I recommend you read the previous story "An Indian Maid vol. 01" in case you haven't.
This is the final story.
Some recap from the previous story: My name is Keerti. I am a Rajasthani who used to live in Mumbai. A lot of people think I look like the actress Disha Pandey. I am married with three kids. I worked as a maid at a high-end hotel, where I got an opportunity to be in a raw gangbang with four exotic men. It was an experience of a lifetime.
I ended up getting pregnant by one of the guys from that gangbang and I had my fourth kid. She is a mixed Indian with an American, a British, a Mexican or a Canadian guy. She is unlikely to be my husband's kid, as she is a tad bit lighter than me, me being a few shades lighter than my husband. My husband, Ajay, does not find this strange and trusts me as he always did.
It's been almost six years since that incident. We moved to London in 1995, lived in a small, shared flat for a few years until we decided to settle here and purchase this cozy terraced house for 82 grand. It was a little old, built in the late 1800s, but recently renovated and every time I look at it, I still feel a sense of awe. The red-brick facade, the graceful bay windows framed in clear white and the charming pathway leading to our navy blue door--it's all so perfectly London. In front, we have a small garden brimming with colourful, flowering shrubs. There's a cast iron bicycle rack, neatly kept near the garden, that my husband built when he joined a machine shop in London. At the back, we have a decently sized backyard, a peaceful retreat where the kids play and we enjoy our evenings. The city feels so quiet, safe and clean, so different from Mumbai. Not that Mumbai was too unsafe, but there's just something about London's calmness that makes me breathe easier. The streets are quieter and the air feels fresher. There's a sense of order and safety here that makes me feel more at ease, knowing the kids can ride their bikes without worry. It's such a lovely home, and I still feel so proud and amazed that this is where we've decided to build our life in this beautiful city.
My three kids, Shweta, Aarohi and Amit, who I had with Ajay, are in college across the United Kingdom, and my fourth one, Priya, the half-Indian, is in kindergarten here in London with us.
Moving to London also gave me a newfound attraction for white men. Everyone here dresses so well and speaks in a charming accent. Perhaps getting impregnated by a white man was all it took to be attracted to them. I am still married to Ajay, and will likely forever be as I love him, but that sexcapade opened my mind to what I as a woman can achieve. I used to think foreign men didn't find us attractive, that's why they didn't mix that much with Indians when they had us colonized. Turns out, that's not the case. I am being checked out more in London by men of all races than in Mumbai. My boobs, augmented from 34C to 36D (because they were too saggy after so many childbirths), were my main point of attraction.
I often find myself masturbating while thinking about white men pounding me. Sometimes, even when Ajay and I are having sex, I think about a hot guy I saw that day. His white dick going in and out of my darker pussy with the clapping noise of his balls slapping my butt, him grabbing my breasts and pinching my pointy, dark - almost black nipples, his strong chest and strong arms engulfing me while I grab his butt and thrust him deeper within, his gentle nibbles on my neck, face and ears, his moans and grunts and finally depositing his seed inside me. Then we cuddle each other, as we drift into deep slumber, his love juices flowing out of my pussy and down to the side of my bum.
I no longer have the desire to stay loyal to Ajay, and I don't mind him sleeping with other women. I secretly do wish to look at him having sex with other women someday.
Being in London, I can dress more freely than in India. I wear push-up bras and tighter tops with jeans or long skirts. A very simple outfit for Londoners, but for me, it is a great feeling to be wearing western clothes daily. Whenever I am alone or with friends, I tend to have some of my top buttons undone to show-off a little cleavage. That, along with thick kajal on my eyelash line and my lovely heavy gold and black bead mangalsutra (an Indian traditional necklace that tells that a woman is married), surely does work on white men, I love noticing the grower in their pants. It reminds me of all the hard cocks I had in that hotel room.
I can't wait to have one of those inside me again. Just need to find the right guy who is clean, polite, knows how to keep his mouth shut and is good at sex. Bonus points if he is handsome and extra bonus points if he's fit. I couldn't care about how big his dick is, his marital status, etc.
I work at a café chain as a barista in the morning shift. 6am to 11pm. 30 minutes by cycling. Pay is alright. We sold all our properties in India, so we do have a good amount of money left after buying this house in London and kid's expenses. But hey, who doesn't like having extra money, eh? Plus, with my older kids living away, my younger one in kindergarten for most part of the day and my husband working 10-hour shifts, I would get bored if I were to be a housewife with no one to talk to. I do have a couple of friends, all are women from around the world, we are neighbours, but it's different to interact with a family member vs with a friend.
At the café, I do see some attractive men, but they don't seem interested, they are with their partners or are in a rush because of their morning commute. Either way, we as employees are forbidden from making the customers uncomfortable in any way. This is a very vague rule, but I learned what this means on the job by looking at other baristas.
One morning, I saw my neighbour's son in the café. Blake, a guy in his early 20s. I immediately attended to him; he was thrilled to see me. We had introduced ourselves to each other when I first moved here, but that's about it. I would love to know more about him.
Irish coffee with croissant. Right away!
I was eyeing him from behind the counter as took off his flat hat off his brown hair. As he took off his jacket, I could see his physique. Great shoulders, nice arms; my eyes slid down to his pants. I wonder how his tool looks. He sipped on his drink as he sat facing away from me. Not muscular, nor skinny, he's a handsome guy.
Had to control my lusty thoughts before I did something that would get me fired.
I scanned him up and down a few times before looking away, pretending to be busy. 'He for sure must have noticed the stares' I thought. He thanked me and left.
The rest of the day was uneventful.
Weeks pass and his visits become more frequent. I check him out harder. This man is hot.
One sunny afternoon, I was in the bedroom getting dressed up after a nice warm bath. I casually put on my house clothes. A simple Tee and shorts--with nothing underneath. As I walked past a window that overlooked into the neighbour's backyard, I noticed Blake.
He is lying in his hot tub.
-- naked??
Totally unexpected but I am loving it.
'God, look at his body' He has his back up against the hot tub wall, with arms spread across. I cannot see his lower body because of all the bubbles in the hot tub, but I have a feeling it is beautiful.
