My Indian Slut Wife: Indian wife has sex with boss to save husband from trouble

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The picture was one of the sexiest yet classy pictures of Vidya that we had. She was wearing a designer sari, and the pallu was shifted to one side so her bare waist is seen, along with her navel. She was looking very suggestively at the camera, and her mouth was twisted in an ‘O’ moment. In reality, just as her picture was being taken, I had pinched her fleshy buttocks, and the image snapped had her ‘surprised’ look. But here, to a pervert mind like Gaurav’s, it looked like someone had just drilled his huge fuck rod into her, or she was getting ready to orally serve the cameraman. Either way, it was a picture that while classy enough to be on my smart phone, was also sexy enough to tickle Gaurav’s fancy.

Yes, he would come to my house on Sunday. And no, his fiancée would not be able to make it, she’s not really into cricket and would get bored. He examined the picture for a long time, zooming in and out of her face, (“to see if it jogs my memory”, he said) and reluctantly gave me my phone back.

“Thank you, Sir. Your visit to my humble home will only increase our honour.” I exited his office, elated.

I called Vidya immediately and informed her about Gaurav. Then I got to work. Carefully I called a bunch of our suppliers for some equipment. I took off from work early, picked up my merchandise, went home and got to work. I installed a close circuit camera system in my living room (which had the huge television and multiple sofa sets for the viewers) and another in my bed room. I used high definition sound activated cameras that could all be controlled wirelessly from my iPad. Calling upon a lifetime of experience engineering and designing electrical systems, I carefully concealed the multiple cameras behind walls, picture frames, flowerpots and cupboards. We had three days to the weekend, and Vidya and I thoroughly tested the system. I fucked her on the sofa, I slapped her butts, I fucked her at the entrance to the bedoom, I called her a ‘randi’ and ‘chudail’, I fucked her on our marital bed, I made her give me a blow job in the living room — all likely scenarios with my boss — and the cameras recorded all of them perfectly.

On Sunday, Gaurav arrived right on time. I opened the door and welcomed him.

“Welcome, Sir, welcome to my lowly abode.”

“Thank you, Rajesh. Here, I brought something for your lovely wife, since it is my first time here.”

“Why, thank you, Sir!”

It was a little pouch, and I told Gaurav he can give it himself to my wife when he meets her.

It’s easy to see why Gaurav was considered a ladies’ man. He was over six feet tall, easily towering over me. He was built — he went to the gym to lift weights regularly and it showed. He wore clothes that fit him well, and he had the money to splurge on expensive clothes. He had a handsome face, with hair well groomed, and an easy demeanor. He was a little fair skinned for Vidya’s taste (my wife preferred her men darker), but he knew how to lay on the charm when needed.

We went and sat in the living room sofa, and I switched on the TV. Gaurav was uneasy, and he kept looking around.

“Is your beautiful wife not here, Rajesh?” He finally asked me. “I was hoping to meet the two of you.”

You will notice how he was already describing my wife as ‘lovely’ and ‘beautiful’, to my face. He knew I was his boss and I would just accept it and not say anything.

“Yes, sir, she is here. She is getting ready.” I told him, “It is her first time meeting my boss, so I think she wanted to take proper time to look presentable. Why, there she is!”

Both of us turned to see Vidya descend down the stairs. She looked like an Indian man’s wet dream. She wore a low cut blue sleeveless blouse (with noodle straps) that barely contained her breasts. The blouse had a plunging neckline, giving anyone an abundant view of her cleavage. She had chosen a yellow chiffon sari, of thin, translucent material, to complement the blouse, with sequin designer patterns on the border. Her hair was flowing loose to her hips. The pallu of her sari was shifted over to one side, and Vidya had tucked her sari an inch below the navel. This gave a great view of her fleshy, milk white belly. Her large eyes had a look of innocence in them, and a smile was ever present on her thick, luscious, pouting lips. I also knew that Vidya’s undergarments were chosen with great care — underneath her blouse she was wearing a flimsy bra that hardly covered her areoles, while her panty could be best described as a thong. She had gold earrings on, a small bindi on her forehead, and her mangalsutra (a necklace all married women wear in India).

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