[girrich9486]

This going to be big. Every story that makes a women as if falling for the bad guys can start with a thrill but will lose the interest as that is common. But, imagine a strong fight where each other trying to take advantage through the same virtue thats sex and eventually when a woman holds her forte making the mightier ones losing everything just because they cannot hold their pants is the real truth.

Thankyou so much... But pls give feed back in clear ... You given but I can't understand.. So pls

[girrich9486]

Dear writer, First of all gratitude for your nice and regular update. I have some questions about your story themes and character. 1. The main character Nisha, you said she is secret agent then how she arrest criminals in publicly and her identity exposed. Isn't it contradictory ? 2. Second question is though she is very reputed, honest and iron woman like how easily she shared with Minister? 3. If she easily trapped and bang by Tony I thing this scenerio isn't match with our principle character Nisha. Please, make her more strict and keep her dignity for other criminals. Keep fear for other miscreants and culprits. Nisha will able to take revenge on Minister, specially. We want the scenerio.

Thankyou so much.. 


But Your first point 

1). already explained bro... As her mother request to marry so she with higher officials she transfered as city special cop.... 

2) she also a human being though human and wife she can't see suffer her husband..  So she killed her mind and committed with minister..

3)she can't easily go trap of Tony...



Thankyou for your valuable feed back..

[girrich9486]

Waiting for the next update

Thankyou

[girrich9486]

Awesome story friend

Thankyou.

[girrich9486]

When is next update

Tq. And update today

[girrich9486]

Thankyou alll




   Nisha sat motionless in her cabin after the screen went dark. For a long time she did not move. The sound of Vidya’s broken voice still seemed to hang in the air.
Until that moment she had not known Vidya was trapped in Tony’s grip.


 The realisation hit her with a force that cracked the hard shell she had built around herself for weeks. Pity, guilt, and a sharp old loyalty rose together.


There was one dark truth from some  years ago that only she and Vidya shared.
An official inquiry had been opened after a sensitive matter in a mission went wrong by Nisha. . The evidence pointed toward her. Suspension was certain—possibly worse. Vidya, who had been working the same desk that week, stepped forward and took the verdict on herself. She accepted a six-month suspension for a mistake she had not committed. She never explained why to anyone else. She simply signed the papers as she held responsible and walked out of the academy building with her head high.
Nisha had never forgotten it.
They had been close long before that.
They joined the same college, two ambitious girls from different homes who recognised something familiar in each other—the same hunger to stand first, the same refusal to smile when they were supposed to be soft. They studied together, competed openly, and still shared notes at midnight. One semester Nisha topped. The next, Vidya did. They treated every test, every drill, every extra assignment as a private race that somehow never turned bitter.
Later they entered the training academy in the same batch. The pattern continued. Obstacle courses, firing practice, law papers, night patrols—each of them tried to finish ahead of the other, then waited at the finish line so they could walk back together. Instructors called them intense. Classmates called them inseparable. They were both strict with themselves and curious about everything the job demanded. They learned by watching each other as much as by listening to lectures.
That old bond was what made the present so heavy.
Nisha stared at the blank laptop screen and saw not the officer she had become, but the girl who had once sat on a hostel bed arguing case law with Vidya until dawn. The friend who had taken a punishment that should have been hers was now the woman whose voice she had just heard begging in a locked room.
She pressed her palms against her eyes.
Pity was not a useful feeling for a tough officer. She knew that. Yet it sat in her chest all the same—pity for Vidya, and a colder anger at herself for not having looked for her sooner....



