Model Wife to Mleccha

It began innocently enough. It had to, or I would have been able to stop it. Now honestly I don't have any ability to stop, nor even imagine wanting to.

A little about me. My name is Jan Thomas, I am a high school History teacher in the mountains of Western Canada. I was not the first woman in my family to serve as a soldier, the world wars saw my Great Aunts do their part as ground crew with the RAF, I was however the first one given the chance to go infantry. My grandfather taught me to study history, because as soldiers you are going to be repeating it, so you live longer if you understand the mistakes being made again, and what the consequences will inevitably be. He was right. One of the side effects of this is learning all the family history in India. We served the Raj there for a hundred and fifty years. India was woven into our history as much as England and then Canada was. Strange to think, as I stand five foot seven inches of snow white redhead, from blue eyes to light pink nipples, the fairest of the fair, yet my roots are in that rich soil of the India and the venerated Bengal Lancers.

I have been teaching with the Outreach program for the last few years. I deal with those kids who could not make it in regular school for various reasons from health, addiction, pregnancy, bullying, family situation or learning disabilities. My background as a mother and as a soldier gave me a thick enough skin and deep enough awareness of trauma and coping mechanisms that I could see through the defensive reactions and acting out to see which kids were reaching out, which ones were ready to move forward, and which ones were actively self destructing and were not ready to be helped beyond having their actions called out for what they were so at least they had the chance to decide if they wanted to become the person hurting them.

Downsides, its stressful. Upsides, my hours are late afternoon meetings and evening class, but I am in the school after lunch with loads of free time. I had a key I shouldn't have, one for the roof. The key came to me when I was covering for the Principal and Vice when they were away arguing finding for special programs from District and Province two years ago. Only the head custodian, Vice Principal and IT teacher had it, for reasons of maintenance of equipment and retrieval of the many things students toss up there that they shouldn't. I found a niche by the gym where the boiler room roof meets teh skylight for the library where there is a shielded nook that the sun makes quite warm and pleasant in winter time. I began to sunbathe there in winter.

I love the sun, but summer burns me to a crisp. I am good Nordic stock so the cold is my friend and the winter sun and I have a long standing love affair. I love to tan in as token a bikini as I can, and on the roof generally dispensed with the top to tan without lines, and honestly because at a 48G bikinis are not comfortable they are always tugging on you when you stretch, roll, or move.

Our IT teacher is Vivek. Did I mention I had a weakness for Indian culture and history? He and I would chat about it in the cafeteria periodically and those discussions (given a vastly different feeling on English Colonial rule) were always both spirited and educational. I loved his sense of humour and honestly his lips when he smiled made me think his fiancé was a lucky girl. Entirely too easy to think about how they would be to kiss, or how they would feel kissing your ears, neck, and that is about where a good married woman should stop thinking altogether and get back to work. Vivek has an odd hobby, he is a naturalist. He loves to bird watch and loves to post little videos of our local squirrels and chipmunks doing crazy things, usually set to music. I have shared more of his little videos than I could count. I had no excuse for not knowing that he had webcams all over the roof, because half of the videos were of those little beasties and the local crows competing for the many nuts, berries and other goodies that the wind blows onto the roof.

I was rubbing suntan lotion on myself, the wind was making my nipples painfully erect and I was feeling particularly languid from a nice long sunbath, so I was just enjoying the sensation of rubbing the lotion on my skin. My husband's sex drive isn't what is was, and he was getting softer and softer every year so his energy in all levels was going to seed. I was as fit as I ever was, as with a 48G-40-46 body and history of spinal and knee injuries from doing what seemed like a good idea at the time in the army, I had to maintain a rock solid core to be free of daily back pain. As a consequence, my sex drive was finding new gears every single year, and it had no place to drive to. I loved my magic wand, it may have been the only thing keeping me sane, but it only took the edge off, kept me fed enough to stay alive, but even more aware of how hungry I was. I felt myself transition into caressing my breasts, slowly, then caressing the nipples from the side. Then pinching them lightly, twisting them, then pinching them hard. I remembered Vivek's eyes, his lips, I felt my fingers pinch my left nipple hard and saw a flash of his straight white teeth and cried his name out lout "VIVEK!" I bent like a bow and felt one of my hands snaking down towards my bikini bottoms before I realized I was dangerously close to masturbating on the school roof. I shook my head, and dressed, not in the bikini, but changing fully into my teaching clothes and heading for class.

As I hit the office for my usual pickup of the paperwork (yes computers exist, but no, you will never be free of paper paperwork as long as we have an office), I saw Vivek. He gave me a thumbs up and wink and told me "Hey, I sent you a cute video, let me know what you think".

