22-02-2026, 12:03 PM
She reached for the yellow saree on the bed, her boobs heaving as she picked it up, holding the yellow saree by the pallu end, the long length cascading down in soft folds. She dbangd the yellow saree pallu over her left shoulder first, the yellow saree falling sensually over her boobs and white bra, the sheer chiffon teasing the curves of her boobs, the pallu sliding slowly down her back, brushing her ass cheeks lightly with every breath. She tucked the yellow saree lower edge into her yellow petticoat waistband at her right hip, her fingers sliding the yellow saree under the drawstring bow, pulling it taut against her hips, the yellow saree hugging her wide hips and plump ass cheeks snugly, the pleats forming slowly as she gathered the yellow saree in neat folds with both hands, each fold pressed flat against her navel and lower belly, the yellow saree pleats fanning out perfectly over her yellow petticoat, the rich yellow color shimmering against her glowing ass cheeks and thighs, the yellow saree dbanging erotically over her ass cheeks, teasing the lower swell with every subtle movement of her hips.
She wrapped the remaining yellow saree length around her waist once more, the yellow saree gliding smoothly over her ass cheeks and hips, hugging her pussy mound through the maroon panties and yellow petticoat, the yellow saree clinging sensually to her curves, then brought the yellow saree pallu back over her right shoulder, letting it fall loosely over her boobs and white bra, the pallu dbanging softly, the sheer chiffon teasing the outline of her boobs, her nipples faintly pressing against the yellow blouse beneath, the yellow saree pallu cascading down her back, brushing her ass cheeks lightly, the entire yellow saree hugging her body like a lover, every fold and dbang accentuating her boobs, hips, ass cheeks, and thighs, the rich yellow color glowing against her skin, making her look irresistibly sexy and divine.
My wife blushed deeper as she felt the yellow saree settle into place, her boobs rising and falling rapidly inside the yellow blouse over the white bra, her large dark eyes glancing at me shyly.
She adjusted the yellow saree pallu over her boobs one last time, her boobs jiggling slightly under the yellow saree and yellow blouse, her thick juicy thighs shifting as she stood, the yellow saree rustling softly with her movement, hugging her ass cheeks and thighs more tightly, the yellow saree teasing the curves of her ass cheeks with every subtle shift of her hips.
I stood there, my cock throbbing painfully inside my white lungi, leaking precum, watching her dbang the yellow saree over her body so sensually, every fold hugging her boobs, hips, ass cheeks, and thighs, making her look like a goddess ready for the camera. A sudden, violent wave of possessive rage exploded inside me — my wife, naked moments ago under my hands, my mouth, my eyes, now wrapped in this yellow saree for Giridhar Sir, for Arjun, Vikram, Suresh, Karthik... for all of them. My mind roared: she’s mine. Her boobs, her ass cheeks, her pussy, her every curve — mine to touch, mine to taste, mine to fuck, mine to own. Why the fuck am I letting her go there? Let Giridhar Sir see her like this, let him call her “Sudha”, let him hug her, kiss her face, squeeze her ass cheeks, whisper in her ear while the boys call her “Sudha akka” and watch, while the camera rolls? Let Arjun direct her through those “romantic” scenes, let him tell her how to moan, how to spread her thighs, how to look at the lens while they all stare, Giridhar Sir praising her, the boys excited, all of them surrounding her, touching her, owning her on screen. My chest tightened until it hurt, jealousy burning like acid in my veins, my cock pulsing harder at the filthy, sick thought of her moaning under their lights, under their direction, under their gaze — Giridhar Sir calling her “Sudha”, the boys calling her “Sudha akka”, all of them lusting for her, claiming her piece by piece. Should I stop her? Drag her back to bed, rip this yellow saree off, fuck her hard right now, fill her pussy with my cum, mark her so deep inside that no one else can claim her? Chain her here, keep her naked, keep her mine, never let her leave this room? But she trusts them... wants to go... for the “cause”... for her degree... for me? My balls ached, my heart hammered like it would explode, rage and lust twisting together until I couldn’t breathe — she’s mine... she’s fucking mine... but today... she’ll be theirs... and I’ll be watching... helpless... hard... broken... aroused beyond reason... wanting to kill them... wanting to watch them take her... wanting to scream... wanting to cum... she’s mine... she’s mine... she’s mine... but she’s slipping away... right in front of me... wrapped in this yellow saree... for them.
