly near the front of the car, his face sweating under the rising heat.
"Hey" the aunt barked at Rakesh. "Don't just stand there staring! Unload those heavy leather bags from the boot and carry them inside. Hurry up, we can't leave the luggage out in the courtyard!"
Rakesh froze, looking desperately at Ustad, waiting for his best friend to intercede.
Instead, Ustad didn't even glance back.
"Go on, Rakesh Bhai," Ustad rumbled casually, his voice laced with smooth, terrifying dominance. "Put our bags in the bedroom"
Monica didn't stop it either. She offered Rakesh a quick, pitying look before turning all her sweet attention back to Ustad, resting her hand on his chest. "Should I step into the red water now, Miyan Saab?" she purred, her voice dripping with obedient affection.
"Hold your saree, Monica," Ustad commanded softly.
Rakesh stood at the rear of the car, hauling two heavy leather suitcases, his chest heaving. He watched in agonizing silence as his wife stepped onto the white marble threshold, leaving wet, blood-red footprints side-by-side with Ustad, who guided her inward with his hand resting firmly on her bare lower back.
“This is not right. I should have just stopped Ustad and Monica right there” Rakesh had this continuously running in his head..
Inside the main timber-beamed hall, the uncle welcomed Ustad and Monica, offering them seats on the low silk cushions.
"You brought us a priceless bride, Ustad," the uncle said warmly. "She lights up this old modest home. But court papers don't satisfy village tradition. Before I hand over your father's land deeds, mark her hair with sindoor in front of us."
Ustad smiled—a low, confident expression. "Whatever you say, Tauji."
The aunt turned to Rakesh, who was standing near the doorway, his fingers raw from carrying the heavy luggage.
The aunt ordered briskly, pointing to the family altar. "Hey you again ….Pick up that silver bowl of vermilion powder and bring it here! Hold it steady for the groom!"
Rakesh’s legs felt like lead. He walked over to the shrine, picked up the cold silver bowl filled with bright red powder, and shuffled toward the couple. His heart hammered so violently he felt sick, while his manhood throbbed painfully hard inside his tight trousers—a humiliating, shameful reaction to his absolute subjection. His mind screamed violently…
“He was doing Sindoor daan of his own wife…and both his best friend and his wife is just so casually enjoying all this .how can he just allow this to happen right under his nose…”
He stood mere inches from them, holding out the silver bowl with trembling hands.
Ustad stood up, stepping directly in front of Monica.
"Look at me, Monica," Ustad rumbled, his voice dropping into a thick, hypnotic command.
Monica raised her face. Her beautiful eyes were wide, glowing with a strange excitement. She rested both her soft hands flat against Ustad’s heavy chest, her breath coming in quick, shallow hitches that made her breasts push provocatively against her tight blouse.
Ustad dipped his thick thumb deep into the silver bowl held by Rakesh.
Without breaking eye contact with Monica, Ustad brought his hand to her face. He cupped her delicate chin firmly with his left hand, tilting her head back, and pressed his thumb loaded with deep red powder right onto her forehead. Slowly, deliberately, he dragged his thumb deep into her hair parting.
Loose red powder spilled over her skin, trailing down her nose!
Monica’s breath hitched in her throat. A visible shiver ran down her entire body. She closed her eyes, letting out a soft, shuddering moan that sent a jolt of pure fire straight into Rakesh's gut.
Rakesh stood there quietly shaking his mind defeaning from his internal conflicts and deep seated insecurity as he with disbelief saw Monica smiling at Ustad’ arms with the red sindoor shining on her forehead.
The aunt and uncle clapped lovingly, delighted by the ritual. The uncle reached into his coat and laid a stack of ribbon-tied land papers on the wooden table, fully satisfied.
"Wonderful! The lineage is blessed!" the uncle declared warmly.
Rakesh stood paralyzed, holding the silver bowl, his thumbs stained red.
The traditional post-ritual dinner finally wound down. Ustad’s aunt announced that because the main ancestral house had only one primary living quarter occupied by the elders, the "newlyweds" would stay in the guest cottage just across the courtyard—a wooden structure separated from the main house by the dark, still water of the pond. Thankfully, the cottage had two bedrooms.
As they stepped onto the cold stone porch to bid good night to the elders, the sheer reality of what was about to happen crashed over Rakesh. Anxiety surged through his chest…
"Wait... what's the sleeping arrangements going to be over there?" Rakesh blurted out, his voice laced with an unmistakable, nervous tremor
Ustad’s aunt froze on the step, turning around slowly. Her sharp eyes narrowed in deep, suspicion… "Sleeping arrangements? What do you mean? A husband and his newlywed bride sleep together in the main bedroom, and you take the guest room! What kind of question is that?"
Rakesh’s stomach dropped into a bottomless pit.
Before the aunt could press further, Ustad let out a chuckle, casually "Nothing, Taiji!! Rakesh is used to the comfort of the city ….He’s just worrying if the guest cot has enough heavy blankets for him..Aree don’t worry Rakesh, we will give you blankets ..come now!"
"Hmph! You are quite delicate son….." the aunt muttered, humiliating Rakesh for one last time in the day ..
The instant they entered the dark wooden cottage, Monica spun around
"What Rakesh! You were almost giving it off right at the doorstep!" Monica snapped "Were you trying to ruin everything after we came this far?"
Ustad leaned back, His dark face was unreadable, his eyes locking onto Rakesh with stern reprimand. "I managed my aunt, but a disaster could have happened, Rakesh. If my uncle suspects for a single second that this marriage is a sham, he’ll tear those land deeds to pieces."
Rakesh stood near the doorway, pale and sweating, feeling like an reprimanded child caught between the two of them. "I... I just... I was anxious..."
"Anxious about what?" Monica scoffed "We are playing a role, Rakesh! A newly married couple cannot sleep in separate rooms on their first night in the village. Any other arrangement will create a massive scandal if someone steps out in the morning. We have to spend the night in the room together”
Rakesh felt alarm raising violently in his chest, his mind screaming in sheer, deafening terror: “No! How can I let my wife sleep in one room with another man right under my nose?”
Yet, looking at Ustad’s towering, uncompromising authority and Monica’s cold expression, Rakesh felt completely emasculated. He couldn't find the words, the courage, or the standing to protest. He just nodded like a helpless, obedient sheep.
"Fine..." Rakesh nodded.
Trying to ease the suffocating tension, Ustad walked over to a carved wooden cabinet. He pulled out an expensive, dark bottle of whiskey
"Drink something, Rakesh Bhai," Ustad offered casually. "It’ll settle your nerves."
Rakesh looked at the glass, his hands trembling slightly. A crushing sense of inadequacy washed over him.
"Not feeling like..." Rakesh shook his head, shrinking into himself. "I'm really tired."
