Adultery Ananya - My beautiful wife

[kirak9484]

Ananya’s voice broke as she stepped half a pace forward, hands clasped tightly in front of her.
“Please… leave us. I’m begging you. Take whatever you want, but please let us go.”
The man in the lungi looked at her for a long moment, then gave a slow, dismissive shake of his head.
“No way.”
Tears streamed down Ananya’s face. She swallowed hard and forced the next words out, voice shaking.
“Please… do anything you want to me. Anything. But leave my sister-in-law. She has a small child… please. She has a three-year-old baby waiting. I’m begging you.”
The leader’s eyes shifted to Komali. His gaze dropped deliberately to her chest, lingering on the full shape of her breasts under the thin fabric of her night clothes. A crude, interested smile spread across his face.
“That means she is lactating…” He exhaled smoke and nodded, almost pleased. “Yes. I won’t leave you. And I won’t leave your sister-in-law either. Today I will fuck you both.”
Komali made a small, broken sound and pressed closer to Ananya. Rajesh tried to speak again, but one of the men behind him pressed the knife harder against his side and he fell silent, trembling.
The man in the lungi continued, voice calm and almost conversational, as if discussing the weather.
“No hurry. No hurry at all. Slowly I will take you both. I want to see how you both look under my cock. Let’s find out who will moan higher… you or your sister-in-law. Who will get the higher orgasms. Whose cunt is tighter.” He smiled, showing his teeth. “I will decide. One by one. Or maybe together. We have the whole night.”
He gestured with his cigarette toward the mattresses spread across the floor.
“First, both of you remove the dupattas and the pins. Then the blouses. Slowly. I want to see those lactating breasts and those soft married bodies properly before I start.”
Ananya’s legs felt weak. Komali was crying openly now, silent tears running down her face as she clung to her bhabhi’s arm. The other men watched with open hunger, knives still in hand, waiting for the first piece of clothing to fall.
The leader leaned back in his chair, lungi shifting, and kept his eyes fixed on the two women.
“Start,” he said quietly. “Or we will start for you.”




  The man in the lungi remained seated, legs spread, cigarette burning slowly between his fingers. He watched the two women with open, unhurried hunger.
“I said start,” he repeated, voice almost soft. “Pallu first. Then the blouse hooks. One by one. I want to enjoy the view.”
Ananya’s hands were shaking so hard she could barely lift them. Komali’s face was wet with tears; she kept glancing at Rajesh, who stood rigid in the corner with a knife still pressed to his side, blood drying on his temple.
“Please…” Ananya whispered again. “She has a baby. She’s still feeding him. Please don’t—”
The leader cut her off with a small laugh.
“That’s exactly why I won’t leave her. Lactating breasts… soft, full, heavy. I want to see them. I want to taste them. And I want to feel how tight a mother stays after giving birth.” His eyes slid to Komali’s chest and stayed there. “You. Sister-in-law. Remove your pallu first. Slow.”
Komali’s fingers fumbled at the edge of the saree pallu dbangd over her shoulder. She looked at Ananya, eyes wide with pure terror. Ananya gave the smallest nod — do it, or they will do worse — and Komali slowly pulled the pallu away. The soft fabric slid down her arm and fell in a heap at her feet. Her blouse was simple, slightly stretched across her full breasts; the petticoat sat snug at her waist.
The leader exhaled smoke in appreciation.
“Good. Now the blouse. Open the hooks.”
Komali’s hands moved to the small hooks at the back of her blouse. Each one she opened made her breath hitch. When the last hook came free, the blouse loosened. She stopped, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
“Don’t cover,” the leader said. “Let me see.”
One of the men behind her reached forward and tugged the blouse down her shoulders. The soft fabric slipped, catching for a moment on the full curves of her breasts before falling away. Komali let out a broken sob and tried to cover herself again, but the same man pulled her arms down.
Her breasts were heavy, the dark nipples already slightly damp beneath the thin bra. The leader’s smile widened.
“Look at that. Still full of milk. Come here.”
Komali didn’t move. Sharath, the bearded driver, stepped behind her and gave a light push. She stumbled forward until she stood directly in front of the seated man. He reached up, pulled the bra cups down, and cupped the heavy flesh, thumbs brushing over the nipples. A thin bead of milk appeared. He leaned in and licked it slowly, then sucked harder, drawing a sharp, unwilling sound from Komali’s throat.
“Ahh—!”
“Sensitive,” he murmured against her skin. “Good.” He sucked again, longer this time, while his other hand squeezed the soft mound. Milk leaked onto his tongue. Komali’s eyes were squeezed shut, tears streaming, body trembling.
He released her nipple with a wet sound and looked past her to Ananya.
“Your turn, quiet wife. Pallu. Blouse. Everything. I want to compare.”
Ananya’s face was burning with shame and fear. She removed her own pallu with mechanical movements, the long fabric sliding to the floor. Then she reached behind for the hooks of her blouse. When she hesitated, Sharath stepped in and tore the remaining hooks open. The blouse parted and was pulled down her arms. Her bra followed a moment later.
Ananya stood exposed from the waist up, only the petticoat still tied at her waist, arms half-raised as if she still wanted to cover herself. The leader’s eyes moved between the two women — Komali’s fuller, milk-heavy breasts and Ananya’s slightly firmer, high shape — both of them still standing in their petticoats, sarees pooled at their feet.
“Both beautiful,” he said. “Different, but both made for fucking.” He gestured to the mattresses. “Lie down. Side by side. Petticoats next. I want to touch both at the same time before I decide who gets my cock first.”
Rajesh’s voice cracked from the corner.
“Please… I’m begging you… don’t do this to them…”
The leader didn’t even look at him.
“You will watch. And later, if you behave, maybe I’ll let you clean them with your tongue when we’re finished.”
He stood, the lungi tenting heavily in front, and walked toward the two half-naked women. His hands reached out — one for Ananya’s breast, one for Komali’s — and began to squeeze and roll the soft flesh with deliberate, possessive slowness.
“Now,” he said quietly, almost gently, “let’s see which of you moans first.”....










