This was a few years back. My first year of college I really wanted some freedom.
I’d lived under my parent’s roof for nearly nineteen years, living by their rules and constantly under their watchful eyes. I had a part-time job making pretty good money driving an Uber for one of the local garages and so, when the opportunity to strike out on my own presented itself in an affordable way, I took it.
Of course I wouldn’t be on my own. I was part of a threesome of college guys that rented a twenty-year old, three BHK flat in a once middle-class but by then declining neighbourhood. We divided the rent and the utilities up evenly, making me responsible for 12 thousand rupees a month. For this I received a private twelve by ten bedroom and a third of the kitchen, living room, and bathroom.
Freedom certainly wasn’t everything I’d envisioned it to be. Though I didn’t miss my Mommy or anything like that, I did quickly develop an immense respect for how much my mother had done around the house that I had always taken for granted. Laundry for instance. I now had to do it by myself and I was always a week behind in it. Cooking. I was now forced to live on fast food and pizza (and lots of beer) instead of home-cooked meals on most nights. And cleaning! That is what I missed the most. I grew up in a clean house, my mother nearly a fanatic on the subject. The three of us guys were horrible slobs, none of us wanting to clean up after ourselves, let alone each other. Our house was constantly an embarrassment with beer cans, dishes, empty food containers, even a bong full of dirty water lying around. I don’t believe we even owned a vacuum cleaner or cleaning supplies.
The neighbours, some of whom were homeowners and some of whom were renters, tolerated us. The reason for their toleration was that we kept mostly to ourselves and were not prone to throwing wild parties (or even un-wild parties). We were not of the wild partying class you see. I was a History Honours, angling towards a career in teaching. I’d always been shy, especially around females. Kinshuk, the senior among us, was a computer science geek and a stereotypical one at that. He had it all, thick glasses, high IQ, pocket protectors, no women and few friends. Raghu was a general education pass who had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. Whenever he wasn’t in class or working he enjoyed staying home, watching TV, and smoking grass. I have never seen anyone smoke as much pot as Raghu did. If he was home, he was taking bong hits. Our house constantly reeked with the odour of greenbud. The only thing that kept him from flunking out of school was a near-photographic memory and an eerie ability to pass nearly any written test given to him.
Raghu and Kinshuk were friends of convenience but I was never really close to them. All Kinshuk wanted to talk about was mainframes and Cobol and this ridiculous idea of his how one day every computer in the world would be linked together. Raghu was very talkative when he was stoned but he was TOO talkative. He would ramble on about strange ideas and things, voicing insights that he’d come to on every subject from politics to why they put those little black things in pre-packaged salami meat.
It was difficult to get a word in edgewise around him. I didn’t have many other friends, just acquaintances, and dates were few and far between for me.
I might have moved back home at some point, just to get some intelligent, worthwhile conversation, had I not started hanging out with Shambhu and Shushila. They were a couple in their early thirties that owned the house next door to ours. Shambhu was a mechanical engineer who worked in a car shop nearby. He was a chubby, short man that perpetually had grease and grime beneath his fingernails. He was painfully nice and always jovial; always willing to help out anyone and everyone. He was the kind of guy that couldn’t pass a panhandler on the street without dropping in a buck or two. As far as I could tell he was completely incapable of being offended by anything. Even before we’d formally met, he always had a friendly wave for me whenever he spied me coming or going from our house. His wife, Shushila, was also slightly chubby in a top-heavy way. She had an average sized waist but a large torso and huge breasts. Her face was plain but pretty though she rarely wore make-up. My first impression of her was of a woman who used to be somewhat loose back in high school but was now playing the role of respectable married woman. She was a full-time housewife. They had two children, a boy and a girl, ages two and four respectively.
It was my car that did the job of bringing me into this family. It was a battered second hand Maruti 800 Corolla that was ten years old and had nearly a hundred and fifty thousand kms on it. I’d purchased the car a year after getting my driver’s license. It’s paint was faded, it’s interior trashed with yellow upholstery and springs showing through multiple holes in the seats. The AC didn’t work and the engine was covered with so much grime and oil that it actually smoked while it was running. I treated that car like shit. I changed the oil only when I thought about it, which was usually every twelve thousand kms or so. I drove it with the tires underinflated and I never checked any of the fluids. I rode the clutch.
