Adultery Indian Wife and the Nukkad Guys by shiprat

[Ramesh_Rocky]

This routine continued over the next few days. I was to answer the door in my underwear when he came. Like clockwork, the men would be standing at the gate, waiting for their morning dose of the voluptuous memsaab's bare flesh. The men would get a good look at me before going back to work. Jamal would then stride in for his morning fuck, always fucking me really rough, either bent over near the window or spread-eagled on the dining table, or standing against the fridge, or sometimes doggy style on the floor. He took great pleasure in exposing me to the men in various states of undress, sometimes displaying my dancing tits, at other times my bare back. But he never showed them anything too much below the waist.


"I don't want those men to get too greedy." he explained one day in the window as he turned me around after stripping my panties off. "They need to remember their place in society. Unwashed, uneducated peasants from Bangladesh need to remember that we are doing them a favor. They can't be encouraged into thinking that they really have a shot at a high class beauty like you. They don't deserve you. Let them be content with the whores in the red light area."

I said nothing, but wondered if Jamal saw the irony in what he was saying. By his logic, he, an old ugly working class man, didn't really deserve a young educated high class married woman like me either. But that didn't stop him from treating me like his fuck toy. His behavior didn't indicate that he thought me any different than those poor laborers who did his bidding. And it went beyond just sex. He kept trying to lord over me and show he was boss in many different ways.

I often felt like I was an adult model on display as he sometimes made me change my clothes several times a day. He'd start me off in something western like tank tops,skirts, shorts, cocktail dresses, summer dresses, and so on. Once he made me wear my business suit. Then around lunch he would lead me to the bedroom and get me to change into something Indian - usually a sari or a low cut and tight salwar kurta. The saris were to be worn as low on my hips as possible and when I was displayed in that state, I noticed that the laborers liked it the most. And the only blouses I was allowed to wear with the saris were sleeves and/or backless.*

"When you wear normal blouses, you look like a normal decent middle class woman. But we both know that is not true. You are a trashy slut, and you should look like a trashy slut." he had said.

He went really crazy with delight when he came across a particularly skimpy blouse that was sleeveless and only had strings in the back. I had bought it for one of our anniversary parties, and it had made Vinay so horny that he had fucked me four times that night after the guests left. I had never imagined that it would end up serving the same purpose for Jamal, who made me wear it often, even if it didn't match with the sari.*

"What kind of a characterless harlot buys something like this?" he had sarcastically asked me when I first put that blouse on at his demand.

"I guess someone like me." I had learned that Jamal's rhetorical questions were not really rhetorical and I was expected to give subservient answers. When I had given sassy replies once or twice, he had promptly bent me over and whipped me with his belt. Although I had grown to enjoy the whippings, I was scared that if he got carried away, he might leave bruises that could reveal everything to Vinay.

"Why did you buy this? Tell me the truth." he asked.

"For an anniversary party."

"Hmmm....so even on the day celebrating your marriage, you wanted all the other men to see your bare flesh and get hard?"

"Yes. I got really turned on when all the men at the party saw my bare back and got horny." That really hadn't been the reason, but by now, Jamal had "trained" me well and I knew the responses he'd approve of.

"Did any of them fuck you on the side?"

"No."*

"Did you want them to?"

"No." There was a limit to how much I would lie for him. There was no way I was going to say to him that I wanted the males at the party, which included just relatives and good friends, to have sex with me.

"You're lying. I know what a slut you are." he had cackled.

Then there were the accessories. He had always shown his fetish for my mangalsutra and it progressed to even kinkier levels. He routinely wrapped the mangalsutra around his dick when he made me give him a blowjob. Sometimes he looped it and made me wear it around my forehead, the locket portion banging against my nose with every thrust of his dick inside my cunt. While rummaging through my closets, he had discovered that I had three other mangalsutras, and they all got defiled. One day he rolled one up and shoved it inside my cunt and ordered me to leave it in there all day. It felt really uncomfortable.

There was other jewelry like my earrings, necklaces, brooches, anklets, bangles, nose rings, toe rings, and even a gold belly chain that Vinay had bought me from the gulf. Jamal loved that belly chain. He once had me parade around him in just my bra and that belly chain and fucked me in front of a mirror, his fingers pulling the chain tight into my skin. Almost every piece of my jewelry got splashed with his cum as the days passed.

"What's with the sindoor?" Vinay asked me one Sunday. That was the only day he got off from work and spent at home. I was thankful that Jamal and his men also had that day off and my tormentor had the decency to stay away and give me a break from the humiliation.

I was taken aback by the question. He had been so busy with work that he had never noticed even the tiny clues around the house that something odd was going on, like how many of my clothes were always in the laundry basket, or why I always seemed so exhausted when he got back. But he had noticed the tiny box of sindoor.

"What do you mean?" was all I could come up with.

"Since when do you wear sindoor? I have never seen you wear it."

It was a valid question. Our community did not have the tradition of married women wearing sindoor in their hair. It was more of a North Indian thing. But that's probably why Jamal had insisted that I buy some and put it on when he was around. In addition to my mangalsutra, it was another symbol that reminded him that I was a married woman that he was using as his fuck toy. I would put some on when he came, and wash it off before Vinay got home.

"Just bought it on a whim. All the women here wear it." I said.

"That's weird. You have always been such a feminist and so critical of these patriarchal symbols. Strange to see you flirt with this sign of female subservience." Vinay smiled.

I wanly smiled back. If only you knew, my dear husband, how subservient your wife has been recently.

When Jamal returned on Monday, he seemed extra anxious to make up for the lost day. He was in a particularly sadistic and dominant mood that day. After the morning fuck he didn't leave but sat in front of the TV. I headed to take a bath but he ordered me to come to him.

"Get on all fours in front of me."*

I did as was told, naked except for my mangalsutra and the belly chain. Was he going to make me suck him off?

"Move a little that way."

And then he raised his feet and put them on my ass.*

"Good girl. I feel like raising my feet a little." he said.

There was a perfectly good ottoman he could have used. But in using me like that, naked on my hands and knees, just as a foot rest, was yet another way he wanted to humiliate me and show me that he was boss. He kept me like that for half an hour, before taking his feet off and making me suck his dick before letting me go.

How much lower was he going to make me sink, I wondered.