Secret Behind Close Doors

A special thanks to my editor/friend, @Kenjisato for his help. He edited the draft and made all the precise changes necessary.

Author Note: First of all, I'm extremely sorry for such a delay. Life has been a bit hard lately, with so many things happening at once. I also want to thank all my dear readers for waiting patiently for me. I promise I will try to improve my workflow.

Desclamer: My story is entirely a work of imagination. It is based on SCAT fetish and may not intrigue some readers, so proceed with caution. All characters in the story are 18+. My intention is not to harm or disrespect anyone but to use these elements to share a spicy, erotic story.

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(The events of this part take place seven months after the main incident in Chapter 1 and 2.)

The ceiling fan groaned, as its blades spun just fast enough to disturb April's heated air without cooling it. Rehema leaned against the doorframe, her hips pressing into the woodgrain. She used her fat ass cheeks as her own damn cushion-- round and heavy enough to settle into any surface.

Across the room, Moni scribbled the last of her math problems with a forceful stroke of her pencil, her knees bouncing under the table, as if wired to a live current.

"Done!" she yelped, already halfway out of her seat before Ujaan could check her work.

Rehema smirked, as her daughter twirled past her.

Ujaan chuckled, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.

"That girl's got more energy than a caffeinated adult," he muttered.

Rehema smiled softly, and said, "Try living with her."

Ujaan laughed, and soon, they carried their conversation into the living room. But as their pretend parent-teacher conversation dragged on, the tea in his cup had gone lukewarm. Anyway, he took a big sip, the bitter tannins clinging to his tongue, but he stayed calm, and his eyes followed Rehema's movement.

Her phone buzzed under her right hip. She quickly shifted her weight to pull it free from her fat ass. She didn't bother to check the caller ID; she flipped the phone onto the coffee table, putting the call off.

Seconds later, a knock rattled the door. With an impatient, relieved look, she looked at Ujaan before she rushed for the door. Rehema's ass cheeks jiggled as she did a mini sprint.

A hot summer breeze touched her sweaty face as she opened the door.

On the other side, stood Mrs. Roy, her eyes darting downward for a split second before snapping back up. Mira, her daughter bolted past them both with a squeal.

"Can't hold anymore?" Rehema teased, leaning into the doorway just enough to make the wood creak.

Mrs. Roy laughed softly. Her old habit slipped back, just like her gaze slipped down to see the way Rehema's salwar clung to her thighs and the curve of her waist, where her kameez had ridden up, just enough to show her skin.

Rehema smirked with a kind of amused delight. She loved it when eyes did the complimenting; it was better than those flirty, empty words.

"How do you even..." Mrs. Roy started, then caught herself, cheeks flushing.

Rehema arched an eyebrow. "Stay in perfect shape?" she finished, smirking.

Mrs. Roy's throat tightened; she pulled her belly in, silently stung.

Mira came barreling back with Moni's duffel bag thumping against her legs. Behind her, Moni bounced on her toes, her green skirt flaring like a leaf caught in a breeze.

"Bye, maa!!" Moni said, rushing.

Rehema's voice followed, "Wait!"

Moni froze mid-step, her grin faltering just enough for Rehema to see the nerves underneath.

"Rules?" Rehema pressed, her fingers tapping her own hip.

"Yes-- no fighting, no arguing, no drama, listening to Roy auntie!" she rattled off the rules like a prayer.

"Good. Don't make me come to get you," Rehema said sharply, exhaling through her nose.

Mrs. Roy's fingers twitched around her purse strap, as her gaze snagged again on the way Rehema's hips swayed as she stepped aside to let the girls pass. Rehema caught her staring and cocked her head, daring her to say something. Mrs. Roy cleared her throat instead, wiping her lips with the dupatta to hide her nervousness.

"Okay then, see you soon, Rehema," she murmured, before turning towards the lift. The girls had already pressed the button twice.

The auto sputtered to life, belching a cloud of exhaust that mingled with the dust and heat. Moni leaned out the side, waving wildly as if boarding a ship, and not just heading three streets over for a damn sleepover. Rehema waved back, her hand moving lazily.

The click of the door latch echoed through the silent apartment, as Rehema pushed it shut with her hip. Her fingers fumbled slightly with the tower bolt, not from nerves, but from the restless energy humming under her skin. The metal slid into place with a satisfying thunk. Extra security, sure, but more than that-- it was a sign saying,no more interruptions.

