It was a very strange feeling. I could not make up my mind whether I should be happy about it, sad, or traumatized! It was the night that changed my life forever. I was talking with my hubby on the phone, who had gone out of Kolkata for a project. I was in a bedroom.
“Oh yeah… I’ll… get it for you… I know how much you love Idli!”
Every word had to struggle to come out of my mouth. I feared I might utter the wrong word, and Krish might get suspicious. Not that he ever thought I would cheat on him. His name is Shankar Radhakrishnan.
But lovingly, I call him Krish, and he calls me Chinna. Just to clarify, my name is Kumari Chinoy. I am a busty fair-skinned woman with an ass you can’t keep your hands off. But more about me later.
I have to get this out of my system. I need to share this immensely pleasurable moment that I had experienced that night.
“When are you coming?… Ah!!” I shrieked.
“What is it?” he asked with concern, “Is it the mangalsutra again?”
“Um…yeah,” I spoke but bit my lip mid-sentence looking down at my bare chest.
“Chinna, how many times have I told you. Just go to the goldsmith and get the pointy part of it fixed. He won’t charge much. Are you going to scream every time it hurts you?”
“Ahhh!” I screamed louder.
“See, you did it again,” he responded.
I looked down at my huge dangling breasts again. It was not the mangalsutra that was hurting me. At that moment, there was a man aggressively biting my nipple. I was getting a mixed pain-pleasure feeling. So even though it hurt, I didn’t stop him. He was sucking on my tit like a baby.
It was not his fault. I was leaking at the moment. Having recently given birth to a cute little boy, my breasts had grown bigger. I had lost control over them. I would start milking just at the thought of my baby. Talking to Krish reminded me of my baby, and so I started lactating.
Some men get disgusted by the smell of a mother’s milk but not this guy. He quickly pounced on me, pinned me to the bed with his huge muscular arms, and started sucking aggressively. Throughout the phone call, he was drinking my breast milk patiently.
The instant my breasts were dry, he looked up and then whispered in my ear, “Enough with chit-chat. Things are going to get intense. Unless you want your husband to hear what is to happen, hang up. Hang up the fucking phone.” He whispered.
I did as he asked while he started kissing my neck. While his mouth was busy there, his hands were locating my pussy. He then gently rubbed his erect cock on my vaginal opening.
“I love clean women.”
He giggled while gently sliding in his 8-inch dick. I don’t know why I had to shave my pubic hair that day. Actually, I wear a lot of jeans, so I fear the hair might get caught in the zipper. It’s a painful experience that I don’t want to have again.
“I love clean women!” He yelled as, with sudden force, he thrust his entire dick inside me.
I screamed at the top of my voice. Having given birth recently, I feared rough sex would harm my vagina. Thankfully when I went to the doctor the next day, she assured me that no damage was done.
She mischievously said, “Your husband no longer needs to be gentle in there. Just don’t scream, or you will wake the neighbors.”
She gave an evil smile while gently patting my bare pussy. After that she let me wear my clothes. Sorry, I got off track. Back to the night before.
“Ahhh…ahh… ahhh!” I screamed while I dug my nails deep in his muscular back. The deeper my nails pierced his skin harder he fucked me. I hated being fucked by a man who is not my husband. But I was also loving being fucked by a man better than my husband.
With every thrust, my scream got louder and louder. Well, the place where I was that night, there were no neighbors to wake up. Even if someone were to hear me, they wouldn’t care. After all, everybody goes to a brothel to fuck.What else do you expect to hear?
The hardcore sex that began at that moment continued for the whole night. There was no continuous action. We fucked, I slept, we fucked sometime later, I slept again, and then we fucked whenever he was hard again.
I was drowsy, and things were a blur. I don’t know why a couple of times I felt that the man fucking me was of a different size from the man before. But I didn’t care. I simply received the pleasure and hopefully gave some back while experiencing the life of a prostitute for one night.
The next morning, I woke up exhausted. It’s as if I passed out after a long workout at the gym. There was nobody in the room except me. I was naked top to bottom but clean.
There were many times he shot his thick white cum on my face and my body. Once in my butt hole. Strangely, though, I didn’t have any sticky feeling.
Quickly I wore my sari. “Strange,” I whispered to myself. The blouse and the skirt were fitting loose on me. “Did I lose a lot of weight in one night?!” I wondered.
No. Actually, the guy that brought me in last night was very rough while stripping me. Hence despite it not being a low-cut blouse, I was showing off a significant amount of cleavage.
