I’m an average man at five eight and one hundred forty pounds. Megha’s small, only five feet tall and one hundred five pounds. I’m average in appearance, too, but her appearance is far above average. She’s beautiful with a delightful feminine figure.
When we married before our freshman year in college, we were virgins eager to begin our lives together. Our first sex was on our wedding night. My hands trembled as I unrolled a condom while Megha smiled sweetly up at me from our wedding bed.
“Don’t use it, Suresh. Please,” she whispered.
“You might get pregnant.”
She wrapped her hand around my unprotected cock and pulled me toward her.
“I want to be pregnant. You know that.”
“But we’re just starting out.”
“Let’s start by letting nature take its course. Make love to me where I can feel you, not a condom, Suresh.”
From that first night or maybe the night after, Pooja was created. She was born nine months to the day after we wed. Our second child was another girl, who we named Jyoti. She was born when we were juniors.
We struggled through college as we both worked and went to college. I graduated on schedule and went to work for a big company as an accountant. A year later, Megha graduated and started teaching second grade.
Neither Megha nor I are leaders. We’re both content being followers, which reflects our passive personalities. Our peaceful life style reflects that, too. We worked hard, saved, played, loved our children, and enjoyed what Americans call the good life.
Ours was a placid marriage. The one major disagreement was the number of children. She wanted five, but I insisted we stop at two, which is one of the few times I stood up to her. Megha was never happy with that decision. It was the only bitter point between us. In marriages like ours, money’s an issue because it’s in short supply, but Megha wasn’t a woman who longed after wealth. She wanted more children. I was the one who longed for a more financially successful life.
Pooja was fifteen and Jyoti almost fourteen when Megha and I went with friends to Goa.
We had a wonderful time, and I won 10 lakhs gambling.
I thought I’d found a way to ease the money problems and give us a better life. I didn’t know I’d sown the seeds of our destruction.
Gambling’s a terrible, uncontrollable addiction in some people. I was one of those. I gambled on everything I could find: football, basketball, horses, numbers. After we returned from Vegas, I won a little, but then the losses came in waves. I increased the amount I gambled because I knew my luck would change. And it did change – for the worse. In six months, I lost our savings, the kids’ college funds, everything. And I lost even more as my bookie gave me credit.
Megha knew nothing about it.
“Suresh Bhardwaj, get your ass over here straight from work! Don’t mess with me, boy!” the horrifying voice on the phone said.
The sweat oozed from my face as his violent disconnection rang in my ears. I was 6 lakhs in debt to my bookmaker and not a dime to my name. They’d been trying to collect for a month.
My time was up. I went to the bathroom and threw up.
I shook uncontrollably and my clothes were soaked in sweat as I entered the store front office.
The bookie grabbed my arm, dragged me out the back door, and shoved me into a large van, which had been modified to allow a person to stand. Someone picked me up like a child and jammed me on the floor of the van on my knees.
I looked up at one of the biggest men I’d ever seen.
“I’m Daud Ali Khaan. Asif works for me. I understand you won’t pay your bills.”
“Look, I . . . ” He moved quickly, like a tiger leaping on its prey and I was the lamb he was devouring. His massive left hand crushed the back of my neck and lifted me several inches in the air. His fingers were so long and strong they held my jaw shut. And his right hand grabbed my cock and balls. I felt him began to squeeze as I stared into the coldest, most evil black eyes in the world. I whimpered, and tears fell down my face. The pain in my balls was unbearable. He dropped me. I fell to the floor sobbing.
“I want my money now.”
“I don’t have it.”
“But you have a way to earn it.”
“How? Tell me how?” “You have a wife and daughters, don’t you?” “No,” I gasped.
“Shalini, stand! Look at her, Suresh!” he commanded.
A petite woman stood in the corner of the van. She was naked. She had massive breasts and a sad, frightened face that looked sixty although her body looked much younger.
“Tell him your story, Shalini!” “I was a sales rep, but I got addicted to gambling. I’m paying off my debt by being a whore for Mr. Khaan.”
