My name is Vijay, a 22-year-old guy with a height of 5 feet 8 inches, fair skin, and a fit body from daily gym sessions. My smile and easygoing charm have always drawn people in. This story is about me and my ex-girlfriend, Diksha. She’s 21, 5 feet tall, with a dusky complexion and a stunning 34-28-36 figure. Her long black hair, deep brown eyes, and radiant smile could make anyone’s heart skip a beat. She usually wore salwar-suits or jeans and tops, her outfits always accentuating her curves.
This tale begins when I was 19, studying in 12th grade after repeating a year. I was the class captain, responsible for keeping discipline. Our school was strict, and during free periods, teachers instructed us to stay quiet or study since classes nearby were in session. If anyone made noise, I’d jot their name on a slip and hand it to the teacher. The teacher would then discipline those students, and the three girls on the front bench—Diksha, Priya, and Reena—were always on that list.
Diksha stood out. Her laugh lit up the room, and though she was playful, there was an innocent simplicity to her. One day, after I wrote her name down again, she shot me an intense look and said, “Vijay, I need to talk to you alone.” Her voice carried a mix of frustration and something deeper, maybe curiosity. I couldn’t figure out why she’d want to talk privately. I assumed she was upset about me reporting her.
The next day, she cornered me in the corridor and said, “Talking alone isn’t possible here.” She handed me a blue notebook and added, “I’ve written everything I want to say on the middle page. Please read it.” Her eyes were nervous but determined as she hurried away. I stuffed the notebook in my bag and opened it at home.
When I read that page, my world turned upside down. She’d written, “Vijay, I love you so much. I really like you—your smile, the way you take charge in class, everything. Do you feel the same? Please don’t tell anyone if you don’t.” Her words were raw, heartfelt, and vulnerable. My heart raced, and I reread the note all night, a mix of excitement and disbelief swirling inside me.
The next day in class, Diksha gave me a shy smile. I smiled back, and we started talking. She opened up more with each conversation, sharing her dreams, fears, and silly stories. Soon, we were inseparable, talking for hours during lunch breaks, after school, and on the phone. Our love grew deep and real. She trusted me completely, telling me everything, even her little pranks.
One day, I invited her to my friend Rahul’s house. Rahul, my childhood buddy, had given me his keys since his parents were at their village. Diksha arrived at 4 PM, wearing a striking red salwar-suit that hugged her figure. I invited her in and asked her to sit on the sofa. She sat close, her perfume filling the air, making my pulse quicken.
We chatted about school, friends, and old memories. I took her hand, gently rubbing her soft fingers. She didn’t pull away, but suddenly, tears streamed down her face. I panicked, “Diksha, what’s wrong? Did I do something?” Wiping her eyes, she asked, “Vijay, do you love me as much as I love you? Would you marry me?” Her question caught me off guard, but I answered instantly, “Yes, Diksha, I love you.” She hugged me tightly, her warm breath against my neck. We stayed like that for a while before she left, leaving me lost in thoughts of her.
We met secretly several times after that, stealing kisses whenever we could. She always stopped me from going further, saying, “Vijay, this isn’t right yet.” Our love story continued for months until my elder brother found out. He lectured me about focusing on studies, and slowly, we drifted apart. We stayed friends, though, still talking in class.
After school, we went to different colleges, and our contact dwindled to occasional phone calls. Then I heard Diksha got married and moved to Bhopal with her husband, Ravi, a 28-year-old guy, 5 feet 10 inches tall, average-looking, working a 9-to-6 job at a private company. I was in my final year of engineering in Raipur when this story took a turn, just two months ago.
On a whim, I called Diksha to catch up. Her voice sounded restless as she said, “Vijay, come to Bhopal. I want to see you.” I agreed and went to her place the next day. She lived in a rented apartment. I rang the bell at 1 PM. She opened the door, wearing a blue salwar-suit, her hair loose, looking even more beautiful than before. She invited me in, brought me water, and went to the kitchen to make snacks. I watched her move, her grace unchanged from our school days.
After preparing snacks, she sat beside me on the sofa. We reminisced about school, laughing over old pranks and that notebook incident. Halfway through, I asked, “Diksha, do you still love me?” She looked into my eyes and said, “Vijay, you were my first love. I can’t forget you.”
I replied, “You’re married now. You should move on.” As we talked, I held her hand. She leaned closer, and I pulled her into my arms. Her body pressed against mine, her breath warm on my chest. Suddenly, she grabbed me tightly and kissed me, her lips soft and urgent. My body electrified, and we kissed passionately for 10 minutes, our tongues exploring, breaths heavy.
