My Husbands Hot Gift

I never thought I’d feel this way again.

Not after years of marriage, motherhood, and routines that left little room for passion. Imran and I were still close—affectionate, respectful. But somewhere along the way, the spark had dimmed. Our love was steady, but our bed had grown cold.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Life just… shifted.

We made love maybe once a month now, out of habit more than hunger. Even then, it lacked something—playfulness, heat, depth. And though we never said it aloud, I think we both missed who we once were to each other.

One night, after one of those rare, quiet moments, Imran joked as we lay tangled in the sheets.

“You’re barely into it these days,” he chuckled, brushing hair from my face.

I laughed softly. “You too.”

“Hmm… Maybe you want young boys now?” he teased.

I rolled my eyes, smiling. “Oh? Do you have one to gift me?”

We both laughed. I thought it was nothing—just married couple banter. Silly words that would float away with sleep.

But I was wrong.

A few nights later, our kids were at my parents’ house for the weekend. Imran came home with a guest—a young man named Razi. He introduced him as a friend. Just a friend. He was tall, fair-skinned, with strong shoulders and a quiet charm. He had the kind of presence that made you aware of your breath.

We sat down for tea, and as I poured, I noticed Razi's eyes flickering over my body. I am Jaseer, late 30s, with a good size breast and back, and I could feel his gaze lingering on my curves. It was subtle, but it sent a shiver down my spine. I met his eyes briefly, seeing a spark of desire there, before looking away, a small smile playing on my lips.

“Thanks for having me,” Razi said, his voice smooth and low.

I felt a blush creep up my cheeks. “It’s our pleasure.”

Imran seemed oblivious to the tension, chatting casually with Razi. But I could feel the undercurrent, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

“We’ll go out for dinner,” Imran said casually. “Less work for you.”

At the restaurant, Razi sat beside me. Imran across. I felt the warmth of Razi’s body, the light scent of cologne, and the brush of his hand against mine when we reached for water at the same time. I didn’t dare meet his eyes.

I felt… something. Something unfamiliar and thrilling.

But still, I had no idea what Imran was planning.

On the ride back, Imran said Razi would be staying the night. I nodded, still playing the polite host, though something tugged inside me.

Once home, I busied myself in the kitchen. Dishes from the day were still piled up. I didn’t expect Razi to walk in.

“Need help?” he asked gently.

I hesitated. “It’s okay,” I said.

But he didn’t leave. He started washing. His movements were quiet, sure. Not a boy—no, he had the confidence of someone who knew the effect he had. I watched him work, and I felt something stir in me. Guilt? Attraction? Hunger? I didn’t know.

Later, I changed into a soft cotton nighty and came out of the shower, trying to still my nerves. Imran then said something that shook me:

“Let him sleep in our room tonight.”

I froze. “What?”

“Just trust me,” he said quietly. “Nothing you don’t want.”

I didn’t reply.

Razi showered next. I gave him a towel, avoiding his gaze. I lay on one side of the bed. Imran on the other. Razi lay between us. I turned away from them both, staring into the darkness.

Then… his hand.

Just resting beside mine. Then a brush. A pause. Another touch. My fingers responded before my mind could. I didn’t pull away. My chest tightened, heart thudding.

He leaned in slowly, cautiously. His breath kissed the back of my neck. I turned.

Our eyes met. And in that moment, I knew—Imran had gifted me not a man, but freedom.

The first kiss was gentle. Testing. My body answered him before my lips did. I glanced past him, afraid.

Imran was watching.

He nodded once. His face unreadable—but not angry. Not betrayed. Just… calm.

That night, everything I had buried—my desires, my loneliness, my longing—rose to the surface like a tide that had waited too long. Razi was tender but unafraid. And I let go. Completely.

He started with soft kisses down my neck, his hands exploring my body with a delicate touch. I moaned softly, feeling his fingers trace the edge of my nighty, pushing it up slowly. His lips followed, leaving a trail of fire on my skin. Imran watched, his breath growing heavier, his eyes never leaving us.

Razi’s hands cupped my breasts, his thumbs circling my nipples until they hardened. I arched into his touch, wanting more. He obliged, his mouth replacing his fingers, sucking gently, then more insistently. I gasped, my hands fisting the sheets, my body writhing beneath him.

He moved lower, his tongue tracing a path down my stomach, dipping into my navel. I could feel his breath on my thighs, hot and inviting. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my panties, pulling them down slowly. I lifted my hips to help him, my heart pounding in my chest.

His fingers brushed against my wetness, teasing me, making me beg for more. He smiled, his eyes meeting mine before he leaned down and ran his tongue along my slit. I cried out, my hands grabbing his hair, holding him to me. He lapped at me, his tongue expertly finding my clit, circling it, sucking it gently.

I was on fire, my body desperate for release. I could feel Imran’s eyes on us, his breath coming in ragged gasps. It only heightened my arousal, knowing he was watching, knowing he was enjoying this as much as I was.

Razi slid a finger inside me, then another, pumping them in and out while his tongue continued its torture on my clit. I was close, so close. He must have sensed it because he increased his pace, his fingers curving inside me, hitting that spot that sent waves of pleasure crashing through me. I came with a cry, my body convulsing, my vision blurring.

But Razi wasn’t done. He moved up, his body covering mine. I could feel his hardness pressing against me, and I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer. He entered me slowly, inch by inch, filling me completely. I moaned, my body adjusting to his size.

He started to move, his hips thrusting against mine, his rhythm steady and deep. I met his thrusts, my body matching his pace. We moved together, our bodies in sync, our breaths mingling. Imran’s eyes were on us, his hand moving under the sheets, pleasuring himself to the sight of us.

The room was filled with the sounds of our lovemaking—the slap of skin against skin, our moans and gasps, the creaking of the bed. It was erotic, primal, and I was lost in it, completely consumed by the pleasure.

Razi’s pace increased, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper. I could feel another orgasm building, my body tensing, my muscles clenching around him. He groaned, his body shuddering as he found his release, triggering mine. We came together, our bodies convulsing, our cries echoing in the room.

We lay there, panting, our bodies slick with sweat. Imran’s hand stilled under the sheets, his eyes glazed over, a satisfied smile on his face.

That night, everything changed. This wasn’t betrayal. This was trust. This was love in its strangest, rawest form.

By morning, nothing was ruined. Nothing was lost.

If anything… I had been found.