u/Appropriate_Hand5718

Day 4: Tabo to Kaza

Swati's perspective:

Next day we were travelling from tabo to Kaza.anither long and beautiful journey with a mesmerizing view. But I was not looking at the view. My mind was with the man sitting next to me, who was not my husband.

The sex and loud declaration of desire infront of nitin had changed me. Something in me had broken loose. I was impatient. Shivam was anxious as well. He was constantly looking at me and bringing his hand towards me but stopped midway.

I had not talked to him since yesterday. With all the group activities I did, there was no time. I held his hand in my hand and smiled. With that he got relaxed. And I got more excited. I could feel the fire down.

I looked at Nitin. He was talking with pallavi. And his left hand was invisible. I knew of his kinks of public sex. I could see the expressions on pallavi's face.

I decided to take things forward as well. Me and shivam got talking. We were flirting heavily and getting to know more about each other.

As we reached the monastery, the group for divided. Some went to eat first, other went different places to click photo.

I saw Nitin disappearing into the back mountain with pallavi. Me and shivam started walking towards monastery. We were walking hand in hand like a couple.

After sometime, in the corner of the stair, where noone could see us for a moment, Shivam grabbed my ass and kissed me. It shocked and excited me. I wanted to grab his face and kiss him hard.

Then he asked "are you still ok with me kissing? Are we ok?"

"If we were not ok, would I hold your hand and walk as if you are my boyfriend?" I mocked.

"Did you ditch your husband and made me your boyfriend?"

"nitin is always there and always will be my husband. But for now, at this moment you are like my boyfriend."

"So do I get what boyfriend get?" He asked.

I was blushing and excited. But I controlled myself and said "yes, tonight. At your room."

" And nitin?" He asked.

"He has found his girlfriend as well."

After the day long trip, we started returning to the homestay. Everyone was exhausted. Some wanted to drink and party by bonfire. Others wanted to sleep.

I got a phone call from mom to share pictures of the day. But I spent the whole day with a man who was not my husband. So no pics for today.

As we reached the room, I told nitin everything that happened.

"Are you ok?" I asked. I was really asking for his permission.

"I am nervous but also excited. We have decided to do to together, so let's go ahead"

"And where did you disappear to today with pallavi?"

He just smiled big.

"I could see your disappearing act in bus as well." I said with fake anger.

"By the time we reached the monastery, she was already horny and wet. Wanting to cum. So we walked behind the mountains. Pretty far away. And behind boulder, we started making out again. I fingered her to climax. And then she blew me. But before we could finish, we heard some noise and stopped."

"You bastard. You have much ahead indeed. How her mouth?"

I pressed his dick over his pants as I asked. I was feeling horny but also possesive.

"It was different. She was surely hungry"

I pull his dick out his pants and started blowing him.

"Better than me?" I asked.

He did not answer and kept moaning.

I stopped without finishing him and started getting ready for dinner.

After a quick dinner, I planned to go to Shivam's room

"How do we do this?" I asked.

"Wait a little. Untill everyone is drunk or asleep. His room him is not near our room. So people shouldn't suspect "

I agreed. We sat by the bonfire. Chitchating with the group.

After sometime, shivam went to his room. Me and nitin also excused ourselves but I did not go to my room.

I kissed nitin and walked towards Shivam's room.

His room was similar to ours—small, basic, clean—but it smelled of cedar and something crisp, like the cold Spiti air clinging to his jacket. As soon as the door closed behind us, the reality of what we were about to do hit me. The silence of the high-altitude night felt heavy, expectant.

"Swati," Shivam said gently, his voice barely a whisper in the dim light. "We don't have to—"

I kissed him to shut him up. I didn't want gentle; I wanted the recklessness we’d talked about in the dark back in our room. I poured all my nervousness and desire into it, my tongue searching his mouth with a hunger that surprised me. He responded immediately, a low growl vibrating in his chest, pulling me so close I could feel the frantic thrum of his heart through his layers.

We stumbled toward the bed, shedding clothes with a desperate clumsiness. My shirt, his thermal. My bra, his belt. Every inch of skin revealed felt like a confession. By the time we hit the mattress, we were down to underwear, and I could see the full extent of his arousal straining against his boxers.

"You're stunning," he said, his eyes raking over me.

"I’ve been thinking about this since the first bonfire."

"Stop thinking," I commanded, pushing him back onto the pillows. I wanted to be the one in control, just like I’d told Nitin I would. "You're not bad yourself."

He was beautiful in that way twenty-five-year-olds are—lean and defined without effort, his muscles shifting like water under skin that felt impossibly smooth. I traced my fingers over his chest, his abs, watching the way his body jumped under my touch. It was a different landscape than Nitin’s—thinner, tighter, more reactive.

"I want to taste you," he said, his voice raw. "Can I? Please?"

No one had gone down on me in... god, months. Nitin and I had gotten into comfortable patterns, familiar positions that worked but lacked this sharp, terrifying edge of the unknown. "Yes," I breathed, my heart hammering. "Do whatever you’ve been imagining."

He pulled off my panties with a slow, deliberate focus. When he settled between my legs, the cold air hit me for a second before the heat of his breath replaced it. When his tongue first touched my clit, I nearly came off the bed.

"Oh god," I moaned, my hands fisting in his curly hair. "Shivam, right there... don't you dare stop."

"You like that?" he murmured against my skin, his breath hot and damp. "You're so sensitive. Does he do it like this?"

"No," I gasped, my head tossing. "He’s slower... you’re... you’re so much more frantic. I like it. Be greedy, Shivam."

He added fingers, curling them inside me while his tongue worked with a focused intensity that felt like a localized storm. The combination was devastating. I wasn't just coming; I was shattering. I came hard, harder than I had in years, my thighs trembling around his head as I called out a name that wasn't my husband's for the first time in my life.

When he emerged, his face was glistening with me.

"You taste amazing," he said, the directness of it making me flush with a mix of shame and pride. "I could stay down there all night."

"Condom," I managed, my voice shaking. "Do you have—"

"Yeah, hang on."

I watched him retrieve one, my eyes fixed on the way he moved. He was different from Nitin—longer, slimmer, with an upward curve that caught the light. Nitin's thickness and downward curve filled me in a way that felt grounding, solid, like home. Shivam's shape promised a different kind of invasion.

"How do you want me?" I asked, sitting up and letting my hair fall over my shoulders.

"However you're comfortable, Swati. This is your night."

"I want to be on top," I said, my voice gaining strength. "I want to feel every bit of the difference."

