Is The Premise Of Your Hotwife Relationship That You Are Happily Owned By Your Husband? And Happily Do

Guidance requested...

Is there a way I can save my blog after 17th? I am technologically challenged.

If someone can please guide me on if and how I could save or relocate my blog elsewhere, I would be grateful.

My bf from my swimming club took me on a weekend vacation to a seaside resort that had their own private beach. Needless to mention he hardly allowed to step out of the room and utilized most of the time doing what he planned to do with me in seclusion. After a rather intense night, i begged that we go to the beach. He accepted grudgingly.

There were not many people on the beach except for a few couples who snuggled each other. During a playful moment there, he asked me to get nude for him to photograph. It was difficult as I wasn't used to be that way in public, but he convinced me to do it. I did it and he photographed. From the corner of my eye i could see the other couples looking at me. Strangely enough, instead of getting embarrassed, it emboldened me and I became more free.

It didn't last long enough though. My bf got into a 'mood' and I was immediately transported back to our locked bedroom where he created memories for both of us.

That's like my husband kissing me, kissing my soul through my mouth, breathing life into my body, fulfilling my reason to exist on Earth, reminding me of the reason why I am born, to be his.

Dear Shefali, Glad you’ve starting posting again. You think your husband noticed another man’s presence when ever or if you allowed him to drop his seeds . In your mind did you ever compare the two men in their techniques of making love ?

My interactions with ‘other’ men were very limited when my husband was here. So the probability of what you mentioned was very low, though not absent. About comparing two men, I do not think it is ever possible to do so. No two mean are alike in their approach, touch, feel, grips, noise, clutches, use of force. So with my limited knowledge, I consider it unwise to even try to compare a man with anyone else. They are all an experience by themselves and attempting to even draw a comparison is not prudent, that’s what I feel.

And yes, you misspellt my name :-)

I just love you and your thoughts

Thank you for your compliments!

How many guys do you think you have fucked so far? Any specific numbers?

No, never counted…never thought of keeping a count also. It’s not like a record etc. I meet men when I want to and some I keep meeting, some I meet and move on….there are some who visit my city and I am contacted to them through my stag, who knows exactly the kind of men I prefer, or at times he prefers. In those cases mostly it’s one time, though there are a few who keeps re-visiting.

Stains

Funny and memory provoking as they are, they can be a source of major embarrassment also. I did write a while ago my thoughts about the “place”. https://shefaali-india.tumblr.com/post/169724995357/your-place-or-mine-a-thought-sharing-onthe

On one such assignment, I was in a really posh hotel, one with pristine white sheets and the inevitable happened where the fluids spilled over and out from us on the silky white bedsheet. The next morning when he had finished doing what he got me there for, we got dressed and much to our embarrassment, there were bright, big, orange stains on the relevant part of the bedsheet, which no matter what explanations we gave, would tell only the single story of truth.

Gairik and I  (part 5)

Contd from part 4...

Gairik stepped out of the car. I heard the door shut with a gentle thud. The cold air swept inside the car from the brief moments that he had the door opened. Outside I could see the narrow lane with not many houses that have still been completed, mostly dark and silent. The neon of the pharmacy lighted up the adjacent area to an extent. Looking at the dark uninhabited houses my mind wandered (or may have raced) back to the earlier moments where Gairik touched me in the darkness. I kept playing back in my mind his coming closer to me, his warm breath on my face, his hands which were trying to pull me closer to him, my own eager self that wanted to be pulled closest to him. I jolted back to reality hearing the click of him opening the door from outside as he returned from the pharmacy. He held a small brown paper packet in his hand.

"Ato ghamcho kano? AC switch-on korbo?" (Why are you sweating so much? Shall I switch the AC on?), he asked as he got inside the car and closed the door. "seat belt ta khule boste parte to, bhalo lagto" (you could've unlocked the seat belt while you waited, would've felt better).

I realized I actually was sweating. Despite the cold outside, I was surprised to find my brows and face had sweat on them, so were my palms. A sensation of heat was emanating from within me, almost making me feel that only if I explode, will I get some peace. I quickly reached for a napkin from the box kept on the dashboard. I wiped myself and muttered, "na na, nothing wrong, I am fine".

I am fine? I am fine? No, I am not fine. I have not been 'fine' ever since I knew Gairik loves me, ever since he touched and held me closely against him for those brief moments. My mind screamed, "pull me close again", while my face just smiled at him. Gairik handed me the packet and said, "please eta bag-er modye rekhe dao" (please keep it inside your bag). I extended my hand to receive the packet, and kept it inside my handbag.

"Gairik?" "Yes Shefaali?", he answered while locking his seat-belt and starting the car. "Amra bari kokhon pouchobo?" (how long before we reach home?)

I think I saw Gairik smile. He said, "Arekta jaigay jete hobe amader, tarporei amra bari pouchobo, khub taratari, promise" (we must visit one more place and then we 'll reach home, very soon, promise).

He reached out and held my sweaty palm in his and drove on. I clasped my fingers over his palm. A short drive in silence brought us to a stationery shop. "Come with me, I need your help here", he said. We got off the car and went inside the store.

A nice and cheerful store it was. Gairik seemed to search for something along the aisles. Finally he reached a section and stopped. "Pradiptaa loves to paint, doesn't she", he asked. Pradiptaa is my daughter's name.

"Yes, she loves and can spend hours doing it". "Great, so does Durba. This will keep them occupied". "Pradiptaa is very fond of drawing and painting and it is difficult to divert her once she is engrosses in her activity. She would participate in all the sit & draw competitions in school. She is...", and I suddenly stopped. The full implication of 'keeping them occupied' and diverted sunk in. I blushed upon my late realization and I think Gairik saw my face turn red, and smiled.

"You are a beautiful and wonderful mom, Durba keeps telling me how much Pradiptaa talks of you in school", he said. He picked up two sets of drawing and colouring books, pastels and crayons.

"Gairik, these are very expensive, you do not have to get such expensive gifts for them". "Shefaali, I will be borrowing her very precious mother from her to be with me. These mean nothing in return", he replied with a smile. We walked to the cashier and he cleared the dues.

As we stepped out of the warm store, the cold winds hit us. Instinctively I drew myself closer to him. We walked back to the car.

to be continued...

She is lush. You get lost in the thickness of her wit, her charm, her sweetness, her curves, her sex. She is whiskey neat. She burns, she soothes, she warms, she makes you forget or worse she makes you remember. She is literature. She is an adventure, a classic, a mystery, a plot twist, a page turner, a hard read, a childhood favorite, a romance, a triumph, a tragedy. She is stolen moments, secret lust, extra, on the side, a maybe, a la carte, a vacation, a dream, a fantasy. One day, she will be someone’s everything.

allthethingsiwant (via allthethingsiwant)

You haven't mentioned about the people you saw in bed together when you returned home early.. I'm still curious about it

It's too embarrassing to mention about on the public page. Please message me separately.