But still it kept on running faithfully for me until one morning when it rebelled in a big way.
It just so happened that Shambhu was out in front of his house that morning, watering some plants in his front yard while his car warmed up in the driveway predatory to taking him to work. He tossed me a friendly wave as I hustled out of the house, back-pack in hand, working on being late for my 8:20 class. I returned his wave and jumped in the car, which I’d never bothered to lock since there was nothing inside of it worth stealing. I inserted the key into the ignition, pumped the gas pedal two times, and gave it a crank. It fired up like usual, ran normally for about ten seconds and then, just as I was about to put the gearshift in reverse, from beneath my hood came the most agonizing sound of mechanical torment that I’ve ever heard.
There was a loud screech, a bang, multiple thumps, and a louder bang before I had the presence of mind to shut off the key.
The noises gradually ground to a halt along with the engine. I then heard the sound of fluid pouring to the cement driveway beneath the car.
I popped the hood latch and stepped out of the car. Though I knew next to nothing about cars I still felt the typical male urge to have a look under the hood. Shambhu had heard the sound too and headed over from his driveway, sensing the call of a vehicle in peril. The first thing I saw was a large puddle of shit-brown liquid beneath the car. It was still dripping out from underneath and running down the driveway to the gutter. Mechanical ineptness or not, I was pretty sure that this wasn’t a hopeful sign.
Shambhu, who I’d never been introduced to or spoken to before, looked at the puddle too. “Looks like old radiator fluid.” He told me matter-of-factly.
I looked at him, offering a polite smile. “That’s probably not a good thing to have pouring out of the car, is it?”
He shook his head sadly. “Afraid not. And that sound it made most definitely didn’t sound too healthy.”
“I was afraid of that.” I sighed.
“Open her up.” He suggested. “Let’s take a look.”
Afraid of what I’d see, I unlatched the hood and raised it. The entire front of the engine was a mess. Like I said, I’m not the most mechanically inclined person in the world, but even I could see that my fan and my radiator had met at high speed, destroying both. Brown fluid was everywhere. Fragments of plastic fan blade, metal fragments, hoses, and radiator parts were strewn throughout the front of the engine compartment. Several pieces of the fan were actually protruding from the back of the radiator.
“Hole-ee shit.” Shambhu said cheerfully. “Looks like your water pump up and exploded, sending your fan right into the radiator.” He shook his head again. “That’s the thing with these rice burners. They run forever but when they go, they go in a big way.”
I sank my head, immediately depressed. “Can it be fixed?” I asked.
“Oh sure.” He answered. “Anything can be fixed. It’s bound to be expensive though.”
He thought about it for a moment. “Well, you’re talkin’ a new radiator complete with all the hoses, a new fan, new belts, new water pump.” He poked around inside for a second. “Oil pump and alternator look okay. All that plus labour is gonna run you about a lakh at a reputable shop.”
“A lakh??” I exclaimed. The whole freaking car wasn’t worth a lakh.
“If you went to the dealer though it’d be more; like 1.5 lakh probably.”
“Oh shit.” I said, majorly depressed now. There was no way in hell I could afford that, not even in my wildest dreams. I also couldn’t live, work, or go to school without my car. I was truly and utterly fucked.
Shambhu seemed to see this in my face. “Tell you what.” He said. “I’m a mechanic and I do this kind a thing for a living. If you buy the parts, I’ll be happy to help you put them in.”
I looked at him, wondering if there was some sort of catch.
“Why not?” He said. “Shouldn’t take more than two hours or so. It’ll save you a lot of money that way.”
“How much are the parts?” I asked.
“Well,” He said, “How about I help you after I get off work tonight at four. You gonna be here?”
“I sure ain’t going anywhere now.” I told him.
“I guess not.”
He said. “I’ll call my friend at the wholesalers that my shop deals with. I can probably get you a refurbished radiator, rebuilt water pump, new fan and new belts for about a 20,000 rupees.”
“You’re kidding.” I said, not sure I’d heard him right.
He chuckled. “That’s the advantage of being in the business.” He told me. “Can you come up with 20,000?”
