09-03-2019, 12:04 PM
And that was precisely what was happening with Nandini. If his hand on her leg was dominating and driving how she was opened to him, his lips on her chin and on her throat were teasing and nipping, sending signals to her breasts and nipples that ravishment was on its way. She thrust up her breasts. Seeking succor. Her breasts were larger than Sunita's and Sunita felt jealous. She knew Shyam loved playing with her breasts and he must enjoy those larger succulent breasts that much more. Sunita felt an ache in her nipples and she rubbed her chest along the balcony railing on which she was leaning.
Nandini didn't have to wait that long, or make do with any inanimate stimulation. Shyam's head was not long reaching her, but he refused to mouth the waiting mounds of flesh. He nuzzled the area surrounding the breast pushing at the flesh with his nose. The nipples, brown and somewhat long, puckered up. They stood up, unfurling and demanding. Sunita couldn't help lick her lips and she caught herself thinking of loving that woman, whom she pretty much hated and despised for her ownership of her Shyam. "Lesbianism. Not me," she thought with a definiteness, not realizing that what was stirring in her body was a clear indication that the seeds of a new kind of desire were already sown.
Sunita looked down her own night gown and saw her own breasts, held in the bra but hanging down, unattended, seeking release. She wondered about how Karan and she slept with all their clothes while her love Shyam, clearly never thought much of clothes at bed time. She looked at the heap of clothes that Nandini had discarded next to the sofa and couldn't spot any underclothes. No bra. No panties. Obviously, every night when she came to bed, the thin cotton night gown was an invitation to Shyam to caress and take what he pleased.
And taking her as he pleased was exactly what was going on in front of her eyes. Shyam's movements over Nandini's body reminded her of how a sitar was played. The sitar is a stringed instrument, as long as a woman's body which you need to rest on your lap as you play. One hand plays the frets, and the other hand plays the strings. And Nandini was laid out so similarly. With Shyam's one hand stroking the leg, the fingers of the hand caressing her face and his lips on her body. Snaking flicks of his tongue teased her nipples with the promise of a strong slurping lick that dragged her nipple, but the promise remained a tease. Nandini arched her back trying to feed her breast to him and find relief. Her legs opened out and it seemed her soul was seeking him and Shyam chose that moment to seek the soul of her pleasure-being. His hand covered her pussy, the palm pressing down, fingers splayed across the thighs, the perineum and the rest of her ass. She shuddered and he held her down. His lips met her aching breasts and Nandini moaned loudly. If Sunita had not heard them in the hall yet, now she would have, thought Shyam. He looked from the corner of his eye and saw her silhouette. There she was, looking. Shyam grunted in satisfaction and he felt his cock twitch with a new energy. An energy now to be found only in his desire for Sunita. Sunita seemed to have tapped into a new source of testosterone in his brain.
In that same way, Sunita seemed to have found a new energy level. She felt a dam of fluid inside her burst when Nandini thrust her body upward and Shyam palmed and mouthed her. She felt something give way as her body started to flow. She sighed and let her hands get busy, one with her breast and the other stroking downward through clothes and all. The tingling that was buzzing from her lower tummy to her crotch was relieved with the long stroke of her fingers. The heat and dampness was obvious to her even through two layers of clothing. Her lower lip hung open in desire as it was prone to, in her moments of lust. She groaned as she realized that her desires were not going to be met by her own ministrations. Shyam had not yet trained her in any case to pleasure herself. Not because he didn't want to. But because she was sure that the traditional Indian woman in her was to seek pleasure only at her husbands bidding. Or with her Shyam. The automatic qualification of Shyam as a pleasure giver was so natural to her that it seemed at once in contradiction with what she had grown up believing. And yet, belief be damned, the vacantness between her legs was screaming for his touch.
Nandini didn't have to wait that long, or make do with any inanimate stimulation. Shyam's head was not long reaching her, but he refused to mouth the waiting mounds of flesh. He nuzzled the area surrounding the breast pushing at the flesh with his nose. The nipples, brown and somewhat long, puckered up. They stood up, unfurling and demanding. Sunita couldn't help lick her lips and she caught herself thinking of loving that woman, whom she pretty much hated and despised for her ownership of her Shyam. "Lesbianism. Not me," she thought with a definiteness, not realizing that what was stirring in her body was a clear indication that the seeds of a new kind of desire were already sown.
Sunita looked down her own night gown and saw her own breasts, held in the bra but hanging down, unattended, seeking release. She wondered about how Karan and she slept with all their clothes while her love Shyam, clearly never thought much of clothes at bed time. She looked at the heap of clothes that Nandini had discarded next to the sofa and couldn't spot any underclothes. No bra. No panties. Obviously, every night when she came to bed, the thin cotton night gown was an invitation to Shyam to caress and take what he pleased.
And taking her as he pleased was exactly what was going on in front of her eyes. Shyam's movements over Nandini's body reminded her of how a sitar was played. The sitar is a stringed instrument, as long as a woman's body which you need to rest on your lap as you play. One hand plays the frets, and the other hand plays the strings. And Nandini was laid out so similarly. With Shyam's one hand stroking the leg, the fingers of the hand caressing her face and his lips on her body. Snaking flicks of his tongue teased her nipples with the promise of a strong slurping lick that dragged her nipple, but the promise remained a tease. Nandini arched her back trying to feed her breast to him and find relief. Her legs opened out and it seemed her soul was seeking him and Shyam chose that moment to seek the soul of her pleasure-being. His hand covered her pussy, the palm pressing down, fingers splayed across the thighs, the perineum and the rest of her ass. She shuddered and he held her down. His lips met her aching breasts and Nandini moaned loudly. If Sunita had not heard them in the hall yet, now she would have, thought Shyam. He looked from the corner of his eye and saw her silhouette. There she was, looking. Shyam grunted in satisfaction and he felt his cock twitch with a new energy. An energy now to be found only in his desire for Sunita. Sunita seemed to have tapped into a new source of testosterone in his brain.
In that same way, Sunita seemed to have found a new energy level. She felt a dam of fluid inside her burst when Nandini thrust her body upward and Shyam palmed and mouthed her. She felt something give way as her body started to flow. She sighed and let her hands get busy, one with her breast and the other stroking downward through clothes and all. The tingling that was buzzing from her lower tummy to her crotch was relieved with the long stroke of her fingers. The heat and dampness was obvious to her even through two layers of clothing. Her lower lip hung open in desire as it was prone to, in her moments of lust. She groaned as she realized that her desires were not going to be met by her own ministrations. Shyam had not yet trained her in any case to pleasure herself. Not because he didn't want to. But because she was sure that the traditional Indian woman in her was to seek pleasure only at her husbands bidding. Or with her Shyam. The automatic qualification of Shyam as a pleasure giver was so natural to her that it seemed at once in contradiction with what she had grown up believing. And yet, belief be damned, the vacantness between her legs was screaming for his touch.
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