[opendoor]

From Chiiti, lets move to Fathima story

Who is Fathima ?


Fathima



xx years old, 5'6" tall, weighing 50 kg—a radiant beauty with a complexion as fresh and vibrant as a Kashmiri apple. Yet, her beauty remains hidden from everyone except her *Baba* (father) . Her greatest strengths are her beauty, innocence, and kindness.
Poverty is her curse.

Beauty is her blessing.

Though she is only xx, her physical maturity makes her appear older. Her world is confined strictly to her home and sch ool—she knows nothing of the world beyond.

Haseena



A 40-year-old domestic worker who is very "accommodating."

She performs any task without the slightest hesitation.

At home, she caters to her husband and neighbour son.

Her goal is to provide the same kind of "service" to the master of the house where she works.
 
Iqbal



A 50-year-old car driver.

He is skilled at maneuvering a car through the narrowest of alleyways.
He is equally skilled at inserting his cock into the tightest of openings.

His strength: his daughter.

His weakness: an obsessive, insatiable craving for money and sex

He enjoys using lewd, vulgar language with his employer’s wife while driving her around for shopping.

Iqbal was aware that in the past, whenever he failed to pay the rent, the landlord and his son would have sex with his wife. Because of this, instead of feeling humiliated when someone else has sex with his wife right in front of him, Iqbal has gradually grown accustomed to it and even started to enjoy it.

As for Haseena, she has a high sex drive; she constantly hopes that if the right opportunity arises, someone or other might come along to sleep with her.

8 years back..



Iqbal has lost his job

To make ends meet, Iqbal takes on odd jobs, working as a car driver.

In the process, he ends up working as a driver for a *zamindar* (landowner) named Sudarshan.

One day, upon arriving at the office, his boss calls him into a room and says, "Iqbal, go to this address; they’ll give you a box—bring it back here."
Iqbal goes to the address, mentions Sudarshan’s name, collects the box, and heads back to the office. On the way, driven by curiosity, he opens the box to see what’s inside. He finds a thin rope, six metal clips, a whip, and a tube-like device with a small ball attached. When he presses a button, the ball begins to spin rapidly, making a whirring sound. Not quite understanding what these items are for, he puts them back into the box and takes it to his boss’s room. He was shouting at someone over the phone: "How can you tell me this now? Don't you have any common sense? I booked this ages ago—what am I and my friends supposed to do now?" He hung up.

"Sir, I’ve brought that box."
"Take it away and throw it in the river."
"What’s wrong, sir? You seem quite upset. Is there anything I can do to help?"
Just then, Haseena called, but Iqbal cut the call.
"My friends and I booked a whore for tonight, but the bitch bailed on us. The whole night’s party is ruined."
Meanwhile, Haseena called again.

"Go ahead and take that call," Sudarshan said.
Iqbal stepped aside and answered. "How many times do you have to call? What the hell are you so busy doing?" she asked, sounding irritated.
Iqbal explained everything that had happened—to his own wife.
"Oh, really? Well, ask them how much they’re paying. I’ll stay on the line," she replied. Iqbal tucked the phone into his pocket, walked back to Sudarshan, and asked, "Sir, how much did you pay for the booking?"
Sudarshan looked him up and down, a bit suspiciously, and said, "Twenty-five thousand. Do you know someone? If you can arrange it, I’ll pay an extra five thousand."

"Let me check and get back to you, sir," Iqbal said. He stepped outside and spoke into the phone: "Hey, Begum... you heard that, right? I’m hanging up now..." Hasina says, "Hey, listen to me. Tell them you know a whore and that you can bring her—but make sure you get thirty thousand rupees for it." Iqbal, sounding suspicious, replies, "But I don't know anyone like that."
"Oh, you foolish husband of mine! I’m right here, aren't I? Just take me!"
"Look, I understood you sleeping with a man here or there—I figured you did it because we needed the money—but now you’re talking about going out onto the streets like a common whore?"
"Listen—I’ll just sleep beside some man, and I’ll get paid for it too. Now, stop talking and go tell them!"
Iqbal hesitates for a moment, then goes back inside and mumbles, "Sir, I know a whore; I can bring her, but she’s asking for thirty thousand rupees."
"Tell her to come, but she must not refuse anything we ask of her—agreed?"
"Alright, sir."
"Tell me, is this whore fair-skinned? And does she wear a burqa?" Swallowing his rising anger, he says, "Sir... you’ve probably never fucked someone like her before—she’s the quintessential 'family woman,' sir."
"Alright, fine... here’s ten thousand as an advance; the remaining twenty will be paid once the job is done." He then provided the address for where she should be brought that evening.