I straddled him, the friction of my skin against his thighs sending a fresh jolt through me. This was it—the final line. I guided him to my opening, and as I sank down slowly, the difference was immediate. The length of him reached deeper into my core, and that upward curve pressed against my front wall with a precision that made my breath catch in a sharp, high sob.

"Okay?" he asked, his hands gripping my hips, his knuckles white.

"Give me a second," I whispered, closing my eyes. I sat there fully seated, letting the sensation of him—a stranger, a guest in my life—settle into my bones. When I started moving, it was tentative, finding the rhythm of this new geometry. Every time I leaned forward, he hit my G-spot with a blunt force that Nitin’s curve usually missed.

"Fuck, Swati," Shivam groaned, arching his back.

"You're so tight... you feel incredible."

"Talk to me," I challenged, moving faster now, my hands flat against his chest. "Tell me what you’re feeling. Tell me I’m yours right now."

"You're mine," he rasped, his hands moving up to my breasts, squeezing them as I rode him. "I’m losing my mind inside you. I want to leave marks. I want you to remember this when you’re back in your real life."

"Touch yourself," he added, his voice strained. "I want to watch you while I’m deep inside you."

I reached down between us, finding myself, my fingers mimicking the rhythm of my hips. The combination was overwhelming—the internal pressure of his upward curve and the external friction of my own hand. I was vocal, loud, letting out sounds I usually muffled into a pillow.

"I'm close," I warned, my vision blurring. "Shivam, I’m going to—"

"Me too. Come for me, Swati. Let me feel exactly what you told him you wanted."

I did. I collapsed forward, my chest heaving against his, as the orgasm ripped through me—sharper and more focused than anything I’d felt in a long time. Shivam followed seconds later, his hips jerking up as he came, my name a jagged curse on his lips.

After, I collapsed beside him, the only sound the whistling wind outside and our synchronized, heavy breathing. The room felt smaller now, the air thicker.

"How are you feeling?" Shivam asked after a long silence, his hand reaching out to tentatively touch my shoulder.

"Overwhelmed," I admitted, looking up at the dark ceiling. "Good overwhelmed. But... everything is different now."

"Regret?"

"No," I said, and I realized I meant it. "You?"

"God, no. That was—you're—" he shook his head, unable to find the words. "I know this is just a trip thing. I know you're going home. But that was amazing, Swati. Truly."

I kissed him—softer now, a gentle acknowledgment of the bridge we’d just crossed together. "Thank you," I said. "For being exactly what I needed tonight."

I dressed in the dark, the fabric of my clothes feeling strange against my sensitized skin. When I walked back to my room, my mind was full of Shivam, but my heart was racing to get back to Nitin—to tell him everything, just like we’d promised.

https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianSexTales/s/WBcvtUqoLf

Day 3: Kalpa to Tabo — The First Touch

Swati's Perspective:

I woke up with Nitin's arm draped across me and a headache from the altitude and alcohol. Through the window, the Kinner Kailash peaks were bathed in early morning light, impossibly beautiful and indifferent to the complicated human drama unfolding below.

Last night's conversation felt both real and surreal in the morning light. Had we really given each other permission? Or had it been the alcohol talking, the heady atmosphere of travel making us say things we didn't mean?

Nitin stirred beside me. "You're thinking too loud," he mumbled.

"Did we mean it? Last night?"

He opened his eyes, reached for his glasses on the nightstand. Once he could see me clearly, he said: "I meant it. Did you?"

"I think so. It still feels theoretical, though. Like something we're talking about but won't actually do."

"Maybe." His hand slid under my shirt, palm warm against my stomach. "Or maybe it stops being theoretical today."

The drive to Tabo was supposed to be six hours through increasingly dramatic landscape. We'd be following the Sutlej River, climbing higher into the Spiti Valley proper. The group assembled after breakfast, everyone moving slower than yesterday, altitude and hangovers taking their toll.

I ended up in the middle row with Shivam on one side and Pallavi on the other. Nitin was further back. The seating had stopped being random—people were gravitating toward who they wanted to be near.

"How's your head?" Shivam asked as we pulled out.

"Surviving. Yours?"

"I've had worse." He was wearing a thin thermal shirt that showed off his lean frame. Twenty-five and fit in that effortless way you lose once metabolism slows down. "Want to share headphones? I've got a good playlist."

We shared his AirPods, our heads close together, and I felt everything — the warmth coming off his shoulder, the way his thigh pressed against mine when the van took a turn, the particular aliveness that comes from being next to someone you want. Not complicated yet. Just want, clean and uncomplicated.

"This okay?" he asked after the third or fourth contact.

"It's okay," I said, and meant it.

Pallavi, on my other side, was reading but clearly aware of what was happening. At one point she caught my eye and gave me a small, knowing smile. No judgment, just acknowledgment.

An hour into the drive, Shivam's hand moved from his lap to rest on the seat between us. Not touching me, but close. An invitation. My heart hammered so loud I was sure he could hear it. I shifted slightly, let my hand rest near his. When his pinky finger hooked around mine, something inside me just — broke open. Like a window suddenly unlatched.

We stayed like that for maybe twenty minutes — just our smallest fingers linked, both of us pretending to be absorbed in the music and the scenery. But I wasn't hearing any music. I was only feeling that single point of contact, the warmth of his skin, the slight pressure that said everything without saying anything at all.

When we stopped for tea at a roadside dhaba, I sought out Nitin. He was standing with Pallavi, both of them looking out at the river valley below.

"Hey," I said, sliding under his arm.

"Hey. Good drive?"

"Interesting." I looked at Pallavi. "Can I steal him for a minute?"

"Of course," she said graciously, moving toward the tea stall.

Once we were relatively alone, I said: "He held my hand. Partly. Just fingers."

Nitin's expression was hard to read. "And?"

"And I couldn't stop feeling it. That's the thing. It was barely anything and I couldn't stop feeling it."

"How do you feel about it?"

"Guilty. Excited. Like I want to do it again immediately. Like I want to tell you and also like telling you makes it more real and I'm scared of it being more real."

"How do you feel about it?" I said. "Actually."

"Turned on, honestly. Knowing someone else wants you, that you're letting them get close."

"Is that weird?"

"Probably. But it's true." He pulled me closer. "Did you like it? When he touched you?"

"Yes," I admitted quietly.

"Good. Then I'm glad it happened."

The simplicity of his response undid something in me. "I love you," I said.

"I love you too. That's why this works. That's why we can do this."

Nitin's Perspective:

Watching Swati walk back toward the van, toward where Shivam was waiting, I felt everything at once — pride, want, a low ache of something I could only call jealousy but that didn't feel like a bad thing, more like a live wire. I stood there and let myself feel all of it without trying to sort it.

