Canadian Marriage free porn video

My name is Jahan Ara Peerally and I am the younger daughter of Seth Ismail Azeem Peerally and his wife, Nabila Nazneen Peerally. My father is a wealthy businessman and making money is the only thing that truly interests him. My sister Ayesha Banu and I were mostly brought up by my mother.

It all began when I was seventeen years old and happy with life. I was cooking in the kitchen with my mother. She was normally talkative, prattling on about anything under the sun, but this day she was unusually silent. Mother and I were very close, so I knew something was up.

“What’s the matter, Mother?” I asked.

“Nothing, Jahan Ara,” she said. “Nothing at all.”

“No,” I insisted. “I can tell that something is up.”

Mother was silent for a while, stirring the vegetables sautéing in a pan. I knew my mother, so I waited for her. Eventually she spoke.

“Jahan Ara,” she said. “Your father has been contacted by a distant relative of ours, Seth Rashid Khan. He lives in Canada. He is looking for a bride for his son, Iqbal.”

My blood ran cold. Canada! I knew where this was going.

“But Mother, I am only seventeen!”
“By the time he comes here in three weeks, you will be eighteen. He will arrive just after your birthday. Your father is keen on this marriage. Seth Rashid is far wealthier than your father, he can give a lot of business to your father’s import-export business. It will be a fine match.”

My heart sank. I knew there was no use protesting. I wanted to study, I wanted to go to university, but all that was off the table now.

Seth Rashid came a week after my birthday. Mother dressed me in a richly brocaded sari with a tight blouse that bared my straight back and showed my firm young breasts to advantage. She tied a tight choker necklace with a heavy gold pendant around my neck to emphasize its swan-like grace.

“I apologize for coming like this,” said Seth Rashid. “This is normally women’s work. But my dear wife passed away several years ago and I must do what I can in her absence.”

He made me stand and walked around me, inspecting me like a mare in an auction. He came close and with his back to Father and Mother, allowed his eyes to linger on the swell of my breasts. Even though my blouse was mostly concealed under the heavy brocade of my sari pallu, the lust in his stare was palpable. It frightened me. I wrapped my pallu around myself to completely cover my tight blouse and hide my breasts from him. Then he went back to stand on the opposite side of the room from Father and Mother.

“Walk across the room for me, rajkumari,” he said to me, calling me ‘princess’. I looked over at Mother, but she merely nodded approvingly.

I walked across the room with him on one side and Father and Mother on the other. I swayed on the tall, strappy platform heels Mother had made me wear. I had protested, because I am quite tall for a girl, but she insisted, saying, “Being tall is an advantage on the marriage market. We must use every advantage as this match will be very good for you and for us.”

I turned at the end of the room and Seth Rashid beckoned me to return. I walked back up to him, eyelids fluttering with nervousness. It was awkward approaching him. For even though he was heavily muscled and must have outweighed me by a good hundred pounds or more, I was taller than him on my platform heels.

“Turn around, meri rani,” he said, calling me ‘my queen’.

I turned around so that I was facing Father and Mother with my back to him. He put his hands on my hips, holding them so tightly that I felt his fingers through my sari and petticoat, tracing the lines of my panties.

“A good set of hips, she’ll have no trouble birthing children,” he said.

To my amazement, my parents both beamed with pride.

“Indeed, she has a body made for childbearing,” said Father.

I blushed furiously, feeling the blood rushing to my face. His hands moved around, out of sight of my parents and he gripped my buttocks firmly, a cheek in each hand. He squeezed them hard and massaged them, making it me rock on my tall heels.

“Are you uncomfortable, soni?” he asked, calling me ‘sweetie’.

Father and Mother continued to smile when he said this.

“No, no,” I mumbled.

Then he pushed his fingers between my legs, gathering my sari and petticoat between my butt cheeks. I moved my hips, in an attempt to ease my discomfort, but this only enabled him to push his fingers deeper, pressing the layers of my sari and petticoat against my nether lips. I was shocked by how intimately he was able to invade my privacy through the protection of my clothing. I was dreadfully frightened of having my parents find out and causing a scene – and perhaps losing this match that they so wanted. But now I became aware of another feeling – a heat in my lower belly that was slowly descending to my loins.

“A firm, round ass. And a thick set of pussy lips.” His tone was low enough that my parents did not hear him. I blushed deeper. For some reason, his filthy talk seemed to accentuate the heat that was growing between my legs. “With an ass like this, you will be a great fuck, doggie style. But of course, no one has fucked you. Yet.”

His hands moved up from my buttocks to my lower back and traced the line of my bare spine, from my sari waistband to the hem of my blouse.

“She has a very straight back, Seth Ismail,” he said in a normal tone.

