Adultery Fathima - wife to slutty broker (With Pics)

[Cuckoldindian]

Update 3:

Fathima nodded, her throat dry as she tried to swallow. "Thank you, sir," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm eager to put my skills to good use."

 
Mr. Dsouza's gaze lingered on the V-neck of her kameez, his eyes flickering with something that was unmistakably hunger. Fathima felt a knot form in her stomach, the realization of what he was hinting at dawning on her. "While your certifications are quite impressive," he began, leaning back in his chair, "what we really need is someone with experience. Someone who can handle the...pressures of the job."
 
Fathima felt a flash of anger at his blatant objectification, but she swallowed it down, focusing instead on the opportunity before her. "Sir," she said, her voice firm, "while I may not have experience in real estate, I assure you that I am a quick learner and I am more than capable of handling any situation."
 
Mr. Dsouza stood up from his chair, the leather protesting against his weight. He approached the table, his gait slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving hers. He leaned in, placing his hands on the desk and leaning over it slightly. His cologne was strong, a mix of spices and sandalwood that filled her nostrils. "Expressive, Fathima," he repeated, his voice a low purr. "To sell a house, you have to make the client feel like it's not just a building, but a home. You have to make them want it. Do you think you can do that?"
 
Fathima felt a bead of sweat form on her upper lip as she nodded, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "Yes, sir," she murmured. "I understand what you're saying."
 
Mr. Dsouza's eyes searched hers for a moment before he straightened up, his smile widening. "Good," he said, his tone approving. "Now, let's see if you truly have what it takes to be part of the Elite Properties team."
 
He gestured to the space around them, the walls lined with diplomas and certificates of his own. "I want you to stand up and sell me this office room," he said, his voice a challenge. "Convince me that I should buy it, that it's the perfect space for my needs."
 
Fathima's heart hammered in her chest, but she took a deep breath and pushed herself to her feet. She walked to the center of the room, her sandals echoing on the marble floor. The office was indeed impressive, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the cityscape. She spun around, her eyes taking in the sleek lines of the furniture, the plush leather chair that Mr. Dsouza sat in, and the way the light played off the polished surface of his desk.
 
With a confident smile, she extended her hand towards him. "Hi, Mr. Dsouza," she said, her voice steady despite the quaking in her limbs. "I'm Fathima from Elite Properties."
 
Mr. Dsouza took her hand, his grip firm but not overpowering. His touch sent an electric current up her arm, making her pulse race. He held her gaze as he took her measure, his eyes sweeping over her from head to toe. "Welcome, Fathima," he murmured, his voice a blend of professionalism and something else—desire, perhaps? Fathima's heart fluttered in her chest, but she collegeed her features to remain calm.
 
Taking a deep breath, she began her sales pitch. "This office," she purred, her fingertips lightly brushing against the fabric of Mr. Dsouza's arms as she emphasized each word, "is a sanctuary of productivity and style." Her voice grew warmer, more seductive, as she continued, her eyes never leaving his. "The natural light flooding in through the windows is the perfect backdrop for the rich mahogany of your desk, don't you think?"
 
Mr. Dsouza's gaze grew heated, his arms sliding around her waist without her realizing it. She gasped slightly, but his grip was firm, holding her in place. "It is," he murmured, his eyes traveling down her body before returning to her face. "But, Fathima, it's a bit...large for my taste."


 
Fathima felt a thrill run through her, the boldness of her words surprising even herself. She leaned closer, her breasts pressing against his chest, and whispered into his ear, "Large is always good, isn't it?" The words came out in a breathy purr, her heart racing as she waited for his reaction.


 
Mr. Dsouza's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before a knowing smile curled his lips. He stepped back, his hands dropping to his sides. "Fathima," he said, his voice a low rumble of amusement. "You're quite the saleswoman."
 
Fathima felt a blush rise in her cheeks, but she didn't let it show. She held his gaze, her own smile never wavering. "Thank you, sir," she said, her voice still carrying the seductive lilt she had used in her pitch. "I believe that's the kind of energy that makes Elite Properties the success it is."
 
Mr. Dsouza's smile grew, his eyes glinting with something she couldn't quite read. He sat back down in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "You're right," he said, his tone more measured now. "We are a successful company. But success requires more than just the right words."
 
Fathima felt a sudden sinking feeling in her stomach. Had she gone too far? Had she misjudged the situation? She took a step back, her hands clutching at the fabric of her kameez. "Sir," she began, her voice shaky, "I apologize if I overstepped—"
 
Mr. Dsouza's smile grew wider, cutting her off. "Not at all, Fathima," he said, his eyes glinting. "I was simply testing your ability to think on your feet. And, I must admit, I'm quite impressed."
 
Fathima's heart was racing as she tried to read his expression. "I'm...glad I could impress you," she murmured, her cheeks still flushed.
 
