I’m an Associate Professor in a well-known business school in Karachi (Pakistan). I am 39 year old, married; my wife, Rozi (short for Rozina) is a year older than me (something which is fairly uncommon in our culture). She is a double masters in English and used to teach in a school before we had our son (who is now 12 years old), and she decided to become a housewife rather than a working mother. Rozi’s marriage to me was the result of a love affair and despite a glitch or two, we have been happily married.
Rozi, while not exceptionally beautiful, was always pretty and at 40, is still attractive enough to turn heads and earn looks by men half her age. She’s put on a little bit of weight (which actually becomes her as she was very thin when she got married to me), particularly on her butt (which I find extremely sexy, though she doesn’t agree with me there). Apart from her full, round hips, she’s got nice breasts, sizeable enough to be noticeable with out being exceptionally big (I’ve never liked those “monster breasts” anyway), a nice complexion, very smooth and flawless skin, a round face with short-cropped hair, a beautiful smile with white and even teeth, and lovely eyes. Maybe I’m biased, but that’s the way I see my darling. Oh, and lest I forget, she’s got very pretty hands, feet and ankles. I simply love it when she wears trousers (not as in pants – Paksitani style as culets) that end above the ankle, a little below the knee. Especially when she wears them with sandals having straps tied to the ankles. I have something of a foot fetish, I admit.
Foot fetish is not the only sexual fantasy that I have though. Foot fetish is something one can talk about and even indulge in quiet frankly with one’s wife, something I’ve almost always done as part of our foreplay. There are darker, more perverted aspects to my sexual orientation. One of which is to see my wife exposing herself in front of other men. This is, of course, something, I’d never told her till the incident occurred which I’m about to narrate. Nevertheless, I’d always given very subtle hints. Like encouraging her to wear low necklines as much as possible, wearing skin-tight shirts etc. For the most part she had always responded favorably to these suggestions and, I’m sure, even enjoyed the looks she got from men around her. In the privacy of our bedroom, of course, I bought her the sexiest lingerie and took a lot of pictures with our digital camera. After taking those pictures and saving them on our computer, I would look at them often and masturbated (when she wasn’t around), fantasizing that it was some other man looking at nude pics of my wife. Weird? I don’t know….., but what I’ve learnt on the net is that I’m not the only husband in the world who feels that way.
A still higher (and darker) level of my fantasies involve watching my wife having sex with another man. Initially, even such a fantasy used to make me feel guilty. But gradually, the pleasure associated with this fantasy overcame the guilt part. Early on in our marriage, we used to watch porn together, and I would encourage her to comment on all the cocks shown in those movies. Mostly, she would comment very carefully, making sure whatever she said would sound casual, neutral and objective, like “oh, he’s got a long one, but without circumcision seems a little strange” etc. Only once did she let down her guard. In one of the movies, there was a scene where a girl got fucked by two hunks at the same time (a typical threesome as you would call it). After watching the whole scene in silence, she remarked that “this is a fantasy of a lot of girls”. When I tried to ask her if she had ever had that fantasy too, she immediately got on the defensive again by saying “O come on; I’m sure every guy would love to do it to two beautiful girls at the same time too, wouldn’t you agree?” and changed the topic like that before it got too close to comfort, as one would say.
You may say that there was always the potential in her to become a slut.
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In a teacher’s life there are always a few students who get closer to you in personal terms as compared to the rest of the lot. Besides, as an Associate Professor, I’m on the young side, compared to most of the grey haired faculty members, and therefore, students find me more approachable and friendly. Salman and Tariq had been two such students who, right from the time they entered as freshmen, have become very friendly with me. Salman is broad shouldered, a little stocky, into stuff like weight-training etc. While Tariq is tall and lanky, very fair complexioned, more into reading books, keeping himself updated with current affairs and all. This description, however, shouldn’t imply that both are stereotypes – one all brawn the other all brain! Not at all. Salman is intelligent enough and reasonably well read himself, while Tariq can do a reasonably good job in sports like table tennis, basket ball etc. Both are in their early twenties. Both are intelligent, good-looking boys.
My relationship with them outside the class grew to a point where I even had them over at our house a few times, initially to help them out in studies, but later they used to come over just for the sake of it. Of course, once that started happening, they came on good terms with Rozi as well, and she also seemed to take a liking to the two. Once, when she wanted to replace certain old furniture with new one, they actually came over and helped her out a lot in moving and fixing various stuff. I was at the university the whole day and we (Rozi & I) were quiet grateful to them for their assistance. So Salman and Tariq, to cut it short, became something like family friends to Rozi and me.
The four of us had dinner together, went out and watched movies, and engaged in long, enduring discussions on every topic under the sun. Rozi is herself a highly educated, intelligent woman, and she liked engaging in conversation with two bright kids. The feeling seemed to be mutual on both sides. In fact, I would have to admit at this point that the feelings on both sides were a little more than platonic. More than once I observed Salman and Tariq discreetly checking out Rozi’s figures, particularly her boobs, when they thought I wasn’t noticing; and Rozi clearly enjoyed the attention she was getting from two young men almost half her age. Needless to say, I didn’t mind in the least, but also did not imagine this going any further than harmless flirtation at the most. How wrong I was!
—————–
I don’t clearly remember when, but in one of many such discussions, the conversation veered towards sex. As every one opened up after an initial inhibition, Salman went on to discuss his sexual escapades with many of his girlfriends, some of which were funny, and made us all laugh. Tariq, true to his personality, was more of a lover than a “many flings” kind of a guy and had fallen desperately for a girl who, sadly, was going steady with someone else.
In subsequent meetings, sex – matters related to it, seemed to become our favorite topic. We became open to the extent of discussing even our own (meaning Rozi’s and mine) sexual life with the two boys. Salman, daring as usual, even asked, “so, what’s the favorite position of you guys?” to which he got a playful but sharp slap on the shoulder from Rozi. But then, to my surprise, she did answer, “usually we go for the ‘missionary position’, but sometimes….., well,…. sometimes, we try out new stuff.”
“New stuff?” said Salman, in mock reflection, “how’s that? What kind of new stuff?”
“Well….,” Rozi shrugged her shoulders, “Y’know, as in new positions.”
“Ahan” Salman was clearly interested now, his eyes shining, “what new positions?”
Rozi was becoming uncomfortable now and she looked at me to get her out of this spot. I was in no mood to do so; for one, SHE had encouraged the two boys to bring the conversation to this point, second, I was enjoying the whole idea of my wife discussing her sexual life with my students and was actually feeling the start of a hardening bulge in my crotch.
Of course, she could have ended the conversation at this point, saying ‘enough’s enough’ or something like that, but when all she got was an indulgent smile from me, she carried on:
“Well, sometimes I get on top” she said, and paused, hoping that would be enough. Salman wasn’t about to let her go so easily and asked:
“Uh huh! And……., do you guys ever try the Rockygie style?” He was crossing the limits now and he knew it, but then, nobody was stopping him.
“Don’t call it that!” Rozi responded, feigning annoyance, “that expression makes me feel like a…….” she had to stop short when she realized the implications of the word that would have completed the sentence.
For a second, there was silence, and then all three men present in the room, burst out laughing. We couldn’t help it. Rozi struggled for a few seconds, deciding whether she should be angry or not, and then joined in our laughter. At this point I will cut it short and come to that fateful evening when my life – and my wife – were to start undergoing a change that I would have thought nothing short of impossible.
It was a Saturday evening in April (2009). Our son was spending the night at my sister’s place. He and my sister’s son are just a year apart and they’re great friends. I mention this because it constituted a big factor in what occurred that night. Had our son been in the house none of us could have gone as far as we went. Salman and Tariq were at our place, and we had just finished a cup of coffee each, except Rozi, who likes to go for tea in summers and keeps her coffee-drinking for winters only. It must have been around 10 p.m. or so. We’d all had our supper and were feeling, as one usually does on a weekend night, quiet comfy, so to say. The four of us were sitting, as we always did, in that part of our house which serves as a guest-cum-dining room. One side of the room has a small, rectangular table with four chairs around it, and on the other side we have a sofa set with the usual glass table, two side tables, a few racks bearing some decoration pieces, a book case…, the usual stuff.
Salman was recounting a story which held our interest. The story involved him and a group of his friends (3 boys and 2 girls) in high school, who ended up having a game of strip poker (or some other game of cards), that left all but one of the boys (the winner) in their underwear. The deal, according to him, was to “go all the way” but after losing one more hand, a girl who was already down to her bra and panties, chickened out. She got up and started putting on her clothes amidst mild protest by the boys. That was the end of the game.
