Misc. Erotica Anklets in the Dark

[Mindyourplay]

“Priyan! I’m home!” His voice sliced through the humid stillness of our Bandra flat, the faint hum of Mumbai’s nightlife seeping through the open balcony doors. I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I was a vision of sin—5’6” of pure temptation, my long, raven hair tumbling over bare shoulders, my full, heaving breasts spilling over the edge of a flimsy black bra, the matching panties clinging to my wet, throbbing core. My skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, the silver anklets on my feet tinkling as I shifted. Our one-year-old, Aarav, was asleep in his crib, and I’d been lost in my secret game.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ I cursed silently. My phone—the key to the vibrator buzzing relentlessly inside me—was clutched in one hand, the other tugging at the silk dupatta I’d loosely dbangd over my shoulders. Arjun wasn’t due back from his office drinks for another hour. I’d planned to tease myself to the edge and beyond, but now I scrambled, killing the vibrator’s hum and tossing the remote into a pile of Aarav’s toys. The dupatta fluttered to the floor as I darted toward the bedroom, my breasts bouncing with every step.
“Priya, jaan?!” Arjun called, his shoes thudding against the marble floor as he kicked them off. “Where are you?”
“Just a minute!” I shouted, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and arousal. I grabbed a sheer red saree from the wardrobe, dbanging it haphazardly over my bra and panties, the fabric doing little to hide the swell of my curves or the dark peaks of my nipples pressing against it.
I’m Priya—a 28-year-old goddess trapped in the chaos of motherhood and marriage, yet burning with a wild, untamed lust. Before Aarav, I was the girl who’d slip onto our balcony at 3 a.m., nothing but a flimsy dupatta shielding my nakedness from the world. I’d stand there, the cool night air kissing my skin, my big breasts swaying as I touched myself, imagining some stranger in the opposite high-rise catching a glimpse. I’d stroke my clit until I came, moaning into the darkness, then fling the dupatta over the edge, letting it drift away like a whisper of my shame. When Arjun was away—on client meetings or late-night shoots—I’d roam our flat nude, or in just a bra and panties, teasing myself on the sofa, the dining table, even against the fridge, leaving wet trails of my desire. Once, I’d answered the door for the milkman in nothing but a towel, letting it slip just enough to see his jaw drop before slamming it shut, my pussy dripping at the thrill.
Tonight, I’d been midway through one such indulgence when Arjun barged in. He stepped into the bedroom, all rugged charm—broad chest straining against his half-unbuttoned shirt, dark eyes glinting with hunger as they landed on me. “Priya, fuck…” he growled, closing the gap in seconds. His hands found my breasts, squeezing them through the saree, thumbs circling my hardened nipples. “You’re a bloody wet dream tonight.”
“Arjun—” I gasped, my voice a sultry whimper as he kneaded me, his touch stoking the fire I’d been feeding alone. The vibrator, still nestled inside me, pulsed faintly, a silent accomplice to my arousal. His lips crashed onto mine, tasting of whiskey and want, and I melted against him, my saree slipping to reveal the bra barely containing my tits.
“Always complaining they’re too big,” he rasped, lifting my breasts, jiggling them like ripe mangoes. “But they’re fucking perfect, jaan.” His fingers dipped beneath the bra, pinching a nipple hard, and I moaned, my thighs clenching around the toy.
“Stop it!” I swatted him playfully, but my smirk betrayed me. He chuckled, stripping off his shirt to reveal the chiseled planes of his chest, sweat gleaming on his skin. My mouth watered—he was a beast, and I was his prey.
“You’re dripping, Priya,” he said, his gaze raking over me as I swayed toward the bathroom, pretending to check on Aarav. “What’s got you so horny?”
I froze. Did he know? Could he sense the toy buried in me, slick with my juices? “It’s… just hot,” I mumbled, shutting the door. Leaning against it, I slid a hand under my saree, adjusting the vibrator—still buzzing faintly—when I heard a creak. The carved wooden chest at the bed’s foot. My stash—dildos, cuffs, a blindfold—was in there. Unlocked.
