0 comments/ 29468 views/ 1 favorites World's Greatest Husband Ch. 01 By: mintabal3239 Chapter 1: Fuse Is Lit For A Strange Transformation "Bommi is holding the handsome fellow's hands." The woman who spoke was a surprise. The old fashioned way she wore her sari, the glitter of her nose rings, the kumkum dot on her forehead, and more kumkum in the middle at the hairline proclaimed that she was an orthodox Hindu. The surprise was the half filled glass of whisky she was sipping. She thought she was talking in a whisper to her husband who was by her side on the sofa, but being slightly under the influence, she was loud enough for Bommi to hear. Her husband, though wearing pants and slacks, had the look and mannerisms of a prohit, a temple priest. He had no tuft of hair on the back of his head that temple priests have, but when he shook his head a topknot seemed to toss about at his occiput. The couple was in a fellowship party, which in India means a party where liquor flows. Occasionally orthodox couples do find themselves in such surroundings; and when there they participate with enthusiasm. Bommi, who on the sofa in front of the couple, was indeed holding the hands of a young man in his late twenties seated at her side. "She is rubbing her thighs against his," said the older woman still in a loud whisper, "and she is playing with his hands." "Oosh, Amulu" said the prohit, "won't you be if you had the chance to get a fellow as handsome as that?" The woman was not shocked at this imputation. She broke into a hacking laughter. She prodded her husband on the ribs with her glass and laughed again. "Naughty," she said. The scene was a room in a government guesthouse in a narrow road that branched from the coastal highway. The group of persons who had come together for fellowship, though known to each other, were not close friends. Other than for this special purpose they rarely met. This was a feature of these gatherings. The social prejudice against alcohol consumption amongst the middle classes, in spite of a cultural tilt towards the west, still exists. Those who want to indulge preferred to do so in the company of acquaintances rather than friends. Being occasional users they, as a rule, indulged unwisely. There were six of them including the host who was an official of the department whose guesthouse it was. There were two couples, the prohit and his wife, both in their early forties, and Bommi and her husband in their early thirties. The younger woman's husband was seated next to the prohit's wife on the sofa opposite where his wife sat. He lay stretched on the sofa, head pointing to the ceiling, eyes closed, and breathing stertorously. His drinking day was over. The young man was an invitee of the host. The official and the couples knew each other, but the young man was new to the group. "The old lady is talking about us, Shakir," said Bommi to the young man. She had a shapely up-tilted nose and a fine figure. She wore a light blue sari of synthetic material; her blouse was sleeveless, and its lower edge came as high up as was possible. Her sari was sufficiently low slung to bisect the umbilicus. The prohit couples were replenishing their glasses. "Three fingers Amulu," said the prohit, whose name was Vasu, to his wife. He held up three fingers horizontally as if to make his meaning doubly clear. Social drinking might be alien to Indian culture, but the wife had to serve her husband in the traditional manner. In carrying out her husband's instructions Ammu was taking no chances. She placed three fingers of her left hand against the bottom of the glass, and holding the heavy bottle of whisky by the neck with the other hand she carefully tilted the bottle to deliver the exact amount he needed. She expertly opened a soda bottle and started pouring. "Say when," she said. Shakir was amused to hear that phrase used when pouring soda, but her husband did not see anything unusual in it. "Stop," he said at one point and Amulu stopped. She poured herself her regulation quantity that as per the shastras had to be exactly what her husband had ordered for himself. She diluted it with the same quantity of soda. She rearranged the pallav of her sari, disturbed by the recent excretions. She tucked the pallav to her waist after making minor adjustments to cover her breasts properly. "Please permit me to help you," said Shakir to the young woman. "Yes," she said, " thanks for asking, two fingers." She laughed. "You can call me Bommi." Shakir poured the required quantity. "Soda?" "Up to the brim." "Almost water, Bommi." "I like it that way." Shakir mixed himself something stronger. Bommi got two saucers and deftly shovelled boiled and salted chickpeas kept in a bowl on to the saucers and placed two spoons on the saucers. She offered one to Shakir and kept one for herself. Their host took a cane chair. He had in his hand a large glass full of the brown liquid. Bommi took a spoonful of the chickpeas and delicately put it in into her mouth without allowing the spoon to touch her lips. Shakir noted with some surprise that Bommi's glass was half gone though he did not see her sip so often. Soon it was empty. "Some more?" "Yes, Please." "The same?" "Umm, just a little more and not so diluted." Shakir understood. In order to keep her company Shakir emptied his tumbler and helped himself to another slightly stronger mix. When he sat again it was very close to his fair companion. "This chick peas are very good," he said. Bommi nodded. The prohit woman kept up an incessant chatter to her husband. "Bommi and that young man are getting hotter and hotter," she said. "The young man is the type I know, but the woman is a puzzle," said the prohit to his wife. "That young man is not here to drink. When no one is looking he empties his tumbler contents into the flower pot." "Why does he do that?" "He is a predator," said the prohit hoarsely. "What is that?" "He remains sober and approaches a woman in an inebriated state when the husbands are fully drunk and starts a conversation, and takes her to a corner and, and..." the prohit was searching for the word that was genteel enough for the prude sensitivity of his wife, "and takes liberties with them," he said finally. "Liberties?" repeated the lady. Her voice was slightly slurred. "Yes liberties." The woman did not understand. "Which woman?" "The one seated in front of us." "What is she doing?" "She is doing the same thing." "Taking