My father took it like a compliment and beamed even more broadly.

“I always made sure she maintained excellent posture,” said Mother, proudly. “She has had many offers to model, but of course, we have not allowed her to do that.”

“You are wise, Begum Peerally,” said Seth Rashid, gravely. “Models always have to sleep with producers and photographers. Any girl I consider for my son must be a virgin.”

Mother’s hand went to her mouth in shock.

“Seth Rashid! I had no idea the modeling profession is so wicked! I am relieved to tell you that our Jahan Ara is untouched.”

His hands slowly traced the hem of my tight blouse until they were under my armpits. I desperately moved the pallu of my sari around to cover his hands and hide them from my parents’ eyes. Shrouded by my pallu, his hands cupped my breasts and began to knead them, thumbs teasing the bumps that my nipples made through my bra and blouse.

“Perfect young breasts,” he whispered in my ear. “Small, but so firm.” He went on in a normal tone to my parents. “Her figure has the promise of fertility. Her exquisite little breasts will swell with mother’s milk.”

Both Father and Mother looked confused.

“She will bear your heirs, Seth Rashid,” said Mother, after a pause. She tried to look confident, but her voice sounded uncertain.

I was beginning to feel hot all over. I could not understand why my nipples had grown so hard and knobby, raising ever bigger bumps through my bra and blouse. Normally my nipples grew firm and hard when I was cold, not when I was hot!

Then one of his hands slid down from my breast to rest on the swell of my belly. It was covered by the sweep of my pallu, so even though I was facing my parents, they could not see it. I was too frightened to protest and cause a scene, but I could not help catching my breath in a gasp. Seth Rashid was bold and allowed his hand to linger, his thumb exploring my belly button. His fingers reached downward, sneaking under the pleats of my sari. My expression was piteous, but my parents thought I looked shy and just continued smiling.

“She’s very obedient, Seth Rashid,” said Father. “She will do whatever you ask.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” said Seth Rashid, as he pushed his fingers lower, under my petticoat, finding the waistband of my lace panties. I tried to move away from him, but he held me fast, his other hand moving from one breast to the other.

“She is tall for a girl,” Seth Rashid continued. “Why, she now stands a few inches taller than me and fits me very well. I like tall girls.”

“Yes,” said Mother, proudly. “Jahan Ara was always one of the tallest girls in her class.”

“How tall is your son, Seth Rashid?” I asked, trying to keep my voice level.

“Oh, Iqbal is about your height, maybe a bit shorter,” said Seth Rashid, airily. “You will be taller than him when you wear heels like now, but I am not concerned about that. I think you will fit into our family very well.”

Seth Rashid’s hand pushed lower and I moved my hips trying to dislodge him. But I only succeeded in making it easier for him to drive his hand into my panties. His thumb touched and manipulated my clitoris. I had never even touched myself like this before and my mouth opened in a small “O”. I put my hand over it and covered my shocked mew with a cough.

I could not understand what was happening to me – the physical sensations were totally new to me. My breath was growing short, I felt the heat in my loins growing more intense. I felt wetness in my pussy, though I had no urge to urinate. I wanted it to stop, but only because I was afraid of making a scene between my parents and Seth Rashid. The feeling of his hand was undeniably pleasurable.

His thumb moved faster and then he pushed two fingers into my pussy. He worked them in and out in time in time with his thumb. I billowed my pallu to obscure the movement between my legs from my parents.

“You’re a hot bitch, Jahan Ara,” Seth Rashid whispered in my ear. “It’s clear that no one has touched you before, but you have a naturally strong sex drive.”

“She has a fine hair,” he said aloud to my parents, keeping their attention at eye level. With two fingers still in me, his thumb still working my clitoris, his third finger caressed my pussy lips, running through my soft, dark pubic down. “Thick, dark and sweet smelling. She seems to take after her lovely mother.”

“Oh, you are such a flatterer, Seth Rashid,” giggled Mother. “But run your fingers through our Jahan Ara’s hair, you will find it as soft as silk.”

“Oh, I am doing that already,” said Seth Rashid. “Her down is soft to the touch, not coarse and curly like most girls.”

My parents did not catch Seth Rashid’s reference to ‘down’ and just smiled serenely, completely unaware of what he was doing to me, their virgin daughter. Then Seth Rashid put his other hand on my head as Mother suggested, subtly pulling my hair to bring my head back. The pressure arched my neck and back. The movement caused my pussy to push forward even harder on to his invading hand. The move made me look upward and breathe through my mouth. The pendant on my choker necklace jiggled with my rapid breathing.

“Don’t be so nervous, child,” said Father. “Seth Rashid means you no harm.”

