Adultery The Unwilling cuckold : How My Roommate Stole My Shy Wife (Completed)

[RANA ROY]

Waiting for next....

[urb0nd]

nice story

[Betacucky]

Oh, sweetie, did someone forget to log out of their troll account before trying to sound profound? Your ‘Woah, bro’ and ‘edgy Insta comment’ analysis are so groundbreaking, it’s giving 2012 Tumblr energy. But hey, I get it—it’s hard to critique when your entire literary diet consists of Reddit threads and fortune cookies.

Also, my ‘mama joke’ landed harder than your comprehension skills, but let me explain it in a way even you can understand: I wasn’t looking for validation.. just constructive feedback. Should I make it easier for u dum dum ? Here…..Read. My. Lips. “C O N S T R U C T I V E”

And about negative critiques—I take them from actual readers, not from someone who doesn’t even know what the whole argument is about and end mei says “ oh..My Bad”. Next time you’re feeling bold enough to step into a discussion about storytelling and censorship, maybe read first, understand the issue  so you don’t speak out of your ass..

Not that it matters but the moderators have already removed your hero’s comments from my story. So maybe next time.. brain before thumbs and fingers ? 

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a story to finish—one that won’t be catering to the likes of you. Sleep tight tonight dumbass. 

[Betacucky]

Next update! This weekend.

[Paty@123]

egarly waiting

[Betacucky]

The tension from Rahul and Priya’s abrupt departure still lingered in the air as Manavi efficiently rearranged the furnishings, transforming the already opulent living room into a stage set for revelations and hidden desires. The atmosphere was charged with a mix of anticipation and residual shock, as plush carpets were unfurled and surrounded by an assortment of cushions, setting the stage for a game that promised to strip away more than just fabric.

With the room now cleared for action, Anand clapped his hands sharply, the sound cutting through the murmurs and drawing all eyes to him. He stood confidently at the center, the dim lighting casting shadows that accentuated the predatory gleam in his eyes. “Everyone, gather around,” he commanded, his voice a compelling blend of allure and authority. “It's time to escalate our evening with a little game of ‘Guess Who?’”

As the guests hesitantly moved closer, their bodies clad only in the minimal coverage of underwear, their expressions were a tapestry of intrigue and unease. The air was thick with the scent of nervous excitement and faint traces of cologne and perfume, heightening the sensory experience of the impending game.

Anand held up a set of silk blindfolds, the smooth fabric glinting subtly under the room's soft lights. “Here’s the challenge,” he announced, his tone both inviting and ominous. “Blindfolded, you will stand in the center here. Someone will touch you—maybe just a stroke of your arm, a breath across your neck, or something more intimate. Your task is to guess if it’s your partner or another. Simple, yet revealing.”
His smile widened, devilish and knowing, as he let the room absorb the implications of his words. “This game is about more than just touch; it's about trust, perception, and maybe unlocking deeper desires within us all,” he continued, his voice dipping seductively. “Who can really say what secrets might be revealed when you can’t see who’s caressing you?”

The guests shifting uneasily, their scant attire—a mix of bras, panties, and boxers—making them acutely aware of their vulnerability.

“Let's put the past behind us,” Anand said, his gaze briefly flitting towards the door that had swallowed Rahul and Priya. “Tonight, we push boundaries and explore new territories. So, who’s brave enough to go first?”

The challenge hung in the air, thick with the promise of erotic discovery and the peril of personal exposure. As the group pondered their readiness to participate, the sounds of shifting feet on plush carpet, the nervous clearing of throats, and the soft rustle of silk blindfolds being prepared filled the room, each note adding to the symphony of their complicated dance of desire and dread. Each cuckold's heart pounded loud in their chests, the humiliation of their scanty attire under the scrutinizing eyes of their peers adding a layer of erotic humiliation to the charged atmosphere.


As the murmurs subsided, Anand beckoned Ananya forward for the first round. With a dramatic flourish, he tied the silk blindfold snugly over her eyes. Her breathing deepened as she stood blind and vulnerable in the center of the plush carpet, her body tense with anticipation.

Anand's voice, smooth and coaxing, guided her. "Ready, Ananya? Let’s see if you can tell who’s who."
As Anand secured the silk blindfold over Ananya's eyes, her breath hitched, signaling her rising anxiety mixed with a reluctant thrill. The others, circled around her, watched with bated breath, their faces a mix of morbid curiosity and veiled excitement. Ketan, in particular, swallowed hard, his fists clenched at his sides, struggling with the conflicting emotions of jealousy and arousal stirred by the sight of his wife standing so vulnerably at the center."

As Asif stepped forward, his approach was unmistakably predatory. He leaned in close, his warm breath caressing Ananya's ear, sending a shiver down her spine before his lips barely brushed her cheek, a tease more than a kiss. The unexpected intimacy sent a confusing thrill through Ananya, her face flushing with arousal and uncertainty.

Asif did not retreat. Instead, he let his fingers trace a slow, deliberate path down her arms, the hairs standing on end under his touch. Each stroke whispered promises of more, stirring a mix of dread and anticipation within her. His hands then swept across the curves of her sides, each movement calculated and bold, deliberately testing her boundaries.

His hands continued their bold journey, lightly brushing over Ananya's ribs before descending to cup her breasts. The firmness of his grip drew a sharp gasp from her lips as her body reacted instinctively. His fingers lingered, teasing the fabric of her blouse, before slipping beneath to trace the lace edge of her bra, each touch stark against the cool air of the room.

The room filled with the musky scent of Asif's cologne, enveloping her, marking his proximity as alarmingly intimate. Asif's fingers ventured daringly beneath the elastic of her panties, exploring forbidden territory. The sound of Ananya's quickened breaths mingled with the quiet of the room, punctuated by the subtle rustle of fabric under his exploring hands.

A moan escaped Ananya’s lips, a sound so soft yet so laden with arousal it seemed to echo in the tense silence. The moist sound of her growing wetness under Asif’s expert touch filled the space between them, undeniable evidence of her body’s betrayal.

Ketan, standing frozen, fists clenched at his sides, felt his heart pounding in his chest as he watched his wife under the hands of another man. The sight of Ananya, her body responding involuntarily to Asif’s advances, stirred a tumultuous mix of emotions within him. He wanted to rip the blindfold off and end the game, yet another, darker part of him was morbidly captivated by the unfolding scene. His own arousal was an uncomfortable truth, pressing insistently against his boxers, forcing him to shift uncomfortably.
Asif's hand ventured lower, fingers daring to slip beneath the elastic of Ananya's panties, delving into her wetness. The room held its breath, the other guests exchanging looks of shock and titillation. Neeraj, catching Ketan’s eye, offered a sympathetic grimace, but it did little to ease the growing sense of betrayal swirling through the room.

"That’s... Asif," Ananya stammered, her voice thick with a mix of fear and intrigue, as Asif withdrew his fingers slowly, deliberately. He brought them to his lips, tasting her, a dark chuckle escaping him as he savored the flavor. "Good guess," he murmured, his voice a velvet caress against her ear.

The other wives, especially Simran and Manavi, watched with a mix of horror and fascination. The psychological impact of Asif’s touches began to sink in for Ananya. She stood there, visibly shaken, yet there was also an undeniable glint of realization in her eyes—perhaps acknowledging her own response to the touch, a mix of dismay and undeniable arousal.

Anand clapped his hands lightly, breaking the tension. "Well played, Ananya. You got it right," he announced, directing her back to her place among the others. As she removed the blindfold, her eyes blinked rapidly, adjusting to the light. The look she gave Ketan was complex, filled with confusion and an unspoken apology. Ketan, unable to meet her gaze, looked away, his heart heavy with mixed feelings of jealousy, arousal, and a deep-seated sense of inadequacy


Anand clapped his hands lightly, breaking the tense atmosphere. "Well played, Ananya. Let's see if the rest of you are as perceptive," he announced, directing her back to her place among the others as she removed the blindfold. Her eyes blinked rapidly, adjusting to the light, and the look she gave Ketan was complex, filled with confusion and an unspoken apology. Ketan, unable to hold her gaze, looked away, his heart heavy with a mix of jealousy, arousal, and a disturbing sense of inadequacy.

The first round had set a profound and disquieting tone for the game, laying bare the raw undercurrents of desire and distrust among the players. As the game progressed, each touch, each whisper, became a test not just of sensory perception but of emotional resilience and relationship boundaries.

As Neeraj's turn unfolded in the "Guess Who? Intimacy Edition" game, the atmosphere thickened with anticipation and a palpable tension. With the blindfold securely in place, darkness enveloped him, sharpening his other senses to a keen edge. Vulnerable and centered in the room, his breath shallow and quick, Neeraj braced himself for the sensory exploration to come.

Manavi approached with a quiet grace, her movements almost imperceptible against the lush carpet. She extended her fingers, trailing them delicately across Neeraj's chest. The light touch sent a shiver through his body, the fine hairs on his skin standing on end. Her touch was ambiguously seductive, designed to confuse and captivate. As her fingertips slid down to his waist, the faint scent of her floral perfume mingled with the room's air, subtly intoxicating and distinctly feminine.

"That’s... Ananya?" Neeraj guessed, his voice wavering with uncertainty. The room held its breath, and Ketan’s expression tightened—a mix of jealousy and alarm flickering across his face at the mention of his wife.

