Hello all, welcome to the last part of my fantasy world. This is a continuation of a series. Please read the earlier parts if you haven’t read them yet. Let’s get started.
The Suhagraat continues.
“Again. I need you again. Turnover. Hands and knees. I want to see that beautiful ass. Want to watch my dark hands on your fair skin. Want to spank you. Mark you. Claim you from behind. Like the alpha who owns you completely now.”
Isha turned over eagerly. Got on hands and knees. The position pushed her belly down into the mattress. Her mehendi hands gripped the sheets for support. Her round ass lifted high in the air.
Positioned perfect. Her pussy still glistening with their combined fluids, pink and swollen and used. Her asshole was visible too, puckered and tight. Everything on display. Everything is for the taking.
“Look at you,” Sahil groaned. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect. My wife. My begum. My slut. Everything I need. Everything I own. That ass. Those hips. All mine. Every bit.”
He positioned himself behind her. Lined his cock up – already hard again, impressive recovery. Rubbed the head up and down her slit. Teasing. Making her wait. Making her beg.
“Please,” she whimpered. “Please, husband. Please take me. I need you inside me again. Need to feel you claiming me. Please. Don’t make me wait. Please.”
He pushed in. Hard this time. Not slow and gentle like before. Hard and fast. Buried himself balls deep in one thrust. She cried out at the sudden penetration.
“Oh, God! So deep! This angle… you go so deep like this… so good… so fucking good…”
He started pounding her. Really pounding. No gentleness now. Just raw fucking. Taking what’s his. Using her body for his pleasure. The bed creaked violently. The headboard slammed against the wall hard enough to make the picture frames rattle. Her moans turned to screams. Loud. Primal. Uninhibited.
“Yes! Fuck me! Use me! Claim me! I’m your slut! Your wife! Your begum! Your property! Fuck me harder! Please!” Crack.
His hand came down on her ass. Hard. Open palm. Left a bright red handprint on her fair skin. She gasped. Jerked forward. Then, they pushed back for more.
“Yes! Spank me! Mark me! Show me I’m yours!”
He spanked her repeatedly. Both cheeks. Hard slaps that made her flesh jiggle. That made her scream. That made her pussy clench around his pounding cock. Red handprints blooming on her fair skin. Dark hands marking fair flesh. Ownership. Possession. Claiming.
“This ass,” Sahil growled between spanks and thrusts. “This beautiful, round, perfect ass. Mine to spank. Mine to fuck. Mine to mark. Look at my dark hands on your fair skin. Look at the red marks. Look at the proof that you belong to me. That you’re my property. My wife. My begum. My whore.”
“Yours!” she screamed. “All yours! Mark me! Bruise me! Own me! I’m nothing but yours! Your property! Your toy! Your begum!”
It was primal. Animalistic. Pure raw sex. Nothing romantic about this round. Just fucking. Just claiming. Just showing dominance and accepting submission. Alpha male taking his female. Making her his through pure physical domination.
The sounds filled the room – flesh slapping against flesh, her screams getting hoarse, his grunts becoming animalistic, the bed protesting violently, jewellery clinking and chiming, bangles singing, anklets ringing. And through it all, that wet sound of cock pounding pussy, of her body accepting his invasion completely.
“I’m close again!” she screamed. “Already! So close! Your cock is so good! Sahil! My husband! You fuck me so perfectly! I’m going to… going to!”
“Cum! Cum for me! Show me how good I fuck you! Show me you’re mine! My wife! My begum! My fucking slut! Cum on my cock!”
Her second orgasm ripped through her. Even harder than the first. Her whole body convulsed. Collapsed forward onto the bed. He followed her down, still inside her, still pounding through her orgasm. Chasing his own release.
“Isha! Fuck! Take it! Take my cum again!”
He came inside her again. Second load. Filling her even more. Marking her even deeper. She sobbed with pleasure and satisfaction and complete surrender beneath him.
They collapsed sideways. Both exhausted. Both satisfied.
But it was barely five minutes before Sahil’s voice again. Strong. Demanding. Already wanting more.
