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

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Scene 2

Madhav slowly put down steel glass. Water was finished, but he did not let go fast. For one long, choking second, his rough, dirty thumb stayed pressed on Niharika’s soft, pink skin.

Then, he gave empty glass back. "Thank you, madam," he said. His voice was thick, like dry wood rubbing.

Niharika said nothing. She just nodded slowly, her dark eyes still locked on his sweaty, dirty face. Finally, she turned. Heavy, soft weight of her wide hips swayed under thin pink cotton saree as she walked away.

I let out breath I did not know I was holding. My hands shook over laptop keyboard. I thought it was over. I thought she would go back to safe kitchen, and my fast heart would calm.

But my beautiful wife did not go to kitchen.

She walked into our master bedroom and came out with big plastic basket full of dry laundry. My heart squeezed with big wave of love. That is who Niharika is. She is devoted mother. She always works for our family, always makes home perfect.

But instead of taking basket to bed, she carried it to living room. She walked near balcony door, stopping few feet from where Madhav sat on floor.

She sat down on soft carpet, in patch of afternoon sun. She tucked legs under wide hips. She did not fix loose pallu. It stayed dbangd careless on arm, leaving whole deep, round neck of tight pink blouse open.

Madhav picked up hand-saw again. He placed it on raw wood. But his rhythm was broken.

Niharika reached into basket and took out tiny, college shirt of our daughter, Mrunal. Seeing her gentle hands fold daughter’s uniform brought tears to my eyes. I love them both so much. But as Niharika leaned forward to smooth small collar, her heavy 38DD breasts filled tight blouse fabric, pressing deep together to make thick, dark line of cleavage right in Madhav's sight.

Khach. Khach. Khach. Madhav started sawing wood. Harsh, scbanging sound of metal teeth biting hard timber echoed in quiet room.

Niharika picked up one of my big office shirts to fold. To flatten broad shoulders on carpet, she leaned very far forward. As she did, old cotton of blouse strained bad. Heavy weight of her upper body pulled down by gravity.

Madhav stopped sawing.

I watched from behind laptop screen, could not move. Madhav was kneeling on floor, holding saw, but his dark, hungry eyes glued to heavy, bouncing swell of my wife's chest. He stared openly down into her loose pink blouse. He breathed heavy, thin chest up and down, bead of dirty sweat running on neck.

He was disrespecting my home, my wife, my life. But I could not speak. Lump in throat too thick. My trousers painful tight, erection throbbing hard like not in years.

Niharika knew he was looking. I know my wife. I saw small flush on cheeks. I saw her breathing match rhythm of his saw.

She did not pull saree up to cover. Instead, she reached for another shirt, leaning forward even slower. She let heavy, soft chest rest short time on her knees, showing ample curves fully to this low-class labourer.

"Sun is very hot today," Niharika said softly, not looking at him, just at shirt she folded. Her voice breathy, like whisper.

"Yes, madam," Madhav grunted. His voice fully hoarse. He gripped wooden plank so hard, dark knuckles white. "It makes man very thirsty. No matter how much water he drinks."

Niharika finally looked up. Her big, dark eyes met his rough, strong gaze. Slow, small shiver ran through her thick, beautiful body.

They were five feet apart. They not touching. But air between them thick with dirty, raw lust, I felt like drowning. I sat still in my living room, like silent ghost, forced to watch my pure, traditional wife slowly come apart under hungry eyes of street carpenter. And God help me, I never wanted afternoon to end.