Previous Part: Mischief on a US onsite with a senior colleague – Part 1
Our routine continued to make me healthier than ever, without any heavy workout plans. Shweta had found an erotic dark chocolate. This, with her nectar, ignites us into a lust-fueled fire!
Chapter 3: A Chocolate Made Us Lose Control
Shweta’s breast milk had become my lifeline in that trip. Thick, creamy, and naturally sweeter than honey, it filled me so much that I barely touched proper food. It was indeed like a meal replacement!
Spoiler alert: This diet worked miracles. I’d shed 20 kilos, as I checked on the weighing machine in the office medical room. My chubby cheeks flattened, and my body became leaner.
The change was obvious to everyone. Shweta complimented my physique and said that she wanted total credit for this transformation.
One morning, after having round two of an intense milking session, we both lay facing each other on the bed. We were trying to catch our breath from the session. We had aggressively masturbated while I was sucking her sweet nectar.
Our unbrushed mouths breathed heavily at each other, but we never found it filthy. Talking about our session, Shweta was still grinning wickedly. Then she looked at me with a heavy exhale and complimented my weight loss.
“Pratty, your intense transformation is now visible. How much weight did you lose, you said? Around 20 kilos?”
“Yes,” I said, wiping a drop of milk dripping down my chin. “I might be shameless, but I need full credit for this transformation. I’ll boast about it, saying – Made Pratty lose 20 kilos in 20 fucking days with no fad diets or crash diets. Transformations are visible almost every day!” she said.
“And what would we say if people ask for a detailed plan? Pratty chugged his boss’s breast milk for 20 days straight, is it?” I put a counter question, laughing hard.
Giggling, the Punjaban in her replied, “Oye puttar, just tell it was some premium protein shake from an expensive organic dairy farm. Let them wonder what it was.”
She mischievously winked at me after that. We laughed till tears rolled out of our eyes, extending a hug to each other while still in bed!
That night, I video-called my wife, as I always do. She noticed my change. It was her breakfast time back in India. “Pratty, you look different,” she said, her voice initially filled with concern.
“Are you stressed at work?” she said, and then she smiled. “But you were too heavy before. Stress or workouts, I don’t care, because now I can handle you on top of me easily during our sexy time!”
Shweta, sitting on her bed in her burgundy satin robe, overheard and whispered, “Relatable,” with a wicked laugh. I kept her out of the frame in the video call, knowing one glimpse of her would completely break my marriage.
At the office, 30 minutes after lunch, she’d quietly slide towards me two thermal flasks containing her milk, which I’d sip throughout the afternoon. Nights were raw and intimate.
We’d have our half-naked bodies pressed together under the sheets, skin smooth and warm, desires met in a haze of moans and milk.
Mornings followed the same pattern. Shweta would wake up, feel her breasts leaking, and pull my head to her chest in aggression, careful enough not to waste a single drop. Half-full from her nectar, I’d skip most of breakfast.
The routine was set. Every night, I’d suckle her breasts, draining her milk. But one night, I was late. My phone buzzed with a text from Shweta: Pratty bastard, what are you doing? I can’t wait any longer. I’m milking. Come soon!
I replied: Daily connection with the India support team has just started. I’ll finish and come. Please wait.
A minute later, a knock appears. Shweta stood in the empty corridor, her robe containing her dripping boobs, a laptop in her hand. “Let me in,” she said, barging past. “We’re shifting base to your room tonight. Calls first, then our routine.”
We settled on the couch, laptops on our laps, joining the call. She stayed silent during the call and contributed only when needed, acting as a passive listener as she didn’t have much to add. Meanwhile, she scanned my messy room, where my used clothes were thrown.
There, my flight bag had its contents strewn across the bed. Amidst the chaos were two dark chocolate bars wrapped in gold foil, no branding. Very heavily aphrodisiac-laced, I bought it for a trip to Manali with my wife a month ago. But we left it untouched for some unknown reason.
Shweta picked one up, with her eyes curious. “What’s this? Dark chocolate, my favourite!” Before I could stop her, she tore the foil and took a bite, moaning in delight. “Wow, delicious,” she said. I muted the call, set my laptop aside, and said, “Shweta, why are you eating that?”
“Dark chocolates are my weakness,” she said, “Don’t worry, it won’t make my milk chocolatey. You could have shared it with me already, Pratty. Just don’t be like that kid hoarding candy from his friends.”, she said as she winked at me seductively.
Her lips and chin were smeared with melted chocolate. It was dripping onto her cleavage and her robe. She licked her fingers slowly, her grey eyes locked on mine, smiling in pure seduction.
The chocolate spread on her lips as she ate, a drop sliding down her neck, running between her heavy breasts. My cock stooped up, pressed against my boxers. Her every move was charging me.
I forgot the call was still running, muted. Voices crackled, “Pratty? Are you there? Maybe it is a network issue,” I scrambled to unmute, apologising, and resumed the meeting.
After some time, when the call ended, I turned to her. She had finished the entire 12-inch bar. It was meant to be split between the consenting couple for an intense sexual session, guaranteed to fill up desire.
“Shweta,” I said, “those aren’t regular chocolates. They’re laced heavily with aphrodisiacs. One bar is for two people consenting to each other to have it 20 minutes before their sexual session. And you ate the whole thing.”
She laughed, her dimples appearing on her cheeks. “You believe that shit-ass nonsense?” I pulled up reviews online to show her. Users compared it to being an over-the-counter version of Viagra. She laughed at it but pointed to the second bar.
“Eat the other one, then. I left it for you only. I’m shit sure that nothing will happen. (Gesturing with her index finger to call me) Come on, mouth on my tits—they’re leaking.”
“What if… What if the urge to have sex kicks in and is uncontrollable?” I asked, stammering with hesitation.
“Then sex happens,” she shrugged, “let us consider this as an experiment. Eat it, then suck my breasts, and we’ll deal with it naturally whatever comes.”
I ate the chocolate. I stripped to my boxers, and we got under the sheets. She pulled me close, “Suck my breasts now. No more time wasted.” She moaned, fingering herself vigorously. Thirty minutes in, her arousal spiked, her growls aggressive, demanding sex.
“Fuck me, Pratty,” she ordered, her body now trembling. The aphrodisiacs had probably interfered with the hormones she induced from the tablets for milk production.
My urge was unbearable, my cock aching, but I froze. The chocolate had worked too well. What if she later accused me of tricking her with the chocolate, claiming I pulled her into sex? Would this risk my career?
My mind raced in this doubt as I lay motionless on her. Meanwhile, she was acting weird as her moans were now louder and echoing in the room.
She was getting angry and desperate. I was unable to make a decision. The unthinkable happened. Will I be able to give in to her demands to have sex? Wait until the next part!