My breasts were swollen after a night full of sucking and kinky slapping. So much that they refused to stay inside my bra, so I decided not to wear it and then got out.
Walking out of the brothel, all the other prostitutes were giggling, looking at me. Yesterday, I was a beautiful, virgin-like, high society woman. But one night, here, had turned me into one of them. I felt embarrassed. Fortunately, they didn’t know my name.
Suddenly a woman yelled at me from behind. “A! Tere piche ka dikh raha hai. (Hey, your back part is showing).”
As I turned, she approached me. She gently placed her palm on my visible waist and then ran her middle finger around until she touched my butt crack.
“Oh my god!” I whispered with shock.
She slipped her hand in to gently pinch my butt-hole and then pulled my sari up until it was covered. I thanked her and walked away. Getting out of the structure that opened in a back alley, I went around to the front.
There, my other female activist friends were already present. They had their hoardings and posters ready. They were planning the schedule such that the protest that begins in the morning continues till evening.
I could hear whispers, “We have to end this violence! Sex workers are humans too! All brothels have to be closed! And legalize prostitution too!”
I didn’t join that group. Actually, my job is to have conversations with brothel owners, government officials, and politicians to take action and shut all these unofficial brothels. I have a team of my own.
I walked through this crowd of courageous women. I was looking for a fellow activist, a friend, another married woman, and a recent mother named Nisha. One would think her to be my twin, except her skin complexion is significantly darker.
“Nisha,” I spoke to get her attention.
While most women protesters wear western outfits, Nisha is the only other woman who wears a sari. Because this is the most suited outfit for new moms, it gives us ease to feed our baby whenever wherever without taking off all our clothes.
“Kumari,” she smiled, looking at me. Then her smile faded as she noticed that I wasn’t as bubbly and energetic as usual. “What happened?” she asked while hugging me.
“You know… late-night meetings,” I spoke in a low tone to avoid suspicion.
Nisha: With the local MLA?
Me: No. The brothel owner. Didn’t I tell you he was coming from Dubai last night?
Nisha: So, how was the meeting?
Me: Good. He agreed to shut his brothel until the bill for legalizing prostitution was signed.
Nisha: That’s great news! I think we should tell ever-
I interrupted her. Then taking her away from the group of activists, I said,
Me: He has agreed but with a condition.
Nisha: What is it? But, before that, did you get the papers signed?
Me: Yes, I did. Here…
I said, opening my purse. While taking out the papers, I accidentally dropped my bra. Immediately I bent down to pick it up. But while doing that, I dropped the loose signed papers that went all over the place. Quickly we got down to pick them up. Thankfully it was early morning, so the roads were clean and dry.
As we continued to pick, a bunch of indecent men at the adjacent tea stall started giggling and whistling. I didn’t realize that their reaction was directed towards me, so I kept on picking the papers. Then suddenly,
“Kumari!” shouted Nisha.
She was standing in front of me with shocked expressions on her face. She quickly pulled me up and placed those picked papers on my behind. That instant, I felt those papers touching my bare butt.
Apparently, when I bent, the loose sari slipped, and a significant portion of my butt was exposed to those perverts to feast on. At any other place, a decent man would have run towards me to cover it up. But where we were, this kind of reaction was expected.
“You need a change of clothes. Come with me,” said Nisha.
As we walked, she released her hand, and I held the papers in place. Even after pulling it up, the sari stayed significantly low on my waist. Nisha informed the activist in charge, and then we sat in an autorickshaw to leave.
Nisha: What fucking exactly happened last night?
I said nothing. I just gave her a look saying that the auto driver is listening, so it is best to talk after reaching home. Nisha didn’t listen. Instead, she started speaking in English.
Nisha: You can’t go home in this condition. We’ll go to my apartment. Sujoy has taken Hema with him to his parent’s house.
Sujoy is Nisha’s husband, and Hema is a newly born baby girl. She then gave the driver directions in Bengali. In that conversation, she checked if the driver understood English. Once we were confident that he wouldn’t understand a word if we spoke in English, we started talking.
Nisha: So, tell me what happened.
Me: Last night, after you all went home, I waited. Since my husband is out of Kolkata now, I had taken my baby boy to my parent’s house. He’s still there.
Nisha: What happened at the broth-
Nisha was impatient. Thankfully, she realized that even if he doesn’t speak English, he might know a few words.
Nisha: How long were you there at the office?
Me: Actually, the whole night.