Nisha remained in the cabin long after the laptop screen had gone black. The room felt smaller than it had an hour earlier. For weeks she had told herself she was only an officer chasing a network. Now the case had a face she knew better than almost anyone else’s.
She had not known Vidya was inside Tony’s reach. That single fact opened a door she had kept locked for three years.
The incident that bound them was simple on paper and heavy in life. A classified file disappeared from Nisha’s desk during a rotation week. The inquiry board wanted a name. The evidence, thin as it was, pointed at her. A suspension would have stained her record at the exact moment her career was taking shape. Vidya was working the same section that week. She walked into the inquiry room, accepted responsibility she did not owe, and took a six-month suspension. She never asked Nisha to explain. She never asked for thanks. She signed the papers, packed her things, and left the academy grounds while Nisha stood in the corridor unable to speak.
That was the debt Nisha had carried ever since.
Their friendship had been built long before that day.
They met in college as two girls who did not know how to be casual. Both came from homes that expected discipline. Both treated every examination as a battlefield. They sat in the same library corner, argued over judgments, timed each other on mock papers, and still shared food when one of them ran out of money at the end of the month. When Nisha stood first, Vidya bought the tea. When Vidya stood first, Nisha stayed up the next night helping her prepare for the interview round. Competition never turned into distance. It became their language.
The training academy only sharpened it. They woke at the same hour, ran the same tracks, and compared scores without pretending they did not care. Instructors used them as examples of seriousness. Other cadets found them intense, even unfriendly. Between themselves they were different—curious, restless, always asking why a rule existed and how it could be used better. They talked about the kind of officers they wanted to become: clean, difficult to buy, unwilling to look away.
That version of Vidya was the one Nisha kept seeing now.
The woman whose voice she had recognised was not a stranger in a file. She was the classmate who had once waited outside an examination hall so they could walk back together. She was the friend who had taken a punishment that should have ended Nisha’s rise. Pity rose in Nisha’s chest, thick and unwelcome. Alongside it came guilt—guilt for not searching harder when Vidya’s name disappeared from the active list, guilt for assuming a transfer was only a transfer.
She thought of Rajesh at home, happy with his newly approved project. She thought of her parents, who still believed their eldest daughter had never stepped off the straight path. She thought of the Minister, of Tony, of the board of photographs in her locked room. All of it felt connected now in a way she could no longer ignore.
Nisha wiped her face, sat upright, and opened a fresh notebook.
The officer in her began listing what she knew and what she did not. Where Vidya had last been posted. Who had signed her transfer. Which of Tony’s men had the resources to hold someone for this long. Whether Minister Pandey’s interest in Biksh was only about one prisoner or about silencing people who knew too much.
The girl who had once raced Vidya through every test was still there, underneath the uniform and the shame of the last weeks. That girl would not leave her friend in the dark.




Nisha sat alone in her cabin, the files forgotten, as the past rose up with the force of something she had spent years trying to keep buried.
The flashback came in sharp, unbroken pieces.
After training they were posted together to a dense forest belt on the edge of the state—an area still lived in by old tribal communities who had little contact with the outside world. The people there were simple, wary of outsiders, and dependent on the forest. Intelligence had come that a gang was moving through the same routes, cutting and smuggling high-value timber—teak and sandalwood. A ten-member team was sent under a senior officer. Nisha and Vidya were both part of it.
They waited five hours in the undergrowth, weapons ready, the air thick with the smell of wet leaves and soil. Then the goons appeared, moving in a loose line, some carrying tools, others with rifles. The moment the senior gave the signal, the forest exploded into gunfire and shouting.
It was chaos. Men running, branches snapping, bullets cutting through leaves. Most of the team was locked in the fight. Nisha, overconfident and determined to prove herself, fixed her eyes on a young but clearly trained goon she believed was a key member of the gang. She raised her weapon, intending only to fire a warning shot to the side—to force him down without killing him, because the orders were to take the big ones alive if possible.
Vidya was right beside her.
In that same second a goon further away swung his rifle toward an unarmed local man who had stumbled into the clearing. Nisha saw it. So did Vidya. But Nisha’s attention stayed locked on the man she had chosen. She began to squeeze the trigger for the warning shot.
Another officer, moving fast through the brush, brushed hard against her shoulder and arm. The barrel shifted a fraction. The shot that was meant to go wide struck the innocent local man instead. Almost at the same moment another bullet from the team hit the goon she had been aiming at.
The local man went down.
The senior officer came running, face dark with fury and fear. The forest was still full of noise, but around that one fallen body a terrible silence opened. Government rules were absolute on this: an innocent life taken by security officer fire would bring the full weight of inquiry.
Vidya looked at Nisha once. She understood everything in that single glance—the shifted aim, the accidental kill, the career that would end, the family responsibilities Nisha already carried. Without a word she stepped forward, took the weapon from Nisha’s hands, and closed Nisha’s fingers around nothing.
“Don’t open your mouth,” Vidya said, voice low and steady. “You have too much on you. Family. Future. I will take this.”
Nisha tried to speak. Vidya shook her head once, hard.
When the senior reached them, Vidya spoke first. She said the weapon was hers. She accepted the misfire. She stood there while the statements were taken and the body was carried out.
The government treated the death of the innocent with full seriousness. Vidya received a suspension that stretched from six months into a full year. She cried in the weeks that followed—not only from the punishment, but because she had taken the whole weight of Nisha’s moment of overconfidence and negligence onto herself. She never told anyone the truth. She simply disappeared from the active list for that year and carried the stain alone.
In the present, sitting in her cabin, Nisha felt the tears come without permission. They ran hot down her face as the memory replayed: the brush of the other officer’s body, the unexpected shift of the barrel, the look in Vidya’s eyes when she took the gun, the quiet way she had said I will take this.
That was the friend now trapped somewhere in Tony’s network.
Nisha had planned to go after the deeper case years ago, when the first whispers about the larger timber and later drug routes had surfaced. Marriage had pulled her back into a different life. She had told herself the past was closed. Now the past had returned with Vidya’s name attached to it, and the knowledge that her friend was paying a far higher price than any suspension.
She wiped her face, but the sadness stayed. The debt had never been paid. The girl who had once raced her through every examination and every drill was still the one who had stepped in front of the bullet that should have ended Nisha’s career.


