When My Boss Offered His Wife

“Fuck! YES! TAKE IT!”

My cock is throbbing in my grip as I am fucking with my own fist. My free hand is tearing sheets as my body is arching off the bed, every muscle locked in animalistic tension.

“SIMRAN, Fuck. You’re such a Dirty whore!” I explode out cum. My cock is pulsing, thick ropes of cum are spraying across my stomach.

“Goddamn it. Simran. Ah!”

I collapsed back, my body trembling, my skin slick with sweat. My hand was coated in my release, my chest heaving like I’d just run a marathon.

Whoa… readers, in my bedroom. You here? Hey. I know what you’re thinking. You want to know who this Simran is, right?

This… is my boss’s wife. I just cum like a fucking animal for her, screaming the name of my boss’s wife while jerking off like a goddamn madman. But what if I tell you I didn’t just fantasise about her? I fucked her in reality.

And my boss? He knew that. Strange, right? Almost unbelievable. But life… life is twisted. And what happened with me, Roshan, and Simran was stranger than any fiction.

So, let’s rewind how it all began.

I am Nikhil, 27 years old. I am full of energy and ambition, but I am clueless about how corporate life will shape me. After graduation, I got placed in a reputed company. It is one of those firms where you dress neatly, talk politely, and pray your boss isn’t a monster.

Turns out, my boss was Roshan. And he was nothing like the distorted people warned me about. He wasn’t loud, wasn’t insecure, didn’t waste time in fake shouting to assert authority. Roshan was sharp. A real leader.

Tall, broad-shouldered, always in crisp shirts, the kind of man whose presence made people straighten their backs. But more than that, he was knowledgeable. He spoke with authority, whether it was business, economics, or politics. You just knew, he read, he thought, he lived fully.

At first, I was just another face on his team—quiet, eager to learn, working late hours to prove myself. But then something small changed the equation. One afternoon, I was scrolling through news articles on my phone during lunch. That’s when his voice came from behind me.

“That’s twisted news. The reality is much more complicated than what they show you,” Roshan said. I stood, almost embarrassed. But he sat down casually, picked up my phone, and started explaining the actual context. In ten minutes, he broke down international politics in a way no article ever could.

I was impressed. That was the first moment I remember that began forming my bond with him. From that day, our bond started. Whenever I read something interesting, I’d bring it up.

And Roshan would engage. We spoke about global markets, defence deals, historical events, and things most people in the office didn’t care about. That’s how he noticed me, how I got closer to him.

And slowly, from just a boss, he became more—a mentor, a guide, almost a friend. Almost. Yes, almost friend, because no matter how much he liked me, Roshan was still the boss. That line never blurred.

It was my first Diwali in this firm. It was a festive night. The company had thrown a Diwali get-together at a hotel banquet for all employees and their families. There were bright lights and trays of sweets and snacks moving around.

Everyone had brought their families, which is when I first met her. I spotted Roshan near the buffet, talking to a few colleagues. I walked up and smiled to wish him, “Sir, Diwali wishes. I hope you’re having a good evening.”

Roshan replied with a smile, “Thank you, Nikhil. Same to you”

I nodded politely, and just then he gestured to the lady beside him and spoke, “Nikhil, meet my wife, Simran.”

Me: Good evening, ma’am.

Simran: Evening. You too.

Roshan: Simran. He’s the one I was telling you about. The junior who actually talks sense about things.

Simran looked at me and said, “Oh, I see. You actually speak your mind, then?”

I replied to her with a subtle smile, “I try. Doesn’t always go well.”

Simran: “I saw most people just nod when Roshan talks. You actually question him, ha?”

Me: “Why nod if you don’t understand?”

Simran: “True. I like people who notice, who think.”

I paused a moment, then added casually, “By the way… your outfit looks really nice tonight, ma’am.”

Simran replied with a subtle smile, “Thank you, Nikhil.”

Me: Happy Diwali once again, and have a nice eve.

In the office, Roshan was admired. In social circles, he was respected. Everywhere, he stood tall. But behind closed doors, in his own bedroom, things were shifting. Slowly. Quietly yet painfully.

Their sex life had once been full of fire. Almost every other night, they would end up fuck each other. He was passionate, strong, and attentive. Simran loved him deeply for it.

But over time, that passion faded. Not suddenly but gradually. First, he began coming home too tired. Then, he skipped a fucking session before going to bed. Then weeks passed.

Simran noticed it. He wanted to fuck at first, but he couldn’t. His dick used to fall soft in the middle. That was the first night when it happened. Roshan leaned in, kissing her, trying to get close. She responded to his kiss, too, eager, missing his dick badly. But halfway through fuck, his dick betrayed him again.

