03-08-2026, 10:57 PM
(This post was last modified: 03-08-2026, 10:58 PM by SilverArrow. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
:The village Sunday ceremony was already in full swing by the time they arrived. The air smelled of dust, frying pakoras, and incense from the morning rituals.
Monica sat between Ustad and Rakesh on a long wooden bench near the middle. She had changed into the new red silk saree Taiji had given her. The saree clung to her curves in the heat, the blouse cut just low enough to show the soft upper swell of her breasts when she moved. A thin gold chain rested against her collarbone. She looked every bit the proper new bahu
Rakesh was trying to look interested in a group of children performing a short play.
Monica leaned sideways, her lips almost brushing Ustad’s ear.
“This is fucking boring,” she whispered. “When does this nonsense get over?”
Ustad’s mouth curved. He turned his head just enough that only she could hear.
“You are the chief guest Monica..bear it”
“Chief guest!! Oh yea” mocked Monica!
Ustad paused and whispered “I can arrange some great village stuff for you ..… gaanja. Wanna try?”
Monica’s eyes flicked sideways,
“Gaanja? Come on!! What if people find out the newly married bahu is smoking joints in the middle of the village mela?”
Ustad’s voice stayed calm, almost lazy
“No one will know.”
He waited until the children’s performance ended and the crowd clapped politely. Then he stood, walked over to the Village Pradhan who was supervising the programme, and spoke to him in a low, respectful tone. Monica watched from the bench as the Pradhan’s face lit up. A moment later the old man stepped onto the stage and announced
“Today we have a special honour. Our guest from the city, Rakeshji, will judge the children’s performances. He is first time in our village — please welcome him!”
Rakesh looked startled, then pleased in a nervous way. People around them began clapping and urging him forward. He glanced at Monica, who gave him an encouraging little smile, and then he was led to a chair at the front of the crowd.
The moment the attention shifted, Ustad’s hand found Monica’s wrist.
They stood quietly and slipped away between the tents, walking at a normal pace so no one would notice. A battered old Bolero was parked under a neem tree at the far edge of the ground. Ustad unlocked it. Monica climbed in
“ Gawd Ustad Miyan, you always make Rakesh the scapegoat!” giggled Monica
Ustad danced his eyebrows “ He will be busy for next two hours!”
After ten minutes Ustad slowed near a small, low house sitting alone in the middle of a wide green stretch of crops. He parked, told Monica to wait, and disappeared inside for a few minutes. When he came back he was carrying a small newspaper packet.
“This is good potent stuff,” he said as he got in and started the engine again. “Fresh.”
Monica looked at the packet, then out at the empty fields.
“What if I get high and Tauji or Taiji or Rakesh starts looking for me? What if someone notices we’re both gone?”
“They can’t leave the mela. Rakesh won’t be allowed to move a bit! Taiji and Tauji are stuck with the organisers. No one is coming after us for at least two hours.”
Monica bit her lower lip, still not fully convinced.
Monica looked out at the empty fields, then up at the blazing afternoon sun.
“It’s too hot to sit anywhere outside,” she said. “My blouse is already sticking to me. And if someone sees us…”
Ustad glanced at her, then at the road ahead.
“Then we go back to the house.”
Monica’s head turned sharply.
“Are you crazy? What if Taiji or Tauji or someone comes looking? What if Rakesh finishes early?”
Ustad kept driving, calm.
“No one is leaving that mela for at least two hours. The back side of the haveli will be empty. We’ll use the rear gate.”
They drove the long way around and entered through the narrow rear gate of the ancestral house. The courtyard on this side was quiet and deserted.
Monica sat down, the red silk saree spreading around her full hips. The blouse was already slightly damp from the heat, the fabric stretched tight across her heavy breasts. Ustad sat close, his thick thigh pressing against hers. He rolled two joints with steady fingers, lit one, took a deep drag, and passed it to her.
Monica inhaled.
The village gaanja hit her hard and fast. A heavy warmth spread through her chest and up into her head within seconds. Her shoulders dropped. She exhaled a thick stream of smoke and gave a low, surprised laugh.
“Fuck… this shit is strong.”