liberties?" "No, she is also surreptitiously pouring her liquor into the other flower pot." "A good day for the flower pots," said the dame. "Possibly, but why is she doing that?" "Taking liberties?" said the woman. She shook her head as if to rearrange her thoughts. She knew the answer, but was not quite able to put it into words. "May be she doesn't like the stuff," said the prohit, "but for fellowship's sake fills up her glass." He pouted his lips. He was not satisfied with his explanation. "Something tells me it is not so." He poured himself another three fingers and started sipping. "I think I have it. She keeps sober to drive him home." There was some movement at the other end of the sofa. Bommi's husband's head slipped and landed comfortably on the armrest of the sofa. This gave the cue to Ammu. She also wanted to rest comfortably. She got up for the sofa and lay on the carpet at the feet of her lord and master. From the floor she was darting glances at Bommi and the young man alternating between their faces and the region of the thighs. Suddenly she knew the answer. She announces her discovery in a loud raucous voice. "She is a predator too." "Ooosh, sleep it off" "I have better things to do," she said and focused her bulbous eyes on the pair, presumably not to miss the predation when it happens. "The lights are too bright. We'll go to that corner sofa," said Bommi. She took her glass and emptied its contents into his. Following her example Shakir emptied the contents of his saucer into the other. The prohit joined his wife on the carpet. Bommi went to her husband, stretched him properly on the sofa, and placed a cushion under his head. Bommi and Shakir moved to a single sofa. It was the right size for two slender persons who wanted to rub thighs. Shakir drew a tea table to the side and placed the glass and saucer on it. Shakir put his arms round Bommi's shoulders and pulled her to himself; Bommi placidly laid her head on his chest. She sipped from the glass casually as if resting her head on the shoulders of a total stranger was a natural thing to do. Her pallav slipped off baring the magnificent valley of her breasts. She took a spoonful of chickpeas, and no doubt owing to the unsteadiness of her hand, one pea fell into the valley. Shakir stared down into the valley with no trace of embarrassment. "The pea is deep down, may I remove it?" Bommi nodded. Shakir inserted his middle and index fingers down the rift but the pea was beyond his reach. He undid the top hook of the blouse the better to reach the errant pea, and then he undid the other hook. Bommi did not react I any way. He got the pea and reverentially put it into his mouth and chewed with relish. "Better than the others," he said. Bommi chuckled. He kissed her softly on the cheek once, and then he kissed her in all parts of the face, cheeks, nose, eyes and lips. Bommi offered her face but did not respond. Shakir embraced her, resting his chin on her shoulder. Boldly he undid the clasp of her bra. He rubbed the back were the bra had made indents on the skin; then in one move he swept his hands round and cupped both her breasts. Her back was resting on the sofa and he was over her imprinting innumerable kisses on her; this time she was responding with equal warmth. Shakir explored one and then the other breast rubbing and feeling their exquisite softness and then they kissed passionately on the lips. Shakir then sat by her side fondling her and kissing her. "I need to go to the bath room," she said. She got up. "Please hold me Shakir." He held her and helped her to the bathroom at the end of a narrow corridor. She went it and bolted the door. Shakir heard sluicing and then she unbolted. She was holding some object crumpled in her hand. "What's that you are holding?" She spread it out. It was her lace trimmed brown silk knickers. "I took it off but I am too unsteady to put it on again." She laughed, "May I help you put it on?" "You may not." Her sari was loose and it came off. She was in her skirts. Her blouse was awry too and her breasts, pendulous, but imposing nevertheless, were bare. Shakir took one and bit the nipple. She held his head with both her hands. He bit the other. "Let us go and lie down. I find it difficult to stand." She tucked her knickers to her skirt, wrapped the sari round her and covered her breasts. They went and lay down behind a sofa. "This jute carpet is hard," said Bommi. Shakir had the solution. "I will lie on the matting and you lie on me," he said. Bommi chuckled. "Worth trying," she said. Shakir lay on his back and Bommi lay on him face down as if he were a mattress. Shakir groaned. "I do not think this is a good idea ," he said. "You must support part of your weight on your knees." She did the obvious; she got astride him, knees and elbows resting on the carpet. Shakir caught the dangling nipples with his lips and worked on them. His hand was now on her thighs, but when he tried to insert his hand under her skirt she pushed his hand away. "Not that Shakir," she said with such decisiveness that Shakir obeyed. She took a sip from the glass. "You want one?" "Yes, but how can I?" "You can. I'll show you how." She took a mouthful and asking him to open his mouth she squirted it in, and then they kissed moistly with their tongues. And then she lay on him with her thighs spread wide apart and her flexed knees pressing his hips—an outstandingly elegant posture of a frog princess. She rubbed his cheeks with hers and when he arched up his pelvis she gave counter pressure with her pussy on his turgid organ. He wanted more, but when he tried once again to get under her skirt she pushed him hand away rudely. She unbuttoned his shirt and pressed her breasts on his bare hairy chest. They lay for a long while luxuriating in each other's warmth. Suddenly she got up. She went to the bathroom. She needed no help this time. When she came out she was fully dressed. "It's time for me to go, Shakir," she said. "Sorry to leave you in this state. You better go to the bathroom and release the pent up energy lest you harm yourself." She smiled sweetly. She woke up her husband, straightened his dress, and dusted him as if he were a pillow. She helped him out and into the car, revved the car to a roar, and drove away in a flash. 