This is a story of cuckoldodry, betrayal, Indian family values (or lack of), bbc, inferiority, superiority, and female submission, and and all round debauchery. I reckon you will like it. All characters are over eighteen and consenting degenerates who in my imagination "love it!"
A special thanks for the world's best editor, Samantha Turner, as always many thanks for looking at the poor grammar, spelling, sentence structure and making it readable. You legend.
Hope you enjoy this and please feel free to comment and let me know your thoughts...Get your tissues and dildoes' ready, on your marks, get set, go....
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Vijay secretly watched his wife from the car, he hated the way she flirted, it was as if her need to be seen as sexually desirable overcame her sense of propriety, and decency. They had married twenty years ago, and ever since then, she had dressed to kill whenever she went out, to the post office, to the school, to take the bins out, but never for him. He looked at the way Henna walked past the street thugs, her tight skirt, accentuating her ass, short enough to reveal her thighs, her white high heels making her shapely calves pop. Her top, low cut showing her magnificent brown boobs. Fuck, why does she have to dress as such a slut? At home, tracksuits and baggies, however when she goes out to grocery shopping, on go the white high heels? What the fuck is wrong with her? What is she missing in her soul that makes her crave that male gaze, that masculine adoration!
As she walked past the teens, two were on bmx bikes, one behind starting pretending to hump the saddle, the others laughed. She blushed but ignored their attention. Low class, street thugs! Vijay thought, what a tramp. One of the boys grabbed his crotch as she walked past, saying something lewd. She turned, looked at him, cocked an eyebrow and walked on. Her eyes lingered, and the boys fist bumped each other, and another one pretended he was getting a blow job, thrusting his hips forward holding her imaginary head...And in public, the shame of it!
Pull your pants up. Vijay thought, sneering inwardly at the wanna be gangsters.
The gang laughed and fist bumped each other again, proud of harassing decent people, their eyes boring into her shapely arse. She's old enough to be their mother. Fuck we have daughters their age. What a fucking tease. Vijayo thought, disgust building in him.
Vijay unseen by Henna sat in his old car, his cock hard, watching his wife as she paraded in and out of shops, the group of boys casually following her, and constantly passing lewd comments. His wife didn't seem to care, in fact she seemed to enjoy it. Occasionally they would bump into her, jostle her, an elbow touching her boob, a hand casually smacking her arse, bump into her groin, yet she brushed it all off, and continued her shopping, relishing the attention pretending to ignore the horny boys.
Vijay lost sight of her as she walked into a shopping centre. He looked to see if he could find the boys, but they too had vanished. Vijay sat in the car, breathed heavy, fuck this, he thought, and drove to the shopping centre car park.
Having parked his car, he frantically started searching for his wayward wife, the over sexualised, under dressed, MILF, married to him for over twenty years, and flirting and being hit on by the local black thugs. His heart was racing, he was spying on her, checking out what she was up to while he worked, while he ran a small accountancy. All day long for decades he had audited, checked, managed other people's money, to come home and been treated like shit by his wife, and then his two daughters. The toxic bitch, and now he had witnessed what he dreaded, his wife not only being unfaithful, but doing so in public, where anyone could see them. And everyone would.
He walked through the cathedral to consumerism, marble floors, open vaulted ceilings, multiple levels of shops, all to fulfil a need that could never be fulfilled, just momentarily sated, but like an dealer, the centres had got the public hooked and they kept coming back, buying shit, that was obsolete or unfashionable the moment you left the store, the rich were in the designer stores, pompous security guards with ear pieces, the families crowded the department stores, the youth, the girls anyway, seemed to all show their mid-rifts, whatever the style, the hustle and bustle of a busy shopping day in heaven. Finally in a coffee shop on the top level he spied his wife. She was sitting at a table, and the group of black teens were with her.
She was flirting and playing with her hair, her white high heels (how trashy he thought), was dangling off one foot, the boys opposite her sat legs spread, the confidence of youth, leering and joking with her. Shit he noticed Mrs Patel from the corner shop, stopped and looked at her. Mrs Patel did a double take, Henna leaned forward and whispered into a boy's ear, he smiled and slid his hand up her thigh...right into her crotch. Henna's eyes bulged, she wasn't expecting that, Mrs. Patel's eyes bulged at the scandalous behaviour, Vijay's cock bulged. Mrs. Patel tutted at the publicly obscene behaviour and walked on, looking over her shoulder at the married woman who was surrounded by black kids from the neighbourhood right up until she left the area. Her final look would see Henna leaning forward sucking on the kids lips and his hand parted her legs. Shockingly, Vijay's excitement heightened.
They broke the kiss, Henna's hand was guided to the crotch of the boy she was kissing, Henna's eyes widened as he touched the boy's cock through his tracksuit. One of the guys held his hand apart, Henna laughed, and then used her thumb and finger on the same hand until they were three inches apart, and frowned and shrugged. The bitch is comparing dick sizes Vijay thought, a knot in his stomach developed. The guy next to her started to caress her leg with his foot, she responded instinctively to the teen on her other side, reached over and ran his hands between her legs and up her thighs. The complete slut. Open and public, the bitch. A impotent rage and jealousy exploded within Vijay, the humiliation his wife was putting him through, and all the while he had been playing happy families and being the provider while this whore was picking up teenage thugs! They were laughing and giggling uncontrollably by now and then they all got up to leave. Vijay hid behind the coke machine and waited before he too headed home.
The cucked indian husband watched quietly, "How did it get to this?" he sighed. This country fucks everything up. Simple things become complex, and complexity never simplifies, He stood quietly, coming home early and hearing the noise coming from his bedroom. The thump, thump, thump, the grunt, grunt, squeal, sighs, panting...he remembered even thinking, I hope it is a fight, his venom boiled within him, he fantasied about rushing in and saving his wife from being ravished, no rapped, but even while he fantasized about his wife being taken against her will, he knew. He knew. He had crept upstairs, the door to his bedroom was wide open, and what he saw was, on the bed her legs straddling a black man, missionary position, her elgas wrapped around the man's muscular back, no, a black teen, one of the boys, from the centre. Henna, his beautiful British born Indian wife for 20 years, was getting hammered. He watched from the stairs, her moans and groans, as each thrust hit her cervix, the powerful humps, sending her delirious and wild. The boy flipped her over as easy as flipping a coin, into the doggy position, had her facing the mirror, in an act of cruelty, he grabbed Vijay's pillow and placed in under Hemma's pussy, and fucked her looking in the mirror, on Vijay's pillow. The side profile view, astounded Vijay, the black man, no the young man, one of the street kids in the area, he recognised him, a little punk always stealing, selling dope, loitering and harassing decent people, and he was fucking Vijay's wife, his cock, like a black hard batton, the ones the police used in India, a foot long, was rearranging Henna's guts. Henna the slut was pushing back, and moaning.
