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Life got busy with work, and we decided we needed a break. That’s when we planned a trip to Himachal Pradesh, just the two of us, me (Amit) and my gf Neha, to escape Mumbai’s chaos.
We flew into Chandigarh and drove up to Manali, winding through pine forests and misty valleys. Neha was buzzing the whole way, her long black hair whipping in the wind from the open car window, wearing those fitted leggings and a loose sweater that hugged her curves just right. At 28 now, she looked even better, yoga keeping her toned, that dimple flashing every time she laughed at my bad jokes. Me? Still the same 5’9 guy with the beard, feeling lucky as hell to have her arm linked through mine.
Our homestay was this quaint wooden cottage overlooking the Beas River, run by a friendly local family. First couple days were bliss: trekking to hidden waterfalls, sipping hot chai by bonfires, and nights tangled up in bed under thick quilts. But that familiar itch started creeping in, the one where I imagined her with someone else. We’d roleplay it sometimes, her whispering about a stranger picking her up while I “watched” from the corner. It always led to mind-blowing sex.
On our third day, we hit the Solang Valley for some adventures; paragliding and zip-lining. That’s where we met Dave. He was this tall, rugged American guy in his early 30s, probably 6’3, with sun-bleached blond hair, a scruffy beard, and that easygoing surfer vibe. Broad shoulders from hiking or whatever outdoorsy stuff Yanks do, tan skin, and piercing blue eyes that lit up when he smiled. He was traveling solo through India, “finding himself” after a divorce back in California.
We bumped into him at the paragliding spot; Neha’s harness got tangled, and he helped untangle it with those big hands, cracking jokes in his drawling accent. “First time flying? Don’t worry, it’s like sex; scary at first, but you’ll be hooked,” he said, winking at her. Neha giggled, that cute blush creeping up her fair cheeks, and thanked him. I introduced myself, and we ended up chatting while waiting our turns.
We all went up together, soaring over the valley like birds. Afterward, buzzed on adrenaline, Dave suggested grabbing lunch at a nearby punjabi restaurant. Why not? He seemed cool, and I felt that familiar twinge; jealousy mixed with arousal, watching Neha lean in closer to hear him over the wind. She was flirty from the get-go, touching his arm when he described a trek, laughing extra hard at his puns. “You’re so adventurous, Dave! Amit here prefers Netflix marathons,” she’d tease, glancing at me with that knowing sparkle in her eyes. I played along, nodding, my heart pounding as I imagined where this could go.
Back at the homestay that evening, Dave mentioned he was staying nearby and invited us for drinks around his bonfire. Neha was all in before I could blink. “Come on, Amit, it’ll be fun! He’s got such great stories.” I agreed, that cuckold fire igniting inside me. We showed up with a bottle of local apple cider, and the three of us sat under the stars, the fire crackling, mountains looming like silent witnesses.
As the night wore on, the drinks flowed; rum mixed with hot water to fight the chill. Conversation turned personal. Dave shared about his ex, how she was “too vanilla” in bed, and he craved more excitement. Neha opened up about our Mumbai life, her wild college days slipping in casually. I watched them vibe, her knee brushing his as she shifted on the log bench, his hand lingering on her shoulder when he passed her a drink. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she shot me these quick looks, half questioning, half excited, like she was testing the waters.
I excused myself to grab more wood from the shed, my mind racing. When I came back, they were closer, her head tilted toward him, whispering something that made him chuckle low and deep. His arm was around her casually, fingers tracing lazy circles on her sweater-clad back. “Everything good?” I asked, squeezing in beside her. She nodded, her full lips curving into a smile, but her hand found my thigh under the blanket we’d thrown over our laps, squeezing reassuringly.
The flirting ramped up. Dave complimented her yoga body, saying Indian women had this “exotic grace” that drove him wild. Neha blushed but fired back, “And American guys? All talk, or do you back it up?” He grinned, those blue eyes locking on hers. “Try me.” My cock twitched at the tension; I was rock hard under the blanket, jealous as fuck but loving every second. Neha’s hand slid higher on my leg, feeling my arousal, and she smirked at me subtly.
Dave’s hands roamed subtly, stroking her arms, her thighs through the leggings. Neha leaned back into him, her head on his shoulder, giggling at his whispers. I sat there, pretending to stoke the fire, but really just watching, my arousal building to agony. Finally, she turned to me. “Amit, you okay if Dave and I… take a walk? Just to the river.” Her eyes pleaded, but there was hunger there too.
I swallowed hard. “Yeah. Have fun.” It was out before I could think, that cuckold thrill overriding everything.
They stood, his hand on her lower back, guiding her into the darkness. I waited by the fire, minutes stretching like hours. I snuck closer to the riverbank, hiding behind trees, and there they were, under the moonlight, kissing fiercely. His big hands cupped her ass, lifting her against him as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She peeled off his shirt, nails raking his back, while he yanked down her sweater, exposing her lacy bra.
They tumbled to the soft grass, him on top, grinding against her. Neha’s gasps carried on the wind: “Fuck, Dave… yes.” He stripped her leggings off, revealing those long legs and her thong, then buried his face between her thighs. She arched, fingers in his hair, moaning louder than she ever did with me. “Oh god, right there…” I stroked myself quietly, hidden, as he flipped her over, ass up, and slid into her from behind, raw, no condom, just primal.
He fucked her hard, her tits bouncing, that ponytail swinging as she pushed back. “Harder… make me cum,” she begged, nothing like our gentle sessions. Dave obliged, spanking her lightly, pulling her hair. She came first, shuddering and crying out his name, then he flipped her again, pounding missionary until he groaned and filled her up, collapsing on top.
They lay there panting, her stroking his chest, before dressing and heading back. I slipped away first, back to the fire, pretending I’d dozed off. When they returned, Neha’s hair was messy, lips swollen, a satisfied glow on her face. Dave smirked knowingly. “Great walk,” he said.
We said goodnights, and back in our room, Neha pounced on me, still slick from him. “You watched, didn’t you?” she whispered, riding me furiously. I admitted it, and we came together, harder than ever.
That was just the start of our Himachal adventure. Dave stuck around a few more days, and things got even wilder.