"No, try again," Anand's voice echoed playfully across the room. Manavi didn’t retreat; instead, she shifted her approach. Her hands glided back up to Neeraj’s chest, pressing more firmly this time. The warmth of her palms felt familiar yet misleading, mimicking a touch Neeraj might wrongly associate with someone else.

Neeraj paused, the second guess weighing heavily. "Simran?" he ventured, more confidently but still incorrect.

A soft gasp escaped from Simran's direction, adding to the thickening silence that followed. The wrong guess stung, cutting into the trust and intimacy that Neeraj and Simran shared. This misstep hinted at a deeper disconnect, a fracture in their marital bond.

Manavi chuckled softly, her voice laced with amusement yet chilling in its clarity. "Not quite, Neeraj. You have one last guess."

The tension in the room was palpable as Neeraj hesitated, his thoughts swirling in a tumultuous mix of confusion and anxiety. With a heavy sigh, laden with resignation, he finally murmured, "Manavi."
"Correct," Manavi announced triumphantly, stepping back as Neeraj removed his blindfold to face the room.

This revelation landed heavily on Neeraj, his correct guess doing little to mitigate the embarrassment of his earlier errors. Turning towards Simran, he saw a mixture of hurt and frustration etched across her features. The painful realization that he had failed to recognize his own wife's touch, instead imagining the caresses of another, hung heavily between them.

Ketan, observing the unfolding dynamics, felt an icy unease coil in his stomach. The mistaken attraction Neeraj showed towards Ananya, even in error, revealed unsettling undercurrents of desire and jealousy, making the already tense atmosphere even more charged.

Manavi, delighting in the emotional turmoil her game had stirred, sauntered back to her place beside Anand. Her smirk was wide, unrepentant, radiating mischief and a dark delight. "Let's keep the game moving," she suggested, her gaze twinkling with wicked anticipation.

The room's mood had shifted from initial excitement to a simmering blend of complex emotions—doubt, suspicion, and vulnerability now dominated the air. Each participant was left to grapple with the implications of these misidentifications, pondering the deep insecurities and hidden desires that the game had mercilessly exposed. The game was no longer just a light-hearted challenge; it had become a profound reflection of their deepest fears and unspoken desires.



As Simran stood blindfolded and alone in the center of the lavish carpet, the charged silence enveloped the room, thick with anticipation. Anand moved towards her with a deliberate slowness that was more methodical than menacing.

The first contact was electrifying yet gentle. Anand's hands started at her waist, fingertips tracing the elastic band of her panties, a subtle promise of his restraint. He allowed his hands to glide upwards, mapping the contours of her figure with a feathery touch that contrasted sharply with the palpable tension. His fingers skirted the underside of her bra, carefully avoiding direct contact with her skin, yet close enough to send shivers through her frame.

The air was filled with the soft scent of Anand’s aftershave, a subtle hint of sandalwood that mingled with the warmth emanating from his body, enveloping Simran in a cocoon of sensory inputs. The faint sound of fabric brushing against fabric as Anand shifted his weight was barely audible over the quickening pulse that throbbed in Simran’s ears.

As Anand’s hands ascended, they found the clasp of her bra at her back. With a deft flick, he unhooked it, letting the straps slip slightly, the sudden release of tension making Simran gasp—a sound that filled the silent room like a note of music. Her breath came in ragged drafts, tasting the cool air mixed with the faint muskiness of Anand's proximity.

Instead of the expected retreat, Anand’s touch grew bolder. His hands returned to the front, now openly cupping her breasts, freed from the confines of her bra. The room's atmosphere thickened, filled with the sound of Simran’s uneven breaths and the barely suppressed murmurs of the captivated audience.
Reacting instinctively to the escalation, Simran’s hands moved between them, her fingers brushing against Anand's boxers. The undeniable hardness she encountered was jolting, yet it confirmed her suspicions without a doubt. Her touch was hesitant, exploring the shape and warmth of Anand's erection through the fabric, a daring acknowledgment of the charged eroticism of the moment.

"Anand," Simran affirmed out loud, her voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of arousal. The certainty in her guess was mirrored in the firmness of her grip, a silent yet poignant declaration of recognition.

Anand, his role confirmed, let out a low, appreciative chuckle. "Spot on, Simran," he praised, his voice a soothing balm to the crackle of tension. He gently guided her hands away, re-fastening her bra with an intimacy that was both comforting and confounding.

As the blindfold was removed, Simran blinked back into the reality of the brightly lit room. Her cheeks were flushed with the residue of adrenaline and arousal, her eyes scanning the crowd for Neeraj's reaction. Neeraj, visibly shaken by the intensity of the display, offered a weak smile, his face a complex tapestry of pride and disturbance.

The rest of the group processed the scene with a mix of awe and discomfort, the explicit nature of the encounter pushing the boundaries of their casual voyeurism into something more profound. Ketan, observing from a distance, felt a surge of conflicted emotions—relief mingled with a visceral unease about the undeniable sexual dynamics that played out before him.

Anand's demonstration had not only tested the limits of Simran’s sensory perception but had also provocatively underscored the complex interplay of power, desire, and trust among them. As Simran rejoined the circle, her posture slightly more composed but her demeanor marked by the lingering thrill of exposure, the game continued to unfold, each round delving deeper into the intimate and often uncomfortable truths of their connections.

As Asif stood in the center of the room, his chest bare and his breathing measured, the thick blindfold casting him into a sensory darkness, the crowd of onlookers held their breath in anticipation. The dimly lit room, filled with thick, expectant silence, seemed to close in around him, amplifying the sounds and smells of the intimate gathering.

Silently, Anand grasped Ananya's arm with a firm, unyielding grip, pulling her towards the waiting Asif. Her reluctance was palpable as she stumbled slightly, the intoxicating mix of alcohol and nervous energy making her steps unsteady. Without a word, Anand positioned her in front of Asif and pushed her gently but firmly down onto her knees. The room watched in charged silence as Ananya, her face a complex tapestry of reluctance and arousal, found herself kneeling before Asif, her hands trembling as they reached for his hips.

The smell of alcohol on her breath mingled with the faint musk of Asif's cologne, creating a heady, disorienting mix. With a lingering glance back at Ketan, whose face was etched with a complex blend of desire and dismay, she reached for Asif's boxers.

The fabric slid down easily, and Asif’s erection sprang free, bold and demanding attention. Ananya’s fingers wrapped around its girth, her touch hesitant but growing more assured by the second. The room was so silent that the soft, wet sounds of her initial tentative strokes filled the air, each slick movement amplified in the collective anticipation.

Her lips parted, and she leaned in, the initial contact with Asif’s flesh sending a clear, audible moan through the room. The taste was intensely masculine, a mix of skin and the faintest hint of soap, her tongue tentatively exploring before committing to a rhythmic, deepening motion. Ketan, watching from his vantage point, felt a conflicting surge of arousal and humiliation. His erection, modest yet unmistakable, was a physical testament to the complex emotions swirling within him.

As Ananya grew more confident, her actions became less tentative and more fluid. The sounds of her efforts—the subtle suction and the moist interaction of mouth and skin—became a lewd symphony that echoed softly in the quiet room. Asif’s hands found their way to her head, guiding her with increasing urgency, his whispered encouragements barely audible over the sound of Ananya’s labored breathing and the quiet whimpers escaping her lips.

Ketan watched, his heart pounding in his chest, as his wife's cheeks hollowed with the effort. The rhythmic 'gluk, gluk' sounds of her efforts echoed, punctuating the silence with every bob of her head. Ketan, unable to tear his gaze away, felt an uncomfortable stirring of humiliation mixed with involuntary arousal. The sight of Asif’s thick, dark length disappearing repeatedly into Ananya’s mouth—a stark reminder of his own shortcomings—was both emasculating and oddly thrilling.

After several intense minutes, Asif’s control began to waver, his breaths coming in short, sharp bursts. Ananya’s cheeks hollowed with the effort, the slurping sounds growing louder and more desperate as she pushed herself to bring him to climax. The final moments were punctuated by Asif’s low groan and the wet, sticky sound of release.

Asif, prompted to guess, managed a husky, "That's Ananya," his voice thick with satisfaction. The certainty of his declaration, mixed with a grunt of completion, left no room for doubt. Ananya slowly pulled back, the final pop of her lips breaking contact with Asif's skin echoing subtly in the still room. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her cheeks flushed with a mix of exertion and triumph.
Ketan, his own arousal a bitter reminder of his voyeuristic role in the spectacle, felt a deep, unsettling churn in his stomach. The room’s atmosphere, thick with the remnants of the act, left everyone silently contemplating the boundaries they had all crossed.

As the blindfold was removed, Asif and Ananya shared a look carnal appreciation, a silent acknowledgment of the erotic display they had just enacted. The others in the room, their expressions a mix of shock, arousal, and in some cases, envy, were left to grapple with the intensity and implications of what they had just witnessed. The game had moved beyond mere flirtation or fantasy; it had ventured into the raw, unvarnished territory of sexual power dynamics, leaving an indelible mark on all present.


As the illicit whispers finally ebbed, the mood in the room took on a heavier, more intense atmosphere. Anand and Asif, embodying the role of unabashed bullies, didn't waste a moment to flaunt their control over the unfolding evening's events. They stood boldly, their massive erections clearly outlined against the fabric of their boxers, a deliberate display meant to assert their dominance and further humiliate the husbands.

