Infertile husband wants a baby for his lovely wife- and watch her [breed]. I help. Part 1.

The suite smells like hotel soap and her perfume.
Warm lights. A bed turned down like something’s already expected.
Aparna stands at the foot of it, ankles together, shoulders bare beneath soft maroon straps.
She doesn’t look at you yet. She’s watching Sachin.
Her gaze flickers to him—his stillness only makes the moment more charged.
He’s seated just a few feet away, still in his shirt, pretending he can hold it together.
You walk up behind Aparna.
Fingers trail over her spine. Her breath jerks. Her skin reacts, warm beneath your touch, soft and trembling.
You can feel the anticipation, the weight of what’s about to happen.
You hook a finger through one strap and slide it down. Then the other.
Aparna’s blouse loosens. You help it fall.
She lets out a tiny gasp—thighs instinctively pressing together.
You glance at Sachin.
He hasn’t blinked.
His hands are gripping the armrest of the velvet chair. Eyes stuck to Aparna.
You move closer to Aparna.
Hands at her side now—fingers brushing that soft curve where her waist dips in.
Aparna’s warm. Slightly trembling. You press your mouth to her neck.
She leans back into you, the sensation of your lips against her skin sending a ripple of heat through her.
Your hand drifts down to her belly. Aparna’s breath catches again—her middle folding slightly when she exhales.
Aparna’s fingers twitch, then reach up to undo the clasp of her bra.
She slides it off herself—not looking at you, not looking at Sachin.
You take it from her, casually.
Then pull Aparna’s arms down by the wrists, softly but firmly, so her breasts are exposed.
You speak low, near Aparna’s ear.
“Let Sachin see.”
Aparna does.
Her chest rises—heavy, dusky, beautiful. She’s already flushed, her skin glowing under the low light.
You run your palm under one breast, lifting it slightly. Aparna shivers.
Sachin exhales like he’s been punched.
One hand finally moves. Undoes the first button on his shirt.
You kiss Aparna’s shoulder. Then step around to face her.
“Sachin,” you say without looking back. “Watch her face.”
You undo Aparna’s skirt next—it pools at her feet.
Just thin panties now. Slightly damp. Clinging to the line between her thighs.
You hook your finger through the side and tug.
Aparna looks at you, wide-eyed—then down—then nods. Barely.
You peel them down slow, savoring every moment. Aparna lifts each foot carefully. Stands there.
Completely naked.
Behind her, you hear a zipper.
You don’t turn yet—but you know.
Sachin’s undressing now. Shirt off. Pants lowered. You can hear how rushed, how clumsy.
You take Aparna’s wrist and guide her to the bed.
She sits first, then you press on her shoulder until she sinks lower, back resting on her elbows.
Aparna’s thighs part naturally, offering herself, every inch of her body responding to the moment.
You kneel at the foot of the bed.
Aparna’s eyes flick between you and somewhere over your shoulder.
You know Sachin’s watching—his breath loud, uneven.
You kiss Aparna’s thigh. Then the other.
And then you start licking her.
Slow at first. Tasting her. Letting her melt.
Aparna moans into her chest, breathy and real.
Sachin’s moving now. You can hear the rhythm of him stroking.
You go deeper—tongue working firm and slow, then faster.
Aparna’s moans spill out, raw, desperate.
One hand on your head, the other gripping the sheet beside her.
You lift your face only to say:
“You hearing her, Sachin?”
He groans.
“She’s… she’s never sounded like that.”
You look up at Aparna.
She’s already staring down at you, mouth open, sweat forming above her lip, her body trembling in anticipation.
You stand.
Aparna’s hands reach up—shaky, wanting.
You let her undo your fly. Pull down your pants and briefs together.
Your cock falls into her hand. Heavy, thick, ready.
Aparna strokes you slowly, both hands now. Then looks up, whispers:
“I want all of it.”
You reach into your pocket. Tear open a condom.
Roll it on slow, every movement deliberate. She watches every second.
You climb over Aparna. Press the tip against her. Slide in, inch by inch.
Her head falls back. The soft of her belly folds as her hips lift to meet you.
Sachin moans, his breath breaking.
You start to thrust—slow, deliberate strokes.
Aparna gasps under you, holding onto your arms now. Her tits bounce gently with every movement.
You don’t take your eyes off Sachin.
“This what you pictured, Sachin?”
His hand is pumping fast now.
His voice breaks. “Yes. Fuck. Yes.”
Aparna turns her head toward him. Her voice thin and desperate:
“He’s… he’s inside me, Sachin…”
You lean close.
“She’s so tight for someone who fucks this often.”
Aparna whimpers.
You kiss her open mouth, hips still grinding slow.
Then it happens.
Aparna gasps—not from pleasure. From something else.
You pause. Still inside her. Hard.
“What?”
“I’m ovulating.”
Aparna says it quiet, like she wasn’t supposed to.
You stay right there. Hard. Buried. Looking into her eyes.
“Say it again.”
“I’m… I’m ovulating.”
Sachin groans—nearly chokes on her name.

You don’t pull out.
You stay deep inside Aparna, hips grinding slowly, deliberate.
Her body trembles beneath you, soft, warm, like she’s already lost herself in this. Each movement pulls something deeper from her—a little gasp, a quiver of her body beneath yours.

Sachin’s voice breaks into a moan.
“She’s leaking around you,” he breathes.
You glance over your shoulder—his hand’s still working slow, eyes locked on Aparna’s folds spread open around you.

“She doesn’t want the rubber, does she?”

You don’t say anything.

Aparna turns her head toward him. Her voice thin and desperate:
“Sachin…” she pants. “I can’t feel him like this…”

“You want it raw?” he asks, voice catching.

She nods—once, desperate.
“I want him.”