Property or Person?
How did it come to this? My name is Jan Thomas, I am the very image of the perfect suburban wife and mother. I am just that, a wife of twenty plus years, mother of three beautiful university student daughters, high school teacher, Girl Guide leader, church volunteer. Oh, and desperate mleccha slut for my Hindu god Vivek. It should not be possible. I am a strong passionate woman, standing five seven, one hundred ninety pounds plus whatever I am fighting the battle to keep off, as my figure tends towards lush no matter how much a draconian exercise regimen that makes me think I am still in the army can do. My figure 48GG-40-46 means that gravity and breast feeding have both made inroads into the firmness of my breasts more than my self image is happy with, but the boys, and a disturbing number of girls in my classes seem to obsess over my curves enough that keeping them on topic consumes whatever time I saved by getting their attention in the first place.
I had your average marriage. My sex drive went up, and my constant war on my weight drove me to serious conditioning that only fuelled the fires of that hotter and hotter. My husband's drive cooled, as his body got softer and softer, and his interest in mine seemed to wither and die. I began to sunbathe naked on the school roof where no one could see me. I was so desperate for touch, that I began to touch myself as I did so. Vivek was the dark and broodingly handsome young IT teacher at the school. I knew, but somehow didn't think about, the fact he had the roof covered with webcams for his nature blog. He began to send me videos of me stripping and touching myself. He would give me instructions about what he would like to see. I felt, good, doing what he told me. Pleasing him.
I discovered that pleasing and obeying him was the single most important thing in my life. He became my Hindu god. My sole reason for living, not simply existing. I would do anything to please him. He was engaged to one of my favorite former students, Sitta. I was married. He set strong rules, so that we could play without breaking his oaths or stealing what was owed Sitta. Left out of it was any consideration of my husband, whom we both somehow naturally understood was no longer even a part owner of my body, or sexuality. After Vivek had been back to India for a wedding, I had grown so desperate for him that I didn't quite break the rules, but I bent them.
I did not touch his cock, nor he my pussy or breasts with his hand or cock. I did suck HIS nipples, and his asshole until he came for me, and I lapped it up like a dog in heat. Sitta had insisted on a laptop webcam to make sure we were following the rules, so she saw. I didn't know how she would take it, but I was now afraid I would lose even as much of Vivek as I had been allowed.
Sitta had been one of my special students. She was small, like a dark little song-bird. Raven black hair, dark skin, flashing eyes and a fetching gold ring in one nostril that drew your eyes every time she tossed her head to throw her wavy and unruly tresses over her shapely shoulders. She was lithe, with a tight little body, probably a B cup, and always moving, never still. She was a natural leader among the girls, opinionated and passionate, almost to a flaw. That she went on to success as a investment banker is not a surprise, she was gifted with ambition and a pride that made me think of her as a falcon, a tiny fierce insanely proud bird, forever preening and looking out at the world for something to strike. I had always had a soft spot for her, and given her a lot of help and extra attention, as she was one of those special students you will remember long after you retire, and whose success you will always use to stave off the depression from dealing with students who had potential they stubbornly refused to make anything at all out of, and ended as unnecessary failures.
Now Vivek had sent me a text, asking me if my husband was still out of town on his stupid sales convention. I responded yes, hoping he would have instructions of things I could do to please him by camera or video. What I got was a note in plain text.
Sitta is coming over. She is unhappy with your transgressions, and requires you accept proper punishment and offer her real signs that you are not a threat to our pending marriage. I suggest you make her happy, or we are done.
Done. No more Vivek.
No more of feeling my body come alive under his command, under his eyes. No more dreaming about his hands, his cock, his potent Hindu seed. Go back to being a perfect white wife, and let the mleccha slut die.
Panic filled me, the way it never had when my life was at risk. The yawning abyss of emptiness that was the world without Vivek opened up before me and I began to shake. It was no more than fifteen minutes from the text to hearing Sitta's tiny Mercedes pull up the long gravel driveway in front of my house. She honked her horn and opened her car door. I opened the door to our house, and saw Sitta standing, looking so imperious beside her car.
Her hair was the same lustrous fall of raven wing I was used to, but her makeup was perfect and gave her a glamour that suited a queen, a CEO, or movie star. Her blouse was probably worth more than my wardrobe, and her skirt was a doe soft leather that framed her shapely ass and thighs to perfection. Dark stockings drew your eyes down the curves of her shapely and never still legs as she tapped one toe in perfect open toed heels. She was pulled up with her car pointed at my picnic table, just in front of my house, beside our weeping willow tree. She looked angry as she sipped her latte and glared at me.
"I used to look up to you, Mrs Thomas. I used to admire you. A strong intelligent professional woman. I used to want to be like you. I had no idea that you were nothing but a little mleccha slut who can't keep her hands off other peoples husbands. I had no idea that you were such a desperate whore that you cannot be left running free or you will be sniffing after whatever strong Hindu man is closest, even if he belongs to someone else. I can't believe I used to be envious when I looked at you. You are not even a real person are you, just a desperate mleccha whore who cannot control her own urges. Is that right Jan? I can call you Jan right, I mean you HAD YOUR TONGUE UP MY FIANCEE'S ASS and licked his cum off the floor like a DOG!"
I flinched as she stepped in front of her car, framed between the headlights like an angry goddess. I had no defense. She was right, and I felt the shame of it, my betrayal of her, more than my betrayal of my own marriage vows. I tried to beg, tried to plead, tried to explain but she just glared at me. She walked forward and poured her latte over my blouse, I felt the burning, luckily it had been a long enough drive that it was cooler than her anger and stung rather than actually inflicted a serious burn on my breasts. She stared up into my eyes as she inflicted this punishment and saw my own widening and misting in tears with no signs of resistance. She stepped back and tugged her skirt up to mid thigh, exposing her stockings as thigh highs and pointing one beautiful foot in front of the other, one long shapely leg framed by my front porch lights and her headlights.
"If you ever want to speak to my husband to be again, you will kneel and kiss my feet."
I fell to my knees and crawled to her foot, she grabbed me by my long red hair and pulled me up to face her, she spat in my face and shouted at me.
"Not like that slut, like you were when you shamed me by using your slut tongue on my husband to be. You will kneel and kiss my feet naked, or you will never see his cock again"
Sitta was angry, and I knew my humiliation was both inevitable and deserved, so something inside me broke. I had been her mentor, her idol, and now she saw me as a threat that needed to be broken so she could feel safe with the man she loved. Clearly she took her pending marriage more seriously than my own slut nature treated my own, when confronted with a strong Hindu man,. I bean to strip.
