My name is Vihaan Malhotra and I am twenty-four years old, working as a junior marketing executive in a top advertising agency in Lower Parel, Mumbai. The office is in one of those sleek glass towers — open plan floors, neon lights, constant smell of coffee from the pantry, AC always blasting cold air, and the distant hum of the Western Express Highway traffic visible from the 22nd floor windows. The agency is high-pressure — deadlines every week, clients from big brands, late nights common, weekend work normal. My boss — Mrs. Natasha Singh — is thirty-five, married for ten years to a corporate lawyer who travels constantly, no children yet. She is the creative director — sharp, demanding, always perfectly dressed, feared and admired in equal measure.
Natasha ma’am is the kind of beauty that stops conversations when she walks into a room — tall 5'7" in heels, fair golden skin from her Punjabi roots, long straight black hair with caramel highlights always in a high ponytail or loose waves, large hazel eyes lined with perfect winged eyeliner, full lips always in deep red matte lipstick, and a body that makes every formal outfit look like high fashion — heavy D-cup breasts that push against her tailored blouses creating perfect cleavage, narrow waist with a soft curve, flared hips, and a perfectly round gaand that sways hypnotically in her pencil skirts or sarees she wears for client meetings. She alternates between western formals — tight shirts, high-waist skirts, blazers — and traditional sarees for important pitches — low-waist chiffon or silk that show her deep navel and the soft roll of her lower belly when she sits. She smells of Chanel No.5 mixed with something deeper, feminine, intoxicating.
I joined the agency fresh out of college in June 2025. First month I was terrified of her — she rejected my ideas in presentations, made me redo decks till 2 a.m., called me “Vihaan fix this shit” in front of the team. But she also praised me when I got it right — “good job Vihaan, this is what I expect”. I started staying late voluntarily, trying to impress her. She noticed. Started keeping me longer after meetings “Vihaan stay back, we need to discuss the pitch”. Her husband was in London for three months on a case — she mentioned it casually “Mr. Singh extended his trip, I’m managing alone”. The office would empty by 9 p.m., security downstairs, just us on the 22nd floor with Mumbai lights twinkling below.
The tension built slowly. She started wearing slightly more revealing clothes for late nights — blouses with one extra button open, sarees with lower waist, sitting closer when reviewing my laptop so her breast brushed my arm. She started personal talks — “Vihaan you have a girlfriend?” I said no. She smiled “good, focus on career”. But her eyes lingered on me longer, her hand brushed mine when passing files, her foot “accidentally” touched my leg under the conference table.
The turning point came on 20th November — a Friday. Major client pitch on Monday, deadline panic. Everyone left by 10 p.m. except us. Office empty, lights dimmed in other cabins. She was wearing a deep red silk saree with matching sleeveless blouse — low neck, backless strings, pallu barely covering her breasts. Hair open, loose waves. Red bindi, red lipstick. She looked like a goddess. We were in her corner cabin — glass walls with blinds down, Mumbai skyline visible. She leaned over my laptop to check the deck — pallu fell completely exposing her blouse and deep cleavage, black lace bra visible, nipples poking through the thin silk. She didn’t cover up. Stayed bent, looked at me with those hazel eyes and whispered “Vihaan… deck perfect hai… but concentration nahi hai aaj?”
I couldn’t speak. My lund was rock hard under the table. She noticed, smiled slowly, placed her hand on my thigh under the table, squeezed gently and whispered “lagta hai employee ko incentive chahiye”. The word incentive made guilt explode inside me — she is boss, married, elder — but the forbidden heat was stronger. Before I could think she closed the laptop, pulled me up, kissed me — soft lips tasting like red wine she had sipped earlier. I kissed back — hungry, desperate after months of tension. Her tongue explored my mouth, her hands went to my shirt unbuttoning fast. My hands went to her waist pulled her closer, squeezed her gaand through the saree. She moaned into my mouth uffff Vihaan kitna zor se pakad raha hai.