Monica stretched her arms over her head, letting out a heavy, exhausted sigh. "This bridal saree is just too heavy. Wearing this outfit for such a long time is such a pain. I need to change into something comfortable!”
She disappeared into the main bedroom.
Monica changed into a thin, sleeveless gray top with a plunging neckline and soft sweatpants.
It was glaringly apparent that she had taken off her bra too.
Without any support underneath, her firm 36D breasts hung natural, full, and unconstrained, swaying noticeably.
Noticing Rakesh’s wide eyes, Monica made a half-hearted effort to pull up the neckline, but the loose fabric instantly slid right back down, leaving her massive cleavage again on display.
Rakesh’s head was spinning. The whole day had been a agonizing series of losses for him. He wanted to crash into bed; he felt sleepy, lost, and overwhelmingly inferior to Ustad.
"You're not drinking, Rakesh?" she asked softly.
"Not feeling like... am really tired," Rakesh mumbled, refusing to meet her eyes.
Monica sighed "Okay... you must sleep then. You look really tired... and you seem so low on energy today, too. Have some supplements, Rakesh, you look really tired."
Every word felt like a physical blow, stripping away whatever fragment of his pride remained.
"Yeah..." Rakesh nodded numbly, swallowing his pride. "You guys?"
Ustad took a slow sip of his whiskey "Yeah, we will sleep in a while... Monica?"
"Yeah, in a while is okay," Monica replied softly.
She turned toward the large glass door leading out to the private wooden balcony, looking out into the mountain darkness. "The sky is so clear... Let's go out in the courtyard and do a bit of stargazing, Ustad Miyan?"
She then turned back to Rakesh, giving him a dismissive wave. "Rak, you go and sleep. We will talk in the morning... and do take the pills before you sleep."
PART 2
The cold inside the guest room was oppressive, but inside Rakesh’s chest, a suffocating fire burned.
When fitful sleep finally claimed him, it brought no peace—only a twisted loop of Ustad’s thick thumb repeatedly dragging blood-red Sindoor across Monica’s forehead while she moaned in breathless submission, the sound echoing endlessly through his head!
Rakesh jerked awake in the pitch darkness, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. He was drenched in a cold, sticky sweat, his throat dry as dust, and his bladder aching with a sharp, uncomfortable pressure. He just had a bad nightmare!!
He sat up on the stiff wooden cot, rubbing his face with trembling hands. The cottage was dead silent.
What time of the night is it ? Rakesh wondered..
Rakesh quietly slipped his feet into his slippers, unlocked the creaking wooden door, and stepped out into the crisp mountain air.
But as Rakesh took three steps onto the gravel path, his feet froze as if rooted to the frozen earth.
There, in the center of the quiet, moonlit courtyard beneath the open sky, sat a wide, traditional wooden khatiya (woven cot)
Lying together propped up against a couple of heavy bolster pillows, were Ustad and Monica.
They were in a state of casual, undeniable physical intimacy. Ustad was reclining comfortably, one long leg hooked up, his broad dark arm wrapped heavily and possessively around Monica’s waist. Monica was tucked tight into his side, her body relaxed, her head resting intimately right on Ustad’s broad shoulder as they both stared up at the mountain stars.
Rakesh’s breath caught in his throat, a cold spike of pure shock running straight down his spine. It wasn’t just that they were together!
Because of how loose her gray sleeveless top was, combined with the fact that she had taken off her bra, the straps of her top had completely shifted as she leaned against him. In the bright silver moonlight, her full, unconstrained breast and deep, shadowy cleavage were almost entirely exposed to the night air, spilling out over the loose border of her top. It just appeared that the sleeve less top was just a mere formality, considering the size of her tits and her posture that loose dress was not meant to cover any of her modesty.
Rakesh stood paralyzed on the gravel path, his mind shattering at the sheer, possessive closeness of the man holding his wife in the dark .They were laughing and giggling as if that’s the most natural thing to do in the middle of the night.
A loose stone crunched under Rakesh’s trembling foot. Monica’s head snapped toward the sound.
Quickly but without panic, she lifted her head off Ustad’s shoulder, sitting up slightly. A sudden flush rose to her cheeks as she instinctively reached up the straps of her top with two fingers, pulling the fallen shoulder strap back up and tugging the loose, plunging neckline high over her breasts to salvage her modesty.
“Rakesh? Oh… You couldn’t sleep?” She asked Rakesh checking if the top was still showing her massive cleavage it was showing moments earlier…
Rakesh stammered, his mind bursting from the casual intimacy between his best friend and his wife.
“No…Just thought of using the ..wash….ahh washroom!”
Ustad didn’t move away. He didn’t pull his arm back either; his large, dark hand simply shifted from her shoulder to rest with heavy, unbothered ownership right over her bare lower back. Monica signalled with her eye to Ustad not to hold her waist right in front of Rakesh.. and then sitting straight said to Rakesh
“It was getting a bit stuffy inside the timber room… and we both wanted to smoke. So we just thought to come out” She reached down and picked up a black packet of cigarettes and showed to Rakesh. As if to show they were just there sharing a cigarette and nothing more.
Rakesh squirmed inside….
“Smoking does not require you to slide off your already revealing top and expose your full tits to my best friend, Monica …and how could you even put your head on his shoulders like that” Rakesh internal monologue screamed to his head like a surging jet plane. What was this happening right in front of his eyes ? His wife and his best friend? Have they just fallen for each other ?
Ustad let out a low, gravelly chuckle—a deep, confident rumble that echoed through the quiet courtyard.
“Aree, Rakesh Bhai…” Ustad rumbled, his voice dripping with calm, terrifying authority. “Why are you standing all the way over there in the dark like a ghost? Come here.”
Ustad patted the woven edge of the khatiya right near their feet.
“Come, sit down for a minute,” Ustad invited casually, his dark eyes fixing onto Rakesh with absolute dominance. “You will love the stars !!”
Rakesh stood rooted to the spot, his knees shaking so violently he felt his legs might buckle under him. His face burned with a sickening mixture of shock, emasculation, and intense insecurity.
“N-No…” Rakesh stammered out, his voice cracking weakly “N-No… washroom…”
Monica looked at Rakesh, a soft, amused smile playing on her lips.
“Look at him, Ustad Miyan,” Monica said softly, her tone carrying a light, teasing laugh. “He need to rest… he is exhausted and looking so pale.. Why are you making him sit outside in this cold Ustad Miyan”
Rakesh felt even more emasculated!!
Monica tilted her head toward Rakesh
“I told you earlier, Rakesh… you look so low on energy today,” Monica said, her voice mock-concerned. “Did you even take those health supplements and the sleeping pills I kept near your water pitcher? Look at you… you look like you’re going to collapse right here on the gravel.”
“I… I took them…” Rakesh choked out, feeling entirely reduced, spoken down to like an ailing, fragile third wheel while his wife sat without a Bra seducing his goonda best friend!!
