[SilverArrow]

The door closed behind them.

Monica barely had time to turn before Ranga’s hands were on her. He pushed her backward hard. The edge of the large queen bed hit the backs of her thighs and she went down onto the soft mattress with a short, startled sound. The marital bed— of Rakesh and Monica— sank under her weight. Ranga followed her down immediately.

“Ranga— wait—”

The protest came out thin, already more whimper than command. He did not wait. He caught the belt of the thin robe, yanked it open, and dragged the fabric off her shoulders in one continuous pull. The robe flew toward the corner of the room and landed in a heap. She was fully naked underneath. Her nude breasts settled heavily against her ribs; and she looked so completely irresistible naked under Ranga’s predatory eyes!
Monica tried to push herself up on her elbows. Ranga shoved her flat again, one hand pressing into the centre of her chest. With the other he dragged his own vest up and over his head, then shoved his trousers down and kicked them aside. His cock sprang free— thick, heavily erect, the head already dark and wet. He looked down at her spread on the bed that belonged to another man and made a low, satisfied sound.
“Stay down.”

He climbed over her, forced her thighs wide with his knees, and rubbed the head of his cock along her slit once, twice, coating himself in the wetness that was still there. Monica’s hands came up against his shoulders.

“We shouldn’t— not on this bed—”

He pushed in.

The first thrust was hard and complete. He buried himself to the base in one continuous drive. Monica’s back arched. A raw, broken sound tore out of her throat as she stretched around him. The soft mattress dipped deeply under the force. He did not give her time to adjust. He pulled back and drove in again, harder, the wet sound of it sharp in the quiet room.

“Fuck— Ranga— slow—”

He ignored the word. He set a punishing rhythm from the start— deep, heavy strokes that forced the air out of her lungs each time his hips met hers. The bedframe began to creak. Monica’s bare breasts swayed with every impact. She turned her face into the pillow; he took a handful of her hair and pulled her head back so she had to look at him.

“Look at me while I fuck you Monica!”

“You’re a bastard—” The words came out shaky, half protest, half something else. “This is— ah—”

He fucked her harder. The headboard knocked against the wall in a steady, violent rhythm. The sheets twisted under her back. Monica’s legs locked around his waist almost against her will, heels digging into the backs of his thighs. Every thrust drove him against the deepest point inside her. The stretch burned and then blurred into a thicker, darker heat.

“— Ranga—No ..No..No..Ahh ..Ahh..”

“Take it, I know you just love it”

He shifted his angle and the next stroke dragged the thick head of his cock firmly along the front wall of her cunt. Monica’s mouth opened on a higher, helpless sound. Her nails scbangd down his back. The wet slap of skin on skin grew louder. The mattress shook. A pillow slid off the edge of the bed and hit the floor.

He reached between them and pressed his thumb hard against her clit, rubbing in tight, rough circles while he continued to pound into her. Monica’s thighs trembled. A raw cry left her that she could no longer swallow.

“Ah— God— fuck—”

“Yes like that … Louder… Louder … I said Louder” Ranga cried in raw ecstasy

He kept the dual assault going— deep, aggressive thrusts and relentless pressure on her clit— until the first orgasm ripped through her. Her back arched clean off the mattress, her cunt clenched hard around him, and a long, broken moan tore out of her throat. He fucked her straight through it, never slowing, forcing the aftershocks to keep coming until she was shaking and oversensitive beneath him.

“Ranga— wait— I can’t—”

He pulled out only long enough to flip her onto her stomach. Monica tried to push up on her hands. He caught her hips, dragged them up into the air, and thrust back into her from behind in one brutal stroke. The new angle was deeper. She dropped onto her forearms with a muffled cry, face pressed into the sheets that still smelled faintly of her husband’s cologne.