I smiled, his videos always made me laugh so I promised myself to look at it in break. Class was about the usual mix of drama (teenagers are largely powered by drama), bullshit, because the universe runs on it, and we are required to spill out a few tons of it daily to stay employed, and a few bits of actual instruction where kids having gone through the tough guy/bad girl dance enough to establish they don't care what I say or think actually demonstrated they were paying attention and were learning and let me read between the lines and defensive cursing tot he bits they were having problems with so I could suggest ways someone else (not you of course, you have zero problems) might work around this issue if they couldn't use the (not you of course, you are totally normal) approach most people find easiest. Its a ritualized dance that I have come to enjoy, like Monte Python done with live razor blades set to a Sexpistols or Ramones soundtrack.

I opened Vivek's video and the strains of Van Halen's Hot for Teacher came on. A looped gif of me caressing myself, from a few different angles and distances, merged with me finally standing and dropping my bottoms and stretching before I dressed for class made it look like the last song of a stripper where it all comes off. At the end it cut to Vivek, and he was clapping happily, those dark, dark eyes and sensuous lips of his were smiling in open appreciation. His words went through me like a knife.

"That was amazing Jan. You usually give me a good show and stills that I keep as my screen saver to get me through long days, but that performance was something else. You really want to be a good girl so hard, but your body betrays you. Its OK, you were raised wrong. You think there is only good girl and bad girl. You are so busy trying to be the model wife that you missed the truth. You were born to be a model Mleccha. You want to be good, and you would be a good Mleccha. Don't worry, as long as you come to embrace it, you wont have to worry about your unfilled needs making you slip up where it could get you in trouble. This town is way to Bible belt to admit that women like you have needs there good church boys couldn't handle at their peak. You have to remember, I am Hindu. We understand."

I was in shock.

He had been watching me. He had been watching me for weeks. I had been undressing in front of him on camera for weeks. He had caught me touching myself on camera. Did he have sound? Did he know I cried out his name when I almost came without touching below my belly button at all?

I felt the rush of blood to my loins, my nipples grew painfully erect and I found myself panting at my desk as my body filled with desire. My find filled with fear. Was he planning on blackmailing me? Was he planning on sharing this video too? We were in the back of beyond BC, where there were five churches to one Library and the library was often picketed. Teenage pregnancy was rampant, spousal abuse was something the police and hospital didn't report if you were good church going people (only Natives got arrested for that stuff you know), but birth control or abortion were terrible things forced on us by godless city people and over educated liberals. We lived in Hypocrite central, a woman exposed for the crime of having a sex drive would lose everything. Vivek was a friend, but suddenly his intentions worried me.

The next day was almost shockingly normal. I went to the school early, but not unusually so, as we had a staff meeting about the new Anti-bullying policy, which was a reworded and watered down version of the old policy that was a swamp which would justify doing or not doing whatever a teacher or administrator felt comfortable doing about a problem many just pretended wasn't there.

Vivek slid beside me as he usually did, and I blushed bright scarlet; a curse of my genetics at times like this that I never stop lamenting. His voice was dark and musical, sliding over my skin like hot fudge on a Sunday. The image of his hands gliding over my breast as the hot fudge covered the ice cream scoop in a Sunday made me deeply aware of how every thought of Vivek was now layered in so many layers of sexual fantasy I couldn't block them out no matter how I tried.

"Good morning Jan. I hope my little video gave you a lift. A veritable Parvatti, mother, lover, teacher, and yes a little bit of Kali behind they eyes that makes so many of our fellow teachers more than a little nervous when you stop pretending to be Suzi sunshine" Vivek smiled as if nothing had changed, and perhaps for him nothing had.

I felt a shock go through me as he made a joke about something I always worried about. I was a soldier for years, and when I got angry enough, the nice non judgemental passive voice of the teacher dropped away and I fell back into the old mode of do what I say before or after I hurt you, that was my reality for the better part of a decade. It made me suddenly as welcome among my fellow teachers as a beggar at a politician's fundraiser.

I looked for the scorn in his eyes, and it wasn't there. Vivek saw not just the mask I was wearing at the time, but beneath it to the real me, and he never flinched, and still smiled.

I had to address the elephant in the room, it was time to talk about the video he made.

"Listen Vivek, about that video..." I turned to face him, ready for a confrontation, ready to demand he destroy it and all the other pictures, but I never got that far. Vivek placed his hand over mine and his voice slid through my objections like a summer breeze through a spring fog.

"Listen Jan, its OK. Your family was in India a long time. You know the history. Your men arrived to conquer with their guns, and did so. Soon they discovered the beauty of Hindu women, of Hindu culture and a civilization so much richer and more complex than their own. Suddenly your Empire moved heaven and earth to bring white girls over to be wives for their men before the next generation of the Empire was Indian born and bred. The problem was, your ancestors discovered the Hindu men, and then all those pretty white women had to be locked away, or the next generation of the Empire would have been Indian born and bred again.

Its OK. We Hindu accept and embrace our passion, we accept the male and female divine and the glorious pleasure that comes from the dance of bodies entwined. The gods gave us rather more than your own folk in certain areas"

At this point he glanced down at his lap, and I found my eyes gazing there as well, and I admit I had often noted he took up a lot of his pants with his manhood compared to my husband or the other white teachers.

