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From: "Sharmila Sanyal"
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Subject: {ASSM} Fwd: My Story (part 3) by Sharmila Sanyal
Date: Thu, 24 Aug 2000 21:10:06 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Mystory3.txt" begin>
I have to admit that when I first contacted ASSM and started sending in
the story, I had no idea that it would be received so well. I have, since
the first post, received numerous letters of encouragement. Some of them
(blush) have been rather amorous while most are quite objective. Taken
together, the response has put an extra burden on me which I regard with
both enjoyment and trepidation. I sincerely hope that I can (or, more
aptly, My Story) live up to the expectations. Hence the spacings in my
postings. I am trying to do as thorough an editorial job on my writing as
my schedule would permit. I have also taken the plunge and made an FTP
site available for me from the ASSTR, and I thank the abministration for
it. So, from now on, this story will be 'simulnet' (there you go, another
weird coinage - if it does not already exist) to the readers as 'email' and
at my site (look under 'authors').
MY STORY (Part 3)
Debi called me up that day. It was one Friday morning in May, a few
months after her first sexual intimacy with Ajit. Our summer vacation had
started and, it being my last year in high school, I was supposed to be
studying hard for my State Board Exam. I have always done well in my
studies and never have had to be tutored by anybody. But my parents wanted
me to do really well if I wanted to be a doctor. Admissions in Medical
Schools in India required making it through a very tough "Joint Entrance"
exam. To be able to go to a school of your own choice, you had to rank
high. And there were other independent tests for private schools. So I
was studying in my room. Or so my parents thought.
I was; but after a couple of hours, tired of reading for the exam, I was
lying down on my bed with a Bengali smutty novelette. Debi somehow managed
to buy those books without any embarrassment. This one even had about
twelve pages of colored photographs, poorly copied from some European porno
magazines. They were probably meant for some extra stimulation and had
little relevance to the actual story, . But the story I was intently
reading was hotter than the picture of that blonde servicing three men, or
the one of a German shepherd mounting the brunette. Personally, I hate
themes involving bestiality.
When my Mother knocked at the door and announced Debi's phone call, I
was about to reward myself with my fingers for having read about five pages
without so much as a squeeze of my thigh muscles (You see, my clit is set
low enough between my legs which enables me to pleasure myself quite
easily).
"I'll be right out, Ma ..." I answered.
I wasn't undressed; so I hid the book under my bed and opened the door.
My Mother had already left by then. We had the phone on the second floor.
I ran down the flight of stairs, my cunt tingling with each step I took.
"Want to spend the night here with me?" Debi asked.
"What's up?" I couldn't help but notice the excitement in her voice.
"Ma and Baba are away for the weekends with Sutapa" Debi announced,
"They are on there way to my MejoMashi's place and won't be back till
Monday"
"You mean ..." I gasped, "you're all by yourself ... in the house?" I
thought I had not heard it right through all the honking of those cars down
below on the streets.
"What have I been telling you?" unable to contain her excitement too
long, Debi sounded irritated at my questions, "do you want to spend the
weekend here or not?"
"Let me ask ..." with that I put the phone down and went upstairs to ask
my Mother. She did not find anything wrong with that and actually
encouraged me to take my books along with me so that Debi could tutor me if
needed.
"OK ... will be there in a few hours" I added into the phone with a
chuckle, "and Ma wants you to show me a few things."
"Yeah ... that can be arranged, I'm sure" Debi chuckled back, "see you
..."
As you probably guessed by now, I could not have enough sex even as a
teenager. At this mature age of thirty-something (I'm not giving it away,
though), I have to have it about four or five times a day. At work, I have
my fingers and a small vibrator. At home ... well ... I urge patience. I
later learned that such sexual need was unusual for a girl between the age
of thirteen and eighteen.
I was aroused even at the thought of spending the whole weekend with
Debi ... my partner in carnal pleasures. The very prospect of finding
ourselves alone in that house, with nobody else to bother us, sent
electricity all through my body, the tingling sensation from my head to toe
translating into shallow spasms in my vaginal muscles.
I was old enough by then to start wondering if I were a true lesbian.
Not that it bothered me too much; I seemed to have fallen madly in love
with my older cousin. Also, as I have tried to convey, I have been - as
the Westerners put it - rather oversexed.
Sex in India, though a taboo subject now, had always been regarded an
integral part of human existence. It was never supposed to have been set
aside from our spirituality, for a satisfied libido has less distractions
for spiritual pursuits. I suppose that the undercurrent of that Indian
sexuality still flows beneath the facade of middle-class morality. Indeed,
the lowest and the uppermost strata of the Indian society have never been
too attentive of such moralities. pardon my digression.
Anyway, On with my narration.
It wasn't anywhere near a 'few hours' that I found myself ringing the
door bell at Debi's. I was at there door-step within the hour since
talking to her over the phone. It was the middle of the day and the
streets were not as crowded. The bus was packed, however, and, save the
occasional gusts through the open windows, the humid summer air inside was
almost unbreathable. I was hot and so was the bus. Before the seat in
front of me was vacated and I could grab it, I had to endure the poking of
a hard member from behind.