"You're handling this remarkably well," Pallavi said, appearing beside me with two cups of chai.

"Handling what?"

"Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you." She handed me a cup. "The way that boy looks at your wife. The way she looks back. Most men would have put a stop to it by now."

"Why would I stop something that makes her happy?"

"Because it threatens you. Or it should."

"Does it threaten me, though? We've been together fourteen years. Some kid with a crush isn't going to undo that."

Pallavi studied me over the rim of her cup. "You're either very secure or very naive. I haven't figured out which yet."

"Maybe both."

"My husband would lose his mind if another man so much as looked at me the way Shivam looks at Swati."

"Is that why you're here without him?"

She flinched slightly. Direct hit. "Partly. He stopped seeing me years ago. Stopped wanting me in any real way. I thought maybe if I did something dramatic, something independent, he'd notice. But he just thought I was being difficult."

"His loss," I said simply.

"Is it?" Her voice was bitter. "Or is it my loss? Ten years married to someone who doesn't see me, doesn't want me. Who prefers his work and his friends and his predictable life where I'm just the wife who's always there."

The pain in her voice was raw. Without thinking, I reached out and took her hand. "You're here now. Being seen. Being wanted."

She looked down at our joined hands. "Am I? Being wanted?"

"You know you are."

She looked up at me and something moved through her face — relief, and something more frightened underneath it. I felt the pull of her then, not just physical, something more complicated. Like wanting to be the person who proved the world hadn't forgotten about her.

"What are we doing, Nitin?"

"I don't know. Figuring it out as we go."

"And Swati? She's okay with this?"

"She's doing her own figuring out. We're doing it together, even when we're apart."

Pallavi's thumb stroked across my knuckles. "That's either the healthiest thing I've ever heard or the most dangerous."

"Maybe it's both."

Back on the road, I ended up near the back with Pallavi beside me. The afternoon light was brilliant, turning the barren mountains into something otherworldly. At this altitude, the landscape was stark—mostly rock and sky, with the river cutting through like a lifeline.

Pallavi fell asleep against my shoulder about an hour from Tabo. Her hair smelled like hotel shampoo and something floral underneath. I let my arm settle around her and felt the unfamiliar weight of her, the different shape of her against my side. Across the van, I could see Swati and Shivam, still sharing headphones, their heads close together.

Our eyes met across the distance. She saw Pallavi against my shoulder. I saw Shivam's hand on her knee. We held each other's gaze for a long moment, and something passed between us — not just permission. Something warmer than that. Like we were giving each other a gift.

Swati's Perspective:

Tabo was smaller and more remote than anywhere we'd been so far. The monastery was the main attraction — ancient, supposedly founded in 996 AD, with murals and statues that had survived a millennium. Our guest house was basic but clean, with thin walls and a shared courtyard.

Nitin and I ended up in a room that shared a wall with Pallavi's. We could hear her moving around, talking on the phone — presumably to her husband, though we couldn't make out the words. Just the tone: placating, frustrated, eventually angry.

"Think they're fighting?" I asked.

"Probably." Nitin was unpacking his bag with that efficient economy he brought to everything. "She said things were bad."

"Bad enough that she's here flirting with my husband?"

He looked up, surprised. "Are you bothered by it?"

I turned it over. Not the thought but the feeling underneath the thought. "No. I don't think so. It's more that I feel strange being okay with it. Like there's a version of me that's supposed to be bothered and I keep waiting for her to show up."

"She might," Nitin said. "Later."

"Yeah." I sat on the bed. "She might."

He sat beside me and took off his glasses to clean them — that thing he does when he doesn't know what to do with his hands. "We don't have to do this. Any of this. We can just have a normal trip, enjoy the scenery, go home to our normal life."

"Do you want that?"

"No." Quietly, without hesitation. "Do you?"

"No. But I'm scared." I looked at him. "I'm scared of wanting something this much. I'm scared of what it means that I want it. I keep thinking — what does it say about us, about our marriage, that this feels good instead of wrong?"

"Maybe it says we're honest with ourselves. Most people want this and pretend they don't."

"Rules," I said. "We need rules."

"Yeah." He put his glasses back on. "Nothing behind each other's backs. No secrets."

"And we check in. If something feels wrong, we say it immediately. Not after."

"What about how far is too far?"

Nitin thought about it. "Maybe the rule is: if you're about to do something and you're not sure you can tell me about it afterward — don't do it. But if you know you can tell me, if you want to tell me — then trust that."

"And if it hurts you? When I tell you?"

"Then we deal with that together." He took my hand.

"We're not trying to protect ourselves from feeling things. We're just trying to feel them honestly."

The monastery visit that evening was supposed to be a group activity, but people split off in smaller clusters. Shivam asked if I wanted to explore with him. I looked at Nitin, who nodded slightly.

"Go," he said. "I'll see the murals with Pallavi."

So we separated — deliberately, consciously. Shivam and I wandered through the ancient monastery complex as the sun began to set, and the conversation got deeper, more personal.

"Can I ask you something?" he said as we stood looking at a thousand-year-old mandala.

"Sure."

"What's the deal with you and Nitin? And I don't mean generally — I mean specifically with what's happening on this trip."

I could have deflected, played dumb. But his directness deserved honesty. "We're exploring something. Testing limits we didn't know we had."

"With other people?"

"Potentially."

He was quiet, processing. "So when I held your hand earlier—"

"He knows. We talk about everything."

"That's..." he searched for the word. "Unusual."

"Does it bother you?"

"No. I just want to understand what I'm walking into. I like you, Swati. Obviously. But I don't want to be the guy who breaks up a marriage."

"You're not," I said firmly. "Our marriage is solid. This is us choosing to let other people in. Together."

We kept walking, and somehow ended up in a quiet corner of the monastery courtyard, out of sight of the main paths. The sun was nearly gone, the sky turning deep purple, the cold coming down sharp and sudden the way it does at altitude.

"Can I kiss you?" Shivam asked.

My heart stopped. This was it — the moment I could step back, keep it theoretical. Or step forward.

"Yes," I whispered.

He moved slowly, giving me time to change my mind. When his lips met mine it was soft and tentative — a real first kiss, unhurried. His hand came up to cup my face and I let myself sink into it fully, let myself feel what it was to be kissed by a new mouth after fourteen years of the same beloved one.

Different. Everything about it different — the taste of him, the angle, the way his bottom lip pressed, the small uncertain sound he made when I kissed back. Not better or worse. Just new, with all the vertigo that word carries.

