Misc. Erotica Housewife Massaged by male servant by john66

[sarit11]

He removed my earrings, my mangal sutra, my bangles, my blouse and my bras - one after the other without any uneasiness that was present on the previous day. When his hands at last rested on my eager breasts and was pressing my hard erect nipples, I moaned loudly, expressing my passion, as he built up his strengths more and more. He started squeezing my breasts, moving both his palms all over them to make them slippery with oil. Should I give him a glance of what he has done to my breasts? The moment this thought came to my mind, I felt my whole body getting baked in the heat of passion. No, not now, I thought. When he finished massaging my top half, I was so deeply engrossed in pleasure that it was difficult for me to leave it at that stage. I wanted more of it. Yes, in the lower part of my body. Yes, I wanted it, rather I was dying for it. And, I had to say at last, "Bachchu, it's wonderful. I can't stop here. Wouldn't you do it more today?" I almost begged with lust. Now, I turned to him. My breasts were exposed. He was too excited and speechless. Maybe, he never dreamt of this situation in a lady-boyservant relationship.

Nor did I, but it was. At that moment, I was ready to gift my body to him. I looked at his tent. It was steadily going up and up. The region in his pajama was getting more and more soaked with increased pumping of his juice. It's a human body. Our mind may understand taboos, morality, inhibitions and other forbidden aspects, but body doesn't. When a river is desperate to break its embankments, you can't stop it. And in moments, when the lust is too strong, your mind won't listen to you. The desperate river will wash away the dams that you may like to construct. I wanted to touch his throbbing cock. But immediately felt that at least he must complete the message before anything gets out of control. There was a small divan in our living room. Bachchu asked me to lie down on my stomach. My saree was almost unwrapped. I took out the folds of my saree underneath the petticoat and removed it completely before lying down on the divan. My petticoat was the only garment that covered the lower part of my body and I didn't wear any panties, while I am at home. After I lay down on my stomach, Bachchu had to start his next part of the job.

"Masima, eta ki thakbe?"(Madam, will it be there on your body?) He asked with a clumsy voice, pointing to my petticoat. My sexual tensions were at its peak, but still I hesitated for a moment to directly answer. Certainly, Bachchu was not courageous enough to remove my last piece of garment without my verbal consent. I was silent. My cunt was quivering and I felt that all my juices would now burst out of it. I desperately wanted my petticoat out of my body. Still I was silent. What was holding me up? Social norms, taboo, age difference? Perhaps everything and perhaps nothing. Bachchu started massaging lower part of my waist, while the petticoat was still on. "Na khul le ki kore korbi?"(How will you do it unless it is removed?)