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One of the sexiest things is the sight of my wife’s cunt being plugged by one of the seemingly endless line of hard-bodied servant bulls she has to pleasure her. While our escort service is always ready to supply her with a handsome, dark, well-endowed and supremely skilled gigolo, she has a distinct penchant for these naukars.

The gigolos know exactly what they’re doing, when to get rough, when to slow down and be tender. But they are paid to service, and their approach is, therefore, different. It is she who has to push them to be demanding, or rough, or fierce — after all, it’s her satisfaction that earns their handsome keep. With a naukar, or one of those odd-job youths I recruit off the streets, a tapori with a distinctive street-manner, it’s different. Typically, the naukar or tapori is young, dark, lean and almost always very well hung. They fuck her primarily for their satisfaction. They are instinctively demanding. She loves their crude language and their demanding fucking styles, the rough way they handle her body. There is a fierce lust in them, she says, a hunger and a fever that leaves no room for love making or even having sex. It’s just fucking, and it’s animal, elemental. There is no sophistication here and there’s nothing gentle or nuanced or lover-like. No attachments, no emotional entanglements. Just a complete union of bodies satisfying a primal need. Carnality at its purest.

Plus, of course, being fucked by a naukar — even more so with a tapori — is so socially risky and taboo that it only adds a zesty fillip to the fornication.

She makes sure I miss no part of what follows. It is a game we play, excruciating pleasure for her and exquisite torment for me. And it never palls. Each time is fresh and vivid. Even now, as I write, the sterile letters on the screen shimmer and fade, and I have before a series of vignettes; it’s not the same naukar, nor even the same mis-en-scène, but it is all seared into memory.

She gets back on the divan, perhaps, lying on her back, her head towards me, her feet in the opposite direction. She bends her knees and spreads them, claws her cunt-lips open for her naukar lover. He laughs at her, and, over her frame, at me, as he gets between her legs, his rampant penis sawing the air over her body. She moans loudly, spreading her legs wide on either side of his hips, lifting her hips eagerly to his. I watch as they kiss with wide open mouths and lots of tongue. It is lascivious, and it is deliberate. She tugs at his cock.

“Yes!” she moans. “Fuck me, Deepak … c’mon! I want you! Fuck me! Chodho mujhe, Deepak! Jorse chodho! Fuck me hard!”

He laughs again, looking me in the eye, and lets him guide his cock to her cunt. He enters her slowly, savouring three things at once — the feel of her cunt, the sound of her voice, the look on my face.

“OHHhhhhhhh!” she moans. “Oh god yes! Fuck me, Deepak! Fuck me! I want your cock, baby, I want it all!”

He sneers at me again as he drills his cock deep into her flesh. And then he begins fucking her, taking her hard, with fierce, punishing thrusts, rocking his steeply back and forth and up and down. Sometimes his body is angled over hers, poised on outstretched arms and knees, his hips swinging up and down in a punishing rhythm. Other times, he straightens his torso, kneeling between her thighs, his own thighs spread wide, and lifts her legs up high and wide and fucks her thus. She likes it either way. And I’m not complaining either.

I am transfixed. The naukar’s body is beautiful, sleek and dark and lean, the skin stretched taut over the wiry muscles. I watch as she digs her hands into his thickly rounded biceps and begs him to fuck her harder. Her body jerks and rocks back and forth on the divan with his angry thrusts. I can see his huge cock pistoning in and out of her cunt, glistening with their coital fluids. Her hips heave up and down in tandem with his. His thrusts make her swollen breasts jiggle. The gold chain around her neck dances on her tawny skin. She arches her neck, throwing her head back, howling her pleasure loudly and unabashedly, her mouth wide open, her eyes closed.

“OHHHHHHH uhh OHMA uhh ahhhhh uhhh yes!” she cries, and her voice is now sexily guttural, raw, animal. “OHHAHHHH uhh yeh yeh yeh ohbaby YES! Fuck me! C’mon! Fuck me hard ohhhhh yes oh god oh god oh god yes oh god yes oh you fuck you fuck you fucker yes c’mon, FUCK ME! FUCK ME! FUCK ME! Chodh mujhe saale chutiye madarchod saale chodh mujhe jorse chodh! Phad de mere chuth ko tere lavde se ohhhhhh uh OHMAUHHANHuh HANH UH HANH UH HANHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUHHOHHH!”

