27-07-2026, 02:10 AM
Light moisturiser, light powder, thin kohl, a touch of mascara, and soft nude lipstick. Nothing heavy. She looked fresh, elegant, and quietly beautiful in the yellow saree.
The entire time she did her makeup, I stood behind her and watched. My cock remained hard. Standing so close, seeing her prepare her own face for another man, smelling her freshly washed body, watching the yellow saree shift slightly with every small movement — the heat in my stomach never went down. Every detail only made it stronger.
But for a moment, as I looked at her fully ready in the yellow saree, a different thought crossed my mind.
Was this really a good idea?
Letting a stranger come into our house at this hour… letting him put his hands on her… letting him enjoy the same body I just washed and dressed…
The doubt rose briefly, sharp and cold in my chest.
What if she enjoys it more than she expects? What if something changes after tonight?
Then I looked at her nervous eyes in the mirror, at the way her fingers slightly trembled as she closed the makeup pouch, at the quiet fact that she was doing every single thing only because she loved me — and the doubt mixed again with the same dark heat that had started at Santhosh’s funeral.
She is mine. She is doing this for me. That is enough.
She turned her face slightly toward me.
“Is it fine?” she asked softly.
I looked at my wife — fully prepared, lightly made up, dressed in the yellow saree, waiting for Arjun — and nodded.
“Yes,” I said. “You look ready.”
By the time we finished, the doorbell rang.
A single, firm knock.
My wife and I both froze for a second. Then she looked at me. I picked up my phone, switched on the video camera, and silently nodded. I stepped behind her and began recording.
She walked toward the main door. I followed closely with the camera, filming her from behind — the bright yellow saree dbangd over her wide hips, the way the pallu rested across her back, the soft movement of her heavy ass under the yellow saree with every step. The yellow blouse stretched across her back with each small movement of her shoulders.
She reached the door and paused for a brief moment, still nervous. Then she unlocked it and opened it.
Arjun stood outside.
He had showered. His hair was still slightly damp. He wore a simple shirt and trousers. The moment the door opened fully and he saw my wife, he stopped completely.
His eyes moved over her without any attempt to hide it.
First the yellow saree — the rich colour, the thin gold border, the way it wrapped around her waist and hips. Then the yellow blouse, sleeveless, stretched smoothly over the full shape of her heavy breasts. His gaze lingered there for a long second before moving up to her lightly made-up face, her large dark eyes, the soft nude lipstick on her lips, and her long black hair resting over one shoulder.
He looked completely spellbound.
For several seconds he simply stared, as if he could not process what he was seeing. His breathing changed. His eyes kept moving over her body again and again — the heavy breasts under the yellow blouse, the wide hips under the yellow saree, the quiet nervous beauty of her face. He looked like a man who could not believe his luck.
Finally he spoke, voice rough and slightly unsteady.
“Is this real…?”
I kept the camera on his face, recording every bit of his excited, almost disbelieving expression.
“Yes,” I said clearly from behind my wife. “It’s real.”
Arjun’s eyes flicked toward me for only a second, then immediately returned to my wife. He still looked stunned. His hands hung loosely at his sides, as if he was afraid that moving too suddenly might break the moment. He swallowed once, his gaze dropping again to the full shape of her heavy breasts under the yellow blouse, then lower to where the yellow saree wrapped around her hips.
“I… I didn’t think you were serious,” he said, still staring at her. “Not like this.”
My wife stood quietly in the doorway, fingers lightly holding the edge of the door, nervous but not stepping back. The yellow saree and yellow blouse made her look even more inviting under the house light.
I continued recording his face — the open hunger, the disbelief, the rising excitement he could no longer hide — as he stood there looking at my wife like a man who had just been given something he never expected to receive.
My wife closed the main door behind Arjun and turned to face him fully.
She stood in the living room in the yellow saree, yellow blouse, white petticoat, my white bra, and my maroon panties. Her lightly made-up face looked calm, but the nervousness was still present in her eyes. I continued recording from a few steps behind her, keeping both of them in the frame.
She spoke first, her voice quiet but clear.
“Before anything happens… there are rules.”
Arjun’s eyes were still moving over her body, but he forced himself to listen.
