Adultery of ceo MAYA

[behka]

are you gonna continue the story from now?

[Naruto411]

Yes , I will continue the story . Sorry for the hiccups

[Naruto411]

Imran lay still for a moment after the bathroom door slammed shut, the sting of Salma’s slap lingering on his cheek like a brand. Her cold dismissal echoed in his head, and beneath it, a quieter thought gnawed at him—a fleeting urge he’d buried before it could form words. He’d wanted to ask her, “Mommy, can you give me a bath?”—to feel her hands on him, firm but caring, washing away the mess he’d made on her thigh. But the idea died as quickly as it came. Salma’s sharpness, her unyielding edge, terrified him in a way his men or the syndicate never could. She’d laugh, or worse, punish him for the audacity, and he couldn’t bear that.

He sat up, rubbing his face, the sheets rustling beneath him, still warm from her body. The room smelled faintly of her—leather, sweat, and that sharp perfume she wore like armor—mingled with the stale musk of his own release. Disgust curled in his gut, not at her, but at himself. He needed to shake this off, to reclaim something, anything. He reached for his phone on the bedside table, his thumb hovering over the screen before dialing his right-hand man, Tariq.

“Get me a girl,” Imran said, his voice low and clipped, shedding the childish whine he’d used with Salma. “Busty, fit, veil on. Now. Before I’m out of the bath.” He hung up without waiting for a reply, trusting Tariq to deliver as always.

He hauled himself off the bed, his bare feet thudding against the cold floor as he trudged to the bathroom across the hall—Salma still occupied the other one, the faint hiss of the shower seeping through the door. He turned on his own water, lukewarm this time, stepping under the spray to scrub away the night. The soap smelled sharp, medicinal, cutting through the lingering scents of sex and shame. His hands moved mechanically, washing his chest, his thighs, his dick—still sticky from his unconscious lapse against Salma. The water pattered against the tiles, a steady drone that drowned out his thoughts, and he stood there longer than necessary, letting it rinse him clean.

When he emerged, towel slung low around his hips, the girl was already there. She lay sprawled across his bed, naked save for a black veil dbangd over her head and face, the fabric sheer enough to hint at her features but thick enough to obscure them. Her body was as he’d ordered—busty, curves spilling over a frame still taut and fit, her skin a warm bronze under the dim lamplight. She didn’t move as he approached, didn’t speak, just waited, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

Imran didn’t bother with words either. He dropped the towel, his dick already stirring as he climbed onto the bed, his hands rough as he grabbed her hips and flipped her over. She complied silently, shifting onto her knees, her ass raised in a doggy-style arch that made his breath catch. He positioned himself behind her, the mattress dipping under his weight, and thrust in without preamble, a low grunt escaping his throat as he buried himself deep. The heat of her enveloped him, slick and tight, a stark contrast to the cool air brushing his back.

“Ammi,” he rasped, his voice cracking as he started fucking her, his hips slamming against her with a wet, rhythmic slap. The word tumbled out unbidden, raw and desperate, and once it started, he couldn’t stop. “Why’d you sleep with Abba, with Chacha, with your brother, but never with me?” His hands gripped her hips harder, nails digging into her flesh, leaving faint red crescents as he pounded into her. The bed creaked beneath them, the headboard tapping the wall in time with his thrusts, a steady thud that echoed his growing frenzy.

Her body rocked forward with each stroke, her breasts swaying beneath her, brushing the sheets with a faint rustle. The veil slipped slightly, revealing a glimpse of dark hair plastered with sweat, but her face stayed hidden, a blank canvas for his fantasy. “I saw you,” he growled, his voice thick with resentment, “naked beside me after they fucked you—sprawled out, dripping, stinking of them. But you never let me touch you, never let me have you. Why the partiality, Ammi?”

The air grew heavy with the scent of sex—her arousal, his sweat, the faint musk of the sheets mingling into a primal haze. His thrusts quickened, the sound of flesh meeting flesh louder now, wet and insistent, drowning out the faint hum of the city beyond the warehouse walls. He tasted salt on his lips, sweat trickling from his brow, bitter and sharp as his words spilled out. “You gave your holes to half the men in the village—sex-crazy bitch, spreading for anyone with a dick—but me? Nothing. Not even a blowjob when I begged you, when I cried for it.”

The prostitute moaned softly, a sound he barely registered, lost in his tirade. His hands slid up her back, fingers tangling in the veil’s edge, pulling it tighter as if to anchor the illusion. “Why’d you treat me like a stray?” he snarled, his pace faltering as anger and need twisted together. “Left me to watch, to want, while you fucked them raw and laughed about it?”

She shifted beneath him, her voice breaking through his rant—soft, accented, a little shaky from his roughness. “Sorry, beta,” she said, playing along, her tone laced with mock regret. “Tum madarchod nahi ho—it’s a sin. I couldn’t let you.” The words were absurd, a prostitute’s improvised script, but they hit him like a jolt, feeding the fantasy and the fury.

Imran groaned, a guttural sound that tore from his chest as he thrust harder, chasing release. “Sin?” he spat, his breath ragged. “You didn’t care about sin with them.” His hands clamped down on her hips again, bruising now, and he came with a shudder, spilling into her with a hot, messy rush that left him trembling. The sensation pulsed through him, sharp and fleeting, the wet heat of her mixing with his own as he slumped forward, panting against her back.

He pulled out slowly, the slick sound of their separation faint in the sudden quiet, his cum dripping down her thighs onto the sheets. The girl stayed still, breathing heavily, the veil askew but still covering her face. Imran rolled off her, collapsing onto his back, staring at the ceiling as his chest heaved. The room smelled of them now—sex, sweat, and a faint trace of her cheap perfume, floral and cloying.

“Get out,” he muttered after a moment, his voice flat, the fantasy spent. She didn’t argue, gathering herself silently and slipping off the bed, leaving the veil crumpled beside him as she padded out. The door clicked shut, and Imran lay there, alone again, the echo of “Ammi” still ringing in his ears, bitter and hollow.


