Vidya suffers further at the hands of Wasim — Rajesh… I watched the screen, mesmerized. Not only was I alone in my office cabin, but it was lunch hour, and there was no one else on the whole floor — all the workers had gone for the typical super long Friday lunch. I watched my monitor, with the sound quite low, watching my own house. Or rather, this was the camera in my living room. I was watching what was happening live.

Prev story Indian wife’s old lover the milkman returns, with friends

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Pinned against one wall of the living room was my tall, buxom wife Vidya. Her bright red sari was on the floor in a heap, crumpled. As was her petticoat, lying at her ankles. Her blouse was open. She was not wearing a bra, and her big, full, heavy breasts were helplessly bouncing around, her nipples firm and erect. My attention was drawn to her milky white calves, and the bright red thong that she was wearing. Her fair body glistened in the afternoon light filtering through the windows, and her jet black hair was loose, and fell to shoulders and reached to her waist. She was a sight to behold — a glimpse of water in a desert to a thirsty man.

Holding my naked wife by her hand, pinning her against the wall, was our burly, tall, brute of a guard Wasim. He now pressed against Vidya, nibbling at her neck. Held firmly, my wife’s eyes were shut as her paramour continued to nibble at her neck. His hands groped her tits, and my wife helplessly continued to murmur something as Wasim pinched her areoles. Her body shivered sporadically, and from the spasms I could understand she was experiencing a mini-orgasm. Wasim then stepped back, and I noticed a bright red hickey on my wife’s nape. His hands now roughly stroked my wife in her pubic area. So thin was Vidya’s thong that I could see her bushy pubic hair as Wasim crudely fondled her nether regions.

“Memsaab.” The guard grinned, casually loosening his belt. “My pyaari bitch! You know the drill. Spread your legs, randi. I want to see your pyaasi choot — your thirsty pussy.”

For a second my wife looked defiantly at him. Her eyes shone with anger — was it mock anger, I could not tell — but then she suddenly looked down, ashamed, and unbelievably parted her thighs, standing spread eagled against the wall. In our own house, this was my wife, spreading her long legs for another man. Our lowly guard.

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I almost couldn’t breathe, even though I had seen this sight many a times before. The full realization of what was happening caught in my throat, even as my cock stiffened at the sight of my wife slowly giving in — again — to this low class guard. I made more in a day than what Wasim made in a whole year, yet I watched helplessly as this Muslim man from Hyderabad pressed against my powerless wife’s spread legs, his hands going inside her thong, rubbing against her clit.

Vidya’s eyes were shut. She groaned, her boobs flouncing around helplessly as Wasim roughly fingered her in the pussy. She didn’t want to, but the fingering left her body no choice. She was in the throes of the onset of another orgasm.

“Memsaab.” Wasim sneered. “Looks like your cunt is quite wet for me. Hasn’t your husband been taking care of you, saali?”

Vidya opened her eyes and looked at him. This time I could see that the defiance was real.

“You know very well you and Feroz have been fucking me daily for the last two weeks.” She retorted. “So it’s not a question of my husband’s impotency.”

“Hmm.” Wasim laughed, continuing to finger her. “So you are just a slut and a whore! A bitch whose pussy is wet all the time.”

Humiliated, Vidya did not reply. She could not reply, as what Wasim said was true. Despite being fucked daily by the guards, Vidya’s pussy was now dripping like a faucet. The fact that she was submitting to these lowly men was turning her on. She could not deny it. She was a sex addict — a slut and a nymphomaniac. She also happened to by my wife.

I could see her breath narrowing. She was almost on the verge of an orgasm from all the fingering. Suddenly, without warning, Wasim stopped playing with her twat and withdrew his hand. Vidya’s mouth almost twisted into a pleading “O”. She was on the edge and wanted to cum, but her pride held her back from begging this guard to finish the job. Wasim looked at her, holding out his wet and sticky fingers, grinning.

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“Lick them, memsaab.” He ordered, placing his wet and sticky hand against her lips.

Once again there was a momentary flash of defiance in Vidya’s eyes, before she lowered her gaze and obediently opened her mouth. Happy at how he was bullying my wife into submission, Wasim put each finger into her mouth, one by one, and Vidya dutifully licked off her own love juices off his large hand. He then placed his palm against her cheek and tapped her there.

