The Mas of Desire

9.1: The Husband's Joy

Hyderabad's dawn crept through the curtains, a pale gold slicing the bedroom's humid haze--Madhuri stirring slow, her naked body tangled in the sheets, her body glistening with dried sweat, her thighs aching from last night's wild ruin.

Ramesh snored beside her, stripped bare--his limp frame a cruel prop in Ishaan's game--his arm flopped over her, heavy, clueless. Her blindfold lay crumpled on the floor, her wrists still red from the cuffs, her pussy throbbing--spent, sore, dripping with the memory of Ishaan's cock.

"What have I done?" she whispered, voice raw--shame crashing, lust smoldering--her juicy lips trembling, her brown eyes blinking open, catching Ramesh's peaceful face.

She slid from his grip--slow, shaky--her thick ass brushing the sheets, her boobs swaying as she sat up, her mind flashing: Ishaan's thrusts, his spanks, her climax shattering her.

"He... fucked me," she murmured, guilt clawing, her pussy pulsing despite her dread. The clock read 8 AM and she stood, wobbly, grabbing a robe--thin, silk, barely covering her curves--slipping it on, her nipples stiffening against the fabric, her shame a wildfire she couldn't douse.

"I wasn't even drunk, How will I face him now?" she gasped, stepping to the mirror--her reflection: messy hair, flushed cheeks, a woman undone--her abyss staring back, raw and wild.

The door creaked open and she looked downstairs, spotting Ishaan--and her breath hitched. Her shame spiking as she stepped down, robe swishing, her legs trembling with every step.

The living room glowed dim, Ishaan leaning against the counter, black tee tight over his abs, jeans hugging his bulge, sipping coffee like he owned the place.

"Morning, aunty," he grinned, slow, wild--his deep eyes piercing her, wilder than ever, tracing her robe--her curves screaming, her nipples poking through--her knees quaking--He knows everything--her volcano flaring, dark and unstoppable.

"Ishaan... where were you last night?" she stammered, voice low--acting, trembling--her juicy lips parted, her shame burning her cheeks.

He stepped closer, his scent washing over her, sweat and spice, reminding her flashes of the act, his grin widening.

"Couldn't sleep last night Aunty. Heard some loud moans through the door," he purred, slow, seductive--oozing passion--his eyes flicking to her robe, her thick ass shaping as she shifted.

Her heart slammed, "He's teasing me raw," her pussy gushing, her guilt a whisper she ignored.

"I'm sorry... We... We were watching a cricket match, and I.. I was cheering. That's all" she murmured, weak, her boobs begging beneath the silk.

"Really? Aunty, but it sounded like he fucked you like there's no tomorrow," he growled, low--wild, dark--stepping nearer, his bulge brushing her hip.

Her breath catching, a soft "Ohh" slipping free--"How's he talking to me like this,"--her pussy aching, her shame crashing wild.

"Shh! Stop it, I... don't remember much," she lied, eyes down, turning away to flee--her thick thighs trembling with embarrassment, her robe no shield against his heat.

Ramesh's footsteps thudded--slow, groggy--and she froze--He's up--turning quick, her robe swishing, her shame spiking as he shuffled in, boxers loose, hair mussed, grinning wide.

"Madhuri! Morning, How was last night?" he chuckled, voice rough, his eyes bright, oblivious.

Ishaan smirked behind her. "Ramesh, you were... drunk," she mumbled, acting to hide it, her wild night a secret burning her soul.

"Drunk? But I heard Ishaan saying something else," he laughed, clapping Ishaan's shoulder--her heart slamming nervously. "Don't be embarrassed my love, he is the one to plan it," he said happily, and her abyss swallowed her whole, raw and wild.

The city's morning light, a hazy gold spilling over Madhuri's trembling form--her robe clinging her, her thick thighs quaking as she stood between Ramesh and Ishaan, her pussy still sore, her shame a wildfire beneath her skin.

