u/Me_from_multiverse

Okay, that title is a little clickbaity, but hear me out. Technically, it wasn't my wedding night — it was my wedding reception weekend. There was a gap of a couple of years between the wedding and the reception because mu wife and I had a small court marriage during the pandemic. By the time my in-laws insisted on hosting a proper reception, two years had already passed.

I have told a few stories from my life before, and every time I do, I end up having to repeat the same disclaimers. I am not asking anyone believe my stories or to approve of my decisions. I am not claiming that they were wise, moral, or even particularly sensible. I am simply documenting events as I remember them. If you like this story, you are welcome to go back to my profile to check the other ones out. I very much enjoy reading sensible respectful comments, and look forward to constructive feedback.

My stories are not meant to be straightforward, linear, escalating, porn plots. They are messy, occasionally inconsistent, contradictory, and filled with details that might seem irrelevant to the reader, but they are relevant to my emotional frame of mind from that moment.

Those of you who have been following my posts already know that I am in a non-monogamous (ENM) marriage. My then-girlfriend and I dated for two years before getting married, and our relationship had been open throughout. Sleeping with other people is not normally the sort of thing that would cause a scandal in our lives. However, we have strict rules about who we can and cannot sleep with, and friends and family are strictly off-limits. I feel equally kinky and guilty admitting that I broke that rule that weekend.

When I met my wife through Bumble, she came from a different cultural background, and our social circles did not overlap. Over time, however, she integrated herself into my friends group remarkably well, learning my language and embracing our shared interests.

The two influencers in question are both old college friends of mine. It's a little odd to call them influencers because all of us come from a time decades before that term became part of our lexicon. Initially, I only knew one of them. She had been a close friend and occasional lover during our student years. The second woman entered my life through the first, as they had been friends since childhood.

As a side note, these two women actually accompanied my wife and me on our honeymoon abroad two years before. Nothing remotely scandalous happened on that trip, although we made countless jokes about threesomes. That's a completely different story, but I am mentioning this to provides some context of our group vibe.

By the time of our reception, all four of us had become very thick friends, though the dynamics were complicated.

My wife knew about my history with Friend A and was comfortable with it. Friend A, however, was by then in an arranged marriage to a wealthy and conservative north Indian man who definitely did not know about her past with me. He was a genuinely nice and easygoing person, but he almost certainly would not have approved of our history. As a result, we had not slept together since her marriage. Our relationship had evolved into one of lingering glances and occasional flirtation, while still respecting the realities of our current lives.

She was the quintessential Bengali woman — short, with flowing hair that reached her hips, a full figure, large expressive eyes, and an impossibly loud laugh. From an academic overachiever, outspoken feminist and politically charged student leader, she had made an expected transition into a successful businesswoman and financial influencer.

Friend B was someone who had attended the same college as me, but our paths barely crossed back then. To put it bluntly, she was fat and had short hair, so she never particularly caught my attention. I realize that sounds rude, but it has been more than fifteen years since college, and people are allowed to grow, change, and reassess their opinions.

I reconnected with her during the honeymoon trip previously mentioned, and she had undergone a remarkable transformation. She had become a fitness and travel influencer with an astonishing number of Instagram followers. She still had short hair and wasn't petite, but she was all muscle and virtually no body fat. She loved dressing up, dancing, and making reels, and she carried the kind of chaotic energy that was the complete opposite of my personality.

I wouldn't say I found her unattractive, but our dynamic had settled into something closer to a brother-sister friendship.

She had been married for ten plus years by then, having married her college sweetheart. According to her, the marriage had become largely platonic, though it was not open. She had been involved in several affairs and flings on her own terms during her various vlogging travels and meetings with her followers, while remaining deeply attached to her husband. She was also aware of my emotional history with Friend A and perhaps because of that she maintained a certain distance from me.

Being a hyper-individualistic, atheist, and socially ambiverted person, I was probably the least enthusiastic participant in my own wedding reception. But it gave my friends an excuse to make it into a grand celebration and fly in from different parts of the country. I myself arrived only one day before the event after returning from a work trip.

The reception was largely about the women enjoying themselves. They had planned everything according to their tastes and preferences.

Friend A and I had actually been sexting occasionally in the days leading up to the reception. She projected a strange combination of maternal care (my own parents have passed), former-lover intimacy, and present-day platonic energy. I knew she was emotional about the fact that I was getting married, and I was equally excited about seeing her again. We both knew there was a possibility that something might happen.

I'll skip directly to the night after the reception.

We all returned to my 2BHK apartment. Friend A's husband immediately crashed in the spare bedroom while the remaining four of us—my wife, Friend A, Friend B, and I—continued drinking in the living room.

Friend A and I were already aware of the tension between us, but that night I also noticed an unexpected chemistry developing between Friend B and me. We had danced together during the reception and exchanged more than a few meaningful looks.

She usually dressed in body hugging western clothes, but that night she wore a navy-blue silk saree. For the first time, I found myself looking at her differently.

We all became fairly drunk.

Whether my wife noticed the atmosphere in the room or not, I will never know. We are usually extremely open in communication with each other, but what happened that night has never come up. At some point, exhausted and intoxicated, she went to bed.

The three of us remained on the sofa.

The mood became increasingly playful. I was absentmindedly playing with both women's hair, tugging at it teasingly, spilling wine onto the carpet, and drinking from glasses that no longer belonged to any one person. Friend A and I had already kissed several times, while Friend B giggled and mock-scolded us.

I kept jokingly suggesting a threesome. Whether they were intrigued, horrified, or both, I couldn't tell.

Eventually, Friend A became extremely drunk. The three of us shared a long, emotional group hug. Friend B and I carried her to the spare bedroom and practically dropped her on top of her sleeping husband before quietly leaving.

The wine continued to flow.

The chemistry between Friend B and me became increasingly obvious, yet neither of us seemed willing to cross the line.

Eventually, we agreed to call it a night.

We returned to my bedroom and lay down beside my sleeping wife.

Despite our stated intentions, neither of us could sleep. We continued passing a half-finished bottle of wine back and forth. Looking back, it was clearly an excuse. We were both looking for excuses to keep interacting with each other while acknowledging the audacity of the situation.

I don't know whether it was conscious or unconscious, but I made the first move.

As she handed me the bottle, I kissed her hand.

She looked shocked.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

The words carried multiple meanings.

I continued kissing her arm. She didn't stop me.

Soon we were making out. For me, the surreal part wasn't the physical act itself. It was the thrill of kissing a woman I had never kissed before while my new wife slept beside us.

Her hand slipped inside my pants, holding my cock and stroking it while I felt her neck and breasts in my mouth. We were both properly drunk to not understand the risk and full consequence of our actions. 

I got out of bed and dragged her by the arm, back to the empty, dark living room.

We started to kiss like crazy while grinding against each other. I took large gulps from the wine and kissed her, transferring a cocktail of saliva and wine into each other's mouth. I pushed her against a wall and pinned her arms above her head and continued to kiss her neck while she continued to jerk me off with her hands. Our pants slipped down midway to our knees as I parted her thighs and I felt my the tip of cock disappear into her shockingly wet flowing pussy.

That moment jerked us back into reality. Adrenaline has a remarkable way of cutting through alcohol. The drunken haze disappeared almost instantly. She briefly kneeled down and sucked my cock for 10 short seconds before stopping it. 

"Tomorrow after she leaves," she whispered.

We returned to the bedroom, taking opposite sides of my wife, and eventually fell asleep.

The most absurd night of my life came to an end.

I'll move through what happened next quickly.

My wife left for work early the following morning.

True to her word, Friend B and I slept together before she packed her bags and left for her afternoon flight. The sex itself was unremarkable, but the fact that it happened at all felt extraordinary. It has never happened again despite four years and multiple meetings since then, yet we both still remember it fondly.

Friend A and I later managed to escape her husband's watchful eye for a few hours. I took her to my empty office, making sure the CCTV is turned off. We told the husband we were meeting the photographer to collect reception photographs.

Away from the noise and distractions, we finally had the chance to reconnect properly. It was an emotional reunion. We sat in the Lotus position on the sofa in my office, our private parts smashed into each other while talking face to face.

This was our first fuck in several years and I remember mentally trying to count the changes in her body from my older college memory. As she was riding me cowgirl style, I could see her reflection of her back on the glass door infront of me. Her thick long open hair covered her entire back, past her butt and into my thighs. That was a sight to behold. 

Finally, I picked her up and carried her to my work desk. I grabbed her by her throat and in a very intentionally dramatic style, turned her around and spread her on the table surface. I could see her erect nipples press down on the cold glass surface. For the next 15 minutes, I fucked her doggystyle as she continued to moan and shout unspeakable things in our native tongue. There is something thrilling about seeing an genuine old friend make the transition from innocence to slutty.

She and her husband later left for a resort outside Mumbai for a short couple's trip before returning to their home city. Not long afterward, she became pregnant and gave birth to a healthy child the following year. For a while, it became a running joke between us whether I might be the father. She shut that down and insisted there was no confusion whatsoever. The child was her husband's.

A few years later, when the child had grown older, it became obvious he had inherited his father's features.

When life presents me with moments like these, I usually just roll with them. I never expected to tell this story publicly. My friends know that I am a kinky, anti-heteronormative person. i am no stranger to controversy, but this story carries the potential to hurt too many people. For that reason, I kept it hidden for years.

Even now, neither of the two women knows what happened with the other.

For several years, I have carried two separate secrets and pretended that each one existed in isolation.

Okay, that title is a little clickbaity, but hear me out. Technically, it wasn't my wedding night — it was my wedding reception weekend. There was a gap of a couple of years between the wedding and the reception because mu wife and I had a small court marriage during the pandemic. By the time my in-laws insisted on hosting a proper reception, two years had already passed.

I have told a few stories from my life before, and every time I do, I end up having to repeat the same disclaimers. I am not asking anyone believe my stories or to approve of my decisions. I am not claiming that they were wise, moral, or even particularly sensible. I am simply documenting events as I remember them. If you like this story, you are welcome to go back to my profile to check the other ones out. I very much enjoy reading sensible respectful comments, and look forward to constructive feedback.

My stories are not meant to be straightforward, linear, escalating, porn plots. They are messy, occasionally inconsistent, contradictory, and filled with details that might seem irrelevant to the reader, but they are relevant to my emotional frame of mind from that moment.

Those of you who have been following my posts already know that I am in a non-monogamous (ENM) marriage. My then-girlfriend and I dated for two years before getting married, and our relationship had been open throughout. Sleeping with other people is not normally the sort of thing that would cause a scandal in our lives. However, we have strict rules about who we can and cannot sleep with, and friends and family are strictly off-limits. I feel equally kinky and guilty admitting that I broke that rule that weekend.

When I met my wife through Bumble, she came from a different cultural background, and our social circles did not overlap. Over time, however, she integrated herself into my friends group remarkably well, learning my language and embracing our shared interests.

The two influencers in question are both old college friends of mine. It's a little odd to call them influencers because all of us come from a time decades before that term became part of our lexicon. Initially, I only knew one of them. She had been a close friend and occasional lover during our student years. The second woman entered my life through the first, as they had been friends since childhood.

As a side note, these two women actually accompanied my wife and me on our honeymoon abroad two years before. Nothing remotely scandalous happened on that trip, although we made countless jokes about threesomes. That's a completely different story, but I am mentioning this to provides some context of our group vibe.

By the time of our reception, all four of us had become very thick friends, though the dynamics were complicated.

My wife knew about my history with Friend A and was comfortable with it. Friend A, however, was by then in an arranged marriage to a wealthy and conservative north Indian man who definitely did not know about her past with me. He was a genuinely nice and easygoing person, but he almost certainly would not have approved of our history. As a result, we had not slept together since her marriage. Our relationship had evolved into one of lingering glances and occasional flirtation, while still respecting the realities of our current lives.

She was the quintessential Bengali woman — short, with flowing hair that reached her hips, a full figure, large expressive eyes, and an impossibly loud laugh. From an academic overachiever, outspoken feminist and politically charged student leader, she had made an expected transition into a successful businesswoman and financial influencer.

Friend B was someone who had attended the same college as me, but our paths barely crossed back then. To put it bluntly, she was fat and had short hair, so she never particularly caught my attention. I realize that sounds rude, but it has been more than fifteen years since college, and people are allowed to grow, change, and reassess their opinions.

I reconnected with her during the honeymoon trip previously mentioned, and she had undergone a remarkable transformation. She had become a fitness and travel influencer with an astonishing number of Instagram followers. She still had short hair and wasn't petite, but she was all muscle and virtually no body fat. She loved dressing up, dancing, and making reels, and she carried the kind of chaotic energy that was the complete opposite of my personality.

I wouldn't say I found her unattractive, but our dynamic had settled into something closer to a brother-sister friendship.

She had been married for ten plus years by then, having married her college sweetheart. According to her, the marriage had become largely platonic, though it was not open. She had been involved in several affairs and flings on her own terms during her various vlogging travels and meetings with her followers, while remaining deeply attached to her husband. She was also aware of my emotional history with Friend A and perhaps because of that she maintained a certain distance from me.

Being a hyper-individualistic, atheist, and socially ambiverted person, I was probably the least enthusiastic participant in my own wedding reception. But it gave my friends an excuse to make it into a grand celebration and fly in from different parts of the country. I myself arrived only one day before the event after returning from a work trip.

The reception was largely about the women enjoying themselves. They had planned everything according to their tastes and preferences.

Friend A and I had actually been sexting occasionally in the days leading up to the reception. She projected a strange combination of maternal care (my own parents have passed), former-lover intimacy, and present-day platonic energy. I knew she was emotional about the fact that I was getting married, and I was equally excited about seeing her again. We both knew there was a possibility that something might happen.

I'll skip directly to the night after the reception.

We all returned to my 2BHK apartment. Friend A's husband immediately crashed in the spare bedroom while the remaining four of us—my wife, Friend A, Friend B, and I—continued drinking in the living room.

Friend A and I were already aware of the tension between us, but that night I also noticed an unexpected chemistry developing between Friend B and me. We had danced together during the reception and exchanged more than a few meaningful looks.

She usually dressed in body hugging western clothes, but that night she wore a navy-blue silk saree. For the first time, I found myself looking at her differently.

We all became fairly drunk.

Whether my wife noticed the atmosphere in the room or not, I will never know. We are usually extremely open in communication with each other, but what happened that night has never come up. At some point, exhausted and intoxicated, she went to bed.

The three of us remained on the sofa.

The mood became increasingly playful. I was absentmindedly playing with both women's hair, tugging at it teasingly, spilling wine onto the carpet, and drinking from glasses that no longer belonged to any one person. Friend A and I had already kissed several times, while Friend B giggled and mock-scolded us.

I kept jokingly suggesting a threesome. Whether they were intrigued, horrified, or both, I couldn't tell.

Eventually, Friend A became extremely drunk. The three of us shared a long, emotional group hug. Friend B and I carried her to the spare bedroom and practically dropped her on top of her sleeping husband before quietly leaving.

The wine continued to flow.

The chemistry between Friend B and me became increasingly obvious, yet neither of us seemed willing to cross the line.

Eventually, we agreed to call it a night.

We returned to my bedroom and lay down beside my sleeping wife.

Despite our stated intentions, neither of us could sleep. We continued passing a half-finished bottle of wine back and forth. Looking back, it was clearly an excuse. We were both looking for excuses to keep interacting with each other while acknowledging the audacity of the situation.

I don't know whether it was conscious or unconscious, but I made the first move.

As she handed me the bottle, I kissed her hand.

She looked shocked.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

The words carried multiple meanings.

I continued kissing her arm. She didn't stop me.

Soon we were making out. For me, the surreal part wasn't the physical act itself. It was the thrill of kissing a woman I had never kissed before while my new wife slept beside us.

