27-07-2026, 02:13 AM
A thick mixture of both our releases followed, running down the curve of her ass onto the already ruined sheet. My wife lay there in the white petticoat pushed up around her waist, heavy breasts bare, long black hair spread across the pillow, looking at me with quiet, complicated emotion.
I lay down beside her and pulled her against me. She came willingly, resting her head on my chest, one heavy breast soft against my side. My hand settled on the warm curve of her hip over the white petticoat.
Outside, the night was still.
Inside our bedroom, the air smelled of sex and sweat and the irreversible truth of what we had allowed.
My wife was mine again.
And this time, I would not let go.
My cock softened slowly inside her, still buried deep, surrounded by the mixed heat of my cum and Arjun’s. My wife’s arms remained around my back. Her thick thighs still hugged my waist. Her heavy breasts rose and fell against my chest with every uneven breath. The room was quiet except for the sound of our breathing and the soft, occasional drip of cum onto the sheet beneath us.
I rested my forehead against hers.
After a long silence I spoke, voice low and steady.
“No one else is going to fuck you again. And I will not fuck anyone else either.”
My wife’s fingers tightened slightly on my back. She looked into my eyes in the dim light, still flushed, still open, still marked by everything that had happened.
“Promise me,” she whispered.
“I promise,” I said. “Only you. From now on, only each other. No one else.”
She nodded, eyes soft and serious.
“I promise too,” she said. “Only you. No one else will ever touch me again.”
We sealed it with a slow, deep kiss. She kissed me back fully, her body still open under mine, the last traces of another man’s cum still leaking slowly around my cock as I stayed inside her a little longer.
When we finally pulled apart, she rested her head on my chest. I stroked her hair in silence for a while. Then the bitterness of how all of this had started rose again in my throat.
“That bastard Santhosh,” I muttered. “If he hadn’t died… if that funeral hadn’t happened… none of this would have started. Fucking dead bastard. Even from the grave he caused all this.”
My wife let out a quiet, tired breath against my skin.
“Yes,” she whispered. “That bastard Santhosh… and his parents. All of them. Because of their deaths this whole thing began.”
I pulled her tighter against me. She came willingly, one heavy breast soft against my side, the white petticoat still pushed up around her waist, our mixed cum slowly drying on her thighs.
Outside, the night was still.
Inside our bedroom, we lay together in the aftermath — spent, marked, and bound by a promise that no one else would ever come between us again.
And somewhere in the quiet, we both silently cursed the dead man whose funeral had opened the door to everything.
The next morning we woke up tangled together in the same messy bed.
The white petticoat was still pushed up around my wife’s waist. Dried cum from both Arjun and me marked her inner thighs. For a long moment neither of us spoke about the promise we had made in the dark. We simply looked at each other, the weight of the previous night still sitting between us.
We got up and went to the bathroom together.
Under the warm shower I washed her body slowly — her heavy breasts, her soft stomach, the thick thighs that still carried the memory of two men. She washed me in return. There was little talking. Only the quiet understanding that something had shifted, even if we had sworn it would not happen again.
After the shower she dried herself and stood in front of the cupboard.
She put on a white bra and white panties first. The white bra lifted and held her heavy breasts securely. The white panties sat snugly over her pussy and stretched across her thick thighs. Over them she chose a white kurti top and pink leggings. The white kurti was simple and modest, but it still followed the full shape of her heavy breasts under the white bra. The pink leggings clung tightly to her wide hips and thick thighs, the white panties hidden underneath. She left her long black hair loose. No heavy makeup — just the same light, clean look from the previous night.
We left for the temple.
The place was almost empty when we arrived. Only the old priest sat near the inner sanctum, half-dozing. The smell of incense and oil hung in the air. Soft morning light came through the high openings.
And then we saw him.
Arjun stood near one of the side pillars, as if he had been waiting. The moment our eyes met his, something sharp and unwanted moved through both me and my wife at the same time. The promise from last night suddenly felt thin. Heat stirred low in my stomach. I saw the same shift in her eyes — the quiet, reluctant recognition of the same hunger.
Arjun walked toward us without hesitation.
He stopped in front of my wife, looked at her in the white kurti top and pink leggings, and then simply pulled her into a full hug. His arms went around her waist. Her heavy breasts pressed against his chest through the white kurti and white bra. Before she could speak, he tilted her face up and kissed her lips right there in the quiet temple corridor.
