Silent Desire
Copyright© 2025 by Manofforbidden
Chapter 3
True Story Sex Story: Chapter 3 - He’s always drawn to the forbidden — a married woman who lives downstairs stirs him. Patient and relentless, he starts a slow, deliberate seduction, breaking through her walls. In this dance of desire, he tempts her to surrender, even as guilt and consequence weigh heavily between them. Codes will be added as the story progress.
Caution: This True Story Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Reluctant Heterosexual True Story Cheating MaleDom Indian Male Indian Female Oral Sex Petting Indian Erotica
We suddenly heard her baby cry. In that moment, reality came back, the place we were in, the hour, the danger. The fact that her husband was there.
Ramya turned toward her door, listening to the baby’s cries. Then she looked back at me, her expression a mix of emotions: apology, guilt, and longing.
I nodded silently and gently slid her nightie back up over her shoulders. Her eyes followed the motion, and suddenly she seemed to realize the position she was in. She looked down shyly, gathered her dress around her, and avoided my gaze.
I stepped back to give her space.
She moved toward her house slowly. Just before reaching the door, she paused and turned around. We stared at each other in silence. Then she turned and disappeared inside, quietly closing the door behind her.
I stood there for a while, my breath still uneven, and the night’s silence suddenly became louder. Slowly, I made my way back upstairs.
It was 1:00 a.m. We’d been down there for nearly half an hour. I hadn’t even noticed the time passing.
Sleep didn’t come easily after that. I lay in bed, eyes closed, thoughts racing. What just happened? What did it mean? What was she feeling? I rushed things? Would she act like nothing had happened in the morning? Would she ignore me or regret it?
At some point, lost in those thoughts, I drifted off.
When I opened my eyes again, it was around 8:00 a.m.
After finishing my morning routine and taking a bath, I stepped out onto the balcony to get some sunlight and fresh air. My mind was still spinning with questions: how to face Ramya today, what might she say or do.
Just then, I heard a dog barking on the street below.
I looked down.
There she was, the chubby neighbor girl, crouched beside her scooter, washing it again. It seemed to have become her weekend habit. Because of my parents, I rarely came out during weekends, so I hadn’t seen her much recently.
Today, she was wearing the same black T-shirt and shorts she’d worn the first time I noticed her. She was washing her bike, sitting on a low stool. Hearing her dog bark, she looked up, scanning the street. Finding no one, she let her gaze wander and suddenly looked up and saw me.
I was already looking at her, and I didn’t shift my gaze. I just stood there, watching her. She met my eyes for a brief second and smirked lightly before going back to her work. Then she stood and moved to wash the other side of the bike.
Even though I had been with single girls before, it was always the married ones who held a different kind of pull. There was something about them, maybe the boundaries, the danger. She looked unmarried, but the way her body moved, the first day’s show of her cleavage and that accidental flash of her ass crack came back to mind. And I found thought, let’s see what she’s doing now.
She bent forward again, her back to me, and once more, I got the same view, her shorts low on her hips, the curve of her backside and crack visible. I stood there silently, unmoving, just watching.
Then, without warning, she turned her head slightly and looked back.
My gaze moved from her ass to her face. She didn’t react. Just looked at me. And I didn’t look away.
We kept eye contact for a second longer. Then she turned back and resumed washing the bike.
It was the first time I looked at her shape. Slightly on the heavier side—chubby around the midriff, with big thighs and large breasts. She was an average-looking South Indian girl, dusky-skinned, with no special expression. Her movements were deliberate, like she knew I was watching. Her breasts and stomach jiggled subtly as she moved. Coupled with the unreleased tension in me from the night before with Ramya, I felt a familiar stir under my shorts.
She struck me as the kind of girl who knew how to tease a man, without a word. She moved like someone who had noticed she was being watched and decided to keep it up. Aloof, but not unaware.
Still, my mind was elsewhere. Ramya’s reaction, her silence, was what was going on in my mind. This girl was just a small distraction. I didn’t let her show affect me too much, and I stayed standing, outwardly uninterested.
Then I heard the gate opening downstairs.
I leaned over slightly, thinking it might be Ramya.
But it was her husband.
He looked toward the girl. She noticed him and immediately shifted her posture, straightening, toning down her body language. Then he looked up, saw me standing there.
I froze, caught up like I’d been watching something I wasn’t supposed to.
He smiled knowingly.
“Come for lunch. I’m getting fish and chicken,” he said.
“Uh ... okay,” I replied, caught off guard.
He nodded, glanced once more at the girl, then walked away, still smiling as if there were some unspoken secrets between us.
If only he knew ... I thought, my mind shifted instantly.
Ramya must be alone downstairs now.
I stood there, uncertain.
What should I do?
Should I go?
Would she talk to me? Would she cut me out completely?
I hesitated, breath shallow. The thought of last night hadn’t left me.
Taking a deep breath, I decided to go and check.
I slowly came down the steps, one at a time, expecting to see her at the bottom as usual.
But she wasn’t there.
Disappointed, I walked to her door and leaned in for a peek.
Her baby was sleeping on the small bed in the hall. But she wasn’t there, no sign of her. Maybe she had gone to the shop, I thought, and turned to leave.
Just then, I heard a door creak open.
I turned back and saw her stepping out of her bedroom, wearing a saree.
I froze.
It was the first time I’d seen her in a saree. And I couldn’t look away.
Her hair was wet; she’d probably just taken a shower. She looked up and caught me standing there, clearly startled. Her eyes darted around, searching, likely to check if her husband was nearby.
Then her gaze returned to me. Wide-eyed, uncertain. She stepped slowly toward the door, an unspoken question in her expression.
I didn’t know what to say. I had come here just to read her face, to see how she would react after last night. But seeing her now, in a saree, her bare waist peeking through, I lost my words.
I looked away briefly, my eyes lingering on her midriff before I forced them back up to meet hers. She noticed where I’d looked. But she didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
I waited for some signal from her. A reaction. Anything.
There was nothing.
I took one small step forward, toward the threshold of her door.
She shook her head gently, clearly enough. No.
I tilted my head slightly, confused. She stepped closer now, and we stood just feet apart. Silence stretched between us. Her eyes were unreadable, steady, but not distant.
I decided to test the moment. I took another step towards her.
Again, she backed away.
Still not knowing what to do, I reached out and took her hand, firmly but gently, pulling her toward me.
I blocked her path, backing her into the frame of the door. Pressing my body lightly against hers, I felt her shift, resisting, buckling slightly, trying to break.
Then I brought my hand to her waist. Her skin was soft and warm under my fingers. My palm rested on her bare stomach for the first time.
She stopped moving.
I ran my hand gently across her waist. She let out a soft gasp, a moan that escaped before she could stop it.
I leaned in, my lips nearing hers.
“No ... stop,” she whispered.
I halted immediately, searching for her face for clarity.
She met my eyes. “He’ll come.”
Relief and guilt hit me, not rejection, not anger, just fear. Fear of being caught.
I nodded, understanding.
Slowly, I stepped back, letting go of her waist, the heat of her skin still lingering on my fingers.
I went out and started cleaning my bike. About ten minutes later, her husband came along.
He glanced at the girl as he walked past, then looked back at me with a smile.
I just chuckled and continued getting my bike ready.
“I bought fish and chicken,” he said.
“Okay,” I replied, mounting my bike.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Hmm ... to have breakfast,” I said reluctantly.
“What? Why go out to eat?” he said, as if I’d made some mistake.
I just stared at him blankly.
“Ramya,” he called suddenly.
“Yes?” she came over, curious.
“Make some breakfast for us. He’ll join too,” he said, deciding for me.