“Listen to your father, Jahan Ara,” Seth Rashid said. “Why are you so tense? Just let yourself go."

With that, he pushed even deeper into me with his fingers, I began to tremble and feel very hot all over, like I had a fever. I did not know what was happening to me, and when I felt the first contractions, I thought I was going to pee. When I did not, the relief so overwhelmed me that I exhaled a big sigh as my orgasm engulfed me. It was the first orgasm of my life and it surprised me with its continuing waves of pleasure. I exhaled small gasps with each contraction. My legs felt like they would not support me and I sagged back against Seth Rashid.

I felt a thick, hard object between his legs against my rump and he rubbed it against me. He moved his hips to insinuate the hard object into the crack between my buttocks cheeks. I could feel its heat even through his pants and the layers of my sari. I knew that boys and girls were different, but at this point, with my sheltered upbringing, I did not know what men had down there.

Both his hands now moved to support me and hold me against him. Under the cover of my pallu, he again cupped each of my firm, young breasts. With a quick movement, he undid the hooks of my gold lame blouse and pulled down the cups of my lace bra. His fingers moved roughly over my bare nipples, massaging a viscous liquid onto them. I smelled a faint aroma; though I was aware that it was from my body, the smell was new to me.

“Smell your sex, Jahan Ara,” Seth Rashid whispered in my ear. “My fingers in your pussy were doused with your wetness when you had your orgasm.”

My nipples were now so stiff that they were painful. But it was a pain unlike any I had ever felt before, for my hard nipples were a new source of pleasure, even as the waves of my orgasm began to subside.

“What’s the matter, Jahan Ara?” said Mother. “Are you feeling faint?”

“Yes, yes,” I faltered.

“A dizzy spell,” said Seth Rashid. “She needs some water.”

Mother left and went to the kitchen to get it. Seth Rashid continued to knead my breasts. I ballooned my pallu to keep his probing hands out of sight of Father, thankful that the heavy brocaded silk of my sari provided an effective, tent-like covering. I tried to dislodge his hands, but my efforts were halfhearted and he would not be deterred.

“Relax, Jahan Ara,” Seth Rashid whispered. “Your nipples are so hard and long! I am sure they taste sweet.”

“Are you still dizzy, Jahan Ara?” asked Father. “Perhaps you should sit down.”

“I’m … fine,” I stammered.

“Yes, yes,” said Seth Rashid. “Come, sit on my lap, child.”

Still holding me captive with his hands on my breasts, he sat on a chair and pulled me down to sit on his lap. His hard member was now implanted firmly between my buttocks cheeks, wedged in there by my body weight. My panties were already wet, but I felt a fresh oozing of fluids out of my pussy. I began to feel hot again and my breath was growing short.

“Jahan Ara, you look a bit bilious,” said Father. “Did you eat something unusual at lunch?”

“No, no, Father,” I said faintly.

“She’s just feeling overwhelmed by the occasion,” said Seth Rashid. “It is every girl’s dream to be married; the thought of being in man’s bed for the first time is exciting.”

“Oh, I see,” said Father, quite at a loss.

Mother returned from the kitchen with a glass of water. As quickly as he had begun, Seth Rashid withdrew his probing hands from my breasts. Still holding me in his lap, he put his arm around my waist in a fatherly fashion to steady me, whispering in her ear, “Mashallah, Jahan Ara, it is obvious that no one has made you cum before. And I can see that my cock in your rump has you excited again.”

I drank the water and smiled weakly at Mother.

“Are you better, Jahan Ara?” she asked.

“Yes,” I managed to say.

Seth Rashid’s hand was still on the bare flesh of my waist under my pallu, but after what he had just done to me, this touch was almost innocent. Sitting on the hard reality of his cock, I could think of nothing other than the wetness seeping out of my panties and staining my petticoat. I even forgot that my blouse was undone, my bra was pulled down and my breasts were bare under the cover of my pallu.

“Your daughter is exactly what I am looking for, Seth Ismail,” Seth Rashid continued in a normal tone. “An innocent rose.”

“Indeed, she is,” gushed Mother. “You should see how she goes out of the house. She wears a silk headscarf covering everything but her eyes.”

Mother knew that this was rubbish – that I only wore the headscarf and long sleeves to keep from getting dark in the sun. I was several shades paler than my sister Ayesha Banu and was petrified that the sun would make me go from light caramel to chocolate brown like her.

“I would love to see her in it,” said Seth Rashid. “Once she is my daughter-in-law.”

“Seth Rashid, you have made Jahan Ara the happiest girl in the world,” said Mother.

“She is wet with joy,” said Seth Rashid. “Tell your parents how wet you are, Jahan Ara.”

My parents looked at him blankly, completely bewildered.