My cock thickened immediately inside my trousers.
My wife’s hands rested on his arms. She did not push him away. The kiss lasted several long seconds. When they finally parted, her breathing had already changed.
The old priest had woken fully by then. He sat frozen, eyes fixed on the scene — the way Arjun’s hands stayed on my wife’s waist, the way her pink leggings stretched across her thick thighs, the clear arousal on all our faces. His own breathing grew heavier. An old, unexpected hunger appeared in his eyes.
No one spoke for a moment.
Then I looked at the priest, at Arjun, at my wife standing between us in the white kurti and pink leggings, already flushed from the kiss. The promise from last night was still there, but the heat of the present was stronger.
I nodded once toward the small priest’s room at the side of the temple.
We took her inside.
The room was narrow, dim, smelling of old wood and camphor. The door closed behind us. My wife stood in the centre, still in the white kurti top, pink leggings, white bra and white panties, looking from me to Arjun to the old priest, her nervousness mixed with the same rising heat that had taken hold of all three of us.
This time we did not wait for turns.
Arjun pulled the pink leggings and white panties down to her thighs together and bent her forward over the low wooden table. I moved in front of her, freed my cock, and guided it between her lips. The old priest stepped to the side, hands already pushing the white kurti up and pulling the white bra down so her heavy breasts hung free, squeezing and rolling her nipples while Arjun pushed into her pussy from behind in one deep thrust.
My wife moaned around my cock as she was filled from both ends at once.
Arjun fucked her with steady, heavy strokes, his hands gripping her wide hips. I held her head and moved in and out of her mouth while she struggled to take both of us. The old priest kept his hands busy on her heavy breasts, pinching and sucking at them in turn. The small room filled with the wet sounds of her mouth, the slap of Arjun’s body against her ass, and her muffled, broken moans.
We used her together without pause.
When Arjun’s rhythm grew more urgent, I pulled out of her mouth and let the old priest take my place. My wife’s saliva-slick lips closed around the old man’s cock while Arjun continued pounding into her from behind. I stood to the side and watched, stroking myself, the jealous heat mixing with the dark thrill of seeing her take two men at once.
Arjun finished first, driving deep and flooding her pussy with thick cum while she moaned around the old priest’s cock. He stayed buried inside her through every pulse. When he finally pulled out, cum leaked down her thick thighs. The old priest lasted only a little longer before he came in her mouth with a low, shaky groan. She swallowed what she could.
I took her last while she was still bent over the table, pussy open and dripping, mouth shiny, white bra pulled down under her heavy breasts, pink leggings and white panties around her thighs. I fucked her hard and deep, hands on her waist, watching Arjun’s cum being pushed out around my cock with every thrust. She came while I was inside her, thighs shaking, a long muffled cry leaving her throat. I followed soon after, adding my own release to the mess already inside her.
When it was over, my wife remained bent over the table in the white kurti top, white bra pulled down, pink leggings and white panties around her thighs, breathing hard, used by all three of us at once.
None of us spoke about the promise.
Outside, the temple remained quiet.
Arjun was the first to pull away.
He adjusted his clothes, glanced once more at my wife still bent over the table in the white kurti top, white bra pulled down, pink leggings and white panties around her thighs, and spoke in a low voice.
“I have work. I need to go.”
He did not wait for a reply. He stepped out of the small priest’s room and left the temple without looking back.
The old priest remained.
He stepped closer to my wife, gently turned her face toward him, and kissed her lips — slow, lingering, almost grateful. When he pulled back, he looked at her with open satisfaction and spoke quietly.
“Thank you for your pussy.”
My wife’s cheeks coloured. She said nothing.
I helped her pull the white bra back into place, then the white panties and pink leggings. She smoothed the white kurti top down over her body with slightly unsteady hands. Neither of us looked at the priest again.
We left the temple in silence.
The morning light outside felt harsher than when we had entered. We walked to the car without speaking. The guilt settled over both of us the moment the temple was behind us — heavy, quiet, and shared. The promise we had made the previous night, the words we had spoken while still joined in our own bed, now felt broken and distant.
In the car my wife stared out of the window. I drove without turning on the music. The wetness between her thighs, the taste of what had just happened, and the knowledge that we had both given in again sat between us like a third presence.
When we reached home, we locked the door behind us.
Neither of us spoke about Arjun.
Neither of us spoke about the priest.
Neither of us spoke about the promise we had already failed to keep.
