Samridhi hitched her mini skirt up and bent over Manoj’s desk. She knew the position well enough, and she baited Manoj, swaying her hips luridly, her naked ass almost steaming in the cool head office.
Dressed in a smart dark business suit, Manoj slowly moved behind her. She closed her eyes and felt his presence. He began sliding his large hands up her legs and over her tight, naked arse. Samridhi relished his body against hers, like so many other girls had – his abs and arms, strong, solid and massive.
“Hey bhagawaan,” she said, her eyes rolling back. “I missed you, stud.”
She groaned as she heard his zip go down behind her.
While Manoj nestled behind the wanton ass of his slutty slave, outside, cruising down the street in a polished Mercedes, sat Manoj’s wife, Madhurima. She had just picked up a pair of new investors, a seemingly happy married couple that had contacted her the previous weekend – Karan Chawla, and his wife Thushara.
Thushara had initially suggested contacting Manoj’s office for a tour. She hadn’t met Manoj before, only heard about him – delicious rumors about his dark magnetism, his sexual prowess, and most intriguingly to her, his evil desire for risky, devious adulterous fucks. Now, sitting silently in the backseat of Madhurima’s Mercedes, Thushara was secretly plotting a way to corner the big cocked bastard, to finally meet someone who matched her, who could unleash within her the hot, evil bitch she always knew she was. She shifted her legs beneath her tight white mini-skirt, giddy with naughty secret excitement.
Her husband put his hand on her bare leg. “Kucch gadbad hai, sweetheart?” he asked.
Thushara casually moved his hand from her leg. “Nah, kuchh nahi bas aise hi,” she said.
She opened her purse, took out her sunglasses and put them on. She stared out the window as Madhurima yammered from behind the wheel: “I’m sure you will both be impressed. The investment possibilities, especially in such a frigid market right now, are unparalleled. Our balance sheets are solid, as you will see, and our blah blah, blah . . .”
Thushara wasn’t listening to Madhurima. In fact, she didn’t like the cow one bit. Thushara didn’t understand it. How could a man with such a reputation end up with such a boring, sagging plain Jane? While Madhurima was ordinary and dull, Thushara was the exact opposite – a firm, shapely and tan sexpot (or so she liked to think), attributes she prided herself on after years sculpting herself at the gym, honing her body through her lean diet. On top of her work ethic and dedication to her body, she was naturally blessed with a pair of supple, soft 34D tits and a timeless beauty – rolling black hair, pouting lips and brown eyes – traits that had always gotten her what she wanted. Ever since she was a calendar girl back in college to being pursued by prominent swimsuit and fashion photographers, Thushara Chawla knew she was gorgeous. And she knew she deserved more than Karan, the slob sitting next to her.
“Just wait, Manoj,” she thought.
Back in the head office, Manoj was in full rhythm. Samridhi was wailing mindlessly, her shirt coming undone as the sex god pummeled into her mercilessly.
“Fuck! Fuck me, Manoj! I love you!”
Manoj roared down at her, almost angry: “Le mera loda Samridhi, bhenchod le isey!”
Even with her slender frame, Samridhi had always been able to take Manoj’s cock like no other girl – twelve-plus inches completely to the root. Manoj knew that her every orifice was his – her tight pussy, her luscious ass, her wet throat. He grabbed her tight toned smooth tanned ass and changed his angle as he thrust into her. She reached back and grabbed his neck. Manoj felt his balls tingle and swell as Samridhi pushed back into him. Her pussy was literally milking him.
“God, you’re so hot,” she said, her nails raking over his neck, his chin. “mujhe tumhara paani peene ko taras rahi hoon”
Manoj grabbed her hair, powering into her. He yanked her head back, whispering into her ear: “Tumhe ye chahiye, randi? timhe mere paani chahiye?”
“Haannn. haan mujhe tumhare lode se doodh peena hai!, mujhe meri khuraak chahiye”
Suddenly, from his desk, the intercom buzzed. Samridhi didn’t hear it. She was busy moaning and groaning, impaled around Manoj’s huge, throbbing, ready-to-burst weapon. The intercom buzzed again and again, both Manoj and Samridhi lost in the throes of passion, cursing wickedly at the top of their lungs.
