Adultery Car driver Iqbal's daughter Fathima weds Business magnet Manohar's son Rahul

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Welcome to yet another exciting story, this time I am trying a different genre which is the favorite of many here and I have been getting lot of requests to touch upon this genre and hence took courage to pen this story

 
Keep your expectations down to reality and I will do my best to satisfy most of you. Beyond the obvious thread of conflict between two sets of people , like my all stories, I touch upon the human emotions and the reasons for seeking pleasure in the way the characters look for. As usual you can see bonding between mom and son, dad and daughter, bro and sister.  There is some revenge and bad guys also in the story, obviously to make the whole story engaging.
 
I try to give justice to ALL the characters as much and this is not going to be like Narsingh stories where every episode involves Narsingh, the old watchman. Here you see mix of combinations and emotions which means you may not see in some episodes what you would want to. But then this is a wholesome entertainer, not just limited to one genre
 
As usual I expect good amount of Likes, Comments, Rating from you
 
Don’t blame me later if I stop the story in the middle or hurry up at the end. Please understand the pain of writers here
 
Disclaimer:
 
This is a sex story involving different class people. Idea is to understand their emotions and if possible empathize with their belief system and not poke into one’s private space. All characters involved in sex are above 18 year old. There will be extreme humiliation, punishment, raw sex, curse words and sex between family members. Those who are not comfortable with these may leave now. All the pictures posted here are for illustration only, they may or may not depict the behaviour, age of the actual characters
 
  
Main Characters:


 
Fathima (F19)
 
Standing 5'6" tall and weighing 60 kilograms, she is a 19-year-old goddess of beauty, glowing with the radiant blush of a Kashmiri apple. Yet, her beauty remains perpetually veiled—visible to no one save her *Baba* (father) and *Bhayya* (brother). Beauty, innocence, and goodness are her greatest strengths.
  
Poverty is a curse upon her.
  
Beauty is a boon bestowed upon her.
  
In truth, though she is only 19 years old, her striking beauty makes her appear far more mature. Her life is one confined solely to the realms of her home and college—a life that has never known the world beyond.
 
 
In the eyes of all...
 

 
In the eyes of few
 

 


Haseena (F40)

 
A 40-Year-Old 'Good' Housekeeper
  
She performs any task without hesitation.
  
At home, she serves her husband... and serves her son.
  
Her goal is to provide that very same kind of service to the master of the house where she works.
  
At home...
 
 
 

In the house where she works
 

 
 
Iqbal (M50)

 

 
A 50-year-old car driver in Manohar’s house
 
He can navigate a car through narrow alleys of Hyderabad old city
 
He can thrust his cock into a tight hole as well
 
His strength: his daughter.
 
His weakness: an obsession with money.
 
He loves engaging in dirty talk with his employer's wife while driving her to go shopping.
 
Manohar Bhatia (M50)
 
A 50-year-old business magnate.
 
He rose to the top through sheer hard work; he holds a deep respect for money and an immense love for his family.
 
He possesses a ruthless streak: anyone who dares to deceive him faces his merciless wrath.
 
Although his wife loathed his "two-inch little fellow," his daughter embraced it with affection—which is precisely why he cherishes his daughter more than life itself. Fed up with his son's petty antics, he has firmly resolved to eventually entrust his entire business empire into his daughter's hands.
 
 
 
Shruthi
 
She is 18 years old... believe it or not—you have no choice! She looks 21, doesn't she? Her father is Manohar and her mother is from the Godavari  region (Pavithra) —which is exactly why she turned out to be such a stunner. Her favorite pastime is teasing her dad at home and tormenting boys when she’s out and about.
  
She’s a cunning little vixen who firmly believes that her father’s entire fortune belongs solely to her.
  
And out in the real world... she loves toying with boys like they’re mere playthings.
 

 
At home, She has a habit of bathing with the bathroom door open when her dad is in the room
 

 

Pavithra (F45)
 
The fact that she managed to hook a man reveals just how shrewd she is. She stood by Manohar during his struggles and ensured that—once his business had flourished—he would marry her.
 
Finding no sexual fulfillment with her husband, "Bullipandu (small fruit)," she would occasionally seek gratification by toying with the virility of her growing son; she also found amusement in playful banter with the driver.
 
This was before her son had fully matured.
 

 
After her son has grown up
 

 



 
(More characters in next episode)
 
 

[123@abc]

Bro is this the same story ?

[opendoor]

Bro is this the same story ?

yes bro

[opendoor]

Main Characters (continued)

 
 
Rahul (M21)
 

 
He’s a 21-year-old guy—absolutely obsessed with the gym, racing, and hitting the pubs.
 
Although he was born (to Manohar, Pavithra)  with a silver spoon in his mouth, he has a good heart. As for his cock? It’s incredibly hard—and massive.
 
He finds the idea of sticking to just one girl utterly repulsive; aside from his mother and sister, he never sleeps with the same girl twice.
 
Khasim (M25)
 
25 years old... Iqbal's son... There isn't really much to say about him.
 
Spending one part of the day with his mother, and another with his sister... he absolutely loves getting his cock sucked.
 
He decided to steer clear of marriage altogether, fearing that if he were to wed, his own father would end up fucking his wife.
 
He never imagined that Ahmed—a friend he trusted implicitly—would betray him... or that he would betray his sister.
 

 

 
 
Kajal (F20)
 
Daughter of Veer Prathap Singh

Playing with men's cocks is her idea of fun. She is a haughty woman who delights in shattering a man's ego, bending him to her will until his cock revolves solely around her "flower." Beauty, arrogance, power—she possesses them all in abundance.
 
Tormenting the men who dare to provoke her is a skill that comes as naturally to her as breathing.
 


 

 

Veer Prathap Singh (M51)
 
He is a notorious figure—a gang leader from Bihar who migrated to Hyderabad, ran various rackets, and amassed a fortune worth tens of crores.
 
He has no wife; she passed away shortly after their marriage, unable to withstand the intensity of his sexual demands. However, before she died, she entrusted their precious, golden-hearted daughter into her husband's care.
 
Veer lives in two distinct worlds.
 
In one world, he is in Goa, bedding foreign models; in Mumbai, he roughs up girls in the red-light districts; and in Bangkok, it’s all "Bang Bang."
 
