Adultery Wife helps me become a cuckold

[incest_cuck]

Aradhya’s hands twitched above her head, and she kicked faintly again, the ghagra slipping another inch down her hips. The domineering landlord grinned as I gripped my phone tighter, my pants still around my ankles, the toilet seat creaking under me as I leaned forward. My chest burned, every inch of her being stripped bare by his filthy hands twisting me deeper into that haze—wanting to touch myself, dreading how fast I’d unravel if I did. He was taking her apart, piece by piece, and she let him, her shy resistance melting under his relentless, perverted hunger.

Mr. Banerjee’s hands roamed again, his pudgy fingers sliding down to the ghagra still clinging to her hips. With a rough tug, he yanked it lower, the sheer fabric scbanging against her curves as it slid halfway down her thighs, bunching awkwardly around her legs under his weight. Her plump juicy ass pressed deeper into the couch cushions, partially bared now, and she shifted uncomfortably, her thighs twitching as the cool air grazed her exposed skin. She mouthed something her coy pout trembling, but he just smirked, his beady eyes drinking in every inch of her like a starving man at a feast.

His beard grazed her chest again as he dipped his head, sucking one of her nipples back into his mouth—harder this time, his lips and tongue working it with sloppy fervor until it glistened wet and red. She arched beneath him while his free hand groped her other breast, squeezing it roughly before trailing down to her bare hip, his thumb digging into the soft flesh there. Then he pulled back, spitting a thick glob onto the valley between her breasts and watched it slide down her sternum.

His beard brushed through it as he leaned in, licking it back up with a slow, deliberate swipe, the coarse hairs scbanging her skin raw. Her nose wrinkled again, her eyes squeezing shut as she turned her face away, but her hips lifted slightly—whether from discomfort or that reluctant heat, I couldn’t tell. He chuckled silently, his shoulders shaking, and tugged the ghagra down a bit more, the fabric catching around her knees, leaving her lower half tantalizingly trapped beneath him.

His fingers traced the inside of her thigh now, teasing higher but not yet crossing that line, his touch sweaty and possessive. He grabbed her hair again, yanking her head back to force her to look at him, and planted another messy kiss on her lips—spit-soaked and aggressive, his tongue shoving into her mouth as she squirmed, her bound hands pushing weakly against the air. Her legs shifted faintly under the tangled ghagra, and he pressed himself closer, his kurta riding up to reveal the bulge of his paunch pressing against her bare stomach.

Mr. Banerjee’s hands paused, his breath heaving as he sat back slightly, still straddling her thighs. His beady eyes glinted with that perverted hunger, and he reached for his kurta, tugging it up over his head in a clumsy, aggressive motion. The fabric caught on his thick beard for a moment before he ripped it free, tossing it onto the floor. His pudgy chest was exposed now—hairy, sagging, a sheen of sweat making his skin glisten unpleasantly under the light. His paunch jiggled as he shifted, looming over her like some grotesque king.

Aradhya’s eyes flicked over him, her coy pout faltering into a tight-lipped grimace, but she didn’t move, her body still pinned beneath his knees. He smirked, leaning down to plant another spit-soaked kiss on her lips—sloppy and forceful, his beard scratching her chin raw as she turned her head slightly, a silent protest she didn’t fully commit to. His hands dropped to her ghagra again, and this time he wasn’t teasing. With a rough grunt—I could tell from the way his shoulders tensed—he yanked the fabric down past her knees, sliding it off her legs entirely despite the awkward angle. It hit the floor in a crumpled heap, leaving her completely bare beneath him.

Her dusky skin glowed in the dim light, her trimmed bush—a neat, dark patch—now fully exposed between her slightly spread thighs. She tried to close her legs, but his knees kept them forced apart. Her shy facade cracked further, her lips parting in what might’ve been a whispered “No”—or maybe “Please”—but he ignored it, his pudgy fingers tracing the edge of her bush, teasing the coarse hairs with a lecherous grin. She squirmed, her thick fleshy ass shifting against the cushions, her hips lifting slightly as if caught between pulling away and giving in.