“In our hearts” said Salman, smiling, “all of us knew that at least the girls would never go that far.”
“Interesting story” I said, shifting a little in my chair, “if its true.”
Tariq laughed, looking at Salman, while Salman managed to look a little annoyed while still smiling with his natural good humor.
“Yes, well” Rozi began (I noticed she was listening to the story with rapt attention) “I thought this kind of thing was reserved for Hollywood teen movies only.”
“Reality does imitate fiction, you know” Tariq said, on a serious note. “Haven’t you heard of serial killers modeling themselves after fictional or movie serial killers?”
“Exactly” said Salman, glad to have support at last. “The story’s true. I’m still in touch with the guy in whose house it happened. In fact, just last Eid we met, we reminisced about that incident, and agreed that it was a wonder that those girls agreed in the first place, though they were wild things, both of them. But then, it was too much to expect them to go all the way…., in fact, no girl in her right mind would agree to a dare like that, given that boys are naturally better than girls at card games anyway.”
At this, I immediately looked towards Rozi. While I’ve always had zero interest in cards, my wife regards herself as something of an amateur wizard. Being a strong-headed woman and something of a feminist, I knew she would take this comment as little less than insulting. And I was absolutely right.
“Careful young man” she said, pointing at Salman with her petite finger, “you don’t know what you’re saying. I bet I could beat you with my eyes closed in any card game you’d like to play.”
“Whoa!” Salman responded a little exaggeratedly, though he was a bit surprised. “You really mean that? I wish I had a pack of cards with me to see how good you really are.”
“I do” said Rozi calmly, and getting up from her seat left the room. I knew she had a pack of cards (more than one pack in fact) and used to practice or play by herself at times, silently ruing the fact that I had no interest. She tried to teach me a few times but gave up after a while, saying that my heart wasn’t in it (which was the truth), but she still loved me for trying only to please her.
She was back quickly, holding a pack in her hands. She sat down, took the cards out from the carton, and placing them firmly on the table between us, looked at Salman and said, “Ready, wise guy?” (I also thought that expression was a little theatrical, but believe me, it looked so sexy on her!).
Salman, a cool customer himself, was far from intimidated. Still smiling, he raised his eyebrows quizzically and said,
“On the same terms?”
My heart jumped to my throat for a moment as I realized what he meant. But I thought to myself, ‘not in your lifetime mate…, she would NEVER agree’!
“What do you mean?” said Rozi (though I think she already understood).
“I mean, are we going to play on the same terms: losers take off one piece of clothing at the end of every hand”?
Ok. That was a critical moment. The way he said it, Rozi could have laughed it off as a joke; or, she could have taken it seriously and shown her displeasure over what was, essentially, a remarkably indecent proposal.
What she did say caught me by such surprise I can only thank God I was not eating anything at the time, otherwise I would have choked to death!
“Only if you want to end up sitting here with nothing on but this chain (Salman does wear a medallion) on your neck” was the cool, smartass reply my wife made.
“Let me get this straight” Salman said, his eyes shining the way they shone in my classes when he was about to make a really intelligent remark during a general discussion, “you’re saying we play for stakes where losers strip, and when YOU lose, you won’t back out?”
“Absolutely.” My wife replied confidently. “And there’s NO chance of me backing out because I am not going to lose, as you will see shortly. In fact, to be fair to you, let me warn you that I’ve participated in two amateur tournaments organized at city level, won one of them and came runners up in the other ONLY because I had bad case of sinusitis on the big day and couldn’t concentrate. After this, if you still want to take me on, you’re very welcome…. Unless, of course, my husband disapproves of the whole idea, in which case we will not have the game…., or rather, have the game but not under the same bet.”
Everyone looked at me! I didn’t know whether to feel excited or annoyed. Excited because what was about to happen was as close to my deepest, most erotic fantasies as it would ever get. Annoyed because Rozi had, so cleverly put the entire responsibility on me. Trust women to do that!
Of course, what Rozi did not know was that Salman himself was nothing short of a champion himself when it came to cards. This fact was well-known in the campus. As a husband, was it my responsibility to let Rozi know that? Well, yes, I guess…, if you look at from a conventional moralistic angle. The problem is: conventional morals are such weak deterrents when put against intoxicatingly strong erotic fantasies about to come true, and a cock which is already on its way to getting hard at the mere possibility of my wife taking off her clothes in front of two young men, who also happen to be my students!
Trying to look almost bored, I just shrugged my shoulders, looked at my wife and said, “What the hell! Like you said, you’re not going to lose anyway.”Well, that settled it I guess. The game started once they had agreed on a few rules – such as what counted as a piece of clothing and what didn’t: it was agreed that shoes and clothes will count, but things like watches, rings and other stuff would not (this was decided on Rozi’s insistence – she would have argued differently had she know what was to come). Even socks would not count as only Salman was wearing a pair, while Tariq had a pair of causal moccasins on his feet without socks, and Rozi of course wasn’t wearing any. Undergarments, would of course, count. I, not being a card player, would only act as a “neutral observer-cum-referee” while the three of them would compete.
I watched with baited breath as the first round started. I could only judge who was winning by watching the facial expressions of the players (although card players are supposed to keep a “poker face” from what I’ve heard). I thought Rozi was winning the first hand and I turned out to be right, though a little disappointed, to be honest!
“Off with your shoes, both of you” she said, as she began collecting deck again with a triumphant look on her face.
Both the boys duly removed their shoes, with the only comment coming from Salman, who said, “Fluke!”
“Hah!” said Rozi, “sore loser.”
At that point I had no idea if Salman was just letting her win initially to make her feel comfortable. I still don’t know for sure, but I have a strong suspicion, particularly how things turned out a little later.
Anyway, she won the second round as well, and the boys were now forced to lose their shirts. This again presented a technical problem, as Salman was only wearing a t-shirt with nothing underneath, while Tariq had a vest beneath his half-sleeve shirt.
“Too bad” commented Rozi, snugly, when the point was debated, “we can’t help it if you’re wearing less.”
Salman was of the opinion that Tariq should also remove his vest to bring the contestants at par, so to say. However, the implications of this argument weren’t lost on Rozi, as she knew that once she lost a couple of rounds herself, she would be supposed to remove her shirt and bra at one go! Not, that the idea of losing and reaching that point seriously entered her mind at that stage, but still. (To make it clear to you: she was dressed in jeans, a lose button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up, not tucked in but hanging out, over the top of her jeans, and of course a pair of casual slippers.)
The point was referred to me for adjudication and I had to rule in favor of Rozi, not willingly, but to conform to her expectations (as a husband I couldn’t appear eager to see my wife losing her shirt and bra in one go before two young men). Honestly, at this point, I had started thinking that Rozi was too good for her young opponents.
My hopes (I’m almost ashamed to say so) started rising when Salman won the third round. If Rozi was worried she certainly didn’t show it. She took off her slippers without comment and immediately started getting ready for the next round.
By this time I was building an urge to pee, but dared not get up from my seat. The anticipation and the suspense were just too much. If Rozi lost this round she would have to take off her shirt. Would she actually do it? After making Salman and Tariq take off their shirts she had certainly put herself in a corner. And if I know anything about my wife it’s that she would rather die than back-off in a challenge. But then, would she go to that extent? It was with thoughts like these in my mind that I watched the rapidly piling cards on the table, their faces changing from King to Queen to Joker in seconds.
—————-
By the time Salman had thumped in the last card on the table, bringing it down hard on the surface with a bang, I knew the result. Rozi had lost! (so had Tariq but of course that becomes academic).
Salman looked at her, with the devil in his eyes. Tariq was also looking at her but seemed quiet nervous; not sure how things will proceed from thereon. I couldn’t remember if my heart had pumped any louder than at that moment.
As for Rozi? Well, she seemed frozen in her place for a few seconds. Then she looked at me, and I could read the message in her eyes: ‘save me’ written all over in capital letters. Suddenly, I was angry. She gets into a strip match with two young men with tall claims and boasts; I certainly didn’t ask her to – and when she gets into a spot I am supposed to play the protecting husband role, get up from my seat, pick up the cards, laugh and say, “ok boys, that’s enough fun for the night”.
Call me a jerk if you will, but I wasn’t going to do anything like that. And “that” message I passed on back to her in “my” eyes. You have to give it to the woman though. When she saw no help coming from her husband, she grit her teeth (as we do when we realize we have to take a painful but necessary shot in the arm), raised her hands to her shirt front, undid the buttons one by one, then rolled down each sleeve, got up from her chair, removed her shirt and sat down again.