When we pulled apart I was shaking.

"Okay?" he asked.

"More than okay."

He smiled — that young, open smile — and kissed me again, longer. His hands stayed careful — one at my face, one at my waist — but I could feel what he wanted in the way his hips pressed forward slightly, involuntarily, the small groan against my mouth when I parted my lips and let him in deeper.

I pressed closer. Let him feel that I wanted it too.

His hand at my waist tightened. Slid to the small of my back, pulling me flush against him, and I felt him — fully, unmistakably — and something low in my belly clenched hard with want. I hadn't been this aware of a body that wasn't Nitin's in fourteen years. I'd forgotten what newness felt like. The not-knowing. The electricity of a body you haven't mapped yet. I could feel his hardness and the softness of my back as hand pressed them.

"Swati," he said against my mouth, and the way he said my name — like it was something he'd been saving — made me kiss him harder.

When we finally stopped, the sky was completely dark.

"We should get back," I said, not moving.

"Yeah." He pressed his forehead to mine, both of us breathing. "Will you tell him?"

"Everything," I said. "Always."

Nitin's Perspective:

Pallavi and I spent nearly an hour in the main temple hall, looking at murals that had survived a thousand years. The art was stunning, intricate, and she was knowledgeable about Buddhist iconography in a way that surprised me.

"My mother was a professor of comparative religion," she explained. "I grew up visiting places like this. My husband thinks I travel for the food and the Instagram posts. He doesn't know this part of me exists."

"That's a significant part of you to not know."

"Yes." She said it simply, like a verdict. "It is."

We were standing close, both looking up at a massive mandala, its geometry precise and infinite at once. Her hand found mine in the dim light of the hall.

"Nitin," she said. "I need to tell you something."

"Okay."

"I'm attracted to you. Obviously. But it's more than that. You listen. You actually look at me. Swati is off with a twenty-five-year-old right now and you're not falling apart about it. You're just — here. Calm. Present."

"Would you want me to fall apart?"

"God, no. My husband would be calling every five minutes. Accusing. Making it all about himself." She paused. "You're nothing like him."

"I'm someone else's husband. Which is its own complication."

"I know." She turned to look at me directly. "I'm not asking you to be anything else."

I looked back at her — the tiredness in her eyes that she kept cosmetically, and the want underneath it, and the loneliness underneath that — and I felt something open up in my chest. Not just desire. Something more dangerous. The feeling of actually seeing someone.

We left the temple and walked back through the darkening complex. At some point my arm went around her shoulders and hers around my waist and we didn't remark on it, just walked.

"Where do you think they are?" she asked. "Swati and Shivam?"

"Kissing somewhere, if I had to guess."

She stopped. Turned to face me. "And that thought doesn't—"

"It does something," I said honestly. "Just not what you'd expect." I felt it even as I said it — the low burn of jealousy and arousal twisted together into something I didn't have a clean word for. "It makes me want to be doing the same thing."

"Are you asking me?"

"I'm telling you what I want. What happens next is yours to decide."

She searched my face in the darkness. Then she reached up, took my collar in both hands, and pulled my mouth down to hers.

Kissing her was nothing like kissing Swati. It was urgent and a little desperate, all hunger with the brakes only barely on — like she'd been holding herself in check for years and had decided, right now, to stop. Her whole body pressed against mine, and I felt her differently than I felt my wife, the different curve of her, the different warmth, and something animal in me responded to the sheer newness of it.

My hands went to her hips. She made a sharp sound against my mouth and arched into the grip like she'd been waiting for someone to hold her like they meant it. I pulled her closer, let her feel exactly what she was doing to me, my hard dick and she gasped and kissed me harder.

"We're in a monastery," she managed.

"Yeah."

We kissed again anyway. My hand found the hem of her shirt, slid underneath to warm skin and the ridge of her spine, and she shivered and bit my lower lip in response. Her own hands were moving — down my chest, over my stomach, her fingers curling into my shirt.

"Your room or mine?" she whispered against my lips. The question was low and direct and made my blood jump.

I pulled back. Looked at her flushed face, her mouth kiss-dark.

"I need to find Swati first. Check in."

Something moved through her expression — surprise, then something quieter. Respect, maybe.

"You really meant it. The checking-in."

"That's the deal." I kissed her once more, soft and deliberate. "Don't go to sleep."

She laughed softly. "I wasn't planning to."

I found Swati and Shivam coming back from the far end of the complex, holding hands. When Swati saw me she tensed slightly — reading for judgment. I just smiled.

"Good walk?" I asked.

"Yeah." She was still trying to read me. "You?"

"Come talk to me."

Shivam took the hint with grace. "See you at dinner," he said, pressing Swati's hand before leaving us alone.

The moment he was gone, she said: "I kissed him."

"I know. I can tell."

"Are you angry?"

"No." I pulled her into me. "Tell me."

So she did — standing in the open courtyard under a sky full of stars she knew I'd want her to describe — she told me everything. The way her hands shook. The way his mouth felt different. The way she'd pressed into him and felt him hard against her and hadn't pulled away. She told me all of it and I listened with my whole body, my heart hammering, wanting every word.

Then I told her about Pallavi. The desperate way she kissed. The warmth of her skin when my hand went under her shirt. The question she'd asked.

"Are you going to go?" Swati asked. Her voice was steady, but I could feel her pulse at the wrist.

"Do you want me to?"

A long pause. "Yes," she said. "I want you to want her. I want to know what it does to you." She looked up at me. "But I want to know everything after."

"Just kissing," I said. "Tonight, that's enough."

"For now," she agreed. "God, what is happening to us?"

"Something real," I said. "Something we chose."

We went to dinner with the group, and the energy had shifted — everyone could feel it without naming it. Shivam caught Swati's eye across the table and she looked away first, colour in her cheeks. Pallavi's foot found mine under the table and stayed there all evening, a steady, warm pressure. We were all inside something together now, orbiting each other, the want in the air like pressure before a storm breaks.

Later, I went to Pallavi's room.

She opened the door in a thin cotton kurta, her face scrubbed clean of makeup, and somehow that undid me more than anything — the intimacy of her ordinary self, the trust in it.

I stepped inside and she reached up and kissed me before the door was fully closed.

We moved to the bed and lay down facing each other and kissed slowly at first, learning the rhythms of it, and then less slowly. Her kurta rode up and my hand slid along the inside of her thigh and she made a low sound and hooked her leg over mine, pulling me closer, making sure I felt exactly how much she wanted this. I was already hard and she reached down and palmed me through my jeans, deliberate, and I groaned into her mouth and pressed into her hand and she laughed softly — delighted with herself, delighted with me.

