07-04-2025, 04:56 PM
Update 1:
"Ah, Yess! Fuck me harder!" Nisha's voice filled the otherwise silent office space, echoing off the walls of Manager Kumar's small room. His desk, usually cluttered with paperwork and coffee cups, had been shoved aside to make room for their illicit rendezvous. Kumar, a middle-aged man in his late thirties, grunted with each thrust, his eyes squeezed shut in a mix of pleasure and guilt. Nisha, a 24-year-old team leader at TCC Chennai, lay sprawled out on the floor, her naked body writhing beneath his. Her head was thrown back, and her long, dark hair spilled out around her, a stark contrast to the stark office setting.
Her moans grew louder, and she felt the familiar tension build in her core, "Fuck me like you've never fucked your wife!" she panted, pushing her hips up to meet his every thrust. Kumar's pace quickened, his breaths becoming ragged as he chased his own climax, driven by her words. The office chair was knocked over, and the sound of their slapping flesh filled the space.
Suddenly, Nisha's eyes snapped open, and she threw her head forward, her teeth sinking into Kumar's shoulder to muffle her final scream of pleasure as she climaxed. Her body convulsed around his, her nails digging into his back. The pain was a strange mix with his own release, and he groaned loudly, his grip tightening on her hips.
They lay there for a moment, panting heavily, their sweat-slicked bodies intertwined. Nisha felt a smug satisfaction at the raw power she held over this married man. She had always loved the thrill of being the secret lover, the one who knew all the right buttons to push to drive him wild. Kumar's heart hammered in his chest as he tried to catch his breath, his eyes glazed with lust.
He looked down at her, his gaze lingering on her bare breasts, the nipples still erect and sensitive from his touch. "Nisha," he murmured, "You're incredible." His voice was thick with desire, and she couldn't help but smile. It was always the same afterward; his need to worship her, to tell her how much she meant to him. But she knew better than to let his sweet nothings get to her. She was in control here.
Nisha reached up and gently caressed his face, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Kumar," she teased, her voice low and husky. "But remember, this is our little secret."
He nodded, his eyes filled with a mix of love and fear. "Of course, Nisha," he said, his voice hoarse. He knew the consequences if their affair was ever discovered. But the thrill of it all was too much to resist.
They slowly disentangled, and Nisha stood up, her body still trembling from the intense orgasm. She walked over to the mirror on the wall, her curves glistening in the dim light, and took a moment to admire herself. She was a picture of wanton lust, and she loved it. She picked up her crumpled clothes from the floor, slipping her veil back on and pulling her dress over her head. It was a stark reminder of the two worlds she lived in: the conservative '. daughter and sister at home, and the wild seductress at work.
As Kumar hastily put his own clothes back on, Nisha couldn't help but feel a twinge of amusement at the mess they had made. Papers were scattered everywhere, the chair was on its side, and the smell of sex hung heavy in the air. It was a stark contrast to the pristine image of professionalism they both had to maintain once the clock struck 9 AM.
"You'd better clean up before someone comes looking for you," she said, her voice still tinged with the echoes of passion.
Kumar nodded, his eyes still glued to her as she began to straighten the room, her movements languid and graceful despite the haste. He couldn't help but admire her as she bent down to pick up her panties, her round, firm ass on full display. It was a sight he never tired of, and it only made his cock twitch with the memory of being buried deep within her.
Once the room was back to its mundane appearance, Nisha turned to him, her expression stern. "This stays between us," she reminded him, her voice firm. "If my father finds out..." she trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. They both knew the strict rules of her conservative household.
Kumar nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I understand," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew the risks they were taking, but the temptation was too great.
Nisha pulled her dress down, adjusting her veil in the mirror. Her dark eyes searched his, looking for any signs of doubt or regret. Finding none, she leaned in and kissed him, her lips lingering against his. "Thank you," she murmured against his mouth, her voice soft and seductive. "For giving me what I need."
With a final wink, she opened the door and stepped out into the empty hallway, her heels clicking against the linoleum as she walked away. Kumar watched her go, his heart racing, his thoughts a whirlwind of passion and fear. He knew he was playing with fire, but he couldn't resist the allure of Nisha's forbidden fruit.
As Nisha returned to her desk, she couldn't help but feel a sense of power surging through her veins. She had always enjoyed the thrill of the secret affair, the danger of being caught. It was a stark contrast to her mundane home life, where she was expected to adhere to the strict rules of her conservative '. upbringing. At work, she was free to express her sexuality, to be the woman she truly was.
The clock ticked closer to 7 PM, and the office began to empty out as her colleagues left for the evening. She gathered her things and headed to the parking lot, her thoughts racing with the excitement of the recent encounter. Sliding into her car, she took a moment to compose herself, her skin still flushed from their rendezvous.
Starting the engine, she drove through the bustling streets of Chennai, the car's air conditioning a welcome relief from the oppressive heat outside. As she navigated the traffic, her mind wandered to her family waiting for her at home, oblivious to the secret life she led. Her father, a proud man who owned a supermarket, would be busy with the day's accounts, while her mother bustled around the house, preparing dinner. Her brother, engrossed in his engineering studies, would be lost in a world of textbooks and diagrams.
Pulling into the narrow driveway, Nisha parked her car and took a deep breath before entering the house. She knew the drill: act demure, answer questions about her day with practiced innocence, and help with dinner preparations. But tonight, the act felt heavier than usual, the dichotomy of her two lives weighing on her. She slipped off her shoes and stepped inside, the familiar scents of home enveloping her.
Her mother, a round, warm woman in a colorful salwar kameez, bustled into the living room. "Nisha," she called out, "Your father will be home soon. Can you help me with the samosas?"
Nisha forced a smile, the scent of spices and simmering meat bringing her back to reality. She nodded, slipping into the kitchen and rolling up her sleeves. The mundane task of preparing dinner was a stark contrast to the passionate encounter she had just left behind. She carefully filled each pastry with the spiced mixture, her thoughts drifting to the way Kumar's hands had touched her so intimately just hours ago.
The kitchen was her sanctuary, a place where she could be herself without the constant scrutiny of her veil-clad reflection in the office windows. She hummed under her breath, a catchy Bollywood tune that had been playing on the radio in her car, as she worked. Her mother looked at her with a knowing smile, assuming it was the excitement of a new recipe or a good day at work that brought the light to her eyes.
The samosas were almost done when Nisha's father and brother arrived. Her father, a stoic man with a thick mustache and stern eyes, nodded in approval at the sight of his daughter working diligently in the kitchen. Her brother, on the other hand, rolled his eyes and disappeared into his room, his nose buried in a textbook.
As they sat down to eat, the conversation was light and filled with the usual banter of family life. Nisha's mother talked about the latest gossip from the mosque, while her father discussed the challenges of running the supermarket. Nisha listened, chiming in with the appropriate responses, all the while feeling a knot in her stomach. The secret she harbored felt like a living thing, wriggling and trying to escape the confines of her conservative attire.
After dinner, as she cleared the plates, her father called her aside. His tone was serious, and she could see the weight of his words etched on his face. "Nisha," he began, "Your mother and I have been thinking. We've found a good family for you. The groom's parents will be coming to see you tomorrow. Don't go to the office. You need to prepare yourself."
Nisha felt a cold hand clench around her heart. She knew this day would come, but she had hoped to stave it off a little longer. "But, Baba," she protested, her voice trembling slightly, "I have so much work."
Her father, Ashiq, gave her a firm look that brooked no argument. "Your work is important, but your future is more so," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "You know how it is for us, Nisha. It's time you start thinking about settling down."
With a sigh, Nisha nodded, her thoughts racing. She knew her family meant well, but the thought of an arranged marriage was suffocating. She had tasted the sweetness of freedom in the arms of her lovers, and she wasn't ready to give it up for a life of domesticity and duty. But she also knew better than to argue. Her mother, Meera, placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and gave her a knowing smile. "Nisha, this is your life," she said, her voice soft. "Go to your room and get a nice sleep. You should look fresh tomorrow."
Nisha retreated to her room, her heart heavy. She knew she had to tell someone, had to get some advice. The only person she could turn to was her brother, Rahim. He was younger, but he had always been more open-minded than their parents.
Once the house had settled into a quiet rhythm of evening routines, she slipped out of her room and padded softly down the hallway to Rahim's room. She tapped lightly on his door, and when he answered, she slipped inside, closing it firmly behind her.
Her eyes searched her brother's face for any hint of disapproval, but instead, she found a spark of curiosity. "What is it, Nish?" he asked, his voice low so as not to alert their parents.
Nisha took a deep breath and spilled out her secret. "Appa and Amma have found a groom for me," she whispered urgently. "His parents are coming tomorrow."
Rahim's eyes widened in surprise. "Already?" He had always been her confidant, the one person who knew her true nature, and the one who had often covered for her when she snuck out. He leaned back on his bed, his eyes searching hers. "What do you think?"
Nisha sat on the chair beside his bed, her shoulders slumped. "I don't know, da," she said, her voice thick with frustration. "How can I marry a man without knowing him? Without...without experiencing life?"
Rahim leaned forward, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. "You know how it is," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's the way of our culture. But," he added, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "you've always been the rebel, haven't you?"
Nisha couldn't help but smile at that. It was true. Her brother had always been the only one who knew her the one who had encouraged her to live her life on her terms. "What if I don't like him?" she asked, her voice small and vulnerable.
