How my wife got gangbanged by multiple men in mela

[Givemeextra]

CHAPTER 24
On the journey back, I was a mess of emotions. I couldn’t believe this was really what my wife wanted…and yet I knew, deep in my heart, that it was. I hadn’t sensed her needs, and now she was sating them with the help of someone else—and she thought she had my blessing.

The madari strolled along happily beside the raja and my wife. My wife was, in theory, being dragged along as a helpless prisoner, but she was so eager to reach the tamboo that she was almost the one doing the dragging. The lohar and the dancer each had an arm under one of mine, towing me along so that we didn’t fall too far behind.

When we reached the nauchandi, the raja finally jerked my wife’s dress up to cover her breasts, so that we didn’t attract too much attention. Her hands were still bound, but given some of the half-naked people we saw running around between the tamboos, there were much stranger things going on than some BDSM games.

The raja told us to wait outside while he went into the tamboo where the sipahi were. We all heard him tell the men the whole story. How there was a guest—they’d probably seen her earlier, getting a spanking—who had a gang bang fantasy. How she wanted it to be in character, with her as a noble woman the raja had told them was a Randi. How they could all fuck her.

“Wait,” I heard one guy say. “I don’t like this. Are we going to get in trouble?”

“No. She absolutely wants it. It was her idea. She has a safeword—‘lion’. Or she can tap three times. If she does that, stop. Anything else, you keep going.”

“That’s what you say,” a man said.

“I’ll get her to confirm it all when she comes in here. Then you go into character,” the raja told him.

“And we can do anything to her?” asked another guy.

“Anything,” confirmed the raja.

I heard Nandini give a soft moan and saw her actually weaken at the knees a little on hearing that.

“Wait, wait,” said a man’s voice. “Is she a Randi or a noble lady? I’m confused.”

The raja sighed. “She’s a noble lady. But you don’t know that—you think she’s a Randi because that’s what you’ve been told. So treat her like a Randi.”

Again, that little moan from my wife.

“And there’s one more thing,” said the raja. “Her husband will be with her, in a madari costume, and—” His voice dropped to a whisper, and we couldn’t hear him. But I knew he was explaining about the trick they were playing when I heard the cruel sniggers.

A moment later, the raja stepped out of the tamboo. “You,” he said, pointing at me. “I know you want to watch this. You come in first.”

The lohar and the dancer pushed me through the tamboo flap and I staggered inside. And gulped.

There were indeed ten sipahi in there, all still in their shining armor. None of them was under six feet tall. All of them were smirking at me. As I’d suspected, the raja had told them who I really was.

Before I knew what was happening, I’d been pushed onto a bench in the far corner of the room. Ropes were run around the seat and then around my thighs, binding me securely to it. When they’d finished and covered the ropes with my robe, it looked as if I was simply sitting there…but there was no way I could move. And then they put the speakers from the music system they were using right next to me and started a playlist of mughal era music. It was loud enough that you had to raise your voice a little even in the center of the tamboo. In the corner, where I was, it was easily loud enough to cover my grunts and moans. They left my cock uncovered, and I was appalled to find it was stiff at the thought of what was going to happen.

The madari entered next. Before my wife arrived, he looked right at me and gave me a bow, and all the sipahi laughed.

Then, finally, the raja opened the tamboo flap. Outside, I could see my wife giving the lohar a long, lingering kiss. Then she repeated it with the dancer. They both waved at me as if I was an old friend before strolling off into the night.

The raja turned to my wife. “Sure?” I heard him say.

Nandini nodded. “Sure.” She paused. “Thank you,” she said. “This has been…amazing.”

The raja leaned in and kissed her. I watched the sipahi grin at one another. Then he showed my wife gently into the tamboo. “This is Nandini,” he told them. “The guest I was telling you about. Nandini, do you understand the scene we’re going to role play?”

My wife nodded. “I’m going to be”—she flushed—“used like a Randi by all of you.”

They’d known to expect it, but to hear a beautiful woman say it was still a shock. I heard several of them swear delightedly under their breath.

“What’s your safeword?” asked the raja.

“Lion,” said my wife.

“What if you can’t speak?”

“I tap my fingers together three times,” said Nandini. She looked at the madari. He ran over to her and rubbed her arm, nodding, then retreated.

