19-04-2026, 11:51 AM
After finishing her long playful scolding, she finally laughs and comes into my arms again.
"You are lucky I love you so much, Rajesh. Otherwise I would really get angry one day." my wife says softly, hugging me tightly so her massive boobs press against my chest over the nighty.
This playful scolding ritual has become a sweet habit between us. My wife always cooperates when I suddenly hug her naked body and carry her to bed. She enjoys the lovemaking fully, cums hard with me, and then later turns it into this cute, dramatic scolding session full of love and laughter. It makes our married life even more exciting and intimate. She scolds me playfully every single time, but her eyes and smile always show how much she enjoys being desired by me.
"You never change, Rajesh. But I still love you." my wife whispers at the end of her scolding, kissing me with her full plump lips.
I did not take even a single penny as dowry when I married my wife. I wanted her only for herself, not for any money or property. But my wife’s mother lovingly gave her 50 sovereigns of ancestral gold on our wedding day. This gold was not ordinary. It had been passed down through generations in my wife’s family for ages. Her mother received it from her own mother, who had received it from her mother, and so on. The gold was ancient, handed down from great-grandmothers and great-great-grandmothers. Some of the pieces were very old, with traditional designs that showed the rich heritage of my wife’s Tamil family.
This ancestral gold means everything to my wife. She always speaks about it with deep emotion and respect. It is not just jewellery to her. It is the symbol of her family’s love, sacrifices, and history. Her mother had told her stories about how the gold was carefully preserved through difficult times by the women in the family. My wife feels a strong emotional connection to every sovereign. She promised herself that she would protect this gold and one day pass it on to our future daughters-in-law with the same love and respect.
The ancestral gold carries the blessings and memories of all the women who wore it before her. My wife often touches the empty space where the gold used to be kept and her eyes become emotional. She says the gold represents her family’s honour and her own identity as a Tamil wife. It is priceless and sacred to her heart. She dreams of the day when she can keep this ancient family gold safely with pride again.
Even today, whenever my wife thinks about that ancestral gold, she becomes quiet and thoughtful. She tells me how much it means to her. The gold is a living connection to her ancestors. It has been in her family for generations and holds immense sentimental value. My wife values this ancient gold more than anything else apart from our three sons and our marriage. She feels a deep sense of responsibility towards it because it was lovingly passed down by the women before her.
I feel the weight of her emotions regarding this ancestral gold. My wife never complains, but I know how important it is to her. She speaks about it with love and reverence, remembering the stories her mother told her. This gold is not just metal to my wife. It is her family legacy, her emotional anchor, and a symbol of the strong women who came before her. She holds it very close to her heart and hopes to recover every piece one day so she can pass on the same heritage with pride.
My wife’s deep attachment to this ancestral gold makes me love and respect her even more. Her loyalty to her family traditions and her emotional bond with the gold passed down for generations show what a beautiful and caring woman she is. This ancient gold remains one of the most precious things in her life, and I understand how much it truly means to her.
My wife and I fight and argue a lot. Small things quickly turn into big arguments in our house. Sometimes we argue about money, sometimes about how late I come home from court, sometimes about how much time she spends chatting with neighbours. The fights are loud and emotional. My wife gets very angry and shouts at me with her hands on her wide hips. Her massive heavy boobs heave inside her blouse or white nighty when she is shouting. Her full plump lips tremble with anger and her large expressive eyes flash with fire. I also shout back because I am stubborn. The arguments can last for hours and the whole house feels tense.
When I am the one who gets angry, my wife knows exactly how to handle me. She stops shouting, comes close to me, and starts seducing me softly. She presses her massive heavy boobs against my chest over the nighty and rubs her wide hips against me. She looks up at me with her large expressive eyes and speaks in a sweet, husky voice.
"Rajesh, please do not be angry with me. Come, let me make you feel better." my wife whispers.
