Fucking While Getting the Saree Pressed—a tale in which a wife, under the pretext of asking her husband to iron her saree, managed to get her pussy fucked as well. In the month of May, prior to attending a wedding, the wife asked her husband to press her saree and blouse; the husband, however, laid down a condition: “For as long as I am pressing the saree, I will be fucking your pussy, too.” In this erotic account of sex during saree-pressing, you will read how the wife first sucked her husband’s cock, then stood up to take his cock deep into her pussy from behind, and how the husband—while simultaneously gliding the iron—relentlessly pounded his wife’s pussy. This experience of getting fucked while having a saree pressed was so intoxicating that the wife’s pussy gushed twice, and her husband’s hot lava surged all the way up to her womb. If you enjoy authentic and intensely steamy sex stories set within a domestic environment, then this story is made just for you.
Part 1: A Couple Obsessed with Sex – Anywhere, Anytime
My husband and I are both incredibly passionate about sex. You could say that we are constantly on the lookout for an opportunity to get laid. Whenever we get the chance, we go right to it. Whether it’s morning or evening, day or night—there is no specific time for us. My husband and I have sex anywhere, anytime. Sometimes in the kitchen, sometimes in the bathroom, sometimes in the living room, and sometimes in the bedroom. Every single corner of our home has witnessed our lovemaking.
I even manage to get some household chores done while my husband is fucking me. I look for tasks that allow me to stand up and lean forward, making it easy for my husband to slide his cock into my pussy from behind. I get a huge kick out of doing this—on one hand, my housework gets done, and on the other, the thirst of my pussy is quenched. My husband loves it just as much. He feels there is a unique thrill to having sex this way—like a secret game, or a private little secret that only the two of us share.
Our sex life has always been fantastic, but ever since we adopted these methods of “multitasking” sex, our passion has intensified even further. My husband’s cock is about six and a half inches long and quite thick. His balls are large; they bump against my pussy during sex, driving my arousal through the roof. My pussy is small and tight—perfectly pink and completely hairless. I shave it every week to ensure it stays clean and smooth. My husband adores how clean my pussy is—he claims that a hairless pussy is the absolute best to lick and to fuck.
Although we have sex every single day, there are occasionally moments when our lovemaking feels even more special. One such occasion was that month of May.
Part 2: The Condition for Ironing the Saree and the Beginning of the Blowjob
It was the month of May. The heat was at its peak. Outside, the sun was blazing, while inside the room, the fan was running at full speed. We both had to attend a wedding at a relative’s house. Since the wedding was in the evening, we were in no rush to get ready, but pressing our clothes was absolutely essential. My husband is excellent at ironing. He presses all his own clothes himself—creating perfectly crisp lines, as if they had just come straight from a professional laundry service.
I took our clothes out of the wardrobe and handed them to my husband to be pressed. He placed the iron on the table, plugged it in, and waited for it to heat up. As soon as the iron was hot, he began pressing his clothes. First, he ironed his shirt, and then his trousers. He did it magnificently—smoothing out every single crease in a single pass. I watched him, thinking to myself, “If only I were half as good at ironing as he is.” However, I had once accidentally scorched a favorite saree of mine—and ever since that day, I had vowed never to attempt ironing a saree again. Ironing a saree is a tricky business; the slightest slip-up can ruin the entire garment.
I had picked out a gorgeous Banarasi saree to wear—a vibrant red one, adorned with intricate gold zari work. It came with a matching blouse—a stylish, slightly cut-away design with a deep neckline at the back. Both these garments were in dire need of a good pressing. I turned to my husband and asked affectionately, “Honey, could you press my saree and blouse for me, too? You have magic in your hands; you do such a wonderful job.”
My husband looked at me with a mischievous grin. “I’ll certainly press your saree for you,” he replied, “but what do I get in return?” His eyes held that familiar sparkle—the very same one that always appeared just before we were about to make love. I knew him all too well; there was only one thing running through his mind. “And what is it that you want?” I asked playfully. My husband stated his terms directly: “While I’m ironing your saree and blouse, I’m going to fuck your pussy at the same time. I’ll handle the iron with one hand, and with the other… well, you get the idea, right?”