Her hand slipped inside my pants, holding my cock and stroking it while I felt her neck and breasts in my mouth. We were both properly drunk to not understand the risk and full consequence of our actions. 

I got out of bed and dragged her by the arm, back to the empty, dark living room.

We started to kiss like crazy while grinding against each other. I took large gulps from the wine and kissed her, transferring a cocktail of saliva and wine into each other's mouth. I pushed her against a wall and pinned her arms above her head and continued to kiss her neck while she continued to jerk me off with her hands. Our pants slipped down midway to our knees as I parted her thighs and I felt my the tip of cock disappear into her shockingly wet flowing pussy.

That moment jerked us back into reality. Adrenaline has a remarkable way of cutting through alcohol. The drunken haze disappeared almost instantly. She briefly kneeled down and sucked my cock for 10 short seconds before stopping it. 

"Tomorrow after she leaves," she whispered.

We returned to the bedroom, taking opposite sides of my wife, and eventually fell asleep.

The most absurd night of my life came to an end.

I'll move through what happened next quickly.

My wife left for work early the following morning.

True to her word, Friend B and I slept together before she packed her bags and left for her afternoon flight. The sex itself was unremarkable, but the fact that it happened at all felt extraordinary. It has never happened again despite four years and multiple meetings since then, yet we both still remember it fondly.

Friend A and I later managed to escape her husband's watchful eye for a few hours. I took her to my empty office, making sure the CCTV is turned off. We told the husband we were meeting the photographer to collect reception photographs.

Away from the noise and distractions, we finally had the chance to reconnect properly. It was an emotional reunion. We sat in the Lotus position on the sofa in my office, our private parts smashed into each other while talking face to face.

This was our first fuck in several years and I remember mentally trying to count the changes in her body from my older college memory. As she was riding me cowgirl style, I could see her reflection of her back on the glass door infront of me. Her thick long open hair covered her entire back, past her butt and into my thighs. That was a sight to behold. 

Finally, I picked her up and carried her to my work desk. I grabbed her by her throat and in a very intentionally dramatic style, turned her around and spread her on the table surface. I could see her erect nipples press down on the cold glass surface. For the next 15 minutes, I fucked her doggystyle as she continued to moan and shout unspeakable things in our native tongue. There is something thrilling about seeing an genuine old friend make the transition from innocence to slutty.

She and her husband later left for a resort outside Mumbai for a short couple's trip before returning to their home city. Not long afterward, she became pregnant and gave birth to a healthy child the following year. For a while, it became a running joke between us whether I might be the father. She shut that down and insisted there was no confusion whatsoever. The child was her husband's.

A few years later, when the child had grown older, it became obvious he had inherited his father's features.

When life presents me with moments like these, I usually just roll with them. I never expected to tell this story publicly. My friends know that I am a kinky, anti-heteronormative person. i am no stranger to controversy, but this story carries the potential to hurt too many people. For that reason, I kept it hidden for years.

Even now, neither of the two women knows what happened with the other.

For several years, I have carried two separate secrets and pretended that each one existed in isolation.

Okay, that title is a little clickbaity, but hear me out. Technically, it wasn't my wedding night — it was my wedding reception weekend. There was a gap of a couple of years between the wedding and the reception because mu wife and I had a small court marriage during the pandemic. By the time my in-laws insisted on hosting a proper reception, two years had already passed.

I have told a few stories from my life before, and every time I do, I end up having to repeat the same disclaimers. I am not asking anyone believe my stories or to approve of my decisions. I am not claiming that they were wise, moral, or even particularly sensible. I am simply documenting events as I remember them. If you like this story, you are welcome to go back to my profile to check the other ones out. I very much enjoy reading sensible respectful comments, and look forward to constructive feedback.

My stories are not meant to be straightforward, linear, escalating, porn plots. They are messy, occasionally inconsistent, contradictory, and filled with details that might seem irrelevant to the reader, but they are relevant to my emotional frame of mind from that moment.

Those of you who have been following my posts already know that I am in a non-monogamous (ENM) marriage. My then-girlfriend and I dated for two years before getting married, and our relationship had been open throughout. Sleeping with other people is not normally the sort of thing that would cause a scandal in our lives. However, we have strict rules about who we can and cannot sleep with, and friends and family are strictly off-limits. I feel equally kinky and guilty admitting that I broke that rule that weekend.

When I met my wife through Bumble, she came from a different cultural background, and our social circles did not overlap. Over time, however, she integrated herself into my friends group remarkably well, learning my language and embracing our shared interests.

The two influencers in question are both old college friends of mine. It's a little odd to call them influencers because all of us come from a time decades before that term became part of our lexicon. Initially, I only knew one of them. She had been a close friend and occasional lover during our student years. The second woman entered my life through the first, as they had been friends since childhood.

As a side note, these two women actually accompanied my wife and me on our honeymoon abroad two years before. Nothing remotely scandalous happened on that trip, although we made countless jokes about threesomes. That's a completely different story, but I am mentioning this to provides some context of our group vibe.

By the time of our reception, all four of us had become very thick friends, though the dynamics were complicated.

My wife knew about my history with Friend A and was comfortable with it. Friend A, however, was by then in an arranged marriage to a wealthy and conservative north Indian man who definitely did not know about her past with me. He was a genuinely nice and easygoing person, but he almost certainly would not have approved of our history. As a result, we had not slept together since her marriage. Our relationship had evolved into one of lingering glances and occasional flirtation, while still respecting the realities of our current lives.

She was the quintessential Bengali woman — short, with flowing hair that reached her hips, a full figure, large expressive eyes, and an impossibly loud laugh. From an academic overachiever, outspoken feminist and politically charged student leader, she had made an expected transition into a successful businesswoman and financial influencer.

Friend B was someone who had attended the same college as me, but our paths barely crossed back then. To put it bluntly, she was fat and had short hair, so she never particularly caught my attention. I realize that sounds rude, but it has been more than fifteen years since college, and people are allowed to grow, change, and reassess their opinions.

I reconnected with her during the honeymoon trip previously mentioned, and she had undergone a remarkable transformation. She had become a fitness and travel influencer with an astonishing number of Instagram followers. She still had short hair and wasn't petite, but she was all muscle and virtually no body fat. She loved dressing up, dancing, and making reels, and she carried the kind of chaotic energy that was the complete opposite of my personality.

I wouldn't say I found her unattractive, but our dynamic had settled into something closer to a brother-sister friendship.

She had been married for ten plus years by then, having married her college sweetheart. According to her, the marriage had become largely platonic, though it was not open. She had been involved in several affairs and flings on her own terms during her various vlogging travels and meetings with her followers, while remaining deeply attached to her husband. She was also aware of my emotional history with Friend A and perhaps because of that she maintained a certain distance from me.

Being a hyper-individualistic, atheist, and socially ambiverted person, I was probably the least enthusiastic participant in my own wedding reception. But it gave my friends an excuse to make it into a grand celebration and fly in from different parts of the country. I myself arrived only one day before the event after returning from a work trip.

The reception was largely about the women enjoying themselves. They had planned everything according to their tastes and preferences.

Friend A and I had actually been sexting occasionally in the days leading up to the reception. She projected a strange combination of maternal care (my own parents have passed), former-lover intimacy, and present-day platonic energy. I knew she was emotional about the fact that I was getting married, and I was equally excited about seeing her again. We both knew there was a possibility that something might happen.

I'll skip directly to the night after the reception.

We all returned to my 2BHK apartment. Friend A's husband immediately crashed in the spare bedroom while the remaining four of us—my wife, Friend A, Friend B, and I—continued drinking in the living room.

Friend A and I were already aware of the tension between us, but that night I also noticed an unexpected chemistry developing between Friend B and me. We had danced together during the reception and exchanged more than a few meaningful looks.

She usually dressed in body hugging western clothes, but that night she wore a navy-blue silk saree. For the first time, I found myself looking at her differently.

We all became fairly drunk.

Whether my wife noticed the atmosphere in the room or not, I will never know. We are usually extremely open in communication with each other, but what happened that night has never come up. At some point, exhausted and intoxicated, she went to bed.

The three of us remained on the sofa.

The mood became increasingly playful. I was absentmindedly playing with both women's hair, tugging at it teasingly, spilling wine onto the carpet, and drinking from glasses that no longer belonged to any one person. Friend A and I had already kissed several times, while Friend B giggled and mock-scolded us.

I kept jokingly suggesting a threesome. Whether they were intrigued, horrified, or both, I couldn't tell.

Eventually, Friend A became extremely drunk. The three of us shared a long, emotional group hug. Friend B and I carried her to the spare bedroom and practically dropped her on top of her sleeping husband before quietly leaving.

The wine continued to flow.

The chemistry between Friend B and me became increasingly obvious, yet neither of us seemed willing to cross the line.

Eventually, we agreed to call it a night.

We returned to my bedroom and lay down beside my sleeping wife.

Despite our stated intentions, neither of us could sleep. We continued passing a half-finished bottle of wine back and forth. Looking back, it was clearly an excuse. We were both looking for excuses to keep interacting with each other while acknowledging the audacity of the situation.

I don't know whether it was conscious or unconscious, but I made the first move.

As she handed me the bottle, I kissed her hand.

She looked shocked.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

The words carried multiple meanings.

I continued kissing her arm. She didn't stop me.

Soon we were making out. For me, the surreal part wasn't the physical act itself. It was the thrill of kissing a woman I had never kissed before while my new wife slept beside us.

Her hand slipped inside my pants, holding my cock and stroking it while I felt her neck and breasts in my mouth. We were both properly drunk to not understand the risk and full consequence of our actions. 

I got out of bed and dragged her by the arm, back to the empty, dark living room.

We started to kiss like crazy while grinding against each other. I took large gulps from the wine and kissed her, transferring a cocktail of saliva and wine into each other's mouth. I pushed her against a wall and pinned her arms above her head and continued to kiss her neck while she continued to jerk me off with her hands. Our pants slipped down midway to our knees as I parted her thighs and I felt my the tip of cock disappear into her shockingly wet flowing pussy.

That moment jerked us back into reality. Adrenaline has a remarkable way of cutting through alcohol. The drunken haze disappeared almost instantly. She briefly kneeled down and sucked my cock for 10 short seconds before stopping it. 

"Tomorrow after she leaves," she whispered.

We returned to the bedroom, taking opposite sides of my wife, and eventually fell asleep.

The most absurd night of my life came to an end.

I'll move through what happened next quickly.

My wife left for work early the following morning.

True to her word, Friend B and I slept together before she packed her bags and left for her afternoon flight. The sex itself was unremarkable, but the fact that it happened at all felt extraordinary. It has never happened again despite four years and multiple meetings since then, yet we both still remember it fondly.

Friend A and I later managed to escape her husband's watchful eye for a few hours. I took her to my empty office, making sure the CCTV is turned off. We told the husband we were meeting the photographer to collect reception photographs.

Away from the noise and distractions, we finally had the chance to reconnect properly. It was an emotional reunion. We sat in the Lotus position on the sofa in my office, our private parts smashed into each other while talking face to face.

This was our first fuck in several years and I remember mentally trying to count the changes in her body from my older college memory. As she was riding me cowgirl style, I could see her reflection of her back on the glass door infront of me. Her thick long open hair covered her entire back, past her butt and into my thighs. That was a sight to behold. 

Finally, I picked her up and carried her to my work desk. I grabbed her by her throat and in a very intentionally dramatic style, turned her around and spread her on the table surface. I could see her erect nipples press down on the cold glass surface. For the next 15 minutes, I fucked her doggystyle as she continued to moan and shout unspeakable things in our native tongue. There is something thrilling about seeing an genuine old friend make the transition from innocence to slutty.

She and her husband later left for a resort outside Mumbai for a short couple's trip before returning to their home city. Not long afterward, she became pregnant and gave birth to a healthy child the following year. For a while, it became a running joke between us whether I might be the father. She shut that down and insisted there was no confusion whatsoever. The child was her husband's.

A few years later, when the child had grown older, it became obvious he had inherited his father's features.

When life presents me with moments like these, I usually just roll with them. I never expected to tell this story publicly. My friends know that I am a kinky, anti-heteronormative person. i am no stranger to controversy, but this story carries the potential to hurt too many people. For that reason, I kept it hidden for years.

Even now, neither of the two women knows what happened with the other.

For several years, I have carried two separate secrets and pretended that each one existed in isolation.

Okay, that title is a little clickbaity, but hear me out. Technically, it wasn't my wedding night — it was my wedding reception weekend. There was a gap of a couple of years between the wedding and the reception because mu wife and I had a small court marriage during the pandemic. By the time my in-laws insisted on hosting a proper reception, two years had already passed.

I have told a few stories from my life before, and every time I do, I end up having to repeat the same disclaimers. I am not asking anyone believe my stories or to approve of my decisions. I am not claiming that they were wise, moral, or even particularly sensible. I am simply documenting events as I remember them. If you like this story, you are welcome to go back to my profile to check the other ones out. I very much enjoy reading sensible respectful comments, and look forward to constructive feedback.

My stories are not meant to be straightforward, linear, escalating, porn plots. They are messy, occasionally inconsistent, contradictory, and filled with details that might seem irrelevant to the reader, but they are relevant to my emotional frame of mind from that moment.

Those of you who have been following my posts already know that I am in a non-monogamous (ENM) marriage. My then-girlfriend and I dated for two years before getting married, and our relationship had been open throughout. Sleeping with other people is not normally the sort of thing that would cause a scandal in our lives. However, we have strict rules about who we can and cannot sleep with, and friends and family are strictly off-limits. I feel equally kinky and guilty admitting that I broke that rule that weekend.

When I met my wife through Bumble, she came from a different cultural background, and our social circles did not overlap. Over time, however, she integrated herself into my friends group remarkably well, learning my language and embracing our shared interests.

The two influencers in question are both old college friends of mine. It's a little odd to call them influencers because all of us come from a time decades before that term became part of our lexicon. Initially, I only knew one of them. She had been a close friend and occasional lover during our student years. The second woman entered my life through the first, as they had been friends since childhood.

As a side note, these two women actually accompanied my wife and me on our honeymoon abroad two years before. Nothing remotely scandalous happened on that trip, although we made countless jokes about threesomes. That's a completely different story, but I am mentioning this to provides some context of our group vibe.

By the time of our reception, all four of us had become very thick friends, though the dynamics were complicated.

My wife knew about my history with Friend A and was comfortable with it. Friend A, however, was by then in an arranged marriage to a wealthy and conservative north Indian man who definitely did not know about her past with me. He was a genuinely nice and easygoing person, but he almost certainly would not have approved of our history. As a result, we had not slept together since her marriage. Our relationship had evolved into one of lingering glances and occasional flirtation, while still respecting the realities of our current lives.

She was the quintessential Bengali woman — short, with flowing hair that reached her hips, a full figure, large expressive eyes, and an impossibly loud laugh. From an academic overachiever, outspoken feminist and politically charged student leader, she had made an expected transition into a successful businesswoman and financial influencer.

Friend B was someone who had attended the same college as me, but our paths barely crossed back then. To put it bluntly, she was fat and had short hair, so she never particularly caught my attention. I realize that sounds rude, but it has been more than fifteen years since college, and people are allowed to grow, change, and reassess their opinions.

I reconnected with her during the honeymoon trip previously mentioned, and she had undergone a remarkable transformation. She had become a fitness and travel influencer with an astonishing number of Instagram followers. She still had short hair and wasn't petite, but she was all muscle and virtually no body fat. She loved dressing up, dancing, and making reels, and she carried the kind of chaotic energy that was the complete opposite of my personality.

I wouldn't say I found her unattractive, but our dynamic had settled into something closer to a brother-sister friendship.

