I’m Anamika Gupta, a 28-year-old housewife from Geeta Colony, Delhi. My upbringing and education took place in Lucknow, where I was the only child of my parents, both retired bank managers. They arranged my marriage with great pomp and splendor, and my husband, Vipul Gupta, was a kind and loving man. My figure, a curvaceous 36-28-38, was something I preserved for my husband alone, wanting to dedicate my youthful passion solely to him. But when Vipul’s infidelity shattered our home, my world fell apart. Today, I’m sharing the raw, unfiltered story of how I fought to reclaim my marriage, diving into a world of desperation and forbidden desire.
The first two months of our marriage were a whirlwind of raw, unbridled sex. Vipul’s thick 7-inch cock fucked my pussy relentlessly, day and night. Whether it was in the chilly valleys of Shimla, where the hotel bedsheets bore witness to our wild fucking, or in the snowy nights of Manali, where I shivered in the cold and Vipul warmed my pussy with his thrusts, we were insatiable. “Ohhh… Vipul, fuck me harder!” I’d moan, my 36D tits bouncing as he pounded me, squeezing my nipples until I screamed. At home, no corner was spared. The kitchen was my favorite—standing at the counter in a light pink saree, my tits straining against the fabric, rolling out rotis while Vipul sneaked up behind me, lifted my saree to my waist, and slid his cock into my wet pussy. “Anamika, your cunt is fucking heaven!” he’d growl, fucking me hard. The sound of “slap… slap…” filled the air as his hips met my ass, my moans of “Ohhh… fuck… slower, someone might hear!” only spurring him to fuck me harder, groping my tits through my blouse. Life was a blissful haze of sex and love.
But that happiness didn’t last. A woman named Ragini—whom I secretly called a fucking bitch—entered our lives. She was Vipul’s friend, but her intentions were filthy. She seduced my husband and whisked him away to Harsil in Uttarakhand, where they fucked like animals. From then on, Vipul’s attention, his love, and the cock that belonged in my pussy were all diverted to Ragini. He started picking fights with me, saying, “Anamika, you’re such a fucking prude. You’re not modern. Look at Ragini—her body, her style, her fucking figure! And you? Look at yourself in the mirror!” I knew then that Ragini had stolen my husband.
Nights became torture. I’d cling to my pillow, crying myself to sleep. I tried reading erotic stories online, but they only passed the time, offering no relief. I didn’t want my youth to waste away. I craved Vipul’s cock, his rough fucks, the way he made me scream. I’d refused anal before, and I never liked sucking his cock. But now? I was ready to suck his dick like a lollipop, let him fuck my ass—anything to win him back. But nothing worked. Vipul drifted further away.
One day, I saw an ad in the newspaper for a tantric priest. Desperate, I called him. His voice was deep, reassuring. “Daughter, I’ll bring your husband back,” he promised. I believed him. He asked for some money and said a special ritual was needed, to be performed at my house at night. I chose the 20th, when Vipul was away on a company trip.
That evening, around 6 PM, the tantric arrived. He was about 36, tall, muscular, with dark skin and a strange glint in his eyes. He spread a mat in my bedroom, lit 25-30 oil lamps, and burned incense, filling the room with a heady, musky scent. He instructed me, “Bathe, but wear only one piece of clothing.” My heart raced. Just one cloth, in front of a stranger? But I thought, if this saves my marriage, I’ll do anything. I bathed and slipped into a thin white cotton saree, still damp, clinging to my body. My 36D tits were fully visible, my nipples poking through the fabric, no bra or blouse to restrain them. My waist and round ass were outlined perfectly. I looked like a fucking porn star.
The tantric’s eyes locked onto my tits as I entered. “Lie down,” he commanded. I lay on the bed, my saree still clinging to my curves. He slowly lifted it to my waist, exposing my freshly shaved pussy. “I need to perform a yoni ritual,” he said. I didn’t understand, but I was ready for anything. He sprinkled holy water on my pussy, placed rose petals over it, and chanted mantras. His fingers brushed my clit, sending a shiver through me. “Ohhh…” I moaned softly, my body betraying my hesitation.
He began running his hands over my body, pausing at my tits, squeezing them hard. “Ohhh… Baba, what are you doing?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Shut up, you slut! This is part of the ritual,” he growled. His crude words made my pussy drip. He pulled my saree off completely, leaving me stark naked, my 36D tits heaving, my nipples rock hard. He grabbed my tits, kneading them roughly, sucking my nipples until I moaned, “Ohhh… fuck… Baba!” His 8-inch black cock was now rock hard, bulging under his kurta. He stripped off his clothes, revealing his massive dick, already glistening with precum.
“Baba, please… this is wrong,” I protested weakly, but my pussy was soaking, my body burning with need. He spread my legs wide and shoved his cock into my pussy. “Slap… slap…” The sound of his thrusts echoed in the room. “Ohhh… Baba, slow down… it hurts!” I screamed, but he snarled, “Take it, you whore! I’m gonna rip your cunt apart!” His cock stretched my pussy, hitting deep inside. “Ohhh… fuck… harder!” I moaned, lost in the pleasure. He grabbed my tits, pinching my nipples, biting them. “Ohhh… Baba, my tits… fuck!” I cried, my body shaking. “Your cunt’s so fucking tight, slut! Your husband doesn’t fuck you like this, does he?” he taunted, his dirty talk driving me wild.
He flipped me over, making me get on all fours, my ass in the air, my tits dangling. He slapped my ass hard. “Smack… smack…” The sound rang out. “Ohhh… Baba, what the fuck?” I gasped. “I’m gonna fuck your ass, you bitch!” he growled. He slid a finger into my tight asshole, then pushed his cock in. “Ohhh… fuck… Baba, it hurts!” I screamed, but he didn’t stop. “Slap… slap…” His cock pounded my ass, the pain mixing with pleasure. “Ohhh… fuck my ass harder!” I begged, my body surrendering. My tits bounced with every thrust, my moans filling the room.
The night was a blur of relentless fucking. He fucked my pussy, then my ass, then shoved his cock in my mouth. “Suck it, you slut!” he ordered. I sucked his dick like a porn star, gagging as it hit the back of my throat. “Mmm… ohhh…” I moaned, saliva dripping down my chin. He fucked my pussy again, his cock slamming into me. “Slap… slap…” My moans grew louder, “Ohhh… Baba, I’m cumming!” My pussy clenched around his cock, squirting as I came. He groaned, unloading his cum deep inside my pussy.
Morning came, and he wasn’t done. Still naked, my tits bouncing, he pinned me against the wall, lifted one leg, and fucked my pussy again. “Slap… slap…” “Ohhh… Baba, fuck me harder!” I screamed. He squeezed my tits, sucked my nipples, and came inside me again. I paid him, and he left.
The next day, Vipul was due back. I dressed in a tight red saree, my tits hugged by the blouse. At 6 PM, the doorbell rang. Vipul walked in, looking broken. “What’s wrong?” I asked. He collapsed into my arms, sobbing. “Ragini took all my money and ran. I’ve filed a complaint. She ruined my life.” I held him, unsure if this was fate or the tantric’s doing, but it felt right.
Did my yoni ritual story(Yoni Ritual, Tantric Sex, Erotic Story, Infidelity, Housewife Affair, Explicit Sex, Desi Erotica, Pussy Fucking, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Sensual Tale, Adult Narrative) turn you on? Have you ever experienced a tantric encounter like this? Drop your thoughts in the comments below!