Hi, my name is Rahul Bose, and this is the true story of how a simple office job turned into the most thrilling and forbidden chapter of my life. I'm 26, working as a junior software developer in a mid-sized IT firm in Bangalore's bustling Electronic City. The office is your typical corporate setup – glass-walled cubicles, endless rows of computers, a pantry that always smells of instant coffee and microwave popcorn, and conference rooms with whiteboards covered in scribbled code and deadlines. The air is always humming with the low buzz of keyboards typing, phones ringing, and colleagues chatting about project timelines or weekend plans. I come from a middle-class family in Kolkata, moved to Bangalore two years ago for this job, living in a shared PG with two other guys, surviving on canteen food and late-night coding sessions.
It all started when Neha joined our team six months ago. Neha Kapoor, 28, married for three years, but her husband worked in sales and was often traveling, leaving her alone in their small apartment in Koramangala. She was transferred from the Delhi branch, and from day one, she stood out. Fair skin that glowed under the fluorescent lights, long black hair usually tied in a neat ponytail that swayed when she walked, sharp features with full lips often painted a subtle pink, and a figure that turned heads – 36D breasts that strained against her formal blouses, a slim waist accentuated by her tucked-in shirts, and hips that curved perfectly in her pencil skirts or formal pants. She wasn't the type to flaunt it, but in the humid Bangalore weather, her clothes would sometimes cling just enough to hint at the softness beneath. Her scent was always a mix of light perfume – something floral like jasmine – and the faint aroma of her body lotion, which lingered in the air after she passed by.
Neha was assigned as my mentor for a new project – an app development for a client in e-commerce. We had to work closely, often staying late to meet deadlines. At first, it was professional: she'd lean over my shoulder to check my code, her hair brushing my ear, her breath warm on my neck as she explained bugs or optimizations. "Rahul, yeh line galat hai… isse aise karo," she'd say in her soft, slightly accented Hindi-English mix, her voice like a gentle melody amid the office chaos. I'd nod, trying not to notice how her blouse would gap slightly when she bent, revealing a glimpse of lacy bra or the curve of her cleavage. My heart would race, but I'd push it down – she was married, my colleague, and I was just a junior trying to prove myself.
But the tension built slowly, like a code compiling line by line. During lunch breaks in the pantry, she'd sit across from me, crossing her legs in a way that made her skirt ride up just a bit, exposing smooth thighs. "Rahul, tumhare gaon mein kaisa hota hai? Sheher ki life pasand aa rahi hai?" she'd ask, her eyes locking onto mine with a sparkle that felt more than friendly. I'd stammer responses, talking about my family back home, while my mind wandered to how her skin might feel under my fingers. She'd laugh at my jokes, touching my arm lightly, her nails grazing my skin, sending electric shocks through me. "Tum bohot funny ho, Rahul… office mein tumhare bina boring hota," she'd say, her touch lingering a second too long.
One afternoon, during a team meeting in the conference room, the AC was blasting cold, and Neha shivered slightly. Her nipples hardened under her thin blouse, poking through the fabric, and I couldn't help but glance. She caught me, but instead of scolding, she smiled coyly, adjusting her dupatta to cover but not before winking subtly. My face burned, but later in the pantry, she whispered, "Garmi mein bhi thand lag rahi thi na? Tumne notice kiya?" I choked on my coffee, mumbling something incoherent, but her laugh was musical, and she patted my back, her hand sliding down a bit too far, brushing my lower back.
The late nights amplified everything. Our project had tight deadlines, so we'd stay after hours, the office emptying out, leaving just the hum of servers and the occasional security guard's footsteps. The first time it happened was during one such overtime session. It was around 9 PM, the office dark except for our cubicle lights. Neha was at my desk, explaining a complex algorithm, her body close to mine. Her perfume enveloped me, and when she leaned in to point at the screen, her breast brushed my arm. I froze, my cock stirring in my pants. She didn't move away; instead, she pressed a little closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Samajh aaya, Rahul? Ya aur explain karun?" Her hand rested on my thigh under the desk, fingers tracing light circles.
