The Kaftan

"Okay, he is gone. Where were we?" she seductively said. And we resumed our amorous conversations.

Later that day, I was alone in my service apartment, having a couple of drinks when finally a thought that was buzzing around in my head formed itself. Ritu looked so hot in that kaftan. You could make out the shape of her body and even sense her underwear. She knew this. She went to the door. She always checks who it is from the peephole. She would have seen Shafi. She could have just walked back in, thrown on regular clothes, and then opened the door. But she had opened it like that. And stayed like that. Surely the energetic young man had noticed what any man would notice.

Why this uncharacteristic behavior from my usually very cautious wife? This wasn't like her. And that's when I started thinking, how much do I really know her? Had we been together over a decade or just 7 dates in modern terms? Maybe it was the alcohol and the depression from being laid off. Maybe it was eagerness to get back to video sex with me. Maybe it was just an impulse.

But could it be a consciously carried out impulse? Did she want to exhibit herself to that young man as a way to titillate her mind? This thought did not exactly consume me, but it kept running in the back of my mind for the week before I returned home. Coincidentally, I passed Shafi in the lobby as I was walking in with my suitcase. He saw me, smiled, waved, and then turned and walked away looking at his phone. Almost as if avoiding me.

And then later that night, after Che had graced us with his presence for a full hour without playing video games, I got in bed with Ritu about to mention Shafi when she brought him up cryptically,

"Shafi has been sort of...around a lot more."

"He came home again? What was it this time?"

"No no, he did not come home. I just see him around a lot whenever I step out or sit in the balconies. Maybe I've just started noticing him more now. But there will be at least once a day I see him, we make eye contact, he waves, I wave."

"You have a stalker!" I half joked.

"That is a bit harsh. But he definitely has a crush on me." she said, and I saw a blush and a smile.

"Looks like it is reciprocated!" I said and instantly bit my tongue. This was sure to get her annoyed and then throw Denise taunts at me.

So I was very surprised when she blushed even more and said,

"It's just thoughts."

"What thoughts?"

"I don't know. I am not some sperm sowing male like you. I don't know how crushes work with you guys. With us, it's just some idle thoughts."

"Fantasies?"

"Not full blown fantasies." she sat up, finished her 3rd drink of the night.

"Then?"

"More like rambling self-pleasing thoughts. It is an ego boost to have a good looking guy maybe fifteen years younger than me looking at me like that. Like a MILF. I didn't even realize when I went from his age to mine. And plus you know...I love you...but...arranged is arranged. This attention is just... don't know...I am rambling."

And then she buried her face in my chest. I was amused and intrigued.

"It's cute, honey. And understandable."

This side of Ritu turned me on and we both started getting frisky with each other and before we knew it, I was inside her. That whole weekend, between the little time that our son decided to spend with us, we were either making out or having sex. And the Shafi spectre hung right there over us, not fully addressed despite our few conversations.

A more mature and secure couple might have discussed this festering situation head on. Our community's maintenance guy, who literally had the keys to our house, was making subtle but noticeable advances at my wife. And my wife also felt something about him. But neither of us did, even though it was obvious. Again, we were being more like business partners in a merger, leaving the difficult decisions to the other side if possible.

Another week went by. I started thinking more and more about Shafi. And about how Ritu's reaction to my teasing was not to take offense but to banter along. I also noticed that every time she had a Shafi "encounter", her mood was noticeably better. That might have played a part in what I did next. Another impulse. Because despite all these thoughts, I did not actually view Shafi as a genuine threat. He worked for us. Either of us could call the RWA and get him fired. So he was classified in my mind, at least consciously, as a low-risk guy for my wife to tease and get her aroused, and me to reap the rewards.

"An hour way." I called Ritu from the usual spot as I drove home for the next week.

"Okay. I am making green beans today." I could hear kitchen sounds in the background.

"Che hates them so obviously..."

"Yes, dinner and sleepover at the Nairs again." she said and I heard the faucet being turned on. "Is this just normal for 12 year old boys? This was not my life at 12."

"Well, when it comes to boys..."

"Oh crap!" Ritu said. "The sink is draining slowly."

The kitchen sink. Which started it all. I kept staring at the road silently, waiting for her to say something more. She stayed quiet too. We both knew what we were thinking.

"Call Shafi." I finally said.

"Right now? I can call him tomorrow when you are here. It's draining slowly but there is nothing leaking. We can wait till tomorrow." she said. It was as if she was again punting a decision to me. Giving me an out. I felt annoyed by it, so to return her favor, I said,

"Your call."

She was quiet for a couple of seconds before saying,

"The last time it slowed like this, it started leaking in 2 days, so better to..."

"Yeah, better safe than sorry, right? If you feel like it, you should call him. I will be there soon anyway. But it's up to you."

"Okay. I will do it."

She hung up and I kept driving and thinking about the possibilities. Barely had I started thinking when she called back in a few minutes.

"He is coming up soon."

"Okay. Good." I said and then added at the last minute. "What are you wearing?"

"Che just left. Regular clothes."

"Change into The Kaftan so you are in it when I walk in the door."

Small pause.

"Later or right now before he comes?"

Now it was my turn to pause.

"Right now is fine. He has seen you in it anyway, so not like he will be scandalized."

"But...ok." the question she left unasked was obvious. What if he takes it as a sign and tries something? A natural question for a woman to ask. I still didn't think it would go beyond him staring and then me having a great night with her.

