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Amar died when he was getting into his working clothes just after having had his shower.
As had been his practice for more than a decade, he had woken up at a quarter to six, drove over for his daily yoga, returned at seven and spent his daily half an hour with Reena, his wife, sipping herbal tea in their well maintained garden.
He had then washed his car and watered his plants before getting into the bathroom. He was a compulsive bathroom singer and had a good voice.
He was in good shape too. About five-ten, a hundred and forty pounds and no flab: he did on-the-spot-jogging for half an hour in his bedroom daily in the evening. Save for some gray in his hair and a few wrinkles over his face, few people would say that he was fifty-three; rather, he looked five years younger.
So, it was a shock in the neighborhood when there was a loud cry from Reena, at about eight thirty in the morning. The door was broken down, the doctor was summoned, but Amar had suffered a massive heart attack and he was no more.
They had two sons: Tamas, twenty-one year old, and the younger, Anand who was twenty. The younger had been away from home, so the family had to wait till he arrived before cremating Amar.
This happened a year ago. Reena, in more than one ways, is still in some kind of shock and refuses to accept that her husband is dead. If the maidservant who works both for her and for my family is to be believed, Reena has hung large photos of Amar’s in each room and very often talks to them.
Amar and his family had moved in the neighborhood more than twenty years ago. I still remember those days (it was before my marriage) when they would visit their site daily to personally supervise the construction of their home.
At that time, Reena was in her early twenties, having had just given birth to Anand. Boy, was she a knock out! I am of the same age as she. And before my marriage (and later on too, I must confess) she was the main central character during my masturbatory fantasies.
She was not tall: barely five feet three, and at that time, around a hundred and twenty pounds. She did shed a few pounds later on, but after having crossed forty, had given up all efforts to control her weight. She now weighs around a hundred and thirty or so and there is only one word to describe her: voluptuous.
In a story I had written in the past, I had mentioned the fact that the two characteristics that Indian men in general find fascinating in women are tits and thighs.
I remember even as a student, my pals and me ogling at robustly built film actresses, particularly those who were from South India. Titanic tits and Thunder thighs was the general phrase used by us to describe a particularly well-built starlet.
Reena was all that. A few months ago, a close friend of my wife’s spent a week at our place. She too was built along the general lines as Reena was. (I now also fantasize about this friend of my wife’s). I had sneaked into the guest bathroom one evening and had studied the sizes of her under garments. She wore a 38 bra and was 40 at her hips.
Reena would be slightly more. (I later found out that she was 40 at both these places and had a 35-inch waist).
With the advent of the Internet, I browse a lot of porno sites. The Indian government, puritanical though it may sound, does not allow any local porno sites, and that means the Indian has to browse through the free web sites available (mostly American) and it is a pity that they can’t access the paid sites for streaming videos simply because there is no arrangement to pay in American currency and a lot of us guys (particularly me) refuse to have credit cards (most of these cards available have collectors that would make the mafia blush).
My favorite sites that I visited would be those pertaining to BBW’s and Big Tits. I have copied and pasted more than a thousand photographs of such women getting fucked, sucking cock or tit fucking. This is not at all surprising as most of my pals do the same thing.
Watching these photos or clips (those shitty fifteen second trailers), I would fantasize that it was Reena posing in them. I do not recollect how many times I have jerked off on my 17-inch monitor during these sessions (which were quite a lot, as my wife does not agree that we should have sex more than twice a week, sometimes, twice a fortnight).
No sir, Reena was not your petite, thin girls you get to see these days in glossy magazines advertising for garments, under clothes, lip sticks or what have you. She was a robust and extremely voluptuous woman and I am sure that most of the guys in the neighborhood wouldn’t think twice if they had a chance to get it on with her.
My chance came one day when I was driving back from work and after having parked the car in the garage, happened to look over at my neighbor’s house.
A couple of guys, dressed in white were carrying a few cardboard boxes that obviously contained a PC.
“Hi,” I called over to her. “New PC?”
“Yes,” güvenilir bahis she smiled. She had a sexy smile. She had full lips that stretched wide to reveal pearly white near perfect teeth. “My sons insist that I have one in my room. They need to use the net at nights and I can’t make them move their set to my room.”
“You browse at night?” I asked her.
“It’s cheaper and much more peaceful. What about you?”
“Same here,” I grinned back.
On the spur of the moment, I asked her for her e-mail id. Promptly, she gave me the information and took my address as well.
“Well,” she told me, laughing, “You can expect a mail from me. Lots of times I get bored and wish I could go on hammering the keys.”
