Search results

2. Slim fit and dusky. The reason is dusky wives are more hornier and they have little inferiority complex because of their color (eventhough their husbands feel they are very beautiful and always behind them) and to match that never hesitate to do dirty things to keep their husbands happy and...

Numb, Arjun wandered Mumbai’s underbelly, his cuckold fantasy now a curse that consumed him. In Colaba’s dim alleys, where neon signs flickered and the air smelled of cheap perfume and fried fish, he sought prostitutes in seedy lodges, their peeling walls and creaking beds a mirror to his flat...

At the reception, Sanjay addressed the crowd, his voice commanding, amplified by a microphone as he stood beside Priya, their hands entwined. “Visionary Ads is now global,” he announced, his navy suit tailored to perfection, his eyes scanning the elite guests. “We’re opening offices in London...

Before he could process the gossip, a trio of lawyers—elegant, suited, exuding wealth—entered his office, their polished shoes clicking on the marble floor. The lead lawyer, a sharp-eyed woman in a tailored blazer, introduced herself with a cool smile. “Mr. Arjun, we represent Sanjay Malhotra,”...

Arjun sped home through Mumbai’s traffic, the rickshaw’s sputter drowned by his pounding heart, the city’s neon signs and honking cars a blur. Bursting into the flat, he found it eerily silent, the fan’s creak the only sound, the tube light flickering like a dying star. The air was stale, the...

The final blow came unexpectedly, a shard of truth that pierced Arjun’s fragile defenses. At a local gym, a neon-lit space in Bandra’s backlanes, Arjun was trudging through a half-hearted bench press, the air thick with the smell of rubber mats and cheap deodorant, mirrors reflecting grunting...

One humid afternoon, Arjun stood at a Bandra chai stall, a tin-roofed shack near his flat, its air thick with the scent of cardamom and burnt milk. The stall’s benches were crowded with rickshaw drivers and office clerks, their chatter a low hum beneath the clink of foggy glasses. Mrs. Sharma...

The Colaba Hideout In a rented Colaba apartment, Sanjay and Priya met during Arjun’s late-night shift, the room a haven of dark wood and velvet, its mirrors reflecting their urgency. Priya, in a silk robe, pushed Sanjay onto a velvet couch, her thighs straddling him, the robe falling open to...

Third Call: Priya, Sanjay and Arhan At a Bandra café, its wooden tables bustling, Sanjay and Priya called Arhan, his eyes sparkling on the laptop. Priya, in a modern dress, showed him a toy elephant she’d bought, its trunk raised. “For you, beta,” she said, her voice maternal, the café’s coffee...

Priya crept into the flat at dawn, the air heavy, the fan’s creak a grim rhythm. The living room was a tableau of degradation, the tube light’s flicker illuminating Arjun, his penis caged, kneeling on the rug, his face contorted with arousal and shame. A prostitute, in a cheap replica of Priya’s...

The Bandra Rooftop At Sanjay’s Bandra villa, they escaped to the rooftop, Mumbai’s skyline a glittering backdrop, the air warm with the scent of frangipani from the garden below. Priya wore a backless choli and lehenga, the fabric sheer, her La Perla bra accentuating her breasts. Sanjay, in a...

Second Call: Sanjay, Priya and Arhaan In Priya’s flat, the fan creaking, they called Arhan, his voice brighter, the laptop on the chipped table. Priya, in a saree, shared a story about Mumbai’s monsoons, her words vivid, captivating him. “You’re like a mum to Arhan,” Sanjay said, his tone light...

Priya entered the flat past midnight, the air stale, the fan’s creak a grim welcome. The living room was a stage of depravity, the tube light’s buzz illuminating Arjun on his knees, his penis caged in metal, the lock glinting mockingly. A prostitute, dressed in a knockoff of Priya’s lehenga, her...

The Juhu Beach Shack Late one evening, Sanjay and Priya escaped to a secluded beach shack on Juhu Beach, its wooden walls weathered, the sound of waves masking their urgency. The shack was dim, lit by a single lantern, its flickering light casting shadows across a rough bench strewn with fishing...

Sanjay and Priya, committed to Arhan, began regular video calls, nurturing his trust, Priya’s maternal warmth a balm for his lonely heart. First Call: Sanjay, Priya and Arhan From Sanjay’s villa, its marble floors gleaming, they called Arhan, his face lighting up on the laptop screen, the Bandra...

He shed his trousers, his erection straining, and positioned himself between her legs, the absence of a condom a silent pact, their defiance of Arjun’s rule now a ritual. Priya’s eyes locked onto his, her breath hitching as he entered her, slow at first, his thick shaft stretching her, filling...

The Mumbai monsoon had retreated, leaving the city slick and glittering under a rare clear sky, but the air in Sanjay and Priya’s secret world was charged with a different storm—passion, defiance, and the promise of a new beginning. Their affair, once a clandestine escape, had blossomed into a...

The Proposal One night, in Sanjay’s villa, their passion reached a peak. The balcony overlooked the sea, the air cool with salt and moonlight. Priya, sensing Sanjay’s despair over Neha’s latest stunt—a public scene at a charity event—locked her thighs around him, her sheer blouse discarded, her...

Arhan’s Call: A tearful call from Arhan, lonely in London, broke Sanjay. Priya, at his office, pulled him into a storeroom, the air thick with paper and ink. Her legs wrapped tight, she guided his bare shaft inside her, her moans echoing. “We’re in this together,” she whispered, her breasts...

Return to Mumbai: A Shared Solace Back in Mumbai, Priya and Sanjay’s affair intensified, their shared pain—Neha’s addiction, Arhan’s absence, Arjun’s inadequacy—binding them. Priya, sensing Sanjay’s despair, initiated sex with fierce intensity, her body locking him in, condoms forgotten, their...