And as Manoj felt his balls swell, about to burst, the door to his office suddenly flew open. Manoj turned to see Shruti, his fresh-from-college, platinum blonde secretary. Her face flushed at the site before her. Her hunk-boss was buried to the hilt inside a leggy blonde not half his age, probably only a few years older than her. As Manoj began to pull out, Shruti watched the blonde claw back at him, desperate to yank him back inside her.
Samridhi whimpered, “Chodte raho meri jaan! chodte raho” The pleading slut didn’t even seem to notice Shruti was in the room.
“Chup kar Salee,” Manoj said, and smacked Samridhi’s ass hard. He turned to Shruti, his cock raging between them, dripping with Samridhi’s many wet orgasms. “Saali Kutiya” he said finally. “Tujhe pata tha Samridhi yahaan hai.”
Shruti tried to keep her eyes off his sinful, monstrous meat, the sheer magnitude of it. She stammered, “I’m s-sorry, boss, but it’s your wife.”
Samridhi pouted, “Woh saaali yahaan kyaa kar rahi hai?”
“She c-called, sir. She was pulling into the garage. S-surely she’s on her way up right now.”
Samridhi groaned, “God, I hate your fucking wife.”
“Chup kar saali aur kapde pehan,” Manoj snapped. Like an obedient slut, Samridhi stood up and hitched her skirt over her ass. Began fixing her tousled hair.
“Wo picchle darwaaze se nikal sakti hai?” Shruti suggested.
Manoj stared at Shruti a moment as he slipped his huge erection in his pants. He grinned at her – a handsome million dollar grin. “Good thinking, Shruti,” he said, his voice deep and gruff. “Kisi din me tumhara Shukriyada Dhang se karoonga.”
Shruti’s breath quickened as Manoj’s eyes bore into her. She suddenly felt hot. Devious. Vulnerable.
“Shayad Kuch Zyaada, ya maldaar?” he asked.
Shruti narrowed her eyes. “Yaa kucch bada aur maal dar?”
Meanwhile, Karan and Thushara were busy following Madhurima down the hall toward Manoj’s office. Seeing a mirror on the wall, Thushara lagged briefly behind to fix her hair. She took off her mini-jacket, revealing a skintight black sheer push-up bodice, cut away at the sides to show the luscious sides of her tanned tits. She pushed her cleavage up even more. She wanted to look perfect for Manoj, in secret, sinful hope she would be enjoying his thorough attention the rest of the afternoon. She smiled at her reflection. “I’m so fucking hot,” she thought.
Karan called after her. “Thushara, dear! Idhar Ayo.”
“Ayeee,” she answered. “Hey bhagawaan.” She quickly caught up to Karan and Madhurima.
Karan whispered to her. “Shayad tumhe apni, nahi pehanani chahiye?”
Karan nodded shyly at her almost vulgar, explosive cleavage. “Kyonki Shayd tum Shadi Shuda hoo.”
Thushara rolled her eyes. “Oh Karan, ab ye insecure mat bano.”
“Main to bas tumhe –“
As her husband jawed in her ear, Thushara rounded a corner, joining Madhurima in the head office at the end of the hall.
And she saw him.
Her heart almost stopped.
Delicious knots formed in her stomach.
He was tall, dark and gorgeous. Fit and debonair. Classy with an rough, masculine edge to him. He moved with supreme confidence, his shoulders back, walking out from behind his desk to greet them, his voice commanding yet smooth, powerful yet tender.
Manoj barely looked at his wife, his eyes glued on the exotic bombshell that had just made her way into his office. “Madhurima, tum yahaan kya kar rahi ho? tumhe pata hai me kitna busy hota hun.” He felt his still-hard dick bulge in his trouser. His balls pulsing with a need to empty. As he stared unabashedly at Thushara, her dark almond eyes returning his flirtatious gaze, almost inviting it, he imagined her beautiful face, her flawless complexion – a complexion she no doubt works days to keep clean – soaked beneath him in his thick, pungent cum. Thushara licked her lips – or did Manoj imagine it? The air was electric between them, almost burning.