In the other world, he is simply a father, sharing intimate conversations with his beloved daughter Kajal
 
Kajal yearns deeply to transform this rugged man—who believes his life belongs entirely to his daughter—into a truly good father. She pleads with him, "Don't sleep with foreign models, Dad; sleep with me instead—I’m even more stunning than they are!" Yet, Veer has absolutely no desire to sleep with his daughter; he has raised her strictly as a daughter—never as a wife.
 

 

[opendoor]

Main Characters

Manohar Bhatia, Pavithra

          Rahul, Shruthi

Iqbal, Haseena

          Fathima , Qasim

Veer Prathap Singh

          Kajal

[123@abc]

Thanks bro

[opendoor]

Hyderabad’s Old City—it is a world unto itself. In a narrow alleyway where even an auto-rickshaw cannot squeeze through, arrangements for a *Nikah* (wedding) are underway at Iqbal’s home. Iqbal—a hardworking cab driver who has lived his life with integrity, never once cheating anyone—hit the "lottery" a year ago. And by lottery, I don't mean the *Bhagyalakshmi* lottery; rather, he secured a job as a driver in the home of a prominent businessman in Jubilee Hills.



Likewise, his *Begum* (wife) also found an opportunity to work there, handling the household chores.


He considered the "lottery" he won just a week ago to be far greater than the one he had won a year prior. That—precisely that—was his mistake.


Once, this was a society where bonds were forged based on love.


Now, people forge bonds based solely on money.


Time: 10:43 AM



Sitting alone in the bathroom, Fatima is consumed by anguish. Arrangements are being made for the *Nikah* of 19-year-old Fatima to a groom aged 65.


When her daughter failed to emerge from the bathroom even after a long while, her mother, Haseena, wept bitterly and pleaded with her husband, Iqbal, begging him to call off this alliance. Enraged, Iqbal delivered a stinging slap across his wife’s face, then summoned his son, Qasim, and commanded him: "Go reason with your sister... she must be ready within ten minutes!"


They lived in a modest two-room dwelling; the arrangements for the actual wedding ceremony had been made at a separate venue.


Qasim walked over and knocked on the door of the room where his sister had gone to bathe. "Fatima... hurry up and get ready... Baba is absolutely furious."

Hearing her brother's voice, Fatima opened the door, tears streaming down her face.

Upon seeing his sister, he wept and pulled her into a tight embrace. Unable to bear the sight of tears in the eyes of his sister—who was usually so lively and cheerful—Qasim held her close (as she stood clad only in her panties and bra) and showered her with kisses. "Hush, Fatima... just close your eyes and endure this for one day, and your life will be a paradise," he murmured.

Fatima sank to her knees, yanked down her brother's shorts, and grasped his uncircumcised member in her hand. "Don't you know exactly what kind of paradise I crave, Qasim Bhai?" she asked, before eagerly taking his seven-inch cock into her mouth and sucking on it. In that instant, the sorrow that had clouded Qasim's eyes vanished, replaced by joy—a joy that surged through his very member.

He gripped his sister's head firmly, holding it fast as he thrust into her mouth with vigorous, rhythmic strokes. As his cock plunged deep down her throat with such force, eighteen-year-old Fatima experienced an overwhelming sensation—a pleasure so intense that tears spilled from her eyes. Yet, these were not tears of sadness; they were tears born of the exquisite, almost painful sensation of her brother's cock filling her throat to its very depths. After holding it there for a full minute, he abruptly pulled out, lifted his sister to her feet, and kissed her tenderly. "Fatima... go on now... get ready. You only visit India once a year, and when you do, you'll have plenty of money. We'll book a room at a five-star hotel and enjoy ourselves even more than this," he promised.

Fatima, her eyes flashing with anger, grabbed his cock... Pressing down firmly with her hand, she said, "Hey! After letting my pussy go dry for a whole year with that old man, do you expect me to serve *your* cock for just one day? I don't want this marriage!"

Just then, Iqbal opened the door and walked in.

Seeing his daughter clad only in a bra and panties, and his son standing completely naked, he flew into a rage and whipped off his trouser belt.

Before Baba could strike them with the belt, she knelt down right in front of him, swiftly yanked down his trousers, and—with eager haste—pulled his semi-erect cock out of his underwear; she spat on it wetly, then instantly took it into her mouth and began to suck on it.

Iqbal’s rage instantly cooled.

And for Qasim, a feverish craving began to rise.

Still holding onto his sister, he threw her onto the rope cot nearby, yanked off her panties, and began licking her smooth, pale pussy; meanwhile, as Fatima—who was sucking on her father’s cock—looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, the 45-year-old Iqbal felt as though he were in heaven.

That money—which took such immense toil to earn...

And this pleasure—which came without any effort at all.



What does he/she want? "You want the pleasure that money brings? Very well—we’ll marry you off to an Arab Sheikh. Then, whenever you visit India, I can fuck you and find my pleasure that way."

Grabbing his daughter’s head and thrusting hard into her, he said, "Fatima, my dear... this marriage will put an end to all our hardships. The moment the wedding is over, we too can live in Jubilee Hills—that’s how much money the Sheikh promised us. He was absolutely shaken by your beauty, my child. Just close your eyes and endure it somehow."

She pulled his cock out of her and replied, "Baba... the first time you fucked me, I did close my eyes and endure it. As your thick cock forced its way into my tight pussy, the burning sensation was indescribable. The next day, when Qasim Bhai fucked me, the pain was unbearable. 

But after a while, I found myself craving that very burning sensation... craving that very pain. Baba, even though we live in this filthy hovel, we are happy here. How many men get to have a young pussy like mine available to fuck whenever they desire? Baba, we don't need bungalows in Jubilee Hills... a small place in your bed is all I need."

Realizing that her husband and son had gone inside and settled in, Haseena also entered the room.



The son was burying his face in his sister's pussy...

The husband was fucking his daughter's mouth...

She, too, approached with a look of fury, grabbed her daughter's breasts, and began sucking on them, saying, "It was the sight of these very breasts that shook the Sheikh to his core! After we sent him your photo—and he was already captivated by your beauty—I went ahead and sent him a photo of you while you were bathing... Your..." "He was captivated the moment he saw your breasts... Fatima, beauty like this isn't something everyone gets to possess. If you agree to this *Nikah*... we'll come visit Dubai every now and then, too... and we'll have a real blast there," she says.




"Oh? So... will *you* climb on top of that Sheikh and give him a good shake, too?"


No matter what anyone else might say, they are demonstrating right here—in the flesh—exactly where Fatima will find true pleasure.

