Husband gives free pass to wife

[ashuezy2]

Scene 1

We were tired of our screens. I was 30, she was 32. All week, we stared at code in IT offices.
Friday night was our escape. We needed the noise. We needed the dark. So we go to the club to enjoy.

My wife stands out in the dark club. She is very fair-skinned, glowing under the flashing blue and purple lights. She is incredibly curvy, voluptuous in a way that makes men stop walking when she passes. And right now, her body is full, heavy, because she is lactating. Her breasts were straining against the fabric of her tight top, a secret richness that only I knew about.

We were drinking, letting the week dissolve in vodka and whiskey.

Then, this boy walked up. He looked barely legal, a kid with too much confidence. He didn't care to look at the ring. He just looked at the swell of her chest and the curve of her hips. He started talking, leaning in close.

I didn't move. My wife didn't push him away. She liked the attention. I saw her smile, that real smile that reaches her eyes.

They started dancing. The beat of the music was loud, thumping in my chest like a second heart. I moved back to the bar, into the shadows, enjoying my drink, just watching her.

The boy leaned in and whispered something right into her ear. His lips brushed her hair.

My wife threw her head back and laughed. It was a loud, free sound. Then, she stopped laughing and looked around wildly. She was scanning the crowd, looking for me. Her eyes went right over me in the dark shadows behind the bar. She couldn't find me.

When she realized I wasn't there to stop her, something changed in her face. A look of pure, wild freedom.
The boy grabbed her hand. She didn't pull back. And right there, in the middle of the sweating crowd, they kissed.

It wasn't a polite peck. He grabbed the back of her neck. It was a deep, wet, French kiss. Their tongues were tangled. It lasted forever. It looked hungry. It looked like she was tasting a new flavor of ice cream she had been denied for years.

My blood was boiling. I was so hard it hurt against my jeans. I wondered what he whispered. Did he dare her? Did he tell her how good she looked?

It was like I didn't exist anymore. When the kiss broke, they were both breathing hard. They held hands, fingers interlocking, and they turned toward the exit. They were walking fast, almost running.
They disappeared out the door.

Panic hit me then. Cold fear mixed with the heat below my belt. I ran to the door, pushing through people, but when I got outside, they were gone.

I called her phone. It was switched off.
It was 11:00 PM.

My mind went dark. Did he put something in her drink? What if she just wanted him more than she wanted to come home to me tonight? Where is she now ?

[ashuezy2]

Waiting for 10 minimum likes for more scenes.

[Pattaasu Balu]

Super start

[dubukh]

Nice beginning bro. Young man loving a lactating married lady. Please continue bro

[momass]

Waiting for 10 minimum likes for more scenes.

i always like what i read ,but not this time 

this is not right to put condition of getting 10 liking ,specially on first small update

[Kalyan143]

Good starting but give big updates

[ashuezy2]

Scene 2

I(Nivedan) stood on the footpath for twenty minutes. The city traffic was moving, auto-rickshaws buzzing past. My heart was paining, but another part of me, a dark part, was burning with a terrible, heavy lust. The image of her soft, glowing face pressed against the boy’s rough jaw was playing on a loop in my brain.

I took an auto-rickshaw to our flat. The wind hit my face, but I was sweating. When I unlocked the door, the house was quiet. I walked into the bedroom. In the corner, in the wooden crib, our daughter Vanya was sleeping peacefully. My mother was sleeping on the other bed, breathing softly.

I stood over the crib. Vanya looked exactly like Revathi. I felt a big lump in my throat. I am a sensitive man; my family is my whole world. I touched my baby's small hand. She needs her mother. But right now, her mother is somewhere in the dark city with a strange boy.
I went to our empty double bed. I did not change my clothes. I just sat on the edge, looking at the main door. It was 1:00 AM now.

The silence of the house was making the noise in my head louder. I touched the pillow where she sleeps. I buried my face in it. My body was aching with desire. I wanted to hold her, I wanted to ask her what she felt. I imagined the boy taking her to a cheap, dim room. I imagined him not caring about her, just pulling at her tight top, tasting the sweetness of her skin that belonged to me.

Every time I heard a dog bark outside, or the lift door open in the corridor, my breath stopped. Is it her? How will she look when she enters? Will her lipstick be smudged? Will she look down with shame, or will she look at me with that same wild, free look she had in the club?

It is 3:00 AM. I am still sitting in the dark, entirely awake. The ache in my jeans has not gone down. It has settled into a heavy, permanent heat. I am terrified for my wife, I am crying softly for my sleeping baby, and God forgive me, I am waiting with a burning, desperate thirst just to see her walk through that door and tell me everything.


It was 4:45 AM. The sky outside the window was changing from black to a dark, dusty blue. I was still sitting on the edge of the bed. My body was stiff, and the heavy ache in my jeans was a constant, throbbing reminder of the dark thoughts in my head.

Then, I heard it. The heavy metal sound of the lift door closing on our floor.

My breath stopped in my throat. I heard soft footsteps. 
Then, the sound of the key turning slowly in the main door lock.

The door opened with a small creak. I stood up from the bed, my legs shaking slightly. I am a sensitive man, and the fear of losing my family was fighting with the wild, burning lust that had taken over my mind since I saw her kissing that boy in the club.

Revathi stepped inside. The dim tube light from the corridor fell on her. 
She closed the door softly behind her and leaned against it for a second. 
She had her expensive heels in one hand, standing barefoot on the cold floor.

She looked completely different. When we left the flat at 8:00 PM, she was a perfect, senior IT professional. Now, she looked undone. Her neatly pinned hair was loose and tangled, falling wildly over her shoulders. Her tight top, which had already been struggling to contain her fuller chest, looked crumpled and pulled downwards. The neckline was stretched low, exposing her ample cleavage and the heavy, swollen curve of her lactating breasts much more than before.