“Not done. Not even close. I’ve got ten years of wanting to work through tonight. Ten years of dreaming about this. About you. About owning you completely. You’re mine for hours yet, Begum. Hope you’re ready. Because I’m nowhere near finished with you.”
“Yes, husband,” she breathed. Exhausted but willing. “Whatever you want. As long as you want. I’m yours completely. Use me. Love me.”
And they did. Round three. Four. Five. Six. All night long. I watched it all from the air vent. Different positions each time. Missionary again, but with her legs over his shoulders, folding her in half, making her scream. She’s riding him, bouncing on his cock, breasts bouncing, jewellery singing.
He takes her from the side, spooning her, one hand on her throat. Standing against the wall, her legs wrapped around him, he was supporting her weight easily. Every position imaginable. Every way possible.
Sometimes tender and slow. More often wild and hard. But always passionate. Always connected. Always completely absorbed in each other.
The bed became a mess. Sheets tangled and soaked with sweat and cum. Rose petals crushed and scattered. Pillows on the floor. But they didn’t care. Just kept going. Building their marriage. Cementing their union. Becoming one flesh.
Must have been around three in the morning. Maybe later. Hard to tell. But finally, Sahil’s voice changed. Got deeper. More serious. More intense.
“Your ass. You promised me. After marriage, you said. Your anal virginity on our wedding night. Saved for your husband. I want it now. Want all of you. Give it to me, Begum. Give me what’s mine.”
“Yes,” Isha said with hesitation. A little scared. “It’s yours. Take it. Take everything. Make me completely yours in every way. Your wife in every sense. All of me belongs to all of you.”
Sahil reached for the oil on the bedside table. Massage oil they’d put there earlier. Poured it generously on his fingers. Warm oil running down.
“Get on your hands and knees again,” he commanded. “Present yourself to your husband. Offer me what’s mine.”
She did. Tired but obedient. Exhausted but willing. Got into position. Ass high. Face down. Mehendi’s hands were gripping sheets that were already soaked with sweat and cum. Perfect submission.
He started with one finger. Rubbed oil around her asshole. That tight pink pucker. Then pushed one finger in slowly. She gasped at the intrusion.
“Relax,” he said gently. Tender even. “Breathe. I know it feels weird. But relax. Don’t want to hurt you. You’re my wife. My pregnant wife. My precious Begum. I’ll take care of you even while I claim you.”
“Okay,” she breathed. “Okay. I trust you. I’m yours. Take what’s yours.”
He positioned himself. Poured more oil on his cock. Thick coating. Then lined up the head with her asshole. That tight entrance. Ready to breach it. Ready to claim it. Ready to make it his.
“Here we go,” he said. “Breathe. Relax. Let me in.
He pushed. Slow but firm. Constant pressure. The head of his cock pressed against her tight asshole. Pressed and pressed and pressed.
Then it breached. The head popped inside. She cried out loud.
“Oh god! It’s too much! Too big! Sahil! It hurts! It’s too… ahhhhh!”
“Breathe, Begum. Just breathe. The head’s in. The hardest part is done. Now I’m going to slide the rest in slowly. Very slow. Just keep breathing. Keep relaxing. Let your body accept me. Let your ass accept your husband’s cock. That’s it. Good girl. Breathe.”
He pushed deeper. Inch by inch. Slow and steady. Her asshole gripped him tight. So tight. Fighting the invasion. But slowly accepting. Slowly opening. Slowly letting him in.
She was crying. Sobbing. Not quite from pain. From overwhelm. From the intensity. From the sensation of being filled like this. From being claimed so completely. From giving up her last barrier. Her last defence. Samar already took her anal virginity, but Sahil didn’t have to know it.
“That’s it,” Sahil encouraged. “Taking me so well. Such a good wife. Such a perfect begum. Almost there. Almost all the way. Just a little more. A few more inches. Then you’ll have all of me. Every thick inch is buried in your ass. Claiming you completely. Making you mine in every way. Just a little more, baby. Just breathe. Just take it. Almost there.”
Finally – FINALLY – he bottomed out. His balls pressed against her pussy. Every single inch of his seven-inch cock is buried in her ass. Completely inside her. Claiming that final territory. Taking that last virginity.