“I’m … I’m … very happy,” I managed to mutter.

*

After that everything happened very quickly. I protested to Mother, but she brushed my objections aside.

“Seth Rashid is far richer than your father,” she said. “His son is a great catch. This is very important for our business.”

I met Seth Rashid’s son, Iqbal Khan, for the first time on the day of our marriage. He was dressed his groom’s finery and I was in the complicated attire of a wealthy bride, complete with a great deal of jewelry. My older sister, Ayesha Banu, was there by my side to calm me – she had been married the previous year to Rizwan Premji, the son of another wealthy merchant.

The wedding night was in the bridal suite of the most luxurious hotel in town. It was a bit of an anti-climax. Both Iqbal and I were virgins and we fumbled around. It took Iqbal a long time to get me out of my wedding sari and gold lamé blouse. I took off my own petticoat as he tried to get out of his clothes as quickly as he could. When he saw me in the red bra, panties and stockings that my sister Ayesha Banu had bought especially for my wedding night, his erection grew to its full extent. It was quite modest, only slightly thicker and longer than a cigar. But it was the first erect cock that I had seen and it scared me. So I quickly snapped off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

The brief sight of his new wife in lingerie obviously excited him, for he threw himself on me like a starving man on food. He tore off my panties, managing to rip them in the process. He didn’t bother taking off my bra, but just pulled down the cups to expose my breasts and dark red nipples. In the dark, it took him forever to get his cock lined up with my pussy. When he finally did, he tried to push into me and failed at the first attempt. He tried several more times with the same result. Even though his hard-on was small, I was tight and totally dry, for he had not aroused me in the least. Eventually he used the weight of his body and forced his cock into me. It hurt like hell and I screamed with pain. He thought it was a cry of passion and began to piston me as hard as he could. I screamed again, begging him to stop hurting me. Mercifully he only lasted through half a dozen thrusts before ejaculating his small load into me.

I knew that my sister Ayesha Banu and several of my young, married female cousins were listening outside the door in the traditional bridal party ritual. I heard them giggling after Iqbal was done and lay back in the covers. The next day, I asked Ayesha Banu about it. She laughed and said, “It sounded like he hurt you, but at least he didn’t last long. My husband, Rizwan is the same.”

Two days later, I flew over to Canada with Seth Rashid and Iqbal.

*

My life in Canada was a big change, but it quickly settled into a routine. Seth Rashid and Iqbal lived in a huge mansion with sprawling grounds, in the suburbs outside a large city. There was a swimming pool, a gym and stables with several fine horses. It was much more luxurious that the suburban house in which I had grown up with my parents and sister.

Seth Rashid used his contacts to bring many new large buyers to Father’s import-export business and sales boomed. Iqbal boasted to me of this and kept telling me how lucky my family was with my marriage. My parents reiterated this when I spoke to them on the phone.

“Keep Iqbal happy, Jahan Ara,” Mother said, every time we spoke. “You cannot believe how much more money we are making after your marriage. Seth Rashid has been very good to us.”

Iqbal fucked me energetically every night, and was pleased with his efforts. His penetrations of my tight, dry pussy were still painful. He continued to assume that my cries of pain meant that I was enjoying our coupling, never realizing how far this was from the truth. But I thought of what Mother told me and dutifully lay back every night and let him get off. He seemed satisfied and often told me what a beautiful body I had.

Seth Rashid groped me at every opportunity. He seemed to take particular pleasure in doing it in front of Iqbal. However, my husband remained completely oblivious to his father’s lascivious actions. This was partly because I used all kinds of subterfuge to conceal what he was doing to me and partly because Iqbal was always obsessively playing video games on his phone.

Seth Rashid enjoyed the ways I used my pallu and other devices to conceal his groping hands. He always made me wet my panties. Sometimes he made me cum, something that his son was never able to do. (The wet panties that I discarded in the laundry hamper always seemed to disappear. I later discovered a huge cache of my soiled panties in one of Seth Rashid’s closets.) But even when Seth Rashid’s insistent hands got me to climax, I still had a hollow feeling, a perception that something was missing.

The Khans had a female cook and two maids that came in every day. They did the meals, the cleaning up, and all of the housework. They also had a hot, young Brazilian housekeeper, Ana Elisa Siqueira, who lived in a cottage on their property. Seth Rashid and Iqbal rarely used the pool and never used any of the other facilities on their property, but Ana Elisa took full advantage. I saw her swimming laps every morning, sunbathing on the pool deck in a string bikini in the afternoons, working out energetically in the gym in colorful tights and a sports bra. She regularly rode the horses around the extensive property. She seemed to do no housework and oversaw the cook and maids in a very disinterested manner.