I swallowed hard, my voice hoarse. "Neha… yeh… kya kar rahi ho?" She looked at me innocently, but her eyes were dark with desire. "Kuch nahi… bas help kar rahi hoon. Tumhare husband ko pata chalega toh problem ho jayegi." She bit her lip, her hand sliding higher, brushing my growing erection. "Husband traveling pe hai… aur mujhe company chahiye. Tum de sakte ho?" The taboo thrill hit me – she was married, my senior colleague, but the lust was overwhelming. I nodded, and she smiled, squeezing gently before pulling away as if nothing happened. "Kal phir late rahna… project complete karna hai."
That night, I couldn't sleep, replaying the touch, her scent, the way her body felt against mine. Guilt gnawed at me – what if someone found out? But the excitement won. The next day, the teasing continued: during a break, she "accidentally" spilled water on my shirt, then wiped it with her dupatta, her hands lingering on my chest, feeling my heartbeat. "Sorry, Rahul… kitna careless hoon main," she said, her fingers tracing my nipples through the fabric. In meetings, she'd sit next to me, her knee pressing against mine under the table, slowly rubbing up and down my leg.
By the third late night, the tension was unbearable. The office was empty, rain pattering against the windows, creating a rhythmic backdrop. We were in the conference room, reviewing the final code on the projector. Neha stood up to point at the screen, her saree pallu slipping, revealing deep cleavage in her low-cut blouse. She didn't fix it, instead turning to me with a sly smile. "Kya dekh rahe ho, Rahul? Code pe focus karo." I stood up, my erection obvious, and approached her. "Neha… I can't focus anymore… tumhari wajah se."
She turned fully, her back against the table, eyes locking on mine. "Toh kya karoge?" I didn't answer; I kissed her – hard, urgent, my hands on her waist pulling her close. She moaned into my mouth, kissing back fiercely, her tongue exploring mine. The taste was sweet, like the mango she had at lunch, mixed with her lipstick. My hands roamed up, cupping her breasts over the blouse, feeling their weight, the hardness of her nipples. "Ahhh… Rahul… zor se dabao… itne din se tadap rahi hoon," she whispered, her voice breathy.
I unhooked her blouse slowly, button by button, revealing a lacy black bra that barely contained her 36D breasts. The bra clasp came undone with a snap, and her breasts spilled out – full, round, with dark brown nipples erect in the cool AC air. I took one in my mouth, sucking hard, tongue flicking the nipple, while my hand pinched the other. She arched her back, hands in my hair, pulling me closer. "Mmm… chus lo… meri nipples ko bite karo… husband kabhi aise nahi karta." The mention of her husband fueled the taboo fire – she was cheating, and I was the one making her moan.
Her saree came off next – I untucked it, letting it pool at her feet, revealing her petticoat. My hands fumbled with the string, pulling it loose, and it slid down her legs, exposing her matching black panties, already soaked at the crotch. The scent of her arousal filled the room – musky, intoxicating. I knelt down, kissing her thighs, tasting the salt of her skin, working my way up. She spread her legs slightly, and I pressed my face against her panties, inhaling deeply. "Rahul… wahan… muh lagao… chaat lo mujhe." I pulled the panties aside, revealing her shaved pussy – lips glistening, clit swollen. My tongue traced her slit, lapping at her juices, sweet and tangy. "Ahhh… haan… tongue andar daalo… chato apni colleague ki chut."
I sucked her clit, fingers dipping inside her tight heat, pumping slowly. She bucked against my face, her hands gripping the table edge, moans echoing in the empty room. "Zor se… finger fuck karo… ahhh… cumming ho rahi hoon!" Her body shook, pussy clenching around my fingers, juices flooding my mouth as she orgasmed, her cries muffled by her hand.
She pulled me up, kissing me, tasting herself on my lips. "Ab tumhari baari… mera lund chakhna hai." She dropped to her knees, unzipping my pants, pulling out my 7-inch cock, thick and throbbing, pre-cum dripping from the tip. "Itna mota… office mein sochti thi iske baare mein." Her hand stroked it, then her mouth enveloped the head, sucking gently at first, tongue swirling. I groaned, hands in her hair, guiding her deeper. She gagged slightly but took more, bobbing her head, saliva dripping down my shaft. "Mmm… tasty… zor se muh mein daalo." I thrust lightly, fucking her mouth, the sound of slurping filling the room.