Her bare feet pressed onto the cold floor, her soles sticking with every step. The sweet and fresh smell of sandalwood incense still lingered in the air, as she walked to the living room.

Ujaan was sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, his gaze flicking up lazily, as Rehema stepped into the doorway.

"She left?" Ujaan asked, already knowing the answer.

Rehema didn't respond, just grinned, wide and wicked, before launching herself across the room. The churidar rode up her thighs as she landed straddling him, her thick ass slamming down onto his crotch with a slapping sound. Ujaan grunted, his phone clattering to the floor as his hands held on to her waist.

"Fuck... you couldn't warn me?" he gasped.

But she was already leaning in, her lips crashing against his. Their tongues tangled instantly, hot and slick. Rehema sucked on his bottom lip, like she wanted to devour him whole. Her fingers dug into his waist, nails biting through his shirt.

"Warn you?" she breathed between kisses, voice dripping with mischief. "You've been teasing me all week, you bastard, brushing your hand against my ass when Moni wasn't looking, pinching my ass to get my reaction."

She pushed him back, the curve of her ass pressing against his cock under his jeans. "Now you will be punished," Rehema muttered, while biting her lower lip.

Ujaan groaned, his hands sliding inside her churidar, behind her starched panties. His fingers brushed her prickly stubble of pubes, then her soft and hot skin, trembling under his touch.

"Fuck, you're wet already," he muttered against her mouth, his thumb tracing the damp edge of her panties.

Rehema let out a choked laugh, nipping his earlobe. "Yeah? And whose fault is that?"

Ujaan slowly pulled his hands out, taking a soft sniff before licking his fingers. Rehema chuckled and started rubbing her cunt against the thick line of his erection through their clothes. Their tongues slid together again, messy and hungry. Rehema's fingers threaded through his hair to yank him closer. His cock twitched when she bit down on his lip hard enough to sting.

"Getting cruel, huh?" he panted, dragging his palm up her stomach, under her kurta, until he could cup one of her tits through her bra.

Rehema laughed, low and throaty, and rolled her hips in slow, filthy circles, the heat of her pussy searing through the thin fabric of his pants.

"Oh, baby," she purred, leaning back just enough to let him see the smug curve of her mouth. "You have no idea how cruel I can be."

Her hand slid down between them, fingers tracing the outline of his cock through his pants before squeezing roughly. Ujaan screamed, his hips jerking up as if he were thrusting into her. Rehema laughed as she enjoyed his sudden pain.

***

Seven months ago, one of Ujaan's students' mothers asked if he could tutor a girl from his son's class. When he first arrived, Rehema had answered the door in a saree that clung to every curve, her gaze lingering just a second too long when she welcomed him in for the first time. By the end of the second week, she'd cornered him in the washroom while Moni was solving equations, her fingers already clutching his jaw before he could pretend to protest.

It hadn't been his first time hooking up with one of his students' mothers. Most of them-- middle-aged, bored housewives-- had been his unofficial harem for years, but Rehema? She was different; she wasn't his new toy, but he was hers.

As she squeezed his cheeks and forced her tongue down his throat, Ujaan wondered how the writer had become the reader. Most mothers played coy, secretly giggling behind their hands. But Rehema? On their second hookup, she dragged his fingers into her asshole with a growl, pulled out something stinky and smelly, and shoved it inside his mouth.

"You like that?" she taunted, breath hot against his ear as she pushed his shit-stained fingers into his nostrils, making him suffocate. "Your little teacher act turns me on."

For the first time, he felt a cold fear. Rehema wasn't just any other cheating housewife he met; she was a lustful slut who found amusement in taunting and torturing men in a defecating way.

***

Ujaan's fingers dug into her waist, lifting her slightly before slamming her back down onto his crotch, the impact making her gasp.

"Bullshit," he rasped, nipping at her collarbone, "you nasty mom."

His hands yanked her kurta up, exposing her tits straining against her bra, dark nipples already pebbled under the bra cup. He didn't bother unhooking it; he just pulled her bra down and sucked one into his mouth. He sucked hard, making Rehema moan obscenely loudly, her fingers twisting in his hair, almost wanting to rip it out.

Heat surged through Rehema's veins, her skin flushed and slick with sweat, every nerve burning with insatiable hunger. She arched her back, pressing her breasts forward, her erect nipple standing stiff between Ujaan's teeth. His tongue swirled around, lapping at the sensitive bud with firm, wet strokes that sent jolts of electricity straight to her core, while his hot breath fanned across her areola, the warm gusts teasing the crinkled skin and drawing a deep shiver that rippled down her spine, making her thighs clench involuntarily.