The fat landlord unbuttoned his trousers next, shoving them down just enough to free his thick, hairy thighs, the waistband catching under his paunch. He didn’t take them off completely—just let them sag, his arousal obvious even through the fabric of his stained underwear. His hand returned to her, groping her bare thigh before sliding up to her stomach, smearing more sweat and spit as he went. He dipped his head again, sucking her nipple into his mouth with a wet slurp, his beard prickling her skin as he tugged at it with his teeth. Aradhya’s body tensed, her lips parting in a silent wince as her eyes fluttered shut, a faint shudder running through her—half from the sharp sensation, half from the scratchy irritation of his beard. I watched, my breath catching in my throat, a jolt of heat shooting through me as her discomfort twisted with that reluctant arousal I couldn’t unsee; my fingers twitched near my erection, shame and need warring inside me as I fought to hold back.

Mr. Banerjee’s other hand grabbed her hip, flipping her slightly to the side so he could slap her ass again—harder this time, the smack visible in the way her flesh rippled. She jolted, her legs kicking faintly, and he chuckled silently, his shoulders shaking as he shifted his weight off her thighs. He slid down the couch, positioning himself between her legs instead, his knees now pressing into the cushions as he hovered over her lower half. His beard brushed the skin just above her trimmed bush, close enough that his heavy, hot breath ruffled the dark hairs, teasing without touching. Her eyes squeezed shut, her coy game all but gone now, replaced by a mix of discomfort and that strange, reluctant heat I’d seen before.

Mr. Banerjee lingered there a moment longer, his pudgy frame hunched between her legs, then abruptly slid off the couch, rising to his feet at the edge of it. His trousers sagged around his thick, hairy thighs, but he still wore his stained underwear, the fabric stretched tight over a hard-on that jutted out obscenely—impressively hung for a man in his fifties, a detail that made my stomach lurch even harder. His beady eyes gleamed with that sick, perverse excitement as he stood there, towering over her, his gaze raking over her naked body like a predator sizing up its catch.

He licked his lips, his thick beard twitching as his mouth moved, forming words I couldn’t hear but could guess from the slow, deliberate shapes. “Look at you,” he might’ve said, his grin widening into something filthy and triumphant. His hands reached down, gripping her thighs to spread them wider as he stared at her trimmed bush, then up to her modest B-cups, still red and slick from his earlier attention.

My sweet sexy wife shifted on the couch, her dusky skin glistening with sweat and his spit under the living room light. Her lips parted—maybe a protest, maybe a plea—and a flush of shame crept up her neck, her eyes darting away as if she couldn’t bear to meet his gaze, but he ignored it, too lost in his lecherous trance.

Mr. Banerjee’s smirk twisted sharper, and he stepped back slightly, his underwear still clinging tight to his bulging hard-on. His pudgy hand shot out, grabbing her wrist with a rough yank, pulling her up from the couch. She stumbled to her feet, her legs wobbling as she stood naked before him, her trimmed bush and curvy frame fully exposed. He mouthed something, his tone probably sharp, commanding, as he tugged her closer, forcing her to stand at the edge of the couch. Her hands fluttered to her chest, a fleeting attempt to cover herself, but he swatted them away, his fingers digging into her hips to hold her in place.

He stood just a couple of inches taller than her, his hairy, sweaty chest heaving as he raked his eyes over her again, drinking in her bare vulnerability. His beard brushed her shoulder as he leaned in, dragging his tongue across her collarbone in a slow, wet lick, his perverse glee evident in the way he lingered, tasting her sweaty skin as his breath hitched. She flinched, her shoulders hunching slightly, the shame still staining her cheeks, but her body stayed pliant, her thighs trembling as he pressed himself closer, his hard-on nudging against her hip through the fabric. His hands roamed her back, groping her ass with a possessive squeeze, and he mouthed more—maybe “Fucking gorgeous”—his crooked teeth flashing as he admired her like a prize he’d won.

My cock pulsed painfully, every second of her humiliation feeding that twisted heat inside me. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t—his dominance, her shame, it all pinned me there, teetering on the edge. My eyes stayed glued to the screen, tracing the way her trembling hands hovered near her sides, her dusky skin catching the light as she stood vulnerable before him, his lecherous gaze never letting up.

