22-02-2026, 04:17 AM
In the coming months my wife and her classmates Arjun Vikram Suresh and Karthik became very good friends. My wife, with her kind and naive heart, started preparing food at home every week, packing idli sambar chutney dosa and sweets, bringing it to class in steel tiffin boxes, her boobs bouncing gently over her kurti top as she walked through the college corridor, her wide hips swaying, her plump ass cheeks jiggling slightly under her leggings, the panty line visible over her ass cheeks over the leggings, her thick juicy thighs rubbing together with each step.
In class she would open the boxes, serve them with her own hands, feeding the boys lovingly, her large dark eyes shining with innocent joy, her boobs heaving as she leaned forward over the kurti top, her cheeks flushed with kindness.
"Arjun... open your mouth... eat this... I made it with love," she said softly, her voice full of warmth, feeding him a piece of dosa, her boobs rising and falling over the kurti top, her wide hips shifting, her plump ass cheeks round and firm under her leggings.
The boys ate happily, their eyes on her boobs, her ass cheeks, her thighs, thanking her, their cocks half hard in their trousers from her closeness, her innocent care.
Giridhar Sir was busy with the new orphanage he had started for children who lost their parents in accidents, spending most of his time there, coming to class only for the lessons, leaving immediately after, his face tired but determined, his eyes still softening every time he saw my wife.
Every time he entered the class or met her in the corridor he hugged my wife freely, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her close, his hands sliding down to her plump ass cheeks over her kurti top and leggings, squeezing them firmly, his cock hardening against her stomach through his trousers, hugging her tightly for long moments, his face buried in her hair, inhaling her jasmine scent, in front of the boys who had gotten used to it, watching openly without surprise, their cocks twitching in their trousers as they stared at her boobs pressed against Sir, her ass cheeks being squeezed, her thick juicy thighs against his leg.
"Sudha... thank you... your presence... it gives me strength," he whispered each time, his voice full of gratitude, his cock throbbing against her, his hands squeezing her ass cheeks harder before letting go, the boys watching quietly, their eyes on her boobs, her ass cheeks, her thighs.
My wife felt even more sympathy for him, her large dark eyes filling with tears whenever she saw him rush off to the orphanage, her boobs heaving over her kurti top, her pussy lips probably tingling again under her panties from the emotional weight without her fully understanding.
"Sir... please take care... I want to help you... but you always tell me to focus on education," she said softly one day, her voice trembling with concern, her boobs rising and falling over the kurti top, her wide hips shifting, her plump ass cheeks round and firm under her leggings.
Giridhar Sir smiled sadly, hugging her again in front of the boys, his hands squeezing her ass cheeks firmly, his cock hardening against her stomach.
"Sudha... your studies come first... but your kindness... it already helps me more than you know," he said emotionally, his voice thick, his eyes on her boobs, her ass cheeks, her thighs.
Meanwhile my wife and the boys became very comfortable, sharing secrets with her, telling her about their dreams, their struggles, their desires, my wife listening with her naive, super dumb kindness, her large dark eyes wide, her boobs heaving over her kurti top, her pussy lips probably tingling under her panties from their closeness without her realizing, liking them very much, treating them like younger brothers, feeding them, laughing with them, her boobs bouncing, her plump ass cheeks jiggling under her leggings, her thick juicy thighs rubbing together when she sat with them.
"You boys are so sweet... I love being your friend... I will always help you," she said innocently one day, her voice full of warmth, her boobs rising and falling over the kurti top, her cheeks flushed with happiness, her large dark eyes shining, completely unaware of their cocks hardening in their trousers as they stared at her boobs, her ass cheeks, her thighs.
I stayed outside the window in the dark many days, watching her feed them, hug Giridhar Sir freely in front of the boys, her boobs pressed against him, her ass cheeks squeezed openly, the boys staring, their cocks twitching, my cock throbbing painfully inside my dhoti, leaking precum, the cuckold thrill of her naive kindness, her super dumb innocence, making me hornier every day, my balls aching as I watched her comfort everyone but come home to me.
My wife and the boys always came on time, reaching the classroom early while waiting for Giridhar Sir. My wife used to sit on the edge of Giridhar Sir’s desk, her plump ass cheeks resting on the wooden surface, her thick juicy thighs dangling, the red leggings hugging every contour of her thighs, her boobs rising and falling over the black kurti top, her deep round navel impression visible over the kurti top, her wide hips flared out, the panty line visible over her ass cheeks over the leggings.
The boys surrounded her, Arjun, Vikram, Suresh, and Karthik standing close, their cocks already half hard in their trousers as they looked at her boobs, her ass cheeks, her thighs.
While walking to my wife they used to adjust her hair, their fingers gliding through her jet black hair, tucking loose strands behind her ear, their eyes on her boobs heaving over the kurti top. One would adjust her kurti top neckline, pulling it slightly, cheekily looking at her white bra strap peeking out, their cocks twitching in their trousers. Someone placed his hand on her thighs over her red leggings, rubbing gently as they talked, another touched her ass cheeks lightly over the leggings, squeezing softly while pretending to lean in to hear her better.
My wife lost in conversation did not notice, her large dark eyes shining with innocent joy, her boobs heaving over the kurti top, her pussy lips probably tingling under her panties without her fully understanding why she felt so warm and happy.
At the same time they praised her beauty so much that my wife started feeling like a queen already.
"Sudha Akka... you are the most beautiful woman we have ever seen... your smile... your eyes... your presence makes the class brighter," Arjun said softly, his hand on her thigh over the leggings, rubbing gently, his cock hard in his trousers.
"Yes Sudha Akka... you look so graceful... so elegant... we are lucky to have you here," Vikram added, his fingers adjusting her kurti top, cheekily looking at her white bra strap, his cock throbbing.
"Sudha Akka... you are like a ray of sunshine... your kindness... your warmth... it makes us so happy," Suresh said, his hand touching her ass cheeks lightly over the leggings, squeezing softly.
"Sudha Akka... you make us feel so good just by being here... we love spending time with you," Karthik whispered, his hand on her thigh over the leggings, rubbing slowly, his cock leaking precum in his trousers.
My wife blushed deeply, her cheeks burning red, her boobs heaving over the kurti top, her large dark eyes shy but shining with innocent joy, her pussy lips swelling under her panties, her thick juicy thighs shifting under their hands, her plump ass cheeks jiggling slightly under their touches, feeling like a queen from their constant praise, her naive heart swelling with happiness, completely unaware of their cocks hard in their trousers, their hands on her thighs and ass cheeks.
I stayed at the window in the dark many days, watching the boys surrounding my wife on the desk, their hands on her thighs over the leggings, touching her ass cheeks over the leggings, praising her beauty, her blushing and feeling like a queen, driving me wild with jealousy and filthy excitement, my balls aching as the class waited for Giridhar Sir.
It had been two and a half years since my wife joined the college, and now she was in her final semester. During these years Giridhar Sir helped her a lot, especially when it came to clearing all her exams semester after semester. He stayed late after class explaining difficult topics to her, sitting close at his desk, his eyes on her boobs rising and falling over her kurti top, her wide hips shifting on the chair, her plump ass cheeks round and firm under her leggings, the panty line visible over her ass cheeks over the leggings, her thick juicy thighs rubbing together as she listened attentively with her naive super dumb kindness, her large dark eyes wide and focused, her boobs heaving gently over the kurti top.