My ears ring with their cries, the soft slap-slap of flesh on flesh. Sweat splinters off their bodies. He slows and she hisses like an animal, drags her tongue lasciviously over her lips and smiles wantonly up at her naukar lover. Her body unwinds from his. He is still inside her, but moving slowly now, and if he’s been on his knees, he now leans over her. She caresses his back and shoulders lovingly. They kiss again and then she digs her teeth into the pads of muscle in his shoulders and grips his buttocks and her finger probes his asshole. He winces and tears away.

“Kutti,” he grins. “Bitch. You’re a wild animal, you whore! Saali jungli rahnd!”

“Shut up and fuck me,” she retorts, but laughing. “Abbe chup kar saale aur chodh mujhe!”

They’ve slowed to catch breath, to stave off their orgasms. There is a lot more fucking ahead. We all know it.

Another vignette. The naukar on his back, in the same position she was in earlier, and Mala astride his lap. She takes his cock and slowly impales her cunt on it. She’s on her knees across him or, often, in a deep squat, balanced on the balls of her feet, leaning forward. She is wicked with her cunt and the young naukar moans as she grinds her hips back and forth and then swirls them cleverly in circles, squeezing his cock with her strong cunt muscles. He slides his hands up her body and squeezes her breasts, rolls her stiff nipples in his palms. She groans and smiles down at him and cups his hands in hers.

“Oh fuck!” he gasps under her. “Hanh, rundi, chul! Naach mere lund pe, kutti! Yes, whore, c’mon! Dance on my dick, bitch!”

Groaning, she obeys her servant-master. She leans forward now, her arms outstretched, her hands on his wide chest or on the bed on either side of his torso. I watch as she begins to rock back and forth, slowly at first and then faster and faster, lifting her cunt up the length of his massive black dick, then pushing it greedily back down again. He grunts thickly, still gripping her breasts and now his hips are moving with hers, pumping rhythmically up and down under her. She gasps and cries out as his huge cock runs up into her cunt again and again. He slides his hands down her body and grips her hips, her buttocks. She whimpers as his fingers pull apart her buttocks and one finger probes her anus.

“Ohhhhhh uhhh yes oh fuck yes! OHHHHHH uh ohma uhhh ah uhh hanh chul! Chul saale bhadve chul! Chul! Chodh mujhe hanh uhhhh HANH UHH HANHHHH UHH OHHHHUHHHAHHH uhh OHHH!” Again her voice has that raw, throaty quality that I find so erotic. It’s an animal sound, like a dog keening, so intense is the pleasure she derives.

Faster and faster they go and now I can hear, too, the slap of her buttocks as they bounce off this thighs, and the wet squelch of her cunt rocking feverishly up and down the length of his dark cock. Her breasts bounce and jiggle with their movements. Hissing, moaning, crying out, she leans forward and pushes one breast to his mouth and I watch the servant take my wife’s breast in his mouth and suck on it, teasing the hard point with his tongue and teeth. She gasps and cries out.

“Okay, come on! Accha, ab chul!” he cries loudly, and grips her hips and holds her body up, poised over his, and begins hammering his hips violently up and down under her.

The effect on her is magnificent. Her mouth tears open, her face contorts, but it is an expression of the utmost delight. “OHHUHAHHHUHHHHOHH-OH-OH-OH-OHuhh OHHH HANH UHHHH HANH UHHH OHHHH UHH HANH CHUL CHUL HANH CHODH … CHODH MUJHE HANH AISE OHHHHH YES OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK YES OHHHHHH YOU FUCKER C’MON FUCK ME! FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME!”

Her breasts bounce wildly, the gold chain around her neck flies this way and that. His hips crash up against her buttocks again and again, and the sound is loud now, a hard slap of flesh on flesh. And now there is, too, the sound of his hands slapping her buttocks hard, raising soft red weals on the smooth curves.