“Good,” Monica replied with a light, dismissive nod, settling her weight collapsed comfortably back toward Ustad’s side again .. “Then don’t stand around here freezing. Use the washroom and head straight back to bed. We’ll finish our cigarettes and sleep in a bit.”
Rakesh stumbled toward the outdoor washroom, his head spinning. When he emerged two minutes later, he kept his eyes locked firmly onto the ground, shuffling straight past the khatiya without looking up.
He could distinctly hear Monica giggles though, but he did not have courage to look at the ill fated khatiya again.. no ..he did not possess that courage !
Quietly , he slipped into his cold guest room, locked the door, and onto his cot in the pitch darkness
Monica and Ustad finished their cigarettes and walked back to their bedroom. The whole wooden house has a quiet eerie vibe.
Monica asked “ Ustad Miyan we close the door?”
“ Yes, it’s a village..not safe !!”
The heavy wooden door clicked shut, and Ustad slid the solid iron bolt into place, sealing the master bedroom off from the rest of the dark cottage. A flaring hurricane lantern was there at one corner of that village room and a bed which was itself quite tiny for two people to sleep on.
Monica felt a strange excitement as the door was bolted. She had a bit of whiskey, and had long intimate conversation with her husband for a day – her husband’s best friend, but being together in a room was altogether different. She felt what if she is today crossing the boundaries she should never cross. She sat on the bed confused yet horny from the scandalous whiskey she had with Ustad.
“This bed is so small, this is the kind of bed you guys spend your suhaagraat on ?” Monica playfully whispered..
Ustad looked at her “ Yes we don’t have large beds in the villages .look like you have to adjust!!”
Monica smiled “ Atleast let me put some new bed sheet please ? See if you have one in there?”
Ustad pulled out a brand new bedsheet from the side and tossed towards Monica…
Ustad grinned “ you can use the complete bed for yourself Monica…I can use the floor …I am used to it”
Monica looked at him intently “Do you think that’s a good idea ? … The floor is just so cold and there can be insects down there !”
Ustad put out his phone torch “ No… I think I can manage”
Monica looked a bit guilty “I don’t know what to say . If the bed was little larger …”
“ Hey Monica please … you are overthinking… I am just okay”
Ustad adjusted himself on the cold stone floor and reached out to extinguish the flame of the hurricane lantern. The whole room plunged into absolute darkness…
Monica said once more “ Ustad Miyan, I am just feeling bad , can I shift to Rakesh’s room then? You..and him can adjust in this room ?”
Ustad let out a sharp reply “ The whiskey has clearly got into your head Monica..This is a village..imagine the scandal that will happen if the bride does not sleep with her husband!!...I am just fine here… let us try and sleep”
Monica lay back on the narrow mattress, staring up at the shadowy ceiling beams. Her mind was still buzzing from the whiskey, her thoughts racing. Down on the floorboards, she could hear Ustad’s heavy, slow breathing, along with the occasional rustle of the thin cotton sheet he was using.
Then, a sharp, distinct scratching sound cut through the quiet.
It was tiny at first—a fast, rhythmic pitter-patter over the dry wooden floorboards right next to Ustad’s head.
"Ustad...?" Monica whispered, sitting up slightly. "What was that?"
Before Ustad could answer, he suddenly sat up in the dark. A low curse escaped his breath as he felt a sharp, prickling sensation drag across his bare ankle. He reached over instantly, clicking on his phone's torch.
The bright, stark beam of light cut through the gloom, illuminating the cold stone and timber floor. Right at the edge of his thin blanket, a massive, thick-shelled black village centipede—at least five inches long—was scurrying rapidly
Ustad acted on pure instinct. With a swift flick of his broad hand, he swiped the venomous creature away, sending it flying across the window….
Monica gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as she saw the sheer size of the thing in the torch beam.
"God, Ustad!" Monica blurted out, her voice rising in genuine shock. She leaned over the edge of the cot, her eyes wide as she looked from the crack in the wall back to him. "Did it bite you?!"
"No," Ustad rumbled calmly, brushing off his leg and shaking out the cotton sheet. "Just a centipede. They like the cold corners."
"Just a centipede?" Monica scoffed
"That's it. Enough," Monica said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Come on the bed. No more heroics, Miyan Saab."
Ustad looked up at her in the beam of the torch. "I told you I'm fine, Monica."
"You are not fine! If that thing bit you , we would have been stuck in your Village for God knows how long and playing Miyan Biwi …Don’t you get that Ustad ?!" Monica shot back, her sassy, commanding vibe flaring up. "I am not going to lie up here under a warm blanket while you get stung by scorpions... Get up here right now."
Ustad stared at her for a long second, taking in her determined posture, The narrow wooden bed creaked heavily as Ustad climbed on. Because the mattress was barely three feet wide, there was no room for distance. The moment he settled in beside her, his broad, bare shoulders and muscular frame filled nearly the entire space.
Monica pulled the heavy wool quilt over both of them, dragging the thick fabric right up to their waists.
"See?" Monica murmured, her voice dropping into a raspy, intimate whisper as the trapped heat of the blanket instantly enveloped them. "Was that so hard? You don't have to play the tough village hero twenty-four hours a day."
"I wasn't playing a hero, Monica. I was trying to keep my hands off my best friend's wife."
Monica let out a soft, wicked hum, her breath fanning hot against his neck in the small, warm space beneath the quilt. She slid her fair hand flat across his broad, warm chest, feeling the heavy, steady thud of his heart.
"Well, Miyan Saab..." Monica purred softly, her sassy confidence melting into a thick, intoxicating challenge as she looked right into his eyes. "...Let's see how long you can keep that promise."
The heavy razai settled over them, trapping the dense warmth of their bodies against the freezing mountain air.
"You know, Monica..." Ustad rumbled low, his dark eyes fixing on her “...I have to hand it to you. You handled my family today like you’ve been my wife for years."
Monica turned her head, a cheeky, amused smile curling her lips "Oh, really? And here I thought I was laying it on a bit too thick for your Taiji."
"Thick? Please," Ustad teased smoothly, his thick fingers lightly pinching her hip through her sweatpants under the quilt. "The way you bit your lower lip and blushed when Taiji called you a 'pretty queen'... you looked downright thrilled. I think you actually enjoyed being introduced as my bride."
"Thrilled?" Monica scoffed with a sassy laugh, “Miyan Saab, I was saving your ass! If I hadn't played the shy, obedient bahu, your Tauji would have torn those land deeds into pieces and thrown us out. You should be thanking me on your knees."
"On my knees?" Ustad growled softly ”The last person on their knees today was your husband, sweating like a pig while holding that heavy luggage. Besides... you weren't acting when I put that sindoor on your forehead. Your whole body let out a shiver."
“That wasn't a shiver of fear, Miyan Saab! Your hands are like sandpaper. You dragged that thick thumb across my parting like you were breaking a wild horse."