the sadness that came with it was heavier than anything she had allowed herself to feel in years.
Vidya had been her real friend—not the polite kind of friend who offered words, but the kind who stepped into the line of fire without calculation. In that forest clearing, when the barrel shifted and the innocent man fell, Vidya had understood the full cost in a single second. A formal inquiry, a finding of negligence, a permanent stain on the record. For Nisha it would not have ended with suspension. It would have reached her parents, who still spoke of their eldest daughter with quiet pride. It would have reached her younger brother, who looked to her as the one who had made the family’s name stand for something clean. The shame would have entered their house and stayed.
Vidya had taken all of that onto her own shoulders.
She had accepted the weapon, accepted the statement, accepted the months of suspension and the mark against her name. She had done it knowing the government would treat the death of an innocent with full seriousness. She had cried afterward—Nisha later learned that much—but she had never once asked Nisha to share the burden or to speak the truth. She had simply carried it.
In the days and weeks that followed the incident, Nisha had suffered in silence. At night the forest returned to her: the sudden brush of another body against her arm, the altered direction of the shot, the look in Vidya’s eyes when she took the gun. She would wake with the same thought pressing on her chest—she took my mistake. The knowledge that her own overconfidence and that single moment of lost control had cost her friend a year of her career sat inside her like a stone. She went through her duties, answered her parents’ questions with careful calm, and never spoke of what had really happened. But every time she saw a fresh posting list or heard another officer’s name praised, the same quiet grief rose again.


Vidya had saved more than Nisha’s job. She had protected the image Nisha’s parents held of their daughter. She had protected the younger brother’s belief that his sister stood above ordinary failure. Vidya had protected the entire family’s sense of honour. And in return she had accepted the punishment alone.
That was the weight Nisha carried now, years later, as she sat staring at nothing. The friend who had once raced her through every test and every drill had also been the one who stepped between her and the ruin of everything her family believed. The sadness was not sharp any longer; it was deep and settled, the kind that did not leave even when the face remained composed.
She wiped the tears that had come without permission and let the feeling stay. Some debts, she understood, were not paid by silence. Some could only be answered by action....



Nisha closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them with a colder focus. The officer in her began to rise again—not only for the larger network, not only for the Minister and Tony, but for the friend who had once saved her and was now the one who needed saving...

[girrich9486]

The only way for Nisha to find Vidya is joining hands with Tony telling him she is corrupt now and sleeping with Tony and other goon leaders to prove her loyalty.

Thankyou ok

[girrich9486]

Thankyou all..


Let's see what happens to Nisha in future... Please be patient...

[girrich9486]

Thankyou alll,




   Nisha stood with her team on the outer security cordon of the development site in Mumbai. The area had been cleaned and decorated for the inauguration. Banners, cameras, local leaders, and a crowd of invited residents filled the space. Minister Pandey’s convoy was expected any minute.
She wore a fitted dark shirt tucked neatly into formal trousers, black sunglasses hiding her eyes, service weapon secured at her hip. Her posture was straight, expression unreadable. To anyone watching she was simply the senior officer in charge of the protective ring.
Inside the approaching car, Minister Pandey looked out at the arranged crowd and the waiting cameras. He had spent the morning giving interviews about development plans, employment, and “listening to the common man.” He had sat on the ground with a group of workers for the photographers, eaten a few bites of the same simple food, and spoken softly about their problems. The image was carefully built: a humble, approachable leader who cared.
He knew it was performance.
The real work of power happened elsewhere—deals, pressures, quiet threats, and the use of people when they became useful. He understood how to look kind while remaining something far colder.
His PA, sitting beside him, cleared his throat.
“Sir, Nisha madam is heading the security arrangement here. She will be in the inner perimeter when you step out.”
Pandey’s mouth curved slightly.
“Is that so?” He kept his voice low. “That day she tried to show attitude. I put an end to it.” A short, private laugh. “She remembers.”
The PA gave a careful nod and said nothing more.
When the car door opened, Pandey stepped out into the sunlight and the waiting cameras. He raised a hand to the crowd, smiled the practiced public smile, and began moving along the marked path. Nisha’s team held their positions. She herself stood a short distance away, sunglasses still in place, scanning the surroundings with professional focus. Their eyes did not meet for long. She gave only the formal acknowledgment required by duty.
For the next hour the Minister performed his role perfectly—cutting the ribbon, speaking about progress, posing with local residents, promising attention to their needs. The cameras recorded a caring leader. The crowd saw what it was meant to see.
Nisha watched from her post, face impassive, the weight of everything she already knew about him sitting behind the dark lenses. The man shaking hands and speaking of development was the same man who had used her husband’s project as leverage, the same man whose name now sat at the centre of the board in her locked room, the same man connected—however indirectly—to the danger surrounding Vidya.
When the event ended and the convoy prepared to leave, Pandey passed close enough for her to hear the low remark he made to his PA, too quiet for the microphones.


