Indian Wife is Enjoyed in Village

Indian wife is enjoyed by former lover and others in a village.

Author's note: This is a story of a cheating wife, of adultery, of cuckoldry. If that is not your thing, skip this story. And remember while adultery can be a great source of enjoyment in fantasy and erotica, in real life it damages souls and destroys marriages. Please treat the following story as a fiction and fantasy piece only. It is written to deliver pleasure and has no other purpose. - Tarek Zia

"Honey! Babe! Darling!" My wife Neetu looked at me with her beautiful big eyes wide open. Her face indicated she was serious. Even though we were now in bed, and the lamp was still turned on, and I could see a curious look in her eyes.

"Yes, dear?" I tried to smile.

"There's something bugging you." Neetu snuggled closer to me. "All day long I have noticed it. Now that Sahil is asleep, you can tell me what is on your mind."

She pressed her lips against my cheeks and then my lips, kissing me hard.

SMOOCH!

"Ah... nothing, darling." I lied. I knew I would have to talk about this sooner or later but right at that moment I didn't want to. Neetu, however, wasn't going to back down.

SMOOCH!

"There IS something." She said, kissing me again. My wife was now rubbing her whole body against me, and her left hand had already made its way inside my boxers. My nuts were now in her hands, her fingers deftly stroking my rapidly hardening manhood.

"My love! It's nothing really." I tried to reason, but Neetu wasn't listening. She was fumbling with my boxers and the small buttons, and suddenly my cock sprang free. Neetu expertly grasped my penis and started to stroke it.

"You are going to get a Neetu special today." Neetu grinned at me, while stroking my penis. "What every man wants. A blowjob from Neetu."

I could no longer hold myself. I was like putty in my wife's expert hands.

"My love ... I ..." I was mumbling. "There is a wedding ... my Tau's daughter ... my cousin Rashmika ... in the village ... end of December."

Neetu looked at me with a triumphant grin, and then expertly flicked my cock with her tongue.

"I thought so! Go on." She nodded, her voice in a commanding tone. She then put her tongue on my balls and slowly started to kiss them. I was in heaven. It has been a while since Neetu had given me a blowjob.

"My dear." I croaked, as Neetu opened her mouth wide and slowly started to take my cock in. "I know we have avoided going to our village in these last seven years, but ... my family ... is insisting ... we attend ... my ... cousin's ... wedding."

Neetu did not say anything. Her hands had wrapped around my hips, and one of her fingers went in my ass, as I drove my cock even deeper into her mouth. Her tongue was dancing on my shaft, and of course I knew could not hold out for long.

My wife Neetu knew exactly how to trigger me, and she also knew how I wanted a blowjob to end. As she continued to suck on my dick, one finger was in my asshole, while the other was expertly caressing my balls.

I surrendered to my sensations. As a man, and as the husband of a vivacious wife like Neetu, I wanted to last long, but Neetu gave me no chance. She mercilessly kept touching my balls with the tip of one finger, while the other played with my asshole, and her tongue and lips gnawed on my pecker.

"Oh dear." I muttered, as within two minutes my hips began to buckle, as I started to helplessly ejaculate inside my hungry wife's mouth. Neetu kept her finger firmly on my ass, her throat muscles working continuously as she swallowed my whole load, her nose almost brushing against my pubic hair. Finally, she pulled my cock out of her mouth and took a deep breath. She had a smile on her face, like the cat that ate the canary, and yet there was not a drop of cum on her lips. My slutty wife had not only made me cum within two minutes, but also swallowed every drop of my cum.

"Was that so hard, my love?" She asked as she licked her lips, and then kissed my penis. "Are you that worried about me reacting to having to finally go to your ancestral village, that you needed a blowjob to ... pardon the pun ... spill the beans?"

"Oh boy." I was still exhausted and catching my breath. I loved my wife. "That was ... wow. Thank you, babe."

"You don't need to thank me!" Neetu grinned and kissed my now gradually softening penis. "You are my husband. I love you. And I love this little dick of yours."

"Little dick". It had been sometime since she had used that phrase. Almost six and half years.

Almost as if she knew what this meant.

I looked at Neetu. She had a sly grin on her face, even as she gently touched my penis.