"Hmmmm... Oh, Baba... Harder... Keep going... Ahhhh... Fuuuuck me... Umm... Not in... my ass... Yours won't... fit in there... Brother's is too small... Ah... Aaaah... Ooooh... *smooching sounds*... Ufff..."

(A shout from outside) "Iqbal Bhaiyya... will 10 kilos of mutton be enough for the feast?"

"Not 10... get... twen... tyyyy... ki... loooos... slaughtered... Ahhhhhh... O... kay?" Ufff... Oh my... Just to bite... my... breasts... you have such a crazy obsession, don't you? Hmmmm... Hey... don't cum inside my pussy... The groom will get upset...

(.) (.)

Jubilee Hills... A sprawling bungalow... 50-year-old Manohar Bhatia. Having moved to Hyderabad from North India thirty years ago, he worked tirelessly in the export business and amassed a fortune worth hundreds of crores.

Manohar, who is known for being extremely tough in business, is equally strict in his personal life. He does not forgive even the slightest mistake; having risen to the top through sheer hard work, he places immense value on money.

He earns solely so that his family can live happily. Being constantly busy with business, he settled down late in life—which is why he married at a relatively advanced age.

21-year-old Rahul, 18-year-old Shruti.

Children as precious as gems.

They were his one and only weakness.

Did you think it was chain-smoking?

No.

Then what?



His darling daughter, Shruti... a paragon of beauty... a golden doll. It was only after she was born that his business truly flourished.

What a business requires is intellect... and capital.

Not superstition.

For those who would argue otherwise, Manohar’s life serves as the perfect rebuttal.

He had yet another weakness.




"Wait—earlier you said he had *only one* weakness... and now you’re mentioning another? Pick one and stick to it, Open Door!"

"Okay, okay... as you wish."



The moment he woke up in the morning, he would sniff the panties Shruti had discarded.



Add another ten crores to ten crores, and you get twenty crores... and an acquaintance with an MLA.

Add another hundred crores to a hundred crores, and you get two hundred crores... and an acquaintance with a Minister.

But what happens when you add a thousand crores to a hundred crores? He would gain an introduction to the Chief Minister... and could expand his business to a national level.

That is precisely why he forged an alliance with Veer Pratap Singh's family—a family worth a staggering 1,000 crores. A marriage alliance was arranged with Veer's daughter—the beautiful, pampered darling, Kajal. It was sheer luck that such a match could be secured.


Once, society forged bonds based on love.

Now, people forge bonds based on money.


Time: 10:43 AM

Sitting alone in the bathroom, Rahul was consumed by anguish—wondering why he had to get married at the mere age of 21. His father had settled down late in life, and consequently, everything else in his life had happened late as well. Determined that his son should not suffer the same fate, he had arranged Rahul's marriage at the age of 21.

Rahul's distress wasn't about the fact that he was getting married at 21...

It was the very fact *that* he was getting married at all.

This was the age to enjoy life to the fullest; if he were to fall into the trap of marriage, he would lose his freedom.

When they were sent to a coffee shop for the traditional "marriage meeting"—so he could get a look at Kajal—she had scoffed, "Not some cheap place like this!" and dragged him off to a five-star hotel instead.

Rahul... why do you look so glum?

She took off her shirt.

"I'm talking to *you*, Rahul... say something."

She then removed her bra as well.

"Rahul, you're keeping your head down instead of looking at a stunning figure like this... Does it not get you aroused?" "I brought you here for that very test..."

In a fit of rage, Rahul threw Kajal onto the bed, fucked her hard and fast, ejaculated inside her pussy, and lit a cigarette. "Kajal... I don't want a loose pussy like this," he said. Kajal, equally furious, snatched the cigarette from his hand, took a deep drag, and retorted, "Is your cock a virgin? Didn't you fuck your own sister? Didn't you fuck your own mother? You prick... is there one moral code for men and another for women?"

Rahul’s ego was bruised; determined to give her a fitting reply, he said, "Fine, Kajal... once we’re married, I won't lick any woman's pussy. Likewise, you won't suck any man's cock. Okay?" As she began putting her clothes back on, she spat out, "I loathe a husband who imposes conditions on me. In fact, I loathe the very concept of a husband. I only showed up for this matchmaking meeting because I couldn't stand my father's nagging anymore." She turned to leave.



Rahul found it immensely entertaining to toy with beautiful, wealthy, and arrogant women. So, taking the gold chain from around his neck, he tossed it at her and said, "Kajal... I don't have a habit of fucking for free. This gold chain is worth 10 lakhs. I doubt your hourly rate exceeds 10 lakhs, does it?" As soon as he said that, she felt a burning rage deep within her; turning around, she grabbed his cock and declared, "You’re exactly the kind of man I want as a husband! I’ll suck my father’s cock right in front of you; I’ll get fucked by my boyfriend right in front of you. This marriage? I’m totally okay with it!" Then, flinging the diamond necklace from her neck right into his face, she spat out, "Go adorn your sister’s pussy with this, and then go fuck her!"—and stormed off.

And just like that... his ego wounded, he agreed to the marriage. He agreed back then solely to crush the arrogance of a woman like her. But now... forget about this specific marriage—he decided he didn't want to get married at all.

He hurriedly finished his bath and stepped out... without even drying himself off.

After his bath, it was always his mother who dried his body for him.



It had been a habit for twenty-one years.

His mother, Pavitra—while drying his body, she pleaded with her son, gently stroking his still-flaccid cock: "Hey... even after you get married, *I’m* still going to be the one drying you off, okay? Even if you’re fucking your wife at night, don’t you forget about me during the day, okay?"

A crazy mother... a crazy love.

"Mom... I don't want this marriage."
"Don't say that, darling... I hear your uncle is worth thousands of crores."

"Oh, come on! Even if he has assets worth thousands of crores, his dick isn't going to be thousands of inches long, is it? To get fucked, a six-inch dick is enough... and to eat, a handful of food is enough... that's all you really need."

"In our house, it’s not Mom who has the guts to stand up to Dad... it’s my little sister."

"That’s why, after Mom finishes drying him off, he calls my sister to help him get dressed—not into wedding finery, mind you, but just into his regular clothes."

"As she helped tuck her brother's dick into a pair of extra-large underwear, she remarked, 'Hey, I told Dad he should start a company that manufactures underwear even bigger than this!'"