Asif turned to Ketan, his voice dripping with condescension. "Ketan, I hope you don't mind if we borrow your lovely wife for a bit longer," he taunted, the smirk on his face widening as he eyed Ananya’s barely concealed form. "Don’t worry, we’ll take very good care of her." His hand casually adjusted the bulge in his boxers, a lewd gesture that made its intended impact all too clear.

Anand joined in, turning his predatory gaze towards Neeraj, his words slicing through the thick tension. "And Neeraj, you remember how much Simran enjoyed our last little... encounter, don't you?" he mocked, his tone cruelly reminiscent. "Let’s just say I’m looking forward to rekindling that intimacy."

Before they could depart, Anand paused, turning to address Ketan directly, his voice carrying a deliberate, menacing edge. "Ketan, before we continue, I think you owe Asif a token of gratitude for his... generosity tonight. Why don't you show some respect and kiss his feet?"

Ketan's face drained of color, the room's focus narrowing to the humiliating spectacle about to unfold. He hesitated, looking from Anand to Asif, whose massive erection was barely concealed beneath his tight boxers—a vivid symbol of the control he held over the room.

"Come on, Ketan. Don't be shy," Anand taunted, stepping closer, his physical presence overwhelming. As Ketan remained frozen, Anand grabbed his shoulder, pushing him slightly. The coercive touch jolted Ketan into reluctant motion.

As Ketan knelt before Asif, the sound of Ananya's bangles clinked softly, a poignant counterpoint to the harshness of the scene. His lips pressed against Asif's feet, and as if to further mark his dominance, Asif's erection brushed against Ketan's head, a perverse blessing that made Ketan's stomach churn.
Asif laughed heartily, the sound booming through the room. "Since you're already down there, Ketan, why not show us your manhood? Let's see what you've got," he sneered. The room fell silent, waiting for Ketan's reaction.

With a heavy heart and trembling hands, Ketan complied. As he revealed himself, the contrast between his modesty and Asif's imposing figure drew raucous laughter from Asif and a snicker from Manavi. "That's all? It’s no wonder you're so quick to kneel," Asif mocked, his laughter echoing through the room.
The humiliation was palpable, and Ketan's face burned red with embarrassment and suppressed rage. Asif, still chuckling, turned his attention back to Ananya, slinging an arm around her waist with proprietary ease.

"Ketan, are you sure you're okay with this? Because honestly, it doesn't matter if you're not," Asif said mockingly, his voice booming across the room as he wrapped an arm around Ananya, pulling her close. His other hand reached down and adjusted his erection, clearly visible and impressively large, ensuring everyone was acutely aware of his physical readiness.

Manavi, always keen to stoke the flames, clapped her hands delightedly. "This is going to be so much fun!" she exclaimed, her eyes glittering with mischief as she sauntered over to join Anand and Simran. "Let's not keep them waiting," she added, casting a seductive look over her shoulder at Neeraj, who stood pale and silent, his agony palpable.

Ananya, her movements hesitant and her cheeks flushed from both alcohol and embarrassment, glanced back at Ketan with a look of pleading apology before being led away. The clink of her bangles sounded mournfully in Ketan's ears as she disappeared into the guest room with Asif, who turned back to throw a final taunting smirk over his shoulder.

Simran, led by Anand and followed by Manavi, passed Neeraj without a word. The brief contact of their hands breaking was like a silent goodbye to what had once been, a final seal on the night's betrayal.
Left alone in the now quiet living room, Ketan and Neeraj could hear the distant sounds of doors closing and the muffled start of what was unmistakably the beginning of more than just conversation., The distinct thud of a bed frame, and the low moans of pleasure began to filter through the air, each sound a piercing reminder of their humiliation.

The stark reality of their situation settled over Ketan and Neeraj as they listened, each noise a vivid illustration of their wives' infidelity and their own cuckold status. As the sounds grew louder, Ketan's hands clenched into fists, the arousal and humiliation warring within him, while Neeraj sat down heavily, his head in his hands, overwhelmed by the echoes of his wife’s pleasure.

In that moment, the game had ended, but its consequences reverberated loudly, leaving both men to grapple with the wreckage of their pride and marriages, painfully aware of the deep, possibly irrevocable changes that one night had wrought.

[chellaporukki]

The useless bastards Neeraj and Ketan definitely deserves this humiliation and much more. They should be made to lick and clean their well fucked vagina and drink the flowing juices later.

[Chennai Veeran]

Nice update.

Now ketan is confused whether he is cuckold or not. ha ha

[Paty@123]

Early update is appreciated

[RANA ROY]

Nice update.....waiting for more.

[Betacucky]

As the sounds of ecstasy from the adjoining bedrooms grew louder, the thick tension between Neeraj and me felt nearly suffocating in the dim glow of the living room lamps. The rest of the house lay shrouded in murky shadows, leaving only small islands of flickering light dancing on the walls. The air itself was stifling—warm and heavy with the mingled scents of nervous sweat, lingering perfume, and a stale, unspoken dread. Clad only in our boxers, we stood rooted to the spot, each of us acutely aware of the other’s strained breathing and the sheen of perspiration on our skin. The muffled moans of our wives, echoing through the half-darkness, sent humiliating sparks of arousal through our bodies, resulting in shameful bulges we couldn’t fully hide. When I caught Neeraj adjusting himself—a subtle, uncomfortable gesture—it only made the situation more tangible, and I hated how deeply I could relate to his flustered embarrassment.


A sudden thud from Simran’s bedroom caught my attention—wooden bedframe meeting the wall in a steady, rhythmic pattern. The sharp squeaks it produced seemed to sync with her higher-pitched cries, a visceral reminder of her body being taken. Simran’s voice rose in a long whimper, “Ohhh... oh God... ohhh!” followed by a desperate plea of “Don’t slow down... please!” Her cries seemed to hit a new pitch with every thrust, and each syllable cut through my already fraying nerves.



In contrast, Ananya’s more guttural moans from the opposite room pulsed through me like electric jolts, each one making me hyper-aware of every tiny sensation. Even the slight rustle of my boxers against my thighs felt magnified, the cotton fabric brushing my skin with each shift, underscoring how little we wore. Neeraj shifted next to me; I heard the faint rub of his waistband against his stomach and realized with an uncomfortable jolt that he was adjusting himself again, probably just as attuned to every creak, every gasp, every collision from the adjoining rooms as I was.



Simran’s voice broke into soft, breathy cries through the closed door that quickly escalated into sharp gasps. 

“Ahhh… ohhhh, so good,” she whimpered, her tone climbing with each thrust. 

“Please don’t stop, please…” she begged, her words cracking into a desperate moan, each syllable echoing in the small space and rattling my already fragile composure.


Simran’s voice swelled, each syllable louder than the last: “Ohh... ohhh, yes, right there! Harder… oh God, harder!” The raw edge in her tone sent a jolt through me, making my heart hammer as I realized how completely she’d surrendered to his every thrust. I felt sorry for us. 

Just as Simran’s wails faded for a moment, Ananya’s voice rose in a low, lingering 
“Mmm… ohhh… yes, please… keep going…”
“Ohhh… ohhh… that’s it… so good…”
“God, that feels... ahhh… don’t stop… ahhh…”
 The quiet urgency of her moans clashed with the frenetic rhythm from the other room, drilling into my consciousness like an intimate secret I was never meant to hear

Neeraj and my eyes met, momentarily sharing the misery and the twisted kinship of our situation. Neeraj, usually the composed one, looked unusually vulnerable. "It's hard... hearing her like that," he confessed in a whisper, barely audible over the faint sounds of satisfaction that underscored his words and heightened the sting of our predicament. I nodded, my throat constricted with emotion. "Yeah," I managed to reply, my eyes briefly dropping before snapping back up, trapped by the same uneasy curiosity that tormented us both.


Neeraj shifted beside me, his boxers doing little to hide the twitch of his erection. My own mind spiraled into conflicting arousal and shame—until a sudden, piercing cry from Ananya reached us: “AHHHHHH… YOU ARE SOOOO GOOOOD ASSIIFFFFFFF!” The words snapped me back to the stifling reality, each syllable a reminder that this was really happening.

The room felt claustrophobic, the air thick with the scent of our nervous sweat mixed with the lingering traces of our wives' perfumes. Neeraj shifted uncomfortably, his hands fidgeting before he involuntarily reached to adjust his erection again. My eyes involuntarily tracked the movement, a hot flush of embarrassment coloring my cheeks as I realized where my gaze had landed.


Catching himself, Neeraj smiled sadly. "Sorry, I... I don’t know why I..." I interrupted him, my voice low, attempting to ease the tension. "It’s okay," I said, trying to sound reassuring, though the sounds from the bedrooms grew louder, the unmistakable rhythm of a bed creaking and moans barely contained, a constant reminder of our shared cuckold status.


Silence stretched between us, filled only by the soft creaking of a bed and the barely suppressed moans that seemed to echo directly into our cores. From Simran’s room came a breathy wail of “Nnnngh... oh, yes, yes!” followed by a series of rhythmic creaks. Across the hallway, Ananya’s urgent “Ahhhh... Asif...” overlapped, turning the entire house into one charged chorus of stolen pleasure.