She takes my hand and leads me to the bed. She pulls the white nighty up over her head and stands naked in front of me. She pushes me onto the bed, climbs on top of me, and guides my cock into her clean shaved pussy. She rides me slowly at first, her massive heavy boobs bouncing heavily in front of my face. She leans down and kisses me while moving her hips in circles. Her plump round ass cheeks slap against my thighs as she increases the speed. Soon my anger melts away completely as I grab her boobs and thrust up into her pussy.
When my wife is the one who is angry, I handle it differently. I let her shout for some time, then I calmly tell her to get ready. I take her out to a nice restaurant in Chennai for dinner. She dresses up in her best saree dbangd low on her wide hips with her deep navel fully exposed. During dinner I hold her hand, listen to her complaints, and make her laugh. By the time we finish eating, her anger has softened.
As soon as we reach home, I do not waste any time. I pull her close in the hall and kiss her hard. I remove her saree by tugging it down, unhook the front hooks of her blouse one by one, and remove her bra. I tug her panties down her thick juicy thighs and push her onto the bed. I shove my cock deep into her clean shaved pussy and fuck her hard to cool her down completely. Her massive heavy boobs bounce wildly as I pound her. Her plump round ass cheeks jiggle with every deep thrust. She moans loudly and forgets all her anger.
"Rajesh, you always know how to calm me down... ahh... harder..." my wife moans while her pussy clenches around my cock.
I squeeze her massive heavy boobs, pinch her nipples, and keep slamming into her pussy until she is completely relaxed and satisfied. After we both cum hard, she lies in my arms breathing heavily with a peaceful smile.
"I was so angry with you earlier, but now I cannot even remember why. You always take me out and then bring me home and fuck my pussy so well that all my anger disappears." my wife says softly, snuggling closer to me.
She kisses my chest and rests her head on my shoulder. Her massive heavy boobs press warmly against my side. She plays with her mangalsutra between her boobs and speaks in a loving voice.
"Whether I seduce you when you are angry or you take me out when I am angry, we always end up like this. Naked, satisfied, and close to each other. I love how we solve our fights, Rajesh." my wife whispers emotionally.
This is how we handle arguments in our marriage. When I am angry she seduces me with her voluptuous body and takes me to bed. When she is angry I take her out to a restaurant to calm her mind and then bring her home to fuck her hard until all her anger melts away. After every fight we make love passionately and then share tender emotional intimacy. She lies in my arms, tells me her worries, and I reassure her while stroking her massive boobs and plump ass cheeks. The fights make our love stronger because we always end them with raw lust and deep affection. My wife remains my hot, homely, and forgiving partner who knows exactly how to turn every argument into closer bonding.
"Promise me we will always make up like this, no matter how big the fight is." my wife says softly, her clean shaved pussy still leaking my cum as she cuddles against me.
We both knew that other men in our middle class Chennai neighbourhood ogled at my wife and lusted after her intensely. It was impossible to ignore. When she walked to the milk shop or grocery shop in her saree dbangd well below her navel, men at the tea stall would suddenly stop talking and stare shamelessly at her massive heavy boobs bouncing heavily inside her blouse. Their eyes would lock onto the deep cleavage and the way her nipples poked hard over the blouse. They would follow every sway of her wide fertile hips and the pronounced jiggle of her plump round ass cheeks under the saree. The panty line visible over her ass cheeks over the saree made many of them lick their lips openly. Some men would even turn their heads completely and keep staring until she disappeared around the corner.
At the gold pawn shop, the Marwadi uncle and his young assistants would forget their work and stare hungrily at her exposed deep navel and the massive heavy boobs straining against her blouse. Their eyes would roam greedily over her thick juicy thighs and the way her plump ass cheeks pushed out prominently. Even the vegetable seller on the corner cart would pause mid-transaction and gawk at her voluptuous body, his gaze fixed on her bouncing boobs and rolling hips.
