Priyamani: The Seductress

This is a story about an email friend of mine. Having retired from his job, he reflected on his own life experiences. Getting on the internet, he stumbled upon various cuckolding stories and satiated his curiosity. Some of my stories reminded him of his background, and he reached out, sharing his own experiences. As usual, I have taken liberties to make the story enjoyable for my readers.

This is a cuckold story. A cuckold is a husband who receives vicarious pleasure from his partner's having sex with other men. If this is not your thing, please stop offending yourself and move on.

By reading this story, you are committing an act of perversion, and there are no better or worse kinds of perversion, only the ones that you like and the ones that you don't like.

This story explores the husband-wife-and-another-man relationship where the husband is not equal to the wife in the relationship and the wife gravitates towards the other man for sex. The wife prefers having a deep, intimate bond with the other man for prolonged periods of time and gives it more importance than her relationship with the husband. If this is not your thing, please stop offending yourself and move on.

You have been warned!

Priyamani the Seductress

I am a 60-year-old man who has been married for over 35 years to my lovely wife, who is 5 years younger than me. We have four children, three sons and a daughter. All of our children are married, and we have several grandchildren now. I retired from the civil service after serving for over 30 years. I am a shy and reserved person in my friend's circle and often prefer solitude over the company of others. My strange history urged me to get on the internet and better understand and appreciate it. Until then, I shunned computers and preferred to work the old-fashioned way. Surprised to learn about this, I thought of penning my story for the benefit of readers.

I come from a small village in South India. We are from a backward, oppressed caste. Even today, in our village, we still have to endure a lot of insults. We live in a city now, and also, because of my status and power, a lot of the discrimination has waned away.

The story starts in the late 1960s, when I was perhaps 7 years old. I was an only child and lived with my mother and father on a small farm on the outskirts of our village. My mother was perhaps 26 years old at the time, and my father was quite older than her, at perhaps 41 years old. My mother was a beautiful woman with a fair complexion. I saw her mostly in a tanned state because of her constant work in the field, though. Her name was Priyamani, but everyone knew her by the shortened version of her name--Mani. It may be interesting to note that she had a striking resemblance to the actress Priyamani from South India. My mother, who was a Brahmin, was raped by a lower caste man, for which her family ostracized her. When I was 6 years old, she married my father, even though he was a man of low caste. We are from Andhra Pradesh state, near the border of Tamil Nadu, but now live in one of the big coastal cities of Andhra.

My mother was considered quite tall at 5'7" in those days, with a proportionate figure and large breasts. Her fair skin drew plenty of men to our farms, as it was uncommon to find light-skinned people among the commoners in our area. She was a tough, strong-willed woman and kept everyone at bay. However, the Zamindar from that area heard about her beauty and frequented our house on some pretext or another. He got into bed with her after helping free my father, who had been locked up after a petty quarrel with some well-to-do folks in the village.

I was 10 years old when I first saw the old landlord make love to my mother. Other women visited his quarters for such illicit affairs, but my mother refused to see him anywhere else. So, he would come to our house, mostly at night. My father would be out in the field watching for wild hogs and other pests that ruined the crops. At that age, all I knew was that they were indulging in something forbidden and nothing beyond that. The significance of his visits dawned on me as I grew older, at which point it scarred my psyche. I loved her and never thought of judging her. She was a practical woman who made decisions with our family's best interests in mind.

Watching her cuckold my father had left an indelible impression on my mind. I remember getting sexually excited when I would find out that one of her lovers was going to pay her a visit that night. Once I grew up, they sent me to boarding school, so I never saw her while having sex. So, it was just my imagination most of the time. The only time I saw them was at that single event, when I was too young to grasp it.

In the light of a lantern, I saw him fondle my mother's body as she lay on the bed where my father used to sleep. The stark contrast between my mother's and his complexion was clear even in that dark room. She turned off the lantern after a few minutes, so I could only hear them. After about 10 minutes, the bed creaked with regular frequency as he humped her. I heard her softly moaning for five more minutes, and then it was over.