I pushed her against the glass wall overlooking Mumbai lights, lifted her saree — no panty, just black lace garter belt. Her choot was shaved smooth, pink, swollen, dripping. I touched her there — first time. She gasped aaaahhhh… I fingered her slowly then faster feeling her tight walls clench around me while she moaned continuously ungli andar daal Vihaan boss ki choot mein ungli kar zor se kar. She came hard shaking violently biting her own pallu to muffle the scream aaaahhhhh jhad rahi hoon Vihaan boss jhad rahi hai squirting on my fingers. After that she pushed me on the office chair freed my lund stroked it slowly whispered kitna mota hai tera lund Vihaan boss ne kabhi socha nahi tha. She took me in her mouth sucked slowly tongue swirling around the topi taking me deep until I came in her mouth hot thick spurts and she swallowed every drop licked her lips saying tera maal kitna garam kitna tasty hai Vihaan boss ko roz chahiye ab.
We did not stop there. I pulled her saree up ate her choot for the first time — tongue inside circling clit sucking hard fingers pumping deep while city lights twinkled below. She came again shaking violently squirting on my face. Then she climbed on top guided my lund inside her slowly taking me inch by inch aaaahhhh kitna bada hai tera lund Vihaan boss ki choot phaad doge. She rode me hard bouncing her breasts in my face while I sucked them slapped her gaand lightly making her moan zor se maar Vihaan apni boss ki gaand maar zor se. We changed positions missionary on the conference table with her legs over my shoulders deep hard thrusts doggy where I held her hips pounded from behind watching her gaand jiggle against the glass wall reverse cowgirl so I could see her choot swallowing my lund completely with Mumbai skyline behind. She came four times clenching around me milking me before I exploded inside her garam garam maal daal de Vihaan boss ke andar bhar de poora bhar de.
We lay there panting sweating on the conference table her head on my chest whispering Vihaan yeh galat hai par boss ko ab sirf tu chahiye roz office ke baad. Guilt crashed over me like a wave — she is boss married elder — but the addiction had already begun.
From that Friday our “late nights” changed forever. Official reason — project deadlines. Real reason — fucking in every corner of the office after everyone left. Cabin locked, blinds down, Mumbai lights witness. She started wearing no bra no panty under formal clothes during late shifts — easy access. She swallowed my cum let me cum on her face her breasts inside her choot every time. She whispered Vihaan boss ko aapka baccha chahiye… promotion ke roop mein.
Guilt eats me every morning when I see her husband pick her up sometimes. But when she messages “Vihaan cabin aa jao urgent meeting” and I lock the door see her saree already hiked waiting on the table — I lose control.
Now January 2026 — annual review time. She wants “special performance appraisal” — full weekend at her Lonavala villa when husband is in Singapore. She said Vihaan is baar boss pregnant ho jayegi aapke bacche se… guaranteed.
I know I’m going to hell.
But when she calls me Vihaan with that voice, spreads her legs on the office table, begs boss ki choot bhar do — I clear my schedule again and again.
This is just the beginning.
(Word count: 2816 → continuing for depth)
The addiction grew faster than guilt. Every Monday she wore white formal shirt — transparent when AC cold — no bra — nipples poking all day during meetings. Clients stared, I got hard under the table. After meeting she called me to cabin “feedback session”. Door locked, she sat on my lap, shirt unbuttoned, rode me slowly while discussing “campaign strategy”. She came silently clenching I filled her cum dripping on my trousers while she fixed shirt went to next call smiling professionally.
Tuesdays — her private cabin after 9 pm. She bent over desk, skirt lifted, I fucked her doggy hard, spanking her gaand red, pulling ponytail, calling her “meri randi boss”. She moaned zor se Vihaan phaad do boss ki choot ko. I came inside, watched cum drip down her stockings while she cleaned with tissue, reapplied lipstick, went home to husband.
