Message-ID: <21538asstr$943798200@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Path: not-for-mail X-Original-Message-ID: <3840B1C1.4360DEA9@cybertap.com> From: Pat Reply-To: pat@cybertap.com X-Accept-Language: en MIME-Version: 1.0 Subject: {ASSM} Prabha's Art - PART I (MF, Cons) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii; x-mac-type="54455854"; x-mac-creator="4D4F5353" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Lines: 278 NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 27 Nov 1999 23:30:32 EST Date: Sun, 28 Nov 1999 09:10:00 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, IceAltar PRABHA'S ART - PART I by Elana White Copyright 1999 The heat pushed Lise inside of herself. Her thoughts and feelings were contained in the shell of her skin and she felt disembodied, removed from the bobbing sea of shiny black-haired heads that surged all around her. Their small bodies hurried past with purposes she could not guess. They carried mysterious packages and bought strange fruits and fishes from the noisy sidewalk vendors, and their gazes rested upon her face for the briefest moments before returning determinedly back to the throng. She made her way out of the narrow side street to the main road and bought a coconut from a man on the corner. It was peeled and carved into the shape of a round hut with a cone-shaped roof. The pile of them on the vendor's cart made Lise think of tiny African villages in the jungle. The vendor chopped off the pointed top, thrust a straw into the coconut's wet core and then spat into the gutter as she moved away. There was a puddle of spittle there already, so she didn't take it personally. The coconut milk was warm and cloyingly sweet, but it was wet, so she drank it quickly, unable to suppress a shudder at the last swallow. Only slightly refreshed, she turned west off the main road, back into the dense cluster of shops, and scanned the street for one that looked cool and empty. She had to get out of the sun. There -- on the right, about half-way down the block. A doorway was empty of shoppers, the distinctive bulk of an air conditioner hanging above it. Lise braced herself and re entered the mass of bodies, determined to make her way to that doorway. As she neared, she noticed a sandwich board on the sidewalk outside the shop. "Mehndi tattoos - no appointment necessary." A stab of frustration shot through her. It wasn't just a boutique where she could cool off for a few minutes while she pretended to look at the batik dresses. But her head throbbed and her legs felt numb. She had to cool down or she would pass out. She pushed through the door and entered the shop. It seemed dark inside and she squinted and blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden dimness. It was a tiny shop, no bigger than her apartment's living room, overflowing with brightly coloured fabrics and the kind of mass-produced hand-made kitsch that she'd seen in a dozen other shops that very morning. Wooden elephants, painted masks, brass lamps and candle holders. The shop had the same sweet smell of incense she'd noted in all the others. No matter, she told herself, I'm only here to cool off for a bit and then I'll leave. There was a small clutch of women in the far corner, leaning over, watching what Lise assumed was the Mehndi artist at work. Their wide bottoms twitched as they all giggled at once. Lise approached and glanced over their shoulders to see what was so interesting. There sat a man...a large man. He looked about 28 but still had the body of the quarterback Lise was certain he must have been in college. His hair was very short, very dark. His eyes were a startlingly light grey and Lise found it difficult to look into them. He was wearing a brilliantly white, short-sleeved cotton shirt and the tattooist was stroking his beefy bicep, cooing and smiling. In one hand she held a little stone pot and what looked like an ivory toothpick. Its tip was stained red and Lise realized that she had been using it to apply the henna paste to his skin. The tattooist admired her work as her customer admired Lise. "Hi there. I'm Adam...why don't you come have a closer look? This so neat." When Lise realized the man was speaking to her she started and withdrew, watching the backs of the other women close together to fill the space she had left between them. There had been a look on his face... a look that intrigued her and clung to her like the unexpectedly spicy scent of a cultivated rose she had been offered once by an old gardener. She wanted to look again. She wanted to look into those unsettling grey eyes, to see if they would look back at her that way again, with that intrigue, with that strange excitement. But she was starting to feel sick from the sudden temperature change. A wave of nausea almost overwhelmed her. Turning away from the huddled group, she grabbed a batiked cotton dress off the nearest rack and hurried into the curtained dressing room opposite the tattooist's station. Thank god there was a chair. Lise sank down onto it and rested her head in her hands. She took deep gulps of air and concentrated fiercely on keeping the coconut milk down. A bad idea that stuff had been. A very bad idea. Her head swam, her stomach roiled. She clutched the dress to her stomach and prayed that she hadn't been stupid enough to get sunstroked. After several long minutes the nausea began to subside, but she remained where she was, afraid to stand up and bring on that dreadful feeling again. She counted as she breathed... in for four counts, hold for four, exhale for four... until she was sure she felt well enough to stand. She looked down at the dress she had brought in with her. It was crumpled into a ball and there was even a slight stain where her sweaty hand had clutched it for so long. I guess I've bought this one, she thought. Might as well try it on. It felt good to take off her damp clothes. Her shorts and tank top landed in a soggy pile in the corner. The cool air dried the sweat from her skin and even chilled her slightly. The mirror was old and patches of silver mottled the surface, but Lise was still able to see how her small breasts reacted to the cool air. Feeling a little better, she smiled to herself. It always pleased her, how her breasts seemed so much...more...when the little pink nipples stood out so proudly. She kept her eyes on them as she raised the dress to put it on. But she paused for a moment, her breath held in, her hands above her head. It had become so quiet in the shop. As she stood there she heard a click, and then footsteps passed by the dressing room, making the curtain sway inward slightly. Slowly, she moved closer to the curtain, careful not to disturb it. The slightest movement of her finger on the edge of the curtain was enough to let her peek through into the rest of the shop. All the customers were gone. A blind had been pulled over the door and it was even dimmer