Seth Rashid and Iqbal went to work every morning after breakfast, leaving Ana Elisa and me at home with the cook and maids. She wore very short skirts, diaphanous blouses, silk scarves worn choker style and very high heels. Whenever she looked at me, there was a hint of contempt in her eyes. When she spoke to me, her tone was formal and commanding, giving me orders rather than requests. She acted as though she was the mistress of the house and I was subservient to her rather than the other way around.

She often patted me on the rump when she spoke to me and her hands seemed to accidentally brush my breasts through my pallu with regularity. She was always commenting on how I wore my sari “like an old woman”; she asked why I always wrapped my pallu around myself, rather than letting it fall free like other women. I always replied her stiffly, saying that well brought up girls dressed modestly and covered themselves. My pointed innuendo about her immodesty had a perverse effect on her. She always laughed, often responding by undoing a button of her blouse so that I could see the bridge and cups of her bra. Her bras were so low cut that her nipples were always threatening to escape and I could not help seeing the tops of her aureoles. When she saw my eyes dragged to her breasts, she smiled victoriously.

Even though I decided I could not stand her, I found myself following her about. I watched her work out in the gym, swim laps in the pool and ride the horses about the extensive grounds. I marveled at her beautifully muscled body: her ass so tight and hard, her abs, shoulder blades and back so well-defined, her dark blonde hair so thick and straight.

Her workouts in the gym were long and hard. She would moan and sometimes squeal as she got to the climax of her computer-generated programs. She always stripped off her sweat soaked sports bra as she stepped off the treadmill or computer bike in the gym on the way to the shower – she knew I was watching and cupped her firm breasts, teasing her pink nipples to erection as she walked by me, swinging her hips to emphasize her firm buttocks. After my own shower each morning, I spent long periods looking at my naked body in the full-length mirrors, forward, sideways and from the rear, comparing myself to her. I’m not bad, I thought. My breasts are as firm as hers, my nipples may be dark brown whereas hers are pink, but mine stand out just as straight and hard as hers when I tease them with my fingers. My buttocks are tight too and the soft swell of my belly is so much more feminine than her hard abs.

I did not know how to ride or use the equipment in the gym and I was a poor swimmer. But I had always walked for exercise and did so with gusto now, spurred by my own secret competition with Ana Elisa. I continued doing so, even as summer faded into autumn and the weather grew colder.

Everyone was happy. Except me.

*  

I was confined to the large mansion and after a few months, I began to feel like I was in a gilded prison. Seth Rashid and Iqbal were driven to work in their cars in the morning, but I had no transport and it was impossible to walk anywhere from our distant suburb. It began to grow very cold as winter approached. The Canadian winter was very like the winters where I had grown up near Chicago. I could only continue walking on the grounds with the heavy winter clothing that Seth Rashid bought me.

I knew how to drive and I finally asked Iqbal for a car – but he told me that it would be Seth Rashid’s decision. So that evening after dinner, I begged Seth Rashid, but he just laughed.

“Where would you go, my comely daughter-in-law?” he asked. “Do you want to start an affair? Are you not satisfied with poor Iqbal?”

Iqbal flushed at this, but did not speak.

“Of course I do not want to start an affair,” I said angrily. “I just want the freedom to get out of the house. I would go shopping, to the movies, maybe have a meal out.”

“I will take you wherever you want to go, my pretty young thing,” he said.

He moved quickly behind me and put his arms around me in what seemed to be a protective embrace. Iqbal was playing a game on his smart phone and did not look up as his father’s hands moved to cup and knead my breasts under the pallu of my sari. As usual, I distended my pallu in an attempt to conceal what his hands were doing. But my light chiffon sari was semi-diaphanous and Iqbal could have discerned traces of his father’s hands on my breasts if he cared to look up from his game. But he was engrossed and did not raise his eyes from his screen even once.

“I can see that my son is not satisfying you in bed, Jahan Ara,” Seth Rashid whispered in my ear. “A hot bitch like you needs to be fucked hard.”

My body had betrayed me immediately and my nipples were stiff under his rough touch. I leaned onto him, closing my eyes, blanking out my husband’s presence from my thoughts and imagining Seth Rashid’s hard cock was penetrating me instead of simply rubbing against my rump through my sari.

“Well, fuck me then,” I thought, though I did not dare to say it.

*

Every day, I spoke to my sister, Ayesha Banu on a video call. I told her every detail of my day, especially about my weird sex life. I spoke to her of Iqbal’s painful but mercifully short sexual attentions. I told her that apart from these bursts of intimacy in bed, my husband mostly ignored me. And I complained about how Seth Rashid imprisoned me on the property.