For a moment every man in that room was stunned. First, that she actually had the guts to keep her word. Second, there is no way I can describe the eroticism of the scene unfolding before me: my wife, seated almost topless barring her black bra (my favorite) in our guest room, in front of my own students, within touching distance of them. Her full, rotund, milky breasts seemed to be forcing their way out of the twin cups holding them. She has a black mole towards the upper mound of her right breast, and that mole, which hitherto had only been seen by me, was now visible to both my students, who were gaping unashamedly at the semi-nude woman in front of them – their own teacher’s wife.
“If you’re thru staring, maybe we can start the next round” Rozi’s voice shook us out of our trance. Her voice had an icy cutting edge to it that showed how pissed off she was.
“Sorry” it was Tariq who murmured. Salman turned and looked at him as if asking `why the hell are you sorry?’
“Before we start” Rozi said, “aren’t you supposed to take off something as well?” she pointed at Tariq. She was absolutely right of course. We had all become so engrossed in watching Roze take off her shirt that we complete forgot Tariq. Of course, he had also lost the hand which only meant that he had to get rid of the beige cotton casuals he was wearing. So, seated around the table, we now had one fully dressed gentleman (that being me), one guy wearing his jeans but no shirt, another wearing nothing but his jockey briefs, and last – but by no means the least, an attractive 40 year old woman who happened to be the fully dressed gentleman’s wife, saved only by her bra from being topless!The next round started amidst tension so thick you could slice it with a knife. Rozi looked so determined to win it seemed as if she had finally unsettled even Salman, who was, perhaps, also distracted by her breasts. She did win the round, and the look of relief on her face was immense. The look on Tariq’s face, however, told a different story. The result meant that Salman went down to his briefs, but Tariq was to go “full monty” as the brits might say!
He looked around, a look of disbelief on his face, and laughed a little uneasily.
“Come on, you guys seriously don’t mean it” he asked, adjusting the glasses on his thin, yet attractive face.
“I didn’t ask that when I was supposed to remove my shirt” replied Rozi, icily.
I actually felt for the poor guy. He never claimed to be a champion unlike Rozi and Salman, and hadn’t won a single hand. When it finally dawned on him that no one in the room was kidding, he got up first, stood for a second, then realized what would happen if he took off his briefs like that, sat down again, pushed his chair forward against the dining table as much as he could so that his lower half of the body was under the table and totally hidden from our view, and in that position, hoisting his hips up a little, he managed to slide his briefs down his legs. When he left them lying on his feet, Salman (sitting next to him – Rozi and I were on the other side) tapped him on the shoulder and said,
”Up here….., where everyone can see them” and he pointed to the table.
Tariq, now totally hapless, bent down, picked his white briefs up in his right hand and was about to place them on the table, then, habitual good manners got the better of him and he placed them gently on the back of an empty chair beside him.
In this way, Tariq had become momentarily irrelevant to the scenario. The fight was now directly between the two “champs”.
The next round ended with Rozi losing her pants. Salman, though down to his briefs, had regained his composure. Nobody said a word once the round ended. Rozi simply got up, her face expressionless, pushed her chair back, opened the front button of her trousers, slid down the zipper and rolled down her pants as easily as if she was doing it in the privacy of her bedroom. Tariq and Salman watched intently, unashamedly, at her plump, shapely, smoothly waxed legs, and whatever little was visible of her round, full ass, though they were only getting a side view at best. Contrary to expectations, she wasn’t wearing black panties to match her bra; what she had on was an old pair, with a slightly pinkish floral pattern on white background. Nothing too sexy as per say, but then….., hell! Anything would have seemed sexy at that point. Even her slightly protruding abdomen and some extra flesh around her hips and thighs (a bit of fat that she put on after child birth and could not quiet get rid of) seemed sexy. In fact, the slight imperfections of her figure made the whole scene even more erotic – reminding everyone in the room that this was an attractive yet ordinary housewife being made to do a slow strip tease before us, not some professional stripper with a gorgeous figure and an artificial smile……. If you guys know what I mean!
Had this entire incident taken place in America or Europe, I might have rationalized our behavior that night by telling you that we were all drunk or a “little high” on some dope. There was nothing of the sort of course. But what was happening in that room was research paper material for some psychiatrist: four perfectly normal, decent people had entered into a trance like state where the bizarre, the extraordinary, was being accepted and enacted as if some force, other than our own individual selves, was at work that night. And it was all highly erotic. With a raging hard-on, my urge to pee was increasing by the minute, but I simply could not leave the room at that point, even if it meant peeing in my pants.
The next round started with me realizing that if my wife lost again, she would be actually be taking off at least one piece of her undergarments, leaving her nude (in the real sense of the word) in the presence of my students, either from the top or the bottom.
From this point on, I can only describe things abruptly, as I don’t really have the words to capture the electric eroticism of the scene.
The round ended and Rozi had lost again! Things might…, just might, have ended at this stage. After all, it was all getting too much. Rozi might have looked at me once more with pleading eyes, and I might have got up and ended the whole affair by taking charge of the situation and telling everyone to get dressed. But that rascal, Salman, played “his cards” (pun intended) really well there. Understanding the psychology of the woman before him, he smiled, looked at her and said,
“We can end it now if you finally accept that women just can’t beat men at cards…., or any other game for that matter.”
That did it. There’s a raging feminist inside my wife. My heart actually skipped a beat as I thought she might chose to dispense with her bra. But even in her fury she was smart enough. She did exactly what Tariq had done. Pushed her chair forward so that the two boys seated on the other end could not see her lower half, hoisted her hips up a little, and slid her panties off in a sitting position. Having taken them off, she turned towards me and said:
“Mind holding them for me honey, while I play the next round?”
The knife-sharp sarcasm in her voice was not missed by anyone in the room. I held out my hand and took the panties from her, a little red-faced, understanding her anger and feeling ashamed of my own weakness. I could have prevented her this indignity and she knew it….., everyone in that room knew it. They were, after all, my students. I could have just told Salman to stop the bullshit right then and there. But of course, there was a side of me which wanted it all to happen, and that side had firm control by that time.
One piece of undergarment was now saving the two participants from complete nudity, but for all that, the stakes were far higher for Rozi than for Salman. Everyone present in that room knew that if she lost this one, there was no way she could remove her bra and not expose her boobs – or so we thought, short of wriggling under the table and remaining there.
At that point, Salman raised stakes still higher.
“Hold on” he said, raising his hand.
“Why? Afraid of losing your knickers my boy?” Rozi replied. She seemed impatient, almost in a fatalistic mode, an edginess to her voice that I didn’t like – than only crept in when we had the worst of our fights, and there have been very few such occasions.
“There’s another convention in these strip games” Salman continued, ignoring the remark. “Whoever wins gets to have at least one wish that HAS to be carried out by the losers.”
Rozi looked at him with suspicious eyes. “You’re making this up” she said.
“No, why would I?” he said, “I have as much chance of losing at this stage as you do…., unless, of course, you feel that’s NOT the case and that’s the reason you want to chicken out.” He smiled.
“Don’t give that chicken out stuff” Rozi replied, haughtily, “the chicken-out-type would have been out of this room after she lost the second hand.” She was absolutely right there, but I guessed Salman was again cleverly using her grit against her.
“What kind of a wish are we talking about?” I asked, wanting to diffuse the tension.
“Well, nothing outrageous I can assure. The one we played at my friend’s house, we decided that the losers with all get their butts spanked by each other and then by the winner.”
“Oh, and there’s nothing outrageous about it at all!” Rozi replied, sarcastically. “Forget it.”
“No, no…., hold on” Salman raised his hands again, his muscular biceps almost shining in the overhead white light. “I didn’t say I was suggesting the same here. What I intended was something far more reasonable.”
`As if anything could be considered reasonable tonight’ I thought.
“As what?” asked my wife.
“Well, tell you what: if I win I’ll let you know the deal afterwards, and you can do the same; and we’ll leave it to Sir, here” pointing to me, “to decide if the `wish’ is reasonable enough to be carried out or not; in fact, he can even change or amend the order if thinks fit.”
Great! As if I didn’t have enough on my hands with a pissed-off wife, all but naked, sitting next, and an increasing urge to pee with a raging hard on at the same time. But even in that state, I knew why he was involving me: any suggestion endorsed or given by me would not be so far out of the way as to be totally unacceptable to my wife. At the same time, I knew that he had now seen the hidden side of me; the side which would actually enjoy watching my wife being made to do a slow strip-tease; the side that he’d never seen in a classroom!
