My young Indian Lover: 2

This is another story about the affair I had with a young Indian guy, a college student just 19 years old, who came to help me in the garden. It was one warm summer while my husband was working abroad, and I’d been feeling very frustrated. If you have read the earlier stories, you will know how I seduced him and we started having fun together. I was in my early 30s at the time, with a lot of experience behind me. So, I had plenty to teach him – and he was a very keen student.

This is about how he helped me live out one of my fantasies. Now, you guys who are reading this – I want you to remember that what he does and says to me in this story was only okay because it was something I wanted and I’d asked him for. You should never talk to a woman like this, or treat her this way, if she hasn’t told you it’s okay to. Got that?

Well, after my young Indian “gardener” and I had been making each other happy for some time, and he was getting more confident, I plucked up my courage to talk to him about a fantasy of mine that I wanted him to act out with me. I wasn’t sure what he’d think of me for having such thoughts. I brought it up one afternoon when we were doing some jobs in the greenhouse. As I explained what I wanted, he stopped what he was doing and just stared at me, his eyes getting bigger and bigger. In a lot of ways, he was still quite innocent, and he just didn’t know that women – and yes, married women too – can have secret desires and fantasies that can be very dirty indeed.

While I was explaining what I wanted, his hand went down to his crotch; and when I’d finished, the first thing he did was push me up against the bench, pull his shorts down, lift my skirt up, and have me. (I never used to wear anything between my legs when he was coming over, if I didn’t have to.) He drove his lovely brown cock into me again and again, and his mouth was all over mine. I deep-kissed him back and met his hungry thrusts with my own. It was a fast, wild ride.

After we’d both finished, and I was wiping stuff off me down there, I said, “Is that a yes, then?”

“Oh, madam,” he replied, “it certainly is. You send me crazy just talking about it. I would never have thought…”

So, we made our plans. We waited until his parents were away for a couple of days, and he was alone at home, so he could come and go late at night without anyone asking questions. That evening, I got ready. I was waiting when the phone rang. I listened.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “At once, sir. I’ll be waiting.”

I drove to a side street in a run-down part of town. It was a very warm summer night, but I was wearing a coat, because what was underneath was only for him. I’d put on some tarty makeup – dark around the eyes and slut-red lips – and done my hair up so it would come down easily. When I got to where we were meeting, I parked up, changed into a pair of strappy shoes, and waited. It was a very quiet, empty street with not much lighting, down near the river, a block or two away from a couple of noisy clubs. After a few minutes, I saw someone coming towards me. When I was sure it was him, I got out of the car and strutted towards him on my high heels.

He sauntered up to me, looking me up and down in a way he never had before – the way men look at girls when they’re stripping them in their imagination. He came and stood in front of me, thumbs hooked over his belt, fingers pointing at the bulge in his tight jeans. I leaned back against the wall, ran my tongue over my lips, and pushed my chest forward.

I said, “You phoned for a girl, sir. I’m to do whatever you order me to. Where are you going to take me?”

“You little tart,” he said. “Come with me.”

He took my arm, quite roughly, and walked me down the street until we turned into a dark alley. He half led and half pushed me down it, making me stumble in my heels, until we turned a corner and came to a small open space at a dead end. It was quite shadowed, and it smelled. You could tell couples came here sometimes because of what was lying around.

“Show me what you’re wearing.”

I undid my coat slowly, one button at a time, and spread it open. A dark red bra, with holes where my nipples, already hard and erect, poked through. A matching suspender belt and stockings. Nothing else. Between my legs, my lips were already wet and swollen with need.

He pushed the coat back over my shoulders, and it fell to the ground. “Slut,” he said. “Get down and suck me.”

I squatted in front of him, knelt on my coat. Took my time undoing his belt and unzipping him. Pulled his jeans and pants down until I could get at that beautiful dark brown cock, straight and hard as a rod. I’d lost count of how many times he’d already shoved it up between my thighs. I pulled his foreskin right back, spat on it, spread the saliva, and worked it with my fingers before I lowered my head and took it into my mouth.

Ah, that sharp, salty taste! I was salivating, dribbling over him, caressing my teenage Indian lover’s cock with my lips and tongue; but he put his hand on the back of my head and pushed me down until I felt it pressing at my throat. Deep throating isn’t easy at that angle, but I didn’t really have much choice, as he pushed it further in until it was down my throat and my face was pressed into his dark, wiry pubic hair. I was choking on it, my mouth flooded with saliva, until he let me go, and I came up coughing and gasping.

“Do it again,” he said. “Cock-sucking tart. Do it until I come.”

I was already shaking with the thrill of it – me, a married woman, dressed in a few bits of lingerie, down on my knees in a dirty back alley, sucking an Indian teen’s prick. I could feel the juice between my thighs, the urgent need in my pussy. He pushed my head down again, and I put my hands on his tight bum cheeks as I throated him.

