It was our wedding anniversary. John had booked us a table at the new Indian restaurant in town, which was getting rave reviews for its food and authentic atmosphere. The anniversary fell on a Monday this year, so the restaurant was quieter than on the other nights of the week. And we had booked for 8.30, because John had been working late and the babysitter couldn’t get to us much earlier. As a result, we had the place to ourselves.

Kamal, the owner, greeted us warmly. Like his staff, he was wearing a black Nehru-style jacket and tight black trousers. Kamal offered to take my coat; his eyes widened when I slipped it off, revealing John’s choice of outfit for the evening. I was in a yellow shimmer mini dress, with a high halter neckline and draped cowl. The figure-hugging, open-backed creation showed off my firm bum and plenty of side boob. With it, I wore gold hooped earrings and a lariat necklace that cascaded down my chest, mirroring the plunge of the cowl and drawing attention to the swell of my full breasts.

Kamal led the way to our table. I noticed the three young waiters almost devouring me with their eyes as I moved across the room, my stilettos clacking on the hard wooden floor. One of them, Dinesh, politely pulled the chair out for me. I smiled my thanks, and positioned myself on the seat, which Dinesh pushed back in, very obviously looking down my cleavage in the process.

The second waiter, Sanjit, brought across the menus. Whilst John ordered some champagne to start the evening, Sanjit’s appraisal of me was equally obvious. “That dress seems to have got their attention,” John murmured, eyes alight with mischief.

“You can’t be serious,” I gasped softly, kicking him under the table, “it’s our wedding anniversary!”

“Well, I couldn’t decide on an anniversary present, but there still is time to come up with something special to mark the occasion,” he grinned wickedly, glancing at Kamal and the other men, who were hovering at the bar, blatantly eyeing me up.

Dinesh returned with the champagne and some bottled water. Pouring some of both for me, he brushed his crotch against my arm. I looked up at him enquiringly, and he flashed me an almost imperceptible look of sexual hunger. John caught the moment and smiled encouragingly, which earned him another kick under the table; albeit not as hard this time, as the idea was growing on me rapidly.

Inching my chair back, I shifted on the seat so that my dress rode up, exposing the intricate lace tops of my sheer black hold-ups. When Sanjit returned to take our order, he also brushed against my arm with his equally impressive crotch. Looking up with big hazel eyes, I asked some questions about the menu, which he answered whilst his eyes ran hungrily over my cleavage, side boobs, and lace-topped thighs. The effect on the young Indian was evident, and also was a real turn-on, which had me pressing my legs together.

By the time Dinesh appeared with the starters, I had inched my dress even higher. Placing the beetroot samosas down in front of me, Dinesh was treated to a glimpse of a black thong with satin panel details on the front and soft sheer mesh on the back, all delicately finished with detailed lace, scalloped edging, and gemstones. The waiter’s eyes were like saucers, and I could see his manhood stirring in his trousers.

“Just so you know, it’s not only the staff you are making hard. And, on the basis it clearly is turning you on, I think I might just help this situation develop”, my husband informed me with a wink.

Calling Kamal across, John explained that he needed to make an urgent phone call, and asked if there was somewhere private he could go to make it. The owner suggested the use of his office, indicating John should follow him there. “Thank you. It should take fifteen minutes or so; will you make sure my wife has all she needs whilst I am gone,” John asked, his voice heavy with meaning.

“Naturally, Sir,” Kamal replied evenly, giving no indication that he had picked up any meaning from my husband’s intonation. However, when he turned and gave an instruction in Hindi to Dinesh, both men grinned conspiratorially.

“Won’t be long, darling,” John said, his face a mask of excitement and anticipation. And with that, he followed Jamal up the stairs, leaving me alone at the table with the three waiters in an otherwise empty restaurant.

Jahan, the third waiter, appeared by my side. His tight black trousers did little to hide an obvious and impressively large bulge. He stared pointedly at my upper thighs, whilst rather unnecessarily pouring some water into my glass. “Could you show me where the ladies’ toilet is, please,” I requested, my eyes resting on his crotch before travelling up to meet his. I could feel the dampness between my legs and my nipples hardening in anticipation of what I hoped was to come in the next few minutes.

“Of course, madam,” he replied with enthusiasm, pulling out my chair, “please follow me.” Leading the way, Jahan turned and said something in Hindi to the others, who nodded, smiling. As I followed him from the dining area, I heard the sound of the front door to the restaurant being locked.

Jahan led the way down a corridor, and into what turned out to be a storeroom, equipped with metal shelving and a single neon strip light. I hesitated in the doorway, only for Dinesh, who had followed with Sanjit, to place a hand on my bum and guide me firmly into the room. “This doesn’t look much like the ladies’ toilet,” I noted, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, madam, you didn’t really want to go to the toilet, did you,” Dinesh observed dryly, lifting the rear of my dress up and exposing my buttocks, “and you don’t look much like a lady to me; more like an English Phūhaṛa who is desperate for some Indian cock.”