'Fast woman in every sense,' said Shakir to himself. Shakir lay down on the sofa. He eyed the prohit lady. In the state he was in she was an option. The prohit, though he sportingly conceded his wife's desire to make out with handsome men, was taking no chances. He lay on the carpet by his wife's side with his arm over his wife. Shakir closed his eyes but could not relax. His eyes drifted once again towards the prohit couple. Suddenly he noticed that the woman's eyes were wide open. They made eye contact. He smiled. She smiled in return, a coy smile. She turned round and seemed again to go to sleep. With her face turned away she looked quite attractive: Narrow waist, and good hips, and he recollected that her figure was good too. He thought of leaving but decided to wait in the hope that something might turn up. He snoozed. He woke up with a start. He took out his hankie and wiped his mouth. The prohit lady got up to go to the toilet. She turned and smiled, again that coy smile. Shakir got up and stood at the passage as if he was waiting for his turn for the toilet. When she came out she stopped and smiled. "Where your girl?" she said. Shakir liked her direct approach. "She left." "Carrying her husband with her I suppose." "Almost," agreed Shakir. "Your man may need to be carried too." The lady laughed. "That is almost always the case." "You seem OK now. I am too. Shall we sit somewhere and talk." The lady nodded. They moved to the place behind the sofa. Shakir was now very familiar with that corner. They squatted on the carpet. "Do you come here often?" asked Shakir. "Our fourth." She stopped to listen. The sound of deep breathing from her husband that stopped started again. She relaxed. Shakir held her hand. She did not object, rather she held him too. That was signal for Shakir to proceed. "Your hands are so soft. You can't be doing house work." "Not much. But I do." "Very soft. I suspect you must be wearing gloves." She laughed noiselessly. "I do no such thing." Shakir went closer and kissed her on the cheek. Shakir was surprised that she should receive it as if it was her due. "Soft too, as one would have expected." He held her head by the cheeks and touched her lips with his. Her large lips may seem incongruous on her thin face but they were good for kissing. He did not fancy nose rings, and this woman had two, both large, sparkling with diamonds. But in the mood he was in anything clad in a sari would be welcome. She responded weakly. He kissed her again, this time firmly. She pecked him. He then held her and she held him, softly at first but gradually with increased intensity till they were kissing passionately. He then deliberately undid her blouse hooks and bra clasps. Her breasts sagged but they were a lovely pair, not one bit inferior to that of Bommi's. He played with them and then he sucked and she moaned softly. Shakir noticed her pulling her sari up and up. She bent her knees and spread out her thighs, driving him to frenzy with her spontaneity. Now her pussy lay exposed, and surprise of surprises she had shaved it smooth. He gently nudged her and she lay on the carpet, hips flexed, knees bent, and thighs spread widely, ready to receive him. He lowered his pant and his cock came out big and angry. He penetrated and she moved her hips to settle it in. He pumped once. Ammu raised her hand asking him to stop. The husband's breathing sound suddenly ceased. She waited awhile. Still silence. Ammu hurriedly pushed Shakir aside and got up. She pulled down her sari, buttoned up and ran to the toilet. She came back and lay by the side of her husband and took his arm and placed it over her. It was a false alarm for the man was now snoring. She cuddled closer to him. She was once again a dharmapatini. Shakir cursed. Twice in one afternoon was too much. There was no point in his staying there any more. His host lay on the sofa breathing deeply and rhythmically. No formal leave taking was possible. He got into his car and turned the ignition key. May be the unreleased energy and the anger of frustration disturbed his concentration, or may be the few sips of whisky he did imbibe were having an effect, or may be he just snoozed on the wheel, anyway a passing bus nudged him into the lane of the oncoming traffic; he collided head-on with a container truck. * The scene was a third floor flat in one of the suburbs of Madras. Early morning sun was streaming in through the many windows in the drawing cum dining room of the flat. Ammu was on the sofa newspaper in hand. She was sobbing. "What's the matter," asked her husband Vasu as he walked in form the balcony. She pointed to a column in the paper and she gave it to him. "I read it," he said. "He is critical, but I believe his condition is stable." "How do you know?" "I called the official whose guest he was yesterday." Amulu continued to sob. Wherever any young man is involved in a serious traffic accident she always thought of her brother and made herself miserable. "That slut must have disturbed his concentration." "Why do you call her a slut," she said angrily. Vasu was surprised at her anger. She almost screamed. "What else should one call her? Handkerchief sized blouse, beasts exposed, navel showing, any man would be attracted. As if that was not enough she rubbed her thighs on his. Any man who comes to a drinking party and does not drink has some sinister design. I am sure they made out behind one of the sofas when we had gone to sleep. If she had dressed and behaved modestly like you it would not have happened." Amulu fidgeted in her seat. Her husband was annoying her. She moved to the bathroom. She needed a quiet place to weep her eyes out. Vasu reread the report. 