I didn’t mention to her that there was a better way: just click the mouse on the sites, those numerous sites I browse through.
Exactly a week later, I got her first mail.
HI! I BET YOU THOUGHT I WOULD FORGET. I DIDN’T. FEELING LONELY AND WOULD HAVE LOVED TO CHAT.
I immediately rushed my reply.
HEY! HOW COULD I FORGET? I WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO RECEIVING YOUR MAIL. WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO WRITE ABOUT? TELL YOU WHAT; LET’S WRITE A LETTER EVERY DAY.
And so it began. Whenever we met, we studiously ignored to mention about our correspondence. But the letters did not stop. Initially, they were just ordinary, run-of-the-mill letters, enquiring each other what we did in the day. A month after, she wrote to me a letter that set my heart thumping.
HI! I FELT TERRIBLY BORED TODAY, THOUGH I TALKED TO AMAR FOR AT LEAST A COUPLE OF HOURS. I HAVE STARTED TO MISS HIM AND TODAY BEING A SUNDAY, HE WOULD NEVER HAVE LET ME FEEL SO BORED. AT LEAST I WOULDN’T HAVE ALLOWED HIM TO. WOULD YOU FEEL THAT I AM BEING TERRIBLE IF I TOLD YOU THAT I HAD TO SATISFY MYSELF SEXUALLY, WATCHING HIS PHOTO?
I knew that I had to approach this subject cautiously if I were to have any chance of making any further moves on her.
HEY THERE! TERRIBLE? NOT AT ALL! IT’S SO NORMAL. HELL! WHEN MY WIFE REFUSES TO HAVE SEX WITH ME AS OFTEN AS I WOULD LIKE TO HAVE IT, I STILL HAVE TO RESORT TO SOLO ACTION!
She wrote back, obviously amused at my choice of words. Gradually, we began opening up, because, a few letters later, she casually wrote to ask me how often I ‘did’ it with my wife.
I replied twice a week if lucky, twice a fortnight usually and asked her how often had her husband and she done it.
Her reply was surprising.
YOU WOULDN’T BELIEVE IT. NEVER MORE THAN ONCE A WEEK. OFTEN TIMES, I HAD TO COERCE HIM INTO IT, BUT DURING SUCH TIMES, HE BARELY USED TO LAST A COUPLE OF MINUTES AND THEN ROLL OVER AND GO TO SLEEP!
I drafted a letter before mailing it to her, editing quite a lot and modifying the words and sentences. I didn’t want to sound too graphic lest I would put her off. On the other hand I needed to have her confidence.
THAT’S A PITY. SEX IS WONDERFUL. EVEN THE TWO TIMES MY WIFE AND ME HAVE IT, WE THOROUGHLY ENJOY IT. WE BOTH STRIVE TO MAKE IT LAST AS LONG AS POSSIBLE. AT TIMES, WE HAVE TO REALLY INVENT SOME POSITIONS THAT WOULD MAKE US GET THE SATISFACTION EARLIER.
Sure as hell, that perked up her curiosity. Promptly, she asked me what kind of positions we invented or used. I sent back a letter telling her that it is always “Ladies first” and that it would be fair if she tell me first the positions her husband and she used.
For a couple of days when there was no reply from her, I though I had killed the whole thing. Moreover, during those two days, I never saw her in the yard. Then, on the third day, she wrote.
SORRY FOR THE DELAY. I HAD TO THINK HARD BEFORE DECIDING. HE WASN’T MUCH FOR POSITIONS AND TRYING TO MAKE IT LAST. HE WOULD KISS MY MOUTH FOR PERHAPS FIFTEEN SECONDS, LIE ON MY TOP WITH HIS FACE BURIED IN THE PILLOW ON WHICH MY HEAD LAY, AND DO IT. HE USED TO EJACULATE PRETTY SOON, THE LONGEST I REMEMBER WAS MAYBE FIVE MINUTES, AND AFTER THAT, HE WOULD SIMPLY ROLL OVER AND EITHER GO TO SLEEP OR GO WATCH TV. THE POSITION WAS ALWAYS THE SAME. SOMETIMES HE WOULD KISS MY BREASTS. BUT WHENEVER I TRIED TO BE AGGRESSIVE, HE WOULD EJACULATE IMMEDIATELY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME IF I SOUND TOO GRAPHIC! YOU MENTIONED ABOUT SOLO ACTION. WHAT EXACTLY DO YOU MEAN BY THAT? WHENEVER I FEEL LIKE SATISFYING MYSELF, I SIT IN FRONT OF AMAR’S PHOTO AND DO MYSELF WITH MY FINGERS.