Giridhar Sir patiently went over every question, his hand sometimes resting on her thigh over the leggings as he pointed to the notes, his cock hardening in his trousers from her closeness, her innocent trust, her boobs pressing against the desk edge when she leaned in to see better, her ass cheeks shifting on the chair.
He also used his influence in the board to clear all her exams, making sure her papers were passed smoothly even if her answers were not perfect, his kindness coming from the comfort she had given him earlier and continued to give.
Throughout these years Giridhar Sir maintained his sympathy for her, stealing hugs from my wife every now and then, whenever he came to class, met her in the corridor, or even in the staff room. He would wrap his arms around her waist, pull her close, his hands sliding down to squeeze her plump ass cheeks over her kurti top and leggings, his cock hardening against her stomach through his trousers, hugging her tightly for long moments, his face buried in her hair, inhaling her jasmine scent.
Many times he would steal kisses from her lips, leaning in when they were alone, his lips kissing her full red lips, his tongue sliding into her mouth tasting her, moaning softly as he kissed her deeply, his hands squeezing her ass cheeks harder.
In the name of offering him comfort my wife would let him kiss her lips, her naive heart full of sympathy, her large dark eyes closing as she allowed his tongue to explore her mouth, her boobs pressed against his chest through her kurti top.
My wife came to know that Giridhar Sir had helped her clear all her exams again this final semester, her cheeks flushed with happiness, her boobs rising and falling over the kurti top, her large dark eyes shining with joy and gratitude.
"Sir helped me so much again... all my exams are cleared... I am so happy... thank you sir," she said softly, her voice trembling with emotion, tears of joy in her large dark eyes, her boobs heaving over the kurti top, her wide hips shifting on the chair, her plump ass cheeks round and firm under her leggings, her thick juicy thighs rubbing together as she smiled at Giridhar Sir.
Giridhar Sir smiled warmly, hugging her tightly, his arms around her waist, his hands sliding down to squeeze her plump ass cheeks over her kurti top and leggings, his cock hardening against her stomach through his trousers, then kissing her lips deeply, his tongue sliding into her mouth tasting her, moaning softly as he kissed her passionately, his hands squeezing her ass cheeks harder before letting go.
"Sudha... you deserve it... your kindness... your heart... it helped me... now I help you... thank you," he whispered emotionally, his voice thick with gratitude, his cock throbbing against her, his lips still tasting her after the kiss.
My wife felt even more emotional, tears slipping down her cheeks, her boobs heaving over the kurti top, her large dark eyes shining with joy and sympathy.
Inside my chest the jealousy twisted like a knife, sharper than ever. Two and a half years of watching him take these liberties, hugging her, squeezing her ass cheeks, kissing her lips, his cock hard against her, his tongue in her mouth, while she let him, thinking it was only sympathy, only comfort. Every stolen kiss, every squeeze, every time she closed her eyes and let him taste her, it carved deeper into me. I hated him for wanting her so openly. I hated her for being so naive, so kind, so blind to how badly he craved her body. But most of all I hated myself, because the hatred only made me harder, the pain only made my cock throb more violently, the thought of him moaning into her mouth while she let him, the thought of her boobs pressed to him, her ass cheeks in his hands, made me leak precum like a broken faucet. The jealousy burned hotter than lust, darker than love, and yet it fueled everything, every glance, every memory, every time I stroked my cock in the dark thinking of her innocence being slowly corrupted right under my nose. I was proud of her kindness, yes, but the pride was poisoned, twisted, and the poison only made me want her more, need her more, need to reclaim her while the image of his hands on her, his tongue in her, played over and over in my mind, tearing me apart inside.
My balls ached with the unbearable weight of it all, love, rage, arousal, shame, as I watched her cry with happiness over his help, her boobs heaving, her cheeks wet with tears, completely unaware of the storm raging inside me.
After college I used to take my wife home angrily, my jaw clenched, my cock throbbing painfully inside my dhoti from the frustration boiling inside me, the images of Giridhar Sir hugging her, squeezing her plump ass cheeks, kissing her full red lips, his tongue in her mouth, his cock hard against her stomach, replaying over and over in my mind like a curse. I wanted to slap something, anything, to vent the rage, the jealousy that choked me every time I saw her let him take those liberties, her naive kindness blinding her to how he used her sympathy to touch her, taste her, claim her in small filthy ways right in front of everyone.
We reached home, I slammed the door behind us, my breathing heavy, my hands shaking with anger and need. My wife looked at me with her large dark eyes wide and confused, her boobs rising and falling over the black kurti top, her cheeks flushed from the ride, her wide hips shifting nervously, her plump ass cheeks round and firm under the red leggings, the panty line visible over her ass cheeks over the leggings.
She started undressing to change, her fingers gripping the hem of her black kurti top, pulling it up slowly, the kurti top sliding over her wide hips, gliding against her thick juicy thighs, the kurti top stretching across her massive boobs as she lifted it higher, her boobs jiggling heavily within the loving hold of her white bra, her jet black hair falling loose from the ponytail, jasmine flowers dropping to the floor, the scent rising stronger.
As she pulled the kurti top over her head, her boobs swaying tenderly but securely in the bra's warm embrace, held lovingly and lifted high, her deep round navel fully exposed, she looked at me apologetically, her voice soft and trembling.
"Rajesh... I am sorry... Giridhar Sir kissed my lips again today... he hugged me tightly... squeezed my ass cheeks... I let him... I felt so bad for him... forgive me," she whispered, her cheeks burning red, her large dark eyes filling with tears, her boobs heaving in her white bra, her pussy lips probably swelling under her white panties from the guilt and confusion.
The moment she started confessing, apologizing for letting Giridhar Sir kiss her, hug her, squeeze her ass cheeks, the anger inside me twisted into something darker, hotter. My cock throbbed violently inside my dhoti, leaking more precum, the frustration exploding into raw possessive lust. Hearing her say it, her innocent voice trembling with guilt about his lips on hers, his hands on her ass cheeks, made me super horny, the jealousy turning into a need to reclaim her, to fuck her hard, to erase every touch he had stolen.
I grabbed her, pulled her to me roughly, my hands squeezing her ass cheeks over her red leggings, my cock pressing hard against her thighs through my dhoti, my mouth crashing onto hers, kissing her possessively, my tongue forcing into her mouth, tasting her, claiming her as mine.
"Sudha... you are mine... only mine," I growled against her lips, my voice rough with lust and rage, my hands tugging her kurti top higher, peeling it off completely, her boobs bouncing free in her white bra, nipples hard through the bra cups.
I carried her to the bed, laid her down, my hands unhooking her white bra from behind, the hooks releasing with soft clicks, pulling the bra off, her massive boobs spilled free, her dark nipples erect and hard. I tugged her red leggings down her wide hips, peeling them off her thick juicy thighs, revealing her white panties hugging her ass cheeks, the crotch soaked dark and wet clinging to her pussy lips. I removed her white panties down her wide hips, peeled them off her thick juicy thighs, her pussy completely exposed, glistening wet, her pussy lips swollen and dripping with arousal.