“I am doing this only for my husband,” she continued. “Not for you. Only for him. He is going to record the entire thing. Everything. You will not touch the phone. You will not ask me to stop the recording. You will not tell anyone about this night. Not a single word. Ever.”
She paused, letting the words settle.
“If you agree to that… then you can do anything you want with me tonight.”
Arjun finally looked at her face instead of her body. His breathing was still uneven. Up close, it was obvious he had ignored her earlier instructions — he had not taken a shower, and he had not brushed his teeth. The mild smell of the day still clung to him. But the hunger in his eyes was stronger than any hesitation.
“I agree,” he said immediately. “I won’t tell anyone. I won’t touch the phone. I don’t care about anything else.”
His gaze dropped again to the full shape of her heavy breasts under the yellow blouse, then lower to the yellow saree wrapped around her hips.
“I only want to enjoy you,” he said, voice thicker now. “That’s all. Nothing else matters.”
My wife held his eyes for a second longer, making sure he understood. Then she gave a small, nervous nod.
“Alright,” she said softly.
I kept the camera steady on both of them, recording the exact moment the agreement was sealed — my wife standing in the yellow saree, still nervous but committed, and Arjun standing in front of her, unshowered, unbrushed, already looking at her like a man who could not wait any longer.
My wife turned her head and looked straight at me.
The camera was still recording in my hand. Her large dark eyes held mine for a long second. In the yellow saree, with her lightly made-up face and the quiet nervousness still present, she looked both vulnerable and resolute.
“I love you,” she said softly, only for me.
Then she turned back to Arjun.
He stepped closer. One of his dark hands settled on the soft curve of her waist over the yellow saree. He pulled her in gently but firmly until her heavy breasts under the yellow blouse pressed against his chest. My wife’s hands rested lightly on his upper arms. She did not push him away.
Arjun leaned down and kissed her lips.
It was not a rough kiss. He pressed his mouth to hers slowly, tasting the soft nude lipstick she had just applied. His hand on her waist tightened a little as he kissed her deeper. My wife stayed still for the first few seconds, receiving the kiss. Then, remembering why she was doing this, she began to kiss him back — soft, deliberate movements of her lips against his.
When they finally parted, a thin shine of her nude lipstick was left on his mouth.
My wife looked at him and spoke quietly, still close enough that her breath touched his face.
“You didn’t brush your teeth.”
Arjun’s hand remained on her waist. A mild, almost sheepish look crossed his face.
“I forgot,” he said. “I was in a hurry after the call. I just came.”
My wife held his eyes for a moment. Then she glanced once more toward me and the camera. Whatever she saw in my expression made her decision clear. She raised one hand, placed it gently on the back of Arjun’s neck, and pulled his face down to hers again.
This time she kissed him first.
She pressed her lips to his more firmly, kissing him properly, giving him what he had come for. Arjun responded at once. His other hand joined the first on her waist, both palms spreading over the yellow saree as he pulled her tighter against him. Her heavy breasts flattened against his chest through the yellow blouse. He kissed her deeper, tilting his head, tasting her mouth without any more hesitation.
My wife let him.
She kissed him back for me — slow, continuous, and increasingly willing — while I stood a few feet away and recorded every second of it. The soft wet sound of their mouths meeting filled the quiet living room. Arjun’s hands moved slightly higher on her waist, fingers pressing into her soft waist under the yellow saree, but he did not try to undress her yet. He only held her and kissed her as if he could not get enough of her mouth.
My wife’s fingers tightened on the back of his neck.
She was still nervous.
But she was kissing him fully now, for me, while the camera captured everything.
Arjun finally broke the kiss.
His hands were still on my wife’s waist over the yellow saree. Both of them were breathing a little faster. A thin shine of her nude lipstick remained on his mouth. He looked at her for a second longer, then turned his eyes toward me and the camera.
“Where is the bedroom?” he asked, voice rough.
I lowered the phone slightly and nodded toward the corridor.
“That way. Last door on the right.”
Arjun did not wait for more instructions. He bent down, slid one arm under my wife’s knees and the other around her back, and lifted her off the floor in a full cradle carry. My wife let out a small, surprised breath as her body left the ground. Her yellow saree shifted with the movement. One of her arms instinctively went around his neck for balance. Her heavy breasts under the yellow blouse pressed against his chest as he settled her securely in his arms.
