HALO MY LOVE MY JAAN
Please Siddharth aka Sid Jaisingh aka our husband ke liye likho kuch ☹️🫵🥺 like he's so hawt I want his cock- WHO SAID THAT?!!! WHO????! 🤨🤨
no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light
Humare??? Don’t remember sharing MY OG FIND with you, bbg 👀 but okay, since you are my jaan, I will fulfil your request…
Also, the smuttiest smut I have ever written?
A Nice Present
Siddharth Jaisingh x Reader
A court attracted many things—wronged pleading for justice, guilty men preaching innocence and apparently, two opposites reeking of each other when they shouldn’t…
A prosecutor, a defence lawyer she absolutely hates and a moment they both pretend didn’t happen. What could truly go wrong?
Warnings: Smut. Dirty talking. Flashback smut. Semi-public sex. PiV. Unsafe sex. Fingering. Oral sex (m!receiving). Wife kink? Enemies to…enemies with benefits? Choking kink. Degradation. Breeding kink (kinda?). Hair tugging. Heavy tensions. Dark!Sid. Dominant!Sid. Submissive!Reader. Power imbalance. Nicknames. Dub-con (reader is drunk). Manhandling. I kinda went over the board with this?
Tag List: @sonasarchive, @goodnightkatherine, @littletigerspeaks2, @itstiaofficial, @majoriqbalkibiwi, @willowsgoldenhour, @wtafananya, @ashnotashkechum, @scarletpresencescythe
The Lucknow High Court was a careful blend of order mingling with soul-draining chaos, a harmony of overlapping conversations and the loud announcements of clerks cutting through the corridors—sending the small gatherings into motion as men and women alike nearly tackle each other to the floor while trying to step inside the courtroom first, as if the seat closer to the front would bring them more insight than the ones sitting in the back.
And among them was the already frustrated prosecutor, elbows out and profanities on the lips as she pushed her way into the room, huffing in annoyance while her fingers brushed the dark coat on her shoulders straight.
“Hadd hai yaar!” (This is too much, bro!) She hissed, glancing to her side to see her junior—a young man with thick glasses on his nose and a book tucked underneath his arm at all times—fixing his suddenly ruffled hair with an anxious eye towards the bench where the judge would take his seat.
“Prosecutor ko hi andar nahi aane denge? Khud ladne ka mood hai kya inka?” (Won’t let the prosecutor step in? Are they in mood to fight the case themselves?) She continued, heels clicking against the floor as she approached the table, depositing the sole file she was holding on to before she slumped down in the wooden chair, groaning as the muscles of her thighs protest against movement—last night taking a toll, especially when she had received no true respite.
The gala had been boring as always, an annual lawyers meet, where snakes dressed up to their best and smiled behind champagne flutes, exchanging compliments and greeting kisses when all they wished for was eliminating competition from the saturated profession.
But she had found a man—half-drunk on the whiskey they had served already. And the rest? Well, the man—whosoever he had been—was rather the silver tongue, stringing together words of praises that intoxicated her to the point of desperation until she had nearly pounced on his offer to move the conversation somewhere private.
Her laboured breath had fogged the mirrors, head tipping back against the window while the deep voice had whispered filth into her neck, pressing open-mouth kisses on the bare skin while two of his fingers pressed against the entrance of her weeping core, slipping in without much resistance and pounding into her.
“Such a perfect girl, aren’t you? So docile—nothing like that venomous viper in the courtroom.”
The words still brought a flush to her cheeks while the memory had her shifting in the chair, eyes closed as her fingers thrummed against the top of the table in a familiar rhythm—a song that had been playing in the background while she had been speaking with the stranger at the bar.
Who even was the man?
Surely she wasn’t drunk enough to not remember the face or the name—if he had given her one—of the stranger that had dragged her to orgasm and then dropped her at her place in his much expensive car. A Mercedes, she could recall slightly, with leather seats that had creaked when he had shifted just enough to drop his perfectly-ironed pants.
Her memory had never failed her like this, but then again, she had never truly indulged in something so thrillingly sinful.
Her entire life had revolved around books—a nerd in high school, a serious relationship during law school that went nowhere, a summer fling too late that wasn’t as fun as the movies had displayed it. Hence, her love life, to conclude in short, was as boring as a bare act discussing about a centuries-old law that was no longer applicable, but still important for Bar examination.