Madhurima was saying something in the background: “Manoj, honey, you remember that gentleman from Delhi, I was telling you about? Well he just so happens to be here for a private tour of our business.”
Karan offered his hand. “Karan Chawla. How do you do?”
Manoj shook Karan’s hand absently, leering the entire time at the man’s stunning wife. Her hazelnut eyes and gorgeous shiny black hair. She was pure sex on legs. Her confident eyes pierced him, as if to say, “Yes, I am sooo much hotter than your wife ever was.” He moved toward her, passing Karan without even acknowledging him.
As Thushara stood there, her hand on her hip, her tits thrust out for Manoj’s viewing pleasure, she thought the powerful man’s gaze might devour her at any second. Her breath was sharp and fast as he approached. She suddenly felt helpless, as if her body were about to come undone, only to accommodate this new unbelievably sexy presence. “Aia kya hai Is mard me?” she wondered.
Karan offered an introduction: “And this is my wife, Thushara.”
Thushara reached her hand out. “Pleased to meet you. I’ve heard about your large business, sir.”
Manoj almost whispered, “All good I hope, Mrs. Chawla.”
Thushara glanced at his dick, an enormous bulge in his trousers. “So far,” she answered. “But I might need to take a closer look.”
Manoj took her hand and kissed her cheek, smelling her – her intoxicating perfume, her voluptuous curves irresistible, smooth, soft firm skin, flawlessly tanned. He was under her spell. And his dick felt like it would punch a hole in his trousers at any moment.
Manoj’s wife butted in: “I was wondering if Shruti could perhaps give them a tour of the facilities?”
Thushara arched her eyebrow at Manoj. He smiled. Then turned to his wife. “Well, since you’re here already Madhurima, perhaps you could show Mr. Chawla around, while I give his wife my undivided attention.”
Madhurima frowned, slightly confused by the suggestion. Karan suddenly laughed, “Seems Manoj here knows the way into my wallet.”
“It is agreed then,” Manoj said. He ushered Karan and Madhurima out of the door. “Perhaps you could show him the workstations on the first floor and work your way up.” He watched as they disappeared down the corridor. He glanced at Shruti, who had resumed her position at her desk outside his office. “Dhyaan Rakho Koi Intrupt na kare, Shruti.”
Shruti nodded, a devilish, knowing glint in her eye.
Manoj closed the door.
Thushara heard him turn the lock.
She turned and began strutting around the room – making sure to arch her back and pop her ass out as she moved – admiring the many degrees on the office walls, the trophies, the framed photographs.
Manoj watched hungrily as the dark beauty strutted amongst his things. He wondered how he should approach her. Should he simply walk up behind her and wrench up that tight white mini skirt? Run his hands over those shapely, smooth legs and claim her? Manoj began to massage his cock through his trousers. There was a tense silence to the room, only split by the click clack of Thushara’s long heels.
Thushara set her purse on his desk where she noticed the nearest picture. It was a pleasant picture of Manoj and his wife with a feeble-looking young man between them – no doubt Manoj’s son. “Lagta hai Bahut Happy Family hai,” she said.
Manoj smirked. “Jaise ke tumhe Bahut Parwah hai.”
“Aur Kya nahi?”
Thushara glanced at him. His huge palm was caressing his crotch – this gorgeous, mysterious man was rubbing himself in front of her. And she loved it. She slowly backtracked as he made his way toward her, the only things between them her heaving tits and his throbbing, massive cock, caged beneath his trousers.
“Mujhe lagta hai,” Manoj said, moving closer, “ke tumhe mere pariwaar ki utni hi chinta ha , jitni ke mujhe tumhare us, bakwass pati ki.”
Thushara turned into Manoj, her swollen tits nearly touching his chest. She smiled wickedly. “Are main to bhool hi gayee thi…ke…me shadi shuda hooon”
She could smell his musk, and he could smell her perfume. An undeniable, dangerous attraction was brewing.
