Mrinalini S Dreamy Nightmare

The brisk summer wind of May seemed to slap Mrinalini's back in cruel bursts as she leaned over a bucket of washed clothes on the roof. The scorching heat vaporised the moisture around her as she miserably squeezed each garment before hanging it.

Clad in a hand-me-down cotton saree that had seen better days, Mrinalini's voluptuous figure betrayed her age - at just 19, she had had her first child with her good-for-nothing husband, who seemed to know not much except for drinking.

And sex. Bad, horrible, drunken sex that only ever favoured him. Mrinalini stood in the heat, filled with disgust at the thought of the previous night, thinking of her husband forcing himself on her even as their son cried in a corner in the dark. Mrinalini could only do so much as not to cry herself.

But she knew not to complain - every woman in her family had a marriage like hers - it was her fate. Criss-crossed between the dark lines of her hands.

Then she met Kshitij. The tall, handsome man of this household seemed a lot like the men she saw occasionally in movies.

Watching movies as a child used to be her happy escape - they filled her with hope. But now that she was a wedded woman, she only felt a tinge of disappointment and a wave of acceptance.

To Mrinalini, Kshitij was the man of her dreams. He was also duly married.

Sana, his beautiful wife, turned heads wherever she went - Jaan, he called her - he doted on her like the romantic heroes Mrinalini grew up watching. They held hands, stole kisses when they thought she wasn't looking, and Mrinalini swore their eyes danced with passion every time they locked.

Sometimes watching them together gave her butterflies in her stomach - talk about living vicariously.

But today, things seemed off. Sana was nowhere to be seen. And Kshitij had a drink too many for just 11 in the morning.

Fighting the urge to ask him where she was, Mrinalini continued doing her chores. She was only starting to wash the dirty dishes in the sink when she felt Kshitij lightly brush against her back as he strode into the kitchen and opened the fridge to take another beer.

Shockwaves ran through her body as he stood there for half a minute, assessing the fridge, before quietly leaving with a beer bottle.

Embarrassed by her own desire, Mrinalini cursed her luck. She peered through the curtain that separated the kitchen and the hall. Kshitij sat on the sofa, with his long legs sprawled across the coffee table. He looked sullen. Worse, he looked like he had been crying. His eyes were puffed up, red. His eyebrows scrunched together as he stared at the beer bottle in his hand, not taking a sip.

"Sahab, are you all right?" was all Mrinalini could muster up to ask.

Kshitij stared blankly and nodded before taking a sip.

Mrinalini quickly finished her chores and left for the day. That night, when her husband entered forcibly inside her petticoat, she did not resist. She was thinking about Kshitij's sullen, beautiful face. She lay under her drunken husband. Not moving. Not caring. Deep in thought.

The next day, Mrinalini wore her best cotton saree. She was no stunner, but she had received lingering looks from men in the streets every time she wore this saree with its matching deep-cut blouse that flustered her with discomfort, but excited her all the same.

She felt only a flicker of guilt about what she was doing - trying to seduce a married man - but at the core of her being, she did not care. Morals had only gotten her so far in life. For once, she wanted to seize what she so vehemently desired - being held with love by a man she yearned for.

When Kshitij opened the door, he did not glance a second time at Mrinalini. He let her in and leapt to the couch, where beer bottles from yesterday still lay scattered. He seemed to have run out of beer - he had a bottle of whisky in his hand now.

Mrinalini leaned across the coffee table, not caring about the pallu that swung a bit too low over her chest to actually cover up anything, and picked up the bottles one after another.

This time, Kshitij noticed.

His eyes lay fixated on her breasts for longer than he would have allowed sober, but he managed to look away just in time as Mrinalini asked him if he wanted anything. He shook his head.

Mrinalini, however, had noticed his look. And boy, was she thrilled.

For the first time, Kshitij had noticed that Mrinalini actually was quite the piece. Sure, he had registered her enormous breasts the first time she had ever come to this house, but he had torn his eyes away, knowing it was wrong. But now... he wasn't sure he could tell right from wrong.

