Jan finished walking her smiling client through the dozen signatures required to shift his investment funds to establish a trust for his unborn child that would yield enough for university education at maturity, maximizing existing government grant matching, while not only limiting tax exposure but taking advantage of investment credits to leave the father in quite a pleasant tax position for this calendar year as well. It was a more creative solution than usual, a far more fiscally rewarding one. There was no arguing the fact that her work had been at its highest level today, easily accomplishing a weeks worth of work in the day, and her client's were duly appreciative. Her mind was awake in ways that made it clear she had been largely going through the motions for years. The problem was why.

Sitta.

Sitta was the Hindu widow who lived next door. She had three sons, twin eighteen year-olds and a younger brother, all of whom had become a secret obsession for Jan since her divorce. She had thought it was a secret. Her own husband had left her when he revealed he preferred men to women, but the marriage itself had already done its damage, leaving Jan doubting her femininity, her passion so long unreturned she began to feel it undeserved, and had long since abandoned her own sexual nature to the scrap heap of history. Then Sitta and her sons moved in. The boys were young Hindu bulls, loud, brash, muscular, dark eyed, dark bodied, and so very obviously potently male. She began to watch them. Everything her over-refined and cold ex-husband was not. They were like some sort of wild pagan gods from an age when bronze bodied gods would dance the earth to seduce pale young maidens from their father's tower or keep, or hold court in wild glens where circles of wild maidens would dance for them in sensual worship, seeking to be the one, or one of the many the god would choose to bless with his holy seed.

Soon watching was not enough. She would touch herself as she watched them. Oh it happened innocently at first. She would watch them sport and play, roughhousing innocently as any young bulls or stags arrogant in their strength, their prowess, their manhood so proud and potent it needed no reason to test itself again and again, save the pure male joy of expressing its power. Power called to her, touching the weakness her husband had left where her own feminine sexuality once lived. Inside the broken places in her, the lost dreams of her own youthful desires a fire kindled, but the heat did not come from inside her, but was only a reflection from those wild Indian gods, those potent Hindu kings. She looked at their strong arms and hands and wondered how different it would feel if it had been those dark strong hands, not the long pale thin fingers of her ex husband that closed upon the heavy pale breasts that never seemed to inspire her husband. She trailed her fingers across her breast and dug them in, imagining the young wild power of those dark Hindu hands closing on her 48GG breasts with power enough to make them feel their rightful prize, not a disfiguring and embarrassing overburden, but a prize scaled to be claimed and used by the strong powerful hands and bodies of those young Hindu gods.

She saw them when they sported in the sprinkler and back yard pool, their hard bodies had fired her imagination, but when she saw what they continually had to readjust inside their shorts, she could not keep her hands from straying to her panties. They had great heavy cocks on them that hung soft both longer and thicker than her husbands when erect. Her husband called her a fat cow, making Jan ashamed of her large breasts and high round bottom, even if her body was otherwise fit and toned her curves were always very ripe, those of a 1950's screen star, not a modern stick thin model. She had always flinched and wilted when called a cow by him, but seeing those great Hindu bulls sporting in the water next door, she looked upon their cocks and knew they were bulls the way Zeus transformed into a bull to take Europa. She felt her body catch fire, she was Europa, and needed to be taken by those great Hindu bulls. She began to NEED to be naked when she watched them, to caress her breasts, to caress her pussy. Soon she was bringing her nipples to her mouth to suck and even bite, dreaming it was the mouths of Sitta's strong sons that sucked and bit her nipples. She would slap her breasts and ass, dreaming it was their strong Hindu hands that marked her skin, training her to serve and please them, as her husband swore she could never please any man.

She shopped online until she could find a dildo that matched the bronze colour of their skin, and the massive size their cocks would be when hard. When she watched them, she took that dildo into her mouth, sucking it, ramming it deep into her mouth to make her gag with the force and passion those boys played with, not the cold passionless distain with which her ex-husband would spend himself in her with. What would it be like to be dominated by such wild and potent manhood, to be trained out of her passive corpse like stillness that her ex husband had insisted on, to be FORCED to reclaim the wildness of the dreams that her youthful virginity promised, and her married sexuality failed to yield?

She brought a butt plug and began to sit on it when she watched them, working her fingers into herself as she dreamed of what it would be like to be taken by both boys, to be pinned helpless between two rutting stags, two great Hindu bulls, her white breasts in their hands, crushed against their chests, her womb filled with their seed, her ass impaled on a cock the size of her slender forearm. She lived her life in a quiet and dull routine whose only colour came from those secret moments observing and worshipping from afar Sitta's sons. Her secret. It was no secret.