Rahim leaned back on his bed, his eyes thoughtful. "Then you tell me," he said, his tone firm. "I know it's not much, but at least you'll have a little control over this. You're my sister, and I won't let you be unhappy."
Nisha looked up at him, hope flickering in her eyes. "Really, Rahim?" she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of desperation and excitement.
"Yes, Nish," he nodded solemnly. "But you have to trust me," he added, his eyes searching hers. "Mom and dad won't let you speak with the groom before the wedding, but I'll find a way for you to meet him. Just follow my plan."
Nisha felt a flicker of hope. Her brother had always been the one to help her navigate the complexities of their family's expectations. She knew he had her back, even if it meant bending the rules a bit. "Okay," she murmured, "I trust you."
Standing up, she gave him a quick hug before slipping out of his room and into the hallway. The house was still, the only sound the hum of the ceiling fan above. She walked down the hall to her own room, feeling the weight of the impending meeting with her potential groom pressing down on her. She stepped into her sanctuary, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
Her bed looked inviting in the moonlit room, the white sheets rumpled from her earlier rendezvous with Kumar. Nisha sat on the edge, her mind racing with thoughts of the future she was being pushed into. The scent of sex still lingered on her skin, a stark reminder of the life she was fighting to keep hidden. With a sigh, she reached for her phone and sent Kumar a quick message, letting him know she had made it home safe and thanking him for the afternoon.
The thought of tomorrow's meeting with her potential groom sent a shiver down her spine. She knew that her life was about to change in ways she couldn't even begin to imagine. But she had faith in her brother's plan. He had always been her ally, the one who understood her need for freedom.
Nisha lay in her bed, the soft fabric of her nightdress clinging to her still-flushed skin. The ceiling fan whirred overhead, casting shifting shadows on the walls as she stared up at the darkness. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, replaying every moment she had shared with Kumar and the other men she had been with. She knew that once she was married, those days would be over. A pang of sadness tightened her chest at the thought of losing the excitement and passion she had come to crave.
Her thoughts drifted to the unknown groom and what he would be like. Would he understand her needs? Would he be kind and gentle, or would he expect her to conform to the traditional mold of a '. wife? She had heard stories from her friends about the cold, uncaring men their parents had chosen for them, and she couldn't help but wonder if she would be next. Her hands absently traced the outline of her body, remembering the feel of Kumar's rough hands and the way he had made her scream his name in pleasure.
With a sigh, she pushed the thoughts aside and slipped into the cool embrace of her bed, the sheets feeling like a whisper against her skin. She closed her eyes and let the fatigue of the day wash over her. As sleep took hold, she allowed herself to dream of a different life, one where she could be free to explore her sexuality without the fear of discovery.
Morning came too soon, the harsh light of the sun piercing through her curtains at 9 AM. Nisha stretched languidly, her body still feeling the aftershocks of the previous day's encounter. She glanced over at the clock on her bedside table, the digits blurring as she tried to focus her bleary eyes. She had a meeting with the groom's family today, and she had to look her best.
Her phone rang, jolting her out of her thoughts. Glancing at the screen, she saw it was Kumar.
"Kumar, wassup?" she answered, her voice casual despite her racing heart.
"Nisha, you dint come to office yet?" he growled, his voice thick with lust. "My dick's been waiting for you."
Nisha couldn't help but smile, the memory of their passionate tryst still fresh in her mind. "Oh, my favorite dick," she teased, her voice light and flirtatious, "but unfortunately, my parents have found me a dick that would fuck me life long."
There was a pause on the line, and then Kumar spoke again, his voice low and serious. "Nisha, I don't follow."
Nisha took a deep breath and let the words spill out, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart. "My parents have found a groom for me," she said, the words feeling strange and final in the quiet of her room. "His parents are coming to see me today. It's all arranged."
Kumar was silent for a moment before responding, his voice filled with a mix of lust and possessiveness. "Great, Nisha," he said, his tone not quite matching the sentiment of his words. "But don't forget my dick. It's had the taste of your sweet pussy, and it won't be easily satisfied by anyone else."
Nisha couldn't help but laugh at his audacity, the sound echoing through the quiet house. "My horny manager," she teased, her voice dripping with amusement, "how can I forget you? Now you get to fuck another man's wife." It was a cruel twist of words, but she knew it would get under his skin, reminding him of the power she held over him. She felt a thrill at the thought of his discomfort, a delicious sense of control that she craved.
"You know what you're doing to me," Kumar murmured, his voice low and needy. "I want you so badly, Nisha."
Nisha's smile grew sly as she responded, "But isn't that what you've always wanted, Kumar? To fuck another man's wife?" She could almost see the shock and arousal on his face, even through the phone. "Now, you'll have to wait until I'm married to get your fix."
Kumar's voice was strained, a clear indication that her words had hit a nerve. "Call me when the groom's parents have gone," he said, his tone a mix of frustration and desperation.
"At least work for today," Nisha said with a playful giggle, her voice dropping to a seductive purr. "Bye, darling." She hung up, feeling a thrill at the power she had over this married man. She knew he would be counting the minutes until he could have her again.
But the knock on her door brought her back to reality. She sat up, her heart racing, and called out, "Coming!" She took a deep breath, smoothing her hair and straightening her nightdress before opening the door.
Her mother, Meera, stood there with a look of curiosity. "Nisha, beta," she said, her voice filled with concern, "who were you talking to so early in the morning?"
Nisha looked up, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's my manager," she said coolly, her voice a practiced blend of innocence and nonchalance. "He was looking for me to do the work which I do best," she added, a knowing smile playing on her lips. Meera's eyebrows furrowed for a moment before she nodded, satisfied with the explanation.
"Ah, work," Meera said, her gaze lingering on Nisha's flushed face before she turned to leave. "Remember, you have to be ready by noon. The groom's family will be here soon."
Nisha nodded, her stomach doing a little flip-flop at the thought. She had the whole morning to get ready, to make herself presentable to a group of strangers who would judge her solely on her appearance and her ability to be a good wife. She knew that was what they were looking for; someone to bear their son's children, to cook and clean and keep his home.
Her mother's words echoed in her ears as she walked to the bathroom, her mind racing with thoughts of escape. But she knew she couldn't disappoint her family. She had always been the obedient daughter, the one who wore the veil without complaint, who helped around the house, who studied hard. The one who had a secret life that no one could ever know about.
The water was hot, almost scalding, as she stepped into the shower. She let it wash over her, the steam filling the room and clinging to her skin as she scrubbed away the evidence of her rendezvous. The soap smelled faintly of jasmine, a scent that usually comforted her but now only served to remind her of the stark contrast between the life she lived and the one her parents had planned.
As she emerged from the shower, the cool air hit her, making her skin pebble with goosebumps. She wrapped a towel around herself and padded over to her closet. Her mother had laid out a beautiful, deep red sari, the fabric soft and luxurious. Meera had always had an eye for beauty, and she knew this color would make Nisha's olive skin glow.
With practiced hands, Nisha began the process of wrapping the six-yard length of fabric around her body. She started with the petticoat, a simple white one that she knew would complement the intricate gold border of the sari. She stepped into it, tucking it around her waist before moving on to the blouse. It was a simple, round-necked design, but it fit her like a glove, showcasing her full breasts without revealing any skin.
Next came the sari itself, a deep red that shimmered with gold threads. She wrapped it around her waist, making sure to tuck it in securely. The fabric felt like liquid fire against her skin, a stark reminder of the passionate encounter she had shared with Kumar. She wrapped it around her body, the material whispering as it glided over her curves. It was a dance she had performed countless times, but today it felt heavier, a symbol of the constraints she was about to willingly embrace.
Nisha's mother watched her with a critical eye, making sure every fold was perfect, every inch of skin covered. Meera's hands were deft as they pinned the pleats into place, her movements swift and efficient. Nisha felt a twinge of admiration for the woman who had raised her, who had taught her the art of concealment, who had never questioned why her daughter needed to be so perfectly covered.
As her mother helped her into the blouse, Nisha's thoughts drifted to the men she had been with. Each one had reveled in peeling back the layers of her modesty, exposing her to their hungry gazes. The thought brought a blush to her cheeks, which she quickly covered with her palm.
Meera noticed the change in her daughter's demeanor and paused. "Nisha," she said gently, her eyes searching Nisha's face, "are you okay?"
Nisha took a deep breath and nodded. "I'm fine, Amma," she murmured, forcing a smile. "Just nervous, I guess."
Meera's eyes searched her daughter's for a moment before she nodded and turned to the dresser. She pulled out a velvet box filled with glittering gold jewelry, each piece more exquisite than the last. She carefully selected a set that would complement the sari: a necklace that lay heavily on Nisha's collarbones, earrings that swung against her cheeks with every movement, and bangles that jingled with every gesture.
Nisha watched in the mirror as her mother's hands adorned her with the jewelry, feeling like a doll being dressed for a play. The weight of the gold was comforting, a reminder of her heritage and the expectations that came with it. Her mother's eyes held a mix of pride and sadness as she fastened the final piece, a delicate maang tikka that rested in the part of Nisha's hair.
Next came the veil, a soft scarf of black chiffon that Meera carefully wrapped around Nisha's head. She had always loved the way her mother's hands felt on her skin, but today it was almost too much. Each touch felt like a goodbye, a silent acknowledgment that her life was about to change forever. The fabric whispered against her cheeks, a stark contrast to the rough hands of her lovers.
