Ayesha
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Ayesha Banu free porn video
1.
“I’d like to see something old,” said the customer, a good-looking foreigner with salt-and-pepper hair. “I’m in India, after all. I’m after something that has a provenance. My wife is the daughter of a billionaire and I need something unique.”
I was watching the scene from my viewport in the back office and I could see that the salesgirl looked disappointed. She was on commission and she could see that this well-heeled American customer wanted something that she could not sell. The American tore his eyes away from her and looked around the counters to all our other salesgirls.
They were uniformly young and very pretty. We dressed them to exude sex appeal, calculated to encourage customers to spend money. Our uniform saris were made of very thin blue chiffon with embroidery done with gold thread. We made them wear the saris “hipster style” – very low waists that exposed a great deal of midriff, with the pleats tucked in just above the crotch. The uniform included very brief choli-style blouses that ended in a band of gold thread embroidery just below their breasts. The cholis had halter necks that tied in trailing bows at the back of their necks and bared their shoulders.
I emerged from the back office to take charge of this valuable customer.
“What seems to be the problem?” I asked.
“He is asking to see antique pieces, ma’am,” said the salesgirl.
“I see,” I said.
The customer was staring at me. I’m tall with a complexion the color of milk chocolate. I have large, dark eyes and my hair is straight and jet-black. It was piled on top of my head in a formal coiffure.
I wore a sari and choli outfit that was identical to the other salesgirls, but my sari was orange and my halter neck choli was gold and silver lame. I wore gold bangles on both my wrists as well as red kumkum in the part in my hair, indicating my married status. In addition, I wore pearl earrings and a pearl choker – a double strand of smoky pearls with a gold pendant.
I have a ripe, hourglass figure and I liked that the outfit showed it off to very good advantage. My breasts are full without being too large and my waist is narrow. I was aware that men found the swell of my belly very sexy under the gauzy, translucent chiffon of my sari pallu. My rounded hips rolled as I walked and I knew I attracted male attention. I wore my sari waistline as low as the salesgirls and I could see the customer mentally measuring the few inches between the hipster pleats and my crotch.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked him.
“Who are you?” asked the customer.
“I’m Ayesha Banu Peerally Premji. My father is Seth Ismail Azeem Peerally, the owner of this store. He owns three other ones just like it. I can take you into the strong room and show you some antique pieces with impeccable provenances. But they will be very expensive.”
“How much?” he asked.
“The cheapest ones are about …” I paused and did the mental calculation converting the rupees to dollars. “A hundred thousand US dollars.”
“Good. That's just what I was looking for.”
“May I ask your name?”
“Jack Grierson,” he said.
“Very well, Jack. We don’t take personal checks. There is a twenty percent markup on credit cards. We really prefer cash.”
Jack put his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out a wad of US currency. He riffled through the wad, showing me the denomination of the wad – they were thousand-dollar bills.
“There’s a hundred G’s here,” he said. “I’ve got four more wads, in case I see something I really like.”
“Follow me,” I said.
I led the way to the rear of the store and pressed a sequence of panels on the wall. A section of the wall slid away to reveal a six-foot-tall strong room steel door. I used the palm scanner, then placed my face in a retina reader and finally punched in a code. The strong room door swung open slowly.
I gathered the pleats of my sari and stepped over the sill into the strong room, displaying my high-heeled thong slippers and ankles as I raised my sari hem. Jack followed me. As soon as he was in, the door swung shut behind him and the locks reset with an obvious whirring sound. The walls of the strong room were covered with metal lock boxes, while both sidewalls had full-length mirrors that made the room appear larger than it actually was. There was a heavy, polished table that ran down the center of the strong room.
The air-conditioner in the strong room was set quite a bit lower than those in the outer store. I drew the pallu of my sari around my bare shoulders, but it was so thin that it offered little additional protection. I went around one side of the table, but when I turned I found him on the same side with me.
He was staring at my breasts. I realized that the cold had hardened my thick, meaty nipples and they projected forth quite obviously even through the thin layers of my bra, choli and two chiffon layers of the pallu I had wrapped around myself. The openness with which he stared at my breasts disconcerted me. To cover it, I turned away, unlocked one of the lock boxes and drew out a heavy gold necklace studded with diamonds and emeralds.
