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

[ashuezy2]

Scene 1

I am a very simple man. I love my family more than anything in this world. My name is Vedant. We live in a quiet, old colony in Pune. Every morning, when I wake up and see my wife, Niharika, getting our small daughter, Mrunal, ready for college, my eyes fill with tears of joy. I am a very emotional husband. I always try to treat Niharika like a queen, with soft words and gentle touches. It has been 10 years since we have got married.

But for last few months, there is heavy silence between us. We have been talking lot less.

Niharika has deep traditional, mesmerizing body. She has very slim waist, but her hips are wide and soft, making her walk with slow, heavy sway. But it is her chest that takes breath away from any man who sees her. She is natural, very full 38DD. Her breasts are heavy sloped and always sensitive. Her desire is like hidden, roaring fire. She wants deep, rough passion, but I am too soft. I touch her like she is glass, and I see quiet frustration in her big, dark eyes.

Heavy rains last month spoiled wooden doors of our balcony, so I had called local daily-wage carpenter from nearby basti. His name was Madhav.

Madhav was not gym man. He was dark-skinned from working in hot sun, very thin but stringy with raw, hard muscle. He wore faded, torn checked shirt and loose trousers with mud and cheap tobacco stains. He smelled of sweat, raw wood, and hard street.

It was Tuesday afternoon. I took half-day from office to stay home while work was done. Our daughter was at college.

I was sitting quietly in living room with my laptop. Madhav was sitting on floor near balcony, using his rough, hard hands to saw piece of wood.

Then, Niharika came out from kitchen.

She was wearing very simple, old light pink cotton saree for house chores. She did not pin pallu to shoulder; it was just dbangd loose. She wore matching pink blouse that was stitched very tight with deep, round neck. Because cotton was soft and old, the heavy weight of her 38DD breasts was clearly visible, bouncing softly with every step. Her face had no makeup, just thin sweat on forehead, and lips slightly open.

She was carrying steel glass of water for carpenter.

"Take some water, Madhav," she said. Her voice was normal, but sounded suddenly thick in quiet room.

I watched from over my laptop screen.

Madhav stopped and saw. He did not stand. He stayed sitting on floor, looking up at her. He wiped dirty sweat from forehead with raw hand. As he reached up to take steel glass from her, his rough, dirty fingers brushed against Niharika’s soft, clean fingers.

Normally, my traditional wife would pull hand back fast from labourer. She would adjust saree to hide her heavy chest from stranger's eyes.

She did nothing like that.

Niharika stood still. Loose pink pallu slipped little more down her arm, showing deep, heavy cleavage of her chest right above his face.

Madhav took slow sip of water, eyes not on glass. His dark, hungry eyes fixed on heavy, soft swell of her breasts over tight pink blouse. He was staring with raw, bad hunger like starving street dog at food. It was pure, wrong disrespect.

As a husband, my blood should boil. I should shout at him and tell him to leave house now.

But my body did opposite as me and my wife had not been talking too much for past few weeks.

As I watched my beautiful, educated wife stand there, letting dirty, low-class labourer look at her heavy body, sudden hot wave came to my private part. My breath stopped. I saw Niharika’s chest rise and fall faster. Her breathing heavy. She stared down at his rough, dark face, and I saw small, bad softening in her eyes. Frustration I see usually was gone. Replaced by dark, heavy want.

"Is wood very hard to cut?" Niharika asked softly.

"Yes, madam," Madhav replied, voice rough and deep, still staring at her heavy curves. "It needs lot of hard force. But my hands are used to breaking hard things."

Niharika swallowed. Small shiver on her bare waist.

They did not touch. They did nothing wrong. But air in room was thick with raw, dirty tension, I felt like choking. I sat frozen behind screen, heart beating fast with mix of deep pain and erection so hard it created a tent in my trousers.

She wanted him. My perfect wife wanted this dirty labourer to use rough hands on her. And knowing she felt desire she never felt with me(for past few months) with man so low in status—was most beautiful, breaking thing I ever saw.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 2

Madhav slowly put down steel glass. Water was finished, but he did not let go fast. For one long, choking second, his rough, dirty thumb stayed pressed on Niharika’s soft, pink skin.

Then, he gave empty glass back. "Thank you, madam," he said. His voice was thick, like dry wood rubbing.