“Come suck my cock, Shalini!” She scurried to him, quickly kneeling and fishing his cock from his trousers. It was massive, easily the biggest I had ever seen, but it was proportionate to the rest of him. Mr. Khaan was probably six six and two hundred fifty pounds. Shalini sucked the cock head, but his hand on the back of her head forced it into her mouth.
“Watch, Suresh! Watch the stupid hindu slut suck my cock. Tomorrow night I’m coming to your house. I’ll leave with my money or I’ll leave with your wife and daughters. They’ll do what Shalini’s doing until I have my money!” “No. Please. Have mercy,” I whimpered.
“I’ve no mercy for you, boy. Your wife and daughters’ll be my whores until they earn back my money. Now, come here! You need to learn what sucking my cock’s like since you’re forcing your wife and daughters to do it.”
He shoved Shalini aside and yanked me between his legs. I felt like a child, unable to resist even if I had tried. His huge cock barely fit in my mouth. He didn’t care about that. He jammed it in and out. When I put my hands up in protest, he whipped his cock across my face like a hard slap.
When he came, he pulled out to cover my face in his sticky goo. He shoved me out of the way.
I was too terrified to even wipe his dripping cum from my cheeks. Shalini scurried between his legs again to clean his cock with her mouth, sucking and slurping, as I felt his cum drying on my face.
“Tomorrow night. Don’t try to run or hide or call the police. It’ll only make me mad! Now get out.”
It was late when I got home. I’d cleaned up at a service station, then stopped at a bar for liquid courage. Megha was asleep when I got home. I sneaked in the shower before I crawled in our bed, wondering if she’d ever be there next to me again.
“Suresh, are you all right? You’ve been acting funny lately. Is something wrong?” “No. Everything’s fine.”
I heard the front door open.
“Who’s that, I wonder?” she said as she disappeared into the living room.
“WHO . . . ” I heard her say.
I wet myself, sitting in my own pea, paralyzed with fear.
Mr. Khaan walked into the room carrying my wife in his arms like a baby, except her mouth was taped shut and her arms handcuffed behind her. She was frightened like I’d never seen her before, shaking uncontrollably, her face ashen and sweating. His associate pointed a gun at me as Mr.
Khaan ordered me to sit and cuffed my hands behind me.
He put Megha in the chair next to me. She was sobbing, making a sound like a dying dove.
“If you can be quiet, I’ll remove the gag,” Mr. Khaan said to Megha.
She nodded and he yanked the tape from her face. She said nothing.
“My name is Mr. Khaan. Has your husband explained your problem?” She stared at me with questioning eyes before she shook her head no. He told her my whole gambling history. He knew I’d maxed out the credit cards and home equity loan for my addiction.
Megha said nothing. Her eyes flitted back and forth between us. I could tell she couldn’t believe what I’d done, and the loss and danger it put her in. She was in shock from it.
“What are you going to do to us, Mr. Khaan?” she asked, the hysteria in her voice barely controlled.
“You and your daughters’ll come with me, Megha. You’ll be my whores, fucking men for money until I’ve recovered what I’m owed.”
Mr. Khaan looked as if he expected her to become hysterical. I certainly expected it. We both were surprised.
As if someone filled an empty bag with iron, Megha appeared bigger and sat more erect. A determined expression grew on her face. She held his cold, dead eyes with her own, never blinking or looking away. When she spoke, her voice was calm, sincere and confident, not threatening, but not submissive.
“Mr. Khaan, I’m a lot of things. I’m Suresh’s wife and a teacher and a woman. I’ll be your whore, too, the best one’ll you have and I’ll earn all your money back for you. I promise. But you must understand me, most importantly I’m a mother.”
Megha stopped and for seconds they stared at each other.
“Do you understand? I’m a mother . . . and if you or anyone else touches my daughters, I’ll kill you.”
Mr. Khaan’s mouth dropped open before it snapped shut like a steel trap. Megha stood, walked to him, and turned her back.
“Please remove the handcuffs. You’ve nothing to fear from me unless you harm my daughters.”
He was stunned and her actions defused his natural proclivity to harm. He gave a sharp, hard laugh, removed the cuffs, spun her around, and jammed her to her knees between his legs.
