π It started with a window… and ended with a secret we still keep. I had just moved into our quiet neighborhood in Ohio, USA — where people mow their lawns on Sundays and smile at each other from across the street. Everything looked “perfect”… until one night I caught my husband staring through our bedroom window, fixated. “What are you watching?” I whispered. He jumped. “Nothing… just checking the blinds.” But curiosity killed me faster than guilt. I pulled the curtain slightly… and there she was — our new neighbor, in her early 30s, brown curls, gym shorts… and no bra. I should’ve been angry. But instead, something inside me switched on. That night, instead of fighting… we ended up in bed, hotter than we’d been in months. My mind kept going back to her. And the next day? I saw her smiling at me from across the lawn — like she knew. ⸻ π The Night That Changed Everything Two weeks later, she knocked. “Your husband left his package in front of our door,” she smirked. “But I ...
I was 24 when I moved into that small rented apartment in Delhi. It was the cheapest one I could find near my office, but what I didn’t know was that I’d be living below someone unforgettable — my landlady.
Mrs. Kapoor.
She was in her late 30s, a confident, curvy woman with a seductive smile and an aura that made my stomach twist every time she spoke to me. Her husband worked abroad, and she lived alone in the upstairs portion. Every now and then, she would invite me for tea or dinner, always wearing something comfortable… too comfortable.
That night, I had just returned home late from the office. I was surprised to find my door slightly open. As I stepped inside, I saw Mrs. Kapoor standing in my kitchen.
“I hope you don’t mind. I saw the lights off and wanted to check,” she said, turning to me with a mischievous smile.
She was wearing a satin nightgown — thin, hugging her body, her cleavage peeking with every breath. I froze.
“No, not at all,” I stammered, suddenly hyper-aware of my own heartbeat.
She walked up to me and placed a glass of milk on the table. “You look so tired… I thought I’d take care of you,” she said, gently touching my arm.
I swallowed hard.
She looked into my eyes — long, deep, bold.
“Can I ask you something?” she said, stepping even closer. “Have you ever thought about me… differently?”
My mouth went dry. I couldn’t lie. I nodded slowly.
She smiled… and whispered, “Good.”
In the next second, she grabbed my shirt collar and pulled me in, kissing me deeply. Her lips were warm, hungry. I responded, my hands wrapping around her waist, feeling her curves, her softness. She moaned gently, pressing her body against mine.
Within moments, our clothes began to fall away. The kitchen counter became our stage, the soft light from the fridge casting a glow on her bare skin. I kissed her neck, her breasts, her stomach — exploring every inch of the woman I had fantasized about for months.
She whispered dirty things into my ears, things I had never imagined she’d say. Her fingers dug into my back as I took her, right there, surrounded by the aroma of chai and heat.
We collapsed on the couch after, breathless, sweaty, tangled in each other.
“I’ve been watching you for weeks,” she said. “I knew you wanted me. Tonight, I just decided not to wait anymore.”
I smiled. “And now?”
She kissed me again. “Now, you’re mine.”
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