I immediately raised the phone again and began walking backwards down the corridor, keeping the camera fixed on them.
Arjun carried my wife toward the bedroom with steady steps. I filmed every moment — the way her yellow saree dbangd over his arms, the soft bounce of her heavy breasts against his chest with each step, the nervous but accepting expression on her face as she was carried like a bride by another man. Her long black hair hung down over his arm. The yellow pallu had shifted slightly, revealing more of the yellow blouse.
My cock was fully hard inside my shorts.
The sight of Arjun carrying my wife so easily, her body completely in his control while I walked backwards and recorded it, made the heat in my stomach almost unbearable. Every step he took toward our bedroom made my boner press tighter against the front of my shorts. I kept the camera steady, capturing the full scene — my wife in the yellow saree being carried in another man’s arms, and the open hunger on Arjun’s face as he held her.
He reached the bedroom door.
I stepped aside, still recording, and let him carry her inside.
Arjun carried my wife to the edge of the bed and slowly set her down on her feet.
I remained near the doorway, phone raised, continuing to record everything. My cock was still fully hard inside my shorts.
Arjun stood in front of her. For a moment he only looked at her in the yellow saree. Then he raised both hands and began to undo the yellow saree with deliberate care.
First he released the pallu from her left shoulder. The bright yellow length slid down her back and across her arm. He gathered it slowly, his dark fingers brushing against the yellow blouse as he brought the pallu around to the front. My wife stood still, breathing quietly, watching his hands.
He found the tucked end of the yellow saree at her waist and pulled it free from the white petticoat. The yellow saree loosened around her hips. Arjun began to unwrap it, walking slowly around her as the bright yellow length came away from her body in long, continuous folds. Each turn revealed more of the white petticoat underneath. The yellow saree slid across her wide hips, across the soft curve of her lower stomach, and finally left her completely.
He let the entire yellow saree fall to the floor in a soft heap.
My wife now stood in only the yellow blouse, the white petticoat, my white bra, and my maroon panties. The white petticoat still covered her from the waist down. Her heavy breasts rose and fell under the yellow blouse with each breath.
Arjun stepped closer again. He placed both hands on her waist over the white petticoat and pulled her against him. This time when he kissed her, it was deeper. My wife’s hands came up and rested on his chest. At first she only received the kiss. Then her lips began to move more actively against his.
I zoomed the camera slightly, capturing the exact way her mouth opened under his.
A soft sound escaped her throat.
Her fingers tightened on his shirt. When Arjun’s hands slid from her waist to the full curve of her ass over the white petticoat and squeezed, her body pressed forward into him. Her heavy breasts flattened against his chest through the yellow blouse. She kissed him harder.
After a few more seconds she broke the kiss just enough to turn her head toward me. Her large dark eyes found the camera, found my face. Her lips were slightly swollen, the nude lipstick mostly gone. Her breathing was uneven.
I could see it clearly — she was getting turned on.
She held my gaze for a long moment, as if trying to anchor herself. Her hands were still on Arjun’s chest. His hands were still gripping her ass over the white petticoat. She was fighting to stay in control, to remember that she was doing this for me, even as her body began to respond to the man holding her.
She looked at me with a mixture of nervousness, rising heat, and silent plea — trying not to lose control too quickly while I recorded every second of it.
Arjun’s hands left my wife’s ass over the white petticoat and moved up to the front of the yellow blouse.
He unhooked the front hooks one by one. The first hook opened. Then the second. Then the third. The yellow blouse fell loose. He slid it off her shoulders and down her arms. The yellow blouse dropped to the floor beside the yellow saree.
My wife now stood in my white bra, the white petticoat, and my maroon panties.
Arjun looked at her heavy breasts inside my white bra for a long second. Then he reached behind her, unhooked the three hooks of my white bra, and pulled it forward off her arms. My white bra joined the other clothes on the floor.
Her heavy breasts came free — full, soft, and bare under the bedroom light.
She’s bare in front of him. Because of me.
Arjun stared at them openly. Then he lowered his head and took her left breast into his mouth.
My wife’s whole body reacted at once.