“I sure can.” I said.
“Cool. I’ll see you around four-thirty or so then and we’ll take a ride.”
“What can I pay YOU for this?” I asked timidly. I’d been taught from birth that you didn’t get anything for free in this world.
“How ’bout a twelver of Budweiser. We’ll pick it up while we’re getting the parts.”
Numbly I said, “Sounds like a deal uh… ”
“Shambhu.” He said, holding out his hand. “Shambhu Biswas.”
As promised, he was there precisely at 4:30. I hopped in his Swift Dezire and we stopped first and foremost for the twelve-pack. As we drove across town he chatted to me about his job, his kids, his house. He was friendly and easy to talk to. He kept the open twelve pack between the two front seats and drank can after can of beer while he drove. When he was finished with them he tossed them over his right shoulder to the floorboards of the back seat where a large collection of similar cans rolled back and forth. By the time we picked up the parts and returned to his house, he’d consumed six cans of beer. I myself, though I didn’t like having an open container in the car, drank two out of politeness.
He brought a few simple tools over to my driveway which he used to drain all of the old radiator fluid, that which hadn’t leaked out in the explosion anyway. He eyed the brown fluid as it dribbled out.
“When was the last time you drained and flushed this thing?” He asked.
“I wasn’t aware that you were SUPPOSED to drain and flush it.” I answered.
He chuckled as if I was joking. I wasn’t. My Dad had taught me a lot of things as a child and young adult, but automotive maintenance and repair were not among them. Dad always sent the cars to the shop when something went wrong.
I was probably in my teens before I’d even seen the inside of an engine compartment.
We pushed the car over to his garage, having to struggle to get it up the steep incline, and he went to work. He did all of the actual procedure, drinking beer all the while and explaining carefully to me what he was doing each step so, if my water pump ever exploded again, I would know how to fix it. About fifteen minutes into the old radiator extraction, Shushila came outside with one of the kids in tow.
Like her husband, I’d seen her coming and going but I’d never actually spoken to her before.
She was wearing black stretch pants and a baggy button-up shirt.
Her hair was tied back in a ponytail. She greeted me politely after her husband introduced us and she immediately began chatting me up brightly, her brown eyes shining.
She asked about me, my roommates, my life at the college, my girlfriends. She was as easy to talk to as her husband was and I conversed gladly, grateful to discuss something other than computers or what the government was REALLY up to with that space shuttle. I noticed immediately that Shushila was a toucher and a frequent invader of personal space. She was also quite a flirt. She would stand very close while she talked, occasionally reaching out to touch an arm or a shoulder to punctuate some remark. Her husband seemed completely unfazed and unconcerned with this.
In the two hours it took to repair my car I became a friend with the two of them. I drank beer, watched the car repairs, and talked to Shushila and Shambhu about anything and everything. Shushila came and went with frequency, sometimes alone, sometimes with one or the other of the kids with her. I talked to the kids when they were out, finding them cute and personable. When the last bolt was tightened down and the radiator refilled with antifreeze and water (fresh antifreeze is GREEN, not brown, I discovered), Shambhu had me start up the car. It roared to life instantly, it’s parts once again meshing as they should. I was beyond grateful and I must have thanked him sixty times before I pulled it out of his driveway and back into mine.
Shushila, just before I’d left, had invited me over to dinner the next night and I’d accepted, my mouth watering at the idea of a homemade meal. I went over at the prescribed time and enjoyed mutton with mashed potatoes and gravy. After dinner we drank some beer and watched television together. I played with their kids enthusiastically and they seemed to like me. We talked some more amongst ourselves, our conversations becoming more comfortable and animated. We were officially friends.
From then on I began spending a lot of my free time with them.
They both obviously liked my company and I never had the sensation that I was imposing upon them. Their kids loved me. On nights off from work, I would go over after school when Shambhu got home from work and hang out, usually eating dinner with them. Our friendship grew and, as a natural part of friendship, I learned a lot about their respective personalities.
