Seducing the Sweet Desi Wife

[WARNING: Consensual White/indian D/s; Mfm, colour/culture play, bi humiliation -- shameless pleasuring of desi pussy, explicit belief the subcontinental wife deserves deep. shuddering orgasms -- from dominant white finger, tongue and/or cock... depending on her needs in any specific, panting, moment. So swear I before all the gods! Aameen.]

{ Dialogue between "Curly Brackets" features two people -- reading/discussing the story in Real Time. }

I opened my poem 'Love/Lust Letter to an Indian Lady' with a few lines I adapted from the ancient Sanskrit erotic verse.

So hot I'm using it again...

May love, the disquieter, disquiet thee.

With the sweet, golden arrow of Kama I do pierce thee in the heart.

The arrow, winged with longing, barbed with love,

Whose shaft is undeviating desire

With that, well aimed, Kama shall pierce thee in the heart

Consumed by burning passion, with slack mouth

Do thou, woman, come to me

With thy pliant pride laid aside

Mine alone

Speaking sweetly

And to me

Devoted.

{ "And in certain moods,... I add... in conclusion... }

"As I wouldst be

To thee."

{"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm... me?" she murmurs beside me.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, thee," I say -- lovingly running my fingers through her long, black, silky, tresses.}

1. Library

Her saree -- delicate folds of green and blue. Her red bindi telling me she was taken -- her full lips telling me she was mine for the taking. Laughing, kind, almond eyes. Silky, raven black hair. Generous fullull lips, curving, exotic flaring nose, the lushness of her figure, concealing... as my powerful imagination kicked into overdrive... the chocolate delight of her nipples, fragrant folds of spicy light--to--dark brown skin, desirable, pliable, possessable.. her yearning, dark, hungry, yoni... delicate darker skin around her curves, pinkish brown hidden jewel...

{"I wasn't wearing a bind, or a saree," hei whispers now, between my legs, wearing nothing at all.

"You just imagined it as you noticed my wedding ring. I was wearing a summer dress."

As she wraps her delicate fingers around me. I feel the rim of the ring on her brown finger against my white cock...}

I had come to my local library to pick up some books on which I had placed holds.

Her warm smile summoned a distinct and dominant stirring in my loins -- and a deep poem of love for of her beauty and spirit.

"Hi, I'm Jack, I'm in a lot. I've never seen you here before."

White teeth, red lips, brown skin. Those laughing, intelligent almond eyes. I anchored my feet to the floor to keep from bursting into jubilant flame.

"I'm sundari," she said -- she said it lower case, a warm statement of humility and respect, a polite offering.

I glanced at the gold band on her finger. Her eyes twinkled at me.

I love it when married Indian eyes are twinkling...

"I'm a writer, her doing some research," I said. (Previous experience had suggested not a bad card with a librarian.) She glowed. Such a delicious translucent brown.

She said, "perhaps I know your work."

I was savouring her enunciation, the rhythm, of her voice -- the cultured subcontinental accent. Just a touch of the English, invading my senses like incense.

"The Finn MacCool books."

I had brazenly, unethically appropriated the name of a mythic Celtic hero for my conman/buccaneer/womanizing 17th Century rogue -- whose sales were better a few years ago.

"Oh yes! Very popular!"

She either recognized the series or gave an award-winning and fragrant performance of same. I voted for the latter. My nostrils and my groin were leaning toward the latter.

"What can I do for you today, Jack?" The words hung in the air like so many lustrous, sensuous, exotic possibilities.

"I have some holds," I said, feeling like a debauched and degenerate wrestler.

"I can get them for you. What are the titles?"

For a moment I had forgotten which books I had requested. Then, when I remembered what they were, I almost hesitated.

Gazing at sundari's sweet, welcoming professional smile -- conscious of her pure aura, I recited -- leaning into each vibration of my voice, rumbling down (I hoped) to (what I suspected) were hungry nether regions.

It was a pet theory of mine...

'Remembering the Raj' by Rear Admiral, Sir Richard Wellesley," I said. 'Empire and Sexuality' by Professor Upton, 'Ancient Indian Erotics and Erotic Literature' -- the Susher Kumar translation. "The Love Thief' by Bilhani. Oh, and 'Indian Cooking for Dummies'."

She laughed.

It was the sound of bells tuned in rich harmony.

"In all honesty, my eggplant bharta is worthy of deep ridicule and condemnation," I said in mock tragic tones.

"I'm sure it's not," she said with a smile and a swirl of her saree -- or summer dress -- and suddenly she was walking away from me, the fine full swinging of her lush, round buttocks, an evocatively rippling brown flag to a white bull.

I followed primally, calling over her shoulder...

"I'm researching a new series set in India in the days of the Raj."

The word stopped her short and she turned.

I almost ran into her, having been mesmerized almost to the point of drooling as I followed the rolling mambo of her exquisitely plump cheeks.

We were only inches apart. I won't attempt to describe all that was romantic and animal passing between us, but I feel it still in my heart and loins.

Embarrassed, he turned to scan the holds shelf and began to efficiently hand the books to me as she found them.

"Will your hero Mr. MacCool go there?" she said over her shoulder.

"No, I'm creating a new hero."

"What is his name?"

We were deeply sequestered in the stacks.