Nisha: Whole night! We don’t do overtime. You should have rescheduled. What were you doing there?
Me: That was not an option. The meeting was very intense. At first, we talked. I introduced my proposal. He instantly agreed to it, then came the ‘but.’
Nisha: But?
Me: The owner said he was willing to shut this branch for the time it will take until approval. But he wants us to compensate for the losses.
Nisha: Compensation? How much money?
Me: Not money. He has another arrangement in mind.
Nisha: What?
I didn’t say anything. Instead, I made her look down at my hands, and with gestures, I hinted, “They want us to have sex.”
Me: If we agree, they will select five members from us to be taken to the Dubai branch, for a weekend, every month.
Nisha: For work?!
Now Nisha made hand gestures of ‘sex’ to confirm what I was saying. I didn’t say anything. Suddenly my tongue felt heavy. I got a bitter sensation just like last night when that guy forced his cock inside my mouth for a blowjob. I simply nodded.
Nisha: He has his employees. Why can’t he take them?
Me: He says he wants women… employees of a high standard. Someone like us?
Nisha: Tell me you didn’t agree to that.
I didn’t say anything. But suddenly, I had an itchy feeling in my crotch area. So I rubbed my hand over it. Nisha understood.
Nisha: Did you?
Me: Yes. They wanted to make sure if I could perform.
Suddenly with that thought, I slipped back into the memory of the night before. “It is indecent for a woman like me to do that,” I said to the huge muscular guy. He is the owner of that brothel who came from Dubai. He calls himself Gunna.
“I know, but changing society is not easy. There’s a price to everything. The question is, are you willing to pay?” he said, eyeing my huge breasts.
I ensured my pallu was in place, but it was as if he saw through it. I was heavily conflicted after this proposal. For the first time, we were able to break through the barriers. Gunna is the owner of a chain of brothels all over India. The price was high, personally, but the change was necessary for the greater good.
The lady politicians had agreed to draft the bill to legalize prostitution. For such sensitive topics, the information doesn’t get public immediately. The bill becomes a law secretively. The change happens, and once we see its positive effect, the information about legalizing prostitution will be made public.
Everything was set. All we needed was agreement from the side of brothel owners.
“Oh, come on,” he said with a devilish smile, “You’ll enjoy it.”
I ignored his comment. I was able to hear my racing heartbeat. I started sweating. He noticed that and quickly reduced the AC temperature. I was lost in deep thought. I kept on repeating one thought,
“I’m doing this for those women who sell their bodies for money. They give pleasure, and yet they are ridiculed by society. It’s for their better future. Legalizing prostitution will solve so many problems of the sex industry. I’m doing it for them. For them!”
I continued to mentally chant these words, “For them!” I did it for so long that Gunna got bored. He stood up, went around the couch, and then rested his hands on my shoulders. Seeing me not react to it, he slipped his hands lower to cup my boobs. I still didn’t react.
The blouse was too tight for his hand to slide. Still, he tried stretching the fabric to its limit. Thankfully he stopped trying any further. Instead, he gently unhooked the blouse and my bra. He let my tits out. I was feeling all this, but still, I hadn’t decided whether to go all the way.
So I simply sat there, letting him do what he wanted. Thankfully he sent his men out before making a move. I could feel him pinching my nipples. This stranger was getting overly comfortable with my body. As he leaned forwards, he let out a warm breath on my neck.
After massaging my breasts, his hands were fast approaching my pussy. When his mouth was just an inch away from my ear, he whispered, “When something is inevitable, you might as well enjoy it.”
Following that, his right hand located my pussy. He turned my head with another, forcing himself to kiss me on my lips.
“Usually, these whores don’t let you kiss on their lips. You are different. I can sense it. Stick to this attitude, and you’ll make a lot of money for and from me.”
As a matter of fact, I didn’t agree for him to take five of us to Dubai for some rich man’s pleasure. But my body was reacting to his touch. My pussy was already wet. Craving to be touched. The last time my husband had sex with me was when he got me pregnant. My body needed this.
He realized that. After feeling my moist pussy he took his hand out and said, “Before things get dirty, let us finish all the formalities. Where do I have to sign?”
After his signatures, there was no turning back. Hence began the night of aggressive but passionate sex in a cheap brothel. I was bathed in regular intervals with thick white cum.
A loud bell ring brought me to the present. Seeing me lost in thought, Nisha had stopped talking to me. Anyway, she got all the information she needed from me. As I looked around, Nisha was checking the papers. She seemed happy.
