This was my favorite stories back in xossip and It inspired me to write my own stories as a first person. I searched for it for a long time and finally found it.
Please enjoy the story
Please enjoy the story
Adultery Nukkad guys by shiprat!!
- Thread starterMadiha agarwal
- Start date
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- cheating hindu muslim nukkad wife
It was about 11 in the morning on a Wednesday. I finished my chores around the house and the short assignment I had been working on for my online course. My husband Vinay had gone to work very early and said he wouldn't be home for lunch, so I didn't need to cook. I watched TV for a while but there was nothing to grab my attention. I walked to the window and looked out.
It was a beautiful 26 celsius day. It was the middle of the summer when temperatures would usually be scorching on the Indian plains but it had rained the previous day and it had cooled things down. Perfect weather for running, I had told myself from the moment I had gotten up. My body almost ached for a run. If it had been Bombay, I would have been out in a flash. But it wasn't Bombay. It was a small town in the cow belt, which even after six months, felt like a foreign country.
"Fuck it, I really need some serious cardio." I told myself and headed to the bedroom. Opened my closet.
I shuffled through my wardrobe to find something appropriate to wear. When we lived in Worli, this was never a hard decision. My standard attire for running was a tank top and shorts. In the perpetual humidity and the heat of Bombay, they were the best thing to wear for a 10K run. Plus Bombay in general, and Worli in particular, was largely safe for women, despite the occasional media report about a rape. I would be one of several women running in that attire, either along the sea-face or in one of the parks.
Sure, men stared, and there was the occasional whistle, and the rare proposition. I have been blessed by the creator with a pretty face, a voluptuous body, and thick shiny hair. I got attention from men all my life, in all walks of life. So even running in Worli, I knew that at any moment, there were dozens of male gazes fixed on my toned buttocks and on my heaving size D boobs.
But I never felt unsafe. I had grown up in Worli. I knew Worli. I could handle Worli.
But this was a cow belt small town. The attire would be considered scandalous here. Maybe even an invitation for trouble. And with the "Nukkad Guys" always hanging out at the end of the street, I might as well be wearing a "Come Harass Me" sign on my chest.
The Nukkad Guys. This was a foreign phenomenon for me until we moved here, but my husband, who had grown up in the cow belt (but in a big city - Kanpur), said the phenomenon was common all over the region.
You see, Bombay is the lodestar that attracts anyone who wants a job. And anyone can get a job. Bombay is an extremely industrious city, and everyone from a CEO to a broker to a street seller to a dabbawallah is busy busy busy. Everyone has a job. to do. Everyone had places to get to. Everyone is in a rush. You don't usually see groups of men just lounging around for hours at end everyday at street corners.
But the cowbelt is different. Unemployment is high. There is very little industry. So in most neighborhoods, there is apparently a set of "nukkad guys". Anywhere from 6 to 12 men just hanging around a pan shop or a tea stall. They are either unemployed or are underemployed, which means they don't work full time. Most are connected to one of the local political leaders and "bahubalis", or political enforcers.
And these nukkad guys are notorious. And are a bit feared by "decent" folk. The nukkad guys are an excellent illustration of the saying - an empty mind is a devil's workshop.
The nukkad guys in our colony were apparently aligned with a regional party that currently ruled the state. So they were even more brazen.
Like I said, I was used to attention, and the occasional teasing and proposition from random men in Bombay once in a while. I either ignored them or occasionally gave a sharp retort which would shut up those men. But these guys were at a completely different level altogether. I still remember the first day I encountered them about six months ago. It was the day after we had moved to the town.
It was the middle of the afternoon and I was home alone, getting bored. This was the first time in years I wasn't working, so I had no idea what to do with my time. I decided to cook an elaborate Avadhi style biryani for dinner. As I checked the recipe online, I realized I was missing a lot of ingredients. So I just picked up my purse and stepped out of the house.
"How are you, Sheetal didi?"
Sarita, the young daughter-in-law living in the house right next door piped up. She was in their verandah, watching over her two-year old as he ran around.
"Oh hi Sarita."
I walked over to the wall separating our properties. She got up and walked towards me too.
"Getting adjusted okay?" she smiled and asked. "Our tiny town must be a big change from Bombay for you, didi."
"It's not a big deal." I smiled back. "And please Sarita, don't call me didi. You are....how old?"
"20, didi." she said, blushing for no reason.
Wow, just 20 years old and she already had a 2 year old. They really were a very traditional family as I had found out the previous day. They had come over to welcome us and offer their help. Sarita, her husband, and her young son lived with her husband's ageing parents.
"You are 20. I am 29. We are not that far apart in age. Just call me Sheetal." I said.
"Okay." she said, sounding uncomfortable. "Where are you going?"
This was another aspect of cow belt life that was unfamiliar to me. Neighbors in Bombay generally maintained a figurative distance from each other. We said hi hello namaste, were courteous, but a question like "where are you going" would have been considered too intrusive in most of Bombay.
"Just going to the grocery store to get some stuff." I said, reminding myself that she didn't mean to be nosey. This is how things worked in her world.
"Wearing that?" she said, raising her eyebrows.
A little surprised, I looked at myself to make sure I hadn't walked out in lingerie or something. No, I saw capri pants and a t-shirt. Perfectly normal clothes. I know we were in the cow-belt but surely that wouldn't be considered provocative.
"Yes. You have a problem?" I said, with an edge to my voice.
"No no, didi." she backed off.
There was an awkward silence. And I walked away after a goodbye nod.
I opened the gate of our yard and stepped out, walking up the street towards the main road where the store was. As I walked a couple of hundred meters, I got my first look at the "nukkad guys". There were about 8-10 of them milling around a tea stall at the corner of our street.
They were laughing and joking with one another, a couple of them smoking, until I approached. It felt weird when they suddenly went silent and started staring at me. I kept my eyes straight ahead, deciding to ignore them. But I could feel that half their gazes were fixed on my chest and the other half on my bare shins and calves. Wow, I thought to myself, how desperate must these men be to consider this an attire worth gawking at?
And as I walked past them, a few feet away, one of them, a balding young guy with a mustache suddenly started singing,
"Dhoop mein nikla na karo rooop ki raaaaani....."
Which was an old Hindi song with the line saying "Don't go out in the harsh sun, you beauty queen"
I was a little taken aback by the blatant comment, but I kept walking. And suddenly the rest of the guys joined in, forming a chorus,
"Kahin gora rang kaala na pad jaaye!!" (You might just tan your white skin)
That was followed by a big burst of laughter. I stopped in my steps and looked back with a frown on my face. I focused my attention on the balding guy who had started singing. He was leaning backwards on a wooden bench with his hands on the seat. He looked back at me cockily.We stared into each other's eyes, me frowning, he grinning.
"Where are you going, memsaab? Need a lift?" he asked in a leery voice.
For a moment I considered giving a sharp retort like I might have in Bombay. But I reminded myself, this is practically a different country. I broke our staring contest contest, looked straight and kept walking.
The guys kept singing the song, as if to underline their little victory over me.
I walked to the main road and then the grocery store. I bought all the things I needed, noting with annoyance how the shopkeeper and his helper also kept checking out my tits and my bare shins and calves like I was some stripper on display. I paid for everything and started walking back.
As I walked back, I was already thinking about what to do if those nukkad guys teased me again. Should I confront them or ignore them? Polythene bags in my hand, I kept trying to decide as I turned around the street corner and approached them again.
I expected them to break out into song again. But they didn't. All of them stayed quiet, grinning and whispering to each other as they blatantly stared at me going past. It was slightly tense, but no one said anything for a while. Until I had walke past them, and a different voice shouted out,
"Need some help carrying those bags, memsaab?"
There were a few chuckles. I kept walking, realizing that Sarita had not been entirely wrong in questioning my choice of clothing. I was a Bombay girl in the cow belt. I needed to understand its culture to avoid such trouble
It was a beautiful 26 celsius day. It was the middle of the summer when temperatures would usually be scorching on the Indian plains but it had rained the previous day and it had cooled things down. Perfect weather for running, I had told myself from the moment I had gotten up. My body almost ached for a run. If it had been Bombay, I would have been out in a flash. But it wasn't Bombay. It was a small town in the cow belt, which even after six months, felt like a foreign country.
"Fuck it, I really need some serious cardio." I told myself and headed to the bedroom. Opened my closet.
I shuffled through my wardrobe to find something appropriate to wear. When we lived in Worli, this was never a hard decision. My standard attire for running was a tank top and shorts. In the perpetual humidity and the heat of Bombay, they were the best thing to wear for a 10K run. Plus Bombay in general, and Worli in particular, was largely safe for women, despite the occasional media report about a rape. I would be one of several women running in that attire, either along the sea-face or in one of the parks.