Ramesh beamed--wide, clueless--his boxers sagging, his sharp jaw lifted with a pride she hadn't seen in years. "Madhuri, Ishaan's a genius--the blindfold trick worked, right?" he grinned, voice rough--excited, drunk on false victory.

His hand brushing her waist, pulling her close. "You... happy?" she murmured, slow--acting, breaking--her juicy lips trembling, her brown eyes darting to Ishaan--He's watching--her volcano smoldering, dark and wild.

"Happy? Baby, I couldn't recall anything, but I heard you, moaning loud. Thought I'd never satisfy you again," he chuckled, hugging her--his touch soft and weak, nothing like Ishaan's rough, wild touch.

"If anything, we own it to Ishaan!" he added, turning to Ishaan--grateful and blind, thanking him.

Ishaan leaned back, coffee in hand, his deep eyes glinting. "Told you, uncle--Kinks always work. Aunty sounded... wrecked," he purred, slow, his gaze tracing her robe, her nipples stiffening, her crave surging despite her dread.

Ramesh laughed, kissing her cheek--soft, innocent. Her stomach dropped, "He thinks it's him,"

"What'd I do to you darling?" Ramesh grinned, eager with pride, her heart sinking with guilt.

Ishaan stepped closer, "Yeah, aunty--tell him. Sounded like so much happened--what'd he do?" he asked, pushing her, spiking her wild.

"Um.. Ramesh, you... blindfolded me, touched me, it was wild." she mumbled, vague, her lips quivering, her mind flashing Ishaan's cock.

"Wild? Damn, Ishaan--you're right, it worked!" Ramesh laughed, hugging her tighter.

"Tell me more, baby--what'd I do?" Ramesh pressed, eyes bright with manly pride, craving her affirmation.

"Um, honey..." Madhuri hesitated, glancing at Ishaan with a shy look, signaling her discomfort. Ramesh gently reassured her, "Forget him, darling, it's just you and me--let me hear it."

"You... took me, deep--and made me scream," she whispered, slow, her shame burning, her crave lingering dark.

"Wow, Looks like I'm back!" he cheered, kissing her again. Her stomach twitched, "He's lost in it."

"Back? Uncle, you're a king. Aunty's glowing," Ishaan growled, low, wild, his hand brushing her arm, slow, tingling her skin.

Abhi trudged down--lanky, sullen--his eyes flickering. "Morning mom," he mumbled, nervous, pretending to be oblivious of the previous night.

She pulled away, her robe swishing, her boobs swaying, "Morning, sweetie," she greeted back, soft, her eyes down on the floor, mind locked on Ishaan.

"Ramesh is totally blind," she thought, "I... need to get ready, Ramesh, Getting late." she mumbled, fleeing, escaping them.

Ishaan's grin burning her back--raw, wild--her abyss deepening with every step.

Ramesh nodded, giddy-- oblivious--turning to Ishaan. "Thanks, my boy. Now, keep this a secret from Abhi," he said, clapping his shoulder, her shame a wildfire she couldn't outrun as she slipped away, trembling, undone.

Monday's afternoon sun blazed through the office windows, but Madhuri barely felt it--her corporate desk a prison, her silk blouse clinging her, her legs trembling beneath her pencil skirt as she stared blankly at her laptop. The wild night a secret choking her breath.

"This needs to stop, I can't keep doing this. Can't cheat Ramesh, not anymore." she whispered, voice trembling--shame crashing, crave smoldering.

The day dragged with meetings and emails until dusk settled, and she drove back.

The house glowed warm with Ramesh waiting, his sharp jaw lifted, his boxers swapped for a kurta, his grin wide and welcomed her as she stepped in.

The bedroom loomed after the dinner--sheets still rumpled, her blindfold on the floor, the air thick with last night's sin. Ramesh shut the door, turning to her--eager, blind--his hands brushing her hips, pulling her to the bed.