Nisha approached minister and make salute.. She is in semi uniform.. And minister asked Nisha how is your husband's work. Is his it project business going smooth? Then she replied yes sir. Now business is going smooth.  Then yes you did great job today. She told Thankyou sir. But you also more beautiful in this dress he saying to her while his eyes randomly watching her big 36 boobs through fabric.. Nisha understand but she got ashamed of his wicked eyes.. He is pervert... Like she thinking... Look Nisha madam in my area no illegal activities does not happens it's your duty. He saying while he adjusting his crotch.. And smiling " this thing can't settle in calm".. She felt shamed and she make her head side.. And turn her head sideway.. And telling am I leave sir.. He told OK by laughing..



She did not react. She simply adjusted her position, spoke a short instruction into her radio, and kept her team in place until the last vehicle had gone.... But after Pandey vehicle went she is in furious high anger towards his comments.. But she try to controlled....


But in car PA asking "" you sir you teaes her very well. She can't see your face properly when you are adjusting your cock'.. Pandey laughs yea PA I will make her shame and humiliate and finally submission and surrender to me.  She is the toughest officer I saw. I saw many officer but she is beautiful and cleaver officer with high arrogance.


But sure one day I will remove her total arrogance and make my personal slut. " . PA laughing and told yes sir on that day you made her cries and moans by fucking her.. I heard her loud moans in my room and runs towards you room then she is in nude and lay on bed unde you..".. This time when you will plan sir to fuck her.?


Minister replies" yes sure but this time I won't fuck her in my bedroom.. But I will fuck her in living room openly and right in front you and our servant gopal.. Yes sir make her loud screams echoed in all your home sir. PAtold. And both laughing....





Nisha drove straight from the inauguration site to her office, the uniform still sharp, the sunglasses still in place. The moment the cabin door closed behind her she dropped into the chair and the controlled face she had worn all morning cracked.
She pressed both hands against her forehead.
Why did I stand there and take it?
He spoke to me like he still owned the quieter part of the conversation. He smiled that same smile. And I answered with protocol. I saluted. I walked away.
I should have said something. I should have made him feel even a fraction of what he has already taken. But the uniform, the cameras, the rules—none of it let me move.
Anger at herself sat heavier than anger at him. She had promised she would not bend again, yet in public she had still given him the clean, professional silence he expected. The self-scolding continued in a low, bitter loop until her phone rang.
One of her team members was on the line, voice tight.
“Madam… Raghu. Hit-and-run. Unknown vehicle. He’s at the government hospital. Critical.”
Nisha was already on her feet.
She reached the hospital in under twenty minutes. Raghu—Sub-Inspector, thirty-two, the most sincere and by-the-book man on her five-member unit—lay in the trauma bay, eyes closed, machines tracking a life that had not yet decided to stay. An unknown vehicle had struck his bike at speed and vanished. No number plate captured. No witnesses willing to speak clearly.
Priya, his wife, sat on the plastic chair outside the operating theatre area, a one-year-old child asleep against her shoulder. She was still feeding the baby when Nisha arrived; the moment she saw the senior officer she broke into open crying, the kind that had no sound left in it, only shaking shoulders and tears that kept coming.
Nisha sat beside her without ceremony.
“Priya. Look at me.” Her voice was low but steady. “I will not leave the people who did this. I will not. You have to hold on for the child and for him.”
Priya could only nod through the tears, eyes fixed on the closed doors of the surgery ward. The doctors had already said the next hours would decide everything—internal bleeding, possible swelling in the brain, a long operation.
When the estimate for the immediate surgical costs was placed in front of them, Nisha did not wait for paperwork or department channels. She made the payment herself, quietly, without discussion. Then she stayed.
Through the night she moved between the corridor and the small waiting area, speaking to every doctor who came out, repeating the same request in different words: do whatever is required, keep him alive, he is one of the few who still does this work cleanly. She brought water for Priya, made her eat a little, held the sleeping child for a stretch so the young mother could press her face into her hands and cry without the baby waking.
At one point, long after midnight, Nisha stood alone near the glass window of the ICU bay and looked at Raghu’s still form. The same man who had never taken a shortcut, who had followed her into the harder arrests without complaint, now fought for each breath under machines. The hit-and-run did not feel random. Not after the pressure her team had put on the network. Not after the Minister’s private smile that morning.
She stayed until the first light came through the hospital windows. Priya finally slept for an hour with her head against the wall, the child still in her arms. Nisha sat awake, phone in hand, already beginning the quiet calls that would start the real search for the vehicle and the people who had ordered it.
The professional tension of the morning, the self-reproach in the cabin, and the sight of a sincere officer lying broken had settled into something colder and more useful than anger.
Someone had tried to send a message.
Nisha intended to answer it....