When she wore the white nighty for quick errands to the bakery or milk shop, the situation became even more intense. The loose white nighty could barely contain the heavy bounce of her massive boobs, and her nipples poked obviously over the nighty. Men riding bicycles would slow down dangerously and turn their heads to watch her boobs jiggle with every step. Neighbours sitting outside their houses would openly stare at her plump round ass cheeks moving under the nighty and the visible outline of her panty line over her ass cheeks over the nighty. Some younger boys would whistle softly or make comments under their breath when they thought we could not hear.
We both noticed everything clearly. My wife would sometimes come home and whisper to me with a mix of embarrassment and awareness, “Rajesh, those men at the tea stall were staring so shamelessly at my boobs and ass cheeks today.” I would feel a sharp sting of jealousy mixed with strange pride because I knew every inch of her body — her massive heavy boobs, her clean shaved pussy, her plump round ass cheeks, and her deep navel — belonged only to me.
Yet despite all this intense ogling and lust from other men, my wife stayed completely loyal to me. No matter how many hungry eyes devoured her voluptuous body every day, she never gave anyone even a single encouraging glance. She remained my faithful Tamil wife, wearing her mangalsutra proudly between her massive heavy boobs as a constant reminder of our marriage. She only belonged to me — her pussy, her massive boobs, her plump ass cheeks, and her entire body were only for me to touch, squeeze, and fuck.
Other than me, the only man who ever touched her was her younger brother Ramu. He was not lustful at all. Ramu was a simple, respectful boy who lived with my wife’s parents in their native village. Whenever he visited us in Chennai, he would greet my wife with a warm, innocent hug and kiss her on the cheeks affectionately like a younger brother does. My wife loved him dearly and would hug him back tightly, her massive heavy boobs pressing against his chest for a brief, pure moment. She would ruffle his hair and ask about his studies with genuine sisterly affection. Ramu never looked at her with desire. He treated her with pure sibling love and respect.
These small, innocent touches from Ramu were the only times another man’s hands or lips ever came near her body. Everything else — every hug, every kiss, every thrust into her pussy, every squeeze of her massive heavy boobs and plump ass cheeks — was reserved only for me. My wife stayed loyal through all the intense staring and raw lust from other men in the neighbourhood. She knew they wanted her desperately, but she chose me every single day. This unwavering loyalty made me love her even more deeply, even as the constant knowledge that others desired her voluptuous body sometimes made me fiercely jealous and possessive.
Just like many other wives in Chennai, my wife also got groped in crowded places, especially in temples. We both knew it happened but we never talked about it. We chose to forget those incidents as a bad dream so that it would not spoil our married life. The groping was always sudden and shameless in the dense crowds.
Recently we went to the famous temple to pray to God before starting the construction of our dream house. Our dream house was going to be a ground floor plus five floors with a tank room on top. It was both my wife’s dream and mine. We had planned and saved for it for many years. That day my wife wore a beautiful saree dbangd well below her navel, her deep navel fully exposed, and a tight blouse with front hooks that struggled to contain her massive heavy boobs.
The temple was extremely crowded. Devotees pushed against each other from all sides. As we moved slowly towards the inner sanctum, my wife got separated from me by just a few feet in the sea of people. I could see her but could not reach her quickly.
Suddenly four to five men surrounded her in the tight crowd. One man standing directly behind her boldly grabbed her plump round ass cheeks with both hands and squeezed them hard over the saree, his fingers digging deep into the soft flesh. Another man from the side reached out and crushed her massive heavy boobs over her blouse, squeezing and kneading them roughly. A third man slipped his hand under her saree pallu and rubbed her deep navel in circles before moving lower to grab her wide hips and pull her closer. My wife’s eyes widened in shock but she was completely helpless. She could not shout or push them away because of the heavy crowd and the fear of creating a scene inside the temple.
