Mysore Hottie Wife’s First Stranger Cuckold

Mysore Hottie Wife's First Stranger Cuckold
Hi, Madhan here—an unapologetic erotic storyteller. Thanks to all ISS readers for your eager feedback. If you’re seeking secret thrills—girls, women, couples—find me on [email protected] and telegram @msarsstr. Total anonymity guaranteed. This story will be narrated from the husband’s footsteps. I (Raghav) woke up half sleepily again in the darkness, rubbing my sore eyes. My eyes hunt for the clock, adjusting to the darkness to find the clock, hitting just half past three in the morning. Rubbing my aching eyes, I watch my angel wife, Nidhi. My pretty wife, Nidhi, was deep asleep. A cool breeze is blowing from the window. Her blouse was unbuttoned, and one of her hefty, monstrous milky boobs was released from the bra cage. My eyes glimpse the tiny dark nipple, which moved with every deep breath of Nidhi. Her other boob was tightly caged in the bra. Oh heavens, her waist is still curvy. She kept her body curvaceous with regular exercise even after three years of our marriage. I notice her petticoat, which was raised till her knee. I rub and squeeze my flaccid cock, watching my wife’s fairest white navel. My hands wanted to grab her and eat her body time and again. I stopped not to disturb her sleep. I stepped onto the muddled saree as I walked towards the kitchen. I gulp down water, washing yesterday’s drinks out of my tummy. Untimely wakening has become a regular occurrence these days. Sleep disappears, never to return. I slowly walked back to the bedroom, my mind replaying the events of last night sequentially. I felt frustration, pain, and guilt all at once. For the past 1 year of our three-year marriage, I was unable to return the bodily love and fuck Nidhi longed for. Last night had been yet another disappointment on my part. Nidhi is the daughter of a business magnate from Mysore. She agreed to marry a middle-class working man like me, which was truly an unexpected blessing. Her beauty was another gift as well as a curse. Nidhi was 25 and I was 29 when we got married. She was like a soft, creamy cotton ball—her round face with chubby cheeks and those yummy, thick, juicy lips. I always felt blessed that a girl like her chose to marry me. Luckier still, because she never once showed the attitude or arrogance that her wealth could have given her. All those memories rushed through my mind as I sat next to my sleeping beauty—Nidhi, the hottie and the angel of my life. After our wedding, she adjusted to our family quickly and even helped my parents with everything. But after a few months, I couldn’t bear to see a girl from such a respected and high-status family being insulted by my parents. She never complained, but I still shifted her to an apartment at Godrej. Most of the money for it came from her, yet she remained so down-to-earth that she never mentioned it. Yesterday, we were in Mysore attending the wedding of one of her friends. Oh heavens, the event was dazzling. I felt completely out of place, since it was a high-class function. My sweet wife never left my side. She held onto me the whole time. I felt a surge of jealousy and insecurity when men—better looking, fitter, and wealthier than I—ogled at her. In the charcoal saree, she looked unreal. Radiant. Dangerous. A kind of beauty that made people forget their morals for. One man even tried to flirt with her. His craving eyes followed Nidhi’s round, shaky ass cheeks as she stepped away from him. Innocent Nidhi never even had a whiff of what those men’s dirty thoughts were. I had caught myself glancing at other women, too. Was that any different? I didn’t know. I didn’t want to think about it. After the wedding, during our drive back to Bangalore. My brain couldn’t stop thinking about those men and the way they looked at her, with their dicks sliding into my cute wife. Their eyes wanted to claim her, ignoring the husband. Out of this frustration, I parked our car at a pub. Nidhi ate snacks and waited patiently beside me while I got drunk—my mind spiralling with anger and insecurity. Nidhi stayed close the whole time, quietly patient, with no clue of why her husband was upset. When one young guy from the bunch of boys at the pub started staring at my wife, I was enraged. I controlled, since I never wanted my wife to know about my insecurities. I gulped, bottoms up, and rushed out of the pub. With shaky legs, I walked to the car. Nidhi took control of the wheels on our remaining way back home. I sat with my mind never to stop running in circles. I sometimes felt that I shouldn’t have married a beauty. But she didn’t judge. She never does. She never insults me. That made my situation worse. She could have stayed at her parents’ place after the event. Anyone else in her position would have. But she chose to come back with me, knowing I had ro work the next day, knowing I needed her presence more than I ever admitted. I stumbled into the underground parking of the apartment with Nidhi beside me. My head was spinning—not just from the alcohol, but from the storm of thoughts that had been tearing through me since the wedding. Those dirty men’s stares. The way they stared at her. Like they were stripping her naked and raped her with just their eyes. It burned inside me, a fire I hated but couldn’t extinguish. The moment she parked the car, something inside me snapped. Not anger… something deeper. Possessive. Desperate. I just wanted to claim my Nidhi back. I pulled her into my arms without thinking. “Hey, what are you doing, ri?” Before she could push me away, I kissed her red lips—hard, reckless, almost pleading. I kissed her long and needily. The way she gulped my lips and tongue startled me. There was an urgency in her that I had never seen before. A hunger.