It didn't help how high he was. He had been drinking and smoking the entire night and had barely gotten an hour of sleep before waking up to his wife's phone call. She kept begging for his forgiveness, but truly, he didn't have a single fuck to spare.

He was still high when he followed Mrinalini to the roof, where she bent down to pick up one of Kshitij's shirts from the bucket. Kshitij quietly walked up to her and brushed the back of his palm nonchalantly against her back, light enough to be passed off as unintentional, but long enough to cop a feel.

Mrinalini jumped at the sudden invasion of her space, stepping back as Kshitij bent down, seemingly to help her hang the clothes. Mrinalini let him help her, even though something about this exchange felt... not right. Like a kick in the gut that seemed to crush the butterflies in her stomach. But she brushed it off. Once they were done, they walked back to the hall.

"Can you make me a couple of Chapatis and some egg curry? I'm starving." Kshitij demanded.

When Mrinalini went back to the kitchen, she found herself hyperventilating. She could not tell why. She wanted this. She made this happen. But now that the lion was at the door, this zookeeper seemed to have run out of meat.

Just as she ruminated, kneading the dough for the chapatis, Kshitij entered the kitchen again, standing behind her, breathing down her neck. Mrinalini froze. For a few moments, neither said anything. Kshitij then walked to the fridge, picked a bottle of Coke, and walked out of the kitchen.

Mrinalini could have sworn she felt his hard-on brush against her butt.

Mrinalini had hardly ever drawn attention to herself - she discounted her looks as average - but she had long, thick curls that sat on the top of her head like a crown. Her skin was a honeyed dark, and her eyes big and black. Her bosom heaved every time she walked, her thighs jiggled when she stopped in her tracks. She was a woman.

The early pregnancy had gifted her with a glow of fertility that seemed to attract all men.

Her husband wouldn't tell her this, for he was a lowlife and an insecure scoundrel, but the few friends he hung out with sang praises of his wife - they deemed him a lucky bastard, and he had spent one too many nights fantasising about his wife with other men - the idea thrilled him beyond his wildest imagination.

Of course, he would never act on this - for he fancied her as his, and only his, and wouldn't utter as much as a simple compliment, too scared to inflate Mrinalini's ego.

Engrossed in her thoughts, Mrinalini finished cooking. As she served the food, she could feel Kshitij ogling her, now too emboldened to even look away. Something about this scared her, and she furtively glanced at the clock, hoping to leave. But Kshitij had been cooking up ideas of his own.

"Can you please mop the floor? It hasn't been cleaned properly in days." Kshitij asked, feigning irritation.

Mrinalini gulped but did not disagree. She could feel his eyes piercing into her skin, even though she dared not look at him once. She cleaned and mopped the floor in a hurry. Kshitij finished eating and went to put the dirty dishes in the sink. He signalled her to go clean them. Misery washed all over her. Her gut was screaming at her to run. But she stayed put in front of the sink, washing the dirty dishes, trying to ignore Kshitij, who stood inches behind her, unmoving. Just as she finished and started to turn, he pinned his arms against her sides and locked her in.

Sandwiched between Kshitij's body and the kitchen counter, Mrinalini felt small.

"Sahab, what are you doing?" She croaked.

"You can't be a tease and a prude at the same time. I know what you have been doing." Kshitij answered, lowering his voice and rubbing his manhood against her back.

"Sahab, please let me go." Mrinalini was crying.

"In a minute." He flipped her body around and opened her hair. Her curls flew around in disarray, making her face look smaller. Her eyes glistened with tears. Kshitij held her hair in a fist and pulled her head up so he could have a good look at her face. He stared at her for a moment and distanced himself by a foot.

Mrinalini felt relieved, but it only lasted a second.

Kshitij forced her to kneel in front of him, pushing her down by her shoulders until she surrendered. Once she stopped struggling, he directed her to pull his shorts down. Her weeping face gleamed with fresh tears.

Her pallu lay forgotten on the ground. Her breasts heaved with each sob, and it only made Kshitij want her more. He motioned her to undress him again, and this time she complied.