"Bull," I said. "Thadeus Bull. An Irish Scottish adventurer and reformer, Envoy of Lord Ripon in the early 1880's."

She was startled. She spoke as if reciting something she had learned as a girl. "Lord Ripon wanted to give Indians more legal rights, including the right for Indian judges to try Europeans in court."

"Yeah, I like Ripon," I agreed. "He was a pretty cool Viceroy -- as Viceroys go."

"Where I am from, in Chennai," she said, softly, "he is regarded as "Lord Ripon -- 'engal appan'".

"Lord Ripon, our father" I said. "Yes."

{"I had the feeling that I was talking to the right librarian!"

My fingers are again stroking sundari's hair.

"I must admit it's a coincidence worthy of Bollywood." sundari says --not for the first time, in a delicious chirp.

Playfully, I tighten my grip just a little. }

"Anyway," I continued -- in ancient story telling mode -- it's Bull's mission to work with the mararajahs to bring about Lord Ripon's reforms -- in his capacity of the Viceroy's Envoy."

"Yes, I see."

"But he has VERY violent opposition from traders of East India Company who -- as you may recall -- refused to be tried by an Indian judge."

sundari appeared thrilled by the narrative...

"It is refreshing to encounter a man with an interest in this era who is not an Imperialist -- who sees the good in people." she said approvingly -- in her hot, chirping accent.

"Well, there's lots of swashbuckling and wit and all too," I grinned.

"And womanizing."

Sweet, gleaming white of her teeth as she smiled at me -- her eyes dancing a Bharatanatyam, elegant, expressive -- somehow just a little bit naughty.

Maybe she HAD read my books.

"Yes, Thaddeus Bull forms a very intimate bond with a ranee named aditi," I said softly, deeply vibrating through the folds of her saree -- (or behind the skirt into the panties, or knickers if you like. God knows I do.)

"And how does the maharaja respond to this effrontery?" she asked very softly.

My voice was velvet as I plunged into dark, uncharted waters -- pressing my luck like a gambler with steel nerves.

"He... accepts it... and eventually accepts that he needs it..."

We were both panting at this point and took an astonished moment to realize that we both had been fucking each other's brains out in our imaginations.

"Anyway, it's just kind early notes," I said, trying to pull back before I jumped her and we found ourselves humping on the library floor.

"You know that's why I'm... "I held up the books I had ordered for research.

She took a moment to compose herself, hiding a sly Mona Lisa smile.

"My husband, ashok, is a translator and an historian, he is a professor of Indian Studies at the University. He has translated ancient texts into English. I will tell him of your interest in Indian history and texts."

"He's a lucky man. I'd love to meet him. Indian culture is so fascinating to me."

Delivered with the kind of smile designed to melt the elastic in a woman's panties in three places.

I nodded toward 'Indian Cooking for Dummies.' "It's also my favourite food."

Her smile enveloped me like aromatic spices in her pot.

"I kind of guessed..."

"Are you a good cook?"

"Of course!"

The almond eyes widening in mock disbelief that I would even have to ask, lips parted, a harem's worth of sensuality.

"Maybe you can help me with my eggplant"

(I imagined us recreating a scene from Animal House in the supermarket with eggplants instead of cucumbers. "Mine's bigger than that...")

Our bodies vibrated closely together -- seemingly of their own accord. She stepped back, as if from crossing a bridge she knew she would never recross."

"Anyway, I would love to hear your advice when I bring these back," I said indicating my withdrawals. "I mean, on eggplant."

She smiled broadly.

"Enjoy your books!"

"Oh, I've read them -- own most of them. Just want to check specific passages in these volumes. Will you be working Thursday evening? Three nights from tonight?"

"... Yes."

The word came out in a sudden breath.

"I'll return them then."

{"You left me quivering in my saree in that library," she murmurs beside me, sitting up a bit in the bed.

"I thought you were wearing a summer dress," I say, kissing her neck.

"Mmmm, I thought about it again -- and maybe you were right..."

I run my fingers through her long, silk black hair -- appreciatively, languidly.

She shyly meets my eyes.

"Anyway... I was so aroused I had to run to the

toilet," she whispers. "It was embarrassing!"

"And what did you do there?"

"You know what I did!"

She blushes sweetly and wraps her lips around my cock.

I stop her.

I make her look at me -- and admit exactly what she did...

Only then do I let her enthusiastically bend to her task. }

2. "In the mood for indian"

I left the library that day -- a walking erection.

Deep in my loins I knew that I had found what I was looking for.

Doesn't every dominant white writer want to fuck a submissive indian wife -- while hub goes for drinks?

All the gods knew that l did...

When I was in high school, two of my teachers were a married couple, in our town on some kind of government, international exchange -- for which I soon became incredibly, powerfully grateful.

She taught English with a sexy, chirping lilt -- he history with an almost feminine giggle.

Their names were jaan and baru. It was a hip high school, or at least the kids were cocky, and the teachers wanted to be hip so we called the staff by the first names. jaan and baru's sophistication and wit fascinated and aroused my teenage need.

Everything about jaan's full lush brown body pulled at my jeans.

The generosity of her curves, sensuous, kissable lips, sweet face, prominent nose, the fact that as she was nursing a child, gave her such full succulent brown teats, that cried to me when she stood at the front of the class and quoted Keats at us.