She had been married for ten plus years by then, having married her college sweetheart. According to her, the marriage had become largely platonic, though it was not open. She had been involved in several affairs and flings on her own terms during her various vlogging travels and meetings with her followers, while remaining deeply attached to her husband. She was also aware of my emotional history with Friend A and perhaps because of that she maintained a certain distance from me.

Being a hyper-individualistic, atheist, and socially ambiverted person, I was probably the least enthusiastic participant in my own wedding reception. But it gave my friends an excuse to make it into a grand celebration and fly in from different parts of the country. I myself arrived only one day before the event after returning from a work trip.

The reception was largely about the women enjoying themselves. They had planned everything according to their tastes and preferences.

Friend A and I had actually been sexting occasionally in the days leading up to the reception. She projected a strange combination of maternal care (my own parents have passed), former-lover intimacy, and present-day platonic energy. I knew she was emotional about the fact that I was getting married, and I was equally excited about seeing her again. We both knew there was a possibility that something might happen.

I'll skip directly to the night after the reception.

We all returned to my 2BHK apartment. Friend A's husband immediately crashed in the spare bedroom while the remaining four of us—my wife, Friend A, Friend B, and I—continued drinking in the living room.

Friend A and I were already aware of the tension between us, but that night I also noticed an unexpected chemistry developing between Friend B and me. We had danced together during the reception and exchanged more than a few meaningful looks.

She usually dressed in body hugging western clothes, but that night she wore a navy-blue silk saree. For the first time, I found myself looking at her differently.

We all became fairly drunk.

Whether my wife noticed the atmosphere in the room or not, I will never know. We are usually extremely open in communication with each other, but what happened that night has never come up. At some point, exhausted and intoxicated, she went to bed.

The three of us remained on the sofa.

The mood became increasingly playful. I was absentmindedly playing with both women's hair, tugging at it teasingly, spilling wine onto the carpet, and drinking from glasses that no longer belonged to any one person. Friend A and I had already kissed several times, while Friend B giggled and mock-scolded us.

I kept jokingly suggesting a threesome. Whether they were intrigued, horrified, or both, I couldn't tell.

Eventually, Friend A became extremely drunk. The three of us shared a long, emotional group hug. Friend B and I carried her to the spare bedroom and practically dropped her on top of her sleeping husband before quietly leaving.

The wine continued to flow.

The chemistry between Friend B and me became increasingly obvious, yet neither of us seemed willing to cross the line.

Eventually, we agreed to call it a night.

We returned to my bedroom and lay down beside my sleeping wife.

Despite our stated intentions, neither of us could sleep. We continued passing a half-finished bottle of wine back and forth. Looking back, it was clearly an excuse. We were both looking for excuses to keep interacting with each other while acknowledging the audacity of the situation.

I don't know whether it was conscious or unconscious, but I made the first move.

As she handed me the bottle, I kissed her hand.

She looked shocked.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

The words carried multiple meanings.

I continued kissing her arm. She didn't stop me.

Soon we were making out. For me, the surreal part wasn't the physical act itself. It was the thrill of kissing a woman I had never kissed before while my new wife slept beside us.

Her hand slipped inside my pants, holding my cock and stroking it while I felt her neck and breasts in my mouth. We were both properly drunk to not understand the risk and full consequence of our actions. 

I got out of bed and dragged her by the arm, back to the empty, dark living room.

We started to kiss like crazy while grinding against each other. I took large gulps from the wine and kissed her, transferring a cocktail of saliva and wine into each other's mouth. I pushed her against a wall and pinned her arms above her head and continued to kiss her neck while she continued to jerk me off with her hands. Our pants slipped down midway to our knees as I parted her thighs and I felt my the tip of cock disappear into her shockingly wet flowing pussy.

That moment jerked us back into reality. Adrenaline has a remarkable way of cutting through alcohol. The drunken haze disappeared almost instantly. She briefly kneeled down and sucked my cock for 10 short seconds before stopping it. 

"Tomorrow after she leaves," she whispered.

We returned to the bedroom, taking opposite sides of my wife, and eventually fell asleep.

The most absurd night of my life came to an end.

I'll move through what happened next quickly.

My wife left for work early the following morning.

True to her word, Friend B and I slept together before she packed her bags and left for her afternoon flight. The sex itself was unremarkable, but the fact that it happened at all felt extraordinary. It has never happened again despite four years and multiple meetings since then, yet we both still remember it fondly.

Friend A and I later managed to escape her husband's watchful eye for a few hours. I took her to my empty office, making sure the CCTV is turned off. We told the husband we were meeting the photographer to collect reception photographs.

Away from the noise and distractions, we finally had the chance to reconnect properly. It was an emotional reunion. We sat in the Lotus position on the sofa in my office, our private parts smashed into each other while talking face to face.

This was our first fuck in several years and I remember mentally trying to count the changes in her body from my older college memory. As she was riding me cowgirl style, I could see her reflection of her back on the glass door infront of me. Her thick long open hair covered her entire back, past her butt and into my thighs. That was a sight to behold. 

Finally, I picked her up and carried her to my work desk. I grabbed her by her throat and in a very intentionally dramatic style, turned her around and spread her on the table surface. I could see her erect nipples press down on the cold glass surface. For the next 15 minutes, I fucked her doggystyle as she continued to moan and shout unspeakable things in our native tongue. There is something thrilling about seeing an genuine old friend make the transition from innocence to slutty.

She and her husband later left for a resort outside Mumbai for a short couple's trip before returning to their home city. Not long afterward, she became pregnant and gave birth to a healthy child the following year. For a while, it became a running joke between us whether I might be the father. She shut that down and insisted there was no confusion whatsoever. The child was her husband's.

A few years later, when the child had grown older, it became obvious he had inherited his father's features.

When life presents me with moments like these, I usually just roll with them. I never expected to tell this story publicly. My friends know that I am a kinky, anti-heteronormative person. i am no stranger to controversy, but this story carries the potential to hurt too many people. For that reason, I kept it hidden for years.

Even now, neither of the two women knows what happened with the other.

For several years, I have carried two separate secrets and pretended that each one existed in isolation.

Okay, that title is a little clickbaity, but hear me out. Technically, it wasn't my wedding night — it was my wedding reception weekend. There was a gap of a couple of years between the wedding and the reception because mu wife and I had a small court marriage during the pandemic. By the time my in-laws insisted on hosting a proper reception, two years had already passed.

I have told a few stories from my life before, and every time I do, I end up having to repeat the same disclaimers. I am not asking anyone believe my stories or to approve of my decisions. I am not claiming that they were wise, moral, or even particularly sensible. I am simply documenting events as I remember them. If you like this story, you are welcome to go back to my profile to check the other ones out. I very much enjoy reading sensible respectful comments, and look forward to constructive feedback.

My stories are not meant to be straightforward, linear, escalating, porn plots. They are messy, occasionally inconsistent, contradictory, and filled with details that might seem irrelevant to the reader, but they are relevant to my emotional frame of mind from that moment.

Those of you who have been following my posts already know that I am in a non-monogamous (ENM) marriage. My then-girlfriend and I dated for two years before getting married, and our relationship had been open throughout. Sleeping with other people is not normally the sort of thing that would cause a scandal in our lives. However, we have strict rules about who we can and cannot sleep with, and friends and family are strictly off-limits. I feel equally kinky and guilty admitting that I broke that rule that weekend.

When I met my wife through Bumble, she came from a different cultural background, and our social circles did not overlap. Over time, however, she integrated herself into my friends group remarkably well, learning my language and embracing our shared interests.

The two influencers in question are both old college friends of mine. It's a little odd to call them influencers because all of us come from a time decades before that term became part of our lexicon. Initially, I only knew one of them. She had been a close friend and occasional lover during our student years. The second woman entered my life through the first, as they had been friends since childhood.

As a side note, these two women actually accompanied my wife and me on our honeymoon abroad two years before. Nothing remotely scandalous happened on that trip, although we made countless jokes about threesomes. That's a completely different story, but I am mentioning this to provides some context of our group vibe.

By the time of our reception, all four of us had become very thick friends, though the dynamics were complicated.

My wife knew about my history with Friend A and was comfortable with it. Friend A, however, was by then in an arranged marriage to a wealthy and conservative north Indian man who definitely did not know about her past with me. He was a genuinely nice and easygoing person, but he almost certainly would not have approved of our history. As a result, we had not slept together since her marriage. Our relationship had evolved into one of lingering glances and occasional flirtation, while still respecting the realities of our current lives.

She was the quintessential Bengali woman — short, with flowing hair that reached her hips, a full figure, large expressive eyes, and an impossibly loud laugh. From an academic overachiever, outspoken feminist and politically charged student leader, she had made an expected transition into a successful businesswoman and financial influencer.

Friend B was someone who had attended the same college as me, but our paths barely crossed back then. To put it bluntly, she was fat and had short hair, so she never particularly caught my attention. I realize that sounds rude, but it has been more than fifteen years since college, and people are allowed to grow, change, and reassess their opinions.

I reconnected with her during the honeymoon trip previously mentioned, and she had undergone a remarkable transformation. She had become a fitness and travel influencer with an astonishing number of Instagram followers. She still had short hair and wasn't petite, but she was all muscle and virtually no body fat. She loved dressing up, dancing, and making reels, and she carried the kind of chaotic energy that was the complete opposite of my personality.

I wouldn't say I found her unattractive, but our dynamic had settled into something closer to a brother-sister friendship.

She had been married for ten plus years by then, having married her college sweetheart. According to her, the marriage had become largely platonic, though it was not open. She had been involved in several affairs and flings on her own terms during her various vlogging travels and meetings with her followers, while remaining deeply attached to her husband. She was also aware of my emotional history with Friend A and perhaps because of that she maintained a certain distance from me.

Being a hyper-individualistic, atheist, and socially ambiverted person, I was probably the least enthusiastic participant in my own wedding reception. But it gave my friends an excuse to make it into a grand celebration and fly in from different parts of the country. I myself arrived only one day before the event after returning from a work trip.

The reception was largely about the women enjoying themselves. They had planned everything according to their tastes and preferences.

Friend A and I had actually been sexting occasionally in the days leading up to the reception. She projected a strange combination of maternal care (my own parents have passed), former-lover intimacy, and present-day platonic energy. I knew she was emotional about the fact that I was getting married, and I was equally excited about seeing her again. We both knew there was a possibility that something might happen.

I'll skip directly to the night after the reception.

We all returned to my 2BHK apartment. Friend A's husband immediately crashed in the spare bedroom while the remaining four of us—my wife, Friend A, Friend B, and I—continued drinking in the living room.

Friend A and I were already aware of the tension between us, but that night I also noticed an unexpected chemistry developing between Friend B and me. We had danced together during the reception and exchanged more than a few meaningful looks.

She usually dressed in body hugging western clothes, but that night she wore a navy-blue silk saree. For the first time, I found myself looking at her differently.

We all became fairly drunk.

Whether my wife noticed the atmosphere in the room or not, I will never know. We are usually extremely open in communication with each other, but what happened that night has never come up. At some point, exhausted and intoxicated, she went to bed.

The three of us remained on the sofa.

The mood became increasingly playful. I was absentmindedly playing with both women's hair, tugging at it teasingly, spilling wine onto the carpet, and drinking from glasses that no longer belonged to any one person. Friend A and I had already kissed several times, while Friend B giggled and mock-scolded us.

I kept jokingly suggesting a threesome. Whether they were intrigued, horrified, or both, I couldn't tell.

Eventually, Friend A became extremely drunk. The three of us shared a long, emotional group hug. Friend B and I carried her to the spare bedroom and practically dropped her on top of her sleeping husband before quietly leaving.

The wine continued to flow.

The chemistry between Friend B and me became increasingly obvious, yet neither of us seemed willing to cross the line.

Eventually, we agreed to call it a night.

We returned to my bedroom and lay down beside my sleeping wife.

Despite our stated intentions, neither of us could sleep. We continued passing a half-finished bottle of wine back and forth. Looking back, it was clearly an excuse. We were both looking for excuses to keep interacting with each other while acknowledging the audacity of the situation.

I don't know whether it was conscious or unconscious, but I made the first move.

As she handed me the bottle, I kissed her hand.

She looked shocked.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

The words carried multiple meanings.

I continued kissing her arm. She didn't stop me.

Soon we were making out. For me, the surreal part wasn't the physical act itself. It was the thrill of kissing a woman I had never kissed before while my new wife slept beside us.

Her hand slipped inside my pants, holding my cock and stroking it while I felt her neck and breasts in my mouth. We were both properly drunk to not understand the risk and full consequence of our actions. 

I got out of bed and dragged her by the arm, back to the empty, dark living room.

We started to kiss like crazy while grinding against each other. I took large gulps from the wine and kissed her, transferring a cocktail of saliva and wine into each other's mouth. I pushed her against a wall and pinned her arms above her head and continued to kiss her neck while she continued to jerk me off with her hands. Our pants slipped down midway to our knees as I parted her thighs and I felt my the tip of cock disappear into her shockingly wet flowing pussy.

That moment jerked us back into reality. Adrenaline has a remarkable way of cutting through alcohol. The drunken haze disappeared almost instantly. She briefly kneeled down and sucked my cock for 10 short seconds before stopping it. 

"Tomorrow after she leaves," she whispered.

We returned to the bedroom, taking opposite sides of my wife, and eventually fell asleep.

The most absurd night of my life came to an end.

I'll move through what happened next quickly.

My wife left for work early the following morning.

True to her word, Friend B and I slept together before she packed her bags and left for her afternoon flight. The sex itself was unremarkable, but the fact that it happened at all felt extraordinary. It has never happened again despite four years and multiple meetings since then, yet we both still remember it fondly.

Friend A and I later managed to escape her husband's watchful eye for a few hours. I took her to my empty office, making sure the CCTV is turned off. We told the husband we were meeting the photographer to collect reception photographs.

Away from the noise and distractions, we finally had the chance to reconnect properly. It was an emotional reunion. We sat in the Lotus position on the sofa in my office, our private parts smashed into each other while talking face to face.

This was our first fuck in several years and I remember mentally trying to count the changes in her body from my older college memory. As she was riding me cowgirl style, I could see her reflection of her back on the glass door infront of me. Her thick long open hair covered her entire back, past her butt and into my thighs. That was a sight to behold. 

Finally, I picked her up and carried her to my work desk. I grabbed her by her throat and in a very intentionally dramatic style, turned her around and spread her on the table surface. I could see her erect nipples press down on the cold glass surface. For the next 15 minutes, I fucked her doggystyle as she continued to moan and shout unspeakable things in our native tongue. There is something thrilling about seeing an genuine old friend make the transition from innocence to slutty.

She and her husband later left for a resort outside Mumbai for a short couple's trip before returning to their home city. Not long afterward, she became pregnant and gave birth to a healthy child the following year. For a while, it became a running joke between us whether I might be the father. She shut that down and insisted there was no confusion whatsoever. The child was her husband's.

A few years later, when the child had grown older, it became obvious he had inherited his father's features.

When life presents me with moments like these, I usually just roll with them. I never expected to tell this story publicly. My friends know that I am a kinky, anti-heteronormative person. i am no stranger to controversy, but this story carries the potential to hurt too many people. For that reason, I kept it hidden for years.

Even now, neither of the two women knows what happened with the other.

For several years, I have carried two separate secrets and pretended that each one existed in isolation.

Okay, that title is a little clickbaity, but hear me out. Technically, it wasn't my wedding night — it was my wedding reception weekend. There was a gap of a couple of years between the wedding and the reception because mu wife and I had a small court marriage during the pandemic. By the time my in-laws insisted on hosting a proper reception, two years had already passed.

I have told a few stories from my life before, and every time I do, I end up having to repeat the same disclaimers. I am not asking anyone believe my stories or to approve of my decisions. I am not claiming that they were wise, moral, or even particularly sensible. I am simply documenting events as I remember them. If you like this story, you are welcome to go back to my profile to check the other ones out. I very much enjoy reading sensible respectful comments, and look forward to constructive feedback.

