Adultery In the Shadow of Diplomacy: A Tale of Temptation (Completed)

[Blackdick11]

Atleast someone is reading by going into details. Both stories will merge at one point. Thanks for reading with intent.

Wow, that’s amazing to hear!
Tbh, when I first started reading In the Shadow of Diplomacy, my mind immediately went — Wouldn’t it be awesome if this was actually Rashi’s background story?...then I started connecting the dots and thought, No! This story has huge potential to really dive into her background and past experiences! 
In Bound by Storm, we didn’t get much about Rashi and Amit, and I remember you mentioned you’d explore more about her. Well, this feels like the perfect setup for it!

super excited to see where you take this — I have a feeling it’s going to be amazing!

[eslx1212]

Let Rashi have more adventures in Dubai before she goes back to Afghanistan. Faisal should have friends who have similar taste. Let him introduce her to them.

[untamable_rohini]

Rashi hesitated for only a moment, then gave a small, wicked smile—one she knew Faisal would catch immediately.

She shifted her phone so that he could see her more fully, the soft lighting of the room wrapping her in a warm, golden glow. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her blouse again, this time slower, deliberate, almost playful.
Rashi glanced at the screen, at the way Faisal leaned in, his expression tense, devouring her every move.
She let her fingers trail lazily down the buttons of her blouse, undoing them one by one, slower than necessary. Rashi glanced at her phone again, where Faisal’s eyes burned into hers through the screen, silent and expectant. A slow, teasing smile curved her lips.
"If you want a show," she said softly, "you’ll have to be patient."
She stepped back from the dresser, letting her fingers toy lazily with the hooks at the back of her blouse. Her movements were deliberate—knowing, calculated. She turned slightly so that Faisal could see the graceful arch of her spine, the slender dip of her waist. her saree still clinging to her like a second skin. With a slow, deliberate grace, she let her fingers skim the curve of her waist, finding the tucked pleats and gently tugging them free. The silk sighed against her skin as it slipped downward, pooling silently around her bare feet.
Now, only her blouse and petticoat remained.
The blouse was snug, molding her figure, the low neckline revealing a hint of the delicate lace beneath — the dusky rose-colored bra she had worn for the summit. As her fingers reached behind to unclasp the blouse, she paused, letting her back arch ever so slightly, knowing he was watching every breath, every flutter of movement.
The blouse slid down her arms, a slow, almost reluctant fall, revealing her fully to him from the waist up — save for the bra that cupped her perfectly, the lace barely opaque, a teasing glimpse of the warmth beneath.
She let her fingers trail lazily down the buttons of her blouse, undoing them one by one, slower than necessary. The delicate fabric parted, revealing a glimpse of lace—deep maroon against her warm skin. Her bra was simple but devastating: soft, barely containing the fullness of her curves, the straps framing her shoulders like ribbons waiting to be undone.
She let the blouse fall completely now, standing there in just the saree dbangd low on her hips and that teasing slip of lace across her chest.
Faisal’s voice came through the speaker, rough with restraint. “God, Rashi...”
She smiled—slow, wicked—and turned slightly, giving him a view of her bare back, the slim band of the bra stretching across her shoulder blades. Her fingers moved to the clasp, pausing just long enough to make him ache. She brushed a strand of hair over her shoulder and tilted her head, pretending to adjust a strap — a movement that made her chest lift slightly, the light catching the soft curves. Her size was lush, beautifully proportioned; enough to overwhelm the modest lace cups, enough to make every slow movement feel like a temptation.
Faisal exhaled audibly.
“Do you really want to see?” she asked, her voice feather-light, pure temptation.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His eyes said everything.
Rashi popped the clasp open with a deft flick. The straps loosened, sliding languidly down her arms. She caught the cups against her chest with one hand, teasing him, holding the barrier in place while giving him flashes of bare, heated skin.
She heard the slight hitch in Faisal’s breath through the speaker, and it emboldened her.
Still facing the camera, she dragged her fingers along the line of her collarbone, down the center of her chest. She toyed with it, pretending to fumble, letting the anticipation build.
Faisal said nothing, but the way he leaned closer to the screen told her everything.
Finally, with a small, almost innocent tilt of her head, Rashi undid the clasp. The bra loosened, slipping forward with gravity’s gentle insistence. She caught the straps with her fingertips, holding it against her body for a moment longer—one last tease—before letting it fall.
The garment tumbled from her hands, forgotten.