Just as Meera was about to tie the final knot, the door to Nisha's room flew open. Rahim, her brother, stood there, his eyes wide with excitement. "Wow, Nish," he exclaimed, his gaze sweeping over her. "You look... amazing."
Nisha felt a blush rise to her cheeks as she took in his approving look. "Thanks, da," she murmured, her voice shaky.
Just then, the sound of the doorbell rang through the house, piercing the quiet of the morning. Meera's eyes grew wide with excitement, and she bustled over to the mirror to make sure every strand of hair was in place. "The groom's relatives are here," she exclaimed, her voice quivering with anticipation.
Nisha's father, Ashiq, appeared in the doorway, his expression serious. "You should be in your room," he said, his voice firm. "They will call you when it's time."
With a nod, Nisha retreated to her sanctuary, her heart racing. The anticipation was palpable, the air thick with the scent of her mother's perfume and the sweet aroma of the fresh flowers that adorned the house. She could hear the low murmur of voices from the living room, the hushed tones of her family and the groom's. Her palms were slick with nervous sweat as she sat on the edge of her bed, her legs crossed primly.
The minutes stretched into an eternity, each second a silent scream in her ears. Her mind raced with thoughts of Kumar, of the passionate encounters they had shared, and the stark contrast between that life and the one she was about to embark on. But she knew that she had to keep her cool, to put on the mask of the obedient daughter, the perfect '. bride.
Her mother's call snapped her out of her thoughts. "Nisha, beta, it's time," Meera said, her voice filled with excitement. Nisha took a deep breath, steeling herself for the performance of a lifetime. She had rehearsed this moment in her mind a hundred times, but now that it was here, she felt like she was about to step onto a stage with no script.
With her heart racing, she smoothed her palms over her thighs and stood up. She took one last look in the mirror, her eyes lingering on the reflection of the beautifully wrapped sari and the glint of the gold jewelry that adorned her body. She took a deep breath and opened the door, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum.
The living room was a flurry of activity, the air thick with the scent of sandalwood and the murmur of hushed whispers. She walked in, her steps measured and graceful, her eyes downcast, the picture of modesty and respect. She could feel the weight of their gazes on her, assessing her every move, every gesture. Her father's voice boomed through the room, introducing her to the people who would decide her fate.
"This is my daughter, Nisha," Ashiq said, his voice filled with pride. "Nisha, this is Mr. Shaker, the groom's father," he gestured to a man with a stern face and a military posture, his eyes sharp and piercing. "And this is his wife, Mrs. Maryam, and their son's sister Sumaya and her husband, Aman."
Nisha took in the newcomers, her heart racing. She had heard of the groom, of course, but had never seen him. Mr. Shaker was everything she had expected: tall, broad-shouldered, with a thick mustache and a commanding presence that filled the room. Mrs. Maryam was elegant, with a kind smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Sumaya was beautiful, her own features a mirror of the strict beauty standards that Nisha knew all too well. And Aman... Nisha felt a stirring in her stomach that had nothing to do with nerves. He was handsome, with a gentle smile that seemed to promise secrets and adventures.
They all nodded back at her, their eyes assessing her. Nisha felt like a prize horse at an auction, her every flaw and virtue laid bare for their scrutiny. She forced her shoulders back, her chin up, and offered a small, demure smile. Her father's hand was firm on her back, a silent reminder to behave. She could feel the weight of his expectations, the unspoken hope that she would make him proud.
Sumaya walked over to her, her movements fluid and graceful. She took Nisha's hand in her own, the touch surprisingly gentle, and led her to the sofa. Mrs. Maryam followed, her eyes never leaving Nisha's face. As they sat, Sumaya positioned herself strategically between Nisha and her mother, a subtle but clear assertion of her role in this delicate dance.
"So, Nisha," Sumaya began, her voice sweet with a hint of steel, "tell us about yourself. What do you enjoy doing in your free time?"
Nisha's heart raced as she felt the weight of their expectations. She knew they were looking for someone who would fit into their family seamlessly, a daughter-in-law who would be the embodiment of '. modesty and virtue. She took a deep breath, her mind racing for an answer that would satisfy them without revealing her true nature. "I enjoy reading, cooking, and... helping my family at the supermarket," she replied, her voice calm and measured.
Mr. Shaker's eyes narrowed slightly. "And do you have any hobbies, Nisha?" His tone was gruff, leaving no room for evasion.
Nisha felt a bead of sweat trickle down her spine. "I love to cook," she said, her voice steady. "And I enjoy going for walks in the evening. It's a good way to unwind." She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, not daring to look up at them.
Sumaya's smile didn't falter, but Nisha could feel the tension in the air thicken. "Walks, hmm?" she said, her voice light. "Alone?"
Nisha's heart skipped a beat. "Sometimes with my brother," she replied, hoping the mention of Rahim would put them at ease. "Or with my mother. It's important to keep fit and enjoy the outdoors, isn't it?"
Sumaya nodded, her gaze lingering for a moment too long. "Indeed," she said slowly. "But a girl like you must have friends to walk with, no?"
Nisha felt a knot form in her stomach. She knew what Sumaya was implying—that a good '. girl wouldn't be walking alone with a man who wasn't family. "My brother is my best friend," she said, her voice strong despite her racing thoughts. "We enjoy each other's company."
Mr. Shaker grunted, his expression unreadable. Mrs. Maryam offered a tight smile. "It's important to have a good relationship with your family," she said, her voice smooth. "But a wife's place is at her husband's side. Do you understand that, Nisha?"
Nisha nodded, her throat dry. "Yes, auntie," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know my responsibilities."
"And your job at TCC," Mr. Shaker interjected, his eyes boring into hers, "does it not interfere with your duties at home?"
Nisha's heart skipped a beat. She had hoped they wouldn't ask about her work, but here it was. "I manage my time well," she said, her voice calm. "My job is important to me, but I understand that my first priority will always be to my family."
Mrs. Maryam leaned forward slightly, her eyes piercing. "And what does your job entail, Nisha?"
Nisha's heart raced, but she kept her composure, recounting her role at TCC. She talked about her responsibilities as a team leader, her dedication to her work, and how she balanced it with her family commitments. She painted a picture of a dutiful daughter and employee, hoping that the lie would be convincing enough to win their approval.
Sumaya leaned back into the sofa, her eyes never leaving Nisha's. "Do you know my brother's name?" she asked, her voice as smooth as honey, but with an underlying current of challenge.
Nisha felt her heart drop. "No," she admitted, her voice small. "I don't."
Sumaya's smile grew wider, the kind of smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "His name is Aslam," she said, her voice like velvet. "He's a project manager at a construction company. He's quite successful, you know." There was a hint of pride in her voice, but it was tinged with something else—a warning, perhaps. "He's a good '. boy," she added, her gaze never leaving Nisha's. "Very devoted to his family and his faith."
Mrs. Maryam's expression softened, and she leaned in to pat Nisha's knee. "We showed him your picture," she said, her voice warm, "and he was quite taken with you."
Nisha felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead, the weight of her secret pressing down on her. "I'm sure he's a wonderful man," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm honored that you're considering me."
Her mother's voice cut through the tension like a knife. "Nisha, you can go to your room," Meera said, her eyes flickering with something that looked like disappointment. "We'll talk to them from now on."
Nisha nodded, her legs trembling slightly as she stood. She felt a hand on her elbow, and she looked over to find Rahim's concerned gaze. He squeezed her arm gently, a silent gesture of support. She took a deep breath and allowed herself to be led away from the scrutinizing eyes of the groom's family.
As they walked down the hallway, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the quiet house, Nisha felt the weight of her secret life threaten to crush her. She had never felt more exposed, more vulnerable. The walls of her bedroom closed in around her, the air thick with the scent of her fear and the anticipation of what was to come.
But as soon as she closed her door, Rahim's laughter rang out, lightening the atmosphere. "Nish, you were so tense," he teased, his eyes twinkling. "They're just people, you know. They're not going to bite."
Nisha couldn't help but smile at her brother's attempt to ease her nerves. She leaned against the cool wooden door, feeling the tension slowly melt from her shoulders. "It's just... a lot," she said, her voice still shaky. "I've never done anything like this before."
"I know," Rahim said, his laughter subsiding into a gentle chuckle. He sat down on her bed, his back against the headboard. "But you're going to be fine. You're smart, you're beautiful, you're a catch." He winked at her, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes. "And if he's not good to you, I'll break his legs."
Nisha managed a weak laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly at her brother's words. She sat down next to him, the red fabric of her sari pooling around her. "Thanks, Rahim," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. "But what if I don't want to get married?"
Her brother was quiet for a moment, his eyes thoughtful. "You know you have to," he said finally. "But that doesn't mean you can't find a way to be happy. Maybe Aslam will be different. Maybe he'll understand you."
Nisha nodded, not really listening. Her mind was racing with possibilities. If she could just find a way to get to know Aslam without her family knowing, maybe she could gauge if he was the kind of man who would accept her for who she really was. It was a long shot, but it was all she had.
"Rahim," she began, her voice tentative, "do you think... we could maybe find a way to talk to Aslam before the wedding?"
Her brother looked at her, his expression a mix of surprise and understanding. "What do you mean?"
Nisha took a deep breath. "I want to talk to Aslam, before everything is final," she said, her eyes searching his. "I need to know if he's the right person for me."
