I was never the kind of woman men overlooked.
Even wrapped in modest kurtis and slacks, my body had a language of its own: soft, curvy, unapologetically full. A bust that stretched fabric just enough to spark wandering eyes. Hips that swayed without effort.
And a figure I often cursed when trying to slip quietly past my in-laws’ judging stares. Stats are 34D-32-38. But none of that meant a damn thing when my husband barely looked at me anymore.
And so, I started reading. Sex stories. Secretly. Quietly. After dark, in the bathroom or under a blanket with my phone dimmed low. It started as an escape. Then, it became a craving.
That’s how I found Ram, an author from Surat whose words made me clench my thighs under the sheets more times than I’d ever admit. One day, I replied to his story. Just a line. Then another. One turned into dozens. Emails became teasing. Then confessions. Then cravings.
When he messaged: “I’ll be in Delhi tomorrow. You pick the time.”
I said yes.
I stood outside the hotel room, my heart thudding so loud I was sure it echoed down the hallway. Room 308. Just one hour. Get in. Get out. Nobody finds out.
I knocked.
The door opened.
And there he was. Ram. Tall, dusky, built just right in that jeans-and-fitted-black-tee kind of way. The kind of man who didn’t try too hard but made you wonder what those arms would feel like holding your waist down.
He smiled, scanning me from top to toe. My black kurti clung to my breasts. My slacks hugged my hips tightly. I hadn’t meant to dress sexy. At home, I pretended to be going to the local market, so it just happens when you were made like me.
“You’re…” he began, then chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re better than I imagined.”
“I’m nervous as hell,” I muttered, stepping inside.
He shut the door behind me. “Good. Means it’s real.”
I laughed, shaky. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“I know,” he said, walking toward me. “But I also know you’ve thought about it.”
His hand touched my arm. Just fingertips. But my whole body reacted like it had been shocked.
“I should go,” I whispered, even as I didn’t move.
“You won’t,” he said simply.
And then he kissed me.
Not gentle. Not asking. Just there, like he knew I’d been starved for it. My lips parted. My hands, traitorous and eager, gripped his shirt. I moaned into his mouth before I even realized.
“Fuck,” I whispered, gasping as he moved down my neck. “Oh God, Ram…no love bites, please. ”
“You’ve been aching for this, haven’t you?” he growled into my skin, his hands sliding over my curves, squeezing my waist.
“Shut up,” I snapped, pulling my kurti over my head, breasts bouncing free in a sheer black bra.
His eyes widened. “Damn, Swati…”
He kissed down my chest, gripping my ass cheeks, grinding against me until I could feel just how hard he was through his jeans.
“Get your clothes off,” I whispered, breathless. “We don’t have time.”
He obeyed, pulling his shirt off and his jeans following. I stared at his broad shoulders, toned stomach, that thick, heavy long dick as he kicked his boxers away.
My mouth went dry. “I’m really fucking this dick.”
I yanked open my purse and pulled out the condom.
He raised a brow. “Prepared?”
“You think I came this far to talk?”
I ripped the packet with my teeth and rolled it down onto him with trembling fingers. He hissed.
“Fuck, you’re going to kill me.”
“Shut up and lie down.”
He grinned and dropped to the bed, and I climbed over him, straddling him.
As I sat down onto him, feeling his dick part my pussy lips, I gasped, “Ohhh… God, yes… yes…”
My nails dug into his chest as he filled me. My hips rocked, slowly at first, then faster, wilder. My breasts bounced with every movement, and his hands couldn’t decide where to stay—my hips, my ass, my thighs, my nipples.
“You’re so fucking tight, Swati,” he groaned. “Like your pussy’s been waiting for me.”
“It has,” I moaned. “Months… reading… touching myself…”
He bucked up into me. “Tell me.”
“Every time I read your stories, your words, I imagined this,” I gasped, picking up speed. “You, pinning me down. Spanking me. Fucking me until I scream.”
“Alright then, let’s fuck in the doggy style,” he said, voice low and commanding.
I flipped onto all fours without hesitation.
He slid in from behind with a growl. “This ass,” he panted. “You’ve been hiding this?”
“Ram!” I cried as he smacked it! Once, then again. The sting made me moan louder.
“Louder,” he said, thrusting harder.
“My God, oh fuck Ram, don’t stop!”
“You want them to hear you being ruined?” he growled.
I pushed back harder. “Yes! Just don’t stop, please, don’t stop!”
His hands gripped my hair, my hips slamming into his. I was a mess of sweat and need and filthy, filthy sound. My moans turned to broken cries as my orgasm ripped through me.
“Cum inside, fuck, no, wait, you’re wearing a condom,” I gasped in relief.
“I got it, baby. I got it,” he panted, jerking inside me. He groaned loudly, deep and raw as he finished.
We collapsed on the bed.
My heart wouldn’t slow. My body buzzed. I stared at the ceiling, still breathless.
“Stay,” he murmured, brushing hair from my face. “Just… a little longer.”
“I can’t,” I said, sitting up too fast. “Shit—it’s already past 4.”
He reached for me. “Swati, please, ten more minutes.”
“I have to fix my hair. My makeup. They’ll know otherwise.”
He watched me dress with longing in his eyes. “This can’t be so short. It all feels like a dream.”
I paused at the mirror, fixing my lipstick.
“Then let me be sure it wasn’t a dream,” I whispered, kissing him and his limp dick one last time. “Because I’ll be thinking about this every night.”
And just like that, I walked out still trembling, still wet, and completely, wildly deflowered.
I hope you all liked it. Please leave your love and feedback in the comments.