Iqbal headed home to fetch his wife, Haseena.
By the time he arrived, Haseena was already dressed and ready.
She wore a white sari with a green floral pattern, paired with a matching white blouse—through which her breasts were clearly visible—and a white petticoat underneath. With a long string of jasmine flowers in her hair, she looked exactly like a whore.
Iqbal just kept staring at her.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You don't look like a married woman at all."
"Then what do I look like?" "You look just like a street-corner whore."
"Ha ha! Well, isn't that exactly what you're taking me along for—to play the whore?"
"Alright, let's go." Saying this, he got his wife into the car and drove to the address provided by 'Sir.' He rang the doorbell, and a man—roughly the same age as their 'Sir,' around 50—opened the door and asked, "Who are you looking for?"
"Well, sir, Mohan Sir gave us this address."
"Oh?"
"Yes, sir."
"So, did you bring her?"
"I did, sir," he replied, gesturing toward his wife, Haseena, who was standing beside him.
"Whoa, what a stunner of a whore! Bring her inside."
Iqbal took Haseena inside.
Inside, there were three men—all around the same age as their 'Sir'—wearing nothing but *lungis*. Just then, Sudarshan Sir walked in, adjusting his own *lungi*.
"Oh, Iqbal! You're here? I was worried you might bail on us. Is this her?"
"Yes, sir."
"Hey Mohan, our usual broker always brought us dark-skinned women, but this guy has brought a fair-skinned whore! And just look at the way she’s dbangd that sari—you can tell she’s a total whore," one of the friends remarked.
"Hey Iqbal... she really does look like a 'family-woman-turned-whore,' just like you promised!" "She’s fair-skinned... but why isn’t she wearing a burqa?"
"Sir, if she had come up in the lift wearing one, it might have aroused suspicion. So, I made sure she got ready to look exactly like a typical family woman."
"What’s this, Iqbal? You’re talking as if she’s your own wife—like you personally oversaw her getting ready!"

"Hey, Begum... go to the bathroom and change your clothes for the gentlemen."

Hasina goes to the bathroom with her handbag and returns after changing her clothes.



She appears in an outfit they find incredibly appealing—they are left stunned. "Yes! This is exactly our fantasy! We’ve been trying to get our hands on someone like this for so long, but it never worked out. Finally, this driver guy has made it happen!" they exclaim, clearly delighted.

"Sir, we’re running out of time—let’s get started!"

"Alright, alright. Hey Mohan, he actually works at my office; he’s not just some random broker. But he’s certainly managed to land us a real beauty!"

"Oh, is that so? Well, what are you standing around for? Pass the liquor!"
As Iqbal moves forward to pour a drink, the four men feast their eyes on Hasina.

"Hey, what’s your name?"

"Hasina."

 




"Wow! A fair-skinned slut—just what I wanted! Not that the name matters; we’re just going to call you 'slut' anyway," they laugh.
Iqbal watches, wondering how Hasina will react. To his shock, she walks toward them, lets her *pallu* (sari dbang) fall, and sits on one of the men’s laps.
"If she’s a slut, then you have to call her a slut, *bava* (darling)," she says, reaching over to squeeze his cock right through his *lungi*.
"Damn! You’ve got a grip that could squeeze the very essence out of a man, you wench!" he cries out, pulling her closer and grabbing her buttocks. He was fondling her intensely.

Another man stood up and said, "Hey, take her and go into the bedroom!" as he grabbed Haseena by the arm and pulled her.
She landed right on his lap, her face positioned close to his cock. Without hesitation, she took his cock—still covered by his lungi—into her mouth and gave it a gentle bite.

Just then, Mohan Sir spoke up, "Hey, let's watch her dance while we have a drink!"

He pulled Haseena to her feet and said, "Hey, why don't you dance for us while slowly taking off your clothes?"

Having already removed her *pallu* (sari end-piece), Haseena opened the box Iqbal had brought. Singing a song herself, she unwrapped her sari and tossed it toward the men.

As they drank, the men watched her dance, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Next, she began unhooking her blouse one by one. Once all the hooks were undone, she held the garment in her hands, swaying her breasts from side to side and up and down, teasing the men further. Suddenly, she turned around, whipped off her blouse, and tossed it back toward them.

One of the men caught the blouse, pressed it against his face, and inhaled deeply. Letting out an "Ah!"—he untied his lungi, wrapped the blouse around his erect cock, and began stroking it rhythmically.

Meanwhile, dancing to the song "Baavalu Sayya," (local movie song),  Haseena untied the drawstring of her *langa* (petticoat/skirt), twirling the string while swaying her waist in perfect rhythm with the music. "I’ve never seen such a wild, insatiable bitch before!" the others remarked, praising their 'sir.'



