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

[ashuezy2]

Scene 6

Niharika was hovering over him, her heavy 38DD breasts almost resting on his dirty, sweaty chest. Air in room was so thick with their bad heat that I felt dizzy on sofa.

Then, my pure, traditional wife slowly turned head. She pressed soft, beautiful face right into side of his dark, unshaven neck. Her lips brushed direct on his dirty ear.

She whispered something to him.

I tried hard to hear behind laptop. I held breath, trying to catch even one word. But I could not hear words. I only heard wet, heavy sound of her breath on his skin. For ten years marriage, Niharika and I shared every secret, every family plan, every worry about daughter. But this whisper—this dark, heavy promise, belonged fully to street carpenter.

Pain of being left out from her voice hurt my heart more than I can say. Tears started flowing free on my cheeks.

Madhav’s dark eyes went fully wide at what she whispered. His raw, calloused hands twitched on carpet.

Niharika pulled back. She did not look at him, and not at me. She just stood up. Old, soft pink cotton of saree stuck to her wide, heavy hips. She turned back to balcony and started walking. She walked with that slow, heavy, beautiful sway, walking straight past family dining table, straight to master bedroom. Bedroom where Mrunal’s baby clothes kept. Bedroom where I promised to love her forever.

She stepped inside dark room and left door wide open behind her.

Madhav stayed frozen on carpet for exact two seconds. Then, spell broke. He did not care about dry wood. He did not care about heavy iron screwdriver or measuring tape left on family rug. He got up fast. His loose, mud-stained trousers hung low on thin waist. He wiped sweating mouth with back of dirty hand, and he followed her. He walked across my clean living room floor, bringing street dust with heavy boots, following smell of my wife like hungry dog.

He stepped into our master bedroom.

Click.

Heavy wooden door shut. And then came sound that fully broke my soul. Sharp, loud metallic slide of heavy brass bolt locking from inside.

I was locked out. I was sitting in own home, gripping silver laptop, fully alone.

Then, painful mind torture really started. Silence in living room was broken by noises from thin wooden door. I could not see them, so my mind had to think every dirty, heavy detail.

First, loud, heavy thud. It was sound of my costly, soft spring mattress taking sudden, big weight. Someone pushed on bed.

Rustle. Shhhhk. Loud, clear sound of old cotton being forced up. It was sound of her pink saree being pulled away from heavy, wide thighs.

Jing-jing-jing. Sharp, fast, violent sound. It was Niharika’s heavy silver payal. But not soft, gentle sound she makes when doing puja. They were hitting hard against wooden frame of bed, shaking with fast, wild energy.

Then came sound of zipper. Harsh, cheap metal zip cutting air, followed by heavy clatter of leather belt buckle hitting tiled bedroom floor. Madhav’s dirty trousers dropped.

I let out silent sob, burying face in soft hands. My trousers stretched so tight, erection throbbing with painful, hot heat. I was crying for death of family’s purity, but body fully caught by dirty truth of what happening on my bed.

Creak. Creak. Creak. Heavy wooden legs of marital bed started screaming against floor. Rhythm was brutal, raw, and fully uneducated. It was heavy, pushing rhythm of labourer driving screw into dry wood.

"Ah... ah..."

Low, deep, dirty grunt came through wood. It was Madhav. Sound of starving street worker finally eating heavy, soft Indian wealth he never supposed to touch.

And then... my wife’s voice.

"Ahhhhh... God... yes..."

It was loud, breathless, shameless moan. It was fully open. Niharika not trying to be quiet for neighbours. She not trying to protect my honour. She was screaming her heavy, long-waited relief, voice breaking with pure, animal pleasure my soft, gentle hands never gave her.