Wife Indian wife fucked in Kuwait

[rangeela]

Note - I am not the writer of this story but I have changed the ending.

Kuwait wasn’t what we’d expected. My husband had sold our apartment in Bombay to pay for our passports, visas and airfare. He had paid the most money of all to a recruiting agent, to get a good job as a computer programmer there. But when we arrived, we were told that there was no promise of such a job, only the chance to apply.

Of course Suresh was rejected. I doubt they even looked at his application, they knew from his name that he was just a middle caste **. Good jobs were only given to Westerners or ** men. But by the time all of this was clear, there was no way back; Suresh had quit his safe government job as school teacher. We had no choice but to take whatever jobs we could get.

We ended up as domestic servants for a very wealthy Kuwaiti family. We were lucky in a way; they were good employers, they gave Suresh and I our own room. My new mistress told me that she preferred married couples, since there would be less mischief.

But I was devastated to find myself reduced to such a role; I was from a good family, I had even gone to university [although I didn’t graduate]. A minor scandal when I was 19 had started the chain of events that had turned me into a person so low. A love affair I’d had with a boy. He was in school with me, he was studying to be an engineer. But then his mother arranged for him to marry the daughter of her cousin, and I was left pregnant and disgraced.

Even though we lived in Bombay, and the girls I grew up with were all modern, my family had come from the south, and were very traditional. I had an abortion, and my mother arranged my marriage soon after. Although Suresh was from a slightly lower caste than my family, he was from near our village in Karnataka, and he had a government job. He was willing to marry me [with an adequate dowry, of course] despite my circumstances. We met for the first time only a week before our marriage.

I found my new husband attractive enough, although he was 10 years older than myself; and he treated me quite well. I was relieved that he didn’t want sex straight away. We spent the night in one bed, and he touched me gently for a brief period before we slept. In fact, my husband seduced me nearly as my first lover had. He told me he wanted our relationship to be right; he knew of my shame, but he told me outright that he wouldn’t ever hold it against me. Mistakes are made, he said, lessons are learned.

For my part, I knew I had to please him in return. I surrendered to his advances as soon as was decent, although I had little sexual desire after what I’d gone through. Dutifully, I kissed my new husband, the stranger to whom I was bound for life. I allowed him to undress me, to caress my body. And then he did something that a friend had told me of once; he lowered his head between my legs.

I was shocked; shocked at how pleasant it was. I hadn’t thought I could possibly enjoy myself with a man again, I’d thought my life was over in that regard. But my new husband had learned somewhere how to please a woman, and he spared no effort. It wasn’t really the action of his tongue against me that pleased me so much, although that part was certainly very agreeable. No, it was more; that he treated me with such respect, so much more than I deserved. It was because the act was only to please me; he could have demanded anything of me, and as his wife I would have had to comply; but his first concern was my pleasure, not his own.

I held his thick curly black hair in my hands as his tongue teased me in the most wonderful way; and I knew he was good. I had been lucky, my new husband wanted to be good to me. As I realized this, I felt a hot flush of joy; perhaps my life would be worth living after all. Perhaps there could be love after marriage.

I had known orgasms before, but this one, the first with my husband, was different. It was a good orgasm, a right orgasm. Instead of frightening me, it reassured me. I looked into his clear brown eyes, and I was sure all would be well.

His penis was long, hard, and dark. It entered my young body at last, and he surged forward and back within me, held me tightly in his arms, kissed my face until he made me climax again. It’s hard to describe the joy I felt; my life was not over, my life was just beginning. Yes, in India we do it in reverse order as compared to the West. First marriage, then sex, with love following behind.

My new husband made love with me every night, he told me I was beautiful, he kissed me passionately before leaving for his work. For a couple of years, life was very good. But Suresh wanted more for us; more than our ***** apartment in a poor section of a crowded and polluted city. He wanted to earn enough money so that we could buy a house somewhere better, like Bangalore, or perhaps move back to the small town where he’d grown up and start a business of some kind. I begged him not to give up his good job, but he said we must leave Bombay, as it was just too unhealthy there.

So we found ourselves in Kuwait; I often thought as I cleaned the vast marble floors, of how I once thought I’d have a girl to help with my own domestic work. The first two months were uneventful, as we settled into our new roles. Our culture is very much about accepting whatever circumstances one finds oneself in; but I knew that Suresh was seething inside, he was burning with shame that he had been so stupid as to ruin our prospects. And with anger at the man in Bombay who had duped him.

The next fatal mistake was mine, though. I was cleaning the floor, and I saw 50 Kuwaiti Dinars under a chest of drawers. It was dusty, the note must have been there for weeks; I put it quickly in the end of my sari, sure that no one would miss it. The following day, I found out otherwise.

“Usha. Step in here, please. I want to talk to you.” The voice made me jump; it was Yusuf, the 18 year old son of our employers.

He was the only member of the household that I didn’t like. He had never spoken to me before that, but I often thought he was looking at me. He was speaking to me from the door to his rooms.

“Yes sir?” I said.

“Come in here. I want to show you something.”

He was tall and quite fat. He usually wore western clothes, unlike his father. He never went out during the day, and he had terribly pale skin, and a puffy, unhealthy look to him.

It was the custom of the house that when a servant was in the private rooms of anyone for any reason, the door remained open. Yusuf went inside ahead of me, and sat at his computer screen.

“What’s the meaning of this, Usha?” he asked, waving at the screen.

There was a video image of me finding the note and hiding it in my sari. My heart fell through the floor as I watched it repeating automatically.

“If I show this to my mother, you will be fired immediately.” He said, “And if I show it to my father, you’ll be arrested.”

He leaned back in his chair and smirked up at me triumphantly. I felt dizzy and I couldn’t find breath to speak.

“What do you think I should do, Usha?” he asked.

“Don’t...” I whispered, “Don’t show it to them, please, please don’t show it! I’ll give it back, I didn’t mean to take it.”

“Of course you did, don’t be stupid,” he said as his eyes travelled lazily from my face to my feet and back again. “Why do you always wear that stupid sari, anyway? You could be hiding anything in there. Go and close the door.”

Instead of closing it, I left through it quickly. I found my husband in the garage, polishing Yusuf’s big car. I told him what had happened.

“I had a bad feeling about that money from the first time you told me.” He said.

“What will we do?” I asked in terror.

My husband frowned in concentration, “We must go and talk to him, and see if we can work this out. Obviously, he left that money there intentionally, and trained the camera at the spot.”

“But it’s not clear what he wants!”

“I know, Usha; but he might be a bit more reasonable with your husband.”

I was thrilled with my husband’s bravery in the face of confrontation. Together, we went to Yusuf’s rooms. The door was open. The boy was inside at his computer. He looked angry as we entered, and Suresh closed the door behind us.

“Please sir,” Suresh said to him, putting the 50 Dinars on the desk, “Do not be too angry with my wife, she had intended to return the money to your mother, but she just forgot.”

Yusuf swept the precious note from the table with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“It’s too late now. Your wife is a thief.”

There was a silence so thick, it would have caught a running buffalo. We all knew what this was about; we all suspected what Yusuf wanted in return for keeping this matter to himself. Suresh would never suggest it though, he’d rather die. And Yusuf himself lacked the courage.

“Suresh, we know what he wants,” I said in Hindi [Suresh and I normally spoke together in English, since I didn’t know the language of my parents, but we both spoke Hindi as well].

“Yes, but we must think of some other way to appease him.” Suresh answered.

“There is no other way.” I said.

He looked at me in real shock, uncharacteristically lost for words.

“It isn’t as though I were a virgin when we married; you have also been with others. And I am taking my contraceptive pills very regularly, so there isn’t any danger of that sort.”

“But what if he were to hurt you? I don’t trust him at all.”

“You could be here in this room, and you would hear me if I shouted.”

My poor husband was in a lot of conflict, I could see that on his face. He had been so proud before, and now we were reduced to the ultimate humility and shame. I wondered if Suresh would be able to accept that this was who we were now, penniless servants in a foreign land, at the mercy of our betters.