My stories are not meant to be straightforward, linear, escalating, porn plots. They are messy, occasionally inconsistent, contradictory, and filled with details that might seem irrelevant to the reader, but they are relevant to my emotional frame of mind from that moment.

Those of you who have been following my posts already know that I am in a non-monogamous (ENM) marriage. My then-girlfriend and I dated for two years before getting married, and our relationship had been open throughout. Sleeping with other people is not normally the sort of thing that would cause a scandal in our lives. However, we have strict rules about who we can and cannot sleep with, and friends and family are strictly off-limits. I feel equally kinky and guilty admitting that I broke that rule that weekend.

When I met my wife through Bumble, she came from a different cultural background, and our social circles did not overlap. Over time, however, she integrated herself into my friends group remarkably well, learning my language and embracing our shared interests.

The two influencers in question are both old college friends of mine. It's a little odd to call them influencers because all of us come from a time decades before that term became part of our lexicon. Initially, I only knew one of them. She had been a close friend and occasional lover during our student years. The second woman entered my life through the first, as they had been friends since childhood.

As a side note, these two women actually accompanied my wife and me on our honeymoon abroad two years before. Nothing remotely scandalous happened on that trip, although we made countless jokes about threesomes. That's a completely different story, but I am mentioning this to provides some context of our group vibe.

By the time of our reception, all four of us had become very thick friends, though the dynamics were complicated.

My wife knew about my history with Friend A and was comfortable with it. Friend A, however, was by then in an arranged marriage to a wealthy and conservative north Indian man who definitely did not know about her past with me. He was a genuinely nice and easygoing person, but he almost certainly would not have approved of our history. As a result, we had not slept together since her marriage. Our relationship had evolved into one of lingering glances and occasional flirtation, while still respecting the realities of our current lives.

She was the quintessential Bengali woman — short, with flowing hair that reached her hips, a full figure, large expressive eyes, and an impossibly loud laugh. From an academic overachiever, outspoken feminist and politically charged student leader, she had made an expected transition into a successful businesswoman and financial influencer.

Friend B was someone who had attended the same college as me, but our paths barely crossed back then. To put it bluntly, she was fat and had short hair, so she never particularly caught my attention. I realize that sounds rude, but it has been more than fifteen years since college, and people are allowed to grow, change, and reassess their opinions.

I reconnected with her during the honeymoon trip previously mentioned, and she had undergone a remarkable transformation. She had become a fitness and travel influencer with an astonishing number of Instagram followers. She still had short hair and wasn't petite, but she was all muscle and virtually no body fat. She loved dressing up, dancing, and making reels, and she carried the kind of chaotic energy that was the complete opposite of my personality.

I wouldn't say I found her unattractive, but our dynamic had settled into something closer to a brother-sister friendship.

She had been married for ten plus years by then, having married her college sweetheart. According to her, the marriage had become largely platonic, though it was not open. She had been involved in several affairs and flings on her own terms during her various vlogging travels and meetings with her followers, while remaining deeply attached to her husband. She was also aware of my emotional history with Friend A and perhaps because of that she maintained a certain distance from me.

Being a hyper-individualistic, atheist, and socially ambiverted person, I was probably the least enthusiastic participant in my own wedding reception. But it gave my friends an excuse to make it into a grand celebration and fly in from different parts of the country. I myself arrived only one day before the event after returning from a work trip.

The reception was largely about the women enjoying themselves. They had planned everything according to their tastes and preferences.

Friend A and I had actually been sexting occasionally in the days leading up to the reception. She projected a strange combination of maternal care (my own parents have passed), former-lover intimacy, and present-day platonic energy. I knew she was emotional about the fact that I was getting married, and I was equally excited about seeing her again. We both knew there was a possibility that something might happen.

I'll skip directly to the night after the reception.

We all returned to my 2BHK apartment. Friend A's husband immediately crashed in the spare bedroom while the remaining four of us—my wife, Friend A, Friend B, and I—continued drinking in the living room.

Friend A and I were already aware of the tension between us, but that night I also noticed an unexpected chemistry developing between Friend B and me. We had danced together during the reception and exchanged more than a few meaningful looks.

She usually dressed in body hugging western clothes, but that night she wore a navy-blue silk saree. For the first time, I found myself looking at her differently.

We all became fairly drunk.

Whether my wife noticed the atmosphere in the room or not, I will never know. We are usually extremely open in communication with each other, but what happened that night has never come up. At some point, exhausted and intoxicated, she went to bed.

The three of us remained on the sofa.

The mood became increasingly playful. I was absentmindedly playing with both women's hair, tugging at it teasingly, spilling wine onto the carpet, and drinking from glasses that no longer belonged to any one person. Friend A and I had already kissed several times, while Friend B giggled and mock-scolded us.

I kept jokingly suggesting a threesome. Whether they were intrigued, horrified, or both, I couldn't tell.

Eventually, Friend A became extremely drunk. The three of us shared a long, emotional group hug. Friend B and I carried her to the spare bedroom and practically dropped her on top of her sleeping husband before quietly leaving.

The wine continued to flow.

The chemistry between Friend B and me became increasingly obvious, yet neither of us seemed willing to cross the line.

Eventually, we agreed to call it a night.

We returned to my bedroom and lay down beside my sleeping wife.

Despite our stated intentions, neither of us could sleep. We continued passing a half-finished bottle of wine back and forth. Looking back, it was clearly an excuse. We were both looking for excuses to keep interacting with each other while acknowledging the audacity of the situation.

I don't know whether it was conscious or unconscious, but I made the first move.

As she handed me the bottle, I kissed her hand.

She looked shocked.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

The words carried multiple meanings.

I continued kissing her arm. She didn't stop me.

Soon we were making out. For me, the surreal part wasn't the physical act itself. It was the thrill of kissing a woman I had never kissed before while my new wife slept beside us.

Her hand slipped inside my pants, holding my cock and stroking it while I felt her neck and breasts in my mouth. We were both properly drunk to not understand the risk and full consequence of our actions. 

I got out of bed and dragged her by the arm, back to the empty, dark living room.

We started to kiss like crazy while grinding against each other. I took large gulps from the wine and kissed her, transferring a cocktail of saliva and wine into each other's mouth. I pushed her against a wall and pinned her arms above her head and continued to kiss her neck while she continued to jerk me off with her hands. Our pants slipped down midway to our knees as I parted her thighs and I felt my the tip of cock disappear into her shockingly wet flowing pussy.

That moment jerked us back into reality. Adrenaline has a remarkable way of cutting through alcohol. The drunken haze disappeared almost instantly. She briefly kneeled down and sucked my cock for 10 short seconds before stopping it. 

"Tomorrow after she leaves," she whispered.

We returned to the bedroom, taking opposite sides of my wife, and eventually fell asleep.

The most absurd night of my life came to an end.

I'll move through what happened next quickly.

My wife left for work early the following morning.

True to her word, Friend B and I slept together before she packed her bags and left for her afternoon flight. The sex itself was unremarkable, but the fact that it happened at all felt extraordinary. It has never happened again despite four years and multiple meetings since then, yet we both still remember it fondly.

Friend A and I later managed to escape her husband's watchful eye for a few hours. I took her to my empty office, making sure the CCTV is turned off. We told the husband we were meeting the photographer to collect reception photographs.

Away from the noise and distractions, we finally had the chance to reconnect properly. It was an emotional reunion. We sat in the Lotus position on the sofa in my office, our private parts smashed into each other while talking face to face.

This was our first fuck in several years and I remember mentally trying to count the changes in her body from my older college memory. As she was riding me cowgirl style, I could see her reflection of her back on the glass door infront of me. Her thick long open hair covered her entire back, past her butt and into my thighs. That was a sight to behold. 

Finally, I picked her up and carried her to my work desk. I grabbed her by her throat and in a very intentionally dramatic style, turned her around and spread her on the table surface. I could see her erect nipples press down on the cold glass surface. For the next 15 minutes, I fucked her doggystyle as she continued to moan and shout unspeakable things in our native tongue. There is something thrilling about seeing an genuine old friend make the transition from innocence to slutty.

She and her husband later left for a resort outside Mumbai for a short couple's trip before returning to their home city. Not long afterward, she became pregnant and gave birth to a healthy child the following year. For a while, it became a running joke between us whether I might be the father. She shut that down and insisted there was no confusion whatsoever. The child was her husband's.

A few years later, when the child had grown older, it became obvious he had inherited his father's features.

When life presents me with moments like these, I usually just roll with them. I never expected to tell this story publicly. My friends know that I am a kinky, anti-heteronormative person. i am no stranger to controversy, but this story carries the potential to hurt too many people. For that reason, I kept it hidden for years.

Even now, neither of the two women knows what happened with the other.

For several years, I have carried two separate secrets and pretended that each one existed in isolation.

Okay, that title is a little clickbaity, but hear me out. Technically, it wasn't my wedding night — it was my wedding reception weekend. There was a gap of a couple of years between the wedding and the reception because mu wife and I had a small court marriage during the pandemic. By the time my in-laws insisted on hosting a proper reception, two years had already passed.

I have told a few stories from my life before, and every time I do, I end up having to repeat the same disclaimers. I am not asking anyone believe my stories or to approve of my decisions. I am not claiming that they were wise, moral, or even particularly sensible. I am simply documenting events as I remember them. If you like this story, you are welcome to go back to my profile to check the other ones out. I very much enjoy reading sensible respectful comments, and look forward to constructive feedback.

My stories are not meant to be straightforward, linear, escalating, porn plots. They are messy, occasionally inconsistent, contradictory, and filled with details that might seem irrelevant to the reader, but they are relevant to my emotional frame of mind from that moment.

Those of you who have been following my posts already know that I am in a non-monogamous (ENM) marriage. My then-girlfriend and I dated for two years before getting married, and our relationship had been open throughout. Sleeping with other people is not normally the sort of thing that would cause a scandal in our lives. However, we have strict rules about who we can and cannot sleep with, and friends and family are strictly off-limits. I feel equally kinky and guilty admitting that I broke that rule that weekend.

When I met my wife through Bumble, she came from a different cultural background, and our social circles did not overlap. Over time, however, she integrated herself into my friends group remarkably well, learning my language and embracing our shared interests.

The two influencers in question are both old college friends of mine. It's a little odd to call them influencers because all of us come from a time decades before that term became part of our lexicon. Initially, I only knew one of them. She had been a close friend and occasional lover during our student years. The second woman entered my life through the first, as they had been friends since childhood.

As a side note, these two women actually accompanied my wife and me on our honeymoon abroad two years before. Nothing remotely scandalous happened on that trip, although we made countless jokes about threesomes. That's a completely different story, but I am mentioning this to provides some context of our group vibe.

By the time of our reception, all four of us had become very thick friends, though the dynamics were complicated.

My wife knew about my history with Friend A and was comfortable with it. Friend A, however, was by then in an arranged marriage to a wealthy and conservative north Indian man who definitely did not know about her past with me. He was a genuinely nice and easygoing person, but he almost certainly would not have approved of our history. As a result, we had not slept together since her marriage. Our relationship had evolved into one of lingering glances and occasional flirtation, while still respecting the realities of our current lives.

She was the quintessential Bengali woman — short, with flowing hair that reached her hips, a full figure, large expressive eyes, and an impossibly loud laugh. From an academic overachiever, outspoken feminist and politically charged student leader, she had made an expected transition into a successful businesswoman and financial influencer.

Friend B was someone who had attended the same college as me, but our paths barely crossed back then. To put it bluntly, she was fat and had short hair, so she never particularly caught my attention. I realize that sounds rude, but it has been more than fifteen years since college, and people are allowed to grow, change, and reassess their opinions.

I reconnected with her during the honeymoon trip previously mentioned, and she had undergone a remarkable transformation. She had become a fitness and travel influencer with an astonishing number of Instagram followers. She still had short hair and wasn't petite, but she was all muscle and virtually no body fat. She loved dressing up, dancing, and making reels, and she carried the kind of chaotic energy that was the complete opposite of my personality.

I wouldn't say I found her unattractive, but our dynamic had settled into something closer to a brother-sister friendship.

She had been married for ten plus years by then, having married her college sweetheart. According to her, the marriage had become largely platonic, though it was not open. She had been involved in several affairs and flings on her own terms during her various vlogging travels and meetings with her followers, while remaining deeply attached to her husband. She was also aware of my emotional history with Friend A and perhaps because of that she maintained a certain distance from me.

Being a hyper-individualistic, atheist, and socially ambiverted person, I was probably the least enthusiastic participant in my own wedding reception. But it gave my friends an excuse to make it into a grand celebration and fly in from different parts of the country. I myself arrived only one day before the event after returning from a work trip.

The reception was largely about the women enjoying themselves. They had planned everything according to their tastes and preferences.

Friend A and I had actually been sexting occasionally in the days leading up to the reception. She projected a strange combination of maternal care (my own parents have passed), former-lover intimacy, and present-day platonic energy. I knew she was emotional about the fact that I was getting married, and I was equally excited about seeing her again. We both knew there was a possibility that something might happen.

I'll skip directly to the night after the reception.

We all returned to my 2BHK apartment. Friend A's husband immediately crashed in the spare bedroom while the remaining four of us—my wife, Friend A, Friend B, and I—continued drinking in the living room.

Friend A and I were already aware of the tension between us, but that night I also noticed an unexpected chemistry developing between Friend B and me. We had danced together during the reception and exchanged more than a few meaningful looks.

She usually dressed in body hugging western clothes, but that night she wore a navy-blue silk saree. For the first time, I found myself looking at her differently.

We all became fairly drunk.

Whether my wife noticed the atmosphere in the room or not, I will never know. We are usually extremely open in communication with each other, but what happened that night has never come up. At some point, exhausted and intoxicated, she went to bed.

The three of us remained on the sofa.

The mood became increasingly playful. I was absentmindedly playing with both women's hair, tugging at it teasingly, spilling wine onto the carpet, and drinking from glasses that no longer belonged to any one person. Friend A and I had already kissed several times, while Friend B giggled and mock-scolded us.

I kept jokingly suggesting a threesome. Whether they were intrigued, horrified, or both, I couldn't tell.

Eventually, Friend A became extremely drunk. The three of us shared a long, emotional group hug. Friend B and I carried her to the spare bedroom and practically dropped her on top of her sleeping husband before quietly leaving.

The wine continued to flow.

The chemistry between Friend B and me became increasingly obvious, yet neither of us seemed willing to cross the line.

Eventually, we agreed to call it a night.

We returned to my bedroom and lay down beside my sleeping wife.

Despite our stated intentions, neither of us could sleep. We continued passing a half-finished bottle of wine back and forth. Looking back, it was clearly an excuse. We were both looking for excuses to keep interacting with each other while acknowledging the audacity of the situation.

I don't know whether it was conscious or unconscious, but I made the first move.

As she handed me the bottle, I kissed her hand.

She looked shocked.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

The words carried multiple meanings.

I continued kissing her arm. She didn't stop me.

Soon we were making out. For me, the surreal part wasn't the physical act itself. It was the thrill of kissing a woman I had never kissed before while my new wife slept beside us.

Her hand slipped inside my pants, holding my cock and stroking it while I felt her neck and breasts in my mouth. We were both properly drunk to not understand the risk and full consequence of our actions. 

I got out of bed and dragged her by the arm, back to the empty, dark living room.

We started to kiss like crazy while grinding against each other. I took large gulps from the wine and kissed her, transferring a cocktail of saliva and wine into each other's mouth. I pushed her against a wall and pinned her arms above her head and continued to kiss her neck while she continued to jerk me off with her hands. Our pants slipped down midway to our knees as I parted her thighs and I felt my the tip of cock disappear into her shockingly wet flowing pussy.

