Indian wife is dominated by guard and construction foreman

Vidya suffers further at the hands of Wasim — Rajesh… I watched the screen, mesmerized. Not only was I alone in my office cabin, but it was lunch hour, and there was no one else on the whole floor — all the workers had gone for the typical super long Friday lunch. I watched my monitor, with the sound quite low, watching my own house. Or rather, this was the camera in my living room. I was watching what was happening live.

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Pinned against one wall of the living room was my tall, buxom wife Vidya. Her bright red sari was on the floor in a heap, crumpled. As was her petticoat, lying at her ankles. Her blouse was open. She was not wearing a bra, and her big, full, heavy breasts were helplessly bouncing around, her nipples firm and erect. My attention was drawn to her milky white calves, and the bright red thong that she was wearing. Her fair body glistened in the afternoon light filtering through the windows, and her jet black hair was loose, and fell to shoulders and reached to her waist. She was a sight to behold — a glimpse of water in a desert to a thirsty man.

Holding my naked wife by her hand, pinning her against the wall, was our burly, tall, brute of a guard Wasim. He now pressed against Vidya, nibbling at her neck. Held firmly, my wife’s eyes were shut as her paramour continued to nibble at her neck. His hands groped her tits, and my wife helplessly continued to murmur something as Wasim pinched her areoles. Her body shivered sporadically, and from the spasms I could understand she was experiencing a mini-orgasm. Wasim then stepped back, and I noticed a bright red hickey on my wife’s nape. His hands now roughly stroked my wife in her pubic area. So thin was Vidya’s thong that I could see her bushy pubic hair as Wasim crudely fondled her nether regions.

“Memsaab.” The guard grinned, casually loosening his belt. “My pyaari bitch! You know the drill. Spread your legs, randi. I want to see your pyaasi choot — your thirsty pussy.”

For a second my wife looked defiantly at him. Her eyes shone with anger — was it mock anger, I could not tell — but then she suddenly looked down, ashamed, and unbelievably parted her thighs, standing spread eagled against the wall. In our own house, this was my wife, spreading her long legs for another man. Our lowly guard.

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I almost couldn’t breathe, even though I had seen this sight many a times before. The full realization of what was happening caught in my throat, even as my cock stiffened at the sight of my wife slowly giving in — again — to this low class guard. I made more in a day than what Wasim made in a whole year, yet I watched helplessly as this Muslim man from Hyderabad pressed against my powerless wife’s spread legs, his hands going inside her thong, rubbing against her clit.

Vidya’s eyes were shut. She groaned, her boobs flouncing around helplessly as Wasim roughly fingered her in the pussy. She didn’t want to, but the fingering left her body no choice. She was in the throes of the onset of another orgasm.

“Memsaab.” Wasim sneered. “Looks like your cunt is quite wet for me. Hasn’t your husband been taking care of you, saali?”

Vidya opened her eyes and looked at him. This time I could see that the defiance was real.

“You know very well you and Feroz have been fucking me daily for the last two weeks.” She retorted. “So it’s not a question of my husband’s impotency.”

“Hmm.” Wasim laughed, continuing to finger her. “So you are just a slut and a whore! A bitch whose pussy is wet all the time.”

Humiliated, Vidya did not reply. She could not reply, as what Wasim said was true. Despite being fucked daily by the guards, Vidya’s pussy was now dripping like a faucet. The fact that she was submitting to these lowly men was turning her on. She could not deny it. She was a sex addict — a slut and a nymphomaniac. She also happened to by my wife.

I could see her breath narrowing. She was almost on the verge of an orgasm from all the fingering. Suddenly, without warning, Wasim stopped playing with her twat and withdrew his hand. Vidya’s mouth almost twisted into a pleading “O”. She was on the edge and wanted to cum, but her pride held her back from begging this guard to finish the job. Wasim looked at her, holding out his wet and sticky fingers, grinning.

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“Lick them, memsaab.” He ordered, placing his wet and sticky hand against her lips.

Once again there was a momentary flash of defiance in Vidya’s eyes, before she lowered her gaze and obediently opened her mouth. Happy at how he was bullying my wife into submission, Wasim put each finger into her mouth, one by one, and Vidya dutifully licked off her own love juices off his large hand. He then placed his palm against her cheek and tapped her there.

“Please, Wasim.” Vidya suddenly begged. “Please don’t slap me. Please. I am doing what you are asking me to.”

Was she really begging him for mercy, or did she just say it because Wasim loved to hear a high class respectable housewife beg and plead?

“Vidya. Vidya.” Wasim gently, almost lovingly, caressed my wife’s cheek. “It’s not just the fact that you are doing what I am ordering you to. I have yet to see a proper and obedient attitude from you, do you understand, memsaab? Despite these two weeks of fucking you, you still have a false sense of pride and ego when it comes to us guards.”

Vidya nodded, even as Wasim raised his hand.

“Yes, yes, Wasim.” She said, her eyes watching his raised hand warily. “Please, Wasim, don’t slap me. I will be respectful to you. I am your bitch. Your whore. I am another man’s wife, yet I obediently submit my body to you and your friends, without question, daily. Yet every day I get slapped by you. Please tell me why. I will try to improve. I promise!”

Wasim lowered his hands quickly. Vidya flinched, but Wasim wasn’t going to slap her — he was just pretending to. He was playing with her. He softly touched her cheek as Vidya sharply drew in her breath.

“Don’t worry, memsaab. Today, I won’t slap you. At least, not yet.” He gently stroked her soft, rosy cheeks. With his other hand he unbuckled his belt, and his trousers dropped to the floor. “Where else would I find a bitch like you?! You give me for free what 50-rupee-hookers won’t give for 200 rupees! Now you know what to do, memsaab!”

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Vidya did indeed know what to do. She reached out and pulled down Wasim’s underwear. His hard, monstrous cock sprang out, free from the confines of clothing, and rose like a majestic rider about to mount its steed. My wife.

Wasim was now naked from waist down, his T-shirt partly obscuring his buttocks. Vidya moved her hands expertly over his gigantic cock, rubbing and kneading and stroking him, and in no time at all he was hard — very hard. If Vidya had placed her hand alongside her lover’s penis, I am sure it would reach to her elbow. OK, I am exaggerating, but it seemed big. Wasim glanced at my wife and then snapped his fingers.

Vidya stared back at him — the last time she would look today at him defiantly. Then she just bent down her gaze submissively and lowered her own thong. I could see that despite the rough way Wasim had been treating her, her body was now primed for sex. Her pubic hair glistened with her own wetness, and her nipples were firm and erect, and her areoles big. As she stepped out of her panty, now fully naked except for the half open blouse, Wasim grabbed my beautiful, athletic wife, pinned her against the wall and slammed against her.

“Ooohhh! Ooohhh!” Vidya cried out, as Wasim’s cock found its target, and tunneled its way into her, burying deep inside her. “Oh, Wasim! Oh, Wasim! Gently! Oh, Wasim!”

“You are very quick to take my name.” The muscular guard taunted as he fucked her, grinning as he vigorously moved his hips, his T-shirt flapping with each violent thrust. “Do you take MY name when your husband fucks you too?”

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