There was no other way to say it - my wife Neetu, despite her age, was still a beautiful curvaceous woman. Neetu had become pregnant when she was thirty-three, and now our son Sahil was six years old, and Neetu a forty-year-old woman. Yet, if you didn't know this, and ignored the two gray hairs she had, you would guess she was still in her thirties.

Neetu had put on a few pounds since her pregnancy, but it made her more alluring in my eyes. Yes, there was some love handles, but Neetu always wore her sari, showing her belly and her waist, which only made her love handles even more attractive. I just wanted to kiss and suck on her waist and tummy all day long.

Some of the weight had gone to her buttocks, making them slightly more protruding. Her sari always clung firmly to her ass, and I could not help myself but spank her on her plump buttocks every time she walked past me. She did pretend to be offended and always chastised me, but I knew she liked it.

As she did seven years ago when someone else did it to her all the time.

My wife's breasts seemed to have grown a size larger since she had become a mother, which gave her now a busty look. Neetu however still maintained a regular exercise regime, with morning yoga, and followed a proper diet. That meant that despite the increase in pounds and her buttocks, she still had a svelte vivacious figure with big breasts, and hips gradually widening leading to nice looking buttocks that jiggled with every step she took. She was the proper sexy Indian aunty that you would love to take to bed - what I call the "Mrs. Jenny Kakkar" look.

Of all the mothers who dropped their kids off to school in the morning, it was my wife who still managed to turn heads every time she walked. Every sway of her big ass and every bounce of her big jiggling boobs attracted hungry attention from desperate men eager to check out her svelte figure, even if she was fully clothed in a winter jacket. Fathers, teachers, janitors, drivers, engineers - they all lusted after Neetu. I have seen many a man involuntarily turning to ogle, almost by reflex, when my wife walked past them.

Even though ours was an arranged marriage, I only had one thought when I first saw Neetu - I wanted to fuck her. Even when she was a young woman, she had that "Oh Sir please do me now look". And now, as a forty-year-old woman and a mother, that look was only amplified. Every time I thought of my wife, I wanted to bang her.

And we fucked often. Neetu was a dutiful wife, and she treated it as her religious obligation to indulge me whenever I wanted sex. Just like now ... she went ahead with a blowjob. Which Indian wife would do this?

Sometimes I wondered what Neetu really thought of me now.

I was ten years older than her and had just celebrated my fiftieth birthday recently. I had a more pronounced pot belly than before, and my hair was gradually thinning. Sometimes when we went to restaurants, Neetu was often mistaken as my daughter, even though we are only ten years apart. I tried to do yoga with her, or stick to her diet, but found it tough.

I am what I am. Her fat, older, husband who loved every bit, every pound, of her.

As Neetu snuggled to me and we both laid back on the bed, she caressed my chest.

"My love." She spoke softly, her hand on my belly. "We always knew we had to return to that village one day. After all, how long can we make excuses?"

I knew she was right. When Sahil was born, it was understood we wouldn't go to the village because he was a young baby who could get sick. As he grew up, we made my work and the long distance an excuse, especially after we moved to Canada. But now it was winter holidays, with Christmas and New Year, and my office was closed for three weeks. Sahil was six years and healthy. It was pleasant weather in our South Indian village, not too hot or too cold, and there was no excuse for not attending the wedding of my cousin Rashmika, the daughter of my father's older brother. The whole family would be there, and as Rashmika's oldest cousin, I was expected to be there as well.

"Do you think he will be there?" Neetu asked me.

He could only be one man. The main reason we had avoided visiting our village for the last seven years.

* * *

Seven years ago, when we lived in India, we lived in a big two storey detached house in the suburbs. We had a manservant called Bhola who had been with us for more than three years, and he lived in his own room downstairs. Seven years ago, when Bhola was just a twenty-two-year-old lad, and he and my wife Neetu began a torrid and passionate steamy love affair that lasted for five months.

For those five months, almost every other night, my wife Neetu would make her way downstairs to our servant Bhola's room and ardently get bonked by him for almost two to three hours straight. And on most of those nights I would be there, unknown to my wife and her well hung lover, watching the two have sex, standing outside the house like a loser, peeping in through a small crack on Bhola's window. I would masturbate watching my own wife and my lowly servant make love. I should be mad at the situation, but watching my young wife service her well hung lover's cock was a huge turn on. I was taking care of my own cock while my high-class wife was taking care of a low-class man's cock ... several times.

