11-04-2025, 08:04 AM
The lawn glowed under yellow lights strung in the trees, creating a charming ambiance—candles flickered on tables, soft sitar music hummed in the background, and a faint floral scent drifted in the air. They sat at a small wooden table, ordering biryani, chicken curry, and rasmalai—the biryani’s aroma enveloped them, stirring their appetites. They ate slowly, sharing their day. "My day went well—met some new clients," Angith said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. Vanitha smiled, "Mine was amazing!" she boasted, detailing her success and George’s promised promotion—her eyes sparkled, a wide grin spreading across her face. Angith, impressed, teased, "Wow, a promotion! That deserves a treat," brushing her hand lightly. "What do you want?" she asked. He eyed her playfully, "I’ll tell you in the room," he chuckled—mischief glinting in his eyes.
After dinner, they washed their hands and strolled back to the room—the hotel’s soft lights lit the path, floral scents lingering. At the door, Angith opened it gently, ushering Vanitha in—his eyes twinkled with mischief, his smile eager. Once inside, he locked it, turned her toward him, and asked softly, "Can I tell you now?"—his hands grazed her green churidar’s shoulders. Vanitha giggled, "Sure, go ahead," swatting his hands lightly—shyness and curiosity mingling on her face.
He stepped closer, peeling off her churidar top—her black bra emerged, softly outlining her breasts. His fingers slid her pants down, leaving her in maroon panties—her body shimmered in the dim light, quickening his breath. He shed his blue shirt, tossed his pants and briefs aside, and led her to the bed. The crumpled white bedsheet awaited—he laid her back, leaning over her, kissing her neck—his breath warmed her skin, sparking heat. His lips trailed to her breasts, unhooking her bra, tasting her rosy flesh—his tongue teased her nipples, drawing a soft moan. "Angith…" Vanitha murmured, her hands roaming his back, pressing his skin.
His kisses slid to her stomach, tongue circling her navel, sending shivers through her—his hands parted her thighs, his cock brushing her pussy. The touch jolted her—he entered slowly, her hips meeting him, their bodies syncing in a deep, steady rhythm. Her legs wrapped around his waist, thighs grazing his skin, igniting friction. His chest pressed her breasts, lips claiming hers—their breaths mingled as he groaned, "Vanitha…" intensifying his thrusts. She moaned, "Angith… ah…" her body surging toward climax—his hands squeezed her breasts, her body shuddered, crying "Angith!" as she peaked. His breath raced, arms tightening, reaching his own release—their bodies slumped, breaths calming.
They lay on the mattress—Vanitha pulled the sheet over herself, her chest rising and falling, turning on the TV to a Tamil serial—a family scene flickering. One hand roamed Angith’s bare chest—fingers tracing his skin, brushing his chest hair, feeling his muscles; his faint sweat warmed her touch. Angith dbangd a thin blanket over his waist, smiling faintly—but guilt crept into their minds.
"Angith, isn’t this wrong?" Vanitha asked softly, her voice trembling, eyes on the TV though her mind churned. Her fingers paused on his chest, breath catching. He fell silent, then took her hand, "Yes, Vanitha. Thinking about it, it weighs on me. You have a family—I have my life," he admitted hesitantly, eyes dropping to the bed. "But it makes us happy, doesn’t it?" she countered, a trace of justification in her confused expression—her heart craved his touch, her conscience resisted.
"Happiness that’s wrong, Vanitha," he replied quietly, regret in his tone. "If we keep going, it’ll destroy us both someday. Think of your kids—my future," he said, squeezing her hand. She paused, then nodded, "You’re right. I care for Vinith, and I can’t do this thinking of the kids," she confessed—tears welled, though she hid them, taking a deep breath. "Let this be our last, Angith," she declared firmly, resolve in her voice.
"Alright, Vanitha. No more meetings like this," he agreed, fatigue and understanding on his face. "But I can’t forget you—these days will always be special," he added softly, gazing at her deeply. "Me too, Angith," she replied, offering a small smile—a profound understanding bloomed, tinged with parting.
"So, what’s your treat?" she teased, a playful lilt returning, lightening her mood. He hesitated, biting his lip, "I want a… blowjob," he murmured shyly, eyes hopeful. Stunned, she asked, "What did you say?"—confusion and embarrassment flickering, eyes wide. "You said you’d treat me," he grinned, voice tentative. She pondered, "I’ve hardly done that, Angith. It feels odd," she said softly—her lips quivered, a quiet struggle within.
"It’s fine, Vanitha. If it’s uncomfortable, forget it," he soothed, stroking her hand—understanding in his expression. But she looked at him, "No, I’ll do it for you. As our last," she agreed, sliding the sheet aside, leaning toward him. Her lips brushed his cock—her breath warmed his skin, shyly stirring her. She explored him gently, touching softly, pleasing him—he moaned, "Vanitha…" peaking, his body trembling then stilling. A satisfied smile spread, "You’re amazing, Vanitha," he whispered, eyes tender.