The raja looked around the tamboo to see if anyone had any doubts that she wanted it. There were none. Right at the end of his sweep, his eyes found me, and he grinned. I swore at him, my muffled grunt lost in the music.

The raja swept out of the room again, taking my wife with her, the tamboo flap closing behind them. It stayed closed for a moment and I knew that, outside, the raja was waiting, letting everything sink in for the sipahi…and for me. I silently begged my wife to change her mind. Surely, she must realize that something’s up? I thought. That I couldn’t possibly agree to this? But I remembered all too clearly what I’d told her: I don’t think we should set a limit. I’ll be there. I’ll just stop you if it’s too much. I’d set the trap myself; the raja and his friends had only sprung it.

The tamboo flap flew open. “GENTLEMEN!” bellowed the raja. “In payment for all the hard work you’ve put in guarding this nauchandi, your raja seeks to reward you. Take this ale!” And he pushed a wooden barrel of ale with his foot, sending it rolling into the tamboo so fast that the sipahi had to scramble to catch it. They cheered and applauded, some already running to find tankards. “And take this Randi!” the raja yelled, and flung my wife forward. He’d retied her wrists behind her, I saw, and that simple action both left her more helpless and thrust her chest forward, making her already impressive breasts bulge even more. The men roared their approval.

“W—What?!” my wife gasped. “But I’m not—”

“Pay no attention to what she says,” the raja told them. “She’s a liar and a thief. Watch your purses. Her cost is one copper coin per fuck.”

My wife spun to look at him. “No! No, you can’t! Tell them the truth!”

“You see?” asked the raja. “She’s a liar. Now: drink, fuck and make merry.” And he turned on his heel and was gone.

The sipahi surrounded my wife, many of them already clutching foaming tankards. The barrel of ale was a master stroke by the king, instantly creating the illusion of a party.

“She’s a pretty one,” said one sipahi. He reached out to stroke her cheek and she pulled away from him. He laughed.

“A copper coin, eh?” said another. “I’ll wager she’s worth that, and more besides.”

My wife frantically shook her head. She was panting with arousal, and I could tell she was savoring the feeling of utter helplessness. “I’m not a Randi!” she told them. “I’m a noble woman! You must believe me!”

“Yes, yes,” said one of them, as they closed in around her. “Do noble women have breasts like these?” And he yanked down her dress, baring her breasts once more. She gasped, and made as if to cover herself, but with her hands tied she was powerless to stop them looking.

“A fine pair,” said one.

“I want to see them wrapped around my cock,” said another. “What will that cost me?”

My wife was shaking her head. “You—You can’t! I’m not—”

Two more moved in on either side of her and started to haul her lehenga up, teasing the others by revealing her inch by inch.

“Stop!” she panted. “Don’t! Don’t do that!” She tried to dodge away, but she was held firmly in place now. Two men each had a hand on a breast, squeezing and kneading them, and she gasped. Then a man standing behind her twisted her head to the side so that he could kiss her. “No!” she said. “No, don—mmfff!”

Her protests were silenced as the sipahi behind her mashed his ale-wet lips to hers and kissed her deeply. Meanwhile, her lehenga was rising up above the tops of her jooti…over her knees…up her thighs…. As she felt it climb dangerously high, she non-struggled against the men holding her. Then it happened. The lehenga rose above her naked sex.

“Look at that!” said one of them. “No underclothes—she really is a Randi.”

Another sipahi shoved his hand between her thighs. My wife jerked and moaned, but any protest was lost in the kiss. “She’s dripping wet,” the sipahi announced. He indicated a rivulet of creamy sperm on the inside of her thigh. “And she’s already entertained a few customers!”

“I’ve seen enough,” said one man, pulling his armor off and dumping it on the ground. “Here’s my coin.” And he flung a copper coin at her so that it bounced off her flat, toned stomach. “Get the vaishya on her back!”

Someone used a knife to cut the leather thong binding her wrists. She was free for a second, but then four strong hands grabbed her wrists and knees and she was lifted into the air, her lehenga hanging down from her waist, her dress pushed down below her breasts, her jooti kicking in the air. “W—What?” she gasped, thrashing around, her long hair hanging down like a silken curtain. “N—No! Don’t!” I watched the sipahi listening to her, wondering if she was going to back out and say “Lion.” But she didn’t.