16-01-2026, 07:19 AM
(This post was last modified: 11 hours ago by gvsubu1995. Edited 2 times in total. Edited 2 times in total.)
Latha adjusted the pleated edge of her deep maroon saree for the
third time in the mirror. The silk clung to her curves in a way that
made her feel both elegant and slightly exposed. At 29, she still had
the soft, glowing skin of a new bride, even after four years of
marriage. Her husband Arun always said her 34C breasts and rounded
hips looked “sinfully innocent” in traditional wear.
Tonight was important. Arun’s boss, Vikram Mehra — the Regional
Director who could make or break careers with one signature — had personally invited them to his sprawling farmhouse on the outskirts of the city
for what he called a “small celebration.” Arun had been working insane hours for the last promotion cycle. Everyone in the office knew this dinner
was the final test.
“Relax, baby,” Arun said, coming up behind her and kissing the side of her neck. “You look breathtaking. Just smile and be your sweet self. He’ll
love you.”
Latha gave a nervous laugh. “I just don’t want to embarrass you.”
“You could never,” he whispered, though she noticed his fingers trembled slightly when he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
They arrived at 8:15 PM. The farmhouse was modern-minimalist — glass walls, black marble floors, mood lighting that made everything look
expensive and dangerous. Only six other couples were there, all senior people from Arun’s division. Vikram greeted them at the door.
He was taller than Latha remembered from the company family day — easily 6'2", broad-shouldered, salt-and-pepper hair, and the kind of quiet
confidence that made people lower their voices when he entered a room. Forty-five, divorced, known to work out obsessively. His eyes lingered
on Latha exactly two seconds longer than necessary.
“Arun, you’ve been hiding this beautiful wife from me,” he said, voice low and amused. He took Latha’s hand, brushed his lips across her knuckles
instead of shaking. “Welcome, Latha ji.”
She blushed instantly. “Thank you, sir.”
“Vikram,” he corrected gently. “No ‘sir’ tonight.”
Dinner was exquisite, wine flowed freely. Conversation stayed light until the other guests slowly drifted toward the outdoor pool area, leaving just
the three of them at the long teak table. Arun’s face had grown flushed — from alcohol, nerves, or both.
Vikram leaned back in his chair, swirling the last of his red wine.
“Arun tells me you two are trying for a baby,” he said casually.
Latha’s eyes widened. She hadn’t expected that topic.
Arun cleared his throat. “We… yes, we’ve been trying for a few months.”
Vikram’s gaze moved to Latha’s midriff, then slowly rose to her face. “And how is that going?”
She swallowed. “Not yet.”
A long silence. Then Vikram smiled — not kindly.
“Sometimes a woman needs… stronger motivation.” He looked straight at Arun. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Arun’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He didn’t answer.
Vikram stood. “Come. Let’s talk somewhere quieter.”
He led them to a private sitting room on the first floor — all black leather, dim amber lights, a massive glass window overlooking the dark garden.
He closed the door. The click of the lock sounded very loud.
“Sit,” he told Latha, pointing to the wide ottoman in the center.
She obeyed, heart hammering.
Vikram poured three glasses of single malt, handed one to each of them.
“Arun,” he said pleasantly, “you’ve been an excellent manager. Numbers are outstanding. But the director position requires… total loyalty. Total
commitment. You understand that, don’t you?”
Arun nodded jerkily.
Vikram turned to Latha. “And you, sweetheart… do you understand what total commitment looks like?”
Her voice was barely a whisper. “I… I think so.”
He stepped closer until he stood directly in front of her knees. Slowly he reached down, caught the end of her pallu, and drew it away from her
shoulder. The silk slid like water. Her blouse was low-cut; the upper swell of her breasts rose and fell rapidly.
“Beautiful,” he murmured.
Arun made a small sound — half moan, half sob.
Vikram didn’t even glance at him. He sank to one knee so his face was level with Latha’s. His fingers traced the edge of her blouse, then slipped
the first hook free.
.
“Tell your husband to watch carefully,” he said to her. “This is how promotions are really earned.”
Latha’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t look away from Arun. “Watch me, Arun,” she whispered. “Please.”