A man, standing right behind me, took advantage of the crowded bus and
made little effort to move his swelling manhood away from my buttocks. He
was wearing a dhoti* and panjabi**, and there was little between my dress
and his cock. I was hot enough to not mind and actually enjoyed the
feeling of the hard thing between the crease of my buttocks; especially
when I sensed that he was looking over my neck and straight into my blouse.
Over the past several months, I had developed from a nondescript teen into
a shapely one. Regular sex and associated foreplay had helped me develop
into a young lady. Although I never flaunted my obvious prides, their
shapeliness attracted second looks which I enjoyed.
So, the man standing behind me was not helping his condition by getting
a deeper look down my blouse. I arranged my sari, as if oblivious to his
stare, so that a little more of the open, rounded, neck of my blouse was
exposed. And I felt his member throb a few times. He started to take
advantage of the bumpy ride through the streets and I almost sensed his
urgency. That had to wait. The seat in front of me came vacant and I,
somewhat reluctantly, slid into it.
I wish I had not. The man was in his fifties and had scraggly beard all
over his face. He did not even try to hide his excitement; and I could see
it pushing up the bunched up fabric of his dhoti. He was wearing the
Indian version of boxers under his dhoti, which help little in concealing
such states. I wished I had not seen his face, for it immediately dampened
my arousal - the arousal that I had been saving for Debi. I wished my
fantasy about a hard cock of a handsome man against my buttocks were left
intact. I shifted my eyes to his groin area. Through my sunglasses, I
kept staring at the sign of his arousal. For the rest of the commute, I
tried to imagine a handsome man as its owner. And that kept me from
getting to Debi with a dry cunt.
Debi was probably taking a shower. She peeked through the small window
that flanked their front door. Spotting me, she opened the door and stood
aside behind it, out of sight from the busy street outside. She did well,
for she was only wearing a petticoat from under her armpits. It covered
her breasts and ended right below her buttocks. Her hair was wet.
"I just got out" she said and gave me a hug. It felt good after
travelling thirty minutes in the humid heat.
"Oh ... I must be stinky ..." I said, trying to get away from a clean
and fresh Debi.
"No, No," Debi did not let me go; and, poking her nose into the side of
my sweaty shoulder drew a deep breath, adding, "I like your natural smell
... it makes me hot, you know."
"Yeah, right ..." I managed to get away from her, more than a little
flattered.
She bared her beautiful teeth and grinned. "I was doing it in the
bathroom when you rang the bell ... see ..." and she took hold of my hand,
guiding it under her petticoat and between her legs. I touched her there
and, beside feeling the stickiness, was surprised to discover that her
dense bush was reduced to a very short patch.
"What the ...!" I exclaimed, and pulled the hem of her petticoat up.
"Like it?" She tried to gauge my reaction.
"I do ... but ... why ... how?" I really wasn't sure how to react.
It was a novelty to me, seeing her without the silky curls that used to
frame her nether lips. But it felt good to the touch. The triangle was
not completely bare. It is hard to describe, so I will not attempt.
I could not help myself. I knelt down in front of her, right there -
just inside of the doorway - and, grabbing her buttocks with both hands,
drew her clipped muff to my face. She shuddered as I took the swollen lips
into my mouth and gently nibbled on them.
"Ooooohhhngggh .... Sharmi" She cried out and grabbed my hairs, gently
tugging at them in an attempt to free herself. "Wait, wait, not now ...
oh, oh, oh, I will ... cum ... right now ... if you don't ... no, no,
don't ... yessss ... oh my ... no ..." with my tongue inside her, she
could not make her mind up.
I was too hot to let her go; especially after finding her already hot
from an unfinished shower masturbation. My own vaginal muscles were in
violent spasms all by themselves ... all I needed was a finger inside
there ... and it would have been all over for me too.
"No! Sharmi ..." Debi finally wrestled herself off my mouth. "I don't
want to finish it right now, Sharmi."
"But" I let myself collapse on my butts and let out a whimper.
"I am just too horny right now" Debi tried to reason, "And you know we
never rush through it ... If you ate me one second longer I would've cum
in your mouth right now."
"OK, OK ... My God ... I am terribly hot ..." I declared, "Let me take
a shower then to cool off." I said; then, looking at her eyes, I added
quizzically, "And what are you going to do in the meantime; not finger
yourself I hope?"
"So what if I did?" Debi said in jest while helping me get off the
floor.
"C'mon Debi ... you didn't let me finish you, and now ...." I played
along coyly.
"You know what? Let me come into the shower with you"
"Hey ... We have never done it in the shower ... like we read in those
stories" I was most definitely eager. We soon discovered it was not as
easy as the stories made it out to be.
We went to the bathroom and, standing outside the door, she helped me
undress. In India, the bathroom floors are almost always wet. Few houses
have anything like a bathtub or a separate shower stall. The showers in
some houses are separate from the lav. That's how it was at Debi's, and we
didn't want to get our clothes wet.
