Innocent Indian Wife's Degradation Ch. 11

Thanks to Kenji Sato for editing this story

Kunjumon, fondly called Kunju, was the boy who worked in the shop of Nair Chettan. It was a small provisional. Kunju, being a poor boy, was sent by his parents at the age of ten, and had been working in the shop for eight years. In a small town, he knew everyone by name and served them with a smile.

But he had one favourite customer. Kunju wished she would come to the shop every day. Whenever she came, she would give a smile, which would melt his heart. She would always beam when she saw Kunju.

Kunju would always try to find ways to interact with her more. He would tell her that the bag was too heavy for her, so he would bring it later to her home. When she ordered fruits, he would lie that they were old stock, and that he would bring fresh ones when they came from the wholesaler.

Whenever he went to her home, she would give him some refreshments, like coffee or juice, and while he called her Chechi, his devious mind didn't have any brotherly feelings towards her.

This day, Kunju had closed the shop and noticed that she hadn't come for the last three days, which was unusual. Also he kept track of her husband's movements, so he knew he wasn't at home. He took a new packet of atta, which came as a free sample, and went to give it, as an excuse to meet her.

It was already night time when he reached her home, and he found that the lights were already switched off. He thought of leaving, but then he saw a bike parked in front of the house, and he knew it was not Anand's bike.

He moved around and saw the bathroom lights on. Kunju padded stealthily across the grounds, and crept up to the window. He peered around the corner of the solid balustrade, and just then, the door was flung open. Kunju ducked back out of sight, his heart pounding in his head.

He heard a man grunt and laugh. He peered around again. A tall, vaguely familiar figure stepped out of the room onto the open landing, and went over to the bathroom. Kunju saw the man stretch both hands between his legs, and then heard the loud sizzle and splash, as he urinated over the far edge.

"Hey motherfuckers! Wait for me!" he heard the man call.

There was an answering guffaw from the room. "C'mon, you sonofabitch! Hurry up! Can't you think of anything else to do with your prick?"

The man grunted, then chuckled. Kunju saw him shake his cock and turn around, going back into the room, slamming the door shut.

Kunju got to the landing, bent low, flat against the wall beside the door. It was firmly shut. The window was beyond. He ducked low and crept towards the window sill. The window was ajar.

He heard a voice. Two voices. And another, and then a fourth. Oh god! He froze in shock. One voice he recognised. Kayalvizhi. Lovely Kayal, about whom he had all those wonderful dreams, with whom he was so desperately in love, who looked like a film star, whom he dreamt to marry, cherish and live happily ever after with...

And another voice now. No, two; no, three; and all male, chuckling, calling, cheering, and hooting loudly. Kneeling under the window, Kunju cautiously raised his head over the sill, and looked inside.

He thought his heart had stopped beating. The sight that met his eyes took his breath away; then, sent his pulse hammering in his head; instantly, his cock was hard and erect, straining in his cheap cotton shorts. At the same time, his jaw dropped open in shock, and he felt a sudden, sharp, painful knot hit his stomach, as though he had been hammered in the solar plexus.

Kayal was in the room, all right. And she was with three men. He had seen them all.

Selvam was the local milkman and he used to sell milk to Nair chetta, too. Kunju used to wake up early in the morning to collect the milk and make tea. The other two were his friends, as he had seen them time to time come to the town to stay with him and order cigarettes.

On the king-size bed was Maari, leaning against the wall. His arms were stretched along the headboard, and he was clad in a lungi and a sleeveless vest. There was a grin on his face.

The third man was Muthu. He wore a pair of baggy short pants and a half-sleeved vest; he was seated on a rickety wooden chair, the chair turned around under him, his arms folded along the backrest.

They were all looking at Kayal, and Kunju, himself, could barely keep his eyes off her. She was outrageously dressed, in some sort of whore ensemble. Her long hair was parted in the centre and braided, the braid ending in tassels that hung down her back.

There was a touch of *kajal* rimming her eyes, but no other makeup.

She wore an upper garment, if it could be called that, which was really a shiny, sequined, strapless brassiere, knotted in the back. Being very narrow and tight, it barely covered her bulging breasts, which were squeezed taut by the sheer, flimsy material which made a devastatingly deep cleavage. And from centers of the bra cups, where the nipples lay beneath, there hung tassels.

