Adultery Geeta Verma - A house wife

[vacantnights]

This is going to be a long story

Characters:
1. Geeta Sharma - An Indian housewife from a middle-class family. 23 years old and 5.3 feet tall. She has a figure of 34 - 26 - 36 and is recently married 2 months back. She is very beautiful and very fair in color.

2. Varun Sharma - Geeta's husband - 27 years old and an IT Engineer. He is 5.5 feet tall with a 4.5 inch slim dick and of slim physique and is a Workoholic.

3. Ramesh - Geeta's neighbour.
Ramesh is 45 yrs old and very handsome looking. His height is of 6.5 feet and very very hairy. He has dense think hair on his chest, hands and legs and is hairy like an animal. He stands like a tower or wall and is heavily built like a wrestler. He weighs around 100 kgs in weight and has a 12 inches white very fat dick.



The coffee machine hissed like an angry cat, spitting steam onto the counter. Geeta wiped the droplets away absently, her thoughts already drifting somewhere else entirely.

"You forgot the sugar again," Varun said from the kitchen table, pushing his cup toward her with a soft clink. His voice wasn't unkind—just tired, the way it always was these days.
Geeta nodded and reached for the sugar jar, her fingers brushing against the cool ceramic. "Sorry," she murmured, though she wasn't entirely sure what she was apologizing for. The forgotten sugar? The quiet tension thickening between them? The way her skin prickled whenever he touched her now, like she was waiting for something that never came?

Two months of marriage had settled into a rhythm, but not the kind she'd imagined. Varun was kind in his own way—stable, predictable, safe. But safe wasn't what made her breath catch when she caught her reflection in the mirror some mornings, tracing the dip of her waist with restless fingers.

Geeta poured the sugar into Varun's coffee, watching the granules dissolve like the slow erosion of her expectations. He barely glanced up from his phone, thumb scrolling through some work email. She wondered if he even noticed the way her silk robe clung to her hips when she moved, or how she'd deliberately left the top button undone this morning. 
The apartment felt smaller lately—or maybe it was just the weight of unspoken things pressing against the walls. She slid into the chair across from him, the wood creaking under her weight. Varun finally looked up, offering a distracted smile before returning to his screen. 

"You have that meeting today, right?" she asked, just to fill the silence. 
"Yeah. Might be late." His voice was muffled around a sip of coffee. 

She nodded, stirring her own cup absently. Last night had been the same as always—his hands tentative, his movements rushed, the whole thing over before she could even properly arch into him. Afterwards, he'd patted her thigh like she was a colleague he'd just closed a deal with and rolled over to snore into his pillow.

[Ajay Kailash]

Great start. keep going. hoping for TREAT

[silverfoxx]

Nice, but don't make it cuckold

Let Ramesh and Geeta enjoy their adultery relationship behind closed doors with zero idea about this to her husband Varun

Introduction are too short, let us know more about Geeta and Ramesh, firstly about their appearance and secondly about their nature

[fuckandforget]

Excellent start

[Hotgiri]

Excellent story, pls add pic and gif to make it more real n erotic

[Pvzro]

Excellent great 

Nice way for a short introduction
Keep it going and possibly put a cuckold story only ( Theme of cuckold would really bring up hotness instead of the sessions happening in private)

Let the neighborhood guy takes this shy housewife very well under his expertise and skills

Keep regularly updating it

Thank u !!!

[Pushpa Purusan]

Perfect start

[Pvzro]

Keep posting new updates awaiting

[Pvzro]

Keep posting new updates awaiting

[Bigil]

Super start. No cuckold.

[Pvzro]

Cuckold ….? theme best

[Arul Pragasam]

Super bro

[silverfoxx]

Try adding AI generated images or GIF it makes story interesting

[opendoor]

Geeta Verma or Sharma ?


why in every story husband's dick is 4" and neighbor's is 12"  ?

[opendoor]

the name Ramesh for that 12" guy doesnt sound intimidating at all... try some powerful names like Saxena, Michael, Karthikeya, Shaurya, Mahaveer, Ranveer, Abhijit, ...

[silverfoxx]

C'mon man post further updates

[Vishal Ramana]

Ramesh and suresh are five star kids ha ha

[Losliyafan]

Lovely start. Hope the author continue and complete

[LovePookie]

please update

[mahamatherchod]

The front door clicked shut behind Varun, the sound of his receding footsteps swallowed by the elevator's hum. Geeta exhaled, rolling her shoulders as if shedding an invisible weight. She reached for the coffee cup Varun had left behind—half-full, already growing cold—when the doorbell rang.