“This is a fine piece,” I said. “It was made for Asaf Jah VI, the 9th Nizam of Hyderabad who presented it to his fourth and youngest wife on the occasion of their wedding. Its provenance dates it to 1896. The descendants of the Nizam sold it at auction in 1953 to finance their sheep station in Australia. My grandfather acquired it then and it has been in our collection ever since.”
“How much?”
I read down to the end of the provenance.
“Five hundred thousand US dollars,” I said flatly.
“Ridiculous. I could get a two-thousand-year old Greek amphora for less than that. I’ll give you a three hundred thousand.”
“Four hundred and fifty,” I said.
Jack looked from the necklace to me. I could see his eyes tracing a path from my crotch to my breasts and back again, lingering on the swell of my belly and then on the prominent bumps that my nipples made in my clothing. Finally, he raised his gaze to meet my eyes. No one had ever looked at me like that before, and I felt my cheeks grow hot.
“Put it on,” he said.
I hesitated. But then I thought of my frustration at my father’s airy dismissal of all the modernizing management practices I had put in place. Of how he refused to understand how my hard work had reduced our operating costs by twenty percent, swelling our profits by millions. Of how he refused to pay me a salary, insisting that he would buy me whatever I wanted.
‘We are merchants, little one,’ he always told me. ‘If you really want to me to pay you, sell merchandise and I will give you a thirty percent commission.’
This sale would be worth millions of rupees. It would make me a handsome commission and it would be my own money. More importantly, it would make him take me seriously.
I took the necklace out of the steel tray and ran it through my fingers. The diamonds and emeralds sparkled in the recessed lights in the strong room ceiling. I draped it around my neck and snapped on the clasp. I had to raise my arms to put on the necklace and it raised my breasts, causing them to jounce seductively.
“There,” I said. “What do you think?”
Jack stepped up to me and ran his fingers over the necklace, allowing them to brush my dusky skin. His fingers lingered on, creating an intimate contact.
“Don’t,” I said.
“Three hundred and fifty thousand,” he whispered.
The fingers of his right hand traced a line on my skin up from the necklace to the pearl choker on my throat. His left hand took my right hand, lightly interlacing his fingers with mine. My pallu fell off my bare right shoulder, exposing the tie of my halter at the back of my neck.
“Four hundred,” I said.
“Three hundred ninety for the necklace,” Jack murmured. “And ten to fuck you.”
“That’s not funny,” I said, giggling nervously.
Suddenly, he tightened his hold on my right hand and twisted it behind my back. His right hand swept my pallu off my left shoulder and it fell to the ground.
I knew the strong room was soundproof, so there was no point in screaming. I twisted, trying to reach for the red alarm button at the end of the table. But Jack twisted my arm even harder, forcing my face down on the table. My reach for the alarm button fell short by over two feet.
“My God! What are you doing?” I cried.
“I’m going to fuck you, Ayesha,” he said.
“You can’t! This room is recorded! Everything will be on video!”
“So much the better. We’ll make a sex tape.”
“Our guards are monitoring the video! They will be in here in minutes – you’ll be arrested!”
“I don’t think so,” said Jack, untying the halter neck of my choli. “I paid your guards to go away for an hour and have a cup of tea. If you bring up the video as evidence in a rape trial, you may convict me, but you will lose everything. Your husband will divorce you for being fucked by another man. No one else will marry you.”
“Please! Don’t do this to me!”
“Calm down, Ayesha. You will enjoy it. Just let me pleasure you.”
“No!”
Jack unhooked the two front hooks of my blouse and pulled it off me. I wore a yellow, strapless, low cut bra. He kneaded my full breasts, working the thin yellow silk of the lingerie on to my skin. Then he hauled me upright and pulled down my bra cups, revealing that my nipples are coal black. I inhaled sharply as his fingers ran over my sensitive nipples, causing my breasts to jounce again. The action was reflected in the full-length mirror in front of us and I could not take my eyes off it. He kissed the back of my neck, drawing a gasp from me.