I clearly recalled them speaking in code language the next day about his visit. It seems he knew about the Zamindar's nocturnal visits. They talked about "good" or "bad" times, which I came to interpret as the "fertile" period or the "menstrual cycle." Since it was a "good" time, he concluded, he may visit her again. It was just a childlike curiosity, with no sexual feelings, and I never stayed up long enough to see what else may have happened that night.

There was an intense yearning and desire to learn about her sex life. They shuttled me to a boarding school as soon as I turned 13, only a few years after that first episode. I imagined her mating with other men too, but she kept a lot of men at bay and only encouraged the Zamindar. This deep seated desire transformed into a desperate need to see my wife someday with another man. I didn't wait long and felt the gut-wrenching pangs for the first time. It was around that time that my father came to my rescue, helped me understand my quandary, and guided me on my cuckold journey. He was a soft-spoken, mellow, kindhearted man and took special care of me as I was not his biological child and also because I lived away from them for most of my life--first for studies and then for work.

Before I narrate my story, I intend to explain the background story about my mother. It is, however, best told from my father's perspective, as he was very close to it and it is his story to a great extent. The rest of the narration in this chapter is from his perspective.

The word about Mani's beauty spread in our village as soon as we arrived. Everyone envied me and tried to score opportunities with her. She was a hardworking woman and spent a lot of time on the fields, so a lot of people had time to check her out, but none could touch her. Once, someone tried taking liberties, and she put a machete on his neck and challenged him. No one has dared to cross her path ever since. Even the Zamindar heard about her fiery temperament and steered clear of her. However, he was attracted to her and knew that she was a young woman, and an ordinary old man like myself couldn't do justice to her beauty and youth. Mani was only 25, and I was 15 years older than her. He was a powerful man and had enjoyed the pleasures of plenty of women, but seemed to have been smitten by her.

Mani was an educated woman; she had cleared the intermediate exam, which was uncommon for even most men to clear in those days. Still grounded in reality, she had come around to accepting her fate. I felt I would repulse her, but when she lovingly accepted me the same night we reached our home, I knew she had no remorse. Self-pity was not her thing. She accepted life's challenges, put her best foot forward, and left the rest to God. She would freshen herself every night before hitting the bed to greet me. When she was tired, she hesitated.

At 5'5", I was two inches shorter than her, but she never spoke about it. She had large grapefruit sized breasts and a warm, soft, moist vagina that seemed perfect. The first night, when I approached her, I thought she would refuse. She took her time to ensure that her young boy was fast asleep before coming to me.

Laying next to me, she softly kissed my lips and rested her head on my chest. She was fresh like rain and young, like a newly budding flower.

"I know you were worried about the difference between our ages and looks. It doesn't bother me," she said. "You mean the world to me. I don't want you to worry about such things anymore. I am your wife and always available to you."

That was enough for me to feel content that night, but I didn't want to disappoint her. I fondled her body, kissed her cheeks and neck, and suckled on her large tits. She relished it, and we consummated our marriage that night. I couldn't stay inside her for more than a few minutes, but she didn't complain. We slept on that small bed in each other's arms, chatting about small things and dozing off. An hour later, I mounted her again, and this time I stroked for over 10 minutes, and we both climaxed together.

Mani enjoyed sex and was uninhibited during our sessions. In the first year, we did it twice every day. In the first few months, we did it twice in the night and once during the day. Even though kissing on the lips was uncommon, she allowed me to kiss her lips. She even allowed me to French kiss her when she was sufficiently worked up. Tasting her saliva and sucking on her tongue was a surreal experience. During her periods, dry humping and kissing were the primary ways for us to get off.

Mani reciprocated well during our sex, but she was still shy about asking for it. She expected me to take the initiative. On the nights when she herself wanted it, she handed me a towel and soap before our dinner. It soon became an indicator that she was ready and wanted me to make the move that night. Oral sex was something that she resisted for almost a year, but somewhere at the end of the first year, she allowed me to taste her pussy. She relished it a lot more and, after that, allowed me to lick her, but only when she was clean. Although she stroked me, she never took my penis in her mouth until then.