“Phūhaṛa?” I asked, my voice low and tense with anticipation. Sanjit nodded, peeling up the front of my dress, so that it rucked around my waist. Dinesh simultaneously was unclipping the fastening on the halter neck, letting the top fall away to reveal my full breasts.

The three waiters were pressed against me, dark eyes full of lust. A brown hand pushed down between my legs, groping me. More hands roamed over my pale body, massaging my boobs and bum; the men taking turns to paw me, whilst removing their trousers and budgie-smuggler underpants.

“It means slut,” Sanjit growled, his hand pushing into the front of my lace thong; exploring my puffy labia, and sliding home to the knuckle. I moaned at his touch, and at the brown hands that were kneading my full boobs, teasing my large dark and hardened nipples, and pressing roughly into the soft pale flesh.

Eyes closed and lips parted, I leant back against Jahan’s chest. As I did so, I felt his hands part my buttocks, and then one of his fingers push through my sphincter. I let out a small cry when he added a second finger to the first. “Seems the white bitch wants this, Yaar,” Sanjit grinned at Jahan, as they toyed with both my holes with their fingers; my chest rising and falling, and a series of low moans escaping from my red-painted lips.

I became aware that Kamal had joined the others, having left John to make his phone call in the office. He too removed his trousers and pants, revealing a large and very hard member, which bounced as he advanced on me. Indicating to Jahan and Sanjit, who dutifully removed their fingers from me, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and pushed me down to the floor.

Squatting on my heels, I looked up to see the men crowd around me in a semi-circle. Kamal moved forward slightly and slapped my face with his cock, before presenting it to me with a smirk. Pushing his length up with a small white hand, I ran the tip of my tongue across his dark hairy balls and up the underside of his impressive length. “Whore,” Kamal groaned, hard eyes looking down at me, whilst I wrapped delicate fingers around the shaft.

Stroking Kamal slowly, I turned to look at Dinesh, who was to his left. Lowering my lips to the spongy head of the young waiter’s dick, I swirled my tongue around it and then took him into my mouth, bobbing up and down on him in time with my hand’s movements on Kamal.

Releasing Dinesh, and still stroking Kamal, I looked to my right. At the same time, I dropped my free hand between my thighs and began to run a finger along the swollen pussy lips. Jahan pressed forward, offering his massive length to me. Parting my lips once again, I dropped my head onto the glans, before burying my face onto his crotch. Slowly I drew back, before easing his full length in and out of my welcoming mouth.

After a moment or so, I pulled away from Jahan and searched for Sanjit. His was the thickest of the four brown shafts, and I moaned as the bloated head pushed into my throat; emitting a series of soft gags as he planted his cock firmly against the back of my throat. My finger was working my pussy harder now, and I moaned loudly with a mouth full of Indian meat.

Kamal peeled my fingers from his shaft and moved them across to Jahan’s. Instinctively, I closed them around the girth and began to tug at it. At the same time, I felt Sanjit’s rough hands grab my hair, pulling me further down onto his manhood. Holding me there until I choked, he then released me. Looking up at him with small tears running from my eyes, I gasped for air; my lips slightly bruised, and glistening with slobber and pre-cum.

“On your feet, Phūhaṛa,” Kamal sneered, indicating to the metal shelving. Lifting from my haunches, I positioned myself, hands on the cold metal of a shelf, balanced on my stiletto heels; legs parted, and my bum pushed out. Firm hands ripped at my lace thong, yanking it down around my ankles. As knees forced my legs apart, the delicate and expensive item of lingerie was stretched to its limit.

Leaning forward against the shelving, my bum thrust out, and my shaven and glistening mound on full display, I heard Kamal positioning himself behind me. I felt his hands gripping my hips, and the heat of his throbbing dick as it pressed against my dripping quim. “Mmmmm, I love being taken from behind,” I purred, looking at him over my shoulder, dressed only in lace-topped hold-ups and stilettos.

“My slut of a wife loves being fucked like a dog,” my husband confirmed with a chuckle, leaning against the doorframe, and indicating his consent to the four men. With a look of lustful agreement, I reached between my legs, searching for Kamal’s cock; my long, manicured fingernails raking along the sensitive underside as I guided him between the engorged lips of my labia.

“Oh, fuck, yessssss,” I hissed, as the restaurant owner’s bulbous head opened my pussy and he pushed himself home. Steadying himself, Kamal began to take me with a series of determined thrusts deep into my aching fanny. “Yes, that’s what I want; make me take it,” I goaded, pressing back against his pelvis.

“You like this; being fucked like an animal, dirty whore,” Kamal sneered, increasing the pace. I heard him spit, and felt saliva drop onto my buttocks, which he then spread around my arse. As his thumb inched closer to my tight sphincter, I bucked and tensed. Without losing his rhythm, he gripped me around the hips and applied pressure through his thumb as he slowly violated my anus.

