02-06-2025, 03:59 PM
The first encounter between Sanjay and Priya at Sanjay’s secluded bungalow, framed by mango groves on Mumbai’s outskirts, had been a triumph for Arjun’s twisted vision—a fusion of his cuckold fetish and corporate ambition. Sanjay had taken Priya with a tenderness that elicited screams unlike any Arjun had heard from her with gigolos. Yet Arjun’s failure to witness the act, relegated to hearing her raw moans through the bungalow’s walls, gnawed at him. The sounds—Priya’s guttural cries, Sanjay’s low groans—painted a vivid picture he couldn’t see, fueling both his arousal and his frustration. Determined to regain control and feed his voyeuristic hunger, Arjun orchestrated more encounters between Sanjay and Priya, each time hoping to glimpse their intimacy. But every attempt failed, his obsession deepening with each thwarted effort, pushing him to extreme measures at home with gigolos and bulls.
Arjun’s arrangements for Sanjay and Priya’s subsequent trysts were meticulous, each designed to grant him visual access to their encounters while maintaining the facade of professional necessity. He continued to frame the meetings as “private discussions” about Visionary Ads campaigns, leveraging Sanjay’s attraction to Priya and his own role as a facilitator. The bungalow remained the primary venue, its isolation ensuring privacy but also frustrating Arjun’s voyeuristic urges. He sent polite texts to Sanjay before each meeting, a ritual of control: “Sir, please use condoms for safety. Thank you.” Sanjay, ever courteous, replied affirmatively, and Arjun reinforced the rule with Priya, handing her condom packs, his eyes flickering with anticipation. But his attempts to watch were thwarted by the bungalow’s architecture and Sanjay’s discretion, leaving Arjun a desperate outsider to his own fantasy.
The Second Tryst: A week after the first encounter, Arjun arranged another “strategy session” at the bungalow, claiming a new Tata campaign needed Sanjay’s input. He drove Priya to the gates, her silence heavy in the car, her navy saree—chosen by Arjun for its elegance—shimmering under the moonlight. “Make it quick,” she muttered, clutching the condom pack. Sanjay greeted them, his eyes warm but cautious, and Arjun left, promising to wait nearby. Instead, he circled back, his heart pounding, testing new vantage points. He crept through the mango grove, the air thick with the scent of overripe fruit, and pressed himself against a side window. The shutters were closed, only slivers of light escaping. He tried the rear patio, climbing a low trellis, but the bedroom curtains were drawn tight, mocking his efforts. Defeated, he leaned against the outer wall, the stucco cool against his cheek, and listened. Priya’s moans were louder this time, a crescendo of pleasure that pierced him, Sanjay’s groans a steady rhythm. The sounds were torturous—her passion for Sanjay was undeniable, a depth the gigolos never elicited. Arjun’s trousers tightened, his arousal laced with envy, but the lack of visuals left him hollow. Driving Priya home, her flushed face and clipped retelling—“It was fine”—only deepened his frustration.
Arjun’s arrangements for Sanjay and Priya’s subsequent trysts were meticulous, each designed to grant him visual access to their encounters while maintaining the facade of professional necessity. He continued to frame the meetings as “private discussions” about Visionary Ads campaigns, leveraging Sanjay’s attraction to Priya and his own role as a facilitator. The bungalow remained the primary venue, its isolation ensuring privacy but also frustrating Arjun’s voyeuristic urges. He sent polite texts to Sanjay before each meeting, a ritual of control: “Sir, please use condoms for safety. Thank you.” Sanjay, ever courteous, replied affirmatively, and Arjun reinforced the rule with Priya, handing her condom packs, his eyes flickering with anticipation. But his attempts to watch were thwarted by the bungalow’s architecture and Sanjay’s discretion, leaving Arjun a desperate outsider to his own fantasy.
The Second Tryst: A week after the first encounter, Arjun arranged another “strategy session” at the bungalow, claiming a new Tata campaign needed Sanjay’s input. He drove Priya to the gates, her silence heavy in the car, her navy saree—chosen by Arjun for its elegance—shimmering under the moonlight. “Make it quick,” she muttered, clutching the condom pack. Sanjay greeted them, his eyes warm but cautious, and Arjun left, promising to wait nearby. Instead, he circled back, his heart pounding, testing new vantage points. He crept through the mango grove, the air thick with the scent of overripe fruit, and pressed himself against a side window. The shutters were closed, only slivers of light escaping. He tried the rear patio, climbing a low trellis, but the bedroom curtains were drawn tight, mocking his efforts. Defeated, he leaned against the outer wall, the stucco cool against his cheek, and listened. Priya’s moans were louder this time, a crescendo of pleasure that pierced him, Sanjay’s groans a steady rhythm. The sounds were torturous—her passion for Sanjay was undeniable, a depth the gigolos never elicited. Arjun’s trousers tightened, his arousal laced with envy, but the lack of visuals left him hollow. Driving Priya home, her flushed face and clipped retelling—“It was fine”—only deepened his frustration.
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