“Yeh! C’mon! Take it! Take my cock, you whorin’ bitch! Take it! Ahhhhh yeh! C’mon! Oh fuck yes!” Each cry is punctuated with the slap of his hands on her buttocks and her corresponding cry of pleasure. “Hanh! Chul! Lele! Le mere lavde ko, tu saali rundi kutti! Lele! Hanh! Aise! Chul, rahnd, chul!”

Faster and faster he goes, ramming his cock hard into her cunt, and now he strikes her breasts, too, whipping one hand sharply across the hyper-sensitized, quivering nipples. She shrieks in agonized delight. Her fingers claw at his body in a frenzy. She is on the verge of an orgasm when, suddenly, he stops, jerking her down on his cock and pulling her body down onto his, gently taking her breasts between his lips again. She sobs in frustration and pleasure, whimpering and panting and gasping, her sleek body glistening with sex-sweat. Moaning, she kisses him deeply, hungrily, and I watch, enthralled, despairing, enchanted, disgusted, proud and envious all at once, as my wife slides her tongue in and out of the servant’s mouth.

Her favourite position is, of course, from the rear. She loves the feeling of being dominated, the depth of penetration and, above all, the sheer animal structure of the position. She is facing me now, on her forearms and knees, her thighs spread wide, her breasts pendulous like succulent jackfruit, her gold necklace swinging free. Her head is bowed, her shoulders hunched. The naukar gets behind her on his knees and, over her horizontal body offered wantonly for his pleasure, taunts me again.

“Dekh, saale! Dekh kaise teri rundi-aurat kutti ki tarah mere khushi ke liye tayar hoh gayi! Mere liye! Ek mamuli naukar ke liye! Aur tu? Tu saala madarchod hijda! Tu saala bas dekhte reh, dekhte reh mujhe, kaise main teri, teri aurat ki, tere khandaan ki izzat lut raha hoon!” There is scorn, and derision, and contempt and every other feeling of denigration possible in his words. “Look, bugger! See how your whore-wife spreads herself for my pleasure like a bitch! For me! A mere fucking servant! And you? You motherfuckin’ wimp! You just watch, just keep watching how I fuck you, your wife, your honour!”

Honour, izzat, is a big thing with these guys. It’s more than just honour, actually, it’s pride, and self-esteem and a whole bunch of other things. And one of its key components is the chastity and fidelity of the wife, and the duty of the man, above all things, to defend that. They will never understand us.

We don’t want them to. It’s much, much better this. Much more painful, much more pleasurable. His words twist in my gut like a knife. It’s a feeling I’m now familiar with, and one that gives me a rush.

Her position is, strictly, according to the Kama Sutra, the cow position, not doggy-style, but nobody’s on technicalities now. Making sure I’m watching — of course he has my complete attention — the naukar grips his thick, long cock-shaft and pushes it between my wife’s buttocks. He pauses with his cock-head at her anus.

“Gaand marun kya uski? Shall I fuck her ass? Woh bhi dekhna chahega kya? You wanna watch that too?”

“As you wish,” I say softly. “Do as you wish. Joh chahe kar. Mujhe koi pharak nahin padta. Makes no difference to me.”

“Saala gaandu bhadva hijda,” he sneers, contempt in every line of his face. “Fucking wimp asshole!”

She turns her face over a slender shoulder to him, at the same time reaching down under her body for his cock. “Deepak! Chul! Chodh mujhe! Chuth mein abhi!” she says. “C’mon! Fuck my cunt for now! Meri gaand baad mein maar sakte hoh. You can fuck me up the ass later!”

“Suna?” He crows. “Suna tere rundi-biwi ne kya kaha? Suna uski chahat? Kaise bhik maag rahi hai? Hear that? Hear what she said, your whore-wife? Hear her fuckin’ beggin’ for it?” He turns to her, chortling. “Toh chul, rahnd, itni khujli hai tere chuth mein toh … le, bhuja le tere chuth ki pyaas is Deepak ke lavde se!” Some things just do lend themselves to a meaningful translation. Not, at any rate, without complete destroying the flavour and tenor.