Vikram opened the rest of the hooks with deliberate patience. When the blouse fell open he pushed the cups of her bra down, exposing her
nipples to the cool air. They were already hard.
He leaned in and took one into his mouth — slow, deep pulls that made Latha gasp and arch. His hand kneaded the other breast possessively.
Arun was gripping the armrests so hard his knuckles were white.
Vikram stood again, unbuckled his belt with unhurried movements. When he freed himself, Latha’s eyes widened. He was thick, heavy, already
leaking at the tip.
“On your knees, darling,” he said softly.
She slid off the ottoman, knelt between his legs. Her hands shook as she wrapped her fingers around him. He was hot, velvet-steel.
“Look at your husband while you taste me,” Vikram ordered.
Latha turned her head. Arun’s eyes were glassy, his breathing ragged. She held eye contact as she parted her lips and took the head into her mouth.
Vikram groaned low in his throat. “Good girl.”
He let her work him slowly at first — tentative licks, gentle sucking — then threaded his fingers into her hair and pushed deeper. She gagged softly
the first time he hit the back of her throat, but he didn’t relent. He fucked her mouth with measured strokes while she whimpered around him.
After several long minutes he pulled out, glistening with her saliva.
“On your back,” he said. “Legs open.”
Latha lay back on the ottoman. Vikram hooked his fingers into her petticoat drawstring and yanked. The fabric parted. He dragged her panties
down her thighs, leaving them tangled around one ankle.
He knelt between her spread legs, rubbed the fat head of his cock along her slit. She was soaked — embarrassingly so.
“You want this, don’t you?” he asked.
She nodded, tears slipping down her temples. “Yes…”
“Tell your husband.”
Latha looked at Arun. Her voice cracked. “I want it, Arun… I want him inside me.”
Vikram pushed forward in one long, relentless thrust.
Latha cried out — sharp, startled. He was much thicker than Arun. The stretch burned sweetly. He didn’t pause, just kept sinking until his hips met
hers and he was buried to the root.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “So tight.”
He began to move — slow, punishingly deep strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside her. Latha’s hands flew to his shoulders, nails
digging in. Her moans turned high and broken.
Vikram leaned down, kissed her hard — possessive, claiming. His tongue fucked into her mouth the same way his cock fucked into her pussy.
Arun was openly crying now, but he hadn’t looked away once.
Vikram picked up speed. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. Latha’s breasts bounced with every thrust. She wrapped her legs around his
.
waist, heels digging into his lower back, silently begging for more.
“You’re going to come on my cock,” Vikram growled against her ear. “And you’re going to thank me when you do.”
He changed the angle, grinding against her clit with every stroke. Latha’s eyes rolled back.
“I’m— oh god — I’m close—”
“Come,” he commanded.
She shattered — back arching off the ottoman, a keening wail tearing from her throat. Her walls clamped down so hard Vikram cursed under his breath.
He didn’t stop. He fucked her through the aftershocks, harder, faster, chasing his own release.
“Where do you want it?” he rasped.
Latha’s voice was wrecked. “Inside… please… inside me…”
Arun made a strangled sound.
Vikram slammed deep one last time and erupted — hot, thick pulses that flooded her. He kept grinding slowly, milking every drop into her spasming cunt.
When he finally pulled out, a thick trickle of white followed, dripping down onto the leather.
He stood, tucked himself away, and looked at Arun.
“Congratulations,” he said calmly. “The director position is yours. Effective Monday.”
Arun stared at his wife — flushed, trembling, legs still spread, cum leaking from her swollen pussy.
Latha reached out a shaking hand toward her husband.
Arun crossed the room in three steps, dropped to his knees between her thighs, and buried his face against her dripping center — licking, sucking,
cleaning every trace of another man from her while she stroked his hair and whispered broken apologies and words of love.
Vikram watched for a moment, then walked to the door.
“Next quarter’s target is twenty percent higher,” he said over his shoulder. “I expect the same level of… dedication.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Latha pulled Arun up, kissed him with the taste of both men on her tongue.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Arun shook his head, eyes shining. “Don’t be.”