Niharika said nothing. She just nodded slowly, her dark eyes still locked on his sweaty, dirty face. Finally, she turned. Heavy, soft weight of her wide hips swayed under thin pink cotton saree as she walked away.

I let out breath I did not know I was holding. My hands shook over laptop keyboard. I thought it was over. I thought she would go back to safe kitchen, and my fast heart would calm.

But my beautiful wife did not go to kitchen.

She walked into our master bedroom and came out with big plastic basket full of dry laundry. My heart squeezed with big wave of love. That is who Niharika is. She is devoted mother. She always works for our family, always makes home perfect.

But instead of taking basket to bed, she carried it to living room. She walked near balcony door, stopping few feet from where Madhav sat on floor.

She sat down on soft carpet, in patch of afternoon sun. She tucked legs under wide hips. She did not fix loose pallu. It stayed dbangd careless on arm, leaving whole deep, round neck of tight pink blouse open.

Madhav picked up hand-saw again. He placed it on raw wood. But his rhythm was broken.

Niharika reached into basket and took out tiny, college shirt of our daughter, Mrunal. Seeing her gentle hands fold daughter’s uniform brought tears to my eyes. I love them both so much. But as Niharika leaned forward to smooth small collar, her heavy 38DD breasts filled tight blouse fabric, pressing deep together to make thick, dark line of cleavage right in Madhav's sight.

Khach. Khach. Khach. Madhav started sawing wood. Harsh, scbanging sound of metal teeth biting hard timber echoed in quiet room.

Niharika picked up one of my big office shirts to fold. To flatten broad shoulders on carpet, she leaned very far forward. As she did, old cotton of blouse strained bad. Heavy weight of her upper body pulled down by gravity.

Madhav stopped sawing.

I watched from behind laptop screen, could not move. Madhav was kneeling on floor, holding saw, but his dark, hungry eyes glued to heavy, bouncing swell of my wife's chest. He stared openly down into her loose pink blouse. He breathed heavy, thin chest up and down, bead of dirty sweat running on neck.

He was disrespecting my home, my wife, my life. But I could not speak. Lump in throat too thick. My trousers painful tight, erection throbbing hard like not in years.

Niharika knew he was looking. I know my wife. I saw small flush on cheeks. I saw her breathing match rhythm of his saw.

She did not pull saree up to cover. Instead, she reached for another shirt, leaning forward even slower. She let heavy, soft chest rest short time on her knees, showing ample curves fully to this low-class labourer.

"Sun is very hot today," Niharika said softly, not looking at him, just at shirt she folded. Her voice breathy, like whisper.

"Yes, madam," Madhav grunted. His voice fully hoarse. He gripped wooden plank so hard, dark knuckles white. "It makes man very thirsty. No matter how much water he drinks."

Niharika finally looked up. Her big, dark eyes met his rough, strong gaze. Slow, small shiver ran through her thick, beautiful body.

They were five feet apart. They not touching. But air between them thick with dirty, raw lust, I felt like drowning. I sat still in my living room, like silent ghost, forced to watch my pure, traditional wife slowly come apart under hungry eyes of street carpenter. And God help me, I never wanted afternoon to end.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 3

Ceiling fan above us made slow, rhythmic tick-tick-tick sound. It was only sound in living room, other than harsh scbanging of Madhav’s saw.

I sat frozen behind my silver laptop. I looked at tiny college shirt Niharika still held in her lap. Sudden, deep wave of emotion hit my chest. I remembered day we brought Mrunal home from hospital. I remembered holding Niharika’s soft hand and promising to protect family forever. I am very sensitive man. My family is my whole universe. But right now, universe was changing, and I was fully powerless to stop it.

Madhav finally stopped sawing. He wiped dirty sweat from dark neck with back of hand. He picked up yellow metal measuring tape from floor.

"I have to measure bottom hinge of doorframe, madam," Madhav said. His voice rough, scbanging in quiet air.

Niharika sat on carpet, right next to balcony doorframe. Her wide, heavy hips blocked exact spot he needed. Any normal, good house lady would stand up fast, pull saree tight over chest, and move far to give dirty carpenter space.

My beautiful wife did not move one inch.

"Do your work, Madhav," Niharika said softly. She kept head down, slowly folding my big office shirt, but her breathing became very shallow and fast.

Madhav did not ask her to move again. Instead, he got down on hands and knees. He began to crawl on carpet toward her. He moved like dark, hungry animal coming close to heavy, soft feast.