We moved to the bedroom, unable to stop. I laid her on the bed, kissing her deeply. My 7-inch cock was rock-hard, throbbing at the thought of her pussy. She unbuttoned my shirt, and I slipped off her dupatta. She was still in her blue salwar-suit. I squeezed her 34-inch breasts through her top, feeling their fullness. She moaned softly, “Ohh, Vijay, slow down.” But she didn’t stop me, her hands roaming my chest.
I lifted her top, kissing her smooth stomach. She shivered under my lips. When I tried to pull off her suit, she grabbed my hand, whispering, “Vijay, this is wrong. I’m married.” Her voice trembled, torn between guilt and desire. I said, “Diksha, this is just our love. There’s nothing wrong.” After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded.
She got up, locked the door, and lay on top of me. I pulled off her suit, revealing her black bra and salwar. Her breasts strained against the bra, and I squeezed them, making her moan, “Ohhh, Vijay, harder!” I unhooked her bra, freeing her round, firm 34-inch tits. I took one in my mouth, sucking hard, my tongue circling her stiff nipple. She gasped, “Mmm, yes, like that!” I kneaded her other breast, switching between them, sucking and squeezing for minutes.
Her breathing was heavy, her body trembling. I untied her salwar, sliding it down to reveal her black panties. I rubbed her thighs, and she quivered. My hand slipped inside her panties, finding her pussy soaked. I rubbed her clit, and she moaned loudly, “Ohhh, Vijay, what are you doing!” I pulled her panties off, exposing her glistening pussy.
I slid two fingers inside her wet slit, moving them in and out. She screamed, “Ohhh, fuck, faster!” Her juices coated my fingers as I finger-fucked her. Then I lowered my head, licking her pussy lips. She yelped, “Ohhh, no, Vijay, that’s dirty!” But I didn’t stop. I spread her lips with my fingers and plunged my tongue inside, tasting her salty, warm juices. She moaned wildly, “Ohhh, yes, eat my pussy! Mmm!”
I licked her clit, sucking it gently, then thrust my tongue deep inside her. She grabbed my hair, pressing my face into her pussy, screaming, “Ohhh, fuck, Vijay, don’t stop!” Her thighs clamped around my head as I ate her out for 15 minutes. She panted, “Ravi never licked me like this. You’re so fucking good!” Her moans echoed in the room, her body shaking with pleasure.
I stood up, unzipping my jeans and pulling out my 7-inch cock. “Suck it, Diksha,” I said. She hesitated, “I’ve never done this.” After some coaxing, she took my cock in her hand, stroking it slowly. She leaned in, her warm lips wrapping around the tip. I groaned, “Ohhh, yes, suck it!” She sucked gently at first, her tongue swirling around the head, then took more of my cock, bobbing her head. The warmth of her mouth drove me wild. I fucked her mouth for 15 minutes, her lips sliding up and down my shaft.
She pulled back, gasping, “Vijay, please, fuck me now. I can’t wait anymore.” I rubbed my cock against her dripping pussy, the “slap-slap” sound filling the air. I pushed the tip inside, and she moaned, “Ohhh, it’s so thick!” She said Ravi’s 5-inch cock was smaller. I eased in slowly, her tight pussy gripping me. She whimpered, “Mmm, slow, it hurts.”
Halfway in, I thrust hard, burying all 7 inches inside her. She screamed, “Ohhh, fuck!” Her nails dug into my back, leaving marks. I paused, squeezing her tits to calm her. When she relaxed, I started thrusting slowly. Her pussy was so tight, it felt like it was milking my cock. She moaned, “Ohhh, yes, fuck me, Vijay!”
I picked up the pace, the “slap-slap-slap” of our bodies echoing. She wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper. “Ohhh, harder, fuck my pussy!” she screamed. I pounded her, her juices coating my cock. After 15 minutes, she came, her pussy clenching me as she shouted, “Ohhh, I’m cumming!”
I flipped her over, putting her on all fours. Her round ass was perfect. I slapped it, and she moaned, “Ohhh, Vijay!” I slid my cock back into her pussy, fucking her doggy-style. She screamed, “Mmm, deeper, fuck me!” I grabbed her hair, thrusting hard, the “slap-slap” sound mixing with her moans. After 10 more minutes, I was close. “Where do I cum?” I asked. “Inside me!” she begged. I thrust deep, unloading my cum into her pussy as she moaned, “Ohhh, yes!”
We collapsed, naked, panting. I caressed her tits, and she rested her head on my chest. She whispered, “Ravi’s cock never satisfied me. You fucked me like I’ve always wanted.” We fucked two more times that day, trying different positions—her riding me, then me taking her against the wall. Each time, her moans and the sound of our bodies drove me wild.
Now, whenever she craves a good fuck, she calls me. I pound her thirsty pussy until she’s fully satisfied, and I leave knowing I’ve given her what her husband can’t.
Guys, what did you think of my steamy reunion with Diksha? Have you ever fucked an ex and felt that fire again? Drop your thoughts in the comments!