Thanks for the response on the first part. I’m now continuing the second part here.
The fan above Soumya was spinning slowly. It is the only sound in a quiet bedroom. She lay on her back, staring at the cracks in the wall, probably imagining a map of her marriage. The sheets were still wet due to last night’s orgasm.
She had been thinking about her “Bawa” (Telugu people can understand the word). Her phone buzzed as she sensed she was getting a call. She hesitated before picking it up, expecting Suresh’s name. Instead, the screen flashed with an unknown number.
The voice on the other end was bright, rehearsed. “Good morning, Soumya garu! This is Ravali from ADGH Gym. Just following up on your trial session yesterday. We’d love to see you again today.”
Soumya almost hesitated. “Is… is the trainer from yesterday available today?” she asked in a whisper.
Ravali’s giggle crackled through the receiver. “Oh, madam garu, Sharath Sir is the best in business,” she emphasised, the words dripping with unspoken meaning. “He handles all our premium clients personally.”
The call ended, but Soumya’s cheeks became very red. She stood before her wardrobe, staring at the cotton sarees she’d worn for two decades. She moved them around to look for a forgotten salwar kameez that was deep inside, an old dress from her college days.
The dress was slightly tight, and the pants she wore almost exposed her ass. She didn’t like the exposure, but she thought to herself, “small freedoms that I should afford now”
The mirror showed a rather strange but hot woman. A woman who showed off her curves and was not afraid of what anyone thinks.
“This isn’t me”, she thought, even as her pulse quickened. Then, quieter: “But who says it can’t be?”
The salwar kameez felt different on Soumya, not uncomfortable, but unfamiliar, as if she was entering something of a different world altogether. Her beautiful breasts were now clearly seen, especially the shapes through the dress.
Her fingers traced the mangalsutra resting against her boobs, feeling heavier than it ever had.
Ravali’s words echoed in her mind: “Premium clients.” What exactly did that mean? Soumya was now thinking of all that could happen. She was anticipating and was also eager to see what these “Premium clients” could mean. She thought of her husband.
His hands, the way he’d grunt into her ear every fortnight within just a minute or two and then turning over to sleep, never bothering to learn what his wife wants and needs. And here was Sharath, who’d barely touched her, yet left her almost satisfied.
The auto ride to the gym was short, the driver barely glancing at her. The gym’s neon sign buzzed faintly in the morning light. Inside, Ravali leaned against the reception desk, scrolling through her phone.
She looked up, her smirk widening when she saw Soumya’s outfit. “Madam! You look… different,” she said, dragging out the last word.
Soumya asked straight, “Is Sharath the trainer here? Why aren’t there many people in the gym today?”
Ravali’s smirk deepened just as the sound of someone coming took their attention. Sharath strode into view, his sleeveless tank top revealing sweat-filled muscles. Soumya hadn’t fully appreciated it yesterday.
The morning light caught the corners of his abs—not some perfect Greek God but the masculine strength of a man who lived by his body. His veins that run through his sweat-filled hands almost made Soumya’s throat go dry.
“Madam came for special training?” Sharath’s voice was smooth “Is it not right, Soumya garu?” as he wiped his shoulders with a towel, the motion making his biceps flex. Soumya’s gaze darted to Ravali, who was watching this married MILF getting slowly seduced.
“Just… stretches,” Soumya managed, her fingers tightening around her dupatta.
Sharath tossed the towel aside. “Premium members get private sessions.” He stepped closer, and the scent of him she could clearly feel. “No distractions.” His eyes flicked to Ravali as he invited Soumya into the gym.
Through the regular equipment and inside the room where Yoga mats were available, a place where she had gone yesterday, Sharath’s tank top clung to his body, almost outlining his muscular body as he bent to adjust the yoga mat.
Soumya’s breath hitched; she’d seen shirtless labourers in her neighbourhood, but this was different. These weren’t just muscles; they were weapons, she thought to herself. She thought maybe he could lift me. That thought alone made her wet.
“Ever done downward dog?” he asked, almost breaking her thought process. His voice was dripping with excitement at seeing a sexy MILF. Soumya knelt stiffly on the mat, her salwar pants tightening around her thighs. “Just… household chores.” The lie tasted bitter.
Sharath’s chuckle vibrated through the space between them as he positioned himself behind her. His hands—rough from weights but startlingly gentle—pressed against her lower back. “Lift your hips,” he murmured, his breath warm against her neck. “Slowly.”
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The stretch burned in ways Soumya couldn’t name. Her dupatta slid off her shoulders as she arched, the sudden freedom making her gasp. Sharath’s fingers traced her spine through the thin kurta fabric.
“Good,” he said, but the word sounded like a purr. “Premium members get personalised attention.” His thumb hooked under her waistband, just barely grazing skin.
Soumya jerked upright, her pulse hammering. “What is premium membership?” The question tumbled out sharper than intended. Sharath’s smile didn’t waver as he reached into his waistband—Soumya’s eyes widened—only to pull out a laminated price list.
“Full-body conditioning,” he said, tapping the most expensive option. “Private sessions. Flexible payment plans.” His gaze lingered on her mangalsutra. “Husband won’t notice missing a few thousand rupees.”
Soumya’s fingers trembled against the laminated sheet, the numbers blurring before her eyes. “I… I’ll bring the money tomorrow,” she whispered, her voice thin as the dupatta slipping off her shoulders.
Sharath’s smile didn’t waver as he crumpled the price list in one fist. “Why wait?” His knuckles brushed her collarbone, skimming the mangalsutra chain. “Consider today’s session… a sample.” The word dripped like honey from his tongue, sticky with promise.