He could not even fuck. He froze in embarrassment, and he got frustrated, unable to continue. He pulled away his dick from her pussy, silent. Simran didn’t say anything that night. She touched his shoulder and told him to rest.

Another week, another fucking session. He tried again, but the same result. His dick got soft during a blowjob itself. She smiled, pretended it didn’t matter, but it meant a lot.

I had no idea when all this was happening in their bedroom. I was just living my own life, happy that my boss liked me. Even Roshan was the same—bold, leading from the front.

But in his bedroom, he was losing. Something important was breaking him from deep inside, something that would later change all our lives.

Actually, whatever was happening in Roshan’s bedroom wasn’t natural. His dick getting soft, his inability to perform, none of it was random. None of it was because he got tired or lost interest.

It was Simran. She made it happen. Slowly, carefully, methodically. She had been bored. Does she love Roshan? Yes, deeply, but she also wanted more. She wanted to explore something forbidden, and she had a plan.

Over months, she brought in precise methods after studying them. Anti-androgen medications and neurochemical control were among the major topics. She read, studied, and researched every detail to make it work exactly the way she wanted.

But why was Simran doing this to Roshan? Actually, Simran wasn’t always like this. But years ago, she had an affair. It was just like another extramarital affair.

It wasn’t even serious. It just happened for fun. It was just one time, no one will know about it. At least, that’s what she thought. But Roshan found out that. And the way he handled it defined everything that came after.

He didn’t scream. He didn’t hit. He didn’t drag her parents or threaten her with divorce. That wasn’t Roshan. He was too sharp, too controlled, too… aware of what power meant.

Instead, he looked at her one night, eyes steady, voice calm, and said:
Roshan: “I know, Simran.”

Simran: “Know… what?”

Roshan: “Don’t lie. I know. The messages. The late hours. The slip in your voice. I don’t need proof. I see it.”

Her chest tightened. “Roshan, I…”

He raised a hand. “Don’t explain. Don’t beg. I’m not leaving you. You’re my wife. You’re my world. But things will change.”

And change they did. He tightened the rope, not through brute force, but with control. Precision.
Her phone? Monitored.
Her outings? Checked.
Her conversations? Subtly overheard.

Not once did he shout. Not once did he humiliate her. Instead, he would say, almost tenderly, “I can’t lose you, Simran. You mean too much. But I also can’t let you cheat again. So forgive me if I need to hold you closer. It’s because I love you.”

He kissed her forehead after saying it. And that kiss was more suffocating than a slap. What else could she do? She stayed in line. She nodded. She accepted his watchful eyes, his controlled charm. She promised him that she would never cheat him again.

Outwardly, their marriage looked strong. Loyal. Untouched. Behind closed doors, though, Simran’s hunger still burned. Because the truth is, hunger to fuck was still in her. Not love, but kink. Not an emotional bond, but the thrill of new cocks.

But now, with Roshan’s shadow over her every move, she couldn’t touch that thrill again. She couldn’t step outside secretly. He was too sharp, too powerful, too in control. She didn’t want to cheat him again because she had promised him.

But she didn’t promise she won’t fuck again with another man. There was a difference. So she turned her desire inward. If she couldn’t explore openly and promised not to cheat, then she would bend the rules from within, twist the game, and rewrite the marriage on her terms.

And that’s when the plan began. So, it was not sudden, nor was it a revenge impulse. It was a slow, deliberate thought, “If Roshan gonna controls me like this in my whole life, then my life is over.

I need to do something. I can’t just live with just one filthy dick of Roshan my whole life. I need freedom, and I will get that by breaking him.”

From the outside, it looked normal. He was still strong and authoritative, the same confident boss everyone admired. At home, though, he was losing control piece by piece. His libido felt down, and he was unaware of why that was happening.

The first time it happened, it was late, well past midnight. Roshan was kissing her with hunger. For a few moments, it felt like the old days. She arched into him. His hand slid down to her thighs, parting clit gently. She felt his dick hard, pressing against her pussy.

“Yes, come on,” she said by pulling him closer.

But as he tried to push his dick inside, his cock faltered. The press that should have slid his dick in her pussy, just… slipped, softened. He was frustrated, tried again, holding her tighter as though the force of will could bring it back, hard dick.

“Fuck…” Roshan said. He was lying on his back. His arm was covering his eyes.

Simran rubbed his chest softly, masking her fake smile. “Shhh, it’s okay, you’re just tired.”

