Free cuckold community
Sign up now!
I’m Madhu, 36. I love lust and sex — not just for the act, but for the thrill and rush they bring. Being watched excites me more than anything. Yes, I’m an exhibitionist. What excites me most is when someone admires me while I’m right next to my husband. His name is Ravinder, he’s 40. He loves me deeply — caring, affectionate, and unbelievably patient. What makes our bond even more special is how he steps into my secret world and makes it richer. He likes it when others admire me. He encourages me to flash.
A Road Trip That Was Erotic (Part 1) — Synopsis
We left Bangalore at 6am, me in a short brown jumpsuit Ravinder picked, and stopped at a lonely roadside tea stall run by an old man. What started as buying a cigarette turned into something else — I asked him straight if he liked watching me, and with my husband standing right there, he admitted it. He ended up placing his hand on my waist while Ravinder photographed us, refused to take any money, and asked me instead to take him for a short drive — because he’d never been in a car driven by a woman.
you can read the part 1 of this story in this link :
A Road Trip That Was Erotic (Part 2) — Synopsis
We started driving on the empty highway, but the heavy silence inside the car was suffocating, so I decided to test the old man’s boundaries. I kept pushing him until he finally broke his respect and called my breasts Sakkath Mole in his local language. The rawness of that Kannada word completely shifted the power between us; I refused to be his servant and commanded him to unzip my jumpsuit himself. With my chest completely bare to the morning wind, I took total control of his wide-eyed helplessness.
The game escalated when I spotted a truck ahead. Wanting to feel slutty, I pulled alongside it and deliberately exposed my naked breasts to the Sardarji driver. The thrill was addictive, so when the truck pulled over, I stopped my car right behind it. I ordered the old man to slide his fingers inside my dress and finger me wildly, refusing to let him stop even as the driver walked right up to my open window.
Instead of hiding, I invited the Sardarji to watch. The sight of us drove him crazy, and he started calling me a raand and a chhinaal while rubbing himself right there. Fed up with just talking, I pulled his massive, rough hand inside the car too. I sat back with my eyes closed, commanding both the old man and the Sardarji to fondle my breasts simultaneously—losing myself in the intense contrast between the old man’s gentle touch and the driver’s raw, heavy grip. I loved the power I held over them, but before things went too far, I reminded the driver that my husband, Ravinder, was waiting, gave his groin one last squeeze, and sped away into the morning.
you can read the part 2 of this story in this link :
part 3.
I U-turned the car and headed back toward the tea shop. I didn’t bother zipping up — I just let everything stay open. The old man sat like a statue. Clearly, he was shocked to hell. “Zip me up,” I commanded, speaking to him like he was a servant. His hands trembled as he reached for the zipper. He pinched the tab between his thumb and finger and slowly drew it up — careful, almost reverent, as if one wrong move would cost him everything. Once my boobs were zipped back in, I looked at him and said, “Now kiss my thighs.”
He looked shocked, unable to believe what I was demanding. “Naachike illada Kamandhe!” (“Shameless slut!”) he whispered — then bent down toward my lap. Since it was an automatic, I had no need for the gear stick, so I lifted my right leg slightly to make room for his face. He reached my thighs and began kissing them deeply.
“Kiss me without tickling,” I warned. “I have to drive.” He didn’t reply. At one point he buried his face between my thighs and pushed my jumpsuit up to my waist. I had nothing underneath and everything was exposed. I ran my fingers through his hair as I drove at a moderate speed. A few cars passed, but otherwise the road was empty.
I spotted the tea shop on the opposite side and took the next U-turn. By now he was kissing the skin right at the edge of my pussy, murmuring about how much he loved my scent. It made me crazy with desire. As I made the turn he tried to sit up, but I pushed his head back down firmly. “Don’t get up until I say so,” I ordered. He seemed confused, but he didn’t pull away.
The tea shop was getting closer. “Your husband will be there,” he whispered frantically against my skin. “Let me get up.”
“I want my husband to see this,” I replied, my voice steady. “He loves to watch me.”
He went completely still, his breath catching. “But there might be other customers,” he stammered.
“I can see the shop,” I said, eyes on the road. “Only my husband is standing out there.”
To make my point, I gripped the back of his head and pushed him deeper into my center, holding him exactly where he was as we pulled up.