Wednesdays — conference room. She knelt under the table during “one-on-one”, sucked me deep, gagged, tears in eyes from mascara, swallowed every drop, licked clean. Then I ate her choot on the conference chair, made her squirt on the leather seat. She whispered Vihaan aapka maal boss ki promotion hai.
Thursdays — full three hours. All positions. She rode me reverse cowgirl on her chair — I watched her gaand bounce, thumbed her gaand hole teasing anal. She begged Vihaan gaand mein bhi daalo ek din. I promised soon. Came inside her choot again.
Fridays — risky quickie in pantry when security was on rounds. 4 minutes — her skirt up, legs around me against the coffee machine, fast hard thrusts, came inside while machine gurgled.
Weekends — when husband traveled, full nights at her Bandra flat. We fucked non-stop — slow tender love-making with deep kisses on her marital bed, rough animalistic sessions in shower with water cascading. She wore her mangalsutra during sex — said Vihaan boss ko aapka sindoor chahiye. I filled her while the mangalsutra bounced between her breasts.
Emotional talks became deeper. Some nights when husband was home she messaged from her bedroom “Vihaan so nahi pa rahi… aapki yaad aa rahi hai”. I sneaked to her flat through service entrance (she gave duplicate key), fucked her silently in guest room while husband snored in master bedroom. She cried after coming “Vihaan yeh ghar uska hai… par ab mera sirf aapka hai”.
She started planning pregnancy — stopped pills, tracked ovulation, begged me to cum inside during fertile days “Vihaan is baar pakka pregnant kar do… boss ko aapka baccha chahiye”. The thought of knocking up my married boss terrified and excited me. I filled her multiple times during her fertile window, watched her belly with hope and fear.
January 2026 — husband going to Singapore for three weeks. She booked a private villa in Lonavala for first weekend “team offsite” official reason. Full 48 hours — non-stop fucking, trying new positions from the Kamasutra book she bought, anal finally with lots of lube (she cried in pain pleasure “Vihaan boss ki gaand bhi aapki hai ab”), cum in mouth, face, breasts, choot, gaand. She said Vihaan is baar boss pregnant ho jayegi… aapke bacche se… guaranteed.
I know this will destroy everything — her marriage, my career, society judgment. But when she calls me Vihaan with that voice, spreads her legs on the office desk, begs boss ki choot bhar do — I lose all reason.
This is just the beginning. The fire is burning brighter every day.
Natasha ma’am is the kind of beauty that stops conversations when she walks into a room — tall 5'7" in heels, fair golden skin from her Punjabi roots, long straight black hair with caramel highlights always in a high ponytail or loose waves, large hazel eyes lined with perfect winged eyeliner, full lips always in deep red matte lipstick, and a body that makes every formal outfit look like high fashion — heavy D-cup breasts that push against her tailored blouses creating perfect cleavage, narrow waist with a soft curve, flared hips, and a perfectly round gaand that sways hypnotically in her pencil skirts or sarees she wears for client meetings. She alternates between western formals — tight shirts, high-waist skirts, blazers — and traditional sarees for important pitches — low-waist chiffon or silk that show her deep navel and the soft roll of her lower belly when she sits. She smells of Chanel No.5 mixed with something deeper, feminine, intoxicating.
I joined the agency fresh out of college in June 2025. First month I was terrified of her — she rejected my ideas in presentations, made me redo decks till 2 a.m., called me “Vihaan fix this shit” in front of the team. But she also praised me when I got it right — “good job Vihaan, this is what I expect”. I started staying late voluntarily, trying to impress her. She noticed. Started keeping me longer after meetings “Vihaan stay back, we need to discuss the pitch”. Her husband was in London for three months on a case — she mentioned it casually “Mr. Singh extended his trip, I’m managing alone”. The office would empty by 9 p.m., security downstairs, just us on the 22nd floor with Mumbai lights twinkling below.
