24-04-2025, 04:59 AM
(This post was last modified: Yesterday, 11:42 PM by ashipremkumar. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
The plane landed with a thud on Melbourne’s tarmac, and my manhood was a ferocious beast, throbbing with raw intensity, so swollen it strained against my jeans, leaking with desire as I stumbled off, consumed with an urgent need to reach Radha—my beautiful, seductive, irresistibly naughty Indian wife, my craving, untamed temptress, the very beat of my heart. Four weeks away had been a cruel torment, a torture of pleasuring myself to her fading image, but the testing job collapsed early, and my boss growled, “Forget it, go home.” Our fifth anniversary was days away, and I’d tear the world apart to make her gasp with her own wicked cries, to hold her close and feel her soul entwined with mine. I’d stormed a shady lingerie shop, my hands trembling with feverish excitement as I selected the most scandalous treasure: a black lace ruffle bralette so sheer it would barely contain her 34C breasts, the ruffles teasing her dark nipples into stiff peaks, paired with matching loose lace shorts that hung low on her 36-inch hips, the crotch already damp with anticipation, leaving her thick thighs and leaking core barely concealed.
As I raced home, my manhood was a chaotic mess, dripping with need as I pictured Radha—my light brown, desire-driven beauty, my eternal love—strutting in that flimsy black lace set. Her full breasts would spill over the ruffled bralette, nipples piercing the delicate fabric, begging me to rip it off. The loose lace shorts would slide up with every teasing step, exposing her round backside and the glistening trail of Mike’s cum leaking from her well-fucked core, her light brown curves swaying like a dancer with every provocative move, each motion a silent vow of her devotion to me.
She’s my secret obsession—sweet and charming one moment, a bold, desire-hungry vixen the next, but always the woman who owns my soul. She loves to torment me, flashing her light brown skin when I’m unprepared, bending over to lift her skirt, swaying her backside as if daring me to spank it red and tender, her laughter a melody that binds me to her forever. Her playful laughter echoes in my ears, her almond eyes sparkling with mischief and love, her full lips smirking when she catches me staring, knowing my manhood is on the verge of bursting, knowing she’s my everything.
Our roleplays had set our nights ablaze—those sinful evenings where I’d dress her as my seductive fantasy, urging her to play the teasing enchantress, our hearts beating as one. I’d push her to torment me, to act as if she were seducing her boss Mike, flaunting her breasts or backside while I watched, my manhood throbbing with need, my love for her growing deeper with every wicked word. “Yes, Radha, show that man your core,” I’d urge, begging her to describe bending over his desk, skirt lifted, murmuring, “Sir, do you like this?” Her almond eyes would glow with love for me, her voice turning sultry as she played along, moaning, “Yes, darling, I’d open my legs for him, taste him while you watch, but it’s your love that sets my soul on fire.” And my filthy ideas—making her skip her bra at the office, her full breasts jiggling under her blouse, nipples poking through as she teased Mike with every sway—had pushed her further, turning our fantasies into reality.
She’d always believed Mike was more endowed—his manhood a commanding presence she couldn’t ignore. She’d come home from work, her eyes alight with excitement, describing how she’d noticed his swollen trousers, a large bulge evident in his tight clothes, when he called her to his office, flirting with her in a low, suggestive tone. “Radha, review this file,” he’d say, leaning close, his manhood outlined like a bold challenge, and she’d blush, her core growing wet, thrilled by the attention, her naughty heart racing, but always returning to me with a kiss that said, “You’re my home.” She’d tell me, laughing softly, “Darling, his manhood looks so large—bigger than yours, it might overwhelm me.” I’d grow aroused hearing it, urging her to weave it into our roleplays, saying, “Yes, Radha, taste his large manhood, be his temptress,” my heart swelling with love for her fearless spirit.
But as I screeched to our gate, my passionate haze shattered—there it was, a grand, luxurious Beamer parked boldly in the driveway, gleaming under the lights as if taunting me, whispering, “Your wife is wicked.” My manhood surged, but instead of anger, a wild, aroused fever gripped me, my love for Radha’s daring heart burning brighter. I knew Mike was inside, his large manhood likely claiming her body, but I knew her soul was mine. My pulse pounded like a drum as I shoved the key into the door, my manhood throbbing with a twisted blend of desire and anticipation. I stepped inside, and the sight struck me like a wave—her saree, the silky red one she wore to work, crumpled in a messy pile on the floor, as if torn off in a frenzy. Near the television, her petticoat hung, ripped and tattered, dangling like a flag of her reckless passion. The air was thick with the scent of intimacy, her perfume entwined with a raw, musky odor, and my manhood pulsed harder, my heart aching with love for her untamed spirit.
As I climbed the stairs, my heart racing, I spotted her panties—black, lacy, the ones I’d seen her wear—lying on the floor, torn to shreds, the crotch ripped open, still damp with her core’s essence, as if a beast had savagely pulled them from her aroused body. I picked them up, the wet fabric clinging to my fingers, sending a jolt of perverse arousal through me, my manhood leaking into my jeans, my love for her growing fiercer. Driven by a twisted need, I crept toward our bedroom, the sounds growing louder—Radha’s moans, low and throaty, mingling with Mike’s deep groans, a symphony of ecstasy and pleasure that pierced the silence, yet my heart whispered, “She’s mine.”