“No one will ever know.” I told my husband; “No one here knows us, and when we do finally return home, no one will know what happened here.”

“Very well.” He said. “But you must speak something from time to time so that I know what’s happening in here, and that you are okay.”

I looked at Yusuf, and then slowly walked into his bedroom. I stood inside the doorway and looked at him again, my heart burning with shame in my chest. He looked at Suresh, who looked away in shame. Yusuf stood, and came in with me. He threw the door closed behind him, separating us from my sorry husband.

I was literally shivering; I was trying to be brave, but I was petrified, I wasn’t really sure of what was to follow. As I’ve already said, I wasn’t of unspoiled virtue before that. He was large, but just a boy. He was frustrated and desperate to know the pleasure of a woman, but he was stuck is his strict world, at least until he would be sent off to school in America. He looked as nervous as I was.

“Usha, I...” he wanted to say something, but didn’t know what.

“It’s all right, Yusuf.” I said, “I understand.”

I took a step towards him, and he took one towards me. He put his big arms around me, and I felt so small against his bulk as he held me against himself. I looked up at him, his big child-like face, so desperate for some sign of approval. I felt sorry for him suddenly, that he would have to stoop so low. He also had his pride. He was a person who appeared to have everything; yet he was missing something vital that even his mother’s servants had - love and sex.

I had no intention of giving him love, and I had no time for even companionship. But I had agreed to sex, so there was no point in making him suffer. I steeled myself, searching for the strength to do what I had to do. I put my arms around his neck, and I kissed him on his mouth. Perhaps I should mention that in my home country as well as in Kuwait, a woman kissing a man who was not her husband was an extremely outrageous act. Not to mention a servant kissing her employer’s son.

I felt a moment of panic; he was very big and strong compared to me, and he was holding my body in a crushing embrace. His lips were all over my mouth, his wispy moustache tickled my lips and my nose. But the panic eased after a minute, and I realized that I was ok. It would be over soon, I told myself, and Suresh and I could start working on putting it all behind us.

I tugged at my bulky lover’s white cotton shirt, and pulled it over his head. He began to unwind my sari. I released my hair from the bun it was normally rolled into, so that it fell around my shoulders, proud and black. We south Indian women do not normally let our hair be seen except by our close families. We take huge pride in our hair, the longer and thicker, the better. My hair was to my narrow hips, and when open it fanned out in a great jungle of gleaming black.

The young man looked at me with such admiration, such total desire, that I almost felt pride; yes, I was poor, my circumstances were the epitome of wretchedness. But I was also a beautiful woman. I pulled open the knot on the drawstring of his light trousers, and eased the waistband open before dropping it over his big chubby behind. His penis was hard already, but constrained by his underwear. The head protruded through the left leg hole, strapped by it alongside his pale thigh. Gently, I eased his underwear down, freeing it.

I was young, just 23 years old, but I had plenty of experience while, I was sure, he had none. In this ultra-repressed society, where men and women didn’t even speak to each other, my culture seemed permissive. Yusuf’s manhood bounced upward, bobbing playfully straight out in front of him, pulsing with youth and excitement. I looked at it silently for a moment; there it was, the male organ. It was big and pale, yet fundamentally no different from those that I had known before.

To be continued

[rangeela]

I was a married woman, five years older than this chubby teenager. I had no need to fear the penis, I told myself, it couldn’t harm me. I wrapped both my hands around it. It was very large, larger than either Suresh or my lover from school possessed. It frightened me to think about what I was about to endure, so I tried not to think about it. I looked up at his face, and he was staring back at me in sheer bliss. For a moment, I found myself thinking that perhaps it was a good thing I was doing; then I pushed the idea from my mind. He had blackmailed me into doing this, I was married to a good and loving man.

Yusuf put his big hands under my armpits, and lifted me from the floor, out of the folds of my fallen sari. He sat me down on his bed. I thought of Suresh as I removed my underwear; how he must be suffering outside the room! The boy laid down beside me, and I took his big penis in my hands again. I thought of how some of my school friends used to talk; going on about the size of boys’ cocks, as if it was all that mattered to them. I wondered how it would feel inside me, if a large organ would be as pleasant as they’d all seemed to think it would be.

Yusuf fondled my big brown breasts clumsily.

“Be careful, Yusuf.” I told him, “They’re very sensitive.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He said, releasing them.

“It’s okay to touch them, just be gentle.” I told him.

He did as I said, stroking my breasts in a nice way. I have luscious breasts, I’ve always been quite proud of them. They hang a little bit low when they’re left to their own devices, but they’re very large compared to my small body. Yusuf’s penis was hot and hard in my hands as he caressed them with his fingertips and his lips. He was so eager, so young, so big and pale; I sensed a vulnerability in him, he was part child and part man.

I was worried I might be dry between my legs, so I took him in my mouth for a moment, just to wet him; then I pulled him towards me, and he took my hint; he got between my outstretched thighs, as I held the big cock against my opening; he pushed eagerly, and I felt my flesh opening to accommodate his young penis. I remained composed on the surface, but inside myself I was filled with shame and fear. The big penis penetrated an inch or two, until it was stopped by a lack of lubrication.

“Stop, Yusuf.” I whispered, “You have to pull out a little bit, then you can go deeper.”

“Oh, okay.” He said. He did as I instructed, and soon he was doing well. He worked himself deeper, and deeper; I was sure that there must be no more, but there was still another inch to go. Finally, he was in all the way; I felt crushed by his bulk above me, while bloated by his large appendage inside me. I felt like a goat that was being mounted by a horse; this creature was from another species, I thought, a huge meat-eating species.

Most of his weight was actually on his elbows, I realized, it was just his fat belly that was actually resting on me. I inhaled successfully, suddenly remembering to breath. The big cock was pulled from me, it slithered out, then smoothly slid back in, filling my entire lower body with a strange warm feeling. Once, twice more, and then he groaned involuntarily, and stiffened. His big hands clutched my shoulders as he began to ejaculate inside me.

I could feel the hot powerful pulses of fluid, shooting and shooting. I was beginning to wonder if it would ever end, when he was finally exhausted. I looked into his eyes, curious as to what I might see there. He was smiling quite happily down at me.

I was suddenly angry; I didn’t know why at the time, and I had enough reasons to be anyway. But later, I realized that I was no longer angry with the boy for the way he had compromised me into what I did; I was angry with him only because he came too soon.

I didn’t want to talk about it, but Suresh did.

“Was it very terrible?” he asked me.

“It was nothing, it is unimportant. It’s over now, so let’s just forget about it.”

“Something like that cannot be forgotten easily, Usha. Did he hurt you?”

“No, he didn’t hurt me. He’s just a boy, Suresh, I think he’s harmless.”

“I don’t. He has some very strange programs in his computer.”

“You looked in his computer?”

“Of course. In his haste to abuse you, he forgot to shut it down. He had several programs that can only be used for...”

“I don’t believe that while your wife was being abused, you were playing with his computer outside!”

I felt somehow betrayed; in my mind, I knew that I had agreed to the act, and that the alternative would probably have been much worse. But in my heart, I burned with shame, frustration, and resentment.

I avoided Yusuf after that, but a few days later, he came looking for me. Suresh and I were both in our room, and Yusuf walked straight in without even knocking.

“Oh, there you are. Shouldn’t you both be working?” he asked neutrally.

“It is our break time, sir.” Suresh told him.

“Fine, whatever. I want Usha to come to my room.”

We both stared at him in silence for a moment.

“But I did what you asked of me already!” I complained.

“And I want you to do it again.” The young master said, “Unless you want me to show my little video to my mother.”

“Please, Yusuf; don’t make me do it. I’m a married woman.”

“Oh alright! Your husband can be outside like before. Come within 10 minutes.” He left us, returning to his own part of the house.

“What shall we do?” I asked my husband desperately.