Sure, men stared, and there was the occasional whistle, and the rare proposition. I have been blessed by the creator with a pretty face, a voluptuous body, and thick shiny hair. I got attention from men all my life, in all walks of life. So even running in Worli, I knew that at any moment, there were dozens of male gazes fixed on my toned buttocks and on my heaving size D boobs.
But I never felt unsafe. I had grown up in Worli. I knew Worli. I could handle Worli.
But this was a cow belt small town. The attire would be considered scandalous here. Maybe even an invitation for trouble. And with the "Nukkad Guys" always hanging out at the end of the street, I might as well be wearing a "Come Harass Me" sign on my chest.
The Nukkad Guys. This was a foreign phenomenon for me until we moved here, but my husband, who had grown up in the cow belt (but in a big city - Kanpur), said the phenomenon was common all over the region.
You see, Bombay is the lodestar that attracts anyone who wants a job. And anyone can get a job. Bombay is an extremely industrious city, and everyone from a CEO to a broker to a street seller to a dabbawallah is busy busy busy. Everyone has a job. to do. Everyone had places to get to. Everyone is in a rush. You don't usually see groups of men just lounging around for hours at end everyday at street corners.
But the cowbelt is different. Unemployment is high. There is very little industry. So in most neighborhoods, there is apparently a set of "nukkad guys". Anywhere from 6 to 12 men just hanging around a pan shop or a tea stall. They are either unemployed or are underemployed, which means they don't work full time. Most are connected to one of the local political leaders and "bahubalis", or political enforcers.
And these nukkad guys are notorious. And are a bit feared by "decent" folk. The nukkad guys are an excellent illustration of the saying - an empty mind is a devil's workshop.
The nukkad guys in our colony were apparently aligned with a regional party that currently ruled the state. So they were even more brazen.
Like I said, I was used to attention, and the occasional teasing and proposition from random men in Bombay once in a while. I either ignored them or occasionally gave a sharp retort which would shut up those men. But these guys were at a completely different level altogether. I still remember the first day I encountered them about six months ago. It was the day after we had moved to the town.
It was the middle of the afternoon and I was home alone, getting bored. This was the first time in years I wasn't working, so I had no idea what to do with my time. I decided to cook an elaborate Avadhi style biryani for dinner. As I checked the recipe online, I realized I was missing a lot of ingredients. So I just picked up my purse and stepped out of the house.
"How are you, Sheetal didi?"
Sarita, the young daughter-in-law living in the house right next door piped up. She was in their verandah, watching over her two-year old as he ran around.
"Oh hi Sarita."
I walked over to the wall separating our properties. She got up and walked towards me too.
"Getting adjusted okay?" she smiled and asked. "Our tiny town must be a big change from Bombay for you, didi."
"It's not a big deal." I smiled back. "And please Sarita, don't call me didi. You are....how old?"
"20, didi." she said, blushing for no reason.
Wow, just 20 years old and she already had a 2 year old. They really were a very traditional family as I had found out the previous day. They had come over to welcome us and offer their help. Sarita, her husband, and her young son lived with her husband's ageing parents.
"You are 20. I am 29. We are not that far apart in age. Just call me Sheetal." I said.
"Okay." she said, sounding uncomfortable. "Where are you going?"
This was another aspect of cow belt life that was unfamiliar to me. Neighbors in Bombay generally maintained a figurative distance from each other. We said hi hello namaste, were courteous, but a question like "where are you going" would have been considered too intrusive in most of Bombay.
"Just going to the grocery store to get some stuff." I said, reminding myself that she didn't mean to be nosey. This is how things worked in her world.
"Wearing that?" she said, raising her eyebrows.
A little surprised, I looked at myself to make sure I hadn't walked out in lingerie or something. No, I saw capri pants and a t-shirt. Perfectly normal clothes. I know we were in the cow-belt but surely that wouldn't be considered provocative.
"Yes. You have a problem?" I said, with an edge to my voice.
"No no, didi." she backed off.
There was an awkward silence. And I walked away after a goodbye nod.
I opened the gate of our yard and stepped out, walking up the street towards the main road where the store was. As I walked a couple of hundred meters, I got my first look at the "nukkad guys". There were about 8-10 of them milling around a tea stall at the corner of our street.
They were laughing and joking with one another, a couple of them smoking, until I approached. It felt weird when they suddenly went silent and started staring at me. I kept my eyes straight ahead, deciding to ignore them. But I could feel that half their gazes were fixed on my chest and the other half on my bare shins and calves. Wow, I thought to myself, how desperate must these men be to consider this an attire worth gawking at?
And as I walked past them, a few feet away, one of them, a balding young guy with a mustache suddenly started singing,
"Dhoop mein nikla na karo rooop ki raaaaani....."
Which was an old Hindi song with the line saying "Don't go out in the harsh sun, you beauty queen"
I was a little taken aback by the blatant comment, but I kept walking. And suddenly the rest of the guys joined in, forming a chorus,
"Kahin gora rang kaala na pad jaaye!!" (You might just tan your white skin)
That was followed by a big burst of laughter. I stopped in my steps and looked back with a frown on my face. I focused my attention on the balding guy who had started singing. He was leaning backwards on a wooden bench with his hands on the seat. He looked back at me cockily.We stared into each other's eyes, me frowning, he grinning.
"Where are you going, memsaab? Need a lift?" he asked in a leery voice.
For a moment I considered giving a sharp retort like I might have in Bombay. But I reminded myself, this is practically a different country. I broke our staring contest contest, looked straight and kept walking.
The guys kept singing the song, as if to underline their little victory over me.
I walked to the main road and then the grocery store. I bought all the things I needed, noting with annoyance how the shopkeeper and his helper also kept checking out my tits and my bare shins and calves like I was some stripper on display. I paid for everything and started walking back.
As I walked back, I was already thinking about what to do if those nukkad guys teased me again. Should I confront them or ignore them? Polythene bags in my hand, I kept trying to decide as I turned around the street corner and approached them again.
I expected them to break out into song again. But they didn't. All of them stayed quiet, grinning and whispering to each other as they blatantly stared at me going past. It was slightly tense, but no one said anything for a while. Until I had walke past them, and a different voice shouted out,
"Need some help carrying those bags, memsaab?"
There were a few chuckles. I kept walking, realizing that Sarita had not been entirely wrong in questioning my choice of clothing. I was a Bombay girl in the cow belt. I needed to understand its culture to avoid such trouble
Ravi Shikha
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I had that first encounter and many subsequent encounters in mind as I rummaged through my wardrobe to find the right clothes to wear for my run on that beautiful day six months after we had moved to the tiny cow belt town. I finally chose a loose t-shirt and long, not a figure hugging one. The t-shirt was long enough to go down to mid-thigh and cover my butt. And I chose loose full length track pants instead of the shorts I would wear in Bombay. I also chose my most secure and heavily built sports bra. Being a woman with big boobs, wearing a sports bra is a must while running. It minimized the swinging and jiggling and made things easier on my back. But I knew that being as well-stacked as I was, gravity would still do its bit.
As I slipped off my regular bra to change into the sports bra, I looked at my big swaying boobs in the mirror. I had always had a complicated love-hate relationship with my big boobs. Having developed them earlier than my peers, initially I liked the attention I got from boys in my school. But when I started getting attention from creepy men on the street, I started hating them. Very soon in school, I became known as the one with the biggest boobs, and it seemed like no matter how hard I studied, how good I did in exams, and whatever I did in the sports and extracurricular domain, I was always considered the big boobed one first before anything else. Being taller than average at 5 ft 8, I was also very active in sports (I ran long distance, played basketball and volleyball), and the big boobs also started causing occasional back ache. I started actively hating my boobs and envying girls who had small or normal boobs.
As I graduated school and moved to engineering college, I grew up emotionally as well. I read feminist literature, interacted with open-minded folks and generally experienced a broadening of horizons. I also started exploring my sexuality in college, dating guys, and relishing how smitten they seemed with these big blobs of fat hanging from my chest. I still remember that when I lost my virginity to the age of 19 to a 4th year student, he kept biting my nipples the entire time he was fucking me. That dalliance didn't last long. I dated another guy. At this point, my big boobs, in addition to my active dating life, gave me a reputation as a slut in the college. But I didn't care. I did well in academics, and had a good career lined up.
My parents were never super-conservative, but nor were they super-liberal. They gave me enough space during my college years, and were polite to a couple of my boyfriends. But at the age of 25, when I had been working in IT for 3 years after college and had gone through 4 serious boyfriends, each relationship ending in a messy break-up, my dad got upset. He sat me down one day in our balcony overlooking the Worli sea-face and said to me,
"Sheetal, I love you and I have never treated you any differently than your brother. You are intelligent, ambitious, accomplished, and have a great future ahead of you."
"Thanks dad." I said, knowing that there would be more.