 I felt a strange camaraderie in our shared discomfort, a bond forged in the fire of our humiliation. Finally, Neeraj spoke again, his voice tinged with a mix of defeat and reluctant acceptance. "Do you ever think about it? What's it like for them... with those guys?" His question hung heavy in the air, laden with unspoken fears and dark fantasies.


My heart raced, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and forbidden images. "Sometimes," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "It’s hard not to wonder... to imagine..." Our glance shared in this moment of raw honesty was unspeakably intimate. Neeraj looked down, his voice barely audible as he added, "It’s messed up, isn’t it? That part of us that can’t stop thinking about it, even now."


The room seemed to shrink further, the air charged with the scent of our shame and the vivid sounds of our wives' pleasure. Neeraj, his hands now visibly trembling, adjusted himself again, his movements desperate and more pronounced. I watched, fixated as he succumbed to the humiliating arousal, his hand forming a tight fist around his growing erection, stroking slowly, almost as if in defeat

"I always thought mine was below average," Neeraj continued, shifting his weight uncomfortably as he pulled the waistband of his boxers slightly away from his skin, giving  me a fleeting glimpse of his length. It was more an invitation than a confession, and I felt a tug of morbid curiosity within me.


I hesitated, my mouth suddenly dry, as the moans from the bedrooms grew louder—almost as if Simran and Ananya were competing in their pleasure. Neeraj’s question about “comparing” hung in the air, heavy with implications I wasn’t sure I could face.


“I... I haven’t really compared before,” I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of our new, awkward reality. The rumble of our wives’ moans made it hard to concentrate, each cry rattling my nerves. Neeraj shifted again, his gaze sliding to my crotch. For a moment, we just stood there, avoiding eye contact, neither of us wanting to admit how much the situation excited or shamed us.


Finally, with a shaky exhale and a weak, apologetic smile, I let my curiosity win out. Slipping my thumbs into the waistband of my boxers, I gave Neeraj a quick glance, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. Slowly, I tugged them down just enough to show him. My cock—shorter, thinner—felt utterly inadequate under his scrutiny, and a wave of embarrassment washed over me.


A fleeting image of Ananya’s gentle smile intruded into my thoughts—her face soft with love and trust back before any of this was happening. That memory clashed with the reality of this humiliating size comparison. As if the recollection of her unwavering acceptance of me, flaws and all, was mocking me now. My throat tightened; I wondered how quickly that affection had faded once these bigger, bolder men with their monstrous cocks entered our lives.



Neeraj nodded slowly, his gaze analytical but not unkind. "We're built differently than them, huh?" he said, a hint of empathy in his tone that didn’t quite mask the edge of superiority. As he spoke, he began to slowly stroke himself, his hand moving with a confidence that seemed at odds with our awkward exchange.



The sounds of ecstasy from the next rooms intensified, punctuating our silent, humiliating comparison. Simran’s moans were high and keening, while Ananya's were deeper, more guttural—each one a visceral reminder of our inadequacies as husbands.


the quiver in her tone letting me know exactly how expertly he was working her. Despite her moans reverberating like waves through the hallway, I couldn’t tear my ears away from her raw, unfiltered desire.



Ananya’s moans, though quieter than Simran’s, had a deliberate persistence: “Mmm… ohh, yes… ohh, yes…” each repetition like a physical jolt to my chest. It was as though her every breath was meant for him alone, while I was left clinging to scraps of what used to be ours.



Ananya’s cries reached a fever pitch, coming out as breathless exclamations of “Oh… ohhhh my God!”,
“Don’t stop… ooh… don’t stop… please…”
“Mmm… so close… ooh… I’m so close…
Driven by a blend of envy and unwilling excitement, I wrapped my fingers around my own shaft and attempted to match Neeraj's rhythm. Each stroke ignited a guilty warmth deep in my belly—shame and pleasure colliding. I knew how wrong it was, how pathetic I looked, measuring myself against another cuckold while our wives moaned for others, but I couldn’t stop. My breaths came ragged, each exhale steeped in longing, revulsion, and a surprising jolt of raw lust.



Just as I gathered the courage to meet Neeraj’s eyes, Ananya let out a piercing “Yes, ohh yes …!” from the guest bedroom.


It sliced through my thoughts, making my heart stutter as I realized anew how far gone she was in another man’s pleasure.



"Seems like they’re really enjoying themselves," Neeraj remarked casually, his eyes half-closed, lost in the audio cues of our wives' pleasure. The statement, meant to be a mere observation, felt like a knife twisting in my gut.


I nodded, unable to form words, my focus narrowing to the sounds of Ananya's moans that I could now distinctly tell apart. Each cry that slipped from her lips was a stark contrast to the soft, wet sounds of my own desperate strokes. Neeraj, perhaps sensing my turmoil, glanced at me, his expression a complex tapestry of pity and camaraderie.


I couldn’t stop a tidal wave of memories from flooding my mind—the early days of our relationship, when Ananya’s shy smiles and tentative kisses were mine alone to provoke. I recalled the first time she moaned my name in bed, her body arching against mine in a moment so perfect I believed I was the only one who could ever bring her such pleasure. Now, hearing that same voice cry out for someone else, louder and more unabashed than I’d ever imagined, tore at my heart. Each echo of her ecstasy reminded me how far we’d drifted from those tender moments when I naively thought my touch was all she’d ever need.


Neeraj moved slightly closer, and the proximity of our bodies made the situation even more intense. His erection was undeniably larger, a stark contrast to my own, and it loomed impressively as if challenging the very air between us. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of apprehension and a strange, burgeoning excitement as his question hung in the air.


Neeraj took a half step closer, and suddenly the space between us felt uncomfortably intimate. I couldn’t help noticing how, even through his boxers, his erection clearly outmatched my own—and the realization sparked both dread and an odd spark of fascination in me. My heart beat faster with every breath, a chaotic mix of fear, curiosity, and reluctant arousal.


We stood there, silent for a moment, hearing the wet, rhythmic moans from the bedrooms escalating behind closed doors. Neeraj’s eyes flicked down, then back up to meet mine, a silent exchange that made my stomach twist in knots. I swallowed thickly, not sure if I was supposed to speak first or just give in to this absurd suggestion we both knew was coming.


“Do you... do you wanna... touch each other’s...?” Neeraj finally asked, voice low, nearly drowned out by a particularly loud moan from Ananya. The offer sounded so ludicrous that I almost laughed, but the ache in my pants reminded me this was no joke.


My hand shook as I raised it, hovering uselessly between us. I felt my pulse hammer in my ears, the air thick with the scent of sweat and stale perfume. It took another long second—another round of muffled cries from the bedrooms—before I moved closer, letting my fingers brush his shaft. The instant I made contact, my breath caught in my throat as I realized just how significant the difference was, in more ways than one.

Neeraj’s dick was warm, pulsing, and significantly thicker than mine. The skin was smooth, and as I wrapped my fingers around him, his girth filled my grasp satisfyingly, a stark reminder of my inadequacies.

He reciprocated, his hand enclosing around my shaft. The difference was immediate and painfully stark: my fingers could barely wrap around his girth, while his grasp on mine felt loose—almost as though he pitied me. I swallowed hard, my face flushing with the brutal reality of our mismatch.

For a second, we both froze in that awkward grip, a fleeting eye contact passing between us. My heart drummed wildly, torn between mortification and a twisted pull of curiosity. Neeraj cleared his throat, as if trying to muster some sense of control in this bizarre tableau. Only then did he begin moving his hand in a slow, measured stroke, silently prompting me to follow his lead.

"So, even cuckolds can have decent tools, huh?" I blurted out, my attempt at humor failing to hide my embarrassment. Neeraj gave a small, tense smile in response, and a wry look flickered across his features. I mimicked his pace, each motion a heavy reminder of what we had become, while Simran’s and Ananya’s moans continued to echo like a taunt from the next rooms.

The sounds of our wives' pleasure became a backdrop to our own forbidden exploration. Ananya’s deep, guttural moans punctuated by Simran's higher, keening cries created a symphony of arousal that was impossible to ignore. "They sound like they're having the time of their lives," I managed to say, my voice cracking with a cocktail of emotions.

"Yeah," Neeraj agreed, his breath hitching as he intensified his grip, "and here we are, playing with each other." His tone was half-mocking, half-commiserating, as if acknowledging the absurdity and the thrill of our situation simultaneously.

Hearing Ananya’s moans rise together with Simran’s sent a hollow pain through my chest, like each cry cut deeper into my pride. A heavy feeling of despair settled on me, weighing down my shoulders. Yet, some strange part of me felt a disturbing attraction, an odd excitement at the idea that she might be feeling pleasure beyond anything I had ever given her. My heart pounded with every sound, torn between the heartbreak of her betrayal and a dark, unshakable thrill I couldn’t explain.

We continued in strained silence, each slick stroke of our hands echoing the unbroken cries of pleasure from the bedrooms. The moans seemed to align with our movements, every desperate sound from our wives prompting another wave of shame and involuntary arousal. My breathing quickened, and I noticed Neeraj’s chest heaving as well, both of us trapped in this humiliating dance.

Slowly, he tilted his head, eyes flicking down at the disparity between our sizes, then back to my face. There was something in his gaze—hesitation, maybe a flicker of reluctance—that made my pulse thunder in my ears. For a moment, I thought he might say something reassuring or back away entirely. Instead, he gave a subtle nod toward me and spoke in a low, unsettling calm:

“Why don’t you get on your knees… and take a closer look ?”