“We haven’t got a choice.” He answered with a scowl.

“You mean you agree? We should just... I should let him... have sex with me?”

“That or we must leave here. But I’m afraid that if we leave, he will take some kind of revenge on us. He can get you arrested.”

“But if we let this go on, how will it ever end?”

“You must soften his heart a little bit; soon, he will start to love you, at least a little bit. Then you can ask him to let us leave peacefully.”

Suresh’s plan made me angry; just surrender to Yusuf’s base desires like a whore? Was that all my husband thought I was worth?

“What’s the difference now?” Suresh asked, breaking into my thoughts, “You have already been with him once.”

It was mid-afternoon, and the big house was practically deserted as we walked to Yussef’s quarters.

“What’s the name of his cat?” Suresh asked.

“Yasser. Why?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter.” He said.

I was seething inside at his flippant attitude, but I remained calm on the surface, trying to figure out what my own true feelings of it all were.

Yusuf whisked me straight into the bedroom, leaving Suresh in the outer room like before.

“Usha, I’m so glad you’ve come.” He said, crushing me into his fleshy self again. I could feel his big cock growing against my leg.

Still standing, he took my head and began to kiss my mouth. It didn’t bother me as much as it did the first time. I guess I was already getting used to it. I didn’t fight him, I just surrendered to his power. I opened my lips as his tongue felt around inside my mouth. I felt quite helpless in his grip, like a leaf in a storm. He was so rich, so big, so strong. He was just a boy, I reminded myself; then why did I feel all warm between my legs? I refused to face the notion that I might actually be enjoying this perversion, at least a little.

In my reduced circumstances, in my helplessness, he provided me with a slight power. The power of a woman over her lover. Yusuf removed my sari and blouse without much delay. He unhooked my bra, and fondled my breasts roughly as he kissed me continuously. In a way, I was flattered; he was very passionate, I found myself thinking. My ass felt as big as a peanut in his big hands as he heaved me off my feet and onto his waiting bed.

I pulled the string of his trousers and removed them for him. He smiled down at me with such pure delight, that I had trouble staying cross with him. Yes, it was evil of him to make me do this, but I understood in a way. And I couldn’t help but be flattered at his intense desire for me. He laid his huge pale body on the bed next to me. I let my hand trace across the mound of his inflated stomach, to his much more attractive inflated penis. His hand moved across my body as I fondled him.

I climbed on top of him, so that he wouldn’t get on top of me. I felt better up there than beneath him. I kissed his cock; it really was impressive, it was so hard and strong, so unlike the rest of him. It was long and thick, and very fair; nearly white. My hands looked very dark against it. I swung my leg over his face, and pushed my groin to his mouth. Make him work, I thought. I felt his hands on my ass again, I felt his thumbs pull me open as he pulled me against his lips.

A powerful hot wave passed the length of my torso as his wealthy young tongue swept up my vagina; it had been obvious that he was about to do that, but I was somehow surprised. He pulled my body back and forth, racking my groin over his mouth as he made a meal of me. There was no way to deny the fact to myself anymore; I didn’t want to be here, I didn’t want the shame, the risks, or the complications. But I was here, the boy-master’s tongue was licking my box, and it felt good.

Then I saw Suresh; peeking! He was lurking behind the open door, peering through the crack between the hinges. I looked right into his eyes, and slowly lowered my mouth over the big white cock in my hands. I hummed in pleasure as I sucked it in, ran my tongue over it, and tickled Yusuf’s balls. I thought, ‘feel the pain for yourself, my dear husband as I enjoy my disgrace; because you are also part of this.’

The tongue in my vagina wasn’t very sure of what it should be doing, but it was doing quite well nonetheless. My pleasure was not feigned, it was quite genuine. I sucked my lover’s cock joyfully as I watched my poor husband’s torment.

The boy’s big hard penis in my mouth pleased me more as I realized that I was in control; I hadn’t instigated this, but for that moment, I was doing what I wanted. I pushed my groin willfully across the mouth between my brown thighs. This was all Suresh’s fault actually, I realized. He had sold our things, given up our position in Bombay. He had made the decisions that had landed us here, working as servants. He had surrendered me to Yusuf, he had surrendered my honour in return for keeping our humiliating jobs. Now he sould suffer for it; he could watch as I pleasured another male; as I took my own pleasure, too.

I rolled the hot wet cock over my face, feeling it pulse with energy, on the very edge of release. I wasn’t afraid of it anymore. I looked forward to it this time, I was willing to drink his come, something Suresh had taught me to enjoy. But instead, I lifted my small body from Yusuf’s massive one, and rolled onto my back. I spread my legs wide in invitation.

“You can mount me now,” I said.

The sound of my own voice sent a thrill through me; I’d never said anything like that in my life, and the knowledge that my husband could hear my lewd request made me strangely wild at heart.

“I am ready to feel you inside me again.” I said, experimenting further with this new game. Yusuf’s mass loomed above me, his young hot cock bouncing against my thighs. I took it in my hand again, holding it at the right place.

“Give it to me.” I told him, “Push it in, Yusuf! Yes, yes it feels good; you’re so big, so very big!”

Of course I couldn’t see my husband from that position, but I knew he was still there. I would teach him to surrender his wife to another; and then even have the indecency to watch!

Yusuf pushed his enormous length all the way inside me, filling me once again with his adolescent heat. He began to pump me vigorously, his huge body riding up and down against me, blotting out all other sensation except for the wonderful penetration, that magnificent cock of his entering and leaving my small thin body. I expected him to come immediately, like he had the first time; but he didn’t.

“Give it to me, Yusuf, do me! Harder, hit me harder.” I said the words just for themselves, but he responded by doing what I’d asked, the force of his thrusts lifting my ass from the bed at the end of each long fast stroke.

Then I knew I was going to come. I hadn’t really considered that Yusuf might do that to me; I was enjoying what we were doing, I was enjoying my small slice of self-determination. But I hadn’t considered the possibility that I might actually achieve orgasm with this fat child pushing me into the mattress. There was something more serious about that, it was farther than I’d intended to go.

But it was too late to do anything about it. It hit me like a truck, overwhelming my feeble ego in a great rush of primal joy, the animal inside my pretensions leaping out to claim its prize. I noticed that I was groaning and crying in an obvious way, but I didn’t care. I felt my chubby lover stiffen, and I felt his sweet hot jism blasting into me for the second time, filling my small body with his wealthy Kuwaiti seed.

I looked up into his young face; the sparse black hairs on his upper lip looked sweet somehow, instead of silly as they did before.

“It seemed different this time.” He said.

“You made me come.” I told him, unsure and uncaring whether Suresh could hear me.

“It was Suresh being there, watching us.” Yusuf said, “It put me off and delayed my ejaculation.”

My husband and I snuck back to the servant’s area quickly, before the afternoon siesta ended and the house became busy again.

To be continued

[rangeela]

I didn’t want sex with my husband after that but Suresh insisted; he said he needed it. I am a creature of my culture; I could not refuse my husband. I had found Suresh so attractive before, but now he seemed somehow ineffective. It wasn’t because he was small, or dark, or had a smaller penis. It was because he had surrendered us both; and for so little, too.

Yusuf was the man I kept thinking of. I knew I could never be his wife, high-class Kuwaitis do not marry cleaning women, especially ones with pre-existing husbands. But I fantasized of being his mistress; I would serve him, make his food, suck his dick, and sleep with him in his large air-conditioned room. I would devote myself to him, his eventual wife, the children they would have. I would be loyal, cared for, and happy.

In reality, I had to scrub the kitchen floor that afternoon, sweating in the oppressive heat, on my hands and knees as I felt the mixture of my husband’s and Yusuf’s slime slowly oozing out of my body.

Every afternoon thereafter, Yusuf demanded sex; he was just a boy, he needed to release himself constantly. And Suresh would always be there, around the corner. He had to be, since if I was caught alone with Yusuf, there would be trouble. And every afternoon, my young master made me come; he loved my orgasms, he worked hard to please me, fucking me hard with his big pale penis, pushing my ***** body deep into his soft mattress with his exciting but corrupt power.

