u/Additional-Try-114

So last weekend me (29M) and my wife Riya (27F) were stuck at this boring house thing at my friend Sameer’s place. Him and his wife Neha. Typical Indian middle-class evening — some snacks, soft drinks, old Bollywood songs on low volume, everyone sitting around looking half-dead. Sameer’s younger cousin and two of his jawan friends (early 20s, military looking types, fresh and fit) had also dropped in. The vibe was pure lethargy.

Riya was wearing this sleeveless black Punjabi suit — soft fabric, slightly fitted. She’s slim, fair, with those nice round medium tits that sit perfect — not huge, not small, just the kind that fill a hand and look soft as hell. Normally she keeps it modest, but the neckline was already a bit open.

We were sitting on the sofa, both of us bored out of our minds. I leaned over and whispered, “Babe… dare you to make this interesting. Adjust that dress a little. Show some cleavage. Make Neha jealous. Talk to those jawan boys a bit.” She gave me that half-shocked, half-turned-on look. We’ve done mild teasing before but never like this in front of people.

She bit her lip, stood up saying she needed the washroom. Five minutes later she comes back. The neckline is pulled lower, the fabric stretched just enough that the top curve of both breasts is clearly visible — soft, round, a nice deep shadow of cleavage when she leans even a little. The sleeveless arms show her smooth shoulders. She didn’t wear a bra with that suit (she rarely does with soft fabric) so when she moved you could see the natural sway and the way the fabric clung.

Neha noticed first. Her face went tight for a second. Riya sat down opposite the boys, crossed her legs, and started chatting with them like it was nothing. Laughing at their jokes, asking about their training, leaning forward when she spoke so that cleavage stayed right in their eye-line. One of the guys kept glancing down and then forcing himself to look up. Another one shifted in his seat. Sameer was talking to me but I could see him clocking it too.

I was hard as fuck under my jeans. Watching my wife — the same woman who usually blushes if someone stares too long — casually giving these young fit guys a free show and enjoying the attention. She kept glancing at me every few minutes with this tiny smirk. Pure evil.

We stayed another hour. She didn’t do anything crazy, no touching, just the dress, the leaning, the soft voice, the eye contact. Neha got quieter and quieter. The boys were clearly trying to stay respectful but failing. My cock was throbbing the entire time.

The second we got into the car I grabbed her thigh hard. “You fucking tease.” She laughed, low and dirty. “You dared me. Did you see Neha’s face? And those boys kept looking at my chest…”

By the time we reached home I was gone. Door barely closed and I had her against the wall, pulling that sleeveless suit down so both round tits spilled out. Soft, warm, nipples already hard. I sucked one while pinching the other, then spun her around, yanked the salwar down and bent her over the nearest chair.

I fucked her hard and deep from behind, one hand in her hair, the other squeezing those tits. She was dripping. Kept moaning about how the boys had been staring, how she could feel their eyes on her cleavage, how wet it made her knowing I was watching and getting hard. I told her how much I loved watching her show off, how I wanted her to do it again next time, maybe even more.

We moved to the bed. She rode me reverse so I could watch her ass bounce while she talked dirty about the jawan guys. Then missionary, legs on my shoulders, pounding her until she came hard around me. I pulled out and came all over those soft round tits and the cleavage she had just been flashing strangers with.

After, she lay there sweaty and smiling, still half in the ruined Punjabi suit. “Next time,” she said, “maybe I leave the blouse buttons open a little more.”

So last weekend me (29M) and my wife Riya (27F) were stuck at this boring house thing at my friend Sameer’s place. Him and his wife Neha. Typical Indian middle-class evening — some snacks, soft drinks, old Bollywood songs on low volume, everyone sitting around looking half-dead. Sameer’s younger cousin and two of his jawan friends (early 20s, military looking types, fresh and fit) had also dropped in. The vibe was pure lethargy.

Riya was wearing this sleeveless black Punjabi suit — soft fabric, slightly fitted. She’s slim, fair, with those nice round medium tits that sit perfect — not huge, not small, just the kind that fill a hand and look soft as hell. Normally she keeps it modest, but the neckline was already a bit open.

We were sitting on the sofa, both of us bored out of our minds. I leaned over and whispered, “Babe… dare you to make this interesting. Adjust that dress a little. Show some cleavage. Make Neha jealous. Talk to those jawan boys a bit.” She gave me that half-shocked, half-turned-on look. We’ve done mild teasing before but never like this in front of people.

She bit her lip, stood up saying she needed the washroom. Five minutes later she comes back. The neckline is pulled lower, the fabric stretched just enough that the top curve of both breasts is clearly visible — soft, round, a nice deep shadow of cleavage when she leans even a little. The sleeveless arms show her smooth shoulders. She didn’t wear a bra with that suit (she rarely does with soft fabric) so when she moved you could see the natural sway and the way the fabric clung.

Neha noticed first. Her face went tight for a second. Riya sat down opposite the boys, crossed her legs, and started chatting with them like it was nothing. Laughing at their jokes, asking about their training, leaning forward when she spoke so that cleavage stayed right in their eye-line. One of the guys kept glancing down and then forcing himself to look up. Another one shifted in his seat. Sameer was talking to me but I could see him clocking it too.

I was hard as fuck under my jeans. Watching my wife — the same woman who usually blushes if someone stares too long — casually giving these young fit guys a free show and enjoying the attention. She kept glancing at me every few minutes with this tiny smirk. Pure evil.

We stayed another hour. She didn’t do anything crazy, no touching, just the dress, the leaning, the soft voice, the eye contact. Neha got quieter and quieter. The boys were clearly trying to stay respectful but failing. My cock was throbbing the entire time.

The second we got into the car I grabbed her thigh hard. “You fucking tease.” She laughed, low and dirty. “You dared me. Did you see Neha’s face? And those boys kept looking at my chest…”

By the time we reached home I was gone. Door barely closed and I had her against the wall, pulling that sleeveless suit down so both round tits spilled out. Soft, warm, nipples already hard. I sucked one while pinching the other, then spun her around, yanked the salwar down and bent her over the nearest chair.

I fucked her hard and deep from behind, one hand in her hair, the other squeezing those tits. She was dripping. Kept moaning about how the boys had been staring, how she could feel their eyes on her cleavage, how wet it made her knowing I was watching and getting hard. I told her how much I loved watching her show off, how I wanted her to do it again next time, maybe even more.

We moved to the bed. She rode me reverse so I could watch her ass bounce while she talked dirty about the jawan guys. Then missionary, legs on my shoulders, pounding her until she came hard around me. I pulled out and came all over those soft round tits and the cleavage she had just been flashing strangers with.

After, she lay there sweaty and smiling, still half in the ruined Punjabi suit. “Next time,” she said, “maybe I leave the blouse buttons open a little more.”

I already can’t wait.