“I’m just raising the stakes slightly” he said, as if taking the word out of my mind, “and we all know who wants to back out when the stakes are raised….., the one who has a greater fear of losing.”
“Start the last round.” Rozi said, and started shuffling the cards.
“You mean….?” Salman said.
“Yeah, yeah. What ever! If you’re so keen on getting your butt slapped I can’t help you” she waived her hands, her posture on the verge of being arrogant, but I could sense the fear inside. It was in her eyes now. That she continued despite her fear is something I find remarkable.
Well, for all her bravado, she lost the last round.
The silence in the room was deathly. I didn’t know which part of my anatomy was exerting a higher pressure now: my bladder wanting to empty its contents, or my balls asking me to let out the sperm thru my rock hard member?
‘Is my wife really going to expose those exquisite breasts of hers in front of my students…., just like that?’ I couldn’t believe it. Yet, hadn’t she already taken off the rest of her clothes? But so far she had more or less successfully hidden those parts which really make a woman nude; how would she manage now?
I should have know better than to underestimate my wife! She took a deep breath, placed the last card on the table, and actually shook hands with Salman, saying “Congratulations. You were the better player ON THE DAY!” (Wow…., what vanity!).
Then turned to me and said, “Dear, would you please go to that book-rack over there?”
“Uh, sure” I said, taken aback. With a less than intelligent expression on my face, trying my best to hide my erection, I walked to the rack and stood beside it, not knowing what to do.
“Take out that Atlas.” She ordered.
I knew which one she meant since there’s only one on the rack. A large, hard-bound World Atlas Book I got at a throw-away price in an old-books shop. It was a large, heavy item, with maps of different continents illustrated in color; somewhat the size of those large wedding albums newly weds are always showing around to family and friends.
Still not quiet clear on what she wanted, I nevertheless took it out and brought it over to her. She took it from me calmly, put it on the table in a vertical position, like the way it was placed on the rack, making a kind of protective shield out of it, as the top half of her body was now totally covered up till her neck.
I got it at once! But then, how would she unclasp her bra while holding this in front?
“Ok dear, you can take off my bra now” she said, and immediately, I had my answer.
I could have gone down on my knees and kissed her feet then and there, showing my appreciation, nay devotion, to her intelligence and presence of mind. She was keeping her side of the bet, with out showing her nudity to the two guys present.
With unsteady hands, I managed to unclasp her black bra from behind and free her boobs. I placed the bra gently on the back of my own vacant chair, rendering my wife completely naked right before my two students. The fact that she was still managing to retain a semblance of dignity in that situation, only speaks for her marvelous grace and wit.
“Not fair!” Salman cried. “Cheating.”
“Why?” Rozi replied, calmly, “the bet was about taking off clothes, which I’ve done. Nobody mentioned anything about having to flaunt your nakedness in front of everyone. Besides, you didn’t seem to mind when Tariq took off his briefs hiding under the table.”
She had him there and he knew it!
“We can all put our clothes on again, I presume?” It was more of a rhetorical question on her part. “Mind putting my bra back on again, dear?” I obliged immediately, picking the bra up again, though not without some disappointment, I am ashamed to admit.
“Hold on. What about granting the winner’s wish?” Salman asked, not willing to give up yet.
“If this wish is about me sitting here naked holding this rather heavy book, you can think again.” She said, as she balanced the book with one hand and raised the other a little so that I could slip the bra-strap over her right shoulder.
“No, nothing like that.” Salman said.
Ok, I’m listening” she said, while I put the bra-strap over her left shoulder.
“My wish is” said Salman, pausing to give effect, “that you go to your bedroom once you have put on your clothes, then take them off again, and put on your sexiest nightwear. Then come back, go the kitchen, make us all some tea, serve it and drink it sitting here with us, in whatever you’re wearing.”
I could only marvel at his cheek. He was talking to my wife, in front of me, his teacher, as if he was addressing his girl-friend. (I also happened to think it was a very good idea!).
Rozi was putting her panties back on again, in that sitting position, the way she took them off. She listened to his “wish” calmly, got up, picked up her jeans, slid inside it, tied the front button and pulled up the zipper. As she reached for her shirt, she looked at me and said:
“Ok. You heard him?”
So once again, the responsibility of the whole thing was conveniently placed on me.
“Well…” I began, uncertainly, “Considering that its only a night dress….., and, umm… if I deny this request….., wish…., he will make another one…, and, well…, a bet’s a bet…, like you said.., but of course, if you don’t want to do it….”
“Ok dear. I’ll do it.” She said, apparently without emotion, but the disdain in her eyes was clear. Once again that made me feel resentful. I wanted to shout and tell her, ‘listen: I DID NOT put you into this situation. You did!’ But of course I didn’t do anything of the kind.
“And may I remind you” she said to Salman, “I’m not the only `loser’ around here.” Literally, I suppose, she was pointing out that the “wish-concept” applied to Tariq as well, but the way she put stress on the word `loser’, I knew she was figuratively taking me in the loop, taunting me for my weakness to protect her from her own ill-conceived plans.
“Sure” said Salman, “I have something special planned for my pal here.” He said, patting Tariq’s bare shoulder. “He will put on a pair of `your’ panties” he said, pointing with his index finger at Rozi, “and will spend the rest of the evening like that.”
I thought Tariq would be furious at this, but the way he looked at Salman only showed embarrassment and a sense of being let down a little, as if a person whom you trust has just leaked out some secret concerning you.
“No way.” Replied Rozi. “I’m not going to ruin my lingerie by letting it be worn by a man.”
“You could lend him an old pair.” I blurted out, and realized how stupid that must have sounded.
“Thank you dear” Rozi turned to me with that icy stare, “so thoughtful of you.”
“Preferrably” Salman continued, “the ones you already have on…., in fact I insist on this one…., if, of course, Sir allows” he gestured towards me.
“Sir”, by that time was getting desperate to leave the room and take a leak and would have agreed to anything. So I mumbled something like “I don’t see any harm in it” and started to leave the room with my wife.
“And be sure you are honest when choosing your sexiest nightdress” Salman called out (I could have given that boy a medal for his sheer guts and cheek, “Of course, I have complete faith on Sir’s integrity and I’m certain he will make sure you do choose the sexiest one” he finished.
The sarcasm wasn’t lost on me!Once we were back in our bedroom I rushed to the toilet to relieve the pressure on my bladder. When I came out of the toilet I saw that Rozi had taken out the collection of her nightwear and spread them out on the bed.
“So which one do you think I should wear?” she asked, so casually as if asking what she should wear while going out somewhere.
Cautiously, I picked out a blue, lacy kind of thing, pretty but not quiet revealing.
“Are you sure that’s the sexiest one I have?” she asked, looking at me intently, “after all, your student is relying on your integrity.” I could feel the resentment clearly, but hell, I was also getting angry at this stage…., why did she keep blaming me; she got herself into this fix? So this time I threw caution to the wind and picked a thin, transparent teddy, steel-grey in color; something that didn’t leave a lot to imagination. She gave a little laugh (there was no humor in it though) as she saw what I had picked and said,
“I knew you’d go for this.” Then she gave me one of her old panties, pink in color, for Tariq, and told me to go join the boys. Just as I was leaving she called me again and asked:
“What’s it going to be….., panties or thong?”
I looked back and tried to guess whether she was testing me further – as to how “low” I could go towards exposing her in front of my students. I could not read anything into her expressionless face and replied, without hesitation, “Thong”. What the hell, I said to myself, once again angry at her anger.
Back in the guest room I saw that Salman was still in his briefs while Tariq had put on his own pair. But that was soon to be replace by Rozi’s panties – pink! I thought that was a deliberate affront.
Somewhat to my surprise, Tariq didn’t appear as pissed off with Salman as he should have been for landing him in that situation. They seemed to be sharing some secret, from the looks they exchanged when they saw the pair of panties I had brought with me. The fact is – I didn’t know it at the time, but both of them, from that point onwards, had it all planned out.