“Priya, what’s this?” Arjun’s voice was thick with mischief. I bolted out, catching him with the lid cracked, the neon-purple tip of my favorite dildo winking up at me.
“Arjun, no!” I lunged, slamming it shut, my cheeks blazing. “That’s private, you idiot!”
He grinned, shirtless and towering, his cock straining against his trousers. “Hiding naughty secrets, huh? You were scrambling like a little slut when I walked in—what’s in there?”
“I was… tidying,” I lied, my voice husky with lust. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me close, his erection pressing into my belly.
“Relax, jaan,” he murmured, kissing my neck, teeth grazing my skin. “I’m teasing. But now I’m dying to know what my dirty wife’s been playing with.”
A knock rattled the door before I could answer. “That’s Rohan,” Arjun said, stepping back. “Said he’d drop by with the lads.” He strode off, leaving me panting, half-exposed.
“Arjun, wait—I’m barely dressed!” I hissed, but he waved me off.
“Nothing they haven’t fantasized about,” he shot back, flinging the door open. Rohan swaggered in, followed by Vikram and Sameer—old college mates who’d always ogled me. Their eyes widened, devouring me—saree askew, bra-clad breasts spilling out, panties visible through the sheer fabric as I scrambled to adjust myself.
“Bloody hell, Priya,” Rohan whistled, smirking at Vikram. “Arjun, you’re a lucky dog.”
“Eyes off,” Arjun snapped, though his grin said he loved it. I darted to the bed, perching there, legs crossed to hide the damp spot on my panties. The men settled in—Rohan on the sofa, Vikram leaning against the wall, Sameer stealing glances at my cleavage. Arjun sat beside me, his hand sliding possessively up my thigh, brushing the edge of my panties.
“Drinks, anyone?” Rohan asked, pulling out a bottle of Old Monk. The night blurred into laughter and rum, the tension thickening as Arjun’s fingers teased higher, grazing the vibrator’s outline. I squirmed, biting my lip to stifle a moan.
“Balcony?” Vikram suggested, nodding toward the glass doors. My pulse raced—my secret playground. We stumbled out, the city lights twinkling below, the air thick with sea salt and sin. Arjun’s arm snaked around my waist, tugging me against him as the others sprawled on the wicker chairs.
“Priya’s got that glow tonight,” Sameer said, his voice low, eyes locked on my breasts. Arjun smirked, his hand dipping beneath my saree, fingers brushing the vibrator. I gasped, clutching his arm.
“Arjun, stop,” I whispered, but he pressed harder, activating the toy. It buzzed to life, and I stifled a cry, my knees buckling.
“Something wrong, jaan?” he murmured, loud enough for the others to hear. They laughed, oblivious, as he cranked it higher. My pussy clenched, juices soaking my panties, and I gripped the railing, my breasts heaving as I fought to stay composed.
“Fuck, Arjun,” I hissed, my voice a desperate moan. He leaned in, lips brushing my ear.
“Cum for me, right here,” he whispered. “Let them wonder.”
I shattered, a silent scream ripping through me as waves of pleasure crashed over my body. My nails dug into the railing, my tits bouncing with each shudder, the saree slipping to expose one breast. Arjun shielded me, his body a wall, but I caught Sameer’s wide-eyed stare before he looked away.
“Time to call it,” Arjun said, smirking as he guided me inside, the others trailing behind. They left, and he locked the door, turning to me with a predator’s grin.
“Alone now,” he growled, yanking my saree off. I stood in bra and panties, the vibrator still humming. He ripped the bra away, my heavy breasts spilling free, and shoved me onto the bed. “You’ve been a naughty slut, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” I moaned, spreading my legs as he tore the panties off, the toy glistening with my cum. He replaced it with his cock, thick and relentless, pounding me into the mattress. I screamed his name, clawing his back, our bodies slick with sweat and lust.
Later, as he slept, I slipped onto the balcony, naked but for my anklets. The night air caressed my skin, my pussy still throbbing. I touched myself, imagining the city watching, and came again, my moans echoing into the dark. My dupatta lay forgotten on the floor—I’d fling it later, a gift to the shadows.