And in that dark, expensive room, with the scent of sex still thick in the air, something new and irreversible settled between them.
The end.
third time in the mirror. The silk clung to her curves in a way that
made her feel both elegant and slightly exposed. At 29, she still had
the soft, glowing skin of a new bride, even after four years of
marriage. Her husband Arun always said her 34C breasts and rounded
hips looked “sinfully innocent” in traditional wear.
Tonight was important. Arun’s boss, Vikram Mehra — the Regional
Director who could make or break careers with one signature — had personally invited them to his sprawling farmhouse on the outskirts of the city
for what he called a “small celebration.” Arun had been working insane hours for the last promotion cycle. Everyone in the office knew this dinner
was the final test.
“Relax, baby,” Arun said, coming up behind her and kissing the side of her neck. “You look breathtaking. Just smile and be your sweet self. He’ll
love you.”
Latha gave a nervous laugh. “I just don’t want to embarrass you.”
“You could never,” he whispered, though she noticed his fingers trembled slightly when he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
They arrived at 8:15 PM. The farmhouse was modern-minimalist — glass walls, black marble floors, mood lighting that made everything look
expensive and dangerous. Only six other couples were there, all senior people from Arun’s division. Vikram greeted them at the door.
He was taller than Latha remembered from the company family day — easily 6'2", broad-shouldered, salt-and-pepper hair, and the kind of quiet
confidence that made people lower their voices when he entered a room. Forty-five, divorced, known to work out obsessively. His eyes lingered
on Latha exactly two seconds longer than necessary.
“Arun, you’ve been hiding this beautiful wife from me,” he said, voice low and amused. He took Latha’s hand, brushed his lips across her knuckles
instead of shaking. “Welcome, Latha ji.”
She blushed instantly. “Thank you, sir.”
“Vikram,” he corrected gently. “No ‘sir’ tonight.”
Dinner was exquisite, wine flowed freely. Conversation stayed light until the other guests slowly drifted toward the outdoor pool area, leaving just
the three of them at the long teak table. Arun’s face had grown flushed — from alcohol, nerves, or both.
Vikram leaned back in his chair, swirling the last of his red wine.
“Arun tells me you two are trying for a baby,” he said casually.
Latha’s eyes widened. She hadn’t expected that topic.
Arun cleared his throat. “We… yes, we’ve been trying for a few months.”
Vikram’s gaze moved to Latha’s midriff, then slowly rose to her face. “And how is that going?”
She swallowed. “Not yet.”
A long silence. Then Vikram smiled — not kindly.
“Sometimes a woman needs… stronger motivation.” He looked straight at Arun. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Arun’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He didn’t answer.
Vikram stood. “Come. Let’s talk somewhere quieter.”
He led them to a private sitting room on the first floor — all black leather, dim amber lights, a massive glass window overlooking the dark garden.
He closed the door. The click of the lock sounded very loud.
“Sit,” he told Latha, pointing to the wide ottoman in the center.
She obeyed, heart hammering.
Vikram poured three glasses of single malt, handed one to each of them.
“Arun,” he said pleasantly, “you’ve been an excellent manager. Numbers are outstanding. But the director position requires… total loyalty. Total
commitment. You understand that, don’t you?”
Arun nodded jerkily.
Vikram turned to Latha. “And you, sweetheart… do you understand what total commitment looks like?”
Her voice was barely a whisper. “I… I think so.”
He stepped closer until he stood directly in front of her knees. Slowly he reached down, caught the end of her pallu, and drew it away from her
shoulder. The silk slid like water. Her blouse was low-cut; the upper swell of her breasts rose and fell rapidly.
“Beautiful,” he murmured.
Arun made a small sound — half moan, half sob.
Vikram didn’t even glance at him. He sank to one knee so his face was level with Latha’s. His fingers traced the edge of her blouse, then slipped
the first hook free.
.
“Tell your husband to watch carefully,” he said to her. “This is how promotions are really earned.”
Latha’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t look away from Arun. “Watch me, Arun,” she whispered. “Please.”
