"Unexpected Desires: My Steamy Encounter with the Neighbor’s Wife"

 

It all started on a lazy summer evening in Jaipur. The power had gone out again, and the entire neighborhood was wrapped in darkness and silence—except for the faint sound of bangles clinking from the house next door.

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I had just moved back home after years of working in Bangalore. My parents were traveling, and I had the whole house to myself. My only company was the neighbor, Mrs. Meena Sharma—a woman in her mid-thirties, graceful, elegant, and undeniably attractive.

Meena aunty, as everyone respectfully called her, was nothing like the other women in our colony. She had a mysterious charm. Her sarees hugged her body in all the right places, and her kohl-lined eyes always seemed to say more than her words did. Her husband was always away on business trips, and she often spent evenings alone on her terrace.

That night, I was sipping chai when I heard her calling out.

"Beta, can you help me? I think a fuse has blown in my kitchen."

I walked over casually, trying to act unbothered, but inside, I was nervous. Her home smelled of jasmine and freshly made halwa. She led me to the kitchen, her soft silk saree brushing against me as we walked through the narrow hallway. My heart was pounding.

As I bent to check the fuse box, I felt her behind me—close, too close. When I turned around, she was staring right at me, her eyes dark and intense.

"You're all grown up now," she said, her voice low and husky. "Not the little boy I remember running around in shorts."

I smiled nervously. "You haven't changed a bit, Meena aunty."

She chuckled, stepping closer. "Call me Meena. Just Meena tonight."

Before I could respond, she leaned in and kissed me—softly at first, then with a hunger that melted my resistance. My hands moved instinctively, feeling the softness of her bare waist under the saree. She moaned quietly as I pulled her closer, our bodies pressing together.

She led me to her bedroom, her eyes never leaving mine. The room was dim, lit only by a small diya flickering on the shelf. She began to slowly unwrap her saree, revealing a blood-red blouse that barely contained her full breasts and a matching petticoat tied tightly around her waist.

"You’ve wanted this, haven’t you?" she whispered.

I nodded, unable to speak.

She pulled me down onto the bed, her hands running through my hair as I kissed her neck, her shoulders, and finally her heaving chest. Her skin was warm and smelled of sandalwood and desire. I unhooked her blouse, revealing her beautiful breasts—round, soft, and begging to be kissed.

I worshipped her body with my lips, feeling her shiver beneath me. Her moans grew louder, and soon, the petticoat came undone too. She lay completely naked now, her eyes wild with lust.

“Take me,” she whispered.

I undressed quickly and positioned myself over her. She wrapped her legs around me as I slid inside her, slowly, letting the heat build. She gasped, clenching the sheets, pulling me deeper into her.

We moved together in perfect rhythm, her nails digging into my back, her breath hot against my ear. The room filled with the sound of skin against skin, moans, and the occasional creak of the bed. Every thrust brought us closer, and when she finally climaxed, she cried out my name, shaking with pleasure.

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I followed soon after, collapsing beside her, our bodies sweaty and spent.

We lay in silence for a while, the only sound the faint hum of a fan that had just come back to life with the return of the power.

She turned to me, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead.

“No one can know about this,” she said softly, “but it doesn’t have to be the last time.”

I smiled, pulling her close again.

And it wasn’t.