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The handsome young man looked at the TV Monitor, held his breath and watched the middle aged lady in the guestroom of his house. Unknown to her, the guestroom as well as the adjoining bathroom were linked to his TV by remote spy camera. Thanks to these latest electronic gadgets he usually watches his unsuspecting guests without their knowledge.

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There was a dressing table with a full-length mirror at the foot of the bed. Sheela stood in front of it and quickly unbuttoned her long red kurta, pulled it off her head. The young man gasped in front of the TV Monitor. He could see her naked back and the bra straps. She tugged at the drawcord of her churidar and it rustled to her feet. Her panties were very small, white. Humming, she turned and now he had a glimpse of her full frontal. His penis bounced erect.

She was very lovely. Fair, sensual, fleshy, with large, dark eyes, lined with kajal, thick black hair that was cut short to her shoulders. Her skin was smooth and clear, her breasts were large and full and heavy, with a devastating cleavage. She wore a gold mangalsutra chain around her neck. It glistened against her fair skin. Her navel was firm and flat and her hips flared perfectly, to sweetly curved buttocks and long, firm legs. Her limbs were smoothly turned and her feet and hands were elegant and shapely, beneath slender wrists and ankles. She wore a silver toe-ring, two diamond rings on one finger, a small diamond nose-stud, matching ear-rings. A bindi dotted the middle of her forehead. Her nose was slightly heavy, but perfect on her. Her lips were full and luscious and her teeth were perfect, white and strong and even.

Her brassiere he presumed to be of size 34c was very pretty, with thin straps and tiny cups that only just covered her nipples, leaving most of the luscious brown globes bare. He could see the stubs of her nipples and the dark shadows of her aureoles through the fine material. Her panties were so small that they barely covered her slit, and tiny dark hair crept from either side of the V. The darkness of her venus was clearly visible. The young man groaned softly as he watched her.

Sheela paused and reached behind her with both hands to unhook her bra. Her chest thrust outward and her breasts strained at the confines for a second, and then she slipped the straps off her rounded shoulders and her breasts bounced free. She tossed the bra at the foot of the bed and then, hooking her hands in her panties, rolled them down and kicked them aside. The young man stared at her naked body in mounting desire. The dark triangle of her pussy mesmerised him. As he watched, she bent to pick up the discarded clothes and carried them to the chair placed in the corner. She put them on it and strolled back. The young man watched her breasts bouncing.

Sheela stopped before the mirror, and he could see her as if she is right in front of him. The hidden camera was placed in that position and had a good view of the entire room. He could see her front in the reflection quite clearly. Reaching up, she coiled her hairs into a knot high on the back of her head, accentuating the sweep of her neck. The gold mangalsutra glistened on her flesh. Then she paused and smiled at her reflection. She looked at her teeth, grimacing, turning her head this way and that. Then she stopped, and he saw her eyes sparkling with mischief. She held her palms between her breasts, the outside edges touching, palm to the tip of her little finger and slowly weighed and lifted her breasts. Gently, she began to thumb her nipples. Moistening her finger with her tongue, she rubbed her nipples and aureoles. Her nipples stiffened and she pinched them gently, tweaking and twirling the hard stubs. The young man saw her breathing get shallower and more rapid, the tensing of her body, the parting of her lips, the flaring of her nostrils, all the unmistakable signs of sexual arousal. She squeezed her breasts in her hands, the flesh squeezing between her fingertips and arched her head, her tongue arching lasciviously over her upper lip.

Watching her on the TV Monitor, the young man Kapoor groaned and pulled his erect cock out of his shorts and began to masturbate slowly. She was still fondling her beautiful breasts. His lust for her body was overpowering, and he could not take his eyes off her. He watched as she continued to fondle herself, squeezing and massaging her generous, gorgeous breasts. How he wanted to feel them, take them in his hands, sense their weight and fullness, feel the stiffness of her nipples in his fingers, watch her pleasure as his hands, not hers, moved over her irresistible flesh.