Shushila, as I mentioned earlier, was a toucher. She was also a hugger. Whenever we greeted each other she would throw her arms around me and squeeze my chest against hers, allowing me to feel those large breasts pushing into me. She flirted shamelessly with me, always sitting on the couch next to me, touching my leg, my arm, making sexual comments towards me. She would even kiss me on the cheek or the neck when we parted. She did this openly in front of her husband and Shambhu didn’t seem to be the least bit concerned about it. I realized after a while, when I met some of their other friends (there were two other couples that routinely hung out with them) that this was because she did this sort of thing with everyone, not just me. Shambhu must have been used to it.
Eventually it worked up to the point where I felt I could say damn near anything in front of Shushila or Shambhu. I could comment on how big her tits were using the crudest language imaginable.
I could ask her to show them to me. I could ask Shambhu if she sucked his dick well and if he’d mind if I borrowed her for a while. I could give her ass a friendly squeeze when I hugged her. I could even kiss her on the lips when we parted. She ate up my comments, always laughing at them and Shambhu always thought they were funny too. The man seemed not to have a jealous bone in his body. She always flirted back with me, even going so far as to squeeze my ass too but, since she treated every male friend of hers the same way, I had no reason to believe that she was actually sexually interested in me.
I, on the other hand, was very sexually interested in her. Though she was not Playboy material by any means, she was attractive in her own way. Sure, she could’ve stood to lose fifteen or twenty pounds, but her breasts were huge and her legs, though chunky, were nicely shaped. She was also a married woman, forbidden fruit, and that, in and of itself, is a powerful attracter. I thought about her a lot, usually when I was in my room at night rubbing my hand up and down my cock. She gave the distinct impression that she was very good at sex. I never thought that I’d actually get to sample her treasures however. I was only nineteen and still naïve.
I simply assumed that a married woman would have no interest in sleeping with anyone but her husband. Oh how wrong I was.
My first solid indication that her flirting was not mere wordgames came on an early May night just before summer vacation. Shambhu called me up and told me that he, Shushila and another couple, Sarita and Bunty, were going to take his car to catch a movie. He wanted to know if I cared to go along.
“I don’t think so.” I told him. “I don’t have a date or anything.”
“So?” He’d enquired, giving no indication that his offer was simply for politeness sake only.
“Well,” I went on. “I’d be kind of an oddball with two married couples, wouldn’t I?”
“You said the magic word there.” He informed me, chuckling. “We’re married. We don’t go to the theatre to make out or fuck. We go to watch the movie and drink beer.”
It didn’t take him long to convince me to go with them. I’d met Sarita and Bunty many times before and was almost as friendly with them as I was Shambhu and Shushila. Sarita was very overweight, coming close to 100 kgs I figured, but she was very nice and easy to talk to. Her husband Bunty was a biker friend of Shambhus from the shop. He smoked almost as much pot as my roomate Raghu and discussed conspiracy theories while stoned that Raghu would take another six or seven years to work his way up to.
They followed behind Shambhu, Shushila, and I in their car. When we backed into the drive in, we all climbed into the back of Shambhu’s SUV.
We piled in our ice chests, blankets, and food bags. Shushila planted her back against the cab of the truck and had Shambhu and I sit on either side of her. It was cramped and I found myself pushed against her soft body on one side and the edge of the truck on the other. Bunty and Sarita spread a blanket down near the open tailgate and lay on their stomachs.
Beers were passed around and opened. Bunty produced a large joint and fired it up. That too made the rounds. The first movie was “Platoon” which I’d already seen once in a conventional theatre (by myself).
By the time Charlie Sheen was watching the VC creep through the bush towards him after the lookout had fallen asleep, I was flying high and feeling very horny with Shushila’s body pressed against me.
I put my hand on her thigh, feeling it. This was an act that I’d done before in front of Shambhu and he never seemed to mind it, seeming to treat it like a normal showing of affection. He didn’t mind now, he simply stared at the movie, sipping out of his beer can and hitting the joint thoughtfully when it came his way. Shushila put her own hand on my leg, again something that she always did. With the pot and the horniness, I was soon spouting a powerful erection as my mind, ignoring the movie, pondered the feel of her leg beneath my fingers and the sensation of her caressing hand on my thigh.
By the time Charlie and his Vietnam buddies were smoking out on the screen, Bunty and Sarita had thrown a blanket over themselves and were making out contentedly. I was so horny I found myself wondering what it would be like to bag Sarita.