He ground his hips against my buttocks, giving me a tight feel of his erect organ. His hardon felt enormous through our clothing.
I still fought him, panting with the exertion. He kept whispering in my ear, “Shhh, just relax. Shhh, you’re going to love what I do to you …”
His continual working on my sensitive nipples began to have an effect and gave an edge to my panting. But I still fought to free myself.
Then his right hand drifted lower and massaged the swell of my belly. It drifted even lower and pulled the pleats of my sari out of my petticoat.
“God! Don’t!” I cried.
“Hush… hush,” he said, soothingly. “Look at your nipples, they are getting even more swollen and harder.”
“No, no, no,” I gritted out.
He disengaged my sari from my petticoat and it slid down, pooling around my ankles. He slid his hand under the waistband of my petticoat and worked it loose till it too slid down to form a silky, yellow ring on top of my sari. I wore a yellow thong trimmed with white lace.
Jack cupped my crotch and his thumb traced my pussy through the yellow silk. I was already slightly moist and his ministrations dampened my thong along my pussy.
“You’re getting wet. You’re getting excited. Look at your face in the mirror. Don’t fight it,” he whispered.
“No, no, no!” I moaned.
Then he released my twisted right arm. He put fingers of both hands in the waistband of my thong and stripped it down. Putting his arms around my waist, he lifted me up and out of the pooled thong, petticoat and sari and set me down beside them.
He held me tightly with both arms around my waist. He spent a moment looking at my near nakedness in the mirror. My bra was just a strip of yellow silk underneath my breasts, my pearl choker was at my throat, the Nizam’s precious necklace was around my neck and my high heels were on my feet. My kumkum and bangles – the signs of my married state – brought to mind my husband who would soon be cuckolded. My bangles clinked as I struggled, but I could not deny that the thought of adulterous sex was exciting.
My bush was trimmed to a neat line and my thick, nearly black pussy lips peeped through. Putting one hand up so that my full breasts were tight against his left forearm, he ran the fingers of his right hand along my bush. His fingers worked with incredible subtlety, so his touch grew more insistent very gradually. I did not even realize when his light probes changed to firm manipulations.
My panting turned to gasping as his fingers found my clit, gently at first and then with increasing urgency. My moistness turned to wetness.
“My God! Stop that! Oh! OHH!!”
I had never felt like this. My husband Rizwan Premji fucked me every other day but was always in the dark and it was always over in less than two minutes. He never got me even the least bit excited.
Now I felt like I had a fever. My heart was racing – I was breathing so hard I could hear myself panting and gasping. I was sopping wet and leaking out feminine juices that I did even know I had in me. I felt like I was climbing higher and higher, but I did not know where I was going.
Then Jack pushed two fingers into me and began to piston me hard, while working my clit with his thumb. It was too much for me and I began to cum. My whole body convulsed in his arms as though I was having an epileptic fit.
“Oh! Oh! Ohh! OMIGOD!! What's happening to me?!”
As my orgasm reached its crescendo, I gave out wordless cries, both hands gripping his forearm that enclosed my breasts, my nails biting into his skin. I had never felt a sensation like this before – I think it was my first real orgasm.
I was covered with sweat and leaned back on him, spent. He held me, cupping a breast in each hand, running a thumb over my engorged black nipples.
“Now I’m going to really fuck you, Ayesha,” he whispered in my ear.
“No! I can’t! I can barely stand!”
“How old are you, Ayesha?”
“Twenty-two…”
“So young,” he whispered, “and so hot. I’ll make you cum again. And again.”
I felt his massive hard-on again, but it felt different this time – hotter and fleshier. I had not seen him discard his pants, but he must have, for he was unmistakably against me, skin to skin.
He turned me around, put a hand on each of my buttocks and lifted me on to the smooth table. My legs were splayed around him. We saw each other in the two full-length mirrors on the sidewalls of the strong room. In the mirror, I saw him looking at my straight back, my smooth, dark skin that rippled over the muscles of my shoulder blades and the spread of my full, rounded buttocks.