He must have been a goddamn smut, a mutt-head. If I had been him and she would be aggressive, I would be fucking her every which way I could and never leave her side. Perhaps, as a pal of mine used to say: To every man, the neighbor’s wife is always the more attractive and sexy! But in this case, Reena was really stunning and sexy.
I NORMALLY USE THE BATHROOM, OR IF THE WIFE IS FAST ASLEEP, I LOCK MYSELF IN MY STUDY AND BROWSE THROUGH SOME PORNO SITES. I USE MY HANDS TOO TILL I EJACULATE. I USE WILD FANTASIES WHEN I DO THAT.
The floodgates were gradually opening up until ‘ejaculate’ was replaced with ‘cum’, ‘do it’ was replaced with türkçe bahis ‘fuck’ and genitals were now described as ‘cunt’, ‘twat’, ‘hole’ or ‘pussy’ and ‘cock’, ‘pole’, ‘dick’ or ‘shaft’. We openly used words like ‘jerking off’ or ‘rocking the boat’ or ‘jamming my finger in my cunny’.
When we met however, either just the two of us or in the presence of somebody else (usually my wife or her sons or another neighbor) we never mentioned anything about our letters. She had requested through one mail the addresses of a few porn sites and I had already given her more than a dozen or so.
She particularly seemed to be obsessed with positions. I had jokingly written that it would be difficult to describe positions in words and that it would need practical demonstrations with a willing partner.
It finally started one fine morning when I was strolling in my yard. She had stepped out of the house to water her plants and we casually said hello to each other. It looked like she was apparently making sure that there was no one within earshot.
“Both my sons have left to the city for college” she told me, watering a rose plant, not looking at me.
“That’s good,” I replied, pretending to study her garden. She was looking damned sexy in a flimsy knee length gown that had very thin shoulder straps. My eyes kept glancing towards her enormous tits, encased in the bra that was clearly visible through the gown. I suddenly became aware that I was getting a hard on!
“Do you know that there is a back door from where one can get into my house without being noticed?”
I shook my head dumbly. My heart was going faster than a goddamn jackhammer.
“Do you know that even the approach to the back door from your yard is behind your garage? From where no one even in your house can notice?”
“N-no,” I stammered. I didn’t. But I knew where all this was leading to.
“The Lyon’s stagecoach?” her voice dropped and I thought my dick would burst out of my trousers. She was talking about one of the many positions I had described to her through the mail.
I must have looked like some kind of a dumb jerk; my mouth was open wide, my eyes were bulging, and I’m sure she had noticed the bulge between my legs because she was leaning over the hedge.
This time I stole a glance at my house and nodded.
She dropped a key into my yard and I was startled by the clanging sound it made when it fell onto the car way. Quickly, I bent down to retrieve it and slid it, with shaking fingers into my hip pocket.
“I know your wife goes at two in the afternoon and doesn’t return till seven. And your kids go out after coming back from school to the play ground returning only at quarter past seven.”
She was looking studiously at the rose plant that she was still watering. She was observant; I will say that much for her. What she whispered next caused my cock to jerk wildly inside my pants.
“I can’t wait to sit on your cock and maybe try to rest my legs on your shoulders while you fuck me.”
With those words, just as abruptly as she had uttered them in her low sensuous voice, she suddenly turned back and disappeared to the front of her yard, out of my sight.
It was eleven-thirty and I just couldn’t wait for the next two and a half hours to go by. At least not with my cock erect and throbbing inside my pants. I hurried inside my house to find my wife leaning against the kitchen counter, scrubbing the cooking platform. She was humming a song in a low voice.
My cock was so hard I knew I had to release myself. I walked up to the platform approaching my wife from behind. She was, as usual wearing her one-piece cotton gown.
I grabbed her from behind, my arms going round her waist and nuzzled her neck, pressing my hard on against her buttocks.
She laughed. “What’s that for? And at this time?”
“I’m suddenly horny for you, Rima,” I said hoarsely.
“Have you locked the door?” she asked me, twisting around so that her lips were scant inches away from mine.
“You bet,” I replied, crushing my lips against hers. She opened her mouth, as usual (I like to get my tongue sucked; it is a erotic prelude to having your cock sucked).
I grabbed the hem of her gown and raised it up her thighs. She groped down and helped me to keep the gown bunched up at her midriff. I pushed down her panties and she was wriggling to get them down her legs, finally, raising one foot, and then the other so that the garment was now lying on the floor.