His words were soft but carried a charged weight, an invitation and a command all at once. It sent a cold shiver through me, heightening every humiliating beat of my heart.

The words hit me like a jolt, and for a long moment I just stood there, pulse thudding in my ears. A wave of doubt hit me—was this truly happening? I glanced at the hallway again, where an especially high-pitched moan from Simran made my blood run cold, and I thought of Ananya’s deeper, breathier cries. Another wave of shame washed over me; how had we ended up here, me on the brink of kneeling before another man, while our wives moaned for someone else?

My chest felt tight, everything in me screaming to stop, to refuse—but the raw tension in Neeraj’s gaze, and the humiliating ache in my boxers, kept me locked in place. After what felt like an eternity, I let out a shuddering breath, my body betraying my instincts.

As Neeraj’s suggestion hung in the air, my heart pounded with that strange mix of dread and inexplicable arousal. His voice had a commanding edge that seemed to vibrate through the tense atmosphere. Hesitation gripped me... yet, something more powerful—an unspeakable curiosity or perhaps the desperate need to appease him—overrode that fear.

I found myself wondering if Neeraj was attempting to salvage some shred of his manhood by asserting dominance over me in this bizarre, humiliating context. It struck me as a desperate move, perhaps even a reflex, to regain a sense of control lost to the sounds and realities unfolding in the other rooms. This notion twisted in my gut, mixing with the raw, uncomfortable heat that his suggestion had ignited.

Reluctantly, I found myself nodding, the primal part of my brain overtaking my rational thoughts. I lowered myself, my knees hitting the soft carpet with a soft thud, bringing my face dangerously close to Neeraj’s cock. It hovered there, a stark symbol of my own inadequacy, pulsing gently with every beat of his heart.

Neeraj's cock, an average six inches in length but notably thicker than mine, presented an impressive sight. The girth was substantial, veined and firm. The skin was a deep, rich tone, smooth and taut over the rigid shaft, with a heavy, swollen head that glistened slightly at the tip from pre-cum. I thought I was average but that misconception was over now. As it throbbed in the dim light, each pulse seemed to mock my own lesser endowment, reinforcing the disparity between us and the humiliation of my position on my knees before him. Despite its formidable presence, it perhaps lacked the monstrous size of Anand’s or the intimidating length of Asif’s, making me wonder about the relativity of humiliation as I knelt there, caught between envy and degradation.


The scent of his musk was stronger now, mixed with the faint hint of the cologne he had worn earlier in the evening. The smell of his cock was  clouding my senses. With a shaky breath, I reached out with both hands, my fingers trembling as they encircled his shaft. The skin was hot to the touch, velvety yet firm, and I could feel the throbbing veins under my fingertips.

My hands began to move, tentatively at first, then with more purpose as I found the rhythm that elicited soft groans from Neeraj. His hands found their way to my head, guiding me, encouraging me with gentle pressure. “Oh fuck yeah, that feels sooo good,” he moaned, his voice a husky whisper that seemed to resonate directly in my chest.

As Neeraj's hands pressed against the back of my head, a wave of conflicting emotions crashed over me. My mind raced—this was a boundary I had never crossed, nor thought I would. The sharp scent of his skin and the heat radiating from his body were overwhelming. Despite my inner turmoil, his insistent guidance left little room for refusal. With a mix of reluctance and a strange, compelling drive, I found myself yielding, opening my mouth to accommodate him. The decision was made more from the pressure of the moment than any desire on my part, and as I tentatively wrapped my lips around him, the reality of my actions hit me. The texture, the taste, the sheer act felt surreal, a stark departure from anything I'd ever known, imbued with a humiliation that was both intense and, oddly, disconnected from the rest of my life.

The taste of his pre-cum was salty, a stark reminder of what I was doing. I couldn’t believe I was on my knees, servicing another man’s cock—a fellow cuckold, no less, which somehow made the act feel even more degrading. The thought should have repelled me, but as Neeraj continued to belittle me, saying, “I can't believe you're actually sucking my dick,” something within me broke.


A particularly loud moan from Simran, laced with unmistakable ecstasy, resonated through the quiet, causing Neeraj's body to tense sharply. His grip on my head tightened momentarily, and I could feel his cock twitch in response, a sudden surge that increased the flow of precum I could taste. The bitter-sweetness of it was stark, a visceral reminder of the complex web of humiliation and reluctant arousal that bound us in this moment. The sound of Simran's voice, so full of pleasure and so distant from my current reality, deepened the sense of degradation that washed over me.

Gradually, almost without conscious decision, my tongue began to explore. It traced the prominent veins of Neeraj's shaft, moved over the smooth head, and dipped briefly into the slit at the tip, tasting the increasing bitterness of precum. Each tentative lick was a surrender to the unfolding reality, driven perhaps by a deep-seated need to assert some control over the situation or by the complex mix of emotions wrought by our shared humiliation and the overt sounds of pleasure from our partners. The act, once purely a response to Neeraj's urging, became something more involved, an action that, while still humiliating, was now marked by a bewildering sense of participation.

A nauseating swirl of feelings overwhelmed me—jealousy for the men satisfying our wives, strange sympathy for Neeraj caught in the same plight, despair over my own inadequacies, and an undeniable, reluctant arousal at the spectacle unfolding. It was a storm in my mind that I couldn’t outrun, a maddening cocktail of shame and lust that made my pulse pound in my ears like a drumbeat. Even as I felt every ounce of my dignity drain away, I couldn’t tear myself from the brutal fascination of this twisted dance.


From somewhere down the hallway, I heard Ananya’s moans suddenly rise to a desperate pitch, each frantic cry seeming to slice through my awareness like a blade. “Ohhh God… ohhh yes… I’m so close…” she gasped, her voice trembling with raw desire that I had never heard her direct at me. I couldn’t tell exactly what Asif was doing to her, but his low, rumbling encouragement was just as clear, punctuating her every breathy whimper. The stark contrast between her unrestrained pleasure and my own pitiful attempts to satisfy another man in the living room made my stomach twist with shame. A final, searing scream—“Ahhh… ohhh my Goddddd!”—ripped through the air, signaling her explosive release. The sound roared in my ears, fueling a toxic blend of jealousy, humiliation, and undeniable arousal that only tightened my mouth’s grip around Neeraj’s cock. I felt my own heart pound so violently I thought it might burst, each rhythmic throb a cruel echo of the ecstasy that was meant to be mine but had long slipped from my grasp.

My arousal spiked, a twisted mix of humiliation and desire. I was so lost in the degradation and the physical sensation—the slick sounds of my mouth working over him, the salty taste of his skin, the heady scent of our combined arousal—that I almost didn’t notice the bedroom door swing open.
Asif appeared, his presence like a shockwave, his massive 8.5-inch cock leading the way, stark and erect. The sight of it, even more imposing than Neeraj's, momentarily brought me back to reality. There I was—on my knees, hands and mouth full of another cuckold’s cock, completely exposed and at the bottom of this twisted hierarchy. The loud slap of Asif’s footsteps on the plush carpet snapped me out of my daze, his shadow looming over us like an ominous prelude to further humiliation.


"Oh!" Asif exclaimed as he caught sight of us. His tone was more amused than surprised. "Didn't mean to interrupt! Just wanted to check in on Anand and Simran before I start fucking your wife," he said, with a mocking grin that made my stomach churn.
“So all those sounds of Ananya were just from Asif going down on her? Damn, he must be good,” I thought to myself, feeling pathetic and utterly defeated. Despite the deep humiliation, I found myself rooted to the spot on my knees, unable to move or stand.

Asif knocked casually and entered the bedroom where Anand was vigorously pounding Simran. The sounds were unmistakable—loud, raw, and intense. A minute later, Anand emerged, his massive erection as thick and long as his forearm, glistening with a mix of sweat and Simran's arousal. He paused, noticing me still on my knees in front of Neeraj.

"Well, look at this," Anand chuckled, his voice dripping with disdain as he glanced at Asif. "Ketan’s really embracing the cuckold life, isn't he?" His laughter filled the room, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate through my very core.

Asif joined in the mockery, "Yeah, and he seems pretty good at it, too. Must have been practicing, huh?" He turned to me, his gaze sharp and piercing. "Tell me, Ketan, how does it feel knowing I'm about to take over from where Anand left off last night? He told me she was quite the screamer with him. I bet I can make her scream louder. She must have  already forgotten what it's like to be with your tinny Lulli."

The comments stung like salt in an open wound, but I couldn't find the words to respond. My humiliation was complete, and their laughter only deepened my shame. Asif threw one more barb, "Don't worry, I'll make sure she has another night to forget you by."
Instead of leaving right away, Asif and Anand paused in the dimly lit living room, as if they’d forgotten something. Completely naked, their cocks hung openly in the warm air—Asif’s still formidable at eight-and-a-half inches, and Anand’s matching the thick length of his forearm, both a stark reminder of why our wives were screaming with ecstasy. 


From my position below, I couldn’t avoid noticing the casual way they carried themselves, as though their massive cocks were badges of superiority. A harsh contrast to my own inadequate state—my head near another cuckold’s average length while these real bulls loomed above us, unafraid and half-amused. Anand paused to pick up a water bottle, twisting the cap slowly as his huge cock bobbed in plain sight, revealing just how little regard he had for our embarrassment.

