Adultery Ananya - My beautiful wife

[kirak9484]

“Hey sissy, stop.”
The lungi goon’s voice cracked down the stairwell like a whip. Rajesh froze mid-step. Ananya’s fingers dug hard into the front of his shirt, a silent, desperate plea.
The goon leaned against the upper doorframe, lungi hanging low, eyes gleaming with pure sadistic pleasure. The other three men crowded behind him, grinning.
“You want to know exactly what we did to your traditional wife these two days, sissy? Come back. I’ll tell you every filthy detail.”
Rajesh’s body turned halfway before he could stop himself. The raw need to hear it burned hotter than shame. One of the assistants laughed and called down.
“Bhai, tell him how many times we stretched that tight married cunt. Tell him how she screamed when fuck.

Tell him how her mouth..
Ananya’s face flooded with scarlet humiliation. She yanked Rajesh’s hand with both of hers, voice low and urgent against his ear.
“Please… move. Don’t listen. Just take me home. Please.”
The goon raised his voice louder, deliberate, so every word carried.
“She took all four of us, sissy. One after another. Sometimes two at once. That soft traditional body was bouncing on our cocks for hours. Her big breasts were covered in bite marks and spit. Her cunt was so loose and wet by the second night she couldn’t even close her legs properly. And she came. Again and again. Loud. Like a whore who finally got what she needed.”
Another goon added, laughing,






Ananya’s shoulders shook. Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she kept pulling. Rajesh finally let her drag him the rest of the way down the stairs. The goons’ rough laughter followed them out into the street—crude, satisfied, echoing.
The journey home was silent except for Ananya’s uneven breathing. She sat pressed against the side of the auto, pallu drawn low, thighs pressed tightly together as if she could still feel every thick cock that had stretched her. Rajesh stared straight ahead, jaw locked, the filthy words still ringing in his ears.
When they reached the house Komali was already at the door. The moment she saw Ananya she rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her bhabhi, sobbing.
“Bhabhi… sorry, bhabhi… this is due to me only. I should not have forced you to go to the movie. If we didn’t go… it would not have happened. It’s my fault… sorry… sorry…”
Ananya stood stiff for a long moment, then her arms slowly returned the hug. She still said nothing. The soft cotton of her saree brushed against Komali’s body, and for a second the younger woman felt the faint tremor that still lived under her bhabhi’s skin.
Ananya eased away and went straight to the bathroom without looking at either of them. The lock turned softly. Water began to run.
Inside the small bathroom she let the saree fall in a soft heap. The blouse followed. Under the harsh tube light the evidence of the two days stood out in brutal detail against her soft traditional skin. Dark love bites covered the upper curves of her full breasts, the side of her neck, the inner slopes of her thighs, the soft flesh just above her hips and along the underside of her ass. Some were deep purple, others still reddish and tender. Faint finger bruises marked her waist and the insides of her knees where she had been held open for hours. Between her legs the smooth, hairless cunt still looked slightly swollen, the soft lips a deeper pink than usual, as if the memory of being stretched and used lived in the flesh itself.
She stepped under the stream of water and finally let the tears come. They mixed with the water as she washed every place their mouths, hands and cocks had claimed—scrubbing the bite marks, the sticky remnants, the places that still ached when the water hit them. Her fingers brushed over her own nipples and a helpless shiver ran through her. Even now, even in shame, her body remembered the rough suction, the thick thrusting, the forced orgasms that had left her shaking and empty.
She stayed under the water a long time, crying quietly until the water ran cold.
When she finally emerged she wore a high-necked, long-sleeved nightgown that covered her from throat to ankles. Her hair was still damp. She did not look at Rajesh. She walked past him to the bedroom, climbed onto her side of the bed, and turned her face to the wall, curling in on herself.






Rajesh stood in the doorway for several minutes. He could still hear the goons’ crude words in his head—how her cunt had been stretched, how she had come on their cocks, how she had begged. He did not speak. He did not try to turn her toward him or demand the details she was clearly too shattered to give. He simply watched the quiet line of her back, the way her shoulders rose and fell with uneven breaths that sometimes caught on a suppressed sob, and then he quietly closed the door, leaving her the darkness and the privacy she needed.
In the living room Komali sat with her face in her hands, still whispering broken apologies to the empty air. The house stayed silent except for the distant ceiling fan and the faint, occasional sound of Ananya’s quiet crying on the other side of the bedroom wall. The two days were over, but the marks—on her skin, in her body, in the silence between husband and wife—remained.




But Rajesh mind always racing what happens the 2 days there... She is in calm.. I can't ask her.. Then how I want to know.... He is thinking in exited...
Rajesh can't hold long much.. So he decided to go to that Goon to know each in detailed.....