   

After several hours the surgeons came out with restrained but positive news. The operation had stopped the internal bleeding and reduced the pressure. Raghu had opened his eyes.
He could not speak. One arm and one leg were badly damaged and would need long recovery, possibly further procedures. But he was conscious and could recognise faces.
Priya cried the moment she saw him looking at her. The relief was physical—her shoulders shook as she stood at the side of the bed. Nisha felt the tightness in her own chest ease a little. The man who had ridden into danger without complaint was still there behind the bandages and the machines.
The doctors allowed them a short visit. Nisha and Priya went in together. Raghu’s eyes found Nisha first. Tears welled and ran down into the gauze at his temples. He could not form words, but the look was clear: he knew she was there, and he knew why this had happened.
Priya carefully placed the one-year-old in Nisha’s arms and leaned over the bed, resting her forehead against her husband’s uninjured shoulder. Both of them cried quietly. They were the same age—thirty-two—and the life they had built had just been broken in a single violent moment. From now on Priya would have to care for him the way she cared for their child.
The baby, unsettled by the new arms and the hospital smell, began to cry. Nisha tried to soothe the child, rocking gently and murmuring the half-remembered lullabies she had heard other mothers use. The crying only grew louder.
Priya wiped her face, took the baby back, and turned slightly away for privacy. She unbuttoned her blouse  and and open blouse and draw a left big boob which are 34 size and with full of Milk. . And she seeing towards Nisha _ shall I? But Nisha no problrm please feed kid told. and  Priya moves her boobs nipple attached her nipple to kids mouth.. Kid stops crying enough to feed. The child latched on and the crying stopped almost at once. The small ward was quiet again except for the soft sounds of the monitors and the baby nursing.
Nisha stood a little apart, giving them the moment. She looked at Raghu’s damaged limbs, at Priya’s exhausted but steady face, and at the child now calm against its mother. The hit-and-run had not been random. Someone had wanted to send a message to her team. The message had landed on the most sincere man she had.
She stayed until the nurses asked them to step out so Raghu could rest. In the corridor she spoke quietly to Priya.
“I will handle the costs and the complaints. You only look after him and the child. We will find who did this.”
Priya nodded, still holding the now-sleeping baby. Her eyes were red but clearer than they had been the night before.
Nisha walked out of the hospital into the morning light with the same cold focus she had carried since the inauguration. Raghu was alive. That was the first piece of good news in days. The rest—the vehicle, the order that had sent it, the people who thought a coma would stop her team—would be answered in time...





     

[girrich9486]

After two days




Nisha left the hospital with the image of Raghu’s damaged body still fixed in her mind. The hit-and-run had not been an accident. The speed, the clean escape, the lack of a readable plate—all of it pointed to a professional job meant to cripple her team’s most reliable man.
She called the remaining four members of her unit before she even reached the office.
“Pull every camera within two kilometres of the spot. Private shops, traffic signals, society gates—everything. I want the vehicle, the direction it went, and any face that shows.”
By midday the first fragments arrived.
A grainy traffic camera three hundred metres from the impact point caught a dark SUV with no front number plate. The driver wore a cap pulled low; the passenger side window was tinted almost black. The vehicle did not slow after the collision. It accelerated and turned into a service lane that fed toward the older industrial estate on the east side of the city.
One of her officers, a quiet woman named Meera, cross-checked the lane’s limited cameras. Two more sightings appeared. In the second, a partial side plate became visible for half a second under a street light—mud-smeared, but enough for the last three characters to be read. The number did not match any vehicle registered under ordinary civilian ownership. It belonged to a series of plates that had been flagged years earlier in connection with Tony’s logistics people and then gone quiet.
Nisha sat with the stills spread across her desk.
The same network her team had been cutting into had answered. Raghu had been chosen because he was clean, visible, and close to her. A message written in broken bones.
She added the new photographs to the board in her locked personal room—Tony, Biksh, Minister Pandey, and now the blurred shape of the SUV. Red thread linked the hit-and-run to the earlier arrests and to the pressure that had begun the moment her unit started biting into the real supply lines.
Arjun Malhotra, the rival detective from the central cell, called her that evening.
“I heard about your SI,” he said without greeting. “The vehicle profile matches a pattern we’ve seen in two other cities—same style of plate, same disappearance into industrial zones. Whoever ordered it is not local small-time. They have reach.”
Nisha did not waste words. “Share what you have on the plate series. Quietly.”
He paused only a second. “I’ll send the file. And Nisha—watch your own movement. They have already shown they are willing to put an officer in a coma.”
After the call she sat alone with the growing board. The public Minister who smiled for cameras and spoke of development sat at the centre of the web in her mind. Tony’s rage over the earlier arrests sat beside him. Biksh’s release still did not fit cleanly. And somewhere beyond the photographs,



After thinking some one wantedly doing this to me.. Now the enemy target Raghu. Beacusae he is so close to me and filler me.. Now next who Wil be target. And she made a call to other team mates and make them cautious..