Asif and Anand shot each other cocky grins, their bare cocks still gleaming under the lamplight. Anand took a leisurely sip of water, then gave a dismissive nod toward the bedrooms. “You realize, by the time we’re done, your wives will be craving nothing but big cock,” he said with a sneer. “They’ll be size queens for life—won’t even look at your sorry junk anymore.”

“Yeah, guess we’re turning them into proper whores,” Asif chimed in, his laugh a low rumble. “Might as well face it, cucky. After all this, they’ll need something thicker, longer... they’ll never be satisfied by your ‘little guy’ again.”


Anand smirked, tipping the bottle to his lips while letting a bit of water spill down his chest, each swallow jostling his erection. “Speaking of real men,” he drawled, wiping his chin and casting a disgusted glance at the intimate display, “we’ve got better things to do. Come on, Asif. Let these cucks enjoy their own little show.”

As they disappeared back into the rooms, leaving the doors slightly ajar—whether by accident or cruel intention, I couldn't tell—Neeraj walked towards the door from which the sounds of Simran's pleasure emanated. 

Asif’s last words—“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she has another night to forget you by”—throbbed in my mind like an open wound. For a few paralyzed seconds, I couldn’t breathe, the mocking ring of his voice looping in my ears. I pictured Ananya trembling in pleasure under him, moaning the way she never did for me. How many more nights would she forget me by the time all this was done?

A fresh wave of self-disgust nearly pinned me to the floor. If I walked away, would that save any shred of my dignity, or only confirm how powerless I really was? My pulse hammered with indecision, but the heat and raw musk in the living room gave me no real option. Swallowing back a mixture of rage and arousal, I finally shuffled forward, each step a surrender to the bizarre logic of our new reality.

[Paty@123]

Most of the people don't like gaya stories,including me, maybe the no.of readers may come down

[Givemeextra]

Loved the latest update.   





Perhaps more description of sex scene can be added in next update. Think it stopped when it was just starting  
More scenes of handling Neeraj's shaft by Ketan & Ketan's shaft by Neeraj [may be a 69  scene where their respective wives cheer their Husband's getting it on and such].    Not turning story into Gay theme but at least 1-2 episodes should not be an issue.


Pls think about it. Very much loved the Update. 

[Arul Pragasam]

These shameless cucks now turned gays. bloody shit. early their wife and alpha lovers humiliated them. Now they degraded themselves for another way of pleasure. Henceforth, they dont need any woman. Asif and Anand can fuck their assholes and mouth as well. ha ha ha

[Chotanunnu18]

Very nice update. Plz bring more small penis humiliation

[RANA ROY]

Awesome.....

[Naveena komaali]

Nice going. Instead of bulls, the wives of these men should humiliate them now.

[Paty@123]

Update plz, and I wish there will not be any gaysex

[AjitKumar]

Very good update. Different layers of each coming out.

[Betacucky]

As I walked towards the bedroom, the scene inside was intensely erotic. Asif was lying on top of Ananya, his strong body confidently pressing against hers. The bed sheets were in disarray, hinting at the fervor that had just occurred. The air was thick with the scent of lavender from the candles and the heavier aroma of sex, forming a heady mix that disoriented me.

Beneath him, Ananya was almost naked, her body glowing with sweat that accentuated her curves. She still wore her black bra, the dark fabric contrasting sharply against her flushed skin, while her lower half was completely exposed. The only other adornments on her body were her bangles, clinking softly with each movement, and her mangalsutra, which lay against her chest—a poignant reminder of our marriage as she kissed him with a passion that was both unfamiliar and deeply unsettling to me.

Asif's erection was formidable, lying thick and ready against Ananya’s thigh, visibly throbbing with readiness. It was a clear signal of what was about to happen.

As I watched them together, I felt a humiliating stiffness between my legs, a stark and unwanted reminder of my deep-seated arousal.

When Asif noticed me at the doorway, he gestured for me to come closer with a commanding wave. 
As Asif gestured for me to come closer, the difference between us was stark. His broad shoulders and muscular frame stood in sharp contrast to my own slighter build. His hands, steady and assertive as they motioned me forward, made my own hands look frail; they trembled visibly, the shaking worsening as I stepped closer into the tension-filled room. Asif's confident stance as he towered over both Ananya and me underscored his dominance, making me feel even smaller and more insignificant.

"Nazdeek aa, Ketan. Dekh kaise ek asli mard teri biwi ko santusht karta hai.( Come closer Ketan and look how a real man satisfies your wife)

With a cruel smirk, Asif gestured dismissively at me. 'Dekh Ananya apni pati ki chhoti lulli, (Look at your husband's tiny cock Ananya)' he taunted, his voice dripping with disdain. 'Ye kaisa hijda hai? Saala, mujh jaise asli mard ki zarurat hai tujhe.( How is he even a man, you need a real man like me') 

As Asif threw crude insults my way, something unexpected happened inside me. His harsh words, meant to humiliate me, strangely made me feel even more excited. Every time he mocked me in that rough mix of Hindi and English, it didn't just embarrass me—it made my body react. My own humiliation was so intense that, to my own disbelief, I felt my lulli twitch. It was confusing and wrong, but the shame and excitement twisted together inside me, making everything even more intense.

Ananya's eyes fleetingly met mine. There was a complex play of emotions across her face—a mix of submission and undeniable arousal. It seemed as if she was struggling, caught between her sorry husband and the overwhelming sensations Asif elicited in her. 


I continued looking into her eyes as they quickly followed Asif’s mocking gesture, resting momentarily at my lulli. Her brow furrowed slightly, and the quick, almost pitying shake of her head before she averted her eyes spoke volumes. In that brief look, I didn't just see disappointment; I saw a resignation that felt like a gut punch, reinforcing the depth of my humiliation. 

With a malicious grin, Asif shifted his position, showcasing his dominance and skill. He lowered himself between Ananya's spread legs, his eyes locking with mine for a moment to emphasize his control before he turned his attention to her. He began to expertly pleasure her with his mouth, his movements deliberate and practiced. Ananya’s response was immediate and intense; she arched her back, her hands clutching at the bedsheets as waves of pleasure washed over her.

Her moans filled the room, loud and uninhibited. 

'Aaahhhhhhhhhhhh...' 

she sighed deeply as Asif’s tongue found her most sensitive spots. 

'Mmmmmmmmm...' 

her voice mingled with the soft clinking of her bangles as her arms moved restlessly by her sides. Asif's pace quickened, his tongue and lips working in perfect harmony, drawing circles and flicks that sent shivers through her body. 

'Ohhhhhhhhhhhh...' Ananya gasped, her voice rising in pitch as her pleasure built.

The air was thick with the scent of her arousal, mingling with the faint smell of lavender from the candles.

Each of her moans was a testament to Asif's skill. Her body responded to him with a raw, primal urgency, her hips bucking slightly to meet his mouth, desperate for more of the exquisite sensations he elicited. She was grinding herself harder on Asif's mouth.

Asif's hands were firm on her thighs, holding her in place as he continued his relentless assault on her senses. Every now and then, he would look up at me, a smirk playing on his lips as he witnessed my pained expression, enjoying the show of my wife's undoing at his hands. This visual connection, his eyes gleaming with triumph and Ananya’s moans of 'Aaahhh... Mmmmmm...' echoing around us, created a vivid scene of my utter humiliation and her abandon."


After Asif's display of expertise had left Ananya moaning loudly in ecstasy, he straightened up, his eyes catching mine with a smirk that spoke volumes of his superiority. The room was still echoing with the remnants of Ananya's loud expressions of pleasure. It was then he directed his commanding voice at me, breaking through the heavy air charged with arousal.

"Make your wife ready for me, little guy," he boomed, the depth of his voice reinforcing his dominance. His words pulled Ananya's attention towards me; her reaction was immediate and cutting. She quickly closed her legs, a gesture of modesty that stung sharply, as it was directed at me—her husband.
The sudden rush of unwanted arousal made my own erection painfully evident. It was embarrassingly small, especially in contrast to Asif’s impressive size. His cock was not only thick and pulsing but also exuded a sense of dominance with every visible throb. In comparison, mine seemed insignificant, barely worth noticing. This humiliating contrast sent a hot flush of shame across my face, underscoring my inadequacy.

Ananya, visibly overwhelmed by the intense situation, clenched her eyes shut and covered her face with her hands, her body quivering slightly from a mix of embarrassment and conflicted arousal. Asif, ever observant, leaned in closer to her, his voice dropping to a taunting whisper. He gestured crudely towards my erection. 'Look at him, Ananya. Even he knows his place, excited by his own humiliations. He's a true cuckold, and deep down, he craves this. And you, you know what you crave, so leave any guilt you have now' he hissed, his words slicing through the tense atmosphere. It was painfully ironic how Ananya, even in her exposed state, found the need to shield herself from me, her husband.

Seizing the moment to further assert his control, Asif reached out and forcefully removed Ananya’s hands from her face, compelling her to confront the reality before her. 'Open your eyes and see what your husband really is,' he demanded, his voice thick with authority and undeniable arousal. As her eyes met mine, the pained realization of her modesty reserved only for me was stark and excruciating.

Asif didn't stop there; he took command over her body like it was his own. Grasping Ananya’s thighs, he spread them wide with a powerful and deliberate action, exposing her fully to my view. The sight was overwhelmingly humiliating. Ananya's pussy, glistening and wet from Asif's oral attentions, was a vivid display of her arousal. This stark contrast to the modesty she had momentarily shown towards me only deepened the humiliation.