The men grew bolder. One of them tugged at the front of her blouse and pinched her nipples hard over the blouse while another pressed his body tightly against her from the front and rubbed his crotch shamelessly against her pussy area over the saree. A fourth man reached from the side and slapped her plump ass cheeks lightly before grabbing and jiggling them. My wife bit her lower lip tightly, her face flushed with embarrassment and discomfort. Her massive heavy boobs were being mauled openly, her nipples pinched and twisted, while her plump round ass cheeks were squeezed and slapped repeatedly in the middle of the crowd. I stood just a short distance away, watching helplessly as strange hands violated my wife’s body. I tried to push forward but the sea of people blocked me completely.
The groping continued for several long, agonizing minutes. The men took turns feeling every part of her voluptuous body — squeezing her massive heavy boobs, pinching her nipples over the blouse, grabbing and kneading her plump round ass cheeks, rubbing her deep navel, and pressing against her pussy over the saree. My wife endured it silently, her eyes occasionally meeting mine with a helpless, embarrassed look. Luckily, as the crowd surged forward towards the deity, the men gradually released her one by one and disappeared into the mass of people.
My wife quickly adjusted her saree pallu and blouse, her hands trembling slightly. She looked shaken but composed. I finally managed to reach her side. We both pretended nothing had happened. We prayed together in front of the god, asking for blessings for our upcoming house construction — the ground floor plus five floors with a tank room on top that we both dreamed of building. After the prayer we came home without speaking a single word about the groping. We never discussed such incidents. We treated them like a bad dream we wanted to forget quickly so that our married life remained peaceful and loving.
That night, after returning from the temple, I pulled my wife close and made love to her passionately to wash away the unpleasant memory. She responded with extra warmth, as if she also wanted to erase what had happened in the crowd. Our dream house was still to be built, and we chose to focus only on our love and our future together, leaving the ugly groping incidents behind as unspoken shadows.
"Let us pray that our new house brings us only happiness and peace, Rajesh." my wife whispered later that night while lying in my arms, her massive heavy boobs resting against my chest. We never mentioned the temple groping again.
After returning from the temple, we started the construction of our dream house. The work began with great excitement. First the foundation was laid deep and strong. Then the ground floor walls came up slowly, brick by brick. We watched every stage with pride. The columns were raised, the slabs were cast, and soon the first floor and second floor were completed. The structure was growing tall exactly as we had planned — ground floor plus five floors with a tank room on top.
When the construction reached the third floor, the money suddenly ran out. We had spent everything we had saved. The workers were waiting for the next payment to continue. That evening my wife sat with me and spoke calmly.
She took out her ancestral gold — the beautiful pieces her mother had given her as dowry. These ornaments had been passed down for generations. Her mother wore them, her mother’s mother wore them, and her mother’s mother’s mother had kept them safely. They were not just jewellery; they were symbols of her family’s history and love.
I became very emotional and said no immediately.
"No, Sudha. I cannot allow this. This is your ancestral gold. It belonged to your mother and her mother before her. How can I let you pledge it? We will find another way." I told her with a heavy heart.
My wife looked at me with calm, loving eyes and held my hands.
"Rajesh, it is okay. We do not have daughters. This gold will stay in our family through our sons. This house is our dream — yours and mine. Let me contribute too. We are one. If we do this together, we will build something strong for our future." my wife said softly.
I still hesitated, my eyes filling with tears.
"But Sudha, this gold is your mother’s legacy. I feel terrible taking it."
She smiled gently and cupped my face.
"I love you, Rajesh. I want to contribute to our home. This house is not only yours or mine — it is ours. We will generate rent from the upper floors later and recover the gold. Trust me. We have to do this together." my wife convinced me with her calm and loving words.
After thinking for a long time and seeing no other choice, I finally agreed. It was one of the hardest decisions we ever made. The next day we went to the Marwadi pawn shop with a heavy heart. My wife handed over her ancestral gold pieces one by one. The Marwadi uncle weighed them carefully and gave us the loan amount. We both felt a deep pain watching her family’s legacy being locked away, but we had no other option if we wanted to complete our dream house.
With that money, the construction continued. The third floor, fourth floor, fifth floor, and finally the tank room on top were completed. After six long months of hard work, our house stood tall and beautiful — ground floor plus five floors with a tank room on top.