"But...what is happening with your personal life? You know I am not some old fuddy-duddy who wants you to have an arranged marriage within our caste. I know we live in the 21st century. If you find a guy on your own, I will be happy to bless the union. And I have been very nice to all your boyfriends, haven't I?" he thundered.
"Yes, dad." I meekly responded.
"You just keep picking.....forgive my language....one asshole after another!"
"I am sorry dad." I said, tearing up. Dad was a complicated creature. He usually left us alone but when he spoke up, it was with this kind of irresistible intensity.
"So Sheetal...you are 25. You have a good job. Great prospects. Do you want to keep trying to date guys like you have so far? Or do you want to find the right guy and settle down?" he softened his voice a little bit. "You are my darling girl, Sheetal. If you want to play the field for a while longer, go ahead."
"No dad." I said, sticking to the practical values he had imposed in me. "I want to find the right guy and settle down."
And I was serious. It had never been my intention to be some sex-crazy harlot sleeping around. With each relationship, I had hoped to end up with Mr Right. It just had not gone well.
"Hmmm..." dad said, nodding. "You remember Vinay?"
"Yes." I said. I had known Vinay since childhood. He was the son of a family friend from Kanpur, about 5 years older than me. A very nice guy, very smart, accomplished. Had studied accountancy, done an MBA, and now worked in the banking sector. In my teen years, I even had a bit of a crush on him, but he was 5 years older and lived in Kanpur, so nothing could really happen.
"He also went through a bad break-up recently. His parents are also looking to find someone for him. And his dad asked me about you."
"Oh." I said, suddenly finding myself in the unfamiliar arranged marriage scenario.
"Sheetal, you know I am not old-fashioned. I am just saying.....met him for coffee....think of it as a date. If you don't like him, you don't like him. If you like him, just.....think about it."
"Okay, dad." I nodded.
Well, you obviously know that I ended up marrying Vinay. He ticked all the required boxes. He was charming. He was stable. He was smart. He was caring. Things proceeded really fast and we were married within 4 months of our first arranged date.
He worked with a multinational bank. I worked in IT. After we got married, our parents pooled together funds to buy us a 3 bedroom flat on the Worli Seaface. And our married life started. It was mostly pleasant and nice. Vinay was at his core a nice guy. But it always sort of bothered me that he had never really swept me off my feet.
A couple of years into our marriage, things were going well. Vinay and I were building our lives together in our nice Worli flat. We were both in very demanding jobs so we didn't get to spend too much time together, even on weekends. But we were generally happy with each other. And eventually fell in love. We had a good life together. We ate at great restaurants, watched nice movies, hung out with a lot of friends. I had taken up long distance running to stay in shape while he played squash. It was a great privileged South Bombay life.
The sex was not bad. At least for me. Vinay didn't quite match up to some of my virile and aggressive past lovers, but he knew his way around a female body. He did all the right things, and did them well, including cunnilingus, and I was mostly satisfied. But he wasn't very imaginative or aggressive. In a way, it was nice and showed how much he respected my tastes. He never pushed me out of my comfort zone. But at the same time, maybe I always had a submissive side that was starved during that marriage. And that's what led to all those complications later on.
Anyway, things at Vinay's company took a turn for the worse. They got caught up in a regulatory scandal and the bank's global bosses announced that they would be shutting down their India operations. Although Vinay wasn't personally involved in the mess, just having that company on his resume was a problem. Once his company shut down, he started looking for jobs. There were many interviews that ended with no offer.
Finally when he did get an offer, it was from an Indian bank. It wanted him as a manager. But it first wanted him to spend some time building up one of its "upcountry" branches. Which meant that he would have to spend 1-2 years in some tiny town proving himself as a branch manager before he could be promoted to a position in Bombay.
And that, is why we were in that tiny cow belt town. Vinay was a branch manager setting up and expanding the bank's operations in that region. Given the taint of his former company, he did not have a choice. And given that I loved my husband and wanted to be with him, I did not have a choice but to move with him to the boondocks.
So I gave up my lifelong South Bombay lifestyle, took a sabbatical from my company with the understanding that I could still do some work remotely, and we moved to this tiny and bizarre cowbelt town which seemed straight out of a Prakash Jha movie.
I stopped fondling my own tits and finally pulled the sports bra over my neck and fit it over my ample bosom. I wore the loose long t-shirt over it. And then slipped on the trackpants. Then I put on my running shoes, and with the keys inside my socks, I stepped out of the house for my first outdoor run since moving out of Bombay.
I really hoped I wouldn't run into Sarita again. Over the last few months, her perpetual presence outside had gone from endearing to infuriating. Luckily, she wasn't there. I stepped out the door and locked it, placed the key under a flower pot, and then took a few long strides to the gate. I was dressed in a loose t-shirt and track-pants, intending to run on trails in the countryside along our neighborhood.
I held my phone tightly in my hands and started walking. I knew that when I passed the nukkad guys, they would have something or the other to say about me. They had become quite a nuisance by themselves since that first time I walked past them six months ago. They had also become, in my own mind, a source of some quasi-sadistic entertainment, I was a little too sure of my position in the society of that little town. I was the wife of the guy who was the manager of the biggest bank setting up a a branch in the town. What he was doing was crucial to the economic future of the town. Which I thought indicated that my well-being was crucial to the economic future of the town.
I convinced myself that as long as I dressed demurely enough, they would not dare cross the line. And I was dressed as demurely as possible, in a loose long t-shirt and track pants. Yes, I was going running by myself, something no "decent" women in the town ever did. But still, I had worn enough signals to indicate that the guys should leave me alone. I was not wearing a cleavage-exposing tank top and thigh-revealing shorts like I would in Bombay. I was dressed in a garb that would cover most of my skin.
As I walked up the street, occasionally stretching my thigh muscles and my shin muscles, I soon approached the "nukkad" where the guys usually stood. I was a bit relieved to see that there weren't as many men there as usual. Usually, there would be 10 or so guys lounging around the tea stall. As I made my way up the street, I saw only 4 guys. Relieved, I exhaled loudly, thinking I had caught a big break. I slowly strolled towards them.
As I passed the tea stall, I could see that the thugs were a bit confused by my garb. For a change, there were no cat calls. At least not right away. I walked past them basking in the pleasant but unfamiliar glow of their confused looks. They were confused because I was so fully covered up.
And they were also confused because in recent months, I had not been so fully covered up. And this is where, dear reader, I must confess my partial culpability in what followed next. Here's the story.
That first time I told you about, when I walked past them dressed in what I considered a simple and decent outfit - capri pants and a t-shirt, they heckled me. I was pissed off but also a little flattered. I had been dressed in a garb that in Bombay would have elicited no responses. Sure, my shins and calves were showing and the t-shirt I was wearing was tight. But so what? It was nothing extraordinary in Bombay where occasional street louts were used to seeing women running past in way skimpier clothing. And yet here, in the cow belt, I was catcalled as if I were dressed like a whore.
That, honestly, intrigued me a little bit. In normal circumstances, I would not have given it a second thought. I would have been too busy thinking about work stuff. But in that small town, relegated to just looking after my husband, I had no work stuff to deal with, In previous years, there was always a deadline hanging over my head. Not this time. Not yet. My boss had promised to send me some stuff to work on but it had not come in yet. I tried to keep myself busy with cooking and cleaning, but those chores got done really fast. So I was literally a bored housewife trying to find ways to spend time.
Although the catcalls from that first experience had disturbed the demure self-respecting side of my personality, they had also stoked the attention-seeking side of my personality. Since my teens, I was used to being showered with attention by males. I knew I was good looking, had a nice face and a great figure, and almost expected to be propositioned. Since my marriage to Vinay however, things had changed significantly. The guys at work knew I was now married so most of them did not try to go after me. Even on the streets, maybe I exuded a sense of my married identity - maybe it was the mangalsutra I usually wore. But even the occasional catcalls and propositions in Bombay had gotten rare.
So the nukkad guys taking such interest in me fed the attention-starved side of me. It also made me feel kinda powerful. Finally, after a short break, I again had the power to make a group of guys act like cavemen. They were expressing their desire for me in the most primal way possible. I was disgusted because of who I was (a married woman) and who they were (a bunch of savages), but I was also flattered by the attention.
After that first experience, I was a little spooked. But then, as a couple of weeks rolled by, I started thinking about that experience. How they had all stared at me and made me the center of their existence. It was a bit exhilarating, thinking about all those young virile men desiring me. A part of me was disgusted by their lewd behavior. But a part of me was also intrigued. My sentiments were motivated by the fact that things between me and Vinay were tepid in the bedroom. He was so busy with his new assignment of setting up and running the new branch that he mostly worked 14 hours a day. And I, living in that tiny podunk town, had nothing much to do. I would spend the day hoping he would come home and fuck me hard, but most days, he would come home exhausted and go to bed,
Maybe that's why, a couple of weeks after we moved in, I found myself dressed in a figure-hugging t-shirt and a pleated knee-length skirt. The best part of the skirt was that it hugged my ass really snugly, accentuating it for anyone watching. And the nukkad guys were definitely watching. When I walked past them, they whistled like crazy. I felt a little belittled, but mostly, I felt delighted by the attention. Although my husband didn't get aroused himself most nights to bang me, these young guys found me attractive, It fed my ego.