“Please, Wasim.” Vidya suddenly begged. “Please don’t slap me. Please. I am doing what you are asking me to.”

Was she really begging him for mercy, or did she just say it because Wasim loved to hear a high class respectable housewife beg and plead?

“Vidya. Vidya.” Wasim gently, almost lovingly, caressed my wife’s cheek. “It’s not just the fact that you are doing what I am ordering you to. I have yet to see a proper and obedient attitude from you, do you understand, memsaab? Despite these two weeks of fucking you, you still have a false sense of pride and ego when it comes to us guards.”

Vidya nodded, even as Wasim raised his hand.

“Yes, yes, Wasim.” She said, her eyes watching his raised hand warily. “Please, Wasim, don’t slap me. I will be respectful to you. I am your bitch. Your whore. I am another man’s wife, yet I obediently submit my body to you and your friends, without question, daily. Yet every day I get slapped by you. Please tell me why. I will try to improve. I promise!”

Wasim lowered his hands quickly. Vidya flinched, but Wasim wasn’t going to slap her — he was just pretending to. He was playing with her. He softly touched her cheek as Vidya sharply drew in her breath.

“Don’t worry, memsaab. Today, I won’t slap you. At least, not yet.” He gently stroked her soft, rosy cheeks. With his other hand he unbuckled his belt, and his trousers dropped to the floor. “Where else would I find a bitch like you?! You give me for free what 50-rupee-hookers won’t give for 200 rupees! Now you know what to do, memsaab!”

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Vidya did indeed know what to do. She reached out and pulled down Wasim’s underwear. His hard, monstrous cock sprang out, free from the confines of clothing, and rose like a majestic rider about to mount its steed. My wife.

Wasim was now naked from waist down, his T-shirt partly obscuring his buttocks. Vidya moved her hands expertly over his gigantic cock, rubbing and kneading and stroking him, and in no time at all he was hard — very hard. If Vidya had placed her hand alongside her lover’s penis, I am sure it would reach to her elbow. OK, I am exaggerating, but it seemed big. Wasim glanced at my wife and then snapped his fingers.

Vidya stared back at him — the last time she would look today at him defiantly. Then she just bent down her gaze submissively and lowered her own thong. I could see that despite the rough way Wasim had been treating her, her body was now primed for sex. Her pubic hair glistened with her own wetness, and her nipples were firm and erect, and her areoles big. As she stepped out of her panty, now fully naked except for the half open blouse, Wasim grabbed my beautiful, athletic wife, pinned her against the wall and slammed against her.

“Ooohhh! Ooohhh!” Vidya cried out, as Wasim’s cock found its target, and tunneled its way into her, burying deep inside her. “Oh, Wasim! Oh, Wasim! Gently! Oh, Wasim!”

“You are very quick to take my name.” The muscular guard taunted as he fucked her, grinning as he vigorously moved his hips, his T-shirt flapping with each violent thrust. “Do you take MY name when your husband fucks you too?”

“Oh, Wasim!” Vidya could only murmur helplessly, her eyes shut, her pretty face contorted. She was leaning back against the wall behind her, bracing as Wasim slammed into her again, and again, and again. Her hands now wrapped themselves around her lover’s waist, holding him by his hips, almost subtly, gently controlling, nay directing, the way this brute was fucking her.

This was classic Vidya. In a trice she was subtly in charge, directing the way Wasim was making love to her the way a conductor directs an orchestra. If Vidya wanted Wasim to push harder into her, she would wrap his waist more tightly. If she wanted him to lower the pace, she would grip the side of his hips. If she wanted him to remain buried in her for a bit, she would gently brush his ass. Wasim didn’t even realize how he was being controlled as he moved his cock in and out of her pussy.

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For some time I watched as the two continued to hump. They were still standing, but her knees were almost ready to buckle. Wasim was grinning, and I could see his rugged square jaw with his thick beard, as he kissed my wife’s cheeks and face and breasts and lips and the nape of her neck. The sounds of him fucking her continued, what with my wife’s soft sharp moans, the rhythmic sound of flesh slapping flesh, and Wasim’s heavy breathing as he neared his own climax. He was now slowly taking back control of the love making from Vidya.