'Serves him right,' he said and threw the paper down. He had no further interest in the matter. He could not have guessed it, but incident was to change his life forever. World's Greatest Husband Ch. 02 Vasu was riding his two-wheeler down Mount Road at unaccustomed speed. The eight lane highway was one of the few roads in Madras were one need not crawl at peak hours. He was returning home after a day spent in maintaining accounts for his firm dealing in hardware. His thoughts were on his relationship with his wife that has changed drastically lately. He waited for three weeks for the problem to go away. It did not. The time was ripe to sort it out. His problem started at a party three weeks ago. The events at the party affected his wife Amulu in many ways. Though Vasu and his wife were orthodox Hindus they had acquired a taste for hard drinks, and when opportunity offered they invited themselves to parties to have some innocent fun with other like them who wanted to keep their weakness a secret. In the party they attended last there was another young couple. The young man very quickly drank himself into slumber, but his wife, an attractive woman, was filling her glass with whisky, but after a few sips was surreptitiously pouring it away into a flowerpot. She was flirting outrageously with a very tall and handsome single man. This man was also emptying his tumbler into another flowerpot when he thought no one was looking his way. Vasu, who was seated on the sofa opposite, was noticing this. He had an explanation for the young lady's action. She was apparently filling her glass to keep company, but was careful to keep herself alert for driving back home. Vasu had no difficulty in placing the young man either. He knew that type. He was a predator. He came to parties not to drink but to make love to women whose husbands were no longer aware of what is going on round them. The women themselves were partly drunk and would be only too eager to have it with a man as handsome and charming as that young man. Both Vasu and his wife drank enough to need to stretch out on the carpet to sleep it off. When they were fit enough to make their way home Vasu vaguely noted that the young couple and the young man had already left. The newspaper the next morning contained bad news—on his way back from the party the young man was involved in an accident and was in hospital in a critical condition. Amulu wept copiously. At first Vasu did not mind it. Amulu always wept when she read of traffic accidents even if the person involved was not known to her for it reminded her of a brother who had an accident some years ago. But this time it continued day after day. When Vasu suggested, in an effort to console his wife that the slut must have spoiled the young man's concentration, Amulu flew into a rage. He had never seen his wife lose herself in anger to this extent before. A few days later Vasu again referred to that woman as a slut Amulu again raved irrationally. Vasu could not explain her strange reaction. But stranger still was Amulu's attitude to sex. She, who was so reticent in matters concerning sex, was now flagrantly, and often immodestly demanding sex. She surpassed herself on the first Friday after the party. Friday was her weekly oil bath day. As always she asked her husband to rub oil on her head. Then she did something unusual. She removed all her clothes and asked him to rub oil on all parts of her body as she sat on a low stool in the middle of the drawing room. She went further. She asked him to give her the bath and while doing so she playfully poured water on him and thereby she made him have a bath too, with each rubbing soap on the other. All this of course carried Vasu to cloud nine. Till that day he used to complain that she never turned him on by taking any initiative for sex. After the bath they wiped each other and then walked to the bedroom and had sex which, given the novel foreplay they had, was very good. This became a Friday routine. She has become fashionable in her dress too. Her large diamond nose rings were gone and in their place she now wore gold dots. Her hair was no long done in an old fashioned chignon but was now an elegant ponytail. She wrapped saris in the modern way with the blouse way up the chest, and the sari pleats way down to expose the umbilicus. But the most important change, the one that was bothering her husband more than any other, was the sadness that always pervaded in the background. Vasu could feel it. She was quite gay when he was about, but when he was away in office she seemed to be weeping. Her eyes would be red and often swollen. Once when he woke up in the night he found her sobbing. Vasu could not say what the cause was. He could not imagine that the accident to that young man could have so lasting an effect on his wife. He could think of no other reason for her misery. * Vasu pressed the bell. The door opened and Amulu was standing nattily dressed with her face wreathed in a smile of expansive dimension. Vasu looked into her eyes. They were red. Vasu decided to confront her that evening itself. She hugged him and kissed him and led him to the washbasin to freshen himself for evening tiffin which nowadays was sumptuous, and to his taste. Always a trencherman, Vasu did full justice to the snacks. He withdrew to the drawing room sofa allowing Amulu time to clear the table and join him. Vasu looked forwards to the treat that would soon follow. Amulu came to the sofa in skirts and blouse. She had no bra on and from experience Vasu knew that she wore no knickers either. She sat by his side as he undid the blouse and removed it altogether. He played with her breasts, sagging but large with prominent tits. He sucked it. He undid the skirt tape and pulled down the skirt. He went on his knees and kissed her pussy. He opened it out and kissed the clit. Amulu was spreading her thighs and gently shampooing him. She undid his dhoti and caught hold of his cock in a gentle grip and kneaded it. "Darling you must tell me why you are weeping when I am away?" he said. Amulu looked into his eyes. "I expected you to ask me earlier," she said almost as a complaint. "I thought it would go away, but it has not. Now I must know for I have to do whatever I can to remove the cause." "Yes, dear, I know I must tell you. I have to tell you even though the consequences to us would be bad. But I will risk it for if I do not I may burst. Give me some moments to get my thoughts into proper order." "As much as you want, but you are frightening me." "What happened was quite frightening." She came close to him and hugged him. Both were tense but that did not prevent them form enjoying the touch of their bare bodies. "You must have thought of some reason for my sadness." "Of course I have." "That party and the accident?" "Yes. In fact I could not think of any other. But the young man is now out of danger. Why should it affect you?" "I weep because I feel I am responsible for that young man's troubles." "You? How was that possible? You were hugging me and both of us were asleep." "When you went to sleep I was hugging you, and when you woke up I was hugging you, but in between plenty happened." "Plenty?" "Yes, plenty. You may remember that I was passing critical comments about that lady for sitting so close to that young man and rubbing her thighs against his. Really