“Fuck— that’s too much—”

He took a handful of her hair and pulled her head back. His other hand gripped her hip hard enough to leave marks. He drove into her with long, heavy strokes that made the entire bedframe shudder. The headboard slammed against the wall. The sheets pulled free from the corners. Monica’s breasts hung and swayed beneath her with every impact. The wet, filthy sound of his cock moving in and out of her filled the room.

“You’re so wet,” he muttered, voice rough. “Dripping on the sheets badly”

“Shut up—” The protest was weak, broken by another hard thrust. “Just— ah—”

He reached under her and found her clit again, rubbing it in time with his strokes. Her arms gave out. She collapsed onto her elbows, face in the mattress, cunt pulsing around him in long, helpless waves while he kept fucking her through it.
He did not stop.
He did not stop.

Ranga kept driving into her from behind, the thick length of him forcing her open with every heavy stroke. Monica’s face stayed pressed into the sheets that still carried the faint scent of her husband’s cologne. Her earlier protests had thinned into broken, continuous sounds. The resistance that had been in her voice was gone; what replaced it was raw, open response.

“Fuck— Ranga— don’t stop—”

He pulled out abruptly. Monica made a short, involuntary noise at the sudden emptiness. Before she could push herself up he gripped her hips, dragged her sideways across the mattress, and flipped her onto her back again. He hooked his arms under her knees and shoved them high and wide, folding her nearly in half until her thighs pressed toward her own shoulders. The position left her completely exposed and open, the thin strip of hair above her cunt soaked and flattened, her entrance already red and used.

“Hold your legs,” he ordered.

Monica’s hands came up almost automatically, locking behind her own knees to keep herself folded. Ranga lined up and thrust back in at the extreme angle. The depth was immediate and punishing. A raw cry tore out of her as the head of his cock pressed hard against the deepest point inside her.

“Ah— God— that’s too deep—”

“You can take it.” He began to fuck her in short, brutal strokes that made the entire bedframe shudder. The headboard slammed against the wall. “Tell me how it feels.”

Monica’s voice came out broken between the impacts.

“It feels— like you’re going to split me— fuck— keep going—”

“You like this position more than the last one?”

“I don’t know— just don’t stop— harder—”

He gave her harder. The mattress shifted under them. The sheets pulled further free from the corners. Sweat ran down his chest and dripped onto her stomach. Monica’s breasts were pushed up toward her face by the extreme fold of her body; they moved with every thrust. The wet, filthy sound of his cock driving into her filled the room.

“This bed is going to break,” she gasped.

“Then let it break.” He drove in deeper, holding himself buried for a second before pulling back and slamming home again. “You’re dripping down onto his sheets. You feel that?”

“Yes— fuck— I feel everything—”

He pulled out again, breathing hard. Monica’s legs dropped, trembling. Before she could close them he flipped her once more— this time onto her side. He lifted her top leg high against his chest, almost to his shoulder, and pushed back into her from a lateral angle that forced every thick inch along a different path inside her. The stretch was sharper on one side, grinding and relentless.

Monica’s hand scrabbled for the edge of the mattress.

“Ranga— this angle— ah—”

“Better or worse than when I had you on your back?”

“Different— deeper on one side— don’t stop talking, just fuck me—”

He laughed once, low and rough, and set a punishing rhythm. The bedframe groaned continuously now. The headboard knocked a steady, violent rhythm into the wall. Monica’s free hand reached back and gripped his thigh, pulling him into her even as the intensity made her voice break.

“You’re so fucking tight like this,” he muttered. “Your cunt’s gripping me every time I pull out.”

“Because you’re too thick— ah— God— keep that pace—”

He reached around her and found her clit, rubbing it in tight, rough circles while he fucked her sideways. Monica’s third orgasm built fast and broke hard. Her whole body tightened; a long, open cry left her throat as she pulsed around him. He fucked her straight through it, never easing the angle or the force, until she was shaking and oversensitive and still pushing back against him.

