01-12-2025, 10:27 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-12-2025, 06:24 PM by Shakespeare. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Part 1
The fluorescent lights of the conference room buzzed faintly overhead, casting a sterile glow over the long mahogany table where our team huddled for the quarterly review. I sat at the far end, my fingers drumming nervously on the stack of financial reports in front of me. As a mid-level analyst at this bustling Bangalore bank, I was used to these meetings—endless slides on loan portfolios and market trends—but today felt different. My wife, Chitra, had insisted on dropping by with homemade lunch for me, a rare gesture amid our routine life. She stood just inside the door, balancing a steel tiffin carrier, her silk saree dbangd elegantly over her curves. The deep maroon fabric clung to her fair skin, accentuating the soft swell of her hips and the generous outline of her breasts. Her long wavy hair cascaded down her back, and she smiled shyly at me, oblivious to the room's attention.
That's when I caught it—Ash Menon's gaze. My boss, the towering figure at the head of the table, paused mid-sentence about interest rates. His dark eyes, sharp and predatory, flicked toward Chitra. He was from Kerala, early forties, with a muscular build that strained against his crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal veined forearms. Ash was the kind of man who commanded every space he entered—tall, handsome, with a manipulative charm that had climbed him up the corporate ladder. Women at the office whispered about him, how he'd bedded more than a few before moving on. His stare lingered on Chitra's form, tracing the way the saree hugged her plump ass as she shifted her weight. A slow smile tugged at his lips, and he adjusted his tie, never breaking eye contact until she noticed and blushed, averting her gaze.
Heat crept up my neck as I watched. Chitra handed me the tiffin with a quick kiss on my cheek—our marriage was solid, loyal, but after two years, the fire had dimmed to embers. We were both from conservative Bangalore families; she was the perfect wife, traditional in her ways, always in those elegant silk sarees that made her look like a goddess from old films. But lately, I'd been haunted by stories online—hotwife tales, cuckold fantasies that twisted my gut with insecurity and a forbidden thrill. What if someone like Ash, so alpha and dominant, turned his sights on her? The thought made my stomach churn and my cock twitch in equal measure. I was shy, introverted, nothing like him. Could she resist?
The meeting dragged on, but my mind raced. By the time it wrapped, Chitra had slipped out to wait in the lobby. Ash clapped me on the shoulder as we filed out, his hand heavy and lingering. 'Hari, your wife's a vision. Lucky man.' His voice was low, laced with that confident Kerala accent, and I mumbled a thanks, my pulse quickening. That evening, after Chitra and I returned to our modest apartment in Indiranagar, the idea festered. We ate her biryani in comfortable silence, her foot brushing mine under the table—a small intimacy that now felt charged. As she cleared the plates, humming softly, I couldn't shake Ash's look. In bed that night, as she curled against me, her soft tits pressing into my side, I lay awake, imagining his hands on her instead. The jealousy burned, but so did the desire to test it, to push the boundaries of our passion.
The next day at work, I found myself in Ash's office during a break. He leaned back in his leather chair, feet up on the desk, sipping black coffee. 'What's eating you, Hari? You look like you've seen a ghost.' I hesitated, my throat dry, but the words tumbled out before I could stop them. 'Sir, about yesterday... Chitra. I saw you looking at her.' He raised an eyebrow, that smirk playing on his lips again. 'And? She's stunning. Can't blame a man for appreciating.' My face burned, but I pressed on, voice barely above a whisper. 'What if... what if I challenged you? To seduce her. Prove if she's as loyal as I think.' The room went still. Ash's eyes narrowed, then lit with amusement. He set his mug down slowly. 'You're serious? Your own wife?' I nodded, heart hammering, a mix of fear and excitement twisting inside me. 'Make it a game. But she can't know.'