Her desk so close seemed to be screaming out obscenely how much jaan's ass needed to be bent over it...

I saw her once in a saree. For some official event at the school. I have found the garment beautiful, mesmerizing, sensuous and erotic all my life. It was like jaan was glowing that night under some distant Northern Lights Bollywood spotlight.

Since then, I have a tendency to see all indian women in sarees, no matter how modern their dress -- as if they showed their traditional, deepest, laughing, dancing, hungry eyes to me.

On another occasion, for reasons I cannot remember, baru asked me to get something from his car and gave me his keys. Meanwhile, jaan realized/decided/discovered it was time to nurse her baby.

She stepped into their car and opened the top of her dress.

In that moment, I arrived and stopped in amazement. I stared at the fullness, the generosity of her milk full brown teats and the full chocolate brown nipple jaan displayed to me in that moment in time.

Her almond eyes shocked, scandalized -- yet with just a hint of sly amusement, an exquisite, forbidden dash of adulterous lust for one of her students.

She looked down shyly, turning away as she raised the baby to her breast.

"Jack, over here!!!!!"

baru was beckoning me over for the keys.

I tore myself away, feeling jaan's eye lingering, her lips a glistening memory. In my mind the other head was no longer there, and it was mine she cradled and my lips sucking hungrily on her chocolate nipples. I knew I had to get out of there before I ripped the door open and started sucking her and licking her -- guzzling her mother's milk -- until she came gushing on my face.

baru was standing some distance away. I walked toward him, my erection in front of me, like a mighty ship bearing down on a very small dinghy.

As I approached him his eyes were focused on the tent in my teenage jeans. I laughed at the tiny, hungry, embarrassing bump in his teacher's slacks.

I knew right then I wanted to cuck and fuck an indian couple.

Many nights I woke up from a dream in which I had been suckling on jaan's milking titty, sucking like a madman my fingers working feverishly in both her holes as she moaned, panted and writhed her sweet, full brown body, against my young white form, her sweet hands reaching out to encircle my cock.

I looked down and saw that baru was beneath us jerking his tiny dick, his mouth open.

I filled it as jaan came in my arms.

Jaan and baru moved away -- for reasons never explained. Some crisis at home that needed to be intended to. They were said to be returning to teach her again -- and then rever did.

I pounded my teenage meat raw trying to bring them (her) back.

Life went on after high school. Over the years I discovered that I was dominant. I luxuriated in the lush open animal display of a woman with her head down and her ass in the air -- her breasts having such a delightful discussion with gravity as they sway -- waiting to be held tightly and lightly by her Dom.

I was immensely turned on by indian woman -- mesmerized by the sweet chirping lilt, the wide full, so built for pleasing lips, the lush bounce of subcontinental ass, begging to be worshipped and taken -- alas there were very few families in my own I only rarely, and always unsuccessfully, dated their daughters.

When my very white girlfriend got pregnant, I stepped up for several decades of domestic unrest -- taking wild wrong turns before the books started to sell -- as we raised our pride and joys.

And now that the nest was bare, my wife had decided she now longer needed the flat of my hand and my kisses, and deeply wanted to explore the company of her best friend Mary.

I didn't blame her. I had enjoyed Mary for years. (She liked to be tied up in her basement, disciplined and ravaged while her hubby was at work.)

I got a bachelor apartment on the West side of town.

And now, well, let's just say I felt like indian every night...

But it was still only hungering. I started to write about dominating and falling in love with indian wife, cucking an Indian husband. As a future historical novelist, with a taste for mythic proportion and metaphor -- I was drawn to the days of the Raj. As wrong and as politically incorrect as hell -- I found myself getting aroused at the metaphor of the imperial Englishman, dripping with Kiplingesque self-righteousness and flaws -- dominating an entire continent of lush brown women and men, starting at the top, in the bed chambers of royalty.

I immediately stipulate that many Indian men and women are fierce and brave and not at all submissive. I wish them victorious battles. This is not about them.

My politics are neither imperial nor totalitarian, and I cherish the wisdom and dignity of Indian culture and of women in particular. Gandhi is a man I admire greatly, with his campaign of protest and persuasion perhaps the most powerful in the world. (Although the stuff about taking naked young female members of the Ashram into his bed to test his chastity IS decidedly kinky.)

Hinduism is a sweet, lyrical religion; in its environs I find myself comfortable and at peace.

The British Raj was wrong.

However...

Lord Ripon seemed to have been a decent enough bloke as a Viceroy -- a Viceroy, I may add with a very capable, cunning and rapacious Envoy...

"Thaddeus Bull was the best and worst of Irish Scottish rogues, helping to bring freedoms and reform to India, yet driven to dominate that subsection of the subcontinent which was naturally submissive.

"Often he found submission in the loftiest of palaces and in the finest clothing. Which he removed..."

As I made notes for my white-brown historical opus, over time I began to post pieces of erotic verse, expressing my desire to love, explore and dominate desi wives and couples.

In the Erotic Poetry category on lit, I published...

'Love/Lust Letter to an Indian Lady: A Subcontinental Suite'

'Me and mrs. (and mr.) singh: Kinky Soul Song for Desi Cuck Couple'

I posted an audio version of my poem...

