It was like she had been in denial, afraid to play the melodies that had once so enraptured him, lest her emotions got the better of her and the awful...pain of loneliness would consume her once again. He so used to enjoy her playing. Quite often on a Sunday afternoon, after a morning in the garden and a lovely beef roast and rice pudding lunch, he would settle himself in the leather armchair with a glass of Brandy and listen to Janet play for half-an-hour or so. It was like her own personal. He’d peed on her, threatened her with bodily harm, and he had told her how much he hated her. That all seemed like a million years ago. Now he was everything, her hero, her help mate, her soul mate, her protector, and her lover. It was funny how things had turned out. Oncenot long ago she was alone, alone in the most meaningful, most lonely, most desolate sense. She remembered how she’d go to work, perhaps leave a coffee cup on the counter. When she got home it was still exactly where she’d. He was untying my halter letting my breast hang free. I took him into my mouth, he was harder than I recall. I could not believe how turned on I was. But today, I was a new woman. James moved me and lifted me onto the warehouse table. I was burning up with passion. I could not help but to play with my breast, getting my nipples harder as he finished undressing. I felt my wetness moisten my skirt. ‘You have better hurry, I can’t wait,’ I said, as I moved my hands down to my clit and. There is one thing I have learnt about Indian wives, they are very loving, very submissive and are willing to serve their husband. We have had good sex life and have tried some kinky things. She is a beautiful Indian woman with light brown smooth skin, big boobs with dark tits and a pussy just designed to be fucked and fucked. No doubt, she had acquired many admirers. After few years of our marriage, once our trust had built up, we told each other about our sexual fantasies and often fulfilled.