S*X IN SAREE |18+

—SOHINI—

The next morning, as ordered, I was at Vedant's office by 6:55 AM. Five minutes early.

My heart thudded in my chest like it was being punished for something too. I waited outside his cabin, scared and utterly alone, but I knew what I had to do.

I had to face him. Apologize. Tell him it was a mistake. Tell him I was married and that if he wanted revenge or to punish me—he could. I'd fall to my knees if I had to. I was even prepared to be fired from the company. Anything—anything to calm him down.

At exactly 7:00, the door swung open.

"You're on time, Mrs. Banerjee," Vedant's voice slithered in, oozing venom and amusement.

"Good morning—sir," I replied, barely above a whisper, forcing a weak smile.

And God, why did he have to look like that?

His hair was still damp, strands curling slightly at the edges. He smelled sinfully expensive—shower gel, musk, and power. His white shirt strained against his chest, two buttons undone, teasing me with a glimpse of that familiar chest. I cursed my memory. I cursed myself for remembering how that chest tasted.

"Mrs. Banerjee. Come here."

He was behind his desk, legs spread, pen spinning lazily between his fingers like a king waiting to pass judgment.

I swallowed hard, walked toward him with shaky, unsure steps. He stood up—tall, towering. I backed up instinctively, but his arm shot out, gripping my waist, pulling me into him.

In a blur, I was on his desk—files scattered beneath me. My saree rustled as he positioned me like I was a document to be signed, sealed, and used.

"W-What are you doing, s-sir?" I stuttered, my hands bracing behind me.

He didn't answer. He kissed me. No, took me—mouth crashing against mine, bruising, punishing. Like he had been starving for this all night.

I moaned into his mouth, my arms circling his neck before I could stop myself.

He pulled back, his eyes blazing.

"Are you ready for your punishment, Mrs. Banerjee?" he whispered, lips brushing my ear.

I didn't answer. He didn't wait.

He shoved my saree up, parting my thighs with practiced ease. My breath hitched.

"Panties?" he asked, glancing down, already peeling them off.

He paused. Smirked. "Shaved? Someone came prepared."

"I—I just like being clean." I lied. Weakly.

He chuckled darkly. "Of course you do."

Then he reached into his drawer, pulled out a small paper bag, and my stomach flipped.

From inside, he revealed a sleek pink vibrator—petite, wicked, vibrating softly like a dangerous secret.

48

Don't ask me how I knew what that was. Marriage hadn't exactly been— satisfying. Three years of cold silence with Ritwik had taught me the art of quiet pleasure—of long showers, whispered moans, and late-night escapism into domination porn.

My lips parted. "Is that a—"

"Vibrator," he cut me off smoothly.

1

Heat bloomed between my legs.

"I know what these do," I muttered.

"Oh, yeah?" He turned it on. The sound buzzed low, threatening.

Then he unzipped his pants.

I gasped.

His cock was already hard—long, veiny, thick. He didn't speak, just grabbed my hand, wrapped it around him.

He wrapped his own hand around mine, guiding the stroke—slow at first, then faster. Hot. Pulsing. Angry.

"Stroke it, Sohini. Just like you imagined while touching yourself in your married bed."

"Vedant—" I whimpered, biting my lip, my body on fire.

"Fuck," Vedant groaned into my mouth as he released onto my palm. The sound of his satisfaction was enough to make my knees weak.

I looked at him, still dazed. Still breathless. He didn't give me a moment.

He took the vibrator, coated it with his release—warm, slippery, sinful—then spread my legs farther apart. I was exposed. Open.

I gasped, legs twitching as he rubbed the slickened toy against my clit. My body jolted from the sudden sensation.

"No lube needed," he whispered.

"Wha—wait—"

He ignored me, without warning, he pushed it inside.

"V-Vedant!" I gasped, nearly convulsing at the foreign pleasure.

"Feel it?" he asked, turning the intensity up. My walls clenched around the toy, my back arched off the desk.

Then, casually, like nothing happened, he pulled my panties back up and tucked in his shirt.

"Now, get me a coffee," he said, wiping his hand with a tissue, voice calm like he hadn't just violated my soul.

I slid off the desk on jelly legs, the vibrator still deep inside, buzzing. My pulse was racing. My cheeks flushed.

I somehow made it to the machine, poured him a coffee with shaking hands.

When I returned, the cup trembled dangerously in my grip. I placed it before him.

"Drink it," he commanded. The usual ritual.

I obeyed, lips quivering as I took a slow sip.

Vedant took a file and dropped it onto the desk in front of me.

"This is today's sales chart. You'll present it at the board meeting."

"M-me?" I squeaked.

He lifted his phone. Pressed something. My eyes rolled back. The vibration inside me intensified, almost cruelly.

"Any questions, Mrs. Banerjee?" he asked, sipping his coffee with a smile that said he owned me.

I clenched my thighs, shook my head.

"Good girl."

******

Vedant sat across the long conference table, that devilish smirk curling on his lips like he owned the damn world—and me. Around us, my colleagues buzzed with casual conversation—Sweta, Karan, my supervisors—but inside me, the vibrator hummed mercilessly, responding to the subtle taps from Vedant's phone.

I clenched the report file like a lifeline. My hands trembled, my thighs tighter than my lips that kept betraying me with tiny, helpless gasps.

I was at his mercy.

And he was utterly merciless.