She stood there, unashamed, bathed in the soft light, her skin alive with sensation under his gaze. She let him look, her chest rising and falling slowly, deliberately, as if she were breathing just for him.
"You're quiet," she whispered, her voice a low, silken taunt.
"You’re..." Faisal’s voice cracked slightly before he caught himself, steadier now, heavier. "You’re so beautiful it’s ruining me."
She smiled—sweet, devastating.
Rashi moved closer to the camera, her bare shoulders filling the frame, her hair cascading over one side like a velvet curtain. She tilted her chin up, lips parting slightly, as if daring him to reach through the screen and close the distance.
"You’re staring," she whispered, pretending to chide, but her voice was thick with a thrill she couldn't hide.
"How could I not?" Faisal rasped, his voice roughened by the heat between them.
Rashi smiled, slow and devastating, and bent slightly to pick up the blue dress from the bed — giving him one last, lingering look at the perfect curves of her bare chest before she pulled the dress over her head, the silky fabric kissing every inch of her skin as it settled into place.
The screen caught the final flick of her hair over her shoulder, the satisfied gleam in her eyes.
“All dressed,” she murmured again, her voice like velvet.
“But you’ll remember me like this.”
Rashi shifted closer to the bed, her bare skin gleaming under the soft yellow light of the room. Spread across the covers was the dress Faisal had given her—a deep, rich blue, the color of midnight right before it surrenders to the stars.
She let her fingers trail over the fabric, savoring the texture, aware of Faisal’s eyes glued to the screen, following her every move.
Still completely bare from the waist up, she straightened slowly, letting the tension build. Her breasts rose and fell with her breath, the dusky curves glowing in the dim light. The cool air tightened her skin, making her acutely aware of every inch he could see — and every inch he couldn't yet touch.
Without breaking eye contact with the camera, she lifted the dress in both hands. The silk slipped through her fingers like water.
"Is this what you want to see?" she murmured, voice soft, teasing.
Faisal’s answer was little more than a breathless "Yes."
Rashi smiled, slow and dangerous.
She gathered the dress, bunching the fabric at the hem, and pulled it over her head in one fluid motion. The cool silk kissed her bare shoulders first, then slid over her breasts — the sensation so light it almost felt like a sigh against her skin. The neckline was daring: a deep plunge that revealed the gentle inner curve of her cleavage, accentuating the soft fullness of her chest without quite giving everything away.
The fabric clung to her waist, tracing the subtle dip of her navel, hugging her hips like a second skin. The dress flowed down to her thighs in a silken caress, leaving her legs bare and inviting. Every curve, every hollow, was accentuated—the swell of her breasts, the slope of her waist, the gentle flare of her hips all beautifully displayed by that impossible, midnight-blue fabric.
She stepped back, giving him a full view, then turned slowly, letting him see how the back dipped scandalously low, the fabric skimming just above the small of her back.
When she turned to face him again, she caught the way his throat bobbed, the way he gripped the phone a little tighter.
Rashi tilted her head and whispered, "You’re lucky I’m in a generous mood tonight."
And from the hungry look in Faisal’s eyes, she knew — he didn’t feel lucky.
He felt devastated by the distance between them.
Faisal’s voice, when it came, was low and rough around the edges, like a man clinging to the last strands of his restraint.
“Take the straps off your shoulders,” he said.
It wasn’t a request. It was a command—quiet, certain.
Rashi’s lips curved into a wicked smile. She moved closer to the phone, the camera capturing the play of light and shadow over her body. Her fingers, feather-light, slid under the thin straps of the blue dress.
“Like this?” she teased, slipping one strap down her shoulder in a slow, deliberate motion, exposing the soft swell of her breast even more. Then the other strap followed, sliding down her arm until both barely hung by a thread.
The bodice of the dress dipped scandalously low, barely containing her. The top edge brushed the peaks of her breasts, making them seem even fuller, the soft, heavy curves daring to spill free.
Faisal’s jaw clenched visibly. His hand shifted slightly off screen — as if he had to physically stop himself from reaching out, from doing something reckless.
"Lower," he growled.
Rashi obeyed, slowly tugging the bodice down until the tops of her breasts spilled fully into view, the rich fullness of them barely hidden anymore. The dress clung precariously at her waist now, more a suggestion of modesty than a shield.
Her nipples, dusky and hardened from the cool air — and from his gaze — were just barely veiled by the angle of the camera. She tilted her head sweetly, pretending innocence.
“You’re insatiable,” she whispered.
“And you’re cruel,” he shot back, voice dark with hunger. "Touch yourself."
The command struck the air between them, electric and undeniable.
