Cute Desi Indian Girl Singing !!

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It was raining mildly outside. Then I looked at Ajitha, she looked at me and smiled. The same coy naughty smile I had seen a zillion times. God! Her smile can still kill me.It is bliss to watch my wife in this mood. I played along and teased her.Me: What? So, already moist down there?Ajitha: Well, maybe, seems that’s making someone jealous or hard down there?And gave me a naughty smile again. She was a pro at this kinky tit for tat words game which turned me on so much. If it was in our bedroom, I would have pounced on her right then.Man, look at her. She’s my queen. Well, I am 5’4” and she’s just about 5’3”. Both of us were in pretty good shape. She usually wore churidars, or sometimes skirts and rarely saree. I’d say, I love to see her most in skirts, knee-length ones.She looks so cute and sexy at the same time. In saree, well I take back my earlier statement. Actually, in a saree, she looks so elegant and I love her most in a saree. Well, forget what I feel because I love my wife. .. that was ... amazin'," I finally stuttered. "For me too, Nate," he said, pulling me against him again.He cupped the back of my head and laid it on his broad shoulder. Dang, he's hot! I hugged him back. "I never felt anything so good."He raised my head and looked into my eyes. "I've been wanting to do that since the first time I lay eyes on you."I felt my face burn hot, embarrassing, but it happened. "I never thought we'd be standing here like this." He smiled at me and I felt some special kind of warmth all over."Now let's go to my place and talk," he said, tossing me a towel. xxXxxBack to reality, I looked down, feeling my cock straining against my jeans. Those memories affected me. Every time I thought of Michael I was affected. My stomach turned flips. A rush of excitement hit me ... same as every time I sacked a quarterback in football. Well, not exactly the same, but similar. All I know is I didn't want to live without those feelings - no matter what it cost me. Looking out at.
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Sometimes she knew what was going to happen. It was never clear. She couldn’t tell fortunes, there were just some things she knew, intensely, viscerally. Her life was marked by a series of such signposts. She had known she would marry Fyodr, had known, too, that she would never see him again the day he left for the war. She had mourned him in her heart from that moment. There had been a letter, written by one of the professional letter-writers. She had taken it into the village and paid to hear it read. It was just like Fyodr, full of hearty cheer and optimism. She smiled at that. Now it was nearly Christmas and the winter had set in hard. Her hut at the edge of the wood was sheltered from the worst of the weather but still there was a foot and more of snow on the roof and she had to dig her path clear every day. She made her way down to the river each morning and broke the ice to draw water. She was worried about her pigs and thought she might have to slaughter most of them..

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