'Saree's Dance -- Passion of Audio. A Spoken Word Appreciation of the Desi Woman.' (A good place to start. See if my voice penetrates beneath the folds of a saree, or a pair of jeans. ????)

I read some hot white-indian cuck fantasies. Noted an interesting trend toward young Indian men yearning for a white man to seduce and fuck their neglected indian moms while they jerked off in the closet

...

However, I believed the world was not yet ready for Thaddeus Bull...

Then I happened upon the ten-part epic cock-hardening series 'White Dreams for an Indian Wife' by durgakali.

I quote in admiration...

"The ongoing dreams consists of me observing the full sexual intercourse of the Hindu Goddess Kali and her lover who in my dream is most likely the Norse God Odin.

"This would have been a blasphemous dream for any Hindu woman, Kali's consort or husband Shivan/Shiva is the only person who would engage in sex her, but here in my dream a foreign God is fucking the great Goddess Kali and not just any foreign god but the chief male deity of white people's ancestors.

"In the dream, the vigorous intercourse between the deities would consist of passionate love making and animalistic fucking.

"Kali would shout unabashedly about Odin's big white cock pleasuring her as she orgasmed into absolute bliss, they would both utter lewd phrases to each other as they were fucking.

"At the end Kali would yearn for Odin's seed asking him to impregnate her and give her a child, with this request, Odin would release his seed into her yoni/vagina."

I found it particularly arousing when ambika, the Indian wife begged her white lover...

'"Colonize me!""

I came all over my keyboard...

After my happy encounter with sundari in the library, I hesitated not at all before I googled her and ashok -- she had, or course, taken his last name.

Shamelessly, I stroked to her photos, all smiling and bounteous, on the Library web site, imagining penetrating all of her delicate holes.

A few days before I was scheduled to return to the library, I stopped -- letting my balls refill for -- in the best of all possible worlds -- deployment.

I did continue to stare romantically into her laughing, dancing eyes of her photos.

Unexpectedly perhaps, ashok turned out to be a learned if not flashy scholar.

He was 45 to his wife's 40.

{Beside me, now, in bed, sundari insists that they were different ages than I am suggesting.

I remind her that I am telling it -- with a swat on her married brown bum.}

Then I came across something in my "research".

Ashok had posted an abridged translation of the Kama Sutra he had worked on in what would have been the first year of his marriage, his unpublished doctoral thesis.

With a yawn, I clicked.

At first, he just seemed to be quoting the hot bits almost at random although he did tend to render them with a certain enthusiasm.

"If the woman is bashful, and if it is the first time that they have come together, the man should place his hands between her thighs, which she would probably keep close together, and if she is inexperienced, he should first get his hands upon her breasts, which she would probably cover with her own hands, and under her armpits and on her neck."

Nice.

"If, however she is a seasoned woman, he should do whatever is agreeable either to him or to her, and whatever is fitting for the occasion. After this he should take hold of her hair and hold her chin in his fingers for the purpose of kissing her."

As I read it was his wife sundari's sweet chin I held. I was suprisingly gentle with her hair.

Dharawhi nights was playing 'Secret Path' as I read this delightful passage.

"The people in the Southern countries have also a congress in the anus, that is "the sex below."

Clearly, a culture with the deepest erotic beginnings.

"When she lowers her head and raises her middle parts, it is called the 'widely opened position.' At such a time the man should apply some unguent, so as to make the entrance easy."

In my mind, with a single finger, I gently explored sundari's delicate and exquisite rosebud, delighting in her shocked words and little cooing sounds.

And then this unexpected sequence...

"There are times, too, when a husband who is not himself capable of serving his wife, or if he is small, derives pleasure watching whilst another take pleasure in her -- and does himself serve them -- for he is aroused to feel himself abased and used as if by a conquering force."

WHAT!?

I consulted my own well-thumbed copies of the KS (illustrated and not).

Nothing.

I began to feel ashok might be rolling his own "principles of love".

The "kama cuckstra!"

I laughed out loud, remembering my whispered conversation with sundari in the library aisle. I somehow had an instinct about her husband before I knew anything about him.

My instinct for her was much more profound and immediate.

But, you got to love it, not only right librarian. Right wannabe cuck hub.

It was indeed a coincidence worthy of Bollywood!

When I returned to the library the next week, sundari was wearing a yellow and tawney brown saree, a saree as a much in love with her body and spirit as I was.

{ Beside me now, she giggles...

"I was wearing another summer dress!""

(And in a whispered confession...

"My panties were damp in anticipation of your arrival."}

"The eggplant bharta was a failure," I opened with when I approached her again in the library. "But I feel I am getting closer."

She laughed. That laugh that made me feel I was flirting with a goddess, an exquisitely plump goddess.

"I love how your stories seem so authentic to their setting," she said when we had exchanged wide smiles and hungry glances. "but MacCool's sense of humour is so modern. It is almost as if the author is winking at us."

I winked at her.

She laughed and the sweet folds of her body rippled sensuously.

"And he is very quick witted, capable... and virile."

"All fiction is autobiography and all autobiography fiction," I quoted blithely, hiding my blushes but making no effort to contain my erection.