With Dinesh Kapoor, sex was a way of life. He was a unique and fortunate young man, for he was born wealthy and had grown up expecting the best that money could buy. He was educated abroad and was really much more American than Indian. The last descendant of a rich family, he was the sum result of almost flamboyant in breeding. Keenly intelligent, he had been, from childhood, too intense and too interested in sensuality and those pleasures, which are forbidden by Indian society. With endless wealth at his command, a keen mind, a vivid imagination, Dinesh Kapoor soon tasted pleasures that most Indian men only dream of. Nor was he superficial about it. He pursued his activities with a lover’s passion. He was clever and covered up all his illegal activities.

Kapoor gasped softly as she watched Sheela on the TV Monitor. In the room, Sheela smiled wantonly at her reflection and slid a hand down to her pussy. Kapoor watched her face crease in pleasure as she teased her pussy lips open and rubbed her finger along the slit. She gasped and her hips lurched, her buttocks writhing and twitching. Her mouth fluttered open and, slowly, she slid a finger into her pussy. Gently, she masturbated before the mirror, moving her finger in and out of her slit, twisting it round and round, while her other hand fondled her visibly swollen breasts. She gasped softly and her hand moved faster in her pussy, her wrist pumping back and forth. Her hips twitched and lurched, rocking and jerking back and forth, and her fingers were frenzied on her breasts. Kapoor groaned in despair. She deserved better than her fingers; she deserved a cock, a big, thick cock like his in her cunt.

Obviously, Sheela also felt no differently. She kept masturbating and, as he watched, leaned forward on an outstretched arm, her hand on the dresser counter and spread her feet wide. Her buttocks splayed open and Kapoor had an unobstructed view of her smooth anus and her unfurled cunt-lips with her slender, shapely, elegant finger arched into it, rocking in and out, in and out. In the mirror, her upturned face was a vision of lust, her mouth a wide ‘O’.

Kapoor too pumped his cock eagerly, moaning and gasping. In the room, Sheela’s body rocked back and forth and he saw her pendulous breasts jiggling and bouncing, saw, too, the expression of delight on her face and her finger, wet and sticky, wriggling and darting into her puffed pussy lips. Her breasts jiggled and bounced and he saw that her nipples were nut-hard. Her hand rocked in her pussy faster and faster, deeper and deeper. With a shuddering gasp, she orgasmed, on and on it went, and she moaned, gasped, her chest heaving till it gradually ebbed.

With a shaking moan, Sheela flopped on the bed and lay across it, her hips at the edge, her feet on the floor, her chest heaving. Kapoor could see her pussy-flesh clearly, for her thighs were spread wide. Moaning, she caressed her breasts again, and her hand slid down her body to her pussy and she slid her finger sensuously up and down the wet slit. Kapoor thought the sight of her dark, wet pussy against her slender, bejeweled finger was incredibly erotic.

At last she rose and smiled to herself. It was a satisfied, sensual, wanton look, her eyes glittering with pleasure. Kapoor saw that she was sweating, beads of perspiration dotting her upper lip and coursing between her breasts. She went into the bathroom, her breasts bouncing as she walked.

The spy camera in bathroom was positioned so that her every move was fully visible to Kapoor at the TV Monitor. He watched her on the toilet, douching herself carefully and then she went into the shower, humming to herself. Kapoor watched as she bathed and shampooed. When Sheela soaped herself, her hands roaming her breasts and buttocks and thighs, lathering her pussy, Kapoor saw her smile again in pleasure. She plucked the handshower from its bracket in the wall and adjusted the spray to a hard, drumming, spurt. She ran it over her breasts and he saw her nipples harden. Then she spread her legs and, arching her head, directed the jet into her slit. Kapoor watched her move it closer to her pussy-lips.

Finally, she had it jammed to her pussy-lips and with her other hand she turned the tap up full. The water pressure must have been terrific gauging from her reaction for she gasped and her hips lurched and her head snapped back and she moaned wantonly. Again she squeezed her breasts in excitement as the water drummed and hammered into her pussy. Her hips twitched and jerked back and forth. She clenched the shower-rod and gasped and her face contorted in pleasure, her head arching back, falling forward, rolling from side to side as she moved the water-jet around in her groin. A few minutes later, Sheela emerged from the bath with a towel wrapped around her waist, her upper body bare.

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