Rashi’s breath hitched — a tiny, shivering sound she couldn't contain. Her hand moved up, skimming the side of her breast first, tracing the curve with the lightest brush of fingertips, the kind of touch meant to tease, not satisfy.
Faisal’s breathing grew heavier, syncing with hers.
Slowly, lazily, she cupped one breast fully, lifting it toward the camera, letting him see how soft, how generous she was. Her thumb brushed over the sensitive tip, and she exhaled a shaky breath that made his name slip from her lips like a confession.
"Rashi..." Faisal's voice cracked. "You're going to kill me."
She smiled, wicked and breathtaking. "Good."
The straps slipped lower still. The dress was barely holding to her hips now, her body offered up in shimmering blue silk and bare, flushed skin.
Rashi’s breathing was uneven now, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm she couldn’t control. She watched Faisal’s eyes—dark, commanding, burning through the screen—as he gave his next instruction, voice thick with need:
"Touch yourself lower."
For a moment, she hesitated — not from reluctance, but from the electric thrill racing along her skin.
Her fingers slipped down her body, caressing the soft curves of her waist, grazing over the silk where it still clung to her hips. The fabric was damp against her inner thighs — her own arousal soaking through.
Faisal noticed immediately, his voice dropping into a raw whisper.
"You’re wet for me, aren’t you?"
Rashi bit her bottom lip, nodding once, slow and helpless under his gaze.
"Show me," he ordered.
With trembling hands, she gathered the hem of the blue dress, lifting it inch by inch. The silky fabric slid up her thighs, revealing bare, flushed skin. She discarded her underwear in a jiffy and now, there was nothing to hide her.
The soft glistening between her thighs caught the light, unmistakable.
Faisal let out a low, guttural sound from deep in his chest.
"You're beautiful," he rasped. "And you’re mine tonight."
Rashi's fingers brushed along her inner thigh first, teasing herself, her body already slick and throbbing with need. She tilted her hips slightly, giving him a better view through the camera, savoring the tortured look on his face as he watched her.
She dipped two fingers lightly through her folds, gathering the evidence of her arousal, and gasped softly at her own touch. Her skin was molten, every nerve ending sharpened to unbearable sensitivity.
"Go slow," Faisal murmured, almost as if he could feel every move she made.
"Imagine it’s my hand."
She obeyed, circling her entrance with feather-light strokes, teasing herself open under his relentless gaze. Her thighs trembled, the need building to a fierce, aching pressure.
"Say my name," he commanded.
Her voice, when it came, was breathy and wrecked.
"Faisal..."
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if the sound physically struck him, then opened them again—hungry, unrelenting.
"Don't stop," he said, voice rough.
"I want to see you fall apart for me."
And under the heavy gaze of the man who owned every breath she took in that moment, Rashi gave herself over to the fire between them, her body moving with slow, helpless pleasure.
For him.
Only for him.
Just as Rashi’s breath quickened, her fingers moving faster now, teasing herself with the slow, rhythmic pressure of her touch, a sudden, sharp buzz from her phone broke the fragile moment. Her heart leapt in surprise, and she quickly glanced at the screen, startled by the name flashing there: Amit.
Her mind had been so consumed by Faisal’s presence, his voice, the heat between them, that she’d forgotten. Amit was coming back to Dubai tonight.
Her breath caught, and her fingers hesitated, lingering on her skin before she reluctantly pulled away.
"What's wrong?" Faisal’s voice came through the phone, the sultry edge of his words still thick with desire.
"I… Amit’s calling," she said, her voice slightly breathless, the aftershocks of their shared tension still alive in her body. “I forgot he’s arriving tonight. He’ll be here in thirty minutes."
Faisal’s expression hardened, though she couldn’t see it through the screen. "You should go."
She didn’t need to hear more. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before she disconnected, her body aching for more, but the urgency of Amit’s arrival pulling her into reality.
She quickly called Amit back, her mind racing as the phone rang.
When his voice finally answered, it was laced with warmth. “Hey, Rashi. I’m just landing now. I’ll be at the hotel in about thirty minutes. I’ll see you soon.”
"Okay," she replied, her voice steady, even though she could feel the pulse of desire still thrumming through her. "I’ll be waiting."
She hung up and stood still for a moment, her gaze drifting to the disarray in her room. The bed was messy, the blue dress she'd worn for Faisal now a tangled reminder of the passion that had sparked between them.
Taking a deep breath, she moved quickly, her heels clicking softly as she tidied up the room. The room now felt eerily quiet, with the buzz of anticipation hanging heavy in the air. She straightened the bed, adjusted the pillows, and then, feeling the tension of the moment seep into her body, she walked back to the bathroom.
