“Yes, dear.” I wondered what elaborate scheme Vidya was planning. She sometimes had this sexual role play games that she made me participate it, which were quite detailed. Usually something she read online. I wondered if she was planning something similar to those.
“Ah! Ah! Ah! Harder! Harder! Ah!” Vidya was now screaming into the phone. No doubt, she was fingering herself to an orgasm.
“Ok! Where was I?” Catching her breath, Vidya continued. “So yes, you will remain hiding in that closet like the little fucking pervert you are.”
My dick was rising at the condescending tone Vidya was using towards me, and at the noises of her orgasm.
“Now, listen to this, honey. This is important. NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS, YOU WILL REMAIN INSIDE THE CLOSET until I specifically, remember, SPECIFICALLY, ask you to come out. Do you understand?”
“Yes, dear.” My cock was now erect, wondering at the “no matter what happens” part. What did Vidya have in mind?
Soon, I took half the day off work and left, timing it so that I came home just around noon. Vidya was nowhere to be seen. The house was freshly cleaned (Vidya could be a finicky cleaner when in the mood), and our bedroom was also properly made up. I took my iPad with me, grabbed a stool and entered the huge walk-in closet of our bedroom. Placing the stool so I could sit and watch the bed through a crack on the closet door, I sat down and turned on my iPad.
In addition to viewing the bed through that crack, I could also see it on my iPad. Six months ago I had installed secret cameras in our master bedroom and in the living room, and they were all wirelessly connected to my iPad. Those cameras helped me tape Vidya and Gaurav’s affair, which we edited and gave anonymously to Devika – Gaurav’s fiancée – the daughter of the owner of the corporation I worked for. Our plan worked perfectly – Gaurav was fired and I became a lead engineer. I switched on the iPad now, plugged in my headphones so I could listen, and switched to our living room camera.
After about ten minutes of patiently waiting, I could hear a voice. Yes, Vidya had just entered our home, and someone seemed to be with her. I could hear a man’s voice! Vidya soon came into the living room, and thus on my screen. I could see she was wearing a simple blue sari, wrapped nonchalantly around her body, with her waist and navel exposed. Her blouse was a small, low cut one, giving anyone a good view of her ample cleavage. Her hair was rolled up in a bun at the top of her head. Vidya’s guest followed her into the living room. My jaws dropped in shock.
It was our doodhwaala Ramu! Our milkman! Ramu was a low-class labourer who went door to door on our street every morning delivering fresh milk to the housewives. What was he doing here? His delivery time should have been in the morning, I thought.
Ramu was a Tamil, and from the South of India, and thus very dark, as was typical. He could almost be called black, so dark was his complexion. He was slightly taller than Vidya, and I could see that he was built – lugging around heavy cans of milk up all those flights of stairs was a physically demanding work. Ramu was wearing an old shirt that fit him tightly, and I could see his ripping muscles. His bright white shirt contrasted brilliantly with his ebony skin, and he wore a lungi (think of a lungi as a full length kilt that reached to your ankles – it was a dress worn by the lower class outside as it was cheap).
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