The sun lingered below the horizon, casting the mist-laden hills of Coorg in a veil of mystery as Lubna and Fahad arrived at their secret haven—a place where the boundaries of fantasy and reality would dissolve in a torrent of primal intimacy. It was March 2025, and the crisp morning air thrummed with the intoxicating aroma of fresh coffee beans from nearby plantations, igniting their senses for a day destined to sear itself into their souls.
Lubna, a paradox of veiled modesty and simmering allure, sat beside Fahad in the car, her cream salwar kameez draped over her like a whisper of restraint. Her cascading dark hair framed a face alive with anticipation, her deep brown eyes flickering with a cocktail of trepidation and unspoken hunger. At 5’5”, her body was a masterpiece—34C breasts that swelled enticingly, a 28-inch waist that begged to be grasped, and 36-inch hips that rolled with every step like a siren’s call. Her medium-brown skin shimmered in the dawn’s glow, a canvas of raw, untamed beauty.
Fahad, her husband, burned with a restless craving, his every glance a promise to peel back the layers of their shared passion. As they crossed the Iritty border, leaving Kerala’s conventions behind, he reached into the glove compartment with a predator’s grace. From it, he drew a crimson mini-dress—18 inches of audacious temptation—and held it out to her, his lips curling into a wicked grin.
“Slip into this, my love,” he murmured, his voice a husky caress that stroked her nerves. “Let’s shed our inhibitions here, where no one can judge us.”
Lubna’s breath hitched as she took the dress, her fingers trembling against the silky, clingy fabric. It was a garment crafted to worship her body, to leave nothing hidden—no bra, no panties, just her bare flesh against its scandalous embrace. Her pulse thundered, but Fahad’s steady gaze anchored her, urging her to trust the fire he’d stoked between them.
In the car’s cocoon, she surrendered. The salwar kameez fell away, and the crimson dress slithered over her skin like a lover’s touch. It molded to her curves, her full breasts straining against the fabric, nipples peaking brazenly through the thin barrier. The hem skimmed just below her hips, leaving the tops of her thighs and the delicate shadow of her vulva exposed to the air—and to Fahad’s ravenous stare. She stepped out barefoot onto the damp earth, the cool breeze kissing her naked skin, her toned legs trembling with a heady mix of vulnerability and power.
Fahad’s eyes devoured her, darkening with a lust that bordered on reverence. “You’re a goddess, Lubna,” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “Let’s find someone to worship you—a tailor who’ll see you as I do.”
They plunged into Coorg’s heart, the mist swirling like a shroud around their illicit quest. The landscape unfolded in lush, emerald waves—coffee plantations sprawling across hills, quaint homes with sloping roofs whispering of tradition. After an hour, they found it: a weathered tailoring shack, half-hidden among the trees, its tin roof glinting faintly in the haze.
From the shadows emerged Ramachandran, a wiry man in his mid-60s, his gray hair and stooped frame belying the feral hunger in his sharp, roving eyes. They lingered on Lubna, drinking in her crimson-clad form, the dress clinging to her like a second skin, her nipples taut, her thighs bare. His gaze was a blade, cutting through decorum with shameless want.
“What brings a vision like you here, my dear?” he asked, his gravelly voice dripping with suggestion. “A body like that demands… special attention.”
Lubna leaned into her role, her voice soft but edged with tease. “I need measurements—for a designer friend in Mumbai. Something bold, something custom. Can your hands handle me?”
Ramachandran’s lips twitched, his eyes glinting with predatory delight. “Measurements? Oh, I’ll measure every inch of you. Step inside, beauty.”
The shop was a dim, cluttered den—bolts of fabric lining the walls, the air heavy with the musk of thread and wood. Lubna stood at its center, her heart a wild drumbeat as Fahad lingered in the shadows, his gaze molten with anticipation. Ramachandran approached, his calloused hands twitching with eager intent.
“Arms out,” he growled, his voice rough as sandpaper.
She obeyed, her biceps flexing as his fingers trailed along them, slow and deliberate, igniting sparks beneath her skin. His touch lingered, sliding down to her waist, tracing the sinful dip of her hips, then grazing the small of her back—each movement a violation of propriety, a promise of more. Lubna’s breath shuddered as his hands roamed higher, brushing the swollen undersides of her breasts, her nipples hardening into aching points beneath the dress.