With deliberate care, she ran a brush through her hair, letting the soft waves fall loosely around her shoulders, the sensual, blue dress still hugging her curves. She glanced at the clock — just enough time. She needed to be calm, composed, yet something simmered beneath her skin that wouldn’t quite settle.
She returned to the room, standing in front of the mirror, examining the reflection of herself. The dress, so sleek and sexy, had a certain power over her — a magnetism that was both subtle and undeniable. She wasn’t just dressing for Amit; she was dressing for herself too.
A soft knock at the door jolted Rashi from her thoughts. She took a breath, smoothed down the sides of her blue dress, and opened it.
Amit stood there, travel-worn but smiling — that familiar smile she used to find comfort in. His arms opened without hesitation, and she stepped into them, letting his warmth wrap around her.
"God, I missed this," he murmured against her hair, holding her tight. She tilted her face up and kissed him — slow, affectionate, not innocent. Their lips lingered, testing each other’s energy. Amit’s hand slid naturally down to her lower back, then lower still, giving her hip a firm squeeze.
Rashi gave a little gasp and pulled back playfully. "Long flight, huh?"
"Long enough to think about you the whole way," he replied, eyes scanning her. Then he took a step back to actually look at her, brows raising. "Wait — you're not in the saree?"
She arched her brow. "What saree?"
"The one you wore at the summit. Qadir sent me pictures. You looked..." He exhaled, smirking. "Dangerous. Ravishing, actually. I was hoping to come back and find you still in it."
Rashi laughed, stepping back to let him in. "Oh, you would’ve liked that, wouldn’t you?"
"You know I have a weakness for you in a saree," he said, kicking off his shoes. “You’ve ruined more than one hotel night that way.”
“Well,” she said, turning just enough to give him a full view of the deep back cut of the blue dress, “I bought this yesterday. Thought I’d tease you a little. Maybe even spark your old performance.”
Amit let out a low whistle, his gaze raking her from head to toe. He came up behind her, hands sliding over her hips, fingers brushing the soft curves of her thighs where the dress hugged tightly. One hand moved up slowly, confidently, to cup her breast over the fabric, fingers pressing just enough to make her breath catch.
“You’re teasing me, alright,” he muttered against her neck. “God, I missed these curves.”
Rashi leaned into him for a heartbeat, enjoying the warmth of his hand, the familiar rhythm of his touch. But deep down, her mind was spinning. Faisal’s voice still echoed in her head. Qadir’s grip on her waist from just hours ago still lingered on her skin like a shadow. And now here she was, being held again — by the man who had once been her only lover.
She wasn’t guilty. Not exactly. But she was aware. Of every man’s eyes, hands, presence. Of how each one left a different kind of burn.
“You’re quiet,” Amit said softly, brushing her hair back and kissing the base of her neck. “Tired?”
She turned in his arms and smiled. “Just… long day. A lot of eyes on me today.”
He grinned. “Damn right. Even in photos, you stole the whole summit. I would’ve kissed you on that stage.”
"You would’ve caused a scandal," she laughed.
"Let them talk," he murmured. "You're mine."
His hands dipped down again, this time cupping her through the cling of her dress, pressing her hips into his. She felt his breath change, his arousal obvious, but she gently pulled back, brushing his chest.
"Easy," she teased. "You're not even showered."
He groaned dramatically and kissed her again. “Give me ten minutes. Then dinner. Then… we’ll see how much I’ve missed you.”
She gave him a wink and patted his chest. “You’ll need the energy.”
As he stepped into the bathroom, Rashi sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, her fingers toying with the hem of her dress. Her lips still tingled from Faisal’s words. Her body still remembered Qadir’s touch.
And now Amit — steady, loving, and unsuspecting — was about to……..
The dress still clung to her, warm with the heat of everything left unsaid.
Dinner was quiet but intimate. They chose a candle-lit corner table at the hotel restaurant, tucked away from the rest of the crowd. Amit reached across the table often — holding her hand, brushing his thumb over her wrist, touching her knee under the table when no one was looking. He complimented her dress again, and she returned his flirtation with a practiced smile, sipping her wine with elegance.
They talked about the summit. About travel. About everything except what hung heavily between them.
By the time they returned to the room, Rashi knew what would follow.
And she let it.
Amit kissed her with familiarity — eager, clumsy, affectionate. His hands rediscovered her curves with a blend of hunger and comfort. They made love under the soft yellow glow of the bedside lamp, his breath hot against her neck, his movements earnest but uneven.
He tried.
She moaned when she had to. Closed her eyes when he wanted her to. Touched him like he was still the only one.
But in the back of her mind, a quiet voice wouldn’t be silenced.
Three men In less than 24 hours.
Faisal — his lips on her neck, his voice in her ear, his fire across a video screen.