I couldn't hold back; I lifted her onto the conference table, spreading her legs wide. Her pussy was dripping, ready. I rubbed my cockhead against her slit, teasing. "Neha… ready ho?" She nodded, "Haan Rahul… andar daalo… colleague ki chut bhar do." I pushed in slowly, inch by inch, feeling her tightness grip me like a vice. "Ahhh… kitni tight ho… mazaa aa raha hai." Fully inside, I stayed still, savoring the heat, then started thrusting – slow at first, building rhythm. The table creaked under us, her breasts bouncing with each push. "Zor se… haan… chodo mujhe… office mein chod rahe ho… ahhh!"
We changed positions – her on top, riding me cowgirl style. She sank down, grinding her clit against my pubic bone, breasts in my face. I sucked her nipples as she bounced, her moans louder. "Rahul… deeper… haan… cumming again!" Her pussy spasmed, milking me, but I held on. Then doggy – her bent over the table, ass up. I entered from behind, spanking lightly, watching her ass jiggle. "Le… teri gaand kitni mast… thappad marun?" She pushed back, "Haan… zor se… fuck me like your slut!"
Multiple rounds followed – we moved to the chair, her straddling me reverse cowgirl, then back to the table missionary for the finale. Emotions swirled – thrill of the forbidden, guilt of her marriage, but the passion overrode everything. "Neha… cumming… andar hi?" "Haan… bhar do… creampie de do… ahhh!" I thrust deep, unloading ropes of hot cum inside her, overflowing, dripping down her thighs as she climaxed again, body shaking.
We collapsed, sweaty and spent, the room reeking of sex. She kissed me softly, "Yeh hamara secret rahega… lekin late nights continue karenge." And they did – our affair blossomed in stolen moments, conference rooms, even the pantry after hours. The buildup each day – her teasing emails, accidental touches in meetings – led to explosive nights. One time, during a power outage, we fucked in the server room, her moans muffled by my hand. Another, in the elevator between floors, quick and frantic. The taboo thrill kept it alive – she was married, my colleague, but the lust was addictive.
Over weeks, it deepened. She'd confide in me about her unhappy marriage, how her husband neglected her, and I'd comfort her with words and touches. Internal guilt ate at me – what if HR found out? What if her husband discovered? But her body, her moans, her scent – it was worth the risk. We'd extend "meetings" into nights, exploring every position, every fantasy. She'd wear lingerie under her saree for me, stripping slowly in the dim office light, her skin glowing. I'd eat her out on the desk, her legs over my shoulders, tasting her sweetness until she squirted. She'd ride me in the boss's chair, breasts bouncing, whispering dirty talk in Hindi: "Chodo mujhe zor se… meri chut tumhari hai."
One memorable night, during a team outing that got canceled last minute, we had the whole floor to ourselves. We started in the pantry – her bent over the counter, me entering from behind, the microwave beeping in the background like a timer for our passion. Then to the conference room again, where I tied her hands with her dupatta, teasing her nipples with ice from the fridge until she begged for release. We fucked on every surface – the floor, the chairs, even against the window overlooking the city lights, her breasts pressed against the glass as I pounded her from behind, the risk of someone seeing adding to the thrill.
The psychological depth was intense – she'd cry sometimes after, guilty about cheating, but then pull me close, saying, "Tumhare bina nahi reh sakti." I'd assure her, my own guilt mixing with desire. The office became our playground – hidden glances during presentations, her foot rubbing my leg under the meeting table, leading to quickies in the restroom. Once, during a client call, she sucked me under the desk, her mouth warm and wet, me struggling to keep my voice steady.
But it wasn't just sex; emotions grew. Late nights turned into talks about life, dreams, her unhappy marriage, my loneliness in the city. The affair evolved – from lust to something deeper, though we knew it was forbidden. The buildup each day kept the fire burning – her sending naughty pics from her cubicle, me replying with promises of what I'd do after hours.