"Fuck, I need you inside," Rehema gasped, her voice raw and desperate. Her hips ground against him, her pussy throbbing with an empty ache, slick juices coating her inner thighs.

Ujaan lifted his head, and their eyes met. Rehema's eyes looked wild and commanding.

"Let's do it in my husband's study room," she purred, the words dripping with lust and a thrill of excitement, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she imagined doing it in his room.

A sudden hesitation gripped Ujaan; he released her erect nipple with a softpop, the cool air hitting the wet flesh and making it tighten even more.

"His study room?" he murmured, his voice dropping low, laced with an edge of unease that tightened his jaw.

"Why? Are you scared?" Rehema teased, her eyes gleaming with that cold, wicked playfulness, daring him to back down; even as her body pressed closer, her free hand trailing nails down his back to spur him on.

"Maybe he planted cameras," he murmured, his gaze darting to the bookshelf, the framed family photo; it looked like the frame had been tilted a little bit.

Ujaan's discomfort moved in his gut; he knew her husband had swallowed his suspicions after the shower photo incident. But the man wasn't stupid; his desperation couldn't pinpoint the clues.

Rehema's laugh was a blade. She twisted her wrist free and grabbed Ujaan's jaw, her nails biting crescent moons into his clean-shaven skin.

"You think I'd let that four-eyes spy on me?" Her voice was loud and salty.

Rehema's other hand tugged her kurta higher, sweat gleaming between her breasts as she pressed them against his face. "Smell that, master ji?" she hissed. "That's what women smell like when they are hungry. Four-eyes will never smell this." The musk of her skin was thick, salty, and carried a hint of jasmine body oil.

Ujaan inhaled sharply, his pulse jumping at the base of his throat. The heat between them made it hard to pull away, her touch igniting fresh sparks, despite the nagging doubt.

"Cameras or not," he muttered against her flesh, tongue flicking out to taste the sweat pooling in her cleavage, "he can't stop you." His teeth grazed her-- blunt and possessive.

"Fuck, yes," she breathed, her voice guttural. Her hips jerked forward, grinding against the rigid line of his cock, still trapped beneath her. "Let him watch his wife ride a real dick."

The filthy thought of her husband jerking his dick while watching her get fucked was exhilarating. Rehema moved closer, her fingers tracking his buttons, before she suddenly yanked his head back to meet her lustful gaze.

"Let's give him the best homemade video to jerk off to," she breathed, in a voice as rough as gravel.

Ujaan's throat clicked as he swallowed hard.

"You know what?" Rehema taunted, her voice dripping with wicked amusement as she ground her hips against him. "The poor bastard probably jerked off to those shower pics while crying."

Their laughter echoed, low and throaty, but a sharp cramp twisted in Ujaan's chest. A strange, gnawing melancholy that clawed at him.

***

He recalled the night he had snuck into his student's house, driven by raw hunger to bury himself deep inside the boy's mother's pussy.

It had happened because for two agonizing weeks, the boy had skipped his lessons, leaving his mother untended and in a void of sexual need. Her name was Kuhali, and her craving had festered into desperation. She was the clingiest mother he'd ever tangled with, her nails digging into his back as they rutted wildly across her son's small bed.

As they fucked, her feverish son cried for her, followed by her ailing husband. Their voices echoed from the second floor to the staircase, soon transforming into desperate pleas. It grated on him, those interruptions slicing through their heat. But Kuhali? She just smirked, pulling him harder into her, her pussy clenching around his thrusting dick without a shred of remorse.

***

But here, this ache hit differently. A fleeting chill that something was off. It lingered for mere heartbeats, a suspenseful whisper of unease tightening his gut. Then Rehema slid off him with a teasing sway, her curves glistening, and the dread shattered. Lust surged back, hot and commanding, twisting his brief worry into a hungry, leering grin.

She turned, hips swaying as she strode toward the study, her churidar pooling around her ankles with each step. Ujaan followed, his pulse hammering in his chest, eyes locked on the dimpled flesh of her ass cheeks.

They stopped between the bedroom and the study. The bedroom door stood ajar. He glimpsed inside and saw the crisply made bed, clean and untouched. His cock twitched at the thought of bending her over the edge of the bed while she buried her face in those fluffy pillows to muffle her screams.

