How my wife got gangbanged by multiple men in mela

[Givemeextra]

CHAPTER 3
She ran—as best she could, in the jooti—over to a mirror and I tensed, waiting for the howl of outrage as she saw her exposed cleavage. But none came. “I don’t look badass,” she said quietly. “I look….” She trailed off, and got that distant look in her eyes again.

I frowned. I’d never seen her like this before. “Do you like it?”

She coughed and nodded and I swore I saw her blush. Why would she be blushing?

I decided I’d figure it out later. The important thing was to get her into the nauchandi before she changed her mind. “Let’s get in there,” I said, and took a step towards the counter to pay.

“Whoah, whoah, whoah,” she said. “I’m not going out there dressed like this with you in jeans. You said you’d wear something equally ridiculous.”

I’d completely forgotten about my own costume. I asked the costumier to give me a standard male outfit, but he rubbed his chin in concern.

“The problem is,” he said, “the nauchandi is pretty busy, and there’s a lot more men than women. And you’re a little on the small side.”

I flushed. I am a little on the short side for a guy, and slender, with it. Nandini being tall doesn’t help. With her heeled jooti on, she was a good few inches taller than me.

The costumier looked through the racks and shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t have any male outfits that would fit you.”

My jaw dropped. “You’re not telling me I have to wear a woman’s outfit?”

“Oh, gracious no. I have a youth outfit here that’ll fit you. It just might be a little…tight.”

It was.

When I came out of the changing room, I was in a pair of cream tights that were so tight you could see the bulge of my cock and balls. On my top half, I wore a sort of waistcoat the guy called a jerkin, with no shirt underneath. On a bigger guy, it might have looked quite good, but on me it hung limply on my slender chest, showing off my lack of muscles. A pair of rough, worn jooti that didn’t lend me any extra height completed the outfit.

“Don’t I get a weapon?” I asked plaintively.

“No,” the costumier said. “You’re a stable boy.”

My wife looked at me. “You look great,” she said. Then tried not to laugh.

I sighed. I was in a hurry to get into the nauchandi, because we were only there for the afternoon and it was already well past noon. It’s worth it, I thought. It’s worth it to see Nandini in that costume. I paid the costumier, we put all our twenty-first century possessions in a locker, and we headed in.


It was like Disneyland for grown ups. For the first few minutes, I didn’t know which way to look first.

There were vendors hawking their wares—everything from clothes to furniture. There were food and drink stalls, selling ale and mead and twenty different varieties of meat-on-a-stick. There were jugglers and singers and people dancing.

The difference was that, in Disneyland, you ignored the rest of the attendees except when you had to stand in line behind them. Here, the guests were as much of a draw as the attractions.

Almost every woman was in a low-cut dress, a peasant blouse or some sort of corset. lehengas were hiked up for dancing, showing lots of leg. Some of the women were in little more than a bikini made of fur or chain mail (the nauchandi had a pretty loose interpretation of history and I saw elf maidens, cat girls and steampunk ladies…and all of them looked amazing).

Some of the men had gone to just as much trouble. I saw guys in full sets of armor and a few were even riding about on horses dressed as lords and princes. A lot of them had taken the opportunity to show off their muscles, with black leather versions of my jerkin and tight pants…only on them, the effect was a lot more flattering.

I walked on and almost smacked right into Nandini’s back. She’d stopped dead, entranced by a lohar working at his stall. The guy was stripped to the waist and pounding on a piece of metal with a huge hammer, his long, sandy-blond hair hanging down over his face, his muscles gleaming with sweat.

I’d never known Nandini to look at another man before. Which, when I thought about it, was sort of weird. Maybe she’d just been hiding it well, and didn’t feel the need to hide it here. Or maybe it was that these guys were dressed just like the men in the cable shows she loved. It gave me a little pang of unease to see her looking, but I quickly dismissed it. I mean, I was looking as well, right? It was only fair.

Besides, that unease was twisted around something else. The idea of her thinking of another man, even though I knew she’d never do anything about it, played right into my fantasies. I put my arm around my wife’s waist and she actually jumped, she’d been so lost in watching the guy. She looked immediately guilty.

