Chapter 51: thieves pounded her instead of plundering part- 1
Her hips pushed back against his hand of their own volition, a silent plea for more. "That's it," he encouraged, his other hand stroking her back. "You're taking it so well. You were made for this."
He added a second finger, the stretch becoming a breathtaking burn that teetered on the edge of pain before blossoming into a deep, resonating pleasure that seemed to radiate through her entire part.
Actually she got opened it up before with others like Kondesh. Still this part is quite tight even after so long. It is meant to be tight. She was mewling now, incoherent sounds of need falling from her lips with every tiny movement of his hand.
The sensation was overwhelming, too much and not enough all at once. He was claiming every part of her, leaving no inch untouched, unexplored and un-devoured. He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, his mouth near her ear.
"You feel that?" he whispered, his voice ragged with his own renewed arousal. He was hard again, his erection pressing against her thigh.
"That's me, marking you. You'll feel this tomorrow. You'll feel me when you walk. When you sit, you will remember exactly how full I made you."
He crooked his fingers inside her, pressing against a spot that made her whole body tense and a guttural, broken scream tear from her throat. A third, devastating climax seized her, ripping through her with the force of a typhoon.
It was a climax of total surrender, of being utterly and completely possessed. Her vision became white out as her body trembled around his invading fingers. When she came back to herself, she was trembling, boneless, her face damp with tears she hadn't realized she'd shed.
Wilson slowly, carefully, withdrew his fingers, and the sudden emptiness was its own profound sensation. He smoothed a hand over her hip, a gesture that was almost soothing. He stood up, and she heard the soft rustle of his clothes as he dressed.
Kamini couldn't move. She could only lie there, shattered, feeling the cool air on her damp skin, feeling the deep, satisfying ache between her legs and the newer, more secret throbbing from behind. The room smelled of pleasure, of them.
She heard him walk to the door. The latch clicked open. He paused. "I'll be watching," his voice was a low promise from the doorway. Kamini saw him leave and felt exhausted. She went to wash up quickly and ate something she brought back before.
Then she decided to rest as she was once again exhausted with men playing with her and reaching so many climaxes. So she rested early right around the evening. She did not expect that there would be a special surprise for her at night as she forgot to lock her doors.
The floorboard in the hallway, the one Suresh was always meaning to fix, let out a low, mournful creak. It was a sound just alien enough to the quiet, empty house to pull Kamini from the deep, satisfied slumber she'd fallen into.
Her consciousness surfaced slowly, like rising through warm, thick honey. Her body ached in the most delightful way, a symphony of pleasant soreness from her encounter with Wilson just hours before. She sighed, snuggling deeper into the pillow, not yet fully awake.
Then another creak, closer this time, it is followed by a hushed, rough whisper. "Nothing… it is just cheap junk." Her eyes fluttered open. The bedroom door was ajar, a sliver of dim light from the hallway cutting across the floor.
Two dark shapes moved there, hulking and out of place. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, terrified drum… Thieves…. She froze, the instinct to scream trapped in her throat. But then… a different feeling uncoiled deep within her.
It is a treacherous but thrilling heat that bloomed right beside the fear about thieves. Wilson had been… adequate. It is a necessary release. But this… this was dangerous and thrilling. This was new.
She kept her breathing even, feigning sleep, peering through barely open lashes. The two men crept into the room. They were young, wiry, dressed in dark, shabby clothes. Their eyes, wide with avarice, scanned the room, dismissing Suresh's meager possessions with sneers.
Then their gaze fell on the bed. It is on her. The air changed. The intent to steal evaporated, replaced by a heavy, palpable hunger. Kamini felt their stares like a physical touch, skating over the single layer of silk saree that was all she wore.
The thin material did little to hide the generous curve of her hip, the deep dip of her waist, or the way her full melons strained against the fabric with each measured breath she took. "Forget the money, Ravi," the taller one muttered, his voice choked.
"Look at that."
"Holy cow…" the other, Ravi, breathed out. They moved closer, their shadows falling over her. Kamini chose that moment to "wake up." She gasped, a small, frightened sound, and jerked upright, pulling the thin sheet to her chest in a performance of perfect, naive alarm.
The movement made the silk of her saree pull taut across her bust, outlining the heavy, pendulous weight of her melons, the prominent points of her cherries pressing against the fabric.
"W-who are you?" she whispered, her voice trembling with a fear she no longer truly felt. "Please… don't hurt me." The men exchanged a glance, their initial shock replaced by a predatory gleam. The tall one, the leader, took a step forward.
"We're not going to hurt you," he said, though the promise in his eyes was of a different kind of violation. "We just… got lost." Kamini let her lower lip quiver, looking every inch the innocent, terrified new bride.
She subtly shifted, allowing the sheet to slip just an inch, revealing a hint of the smooth, dusky skin of her cleavage. "My… my husband isn't home," she said, the words a blatant invitation disguised as a warning.
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