This is a story about an email friend of mine. Having retired from his job, he reflected on his own life experiences. Getting on the internet, he stumbled upon various cuckolding stories and satiated his curiosity. Some of my stories reminded him of his background, and he reached out, sharing his own experiences. As usual, I have taken liberties to make the story enjoyable for my readers.
This is a cuckold story. A cuckold is a husband who receives vicarious pleasure from his partner's having sex with other men. If this is not your thing, please stop offending yourself and move on.
By reading this story, you are committing an act of perversion, and there are no better or worse kinds of perversion, only the ones that you like and the ones that you don't like.
This story explores the husband-wife-and-another-man relationship where the husband is not equal to the wife in the relationship and the wife gravitates towards the other man for sex. The wife prefers having a deep, intimate bond with the other man for prolonged periods of time and gives it more importance than her relationship with the husband. If this is not your thing, please stop offending yourself and move on.
You have been warned!
Priyamani the Seductress
I am a 60-year-old man who has been married for over 35 years to my lovely wife, who is 5 years younger than me. We have four children, three sons and a daughter. All of our children are married, and we have several grandchildren now. I retired from the civil service after serving for over 30 years. I am a shy and reserved person in my friend's circle and often prefer solitude over the company of others. My strange history urged me to get on the internet and better understand and appreciate it. Until then, I shunned computers and preferred to work the old-fashioned way. Surprised to learn about this, I thought of penning my story for the benefit of readers.
I come from a small village in South India. We are from a backward, oppressed caste. Even today, in our village, we still have to endure a lot of insults. We live in a city now, and also, because of my status and power, a lot of the discrimination has waned away.
The story starts in the late 1960s, when I was perhaps 7 years old. I was an only child and lived with my mother and father on a small farm on the outskirts of our village. My mother was perhaps 26 years old at the time, and my father was quite older than her, at perhaps 41 years old. My mother was a beautiful woman with a fair complexion. I saw her mostly in a tanned state because of her constant work in the field, though. Her name was Priyamani, but everyone knew her by the shortened version of her name--Mani. It may be interesting to note that she had a striking resemblance to the actress Priyamani from South India. My mother, who was a Brahmin, was raped by a lower caste man, for which her family ostracized her. When I was 6 years old, she married my father, even though he was a man of low caste. We are from Andhra Pradesh state, near the border of Tamil Nadu, but now live in one of the big coastal cities of Andhra.
My mother was considered quite tall at 5'7" in those days, with a proportionate figure and large breasts. Her fair skin drew plenty of men to our farms, as it was uncommon to find light-skinned people among the commoners in our area. She was a tough, strong-willed woman and kept everyone at bay. However, the Zamindar from that area heard about her beauty and frequented our house on some pretext or another. He got into bed with her after helping free my father, who had been locked up after a petty quarrel with some well-to-do folks in the village.
I was 10 years old when I first saw the old landlord make love to my mother. Other women visited his quarters for such illicit affairs, but my mother refused to see him anywhere else. So, he would come to our house, mostly at night. My father would be out in the field watching for wild hogs and other pests that ruined the crops. At that age, all I knew was that they were indulging in something forbidden and nothing beyond that. The significance of his visits dawned on me as I grew older, at which point it scarred my psyche. I loved her and never thought of judging her. She was a practical woman who made decisions with our family's best interests in mind.
Watching her cuckold my father had left an indelible impression on my mind. I remember getting sexually excited when I would find out that one of her lovers was going to pay her a visit that night. Once I grew up, they sent me to boarding school, so I never saw her while having sex. So, it was just my imagination most of the time. The only time I saw them was at that single event, when I was too young to grasp it.
In the light of a lantern, I saw him fondle my mother's body as she lay on the bed where my father used to sleep. The stark contrast between my mother's and his complexion was clear even in that dark room. She turned off the lantern after a few minutes, so I could only hear them. After about 10 minutes, the bed creaked with regular frequency as he humped her. I heard her softly moaning for five more minutes, and then it was over.
I clearly recalled them speaking in code language the next day about his visit. It seems he knew about the Zamindar's nocturnal visits. They talked about "good" or "bad" times, which I came to interpret as the "fertile" period or the "menstrual cycle." Since it was a "good" time, he concluded, he may visit her again. It was just a childlike curiosity, with no sexual feelings, and I never stayed up long enough to see what else may have happened that night.
There was an intense yearning and desire to learn about her sex life. They shuttled me to a boarding school as soon as I turned 13, only a few years after that first episode. I imagined her mating with other men too, but she kept a lot of men at bay and only encouraged the Zamindar. This deep seated desire transformed into a desperate need to see my wife someday with another man. I didn't wait long and felt the gut-wrenching pangs for the first time. It was around that time that my father came to my rescue, helped me understand my quandary, and guided me on my cuckold journey. He was a soft-spoken, mellow, kindhearted man and took special care of me as I was not his biological child and also because I lived away from them for most of my life--first for studies and then for work.
Before I narrate my story, I intend to explain the background story about my mother. It is, however, best told from my father's perspective, as he was very close to it and it is his story to a great extent. The rest of the narration in this chapter is from his perspective.
The word about Mani's beauty spread in our village as soon as we arrived. Everyone envied me and tried to score opportunities with her. She was a hardworking woman and spent a lot of time on the fields, so a lot of people had time to check her out, but none could touch her. Once, someone tried taking liberties, and she put a machete on his neck and challenged him. No one has dared to cross her path ever since. Even the Zamindar heard about her fiery temperament and steered clear of her. However, he was attracted to her and knew that she was a young woman, and an ordinary old man like myself couldn't do justice to her beauty and youth. Mani was only 25, and I was 15 years older than her. He was a powerful man and had enjoyed the pleasures of plenty of women, but seemed to have been smitten by her.
Mani was an educated woman; she had cleared the intermediate exam, which was uncommon for even most men to clear in those days. Still grounded in reality, she had come around to accepting her fate. I felt I would repulse her, but when she lovingly accepted me the same night we reached our home, I knew she had no remorse. Self-pity was not her thing. She accepted life's challenges, put her best foot forward, and left the rest to God. She would freshen herself every night before hitting the bed to greet me. When she was tired, she hesitated.