She wore a long, ankle-length skirt of diaphanous muslin, that was slit up to either hip. She had worn it very, very low in the front and back, and high on her hips, so that it swooped down to her cunt from both hips. Under it, there seemed to be an even-more-transparent garment, and Kunju could even see a flash of the dark thatch between her thighs. Most of her superbly curved body was exposed; her back almost entirely bare. She had on a gold girdle; a small, diamond nose-stud; gold and diamond earrings with diamond-studded gold bangles; gold, silver and diamond finger rings; silver toe rings on one toe of either foot; sexy, silver anklets that dipped low, and a long gold necklace. She looked stunning.

Maari said with a grin. "Hey guys, let's have a little song-and-dance... the bump-and-grind type!"

He punched the play button of a rickety two-in-one tape recorder on the floor beside the bed. Music from a cabaret number from one of the latest Tamil films crackled out of the speakers. The beat was prominent, unmistakably sexual in its insistent, driving quality. The vocals were explicit and lewd.

"Naan ali baba thangam, Yaarum orasaatha angam..."

Kayal grinned, looking at the men.

Kunju felt his bile rise. She-- his goddess, his heart, his love-- and now, a slut! She was going to dance for them, like a common tramp, for a few construction workers! He stared at her, horrified, sickened, betrayed-- and yet, equally aroused.

Kayal struck a pose for a second, drawing the attention of all the men to herself. She stood with her hands on her hips, her shoulders slightly hunched, her breasts squeezed even deeper together. She tilted her face up, her lips parting slowly, lasciviously, and then her tongue slid out, and ran sexily over her upper lip. Maari chuckled, Selvam grinned, Muthu gasped.

She began to move, slowly at first, yet in time to the music. Her hands slid up her body, the palms flat, fingers spread, over her belly then higher, and higher; over her breasts, pausing, her breasts cupped. She rolled her breasts in her hands, rolling her shoulders as, in the vernacular, the music warbled... 'take me, take me please'... in a plaintive moan. She began to mouth the words of the song. Again, she rolled her palms over her breasts, moving them slightly out of synch, round and round, then slowly squeezing the fleshy mounds together. Her hands rose higher still, up her long neck and over her face, rising, rising, rising, until her arms were outstretched over her head, the hands twirling delicately, with infinite grace; the bangles tinkling.

Kayal flung her head back between her arms, shuffled her legs apart and bent her knees slightly. Her hips began to gyrate, grinding round and round, pumping and thrusting in a flagrantly, obviously sexual motion; she moaned a low, husky, utterly sexy lovecall. Her hip thrusting grew more frantic, more urgent, and she began to arch back smoothly, bending steeply. Her hip movements were joined by a jiggling of her breasts, thrusting and pumping them, bent over backwards in a steep arch, her body curved, exposed.

Abruptly, she snapped out of it and began to dance, gyrating to the music, mouthing the utterly suggestive words, her eyes flashing and her mouth agape; she was sensual, and devastatingly sexy. She flicked her hair with the back of her hands, squeezed her breasts, jiggled them and pumped her hips; she kicked her legs, twirling and dancing, pirouetting and gliding, her hands, and feet moving with surety and grace, her jewellery tinkling. Her face grew flushed with the exertions, and her body began to shine with sweat. While Selvam and Maari were now grinning from ear to ear, Muthu was gasping, staring pop-eyed at her.

"Hey, Muthu, what did we tell you?" Selvam said. "Isn't she a real whore?"

At the words, Kayal blew Muthu a kiss, and once again slid her tongue over her upper lip in direct invitation to him. She shimmied away towards Selvam. Selvam turned around in the chair. Swaying and gyrating, swinging and thrusting her hips, she went over and flung herself into Selvam's lap, flinging herself back. He held her with a strong, dark arm behind her back, grinning at her. She had her hands over her head still, and she flung them around his neck and slowly, with exaggerated lasciviousness, tongued his ear. Selvam grunted.

They kissed -- oh fuck, the low caste worker was kissing a brahmin housewife! -- and she let him thrust his tongue into her mouth, sucking on it, her butt squirming on his lap. His hand slid up her smooth body and cupped a breast, squeezed and fondled it.

Instantly, she was up again, rising and resuming her dance. She moved across to Maari on the bed, and, as he grinned from ear to ear in delight, leaned over him, hunching her shoulders and squeezing her breasts into even larger mounds, shaking them over his face. He kissed the top of her breasts, her nipples under the tassels. His hand slid down her back and caressed her buttocks. Again, she pulled away, teasing, taunting, pouting, sulking, eyes flashing, mouth agape, inviting. She swayed and pirouetted, kicked, and jigged across the room; her actions getting faster, as the tempo quickened.