"Why?" "Are these underpants not big enough for his cock?"

Shruti chuckled suddenly... "Dad doesn't actually need underwear at all, you know... His is only two inches long. Anyway, why have you put aside your wedding attire and dressed in regular clothes?"

"Hey! You knew I wasn't interested in this marriage, yet I specifically told you to somehow convince Dad to call it off, didn't I? What happened?"

"That’s exactly why I slipped into his bed last night. I figured if I held his two-inch cock in my hand, he wouldn't say no to anything I asked for. But your luck just sucks, man. When I asked him to stop your wedding, he replied, 'Fine, I'll just get *me* married at that very same auspicious time instead. And the groom? None other than Kajal's brother.' So, I shut my ass up... and opened my pussy instead. For a two-inch cock, a pussy is definitely the better option."

"Tch, tch... You're so selfish. Alright... I asked you to withdraw 10 lakhs—did you do it?"

"No."

"Tch, tch... I made a mistake by even telling you."

"I didn't withdraw 10 lakhs—I withdrew 20! If you're throwing a party for your friends, you need at least that much cash on hand, right?"

"Awesome! If you know any other nice girls like yourself, let me know—I'll marry one of them!"

"Wait... you mean *two* wives? I don't think Kajal would agree to that."

"If I keep chatting with you, the auspicious wedding time is going to pass us by."

(.) (.)

Time: 11:15 AM

Narrow lanes... There isn't even enough room for an auto-rickshaw to squeeze through—so how on earth is an Ambassador car supposed to fit? Baba... Qasim Bhai and I will come to the function hall in an auto-rickshaw.

Beti, you shouldn't come in an auto; you must come in a car. The boy has sent a Mercedes.

Baba... even an Ambassador car wouldn't fit—so how on earth would a Mercedes fit? You go and wait by that Mercedes. "Khasim Bhayya and I will take the auto as far as the Benz car."

"Alright... take care."

The auto started moving.

(.) (.)

Time: 11:15 AM

The Benz car started moving... not the Benz car Fatima was supposed to board, but the one Rahul had gotten into.

The function hall was located on the outskirts of the city.

Inside the car were Rahul and his younger sister, Shruti.

The others were traveling in separate cars.

(.) (.)

Inside the auto, Khasim received a phone call. Apparently, the Chicken 65 wasn't sufficient to go with the Biryani; a friend was calling to ask him to pick up ten plates from a hotel on his way.

They were just another 200 meters away from crossing that lane; Khasim asked the auto driver to stop in front of a café located there.

The auto came to a halt.

Khasim got out.

The auto started moving again... Khasim didn't notice.

It turned into a side lane... then into another lane from there... weaving through lane after lane, it finally reached Nampally Railway Station.

Time: 11:35 AM

As Fatima hurriedly stepped out, the auto driver—Shivanna—placed the 1,000 rupees he had on him into her hands.

For a brief moment, a whirlwind of emotions swirled in Fatima's eyes. She didn't even have the time to properly thank Shivanna, who had done so much for her; she simply grasped his hand and wept.

"Behen... you don't have much time. It would be extremely dangerous if anyone were to spot you. Go quickly now... Ahmed is waiting for you."

"Anna... you take care. You, here in Hyderabad..." "Don't stay here... go back to your hometown. If they catch you, they won't let you live."

"They don't have the guts for that. If they dare set foot in our neighborhood, we'll chop off their heads—every single one of them—and sell them at the mutton shop."

Covering herself with a veil, Fatima ran swiftly and boarded the Mumbai Express, which was halted there.

Ahmed would be boarding at the next stop, Patancheru—that was the source of her confidence.

Time: 11:35 AM

They had almost reached the function hall located near Patancheru. Rahul flashed his cock at his younger sister.

Blushing, she whispered, "Hey! The driver will see! Besides, with the wedding just an hour away, why do you have this sudden urge *now*?"

"Hey, the 'urge' isn't mine—it's *yours*, isn't it? *I* just need to pee. I'm going to go take a leak and come right back."

"We're almost there! Just hold it in!"

"I can't wait that long. Hey, brother—pull the car over to the side for a second. I really need to take a leak."

The car came to a halt.

Rahul got out.

Shruti got out, too.

"Where are *you* going?"

"I need to pee."

"You, too?"

"What? Do you think *I* don't get the urge? Tch, tch... Go over there and find a private spot to do your business."

Shruti watched as Rahul walked away to find a place to relieve himself.

One minute passed... then two minutes... *How long does it take him to pee? He's always like this. The filthy bastard—he'd probably screw Mom and then piss right in my face! Well, from now on, little Kajal will be the one keeping him in line.*

Five minutes passed... then ten minutes.

(.) (.)

"Iqbal Bhai... the bride is nowhere to be found!"

(.) (.)

"Manohar Saab... the groom is nowhere to be found, either!"


Next

[opendoor]

Fathima

[opendoor]

Shruthi

[123@abc]

Marvellous bro

[opendoor]

Marvellous bro

thank you bro

[opendoor]

Friends,

I have described all the characters in this story above.

Oh my god, don't panic thinking, "Why are there so many people?" The screenplay is structured to ensure there is absolutely no confusion.

I created this many characters specifically to explore and portray every shade of human emotion.

Meet Rahul—the one who lifts the veil of illusion for a beautiful, innocent girl languishing in poverty, revealing the true nature of the real world to her.

Discover the story of Fatima—deceived by sweet-talk and living in darkness, blindly believing that her body belongs solely to her family—and how she eventually chased after a wealthy, decent young man.

The foolish father—hell-bent on marrying off his loving daughter to a ruthless old Arab Sheikh.

The character who, dissatisfied with her husband's small penis, actively tempts their car driver—a man blessed with a massive cock.

How did he manage to bang them all—his mischievous younger sister, his yearning mother, and the girlfriend who placed her complete trust in him?

How did she manage to wrap an arrogant man—who dared to put a price on her virtue—completely around her finger, using nothing but her pussy?

The elderly gentleman who, in his efforts to bring his wayward wife back onto the right path, ends up fucking the housemaid.

Would he let a free opportunity pass him by? The circumcised cock that took the mistress out shopping, only to end up fucking her in a lodge room.

The leader of a Bihari gang who—in a fit of rage after his daughter's wedding was called off—fucks his prospective in-law's wife right in front of the man himself.

The father who—in the middle of a board meeting to discuss a multi-billion deal—rushes home to lovingly lather soap onto his darling daughter's body.