"Madhuri, I... don't remember anything--tell me, what'd I do?" he murmured, voice rough--excited, desperate--his eyes bright, her stomach dropping--He's lost in it--her pussy gushing, her shame crashing raw.

Looking into his eye, "Honey, you satisfied me, completely. I'm very proud of you." she lied, a secret burning her skin.

"Never thought I'd hear this again babe, love you, Madhuri," he purred, blind, kissing her forehead. Her shame a whispered beneath her pretense, both fell asleep, yet without any action.

Her phone buzzed--DevilzMask--her heart slamming. "Why's he texting me now?"

"Are you avoiding me, Madhuri?" the text read, her breath catching

"Please leave me, my husband's back home," she typed, shaky.

"Oh, busy with the old man, huh? Or should I say, the young man," he replied, her shame burning, "How does he know all this?"

"I'm... sorry, can't text you, good night." she typed, trying to get rid of difficulties.

"You're mine Madhuri, don't ignore me," he fired back.

"I have to sleep now," she typed, text to escape him.

He didn't reply, her thick ass sinking into the bed, Ramesh snored, her abyss swallowing her raw as she drifted, trembling, into a restless sleep.

9.2: The Cooking Lesson

Tuesday morning shimmered with a lazy, golden heat. Madhuri slid from the bed, her mind flashing the image of Ishaan she saw in the mirror stretching her, "I dont even know if I should scold or praise Abhi for bringing Ishaan in," she gasped, stepping to the mirror, tousled hair, flushed cheeks, a woman reborn.

Downstairs, the kitchen hummed--filter coffee brewing, its bitter aroma grounding her as she slipped into a yellow saree, her pallu slipping low--ready for work, but not for Ramesh.

He shuffled in, yawning--his kurta rumpled, his grin soft, "Morning sweetheart, I don't wanna get drunk again," he murmured, pouring coffee, his voice rough, earnest.

"Why dear?" she asked.

"Last time, I heard you scream, but the vision.. it's all blur," he chuckled, sipping slow, his eyes bright, oblivious.

"It's always better to steer clear of those habits, Ramesh, I'm glad," she mumbled, vague.

The doorbell chimed--Ishaan--and her knees quaked. He sauntered in, his deep eyes glinting--fresh, intense, a predator in casual skin.

"Morning, aunty--damn, that saree's a fever dream, save it for holi tomorrow," he purred, voice low.

She gasped "Uhm.. Ishaan--cough--thanks, come," she stammered, her crave surging wild.

Ramesh clapped his shoulder, grinning, blind--still high on his false triumph. "Ishaan, Coffee? Thanks again--your idea's keeping us alive," he chuckled.

"Anytime, uncle--but aunty's the real spark here," Ishaan growled, sitting next to her husband, his eyes piercing her, her shame fading, her crave roaring for him to go further.

The kitchen was alive that evening with the sizzle of oil and the sharp tang of spices--Madhuri's saree swapped for a thin kurti and leggings after work.

Ramesh lounged in the living room--sober, flipping channels and the doorbell chimed, Ishaan sauntered in, striding into the kitchen--carrying a bag of groceries, his grin slow, predatory.

"Aunty, I got a treat for all the dishes you made, I'm going to teach you a special recipe tonight," he purred, voice seductive--dripping with passion.

"Recipe?" she asked, acting innocent, weak--her thick thighs trembling, her kurti no shield against his stare.

He stepped closer, dumping the bag on the counter, pulling out a skimpy apron--red, barely-there, lace-trimmed--his grin widening. "Put this on, aunty--its going to get messy," he growled, handing it over, his fingers daringly brushing hers.

Catching her breath, "Umm... okay," she murmured, slipping the apron on, the kurti beneath clinging tight.

Ramesh called from the couch, "I'm hungry honey--what's cooking for dinner?" his voice rough.

"Something spicy, uncle, showing my special recipe to Aunty," Ishaan shouted back, smirking, his eyes locked on her, peeling her with every glance.