A knife appeared in his hand and he pressed it to her throat. A tiny movement by either of them would pierce her throat with the knife point. She never quivered or moved or took her eyes from his.
Somewhere in those long minutes as they stared at each other, they reached an unspoken agreement. He smiled at her as he put away the knife. It was a soft, gentle smile, like a man gives his lover.
“Megha, please show me your house,” he said with sincere politeness.
“Certainly. Mr. Khaan, may I call you by your first name?” “Call me by the nick name my family uses. Since I was the last born, they call me Munna.”
Megha showed him the house, giving him the in depth tour as if she were showing our preacher her homey treasures. She seemed happy and positive, telling him our history, pointing out the pictures in the hall that recorded when this thing occurred or that thing happened. She stopped in each girl’s room, spending a long time talking about her beloved daughters. I could see that she enchanted him. When he took her hand in his, she squeezed his in return, giving him a warm and friendly smile.
“Coffee?” she asked when we returned to the kitchen.
“Yes, thank you, Megha,” Munna answered.
“Munna, you can understand why I’m so protective of my girls, why I said what I did.”
“You’re an unusual woman, Megha. I know you honestly meant it when you said you’d become a whore for me, and when you said you’d kill me. You really love your children, don’t you?” “Yes. I love them deeply, but I understand your position, too, Munna. That’s why I’ll cooperate with you to the fullest, doing whatever you wish for me to do. I’ll make every effort to get your money back.”
She handed him the coffee and guided us all to the den. She sat on the couch opposite him. No one spoke as the two of them worked through their own private thoughts, their eyes never leaving each other.
“Megha, can you still bear children?” Her body language became extremely intense as her eyes slammed into me before returning to him.
“Yes. Why?” The silence was killing me. I knew why. We all knew why! My God, was she really considering it?
“I’ll forget Suresh’s debt if you’ll have my child.”
I could tell immediately she was going to agree. Mr. Khaan could tell, too. Megha wasn’t ready to say it, not verbally anyway.
“Why would you want that?” “I want children. Finding a woman to bear one is easy. Finding a woman I can trust to love and nurture them is difficult in my world, Megha.”
“Babies are a big responsibility. Babies need love and tenderness . . . ” He laughed. He threw back his giant head and laughed. She had a sheepish, crooked grin, like a kid who’d been caught stealing candy.
“What do you want, Megha? Just tell me. We both know you’d love and care for a child more than other woman would, no matter who the father was, no matter the circumstances of the birth.”
She walked to him, took his huge hands and put them on her waist. She took his giant face in her hands and gently held it to look at her. Again, there was a long silence as they communicated nonverbally. That silence was painful for me. She leaned down slowly to kiss him softly on the lips.
“I’d like having your child, Munna. I know you’ll be a good father and never hurt me or any of my children.”
She pushed him back into the couch with her body as she kissed him long and hard. Slowly his arms folded around her in a lover’s embrace.
This giant, this criminal who hurt people for a living, asked my wife if he could impregnate her, putting his black seed in her belly to make it grow with child. She rewarded him with a passionate kiss.
“Munna, I’m not on the pill. Would you like to start now?” “I’d like that very much,” he replied with such softness and feeling in his voice even I was touched. She took his hand, leading him toward the bedroom, then she stopped.
“Is it all right with you if Suresh watches us?” What was that expression on her face as she looked back at me? Not hatred. Not happiness. I knew it made me feel small because that look expressed that I was making her fuck someone else and she resented it greatly.
“Come on, Suresh,” Munna said, not even looking at me. He had eyes only for Megha. I followed them into the master bedroom, the bedroom that had been hers and mine exclusively.
Munna’s henchman shoved me in a chair and stood by me, his hand on my shoulder. Megha looked at us.
“Munna, Suresh won’t cause a problem. Would you please ask your friend to leave?” “Here, Chootey,” Munna said handing him a revolver. “Why don’t you watch TV?” “Sure, boss,” the man replied. In a moment, I heard the TV start in the den.
Munna took off his coat and sat on the edge of the bed. Megha kissed him again before she began unbuttoning his shirt. She didn’t look at me as she slipped the shirt off his massive shoulders.