A sharp breath left her throat as his mouth closed over her breast and he began to suck. His dark hand cupped the full weight of her right breast while he sucked the left, tongue moving over her nipple. My wife’s hands flew to his shoulders. Her head tilted back for a second before she forced herself to look toward me again.
I kept recording, my cock painfully hard inside my shorts. The sight of Arjun’s mouth on her bare breast, the way her heavy breast moved as he sucked, the wet sound of his mouth on her — everything made the heat in my stomach almost unbearable.
Look at how he’s sucking her. Look at how her body is already reacting. Did I make a mistake?
Arjun switched to her right breast, sucking harder, pulling more of the soft flesh into his mouth. His other hand squeezed her left breast, fingers sinking into the full shape. My wife’s breathing turned uneven and quick. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.
She was losing control.
I could see it in the way her hips shifted, in the way her eyes half-closed, in the soft, unwilling sounds that kept escaping her throat. Arjun sucked her breasts with open hunger, moving from one to the other, leaving her nipples wet and tight.
A sharp jealousy cut through my arousal.
That is my wife’s breast in his mouth. Those are the same breasts I washed and prepared less than an hour ago. And now she is making those sounds for him. What if she starts enjoying this more than she should?
My wife forced her eyes open and looked straight at the camera, straight at me. Her voice came out shaky but clear.
“I love you…”
She is saying she loves me while another man has her breast in his mouth. I asked for this. I pushed for this. But watching it happen is harder than I expected.
She said it while Arjun’s mouth was still on her breast. She said it as if the words were the only thing keeping her from completely giving in. Her hands remained on his shoulders, no longer pushing him away, but she kept her eyes locked on me, trying to hold on to the reason she was allowing this.
I continued recording, harder than I had ever been, jealousy and lust twisting together in my chest, watching my wife fight to stay in control while another man sucked her bare breasts in our bedroom.
Arjun kept sucking my wife’s breasts without slowing down.
He moved from one to the other, mouth wet and hungry, dark hand squeezing whichever breast he was not sucking. My wife’s breathing had turned into soft, broken sounds. Her fingers were no longer just resting on his shoulders — they were gripping him. Her hips shifted again, pressing closer.
She was enjoying it.
I could see it clearly through the camera. The way her eyes half-closed, the way her lips stayed parted, the way her body leaned into his mouth instead of pulling away. The nervousness was still there, but underneath it something warmer and more dangerous had taken over.
Then my wife did something that sent a sharp knife of jealousy straight through my chest.
She raised both hands, held Arjun’s face, and pulled his mouth away from her breast. For a second he looked surprised. Then she leaned in and kissed him fully on the lips.
She kissed his filthy, unbrushed mouth with open hunger.
Her lips moved against his without hesitation. She tilted her head and deepened the kiss herself, tasting him, giving him her tongue. Arjun responded at once, both hands returning to her heavy breasts, squeezing them while she kissed him. The wet sound of their mouths filled the bedroom.
When she finally broke the kiss, she stayed close to his face, breathing hard, and spoke in a low, unsteady voice.
“I like you…”
The words hit me harder than anything so far.
She likes him.
My cock was still painfully hard inside my shorts, but the jealousy was now thicker than the lust. I kept the camera steady on them, recording the exact moment my wife — the same woman who had told me she was only doing this for me — looked at another man and said she liked him after kissing his filthy mouth.
Arjun stared at her, surprised and openly pleased. His hands were still full of her heavy breasts. My wife’s cheeks were flushed. Her lips were wet from the kiss. She glanced toward the camera once, toward me, but the heat in her eyes did not fully disappear.
She had started enjoying him.
And I was the one who had asked for it.
Arjun did not waste any more time.
He slid one arm under my wife’s knees and the other around her back, lifted her off the floor again, and placed her in the centre of our bed. Her long black hair spread across the pillow. Her heavy breasts, still wet from his mouth, rose and fell with her uneven breathing. The white petticoat was still tied around her waist.
I moved closer with the camera, recording every second from the side of the bed. My cock remained hard inside my shorts, jealousy and arousal twisting tightly together.
Arjun climbed onto the bed and knelt between her legs. He looked down at her for a moment — bare breasts, white petticoat, and my maroon panties still covering her underneath. Then he reached for the drawstring of the white petticoat, pulled the bow knot loose, and pushed the white petticoat up around her waist, fully exposing my wife's maroon panties.