Imran lingered on the bed, the damp sheets cool against his skin, the prostitute’s floral scent fading into the warehouse’s stale air. The veil lay discarded beside him, a crumpled relic of his latest indulgence, but his mind wasn’t on her anymore. Salma’s slap still burned on his cheek, her cold exit a fresh wound, and it dragged him back—back to the humid nights of his boyhood, to the bed he’d shared with his mother, Zarina. The memories flared up like a 70mm film unspooling before his eyes, wide and vivid, every frame a mix of shame and exhilaration that shaped him into the man Salma now owned.

He was tw**** again, tucked into the corner of his sagging bed, the room a haze of heat and shadows. The peeling yellow walls glowed faintly under a flickering bulb, its buzz a low hum beneath the chaos next door—his father and uncles partying, their laughter rough and slurred, the bedframe creaking in a relentless rhythm. The air reeked of hookah smoke, spilled rum, and the sharp, primal musk of sex, a thick cloud that seeped through the thin partition and coated his lungs. Then the door groaned open, a slow scbang of wood on wood, and Zarina stumbled in—naked, radiant, a goddess too spent to care.

Her skin shimmered with sweat, dusky and flushed, her heavy breasts swaying as she crossed the room, her thighs slick with the leavings of her lovers. Cum glistened on her body—white streaks smearing her stomach, a faint drip sliding down her leg from her swollen pussy, sometimes a darker trace glistening between her ass cheeks when the night had been brutal. Her hair hung in a wild tangle, sticking to her neck, framing a face lit with a lazy, satisfied smile—lips parted, eyes half-closed, smug and untouchable. She smelled of them—raw and salty, rosewater gone sour, a bitter edge of liquor on her breath that hit him as she collapsed onto his bed.

The mattress dipped with a squeak, the thin cotton sheets—already damp with humidity—shifting as she sprawled beside him. Her body radiated heat, her skin clammy where it brushed his arm, her ass nudging his hip as she settled in, unbothered. Imran’s dick stirred, young and desperate, pressing against her rear, the tip catching the slick warmth of her skin where cum still clung. She didn’t flinch, didn’t care—just sighed, a low, contented sound that vibrated in his ears, her breath hot and whiskey-sharp against his cheek.

He’d beg, his voice a cracked whisper in the dark. “Ammi, please—let me…” His eyes would dart to her body—her pussy leaking onto the sheet, a slow drip-drip that left a wet patch; her ass slack but marked with faint handprints; her breasts heaving with each breath, nipples dark and taut. She’d laugh, a throaty, mocking rumble that sliced through him, her smile twisting cruelly. “Not in me, beta,” she’d say, her tone thick with exhaustion but firm. “You can cum on me—go on, get it out. But don’t you dare cross that line.” Sometimes she’d slap him—sharp and loud, the crack echoing as her palm stung his cheek—when he pushed too hard, her hand wet with sweat or their leavings, leaving a hot welt. “Behave,” she’d snap, like she wasn’t dripping with sin, like she hadn’t just fucked half the house.

So he’d obey, his hands trembling as he stroked himself under the blanket, her nakedness a taunt beside him. He’d watch her—her smile, her sprawled limbs, the cum drying in sticky patches on her skin—and let loose, his release spilling hot and messy across her thigh, her stomach, sometimes her ass when she rolled over. The sensation was electric—warm, slick, splattering against her with faint pat-pat sounds, mixing with the men’s leavings as she slept on, unbothered, her snores soft and steady. He’d taste salt on his lips, sweat trickling from his brow, the air thick with her scent—sex and rosewater, tobacco and cum—a heady mix that fueled his quiet frenzy.

But there were nights—rare, sacred nights, six in all, burned into his memory like holy relics—when she’d give him more. Special occasions, she called them: his thirteenth birthday, the night his father won big at cards, a festival when the house overflowed with guests. She’d wake from her post-sex haze, catch him staring, and smirk, her eyes glinting with something softer, almost indulgent. “Alright, beta,” she’d murmur, her voice low and slurred. “In my mouth—just this once.” She’d shift, propping herself on an elbow, her breasts brushing his arm as she leaned down, her lips parting to take him.

He remembered every one of those six times in vivid 70mm detail:

His Birthday: The room spun with rum fumes, her breath hot and sweet as she sucked him slow, her tongue lazy but firm, cum from another man still smeared on her chin. He came with a shudder, the heat of her mouth swallowing him, her throat bobbing as she gulped it down, a faint gluck sound in the quiet.
Father’s Win: The bed creaked from next door, her lips swollen from use, tasting of salt and tobacco as she took him deep, her hair tickling his thighs. His release was sharp, spilling into her with a groan, her smirk wet and triumphant as she pulled back.
Festival Night: Lanterns flickered outside, her mouth warm and slick, the air thick with jasmine and sex. She hummed around him, vibrations buzzing through him, and he came hard, her tongue lapping it up as cum dripped from her pussy onto the sheet.
Rainy Evening: Thunder rumbled, her breath ragged from a rough session, her lips chapped but eager. He felt her teeth graze him, the sting heightening his release, a hot flood she drank down with a sleepy sigh.
New Year’s: Firecrackers popped outside, her mouth tangy with liquor, her hands guiding him as she sucked fast and messy. His cum hit her tongue, a burst she swallowed with a low moan, her eyes half-open, watching him.
Last Time: A quiet night, no party, just her and him. Her lips were soft, her pace deliberate, tasting of rosewater and sweat. He came slow, savoring it, her throat tightening as she took it all, her smile fading into sleep.
Each time, she’d wipe her mouth with the back of her hand, roll over, and doze off, leaving him trembling beside her, his dick brushing her ass again, the privilege fading back to denial. Six times—six perfect, rare moments he could count on one hand, etched in his mind with the clarity of a film reel he’d replay forever.