"He's playing us all," she thought, her wild love story with a young boy twisting deeper.

Abhi trudged in--lanky, sullen, "Abhi, make yourself useful, peel these onions" Ishaan ordered, tossing him a bag--sharp, dismissive, sidelining him,

Abhi's cuckold thrill warring with a new, angry edge and his jaw tightened, his hands fumbling, frustrated, trapped.

Ishaan stepped behind her--sudden, bold--his chest pressing into her back--hot, hard--his bulge brushing her thick ass through his jeans.

Her breath hitched, "Oh no, what's he doing?"

"Let me guide you, aunty--hands like yours need a master's touch," he said next to her ear, voice low, fresh and intense--his hand sliding to her waist, possessive, his other gripping her wrist, guiding it to stir.

His fingers pressed her waist, his breath hot on her neck, his body molding to hers--slow, sensual--his hand steering hers over the pan, cumin popping, oil hissing--her knees trembling, her boobs aching beneath the apron.

"Felt the heat, aunty? the dish is begging to be tasted," he growled, low. His lips grazing her ear, his bulge grinding subtle.

"Umm.. yeah.." she murmured, hiding her desire, "He's teaching me how to cook?" she thought, her kurti soaked with sweat.

Abhi's knife slipped cutting onions--his eyes red, teary--angry--his voice sharp, "I... can't do this," he muttered, frustration boiling. He wants his mom too, especially after watching her the previous day, but he doesnt know her wild love story twisting dark.

"Eyes on the knife, bro," Ishaan taunted, his hand tightening on her waist, his fingers brushing her hip--raw, possessive, her breath catching

Ramesh yelled again--"Smells good, Madhu--don't burn it!" his voice rough, while her ass subtly grinding him back.

"Don't worry, uncle--aunty's too delicious to ruin," Ishaan said, loud--slow, seductive, his hand sliding lower--teasing her hip, her abyss swallowing her whole as his bold, passionate game burned brighter, raw and wild.

"Ow!" Abhi yelped, dropping the knife with a clatter. Blood beaded on his finger, a small cut from the onion he'd been clumsily chopping. His face twisted in pain, eyes watering as he clutched his hand.

Ishaan stepped back from Madhuri, his smirk instant, predatory. "Come on, Abhi, can't even chop an onion without crying like a kid?" His voice dripped with mockery, loud enough to carry to Ramesh in the next room.

Madhuri's maternal instincts kicked in, overriding the heat still simmering in her core. She spun around, her eyes narrowing at Ishaan. "Stop mocking him, Ishaan."

She knelt beside Abhi, grabbing a cloth to press against his finger. "Let me see, sweetie. It's okay, just a small cut."

But Ishaan's eyes never left her, and the kitchen felt smaller, the night air heavier, pulling her deeper into his web.

9.3: The Holi Hangover

Wednesday morning burst into a frenzy of color and chaos, the colony streets pulsing with laughter, drums, and the sharp sting of gulal.

Madhuri's bedroom was a quiet sanctuary in contrast, her white kurti hugging her, with beneath loose palazzo pants as she brushed her hair.

Her body still buzzed from Ishaan's kitchen tease last night, his bold touch lingering like a brand on her skin.

Ramesh bustled in, his bright kurta framing his sharp jaw, his grin wide and sober, eager for the festival. His touch, once a spark, now felt like a duty she performed, hollow and rote. "Are you ready for Holi, Honey?"

"I'm not coming out," she murmured, her voice soft, uninterested, her juicy lips parting, her brown eyes dull.

Abhi bounded in, restless, his tee already streaked with red gulal, "Mom, Dad, come on--the whole colony's celebrating colours!" His voice was sharp, insistent, pushing her.

"I'm... not in the mood, sweetie, you carry on," she sighed, playing the part, her mind on Ishaan, her flame.