The chime startled her. No one ever visited this early. She adjusted her saree's pallu absently before peering through the peephole. The distorted view showed a broad-shouldered figure, his frame nearly filling the doorway.

Geeta opened the door to a man who seemed carved from entirely different material than Varun. Rafik stood taller than the doorframe, his shadow spilling into the apartment like a tidal wave. His beard, thick and peppered with silver, framed a face that looked like it had been weathered by mountain winds rather than office air conditioning. "Good morning, sister," he said, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. "I just moved next door. Could I borrow some sugar?"

"Of course," Geeta heard herself say, stepping aside before realizing how close that forced him to brush past her. The heat radiating off his body hit her like a furnace blast as he ducked through the doorway. She caught the scent of sandalwood and something earthy—not cologne, just skin.

Her fingers fumbled with the sugar jar. She willed herself not to stare at the way his kurta stretched across shoulders broad enough to carry boulders. When she turned to hand him the jar, her pallu slipped, the silk sliding off one shoulder to reveal the swell of her breast. Rafik's gaze flickered downward—just for a heartbeat—before snapping back to her face.

Geeta's fingers trembled slightly as she poured boiling water into the teacup, the steam curling around her wrists like whispered promises. Rafik sat at her kitchen table—Varun's usual spot—except the chair groaned under his weight in a way it never did for her husband. She caught herself staring at the way his thick fingers dwarfed the delicate china cup when he lifted it, the veins on his hands standing out like mountain ridges.

"Your husband works nearby?" Rafik asked between sips, his accent softening the edges of his words. The question was innocuous, but Geeta felt heat creep up her neck anyway.

"Bank manager," she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her pallu slipped again, the silk pooling in her lap. Rafik's gaze lingered a fraction too long on the exposed slope of her shoulder before he took another deliberate sip of tea. A droplet clung to his beard, glistening like a jewel in the morning light. Geeta had the absurd urge to lean across the table and lick it away.

The conversation meandered—his former job as a mountaineering guide, her unfinished degree in classical dance—but Geeta barely registered the words. Every time Rafik shifted, his kurta tightened across his chest, revealing the dense forest of hair beneath. When he laughed at her joke about Delhi traffic, the sound rumbled through her ribs, settling low in her belly. Something warm and insistent pulsed between her thighs. She crossed her legs tightly, the dampness there undeniable now.

"Let me help with that," Rafik said suddenly, standing as she gathered their empty cups. His massive frame boxed her against the counter, the heat of him searing through the thin cotton of her saree blouse. The sugar jar slipped from Geeta's grip, scattering crystals across the tile like tiny diamonds.

The spilled sugar glittered between their feet like shattered glass. Rafik's breath hitched—a sound Geeta felt more than heard, his chest expanding so close to hers she could count the coarse hairs peeking above his undone collar.

"Let me," he murmured, crouching before her. His knees cracked like gunshots in the silent kitchen. Geeta stared at the crown of his head, at the way his silver-streaked hair curled against his nape. When his fingers brushed her ankle while gathering stray crystals, the contact seared through her stocking like a brand.

She should step back. She didn't.

Rafik rose with painful slowness, the sugar jar cradled in hands that could probably crush it to powder. His nostrils flared when her pallu slipped again, the silk whispering down her arm to pool at her elbow. The damp patch on his loose pajamas had grown unmistakable—a ridge straining against thin cotton, the tip glistening faintly where it pressed against the fabric.

Geeta's mouth watered.

The spilled sugar crystals crunched under Rafik's bare feet as he straightened, his massive frame towering over her. Geeta's breath caught when his pajama string came undone—just a fraction—revealing a glimpse of thick, curling hair leading downward like a trail. She forced her gaze upward, only to find his dark eyes already locked onto hers, pupils dilated enough to drown in.

"Let me help you clean up," Rafik said, his voice rougher than before. He bent again, his shoulder brushing against her thigh as he scooped sugar from the floor. The contact sent a jolt through Geeta, her nipples hardening instantly beneath the thin silk of her blouse. She clutched the counter's edge, knuckles whitening.

When Rafik stood again, the front of his loose pajamas tented obscenely, the damp spot at the tip now unmistakable. He adjusted the fabric hastily, but the movement only drew attention to the sheer size of him—the outline straining against cotton made Varun's timid offerings seem laughable by comparison.

"Sorry," Rafik muttered, though his jaw tightened when Geeta's pallu slipped entirely from one shoulder, baring the swell of her breast. The silk pooled at her waist, forgotten.

Geeta's mouth went dry. She should cover herself. She should step back. Instead, she watched a single drop of sweat slide down Rafik's temple, disappearing into his beard. The kitchen air grew thick with the scent of sandalwood and something muskier, primal.