"You are lucky I love you so much, Rajesh. Otherwise I would really get angry one day." my wife says softly, hugging me tightly so her massive boobs press against my chest over the nighty.
This playful scolding ritual has become a sweet habit between us. My wife always cooperates when I suddenly hug her naked body and carry her to bed. She enjoys the lovemaking fully, cums hard with me, and then later turns it into this cute, dramatic scolding session full of love and laughter. It makes our married life even more exciting and intimate. She scolds me playfully every single time, but her eyes and smile always show how much she enjoys being desired by me.
"You never change, Rajesh. But I still love you." my wife whispers at the end of her scolding, kissing me with her full plump lips.
I did not take even a single penny as dowry when I married my wife. I wanted her only for herself, not for any money or property. But my wife’s mother lovingly gave her 50 sovereigns of ancestral gold on our wedding day. This gold was not ordinary. It had been passed down through generations in my wife’s family for ages. Her mother received it from her own mother, who had received it from her mother, and so on. The gold was ancient, handed down from great-grandmothers and great-great-grandmothers. Some of the pieces were very old, with traditional designs that showed the rich heritage of my wife’s Tamil family.
This ancestral gold means everything to my wife. She always speaks about it with deep emotion and respect. It is not just jewellery to her. It is the symbol of her family’s love, sacrifices, and history. Her mother had told her stories about how the gold was carefully preserved through difficult times by the women in the family. My wife feels a strong emotional connection to every sovereign. She promised herself that she would protect this gold and one day pass it on to our future daughters-in-law with the same love and respect.
The ancestral gold carries the blessings and memories of all the women who wore it before her. My wife often touches the empty space where the gold used to be kept and her eyes become emotional. She says the gold represents her family’s honour and her own identity as a Tamil wife. It is priceless and sacred to her heart. She dreams of the day when she can keep this ancient family gold safely with pride again.
Even today, whenever my wife thinks about that ancestral gold, she becomes quiet and thoughtful. She tells me how much it means to her. The gold is a living connection to her ancestors. It has been in her family for generations and holds immense sentimental value. My wife values this ancient gold more than anything else apart from our three sons and our marriage. She feels a deep sense of responsibility towards it because it was lovingly passed down by the women before her.
I feel the weight of her emotions regarding this ancestral gold. My wife never complains, but I know how important it is to her. She speaks about it with love and reverence, remembering the stories her mother told her. This gold is not just metal to my wife. It is her family legacy, her emotional anchor, and a symbol of the strong women who came before her. She holds it very close to her heart and hopes to recover every piece one day so she can pass on the same heritage with pride.
My wife’s deep attachment to this ancestral gold makes me love and respect her even more. Her loyalty to her family traditions and her emotional bond with the gold passed down for generations show what a beautiful and caring woman she is. This ancient gold remains one of the most precious things in her life, and I understand how much it truly means to her.
My wife and I fight and argue a lot. Small things quickly turn into big arguments in our house. Sometimes we argue about money, sometimes about how late I come home from court, sometimes about how much time she spends chatting with neighbours. The fights are loud and emotional. My wife gets very angry and shouts at me with her hands on her wide hips. Her massive heavy boobs heave inside her blouse or white nighty when she is shouting. Her full plump lips tremble with anger and her large expressive eyes flash with fire. I also shout back because I am stubborn. The arguments can last for hours and the whole house feels tense.
When I am the one who gets angry, my wife knows exactly how to handle me. She stops shouting, comes close to me, and starts seducing me softly. She presses her massive heavy boobs against my chest over the nighty and rubs her wide hips against me. She looks up at me with her large expressive eyes and speaks in a sweet, husky voice.
"Rajesh, please do not be angry with me. Come, let me make you feel better." my wife whispers.