His cock sprang free. It had been throbbing with a vigour he had not known in years, since the time he had first started bedding Sana, who was then just his girlfriend.

His member was shaved and clean, which was very unlike what Mrinalini was used to. But this momentary curiosity made way for more sobs - Mrinalini would not stop crying.

But Kshitij did not care - her mouth opened between a set of plump lips that only looked as inviting as a bed of roses after a long day of work - Kshitij needed this. He needed to feel his cock pressed between those lucious lips that parted to make way for him as he entered her mouth. Something about her tear-soaked face made this feel... heavenly.

Kshitij had always been a gentle lover. He was courteous and did everything a man could do to please a woman in bed - he thought he had locked it in. Until he saw those photos.

Those damned photos.

A pang of violent jealousy washed over Kshitij and he suddenly found himself fucking Mrinalini's mouth in powerful, forced thrusts.

Her head banged against the kitchen cabinet every time he thrust into her mouth, but Kshitij didn't care. He couldn't see much beyond the picture of Sana undressing herself for another man, which was now burned into the back of his brain. No, Kshitij could not see Mrinalini, who was about to choke on his large cock, all he saw was red.

Just as she was running out of air, Mrinalini pressed her nails against Kshitij's thighs, which seemed to wake him up. He saw her struggling to breathe and let her go. Mrinalini collapsed to the floor, crying and coughing, before she felt herself being picked up and then thrown to the couch.

She had daydreamed about fucking Kshitij more than once. For some reason, she had always imagined doing it in bed.

The couch was only barely wide enough for Kshitij to pin her down so she couldn't escape. Even though she knew what was about to happen, she wriggled under Kshitij's weight. Kshitij waited for her to stop, forcing her down by her shoulders and pressing her against her arms. But when she wouldn't stop struggling, he knocked her down with a slap. That shut her up, but she wouldn't stop weeping.

Kshitij pressed her down under his weight and finally tore open her blouse - he hadn't realised how long he had been fantasising about those breasts. Now that they lay before him, he couldn't stop squeezing and caressing them. He continued this assault until he found his way into her saree. He forced the pleats out of her petticoat and pushed it down her knees.

Her dark bush glistened with anticipation, even as she continued to whimper and struggle under him. He put two fingers deep inside her pussy, making Mrinalini's eyes bulge. He suckled on her nipples while he fingered her ruthlessly. Mrinalini tried, but felt no happiness at the success of her conquest.

Kshitij liked having control over this fertile, voluptuous body. She looked like an empty vessel he could sow his seed in.

He sucked her tits until her nipples turned red and dry, and only when his mouth was too sore to suck more did he finally pull out his fingers and put his cock in. She was wetter than a playground on a rainy day.

He could slide in without force, and he fucked her with deep, commanding thrusts that made her squirm under him. His cock touched valleys of her insides she did not know existed, and waves of pleasure ran through her body as he pinched her tits and called her names.

At some point he flipped her around and directed her to sit on all fours, and when she did, he breached her pussy once more, only this time she could feel him deep inside her belly. She screamed loudly before he slapped her butt and covered her mouth.

Kshitij ravaged her young body in ways he had never dared to touch his own wife. A madness had come upon him as he rode her with his cock sliding in and out of her in wet plops, while he held her thick hair in a fist, pulling her head back in agony and pleasure.

It felt like ages before he finally came inside her, a line of milk drooled out of her pussy onto the couch. Mrinalini felt spent. Her body heaped into the couch when Kshitij finally let her go, her hair flying around her in unruly waves, she only had a moment to catch her breath before Kshitij pulled her by her throat and rubbed his wet flaccid cock across her face and rejoiced at the sight of his cum painting her mouth.

He felt like a king.

Kshitij commanded her to clean the couch before disappearing into the bedroom, buck naked, to catch on some much-needed sleep.

Mrinalini clothed herself as best as she could before cleaning the mess.

Before she left the house, she glanced into the mirror in the hall and then at Kshitij, who was now fast asleep in bed, still naked, with a sheet covering only some of his thighs and chest.

"They're all the same," Mrinalini muttered before shutting the door behind her.