I gripped edges of laptop so hard, fingers hurt. My heart hammered against ribs. I wanted to scream at him to stop. But thick, painful lust in my private part kept me fully still. I was scared, but also fully caught by big disrespect in my own home.

Madhav crawled until his dirty, mud-stained knees were less than inch from soft pink cotton on Niharika’s wide, heavy thighs. He was so close, his rough, sweat-soaked shirt almost touched her knees.

He leaned forward to put metal measuring tape on bottom of wooden doorframe. To do this, he stretched dark, stringy arm right across Niharika’s lap.

Niharika stopped folding shirt. She sat fully still. Because she sat on floor with legs tucked under, heavy weight of her 38DD breasts rested forward. Loose pink pallu still fallen off shoulder. Deep, round neck of tight pink blouse exposed direct to him.

As Madhav leaned head to read numbers on tape, his face hovered inches from her deep, heavy cleavage.

I could see everything clear from sofa. I saw Madhav stop looking at measuring tape. His dark, hungry eyes stared straight down into straining fabric of pink blouse. He was so close, he could probably see heavy, dark shape under thin old cotton.

Then, Madhav did something that made my blood cold with pure, bad heat.

He took very slow, very deep breath through nose. He was openly smelling her. He breathed in sweet scent of my wife’s soft skin, mixing with his own raw, dirty sweat.

Niharika’s eyes closed for second. Deep, heavy shiver took over her thick, full body. Her heavy breasts bounced softly with rough breath. She did not pull away from his dirty face. She leaned into it little bit, her soft pink lips opening as she quietly breathed in harsh, raw smell of labourer coming into her space.

"Gap at bottom is very tight, madam," Madhav whispered, his rough voice shaking in small space between them. He still did not look at door. He only looked at her heavy chest.

"Make sure it fits perfect, Madhav," Niharika whispered back, her voice shaking with dark, heavy want I never heard before. "I do not want any empty space left."

Metal tape clicked as he let it slide back into box. But he did not move face away. He stayed kneeling right against her soft thighs, fully drunk by her heavy pull, and she stayed fully still, letting him eat her with eyes.

I sat there with tears of mixed feelings in eyes, while my body burned with hardest, most painful erection of whole life. I was watcher in my own living room, seeing slow, beautiful breaking of my pure wife.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 4

Madhav slowly pulled his face away from her heavy chest. Yellow tape clicked back into metal box. But damage to universe was already done.

I wiped one hot tear from eye behind laptop screen. I love Niharika’s pure, traditional heart so much. When my elder brother visits home, Niharika always pins pallu proper, covering chest out of deep respect. But right now, sitting on floor in front of this dirty, unwashed labourer, my perfect wife was fully losing her mind. Her craving was doubling in front of my eyes, and she was not trying to hide it anymore.

Madhav reached into dirty canvas bag and took out thick, heavy iron screwdriver and long, thick metal screw. He had to fix bottom hinge of balcony door.

To get better angle, Madhav shifted position on carpet. He squatted down, spreading dark, mud-stained knees wide apart. His dirty knees now just few inches from Niharika’s soft, pink cotton saree.

Niharika did not pick more of daughter’s clothes to fold. She fully ignored laundry basket. Heat inside her body becoming too much to control. Her breathing so fast and heavy that her massive, full 38DD breasts visibly bouncing up and down, straining hard against tight pink fabric of old blouse.

Then, she did something that made my heart fully stop.

She reached up with soft, clean hand. Instead of pulling fallen pallu up to cover deep, exposed cleavage, she did opposite. She pinched middle of deep, round neckline of tight pink blouse and pulled fabric out, fanning herself to let air inside. As she pulled tight cloth from skin, she showed deep, shadowy curves of heavy breasts direct to Madhav’s dark eyes.

"It is suddenly very, very hot in this room, Madhav," Niharika whispered. Her voice shaking and thick. Her dark eyes fully glued to his rough, sweaty forearms.

Madhav placed sharp tip of long screw against hard, dry wood of doorframe. He gripped heavy iron screwdriver with raw, calloused hand.

"Wood is very dry and tight, madam," Madhav grunted. His rough voice fully hoarse, scbanging quiet air in living room. He leaned weight forward, dark, stringy muscles flexing hard under unbuttoned, sweaty shirt. "Screw is not going in easy. I have to force it."