And she thought any information will come so she ready to go Raghu home... Nisha spent the following days tightening the investigation around the hit-and-run, but the questions would not leave her. Raghu had been the one who first connected the early arrests to Biksh’s network. He had been steady, sincere, and close enough to her that the enemy had chosen him first—to weaken the team by removing its most reliable man. If they had already struck once, the next target was an open threat. She needed whatever fragment of memory he still held.
She went to his home in the late afternoon.
Priya opened the door, the one-year-old asleep in a small cradle near the window. The house smelled of simple cooking. Priya’s face looked older than it had in the hospital, but she managed a tired smile and stepped aside.
“Madam, come. Sit. I’ll make coffee.”
Nisha went straight to the bed where Raghu lay. Bandages still covered part of his head and the damaged arm and leg. His eyes were open. When he saw her he gave a small, clear nod of recognition.
She sat on the edge of the chair beside him and kept her voice low.
“Raghu. That day—anything different? Did you notice the SUV before it hit? Colour, direction, anything?”
He could not form words. The injuries had taken speech for now. But his eyes stayed on hers and he moved his head once, deliberately—yes.
“Who?” she asked. “Did you see a face? A plate? Anything that can help us?”
He tried. His mouth opened, the muscles in his neck tightened, but only a rough, broken sound came out. Frustration and pain crossed his face. He managed another small movement of the head, then closed his eyes for a moment, exhausted by the effort.
Priya returned with two cups. Nisha accepted one after a second offer and drank a little so the younger woman would not feel refused. The coffee was strong and sweet. They sat in silence for a short while, the only sounds the soft breathing of the child and the faint traffic outside.
When it was clear Raghu could give nothing more that day, Nisha stood. At the door she turned to Priya.
“I’m sorry this happened. It came because of the work we do. Because of me.”
Priya shook her head quickly. “Please, madam. Don’t say that. He knew the risks. He was proud to work with you.”
Nisha took a folded bundle of notes from her bag and pressed it into Priya’s hands.
“Keep this. Use it for whatever is needed—medicines, the child, anything. If you need more, or if anything feels wrong, call me. Day or night. I will come.”
She hesitated, then added, “Treat me like your sister. Not only as his senior.”
Priya’s eyes filled, but she nodded. “Okay… sister.”
They hugged briefly—two women holding the weight of a broken household between them. Nisha stepped out into the evening, the door closing softly behind her.
She did not know what other eyes were already watching the small house, or what further cost the people who had ordered the hit-and-run might yet decide to extract from the family she had just promised to protect. All she knew was that Raghu had been chosen first to make her weaker, and that the next move from the other side had not yet shown itself.
The investigation would continue. The board in her locked room still waited. And the debt she felt toward the man who could no longer speak, and toward the young wife now carrying everything alone, had only grown heavier..
But poor Nisha don't know what happens with Raghu beautiful wife.  Priya is now take caring to her 1 year kid and as well as her husband Raghu.. She is so beautiful.. But Raghu is Nisha team mate.. So let's wait what they will do to Poor Priya...

....

[girrich9486]

Thankyou pleas give feed back

[girrich9486]

Hot awesome zabardast mind blowing update.....I really liked the plan involving Pandey—the one where Nisha is stripped naked in the living room and fucked in front of her servant, Gopal, and pandey s PA. If you manage to push Nisha to the point where she agrees to this, then, if possible, Gopal and Pandey's PA should also be allowed to play with her body....

Thankyou

[girrich9486]

Nisha

[girrich9486]

Super hot update.. Next I think Priya will be fucked by goons in front of her hubby

Tgankyou

[girrich9486]

Nice update beautiful  narration

Thankyou

[girrich9486]

Thankyou alll

[girrich9486]

After a two days Nisha is concentrating an unexpected accident.. Two days later in Raghu family settled the reality.. And been doing Priya household works and take caring...






Priya was in the middle of the morning’s work when she heard the voices at the door.
“Bhabhi… Bhabhi…”
She tightened the saree around her waist, checked that the baby was still sleeping peacefully in the cradle, and glanced once toward the bed where Raghu lay resting. Then she went to the door.
Two men stood outside. Both looked travel-worn and thirsty. One was darker-skinned and broader; the other taller, with a sharper face. They folded their hands politely.
“Bhabhi, we are coming from the village. There is no shop nearby. Can you give us some water?”
Priya hesitated only a second. They looked ordinary enough, and the request was simple.
“Okay. Wait. I will bring water.”
She adjusted her saree again and went to the kitchen. She took two cold bottles from the fridge and returned to the doorway—only to find the entrance empty. The men were gone.
“Where did you go? I brought the water…” she called, stepping further inside.
No answer came from the front. Then she heard low movement from the bedroom where Raghu lay.
When she reached the doorway she stopped.
Both men were already inside the room. Kaali stood near the foot of the bed; Thakur was closer to the window. Raghu’s eyes were open. He was watching them, but he could not speak or rise. The damaged arm and leg kept him helpless on the mattress.
Priya’s first instinct was fear. She clutched the bottles tighter.
“What are you doing in this room? Please leave.”
Kaali raised both hands in a calming gesture.
“Bhabhi, we mean no harm. We only came for water… but when we saw your husband like this, we thought we should ask if you need any help. Village people help each other.”
Thakur’s voice was quieter.
“We can go if you want. Just the water is enough.”
Priya looked from their faces to Raghu. Her husband’s eyes met hers. There was no panic in them—only the heavy helplessness of a man who could no longer protect his own house. The baby still slept in the cradle. The house was otherwise silent.


