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Shobha Fucked by the Servant Bhola

The next morning, Shobha had her periods.

She was relieved because the forced abstinence would also give her body the time needed to fully recover from the soreness of her last sexual jamboree.
She also knew her libido would rise in the subsequent days, and she hoped the two men in the house would be in the same boat. She smiled to herself as the pun in that phrase struck her and she thought her situation wasn’t very different from the visual that the phrase connoted. Two adult men – horny and virile – on the same boat as her – a nubile, sex-hungry and uninhibited woman was a good description of the state in that household during the lockdown, she mused.

Bhola continued to look at her in the kitchen every day with a look that alternated between a puppy looking at a master and a dog looking at a bone. That look alternated depending whether he thought Shobha was watching him or not.

Shobha had no trouble maintaining an imperious attitude with Bhola while supervising his household chores. After all, that attitude came naturally to her. Bhola made clumsy efforts to seek confirmation whether happy days – or happy nights – were going to visit him again, and Shobha drew silent pleasure in ignoring these hints and keeping him guessing. It then occurred to her that her stonewalling might lead him to ventilate his sexual frustration through masturbation. The delicious thought that she might be the subject of his fantasy was outweighed by the desire to ensure he kept his sexual energy bottled up only to be released at her pleasure.

Finally, sometime mid-week, she decided to end his suspense. She caressed his cheek with a long fingernail and whispered to him, “Weekend ko dawat ke liye tayyar rehna“, (Be ready for the feast this weekend) and then added in a softer tone, “Aur bhook bacha ke rakhna” (Save your hunger).

Message delivered, she walked out of the kitchen swinging her ass intentionally without giving him a chance to respond. She looked back briefly and saw his face light up like a slow tubelight. Like a kid getting a promise that ice cream would be served for dinner, she thought, giggling to herself. She had been tempted to caress his crotch while walking off – something she used to do with Chetan in the early days of their marriage – but felt it was too much intimacy and too soon for a kitchen setting.

On Thursday morning, she gifted Bhola a razor set, shaving gel and aftershave cologne from Chetan’s collection. “Thik se shave karna shuru karo …. aur ek dum poora, samjhe ….. poora“, her eyes gesturing that by “poora” she meant his entire body. (Shave properly. And … all over).

Chetan was an easier kettle to handle, distracted as he was with his bank work. His work during the lockdown was increasingly revolving around long video and phone calls with his clients and the bank, and he would often shut himself up in his study and don his noise cancellation headset for long video calls. After a couple of unwelcome interruptions from Shobha checking on him for lunch, he came up with the simple idea of giving her access to his office calendar and marking out his lunch. Shobha now simply had to check her smartphone to know when Chetan would be immersed in his calls, and when he would be distraction-free. She didn’t mind that the former took up much of his time during the week cooped up in the study room.

As Friday approached, Shobha felt the thrill of anticipation. When Chetan told her that his last call for the week would end at 6PM (and her smartphone confirmed the same), she began drawing up plans for Friday evening. It didn’t take long for Bhola to sense that Friday evening held the promise of something delicious.

In the afternoon, Shobha announced to him, “Aaj Friday hai. Dawat ke liye tayyar rehna. Dawat saheb he saath hoga“. Bhola again felt that the excitement that the Gods were smiling at him, but the repeated reference to saheb joining him for dawat worried him. The optimistic part of him hoped the evening would repeat the same script as last week.

The main course might be in the bedroom, but the dessert – Jharkhand style – would be enjoyed in his own room and in a private audience with the memsaheb, he hoped.

As Friday evening drew closer, all three members of the household felt a growing degree of excitement and anxiety that each tried to conceal from the other.

Bhola simply looked forward to another romp with his bhabhi. He had shaved himself completely early in the evening and rid himself of body hair everywhere. Having lost his virginity the previous week, he felt he was now qualified to aspire for a graduation. To do so, he was ready to work hard; most certainly he was very hard for most of the week. His prayer to the gods of Jharkhand was to not let Chetan rain on his parade.

Shobha felt she had all the ingredients with her to write a cookbook for weekend sex – a sex-hungry virile male drooling over her and ready to bend at her command, an indulgent husband who had finally consented to consent, a luxurious house with multiple rooms for her to play out her fantasies and an absolute promise of privacy for the key cast thanks to the lockdown. However, while she had the ingredients, her anxiety came from realizing she didn’t quite know the recipe to put it all together.

