21-04-2026, 09:28 AM
Office hours were almost over—barely thirty minutes remained—so I called Puja. She picked up.
Me: “What are you doing, my love?”
Puja: “Nothing much. I’m making lunch.”
Me: “Is it done?”
Puja: “Almost.”
Me: “Then you need to take a bath now.”
Puja: “Why now? Are we going somewhere?”
Me: “No. Today’s a special program.”
Puja: “Meaning?”
Me: “Meaning—we’re doing roleplay today.”
Puja: “So what, are you becoming a plumber that I need to bathe?”
Me: “No. The watchman.”
There was silence from her end.
Me: “What happened?”
Puja: “Nothing. And what will the watchman’s name be?”
At that moment, blood rushed hard through me; I could feel myself growing tense.
Me: “Aslam.”
Puja: “Hubby… I told you we wouldn’t do that.”
Me: “But you promised—you said you’d do whatever I asked.”
Puja: “But not this, hubby.”
Me: “You’re not doing anything for real. It’s just acting.”
Puja: “But then… why bathe now?”
I was surprised—she wasn’t angry today, and I hadn’t even had to push. I was fully rigid by then.
Me: “We’ll recreate that grocery day. That day you had bathed and dressed—but today, you won’t complete the bath. You’ll open the door wrapped only in a towel.”
I could hear her breathing quicken over the phone.
Puja: “Okay. But after this, no discussion about the roleplay.”
Me: “Deal.”
My excitement soared. Today I’d finally know how intensely she reacted while imagining Aslam—and how much more her body responded compared to usual.
Me: “Start bathing after fifteen minutes. I’ll reach in thirty.”
We ended the call. I was in terrible shape—barely holding myself together—and hurried out of the office.
Just as I stepped out, Puja called again. We had just hung up—why call now? I answered
Me: “Yes, jaan?”
Puja: “Hubby… I was thinking… bring condoms while coming.”
Me: “Why?”
Puja: “I can’t do it with Aslam chacha without protection.”
The thought was intensely erotic—my wife taking this roleplay so seriously, as if it were real, worrying that Aslam might finish inside her.
Me: “It’s just roleplay. You won’t get pregnant.”
Puja: “Still—I can’t do all this with Aslam Ji without a condom. It’ll feel unrealistic otherwise.”
She was clearly excited now. The hesitation in her voice was fading. For the first time, she said Aslam Ji to me directly—and that nearly undid me.
Me: “Alright, my love. I’ll bring them. And—don’t remove your pubic hair.”
Puja: “No.”
Me: “Why not? What if Aslam Ji prefers it removed?”
Puja: “No. I look better with hair there. Without it, it feels empty. And who knows—what if he likes it natural?”
That line instantly reminded me of his words: ‘that rosy slit with dark hair.’
Was that why she hadn’t shaved—because Aslam liked it that way?
I barely managed to restrain myself.
I couldn’t understand how she’d been so tense last night that we hadn’t even had sex—yet this morning, her mood had completely transformed. And Aslam’s “good night” message had come at 12:30. Had that changed everything?
I stopped at a shop to buy condoms.
Shopkeeper: “What do you need, sir?”
Me: “Condoms.”
Shopkeeper: “Which type?
Me: “Any.”
Shopkeeper: “There’s a liquid condom—you apply it inside; it seals the opening temporarily. Full pleasure, no pregnancy.”
The idea appealed to me instantly.
Me: “Alright, give me that.”
I bought it and went home. I rang the doorbell. After a minute, the door opened—and the moment I saw my wife, I was instantly hard.
Water was dripping down her body. She wore the same towel she’d worn that day. She looked devastatingly seductive.
Puja: “Aslam chacha… you?”
I slipped into character.
Me (as Aslam): “Memsaab… greetings. Wooow.”
She reenacted everything exactly as before—one hand playing with her hair, the other reaching forward. The towel slid lower, clinging to her wet body. Her nipples were already hard.
As I handed her the groceries, I deliberately brushed her hand. Her body jolted as if electrified.
She took the items, shut the gate, picked up the towel, and walked toward the bedroom—without locking the door.
I followed her. She stood near the bedroom entrance. As she pretended to lock the door, I grabbed it and stepped inside.