(I have never asked her whether she had read the MacCool before we met. There was no doubt she had now. My writer's ego swelled my cock.)

She glanced down and back and said shyly, "my husband, ashok and I would like very much if you would come to dinner with us some time next week, Jack. He is eager to discuss your books -- as am I."

She stifled a giggle. "And to serve you an eggplant bharta that will blow your Canadian mind."

She grinned like a lush brown Cheshire cat.

"I'd like that very much I said," returning her ear to ear grin like a hungry timber wolf.

"It's a date," I said in my deepest, politest, sexiest, under saree vibrating tone.

(She told me much after, that she had a silent orgasm as I said that.)

Sure, enough her body undulated.

{ "Oh, gods, I did have one, but you don't have to tell everybody! And I DID read... "

"Shhhhh, keep sucking..." }

My nostrils flared at the spicy, earthy, honey sweet scent of sundari's arousal.

I licked my lips right there in the library in front of the great works of literature and local travel guides..

I was REALLY in the mood for indian.

As I left, I said, "I'd like you both to wear traditional clothing and serve a traditional meal."

She was only briefly shocked, then smiled broadly.

"If that would please you," she said.

My smile told her volumes.

Excerpt from 'The Viceroy's Envoy: Bull of the Subcontinent':

FIRST DRAFT

The Envoy was warmly, even rapturously, welcomed by the young maharaja and his beautiful rani, each of them gleaming with jewels and draped in silk and velvet. He looked at them fondly. They had been his allies from the start -- he had gotten to know them so well. And now he could share his news with them as valued allies, as intimate partners.

At his word they had barred all others from the throne room.

Bull tugged on his moustache, pulled back his massive shoulders and savoured the words as he spoke them.

"We've done it," he said. His voice resonated across the pillars and sent ripples along the ostrich feathers.

"The Viceroy has agreed to the terms of the plan. India's freedoms will increase. The white men here will be judged by Indian magistrates --which will serve the blighters right!"

The maharaja and his rani jumped to their feet. Bull embraced the young couple.

"We beat them all," he roared, "the marauding East India Company, the murderous spies in Lord Ripon's entourage, the royal assassins bought by riches of the Empire that suppresses them."

His eyes glittered, recalling the fight, the heated debates, the ambushes, the daggers in the night. His cock was like a prow in his breeches.

"It is not all... but it is the beginning," said the young maharaja.

"We owe you so much Mr. Bull" his beautiful rani purred.

As they talked Bull was running his hand up the back of the rani's saree. He boldly pulled the fabric up and inserted his hand between her lithe brown legs, his experienced thick fingers were deft and surprisingly gentle dancing over the sweet mound of her desire. She moaned.

The maharaja twitched.

The Envoy's hand now alternated between delicately and roughly fingering the rani's wet, eager holes, Bull nodded curtly to the young man. The maharajah sank elegantly to his knees and began to unbutton the older man's flies, deftly fishing the legendary Bull from where it lived within light cotton trousers...

The afternoon sun catching the bobbing ruby in the young man's turban flashing multi-coloured prisms of light across the throne room in exquisite compliment to the rani's aroused murmurs and aromas.

Thus, did three comrades celebrate their victory...

One of the hardest things ever was keeping my hands off my cock in the shower, and so was my cock for that matter. I did allow myself to stroke it briefly, saying to myself to myself out loud as the water streamed into my mouth...

"My cock is big, purple, dominant and hungry for sundari'd generous, full mammaries, with their chocolate nipples, the delicate yearning folds of her yoni, her and ashok's brown asses, hers lush and full, his girlish and pert, both spreading at my command.

That made me feel more balanced.

I popped a little blue pill into my pocket -- to keep going in the subcontinental fields I was so hungry to seed.

(One thing I want to be clear about. I am neither built like Thaddeus Bull nor hung like him. I am a reasonably fit, middle-aged man of average height and average endowment for my cultural group -- about two to three times the size of the average indian male. My belly jutted a bit aggressively -- as it would have in the times of the Raj.)

I wore a plain white cotton shirt and a linen blazer open at the throat, straight black jeans and cowboy boots. Hair and beard were meticulously groomed.

I was everything the well dressed dominant writer should be.

I was calling on the wife of my dreams.

And the underendowed, inconsequential husband who was lucky to to live with her...

3. Desi Marital Bed

I took an Uber to ashok and sundari's home in the suburbs. I stood outside in the drive, gazing up at its respectability, its pride, its modesty, its ordinariness -- a light blazing on the porch, a warm amber glow from its interior.

I stepped up to the door and rang the bell.

The door opened. Like a beam of light, sundari radiant in her sari, her warm full covers an invitation, ashok lurking and grinning behind her in a pale blue dhoti.

{"Okay, here I WAS wearing saree," she says beside me.

"You looked so hot In it."

"I was so wet and nervous."

"I like you best that way..." }

I recognized the music on the sound system as 'Naked' by Anoushka Shankar. The outer vestibule was an exquisite, endearing mix of modern and traditional southern Indian.

"In India a guest is considered as equal to God," sundari said in her soft sparkling, chirping voice. As she draped a garland around my neck. ashok stood by with a welcome drink which turned out to be a very potable Napoleon Brandy.