Rahim looked at her, his expression a mix of surprise and admiration. "Nish, that's a bold move," he said, his voice low. "But I get it. You need to make sure." He paused for a moment before a mischievous smile spread across his face. "Okay, let's do this. We'll find a way."
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of preparations and awkward conversations. Nisha played the role of the obedient daughter to perfection, serving tea and snacks to the groom's family, smiling and nodding in all the right places. But her mind was racing, thinking of Aslam, wondering what he looked like, who he was, and whether he could ever accept the true Nisha.
After the groom's family left, her parents retreated to their room, leaving Nisha and Rahim to clean up the living room. "How did you think it went?" Nisha asked her brother, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.
Rahim shrugged, his movements efficient as he cleared the tea cups. "It went as well as these things can go," he said, his eyes darting to her. "They seemed to like you."
Meera's voice interrupted them, floating from the hallway. "Nisha, the groom's parents have given their approval," she called out, her footsteps approaching the living room. Nisha's heart sank, the weight of their words heavy in the air. "Your father has sent you a picture of Aslam. We also liked the boy," Meera continued, her voice filled with the same forced cheer she had used all evening.
The moment their mother retreated to the kitchen, Rahim handed Nisha her phone with a knowing look. She immediately darted to her room, her heart racing. With trembling hands, she unlocked her device and pulled up the message from her father. The picture revealed a man with a strong jaw and piercing dark eyes, dressed in a traditional sherwani, looking every bit the part of the ideal '. husband. But Nisha couldn't help but feel a twinge of dread. Would this stranger ever understand her true nature? Would she ever feel the passion she had experienced with Kumar with this man?
Aslam was indeed smart and handsome, with a fit body that spoke of discipline and care. His smile was warm, yet there was a certain firmness in his gaze that made Nisha's stomach flip. He looked like the kind of man who took his faith and responsibilities seriously, and she couldn't help but wonder if she could ever truly satisfy him. Her mind was a whirlwind of doubt and fear, the stark contrast between her secret life and the life laid out before her making her head spin.
As she studied the photo, Nisha's thoughts grew more and more graphic. Would he be as adventurous in bed as she was? Would he be gentle when she needed it, and rough when she craved it? Would he understand her love for the forbidden, her need for passion and desire? Her hand strayed to her neck, her pulse racing as she thought of his lips on her skin, his hands exploring the curves she had kept hidden beneath her modest clothes for so long.
Her eyes lingered on the photo, and without realizing it, her hand slipped beneath her sari, moving slowly over her body. Her breath grew shallow as she reached the edge of her panties, her fingertips brushing against the soft fabric. The heat between her legs grew with every passing second, and she couldn't resist the urge to touch herself. Her hand moved under her clothes, feeling the dampness that had gathered there, a testament to her arousal.
But at that very moment, the door to her room flew open, and Rahim jumped onto the bed beside her. Nisha's hand shot away from her pussy like it had been burned, and she hastily brought the phone closer to her chest, hiding the screen. "What the hell, Nish?" he exclaimed, bouncing on the mattress.
Her heart racing, she forced a laugh. "What? Just chilling," she replied, her voice breathless.
Rahim's eyes searched her face, and for a split second, Nisha thought he might have noticed her flustered state. But then he grinned, his gaze shifting to the phone in her hand. "Checking out Aslam, huh?" he teased, reaching for the device.
She managed to keep the phone out of his reach. "Just looking at the picture mom sent."
Rahim's grin grew wider. "Oh, come on, let me see!" He grabbed the phone playfully, and Nisha felt the blood rush to her cheeks. "Rahim, no!"
But it was too late. Her brother's eyes widened as the screen filled with Aslam's picture. He took a moment to look at it, his expression unreadable. "Wow," he murmured, "you're going to marry a Greek god."
Nisha rolled her eyes. "Rahim, be serious."
Her brother handed her back the phone, his expression now one of concern. "Look, Nish," he began, "I know you're not thrilled about this whole arranged marriage thing, but maybe it's not so bad. You never know, you might actually like Aslam."
Nisha nodded, trying to force a smile. "I know," she said, her voice a little too bright. "But I just want to... get to know him a bit, you know?"
Rahim studied her for a moment before nodding. "Okay," he said, his tone serious. "But be careful, Nish. You don't want to get your hopes up too high. And you definitely don't want to do anything that would disappoint dad."
Nisha took a deep breath, her mind racing. "I know," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "But I need to know if he's... if he's someone I can be with."
Rahim nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Ok, now your turn," Nisha said, trying to lighten the mood. "Do you think you can get me his number?"
Her brother's expression turned sly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Nish, it's my expertise," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'll have it by tonight."
Nisha's eyes widened, hope and anxiety mixing within her. "Really?" she squeaked, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and fear. "But how?"
Rahim's smirk grew. "Let me handle it," he said, his tone filled with confidence. "But if I do this for you, you owe me one."
Nisha's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you want?" she asked, suspicion coloring her voice.
Rahim's smile grew wider. "There's a girl named Ramya in my class," he began, his voice filled with excitement. "I've been crushing on her for months, and she finally said yes to a date."
Nisha felt a pang of jealousy. "That's great, Rahim," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "But what does that have to do with me?"
Her brother's smile grew even wider. "Well, Nish," he said, leaning back on the bed, "you know I'm not exactly flush with cash. And if I'm going to take Ramya out on a date she'll remember, I need to look like a million bucks." He paused for a beat, letting the tension build. "So, I was thinking, maybe you could lend me five thousand rupees and the keys to the car?"
Nisha couldn't help but laugh at her brother's audacity. "Five thousand rupees? The car? What kind of date are you planning?" she teased.
Rahim's smile grew even wider, his eyes shining with excitement. "The kind that ends with me getting lucky," he replied, his voice low and hopeful. "I want to take her to that fancy new restaurant downtown, and then maybe we'll drive to the beach. You know, make some memories."
Nisha couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy. Her own romantic escapades had always been shrouded in secrecy, stolen moments with men like Kumar that she could never truly claim. "Ok, fine," she said with a sigh, the tension of the evening's events momentarily forgotten. "But you have to promise me, no falling in love with a ***** girl. That's the last thing we need."
Rahim rolled his eyes. "Come on, Nish," he said, his voice filled with the exasperation of a younger brother who knew he was in the right. "It's just a date. And it's not like you're one to talk about love."
Nisha hit his shoulder, a playful scowl on her face. "Don't be over smart," she said, her voice filled with a mix of affection and annoyance. "You know I'm just looking out for you."
But Rahim's gaze had shifted from the phone to her hand. "What's that?" he asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
Nisha's cheeks burned, and she realized with a jolt of horror that her fingers were still coated with her own arousal. Panic flooded her as she tried to think of a cover-up. "It's... it's just some jeera," she stuttered, reaching for a tissue. "I accidentally touched it while cleaning up."
But before she could wipe it away, Rahim's hand shot out like lightning, grabbing her wrist. "Wow, jeera," he repeated, his voice thick with curiosity. Without warning, he brought her finger to his mouth and licked it, his eyes never leaving hers.
Nisha's heart stopped, her eyes widening in horror. But as his tongue brushed against her skin, she felt a sudden thrill shoot through her body, one she hadn't anticipated. "What are you doing?" she gasped, trying to pull her hand away.
Rahim grinned mischievously, his eyes sparkling with a hint of something darker. "Tasting the jeera," he said, his voice a low murmur. "But it seems to have gone bad."
Nisha's heart raced as she snatched her hand away, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She watched as her brother stood up, the playfulness in his eyes now replaced with something more knowing. "Rahim, what are you doing?" she whispered, her voice hoarse with panic.
He chuckled, the sound low and deep, as he sauntered out of her room. "It's just salt, Nish," he called back over his shoulder. "I'll make sure to tell mom to throw it out." Rahim leaves her room.
Nisha collapsed onto the bed, her heart hammering against her ribs. What had just happened? Had he really tasted her arousal? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, a mix of mortification and a strange, pulsing need. She couldn't let him suspect anything. It would ruin everything.
Nisha tried to convince herself that it was all in her head. Of course, Rahim was a good boy. He wouldn't have done that if he had known. But the thought of her brother's innocent taste of her juice sent a shiver down her spine, one that she couldn't quite ignore. She had always known that their bond was strong, but this... this was something else entirely.
Her hand found its way back to her pussy, her thumb circling her clit as she recalled the passionate moments with Kumar, her body yearning for a similar touch. The walls of her room felt like they were closing in on her, the silence only broken by the sound of her own ragged breathing. Her mind raced, the tension from the evening's meeting with the groom's family only adding to her arousal. She needed relief, and she needed it now.
Looking at the time, she saw that it was already 6 PM. The perfect time to reach out to Kumar. She picked up her phone and dialed his number, her heart racing in anticipation of his voice. It rang once, twice, and just as she was about to give up hope, he picked up.
"Hello?" Kumar's voice was a balm to her frayed nerves, deep and rich, the sound of it sending a thrill through her body.
Nisha took a deep breath, her voice low and sultry. "Is my favorite dick ready for me now?" she asked, the words slipping from her lips like a siren's call.
"You know it," Kumar replied, the sound of his car engine rumbling in the background. "I'm just starting it up. Tell me where you want me to come."
Nisha felt a thrill at his response, the anticipation building within her. She knew where she wanted this to go, a place where no one would suspect a thing. "Come near my home," she said, her voice a seductive whisper. "There is a park. Wait there, I'll come to you."