Ustad took the joint back, smoked, then poured clear desi liquor into the small steel cap and handed it to her. Monica drank. The burn went straight down her throat and settled hot in her stomach. Within minutes both of them were properly high — eyes heavier, bodies looser, the usual restraint thinning fast
They passed the joint in silence for a bit.
The village gaanja hit her hard and fast. A heavy warmth spread through her chest and up into her head within seconds. Her shoulders dropped. She exhaled a thick stream of smoke and gave a low, surprised laugh.
“Fuck… this shit is strong.”
Ustad took the joint back, smoked, then poured clear desi liquor into the small steel cap and handed it to her. Monica drank. The burn went straight down her throat and settled hot in her stomach. Within minutes both of them were properly high — eyes heavier, bodies looser, the usual restraint thinning fast.
They passed the joint in silence for a bit. The red blouse clung to Monica’s chest, a thin sheen of sweat making the fabric stick to the soft upper curve of her breasts.
Monica spoke first, voice lower and less careful.
“Rakesh is probably still sitting there trying to look important while those kids dance. Poor guy.”
Ustad exhaled smoke and laughed.
“He looked happy when they made him judge.”
Monica gave a short, crooked smile.
“He always looks happy when people give him something to do. You are such a bastard, Ustad… I know your plan.” She giggled, the sound loose from the high.
Ustad’s mouth curved.
“I thought he would be a bit suspicious… but your husband is really a good boy.”
Monica hit his arm playfully.
“You are such a dirty bully, Ustad Miyan. Is this how you treat my husband?”
“He deserves this bit, no?” Ustad laughed, low and unapologetic.
Monica laughed with him, voice thick and intoxicated.
“Shut up, Ustad. Be nice to him, you dirty bully.”
Ustad poured another measure of the raw village liquor into the cap and held it out.
Monica’s eyes widened slightly.
“Ustad… eww, another glass? I will be out for hours now. What will happen when Tauji and everyone comes back?”
Ustad pushed the small steel cap gently against her lower lip.
Monica let out a short laugh, shook her head, and drank it anyway with sassy ease.
“Ustad, don’t get your hopes so high, dirty bully.” She laughed again, the sound stumbling. “I am not so drunk also… see, I am stro… stro… strong!” She stuttered, then giggled at herself.
Ustad’s eyes moved over her flushed face and the way the blouse stuck to her skin.
“It’s hot outside. Look, you’re sweating. Let’s go inside.”
Monica protested immediately, words slightly slurred.
“Us… Ustad… no… no, not now. Whatever you… you are planning!”
Ustad leaned in close, voice a low, playful hiss.
“Shhh. Let me carry you inside.”
Monica tried to stand, still arguing.
“You’re very confident for a man who just got his dick sucked once… We are not doing anything now!”
Ustad didn’t answer with words. He simply slid one thick arm under her knees and the other around her back and lifted her off the khatiya in one smooth motion. Monica’s world tilted. Her arms instinctively went around his neck. The red saree shifted, one leg exposed high up her thigh as he held her against his chest.
“You’re such a bastard when you’re high, Ustad,” she said, but the words came out breathless rather than angry.
She was already pulling him in.
While he still held her suspended in his arms, Monica grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands and crushed her mouth against his.
The kiss was immediate and messy.
Ustad’s grip tightened, one hand spreading wide under her thigh, fingers sinking into soft flesh, the other locked firmly around her back to keep her from slipping. Monica’s lips parted against his with no hesitation. Her tongue pushed into his mouth first — hot, wet, tasting of smoke and liquor. Ustad met it with equal hunger, sucking on her tongue, then sliding his own deep into her mouth.
The angle was different with her in his arms. Monica’s heavy breasts were pressed flat and high against his chest, the tight blouse leaving almost nothing between them. Every time she shifted, the soft weight of them dragged across his body. Her breath came in short, warm bursts against his face. Spit quickly made the kiss slick; a thin string of it connected their lips when they briefly broke for air before crashing back together harder.
Ustad adjusted his hold, lifting her slightly higher so her face was level with his. The movement made Monica gasp into his mouth. Her fingers dug into the back of his neck and the hard muscle of his shoulder. She kissed him like she was trying to crawl inside him — open-mouthed, continuous, making small desperate sounds every time his tongue stroked against hers.