Each time he let me up to breathe, I was coughing and spluttering over my cleavage, until he pushed me down again, calling me a slut, a whore. I don’t remember how many times I had to take him down my throat before my mouth was suddenly flooded with his warm seed.

“Keep it in your mouth,” he ordered. He dragged me to my feet and just about ripped my bra off. “Now spit it over your tits.”

It was a big mouthful. I dribbled it down me, and his dark Indian hand smeared the mess all over my white breasts.

“Whore,” he said. “Tell me what you want, whore.”

“I want you to take me, sir. I want you to use me for your pleasure.”

He pushed me back against the wall.

“I’m going to fuck you.”

“Yes, please, sir.”

I stood with my legs open, my hips pushed forwards, my dripping sex on display for him. My hair was coming down around my face. Our eyes were used to the dark now, and we could see better. He took his cock in one hand and used it to stroke and tease my clit. I was almost crying with need and frustration; and he knew it.

“What do you want, slut?”

“I want your hard Indian cock in me. All the way in. Please, sir.”

“Beg for it, whore.”

“Oh, please, sir… please put your prick in me. Fill me with your Indian cock. Use my sex-hole. Spill your seed into my belly.”

At last, he slid inside me, and I moaned with pleasure. I was dripping wet, and my pussy was gripping his rod. He fucked me mercilessly with long, slow strokes.

“You’re hot for it, aren’t you?” he whispered. “You’re a married white woman, but you fuck me like a back-street bint. You need a dark cock to pleasure your white flesh.”

I was going to answer him, but just then we heard soft noises. Light footsteps close by, and two voices – a girl giggling and a man talking to her as they came down the alley. It was too late to do anything about it. And anyway, they were probably just another couple looking for somewhere to do it, who’d go away again when they realized we were already here.

There wasn’t much chance of us being recognized, but I buried my face in my Indian boy’s shoulder, and he stopped, though he didn’t pull out. I think we were both too far along to really care – we just wanted to go on and on fucking. The couple came round the corner and went silent; but after a few seconds, instead of going away, the guy pushed his girl up against the wall very close to us and started kissing her hard.

I lifted my face and peeped. They were both very young, about the same age as my boy, and they were as hot for it as we were. The girl was white, with a leather skirt so short that it hardly covered anything at all, and a tight, thin top that you could see everything through because she wasn’t wearing a bra. The guy was black – very black – and they both looked as though they’d come out of one of the clubs to find a place to fuck.

My Indian lover started to move in me again, and I couldn’t help gasping, the pleasure was so intense. I heard the girl beside me mewing like an alley cat on heat, desperate to get something inside her. In another moment, her skirt was up around her waist, and I saw that all she had on underneath was a thong that wasn’t much more than a few bits of string. He lifted her top off, and a pair of firm, pointy breasts, with dark raspberry nipples, popped out. His jeans came down, and then I saw just what she was so hungry for. It was erect, gleaming, and beautiful. Any woman would gasp at the sight of that, and a lot would want to do more than just look at it.

They didn’t waste any time. She lifted one leg and wrapped it around his hip. So, she was wide open, and she squealed as he pulled her thong out of the way and penetrated her in a single ruthless thrust. He pushed her arms above her head and held them against the wall with one big hand around her slim wrists. The other hand was all over a breast. I had a perfect view of his black prick spearing and screwing her little white belly.

So there we were – two hot white tarts being nailed to a wall at the hips by two sexed-up dark-skinned men. Two pairs of white legs astride, and two pink sex-holes giving themselves up to dark cocks. I felt the rough wall, gritty and dirty, against my bare back. He went on whispering to me – tart, fuckslut, dirty whore – and it was all true, except for ‘whore’ because he wouldn’t ever have to pay, he could have it for free whenever he wanted it, my lovely Indian boy. I reached a hand behind him and felt for his back hole and pressed a finger inside him. He squirmed – he always told me how that felt so filthy, and so beautiful.

The other guy was looking at my chest. My breasts were fuller than hers, and they hung down more. After a minute, he let go of her arms, so she could hold onto him around his shoulders. He put one hand under her bum, but then he grinned, reached out, and put the other one right on my breast and started playing with it. His black hand on my white tit looked, and felt, so sexy. We were all moving quite slowly now. We were all getting even more turned on, seeing and hearing each other, close enough to touch.

My boy was looking at the girl. At her breasts. I don’t think he’d ever seen a real pair except for mine.

“Sir, why don’t you play with her tit?” I whispered.