"And yet you moaned right in front of Tauji," Ustad countered smoothly, his grip on her waist tightening just enough to pull her hips an inch closer. "A deep, filthy little moan. Tell me, .Monica... was it the sindoor, or was it the fact that your husband was forced to stand there holding the silver bowl while another man marked his wife?"
"Maybe a little bit of both," Monica confessed dirty, her voice dropping into a raspy, intimate murmur. . "Although... I did notice how quickly your hand slid down to my bare lower back the second Taiji turned around. You didn't waste a single second taking advantage of the situation."
"Can you blame me?" Ustad rumbled, his voice thick with playful arrogance. "You were practically bursting out of that tight silk blouse all afternoon. Every time you tried to pull it up to 'salvage your modesty,' those heavy breasts just spilled right back over the border. I was just being a dutiful husband, keeping my hand on you so you didn't lose your balance."
"A helpful village hero, huh?" Monica teased back
Ustad came closer to Monica …
"You keep testing a dangerous man , Sweetie. What happens when I stop pulling your leg and start taking my rights as your husband?"
Monica’s breath hitched in her throat .. “ This fake marriage thing was just to help you Ustad Miyan.. Don’t expect more favours ..Right ? Now can we sleep ?”
Before the last word fully left her mouth, Ustad suddenly grabbed her.
His large hand locked around the back of her neck. Monica’s eyes widened. She tried to twist away, one hand pushing hard against his chest.
“Ustad—wait—what are you doing?!”
He didn’t answer. He pinned her down against the narrow cot, his heavy body covering hers. The heat of his massive rough body builder like frame pressed against the thin fabric of her top.
Monica struggled harder this time. She turned her face sharply to the side and shoved at his shoulder with both hands.
“Stop it! Get off me Ustad—Rakesh is right next door—”
Ustad’s mouth came down hard on hers.
Monica sealed her lips tight and made a muffled sound of protest. She tried to push his face away with one hand while the other kept shoving against his chest.
“Mmm—no—don’t—” she managed when he briefly broke contact. “Ustad, I’m serious—stop..please..—”
He followed her mouth again, catching her lower lip between his and sucking hard. Monica’s body tensed. She twisted her hips under him, trying to create space, but the weight of his body held her firmly in place.
“Don’t do this,” she whispered against his lips, still resisting. “We can’t… we shouldn’t… Please…”
Ustad didn’t answer with words. He simply pressed his mouth more firmly against hers and forced his tongue past her lips.
Monica’s resistance lasted a few more seconds. She pushed, she turned her head, she made soft, angry sounds against his mouth. But the heat of his tongue, the rough scbang of his stubble, and the slow, deliberate way he was claiming her mouth began to break her down. His huge scary frame had now completely penned her down!
Her pushing hands grew weaker. Her breath changed. The tension in her body softened inch by inch.
Then she stopped fighting.
Her hands slid up his back instead of pushing him away. Her thighs parted. She kissed him back.
What followed was a filthy, animalistic, spit-slicked kiss that lasted an eternity
Ustad took full control. He licked deep into her mouth with long, heavy strokes, tasting every corner. Monica answered with equal hunger, her tongue sliding against his, wet and greedy. Saliva began to pool between them. Every time he sucked hard on her tongue, she moaned into him, the sound vibrating against his mouth.
They didn’t break for air. Instead, they played with each other’s spit.
Ustad pulled back just enough to let a thick string of saliva stretch between their lips. It hung there, glistening in the dark, before he pushed it slowly back into her mouth with his tongue.
“Take it,” he growled against her lips, voice thick and filthy. “Swallow my spit like the dirty little wife you are. Taste how hard you make me.”
Monica moaned and did exactly that. She sucked the string of saliva into her mouth, then pushed her own thick spit back into his.
“Mmm… Ahhhhhh” she whispered, her voice already husky and shameless.
Ustad took it greedily, sucking hard on her tongue, then let another heavy string of spit drip from his mouth into hers. Monica opened wider, accepting it, moaning as the warm, wet mess mixed between them.
“Fuck… look at you,” Ustad murmured, breaking just enough to speak. “ You love this, don’t you?”
“You know I love it why you asking !,” Monica whispered back, already leaning up to catch his mouth again.
They kept going — open-mouthed, tongues deep, spit dripping down their chins and down. The wet, dirty sounds of their mouths — loud smacks, deep slurps, the wet clash of tongues — filled the small wooden room. Every time one of them pulled back, a thick, glistening string of saliva stretched between their lips before the other one sucked it back in.
“I want more,” Monica gasped, pushing her spit into his mouth again. “I want you to keep feeding me your spit until I forget who I’m married to.”
The cot creaked and shook under them as their bodies moved. Ustad’s hand slid under her thin top and roughly squeezed her heavy, braless breast, kneading the soft flesh while he continued to fuck her mouth with his tongue. Monica arched under him, grinding her hips against the thick hardness she could feel through his clothes, her soft, desperate whimpers mixing with the filthy wet sounds of their kiss.
They stayed locked like that for a long time — mouths open, tongues deep, spit dripping down their chins — kissing like animals who had been holding back for days.
When they finally broke for air, both were gasping. Thick strings of saliva still connected their swollen lips. Monica’s eyes were dark and glassy in the moonlight.
She smiled, breathless and filthy.
“You’re a fucking animal, Miyan ..…”
Ustad didn’t answer with words. He simply leaned down and took her mouth again. They smooched again till they were either tired or one of their lips were badly swollen or bruised.. They both were panting under the crazy physical intimacy they just witnessed..
Monica smiled groggily “ Don’t tell me Ustad Miyan!! Don’t tell me was I too aggressive for your liking ?”
Ustad grunted back “Don’t think you just smooched a college kid… I just love city whores like you who are so aggressive sweetie!”
“Ustad Miyan.. Language please.. kuch to izzat rakhie” They both laughed and again locked their lips in another long round of smooch!
"Ustad! My boy!" his uncle called out, his sharp face instantly softening into a proud, beaming smile as he stepped forward with open arms.
Ustad kept his left arm locked tightly around Monica’s waist, holding her close as he greeted them.
"Tauji, Taiji..." Ustad rumbled, his voice filled with calm confidence. "Meet my wife, Monica. And this..." Ustad gestured carelessly back toward the SUV, where Rakesh was stepping out looking pale and flustered, "...is Rakesh. A friend from Delhi who came with us for Bheem's sister's wedding”
"Ahai! Look at her!" the aunt gasped lovingly, entirely ignoring Rakesh and rushing straight to Monica. She took Monica’s hands, beaming with rural pride. "So glowing! She looks like a pretty queen Ustad Beta! Ustad, you brought such a beautiful bahu home!"
The uncle chuckled warmly. "You were speaking the truth after all, Ustad Beta! A girl like this... no wonder you turned down the village proposals!"