Niharika’s dark eyes went fully wide. She leaned even closer to his spread legs. Her heavy chest almost resting on own knees now, deep cleavage shining with fine sweat.

"Force it, Madhav," Niharika said. Her voice dropped into desperate, heavy moan I never heard in our ten years marriage. "Use all your strength. Push it very hard until it goes deep inside. Do not stop until it is fully fixed."

Madhav’s dark jaw clenched. He stared right into her heavy, heaving chest, and pushed heavy screwdriver with brutal, raw, low-class power. His dirty knuckles turned fully white.

Krrrk. Krrrk. Krrrk. Harsh, violent sound of thick metal forcing deep into tight wood filled room. With every hard thrust he made with hand, Niharika let out soft, shaking breath. Her eyes fully locked on his rough, dirty hands. Her soft pink lips wide open. She was fully, totally caught by his raw strength.

I sat fully still on sofa, gripping laptop. My heart breaking into thousand pieces because I knew my gentle, educated hands would never make her breathe like that. But my trousers so painful tight I could barely sit straight. I was watching my pure, devoted wife almost beg dirty street carpenter to push harder, and I was fully, hopeless trapped in painful lust of watching her fall.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 5

Madhav gave one last, brutal push with heavy iron screwdriver. Thick metal screw went fully deep into dry wood. Harsh, violent scbanging sound finally stopped. Living room became dead quiet again, except for fast, heavy breathing of my wife and carpenter.

Madhav dropped heavy tool on carpet. His dark, thin chest heaving up and down. His faded checked shirt fully wet with dirty, sour sweat. He leaned back against wooden doorframe, spreading mud-stained legs wide open on our clean family rug.

I wiped wet eyes behind silver laptop. I thought my traditional wife would finally stand up, fix fallen pink pallu, and go to kitchen to bring him daily wages. Every morning, Niharika wakes at six, takes pure bath, and does puja for our daughter’s bright future and my long life. She is foundation of our family.

But Niharika did not stand up. Her heavy craving fully broke all boundaries of our culture.

She rose from sitting on wide hips and got onto soft, bare knees. Without one word, my pure, beautiful wife crawled forward on carpet. She moved direct into space between his spread, dirty legs.

I fully stopped breathing. My heart felt like bursting from deep emotional pain, while body burned with most painful, raw lust I ever felt.

Niharika leaned thick, heavy body fully forward and got right on top of him. She straddled his dirty, rough thighs with soft, wide knees. She pressed massive, full weight direct against his thin frame, fully trapping dark, sweating labourer against wooden doorframe of living room.

She leaned so far over him that deep, exposed neckline of tight pink blouse almost touched his unbuttoned, sweaty chest. Heavy weight of her 38DD breasts crushing old pink cotton direct against his stringy, hard street muscles.

Madhav’s raw, calloused hands still resting on floor, but dark, hungry eyes fully wide in shock and strong lust. He stared straight down into deep, dark valley of her exposed cleavage, fully choked by her heavy pull. Clean, sweet smell of her jasmine hair oil now fully mixing with his filthy, raw street sweat.

"You have done so much hard work today, Madhav," Niharika whispered. Her voice not like good house lady anymore. It was dark, heavy, begging sound. Her face hovering just inch above his dirty, unshaven jaw. "Your rough hands must be very tired from forcing that heavy screw so deep. You need to rest proper now under my weight."

She did not kiss him. She did not give any physical comfort or release. She just kept him fully pinned under her heavy, soft Indian figure. Clean pink cotton of old saree getting fully stained by wet mud and sweat from his cheap trousers, but she did not care. She just hovered there, letting painful, forbidden heat between bodies burn higher and higher, forcing him to smell her, feel her heavy warmth, but denying real touch.

I sat frozen on sofa, crying silent, helpless tears for my family, while trousers stretched to breaking point. I was watching pure mother of my daughter willing crush her heavy body against low-class street worker, and slow, choking tension of waiting driving me fully insane.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 6

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

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

She whispered something to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stepped into our master bedroom.

Click.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ah... ah..."

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

And then... my wife’s voice.

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

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

[ashuezy2]

Scene 7

I pressed wet cheek flat against cold, hard wood of my own bedroom door. My tears falling silent on clean floor tiles. I spent ten years working day and night to build safe, good home for Niharika and daughter Mrunal. But right now, only thing mine was painful, throbbing pain in tight trousers.

Heavy, violent rhythm started.

Thud... Smack... Thud... Smack.

