Desi Sex Stories Previous Part: Meeting a Writer who wanted the Real Thing – Part 1
Sheryl found me through the stories I published on this site. She turned out to be the younger sister of my school batchmate turned doctor.
We met at a nearby cafe. She told me that she writes stories for web series. Even took me to the shoot. Over there, under her desk, I gave her the ppt-to-pussy style treatment while she sipped beer and worked on her laptop. She asked for it! We had a great time, enjoyed ourselves, and laughed a lot.
Chapter 2: A Chocolate Ended Everything!
Over the next week, I couldn’t tag along with her. Office had decided to remind me that I actually have a job, and the kind that doesn’t care if a cute writer needs moral support. One day my phone rang. It was a call from Sheryl.
Sheryl: Pratty, why are you so busy? I need you. Can’t you spare one day for me?
Me: Sheryl, this week is a proper mess. Maybe next?
Sheryl: I don’t feel good at work these days. If you were with me, I’d at least get some moral support.
Me: Why? What’s going wrong?
Sheryl: Everything! They’re changing the script. That’s not how I wrote it. They’re turning it into something else entirely.
Me: That’s bad.
Sheryl: I know, right? The audience is going to hate it.
Me: Fine. I’ll sort the office. When do you need me? Today?
Sheryl: We don’t have anything today. On Saturday, can you take out some time?
Me: Saturdays and Sundays are weekly off for me. You have me for the whole day. Consider me booked.
Sheryl: I can’t thank you enough. See you.
She hung up. I stared at the phone and muttered to myself that I don’t want her thank you. I want my dick to get into her pants. It’s a simple equation!
And I also knew that if I didn’t make something happen that Saturday, it might never happen. So I needed a plan that was foolproof. Something that would make saying no feel impossible or very foolish at her end.
I thought about it for a while. Then the idea arrived, as if gift-wrapped. Years ago my company sent me onsite to the US. I had these special chocolates with me. A female colleague ate one, thinking it was normal dark chocolate.
If you’ve read that story, you already know the chaos that followed. That time it was an accident. I hadn’t even meant to give it to her. This time I would hand it over myself, with full intent.
I got the same kind of chocolate. Square, roughly the size of my palm, diagonally scored so you could break it cleanly in half. Perfect for sharing between consenting couples.
Saturday morning I met her. She was wearing a red-and-white checked shirt with a couple of buttons open, a white tank top underneath, slight cleavage visible, black baggy side-pocket jeans, hair stuffed into one of those elastic bandannas. She looked properly sexy in her own way.
We went to the mall at first since we had time to kill in the morning. Had some snacks in the food court. She finally started unloading everything she had been keeping in her head.
Sheryl: I haven’t pushed back on the script changes so far.
Me: This is completely unfair, and today is the day you should raise your voice. I am with you for this.
Afternoon, we reached the set. Same hall, set built and ready for the shooting. We sat in our usual corner, and she started the running commentary like always, pressing her boobs on me. Perfect opening!
I pulled out the chocolate and offered it. I was about to snap it in half when she just took the whole damn thing, shoved it in her mouth, and started chewing. She talked to me with her mouth full. Chocolate smeared on her teeth and lips in no time.
Sheryl: Thanks, Pratty. I love dark chocolates.
Well. There went away the sharing plan!
She started talking about how she had actually written the story.
Season one: girl meets boy, he asks her out in the last episode.
Season two: she says yes, introduces him to her parents. They eventually don’t agree to their relationship.
Season three: they run away, rent a flat in Mumbai, and start living together. The girl’s parents find out and insist on meeting her to verify that. This season was being filmed right in front of us. But not as per what Sheryl wrote. The whole season is supposed to be a comedy of errors.
What we were watching on set was a different planet. Same actors, same names, completely different characters.
The heroine who was meant to be a regular corporate girl was now an office slut wearing glittery crop tops, flirting with every possible male in a ten-meter radius.
But her parents visit? Vague mentions only. Then her childhood friend moves in uninvited.
Suddenly the flat becomes free accommodation for every homeless friend in the city. Co-living chaos! And to make it worse, one of the new flatmates is a lesbian. Because of course, that’s the required masala to make any web series run better these days!
Sheryl: I don’t understand why these guys want to make a very cheap version of the FRIENDS series. They’re failing miserably at it. I’ve had enough!
Me: Follow your instincts. Now is the time to make yourself heard.
She ended up having a full-blown fight with the director. Voices raised, middle finger pointed, whatnot. She stormed out of the hall and called me to come with her.
The director just yelled behind us that Sheryl wasn’t required on the production anymore.
We went straight to her cabin, angry and crying. She told me to lock the door from inside.