One day about two weeks after I began having sex with Yusuf, I was instructed to help Kia clean the master’s rooms. Kia was a young Korean maid who didn’t seem to do much. I was surprised that the door was locked, and more surprised that Kia had a key. After we entered, she locked the door again behind us. I looked at her inquiringly.

“Normally, our master works in the ministry building.” She told me, “But sometimes he works at home in his office here. He insists that the door always be locked, for security. I'm the only one on the staff allowed to have a key.”

She seemed proud of her trusted status; I have to admit, I was more than slightly impressed. She was quite young to have such responsibility. I was to help her with this task daily. But a couple of days later, I was a bit shocked to find that the Master was there when we arrived to clean; he smiled at us from his desk, and waved at us to get on with it. It wasn’t normal for female staff to be locked in a section of the house with a male.

I tried to concentrate on my work, but somehow I could feel the man’s eyes on me the whole time; I was extremely conscious of the locked door, even though my Korean friend was with me.

“You there; what’s your name?” he said suddenly.

“Ushi, sir.” I told him.

“Ushi, don’t forget to clean under my desk.”

“Yes sir.” I said to him, and went there with my brush and dustpan.

“Get right in the back, Ushi.” He told me.

My heart was pounding in my ears; he was standing too close, and I knew instinctively that he wanted more than cleaning. I didn’t yet know how much more. There was no option but to obey him; this was Kuwait, he was the master of the house and a minister in the government. People could be taken away, never to be seen again, at the wave of his hand.

I crawled under the desk, keeping myself as small as possible so that he wouldn’t find it too easy to molest me while I was helpless; but as I turned around, I nearly collided with his exposed penis.

I looked up at him in horror; he smiled down at me and put his hand on my head so that I wouldn’t be able to stand if I’d tried.

“Clean this for me, Ushi.” He instructed me, waving his rubbery organ in front of my face.

“Please sir, I’m a married woman.” I pleaded, horrified.

“I know that, girl. So you must have done this before! Why do you think you were hired to work in my house? You and your husband, with no experience, at generous wages? Because I told the agent to get me an attractive married girl with a husband.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just open your mouth, girl!” he ordered, loosing his patience.

I could see no way out; He was too strong, I was too weak.

It’s the nature of things that women of my culture, brought up from an early age to obey their parents, their superiors, and especially men, get abused. Our culture was developed in a rural setting of large households, and is simply not suited for the modern world where we work in stranger’s houses.

With a feeling of doom falling across me, I did as he’d said, and was rewarded by his penis being pushed into my face.

Mahon was a thin man, and fairly tall. He had never spoken to me before, had never even acknowledged my existence. Like all the staff, I was very afraid of him.

The old man’s cock stiffened in my mouth. It was fairly large, but not as big as his son’s eager young organ.

“Look at me, woman.” He said. “Look at me when you suck me.”

I looked up; he looked back at me sternly, but with a measure of approval. I reached for his balls and stroked them as I did my best to please him, knowing that anyway there was only one way this could end.

He had slate grey hair and deep set smoldering eyes. He had a moustache, a huge hooked nose, and a small pointed beard. He was about 60 years old, I guessed.

“You have beautiful eyes, Ushi.” He told me. “I like that in Indian girls. Big brown eyes.”

His compliment didn’t go very far towards making me feel better. It wasn't that I was unfamiliar with this activity; sometimes, I even enjoyed it. But it isn't something one does as part of one's job, except for prostitutes of course. It was the humiliation that was so horrifying, the meaning of this activity that was so frightening. Now that it had begun, I knew that it would continue. From the first second his cock was in my mouth, I knew it would be there on a regular basis for as long as we were working in his house. The fearsome old man grinned down at me, enjoying my shame.

He moved his hips forward and back, penetrating my face with his stiff old cock. I sucked and stroked him, so as to get him done as soon as possible. His penis was the same as that of his son, or my husband, in my mouth; yet I knew that it was a terrible thing I was being subjected to, and that it was surely just the beginning.

After a while, he grunted and came in my mouth. His hot semen didn’t taste bad, yet it was horrible. He was my young lover’s father! When he was done, he lifted me to my feet, and stroked my throat with his finger until I swallowed. Then he smiled at me.

“You’re a good maid, Ushi. Run along now.” He said to me, slapping my rear for emphasis.

Kia was standing stiffly at the door, waiting for me expressionlessly. She unlocked it, and we went back towards the kitchen in silence.

I couldn't sleep that night. I was sweating under my thin sheet, although the night was not particularly hot. I could still feel Mahon's cock in my mouth, I could still taste what he'd deposited there. I could still feel the sinking of my heart.

I had no control over my own life, no self-determination at all. I never had. I was born a girl in India, I had grown up to obey. I had been taught from the day I was born to do as told; I went to school, I did my housework, I helped my mother. When told to marry, I did. I couldn’t have refused, but he seemed a good match. Suresh didn't expect too much dowry, and he had a government job. I had followed him blindly, allowed him to make the disastrous decisions that had landed us here.

Yusuf had blackmailed me, and my husband had done nothing to stop me from being dishonoured. I had allowed myself to be used, I had even convinced myself that I didn't mind. I’d even made myself believe that I liked doing it with Yusuf, to cover the shame and hurt of being used that way.

It would be much harder to convince myself to enjoy servicing his father as well.

Early the next morning, I made my first small act of defiance; when Suresh wanted to make love with me, I told him “No”.

It felt good, this ***** little act of will. I would have preferred to refuse to Kuwaiti men, but I didn't dare.

Not long after that, my husband got a chance to advance himself. My mistress, Yusuf’s mother, was shouting at her computer.

“My husband could fix that for you.” I offered her.

“Really?” she asked doubtfully, “He knows about these things?”

“Oh yes, madam, Suresh is very clever.”

“All right, send him up here.” She said.

Her name was Khadija. She was very pleased with him afterwards, and Suresh started spending an hour or two with her every day, to teach her to use her computer better. It eased my husband’s humour, since he got to spend a few of the hot hours of the day in the air-conditioned part of the house.

A few days after that when Kia told me it was time to help her in cleaning the Master’s rooms again, I knew that the Master (a minister in the govt) was in. Everyone knew when the Minister was in, because he never left the house without a motorcade of bodyguards and police.

“Please Kia, I don’t want to today. Can’t you find someone else?” I pleaded with her.

“He asked for you specifically.” She told me. “You and me, Ushi, that’s what he wants.”

My companion looked at me expressionlessly, waiting.

“He isn’t so bad once you get to know him.” She told me in a soft voice as we walked towards our master’s office. “Sometimes he gives presents.”

“Ah, my lovely young maids.” Mahon said as we entered. “Lock the door and get undressed.”

It was early in the day, and I hadn’t yet had my rendezvous with Yusuf. I shuddered in terrible apprehension, but was more afraid of defying him than of anything he might want sexually. I removed my sari.

My master looked me up and down as he circled me like an animal about to make a kill. He reached out a hand, and brushed it across my naked body; my shoulders first, then my hips, back, ass, and finally my large firm breasts. He stood very close to me and pinched my nipple lightly. He put his arms around me and kissed me on the mouth.

His strong body, holding me helplessly as his old lips held my powerless mouth, gave rise to a feeling of panic within me. Nonetheless, I stood still as he took advantage of me.

The old man looked down at me, still holding me against himself. His hands were soft and warm on my naked back. My heart was pounding loudly and I felt a burning shame.

“Ushi, my lovely new maid.” He said, smiling, before kissing me again. “What a lovely body you have, such a figure! Your breasts are much bigger than Kia’s.”

But his compliments only alarmed me. His desire wasn’t something I was happy about. I didn't know what I could possibly do; if I refused him, my husband and myself would be out of work and penniless in this unfriendly and very expensive country.