He didn’t reply. He was silent. Eventually, he turned away. Simran stared at his back in the half-light.

Then, when she was sure he couldn’t see her face, she allowed the corners of her lips to curl, a faint, secret smile.

The second time, she planned the night.
She had bought lingerie, sheer black with lace edges, a set Roshan had always loved before. When he entered, she leaned against the doorway, one strap off her shoulder.

For a moment, she felt a thrill, not because she wanted him, but because her stage was set.
She walked up to him and pressed his hand against her bare thigh. “Remember how you used to take me right here, against this wall?” she said.

He kissed her fiercely, desperate. Within moments, his cock was hard against her, throbbing into pussy in a standing position.

Simran guided him to bed, lay back with legs open, teasing. “Fuck me like before. Show me you still can.”

He followed. She took a doggy position. He slid his dick inside successfully, gripping her butts hard. For a few thrusts, the old rhythm returned. She made sure to whisper encouragements, “Yes… deeper… that’s it…” to push him further.

And then it happened again. His rhythm faltered. His breathing broke into ragged gasps. She felt him slipping inside her, not because he pulled out but because his cock softened. He froze mid fuck.

“Shit, no…” he shouted while collapsing beside her. He covered his face with both hands, chest heaving. Disappointment was clearly on his face.

Simran didn’t let him finish. She reached down, wrapped her fingers around his softening cock and started sucking with her hand. And there, within a few seconds, he cum with a softer cock itself.

“Oh no, you don’t, lol. Cum with soft dick.” She teased.

Roshan tried to reply, “Simran, I don’t know what”

Simran turned to kiss his shoulder. “Shh! Don’t think too much,” she said, though inside she was biting back laughter.

He turned to her, eyes glistening. Not full tears, but wet enough that she noticed. That sight, this proud, commanding man, reduced to shame. That thrilled her deeper than any orgasm ever had.

She tucked her face into his chest, hiding her expression. Outwardly, she was the caring wife. Inwardly, she celebrated her invisible victory.

The final attempt was worse for him. This time, Roshan didn’t even try to penetrate. Perhaps the failures had scarred him too deeply. Instead, he decided to please her in another way.

He lay her back on the bed, spreading her thighs with shaky hands. His lips pressed against her clit, then slowly moved to her wetness. His tongue flicked, tentative but nervous too.

Simran moaned, not from his skill but from his acting. She had years of practice in acting: a little arch of her back, a gasp at the right time, a sharp intake of breath. It made him feel he was still in control, that he was useful.

But she could feel it, his desperation to make up for what he couldn’t do as a man. He buried his face deeper, licking, sucking, trying to draw pleasure out of her. She gave him moans, even pressed his head down to encourage him.

Inside, though, she wasn’t lost in the act. She was observing. Calculating her next step. Simran’s mindset was like, “Look at you, Roshan. The man who commands rooms was reduced to licking me like a servant. And you think this makes you strong? No. This makes you weaker.”

She climaxed with deliberate drama, shuddering and moaning his name. He lifted his head, face wet, looking at her with relief. She pulled him up, hugged him tightly and whispered, “Thank you… You’re still my man.”

But later, when she lay beside him, watching him drift into sleep, she whispered to herself, “I wanted him to realise his failure through his own hands. That’s more powerful than me saying it.”

Her lips curved into a smile in the dark. The first phase of her plan was complete.

She told me one time, “I held him, guided his hands, and let him touch me with the only motive of letting him feel his inability. I wanted him to realise his failure on his own. He tried, but he couldn’t. And I let it happen exactly that way.”

Through all this, Roshan remained the same commanding, brilliant man at the office. I was still learning from him, still bonding with him. That bond grew slowly, through casual conversations, shared lunches, and small mentorship moments. He was my boss, yes, but also a teacher and a friend in his own way.

When I look back now, it is strange to see this contrast. At work, he was confident, decisive, and untouchable. At home, he was embarrassed and a struggling human.

Despite all this, the more I got to know him, the more I realised how much patience, care, and genuine love he had for her. Despite failure after failure, he kept trying for her, wanting her happiness even when he was not interested.

He controlled her every move. But it’s because he loved her more than anything that makes him so possessive of her.

By the end of those months, the picture was clear. Roshan’s confidence in bed was eroded. Simran’s control was complete. She hadn’t yet started her psychological manipulation openly, but the foundation was ready.

He was embarrassed yet still loving and caring. She was patient outwardly, but inside, she was smiling at the success of her plan. And me? I was still a junior, clueless that soon, I’d be dragged into this twisted triangle.

To be continued.
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