She was a reserved person and talked little, unlike other women. She would raise her voice only once after she gets upset, but after that, she would simmer inside and not throw a tantrum. It took a few months for me to understand and I came around to expecting her likes and dislikes. She never complained; taking everything gracefully in stride. Other men's interests in her came up, but she always mentioned it in passing. She didn't expect me to intervene.

Mani was married for a little over 2 years before her ex-husband passed away and she had to return to her parents, who didn't want to do anything with her or her child. She did odd jobs and managed her son for the next several years until she married me. It was a nightmare with no future as her ex-husband, whom she married only because he raped her several times and made her pregnant, was unstable and had no steady job. They lived with his father and uncle. She did all the housework, apart from taking on a minor job on her own to support the family.

Mani avoided talking about her past sex life since she didn't remember those days fondly, but I was curious about it and would bring back the topic on some pretext or another. After about 9 months, she opened up and shared that her husband's father and uncle, throughout her stay, sexually exploited her. There was no anger, frustration, shame, or remorse on her face. She seemed calm, and I wondered if I really understood her. As the weeks passed, I learned more about her sordid past. Her father-in-law consummated their marriage on the fifth night after their wedding. Her husband's uncle followed soon after that. That night, they each took another turn with her. All the while, her drunkard husband slept right next to her. It became the norm after that, as these men treated her as their wife and demanded sex from her. Her husband got a whiff, but he said nothing. He was callous to her and had no interest in the marriage. He drank to forget about life's responsibilities. He had sex with her, but mostly it was the two elderly people in the house who enjoyed her youthful body.

There was a deaf silence after she shared that with me. My heart was beating wildly, and my penis was stiff. She knew I was sexually excited after hearing about it, but said nothing, and we had a rather long session that night. She opened up and shed some of her inhibitions, and allowed me to lick her vagina soon after that.

Ever since my marriage, Zamindar has shown a special interest in me and my family. It wasn't surprising why he befriended me on some pretext. We owned a few acres of land and avoided debt, so we could steer clear of his evil influence for a while. His interest in Mani compelled him to change his approach, and he frequently called me to speak. A few times, he swung by our place and touched her hands when she offered him tea. Mani ignored it and didn't fuss over it.

Small gifts from him started showing up periodically--fresh produce, vegetables, and fruits from his farms. Our constant water fights with our neighbors stopped and everything seemed to run smoothly. Mani understood the reason behind the sudden change in our fortunes. He had heard about her fiery temperament and opted to take it slowly. He tried his luck once by grabbing her arm, but as she gave him a stern look, he understood it was better to take it slowly than ruin his chances altogether. He was a strong-willed man and always got what he desired. Perhaps he saw a special spark in her and wanted a long standing relationship with her. He could force himself on her and easily achieve it, if sex was all he needed. But Mani was special--meant to be savored and relished, very slowly, over a very long period!

At around the 1-year mark, just as Mani was opening up about her past sexual life with me, he approached me and dropped hints about his desire to sleep with my wife. After asking me to run an errand for him that day, he would say, "Yadurappa, I will swing by your house today."

His intentions were apparent, but I always responded, "It's your house, Swami. You are always welcome!"

Everyone called him "Swami," as in the title, not the name. It meant "master" literally. The feudal lordship had taken deep roots, and he wielded power over the entire village. Most families were financially indebted to him and had sold off their lands to him. Everyone was in some form of debt to him, since only he had the resources to help you in your time of need. No one dared to cross him, and everyone wanted him on their side.

Mani was a mature person for her age. Once our marriage was on a solid foundation, we talked about the main alliances that we had to build to survive in the village and still keep ownership of our farm land. It was common for families to be in debt and then sell their lands. There were several powerful men who could help us, but he was the principal one. Mani understood this and hence didn't fuss over his brief transgression and continued to be courteous to him. She even took on the responsibility of paying for her daughter's tuition. It seemed to be heading in the right direction.