I was used to Rizwan, my young husband, who had rolls of fat and a sagging round belly, so seeing Jack’s powerful, well-muscled frame was new and exciting. I looked down and got a glimpse of what looked like a thick hose between his legs. Rizwan’s member, even fully erect, was nothing like this, so I was not sure what Jack had there. Then he backed away to position his cockhead and I saw it. It was so big that it frightened me.
“Ya ilahi!” I breathed. [My God!] “You cannot put that in me!”
“Shh…” Jack whispered.
Before I could remonstrate further, he gripped the back of my neck with his left hand and kissed me. His thick tongue forced my mouth open and invaded it without subtlety. He sought my smooth tongue and I could not avoid the oral entanglement. I mewed and resumed struggling, my full breasts and bullet-hard nipples twisting against his chest. I put my hands on his shoulders and tried to push him away, but it was futile for he was far too strong. As I twisted in his arms, I inadvertently rubbed my pussy and my still-swollen clit against his raging member, renewing the secretion of my feminine fluids. My physical reactions weakened my resolve and soon my sweaty body was being driven more by passion than resistance.
He seemed to revel in the feel of my body, my full breasts and hips so intensely female and designed for childbearing. Still lip-locked, he guided his huge cock to my entrance. I felt him and instinctively tried to back away, but there was nowhere to escape from his thrust. He pushed his cockhead into me, drawing a strangled cry from me that he choked with his tongue.
I was very hot and wet, but my pussy had never encountered anything like Jack before. He was so big and my pussy was so underused that I was incredibly tight around him. He rocked back and forth, each time sinking further into me and drawing higher pitched mewing from me. Finally, with a strong thrust from an arched back, he sank his full length into me. He was so deep in me, that I thought I could feel his cock distending my belly. I tried to scream, but it was throttled in my mouth and the only sound that emerged was a muffled groan. I felt like I was impaled on a hot bar of steel.
I was breathing noisily through my nose and feeling the beginnings of panic. My clit was jammed against his mound harder than I had ever known. The stimulation was too much for me and I began to cum again, my pussy squeezing the hardness of his cock. I bucked on him, my legs scissoring tightly around his haunches, my arms tightening around his neck.
Jack let me descend a bit from my second orgasm. He pulled his tongue out of my mouth and kissed the side of my throat, drawing gasps from me.
“Ya Allah!” I panted. “You’re still so deep inside me! You’re tearing me apart! You’re too big for me!”
Jack resumed whispering in my ear.
“Shhh … We’re in this together, Ayesha. I’m going to fuck you harder now. Don’t think, just let your body react…”
He began to rock into me, slowly at first. But he rapidly worked up a tempo and soon he was fucking me with a pounding rhythm. I was crying out, a little scream with each thrust that brought our mounts together with a wet smack. His cockhead plumbed depths that no one had reached before.
“Ya Allah! Ya Allah! OMIGOD!!”
My cries grew louder and I instinctively rotated my full hips, increasing the tightness with which my pussy gripped his huge dick. He told me later that it was my naïve sexual reactions and concentrated femaleness that drove him over the edge just as he felt the onset of my third orgasm. Just as my vaginal walls, deep inside, began to twitch, he exploded. As he pumped gouts of thick jism into me, my own orgasm flowered and my powerful vaginal muscles contracted spasmodically, milking the last dregs of his musky ejaculate.
In spite of the strong air-conditioning, we were both covered with a renewed layer of sweat. We leaned on each other, dizzy with the high of our mutual release. I clung to him, fearing that I would not be able to hold myself up otherwise.
“My God, Jack!” I panted. “What did you do to me?”
“I just fucked your brains out, Ayesha. And you gave me a great ride!”
I felt his thick, warm jism beginning to leak out from around his softening cock to slowly seep down my inner thighs and realized what he had done.
“You bastard!” I exclaimed. “You didn’t use a condom! You’ve forced your semen into me! This is a bad time of the month for me!”
“Relax,” said Jack easily. “You’re married. I’m sure your husband wants children.”
“Not someone else’s!”
“He need never know.”
Jack pulled out of me with a plop. I looked down and saw that full extent of his ejaculations – I had never seen this much jism before and I covered my mouth to hide my jaw dropping. But as the high of my orgasms began to dissipate, my businesslike mind soon took over. I spoke rapidly, ticking off items on my fingers as she spoke.