Qadir — urgent hands in a shadowed corridor, his breath still etched into her skin.
And now Amit — her husband, familiar and warm… but distant, slower, quieter.
As Amit reached his climax and collapsed beside her, satisfied and unaware, Rashi stared at the ceiling, her fingers idly tracing circles of his cum over her own stomach.
She felt full and yet — somehow — still hollow.
The room was quiet now. His breathing deepened beside her. But her mind remained tangled in the touch of three men. Three lives. Three versions of her.
And none of them truly knew what the others had claimed.
The next morning in Dubai began with that particular stillness that comes after change — not dramatic or loud, but quietly irreversible. Rashi sat at the edge of the bed in the sunlight, her phone resting in her lap. The hotel room smelled of fresh linen, faint perfume, and a night that had left more questions than answers.
Amit was still in bed, one arm under the pillow, his breathing deep and even. She looked at him — not with guilt, but with quiet reflection. He was dependable. Loving. And yet, in the last 24 hours, she had shared pieces of herself with three different men. Each one bringing out a different version of her. Faisal stirred her passion. Qadir, her recklessness. Amit… her history.
Her phone buzzed again. A follow-up email — this time, from Faisal’s assistant.
“Please consider this offer time-sensitive. Mr. Faisal is personally hopeful you will join the team.”
The job wasn’t just generous — it was empowering. A chance to lead an entire initiative dedicated to women’s rights in Afghanistan. To shape narratives, build institutions, and actually bring change from within. Rashi had given speeches about such things — now she was being asked to live them.
She glanced at Amit, now awake and blinking against the light. His voice was rough with sleep.
“You’ve been up a while?”
She nodded, brushing her hair back. “Yeah. Got an email… from Faisal’s team.”
He pushed himself upright. “About what?”
She handed him the phone. Amit scrolled through the email in silence. She watched his face — not for jealousy, but for something else. Disbelief? Discomfort?
Instead, he simply exhaled. “They’re offering you the head role?”
She nodded slowly. “It’s… a big deal.”
“You’d be leading an entire wing.”
“I know.”
His brows rose slightly. “That’s more than what I make. They’re giving you a bigger budget than the entire department I run.”
“I know that too.”
He paused, thinking. Then he smiled. “Well, damn. Looks like I’m married to a rising star.”
She laughed, relief washing through her. “You’re okay with it?”
“Rashi,” he said, taking her hand, “if there’s anyone who should be running something like that, it’s you. I’m proud of you. I’ve always been proud of you.”
She looked down for a moment, emotion stirring unexpectedly. "I just… I feel like everything’s been shifting inside me these past few days. I don’t know how to explain it. Like… I’ve been in the background for too long.”
Amit nodded, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “You’ve always stood out, Rashi. But maybe now you’re finally standing for yourself.”
She swallowed, heart thudding gently. “That’s what it feels like. Like I’m done asking for permission to take space.”
He smiled. “Then take all the space you need.”
Later that morning, as they packed their bags to head back to Kabul, Rashi took a moment alone in the hotel lobby cafe. She sipped a strong espresso, her phone in hand, scrolling through the email again. That title — Head of Women’s Empowerment Initiative — Afghanistan Region — stared back at her like a mirror.
Across the café, she spotted Qadir. He hadn’t seen her yet — he was deep in conversation with someone, but when he glanced up and caught her eye, he gave her a subtle nod.
Minutes later, he joined her at her table.
“I heard,” he said, with that half-smile she was beginning to decode. “Faisal offered you the big chair.”
“He did,” she replied, tone even. “You think I should take it?”
He leaned back. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”
Rashi gave a soft laugh. “You’re biased.”
“Maybe,” he said, tilting his head. “But I’m also observant. You walked into that summit like it was yours. This just makes it official.”
She studied him for a moment. There was something steady about Qadir now — less flirtation, more respect. Maybe because she hadn’t shrunk back. Maybe because she hadn’t apologized for anything.
“I’ll accept it,” she said finally.
His eyes flickered with satisfaction. “Good.”
There was a moment of silence between them. Not awkward — just loaded.
“And just so you know,” he added, tone quieter now, “what happened between us… I won’t speak of it. It’s yours to hold or release. But I don’t regret it.”
She nodded. “Neither do I.”
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t overwhelmed.
The return flight was quiet.
Rashi sat by the window, Amit beside her, both of them lost in thought. She stared out at the clouds, thinking of the summit, of Faisal’s intense gaze over video, of Qadir’s hands on her hips, of Amit’s gentle words.
Three men.
Three versions of her.
But something else was emerging now — something singular. Her own path.
She wasn’t choosing between them.
She was choosing herself.