I slowed the car to a stop right in front of my husband, who was waiting on the road near the tea shop. I told the old man to lift his head for a second so I could put the car in park. As soon as I did, I pulled him right back down onto my thighs. Ravi, my husband, walked up to the driver’s side window. I pressed the button to roll the glass down. He looked inside with a smirk, reached in, and gave my face a light slap. “My bitch,” he said. Then Ravi looked at the old man and asked, “How does my wife taste?” The old man was speechless, his face frozen in shock.
I looked at Ravi and said, “I want him to eat me up. Get me a short dress from my bag.” Ravi went to the trunk, opened my bag, and called out, “Black or blue?” “Blue,” I told him. “The sleeveless one with the open back.” He came back and handed it to me. I finally told the old man to get up. “Both of you, follow me to the tea shop,” I said firmly, then stepped out of the car.
I walked to the back of the massive tree beside the tea shop, hidden from the road. Ravi and the old man followed. Ravi knew exactly what was coming — I could see the heat and excitement in his eyes. He is a bold soul who lives for the risk. The old man was clueless, but he sensed he was about to feel me more.
I stepped out of my jumpsuit, tossed it to Ravi, and stood there completely naked. The old man was speechless.
“Don’t you want to see me, old man?” I asked with a mocking smile.
“I’m not a fool to say no,” he whispered.
“Then kneel,” I said.
He kneeled. After he kneeled, I turned toward the tree, leaning against the bark, and told him, “First my ass, then my pussy.”
The old man was experienced; he spread my buttocks and kissed my ass hole deeply. He looked up, his eyes dark, and growled, “Hege anista ide, dirty ‘Thevidiya’?” (“How does it feel, you dirty slut?”) “Ninu helu, Lofar nan magane!” (“You tell me, you low-class bastard!”) I shot back over my shoulder.
I told him to lick all around it and into it, and I spread my legs wider. Ravi stepped in and stood between me and the tree. I kissed him deeply while the old man did exactly what I ordered. My hand went down to Ravi, and I found him rock hard. “How come, hubby?” I whispered. “How can I not get hard after hearing your dirty words?” he said, before he started sucking on my breasts. I whispered to Ravi, “No one has ever licked my ass hole this deep… he’s a total pro. I want to see how hard he is. Can I see it?” Ravi smirked and said, “You can.” “I’m too shy to ask him myself,” I teased in a mocking voice. “You tell him for me, hubby.” Ravi looked at me, playing along. “What should I say?” I leaned into Ravi’s ear, and whispered: “Ravi, tell him that your wife is a Bajari Sule (Aggressive/Loud Whore.) who has no shame. Tell him to pull out his saamanu (dick) and show it to this Thevidiya (slut) because she’s ‘itching’ for it right in front of her husband.” As I uttered those words, Ravi went wild. He began kissing me frantically all over my cheeks and lips before moving down to suck my breasts with incredible force. While he was doing that, he repeated everything I had whispered to the old man. Hearing Ravi use those dirty words made me more horny than I’ve ever been in my life; it was the greatest excitement I’ve felt in recent times.
As Ravi spoke those lines, the old man stood up from behind me. I turned to face him, with Ravi still behind me. The old man stood there, a mix of shock and intense excitement on his face. He reached down, unzipped his fly, and pulled out his saamanu. It wasn’t bad at all—it was fully erect, hard, and had a slight curve to it. I’ve always loved curved ones; I once slept with a tailor just because he had a tool shaped like that. I told Ravi that I was remembering that tailor’s tool. Mentioning that memory triggered Ravi even more. He began squeezing my breasts from behind and kissing the back of my neck. I brought my hand to my nose to catch the old man’s scent and, to my surprise, he smelled nice.
I ordered the old man to sit below me and lick me. He obeyed like a servant. He sat down and started eating my pussy; it was an erotic war. “Learn from him, you low-life,” I said to Ravi. “Okay, my baby,” Ravi replied, slapping my backside as I degraded him.”Tell him to drink me, you idiot!” I told my husband. “Drink my wife fully,” Ravi told the old man. The old man did so. “Tell him to clean it with his mouth,” I ordered Ravi to tell the old man. Ravi repeated the command, and the old man did it with style. Finally, I asked Ravi to bring a chair for me.