“Let’s go over there,” I said. “Let’s see what he’s doing.”

She blushed. “Oh! No, I was just looking, I wasn’t really—”

But I guided her over there and said a cheery hello to the guy. Who ignored me. I was put out for a second, but then I realized it was part of his act. Everyone was in character, and you were meant to play along as much as you could.

“No time for talk, young squire,” he told me. “I have twenty swords to finish before nightfall.” He whacked the metal particularly hard and a shower of sparks flew up. His tanned biceps gleamed.

Nandini was shuffling her feet and trying not to look at him, apparently quite embarrassed to be suddenly close to the man she’d been gazing at…and probably fantasizing about. “We should go,” she whispered to me.

“You, vaishya,” the lohar said. “Come fetch me some water. I have no time to lay down my tools.” And he finally lifted his head and looked right at my wife, and I saw something pass between them. The guy was pretty good looking, with a short blond beard and a winning smile that defused his arrogant attitude. In fact, with all that tanned muscle and the big hammer, he looked like a Norse god.

My wife blushed, but I was surprised to see her practically run forward and pick up the ladle from a bucket of water. The lohar stepped away from the forge a little, still clutching the red hot sword in one hand and his hammer in the other. He was taller than her, even with her heeled jooti on and, as she pressed up against his naked chest to put the ladle to his lips, she suddenly looked very small and fragile. And as she reached up with the ladle, I saw him staring straight down at her breasts, perfectly offered up to him by the dress and almost within reach of his mouth.

He drank hungrily, his bare chest rising and falling as he panted between gulps. He leaned back as he emptied the ladle and my wife had to press up against him harder to keep it at his lips…and then she planted one hand right on his chest to balance herself.

The lohar drank his fill, gave a growl of satisfaction and suddenly pulled my wife into the crook of one arm, keeping the hot sword out of the way. She yelped, but then, as he bent her backwards over his arm, she went sort of…limp. I mean, he wasn’t holding her, and she could have just straightened up, but she just hung there and stared up at him, and I saw her start to pant, her eyes wide. The lohar grinned, leaned down and kissed the base of her throat. The spot he chose made it light and playful—it wasn’t like he was kissing her on the lips. Yet on the other hand, his mouth was only a hands-width above the top of her breasts. And still she made no attempt to move.

“Begone, vaishya!” he told her. “I have work to do! Distract me no more with your temptations!” He hoisted her up and sent her staggering out of his tamboo.

I was standing there open mouthed. The whole thing had taken only thirty seconds, but my wife had been ogled, grabbed and kissed. It was exactly what I’d dreamed of, and my cock was hardening rapidly in response.

“Well,” said Nandini, panting. “I mean—That was—Well.” She didn’t sound offended or angry, exactly. It was more like she was trying to sound offended and angry. As if she thought she should be.

I was grinning. I was so, so¸ glad that we’d come to the nauchandi. Then, just as we were about to move on, I glanced back and caught the lohar looking at the two of us. I gave him a friendly smile, just to show that everything was cool and we were fine playing along—I understood it was all in fun. And he smiled back at me, but the smile wasn’t…right.

His eyes flicked to my wife and then to me and the smile he gave was cruel and calculating, sending a deep chill through me. And it ended, weirdly, not with a final look at my wife’s ass or breasts but with a sneering, knowing look at my own costume, especially the lower half.

I stopped in my tracks, a chill rising in me. For a moment, I looked back over my shoulder towards the entrance. Past the costumier’s tamboo, I could see bits of our old, familiar world—cars and SUVs, people in normal clothes. Should we just leave?

I looked at my wife, at those gorgeous breasts jiggling as she walked along. She realized I’d stopped and turned around, flicking her long hair over one shoulder and smiling at me, as if asking what the problem was. Right then, a man passing by her took the opportunity to gawp at her chest and I felt my cock stiffen again.

I shook my head, dismissing my concerns. We moved on.