FUCKING NEIGHBOUR VABI(CUCKOLD) 1

In this narrative, I'll tell you about an extraordinary encounter and experience I had with a young, sultry, and childless Bengali housewife who said she'd never had true sexual joys and wanted to get pregnant and have a child out of me.

I used to live in an unit in a multistory building that my firm rented out a few years ago. On the same floor, the flat directly across from mine had been vacant for about a month. A truck arrived on a Sunday afternoon, and household things and furniture were being moved to this unoccupied flat. I was able to find a man and his wife to move in with me. I approached them and greeted them. The man was about 42 years old and a little overweight. The wife appeared to be in her late thirties. She was tall and attractive, with large boobs and thick buttocks. My eye was drawn to a small but noticeable black-mole in the center of her left cheek. This beauty area, in my opinion, enhanced her appearance. As a kind neighbor, I went into their apartment and tried to assist them. For some reason, I could surmise, the man first gave little answer. He seemed to be watching me a lot of the time. I avoided glancing at his wife on purpose. It didn't take long for him to see I wasn't a troublemaker, but rather a responsible guy with good manners.

We developed a solid friendship and a decent neighborly relationship far sooner than I had anticipated. He was a businessman who specialized in ready-to-wear clothing. He was frequently had to travel around India in order to obtain orders, produce clothing, and collect payments. His trips lasted roughly a week at a time. During such journeys, he had to leave his wife alone. He'd lost both of his parents. Despite the fact that his bride had parents, per Bengali tradition, the female's parents or relatives would not stay with their daughter and son-in-law. They had previously resided in an area where it was sometimes dangerous for a woman to live alone. So they bought this flat, which was in the safest part of town, on an ownership basis. They no longer have anything to fear or be concerned about in terms of their safety and security.

After three weeks, he was scheduled to resume his business travel. He was supposed to leave earlier, but he decided to postpone the trip to assist them settle in to their new home. I put in a lot of effort for the man to have complete faith, trust, and confidence in me.

To be honest, I was confident that I had succeeded in my endeavor. I left to work in the morning and just returned at 7.30 p.m. I, on the other hand, never bothered to disturb them with unsolicited visits to their home. I always greeted them politely and inquired about their well-being whenever we met. I reminded them to contact me at any moment if I could be of any assistance or assistance to them. In fact, the man frequently visited my home in the evenings and spoke with me for several hours. I could be mistaken, but I had a feeling he saw me as a trustworthy neighbor and friend who would be a wonderful guardian and helper to his wife in the event of an emergency while he was on tour. Later, I learned that he had inquired about me with the old Bengali family who lived in both of the apartments on the floor below ours, and that they had given me a clean bill of health. In a nutshell, he was sure I was a true gentleman who was neither a crook nor an opportunist. This was in response to his frequent invites to join him for tea or dinner at his home. During these times, I made a conscious effort to avoid looking at or conversing with his wife. In reality, I hadn't yet gotten a clear view of her physique, nor had I attempted a close inspection. She always kept her upper body and head covered with the pallu of her saree whenever I met her in her house in the company of her husband.

But I knew it wasn't for naught that I studied psychology and behavioral science. One probing glance at her face and into her eyes with microscopic accuracy told me that there was more to her than meets the eye. I sensed a volcano brewing within her, ready to erupt at any moment. I was curious as to why the volcano erupted and what was contained within it.

My attempt began around 25 days after he went on tour and lasted about four days. He had asked me to look after his wife, which I gladly accepted as my moral obligation and responsibility. I made it impossible for him to have any doubts about my loyalty. He departed early in the morning, just as I did for my office. While I was opening my front door in the evening, she opened her door and invited me to tea. She persuaded me as I hesitated. As a result, I accompanied her inside the room. She shut the front door behind her. She went to the kitchen to make tea as I sat on the sofa in the drawing room. She returned later with a platter of sweets, biscuits, fruits, and tea. We conversed while sitting across from one other on a sofa. I didn't pursue her with any questioning questions because she was wary of revealing too much. I wanted her to make the first move, as was my custom and principle.

