I Love Married Woman

Raj sat in a cheap plastic chair by the window of his rented room in Jaipur. He was thirty-four, a guy from a village nearby who came to the city for a job dealing with company tenders.

The room was small—just a cot with a thin mattress, a wobbly table, and a cracked sink in the corner. He'd been there two days, still unpacking his stuff from a torn duffel bag. Sweat soaked his shirt from the heat, and the air smelled like dust and frying onions from the street below.

He'd bought a pair of binoculars from a guy selling junk on the roadside that morning. Now, with the sun starting to go down, he sat by the open window, playing with them. The window looked out onto a narrow street with old houses packed close together. He turned the binoculars, looking at random things—kids running around, a skinny dog digging in trash, a woman hanging clothes.

Then he saw her. Her house was right across the street, maybe fifteen meters away. The bathroom window was open a little, and steam was coming out. Through the binoculars, he saw her—a married woman. She was taken, as he could see a thin gold chain around her neck.

She was naked, standing in the bathroom, her skin wet from a bath. Raj held the binoculars tighter and stared. She wasn't skinny, and he liked that. Her body was full—big hips, a round stomach, and heavy breasts that hung low. Her skin was pale, shiny with water, and her hair was black and wet, sticking to her shoulders and back. She was shorter than him, about five feet four, with thick arms and legs. Her arms had dark hair on them, not shaved, and her legs were hairy too, the black strands wet and flat against her skin. Between her legs, her pussy was covered in thick, dark hair, wet from the bath and whatever she was doing.

She stood with one hand on the wall, the other moving down her body.

Raj watched as her fingers slid through the hairy patch between her thighs. She spread her legs a little, and he saw her pussy lips—pink and wet, peeking out from the hair. She started rubbing herself, her fingers pressing on her clit, moving in circles. Her hips pushed forward, like she wanted more, and she made a quiet sound—a soft moan that floated out the window. Raj's pants got tight. His dick was hard, pushing against the fabric. He unzipped his pants, pulled them down, and grabbed his cock. It was thick and hot in his hand, already wet at the tip.

She was older than him, maybe thirty-seven, but she looked good. Her face was plain but strong—big dark eyes, thick eyebrows, a straight nose, and full lips that opened as she breathed faster. She didn't wear makeup. Her hair was loose, wet strands falling over her face. Her fingers moved faster now, sliding down from her clit to her pussy.

She pushed two fingers inside, and Raj saw them go in, disappearing into the wet, hairy mess. Her pussy was soaked—not just from the bath. She started moving her fingers in and out, fucking herself, while her other hand stayed on the wall, holding her up.

Raj stroked his dick, matching her speed. His hand moved up and down, squeezing tight, the wet tip making it slippery. He kept the binoculars on her, watching her breasts shake as she moved. They were big, with dark nipples that stood out hard. Her arms flexed as she leaned harder against the wall, and her legs shifted, spreading wider. She added a third finger, stretching her pussy open, and Raj saw the pink inside, wet and shiny. She moaned louder, not caring who heard, her voice rough and needy.

Her hips rocked back and forth, pushing against her hand. She pulled her fingers out, rubbed her clit fast, then shoved them back in. Water dripped down her legs, mixing with whatever was coming out of her. Raj's hand sped up, his dick throbbing. He could feel it building, his balls getting tight. She grabbed one of her breasts, squeezing it hard, her fingers digging into the soft skin. Her nipple got darker, and she pinched it, pulling it out. Her head leaned back, her wet hair sticking to her neck, and her eyes closed. Her mouth opened wide, and she gasped, loud and sharp.

She was close—Raj could tell. Her legs shook, the hair on them wet and messy. Her fingers slammed into her pussy, fast and hard, and her thumb pressed on her clit, rubbing it. She moaned again, deeper this time, and her whole body jerked. Her pussy squeezed her fingers, and a rush of wet came out, running down her hand and legs. She kept going, riding it out, her hips bucking as she came. Her breasts bounced, her hairy arms tensed, and her face twisted up, eyes shut tight.

Raj couldn't hold it. His hand flew over his dick, and he came hard, grunting loud. Cum shot out, hitting his shirt, his legs, the floor. It kept coming, thick and white, his dick pulsing in his hand. He panted, chest heaving, and watched her through the binoculars. She slowed down, her fingers slipping out, covered in wet. She leaned against the wall, breathing hard, her hairy pussy still dripping. Her legs wobbled, and she slid down a little, resting there, her hand between her thighs.

The bathroom light went off, and the window went dark. Raj dropped the binoculars on the table, his dick soft now, cum drying on his skin. The street outside was normal again—kids yelling, a bike horn beeping, the dog still sniffing around. Her house looked the same, just another old building with cracked walls and a rusty gate. He grabbed a cigarette from his pocket, lit it with shaky hands, and took a long drag. Smoke filled the room, mixing with the smell of sweat and cum.

He sat there, staring at her house. His heart was still pounding, his mind stuck on her—her hairy arms, her thick legs, that wet, hairy pussy, and the way she'd made herself come. He didn't know her name, didn't know anything about her, but he couldn't stop thinking about it. He'd moved to Jaipur for work, not this, but now she was all he saw. He finished the cigarette, tossed it out the window, and lay on the cot. The fan spun above him, creaking, but he didn't hear it. He stared at the ceiling, his dick twitching again just thinking about her. Sleep didn't come for hours. He kept picturing her, over and over, and knew he'd be back at the window tomorrow, binoculars in hand, hoping for more.