Chetan felt like the theatre-going audience who knows how the play is going to end, but is more curious about the start and the middle. He was uncertain whether the ticket he was holding was for just watching the play, or whether he was expected to jump on to the stage and join the rest of the cast.

Shobha invited Bhola to join the couple for dinner at the table. Actually, Bhola looked quite dashing. He was wearing one of Chetan’s old hand-me-down shirts that Shobha had surreptitiously passed on to him. A year back, driven more by ambition and neglecting the reflection in the mirror in the changing room, Chetan had bought an expensive black silk slim-fit shirt. Realization dawned later that he was neither slim not fit, and the never-used black shirt found its way to the bottom of a pile. It now flattered Bhola’s broad and flat chest, even as its previous owner pretended to not recognize his former possession and instead dug his spoon deeper into another round of kheer.

Shobha put her long legs to good advantage during the dinner. She alternated between teasing both men, playing footsie. She twisted and stretched her bare foot under the table, and scratched with her toenail the shin of both men – alternately, of course. The men responded, by turns, rubbing her leg back, not knowing that she was serving both of them as sincerely under the table as she was serving them food on the table. Shobha then raised the game – and her foot – higher and probed the crotch of both men by turns. Chetan noticed that by the time dinner ended, Bhola was in much better cheer – little did he know that his wife had a hand, or more appropriately a foot in it.

The threesome then shifted to the wide common balcony that adjoined the living room and the master bedroom and settled down for drinks. Night had settled over the Bangalore skies and it was uncharacteristically warm for an April evening in the city. Chetan setup his portable battery operated Bose blutooth speaker and played some old hindi songs. After about ten minutes of chit chat about Bhola and his family, and his plans, Shobha got up suddenly and announced, “Its hot hereMein Bunty ko check karke and aur change karke aati hoon”

She disappeared into the bedroom through the sliding door, with two pairs of male eyes lazily following her sexy swinging ass until she drew back the curtains to the bedroom behind her. Both men became aware of each others subject of attention at the same time and felt mildly ambarassed as they caught each others eye.

Bhola felt embarassed but it was not just because saheb had caught him checking out his wife’s ass. That ass brought back fond memories of the previous weekend. He remembered bhabhi on her knees, on his bed, alone with him in his room, naked and him holding her by her hair, yanking back her head while his cock was buried and pumping into bhabhi’s pussy. The sight of Shobha’s swinging and retreating ass brought back vivid memories of that episode and he was scared that saheb would read his wicked thoughts.

Chetan felt embarassed that he had joined his servant in checking out his wife’s ass, but he also felt that strange kinship that men experience when they have a common object of lust. Never mind that the common object of lust was his own wife. It reminded about how way back in school the back bencher boys in his class shared gleeful looks at each other after checking out the shapely back of the English teacher. The pretty young teacher, writing on the board was unaware that the boys at the back bench were backslapping the winner who had correctly bet on the color of the bra she would be wearing that day.

Chetan recovered faster. He was lazily lounging on the cushioned armchair, his feet up against the balcony railing, cigarette in one hand and scotch in the other.

Apni bhabi pe badi nazar rakhte ho, kyon Bhola”. (You keep a good eye on your madam, dont you?). Chetan had grown up in Delhi where throwing in a snide remark was a fine art.

Bhola saw the the pitch was not conducive for strokeplay and played with a straight bat, “Bhabhi bhi bahut achi hain, aur hamara bahut acha kyhayal rakhti hain. Hamare kaam pe unki nazar rehti hai” (Bhabhi is a very nice person. She takes good care of me. She keeps an eye on my work)

I bet she takes good care of you, thought Chetan drawing in a deep puff and releasing it lazily. And yes, she does have an eye on you, my friend!

“Toh abhi bhabhi ko ghoor nahin rahe the?”, he asked in an easy drawl making sure his tone was friendly and not accusative. (So you weren’t staring at your bhabhi just now?)

Bhola realized this this was an easy delivery, and took his chances, “Saheb, mein kahan ghoor raha tha! Mein to dekh raha tha ki bhabhi kahin andhere mein phisal na jaaye.”, (Saheb, I wasnt staring. I wanted to make sure she doesnt trip in the dark room) and ended with a flourish at the last moment, “Ghoor toh aap rahe the, saheb!”” (You were the one staring at her, saheb!)

Chetan guffawed loudly, and raised a high five which Bhola joined with a smile.

