Gaurav didn't move fast.
He never did.
Power wasn't in speed—it was in stillness. In control. In knowing when to *strike.*
So when Mrs. Singh slipped toward the washroom corridor—red silk radar dress clinging to every curve like worship—he waited.
Watched Avni.
Her innocent eyes.
Lips slightly parted as she laughed at something her sister said.
He *ached.*
But not with lust.
With possession.
> *"She is mine."*
That truth settled deep—clean, final. Not because of arrangement, not because of business—but because his soul had recognized hers in silence.
And yet…
Another hunger stirred—one he no longer denied, only directed:
> He would claim all who desired him…
> …but *only Avni* would own his heart
---
🔹 **Washroom Corridor – Midnight Red Light**
The hallway was dim—a single spotlight above the restrooms casting shadows like secrets trying to hide. Then he saw her: Mrs. Singh pressed against the wall, breathing uneven, back arched slightly as if bracing for impact she knew was coming.
She trembled when he stepped near.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Like two predators meeting without claws drawn—
Then—
"Why?" Gaurav asked softly—voice low velvet wrapped around steel—"You're betraying your husband… because of my size?"
Her breath caught.
Head down at first… then lifted slowly,
Eyes glistening—not with shame,
But release
"Yes…" she whispered hoarsely.* "Not just big... but yours…"
*"It's just like* ***his***..."
A tear slipped free—not from guilt,* from grief.*
"My husband and I… we haven't touched in months."
"He works late."
"I lie awake feeling empty."
"And tonight… seeing you beside my daughter…"
She turned fully now,
Facing him,
Voice dropping raw and hot:
"I don't want you because you're young."
"I want you…"
"Because for the first time in years…"
**"I see my husband standing before me again—and it breaks me open."**
Gaurav pushed Mrs. Singh into the private restroom—gold-plated door clicking shut behind him, lock sliding with a *snap* that sealed fate.
No words.
He turned her fast—back against mirror, red dress shoved up over wide hips. Her black lace panties were already soaked through—he tore them aside with one sharp tug.
> "Ah!" she gasped, thighs trembling.
He didn't wait.
Unzipped.
Pulled his cock free—**seven inches thick**, rigid and veined, tip glistening wet at the crown.
No tease.
Just lined up tight heat pulsing open waiting and slammed in **deep** on one brutal thrust.
> "Ahhhhhhmmm!!!"
She screamed into his shoulder—muffled, wild—a sound ripped from deep inside.
Tight walls clamped around him like a vice,* hot,* gripping every inch of thick shaft as he buried himself to the base
"Too… big…" she whimpered.* "So full…"
But he didn't stop.
Hips snapped forward again **harder** — then faster — pistoning deep strokes that made her ass slap against tile wall with each pound
> *"Ah! Ah! Ahhhhmm!!"*
Each thrust dragged a new moan from her throat—long,* broken cries that rose higher as pace increased
She was drenched inside — slick heat flooding around thick cock stretching her perfectly — same size as her husband's but
Different feel. *New.*
Different *pleasure.*...
After the intensity of their initial intimacy, this moment takes us back to the present—in a quieter, private scene between Mrs Singh and Gaurav. Their physical connection has deepened, but the situation is far from simple. As they find themselves alone, the weight of their actions hangs between them. Here it is:
Mrs. Singh stood facing Gaurav, her eyes fixed on his. There was an air of vulnerability and intimacy between them. "Gaurav," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I…. I should go."
Gaurav's gaze held hers, intense and unreadable.
"Wait."
He took a step closer, closing the distance between them.
"There's something I need to ask."
Mrs Singh's breath caught in her throat, anticipation filling the air. "What is it?"
"This ... what happened between us," Gaurav began, his voice low. "It can't happen again."
Mrs Singh's expression flickered, a mix of disappointment and understanding. "I know."
"Then why—"
"Because I *want* it to happen again," he interrupted, voice rough.
A beat of silence.
Then she dropped to her knees.
Not slowly.
Not seductively.
*Fast.*
Like she'd been waiting for this moment since the first time his cock filled her mouth in secret shadows of memory no one saw but God and lust-driven cameras eyes closed hands tied metaphor soul untied raw exposed hunger truth
Her fingers wrapped thick base firm grip thumb pressing underside sensitive ridge made him inhale sharp like blade cutting air lung stop function survival instinct kick in fight flight fuck choice clear now
She opened wide — lips stretched — and took him deep
**Down. To. The. Root.**
> "Ahhhh!!" he groaned — low,* guttural,* primal sound from chest not throat
No gag.
No pull back.
Just smooth glide until full seven inches buried in hot wet heaven suction building pressure coiled tight lower abdomen balls drawing up already close too fast never felt this way before control slipping heartbeat drumming ear roar blood flood pulse point wrist neck temple spine cock yes *right there* deeper suck swirl tongue flat press bottom thick vein pumping pulse matching rhythm hand twisting base slide forward mouth backward dual motion perfect fucking torture pleasure pain edge cracked open screaming silent cry god name unknown language spoken only during peak seconds before eruption
She bobbed faster — cheeks hollowing — eyes shut as moans vibrated around shaft humming pleasure straight into nerve endings that screamed **NOW NOW NOW**
And then—
He came.
Hard.
> "Ah! Ah! F-Fuck!!"
Thick jet after jet pulsed down her throat—hot, endless, flooding—
One splash hit inner cheek,
One coated tongue,
One slipped out corner lip trailing chin neck cleavage valley soft breast above dress line mark ownership claim made without words needed none understood ancient ritual female accepts male essence receives power feeds life even betrayal tastes like devotion here now sacred mess sacred mess sacred place private world birth sin pleasure same face
She swallowed most—throat working fast—but let a little drip slow trail down chin on purpose
Proof.
Evidence.
*A trophy.*
Still on knees.
Eyes looking up at him—half-lidded,* swollen lips glistening,* chest rising fast under red silk
He looked down—not with shame,
With possession
"Next time," he said darkly, zipping up,** "you won't wait for me to ask."