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18-03-2025, 07:21 PM
The glass walls of my corner cabin on the tenth floor gleamed under the midday sun, reflecting the chaos of the city — cars honking, rickshaws weaving through traffic, the city alive and restless. I had learned to block out the noise long ago. My desk was a clutter of crumpled papers, a cold coffee cup leaving a sticky ring on a useless report, while my laptop screen stared at me, almost judging me for getting nothing done today. I slouched in my swivel chair, the leather creaking under my arse. My red t-shirt clung to my sweaty breasts, the heat making it impossible to bother with a bra that I removed just a few moments ago. At 34, my breasts were still firm, my nipples pressing against the fabric without care. My black skirt hugged my hips, inching up my thighs as I shifted, making me aware of the slick heat growing between my legs.
Beyond the tinted glass, the office felt deserted—work-from-home had emptied it out, leaving only the peon sweeping the floor. Many times, I caught his eyes drifting to my gaand, whenever he thought I wasn’t looking. My thoughts wandered, as they always did, to the emptiness where my sex life used to be — Deepak’s useless efforts at satisfying my sexual needs, my restless body, my raging chut and the itch I found myself scratching every single day.
My husband Deepak, "Saala harami", I cursed silently, my nails tapping the desk like a ticking bomb. Ten years ago, he was a beast—young and newly married, he’d fuck me till I couldn’t walk. His lund hard and relentless, slamming my chut every night, hands mauling my mammey as he’d cum inside me as he groaned, "Yeh le, Abhi, aah aah!"
College was my dirty paradise — wild, wet, lund-soaked chaos. I fell in love with Vikram. Starting with sweet lovely romantic messages and talks, graduating to sexting and lewd messages. Then came movie dates and drives around town. Vikram started taking advantage of our loneliness and started feeling me - the corner seats at the cinema, deserted lanes around the city and at the outskirts. He started slowly and then he became rough, not heeding my requests to go slow. Probably his hormones and mine too as I gave in to his demands easily. I started loving the rough and dominant treatment given by Vikram, in fact craving it. One fine day Vikram kicked it off, while I was sucking his juicy lund in an empty classroom. He dragged me to that filthy park near our college campus, pinning me against a tree under the scorching sun. "Teri chut kitni tight hai re Abhi, mujhe aaj iska pura maza lene de.," he snarled, yanking my jeans down, “tu bhi kab tak mera lund apne muh mein leti rahegi, apni chut mein bhi le le”. Oh, how I loved the feeling of being forced! We didn’t worry about taking my jeans off due to my shoes and Vikram was in a hurry, worried not to lose this opportunity. His lund was thick and brutal, stretching me open as cars roared past on the road. My mammey bounced free off my t-shirt as he lifted them, chuchi stiff in the wind, and Vikram sucking on them one by one. I came so hard my knees gave out. "Uyi maa, kitna maza aa raha hai Vikram!" I gasped, the thrill of the risk making me lightheaded, I was in heaven. He had cum instantly, his cum dripping down my thighs.
Sameer was next, sneaking me into his stinking hostel room - reeking of sweat and stale chai in the air. He bent me over his rickety bed, slapping my gaand till it burned while taking my chut like a kutiya. "Le, aur le mera lund, chinaal," he growled, fucking me till I had cum twice, He would pull out is lund and splatter his cum on my back while his hostel-mate's voices echoed outside.
Rakesh topped it - between the library shelves, me on my knees, his lund out of his jeans, shoved deep down my throat. "Chus, Abhi darling, pura lund muh me le!" he groaned, fingers gripping my hair, my mouth being used as a pussy, his balls hitting my chin- and we were only by the books on the shelves. Anybody could walk by, searching for a book on Supply Chain Management or probably The Principles of Management. The situation was electrifying. Not long after, I gagged, his cum spilling over my chin while students whispered nearby, my chut soaking my panty from the sheer thrill of getting caught.
Fields, classrooms, autos—wherever I could flash my mammey, grind their lunds, feel the heat of their eyes on me. Every fuck was rebellion, every cum a trophy of my freedom.
I am open to suggestions to improve.
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