The encounter left Geeta hornier than ever breaking the dams of her suppressed lust and desire and started imagining herself in place of Jasmine sucking on Ryan's dick.
Geeta stumbled forward, her legs weak, her uniform disheveled. Jasmine shifted aside, still stroking Ryan with one hand as she gripped Geeta's wrist with the other. "Sink to your knees, sweetheart. It's easy."
Geeta hesitated—then obeyed.
The first taste of Ryan's dick was salt and power, bitter and intoxicating. Ryan's hand fisted in her hair, guiding her rhythm, and Geeta leaned into it, her earlier disgust melting into hunger. Jasmine watched, her fingers trailing up Geeta's spine. "Good girl," she cooed.
Divya, meanwhile, couldn't tear her eyes away from the scene. Her heart raced, and she felt a warmth spreading through her that she couldn't quite ignore.
Divya fled, her footsteps echoing, but Geeta didn't care. She couldn't care. Not when every moan from Ryan, every approving grunt, lit her nerves like fireworks.
The car rocked gently as their movements grew more urgent, the leather seats creaking under their weight. Jasmine's hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, her nails scraping against his chest as she pulled it open.
The morning sun filtered through the windshield and cast honeyed light over Geeta's flushed skin. Ryan's hands were relentless, slipping beneath her rumpled blouse with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how to dismantle resistance. His fingers found the clasp of her bra—a flimsy barrier—and released it with a practiced flick. Her huge breasts spilled free, heavy and warm in his palms, and he groaned low in his throat, his thumbs circling her nipples with deliberate, maddening pressure.
Geeta's breath hitched, her rhythm faltering for a heartbeat. She tried to focus on the task at hand—her lips stretched around his dick, her tongue working in desperate, uneven strokes—but his touch scrambled her thoughts. Every squeeze, every roll of his fingers over her sensitive nipples sent shocks of heat spiraling down her spine. She hated how her body arched into his hands, how her muffled whimpers vibrated against him, how good it felt to surrender even as shame coiled like smoke in her chest.
"Look at you," Ryan murmured, his voice a dark rumble that reverberated through the car. He tightened his grip on her hair, guiding her deeper, forcing her to take his dick to the balls. "All that pride, and here you are—needing this."
Geeta's nails dug into his thighs, a feeble protest swallowed by the wet, rhythmic sounds between them. She wanted to hate him. But her traitorous body burned under his command, her nipples hardening to aching points under his merciless attention. When he pinched one sharply, she jerked backward with a gasp, tears pricking her eyes—not from pain, but from the raw, unnameable want that clawed at her insides.
Ryan chuckled, wiping her spit-slick lips with his thumb. "You're not as good at hiding it as you think, Geeta." His other hand still cupped her breast, possessive and warm. "But don't worry. I'll take care of you."
The morning sun bathed them in its golden light, the heat of it mingling with the heat of their bodies as they lost themselves in each other. The world outside the car ceased to exist, and the parking lot was nothing more than a blur of motion and sound.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless and disheveled, Geeta collapsed against the car door, her lips swollen and curving into a satisfied smile, her mind hazy. Ryan tucked his dick back into his pants, his smile razor-sharp. "My House. Next Time."
Jasmine's whisper slithered into her ear: "He could ruin you too, you know. And you'd beg for it."
----------------------------
Aftermath
The encounter left Geeta more unsettled than she cared to admit. As she boarded the plane, her mind replayed the scene on a loop—Jasmine's smirk, Ryan's possessive grip, the way his body had responded to her touch. She tried to focus on her duties, but the cabin felt claustrophobic, the hum of engines and chatter of passengers amplifying her disquiet. When a businessman brushed against her hip while stowing his luggage, she flinched, the accidental contact igniting a flash of heat low in her stomach. She gripped her clipboard until her knuckles whitened, but even the crisp fabric of her uniform betrayed her, rubbing against her nipples with every hurried step, every stifled moan from the cabin, sent a jolt of heat through her, a relentless reminder of her own neglected need.
That evening, alone in her apartment, Geeta found herself unable to shake the images from her mind. She lay in bed, her body restless, her thoughts consumed by the memory of Ryan's low groan and the way Jasmine had looked at her—challenging, mocking, daring her to admit the truth.
Her hand drifted lower, her fingers trembling as they grazed the sensitive skin beneath her waistband. She bit her lip, trying to suppress the moan that threatened to escape. But the dam had broken, and there was no stopping the flood of desire that consumed her.
When she finally came, her body trembling with release, Geeta buried her face in her pillow, her cheeks burning with humiliation. But even as the waves of pleasure subsided, the image of Ryan's dark, possessive gaze lingered in her mind—a promise, a threat, a temptation she could no longer resist.
At that moment she thought of Arun Sethi her husband, of the life they had built together—a life of compromises and quiet desperation. She thought of the bills piling up on the kitchen table, of the dreams she had buried beneath layers of responsibility. And then she thought of Ryan—of the way he had made her feel during their sexual encounter this morning, his gaze piercing and knowing as if he could see every secret she had ever tried to hide.
The seed of temptation grew, its roots sinking deeper into her heart.
That night, Geeta stood in her bathroom, staring at her reflection. The woman in the mirror was foreign—smudged lipstick, wild hair, eyes blazing with something feral. She touched the diamond pendant at her throat (a "gift" from Ryan, slipped into her pocket as she'd left) and made her choice.
"Let the world call me a whore—I don't care anymore," she whispered, her voice swallowed by the howling wind that tangled her hair and bit her cheeks. For years, she had stifled every flicker of longing, every pulse of hunger, bending to the venomous whispers of strangers and the cold expectations of those who claimed to love her. But no more. The weight of their judgments still clung to her skin like ash, yet now it felt fragile, ready to scatter.
" From this moment, I'm going to follow my body's desire", she vowed, the words igniting a wildfire in her veins, stepping into the darkness of forbidden desires, the pendant burning against her chest, and didn't look back. At least I'm free and happy.