Both groaned at the sensation. The tightness. The heat. The complete ownership.
“There,” Sahil said. Voice shaking with pleasure and possession. “All the way. Every single inch. Your ass belongs to me now. No one else will ever have this. Just me. Only me. Your husband. The man who owns you completely.”
“Completely,” she sobbed. “Your wife. Every hole. Every part.”
He stayed still for a minute. Let her adjust. Let her body accept this invasion. Let her ass get used to being filled like this. Then slowly – very slowly – he started moving.
Pulling out just an inch. Then pushing back in. Out. In. Building a rhythm. Gentle at first. Careful. But gradually getting faster. Harder. More confident. More dominant. More claiming.
And something changed in her sounds. The cries of pain became moans of pleasure. The sobs became gasps. Her body started pushing back against him. Meeting his thrusts. Taking him deeper. Wanting more.
“That’s it,” Sahil said, voice getting rougher. “Starting to like it, aren’t you? Starting to love getting fucked in the ass by your husband. Starting to understand why you saved this for marriage. Because it’s fucking perfect like this. Intimate. Claiming. Complete ownership. You love it, don’t you, Begum?”
“Yes!” she cried out. “Yes! I love it! It feels so good! So intense! So fucking intense! My ass is yours! Only yours! Fuck me! Claim me! Own me! Harder! Please harder!”
And he did. Harder. Faster. Really pounding her ass now. His dark hips slam against her fair ass cheeks. The sound is loud, wet, and obscene. His cock was pistoning in and out of her tight hole. Claiming. Owning. Dominating.
It was intense. Primal. The final claiming. The last barrier broken. The complete ownership has been established. She was his in every way possible.
“I’m cumming!” Sahil roared. “cumming in your ass! Marking you! Claiming you! Making you mine forever!”
He buried himself as deeply as possible and exploded. Filled her ass with cum. Thick hot ropes of seed paint her insides. Marking territory. Claiming what’s his. Making her completely and totally his property.
They collapsed together. Finally finished. Finally complete. Finally done.
For a long time, just silence. Just breathing. Just existing in that space where everything is perfect and nothing hurts.
Then soft crying. Happy crying. Isha sobbed with joy, satisfaction, and complete fulfilment.
“I love you,” she said through tears. “I love you so much. Thank you. Thank you for marrying me. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for making me yours in every way. Thank you for this life. Thank you for everything.”
“I love you too,” Sahil said, tender now. Gentle. Loving. “More than anything in this world. More than I can express. You’re my life now. My reason for everything. You and our child. My family. My future. My everything. This was always meant to be. We just took the long way here through pain and mistakes and wrong choices. But we made it. We’re here. And now we’re forever. You, me, our child, our family. Forever and ever.”
More soft sounds. Kissing. Murmuring. Complete contentment. Complete satisfaction. Complete union. Husband and wife.
From my position at the air vent, I’d witnessed everything. Every moment. Every position. Every declaration. Every claim. The entire wedding night from first kiss to final anal claiming.
And through it all, I hadn’t just watched. I’d imagined. Imagined being her. Being the bride. Being taken. Being claimed. Being penetrated in every hole. Being female. Being a woman. Being complete.
My transformation wasn’t just physical anymore. The hormones had changed my body – given me breasts, widened my hips, softened my face but watching this, experiencing this vicariously through her, imagining myself in her place – that changed my mind. My soul. My understanding of who I really was.
I wasn’t Shailesh. I’d never really been Shailesh. That was just the shell I’d been born into. The prison I’d been trapped in. The lie I’d lived.
I was Sheila. Had always been Sheila inside. Just took watching Isha become Sahil’s wife to understand it fully. To accept it completely. To know my truth.
I climbed down from the stepladder. Went to my small bed. Lay down. And accepted everything completely. This was the truth. This was reality. This was my path to freedom.
From their room, sounds resumed one last time. “Again?” Isha’s laugh was exhausted but delighted. “You’re completely insatiable!”