Her fingers slid across his torso lovingly before she sucked his nipples. She slipped to her knees to untie his shoes.
“Stand up so I can take off your trousers,” she said to him.
She undid his belt and dropped his trousers to the floor. She looked up at him with a sensual grin as she yanked down his boxers. That giant cock that only last night spilled his seed on me jumped into her face.
“Oh, my God, Munna. I can’t take that!” “Yes, you can. I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“I know you wouldn’t, Munna, but he would. I’ll bet you don’t get many complaints about being too small.”
“None so far,” he laughed.
Megha turned to look at me. Her small fingers daintily held his hard cock near her face.
“Have you ever seen a cock this big?” she asked.
I didn’t respond.
“Answer me,” she snapped.
“No, I haven’t.”
“What would you estimate, Suresh? Is it twice as big as yours? Three times? Or more?” “I don’t know,” I mumbled as I stared at my wife unable to tear my eyes away from her. I’d never seen the anger and, yes, hatred in her that I saw at that moment.
“They say that once a woman’s had a big cock like this one that she can’t even feel a tiny little thing like you have, and that your little boy’s cock won’t ever bring her pleasure. Do you think that’s true, Suresh?” “I don’t know,” I whispered as I trembled in abject humiliation.
“We’re going to find out, aren’t we?” she said, her voice dripping with insincere sweetness.
She turned back toward him as her hand lovingly caressed his shaft. She kissed the opening.
“What’s his name?” she asked Munna.
“What?” “Your cock. I thought all men named their cocks.”
“I haven’t named him. Would you like to do it?” “Yes, but I need him in me first. I need to see how he feels so the name’ll fit. May I suck him?” His huge, ham sized hand guided her mouth to his cock. Megha always enjoyed sucking cock although she’d never initiate it. Now she valiantly worked on the shiny black helmet head of a monster as big as her fist. Quickly, it was coated in her saliva, which hung in ropes of spittle as she moved back and forth on it. She was doing a yeoman’s job, but her jaws quickly tired. Munna could tell and pulled his cock from her mouth.
“I’m sorry, Munna. I’ll do better next time,” she murmured. He lifted her as if she were a child to kiss her softly on the lips.
“Don’t worry. You were wonderful, Megha. I want to fuck you. I want to feel your delicious pussy around my cock.”
As he quickly undressed her, she never acted shy or embarrassed. She stood proudly before him, displaying her body, letting his giant hands roam the lush territory that’d been exclusively mine.
“Do you have any K-Y?” he asked. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I won’t need it. I’m dripping wet for you, Munna,” she replied sultrily. She lay back. When he crawled between her legs, the bed groaned with his weight.
“Let me show you the easy way,” he said.
Gently, he pulled her legs up with her knees outside her breasts. He brought her elbows inside her knees to leverage them apart. He guided her hands to her pussy lips, which she held open for him as he put the head of his cock against her.
“Oh, Munna, I’ve never had a cock this big,” she whimpered as he slowly pressured to push his monster in her tight wetness.
There was no question he would fit. Her juices poured down her leg, her pussy glistened from her own wetness. He worked slowly, letting her become accustomed to him until his cock head rested against her cervix.
She was moaning, squirming in obvious delight at being so full. Her ass and hips were in constant motion as her body struggled to accommodate the giant cock buried in her. When she finally relaxed, the tension flowed from her only to reappear as desire.
“Fuck me good, Munna,” she murmured in his ear.
Groaning, sweating, whimpering, squirming under the masterful, well controlled fucking from his monster cock, Megha orgasmed as she never had with me.
It was a strange feeling seeing him fuck her, seeing him bring her joy and orgasms like nothing I’d ever given her. I wondered if she’d ever enjoy me again. I felt happiness for her at being so well pleased, but I felt my own sorrow – my own deep and real sorrow – at having caused this mess.
I was the second best man in my wife’s bed. I had no one to blame but myself. While I felt a deep loss, I must admit, seeing another man fuck my wife had been a wild and deeply buried fantasy of mine. I was hard from watching because she was getting a royal fucking from someone else, as I’d fantasized.