Mahon was extremely powerful, and the thought of him being angry with me turned my legs to jelly. All I had to do was surrender; to allow him to take his pleasure. Everything would be all right, we could save our money and go back to Bombay very soon. I didn't have to tell Suresh, or Yusuf. Nobody needed to know of the terrible shame I was being subjected to, forced to have sex with the old man, the father of my lover.

My employer squeezed my ass and stroked my back as we kissed, crushing my breasts against himself standing in the middle of his cool office. He reached for my hair, and freed it from the tight bun it was normally wound into. Then he released me, and embraced my Korean friend.

Kia was also completely naked, and I realized that of course she was his mistress. She was very beautiful, with perfect pale skin and lustrous straight black hair even longer and thicker than mine. She was in her early twenties, perhaps even younger.

To be continued

[rangeela]

She didn't merely stand passively as I had; her hands stroked his neck, she appeared to be clutching him tightly. I wondered if she really liked him, if it was possible that she actually enjoyed his lust; more likely she had simply learned that it was better to please him than not.

Mahon removed his clothes with Kia's help. They were clearly very familiar with each other. The man kept looking at me though, as if enjoying my discomfort.

Kia sat on the sofa, and Mahon gestured for me to sit beside her. I watched as he placed his penis against her lips, and then slid the entire length easily into her mouth. I didn't quite understand where it had gone, and Kia didn't seem at all distressed. In fact, she put her hands on his ass and held him there for a moment, as if striving to get more. He pulled his organ out of her, and stepped sideways so that he was in front of me. He took my head in his hands and slid his stiff dick into my mouth. He smiled down at me, he laughed. Kia stood up beside him.

I tried to do what my friend had done, but I couldn't. I couldn't fit more than half of him in my mouth without gagging. I was afraid he would be angry at my inadequacy, but he didn’t seem to take much notice. As I said, he was a man so powerful, of a status so much higher than mine, that he was nearly a god before me. And yet in my mouth, his penis was no more terrible than that of normal men. It was warm and alive, manly and powerful, yet vulnerable. His balls hung lower than that of my younger lover, but were just as soft, equally strange and alluring in my hand.

As he'd instructed me before, I watched his face while I did it, even though he didn't seem to be taking much notice of me, since he was kissing with Kia, while holding her around her ***** waist.

The phone rang, and he released her while he answered it. He seemed little bit angry at whatever was being said; of course he spoke in Arabic, so I had no idea what the conversation was about. He kept his hand on the back of my head though, so I continued at my work.

He sat down in his chair, still talking. His cock softened before the conversation ended and he hung up, even though I was doing my very best to keep it fully aroused the whole time.

Mahon stood, pulling his dick from my mouth.

“I hate it when I'm interrupted like that.” He said angrily, “Get up on the desk, Ushi.”

He sat me on the edge of his desk, and then pushed me down onto my back. He opened two drawers, one on each side, and set my feet on them so that my knees were spread.

There was no mistaking what was about to happen. I might dare to refuse my husband, but I definitely did not dare refuse Mahon.

I closed my eyes, and waited for it. It didn't happen immediately.

“Here Kia, you lie on top.” He instructed. I opened my eyes again, as the lovely Korean girl climbed on top of me.

She settled her naked body over mine, face to face. Her small pale breasts were against my huge dark ones, I was staring straight into her dark slanted eyes. Her thick black hair fell across my face. I could feel our master's thighs between my legs, but it wasn't me he was penetrating; not at first. I put my arms around Kia to steady her, and she put her cheek against my face and held my head in her hands while our master had his way with her.

Her firm young body was being pushed repeatedly against me, her small pointed breasts against my bigger softer ones. It was very odd, yet I didn’t mind her naked skin against me very much. She had no more choice in this than I did.

After a short time, I was aware of him pulling out of her, I felt his organ pressing against my center. I opened my eyes, watching his face as he pushed his hot wet penis into my helpless body.

It wasn't any worse than what I had already endured. At least I was comfortable, and was sharing the burden with Kia. His cock filled my lower cavity, feeling oddly familiar there, as if I’d known him before.

As the old penis worked against me, my comrade lifted her head so as to look into my face again. It was a relief, since she blocked my view of the man who was exploiting my body for his pleasure.

Her hands were very soft against my face, her eyes were soft too. I wondered why Mahon wanted me, when Kia was so much more beautiful.

As the incessant pounding at my groin continued, Kia slowly lowered her head again; but she kept it centered over mine this time. She lowered her head, until our lips came together.

I felt very confused, I didn't know whether this was good or bad. There was nothing I could really do, as usual I felt I had no power to influence events. I felt that Kia was my friend, the only person who knew what was happening to me in this part of the house. She was also being exploited, although she seemed to be less distressed about that than I was.

And unlike my Kuwaiti lovers, she was both beautiful and young. Her skin was smooth as silk, her complexion flawless, her mouth fresh. Her hair, so wonderfully black, straight, and long fell across the two of us.

Strange mixtures of emotions were stirring in my body, attraction and revulsion, shame and ... lust.

An odd feeling grew inside me, so out of place that I didn't recognize it at first. It was arousal, sexual excitement. The girl in my arms, the penis in my vagina, the hands on my face, the soft pliant tongue in my mouth. The sensations swirled together in my brain, pressing strange buttons and pulling strange levers.

I had kissed a girl once, before I’d ever kissed a boy. It had made us both laugh. But this was different, this girl was naked against me, she was kissing my mouth with an incredible soft passion that only a girl could have.

And then the orgasm came.

My orgasm!

I didn't know whether I should feel shame or satisfaction, or both. Involuntarily, my legs lifted up and wrapped themselves around the body of the powerful old man who was thrusting insistently into my middle. He stiffened, and I felt his fluids pumping into my body as right and wrong crashed down around me, as I heard myself groan and felt myself grasp my two lovers tightly with all my four limbs, my vagina, and my mouth.

The beautiful Kia smiled at me contentedly.

Afterwards, Kia and I scrubbed the floors, made his bed, and cleaned the bathroom, while the important minister returned his attention to his paperwork.

The same day after lunch, while the rest of the staff took their afternoon break, Suresh escorted me to Yusuf's apartment. I felt as if I was walking with a stranger, not the man I had married. What kind of a husband was he? What kind of a husband would stand by while his wife was used for the pleasure of another man?

The chubby young Kuwaiti smiled at me happily as we entered. He took me in his arms and kissed me as my husband locked the door behind us.

Somehow, it was different with Yusuf. There was a childish joy to him, a happy exuberance. It was his adolescent energy, the eagerness of youth. He seemed innocent some how, he didn't see me as just one in a line of many servant girls. I was special to him. I didn't look back as he took me by the hand and led me into his bedroom.

As we rolled on the bed, laughing and kissing each other, I pushed from my mind the events of the morning. I indulged myself, allowed myself to simply enjoy the attention of this eager young man, this mountainous boy.

His mouth was sweet, his hands so eager to touch me. The fine thin hairs on his upper lip seemed so cute, like a doll. I lay back, spreading my legs for him. I looked into his happy face as he pushed his hot young cock inside my body.

I wondered how something so wrong could feel so right, how something so bad could feel so good. I was crushed into the mattress under his formidable weight, his cock filled my passage with an equal pressure.

He was so big, his skin pale and plentiful, his penis big and hard, he was strong and wanted to please me. I guided his movements with my hands, and Yusuf responded perfectly to my wishes, allowing me to teach him, to guide him. With Yusuf, I was the elder.

Despite the air-conditioning, it was hot; the young man screwed me well, skillfully employing his big penis, bringing me to a satisfying climax before ejaculating himself.

We lay still together for a short time afterwards, side-by-side. He stroked my small body and smiled at me. I kissed him. I wondered what would be the consequences of these things, certain that they wouldn't be good.

The next week or two were very stressful. Aside from my normal work, I was having to satisfy Yusuf every day and his father every second or third day.