Sitta came in a rage to show her the video. The boys had hours of video of her masturbating, abusing herself while looking at them. She could lip read well enough to blush as she saw herself crying out "Fuck me Vivaan, cum in me Vihaan". They knew, Sitta knew. Jan's shame shattered her and she could not think, could not defend herself. Sitta in her rage dragged her by her hair around to face her, and Jan prepared to fight the enraged Hindu mother.

What happened was worse, what happened broke her.

Sitta took her. Kissed her, devoured her. The feel of those flashing Hindu eyes on her awoke the passion Jan had hidden, when Sitta's womanly body pressed against her own in proud Hindu mastery Jan's body yielded in ways her long marriage never prepared her for. The first time Sitta's mouth claimed her breast it shattered Jan, and her passion rose up and shattered the chains of her pride, her self image, self hatred, and she rose like Fenris wolf to devour. She ate Sitta's pussy like it was her last meal on earth, and when the Hindu mother came into her mouth it was like the first taste of gin or voidka hitting her brain, lighting it with a strange consuming fire that freed her of restraint. When Sitta rolled away because she was getting too sensitive, Jan found herself driven to lick, kiss and suck her dark ass, even pressing her long pink tongue into Sitta's asshole, learning you could indeed make a woman cum by making your tongue dance inside her tight aft sphincter while you teased her clit with your fingers.

Sitta was the first woman Jan had ever even thought of desiring, but having been taken by Sitta she was suddenly aware Sitta was a real woman, as Jan had become only a pale copy of a woman, a pale imitation of a true woman. She had been taken by Sitta and shown she was incomplete, and offered the opportunity to serve Sitta, and her sons. As a slave. As an animal.

Jan logged out of the work network to begin her lunch. She took a deep shuddering breath. She was almost out of time. She had to decide how she would deal with what happened. How she would go forward; with Sitta, or, gods help her, with Sitta and her sons.

She was a powerful and important professional woman, a proud feminist, a successful career woman. On the face of it, she had everything. Looking at her desk, Jan's eyes unfocused. On the face of it, she had half a perfect life, too bad the other half was howling emptiness, numbness indistinguishable from the grave. She had spent years of her marriage slowly dying inside, and was just about ready to admit it was over, she was not even a woman anymore, just a job title and function when Sitta tore the lid off her casket and ripped her out of it.

Jan's heart began to beat, her pussy to flood with moisture and her nipples to swell and ache as her body roared into awareness. A sleeper now awakened, the dead returned from the grave howling in starvation and need for the touch, for the sensation, for the feeling of divine surrender to a passion, to a will, to a femininity infinitely more powerful and real than her own. Sitta.

Could she live without Sitta's touch again? No she could go back to simply existing, going through the motions of pretending to live, but without Sitta's touch she could not live. Could she live with herself if she agreed to be Sitta's slave, Sitta's animal, a sexual plaything for her and her bronze godlike sons?

A moan escaped her lips.

She had her lunch break to act, and act she would. Opening up a window on the computer she sought what she needed, and placed the order for delivery today, paying extra for a courier to bring it to the office.

Sitta had told her to show up dressed so everyone could see what she meant to be for her, and for Sitta's family. Jan felt her heart hammering in her chest. She had the choice, go back to the grave and wait for the world to pile dirt on her and be done with it, or crawl from that grave, that half life, and crawl to Sitta's feet and beg to be her dog, her slave, her plaything.

Looking around her office, Jan realized she had done the best work in years not in spite of Sitta's having used her like a cheap whore, but because Sitta had used her like a cheap whore. Jan was alive for the first time in years, she didn't hate herself, didn't doubt herself, didn't have to force herself to go through the motions at work; she attacked it with creativity, with passion, with ambition she had not known in years. If the price for living again was living as a slave, then she would pay it!

The drive home was hard. Her hands were trembling, and she nearly missed her own turnoff. Pulling into her driveway, she walked to her own door only long enough to deposit her briefcase, laptop, and the garment bag with her working clothes from today. She unbuttoned her long London Fog rain coat with trembling hands, revealing the outfit that remained.

This was her choice, what she wished to be for Sitta, for her sons. For real.

Hanging the coat on the hanger, she used the keyless entry to lock her front door, and felt the cold air hit her skin, because almost all of it was on display. Jan walked slowly, her heels clicking on the sidewalk, her large breasts bouncing obscenely in the costume designed for once to enhance and offer them for display, rather than strap down and conceal them. Her bum was cold as the air ruffled the little bit of lace that remained and she strove to overcome her instincts to hide her face and look down. Defiantly, she thrust out her chin and faced the world proudly with her choice as she went up the steps of Sitta's house. Her collar gleaming in black leather, the heavy steel ring at the front tapping the leather as it bobbed with each step, a reminder she bore the collar of a slave, of a dog, because she chose life as Sitta's white animal over being a proud and lonely successful and admired banking executive.