His control was magnificent. Megha orgasmed time after time. When he saw she was mentally and physically exhausted from the pounding of the past thirty-five minutes, he let himself come and roared like a banshee when he did.
She loved every stroke because he gave her the best fuck of her life. She held him tightly, arms and legs around him, spasming in one last, long orgasm, not letting him pull out, as she let his seed ravish her body searching for her delicate white eggs.
He braced himself on his arms so his weight wouldn’t crush her as he softened in her, but she pulled him down on her.
Her face was toward me when she bore his full weight. She radiated bliss.
“Don’t go,” she whispered as he pulled out of her.
He kissed her gently and said, “I’ll be back.”
She giggled as her hand stroked his face.
“See that you do. Even a big stud needs to fuck more than once to make sure the woman’s pregnant. We’ll need to do this every night until I’m sure I’m carrying your child.”
She kissed him hungrily before letting him pull away from him. When she looked at me, it was with disdain.
“Wait, Munna,” she said as he started to wipe his cock on the bed sheets. “Let Suresh clean you up.”
Munna laughed. “He tasted my cock last night.”
“Oh? He did? Did you like a cock in your mouth, Suresh?” she asked.
“No,” I murmured.
“Well, I didn’t get to see it. Do it again,” she hissed.
“I need to go,” Munna said as he wiped his cock.
“You can clean Munna next time,” Megha replied. “But you can clean me now, Suresh. I’m not going anywhere.”
When I hesitated, Munna said menacingly, “You heard the lady.” I fell between her spread legs facing her huge and bloated pussy. Khaan liquid oozed down her ass cheek. As I began to lick Munna’s cum from my wife’s pussy, I wondered how many nights he’d fuck her before she was carrying his child.
“There’s so much in me, Suresh,” Megha said. “He must have shot a quart. Suck it all out, honey.”
The word “honey” was like an icicle thrust in my manhood. As I sucked his cum out of her, Munna released the handcuffs. In moments, I heard the door shut, but I didn’t get up then. Megha’s hand on the back of my head held me in place. When she released me, I left to lock the front door.
Megha was asleep when I got in the bedroom. Without a word, I lay down without touching her.
When I awakened in the morning, she was gone. I found her in the kitchen drinking coffee. Her face was hard and cold.
“We need to talk.”
“All right, Megha.”
“Munna’ll honor his commitment. He’ll forgive your debt and not hurt any of us. I’ll honor my commitment, too, Suresh. I’ll bear his muslim baby. I’ll raise that child with all the love and caring any child ever had. The question is, will you? Because if you won’t love this child as your own, I want a divorce. I wouldn’t let you hurt a child any more than I’d let him.”
“Megha, I never want a divorce.”
“That’s not the question! Will you accept Munna’s muslim child, the child I’ll bear, as your own and love it unconditionally?” “Yes. I will. Please, Megha . . . ” “I’m going to take over the finances, Suresh. I want your credit cards and your checkbook. From now on, you’ll give me your paycheck and I’ll give you an allowance. And I want that damn sports car you bought to be sold by tomorrow night.”
“I’ll need some kind of car to get to work.”
“Take the bus. Do you owe any other bookmakers?” “No.”
“That’s something positive at least. You need to get help for your gambling, Suresh. I insist on it.”
“That’s not good enough. I’ll call Gamblers’ Anonymous and you’ll start immediately. I’ll find a psychologist for you, too. Our insurance’ll pay for it. If you miss a meeting or a session with the psychologist, I’ll leave you, Suresh. I mean it.”
“Please, don’t leave me. I can’t imagine life without you. I love you so much.”
For the first time since she’d met Munna, her expression toward me softened. She smiled and tousled my hair.
“I know you do. I’ll spend the rest of my life with you, but I couldn’t stand another incident like this. I might not be able to seduce the next bookie into letting my daughters go unharmed.”
She kissed me.
“His cock’s so big that I’m sore. Until I get used to him, we won’t be able to have sex and when we do, you’ll have to wear a condom until I’m carrying his child. I’ll let you know when I want sex with you again, so don’t ask about it.”
“Do you still love me?” I asked.
