Desc: Keerti, an Indian maid gets her gangbang fantasy fulfilled.
My name is Keerti, and I am a 31-year-old Rajasthani lady. This is the story of my transformation from a hardworking maid to a sexy MILF.
My family comprises of my husband, Ajay (32), twin daughters Shweta and Aarohi, who are in their early teenage years, and my son, Amit, who is also in his teenage years. We are a family from the lower middle class. We relocated to Mumbai in 1985 in search of better wages and educational opportunities.
Ajay and I have been married for 12 years; he works in a car factory during the day and as a part time taxi driver during rush hour in the evening. We have sex on occasion, and I'm delighted to say that he still gives it his best and makes me cum every time. He enjoys pounding me, and I love watching him suck my tits like a baby and feeling his creaming cock throb deep inside my pussy.
I have several secret sexual fantasies like being gangbanged, a threesome, swapping myself and my husband for another sexual partner, etc. But the biggest of all was a cuckold. I don't know why I would find it thrilling to watch my husband having the time of his life with another woman. I had never talked with my husband about these non-monogamous thoughts. I wasn't sure how he will react when he hears his wife wanting to have sex with other men. But it's not that I was desperate for sleeping around.
My children are all in school. They are doing just fine.
It's been a wonderful life. My children are happy, my husband is happy, and I am happy. What else could a person possibly require? I feel extremely fortunate to have such an amazing family.
I, like the majority of Rajasthani women, am conservative in dressing and like to work in a saree and sleep in traditional kurta-pyjamas or a maxi (a type of nightdress).
My physically taxing profession has given me a 34-28-36 hourglass figure. Most of my friends tell me that I don't appear like a mother of three. I do believe I am a hot item. I avoid wearing overly revealing clothes outdoors unless absolutely necessary, however, a mid-to-low neck blouse is a god-gifted garment in this warm and humid climate of Mumbai. I was naturally fair and to maintain this, I utilized several herbal products like honey and aloe vera. And that just increase the number of men from all age groups glancing at my plump 34C boobs. Sometimes I enjoy the attention; it gives me a small ego boost. That I'm still desirable at my age.
My son thinks I look like actress Disha Pandey. But I just tell him to shut up.
I've always been faithful to Ajay, and he's never betrayed me.
One evening, Pooja, 52, my next-door neighbour, who was like an elder sister to me, she brought me a newspaper ad for hiring staff for The ICT hotel.
"Check this out, this hotel pays well and treats us well. My friend works here!" Pooja remarked.
"What about the location, though? I don't want to be separated from Ajay and my children." I responded.
"It's only about a 30-minute train journey from here; it's not bad," Pooja said.
"It sounds interesting. I'll look into it tomorrow." I replied.
I went to the address listed in the advertisement. They had a 20-minute interview with me during which they explained all of the duties and asked whether I was capable of doing them. I was one of the 2000 women who applied for this post, and I was fortunate enough to be chosen.
My duties included cleaning and servicing the rooms, keeping the corridor on the fourteenth floor clean, and sweeping the basement parking once a month with other employees. I also had to deliver light goods to visitors in their rooms as needed. In terms of employment perks, I'll have free limitless access to hotel cuisine anytime I want it, a 5% family discount, and a special women's health care policy.
It's rather good. Also, the money is fantastic.
Pooja, thank you so much.
My first week was hectic. Although the work was strenuous, I took full use of the job's perks. While working, I was also given a unique saree as a uniform. It was a dark brown saree with a matching brown blouse and petticoat. I was required to show my hip since it was deemed sacred and feminine. It took some time for me to adjust to the increased glances, but I eventually did.
My makeup included highlights on the face, eyes, lips and nails, and a tiny bindi (decorative dot) in between my eyebrows. I had to remove my mangalsutra (a golden necklace that married Indian women wear) as a part of the uniform though.
I worked from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. every day, with an hour-long lunch break at 11 a.m.
I used to carry lunch and dinner from the hotel to my house during this interval to treat the kids and my S.O. Occasionally, during this brief stay at home my husband fucked me, and sent me back with his sperm stored deep inside my pussy.
