02-06-2025, 03:51 PM
Arjun planned the encounter with precision, choosing Sanjay’s outskirts bungalow—a secluded retreat framed by mango groves, far from Mumbai’s prying eyes. He suggested Sanjay host a “private meeting” to discuss a campaign, a pretext for intimacy. He texted Sanjay, polite but clear: “Sir, I’m grateful for your interest in Priya. If this proceeds, please use condoms for safety. Thank you for your understanding.” Sanjay replied, “Of course, Arjun. I respect your wishes,” his tone formal, sealing their pact.
On the evening, Arjun drove Priya to the bungalow, the car’s silence heavy. Her navy saree, chosen by him, clung to her curves, its elegance a nod to Sanjay’s taste. Priya’s face was a mask, her hands twisting the saree’s edge. At the gate, Sanjay greeted them, his linen shirt crisp, his eyes hesitant but warm. “You don’t have to—” he began, his voice soft, but Arjun cut in, smooth as a salesman. “She wants this, sir. It’s for all of us.” He handed Sanjay another condom pack, a silent reminder, then added, “I’ll wait nearby. Call when you’re done.” He drove off, promising to return, but his true plan was to witness the encounter, his cuckold fantasy craving visual proof.
On the evening, Arjun drove Priya to the bungalow, the car’s silence heavy. Her navy saree, chosen by him, clung to her curves, its elegance a nod to Sanjay’s taste. Priya’s face was a mask, her hands twisting the saree’s edge. At the gate, Sanjay greeted them, his linen shirt crisp, his eyes hesitant but warm. “You don’t have to—” he began, his voice soft, but Arjun cut in, smooth as a salesman. “She wants this, sir. It’s for all of us.” He handed Sanjay another condom pack, a silent reminder, then added, “I’ll wait nearby. Call when you’re done.” He drove off, promising to return, but his true plan was to witness the encounter, his cuckold fantasy craving visual proof.
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