23-03-2021, 08:03 PM
CHAPTER 1
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The immigration officer stared at his computer screen. “Asif Ali,” he said in his heavy accent. ”Nandini Ali.” Then he spat something in the local language.
“Punjabi, please,” said Nandini sweetly. “My husband is Pakistani.”
The immigration officer reacted as if she’d said I had a contagious disease. He held out his hand for my passport. “Business or pleasure?”
“Business,” I said proudly. “We work together.”
He looked suspiciously at my dark blue Pakistan passport and then Nandini’s much more elaborate, Indian one. He stared at her picture for a long time, and I knew why. Passport photos are always unflattering, so it takes a very beautiful woman to have a knockout photo. Nandini was just such a woman. Her Northern Indian heritage had given her high cheekbones and full, sensual lips. Her lustrous, honey-blonde hair hung long and straight down her back and her blue eyes shone with enthusiasm and just a hint of wicked promise.
It was that promise—that hint of sex—that had made our business such a big hit. We’d filmed over a hundred short documentaries together, with her as presenter and narrator and me as cameraman and editor. With a good camera rig and a laptop to edit on, we were a two-man production house: filming, editing and uploading, then making money from ads as people watched. I was well aware that it was the glimpse of Nandini in the video’s thumbnail that got so many people clicking on them. She always wore something appropriate for the location, be it overalls or a blouse and skirt. But she always seemed to find a way to tweak it to be just a little sexy—a button unfastened here, a zip lowered there. With her full breasts and tight, toned ass, the camera loved her—it was actually hard, sometimes, even as her husband, to resist tilting the camera down to look down her top, or to focus for too long on her ass as I trailed behind her.
Did it bother me that our business swung on Nandini’s sex appeal? Not at all. In fact, the idea that somewhere out there, tens of thousands of guys were fantasizing about my wife kind of turned me on. It wasn’t as if she ever actually showed anything…and besides, they were only watching. Let them look. It was me she got to go home with. For all her sexiness, my wife was actually sort of shy, when it came to meeting other men face-to-face. Sometimes, I actually wished she’d be a little more flirtatious.
The immigration officer stared at his computer screen. “Asif Ali,” he said in his heavy accent. ”Nandini Ali.” Then he spat something in the local language.
“Punjabi, please,” said Nandini sweetly. “My husband is Pakistani.”
The immigration officer reacted as if she’d said I had a contagious disease. He held out his hand for my passport. “Business or pleasure?”
“Business,” I said proudly. “We work together.”
He looked suspiciously at my dark blue Pakistan passport and then Nandini’s much more elaborate, Indian one. He stared at her picture for a long time, and I knew why. Passport photos are always unflattering, so it takes a very beautiful woman to have a knockout photo. Nandini was just such a woman. Her Northern Indian heritage had given her high cheekbones and full, sensual lips. Her lustrous, honey-blonde hair hung long and straight down her back and her blue eyes shone with enthusiasm and just a hint of wicked promise.
It was that promise—that hint of sex—that had made our business such a big hit. We’d filmed over a hundred short documentaries together, with her as presenter and narrator and me as cameraman and editor. With a good camera rig and a laptop to edit on, we were a two-man production house: filming, editing and uploading, then making money from ads as people watched. I was well aware that it was the glimpse of Nandini in the video’s thumbnail that got so many people clicking on them. She always wore something appropriate for the location, be it overalls or a blouse and skirt. But she always seemed to find a way to tweak it to be just a little sexy—a button unfastened here, a zip lowered there. With her full breasts and tight, toned ass, the camera loved her—it was actually hard, sometimes, even as her husband, to resist tilting the camera down to look down her top, or to focus for too long on her ass as I trailed behind her.
Did it bother me that our business swung on Nandini’s sex appeal? Not at all. In fact, the idea that somewhere out there, tens of thousands of guys were fantasizing about my wife kind of turned me on. It wasn’t as if she ever actually showed anything…and besides, they were only watching. Let them look. It was me she got to go home with. For all her sexiness, my wife was actually sort of shy, when it came to meeting other men face-to-face. Sometimes, I actually wished she’d be a little more flirtatious.
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