"Ah, Yess! Fuck me harder!" Nisha's voice filled the otherwise silent office space, echoing off the walls of Manager Kumar's small room. His desk, usually cluttered with paperwork and coffee cups, had been shoved aside to make room for their illicit rendezvous. Kumar, a middle-aged man in his late thirties, grunted with each thrust, his eyes squeezed shut in a mix of pleasure and guilt. Nisha, a 24-year-old team leader at TCC Chennai, lay sprawled out on the floor, her naked body writhing beneath his. Her head was thrown back, and her long, dark hair spilled out around her, a stark contrast to the stark office setting.
Her moans grew louder, and she felt the familiar tension build in her core, "Fuck me like you've never fucked your wife!" she panted, pushing her hips up to meet his every thrust. Kumar's pace quickened, his breaths becoming ragged as he chased his own climax, driven by her words. The office chair was knocked over, and the sound of their slapping flesh filled the space.
Suddenly, Nisha's eyes snapped open, and she threw her head forward, her teeth sinking into Kumar's shoulder to muffle her final scream of pleasure as she climaxed. Her body convulsed around his, her nails digging into his back. The pain was a strange mix with his own release, and he groaned loudly, his grip tightening on her hips.
They lay there for a moment, panting heavily, their sweat-slicked bodies intertwined. Nisha felt a smug satisfaction at the raw power she held over this married man. She had always loved the thrill of being the secret lover, the one who knew all the right buttons to push to drive him wild. Kumar's heart hammered in his chest as he tried to catch his breath, his eyes glazed with lust.
He looked down at her, his gaze lingering on her bare breasts, the nipples still erect and sensitive from his touch. "Nisha," he murmured, "You're incredible." His voice was thick with desire, and she couldn't help but smile. It was always the same afterward; his need to worship her, to tell her how much she meant to him. But she knew better than to let his sweet nothings get to her. She was in control here.
Nisha reached up and gently caressed his face, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Kumar," she teased, her voice low and husky. "But remember, this is our little secret."
He nodded, his eyes filled with a mix of love and fear. "Of course, Nisha," he said, his voice hoarse. He knew the consequences if their affair was ever discovered. But the thrill of it all was too much to resist.
They slowly disentangled, and Nisha stood up, her body still trembling from the intense orgasm. She walked over to the mirror on the wall, her curves glistening in the dim light, and took a moment to admire herself. She was a picture of wanton lust, and she loved it. She picked up her crumpled clothes from the floor, slipping her veil back on and pulling her dress over her head. It was a stark reminder of the two worlds she lived in: the conservative '. daughter and sister at home, and the wild seductress at work.
As Kumar hastily put his own clothes back on, Nisha couldn't help but feel a twinge of amusement at the mess they had made. Papers were scattered everywhere, the chair was on its side, and the smell of sex hung heavy in the air. It was a stark contrast to the pristine image of professionalism they both had to maintain once the clock struck 9 AM.
"You'd better clean up before someone comes looking for you," she said, her voice still tinged with the echoes of passion.
Kumar nodded, his eyes still glued to her as she began to straighten the room, her movements languid and graceful despite the haste. He couldn't help but admire her as she bent down to pick up her panties, her round, firm ass on full display. It was a sight he never tired of, and it only made his cock twitch with the memory of being buried deep within her.
Once the room was back to its mundane appearance, Nisha turned to him, her expression stern. "This stays between us," she reminded him, her voice firm. "If my father finds out..." she trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. They both knew the strict rules of her conservative household.
Kumar nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I understand," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew the risks they were taking, but the temptation was too great.
Nisha pulled her dress down, adjusting her veil in the mirror. Her dark eyes searched his, looking for any signs of doubt or regret. Finding none, she leaned in and kissed him, her lips lingering against his. "Thank you," she murmured against his mouth, her voice soft and seductive. "For giving me what I need."
With a final wink, she opened the door and stepped out into the empty hallway, her heels clicking against the linoleum as she walked away. Kumar watched her go, his heart racing, his thoughts a whirlwind of passion and fear. He knew he was playing with fire, but he couldn't resist the allure of Nisha's forbidden fruit.
As Nisha returned to her desk, she couldn't help but feel a sense of power surging through her veins. She had always enjoyed the thrill of the secret affair, the danger of being caught. It was a stark contrast to her mundane home life, where she was expected to adhere to the strict rules of her conservative '. upbringing. At work, she was free to express her sexuality, to be the woman she truly was.
The clock ticked closer to 7 PM, and the office began to empty out as her colleagues left for the evening. She gathered her things and headed to the parking lot, her thoughts racing with the excitement of the recent encounter. Sliding into her car, she took a moment to compose herself, her skin still flushed from their rendezvous.
Starting the engine, she drove through the bustling streets of Chennai, the car's air conditioning a welcome relief from the oppressive heat outside. As she navigated the traffic, her mind wandered to her family waiting for her at home, oblivious to the secret life she led. Her father, a proud man who owned a supermarket, would be busy with the day's accounts, while her mother bustled around the house, preparing dinner. Her brother, engrossed in his engineering studies, would be lost in a world of textbooks and diagrams.
Pulling into the narrow driveway, Nisha parked her car and took a deep breath before entering the house. She knew the drill: act demure, answer questions about her day with practiced innocence, and help with dinner preparations. But tonight, the act felt heavier than usual, the dichotomy of her two lives weighing on her. She slipped off her shoes and stepped inside, the familiar scents of home enveloping her.
Her mother, a round, warm woman in a colorful salwar kameez, bustled into the living room. "Nisha," she called out, "Your father will be home soon. Can you help me with the samosas?"
Nisha forced a smile, the scent of spices and simmering meat bringing her back to reality. She nodded, slipping into the kitchen and rolling up her sleeves. The mundane task of preparing dinner was a stark contrast to the passionate encounter she had just left behind. She carefully filled each pastry with the spiced mixture, her thoughts drifting to the way Kumar's hands had touched her so intimately just hours ago.
The kitchen was her sanctuary, a place where she could be herself without the constant scrutiny of her veil-clad reflection in the office windows. She hummed under her breath, a catchy Bollywood tune that had been playing on the radio in her car, as she worked. Her mother looked at her with a knowing smile, assuming it was the excitement of a new recipe or a good day at work that brought the light to her eyes.
The samosas were almost done when Nisha's father and brother arrived. Her father, a stoic man with a thick mustache and stern eyes, nodded in approval at the sight of his daughter working diligently in the kitchen. Her brother, on the other hand, rolled his eyes and disappeared into his room, his nose buried in a textbook.
As they sat down to eat, the conversation was light and filled with the usual banter of family life. Nisha's mother talked about the latest gossip from the mosque, while her father discussed the challenges of running the supermarket. Nisha listened, chiming in with the appropriate responses, all the while feeling a knot in her stomach. The secret she harbored felt like a living thing, wriggling and trying to escape the confines of her conservative attire.
After dinner, as she cleared the plates, her father called her aside. His tone was serious, and she could see the weight of his words etched on his face. "Nisha," he began, "Your mother and I have been thinking. We've found a good family for you. The groom's parents will be coming to see you tomorrow. Don't go to the office. You need to prepare yourself."
Nisha felt a cold hand clench around her heart. She knew this day would come, but she had hoped to stave it off a little longer. "But, Baba," she protested, her voice trembling slightly, "I have so much work."
Her father, Ashiq, gave her a firm look that brooked no argument. "Your work is important, but your future is more so," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "You know how it is for us, Nisha. It's time you start thinking about settling down."
With a sigh, Nisha nodded, her thoughts racing. She knew her family meant well, but the thought of an arranged marriage was suffocating. She had tasted the sweetness of freedom in the arms of her lovers, and she wasn't ready to give it up for a life of domesticity and duty. But she also knew better than to argue. Her mother, Meera, placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and gave her a knowing smile. "Nisha, this is your life," she said, her voice soft. "Go to your room and get a nice sleep. You should look fresh tomorrow."
Nisha retreated to her room, her heart heavy. She knew she had to tell someone, had to get some advice. The only person she could turn to was her brother, Rahim. He was younger, but he had always been more open-minded than their parents.
Once the house had settled into a quiet rhythm of evening routines, she slipped out of her room and padded softly down the hallway to Rahim's room. She tapped lightly on his door, and when he answered, she slipped inside, closing it firmly behind her.
Her eyes searched her brother's face for any hint of disapproval, but instead, she found a spark of curiosity. "What is it, Nish?" he asked, his voice low so as not to alert their parents.
Nisha took a deep breath and spilled out her secret. "Appa and Amma have found a groom for me," she whispered urgently. "His parents are coming tomorrow."
Rahim's eyes widened in surprise. "Already?" He had always been her confidant, the one person who knew her true nature, and the one who had often covered for her when she snuck out. He leaned back on his bed, his eyes searching hers. "What do you think?"
Nisha sat on the chair beside his bed, her shoulders slumped. "I don't know, da," she said, her voice thick with frustration. "How can I marry a man without knowing him? Without...without experiencing life?"
Rahim leaned forward, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. "You know how it is," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's the way of our culture. But," he added, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "you've always been the rebel, haven't you?"
Nisha couldn't help but smile at that. It was true. Her brother had always been the only one who knew her the one who had encouraged her to live her life on her terms. "What if I don't like him?" she asked, her voice small and vulnerable.