She’d sleep just like Salma did now—unbothered, dominant, her nakedness a fortress he could cum on but never conquer. He’d loved it, the way Zarina ruled him in that bed, her casual cruelty a thrill he chased in every slap, every “no,” every rare “yes.” Now Salma filled that space—sharper, colder, her body a mirror of his mother’s power, her slap a echo of Zarina’s, her thighs a canvas he’d marked tonight. He craved it, reveled in it, the domination that left him hard and helpless.

Imran’s hand drifted to his dick again, stirring at the thought, a slow grin spreading across his face. The sheets smelled of the prostitute, but in his mind, it was Zarina’s cum-slicked skin, Salma’s leather-and-sweat heat, a legacy of control he’d never escape—and didn’t want to.

[Naruto411]

The sheets of the five-star hotel bed were a drenched, tangled ruin, soaked with sweat and the sticky aftermath of Arjun and Maya’s relentless fucking. The room—a sprawling suite at the Taj Mumbai—glowed with morning light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows, the Arabian Sea shimmering beyond the glass, oblivious to their chaos. Maya sprawled across Arjun’s chest, her naked body plastered to his, her dusky skin slick and flushed from hours of raw, animalistic sex. Her thighs glistened with their mingled cum, her pussy swollen and tender from his brutal thrusts, her heavy breasts pressed against his ribs, nipples chafed red from his teeth and tongue. Her dark hair splayed across the plush pillows, damp strands clinging to her neck where his lips had ravaged her moments ago. Arjun’s arm coiled around her, his rough fingers digging into her hip, tracing the bruises he’d left, his breath still jagged from their latest climax.

It had kicked off the night before, a wildfire of lust igniting after he’d driven her back from a late board meeting. In the hotel’s underground garage, inside her Mercedes, Maya had ripped her skirt up, tearing her panties aside as she straddled him, his driver’s cap hitting the floor. She’d sunk onto his thick cock, her wet cunt swallowing him deep, her hips slamming down as she fucked him raw, the car rocking with each thrust. Her juices coated his shaft, dripping onto his balls as she ground her clit against him, cumming with a guttural scream, her walls pulsing tight around him. He’d gripped her ass, thrusting up into her dripping heat, his release exploding hot and thick inside her, spilling out to stain the leather as she shuddered above him.

They’d barely made it to the suite. In the elevator, she’d yanked his shirt open, her hands clawing his chest as he pinned her to the mirrored wall, hiking her leg up and slamming into her again, his cock stretching her soaked pussy with every savage stroke. Her back smeared the glass, her moans bouncing off the walls as he sucked her tits, biting her nipples until they throbbed, her cum slicking his chin when he dropped to his knees and devoured her—tongue plunging into her folds, lips sucking her clit until she squirted, her thighs quaking as she drenched his face. In the suite’s marble bathroom, he’d bent her over the sink, her breasts flattening against the cold counter, fucking her from behind, his balls slapping her ass, her screams echoing as he fingered her clit, wrenching another orgasm from her spasming body.

The king-sized bed was their final arena. Dawn broke with Maya on her back, legs hooked over his shoulders, his cock buried balls-deep as he pounded her, the wet smack of their flesh loud against the hum of the AC. Her pussy gripped him, slick and tight, her juices soaking the crisp sheets as he angled deeper, hitting that spot that made her eyes roll back. She’d clawed his back raw, her voice hoarse from screaming his name—“Arjun, fuck, yes!”—her tits bouncing with each thrust, her body convulsing through climax after climax. He’d flipped her onto her knees, yanking her hips up, slamming into her doggy-style, his hands bruising her ass as he fucked her senseless, her cum dripping down her thighs, his own release flooding her again, hot and messy, until they collapsed in a sweaty heap.

Now, as their breathing steadied, the room service boy knocked—a polite tap signaling breakfast. Arjun shifted, his cock still half-hard inside her, slick with their combined mess, starting to pull out, but Maya’s hand clamped his wrist. “Don’t you dare,” she rasped, her voice rough with lust, her hazel eyes blazing with that fierce edge he craved. “Keep going.”

He grinned, a wicked spark in his dark gaze, and obeyed. The door swung open, the boy wheeling in a silver cart—coffee, croissants, fruit—but Maya didn’t flinch. She yanked Arjun closer, guiding his throbbing cock back into her swollen pussy, her hips bucking to meet his thrust as the cart clinked to a stop. The boy froze, jaw dropping, stammering, “S-sorry, ma’am,” as he glimpsed her legs splayed wide, Arjun’s shaft plunging into her dripping cunt, her breasts jiggling with each pump. “Faster,” she hissed, loud enough to echo through the suite, her breath catching as Arjun ramped up, his balls slapping her ass, the bed’s plush frame creaking under them.

The boy bolted, the door slamming, and Arjun laughed against her neck, his thrusts relentless. “You’re shameless, boss,” he murmured, his voice a low growl, his teeth grazing her ear as he drove deeper, her pussy clenching around him. Maya’s laugh was wild, throaty, her body arching as another orgasm coiled tight, her thighs quaking. “You love it,” she gasped, and he did—loved how she gave herself to him, fearless and raw, heedless of the five-star elegance around their sweat-soaked tangle.

He fucked her harder, his cock pulsing inside her, her clit throbbing against his pelvis as she came again, a sharp cry tearing from her throat, her walls milking him until he erupted, his cum flooding her with a groan, hot spurts mixing with hers. They collapsed, panting, the breakfast cart ignored beside the bed, coffee cooling as Maya’s head lolled on his chest, her fingers brushing the scars on his knuckles—marks she thought were from a rough driver’s life, not the battles of a billionaire heir.

“God, you’re good,” she murmured, her voice soft now, sated. “How’d I get so lucky with a driver like you?”

Arjun smirked, his hand sliding up her spine, hiding the weight of his secrets. “Just know how to handle the curves, ma’am,” he teased, his tone playful, but his mind was elsewhere. He’d checked his phone in the night—encrypted messages from his family’s network: an audit closing in on Maya’s company, her husband’s laundering exposed in hidden files, a trafficking trip to Goa set for tomorrow. Maya didn’t know the danger, didn’t know Imran’s betrayal or the empire Arjun wielded to shield her.