Conscious of rural modesty, she quickly raised her fair hands, trying desperately to pull her crimson silk blouse up over her heaving 36D breasts. She adjusted her dupatta, pulling it tightly across her front to cover the deep cleavage.
But the tailored silk was far too tight; the plunging neckline strained violently against her volume, and her heavy breasts spilled right back out over the border. Her earnest attempt at modesty only made her look more provocative.
Ustad noticed her struggle. "Don't bother, Monica," he murmured against her ear. "You look perfect."
Monica bit her lower lip as she smiled blushingly at his aunt.
The aunt, beaming with affection for her new niece-in-law, quickly fetched a wide brass platter filled with blood-red kumkum water for the traditional entry ritual.
"Come, beta” the aunt said softly to Monica.
As the aunt placed the brass dish on the threshold, she suddenly glanced over her shoulder at Rakesh, who was standing awkwardly near the front of the car, his face sweating under the rising heat.
"Hey" the aunt barked at Rakesh. "Don't just stand there staring! Unload those heavy leather bags from the boot and carry them inside. Hurry up, we can't leave the luggage out in the courtyard!"
Rakesh froze, looking desperately at Ustad, waiting for his best friend to intercede.
Instead, Ustad didn't even glance back.
"Go on, Rakesh Bhai," Ustad rumbled casually, his voice laced with smooth, terrifying dominance. "Put our bags in the bedroom"
Monica didn't stop it either. She offered Rakesh a quick, pitying look before turning all her sweet attention back to Ustad, resting her hand on his chest. "Should I step into the red water now, Miyan Saab?" she purred, her voice dripping with obedient affection.
"Hold your saree, Monica," Ustad commanded softly.
Rakesh stood at the rear of the car, hauling two heavy leather suitcases, his chest heaving. He watched in agonizing silence as his wife stepped onto the white marble threshold, leaving wet, blood-red footprints side-by-side with Ustad, who guided her inward with his hand resting firmly on her bare lower back.
“This is not right. I should have just stopped Ustad and Monica right there” Rakesh had this continuously running in his head..
Inside the main timber-beamed hall, the uncle welcomed Ustad and Monica, offering them seats on the low silk cushions.
"You brought us a priceless bride, Ustad," the uncle said warmly. "She lights up this old modest home. But court papers don't satisfy village tradition. Before I hand over your father's land deeds, mark her hair with sindoor in front of us."
Ustad smiled—a low, confident expression. "Whatever you say, Tauji."
The aunt turned to Rakesh, who was standing near the doorway, his fingers raw from carrying the heavy luggage.
The aunt ordered briskly, pointing to the family altar. "Hey you again ….Pick up that silver bowl of vermilion powder and bring it here! Hold it steady for the groom!"
Rakesh’s legs felt like lead. He walked over to the shrine, picked up the cold silver bowl filled with bright red powder, and shuffled toward the couple. His heart hammered so violently he felt sick, while his manhood throbbed painfully hard inside his tight trousers—a humiliating, shameful reaction to his absolute subjection. His mind screamed violently…
“He was doing Sindoor daan of his own wife…and both his best friend and his wife is just so casually enjoying all this .how can he just allow this to happen right under his nose…”
He stood mere inches from them, holding out the silver bowl with trembling hands.
Ustad stood up, stepping directly in front of Monica.
"Look at me, Monica," Ustad rumbled, his voice dropping into a thick, hypnotic command.
Monica raised her face. Her beautiful eyes were wide, glowing with a strange excitement. She rested both her soft hands flat against Ustad’s heavy chest, her breath coming in quick, shallow hitches that made her breasts push provocatively against her tight blouse.
Ustad dipped his thick thumb deep into the silver bowl held by Rakesh.
Without breaking eye contact with Monica, Ustad brought his hand to her face. He cupped her delicate chin firmly with his left hand, tilting her head back, and pressed his thumb loaded with deep red powder right onto her forehead. Slowly, deliberately, he dragged his thumb deep into her hair parting.
Loose red powder spilled over her skin, trailing down her nose!
Monica’s breath hitched in her throat. A visible shiver ran down her entire body. She closed her eyes, letting out a soft, shuddering moan that sent a jolt of pure fire straight into Rakesh's gut.
Rakesh stood there quietly shaking his mind defeaning from his internal conflicts and deep seated insecurity as he with disbelief saw Monica smiling at Ustad’ arms with the red sindoor shining on her forehead.
The aunt and uncle clapped lovingly, delighted by the ritual. The uncle reached into his coat and laid a stack of ribbon-tied land papers on the wooden table, fully satisfied.
"Wonderful! The lineage is blessed!" the uncle declared warmly.
Rakesh stood paralyzed, holding the silver bowl, his thumbs stained red.
The traditional post-ritual dinner finally wound down. Ustad’s aunt announced that because the main ancestral house had only one primary living quarter occupied by the elders, the "newlyweds" would stay in the guest cottage just across the courtyard—a wooden structure separated from the main house by the dark, still water of the pond. Thankfully, the cottage had two bedrooms.
As they stepped onto the cold stone porch to bid good night to the elders, the sheer reality of what was about to happen crashed over Rakesh. Anxiety surged through his chest…
"Wait... what's the sleeping arrangements going to be over there?" Rakesh blurted out, his voice laced with an unmistakable, nervous tremor
Ustad’s aunt froze on the step, turning around slowly. Her sharp eyes narrowed in deep, suspicion… "Sleeping arrangements? What do you mean? A husband and his newlywed bride sleep together in the main bedroom, and you take the guest room! What kind of question is that?"
Rakesh’s stomach dropped into a bottomless pit.
Before the aunt could press further, Ustad let out a chuckle, casually "Nothing, Taiji!! Rakesh is used to the comfort of the city ….He’s just worrying if the guest cot has enough heavy blankets for him..Aree don’t worry Rakesh, we will give you blankets ..come now!"
"Hmph! You are quite delicate son….." the aunt muttered, humiliating Rakesh for one last time in the day ..
The instant they entered the dark wooden cottage, Monica spun around
"What Rakesh! You were almost giving it off right at the doorstep!" Monica snapped "Were you trying to ruin everything after we came this far?"
Ustad leaned back, His dark face was unreadable, his eyes locking onto Rakesh with stern reprimand. "I managed my aunt, but a disaster could have happened, Rakesh. If my uncle suspects for a single second that this marriage is a sham, he’ll tear those land deeds to pieces."
Rakesh stood near the doorway, pale and sweating, feeling like an reprimanded child caught between the two of them. "I... I just... I was anxious..."
"Anxious about what?" Monica scoffed "We are playing a role, Rakesh! A newly married couple cannot sleep in separate rooms on their first night in the village. Any other arrangement will create a massive scandal if someone steps out in the morning. We have to spend the night in the room together”
Rakesh felt alarm raising violently in his chest, his mind screaming in sheer, deafening terror: “No! How can I let my wife sleep in one room with another man right under my nose?”