One hand holding her gown at her waist, she reached with the other hand behind and grabbed my crotch. I moaned in her mouth and jerked my hips back to allow her to unzip me and fish out my tumescent cock.
She directed my cock against her pussy and I realized as the tip entered inside her that she was equally turned on because her pussy was wet and sopping. Perhaps the time, the position and the place were turning her on. I groaned, my mouth still fused against hers as I slammed forward. My cock entered her right to güvenilir bahis siteleri the hilt, making her gasp.
I let my hands wander up her thighs and she bunched up her shoulders to allow me to pull down her gown. I dispensed with preliminaries by shoving down the straps of her bra and grasping her swollen tits in my hands, kneading and fondling the soft flesh even as I commenced to slam in and out of her.
She came first, pulling her mouth away from mine and letting out a low growl and then I hurried along, visions of Reena filling up my mind; her enormous tits, that big ass and those strong thighs. I blasted my juice in my wife’s pussy, gasping, shuddering and jerking as I did so.
“Wow, that was great,” she murmured later, pulling her dress back to cover her up again. She was like that. She always dressed up after a fuck. She never preferred to sleep in the raw either.
By the time Rima left, precisely at five minutes to two, I had a raging hard on again. I sneaked into the garage, opened the door at the back and crept into her yard by slithering through the hedge.
My hands shook as I fumbled with the keys. I looked around and could see that this place was totally isolated. I should know better, because the only place from where one could see that door was through the small window of my study room. That was the room where I fiddled around with my PC.
Silently, I entered the house, making sure that I locked the door behind me. I could hear nothing: the house was absolutely silent. I made my way inside, assuming she was in the living room in front of the building. I was pretty familiar with the lay out and had no difficulty locating the living room.
What I saw inside sent the blood racing inside of me and my nerves tingle. Needless to mention, the sight ensured that most of the blood raced to my cock, making my hard on still more painful than it had been before.
Reena was seated on a medium sized divan, dressed in little else but a flimsy transparent bra that was a shade too tight for her tits and too small. Additionally, all she had on apart from the bra was an equally tiny pair of panties. She wore nothing else apart from these, save for a sensuous smile on her full lips.
Her hands were resting on the divan behind her. She had spread her legs, knees bent so that her heels rested flat on the divan in front of her.
“Hello, lover,” she murmured huskily. “I know you are in time, but I have been waiting for almost an hour like this.”
I shut my mouth and shifted my glance from her full tits straining against the bra to her crotch. Since she had spread her legs apart, I could clearly see few strands of her pubic hair jutting out from the side of her panties. It was also obvious that the back of her panties was so narrow that the strip would be barely covering her large ass cheeks.
“Are you just going to stand there and watch?” she asked, throwing her head back and looking at me with half-closed dusky eyes. Her long hair fell behind her. I noticed that they almost reached down to her waist.
I forced a smile and began to slowly walk towards her. I was aware that she could see the enormous bulge between my legs. Perhaps, I thought, she could hear my heart thudding as well.
Frankly, I wanted to jump her. But that would have spoiled the scene somewhat. That would be tantamount to using Gestapo tactics, I thought, and for some strange reason my mind recollected what I had read in a paperback a few days ago, where the hero speaks about the FBI’s intervention in his case: “You all are like a bunch of Gestapo storming in when I am in the middle of a seduction.”
When I reached the edge of her bed and was standing almost between her legs, I noticed how sexy she really looked. Busty and voluptuous with sexy, doll like features: an Indian Barbie doll. She had fantastic, strong and beautiful thighs. The helpless rush of excited and raw energy filled up my dick. I wasn’t aware that I had sighed out loud when I had the first close-up gorgeous view of her big tits as they stretched out against the thin material of the small bra.
I stood there above her continuing to peer at the top of her tits, closing my eyes for an instant to imagine my dick snugly nestled in that lush and wonderful valley. Opening my eyes I saw the way that her erect nipples punched against the joke called bra.
She leaned her body slightly toward me and I saw the way her breasts pushed against the brassiere and the way the under wire pushed those tits up against me, bunched up like a pair of ripe melons. Pouting half out of the push-up bra, her tits reminded me of a delicious ice cream sundae.
Without saying a word, I unbuckled my belt, unzipped the trousers and let them fall down to the floor, stepping out of them. I was wearing a pair of shorts and I could hear the intake of her breath when she saw the large tent that my cock had made in them.
I was perhaps a foot away from her, so all she had to do was to reach out with one hand and put her palm right over the tent. I groaned as she felt up the width and length of my throbbing cock and I could see that she was pretty impressed with it. I shivered uncontrollably when her hand slid down to cup my balls.
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