My own penis was hard now. If this wasn’t at work, I would have taken it out and jerked myself to an orgasm. As it is, I was rubbing myself furiously through my jeans.

“Oh, Wasim. Have mercy. Please don’t cum inside me.” My wife softly pleaded. “I am not on the pill.”

“Oh, no, memsaab.” Wasim grinned, his teeth baring an evil sneer. “I am going to cum inside you, my bitch, and fill your Hindu belly with my seed.”

He started to fuck her harder now. Vidya’s thin gold bangles were tinkling and her fingers desperately clawed at Wasim’s buttocks. My wife began to buckle under his fierce assault. She was struggling to stand, her thighs were spread lewdly, one ankle lifting from the ground to balance herself as Wasim drilled into her. The gold mangalsutra — that necklace every married Indian Hindu lady wore — bounced up and about around her neck with each thrust. Yet she once again repeated her plea.

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“Please, Wasim.” Vidya begged. “I am not on the pill. Please use a condom. Or let me finish you with a blowjob.”

“No, memsaab. Let’s see if you get pregnant.”

Vidya’s pleas seem to have only made the lowly guard thrust harder into my wife. His huge frame moved like a car’s piston, pumping into her again and again. The sound of their raw sex, as flesh hit flesh, only got more intense. His powerful body held her up while he fucked her, a monument to his stamina and strength. He leaned in to her, placing his lips on hers.

A sharp pang of jealousy hit me as I witnessed my wife and her lover embrace in a passionate kiss. His tongue sought hers, and her tongue sought his, as they locked lips. Her chest heaved, pushing out her breasts as this filthy lower class guard ravaged her with his tongue even as his penis was ravaging her married cunt. A cunt that rightfully belong to only me. As they exchanged saliva, I could see Vidya’s toes begin to curl. She was having an orgasm.

“Oh Wasim! OH WASIM! Oh FUCK FUCK FUCK! CUM IN ME! PLEASE CUM IN ME!”

What?! She was now asking this man to cum inside her unprotected belly. Was she not on the pill, as she said? Would Wasim now cum inside her? Surely he wouldn’t!

I got my answer. Wasim grunted and then gave out a large roar, and pushed himself even deeper inside my wife, lifting her body completely from the ground and pinning her violently to the wall. His buttocks were now clenching and unclenching, and I could see his whole body start to shudder powerfully. He couldn’t hold himself back — he was now cumming hard inside her. Vidya was clinging fiercely to him — her hands wrapped around his neck, and her ankles locked behind his thighs. Wasim’s hips clenched and pushed in time with each spurt. He was swearing all the time, muttering something about “giving his Hindu bitch a Muslim baby” as he dumped his potent baby making juice inside my wife.

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After a minute, Wasim’s body visibly relaxed as he finished unloading inside my wife, and he sighed with pleasure. Vidya watched him, and unbelievably she clasped her hands behind his neck and drew him in for another kiss! Wasim grunted with pleasure, and took his time savouring her as they embraced once again in a passionate lip lock. I could only see his back as he pressed against her, but her hands moved all over his back. Even as they kissed, his pecker was still buried deep inside my wife.

“Vidya.” Wasim said, as he took his penis out. Thick cum ran down Vidya’s thighs as her paramour pulled out. “Look at me.”

“Yes, Wasim.” My wife tried to close her thighs but more cum came out of her hole. Her knees were buckling; she was in no shape to stand on her own after the love making she had received.

“Vidya.” Wasim repeated. “You still haven’t bought a yellow sari. I told you I want to see you in a yellow sari. Like the actress Raveena Tandon in the movie Mohra. It’s been more than a week since I have been telling you.”

“Yes, I am sorry, Wasim. I will try and buy one tonight.”

SLAP!

Wasim had raised his hand and slapped my wife. Vidya looked at him, a little frightful, but not surprised. It appeared that she had been expecting to be punished after the guard had his way with her. What had she said to him before? Yet every day I get slapped by you.

“I am sorry, Wasim.” She repeated. “I will buy a yellow sari tonight.”