I smiled inwardly. That was exactly what I had wanted myself. I said yes instantly—without a moment’s hesitation. “Absolutely, whatever you wish. But on one condition: my saree must be ironed perfectly. There shouldn’t be a single crease left.”
My husband replied, “It’s a deal. Now, you tell me how we’re going to do this.”
My husband finished ironing his own clothes and hung them up on hangers. Now, it was my turn. I told him, “Iron my blouse first. It’s small, so it won’t take long.”
I decided to get him in the mood first—to perform a little oral sex so his cock would get fully erect, making it easier to slide into my pussy later. I knelt down on the floor in front of my husband. I spread a small piece of cloth on the floor so my knees wouldn’t get bruised. I leaned forward and unfastened the hook on his trousers. Then, I slowly lowered the zipper. His trousers went slack. I grabbed both his trousers and his underwear together and slid them down past his legs.
Now, right before me, lay my husband’s limp cock—somewhat flaccid, yet still looking heavy due to its sheer thickness. First, I cupped it in my palm; it felt warm and soft. Then, I began to caress it with my fingers—slowly, tenderly, stroking it from base to tip. I also took his dangling balls into my hands and squeezed them gently—neither too hard, nor too lightly. The moment my hand touched him, his cock began to twitch and stir. I watched it grow—gradually, second by second. First, it stiffened slightly; then, it grew harder still; and finally, it stood fully erect—hard as an iron rod. Veins had begun to bulge upon it; the head had turned a deep purple and glistened brightly. My husband’s cock soon attained its full dimensions—that six-and-a-half-inch member was now fully erect and ready for action.
I took his cock deep into my mouth. At first, just the head—I pressed it against my lips, then circled it with my tongue. It carried the faint, sweet taste of pre-cum. Then, I slowly took the entire shaft into my mouth—swallowing as much of it as I possibly could. I began moving my mouth back and forth—starting slowly, then picking up the pace. With every forward thrust, his cock reached deep into my throat. I felt a slight sensation of choking, yet even within that constriction lay a distinct and unique pleasure. My husband grasped my hair and began pressing my head down against his cock; he wanted me to take it even deeper. I obliged his desire, lowering my mouth further still. Wet, sucking sounds began to emanate from my mouth—a sound he absolutely adores. I continued sucking my husband’s cock for five minutes—long enough for my mouth to become thoroughly wet, and for his cock to be completely drenched in my saliva. I did this to ensure that when he finally slid his cock into my pussy, it would enter with ease. My pussy, too, had grown wet in anticipation of all this—I could feel a distinct dampness spreading between my legs.
Part 3: Standing Up, He Thrust His Cock into My Pussy from Behind
After ironing my blouse, my husband set it aside. The blouse was ironed to perfection—not a single crease remained. Now, it was my saree’s turn—that red Banarasi saree I cherished so dearly. I stood up. There was a slight ache in my knees—the result of kneeling for five minutes—but even that pain held a certain pleasure. I picked up my saree and petticoat together. Beneath them, I was wearing a pair of panties with a floral design—a pale pink pair adorned with tiny little flowers. I slipped those off as well—with absolute ease, as they were quite loose. Now, I was completely naked from the waist down. I turned my fair, pale buttocks toward my husband—my ass is round and plump, a feature my husband absolutely adores. Then, I leaned forward, resting my hands on the edge of the table. My back was straight, and my buttocks were thrust upward. It was the perfect position—ideal for fucking my pussy from behind.
My husband set the iron aside; there was no need to unplug it, as it needed to remain hot. He stepped up behind me. I felt his feet come to rest right next to mine. First, he placed both of his hands upon my buttocks. His hands were warm—warmed from holding the iron. That warmth only served to heighten my arousal. He began to knead my buttocks affectionately—slowly, in gentle circular motions. My buttocks yielded to the touch of his hands—so soft and full. Then, he slid his fingers into the cleft between my buttocks and began to stroke them up and down. His fingers grazed my asshole, then slid down to touch my pussy. This teasing made my pussy even wetter.
Suddenly, he delivered a sharp, resounding smack to one of my buttocks—the sound of “Splat!” echoing throughout the entire room. A sweet moan escaped my lips—”Ahhh!” That slap left my ass red and sent a pleasant warmth spreading through the area. I absolutely loved the pain. My husband knows just how much I enjoy being spanked—it is a vital part of our sex life.
