I walked the line so carefully. I had everything to lose. I was a wife, a mother, a teacher. I had an active volunteer and family life that was deeply important to me. I was respected, even if I had a whole lot more people who depended on me than I had actual friends.
I was viewed by everyone as utterly reliable, one of those stogy conservative suburban women who was the one to turn to with help on anything from fundraising to children's mental health, but not one you would ever say a naughty word around, or tell an off colour joke to.
The husbands and my male students would eye my somewhat over lush curves and undress me with their eyes, but then they would sigh and complain about the stick up my ass and joke about the 1950's calling and wanting my wardrobe back. I developed early physically and the other girls were not okay with that, the boys were equally nasty so I learned to hide and deflect a long time before I figured out I had desires, let alone what they were.
I had a secret though. It wasn't a deliberate secret. it was the worst kind; a secret from myself as much as everyone else, and I started to come undone when I learned it. I married a wonderful man who cherished me. We raised lovely daughters and built a good life. He taught me I actually had a sex drive, and then introduced me to kink in what now seems a painfully suburban kind of way, and awakened something in me. Then I had a baby, and he couldn't look at the mother of his children that way. The hunger that had been awakened began to starve.
I found his porn on the computer. I discovered his love for interracial. It was nice but didn't really do anything for me beyond the moment. Then I made a mistake typing and found my kryptonite.
Hindu men. Proud Hindu men with uncircumcised big brown cocks, night dark eyes and sensuous expressive lips. Where the black and white porn seemed trite and honestly perpetuating bad and dangerous tropes, the richness of Hindu culture and civilization made their assumption of mastery seem not just another "look how potent my huge penis is compared to your husband" claim, which honestly my vibrator could also make. No this was something much harder to deny.
Hindu men, openly owning their sexuality, with rules that were part of an ancient and vibrant culture when we were still burning libraries because any book not the Bible terrified us.. Centuries of Christianity had simply taught women to spread your legs, pray it's over soon, it is not supposed to be enjoyed just endured. Centuries of Christianity had taught white men women are bought and sold, you don't actually have to consult them, or really worry about what they think about the matter. Certainly be suspicious of any who seem to enjoy sex, because that would mean they are sluts. Not a problem, it turns out not worrying about anything other than getting off as fast as possible makes Christian women totally aware that having more depressing sex is not something to seek, so why think about cheating with another bitter selfish disappointment?
I found a website. I found huge Hindu cocks, I found for the first time a desire to be on my knees sucking one. I found a desire to be sucking more than one, to have one between my breasts using my whole body to serve it like a priestess to the new found Hindu god of male potency and female pleasure.
I wanted to feel it in my pussy. My husband got a vasectomy, so I stopped taking the pill. I was still fertile, and as I talked to these powerful and sexy men online I became deeply aware that I was instinctively submissive towards them. I didn't just want to submit myself, I wanted to submit my bloodline. I wanted to be bred by them, to be owned by them, used by them, even passed around by them.
Surprise surprise, I got sloppy. I got careless.
Covid meant Zoom meetings, and that meant mounting webcams and microphones. I had always been careful to dismount my cameras and microphones before play. I can't take chances with my identity. I am a teacher and Girl Guide leader, any hint of a scandal and I lose my profession, my marriage, my family, and my volunteering all at once.
I had a stressful day and was almost wild with my need to masturbate. My husband was at work, my daughters were off carving pumpkins at my middle daughter's place. I didn't run upstairs to the bedroom, but to the main computer because I wanted to see those huge Hindu cocks on the big screen. I wanted to plug in my magic wand and to be beside the laundry room with its clothes pins, in case I felt like using them.
I pulled out the old stainless steel choke collar my old dog used to use. My daughter's have no idea why I keep it beside the computer. Nor do they understand why there is a large medallion in bronze with a trident engraved on it. The Trishul. The sign of Shiva on a dog collar I put on my own neck to hang between my 48G married white breasts while I talk to strange Hindu men and admit my desire to serve them.
I went online and started chatting. One boy claimed to be in his twenties and asked if I wanted to see him stroke his huge Hindu cock for me. I said yes. He sent a link. I clicked it.
There were a bunch of icons I could choose from but I had my left hand rubbing pretty urgently on my clit and wasn't thinking all that clearly. I didn't pay attention to which one I clicked because as soon as I hit the button, a picture of a boy with a finely shaped body appeared from mid chest to mid thigh.
He was a young god. A huge hooded cock stood in his fist and he stroked it slowly, turning in profile so I could admire its length, its thickness, and the heavy brown balls that swung like a bull's package with the promise of more cum in a night than my husband could give me in a year.
It didn't register that I was hearing his voice now. He wasn't texting, he was whispering.
"Tell me you like that slut" He whispered.