We simply went inside, the quiet of the house closing around us, and the story of what began at Santhosh’s funeral settled into something unfinished and irreversible.
End.
I lay down beside her and pulled her against me. She came willingly, resting her head on my chest, one heavy breast soft against my side. My hand settled on the warm curve of her hip over the white petticoat.
Outside, the night was still.
Inside our bedroom, the air smelled of sex and sweat and the irreversible truth of what we had allowed.
My wife was mine again.
And this time, I would not let go.
My cock softened slowly inside her, still buried deep, surrounded by the mixed heat of my cum and Arjun’s. My wife’s arms remained around my back. Her thick thighs still hugged my waist. Her heavy breasts rose and fell against my chest with every uneven breath. The room was quiet except for the sound of our breathing and the soft, occasional drip of cum onto the sheet beneath us.
I rested my forehead against hers.
After a long silence I spoke, voice low and steady.
“No one else is going to fuck you again. And I will not fuck anyone else either.”
My wife’s fingers tightened slightly on my back. She looked into my eyes in the dim light, still flushed, still open, still marked by everything that had happened.
“Promise me,” she whispered.
“I promise,” I said. “Only you. From now on, only each other. No one else.”
She nodded, eyes soft and serious.
“I promise too,” she said. “Only you. No one else will ever touch me again.”
We sealed it with a slow, deep kiss. She kissed me back fully, her body still open under mine, the last traces of another man’s cum still leaking slowly around my cock as I stayed inside her a little longer.
When we finally pulled apart, she rested her head on my chest. I stroked her hair in silence for a while. Then the bitterness of how all of this had started rose again in my throat.
“That bastard Santhosh,” I muttered. “If he hadn’t died… if that funeral hadn’t happened… none of this would have started. Fucking dead bastard. Even from the grave he caused all this.”
My wife let out a quiet, tired breath against my skin.
“Yes,” she whispered. “That bastard Santhosh… and his parents. All of them. Because of their deaths this whole thing began.”
I pulled her tighter against me. She came willingly, one heavy breast soft against my side, the white petticoat still pushed up around her waist, our mixed cum slowly drying on her thighs.
Outside, the night was still.
Inside our bedroom, we lay together in the aftermath — spent, marked, and bound by a promise that no one else would ever come between us again.
And somewhere in the quiet, we both silently cursed the dead man whose funeral had opened the door to everything.
The next morning we woke up tangled together in the same messy bed.
The white petticoat was still pushed up around my wife’s waist. Dried cum from both Arjun and me marked her inner thighs. For a long moment neither of us spoke about the promise we had made in the dark. We simply looked at each other, the weight of the previous night still sitting between us.
We got up and went to the bathroom together.
Under the warm shower I washed her body slowly — her heavy breasts, her soft stomach, the thick thighs that still carried the memory of two men. She washed me in return. There was little talking. Only the quiet understanding that something had shifted, even if we had sworn it would not happen again.
After the shower she dried herself and stood in front of the cupboard.
She put on a white bra and white panties first. The white bra lifted and held her heavy breasts securely. The white panties sat snugly over her pussy and stretched across her thick thighs. Over them she chose a white kurti top and pink leggings. The white kurti was simple and modest, but it still followed the full shape of her heavy breasts under the white bra. The pink leggings clung tightly to her wide hips and thick thighs, the white panties hidden underneath. She left her long black hair loose. No heavy makeup — just the same light, clean look from the previous night.
We left for the temple.
The place was almost empty when we arrived. Only the old priest sat near the inner sanctum, half-dozing. The smell of incense and oil hung in the air. Soft morning light came through the high openings.
And then we saw him.
Arjun stood near one of the side pillars, as if he had been waiting. The moment our eyes met his, something sharp and unwanted moved through both me and my wife at the same time. The promise from last night suddenly felt thin. Heat stirred low in my stomach. I saw the same shift in her eyes — the quiet, reluctant recognition of the same hunger.
Arjun walked toward us without hesitation.
He stopped in front of my wife, looked at her in the white kurti top and pink leggings, and then simply pulled her into a full hug. His arms went around her waist. Her heavy breasts pressed against his chest through the white kurti and white bra. Before she could speak, he tilted her face up and kissed her lips right there in the quiet temple corridor.
My cock thickened immediately inside my trousers.
My wife’s hands rested on his arms. She did not push him away. The kiss lasted several long seconds. When they finally parted, her breathing had already changed.