I took a step out of the bedroom into the hall. She looked up and saw me.
She did not flinch. She did not look down in shame. Her large eyes were slightly red, heavy with sleep, but there was a deep, lingering fog in them. It was the look of a woman who had tasted something raw and had not yet returned to reality.

I walked closer to her. I could smell it instantly. Her natural body smell completely overpowered by the sharp cheap smell of alcohol with the smell of the streets. The smell of that rough boy.
"You are awake," she said. Her voice was very quiet, a little hoarse.

"I was waiting," I replied. My voice broke. A single tear escaped my eye and rolled down my cheek. I felt weak, but looking at her flushed face, my manhood pulsed against my zipper with a painful intensity.

She did not step forward to hug me or wipe my tear. We stood two feet apart, separated by an invisible wall of heavy tension. I looked down. On the soft, fair skin of her neck, just above her collarbone, there was a fresh, dark red mark. A love bite.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I wanted to grab her, to shake her, to push her against the wall and demand every single detail of what those calloused hands had done to my beautiful wife. But I couldn't move. The tension was too thick, freezing me in place.

Without another word, Revathi walked slowly past me. Her wide hips swayed slightly with exhaustion. She walked straight into our bedroom. I followed her quietly.

She did not look at our bed. She walked directly to the wooden crib in the corner. She stood there, looking down at little Vanya. A soft, loving expression crossed her tired face. She leaned over the crib, her heavy breasts brushing against the wooden rail, and gently pulled the blanket over our daughter's shoulder. She is a good mother, I thought, a wave of family love hitting me. But how could this good mother come home smelling like a street boy's sweat?

She turned away from the crib and walked to the bathroom.

"I need to wash," she said, not looking at my face, only at my chest.

She closed the bathroom door. I heard the lock click. A moment later, the sound of the shower started running.

I was left standing in the middle of the bedroom. The silence returned, but now the air in our home was permanently changed. I looked at the bathroom door, imagining the water washing boy's touch off her glowing skin. 

It was 5:15 AM. The shower was still running behind the locked wooden door.


I was standing in the middle of our bedroom. My breathing was fast. On the plastic chair near the dressing table, Revathi had dropped her clothes. I walked slowly toward the chair. My legs felt weak, but the heavy tightness in my jeans was pulling me forward.

Her tight top and her denim jeans were lying in a messy pile. I reached out with a shaking hand and picked up the top. The fabric was slightly damp with her sweat. I brought it up to my face and closed my eyes.

The smell hit me like a physical blow. The sweet scent of her breast and body was completely buried under the sharp, dirty smell of that boy. I could smell the cheap, stale sweat, and the grease of the streets. On the side of the top, near her ribs, there was a dark, dirty smudge. It looked like the mark of a very dirty, calloused hand gripping her tightly.

My heart pained terribly. I am a sensitive husband, and seeing the proof of another man's rough hands on my wife's clothes made a hot tear drop from my eye. But the dark, twisting lust in my stomach only grew stronger. I squeezed her top in my hands. I wanted to scream, but the house was completely silent.

From the corner, a soft sound came. Little Vanya shifted in her wooden crib and let out a small baby sigh. I opened my eyes and looked at her sleeping face. A huge wave of family love washed over me. I love my daughter. I love my wife. I just want my family to be safe. But the smell of that low-class boy on my wife's clothes was driving my mind crazy.

Suddenly, the water stopped.

I quickly dropped the dirty top back onto the plastic chair. I stepped back. The bathroom door unlocked with a loud click.

Revathi stepped out. The steam rolled out into the bedroom with her. She was wrapped in a simple pink cotton towel. It was too small for her voluptuous body. It barely covered the deep swell of her ample cleavage and ended high above her knees, showing her wide, heavy thighs. Her fair skin was flushed pink from the hot water. Her wet hair dripped onto her bare shoulders.

She looked at me. Then she looked at the chair. She saw that her clothes had been moved.

She did not look angry. She did not look guilty. She just looked at me with a calm, tired face. The wild, foggy look from the club was gone, replaced by a quiet wall that I could not cross.

"Put those in the washing machine later, Nivedan," she said softly. Her voice was flat.

"Okay," I whispered. My throat was dry.

She walked slowly to the wooden almirah to get her nightie. Every step she took made her heavy hips sway. As she reached up to open the almirah door, the towel slipped just an inch lower, exposing the deep, pale curve of her lactating breasts. I knew they were heavy and aching, full of milk, just like my manhood was aching in my jeans with a desperate, infinite lust.

I wanted to run to her. I wanted to grab her wet waist, bury my face in her clean neck, and beg her to tell me what that boy did in the dark. But my feet were glued to the floor. I could not cross the room. The space between us felt like a thousand miles.

She pulled out a loose, long cotton nightie. She did not ask me to turn around. She just dropped the towel on the floor and quickly slipped the nightie over her wet head. I only got a one-second flash of her heavy, glorious body before it was hidden under the loose cloth.

She turned off the main tube light. Only the dim zero-watt bulb was glowing.

She walked to her side of the double bed, pulled the blanket up to her neck, and turned her back to me.

"I am very tired. Do not wake me up early," she said to the wall.

I stood there in the dim light, fully dressed in my club clothes. I looked at the wet towel on the floor and her dirty clothes on the chair. The burning ache in my body had no place to go. I was completely locked out of her world, forced to burn in the quiet dark.

[rangeeladesi]

Good.

[dubukh]

Excellent stay bro. He is curious as well as sad about her fuck with an young boy. He is almost a cuckold now. Please continue bro

[Paty@123]

Plz further update