Vikram opened the rest of the hooks with deliberate patience. When the blouse fell open he pushed the cups of her bra down, exposing her
nipples to the cool air. They were already hard.
He leaned in and took one into his mouth — slow, deep pulls that made Latha gasp and arch. His hand kneaded the other breast possessively.
Arun was gripping the armrests so hard his knuckles were white.
Vikram stood again, unbuckled his belt with unhurried movements. When he freed himself, Latha’s eyes widened. He was thick, heavy, already
leaking at the tip.
“On your knees, darling,” he said softly.
She slid off the ottoman, knelt between his legs. Her hands shook as she wrapped her fingers around him. He was hot, velvet-steel.
“Look at your husband while you taste me,” Vikram ordered.
Latha turned her head. Arun’s eyes were glassy, his breathing ragged. She held eye contact as she parted her lips and took the head into her mouth.
Vikram groaned low in his throat. “Good girl.”
He let her work him slowly at first — tentative licks, gentle sucking — then threaded his fingers into her hair and pushed deeper. She gagged softly
the first time he hit the back of her throat, but he didn’t relent. He fucked her mouth with measured strokes while she whimpered around him.
After several long minutes he pulled out, glistening with her saliva.
“On your back,” he said. “Legs open.”
Latha lay back on the ottoman. Vikram hooked his fingers into her petticoat drawstring and yanked. The fabric parted. He dragged her panties
down her thighs, leaving them tangled around one ankle.
He knelt between her spread legs, rubbed the fat head of his cock along her slit. She was soaked — embarrassingly so.
“You want this, don’t you?” he asked.
She nodded, tears slipping down her temples. “Yes…”
“Tell your husband.”
Latha looked at Arun. Her voice cracked. “I want it, Arun… I want him inside me.”
Vikram pushed forward in one long, relentless thrust.
Latha cried out — sharp, startled. He was much thicker than Arun. The stretch burned sweetly. He didn’t pause, just kept sinking until his hips met
hers and he was buried to the root.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “So tight.”
He began to move — slow, punishingly deep strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside her. Latha’s hands flew to his shoulders, nails
digging in. Her moans turned high and broken.
Vikram leaned down, kissed her hard — possessive, claiming. His tongue fucked into her mouth the same way his cock fucked into her pussy.
Arun was openly crying now, but he hadn’t looked away once.
Vikram picked up speed. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. Latha’s breasts bounced with every thrust. She wrapped her legs around his
.
waist, heels digging into his lower back, silently begging for more.
“You’re going to come on my cock,” Vikram growled against her ear. “And you’re going to thank me when you do.”
He changed the angle, grinding against her clit with every stroke. Latha’s eyes rolled back.
“I’m— oh god — I’m close—”
“Come,” he commanded.
She shattered — back arching off the ottoman, a keening wail tearing from her throat. Her walls clamped down so hard Vikram cursed under his breath.
He didn’t stop. He fucked her through the aftershocks, harder, faster, chasing his own release.
“Where do you want it?” he rasped.
Latha’s voice was wrecked. “Inside… please… inside me…”
Arun made a strangled sound.
Vikram slammed deep one last time and erupted — hot, thick pulses that flooded her. He kept grinding slowly, milking every drop into her spasming cunt.
When he finally pulled out, a thick trickle of white followed, dripping down onto the leather.
He stood, tucked himself away, and looked at Arun.
“Congratulations,” he said calmly. “The director position is yours. Effective Monday.”
Arun stared at his wife — flushed, trembling, legs still spread, cum leaking from her swollen pussy.
Latha reached out a shaking hand toward her husband.
Arun crossed the room in three steps, dropped to his knees between her thighs, and buried his face against her dripping center — licking, sucking,
cleaning every trace of another man from her while she stroked his hair and whispered broken apologies and words of love.
Vikram watched for a moment, then walked to the door.
“Next quarter’s target is twenty percent higher,” he said over his shoulder. “I expect the same level of… dedication.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Latha pulled Arun up, kissed him with the taste of both men on her tongue.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Arun shook his head, eyes shining. “Don’t be.”
And in that dark, expensive room, with the scent of sex still thick in the air, something new and irreversible settled between them.
The end.
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