He’d been her driver for six months, a cover he’d taken to stay near her, to guard her from threats she couldn’t see. She saw him as a thrill, a daring escape from her suffocating marriage to Imran—a man she barely tolerated, clueless about his drug-lord life or his groveling to a woman plotting her ruin. Arjun played the part—cocky, rough-edged, fucking her senseless—but behind the wheel, he was the heir to a hidden Asian dynasty, his wealth and spies dismantling the dangers circling him.


Maya stirred, her lips brushing his chest, sticky with sweat. “Drive me to the office later?” she mumbled, half-asleep. “Need to prep for that solar pitch.”

“Anything for you, boss,” Arjun replied, his voice smooth, his grip tightening on her hip. He’d drive her—past the chaos brewing, into the victory she’d earned—his true power hidden, her trust in him unshaken.


Hours later, after a quick shower and checkout, Arjun pulled the Mercedes into the underground cellar of a gleaming high-rise in Mumbai’s prime business district. Maya’s solar company rented the top floor, a sleek testament to her ambition, but the cellar—dim, concrete, lined with parked cars—was their next playground. She’d barely waited for him to park, her skirt already hiked up as she climbed into the backseat, pulling him with her.

“Fuck me again,” she demanded, her voice husky, yanking his shirt open as she straddled him. Her pussy was still tender from the hotel, but she didn’t care—her fingers fumbled with his belt, freeing his cock, already thick and hard for her. She sank onto him with a groan, her wet heat swallowing him whole, her juices slicking his shaft as she started riding him. The car rocked, suspension creaking, her tits bouncing under her blouse as she ground her clit against him, chasing another high.

Arjun gripped her hips, thrusting up into her, his balls slapping her ass with each stroke. “You’re insatiable, boss,” he growled, his hands sliding under her blouse to squeeze her breasts, pinching her nipples through the fabric until she gasped. Her pussy clenched around him, dripping onto his thighs, the air thick with the musky scent of their sex—sweat, cum, and her faint perfume mingling in the confined space. She leaned forward, her lips crashing into his, tongues tangling as she fucked him harder, the wet smack of their bodies echoing off the concrete walls.

He flipped her onto her back across the seat, yanking her legs apart, her skirt bunched around her waist. His cock plunged back in, deep and relentless, her moans bouncing around the cellar as he pounded her, the car’s leather creaking beneath them. Her nails raked his arms, her eyes locked on his, wild and desperate. “Harder,” she rasped, and he obeyed, his thrusts brutal, her pussy gushing around him as she came, a sharp cry tearing from her throat, her walls pulsing tight. He followed, groaning as he spilled into her, hot spurts flooding her already-soaked cunt, their cum dripping onto the seat as he slumped over her.

They lay there, panting, the cellar’s cool air brushing their overheated skin. Maya laughed softly, catching her breath, her fingers tracing the scars on his knuckles—marks she thought were from a rough driver’s life. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days,” she teased, sitting up to fix her skirt.

Arjun chuckled, zipping up, but his expression sobered as he leaned back. “Listen, boss… I need to tell you something.” He paused, running a hand through his dark hair. “I’ve got some work coming up. Gotta head out for four months. Leaving tomorrow.”

Maya froze, her blouse half-buttoned, her eyes narrowing. “Four months? What the hell, Arjun? What work?”

He shrugged, keeping it vague, his tone casual but firm. “Just a gig. Driving job, long haul. Can’t get out of it.” He met her gaze, softening slightly. “I’ll be back, though. You won’t even miss me.”

She scoffed, but there was a flicker of something—disappointment, maybe—in her eyes. “Bullshit. Who’s gonna drive me—and fuck me—like you do?” She smirked, masking the sting, then sighed. “Fine. But you’d better be back in one piece.”

“Promise,” he said, grinning, though his mind was already shifting. He didn’t know the storm brewing—Salma’s audit, the drug-lord Imran’s laundering, the Goa trafficking play—but he’d felt a gut instinct to stick close to her these past six months. Now, with this job pulling him away, he’d have to trust she’d hold her own. She saw him as her daring driver, her dirty secret who fucked her senseless, and for now, that’s all he was.

Maya climbed out, smoothing her hair. “Come on, help me with that pitch upstairs. Then you’re free—until you ditch me tomorrow.”

He followed, locking the car, the echo of their sex still lingering in the cellar air. Four months was a long stretch, but he’d be back—ready to drive her wild again, unaware of the threats circling her empire or the power he’d one day wield to crush them.

[Naruto411]

Maya climbed out of the Mercedes, smoothing her hair, her thighs still slick with their cum as it dripped down her skin beneath her skirt. “Come on, help me with that pitch upstairs,” she said, her voice teasing but edged with intent. “Then you’re free—until you ditch me tomorrow.” She adjusted her blouse, the fabric clinging to her sweat-damp skin, and shot him a look that said she wasn’t letting him go that easily.

Arjun locked the car, pocketing the keys, his grin faint but knowing. He followed her up the private elevator to the top floor, her solar company’s sleek office humming with quiet efficiency even late in the day. Maya knew he wasn’t just a driver—his sharp mind had caught her off guard months ago. He’d dissected her pitch drafts with insights her MBA-laden employees fumbled, spotting market trends and financial gaps they missed. Once, before a brutal investor meeting, she’d been a wreck—stuttering through slides, her confidence crumbling. Arjun had stepped in, suggesting a practice run his way, and damn if it hadn’t worked.

That night, in the closed conference room, he’d flipped the script. “Lights off,” he’d said, killing the overheads, leaving only the focus light to bathe her. She’d stripped naked at his nudge—her pussy pulsing at the sheer audacity—standing bare under the beam, her dusky skin glowing as the PowerPoint slides flickered behind her. He’d sat in the dark, his voice steady, guiding her through each point. “Slow down, boss. Hit ‘em with the numbers here.” Her stuttering eased, her rhythm found, the thrill of his eyes on her naked body melting her nerves. She’d nailed the real pitch next day, but not before he’d fucked her on the conference table, her moans bouncing off the glass walls as the slides looped.