For a moment, I wondered—was it the evening? The attention she got? All those smart men stare? For the very first time since our marriage, Nidhi’s small, gentle hand reaches my erection over the pants and rubs. “Ah, Raghav.” My erection was firmer and harder. My dick was horny imagining how my wife, too, could have relished those perverted men’s stares. The reality of the last few months crashed into me—the failed sexual encounters, the frustration, and the shame. I pulled away, stopping the longest kiss we had to date, breathless, angry at myself, helpless. Nidhi blushes, her lips turning further red by the attack of my lips. Nidhi’s cheeks glowed pink, thinking today she would be experiencing something different. I have fucked my Nidhi in all the possible positions and all fucking places I could. Only in the last few months, my dick wouldn’t last as long. My dick lost its girth in the first few seconds. But my angel Nidhi never complained or showed her dissatisfaction regarding this. Also, Nidhi never gave a second look at many craving men in her life, especially after marriage. Half sleepily, I remembered how we rushed to the elevator, breathless. Her fingers intertwined with mine. She gave me a quick kiss—bold, mischievous—even though the elevator camera stared right at us. Something was different. Something had shifted in her, in me, in us. We both were horny for the drilling session. Was it due to the new couple who just moved to our opposite flat? Nidhi didn’t wait and dragged me inside the flat. She pulled me inside with a force I never associated with the soft-spoken girl I married. Her lips met mine again. Her hands tugged at my shirt. Her fingers unbuttoned my shirt in such haste that she broke one button. She was wild. Fearlessly wild. And I… I was too lost in the moment. She pulled the long jasmine over her hair into bits and pieces. Her juicy lips were all over my face, kissing. She started biting my cheek and ear. Her fingers silently unzipped and entered inside to catch the snake inside my pants. Damn, my dick has been rock solid for months now. I was proud now. I pulled open the drape of her saree away from her hefty mangoes. The mangoes that the men at the function and the boys at the pub wanted to bite. My lips claimed the cleavage part of those mangoes. “Ah, Yes, Honey, they are mine. Always mine.” “Hey, ah oh,” Nidhi’s moans were loudest. This too was very new of her. I started to think our floor’s new couple’s romance might have rekindled her horny side. My hunger for Nidhi was due to those lusty pervert stares. For the first time, I questioned, “Who was the guy who started to flirt with you? Who watched you from head to toe?” She kisses me, pulls out my cock, and answers, “Raghav, I’m yours. I’m all yours. Only yours”. She drags me to the bedroom. I hastily drag away her saree to the floor. I lift her petticoat and yank her to the corner of the bed. She throws out her pants impatiently. I brush with my thumb and fingers over the wet pussy lips. I watch her eager eyes while brushing. Damn, I love you, dear Nidhi. I taste the wetness off my finger and rub the dick head over her pussy lip, which is yearning for the cock. “You are mine”, saying this, I slowly slide my thick cock into her deeper as it could travel. “Ah. Yes. I will always be yours, Raghav.” I quickly start to push harder and quicker with a fear that my cock may lose its girth. I pound her harder. She moans and unbuttons her blouse. She places my hand over the bra. “They are mine”, I squeeze and pull out one boob out of its cage. I bend low to eat her mango. “Ah, don’t stop. Yes,” She cries as my tongue plays with her nipple. I straighten and continue to bang. To my bad luck, as expected. I cum early. Immediately, my dick sags. I’m disappointed, lie down on the bed. I felt the weight of all my guilt settle on my chest. Nidhi didn’t complain. She never does. She only looked away for a second, her smile dimming—just a little—before she composed herself and headed to the bathroom. She deserved better. I stopped her and called her back. I pull her back to bed. She smiles with a newfound happiness. I made her lie down. I poke my finger inside her pussy, one at first. Two fingers next with a slow in and out movement. Then the two fingers twist with forceful thrusts. Nidhi shouts in moans. My fingers came out drenched in a pile of cum. I dozed off, tired from the kick of drinks. I return from the memories of last night and watch my sweet wife, Nidhi. That was when a reckless, absurd idea entered my mind. Half drunk, half broken, I grabbed my phone and typed in search terms I never imagined I would. Cuckold fantasies. Open relationships. Shared partners. I wasn’t thinking straight—I just wanted some twisted way to feel in control again. Or maybe I wanted to destroy the jealousy that had been devouring me. I took pictures—careful ones, nothing showing her face. i sent them to a few strangers in Bangalore. Stupid. Mindless. Dangerous. At 7, I deleted pictures of the 4 guys, leaving one to watch my wife. The stranger laid out his “rules”—no real names, no personal details, meet in a safe place. Fuck and enjoy empty-minded, and walk away afterwards. Detached. Clinical. Almost professional. It scared me that part of me understood the appeal. But the real question towered above all the others, impossible to ignore: Would Nidhi… ever agree to something like this? Thank you, all ISS readers. Kindly comment if you need me to continue to the next part.