Yet, looking at Ustad’s towering, uncompromising authority and Monica’s cold expression, Rakesh felt completely emasculated. He couldn't find the words, the courage, or the standing to protest. He just nodded like a helpless, obedient sheep.
"Fine..." Rakesh nodded.
Trying to ease the suffocating tension, Ustad walked over to a carved wooden cabinet. He pulled out an expensive, dark bottle of whiskey
"Drink something, Rakesh Bhai," Ustad offered casually. "It’ll settle your nerves."
Rakesh looked at the glass, his hands trembling slightly. A crushing sense of inadequacy washed over him.
"Not feeling like..." Rakesh shook his head, shrinking into himself. "I'm really tired."
Monica stretched her arms over her head, letting out a heavy, exhausted sigh. "This bridal saree is just too heavy. Wearing this outfit for such a long time is such a pain. I need to change into something comfortable!”
She disappeared into the main bedroom.
Monica changed into a thin, sleeveless gray top with a plunging neckline and soft sweatpants.
It was glaringly apparent that she had taken off her bra too.
Without any support underneath, her firm 36D breasts hung natural, full, and unconstrained, swaying noticeably.
Noticing Rakesh’s wide eyes, Monica made a half-hearted effort to pull up the neckline, but the loose fabric instantly slid right back down, leaving her massive cleavage again on display.
Rakesh’s head was spinning. The whole day had been a agonizing series of losses for him. He wanted to crash into bed; he felt sleepy, lost, and overwhelmingly inferior to Ustad.
"You're not drinking, Rakesh?" she asked softly.
"Not feeling like... am really tired," Rakesh mumbled, refusing to meet her eyes.
Monica sighed "Okay... you must sleep then. You look really tired... and you seem so low on energy today, too. Have some supplements, Rakesh, you look really tired."
Every word felt like a physical blow, stripping away whatever fragment of his pride remained.
"Yeah..." Rakesh nodded numbly, swallowing his pride. "You guys?"
Ustad took a slow sip of his whiskey "Yeah, we will sleep in a while... Monica?"
"Yeah, in a while is okay," Monica replied softly.
She turned toward the large glass door leading out to the private wooden balcony, looking out into the mountain darkness. "The sky is so clear... Let's go out in the courtyard and do a bit of stargazing, Ustad Miyan?"
She then turned back to Rakesh, giving him a dismissive wave. "Rak, you go and sleep. We will talk in the morning... and do take the pills before you sleep."
PART 2
The cold inside the guest room was oppressive, but inside Rakesh’s chest, a suffocating fire burned.
When fitful sleep finally claimed him, it brought no peace—only a twisted loop of Ustad’s thick thumb repeatedly dragging blood-red Sindoor across Monica’s forehead while she moaned in breathless submission, the sound echoing endlessly through his head!
Rakesh jerked awake in the pitch darkness, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. He was drenched in a cold, sticky sweat, his throat dry as dust, and his bladder aching with a sharp, uncomfortable pressure. He just had a bad nightmare!!
He sat up on the stiff wooden cot, rubbing his face with trembling hands. The cottage was dead silent.
What time of the night is it ? Rakesh wondered..
Rakesh quietly slipped his feet into his slippers, unlocked the creaking wooden door, and stepped out into the crisp mountain air.
But as Rakesh took three steps onto the gravel path, his feet froze as if rooted to the frozen earth.
There, in the center of the quiet, moonlit courtyard beneath the open sky, sat a wide, traditional wooden khatiya (woven cot)
Lying together propped up against a couple of heavy bolster pillows, were Ustad and Monica.
They were in a state of casual, undeniable physical intimacy. Ustad was reclining comfortably, one long leg hooked up, his broad dark arm wrapped heavily and possessively around Monica’s waist. Monica was tucked tight into his side, her body relaxed, her head resting intimately right on Ustad’s broad shoulder as they both stared up at the mountain stars.
Rakesh’s breath caught in his throat, a cold spike of pure shock running straight down his spine. It wasn’t just that they were together!
Because of how loose her gray sleeveless top was, combined with the fact that she had taken off her bra, the straps of her top had completely shifted as she leaned against him. In the bright silver moonlight, her full, unconstrained breast and deep, shadowy cleavage were almost entirely exposed to the night air, spilling out over the loose border of her top. It just appeared that the sleeve less top was just a mere formality, considering the size of her tits and her posture that loose dress was not meant to cover any of her modesty.
Rakesh stood paralyzed on the gravel path, his mind shattering at the sheer, possessive closeness of the man holding his wife in the dark .They were laughing and giggling as if that’s the most natural thing to do in the middle of the night.
A loose stone crunched under Rakesh’s trembling foot. Monica’s head snapped toward the sound.
Quickly but without panic, she lifted her head off Ustad’s shoulder, sitting up slightly. A sudden flush rose to her cheeks as she instinctively reached up the straps of her top with two fingers, pulling the fallen shoulder strap back up and tugging the loose, plunging neckline high over her breasts to salvage her modesty.
“Rakesh? Oh… You couldn’t sleep?” She asked Rakesh checking if the top was still showing her massive cleavage it was showing moments earlier…
Rakesh stammered, his mind bursting from the casual intimacy between his best friend and his wife.
“No…Just thought of using the ..wash….ahh washroom!”
Ustad didn’t move away. He didn’t pull his arm back either; his large, dark hand simply shifted from her shoulder to rest with heavy, unbothered ownership right over her bare lower back. Monica signalled with her eye to Ustad not to hold her waist right in front of Rakesh.. and then sitting straight said to Rakesh
“It was getting a bit stuffy inside the timber room… and we both wanted to smoke. So we just thought to come out” She reached down and picked up a black packet of cigarettes and showed to Rakesh. As if to show they were just there sharing a cigarette and nothing more.
Rakesh squirmed inside….
“Smoking does not require you to slide off your already revealing top and expose your full tits to my best friend, Monica …and how could you even put your head on his shoulders like that” Rakesh internal monologue screamed to his head like a surging jet plane. What was this happening right in front of his eyes ? His wife and his best friend? Have they just fallen for each other ?
Ustad let out a low, gravelly chuckle—a deep, confident rumble that echoed through the quiet courtyard.
“Aree, Rakesh Bhai…” Ustad rumbled, his voice dripping with calm, terrifying authority. “Why are you standing all the way over there in the dark like a ghost? Come here.”
Ustad patted the woven edge of the khatiya right near their feet.
“Come, sit down for a minute,” Ustad invited casually, his dark eyes fixing onto Rakesh with absolute dominance. “You will love the stars !!”
Rakesh stood rooted to the spot, his knees shaking so violently he felt his legs might buckle under him. His face burned with a sickening mixture of shock, emasculation, and intense insecurity.