Rahim leaned back on his bed, his eyes thoughtful. "Then you tell me," he said, his tone firm. "I know it's not much, but at least you'll have a little control over this. You're my sister, and I won't let you be unhappy."
Nisha looked up at him, hope flickering in her eyes. "Really, Rahim?" she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of desperation and excitement.
"Yes, Nish," he nodded solemnly. "But you have to trust me," he added, his eyes searching hers. "Mom and dad won't let you speak with the groom before the wedding, but I'll find a way for you to meet him. Just follow my plan."
Nisha felt a flicker of hope. Her brother had always been the one to help her navigate the complexities of their family's expectations. She knew he had her back, even if it meant bending the rules a bit. "Okay," she murmured, "I trust you."
Standing up, she gave him a quick hug before slipping out of his room and into the hallway. The house was still, the only sound the hum of the ceiling fan above. She walked down the hall to her own room, feeling the weight of the impending meeting with her potential groom pressing down on her. She stepped into her sanctuary, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
Her bed looked inviting in the moonlit room, the white sheets rumpled from her earlier rendezvous with Kumar. Nisha sat on the edge, her mind racing with thoughts of the future she was being pushed into. The scent of sex still lingered on her skin, a stark reminder of the life she was fighting to keep hidden. With a sigh, she reached for her phone and sent Kumar a quick message, letting him know she had made it home safe and thanking him for the afternoon.
The thought of tomorrow's meeting with her potential groom sent a shiver down her spine. She knew that her life was about to change in ways she couldn't even begin to imagine. But she had faith in her brother's plan. He had always been her ally, the one who understood her need for freedom.
Nisha lay in her bed, the soft fabric of her nightdress clinging to her still-flushed skin. The ceiling fan whirred overhead, casting shifting shadows on the walls as she stared up at the darkness. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, replaying every moment she had shared with Kumar and the other men she had been with. She knew that once she was married, those days would be over. A pang of sadness tightened her chest at the thought of losing the excitement and passion she had come to crave.
Her thoughts drifted to the unknown groom and what he would be like. Would he understand her needs? Would he be kind and gentle, or would he expect her to conform to the traditional mold of a '. wife? She had heard stories from her friends about the cold, uncaring men their parents had chosen for them, and she couldn't help but wonder if she would be next. Her hands absently traced the outline of her body, remembering the feel of Kumar's rough hands and the way he had made her scream his name in pleasure.
With a sigh, she pushed the thoughts aside and slipped into the cool embrace of her bed, the sheets feeling like a whisper against her skin. She closed her eyes and let the fatigue of the day wash over her. As sleep took hold, she allowed herself to dream of a different life, one where she could be free to explore her sexuality without the fear of discovery.
Morning came too soon, the harsh light of the sun piercing through her curtains at 9 AM. Nisha stretched languidly, her body still feeling the aftershocks of the previous day's encounter. She glanced over at the clock on her bedside table, the digits blurring as she tried to focus her bleary eyes. She had a meeting with the groom's family today, and she had to look her best.
Her phone rang, jolting her out of her thoughts. Glancing at the screen, she saw it was Kumar.
"Kumar, wassup?" she answered, her voice casual despite her racing heart.
"Nisha, you dint come to office yet?" he growled, his voice thick with lust. "My dick's been waiting for you."
Nisha couldn't help but smile, the memory of their passionate tryst still fresh in her mind. "Oh, my favorite dick," she teased, her voice light and flirtatious, "but unfortunately, my parents have found me a dick that would fuck me life long."
There was a pause on the line, and then Kumar spoke again, his voice low and serious. "Nisha, I don't follow."
Nisha took a deep breath and let the words spill out, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart. "My parents have found a groom for me," she said, the words feeling strange and final in the quiet of her room. "His parents are coming to see me today. It's all arranged."
Kumar was silent for a moment before responding, his voice filled with a mix of lust and possessiveness. "Great, Nisha," he said, his tone not quite matching the sentiment of his words. "But don't forget my dick. It's had the taste of your sweet pussy, and it won't be easily satisfied by anyone else."
Nisha couldn't help but laugh at his audacity, the sound echoing through the quiet house. "My horny manager," she teased, her voice dripping with amusement, "how can I forget you? Now you get to fuck another man's wife." It was a cruel twist of words, but she knew it would get under his skin, reminding him of the power she held over him. She felt a thrill at the thought of his discomfort, a delicious sense of control that she craved.
"You know what you're doing to me," Kumar murmured, his voice low and needy. "I want you so badly, Nisha."
Nisha's smile grew sly as she responded, "But isn't that what you've always wanted, Kumar? To fuck another man's wife?" She could almost see the shock and arousal on his face, even through the phone. "Now, you'll have to wait until I'm married to get your fix."
Kumar's voice was strained, a clear indication that her words had hit a nerve. "Call me when the groom's parents have gone," he said, his tone a mix of frustration and desperation.
"At least work for today," Nisha said with a playful giggle, her voice dropping to a seductive purr. "Bye, darling." She hung up, feeling a thrill at the power she had over this married man. She knew he would be counting the minutes until he could have her again.
But the knock on her door brought her back to reality. She sat up, her heart racing, and called out, "Coming!" She took a deep breath, smoothing her hair and straightening her nightdress before opening the door.
Her mother, Meera, stood there with a look of curiosity. "Nisha, beta," she said, her voice filled with concern, "who were you talking to so early in the morning?"
Nisha looked up, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's my manager," she said coolly, her voice a practiced blend of innocence and nonchalance. "He was looking for me to do the work which I do best," she added, a knowing smile playing on her lips. Meera's eyebrows furrowed for a moment before she nodded, satisfied with the explanation.
"Ah, work," Meera said, her gaze lingering on Nisha's flushed face before she turned to leave. "Remember, you have to be ready by noon. The groom's family will be here soon."
Nisha nodded, her stomach doing a little flip-flop at the thought. She had the whole morning to get ready, to make herself presentable to a group of strangers who would judge her solely on her appearance and her ability to be a good wife. She knew that was what they were looking for; someone to bear their son's children, to cook and clean and keep his home.
Her mother's words echoed in her ears as she walked to the bathroom, her mind racing with thoughts of escape. But she knew she couldn't disappoint her family. She had always been the obedient daughter, the one who wore the veil without complaint, who helped around the house, who studied hard. The one who had a secret life that no one could ever know about.
The water was hot, almost scalding, as she stepped into the shower. She let it wash over her, the steam filling the room and clinging to her skin as she scrubbed away the evidence of her rendezvous. The soap smelled faintly of jasmine, a scent that usually comforted her but now only served to remind her of the stark contrast between the life she lived and the one her parents had planned.
As she emerged from the shower, the cool air hit her, making her skin pebble with goosebumps. She wrapped a towel around herself and padded over to her closet. Her mother had laid out a beautiful, deep red sari, the fabric soft and luxurious. Meera had always had an eye for beauty, and she knew this color would make Nisha's olive skin glow.
With practiced hands, Nisha began the process of wrapping the six-yard length of fabric around her body. She started with the petticoat, a simple white one that she knew would complement the intricate gold border of the sari. She stepped into it, tucking it around her waist before moving on to the blouse. It was a simple, round-necked design, but it fit her like a glove, showcasing her full breasts without revealing any skin.
Next came the sari itself, a deep red that shimmered with gold threads. She wrapped it around her waist, making sure to tuck it in securely. The fabric felt like liquid fire against her skin, a stark reminder of the passionate encounter she had shared with Kumar. She wrapped it around her body, the material whispering as it glided over her curves. It was a dance she had performed countless times, but today it felt heavier, a symbol of the constraints she was about to willingly embrace.
Nisha's mother watched her with a critical eye, making sure every fold was perfect, every inch of skin covered. Meera's hands were deft as they pinned the pleats into place, her movements swift and efficient. Nisha felt a twinge of admiration for the woman who had raised her, who had taught her the art of concealment, who had never questioned why her daughter needed to be so perfectly covered.
As her mother helped her into the blouse, Nisha's thoughts drifted to the men she had been with. Each one had reveled in peeling back the layers of her modesty, exposing her to their hungry gazes. The thought brought a blush to her cheeks, which she quickly covered with her palm.
Meera noticed the change in her daughter's demeanor and paused. "Nisha," she said gently, her eyes searching Nisha's face, "are you okay?"
Nisha took a deep breath and nodded. "I'm fine, Amma," she murmured, forcing a smile. "Just nervous, I guess."
Meera's eyes searched her daughter's for a moment before she nodded and turned to the dresser. She pulled out a velvet box filled with glittering gold jewelry, each piece more exquisite than the last. She carefully selected a set that would complement the sari: a necklace that lay heavily on Nisha's collarbones, earrings that swung against her cheeks with every movement, and bangles that jingled with every gesture.
Nisha watched in the mirror as her mother's hands adorned her with the jewelry, feeling like a doll being dressed for a play. The weight of the gold was comforting, a reminder of her heritage and the expectations that came with it. Her mother's eyes held a mix of pride and sadness as she fastened the final piece, a delicate maang tikka that rested in the part of Nisha's hair.
Next came the veil, a soft scarf of black chiffon that Meera carefully wrapped around Nisha's head. She had always loved the way her mother's hands felt on her skin, but today it was almost too much. Each touch felt like a goodbye, a silent acknowledgment that her life was about to change forever. The fabric whispered against her cheeks, a stark contrast to the rough hands of her lovers.