She could’ve done it without him—her ambition was steel—but his way made her wet, made it fun, made her crave his input. Today, with this solar pitch looming and his four-month exit hanging over her, she hoped for a repeat. Her pussy dripped as she walked, the anticipation throbbing between her legs, a blatant ploy to keep him beside her longer. Arjun knew it too—saw through her game—but he played along, his steps calm behind her.

The office was empty, the staff gone, the conference room theirs. She locked the door, her fingers trembling slightly, and turned to him. “Help me practice,” she said, already kicking off her heels, her skirt dropping as she unbuttoned her blouse. “Like last time.” Her bra hit the floor, then her panties, her naked body catching the dim light filtering through the blinds. She flicked on the projector, the slides glowing—solar yields, profit margins—then killed the overheads, grabbing the focus light remote. A click, and the beam hit her, illuminating her curves, her nipples hardening as she faced him.

Arjun leaned against the table, arms crossed, his dark eyes glinting in the shadows. “You don’t need this, boss,” he said, his tone low, amused. “You’ve got it cold. This is just you stalling me.”

She smirked, stepping closer, her pussy pulsing as the light danced over her. “Maybe. But you’re too good to waste. Pitch me.” She started—voice steady at first, sliding into the stats—but her eyes locked on his, her body swaying slightly, the heat between her legs begging for him.

He let her get halfway, then stood, closing the distance. “Pause,” he said, his hand brushing her hip, sending a jolt through her. “You’re rushing the ROI part. Slow it down—let ‘em feel the money.” His fingers slid lower, grazing her inner thigh, slick with her arousal. “Try again.”

She did, her voice huskier now, the words tumbling out as he dropped to his knees, his breath hot against her pussy. “Projected growth… ten percent annually…” His tongue flicked her clit, and she gasped, gripping his hair. “Fuck—Arjun—” He sucked harder, her legs trembling as she forced the next slide, the clicker shaking in her hand. “Market expansion… by Q3…” He thrust two fingers inside her, curling them, and she moaned, the pitch dissolving into a cry as she came, her juices dripping down his wrist, the light beam wavering as she bucked against him.

He stood, wiping his mouth, grinning as she panted. “Better. You’ll kill it tomorrow.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out an iPill, handing it to her casually. “Here. Forgot earlier.”

Maya took it, still naked, her chest heaving, and raised an eyebrow. “You afraid of me getting pregnant?” she teased, popping it from the foil.

Arjun’s grin widened, his eyes sweeping her body with a mix of heat and something deeper. “Afraid? Nah, boss. You’d be fucking gorgeous swollen with my kid—carrying it like a queen. I’d want that, if you didn’t have all this.” He nodded at the slides, her empire glowing behind her. “Your ambition’s too big for it now—hell, you’d have done IVF already if it wasn’t. I’m just playing smart.”

Her breath caught, his words hitting her harder than she expected—praise wrapped in truth, cutting through her haze. She smirked to cover it, tossing the pill back with a swig from her water bottle. “Smooth talker. You’re still ditching me for four months, though.”

He shrugged, stepping back. “Gotta. Driving gig—long haul. Back before you know it.” He grabbed his jacket, pausing at the door. “Nail that pitch, boss. You don’t need me for it.”


Arjun stepped back after handing her the iPill, his jacket slung over his shoulder, pausing at the conference room door. “Nail that pitch, boss. You don’t need me for it.”

Maya stood there, still naked under the focus light, the projector humming faintly as the slides looped behind her. She swallowed the pill with a swig of water, her chest rising and falling, then smirked. “Wait. Sit.” She nodded at the chair he’d vacated, her voice softer but commanding. He raised an eyebrow but complied, dropping into the seat, his legs spread casually as she walked over, her hips swaying, her pussy still glistening from their earlier chaos.

She perched on the edge of the conference table, legs crossed, the light beam catching her curves. “That room boy this morning,” she said, a wicked glint in her eyes. “I loved him watching us. Got me so fucking thrilled.” She uncrossed her legs, guiding his hand between her thighs, pressing his fingers into her dripping pussy. “Feel that? Just thinking about it gets me this wet. You think I’m a bitch for it? A shameless slut?”

Arjun’s fingers slid through her slickness, his grin slow and steady as he looked up at her. “No, boss. You’re no bitch, no slut. You’re a powerqueen—owning what you want, deserving every damn bit of it. That’s not shameless; it’s strength.”

Her breath hitched, his words stoking the heat in her core. She slid off the table, kneeling between his legs, her hands tugging at his belt. “Call me slut, Arjun,” she murmured, her voice thick with need. “I’m your slut, your dirty little queen, your fucktoy—say it.” Her eyes locked on his, fierce and pleading, as she freed his cock, her intent clear.

He chuckled, low and rough, leaning back. “Alright, my slut. My powerqueen. Whatever you want, boss.”

She knelt there, taking him in, her hands and mouth working him with a hunger that matched her words.

Next Scene: Office Aftermath
Arjun slumped in a corner of Maya’s sleek office, looking like a mango sucked dry—his shirt rumpled, hair mussed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. The late afternoon sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows over the polished desks and glass partitions. He leaned against a filing cabinet, arms crossed, his energy drained from their marathon of sex and her relentless demands. His legs felt like lead, his cock still tingling from her mouth in the conference room, but a faint grin lingered—he’d given her everything she’d wanted, and then some.

Maya, though, was a dynamo. She sat at her desk, radiant and buzzing, her laptop open as she typed furiously, prepping the solar pitch with a focus that belied the hours they’d spent fucking. Her blouse was crisp again, her hair pulled back, but her cheeks glowed with a post-sex flush, her energy electric. She hummed softly, flipping through slides, occasionally barking orders at an assistant over the phone—“Get me the Q3 projections, now!”—her voice sharp and alive. She looked satisfied, unstoppable, like the powerqueen he’d named her, thriving where he faltered.

