Adultery Pakistani wife on an Indian Submarine by nandinimathur

[sarit11]

Nandini nervously pushed her hair back behind her ear and gave the guard a worried but beautiful smile, showing perfect white teeth. “Okay?” she asked, eager to be off. She’d kept her Indian accent, even after four years in the Pakistan. It actually seemed to add to her appeal amongst our audience. Maybe if our documentaries had appealed to housewives, they would have preferred an all-Pakistani girl. But we specialized in Indian army stuff—behind the scenes with the army’s new helicopter, that sort of thing. So the viewers were almost all men, and they found her Northern Indian accent bewitching. It didn’t hurt, either, that we’d found a niche in which all the other presenters were aging men or over-enthusiastic teenagers with no social skills. A helicopter firing missiles? That’s cool. But a helicopter firing missiles while a beautiful blonde with a sexy accent explains the new targeting system? That’ll get you a million views.

“How long you stay in Vishakapatnam?” the guard wanted to know. I wasn’t sure if he was being annoyingly thorough because I was Pakistani, or because he wanted to keep talking to my wife. Looking around at the rest of the arrivals, I could see why he wanted to make the most of her. There were some depressed-looking business people in suits and that was about it. Our flight had been mostly empty. Nobody flew into Vishakapatnam. They all got out as soon as they could afford it, just as Nandini had.

“Just today,” Nandini told him with another huge smile. “We’re sailing out tonight.”

The guard nodded sullenly, glaring at me. “Is not good time to be here, as Pakistani,” he said.

I shrugged. Sure, there had been some saber-rattling going on between the Pakistan and India. But it was all just politics and talk. Still, old habits died hard, out here. It wasn’t so long ago that the whole area had been allied against the Pakistan, back before capitalism won out. They still thought like ***** fundamentalists, over here, and I was still the enemy. I did my best to smile at the guard, in an we’re all friends, hands across the water kind of a way. He glowered at me and finally waved us through.

I slipped my arm around Nandini’s waist as we moved on through the terminal. She slowed to a stop, turned to face me and, suddenly, we were kissing.

I’m not the biggest guy, but Nandini’s still shorter than me unless she’s got her very highest heels on—the ones she wears for the shoots. She just felt right in my arms, her soft breasts pressing up against me, her long legs skimming my jeans, nylon stockings whispering. She was in a sensible, mid-length skirt for traveling—like the heels, she kept her more daring stuff for the actual filming. My tongue teased her lips apart and it turned into a deep kiss, tipping her backward slightly on my arm. She sighed softly into my mouth and I felt her smile under my kiss.