But last night?
“Where did the venom go, hm? Leaking from your tight cunt, is it? Who would have thought Ms. Prim and Proper was simply a whore begging to be fucked right? You could have just asked me, sweet little viper—why fuck up my—”
“Oh my god!”
She jumped, nearly falling off her chair as she was brought out of the rapidly moving train of her thoughts by the quiet exclamation of her junior—who was busy staring at the defence’s table.
“Kya hai?” (What is it?) She gritted through her teeth.
“Siddharth Jaisingh.”
A scoff escaped her lips, eyes narrowing in a glare as she glanced at the defence lawyer—the tall man unaware, or simply ignoring, her as he unbuttoned his court and sat down in the chair with the arrogance of a spoiled brat with a silver spoon of privilege in his mouth.
She had fought her first case as a prosecutor against him, and many more—emerging victorious in most of them simply because she relished the sight of his glare and pursued lips. And the ones she couldn’t win? She made sure that he didn’t either, the verdict remaining neutral with no one side losing and the other wining.
“Of course, yeh panauti hi milna tha aaj,” (of course, I had to meet this misfortune today) she mumbled to herself, still not relenting from the glare.
But then, something caught her eye.
The watch around his wrist nearly shone under the sunlight filtering in through the windows of the room—silver chain gleaming while the black dial nearly disappeared under the sleeve of his court until he stretched his arm a little over the table while reaching for a file. An expensive watch—something like Rolex—that seemed far more familiar than she would like it to be.
The memory, a particular one, came crashing down on her like a thunder.
“You look so pretty with my hand wrapped around you, princess,” he had whispered while his fingers had pressed insistently against her racing pulse, teeth nibbling at her earlobe as he had seethed his length into her. Not even for a second had he spared her the chance to adjust to him, instantly beginning to thrust up into her welcoming heat while his free hand moved—tracing her side before his fingers laced into her ruined hair, tugging at them hard enough for pain to shudder through her body.
“So very different than the courtroom version of yourself. So very likeable and pretty—the perfect wife. Letting me use you without any protests, being so welcoming for me.”
A car’s headlight had reflected in the mirrors, the watch around his wrist—the one around her slender neck—catching the light and brightening up before the hand moved, snaking around her back and pulling her flush against him to pound faster into her until her eyes had disappeared behind her lashes.
Of course, it had to be him.
Her face whipped away from him, body shifting until she was nearly facing away from him and towards the judge. A muscle feathered in a jaw from tension while another ached somewhere in her head—perhaps, a side effect of the alcohol she had consumed a night before, or of the man sitting only a few steps away from her.
The session run long—not really, but for the prosecutor who tried her best not to squirm in her chair under the weight of the past night’s unholy memories.
“—no more questions, your honour,” she ended with a slight bow, approaching her chair while gesturing with a hand to the defence to take the floor. But she had forgotten just how much Siddharth Jaisingh liked his petty intimidation tricks.
And true to his narcissistic self, he stood up right when she was about to pass his table to settle into hers, towering tall over her small figure in his tailored suit, dark eyes watching—no, studying her as if she was the very verdict of the case, or perhaps, undressing her in his mind—while his fingers slowly closed the singular button on his coat.
The low cadence of his deep voice, the arrogance rippling from it—everything catapulted her to the gala, or rather, the aftermath of it.
His large hand had covered the small of her back easily, free hand holding her heels while she breezed through the corridor of the five-star hotel that had hosted the gala, swaying in his hands as the elevator had dinged closed and his lips had began closing in on her exposed skin—nipping and kissing and whispering while his beard scratched the delicate spot behind her ear.
“Didn’t think you would be so willing, Ms. Prim and Proper. Is this truly what it takes—a few drinks and whispered filth—to get the chance to fuck that tight cunt? It must be, no? Tight and warm and welcoming, the perfect gift for a man like me.”
A tsk had followed, a dark chuckle too, one that had a shiver running down her spine while her fingers had curled into his for support, nails tapping against the glass of his wrist by mistake as gasps and wanton moans escaped the curve of her parted lips.
It was only the call of her name that had pulled her away from the trance of the memory, an embarrassed flush on her cheeks as she mumbled an apology to the furious judge and threw a glare over her shoulder at the sound of the smug chuckle from the attorney sitting relaxed in the chair.