She hung up and I sped up a little more, wanting to reach my home fast to benefit from the warm sexy feeling that the young plumber seemed to generate in my wife. I kept waiting for a call with an update. But ten minutes went by and then twenty. I got off the highway and entered our city. And then called her.

The phone rang. And rang. Several rings until I thought it would go unanswered. When it suddenly was.

"Hey! Where are you?"

"What happened with Shafi?"

"How far are you?"

"About fifteen minutes away."

"I'll just tell you when you get home, please. I need another tall drink. Okay?"

And then she hung up. So clearly something had happened. And she needed "another" tall drink, which meant she had already had one. The time it took me to get home seemed like an eternity. I was practically sprinting out of my car when I got there.

I opened the door and Ritu was still in The Kaftan, sprawled on the couch, drinking gin straight from the bottle. She looked at me with a frowning face.

"Your wife just got groped and kissed."

I found that confirmation at once disturbing and relieving. Disturbing because it had clearly gone beyond just teasing and she sounded quite drunk. Relief because she seemed fine, just a little nervous.

"Are you okay?" I gently put my arm around her.

"Physically, yeah, fine. Just a little...disoriented."

"What happened?"

"After you told me to wear this, I first took a couple of shots to calm my nerves. Then I went to change. I wore a tank top and panties under it. Then had a couple of more shots before he came. I think I might have a drinking problem." she said even as she took another swig. I could see the tank top was still there, but I didn't notice any panties.

"So what did Shafi do as soon as you opened the door?"

"He saw what I was wearing and his eyes went up for a second before he said namaste and then just went straight to the kitchen. No staring or anything. Like he barely even noticed my dress. Maybe it was the alcohol but I felt ignored after how he has been staring at me in recent months. So I walked to the kitchen and stood a few feet from him. He glanced at me once and started working on the sink."

"And did.."

"Just let me finish what I am trying to say. This is not easy to say to you." she snapped.

"Okay, go on."

"He got up in a couple of minutes saying the problem was just in one section and he had fixed it and the drain should be good now. I didn't expect him to finish so soon so I didn't know what to say next. He asked me, 'should I go or do you want me to stay?' and I said what do you mean."

She paused. I thought about asking a question, but it didn't seem like the right moment. Sure enough, she continued.

"His face got all serious and he said, listen memsaab, I am a lower middle class guy and I don't know your rich foreign travel world. So maybe I am reading things wrong. It seems like you feel attracted to me just like I am attracted to you. Like you are giving me signals with all these foreign clothes."

"Foreign clothes!" I couldn't help but say and chuckle.

"I was flustered at his direct question. I did not know what to say. Then I noticed he was slowly coming towards me. I looked up at him. He asked me again, should I leave or stay? I wanted to tell him to leave but my mouth refused to form the words. He waited a few seconds and when I didn't tell him to leave, he stepped up and...he hugged me. Weird kind of tight hug. But it felt very nice. Sorry, but you will understand given all your times with Denise." she ended with another dangling bait.

"All my times? Just one time."

"Anyway, he hugged, we kissed, he then groped a bit. I also got caught up in the moment. It did not mean anything. And then I rebuffed his further advances." she was almost parroting my Denise excuses.

"You were in the kitchen the whole time?"

"No, we moved to the living room after a few minutes of...you know?"

"I don't know. Tell me in detail!"

"How can I tell you such things in detail? it's weird!"

"This is too little. Did you have sex?"

"Actual intercourse, no."

"Then?"

"Can't you just take me to the bedroom and fuck me first?" she said, pointing to the tent in my pants.

Great point, I thought, and soon we were both naked and in bed. And right after entering her and hearing her usual happy sigh, I asked,

"Did he get under your clothes?"

"Under. Out of." she hungrily answered with her eyes closed. The remaining conversation on this topic happened in fits and bursts during sex.

"What all did he do?"

"Kissed. Not bad. Groped my boobs, first over the kaftan and then under. Then other stuff."

"What other stuff?"

"Touching, fondling, kissing, you know...he has a nice muscular body. He took his clothes off completely."

"Any more stuff?"

There was a very long break of groans and moans before she finally answer,

"He fingered me. And I jacked him off a little."

"How do you jack someone off a little?"

"As in my hands were on his dick maybe just two minutes in the end."

"And his hands?"

"Everywhere."

"Everywhere?"

"Almost everywhere."

"Did you cum?"

"Yes. Slightly. With his fingers. So then I felt obligated to jack him off. Didn't take too long."

"Did you swallow?" she never swallowed mine, so that question took precedence over how she came 'slightly'.

"Ewww! No! He came on my butt." and then she blushed again.

"He did not want to do more?"

"He did. But I made him leave after that. I swear. Nothing more. Told him you were almost home. That made him leave extra fast."

"So you were both naked in the end?"

"He was. I was not, fully. He took my panties off. And then rolled up the kaftan. And we were here, all limbs interlocked, for a little while. After he came on my butt..."

"Were you already on your knees?"

"No, he made me turn around and get on my knees."

Somehow that sentence had a huge impact. That just an hour ago or less, not only had our handyman gotten to third base with my wife, but had also felt powerful enough to order her to get on her knees. And how she must have looked with the white jizz on her big creamy buttocks.

"Get on your knees."

She did, and I watched the round bubble butt that had been the landing site of Shafi's semen. I shoved my dick back into her pussy and pounded her hard for a while and decided to save all other questions for later.