Arjun watched her, his head tilted, marveling at how she turned their wildness into fuel. Four months loomed ahead—his vague “driving gig” pulling him away tomorrow—but she’d be fine, he knew it. She didn’t need him, not really, though he’d miss the hell out of her fire.

[ARJos]

Awesome story bro

[ARJos]

Wow, what an incredible erotic story! Salma's depiction as a sexually empowered 'bad girl' adds a thrilling dimension to the narrative. It's exhilarating to see her take charge not just in her career but hopefully in the bedroom as well. I'm eagerly anticipating Maya's transformation into a more sexually assertive character, breaking free from the clutches of her manipulative driver and potentially turning the tables on him. This plot twist of females seizing the sexual initiative is a welcome respite from the typical Indian porn forum fare where women are often portrayed as passive participants or reluctant sexual agents. Keep up the amazing work and let's see where these steamy dynamics lead us!

[Tamilmathi]

Back to back excellent updates ., the portion was too good

[ARJos]

Waiting for the next update! Yeh Dil Maange More 

[Naruto411]

Arjun stepped out of the cab at Mumbai’s international airport, the humid air hitting him as he slung a simple duffel over his shoulder. He bypassed the chaotic main terminal, heading straight for a discreet entrance marked only by a sleek black plaque—no name, no fuss, just the way his family liked it. The departure terminal buzzed around him, but he moved with purpose, slipping into the luxury lounge that catered solely to his kin and their tight circle of associates.

The staff snapped to attention the moment he crossed the threshold. Five attendants in crisp charcoal uniforms stepped forward from the entrance, bowing politely in unison, their movements practiced and reverent. “Welcome back, sir,” the eldest said, a wiry man with a silver pin on his lapel. Arjun returned the gesture with equal courtesy, a slight nod and a warm, “Good to see you all.” The lounge gleamed—marble floors, plush leather seating, a wall of glass overlooking the tarmac where planes taxied under the morning sun.

He dropped his duffel on a chair, scanning the room. “Where’s Ruby?” he asked, his tone casual but edged with curiosity. Ruby, the outlet’s manager—and a fling from months back—was a spark he hadn’t forgotten. The wiry man smiled faintly. “She’s on leave, sir. Getting married this week.”

Arjun raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Married, huh? Good for her. Tell the pilot to standby—I’m not rushing off. And I’ll take a shower first.” He grabbed a towel from a waiting attendant, heading to the private suite at the lounge’s rear. The shower was quick, the hot water sluicing off the last of Maya’s scent—sweat, sex, her fierce energy. He emerged in a light cement-colored pant, a crisp white shirt, and simple shoes, his damp hair pushed back, feeling lighter but restless.

“Mumbai air’s too good to miss,” he told the staff, waving off their offer to fetch the captain. “Let him wait. I’ll be out here.” He stretched out on a cushioned lounge chair by the glass wall, the tarmac sprawling below—planes rolling, people scurrying, a chaotic dance he watched with lazy interest. An hour drifted by, the hum of the lounge a soft backdrop, his mind replaying Maya’s fire, her “slut” plea, her relentless drive.

Then a rustle broke his reverie—a figure slipping in silently. Lips brushed his, warm and sudden, and his tongue slid into her mouth on instinct, tasting the familiar edge before his eyes even opened. “Ruby,” he murmured against her, voice low and sure, “aren’t you busy with wedding stuff?”

Ruby pulled back, her ghagra shimmering—a deep red with gold threads, straight from a shop, no doubt—her eyes glistening with emotion. She hadn’t changed, her hair slightly mussed, her breath quick. “Sir,” she said, voice trembling, “how did you know it was me? Do you still remember how I taste?” She perched on his lap, lifting the ghagra to straddle him, her thighs bare against his pants, her closeness stirring him.

Arjun grinned, his hands sliding to her waist, pulling her in for another kiss, his tongue tracing her lips. “This ghagra looks good on you,” he said, dodging her question with his own. “Wearing it for the wedding?”

She frowned, insistent, her hands cupping his face. “Master,” she pressed, shifting closer, her ass settling firmer on his lap, “tell me. How’d you know?”

His hand slipped under the ghagra, resting on her ass, feeling the smooth, freshly waxed curve of her legs. He leaned in, voice dropping to a tease. “It’s those crooked teeth, Ruby. Always a pleasure to feel ‘em with my tongue.” His fingers squeezed lightly, his grin widening as she froze, caught between a laugh and a pout, unsure if he was praising or poking fun.

Ruby swatted his chest, half-smiling. “You’re awful,” she muttered, but her body stayed pressed to his, the tension easing into something familiar, playful. He didn’t push further—just held her there, the planes outside rolling on, the lounge a quiet bubble around them.

[Naruto411]

Ruby sat on Arjun’s lap, her ghagra hiked up, her waxed legs warm against his pants, but a flicker of distance shadowed her eyes. She wasn’t on her knees yet, his cock wasn’t slamming her throat, her tongue wasn’t out lapping at his balls like it used to be when they’d tangle—back when he’d pin her down and leave her gasping, marked by his hands. He felt her stiffness, the way she held back, and smirked, reading her mind like an open page.

“Relax, Ruby,” he said, his voice low, teasing, his hand resting firm on her ass under the ghagra. “I’m not gonna mark you with my handprints before your wedding. Don’t want your groom spotting my work.” He squeezed lightly, then leaned back, curiosity sparking. “Who’s the guy, anyway?”

She shifted, her fingers tracing the edge of his shirt, a small smile breaking through. “Charlie. My junior—you know him. That time in the storeroom…” Her voice trailed, a blush creeping up her neck as she glanced away.

Arjun’s grin widened, memory clicking. “Charlie, huh? The kid who watched me fuck you senseless?” He chuckled, the scene flashing back—Ruby’s college storeroom, a cramped, dusty space reeking of old books and spilled beer from a party upstairs. It’d been late, the campus quiet, and Ruby had dragged him in, her skirt already up, panties shoved aside. He’d bent her over a stack of crates, her ass bare, her moans muffled against the wood as he pounded her from behind, his cock stretching her tight pussy, her juices dripping down her thighs. Her nails scbangd the crates, splintered wood catching her skin as he gripped her hips, slamming into her, his balls slapping her clit with each thrust. She’d cum hard, her scream echoing in the tight space, her body shaking as he kept going, relentless, leaving her a trembling mess.