He enters her in a rush: he pushes his cock-head between her cunt-lips; it pops in; she gasps and her head arches up and she bites her lower lip; before she has time to adjust to his size, he grips her hips and flexes his buttocks and slams his hips forward and drives his cock up deep into her cunt. She shrieks, her mouth tearing open, her long neck arching back, her fingers clawing at the counterpane. He cries out, too, exultantly, and laughs, and begins fucking her brutally, holding her hips and moving her body back and forth before his even as he swings his hips rapidly to and fro. His cock appears and disappears between the curved lobes of her buttocks with the relentless, unstoppable rhythm of a piston. I hear his thighs slapping at her buttocks. Her body rocks and jerks furiously on the bed. Her breasts bounce violently. Her gold necklace is dancing and flying. Her cries are loud and shrill and high and lewd. He hits a steadier rhythm, slightly slower than before, but still deep, smooth, crushing thrusts. He crosses his hands in the small of her back. He is no hurry. None at all. Her ululating moans dwindle to longer whimpers, guttural groans and thick-voiced gasps. For some reason, the sounds seem to fade, and I seem to be floating softly away, higher and further, just watching their rocking, writhing, bodies. I can see everything perfectly, and there are also now isolations of view — a hard nipple, the swell of a bouncing breast, the sweep of her neck, the curve of her back, the way she tosses her head to one side and flicks her hair over the other shoulder.

“OHHHHHH yes oh baby yes!” she moans. “Fuck me Deepak … oh fuck that’s so good baby … your cock’s so good in my cunt! Ahhhhh yeh … c’mon … fuck me baby … fuck me hard … oh yeh … c’mon! Give it to me! I want it all! Oh fuck I love your cock, baby! C’mon! Chul, Deepak! Chodh mujhe! Jorse chodh! Tera lavda itna accha lagta hai mere chuth mein! De de mujhe, Deepak, pura de de! Hanh uh hanh uhhh OHHHHH!”

“Chul rundi saali chul! Le! Le mere lund ko! C’mon whore! Take my cock!” he cries, again striking her buttocks as he fucks her cunt.

He picks up speed, and now there is a vicious snap to his hips as he thrusts into her, and each thrusts draws a choked, broken sob from her. He grips her shoulder and yanks her body backwards, pulling her fiercely back onto his cock. His fingers twine in her hair and he pulls her head up as he fucks her.

“Yeh! Take it! Take it! Take it!” he cries, slamming his hips back and forth, back and forth, his big, dark fingers digging into her shoulders.

Swiftly, breaking rhythm only for a fraction of a second, he rises to straddle her hips. She moans and her shoulders sink down onto the bed, her face turned to one side, her hips and butt thrust steeply up at him hovering in a deep squat over her. He grips her waist and now starts fucking her even harder, his huge cock slamming steeply up and down and in and out of her cunt. Her cries are loud and high and shrill and broken. Her fingers claw at the sheets.

“OH! OH! OHH! OH! OHFUCK OHFUCK OHYOUFUCKYESOHGODYESOHHHHHHHHYOUFUCKERYES C’MON FUCK ME YES OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD YES YES YES!” she howls.

Still he is not sated. He buries himself in her with an exquisite, slow, drilling action and bends his body over hers. She turns her face readily to his and I see his tongue thrusting in and out of her eager, willing, wanton mouth.

“Now your ass,” he announces softly, but loud enough for me to hear. “Ab teri gaand. I want your wimp husband to see that too! Tere hijda marad ko woh bhi dekhne de!”