He then continued as if it was the most normal conversation in the world,

"But you have been blessed with an equal endowment of your own, a very image of a perfect white cow for a Hindu bull." He let his eyes rest on my breasts and I could feel my nipples hardening under his gaze.

I shook my head, not willing to get into this conversation at all. Vivek's next words were no longer in his sing song playing up of his very slight accent. They were firm, professional, authoritative. I found myself instinctively straightening up to sit at attention, my eyes locking on his, focused on hearing the words of authority being spoken.

"Jan," He said simply "You are conflicted. You want to be good but have been lied to about what that is. You are a good wife, a good mother, a good teacher, a good mentor for the kids, but you are more than that. You are a lover, a beautiful sensuous woman. You are also still very submissive sexually, you are drawn to your desire, but cannot let yourself go. You need permission. You need to surrender control to someone you trust, for you to even feel half of what you are, and what you should be. This is wrong. You deserve more. You deserve not to exist, but to LIVE Jan. Am I right? Or will you tell me you do not know this is true?"

There it was. All I had to do was tell him it was not true and I could end it right now. Did I want to? Did I want to just exist, as I had been? Did I want to continue pretending I was OK, that I was not going quietly insane with urges that I had no safe outlet for?

Vivek spoke again, this time sweet reason, as if it were the most logical discussion in the world we were having.

"Jan, we are teachers, surrounded every day by hormonal and vulnerable kids going insane with their first taste of desire and freedom. It just isn't safe to be this physically and emotionally starved for connection and satisfaction. This is how mistakes get made and kids get messed up"

I shuddered, because he was right. It was for us to make sure that what the kids thought they wanted never happened. We were the adults and that meant we were the ones who had to have our stuff together, and right now, I didn't.

Vivek raised my chin with his finger and turned my head to the side. He traced down my long red hair, down my cheek, my ear, my neck. I moaned and bit my lip. He nodded.

"Listen to me!" Vivek ordered. "You will go sunbathing today, and every day it isn't snowing. You WILL touch yourself, you will let yourself cum. You will do so because I told you to. Do you understand, this isn't your choice, this is mine."

The relief that went through me was impossible to overstate. I felt like someone had cut the bands around my chest, the bonds on my limbs. I relaxed, uncoiled, my jaw unclenched and I sighed deeply, tears standing in my eyes.

"Thank you Sir" I said, aware that I had called him Sir and meant it, that I accepted his commands because he gave them.

"Good Mleccha!" Vivek said.

Later that day, I took to the roof. This time I made a production about undressing. I took each piece off as if I was being watched by my dream lover. I caressed my limbs as I took off my shirt, teased as I released my bra, and took off my slacks with a long slow bend to show off my thong. I took it off, and twirled it around my finger, before laying it on top of my clothes.

I tried to sunbathe, but the awareness of his command was upon me, and my own ignored desires were taking over. I began just pretending, like a stripper. It backfired. This was different. Touching myself even innocently on the arm or calf because VIVEK told me to, because my Hindu bull gave me a command to please myself FOR HIM there was no innocent touch.

I began to caress, to stroke, to pinch. I touched just my upper body, just my breasts and yet I came anyway. I cried out his name, I cried "Vivek!" as I pinched my nipples hard, imagining his TEETH.

I felt the swelling in my labia, my inner self having opened like a flower. I caressed the red hair of the landing strip I kept above my shaved vagina and it was almost unbearably sensitive. I began to caress my mons, my upper thighs, closer and closer but not touching my sex.

I turned to the little dome of the camera I could see closest and opened my legs to it. I opened my legs and opened my sex with my left hand, my wedding ring catching the sunlight as I did. With my right I began to stroke my labia, dipping inside to slide a finger into me.

I groaned. "Vivek, oh I wish I could feel you here" I said it and I meant it. Two fingers now, imagining his cock. Dark like his skin, hot like his hand. Was it as big as his bulge hinted? I was married, he was engaged. I had no right to these thoughts. I was a slut even for thinking them. I was a slut. I was HIS SLUT!

That was it, that admission, that I was his slut broke something inside me and I dropped my left hand to my clit, rubbing it desperately as I worked a third finger into my pussy, imagining a cock larger than my husband of twenty years stretching me for the first time. A hard Hindu cock. Vivek's cock.

I came again.

Crying in relief. I let the sun kiss my quaking body as I dressed again. It was easy to compose myself for class. Something had changed. I was centered. I was calm. I was...whole. That admission, that I was Vivek's slut had been a missing piece in me. I didn't know what Mleccha meant, but I was beginning to think it meant me.

Mleccha (from Vedic Sanskrit Mleccha, meaning "non-Vedic", "barbarian") is a Sanskrit term referring to foreign or barbarous peoples in ancient India. In modern use, the name given to a non Indian concubine of a Hindu man or woman.