"Impress me, indeed," Mr. Dsouza said, his smile never leaving his face. He gestured towards the chair opposite his desk. "Please, sit down."
 
Fathima perched on the edge of the chair, her heart racing. He leaned back in his seat, his gaze still lingering on her. "As you know," he began, "Elite Properties is all about results. And to be part of this team, you need to show that you can deliver."
 
"Mr. Dsouza," she said, her voice firm despite the tremor in her chest, "I'm fully committed to this opportunity. I'm willing to work hard to prove myself."
 
Mr. Dsouza's eyes lit up, and he nodded, leaning back in his chair. "Very well," he said, his smile growing broader. "This job will begin as a part-time position, with a base salary of 40,000 rupees. However, the real earnings come from the commission." He paused, his eyes glinting with excitement. "You'll get a percentage of every property you sell. And, Fathima, the sky's the limit with commissions."
 
Fathima felt a rush of adrenaline. A full-time job at Elite Properties would give her the financial independence she had been craving. It would be the perfect escape from the stifling routine of her life. "I understand, sir," she said, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart. "I'll do everything in my power to succeed."
 
Mr. Dsouza leaned back in his chair, his gaze still intense. "Good," he said, his tone satisfied. "But remember, Fathima, performance is key. You'll be judged on your sales figures, your ability to close deals, and your willingness to go the extra mile." His eyes traveled down her body once more, and she felt a shiver run through her.
 
Fathima took a deep breath, pushing aside the anxiety that had been building inside her. She knew what he was hinting at. She had seen the way men looked at women in the real estate world, the way they valued their beauty and charm over their brains. But she was determined to prove herself, to show that she was more than just a pretty face. With a deliberate move, she leaned forward, her kameez gaping slightly to reveal more of her ample cleavage. "Thank you," she said, her voice a soft purr. "I'm ready for the challenge."


 
Mr. Dsouza's eyes flickered with approval as he took in the view she had so carefully presented. Fathima felt a surge of power as she watched him react to her. It was a heady feeling, one she hadn't felt in years. She knew that by playing this game, she was giving him a piece of herself, but it was a piece she had chosen to give. And in that moment, she felt more in control than she had in a long time.
 
"Excellent," Mr. Dsouza said, his voice a low rumble. "I'll have the offer letter sent to Rahul's office on the first floor. He'll be your senior marketing agent. Go to him and sign the papers. He'll also be giving you your first assignment."
 
Fathima's heart skipped a beat at the mention of Rahul. She hadn't expected to see him again, especially not so soon. She nodded, her mind racing with thoughts of what the future might hold. "I'll do that right away," she said, her voice a soft murmur.
 
As she turned to leave the office, she felt Mr. Dsouza's gaze on her, his eyes lingering on the sway of her hips. She knew that she had played the game well, but she also knew that she would have to be careful. This was a delicate dance, one that could lead to her dreams coming true or shattering before her eyes.
 
Her sandals echoed down the hallway as she made her way to the elevator, her mind racing with excitement and apprehension. This was it, the start of a new chapter in her life. A chapter where she could finally spread her wings and soar.
 
The doors slid open, revealing a sleek, modern space, a stark contrast to the traditional attire that clung to her body. As she stepped out onto the first floor, she thought of Rahul's mischievous smile, the way his eyes had danced with unspoken promises. She told herself that he was her ex's friend, that he wouldn't dare to bother her in a professional setting like this. But the memory of his words lingered in her mind, a tantalizing whisper of what could be.
 
Fathima's eyes searched the hallway for the room number she had been given. Finally, she found it: 'Rahul Rao, Senior Marketing Agent'. She took a deep breath and knocked, the sound echoing through the quiet corridor. A moment later, the door swung open to reveal Rahul, his eyes widening slightly as he took in her newfound confidence.
 
He stepped aside, allowing her to enter. The room was smaller than Mr. Dsouza's office, but it was no less impressive, with a wall of windows that offered a breathtaking view of the bustling city below. The scent of his cologne filled the space, a familiar scent that brought back a rush of memories she had buried long ago.
 
Rahul looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on her chest. "That's the Fathima I know," he murmured, a smug smile playing on his lips. She felt a twinge of embarrassment but held his gaze, her chin up.


 
Fathima reached for the shawl that was still dbangd around her, the fabric whispering against her skin as she wrapped it back around her neck, covering her cleavage. The room grew warmer as she felt his eyes on her, his gaze appreciative.
 
"Come on, Fathima," Rahul said, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "Don't cover up. I've seen it many times during college." His words sent a shiver down her spine, a reminder of the carefree days when she had been the object of desire, not the devoted wife.
 
Fathima paused, her hand hovering over her neckline. His eyes, dark and hungry, held hers captive. She knew he was baiting her, but she couldn't resist the urge to play along. With a smoldering look, she let the shawl fall away, exposing her soft, bare skin to the cool office air. His gaze lingered on the swell of her breasts, a silent challenge that she met with a coy smile.
 