And so much more...

All you have to do is Like, Comment, and leave a Rating!

[opendoor]

Shruthi


image replace capability

[opendoor]

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Rahul, having stepped aside to relieve himself, slipped behind the nearby bushes and crossed over to the other side of the road. There, his friend was already waiting, ready to go with his bike. Rahul hopped on.

Along the way, he switched off his phone and tossed it into a nearby canal. He had already acquired a new SIM card just the day before; he now switched on that phone.

They soon reached the nearby Patancheru railway station.

After thanking his friend, he stepped onto the platform—only to see a train already in motion... a train bound for Mumbai.

With his blood running hot—the heir to a fortune worth hundreds of crores—and his ego bruised by a trivial slight, he took a massive risk and began sprinting to board the moving train.

There was someone there... a beautiful girl—eighteen years old, perhaps. Even though her face was partially veiled, she appeared fair-skinned, slender, and stunningly beautiful.

"Come on... fast! Run!"



As soon as he saw the girl shouting those words, he was reminded of the movie *Super Hit*. Our Rahul suddenly felt just like Shah Rukh Khan.


Fueled by that surge of adrenaline, he picked up the pace. The train, too, was gathering speed. However, Rahul was oblivious to the fact that the girl was actually shouting for the young man running just ahead of him—a guy named Ahmed. They were fast approaching the very end of the platform. Ahmed slowed down... and came to a halt. Rahul, however, surged ahead; he was just about to reach the compartment where the girl stood.



Crying out, "Come on, Ahmed!" the girl extended her hand toward Rahul. She gave a mighty tug. Having narrowly escaped falling off the edge of the platform and beneath the train, he tumbled forward—landing right on top of the girl. He lunged forward and grabbed the door handle; her breasts pressed tightly against Rahul's chest. Her soft, tender lips brushed against his own trembling ones. As the train gave a sudden lurch, the button on his jeans dug into the girl's waist.

Rahul’s heart nearly stopped at the sight of the girl’s wide, startled eyes—captivated by her beauty and innocence. Still panting from his frantic run to catch the train, Rahul felt she bore a striking resemblance to Kajol, the heroine of that super-hit movie.

Suddenly, fear and anxiety flashed in the girl's eyes. She pushed Rahul aside, craned her head out the door, and frantically scanned for Ahmed—the young man who had promised to meet her there. Fatima was utterly devastated when she spotted Ahmed in the distance; he had stopped short, flipping her the middle finger and mouthing the words, "Fuck off!"

Realizing the danger of lingering at the door, Rahul grabbed Fatima's hand and pulled her back inside.

Overcome with rage and tears, the girl slapped Rahul hard across the face.

"Sorry," he murmured. Ignoring him completely, she walked over and sank into one of the seats nearby. The entire compartment was empty; Rahul took a seat directly across from her.

She pulled her veil over her face and sobbed uncontrollably—though Rahul had no idea why.

She had run away for the sake of Ahmed—the boy she loved. Defying her family—whom she cherished deeply—she had fled to escape a forced marriage to an Arab Sheikh.

Ahmed had told her he would board the train at the Patancheru station. He had reasoned that boarding at Nampally might arouse suspicion, and he had promised to purchase the tickets himself. Their plan was to travel to Mumbai... He lured her in with the promise of finding work so she could make a living; for a week, he invited her to his room, used her for sex, and ultimately—just like that—he dumped her.

She simply cannot come to terms with it. With what face, she wonders, can she possibly go back home now?

Just then, the Ticket Collector arrives.

Spotting Rahul, he says, "Ticket, please."

"Sorry, Sir... I was running late... I didn't buy a ticket."

To silence the mouth that would otherwise spout on about how traveling without a ticket is a crime, one must first grease the palm behind it. Rahul pulls four or five hundred-rupee notes from his pocket, presses them into the TC's hand, and says, "Give me a ticket to Pune."

If a passenger buys a ticket and boards, the revenue goes to the government.

If a passenger boards without a ticket, the revenue goes to the TC.

"Madam... your ticket?"

Fatima is lost in a world of her own.

"Madam... I'm speaking to *you*... Ticket, please."

Snapping back to reality and wiping her eyes, Fatima replies, "Sorry, Sir... I didn't buy a ticket."

"Boarding without a ticket is a crime..."

Fatima glances at the 1,000 rupees clutched in her hand—money that Shivanna had given her with such affection—and thinks to herself that she shouldn't waste it like this. "Sorry, Sir," she says, "I don't even have any money on me."

The TC responds, "Very well... get off at the next station."

"How far away is the next station, Sir?" "It will take another hour."

"Alright, Sir."

The TC leaves.

Rahul takes a water bottle out of his bag and offers it to the girl.

She refuses, pulls her veil over her face, and looks distressed.

"Thanks."

The girl lifts her head, her expression asking, "For what?"

"If you hadn't grabbed my hand and pulled me back—standing right at the edge of the platform as I was—I would have slipped and fallen right under the train."

"I only pulled you back for Ahmed's sake."

"Who is Ahmed?"

Fighting back tears, the girl replies, "My boyfriend."

"So, what happened to this Ahmed?"

"He flipped me the middle finger and told me to 'go fuck myself'... Sorry."

Laughing heartily, he offered her the water bottle again. This time, she took it. After taking a sip, Fatima asked, "Why are you laughing?"

"If you—a girl with a thousand rupees in her hand who boarded a train just to meet her boyfriend—get ditched by him and told to 'go fuck yourself,' then he has definitely cheated on you."

"Yes... I never imagined he would betray me like this."

"Did he take you to his room?"

"Mm-hmm."

"How many times?"

She holds up seven fingers.



"So, after fucking you all those times... he finally told you to 'go fuck yourself'? Sorry."

Looking at him with a pained expression, the girl asked, "Do you find my misery amusing?"—to which Rahul, noticing the *mehndi* on her hands, replied, "You ran away to escape a wedding, didn't you?" ...he says:

"You have Mehendi on your hands too, don't you? Did you run away from the wedding mandap as well?"

"I'm Rahul."

"I'm Fatima."

"Nice to meet you."

"You too."

"By the way, why did you run away from the wedding? Was it because you trusted Ahmed?"

"Not just for his sake... I was being married off to an Arab Sheikh whom I didn't like."

"So, why exactly did you run away from your wedding? Was it because you trusted Ahmed?"