I was envying her. I was annoyed that the man who was so much like the man of my fantasies should be with that woman rather than with me. Then I slept. I woke up. You were soundly asleep. The young lady and her husband had gone, but this young man was on the sofa snoozing. I was looking intently at him in admiration when he opened his eyes. For a long while our eyes were in contact. I smiled and he smiled. I must have slept off. I woke up again. I do not remember if the young man was still there. I went to the toilet. When I came out the young man was standing at the passage. He smiled this time, and I smiled back. "Where is you friend," I asked. "She left with her husband." "Was he in a position to walk," I asked. "He tottered with her support. Your man?" "The same I suppose," I said. "If you are OK we will sit behind that sofa and have a chat," he said. "OK," I said. We sat on the carpet behind the sofa. My body language must have broadcast desire loudly for he, without any ceremony, kissed me. I did not respond. He kissed me again and I kissed him too. He then unhooked my blouse and then my bra and fondled me. I liked that. I wanted more. I pulled up my sari and then I lay back. I was so hot with desire that I was without any shame. I lifted my legs and spread out. He pulled down his pants. His cock was big, about nine inches long. He came up and I caught his cock. It was hot to touch. I guided it in. It slipped in easily; I was wet with my juices. He was filling me. I liked it very much. He pumped once and then once again. It as then that you intervened." "I?" "Yes, you. You were breathing noisily. Suddenly it stopped. I waited and waited. It did not resume. I panicked. I pulled his cock out, rearranged my dress and ran to the toilet. I came out and lay by your side. You had meanwhile gone back to sleep. Feeling of frustration was intense in me. I came so close by yet the pleasure had eluded me. I was angry with you for having spoilt me from realising my dream. It is still there, the frustration, not the anger. I waited for a while, but I must have snoozed too. When I woke up the young man was gone. I waited for him to reappear. He did not for her was gone. He can never be the same again." Amulu sobbed without any control. "Don't weep my darling. There is no use weeping," he said, with great tenderness. "I pulled it out. It was stretching me so divinely and I pulled it out. He tried to resist, but I pulled it out. I cannot get over it, I just can't." She sobbed more, and he held her tight and consoled her. He carried her down from the sofa to the carpet. They hugged and kissed, but Amulu was still sobbing. But she put up her legs ready to receive him and he entered her. "Darling you are so big today," she said in the middle of her sobs. "Yes, darling I am more aroused for sex than I have ever been before." They had the first orgasm together and then she had one more, but she was sobbing her heart out all the while. They lay exhausted. As he lay by her side Vasu was not sure if he was sane. For a man whose wife had just told him that she had sex with another man his response was bizarre. Is that the time to make passionate love, he asked himself. She was lying with eyes closed with a faint smile about her lips. What he felt for the self-confessed adulteress was an indescribable love. He gathered her in his arms and kissed her and she responded. "I cannot be normal again till I finish that act," she said. "It is eating into me." "But the ink is hardly dry on the one you had just now." "I want that one completed." "Don't be funny Amulu. That is just not possible now. You may have to wait a year or more." "It is possible. Find me another like him," she said smugly and looked into his eyes. "I find a man for you?" "Yes you, for I cannot, and I cannot ask anyone else." His head was reeling, but it surprised him that he did not react at all to this atrocious request. And they slept where they lay on the carpet. When he woke up Vasu heard birds chirping. It was early dawn. Amulu lay by his side soundly asleep. She had the repose of a baby and not of a woman who had once been unfaithful to her husband and wanted to continue to be unfaithful to him. He felt tender towards her. He kissed her gently. This time he did not try to understand his attitude. He accepted it. He was warming milk for coffee when Amulu joined him. They hugged and kissed. "You go to your newspaper. I will bring your coffee," she said. She brought him the coffee and then sat by his side. "Are we mad?" she asked. Vasu laughed. "I suppose so. I cannot explain our actions in any other way. You confess that you have had sex with another man and in response I hug you and kiss you and make love to you with a passion I had never felt before. You have the supreme gall to ask me to get you a man to fuck you and I am not shocked. If I write this as a story no reader will accept this as even remotely possible. The less experienced ones will dash off abusive comments, and the more experienced ones would not consider it worth a comment. Maybe there would be a mature one who would know that sex is not only strange but stranger than one can imagine." "How do you explain it?" "I was thinking about it this morning. It is my hypothesis that humans like computers come with many programmes in their system many of which the owners are not aware that they possess. Again like in computer, the system authority does not install all of them. When the need arises or when circumstances demand it these programmes get themselves installed. Both of us have now got one such strange programme installed and running. If you have a better explanation let me know what that is." He turned towards Amulu. She was not interested in computers and programmes. She was daydreaming with eyes vacant and eyelids drooping. He dressed for office. Amulu was now asleep. When he was ready to leave he woke her up and told her that he was having breakfast in a restaurant and left. His favourite restaurant was half full. He found a vacant seat in a two-seater table. The other seat was vacant. He had hardly placed his order when a tall young man requested to know if the vacant seat was taken. "I don't think it is. Please help yourself." The young man placed a leather bag on the floor by his chair and sat down. He was about twenty-five years old with a baby face. He was tall, and well built, and handsome with large bright eyes and the bearing