I had to admit - Bhola was God's gift to women. In addition to my wife, he had successfully seduced and gone to bed with several other married women in our colony. When Mrs. Jyoti Gill's husband was in Dubai for one year, our servant Bhola was soon fucking the young and horny Mrs. Gill in the afternoons. When our neighbour Nausheen's husband had a stint in Kuwait, she too succumbed to Bhola's cock. In fact, Nausheen's son who was born sometime later was of a different complexion than both of his parents, and I suspect that Bhola was the true father. In all, from my knowledge, my servant Bhola had apparently seduced and fucked seven women in that colony.

My wife became the eighth, and the one with whom he had the longest affair, and the woman he fucked the greatest number of times. It was easy since he lived with us, and my wife was his Malkin, so he had easy access to her. He fucked Neetu in his own bed in his room, and then later in our kitchen, and then in the dining room, and on some rare occasions when I was away ... on our own marital bed. In fact, I think he had fucked my wife in every room in our house.

Bhola certainly had a talent - he was hung like a horse, he had incredible stamina, and he very much enjoyed fucking another man's wife, especially in her own house. It wasn't just his giant of a cock, but the fact that he knew what to do with it. Women, especially other men's wives, were like putty in his expert hands.

His sex sessions with my wife were wild, loud, passionate, and rough. He would play with Neetu the way a violinist plays with his instrument. He was insatiable, getting ready to go again merely ten minutes after ejaculating. By the time he was done, Neetu was a helpless wet mess, progressing from orgasm to orgasm, and desperately waiting for yet another fuck from the servant. In one night, he would fuck Neetu 5 or 6 times, regularly giving my wife 2-3 orgasms for each one he unloaded in Neetu's pussy or mouth. And many times, her ass. Neetu never liked getting fucked in the butt, but she had no restrictions with Bhola.

There was one thing, however, that was different about Bhola's affair with my wife, and all his other affairs with other wives.

Unknown to Bhola was the fact that Neetu and I had carefully planned this little affair of hers. Yes! My wife was cuckolding me with my full knowledge and permission. We needed a donor sperm to get my wife pregnant since my own swimmers weren't up to the task. I was dutifully handing my own wife over to another man to be impregnated.

This is why just past midnight, every other night, Neetu would freshen up, put on a fresh lingerie, fresh underwear, and then give me a kiss.

"I am off to get pregnant, darling." She would say, laughing a bit, before leaving the room. I would allow her a few minutes, before I too would sneak out. And then stand outside my servant's window, watching him completely ravage my hapless wife for the next couple of hours. In some ways it was pathetic of me; I was standing outside in a puddle of my own cum, watching a lowly servant use my wife as a sex toy to fulfill his deepest and most perverted sexual fantasies. And mine.

For those of you who had cuckold fantasies - and I was one - it can be surreal when your wife is finally having sex with another man. For me, it seemed to happen so fast. It seems like a minute ago Neetu and I were talking about a sperm donation the natural way and within a short amount of time, I am standing outside my house watching him confidently mounting my wife. The first time I watched as his manly cock entered her and Neetu began moaning to his virility is forever etched into my brain. Neetu never screamed like that with me, and I know she never will.

Bhola simply did whatever he wanted with my wife. Neetu would not say no. She was up for anything, so enamoured she was with him - and his cock. Bhola would regularly fuck her in the butt, and then Neetu even cleaned his cock with her mouth after he came in her ass! Bhola would even slap her, hard, on her face, making her cheeks red, and Neetu would let him and then show him the other cheek! By the end of their affair Bhola was slapping her quite often.

Despite the promise of being completely honest with me about her affair, Neetu kept certain things from me. For example, she never shared the fact with me that Bhola regularly slapped her, in fact, and slapped her hard.

Bhola would also spank her roughly on her fleshy buttocks, making them crimson red, and she would remain bent over, allowing him to spank her again and again. Bhola would call her names, like randi, slut, and others, and Neetu was up for it. Even this she never told me - of how he spanked her - but I have seen that she would let him do anything - anything - even share her with a friend of his.