I often enjoyed myself with Yusuf, but I felt he wanted more than I could give. Finally, I found the courage to suggest to him that every day was simply too much for me.

“Is it because of your duties?” He asked.

“Yes... I just have too much to do.” I said, looking away.

“It's alright, Usha.” He said quietly. “I understand.”

Things were easier after that.

As I got more used to my situation, I even found myself beginning to enjoy the attention of the minister. He always complimented my appearance, and although I tried to hate him for what he was doing, I felt flattered the man so powerful and wealthy would choose me.

The two men, father and son, couldn't have been more different in their desires. Yusuf was uncomplicated, he simply liked to run his hands over my naked body, kiss me and hold me close for a while, then have energetic normal sex until we were both satisfied.

His father, in contrast, had more sophisticated tastes. He liked Kia and I to dress in exotic outfits and walk around the room while he finished whatever he was doing. We always changed into some exotic clothes and then applied makeup and perfume as soon as we entered his office area, but of course removed it all again before leaving.

He liked to touch us both at once; for instance he liked to hold my face and kiss me while his penis was inside Kia, or to fondle my breasts while he kissed her. He liked us both to massage him at once, his naked back and legs first, then his penis and scrotum.

Mahon liked to sit back in a comfortable chair, dressed in only a cotton shirt, and have me climb onto his lap. He would hold my breasts in his hands, my brown flesh bulging between his fingers as I leaned back against him. Then Kia would hold his cock in the right position so that I could lower myself over it. And then he would like to just stay like that for a while, stroking my stomach, breasts, and throat while his old penis stood hard and proud within me.

Kia would stand next to us, so that our master could stroke her small naked ass or kiss her if he wished. He would drink some wine [much more forbidden there than pleasuring oneself with the serving girls], and tell us stories. I liked it when he told us stories, it proved that he cared about us somehow, that he wanted us to like him and that he wanted to impress us.

Sometimes, he'd feed me little pieces of chocolate. Then he would kiss me, so that he could taste it in my mouth. I’d relax against him, feeling temporarily comfortable in his exotic affection; as long as his cock was hard inside me, I was somehow safe, no harm could come to me. I'd squirm a little bit every now and then, to keep his penis stiff inside my body, and sometimes Kia would put her head between his thighs and lick his balls. Sometimes, her tongue would slide a little higher, and she would lick me, making me jump and squirm around even more.

Mahon would hold me tightly and laugh. More than once, he told Kia to lick me until I came that way, as his old penis stood still inside me. The old man liked it when I came, and would do his best to bring me to climax.

He had a bed in a small room, and he did his best to make me comfortable. He’d kiss me for a long time, until I relaxed; Kia would lick my vagina [Mahon never did that himself]. Then he would penetrate, taking position above usually.

I felt so small, so helpless; Mahon’s power and status was overwhelming, his cock was hard and insistent inside me. Yet, I knew that he cherished me, at least a little bit. That he enjoyed making this powerless little Indian maid come meant that my pleasure had meaning for him. And there was a little bit of satisfaction available from that for me.

He enjoyed watching Kia and I embrace each other and kiss. It always made me feel strange when we did that, I couldn’t decide if I liked it or not. Our master loved to stack us on top of each other, usually on his bed, and then have us share his penis between our mouths or between our legs.

Usually, a session with Mahon would be at least an hour, sometimes two. He was a man who had learned to prolong his pleasure, and to savor every moment of it. When he would finally come, the quantity would be plentiful, and deposited deep inside one or the other of us.

But Kia almost never had orgasms; she came only once or twice in all those months, when kissing me while I masturbated her, and without Mohan touching us [he was watching]. She tried to hide it, but I could see she was a sad person, trapped in this golden cage, a victim of her own beauty.

Of course Mahon’s wife wasn’t supposed to know, so when he was through with us we still had to clean and polish everywhere as usual.

To be continued

[rangeela]

“What kinds of things does my father tell you?” Yusuf asked me one afternoon as we lay together while the sweat slowly evaporated from our bodies.

“Different things.” I said.

“Does he tell you about his work?”

“Sometimes.”

“He never tells me anything.” Yusuf said sullenly. “Tell me something, tell me something that he told you.”

It seemed to be very important to the boy, so I repeated some story about one of the other ministers that Mahon had told us the day before. It seemed to make my young lover happy, and I felt that somehow I was helping to bridge the gap between father and son. I started paying more attention to Mahon's stories, so that I could faithfully repeat them to Yusuf.

Even as I became more comfortable about my sexual relationship with both Mahon and Yusuf, I felt that there was a barrier being built up between my husband and I. We no longer had sex at all, even though we shared the same bed every night. I felt bad about it, until one day I smelled another woman on my husband’s mouth. I was very hurt, which I suppose I had no right to be, considering my own activities.

***************

Another reason to worry me was Khadija; she was a woman very much in my mind. She was in charge of the household, and the person that I had most to fear. I was having sex with her husband as well as her son.

I had never really considered it before, but she wasn't unattractive. Not for a woman of her age, at least. She dressed in Western clothes, and kept her hair short. She was of medium height, probably equal to Suresh in the vertical direction. She had a trim figure, and her makeup was always carefully applied.

It explained why she never seemed to take notice of me, and long periods of time that I was spending in her husband's quarters. She was probably happy that no one was noticing the hours she spent alone with my husband.

At our request, Mahon brought foreign fashion magazines for Kia and I. We read them avidly, enjoying the pictures of the beautiful women and wonderful clothes. Mahon started bringing us shoes, jewelry, and sexy clothing to wear.

Kia and I would dress each other, brush each other's hair, and paint our nails. We experimented with our makeup, and enjoyed the rich perfumes our master brought for us. We pranced and twirled around him, teasing him and asking him if he liked this or that look. We collaborated in our competition for his affection and attention. He treated us fairly, but I always knew that Kia was his favorite.

As I grew accustomed to my role as mistress, the conflict I felt about servicing both father and son lessened. It was not my fault that they were all so corrupt. I only did as I was told. And I knew my husband was finding his pleasure with Mahon’s wife, so I didn’t feel responsible to either of them.

In the dark secret confines of Mahon’s private office area, there was beauty at times; beautiful clothes, scents, and kisses. It was a few hours or fantasy each time, liberating in its oppression.

Sometimes, I found myself looking forward to my hours of sensuality with the old man and my lovely Korean partner; to the long slow sex he favoured. Perhaps his immense political and economic power was a bit alluring to me, or perhaps it was just the break from the boredom of a cleaning woman’s life.

The clothes we wore cost more than we earned in a half year; the gold and jewelry he gave us as reward had real value. I came to enjoy the lush sensation of his satin bedsheets, of his soft rich hands on my body, of his powerful old penis in my hand, mouth, or vagina. The fabulous silk dresses in black and crimson red, high heeled shoes, and lacey transparent underwear.

Yes, in those clothes, I was beautiful; desirable. When I removed them, and wrapped my old sari around myself again, I reverted to my true self; a poor married Indian woman with no property, cleaning the floors of others.

One day, Kia lowered her lovely face between my legs and licked me there as I took Mahon’s penis in my mouth. I found the sensation nearly overwhelming; to be between two lovers at once. It made me come, and afterwards we changed positions, and I licked Kia’s clitoris while our master had intercourse with her. He came inside her, and when he pulled away, I got right between her legs and sucked out his fluids. That then became a regular activity.

It was a degrading act, yet I did it more or less willingly; because it brought Kia great pleasure. She would cry and wriggle as I sucked her, as I licked her hot little button. And I loved her; as a friend, as a co-victim, as one who shared my secret.

I knew she loved me too, as more than a friend. Although she never said it, I knew she loved me as a lover. It was the way she looked at me, the way she kissed me. The way she could only come in my arms.

The last time the three of us were together, Kia and I were wearing silk stockings and open high heeled shoes, but were otherwise naked. Mohan lay on his back as I lay beside him, propped up on my elbows kissing his mouth while Kia rode his penis. He looked into my eyes as he ejaculated into her. He liked that, and would usually look at her when he came inside me.