"Not just for his sake... My father intended to marry me off to an Arab Sheikh I didn't like and send me away to Dubai."

"You mean... your father *sold* you off to a Sheikh?"

"Don't speak so crudely... My father isn't that kind of man."

"Sorry... So, what do you plan to do now?"

"That's exactly what I can't figure out... I'll somehow make my way to Mumbai... and find some kind of work there."



"You can buy a ticket to Mumbai with a thousand rupees... but you can't survive a life there."

Just then, the Ticket Collector arrives.

"Madam... we'll be reaching the station in another five minutes... please get off here."

Rahul pulled six five-hundred-rupee notes from his pocket, placed them in the TC's hand, and said, "Please issue a ticket to Pune for my girlfriend."

The TC looked at him in astonishment.

"Madam... your name?" "Begum."

He writes out a ticket and hands the receipt to her.

Once the TC has left...

"You told me your name was Fatima."

"I didn't want to give my real name... just in case my family's people came looking for me later—I didn't want them to find me."

Rahul chuckles and says, "For someone so clever... didn't you have the sense to at least take a hundred thousand rupees with you when you ran away? You boarded a train without even buying a ticket... all because you put your trust in some random loser."

The girl looks at him with wide-eyed innocence and replies, "If we actually *had* a hundred thousand rupees, why on earth would my father try to marry me off to an Arab Sheikh?"

Hearing this, Rahul felt as though his heart were being squeezed tight.

From the moment he was born, he was cradled in a golden crib. By the age of five, he had seen America; by ten, he was riding in a Mercedes-Benz; and by fifteen, he had become the Executive Director of a company with a turnover of a thousand crores. Rahul—a man who had never known the meaning of hardship—had brought along twenty lakhs just to have a bit of fun in Pune. He had run away from his own wedding, intending to escape to Pune and enjoy himself in anonymity, far from anyone who knew him.

"I'm sorry, Fatima... but anyway, what exactly do you plan to do now?"

"I already told you... I'll find some work in Mumbai and make a living."



"Fatima... the moment you step off that train in Mumbai—seeing your beauty and your innocence—they won't sell you off to an Arab Sheikh; they'll sell you straight into the red-light district. Just do as I say."

She looks at Rahul with suspicion. "What guarantee do I have that you won't just give me the finger and leave me stranded—just like that Ahmed guy did?" she asks.

Rahul reaches into his pocket... Pulling it out, she showed him her business card...

"The Chairman of the Bhatia Group of Companies... is my father. His name is... Manohar Bhatia." As soon as she said this, Fatima suddenly flinched.

Her phone was switched off. She wanted to turn it on and check it, but what if someone called her in the meantime?

"Rahul... do you know Iqbal?"

"Iqbal?"

"Yes, Iqbal."

"The Iqbal I know is our car driver... he's a very good man."

 

"Yes, he is a very good man. He loves his daughter... but money is his very life. One can survive without love, but one certainly cannot survive without life itself, can one? That is why—in pursuit of *that* life—he took the life of love."

"What are you talking about?"

"Rahul... I am that Iqbal's daughter. Believe me. We don't have the means to carry around business cards like you do. If you look at the photos on my phone, you'll see for yourself."

"Then turn on your phone."

"If I turn on my phone, someone or other is bound to call. They must already be searching high and low for me, Rahul."

"Alright, I'll check on my phone instead. What's your Insta ID?"

"Insta? What's that?" Rahul smiles... at her innocence.

"Fatima... I didn't ask for your Instagram ID just to verify that you are my Uncle Iqbal's daughter... I wanted to see your beautiful photos."

"Rahul... things like that aren't allowed in our house. The phone is strictly for talking."

"Alright then... I'm very fond of Iqbal; I affectionately call him 'Mama.' Your mother, Haseena, works in our household as well. Anyway, it's a good thing you ended up with me—it's certainly better than you going to Mumbai and getting deceived."

"Rahul... please don't try to send me back home. Let me stay out for a while; later... once tempers have cooled down, we can figure things out then."

"My situation is exactly the same."

"Thanks, Rahul."
"What for?"

"For buying the ticket to Pune."

"Haha... Thanks."

"What for?"

"For reaching out and saving my life."

"Sorry."

"What for?"

"Because when you grabbed my hand to pull me to safety—to save my life—I misunderstood your intentions and hit you."

"I owe you an apology, too."

"What for?"

"For telling the Ticket Collector that you were my girlfriend, without asking for your permission first."

"Thanks."

"What for? For accepting you as my girlfriend?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"For agreeing to give me shelter for a while."

"If we keep going on like this—saying 'thanks' and 'sorry' back and forth—we'll be in Pune before we know it."

"Rahul... we really *are* here."

"We got so caught up in talking that we didn't even notice."

(.) (.)

Rahul realized that if he stayed at his friend's guest house in Pune, there was a risk his father might find out; so, he decided to take her to a five-star hotel instead.

"We need a suite room for two days."

"Sorry, Sir... all rooms are full."

A young assistant standing nearby interjected, "What are you talking about, brother? The whole hotel is empty!"

"Brother... are you Telugu? If there's a room available, why not just give it to us?"

The man looked Fatima up and down, sizing her up.

"Sorry, Sir... we can't give you one," he said.

Rahul knew exactly why they were refusing to give them a room.


They tried another hotel... but the situation was exactly the same there.

 

"Rahul... couldn't we just book one online?" "Super idea..."

He opens an app, books an available hotel room, and they head there.

However, despite the booking, the hotel staff refuse to honor it and cancel the reservation.

He calls a friend and asks for the address of a guest house; by then, it is already past midnight.

They arrive at the guest house. When the watchman eyes them up and down suspiciously, Rahul gets annoyed—but he finds himself in a situation where he can't really do anything about it.

He shows Fatima to a room and is about to head to another one for himself when she murmurs:

"Rahul... I'm afraid to sleep all alone. Besides, this is a new place for me. In fact, this is the very first time I've ever even traveled by train."

Rahul is stunned.

Agreeing to stay, he settles into that same room and says, "You don't have any clothes with you, do you? We'll go shopping tomorrow morning. Just try to manage somehow for tonight."

"I'm sorry, Rahul... Look at all the trouble I'm putting you through. My clothes are back in Ahmed Bagh."

"Fatima... just forget about Ahmed now. If you hadn't been wearing that burqa, the hotel staff probably would have given us a room."