The old priest had woken fully by then. He sat frozen, eyes fixed on the scene — the way Arjun’s hands stayed on my wife’s waist, the way her pink leggings stretched across her thick thighs, the clear arousal on all our faces. His own breathing grew heavier. An old, unexpected hunger appeared in his eyes.
No one spoke for a moment.
Then I looked at the priest, at Arjun, at my wife standing between us in the white kurti and pink leggings, already flushed from the kiss. The promise from last night was still there, but the heat of the present was stronger.
I nodded once toward the small priest’s room at the side of the temple.
We took her inside.
The room was narrow, dim, smelling of old wood and camphor. The door closed behind us. My wife stood in the centre, still in the white kurti top, pink leggings, white bra and white panties, looking from me to Arjun to the old priest, her nervousness mixed with the same rising heat that had taken hold of all three of us.
This time we did not wait for turns.
Arjun pulled the pink leggings and white panties down to her thighs together and bent her forward over the low wooden table. I moved in front of her, freed my cock, and guided it between her lips. The old priest stepped to the side, hands already pushing the white kurti up and pulling the white bra down so her heavy breasts hung free, squeezing and rolling her nipples while Arjun pushed into her pussy from behind in one deep thrust.
My wife moaned around my cock as she was filled from both ends at once.
Arjun fucked her with steady, heavy strokes, his hands gripping her wide hips. I held her head and moved in and out of her mouth while she struggled to take both of us. The old priest kept his hands busy on her heavy breasts, pinching and sucking at them in turn. The small room filled with the wet sounds of her mouth, the slap of Arjun’s body against her ass, and her muffled, broken moans.
We used her together without pause.
When Arjun’s rhythm grew more urgent, I pulled out of her mouth and let the old priest take my place. My wife’s saliva-slick lips closed around the old man’s cock while Arjun continued pounding into her from behind. I stood to the side and watched, stroking myself, the jealous heat mixing with the dark thrill of seeing her take two men at once.
Arjun finished first, driving deep and flooding her pussy with thick cum while she moaned around the old priest’s cock. He stayed buried inside her through every pulse. When he finally pulled out, cum leaked down her thick thighs. The old priest lasted only a little longer before he came in her mouth with a low, shaky groan. She swallowed what she could.
I took her last while she was still bent over the table, pussy open and dripping, mouth shiny, white bra pulled down under her heavy breasts, pink leggings and white panties around her thighs. I fucked her hard and deep, hands on her waist, watching Arjun’s cum being pushed out around my cock with every thrust. She came while I was inside her, thighs shaking, a long muffled cry leaving her throat. I followed soon after, adding my own release to the mess already inside her.
When it was over, my wife remained bent over the table in the white kurti top, white bra pulled down, pink leggings and white panties around her thighs, breathing hard, used by all three of us at once.
None of us spoke about the promise.
Outside, the temple remained quiet.
Arjun was the first to pull away.
He adjusted his clothes, glanced once more at my wife still bent over the table in the white kurti top, white bra pulled down, pink leggings and white panties around her thighs, and spoke in a low voice.
“I have work. I need to go.”
He did not wait for a reply. He stepped out of the small priest’s room and left the temple without looking back.
The old priest remained.
He stepped closer to my wife, gently turned her face toward him, and kissed her lips — slow, lingering, almost grateful. When he pulled back, he looked at her with open satisfaction and spoke quietly.
“Thank you for your pussy.”
My wife’s cheeks coloured. She said nothing.
I helped her pull the white bra back into place, then the white panties and pink leggings. She smoothed the white kurti top down over her body with slightly unsteady hands. Neither of us looked at the priest again.
We left the temple in silence.
The morning light outside felt harsher than when we had entered. We walked to the car without speaking. The guilt settled over both of us the moment the temple was behind us — heavy, quiet, and shared. The promise we had made the previous night, the words we had spoken while still joined in our own bed, now felt broken and distant.
In the car my wife stared out of the window. I drove without turning on the music. The wetness between her thighs, the taste of what had just happened, and the knowledge that we had both given in again sat between us like a third presence.
When we reached home, we locked the door behind us.
Neither of us spoke about Arjun.
Neither of us spoke about the priest.
Neither of us spoke about the promise we had already failed to keep.
We simply went inside, the quiet of the house closing around us, and the story of what began at Santhosh’s funeral settled into something unfinished and irreversible.
End.
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