“Do you like that?” she hushed softly. “Ke me Shadi Shuda hun?”
Manoj only mouthed the words: “Love it.”
“Or . . . ya phir ye?” Thushara cupped her tits in her hands and pressed them together. “Mere bade boobs?”
Manoj’s mouth went wet at the site. His breath was heavy.
Thushara slowly spun, the scent of her hair wafting into Manoj’s face. “Yaa phir ye?” she asked. She teasingly lifted the back of her skirt, arcing her back dramatically. “Mere bade chootad?”
Manoj groaned. He hadn’t even touched this creature and already he was obsessed. Suddenly, without thinking, he reached out and grabbed her hips and yanked her ass into him.
Thushara yelped when her ass smashed into the steel monster trapped within his pants. “Oh!”
Manoj held her there, her ass buried in his clothed crotch. Thushara giggled, settling in – the cushion of her ass formed around his pillar of cock. She began to squirm, grinding into him, as if to fuck that log right out’ve his pants. “To kya mein apne pati ke paise is par laga raheen, hooon?” She leaned back into him and breathed in his ear. “Ye to bahut badaa lagta hai.”
Manoj threw his head back and groaned, a low guttural groan of absolute bliss. “Bas iske bahar niklne ka intezaar karo, Thushara,” he said.
She whispered at him, “Naahh . . . ruko aur dekho jab ye in shadi-shuda boobs ko chodega.” Thushara laced her fingers around his hand, guiding it up from her hips. She moved his hand over her breast. Manoj needed no further advance. He groped her tit greedily through the sheer, mashing it between his fingers, the soft flesh exposed by the slit sides hot with sexual electricity.
“Ohh my god, tum itni sexy ho,” Manoj said.
Thushara closed her eyes and moaned, gyrating her body back into his – his stature rock hard and firm – as he fondled her massive breast. Thushara thought she might explode, her pussy soaked under her skirt, her skin hot, radiating. She began groping Manoj’s cock through his pants, the bulge instantly dwarfing her petite grip. She gasped, smiling. “Ah Manoj! tumhara to bahut bada hai!”
Manoj groaned as her fingers tried to grip his cock through his pants. “Uhhh, God. Fuck.”
“Mmm . . . itnaaa badaaa, ye to mere pati se bhi bahut bada hai . . . “
“Fuck, Thushara. Bahor nikaalo iseym aur ek patiwart patni ke tarah khelo isse.”
“Ohhh, kitna bada . . . tum to mard nikle . . . ” Thushara skillfully eased his zipper down, slipped her hand in and worked her hand around the hottest, most scorching slab of cock meat she had ever encountered. Her eyes rolled back and she nearly fainted. “Oh, Manoj . . .”
His huge cock sprung into the air, firm in the grip of another man’s wife.
His voice turned suddenly dark. “Apne ghutno par baitho, Thushara. Apne ghuto par naitho aur mere lode ko poojo”
Thushara looked back at him. His face was blank, unreadable. She knew at that moment she was his. Helpless. Another wanton slut. She wanted him so bad it burned through her entire body. She inched her lips toward him.
“No,” he said. “Don’t even kiss me. abhi nahi.”
Thushara withdrew, pouting. “Kya mujhe Chumma nahi doge, darling?”
His eyes narrowed. “Naaaa!..apna loda tere muh me dene se pahle nahiii.”
Thushara almost came just from his words, his powerful tone of voice. Without ever taking her hand off the new trophy of flesh she had so recently discovered, she slowly pirouetted to face him, and began to sink to her knees. “Tum mere pyaare muh ko Chdna chate ho? mere jabde ko?”
“Tu mujhe choosagei, Thushara.”
“Mmm . . . ab intezaar nahi hotaaa.”