SLAP!

“And why are you not on the pill? You know I don’t like to use a condom with you!”

“I am sorry, Wasim. I just forgot to take one today.”

SLAP!

“Hopefully, memsaab, you get pregnant.” Wasim grinned. “My seed is very fertile, they say. Now lick my cock clean, slut.”

It took Vidya sometime to fully recover after Wasim had left. Thick cum was still running all the way down her thighs and her hair was disheveled, her make up ruined and her buttocks red from Wasim’s pawing and kneading. There were two bright red marks on her rosy cheeks where she had been slapped. I watched as Vidya cleaned up the area and then went off to take a shower. Knowing that it was over, at least for the moment, I shut off the camera app.

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Let me take a step back and start from the beginning. This particular latest sordid episode of my wife’s shameless saga of adultery had begun about two weeks ago.

I was just finishing up my breakfast before heading out to work. It had been a Monday, and I was so not feeling like going to office after spending a lovely super long weekend with my wife. I had taken Wednesday, Thursday and Friday off, and Vidya and I had rented a small cabin in a super luxurious resort an hour away. It was our fifth marriage anniversary and we had celebrated in style.

We spent the whole weekend doing nothing but making love and enjoying each other’s company. I had gone completely all out and made sure this was a holiday to remember. I pampered Vidya, giving her massages, foot rubs, back rubs, candle lit baths, getting her breakfast in bed and of course satisfying her as she wanted in my limited capacity as a man. I would often lick her ass, or go down on her orally until she would reach orgasm. Then I would be allowed a few minutes to dump my cum in her, in whichever hole of hers I preferred.

Mostly I chose to make love to her in the missionary position, and she humoured me by pretending to climax — even though the longest I managed to last was two minutes. A few times she gave me a blowjob. One time I asked her to take her anally, and she obliged, laughing when I tried to be a little rough with her, calling it “cute”. So small was my penis that I didn’t even need to use much lube.
It was a nice change for Vidya as well. She was getting some proper attention to her feminine needs from a loving man rather than being banged hard by some masculine lower class men. That’s how I comforted myself, even as my wife took the name of some other man every time I drilled into her.

Afterwards she would apologize to me for doing that.

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“Hi sugar.” She would say. “You don’t mind me taking Ramu’s name during sex, do you, darling? It helps me reach orgasm soon, as you try to fill me up, baby doll.”

And of course I would reply, “Oh, no, dear. I don’t mind at all! Anything that makes you happy, makes me happy, dear.”

“Oh, you are such a sweetie pie, dear. Now bend down and kiss my foot.”

It was hard to believe, but it has been only over two and a half years since she took that first step towards cuckolding me, having that affair with my boss Gaurav. If you remember, it was supposed to be a one-time thing. And true to her words, Vidya had not had another affair for another 6 months. And then came our anniversary and Ramu the milkman. And that had been at my urging, so her affair with Ramu was really her anniversary gift to me. After she had been Ramu’s mistress for a while, it was only then that I had broached embracing this lifestyle fully to her. I still don’t know what I had been thinking when I proposed this to her — but it was to completely change our relationship.

Before, I had this sex goddess completely to myself, and she seemed happy to devote herself to me. Now I was just one of the many men who used her body for our pleasure. The only difference between me and the other men was that I was her husband. And of course the fact that those men all had large cocks and unlike me, knew how to pleasure my wife.

So it was only in the last two years or so of our five year marriage that Vidya had been actively sleeping on and off with other men — first with Ramu the milkman, then with our neighbor Balachandra the retired army officer, and then with Ramu again and with Wasim the guard, and then the infamous gangbang with Rami, Wasim and their friends — which included one other guard from our complex – Feroz. I don’t know why, but most of the men Vidya chose to sleep with are from the lower strata of society.

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Vidya still hadn’t told me that she was now getting banged regularly by the guards in our gated community — primarily Wasim and Feroz. It had been a whole two months since that gangbang, yet so far I was not privy to any of the details. All I was told was that sometime, once or twice, Ramu the milkman would pay her a visit. Or sometimes she would ask me to spend the night in a hotel as Balachandra would be visiting.