She takes my hand and leads me to the bed. She pulls the white nighty up over her head and stands naked in front of me. She pushes me onto the bed, climbs on top of me, and guides my cock into her clean shaved pussy. She rides me slowly at first, her massive heavy boobs bouncing heavily in front of my face. She leans down and kisses me while moving her hips in circles. Her plump round ass cheeks slap against my thighs as she increases the speed. Soon my anger melts away completely as I grab her boobs and thrust up into her pussy.
When my wife is the one who is angry, I handle it differently. I let her shout for some time, then I calmly tell her to get ready. I take her out to a nice restaurant in Chennai for dinner. She dresses up in her best saree dbangd low on her wide hips with her deep navel fully exposed. During dinner I hold her hand, listen to her complaints, and make her laugh. By the time we finish eating, her anger has softened.
As soon as we reach home, I do not waste any time. I pull her close in the hall and kiss her hard. I remove her saree by tugging it down, unhook the front hooks of her blouse one by one, and remove her bra. I tug her panties down her thick juicy thighs and push her onto the bed. I shove my cock deep into her clean shaved pussy and fuck her hard to cool her down completely. Her massive heavy boobs bounce wildly as I pound her. Her plump round ass cheeks jiggle with every deep thrust. She moans loudly and forgets all her anger.
"Rajesh, you always know how to calm me down... ahh... harder..." my wife moans while her pussy clenches around my cock.
I squeeze her massive heavy boobs, pinch her nipples, and keep slamming into her pussy until she is completely relaxed and satisfied. After we both cum hard, she lies in my arms breathing heavily with a peaceful smile.
"I was so angry with you earlier, but now I cannot even remember why. You always take me out and then bring me home and fuck my pussy so well that all my anger disappears." my wife says softly, snuggling closer to me.
She kisses my chest and rests her head on my shoulder. Her massive heavy boobs press warmly against my side. She plays with her mangalsutra between her boobs and speaks in a loving voice.
"Whether I seduce you when you are angry or you take me out when I am angry, we always end up like this. Naked, satisfied, and close to each other. I love how we solve our fights, Rajesh." my wife whispers emotionally.
This is how we handle arguments in our marriage. When I am angry she seduces me with her voluptuous body and takes me to bed. When she is angry I take her out to a restaurant to calm her mind and then bring her home to fuck her hard until all her anger melts away. After every fight we make love passionately and then share tender emotional intimacy. She lies in my arms, tells me her worries, and I reassure her while stroking her massive boobs and plump ass cheeks. The fights make our love stronger because we always end them with raw lust and deep affection. My wife remains my hot, homely, and forgiving partner who knows exactly how to turn every argument into closer bonding.
"Promise me we will always make up like this, no matter how big the fight is." my wife says softly, her clean shaved pussy still leaking my cum as she cuddles against me.
We both knew that other men in our middle class Chennai neighbourhood ogled at my wife and lusted after her intensely. It was impossible to ignore. When she walked to the milk shop or grocery shop in her saree dbangd well below her navel, men at the tea stall would suddenly stop talking and stare shamelessly at her massive heavy boobs bouncing heavily inside her blouse. Their eyes would lock onto the deep cleavage and the way her nipples poked hard over the blouse. They would follow every sway of her wide fertile hips and the pronounced jiggle of her plump round ass cheeks under the saree. The panty line visible over her ass cheeks over the saree made many of them lick their lips openly. Some men would even turn their heads completely and keep staring until she disappeared around the corner.
At the gold pawn shop, the Marwadi uncle and his young assistants would forget their work and stare hungrily at her exposed deep navel and the massive heavy boobs straining against her blouse. Their eyes would roam greedily over her thick juicy thighs and the way her plump ass cheeks pushed out prominently. Even the vegetable seller on the corner cart would pause mid-transaction and gawk at her voluptuous body, his gaze fixed on her bouncing boobs and rolling hips.