"God," she breathed. "I'd forgotten what this feels like."

"What?"

"Being wanted back."

I kissed her throat, the hinge of her jaw, the soft skin below her ear until she was breathing in short pulls. Her hands moved on me with increasing confidence, mapping what she found, and I let her, enjoying being learned. When her fingers found the button of my jeans she looked up at me — asking — and I held her gaze and felt the pull of it and then gently stopped her hand.

"Not tonight," I said. "Not yet."

She made a small frustrated sound but didn't push. Just pulled my mouth back to hers and kissed me until my whole body was aching. We stayed like that for an hour, hands everywhere but nothing resolved — all heat and no release, which felt like its own kind of exquisite discipline.

When I finally left, my lips felt raw and my whole body felt coiled and alive.

Swati was waiting up, sitting cross-legged on the bed, and when I walked in she looked at my face and her breath caught.

"Come here," she said.

I crossed the room and she pulled me down and kissed me — deep, searching, tasting Pallavi on my lips — and made a sound that was half question, half answer.

"Tell me," she said against my mouth. "Tell me everything."

So I did. I told her about the way Pallavi kissed like she was starving. About her leg hooked over mine pulling me in. About her hand on me through my jeans and the sound she made when I kissed her throat. I told Swati all of it and I watched what it did to her — her pupils going wide, her breath going shallow, her hand twisting in my shirt.

"Did you want to fuck her?" Swati asked. The bluntness of it, the word in her mouth, sent heat straight through me.

"Yes."

"Tell me what you wanted to do to her."

"Swati—"

"Tell me."

So I told her. In detail, in the dark, my mouth against her ear. And she pulled me on top of her and wrapped her legs around me and put dick in her pussy. I felt how much she wanted this, wanted all of it, and I thought — this is the most honest we've ever been with each other. With her legs she was pulling me in to fuck her deep and hard. Like her pussy was hungry.

"Did you think about him?" I asked, moving inside her, her head tipped back. "When you kissed him, did you think about what you wanted?"

"Yes," she breathed. "God, yes. I wanted—" she gasped as I shifted deeper. "I wanted his hands on me. I wanted to know what he'd do if I let him."

"What would you let him do?"

She didn't just answer; she gripped my hair, pulling my head back so I had to look into her blown-out pupils. Her voice wasn't a whisper anymore—it was a command.

"I’d let him be greedy," she rasped, her hips snapping up to meet mine with a new, frantic rhythm. "I want to feel the weight of a different chest on mine. I want to feel his hands sliding up my thighs until he finds exactly where I’m aching. I’d let him pin my arms down, and I wouldn't fight him. I want to see that look in a stranger's eyes when he realizes I’m not anyone's 'better half' in that moment—I’m just a woman he’s allowed to break."

I groaned, my rhythm faltering under the sheer force of her words, but she didn't let me slow down. She wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling me closer until our sweat-slicked skin made a sound like a heartbeat.

"I want to hear how his voice sounds when he’s deep inside me," she continued, her breath hot against my ear, her words coming faster now. "I want to feel him trying to learn my body in a single night, pushing me until I forget my own name. I want him to take everything I’ve only given you till now, Nitin. I want to be his secret, his obsession, even if it’s only for an hour."

The image she painted—of her surrender and her power over this other man—was a match to a fuse. The honesty was more intoxicating than any touch. The words undid whatever control I had left. We weren't just a couple anymore; we were a storm of every desire we’d ever suppressed, every curiosity we’d finally given ourselves permission to voice.

We came apart completely—two people with their minds full of desire for other people and their bodies giving that desire entirely to each other. In that messy, explicit collision, it felt like we had finally stripped away the last of our clothes, revealing the parts of ourselves we’d been too afraid to show.

Afterward, wrecked and tangled in the narrow bed, she put her face against my neck. Her skin was slick, her heartbeat finally slowing, thumping a steady rhythm against my collarbone.

Read the previous chapter.

Thanks for the appreciation to previous story. https://www.reddit.com/r/IndianSexTales/s/PqWqfhcRf0

To answer some of the questions. This is a real story but I have changed name, location and timings to protect our identity. The intimate moments, dialogues and emotions are kept untouched.

Day 2:

Day 2: Shimla to Kalpa — Shifting Dynamics

Nitin's Perspective:

The morning started with everyone nursing mild hangovers and the altitude hitting harder than expected at 2,200 meters. The drive to Kalpa would take us even higher—nearly 3,000 meters—and the road was supposed to be spectacular and terrifying in equal measure.

Swati emerged from the bathroom in fitted jeans and a flannel shirt that somehow made her look both practical and sexy. After all these years I still loved watching her get ready.

"Sleep well?" she asked, catching me watching.

"Eventually."

We'd made love last night with an intensity that surprised both of us. I'd thought about Pallavi's laugh while kissing my wife's neck. Swati had been unusually vocal, and I wondered what she'd been thinking. Neither of us had acknowledged it in the light of day.

At breakfast we ended up at a table with Shivam, Pallavi, and two other travelers. Shivam looked annoyingly fresh despite matching us drink for drink last night.

"How does someone your age recover so fast?" I asked.

"Youth and inconsequence," he grinned, then turned to Swati. "Though I had dreams about falling off mountain roads, maybe the altitude is getting to me."

"Just dreams about mountain roads?" Swati asked, and there was something playful in her tone that made me glance at her.

"Maybe not just mountain roads," Shivam said, holding her gaze.

Pallavi laughed. "Subtle, Shivam. Very subtle."

The drive was stunning—hairpin turns with views that made everyone go silent with awe, then broke into excited chatter. The seating arrangement had shifted again, and somehow Swati ended up next to Shivam in the back row while I was up front with Pallavi beside me.

"Your wife is really cool," Pallavi said about an hour in, her voice low enough that only I could hear over the road noise and music.

"She is."

"How do you make it work? Fourteen years—that's longer than some people's entire relationships."

I thought about how to answer. Fourteen years together, three married. Most of that time we'd been figuring out who we were becoming; the marriage had just made it official. "We don't take each other for granted. We keep things... interesting."

"Interesting how?"

There was genuine curiosity in her question, but also something else. An opening, maybe. "We try new things. Travel. Take risks sometimes."

"What kind of risks?"

I turned to look at her. She was watching me with those dark eyes, and I realized she knew exactly what kind of conversation we were having. "Different kinds. Depends on the mood, the moment."

"Calculated risks," she said. "The engineer in you."