The grin on his face made her blood boil, the man acting as if he knew exactly what had kept her mind preoccupied—which, he actually did. Because, honest to god, the same memories plagued his mind too, the only difference being that his years of practice had trained him well-enough to hide his thoughts. All while she was still learning, a ripe fruit that he had bitten into last night—evidence of which was hidden underneath the collar of her shirt.
A fruit far more juicier than the forbidden apple—and the one made solely to take his cock perfectly.
The sight of her lips moving—stating facts and serving it to the judge with emotional words about justice for the wronged that the second-generation lawyer barely cared for—catapulted him right to the night before, his body reclining in the back seat of his car while legs parted just enough to cage her kneeling figure.
She had been rather wonderful, despite being much of a novice—kissing and licking his tip and swallowing much of his length while her hands stimulated the remaining, hollowing her cheeks and sucking him off after the initial gagging that had him chuckling and petting her hair.
“Who else have you sucked, baby? How many else have you opened your mouth for?”
His fingers twitched against his thigh, remembering the feel of her luscious locks in around his skin—the same one that were twisted into a tight knot that looked far too stiff to be comfortable, baring a sliver of the nape of her neck before the dark collar hid away her skin. The memory of the small whine muffled by his cock in her mouth still vibrated through his body, the blood rushing south in a moment when it should be racing towards his brain.
Damn, Ms. Prim and Proper, he thought to himself as he stood up, fingers pressed to the wooden table as he objected to her interrogation of the witness—not because she was misleading or anything. But because he wanted those eyes on him, just like they had been the night before—doe eyes peering up at him through the shelter of her lashes while he fed her more and more of his length.
“Objection overruled,” the judge grumbled, unbeknownst of the palpable tension between the two lawyers, or simply, he had no interest in anything other than the lunch break that was close enough for the man in his fifties to taste the Aloo Paratha on the tip of his tongue.
The nod that the prosecutor gave was nearly dazed, eyes still firm upon Siddharth—who, with a feline grace, settled back into the chair with a smirk—before she peeled her gaze away, trying to focus on the witness sitting in the stand. But her mind? Still attached to the image of his long fingers splayed on the table, veins bulging under tanned skin while the dark inked tattoo peeked from underneath his sleeve.
The same fingers that had been inside her, thrusting into her tight core, tips brushing against that one spot she had believed to be nonexistent while his thumb had rubbed her small bundle of nerves. His pace had driven her to the verge of madness, crazed tears rolling down her cheeks while her fingers had curled into the collar of his shirt—incoherent pleads escaping her lips: “please…ah—p-p-please, I want to…”
“Please what?” The devil had crooned with an evil smile.
“I-I-I want to co—”
“No more questions, your honour,” she whispered, stiff limbs dragging over to her chair, sitting down with her eyes trained upon her own interlaced fingers.
She had more questions—they both knew that. But neither had the energy to go through what they had prepared for beforehand, mind drifting away from the session in hand to the memories neither of them should be paying attention to, especially now when a matter of justice and innocent lives dangle in their hands.
“Cross examination?”
The judge turned his critical eye towards Siddharth, who let out a controlled breath and stood up, fingers interlaced together in front of him. Dark gaze mapped the witness sitting in the stand to the stiff woman that had occupied his every single waking thought since the second she walked into the gala wearing that silk dress that seemed like champagne sparkling under the dim lights of the banquet hall.
“Your honour, mujhe thode time ki zarurat hai—to go through everything that was said today,” (your honour, I would require some time—to go through everything that was said today) he announced, shocking almost everyone in attendance—because Siddharth Jaisingh never delayed his cases like this.
The next minutes were a blur—the judge announcing a date before adjourning the session, everyone rising as the judge retreated to his chamber, the crowd slowly filling out of the courtroom to get on with their respective businesses.
All while the prosecutor worked mechanically.
“Tu chal files leke, I will join you in a moment,” (you go with the files, I will join you in a moment) she whispered to her junior, patting encouragingly on his shoulder before she all but jogged to the washroom in the opposite wing of the court—an isolated location given most people crowded the cafeteria for a quick lunch. Just perfect for her to gather bits and pieces of her composure and get through the day.