Ayesha Banu was a year older than me and I had always been her little sister. She was darker than me and most people said that I was the prettier one. Perhaps to make up for it, she became more assertive, displaying her voluptuous body in racy attire and flirting with men. She wore hipster saris with pleats so low that they almost revealed her panties, paired with halter neck cholis that displayed her tight cleavage. She worked for Father in his business, interacted with men all day, and used her sex appeal to make sales. She was always on the boundary of scandal, but somehow managed to stay just on the right side. So she had a very respectable marriage to Rizwan Premji, scion of a wealthy family. I idolized her, though I would never have had the courage to be like her.

Every time Seth Rashid molested me, Ayesha Banu made me describe everything in great detail. Her eyes seemed to grow glazed as she listened, and she almost seemed to enjoy hearing about it. I shamefully admitted that even though Seth Rashid’s groping was unwelcome, I now looked forward to it; it was my only experience of physical pleasure.

I told Ayesha Banu of my secret competition with Ana Elisa. I sent her surreptitious videos that I took of her working out, sweat dripping from every pore, her finely muscled body moving flawlessly on the equipment.

*

I formed a strong suspicion as to why Seth Rashid never tried to take his groping to the next level and actually fuck me. For whenever Ana Elisa was in the room, Seth Rashid took great pains to stay away from me; he would barely look at me. My feminine instincts quickly picked up from the way that they looked at each other that she was more than a housekeeper.

A few months later, on a weekend morning, my suspicions were confirmed. I got up earlier than usual and left Iqbal snoring in our bed. I made myself some tea and as I was letting it brew, I saw Seth Rashid’s smart phone on the kitchen table. After I made my tea, I picked up the phone and went to the master suite, teacup in hand. The door to the suite was closed, but it opened smoothly when I turned the doorknob. I entered the anteroom and immediately heard Seth Rashid’s deep groans. Thinking he was ill, I hurried to the bedroom door that was slightly ajar.

What I saw made me duck behind the doorjamb and peer around it furtively. Seth Rashid was naked on his bed, lying on his back. Ana Elisa was on her hands and knees, wearing nothing but a green lace bra, whose cups had been pulled down, so it covered nothing. Her incredible, athletic body was covered with a thin sheen of sweat. I hated her for her perfect bronze tan.

She had Seth Rashid’s cock in her mouth! I could not believe it! His hands were in her hair and he kept pushing her head down. I watched in fascination as her lips formed a tight lock around his swollen member and moved up and down. Each time she did so, he groaned from deep in his throat. She was sucking on him, for I heard the slurping sounds. He was much bigger than Iqbal and I gaped at how Ana Elisa was able to swallow all of him.

As I watched, Seth Rashid began to thrash and ejaculate his load into her mouth. Ana Elisa gulped – she was swallowing Seth Rashid’s ejaculate, for I could see her Adam’s apple bobbing. It was over in less than a minute, but to my bedazzled mind, it seemed to go on for a long time. Ana Elisa wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and then with the bedsheet. She crawled up on the bed and rested her head on Seth Rashid’s chest.

“You suck like a vacuum cleaner, Ana Elisa,” Seth Rashid puffed, still out of breath. “You drive me crazy!”

“Well, you’re not done yet,” she said with her throaty Brazilian accent. “You’ve got to get me off.”

“I’m completely spent, Ana Elisa!” Seth Rashid exclaimed.

“Let me see what I can get out of you, old man,” she laughed. She had a full laugh, very merry and unfeigned.

She began to stroke his flaccid member with her hand. As she did so, she reached under the bed and pulled out a wicked looking hunting knife, its sharp blade glinting in the lights in the room. I stuck Seth Rashid’s phone under the pleats at the waistband of my sari and put my free hand on my mouth to stifle my gasp of dread.

She held the knife casually as she kept jacking his member. I could see that there was fear in Seth Rashid’s eyes. When she found that her continuous hand job did not get him hard, she went back on her hands and knees and used her mouth. Eventually, she got him half-hard and straddled him. She lowered herself on to him, holding his member with one hand and the knife in the other. She managed to get his cockhead into her and then used her weight to take the rest of him into her pussy. She began to grind herself on his mount and this brought renewed groans from him. She began to move her hips faster and grind harder. Eventually she shone as fresh sweat appeared on her toned body. She finally began to breathe hard – eventually she began to sound like she did when she was working out, giving out little moans. Impaled on his member, she finally shuddered, slammed her mound on his through three hard strokes and gave out a small squeal, before leaning forward with her left hand on his chest.

Through the sexual congress, Seth Rashid’s breathing had grown increasingly labored. When she pounded herself on him through her final gyrations, he cried out as though he was dying, almost drowning her out. Her breathing returned to normal almost immediately, though she dripped sweat on him. I was fascinated with the droplets that coursed down her throat, over her firm breasts to distend from her hardened nipples before dribbling onto him.