"What about you? Your husband didn't want to come?"

Her expression shifted, something closing off slightly. "He's not really the adventurous type. He thinks I'm going through some kind of phase. Maybe I am."

"What kind of phase?"

"The kind where I want to feel alive again. Feel wanted, feel exciting. Instead of just being someone's wife who goes to the gym and makes dinner and has the same sex every Saturday night."

The honesty was startling. We'd known each other less than 24 hours, but something about being in transit, about the temporary nature of this trip, made people say true things.

"Does it work? The Saturday night sex?"

She laughed, but there was sadness in it. "It works in the mechanical sense. But there's no hunger anymore, you know? No unpredictability."

I knew exactly what she meant. Swati and I were better than that—we made efforts, surprised each other. But there were still routines, familiar patterns. Last night had been different, charged with something new.

"Maybe that's what this trip is for," I said. "Finding the unpredictable again."

In the rearview mirror, I could see Swati and Shivam talking animatedly, her head thrown back laughing at something he'd said. His body language was obvious—angled toward her, finding excuses to touch her arm when making a point. And Swati... Swati wasn't discouraging it.

Swati's Perspective :

Shivam smelled good. It was the first thing I noticed when I ended up squeezing next to him in the back row—some cologne that probably cost too much but worked on him. Cedar and something clean.

"This okay?" he'd asked when we realized we'd be pressed together for the next several hours. "I can move—"

"It's fine," I'd said, and meant it.

The roads were rough enough that we kept getting jostled together. His thigh against mine, his shoulder bumping mine when we took a sharp turn. Each point of contact felt deliberate even though it wasn't.

"So," he said after we'd been driving for an hour, "tell me about the real Swati. Not the engineering lead version."

"What makes you think there's a difference?"

"There's always a difference. I've worked with enough directors and leads to know everyone has a version they show at work and a version they are everywhere else."

He wasn't wrong. "The real me is probably less impressive. Gym obsessions, travel addiction, decent cook, terrible at meditation even though I keep trying."

"What else?"

"What else what?"

"What else are you? The stuff you don't usually tell people."

I looked at him—really looked at him. There was something disarming about his directness, the way he asked like he genuinely wanted to know. "I'm restless," I said finally. "I have this good life, this good marriage, and a good career. But sometimes I feel like I'm playing a role. Like I'm supposed to want exactly what I have and nothing more."

"But you do want more."

"I don't know. Different, maybe. Not more, just... different."

His hand had somehow ended up very close to mine on the seat between us. Not touching, but close enough that I was aware of it. "This trip is different."

"Is that why you came? To be different?"

"Partly. Also to escape my job, family and responsibilities"

We talked for the next hour—about music and travel, about the specific kind of loneliness you can feel in a crowded city, about wanting things you can't quite name. He told me about a girl he'd dated who'd broken up with him because he was "too much," whatever that meant. I told him about the strange, specific vertigo of your mid-thirties arriving before you've finished feeling like you're still becoming someone. Not anxiety exactly—more like impatience with yourself.

"They're not over," he said quietly. "You're here, aren't you?"

When we stopped for lunch in a small town clinging to the mountainside, I sought out Nitin. He was helping Pallavi with something on her phone, their heads bent together over the screen. Something twisted in my stomach—not quite jealousy, but adjacent to it.

"Hey," I said, sliding my arm around his waist.

He looked up, smiling, and pulled me close. "Hey yourself. Good drive?"

"Interesting conversation."

"Same here." His hand settled at my lower back, familiar and possessive. "Pallavi's marriage sounds rough."

"Shivam asked a lot of questions."

"Did he." It wasn't really a question. Nitin's eyes searched mine, and I wondered what he saw there. "Are you okay?"

Was I? I felt electric, alive in a way I hadn't in months. Guilty and excited and confused all at once. "I think so. Are you?"

"Yeah." His hand slipped lower, grazing the top of my ass in a way that was just barely public. "We should talk. Tonight."

The rest of the drive had a different quality. I stayed up front with Nitin this time, while Pallavi ended up in back with Shivam. Through the rearview mirror, I watched them the way Nitin must have watched us earlier. Saw Shivam make her laugh, saw the way she unconsciously played with her hair when talking to him.

By the time we reached Kalpa in the late afternoon, the group had developed a definite energy. Everyone was high on altitude and views and the particular chemistry that happens when strangers become familiar fast.

Our hotel room had a balcony with a view of the Kinner Kailash range, snow-peaked and stunning in the golden light. Nitin and I stood there together, his arms around me from behind. The air was sharp and thin at this altitude, cold enough to make our breath visible—which meant we stayed close not just from want but from necessity.

"So," he said against my ear. "Tell me about Shivam."

My pulse jumped. "What about him?"

"What you talked about. What you're thinking."

I turned in his arms to face him. Fourteen years meant honesty, even when it was uncomfortable.

"He's interested in me. Obviously."

"And you?"

"I'm... not uninterested."

Nitin's eyes darkened behind his glasses. Not with anger—with something else. "Go on."

"He asked questions. Real questions. Made me feel seen in a way that..." I trailed off.

He didn't fill the silence, which was very him—he'd wait me out. He always did.

"In a way that I don't anymore?" he asked, finally.

"No. In a different way. You know me. He's discovering me. There's a difference."

Nitin's hand came up to cup my face. "And how does that feel?"

"Exciting. Scary. Wrong, maybe."

"Does it feel wrong?"

I thought about it honestly. "It feels like something that could become wrong if we're not careful. But right now it just feels... alive."

"I get that," Nitin said. There was a pause—I could see him sorting it, naming it to himself before he spoke. "Pallavi—she's going through something. Her marriage has hollowed out. And she looks at me like I'm interesting, like I'm not just her boss or her husband or any particular role."

"Do you want her?"

The bluntness of my question surprised both of us. Nitin was quiet for a long moment. "I want the feeling she gives me. The possibility. Does that make sense?"

It made perfect sense. "What are we doing?" I asked.

"I don't know. But maybe we should figure it out together instead of separately."

We made love on that balcony as the sun set, pressed against the railing with the door closed behind us, the cold air on our faces and hands making everything inside feel more urgent. Nitin pushed my jeans and panties down just far enough, his hand covering my mouth when I got too loud.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered, moving inside me with deliberate slowness.

I couldn't answer coherently. My mind was a mess of sensation and imagination—Nitin's familiar body and Shivam's unknown one, the thrill of the semi-public setting and the secret conversations we'd been having.

"Tell me," Nitin insisted, his fingers finding my clit, circling with perfect pressure.