The entire time she did her makeup, I stood behind her and watched. My cock remained hard. Standing so close, seeing her prepare her own face for another man, smelling her freshly washed body, watching the yellow saree shift slightly with every small movement — the heat in my stomach never went down. Every detail only made it stronger.
But for a moment, as I looked at her fully ready in the yellow saree, a different thought crossed my mind.
Was this really a good idea?
Letting a stranger come into our house at this hour… letting him put his hands on her… letting him enjoy the same body I just washed and dressed…
The doubt rose briefly, sharp and cold in my chest.
What if she enjoys it more than she expects? What if something changes after tonight?
Then I looked at her nervous eyes in the mirror, at the way her fingers slightly trembled as she closed the makeup pouch, at the quiet fact that she was doing every single thing only because she loved me — and the doubt mixed again with the same dark heat that had started at Santhosh’s funeral.
She is mine. She is doing this for me. That is enough.
She turned her face slightly toward me.
“Is it fine?” she asked softly.
I looked at my wife — fully prepared, lightly made up, dressed in the yellow saree, waiting for Arjun — and nodded.
“Yes,” I said. “You look ready.”
By the time we finished, the doorbell rang.
A single, firm knock.
My wife and I both froze for a second. Then she looked at me. I picked up my phone, switched on the video camera, and silently nodded. I stepped behind her and began recording.
She walked toward the main door. I followed closely with the camera, filming her from behind — the bright yellow saree dbangd over her wide hips, the way the pallu rested across her back, the soft movement of her heavy ass under the yellow saree with every step. The yellow blouse stretched across her back with each small movement of her shoulders.
She reached the door and paused for a brief moment, still nervous. Then she unlocked it and opened it.
Arjun stood outside.
He had showered. His hair was still slightly damp. He wore a simple shirt and trousers. The moment the door opened fully and he saw my wife, he stopped completely.
His eyes moved over her without any attempt to hide it.
First the yellow saree — the rich colour, the thin gold border, the way it wrapped around her waist and hips. Then the yellow blouse, sleeveless, stretched smoothly over the full shape of her heavy breasts. His gaze lingered there for a long second before moving up to her lightly made-up face, her large dark eyes, the soft nude lipstick on her lips, and her long black hair resting over one shoulder.
He looked completely spellbound.
For several seconds he simply stared, as if he could not process what he was seeing. His breathing changed. His eyes kept moving over her body again and again — the heavy breasts under the yellow blouse, the wide hips under the yellow saree, the quiet nervous beauty of her face. He looked like a man who could not believe his luck.
Finally he spoke, voice rough and slightly unsteady.
“Is this real…?”
I kept the camera on his face, recording every bit of his excited, almost disbelieving expression.
“Yes,” I said clearly from behind my wife. “It’s real.”
Arjun’s eyes flicked toward me for only a second, then immediately returned to my wife. He still looked stunned. His hands hung loosely at his sides, as if he was afraid that moving too suddenly might break the moment. He swallowed once, his gaze dropping again to the full shape of her heavy breasts under the yellow blouse, then lower to where the yellow saree wrapped around her hips.
“I… I didn’t think you were serious,” he said, still staring at her. “Not like this.”
My wife stood quietly in the doorway, fingers lightly holding the edge of the door, nervous but not stepping back. The yellow saree and yellow blouse made her look even more inviting under the house light.
I continued recording his face — the open hunger, the disbelief, the rising excitement he could no longer hide — as he stood there looking at my wife like a man who had just been given something he never expected to receive.
My wife closed the main door behind Arjun and turned to face him fully.
She stood in the living room in the yellow saree, yellow blouse, white petticoat, my white bra, and my maroon panties. Her lightly made-up face looked calm, but the nervousness was still present in her eyes. I continued recording from a few steps behind her, keeping both of them in the frame.
She spoke first, her voice quiet but clear.
“Before anything happens… there are rules.”
Arjun’s eyes were still moving over her body, but he forced himself to listen.
“I am doing this only for my husband,” she continued. “Not for you. Only for him. He is going to record the entire thing. Everything. You will not touch the phone. You will not ask me to stop the recording. You will not tell anyone about this night. Not a single word. Ever.”