The water that touched her face wasn’t cold, something she would have appreciated at the moment, but the lukewarm water was only a reminder of how little she actually expected anything good in her life—for the particular day, at the very least.
Knuckles turned white as the grip on the edge of the sink tightened, eyes forced close—but even that offers her no respite from the plaguing thoughts, or rather, the intrusive images and the ghost of whispers that had her insides twist.
His fingers had pressed against her lower belly, his length splitting her open while she convulsed on top of him, head rolling back until the back grazed the leather covers of the passenger seat, nails digging into his shoulder to anchor herself to the reality. All while he had increased his pace, thrusting deeper into her while his free hand had moved north to play with her pebbled nipples through the confines of her dress.
“You want to be filled up, don’t you? My good little slut, wanting me to fill you up to the brim until you leak of me—even in the courtroom tomorrow, huh? My dirty whore.”
“Y-yes,” she had hiccuped through tears, completely unaware of everything but the intoxicating pleasure rushing through her body.
“You are so good to me, baby, so fucking nice that I might just keep yo—”
“Thinking about me, baby girl?”
Large hands snaked around her waist, turning her around until the curve of her ass was pressed against the counter behind, lips pulled in a cruel smirk brushing hers even before she could distinguish between memory and reality, teeth nipping at her lower lip teasingly while the familiar scent of his spiced aftershave dazed her senses—pulling her back into that dark space of complete submission.
“Bold of you to assume I think of you,” she hissed back, her hands pressed against his chest to push him back—but her strength waned in front of him, broad shoulders clouding the world and caging her right there, surrounded by him and him alone. The tremble in her words had been little, barely noticeable, but both of them were lawyers—good ones at that—and far too observant for their own good.
One of his hand shifted, slipping underneath the safe cover of her black coat to trace her side, lingering fingertips sending a shudder down her spine and pulling a gasp free—one of the many sounds he had enjoyed tugging from her parted lips until she had sang freely for him.
His lips hovered close to hers, darkened eyes glinting with a cruel glint while raw desire danced in the depths like a hungry predator latching on to a prey, one of his favourite one.
“And yet, you kept staring at me like you still felt me between those delicious thighs of yours,” he hummed with a grin—one that spoke volumes about his intentions—before he moved her again, not giving her a chance to sass him back. Her back was turned to him quickly, pushing her over until she was bent over the counter with the curve of her ass budging against his tightening trousers, a hand slipping into her hair to loosen the bun, tugging her back until her eyes were focused on the reflection of them in the mirror.
His chest pressed against her back, other hand gripping her waist while his hips buck against her—grinding his straining length against her ass while growling low into her ears.
“I bet you are wet for me right now,” he began, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her ear before he nipped at her earlobe, tongue flicking over the small earring—silver wire forming a little butterfly—teasingly. “Should I check, little one? Shove my hands down your little panties and see whether your cunt weeps for me or not?” He continued, letting go of her ear to press an open-mouth kiss on the bared skin of the nape of her neck.
Her eyes fluttered close, resistance leaving as her body became putty in his hands—ready to do whatever he wanted her to do. Her hips dug into the edge of the counter, eliciting a little whine while her mind registered his heavy cock brushing against her ass—separated by the maddening restraints of their clothes. Without a spare thought, her heel-clad legs parted a little, as if begging for something—and he knew exactly what.
“You want to be fucked here? In the women’s washroom of a high court? Where anyone can catch us?” He voiced, a depreciating chuckle punctuating his questions while his nose rubbed against the skin behind her ear, fingers playing with the hem of her coat as if contemplating the risk of actually doing it.
He tsked—just like he had a night before.
“You are a dirty, dirty slut—but you know that already.”
His fingers wrapped around her arms, straightening her over and turning her around again until her dazed eyes meet his lustful ones, one hand shifting to cup her jaw, thumb grazing the curve of her lower lip before he leaned down to press a brushing kiss—a brand that burned into her skin.
“Aaj raat, mere ghar. Saree pehn kar aana,” (tonight, my house. Come wearing a saree) he whispered, thumb stilling against her skin as he leaned down to press another feather-light kiss on the skin behind her ear—whispering his final words before departing the washroom like he had never stood there.
“I want to unwrap my slut like a nice present.”