“We need to get dressed right away. I need to get the security cam feed off the server before the guards see it. You need to give me four hundred thousand US dollars in cash and I need to set up a secure delivery to get the necklace to you.”
I was already wiping myself off with my petticoat as I was speaking. I dressed rapidly, asking Jack to tie the halter-top of my choli in the final step. Jack was already dressed by the time I was ready. I looked at myself in the mirror to make sure everything was in place. Jack came up behind me and reached around, cupping and kneading my full breasts.
“Stop it!” I said. “I never want to see you again!”
“You’re going to want me again, princess. You’re going to masturbate to our sex tape and wonder about the joys of sex. Let me tell you, there is lots more we can do – fucking doggie style, reverse cowboy, missionary, me sucking your pussy, you sucking my dick…”
“Shut up!” I said, pulling my thin pallu around me and walking away toward the strong room door.
* *
2.
A few weeks later, I did the home test and then followed up with my OB-GYN. I was pregnant. My husband Rizwan and my father, Seth Ismail, were delighted. But I tucked away and hid the last pages of the OB-GYN report that contained the results of the paternity test. It established Jack as the father, using traces of his semen that I had saved from our sexual encounter in the strong room.
Sitting in my cool office, I sent Jack a text.
Ayesha: You’ve impregnated me, Jack. You asshole.
Jack: That was great sex. I can’t wait to fuck you again.
Ayesha: No chance of that!
Jack: I dream of your chocolate complexion, your coal black nipples, and the dark skin of your pussy lips. I want to go down on you!
I did not respond, but the thought of Jack’s thick tongue on my pussy lips and clit made my heart race. I shifted my buttocks on my office chair and realized that my panties were wet.
* *
3.
My father, Seth Ismail Azeem Peerally was duly impressed with my sale. He gave me the one hundred and twenty thousand US dollar commission – thirty percent of four hundred thousand. A month later, when I came home, I found Jack with my father and my husband in our grand reception room.
“When I learned that Mr. Grierson was back in town, I immediately invited him home for dinner,” said my father, Seth Ismail. “He is interested in discussing the purchase of more pieces with you.”
“No!” I said. “I don’t want to work with that man ever again.”
“Bah, don’t be silly,” said my father, Seth Ismail, irritation creeping into his voice.
“I agree with your father, my dear,” said my husband, Rizwan. “You must not let your feelings interfere with business.”
Just then, our major domo entered, bowed, and said, “Dinner is served, sir.”
We followed him into our palatial dining room. I wore a fixed frown that deepened when my father seated Jack on his right – my place – and Rizwan on his left. He pointed me to the lower seat next to Jack saying, “Never turn your back on good business.”
As the soup was served, he leaned over to Jack and said, sotto voce, “She’s pregnant. You know how that makes women emotional.”
“Indeed,” Jack said to me. “Your father is right. Once you’re on your back, I’ll really give you the business.”
“Yes, yes, give her the business,” said Rizwan.
“She came with me,” said Jack. “Very hard. When I gave her the business last time.”
“Good, good,” said Seth Ismail, my father. “Give it to her, the harder the better. It will be great for all of us.”
“I’m very keen to work with her,” continued Jack. “Especially since she’s now carrying the results of our business. A pregnant woman is a joy to hold and behold.”
“She’s carrying the results of your business in her head,” said my father, nodding.
“Not in her head,” said Jack. “But deep inside her. You know women carry important things in their wombs.”
“Of course, of course,” said my husband, laughing. “Women are different from us men. Wombs, not brains.”
“I will make her cum again and again with the business,” said Jack. “As a woman should.”
“Yes, yes,” said my husband. “Make her come. Make her come with your business.”
“On her back,” said Jack, escalating dangerously. “As a man on a woman.”
“Yes, yes,” said my father. “On her back, or any other way. You’re a man, and she’s a woman, that’s right.”
Neither my father, Seth Ismail, nor my husband, Rizwan, caught any Jack’s word plays, but I did and my face tightened with impotent fury.