"This," I gasped against his hand. "You. Everything. I don't know."

He fucked me harder. Pressed my boobs hard over my shirt. It felt possessive but also slutty. Then he put his hand on my hand which was holding the railing. He held it hard. Same hand which was touching Shivam.

"He knows". That' all I could think. Then grabbed me by hair started fucking harder. The open sex, the taboo topic, the rough fucking pushed me to my climax and when I came it was with his name on my lips and someone else's face flashing through my mind. The guilt hit immediately after, but Nitin just kept fucking. Usually he stops to give me time to process. Not this time.

He turned more aggressive. Turned me around. Put me on a small table on the balcony and kept fucking. There was an intensity in his eyes. I couldn't figure out whether it was for me or pallavi. Was he thinking of pallavi like I was thinking of shivam? Soon he came. Both of us breathing hard, the cold coming back into awareness. We came back to the room.

Cleaned ourselves. As we were heading out,

"It's okay," he murmured. "Whatever you're thinking, it's okay."

Nitin's Perspective:

Dinner that night was at a local restaurant, the whole group crowded around a long table. The food was simple—dal, rice, some kind of mountain greens—and they'd produced wine from somewhere improbable. More alcohol than was wise at this altitude, but no one was making wise choices today.

Swati sat across from me, Shivam beside her, Pallavi beside me.

Under the table, Pallavi's foot found mine. Not aggressively, just... there. A point of contact, quiet and deliberate. After thinking hard, I decided not to move away.

Across from me, I watched Shivam lean in to say something to Swati that made her laugh, her hand landing on his forearm naturally. The twist of jealousy was real but not unpleasant—more like arousal wearing a different mask.

"You two are secure," Pallavi observed quietly, watching the same interaction. "I can tell. Most couples would be territorial by now."

"We trust each other," I said.

"Is that what this is? Trust?"

I met her eyes. "What else would it be?"

"Permission, maybe. Testing limits. Seeing what happens when you give each other space to be wanted by someone new."

She wasn't wrong. My foot pressed back against hers under the table. "And what about you? What are you testing?"

"Whether I'm still someone worth wanting outside of a marriage that's forgotten how to want me."

The honesty was brutal. "You are," I said. "Obviously."

Her smile was sad and grateful at once. "That's kind of you."

"It's not kindness. It's truth"

Later, when we'd all had too much to drink and were heading back to our rooms, the hallways became a maze of laughter and whispered conversations.

Somehow Pallavi and I ended up at her door at the same time Swati and Shivam reached ours, one room apart.

"Goodnight," Shivam said to Swati, and even drunk he was careful, not presuming anything.

"Goodnight," she replied, and there was a moment where they just looked at each other.

Pallavi was watching me watch them. "Your wife is beautiful," she said.

"She is."

"You're not worried?"

"Should I be?"

She considered this. "Most men would be. Most men would have shut this down already."

"I'm not most men."

"No," she agreed. "You're definitely not."

Back in our room, Swati and I collapsed on the bed, the alcohol and altitude making everything feel fuzzy and intense.

"He wanted to kiss me," Swati said to the ceiling. "At the door. I could tell."

"Did you want him to?"

"Yes. No. Maybe. I don't know." She turned her head to look at me. "Would it be okay if I did? Not now, but... if the moment came?"

My heart was pounding. This was real now, not just flirtation and fantasy. I ran through it—what it would mean, what it wouldn't mean, whether the fear underneath was jealousy or just the vertigo of unfamiliar territory. "I think... yes. If you wanted to. If it felt right."

"Even though we've never talked about this before?"

"We're talking about it now."

She was quiet, processing. "What about you and Pallavi?"

"Same question. If the moment came, if it felt right—would you be okay with it?"

"I think so. I think I'd want to know about it. Not to stop it, but to... be part of it somehow. Does that make sense?"

It did. We'd always been a team, always communicated. This wouldn't be about deception or betrayal. It would be about expanding what we meant to each other, about exploring these new parts of ourselves together even if we were with other people.

We fell asleep tangled together, both of us aware that we'd just crossed some kind of threshold, that whatever happened next would change us in ways we couldn't quite predict.

Hi. I am writing a real story with extra flair as per wife's request

Day 1:

The departure point was chaos—typical Delhi at 5 AM. Swati stood beside me, her curly hair pulled back in a practical bun, contacts already in despite the ungodly hour. She looked good in her travel clothes, athletic leggings that showed off the results of all those gym sessions, a fitted jacket against the morning chill.

"Fourteen people," she murmured, scanning the group assembling near the tempo travelers. "That's more than I expected."

I'd organized plenty of team offsites, but this felt different. This was our vacation, our escape from Bangalore's traffic and endless sprint planning meetings. We'd been married four years, together fifteen if you counted the college years, and lately I'd noticed us falling into patterns. Comfortable patterns, sure, but patterns nonetheless.

"The only couple," I noted, watching the others introduce themselves. Solo travelers, mostly. The trip coordinator was doing headcounts, checking names off a list.

That's when I first noticed her—Pallavi. She was laughing at something another traveler said, her straight hair catching the streetlight as she tossed her head back. Married, I'd later learn, but traveling alone. There was something unguarded about her laugh, something that made you want to know what was funny.

And then there was Shivam. Hard to miss at 6'1", even in a crowd. Twenty-five, maybe younger, with that easy confidence of someone who hadn't yet learned to second-guess himself. His curly hair was artfully messy, and he moved through the group like he already knew everyone.

"You're the engineering directors?" he asked, approaching us with an easy grin. "I'm in product. Shivam."

Swati shook his hand first. I noticed how his eyes lingered on her for just a moment—not creepy, just appreciative. She noticed too; I saw the slight straightening of her posture, the unconscious smile.

The drive to Shimla would take eight hours. Swati and I claimed seats together in the second row, but the seating arrangement kept shifting at rest stops. By the second break, Pallavi had migrated to the seat across the aisle from us.

"First time to Spiti?" she asked, directing the question to both of us but somehow looking more at me.

"First time," Swati answered. "We usually do international trips, but wanted to try something different."

"Same," Pallavi said. "Well, not the international part. My husband thinks I'm crazy for doing this alone, but..." she shrugged, and there was something in that gesture—a tiny rebellion, a claim to independence.

By the time we reached Shimla that evening, the group had started to coalesce. Dinner was at a local dhaba, everyone crowded around long tables, and the alcohol appeared—rum and whiskey passed in subtle flasks despite the dry day.

I found myself sitting between Swati and Pallavi, Shivam across from us. The conversation flowed easily—travel stories, work complaints, the universal language of people escaping their regular lives.