I shoved my hard cock inside her soaked pussy, thrusting deep, her pussy walls clenching around my cock as I fucked her possessively, hard, fast, my hands squeezing her boobs, pinching her nipples, my mouth on her neck, biting, marking her as mine, the wet squelching sounds loud, her pussy gripping me tighter, her massive boobs bouncing, nipples hard, her thick juicy thighs squeezing my hips, her plump ass cheeks lifting off the bed with each violent thrust.
Mnmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmm my wife moaned as she was about to cum, her voice trembling with pleasure and lingering guilt.
The moment “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” I moaned and came deep inside my wife's pussy, I could not hold it anymore “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.... aaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” she moaned and began cumming all over my cock. My cock pulsed, shooting thick hot cum deep inside her pussy, her pussy walls clenching, milking every drop, her body shuddering under me, her massive boobs heaving, nipples hard, her pussy soaking wet with our mixed cum.
We lay there breathing hard, my cock still inside her pussy, my hands still squeezing her boobs, her arms around my neck, the dark filthy thrill of her apologetic confession, her innocent guilt about Giridhar Sir kissing her, the way I fucked her possessively to reclaim her, making me hornier even after cumming deep inside her.
The whole day I started feeling guilty and ashamed of myself. Every time I sat at my office desk, the shame hit me like a sickness. I stared at my computer screen, my mind replaying the nights before—how I fucked my wife possessively while she confessed what happened in class with Giridhar Sir, how his hands squeezed her plump ass cheeks, how his lips kissed her full red lips, his tongue in her mouth, and how she let him out of sympathy. I felt dirty for getting so horny from her words, for cumming hard inside her pussy while she told me about his cock hardening against her, his moans during the kiss. The arousal that drove me wild at night turned to self-loathing in daylight. I hated myself for craving those stories, for needing to hear her innocent voice tremble with guilt about his touches, his kisses. I felt weak, unworthy, ashamed that my jealousy and lust twisted into something so dark. I wanted to be a better husband, to stop the cycle, but the guilt only made the memories sharper, the shame heavier.
But every evening when I took my wife home, the moment she started undressing and apologetically telling me what happened in class with Giridhar Sir, the guilt vanished, swallowed by raw, possessive lust. She would pull her black kurti top up slowly, the kurti top sliding over her wide hips, gliding against her thick juicy thighs, her boobs jiggling heavily within the loving hold of her white bra as she lifted it higher, her jet black hair falling loose, jasmine flowers dropping to the floor.
"Rajesh... today Giridhar Sir held me so close... he kissed me again... I did not stop him... I thought it would help his pain," she would whisper apologetically, her cheeks burning red, her large dark eyes filling with tears, her boobs heaving in her white bra.
Hearing her confess, her innocent voice trembling with guilt about his kisses, his closeness, made me super horny. My cock throbbed violently inside my dhoti, leaking precum, the frustration turning into possessive need. I grabbed her, pulled her to me roughly, my hands squeezing her ass cheeks over her red leggings, my cock pressing hard against her thighs through my dhoti, my mouth crashing onto hers, kissing her possessively, my tongue forcing into her mouth, tasting her, claiming her as mine.
"Sudha... you are mine... only mine," I growled against her lips, my voice rough with lust, my hands tugging her kurti top higher, peeling it off completely, her boobs bouncing free in her white bra, nipples hard through the bra cups.
I carried her to the bed, laid her down, my hands unhooking her white bra from behind, the hooks releasing with soft clicks, pulling the bra off, her massive boobs spilled free, her dark nipples erect and hard. I tugged her red leggings down her wide hips, peeling them off her thick juicy thighs, revealing her white panties hugging her ass cheeks, the crotch soaked dark and wet clinging to her pussy lips. I removed her white panties down her wide hips, peeled them off her thick juicy thighs, her pussy completely exposed, glistening wet, her pussy lips swollen and dripping with arousal.
I shoved my hard cock inside her soaked pussy, thrusting deep, her pussy walls clenching around my cock as I fucked her possessively, hard, fast, my hands squeezing her boobs, pinching her nipples, my mouth on her neck, biting, marking her as mine, the wet squelching sounds loud, her pussy gripping me tighter, her massive boobs bouncing, nipples hard, her thick juicy thighs squeezing my hips, her plump ass cheeks lifting off the bed with each violent thrust.
Mnmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmm my wife moaned as she was about to cum, her voice trembling with pleasure and lingering guilt.
The moment “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” I moaned and came deep inside my wife's pussy, I could not hold it anymore “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.... aaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” she moaned and began cumming all over my cock. My cock pulsed, shooting thick hot cum deep inside her pussy, her pussy walls clenching, milking every drop, her body shuddering under me, her massive boobs heaving, nipples hard, her pussy soaking wet with our mixed cum.
But once I snapped out of it, once the orgasm faded and I pulled out, lying beside her, the guilt crashed back heavier than before. In the office the next day, sitting at my desk, the shame and guilt returned like a sickness. I felt dirty, weak, ashamed of myself for getting so horny from her confessions, for fucking her possessively while she told me about Giridhar Sir kissing her, squeezing her ass cheeks, his cock hard against her. I hated how I craved those stories, how they made me cum harder than anything else. I stared at my computer screen, my cock soft now but my mind replaying her words, her innocent voice trembling with guilt, and the self-loathing burned in my chest, making my stomach twist. I was her husband, yet I was the one getting off on her being touched by another man, her kindness exploited, her body used for his comfort. The guilt choked me, the shame made me sick, yet deep down the arousal lingered, a dark whisper that never fully went away.
I noticed a lot of change in me. Even if my wife was naked in front of me, standing there with her massive boobs exposed, her dark nipples erect and hard, her pussy lips swollen and glistening, her thick juicy thighs parted slightly, her plump ass cheeks round and inviting, her wide hips flared, her deep round navel rising and falling with each breath, I would not get tempted. My cock stayed soft inside my dhoti, no rush of blood, no throbbing, no leaking precum. The sight of her naked body alone did nothing to me anymore. The lust that used to surge just from seeing her boobs bounce, her ass cheeks jiggle, her pussy lips wet, had faded. I felt numb toward her nudity, cold, detached.
But the moment she started talking about what happened in class with Giridhar Sir and the boys, about the naughty things, the hugs, the kisses, the squeezes on her ass cheeks, the way Giridhar Sir moaned into her mouth, the way the boys touched her thighs over her leggings, adjusted her kurti top, looked at her bra strap, I immediately got horny. My cock would harden instantly inside my dhoti, throbbing painfully, leaking precum, my balls tightening with sudden intense need. The stories alone made me super horny, the details of her innocence being touched, her kindness exploited, her boobs pressed against Giridhar Sir, her ass cheeks squeezed, the boys staring, their cocks hard in their trousers, it all ignited me like nothing else. Watching her with Giridhar Sir and the boys from the window, seeing their hands on her thighs, their eyes on her boobs, their cocks twitching, made me even hornier, the cuckold heat burning through me.