Both of them drank heavily at dinner and got very drunk. Jack took advantage of his position to slide his hand under my pallu, concealed by the table. He caressed the swell of my belly whispering in my ear, “You’re carrying our baby in there.”
I tried to disengage his hand, but he would not be dissuaded. He pushed his hand under the pleats of my hipster sari waistband and dived deep under my petticoat and panties. He found my pussy and his fingers stoked my clit. I began to breath heavily, causing my full breasts to jolt with each inhalation, but both my father and my husband were too drunk by now to notice. Jack kept at it, drawing moisture from my pussy and he looked pleased when he saw beads of sweat trickle down my brow as my heavy breathing turned to rapid panting.
The servants came to clear away the dessert plates and I sat back with a sigh of relief as Jack withdrew his probing hand.
The servants helped Seth Ismail out of the dining room. Rizwan found that he could not walk either and Jack helped him up to our marital chamber. I reluctantly trailed behind and kept asking Jack to allow the servants to assist Rizwan. Once there, he lay my husband down on a couch.
Then Jack took me into his arms and manhandled me on to our wide marital bed. Using one of my dupattas lying on the bed, he tied my wrists together to the heavy headboard. I struggled, but did not scream, fearing the scandal if the servants came in and found us in this state.
Jack stripped me and fucked me. In a very short time, my struggles turned to compliance though I kept saying, “My God, Rizwan is right here! He may wake up any time!”
“Just keep your voice down then, princess,” grunted Jack as he pounded me with his gargantuan girth. I bit into a pillow, but my stifled cries were still loud enough to carry to my maid, who sat eavesdropping outside the door.
Somehow, cheating on my husband heightened my excitement. The fact that he was right there in the room – and the risk that he could wake to see me being fucked so hard – heightened it even further.
I writhed in his arms, urging him on with cries and bucking. I came again and again. I became a crazy woman, with everything driven from my mind but my carnal sensations.
Eventually, he rolled over. Still tied to the headboard, I mounted him, impaling myself on his gigantic cock, burying his face in my full breasts. It was a long night.
Later, lying in his arms, I looked over at the snoring Rizwan and murmured, “How many women have you impregnated like this?”
“I don’t keep score,” replied Jack. “But there have been a few.”
“My OB-GYN told me that Rizwan has such a low sperm count that it would take a miracle for him to get me pregnant.”
Jack kneaded one of my full breasts and sucked on my ebony nipple, stiffening it again.
“There will soon be milk here,” he whispered. “I want it.”
Jack was in town for a week and he contrived to fuck me every day. On the last day, we went back into the strong room under the pretext of looking at more antique jewelry. He got me to suck him off, choking me with his size. Then he fucked me in the ass.
I copied both of my strong room sexual trysts with Jack onto my laptop before erasing them from the server. After Jack left town, I masturbated as I watched them again and again.
* * *
4.
About a year later, I texted Jack with an attachment. It was a picture of me lying on my back, naked. Our baby lay on me, sucking greedily on one of my milk-engorged breasts. The baby’s paleness was a sharp contrast to my dark skin. Its pink lips fastened around my nipple made it look even blacker.
Jack: I’d love to come and share your milk with our baby.
Me: Come on over, I’ll save one breast for you.
Jack: What about your husband, Rizwan?
Me: He told you to give me the business, the harder the better. Put me on my back and give it to me.
Jack: I’m your man.
Me: I showed my kid sister, Jahan Ara, the video of you fucking me.
Jack: Did it scare her?
Me: She was petrified! But when she saw how hard I came, she was jealous.
Jack: Doesn’t her husband keep her happy?
Me: Her husband manages our stores in Canada. But he has a low sex drive. And a low sperm count.
Jack: Is she as sexy as you?
Me: She’s a year younger. And much prettier.
Jack: Put her in touch with me. I’ll make her cum so hard, she’ll scream. And as a bonus, I’ll give her a baby.
Me: She’s very shy. You’ll have to force her.
Jack: I’m good at that.
Me: I know. I’ll always fight you, and make you force me. It makes me cum harder.
Jack: Me too.
Blaze
- 07.05.2020
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- Reluctance