“Sari,” Shushila said, passing the latest joint, which was technically a roach by then, to Shambhu. “How about tossing one of those blankets over here? I’m getting cold.”
They interrupted their session long enough to toss over a thick comforter. Shushila draped it over herself, Shambhu, and I, pulling it tight around us.
Before five minutes had gone by I felt her hand creeping up my leg. She inched it towards my crotch, squeezing and feeling my thigh through my jeans as she went, her face impassive as she watched the movie. It felt wonderful and I found myself glancing at her and at Shambhu, wondering just what she was doing. Did she realize how high on my leg her hand had gone? Did she realize that it was ME, and not her husband that she was doing this to?
Finally she reached my crotch. Her fingers moved over the bulge of my rigid cock and squeezed gently, making me twitch in my seat. I heard her utter a faint “Oooh” as she felt what I had. I looked at her, staring into her face.
She returned my gaze and said softly, “Watch the movie.”
I turned my face back to the screen and she began squeezing and kneading my cock through my jeans once again. She felt every inch of it, from the base to the head. What was she doing? Her husband, my friend, was sitting less than two feet away! This knowledge did not make me stop her however. In fact, it made the whole thing more exciting.
After squeezing for a few minutes she began poking her fingers through the gaps between the buttons on my jeans. Her fingers rubbed me now through my underwear only. She did this for five minutes or so and then she withdrew her hand and moved it to the waistband of my pants. She unbuttoned the top button and, with deliberate slowness, every button below it until my jeans were open. She then inserted her hand into my underwear and grabbed my bare cock. Though she couldn’t perform a proper hand job with the confinement, she caressed me up and down, feeling my flesh with each of her fingers.
My breathing quickened as she did this and my horniness increased exponentially.
With the hand that was on her thigh I moved into her crotch, rubbing her through her black stretch pants. I could feel moisture seeping through them. I knew that touching her was madness. If her husband decided to put his own hand on her leg he would not be able to help noticing mine and it’s current position.
But I couldn’t help it, I was entranced.
This went on throughout Platoon and the copycat second feature “Hamburger Hill”.
When I had to get up to piss I buttoned my jeans back up under the blanket and marched to the bathroom to do my business.
When I returned, Shushila would unbutton them again and go back to feeling my cock. She never came to the bathroom with me, she never did anything else that night. By the time I got home I had the absolute worst case of blue balls I’d ever encountered in my life. My entire lower torso ached like a rotted tooth. I Jerked off and came in less than two minutes once in the privacy of my bedroom. Shushila’s body was in my mind and my come shot more than four feet into the air, the orgasm lasting nearly a minute.
From that day on I was obsessed with her. I felt strong guilt feelings the next morning about what I’d done with Shambhu’s wife but they were overridden by my lust for her. I jerked off two times a day at least, always thinking of her. I wondered what step our relationship would take next. It didn’t take long to find out.
The next time I was over at their house, things were as usual for the first few hours. We sat and watched a baseball game on TV, we ate dinner and drank beer. Shushila was her usual flirty self, grabbing my leg on occasion, making crude comments. Nothing the least bit out of the ordinary until I came out of the bathroom and found her standing there.
My eyes widened in surprise as I found myself facing her. From the living room I could hear the television droning on with Shambhu presumably on the couch watching it. Without a word she pulled me to her, squeezing me against her body. Her mouth slammed against mine and her tongue shot into my mouth. I returned her kiss, my dick hardening instantly in my pants. Her hand found it, groping through the waistband of my pants and snaking beneath my underwear. She fondled me expertly as I grabbed her right tit through her blouse and began feeling it.
Abruptly she withdrew, pulling her hand free and breaking the kiss. She offered me a flirtatious smile and then entered the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Dazed, I wandered back into the living room and resumed my seat. Shambhu talked to me like normal, with no idea of what his wife had just done to me.