Charlie had stumbled in mid-act—skinny, wide-eyed, a junior who’d been fetching supplies for some event. The door creaked open, and there he was, frozen, watching Arjun rail Ruby, her legs spread, her pussy leaking onto the floor. Arjun hadn’t stopped—grinned at him, even, mid-thrust—while Ruby gasped, too lost to care. Charlie’s jaw dropped, his hands fumbling with a box, but he didn’t leave, just stood there, eyes locked on her bouncing tits, her fucked-out face. Arjun finished with a groan, pulling out to spill hot across her ass, the cum streaking her skin as Charlie gaped, then bolted when Ruby slumped forward, panting.

“How’d that work out?” Arjun asked now, his hand sliding up her back, curious but amused. “Kid didn’t strike me as the type to stick around.”

Ruby laughed softly, settling closer, her ass pressing into his lap. “He didn’t—at first. You left me there, used up like a sex doll, and he came back. Gave me aftercare—wiped me down with his shirt, got me water, even rubbed my shoulders. Said he couldn’t leave me like that.” Her tone softened, a mix of fondness and nostalgia.

Arjun’s fingers dipped lower, brushing her asshole through her panties under the ghagra, a playful smirk tugging his lips. “You wanted me to skip the aftercare, Ruby. Begged me to just fuck you and go, didn’t you?” He rubbed slow circles, feeling her tense, then relax. “How’s he in bed, then?”

She blushed deeper, shifting to meet his eyes, her voice polite but firm. “We haven’t done it yet. Everything’s after marriage—he agreed to wait.” She paused, then added, “He’s not like you.”

Arjun raised an eyebrow, his hand stilling on her ass, a laugh rumbling in his chest. “No kidding. Kid’s got patience I never had.” He pulled her closer for a moment, his lips brushing her forehead, then let her go, leaning back to watch the planes again. “Sounds like he’s good for you, though. Tell him I said congrats.”

Ruby nodded, lingering on his lap, Ruby lingered on Arjun’s lap, her ghagra rustling softly, the lounge’s glass wall framing the tarmac’s endless motion—planes gliding like sleek beasts under the Mumbai sun, their engines a distant growl. The air inside was cool, scented with leather and a faint whiff of jasmine from the diffuser humming in the corner. Her fingers toyed with his shirt collar, her breath warm against his neck, but that shy distance still clung to her—a quiet ache for the old fire they’d shared. She bit her lip, eyes darting to his, then away, a flush creeping up her cheeks as she gathered her nerve.

“Sir…” she started, voice barely above a whisper, her hands trembling slightly as they slid down his chest. “Do you… want to feel my crooked teeth on your dick again?” Her words hung there, fragile and bold, her gaze flickering up to meet his, wide with a mix of hope and bashfulness.

Arjun froze, his hand still resting on her ass under the ghagra, his grin fading into a flicker of hesitation. He was drained—Maya’s relentless fucking had left him raw, his cock still tingling from her pussy and mouth, his energy sapped to the bone. The thought of Ruby’s teeth, that jagged edge he’d once craved, stirred him, but his body groaned in protest. “Ruby,” he said, voice rough, leaning back, “I’m wrecked. Not sure I’ve got it in me right now.”

She pouted, her lips parting in a soft, pleading curve, and slid closer, her thighs pressing tighter against his hips. “Please, Master,” she murmured, the title slipping out like a velvet chain, her hands cupping his face as she leaned in. Her lips brushed his, tentative at first, then deeper, her tongue darting into his mouth with a slow, teasing flick—reminiscent of their wild nights. The taste of her hit him—sweet chai and a hint of mint, laced with the memory of her submission. “Remember that rooftop?” she whispered against his mouth, her breath hot, her crooked teeth grazing his lower lip. “Monsoon rain soaking us, me on my knees, your cock down my throat while lightning cracked? You said my tongue was a fucking snake—hissing, twisting. Don’t you miss it?”

The memory crashed over him—her drenched sari clinging to her curves, rain pelting the tin roof, her mouth working him as thunder rumbled. She’d gagged then, her tongue slithering like a serpent, those crooked teeth scbanging just enough to drive him wild. His cock twitched in his pants, a lazy stir despite his exhaustion, and he groaned, half-laughing. “You’re a menace, Ruby. Fine—blowjob only. I’m too fucked out for more, thanks to… work.” He didn’t mention Maya, but the smirk said enough.

Ruby’s eyes lit up, a submissive glow washing over her as she slid off his lap, sinking to her knees on the lounge’s plush rug. “Thank you, Master,” she breathed, her voice thick with reverence, her hands trembling as she unzipped his cement-colored pants. His cock sprang free, half-hard but heavy, still carrying the faint musk of Maya’s cum. She didn’t care—her fingers wrapped around him, stroking slow, her nails painted crimson, glinting in the lounge’s soft light. “I’ll make it good for you,” she promised, her tongue flicking out, pink and eager, tracing the tip with a hiss that sent a shiver up his spine.

Arjun leaned back, arms spread along the chair, the glass wall cool against his shoulders as he watched her. The lounge was theirs—staff discreetly absent, the hum of planes a distant pulse. Ruby’s ghagra fanned out around her, the gold threads catching the light as she leaned in, her lips parting wide. She took him slow at first, her mouth hot and wet, her crooked teeth brushing the underside of his shaft—a jagged thrill that made him groan. Then her tongue went to work, slithering like a snake, hissing as it curled around him, flicking the sensitive ridge, darting down to lap at his balls while she sucked. “Fuck, Ruby,” he muttered, his head tipping back, the exhaustion melting into a hazy heat.