Yet once I snapped out of it, once the fucking ended and I lay beside her, breathing hard, my cock softening inside her pussy, the guilt and shame crashed back. In the office, sitting at my desk, the self-loathing returned like poison. I felt disgusted with myself for getting so aroused from her confessions, for cumming hard while she told me about Giridhar Sir kissing her, squeezing her ass cheeks, his cock hard against her, the boys touching her thighs, staring at her boobs. I hated how those stories made me cum harder than anything else, how her naive voice trembling with guilt about letting him kiss her, letting him squeeze her, drove me to fuck her possessively. I stared at my computer screen, my cock soft now, but the shame burned in my chest, twisting my stomach. I was her husband, yet I was the one getting off on her being touched by another man, her kindness used, her body desired by others. The guilt choked me, the shame made me sick, yet deep down the arousal lingered, a dark whisper that never fully went away, waiting for the next night, the next confession, the next time her words would make me hard again.
Over the two and a half years my wife and the four boys Arjun Vikram Suresh and Karthik grew much more friendly. My wife saw them as her younger brothers, treating them with her naive super dumb kindness, always caring for them like family. She laughed with them, shared stories, fed them homemade food, and listened to their problems with her large dark eyes full of innocent concern, her boobs rising and falling over her kurti top, her plump ass cheeks round and firm under her leggings, her thick juicy thighs rubbing together when she sat close to them in class.
But the boys did not see her as a sister. They always lusted after my wife, their cocks hardening in their trousers every time they looked at her boobs heaving over the kurti top, her wide hips swaying, her plump ass cheeks jiggling slightly under her leggings, the panty line visible over her ass cheeks over the leggings, her thick juicy thighs shifting when she moved.
My wife was so friendly and trusting that she even helped all four boys get girlfriends. Before that, the boys would complain to her that no girls looked at them, that they felt ignored, that they did not know how to attract anyone. My wife, with her kind heart, felt bad for them and decided to help.
She took them shopping many times, buying nice clothes for them—shirts, trousers, jeans, jackets—to make them look better. She went with them to the stores, picking outfits, holding shirts against their chests, adjusting collars, telling them what would look good. She taught them how to wear the clothes properly, how to tuck shirts neatly, how to roll sleeves, how to stand and walk so girls would notice them, her boobs rising and falling over her kurti top as she demonstrated, her ass cheeks jiggling under her leggings when she moved, her thick juicy thighs rubbing together.
Since I had to pay for everything my wife took me along with them all the time. I stood there watching her shop with the boys, her large dark eyes shining with innocent excitement as she helped them, her boobs bouncing gently over the kurti top, her wide hips swaying, her plump ass cheeks round and firm under her leggings, the panty line visible over her ass cheeks over the leggings, while the boys stared at her boobs, her ass cheeks, her thighs, their cocks hardening in their new trousers as she adjusted their collars, touched their shoulders, smiled at them.
My wife never noticed their lust, thinking only of helping her "younger brothers" look good and find girlfriends, her naive heart happy to see them confident. The boys thanked her endlessly, hugging her sometimes, their hands brushing her boobs or ass cheeks over her kurti top and leggings, their cocks hard against her during the hugs.
I watched it all, my cock throbbing painfully inside my dhoti, leaking precum, the cuckold tension thick as my wife innocently helped the boys who lusted after her, who wanted to fuck her, while I paid for their clothes, their confidence, their future girlfriends, my balls aching with jealousy and filthy excitement every time.
My wife was so caring that she even took them to expensive men’s undergarment showrooms and purchased branded underwear and vests for them. The boys would beg her that it was expensive, they did not want it, but my wife would get emotional and tell them that she was like their elder sister and not to worry about the price, and if they really respected her as their sister they must let her buy. They agreed, making my wife emotional, tears in her large dark eyes, her boobs heaving over the kurti top, her cheeks flushed with happiness.
My wife used to care for them as her own little brothers that she would get into the trial room with them and decide which underwear suited them the best. When they used to be in their underwear in the trial room they used to have huge boners in their underwear as they lusted after my wife, their cocks rock hard and making huge boners in the branded underwear, but my wife did not know.
Inside the trial room, the boys' minds were on fire. Arjun stood there in tight black branded underwear, his cock fully erect and pushing hard against the thin material, the head outlined clearly, throbbing with every breath as he watched my wife kneel slightly to check the fit, her boobs hanging heavily over her kurti top, her ass cheeks round and firm under her leggings when she bent. He imagined grabbing her boobs, squeezing them, thrusting his cock between them while she looked up at him with those innocent large dark eyes. His balls ached, tight and full, precum leaking inside the underwear as her fingers brushed his thigh accidentally.
Vikram, in dark blue boxer briefs, had his cock straining upward, the shaft thick and rigid, veins bulging against the fabric, his mind racing with thoughts of pulling her leggings down, spreading her thick juicy thighs, shoving his cock deep into her pussy while she moaned his name. Every time she leaned closer to adjust the waistband, her boobs almost brushing his thigh, his cock jerked hard, more precum soaking the front, his breathing shallow and ragged.
Suresh, wearing grey trunks, his cock rock hard and tenting the underwear prominently, the head pushing the material outward, fantasized about bending her over the trial room mirror, slapping her plump ass cheeks, fucking her from behind while she gripped the rail, her boobs bouncing wildly. His cock pulsed with every innocent smile she gave him, every time she said “this looks good on you”, his balls heavy and aching for release.
Karthik, in white briefs, his cock stiff and pointing straight up, the outline sharp and obscene, pictured her on her knees, her full red lips wrapped around his cock, sucking him while her boobs bounced in her kurti top. When she grabbed his cock over the underwear to tease, his whole body tensed, his cock jerking in her hand, precum flooding the front, his mind screaming to push her down, to fuck her mouth right there.
My wife used to funnily ask if they were thinking about their girlfriend and having boner and grabbed their cock over their underwear and teased them, her fingers wrapping around their hard cock through the underwear, squeezing lightly, laughing innocently.
"Ohhh... look at this big boner... are you thinking about your girlfriend already? Naughty boy... does it feel good when I squeeze like this?" she would say playfully, her fingers squeezing their cock over the underwear again, giggling as she watched the cock twitch and throb in her hand, her boobs bouncing over her kurti top, her ass cheeks jiggling under her leggings, her thick juicy thighs rubbing together.
"See how hard it is... poor thing... must be missing her so much... should I squeeze harder? Or maybe give it a little pat?" she teased, patting their cock over the underwear lightly with her palm, then squeezing again, her large dark eyes sparkling with innocent mischief, her cheeks flushed.
"Aww... it's jumping in my hand... so excited... you boys are so cute when you're all hard like this... don't be shy... your girlfriend will love it when she sees," she laughed softly, giving their cock one more firm squeeze before letting go, her boobs heaving over the kurti top, her plump ass cheeks shifting as she turned to pick the next underwear.
The boys could barely speak, their cocks pulsing in her hand, their minds screaming with lust, imagining ripping her kurti top off, burying their faces in her boobs, fucking her right there in the trial room while she laughed innocently.
