She said "my husband will recieve you" i should have knowm.
We had been chatting for a while on social media — a little sexting here and there, but mostly just getting to know each other. One thing led to another, and soon we were planning how our first meeting would go.
Long story short, one evening I was driving to meet her. I was a little nervous — first-time meeting nerves, you know. She had given me directions through text: “You’ll see XYZ mart, take a left from there and follow the lane.” It felt like following breadcrumbs.
I reached the area and spotted the final landmark: an under-construction house. I texted her to let her know I’d arrived.
“My husband is coming to receive you,” her message came.
I sat there, excited but curious. A few minutes later, a man walked toward my car. I lowered the window. He asked my name, and once he confirmed it, he asked me to park nearby and follow him inside.
He led me into the house and seated me in the drawing room. Then he disappeared for a while. It was a little awkward, sitting in someone else’s house, waiting and not knowing exactly what was about to happen.
A few minutes later, he returned carrying a bottle of whiskey.
“The star of the night will join us soon,” he said. “She’s putting our daughter to bed. Till then, let’s have a tumbler.”
He poured drinks for both of us, and we chatted about life in general while sipping. Around 15–20 minutes later, she walked in — tank top, pajamas, no makeup, effortless and attractive.
She greeted me with a warm hug and said, “I didn’t wear anything special for you, I still had chores to finish. Hope you don’t mind. But in my defense, anything I wore wouldn’t stay on for long anyway.”
We all sat down. Her husband sat across from us, and she sat beside me on the sofa. He poured her a drink too. The conversation stayed light at first, then gradually became flirtier. There was touching, teasing — the atmosphere shifted naturally.
At one point she said to her husband, “Ab yeh mujhay apnay apnay feel honay lagay hain.”
Hearing that, he stood up and said he’d go check the room.
He called her in after a minute or two. Then he came back for me and led me to a bedroom, staying behind as I entered.
She was already on the bed, waiting. She looked back at me and asked me to undress and start with a massage.
I began at her shoulders and worked my way down. By the time my hands reached lower, she was already soaking wet. She shifted slightly to give me better access, and the moment I touched her, she let out a soft sound that said more than words could.
The door opened, and her husband came in as well. He sat quietly nearby, watching.
She reached for him and told him to get the condoms. He did without a word, handed one to me, and disposed of the wrapper.
From there, she took control. She knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t shy about directing either of us. Her husband remained silent, following her cues, while she guided the pace and positions without hesitation.
At one point she climbed on top, facing away from me, and called her husband closer to sit in front of her. I couldn’t see everything from where I was, but from how close he moved and how she positioned him, it was obvious she wanted him involved from every angle. He stayed close, following her lead while she set the rhythm.
Then she surprised me. She said she wanted both of us at once.
I hadn’t done that before, so I was honestly a little lost. She noticed immediately and took charge again — positioning her husband first, then guiding me into place. The first few moments were awkward, one of us slipping out whenever the other moved, but she handled it like she had done this before. A quick slap to her husband’s thigh and a sharp instruction for him to stay still solved it.
Once it worked, it was intense in a way I hadn’t expected. It didn’t last very long — it’s harder than it looks — but that moment alone was unforgettable. She was completely into it, and that was also when I learned she squirts. The sheets were already starting to show it.
After that, we shifted again. She kept the momentum going, moving us through positions like she had a plan all along. Her husband stayed close, mostly watching, stepping in when she called him, always following her direction.
Time blurred. Longer than I expected, honestly — probably the whiskey helping. But no complaints.
At one point her husband stepped out briefly, saying he’d check on things outside. The moment he left, she looked me straight in the eye and told me not to stop — that she didn’t want me finishing before he came back.
I kept going, and thankfully he returned soon enough.
Afterward, there was a moment of heavy breathing, silence, and that strange calm that follows something intense.
I got up, and her husband handed me a towel and opened the washroom door for me. I cleaned up, then went back to join them.
What happened after that is a story for another time.