Puja: “Aslam Ji, why did you come in? My husband isn’t home.”
Me (as Aslam): “That’s exactly why I came in.”
Puja: “Please leave. I’m not dressed—just a towel.”
Me (as Aslam): “Now that I’m inside, that towel won’t stay long.”
I pulled the towel off her. She tried—vainly—to cover her breasts with one hand and herself with the other.
Puja: “Please, Aslam Ji… let me go. I can’t betray my husband.”
I stripped instantly, pushed her onto the bed, and kissed her fiercely. By then, I was no longer acting—I was Aslam in my mind, ravenous and unrestrained.
She was burning too. She rubbed herself against me, grinding her body against mine, pressing herself insistently against me.
I kissed and licked her everywhere. She kissed me back wildly, rubbing her nipples against my chest.
Puja: “Aslam jiiii… put it in… I can’t take it anymore.”
I hadn’t expected those words. She was scorching hot, soaking wet—the bed already drenched.
Me (as Aslam): “With condom or without, memsaab?”
Puja: (softly) “Condom."
I brought out the liquid condom.
Puja: “What’s that?”
Me (as Aslam): “Liquid protection—it seals you and keeps you safe.”
Puja: “Hurry… I can’t wait, Aslam Ji.”
The liquid wouldn’t stay—it kept washing away.
Puja: (irritated) “To hell with the condom—just do it. This is yours now. Please.”
I was dazed. My innocent wife was desperate to be taken—begging like this.
I pressed myself between her lips. With barely any push, her body drew me in on its own.
I took her hard.
She met every thrust, again and again. She climaxed so many times I lost count—far more than she ever had with me. She showed no regret, no restraint—only raw abandon.
When it was over, she collapsed, utterly spent, and fell asleep within minutes.
I went to the bathroom, my mind replaying everything—her urgency, her pleas, the way she offered herself.
Then my eyes fell on her panties—discarded, soaked.
That meant she’d already released herself earlier.
But when? And for whom?
I hadn’t told her about the Aslam roleplay until later. This felt like morning desire.
Had she spoken to Aslam again after waking up?
Had she aroused herself thinking of him?
Those questions lingered—unanswered.
Me: “What are you doing, my love?”
Puja: “Nothing much. I’m making lunch.”
Me: “Is it done?”
Puja: “Almost.”
Me: “Then you need to take a bath now.”
Puja: “Why now? Are we going somewhere?”
Me: “No. Today’s a special program.”
Puja: “Meaning?”
Me: “Meaning—we’re doing roleplay today.”
Puja: “So what, are you becoming a plumber that I need to bathe?”
Me: “No. The watchman.”
There was silence from her end.
Me: “What happened?”
Puja: “Nothing. And what will the watchman’s name be?”
At that moment, blood rushed hard through me; I could feel myself growing tense.
Me: “Aslam.”
Puja: “Hubby… I told you we wouldn’t do that.”
Me: “But you promised—you said you’d do whatever I asked.”
Puja: “But not this, hubby.”
Me: “You’re not doing anything for real. It’s just acting.”
Puja: “But then… why bathe now?”
I was surprised—she wasn’t angry today, and I hadn’t even had to push. I was fully rigid by then.
Me: “We’ll recreate that grocery day. That day you had bathed and dressed—but today, you won’t complete the bath. You’ll open the door wrapped only in a towel.”
I could hear her breathing quicken over the phone.
Puja: “Okay. But after this, no discussion about the roleplay.”
Me: “Deal.”
My excitement soared. Today I’d finally know how intensely she reacted while imagining Aslam—and how much more her body responded compared to usual.
Me: “Start bathing after fifteen minutes. I’ll reach in thirty.”
We ended the call. I was in terrible shape—barely holding myself together—and hurried out of the office.
Just as I stepped out, Puja called again. We had just hung up—why call now? I answered
Me: “Yes, jaan?”
Puja: “Hubby… I was thinking… bring condoms while coming.”
Me: “Why?”
Puja: “I can’t do it with Aslam chacha without protection.”
The thought was intensely erotic—my wife taking this roleplay so seriously, as if it were real, worrying that Aslam might finish inside her.
Me: “It’s just roleplay. You won’t get pregnant.”