And he did. He reached over and started to pinch her hard nipple. She giggled. We turned our heads and looked at one another, and she winked at me, and I smiled back. Each girl was being fucked by one guy and tit-fondled by the other, and we both loved it; and then, as she gasped and panted, close to her orgasm, the arm nearest to me dropped loose, and we took one another’s hands. And then, she came, crying out, her whole body shaking, her nails digging into my palm.

I was next, the electricity flooding my desperate body at last with wild pleasure, on and on. My boy came before I’d finished, calling me slut, whore, pumping me full of his warm Indian sperm; and after a few more strokes, it was the black guy, spasm after spasm, emptying himself into his girl, so that when he pulled out, it dripped down her thighs.

We girls did our best to clean ourselves up. I put on my bra and a pair of panties I’d brought because I knew I was going to be a mess afterwards. Both the boys had a good long look at us while we were doing it, grinning and whispering together. The girl and I really liked each other, so we swapped numbers (and what that led to is something I’ll write about another time).

I put my coat back on, and we all went back to the street. The other couple went off, I suppose back to the club. We got into my car, and I slipped out of my heels. I set off driving in my stockinged feet, and even that felt like a slutty thing to do. My coat fell apart over my legs, and he started caressing my thigh around my stocking-top, picking at the suspenders. I thought I was driving him home, but after a minute, he said, “You don’t think I’ve finished with you yet, do you, bint?”

I shivered, and my nipples hardened again. “I have to do as I’m told, sir.”

“Take us to the park.”

We stopped on the roadside by the park. The fence was very low, and we had no trouble getting over, though I was glad no one was around because I couldn’t help showing most of what I had. He dragged me into some bushes where we’d be hidden, and tore my coat off me.

“Give me your panties. And your bra.”

I did as I was told. Bra and panties were tossed aside.

“Get down on your back, slut.”

He took his jeans and pants off and knelt across my face, facing my feet, and then he had me lift and separate my legs. He lowered himself until his dark cock and balls were right in my face, and his face was just over my pink, swollen pussy.

“Lick me, bitch.”

I licked and mouthed everything I could reach, and his cock, which hadn’t been quite hard, was soon standing up like a rod again. He was mouthing my pussy lips and teasing my clit with his lips and tongue. I was hot, desperate, writhing with need – I’d only come once, and that was never enough for me, not with him. I was hungry for more.

He got off me. “You bitch. Get on all fours. I’m going to fuck you the way you deserve.”

I was on my knees and elbows in the dirt, my breasts hanging. My head was down, but he grabbed my hair in one fist and pulled it right back as he stabbed his cock into me and started fucking me hard. He kept my head forced back while he screwed me.

“Dirty bitch. Your husband doesn’t satisfy you, does he?”

“No, sir.”

“You need Indian cock.”

“Yes.”

“You’d go down in the dirt if you had to, to beg for it.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.”

He came out of me and threw me onto my back, stood over me, looking down. Above his balls, his cock was rigid, pointing up, right above my face.

“Do you want more cock?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you want my cock?”

“Oh, yes, please, please.”

“Beg for it.”

“Oh, please, sir, darling, please, I’m crazy for your Indian cock. Darling, I need you to fuck me. You can fuck me hard, as hard as you want, please… you can come in me… fill me with cream… but please don’t leave me like this… please don’t… please.”

He threw himself onto me, lifted my legs over his shoulders, and pushed hard into me.

“What are you?”

He was fucking and fucking me.

“I’m a slut. A fuckslut. A common tart. A backstreet bint. A cheating bitch. Your sex slave. Ooohhh… sir… yes… yes… yes…”

And I lost control completely and came all over him, all over his dark prick, and he came into me so hard, arching his back and shooting warm white cum deep into my pussy.

We lay in the dirt, getting our breath back. When we’d quietened down, he whispered, “Whose wife are you?”

“His.”

“Whose dirty little tart are you?”

Quite suddenly, I started to cry.

“Yours, darling,” I sobbed. “Yours… yours…”

He hadn’t even let me bring my handbag from the car, so I just pulled my panties on and hoped they’d keep stuff inside until I got back. Bra and coat back on. My skin was filthy, my makeup was smeared, my stockings were ruined. I had dried cum all over my chest, my panties were wet and sticky, and I reeked of sex. It had been everything I’d hoped for, and more.

I dropped my teenage Indian lover a little way from his home – we had a loving, lingering kiss before he got out – and drove back to my house. When I got inside, I found my panties hadn’t been able to hold all the sperm that was leaking out of me. That coat would certainly have to go to the cleaners. I texted him to tell him, and then I went straight to bed, still the slutty tart, and fell asleep just as I was.

And that was how my young Indian lover fulfilled my fantasy.

Guys, I want to remind you again – all this was only okay because it was something I wanted and I’d asked him for. You should never treat a woman like this if she hasn’t given you her permission. OK?