She inquired about my meal as I stood up, profusely thanking her for the tea and wonderful hospitality. Since my wife was in the native land, I told her that I normally cooked my own food or took food from motels. She immediately offered me to join her for dinner at her home. Thankfully, she persisted just as I was about to decline.

I added, as if attempting to help her make sense of it: "Do you think your husband would be grateful if he knew about it? Why should you put yourself in a situation that you don't want to be in?"

She enthusiastically replied: "What's to stop you? You should know that he holds you in high esteem. And he speaks highly of you. In fact, he had requested me to have you over for supper or lunch whenever it was convenient for you."

That put my doubts to rest. So I accepted her invitation and thanked her. I returned to my apartment for a bath and a change of clothes. I wasted some time reading publications and watching television that I didn't care about. My thoughts kept telling me that good luck was going to stick with me and that I'd have a fantastic time with this lady sooner than I expected.

There was a gentle knock on my door at exactly 9 p.m. When I saw her at the door, I joined her in locking my door. After I moved in, I discovered she had locked the front door.

While we were conversing on the same sofas, I observed a shift in her. In fact, it was only at this point that I began to pay attention to her more intently. She was dressed in a light blue translucent polyester saree with a low-neck top underneath. Her meaty and sensuous neck, as well as the upper portion of the bulge of her fair huge boobs with a deep cleavage, were clearly visible. Instantly, a bell went off inside my head because I had never seen her dressed like this before. I swiftly averted my gaze from the part of her body that had been shot at and focused solely on her face. I figured I got lucky because she probably didn't notice my stare.

Then I saw another peculiar feature. In the presence of her husband, she had no longer kept the pallu of her saree covering her body and head, as she had usually done.

During our conversation, I observed she bent forward more frequently for one reason or another, causing the pallu to fall off her shoulder. Though she swiftly replaced the pallu, I was able to get a good glimpse at her enormous boobs as they struggled to escape the grips of her blouse. 'Wasn't it bait she dangled in front of my face? I told myself, "Arun, just wait and see."

She took a small glass paperweight and began to play with it as we resumed our conversation. I swear she made it fall on the carpet on purpose once. She bent forward in an inverted U, far more than was necessary, to pick up the paperweight this time. Her pallu had obviously slipped and fallen off her shoulder. Almost three-quarters of her fair huge melons had burst out menacingly, revealing the upper portion of her light brown aureoles. My heart must have skipped a couple of beats. It was humiliating for me since I was worried that her boobs would fall out completely bare. But this time my gaze was drawn to a different location, which provided a breathtaking vista. Another little black-mole could be seen approximately a half-inch above the aureole of her left boob. Oh, that was a truly enthralling sight. She was quite astute, since she raised her head and glanced up at my face while still bending. My gaze was fixated on her boobs, as she could see. I immediately drew my eyes back, like a pistol recoil.

She was able to restore her sitting position. I was embarrassed to see her smiling meaningfully at me now. I said, as if to shift the emphasis and attention away from my stupidity: "I'd want to pay you a compliment if that's okay with you. I couldn't muster enough guts to get closer to the truth."

That took her by surprise. "Why not?" she said, "you don't have to be shy or ashamed to tell me anything." I figured she had given me enough strength to tell even if what I wanted to say was going to be too personal.

I stated: "You are stunning, gorgeous, and glowing. I would stop referring to you as 'desiring' or any other adjective that would be more appropriate for ethical grounds." I was implying that she was'very sexy.' However, based on the way she grinned at me, I assumed she had figured out what I was getting at.

"In fact, that mole on your cheek is boosting your beauty multifold by serving as a beauty spot," I continued, pointing to the black-mole on her left cheek.

She burst out laughing and exclaimed, "Arun, thank you very much. My buddies had previously informed me of this." "I have three additional such moles on my body," she said after a brief pause.

"I believe you have already seen my second mole," she said, giving me another meaningful grin.

I had the sensation of touching a live electric wire. To be honest, I couldn't see her being upfront enough to open up in such an intimate way so early before we could go more casual and get to know each other better. I was also embarrassed because she had noticed me staring at her mole on her left nipple. Then, out of nowhere, another notion entered my mind. Why should I be shy and frightened now, since she was bold and unafraid? I reasoned to myself.