He made over half a dozen visits to our house. Nothing really happened apart from her making some food for him and serving him while he sat in our yard. But it was uncommon for other men to visit when no one was at home. Still, Mani obliged him, spoke and entertained for half an hour.

Just around that time, she shared some of the gory details of her sex life. Mani never regretted her past; she saw it as a character-building experience and focused on the positive aspects of her experience. So, the fact that those men sexually exploited her never bothered her, at least after the initial few days.

"Didn't it hurt you? Physically? To entertain two men in a single night?" I asked. We had just finished a round of sex and were taking a breather. Sometimes we would step out in the middle of the night to take in the fresh air, especially on the nights when we weren't tired and contemplated a second round. She would use it as an opportunity to check our animals in the shed and return from her small errands. I followed her that night and asked while she was feeding them water.

She looked at me and then, attending to her task, replied, "Sex is just like eating, drinking, sleeping, and shitting--only that it is far more pleasurable. Nature has gifted women with the appetite to enjoy a lot of it."

"Did you enjoy sex on the first night?"

She nodded. Since we were both inside the shed already, she cleaned up a few things. I stood there, stunned.

"They were nice to me," she said as she swept the floor. "Both the elderly cared for me and my happiness. Life deprived them of sex for many years, and they knew that I craved it as a newly married woman."

"Unlike you, my dear," she said, kissing my cheek. "My ex-husband was an asshole."

"They were the breadwinners in the house and appeared to be balanced individuals. Marrying one of them would have been better for me."

"You said they were obsessed with sex?" I asked.

She smiled. "Who isn't? Aren't you?"

"Did they screw more than your ex-husband?"

Mani knew such details excited me and had come around to not judging me based on such stupid questions.

"A lot more," she whispered into my ear. I grabbed her and kissed her lips. She parted her lips and let my tongue slither in. French kissing was uncommon, and she sparingly indulged me and then again, only briefly. On that occasion, she asked me to close my mouth and then slowly kissed me, pushing her tongue into my mouth--teaching me how to French Kiss. Her hand crept into my shorts, and she grabbed my flaccid penis, which was becoming erect again. That slow kiss dispelled doubts about my wife's innocence. She, indeed, was a coquette and knew how to make men dance at her will. Clearly, she had Zamindar and me under her spell.

I took the lantern from her hand and put it down. Kneeling in front of her, I kissed her tummy. I lifted her saree and pushed my head under it. Mani was mad with lust as she grabbed the pole supporting the roof and planted her pussy on my lips. I ejaculated inside her only 15 minutes ago, so I was tasting my semen. She loved my tongue. It was the first time we had sex in our shed. Soon after that, I took her from behind and fucked her furiously. Still, I couldn't last more than 5 minutes.

The next morning, sneaking an opportunity, I hugged her and pulled her in for a kiss.

"You are the best thing that happened to me."

"Likewise," she replied, giving me a wet smooch.

As I left for work, I said, "Swami may visit."

"I know." She smiled. "You are going to the market palace today."

There was mischief in her smile. Something was at play. He was trying hard to woo her, but based on the latest development in our relationship, I felt it was possible now. As her comment sank in, I recalled that on several other occasions, he ushered me to the marketplace and visited her on some pretext. It was an hour away from our village, and the entire trip took 4-5 hours. I had noticed that upon my return, I found her greeting me, immaculately dressed. It made me wonder if Mani was preparing herself for him and not for me. She was meticulous about it anyhow, but on those days, she would opt for a regular saree that reached down to her ankles and greeted me with a towel and a soap--an indicator that it was time to light up fireworks in the night.

Mani's behavior towards him started changing after the first year of our marriage. Mani wore a worker-class women's saree that went a little below her knees. In those days, very few women wore brassieres, so her large breasts were only concealed by her blouse and perhaps her saree, which wrapped around her chest and got tucked in near her waist. Those dresses amply exposed the overall figure of a woman. Her shapely calves and her well-shaped butt gave away that she was a special mare and needed a special bull to impregnate her.