She paused, letting the words settle.
“If you agree to that… then you can do anything you want with me tonight.”
Arjun finally looked at her face instead of her body. His breathing was still uneven. Up close, it was obvious he had ignored her earlier instructions — he had not taken a shower, and he had not brushed his teeth. The mild smell of the day still clung to him. But the hunger in his eyes was stronger than any hesitation.
“I agree,” he said immediately. “I won’t tell anyone. I won’t touch the phone. I don’t care about anything else.”
His gaze dropped again to the full shape of her heavy breasts under the yellow blouse, then lower to the yellow saree wrapped around her hips.
“I only want to enjoy you,” he said, voice thicker now. “That’s all. Nothing else matters.”
My wife held his eyes for a second longer, making sure he understood. Then she gave a small, nervous nod.
“Alright,” she said softly.
I kept the camera steady on both of them, recording the exact moment the agreement was sealed — my wife standing in the yellow saree, still nervous but committed, and Arjun standing in front of her, unshowered, unbrushed, already looking at her like a man who could not wait any longer.
My wife turned her head and looked straight at me.
The camera was still recording in my hand. Her large dark eyes held mine for a long second. In the yellow saree, with her lightly made-up face and the quiet nervousness still present, she looked both vulnerable and resolute.
“I love you,” she said softly, only for me.
Then she turned back to Arjun.
He stepped closer. One of his dark hands settled on the soft curve of her waist over the yellow saree. He pulled her in gently but firmly until her heavy breasts under the yellow blouse pressed against his chest. My wife’s hands rested lightly on his upper arms. She did not push him away.
Arjun leaned down and kissed her lips.
It was not a rough kiss. He pressed his mouth to hers slowly, tasting the soft nude lipstick she had just applied. His hand on her waist tightened a little as he kissed her deeper. My wife stayed still for the first few seconds, receiving the kiss. Then, remembering why she was doing this, she began to kiss him back — soft, deliberate movements of her lips against his.
When they finally parted, a thin shine of her nude lipstick was left on his mouth.
My wife looked at him and spoke quietly, still close enough that her breath touched his face.
“You didn’t brush your teeth.”
Arjun’s hand remained on her waist. A mild, almost sheepish look crossed his face.
“I forgot,” he said. “I was in a hurry after the call. I just came.”
My wife held his eyes for a moment. Then she glanced once more toward me and the camera. Whatever she saw in my expression made her decision clear. She raised one hand, placed it gently on the back of Arjun’s neck, and pulled his face down to hers again.
This time she kissed him first.
She pressed her lips to his more firmly, kissing him properly, giving him what he had come for. Arjun responded at once. His other hand joined the first on her waist, both palms spreading over the yellow saree as he pulled her tighter against him. Her heavy breasts flattened against his chest through the yellow blouse. He kissed her deeper, tilting his head, tasting her mouth without any more hesitation.
My wife let him.
She kissed him back for me — slow, continuous, and increasingly willing — while I stood a few feet away and recorded every second of it. The soft wet sound of their mouths meeting filled the quiet living room. Arjun’s hands moved slightly higher on her waist, fingers pressing into her soft waist under the yellow saree, but he did not try to undress her yet. He only held her and kissed her as if he could not get enough of her mouth.
My wife’s fingers tightened on the back of his neck.
She was still nervous.
But she was kissing him fully now, for me, while the camera captured everything.
Arjun finally broke the kiss.
His hands were still on my wife’s waist over the yellow saree. Both of them were breathing a little faster. A thin shine of her nude lipstick remained on his mouth. He looked at her for a second longer, then turned his eyes toward me and the camera.
“Where is the bedroom?” he asked, voice rough.
I lowered the phone slightly and nodded toward the corridor.
“That way. Last door on the right.”
Arjun did not wait for more instructions. He bent down, slid one arm under my wife’s knees and the other around her back, and lifted her off the floor in a full cradle carry. My wife let out a small, surprised breath as her body left the ground. Her yellow saree shifted with the movement. One of her arms instinctively went around his neck for balance. Her heavy breasts under the yellow blouse pressed against his chest as he settled her securely in his arms.