As they stood in front of the study door, Ujaan eyed the hanging sign, scrawled in bright crayon letters--'Very Important Room, Belongs to Goutam, a.k.a. the King of Dads,'alongside a doodled cat and a goofy bear face.

Rehema slipped into the bedroom quickly, then emerged with her eyes wide and sparkling with naughty excitement, her hips swaying as she dangled a key teasingly. She jammed it into the lock with a sharp click, biting her full lower lip hard while squeezing her right eye shut in a playful wink, her breath quickening as she nudged the door open.

The room was tiny. Four by four. A newspaper, weakly taped over the wall ventilator, pathetically blocked the sunlight. Ujaan's shoulder brushed against a bookshelf as he stepped inside, the spines of Bengali poetry and accounting manuals pressing into his skin, like disapproving fingers.

Just inside sat a large desk, the centerpiece of the room. Made of mahogany and polished to a sheen, it dominated the space. On top of the desk, rested a few binders and neatly folded newspapers, along with a family photo nestled near the edge.

The photo had been taken on a school day-- Rehema in a modest sari, her husband's arm around her waist, and Moni sandwiched between them in a school uniform.

"Look," Rehema purred, pointing at the leather chair behind the desk, her voice dripping with wicked amusement. "His cuck chair."

She walked quickly over to the other side of the desk, her fat cheeks squished plushly between the desk and the wall bookshelf. She positioned herself behind the chair, gripping the backrest firmly as she leaned in, her tits pressing over the headrest.

"This is his cuck throne, to be exact. The perfect spot for that pathetic fucker to sit and watch his wife's pussy get pounded."

They both burst into throaty laughter.

"I must say, this room is perfect for a small sex den," Ujaan added.

Rehema's eyes widened as she shot him a knowing, hungry glare that made Ujaan's cock twitch in his pants.

"I once told that limp-dicked cuck we could fuck right here, and by God, you won't believe how he stared at me... like I was some dirty slut," she exclaimed, with frustration.

"He is what he is. Can't expect any real fun from a hard-headed coconut."

Rehema laughed again, a sultry, throaty sound that vibrated through her body as she pressed her hips against the edge of the desk. Her ass moulded against the wood, soft and yielding flesh begging to be grabbed and spanked.

"It's not like I didn't give that motherfucker plenty of chances to rail me, but he has no interest in sex. He just wants to talk and enjoy the moment, like a dying old fart. And now? He's sniffing around like a desperate spy, trying to catch me with my legs wide apart."

Rehema mimicked his whiny tone with exaggerated mockery, pouting her lips while grinding her hips subtly against the desk.

Ujaan tried to focus on her words, but his gaze was glued to her voluptuous curves; the way her ass jiggled invitingly, her tits straining against her kurta. He'd had enough of this teasing buildup. His cock throbbed hard, as he stepped past the desk and moved right behind her, pressing his trapped, erect dick against her panties. His hands slid around to cup her tits, his thumbs flicking her nipples through the damp kurta.

Rehema arched into his touch, her ass grinding against his cock. "Bokachoda, sala," she cursed, rolling her eyes as she tried to feel the sensation.

Pushing her frustration aside, she focused on the moment. Rehema reached back to grab Ujaan's wrist, dragging his hand down her stomach and into her panties.

"Feel that?" she whispered, guiding his fingers through her slick folds. "My... gud'er jol."

Ujaan groaned. He could smell the musky scent of her pussy in the stagnant air. Rehema twisted away, pulling off her kurta with a flick of her wrist. The fabric pooled on the floor beside the desk, like evidence at a crime scene. Her fingers hooked into her panties next, peeling them down her thighs with deliberate slowness. Ujaan's pulse hammered as she stepped free, bending forward to shake her bare ass at him.

"Still worried about him, master ji?" she taunted, slapping her own ass cheek hard enough to leave a red handprint. The sound echoed off the walls.

Then she snapped open her bra. Ujaan caught it mid-air, pressing the damp fabric to his nose as he inhaled her musk. Rehema smirked over her shoulder as she swiped the binders and newspapers off the desk. Then, arching her back, she climbed onto the desk, settling on all fours, her ass raised high in the air. The mahogany creaked beneath her weight, but stayed strong as she crawled forward.

"Look at it," she purred, spreading her cheeks with both hands. Her dark, puckered hole glistened under the white tube light. "How do I look?"