Haseena slowly let her skirt slide down. Bending over, she swayed her buttocks, slapped them with her hands, and—stripping off her undergarments—exposed her anus to them.
"Your asshole is going to get torn apart today, you slut!" one of them exclaimed.

She turned around, covering her breasts and pussy with her hands. As she approached the men, she pulled her hands away, moved close to each of their faces, and swayed her breasts. She then tugged at their *lungis* before returning to the spot where she had been dancing earlier.

Since none of them were wearing underwear, their cocks stood fully erect.
Just then, Mohan Sir stood up and headed toward an inner room. "Iqbal, come along—bring out that box from inside," he said, while dragging a tea-stand out into the hall.
"Lie down on this, you slut!" he commanded. Haseena complied, though her legs remained dangling off the edge.
One of the men took a rope from the box and tied Haseena’s legs to the legs of the tea-stand. When Iqbal asked, with a hint of alarm, "Sir, what are you doing?" Haseena interjected, "Oh, come on—didn't you say earlier that you could do whatever you wanted?" Sudarshan Sir looked at Iqbal and gave him a wink. "Just you watch," he said, placing a stick in Haseena's hands. He then pulled her arms back and tied them to the stick.

Next, he gently kneaded her breasts, bound them together with a rope, and left one end of the rope hanging so it could be pulled. Taking clips from a box, he attached two to her nipples, and two more to her labia.
Until then, she hadn't felt much pain, but looking at her face, it was clear that the agony was just beginning.
He then lit a candle and began dripping the hot, molten wax all over her breasts.
Haseena let out soft, gasping moans—"Ah... ah... ah..."
He slowly dripped the wax over her entire body, including her pussy. Meanwhile, the others watched the scene, enjoying themselves while drinking.

 

One man stood up and slapped Haseena hard across the cheek—*smack, smack!* Haseena cried out, "Ah! Hit me—hit me more!" Encouraged, he struck her a couple more times.
Another man approached, rubbed off the wax that had accumulated on her skin, and remarked, "Look at you, you slut—you've turned all red!" He then gave her pussy a light tap.
"Hmm, hit me again, *bhava* (dear)," she said, looking at him with intense, raw desire.
This time, he struck her even harder.
"Ah... hmmm..."
He removed the clips from her body, pulled the rope tied around her breasts, and began striking her breasts with a ruler.
A look of exhaustion washed over Haseena's face. She is visible, yet she continues to provoke them, goading them on: "Hit me, hit me more!"

Haseena’s body bears the marks of a ruler across her breasts, burns from a candle flame on her stomach, and the welts of hand-slaps on her cheeks. Her hair is completely disheveled, her *bottu* (forehead mark) is smeared away, and she is left entirely naked.

Then, Sudarshan Sir unties the ropes binding Haseena, forces her to bend over, and—taking a whip—lashes her across the buttocks with sharp, stinging strikes. Unable to bear the pain this time, Haseena screams out, "Amma! Ahhh!" Taunting her—"Well, you slut, does it hurt now?"—he delivers two more blows. They then grab and pull at her breasts with their hands, while simultaneously striking her buttocks with loud, sharp smacks. When Haseena can no longer stand and collapses to the floor, they seize her by the hair and drag her into the bedroom.


They made her kneel, and four men gathered around, positioning their cocks in front of her face. She began sucking them one by one, while her hands busied themselves stroking the others. One man grabbed her by the hair and shoved his entire cock into her mouth; struggling to swallow it, Haseena found herself in great distress. Just then, Sudarshan Sir kicked her hard on the buttocks, shouting, "Hey, you bitch, have you grown too bold?" Stung by the pain, she took the whole cock deep into her mouth and started sucking.
Sudarshan Sir lay back on the bed and beckoned her. Haseena aligned her pussy with his cock, mounted him, and began to thrust. Simultaneously, another man thrust his cock into her ass from behind. Haseena let out a stifled cry—"Abba, ah!"—biting her lip to endure the pain.


The other two men offered their cocks to her mouth. With one man thrusting from behind and another from below, they pounded away relentlessly. They soon swapped positions—those who had been sucking began to fuck, while those who had been fucking now took their turn to be sucked.

"Hey, it’s going into your ass so easily—just how many have been inside you?"
"Ah... ah... twenty... oh, God!"


