One Tit Bride

Sometimes she made me into a helpless silk saree wrapped bundle before trapping my head. The first time she used her bridal saree. Once my wrists were tied into her petticoat I couldn't resist as she wrapped the saree tighter and tighter around me.

She admitted that when she had been wearing the royal blue saree at work, apart from trapping my head in her cleavage, she had wanted to gag me with her long braided her. Now she couldn't but she had some long black silk dupattas -- very long scarves -- that she could use instead. She wrapped the dupatta around my head several times, usually when I was already mummified in a saree, before shoving my head up inside her petticoat and saree and resting my gagged mouth against her panties. She writhed above me to bring herself to an orgasm before engulfing my erection that was the only part of me unconstrained by yards of silk. I was grunting into the scarf gag and panting through my nose before she relented and let me breathe.

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Two years after we had married we finally got the message that the cancer, not visible on the six-monthly scans, was unlikely to return. Until then Asha had been taking long-term anti-pregnancy injections because she didn't want to die when her child might still be a toddler. Now she stopped.

Her hair had also grown, not quite as long as it had been, but enough that she could now gag me with it. But she preferred to use the dupattas because they were more effective gags. But she often stroked her hair across my body and face and sometimes I went to sleep with my face buried in her hair.

She was offered reconstructive surgery. We discussed it for a couple of weeks before she agreed. After the operation she had to exercise her arms again and she could no longer trap my head. It was too painful for her but she could bundle me up in a saree, gag me with a dupatta, and ride me for as long as she wanted to. I could hold on until she was satisfied before she shrouded my head in a bra cup and I came. She knew I couldn't resist the combination of enclosure and breathing her perfume while her lower lips grabbed my erection.

Three months after the reconstructive surgery Asha felt confident that she could do things with her pair of breasts. I knew she wanted sex because she was wearing the original royal blue saree. But I didn't know what she intended.

I was sitting at the table in the kitchen having just finished my breakfast. Asha stood behind me and rested the back of my head against the outside of the crop top. I was enjoying having a pair of large clothed breasts against me.

Suddenly she grasped the lower edge of the crop top and the lower part of her bra and pulled them down over my head. I was gagged, in darkness and sinking between her two breasts. First one hand and then the other tightened the shoulder straps on the bra. The band between the cups rose to cover my nose. My mouth was already full of bra.

Finally she pushed against the outside of the bra and top. My head sank further into her cleavage and both breasts pushed against my cheeks until they met in front of my face. Asha had proved what she had always thought -- her cleavage was deep enough and her breasts large enough to swallow my head completely.

That night, and many other nights, my head was lost in Asha's cleavage and swamped by her breasts. But I didn't mind. Asha was using me to arouse herself and she would make sure I was satisfied before the end of the night even if I was still tightly secured inside a saree. I love my one tit bride.