Vidya suffers further at the hands of Wasim — Rajesh… I watched the screen, mesmerized. Not only was I alone in my office cabin, but it was lunch hour, and there was no one else on the whole floor — all the workers had gone for the typical super long Friday lunch. I watched my monitor, with the sound quite low, watching my own house. Or rather, this was the camera in my living room. I was watching what was happening live.
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Pinned against one wall of the living room was my tall, buxom wife Vidya. Her bright red sari was on the floor in a heap, crumpled. As was her petticoat, lying at her ankles. Her blouse was open. She was not wearing a bra, and her big, full, heavy breasts were helplessly bouncing around, her nipples firm and erect. My attention was drawn to her milky white calves, and the bright red thong that she was wearing. Her fair body glistened in the afternoon light filtering through the windows, and her jet black hair was loose, and fell to shoulders and reached to her waist. She was a sight to behold — a glimpse of water in a desert to a thirsty man.
Holding my naked wife by her hand, pinning her against the wall, was our burly, tall, brute of a guard Wasim. He now pressed against Vidya, nibbling at her neck. Held firmly, my wife’s eyes were shut as her paramour continued to nibble at her neck. His hands groped her tits, and my wife helplessly continued to murmur something as Wasim pinched her areoles. Her body shivered sporadically, and from the spasms I could understand she was experiencing a mini-orgasm. Wasim then stepped back, and I noticed a bright red hickey on my wife’s nape. His hands now roughly stroked my wife in her pubic area. So thin was Vidya’s thong that I could see her bushy pubic hair as Wasim crudely fondled her nether regions.
“Memsaab.” The guard grinned, casually loosening his belt. “My pyaari bitch! You know the drill. Spread your legs, randi. I want to see your pyaasi choot — your thirsty pussy.”
For a second my wife looked defiantly at him. Her eyes shone with anger — was it mock anger, I could not tell — but then she suddenly looked down, ashamed, and unbelievably parted her thighs, standing spread eagled against the wall. In our own house, this was my wife, spreading her long legs for another man. Our lowly guard.
I almost couldn’t breathe, even though I had seen this sight many a times before. The full realization of what was happening caught in my throat, even as my cock stiffened at the sight of my wife slowly giving in — again — to this low class guard. I made more in a day than what Wasim made in a whole year, yet I watched helplessly as this Muslim man from Hyderabad pressed against my powerless wife’s spread legs, his hands going inside her thong, rubbing against her clit.
Vidya’s eyes were shut. She groaned, her boobs flouncing around helplessly as Wasim roughly fingered her in the pussy. She didn’t want to, but the fingering left her body no choice. She was in the throes of the onset of another orgasm.