“Yes, I love you, you stupid, stupid man. I love you even after you did this to us.”
“You loved it, didn’t you? You loved him fucking you.”
She didn’t look at me as she stood to leave.
“I asked you a question, Megha.”
She looked at me. It was neither a hurtful nor loving look. It was a look of exasperation.
“I heard you, Suresh. I’m not going to answer it. Don’t ask it again.”
When Munna returned the next evening, I meekly followed them into the bedroom.
“No, Suresh. I’ll tell you when I want you to watch us having sex. Right now, I want you to go away. Tonight’s private and just between us.”
It was a long time before I saw the two of them together again. They always made love in our bed. Sometimes he left early, sometimes he stayed until the wee hours. I could hear them talking between sex those nights when they fucked more than once. When the sex was over, he went home.
That second night he fucked her, I stayed on the couch after he left. Megha came to me.
“Suresh, I’m your wife. You need to be in our bed with me. Come on.”
After I was laying beside her, she said, “Always come to bed as soon as he leaves, Suresh. This is your place. You should be in it.”
I lay in the spot hot from their bodies, wet with their sweat and juices, as my wife, exhausted from fucking with another man, curled against me to peacefully sleep. His smell filled my nose. His cum dripped out of her pussy onto my leg.
Sunday, our daughters returned from their weekend at the lake with friends. In the den, Megha fully explained what was happening in our lives.
“Mother, you mean a Muslim man’s impregnating you? We’ll have a Muslim brother or sister? And we can’t go to college because Dad gambled away all our money?” “Honey, it’s a sickness. We need to forgive him. I know forgiveness’ll be hard to do, but we must try.”
It was a heated and unpleasant family discussion, which Megha wound down after checking her watch.
“Munna’ll be here shortly. I want all of you to be nice to him. We’ll visit a few minutes before I take him in the bedroom. He’ll be here every night until I’m pregnant.”
Our daughters were stunned, cold and unspeaking, when Megha introduced Munna to them.
When they immediately moped off to bed, Megha said firmly, “Leave your bedroom doors open.”
And Megha left the door to our bedroom open when she led Munna there.
Megha’d never been vocal when we made love. She murmured and cooed, but never screamed.
That night, she screamed. Our daughters and I could hear her begging him to fuck her, telling him how big his cock was, and how much she enjoyed him fucking her.
When she screamed she’d never had a real man before, we heard Munna telling her to shut up.
How humiliating it was for me, having my daughters hear their mother tell another man he could fuck better than I could. But that’s what she wanted. My humiliation. It was my punishment from her. But it was the last time she intentionally humiliated me. Maybe she thought I’d had enough.
The next three months were surrealistic. Munna arrived every night to fuck Megha. Many times he joined us for dinner, sometimes even bringing Chinese food or pizza as his contribution. He offered to take her out for dinner and dancing. For a date, he said laughingly. She always refused, restricting their time together to our house.
Once, I started to leave before he arrived. Megha stopped me.
“I’m fucking him because of you, Suresh. You need to be here while I do it.” I always was.
No one ever made a scene. Interestingly, Pooja and Jyoti came to like him. He acted like a father to them, giving them lectures about the dangers of men and drugs, buying them clothes and jewelry. He was a positive influence, replacing that influence I lost when he appeared in our lives.
He was a part of our family now, like a rich, Muslim uncle who came to dinner and stayed to fuck the lady of the house. Even I began to enjoy his presence. He was an interesting man in many ways and different from any other friend I had. Friend. Huh! That’s what he became in some weird way. In three months, Megha was pregnant. She made the announcement one evening at dinner at we ate a prime rib she’d lovingly prepared. Munna beamed with pride. The girls were actually excited about it, asking questions, giggling, talking.
The girls felt no fear from him. He’d never been anything but polite and kind to them. After those first moments, Megha never feared him, or, if she had, she hid it so well neither Munna nor I recognized it.
After dinner, when Munna took Megha’s hand to lead her to bed, she stopped him.
“I need to be Suresh’s wife again for a while, Munna.”
“Leave that sorry bastard and come be with me. You and Pooja and Jyoti can be my family.”
