Aliya. Becoming a Sexwife. Part 1

My name is Bekzat, and I want to tell my story about relationships and how I became a cuckold. I'm 22 years old, about 172 cm tall, 90 kg. An ordinary guy from Almaty, studying to be an economist, living with my parents. I love anime, listen to rock music, and am into plants. Everything changed when I met Aliya.

We met by chance at an English speaking club. I came to improve my language skills, she came to chat. We sat next to each other, laughing at the host's jokes.

A bit about her: Aliya is 18 years old, 172 cm, 60 kg. Her skin is slightly tanned, like after a summer at Kapchagay. Her breasts are size 2.5 — full, heavy, always noticeable under her top. And her ass… she has a unique ass, elongated like

a Brazilian's, high and lifted, with a sharp curve. She either wore tight jeans that dug into that ass, making it even rounder, or short dresses that revealed her legs up to mid-thigh and accentuated every step. When she walked, everything around froze. She could easily have been a model, but that didn't interest her.

Somehow we clicked, I texted her suggesting we go for a walk, she agreed, and so we started dating. It seems some miracle gave this baursak (a fried dough pastry — me, the pie) a second chance. A few days passed, we went for walks, started holding hands, and she told me her childhood story.

Aliya grew up in a golden cage. Her father is a well-off man, strict and radically devout. He forced her to pray five times a day:

He also dictated how she should dress. No jeans, no dresses. Only loose-fitting jeans, closed-up sweaters, a headscarf. "Cover up," he would say, "so men don't look at you like a piece of meat." But Aliya wasn't meat. She was fire. And you don't hide fire under fabric.

When she turned 17, she started to rebel. First secretly: taking off her headscarf at university, hiding tight jeans in her backpack, putting them on in the bathroom. Then — openly. Her father yelled, slammed the table, threatened to marry her off to the first guy he found. But she stopped listening. Her parents divorced. Her mother took her in. And that's when Aliya became who she wanted to be: in jeans that dug into her elongated ass, in dresses that revealed her legs, with size 2.5 breasts that moved with every step.

One day, I got very aroused when we were kissing on a bench. It was already quite dark and no one was around. I did something I didn't expect from myself. First, I slipped my hand under her jacket and started pulling her nipples, squeezing her soft yet firm breasts. She didn't resist.

Then I decided to go all-in and slipped my right hand into her black leggings, meanwhile covering us with my jacket so a random passerby wouldn't see what was happening. I felt her pubic hair and searched for that intimate place, going even lower.

My Kazakh girlfriend started making short moans when I slipped my finger inside her. It was already wet, and I became curious about what it was. We were both aroused to the limit. I suggested going to a cinema room (which I had pre-selected in case an opportunity for sex arose) — a private hall, a sofa, lights off.

She was a virgin, and so was I — at 22, it's embarrassing to admit, but it just happened that I had a hard time succeeding with girls. We undressed. Her tanned skin gleamed in the semi-darkness, her size 2.5 breasts rose and fell with her breathing, her ass so firm I couldn't look away.

It was a bit problematic with putting on the condom and how to insert it into her, since the experience was zero. And it was all terribly scary. A couple of times when I couldn't manage to enter her, my dick started to go soft. But she took the initiative, as always, jerked it off and sat on top, and that's how we lost our virginity together. It was tender but passionate — she moaned quietly, pressing against me, and I felt like I was in seventh heaven.

After that, we couldn't stop.

We each lived with our own parents, so we sometimes rented apartments by the hour or hotel rooms. The best was when she told her mom she was staying at a friend's place, and we fucked all night. In rented places, she loved to experiment: sometimes from behind, where I could admire her ass, sometimes her on top, controlling every thrust, her breasts swaying in rhythm. In hotels, there was added luxury — soft beds, a view of the city. But she always took charge: "Do it like this, Bekzat, don't rush," dragged me to the shower and got into a doggy-style position. I was also attracted to her feet; they were big, probably size 42-43, but they looked sexy. Sometimes during sex, she would deliberately stick her toes in my mouth to show her dominance.

At university, guys whistled after her, drivers honked when she came out of the building. Men yelled: "Hey, beautiful, how much for the night?" — even though she had just turned 18. She lived in a rough part of the city and was scared. That's why she signed up for hand-to-hand combat — to be able to fight back, so no one would dare touch her.

Once in a hotel, we were lying naked, sweaty, after sex. Suddenly, from the next room — moans. A girl was screaming: "Aidar, yes! Timur, deeper!" — first one name, then another. Aliya and I looked at each other and burst out laughing: "Wow, two at once!"

But then… for a second, I imagined. What if it was Aliya? Just getting up, putting on the dress that hugs her ass, and going to the next room. Two strange men — dirty hands, sweaty palms — holding her clean, tanned wrists, spreading her slender legs, and taking turns inserting their dicks into her vagina. She moans, like that girl, and I… I sit here and listen.

I got so aroused that I flipped Aliya over and started fucking her as hard as I could, without a word. I started fantasizing about how they would fuck her in the next room. She was surprised by my persistence but gave in.

All of this lasted just a couple of minutes. And then — fear. "What the hell is in my head? What kind of perversion is this? No, I'm not like that." I pushed the thoughts away, pulled her close, and forgot. I tried to push those thoughts away.