Slow Seduction – A Steamy Affair with Sandhya | Forbidden Romance & Sizzling Desires

Chapter 1: The Unexpected Reunion

I’m John, a 28-year-old software developer living a quiet, predictable life in Indore. My days were a cycle of coding, coffee, and occasional nights out with friends—until Sandhya re-entered my world like a storm.

We’d known each other since school, though we were never close. She was the quiet girl with sharp wit, the one who’d blush when teased but fire back with a sarcastic remark. Back then, I barely noticed her beyond casual greetings. But life has a way of rewriting history.

After college, she moved to Mumbai for work, and I stayed behind. Our paths crossed only during holidays, when she’d visit her parents—our neighbors. Each time, she’d return a little more polished, a little more confident. The awkward teenager had transformed into a breathtaking woman—petite, with dark, expressive eyes, full lips, and curves that made men double-take.

Still, I never acted on the flicker of attraction. She was just Sandhya—my neighbor, an old classmate. Nothing more.

Then, one evening, she knocked on my door.

I opened it to find her standing there, dressed in a fitted red saree that clung to her 34-30-34 frame, her hair cascading in loose waves. My throat went dry.

"Hey, stranger," she said, holding out a gold-embossed card. "I’m getting married next month. You’re invited."

A strange pang twisted in my chest. Married. Of course she was. Someone like her wouldn’t stay single for long.

"Congratulations," I said, forcing a smile. "Who’s the lucky guy?"

"Rahul. He’s an NRI, works in finance." Her voice was light, but her eyes didn’t quite match the cheer.

We exchanged pleasantries, and she left, the scent of her perfume lingering—something floral, intoxicating. As I shut the door, I couldn’t shake the thought: I should’ve made a move years ago.

Chapter 2: The First Spark

Three months after her wedding, I spotted her on her rooftop one lazy Sunday morning. She was in a loose tank top and shorts, sipping coffee, her hair tied in a messy bun.

"Hey," I called out.

She turned, surprised, then smiled. "John. Long time."

We fell into easy conversation—work, old classmates, the monotony of adult life. But something was off. Her laughter didn’t reach her eyes, and she kept fidgeting.

Then, out of nowhere, she asked, "Can we go out for coffee?"

I hesitated. "Your husband…?"

"He’s in Delhi for work." Her gaze held mine, unflinching. "Just two old friends catching up."

I agreed.

We took my bike, and from the moment she climbed on, the tension was palpable. Her arms wrapped around my waist, her body pressing against my back. Every bump in the road made her grip tighten, her breath warm against my neck.

At the café, over cappuccinos, she dropped the bomb.

"I’ve liked you for years," she admitted, stirring her coffee absently. "Marriage hasn’t changed that."

My pulse spiked. "Sandhya—"

Her fingers brushed mine, sending a jolt straight to my cock. "I know it’s wrong. But I needed you to know."

Chapter 3: The Dinner That Changed Everything

The next evening, her parents left for a family function. She called me.

"Come over for dinner?"

I brought wine and chocolates, playing the part of the polite guest. But the air between us crackled.

We sat on the couch, thighs brushing, exchanging stories that grew quieter, more intimate. Then, as she reached for her glass, her loose T-shirt gaped open, revealing the swell of her breasts—no bra. My mouth went dry.

She smirked, standing. "More wine?"

I followed her to the kitchen, my control fraying. When she turned, I grabbed her wrist, spinning her to face me.

Her breath hitched. "John—"

I kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle. It was hunger, years of suppressed want exploding between us. Her lips parted, her tongue meeting mine as her hands fisted in my shirt.

"I’ve wanted this since college," she gasped.

Chapter 4: No Turning Back

We didn’t make it to the bedroom.

The sofa bore witness to our desperation. I tore at her clothes, exposing her perfect tits—small, firm, her nipples already hard. She moaned as I sucked one into my mouth, her fingers tugging at my hair.

"Fuck me," she begged.

I lifted her skirt, finding her bare underneath. No panties. Jesus.

She rode me raw, her hips grinding down as I filled her, her tits bouncing with every thrust. Her moans were filthy, unrestrained.

"Harder," she demanded, nails digging into my shoulders.

I flipped her onto her knees, taking her from behind, spanking her ass as she arched back. The sounds—skin slapping, her whimpers, the creak of the sofa—drove me wild.

We moved to the bed, then the shower, exploring every fantasy. Spooning, teasing, waking up to her lips wrapped around my cock the next morning.

Chapter 5: A Secret Ritual

This became our routine whenever she visited. Two years of stolen moments—quickies in her childhood bedroom, lazy afternoons in hotel rooms, heated whispers in my car.

We were careful. No emotions, just pleasure.

Then, she got pregnant.

"It’s Rahul’s," she assured me. "We’ve been trying."

A month later, she moved to the US.

Our last night together was bittersweet. She rode me slowly, her eyes locked on mine, memorizing every touch.

"I’ll miss this," she whispered.

I kissed her deeply, not trusting myself to speak.

Epilogue

Years later, I still think of her—the way she moaned my name, the taste of her skin, the forbidden thrill of our affair.

Was it wrong? Maybe.

But damn, I’d do it all again.