I stood outside the trial room curtain, my cock throbbing painfully inside my dhoti, leaking precum, the sight of my wife inside with them, grabbing their hard cocks over their underwear, teasing them with squeezes and pats, laughing innocently while their cocks throbbed in her hand, her boobs bouncing, her ass cheeks jiggling, drove me wild with jealousy and filthy excitement, my balls aching as I paid for their branded underwear, their confidence, their lust for my wife.
In class she would open the boxes, serve them with her own hands, feeding the boys lovingly, her large dark eyes shining with innocent joy, her boobs heaving as she leaned forward over the kurti top, her cheeks flushed with kindness.
"Arjun... open your mouth... eat this... I made it with love," she said softly, her voice full of warmth, feeding him a piece of dosa, her boobs rising and falling over the kurti top, her wide hips shifting, her plump ass cheeks round and firm under her leggings.
The boys ate happily, their eyes on her boobs, her ass cheeks, her thighs, thanking her, their cocks half hard in their trousers from her closeness, her innocent care.
Giridhar Sir was busy with the new orphanage he had started for children who lost their parents in accidents, spending most of his time there, coming to class only for the lessons, leaving immediately after, his face tired but determined, his eyes still softening every time he saw my wife.
Every time he entered the class or met her in the corridor he hugged my wife freely, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her close, his hands sliding down to her plump ass cheeks over her kurti top and leggings, squeezing them firmly, his cock hardening against her stomach through his trousers, hugging her tightly for long moments, his face buried in her hair, inhaling her jasmine scent, in front of the boys who had gotten used to it, watching openly without surprise, their cocks twitching in their trousers as they stared at her boobs pressed against Sir, her ass cheeks being squeezed, her thick juicy thighs against his leg.
"Sudha... thank you... your presence... it gives me strength," he whispered each time, his voice full of gratitude, his cock throbbing against her, his hands squeezing her ass cheeks harder before letting go, the boys watching quietly, their eyes on her boobs, her ass cheeks, her thighs.
My wife felt even more sympathy for him, her large dark eyes filling with tears whenever she saw him rush off to the orphanage, her boobs heaving over her kurti top, her pussy lips probably tingling again under her panties from the emotional weight without her fully understanding.
"Sir... please take care... I want to help you... but you always tell me to focus on education," she said softly one day, her voice trembling with concern, her boobs rising and falling over the kurti top, her wide hips shifting, her plump ass cheeks round and firm under her leggings.
Giridhar Sir smiled sadly, hugging her again in front of the boys, his hands squeezing her ass cheeks firmly, his cock hardening against her stomach.
"Sudha... your studies come first... but your kindness... it already helps me more than you know," he said emotionally, his voice thick, his eyes on her boobs, her ass cheeks, her thighs.
Meanwhile my wife and the boys became very comfortable, sharing secrets with her, telling her about their dreams, their struggles, their desires, my wife listening with her naive, super dumb kindness, her large dark eyes wide, her boobs heaving over her kurti top, her pussy lips probably tingling under her panties from their closeness without her realizing, liking them very much, treating them like younger brothers, feeding them, laughing with them, her boobs bouncing, her plump ass cheeks jiggling under her leggings, her thick juicy thighs rubbing together when she sat with them.
"You boys are so sweet... I love being your friend... I will always help you," she said innocently one day, her voice full of warmth, her boobs rising and falling over the kurti top, her cheeks flushed with happiness, her large dark eyes shining, completely unaware of their cocks hardening in their trousers as they stared at her boobs, her ass cheeks, her thighs.
I stayed outside the window in the dark many days, watching her feed them, hug Giridhar Sir freely in front of the boys, her boobs pressed against him, her ass cheeks squeezed openly, the boys staring, their cocks twitching, my cock throbbing painfully inside my dhoti, leaking precum, the cuckold thrill of her naive kindness, her super dumb innocence, making me hornier every day, my balls aching as I watched her comfort everyone but come home to me.
My wife and the boys always came on time, reaching the classroom early while waiting for Giridhar Sir. My wife used to sit on the edge of Giridhar Sir’s desk, her plump ass cheeks resting on the wooden surface, her thick juicy thighs dangling, the red leggings hugging every contour of her thighs, her boobs rising and falling over the black kurti top, her deep round navel impression visible over the kurti top, her wide hips flared out, the panty line visible over her ass cheeks over the leggings.
The boys surrounded her, Arjun, Vikram, Suresh, and Karthik standing close, their cocks already half hard in their trousers as they looked at her boobs, her ass cheeks, her thighs.
While walking to my wife they used to adjust her hair, their fingers gliding through her jet black hair, tucking loose strands behind her ear, their eyes on her boobs heaving over the kurti top. One would adjust her kurti top neckline, pulling it slightly, cheekily looking at her white bra strap peeking out, their cocks twitching in their trousers. Someone placed his hand on her thighs over her red leggings, rubbing gently as they talked, another touched her ass cheeks lightly over the leggings, squeezing softly while pretending to lean in to hear her better.
My wife lost in conversation did not notice, her large dark eyes shining with innocent joy, her boobs heaving over the kurti top, her pussy lips probably tingling under her panties without her fully understanding why she felt so warm and happy.
At the same time they praised her beauty so much that my wife started feeling like a queen already.
"Sudha Akka... you are the most beautiful woman we have ever seen... your smile... your eyes... your presence makes the class brighter," Arjun said softly, his hand on her thigh over the leggings, rubbing gently, his cock hard in his trousers.
"Yes Sudha Akka... you look so graceful... so elegant... we are lucky to have you here," Vikram added, his fingers adjusting her kurti top, cheekily looking at her white bra strap, his cock throbbing.
"Sudha Akka... you are like a ray of sunshine... your kindness... your warmth... it makes us so happy," Suresh said, his hand touching her ass cheeks lightly over the leggings, squeezing softly.
"Sudha Akka... you make us feel so good just by being here... we love spending time with you," Karthik whispered, his hand on her thigh over the leggings, rubbing slowly, his cock leaking precum in his trousers.
My wife blushed deeply, her cheeks burning red, her boobs heaving over the kurti top, her large dark eyes shy but shining with innocent joy, her pussy lips swelling under her panties, her thick juicy thighs shifting under their hands, her plump ass cheeks jiggling slightly under their touches, feeling like a queen from their constant praise, her naive heart swelling with happiness, completely unaware of their cocks hard in their trousers, their hands on her thighs and ass cheeks.
I stayed at the window in the dark many days, watching the boys surrounding my wife on the desk, their hands on her thighs over the leggings, touching her ass cheeks over the leggings, praising her beauty, her blushing and feeling like a queen, driving me wild with jealousy and filthy excitement, my balls aching as the class waited for Giridhar Sir.
It had been two and a half years since my wife joined the college, and now she was in her final semester. During these years Giridhar Sir helped her a lot, especially when it came to clearing all her exams semester after semester. He stayed late after class explaining difficult topics to her, sitting close at his desk, his eyes on her boobs rising and falling over her kurti top, her wide hips shifting on the chair, her plump ass cheeks round and firm under her leggings, the panty line visible over her ass cheeks over the leggings, her thick juicy thighs rubbing together as she listened attentively with her naive super dumb kindness, her large dark eyes wide and focused, her boobs heaving gently over the kurti top.