Finally, one night, as we lay exhausted on the conference table, cum dripping from her, she whispered, "Rahul… I love this… but what if we get caught?" The open-ended climax hung in the air, our affair continuing, the passion unending.
It all started when Neha joined our team six months ago. Neha Kapoor, 28, married for three years, but her husband worked in sales and was often traveling, leaving her alone in their small apartment in Koramangala. She was transferred from the Delhi branch, and from day one, she stood out. Fair skin that glowed under the fluorescent lights, long black hair usually tied in a neat ponytail that swayed when she walked, sharp features with full lips often painted a subtle pink, and a figure that turned heads – 36D breasts that strained against her formal blouses, a slim waist accentuated by her tucked-in shirts, and hips that curved perfectly in her pencil skirts or formal pants. She wasn't the type to flaunt it, but in the humid Bangalore weather, her clothes would sometimes cling just enough to hint at the softness beneath. Her scent was always a mix of light perfume – something floral like jasmine – and the faint aroma of her body lotion, which lingered in the air after she passed by.
Neha was assigned as my mentor for a new project – an app development for a client in e-commerce. We had to work closely, often staying late to meet deadlines. At first, it was professional: she'd lean over my shoulder to check my code, her hair brushing my ear, her breath warm on my neck as she explained bugs or optimizations. "Rahul, yeh line galat hai… isse aise karo," she'd say in her soft, slightly accented Hindi-English mix, her voice like a gentle melody amid the office chaos. I'd nod, trying not to notice how her blouse would gap slightly when she bent, revealing a glimpse of lacy bra or the curve of her cleavage. My heart would race, but I'd push it down – she was married, my colleague, and I was just a junior trying to prove myself.
But the tension built slowly, like a code compiling line by line. During lunch breaks in the pantry, she'd sit across from me, crossing her legs in a way that made her skirt ride up just a bit, exposing smooth thighs. "Rahul, tumhare gaon mein kaisa hota hai? Sheher ki life pasand aa rahi hai?" she'd ask, her eyes locking onto mine with a sparkle that felt more than friendly. I'd stammer responses, talking about my family back home, while my mind wandered to how her skin might feel under my fingers. She'd laugh at my jokes, touching my arm lightly, her nails grazing my skin, sending electric shocks through me. "Tum bohot funny ho, Rahul… office mein tumhare bina boring hota," she'd say, her touch lingering a second too long.
One afternoon, during a team meeting in the conference room, the AC was blasting cold, and Neha shivered slightly. Her nipples hardened under her thin blouse, poking through the fabric, and I couldn't help but glance. She caught me, but instead of scolding, she smiled coyly, adjusting her dupatta to cover but not before winking subtly. My face burned, but later in the pantry, she whispered, "Garmi mein bhi thand lag rahi thi na? Tumne notice kiya?" I choked on my coffee, mumbling something incoherent, but her laugh was musical, and she patted my back, her hand sliding down a bit too far, brushing my lower back.
The late nights amplified everything. Our project had tight deadlines, so we'd stay after hours, the office emptying out, leaving just the hum of servers and the occasional security guard's footsteps. The first time it happened was during one such overtime session. It was around 9 PM, the office dark except for our cubicle lights. Neha was at my desk, explaining a complex algorithm, her body close to mine. Her perfume enveloped me, and when she leaned in to point at the screen, her breast brushed my arm. I froze, my cock stirring in my pants. She didn't move away; instead, she pressed a little closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Samajh aaya, Rahul? Ya aur explain karun?" Her hand rested on my thigh under the desk, fingers tracing light circles.
I swallowed hard, my voice hoarse. "Neha… yeh… kya kar rahi ho?" She looked at me innocently, but her eyes were dark with desire. "Kuch nahi… bas help kar rahi hoon. Tumhare husband ko pata chalega toh problem ho jayegi." She bit her lip, her hand sliding higher, brushing my growing erection. "Husband traveling pe hai… aur mujhe company chahiye. Tum de sakte ho?" The taboo thrill hit me – she was married, my senior colleague, but the lust was overwhelming. I nodded, and she smiled, squeezing gently before pulling away as if nothing happened. "Kal phir late rahna… project complete karna hai."