Just as Meera was about to tie the final knot, the door to Nisha's room flew open. Rahim, her brother, stood there, his eyes wide with excitement. "Wow, Nish," he exclaimed, his gaze sweeping over her. "You look... amazing."
Nisha felt a blush rise to her cheeks as she took in his approving look. "Thanks, da," she murmured, her voice shaky.
Just then, the sound of the doorbell rang through the house, piercing the quiet of the morning. Meera's eyes grew wide with excitement, and she bustled over to the mirror to make sure every strand of hair was in place. "The groom's relatives are here," she exclaimed, her voice quivering with anticipation.
Nisha's father, Ashiq, appeared in the doorway, his expression serious. "You should be in your room," he said, his voice firm. "They will call you when it's time."
With a nod, Nisha retreated to her sanctuary, her heart racing. The anticipation was palpable, the air thick with the scent of her mother's perfume and the sweet aroma of the fresh flowers that adorned the house. She could hear the low murmur of voices from the living room, the hushed tones of her family and the groom's. Her palms were slick with nervous sweat as she sat on the edge of her bed, her legs crossed primly.
The minutes stretched into an eternity, each second a silent scream in her ears. Her mind raced with thoughts of Kumar, of the passionate encounters they had shared, and the stark contrast between that life and the one she was about to embark on. But she knew that she had to keep her cool, to put on the mask of the obedient daughter, the perfect '. bride.
Her mother's call snapped her out of her thoughts. "Nisha, beta, it's time," Meera said, her voice filled with excitement. Nisha took a deep breath, steeling herself for the performance of a lifetime. She had rehearsed this moment in her mind a hundred times, but now that it was here, she felt like she was about to step onto a stage with no script.
With her heart racing, she smoothed her palms over her thighs and stood up. She took one last look in the mirror, her eyes lingering on the reflection of the beautifully wrapped sari and the glint of the gold jewelry that adorned her body. She took a deep breath and opened the door, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum.
The living room was a flurry of activity, the air thick with the scent of sandalwood and the murmur of hushed whispers. She walked in, her steps measured and graceful, her eyes downcast, the picture of modesty and respect. She could feel the weight of their gazes on her, assessing her every move, every gesture. Her father's voice boomed through the room, introducing her to the people who would decide her fate.
"This is my daughter, Nisha," Ashiq said, his voice filled with pride. "Nisha, this is Mr. Shaker, the groom's father," he gestured to a man with a stern face and a military posture, his eyes sharp and piercing. "And this is his wife, Mrs. Maryam, and their son's sister Sumaya and her husband, Aman."
Nisha took in the newcomers, her heart racing. She had heard of the groom, of course, but had never seen him. Mr. Shaker was everything she had expected: tall, broad-shouldered, with a thick mustache and a commanding presence that filled the room. Mrs. Maryam was elegant, with a kind smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Sumaya was beautiful, her own features a mirror of the strict beauty standards that Nisha knew all too well. And Aman... Nisha felt a stirring in her stomach that had nothing to do with nerves. He was handsome, with a gentle smile that seemed to promise secrets and adventures.
They all nodded back at her, their eyes assessing her. Nisha felt like a prize horse at an auction, her every flaw and virtue laid bare for their scrutiny. She forced her shoulders back, her chin up, and offered a small, demure smile. Her father's hand was firm on her back, a silent reminder to behave. She could feel the weight of his expectations, the unspoken hope that she would make him proud.
Sumaya walked over to her, her movements fluid and graceful. She took Nisha's hand in her own, the touch surprisingly gentle, and led her to the sofa. Mrs. Maryam followed, her eyes never leaving Nisha's face. As they sat, Sumaya positioned herself strategically between Nisha and her mother, a subtle but clear assertion of her role in this delicate dance.
"So, Nisha," Sumaya began, her voice sweet with a hint of steel, "tell us about yourself. What do you enjoy doing in your free time?"
Nisha's heart raced as she felt the weight of their expectations. She knew they were looking for someone who would fit into their family seamlessly, a daughter-in-law who would be the embodiment of '. modesty and virtue. She took a deep breath, her mind racing for an answer that would satisfy them without revealing her true nature. "I enjoy reading, cooking, and... helping my family at the supermarket," she replied, her voice calm and measured.
Mr. Shaker's eyes narrowed slightly. "And do you have any hobbies, Nisha?" His tone was gruff, leaving no room for evasion.
Nisha felt a bead of sweat trickle down her spine. "I love to cook," she said, her voice steady. "And I enjoy going for walks in the evening. It's a good way to unwind." She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, not daring to look up at them.
Sumaya's smile didn't falter, but Nisha could feel the tension in the air thicken. "Walks, hmm?" she said, her voice light. "Alone?"
Nisha's heart skipped a beat. "Sometimes with my brother," she replied, hoping the mention of Rahim would put them at ease. "Or with my mother. It's important to keep fit and enjoy the outdoors, isn't it?"
Sumaya nodded, her gaze lingering for a moment too long. "Indeed," she said slowly. "But a girl like you must have friends to walk with, no?"
Nisha felt a knot form in her stomach. She knew what Sumaya was implying—that a good '. girl wouldn't be walking alone with a man who wasn't family. "My brother is my best friend," she said, her voice strong despite her racing thoughts. "We enjoy each other's company."
Mr. Shaker grunted, his expression unreadable. Mrs. Maryam offered a tight smile. "It's important to have a good relationship with your family," she said, her voice smooth. "But a wife's place is at her husband's side. Do you understand that, Nisha?"
Nisha nodded, her throat dry. "Yes, auntie," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know my responsibilities."
"And your job at TCC," Mr. Shaker interjected, his eyes boring into hers, "does it not interfere with your duties at home?"
Nisha's heart skipped a beat. She had hoped they wouldn't ask about her work, but here it was. "I manage my time well," she said, her voice calm. "My job is important to me, but I understand that my first priority will always be to my family."
Mrs. Maryam leaned forward slightly, her eyes piercing. "And what does your job entail, Nisha?"
Nisha's heart raced, but she kept her composure, recounting her role at TCC. She talked about her responsibilities as a team leader, her dedication to her work, and how she balanced it with her family commitments. She painted a picture of a dutiful daughter and employee, hoping that the lie would be convincing enough to win their approval.
Sumaya leaned back into the sofa, her eyes never leaving Nisha's. "Do you know my brother's name?" she asked, her voice as smooth as honey, but with an underlying current of challenge.
Nisha felt her heart drop. "No," she admitted, her voice small. "I don't."
Sumaya's smile grew wider, the kind of smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "His name is Aslam," she said, her voice like velvet. "He's a project manager at a construction company. He's quite successful, you know." There was a hint of pride in her voice, but it was tinged with something else—a warning, perhaps. "He's a good '. boy," she added, her gaze never leaving Nisha's. "Very devoted to his family and his faith."
Mrs. Maryam's expression softened, and she leaned in to pat Nisha's knee. "We showed him your picture," she said, her voice warm, "and he was quite taken with you."
Nisha felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead, the weight of her secret pressing down on her. "I'm sure he's a wonderful man," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm honored that you're considering me."
Her mother's voice cut through the tension like a knife. "Nisha, you can go to your room," Meera said, her eyes flickering with something that looked like disappointment. "We'll talk to them from now on."
Nisha nodded, her legs trembling slightly as she stood. She felt a hand on her elbow, and she looked over to find Rahim's concerned gaze. He squeezed her arm gently, a silent gesture of support. She took a deep breath and allowed herself to be led away from the scrutinizing eyes of the groom's family.
As they walked down the hallway, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the quiet house, Nisha felt the weight of her secret life threaten to crush her. She had never felt more exposed, more vulnerable. The walls of her bedroom closed in around her, the air thick with the scent of her fear and the anticipation of what was to come.
But as soon as she closed her door, Rahim's laughter rang out, lightening the atmosphere. "Nish, you were so tense," he teased, his eyes twinkling. "They're just people, you know. They're not going to bite."
Nisha couldn't help but smile at her brother's attempt to ease her nerves. She leaned against the cool wooden door, feeling the tension slowly melt from her shoulders. "It's just... a lot," she said, her voice still shaky. "I've never done anything like this before."
"I know," Rahim said, his laughter subsiding into a gentle chuckle. He sat down on her bed, his back against the headboard. "But you're going to be fine. You're smart, you're beautiful, you're a catch." He winked at her, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes. "And if he's not good to you, I'll break his legs."
Nisha managed a weak laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly at her brother's words. She sat down next to him, the red fabric of her sari pooling around her. "Thanks, Rahim," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. "But what if I don't want to get married?"
Her brother was quiet for a moment, his eyes thoughtful. "You know you have to," he said finally. "But that doesn't mean you can't find a way to be happy. Maybe Aslam will be different. Maybe he'll understand you."
Nisha nodded, not really listening. Her mind was racing with possibilities. If she could just find a way to get to know Aslam without her family knowing, maybe she could gauge if he was the kind of man who would accept her for who she really was. It was a long shot, but it was all she had.
"Rahim," she began, her voice tentative, "do you think... we could maybe find a way to talk to Aslam before the wedding?"
Her brother looked at her, his expression a mix of surprise and understanding. "What do you mean?"
Nisha took a deep breath. "I want to talk to Aslam, before everything is final," she said, her eyes searching his. "I need to know if he's the right person for me."