“No, Munna. That wasn’t our deal. You’re part of my family, but Suresh’s my husband.”
“Dammit, I love you!” She threw herself in his arms, wrapping her arms around his massive neck, holding on like a little white barnacle on a black battleship.
“I love you, too, and in a very special way, but I love Suresh as well and I won’t leave him.”
“I’ll kill the bastard! I’ll do it!” When he reached in his coat to pull out a gun, Megha grabbed his hand.
“Put it away, Munna. Please. For me,” she said softly, her eyes holding and dominating this giant man. She led him from the table, talking to him as they went toward the door.
“Mother, maybe you should leave Dad for Munna. He seems to be the man in the family,” Pooja said.
Munna spun. In an instant, he grabbed Pooja under the arms and yanked her up, holding her in midair. She wet the floor as those cold, dead eyes of his made her squirm in his grasp.
“Pooja, you’ve no idea how hard this is for all three of us. You’ve no concept of what we’re going through. I pray you’re half the woman your mother is. She has two men desperately in love with her!” He lowered Pooja until her toes were on the floor, but he supported her weight. She squirmed trying to get down.
“If you ever speak ill of him again, I’ll spank you until your litle bottom’s bright red.
Apologize to your father!” He dropped her and she fell backwards before getting her balance.
“Sorry, daddy,” she whispered, but her eyes never left him.
From that night on, Munna came to our home once or twice a week, bearing gifts for Megha and the girls, having dinner, and visiting. He wouldn’t fuck Megha, but she’d warmly and happily kiss him goodbye at the door when he left. And Megha was talking to Munna regularly, keeping him informed of her condition.
In her sixth month, she had her parents and mine over for dinner. She explained she was having a another man’s baby and how the circumstances came to be, it was necessary becasue Munna was with dark skin so kid would be dark as well. Megha’s father was a religious. He screamed at me for doing this to his daughter, stormed from the room, and never spoke to me again. That’s what I’d expected him to do. Both my parents were humiliated by my causing this situation and our relationship was never the same.
When she was ready to deliver, Megha called Munna on the way to the hospital using the cell phone he’d given her. There were three of us in the delivery room when a big, healthy baby boy came into the world. He was adorable, the color of coffee with light cream. Pooja and Jyoti, Megha’s mother, and Munna’s sister and her husband joined us in the waiting room. Megha named the baby Shahid Bhardwaj. At first, Munna objected to using my name. Megha convinced him it was better for the child since I’d be raising him. Of course, Munna was so enamored of her, she could’ve convinced him to take poison.
Munna became part of the family again, coming over almost every night to spend several hours. He brought toys and games, so many I was afraid we’d have to add a bedroom just to hold them.
Munna and his baby were an integral part of the family.
It was as if Megha had two husbands, one hindu, one muslim, who both came home to her at night.
When Sahil, as we called Shaeed Bhardwaj, was about six months old, Munna was on the floor playing with him and his giant body occupied most of the open space area. The girls were with me on the couch. Megha was in the easy chair. We were happily visiting as a family would until Megha spoke.
“I want another child.”
Tension crackled as we snapped to attention.
“Actually, I want two more. I want the next one to be yours, Munna. Suresh, I want the last one to be yours.”
“We discussed having more. We decided not . . . ” “You decided not! I always wanted five. I want two more and I want them just like I said. If you don’t want to father one, Munna’ll father both.”
Munna again came to our house every night to fuck Megha and make her pregnant. She made no effort to conceal her joy at being fucked by him. She’d missed his big cock in her and we all knew it.
The first time, when she was getting pregnant with Sahil, she sent Munna home each night. This time, he often spent the night with her, not leaving until after breakfast the next morning. My time with her was almost eliminated. I’d been supplanted as her spouse.
“Suresh, you asked me a question one time I refused to answer. I’d like to answer it now. Yes, I like having sex with Munna. I like his cock in me. I like him fucking me. I like it a lot.” She stopped, making sure I understood.
“I like you fucking me, too, Suresh. You and Munna are different. I feel differently toward you. I like both of you fucking me. So, from now on, I’m going to have sex with both of you.”