I walked past them, clad in my tight t-shirt and my knee length skirt. There were about 9 of them that day. They stared at my chest and and my half-bare legs alternating. It felt nice, I will be honest. All these virile horny men gawking at my shins. It felt oddly empowering. Eventually one of them started singing,
"Tu cheez badi hai mast mast...."
(You look like an intoxicated object(
As I slipped off my regular bra to change into the sports bra, I looked at my big swaying boobs in the mirror. I had always had a complicated love-hate relationship with my big boobs. Having developed them earlier than my peers, initially I liked the attention I got from boys in my school. But when I started getting attention from creepy men on the street, I started hating them. Very soon in school, I became known as the one with the biggest boobs, and it seemed like no matter how hard I studied, how good I did in exams, and whatever I did in the sports and extracurricular domain, I was always considered the big boobed one first before anything else. Being taller than average at 5 ft 8, I was also very active in sports (I ran long distance, played basketball and volleyball), and the big boobs also started causing occasional back ache. I started actively hating my boobs and envying girls who had small or normal boobs.
As I graduated school and moved to engineering college, I grew up emotionally as well. I read feminist literature, interacted with open-minded folks and generally experienced a broadening of horizons. I also started exploring my sexuality in college, dating guys, and relishing how smitten they seemed with these big blobs of fat hanging from my chest. I still remember that when I lost my virginity to the age of 19 to a 4th year student, he kept biting my nipples the entire time he was fucking me. That dalliance didn't last long. I dated another guy. At this point, my big boobs, in addition to my active dating life, gave me a reputation as a slut in the college. But I didn't care. I did well in academics, and had a good career lined up.
My parents were never super-conservative, but nor were they super-liberal. They gave me enough space during my college years, and were polite to a couple of my boyfriends. But at the age of 25, when I had been working in IT for 3 years after college and had gone through 4 serious boyfriends, each relationship ending in a messy break-up, my dad got upset. He sat me down one day in our balcony overlooking the Worli sea-face and said to me,
"Sheetal, I love you and I have never treated you any differently than your brother. You are intelligent, ambitious, accomplished, and have a great future ahead of you."
"Thanks dad." I said, knowing that there would be more.
"But...what is happening with your personal life? You know I am not some old fuddy-duddy who wants you to have an arranged marriage within our caste. I know we live in the 21st century. If you find a guy on your own, I will be happy to bless the union. And I have been very nice to all your boyfriends, haven't I?" he thundered.
"Yes, dad." I meekly responded.
"You just keep picking.....forgive my language....one asshole after another!"
"I am sorry dad." I said, tearing up. Dad was a complicated creature. He usually left us alone but when he spoke up, it was with this kind of irresistible intensity.
"So Sheetal...you are 25. You have a good job. Great prospects. Do you want to keep trying to date guys like you have so far? Or do you want to find the right guy and settle down?" he softened his voice a little bit. "You are my darling girl, Sheetal. If you want to play the field for a while longer, go ahead."
"No dad." I said, sticking to the practical values he had imposed in me. "I want to find the right guy and settle down."
And I was serious. It had never been my intention to be some sex-crazy harlot sleeping around. With each relationship, I had hoped to end up with Mr Right. It just had not gone well.
"Hmmm..." dad said, nodding. "You remember Vinay?"
"Yes." I said. I had known Vinay since childhood. He was the son of a family friend from Kanpur, about 5 years older than me. A very nice guy, very smart, accomplished. Had studied accountancy, done an MBA, and now worked in the banking sector. In my teen years, I even had a bit of a crush on him, but he was 5 years older and lived in Kanpur, so nothing could really happen.
"He also went through a bad break-up recently. His parents are also looking to find someone for him. And his dad asked me about you."
"Oh." I said, suddenly finding myself in the unfamiliar arranged marriage scenario.
"Sheetal, you know I am not old-fashioned. I am just saying.....met him for coffee....think of it as a date. If you don't like him, you don't like him. If you like him, just.....think about it."
"Okay, dad." I nodded.
Well, you obviously know that I ended up marrying Vinay. He ticked all the required boxes. He was charming. He was stable. He was smart. He was caring. Things proceeded really fast and we were married within 4 months of our first arranged date.
He worked with a multinational bank. I worked in IT. After we got married, our parents pooled together funds to buy us a 3 bedroom flat on the Worli Seaface. And our married life started. It was mostly pleasant and nice. Vinay was at his core a nice guy. But it always sort of bothered me that he had never really swept me off my feet.
A couple of years into our marriage, things were going well. Vinay and I were building our lives together in our nice Worli flat. We were both in very demanding jobs so we didn't get to spend too much time together, even on weekends. But we were generally happy with each other. And eventually fell in love. We had a good life together. We ate at great restaurants, watched nice movies, hung out with a lot of friends. I had taken up long distance running to stay in shape while he played squash. It was a great privileged South Bombay life.
The sex was not bad. At least for me. Vinay didn't quite match up to some of my virile and aggressive past lovers, but he knew his way around a female body. He did all the right things, and did them well, including cunnilingus, and I was mostly satisfied. But he wasn't very imaginative or aggressive. In a way, it was nice and showed how much he respected my tastes. He never pushed me out of my comfort zone. But at the same time, maybe I always had a submissive side that was starved during that marriage. And that's what led to all those complications later on.
Anyway, things at Vinay's company took a turn for the worse. They got caught up in a regulatory scandal and the bank's global bosses announced that they would be shutting down their India operations. Although Vinay wasn't personally involved in the mess, just having that company on his resume was a problem. Once his company shut down, he started looking for jobs. There were many interviews that ended with no offer.
Finally when he did get an offer, it was from an Indian bank. It wanted him as a manager. But it first wanted him to spend some time building up one of its "upcountry" branches. Which meant that he would have to spend 1-2 years in some tiny town proving himself as a branch manager before he could be promoted to a position in Bombay.
And that, is why we were in that tiny cow belt town. Vinay was a branch manager setting up and expanding the bank's operations in that region. Given the taint of his former company, he did not have a choice. And given that I loved my husband and wanted to be with him, I did not have a choice but to move with him to the boondocks.
So I gave up my lifelong South Bombay lifestyle, took a sabbatical from my company with the understanding that I could still do some work remotely, and we moved to this tiny and bizarre cowbelt town which seemed straight out of a Prakash Jha movie.
I stopped fondling my own tits and finally pulled the sports bra over my neck and fit it over my ample bosom. I wore the loose long t-shirt over it. And then slipped on the trackpants. Then I put on my running shoes, and with the keys inside my socks, I stepped out of the house for my first outdoor run since moving out of Bombay.
I really hoped I wouldn't run into Sarita again. Over the last few months, her perpetual presence outside had gone from endearing to infuriating. Luckily, she wasn't there. I stepped out the door and locked it, placed the key under a flower pot, and then took a few long strides to the gate. I was dressed in a loose t-shirt and track-pants, intending to run on trails in the countryside along our neighborhood.
I held my phone tightly in my hands and started walking. I knew that when I passed the nukkad guys, they would have something or the other to say about me. They had become quite a nuisance by themselves since that first time I walked past them six months ago. They had also become, in my own mind, a source of some quasi-sadistic entertainment, I was a little too sure of my position in the society of that little town. I was the wife of the guy who was the manager of the biggest bank setting up a a branch in the town. What he was doing was crucial to the economic future of the town. Which I thought indicated that my well-being was crucial to the economic future of the town.
I convinced myself that as long as I dressed demurely enough, they would not dare cross the line. And I was dressed as demurely as possible, in a loose long t-shirt and track pants. Yes, I was going running by myself, something no "decent" women in the town ever did. But still, I had worn enough signals to indicate that the guys should leave me alone. I was not wearing a cleavage-exposing tank top and thigh-revealing shorts like I would in Bombay. I was dressed in a garb that would cover most of my skin.
As I walked up the street, occasionally stretching my thigh muscles and my shin muscles, I soon approached the "nukkad" where the guys usually stood. I was a bit relieved to see that there weren't as many men there as usual. Usually, there would be 10 or so guys lounging around the tea stall. As I made my way up the street, I saw only 4 guys. Relieved, I exhaled loudly, thinking I had caught a big break. I slowly strolled towards them.
As I passed the tea stall, I could see that the thugs were a bit confused by my garb. For a change, there were no cat calls. At least not right away. I walked past them basking in the pleasant but unfamiliar glow of their confused looks. They were confused because I was so fully covered up.