As I knelt between Ananya’s spread legs, the warmth and scent of her pussy enveloping me, I began to delicately touch her. Each contact with her skin was a mix of the familiar tenderness we once shared and a painful reminder of the current humiliation. My movements were gentle, tentative, exploring her softly, yet they elicited nothing more than faint whimpers from her—so starkly different from the loud, uninhibited moans she had offered Asif.

Carefully, I started to lick her, trying to rekindle the passion we used to ignite together. Each taste was a bittersweet reminder of our intimacy, yet now laced with the bitterness of the moment. Despite my efforts, her reactions were muted, barely a whisper of sound escaping her lips, her body still except for the slight tensing of muscles under my touch.

Meanwhile, Asif, standing close by, resumed kissing Ananya, his actions assertive and demanding. Unlike my own, his touch sparked visible reactions; she kissed him back fiercely, her body unconsciously reaching out for him. Yet, as I continued my efforts, the contrast became painfully evident—she was responding to him with passion, while to me, it was mere compliance.

Catching the obvious disparity, Asif looked down at me with a smirk, his voice cutting through the tense air with a taunt, You see Ketan she’s not moaning for you like she was for me. You see that, right? You can’t make her feel the way I do.”

His words were a harsh reminder of my inadequacy, echoing cruelly in the room, underscoring the humiliating truth of my new reality. As he mocked me, not only did it deepen the sting of my humiliation, but it also underscored the profound disparity in the pleasure Ananya derived from us. It was a brutal, undeniable declaration of my failings as her husband.

Suddenly, with a swift, forceful motion, Asif grabbed my hair and yanked me upwards, forcing me to face him. His grip was tight and unyielding, pulling a whimper of pain from my lips as I stumbled to my feet. As I stood, Asif’s erection was alarmingly close, its presence imposing and impossible to ignore. It pressed against my belly, its heat and firmness a stark contrast to my own meager arousal.

The size of Asif's cock was daunting—thick, veined, and impressively hard, exuding a dominant aura that overshadowed me completely. Seeing it so close, feeling its warmth against my skin, stirred a confusing mix of fear, humiliation, and an inexplicable urge. For a moment, I felt a bewildering impulse to reach out, to touch it—perhaps even guide it to my mouth. But I quickly suppressed the thought, my cheeks burning with shame at the mere idea.

As I stood there, frozen, Asif leaned in closer, his voice a low growl. "Look at it, Ketan. This is what a real man's cock looks like. Not that pathetic little thing you call your penis." His words cut deep, and I couldn’t help but glance down, comparing the two. The difference was humiliating. Next to Asif’s girth, my own erection felt insignificant, barely there—just another reminder of my inadequacy.

Asif chuckled darkly, noticing my involuntary comparison. "Feeling small, aren't you? It's okay to admit it. You know she can never be satisfied with what you've got. Not when she's had this." He gave his hips a slight thrust, brushing his erection against me again, which elicited another involuntary whimper from me. The contact was both degrading and strangely electrifying, sending a jolt of humiliation through my entire body.



Asif's grip shifted suddenly, his hand snapping down to my groin. With a cruel pinch, he grasped my lulli, squeezing hard. The pain was sharp, shooting through me, making me flinch and cry out. Tears sprang to my eyes, not just from the physical pain but from the deep, searing shame that washed over me.
Laughing heartily, Asif held me there, exposed and vulnerable, turning to Ananya with a mocking grin.

"Dekh, Ananya, ye hai tera pati ka asli roop ( Look Ananya, this is what your husband truly is)" he jeered loudly, flicking my lulli as if to highlight its insignificance. "Is this even worth calling a man? It’s like a child's plaything, hardly enough to be called a man’s."

I stood frozen, humiliation coursing through me as his laughter echoed around the room. Ananya’s quick glance added to my disgrace. Her eyes, wide with a mix of shock and disappointment, quickly looked away, unable to hold my gaze. The disappointment in her expression was clear—she saw me not as her husband in that moment, but as a figure of pity and embarrassment.

The weight of Asif's dominance bore down on me, his crude words replaying in my head, amplifying my humiliation. I felt small, diminished, stripped of dignity under his mocking gaze.


As Asif's low, menacing voice cut through the air, a deep, cold dread settled over me. "Do it right, little guy, or I'll take that tiny ass of yours right here in front of your wife," he growled. His words, thick with threat, seemed to echo ominously in the room.

I shivered under the weight of his gaze, which had turned sharp and commanding. "I'll do it," I managed to whisper, my voice trembling with fear. Asif studied me for a long, silent moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if measuring my worth and finding it lacking. His slow, deliberate nod was more intimidating than any shout could be.

Reluctantly, I turned back to my humiliating task, Asif's mocking voice ringing in my ears. Despite the fear gnawing at my gut, I was driven by a desperate need to somehow prove myself, to reclaim even a shred of dignity in front of both Asif and Ananya.

I resumed my efforts, my tongue working tentatively. Each stroke, however, seemed to draw only the faintest response from Ananya—a stark contrast to the loud moans Asif had elicited from her. Each whimper from her was a silent rebuke, reminding me of my inadequacies and deepening the sting of humiliation.

Moments later, Asif walked away, only to return with something in his hand. He'd picked up Ananya's black lacy panties, which he'd thrown to the corner of the bed earlier. "Wear this," he commanded, tossing the delicate fabric at me. Fear-stricken and out of options, I compiled without a word, slipping into the tiny garment. It clung to my skin, a stark reminder of my subservience.

Asif laughed heartily as he mocked me. "Ananya, look at your little hubby. He looks so cute in your panties. He has nothing between his legs. He looks like a cute girl," he jeered. His words cut deep. My own flesh had shrunk back, minimal and embarrassed, making the fit of Ananya’s panties seem almost appropriate—a perfect encapsulation of my humiliation.

Regaining his control, Asif ordered, "Come here, you tiny little guy—or should I say, girl? Start licking your wife's cunt properly now." His command was non-negotiable. Trembling, 
I resumed my place between Ananya's legs, increasing my efforts to please her. Yet, as I devoted myself to her, Ananya was wholly consumed by Asif, her mouth eagerly taking him in. 

Each time Asif's impressive cock withdrew from her mouth, glistening with her saliva, it reappeared thicker, commanding, a visual testament to his dominance. To my shock, Ananya managed to take him deeper with every thrust, something I had never imagined she could do. 

As Ananya's enthusiasm did not wane, her adeptness at pleasing Asif struck me profoundly. She deepthroated him with a skill and eagerness that shook my core, challenging everything I thought I knew about her capabilities and desires. The visual of her, so determined and successful in accommodating Asif’s massive cock, underscored the vast gulf between his masculinity and my own perceived inadequacy.


"As Asif issued his command, his deep voice boomed with authority, ' Pakad mera lund aur daal apni biwi ki choot mei (Hold my cock, little guy, and guide it into your wife’s eager pussy.') My hands shook as I reached out to obey, grasping his immense, iron-like shaft. The feel of it—so much larger and more formidable than anything I had seen in real life—was not just intimidating but deeply humiliating. 

With each movement, Ananya’s saliva, which coated him generously, made his skin slick under my tentative touch. The size of him was overwhelming, surpassing even Anand’s, which I had once thought massive. Here I was, helping another man enter my wife, a task that felt as demeaning as it was surreal.
As I positioned Asif's glistening, circumcised cock at the entrance of Ananya’s folds, the head of his shaft loomed large, as thick as my wrist and ready to breach her. The heat from his body radiated against my palms, and I could almost feel the pulse of his arousal as I supported its weight, guiding him towards her. Ananya's legs trembled with anticipation, her body instinctively responding to the proximity of his dominance.

Asif's voice dropped to a murmur, his tone laced with a challenging edge. He paused, giving Ananya a brief moment to catch her breath after her intense climax. 'Are you sure you can take it?' he asked, his words hanging in the air with a provocative dare.

'YESSSS! BUT PLEASE GO SLOWWW...' Ananya's response was immediate and sharp, a high-pitched squeal of eager consent that pierced the tense atmosphere. 'I’ve never taken one as big as yours but I’ve come close with Anand!' Her admission was filled with anticipation, clearly excited by the challenge.

Turning his head slightly, Asif shot a knowing grin back at Ketan, his expression one of smug triumph. 'Watch closely, Ketan. I’m about to show you what she’s been missing,' he taunted, his eyes gleaming with mischief. 'Maybe you’ll finally understand why she never moans for you like this.' His words, loaded with implication, were a clear taunt, promising a demonstration that would be both a revelation and a humiliation for the watching husband.

As the thick head of Asif's cock brushed against Ananya's entrance, her entire body tensed, a sharp intake of breath marking her surprise. 

'Ahhh... ohhh... oh my God! slowly please....' 

she gasped, her voice quivering with a mix of fear and mounting excitement. Each push inside her elicited a series of soft, trembling whimpers, 

'Nghhh... nghhh...' 

growing louder and more desperate as he filled her more deeply.

The initial stiffness of her body gave way to involuntary movements; her hips began to buck against him instinctively. Her moans deepened with every slow, deliberate thrust, 'Ahhh... ahhh... nghhh...' echoing around the room as her breathing turned into ragged gasps, trying to accommodate his overwhelming size.