She grew bolder, submissive but fierce, her hands gripping his thighs as she deepthroated him. His cock hit the back of her throat, her gag reflex kicking in—a wet, choking sound that vibrated through him—her tongue still twisting, hissing, licking his balls even as she struggled. Her eyes watered, but she didn’t pull back, her “Master” muffled around him, a desperate plea in every thrust of her head. He tangled a hand in her hair, not guiding, just feeling her surrender, the rhythm building as his hips twitched despite his drained state.

“Flip it,” he rasped after a while, voice rough with need. She obeyed instantly, scrambling to reverse—her back to his chest, her head tilting up as she knelt between his legs. Her ghagra rode up, her panties peeking out, but she yanked her blouse open, buttons popping, her full breasts spilling free, dark nipples stiff in the cool air. She took him again, reverse deepthroating, his cock sliding down her throat from this angle, her tongue still snaking wild as she gagged harder. He reached down, pinching her nipples—hard, twisting—her muffled yelp buzzing against him, her mascara streaking as happy tears spilled, black rivulets down her cheeks.

The lounge spun—the planes outside blurring, the jasmine scent mixing with her sweat and his musk. Her throat tightened, her gag a wet symphony, her boobs bouncing as she bobbed, his fingers relentless on her nipples. “Good girl,” he growled, the words tipping her over—her eyes fluttered, tears shining, a choked sob of joy as she pushed him deeper, her crooked teeth scbanging just right. He came with a shudder, not as hard as with Maya but sharp, a hot spurt down her throat, her tongue hissing as she swallowed, some dribbling past her lips to stain her chin.

She pulled back, gasping, her mascara a mess, her boobs heaving, nipples red from his pinches. She knelt there, submissive, radiant, her ghagra crumpled, her face glowing with those happy tears. “Master,” she whispered, voice hoarse, a smile breaking through as she wiped her chin. Arjun slumped, drained beyond measure, his cock softening as he caught his breath, the lounge quiet again save for her soft panting and the distant roar of a jet.

[Tamilmathi]

Thanks you, for your regular updates...
The another seduction is starting...

Im really excited to want to know further
Updates....

The start and the end was awesome

[Naruto411]

Arjun slumped back in the lounge chair, his breath still ragged, Ruby kneeling before him, her mascara-streaked face glowing with those happy tears, her ghagra crumpled around her thighs, her bare breasts heaving from the reverse deepthroat. The lounge’s glass wall framed the tarmac’s chaos—planes taxying, their silver hulls glinting in the Mumbai sun, a faint roar seeping through the soundproof panes. The air hung heavy with their musk, her sweat, and the jasmine diffuser’s lingering sweetness, the rug beneath her knees plush and stained with a faint drip of his cum she hadn’t caught.

He reached into his duffel, pulling out a slim checkbook—a habit he kept despite the digital age, the leather cover worn from use. “Wedding gift,” he said, voice rough but warm, scribbling a number with a quick flick of his pen. He tore it off, handing it to her, the paper crisp between his fingers. “Don’t spend it all on ghagras.”

Ruby took it, her hands still trembling from their encounter, her eyes flicking to his softening cock, still glistening from her mouth, far more enticing to her than the check. She glanced down, expecting a token amount—maybe a lakh or two—but the zeros hit her like a slap: fifty lakhs. Fifty fucking lakhs. Her breath caught, her chest tightening, tears welling fresh as she stared, stunned. “Master…” she whispered, voice cracking, her fingers clutching the paper like it might vanish. She was still in shock, emotions swirling—gratitude, disbelief, a pang of loss—as Arjun stood, stretching, and ambled toward the washroom, leaving the door wide open.

The click of his shoes on the marble snapped her back. She scrambled up, her ghagra rustling, her boobs still out, nipples red and tender from his pinches, and darted after him. He stood at the commode, pants unzipped, pissing with a lazy arc, the sound a soft splash against the porcelain. Ruby dropped to her knees beside it, the cold tile biting her skin, her wide smile breaking through the shock. “Master, sorry,” she said, voice thick with submission, her hands reaching for him. “I was careless—forgot my duty.” Before he could react, she took his pissing dick in her mouth, the warm stream hitting her tongue, her lips closing around him with a reverent grin. She swallowed quick, a faint gag as the taste—sharp, salty—mixed with the lingering flavor of his cum, her crooked teeth brushing him as she sucked, her eyes locked on his with pure devotion.

Arjun groaned, half-laughing, shaking his head as he finished, her mouth still on him, cleaning him with that snake-like tongue. She pulled back, panting, her chin wet, mascara fully smeared now, a black halo framing her beaming face. “Don’t forget, Master,” she said, her voice a playful plea, her hands resting on his thighs. “You’ve got birth rights to my body—always will. Wedding or not.”

He smirked, zipping up, his hand ruffling her hair like she was a pet. “Noted, Ruby. Enjoy the tub—and that check.” He stepped out, leaving her there, her ghagra pooling around her as she climbed into the sleek bathtub, the hot water valve hissing as she turned it on. Steam rose, curling around her bare skin, her breasts bobbing as she sank in, the check clutched tight in one hand, her eyes still on the door he’d left through.

The lounge staff reappeared moments later—two men in crisp uniforms, rolling in a mobile check-in cart, their faces neutral as if they hadn’t heard her gagging minutes ago. “Sir, your flight’s ready,” one said, bowing slightly, scanning his passport and boarding pass right there in the lobby. Arjun nodded, grabbing his duffel, his cement-colored pants and white shirt still casual, unrumpled despite the chaos Ruby had wrought. “Let’s go,” he said, voice steady, and they escorted him out, bypassing the terminal’s crowds.

He boarded the private jet—a sleek Gulfstream, its interior all cream leather and polished wood, the family crest subtle on the headrests—directly from the lounge’s private gate. The captain tipped his cap, engines already warming, and Arjun settled into a window seat, the Mumbai skyline shrinking as they taxied. Ruby’s taste lingered—chai, mint, his cum, her tears—and that fifty lakhs would set her up, but his mind was already drifting, four months ahead, back to Maya’s fire.