“N-No…” Rakesh stammered out, his voice cracking weakly “N-No… washroom…”
Monica looked at Rakesh, a soft, amused smile playing on her lips.
“Look at him, Ustad Miyan,” Monica said softly, her tone carrying a light, teasing laugh. “He need to rest… he is exhausted and looking so pale.. Why are you making him sit outside in this cold Ustad Miyan”
Rakesh felt even more emasculated!!
Monica tilted her head toward Rakesh
“I told you earlier, Rakesh… you look so low on energy today,” Monica said, her voice mock-concerned. “Did you even take those health supplements and the sleeping pills I kept near your water pitcher? Look at you… you look like you’re going to collapse right here on the gravel.”
“I… I took them…” Rakesh choked out, feeling entirely reduced, spoken down to like an ailing, fragile third wheel while his wife sat without a Bra seducing his goonda best friend!!
“Good,” Monica replied with a light, dismissive nod, settling her weight collapsed comfortably back toward Ustad’s side again .. “Then don’t stand around here freezing. Use the washroom and head straight back to bed. We’ll finish our cigarettes and sleep in a bit.”
Rakesh stumbled toward the outdoor washroom, his head spinning. When he emerged two minutes later, he kept his eyes locked firmly onto the ground, shuffling straight past the khatiya without looking up.
He could distinctly hear Monica giggles though, but he did not have courage to look at the ill fated khatiya again.. no ..he did not possess that courage !
Quietly , he slipped into his cold guest room, locked the door, and onto his cot in the pitch darkness
Monica and Ustad finished their cigarettes and walked back to their bedroom. The whole wooden house has a quiet eerie vibe.
Monica asked “ Ustad Miyan we close the door?”
“ Yes, it’s a village..not safe !!”
The heavy wooden door clicked shut, and Ustad slid the solid iron bolt into place, sealing the master bedroom off from the rest of the dark cottage. A flaring hurricane lantern was there at one corner of that village room and a bed which was itself quite tiny for two people to sleep on.
Monica felt a strange excitement as the door was bolted. She had a bit of whiskey, and had long intimate conversation with her husband for a day – her husband’s best friend, but being together in a room was altogether different. She felt what if she is today crossing the boundaries she should never cross. She sat on the bed confused yet horny from the scandalous whiskey she had with Ustad.
“This bed is so small, this is the kind of bed you guys spend your suhaagraat on ?” Monica playfully whispered..
Ustad looked at her “ Yes we don’t have large beds in the villages .look like you have to adjust!!”
Monica smiled “ Atleast let me put some new bed sheet please ? See if you have one in there?”
Ustad pulled out a brand new bedsheet from the side and tossed towards Monica…
Ustad grinned “ you can use the complete bed for yourself Monica…I can use the floor …I am used to it”
Monica looked at him intently “Do you think that’s a good idea ? … The floor is just so cold and there can be insects down there !”
Ustad put out his phone torch “ No… I think I can manage”
Monica looked a bit guilty “I don’t know what to say . If the bed was little larger …”
“ Hey Monica please … you are overthinking… I am just okay”
Ustad adjusted himself on the cold stone floor and reached out to extinguish the flame of the hurricane lantern. The whole room plunged into absolute darkness…
Monica said once more “ Ustad Miyan, I am just feeling bad , can I shift to Rakesh’s room then? You..and him can adjust in this room ?”
Ustad let out a sharp reply “ The whiskey has clearly got into your head Monica..This is a village..imagine the scandal that will happen if the bride does not sleep with her husband!!...I am just fine here… let us try and sleep”
Monica lay back on the narrow mattress, staring up at the shadowy ceiling beams. Her mind was still buzzing from the whiskey, her thoughts racing. Down on the floorboards, she could hear Ustad’s heavy, slow breathing, along with the occasional rustle of the thin cotton sheet he was using.
Then, a sharp, distinct scratching sound cut through the quiet.
It was tiny at first—a fast, rhythmic pitter-patter over the dry wooden floorboards right next to Ustad’s head.
"Ustad...?" Monica whispered, sitting up slightly. "What was that?"
Before Ustad could answer, he suddenly sat up in the dark. A low curse escaped his breath as he felt a sharp, prickling sensation drag across his bare ankle. He reached over instantly, clicking on his phone's torch.
The bright, stark beam of light cut through the gloom, illuminating the cold stone and timber floor. Right at the edge of his thin blanket, a massive, thick-shelled black village centipede—at least five inches long—was scurrying rapidly
Ustad acted on pure instinct. With a swift flick of his broad hand, he swiped the venomous creature away, sending it flying across the window….
Monica gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as she saw the sheer size of the thing in the torch beam.
"God, Ustad!" Monica blurted out, her voice rising in genuine shock. She leaned over the edge of the cot, her eyes wide as she looked from the crack in the wall back to him. "Did it bite you?!"
"No," Ustad rumbled calmly, brushing off his leg and shaking out the cotton sheet. "Just a centipede. They like the cold corners."
"Just a centipede?" Monica scoffed
"That's it. Enough," Monica said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Come on the bed. No more heroics, Miyan Saab."
Ustad looked up at her in the beam of the torch. "I told you I'm fine, Monica."
"You are not fine! If that thing bit you , we would have been stuck in your Village for God knows how long and playing Miyan Biwi …Don’t you get that Ustad ?!" Monica shot back, her sassy, commanding vibe flaring up. "I am not going to lie up here under a warm blanket while you get stung by scorpions... Get up here right now."
Ustad stared at her for a long second, taking in her determined posture, The narrow wooden bed creaked heavily as Ustad climbed on. Because the mattress was barely three feet wide, there was no room for distance. The moment he settled in beside her, his broad, bare shoulders and muscular frame filled nearly the entire space.
Monica pulled the heavy wool quilt over both of them, dragging the thick fabric right up to their waists.
"See?" Monica murmured, her voice dropping into a raspy, intimate whisper as the trapped heat of the blanket instantly enveloped them. "Was that so hard? You don't have to play the tough village hero twenty-four hours a day."
"I wasn't playing a hero, Monica. I was trying to keep my hands off my best friend's wife."
Monica let out a soft, wicked hum, her breath fanning hot against his neck in the small, warm space beneath the quilt. She slid her fair hand flat across his broad, warm chest, feeling the heavy, steady thud of his heart.
"Well, Miyan Saab..." Monica purred softly, her sassy confidence melting into a thick, intoxicating challenge as she looked right into his eyes. "...Let's see how long you can keep that promise."
The heavy razai settled over them, trapping the dense warmth of their bodies against the freezing mountain air.
"You know, Monica..." Ustad rumbled low, his dark eyes fixing on her “...I have to hand it to you. You handled my family today like you’ve been my wife for years."
Monica turned her head, a cheeky, amused smile curling her lips "Oh, really? And here I thought I was laying it on a bit too thick for your Taiji."