Jan rang the bell, and Vihaan, one of the twin bronze gods of SItta's Hindu sons opened it and swore softly.

"Holy fuck, Mrs Thomas?" Vihaan's eyes roamed from her little white maid cap, down the mountains of exposed white breasts barely contained in her French Maid costume the high round ass left mostly bare by the apron saving the skirtless outfit from displaying all her charms, down the long back thigh high stockings ending in matching black heels.

Jan curtsied deeply, showing off her generous 48GG cleavage with its painfully erect nipples showing through the thin silk of the maid outfit bodice, then extended the leather hand strap of her leash to Vihaan's surprised hand.

"Good evening Master Vihaan. Can you bring me to your Mother, my owner Mistress Sita so that I can begin to serve you as she commands?" Jan asked, batting her long dark lashes at Vihaan, squeezing her elbows to her sides to cause her breasts to jut even farther out to the young Hindu teen. The feeling of power she got from his response was like whiskey pouring down her throat, and a low sexy chuckle came from her as she noted the twitching of Vihaan's quickly hardening cock in his loose basketball shorts.

Hindu bull indeed, she was going to be Europa to these bronze Hindu bulls, the sacrificial white cow to please the hard Hindu godlike bulls and the goddess their mother. Vihaan seemed too stunned to respond, tugging on the leash to bring Jan forward almost shocked him enough to drop the leash until his mother's voice rang out.

"Vihaan, bring my new slave into the kitchen. Until you have finished your homework and chores she is not yours to use. If you want to play video games all night and let your brother get her all to himself then feel free to continue to ignore your homework."

Jan felt herself shudder, almost cumming at Sitta's casual disposition of her body, she was a plaything, a sexual toy to be awarded as a prize for competing their homework, their household chores, or generally pleasing their mother. She was Sitta's slave, a red headed slave for her Hindu neighbor and her household.

Coming into the kitchen where Vivaan, the younger Parm and their mother Sitta were waiting, Jan sank down to her knees, and then belly, kissing Sitta's toes one by one, then kissing up her foot to her ankle as she spoke softly and clearly.

"Please, Mistress Sitta, accept this white slave for your use, your discipline, your training in the hopes that I can please you and your sons, or whomever else you choose to give me to" Jan's heart was beating like a triphammer in her chest as she felt her leash pulling her to her knees by Sitta's feet.

Sitta stroked her long red hair like a favourite dog, and Jan found herself pressing her white cheek against the Hindu mother's thigh in worshipful devotion as Sitta addressed her sons.

"You are boys no more, you are growing up to be proper Hindu men, and I won't have you distracted from your studies and work chasing after sluts at school. You will focus on your studies and work hard. I have provided you a fine white slave who will teach you how you can properly own a woman. You will only get to use her when I am happy your work has been done properly.

I will be teaching her all the ways a good Hindu woman can expect to be taken by a true Hindu man, and she will show you how to love a woman so powerfully she will beg to be yours forever. When the time comes that I find you a proper Hindu wife, you will be able to please her so well she will never even look at another man."

Vivaan reached down and pushed Jan's bodice down to expose her engorged pink nipple jutting proudly from her pale white breast and asked the question on all the boy's minds.

"She is really our little fucktoy?"

Sitta's slap rocked her son back and her voice set the tone for what was to come.

"Foolish child, she is MY SLAVE. You are nothing but a child in rut, no more able to please a woman than to control yourself. I brought her here to teach you what your father would have, if he still lived. You will treat her with respect, as you will treat your wife with respect outside the bedroom. You will learn to master her, to punish her, to train her, to make her howl and beg to be used by you, to be so wild for you that we have to chain her up at night so she will allow you time to sleep, and then she will be your slave as much as mine. Right now she is mine alone, and I will only let you borrow her when you have shown you have done a man's work, and are ready to receive a Hindu man's rightful prize."

Vihaan shut off the PS4 and keyed open the computer and shouted back over his shoulder.

"I have an essay to finish, then I get first dibs!" Vihaan had half finished it already, having been laughed at by Vivaan for wasting his time on schoolwork when he could be playing PS4. Now Vihaan would be setting his hands on that fine white body he had been jerking off to for months, feeling those soft pink lips closing around his lund, and feeling how that tight white pussy felt as his hard Hindu cock taught her who the true master race was; all while Vivaan played catch up on homework. Sometimes life was fair.

Sitta watched her son's working hard on their homework as her new slave worked hard to get the dishes cleaned up, seemingly as eager to be done her housework and be ready to serve the sexual needs of her new Hindu masters, as Sitta's boys were to take possession of their new white slut. It was going to work out well, having Jan as her "mother's little helper"