I am Amaaya, Few of you know me already and admire me, I could say that this is my confession.

I live in Dubai, with my husband, Navish basically we belongs to City Chandigarh in North India. We married Six years ago, since our marriage day, we are still in same love & passion for our relationship. In many ways, our life in the Avenue was idyllic. I worked as a Duty Manager in very reputed Hospitality Group well known international brand. We work hard, we spent our evenings at the movies, or curled up on a sofa together. We could afford long holidays, we gardened, attended charitable functions. Sometimes we went to see LIVE baseball games, Cricket sometimes we took in a show.

Life is always perfect for me. Well, almost perfect. There was one thing that nagged at me, one little persistent, consuming, burning itch that I longed to scratch. It was something that I didn’t dare share with anyone before marriage after some time of marriage I shared it with Navish.confession

After our first incident of swap which was actually happened incidentally. Nothing was planned or decided till that time about this lifestyle.
One night I had drunk too much, we were in bed, all of sudden I had slipped out of my panties while Navish was in the bathroom and had been stroking myself, teasing my nipples, my clit, with my fingers and feeling like such a naughty, filthy, wanton slut. So I told him. When he came out of the bathroom, with just a towel wrapped around him, I told him my dirty secret. I told him I wanted to see him fuck another woman, in our bed. I just blurted it out.
He was silent. I could hear my heart thudding. Then he smiled. He came and sat on the bed, kissed me full on the lips, and then nodded.
“That would be fun,” he said.
The next morning I asked him if he remembered what I’d told him. His wicked grin told me that he had. At first I was ashamed and embarrassed, but he held my hand and said that he was honored that I had felt able to share something so personal and that he loved me. And after all, I told myself, it was just a fantasy. There was nothing wrong with fantasy.
So I got over my embarrassment, and for a few days, the relief of unburdening myself was glorious. It felt so naughty, so wicked, and so transgressive. I had bared my innermost desires, exposed them to the man I love and he hadn’t flinched. I felt like the kind of dangerous, disreputable girl I had always fantasized about being, but at the same time it also felt as though I had found a new level of love and intimacy with Navish.
That feeling would only grow deeper the following Saturday, when Navish, after three whiskies, took my hand as we sat on our bed and told me that it would be hot if I was with another man. It was dark in our room when he said those thrilling, dangerous words, and I saw the fear in his eyes, his fear that I might be horrified. But I wasn’t horrified. Not at all. Though I had never really thought about it before, the idea stirred something in me. Yes, I wanted that too somewhere, after our first encounter in lifestyle it was hitting me somewhere inside to try it again.
Navish told me that he loved it when I moaned and gasped with pleasure and he wanted to see me like that again which all happened in our first encounter, with another man, like I was starring in an erotic film. He wanted me to gaze into his eyes as I was fucked by an our close friend. The way he described it was so hot. I asked him to tell me again and he did, embroidering the fantasy with all kinds of erotic talk, dirty words, wild ideas, all of which sent shivers of pure lust through me.
We made love that night, as passionately as we ever had, at least, before we met the Porters. Three, four, maybe five weekends in a row, we got drunk together and told one another all about our dirty secret fantasies, embellishing the stories with ever more outlandish ideas, until we had driven each other wild and then we would fuck over and over until we were exhausted.
Over the weeks, the heat of that passion grew less intense. We spoke of it less frequently, and the novelty and thrill of being open about it faded. But the itch that feeling remained. That didn’t fade. It was always there, whenever I touched myself, whenever Navish touched me, whenever I closed myself and surrendered to the all-consuming fire of my orgasm. The thought of Navish and another woman and me watching, sitting naked at the end of the bed as he fucked another woman, sensing their sweating, glistening bodies as he made her scream. Oh I wanted that so much.
I’m not sure where it came from. I guess a skilled psychiatrist could plumb the depths of my subconscious and drag out the truth, but I didn’t really care. All I knew was that the thought of Navish with another woman, a hot woman, a beautiful, sexy, gorgeous woman, was both frightening and gloriously exciting. Perhaps it was the forbidden aspect. That isn’t how it is supposed to be. A woman is supposed to be jealous of her husband’s affection. Perhaps it was that risk. What if he enjoyed having sex with her more than me?
The risk that he would leave. The risk that I would lose everything. It was partly that, but it was also the idea of watching it, watching Navish being passionate, the writhing limbs, the forbidden, transgressive sex in our bed.
But after a few weeks, Navish stopped referring to it, and as we had never got round to working out how to arrange it, I resigned myself to it remaining as just a glorious fantasy.
One Saturday night, I slipped into my tightest black party dress – my only black party dress – which was much shorter than I remembered. As I tugged at the hem to try to pull it down at least over my mid-thigh, Navish came into the bedroom and whistled.
“Is it too much?” I asked
“It’s perfect,” he replied, patting me on the ass and kissing me on my neck, which sent a little tingle of Pleasure all the way through me. Suddenly Door bell rang, I went to open the door and saw Navish’s previous boss & his wife were standing at the door.
I welcomed them inside, after some time Navish brought two bottles of expensive wine with them, They were older than us, maybe late thirties, but both obviously worked out. Michael (Navish’s Previous Boss) was tall, greying a little at the temples, but square-jawed with big shoulders and a wide, welcoming smile. I found myself blushing a little the first few times he turned the smile on me, like a nervous girl at a high school dance.
Anna (Michael’s wife) was a little taller than me, with short dark hair, but the kind of body that I have always been envious of. Curvy to the point of being overtly sexy, her breasts heaved in a tight red velvet dress, and she swayed when she walked. Her sparkling smile was kind of captivating too, and it was obvious that Navish was having trouble not staring at her chest whenever he looked at her. I didn’t mind that. I thought it was cute, and told myself I would tease him about it later.
Dinner went well. They both were good company, charming, but not showy. They talked about their holiday home in Bosnia, their wedding, and both had a store of anecdotes from their previous lives.
Michael had been a footballer, while Anna had done a little modeling. The wine was flowing and the conversation was easy when Michael asked if we’d like to play a little poker.
As it happened, we had played quite a lot while we were in college, and the idea sounded fun. Navish dug out some old poker chips from the back of the wardrobe, I cleared away the plates and soon we were sitting around the dining table playing a little Texas Hold ‘Em.
Navish, Michael and I were playing pretty well, winning our share of hands, but Anna, who seemed to be drinking a little more than the rest of us, was soon down to her last chip. When she turned over a pair of Kings and I showed three twos, she laughed and pushed her chip across the table to me.
“I guess I’m done,” she said, laughing, casually resting her hand on Navish’s arm. He was a little flustered, which I thought was so cute. I smiled across the table at him and he smiled back, before blushing and looking at his cards.
“Oh now, we can let you stay in. But you have to offer a little something,” said Michael, dealing the next hand. Anna looked at him with a smirk.
“Oh really? And what did you have in mind?”
Michael smiled and said nothing.
“Well I don’t have any valuable jewelry to play with, so I guess I’ll just have to strip,” she said, pouting a little.
I think for now I should stop it here will continue it in my next blog after getting response from all of you, if really you wall like to read the next part as continuation….

With love Amaaya





  2. You should already have written the next part. Please don’t leave us hanging here. The story in itself is griping. Your writing makes it more intense. Please release the next part ASAP



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