Ittefaq Say (MeeraSim FF)

33 - Aag *

''Mera araam.'' He could almost feel her pattering heart between her breasts, roused in his name into beating madly in preparation for what he would to her. (My peace.)

Peck.

''Meri,'' he declared resoloutley before his nose nuzzled against her supple breasts and he deeply inhaled the scent of his wife, cementing it into memory indefinitely. ''Meri jaaneman.'' She was trembling from what he had made bloom within her, evoking her entire body to flush and year for his touch. (My soul.)

''Can I see,'' she asked, her lilt apprehensive yet intrigued, gaze lifting slowly until they met.

''Khud se zyada, main tumhara hi hun,'' he affirmed, his husky voice was testament to the effect of Meerab being in his vicinity, handing herself over to him. (More than my own, I belong to you.)

They were still on their knees, the room dark yet case in a toasty ambience from the illuminating fire. Murtasim's eyelids fell, breathing slowing to ground himself, imaging every sensual moan she had ever uttered so that the blood would rush south. The house was secluded when his hips lifted, his kameez was pulled aside and she got a glimpse of his tapered waist, the centre trailing in darker curles upon his wheaty skin. Pulling the tie of his shalwar, his waistband went slack.

Her lips parted in intrigue as her member was unveiled to stand proud before her. Murtasim spat in his own hand before he wrapped around the base of his length, watching as her hands fiddled with her parted neckline, giving the perfect window onto her body. 

It was so intimate to watch him massaging his own erect penis in front of her, teaching her how to play with his organ in a temperate cadence.

Her pupils dilated, entranced on the sight of him holding himself with conviction, with authority. The only thought that clouded her mind was of how it fit inside her, how it had slipped into her so easily, evoking her own release with ease. His grip was tight, the entire thing glistening and hissing at how good it felt, vulnerable and yet secure before his wife, depicting the hold she would iminently imitate.

The quiver between his eyebrows in concentration is what drew her closer, her own hand replacing his, confident despite being a novice.

A sigh emitted from his sinking lungs at her hand sped up the tempo with languid jerks, the rhythm of his breathing also picking up. The praises, less refined, unlocked a new level of satisfaction within her.

Each stoke was firm and yet inquisitive, wondering which caress which trigger which response. He basked in the attention, his demure wife awakened in his company, both sat in front of the cosy fire whilst her smaller hand, that had only seen superfluous luxuries, got to work on his slippery length. Her hand slid with ease onto him hard length, firm and proudly unyielding as she massaged him. Just the sight made her insides churn.

Every touch was navigating a new path, testament to her determination to study him, to evoke pleasure that would make him lose the cool composure, until he muttered her name, like a solemn prayer, like a mantra of unrefined praise, like an incantation to spur her on.

In the same pursuit, her nimble thumb slid over the crease of the tip of his penis, slotting and finding something sensitive that instantly made him jerk and moan her name, a gluttonous 'Meerab' luxuriously rolling off his tongue. It spurred her on to repeat the motion, wanting more of whatever pleasured him, her other hand formed a cuff around a base, squeezing the pleasure out of him, until his hips lifted, and her hand was forced to halt by firm grip on her wrist.

''Meerab, bas,'' he instructed in a hurry, gentle and yet certain. (Meerab, that's enough.)

Her hand released, detatching from the warmth of his mass. ''Did I hurt you?''