As Ravi went to grab a chair from the tea shop, I began stroking the old man’s curved tool. I whispered in Kannada that I loved how it was shaped. My words made him go wild. “Bajari bhogada rande!” he growled, calling me a ferocious whore of pleasure.
It made me so horny I squeezed him tight. “Does that hurt?” I teased.
“No, Bajari,” he grunted.
I moved my hand down and squeezed his old balls gently. “How about now?”
“It’s paining, Thevidiya,” he replied, his breath hitching.
I sat on the chair and ordered the old man to masturbate while I watched. He obeyed without a word. I told him to come closer and stand so that his tool would brush against my breasts as he stroked himself. He didn’t miss that chance. He came closer and did as I said. My tits were teased by the old man’s curvy tool, as Ravi watched with his open eyes.
I signaled the old man to bend toward me. Without letting go of his tool, he leaned in close, looking genuinely shocked when I whispered my instructions. He hesitated, so I pulled him closer, kissed his cheek, and teased, “Won’t you do it for your slut?”
He nodded and turned toward Ravi, repeating exactly what I had said: “Ishtu chandada hendathi ittu-kondu bereyavanu thinnuvudannu nodutiddiyalla, ninge naachike illve?” (“You have such a beautiful wife, yet you stand there watching another man eat her—don’t you have any shame?”)
Ravi looked at me and coolly told the old man that he didn’t have any shame at all. I reached out and began stroking the old man’s tool while he continued to interrogate my husband. “Ninna hatthira saamaanu ideyo illavo?” the old man demanded. (“Do you even have a tool or not?”)
Ravi walked over, took my other hand, and pressed it against the bulge in his pants. He told the old man, “I have one, but she always likes to see new ones.”
The old man scoffed, “Gandasa neenu?” (“Are you even a man?”)
Ravi looked at me and challenged me to tell the old man whether he was a man or not. I gave him a sarcastic look and turned to the old man. “He’s a man only in name, but his tool is a waste. He finishes in less than three minutes and then just lies there like a pathetic bastard. I’m bored of tasting it… he doesn’t know how to use it. Sumne shanta thara nithavne!” (“He’s just standing there like a useless, limp eunuch!”)
When I called him a shanta, Ravi looked thrilled. He slapped my face gently and asked, “Am I useless?”
“Yes, you’re useless,” I replied.
He slapped me again and asked, “You don’t like my tool?”
“No, baby, I don’t like it,” I said with a sarcastic smile. “I like this old man’s tool. Look at him—he’s twice your age, but he’s a real man.” As I spoke, I was pressing the old man’s tool against my breasts.
Ravi slapped me gently again. I could feel his emotions. I squeezed the old man’s tool and asked him, “Why did you stop? Don’t you have anything to ask my husband?”
The old man, listening to everything we were saying, went even wilder. I could feel it in his tool. He told my hubby, “Your own wife is saying you are useless. She says you don’t know how to do it. I doubt you’re even a man.”
As he was saying all this, he couldn’t hold back any longer and came all over my boobs. I pressed his tool with heavy pressure and crushed his balls. He cried out in pain, “Leave me, Thevidiya!” . I said, “Now decorate my boobs with your semen.”
The old man used his hand to wipe his semen all over my boobs. Then I pulled him close and whispered in his ear what he should tell my husband. As he was putting his tool back into his pants, he followed my request and told my hubby: “Lick this thevidiya’s boobs. I pity you; how do you handle this thevidiya? You useless man, go lick my semen off her boobs.”
Those words turned Ravi on like crazy. He pulled me up from the chair and pressed me against the tree, the rough bark scraping against my bare skin. Ravi went wild, sucking on my breasts with an intensity I’d never felt before. It was a magical moment. I pulled his face toward mine, whispered, “I love you, baby,” and locked my lips with his.
Slowly, I went down on my knees and opened Ravi’s zipper. His tool—not too big and not too small—came before my face. I took all of it in one gulp. Within a few seconds, he came in my mouth, and I drank it all. With that same mouth, I looked at the old man, who was now standing near the shop, and asked, “Am I right? Isn’t he useless?”
He just smiled without giving an answer.
to be continued…
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.