I immediately raised the phone again and began walking backwards down the corridor, keeping the camera fixed on them.
Arjun carried my wife toward the bedroom with steady steps. I filmed every moment — the way her yellow saree dbangd over his arms, the soft bounce of her heavy breasts against his chest with each step, the nervous but accepting expression on her face as she was carried like a bride by another man. Her long black hair hung down over his arm. The yellow pallu had shifted slightly, revealing more of the yellow blouse.
My cock was fully hard inside my shorts.
The sight of Arjun carrying my wife so easily, her body completely in his control while I walked backwards and recorded it, made the heat in my stomach almost unbearable. Every step he took toward our bedroom made my boner press tighter against the front of my shorts. I kept the camera steady, capturing the full scene — my wife in the yellow saree being carried in another man’s arms, and the open hunger on Arjun’s face as he held her.
He reached the bedroom door.
I stepped aside, still recording, and let him carry her inside.
Arjun carried my wife to the edge of the bed and slowly set her down on her feet.
I remained near the doorway, phone raised, continuing to record everything. My cock was still fully hard inside my shorts.
Arjun stood in front of her. For a moment he only looked at her in the yellow saree. Then he raised both hands and began to undo the yellow saree with deliberate care.
First he released the pallu from her left shoulder. The bright yellow length slid down her back and across her arm. He gathered it slowly, his dark fingers brushing against the yellow blouse as he brought the pallu around to the front. My wife stood still, breathing quietly, watching his hands.
He found the tucked end of the yellow saree at her waist and pulled it free from the white petticoat. The yellow saree loosened around her hips. Arjun began to unwrap it, walking slowly around her as the bright yellow length came away from her body in long, continuous folds. Each turn revealed more of the white petticoat underneath. The yellow saree slid across her wide hips, across the soft curve of her lower stomach, and finally left her completely.
He let the entire yellow saree fall to the floor in a soft heap.
My wife now stood in only the yellow blouse, the white petticoat, my white bra, and my maroon panties. The white petticoat still covered her from the waist down. Her heavy breasts rose and fell under the yellow blouse with each breath.
Arjun stepped closer again. He placed both hands on her waist over the white petticoat and pulled her against him. This time when he kissed her, it was deeper. My wife’s hands came up and rested on his chest. At first she only received the kiss. Then her lips began to move more actively against his.
I zoomed the camera slightly, capturing the exact way her mouth opened under his.
A soft sound escaped her throat.
Her fingers tightened on his shirt. When Arjun’s hands slid from her waist to the full curve of her ass over the white petticoat and squeezed, her body pressed forward into him. Her heavy breasts flattened against his chest through the yellow blouse. She kissed him harder.
After a few more seconds she broke the kiss just enough to turn her head toward me. Her large dark eyes found the camera, found my face. Her lips were slightly swollen, the nude lipstick mostly gone. Her breathing was uneven.
I could see it clearly — she was getting turned on.
She held my gaze for a long moment, as if trying to anchor herself. Her hands were still on Arjun’s chest. His hands were still gripping her ass over the white petticoat. She was fighting to stay in control, to remember that she was doing this for me, even as her body began to respond to the man holding her.
She looked at me with a mixture of nervousness, rising heat, and silent plea — trying not to lose control too quickly while I recorded every second of it.
Arjun’s hands left my wife’s ass over the white petticoat and moved up to the front of the yellow blouse.
He unhooked the front hooks one by one. The first hook opened. Then the second. Then the third. The yellow blouse fell loose. He slid it off her shoulders and down her arms. The yellow blouse dropped to the floor beside the yellow saree.
My wife now stood in my white bra, the white petticoat, and my maroon panties.
Arjun looked at her heavy breasts inside my white bra for a long second. Then he reached behind her, unhooked the three hooks of my white bra, and pulled it forward off her arms. My white bra joined the other clothes on the floor.
Her heavy breasts came free — full, soft, and bare under the bedroom light.
She’s bare in front of him. Because of me.
Arjun stared at them openly. Then he lowered his head and took her left breast into his mouth.
My wife’s whole body reacted at once.
A sharp breath left her throat as his mouth closed over her breast and he began to suck. His dark hand cupped the full weight of her right breast while he sucked the left, tongue moving over her nipple. My wife’s hands flew to his shoulders. Her head tilted back for a second before she forced herself to look toward me again.