And they were also confused because in recent months, I had not been so fully covered up. And this is where, dear reader, I must confess my partial culpability in what followed next. Here's the story.
That first time I told you about, when I walked past them dressed in what I considered a simple and decent outfit - capri pants and a t-shirt, they heckled me. I was pissed off but also a little flattered. I had been dressed in a garb that in Bombay would have elicited no responses. Sure, my shins and calves were showing and the t-shirt I was wearing was tight. But so what? It was nothing extraordinary in Bombay where occasional street louts were used to seeing women running past in way skimpier clothing. And yet here, in the cow belt, I was catcalled as if I were dressed like a whore.
That, honestly, intrigued me a little bit. In normal circumstances, I would not have given it a second thought. I would have been too busy thinking about work stuff. But in that small town, relegated to just looking after my husband, I had no work stuff to deal with, In previous years, there was always a deadline hanging over my head. Not this time. Not yet. My boss had promised to send me some stuff to work on but it had not come in yet. I tried to keep myself busy with cooking and cleaning, but those chores got done really fast. So I was literally a bored housewife trying to find ways to spend time.
Although the catcalls from that first experience had disturbed the demure self-respecting side of my personality, they had also stoked the attention-seeking side of my personality. Since my teens, I was used to being showered with attention by males. I knew I was good looking, had a nice face and a great figure, and almost expected to be propositioned. Since my marriage to Vinay however, things had changed significantly. The guys at work knew I was now married so most of them did not try to go after me. Even on the streets, maybe I exuded a sense of my married identity - maybe it was the mangalsutra I usually wore. But even the occasional catcalls and propositions in Bombay had gotten rare.
So the nukkad guys taking such interest in me fed the attention-starved side of me. It also made me feel kinda powerful. Finally, after a short break, I again had the power to make a group of guys act like cavemen. They were expressing their desire for me in the most primal way possible. I was disgusted because of who I was (a married woman) and who they were (a bunch of savages), but I was also flattered by the attention.
After that first experience, I was a little spooked. But then, as a couple of weeks rolled by, I started thinking about that experience. How they had all stared at me and made me the center of their existence. It was a bit exhilarating, thinking about all those young virile men desiring me. A part of me was disgusted by their lewd behavior. But a part of me was also intrigued. My sentiments were motivated by the fact that things between me and Vinay were tepid in the bedroom. He was so busy with his new assignment of setting up and running the new branch that he mostly worked 14 hours a day. And I, living in that tiny podunk town, had nothing much to do. I would spend the day hoping he would come home and fuck me hard, but most days, he would come home exhausted and go to bed,
Maybe that's why, a couple of weeks after we moved in, I found myself dressed in a figure-hugging t-shirt and a pleated knee-length skirt. The best part of the skirt was that it hugged my ass really snugly, accentuating it for anyone watching. And the nukkad guys were definitely watching. When I walked past them, they whistled like crazy. I felt a little belittled, but mostly, I felt delighted by the attention. Although my husband didn't get aroused himself most nights to bang me, these young guys found me attractive, It fed my ego.
I walked past them, clad in my tight t-shirt and my knee length skirt. There were about 9 of them that day. They stared at my chest and and my half-bare legs alternating. It felt nice, I will be honest. All these virile horny men gawking at my shins. It felt oddly empowering. Eventually one of them started singing,
"Tu cheez badi hai mast mast...."
(You look like an intoxicated object(
Nope I wouldn't do that without her approval. I lost this story when xossip got shut down and recently got the backup. So wanted to add them somewhere..
You look like an intoxicated object(
I heard the song. I frowned, trying to suppress a smile. I walked past them. A few dozen steps later, I noticed that a couple of them were walking behind me. That creeped me out. What the fuck, I thought. I knew they would call out to me. But this thing of following me? That was weird. I went to the grocery store. The owner and his helper stared at my knees while they filled out my order. I walked back home. The couple of nukkad guys followed me home, keeping a safe distance.
I stepped inside my house and exhaled loudly. I could not believe that a modest skirt had excited these cow belt yokels enough to stalk me all the way home. They had not dared cross any lines or force themselves on me. But they had made their desire very clear.
For the next few months, I would occasionally indulge in this exercise. I'd wear something moderately revealing and walk to the grocery store. The nukkad guys would tease or heckle me shamelessly. And I would walk back. Occasionally, a couple of them followed me home. But they didn't cross any lines. At least not then.
At least not until that day when, dressed in a loose t-shirt and track pants, I went running.
--
I had planned to go to a wooded countryside area past our colony. I had been there with Vinay before when we were taking a stroll and I knew that there were enough beaten paths to form a trail that I could run on. The town itself was small enough and the traffic was less enough that I could run on the streets if I wanted. But as I said, the general atmosphere in the town was not such that a woman could go running on the street without attracting unwanted attention.
I had reached about halfway to the wooded area when the lace on my right shoe came undone. As I bent down to tie it, I noticed something I had not noticed before. The nukkad guys were about 200 meters behind me. As was often the case, they were just randomly following me.
I have never understood the rationale behind this thing many Indian men do. Just creepily follow a woman they desire. Follow her home, follow her to work, follow her to college, follow her everywhere. Exactly what is it supposed to convey or achieve? These guys were no different. It wasn't the first time they had followed me. During our encounters earlier, it had happened many times. Sometimes I would look out the window and see a couple of them just lounging around across my house. They'd catch my eye, give a creepy smile and then exchange high fives. Then a while later, they would be gone.
It seemed similar to the behavior of predators, just circling your prey and getting to know them. Or were they just trying to intimidate me? Or maybe it was a source of entertainment for them, making a high class memsaab nervous or uncomfortable. And I knew that I wasn't the only one on the receiving end of such attention.
A couple of weeks earlier, I was watering the plants in my garden when I saw Sarita walking down the street with a bag of groceries in her hand. Sure enough, two of the nukkad guys were following her. I stood and watched as Sarita, very conscious of being followed, walked inside the gate of her house. The men kept walking past her house. They noticed me and one of them whistled. Sarita turned in response to the whistle and saw me glaring at them.
"Let it be, didi." she said in a soft voice. "Just ignore them."
"Such creeps." I walked to the wall towards Sarita. "Don't they have any jobs?"
"Some of them do. But most of them are just soldiers."
"They are in the army???" I couldn't believe my ears. Army men behaving this way?
"No no didi." Sarita smiled as she looked at the men walk past the end of the street and turn the corner.
"Then?"
"They are soldiers of Billa Yadav."
"Who?"
"The politician. MLA of this area. He's been in jail for a couple of years, but still runs most parts of the town." she said. "And then if you go to the neighboring colony, the nukkad guys are soldiers of Shakoor Haji, who is Billa's biggest rival and from the other party."
"What do soldiers do exactly? Fight each other?"
"Yeah, sometimes. Collect money, intimidate supporters and businessmen, and of course, run the elections." she explained. "Isn't that how things run in Bombay too?"
"Well, yeah, the local parties have their own "soldiers" I guess. And they have a lot of influence and do a lot during the elections. But we never really have day to day encounters with them. At least not in Worli. And they certainly don't act like molesters."
"This isn't Bombay, didi. This is how things operate here. We women who grow up here learn to deal with it."
"So you get followed as well?"
"Yes, followed, catcalled, sometimes........" and her voice tapered off.
"Sometimes?"
"Nothing. You know how men can be." she shrugged and went deep red.
I had no idea what she was implying. I wanted to probe her further but she was already walking inside her house.
As time had gone by, I had started understanding the dynamics and the culture of the cow belt a little better. It was obviously a much more conservative place than Bombay. In some ways, it was also more exciting. And it's not just the nukkad guys and not even staring men. I always got so much attention that I felt like a foreigner. I used to drive the car myself. My neighbors found it very surprising - a woman driving her own car! Most of them had drivers or were driven around by male family members. Even when I went to the vegetable market or to the small mall in the town, I initially got surprise looks from traffic police, security guards, and people on the street.
I also wore western clothes very frequently. Most women in the ton wore saris or salwar kurtas, with the occasional loose jeans thrown in. I wore capris, skirts, dresses, nice tops very often. I should stress again that I was never wearing what I considered "skimpy" clothes. But in that sleepy little town, I still turned heads by just showing my shins. Catcalls and heckles weren't limited to just the nukkad guys. Very often I'd be sitting in the car at a traffic signal and a bike would pull up. The men would stare at me blatantly, sometimes make propositions, call me names. I'd ignore them, they'd drive off.
The one thing that bugged me the most about the town was that I had literally no friends. No company to do anything with. In Worli, I had a huge social circle. But I just didn't gel well with anyone here. I had met most people in the neighborhood and many wives of Vinay's colleagues. They were all very traditional homebodies - focused on kids, cooking and soap operas. No one was really great for hanging out with. Additionally, I could see the judgmental look on their face because I often wore western clothes, and never covered my head in the presence of older men.
