Mrs. Shilpa's Accidental Pleasure Ch. 01

People know me as Reporter Shilpa -- the voice of reason on screen. The storm in heels. A saree-clad icon with a mic in hand and fire in my tone. I walk into studios and rallies like I own the damn place. Because I do. I've earned it.

But away from the cameras, I'm something more primal. More human. More woman.

At 40, I feel sexier than I ever did at 25. My hips are fuller, my breasts carry real weight, and my confidence drips off me like the pallu of a silk saree clinging to damp skin during a late-night shoot.

And my husband? Satish?

He worships me.

He's not the typical "man of the house." He doesn't try to tame me. He watches, he listens, he serves -- and I love him for that. In bed, he's soft when I need warmth and savage when I demand surrender. But most of all, he gives me freedom -- the kind that feels scandalous in our society.

I don't lie to him. I don't have to.

He knows.

He knows that when I walk into five-star boardrooms or afterparties, powerful men -- media barons, MPs, bureaucrats in khadi kurtas with hidden lust -- stare. Their gazes slide down my neckline, trace the curve of my waist, and rest on my well-wrapped ass.

Sometimes, a hand lingers a bit too long on my lower back. Sometimes, a comment is too loaded to be casual.

Satish notices the glances. And later that night, he smiles.

"Let them stare," he says, pulling off my saree inch by inch. "Let them beg in their minds. They don't know the taste of you. But I do."

That line? It melts me. Every. Time. Because it's true.

Together, we explored fantasies most couples feared to admit. Roleplay, blindfolds, teasing games in hotel rooms -- nothing was off the table between us. we didn't just love; we devoured each other with trust and hunger.

But no fantasy -- not even their darkest -- had prepared them for what happened at the dam.

What was meant to be a sting operation for Shilpa turned into something else. Something terrifying. Something unplanned. Something that crossed lines they had only dared whisper about during midnight confessions.

And yet... it happened.

This is what Shilpa confessed to Satish. Every detail. Every moan. Every bruise. And what shocked her most wasn't what had happened...

It was how much of it still lingered inside her -- not as shame, but as heat.

It was one of those monsoon evenings. My saree was drenched, clinging to my body. I had just returned from a news shoot in the interiors. My pink bra was faintly visible under my white blouse, and my soaked petticoat stuck to my skin, outlining the curve of my ass.

Fast forward. Pratap Nagar.

A grey sky. Potholes filled with rain.

And a so-called "dam leakage" report that was going to be my headline.

Or so I thought.

Lalit -- my cameraman, my quiet loyal shadow -- drove while I scrolled through my messages. Something felt... off. My gut was tight. I ignored it.

We parked near the old dam's broken quarters -- water dripping from the cracks, wind slicing through rusted metal. I remember adjusting my saree, fixing my bindi, tightening my blouse string like it was armour.

Then it all went dark.

Literally.

One second, Lalit was ahead of me talking to a watchman. The next, I was shoved into a service room. A bulb swaying like a metronome. A rusted bedframe. Wet concrete.

And five men.

Three of them -- Dara, murli and Fardeen -- weren't strangers. They were former employees. Men who once called me Shilpa ma'am. Now they looked at me like meat. Cheap meat. Broken. Exposed.

Lalit tried to resist. He was tied up, gagged.

Dara spat first. "You think you're untouchable, Shilpa ji? You think you're some goddess because people see your tits on camera every night?"

Fardeen added, "Rival channel sends regards."

It wasn't just hate. It was punishment.

They hadn't brought me here to scare me. They wanted to erase me. My voice. My name. My body.

That's when the fear settled into something else -- cold calculation.

They were planning to kill me. There was no rescue coming. Lalit couldn't help. Screaming wouldn't matter. So I did the one thing they hadn't prepared for.

I stopped shaking. I tilted my head, let my saree slip from one shoulder -- a casual fall, deliberate and slow. "I... need to pee," I murmured, low and hesitant.

Dara laughed. "Then go. You think we care?"

He jerked his chin toward the far end of the shed. "Use the corner."

I hesitated for a second but played along. I walked toward the corner of the room, squatting just enough to show the back of my drenched panties. I could feel their eyes burning into my ass. I knew my wet petticoat was doing nothing to hide my shape. It excited me. Their eyes followed me --. I crouched near the wall, one arm wrapped around my knees, the other adjusting the folds -- exposing my fair and bubble ass cheeks intentionally. A single flash of my ass crack. A soft stretch of lower back. Pulling my pink panty to my calf.

The air thickened -- not with fear now, but distraction. Curiosity. Something darker.

Dara stepped closer, unzipping himself carelessly beside me, half-drunk and bold. "Madam's putting on a show, eh?" murli asks other two men to go out and keep a look on the main road. He locked the door.

I didn't flinch. I looked over my shoulder, gave him just a flicker of a smirk -- half-innocent, half-knowing.

He grinned. "Let's give madam a good time before we send her off."

They thought I was submitting.

But really, they were drifting -- away from suspicion, away from control.

Exactly where I needed them.

dara kissed me aggressively, while I was still peeing, forcing his lips onto mine. His hand gripped my wrist, tight enough to break bangles I was wearing --My hand was then forced onto his groin.

I realized he was fully erect. He made a demand: "Open it. This fairly long dick was on my face."

Dara cupped my breast over the blouse, his thumb flicking my nipple. "Satish is a lucky man. But today, it's our turn."