I kept recording, my cock painfully hard inside my shorts. The sight of Arjun’s mouth on her bare breast, the way her heavy breast moved as he sucked, the wet sound of his mouth on her — everything made the heat in my stomach almost unbearable.
Look at how he’s sucking her. Look at how her body is already reacting. Did I make a mistake?
Arjun switched to her right breast, sucking harder, pulling more of the soft flesh into his mouth. His other hand squeezed her left breast, fingers sinking into the full shape. My wife’s breathing turned uneven and quick. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.
She was losing control.
I could see it in the way her hips shifted, in the way her eyes half-closed, in the soft, unwilling sounds that kept escaping her throat. Arjun sucked her breasts with open hunger, moving from one to the other, leaving her nipples wet and tight.
A sharp jealousy cut through my arousal.
That is my wife’s breast in his mouth. Those are the same breasts I washed and prepared less than an hour ago. And now she is making those sounds for him. What if she starts enjoying this more than she should?
My wife forced her eyes open and looked straight at the camera, straight at me. Her voice came out shaky but clear.
“I love you…”
She is saying she loves me while another man has her breast in his mouth. I asked for this. I pushed for this. But watching it happen is harder than I expected.
She said it while Arjun’s mouth was still on her breast. She said it as if the words were the only thing keeping her from completely giving in. Her hands remained on his shoulders, no longer pushing him away, but she kept her eyes locked on me, trying to hold on to the reason she was allowing this.
I continued recording, harder than I had ever been, jealousy and lust twisting together in my chest, watching my wife fight to stay in control while another man sucked her bare breasts in our bedroom.
Arjun kept sucking my wife’s breasts without slowing down.
He moved from one to the other, mouth wet and hungry, dark hand squeezing whichever breast he was not sucking. My wife’s breathing had turned into soft, broken sounds. Her fingers were no longer just resting on his shoulders — they were gripping him. Her hips shifted again, pressing closer.
She was enjoying it.
I could see it clearly through the camera. The way her eyes half-closed, the way her lips stayed parted, the way her body leaned into his mouth instead of pulling away. The nervousness was still there, but underneath it something warmer and more dangerous had taken over.
Then my wife did something that sent a sharp knife of jealousy straight through my chest.
She raised both hands, held Arjun’s face, and pulled his mouth away from her breast. For a second he looked surprised. Then she leaned in and kissed him fully on the lips.
She kissed his filthy, unbrushed mouth with open hunger.
Her lips moved against his without hesitation. She tilted her head and deepened the kiss herself, tasting him, giving him her tongue. Arjun responded at once, both hands returning to her heavy breasts, squeezing them while she kissed him. The wet sound of their mouths filled the bedroom.
When she finally broke the kiss, she stayed close to his face, breathing hard, and spoke in a low, unsteady voice.
“I like you…”
The words hit me harder than anything so far.
She likes him.
My cock was still painfully hard inside my shorts, but the jealousy was now thicker than the lust. I kept the camera steady on them, recording the exact moment my wife — the same woman who had told me she was only doing this for me — looked at another man and said she liked him after kissing his filthy mouth.
Arjun stared at her, surprised and openly pleased. His hands were still full of her heavy breasts. My wife’s cheeks were flushed. Her lips were wet from the kiss. She glanced toward the camera once, toward me, but the heat in her eyes did not fully disappear.
She had started enjoying him.
And I was the one who had asked for it.
Arjun did not waste any more time.
He slid one arm under my wife’s knees and the other around her back, lifted her off the floor again, and placed her in the centre of our bed. Her long black hair spread across the pillow. Her heavy breasts, still wet from his mouth, rose and fell with her uneven breathing. The white petticoat was still tied around her waist.
I moved closer with the camera, recording every second from the side of the bed. My cock remained hard inside my shorts, jealousy and arousal twisting tightly together.
Arjun climbed onto the bed and knelt between her legs. He looked down at her for a moment — bare breasts, white petticoat, and my maroon panties still covering her underneath. Then he reached for the drawstring of the white petticoat, pulled the bow knot loose, and pushed the white petticoat up around her waist, fully exposing my wife's maroon panties.
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