“Wedding night, Begum. I told you. Ten years to make up for. And you’re my wife now. Officially mine. I can fuck you as many times as I want. As hard as I want. As long as I want. For the rest of our lives. This is just the beginning. Come here…”
They made love until dawn. Building their marriage. Cementing their bond. Becoming truly one flesh.
And I accepted my truth. Accepted my future. Accepted who I really was. Tomorrow would begin my journey. But tonight, I witnessed theirs. And understood mine.
Morning came. Light through the windows. Birds singing. The city is waking up.
I got up early. Made breakfast with extra care. Tea brewed perfectly – strong, how Sahil likes it. Toast exactly right. Fresh fruit is cut and arranged beautifully. Everything had to be perfect for their first morning as husband and wife. Their first morning after that wedding night.
Put it all on a tray. Walked to their bedroom. Knocked softly.
“Come in.” Isha’s voice. Happy. Satisfied. Complete.
I opened the door. The room looked like a war had happened. Sheets were tangled and thrown everywhere. Pillows on the floor. Rose petals scattered and crushed. Candles burned down to nothing. The smell – sex and incense and jasmine and sweat all mixed. Evidence of their night is everywhere.
They were in bed. Tangled together. Barely covered by one corner of the sheet. Her hair was completely wild, no longer in braids, and jasmine flowers were scattered around the bed. Her makeup was smudged and worn off. Her neck and breasts were covered in love bites – dark marks where he’d sucked and bit her skin. His arm possessive around her even in sleep. Both were glowing with that post-sex satisfaction. That deep contentment.
Set the tray down quietly on the bedside table.
“Congratulations,” I said softly. “On your marriage. On everything.”
“Thank you,” Isha said. Then she sat up. The sheet fell away. Her breasts were visible – marked, swollen, nipples dark. Beautiful in that just-fucked way. “Wait. Don’t leave yet. I need something from you. One last time. For closure.”
Sahil understood without words. Kissed her deeply. Then got up. Completely naked. Walked to the bathroom. His body was magnificent even after a night of intense sex. Dark and strong and powerful. Closed the bathroom door.
Isha looked at me. “Come here. Kneel beside the bed.”
I did. Knelt on the floor next to her.
She spread her legs under the sheet. Then, I pulled it away completely. Her pussy is right there. Swollen. Red. Used. Marked. His cum is still inside her. Still leaking out. Mixing with her own wetness. The evidence of their wedding night. Their union. Their marriage. Their complete joining.
“One last time,” she said gently. “Clean me. Taste us. Taste what happened last night. Taste the reality of our marriage. Accept what we are. What you are. What’s real. One final time. Then it’s over. Then you’re free. Then you can become who you really are.”
I leaned in. My tongue touched her pussy. Tasted her. Tasted him. Tasted their combined essence. Salt. Musk. Sex. Reality.
I cleaned her thoroughly. Licked up his cum. Tasted her arousal. Felt her pussy still swollen from being fucked all night. Heard her soft moans – not sexual, just sensation. Just closure. Just ending one thing so another could begin.
When I finished, she pulled me up. Made me sit on the bed beside her.
“Thank you,” she said, seriously. “That’s the last time. The end of us. Now we all move forward. Honestly. As who we really are.”
She reached down to my groin. The cage is still locked there. Had been for months. Constant reminder of what I wasn’t. She reached into the bedside drawer. Pulled out a small key.
“I’ve had this the whole time,” she said. “Kept it safe. Waiting for the right moment. This is the right moment.”
She unlocked the cage. It fell away. My cock – small, shrivelled, useless from months of confinement – was finally free.
But I didn’t feel relief. Didn’t feel excited. Just felt… nothing. That cock wasn’t me. Never had been. Just wrong equipment attached to the wrong body.
“You’re released,” Isha said. “From the cage. From this marriage, legally, we’ll file divorce papers this week. You’re free now. Free to be who you really are. Free to become who you’re meant to be. Free to live your truth.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. Crying. “For everything. All of it. The cruelty and the kindness. The pain and the growth. The humiliation and the truth. For showing me what I’m not. For helping me see what I am. For not judging who I’m becoming. For accepting me even when I couldn’t accept myself. Thank you.”