"We would like to give you a traditional indian greeting" sundari said. She reached out and very gently, almost reverently, applied a "tikka" or vermillion to my forehead. I think we both felt she was swirling her finger around in a much more intimate spot.

ashok asked in a gentle almost prim voice. "May we perform the arti ceremony?"

We stepped into the main living area of the house. My eyes opened in joy. sundari and ashok had decorated their home in the style of a late maharaja.

{It's more modern than that!" she insists beside me.}

The air was redolent with a scent comprised of jasmine and sandalwood and a slightly mustier academic aroma. I stood in the middle of the room as sundari swirled the light around me like some voluptuous dancing girl at the palace.

I smiled appreciatively and allowed my erection to grow unhidden in my jeans, jutting like a scimitar.

sundari contained her embarrassment and, I think, a giggle. She said she "must see to dinner."

ashok lead me to two low divans and we sat with our brandies. I complemented him on his dhoti, nodding genially at the tiny pup tent poking from within.

He was welcoming. "sundari told me you are very interested in indian culture," he said.

"Indeed, I have seen some of your work. I was particularly impressed with your study/translation of the Kama Sutra."

He blanched. "Ah, well, that was really just a student work, I was younger, not reserved in some of my comments. I might have taken certain liberties. It really is an inconsequential document."

I quoted from memory.

"'There are times too when a husband who is not himself capable of serving his wife, or is small, takes pleasure watching whilst another take pleasure in her -- and does himself serve them -- for he is aroused to feel himself abased and used as if by a conquering force.'"

Ashok let out a small moan. sundari stood in the doorway with a puzzled look on her face and a sparkle in her eye.

"Prepare to be amazed" she said modestly. "Dinner is served."

Dinner was indeed amazing. This is not a food column. I will use the single word sublime and move on. I swore off further Brandy and sundari sweetly offered wine. My eyes never strayed from this lush Indian wife, drinking her in as if a rare and much sought after vintage.

ashok was now drinking rather heavily.

Conversation was on food and India and they both encouraged me to visit their country.

After dinner, as ashok and I were about to "retire" I stepped into her kitchen to thank her personally for an exquisite dinner.

Without hesitating she came to me and pressed her sweet brown, full form against me. My lips found hers and ravaged them, my hands just naturally seem to drop to the dark fleshy, yet firm, haven of her bottom.

My cock was a dominant presence between us, a burning fire against her womb.

{"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm..." We recreate the kiss now in celebration of its memory and as a constant in our lives.}

I touched her cheek and murmured, "so beautiful."

I led her into the other room, we sat down next to each other, very close and interrogated ashok about their lives as I felt his wife up and she moaned.

An arranged marriage, sexually incompatible, his under development (only hinted at but later hilariously confirmed), her unfulfilled needs... but they somehow bred two lovely, intelligent children,, who had now left the nest.

Soon, either sundari or ashok would have had an affair, sundari most likely with a man who wanted to take her away and make her his wife.

I explained that I was not interested in breaking up their marriage, but becoming (warm, winning smile) "... a discreet Alpha friend."

And that the marital bed was about to become the "Master Bedroom." As I spoke, my hand continued boldly exploring sundari's saree from behind. She quivered but said nothing as I explored the glorious expanse of her ass, its firm, brown, pliant softness.

I spun around. "You have often fantasized about another man fucking, sundari, ashok."

Not a question, an irrefutable fact, naked as sin.

Finally he said, "yesssssss..." the final ess hissing out of him like a deflating tyre.

"What about you, sundari, have you fantasized about being fucked in front of ashok?"

" Oh, god, YES!" she moaned.

{"By that time, our sex life consisted largely of pillow talking just this scenario you were drawing us into..." she murmurs.

"Well, it's nice for a couple to have a shared hobby," I cheerfully reply.}

"I think it's time we visited your marital bed." I said.

She smiled as wide as a lotus flower and damn near curtseyed.

"Bring the drinks, ashok," I said.

"Yes Master," he said.

"Good cuck."

I motioned sundari ahead of me and she started up the stairs; I followed, placing my hands on each soft cheeks of her spectacular ass, kind of pushing her up the stairs, as she giggled.

The air continued to be redolent with the scent of aroused suburban subcontinental woman.

I inhaled every step of the way.

Their bedroom was decorated to match the living room with even more veils and silks and exotic scents.

{She shrugs beside me and is silent -- then blurts, "We didn't add those until YOU told us to!"}

I took sundari in my arms and kissed her -- enjoying ashok's hopeless, hungry gaze out of the corner of my eye.

Kissed my woman ravenously on her full lips, our pink tongues intertwining in sweet, sensuous, erotic dance. Once again, my hands snaked down to grasp the soft, luscious orbs of her bottom, parting them slowly, eliciting an illicit, hungry moan from sundari.

Pressed my chest against their hot, round, brown sisters, her nipples thrusting their chocolate lust into my chest. Once more, I inhaled the exotic aroma of her scent -- that which she had applied, mingling with the scent of her exquisite primal need.

Unwrapping sundari's saree was the most transcendental and erotic thing I have ever done.

I reached intuitively for her left shoulder. The silk seemed to float off her body in my hands like gossamer in the wind -- its pleats and tucks unfurling...