Mr. Banerjee stepped back just enough to give her space, his sweaty chest rising and falling as he adjusted his stance, his hard-on still straining against his underwear. His thick beard twitched as his mouth moved, forming slow, deliberate words and then his crooked teeth flashing in a smirk that oozed command. Aradhya’s head tilted slightly, her eyes softened with submission, the shame still there but overshadowed by a quiet surrender. Without hesitation, she complied when his hand shot out, gripping her shoulder with a firm push, guiding her down as his other hand gestured toward the floor, his dominance wrapping around her like a leash.

She sank smoothly, her movements steady and obedient, her knees brushing the edge of the couch before settling onto the carpet. The transition felt seamless—her body yielding to his will as if she’d already accepted her role. Her gaze lifted to meet his briefly, the flush on her cheeks more from heat than resistance, and she knelt before him, her curvy frame offered up willingly. He loomed over her, just a couple of inches taller, his hairy thighs framing her as he stood there, his underwear-clad bulge inches from her face. His hand slid to her hair, tangling in it with a rough tug, tilting her head back, and he mouthed something else, his eyes glinting with perverse anticipation.

Aradhya’s hands rose confidently, resting on his thighs with a gentle but firm grip, her touch steady and submissive. Her lips parted—maybe a soft “Yes”—and she leaned in eagerly, her face brushing closer to his straining underwear as his grip tightened in her hair. His free hand dropped to his waistband, thumbing it down just an inch, teasing the reveal, his hard-on twitching visibly as he watched her, his lecherous grin widening.

I swallowed hard, my phone screen blurring for a second as sweat stung my eyes. The stall felt smaller, the air thicker, every smooth shift of her body under his control tightening the knot in my gut. My hand hovered near my cock, trembling with the urge to give in, but I clenched my jaw, fighting it, caught between the shame of watching and the sick thrill of wanting more.

My sweet, homely wife didn’t flinch, her shoulders relaxed as she pressed closer, her fingers sliding up his thighs in quiet devotion as she began to serve him. Mr. Banerjee’s hand tugged at his underwear, yanking it down past his hips with a rough jerk, and his cock sprang free—thick, veiny, and nearly 7 inches, swaying heavily between his hairy thighs. It was a monster, easily twice my girth, the skin a mottled wheatish-brown stretched tight over pulsing ridges, the head fat and glistening with a bead of precum already leaking from the slit. A tangled nest of coarse, graying pubes framed it, matted with sweat, and the musky stench I couldn’t smell but could imagine hit me like a punch through the screen.

Aradhya’s hands slid higher, wrapping around the base as she leaned in, her lips brushing the tip before parting to take him in. Her mouth stretched wide—too wide—her jaw straining as she sucked the swollen head past her lips, her tongue flicking out to lap at the precum dribbling down. She hollowed her cheeks, sliding down slow and sloppy, spit bubbling at the corners of her mouth as she worked him deeper, gagging faintly when the girth hit the back of her throat. Her dusky fingers gripped him tight, stroking what she couldn’t fit, her nails digging into the veiny shaft as she bobbed her head, submissive and eager, her thick ass shifting on her knees with every move.

Mr. Banerjee threw his head back, his pudgy face twisted in filthy ecstasy, his thick beard trembling as his mouth moved—maybe “Fuck, yes” or “Suck it harder”—his crooked teeth bared in a triumphant grin. His hands clamped onto her head, fingers knotting in her hair as he thrust his hips forward, forcing more of his massive cock into her mouth. Her eyes watered, but she didn’t pull back, choking down another inch as spit drooled down her chin, pooling on the carpet below. He groaned silently, his hairy chest heaving, his paunch jiggling with every pump, reveling in the wet, sloppy mess of her servicing him—loving every second of her stretched lips worshipping his grotesque manhood.