"Where is your third mole?" I inquired.

She paused for a moment, thinking about it. Then she smiled as she adjusted the pallu of her saree to reveal her lovely belly. Oh, and she had a gorgeously formed belly that was practically transparent. She pushed the folds of her saree as far as they needed to be pushed down to reveal her wonderfully formed navel. My imagination was titillated by the sight of her bare belly with her navel. She then pointed to a little black mole on her left side, just above her navel.

I took a deep breath and quickly exhaled. "My goodness, it looks like a bright star just above the full moon," I said, my face beaming with delight.

"Thank you very much for the compliment and nice analogy," she answered, laughing. She adjusted and replaced her pallu back covering her stomach as a result of this.

All three moles I'd seen appeared to be in a straight line down the left side of her body, which surprised me. So, in order to satisfy my curiosity, I decided to act mischievous. However, I inquired, casually and innocently, "Where is the fourth mole?"

"Hey Arun, you're becoming a little naughty now," she said, biting her thick lower lip with her teeth and staring at me coyly. I'm afraid I won't be able to show you my fourth mole. Only my husband would be able to see it," she murmured, a profound grin on her lips.

"I am really sorry and I sincerely apologize for my foolishness," I added, even though I had posed the question on purpose.

With a sweep of her hand, she disregarded her own response and said, "Think nothing of it, Arun, and take it easy." And now it's my chance to apologize if I've upset you."

"That makes two of us," I said. We both burst out laughing.

She told me everything about them throughout our subsequent conversation. Her parents were from a strict Bengali household, and she was their only child. She was a graduate in arts who was born and raised in West BENGAL's Birbhum district. She'd never had a boyfriend before. She went to Kolkata nine years ago after marrying. Her husband, she stated, was a kind man who lacked in various areas. I was about to say something to question about specific qualities he lacked, but I stopped myself. For the first time, she said her name was Paoli in response to my question.

I had a few more questions in my head that I wanted to ask her. However, I made the decision to question them during our supper.

She walked inside after taking a break to arrange the dining table. I accompanied her to the kitchen and assisted her in setting the table with the dishes and plates. I once felt her brush her body against mine. For a single second, I felt a lump of flesh pressing against my right arm. It was, indeed, her left boob. 'Wasn't it a calculated move? My thoughts said, "Arun, wait and see."

While we were eating, I decided to ask the million-dollar question I'd been itching to ask for a long time. "Can I ask you a personal question, Paoli, if you don't mind me probing?"

She gave me a curious look, smiled, and said, "Go ahead." She requested that I omit all formalities and refer to her solely as "Paoli" rather than "Paoli."

"Well, Paoli, you said you were married nine years ago," I said. Do you have any children? Or if it's something with which one of you has an issue, I apologize."

She didn't flinch at all, to be honest. Rather, her expression indicated that she was expecting this question any day now. And she appeared to be well-prepared.

"You are correct, Arun," she said. We don't have any children. And I'm desperate for one." "We had ourselves evaluated by recognized doctors," she said, brushing aside her overwhelming feelings. Medical testing, according to my husband, revealed that the problem was with me. But it's impossible for me to believe. His relatives even blamed me for my infertility. However, I feel it was due to his issue. I'm sure he's blaming me to make up for his own shortcomings."

There was a brief moment of stillness between us. "What do you think, Arun?" she asked, looking up at me.

"Look, Paoli, I can't opine or conclude anything right now for sure," I answered after a moment of thought. And morality and ethics forbid me from asking you any more questions that might be too personal or embarrassing for you to respond," I explained.

"Oh...why are you feeling any more formality or shame?" We're married, after all, and we're wonderful friends and neighbors. There is nothing about which we should be embarrassed. You can ask me anything and everything without hesitation."

When she supported me, I was taken aback. True, she had no inhibitions when she looked me in the eyes, and she appeared bolder than I had expected.

"Well, Paoli, it's true that most infertile guys have an inferiority complex and refuse to confess or accept their infertility. Instead, they blame the spouses for their inability to bear children because to chauvinism. But how could you come to the conclusion or state categorically that your husband was lacking"? I inquired.

