Next Morning – Family Pooja, Sasural Garden Mandir

Riya wore a red chiffon saree, blouse backless and tight. Her husband sat beside her, uninterested as always. But Aarav—seated diagonally behind—kept staring. Her bare back. The sway of her hips when she stood. The tiny drops of sweat on her neck.

When everyone bent down for aarti, Aarav leaned close and whispered, “Peeche waale mandir mein mil mujhe… 5 minute mein.”

Her breath caught. She looked around. Everyone was busy with bhajans. She slipped away.

Behind the smaller mandir, hidden by banana leaves, she waited. Heart pounding.

Aarav appeared, eyes wild. “Sahi time pe aayi ho bhabhi… neeche check kiya kya?”

She lifted her saree. No panties. Just wet, smooth skin.

He growled.

“Mujhe paap ka darr nahi lagta jab tu aise milti hai bhabhi… sirf tujhe chodne ka junoon hota hai.”

He pinned her against the mandir wall, pulled her pallu aside, biting her collarbone hard. Her moan was breathy.

His hand snaked between her thighs. “Tu toh already ready hai… sasural mein sabse gandi wali ban gayi na meri.”

She nodded desperately. “Chodo mujhe… le lo yahin pe… sab sunte rahein mujhe chhilte hue… mujhe farak nahi.”

He slid two fingers inside her, slow at first—then brutal.

She gasped, biting his shoulder.

“Ssshhh… chup kar bhabhi… warna panditji tujhe le jaayenge…”

He unzipped his pants, pulled out his rock-hard length and teased her slit with it.

“Aaj tere dusre raaste ka bhi swaad lunga.”

Before she could protest, he spit on his fingers, lubed her tight back hole, and pushed just the tip in. She whimpered—half pain, full pleasure.

“Aarav… aahhh… peeche se… kya kar rahe ho…?”

“Chup. Sasural ki pativrata bhabhi ko devar pichwade se chodne wala hai… yaad rahega zindagi bhar.”

He started thrusting, slowly at first—stretching her—then deeper, faster. Her nails scraped the wall.

Sanskrit mantras echoed from the pooja room while Aarav ravaged her from behind.

He grunted, "Kya tu har roz pooja ke time pichwade dilaayegi?"

“Haan… jab tak tum mujhme girte rahoge… main pavitra feel karti hoon.”

His thrusts became erratic. He pulled her hair, making her look into his eyes.

“Bol kaun chhod raha hai tujhe?”

“Mera devar… mera papi… mera devta.”

They both came hard—together, shaking, breathing against each other’s mouths.

He tucked himself back. She fixed her saree, face flushed, thighs trembling.

“Ab jao bhabhi… prasad baantna hoga…”