So I'd spend my days alone, reading books, surfing the net, occasionally going for drives shopping or to the mall, and doing some coding for my company whenever they sent me work. But in just six months, life had settled into a rut. Vinay spent as much time with me as possible. But he was usually exhausted and on his days off, just wanted to relax.
I fastened my shoelace and stood up. As I walked, I could feel their gaze on my ass, although the track pants were loose and the shirt was long. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw that they were walking a little faster. I turned and looked at them. One of the guys, grinned and cupped his crotch suggestively. He had half his shirt buttons open, showing a toned chest. The guy next to him was big and burly. I could see how he was a political muscleman. He had huge biceps. A couple of other guys walking behind them were nondescript.
I heard the song. I frowned, trying to suppress a smile. I walked past them. A few dozen steps later, I noticed that a couple of them were walking behind me. That creeped me out. What the fuck, I thought. I knew they would call out to me. But this thing of following me? That was weird. I went to the grocery store. The owner and his helper stared at my knees while they filled out my order. I walked back home. The couple of nukkad guys followed me home, keeping a safe distance.
I stepped inside my house and exhaled loudly. I could not believe that a modest skirt had excited these cow belt yokels enough to stalk me all the way home. They had not dared cross any lines or force themselves on me. But they had made their desire very clear.
For the next few months, I would occasionally indulge in this exercise. I'd wear something moderately revealing and walk to the grocery store. The nukkad guys would tease or heckle me shamelessly. And I would walk back. Occasionally, a couple of them followed me home. But they didn't cross any lines. At least not then.
At least not until that day when, dressed in a loose t-shirt and track pants, I went running.
--
I had planned to go to a wooded countryside area past our colony. I had been there with Vinay before when we were taking a stroll and I knew that there were enough beaten paths to form a trail that I could run on. The town itself was small enough and the traffic was less enough that I could run on the streets if I wanted. But as I said, the general atmosphere in the town was not such that a woman could go running on the street without attracting unwanted attention.
I had reached about halfway to the wooded area when the lace on my right shoe came undone. As I bent down to tie it, I noticed something I had not noticed before. The nukkad guys were about 200 meters behind me. As was often the case, they were just randomly following me.
I have never understood the rationale behind this thing many Indian men do. Just creepily follow a woman they desire. Follow her home, follow her to work, follow her to college, follow her everywhere. Exactly what is it supposed to convey or achieve? These guys were no different. It wasn't the first time they had followed me. During our encounters earlier, it had happened many times. Sometimes I would look out the window and see a couple of them just lounging around across my house. They'd catch my eye, give a creepy smile and then exchange high fives. Then a while later, they would be gone.
It seemed similar to the behavior of predators, just circling your prey and getting to know them. Or were they just trying to intimidate me? Or maybe it was a source of entertainment for them, making a high class memsaab nervous or uncomfortable. And I knew that I wasn't the only one on the receiving end of such attention.
A couple of weeks earlier, I was watering the plants in my garden when I saw Sarita walking down the street with a bag of groceries in her hand. Sure enough, two of the nukkad guys were following her. I stood and watched as Sarita, very conscious of being followed, walked inside the gate of her house. The men kept walking past her house. They noticed me and one of them whistled. Sarita turned in response to the whistle and saw me glaring at them.
"Let it be, didi." she said in a soft voice. "Just ignore them."
"Such creeps." I walked to the wall towards Sarita. "Don't they have any jobs?"
"Some of them do. But most of them are just soldiers."
"They are in the army???" I couldn't believe my ears. Army men behaving this way?
"No no didi." Sarita smiled as she looked at the men walk past the end of the street and turn the corner.
"Then?"
"They are soldiers of Billa Yadav."
"Who?"
"The politician. MLA of this area. He's been in jail for a couple of years, but still runs most parts of the town." she said. "And then if you go to the neighboring colony, the nukkad guys are soldiers of Shakoor Haji, who is Billa's biggest rival and from the other party."
"What do soldiers do exactly? Fight each other?"
"Yeah, sometimes. Collect money, intimidate supporters and businessmen, and of course, run the elections." she explained. "Isn't that how things run in Bombay too?"
"Well, yeah, the local parties have their own "soldiers" I guess. And they have a lot of influence and do a lot during the elections. But we never really have day to day encounters with them. At least not in Worli. And they certainly don't act like molesters."
"This isn't Bombay, didi. This is how things operate here. We women who grow up here learn to deal with it."
"So you get followed as well?"
"Yes, followed, catcalled, sometimes........" and her voice tapered off.
"Sometimes?"
"Nothing. You know how men can be." she shrugged and went deep red.
I had no idea what she was implying. I wanted to probe her further but she was already walking inside her house.
As time had gone by, I had started understanding the dynamics and the culture of the cow belt a little better. It was obviously a much more conservative place than Bombay. In some ways, it was also more exciting. And it's not just the nukkad guys and not even staring men. I always got so much attention that I felt like a foreigner. I used to drive the car myself. My neighbors found it very surprising - a woman driving her own car! Most of them had drivers or were driven around by male family members. Even when I went to the vegetable market or to the small mall in the town, I initially got surprise looks from traffic police, security guards, and people on the street.
I also wore western clothes very frequently. Most women in the ton wore saris or salwar kurtas, with the occasional loose jeans thrown in. I wore capris, skirts, dresses, nice tops very often. I should stress again that I was never wearing what I considered "skimpy" clothes. But in that sleepy little town, I still turned heads by just showing my shins. Catcalls and heckles weren't limited to just the nukkad guys. Very often I'd be sitting in the car at a traffic signal and a bike would pull up. The men would stare at me blatantly, sometimes make propositions, call me names. I'd ignore them, they'd drive off.
The one thing that bugged me the most about the town was that I had literally no friends. No company to do anything with. In Worli, I had a huge social circle. But I just didn't gel well with anyone here. I had met most people in the neighborhood and many wives of Vinay's colleagues. They were all very traditional homebodies - focused on kids, cooking and soap operas. No one was really great for hanging out with. Additionally, I could see the judgmental look on their face because I often wore western clothes, and never covered my head in the presence of older men.
So I'd spend my days alone, reading books, surfing the net, occasionally going for drives shopping or to the mall, and doing some coding for my company whenever they sent me work. But in just six months, life had settled into a rut. Vinay spent as much time with me as possible. But he was usually exhausted and on his days off, just wanted to relax.
I fastened my shoelace and stood up. As I walked, I could feel their gaze on my ass, although the track pants were loose and the shirt was long. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw that they were walking a little faster. I turned and looked at them. One of the guys, grinned and cupped his crotch suggestively. He had half his shirt buttons open, showing a toned chest. The guy next to him was big and burly. I could see how he was a political muscleman. He had huge biceps. A couple of other guys walking behind them were nondescript.
t.
I kept walking and finally reached the wooded area. I stretched my ankles one last time and started running. The ground was a little muddy because of the rain the previous day, and there were puddles all over. But there was enough solid ground to run on. I unrolled the earphones from my phone, put them in, and listened to music as I jogged. I focused on my breathing and the muddy path ahead. I was weaving through trees and before I knew it, I had already run 2 kilometers in a circuitous loop around the area. As the beaten path turned around a thicket of trees, I almost ran into the nukkad guys. But I managed to avoid them just in time.
Throwing them a rude look, I jogged past. I could see that they were laughing and saying something. But the music in my ears was on at full blast. Plus I had already heard the kind of lewd comments and catcalls they made. I kept running, but threw one glance back at them. Two of them had their hands raised and were waving them. I just shook my head and turned to look at the road when suddenly, things changed.
The ground gave way under me. The view in front of my eyes shifted from that of trees to that of the blue sky. And my back and my butt landed with a thud on semi-hard ground and I felt myself descending. I had fallen into a pit, about 10 feet deep. The earphones had been knocked out of ears and my phone lay covered in mud a couple of feet away from me. Breathing heavily I reached for it and tried to clean the mud off it by wiping it on my t-shirt.
"Didn't you hear us?" a voice said.
I looked up. The nukkad guys were standing by the edge of the pit.
"What?" I asked.
"When you were running, we yelled out to warn you about this pit." the big burly guy said.
"Oh." I said, standing up uneasily in the soft muddy soil. "I was listening to music."
"Hmpf. Rich high class bitch." the guy who had clasped his crotch earlier said. "She would have ignored us anyway. She thinks people like us are scum."
There was some truth to what he said. But it wasn't my fault. All they ever yelled at me were jeers and innuendo, so why shouldn't I ignore them? I didn't say anything. I looked around for a way to climb out of the pit. The walls were wet and slippery. And kinda steep. The men stood around watching as I walked to the side that looked relatively easier to climb. I supported myself with my hands. And then raised my right leg to put it on what looked like a small rock. But it was just a mound of mud that broke loose under my weight and I fell flat on my stomach. The guys laughed hard.