Throughout summer vacation this became somewhat of a routine. I went over like I always had. I talked to Shushila and Shambhu like I always had. A lot of the times when Shambhu was out of the room, nothing would happen. But a lot of the times she would French kiss me and grab my dick, or she would put my hand up under the skirt of her summer dress allowing me to feel her wet panties and slide my fingers beneath them for a brief instant, feeling her thick pubic hair and the wet, slimy lips of her cunt. She never directly gave me an orgasm during this time. She never allowed me to see any forbidden body parts; just to feel them for a few seconds. Though she was often home alone during certain days that I also was, she never invited me over when Shambhu was not there. I Kinshuked off to no other image but hers. The best Kinshuk off sessions were after I’d managed to touch her pussy and could smell her strong secretions clinging to my finger as I whipped myself to a powerful orgasm.
A sane man would have long since labelled her as a cock-tease and walked away, but I wasn’t exactly sane then on the subject of Shushila. I was more than a little obsessed with her and I neglected other things just to be around her when I could in the hope of further sexual contact. I was firmly under her spell.
School started again and this continued without furthering. And then came the night that the Mumbai Indians were playing thee IPL. Shushila and Shambhu threw a party for the occasion, inviting me and all of their other friends. They cooked up a pot of chili that we all enjoyed. Bunty brought a large supply of pot that we all smoked continuously. The beer flowed like water. By the time the Indians had gotten their asses thoroughly kicked, we were all wasted.
The other couples left after the game, saying their good-byes and staggering out to their cars to go home. Soon, only Shushila, Shambhu, and myself were left. I prepared to make my own leave but Shambhu stopped me.
“You don’t have to go now.” He told me. “There’s five beers and two roaches left to finish. Hang out and watch TV with us.”
Shambhu was about as drunk and stoned as he ever got (but still as polite and friendly as always). I accepted his offer to stay and we all three sat and smoked some more pot and drank some more beer while we lounged on the couch and watched the mindless sitcoms that come on after MNF on the west coast. For a change of pace I noticed that Shushila was turning her attentions to her husband. She stroked his thigh and rubbed his cock openly but he didn’t seem to be the least bit interested. Before long his eyes were drooping and he seemed barely conscious.
“I’m going to bed.” He finally announced. He stood up and headed for the bedroom.
“I guess I’d better be going too.” I said, standing.
“You don’t have to leave just because I’m going to bed.” Shambhu told me, kissing his wife lightly on the lips. “Finish your beer.”
“Yeah.” Shushila said, staring at me. “Go ahead and finish your beer. I’ll keep you entertained.”
Shambhu chuckled, stifling a yawn. “Just don’t entertain him too much,” he joked, going down the hall.
We heard him using the bathroom and then the squeak of bedsprings as he climbed into bed. We conversed about mundane things for a few minutes, sitting next to each other on the couch, and then came the sound of drunken snores drifting down the hall from the bedroom. Shushila gave me a frustrated smile.
“Well, bummer.” She said, crossing her legs and allowing the hem of her summer dress to creep quite a way up her bare thigh. “I was planning on him givin’ me some dick tonight, but he don’t seem to interested.”
“I guess he was tired.” I offered in his defense.
She snorted a little, twisting on her back and putting her bare feet in my lap. “He’s just not into sex all that much.” She said. “Never has been. It’s amazing we managed to reproduce at all.”
“That’s too bad.” I said, springing an instant woody as her toes began to softly caress my upper thighs.
“I’m used to it.” She said cheerfully, working her toes further up my leg to my crotch, where they began rubbing up and down the bulge of my cock. I put my hand on her foot and pushed it harder into me, increasing the pressure. “I just have to play with myself a lot.”
With that she let her left leg fall off the couch to the floor. With the right one still in my lap, this served to open her legs to my gaze. She wore no underwear I realized instantly. Her crotch, which I’d felt before but never seen, was covered with a thick mat of light brown hair. Her pussy lips were swollen and peeking out from the centre of this mass. While her foot continued to caress my cock, her hand dipped between her legs.
She began slowly sliding her fingers into her slit, moving them up and down. I stared, fascinated and immensely turned on. I’d never seen a woman masturbate before.
“Do you ever play with yourself?” She asked me, removing her foot from my crotch and placing it on the back of the couch, near my head. Her pussy was now wide open to my gaze as her fingers began to rub faster.
“On occasion.” I admitted, the understatement of the year.
“Play with yourself while you watch me.” She whispered. “Take it out and stroke it.”