The man in the lungi stepped back and pointed to the open space in the middle of the mattresses.
“Both of you. Stand here. Side by side.”
Ananya and Komali hesitated. Their petticoats were still tied at the waist; above that they were completely bare. When they did not move fast enough, Sharath and one of the other men pushed them forward until the two women stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the leader.
“Hands up,” he ordered. “High. Above your heads. Keep them there.”
Both women shook their heads instinctively, arms still crossed over their chests.
“No… please…” Ananya whispered.
The leader’s voice stayed calm but harder.
“I said raise them. Or I will cut the petticoats off and start without looking.”
Tears sliding down their faces, Ananya and Komali slowly lifted their arms and locked them above their heads. The posture stretched their torsos, lifted their bare breasts, and fully exposed the soft undersides of their arms.
The leader walked in a slow circle around them, then stopped in front. He leaned in close to Ananya first, nose almost touching the smooth skin of her underarm. He inhaled deeply.
“Hairless. Soft. Sweating a little… but the perfume is still there. Nice.”
He moved to Komali and did the same, breathing in the warm scent of her underarm.
“Same. Clean. Smooth. Both of you take care of your bodies.”
He stepped back just enough to look at their breasts side by side. His hands came up and cupped one full breast from each woman at the same time, fingers sinking into the soft flesh.
“Equal,” he murmured. “Soft like cotton. Heavy enough. Nipples already tight.” He squeezed both at once, thumbs brushing the peaks, and watched the different reactions — Ananya’s sharp intake of breath, Komali’s softer, broken whimper.
Then he dropped to one knee.
His tongue traced a slow line down Ananya’s stomach and dipped into the deep hollow of her navel. He licked and sucked gently. Ananya’s body jerked; a reluctant, shaky moan escaped her throat.
“Ahhhh…”
He turned his head and gave Komali’s navel the same treatment — tongue circling, pressing, tasting. Komali’s moan came higher, more desperate.
“Haaa… nnhhh…”
The leader looked up at them both, still on one knee, hands resting on their bare hips.
“Both sensitive. Good.”
He stood again, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and turned his head toward the corner where Rajesh stood under the knife.
“Hey Rajesh… today your sister and your wife are equal. Same soft underarms, same cotton-soft breasts, same deep navels, same sensitive bodies. Both so hot. Both made for the same treatment.”
He smiled, eyes returning to the two trembling women still standing with their arms raised.
“Now we will find out whose cunt is tighter… and who moans louder when she is properly opened.”
The other men watched in silence, knives still ready, while the leader’s hands returned to the two pairs of bare breasts, squeezing and comparing them once more under the dim yellow light....