She should’ve refused. Should’ve gathered her dignity like the fallen dupatta and walked out. Instead, Soumya felt her chin dip in a nod so slight it was barely perceptible. Sharath’s grin widened—the expression of a wolf spotting limping prey.
“Excellent.” His hands clasped her waist, steering her toward the mirrored wall where their reflection warped in the sweat-streaked glass. “First rule of premium membership,” he murmured, lips grazing her ear, “we don’t talk about premium membership.”
His fingers slid under her kurta’s hem, skating over her bare hipbone. Soumya’s breath hitched—not at the touch, but at the realisation she’d worn no petticoat. As if some part of her had known.
Sharath’s grip tightened around Soumya’s wrist as he led her past the mirrored walls, his thumb pressing into her pulse point—a deliberate, intimate pressure that made her knees weak. The corridor smelled of antiseptic and something muskier underneath, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead.
Soumya’s breath came shallow, her bare feet padding silently on the rubber flooring, the absence of her petticoat making her hyperaware of every brush of fabric against her thighs.
“Special room for special clients,” Sharath murmured, his free hand pushing open an unmarked door with a creak. The space inside was dimly lit, dominated by a padded bench that looked more like a medical examination table than gym equipment.
A single ceiling fan spun lazily, casting wavering shadows over the shelves of unlabelled bottles and folded towels. Soumya’s toes curled against the cold floor. Sharath guided her inside, his body crowding her backwards until the door clicked shut behind them.
Ravali’s laughter floated through the thin walls, sharp and knowing. “Another wife about to lose her mangalsutra,” she muttered to herself, the words muffled but unmistakable. The sound of her phone keyboard tapping followed—a text sent, perhaps, or a note added to some private ledger.
Soumya stiffened, but Sharath’s palm slid up her spine, pressing her forward until her hips met the edge of the bench.
“You’re wet,” he observed, his voice low and matter-of-fact, as if commenting on the weather. His fingers skimmed the waistband of her salwar, dipping just beneath to graze the damp skin there.
Soumya didn’t deny it—couldn’t, when the evidence was slick under his touch. Sharath’s smile was all teeth. “Good. Makes this easier.”
“Now, Geetha, here’s a pair of dumbbells. Let’s see how much grip you have,” Sharath said as he gave it to her. It was too heavy, and Sharath deliberately gave it to her.
Geetha took them in her hand; she couldn’t lift her hand and was about to lose it. But luckily, Sharath caught both her arms. He was now holding her palms and lifting them along with her. Doing this, he was behind her neck and was slowly breathing.
The powerful warm air was making Soumya lose her concentration. Her Salwar was almost wet with sweat, but her pussy was wet with something else. The desire to no longer be a loyal housewife but a woman capable of exploring herself.
Suddenly, Sharath slowly laid his lips on her neck. It looked so special for him. He has already banged a few married women, but Soumya was the cherry. She was modest and didn’t appear to be the feminist type who rebelled against her husband. This made his cock stand up, and it brushed Soumya in her ass.
She knows she shouldn’t be here anymore. She shouldn’t let him kiss her neck or let his dick touch her buttocks, but she seemed to have been mesmerised as she was starved of physical touch. She let out a small moan.
Sharath slowly put the dumbbells away and started to give more passionate neck kisses, and then he bit her, which left a love bite.
Her reaction was just a moan, “Ahhh.” Sharath understood it as a green signal and immediately swung her around and put his lips on her. She was taken aback as her conservative husband never kisses her on the lips. But this was somewhat different.
After almost 45 seconds of locking lips, she slowly opened up as her tongue started to get massaged by Sharath’s tongue. Here she was, a housewife and a mom of two, passionately kissing a hunk. She didn’t care anymore, and she felt she needed it.
In no time, they were out of their clothes. Outside, Ravali understood what was going on. So she slowly locked the door from outside and made sure the few people present in the gym didn’t come anywhere near. After all, it was “Special class.”
Inside, Soumya’s pussy was now being eaten by Sharath. She thought to herself how many times her husband denied her the pleasure. And Sharath absolutely loves eating pussy, especially someone else’s wife’s! As he kept eating and chewing it, she had her first orgasm.
All the juices spilt out, but Sharath wasn’t done yet. He took his long dick and positioned it near the pussy, but as he was about to penetrate, Soumya got a call from her husband. She snapped back into reality, pushed Sharath away and put on her clothes.
Sharath tried his best, but she was adamant about going home. She apologised to him.
“I’m sorry, Sharath. I’m a married lady. I can’t do this. You should search for a girl your age and then get married”
“Aunty, please listen…”
“No, Sharath, I sinned. I violated my vows. I don’t know how I can forgive myself. I’m sorry, you’ll never see me here again.”
She tried to unlock the door, and Ravali unlocked it from the outside. As Soumya stormed off, she went inside to check on Sharath.
“Man, I couldn’t bang her today. I was close.”
“She’ll come again, don’t worry. I know how women are,” Ravalli said. “Anyway, Faisal says Radha was trying to contact him again. Shall we invite her over?”
“Absolutely, let’s invite her.”
“Can’t wait for the foursome,” Ravalli said and laughed out loud.
Back home, Soumya just fell on her bed crying and looking back at what she did. While she was consumed with guilt, there was also a tinge of desire. It was a perfect storm brewing inside her.
“I’ll make my husband do all these things. He loves me and will listen to me,” she assured herself, rather naively.
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