One night, Bhola and his friend Bashir the guard basically used my wife like a sex toy. For over three hours, they took turns to roughly bonk my wife, cum in her mouth, or even double penetrate her. Whatever they wanted to do to Neetu, they did, and she let them completely have their way with her. She was their whore. So dominant were they that after they were done, they sent her back to bed completely naked, keeping her clothes as some sort of souvenirs. Neetu had to crawl upstairs to our bedroom fully in the nude.

That was the last time Bhola had fucked Neetu. Bhola and Neetu's affair lasted five months. The morning after, Neetu announced to me that she was pregnant. And then, of course, Neetu and I carried out the second part of our plan.

That very morning of the day we found out about Neetu's pregnancy, I immediately fired Bhola. I did not even give him a full day, but just a few hours, to get out of my house and return to the village. I did give him three months extra salary, and Bhola departed that very same day. He had no knowledge that Neetu had stopped taking birth control pills and was now carrying his child.

Neetu moved in temporarily with my mother-in-law Neelam, and she was there for the first trimester. In the meantime, I sold off our house and bought another place close to my office. I worked mostly from home, but on the days that I had to get to work, the commute was now much better. This also allowed us to cut ties from our old colony, and any women who may also have had affairs with Bhola. It also stopped us from seeing Bashir the guard. As for our former neighbors, we hardly kept in touch.

Neetu and I were now fully devoted parents to be. When Sahil was born nine months later, we had pretty much forgotten Bhola, Bashir and the whole saga. The one thing we didn't want to do was return for any visit to our ancestral village.

You see, Bhola was from my village. In fact, his family was distantly related to ours. It was my mother who had first asked me if I could employ Bhola, when he was just 19 years of age, since his family had lost everything due to a flood, and whatever income Bhola could send back home would help them. It was perfect timing - we also needed a servant, and I told my mother I can employ Bhola for a year. He could live with us.

That one year became two years, and then three - and then Bhola and Neetu had their affair. Soon after Neetu's pregnancy and our move, I got a job in Ottawa, Canada, and it was too good of an offer to refuse. Sahil was one year old when we immigrated to Canada from India.

I was on work permit for a year, and then we applied to become permanent residents of Canada. Just last year we all took our citizenship oath - we were now Canadians.

Ever since we had moved to Canada, we had somehow managed to avoid returning to our village, since there was a chance, we could run into Bhola. Whenever we visited India from Canada, we always stayed in Chennai, and I booked some hotels or resorts where my parents, or Neetu's mother, could join us. I also had the grandparents come over to Ottawa to spend time with their grandson on long visit visas. Thus, there wasn't any pressure on us to visit our ancestral village.

However now there was a wedding, and the whole family (my side) would be there. We simply had no excuse to avoid the visit.

"Do you think he will be there?" Neetu repeated. I took a deep breath.

"He will probably be there." I reasoned. "He is family, however distant, and on weddings you invite all the relatives, especially the poor ones. Bhola's parents are too old to travel, but I am sure Tauji will invite Bhola and his younger brother Bunty."

"Bhola has a brother?"

"Yes. Bunty must be what ... like ... 23 now. And Bhola must be ... 29. Or thirty."

"Hmm." Neetu didn't say anything much. I am sure she was thinking about what had happened seven years ago between her and Bhola.

"Why did you wait this long to tell me?" Neetu finally asked. "I mean, it's already November, and our December holidays start in a month. Tickets will be expensive now."

"I know." I admitted. "I was trying to think of an excuse, or something. But today Papa called me and said Tauji would mind terribly if we didn't come."

"Hmm." Neetu once again snuggled close to me and kissed my neck, while slowly shutting her eyes and relaxing. "I guess we can go. It's been nearly seven years after all. Is it because of Bhola that you were hesitating?"

"Yes." I was honest. "Do I want to run into the man who had wild animal sex with my own wife in every room of my own house for five months? Not really."

Neetu laughed and stroked my chest again. Her hands then went towards my manhood.

"You are getting hard just thinking about it, my love." She stated.

"If we do run into him, what will you do?" I asked, ignoring her statement and the truth it contained. "I am sure he must ... I mean I would ... he must want to pick things up ... from where they had ended. Will you again sleep with him?"