Almost every part of my body was now covered with mud and water. As I sat on my ass at the bottom of the pit, feeling helpless, I noticed that the guys were all staring intensely at my chest. As loose as the shirt was, the water and mud had made it stick hard along my boobs, outlining them very clearly. Feeling conscious, I pulled at the fabric to stop that effect. And then got up.
"Need some help, memsaab?"
I looked around. It didn't seem like there was any other way out but to rely on their help. I nodded. The big burly brute lay flat on his stomach by the edge of the pit and lowered his tree trunk like hand. It took me a couple of attempts of scrambling up the muddy edge to grab it.
"Hold tight!" he said and started pulling me up. "Wow, the bitch is heavy."
"Half the weight is in those tits." another guy said and joined him in pulling me up as everyone laughed.
I felt angry and humiliated, but I was really helpless. First my head came out of the pit and then my shoulders. Three pairs of hands grabbed me and pulled my slimy muddy wet body out. I was dropped on the floor, finally out of that pit.
"Thank.....WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
I had started to thank them but suddenly yelled out as two pairs of hands, instead of leaving my body started fondling me all over, especially my tits. And then the other two guys crowded around me as well.
"What a body, memsaab."
"Fuck, she's an item!"
"Incredible!!"
One hand had been covering my face preventing me from saying anything as those hands squeezed and pinched my boobs over my wet muddy t-shirt like I was a plaything. Then the big burly man's bearded face came right next to mine and he said.
"You have to pay the price for our help, memsaab!"
The menace in his voice made my blood run cold. I was completely at their mercy out here in the wilderness where no on e could hear me if I cried for help. My phone was wet and probably dead. And the roughness with which the men's hands were exploring my body made me fear the worst.
"Please...." I tried to appeal to their sense of mercy. "Please...I am a married woman."
"So? No one here is proposing to you." came the snide reply.
My arms had been pinned to my side making it impossible for me to fight them off. And then they were let go of. But only so my t-shirt could be slipped off. The mud from the shirt rubbed against my face as the t-shirt was peeled off and now the only thing covering my boobs was the sports bra.
"Amazing!" a face lunged forward and planted itself on the boobs, nuzzling the cleavage. A few fingers had already gone inside the bra cups and were poking around looking for my nipples.
A hand was at my back fidgeting in confusion.
"Where the fuck is the bra hook?" an annoyed voice behind me said. "Is it in the front."
The guy who's cheeks were slapping against my cleavage stopped and stared.
"No, no hook in the front."
"It slips off like a t-shirt."
The men froze with surprise. Because that last sentence had come out of my mouth. I knew I should have been revolted and terrified of what was happening. But a depraved submissive part of me was actually starting to find pleasure in what they were doing. Rough working class hands fondling me all over. The primal instinct in me was starting to overcome the societal instinct. Plus, I reasoned with myself, if I cooperated, they probably wouldn't hurt me.
"Snooty rich bitch has a fancy bra."
I felt fingers being inserted under the side of the bra and it was pulled up. I raised my hands cooperatively, and the clean bra wiped some of the mud off my face as it came out. And so my big heaving globes, milky white, were on display to these randy men.
"WOW!!"
A voice said and I felt a rush as all those hands started fighting to grab and pinch my boobs.
"They always seemed big but I didn't expect them to be this big."
"And so tight too. No sag."
I just closed my eyes and stayed passive as the four men crowded around me playing with my boobs. One pair of hands which had been having trouble fighting the others to get access then started moving downwards. I felt one hand being slipped down my track pants and rubbing my pussy over my panties.
"Memsaab, you are a little wet!" the main who had invaded my pants said loudly and everyone laughed.
My mind was having trouble keeping track of everything that was happening. My boobs were beginning to hurt with all the fondling and pinching from multiple hands, but my sensitive nipples were painfully erect. A couple of the men had bitten and kissed those nipples. As I tried to focus on what was happening to my boobs, I also registered a hand going down the back of my pants and I felt a rough palm grab my ass. The hand in the front had now slipped inside the panties and was fingering my moistening cunt.
"Please let me go." I begged, despite my body indicating that it was enjoying what was happening. Given Vinay's busy work schedule, I had been starved of sex.
"After you do something about this."
One of the men had unzipped his pants and whipped out a cock. It was erect, dark brown, had a bulbous head covered in foreskin, and was about 6 inches long. I looked at it with fear and fascination. Would this be the dick that invaded my cunt? Or my mouth?
I was a little surprised and relieved when they lifted my hand instead and placed it on the dick. Instinctively, I wrapped my fingers around it. The men noted this and soon other dicks started coming out. My boobs got a little rest as I cooperated by starting to jack off the dick. Soon another dick, this time smaller, was at my other hand. I sat on the countryside path, topless, as I jacked off one cock each with my hands.
"Wow, she knows how to use her hands." I got some positive feedback.
The burly guy meanwhile stood up and put his feet on either side of my thighs. His thick erect cock swung up and down from his crotch right in front of my face.
"Open your mouth." he said.
"Please, not this." I begged. I was never really a fan of blowjobs. Never gave one to Vinay, so I was damned if I was going to give one to this lout. But my situation wasn't really amenable to negotiations.
"Come on." the brute said and his dick, oozing precum, slapped against my cheeks and my nose.
I was still jacking the other two cocks off even as I resisted this attempt to fuck my mouth. The one in my left hand shuddered and I felt warm sticky liquid land on my boobs. The brute's organ was still slapping around my face. I knew I didn't have much of a choice. As the fourth guy's dick replaced his friend's in my left hand, I winced and parted my lips a little. The thick head of the cock immediately pressed inside.
It tasted revolting, like all dicks used to taste. I close my eyes and felt a tear flow down my cheek as the thick dong was thrust all the way in and its head pressed against my tonsils. I had a stranger's cock in my mouth. I felt him place one hand on my head and start pushing the cock in and out, fucking my mouth.
"Suck it, bitch." he said, but I just kept my mouth passively open.
That's when his pocket buzzed and his phone started ringing. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and reached for it, while still keeping his dick inside my mouth.
"It's Billa bhaiyya." he said checking the display.
"Answer it." the guy on my right said.
"Okay, you guys keep quiet." he said and pressed the button. "Namaste bhaiyya....yes....yes.....no.....yes.....now? What about.....okay bhaiyya....no no, it's okay bhaiyya. Yes, right away, bhaiyya."
He disconnected the phone and put it back in his pocket.
"We have to go right away. The brick kiln."
"Right away?" the other guy sounded disappointed.
"Just as soon as I finish this."
I felt both his hands grab my hair now. And he thrust his hips forward. His pubic hair rubbed against my nose, my eyes were pressed against his collarbone as he started fucking my mouth really hard and fast. I felt like gagging and coughing, but his tight grip on my head meant there was little I could do to resist him.
"Press it with your tongue." he ordered, and for some reason, I did.
Soon my mouth was filled with his thick jizz. It swirled around his dick and tried to make its way down my throat. Thankfully, he took his dick out and stepped back. I heaved forward and spat out the semen. It was disgusting. I also coughed and gagged a good deal, in the process letting go of the two cocks I had been giving handjobs.
"Okay, let's go." he said, zipping up his pants.
"But what about us?" the two guys who still had their cocks out and hard whined.
"Later." the brute said dismissively. "Now that we have made friends with memsaab, I am sure she will be nicer."
He patted my head condescendingly as he said that. I was still spitting out the remnants of his semen.
Each of the guys squeezed my naked boobs one last time before zipping up their pants.
A couple of minutes later, I just sat there in disbelief, still topless. Had all that really just happened? Or was I in a bad nightmare? As my heart rate and breathing returned to normal, I put my bra and t-shirt back on. And in a stunned state, started walking back home.
I kept walking and finally reached the wooded area. I stretched my ankles one last time and started running. The ground was a little muddy because of the rain the previous day, and there were puddles all over. But there was enough solid ground to run on. I unrolled the earphones from my phone, put them in, and listened to music as I jogged. I focused on my breathing and the muddy path ahead. I was weaving through trees and before I knew it, I had already run 2 kilometers in a circuitous loop around the area. As the beaten path turned around a thicket of trees, I almost ran into the nukkad guys. But I managed to avoid them just in time.
Throwing them a rude look, I jogged past. I could see that they were laughing and saying something. But the music in my ears was on at full blast. Plus I had already heard the kind of lewd comments and catcalls they made. I kept running, but threw one glance back at them. Two of them had their hands raised and were waving them. I just shook my head and turned to look at the road when suddenly, things changed.