When he was through, Kia lay down while I put my mouth to her vagina to clean her; and old Mahon put his soft wet cock in her mouth. As she sucked him, he got hard again; he was terribly pleased.

He took his phone off the hook, and we continued to have sex for hours. I can’t even remember all the things we did; the old man couldn’t come again, but he didn’t get soft either. We both went down on him, we kissed and caressed him, we spread our legs and let him have his way with each of us again. His stamina was impressive, but when he tired, one of us just got on top. We were in a strange game; as if we all wanted to prove our own sexual superiority.

Kia licked my clitoris as the minister’s penis slid deep in my vagina, and that made me climax strongly.

We bit him, we tickled his face with our breasts, we teased his nipples and sucked his penis. We kissed his mouth and licked his balls, we let him nibble our tight round behinds.

He pushed his hard cock into my anus; the final forbidden act. It hurt, yet it was good as well. I felt guilty when I felt pleasure with Mahon; I was with him against my will, I was a married woman, and was also having sex with his son. So when he hurt me, the pain seemed to sooth my mind. See; he’s bad, I am NOT enjoying his attention.

I was on my knees and elbows on his bed as he forced my rear end open and took his pleasure. Kia squirmed in below me, knowing that her smooth pale body would make it easier for me to endure what was happening; I let my weight down against her, and held her cute little face in my hands, kissing her tenderly, in stark contrast to what was going on in my ass.

The minister went harder, it was burning me in my rear, and I was sure he would come now, and at last our marathon session would be over.

There was a pounding, a ceaseless pounding; there was no respite except for Kia’s sweet lips, her innocent breasts against mine. The minister drove his cock deep in my ass, the pounding grew louder, more insistent.

Some one was pounding at the door – THAK THAK THAK THAK!

“Go away!” the minister screamed in Arabic [I knew that phrase well].

Kia translated the rest for me later; “Sir! The Iraqis have crossed the border with tanks! We’ve been trying to reach you for hours! We need orders, sir!”

Mahon and his wife left quickly with an army escort, leaving us servants behind [one of us with a sore ass-hole]. Yusuf was gone already.

Iraqi soldiers rampaged through the house. The soldiers took everything of value, and three of them raped my friend Kia as I hid shivering under the master’s bed below them.

They even stole our precious jewelery, the only reward we’d gotten for our extra efforts.

When they were gone, we servants left the house, heading towards our respective embassies for assistance.

Suresh didn’t say much, but seemed to know what to do for once. We went overland to Jordan, then got a flight back to Bombay.

Everyone had lost their savings, Kuwaiti Dinar accounts were being paid out in worthless Iraqi Dinars. But Suresh had transferred our savings to India before the invasion, so we were all right. We travelled south, to his home village, close to where my family originated.

Suresh bought a house for us, and another house near the main road that he turned into a shop and cyber café with several new computers. I asked how he was paying for these things, but he said I shouldn’t worry about that.

Slowly, over the next months, my husband and I picked up our marriage again. He was good to me, never raising his voice or striking me. He bought me nice things from the market and hired a local girl to help with the housework. Slowly, I reverted from being a servant and whore to a respectable woman.

Both of us were respectable here, and even wealthy. We had a lovely but simple house, and even our own car. Everything seemed so normal that I could barely think that the events I remembered had really occurred.

To be continued

[rangeela]

Then one day, a year after we had fled Kuwait, a stranger came to the door. He was tall and gaunt; I didn’t recognize him.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asked. It was Yusuf’s voice. “I’ve been traveling for weeks to get here.” He added.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, alarmed.

“Is that any way to greet your old friend?” he retorted. “I need food and a bath. Where’s your husband?”

“Suresh is away at his work place. I’m alone in the house right now.” I said, suddenly regretting telling him so.

He pushed past me into the house. He had only one small bag with him, he stank and his clothes were stained and dirty. I looked anxiously out at the gate of our garden wall. There was no one there, no one to see that a strange man had just entered my house. If anyone did see, the tongues would wag about it for years.

“Nice little house.” He commented.

He found the bathroom. He stepped inside and began to pull off his clothes.

We’d had a lovely bathroom made, it was the pride of our house, it was white tiled and had hot and cold running water, the first of its kind in the area.

“Yusuf, what are you doing? I demanded. “You can’t just barge in here like this!”

“No? Why not?” he asked.

He was naked now, but I didn’t look away or close the door between us. I had seen him naked many times, and there was no one in the house to hide anything from just then; my servant girl had gone home for the day already.

He opened the water taps and stepped under the stream, looking out at me.

“You’re looking splendid Ushi, in your fine sari and gold. Are those real diamonds in your ears?”

“Why are you here Yusuf, what do you want from us?” I asked for the tenth time.

He soaped himself, spending an extra moment on his big penis, which hung slack between his pale thighs.

“Just a shower, some food, a place to sleep.” He said. “It’s the least you can do for me after leaving me penniless.”

“I don’t understand, the Iraqis are defeated, your family is in power again.” I said.

He grinned crookedly. “My ex-family. I’ve been disowned, there’s a price on my head. If anyone finds out where I am, they’ll send someone to kill me.”

I stared at him hard, trying to understand if he was telling the truth.

“I was a spy, Ushi. I was selling information to Saddam’s men. No one suspected me, but somehow your damn husband found out. While we were in bed together, he was at my computer, snooping. He found my secret account, somehow he found my password. He knew where the money was coming from. He stole all the money from my account because he knew I couldn’t go to the authorities. But I bet he’ll be surprised I found my way here.”

This was not the fat boy I knew in Kuwait. He was lean now, yet still tall and broad. He was sporting a short beard and a thin moustache; his time on the run had matured him. He was dangerous, yet I had to admit he had a certain magnetism for me. I’d known him as a boy, and here he was, a man. Naked, alone with me in my house.

He wrapped a towel around his hips and I stepped out of his way as he headed for my kitchen.

“I need food, Ushi.” He said.

Although it was against my upbringing to have an unrelated man in my house when my husband was absent, it was also against my culture to let a guest be hungry. I put his clothes in my new washing machine [the greatest technical advance to become available in India since piped water], and began to warm up some leftovers from my lunch.

“But you are an only child.” I said, “Surely they will forgive you.”

“I was an only child. A few months ago, my mother gave my father a new son. It makes no difference to me, the ministry knows what I did. I’m a marked man, I have nothing left now. What I did was unforgivable. I didn’t know they were planning to actually invade us, I didn’t know what would happen; but the fact is, I sold my country’s secrets to our enemy. I can’t ever go back there.”

He sat at my table in the towel. The muscles of his torso stood out in stark definition now; powerful and dangerous.

But the tables had turned, he was the desperado, while I was the one in power, at least in some ways. In this rural Indian village, I was the native, the home owner, the respectable one. I was no longer a servant, I employed a servant.

He ate the simple food I gave him, clearly enjoying it more than he had ever enjoyed the rich food of his father’s house.

Then he stood and turned to me; he had a strange look in his eyes, desperation and regret, longing and desire.

“Now tell me how did you come here?” I asked him. “And what do you want now?”

“When the Americans came, I fled to Iraq with the retreating Iraqi army. I was sure the Americans would follow us, and I would be turned over to the Kuwaitis and shot. I was not welcome in Iraq either; they had no use for me. I went to the border regions and hid there. I took on the disguise of a jihadi, and then people became willing to help me. I walked with a group over the mountains to Iran, then through Turkmenistan to Afghanistan. I was fed and hidden there for nearly a year; they believed I was willing to fight with them. I had to undergo their training, but it wasn’t too bad. I became very fit.

“Then I travelled with a group going through Pakistan to Indian Kashmir to fight, but I had no intention of fighting against the Indian army. I slipped away and travelled by train and bus to this village. Kia had once told me that this was the village you had wanted to return to. And here you are, my old servants living a comfortable life with my money. I want that money back.”

