How my wife got gangbanged by multiple men in mela

[Givemeextra]

Let’s rewind.

The first time I realized that I loved showing off my wife was almost a year before. It had been our wedding anniversary, funnily enough. Four years married, six together and everything had been going great. Well, nearly everything. Good jobs, nice house. No kids, but we were talking about it. The only problem was in the bedroom.

I’m kind of a shy person—always the one in the corner at parties. When I met Nandini, everyone said we were made to be together because she was just like me: quiet and studious, preferring a book to a night out (historical Mughals were her idea of a guilty pleasure). Except that neither of us quite fitted the shy person mold.

Nandini didn’t look as if she should be shy. Tall, with full breasts and long, silken hair, she was alluring in a way that wallflowers aren’t meant to be. She had to fight the guys off—in fact, that might be why she first agreed to go out with me, because I was the only one too shy to hassle her.

I couldn’t match her in looks, but what I did have was a sex drive set much higher than a shy guy should. It was as if I had the sexual needs of a player, one of those cool guys who bedded a different girl every night. I knew how lucky I was to bag Nandini and I cherished every moment with her…but it didn’t change the fact that I was horny all the time and she wasn’t—or, at least, she didn’t appear to be.

It wasn’t that I wanted sex with other women. I was a hundred percent faithful, and so was she. It was that I needed…more. I wasn’t sure what. It wasn’t as if sex with Nandini was bad—we did it at least every couple of weeks, which I told myself was pretty good after four years of marriage. And I loved the sex we had; it was just that it was…tame. I’d go on top or, occasionally, she’d go on top, and that was the limit of our experimentation. I’d coaxed her onto all fours once, loving the way her breasts hung down and bounced as I drove into her, but she’d seemed really uncertain.

“Did you like it?” I’d asked her when we’d finished.

She’d blushed and looked away and I’d cringed inside, assuming that I’d pushed her into something she hadn’t wanted to do. A few days later, she’d quietly asked if I wanted to try it again, but I reassured her that I wouldn’t ask her to do something that degrading ever again.

So we continued. Nandini would sit in the living room reading historical Mughals while I hunkered in the den, sating myself with porn on my PC, searching things like anal sex and deep throat and even gang bang. I always took care to wipe my history when I was done, because I didn’t want Nandini to know I was into that stuff. I still felt that there was something missing, though, something I needed but that I couldn’t find.

Then came the night of our wedding anniversary. We’d been out for dinner and were heading for a drink at an upmarket bar. There’s a moment I remember very clearly, because in many ways it’s the instant our lives changed. We stepped out of the doors of the restaurant, Nandini fiddling with her purse and simultaneously moving to pull a cardigan around her shoulders. She was wearing a black lehenga that hugged her ass and a dark red, low-cut top. On its own, it showed off a generous amount of her soft, pale cleavage—much more than she would usually show. That’s why she’d worn a cardigan with it, to cover herself up, and it had worked fine in the air-conditioned restaurant. But as we came down the steps and the muggy city air hit us, she hesitated.

“It’s too hot,” she said, frowning. She looked down at herself uncertainly. “Do you think I can get away without it?”

I smiled. The top wasn’t that outrageous—just low cut for her. “Sure,” I said. “It’s fine.”

She folded the cardigan into her purse and we set off. Her breasts looked fantastic against the dark red of the top, the skin touchably smooth and soft. All I wanted was to pull her into a cab, get her home and do wicked things to her.

And then it happened. As we were strolling down the street, a guy in a suit passed us coming the other way. His eyes locked on my wife’s breasts and he stared.

Nandini didn’t notice—she was looking in the other direction, and the guy was gone in a second. But I sure noticed. I saw the look in the guy’s eyes and it hit me like a truck. First a gleam of raw lust as he took in her beauty. Then a flicker of surprise as he saw me and finally a flash of anger as he realized he wasn’t going to be able to have her.

I liked it. That’s what really shocked me. Something about seeing another man plainly lust after my wife made my cock twitch. At first, I thought it was the pride—knowing that I had a hot wife. Then I thought it might be the feeling of superiority—I’ve got her and you haven’t. But when I played it back in my mind, the real reason became clear. He’d wanted her. For that second, he’d imagined fucking her. And if I hadn’t been there to stop him…he could have done it. Seduced her and stolen her and fucked her.

The whole experience almost made me stagger and Nandini must have wondered why I went suddenly quiet. As I walked along with her, I was more turned on than I’d ever been in my life.

Then it happened again. A guy a few years older than me, giving my wife a long, lecherous look as he passed. Again, she seemed not to notice. And this time, I was imagining in my head what would have happened if I hadn’t been there. Maybe he would have stopped her and propositioned her—he wasn’t bad looking, for an older guy. What if Nandini was a different kind of woman, one who wasn’t faithful to me? Maybe she would have kissed him, right there in the street. In my mind, I could see them together, their bodies entwined, his lips mashing against hers as his tongue slipped into her mouth, one hand kneading at her breast.