Niharika's Forbidden Never Ending Hunger(Scene 9 - 10 Videos - 1 Image)

[ashuezy2]

Scene 1

I am a very simple man. I love my family more than anything in this world. My name is Vedant. We live in a quiet, old colony in Pune. Every morning, when I wake up and see my wife, Niharika, getting our small daughter, Mrunal, ready for college, my eyes fill with tears of joy. I am a very emotional husband. I always try to treat Niharika like a queen, with soft words and gentle touches. It has been 10 years since we have got married.

But for last few months, there is heavy silence between us. We have been talking lot less.

Niharika has deep traditional, mesmerizing body. She has very slim waist, but her hips are wide and soft, making her walk with slow, heavy sway. But it is her chest that takes breath away from any man who sees her. She is natural, very full 38DD. Her breasts are heavy sloped and always sensitive. Her desire is like hidden, roaring fire. She wants deep, rough passion, but I am too soft. I touch her like she is glass, and I see quiet frustration in her big, dark eyes.

Heavy rains last month spoiled wooden doors of our balcony, so I had called local daily-wage carpenter from nearby basti. His name was Madhav.

Madhav was not gym man. He was dark-skinned from working in hot sun, very thin but stringy with raw, hard muscle. He wore faded, torn checked shirt and loose trousers with mud and cheap tobacco stains. He smelled of sweat, raw wood, and hard street.

It was Tuesday afternoon. I took half-day from office to stay home while work was done. Our daughter was at college.

I was sitting quietly in living room with my laptop. Madhav was sitting on floor near balcony, using his rough, hard hands to saw piece of wood.

Then, Niharika came out from kitchen.

She was wearing very simple, old light pink cotton saree for house chores. She did not pin pallu to shoulder; it was just dbangd loose. She wore matching pink blouse that was stitched very tight with deep, round neck. Because cotton was soft and old, the heavy weight of her 38DD breasts was clearly visible, bouncing softly with every step. Her face had no makeup, just thin sweat on forehead, and lips slightly open.

She was carrying steel glass of water for carpenter.

"Take some water, Madhav," she said. Her voice was normal, but sounded suddenly thick in quiet room.

I watched from over my laptop screen.

Madhav stopped and saw. He did not stand. He stayed sitting on floor, looking up at her. He wiped dirty sweat from forehead with raw hand. As he reached up to take steel glass from her, his rough, dirty fingers brushed against Niharika’s soft, clean fingers.

Normally, my traditional wife would pull hand back fast from labourer. She would adjust saree to hide her heavy chest from stranger's eyes.

She did nothing like that.

Niharika stood still. Loose pink pallu slipped little more down her arm, showing deep, heavy cleavage of her chest right above his face.

Madhav took slow sip of water, eyes not on glass. His dark, hungry eyes fixed on heavy, soft swell of her breasts over tight pink blouse. He was staring with raw, bad hunger like starving street dog at food. It was pure, wrong disrespect.

As a husband, my blood should boil. I should shout at him and tell him to leave house now.

But my body did opposite as me and my wife had not been talking too much for past few weeks.

As I watched my beautiful, educated wife stand there, letting dirty, low-class labourer look at her heavy body, sudden hot wave came to my private part. My breath stopped. I saw Niharika’s chest rise and fall faster. Her breathing heavy. She stared down at his rough, dark face, and I saw small, bad softening in her eyes. Frustration I see usually was gone. Replaced by dark, heavy want.

"Is wood very hard to cut?" Niharika asked softly.

"Yes, madam," Madhav replied, voice rough and deep, still staring at her heavy curves. "It needs lot of hard force. But my hands are used to breaking hard things."

Niharika swallowed. Small shiver on her bare waist.

They did not touch. They did nothing wrong. But air in room was thick with raw, dirty tension, I felt like choking. I sat frozen behind screen, heart beating fast with mix of deep pain and erection so hard it created a tent in my trousers.

She wanted him. My perfect wife wanted this dirty labourer to use rough hands on her. And knowing she felt desire she never felt with me(for past few months) with man so low in status—was most beautiful, breaking thing I ever saw.