[King Kesavan]

She should give the well fucked pussy to her wimp husband to lick and clean.

[eslx1212]

Superb new episode.

[qazmlp]

Super going.Nice update.

[Gajakidost]

Did she still feeling her useless husband dick or he feelign it gripping after she taking monster cocks.? Both should be disappointed and know that it is end of relationship.

[untamable_rohini]

Seems this part was not interesting. No comments and neither likes.

[eslx1212]

Scroll up to find that 7 users have liked it so far, followed by appreciative comments.

[mahamatherchod]

Seems this part was not interesting. No comments and neither likes.

There is a chance of joining Urvashi and Zaid here in hotel and i am expecting that he is going to be faisal and qadir man but seems like they will enter in the story in kabul

[Rockket Raja]

Great changes

[Vishal Ramana]

Two men and one wimp (husband). superb writing

[ricah43165]

You’re doing great, Rohini—don’t stop it! just keep it going. not many people here actually stick with their stories like you’re doing.

[eslx1212]

Untamable Rohini, untame yourself and post the next part.

[Dumeelkumar]

super update

[untamable_rohini]

Drop some images of your imagination of the characters and situation. Next part is on the way soon.

[Blackdick11]

[Yesudoss]

Amit is not a man. he is a wimp. if he is a man, why would she open her legs to other two.

[eslx1212]

Is the update still cooking or cooked but not served yet?

[olumannan]

Marvelous