Vidya did indeed know what to do. She reached out and pulled down Wasim’s underwear. His hard, monstrous cock sprang out, free from the confines of clothing, and rose like a majestic rider about to mount its steed. My wife.
Wasim was now naked from waist down, his T-shirt partly obscuring his buttocks. Vidya moved her hands expertly over his gigantic cock, rubbing and kneading and stroking him, and in no time at all he was hard — very hard. If Vidya had placed her hand alongside her lover’s penis, I am sure it would reach to her elbow. OK, I am exaggerating, but it seemed big. Wasim glanced at my wife and then snapped his fingers.
Vidya stared back at him — the last time she would look today at him defiantly. Then she just bent down her gaze submissively and lowered her own thong. I could see that despite the rough way Wasim had been treating her, her body was now primed for sex. Her pubic hair glistened with her own wetness, and her nipples were firm and erect, and her areoles big. As she stepped out of her panty, now fully naked except for the half open blouse, Wasim grabbed my beautiful, athletic wife, pinned her against the wall and slammed against her.
“Ooohhh! Ooohhh!” Vidya cried out, as Wasim’s cock found its target, and tunneled its way into her, burying deep inside her. “Oh, Wasim! Oh, Wasim! Gently! Oh, Wasim!”
“You are very quick to take my name.” The muscular guard taunted as he fucked her, grinning as he vigorously moved his hips, his T-shirt flapping with each violent thrust. “Do you take MY name when your husband fucks you too?”
“Oh, Wasim!” Vidya could only murmur helplessly, her eyes shut, her pretty face contorted. She was leaning back against the wall behind her, bracing as Wasim slammed into her again, and again, and again. Her hands now wrapped themselves around her lover’s waist, holding him by his hips, almost subtly, gently controlling, nay directing, the way this brute was fucking her.
This was classic Vidya. In a trice she was subtly in charge, directing the way Wasim was making love to her the way a conductor directs an orchestra. If Vidya wanted Wasim to push harder into her, she would wrap his waist more tightly. If she wanted him to lower the pace, she would grip the side of his hips. If she wanted him to remain buried in her for a bit, she would gently brush his ass. Wasim didn’t even realize how he was being controlled as he moved his cock in and out of her pussy.
For some time I watched as the two continued to hump. They were still standing, but her knees were almost ready to buckle. Wasim was grinning, and I could see his rugged square jaw with his thick beard, as he kissed my wife’s cheeks and face and breasts and lips and the nape of her neck. The sounds of him fucking her continued, what with my wife’s soft sharp moans, the rhythmic sound of flesh slapping flesh, and Wasim’s heavy breathing as he neared his own climax. He was now slowly taking back control of the love making from Vidya.
My own penis was hard now. If this wasn’t at work, I would have taken it out and jerked myself to an orgasm. As it is, I was rubbing myself furiously through my jeans.