My wife hurried to the dressing table, her boobs heaving over the yellow blouse as she sat down, still flushed from my earlier teasing. She quickly opened her makeup kit, her thick juicy thighs shifting under the yellow saree, her plump ass cheeks pressing into the chair. She dabbed a light foundation over her cheeks and forehead, her fingers moving fast, then lined her large dark eyes with kohl, making them look even bigger and more seductive, her lashes curled and coated with mascara, her eyes now smoky and irresistible. She applied a soft pink blush to her cheeks, then a deep red lipstick to her full lips, outlining them carefully, filling them in slowly, the color making her lips look plump and kissable, glistening under the light. She brushed her hair quickly, letting it fall in soft waves over her shoulders, a few strands framing her face, enhancing her stunning beauty. She wore a small red bindi on her forehead, the dot glowing against her skin, and slipped on her mangalsutra, the gold chain resting perfectly between her boobs over the yellow blouse, the pendant nestling in her cleavage. She stood up, turning to the mirror, her yellow saree dbanging sensually over her boobs, hips, ass cheeks, and thighs, the rich yellow color making her look stunningly hot, elegant yet irresistibly sexy, her body glowing like a bride ready for her lover, every curve accentuated, her face radiant, her lips inviting, her eyes captivating.
I watched her, my cock throbbing violently inside my white lungi, leaking precum, my mind racing. How do I tell her? How do I say, “Sudha... let’s not go... don’t go to the Cameraman’s house... don’t let him see you like this... don’t let Giridhar Sir and the boys touch you... stay here... with me... you’re mine.” My chest tightened, possessiveness choking me, jealousy burning hot — she’s dressing up for them, not me. My cock pulsed harder at the thought of her walking into that house, the old man calling her “baby”, Giridhar Sir calling her “Sudha”, the boys calling her “Sudha akka”, all of them staring, planning, waiting to see her in those “romantic” scenes. I opened my mouth, words stuck in my throat — “Sudha... wait... let’s not...” — but I couldn’t say it, fear and lust twisting inside me.
That’s when Arjun started calling my wife. Her phone rang on the bed, Arjun’s name flashing. She picked it up quickly, her boobs heaving over the yellow blouse, her yellow saree rustling as she moved.
"Hello Arjun... yes... I am ready... I am on the way... 30 minutes... okay... see you soon," she said softly, her voice excited and nervous, hanging up the phone.
She turned to me, her boobs rising and falling over the yellow blouse, her large dark eyes bright.
"Rajesh... Arjun said all have come... all are waiting for me... let’s go... we are late," she said, her voice urgent, her thick juicy thighs shifting under the yellow saree, her plump ass cheeks jiggling slightly as she moved toward me.
I quickly wore my white shirt and white dhoti, my cock still throbbing painfully inside my white dhoti as I changed, my mind in two minds — stop her... let her go... stop her... let her go. I took her hand, her fingers warm in mine, and led her to the car. I opened the door for her, watching her yellow saree sway as she sat, her boobs heaving over the yellow blouse, her yellow petticoat rustling, her thick juicy thighs outlined under the yellow saree, her beauty overwhelming.
I drove, my cock throbbing the whole way, my mind torn — possessive rage screaming to turn back, lust whispering to watch her fall into their hands. We reached the Cameraman’s house, my heart pounding, my balls aching, jealousy and filthy excitement twisting inside me as I parked the car, knowing she was about to step into their world, dressed like this, ready for them.
She wrapped the remaining yellow saree length around her waist once more, the yellow saree gliding smoothly over her ass cheeks and hips, hugging her pussy mound through the maroon panties and yellow petticoat, the yellow saree clinging sensually to her curves, then brought the yellow saree pallu back over her right shoulder, letting it fall loosely over her boobs and white bra, the pallu dbanging softly, the sheer chiffon teasing the outline of her boobs, her nipples faintly pressing against the yellow blouse beneath, the yellow saree pallu cascading down her back, brushing her ass cheeks lightly, the entire yellow saree hugging her body like a lover, every fold and dbang accentuating her boobs, hips, ass cheeks, and thighs, the rich yellow color glowing against her skin, making her look irresistibly sexy and divine.
My wife blushed deeper as she felt the yellow saree settle into place, her boobs rising and falling rapidly inside the yellow blouse over the white bra, her large dark eyes glancing at me shyly.
She adjusted the yellow saree pallu over her boobs one last time, her boobs jiggling slightly under the yellow saree and yellow blouse, her thick juicy thighs shifting as she stood, the yellow saree rustling softly with her movement, hugging her ass cheeks and thighs more tightly, the yellow saree teasing the curves of her ass cheeks with every subtle shift of her hips.