Aside from that, my job was monotonous. Every day, I sweep the same floor and the same room at the same time.
A group of four youngsters arrived at this hotel one morning for a week's stay. They were all white. Outside of television and magazines, it was the first time I saw a white person. It was like seeing a mythological character, you read about them in books and movies but you never see them in flesh and blood. They were cute and chubby though. They said they were on a world tour.
A few days later I was given the task of delivering four plates of Pav Bhaji to Room 1404.
Just another quick delivery, should be simple...
But little did I realize that my existence as a perfect wife, mother, and lady was about to come to an end. And everything occurred so quickly that I couldn't believe what I was doing.
"1402..."
"1403..."
"Aha! 1404!"
I came to a standstill in front of the door and rang the doorbell. After a bit, the door was opened by a tall, stout man. He was wearing only shorts and nothing on top. He had eerily round nipples, which drew my attention right away. He was one of four mythological youngsters.
"Yes?" With a slight touch on his spectacles, he inquired.
He spoke in a geeky yet charming tone.
"Sir, good afternoon. Have you placed an order for four Pav Bhajis?" I asked.
"Yeah, please come in." I was welcomed inside the room by him.
The room was dimly lighted and smelled musky. Three more men sat on the bed, watching television. They were all without a top, and I don't blame them. It was October, Mumbai's warmest month. The temperatures easily surpassed 45 degrees Celsius.
These were the same four youngsters I had seen earlier in the day.
As I set each of the four dishes on a little table in the corner of the room, they all gave me a curious look.
"This is the first time we've tried this meal. Can you tell us how to eat it? "a man inquired.
I said, "Um, you take a piece of bread, dip it in the bhaji, and eat it."
The person who had asked did so with a piece of bread. His cheeks flushed pinkish-red in an instant.
"It's spicy. Please bring me some water."
His companions began to laugh, and I felt a slight tinge of embarrassment. I rushed out and went to the store to get four bottles for each of them.
"Thank you!" As he drank half a litre of water, the man who ate Pav Bhaji said. His neck was somewhat flushed.
I got concerned for his well-being.
"Can I help you with anything else?" I inquired, concerned.
There was a silence for a good minute.
Another man inquired, "Well..." He was chubby and spoke in a nasal voice. "Are you able to provide the service?"
"Um, sir, what type of service do you exactly require?"
"A sexual one."
As a lone woman in a room full of strange men asking for sex, I was terrified.
"I'm sorry, but I... I don't." I was stuttering.
Another man stated, "We will pay handsomely."
"About $50 per person?" says the chubby guy.
Everyone else gave him an agreeing nod.
I am not a prostitute who takes cash in exchange for sexual favours. I declined, but I knew deep down that this was probably my only chance to be laid in a gangbang. But I needed some more time to think about it.
"I'm sorry, but I don't provide sexual services." When I said the word "sexual," I felt like my heart missed a beat.
One of the guys cracked a cheeky grin when he heard this. "Not you literally, if you find any prostitute, send them to us, it would be nice. But if you want to volunteer, we won't have a problem with it."
I gave a blank expression.
"Think about it."
I turned around and began pushing my trolley out of the room. As I walked away, the men were gazing at me.
I shut the door and took a position against the wall. I was breathing heavily. I knew I wanted it down deep, so I ran a quick calculation: 4x 50 x 17 = Rs. 3400; that's my pay for the next two months! Now, by modern standards, it might not sound a lot, but in 1990s India, it was.
These guys are filthy rich!!
If they're willing to spend this much for one-time sex, I'm pretty sure they'll pay much more. I figured that I can squeeze in at least $200 per head.
Then I thought about how my husband would feel when he finds out the love of his life is sleeping around like a whore from the dark and gloomy back alleys. I dashed to the women's restroom and slid into a cubicle. I wept like a baby, but it was just what I needed.
'All right, I'll only be an infidel if I make love with someone other than my husband.'
'I'll do it only for the money and the sex.'
'I'm not going to make love.'