That moment jerked us back into reality. Adrenaline has a remarkable way of cutting through alcohol. The drunken haze disappeared almost instantly. She briefly kneeled down and sucked my cock for 10 short seconds before stopping it. 

"Tomorrow after she leaves," she whispered.

We returned to the bedroom, taking opposite sides of my wife, and eventually fell asleep.

The most absurd night of my life came to an end.

I'll move through what happened next quickly.

My wife left for work early the following morning.

True to her word, Friend B and I slept together before she packed her bags and left for her afternoon flight. The sex itself was unremarkable, but the fact that it happened at all felt extraordinary. It has never happened again despite four years and multiple meetings since then, yet we both still remember it fondly.

Friend A and I later managed to escape her husband's watchful eye for a few hours. I took her to my empty office, making sure the CCTV is turned off. We told the husband we were meeting the photographer to collect reception photographs.

Away from the noise and distractions, we finally had the chance to reconnect properly. It was an emotional reunion. We sat in the Lotus position on the sofa in my office, our private parts smashed into each other while talking face to face.

This was our first fuck in several years and I remember mentally trying to count the changes in her body from my older college memory. As she was riding me cowgirl style, I could see her reflection of her back on the glass door infront of me. Her thick long open hair covered her entire back, past her butt and into my thighs. That was a sight to behold. 

Finally, I picked her up and carried her to my work desk. I grabbed her by her throat and in a very intentionally dramatic style, turned her around and spread her on the table surface. I could see her erect nipples press down on the cold glass surface. For the next 15 minutes, I fucked her doggystyle as she continued to moan and shout unspeakable things in our native tongue. There is something thrilling about seeing an genuine old friend make the transition from innocence to slutty.

She and her husband later left for a resort outside Mumbai for a short couple's trip before returning to their home city. Not long afterward, she became pregnant and gave birth to a healthy child the following year. For a while, it became a running joke between us whether I might be the father. She shut that down and insisted there was no confusion whatsoever. The child was her husband's.

A few years later, when the child had grown older, it became obvious he had inherited his father's features.

When life presents me with moments like these, I usually just roll with them. I never expected to tell this story publicly. My friends know that I am a kinky, anti-heteronormative person. i am no stranger to controversy, but this story carries the potential to hurt too many people. For that reason, I kept it hidden for years.

Even now, neither of the two women knows what happened with the other.

For several years, I have carried two separate secrets and pretended that each one existed in isolation.

Okay, that title is a little clickbaity, but hear me out. Technically, it wasn't my wedding night — it was my wedding reception weekend. There was a gap of a couple of years between the wedding and the reception because mu wife and I had a small court marriage during the pandemic. By the time my in-laws insisted on hosting a proper reception, two years had already passed.

I have told a few stories from my life before, and every time I do, I end up having to repeat the same disclaimers. I am not asking anyone believe my stories or to approve of my decisions. I am not claiming that they were wise, moral, or even particularly sensible. I am simply documenting events as I remember them. If you like this story, you are welcome to go back to my profile to check the other ones out. I very much enjoy reading sensible respectful comments, and look forward to constructive feedback.

My stories are not meant to be straightforward, linear, escalating, porn plots. They are messy, occasionally inconsistent, contradictory, and filled with details that might seem irrelevant to the reader, but they are relevant to my emotional frame of mind from that moment.

Those of you who have been following my posts already know that I am in a non-monogamous (ENM) marriage. My then-girlfriend and I dated for two years before getting married, and our relationship had been open throughout. Sleeping with other people is not normally the sort of thing that would cause a scandal in our lives. However, we have strict rules about who we can and cannot sleep with, and friends and family are strictly off-limits. I feel equally kinky and guilty admitting that I broke that rule that weekend.

When I met my wife through Bumble, she came from a different cultural background, and our social circles did not overlap. Over time, however, she integrated herself into my friends group remarkably well, learning my language and embracing our shared interests.

The two influencers in question are both old college friends of mine. It's a little odd to call them influencers because all of us come from a time decades before that term became part of our lexicon. Initially, I only knew one of them. She had been a close friend and occasional lover during our student years. The second woman entered my life through the first, as they had been friends since childhood.

As a side note, these two women actually accompanied my wife and me on our honeymoon abroad two years before. Nothing remotely scandalous happened on that trip, although we made countless jokes about threesomes. That's a completely different story, but I am mentioning this to provides some context of our group vibe.

By the time of our reception, all four of us had become very thick friends, though the dynamics were complicated.

My wife knew about my history with Friend A and was comfortable with it. Friend A, however, was by then in an arranged marriage to a wealthy and conservative north Indian man who definitely did not know about her past with me. He was a genuinely nice and easygoing person, but he almost certainly would not have approved of our history. As a result, we had not slept together since her marriage. Our relationship had evolved into one of lingering glances and occasional flirtation, while still respecting the realities of our current lives.

She was the quintessential Bengali woman — short, with flowing hair that reached her hips, a full figure, large expressive eyes, and an impossibly loud laugh. From an academic overachiever, outspoken feminist and politically charged student leader, she had made an expected transition into a successful businesswoman and financial influencer.

Friend B was someone who had attended the same college as me, but our paths barely crossed back then. To put it bluntly, she was fat and had short hair, so she never particularly caught my attention. I realize that sounds rude, but it has been more than fifteen years since college, and people are allowed to grow, change, and reassess their opinions.

I reconnected with her during the honeymoon trip previously mentioned, and she had undergone a remarkable transformation. She had become a fitness and travel influencer with an astonishing number of Instagram followers. She still had short hair and wasn't petite, but she was all muscle and virtually no body fat. She loved dressing up, dancing, and making reels, and she carried the kind of chaotic energy that was the complete opposite of my personality.

I wouldn't say I found her unattractive, but our dynamic had settled into something closer to a brother-sister friendship.

She had been married for ten plus years by then, having married her college sweetheart. According to her, the marriage had become largely platonic, though it was not open. She had been involved in several affairs and flings on her own terms during her various vlogging travels and meetings with her followers, while remaining deeply attached to her husband. She was also aware of my emotional history with Friend A and perhaps because of that she maintained a certain distance from me.

Being a hyper-individualistic, atheist, and socially ambiverted person, I was probably the least enthusiastic participant in my own wedding reception. But it gave my friends an excuse to make it into a grand celebration and fly in from different parts of the country. I myself arrived only one day before the event after returning from a work trip.

The reception was largely about the women enjoying themselves. They had planned everything according to their tastes and preferences.

Friend A and I had actually been sexting occasionally in the days leading up to the reception. She projected a strange combination of maternal care (my own parents have passed), former-lover intimacy, and present-day platonic energy. I knew she was emotional about the fact that I was getting married, and I was equally excited about seeing her again. We both knew there was a possibility that something might happen.

I'll skip directly to the night after the reception.

We all returned to my 2BHK apartment. Friend A's husband immediately crashed in the spare bedroom while the remaining four of us—my wife, Friend A, Friend B, and I—continued drinking in the living room.

Friend A and I were already aware of the tension between us, but that night I also noticed an unexpected chemistry developing between Friend B and me. We had danced together during the reception and exchanged more than a few meaningful looks.

She usually dressed in body hugging western clothes, but that night she wore a navy-blue silk saree. For the first time, I found myself looking at her differently.

We all became fairly drunk.

Whether my wife noticed the atmosphere in the room or not, I will never know. We are usually extremely open in communication with each other, but what happened that night has never come up. At some point, exhausted and intoxicated, she went to bed.

The three of us remained on the sofa.

The mood became increasingly playful. I was absentmindedly playing with both women's hair, tugging at it teasingly, spilling wine onto the carpet, and drinking from glasses that no longer belonged to any one person. Friend A and I had already kissed several times, while Friend B giggled and mock-scolded us.

I kept jokingly suggesting a threesome. Whether they were intrigued, horrified, or both, I couldn't tell.

Eventually, Friend A became extremely drunk. The three of us shared a long, emotional group hug. Friend B and I carried her to the spare bedroom and practically dropped her on top of her sleeping husband before quietly leaving.

The wine continued to flow.

The chemistry between Friend B and me became increasingly obvious, yet neither of us seemed willing to cross the line.

Eventually, we agreed to call it a night.

We returned to my bedroom and lay down beside my sleeping wife.

Despite our stated intentions, neither of us could sleep. We continued passing a half-finished bottle of wine back and forth. Looking back, it was clearly an excuse. We were both looking for excuses to keep interacting with each other while acknowledging the audacity of the situation.

I don't know whether it was conscious or unconscious, but I made the first move.

As she handed me the bottle, I kissed her hand.

She looked shocked.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

The words carried multiple meanings.

I continued kissing her arm. She didn't stop me.

Soon we were making out. For me, the surreal part wasn't the physical act itself. It was the thrill of kissing a woman I had never kissed before while my new wife slept beside us.

Her hand slipped inside my pants, holding my cock and stroking it while I felt her neck and breasts in my mouth. We were both properly drunk to not understand the risk and full consequence of our actions. 

I got out of bed and dragged her by the arm, back to the empty, dark living room.

We started to kiss like crazy while grinding against each other. I took large gulps from the wine and kissed her, transferring a cocktail of saliva and wine into each other's mouth. I pushed her against a wall and pinned her arms above her head and continued to kiss her neck while she continued to jerk me off with her hands. Our pants slipped down midway to our knees as I parted her thighs and I felt my the tip of cock disappear into her shockingly wet flowing pussy.

That moment jerked us back into reality. Adrenaline has a remarkable way of cutting through alcohol. The drunken haze disappeared almost instantly. She briefly kneeled down and sucked my cock for 10 short seconds before stopping it. 

"Tomorrow after she leaves," she whispered.

We returned to the bedroom, taking opposite sides of my wife, and eventually fell asleep.

The most absurd night of my life came to an end.

I'll move through what happened next quickly.

My wife left for work early the following morning.

True to her word, Friend B and I slept together before she packed her bags and left for her afternoon flight. The sex itself was unremarkable, but the fact that it happened at all felt extraordinary. It has never happened again despite four years and multiple meetings since then, yet we both still remember it fondly.

Friend A and I later managed to escape her husband's watchful eye for a few hours. I took her to my empty office, making sure the CCTV is turned off. We told the husband we were meeting the photographer to collect reception photographs.

Away from the noise and distractions, we finally had the chance to reconnect properly. It was an emotional reunion. We sat in the Lotus position on the sofa in my office, our private parts smashed into each other while talking face to face.

This was our first fuck in several years and I remember mentally trying to count the changes in her body from my older college memory. As she was riding me cowgirl style, I could see her reflection of her back on the glass door infront of me. Her thick long open hair covered her entire back, past her butt and into my thighs. That was a sight to behold. 

Finally, I picked her up and carried her to my work desk. I grabbed her by her throat and in a very intentionally dramatic style, turned her around and spread her on the table surface. I could see her erect nipples press down on the cold glass surface. For the next 15 minutes, I fucked her doggystyle as she continued to moan and shout unspeakable things in our native tongue. There is something thrilling about seeing an genuine old friend make the transition from innocence to slutty.

She and her husband later left for a resort outside Mumbai for a short couple's trip before returning to their home city. Not long afterward, she became pregnant and gave birth to a healthy child the following year. For a while, it became a running joke between us whether I might be the father. She shut that down and insisted there was no confusion whatsoever. The child was her husband's.

A few years later, when the child had grown older, it became obvious he had inherited his father's features.

When life presents me with moments like these, I usually just roll with them. I never expected to tell this story publicly. My friends know that I am a kinky, anti-heteronormative person. i am no stranger to controversy, but this story carries the potential to hurt too many people. For that reason, I kept it hidden for years.

Even now, neither of the two women knows what happened with the other.

For several years, I have carried two separate secrets and pretended that each one existed in isolation.

Okay, that title is a little clickbaity, but hear me out. Technically, it wasn't my wedding night — it was my wedding reception weekend. There was a gap of a couple of years between the wedding and the reception because mu wife and I had a small court marriage during the pandemic. By the time my in-laws insisted on hosting a proper reception, two years had already passed.

I have told a few stories from my life before, and every time I do, I end up having to repeat the same disclaimers. I am not asking anyone believe my stories or to approve of my decisions. I am not claiming that they were wise, moral, or even particularly sensible. I am simply documenting events as I remember them. If you like this story, you are welcome to go back to my profile to check the other ones out. I very much enjoy reading sensible respectful comments, and look forward to constructive feedback.

My stories are not meant to be straightforward, linear, escalating, porn plots. They are messy, occasionally inconsistent, contradictory, and filled with details that might seem irrelevant to the reader, but they are relevant to my emotional frame of mind from that moment.

Those of you who have been following my posts already know that I am in a non-monogamous (ENM) marriage. My then-girlfriend and I dated for two years before getting married, and our relationship had been open throughout. Sleeping with other people is not normally the sort of thing that would cause a scandal in our lives. However, we have strict rules about who we can and cannot sleep with, and friends and family are strictly off-limits. I feel equally kinky and guilty admitting that I broke that rule that weekend.

When I met my wife through Bumble, she came from a different cultural background, and our social circles did not overlap. Over time, however, she integrated herself into my friends group remarkably well, learning my language and embracing our shared interests.

The two influencers in question are both old college friends of mine. It's a little odd to call them influencers because all of us come from a time decades before that term became part of our lexicon. Initially, I only knew one of them. She had been a close friend and occasional lover during our student years. The second woman entered my life through the first, as they had been friends since childhood.

As a side note, these two women actually accompanied my wife and me on our honeymoon abroad two years before. Nothing remotely scandalous happened on that trip, although we made countless jokes about threesomes. That's a completely different story, but I am mentioning this to provides some context of our group vibe.

By the time of our reception, all four of us had become very thick friends, though the dynamics were complicated.

My wife knew about my history with Friend A and was comfortable with it. Friend A, however, was by then in an arranged marriage to a wealthy and conservative north Indian man who definitely did not know about her past with me. He was a genuinely nice and easygoing person, but he almost certainly would not have approved of our history. As a result, we had not slept together since her marriage. Our relationship had evolved into one of lingering glances and occasional flirtation, while still respecting the realities of our current lives.

She was the quintessential Bengali woman — short, with flowing hair that reached her hips, a full figure, large expressive eyes, and an impossibly loud laugh. From an academic overachiever, outspoken feminist and politically charged student leader, she had made an expected transition into a successful businesswoman and financial influencer.

Friend B was someone who had attended the same college as me, but our paths barely crossed back then. To put it bluntly, she was fat and had short hair, so she never particularly caught my attention. I realize that sounds rude, but it has been more than fifteen years since college, and people are allowed to grow, change, and reassess their opinions.

I reconnected with her during the honeymoon trip previously mentioned, and she had undergone a remarkable transformation. She had become a fitness and travel influencer with an astonishing number of Instagram followers. She still had short hair and wasn't petite, but she was all muscle and virtually no body fat. She loved dressing up, dancing, and making reels, and she carried the kind of chaotic energy that was the complete opposite of my personality.

I wouldn't say I found her unattractive, but our dynamic had settled into something closer to a brother-sister friendship.

She had been married for ten plus years by then, having married her college sweetheart. According to her, the marriage had become largely platonic, though it was not open. She had been involved in several affairs and flings on her own terms during her various vlogging travels and meetings with her followers, while remaining deeply attached to her husband. She was also aware of my emotional history with Friend A and perhaps because of that she maintained a certain distance from me.

Being a hyper-individualistic, atheist, and socially ambiverted person, I was probably the least enthusiastic participant in my own wedding reception. But it gave my friends an excuse to make it into a grand celebration and fly in from different parts of the country. I myself arrived only one day before the event after returning from a work trip.

The reception was largely about the women enjoying themselves. They had planned everything according to their tastes and preferences.