She understand nothing happen so she handover bottles..
She set the bottles on the small table.
“You can drink,” she said finally. “Then go.”
Kaali took a bottle, uncapped it, and drank deeply. Thakur did the same. Neither of them moved closer to her. They simply stood in the room, the presence of the injured man on the bed making the air heavy.
After a moment Kaali spoke again, voice low.
While drinking water kaali looking her top to bottom.. Especially the bear stomach... She immediately observed and adjusting her saree her hip area.

The two men exchanged a brief glance. The house remained still except for the soft breathing of the child in the cradle and the faint sound of Raghu’s labored breath on the bed...


Then Kaali told thanks.. And draw a small gun from his small bag.. And it directly kept towards Raghu gun point...


Both are extremely frightened... Priya loudly shout * No... Who are you don't shoot him" please she pleaded them.. But Thakur threaten if you both are not cooperate us. We will finish Raghu.... That warning both shiver wife and husband..

Priya asked what do you want.?

Thakur and kaali told how ever we will take what we want by watching her boobs and hip... She know what they want. But she pleading both please leave us. Already accident happened.
But Thakur told your husband Raghu showing that he is a hero.. To arrest our members he is first one.... Now you will see bastard.. You think you are a hero cop..

Now see how your wife will be scream by our cocks.... Raghu try to stand but he unable... Both laughs...

And kaali gun showing and Thakur coming towards Priya.. Priya body shivering by this unexpected storm....

[girrich9486]

Kaali and Thakur both turned their eyes toward Raghu at the same moment. Their laughter came low and slow, a shared, knowing sound that rolled through the dimly lit room like smoke.
“Poor Raghu…” Kaali purred, the words dripping with mock sympathy. She stepped closer, hips swaying, the thin fabric of her blouse doing little to hide the heavy sway of her breasts. “How is your health now? Are you ready to fight… or are you still finding excuses?”
Raghu sat rigid on the edge of the low wooden cot, bare-chested, the marks of the earlier scuffle still faintly red across his ribs. He didn’t answer. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed somewhere past her shoulder.
Kaali didn’t wait. She closed the last step between them, leaned down until her soft, warm body brushed against his arm, and brought her lips to the shell of his ear. Her breath was hot. The words she whispered were quieter still—slow, filthy, deliberate.
Raghu’s eyes flew wide.
Whatever she had said hit him like a current. His pupils blew open, breath catching hard in his throat. A visible shudder ran down his spine. Kaali stayed there a moment longer, lips still brushing his ear, letting the meaning of her words sink deeper. Then she straightened just enough to look into his stunned face, a small, satisfied smile curling her mouth.
Across the room, Priya stood near the window, arms loosely crossed, watching the exchange with a mixture of wariness and something she refused to name. She hadn’t moved when the two men laughed. She hadn’t spoken when Kaali approached her husband. Her gaze stayed locked on Raghu’s suddenly wide eyes, trying to read what had just been poured into him.
Thakur moved without hurry.
He drifted behind her, silent on the worn floorboards. Priya sensed him only a second before his broad chest pressed flush against her back. One strong arm slid around her waist, pulling her firmly into him. The other hand rose, fingers lightly tracing the side of her neck as he lowered his mouth to her ear.
His whisper was lower than Kaali’s had been—rougher, thicker with intent. The words were few, but they were precise. Explicit. They painted a picture of what was about to happen, of how her body would be used, of how little choice she would have once the night truly began.
Priya’s body went rigid.
Her eyes widened, the same stunned expression that had just claimed her husband’s face. A sharp inhale. The pulse in her throat jumped hard against Thakur’s fingers. Heat flooded her cheeks, then lower, a sudden, traitorous throb between her thighs that made her knees weaken for half a second before she locked them again.