"You two seem solid," Shivam observed at one point, gesturing with his glass toward Swati and me. "How long?"

"Fifteen years total," Swati said. "Married four."

"Damn. What's the secret?"

Swati and I exchanged a glance. We'd been asked this before, at weddings and dinner parties. Usually we gave some diplomatic answer about communication and respect.

"We keep surprising each other," Swati said, and there was something in her voice I couldn't quite read. Her hand found mine under the table, squeezed.

Swati's Perspective

I noticed Nitin noticing Pallavi at the departure point. It wasn't jealousy I felt—not exactly. More like... awareness. A slight quickening of attention.

Fifteen years together means you know your partner's types, even if they've never articulated them. Pallavi fit: approachable pretty rather than intimidating beautiful, easy laugh, slightly chaotic energy. The kind of woman who'd suggest something spontaneous and mean it.

And I'd noticed Shivam noticing me. The appreciation in his eyes when we first met, the way he'd maneuvered to sit near us at dinner. Twenty-five. Young enough to still have that hunger, that unpolished charm.

When had I last felt noticed like that? Nitin noticed me, of course—we had a healthy sex life, probably better than most couples our age. But there's a difference between your husband's desire, comfortable and known, and a stranger's interest, unexpected and new.

"What made you choose this trip?" Shivam asked me specifically, as Nitin got drawn into a conversation with Pallavi about the best treks in Odisha.

"Needed something different," I said. "We've been doing the same thing for a while. Work, gym, weekend dinners with friends. You know how it gets."

"I don't, actually," he grinned. "I'm still in the 'live in a shitty apartment with three roommates and party every weekend' phase."

"Don't rush out of it."

"You miss it?"

Did I? "Sometimes. Not the shitty apartment part. But the feeling that anything could happen."

His eyes held mine for a moment longer than necessary. "Anything can still happen."

It was a nothing comment, the kind of mildly flirtatious thing people say when they've had a couple drinks. But I felt it land somewhere in my chest, a small spark.

When we finally made it to our hotel room, Nitin and I collapsed on the bed, exhausted but buzzing with the energy of new experiences.

"This group is fun," he said, pulling off his glasses to rub his eyes.

"Mm. Pallavi seems nice."

"Yeah. And that Shivam kid has a massive crush on you."

I laughed, turning to face him. "He's twenty-five. He has a crush on anything female."

"No," Nitin said, putting his glasses back on and looking at me with that analytical director gaze. "He's specifically interested in you. I watched him watching you all through dinner."

There was no accusation in his voice. Just observation. We'd played with voyeurism before, had that adventurous streak that came out in hotel rooms far from home. We'd talked about public places, fantasized about being watched, even acted on it once or twice in daringly semi-public spots.

But we'd never talked about other people. Not really.

"Does that bother you?" I asked carefully.

Nitin was quiet for a moment, his hand absently tracing patterns on my hip through my shirt. "No," he said finally. "It's... interesting. Makes me see you the way he sees you. Like you're new again."

My heart rate picked up. "And Pallavi?"

"What about her?"

"You noticed her. At the departure point."

He didn't deny it. Fifteen years means you can't really lie to each other, not about the important stuff. "I noticed her."

"And?"

"And nothing. She's attractive. That's all."

But it wasn't all. I could feel it in the air between us, this new possibility neither of us was quite naming. The week stretched ahead, full of long drives and shared meals, alcohol and altitude and the particular intimacy that forms between strangers on an adventure.

Nitin pulled me closer, his kiss familiar but charged with something new. When his hand slipped under my shirt, I was already responding, my mind half on him and half on the way Shivam had looked at me across the dinner table.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Nitin murmured against my neck.

But I wasn't ready to articulate it yet. So instead I showed him, letting the need building in me speak through my body, through the way I arched into him, the small sounds I made as his hands found all the familiar places that still worked after all these years.

After a long time Nitin was going slow with foreplay. Touching every part of my body slowly. Taking off my clothes slowly. It like was trying to see what Shivam saw in me. Or claim me maybe.

It was cold, so by the time he took my bra my nipples were rock hard. But he did not jump on them as usual. He turned me around and kissed and licked by back. It felt warm at first, the sharp cold. He kept doing it until he reached my ass. Quickly he took off my jeans and panty. I couldn't take the cold and went inside the blanket. He came in as well. He spent a good amount of time on my ass. Eating, biting, licking. He reached my pussy. Gave it light lick but stopped.

Finally turned me around and started sucking my nipples. Oh the shock I felt. I moaned loud. I was lost in lust. I was literally high. He knew that. He took advantage and asked "how do you think Shivam will like these boobs?"

It shocked me and make me horny at the same time. I didn't say anything. He kept continuing. He went back to eating my boobs. I kept moaning but the question was stuck in my head.

Then went towards my pussy slowly. Started licking me. I was squirming in bed. Holding the blanket tightly. I was close but then he stopped. He got out of the bed started stripping.

I have seen him naked a million time. But today I felt a bit shy like I was seeing him for the first time. I was noticing all the details. The muscles, the size and shape. I started wondering if Pallavi will appreciate it. I started feeling jealous and proud. But then another thought crossed my mind. How Shivam will look! He was taller and leaner for sure. A quick comparison started in my mind. I got excited and my breathing changed.

Nitin noticed. And on queue asked "are you thinking about his body?". I didn't say anything. Pulled him in to bed and started kissing. I was touching his back and chest. Feeling his muscles. Trying to remember his body with my hand. Slowly I went towards his dick. I was ready to be fucked. I wanted a pounding.

I put his dick in my pussy and pulled him in. I felt so complete. But this fucker was not fucking. Just smiling. I said "start". But he didn't. I knew what he wanted. I begged him "please fuck me". And he started slow but hard. Then slowly speed increased. I knew his rhythm. I loved it. My whole body tightened in excitement. As I was close to climax, I was screaming and biting him. Begging him to keep fucking. And then he asked "what do you think Shivam will think if he sees you like this?". I came in a microsecond. And I came hard.

My head was spinning and I couldn't think straight. Then I saw my self and him. And kept thinking "what would Shivam think?" I couldn't look at Nitin. He understood. He turned me around and started fucking in doggy. I was glad I didn't have to look into his eyes while those questions repeated in my head.

Nitin kept fucking, I kept wondering and then he came. He cleaned himself and me with tissue. And came to bed and lay beside me. He touched my back , caressing me. I said "Seven days."

"Seven days," he agreed.

Neither of us said what we were both thinking: a lot can happen in seven days.