At one point she was spinning in glee like a princess in a Bollywood musical

Now my submissive goddess was naked save for bra and panties.

I ordered ashok to find some seductive sitar and tamla with soaring female vocals. Her scurried to comply and now we had a Bollywood soundtrack.

Sundari's red bra struggled to contain her breasts as I would have myself-- had they been in my hands. Such lustrous, pendulous brown sisters. I had to set them free; they called to me!

I moved determinedly forward, ever so gently and tenderly removed her hot brown fleshy sisters from their slings. They glowed and swelled at me -- chocolate nipples offering a deep religious holiday of taste and sensation.

I tossed the bra onto their marital bed in what was now the "Master Bedroom."

Her smile was my sundari's, scared, turned on -- knowing the value of the bounty she was offering me -- still my mischievous married librarian.

I bowed my head and held my mouth inches away from her sweet puckered plump black nub, breathed on it, heard her hungry moan, ashok's accompanying whimper...

I suckled her like a mad man, reveling in her taste, the slight spiciness of her mother teats, the warm yearning plumpness -- my hand working overtime on her pliable, so plump brown cheeks below. I felt like I was sucking her whole brown round hot tits in my mouth as I devoured her hungry nubs.

I took an iron will to step back, but I was determined that all of us would have this moment.

I admire the spreading wetness on the gusset of sundari's panties and sniffed appreciatively.

Sundari shyly lowered her eyes and hid her pretty smile.

"Strip!" I said, with a hungry glance at the red, damp, fabric barely containing her womanly thick bush -- or her articulate, eloquent, pouting lips.

It was so cute to watch her jugs bouncing, nipples still glistening from my hungry, devouring mouth. Her round bottom and her sweet brown folds shaking as she worked her panties down to her feet and stepped gracefully out of them -- kicking them sassily aside.

She stood before me now, fully naked -- so lush, so plenteous -- so ready to be lovingly impaled. My eyes lingered on the sexy, black full bush, a forest, only lightly tended, yearning to be wild, desperate to be tamed.

"Never shave or trim," I ordered her. "I want you wild like an animal."

She whimpered her acquiescence.

I shed my shirt and jeans -- I was commando and my cock sprang out like a medieval weapon, to the delightful gasps as this white and throbbing missile was compared to pathetic brown peanuts they both had seen.

I kicked off my boots and condescendingly allowed ashok to come from his corner and remove them, which he did with all most embarrassing enthusiasm, drooling up at my cock the whole time.

I took pity on him and let him lick my balls for a few seconds -- then pushed him away with my knee and ordered him back to his corner.

I walked toward sundari, my manhood bobbing my intentions.

She gasped and panted.

I reached out and stroked her lustrous black hair. I hefted her exquisite sisters to my lips. I gently rained kisses on them, bit them, tweaked them sucked them and left my mark on each, giving her a playful slap between them feeling my own wet mouth on her skin as they wobbled and she smiled beatifically.

"You like that, little subcontinental wifey? I asked with a playful edge.

"Yes Sir" she breathed.

"Call me Daddy," I said as I guided her down toward my shaft.

"Yes Daddy," sundari whispered.

As she opened her mouth I placed the head of my cock between her inviting, willing, married lips.

sundari sucked gusto and spirit -- this goddess perched on her dark brown haunches -- now alternating between staring at my cock with lust and reverence, whilst glancing up submissively, coquettishly into my eyes.

I almost erupted and I pushed the minx back onto my shaft.

I pulled sundari to her feet and gazed into her big brown eyes.

Her eyes glistened in their bedroom light.

"Get on the bed," I growled. My voice a lash and a caress.

She was moving slowly and sensuously, like a cat... so I playfully picked her up and threw her on the bed.

sundari lay back looking surprised and sweet and submissive... her graceful legs open and glistening.

I crawled on top of her

"Stand there and don't touch your pathetic little peanut!" I barked at ashok to remind his girly ass.

I slowly pushed sundari'a legs further apart and moved up her body, raining kisses and little bites on the inside of her full brown thighs, nostrils flared and breathing deeply the intoxicating aroma of sundari aroused and waiting...

I gazed at her lips, grey and crinkled like a flower with a coral pink honey pot, all framed in a primal tuft of black hair.

Standing boldly forth, at once proclaiming and betraying her, her erect and yearning clit. I played with it teasingly with my tongue, batting at it like a cat with a toy. Appropriately enough, sundari was making the sweetest little mewling sounds...

Mmmm, my God, she tasted like sweet amber honey, and my tongue curled to let the ambrosia slip into my throat. I drank her there slowly, and when I was drunk on her juices I devoured her lips like a ravenous wolf.

I gently bit her clit and she howled -- squirting a deliciously obscene stream which I lapped up right to her lips again, drinking her like the last of the Shiraz Cabernet from the Sula Vineyards.

Her orgasm was a thing of beauty, a sculpture in sound and shuddering, sweet womanly whimpers and howls, her body vibrating delightfully against my voracious, insistent, teasing tongue.

We panted.

"Get up on all fours," I ordered coolly -- my best voice of dominant steel.

She stumbled endearingly hurrying to comply with my order.

I stifled a smile and ordered again.

"Facing the other way."