of a person from an educated middle class family. His bag had the logo of a well-known brand of washing machine embossed on it. He placed his order and both waited. The waiter soon came with the plates. It appeared that both had ordered for thayir vadai. They looked at each other and smiled. "Your favourite?" asked Vasu. "Yes," said the young man. They ate in silence for a while. "You are I suppose maintenance engineer of your company," he said pointing to the logo on the bag. "I am Vasu an accountant." "I am Sundar. Yes, I am maintenance engineer for the washing machine company." "Could you come home and examine my machine and offer an opinion on what is the matter with it," said Vasu naming the brand. "The company people have not been successful in clearing the problem." "I have no objection to see the machine, but I would not be able to get spares if one were needed." "Opinion is all I need. My house is nearby. This is my card. I will call my wife and tell her that you are coming. Please mention your fee and she will pay it." The young man took the card and put it in his pocket. "Go straight, turn right and first turning to the left. 'Gold Leaf Apartments', third floor, flat number twenty-on," said Vasu and he took leave of him. He called his wife on the cell phone. "I am sending a young man. He is a washing machine company service engineer. Not our brand. Tell him that our washing machine makes a noise that the supplier is not able to rectify it. He is a young handsome fellow. Rest of it is up to you. Ready for adventure?" "I am scared darling." "Well good luck." There was a bemused smile on his face. Another man in the parking lot was speaking on a cell phone. Was he also telling his wife that he is sending a man home to have sex with her? 'Anything is possible,' said Vasu to himself, 'in this mad, mad world.' He reached office and was jerked back roughly into what to an accountant was the ultimate reality—an Income Tax raid. Income Tax officers were waiting for him in the office. Vasu had no time to think of home. It was six in the evening before he could just manage a brief call home to tell Amulu that he would be coming home only the next morning. He had to spend the night juggling his books frantically if his firm was to avoid criminal action for tax evasion. * The next morning he could be back home only at nine. On look and Vasu knew that Amulu had got what she wanted. She hugged him. "I love you darling," she said. "What happened?" "Plenty happened. Today, in case you have forgotten, is oil bath day. I will tell you when you rub me with oil and bathe me. In a short time of a month Amulu developed the oil bath routine into an elaborate ritual. First she spread a plastic sheet on the drawing room floor and on it she placed a low stool. Then she carried in the warm scented oil in a sliver bowl with she held with both hands as if she was bringing holy oil to offer to the deity. This she placed on the sheet. She disappeared for a while, but when she reappeared she would be wrapped in a towel that she would ceremoniously whisk off to display herself smooth and naked to her husband. Then she would sit on the stool and her husband would start proceedings. The oil shampoo was first in the list. Vasu poured oil from the bowl into his cupped palm and gently spread it on his wife's scalp. Then as he rubbed it in with his fingertips Amulu started her story. "I was scared and excited at the same time. I changed to a nightie. I took the semi-transparent one but I discarded it for the one with buttons on the front. I loosened two buttons and waited. The ring came sooner than expected. I opened the door. I must compliment you on your choice. It was just what the doctor ordered. 'Washing machine engineer?' I said. 'Yes, madam,' he responded. 'Please come in.' I led him to the washing machine, and for the first time the smallness of the room about which I have long been complaining appealed to me. 'You want to test?' I asked. He nodded. I threw a bed sheet in and he started the machine. 'The noise appears during the start of the second cycle,' I said. I switched on the room light. 'The sound comes from low down,' I said and bent low. My breasts must now have been fully visible to him. I bent down lower and as I was doing that I released one more button of my nightie. I could see my chest almost bare. I looked up. He was staring cross-eyed at my chest region. His facial muscles were twitching. Vasu, you have stopped shampooing." "Sorry darling." He resumed, but did not perform with zeal. "Continue." "Our eyes met. I smiled, and his effort to respond resulted in a grimace. 'You have seen breasts haven't you?' 'As a baby certainly,' he said, 'but not too many afterwards.' He laughed. Suddenly his nervousness left him. I undid two more buttons and let him have an unimpeded view. 'We'll go out. This place is cramped,' I said. 'When did you last see a naked women, in the flesh?' 'Adult woman? Never in my twenty-five years.' I tut-tutted. 'That's bad. Time to end the drought,' I said and then I slowly and deliberately removed my nightie. 'Do you like it?' 'Wonderful; absolutely wonderful.' 'Do you know what a pussy is like?' 'Yes, but only pictures.' I sat on sofa and lifted up my legs and spread them out. 'Come closer. You can touch me.' I offered one breast. He gently touched it. 'Knead it,' I said. He played with it. 'Touch my pussy,' I said. He rubbed it gently with his fingers. 'You know its parts?' 'I do auntie,' he said somewhat to my surprise. I did not expect to be called auntie. 'Then name them,' I said as if I was an anatomy tutor." Vasu had finished oiling the scalp and back and was now on the front of her chest. He was using both hands one on each breast. They were large, and as he worked on them he produced slapping noises. "Sundar named the major labia, as he ran his fingers over them. He did the same to the leafy inner labia and then he spread them out and placed a finger on the clitoris. 'What do you do to the clit?' I said. World's Greatest Husband Ch. 02 'Lick them auntie?' 