Friend A and I had actually been sexting occasionally in the days leading up to the reception. She projected a strange combination of maternal care (my own parents have passed), former-lover intimacy, and present-day platonic energy. I knew she was emotional about the fact that I was getting married, and I was equally excited about seeing her again. We both knew there was a possibility that something might happen.

I'll skip directly to the night after the reception.

We all returned to my 2BHK apartment. Friend A's husband immediately crashed in the spare bedroom while the remaining four of us—my wife, Friend A, Friend B, and I—continued drinking in the living room.

Friend A and I were already aware of the tension between us, but that night I also noticed an unexpected chemistry developing between Friend B and me. We had danced together during the reception and exchanged more than a few meaningful looks.

She usually dressed in body hugging western clothes, but that night she wore a navy-blue silk saree. For the first time, I found myself looking at her differently.

We all became fairly drunk.

Whether my wife noticed the atmosphere in the room or not, I will never know. We are usually extremely open in communication with each other, but what happened that night has never come up. At some point, exhausted and intoxicated, she went to bed.

The three of us remained on the sofa.

The mood became increasingly playful. I was absentmindedly playing with both women's hair, tugging at it teasingly, spilling wine onto the carpet, and drinking from glasses that no longer belonged to any one person. Friend A and I had already kissed several times, while Friend B giggled and mock-scolded us.

I kept jokingly suggesting a threesome. Whether they were intrigued, horrified, or both, I couldn't tell.

Eventually, Friend A became extremely drunk. The three of us shared a long, emotional group hug. Friend B and I carried her to the spare bedroom and practically dropped her on top of her sleeping husband before quietly leaving.

The wine continued to flow.

The chemistry between Friend B and me became increasingly obvious, yet neither of us seemed willing to cross the line.

Eventually, we agreed to call it a night.

We returned to my bedroom and lay down beside my sleeping wife.

Despite our stated intentions, neither of us could sleep. We continued passing a half-finished bottle of wine back and forth. Looking back, it was clearly an excuse. We were both looking for excuses to keep interacting with each other while acknowledging the audacity of the situation.

I don't know whether it was conscious or unconscious, but I made the first move.

As she handed me the bottle, I kissed her hand.

She looked shocked.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

The words carried multiple meanings.

I continued kissing her arm. She didn't stop me.

Soon we were making out. For me, the surreal part wasn't the physical act itself. It was the thrill of kissing a woman I had never kissed before while my new wife slept beside us.

Her hand slipped inside my pants, holding my cock and stroking it while I felt her neck and breasts in my mouth. We were both properly drunk to not understand the risk and full consequence of our actions. 

I got out of bed and dragged her by the arm, back to the empty, dark living room.

We started to kiss like crazy while grinding against each other. I took large gulps from the wine and kissed her, transferring a cocktail of saliva and wine into each other's mouth. I pushed her against a wall and pinned her arms above her head and continued to kiss her neck while she continued to jerk me off with her hands. Our pants slipped down midway to our knees as I parted her thighs and I felt my the tip of cock disappear into her shockingly wet flowing pussy.

That moment jerked us back into reality. Adrenaline has a remarkable way of cutting through alcohol. The drunken haze disappeared almost instantly. She briefly kneeled down and sucked my cock for 10 short seconds before stopping it. 

"Tomorrow after she leaves," she whispered.

We returned to the bedroom, taking opposite sides of my wife, and eventually fell asleep.

The most absurd night of my life came to an end.

I'll move through what happened next quickly.

My wife left for work early the following morning.

True to her word, Friend B and I slept together before she packed her bags and left for her afternoon flight. The sex itself was unremarkable, but the fact that it happened at all felt extraordinary. It has never happened again despite four years and multiple meetings since then, yet we both still remember it fondly.

Friend A and I later managed to escape her husband's watchful eye for a few hours. I took her to my empty office, making sure the CCTV is turned off. We told the husband we were meeting the photographer to collect reception photographs.

Away from the noise and distractions, we finally had the chance to reconnect properly. It was an emotional reunion. We sat in the Lotus position on the sofa in my office, our private parts smashed into each other while talking face to face.

This was our first fuck in several years and I remember mentally trying to count the changes in her body from my older college memory. As she was riding me cowgirl style, I could see her reflection of her back on the glass door infront of me. Her thick long open hair covered her entire back, past her butt and into my thighs. That was a sight to behold. 

Finally, I picked her up and carried her to my work desk. I grabbed her by her throat and in a very intentionally dramatic style, turned her around and spread her on the table surface. I could see her erect nipples press down on the cold glass surface. For the next 15 minutes, I fucked her doggystyle as she continued to moan and shout unspeakable things in our native tongue. There is something thrilling about seeing an genuine old friend make the transition from innocence to slutty.

She and her husband later left for a resort outside Mumbai for a short couple's trip before returning to their home city. Not long afterward, she became pregnant and gave birth to a healthy child the following year. For a while, it became a running joke between us whether I might be the father. She shut that down and insisted there was no confusion whatsoever. The child was her husband's.

A few years later, when the child had grown older, it became obvious he had inherited his father's features.

When life presents me with moments like these, I usually just roll with them. I never expected to tell this story publicly. My friends know that I am a kinky, anti-heteronormative person. i am no stranger to controversy, but this story carries the potential to hurt too many people. For that reason, I kept it hidden for years.

Even now, neither of the two women knows what happened with the other.

For several years, I have carried two separate secrets and pretended that each one existed in isolation.

Okay, that title is a little clickbaity, but hear me out. Technically, it wasn't my wedding night — it was my wedding reception weekend. There was a gap of a couple of years between the wedding and the reception because mu wife and I had a small court marriage during the pandemic. By the time my in-laws insisted on hosting a proper reception, two years had already passed.

I have told a few stories from my life before, and every time I do, I end up having to repeat the same disclaimers. I am not asking anyone believe my stories or to approve of my decisions. I am not claiming that they were wise, moral, or even particularly sensible. I am simply documenting events as I remember them. If you like this story, you are welcome to go back to my profile to check the other ones out. I very much enjoy reading sensible respectful comments, and look forward to constructive feedback.

My stories are not meant to be straightforward, linear, escalating, porn plots. They are messy, occasionally inconsistent, contradictory, and filled with details that might seem irrelevant to the reader, but they are relevant to my emotional frame of mind from that moment.

Those of you who have been following my posts already know that I am in a non-monogamous (ENM) marriage. My then-girlfriend and I dated for two years before getting married, and our relationship had been open throughout. Sleeping with other people is not normally the sort of thing that would cause a scandal in our lives. However, we have strict rules about who we can and cannot sleep with, and friends and family are strictly off-limits. I feel equally kinky and guilty admitting that I broke that rule that weekend.

When I met my wife through Bumble, she came from a different cultural background, and our social circles did not overlap. Over time, however, she integrated herself into my friends group remarkably well, learning my language and embracing our shared interests.

The two influencers in question are both old college friends of mine. It's a little odd to call them influencers because all of us come from a time decades before that term became part of our lexicon. Initially, I only knew one of them. She had been a close friend and occasional lover during our student years. The second woman entered my life through the first, as they had been friends since childhood.

As a side note, these two women actually accompanied my wife and me on our honeymoon abroad two years before. Nothing remotely scandalous happened on that trip, although we made countless jokes about threesomes. That's a completely different story, but I am mentioning this to provides some context of our group vibe.

By the time of our reception, all four of us had become very thick friends, though the dynamics were complicated.

My wife knew about my history with Friend A and was comfortable with it. Friend A, however, was by then in an arranged marriage to a wealthy and conservative north Indian man who definitely did not know about her past with me. He was a genuinely nice and easygoing person, but he almost certainly would not have approved of our history. As a result, we had not slept together since her marriage. Our relationship had evolved into one of lingering glances and occasional flirtation, while still respecting the realities of our current lives.

She was the quintessential Bengali woman — short, with flowing hair that reached her hips, a full figure, large expressive eyes, and an impossibly loud laugh. From an academic overachiever, outspoken feminist and politically charged student leader, she had made an expected transition into a successful businesswoman and financial influencer.

Friend B was someone who had attended the same college as me, but our paths barely crossed back then. To put it bluntly, she was fat and had short hair, so she never particularly caught my attention. I realize that sounds rude, but it has been more than fifteen years since college, and people are allowed to grow, change, and reassess their opinions.

I reconnected with her during the honeymoon trip previously mentioned, and she had undergone a remarkable transformation. She had become a fitness and travel influencer with an astonishing number of Instagram followers. She still had short hair and wasn't petite, but she was all muscle and virtually no body fat. She loved dressing up, dancing, and making reels, and she carried the kind of chaotic energy that was the complete opposite of my personality.

I wouldn't say I found her unattractive, but our dynamic had settled into something closer to a brother-sister friendship.

She had been married for ten plus years by then, having married her college sweetheart. According to her, the marriage had become largely platonic, though it was not open. She had been involved in several affairs and flings on her own terms during her various vlogging travels and meetings with her followers, while remaining deeply attached to her husband. She was also aware of my emotional history with Friend A and perhaps because of that she maintained a certain distance from me.

Being a hyper-individualistic, atheist, and socially ambiverted person, I was probably the least enthusiastic participant in my own wedding reception. But it gave my friends an excuse to make it into a grand celebration and fly in from different parts of the country. I myself arrived only one day before the event after returning from a work trip.

The reception was largely about the women enjoying themselves. They had planned everything according to their tastes and preferences.

Friend A and I had actually been sexting occasionally in the days leading up to the reception. She projected a strange combination of maternal care (my own parents have passed), former-lover intimacy, and present-day platonic energy. I knew she was emotional about the fact that I was getting married, and I was equally excited about seeing her again. We both knew there was a possibility that something might happen.

I'll skip directly to the night after the reception.

We all returned to my 2BHK apartment. Friend A's husband immediately crashed in the spare bedroom while the remaining four of us—my wife, Friend A, Friend B, and I—continued drinking in the living room.

Friend A and I were already aware of the tension between us, but that night I also noticed an unexpected chemistry developing between Friend B and me. We had danced together during the reception and exchanged more than a few meaningful looks.

She usually dressed in body hugging western clothes, but that night she wore a navy-blue silk saree. For the first time, I found myself looking at her differently.

We all became fairly drunk.

Whether my wife noticed the atmosphere in the room or not, I will never know. We are usually extremely open in communication with each other, but what happened that night has never come up. At some point, exhausted and intoxicated, she went to bed.

The three of us remained on the sofa.

The mood became increasingly playful. I was absentmindedly playing with both women's hair, tugging at it teasingly, spilling wine onto the carpet, and drinking from glasses that no longer belonged to any one person. Friend A and I had already kissed several times, while Friend B giggled and mock-scolded us.

I kept jokingly suggesting a threesome. Whether they were intrigued, horrified, or both, I couldn't tell.

Eventually, Friend A became extremely drunk. The three of us shared a long, emotional group hug. Friend B and I carried her to the spare bedroom and practically dropped her on top of her sleeping husband before quietly leaving.

The wine continued to flow.

The chemistry between Friend B and me became increasingly obvious, yet neither of us seemed willing to cross the line.

Eventually, we agreed to call it a night.

We returned to my bedroom and lay down beside my sleeping wife.

Despite our stated intentions, neither of us could sleep. We continued passing a half-finished bottle of wine back and forth. Looking back, it was clearly an excuse. We were both looking for excuses to keep interacting with each other while acknowledging the audacity of the situation.

I don't know whether it was conscious or unconscious, but I made the first move.

As she handed me the bottle, I kissed her hand.

She looked shocked.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

The words carried multiple meanings.

I continued kissing her arm. She didn't stop me.

Soon we were making out. For me, the surreal part wasn't the physical act itself. It was the thrill of kissing a woman I had never kissed before while my new wife slept beside us.

Her hand slipped inside my pants, holding my cock and stroking it while I felt her neck and breasts in my mouth. We were both properly drunk to not understand the risk and full consequence of our actions. 

I got out of bed and dragged her by the arm, back to the empty, dark living room.

We started to kiss like crazy while grinding against each other. I took large gulps from the wine and kissed her, transferring a cocktail of saliva and wine into each other's mouth. I pushed her against a wall and pinned her arms above her head and continued to kiss her neck while she continued to jerk me off with her hands. Our pants slipped down midway to our knees as I parted her thighs and I felt my the tip of cock disappear into her shockingly wet flowing pussy.

That moment jerked us back into reality. Adrenaline has a remarkable way of cutting through alcohol. The drunken haze disappeared almost instantly. She briefly kneeled down and sucked my cock for 10 short seconds before stopping it. 

"Tomorrow after she leaves," she whispered.

We returned to the bedroom, taking opposite sides of my wife, and eventually fell asleep.

The most absurd night of my life came to an end.

I'll move through what happened next quickly.

My wife left for work early the following morning.

True to her word, Friend B and I slept together before she packed her bags and left for her afternoon flight. The sex itself was unremarkable, but the fact that it happened at all felt extraordinary. It has never happened again despite four years and multiple meetings since then, yet we both still remember it fondly.

Friend A and I later managed to escape her husband's watchful eye for a few hours. I took her to my empty office, making sure the CCTV is turned off. We told the husband we were meeting the photographer to collect reception photographs.

Away from the noise and distractions, we finally had the chance to reconnect properly. It was an emotional reunion. We sat in the Lotus position on the sofa in my office, our private parts smashed into each other while talking face to face.

This was our first fuck in several years and I remember mentally trying to count the changes in her body from my older college memory. As she was riding me cowgirl style, I could see her reflection of her back on the glass door infront of me. Her thick long open hair covered her entire back, past her butt and into my thighs. That was a sight to behold. 

Finally, I picked her up and carried her to my work desk. I grabbed her by her throat and in a very intentionally dramatic style, turned her around and spread her on the table surface. I could see her erect nipples press down on the cold glass surface. For the next 15 minutes, I fucked her doggystyle as she continued to moan and shout unspeakable things in our native tongue. There is something thrilling about seeing an genuine old friend make the transition from innocence to slutty.

She and her husband later left for a resort outside Mumbai for a short couple's trip before returning to their home city. Not long afterward, she became pregnant and gave birth to a healthy child the following year. For a while, it became a running joke between us whether I might be the father. She shut that down and insisted there was no confusion whatsoever. The child was her husband's.

A few years later, when the child had grown older, it became obvious he had inherited his father's features.

When life presents me with moments like these, I usually just roll with them. I never expected to tell this story publicly. My friends know that I am a kinky, anti-heteronormative person. i am no stranger to controversy, but this story carries the potential to hurt too many people. For that reason, I kept it hidden for years.

Even now, neither of the two women knows what happened with the other.

For several years, I have carried two separate secrets and pretended that each one existed in isolation.

Okay, that title is a little clickbaity, but hear me out. Technically, it wasn't my wedding night — it was my wedding reception weekend. There was a gap of a couple of years between the wedding and the reception because mu wife and I had a small court marriage during the pandemic. By the time my in-laws insisted on hosting a proper reception, two years had already passed.

I have told a few stories from my life before, and every time I do, I end up having to repeat the same disclaimers. I am not asking anyone believe my stories or to approve of my decisions. I am not claiming that they were wise, moral, or even particularly sensible. I am simply documenting events as I remember them. If you like this story, you are welcome to go back to my profile to check the other ones out. I very much enjoy reading sensible respectful comments, and look forward to constructive feedback.

My stories are not meant to be straightforward, linear, escalating, porn plots. They are messy, occasionally inconsistent, contradictory, and filled with details that might seem irrelevant to the reader, but they are relevant to my emotional frame of mind from that moment.

Those of you who have been following my posts already know that I am in a non-monogamous (ENM) marriage. My then-girlfriend and I dated for two years before getting married, and our relationship had been open throughout. Sleeping with other people is not normally the sort of thing that would cause a scandal in our lives. However, we have strict rules about who we can and cannot sleep with, and friends and family are strictly off-limits. I feel equally kinky and guilty admitting that I broke that rule that weekend.