For the next several minutes, I watch the young servant sodomize my wife slowly and deeply and thoroughly. His cock grinds heavily in and out of her rear channel. Pinned under him, she moans heavily, her voice raw, filled with lust, panting and groaning. I know for a fact that she loves this; she has always loved it, ever since her first experience when she was barely out of her teens. Holding his position in a wide-stanced squat over her hips, leaning forward, his head flung back, his lean, hard, dark, body slick with sweat, his muscles rippling like snakes under his taut skin, the servant strokes his cock in and out of my wife’s anus. She has orgasmed several times already and there is more than a hint of tiredness in her tone: her voice is heavy and thick, her speech is slightly slurred. The man is nearing his end, too. I watch as he finishes buggering her, pulls out of her, gasping, groaning, shaking and jerking his cock desperately and lurches to his feet on the bed.

She knows what to do. Instantly she has turned around and is on her knees before him, her head turned up between his legs like a suckling calf and she takes his cock in her mouth again, sucking and slurping, her head rocking heavily back and forth. He does not last long. Groaning, gasping, wincing, he explodes. The copious flood of his jizz splashes on her face, spattering her cheeks and eyelids, her breasts, and her mouth, her wanton mouth, is open, too, and his cum spurts into it. I watch her moaning in joy with each spurting hitting her flesh. I watch him gasping, groaning, as he cums and cums and cums. She jerks his cock greedily, wanting more, always wanting more. His head is bent, watching her in delight. She looks up at him and there is that lascivious, slutty, slavish smile on her lovely face again. Knowing that she is watching her, she slides her tongue out to show him his jizz on it, and then draws it in and swallows it, and laps more off her lips and fingers, massages the rest into her breasts and face. He gasps at her, his eyes dancing in wonder and pleasure. Smiling, murmuring, she slides down on her back on the bed and pulls him down with her, kissing him, letting him taste his seed from her lips. I see her hand is still between his legs, lovingly caressing his cock.

I watch her with these lovers. I enjoy it. It turns me on. I don’t mind being taunted and jeered at by them. It fills me with a lustful pride to know that it is my wife — my wife — they’re fucking and that she’s still my wife. It’s not just that I am content with this, and I am: I have enough sources for my own needs, and it no longer matters that my wife is not one of them. It’s more; it is the knowledge that, despite the pleasure that is evident on her lovely face, in every move of her body, in her every utterance; despite the jeering and taunting by the man who she — apparently — prefers to take between her legs than me, she is still with me and not with him, in a way that matters far more than this carnality.

It wasn’t always like this. In the beginning, watching her with another man made me very tense. My pulse and heartrate jumped, my erection was positively painful (I frequently creamed my pants long before they were done), my blood pressure went through the roof, and I was cleaved with envy and arousal. It took over a year of regular practice of yoga and meditation before I was able to handle it comfortably. Today, I can sit through an entire fuck-sessions — I have known them to last for over an hour, especially when she has multiple bulls servicing her simultaneously — without being distraught. It’s still an overwhelming experience, mind you, but now, with the training, it’s infinitely more intense. Of the tricks I’ve learned to be able to deal with this, two are vital: breath control and focus. The first is obvious. It means being able to keep your breathing and, therefore, your pulse, heart-rate and blood pressure, reasonably stable. The breathing is slow, measured and deliberate. Even at the more intense moments when, inevitably, there is more arousal and excitement, I’m able to steady it simply by being aware of it. One of the great spin-off benefits of this is that my hard-on, while still fierce, never gets the better of me. The second trick, focus, involves enormous concentration and effort. It requires you to, well, focus on individual elements that are happening in the here-and-now. Earlier, most often, it was my perception or imagination of what was happening that swamped me. Now I am immersed in the coupling as it happens. Individual body parts and expressions fill my vision. It’s like seeing everything in extreme close-up. This is a very different feeling, not just fly-on-the-wall but almost as if I’m outside of myself watching myself watch them.