I didn't protest. This was a fantasy Satish and I had discussed in whispers. Rough hands. Multiple eyes. Claimed like a goddess being worshipped. This accident... it was like a dream come true -- the kind you never ask for, but your body responds to before your mind can catch up.

Around me, the other men -- including Lalit -- watched. Some laughed. Some recorded it. No one stopped it. I tasted the salty dick of dara with his hairy ball irritating me so I hold it, dara loved the gesture and asks me yes mam kya baat hai thoda scratch karo. He was getting hard like rod in my mouth. I saw murli and fardeen too playing with their cocks. I was terrified with the size for murlis cock as it was much thicker.

Fardeen knelt behind me, his breath hot against the curve of my damp back. Rainwater had soaked through the thin fabric, leaving nothing to the imagination. I felt the hunger in his stare more than his touch -- it clung to my skin like steam.

"You always walked like you knew men were watching," he whispered, his voice unsteady. "And we did."

His fingertips hovered near buttocks -- not grabbing, just grazing. Testing. He moved like someone savouring a secret, not rushing it. I didn't move as daras cock was in my mouth and hands on daras thigh. I didn't flinch. Stillness was my shield now.

A kiss landed on my spine. Not violent -- almost reverent. My body tensed.

Fardeen asks me to raise my ass for him I understood he will be penetrating.

I tilted my head, whispering without turning, "If this is what you're going to do... at least do it right."

That pause -- that hesitation -- was all I needed. I turned my face slightly, exposing only my profile. "Use protection," I said, steady and low. "I don't know you. And I want to leave this world clean, if I must."

That wasn't a plea. It was dignity wrapped in silk. And for a brief second, he didn't know if I was giving in -- or leading him into something else entirely.

Dara responded by slapping me across the face. The others laughed.

I looked up at Lalit. He did nothing he was tied and helpless.

And then Dara forced his full penis into my mouth.

Dara shoved himself deeper into my mouth. I gagged. I obeyed.

Then I went down on all fours. Fardeen knelt behind, kissed, and bit into my soaked, soft ass. I was soaked from the rain -- or maybe not just the rain.

And then... Satish's voice brought me back. "You liked that, didn't you?"

"Satish, are you sure you want to hear this?" I whispered, my voice trembling with both shame and something far more dangerous -- the truth.

But my husband was already hard. Not just physically. Emotionally. His eyes were locked on mine with a hunger I had seen before -- not of possession, but of revelation. He wanted to know everything. Feel everything.

"It's not you, it's your body, sweetu," he said gently. "Your body reacts. It's not sin. It's survival. It's sensation."

He kissed my forehead, and then, with a grin only he could carry in such a dark moment, he patted my bare ass and said, "Now don't stop. Tell me everything."

So I did.

Fardeen had me bent over, spreading my cheeks wide, licking like he was starved. His tongue was filthy, desperate -- and somewhere in that chaos, I felt a flicker of forbidden pleasure. Not love. Not desire. Just raw body reacting.

Then he pushed inside -- fast, rough, full. My breath caught in my throat. My back arched. I couldn't scream -- not out of fear, but because my body had gone somewhere else. A place where every nerve was aflame, numb and alive at once.

Behind me, Dara barked orders like a madman, shoving his hairy balls toward my face, laughing like it was a game.

And still, I reacted.

When Fardeen came -- loud, clumsy, hot against my back -- he even tore my blouse as he collapsed. Dara laughed at him, pulling away, his ego too loud to wait. Then he grabbed me.

"Fardeen came in me first," I said, my voice hoarse, more with memory than shame. "Quick. Sloppy. Greedy. Like he wanted to brand me with his lust."

Satish swallowed. He didn't speak -- just nodded once. His fingers gently pressed into my side, asking silently for more.

"And after he spilled on my back," I continued, "I thought it was over."

"But Dara..." I paused, biting my lip. My thighs tensed slightly against his leg.

"He wasn't done, was he?" Satish asked, his voice rough now, deep and low. "He watched it all... waited..."

I nodded, eyes fluttering closed. "He pulled me up. Turned me around... like I was a doll to be repositioned. My knees wobbled, Satish. I thought I'd collapse, but he held my hips--tight... Dara was fingering my anal hole licking it. I was virgin there you know."

Satish's palm slid down to my thigh, thumb grazing the tender flesh near my anus. "He took your ass?"

The words hung in the air. Shame didn't touch me. Only heat. Fear. And strange acceptance.

"Yes," I whispered. "First time. Ever. I wasn't ready. Not fully. But he didn't ask."

I paused -- not for drama, but because even now... I felt it. That helpless stretch. That burning invasion. That surreal moment when pain and arousal blurred into something else.

"It tore me open, Satish. My breath got stuck. My mouth was open, but no sound came. He was slow at first, grunting. But then..." I leaned into my husband's shoulder, pressing my lips to his neck. "He went wild."

Satish groaned, almost involuntarily. His hand gripped my buttocks now, trembling. "And you...?"

"I cried, Satish. Cried... but not out of pain alone. It was shock. Confusion. And... some mad, twisted part of me... was aroused." Dara took my ass and simultaneously fingering my pussy and smacking my buttocks. I came like a bitch and he pumped it all in me hot and sticky. Murli the man with that enormous broad dick was waiting.

[look for part 2]