The ice had been broken between the two men. They went back to being back bench school boys staring at the sexy english school teacher’s low cut blouse and back, and commenting on the colour of her bra.

Having thus seen the tendency for the batsman to drawn the batsman out of the crease, Chetan flighted the next delivery. “Waise tumhari bhabhi kaafi hot hai na?!” (Isnt your bhahbi quite hot?!). It more more a comment rather than a taunt.

Bhola felt emboldened. He leaned forward closer to Chetan and whispered conspiratorially, “Ek baat bolein aap se, saheb. Bhabhi ki body bahut must hai. Aap bade lucky hain!”.

Chetan could have stumped the batsman and sent him back to the pavilion. But he had no desire to end the innings so quickly. It was more fun to let this batsman continue stroke play at the crease and figure out his technique. He smiled, clinked glasses with Bhola and did a bottoms up. Bhola refilled both glasses dutifully

Bhola then took a large sip. He wasnt used to the high quality stuff and his throat burnt and he felt momentarily woozy. That brought courage and he felt compelled to raise the quality of the conversation.

Vaise maan na padega saheb, bhabhi must toh hai. Ek dum kadak maal” (I have to say bhabhi is hot! Super hot!), and then realized he had a good chance of clearing the ropes, “Us din aapne bhabhi ko accha choda saheb, ek dum must. Dekh ke bada maza aaya” (That day, you fucked her read hard, saheb. Had a ball watching it!)

Chetan watched him carefully. He blew a puff, and offered his cigarette to Bhola and said, “Toh aaj phir wahi program ho jaaye?!” (Shall we have the same program again tonight?)

Bhola readily grabbed the cigarette offered by saheb. Sharing a ciragatte seemed like a nice invitation to bond. Shared your cigarette today and perhaps you may share your biwi too, he thought. Of course, saheb didnt know that the biwi had already been shared. But Bhola was hungry for more.

Bhola drew a deep puff on Chetan’s ciragette and passed it back, “Shubha kaam mein deyri kyon, saheb!” and then went on to ask for more, “Lekin ek shikayat hai aapse saheb” (But I have a complaint saheb)

Chetan knew the fellow was pushing the envelope but he didnt mind. This was getting him excited too.

Bolo Bhola, kya shikayat hai?” (Tell me, Bhola, what complaint do you have?)

Saheb, hum bhooke khade hain. Kabhi kuch hamare liye bhi chod dijiye. Dua denge aapko!” (Saheb, I stay hungry. Sometime do leave something for me. You will have my gratitutude!)

Sabr rakho Bhola. Sabr ka fal meetha hota hai!” (Be patient, Bhola. Patience will give you sweet fruits!)

The two men laughed uproariously, and clinked glasses again.

Still laughing and his belly jiggling, Chetan laid back on his armchair and drew a large sip and closed his eyes, “Sewa karoge toh mewa milega!” (Work hard, and you will get the reward), and laughed again loudly at his own wit. He was still laughing when he realized he was laughing alone and no longer had Bhola’s attention.

He opened his eyes, and noticed that Bhola was staring to his right at their bedroom french window sliding door. Chetan followed his gaze.

When Shobha walked back into the bedroom leaving the two men alone, she had closed the glass door and pulled the curtain. behind her. Like many apartments, the sliding doors from the bedroom to the balcony had two curtains – a thick night curtain and a thin linen day curtain. The thick curtains were open, and the thin curtains had been drawn up. When the bedroom was dark inside, it didn’t make a difference and the thin curtain blocked out everything from outside.

After putting their son to sleep, Shobha had dashed into the bathroom for a quick shower. The shower done, she had now come out into the bedroom, clad in a single white towel wrapped around her body and another small towel around her head. Finding the bedroom dark, she had switched on the yellow bedroom lamp next to the bed bathing the entire bedroom in golden yellow light.

The thin linen day curtain immediately transformed into a transparent sheet giving the two men a peek at what was happening inside the bedroom.

It seemed Shobha didnt know the thin curtain didnt offer privacy. Or didnt care.