Peering through the slightly open bedroom door, I saw them, and the sight seared itself into my mind. Radha, my seductive wife, was completely bare, her light brown skin glistening with sweat, straddling Mike as he carried her from the center of the room. His strong hands gripped her round buttocks, squeezing them firmly, spreading them as he walked, his large manhood buried deep inside her, her core stretched around him as she clung to his shoulders, her breasts bouncing with each step, her head thrown back in pleasure. He lifted her with ease, her moans turning to screams of ecstasy as he placed her on the bed, his manhood still buried deep inside my sweet wife. He sat on the edge, and Radha, still straddling him, began to ride him gently, her hips moving in a slow, sensual rhythm, her moans rising as his manhood filled her deeply. Then, he took control, laying her back on the bed, his hands still gripping her buttocks, and began pounding her with savage, unrelenting thrusts, the bedframe groaning and splintering under their frenzy, threatening to collapse.
As I raced home, my manhood was a chaotic mess, dripping with need as I pictured Radha—my light brown, desire-driven beauty, my eternal love—strutting in that flimsy black lace set. Her full breasts would spill over the ruffled bralette, nipples piercing the delicate fabric, begging me to rip it off. The loose lace shorts would slide up with every teasing step, exposing her round backside and the glistening trail of Mike’s cum leaking from her well-fucked core, her light brown curves swaying like a dancer with every provocative move, each motion a silent vow of her devotion to me.
She’s my secret obsession—sweet and charming one moment, a bold, desire-hungry vixen the next, but always the woman who owns my soul. She loves to torment me, flashing her light brown skin when I’m unprepared, bending over to lift her skirt, swaying her backside as if daring me to spank it red and tender, her laughter a melody that binds me to her forever. Her playful laughter echoes in my ears, her almond eyes sparkling with mischief and love, her full lips smirking when she catches me staring, knowing my manhood is on the verge of bursting, knowing she’s my everything.
Our roleplays had set our nights ablaze—those sinful evenings where I’d dress her as my seductive fantasy, urging her to play the teasing enchantress, our hearts beating as one. I’d push her to torment me, to act as if she were seducing her boss Mike, flaunting her breasts or backside while I watched, my manhood throbbing with need, my love for her growing deeper with every wicked word. “Yes, Radha, show that man your core,” I’d urge, begging her to describe bending over his desk, skirt lifted, murmuring, “Sir, do you like this?” Her almond eyes would glow with love for me, her voice turning sultry as she played along, moaning, “Yes, darling, I’d open my legs for him, taste him while you watch, but it’s your love that sets my soul on fire.” And my filthy ideas—making her skip her bra at the office, her full breasts jiggling under her blouse, nipples poking through as she teased Mike with every sway—had pushed her further, turning our fantasies into reality.
She’d always believed Mike was more endowed—his manhood a commanding presence she couldn’t ignore. She’d come home from work, her eyes alight with excitement, describing how she’d noticed his swollen trousers, a large bulge evident in his tight clothes, when he called her to his office, flirting with her in a low, suggestive tone. “Radha, review this file,” he’d say, leaning close, his manhood outlined like a bold challenge, and she’d blush, her core growing wet, thrilled by the attention, her naughty heart racing, but always returning to me with a kiss that said, “You’re my home.” She’d tell me, laughing softly, “Darling, his manhood looks so large—bigger than yours, it might overwhelm me.” I’d grow aroused hearing it, urging her to weave it into our roleplays, saying, “Yes, Radha, taste his large manhood, be his temptress,” my heart swelling with love for her fearless spirit.
But as I screeched to our gate, my passionate haze shattered—there it was, a grand, luxurious Beamer parked boldly in the driveway, gleaming under the lights as if taunting me, whispering, “Your wife is wicked.” My manhood surged, but instead of anger, a wild, aroused fever gripped me, my love for Radha’s daring heart burning brighter. I knew Mike was inside, his large manhood likely claiming her body, but I knew her soul was mine. My pulse pounded like a drum as I shoved the key into the door, my manhood throbbing with a twisted blend of desire and anticipation. I stepped inside, and the sight struck me like a wave—her saree, the silky red one she wore to work, crumpled in a messy pile on the floor, as if torn off in a frenzy. Near the television, her petticoat hung, ripped and tattered, dangling like a flag of her reckless passion. The air was thick with the scent of intimacy, her perfume entwined with a raw, musky odor, and my manhood pulsed harder, my heart aching with love for her untamed spirit.
As I climbed the stairs, my heart racing, I spotted her panties—black, lacy, the ones I’d seen her wear—lying on the floor, torn to shreds, the crotch ripped open, still damp with her core’s essence, as if a beast had savagely pulled them from her aroused body. I picked them up, the wet fabric clinging to my fingers, sending a jolt of perverse arousal through me, my manhood leaking into my jeans, my love for her growing fiercer. Driven by a twisted need, I crept toward our bedroom, the sounds growing louder—Radha’s moans, low and throaty, mingling with Mike’s deep groans, a symphony of ecstasy and pleasure that pierced the silence, yet my heart whispered, “She’s mine.”
Peering through the slightly open bedroom door, I saw them, and the sight seared itself into my mind. Radha, my seductive wife, was completely bare, her light brown skin glistening with sweat, straddling Mike as he carried her from the center of the room. His strong hands gripped her round buttocks, squeezing them firmly, spreading them as he walked, his large manhood buried deep inside her, her core stretched around him as she clung to his shoulders, her breasts bouncing with each step, her head thrown back in pleasure. He lifted her with ease, her moans turning to screams of ecstasy as he placed her on the bed, his manhood still buried deep inside my sweet wife. He sat on the edge, and Radha, still straddling him, began to ride him gently, her hips moving in a slow, sensual rhythm, her moans rising as his manhood filled her deeply. Then, he took control, laying her back on the bed, his hands still gripping her buttocks, and began pounding her with savage, unrelenting thrusts, the bedframe groaning and splintering under their frenzy, threatening to collapse.
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