She was now facing a mirror mounted on a mahogany vanity -- right across from the foot of the bed.

We, all three of us, could see her there, her breasts still swaying lasciviously, her bottom so big to be seen from her front. Her hair and makeup and adorable mess, her red bindi sparkling at me.

I grasped her lustrous black hair and ran my cock and balls in contemptuous love all over her face, over her lips, over her eyes, over her bindi which felt good under my cock until it fluttered to the ground.

"Pick it up in your teeth," I ordered ashok. "Suck on your wife's infidelity due to your inadequacy. Taste the discarded symbol of her bonds to you. I claim her now!"

I love that kind of dialogue...

I got onto the bed behind sundari in her animal position, our eyes meeting in the mirror, locked in dominance and submission, my cock pointing directly --and with intent -- at her mass of black pubic hair, her pouting grey and pink lips, her sweet brown full open needy fleshy bottom.

(I'm kind of an "indian ass man." Although... I guess you may have gleaned that.)

Hers set a fire in my heart like a lion's.

Reverently, possessively I spread her cheeks and gazed and her puckered grey and pink rosebud.

I gave it a lick. sunadari moaned, and the room filled even sweeter with her "perfume."

"We'll meet again," I muttered to her pretty little rosebud, as my tongue gave it a final swirl --provoking the sweetest, cock-hardening, school girl squeal.

I gripped said cock and ran the head up and down over sundari's pouting begging lips -- so wet and needy her vulva almost sucked my cock into her womb.

"Beg for it," I growled.

"Oh Daddy, please fuck your dirty married indian slut!"

"You know," I said, "I think we just might be compatible..."

She laughed.

I rammed my cock up to the hilt in her dripping wet, hungry pussy -- my hairy white balls slapping against her erect desi clit.

Her laugh became a hot primal, "oooooooooooooh, Godddddddddddd, Daaaaaaaaaaddddddddddyyyyyyyy!"

I held there, primal energy surging through our bodies, now a single white and brown, dominant and submissive electric sculpture -- my fingers and hands dropping down to her huge heavy sisters, chocolate nipples trapped in my hands.

Out of "frame" behind us, I could see ashok there in the background reflection -- like a ghost with an obscene lust to no longer matter.

No camera, I was directing a movie in all of our minds.

And then the fuck of all three of our lifetimes!

We fornicated -- I rode sundari, spanking her sweet, brown ass, pounding her hot hungry hairy pussy with hard dominant COCK -- the rampaging white elephant in the room.

I was Odin, I was Zeus, I was Thaddeus Bull, plundering, owning kali's married divine yoni, diminishing shivan/shiva in their marital bed.

Stroking, tweaking her nipples, my right hand coming back to play with her pucker -- then coming down on her ass to join his brother on sundari's juicy brown tits. Each time my thumb visited her naughtiest hole it was a little sweatier, a little looser a little more welcoming.

Elephant cock teasing and stimulating the nerves in her inner cave of lust, cock head dangerously close to the deepest reaches of her dark womb.

I slowed... fucking sundari now in deep sensuous, rolling thrusts, reveling to the sound of her satisfied little grunts and whimpers, teasing her nipples, languorously spanking her bottom.

My average white cock felt a tree trunk in the sweetly gripping and dripping sap of her married cunt.

Then SPEEDING UP AGAIN -- the last of the steam powered trains -- like a White Bull pounding deep in the womb of a desi queen, my balls slapping against her juicy lips, my voice powerful and demanding.

"Do you want my cum, do you want Daddy's white cum in your hot desi pussy?"

"Oh, yes, Daddy, engal appan, colonize meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

{"Oh, that's ridiculous. I didn't say that! And I hadn't even read dear durgakali's writings then...

"Shhhhh!"}

She arched her back with a horny coo and I pushed my thumb in deep and CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAME like a potent powerful volcano, erupting into her married, hot Indian womb, pounding out the last spurts as she shuddered and came beneath me, her orgasm sweet and powerful and submissive.

I roared like a bull.

We panted in post-coital exhilaration and exhaustion.

I reached to kiss her deeply and soulfully. Her tongue responded lovingly and deliciously. We gazed contentedly into each other's eyes.

There was a little whimper in the background.

I ordered ashok front and centre.

He was covered in sweat.

His tiny peanut throbbed painfully.

Sundari and I laughed.

He came without touching -- a pathetic little squirt.

I ordered him to lick it up. He bent eagerly to the task.

sundari and I cuddled.

"You know, something little couple," I told them both, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

{From under the covers, she laughs again and insiste that it didn't happen that way at all...

"You seduced me first and we brought ashok into it later..."

She reaches her hand down to find my sleeping cock.

"Who's writing this?" I ask.

"You are, of course," she says slyly. "So it was your choice to end both 'Love/Lust letter' -- and this new one with the characters laughing..."

She runs little kisses up and down my neck.

"Just a trifle redundant," she sighs happily.

It is a terribly astute -- and damned impertinent remark.

I turn her over my knee and spank her full brown bottom, alternating the flat of my hand with probing, sensuous, teasing finger explorations of her holes

.

And then I kiss it better, deeply and passionately, eliciting low moans and hungry whimpers, getting her so hungry and ready...

But that is a story for another day.}

Please fave and comment and take a look at my other work.