“Ana Elisa,” he puffed. “You will kill me if you keep doing this to me!”

“You seemed to like it,” she said complacently. “You came again, I felt your little gush in my pussy. Not as much as I swallowed the first time, but quite good for an old man.”

“I’m not so old, Ana Elisa,” he said.

“Old enough to be my father, Rashid,” she said, using his first name. “But young enough to lust after other women.”

“What do you mean,” he said, still wheezing. “It is you that I want to marry.”

She rested the sharp point of hunting knife on his chest, allowing the weight of the weapon to prick his skin and draw a bead of blood.

“You’ve got this hot, young daughter-in-law in the house now. I’ve caught you eyeing her now and then.”

“Oh, that is ridiculous,” protested Seth Rashid, his eyes wide with fear. “She’s my son’s wife. She’s like a daughter to me. I don’t even know what she really looks like.”

“Well, if I catch you with her, I’ll kill you,” said Ana Elisa. She moved the hunting knife lightly over his skin, creating a thin trail of blood.

“Don’t talk like that, Ana Elisa. You’re going to be my wife.”

“I’m a hot-blooded, passionate Brazilian,” she said. “Not some tame muslim woman that you can treat like chattel. I’ll marry you, but I won’t change my name or my religion. And I won’t wear a headscarf or any of those medieval costumes that muslim women wear.”

“I’ve already agreed to all that. Please put the knife away, you mustn’t threaten me.”

“Every time you see my knife, you get harder. It adds spice to our relationship.”

“I’m quite content with our sex,” said Seth Rashid, his voice finally coming back to normal. “I don’t need the risk. You might do me serious injury by accident.”

“If I catch you touching Jahan Ara, I’ll kill you,” she repeated with a hint of viciousness. “And it won’t be an accident.”

I silently turned around and left, thankful that the master suite door was well-oiled and soundless.

*

After witnessing Ana Elisa’s sexual romp with Seth Rashid, I rushed out of the master suite, picked up my laptop and sequestered myself in a little used guest bedroom. I locked the door and video called Ayesha Banu on my laptop. It was evening back home; she had just dressed to go out and wore a sumptuous sari. I breathlessly described the sex between Seth Rashid and Ana Elisa. Ayesha Banu asked me searching questions, making sure that I gave her every detail.

“She is a very beautiful woman,” said Ayesha Banu, finally. “But you are a lovely girl too, which is why she is wary of your presence in the house. No doubt her jealousy and the risk of being caught groping you makes the whole situation more exciting for Seth Rashid. But perhaps now she has scared him into ceasing his sexual attentions to you.”

“It will be a relief,” I said.

“Are you sure?” Ayesha Banu adjusted her position in her chair and rubbed her swollen belly under her pallu. She was heavily pregnant; it was only a week or so before her due date. “He is the only one who has given you sexual pleasure.”

“But it is shameful!” I exclaimed. “Pushing his fingers into my pussy! And now I have seen him fornicating with his Christian Brazilian mistress that he pretends is his housekeeper. She puts his private parts into her mouth! Disgusting!”

“It is normal sex,” said Ayesha Banu, laughing as my eyes widened in disbelief. “Nothing disgusting about it.”

“I would never put my mouth on Iqbal’s member,” I said decisively. I went on with a note of challenge. “Do you take Rizwan’s member in your mouth?”

“Of course not,” said Ayesha Banu, still smiling. She saw my triumphant expression and her eyes twinkled as she continued. “But that does not mean that I have never done it.”

“Whatever do you mean?” I asked, shocked.

“Let me show you,” she said. “I’ll send you a video.”

Within a moment, my phone pinged with an incoming message. I saw that there was a video attached and tapped it to make it play.

In the video, Ayesha Banu was on her knees, wearing a yellow chiffon sari. Her pallu had fallen over her shoulder and pooled on the floor beside her. Her halter neck choli was unhooked. Her yellow silk bra was pulled down to reveal her full breasts and charcoal black nipples. Her head was in the lap of a white man, who could only be seen from the waist down, his pale skin quite a contrast against her chocolate brown. Her lips were stretched around his organ – which was huge! It was like a steel bar, veined and so hard that it glistened in the light. His hands were in her straight, black hair, holding her head. Her hands were on his wrists and she gripped him tightly.

As the video began to roll, he forced more of his length into her mouth, arching her neck to line up her throat. Her large dark eyes were open, but her eyelids fluttered in what looked like panic. I could hear her sucking as she tried to draw air into her lungs.

