I am mostly an ISS lurker, but this feels like one of those posts. After reading one of the stories here, I thought, “Haan bhai, meri kahani bhi kuch aisi hai.” So yeah… posting this.
I am 25M, 6’2”, and nicely built. I go to the gym on and off, but enough that people notice. Broad shoulders, decent arms, and abs that show when I behave.
This happened in Pune. I work in a typical corporate office in Pune. Most people there are closer to retirement than trekking trails. Lunch conversations are about kids’ schools, EMI rates, plots and flat rates, or how traffic has become hell in Pune. A small group of us around the same age used to step out once a week for lunch, mostly to feel alive.
She had recently joined my team. 33F. Petite, curvy in a very dangerous, understated way. Not loud-hot. Not trying-too-hard hot. The kind you notice slowly… and then can’t unsee. Oh, and married!
Thanks to God’s good grace, we were on the same team. So we quickly became friends – there weren’t many options apart from balding uncles or annoying aunts who had somehow become managers.
One boring afternoon, while work was moving slower than Pune traffic, I mentioned a trek I’d done recently to Spiti Valley. Her reaction was instant.
“Wait… Chandratal in Spiti?” she asked. “I’ve been there too.” Bas. That was it.
That one line turned into trek routes, altitude sickness stories, cold nights in tents, Maggi at 3 a.m., and places we both still wanted to explore. No flirting. No touching. Just two people killing time and bonding over travel.
Coffee breaks became routine. Not planned – just happening. I’d crack stupid jokes. She’d laugh a little too hard. Sometimes we’d sit quietly, sipping terrible office coffee. Always within corporate boundaries. POSH ka darr real hota hai bhai.
Around the same time, I’d recently broken up and was back on dating apps. Hinge, Bumble – the usual circus. I’d rant to her about bad matches, weird bios, and awkward first dates.
She gave surprisingly good advice. “Don’t overshare,” she’d say. “Stop trying to be funny all the time. If she’s replying after six hours, just chill.”
It worked. And slowly, she became my go-to person for that stuff. She got to hear adventurous dating stories that added a little spice to her married life, and I got great advice. So it was a win-win.
There was one moment I still remember clearly. Some festival at the office — one of those “ethnic wear encouraged” days HR loves.
I walked in late, half-asleep, coffee in hand… and saw her. She was wearing a saree. Simple color. Thin, fitted blouse. Nothing flashy. But the way it hugged her, the way the saree sat on her waist… she looked like an absolute bomb.
I actually stopped walking for a second and thought, Damn… she’s hot. She had one of those milky navels, which looked extra hot in the saree. Not in a creepy way. Just that quiet realization you immediately try to suppress because office, married woman, red flags everywhere.
She caught me looking and smiled, like she knew exactly what effect she was having. “Festive vibes today,” she said casually, adjusting her pallu.
“You look… nice,” I replied, trying to sound normal.
She laughed. “Nice?” Then added, teasing, “Bas nice?”
I shook my head. “Okay, fine. You look really good.”
She smiled and walked away, leaving behind perfume, silk, and a thought I pushed straight to the back of my mind. Or at least, I thought I did.
After that, things stayed normal. One evening, while we were still at the office, she messaged me. “Are you leaving now?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Why?”
“I can’t get an Uber,” she said. “Any chance you can drop me? You stay on my side, right?”
I thought for a second, then said yes. Car rides through Pune traffic. Random conversations about life, travel, and work frustration. Sometimes silence — comfortable, not awkward.
Somewhere along the way, she stopped feeling like just a colleague. Still, no intentions. At least that’s what I told myself.
A few weeks later, she called me on a Saturday. “Are you free?” she asked. “I just need some air.”
I had a Bumble date planned that evening. I looked at my phone, canceled it, and went. When I saw her at the café, I knew something was off. She looked tired — not physically, but emotionally. Like she’d been holding things in for too long.
We ordered coffee and sat down. For a few minutes, she just stared at the table. Then she said it. “My marriage isn’t going well.” I listened.