"You soaked your panties, Sharmila !" Debi laughed out loud checking
them out. She tugged at the chords of her petticoat and it fell to the
ground.
I smiled back and said, "Let me go pee and I'll tell you all about it."
I needed to relieve the pressure on my bladder that had built up over the
last hour or so due to my prolonged state of arousal.
I felt refreshed as I stood under the stream, the cool water washing
away the salty sweat that had formed a sticky layer on my skin. Debi
watched me for a while and then stepped in under the shower. "What was it
that you wanted to tell me?" She asked while forming some lather up with
the bar of soap. She started to put the lather on me with her soft hands
and I started to narrate my bus-ride experience. It was nothing new to
her, she said :
"Oh ... I get that all the time ..." and ran her two palms across my
already hard nipples.
"You do?" I asked, "but you never told me ..."
"Yeah ... one day I even felt a guy cum like that"
"How could you tell?"
"You know ... " Debi explained, "I felt it jump a few times and go soft
in a little while"
"I wonder if he wet his pants through" I was getting even more excited
imagining the cum oozing out from under his underwear and onto the fabric
of his pants. I put my fingers to work.
The soap had washed off my skin by then. Debi was holding me from
behind, her two hands cupping my well-formed breasts. She was massaging
them in a slow circular motion.
I inserted two fingers inside myself ... and it hurt a little ...
I withdrew them right away and tried rubbing my clit. And it did not
feel right! I turned around to face Debi and she planted a full kiss on my
mouth. Our tongues mingled, the water running down our faces and into our
mouths. I took my hand between our bellies, parted her lips and started
stroking her love-button. We have masturbated each other standing up many
times. Our juices flowing out would be plenty for the lubrication. But,
Debi also complained about it now.
It didn't take us long to figure out that the running water was washing
all our cunt juices away. We tried it with some soap lather, but it stung
somewhat. I guess our fingers everyday down there had left minor
abrasions. So, we decided to let our shower fantasy remain a fantasy for
then. We have had good laughs about that incident whenever the subject had
come up. It wasn't until much later that we got to doing it 'in shower';
but let us continue on with the present timeline.
We wanted to do it in the shower so we had to do it in the bathroom; at
least. We shut the water off and, standing under the shower-head in a
tight embrace - our wet bodies connected almost at every square inch, we
started finger fucking each other. Our mouths were locked in a deep deep
kiss, our tongue darting in and out of each other with fiery passion. I
grabbed her mons as if to tear it off her body, my short nails digging into
her clipped thatch and into the flesh surrounding the opening of her cunt.
"Aaaaahhhhnghhhh ... yessssss!" pulling her mouth away slightly, she
almost yelled out in a pleasure sensation that bordered pain. Her finger
dug deeper into me, the passage, by now, filled with my lovejuice.
I could feel her whole body tighten up. Her stiff, swollen nipples dug
into my breasts as she started rubbing them against mine. Sparks shot out
from my own and spread downwards, crossed the valley of my stomach and,
following her finger, into the deep dripping crevice of my cunt. The
muscles under my navel contracted spasmodically ... almost too strongly to
remain standing. I steadied myself by putting my free arm around and over
her shoulder.
"I am ready." Debi declared. I had not even touched her clit! It made
me feel so good that I started bucking my hips on her finger and rubbing
her cropped mons with the heel of my palm at the same time.
I was ready too. "Yeaaaasss ... Debi .... do it ... frigg ...
frigggg ... fuck ... fuck ... Ooooo my god ... aaaaaah ... aaaah ...
aaah ..." I screamed out. Our repertoire of Bengali sexual slang were
essentially a la those smutty stories that we devoured regularly. Such
words are considered "untouchables" in our language and society; and it
took us a while to internalize those words. Yet, once we got used to them,
our sessions rarely were complete without them. The frequency and
intensity of such utterances have been directly proportional to the state
of our arousal.
"Yesss ... fuck ... fuck ... cum ... cummmm ... nicely ... yesss
... oh, oh, oh, oh ... aaaargghhhnnnng .... do it ... aaahng ... do it
... aaaaaaaaaaaaa ....." We came.
We came with earth shattering intensity. Juices, pent-up since that
morning and through all that happened, gushed out with uncontrollable
spasms from deep inside my cunt. Debi had been so aroused that she didn't
need any clitoral stimulation, although I finished her up by pressing down
hard on it with all my fingers and doing a pumping maneuver. Her legs
shook violently and we dropped to the wet bathroom floor, still in each
other's arms.
Lunch was almost perfunctory. Debi's mom had prepared food to last us a
couple of days and left it the small fridge. She knew I'd be spending the
weekend there, and took the liberty to cook a few of my favorite dishes.
Ordinarily, the mere mention of bottle-gourd and shrimp curry would make my
mouth water. But, that afternoon, something else was in a constant state
of wetness that demanded attention. So, we decided to savor the delicacies
during our supper.
+++++ end pt 3
(to be continued)
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