His cock, already thick and fully hard, pressed against the side of her thigh through his trousers. Monica felt the heat and size of it and moaned, the sound vibrating between their mouths. Her hips shifted restlessly in his arms, the saree riding higher.
Monica sat between Ustad and Rakesh on a long wooden bench near the middle. She had changed into the new red silk saree Taiji had given her. The saree clung to her curves in the heat, the blouse cut just low enough to show the soft upper swell of her breasts when she moved. A thin gold chain rested against her collarbone. She looked every bit the proper new bahu
Rakesh was trying to look interested in a group of children performing a short play.
Monica leaned sideways, her lips almost brushing Ustad’s ear.
“This is fucking boring,” she whispered. “When does this nonsense get over?”
Ustad’s mouth curved. He turned his head just enough that only she could hear.
“You are the chief guest Monica..bear it”
“Chief guest!! Oh yea” mocked Monica!
Ustad paused and whispered “I can arrange some great village stuff for you ..… gaanja. Wanna try?”
Monica’s eyes flicked sideways,
“Gaanja? Come on!! What if people find out the newly married bahu is smoking joints in the middle of the village mela?”
Ustad’s voice stayed calm, almost lazy
“No one will know.”
He waited until the children’s performance ended and the crowd clapped politely. Then he stood, walked over to the Village Pradhan who was supervising the programme, and spoke to him in a low, respectful tone. Monica watched from the bench as the Pradhan’s face lit up. A moment later the old man stepped onto the stage and announced
“Today we have a special honour. Our guest from the city, Rakeshji, will judge the children’s performances. He is first time in our village — please welcome him!”
Rakesh looked startled, then pleased in a nervous way. People around them began clapping and urging him forward. He glanced at Monica, who gave him an encouraging little smile, and then he was led to a chair at the front of the crowd.
The moment the attention shifted, Ustad’s hand found Monica’s wrist.
They stood quietly and slipped away between the tents, walking at a normal pace so no one would notice. A battered old Bolero was parked under a neem tree at the far edge of the ground. Ustad unlocked it. Monica climbed in
“ Gawd Ustad Miyan, you always make Rakesh the scapegoat!” giggled Monica
Ustad danced his eyebrows “ He will be busy for next two hours!”
After ten minutes Ustad slowed near a small, low house sitting alone in the middle of a wide green stretch of crops. He parked, told Monica to wait, and disappeared inside for a few minutes. When he came back he was carrying a small newspaper packet.
“This is good potent stuff,” he said as he got in and started the engine again. “Fresh.”
Monica looked at the packet, then out at the empty fields.
“What if I get high and Tauji or Taiji or Rakesh starts looking for me? What if someone notices we’re both gone?”
“They can’t leave the mela. Rakesh won’t be allowed to move a bit! Taiji and Tauji are stuck with the organisers. No one is coming after us for at least two hours.”
Monica bit her lower lip, still not fully convinced.
Monica looked out at the empty fields, then up at the blazing afternoon sun.
“It’s too hot to sit anywhere outside,” she said. “My blouse is already sticking to me. And if someone sees us…”
Ustad glanced at her, then at the road ahead.
“Then we go back to the house.”
Monica’s head turned sharply.
“Are you crazy? What if Taiji or Tauji or someone comes looking? What if Rakesh finishes early?”
Ustad kept driving, calm.
“No one is leaving that mela for at least two hours. The back side of the haveli will be empty. We’ll use the rear gate.”
They drove the long way around and entered through the narrow rear gate of the ancestral house. The courtyard on this side was quiet and deserted.
Monica sat down, the red silk saree spreading around her full hips. The blouse was already slightly damp from the heat, the fabric stretched tight across her heavy breasts. Ustad sat close, his thick thigh pressing against hers. He rolled two joints with steady fingers, lit one, took a deep drag, and passed it to her.
Monica inhaled.
The village gaanja hit her hard and fast. A heavy warmth spread through her chest and up into her head within seconds. Her shoulders dropped. She exhaled a thick stream of smoke and gave a low, surprised laugh.
“Fuck… this shit is strong.”
Ustad took the joint back, smoked, then poured clear desi liquor into the small steel cap and handed it to her. Monica drank. The burn went straight down her throat and settled hot in her stomach. Within minutes both of them were properly high — eyes heavier, bodies looser, the usual restraint thinning fast
They passed the joint in silence for a bit.