She had already told me about her husband — short, bald, always busy. A workaholic. Constant calls. Always “bas five minutes aur.” Emotionally absent. Physically distant. “I feel alone even when he’s there,” she said quietly.
After a while, the mood got heavy. I tried to lighten it. “Yeh sab coffee ke saath thoda zyada heavy ho raha hai,” I joked. “Sounds like you need something stronger.”
She smiled slightly. “Maybe I do.” There was a pause. “You live alone, right?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Beer?” she said. I knew it was a bad idea. I also knew I was already agreeing.
At my place, things were normal at first. A couple of beers. Opposite ends of the couch. Random talk — office gossip, travel reels, stupid Instagram trends. Then slowly, something shifted. She moved closer. Her knee brushed mine.
Her hand touched my arm when she laughed. Then my shoulder. Then her fingers traced lightly along my back. I noticed everything — the way her waist curved when she leaned forward, the way her top hugged her body, that same quiet attraction I’d felt that day in the saree coming back.
To break the tension, I suggested games. Uno lasted five minutes. “This is boring,” she said, tossing the cards aside. “Truth or dare?” she asked.
Of course. The questions got personal. Then loaded. She asked about my dating life. I told her about a recent one-night stand.
“All night?” she asked, her eyes locked on mine.
“Pretty much.”
She smiled, her hand going through my hair, and said, “Nice stamina…”
Then it was my turn. “Dare.”
“Show me those abs you keep bragging about.” I lifted my T-shirt. She leaned in, her fingers brushing slowly over my stomach.
“Okay,” she said softly. “I get it now.”
My turn. I asked about her marriage again. Carefully. Then directly. “He’s terrible in bed,” she said. “Barely touches me. Doesn’t try.”
No drama. Just frustration. The beer made me say something stupid. “That’s rough,” I said. Then added, “Because you’re way too hot for that.”
She didn’t pause. She sat on my lap and kissed me. Heat. Hands. Breathing heavier. Logic gone. I remember her saying, “Yeh bohot galat hai.” But we were way past the exit here. I didn’t stop.
First, I lifted her top and kissed her navel. This was something I’d wanted to do for a long, long time. Then I slowly removed her top. Her boobs were the perfect size. Not too small, not too big. Just perfect enough to fit my mouth. I kept sucking on them.
Later, I went down to remove her jeans. They were skin-tight and took a lot of effort. Seeing me struggle, she decided to have some pity on me and helped. She was wearing a matching bra and panties.
I thought to myself, “Maybe she planned this all along.”
Anyway, her pussy was so wet. I used my tongue and finger skills that made her go crazy. She kept a pillow over her mouth to keep from moaning loudly.
Then it was her turn. She kissed my chest and sucked on those abs. Then she took out my monster and sucked it like this was her last day on earth. She also did this thing with her tongue where she sucked just the head.
That day, I got to know that married women are freaks in bed.
Finally, I inserted my dick in her pussy and kept ramming her hole. It felt like I was digging a tunnel in her. After a while, I flipped her over and did it from behind. The jiggling ass was tempting me to spank her, so I did. She kept moaning loudly. Eventually, I came in that pussy.
After we were finally done, she laughed softly and said, “Yeah… even my husband is not allowed to do that.”
The next day at the office? Total silence. No coffee breaks. No lunches. Barely eye contact. That weird office politeness where everyone pretends nothing happened. By midweek, we were talking again.
By Friday, I was dropping her home. By the next weekend, she was back at my place with cans of beer. Turns out she was just a sex-starved woman in her 30s, the prime of their sexuality. So we kept continuing to do it.
We tried many kinky things. She even gave me a blowjob while her husband was on the phone. Can’t even tell you how sexy that felt.
When her husband went for an office trip, she came to stay with me for a few days. Both of us had so much fun. We tried many new things like BDSM, bondage, and even exhibitionism. I even fucked her in that saree just because it was hot.
Do I regret sleeping with a married woman? Thoda sa. But if I am honest? It was sexy as hell. Messy. Wrong. And very hard to stop.
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