"S-So, th-this is the overview of the p-profits over the week—" My voice cracked. I bit my lower lip to keep from gasping, my ears burning with embarrassment.

God. Everyone was looking at me like I was on the verge of a breakdown. Or worse—like I was sick.

"The-the net profit is—t-twenty-three percent," I managed, the words slipping out in a whisper.

Vedant tilted his head slightly, eyes glittering. "Come again, Mrs. Banerjee? I couldn't quite hear you."

He was enjoying this. Every second of it.

My breath hitched. "Um—the net profit is t-twenty-three percent."

I turned the page slowly, blinking through the fog of pleasure, trying not to collapse. There were still two pages to go. Ten goddamn slides on the projector.

I winced. The vibration spiked.

"Fuck—" I hissed under my breath.

Too loud. The room fell into silence, gasps echoed like gunshots.

Vedant stood suddenly. "Alright. That'll be all. Meeting dismissed."

"Mrs. Banerjee," his voice cut through the air like a blade, "kindly stay back."

Everyone exited, glancing at me over their shoulders. Was this humiliation his revenge? To make me squirm, whimper, and fall apart right in front of them? It was working. God help me—it was working too well.

I walked up to him, keeping my voice composed. "Yes, sir?"

"Yes—sir?"

"Good job, Mrs. Banerjee," he drawled, mockingly. "I almost felt like giving you a raise."

I rolled my eyes. "How generous."

He picked me up with ease, pressing me against the table, bending me over as if I weighed nothing. My breath caught in my throat when I felt his fingers stroke me—wet, needy. My panties were soaked.

"Or," he whispered against the shell of my ear, biting gently, "I could give you something better than a raise."

He didn't wait. He pulled my damp panties aside, spread my legs, and slid into me—slow, torturous—with the vibrator still inside.

Later, at lunch, I sat in the cafeteria trying to catch my breath, still shaken by what had just happened, my lips swollen from silent moans and bitten restraint.

"Sohini, are you okay?" Sweta's voice brought me back.

"Yeah," Rohan added. "You were— twitchy."

"I-I—was nervous," I said, clutching my fork. "Stage fright. I couldn't—"

"We get it," Sweta cut in kindly, squeezing my hand. "By the way, you said something about knowing the new CEO?"

I cursed myself silently. I had been mad at Vedant last time and clearly overshared.

Sweta leaned in. "You disappeared before I could ask—what's going on between you two?"

"Yeah," Rohan added. "He definitely favors you. Can't he see you're married?"

I forced a smile. "He used to be my tutor when we were kids—our families were neighbors."

"And now he's your boss?" Sweta raised a brow. "Is he in love with you?"

I choked on my water. "W-what? No! He sees me like a little sister."

I hated lying. But I had no choice. I was a married woman—living in the same house as my in-laws, wearing a wedding ring —and sleeping with my CEO in his office.

My phone buzzed.

Vedant: See me in my office. Now.

I stood immediately.

"Where are you going?" Sweta asked.

"Emergency," I muttered and rushed out.

I knocked once, then pushed open Vedant's cabin, breathless. "Yes, sir?"

He didn't look up. "Put the file in the drawer near the door."

I blinked. Seriously?

"Really?" I muttered under my breath. He couldn't get up and do that himself?

"Any complaints, Mrs. Banerjee?" he asked, voice smooth, eyes fixed on mine with that infuriating smirk.

I wanted to slap him. Or strangle him. Or kiss him.

"No, sir. Absolutely no complaints. I'm honored. Blessed." I smiled sweetly, though sarcasm dripped off every syllable.

"Anything else?" I asked, adjusting my blouse.

"No."

I started to leave.

"Wait," he said.

"Yes sir?" I paused, already bracing for the next blow.

"You're flying with me to Paris. Important client meeting. This weekend."

"P-Paris?" My brows lifted.

"Yes. France."

"Okay—" I replied, stunned.

"Absolutely not!" Baba slammed his spoon on the table, during the dinner when I mentioned the Paris meeting. "You're not going to Paris!"

"Wow! So cool!" Mita squealed. "Can we come too?"

"Paris is my dream!" Nita chimed in. "Please take us!"

"I'm not going for fun," I clarified. "It's a business meeting for the company."

"Then you shouldn't go either!" Rita scoffed.

I clenched my jaw. "I'm going for work."

"You're not going!" Baba thundered.

I looked at Ritwik, silently pleading.

He touched my hand gently under the table. "Baba, it's just for a few days. Let her go."

"And who'll cook? Who'll clean? Wash the damn clothes?" Baba argued.

"I'll hire a maid," I offered.

"I don't trust maids."

"Then maybe Rita, Nita, and Mita should help. They're grown up."

"We're not doing anything," the three said in perfect sync.

"I'll do it," Ritwik said firmly. "I'll cook and clean."

"You're a man!"

"I don't care. Sohini's going to Paris." Ritwik raised his voice—louder than I'd ever heard him.

Everyone fell silent.

Baba finally sighed. "Fine. But get me their—what is it? Crescent?"

"Croissant, Baba." Mita corrected, rolling her eyes.

"Thank you—thank you so much." I leaned over and kissed Ritwik's cheek, excitedly. He flushed crimson.

"Aye! What shamelessness, I'm sitting right here!" Baba scowled.

But I was already halfway to my room, pulling out my trolley and flinging it open.

"Paris, here I come."

Unaware of the chaos that awaited me.