As she lowered, their eyes never broke contact. They were locked – two adulterous lovers in the most illicit of acts. Manoj’s dick hovered before Thushara’s nose. She could feel its heat, waves of aroma filling her with unbridled, animal lust. She gazed admiringly up at him – she was his pet. “Manoj . . . mein hamesha aisa hi loda choosna chati thi aur aise lode se chudna chati thi”
Manoj grinned. He could feel her breath on the head of his cock. He always knew he had an effect on women, but the way that this gorgeous million dollar model beauty had succumbed so quickly to him, he was even amazed. He almost laughed, wondering how he ever got so lucky. He ran his hands through her silky hair and made a fist, yanking her head back.
Thushara yelped at his sudden force.
“Me soch raha tha tumhara pati kya kar raha hoga?” he asked mockingly.
“Mujhe Parwaah nahi uske, Mujhe bas ye lund choosne do!”
Manoj grabbed her purse from his desk. In one motion he turned it over and shook it out, dumping the entire contents on the floor. He pointed at her cell phone. “Call karo use.”
Thushara stared up at her new lover. He was so bad. Almost evil. She was in love. Slowly she licked her hand, lapping off the salty, delicious taste of Manoj’s king-sized cock. She then returned her wet hand to his dick. With her grip firm, she picked up her cell phone and flipped it open. She began to pump Manoj in her spit-soaked fist as she dialed.
Manoj hissed down at her: “Me tumhe apne paanee se nehayoonga meri jaan, jab tim apne budhu hasband se baat karogi, me tumhara thopda pe apna paani maloonga.”
“Sirf mera Thopda hi nahi Darling,” she replied. Thushara dropped her phone and released his dick. Almost angrily, she yanked her bodice down.
Manoj howled, “God, FUCK yes baby! Take those fat fuckers out and show them to me!”
Thushara’s fleshy, magnificent tits poured out of the top, delicious tanned fuck bags that made Manoj nearly gasp. “Hey bhagwaan , ragdo, tumhare ye bade mumme mere lode par, saali kutiya, rgad, inhe”
Thushara quickly grabbed one of her tits, squeezed it and rubbed it over his mammoth cock head. Her perky nipple split his flaring piss hole. She then dragged his dick between her tits, slapping the tops of her globs, first the left, than the right. As she massaged his dick with her tits, Thushara gazed up at her new dominant, perfect, big-dicked lover. She leaned back on her haunches and squeezed her elbows together – a view that has made more than a few men collapse with longing. Her succulent breasts heaved. “Jab tum apna paani mujh par gero, ek bhi jagaan mat chodna, poora nehla do mujhe aaj”
“Dekhto jaa,” Manoj hushed. “meri jaaneman”
Thushara grabbed his dick again. “me tumhaa meetha juice apne mummo par se chatna chati hoon, Sirf tumhare liye jaan, mujhe apne pati ki Parwaah nai, chahe wo marta hi kyon na ho, me tumhari raandi banna chahti hoon, tumhari sabe badhiya aur sabse pyaari Raand.”
“Saali Kutiyaa, Hila mere lode ko,” Manoj said. “Dikha mujhe tu kitna chati he mere lode ko.”
Thushara jerked him faster, his words driving her mad. “haan Darling haan, mein yahi chahti hoon, jabse me yahaan ayee hun, me bas yahi chati hun, tumhara loda”
Manoj leaned back against his desk and relished in the sight, the feeling, the bliss – this gorgeous wife, whom he had not known for more than twenty minutes, had her well manicured, well trained hand wrapped around his cock, her huge wedding ring glinting as she jerked him, her beautiful face staring up at him, begging for his cum.
“Please . . . mujhe dedo ye loda..mujhe chooosne de ye khoobsurat loda..me tumse bheekh mangti hoon, mejhe chossne de, pyaar karne do is lode se “
“To to mas raand hai saali”
“Bas Dekhte Jaao. . . Jaanu…tumhara lund bas de kar dekho me ise bahut pyaar karoogi”
Manoj grunted his approval, fucking his dick into her hand. “Mila phone apne, chodu pati ko, Sali, Kar baat usese jab me tujhe apne lund se nehlato hoon.”
Thushara picked her cell phone up from the ground and smiled devilishly. “Marial Lund” She pressed send. “Calling . . .”