My wife and her lover : Part 3 (with video)

Giving in to the sinful temptation

Keerti sat on the edge of the bed in one of her longer nightgowns, hands clasped tightly in her lap. She’d agreed, but only after an hour of quiet arguing and me promising we could stop the second she wanted to. Her eyes kept flicking toward the door.

“I still can’t believe I said yes,” she murmured. “I’ve never even kissed anyone else before that night in the car. And now…”

I sat beside her and took her hand. “We can still call it off.”

She shook her head, slow. “No. I… I keep thinking about it. About him. And about you watching. It scares me how much I want it.”

The doorbell rang.

Owais stepped in looking slightly nervous himself — mid-divorce, still wearing the same dark shirt he’d had on earlier. He nodded at me, then looked at Keerti with something softer than pure hunger. “You sure about this?” he asked her directly.

Keerti’s voice was small. “I’m sure.”


The moment Owais arrives



We moved to the bed. I kissed Keerti first — slow, familiar — while Owais sat on her other side. His hand rested lightly on her thigh over the fabric. She trembled, then opened her mouth under mine. When I pulled back, Owais leaned in and kissed her. She made a soft, broken sound and kissed him back, one hand gripping my shirt like she needed the anchor.

The emotional tension was thick. She kept glancing at me between kisses, checking. I nodded each time. That seemed to unlock something in her. Her nightgown slipped off one shoulder. Owais’s hand slid higher. She moaned into his mouth and arched into the touch.

First shared touches



Clothes came off slowly. Keerti was shy about it — she kept one arm across her chest until Owais gently moved it and kissed the skin he’d uncovered. I watched her eyes flutter shut. The contrast between the conservative wife I’d married and the woman now lying between us was stark, and it hit me hard.

When Owais settled between her thighs, she reached for my hand and held it tightly. “Stay right here,” she whispered.

“Look at me.”

I stayed. She never looked away from me while he pushed inside her. Her mouth fell open. A tear slipped from the corner of one eye — not from pain, but from the sheer intensity of being watched and filled at the same time. She came quickly the first time, clutching my fingers, gasping my name even as her hips rose to meet Owais’s thrusts.


Keerti between us





Later she turned toward me, still trembling, and pulled me closer. Owais moved behind her. She guided me into her mouth while he entered her again, and the dual sensation made her moan around me. The sounds were wet and desperate. She kept one hand on my thigh, grounding herself, while the other reached back to grip Owais’s hip.

The emotional undercurrent never fully left. Between orgasms she would pause, rest her forehead against mine, and whisper, “I’m still yours,” even as Owais’s hands moved over her body. I believed her. The way she looked at me — raw, exposed, almost grateful — made the jealousy and the arousal twist together until they were the same thing.
By the time both of us had finished inside her (me first, then Owais, with her begging softly for it), she was boneless between us. We lay in the quiet afterward, her head on my chest, Owais’s hand resting lightly on her waist. No one spoke for a while.

Keerti was the one who broke the silence, voice hoarse.

“I didn’t think I could do that,” she said quietly. “But… I want to do it again.”

I kissed the top of her head. Owais stayed silent, respectful in the afterglow.


Afterglow