To be continued

[rangeela]

I knew that my husband would return soon; and there would be a confrontation. Suresh came home soon enough. Of course he was shocked to find Yusuf there.

“How did you find us?” Suresh asked him.

“When I returned to the house in Kuwait, it was empty except for one of the Korean maids, Kia. She knew where Ushi wanted to live.” He said.

“And what do you want now?” Suresh asked.

The two men glowered at each other.

“I want the money you stole from me.” The younger man said.

“It isn’t your money,” Suresh claimed. “It was a bribe you got for betraying your country.”

“I don’t care. You’d better get me that money!” Yusuf said, standing up angrily. “I suffered for it, it’s mine!”

“If you threaten me, I’ll call the police!” Suresh said, “I’ll tell them who you are!”

“And I’ll tell them how you got your wealth. Then what will happen? You will lose it all.” Yusuf retorted. “Be reasonable, Suresh.”

I watched all of this with growing alarm; Yusuf was big, strong, desperate, and trained to kill. Suresh was physically no match for him but he was mentally superior. He had outsmarted Yusuf and relieved him of his ill-gotten wealth.

In a way, I felt proud of my husband. I had considered him to be weak and meek, unable to defend his wife’s honour. But now I felt he had extracted some revenge. I heard his confident voice now.

“Youngman, when you tell the police about the theft of your money in Kuwait, they will first demand to see your visa. Have you got one? Your government must have cancelled even your passport. The police will hand you over to Kuwaiti embassy, and the embassy will be glad to return you to Kuwait to stand trial for treason. I may even get a reward for helping your government catch you.”

Yusuf looked crestfallen. He might have never thought that entering a foreign country without valid travel papers would make him extremely vulnerable, liable to be deported to Kuwait. Suresh had again outwitted him. All fight had gone out of Yusuf. Our former master, who had blackmailed me to have sex with him, was at our mercy now.

“Please don’t hand me over to the police. I don’t want the money. Just let me stay here tonight. I will leave early in the morning and you will never see me again. Please have mercy on me.”

My mind was in turmoil. Yusuf had tricked me into having sex with him but later he had been very kind to me. And our material comforts and wealth were due to his money, even if Suresh had to rob him. Suresh was looking at me questioningly. He had left the decision to me.

Suresh and I could have handed him over to police, and earned some reward as well but I felt that Suresh had already punished him enough through his actions. This was sufficient revenge against Yusuf. I decided to let him stay overnight.

“Let him stay here for the night,” I said. “You have handed him enough punishment. I wish you could do something to his father as well? He exploited me even more and he is unpunished!”

“I didn’t let him go scot free,” Suresh replied. “It was me who impregnated his royal and aristocratic wife, creating the child who will take Yusuf’s place. We have avenged ourselves against both father and son.”

My respect for my husband grew. He wasn’t as meek as I had thought. He was a victim of circumstances as I had been. Fate had forced him to capitulate. When opportunities came his way, he didn’t miss them. In fact, he created the opportunities. I realised that I owed him a debt, and time had come to repay him.

I went up to him and kissed him. I had kissed this man before, so long ago. I had known him up close. But he felt a different man now; would he be different in bed I wondered? The fact was, I hadn’t had sex in a long time. Actually, Yusuf had been the last man I was with before the Iraqi invasion, and I had not had intercourse since.

My husband’s cock was pushing against my thigh, and without thinking I reached under and took it in my hand. I’d forgotten how lovely it was to hold, so warm and firm. As he held my body against his and kissed my mouth, I realized that I wanted to have sex with him immediately.

And then, another thought came to my mind. Yusuf had made him watch when he had sex with me. Tonight I would make Yusuf watch while my husband fucked me. I walked through the doorway into the bedroom, beckoning both the men to follow me.

They both did.

“Yusuf, if you want to stay here until morning, sit on that chair and watch.”

I turned to my husband and asked him to undress me. He proceeded slowly, there was no hurry. One fold of sari after another, he undressed me. He ran his hands round my thighs to my tight buttocks behind. Clasping me in his arms, he clamped my lips with his own. When the long kiss ended, I undressed him lovingly.

We moved to the bed I normally shared with my husband. I was hot between my legs, eager to have him again. I had refused all of his advances for the last year. Why was that, I wondered?

On the bed, he held me down and kissed me passionately. I held his cock in my hands, unwilling to let it free, knowing where I wanted it.

He lowered his face between my legs, and began to kiss and lick me there gently. His tongue in my groin was wicked and wonderful; it caused me to shudder in excruciating pleasure. I had not felt his mouth there for so long, even though he had been doing his best to please me. And now I had surrendered myself to him.

I held my legs apart as Suresh placed the tip of his penis there, and slowly pushed it inside me. After so long an abstinance, I was once more filled with a man; and I was acutely aware that it was the right man.

Small but strong, Suresh dominated my small body, holding himself above me as he began to pump. I wrapped my arms around his lean muscular upper body, crushing my breasts against his broad chest. His cock worked me steadily, and we kissed again.

“I love you,” He whispered.

His long and strong cock probed my secret depths, penetrating me, making me a helpless but willing victim of his punishing strokes. I clamped his cock in a tight grip when I began to come; for the first time in more than a year, I knew satisfaction again.

When I recovered from my climax, I made Suresh lay on his back as I got on my elbows and knees and began to suck his cock. I could see my husband out of the corner of my eye, enjoying the warmth of my mouth around his cock. I could see the rapture on his face as I used all my skill to suck his rampant cock.

I seated myself on his thighs facing him, with my legs open over his. Taking his wet rod in my hand, I eased myself down, sliding its length into my body again. I pushed up and down mercilessly, exultant with my renewed passion for my man.

Suresh was watching me with love as I gave him the long delayed pleasure. I reached down to kiss him. His kiss was as sweet as honey, and his cock was throbbing inside me. I leaned back and allowed Suresh to kiss my nipples for a moment, then pushed him down so that I could continue our copulation.

… The pulsating cock was producing wave after wave of ecstasy in my pussy. When I felt my orgasm approaching, I leaned forward to kiss him, and then we rolled over together so he could take the dominant position, which I actually prefer. I grabbed his fleshy ass and tightened my ankles around his thighs.

“Are you coming?” I asked him loudly so Yusuf would hear.

My husband groaned in confirmation.

“I can feel it coming … shoot!” I said, “Shoot it inside me. Fill me with your jizz.”

My husband grunted repeatedly as he shot load after load of his juices in my vagina. When he had emptied himself completely, he lifted himself away, pulling his penis out of my body as he rose.

“Look Yusuf! Look between my legs, and see what my husband has done!”

Yusuf rose and came closer. His towel had fallen and his cock was erect. As he leaned to look between my thighs, I lifted my legs up into the air and wrapped my feet around his neck. I pulled him down, down to my groin.

“Lick me.” I ordered loudly.

“But I can’t, not after he has …”

“Would you rather go to Kuwait?” I asked him. “You know what awaits you there. If you want to remain free, do what I am asking you to do.”

Yusuf put his mouth to my oozing vagina and sucked, as I grabbed at his thick hair and pulled him tighter against my groin. As he licked me and sucked my husband’s juices out of my vagina, my husband took my head in his strong hands and kissed me tenderly, with love. I fondled his cock with affection. Like me, he had been celibate for long. It didn’t take too much effort to arouse him again.

I pushed Yusuf away when Suresh regained his erection. He came over me and lowered himself to enter me with his dark and hard penis. It felt incredibly good to welcome him back into me.

I held him tightly as he slid easily into my well lubricated passage. I whispered in his ear in Hindi, “I want your child; you are the one who outsmarted all of them. Make me pregnant.”


THE END

[bewakoof]

Good story. Fine end.

[rangeela]

Good story. Fine end.

Thank you.

[pornpremi]

Excellent story. Suresh should have fucked Yusuf in the ass.