Sulekha fucked by an Australian - Part 2
Hey Guys, I’m Sulekha. I’m a widow. I’m 49 years old and am a single mother of 25 kids. Today’s story is the second part of my previous story, ‘Sulekha fucked by an Australian.’ Savannah will write this part. The following story will be Savannah’s account in her own words. Her ID will be mentioned below as well. Savannah’s Account: The room was filled with the soft glow of candlelight and the heavy scent of sex. I was bent over the edge of the bed, my blonde hair cascading over my shoulders, my moans echoing through the room. Adam, my boyfriend, was behind me, thrusting into me with powerful strokes. My hands gripped the sheets tightly as I felt wave after wave of pleasure wash over her. “Harder, Adam,” I begged, my voice breathless and desperate. “Please, fuck me harder.” Adam responded by grabbing a fistful of my blonde hair and pulling it back, causing me to arch my back and cry out in pleasure. He increased the intensity of his thrusts, driving deeper into me. My moans grew louder, filling the room with a symphony of desire. “Yes, babe… Yes… Fuck my pussy… Yes.” Just then, the shrill ring of my phone cut through the air. My heart skipped a beat, and I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the incredible sensations Adam’s cock caused in my pussy. But the phone continued to ring insistently. “Adam, stop,” I gasped, pushing him away and scrambling to grab my phone. Adam groaned in frustration but stepped back, giving me space. My hands trembled as I answered the call. “Hello?” I said, trying to steady my voice. “Is this Savannah McCarthy?” a stern voice asked on the other end. “Yes, that’s me,” I replied, my heart pounding. “This is Dr. Patel from St. Vincent’s Hospital. I’m sorry to inform you, but your parents have been in a car accident. Your mother didn’t survive, and your father’s condition is critical. You need to come to the hospital immediately.” I felt the world around her crumble. “No,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “No, this can’t be happening.” “I’m very sorry, mate. Please come as soon as you can.” I hung up, my mind racing. I quickly got dressed, tears streaming down my face. Adam, realising the gravity of the situation, hurried to dress as well. We rushed to the hospital in a distressed silence. My mind replayed the doctor’s words over and over. At the hospital, I was led to a small, sterile room where my father lay hooked up to various machines. The beeping of the monitors was the only sound, a constant reminder of the fragility of life. My mother had already passed away, and now my father was nearing the end. “Dad,” I whispered, taking his hand. “I’m here.” My father’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked at me with a mixture of pain and love. “Savannah,” he croaked. “There’s something you need to know.” “Shh, Dad, don’t talk. Just rest,” I said, my voice shaking. “No, you need to hear this,” Dad insisted. “Your mother, she wasn’t your real mother. You were the result of an arrangement I had with an Indian woman named Sulekha. Jane and I couldn’t have children. Jane wanted to adopt, but I wanted my biological child. The arguments nearly drove us apart. Jane went to live with her parents, and I went on the trip to India Alone. There, I met Sulekha. With her, I struck an arrangement. She agreed to have my child. Once the child was born, she’d give the child up for adoption. Jane and I will adopt the kid. That way, everyone would be satisfied. That child is you, sweetheart.” My world spun out of control. “What?” I whispered, my mind struggling to comprehend the revelation. “I’m so sorry, Savannah. I never meant for you to find out like this. But you deserve to know the truth,” Dad said, his voice growing weaker. “The agreement prevented Sulekha from seeking you out. But I can feel my end nearing. Jane and I will no longer be with you. But Sulekha can be. Go and find your birth mother, Savannah.” With those final words, Dad took his last breath, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I sat by his side for what felt like hours, my mind a whirlwind of emotions. When I finally left the hospital, I felt numb, lost in a sea of grief and confusion. After the funeral, I informed Adam of my desire to go to India and seek out my birth mother. Adam, ever the supportive boyfriend, agreed to accompany me. He applied for a vacation from work while I resigned from my job. I knew this journey would be longer than just a vacation. Two months passed in India, and I found myself nowhere closer to finding Sulekha. The frustration and desperation began to take a toll on my and Adam’s relationship. One night, after yet another fruitless day, we had a huge fight. “Why won’t you just come back with me?” Adam shouted, his patience worn thin. “We’ve been here for months, and you haven’t found anything. Maybe it’s time to accept that you won’t.” My eyes flashed with anger. “You don’t understand! I need to find her. I need to know where I come from.” “This obsession is tearing us apart,” Adam said, his voice softening. “I miss my life back home. I miss you.” “Then maybe you should go back,” I snapped, tears welling up in my eyes. The next morning, I woke up to find Adam gone. He had left a note, apologising for leaving but saying he couldn’t stay and be a part of my madness anymore. I felt a pang of guilt but also a steely resolve. I had to find Sulekha. I applied for a work visa and soon found myself a job in a small IT firm. At work, I was placed on the same team as Sumit, a charming and kind colleague. Over the next couple of months, I and Sumit struck up a close friendship that eventually blossomed into something more. One night, Sumit invited me over for dinner. He cooked his favourite meal for me, Dal Makhani and Naan. I found it absolutely delicious.