Ash chuckled, deep and rumbling, leaning forward. 'Alright, Hari. Challenge accepted. But don't cry when I win.' His confidence was intoxicating, dominant, and as he outlined the first subtle steps—casual compliments, lingering glances—I felt a rush of arousal despite the knot in my gut. That afternoon, he 'happened' to bump into Chitra when she picked me up from work. She was in a cream silk saree today, the blouse low-cut enough to hint at the creamy swell of her cleavage. Ash approached with his easy stride, extending a hand. 'Mrs. Hari, pleasure to meet you properly. Your husband speaks so highly of you.' Chitra smiled politely, her cheeks flushing as she shook his hand. 'Thank you, Mr. Menon. He's lucky to have such a supportive boss.' Ash's eyes dipped briefly to the way the saree dbangd over her ass, then back up. 'Call me Ash. And the pleasure's mine— that saree suits you beautifully. Brings out your... glow.' She laughed softly, shy but intrigued, tucking a strand of wavy hair behind her ear. 'Oh, it's just an old one.' But I saw the spark in her eyes, the way she stood a bit taller.
In the car ride home, Chitra chattered about the encounter. 'Your boss seems nice. Very... charismatic.' I gripped the wheel tighter, a pang of jealousy hitting me as I pictured his gaze on her curves. That night, as we undressed, her saree pooling at her feet to reveal the lacy bra cradling her full tits, I pulled her close. Our lovemaking was urgent, my hands roaming her soft body, but my mind wandered to Ash—to how he'd touch her, dominate her. She moaned under me, loyal and responsive, but I wondered how long that would last.
The next day, in the office break room, Ash cornered me. 'She's polite, but I see the curiosity. That body of hers—those tits straining against that blouse. We'll start slow: invite her to the office party next week. Get her comfortable.' His words were blunt, painting vivid pictures that made my cock harden even as shame flooded me. 'You really think you can?' I asked, voice shaky. He grinned, clapping my shoulder again, harder this time. 'Watch me, Hari. This is just the beginning.' The tension coiled tighter in my chest—jealousy, desire, the thrill of the forbidden game we'd started. Chitra remained oblivious, but I could feel the shift, the slow unraveling of our safe world.
The fluorescent lights of the conference room buzzed faintly overhead, casting a sterile glow over the long mahogany table where our team huddled for the quarterly review. I sat at the far end, my fingers drumming nervously on the stack of financial reports in front of me. As a mid-level analyst at this bustling Bangalore bank, I was used to these meetings—endless slides on loan portfolios and market trends—but today felt different. My wife, Chitra, had insisted on dropping by with homemade lunch for me, a rare gesture amid our routine life. She stood just inside the door, balancing a steel tiffin carrier, her silk saree dbangd elegantly over her curves. The deep maroon fabric clung to her fair skin, accentuating the soft swell of her hips and the generous outline of her breasts. Her long wavy hair cascaded down her back, and she smiled shyly at me, oblivious to the room's attention.
That's when I caught it—Ash Menon's gaze. My boss, the towering figure at the head of the table, paused mid-sentence about interest rates. His dark eyes, sharp and predatory, flicked toward Chitra. He was from Kerala, early forties, with a muscular build that strained against his crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal veined forearms. Ash was the kind of man who commanded every space he entered—tall, handsome, with a manipulative charm that had climbed him up the corporate ladder. Women at the office whispered about him, how he'd bedded more than a few before moving on. His stare lingered on Chitra's form, tracing the way the saree hugged her plump ass as she shifted her weight. A slow smile tugged at his lips, and he adjusted his tie, never breaking eye contact until she noticed and blushed, averting her gaze.
Heat crept up my neck as I watched. Chitra handed me the tiffin with a quick kiss on my cheek—our marriage was solid, loyal, but after two years, the fire had dimmed to embers. We were both from conservative Bangalore families; she was the perfect wife, traditional in her ways, always in those elegant silk sarees that made her look like a goddess from old films. But lately, I'd been haunted by stories online—hotwife tales, cuckold fantasies that twisted my gut with insecurity and a forbidden thrill. What if someone like Ash, so alpha and dominant, turned his sights on her? The thought made my stomach churn and my cock twitch in equal measure. I was shy, introverted, nothing like him. Could she resist?