It was loud, wet sound of heavy, soft flesh hitting rough, stringy muscle. My pure wife not lying on back. I could tell by heavy, strong sound of hits. Niharika was on top of him. She bouncing thick, wide hips down on dirty street carpenter with scary, uneducated force.

Our costly, solid wood bedframe screaming. Creak-CRACK. Creak-CRACK.

"Oh... God... Madam..." Madhav’s voice fully broken, groaning loud and deep from chest. He sounded like man crushed by pure, soft wealth, loving every second of pain. "You are too heavy... too tight..."

"Am I, Madhav?" Niharika’s voice came through wood. It was no whisper. It was loud, shameless, breathless gasp. She moaning louder with every heavy bounce. "Ah! Yes... feel how much pure Indian woman you inside now. My high educated husband touches me like glass. But you... ah!... your dirty street heat stretching me fully wide open."

Smack. Smack. Smack. Rhythm got faster. Wet, dirty rub of bodies so loud it covered ceiling fan noise.

I put soft hands over mouth to stop loud sobs. My heart shattering. I took her to hospital when she gave birth. I massaged her tired feet. But she never screamed like this for me.

"Madam... my hands..." Madhav begged, voice shaking with pure, raw lust. "Please... let me touch your heavy chest. They bouncing so hard above my face... I dying, madam..."

Heavy, violent bouncing suddenly slowed to deep, painful grind.

"You starving for them, no?" Niharika moaned, voice full of cruel, motherly control. "You want to taste what my husband’s money feeds. Open your dirty mouth, Madhav. I lowering my heavy 38DD chest right on your face."

Through door, I heard sharp, wet gasp of Madhav taking her in.

Slurp... shhhk... suck. Sound was fully filthy. It was loud, wet, animal sound of starving man sucking heavy, soft peaks of my wife’s full breasts.

"Ahhhh! Yes! Bite it!" Niharika screamed. She fully losing mind. "Drink from me! Drain all pure, warm milk I saving! Suck my heavy chest like wild street dog, Madhav!"

I fully still on floor. My erection so hard like iron burning against stomach. My gentle, sensitive mind horrified, disgusted, fully broken by big disrespect on marital bed. But body hopeless caught by sound of her dark, bad pleasure.

Bed started shaking violent again. Niharika bouncing faster, moans turning loud, continuous, rough cries. Madhav grunting like animal, rough hands slapping loud on her wide, soft hips to pull her down harder.

"Madam... I can't..." Madhav suddenly roared, voice fully raw and scared. "I going to release... I have to pull out... I will ruin your clean sheets..."

"No!" Niharika screamed back, voice full of total, high control. "Do not dare pull out of me! You dirty, low-class carpenter, and you do exact what I order!"

"Madam, please—!"

"Give it to me!" she yelled, voice breaking into fully mad, breaking moan of pure end. "I want your cheap, dirty street heat fully inside me! Ruin me! Fill my pure, traditional body right now, Madhav! Ahhhhh!"

Loud, deep, fully broken roar came from Madhav’s throat. Heavy bedframe slammed one final, brutal time against wall and stopped.

Only sound of their very loud, wet, rough breathing left.

I sat on cold floor outside locked door, fully destroyed. Pure mother of my child just forced dirty, unwashed labourer to fully claim her inside, giving him ultimate, bad gift she swore only to me. My tears fell silent, mixing with dust on floor, while body shook violent with hardest, most breaking physical want of whole life.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 8

I was still sitting on cold floor tiles of hallway, face buried in soft hands, when sound came.

Clack.

Heavy brass bolt on inside of bedroom door slid back. Wooden door slowly creaked open.

I got up fast, legs shaking so bad I leaned on wall. My trousers still painful tight, painful reminder of my own dirty part in watching family’s ruin.

Madhav stepped out of dark, cool bedroom. He was fixing cheap metal buckle of mud-stained trousers. His faded checked shirt fully unbuttoned, dark, stringy chest shining with fresh, heavy sweat. He did not look at me. He just wiped mouth with back of raw hand, walked straight past me, and went back to bright living room. He picked up heavy iron screwdriver from carpet and quietly went back to fixing balcony door, like he just took simple water break.

I stood in doorway of master bedroom. Cold air from AC hit my tear face. It smelled heavy of jasmine hair oil, raw street sweat, and sharp, clear smell of bad closeness.

I looked at my bed.