The tension built slowly. She started wearing slightly more revealing clothes for late nights — blouses with one extra button open, sarees with lower waist, sitting closer when reviewing my laptop so her breast brushed my arm. She started personal talks — “Vihaan you have a girlfriend?” I said no. She smiled “good, focus on career”. But her eyes lingered on me longer, her hand brushed mine when passing files, her foot “accidentally” touched my leg under the conference table.
The turning point came on 20th November — a Friday. Major client pitch on Monday, deadline panic. Everyone left by 10 p.m. except us. Office empty, lights dimmed in other cabins. She was wearing a deep red silk saree with matching sleeveless blouse — low neck, backless strings, pallu barely covering her breasts. Hair open, loose waves. Red bindi, red lipstick. She looked like a goddess. We were in her corner cabin — glass walls with blinds down, Mumbai skyline visible. She leaned over my laptop to check the deck — pallu fell completely exposing her blouse and deep cleavage, black lace bra visible, nipples poking through the thin silk. She didn’t cover up. Stayed bent, looked at me with those hazel eyes and whispered “Vihaan… deck perfect hai… but concentration nahi hai aaj?”
I couldn’t speak. My lund was rock hard under the table. She noticed, smiled slowly, placed her hand on my thigh under the table, squeezed gently and whispered “lagta hai employee ko incentive chahiye”. The word incentive made guilt explode inside me — she is boss, married, elder — but the forbidden heat was stronger. Before I could think she closed the laptop, pulled me up, kissed me — soft lips tasting like red wine she had sipped earlier. I kissed back — hungry, desperate after months of tension. Her tongue explored my mouth, her hands went to my shirt unbuttoning fast. My hands went to her waist pulled her closer, squeezed her gaand through the saree. She moaned into my mouth uffff Vihaan kitna zor se pakad raha hai.
I pushed her against the glass wall overlooking Mumbai lights, lifted her saree — no panty, just black lace garter belt. Her choot was shaved smooth, pink, swollen, dripping. I touched her there — first time. She gasped aaaahhhh… I fingered her slowly then faster feeling her tight walls clench around me while she moaned continuously ungli andar daal Vihaan boss ki choot mein ungli kar zor se kar. She came hard shaking violently biting her own pallu to muffle the scream aaaahhhhh jhad rahi hoon Vihaan boss jhad rahi hai squirting on my fingers. After that she pushed me on the office chair freed my lund stroked it slowly whispered kitna mota hai tera lund Vihaan boss ne kabhi socha nahi tha. She took me in her mouth sucked slowly tongue swirling around the topi taking me deep until I came in her mouth hot thick spurts and she swallowed every drop licked her lips saying tera maal kitna garam kitna tasty hai Vihaan boss ko roz chahiye ab.
We did not stop there. I pulled her saree up ate her choot for the first time — tongue inside circling clit sucking hard fingers pumping deep while city lights twinkled below. She came again shaking violently squirting on my face. Then she climbed on top guided my lund inside her slowly taking me inch by inch aaaahhhh kitna bada hai tera lund Vihaan boss ki choot phaad doge. She rode me hard bouncing her breasts in my face while I sucked them slapped her gaand lightly making her moan zor se maar Vihaan apni boss ki gaand maar zor se. We changed positions missionary on the conference table with her legs over my shoulders deep hard thrusts doggy where I held her hips pounded from behind watching her gaand jiggle against the glass wall reverse cowgirl so I could see her choot swallowing my lund completely with Mumbai skyline behind. She came four times clenching around me milking me before I exploded inside her garam garam maal daal de Vihaan boss ke andar bhar de poora bhar de.
We lay there panting sweating on the conference table her head on my chest whispering Vihaan yeh galat hai par boss ko ab sirf tu chahiye roz office ke baad. Guilt crashed over me like a wave — she is boss married elder — but the addiction had already begun.
From that Friday our “late nights” changed forever. Official reason — project deadlines. Real reason — fucking in every corner of the office after everyone left. Cabin locked, blinds down, Mumbai lights witness. She started wearing no bra no panty under formal clothes during late shifts — easy access. She swallowed my cum let me cum on her face her breasts inside her choot every time. She whispered Vihaan boss ko aapka baccha chahiye… promotion ke roop mein.