When she wore the white nighty for quick errands to the bakery or milk shop, the situation became even more intense. The loose white nighty could barely contain the heavy bounce of her massive boobs, and her nipples poked obviously over the nighty. Men riding bicycles would slow down dangerously and turn their heads to watch her boobs jiggle with every step. Neighbours sitting outside their houses would openly stare at her plump round ass cheeks moving under the nighty and the visible outline of her panty line over her ass cheeks over the nighty. Some younger boys would whistle softly or make comments under their breath when they thought we could not hear.
We both noticed everything clearly. My wife would sometimes come home and whisper to me with a mix of embarrassment and awareness, “Rajesh, those men at the tea stall were staring so shamelessly at my boobs and ass cheeks today.” I would feel a sharp sting of jealousy mixed with strange pride because I knew every inch of her body — her massive heavy boobs, her clean shaved pussy, her plump round ass cheeks, and her deep navel — belonged only to me.
Yet despite all this intense ogling and lust from other men, my wife stayed completely loyal to me. No matter how many hungry eyes devoured her voluptuous body every day, she never gave anyone even a single encouraging glance. She remained my faithful Tamil wife, wearing her mangalsutra proudly between her massive heavy boobs as a constant reminder of our marriage. She only belonged to me — her pussy, her massive boobs, her plump ass cheeks, and her entire body were only for me to touch, squeeze, and fuck.
Other than me, the only man who ever touched her was her younger brother Ramu. He was not lustful at all. Ramu was a simple, respectful boy who lived with my wife’s parents in their native village. Whenever he visited us in Chennai, he would greet my wife with a warm, innocent hug and kiss her on the cheeks affectionately like a younger brother does. My wife loved him dearly and would hug him back tightly, her massive heavy boobs pressing against his chest for a brief, pure moment. She would ruffle his hair and ask about his studies with genuine sisterly affection. Ramu never looked at her with desire. He treated her with pure sibling love and respect.
These small, innocent touches from Ramu were the only times another man’s hands or lips ever came near her body. Everything else — every hug, every kiss, every thrust into her pussy, every squeeze of her massive heavy boobs and plump ass cheeks — was reserved only for me. My wife stayed loyal through all the intense staring and raw lust from other men in the neighbourhood. She knew they wanted her desperately, but she chose me every single day. This unwavering loyalty made me love her even more deeply, even as the constant knowledge that others desired her voluptuous body sometimes made me fiercely jealous and possessive.
Just like many other wives in Chennai, my wife also got groped in crowded places, especially in temples. We both knew it happened but we never talked about it. We chose to forget those incidents as a bad dream so that it would not spoil our married life. The groping was always sudden and shameless in the dense crowds.
Recently we went to the famous temple to pray to God before starting the construction of our dream house. Our dream house was going to be a ground floor plus five floors with a tank room on top. It was both my wife’s dream and mine. We had planned and saved for it for many years. That day my wife wore a beautiful saree dbangd well below her navel, her deep navel fully exposed, and a tight blouse with front hooks that struggled to contain her massive heavy boobs.
The temple was extremely crowded. Devotees pushed against each other from all sides. As we moved slowly towards the inner sanctum, my wife got separated from me by just a few feet in the sea of people. I could see her but could not reach her quickly.
Suddenly four to five men surrounded her in the tight crowd. One man standing directly behind her boldly grabbed her plump round ass cheeks with both hands and squeezed them hard over the saree, his fingers digging deep into the soft flesh. Another man from the side reached out and crushed her massive heavy boobs over her blouse, squeezing and kneading them roughly. A third man slipped his hand under her saree pallu and rubbed her deep navel in circles before moving lower to grab her wide hips and pull her closer. My wife’s eyes widened in shock but she was completely helpless. She could not shout or push them away because of the heavy crowd and the fear of creating a scene inside the temple.
The men grew bolder. One of them tugged at the front of her blouse and pinched her nipples hard over the blouse while another pressed his body tightly against her from the front and rubbed his crotch shamelessly against her pussy area over the saree. A fourth man reached from the side and slapped her plump ass cheeks lightly before grabbing and jiggling them. My wife bit her lower lip tightly, her face flushed with embarrassment and discomfort. Her massive heavy boobs were being mauled openly, her nipples pinched and twisted, while her plump round ass cheeks were squeezed and slapped repeatedly in the middle of the crowd. I stood just a short distance away, watching helplessly as strange hands violated my wife’s body. I tried to push forward but the sea of people blocked me completely.