"Mr. Rao," she said, her voice a soft chastisement, "it's quite unprofessional to peek at your best friend's girlfriend's cleavage, let alone your colleague's."
 
Rahul's grin widened, not a hint of embarrassment to be seen. "Call me Rahul," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "And as for that, it's all in the past, isn't it? Besides, I've always had a knack for appreciating beauty."
 
Fathima felt a blush rise in her cheeks, but she held her ground. "Well, now that you know I'm married," she said, her voice steady, "you'll keep that in mind."
 
Rahul's smile never faltered, his eyes still roaming over her body. "Of course," he said, his voice dripping with insincerity. "But marriage doesn't mean you can't be appreciated for your beauty."
 
Fathima felt a knot in her stomach, her mind racing. She knew that she had to keep things professional, especially with the job on the line. She took a deep breath and held out her hand. "My offer letter?" she said, her voice firm despite the blush that stained her cheeks.
 
Rahul took his time, his eyes never leaving hers as he reached into the drawer and pulled out a manila envelope. He held it out to her, his fingers brushing against hers as she took it, the electricity of their touch sending a jolt through her body. "Welcome to the team, Fathima," he said, his smile knowing.
 
Fathima took a deep breath and opened the envelope, her eyes scanning over the contract. The words blurred together in her excitement, but she focused on the important parts: the job title, the salary, the commission structure. It was all there, just as Mr. Dsouza had promised. With trembling hands, she took out a pen from her purse and signed her name on the dotted line.
 
As she handed the contract back to Rahul, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze still lingering on her. "Give me your phone number," he said, his tone casual, yet commanding. "I'll call you tomorrow with your first assignment."
 
Fathima felt a jolt of excitement and a hint of nervousness. She had hoped that her performance in the interview had been enough, but she knew that the real test was just beginning. She recited her number, watching as he typed it into his phone with a smug smile. "Thank you," she murmured, trying to keep her voice professional.
 
As she turned to leave, Rahul called out, "Oh, and Fathima?" She paused, looking over her shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to keep your little secret," he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. Fathima's stomach twisted at the thought of what he could be referring to, but she kept her expression neutral and nodded before walking out of the room.
 
The elevator ride down felt like an eternity, her thoughts racing with what had just transpired. The way Mr. Dsouza's eyes had lingered on her, the way Rahul's smile had sent shivers down her spine—it was all a game she hadn't signed up for. But she had played it well, she reminded herself. It was just business.
 
As the doors slid open, Fathima stepped out into the lobby, her sandals clicking against the marble floor. The bustle of the street outside the glass doors was a stark contrast to the hushed whispers of the office space. She took a deep breath, the scent of the city filling her lungs. It was time to go home, to process this whirlwind of a day.
 
Her eyes scanned the row of autorickshaws lined up outside the gleaming office building. And there it was—the same brightly colored vehicle that had brought her here, the same driver with the knowing smile. He caught her eye, and she felt a wave of familiarity wash over her. It was almost comforting, like a silent acknowledgment of the transformation she had undergone within the walls of Elite Properties.
 
Fathima approached the driver, his nameplate reading "Rajesh." She offered a small smile, and he nodded in recognition. "Madam, you found me again," he said with a grin, his teeth flashing in the sun. "Where to?"
 
Her thoughts swirled with the events of the day, but she managed to murmur, "Home, please." As the autorickshaw pulled away from the curb, the wind in her hair feeling like freedom, she couldn't help but feel a pang of excitement for what lay ahead. The job was hers, and with it, the possibility of a new life.
 
But as the city streets grew more familiar, the reality of her situation began to settle in. She had played a risky game with Mr. Dsouza and Rahul, using her sexuality to gain the upper hand. As the vehicle stopped at a red light, she caught the driver's reflection in the mirror, his eyes lingering on her cleavage. It was a peeking glance, a silent acknowledgment of the power she had wielded in the office.


 
Fathima felt a mix of pride and guilt. She had never been one to flaunt herself so blatantly, not since she had gotten married to Aslam. But she had done it today, and she had enjoyed the way it had made her feel—powerful, desired, and in control. As the light turned green, she gave the driver a knowing smile, letting him see that she was aware of his interest. It was a small victory, a way to assert herself in a world that so often made her feel invisible.
 
When she looked into the rearview mirror and caught the driver's eyes, she felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to assert the control she had just tasted in Mr. Dsouza's office. She bit her bottom lip, the plump flesh between her teeth, and let her eyes darken with desire. The driver's gaze flickered back to the road, then back to her, his eyes wide with surprise and a hint of excitement. Fathima held his gaze for a beat longer, the corner of her mouth tilting up in a knowing smile before she turned away, leaving him to stew in his thoughts.