Now, he spread my buttocks wide with both hands; the cheeks of my ass parted, leaving my pussy fully exposed. The pink folds of my pussy lay bare before him—wet, glistening, and completely ready. He grasped his thick cock and positioned it right at the entrance of my pussy. I reached a hand back to touch his cock—it was still slick with my saliva and fully primed for the wetness of my pussy. I added even more spit to his cock—though it wasn’t strictly necessary, I wanted to ensure the entry would be absolutely smooth.
Part 4: Three Powerful Thrusts and the Journey to the Womb
At first, my husband slowly inserted half of his cock into my pussy. I felt the walls of my pussy closing in around his cock from all sides—tight, hot, and wet. I took a deep breath—in this position, the cock penetrates very deeply. He paused for a moment, allowing me to adjust. I steadied my breathing. And then—he delivered a powerful thrust. In a single motion, he drove his entire cock—right down to the base—deep into my delicate, soft, pink pussy. My husband’s cock slammed directly against my cervix. The force of that thrust was so intense that I lurched forward.
“Ahhhhhh!” A loud scream escaped my lips—a scream born of both pain and pleasure. It was so loud that it likely could be heard in the neighboring houses. I gripped the edge of the table even tighter—my knuckles turning white.
Just as I was beginning to recover from this initial assault, my husband withdrew his cock completely from my pussy—right down to the head—and then launched a second attack. Once again, that same explosive impact—Thwack! Once again, his cock slammed against my cervix. “Ahhh!” I screamed again.
A third time—he pulled it out, and then, with the exact same force, thrust it back in. Thud! Another scream tore from my throat—this time, even louder. These three powerful thrusts caused my pussy to release its fluids. I felt something hot and wet flowing out of me—it was my pussy’s juices. My wetness dripped down onto my husband’s cock, making it even more slippery. Now, his cock began to slide in and out of me with ease. Filled with my juices, my delicate, soft, pink pussy had fully embraced his cock. But by then, my condition had deteriorated significantly—my legs were trembling, my breathing was rapid, and I was clinging to the table just to maintain my balance.
Part 5: The Saree Gets Pressed, and the Pussy Gets Fucked—Both at Once
Now, my husband removed both his hands from my buttocks. He picked up the iron and began pressing my saree. Yet, his cock remained deep inside my pussy—and he continued to thrust it in and out. Now, my husband was performing two tasks simultaneously: guiding the iron with one hand while fucking my pussy through the rhythmic motion of his hips. It was a truly unique sight to behold and a sensation unlike any other.
I attuned myself to my husband’s movements—moving in a steady rhythm, slowly and with absolute ease. His cock slid in and out of my pussy—much like the steady rhythm of breathing. I began to match his pace by thrusting my hips back and forth. I arched my hips backward as his cock slid in, and leaned forward as he pulled it out. Our movements became perfectly synchronized—as if we were two parts of a single body.
To be honest, at that moment, I felt as though I were floating in paradise. On one hand, my body was being thoroughly fucked by his cock; on the other, I watched as the silken luster of my Banarasi saree was restored. The heat of the iron caressed every inch of the fabric, and in that very same rhythm, his hot cock caressed every wall of my pussy. My husband fucked my pussy with vigorous precision—neither too fast nor too slow, but at a pace that felt absolutely perfect, delivering a continuous wave of pleasure. The sheer gusto with which his cock slid in and out of my pussy created a distinct, wet, slapping sound—a rhythmic squelch… thwack… squish… It was that sound—the one that arises when a pussy is thoroughly wet and a cock thrusts rapidly in and out of it. There was a distinct melody to that sound—an intoxicating, sensual, maddening melody.