'Yes, do so, but first undress.' He did so. His cock was big, about nine inches and throbbing. He got down on his knees and licked the clitoris. Amulu was now on the floor leaning back and resting her hands on the plastic sheet with legs spread out and Vasu was oiling the pussy. His fingers were in for a moment and then they were out, and working feverishly on the clit. "I soon had an orgasm from the licks which, for a first timer, he did excellently, and he carried me to the bed and he was on top of me. I guided his cock in. I do not think I was ever wetter than what I was at that moment. I was literally pouring." Amulu took some oil from the bowl and rubbed it on her husband's cock, which was larger than it ever had been. He also carried her to the cot and was on top as she guided his cock in. 'Fuck me, Sunder,' I said, and he pumped and pumped and then he and I got it at the same time. It was glorious. Vasu was pumping too, and Amulu was glissading down, ready to go over. 'Auntie dear,' he screamed and, and...Sundar, Sundar my boy I screamed.' She was climaxing from her husband's efforts. She was writhing, and hissing, and moaning. "That was good, but this is better," she said. They rested in each other's arms. "Darling, you are the world's greatest husband," she said. She paused and then continued, "and I promise I would do my very best to be the world's greatest wife." World's Greatest Husband Ch. 03 "Vasu," said Amulu somewhat to her husband's surprise. Hitherto she had followed the tradition of a Hindu wife not calling her husband by name. But Amulu had travelled so far away from orthodoxy that the time has come to give up these ancient practices. "Yes Darling." "I feel frightened." "Of what?" "About us?" "Yes, strange things are happening. A month ago with your diamond nose rings and chignon you were a model of old fashioned Hindu womanhood. Now you look modern, young, vivacious, and with a taste for other men." "Funny isn't? You have changed too, Vasu, and that is what is frightening me." "What change? I am not conscious of having grown horns." "Till now you gave the impression of being a prohit." "Prohit? Temple priest?" Vasu laughed. "In spite of my wearing pants and shirt?" "Yes." "Without a top knot?" "That is the funniest part Vasu. My friends say they could see a distinct top knot bobbing about even though your hair style is quite modern." "Your friends are a mischievous lot, but do you see one too?" "I could also see one. It is so funny. I would be annoyed when they say that. It is gone now, Vasu." "The top knot?" "Not only the top knot, but the prohit look itself. You stand taller, and there is that penetrating look in your eyes. Your eyes used to be as animated as tomatoes. Your walk, and your talk, everything has changed. You have started looking like a great personality." "Cuckolds are not supposed to look that way." "Vasu." She was quite angry. "There will be trouble if you ever say that word again. Understand?" "Sorry Ammu. I won't, ever. But you said you are frightened. You should be happy to see your husband turn into a he-man." "The change is quite frightening. I am thinking of Jekyll and Hyde." "You suspect that I am now Hyde?" "No Vasu. It appears as if strange powers have unleashed within you. Anything can happen." "Hope that only good things happen." "I do more; I pray. Don't you feel the change too?" "I do have a strange feeling of confidence in myself. Nothing much. But it is there." "Vasu. So many things are happening and so fast that I am confused and at times quite depressed. Right now I am pretty low. Cheer me up. Disrobe me and cuddle me, darling. If I am physically one with you I feel much revived." Vasu did more than disrobe her. He disrobed too. They kissed, and hugged, and played with themselves. She lay in an inverted position on the sofa with cheek pressed against the seat and front of her abdomen resting on the backrest with pelvis on top. Vasu stood behind with his armpits on her thighs, kissing her pussy, and Amulu purred like a cat. "When are you meeting him again?" said Vasu suddenly. "That's what I want to ask you," said Amulu without missing stride. "Do you want it to be a one-off experience?" "Not at all. You want it to continue?" "Vasu," said Amulu righting herself. She was kneeling on the sofa with her face almost touching his. "I look on him as tenderly as I would a son I can never have. When I am with him it is a special feeling. It was more like cuddling a son. I feel as if I have known him all his life. He feels that way too. It is such a special feeling being a mother and a lover at the same time." "Then call him. If you feel as if he is a son then I must know him too." "When?" "Now" Amulu went to the phone and called. Soon she was back. "He is coming within fifteen minutes." "Does he know I am here?" "No, but I will keep some smelling salts ready if it is needed. But it won't be. From the time we saw each other we are feeling as if we have known each other for years. No Vasu. He would walk in as if he belongs here." And so it proved. Sundar acted as if he expected Vasu to be home. "Come in Sunder, sit down. We are meeting again." "Yes uncle." "But I am hearing so much about you that I do not feel that way. How's work?" "Not much is happening in the washing machine front. Uncle, you look different today." "In what way." "I do not know how to describe it. You look different. Your eyes specially. They were quite ordinary when I saw you in the restaurant. Today it seems to bore into me." "Interesting. You are the second person to say that. It may interest you that my eyes failed to bore into the Income Tax people. They grilled me without mercy." "They have eyes only for registers. You look so different uncle that I wondered if it is you or your brother." "May be it is my brother." "I identified you by the two moles in your right temple region." "Quite a sharp lad you are. Any significance in these moles. Do they for example indicate that I am good at this or that?" "I am not into that uncle." "During our college days these used to be a saying that if you had a mole on your penis you would be lucky with women." "That idea is still prevailing uncle." "Any truth in it?" Sundar was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Amulu came in with coffee for Sundar. "Vasu enough of this mole thing." "Don't you want me to ask him the obvious next question Ammu?" "Most definitely not. Tell him about you experiences with the Income Tax people." Amulu knew a thing of two about the working of her husband's mind. He went into it in detail and Sundar listened with great interest. "Now Sundar I have a lot of account manipulation to do. You take auntie to a movie. When you return I would be in the bedroom deep into my accounts. Please do not disturb me. You two will have to manage in the