I stood there, my cock throbbing painfully inside my white lungi, leaking precum, watching her dbang the yellow saree over her body so sensually, every fold hugging her boobs, hips, ass cheeks, and thighs, making her look like a goddess ready for the camera. A sudden, violent wave of possessive rage exploded inside me — my wife, naked moments ago under my hands, my mouth, my eyes, now wrapped in this yellow saree for Giridhar Sir, for Arjun, Vikram, Suresh, Karthik... for all of them. My mind roared: she’s mine. Her boobs, her ass cheeks, her pussy, her every curve — mine to touch, mine to taste, mine to fuck, mine to own. Why the fuck am I letting her go there? Let Giridhar Sir see her like this, let him call her “Sudha”, let him hug her, kiss her face, squeeze her ass cheeks, whisper in her ear while the boys call her “Sudha akka” and watch, while the camera rolls? Let Arjun direct her through those “romantic” scenes, let him tell her how to moan, how to spread her thighs, how to look at the lens while they all stare, Giridhar Sir praising her, the boys excited, all of them surrounding her, touching her, owning her on screen. My chest tightened until it hurt, jealousy burning like acid in my veins, my cock pulsing harder at the filthy, sick thought of her moaning under their lights, under their direction, under their gaze — Giridhar Sir calling her “Sudha”, the boys calling her “Sudha akka”, all of them lusting for her, claiming her piece by piece. Should I stop her? Drag her back to bed, rip this yellow saree off, fuck her hard right now, fill her pussy with my cum, mark her so deep inside that no one else can claim her? Chain her here, keep her naked, keep her mine, never let her leave this room? But she trusts them... wants to go... for the “cause”... for her degree... for me? My balls ached, my heart hammered like it would explode, rage and lust twisting together until I couldn’t breathe — she’s mine... she’s fucking mine... but today... she’ll be theirs... and I’ll be watching... helpless... hard... broken... aroused beyond reason... wanting to kill them... wanting to watch them take her... wanting to scream... wanting to cum... she’s mine... she’s mine... she’s mine... but she’s slipping away... right in front of me... wrapped in this yellow saree... for them.
My wife hurried to the dressing table, her boobs heaving over the yellow blouse as she sat down, still flushed from my earlier teasing. She quickly opened her makeup kit, her thick juicy thighs shifting under the yellow saree, her plump ass cheeks pressing into the chair. She dabbed a light foundation over her cheeks and forehead, her fingers moving fast, then lined her large dark eyes with kohl, making them look even bigger and more seductive, her lashes curled and coated with mascara, her eyes now smoky and irresistible. She applied a soft pink blush to her cheeks, then a deep red lipstick to her full lips, outlining them carefully, filling them in slowly, the color making her lips look plump and kissable, glistening under the light. She brushed her hair quickly, letting it fall in soft waves over her shoulders, a few strands framing her face, enhancing her stunning beauty. She wore a small red bindi on her forehead, the dot glowing against her skin, and slipped on her mangalsutra, the gold chain resting perfectly between her boobs over the yellow blouse, the pendant nestling in her cleavage. She stood up, turning to the mirror, her yellow saree dbanging sensually over her boobs, hips, ass cheeks, and thighs, the rich yellow color making her look stunningly hot, elegant yet irresistibly sexy, her body glowing like a bride ready for her lover, every curve accentuated, her face radiant, her lips inviting, her eyes captivating.
I watched her, my cock throbbing violently inside my white lungi, leaking precum, my mind racing. How do I tell her? How do I say, “Sudha... let’s not go... don’t go to the Cameraman’s house... don’t let him see you like this... don’t let Giridhar Sir and the boys touch you... stay here... with me... you’re mine.” My chest tightened, possessiveness choking me, jealousy burning hot — she’s dressing up for them, not me. My cock pulsed harder at the thought of her walking into that house, the old man calling her “baby”, Giridhar Sir calling her “Sudha”, the boys calling her “Sudha akka”, all of them staring, planning, waiting to see her in those “romantic” scenes. I opened my mouth, words stuck in my throat — “Sudha... wait... let’s not...” — but I couldn’t say it, fear and lust twisting inside me.
That’s when Arjun started calling my wife. Her phone rang on the bed, Arjun’s name flashing. She picked it up quickly, her boobs heaving over the yellow blouse, her yellow saree rustling as she moved.
"Hello Arjun... yes... I am ready... I am on the way... 30 minutes... okay... see you soon," she said softly, her voice excited and nervous, hanging up the phone.
She turned to me, her boobs rising and falling over the yellow blouse, her large dark eyes bright.
"Rajesh... Arjun said all have come... all are waiting for me... let’s go... we are late," she said, her voice urgent, her thick juicy thighs shifting under the yellow saree, her plump ass cheeks jiggling slightly as she moved toward me.
I quickly wore my white shirt and white dhoti, my cock still throbbing painfully inside my white dhoti as I changed, my mind in two minds — stop her... let her go... stop her... let her go. I took her hand, her fingers warm in mine, and led her to the car. I opened the door for her, watching her yellow saree sway as she sat, her boobs heaving over the yellow blouse, her yellow petticoat rustling, her thick juicy thighs outlined under the yellow saree, her beauty overwhelming.
I drove, my cock throbbing the whole way, my mind torn — possessive rage screaming to turn back, lust whispering to watch her fall into their hands. We reached the Cameraman’s house, my heart pounding, my balls aching, jealousy and filthy excitement twisting inside me as I parked the car, knowing she was about to step into their world, dressed like this, ready for them.
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