I kept my eyes closed—simply surrendering to the sensation. With every thrust, my breasts shook; and, unencumbered by a bra, they bounced with wild abandon. My nipples had hardened and were rubbing against the inside of my blouse, intensifying my pleasure even further. I was breathing heavily—”Yes… yes… just like that, darling… fuck me just like that…”
Part 6: A Room Filled with Squelching and Sloshing Sounds
Over there, my saree was being ironed, while right here, my pussy was being thoroughly fucked. Every now and then, my husband would pause his ironing to spread my buttocks wide with both hands; he would then thrust his entire cock deep into my pussy—right down to the very root—so that the head of his cock would strike against my cervix. That impact was painful, yet simultaneously delivered a pleasure so intense that it defied description. When he spread my buttocks, my pussy would open up even wider, allowing his cock to penetrate to even greater depths. Then, he would pick up the iron again and, while continuing to press the saree, would resume slowly thrusting his cock inside me.
I was deriving such immense pleasure from this fucking that I simply couldn’t hold myself back. My pussy had already climaxed twice. The first time occurred right after those initial three thrusts, and the second time came after he had been fucking me continuously for nearly ten minutes. Each time I climaxed, the walls of my pussy would clench even tighter around his cock—as if trying to hold it captive inside me. And my husband absolutely reveled in that grip; he would say that, during my climax, my pussy actually “sucked” his cock. Even after all this, my husband remained intent on absolutely wrecking my pussy—he showed no signs of stopping.
The fluids flowing down from my pussy had now seeped outward toward my navel and began to drip, drop by drop, from the point where the cleft of my pussy ended. I felt several warm drops trickle down onto my thighs and then fall onto the floor below. I tilted my head down slightly to look—on the floor, a small circular wet patch had formed from the tiny droplets of my pussy juices. The room was filled with the intoxicating scent of my fluids—faint, sweet, and incredibly erotic. That scent had completely transformed the atmosphere of the room. Now, the air was thick with nothing but sex—pure lust, and the raw passion shared between the two of us.
Part 7: A Series of Shocking Thrusts and Screams
My husband suddenly shifted his comfortable rhythm of fucking. Just then, right in the middle of pounding my pussy, he abruptly pulled his entire cock—from tip to base—completely out of me. For a split second, I thought he had stopped fucking me; my pussy felt hollow, aching for the warmth and thickness of his cock. But the very next instant—Thwack!—he rammed his massive cock deep inside my pussy once again. In a single, powerful thrust, the whole length went in—right down to the root. My cervix took that forceful impact once more.
“Ahhh!” I screamed.
Before I could even recover, he pulled his cock completely out again. I felt the head of his cock exposed to the air outside my pussy—the cool breeze brushing against my wet, throbbing flesh. And then—Thwack!—he drove it back inside. “Ahhh!” I screamed again.
In this startling manner, he pulled his cock completely out and slammed it back into my pussy five or six times. Each time, the same force; each time, the same depth; each time, that same jarring impact against my cervix. With every thrust, a piercing scream escaped my lips. They were so loud that I feared the neighbors might hear—yet, in that moment, I simply could not control myself. My screams would not stop.
My husband was absolutely loving this game; a devilish grin played upon his face—and though I couldn’t see him, I could tell from the movements of his cock exactly what he was feeling. He was reveling in every single one of my screams. I don’t know what had gotten into him today, but my husband’s cock was absolutely tearing my pussy apart. It felt as though a completely different life had surged into his cock—a wild, uncontrollable, and ravenous life.
Lost in a daze, I too was murmuring incoherently as I took him inside me. Unformed words tumbled from my lips: “Aah… fuck me… fuck my pussy just like that… yes, exactly like that… ah… drive your cock deep into my pussy, right to the root… ah, crush my womb… my pussy belongs to you… only to you… you’ve driven me absolutely mad…”
I was talking to myself, utterly lost in my own pleasure. I had no idea what I was saying—whatever thoughts were flooding my mind simply spilled out through my mouth. I was exactly like someone high on drugs—except my drug was my husband’s cock, and my pussy was the one getting intoxicated.
Part 8: The Saree Is Pressed; Now It’s Time to Erupt
By now, my saree had been completely pressed. My husband turned off the iron and folded the saree with great care—into a perfectly precise shape, looking as if it had just come straight from a store. Then, he placed the blouse on top of it. All my clothes were now ready—not a single crease, not a single wrinkle. My husband remarked, “Here you go—your saree and blouse are all pressed. Look how beautifully they turned out.”