Niharika was lying there. She pulled thick, floral winter blanket fully over body, hiding heavy weight of her 38DD chest and wide, soft hips. Only bare, smooth shoulder visible. She lying on side, looking other way, staring blank at bedroom wall.

I stood there long time. I am very emotional man. Thousand words choking throat. I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to ask how she could let dirty labourer from basti fully ruin her purity. I wanted to ask what I supposed to tell small daughter Mrunal when she come home from college.

But I just kept looking at her. And most breaking truth hit my sensitive heart.

She looked peaceful. She looked fully, heavy relaxed. Deep, dark frustration I usually see in her eyes every morning was gone. Her heavy, roaring wants finally filled by brutal, uneducated force of someone other than husband.

But as I stood there, watching slow, satisfied up and down of bare shoulder under blanket, chilling thought came over my painful lust. I know my wife’s body. I know her heavy, full milk and very high desire. Lust not fire you can put out. It is dark, hungry animal. Madhav’s rough hands fed it today, but only for few days. Way lust works in deep traditional, full woman who finally tasted dirt... it never truly happy. Craving come back, heavier and darker than before.

In living room, scbanging of tools stopped.

I slowly turned from wife and walked back to living room. Madhav packing hand-saw and measuring tape into dirty canvas bag. Balcony door perfectly fixed.

"Work is done, sir," Madhav said. His rough voice much quieter now, heavy satisfied.

I pulled leather wallet from pocket with shaking hands. I took out five crisp five-hundred rupee notes. I handed money to man who just fully took my pure wife on own bed.

Madhav took cash with dirty, calloused fingers. He shoved into pocket. He picked up bag and put over dark shoulder. But before turning to main door, he stopped. He looked past me, staring down short hallway, looking direct at partially open door of master bedroom. His dark, hungry eyes stayed there one final, long second, remembering heavy, soft Indian wealth he just claimed.

Sudden, desperate wave of husband protection came through broken heart.

"Take your money," I said. My voice shaking, but I forced it hard. "Leave my house now. And do not ever show dirty face in this colony again."

Madhav looked at me. No fear in eyes, only quiet, proud smirk of street dog who knew he already ate best meat in house. He gave small nod, turned, and walked out front door, leaving muddy boot prints on clean floor.

I locked main door behind him. I was alone in perfectly quiet, perfectly ruined house.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 9

That night, I did not close eyes even for one second.

Air conditioner humming quiet in master bedroom. I lay fully still on my side of costly spring mattress. Clean white sheets changed, but my sensitive heart still felt heavy, dirty weight of what happened few hours ago.

Niharika sleeping right next to me. She breathing so soft, looking so peaceful and beautiful in dim moonlight. I am very emotional man, and eyes filled with hot tears again. I kept looking at soft face, thinking all mistakes I made in marriage. I always treated her like delicate flower. I bought her costly sarees and gold jewellery. I knew she had big hunger inside—I saw in frustrated way she looked at me sometimes—but I never knew she would dare fully cross boundary of our culture right in front of my eyes. She used my soft, gentle love as weapon against me.

Next morning, sun came up like any day. Things fully usual. Niharika woke at six, took pure bath, and did morning puja. I got small daughter Mrunal ready for college bus. Niharika packed Mrunal’s tiffin with so much mother love.

But between wife and me, heavy, choking silence. We not talking. When I sat at dining table for morning tea, Niharika served without word. We only exchanged few dark, heavy looks. Her big, dark eyes perfectly calm, but I saw hidden, dangerous satisfaction still there. Every time she looked at me, stomach tied in knots of emotional pain and deep, painful lust. I sat in own house, quietly counting days until her heavy, roaring desire break barrier again. Because with woman built like her, hunger always comes back.

Next four days went very smooth. Storm seemed passed. We slowly started talking here and there—about electricity bill, about Mrunal’s homework, about my software projects. She acting like perfect, traditional Indian wife again.

But on fifth day, Saturday morning, fragile peace of universe shattered.

It was around eleven morning. I sitting at dining table with laptop, writing code. Mrunal in bedroom, watching cartoons on tablet. Niharika in kitchen, making heavy, deep-fried pooris for weekend lunch.

Because she cooking over hot stove, she wearing very old, faded yellow cotton salwar kameez. It cheap suit she only wear for heavy house work. Kitchen hot, so she fully discarded dupatta. Thin yellow cotton of kameez sticking to skin with sweat. Heavy weight of her 38DD breasts clearly visible, soft fabric fully straining against full, heavy curves every time she moved arms to fry food. Her slim waist and wide, soft hips swayed heavy as she worked.