“Suck, Ayesha,” I heard his voice. “Fill your lungs with air, I don’t want to choke you when I push my cock into your throat.”

She complied, breathing noisily. He pushed harder, holding her head firmly. Finally, he managed to insert three quarters of his enormous member into her mouth. I could see the bulge where he had pushed into her throat, for her mouth was not big enough to accommodate even the length he had pushed into her. Her eyes were watering copiously now and her nose was running. Saliva drooled out of the tight seal between her lips and his shaft. I could hear wheezing noises as she continued to suck.

“Time it, Ayesha Banu,” his voice was calm and soothing. “I am going to fuck your mouth now – breathe in hard when I pull out, hold your breath when I push in. There, there …”

He was as good as his word. He began to fuck her mouth, slowly at first, still holding her head tightly. He pulled a few inches out and then pushed in again, hard. Her grip on his wrists tightened further and her full breasts pressed against his thighs.

“Oh, I love your hard, black nipples against my skin, Ayesha Banu,” he said softly, as he continued to rock his organ in and out of her mouth, faster and faster. They began to fall into a rhythm and she was sucking on him mightily as he pulled out, holding her breath as he pushed in. Her eyes continued to water, her nose continued to run and her saliva lubricated his shaft. Her fluids dripped off her chin and jaw on to the carpet and formed a pool of wetness.

“Oh, Ayesha Banu, you have gotten so good at this!” The man’s voice took on a note of urgency. “I’m going to cum soon! Swallow now, don’t choke!”

He came explosively. It made what I had just seen between Seth Rashid and Ana Elisa tame and mild by comparison. He grunted and my sister’s eyes bugged out as the first gout of his ejaculate hit the base of her throat. It was a massive spurt, for I saw it bulge out her throat as it went down. He pushed in again and pumped in another gout, but she was still swallowing the first one and spluttered. Thick, milky semen exploded out of her mouth and sprayed everywhere, on to her sari, her bra, her breasts, even up her nose, on to her face and into her hair. He pushed in a third time and there was an even bigger mess of ejaculate flying everywhere.

He slowly released her head and she withdrew from his softening organ. She rocked back and would have fallen on her back, but his hands reached behind her and held her, pulling her head back to rest between his thighs again. She was panting hard, pulling air into her lungs in great gasps. This made her full breasts jounce and droplets of her tears, nasal drip, saliva and sweat, mixed with thick, viscous semen coursed over her twin globes to dangle off her ebony nipples before falling on to the carpet. Her mascara had run and made black tracks on her brown skin.

“I’m getting good, aren’t I?” Ayesha Banu asked, finally.

“Yes, you’ve gotten very good.”

“I never like how we start,” she said. “You are so rough. But you always make me cum so hard in the end. Even now, giving you a blowjob in Father’s study made me to cum.”

“You came?”

“Just before you did. It was not as good as when you fuck me, but I’m not complaining.”

“Let’s go to your bedroom, Ayesha Banu. I’ll fuck you again there.”

“Not now, Jack. Rizwan and Father will be coming home soon.”

“All the better. Think of how exciting it will be, fucking in your marital bed with the risk of being caught.”

“We’re always taking risks! You’ve already made me pregnant!”

“You cum harder when there is risk,” he said. “Don’t you?”

The video slowly faded out. I looked back at my sister’s face on the laptop screen in horror.

“How could you?” I whispered. “That was an absolutely disgusting display and sinful as well. Is it true that the baby you are carrying is not Rizwan’s?”

“No, it is Jack’s. Rizwan’s sperm count is so low that my OB-GYN said it would take a miracle for him to make me pregnant.”

“How often do you sleep with this Jack?”

“Whenever he is in town. He’s been here three times so far. But when he is here, he fucks me three, four times a day. We find all sorts of places to do it. The first time he fucked me, it was in the walk-in safe at work.”

“Ayesha Banu, this is wicked. How can you cheat on your husband like this?”

“You are cheating on your husband too, aren’t you?” she countered. “You seem to enjoy your father-in-law finger-fucking you.”

“I try to fight him! He forces me!”

“You said yourself that you enjoy it and look forward to it.”

“I am ashamed of my urges! But you seem to take pride in your cheating.”

“Jahan Ara, if Jack Grierson fucked you, you would beg him to do it again. And again.”

“Never!” I shouted.

“Don’t shout, Jahan Ara,” said Ayesha Banu. She rubbed her pendulous belly again. “I’m glad you called. I was going to call you anyway, to tell you that Rizwan and I will be coming to Canada soon after the baby is born. Father wants me to check on Iqbal and Rizwan has some business for his father, Seth Premji.”

“When will you arrive?”

“The baby is due next week. We’ll probably fly in about two months.”

*