That night, I couldn't sleep, replaying the touch, her scent, the way her body felt against mine. Guilt gnawed at me – what if someone found out? But the excitement won. The next day, the teasing continued: during a break, she "accidentally" spilled water on my shirt, then wiped it with her dupatta, her hands lingering on my chest, feeling my heartbeat. "Sorry, Rahul… kitna careless hoon main," she said, her fingers tracing my nipples through the fabric. In meetings, she'd sit next to me, her knee pressing against mine under the table, slowly rubbing up and down my leg.
By the third late night, the tension was unbearable. The office was empty, rain pattering against the windows, creating a rhythmic backdrop. We were in the conference room, reviewing the final code on the projector. Neha stood up to point at the screen, her saree pallu slipping, revealing deep cleavage in her low-cut blouse. She didn't fix it, instead turning to me with a sly smile. "Kya dekh rahe ho, Rahul? Code pe focus karo." I stood up, my erection obvious, and approached her. "Neha… I can't focus anymore… tumhari wajah se."
She turned fully, her back against the table, eyes locking on mine. "Toh kya karoge?" I didn't answer; I kissed her – hard, urgent, my hands on her waist pulling her close. She moaned into my mouth, kissing back fiercely, her tongue exploring mine. The taste was sweet, like the mango she had at lunch, mixed with her lipstick. My hands roamed up, cupping her breasts over the blouse, feeling their weight, the hardness of her nipples. "Ahhh… Rahul… zor se dabao… itne din se tadap rahi hoon," she whispered, her voice breathy.
I unhooked her blouse slowly, button by button, revealing a lacy black bra that barely contained her 36D breasts. The bra clasp came undone with a snap, and her breasts spilled out – full, round, with dark brown nipples erect in the cool AC air. I took one in my mouth, sucking hard, tongue flicking the nipple, while my hand pinched the other. She arched her back, hands in my hair, pulling me closer. "Mmm… chus lo… meri nipples ko bite karo… husband kabhi aise nahi karta." The mention of her husband fueled the taboo fire – she was cheating, and I was the one making her moan.
Her saree came off next – I untucked it, letting it pool at her feet, revealing her petticoat. My hands fumbled with the string, pulling it loose, and it slid down her legs, exposing her matching black panties, already soaked at the crotch. The scent of her arousal filled the room – musky, intoxicating. I knelt down, kissing her thighs, tasting the salt of her skin, working my way up. She spread her legs slightly, and I pressed my face against her panties, inhaling deeply. "Rahul… wahan… muh lagao… chaat lo mujhe." I pulled the panties aside, revealing her shaved pussy – lips glistening, clit swollen. My tongue traced her slit, lapping at her juices, sweet and tangy. "Ahhh… haan… tongue andar daalo… chato apni colleague ki chut."
I sucked her clit, fingers dipping inside her tight heat, pumping slowly. She bucked against my face, her hands gripping the table edge, moans echoing in the empty room. "Zor se… finger fuck karo… ahhh… cumming ho rahi hoon!" Her body shook, pussy clenching around my fingers, juices flooding my mouth as she orgasmed, her cries muffled by her hand.
She pulled me up, kissing me, tasting herself on my lips. "Ab tumhari baari… mera lund chakhna hai." She dropped to her knees, unzipping my pants, pulling out my 7-inch cock, thick and throbbing, pre-cum dripping from the tip. "Itna mota… office mein sochti thi iske baare mein." Her hand stroked it, then her mouth enveloped the head, sucking gently at first, tongue swirling. I groaned, hands in her hair, guiding her deeper. She gagged slightly but took more, bobbing her head, saliva dripping down my shaft. "Mmm… tasty… zor se muh mein daalo." I thrust lightly, fucking her mouth, the sound of slurping filling the room.