Salman made some half-hearted attempt at pulling his leg as Tariq took the panties from me and turned around to replace his cotton briefs with them. As he took off his briefs I couldn’t help noticing that he had a nice, slim ass, with almost no hair around his back…, almost like a girl’s. He seemed to struggle with the panties a little as he tried to jack them on to fit his crotch but managed finally. As he turned around I was surprised to see that he had developed a semi-hard on, and he seemed embarrassed about it. At the time I thought it was the idea of wearing Rozi’s against his own cock that was making him hard. Salman kept passing remarks on his (Tariq’s) situation, saying he looked `oh so pretty’ and calling him names like `chikna’ etc but Tariq seemed to be paying no attention to him. Somehow the whole thing looked like a show, as if they were doing it for my benefit. `Almost’ I thought, `as if they’ve done it before!’ And that was when the truth struck me…. Being somewhat of a cuckold doesn’t mean you’re dumb. Fact was: Tariq “liked” wearing women’s underwear, and Salman knew it! He didn’t think of that “punishment” for Tariq on the spur of the moment. That made me ask myself the next question: `are they bi?’ I had no way of knowing for sure, but then there was no time to concentrate on such questions as Rozi entered the room.
While she had put on the teddy and the thong as promised, but she’d taken one precaution to cover herself somewhat. She had worn it with a bra, the same one she’d been wearing earlier. That meant she was able to hide her breasts, otherwise she would have been exposed right down to the nipples in that transparent thing. She came and stood calmly in front of the boys, actually giving them time – I noticed, to look at her from head to toe. Hands on hips, she even had a hint of smile on her lips. Another truth struck me then (it was night of revelations alight); as angry as she was at losing the game and being made to strip and all; there was a part of her which was enjoying this. The latent exhibitionist inside her, given the opportunity to come out of the closet, was now taking over and making her take pleasure in seducing two young men like that. She was feeling the power that she had over us as a woman. Part of her may also have been taking revenge from me, for acting the weakling and not saving her grace. It was like she was saying, `so, you gutless excuse for a husband, now watch your own students check out your wife’s body in your presence!’ May be it was all of that, and may be both of us were experiencing conflicting emotions that night, discovering our hidden selves.
“Hmmm, not bad” Salman commented, trying to sound indifferent but I could see the shine in his eyes as he scanned her thoroughly, “not bad at all. But honestly, do you always wear this with a bra?”
“No I don’t; and don’t push your luck about it” Roze replied calmly, and then told Tariq to get up and come to the kitchen with her to make tea; making it clear that being joint losers, they had to share the consequences together. She hardly seemed to have noticed him till then, or the fact that he was wearing her pink panties (by crossing his legs he had managed to hide his hardening cock so far from her). As she turned to leave for the kitchen, Tariq following her at a distance, she presented her full, round ass, practically naked in that transparent dress, to our view. I could tell that both the boys were stunned. From the front it must have appeared to them as if she was wearing regular panties. That thong caught them off-guard. Tariq’s eyes seemed to bulge behind his specs and even Salman’s mouth remain open for the few seconds she took to disappear from our view.
Once only Salman and I were left sitting in the guest room, I found that normal conversation was almost impossible under the circumstances. Its very difficult to retain that friendly, student-teacher relationship when the teacher’s wife has just been stripped almost-naked by the student concerned! So, making some excuse, I went to the kitchen. Another strange sight welcomed me there (was it my house that night or Alice’s Wonderland?): Tariq, by then, had developed a full-fledged erection, his cock trying to burst out of Rozi’s panties, and my wife was standing, not two feet in front of his cock, looking at it, shaking her head as she does when our son has spilled some juice on the carpet, and saying something to Tariq.
As I entered she looked at me and said, “Well, seems like your student here gets excited wearing girly panties.” There was nothing offensive in her tone. It was like she had just caught a kid in the middle of a harmless prank. And Tariq was actually telling her about his obsession as the two of them made tea. It was the typical story: he was around eleven years old and once, alone in the house, tried on a pair of his mother’s panties, and it seemed to give him an erection…., so on and so forth. Rozi seemed to be listening like a psychologist and made comments meant to indicate that she entirely understood his obsession, and did not find it offensive at all. I also remarked that a lot of boys developed that kind of thing early on in childhood, and, it appeared that the three of us were having a normal conversation. Listening to us, no one could have guessed that inside the kitchen there was a semi-nude woman, the semi-nude woman’s husband, and a young man wearing the semi-nude woman’s panties, with a raging hard-on!
Once the tea was ready, Rozi set up the china on a tray and said, with mock exasperation, “Ok, lets serve tea to His Highness! (meaning Salman).”
Over the tea, Rozi asked Salman why he (Salman) hadn’t dressed up, to which he replied that he was just trying to make her and Tariq feel easy.
“How gentlemanly of you!” Rozi remarked, raising her eyebrows. But I could tell that, now, it was all mock-anger on her part; more of putting on a show of being affronted. She actually seemed quite comfortable with her own and the boys’ semi-nakedness. In fact, I was to one who started feeling uncomfortable, being the only fully dressed member of the party, and I said so. Salman, laughingly, invited me to take of my clothes as well, but I didn’t – partly because I was getting a hard-on again.
Salman then started making fun of Tariq, his passion for wearing women’s undergarments, and most of all, his erection, all too visible to everyone (though I couldn’t help noticing that Salman seemed to have a semi hard-on himself). Tariq responded by saying that he (Salman) was just jealous of him because he (Tariq) had a bigger `tool’ than him! It was at this point that I became almost sure they were in it together and had planned it out while Rozi and I were in our bedroom, deciding what she should wear.
“No way!” Salman cried. “Liar.”
“Wanna bet?” Tariq asked him.
“Sure, whenever you’re ready. Want to do it right now?” Salman challenged him back.
Tariq looked at Rozi, as if to tell him that it wouldn’t be proper in her presence. Salman picked up the cue, so to say, and asked her:
“Would you mind?”
Rozi was clearly taken aback at this line of conversation, but enjoying it nevertheless. “Umm, I don’t know” once again she looked at me (`why me?’ I thought)
“Well…,” I stammered, “I don’t know…, its not as if you haven’t seen a penis before” that was all the encouragement she needed.
“What’s the bet.” She asked, smiling.
“One who has a shorter co…., tool, gets spanked in the ass” Tariq said, without hesitation.
“Sounds good” Rozi said, still smiling, then frowned and told Tariq, “and you don’t have to be shy of using the word cock in my presence. Let’s get rid of these pretensions, shall we.”
`Great’ I thought, `she’s actually getting into this and enjoying herself, but later on, she would still blame me for whatever happens from now on.’
“Who administers the spanking?” She asked.
“You do.” Salman replied at once, and it was decided. Perhaps, she also saw in this an opportunity to pay Salman back for beating her in the cards game.
All that remained to be done was to find a measuring tape, which was duly fetched by Rozi and we were all set.
I felt like a person going on a particularly creepy roller-coaster ride: scared of what was about to come, but bent upon experiencing the thrill anyway. I knew that all of us were taking things too far now, but felt powerless to stop it. With baited breath I watched as first Tariq got up and reached for the elastic string of Rozi’s panties that he had on, then, characteristically, got red-faced and seemed unable to take them off.
“Aw, what the…” Salman remarked, seeing Tariq’s hesitation, got up and yanked down his own briefs in one motion. There he stood proudly, with his muscled body, the result of several hard workouts, his cock dangling in between his legs. I saw that it was a semi-hard-on he had at the moment, but only required little encouragement to bring it to full attention.
Encouraged, Tariq also slid down Rozi’s panties. The moment his cock was exposed, I thought it was big, but he was bent down and it was difficult to have an exact idea. When he finally stood straight, all naked except for the watch he was wearing, I knew we had a really well-hung young man in our house, with a full, raging hard-on. Unlike Salman, who seemed totally unconscious by his nudity, Tariq stood awkwardly, very much aware of the pole protruding from between his legs.
So, we now had two butt-naked young men in our house. `What next?’ I thought, still feeling that dream like state.
“Not fair again.” Salman said. We all looked at him, quizzically. “He has a hard-on while I don’t; how do I compete with him?”
Actually, to me, it seemed we pretty much had a winner in Tariq, hard-on or not. However, it was Rozi who replied, making her best effort to sound normal, but I could tell by the way her face was flushed, that she was fully affected by the sight of two young cocks.
“Why don’t you… umm…, make it hard?” she said.
“How?” Salman asked her. To me the whole conversation seemed farcical, considering that Salman was already more than half-way up to being hard, and, in fact, seemed to be getting there by the second.
“Well…., I don’t know” Rozi laughed a little, “maybe, touch it or something.”
“Oh no” replied Salman, “Its no fun when you do it yourself. Tell you what,” he said, as if he had just thought of a bright idea, “why don’t you hold it for a second or two.”
“Don’t be ridiculous” Rozi laughed, blushing.