At those words, Fatima becomes distressed and, weeping, says, "Rahul... is our worth really judged solely by the clothes we wear? If I had worn tight jeans that revealed my figure, or a top that exposed my cleavage—would they have given us a room then? Rahul, if this is how it's going to be, I can't stay here... I'll just go back to Baba."

Rahul calms down and says, "I'm sorry, Fatima... please try to understand. Look at our hands..." "Look—there's the henna... an eighteen-year-old girl... a girl wearing a burqa... and a guy in jeans... People think twice—actually, *many* times—before giving us a room. Even if you book online, they always have that fine print: 'Terms and Conditions Apply,' right? That’s exactly why they turned us away. I just don't have the patience to argue with you anymore. You take the bed; I'll sleep on the sofa," he said.

Fatima replied, "Rahul... I'm actually used to sleeping on the floor. You go ahead and take the bed."

Rahul felt a burning frustration deep in his gut.

"Fine, let's both sleep on the bed then... Okay?"

"Not okay."

Rahul lay down on the sofa and switched off the light.

Next

[opendoor]

Haseena

[opendoor]

Pavithra

[opendoor]

Fathima

[123@abc]

It's going to be epic

[opendoor]

Yet another couple has proven that assets, social status, caste, and religion are no barriers to love.

TV3x 3 is hyping up the story relentlessly... and it is the leading "breaking news" on all the other channels as well.

TV3+2 has even organized a special debate specifically on this subject.

The couple consists of the son of Manohar Bhatia—a resident of Jubilee Hills with assets worth hundreds of crores—and the daughter of Iqbal, a resident of the Old City who works as a car driver in the Bhatia household. Reports indicate that, just hours before the ceremony, the couple fled the wedding venue. According to some accounts, these "lovebirds"—identified as Rahul and Fatima—were spotted on a train bound for Mumbai.

Our sources suggest that a romance had been brewing between the two for some time; realizing that their families would never give their consent, they decided to elope.

It is reported that the Chief Minister himself was scheduled to attend Manohar Bhatia's son's wedding. With the Chief Minister expected to arrive in a mere five minutes, the groom suddenly bolted.

Meanwhile, in the Old City, there operates a syndicate known for trafficking innocent young girls to Dubai. There was a plan to marry off Iqbal's daughter to an Arab Sheikh and transport her to an Arab nation. Unwilling to submit to this fate, Fatima fled the scene before she could even reach the wedding pavilion.

(.) (.)

As soon as the news broke that "the groom has bolted," Kajal felt a secret surge of joy that this wretched wedding had been called off. Yet, outwardly feigning anger, she approached Manohar Bhatia and said, "Uncle... boys shouldn't just be focused on screwing their own sisters and mothers..." "If there is anything that needs to be taught... teach your son to respect women. Your son put a price tag on my virtue—a rate per hour. 



Now, send your own daughter to my father at a rate of one lakh per hour... my father will screw her all night long!" Saying this, she flung the floral garland from her neck at Shruti, strode briskly over to her father, Veer Pratap Singh, and grasped his hand. "Come on, Dad... this kind of riff-raff isn't suited for us. It’s a good thing this wedding was called off."

Veer walked up to Manohar and said, "Manohar... you made a mistake. Even when your son fell into the trap set by your own car driver's daughter, you couldn't stop him. You cast a hook for my fortune. I have only one daughter, and you tried to swindle my assets for free. You made a grave error by provoking me. Just watch—see how I bring your entire empire crashing down in mere moments." With those words, he walked away.

Manohar felt an indescribable humiliation. More than the fact that his son had eloped, the public disgrace unfolding before everyone's eyes pained him far more deeply.

Even with his daughter on one side and his wife on the other trying to console him, his grief remained inconsolable.

Just then, Manohar received a phone call from his office. Once again, breaking news flashed across the TV channels:

Simultaneous raids were being conducted on the Bhatia Group of Companies—Income Tax raids. His companies in Hyderabad, Mumbai, and Delhi were all under siege.

Overcome by the shock, Manohar collapsed to the ground, suffering a heart attack.

Manohar—the very man who, thirty years ago, had rejoiced simply at the chance to ride in an Ambassador car—now found himself in dire straits, being loaded into an ambulance. He is admitted.

They have admitted him to Apollo hospital

If you lose money, you can earn it back.

If you lose your reputation, you can somehow manage to survive.

But what if you lose your very life?

(.) (.)

Shake was left utterly shaken when the bride-to-be bolted just an hour before the wedding ceremony was scheduled to begin.

Locals blocked the media personnel who had arrived to cover the breaking news story.

Locals also blocked the security officer van that had been dispatched—following reports of the breaking news—to ensure that no law-and-order situation arose.

Yet, these same locals failed to stop the thugs Shake had sent to attack Iqbal's house.

One rule for the rest of the country... and a completely different rule here.

Shake's henchmen ransacked the entire house; then, forcibly bundling Iqbal, Haseena, and Qasim into a van, they drove them to the guest house where Shake was staying.

Shake struck Iqbal squarely on the groin and demanded, "What exactly did your daughter like about that boy? What does he have that I don't? I possess a fortune so vast that ten generations could feast on it without ever depleting it!"—and with that, he landed another blow to Iqbal's ribs.

 

Overcome with humiliation and rage, Haseena retorted, "What that boy has—and what *you* lack—is a ten-inch cock!" At this, Shake flew into a violent frenzy; grabbing her by the hair and yanking her toward him, he whipped out his own puny member from his pajamas and shoved it into her mouth. "A ten-inch cock, is it? Did you hear that, Iqbal? Your wife has set her sights on that boy's cock! Listen here, you slut—ten inches might be for *that*, but for your loose, gaping holes, my three-inch cock is more than enough!" With that, he violently slammed Haseena's head against his crotch and signaled to his henchmen.

They proceeded to bind Iqbal and Qasim securely... and then, they stuffed lumps of jaggery down their pajamas. They unleash the soldier ants.

Right before his eyes, Sheikh is fucking his wife.

The soldier ants are stinging his cock, torturing him to death.

Yet, for Iqbal, the humiliation of his daughter having run away causes him far greater anguish than all these other indignities combined.


