I still get hard thinking about that night so I better write this hinglish diwali sex story before the details go fuzzy. Surat was loud as hell with crackers and our building full of smoke smell. My name is Rajesh, thirty five, ordinary sales job, and Anjali my wife of eight years looked extra thick in that red silk saree after the aarti. Her blouse was tight, belly showing a bit, and she kept giving me that look while lighting the last diya.
Parents and the kids went down for the society fireworks round. We stayed back saying headache and leftover sweets. Door locked. I sat on the sofa still in kurta thinking she will just sleep. Instead she came straight, stood between my knees, and said aaj toh tu mujhe chodega bilkul pagal ki tarah. No soft talk. Just that.
I pulled the pallu down. Her blouse hooks fought me a little then her heavy boobs spilled out. Dark nipples already hard. I sucked one like I was hungry and she held my head and said aur choos saale. My hand went under the petticoat. No panty. Her chut was dripping, thick hair wet, two fingers slid in easy. She started grinding on my hand right there in the living room with diyas still burning on the rangoli.
Saree Came Off Near The Window
She dragged me toward the window where the city lights were flashing. Crackers going bang bang outside. She opened my pyjama, pulled my lund out and spat on it. Then she stroked hard and said dekh kitna tight ho gaya hai. I pushed her against the wall, lifted one leg, and rubbed the head on her slit. She was so wet it made that wet sound. I shoved in halfway and she hissed madarchod dheere nahi full de.
I gave full. Her back hit the wall, saree half hanging, one boob in my mouth while I pumped. The angle was dirty. Every thrust made her stomach jiggle and her nails dug my shoulder. Outside some kid screamed happy diwali and inside Anjali was moaning chod mujhe phad de. I fucked her standing till my legs shook then pulled out, turned her, and bent her over the dining chair.
Petticoat up on her back. That round gaand staring at me. I slapped it once, twice, watched it shake, then pushed back into her chut from behind. Deep. She grabbed the chair and pushed back meeting every stroke. Sweat already on her spine. I reached under and rubbed her clit rough the way she likes and she started shaking. Her legs nearly gave but I held her hips and kept slamming. Cum was building fast but I did not want to finish yet.
I pulled out again, made her kneel on the cold floor. She knew. Opened her mouth and took my shiny lund covered in her own juices. She sucked messy, spit running down to my balls, gagging a little when I held her hair and pushed deeper. She looked up with watery eyes and said isme jhaad mat dena abhi bedroom leja. So I hauled her up, left the saree and blouse in a heap, and we went to the bedroom naked except her mangalsutra bouncing between those big tits.
Mattress Took The Real Beating
Lights off except one small diya in the corner. She climbed on the bed on all fours and shook her gaand at me. I got behind, spat on her hole, and rubbed the head there. She looked back and said aaj gaand bhi lega na. I pushed slow into her tight ass. She bit the pillow and cursed but pushed back anyway. Once the head was in I started short strokes till she loosened. Then longer. Her chut was empty so I reached around and fingered it hard while fucking her gaand. Double feeling made her moan like a random bitch in heat.
I lasted maybe ten minutes like that then flipped her. Missionary now, legs wide on my shoulders. I slid back into her chut because I wanted to feel that wet grip. She locked ankles behind my back and said jor se, ghar khali hai chillane de. So I pounded. Bed frame hit the wall in rhythm with the distant rockets. Sweat dripping from my chin onto her tits. I sucked her neck leaving marks she would hide with powder tomorrow. She came first, whole body jerking, chut squeezing my lund so tight I almost lost it. But I held back, kept thrusting through her orgasm till she went soft and breathless.
Then she pushed me down and sat on my face. That wet hairy chut right on my mouth. I licked and sucked her clit while she ground down hard. Her juices ran down my chin onto the sheet. She reached back, grabbed my lund, and stroked it in time with her hips. After she came again on my tongue she slid down and impaled herself. Cowgirl, heavy bouncing, hands on my chest. Every drop made her boobs slap together. I held her waist and thrust up matching her. The sound was pure filthy wet skin. She leaned forward so her nipples dragged on me and whispered saala aaj andar hi jhaadna, pill li hai.
That finished me. I grabbed her ass cheeks, slammed up hard three four times and pumped thick load deep inside her chut. She kept sitting there rolling her hips milking every drop. When I softened she lifted off and a string of cum stretched then broke onto my stomach. She laughed low, scooped some with two fingers and fed it to me then licked her own fingers clean. Dirty woman.
Second Round After Water Break
We drank water from the bottle near the bed. Outside still some late crackers. She lay on her side and I spooned her, already half hard again from the smell of sex in the room. My hand played with her sticky thighs. She said thoda rest phir se lega kya. I said haan. Ten minutes later I was hard fully. I lifted her top leg and entered from behind slow. Lazy long strokes this time. One hand on her boob squeezing, other rubbing her clit. She reached back and held my hip pulling me deeper. No big noise now, just heavy breathing and the wet slide.
I lasted longer this round. Changed to her on stomach, pillow under hips, and fucked down into her. Deep angle that always makes her toes curl. She buried face in the mattress and pushed her gaand up. I slapped it red while pounding. When she started shaking again I sped up and filled her second time. Less cum but still enough to leak out when I pulled free. She stayed face down breathing hard, mangalsutra twisted, hair stuck to her sweaty neck.
I went to the bathroom, washed, came back with a towel and cleaned her gently between the legs. She mumbled kal subah phir se before falling half asleep. I lay there smelling fireworks smoke through the window mix with our sex smell. Diwali lights from the opposite building still blinked on the wall. My lund was sore in a good way. Anjali shifted closer, threw one leg over me, and that was how the night stayed till morning when the kids banged the door asking for leftover laddoos.
Next day she walked a bit careful and wore loose salwar. When nobody looked she squeezed my hand under the table and mouthed raat ko phir. That is the whole thing. No romance speech, just how the festival noise covered her screams and how her chut and gaand both took everything I had. I replay it whenever crackers start in October. Same heat comes back.