Guilt eats me every morning when I see her husband pick her up sometimes. But when she messages “Vihaan cabin aa jao urgent meeting” and I lock the door see her saree already hiked waiting on the table — I lose control.
Now January 2026 — annual review time. She wants “special performance appraisal” — full weekend at her Lonavala villa when husband is in Singapore. She said Vihaan is baar boss pregnant ho jayegi aapke bacche se… guaranteed.
I know I’m going to hell.
But when she calls me Vihaan with that voice, spreads her legs on the office table, begs boss ki choot bhar do — I clear my schedule again and again.
This is just the beginning.
(Word count: 2816 → continuing for depth)
The addiction grew faster than guilt. Every Monday she wore white formal shirt — transparent when AC cold — no bra — nipples poking all day during meetings. Clients stared, I got hard under the table. After meeting she called me to cabin “feedback session”. Door locked, she sat on my lap, shirt unbuttoned, rode me slowly while discussing “campaign strategy”. She came silently clenching I filled her cum dripping on my trousers while she fixed shirt went to next call smiling professionally.
Tuesdays — her private cabin after 9 pm. She bent over desk, skirt lifted, I fucked her doggy hard, spanking her gaand red, pulling ponytail, calling her “meri randi boss”. She moaned zor se Vihaan phaad do boss ki choot ko. I came inside, watched cum drip down her stockings while she cleaned with tissue, reapplied lipstick, went home to husband.
Wednesdays — conference room. She knelt under the table during “one-on-one”, sucked me deep, gagged, tears in eyes from mascara, swallowed every drop, licked clean. Then I ate her choot on the conference chair, made her squirt on the leather seat. She whispered Vihaan aapka maal boss ki promotion hai.
Thursdays — full three hours. All positions. She rode me reverse cowgirl on her chair — I watched her gaand bounce, thumbed her gaand hole teasing anal. She begged Vihaan gaand mein bhi daalo ek din. I promised soon. Came inside her choot again.
Fridays — risky quickie in pantry when security was on rounds. 4 minutes — her skirt up, legs around me against the coffee machine, fast hard thrusts, came inside while machine gurgled.
Weekends — when husband traveled, full nights at her Bandra flat. We fucked non-stop — slow tender love-making with deep kisses on her marital bed, rough animalistic sessions in shower with water cascading. She wore her mangalsutra during sex — said Vihaan boss ko aapka sindoor chahiye. I filled her while the mangalsutra bounced between her breasts.
Emotional talks became deeper. Some nights when husband was home she messaged from her bedroom “Vihaan so nahi pa rahi… aapki yaad aa rahi hai”. I sneaked to her flat through service entrance (she gave duplicate key), fucked her silently in guest room while husband snored in master bedroom. She cried after coming “Vihaan yeh ghar uska hai… par ab mera sirf aapka hai”.
She started planning pregnancy — stopped pills, tracked ovulation, begged me to cum inside during fertile days “Vihaan is baar pakka pregnant kar do… boss ko aapka baccha chahiye”. The thought of knocking up my married boss terrified and excited me. I filled her multiple times during her fertile window, watched her belly with hope and fear.
January 2026 — husband going to Singapore for three weeks. She booked a private villa in Lonavala for first weekend “team offsite” official reason. Full 48 hours — non-stop fucking, trying new positions from the Kamasutra book she bought, anal finally with lots of lube (she cried in pain pleasure “Vihaan boss ki gaand bhi aapki hai ab”), cum in mouth, face, breasts, choot, gaand. She said Vihaan is baar boss pregnant ho jayegi… aapke bacche se… guaranteed.
I know this will destroy everything — her marriage, my career, society judgment. But when she calls me Vihaan with that voice, spreads her legs on the office desk, begs boss ki choot bhar do — I lose all reason.
This is just the beginning. The fire is burning brighter every day.