The doorbell rang, and her pulse spiked. Ishaan swaggered in, his white tee clinging to his chiseled abs, shorts slung low, a bucket of colored water in hand. His deep eyes glinted with a fresh, wicked spark--gorgeous, predatory, a hunter in festive skin.

"Aunty, why aren't you ready yet? Don't make me splash you with my colors on the couch," he said, his voice dripping with raw passion.

Her nipples stiffened, her pussy pulsing, shame crashing as her volcano roared. "Holi? with me?" she stammered, feigning innocence.

"Yeah, aunty--gotta spend some time with the family, it'll be fun" he grinned, his tone intense.

Ramesh seconded, blind to the undercurrent, thrilled. "Glad to have you Ishaan, You're bringing us together again!" he chuckled, his voice rough but warm.

"Alright, lets head out then," she murmured, playing along, her kurti pristine.

All four arrived at the bustling colony square, where vibrant crowds joyfully hurled colorful powders at one another, reveling in the spirited chaos of Holi. Laughter and music filled the air as neighbors danced, their clothes stained with bright hues of color.

"Let's start, Madhuri!" Ramesh grabbed a handful of red gulal, smearing it across her cheeks and neck, his touch soft, joyful. Her heart sank--"He's so happy,"--she forced a smile, dipping her hands in blue powder, streaking his face. His laugh was loud, pure, and her guilt spiked.

"Enjoy, baby--I'll go mingle!" Ramesh beamed, darting out to join the crowd, leaving her with Ishaan. Her breath caught, her kurti clinging, her crave surging wild.

The colony roared outside--crowds, colors, chaos--and Ishaan stepped closer, his bucket sloshing, his grin wicked. "Aunty, white's too pure. I'm gonna paint you like a canvas I'd lick clean," he growled, his voice raw, oozing fresh passion.

He "accidentally" tipped the bucket, purple water splashing her kurti, soaking her chest. Her boobs were outlined, nipples hard, the wet fabric became see-through.

"Ishaan... what's this?" she gasped, feigning shock.

"Oops, aunty--slipped. But damn, you're a vision, wet and wild, a sin I'd drown in," he purred, his eyes devouring her.

Her breath hitched, her crave surging, liking it, wanting him closer. The crowd surged--uncles, aunties, kids--pushing them together.

His chest slammed into her back, hot and hard, his bulge rubbing her ass "unavoidably," slow and sensual. Her knees quaked--"He's hard?"--her pussy throbbed, shame fading wild.

"Careful, aunty--don't wanna lose you in this mess," he growled, his voice raw, possessive, his hands "steadying" her waist, firm and commanding.

Abhi tossed colors nearby, yellow and cyan, laughing, clueless.

Uncles leered, paunchy and gulal-smeared, muttering, "Looking hotter than the sun," their eyes on her wet kurti.

Her shame burned, "Ishaan... people are watching," she murmured, acting, hiding her thrill, her juicy lips trembling, kurti soaked.

"Let 'em watch, aunty--you're a queen in this chaos," he purred, his bulge grinding harder, raw and intense.

Madhuri's chest heaved, her wet kurti clinging like a second skin, her nipples betraying her through the thin fabric. Ishaan's hands lingered on her waist, his fingers brushing just above her palazzo's waistband, teasing the soft skin there.

Her body screamed for him, but her mind clung to the fraying thread of restraint. "Ishaan, maybe.. we should join the others," she said, her voice shaky, a weak attempt to pull back from the edge.

"Join them?" He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear, voice a low growl. "Aunty, you're the only festival I'm celebrating today." His fingers tightened, possessive, sending a jolt straight to her core.

"What?" she gasped, startled.

The crowd pressed in again, bodies bumping, colors flying. A stranger's abrupt nudge felt nearly intentional, yanking her kurti top by "accident," tearing the back.

She raised her arm, ready to snap furiously, but an uncle, pot-bellied and chuckling, approached from behind, "Madhuri, you're stealing the show!" he slurred, tossing green powder that caught in her hair.