The groping continued for several long, agonizing minutes. The men took turns feeling every part of her voluptuous body — squeezing her massive heavy boobs, pinching her nipples over the blouse, grabbing and kneading her plump round ass cheeks, rubbing her deep navel, and pressing against her pussy over the saree. My wife endured it silently, her eyes occasionally meeting mine with a helpless, embarrassed look. Luckily, as the crowd surged forward towards the deity, the men gradually released her one by one and disappeared into the mass of people.
My wife quickly adjusted her saree pallu and blouse, her hands trembling slightly. She looked shaken but composed. I finally managed to reach her side. We both pretended nothing had happened. We prayed together in front of the god, asking for blessings for our upcoming house construction — the ground floor plus five floors with a tank room on top that we both dreamed of building. After the prayer we came home without speaking a single word about the groping. We never discussed such incidents. We treated them like a bad dream we wanted to forget quickly so that our married life remained peaceful and loving.
That night, after returning from the temple, I pulled my wife close and made love to her passionately to wash away the unpleasant memory. She responded with extra warmth, as if she also wanted to erase what had happened in the crowd. Our dream house was still to be built, and we chose to focus only on our love and our future together, leaving the ugly groping incidents behind as unspoken shadows.
"Let us pray that our new house brings us only happiness and peace, Rajesh." my wife whispered later that night while lying in my arms, her massive heavy boobs resting against my chest. We never mentioned the temple groping again.
After returning from the temple, we started the construction of our dream house. The work began with great excitement. First the foundation was laid deep and strong. Then the ground floor walls came up slowly, brick by brick. We watched every stage with pride. The columns were raised, the slabs were cast, and soon the first floor and second floor were completed. The structure was growing tall exactly as we had planned — ground floor plus five floors with a tank room on top.
When the construction reached the third floor, the money suddenly ran out. We had spent everything we had saved. The workers were waiting for the next payment to continue. That evening my wife sat with me and spoke calmly.
She took out her ancestral gold — the beautiful pieces her mother had given her as dowry. These ornaments had been passed down for generations. Her mother wore them, her mother’s mother wore them, and her mother’s mother’s mother had kept them safely. They were not just jewellery; they were symbols of her family’s history and love.
I became very emotional and said no immediately.
"No, Sudha. I cannot allow this. This is your ancestral gold. It belonged to your mother and her mother before her. How can I let you pledge it? We will find another way." I told her with a heavy heart.
My wife looked at me with calm, loving eyes and held my hands.
"Rajesh, it is okay. We do not have daughters. This gold will stay in our family through our sons. This house is our dream — yours and mine. Let me contribute too. We are one. If we do this together, we will build something strong for our future." my wife said softly.
I still hesitated, my eyes filling with tears.
"But Sudha, this gold is your mother’s legacy. I feel terrible taking it."
She smiled gently and cupped my face.
"I love you, Rajesh. I want to contribute to our home. This house is not only yours or mine — it is ours. We will generate rent from the upper floors later and recover the gold. Trust me. We have to do this together." my wife convinced me with her calm and loving words.
After thinking for a long time and seeing no other choice, I finally agreed. It was one of the hardest decisions we ever made. The next day we went to the Marwadi pawn shop with a heavy heart. My wife handed over her ancestral gold pieces one by one. The Marwadi uncle weighed them carefully and gave us the loan amount. We both felt a deep pain watching her family’s legacy being locked away, but we had no other option if we wanted to complete our dream house.
With that money, the construction continued. The third floor, fourth floor, fifth floor, and finally the tank room on top were completed. After six long months of hard work, our house stood tall and beautiful — ground floor plus five floors with a tank room on top.
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