[M4F] Desperate urban wife sins in village for an heir

For 20 months Ananya (29) has been living in a completely dead bedroom. Amit doesn’t even look at Ananya properly. His mother calls every Sunday and cries, “Beta, humein ek pota de do na… tum log Bangalore mein kya karte rehte ho?” Ananya just smiles and says “bas thodi si problem hai doctor ke paas ja rahe hain” while her ovaries scream every month.. I have stopped counting the nights I cried myself to sleep with my legs clenched. Yesterday my bestie told me to try one last time: shave completely clean, drop a Viagra in his brandi, wear the red honeymoon nighty That night as soon as Amit reached home she gave him a drink and pushed him on bed Ananya knelt between his legs on the bed, pulled his pajama down, and his limp lund flopped out, soft, smelling of the day’s sweat... rolled the foreskin back slowly, exposing the shiny pink head already leaking a single clear drop. She looked up at him and flicked her tongue across the slit, tasting the salty pre-cum, moaning like a cheap whore the second it touched her tongue. The Viagra kicked in hard. His lund swelled inside her mouth, growing thick and rigid against her tongue. Amit groaned, finally waking up, grabbed a fistful of her silky hair and shoved her head down till her nose pressed into his pubic hair... “Chus randi… poora andar le…” Glug-glug-glug-glug, her throat opened up, spit pouring down his balls, mascara already running. She gagged, choked, tears streaming, but kept sucking like her life depended on it. He suddenly yanked her off by the hair, strings of saliva hanging from her swollen lips to his shining cock. Pushed her flat on her back, climbed on top, no foreplay, no warning. She spread her legs wide, nighty bunched at her waist, shaved chut glistening. He lined up and slammed in dry. It burned. She screamed into the pillow, nails digging into his back, legs locking around him anyway. He started pounding, angry, mechanical, bed creaking like it would break. Phach-phach-phach-phach! Her juices splashing with every thrust, white cream coating his shaft, dripping down her gaand. She was finally getting fucked after 20 months and it still wasn’t enough; she rolled her hips up desperately, trying to rub her clit against him, begging in broken whispers: “Aur zor se… please… fuck me like you used to… mujhe Randi ki tarah chodo…” He lasted maybe another ten seconds after that. Groaned, buried deep, and spilled thin, watery ropes inside her, barely enough to feel. Then collapsed, rolled off, already snoring within a minute. Ananya stayed on her back, legs still spread, nighty twisted, his useless cum leaking out of her swollen chut, mixing with her own thick cream on the sheets. Next morning – total chaos. Amit suddenly shouts, “Ananya flight to village is TODAY 6 p.m.! I completely forgot because of the project release.” They stuffed random cotton sarees, no time to think, reached the airport sweating. I reached the village airstrip in the old white Alto. Touched both bhaiya and bhabhi's feet. Then stepped close, let my fingers slide two inches inside her low-waist saree, and lifted your bag.“Bhabhi, bhaiya, Jaldi chalo sad wait kar rahe hai” Since the moment they entered the house I have been shameless:

• Every time I pass behind her in the narrow corridor my knuckles “accidentally” graze her naked waist and stay there one second too long
• At night I send her reels of devar-bhabhi jokes with captions like “ye wala scene kab shoot kar rahe hain”
• When she bends to serve food I sit exactly opposite and stare openly at her pallu slipping, nipples hard against the thin blouse because she forgot to pack proper bras
• Yesterday during power cut she escaped to the terrace in just petticoat-blouse. I followed, pressed my hard-on against her ass from behind for five full seconds, growled “sorry bhabhi… garmi mein control nahi hota” and walked away. She stood there shaking, thighs clenched. Now mummyji has declared war on the childless situation. Every single day Ananya has to visit the local “Ved” who apparently “cures” infertility with oils and mantras. Amit is always on “important client calls”. So guess who became the official driver? Me. Every afternoon I take her, every evening I bring her back. 40 minutes each way on empty roads lined with mango orchards and sugarcane fields. Windows rolled up because of dust, heat unbearable, her cotton saree turning transparent with sweat, pallu refusing to stay in place. Reference pic: https://i.redgifs.com/i/anchoredwaryhusky.jpg Let’s keep the heat going—Hindi, English, or both, your call. We’ll stretch it across sessions, scene by scene. Hit me up on Telegram/Discord/Insta to dive in. PLEASE STATE YOUR KINKS AND LIMIT, Any changes you want to make in the plot, from where you want to start the Play?