“What will you do?” she asked. “Really do? Honestly?”
“Continue the hormones. Become Sheila completely. Not just in my head. In reality. In my body. Live as the woman I’ve always been inside. Build a new life. A real life. An honest life. As myself. ”
“Sheila,” she tested the name. Smiled. “It’s beautiful. Perfect. You’ll be beautiful too. You already are in your own way.”
Sahil came out of the bathroom. Towel wrapped around his waist. Water still beaded on his dark skin. He saw the cage on the floor. Saw me. Saw Isha. I immediately understood what had happened. What was happening? What would happen?
“Good,” he said. No judgment. No cruelty. Just acceptance. “Be what you are.”
“Thank you,” I said to both of them. “For understanding. For accepting. For helping me find myself even when it was painful. Even when it was hard. Thank you.”
“You can stay here,” Isha offered. “In the servant quarters. While you transition, your family.”
“No,” I said. Certain. “Thank you. Really. But no. I need to do this alone. Need to build myself independently. But thank you. For offering. For caring. For being kind even when you didn’t have to be.”
Sahil nodded with respect. I left that morning. Packed my few things. Walked out of the flat. Out of that life. Out of being Shailesh. Into becoming Sheila. Into freedom. Into myself.
Ten years later.
Sheila stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of a five-star hotel suite in Mumbai. City spread below. Lights everywhere. Infinite. Beautiful.
Her reflection in the glass showed the complete transformation. Long dark hair styled in loose waves. Elegant but natural makeup highlighting feminine features refined by years of hormones and careful surgeries.
Fitted designer dress – subtle but expensive – showing a woman’s body with curves in all the right places. Graceful. Beautiful. Real.
At thirty-five, she was genuinely stunning. Not trying to be. Just was. Ten years of living honestly had given her this natural beauty that no amount of makeup could fake. Confidence. Self-knowledge. Peace.
Senior VP of Marketing at one of Mumbai’s top firms. Respected in her field. Well-paid. Successful. But more than that – happy. Actually happy.
Her phone showed a social media post. Isha’s annual family photo. Tradition now. Every March 25th – their anniversary – she posted one.
Sahil stood proud and strong. Arm around Isha. Three beautiful children clustered around them. A ten-year-old son who looked exactly like his father – same dark skin, same strong features, same confident stance.
Two younger daughters, maybe six and four, with their mother’s fairness and beauty and huge eyes. Everyone smiling. Everyone happy. Everyone loved.
Sheila smiled at the image. Genuinely smiled.
She set the phone down. Looked back at her reflection in the window. The woman looking back at her was someone she recognised now. Someone she loved. Someone she was proud to be.
Ten years ago, Shailesh had died in those servant quarters. Broken. Humiliated. Erased. A shell of a person living a lie. But from those ashes, from that death, Sheila had risen. Stronger. Clearer. More authentic. More herself than ever before.
Two lives had transformed that wedding night. Two people had been reborn.
Isha had chosen to be the perfect wife to an alpha male. Mother to his children. His devoted begum. And she’d found happiness in that – in submission, in traditional roles, in being cherished and claimed and loved by masculine strength, in belonging completely to someone who valued her completely.
Sheila had chosen to become the woman she’d always been inside. Independent. Successful. True to herself. And she’d found happiness in that – in authenticity, in building herself, in living honestly without masks or pretence, in belonging completely to herself.
Both had found truth through transformation. And both were happy now, just in completely different ways.
That was the story. Not about loss or defeat or destruction or humiliation. About transformation. About becoming. About having the courage to live your truth even when the world says you shouldn’t. About choosing authenticity over comfort. About becoming who you really are, no matter the cost.
Sheila touched her reflection in the window. Gentle. Loving.
“You made it,” she whispered to herself. Deep satisfaction in her voice. She smiled. That genuine smile that comes from deep peace. From knowing yourself. From loving yourself. From being yourself completely.
The city sparkled below her. Infinite lights. Infinite possibilities.
Hope you liked this series. I hope you had a great time reading this series. Let me know how you like it? Please write to me at [email protected] with your comments and feedback.