I could feel myself getting wet, as the teenager dating my daughter openly groped me in the kitchen.He used his feet to spread my legs, gently pushing first one leg and then the other. The dishwater was starting to get cold, but I continued the illusion of housework, even though all I was doing was polishing one wet dish over and over again. Ash moved his hand from my ass to my thigh—I was wearing a floral dress that went down past my knees, and as his left hand found my hard nipple and started tweaking it, his other hand slowly started inching my dress higher and higher, until my inner thigh was within reach.My breathing was heavy as his hand made contact with my skin for the first time since we’d shaken hands at the door earlier that evening. I couldn’t help but wonder: even then, had he been wondering what it would be like to touch me? Had he known how easy I would make it for him, how I was somehow unable to resist his advances?What we were doing was wrong for so many reasons,. Because of her moral thinking we were not into hardcore sex and we did only a few kissing and fondlings in the past. All of our desires were saved to this day.. Believe me guys, it was worth it.As a regular guy from Kerala, I grew up seeing those mallu films, in which wife come in white sari with a glass of milk and all, I fantasized my first night to be somewhat the same. And I had discussed it with her. I am so into women in sari. (I prefer seeing a woman in revealing sari rather than nude from the starting of a sex session.) Without keeping me waiting for long she came in to my bed room. There she was in a red sari and matching blouse we bought together for the occasion. For a brief second I lost my breath and hairs in my body stood up. I recovered my consciousness and closed the door behind her. She was feeling shy after all these years of love. I garbed the glass of milk from her and kept it aside (I had special plan for the milk) and touched her hand. She looked at me and I.
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