Rahim looked at her, his expression a mix of surprise and admiration. "Nish, that's a bold move," he said, his voice low. "But I get it. You need to make sure." He paused for a moment before a mischievous smile spread across his face. "Okay, let's do this. We'll find a way."
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of preparations and awkward conversations. Nisha played the role of the obedient daughter to perfection, serving tea and snacks to the groom's family, smiling and nodding in all the right places. But her mind was racing, thinking of Aslam, wondering what he looked like, who he was, and whether he could ever accept the true Nisha.
After the groom's family left, her parents retreated to their room, leaving Nisha and Rahim to clean up the living room. "How did you think it went?" Nisha asked her brother, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.
Rahim shrugged, his movements efficient as he cleared the tea cups. "It went as well as these things can go," he said, his eyes darting to her. "They seemed to like you."
Meera's voice interrupted them, floating from the hallway. "Nisha, the groom's parents have given their approval," she called out, her footsteps approaching the living room. Nisha's heart sank, the weight of their words heavy in the air. "Your father has sent you a picture of Aslam. We also liked the boy," Meera continued, her voice filled with the same forced cheer she had used all evening.
The moment their mother retreated to the kitchen, Rahim handed Nisha her phone with a knowing look. She immediately darted to her room, her heart racing. With trembling hands, she unlocked her device and pulled up the message from her father. The picture revealed a man with a strong jaw and piercing dark eyes, dressed in a traditional sherwani, looking every bit the part of the ideal '. husband. But Nisha couldn't help but feel a twinge of dread. Would this stranger ever understand her true nature? Would she ever feel the passion she had experienced with Kumar with this man?
Aslam was indeed smart and handsome, with a fit body that spoke of discipline and care. His smile was warm, yet there was a certain firmness in his gaze that made Nisha's stomach flip. He looked like the kind of man who took his faith and responsibilities seriously, and she couldn't help but wonder if she could ever truly satisfy him. Her mind was a whirlwind of doubt and fear, the stark contrast between her secret life and the life laid out before her making her head spin.
As she studied the photo, Nisha's thoughts grew more and more graphic. Would he be as adventurous in bed as she was? Would he be gentle when she needed it, and rough when she craved it? Would he understand her love for the forbidden, her need for passion and desire? Her hand strayed to her neck, her pulse racing as she thought of his lips on her skin, his hands exploring the curves she had kept hidden beneath her modest clothes for so long.
Her eyes lingered on the photo, and without realizing it, her hand slipped beneath her sari, moving slowly over her body. Her breath grew shallow as she reached the edge of her panties, her fingertips brushing against the soft fabric. The heat between her legs grew with every passing second, and she couldn't resist the urge to touch herself. Her hand moved under her clothes, feeling the dampness that had gathered there, a testament to her arousal.
But at that very moment, the door to her room flew open, and Rahim jumped onto the bed beside her. Nisha's hand shot away from her pussy like it had been burned, and she hastily brought the phone closer to her chest, hiding the screen. "What the hell, Nish?" he exclaimed, bouncing on the mattress.
Her heart racing, she forced a laugh. "What? Just chilling," she replied, her voice breathless.
Rahim's eyes searched her face, and for a split second, Nisha thought he might have noticed her flustered state. But then he grinned, his gaze shifting to the phone in her hand. "Checking out Aslam, huh?" he teased, reaching for the device.
She managed to keep the phone out of his reach. "Just looking at the picture mom sent."
Rahim's grin grew wider. "Oh, come on, let me see!" He grabbed the phone playfully, and Nisha felt the blood rush to her cheeks. "Rahim, no!"
But it was too late. Her brother's eyes widened as the screen filled with Aslam's picture. He took a moment to look at it, his expression unreadable. "Wow," he murmured, "you're going to marry a Greek god."
Nisha rolled her eyes. "Rahim, be serious."
Her brother handed her back the phone, his expression now one of concern. "Look, Nish," he began, "I know you're not thrilled about this whole arranged marriage thing, but maybe it's not so bad. You never know, you might actually like Aslam."
Nisha nodded, trying to force a smile. "I know," she said, her voice a little too bright. "But I just want to... get to know him a bit, you know?"
Rahim studied her for a moment before nodding. "Okay," he said, his tone serious. "But be careful, Nish. You don't want to get your hopes up too high. And you definitely don't want to do anything that would disappoint dad."
Nisha took a deep breath, her mind racing. "I know," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "But I need to know if he's... if he's someone I can be with."
Rahim nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Ok, now your turn," Nisha said, trying to lighten the mood. "Do you think you can get me his number?"
Her brother's expression turned sly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Nish, it's my expertise," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'll have it by tonight."
Nisha's eyes widened, hope and anxiety mixing within her. "Really?" she squeaked, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and fear. "But how?"
Rahim's smirk grew. "Let me handle it," he said, his tone filled with confidence. "But if I do this for you, you owe me one."
Nisha's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you want?" she asked, suspicion coloring her voice.
Rahim's smile grew wider. "There's a girl named Ramya in my class," he began, his voice filled with excitement. "I've been crushing on her for months, and she finally said yes to a date."
Nisha felt a pang of jealousy. "That's great, Rahim," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "But what does that have to do with me?"
Her brother's smile grew even wider. "Well, Nish," he said, leaning back on the bed, "you know I'm not exactly flush with cash. And if I'm going to take Ramya out on a date she'll remember, I need to look like a million bucks." He paused for a beat, letting the tension build. "So, I was thinking, maybe you could lend me five thousand rupees and the keys to the car?"
Nisha couldn't help but laugh at her brother's audacity. "Five thousand rupees? The car? What kind of date are you planning?" she teased.
Rahim's smile grew even wider, his eyes shining with excitement. "The kind that ends with me getting lucky," he replied, his voice low and hopeful. "I want to take her to that fancy new restaurant downtown, and then maybe we'll drive to the beach. You know, make some memories."
Nisha couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy. Her own romantic escapades had always been shrouded in secrecy, stolen moments with men like Kumar that she could never truly claim. "Ok, fine," she said with a sigh, the tension of the evening's events momentarily forgotten. "But you have to promise me, no falling in love with a ***** girl. That's the last thing we need."
Rahim rolled his eyes. "Come on, Nish," he said, his voice filled with the exasperation of a younger brother who knew he was in the right. "It's just a date. And it's not like you're one to talk about love."
Nisha hit his shoulder, a playful scowl on her face. "Don't be over smart," she said, her voice filled with a mix of affection and annoyance. "You know I'm just looking out for you."
But Rahim's gaze had shifted from the phone to her hand. "What's that?" he asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
Nisha's cheeks burned, and she realized with a jolt of horror that her fingers were still coated with her own arousal. Panic flooded her as she tried to think of a cover-up. "It's... it's just some jeera," she stuttered, reaching for a tissue. "I accidentally touched it while cleaning up."
But before she could wipe it away, Rahim's hand shot out like lightning, grabbing her wrist. "Wow, jeera," he repeated, his voice thick with curiosity. Without warning, he brought her finger to his mouth and licked it, his eyes never leaving hers.
Nisha's heart stopped, her eyes widening in horror. But as his tongue brushed against her skin, she felt a sudden thrill shoot through her body, one she hadn't anticipated. "What are you doing?" she gasped, trying to pull her hand away.
Rahim grinned mischievously, his eyes sparkling with a hint of something darker. "Tasting the jeera," he said, his voice a low murmur. "But it seems to have gone bad."
Nisha's heart raced as she snatched her hand away, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She watched as her brother stood up, the playfulness in his eyes now replaced with something more knowing. "Rahim, what are you doing?" she whispered, her voice hoarse with panic.
He chuckled, the sound low and deep, as he sauntered out of her room. "It's just salt, Nish," he called back over his shoulder. "I'll make sure to tell mom to throw it out." Rahim leaves her room.
Nisha collapsed onto the bed, her heart hammering against her ribs. What had just happened? Had he really tasted her arousal? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, a mix of mortification and a strange, pulsing need. She couldn't let him suspect anything. It would ruin everything.
Nisha tried to convince herself that it was all in her head. Of course, Rahim was a good boy. He wouldn't have done that if he had known. But the thought of her brother's innocent taste of her juice sent a shiver down her spine, one that she couldn't quite ignore. She had always known that their bond was strong, but this... this was something else entirely.
Her hand found its way back to her pussy, her thumb circling her clit as she recalled the passionate moments with Kumar, her body yearning for a similar touch. The walls of her room felt like they were closing in on her, the silence only broken by the sound of her own ragged breathing. Her mind raced, the tension from the evening's meeting with the groom's family only adding to her arousal. She needed relief, and she needed it now.
Looking at the time, she saw that it was already 6 PM. The perfect time to reach out to Kumar. She picked up her phone and dialed his number, her heart racing in anticipation of his voice. It rang once, twice, and just as she was about to give up hope, he picked up.
"Hello?" Kumar's voice was a balm to her frayed nerves, deep and rich, the sound of it sending a thrill through her body.
Nisha took a deep breath, her voice low and sultry. "Is my favorite dick ready for me now?" she asked, the words slipping from her lips like a siren's call.
"You know it," Kumar replied, the sound of his car engine rumbling in the background. "I'm just starting it up. Tell me where you want me to come."
Nisha felt a thrill at his response, the anticipation building within her. She knew where she wanted this to go, a place where no one would suspect a thing. "Come near my home," she said, her voice a seductive whisper. "There is a park. Wait there, I'll come to you."
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