As Asif pushed deeper, he glanced over at Ketan with a mocking sneer, his voice booming with crude authority, "Dekh Ketan, teri biwi kaise chod rha hun ( Look Ketan, look how I am fucking your wife)" His taunt was meant to degrade, starkly highlighting the intense pleasure he was providing Ananya—a stark contrast to what she experienced with her husband.


As Asif thrust into Ananya, his taunting words cut through the air, "Dekh teri biwi kaise chod rha hun.(Look how I am fucking your wife)" Each syllable was a searing flame to my senses. Despite the crushing humiliation, there was a perverse thrill that shot through me, igniting a mix of emotions I couldn't comprehend. Hearing him speak so crudely about Ananya, witnessing the raw, physical reality of his words, stirred something dark within me. It was degrading, yet strangely, it fueled an unwanted surge of arousal that I felt ashamed to admit. This crude Hindi, so stark and demeaning, somehow tapped into a hidden, masochistic part of my psyche, drawing me deeper into the twisted spectacle before me.

Ananya was completely enveloped in a world of ecstasy, her body glistening with sweat and traces of her recent climaxes. Each movement from Asif seemed to draw another wave of intense pleasure that cascaded through her. As he penetrated deeper, reaching halfway with his thick, pulsing shaft, her body responded uncontrollably. With each thrust, the soft 'channn chann chann' of her bangles added a rhythmic melody to the scene, the delicate sounds escalating with the fervor of their movements, mirroring the intensity of her pleasure.Her back arched sharply, a silent scream of overwhelming pleasure as a powerful orgasm ripped through her. The sensation was so intense that her entire body shook, her fingers digging into the sheets, clutching them tightly as if trying to anchor herself in the storm of her own ecstasy.

As Asif continued his forceful thrusts, he taunted loudly, 'Dekh, Ketan, aise chodte hain kisi aurat ko... Tere jaise hijdo ko seekhna chahiye. ( This is how you fuck a man Ketan, A sissy like you should learn)' The crude words washed over me, igniting a painful flush of embarrassment across my cheeks. I could only nod weakly, too humiliated to meet Asif's piercing gaze or to deny the harsh reality his words painted.

Amid the thick, charged atmosphere, Ananya's voice rose above the tension, laden with a mix of pain and pleasure. 

'Asif... Asssiffff... Ahhhhh Asssiffffffff...' 

she moaned deeply, each call punctuated by her body's visceral response to his powerful thrusts. Her passionate cries filled the room, leaving no doubt about her complete and utter surrender to the ecstasy he was driving her towards.

 Asif glanced back at me with a cruel smirk. His voice dripped with mockery as he delivered another sharp taunt, 'Ketan, teri biwi toh ab sirf mere naam le rahi hai. Tujhe bhool gayi lagti hai. (Look Ketan how your wife is only screaming my name now, maybe she has forgotten you completely)' The words stung sharply, suggesting that Ananya had forgotten me entirely in her throes of passion with him. Each syllable of his taunt echoed in the room, hammering the humiliating truth into my heart.



Her breaths came quick and ragged, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she gasped for air, her moans uncontrollable, spilling from her lips with each of Asif's powerful thrusts. Asif was kneading her bra covered breasts with each stroke. The gentle clinking of her bangles added a delicate, rhythmic sound, each movement of her arms—whether intertwining with Asif's or bracing against the bed—enhancing the erotic symphony filling the room. The sounds of their bodies moving in unison, the slick, wet noises of Asif’s deep thrusts grew louder, more insistent, and the metallic channn channn of her bangles wove through it all, creating an unreal experience for me.

Ananya’s eyes remained tightly closed, her face a tapestry of pleasure and intense focus as she surrendered to the relentless waves of her climax. Each peak seemed to flow seamlessly into the next, with no pause in between. Her legs shook, the muscles in her thighs tensing as she instinctively tried to pull him deeper, to feel him as completely as possible. Her fingers moved from clutching the sheets to digging into Asif's back, her nails leaving faint red trails on his skin as she pulled him closer, desperate for the full force of his thrusts that overwhelmed her senses.

The room was thick with the scent of their combined arousal, a potent, intoxicating fragrance that filled the air and intensified the raw, primal nature of the moment. This aroma mingled with the escalating sounds of their union, creating an overwhelming sensory experience that dominated the room, marking it as a place of profound and unrestrained pleasure.

"Watching the scene unfold before me, I felt a complex whirlwind of emotions gripping my chest tightly. The sight of Ananya, lost in waves of ecstasy under Asif's commanding presence, sent an involuntary shiver through me. My own arousal was palpable, an unwanted response; I felt my cock twitch as I witnessed my wife reaching new heights of pleasure, heights I had never taken her to. Each noise she made was a sharp stab of humiliation yet strangely stirring within me. Standing there, frozen, I was caught between wanting to turn away in shame and the visceral, primal urge to watch. 


The delicate clink of her bangles, escalating with the intensity of their movements, echoed the tumult in my heart, each moment etching itself painfully, indelibly into my memory. As I stood there, it dawned on me that Asif had already given Ananya more orgasms in this one encounter than I had managed to give her in the past six months. This realization was another sharp jab to my ego, a stinging reminder of my inadequacies and the pleasure she was experiencing under someone else's control."


“KYA MERA LUND TERE PATI SE BAHOT BADA HAI (IS MY COCK WAY BIGGER THAN YOUR HUSBAND)?” Asif glanced at me and prodded while thrusting harder into Ananya

“UFFF...... HAAAAAAAAAN! ( UFFFF YESSSSSSSSSS)" my wife moaned between the thrusts. 

“USKA KITNA HAI...? ( HOW BIG IS HE...?)”

“AAP SE AADHAA SHAYAD...” ( MAYBE HALF THAN YOUR SIZE) She screamed again mid thrust.

"PAR USKA KAAFI PATLA HAI" (BUT ITS WAYYYYY THINNER) She continued to my astonishment. 

"KYA TU APNE PATI KI CHOTI LULLI SE PHIR KABHI CHUDWAYEGIi?!" (WILL YOU EVER GET FUCKED BY YOUR HUSBAND'S TINY COCK AGAIN? )  

"NAHIIIIIIII!..... (NOOOOOO)" 

Asif looked at Ketan with a smile. 


Ketan stood frozen, his shock palpable as the words tumbled from Ananya's lips. Each sentence struck him like a physical blow, the crude language and cheap hindi  and her humiliating admissions cut deeper than any physical pain could. He couldn't believe the woman he married, the woman he thought he knew, was capable of such vulgarity. Calling Asif “ aap” a tone of respect in hindi to her bull was too much for Ketan to handle. It was as if he were seeing a different side of her, one that revelled in her own degradation.

Hearing her compare her husband so unfavorably to Asif, rejecting him so explicitly, filled him with a complex mix of astonishment, hurt, and an undeniable, disturbing spike of arousal which made him cum without touching his cock. This had never happened to him before. A lowly whimper escaped his mouth as he came the hardest he ever had. 


The room spun around him as he grappled with the reality of his wife's words, words that painted her not just as unfaithful but as someone who was a slut now. As he commanded the space, he suddenly paused, cocking his head towards me. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he barked at Ananya, 'Look at your husband, baby. Watch him as he cums from just watching us.

Ananya's eyes, glazed with the haze of her ecstasy, flicked towards me reluctantly. The sight of me, a pathetic figure lost in my own climax, seemed to shock her back to a reality she wished to ignore. She stared as the last tremors of my release shook through me, her expression a complex tapestry of arousal, confusion, and perhaps a flicker of disdain.

Asif chuckled darkly, pleased with the spectacle and the control he exhibited over both of us.” Dekh apne hijde pati ko Ananya( Look at your sissy husband Ananya). Now let me show you what a real man can do.” With that, he resumed his powerful thrusts, each one punctuated by Ananya’s high-pitched cries of pleasure, pushing her further into the throes of her orgasms.

'Watch closely, cucky,' Asif taunted, his voice thick with triumph. 'This is how you make a woman scream.' The room echoed with the sounds of their union, the slap of skin on skin, Ananya’s continuous screams, and Asif’s grunts of exertion.

"Batah Ananya, tere pati se zyada maza aa raha hai na.....?( Tell me am I fucking you better than your husband ?)" Ananya, caught in a wave of pleasure, barely managed to nod in agreement.

Asif continued while laughing "Ketan, teri biwi to ek number ki randi nikli… ek pati ke samne uski biwi ko nanga karke chodne ka maza hi kuch aur hai. (Ketan, your wife turned out to be a top-class whore, there's a different kind of pleasure in undressing someone else’s wife and fucking her in front of her husband"

Asif's movements became more deliberate. 

With a sudden, deft motion, he reached behind Ananya and unclasped her black bra with ease. The fabric loosened, and he slid it off her shoulders, revealing her completely. He paused for a moment, holding the bra in his hand, then turned his gaze towards me. With a mocking smirk, he tossed the bra aside. The black lace lay crumpled on the carpet, a poignant reminder of the dynamics unfolding before my eyes, fueling a mix of emotions as I stood there, unable to move

She screamed again, having another major orgasm as she arched her back, a high, keening sound that filled the room as Asif pressed deeper, his movements both skilled and assertive. He continued fucking her through her orgasm. With every thrust, he seemed to reach new territories within her, her body responding with violent shudders of pleasure.