Suddenly, she had whirled into Muthu's arms, grabbed his face in her hands, and before he could respond, yanked his head to hers and kissed him hard and deep, her tongue pressing into his mouth. She broke the kiss just as suddenly, and was slithering to her knees before him. Clawing open the buttons of his shirt, kissing his naked, hard, hairless torso and belly, she said, in the local dialect, "I'll torment you in my love,"... the words of the song. Muthu started to fumble with the zipper of his trousers, and she pranced away, laughing at him, taunting him. She was obviously very aroused, for her eyes were full of fire, and even at that distance, Kunju could see the lust on her face.

She went through a quick routine, getting onto her knees and miming an act of sex with her riding a cock, bucking up and down, her legs spread, her head flung back, moaning loudly over the song.

Then she slid onto her back, her legs spread, the knees raised and began to writhe and thrash on the floor; her hips pumping and grinding, as though she was being fucked, in the throes of an orgasm. One hand was on her breast, squeezing it; the other splayed on her firm, flat belly, her fingertips under her skirt, her hand making a lump in the skirt that moved suggestively, erotically. She rolled over onto her front, and, on all fours, began to mime a rear-entry position; her head up, her breasts jiggling, the tassels from the nipples swinging to and fro with her necklaces; her body jerking back and forth, as though before the thrusts of a man kneeling behind her, and taking her thus.

As she stretched a hand down between her legs, fondling herself through her skirts, Selvam leaned over and plucked open the knot of her bra-top. It fell open immediately and she squealed, feigning annoyance, rising to her knees and then to her feet, with her arm and hand covering her breasts. The music continued, and she began to move again, swirling around, and as Muthu watched pop-eyed, she flicked away the bra, sending it spinning across the room. Her hands slid over her breasts, cupped them, weighed them, offered them for a man to take his pleasure with; then her hands linked behind her head, and she jiggled her breasts like a tart at the men; her nipples stiff and erect already. Muthu tried to grab them, groaning and gasping, but she laughed again and ducked and sped away across the room to Maari. He held his arms wide to welcome her, and they kissed again. He cupped her now-freed breasts, flicking the erect nipples with his thumbs.

Kayal's face arched up, a look of genuine pleasure crossing it, making her look even lovelier when her lips parted slowly, her eyes closed and she moaned softly. Maari bent his head and she gasped, as his tongue swirled around one nipple, then his lips followed, closing on the visibly swollen and turgid breast, sucking hard, letting go, and sucking again. She clenched his head and moaned.

He slid his hand up her skirt, lifting it up and exposing her ass. Muthu groaned aloud, at the sight of her creamy lobes. She shook her bottom at Muthu, looking over her shoulder at him, her lips parting, her tongue sliding out again and running slowly over her upper lip. She thrust a hand between her legs, and then her buttocks split, and her moist, hair rimmed cunt lips were visible from behind, where all could see she was arching a finger up into her twat, twisting it slowly, languorously.

Maari grinned at the expression on Muthu's face, and cupped her dangling breasts and squeezed them, fondling them slowly, sucking on them some more. Muthu's hand was deep in his trousers, squeezing and jerking his tool. He gaped at the sight of her finger in her cunt, slowly sliding in, pulling out, sliding in; coming out moist and shiny. She withdrew it, and, turning around as she got off the bed, raised it in a sticky line up her body, between her heavy, succulent breasts, up to her lips and sucked on it. Twisting and rolling it in her mouth, her lips pouting, cheeks hollowing, she slowly pulled it out, her eyes on Muthu, smiling and glinting with excited mischief.

She began to sway again, closing her eyes, moving to the music, her hips beginning to pump, her breasts jiggling, her hands on her hips, on her belly, on her thighs, on her breasts, holding them.

Then she swirled away again, whirling around the stunned Muthu, and spinning away before he could react to her sudden tongue in his ear, the pressing of her breasts to his chest. There she was, flipping her skirts like a can-can artist, kicking her legs, flashing glimpses of her hair-rimmed slit and her creamy buttocks. She swung, swayed, and sashayed over to Selvam, and, still swaying and undulating, slithered to her knees before him. She bent over his lap, her head turned to Muthu, and slid her hands up his vest, rucking it up high under his arms, exposing his dark, solid, hairless torso. Then, she turned her face to his body, and her lips were on his belly even as her fingers flicked open the buttons of his shorts and opened them wide. She slid her hand in, and Kunju gasped when she withdrew his cock.