Giridhar Sir patiently went over every question, his hand sometimes resting on her thigh over the leggings as he pointed to the notes, his cock hardening in his trousers from her closeness, her innocent trust, her boobs pressing against the desk edge when she leaned in to see better, her ass cheeks shifting on the chair.
He also used his influence in the board to clear all her exams, making sure her papers were passed smoothly even if her answers were not perfect, his kindness coming from the comfort she had given him earlier and continued to give.
Throughout these years Giridhar Sir maintained his sympathy for her, stealing hugs from my wife every now and then, whenever he came to class, met her in the corridor, or even in the staff room. He would wrap his arms around her waist, pull her close, his hands sliding down to squeeze her plump ass cheeks over her kurti top and leggings, his cock hardening against her stomach through his trousers, hugging her tightly for long moments, his face buried in her hair, inhaling her jasmine scent.
Many times he would steal kisses from her lips, leaning in when they were alone, his lips kissing her full red lips, his tongue sliding into her mouth tasting her, moaning softly as he kissed her deeply, his hands squeezing her ass cheeks harder.
In the name of offering him comfort my wife would let him kiss her lips, her naive heart full of sympathy, her large dark eyes closing as she allowed his tongue to explore her mouth, her boobs pressed against his chest through her kurti top.
My wife came to know that Giridhar Sir had helped her clear all her exams again this final semester, her cheeks flushed with happiness, her boobs rising and falling over the kurti top, her large dark eyes shining with joy and gratitude.
"Sir helped me so much again... all my exams are cleared... I am so happy... thank you sir," she said softly, her voice trembling with emotion, tears of joy in her large dark eyes, her boobs heaving over the kurti top, her wide hips shifting on the chair, her plump ass cheeks round and firm under her leggings, her thick juicy thighs rubbing together as she smiled at Giridhar Sir.
Giridhar Sir smiled warmly, hugging her tightly, his arms around her waist, his hands sliding down to squeeze her plump ass cheeks over her kurti top and leggings, his cock hardening against her stomach through his trousers, then kissing her lips deeply, his tongue sliding into her mouth tasting her, moaning softly as he kissed her passionately, his hands squeezing her ass cheeks harder before letting go.
"Sudha... you deserve it... your kindness... your heart... it helped me... now I help you... thank you," he whispered emotionally, his voice thick with gratitude, his cock throbbing against her, his lips still tasting her after the kiss.
My wife felt even more emotional, tears slipping down her cheeks, her boobs heaving over the kurti top, her large dark eyes shining with joy and sympathy.
Inside my chest the jealousy twisted like a knife, sharper than ever. Two and a half years of watching him take these liberties, hugging her, squeezing her ass cheeks, kissing her lips, his cock hard against her, his tongue in her mouth, while she let him, thinking it was only sympathy, only comfort. Every stolen kiss, every squeeze, every time she closed her eyes and let him taste her, it carved deeper into me. I hated him for wanting her so openly. I hated her for being so naive, so kind, so blind to how badly he craved her body. But most of all I hated myself, because the hatred only made me harder, the pain only made my cock throb more violently, the thought of him moaning into her mouth while she let him, the thought of her boobs pressed to him, her ass cheeks in his hands, made me leak precum like a broken faucet. The jealousy burned hotter than lust, darker than love, and yet it fueled everything, every glance, every memory, every time I stroked my cock in the dark thinking of her innocence being slowly corrupted right under my nose. I was proud of her kindness, yes, but the pride was poisoned, twisted, and the poison only made me want her more, need her more, need to reclaim her while the image of his hands on her, his tongue in her, played over and over in my mind, tearing me apart inside.
My balls ached with the unbearable weight of it all, love, rage, arousal, shame, as I watched her cry with happiness over his help, her boobs heaving, her cheeks wet with tears, completely unaware of the storm raging inside me.
After college I used to take my wife home angrily, my jaw clenched, my cock throbbing painfully inside my dhoti from the frustration boiling inside me, the images of Giridhar Sir hugging her, squeezing her plump ass cheeks, kissing her full red lips, his tongue in her mouth, his cock hard against her stomach, replaying over and over in my mind like a curse. I wanted to slap something, anything, to vent the rage, the jealousy that choked me every time I saw her let him take those liberties, her naive kindness blinding her to how he used her sympathy to touch her, taste her, claim her in small filthy ways right in front of everyone.
We reached home, I slammed the door behind us, my breathing heavy, my hands shaking with anger and need. My wife looked at me with her large dark eyes wide and confused, her boobs rising and falling over the black kurti top, her cheeks flushed from the ride, her wide hips shifting nervously, her plump ass cheeks round and firm under the red leggings, the panty line visible over her ass cheeks over the leggings.
She started undressing to change, her fingers gripping the hem of her black kurti top, pulling it up slowly, the kurti top sliding over her wide hips, gliding against her thick juicy thighs, the kurti top stretching across her massive boobs as she lifted it higher, her boobs jiggling heavily within the loving hold of her white bra, her jet black hair falling loose from the ponytail, jasmine flowers dropping to the floor, the scent rising stronger.
As she pulled the kurti top over her head, her boobs swaying tenderly but securely in the bra's warm embrace, held lovingly and lifted high, her deep round navel fully exposed, she looked at me apologetically, her voice soft and trembling.
"Rajesh... I am sorry... Giridhar Sir kissed my lips again today... he hugged me tightly... squeezed my ass cheeks... I let him... I felt so bad for him... forgive me," she whispered, her cheeks burning red, her large dark eyes filling with tears, her boobs heaving in her white bra, her pussy lips probably swelling under her white panties from the guilt and confusion.
The moment she started confessing, apologizing for letting Giridhar Sir kiss her, hug her, squeeze her ass cheeks, the anger inside me twisted into something darker, hotter. My cock throbbed violently inside my dhoti, leaking more precum, the frustration exploding into raw possessive lust. Hearing her say it, her innocent voice trembling with guilt about his lips on hers, his hands on her ass cheeks, made me super horny, the jealousy turning into a need to reclaim her, to fuck her hard, to erase every touch he had stolen.
I grabbed her, pulled her to me roughly, my hands squeezing her ass cheeks over her red leggings, my cock pressing hard against her thighs through my dhoti, my mouth crashing onto hers, kissing her possessively, my tongue forcing into her mouth, tasting her, claiming her as mine.
"Sudha... you are mine... only mine," I growled against her lips, my voice rough with lust and rage, my hands tugging her kurti top higher, peeling it off completely, her boobs bouncing free in her white bra, nipples hard through the bra cups.
I carried her to the bed, laid her down, my hands unhooking her white bra from behind, the hooks releasing with soft clicks, pulling the bra off, her massive boobs spilled free, her dark nipples erect and hard. I tugged her red leggings down her wide hips, peeling them off her thick juicy thighs, revealing her white panties hugging her ass cheeks, the crotch soaked dark and wet clinging to her pussy lips. I removed her white panties down her wide hips, peeled them off her thick juicy thighs, her pussy completely exposed, glistening wet, her pussy lips swollen and dripping with arousal.