guest room. Amulu are you OK with this plan." Sundar took the invitation of the husband to sleep with his wife as if it was a normal and natural thing to do. Amulu did not think it odd either. "I am. I will see to making the guestroom all right." It was past ten when the two returned. Vasu was still busy with his books, but he could hear them in the dining room, and later he heard the distinct click of the bedroom door. He smiled a bemused smile. He was getting a hard-on. Vasu was up at dawn. He had his bath and prepared coffee and was sipping coffee as he sat in the balcony reading the morning paper when the bleary eyed Sundar walked in followed by Amulu, who unlike Sundar had freshened herself. "From your look it appears you had not more than a wink or two of sleep," said Vasu. "You may be right," said Amulu. "Sundar have your bath and coffee. I have to explain our philosophy." Sundar moved away. He had to do a lot of freshening up before he would be ready for a lecture on philosophy. But Amulu was fussing over him as if he was her little boy, and in due course Sundar presented himself before Vasu. "Sundar," said Vasu, "marriage is a great institution. By marriage I mean this 'one man, one woman that death alone can part' concept. Death alone can part is quite all right, but one man and one woman alone is not. By the time a decade is gone the couple are bored with each other. The same faces, the same anecdotes, the same opinions, and the same disinterested, mechanical movements called sex. The headaches women suffer from at bedtime are an expression of this boredom. Amulu and myself were bored to desperation when we acquired a taste of whisky. We attend some parties. It was in one of these parties that Amulu had an encounter with a man who was very much like the man in her fantasies. She must have told you about that. I suddenly realised that man and woman in a marriage can and must have other real sexual interest. Forty or fifty years of the same thing and noting else is quite horrible. The falsehood of fantasying must go and a real person or persons take that place. Within hours of realising that I acted and that is how you are here. Our sex life is now rocketed up to unknown heights. We love and respect each other more than we ever thought we could." "Thanks uncle. I got an inkling of what is happening and I like it. When the time comes I am sure I would do the same." "But meanwhile he wants to tell you something," said Amulu who was listening to the conversation. "Sundar says that your personality is fit for a top job and not as an accountant in a small store. He says the job of financial controller is vacant in a multinational company. He says that there is no way you can fail to grab it. You go this afternoon with Sundar and get yourself proper clothes and attend that interview. Take our car Sundar. Two-wheelers are too risky on our roads. You come and pick up uncle." "Yes, auntie," said Sundar and left. "How was it the second time," asked Vasu. "Wonderful, just wonderful." "In the movie theatre?" This question set off Amulu into a prolonged giggle. "I always used to wonder what lovers do to each other in theatres. Now I know." It took her some time to compose herself. "Fondling is the main course." "Like this." "Not both. That may not be possible. "Did he unzip?" "He did not. I did for him. Like this. If like other couples in the theatre we had to make the most of what the theatre had to offer we would have gone further." "All the way?" "Maybe not." They were in the bedroom. She quickly got rid of all her clothes and he followed suit. "He is fascinated by my pussy. He made me sit with knees touching my chest and he sat in front on the carpet contemplating my pussy like a meditating rishi." "Like this?" "Yes. Then he touched it. He likes to play with the inner leaf. He plays on it with his tongue as if tasting it." "Like this?" "Yes, and then he would nibble." "Like this?" "Yes, and then he would march his lips forward till he reaches the clip hood." "Like this?" "Yes, and then with the tip of his tongue he would probe the clit." "Like this?" "No, his tongue is not as pointed as yours. And then he would suck out the clit, hold it between his lips, and lick the captive." "Like this?" "Oooh! Yes. I encourage him by whispering 'my darling boy go on doing it to your mom." When I say mom he gets all into frenzy. He licks till I have a mammoth orgasm. Yes, yes like this, Ooooo! And then he carried me to the bed and he entered me." "Like this?" "Yes, and I screamed, and screamed and screamed, just like this. Did you hear my screams?" She was panting. "I did not though my ears were flapping to catch the faintest noise." "We slept, and then we woke up and we did it again, and we slept, and he had almost finished when I woke up to catch the tail end of the third. Thank you Vasu for opening up my world. I pity women who are forced to be with one man all their lives. It is not just physical. It is a whole different package, physical, emotional and spiritual. For those who may scorn my saying that it is a spiritual experience I would just ask them to try it and then talk." They rested in each other's arms. Vasu got the job. The rest is history. Not five years are past, but already Vasu is spoken of as the next CEO of the multinational. His right hand man is one Sundar whom he looks upon as a son. Sundar's wedding to the rich and beautiful Shamim was one of the high points in the social life of the city for the year. Sundar is often seen in movie theatres watching action films with his foster mother Amulu. She, like many a modern woman, is sold out on action films, and she never tires of watching them. Her preference is for Hong Kong produced Chinese ones. But Shamim is an exception. She likes to listen to classical music, and dance, and drama. Her tastes do not match her husband's but is in line with her foster father Vasu's. These two are often seen in Music Academy Halls absorbed in these performances. They usually sit holding hands, and when the artists renders some raga in a particularly juicy way they look at each and shake their heads in admiration as much of the music as of each other. On days when the music had been exceptionally good they do not want to get away from each other. They spend the night together. Amulu and Sunder love to see them take the enjoyment of classical music to the logical end. They are happy to be a part of a very happy family.