An example: She is with a young servant, a new lover, about 22 or 23, very lean and hard-bodied and heavily endowed. She is on her back on a low divan in our living room and he is finger-fucking her rapidly with two fingers. From where I sit, on a slightly higher armchair set at a slight angle so that they are in a three-quarter profile to me, I can see everything: her splayed legs, her arched back, her shaven cunt-lips spread open. Her body jerks and bucks on the divan. Her head is turned to one side, facing me, and there is absolutely no mistaking the lust on her face. She moans and cries out as her body writhes on the bed, her hands on her breasts, squeezing them erotically. Her breasts are swollen to turgidity, her stubby nipples stiff and quivering. Her hips buck and heave up and down. The young servant kneels between her legs, leaning forward and chuckling gleefully as he pumps his hand to and fro, driving his long fingers in and out of her naked cunt. His fingers are visibly wet with her juices and I can actually hear the soft wet squelching sound they make. Her legs are bent and, as he pumps his hand more rapidly, I see her thighs trembling slightly like a butterfly’s wings.

The sudra naukar grins at her reaction and turns his head to me. I can see the disdain and contempt on his face. He knows I cannot look away. He slides his free hand up my wife’s body and squeezes one of her breasts hard. She moans thickly.

“You’re wife’s a whore,” he says.

I nod silently. No words are necessary.

“What kind of man are you?” he cries. “Look at her! Just look at her, man! It’s your wife! Your wife!” Still I say nothing. He shakes his head in disbelief. “I mean, just look at her — lying here naked with her legs spread wide like a slut, her cunt open … for me! The servant! I’m your servant, man, and I’m going to fuck your wife, the memsahib, and all you’re going to do is watch?”

“Yes,” I say, very quietly. “That’s right. That’s all I’m going to do. Watch. I’m going to watch my servant fuck my wife. That’s right.”

He laughs derisively and sort of shrugs. “Have it your way,” he sneers. “You’re the boss. Go ahead, watch. Watch while I fuck her brains out and make her whine like a whore!”

He bends over her, turns her face up and jams his mouth to hers. She moans and arches eagerly under him, and I can see her pushing her tongue in and out his mouth and her hands going down his lean, hard body to his crotch. He bends his head and sucks hard on her breasts, making her gasp and arch. All the while his hand is still busy between her legs, as hers is between his. I am entranced by the sight of her slender fingers curled around his thick, dark, long cock-shaft, stroking and pumping it eagerly. They break the kiss, lingeringly.

“Fuck me,” she gasps, softly but loud enough for me to hear. “Please! Fuck me hard! Jorse chodh mujhe!”

“Just listen to her, you bhadva!” he cries. “Look how she’s kissing me … see how she’s begging me to fuck her!” He turns back to her, rams his fingers in hard and, crushing her breast in one hand, kisses her again.

“Your wife’s pussy is nice and sweet and juicy,” he announces, lifting his head.

As if I don’t know. Okay, so I haven’t been there for some time now, but let’s not forget I got there before him. But it’s also true that he gets into it much more often than I do now.

“Going to eat me some of that cunt-juice,” he continues.

He takes his hand out of her cunt and moves down her body. I see her arch with a loud shuddering gasp as he thrusts his face between her legs. He chortles, his eyes lifted to her. I watch the servant tongue-fucking my wife, his thick long tongue swirling and flickering like a snake’s in her slit. His eyes are lifted to watch her. There’s no mistaking that she loves every bit of this.

“OHHHHH,” she moans, her head thrown back, her long neck craned, her back arched. “Oh god yes, Deepak, yes! Oh god oh god oh ma uh hanh uhh yes oh god that’s so good yes! Hanh, Deepak, hanh! Chaat mujhe! Chaat mere chuth ko! Ohhhh uhhh hanh … please … mut rok … karte rehna … don’t stop … keep doing it … ohfuckohbaby yes!”

She claws her cunt-lips wider open for him and I hear him chuckle and push his face even deeper into her crotch. He slides two fingers back into her cunt again, now tongue-fucking and finger-fucking her at the same time. Her hips buck and heave under his face; her fingers are twined in his hair; her face is radiant with lust — the eyes closed, the lovely lips parted, face turned to one side. She squeezes her breasts in rising excitement. Her knees flap up and down like a butterfly’s wings. I move my seat slightly so that I am now looking at them head-on, facing him, the top of her head towards me, her body stretched away towards the servant busily eating her pussy.