His daughter—whom he had raised with such boundless love and affection—could not go a single day without sucking his cock at least once. Given that history, he simply could not come to terms with the fact that she had run away like this, barely an hour before her wedding was set to take place. He had never once taken his daughter to Manohar Sir’s house, nor had he ever even shown them a photograph of Fatima. How, then, had that young man set his sights on her? When she had wept, begging him not to marry her off to the Sheikh, he had assumed she would eventually come to terms with it after a while; he never imagined she would actually run away—and with his own employer's son, no less.

On one hand, his home lay in ruins; on the other, his employer would undoubtedly strip them of their jobs; and compounding it all was this crushing humiliation. How were they supposed to go on living? Iqbal's life was turned upside down.

He found himself in a wretched predicament—powerless to do anything as the Sheikh fucked his wife right before his very eyes.

While continuing to fuck Sheikh Hasina's mouth, the Sheikh glanced over at Qasim, who was watching them with a look of desperate longing. The Sheikh noticed that even if one were to stuff Qasim's underwear with jaggery and dates—attracting a swarm of biting red ants—the boy wouldn't utter a single scream; his gaze remained fixed solely upon his mother.



"Hey, Qasim! Come here... come over and suck my balls!"

"Forgive me, Sahib... I'm not that kind of man, Sahib."

"Fine then... come over here and lick your mother's ass."

Qasim's face was a mask of anger and humiliation.

One of the Sheikh's henchmen delivered a sharp kick to Qasim's backside, sending him flying forward to land right upon Hasina's ass. As he began to lick his mother's ass with frantic eagerness, a suspicion crossed the Sheikh's mind. "Hey, Qasim..." he asked, "just how many times have you fucked your own sister, Fatima?" At that very moment—while she was still sucking his cock—Hasina suddenly bit down hard on his member; she then yanked it out of her mouth, snarled as she spat upon it, and immediately shoved it back inside.

The Sheikh was stunned.


Had she bitten him on purpose? "Hey, you bastard Iqbal... You and your lot thought you could all screw your daughter and then foist her off on me, didn't you? I won't let you off that easily."



"Besides... if she had come to Dubai with a Sheikh like me, she would have had all the money and luxury she could ever want. Instead, she ran off with *him*... and now he’ll just screw her and sell her off to the red-light district in Mumbai."

(.) (.)

The entire capital city of Hyderabad is abuzz with festivities. Massive idols adorn every street corner, and every apartment complex echoes with the sounds of morning and evening prayers and cultural programs. Crowds of people, filled with religious fervor, are gathering in droves to celebrate the festival. As always, arrangements for the idol immersion processions are proceeding at a brisk pace. Yet, amidst this festive atmosphere, certain individuals are attempting to sow discord—to incite riots and create chaos. Central Intelligence has received precise, actionable intelligence regarding this threat.


Although this information has been shared with the State Government—and despite law and order being a 'State Subject'—any lapse in security would severely tarnish our national reputation. For this reason, the Central Government is also taking the matter very seriously.


According to intelligence reports, the plan is to trigger explosions at a bakery located along the route of the procession within just one hour of its commencement. Simultaneously—with a meticulously crafted plan—they intend to unleash destruction at several other locations: a tiffin center adjacent to Jubilee Hills, a bakery in Tarnaka, the IT block in Gachibowli, and various other spots across the city.


Cut to...


The Old City district of the capital...


A dilapidated building... reeking of pigeon droppings. The room was permeated with the scents of cigarettes, liquor, and biryani. Beer bottles and packets of biryani cluttered the table. Their gang leader—sporting a scruffy, unkempt beard—was a man who, at just thirty years old, had already mastered the harsh realities of life. It was his habit—a mandatory ritual—to spend an hour with his friends in that specific building; though, for the sake of minimizing risk, the exact time of his visit was never the same from one day to the next.

No one could withstand the raw, brutal intensity of his sexual appetite—save for the dancers he had specially brought in from Mumbai's red-light district.




Monica Bellucci
Egire Vochindi
Kadale Kadham Thokki
Tsunami- Ye Techindi
Monica Bellucci
Thagedhe Energy
Adhire Andhalunna
Toofanu Le Ammadi
Takkuna Chusindho
High Pulse Ye Body
Hoyale Chepalake Nerpinchuleyy
Kalake Colur vesey Jilebi Lady
Saltu Touch Chesthe
Sweet Avvane
Monicaaaaaa..
My Dear Monica
Love You Monica
Baby Ma Monica
Kichu Kichu Maa
Kichhi Khichhi Maa
Monicaa...

Even auto-rickshaws cannot reach that building; one must walk through the narrow lanes of the slum to get there. That slum is home to many such buildings—places that remain beyond the reach of even Google Maps. Dressed in jeans and T-shirts, three individuals approach the shopkeepers in the area, show them a photograph, and make inquiries. 

Such occurrences are commonplace for these shopkeepers; however, they do not reveal the truth to just anyone—they speak only when a specific "code" is provided. That code is furnished to the team by their group leader. It is precisely because they possess this code that they are able to locate the target's address with such ease.

After providing the code outside the building, they head upstairs to meet the group leader stationed there; they hand over their suitcases, pass along the information they have gathered, and take their leave. They never linger anywhere for very long. As they exit the building, they turn to the shopkeeper and ask, "What is your name, brother?" Ganesh in our city.

 

Mukesh in Mumbai.

Santosh in Chennai.

Ashutosh in Kolkata.

Ambareesh in Bengaluru.

The parents who gave him his original name passed away when he was barely three years old. Given the nature of his activities, operating under a single identity would be too risky—hence the aliases.



Currently, the task assigned to him is to successfully execute a series of bombings. That is precisely why the mafia operatives from Mumbai have arrived.

Within twenty-four hours, they devised a plan for a series of explosions across the city and entrusted the execution of this mission to Ganesh.

It was at that very moment... a phone call came in from Delhi—a call from the Don. And the Don of Delhi is far more powerful than the 'Bhai' of Mumbai.

Photos were sent to his phone, accompanied by a direct order: eliminate these individuals wherever they are found.

Leveraging his connections in Bihar, Veer Pratap Singh had entrusted this specific task to the Don in Delhi.

He vowed to spare no one—absolutely no one—who had humiliated him in front of everyone by halting his beloved daughter's wedding at the very last minute.

The moment the call came from the Delhi Don, Ganesh set aside the bombing operation and boarded a flight to Pune—determined to hunt down those "lovebirds." The fact that he had been assigned such a seemingly trivial task led Ganesh to conclude that this must, in fact, be a case of immense importance.


Next

[opendoor]

Shruthi