She pulled the sheet back, "That’s it, Angith," she said with a faint laugh—relief in her voice. He tucked the blanket around his waist, "Yeah, that’s it," he nodded, smiling softly. This time, they didn’t hold each other—a small gap emerged, the mattress’s width separating them. The dim light bathed them, the TV’s hum in the background—they drifted to sleep, a subtle divide forming, yet peace settling in their minds.
After dinner, they washed their hands and strolled back to the room—the hotel’s soft lights lit the path, floral scents lingering. At the door, Angith opened it gently, ushering Vanitha in—his eyes twinkled with mischief, his smile eager. Once inside, he locked it, turned her toward him, and asked softly, "Can I tell you now?"—his hands grazed her green churidar’s shoulders. Vanitha giggled, "Sure, go ahead," swatting his hands lightly—shyness and curiosity mingling on her face.
He stepped closer, peeling off her churidar top—her black bra emerged, softly outlining her breasts. His fingers slid her pants down, leaving her in maroon panties—her body shimmered in the dim light, quickening his breath. He shed his blue shirt, tossed his pants and briefs aside, and led her to the bed. The crumpled white bedsheet awaited—he laid her back, leaning over her, kissing her neck—his breath warmed her skin, sparking heat. His lips trailed to her breasts, unhooking her bra, tasting her rosy flesh—his tongue teased her nipples, drawing a soft moan. "Angith…" Vanitha murmured, her hands roaming his back, pressing his skin.
His kisses slid to her stomach, tongue circling her navel, sending shivers through her—his hands parted her thighs, his cock brushing her pussy. The touch jolted her—he entered slowly, her hips meeting him, their bodies syncing in a deep, steady rhythm. Her legs wrapped around his waist, thighs grazing his skin, igniting friction. His chest pressed her breasts, lips claiming hers—their breaths mingled as he groaned, "Vanitha…" intensifying his thrusts. She moaned, "Angith… ah…" her body surging toward climax—his hands squeezed her breasts, her body shuddered, crying "Angith!" as she peaked. His breath raced, arms tightening, reaching his own release—their bodies slumped, breaths calming.
They lay on the mattress—Vanitha pulled the sheet over herself, her chest rising and falling, turning on the TV to a Tamil serial—a family scene flickering. One hand roamed Angith’s bare chest—fingers tracing his skin, brushing his chest hair, feeling his muscles; his faint sweat warmed her touch. Angith dbangd a thin blanket over his waist, smiling faintly—but guilt crept into their minds.
"Angith, isn’t this wrong?" Vanitha asked softly, her voice trembling, eyes on the TV though her mind churned. Her fingers paused on his chest, breath catching. He fell silent, then took her hand, "Yes, Vanitha. Thinking about it, it weighs on me. You have a family—I have my life," he admitted hesitantly, eyes dropping to the bed. "But it makes us happy, doesn’t it?" she countered, a trace of justification in her confused expression—her heart craved his touch, her conscience resisted.
"Happiness that’s wrong, Vanitha," he replied quietly, regret in his tone. "If we keep going, it’ll destroy us both someday. Think of your kids—my future," he said, squeezing her hand. She paused, then nodded, "You’re right. I care for Vinith, and I can’t do this thinking of the kids," she confessed—tears welled, though she hid them, taking a deep breath. "Let this be our last, Angith," she declared firmly, resolve in her voice.
"Alright, Vanitha. No more meetings like this," he agreed, fatigue and understanding on his face. "But I can’t forget you—these days will always be special," he added softly, gazing at her deeply. "Me too, Angith," she replied, offering a small smile—a profound understanding bloomed, tinged with parting.
"So, what’s your treat?" she teased, a playful lilt returning, lightening her mood. He hesitated, biting his lip, "I want a… blowjob," he murmured shyly, eyes hopeful. Stunned, she asked, "What did you say?"—confusion and embarrassment flickering, eyes wide. "You said you’d treat me," he grinned, voice tentative. She pondered, "I’ve hardly done that, Angith. It feels odd," she said softly—her lips quivered, a quiet struggle within.
"It’s fine, Vanitha. If it’s uncomfortable, forget it," he soothed, stroking her hand—understanding in his expression. But she looked at him, "No, I’ll do it for you. As our last," she agreed, sliding the sheet aside, leaning toward him. Her lips brushed his cock—her breath warmed his skin, shyly stirring her. She explored him gently, touching softly, pleasing him—he moaned, "Vanitha…" peaking, his body trembling then stilling. A satisfied smile spread, "You’re amazing, Vanitha," he whispered, eyes tender.
She pulled the sheet back, "That’s it, Angith," she said with a faint laugh—relief in her voice. He tucked the blanket around his waist, "Yeah, that’s it," he nodded, smiling softly. This time, they didn’t hold each other—a small gap emerged, the mattress’s width separating them. The dim light bathed them, the TV’s hum in the background—they drifted to sleep, a subtle divide forming, yet peace settling in their minds.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)