The meeting dragged on, but my mind raced. By the time it wrapped, Chitra had slipped out to wait in the lobby. Ash clapped me on the shoulder as we filed out, his hand heavy and lingering. 'Hari, your wife's a vision. Lucky man.' His voice was low, laced with that confident Kerala accent, and I mumbled a thanks, my pulse quickening. That evening, after Chitra and I returned to our modest apartment in Indiranagar, the idea festered. We ate her biryani in comfortable silence, her foot brushing mine under the table—a small intimacy that now felt charged. As she cleared the plates, humming softly, I couldn't shake Ash's look. In bed that night, as she curled against me, her soft tits pressing into my side, I lay awake, imagining his hands on her instead. The jealousy burned, but so did the desire to test it, to push the boundaries of our passion.
The next day at work, I found myself in Ash's office during a break. He leaned back in his leather chair, feet up on the desk, sipping black coffee. 'What's eating you, Hari? You look like you've seen a ghost.' I hesitated, my throat dry, but the words tumbled out before I could stop them. 'Sir, about yesterday... Chitra. I saw you looking at her.' He raised an eyebrow, that smirk playing on his lips again. 'And? She's stunning. Can't blame a man for appreciating.' My face burned, but I pressed on, voice barely above a whisper. 'What if... what if I challenged you? To seduce her. Prove if she's as loyal as I think.' The room went still. Ash's eyes narrowed, then lit with amusement. He set his mug down slowly. 'You're serious? Your own wife?' I nodded, heart hammering, a mix of fear and excitement twisting inside me. 'Make it a game. But she can't know.'
Ash chuckled, deep and rumbling, leaning forward. 'Alright, Hari. Challenge accepted. But don't cry when I win.' His confidence was intoxicating, dominant, and as he outlined the first subtle steps—casual compliments, lingering glances—I felt a rush of arousal despite the knot in my gut. That afternoon, he 'happened' to bump into Chitra when she picked me up from work. She was in a cream silk saree today, the blouse low-cut enough to hint at the creamy swell of her cleavage. Ash approached with his easy stride, extending a hand. 'Mrs. Hari, pleasure to meet you properly. Your husband speaks so highly of you.' Chitra smiled politely, her cheeks flushing as she shook his hand. 'Thank you, Mr. Menon. He's lucky to have such a supportive boss.' Ash's eyes dipped briefly to the way the saree dbangd over her ass, then back up. 'Call me Ash. And the pleasure's mine— that saree suits you beautifully. Brings out your... glow.' She laughed softly, shy but intrigued, tucking a strand of wavy hair behind her ear. 'Oh, it's just an old one.' But I saw the spark in her eyes, the way she stood a bit taller.
In the car ride home, Chitra chattered about the encounter. 'Your boss seems nice. Very... charismatic.' I gripped the wheel tighter, a pang of jealousy hitting me as I pictured his gaze on her curves. That night, as we undressed, her saree pooling at her feet to reveal the lacy bra cradling her full tits, I pulled her close. Our lovemaking was urgent, my hands roaming her soft body, but my mind wandered to Ash—to how he'd touch her, dominate her. She moaned under me, loyal and responsive, but I wondered how long that would last.
The next day, in the office break room, Ash cornered me. 'She's polite, but I see the curiosity. That body of hers—those tits straining against that blouse. We'll start slow: invite her to the office party next week. Get her comfortable.' His words were blunt, painting vivid pictures that made my cock harden even as shame flooded me. 'You really think you can?' I asked, voice shaky. He grinned, clapping my shoulder again, harder this time. 'Watch me, Hari. This is just the beginning.' The tension coiled tighter in my chest—jealousy, desire, the thrill of the forbidden game we'd started. Chitra remained oblivious, but I could feel the shift, the slow unraveling of our safe world.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)