“I can’t— Ranga— it’s too much—”

“You can.” He pulled out, manhandled her onto her hands and knees again, then pushed her shoulders down so her chest was flat to the mattress and her ass was raised high. He spread her open with both thumbs and thrust back in from behind at the steepest angle yet. The position left her completely presented, face turned to the side against the sheets, breasts crushed into the mattress that belonged to her husband.

“This,” he said, voice rough with effort as he began to pound into her. “This is the filthiest one yet. Look at you. Ass up on his bed, taking every inch.”

Monica’s reply was muffled and raw.

“Shut up and fuck me— harder— I want to feel it tomorrow—”

He gave it to her. The pace became almost savage. The entire queen bed shook violently with every impact. The headboard slammed into the wall hard enough that the sound carried. The mattress springs protested in a continuous, strained rhythm. Monica’s hands twisted in the sheets. Every thrust forced a broken, helpless sound out of her. The wet slap of skin on skin was loud and continuous.

“You like being used like this?” he asked, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.

“Yes— fuck— yes— don’t stop—”

“Louder.”

“Yes— I like it— harder— use me—”

Ranga’s rhythm shortened.

The long, heavy strokes became shorter, more urgent, each one driving him as deep as the extreme angle would allow. Monica felt the change immediately— the way his grip on her hips tightened hard enough to bruise, the way his breathing turned rough and uneven against her back. The bedframe creaked under the final, aggressive thrusts. The headboard knocked harder against the wall.

“Ranga— wait—” Her voice was raw, almost gone. “Don’t cum inside me. Pull out. I’m serious— don’t—”

He didn’t answer. He drove into her twice more, hard and complete, then buried himself to the hilt and locked there. His hips pressed flush against her raised ass. His cock throbbed once, heavily, deep inside her.

“Ranga— I said don’t—”

He started cuming anyway.

The first pulse was thick and strong. Monica felt it as a hot, sudden flood against the deepest point inside her— a heavy spurt that filled her and kept coming. Her cunt clenched around him instinctively even as a broken, frustrated sound left her throat. The second pulse followed hard on the first, even thicker, the heat of it spreading. A low, guttural sound tore out of Ranga’s throat. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips hard enough to leave immediate marks.

“You bastard— I told you—”

He stayed buried, cock jerking inside her with each successive pulse, ignoring every word. Thick ropes of cum pumped into her in steady, heavy spurts— so much that she felt herself growing fuller with every throb. Some of it began to leak out around the base of his cock almost immediately, warm and slick, running down the inside of her thigh in a slow, filthy trail. The wet sound of it was quiet but unmistakable between their breathing.

Monica’s body kept responding against her will. Her cunt fluttered and clenched around the still-hard length of him, pulling more of his release deeper even as excess spilled out onto the already-ruined sheets. She could feel the heat of it, the volume of it, the way it coated her insides and mixed with her own wetness. A raw, exhausted sound left her throat as another smaller pulse of his cum filled her.

Ranga held himself locked against her for a long time, hips still pressed tight, cock still twitching with the last weaker spurts. Sweat ran down his chest and dripped onto the small of her back. His breathing was harsh and open against her skin. Only when the final throbs had faded did he give one last, slow grind of his hips, pushing the last of his release as deep as it would go.

When he finally pulled out, the retreat was slow and thick with the mess he had forced into her. His cock left her with a wet sound. The sudden emptiness made Monica shudder hard. A heavy, continuous trickle of his cum immediately followed— thick, warm, mixed with her own juices— sliding down from her open cunt, over the thin strip of pubic hair, and down the inside of her thigh to pool on the sheets beneath her.

She remained in the presented position, chest flat to the mattress, ass still raised, feeling the slow, filthy drip of everything he had just pumped into her against her clear request. The marital bed was a wreck beneath them. The air smelled of sex and sweat. And the evidence of his climax was still leaking out of her in a warm, steady trail onto the sheets of her marital bed she shared with her husband.