It hit her hard. One minute she was crying into my shoulder, the next she was climbing on me like the cabin was on fire. Chocolate effect kicked in!
We kissed messy and deep — tongues sliding, her mouth already wetter than it had any right to be. Her little broken moans went straight into my mouth during the kiss.
Our eyes were closed. We moved around kissing without even thinking, bumping into furniture, knocking things over. Glass and ceramic showpieces hit the floor and shattered.
She dragged me to the table. I lifted her onto it, shoved the papers aside, and kept kissing her while clothes started flying. Those light purple panties looked unfairly good until I yanked them down.
Again, while kissing with our eyes closed, we shifted to the bookshelf. I pushed her back against it hard enough that half the books tumbled.
She grabbed both cheeks of my butt and pulled me in so I was rubbing my dick against her pussy properly. The head of my cock sliding through her already soaked folds. She broke the kiss, her breathing ragged!
Sheryl: I haven’t been this aggressive during sex before. I don’t know what’s happening to me. This doesn’t seem to be me.
I didn’t answer. She didn’t wait. She threw me onto the couch, straddled me, and sank in one long, wet stroke until I was buried in her dripping pussy.
Then she started riding — hard, fast, hips slamming down with a force that made the couch creak and the wet slap of skin fill the room. I held her waist and guided it for every thrust. She was loud, unrestrained, relentless. Her fingers were digging into my shoulders.
Outside, people had heard the crashing. A small crowd gathered at the door and knocked. Sheryl, still bouncing on me, said that we were not opening that door until we finished.
All they heard was her screaming louder. We came together — her clenching hard around me, me emptying deep inside her while she kept moving through it. She bled a little. We spoke slowly enough for our voice not to go outside.
Me: Are you a virgin?
Sheryl: (moaning) No way, pratty. Why are you even asking?
Me: Because you’re bleeding!
Sheryl: I just got my period today.
I was facepalm. She was still catching her breath.
Sheryl: What the hell do we tell the people outside?
Me: You were so angry you trashed the place, and I’m the poor guy trying to calm you down and clean the mess up.
She nodded. In this core moment when people are outside almost ready to break in from the door, our brains weren’t working well enough to come up with a better story.
We got dressed in record time. I opened the door and immediately started cleaning, telling everyone she had lost it over the director rewriting her entire script and throwing things in pure rage. I swept and picked up the trash. Sheryl stood there looking down, eyes red with rage, breathing aggressively.
Wow! This writer turned into an actor for now.
Security arrived and politely but firmly showed us the exit. We collected all her stuff and left.
In the car, she kept worrying whether they would take her back. I told her she could get other projects without breaking a sweat. She apologized for how rough it had been. Said it didn’t feel like her. Felt lively and weird at the same time.
I didn’t say much. Dropped her home early. The hug this time was longer than usual — same squeeze, same exhale, same two pats — but it ended with a proper kiss. She thanked me for handling her and for handling the mess. Said she’d call tomorrow.
Next day the phone rang while I was still half-asleep.
Sheryl: The production house had emailed me yesterday evening. I am fired!
Me: Oh! I feel so sorry for you. Was it because of the cabin destruction?
Sheryl: Maybe, or maybe not. But I too didn’t want to stay somewhere that would take my story, run a complete bastardization exercise on it, and quietly remove my name from the credits even. Feels pointless. I was leaving anyway.
We agreed all’s well that ends well. She asked if we could meet at the same café sometime. We did.
We had the usual random talk about the previous day. Life had come full circle for us as we were again sitting in the same café. Except for this time I told her, rather I had a confession.
Me: The chocolates weren’t normal. I had brought them because I wanted sexy time with you. They were meant to be shared half each. You just ate the whole damn bar and went full feral animal.
She looked stunned.
Me: If you want to punish me for it, you can.
Sheryl: (laughed) I was equally dumb for not noticing. There were little male and female symbols on the wrapper that I had seen and ignored. (Looked down shyly) I should have shared it with you, and we both could have been that intense.
We laughed like proper idiots again.
I thought the confession would kill whatever this was between us. Well, it didn’t.
A few times after that I asked her straight up for sex. She always had a polite little reason ready and said no. Maybe she only wanted that one chaotic, chocolate-powered afternoon and nothing more.
I don’t know. But I enjoyed every messy, loud, book-throwing and glass-shattering minute of it. I still laugh thinking about it. Maybe even she does.
I walked away with the memory of her riding me like the couch wanted to sue us in court for all the trauma it endured, books flying, glass breaking, and her long goodbye kiss that tasted like sugar. Some stories don’t need a sequel. This was one of them!
Hope you’ve liked it. Contact me at [email protected] to let me know your views. Until then, stay horny!
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