Then, doorbell rang. Loud and sharp.

"I will get it, Vedant," Niharika called from kitchen.

She walked past me to open heavy wooden front door. I looked up from laptop.

Standing in doorway was Baban.

Baban local man who deliver heavy 14kg cooking gas cylinders to colony on rusted iron bicycle. He not tall, handsome man. He very short, but very wide and thick, built like solid block of dark stone from years lifting brutal weight. He had thick, muscular neck and broad, hairy shoulders. He wearing filthy, torn white banyan soaked in dark sweat, and faded blue lungi tied high above thick, dark knees. He smelled strong of rust, cheap chewing tobacco, and raw, unwashed street labour.

This was new thing. Pure, rich house needing raw, brute strength of lowest class to keep kitchen running.

"Gas cylinder, madam," Baban grunted. His voice very thick and harsh. He not even look at face. He just bent down, massive, thick arms grabbing heavy iron cylinder. With loud grunt of raw animal effort, he lifted 14kg rusted iron tank easy on bare, sweaty shoulder.

Niharika stepped back to let him in.

"Bring it into kitchen, Baban," Niharika said. Her voice normal at first, but as short, heavy muscled man walked past her, carrying massive weight like toy, I saw wife’s whole body freeze.

Heavy, dark pull instantly returned to room.

Baban walked heavy-footed into clean kitchen, dirty rubber slippers slapping floor tiles. Niharika followed inside. I slowly closed laptop, heart starting to pound with familiar, scary mix of emotional panic and extreme physical heat.

I turned in chair to look into open kitchen.

Baban lowered heavy iron cylinder on floor with loud, metallic CLANG that echoed through peaceful flat. He stood up, wiping sweaty, dark forehead with dirty, calloused hand. His thick chest heaving under torn, wet banyan.

Niharika standing just three feet away. She holding steel glass of water she just poured. But she not looking at glass. Her dark eyes fully glued to thick, raw, sweaty muscles of Baban’s bare shoulders and deep tanned, hairy chest.

Her heavy 38DD breasts began rise and fall much faster under thin, sweat-wet yellow cotton. Pooris burning in hot oil on stove, but traditional wife did not notice.

Baban looked up. His dark, strong eyes locked direct on Niharika’s heavy, bouncing chest, fully exposed without dupatta. He took slow, deep breath, smelling hot oil and her sweet, sweating skin.

"Iron is very heavy today, madam," Baban said. His voice dropped to low, rough rumble. He did not look away from her deep, shadowy curves. "It makes poor man's body burn with heat."

Niharika’s soft pink lips parted. Quiet, perfect wife from last four days instantly gone, fully eaten by roaring, bad lust for this dirty, thick street labourer right in front of husband.

[Givemeextra]

wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow

The update is clearly summarized by the pic at end of each post.

[Givemeextra]

When and what is hubby going to discuss with wifey?

Is he just going to observe live action next time?[think first time, he did not see live]

[rangeeladesi]

Well-crafted. Waiting for more.

[tomdickharry2024]

Superb story and amazing animations

[ashuezy2]

When and what is hubby going to discuss with wifey?

Is he just going to observe live action next time?[think first time, he did not see live]

They are not a good match and go through different phases in their relationship. When they argue, they stop talking to each other and wait for the other person to start the conversation. Both of them are stubborn and let their ego get in the way. The wife has a very strong sexual desire. When she feels hurt, she tries to get back at him, but she does not yet have the courage to do it openly in front of him. In the past, she did these things without him knowing. This was the first time she did it while he was at home, so she made sure the door was closed.

[rangeeladesi]

They are not a good match and go through different phases in their relationship. When they argue, they stop talking to each other and wait for the other person to start the conversation. Both of them are stubborn and let their ego get in the way. The wife has a very strong sexual desire. When she feels hurt, she tries to get back at him, but she does not yet have the courage to do it openly in front of him. In the past, she did these things without him knowing. This was the first time she did it while he was at home, so she made sure the door was closed.

Logical.

[Fing fing]

please update..

[rangeeladesi]

Waiting for more.

[tomdickharry2024]

Good story.. pls continue this

[Wasifahim]

PLEASE CONTINUE