The ring that woke me up came from the driver’s phone. He quickly plugged the earphones and started talking. After talking for a while in Bengali, he suddenly switched to English. We were stunned.
Despite being an auto driver, he spoke in flawless English, that too in an American accent. We were confused, shocked but more so worried, “He heard our entire conversation.” Nisha whispered.
We sat quietly until he hung up the phone. Then Nisha softly spoke, “Did you understand all we were talking about?”
When he was about to answer, that was the first time I tried looking at his face. I didn’t see his eyes, but I noticed his devilish smile from the rearview mirror. The same smile every blackmailer gives after he realizes that the fish has caught the bait.
He started talking. With the level of detail with which he had pieced all the information, I could foresee what was inevitable. Despite us being discrete, he understood it all. Picking us from outside the brothel, the protesting activists, the information he had from the local news, and finally our conversation.
By that time, we had reached our destination. Before we got out, I gathered the courage to ask one question. “How did you figure out that I had nasty rough sex throughout the night at the brothel?”
He smiled, thought for a while, and then said, “Based on how you are dressed.” His eyes were laser point focused on my breasts. That’s when I realized that my pallu had slipped. I was shamelessly displaying deep cleavage to this poor horny driver.
Nisha quickly paid him and then pulled me out of the auto. We walked away. But the driver parked his auto and came after us.
“Assuming that a high society married woman to like you might not want what I know about you to become public knowledge,” he said after ensuring nobody was listening, “…and now that I know where you live. How are we going to settle this?”
He didn’t say anything further. After that, one thing led to another, and an hour later, all three of us were sweaty, naked, lying in Nisha’s bed and gasping for air. It was quite a scene. Two busty milfs pressing their flawless naked bodies on a poor yet attractive young auto driver.
All three of us shared kisses. Arvind said, looking at Nisha, “I didn’t think you would want to be a part of this settlement deal.”
Nisha smiled, kissed him on his lips, and then got out of bed. While walking to the bathroom, she turned and said, “Why not? If we are going to Dubai, then we better practice.”
This followed with a devilish smile as Nisha mischievously spanked her round ass. This was an invitation for us to join in the shower. We did that, but before getting out of bed, we fucked one more time.
The night before was a blur, but this time I was consciously enjoying every thrust. I bit my lip as I got the urge to moan. Despite a lot of fucking that happened, Arvind had the stamina to go on and on and on. At the point of climax, I requested him to spray his jizz in my mouth.
After last night I grew a liking to the taste of cum. Arvind generously sprayed it all in without spilling a drop outside.
“Save some for me,” said Nisha, peeping out of the bathroom, naked and all wet. “Come quick.”
Quickly I sucked him dry. While grabbing each other’s butt-cheek, we stepped inside the bathroom.
After the two of us were dressed and he was ready to leave. I walked him to the door. Meanwhile, Nisha was taking way too long in the shower. I handed Arvind his phone saying, “I’ve saved our numbers on your phone. I’m Horny Milf No. 1, and she Horny Milf No. 2.”
I thought this would make Arvind happy, but instead, he stood still. “Oh, so you saw the pictures.”
“What pictures?”
“Never mind,” he said, taking the phone from my hand.
He was leaving but then stopped and said, “Since you are okay with us having sex. I need to confess something.”
“Confess what?!” yelled Nisha stepping out of the bedroom wearing nothing but just a towel to cover her privates.
He looked at her and then at me. Locking eyes with me, he said, “Outside when you asked how did I know that you had sex at the brothel. I lied when I said I guessed. I thought you wouldn’t remember. Actually, I was one of the guys who fucked you last night in the brothel.”
For a moment, there was an awkward silence between us. While Arvind maintained a distance from me, he hugged Nisha while fingering her pussy one last time before leaving. Arvind was leaving, but desperate, Nisha wanted more.
She untied her towel, saying, “Don’t you want a picture of me?”
Arvind smiled, took a picture, and walked away. He stepped out of the house and was gone. The last thing he said to me came as a shock to me.
Including Arvind, up till that point, I thought I had sex with a total of three guys in my entire life. My husband Krish, the brothel owner Gunna and auto driver Arvind. But as it turns out, many more unknown guys roaming around Kolkata got a taste of this horny milf.
“How should I react if our paths cross in the future?” I wondered. That’s when Nisha shook me out of this confusion, saying, “Since we have already started, there is no reason for us to stop now.”
To Be Cunt-I-Nude. But you can read my other tales .
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