Shobha dropped her body towel and began drying herself. Her shapely breasts, her plump curvaceous ass, flat stomach and long legs could be seen in silhouette from outside by the men lounging in the balcony. The drying done, Shobha had tossed her towel aside and walked, stark naked but for a towel wrapped around her wet hair, to the wardrobe on the other side of the room. Standing in front of the mirror, she pulled off the towel around her hair. She bent her head forward and the wet hair sprawled all over her front. She then gently used the towel to rub her hair observing herself in the mirror. The action of shaking her head to rub her wet hair into the towel caused her ample breasts to jiggle hinting at their fullness. Dropping the hair towel, she then admired herself in the mirror and took her time. She then put her arms on her waist, thrust her breasts forward and twisted on her heels to check her profile in the mirror. For the appreciative male audience in the balcony, her breasts once again came into sharp silhouette with her naked body illuminated by the golden lamp. Her breasts were large, well proportioned and without a sag. Sitting in the balcony, the two men watched open mouthed at the erotic spectacle in front of them, The thin curtain acted like a veil blocking out the finer details but letting just the right amount of erotic imagery coming through.

Shobha then turned around and checked her back and ass in the mirror. She then patted her ass cheeks, and seemed satisfied at the firmness. Unknown to the two men, she was also relieved that the marks from last week’s brutal sex session had all disappeared.

Then she opened the wardrobe and picked a bra and panty to wear. She seemed to be taking time to make her choices and sifted through a few options in her wardrobe. The two men continued to watch as she slipped into her panty. She then put on her bra, hooked it up, and then turned the clasps to the back. She adjusted the cups of the bra unhurriedly and seemed to take care that cups covered her precious globes correctly. She then selected a pink silk kimono-styled nightgown that reached up to her thighs, pulled it over and buttoned the front. The nightgown had a sash which she tied tightly around her waist accentuating her hourglass figure. She went back to admiring herself in the mirror, seemed satisfied and walked towards the balcony french doors.

The entire spectacle lasted perhaps five minutes but the two men – her husband and her servant – watched it without blinking an eye.

The curtain parted, the balcony door opened and a glowing and freshly scrubbed Shobha walked out from the bedroom to the balcony.

Her arms raised and pushing apart the sliding doors, her legs crossed one infront of the other, head tossed back – she struck a pose like a diva making an entrance onto a stage. With the golden light from the bedroom illuminating her from the back, outlining her wet hair and hourglass figure and with her naked legs thigh downwards, glowing in the reflected light, she looked like a goddess emerging from an apparition.

Having made an impactful entry, she walked across to where the two men were seated staring at her.

“Hi Guys”, she said cheerfully, “Missing me?!”

Hands on her hips, breasts thrust out, she turned facing Chetan and then pivoted to Bhola exhibiting herself.

Bolo boys, Mein kaise lag rahi hoon?” (Tell me, boys! How do I look?!)

Looking at Bhola, she twisted a little bit and pouted, and then turned again showing her profile making sure he had a good look at her.

Bhola gulped speechless, and then placed his hands, still carrying his drink between his legs in an instinctive action to hide his hard on. Shobha didnt fail to notice.

Chetan was the first to recover. He took a deep breath and said, “Ek dum hot!”, and then added cheekily, “Abhi koi keh raha that ki tum ek dum maal ho! Must maal!” (Too hot! As Someone was saying just now, you are quite a piece.)

Shobha didnt take offence, didnt care and choose to take the crude phrase as flattery.

Bhabhi, aap ekdum top model lag rahi ho!” (Bhabhi, you look like a top model), Bhola chimed in trying to make the right impression.

“Really!”, she said, her smile brightening several degrees. She then flung her arms around Bhola and sat down in his lap. She then turned to Chetan and said playfully, “You know aaj se Bhola mera boyfriend hai. Kyon, Bhola, mera boyfriend banoge?” (From today Bhola is my boyfriend. Why, Bhola, will you be my boyfriend?!)

Poor Bhola felt he had a heart attack and died and gone to heaven. He gurgled in happiness not knowing of any appropriate response.

Chetan smiled drily and raised his glass in a mock toast, “Acchi jodi hai!” (You make for a great couple!).

Shobha flung her arms playfully around Bhola’s neck, hugged him and snuggled close to his cheeks. She mussed his gelled hair and kissed him on his cheeks. The cologne on him smelt great and she inhaled deeply. He took advantage by snuggling his face against her breasts. Her freshly showered hair was still wet, and had the intoxicating fresh smell of her shampoo. The silk of her kimono-like nightgown, against his chest and the warmth of her naked thighs felt unlike anything he had felt since last week. Shobha was however perched on Bhola’s lap in an awkward position and she adjusted herself to get a little comfortable. She immediately felt Bhola’s hardness. She deliberately grinded her ass against his hardon, and he had a sudden intake of breath as his cock hurt from the weight of her pelvis.

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