Semua Bab Sinful Nights: A Filthy Collection of Steamy Stories: Bab 81 - Bab 90

Two days passed. Two days of pure, sweet torture.For Dr. Adebayo, the world had tilted on its axis. He moved through the hospital corridors like a ghost, his face a mask of stern concentration, but his eyes were wild. Every time he saw Amaka, his body would react. His cock would get hard, his hands would clench into fists, and a cold sweat would break out on his forehead. He had crossed a line. A line he had sworn he would never cross. He had fucked a nurse in his office, on his desk, like a common street dog. And the worst part was, he couldn't stop thinking about it. He couldn't stop thinking about her. The way her big, soft ass had felt in his hands. The way her tight, wet pussy had gripped his cock. The way she had looked up at him, her face covered in his cum, with that wicked, triumphant smile.He was losing his mind.For Amaka, it was a game. A delicious, thrilling game. She could feel his eyes on her, a hot, heavy weight that followed her everywhere she went. She would walk p

The entire floor of Malhotra Industries was dark and silent, a graveyard of empty chairs and flickering monitors. The only light came from the cabin at the end of the corridor, a rectangle of gold that felt like a stage. And Ishita was the lead actress.Her heart was a frantic bird trapped in her ribs. She adjusted the pallu of her red silk saree for the tenth time. It was a bold choice, a weapon she had wielded all day. The blouse was low-cut, showing off the deep, inviting valley between her large, heavy breasts. The silk clung to her wide hips and the generous curve of her ass, a masterpiece she had perfected over years of walking through the crowded lanes of her chawl. She was a small-town girl from Jaipur, but in Mumbai, she had learned that her body was a currency more powerful than any degree.And her target, her ultimate prize, was the man in that cabin.Vikram Rathore. Sahab.He was more than just her boss; he was a force of nature. A man who built empires with a glance and s

Walking back to her desk was the longest journey of Ishita's life. Each step was a reminder of her submission. The thin fabric of her saree rubbed against her swollen, sensitive pussy. Her legs felt weak, like they might give out at any moment. And the smell... the musky, salty smell of Vikram's cum, mixed with her own arousal, clung to her. It was a dirty, public perfume, and she was terrified someone would notice. She sat down at her desk, her body trembling. Her colleague, Priya, a sweet, naive girl from Pune, looked over at her with concern. "Ishita, are you okay? You look so flushed. Do you have a fever?" Priya asked, her voice full of genuine kindness. "I... I'm fine, Priya," Ishita managed to say, her voice hoarse. "Just a little headache. The heat, you

The rest of the day was a waking nightmare. Anjali moved through the grand haveli like a ghost, her body a traitor, humming with the memory of Vikram’s touch. Every step sent a jolt of sensation through her. The rough fabric of her petticoat felt like sandpaper against her tender, spanked ass. The silk of her saree brushing against her swollen, sensitive breasts was a constant, arousing torment.She bathed, the cool water a shock against her heated skin. She saw the faint red marks on her hips where his fingers had dug into her flesh, the dark shadow of a bruise on her neck. She looked at herself in the mirror, at the woman with the wide, innocent eyes and the body of a well-used whore. A hot, sickening mix of shame and excitement churned in her belly.Dinner was a special kind of hell. The long, polished dining table was filled with the Shekhawat family. Her husband, Rajiv, sat beside her, oblivious, telling a boring story about a new car he wanted to buy. She smiled and nodded, her m

The next two days were a special kind of hell. A self-inflicted torture chamber of her own making. Lily’s small apartment felt like a prison, her bed a rack where she was stretched and teased. His words were a brand seared into her mind: “You will not come.” It was a command that had rewired her entire nervous system, turning her own body into a traitor.Every night, she would lie in the darkness, her skin humming with a low, desperate ache. She would try to read, try to watch television, anything to distract herself from the traitorous hum between her legs. But it was always there. A dull, persistent throb that demanded attention.On the first night, she broke. Her hand, a traitor of its own, slid down her sweat-slicked stomach and under the waistband of her pajamas. Her fingers found her wet, swollen cunt, and she had to bite her lip to stifle a gasp. She was so sensitive. The lightest brush of her fingertips against her clit was like an electric shock. She circled the hard, aching