I shoved my hard cock inside her soaked pussy, thrusting deep, her pussy walls clenching around my cock as I fucked her possessively, hard, fast, my hands squeezing her boobs, pinching her nipples, my mouth on her neck, biting, marking her as mine, the wet squelching sounds loud, her pussy gripping me tighter, her massive boobs bouncing, nipples hard, her thick juicy thighs squeezing my hips, her plump ass cheeks lifting off the bed with each violent thrust.
Mnmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmm my wife moaned as she was about to cum, her voice trembling with pleasure and lingering guilt.
The moment “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” I moaned and came deep inside my wife's pussy, I could not hold it anymore “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.... aaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” she moaned and began cumming all over my cock. My cock pulsed, shooting thick hot cum deep inside her pussy, her pussy walls clenching, milking every drop, her body shuddering under me, her massive boobs heaving, nipples hard, her pussy soaking wet with our mixed cum.
We lay there breathing hard, my cock still inside her pussy, my hands still squeezing her boobs, her arms around my neck, the dark filthy thrill of her apologetic confession, her innocent guilt about Giridhar Sir kissing her, the way I fucked her possessively to reclaim her, making me hornier even after cumming deep inside her.
The whole day I started feeling guilty and ashamed of myself. Every time I sat at my office desk, the shame hit me like a sickness. I stared at my computer screen, my mind replaying the nights before—how I fucked my wife possessively while she confessed what happened in class with Giridhar Sir, how his hands squeezed her plump ass cheeks, how his lips kissed her full red lips, his tongue in her mouth, and how she let him out of sympathy. I felt dirty for getting so horny from her words, for cumming hard inside her pussy while she told me about his cock hardening against her, his moans during the kiss. The arousal that drove me wild at night turned to self-loathing in daylight. I hated myself for craving those stories, for needing to hear her innocent voice tremble with guilt about his touches, his kisses. I felt weak, unworthy, ashamed that my jealousy and lust twisted into something so dark. I wanted to be a better husband, to stop the cycle, but the guilt only made the memories sharper, the shame heavier.
But every evening when I took my wife home, the moment she started undressing and apologetically telling me what happened in class with Giridhar Sir, the guilt vanished, swallowed by raw, possessive lust. She would pull her black kurti top up slowly, the kurti top sliding over her wide hips, gliding against her thick juicy thighs, her boobs jiggling heavily within the loving hold of her white bra as she lifted it higher, her jet black hair falling loose, jasmine flowers dropping to the floor.
"Rajesh... today Giridhar Sir held me so close... he kissed me again... I did not stop him... I thought it would help his pain," she would whisper apologetically, her cheeks burning red, her large dark eyes filling with tears, her boobs heaving in her white bra.
Hearing her confess, her innocent voice trembling with guilt about his kisses, his closeness, made me super horny. My cock throbbed violently inside my dhoti, leaking precum, the frustration turning into possessive need. I grabbed her, pulled her to me roughly, my hands squeezing her ass cheeks over her red leggings, my cock pressing hard against her thighs through my dhoti, my mouth crashing onto hers, kissing her possessively, my tongue forcing into her mouth, tasting her, claiming her as mine.
"Sudha... you are mine... only mine," I growled against her lips, my voice rough with lust, my hands tugging her kurti top higher, peeling it off completely, her boobs bouncing free in her white bra, nipples hard through the bra cups.
I carried her to the bed, laid her down, my hands unhooking her white bra from behind, the hooks releasing with soft clicks, pulling the bra off, her massive boobs spilled free, her dark nipples erect and hard. I tugged her red leggings down her wide hips, peeling them off her thick juicy thighs, revealing her white panties hugging her ass cheeks, the crotch soaked dark and wet clinging to her pussy lips. I removed her white panties down her wide hips, peeled them off her thick juicy thighs, her pussy completely exposed, glistening wet, her pussy lips swollen and dripping with arousal.
I shoved my hard cock inside her soaked pussy, thrusting deep, her pussy walls clenching around my cock as I fucked her possessively, hard, fast, my hands squeezing her boobs, pinching her nipples, my mouth on her neck, biting, marking her as mine, the wet squelching sounds loud, her pussy gripping me tighter, her massive boobs bouncing, nipples hard, her thick juicy thighs squeezing my hips, her plump ass cheeks lifting off the bed with each violent thrust.
Mnmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmm my wife moaned as she was about to cum, her voice trembling with pleasure and lingering guilt.
The moment “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” I moaned and came deep inside my wife's pussy, I could not hold it anymore “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.... aaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” she moaned and began cumming all over my cock. My cock pulsed, shooting thick hot cum deep inside her pussy, her pussy walls clenching, milking every drop, her body shuddering under me, her massive boobs heaving, nipples hard, her pussy soaking wet with our mixed cum.
But once I snapped out of it, once the orgasm faded and I pulled out, lying beside her, the guilt crashed back heavier than before. In the office the next day, sitting at my desk, the shame and guilt returned like a sickness. I felt dirty, weak, ashamed of myself for getting so horny from her confessions, for fucking her possessively while she told me about Giridhar Sir kissing her, squeezing her ass cheeks, his cock hard against her. I hated how I craved those stories, how they made me cum harder than anything else. I stared at my computer screen, my cock soft now but my mind replaying her words, her innocent voice trembling with guilt, and the self-loathing burned in my chest, making my stomach twist. I was her husband, yet I was the one getting off on her being touched by another man, her kindness exploited, her body used for his comfort. The guilt choked me, the shame made me sick, yet deep down the arousal lingered, a dark whisper that never fully went away.
I noticed a lot of change in me. Even if my wife was naked in front of me, standing there with her massive boobs exposed, her dark nipples erect and hard, her pussy lips swollen and glistening, her thick juicy thighs parted slightly, her plump ass cheeks round and inviting, her wide hips flared, her deep round navel rising and falling with each breath, I would not get tempted. My cock stayed soft inside my dhoti, no rush of blood, no throbbing, no leaking precum. The sight of her naked body alone did nothing to me anymore. The lust that used to surge just from seeing her boobs bounce, her ass cheeks jiggle, her pussy lips wet, had faded. I felt numb toward her nudity, cold, detached.
But the moment she started talking about what happened in class with Giridhar Sir and the boys, about the naughty things, the hugs, the kisses, the squeezes on her ass cheeks, the way Giridhar Sir moaned into her mouth, the way the boys touched her thighs over her leggings, adjusted her kurti top, looked at her bra strap, I immediately got horny. My cock would harden instantly inside my dhoti, throbbing painfully, leaking precum, my balls tightening with sudden intense need. The stories alone made me super horny, the details of her innocence being touched, her kindness exploited, her boobs pressed against Giridhar Sir, her ass cheeks squeezed, the boys staring, their cocks hard in their trousers, it all ignited me like nothing else. Watching her with Giridhar Sir and the boys from the window, seeing their hands on her thighs, their eyes on her boobs, their cocks twitching, made me even hornier, the cuckold heat burning through me.