“Shiiittttttt,” I screeched, my head snapping back in shock as his thumb pushed into my anal passage, “fuck my arse with your thumb; fuck it; go on, fuck it, you dirty Indian bastard.” Responding with a harsh laugh, he pressed the thumb deep inside me, whilst continuing to drive his cock home; the combined pressure was almost more than I could bear.

It seemed I was not alone. I felt Kamal stiffen. Then, with a bellow of release, and his thumb deep into my arse, he flooded my pussy with streams of hot cum. Panting, he pulled out and stepped aside; his place immediately being taken by Dinesh, who lined himself up and entered me with one smooth motion.

“Tell me what you are,” Dinesh growled, lifting a hand from my hips and twisting some of my hair tightly around it. Using my long brunette locks as a rein, he yanked my head back, arching my back and penetrating me even deeper; my whole body rippling in response to being fucked hard from behind.

“I’m a filthy white slut; wreck me; fuck me harder,” I screamed, whilst he kept my head pulled back and subjected me to repeated and rapid thrusts of his pelvis.

“Saphēda kutiya veshya,” the young man groaned, his cock twitching furiously as he deposited his load inside me.

“White bitch whore,” Kamal explained matter-of-factly, in response to my husband’s questioning look. John, who had moved closer to get a better view of his wife being taken by each Indian in turn, and clearly in a state of considerable arousal, nodded in agreement.

“Help us lift your whore of a wife,” Kamal suggested to John, “you hold her under that thigh; Dinesh, you take the other.” With my arms draped around the two men’s shoulders, they placed hands under me and lifted; Kamal then placed his own under my buttocks, so that I was suspended in mid-air.

“Spread her legs wide,” the restaurant owner ordered my husband and the waiter, my pale body suspended in the cradle of their arms. As Sanjit stepped between my splayed thighs, he was presented with my shaven mound, from which his co-workers’ sticky mess was oozing.

“I want your fat brown dick in my cheating cunt; give it to me,” I hissed, my feverish eyes pleading with him. Placing his hands on my waist, Sanjit pushed forward, his cock sliding into my slippery quim.

Pulling out slightly as John and the others held me aloft, Sanjit slammed his thickness back into me with a deep grunt. “Oh my God, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” I wailed, looking directly at my husband; my full boobs bouncing, and my body shuddering with the shock of the repeated thrusts of Sanjit’s massive cock.

“You filthy fucking slut,” my husband muttered, his arms braced under my thigh against the onslaught I was being subjected to.

“Yes, yes, yes, oh my fucking God, yes, I’m going to fucking cum, I’m going to fucking cum on his massive brown dick,” I sobbed, eyes locked on my husband; manicured fingernails digging into his shoulder. Sanjit continued without pause, watching me spasm and shriek whilst I climaxed; then, with a roar of triumph, the young Indian waiter shot his cum deep into my womb.

“Take my place,” my husband ordered Jahan, who shuffled in and replaced his grip on my left thigh. Relieved of his burden, John hastily undressed. Naked, he took position in front of me as, held aloft by strong brown hands, I waited, my chest heaving, for my next cock.

“Punish your unfaithful slut of a wife with that big fat cock, John,” I implored, “fuck me until I scream your name, held by the men you have just watched use your wife as their fucktoy.”

Jaw set, eyes ablaze, my husband positioned his manhood against my swollen, sticky pussy, placed firm hands on my waist, and impaled me on his rock-hard manhood.“You really are an insatiable slapper, aren’t you,” John growled, his voice carrying over the sound of flesh slapping against flesh.

“Oh God, yes; I just love being fucked by strangers: black, brown, white; don’t fucking care,” I goaded him. With a roar of lust and determination, my husband took me with a series of piston-like motions, bringing me rapidly to the edge of another orgasm.

“Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, oh my fucking God, John,” I sobbed, my body rippling and my boobs bouncing with each deep penetration; held aloft for him in a cradle of dark brown arms, which contrasted with my glistening, alabaster-white skin. The waiters, laughing and commenting to each other in Hindi, watched as I came repeatedly; my mouth open in a silent scream, my back arched, my fingers digging into their shoulders, and my eyes dilated and fixed on my husband.

Finally, exhausted, he paused for breath. Then, still twitching, shaking and sobbing, I was pulled off my husband and forced down onto my knees. As I looked up, John began to stroke his cock over my face. Reaching out, I took his member in my left hand. Gripping the shaft tightly, I began to wank him; wedding and engagement rings glinting as my fingers ran up and down his throbbing length.

“Cum for me, I want you to cum for me; cum for me right now,” I begged, looking at him in anticipation. After a few more strokes, John exploded, grunting as ropes of his sticky mess hurled across my face and into my hair.

My face plastered with his seed, I looked directly at my husband. “Without doubt, your best anniversary present ever, darling,” I giggled, “I have literally no idea how you will improve on that next year.”

“Challenge accepted,” John panted, grinning devilishly.