I’d never masturbated in front of anyone before; in fact I took strict precautions just to make sure that no one ever walked in on me and now Shushila was asking me to perform the most private of acts in her living room while she watched. I hesitated.
“C’mon.” She told me, her voice firmer and more breathless, her strokes speeding up. Moisture was now dripping out of her, saturating her fingers. I could smell her odour rising into the air. “Jerk off for me while you watch me. You can come on my pussy.”
Lust got the better of me. I started fumbling with my jeans, popping open the buttons.
“Kneel between my legs and do it.” She panted, her face flushed with excitement now.
I got to my knees and positioned myself about eight inches from her juicy snatch. I dropped my pants and underwear down, letting my dick free.
“Very nice.” Shushila told me, stroking herself faster. I could see that her clit was huge and protruding proudly from its hood. I stroked her smooth thigh, wanting more than anything to lay atop her and slam my cock into her cunt, but she pushed my hand away firmly. “No no.” She said, “just jerk off on me.
I wanna see it.”
I gripped myself as I’d done a thousand times in the past and started stroking. My hand felt good but it was all too familiar. I stared at her pussy and her fingers Catalytically rubbing it. Her hips began to move up and down a little as she became more and more aroused. I inhaled her strong, feminine odour and my head began to spin.
She gave herself an orgasm as she masturbated, her hips bucking up and down, her hand moving like mad, her vaginal lips pursing back and forth. She bit her lip as she came to stifle a scream.
“C’mon.” She told me, staring at my blurring hand. “Come on my pussy, squirt it all over it.”
She spread herself widely with her fingers, allowing me to see between her wet lips. I felt myself starting to come. My own hips bucked back and forth and I had to grab the back of the couch with my free hand in order to support myself. I reached the point of no return.
Shushila squealed as the first blast of sperm shot out of my dick.
My aim was a little off and it landed in her pubic hair. I adjusted, continuing to jerk like mad and the second shot hit right between her spread lips. I continued to spray her pussy, hitting her hand and fingers as well. When the last shot dribbled out she began rubbing herself again, massaging my cream into her flesh.
She looked up at me. “Now come down here and clean this up.” She said, holding her pussy open once again.
“Huh?” I said, confused, my body thrumming with post-orgasmic bliss.
“Use your tongue.” She told me, reaching forward and grabbing my shirt. She tugged me towards her crotch.
Now I’d never eaten a girl that had sperm in or on her vagina before. If I’d ever thought about such a thing in the past it had been with revulsion at the idea. But now that I was faced with actually doing it, it didn’t seem so bad. I allowed myself to be pulled forward and I stuck my tongue right between her swollen lips. Her taste was strong, overpowering as I lapped up and down in her cunt. I could taste myself a little, mostly by texture, but this was almost completely overridden by the sharp odour and taste of her secretions. Though strong enough to make the air seem thicker, I lapped for all I was worth and loved it. Eating pussy had always been something I enjoyed, still is today, and to finally stick my tongue into Shushila’s hole after all of the previous frustrations was simply heaven.
Her legs came around my back and her fingers began twirling through my hair as I licked and sucked her hot cunt clean. I began planting kisses and finally sucks on her clit. I fingerbanged her as I did this. Soon she was bucking and moaning once more.
I took her clit between my lips and sucked gently on it, bringing her to what seemed a powerful orgasm that lasted almost two minutes. She pulled a pillow over her face while she came and screamed into it.
When she was finished coming I pulled myself up on top of her. My dick was rigid once again and I was going to have her right there, right then. I don’t believe she could have stopped me if she’d wanted to, but she didn’t want to. She threw her arms around my neck and put her mouth to mine, giving me a sloppy, tonsil cleaning kiss. I grabbed cock in hand and put the head against her dripping lips.
I didn’t hesitate, I shoved my cock inside of her, driving in to the hilt, feeling her muscles stretch and surround me, feeling my balls slap against her wet ass, feeling my pubic hair mesh with hers. It was the most intense sexual moment of my entire life to that point, even better than the first time I’d gotten my cock inside of a female. I’d dreamed and fantasized about this moment probably a hundred times while jerking off and now I was doing it. It was better than I’d imagined.