"Thick? Please," Ustad teased smoothly, his thick fingers lightly pinching her hip through her sweatpants under the quilt. "The way you bit your lower lip and blushed when Taiji called you a 'pretty queen'... you looked downright thrilled. I think you actually enjoyed being introduced as my bride."
"Thrilled?" Monica scoffed with a sassy laugh, “Miyan Saab, I was saving your ass! If I hadn't played the shy, obedient bahu, your Tauji would have torn those land deeds into pieces and thrown us out. You should be thanking me on your knees."
"On my knees?" Ustad growled softly ”The last person on their knees today was your husband, sweating like a pig while holding that heavy luggage. Besides... you weren't acting when I put that sindoor on your forehead. Your whole body let out a shiver."
“That wasn't a shiver of fear, Miyan Saab! Your hands are like sandpaper. You dragged that thick thumb across my parting like you were breaking a wild horse."
"And yet you moaned right in front of Tauji," Ustad countered smoothly, his grip on her waist tightening just enough to pull her hips an inch closer. "A deep, filthy little moan. Tell me, .Monica... was it the sindoor, or was it the fact that your husband was forced to stand there holding the silver bowl while another man marked his wife?"
"Maybe a little bit of both," Monica confessed dirty, her voice dropping into a raspy, intimate murmur. . "Although... I did notice how quickly your hand slid down to my bare lower back the second Taiji turned around. You didn't waste a single second taking advantage of the situation."
"Can you blame me?" Ustad rumbled, his voice thick with playful arrogance. "You were practically bursting out of that tight silk blouse all afternoon. Every time you tried to pull it up to 'salvage your modesty,' those heavy breasts just spilled right back over the border. I was just being a dutiful husband, keeping my hand on you so you didn't lose your balance."
"A helpful village hero, huh?" Monica teased back
Ustad came closer to Monica …
"You keep testing a dangerous man , Sweetie. What happens when I stop pulling your leg and start taking my rights as your husband?"
Monica’s breath hitched in her throat .. “ This fake marriage thing was just to help you Ustad Miyan.. Don’t expect more favours ..Right ? Now can we sleep ?”
Before the last word fully left her mouth, Ustad suddenly grabbed her.
His large hand locked around the back of her neck. Monica’s eyes widened. She tried to twist away, one hand pushing hard against his chest.
“Ustad—wait—what are you doing?!”
He didn’t answer. He pinned her down against the narrow cot, his heavy body covering hers. The heat of his massive rough body builder like frame pressed against the thin fabric of her top.
Monica struggled harder this time. She turned her face sharply to the side and shoved at his shoulder with both hands.
“Stop it! Get off me Ustad—Rakesh is right next door—”
Ustad’s mouth came down hard on hers.
Monica sealed her lips tight and made a muffled sound of protest. She tried to push his face away with one hand while the other kept shoving against his chest.
“Mmm—no—don’t—” she managed when he briefly broke contact. “Ustad, I’m serious—stop..please..—”
He followed her mouth again, catching her lower lip between his and sucking hard. Monica’s body tensed. She twisted her hips under him, trying to create space, but the weight of his body held her firmly in place.
“Don’t do this,” she whispered against his lips, still resisting. “We can’t… we shouldn’t… Please…”
Ustad didn’t answer with words. He simply pressed his mouth more firmly against hers and forced his tongue past her lips.
Monica’s resistance lasted a few more seconds. She pushed, she turned her head, she made soft, angry sounds against his mouth. But the heat of his tongue, the rough scbang of his stubble, and the slow, deliberate way he was claiming her mouth began to break her down. His huge scary frame had now completely penned her down!
Her pushing hands grew weaker. Her breath changed. The tension in her body softened inch by inch.
Then she stopped fighting.
Her hands slid up his back instead of pushing him away. Her thighs parted. She kissed him back.
What followed was a filthy, animalistic, spit-slicked kiss that lasted an eternity
Ustad took full control. He licked deep into her mouth with long, heavy strokes, tasting every corner. Monica answered with equal hunger, her tongue sliding against his, wet and greedy. Saliva began to pool between them. Every time he sucked hard on her tongue, she moaned into him, the sound vibrating against his mouth.
They didn’t break for air. Instead, they played with each other’s spit.
Ustad pulled back just enough to let a thick string of saliva stretch between their lips. It hung there, glistening in the dark, before he pushed it slowly back into her mouth with his tongue.
“Take it,” he growled against her lips, voice thick and filthy. “Swallow my spit like the dirty little wife you are. Taste how hard you make me.”
Monica moaned and did exactly that. She sucked the string of saliva into her mouth, then pushed her own thick spit back into his.
“Mmm… Ahhhhhh” she whispered, her voice already husky and shameless.
Ustad took it greedily, sucking hard on her tongue, then let another heavy string of spit drip from his mouth into hers. Monica opened wider, accepting it, moaning as the warm, wet mess mixed between them.
“Fuck… look at you,” Ustad murmured, breaking just enough to speak. “ You love this, don’t you?”
“You know I love it why you asking !,” Monica whispered back, already leaning up to catch his mouth again.
They kept going — open-mouthed, tongues deep, spit dripping down their chins and down. The wet, dirty sounds of their mouths — loud smacks, deep slurps, the wet clash of tongues — filled the small wooden room. Every time one of them pulled back, a thick, glistening string of saliva stretched between their lips before the other one sucked it back in.
“I want more,” Monica gasped, pushing her spit into his mouth again. “I want you to keep feeding me your spit until I forget who I’m married to.”
The cot creaked and shook under them as their bodies moved. Ustad’s hand slid under her thin top and roughly squeezed her heavy, braless breast, kneading the soft flesh while he continued to fuck her mouth with his tongue. Monica arched under him, grinding her hips against the thick hardness she could feel through his clothes, her soft, desperate whimpers mixing with the filthy wet sounds of their kiss.
They stayed locked like that for a long time — mouths open, tongues deep, spit dripping down their chins — kissing like animals who had been holding back for days.
When they finally broke for air, both were gasping. Thick strings of saliva still connected their swollen lips. Monica’s eyes were dark and glassy in the moonlight.
She smiled, breathless and filthy.
“You’re a fucking animal, Miyan ..…”
Ustad didn’t answer with words. He simply leaned down and took her mouth again. They smooched again till they were either tired or one of their lips were badly swollen or bruised.. They both were panting under the crazy physical intimacy they just witnessed..
Monica smiled groggily “ Don’t tell me Ustad Miyan!! Don’t tell me was I too aggressive for your liking ?”
Ustad grunted back “Don’t think you just smooched a college kid… I just love city whores like you who are so aggressive sweetie!”
“Ustad Miyan.. Language please.. kuch to izzat rakhie” They both laughed and again locked their lips in another long round of smooch!
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)