I turned around to look behind me—and indeed, the saree looked absolutely brand new. Its luster had returned. Breathing heavily, I said, “Okay… it looks wonderful… now… now you go ahead and finish your work…”
My husband smiled. He slid his cock back into my pussy—this time gently, lovingly. Then, he delivered about ten powerful thrusts—one after another, without pause. Each thrust reached deep into my womb, and with every thrust, I cried out, “Ah… yes… just like that… exactly like that…” I was on the verge of reaching my climax, but I wanted him to come first.
And then—he drove his cock deep inside one last time and held it there. I could feel his cock throbbing inside my pussy—rapid, intense pulsations, as if it were a separate heart beating within me. And then—he unleashed his molten lava inside my pussy. Hot, thick, white semen—like a volcano erupting. One gush, then a second, then a third. I felt that warmth filling up the depths of my pussy. My entire body began to tremble. I climaxed right along with him—letting out a long, deep, shuddering moan. My pussy gripped his cock even tighter—as if bidding it a final farewell.
I absorbed all the heat from my husband’s cock deep into my pussy. For a few moments, I remained frozen in that position—holding my breath, unmoving, doing absolutely nothing. I simply savored that experience, absorbing it deep within myself. Then, I gave my hips a slight wiggle—a signal that he could now withdraw. My husband understood. He slowly slid his cock out of my pussy. As he did so, some of his cum spilled out along with it, trickling down my thigh—warm, sticky, and white.
Part 9: Sucking the Pussy-Juice-Soaked Cock Clean
I turned around to look at my husband’s cock. It was completely drenched in a mixture of my pussy juices and his own cum. It was glistening wet, shimmering, and carried the faint, sweet scent of my natural fluids. I couldn’t resist the urge—I immediately dropped to my knees. I took his cock in my hands and examined it—from top to bottom, from the head down to his balls; everything was coated in my pussy juices.
I took his cock into my mouth. Ah—what an incredible taste! It was a blend of my own juices and his cum—slightly salty, slightly sweet, and absolutely divine. I took his pussy-juice-coated cock deep into my mouth and began to suck. I had taken it upon myself to clean him off—and I was doing a thorough job of it. I used my tongue to clean every single inch of his cock—around the head, up and down the shaft, between the veins, and even his balls. I kept my eyes closed as I sucked him—savoring every nuance of that taste. My husband ran his hand through my hair—a loving gesture, though his hands felt weary. Before long, I had cleaned his cock completely—it was soft and clean once again, looking as if he had just stepped out of the shower.
I stood up—my knees ached, my back felt strained, and there was a faint burning sensation in my pussy. But there was a big smile on my face.
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Part 10: We Had a Wedding to Attend, But the Pleasure Was Doubled
My husband lifted me up and set me on my feet. He gathered me into his arms and held me close against his chest. I buried my face in the crook of his neck. A faint scent of sweat wafted from his body—that distinct scent that always lingers after a session of lovemaking. I am absolutely crazy about that scent.
Then, cupping my face in his hands, he captured my soft, tender lips with his own. He began to suck on my lips—slowly, tenderly. His lips pressed against mine, his tongue playfully dancing with mine. We kissed for five minutes—without haste, without urgency. Purely out of love. That kiss was the perfect conclusion to our lovemaking.
Five minutes later, we pulled apart. Both our lips were swollen, and sweat glistened on both our faces; yet, etched upon both our expressions was that deep satisfaction that comes only after truly good sex.
I said, “We actually have a wedding to attend, you know. Look at us—now we’re going to be late getting ready.”
My husband laughed. “You’ve really gotten into the habit of this, haven’t you? You use the excuse of needing a saree pressed just to get yourself fucked.”
Laughing back, I replied, “You were the one who set the condition! What did I do?”
To be honest, by now, we’ve both fallen into a routine with this. Whenever I need a saree or a dress pressed, I ask my husband to do it. And he tells me, “Be ready—and be ready like a bitch.” And so, I get ready. Because I love it. I love that my husband treats me like a bitch while he fucks my pussy—and I love submitting to him, letting him fuck me while I play the part of his bitch. It is our love, our lust, our own unique way of expressing ourselves to one another. Getting fucked while getting a saree pressed has now become an integral part of our routine—and I hope it remains that way forever. We did attend the wedding, but the real fun of that day came while ironing the saree—doing two things at once, and finding complete joy in both.
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