I pulled out and put it back in, feeling the wet squish of our union. Her tongue continued to duel with mine as I picked up the pace of my thrusts. In and out I moved, feeling her wet membranes clench and release with my rhythm. Our pubic bones smashed together pleasantly, intensifying the feeling.
I broke our kiss and attached my mouth to her neck. My hands began stroking her thighs, her stomach.
I began to groan in pure excitement and Shushila had to hush me. That made me remember Shambhu, her husband, who was sleeping just down the hall while I was fucking his wife on his couch. This would be a bad time for old Shambhu to wake up and stroll down to the living room. The sense of danger involved made me more aroused. I tried to listen for Shambhu’s snores while I slammed in and out but between my own grunts, Shushila’s panting, and the wet squishing that accompanied each thrust, I couldn’t hear anything else. The uncertainty was blackly exciting.
Shushila bucked and stifled another moan as she came beneath me, her pelvis slamming mercilessly into mine. She began squeezing my ass cheeks, running the back of her hand in between them while I kissed and sucked her earlobes. I felt another orgasm wanting to be set free but I tried to stifle it.
I was enjoying her body considerably and I didn’t want it to end.
Soon I could hold off no more. My thrusts developed a rhythm that was independent of my wishes. Shushila began kissing and sucking my neck and whispering dirty, filthy things into my ear, encouraging me. I knew I was almost there.
“Come in me.” She whispered, sensing my impending orgasm. “Fill me up. Shoot it up in me. Let me feel it.”
I stifled a groan as orgasm gripped me. I shot wad after wad of thick sperm into her clutching pussy while she shoved a finger into my ass. Spent, I collapsed atop her while we exchanged gentle, teasing kisses.
When I climbed off her she stood up, pulling her dress back down while I pulled my pants and underwear back up.
“Well,” she said, once I was dressed again. “I’m getting kind of tired now. I guess I’ll hit the rack.”
She gave me the standard hug as I left. She did not mention what had just happened between us.
I took myself home and climbed into bed. For the first time in forever, I didn’t have to jerk off before going to sleep.
That was the first time. There were others. It was the strangest, most exciting, most frustrating affair I’ve ever been involved in. Shushila never talked about our relationship.
Even when we were alone she made no comments of any kind. Sometimes I would go over there and she would have nothing to do with me other than the obligatory hugs and kisses of greeting. Sometimes she would tease me, sending me home with blue balls. Sometime she would fuck the living shit out of me.
It was completely unpredictable. I never knew what I would receive from her. The only constant factor was that I was not welcome in her house when Shambhu was not there.
She only wanted contact with me when there was a danger of getting caught. We took outrageous chances in this regard at times.
Once, while Shambhu was in the bathroom taking a shit, she pulled out my cock and sucked me to orgasm in less than three minutes. Once, when he went to the store to pick up some beer, she pulled me down atop her on the living room floor, casting her pants aside and fucking me right there. We finished up that one about two minutes before Shambhu pulled into the driveway. The best and most daring fuck we shared was at a nearby reservoir where we’d taken the kids to swim. While Shambhu paddled around on the shore, Shushila and I worked our way out about thirty yards or so, to where the water came to our necks. With Shambhu in plain sight she began stroking my dick while I inserted my fingers beneath the crotch of her one-piece bathing suit. After we were suitably excited she tugged me towards her. She pushed my suit down while pushing the crotch of hers aside. She planted me between her lips and then floated on her back while I stood on the bottom and fucked her. To anyone on the shore it appeared that we were simply floating together, talking. I rubbed her clit and slid my fingers into her ass, giving her two orgasms before I finally shot a huge, pent-up load inside of her.
Things went on this way for nearly eight months. We never got caught although there were a few close shaves. Gradually she seemed to lose interest in me. She never discussed it but our encounters became fewer and further between. Eventually they stopped entirely.
Shortly after this my roommates and I had a beef with our landlord. We moved to a different house in a different part of town. I promised to visit Shushila and Shambhu often and I did make a few obligatory visits. But the visits soon stopped as I got Shushila out of my system and developed a more normal social life. By the time I met the woman that would eventually become my wife, I’d ceased visiting them entirely.
Even today though I still find myself occasionally stroking off to the image of Shushila.