Meanwhile, the men in front shoved their cocks deep into her mouth.
Iqbal watched, puzzled—he was certain only five men had fucked her, yet she claimed it was twenty. Deciding to ask about it later, he took another sip of his drink and continued to watch them. It seemed they had all reached their climax. Suddenly, they stood up, pulled Haseena back down, and forced her onto her knees. Once again, she began servicing them—sucking one cock after another while using her hands to stroke the rest. Almost simultaneously, they all groaned—"Ah... oh... ah!"—and ejaculated, spraying their semen all over her face. They then pried her mouth open and poured the remaining fluid inside. Haseena swallowed it eagerly, and whatever had landed on her breasts, she scooped up with her fingers and placed into her own mouth. After thoroughly cleaning each of their cocks, she started to get up.

"Hey, wait! Where are you going?"
"To the bathroom... to wash up."
"Hold on, we’re not done yet." They made her sit in the corner of the room, and one by one, they urinated on her, creating a small puddle. "Stay sitting right there in that urine until we tell you to move," they commanded, before heading off to the bathroom themselves. Iqbal looked at his wife, Haseena—she showed no signs of distress; on the contrary, she looked at her husband with a sense of pride, as if she had achieved something significant.

After a while, Subarson Sir and his friends left. Before departing, each of them handed over five thousand rupees, telling us to keep it as a tip.

Turning to me, Sir said, "Well done, Iqbal! You’ve brought us the absolute best whore. While others might play hard to get—refusing to do this or that, no matter how much they’re paid—she, on the other hand, does everything..." "Hey, go clean up that urine, take a bath, and then come back," he said.



After Haseena finished her bath and got dressed, Sudarshan handed her some money, saying, "Here, Iqbal, here is the remaining twenty thousand." He then asked, "Tell me, would you be able to stay for a couple of days?"
"I don't have any objection, but I'm not sure if my husband will agree."
"Good heavens! You’re married—you have a husband too?" Forgetting that there were ladies from a respectable family present, Iqbal said—

"Yes, she’s right here in front of you; ask her yourself."

Iqbal was left dumbfounded when his wife dropped this bombshell.

Sudarshan Sir, also a bit bewildered, asked—
"What’s this, Iqbal? What is she saying?"

"Yes, Sir. She is my wife, Haseena."

Sudarshan was stunned.

"Then what is all this?"

"Well, Sir, when you mentioned thirty thousand rupees, I figured—why pass up the money?" Saying this with a laugh, Haseena—who was still completely naked—walked over to Sudarshan Sir and took his cock in her hand.

"Damn, Iqbal! I’ve always had this fantasy—to fuck another man’s wife right in front of him. If you’re okay with it, I’ll fuck her just this once, while you watch."

"Why ask him, Sir? Come on!" Haseena replied, lifting her saree and petticoat, and bending over the bed.

"Iqbal, come over to this side—you’ll get a better view," Sudarshan said, positioning him right next to them.

Adjusting his cock, Sudarshan slid it into Haseena’s pussy and began to thrust slowly.

"Ah, you bitch! What a pussy you’ve got... oh, ah, ah, ha, ha!" he groaned, picking up the pace of his thrusts.
"Hey, Iqbal! Look at this—I’m fucking your wife’s pussy! Ha, ha, ha!" "Ah... ah..."
Haseena: "Hmm... hmm... yes, put it in just like that, sir... ah... hmm... Hey, husband, look!"
Iqbal is right there, watching his wife being fucked.

"Ha ha! Oh, this has been a long-held desire of mine—and today, thanks to you, it’s finally being fulfilled!" he exclaimed, thrusting even harder.

"Oh, God... ah... yes, sir! Keep going, sir—ah, oh my!" Haseena gasped, her eyes rolling back. With a hearty laugh, the man thrust his hips with increasing speed until, reaching their climax simultaneously, they both collapsed onto the bed.

A while later, the man got up and said, "Iqbal, thank you so much! My wish has been fulfilled—you’ve got yourself a superb wife!" He planted a kiss on Haseena and added, "Let’s plan a trip sometime—maybe for a couple of days?"

 

"Do you even need to ask, sir? I’m ready whenever you say the word!"

A week later, Sudarshan and Haseena went to Goa and stayed for four days. From then on, Haseena became a shared mistress for Sudarshan and three of his friends. Whenever they were in the mood, they would show up to have sex with her; sometimes, they would even visit individually. 

Since they always left some money behind, Haseena would eagerly encourage them and let them have their way with her.
One day, something Sudarshan said angered Iqbal so much that he quit his job under him and even blocked Sudarshan’s number on his wife’s phone.

But what exactly did Sudarshan say? "Hey Iqbal... you fulfilled my desire to fuck a man's wife right in front of him. I have another fantasy, too—I want to fuck both your wife and your daughter in few years, right in front of you, Iqbal."




Now, Haseena has begun the hunt for a new cock; the difference this time is that the man must not only be willing to fuck her, but he must also be someone who pays her.