His cock—gosh, it dwarfed me. Mine was a pitiful thing, thin and quick to falter, nothing like that beast she was choking on. A sick wave of inadequacy crashed over me, twisting my gut as I watched her take him deeper than she’d ever taken me, her mouth molded to his size like I’d never mattered. My cock throbbed, hard and useless, mocking me with its twitches as I sat there, pants around my ankles, too small, too weak to compare. He was ruining her for me, and the shame of it burned hotter than the lust, leaving me hollow even as I couldn’t look away.

He thrust again, harder, his balls—heavy and sagging—slapping her chin with a rhythm I could almost hear, his perverse joy written all over his sweaty, balding head. Aradhya gagged louder, her throat bulging as she swallowed him down, spit and precum smearing her face, but she kept going, her hands jerking him faster, her submission total. His cock pulsed in her grip, the ridges twitching as she worked him, her fingers slick with the mess dripping from her mouth. He was in heaven, and I was in hell, pinned by the sight of his dominance and my own pathetic failure.

Mr. Banerjee’s hands tightened in her hair, yanking her head back and forth like she was a toy, his hips bucking with sloppy, aggressive thrusts. His thick beard quivering as his grin stretched wider, eyes half-lidded in filthy bliss. Sweat poured down his hairy chest, his paunch shuddering with every move, and his balls tightened, drawing up as his breathing grew ragged—I could tell from the quick rise and fall of his shoulders. He was close, lost in the wet, gagging heat of her mouth, savoring every second of her servicing his monstrous cock.

Aradhya’s eyes fluttered, tears streaking down her spit-smeared face, but she didn’t stop, her hands pumping him harder, her lips locked around him as she gurgled through the assault. Suddenly, he pulled back, ripping his cock from her mouth with a wet pop, a string of spit and precum dangling between her lips and the swollen head. She gasped—soundless to me—her breasts heaving as he gripped her hair with one hand, the other furiously stroking his slick shaft, aiming it right at her face.

His body tensed, his pudgy frame shuddering, and then he came—thick, ropes of cum erupting from his cock, splattering across her dusky cheeks in hot, messy streaks. The first shot hit her forehead, dripping down into her eyebrow, then another blasted her lips, coating them in white as she flinched, her eyes squeezing shut. He kept going, grunting silently, his hand milking every last spurt—some landing in her hair, some streaking her chin, a final dribble oozing onto her neck. His grin was pure triumph, his crooked teeth bared as he admired the wreckage of her face, painted with his load, his perverse satisfaction glowing in his beady eyes. He slapped his softening cock against her cheek, smearing the mess, marking her one more time as his.

I nearly dropped my phone, my hand shaking so bad the screen blurred. Mr. Banerjee stepped back, his softening cock dangling between his hairy thighs, still slick with spit and cum. His thick beard twitched as he mouthed something sharp, his pudgy hand gesturing dismissively toward the hall. Aradhya blinked, her face a sticky mess of his load, strands dripping from her chin as she wiped at it with trembling fingers. She nodded faintly, rising unsteadily to her feet, her dusky skin flushed with shame and exertion as she shuffled out of the room, leaving him standing there, smirking at her retreat.

He didn’t bother pulling up his underwear, just let it sag around his ankles as he bent down, snatching her discarded ghagra-choli from the floor. With a lecherous grin, he wiped his cock with it, smearing the sheer fabric with cum and sweat, dragging it across his hairy thighs and paunch like it was a rag—another humiliating twist of the knife. The vibrant colors of her outfit darkened with his filth, and he tossed it aside carelessly, a crumpled heap of her dignity ruined by his hands. Then he turned to the couch, climbing onto it with a grunt, positioning himself on all fours—his pudgy ass up, his hairy back arched, his balding head lowered as he waited, clearly ready for her return.

My slutty wife came back minutes later, her face scrubbed clean but her eyes still wide with the weight of what she’d done. She froze at the sight of him—kneeling there, ass in the air, his massive frame splayed out in shameless expectation. Her lips parted—maybe “No” or “Not that”—her nose wrinkling in disgust as she recoiled, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. He glanced back at her, his beady eyes glinting, and mouthed something firm and his crooked teeth flashing as he patted the couch behind him, urging her closer.