“Such a ripe figure,” he whispered, his breath scalding her ear. “Made for a man’s hands.”
Fahad’s arousal flared in the dimness, his cock twitching as he watched Lubna bloom under the old man’s touch—her hesitance melting into a bold, radiant sensuality.
“And the price, tailor?” Fahad’s voice cut through, steady but laced with a dark thrill.
Ramachandran turned, his eyes narrowing with a twisted grin. “Money? No. I want her—your wife’s flesh under my fingers. It’s been years since I’ve felt a woman like this.”
Lubna gasped, feigning outrage with a flutter of lashes. “How dare you? I could be your daughter!”
His face softened, a flicker of something raw crossing it. “A daughter? I have a son… and his wife, Supriya. A Coorgi goddess—curves that haunt me, skin I ache to touch. I see her every day, and my hands itch, my dreams burn.”
Lubna and Fahad locked eyes, a silent pact forming. They’d stumbled into a man drowning in forbidden lust, his fantasies fixated on Supriya—an imagined siren of voluptuous beauty.
“I’d sell my soul to feel her,” Ramachandran rasped, his voice breaking. “Just once.”
Fahad stepped forward, his tone velvet over steel. “Touch my wife, then. But you’ll call her Supriya—imagine she’s yours.”
The tailor’s eyes flared with desperate need. “Supriya? You’d let me… have her?”
Lubna nodded, her pulse racing, her consent a spark to their shared inferno. “Yes. Say her name when you touch me.”
His trembling hands reached for her, brushing her breasts through the fabric, thumbs circling her straining nipples. “Supriya,” he groaned, his voice a prayer of lust. He lifted her effortlessly onto the wooden table, the rough surface biting into her bare thighs as he shoved the dress up, exposing her glistening folds.
“Supriya, my sweet,” he muttered, his fingers plunging beneath the hem, finding her slick heat. Lubna gasped, her body arching as he stroked her, his calloused pads igniting her nerves. Her hips rocked instinctively, begging for more.
“You’re dripping for me,” he snarled, sinking to his knees. His lips claimed her clit, hot and relentless, his tongue lashing with a hunger that shattered her restraint. She cried out, the sound raw and untamed, echoing through the misty shack as he devoured her, sucking and teasing until her thighs quaked.
Fahad’s breath grew ragged, his cock throbbing against his zipper as he watched his wife unravel—her head thrown back, breasts heaving, lost in ecstasy.
“Supriya, I need you,” Ramachandran grunted, rising with a feral gleam. His trousers fell, revealing a cock thick with age-old desire, and he pressed it between her thighs. Lubna’s eyes fluttered, her nod a silent plea.
He thrust into her, hard and deep, stretching her with a force that ripped a moan from her throat. “Supriya, my love,” he panted, gripping her hips, his fingers bruising her flesh as he pounded into her. The table creaked beneath them, her breasts bouncing wildly, her wetness coating him with every stroke.
“Yes—oh, yes!” she keened, her voice a siren’s wail, her body meeting his rhythm with shameless abandon. Fahad edged closer, his arousal a tight coil, the sight of Lubna’s surrender pushing him to the brink.
Her climax built, a tidal wave of heat and tension, her moans crescendoing as Ramachandran’s thrusts grew frantic. “Supriya—I’m coming!” he roared, burying himself deep as he erupted, his hot seed flooding her, triggering her own shattering release. Her body convulsed, a scream tearing from her lips, the misty hills bearing witness to her ecstasy.
As their gasps quieted, Fahad approached, his eyes blazing with pride and hunger. He’d orchestrated this, watched his wife claimed, and it had set him ablaze. Lubna met his gaze, her sweat-slicked skin glowing, a smile of triumph curving her lips—she’d embraced the abyss and emerged victorious.
Ramachandran stepped back, spent and reverent, his fantasy fulfilled in Lubna’s willing flesh. In that rustic shack, amidst Coorg’s whispering mists, three souls had collided in a symphony of lust and liberation—a secret etched into their bones, binding them in its exquisite, unspoken aftermath.