“Why not?” Salman asked, doing a good job of sounding actually surprised.
“O come on…” Rozi tried to say, and then looked at me again; me – her husband, who was himself experiencing a smaller yet equally hard erection at the thought of his half-dressed wife standing barely five feet from two fully nude young men.
“Uh, well…., for a few seconds” I murmured, “only if you want to” I hastened to add.
Rozi took a deep breath and said, “Ok, lets get this childish business done with” and stepped towards Salman. “What a night!” I herd her say, almost to herself, as she reached between Salman’s legs.
I watched in awe as my wife’s petite hand stretched out and touched Salman’s semi-hard cock, a little tentatively, just putting three of her fingers along the side of the shaft, feeling the smoothness. She became bolder after the first nervous touch and held the tool in her hand, encircling it between her fingers and thumb, very gently, not touching the bulb yet. The effect was almost instantaneous: Salman’s proud member came to life fully as soon as she had got in her soft palm.
“Well, is that enough?” she asked him, laughing a little, trying to sound unconcerned. But by then, I don’t thing she was fooling anyone…., hell, by then, I don’t think anyone was fooling anyone in that room. The moment my wife held Salman’s cock in her hand, it was the point of no return; of throwing all your inhibitions away.
“You’ve got to rub it a little, y’know” Salman said, thoroughly enjoying the sensation, “what…., you mean to tell me you’ve never given Sir a hand job?” he asked her.
“Of course I have” Rozi sounded almost offended at the idea, and holding his cock firmly in her hand, starting moving her hand over the shaft, giving him some lovely strokes, though she was still going slow.
A few strokes had made it clear that his organ had achieved maximum fullness, yet she continued to stroke. My mouth felt as dry as if I’d run miles, as I watched, awestruck, my wife literally giving a hand job to my student, right in front of me.
“Hey…., why is he having all the fun?” it was Tariq who cried, and quiet justifiably, I thought. Rozi laughed and told him to step closer to her. He eagerly took a couple of steps towards the right of my wife, bringing his outstretched pole of a cock within hand reach, she withdrew her right hand from Salman’s cock and used it to grab Tariq’s penis, while using her left hand to hold Salman’s cock; this being the natural position in which the three of them were standing.
None of the boys, of course, were even remotely biased about which hand she used to touch and hold their cocks (not to mention that Rozi happens to be ambidextrous anyway), and gave themselves over fully to her attentions. She was now using both hands to hold, rub and stroke both cocks, and – I could tell, fully enjoying the control she had over both young boys standing naked before her, neither of them saying anything (even the boasting Salman had gone quiet), surrendering themselves totally; such is the power a woman holds over men!
She was increasing the speed as she moved her hand up and down, now bold enough to touch the bulb. Soon, however, she gave a short, startled cry and withdrew her hand from Salman’s cock, looking at it as if it had been burnt.
“What?” Salman asked, a little red-faced, seeming as if he already knew.
“I think that’s enough.” Rozi replied, rubbing her fingers together and looking at Salman as she did. The reason was clear enough: Salman’s cock had responded to her attention and started oozing pre-cum, some of which she now had on her fingers.
“What do you mean, that’s enough?” Salman said, “we have just started.”
“In case you’ve forgotten” Rozi replied, still holding Tariq’s pole with her left hand, “the idea was to measure and compare you and Tariq in size, not to give you two a hand-job. Now to finish this silly business I think all we need to do is use a measuring tape and be done with it so that you two could put on your clothes and go home.”
“Ahhm” I cleared my throat, and said, “I think Dear its already quiet clear as to who has the bigger member.”
Roze took another look at the two hard cocks in front of her (one still in her hand actually), then looked at me and said,
“Ok. So…., its over, right?”
Even `that’, dear readers, could have been the last chance for me to retrieve control of the situation and asked the two young men to put on their clothes. But then, that was precisely what I ‘did not’ want! But how was I to say that?
Salman, bless him, saved me.
“Alright. I agree, he has the bigger cock” he said, “but I can last longer when it comes to…, to `coming’, shall I say…”
“Oh forget it” Rozi threw back her head in an exasperated gesture, “Don’t tell me you’re suggesting a competition now to see who comes first!”
“Why not?” Salman said, “Come on, we’ve gone this far so …..”
“Which is precisely the reason we must stop.” She interrupted. “We have gone to far, as it is.”
“Sir” Salman turned to me now (part of me actually winced at the idea of being further involved and having to suffer Rozi’s wratch later) “You decide…, and for a moment, put your considerations as a husband aside” well, he needn’t have worried about `that’ part at least, “She loses the game and is supposed to strip, but only does so `technically’, which means she strips without revealing anything, taking help from some books and her husband” he continues, “whereas I, the winner, actually end up taking off all my clothes. Now, when all I want is a fitting finale to this evening, she wants to back out. Is it fair?”
`Wow, the nerve…!’ I thought, even as Rozi turned towards me and everyone waited for me to say something.
“Well….” I didn’t know what to say, or, how to say it.
“Well what?” Rozi demanded, “You want me to give these boys a handjob?”
“No…, no, obvious not” I said quickly, “but I can’t deny that Salman’s got a point there.”
Rozi looked at me incredulously.
“He’s got a point?” she said, and I really winced at her tone…., I could tell where this was all going to lead later on. “He’s got a point?” she repeated, and I winced again. Then she shook her head as if saying `nothing will surprise me anymore’, turned towards Salman and Tariq, and said, “Ok boys, you get your hand-job competition, thanks to the unfailing generosity and hospitality of my husband and your teacher.” The sarcasm was killing!
“But” she cautioned, “Do not come to this house again, thinking that you’re going to be given the same treatment…, ever!” she finished with emphasis.
She then turned, started walking, and said,
“You two can now follow me to our bedroom…..” At this, all three of us looked at each other and I almost missed a beat.
“Not…” she paused and looked back, “for what you may have in mind” she proceeded with a slight, ironic smile, “but for exactly what you bargained for.” Still seeing quizzical expressions on our faces, she said, “You don’t think I’m going to give you guys a hand-job over our new guest room carpet, do you?”
Phew…, ever the careful housewife…., even when half-naked herself and about to jack off two completely nude young men, she was mindful of her responsibilities! When it comes to style, nobody beats my darling.
As she started moving towards the door-way leading out of the guest room, the two naked young boys following her like pied-piper’s rats, their cocks sticking out before them, I had an inspiration.
“Wait.” The three of them stopped in their track, and Rozi looked at me with a kind of `now what’ look on her face. “Why don’t you lead them to the bedroom holding their cocks in your hands….., y’know, the way you sometimes…” I left it unfinished because the look on her face was turning incredulous; it was now the `what kind of a husband you are?’ look. However, she knew what I meant. Sometimes, in our bedroom, we liked to play around where Rozi would grab hold of my cock and walk around in front, leading me like a beast, my cock held firmly in her grasp. I always loved the feeling (perhaps it appealed to my latent masochism).
Without saying a word, she took a step back as in reverse, and asked both the boys to stand by either side of her, then she calmly took one cock in each of her hands (Tariq on the right, Salman on her left), and started walking towards the bed-room, the two young studs (looking almost dazed with lust) obediently following her, watching as her full round buttocks (visible under the thin sheath of the teddy) moved in unison, the curves actually touching each other as she walked, her ass-crack barely covered by the string of the thong, her flip-flops making almost no sound on the floor: `like two beasts being taken by the female for mating’ I thought to myself.
Once in the bedroom, she drew out the sliding stool that comes with her dressing table – one that she had used countless number of times for doing her make up in front of the mirror, and calmly settled her ample ass on the comfortable foam covered cushion. No words needed to be spoken now; it was pure instinct that was working in that room. In fact, any kind of rational thought on the part of those present might have ended the bizarre scene which was taking place; it was one of those moments when human beings let themselves be led by their basic instincts instead of mind. We all knew that a certain barrier was about to be crossed……, we were going too far and a rational part of my mind (and I’m sure Rozi’s mind too) cried out to stop this madness, but I wasn’t listening to it.
Both the boys stood in front of her, either side again, as if the three of them had been doing something like this for years. She again took one cock in each hand, though the boys had, inadvertently, switched places, and now Salman’s cock was in her right hand and Tariq’s in her left. I watched, mesmerized, as my wife started first to fondle….., yes, now she was actually taking her time, enjoying herself…., I could see it on her face: the flushed cheeks, eyes slightly drunk with lust, the way she always looked when aroused while making love with me. So, yes, she actually fondled the two hard cocks in her hands, running her hands lovingly over Tariq’s long pole and feeling Salman’s shorter but thicker hardness, even pausing to touch their balls. Then very slowly, she started stroking, building up the pace gradually…., this was better than any porn movie I had ever seen or will ever see! My own cock was trying to burst thru my pants and I could clearly feel a wet patch inside my underwear.