It was enormous. Even though it was still limp, it was a good-eight-inches long and correspondingly thick. Making sure that Muthu could see her, Kayal began to masturbate her milkman's cock, pumping her fist expertly. Then her lips parted, and her pointed tongue snaked out and swirled about the cock-head and then her lips followed, engulfing the glans slowly, then part of the shaft.

Kunju and Muthu, at their respective positions, watched her agog, as her lips slowly, deliberately slowly, slid around his cock-head. She began to suck him gently, lifting her head to use her tongue on the tip. It began to harden and swell, and Selvam gasped, grunted, and grinned, looking down at her; stretching his hands to fondle her breasts.

At last, she rose, almost with reluctance it seemed, lingering over the very tip of his cock-head. Again she burst into action, moving sensuously around Muthu. This time, he tried to grab her, but she was too quick, and with a tinkling laugh, she was away, going over to Maari on the bed. As she went, she flicked off the outer skirt and flung it wide with a high gesture. The inner skirt was of the finest muslin and completely transparent, concealing nothing.

Maari lifted his face as she leaned over his face and his tongue shot out, swirling over her nipple, his hand gripping the other pendulant breast. She gasped, her face arching back with a snap. He let her go and she swung one slender, beautiful leg smoothly over his, and straddled his legs. She leaned forward, sliding his vest up his body and then her lips were on his nipples, sucking them one by one, then slithering lower, down his body, even as she opened the knot in his lungi and parted the folds of his cloth.

Kunju gaped in awe, for Maari's cock was even bigger than Selvam's, thicker and longer. She moaned softly and he took the enormous sausage in his hand and began to stroke her face with it, masturbating at the same time. Her mouth opened and quested for his cock, but he laughed at her, dodging her lips and tongue, teasing her, mocking her.

His cock swelled swiftly and then she took it between her breasts, squeezing them in a tight mound over his cock, letting him fuck her breasts. Her mouth was avid, open, hungering for his penis, and at last he relented; she was almost sobbing with gratitude when she took him deep in her mouth and sucked him hard. Her head bobbed furiously over his lap, his cock hard and glistening, his hands behind her head, his hips bucking at her face as he fucked it. He grunted in pleasure, his head tilted to one side, watching her with a grin on his face.

At last she rose, a thin ribbon of pre-cum gunk clinging to her lips and chin. She mopped it with her finger, licked it up and then she was away as the music reached a crescendo, whirling furiously across the room to Selvam again, her naked body like a goddess', the jewellery tinkling and flashing in the light.

She sat on Selvam's lap, her legs spread outside his, his cock sticking up between their legs and against her belly. She held it one hand and jerked it, the other curling behind her around Selvam's head, her face turned to his. They kissed and he curved an arm around her and fondled her cunt, the other squeezing her tit, pointed at Muthu, tweaking her rigid nipple. Her buttocks ground on his lap.

She got up and turned around on his lap, her arms about his shoulders, kissing him hungrily and then the music died, and there was silence and only the gasps of the men and Kayal. Selvam got up from the chair, holding her with her legs wound about his hips, her arms around his shoulders and carried her easily across the room to Maari.

He laid her down on her back on the bed, and instantly, her face tilted up, her neck craned, between Maari's spread thighs and she took his cock in her mouth. Maari gasped and closed his eyes, his head arching back. Selvam bent and began to suck on her breasts, one by one, teething the nipple, fondling her body, scraping the nipple against his teeth, sucking on a succulent mound, then the other, then squeezing both tight together and sucking on both at once. She writhed under him. His mouth slid lower and her legs split apart, the knees rising. Her hands were above her head on Maari's cock, jerking it. Selvam's mouth and head slid lower into her cunt, nuzzling the downy pubic thatch that Kunju wanted so much. Selvam seemed to know it intimately.

Outside the room, Kunju was on his knees, masturbating, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath hot, his eyes red with tears. He wanted her, he wanted to take her, he wanted her like this! No more the pristine, angelic woman he would love and cherish. This, this was what he wanted. Kayal. The whore.