She stopped again, making sure we understood what she said, giving us nonverbal communications again.
“I’ll tell you which of you I want to fuck me each night. I expect you to come if called, pun intended. And I don’t want any complaints out of either of you.”
Munna started to laugh, throwing back his giant head, guffawing until tears were in his eyes.
Megha giggled, then she, too, broke out in open laughter. I was terribly hurt at first, but I knew she really loved me, even if she loved Munna as much. She kissed me, lovingly and tenderly, to reassure me. She wanted me to know I was loved by her, but so was Munna, and she’d fuck which of us she chose.
I may have caused this problem, but Megha was enjoying its outcome. She was getting the five children she always wanted. She was having two men fuck her as much as she wanted. And she knew both of those men loved her with all their heart.
“Who do you want tonight?” “For the first time in my life, I want two men in my bed.”
There we stood like two collegeboys waiting for the principal, except we were naked and standing by her bed, watching as she gracefully and sensually undressed. Both Munna and I got hard from watching and thinking about this woman whose love we shared. She opened a bottle of petroleum jelly and lubricated her asshole, which I knew was virgin territory. She had a sexy smile as she lubricated my cock.
“You boys think you can figure out how I want you?” she asked with a grin. Munna got on his back on the bed. She swung her leg across him, slowly slipping his cock deep inside her waiting pussy. She asked me to wait. I watched her face as she fucked herself on his black monster. After two orgasms, when the sheen of sweat covered her and her eyes were glazed with desire, she whispered, “Okay, Suresh. Do me slowly back there.”
I got behind her as she bent forward, putting her cheek against Munna’s chest. I saw his big hands cover her ass, spreading her ass cheeks, readying my wife for me.
“Oh, ohhhh, ohhhhhhh,” she moaned as I slipped into her, feeling his cock through her thin membranes. Her asshole was tight, dry compared to her cunt, but slick with lubricant. Munna and I went slowly, both of us intent on nothing except her pleasure.
Strange, isn’t it? This giant man and I both only wanted her pleasure. I could see it in his eyes as he looked at me and he could see it in mine.
Munna and I shared Megha from that point on, each of us coming to her at her direction and usually both of us sleeping in her bed at night.
The second boy by Munna was named Sameer Bhardwaj, after Munna’s father (Sameer). He was born when Sahil was seventeen months old. Suresh Kumar Bhardwaj, Jr. was born twelve months after Sameer.
By that time, I was cured of my gambling. My career finally was blossoming and we were better off financially than we had ever been. Munna’d paid for Pooja and Jyoti’s college and established trust funds for all three boys. This freed the money I made for other things, including a larger home.
The new home was really designed for a wife, two husbands, and five children, which is the way we lived. Munna’d moved in after Megha made her announcement about wanting more children and never moved out.
That was our family until that day four years after Suresh’s birth when Munna was shot to death in a crime related incident.
During those four years, I’d come to care for and admire Munna almost as much as Megha did.
And Munna cared for me. Our common love of Megha and her five children had made us brothers.
I no longer felt humiliation or regret when he fucked her or when she curled in his lap to be held.
She was a treasure I was sharing with a friend.
We all attended his funeral where Megha gave one of the eulogies, telling his family and friends of his two boys she had delivered, telling of her love for him, a love that continued in his sons.
His family stared at mine, at the hindu man and wife with two older hindu daughters, and three younger boys, two muslim and one hindu, all mourning this giant, muslim man.
It was a month before we mentioned him again, although we all thought of him every day.
“Do you miss him?” She turned toward me on the bed. Staring into my eyes, she said: “Yes. I miss him. I loved him, Suresh. I loved him deeply, but that never diminished my love for you. I didn’t love him like I loved you. He was a good man to me and to my family. I’m sad those boys will never get to know him. I’m sad he’s gone and sad he won’t get to see his children grow up. Every parent deserves that right, Suresh.”
She curled up in my arms and cried.
I know Megha loves me. She probably loves me more than I deserve.
I know she loves all five children equally, which is with all her heart and mind and soul and might.
And I know each Sunday she places fresh flowers on Munna’s grave.