"Arun, don't call me unashamed when I declare I have not experienced what is true sexual delights in married life till now," she responded quickly. My husband is a lovely man, but in bed he is completely selfish. He is simply concerned with his own needs and fulfillment. We had intercourse once every 15 days or so, but it was confined to his lifting my nightie, inserting his organ into me, and finishing everything in 2-3 minutes before he went to sleep. He didn't even bother to glance at me when I was laying on the ground."

Her bold expressions took me by surprise, if not outright astonishment. I never expected her to come out so openly, brazenly, and unapologetically so soon. My probes may have caused a rupture on the tip of her fuming volcano, allowing lava to flood out.

"At this age and stage of life, a lady demands satisfactory sex virtually every day," she continued, as I remained perplexed. I'd never had orgasm while making love before. I had to go to the restroom a lot to masturbate with the back of a fountain pen. I had to stay under the running shower at times to relieve my body of its sexual hunger and heat."

"I tried all imaginable means to correct him, but he failed to rectify himself," she continued after a brief pause. I went to the length of embarrassing him, you know. After fucking and attaining climax in under two minutes, he rested on his back ignoring me. Despite my persistent requests, he refused to gratify me. So I took the fountain pen and started masturbating and fucking myself with it while he watched. My behavior elicited no response from him since he was such a blatant idiot.

"Do you believe I can become pregnant and deliver a baby by masturbating with a fountain-pen?" she questioned, a deep sigh escaping her unexpected inner anguish.

Though that baffled me, I was powerless to respond. We seemed to be surrounded by a cloud of doom. For some reason, it occurred to me that she was attempting to prove that the fault was with her spouse rather than with herself. "Haven't you two watched some blue-films together?" I inquired.

"Yeah, we have but only once during in the early months after our marriage," she remarked glumly. However, this was ineffective. After seeing the movie, I asked him why he couldn't be like the man and we could make love the same way the couple did in the movie. He had responded that it was ludicrous and obscene, and that no man or lady would do such a thing in real life."

Later, I questioned her about her husband's sex patterns and asked her a series of questions. He was not sexually active, as far as I could tell. He never tried to entice her with foreplay or by sucking her. He had a severe aversion to mouthing her pussy and had previously stated that it was filthy. He went right to work inside her tight, dry pussy, and ejaculated after only a few thrusts. The majority of his fluid, she reported, stayed outside her vulva.

I wondered whether he was experiencing early ejaculation. I sympathized with her unfortunate situation and predicament.

Dinner was served at the dining table. The telephone in the drawing room began to ring as we were eating. She excused herself in order to attend. She reappeared after five minutes. She explained that it was her spouse from Mumbai calling to inquire about her well-being. Maybe I was wrong, but when she said he was almost done with his work over there and would be back the next day afternoon, I noticed a tinge of dismay on her face. She also stated that he inquired about me. When she informed him I had supper with her and that I had departed about fifteen minutes ago, she said he was happy. "Why should I disturb him unnecessarily to inform him you're still with me eating dinner?" she asked, winking. I grinned but remained silent.

We returned to the drawing room after eating a wonderful supper to continue our conversation. I believed she appeared more daring now that she had let the saree pallu fall off her shoulder and remained there for a longer period of time.

"Arun, I understand you Bihari are really intelligent." They are well-educated and scholarly. Rather, I have to call them geniuses. In addition, I've heard that Bihari women are quite sexy in bed."

I was perplexed as to why she stated it. "Arun, can I ask you a really important question?" she asked, as if responding to my unspoken query. Will you respond with a 'Yes' or a 'No'? But you must respond right now."

I was completely perplexed. What was she alluding to? I didn't have any idea. So far, she's been honest and forthright in her responses to all of my questions. Now I'm in a pickle. My self-respect forbade me from accepting defeat. "All right, go ahead and ask," I said.

She appeared to be happy. "Arun, I'm not going to beat about the bush," she continued. Please accept my apologies. From the moment I met you, I had acquired a deep liking for you and a great yearning for you. Tell me, will you offer me all of the sexual delights that I have never had before in my life, at least once? Will you get me pregnant so that I can have a genius child like you"?