Thakur felt every reaction. His arm tightened around her middle, the hard length of his cock pressing unmistakably against the soft curve of her ass through the thin sari. He didn’t grind—yet. He simply held her there, letting her feel the size of him, the heat of him, while his lips brushed the sensitive skin just below her ear.
“You heard me,” he murmured, voice a dark vibration against her skin. “Nod if you understand.”
Priya’s lips parted. No sound came out. After a long, trembling second she gave the smallest nod.
Across the room Kaali was still watching Raghu’s face, one hand now resting lightly on his bare shoulder, thumb stroking almost absently. She glanced over at the other pair, took in the way Priya’s body had gone taut against Thakur’s, the flush climbing her neck, the way her breathing had changed.
Kaali’s smile widened.
She leaned down to Raghu again, this time speaking just loud enough for the others to catch fragments.
“…and while he takes your wife the way she needs… you’ll watch. Every second. You’ll see how wet she gets for him. You’ll hear the sounds she makes when she’s full. And if you’re very good…” Her hand slid lower, over the tense muscle of his chest, down toward the waistband of his lungi. “…maybe I’ll let you touch me while it happens.”
Raghu’s cock twitched hard beneath the cloth. He couldn’t stop it. Kaali felt the movement against her thigh where she had half-straddled his leg and gave a soft, delighted laugh.
Thakur’s hand on Priya’s waist slipped lower, palm spreading over the soft mound of her lower belly, fingers splaying possessively. His other hand left her neck and found the edge of her blouse, tugging the fabric just enough to bare one shoulder. His mouth followed, open and hot, teeth grazing the skin he exposed.
Priya’s head tipped back against his shoulder despite herself. A tiny, helpless sound escaped her throat.
Kaali’s eyes glittered. She straightened fully, turning so both men—and the woman trapped against Thakur—could see her clearly. Slowly, deliberately, she began to untie the knot of her own blouse.
“The night is still young,” she said, voice husky. “And none of us are leaving this room until everyone has been thoroughly… reminded of their place.”
Thakur’s hips finally rolled once, slow and heavy, grinding the thick ridge of his cock against the cleft of Priya’s ass. She gasped, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
Raghu’s hands clenched into fists on his thighs......



Thakur’s hands moved with deliberate, unhurried precision.
From behind, his thick fingers found the loose corner of Priya’s saree where it was tucked at her waist. He didn’t yank. He simply closed his grip around the soft fabric and began to pull—slow, steady, relentless. The cloth whispered as it slid free from the neat fold at her hip. Inch by inch the long length of the saree began to unwind.
Priya’s body jolted.
A sharp thrill raced through her at the first deliberate tug, followed instantly by a deeper shock. Her eyes flew wide. She felt the fabric loosening, felt the cool air begin to touch skin that had been covered only moments before. Her breath caught hard in her throat. She knew exactly what he was doing… and she knew she was not going to stop him.
She stood perfectly still.
Obedient.
Silent.
Only the fine, continuous shiver running through her limbs betrayed how strongly her body reacted. Her bare feet stayed planted on the floor. Her arms remained at her sides even as the saree continued its slow, intimate journey off her frame. Tears of helpless arousal and shame gathered at the corners of her eyes, welling slowly, glittering in the low light. She blinked them back, but more came, sliding down her flushed cheeks without a sound.
Thakur worked methodically.
His left arm stayed locked around her waist, holding her firmly against the hard wall of his chest so she could feel every thick inch of his cock pressing into the soft curve of her ass. His right hand kept pulling. The saree slid across her stomach, across the swell of her hips, then around her thighs. Each new length of cloth that came free revealed more of the thin petticoat beneath. The soft fabric whispered against her skin as it left her body, a long, continuous caress that made her nipples tighten painfully inside her blouse.
Raghu watched from the cot, Kaali still straddling his lap, both of them silent now, eyes fixed on the slow striptease happening a few feet away.
The last few feet of the saree slid free.
Thakur gave one final, almost gentle tug. The entire length of the garment pooled at Priya’s feet in a soft, colorful heap. She stood there in only her blouse and the tight petticoat that clung to her hips and thighs, the thin cotton outlining the full, round shape of her ass and the soft mound between her legs. The petticoat was already damp at the center where her cunt had begun to wet itself. Her blouse, slightly askew from his earlier touches, strained across her heavy breasts; the dark circles of her nipples were clearly visible through the fabric.
She looked devastatingly hot.
Vulnerable. Exposed. Trembling.
Thakur’s hands returned to her body at once. One broad palm slid up her bare midriff, fingers spreading possessively over the soft skin just beneath her blouse. The other hand gripped the waistband of her petticoat, testing the drawstring. His mouth lowered to the side of her neck again, open and hot.
“Good girl,” he murmured against her skin, voice rough with approval. “Standing so still while I undress you… even with tears in your eyes.”
Priya’s only answer was a tiny, broken sound—half sob, half moan—as another shiver wracked her frame. Her eyes stayed locked forward, fixed on her husband and the nearly naked woman in his lap, while Thakur’s fingers slowly began to work the knot of her petticoat drawstring.
The day was far from over.

[girrich9486]

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