Puja: “Still—I can’t do all this with Aslam Ji without a condom. It’ll feel unrealistic otherwise.”
She was clearly excited now. The hesitation in her voice was fading. For the first time, she said Aslam Ji to me directly—and that nearly undid me.
Me: “Alright, my love. I’ll bring them. And—don’t remove your pubic hair.”
Puja: “No.”
Me: “Why not? What if Aslam Ji prefers it removed?”
Puja: “No. I look better with hair there. Without it, it feels empty. And who knows—what if he likes it natural?”
That line instantly reminded me of his words: ‘that rosy slit with dark hair.’
Was that why she hadn’t shaved—because Aslam liked it that way?
I barely managed to restrain myself.
I couldn’t understand how she’d been so tense last night that we hadn’t even had sex—yet this morning, her mood had completely transformed. And Aslam’s “good night” message had come at 12:30. Had that changed everything?
I stopped at a shop to buy condoms.
Shopkeeper: “What do you need, sir?”
Me: “Condoms.”
Shopkeeper: “Which type?
Me: “Any.”
Shopkeeper: “There’s a liquid condom—you apply it inside; it seals the opening temporarily. Full pleasure, no pregnancy.”
The idea appealed to me instantly.
Me: “Alright, give me that.”
I bought it and went home. I rang the doorbell. After a minute, the door opened—and the moment I saw my wife, I was instantly hard.
Water was dripping down her body. She wore the same towel she’d worn that day. She looked devastatingly seductive.
Puja: “Aslam chacha… you?”
I slipped into character.
Me (as Aslam): “Memsaab… greetings. Wooow.”
She reenacted everything exactly as before—one hand playing with her hair, the other reaching forward. The towel slid lower, clinging to her wet body. Her nipples were already hard.
As I handed her the groceries, I deliberately brushed her hand. Her body jolted as if electrified.
She took the items, shut the gate, picked up the towel, and walked toward the bedroom—without locking the door.
I followed her. She stood near the bedroom entrance. As she pretended to lock the door, I grabbed it and stepped inside.
Puja: “Aslam Ji, why did you come in? My husband isn’t home.”
Me (as Aslam): “That’s exactly why I came in.”
Puja: “Please leave. I’m not dressed—just a towel.”
Me (as Aslam): “Now that I’m inside, that towel won’t stay long.”
I pulled the towel off her. She tried—vainly—to cover her breasts with one hand and herself with the other.
Puja: “Please, Aslam Ji… let me go. I can’t betray my husband.”
I stripped instantly, pushed her onto the bed, and kissed her fiercely. By then, I was no longer acting—I was Aslam in my mind, ravenous and unrestrained.
She was burning too. She rubbed herself against me, grinding her body against mine, pressing herself insistently against me.
I kissed and licked her everywhere. She kissed me back wildly, rubbing her nipples against my chest.
Puja: “Aslam jiiii… put it in… I can’t take it anymore.”
I hadn’t expected those words. She was scorching hot, soaking wet—the bed already drenched.
Me (as Aslam): “With condom or without, memsaab?”
Puja: (softly) “Condom."
I brought out the liquid condom.
Puja: “What’s that?”
Me (as Aslam): “Liquid protection—it seals you and keeps you safe.”
Puja: “Hurry… I can’t wait, Aslam Ji.”
The liquid wouldn’t stay—it kept washing away.
Puja: (irritated) “To hell with the condom—just do it. This is yours now. Please.”
I was dazed. My innocent wife was desperate to be taken—begging like this.
I pressed myself between her lips. With barely any push, her body drew me in on its own.
I took her hard.
She met every thrust, again and again. She climaxed so many times I lost count—far more than she ever had with me. She showed no regret, no restraint—only raw abandon.
When it was over, she collapsed, utterly spent, and fell asleep within minutes.
I went to the bathroom, my mind replaying everything—her urgency, her pleas, the way she offered herself.
Then my eyes fell on her panties—discarded, soaked.
That meant she’d already released herself earlier.
But when? And for whom?
I hadn’t told her about the Aslam roleplay until later. This felt like morning desire.
Had she spoken to Aslam again after waking up?
Had she aroused herself thinking of him?
Those questions lingered—unanswered.
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