Yet once I snapped out of it, once the fucking ended and I lay beside her, breathing hard, my cock softening inside her pussy, the guilt and shame crashed back. In the office, sitting at my desk, the self-loathing returned like poison. I felt disgusted with myself for getting so aroused from her confessions, for cumming hard while she told me about Giridhar Sir kissing her, squeezing her ass cheeks, his cock hard against her, the boys touching her thighs, staring at her boobs. I hated how those stories made me cum harder than anything else, how her naive voice trembling with guilt about letting him kiss her, letting him squeeze her, drove me to fuck her possessively. I stared at my computer screen, my cock soft now, but the shame burned in my chest, twisting my stomach. I was her husband, yet I was the one getting off on her being touched by another man, her kindness used, her body desired by others. The guilt choked me, the shame made me sick, yet deep down the arousal lingered, a dark whisper that never fully went away, waiting for the next night, the next confession, the next time her words would make me hard again.
Over the two and a half years my wife and the four boys Arjun Vikram Suresh and Karthik grew much more friendly. My wife saw them as her younger brothers, treating them with her naive super dumb kindness, always caring for them like family. She laughed with them, shared stories, fed them homemade food, and listened to their problems with her large dark eyes full of innocent concern, her boobs rising and falling over her kurti top, her plump ass cheeks round and firm under her leggings, her thick juicy thighs rubbing together when she sat close to them in class.
But the boys did not see her as a sister. They always lusted after my wife, their cocks hardening in their trousers every time they looked at her boobs heaving over the kurti top, her wide hips swaying, her plump ass cheeks jiggling slightly under her leggings, the panty line visible over her ass cheeks over the leggings, her thick juicy thighs shifting when she moved.
My wife was so friendly and trusting that she even helped all four boys get girlfriends. Before that, the boys would complain to her that no girls looked at them, that they felt ignored, that they did not know how to attract anyone. My wife, with her kind heart, felt bad for them and decided to help.
She took them shopping many times, buying nice clothes for them—shirts, trousers, jeans, jackets—to make them look better. She went with them to the stores, picking outfits, holding shirts against their chests, adjusting collars, telling them what would look good. She taught them how to wear the clothes properly, how to tuck shirts neatly, how to roll sleeves, how to stand and walk so girls would notice them, her boobs rising and falling over her kurti top as she demonstrated, her ass cheeks jiggling under her leggings when she moved, her thick juicy thighs rubbing together.
Since I had to pay for everything my wife took me along with them all the time. I stood there watching her shop with the boys, her large dark eyes shining with innocent excitement as she helped them, her boobs bouncing gently over the kurti top, her wide hips swaying, her plump ass cheeks round and firm under her leggings, the panty line visible over her ass cheeks over the leggings, while the boys stared at her boobs, her ass cheeks, her thighs, their cocks hardening in their new trousers as she adjusted their collars, touched their shoulders, smiled at them.
My wife never noticed their lust, thinking only of helping her "younger brothers" look good and find girlfriends, her naive heart happy to see them confident. The boys thanked her endlessly, hugging her sometimes, their hands brushing her boobs or ass cheeks over her kurti top and leggings, their cocks hard against her during the hugs.
I watched it all, my cock throbbing painfully inside my dhoti, leaking precum, the cuckold tension thick as my wife innocently helped the boys who lusted after her, who wanted to fuck her, while I paid for their clothes, their confidence, their future girlfriends, my balls aching with jealousy and filthy excitement every time.
My wife was so caring that she even took them to expensive men’s undergarment showrooms and purchased branded underwear and vests for them. The boys would beg her that it was expensive, they did not want it, but my wife would get emotional and tell them that she was like their elder sister and not to worry about the price, and if they really respected her as their sister they must let her buy. They agreed, making my wife emotional, tears in her large dark eyes, her boobs heaving over the kurti top, her cheeks flushed with happiness.
My wife used to care for them as her own little brothers that she would get into the trial room with them and decide which underwear suited them the best. When they used to be in their underwear in the trial room they used to have huge boners in their underwear as they lusted after my wife, their cocks rock hard and making huge boners in the branded underwear, but my wife did not know.
Inside the trial room, the boys' minds were on fire. Arjun stood there in tight black branded underwear, his cock fully erect and pushing hard against the thin material, the head outlined clearly, throbbing with every breath as he watched my wife kneel slightly to check the fit, her boobs hanging heavily over her kurti top, her ass cheeks round and firm under her leggings when she bent. He imagined grabbing her boobs, squeezing them, thrusting his cock between them while she looked up at him with those innocent large dark eyes. His balls ached, tight and full, precum leaking inside the underwear as her fingers brushed his thigh accidentally.
Vikram, in dark blue boxer briefs, had his cock straining upward, the shaft thick and rigid, veins bulging against the fabric, his mind racing with thoughts of pulling her leggings down, spreading her thick juicy thighs, shoving his cock deep into her pussy while she moaned his name. Every time she leaned closer to adjust the waistband, her boobs almost brushing his thigh, his cock jerked hard, more precum soaking the front, his breathing shallow and ragged.
Suresh, wearing grey trunks, his cock rock hard and tenting the underwear prominently, the head pushing the material outward, fantasized about bending her over the trial room mirror, slapping her plump ass cheeks, fucking her from behind while she gripped the rail, her boobs bouncing wildly. His cock pulsed with every innocent smile she gave him, every time she said “this looks good on you”, his balls heavy and aching for release.
Karthik, in white briefs, his cock stiff and pointing straight up, the outline sharp and obscene, pictured her on her knees, her full red lips wrapped around his cock, sucking him while her boobs bounced in her kurti top. When she grabbed his cock over the underwear to tease, his whole body tensed, his cock jerking in her hand, precum flooding the front, his mind screaming to push her down, to fuck her mouth right there.
My wife used to funnily ask if they were thinking about their girlfriend and having boner and grabbed their cock over their underwear and teased them, her fingers wrapping around their hard cock through the underwear, squeezing lightly, laughing innocently.
"Ohhh... look at this big boner... are you thinking about your girlfriend already? Naughty boy... does it feel good when I squeeze like this?" she would say playfully, her fingers squeezing their cock over the underwear again, giggling as she watched the cock twitch and throb in her hand, her boobs bouncing over her kurti top, her ass cheeks jiggling under her leggings, her thick juicy thighs rubbing together.
"See how hard it is... poor thing... must be missing her so much... should I squeeze harder? Or maybe give it a little pat?" she teased, patting their cock over the underwear lightly with her palm, then squeezing again, her large dark eyes sparkling with innocent mischief, her cheeks flushed.
"Aww... it's jumping in my hand... so excited... you boys are so cute when you're all hard like this... don't be shy... your girlfriend will love it when she sees," she laughed softly, giving their cock one more firm squeeze before letting go, her boobs heaving over the kurti top, her plump ass cheeks shifting as she turned to pick the next underwear.
The boys could barely speak, their cocks pulsing in her hand, their minds screaming with lust, imagining ripping her kurti top off, burying their faces in her boobs, fucking her right there in the trial room while she laughed innocently.
I stood outside the trial room curtain, my cock throbbing painfully inside my dhoti, leaking precum, the sight of my wife inside with them, grabbing their hard cocks over their underwear, teasing them with squeezes and pats, laughing innocently while their cocks throbbed in her hand, her boobs bouncing, her ass cheeks jiggling, drove me wild with jealousy and filthy excitement, my balls aching as I paid for their branded underwear, their confidence, their lust for my wife.
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