When I met my wife through Bumble, she came from a different cultural background, and our social circles did not overlap. Over time, however, she integrated herself into my friends group remarkably well, learning my language and embracing our shared interests.

The two influencers in question are both old college friends of mine. It's a little odd to call them influencers because all of us come from a time decades before that term became part of our lexicon. Initially, I only knew one of them. She had been a close friend and occasional lover during our student years. The second woman entered my life through the first, as they had been friends since childhood.

As a side note, these two women actually accompanied my wife and me on our honeymoon abroad two years before. Nothing remotely scandalous happened on that trip, although we made countless jokes about threesomes. That's a completely different story, but I am mentioning this to provides some context of our group vibe.

By the time of our reception, all four of us had become very thick friends, though the dynamics were complicated.

My wife knew about my history with Friend A and was comfortable with it. Friend A, however, was by then in an arranged marriage to a wealthy and conservative north Indian man who definitely did not know about her past with me. He was a genuinely nice and easygoing person, but he almost certainly would not have approved of our history. As a result, we had not slept together since her marriage. Our relationship had evolved into one of lingering glances and occasional flirtation, while still respecting the realities of our current lives.

She was the quintessential Bengali woman — short, with flowing hair that reached her hips, a full figure, large expressive eyes, and an impossibly loud laugh. From an academic overachiever, outspoken feminist and politically charged student leader, she had made an expected transition into a successful businesswoman and financial influencer.

Friend B was someone who had attended the same college as me, but our paths barely crossed back then. To put it bluntly, she was fat and had short hair, so she never particularly caught my attention. I realize that sounds rude, but it has been more than fifteen years since college, and people are allowed to grow, change, and reassess their opinions.

I reconnected with her during the honeymoon trip previously mentioned, and she had undergone a remarkable transformation. She had become a fitness and travel influencer with an astonishing number of Instagram followers. She still had short hair and wasn't petite, but she was all muscle and virtually no body fat. She loved dressing up, dancing, and making reels, and she carried the kind of chaotic energy that was the complete opposite of my personality.

I wouldn't say I found her unattractive, but our dynamic had settled into something closer to a brother-sister friendship.

She had been married for ten plus years by then, having married her college sweetheart. According to her, the marriage had become largely platonic, though it was not open. She had been involved in several affairs and flings on her own terms during her various vlogging travels and meetings with her followers, while remaining deeply attached to her husband. She was also aware of my emotional history with Friend A and perhaps because of that she maintained a certain distance from me.

Being a hyper-individualistic, atheist, and socially ambiverted person, I was probably the least enthusiastic participant in my own wedding reception. But it gave my friends an excuse to make it into a grand celebration and fly in from different parts of the country. I myself arrived only one day before the event after returning from a work trip.

The reception was largely about the women enjoying themselves. They had planned everything according to their tastes and preferences.

Friend A and I had actually been sexting occasionally in the days leading up to the reception. She projected a strange combination of maternal care (my own parents have passed), former-lover intimacy, and present-day platonic energy. I knew she was emotional about the fact that I was getting married, and I was equally excited about seeing her again. We both knew there was a possibility that something might happen.

I'll skip directly to the night after the reception.

We all returned to my 2BHK apartment. Friend A's husband immediately crashed in the spare bedroom while the remaining four of us—my wife, Friend A, Friend B, and I—continued drinking in the living room.

Friend A and I were already aware of the tension between us, but that night I also noticed an unexpected chemistry developing between Friend B and me. We had danced together during the reception and exchanged more than a few meaningful looks.

She usually dressed in body hugging western clothes, but that night she wore a navy-blue silk saree. For the first time, I found myself looking at her differently.

We all became fairly drunk.

Whether my wife noticed the atmosphere in the room or not, I will never know. We are usually extremely open in communication with each other, but what happened that night has never come up. At some point, exhausted and intoxicated, she went to bed.

The three of us remained on the sofa.

The mood became increasingly playful. I was absentmindedly playing with both women's hair, tugging at it teasingly, spilling wine onto the carpet, and drinking from glasses that no longer belonged to any one person. Friend A and I had already kissed several times, while Friend B giggled and mock-scolded us.

I kept jokingly suggesting a threesome. Whether they were intrigued, horrified, or both, I couldn't tell.

Eventually, Friend A became extremely drunk. The three of us shared a long, emotional group hug. Friend B and I carried her to the spare bedroom and practically dropped her on top of her sleeping husband before quietly leaving.

The wine continued to flow.

The chemistry between Friend B and me became increasingly obvious, yet neither of us seemed willing to cross the line.

Eventually, we agreed to call it a night.

We returned to my bedroom and lay down beside my sleeping wife.

Despite our stated intentions, neither of us could sleep. We continued passing a half-finished bottle of wine back and forth. Looking back, it was clearly an excuse. We were both looking for excuses to keep interacting with each other while acknowledging the audacity of the situation.

I don't know whether it was conscious or unconscious, but I made the first move.

As she handed me the bottle, I kissed her hand.

She looked shocked.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

The words carried multiple meanings.

I continued kissing her arm. She didn't stop me.

Soon we were making out. For me, the surreal part wasn't the physical act itself. It was the thrill of kissing a woman I had never kissed before while my new wife slept beside us.

Her hand slipped inside my pants, holding my cock and stroking it while I felt her neck and breasts in my mouth. We were both properly drunk to not understand the risk and full consequence of our actions. 

I got out of bed and dragged her by the arm, back to the empty, dark living room.

We started to kiss like crazy while grinding against each other. I took large gulps from the wine and kissed her, transferring a cocktail of saliva and wine into each other's mouth. I pushed her against a wall and pinned her arms above her head and continued to kiss her neck while she continued to jerk me off with her hands. Our pants slipped down midway to our knees as I parted her thighs and I felt my the tip of cock disappear into her shockingly wet flowing pussy.

That moment jerked us back into reality. Adrenaline has a remarkable way of cutting through alcohol. The drunken haze disappeared almost instantly. She briefly kneeled down and sucked my cock for 10 short seconds before stopping it. 

"Tomorrow after she leaves," she whispered.

We returned to the bedroom, taking opposite sides of my wife, and eventually fell asleep.

The most absurd night of my life came to an end.

I'll move through what happened next quickly.

My wife left for work early the following morning.

True to her word, Friend B and I slept together before she packed her bags and left for her afternoon flight. The sex itself was unremarkable, but the fact that it happened at all felt extraordinary. It has never happened again despite four years and multiple meetings since then, yet we both still remember it fondly.

Friend A and I later managed to escape her husband's watchful eye for a few hours. I took her to my empty office, making sure the CCTV is turned off. We told the husband we were meeting the photographer to collect reception photographs.

Away from the noise and distractions, we finally had the chance to reconnect properly. It was an emotional reunion. We sat in the Lotus position on the sofa in my office, our private parts smashed into each other while talking face to face.

This was our first fuck in several years and I remember mentally trying to count the changes in her body from my older college memory. As she was riding me cowgirl style, I could see her reflection of her back on the glass door infront of me. Her thick long open hair covered her entire back, past her butt and into my thighs. That was a sight to behold. 

Finally, I picked her up and carried her to my work desk. I grabbed her by her throat and in a very intentionally dramatic style, turned her around and spread her on the table surface. I could see her erect nipples press down on the cold glass surface. For the next 15 minutes, I fucked her doggystyle as she continued to moan and shout unspeakable things in our native tongue. There is something thrilling about seeing an genuine old friend make the transition from innocence to slutty.

She and her husband later left for a resort outside Mumbai for a short couple's trip before returning to their home city. Not long afterward, she became pregnant and gave birth to a healthy child the following year. For a while, it became a running joke between us whether I might be the father. She shut that down and insisted there was no confusion whatsoever. The child was her husband's.

A few years later, when the child had grown older, it became obvious he had inherited his father's features.

When life presents me with moments like these, I usually just roll with them. I never expected to tell this story publicly. My friends know that I am a kinky, anti-heteronormative person. i am no stranger to controversy, but this story carries the potential to hurt too many people. For that reason, I kept it hidden for years.

Even now, neither of the two women knows what happened with the other.

For several years, I have carried two separate secrets and pretended that each one existed in isolation.

Okay, that title is a little clickbaity, but hear me out. Technically, it wasn't my wedding night — it was my wedding reception weekend. There was a gap of a couple of years between the wedding and the reception because mu wife and I had a small court marriage during the pandemic. By the time my in-laws insisted on hosting a proper reception, two years had already passed.

I have told a few stories from my life before, and every time I do, I end up having to repeat the same disclaimers. I am not asking anyone believe my stories or to approve of my decisions. I am not claiming that they were wise, moral, or even particularly sensible. I am simply documenting events as I remember them. If you like this story, you are welcome to go back to my profile to check the other ones out. I very much enjoy reading sensible respectful comments, and look forward to constructive feedback.

My stories are not meant to be straightforward, linear, escalating, porn plots. They are messy, occasionally inconsistent, contradictory, and filled with details that might seem irrelevant to the reader, but they are relevant to my emotional frame of mind from that moment.

Those of you who have been following my posts already know that I am in a non-monogamous (ENM) marriage. My then-girlfriend and I dated for two years before getting married, and our relationship had been open throughout. Sleeping with other people is not normally the sort of thing that would cause a scandal in our lives. However, we have strict rules about who we can and cannot sleep with, and friends and family are strictly off-limits. I feel equally kinky and guilty admitting that I broke that rule that weekend.

When I met my wife through Bumble, she came from a different cultural background, and our social circles did not overlap. Over time, however, she integrated herself into my friends group remarkably well, learning my language and embracing our shared interests.

The two influencers in question are both old college friends of mine. It's a little odd to call them influencers because all of us come from a time decades before that term became part of our lexicon. Initially, I only knew one of them. She had been a close friend and occasional lover during our student years. The second woman entered my life through the first, as they had been friends since childhood.

As a side note, these two women actually accompanied my wife and me on our honeymoon abroad two years before. Nothing remotely scandalous happened on that trip, although we made countless jokes about threesomes. That's a completely different story, but I am mentioning this to provides some context of our group vibe.

By the time of our reception, all four of us had become very thick friends, though the dynamics were complicated.

My wife knew about my history with Friend A and was comfortable with it. Friend A, however, was by then in an arranged marriage to a wealthy and conservative north Indian man who definitely did not know about her past with me. He was a genuinely nice and easygoing person, but he almost certainly would not have approved of our history. As a result, we had not slept together since her marriage. Our relationship had evolved into one of lingering glances and occasional flirtation, while still respecting the realities of our current lives.

She was the quintessential Bengali woman — short, with flowing hair that reached her hips, a full figure, large expressive eyes, and an impossibly loud laugh. From an academic overachiever, outspoken feminist and politically charged student leader, she had made an expected transition into a successful businesswoman and financial influencer.

Friend B was someone who had attended the same college as me, but our paths barely crossed back then. To put it bluntly, she was fat and had short hair, so she never particularly caught my attention. I realize that sounds rude, but it has been more than fifteen years since college, and people are allowed to grow, change, and reassess their opinions.

I reconnected with her during the honeymoon trip previously mentioned, and she had undergone a remarkable transformation. She had become a fitness and travel influencer with an astonishing number of Instagram followers. She still had short hair and wasn't petite, but she was all muscle and virtually no body fat. She loved dressing up, dancing, and making reels, and she carried the kind of chaotic energy that was the complete opposite of my personality.

I wouldn't say I found her unattractive, but our dynamic had settled into something closer to a brother-sister friendship.

She had been married for ten plus years by then, having married her college sweetheart. According to her, the marriage had become largely platonic, though it was not open. She had been involved in several affairs and flings on her own terms during her various vlogging travels and meetings with her followers, while remaining deeply attached to her husband. She was also aware of my emotional history with Friend A and perhaps because of that she maintained a certain distance from me.

Being a hyper-individualistic, atheist, and socially ambiverted person, I was probably the least enthusiastic participant in my own wedding reception. But it gave my friends an excuse to make it into a grand celebration and fly in from different parts of the country. I myself arrived only one day before the event after returning from a work trip.

The reception was largely about the women enjoying themselves. They had planned everything according to their tastes and preferences.

Friend A and I had actually been sexting occasionally in the days leading up to the reception. She projected a strange combination of maternal care (my own parents have passed), former-lover intimacy, and present-day platonic energy. I knew she was emotional about the fact that I was getting married, and I was equally excited about seeing her again. We both knew there was a possibility that something might happen.

I'll skip directly to the night after the reception.

We all returned to my 2BHK apartment. Friend A's husband immediately crashed in the spare bedroom while the remaining four of us—my wife, Friend A, Friend B, and I—continued drinking in the living room.

Friend A and I were already aware of the tension between us, but that night I also noticed an unexpected chemistry developing between Friend B and me. We had danced together during the reception and exchanged more than a few meaningful looks.

She usually dressed in body hugging western clothes, but that night she wore a navy-blue silk saree. For the first time, I found myself looking at her differently.

We all became fairly drunk.

Whether my wife noticed the atmosphere in the room or not, I will never know. We are usually extremely open in communication with each other, but what happened that night has never come up. At some point, exhausted and intoxicated, she went to bed.

The three of us remained on the sofa.

The mood became increasingly playful. I was absentmindedly playing with both women's hair, tugging at it teasingly, spilling wine onto the carpet, and drinking from glasses that no longer belonged to any one person. Friend A and I had already kissed several times, while Friend B giggled and mock-scolded us.

I kept jokingly suggesting a threesome. Whether they were intrigued, horrified, or both, I couldn't tell.

Eventually, Friend A became extremely drunk. The three of us shared a long, emotional group hug. Friend B and I carried her to the spare bedroom and practically dropped her on top of her sleeping husband before quietly leaving.

The wine continued to flow.

The chemistry between Friend B and me became increasingly obvious, yet neither of us seemed willing to cross the line.

Eventually, we agreed to call it a night.

We returned to my bedroom and lay down beside my sleeping wife.

Despite our stated intentions, neither of us could sleep. We continued passing a half-finished bottle of wine back and forth. Looking back, it was clearly an excuse. We were both looking for excuses to keep interacting with each other while acknowledging the audacity of the situation.

I don't know whether it was conscious or unconscious, but I made the first move.

As she handed me the bottle, I kissed her hand.

She looked shocked.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

The words carried multiple meanings.

I continued kissing her arm. She didn't stop me.

Soon we were making out. For me, the surreal part wasn't the physical act itself. It was the thrill of kissing a woman I had never kissed before while my new wife slept beside us.

Her hand slipped inside my pants, holding my cock and stroking it while I felt her neck and breasts in my mouth. We were both properly drunk to not understand the risk and full consequence of our actions. 

I got out of bed and dragged her by the arm, back to the empty, dark living room.

We started to kiss like crazy while grinding against each other. I took large gulps from the wine and kissed her, transferring a cocktail of saliva and wine into each other's mouth. I pushed her against a wall and pinned her arms above her head and continued to kiss her neck while she continued to jerk me off with her hands. Our pants slipped down midway to our knees as I parted her thighs and I felt my the tip of cock disappear into her shockingly wet flowing pussy.

That moment jerked us back into reality. Adrenaline has a remarkable way of cutting through alcohol. The drunken haze disappeared almost instantly. She briefly kneeled down and sucked my cock for 10 short seconds before stopping it. 

"Tomorrow after she leaves," she whispered.

We returned to the bedroom, taking opposite sides of my wife, and eventually fell asleep.

The most absurd night of my life came to an end.

I'll move through what happened next quickly.

My wife left for work early the following morning.