I couldn't hold back; I lifted her onto the conference table, spreading her legs wide. Her pussy was dripping, ready. I rubbed my cockhead against her slit, teasing. "Neha… ready ho?" She nodded, "Haan Rahul… andar daalo… colleague ki chut bhar do." I pushed in slowly, inch by inch, feeling her tightness grip me like a vice. "Ahhh… kitni tight ho… mazaa aa raha hai." Fully inside, I stayed still, savoring the heat, then started thrusting – slow at first, building rhythm. The table creaked under us, her breasts bouncing with each push. "Zor se… haan… chodo mujhe… office mein chod rahe ho… ahhh!"
We changed positions – her on top, riding me cowgirl style. She sank down, grinding her clit against my pubic bone, breasts in my face. I sucked her nipples as she bounced, her moans louder. "Rahul… deeper… haan… cumming again!" Her pussy spasmed, milking me, but I held on. Then doggy – her bent over the table, ass up. I entered from behind, spanking lightly, watching her ass jiggle. "Le… teri gaand kitni mast… thappad marun?" She pushed back, "Haan… zor se… fuck me like your slut!"
Multiple rounds followed – we moved to the chair, her straddling me reverse cowgirl, then back to the table missionary for the finale. Emotions swirled – thrill of the forbidden, guilt of her marriage, but the passion overrode everything. "Neha… cumming… andar hi?" "Haan… bhar do… creampie de do… ahhh!" I thrust deep, unloading ropes of hot cum inside her, overflowing, dripping down her thighs as she climaxed again, body shaking.
We collapsed, sweaty and spent, the room reeking of sex. She kissed me softly, "Yeh hamara secret rahega… lekin late nights continue karenge." And they did – our affair blossomed in stolen moments, conference rooms, even the pantry after hours. The buildup each day – her teasing emails, accidental touches in meetings – led to explosive nights. One time, during a power outage, we fucked in the server room, her moans muffled by my hand. Another, in the elevator between floors, quick and frantic. The taboo thrill kept it alive – she was married, my colleague, but the lust was addictive.
Over weeks, it deepened. She'd confide in me about her unhappy marriage, how her husband neglected her, and I'd comfort her with words and touches. Internal guilt ate at me – what if HR found out? What if her husband discovered? But her body, her moans, her scent – it was worth the risk. We'd extend "meetings" into nights, exploring every position, every fantasy. She'd wear lingerie under her saree for me, stripping slowly in the dim office light, her skin glowing. I'd eat her out on the desk, her legs over my shoulders, tasting her sweetness until she squirted. She'd ride me in the boss's chair, breasts bouncing, whispering dirty talk in Hindi: "Chodo mujhe zor se… meri chut tumhari hai."
One memorable night, during a team outing that got canceled last minute, we had the whole floor to ourselves. We started in the pantry – her bent over the counter, me entering from behind, the microwave beeping in the background like a timer for our passion. Then to the conference room again, where I tied her hands with her dupatta, teasing her nipples with ice from the fridge until she begged for release. We fucked on every surface – the floor, the chairs, even against the window overlooking the city lights, her breasts pressed against the glass as I pounded her from behind, the risk of someone seeing adding to the thrill.
The psychological depth was intense – she'd cry sometimes after, guilty about cheating, but then pull me close, saying, "Tumhare bina nahi reh sakti." I'd assure her, my own guilt mixing with desire. The office became our playground – hidden glances during presentations, her foot rubbing my leg under the meeting table, leading to quickies in the restroom. Once, during a client call, she sucked me under the desk, her mouth warm and wet, me struggling to keep my voice steady.
But it wasn't just sex; emotions grew. Late nights turned into talks about life, dreams, her unhappy marriage, my loneliness in the city. The affair evolved – from lust to something deeper, though we knew it was forbidden. The buildup each day kept the fire burning – her sending naughty pics from her cubicle, me replying with promises of what I'd do after hours.
Finally, one night, as we lay exhausted on the conference table, cum dripping from her, she whispered, "Rahul… I love this… but what if we get caught?" The open-ended climax hung in the air, our affair continuing, the passion unending.