“Can’t you take off the top at least…?” Salman pleaded, his voice coming in little gasps as he gave himself over to the pleasure his cock was receiving. “She’s wearing a bra anyway….” This time he was talking to me, not yet letting me give up my role as a referee.
“Dear” Rozi called out to me before I could say anything, “would you please help me out. I am, as you can see, a little preoccupied here.”
I knew what this statement on her part was intended to convey to me: the idea whether I would accede to the demands of exposing my wife further in front of my students, was a foregone conclusion now, and there was no need to actually ASK me if I would let that happen!
Taking the insult in my stride (perhaps, actually enjoying it!), I moved towards had back and taking the thin straps of the teddy, pushed them down over her smooth, ivory like shoulders, down to her waist, but for the black bra she was wearing, exposing her from the top. For the second time that night, her ample cleavage was exposed, her mounds of delicate flesh struggling to work their way out of the tight black cups holding them.
She had increased the pace of her strokes now and I could sense the rising excitement of the two boys as their breathing quickened and sweat started running down their brows despite the ceiling fan running overhead.
“Show us your breasts….., please” Salman panted.
“Yes….,” it was Tariq who joined in now, “Please…., just once…., you’re so beautiful.” Raw animal lust was now taking over the two boys and had it been not for a strong behavioral shaping since childhood that conditioned them against such behavior, the two of them would have forcefully snatched off her bra themselves.
The time for words was over now. Still standing behind Rozi’s back, I took hold of the clasp that held her bra in place, and unhooked the clasp in one, silent motion. As the tiny garment lost its hold on her flesh, I moved my hands up towards her shoulders again, holding the thin straps of the bra, intending to move them down her shoulders. As if acting a well-rehearsed scene, she simply let go of the boys’ cocks for a moment, letting her arms drop by her side, facilitating my work. With a thudding heart and trembling hands, I moved the bra straps down her arms, rid her of the undergarment and threw it on the bed nearby, fully exposing my wife’s proud beasts to my students, this time with no world atlas to shield her from their young, lusty eyes.
Rozi’s breasts are like fully ripe mangoes, sagging just a little after childbirth and breastfeeding, but beautiful nevertheless. The nipples are light brown, the color of tea made with a lot of milk. They’re big, covering a substantial area on the mound – almost a whole mouthful, and very, very sensitive. The slightest bit of arousal has those tips stiff and erect…, and this was exactly the way they were once I had rid them of the restraining bra cups! I knew for sure how aroused she was.
No sooner had her breasts been exposed then Salman reached forward and placed her hand on her left boob. She gasped at his touch over her sensitive nipple and all at once the pace of her strokes slowed down, which was for the best because had she continued a couple of minutes he might have exploded, judging by the amount of pre-cum leaking out of his shaft. In less than a second Tariq was reaching out for her other tit.
Finding no resistance, the two boys first touched, then caressed, fondled, and finally started squeezing the full, juicy tits of my wife. The effect was such that Rozi had all but given up her efforts on giving them a hand job, though she was still holding on to their hard cocks with both hands. Her mouth was half open and her breath quickening as she let the two boys feel her tits – the first time in her life that not one but TWO men other than her husband were taking pleasure from her boobs.
Finally, as usual taking the lead, Salman removed her hand holding onto his cock, knelt down beside the stool she was sitting on, and bending forward, took one of her tits in his mouth, and started sucking.
Maybe there was some last semblance of resistance from Rozi at that point, and something like `don’t…’ might have come out of her mouth, but if that was the case, it just got lost in the short gasps she was taking, her heart thumping overtime with arousal. And when Tariq also knelt down and took her other breast in his mouth, she was practically moaning with pleasure, her eyes closed, head thrown back in delight, the first beads of sweat now appearing on her brow and neck. Finally, she even put her hands on the back of the boys’ heads, actually urging them on to suck and taste her tits and nipples all they could.
At that point I also started taking off my clothes. Not because I wanted to join the action…, no way! That was the last thing on my mind. All I wanted was to see my wife being taken and used sexually by those two young studs….., but for one, my cock had actually started hurting, having to fight against the restraining double fabric of my briefs and trousers. Second, remaining fully dressed under the circumstances seemed pretty ridiculous, to tell you the truth.
I had removed my shirt and was in the process of sliding my trousers off my legs when Salman took the next lead, stopping me in my tracks. He stopped sucking her breast, and told her to stand up, which she did, gently removing Tariq’s mouth from her other breast. When she was up on her feet, he first let the teddy drop on to the floor and then took hold of the thong she was wearing from both ends of the waist. Of course I knew what he was about to do but a part of my mind STILL could not believe it! Cool as a cucumber, he removed the last shred of clothing my wife was wearing, taking his time, sliding it down slowly over her shapely legs. There was zero resistance from Rozi, and she obediently stepped out of her thong as he reached all the way to her feet. After removing the thong he didn’t throw it away at once. He kept them in his hand for a few seconds, rubbed his hand over them like one crumples a used sheet of paper, felt something, smiled at Rozi and said,
“Gosh, you’re wet!”
With that he reached out with his hand and touched her between the legs. An electric current seemed to run thru Rozi’s body as he touched her pussy and her breath came out in a visible, sharp gasp. I watched from a sideways, 60 degree angle as my student continued groping between my wife’s legs, feeling the soft wetness of her pussy, his fingers going deeper and deeper until they seemed to disappear altogether. At first, Rozi only watched his hand playing with her most private area, as if unable to react. Then, as his fingers started giving rise to deep, carnal pleasures, she gave herself totally over to her body’s desires, moaning loudly (as she always does when we make love), her eyes half-closed, her head tilting from one side to another. Salman never relented and kept up the pressure until the moans got louder and louder, turning into cries, and then shrieks, as she came…., almost falling over on the bed towards her left as her legs became weak, unable to bear the intense reaction her body was going thru.
When Salman realized what had happened, he withdrew his hand, and Roze sat down, panting, on the edge of the large double bed. He paused for a moment, took one look at me…, I had got rid of my clothes by then and was rubbing my own dick…., then he turned around and started rearranging the pillows lying on the bed, one on top of the other. My heart leaped as I realized what he was preparing for.
Satisfied with the pillows, he turned again to Rozi, leaned towards her, putting his arms round her, kissed her softly on the mouth and told her, gently, to lie down on the bed, brushing his hands against her tits again as he withdrew. Rozi just nodded slightly and like an obedient Rocky (or bitch!), did as he said, her head propped up a little on the pillows. Once he had her where he wanted, he got up on the bed himself, settling himself on his knees near her outstretched feet. He then took hold of her feet one by one and placed them on his, touching her neatly pedicured toes as he did so. I realized that he hadn’t been boasting about his sexual escapades. This was certainly not a guy who had never fucked a woman before.
Roze responded by hoisting her hips up a little and opening up her thighs, a posture that brought into light her wet, neatly shaven pussy (she ALWAYS keeps it shaven, though I don’t mind a bush as well), white on the outer rims and pink like a rose on the inside. Salman’s cock had lost none of its stiffness, and holding hips with both hands, he brought the tip of his cock to her pussy hole, his pre-cum touching and mixing with Rozi’s own wetness. He just needed one push to enter her well-lubricated, mature pussy. With one swift stroke he was all the way in. He stayed like that for a second or two, looking at Rozi’s face, awaiting her reaction. She looked into his eyes and though she said it silently, still there was no doubt about what words her lips formed: `fuck me’ was what she said, and fuck her he did! Withdrawing his cock almost to the tip, he plunged in her again, harder….., drawing a noise from her, then repeated the action again, and again…, each time quicker, and harder, until he was really giving it to her, pacing his strokes well.
I watched, fascinated, as my own student fucked my wife in front of me, right on the bed we had made love hundreds of times. I watched as my wife wrapped her legs around his back, and held his ass firmly with her hands, increasing the force of each push. I watched, mesmerized, as his hips bounced between my wife’s legs, and his hard, thick rod kept disappearing inside my wife and kept resurfacing again. This was utterly mind blowing…., nothing like I’d ever even imagined in my wildest fantasies.