The village gaanja hit her hard and fast. A heavy warmth spread through her chest and up into her head within seconds. Her shoulders dropped. She exhaled a thick stream of smoke and gave a low, surprised laugh.
“Fuck… this shit is strong.”
Ustad took the joint back, smoked, then poured clear desi liquor into the small steel cap and handed it to her. Monica drank. The burn went straight down her throat and settled hot in her stomach. Within minutes both of them were properly high — eyes heavier, bodies looser, the usual restraint thinning fast.
They passed the joint in silence for a bit. The red blouse clung to Monica’s chest, a thin sheen of sweat making the fabric stick to the soft upper curve of her breasts.
Monica spoke first, voice lower and less careful.
“Rakesh is probably still sitting there trying to look important while those kids dance. Poor guy.”
Ustad exhaled smoke and laughed.
“He looked happy when they made him judge.”
Monica gave a short, crooked smile.
“He always looks happy when people give him something to do. You are such a bastard, Ustad… I know your plan.” She giggled, the sound loose from the high.
Ustad’s mouth curved.
“I thought he would be a bit suspicious… but your husband is really a good boy.”
Monica hit his arm playfully.
“You are such a dirty bully, Ustad Miyan. Is this how you treat my husband?”
“He deserves this bit, no?” Ustad laughed, low and unapologetic.
Monica laughed with him, voice thick and intoxicated.
“Shut up, Ustad. Be nice to him, you dirty bully.”
Ustad poured another measure of the raw village liquor into the cap and held it out.
Monica’s eyes widened slightly.
“Ustad… eww, another glass? I will be out for hours now. What will happen when Tauji and everyone comes back?”
Ustad pushed the small steel cap gently against her lower lip.
Monica let out a short laugh, shook her head, and drank it anyway with sassy ease.
“Ustad, don’t get your hopes so high, dirty bully.” She laughed again, the sound stumbling. “I am not so drunk also… see, I am stro… stro… strong!” She stuttered, then giggled at herself.
Ustad’s eyes moved over her flushed face and the way the blouse stuck to her skin.
“It’s hot outside. Look, you’re sweating. Let’s go inside.”
Monica protested immediately, words slightly slurred.
“Us… Ustad… no… no, not now. Whatever you… you are planning!”
Ustad leaned in close, voice a low, playful hiss.
“Shhh. Let me carry you inside.”
Monica tried to stand, still arguing.
“You’re very confident for a man who just got his dick sucked once… We are not doing anything now!”
Ustad didn’t answer with words. He simply slid one thick arm under her knees and the other around her back and lifted her off the khatiya in one smooth motion. Monica’s world tilted. Her arms instinctively went around his neck. The red saree shifted, one leg exposed high up her thigh as he held her against his chest.
“You’re such a bastard when you’re high, Ustad,” she said, but the words came out breathless rather than angry.
She was already pulling him in.
While he still held her suspended in his arms, Monica grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands and crushed her mouth against his.
The kiss was immediate and messy.
Ustad’s grip tightened, one hand spreading wide under her thigh, fingers sinking into soft flesh, the other locked firmly around her back to keep her from slipping. Monica’s lips parted against his with no hesitation. Her tongue pushed into his mouth first — hot, wet, tasting of smoke and liquor. Ustad met it with equal hunger, sucking on her tongue, then sliding his own deep into her mouth.
The angle was different with her in his arms. Monica’s heavy breasts were pressed flat and high against his chest, the tight blouse leaving almost nothing between them. Every time she shifted, the soft weight of them dragged across his body. Her breath came in short, warm bursts against his face. Spit quickly made the kiss slick; a thin string of it connected their lips when they briefly broke for air before crashing back together harder.
Ustad adjusted his hold, lifting her slightly higher so her face was level with his. The movement made Monica gasp into his mouth. Her fingers dug into the back of his neck and the hard muscle of his shoulder. She kissed him like she was trying to crawl inside him — open-mouthed, continuous, making small desperate sounds every time his tongue stroked against hers.
His cock, already thick and fully hard, pressed against the side of her thigh through his trousers. Monica felt the heat and size of it and moaned, the sound vibrating between their mouths. Her hips shifted restlessly in his arms, the saree riding higher.
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