The ground gave way under me. The view in front of my eyes shifted from that of trees to that of the blue sky. And my back and my butt landed with a thud on semi-hard ground and I felt myself descending. I had fallen into a pit, about 10 feet deep. The earphones had been knocked out of ears and my phone lay covered in mud a couple of feet away from me. Breathing heavily I reached for it and tried to clean the mud off it by wiping it on my t-shirt.
"Didn't you hear us?" a voice said.
I looked up. The nukkad guys were standing by the edge of the pit.
"What?" I asked.
"When you were running, we yelled out to warn you about this pit." the big burly guy said.
"Oh." I said, standing up uneasily in the soft muddy soil. "I was listening to music."
"Hmpf. Rich high class bitch." the guy who had clasped his crotch earlier said. "She would have ignored us anyway. She thinks people like us are scum."
There was some truth to what he said. But it wasn't my fault. All they ever yelled at me were jeers and innuendo, so why shouldn't I ignore them? I didn't say anything. I looked around for a way to climb out of the pit. The walls were wet and slippery. And kinda steep. The men stood around watching as I walked to the side that looked relatively easier to climb. I supported myself with my hands. And then raised my right leg to put it on what looked like a small rock. But it was just a mound of mud that broke loose under my weight and I fell flat on my stomach. The guys laughed hard.
Almost every part of my body was now covered with mud and water. As I sat on my ass at the bottom of the pit, feeling helpless, I noticed that the guys were all staring intensely at my chest. As loose as the shirt was, the water and mud had made it stick hard along my boobs, outlining them very clearly. Feeling conscious, I pulled at the fabric to stop that effect. And then got up.
"Need some help, memsaab?"
I looked around. It didn't seem like there was any other way out but to rely on their help. I nodded. The big burly brute lay flat on his stomach by the edge of the pit and lowered his tree trunk like hand. It took me a couple of attempts of scrambling up the muddy edge to grab it.
"Hold tight!" he said and started pulling me up. "Wow, the bitch is heavy."
"Half the weight is in those tits." another guy said and joined him in pulling me up as everyone laughed.
I felt angry and humiliated, but I was really helpless. First my head came out of the pit and then my shoulders. Three pairs of hands grabbed me and pulled my slimy muddy wet body out. I was dropped on the floor, finally out of that pit.
"Thank.....WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
I had started to thank them but suddenly yelled out as two pairs of hands, instead of leaving my body started fondling me all over, especially my tits. And then the other two guys crowded around me as well.
"What a body, memsaab."
"Fuck, she's an item!"
"Incredible!!"
One hand had been covering my face preventing me from saying anything as those hands squeezed and pinched my boobs over my wet muddy t-shirt like I was a plaything. Then the big burly man's bearded face came right next to mine and he said.
"You have to pay the price for our help, memsaab!"
The menace in his voice made my blood run cold. I was completely at their mercy out here in the wilderness where no on e could hear me if I cried for help. My phone was wet and probably dead. And the roughness with which the men's hands were exploring my body made me fear the worst.
"Please...." I tried to appeal to their sense of mercy. "Please...I am a married woman."
"So? No one here is proposing to you." came the snide reply.
My arms had been pinned to my side making it impossible for me to fight them off. And then they were let go of. But only so my t-shirt could be slipped off. The mud from the shirt rubbed against my face as the t-shirt was peeled off and now the only thing covering my boobs was the sports bra.
"Amazing!" a face lunged forward and planted itself on the boobs, nuzzling the cleavage. A few fingers had already gone inside the bra cups and were poking around looking for my nipples.
A hand was at my back fidgeting in confusion.
"Where the fuck is the bra hook?" an annoyed voice behind me said. "Is it in the front."
The guy who's cheeks were slapping against my cleavage stopped and stared.
"No, no hook in the front."
"It slips off like a t-shirt."
The men froze with surprise. Because that last sentence had come out of my mouth. I knew I should have been revolted and terrified of what was happening. But a depraved submissive part of me was actually starting to find pleasure in what they were doing. Rough working class hands fondling me all over. The primal instinct in me was starting to overcome the societal instinct. Plus, I reasoned with myself, if I cooperated, they probably wouldn't hurt me.
"Snooty rich bitch has a fancy bra."
I felt fingers being inserted under the side of the bra and it was pulled up. I raised my hands cooperatively, and the clean bra wiped some of the mud off my face as it came out. And so my big heaving globes, milky white, were on display to these randy men.
"WOW!!"
A voice said and I felt a rush as all those hands started fighting to grab and pinch my boobs.
"They always seemed big but I didn't expect them to be this big."
"And so tight too. No sag."
I just closed my eyes and stayed passive as the four men crowded around me playing with my boobs. One pair of hands which had been having trouble fighting the others to get access then started moving downwards. I felt one hand being slipped down my track pants and rubbing my pussy over my panties.
"Memsaab, you are a little wet!" the main who had invaded my pants said loudly and everyone laughed.
My mind was having trouble keeping track of everything that was happening. My boobs were beginning to hurt with all the fondling and pinching from multiple hands, but my sensitive nipples were painfully erect. A couple of the men had bitten and kissed those nipples. As I tried to focus on what was happening to my boobs, I also registered a hand going down the back of my pants and I felt a rough palm grab my ass. The hand in the front had now slipped inside the panties and was fingering my moistening cunt.
"Please let me go." I begged, despite my body indicating that it was enjoying what was happening. Given Vinay's busy work schedule, I had been starved of sex.
"After you do something about this."
One of the men had unzipped his pants and whipped out a cock. It was erect, dark brown, had a bulbous head covered in foreskin, and was about 6 inches long. I looked at it with fear and fascination. Would this be the dick that invaded my cunt? Or my mouth?
I was a little surprised and relieved when they lifted my hand instead and placed it on the dick. Instinctively, I wrapped my fingers around it. The men noted this and soon other dicks started coming out. My boobs got a little rest as I cooperated by starting to jack off the dick. Soon another dick, this time smaller, was at my other hand. I sat on the countryside path, topless, as I jacked off one cock each with my hands.
"Wow, she knows how to use her hands." I got some positive feedback.
The burly guy meanwhile stood up and put his feet on either side of my thighs. His thick erect cock swung up and down from his crotch right in front of my face.
"Open your mouth." he said.
"Please, not this." I begged. I was never really a fan of blowjobs. Never gave one to Vinay, so I was damned if I was going to give one to this lout. But my situation wasn't really amenable to negotiations.
"Come on." the brute said and his dick, oozing precum, slapped against my cheeks and my nose.
I was still jacking the other two cocks off even as I resisted this attempt to fuck my mouth. The one in my left hand shuddered and I felt warm sticky liquid land on my boobs. The brute's organ was still slapping around my face. I knew I didn't have much of a choice. As the fourth guy's dick replaced his friend's in my left hand, I winced and parted my lips a little. The thick head of the cock immediately pressed inside.
It tasted revolting, like all dicks used to taste. I close my eyes and felt a tear flow down my cheek as the thick dong was thrust all the way in and its head pressed against my tonsils. I had a stranger's cock in my mouth. I felt him place one hand on my head and start pushing the cock in and out, fucking my mouth.
"Suck it, bitch." he said, but I just kept my mouth passively open.
That's when his pocket buzzed and his phone started ringing. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and reached for it, while still keeping his dick inside my mouth.
"It's Billa bhaiyya." he said checking the display.
"Answer it." the guy on my right said.
"Okay, you guys keep quiet." he said and pressed the button. "Namaste bhaiyya....yes....yes.....no.....yes.....now? What about.....okay bhaiyya....no no, it's okay bhaiyya. Yes, right away, bhaiyya."
He disconnected the phone and put it back in his pocket.
"We have to go right away. The brick kiln."
"Right away?" the other guy sounded disappointed.
"Just as soon as I finish this."
I felt both his hands grab my hair now. And he thrust his hips forward. His pubic hair rubbed against my nose, my eyes were pressed against his collarbone as he started fucking my mouth really hard and fast. I felt like gagging and coughing, but his tight grip on my head meant there was little I could do to resist him.
"Press it with your tongue." he ordered, and for some reason, I did.
Soon my mouth was filled with his thick jizz. It swirled around his dick and tried to make its way down my throat. Thankfully, he took his dick out and stepped back. I heaved forward and spat out the semen. It was disgusting. I also coughed and gagged a good deal, in the process letting go of the two cocks I had been giving handjobs.
"Okay, let's go." he said, zipping up his pants.
"But what about us?" the two guys who still had their cocks out and hard whined.
"Later." the brute said dismissively. "Now that we have made friends with memsaab, I am sure she will be nicer."
He patted my head condescendingly as he said that. I was still spitting out the remnants of his semen.
Each of the guys squeezed my naked boobs one last time before zipping up their pants.
A couple of minutes later, I just sat there in disbelief, still topless. Had all that really just happened? Or was I in a bad nightmare? As my heart rate and breathing returned to normal, I put my bra and t-shirt back on. And in a stunned state, started walking back home.