I watched as my wife put her arms around him and pressed him towards her, so that he was not lying on top of her, in her arms, his chest crushing her breasts…., and then, his mouth sought hers…., their lips met, fiercely, urgently…, opening up and letting their tongues explore each other’s mouth from the inside…, in a long, passionate French kiss. He was not just fucking her; he was making love to her….., they were like two lovers, totally oblivious to any other presence in the room.
As good as it was, I knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. He was fast building up to a climax. Indeed, within probably a minute (though it seemed like an eternity), he abruptly stopped after a thrust, his face contorting to an expression of what could either be construed as immense pain or pleasure, first his entire body tensed, his back almost in building an arch, then he let go…., with one of the loudest, most satisfying noises of `aaahh…’ that I’ve ever heard. And he was really letting go…., I mean, he came in a gush…, his body undergoing spasm after spasm, as his balls emptied their contents thru his penis into my wife’s vagina, while she held on to him tightly, whispering “yes, yes…,” again and again.
He lay panting on top of her for quiet a while. Then even the panting stopped and he still lied there, his cock, probably flaccid by now, still inside my wife. It almost seemed as if he had gone to sleep. Meanwhile, Tariq, his long pole still erect, was getting restless. Finally, Rozi took his head in her hands and raised it gently. His eyes were still half-closed with pleasure. She raised her own head a little and kissed him gently on the lips and then murmured something in his ear, to which he finally raised himself up and extracted his near-to-limp cock out of her pussy. He then laid down on his back beside her, totally exhausted.
His cock, as it lied on one side against his leg, totally used up, was glistening with my wife’s pussy juice. As my eyes went to Rozi’s pussy – quiet visible as she still had her legs wide open (all traces of modesty having been erased after being fucked by Salman), I saw that her pussy was dripping with Salman’s come. In fact, it would be correct to say that I had never seen her pussy as wet as I saw it then. To me, it was a most beautiful sight: my wife’s clean shaven pussy lathered by this young stud’s come!
Before Tariq could make a move I stepped forward, climbed on the bed, looked at him and said:
“Sorry…., I’ll just take a minute.”
In retrospect, you might say that this could have been one of the most absurd, bizarre scenes ever: a husband about to penetrate his own wife’s cum-soaked pussy, apologetically telling a young man to wait for a minute before he could fuck her! It was as if I was obstructing him from using the phone or something.
Having stopped Tariq in his tracks I settled myself over Rozi’s legs and holding my cock in hand, entered her in one quick motion. My cock felt like it had gone into a pouch pack of butter! The inner walls of her womb were covered with Salman’s cum, and I was experiencing, for the first time, how a sloppy second felt like!
Despite the fact that there was next to no pressure on my cock as her vagina had already been stretched and loosened by Salman’s tool, the experience of feeling another man’s cum inside my wife’s womb, and the whole pressure-laden background leading to the situation, were such that just after three strokes I felt like emptying my sacs inside her.
I stopped after the third stroke as Rozi looked at me, almost expressionless but with a slight question mark in her eyes. Despite my immense desire, I pulled out, climbed off her and, looking towards Tariq, told him:
“All yours” in such a matter of manner as if offering him the use of work station.
Tariq, undoubtedly puzzled by my behavior, was however too full of lust to think much about these matters. As soon as I got off my wife, he was settling himself down on top of her, rather awkwardly as it was, clearly showing that it was about to be the first fuck of his life.
I watched, transfixed again, the very size of his cock breathtaking despite his obvious inexperience, as Rozi once again opened herself wide and, sensing the boy’s lack of experience, took hold of his long rod and guided it towards her pussy hole.
Once she had the tip of his penis touching her wet pussy, she nodded at her and he pushed, tentatively at first. This time I had a sideways view as his long tool started disappearing inside my wife. Once he was fully inside, he stayed put for a few seconds, no doubt savoring the feel of a woman’s pussy for the first time. Rozi let him take his time. Then, he pulled out, still tentative, and pushed back in again, with a little more force. With a shorter interval, he repeated the action, growing in confidence with each stroke. With the 5th or 6th stroke, he pushed in hard, with force, and Rozi let out a sudden, loud groan. It reminded me of the sound she had made the first time I had entered her, still a virgin. Tariq stopped with a start, looking worried.
”Did I hurt you?” he asked her. She shook her head and said,
“No…, just keep doing it” and closed her eyes.
Despite her denial, I could see that she had felt a bit of pain, but I also realized something else: she WANTED to experience this pain as it came coupled with a new, almost forgotten pleasure….., Tariq, with his enormous tool, had touched her deep…., so deep that she had never experienced this with my own moderately sized tool, or even Salman’s average length.
Tariq, though looking a little uncertain, re-started the fucking but with less force. However, as he got into rhythm again, he – unconsciously, increased his pace again and by the time she had wrapped her legs around his ass and her arms around his back and was pressing him towards her, he was really pounding into her, making her groan and moan with each stroke.
Expecting him to last a long time – this being his first fuck and all, was of course too much. He came a few minutes later, his lips meeting Rozi’s and his tongue inside her mouth, his body tensing as Rozi grabbed hold of his hips and pushed him all the way inside. He came hard…, harder even then Salman; shuddering and shivering as his body felt the spasms of pleasure hitting him all over, collapsing in Rozi’s arms like a dead man once the last drop was out.
Rozi let him take his time, patting the hair on the back of his head gently as he lied on top of her. Finally, he got off and lied down on her left side, Salman already lying to her right, watching the whole show with a laid-back, satisfied smile on his face: two satisfied, naked young men, lying on either side of my equally naked wife, having just fucked her to their heart’s desire…., what a scene!
I wanted nothing more than to fuck Rozi now and experience, once again, the feeling of another man’s sperm inside her womb. But as I got on the bed once more, Rozi, understanding what I was about to do, told me to stop.
”We’ll do it once the boys leave” she said, decisively, ignoring the pleading in my eyes.
“It is late enough as it is” she said, firmly.
At that point, the boys finally got up, Tariq a little reluctantly but Salman hurrying up a bit, saying that his mother would have called on his cell by now (his cell phone was still in the guest room with his clothes). Tariq had no such concerns as his folks were away and being the only child, he had the house pretty much to himself.
Rozi got up, patted both the boys on their rumps and told them to get moving, and asked me to fetch her a nightgown or something. I got hold of two bathing robes, one for each of us. Once the boys had put their clothes on and had given a good bye kiss to Rozi on each of her cheeks, it was all over for the night except for my still hard cock, pulsating with desire.
Soon as we moved back to our bedroom, we took off our bathing gowns and hit the mattress. None of us said a word as I climbed on top of her, inserting my cock, aching with desire, inside her pussy, still wet but nothing like it was when I had entered immediately after Salman had emptied his load. I didn’t mind though. The need was too great, too urgent. There was no attempt at foreplay or prolonging the sex – she’d already been fucked twice anyway…., I came hard after roughly a dozen strokes or so, in gushes, her vagina filling up with a load of sperm for the third time that night, all from a different cock.
Once the panting had seized and my heartbeat had returned to normal, lying on her side, I asked her why she didn’t let me fuck her in front of Salman and Tariq. Turning towards me, she said,
“You might have felt guilty afterwards, once the sex was over, and you had satisfied your own desire….., for all I know, this is the way you may actually be feeling now.”
I considered her point and, in all honesty, told her that I didn’t feel that way.
“So what kind of a husband actually feels good about watching his wife get fucked by other men?” she asked. Though the question was critical, to my relied, there was more genuine curiosity in her voice than anger.
There was no need to hide anything any longer, for better or worse. I told her everything: my fantasies about watching her expose herself in front of other men, even watching her have sex with them….., etc.
She listened silently. But I could tell she was still puzzled and making a sincere effort to understand.
“At first” she said, “I thought it might be your way of opening me up to the idea of you having sex with other women in future, but somehow, I don’t even think that’s the case…, though if it is” she warned, hurriedly, “be under no illusion that I would ever allow you to bring two of your female students in the house and have sex with them here.”
I assured her that this was far from the case, “Even” I remarked, lightly, “if I were to find two female students who would be willing to have sex with a middle-aged professor.”
“Well” she said, turning to the other side, “if two young men can find the idea of having sex with a professor’s middle-aged wife so exciting, you can always get lucky.”
I laughed, kissed her lightly on the head, whispered “I love you” in her ear, and placing my hand over her naked ass, shut my eyes to go to sleep…., while part of my mind thought about the next day: it was going to be a Sunday and since our son was still at her aunt’s, we had the house to ourselves…., it seemed almost certain the boys were going to visit us again tomorrow. I could already feel my cock stirring at the thought!