My phone buzzed again. Priya’s message still glowed on the screen: “Coffee with Sasi after work to discuss the project. I’ll be a bit late. Don’t wait for dinner ❤️”
I sat at my desk staring at the Thames through the glass walls, my cock half-hard despite the boring code on my monitor. The image of her cream saree, that black bra strap against her fair skin, and Sasi’s hungry stare kept replaying in my head. I told myself it was just professional. But deep down, something dark and exciting was stirring.
The clock crawled to 6:30 p.m. I left the office and took the usual Jubilee Line tube home, but my mind was in Canary Wharf. I imagined them sitting close in some trendy café, her pallu slipping low as she leaned forward, Sasi’s eyes devouring her cleavage.
At home, I poured myself a whiskey and waited. Around 8:15 p.m. I heard her keys in the door.
Priya stepped in, cheeks flushed, hair slightly messy from the London wind. She was still in that tight white formal shirt and black pencil skirt. The top two buttons were open more than usual, giving a teasing view of her lacy black bra and the gold mangalsutra nestled between her full breasts.
“Sorry da, it went longer than expected,” she said, avoiding my eyes a little as she kicked off her heels. Her voice was soft, almost guilty.
“How was the meeting?” I asked, trying to sound casual while my heart hammered.
She walked to the kitchen, hips swaying. “Good. Sasi is really knowledgeable. He has some great ideas for the project.” She poured water, but her hands trembled slightly. “We went to that new café near the Wharf. The coffee was strong… and the conversation got quite… intense.”
I stepped behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. She smelled different — a mix of her perfume and something masculine, like Sasi’s cologne. My hands slid up to cup her heavy breasts through the shirt. Her nipples were already hard.
“Intense how?” I whispered, kissing her neck.
Priya let out a small moan and pressed back against me. “He kept looking at me, Arjun. Not just at my face. When I crossed my legs, his eyes went to my thighs. At one point he reached across the table and brushed my hand while explaining the numbers. His fingers… they lingered.”
My cock throbbed against her ass. I turned her around and kissed her hard. She responded with surprising hunger, her tongue dancing with mine. We moved to the living room couch without breaking the kiss.
I unbuttoned her shirt quickly. Her breasts spilled out, nipples dark and erect. I sucked one hard while squeezing the other. Priya arched her back, moaning louder than usual.
“Tell me more,” I demanded between licks.
She hesitated, then whispered, “He said I look beautiful in formal clothes… but he prefers me in saree. He told me the way the silk hugs my body drives him crazy. Then… he put his hand on my knee under the table. Just for a second. I should have removed it, but… I didn’t.”
My hand slid under her skirt. Her panties were soaked. I rubbed her clit through the wet fabric and she gasped.
“Fuck, Priya… you’re dripping.”
“I know da,” she breathed, eyes half-closed. “I felt so guilty… but also so wet. He’s so confident, so strong. When he touched me, I imagined his big hands on my thighs, spreading them…”
I pushed her panties aside and fingered her roughly. She was wetter than I’d ever felt. Two fingers slid in easily. Priya rode my hand, grinding hard.
“Then what happened?” I asked, voice hoarse.
“We finished coffee and walked to the station. It was crowded. He stood very close behind me on the escalator. I felt… something hard pressing against my ass for a few seconds. I think it was his cock, Arjun. It felt so big.”
That pushed me over the edge. I pulled her skirt up, bent her over the couch and entered her from behind in one thrust. She was burning hot and slippery. I fucked her hard, imagining Sasi’s thick cock doing the same.
Priya came first, screaming my name but I knew she was thinking of him. Her pussy clenched around me like never before. I followed seconds later, filling her with my cum.
Afterwards we lay on the couch, breathing heavily. She stroked my chest.
“Arjun… are you angry?”
I kissed her forehead. “No. Just… turned on. Tell me everything next time.”
She smiled shyly and nodded. But I saw the spark in her eyes — the same spark I saw when she adjusted her bra strap for Sasi.
That night, as she slept, I lay awake. My beautiful traditional Tamil wife had let another man touch her. And instead of rage, I felt a strange new hunger growing inside me.
Tomorrow was another office day. I wondered what Sasi had planned next.