True to her word, Friend B and I slept together before she packed her bags and left for her afternoon flight. The sex itself was unremarkable, but the fact that it happened at all felt extraordinary. It has never happened again despite four years and multiple meetings since then, yet we both still remember it fondly.

Friend A and I later managed to escape her husband's watchful eye for a few hours. I took her to my empty office, making sure the CCTV is turned off. We told the husband we were meeting the photographer to collect reception photographs.

Away from the noise and distractions, we finally had the chance to reconnect properly. It was an emotional reunion. We sat in the Lotus position on the sofa in my office, our private parts smashed into each other while talking face to face.

This was our first fuck in several years and I remember mentally trying to count the changes in her body from my older college memory. As she was riding me cowgirl style, I could see her reflection of her back on the glass door infront of me. Her thick long open hair covered her entire back, past her butt and into my thighs. That was a sight to behold. 

Finally, I picked her up and carried her to my work desk. I grabbed her by her throat and in a very intentionally dramatic style, turned her around and spread her on the table surface. I could see her erect nipples press down on the cold glass surface. For the next 15 minutes, I fucked her doggystyle as she continued to moan and shout unspeakable things in our native tongue. There is something thrilling about seeing an genuine old friend make the transition from innocence to slutty.

She and her husband later left for a resort outside Mumbai for a short couple's trip before returning to their home city. Not long afterward, she became pregnant and gave birth to a healthy child the following year. For a while, it became a running joke between us whether I might be the father. She shut that down and insisted there was no confusion whatsoever. The child was her husband's.

A few years later, when the child had grown older, it became obvious he had inherited his father's features.

When life presents me with moments like these, I usually just roll with them. I never expected to tell this story publicly. My friends know that I am a kinky, anti-heteronormative person. i am no stranger to controversy, but this story carries the potential to hurt too many people. For that reason, I kept it hidden for years.

Even now, neither of the two women knows what happened with the other.

For several years, I have carried two separate secrets and pretended that each one existed in isolation.

DISCLAIMER - Just so you know, I used ChatGPT to shorten this post to 700 words. My original (in other subs) is over 1500, but that's apparently not allowed here. This one feels hilariously odd for me to read but it is what it is.

This story takes place in 2018, during what I jokingly refer to as my "slutty phase" in Mumbai. I was single, in my early thirties, and had been talking to a woman I met on Tinder. She was a smart, attractive lawyer who had recently gone through a divorce. Although we had not slept together, we had developed a genuine friendship and spent hours discussing relationships, dating, and sex.

One day she told me she was organising a bachelorette party for her best friend and asked if I knew any male strippers. I didn't. Half-jokingly, I suggested that I could do it myself.

To my surprise, she immediately agreed.

Once the joke became reality, panic set in. I had no dancing experience and certainly did not resemble a professional stripper. Nevertheless, the challenge appealed to me. Over the following month I tried to get into better shape, watched countless videos online, and attempted to learn some basic moves.

Because consent mattered to me, I asked my friend to establish clear boundaries with the bride-to-be. The answer that came back was essentially: "Anything goes."

The idea alone was enough to fuel my imagination for weeks.

The party was held in a sea-facing apartment in Versova. When I arrived, however, things immediately felt different from what I had expected. Two other men were already there, despite my request that no other men be invited.

The bride-to-be was stunning. She was warm, charming, and effortlessly beautiful, but she barely acknowledged me during the first few hours. Instead, she stayed busy helping around the apartment while everyone drank, talked, and listened to music.

As the evening progressed, the event felt less like a wild bachelorette party and more like an ordinary house gathering. My confidence faded. Eventually one of the men left, while the other disappeared into a bedroom with the hostess.

That left me on the balcony with my Tinder friend and the bride.

At some point the conversation shifted. The atmosphere changed. What began as casual flirting quickly became obvious mutual attraction. My friend quietly excused herself, leaving the two of us alone.

The rest of the night unfolded in a blur of excitement, spontaneity, and poor decision-making. We spent hours together, moving from the balcony to other parts of the building, completely caught up in the moment.

The most vivid memory is not any specific encounter but the setting itself. At one point we found ourselves on the rooftop overlooking the sea. Surrounded by towering buildings and city lights, the view felt surreal. It remains one of the most memorable locations in which I have ever shared intimacy with another person.

What people rarely talk about are the less glamorous details. We ended up covered in dust, mosquito bites, scratches, and bruises from climbing around places never designed for comfort. Real life is rarely as polished as fantasy.

By the early morning hours we were exhausted. After discovering that our friend had locked herself in a bedroom for the night, we wrapped ourselves in a bedsheet and eventually fell asleep together on the living-room floor.

The next morning felt noticeably different. My Tinder friend seemed distant and uncomfortable. At the time I did not understand why.

Over the following weeks the truth emerged. She had never fully explained the original stripper idea to the other women. As far as they knew, she was simply bringing along a man she had recently met and thought the bride might like.

More importantly, she had apparently assumed that nothing serious would happen between us. Seeing the bride and me connect so quickly had hurt her feelings, especially because she had hoped something might eventually develop between us.

The bride and I exchanged numbers and stayed in touch. We also made a deliberate decision never to repeat the experience. Some memories are better preserved exactly as they happened rather than revisited and risked disappointment.

Today she is happily married and living abroad. We still exchange the occasional message and laugh about that absurd night from years ago.

Time has moved on, lives have changed, and we are both older now. What remains is not the physical memory so much as the story itself—one strange, unexpected night that neither of us could have predicted and neither of us has completely forgotten.

Honest question — I’m new here, so what’s the actual ratio of genuine people looking to meet locals vs scammers/catfishers?

Has anyone actually met someone from Goregaon/Malad here and made a real connection without getting scammed or asked for money?

Since Tinder and Bumble are basically dead these days, this feels like it could be a decent place to meet people if enough folks are being honest about what they want. Genuinely curious what your experience has been.

View Poll

M38 from Mumbai here.

Back in 2022, I attended an event for non-monogamous people. Yes, those events actually exist. It was organized by an Instagram page that is still quite popular today.

I'm married, and my partner and I practice ethical non-monogamy (ENM). I attended the event with a female friend. Most people there seemed focused on finding someone—either as solos or looking for a unicorn. I wasn't really expecting to meet anyone. I was more interested in discussing non-monogamous relationships, the challenges involved, and how different people navigated them.

When introductions began, I spoke on the mic for a few minutes about my situation and experiences.

Later, a woman came over and introduced herself. She was an actress and, apparently, a very famous VJ during the 2000s. I had no idea who she was because I hadn't grown up in Mumbai. People around us were gushing over her. The host seemed thrilled to have a celebrity attending the event and barely left her alone. She came off as really strict and intimidating but not unfriendly.

We exchanged numbers and agreed to meet for a drink. At that point, I genuinely assumed she wanted to continue our conversation about ENM in a more personal setting. Before meeting, I directly asked whether I was allowed to flirt. She said yes. She was married as well, her partner lived abroad, and they had a consensually open relationship.

I was excited about the first date. It went well. There was definite chemistry, but nothing major happened. Afterwards, we went for a drive. Mostly, I just wanted some time alone with her in the car. We kissed, held hands, and walked around Bandra seafront for a while before calling it a night.

Things progressed a few weeks later. We met again at her friend's place because she lived with her mother. We drank a bit, kissed and felt each other for a little bit. She was wet as fuck. Always a validating thing to see that as a man. She was wearing a loose casual dress and simply opened a string and left it fall to the floor. I was stunned. At this point I should mention that she is atleast 10 years older than me which makes her in her late 40s. I couldn't believe my eyes. She had a body of a 25 year old. Slim, toned, with boobs that stood firm without support. She said it was due to good genes, good diet, workouts and never having a child. Smooth milky skin and long curly hair. And oh yes, bright red bra and lingerie. She rode me on the sofa and I had one of the best fucks of my life.

I considered her completely out of my league. I'm fairly average in looks and build. With my social and conversational skills, I'd rate myself as an above-average catch at best. She, on the other hand, was a legitimate celebrity with a substantial Instagram following. Long story short, we fucked each other in various positions non stop before calling it a night.

Over the following weeks and months, we spent more time together and developed a genuine connection alongside the physical attraction.

One memory stands out above all the others. During a major festival, my office happened to be almost completely empty. She showed up wearing a traditional blue ghagra. 30 mins later, she was on her fours on the floor, infront of a big mirror we have in the conference room. I lifted the dress up to her waist and slipped the thong down to her knees. I love doggy as much as the next guy but never did I imagine that one day, I'd be fucking a famous celeb doggystyle at my workplace like that, pulling her curly hair back in my hands. This was the greatest fuck of my life. The visuals, her moans from that afternoon remain etched in my memory.

I'm writing this because a few years have passed, and I wanted a clear record before my memory inevitably starts to erode.

We're still friends today. We respect each other's boundaries and have managed to maintain a healthy connection. Every few months, when life and schedules allow, we still meet and spend time together.

I originally posted this story on the Bollywood gossip subreddit, but it was removed for violating a rule I wasn't aware of.

Feel free to ask questions. I'll keep things respectful and won't be revealing any personal details obviously. Mostly, I just wanted to document a memorable chapter of my life and, admittedly, indulge in a little harmless self-congratulation.

M38 from Mumbai here.

Back in 2022, I attended an event for non-monogamous people. Yes, those events actually exist. It was organized by an Instagram page that is still quite popular today.

I'm married, and my partner and I practice ethical non-monogamy (ENM). I attended the event with a female friend. Most people there seemed focused on finding someone—either as solos or looking for a unicorn. I wasn't really expecting to meet anyone. I was more interested in discussing non-monogamous relationships, the challenges involved, and how different people navigated them.

When introductions began, I spoke on the mic for a few minutes about my situation and experiences.

Later, a woman came over and introduced herself. She was an actress and, apparently, a very famous VJ during the 2000s. I had no idea who she was because I hadn't grown up in Mumbai. People around us were gushing over her. The host seemed thrilled to have a celebrity attending the event and barely left her alone. She came off as really strict and intimidating but not unfriendly.

We exchanged numbers and agreed to meet for a drink. At that point, I genuinely assumed she wanted to continue our conversation about ENM in a more personal setting. Before meeting, I directly asked whether I was allowed to flirt. She said yes. She was married as well, her partner lived abroad, and they had a consensually open relationship.

I was excited about the first date. It went well. There was definite chemistry, but nothing major happened. Afterwards, we went for a drive. Mostly, I just wanted some time alone with her in the car. We kissed, held hands, and walked around Bandra seafront for a while before calling it a night.

Things progressed a few weeks later. We met again at her friend's place because she lived with her mother. We drank a bit, kissed and felt each other for a little bit. She was wet as fuck. Always a validating thing to see that as a man. She was wearing a loose casual dress and simply opened a string and left it fall to the floor. I was stunned. At this point I should mention that she is atleast 10 years older than me which makes her in her late 40s. I couldn't believe my eyes. She had a body of a 25 year old. Slim, toned, with boobs that stood firm without support. She said it was due to good genes, good diet, workouts and never having a child. Smooth milky skin and long curly hair. And oh yes, bright red bra and lingerie. She rode me on the sofa and I had one of the best fucks of my life.

I considered her completely out of my league. I'm fairly average in looks and build. With my social and conversational skills, I'd rate myself as an above-average catch at best. She, on the other hand, was a legitimate celebrity with a substantial Instagram following. Long story short, we fucked each other in various positions non stop before calling it a night.

Over the following weeks and months, we spent more time together and developed a genuine connection alongside the physical attraction.

One memory stands out above all the others. During a major festival, my office happened to be almost completely empty. She showed up wearing a traditional blue ghagra. 30 mins later, she was on her fours on the floor, infront of a big mirror we have in the conference room. I lifted the dress up to her waist and slipped the thong down to her knees. I love doggy as much as the next guy but never did I imagine that one day, I'd be fucking a famous celeb doggystyle at my workplace like that, pulling her curly hair back in my hands. This was the greatest fuck of my life. The visuals, her moans from that afternoon remain etched in my memory.

I'm writing this because a few years have passed, and I wanted a clear record before my memory inevitably starts to erode.

We're still friends today. We respect each other's boundaries and have managed to maintain a healthy connection. Every few months, when life and schedules allow, we still meet and spend time together.

I originally posted this story on the Bollywood gossip subreddit, but it was removed for violating a rule I wasn't aware of.

Feel free to ask questions. I'll keep things respectful and won't be revealing any personal details obviously. Mostly, I just wanted to document a memorable chapter of my life and, admittedly, indulge in a little harmless self-congratulation.

M38 from Mumbai here.

Back in 2022, I attended an event for non-monogamous people. Yes, those events actually exist. It was organized by an Instagram page that is still quite popular today.

I'm married, and my partner and I practice ethical non-monogamy (ENM). I attended the event with a female friend. Most people there seemed focused on finding someone—either as solos or looking for a unicorn. I wasn't really expecting to meet anyone. I was more interested in discussing non-monogamous relationships, the challenges involved, and how different people navigated them.

When introductions began, I spoke on the mic for a few minutes about my situation and experiences.

Later, a woman came over and introduced herself. She was an actress and, apparently, a very famous VJ during the 2000s. I had no idea who she was because I hadn't grown up in Mumbai. People around us were gushing over her. The host seemed thrilled to have a celebrity attending the event and barely left her alone. She came off as really strict and intimidating but not unfriendly.

We exchanged numbers and agreed to meet for a drink. At that point, I genuinely assumed she wanted to continue our conversation about ENM in a more personal setting. Before meeting, I directly asked whether I was allowed to flirt. She said yes. She was married as well, her partner lived abroad, and they had a consensually open relationship.

I was excited about the first date. It went well. There was definite chemistry, but nothing major happened. Afterwards, we went for a drive. Mostly, I just wanted some time alone with her in the car. We kissed, held hands, and walked around Bandra seafront for a while before calling it a night.

Things progressed a few weeks later. We met again at her friend's place because she lived with her mother. We drank a bit, kissed and felt each other for a little bit. She was wet as fuck. Always a validating thing to see that as a man. She was wearing a loose casual dress and simply opened a string and left it fall to the floor. I was stunned. At this point I should mention that she is atleast 10 years older than me which makes her in her late 40s. I couldn't believe my eyes. She had a body of a 25 year old. Slim, toned, with boobs that stood firm without support. She said it was due to good genes, good diet, workouts and never having a child. Smooth milky skin and long curly hair. And oh yes, bright red bra and lingerie. She rode me on the sofa and I had one of the best fucks of my life.

I considered her completely out of my league. I'm fairly average in looks and build. With my social and conversational skills, I'd rate myself as an above-average catch at best. She, on the other hand, was a legitimate celebrity with a substantial Instagram following. Long story short, we fucked each other in various positions non stop before calling it a night.

Over the following weeks and months, we spent more time together and developed a genuine connection alongside the physical attraction.

One memory stands out above all the others. During a major festival, my office happened to be almost completely empty. She showed up wearing a traditional blue ghagra. 30 mins later, she was on her fours on the floor, infront of a big mirror we have in the conference room. I lifted the dress up to her waist and slipped the thong down to her knees. I love doggy as much as the next guy but never did I imagine that one day, I'd be fucking a famous celeb doggystyle at my workplace like that, pulling her curly hair back in my hands. This was the greatest fuck of my life. The visuals, her moans from that afternoon remain etched in my memory.

I'm writing this because a few years have passed, and I wanted a clear record before my memory inevitably starts to erode.

We're still friends today. We respect each other's boundaries and have managed to maintain a healthy connection. Every few months, when life and schedules allow, we still meet and spend time together.

I originally posted this story on the Bollywood gossip subreddit, but it was removed for violating a rule I wasn't aware of.

Feel free to ask questions. I'll keep things respectful and won't be revealing any personal details obviously. Mostly, I just wanted to document a memorable chapter of my life and, admittedly, indulge in a little harmless self-congratulation.