He takes his fingers out of her cunt and makes her lick and suck them. He looks up at me. “Wanna watch your whore-wife sucking my cock, wimp? Wanna see?”

I smile and nod. “Show me.”

“Oh man, you are the pits!” he cries, but I see his excitement.

He gets to his feet and pulls her upright to a sitting position on the divan and pushes his cock at her face. Mala moans thickly and slips off the divan to the floor before him. Her body is balanced on her knees and the soles of her feet, her buttocks resting on the backs of her heels. Her knees are spread wide. She prefers it this way: kneeling, subjugated, dominated. His cock saws the air in front of her mouth. She grips his cock, jerks it eagerly. I hear her moan. He yanks her head to his crotch.

“C’mon, whore! Suck!” he cries.

She moans again and her lips open wide and her mouth engulfs his cock.

“Oh fuck!” he cries, flinging his head back. “Oh fuck yes! OH fuck! You’re bitch is good, man, I tell you, she’s good! Ahhhhh … yeh! C’mon, whore! Suck! Suck my cock! Oh baby yeh! C’mon! That’s it! Suck my dick, slut, suck hard!”

Not that she needs this goading, for she genuinely enjoys it, and she’s very, very good at it. I watch her head rocking back and forth, her face distended with the size of his cock. It makes her cheeks bulge as she takes it in her mouth in every direction and works it with her wanton, cunning tongue. His cock glistens as it slides in and out of her mouth. I can hear her guttural moans. Her palms rest on his thighs — she’s working it with just her mouth and tongue and teeth and lips, no handwork at all. I watch as she slides her hands sideways around his thighs and grips his taut buttocks, pulling him deeper into her mouth. He flings his head back and groans. She whimpers, sucking hard, and now her hands move to her breasts, squeezing them eagerly, lifting the swollen mounds, tweaking and pinching the elongated nipples.

“Hanh! Choos, rundi, choos!” he cries, grinning in delight, looking at me. “Yes! Suck, whore, suck!” He shows off now, puts one hand casually on his hip and the other on her head and moves it back and forth in his crotch. “Hey, wimpy bossman! You watchin’ this? You watchin’ how your slut wife’s suckin’ my dick, boss? Look at her, boss, jus’ look at her! Listen to her moaning, man, whimperin’ like a real bitch in heat!” In the vernacular, it is even more crude, even more delicious. “Arre bhadve sa’ab! Dekh raha hai na? Dekh raha hai na kaise teri rundi aurat mere lund ko choos rahi hai? Dekh usse, sa’ab, dekh! Aur sunh! Aur uski awaz sunai de rahi hai na? Thik kutti ki tarah!” He cackled at me. “Woh naukaron ke lund ko choosna pasand karti hai — magar woh toh tujhe patah hi hoga, na? She really loves suckin’ servant-dick — but I guess you know that well enough, eh?”

Indeed I do. I say nothing. He continues fucking her mouth, taunting me. She moans, lifts her head off his cock, caresses her face lovingly with it, now holding it and pumping it in her slender fingers. His sticky pre-cum slime shines on her lips and cheeks. A thin strand of it loops from his cock-head to her open mouth. Her tongue darts out and draws it in and she swallows it. Her eyes glisten with lust and there is a slavish smile on her face. I think she is loveliest like this — fully aroused, uncaring of where she is, knowing only the lust that is pulsing through her body. I watch as, moaning, she rises, nuzzles his belly and squeezes her lovely breasts in a delightful sheath over his throbbing cock. He tit-fucks her, laughing softly over her head at me.

“Time for some hard-stud action!” he announces, pushing her head back.

“That was good,” I hear her say. “Very good. I’m hurting … but it’s a nice kind of hurt …”

He laughs and lazily laps at her breast. His hand moves down her belly and she opens her legs for him. I see his hand in her crotch. “And I suppose you want more?”

“Not right away, but soon, baby, soon. Very soon.”

She snuggles against him and he puts his arm around her. They lie in my bed, my wife and my servant, and I sit there, a silent sentinel, watching as their breathing slows and they drift off into a slumber. Softly, I rise, turn down the lights and let myself out.