than it had been. Lise was struggling to see if there was anyone else in the shop when a bright light suddenly came on across from her, illuminating the tattooist's corner. Her brilliant sari blazed in the sudden glare and caught Lise's attention immediately -- shiny lime-green raw silk with cobalt blue embroidery along the edges. It was breathtaking, and Lise suppressed a sigh of envy. She wished she could wear such exquisite clothing for everyday use, like the Indian women did. Streaks of grey shot through the tattooist's thick black hair, which was tied into a heavy braid that ran down her back to her waist. A slight roll of fat made a ring all around her between the brief top she wore and the full, long skirt. She wore elaborate silver earrings, and a sparkle at her feet revealed several silver toe rings as well. But her hands were bare and capable and strong-looking. They were running lightly down the arm of her customer, and finally Lise turned her eyes back to Adam, who sat on the small low stool next to the tattooist. Lise bunched the dress into one hand and held the curtain open just wide enough for her to peek through. Rarely did she have the opportunity to just look at a man this way. She was always afraid that they would see her staring, but that didn't stop her from wanting to look. Men were so intriguing to her. The hardness and softness they showed so unconsciously never failed to turn her on. She loved the way their hard muscles were sheathed in soft skin. The way their soft eyes belied their hard words. The way their hard cocks made them like soft putty under her hands. Adam was obviously enjoying the attention of the tattooist. He watched her every move, looking back and forth from her face to her hands as she worked on him, applying the black paste to his skin in an intricate pattern of dots and delicate lines and swirls that were forming into a ring around his thick bicep. She was almost done. The ring was almost closed. Lise was disappointed -- she would have liked to watch a little longer. She liked the way Adam filled his clothes. She liked the way his long strong thighs looked in his black jeans. But the show was just about over. As she was about to turn away, the tattooist sat back and smiled a toothy grin at her customer and made a gesture that made Lise keep her eye to her peep hole. Adam grinned and stood up, carefully holding his tattooed arm away from his white shirt. He kicked off his sandals and began undoing his belt. Lise's eyebrows came together in a confused frown. What in the world was going on? When the belt was undone, his fingers quickly undid the button on his trousers and then the zipper and then he bent over, pulled down his jeans and stepped out of them. When he rose again the old tattooist giggled and clapped her hands and waggled her head in a movement that was for all the world like the hips of a belly dancer swaying enticingly for an audience of leering men. Lise felt her own hips sway as her thighs clenched together in a spasmodic squeeze. Adam's cock was already stiffening and he stood there, proudly letting the tattooist admire him. But her claps and smiles faded quickly and she began to mutter in Hindi and make encouraging gestures toward his crotch. His cock twitched its head toward Lise's curtain but did not rise any further. The woman shot a quick volley of heavily accented English at him. All Lise could make out were the words 'limp' and 'impossible.' Adam was beginning to look slightly defeated when Lise dropped the dress. It fell to the floor with a barely audible sound, but its movement caused the curtain of her dressing room to billow out slightly. Lise squeaked, certain she would be discovered. And she was discovered. Adam's eyes flicked toward the dressing room, finally noticing the pair of pretty sandled feet that showed below the curtain. They were turned toward him. He smiled. His gaze flicked quickly up and caught Lise's eye before she could pull away. He saw her! Lise's heart thundered in her chest and she felt the blood flooding her neck and face. He saw her! But she could not turn away. Especially when she saw the effect that discovering her had made on the man across from her. In the time it had taken for their eyes to meet and the grin to spread across his face like a flood, his cock had risen to a throbbing erection from which Lise could not look away. It was thick and hard and jutted out of a perfectly hairless crotch. The sight of his smooth skin made Lise's sex flood with warmth. She had never seen anything like it. It looked so much more naked than any cock she had ever seen. Its exposed vulnerability aroused her intensely. At the sight of Adam's urgent response, the oblivious tattooist released a happy cry and pushed her client gently back down onto his stool. She had pulled it away from the wall a little more than it had been, so when he leaned back, his hips thrust forward, his legs spread and stretched out before him and his throbbing cock pointed up towards his chest, blushing into a deeper red with every pulse. Slowly, never taking his eyes from Lise, he undid the buttons of his shirt and opened it, revealing a flat, muscular stomach and a smooth chest blessed with erect brown nipples that made Lise's mouth water. For a moment, his eyes left hers as the tattooist chuckled, a high, bell-like sound, and bent over him with her little pot and ivory applicator. She smiled and ran a pinky finger up the length of his swollen sex, seeming to admire the perfect canvas that he was presenting to her. Her light touch made him pull in a shivering breath, and as the wet henna paste touched him he turned his gaze back to Lise, still hiding behind the curtain. She was rooted to the spot, completely enraptured with the sight of this strange man's exquisitely hard cock and his obvious arousal at knowing she was watching him. Her own sex throbbed in response. She could feel every fold and crevice, her inner lips swelling, and she wanted to slip her fingers inside her panties and feel the slickness that she knew was seeping out of her. Her clitoris sang an enticing song, begging her to touch it. She imagined herself rubbing her face against that hard, needful cock. Her breathing became deep and rapid and each breath made the tight tips of her nipples brush against the rough curtain that hid her. Hardly realizing what she was doing, she began to trail the fingers of her right hand lightly over her belly, inching lower and lower. She raised her eyes and saw him still staring in her direction, a desperate look on his face. His lips were parted slightly, she could see his chest rising and falling with his rapid breathing. His lips were moving, but he wasn't making a sound. She tried to make out his silent words. Still lower her hand went, and her fingertips felt the swell of her mons through her light cotton panties, and then the outline of her sex, the outer lips puffy, opening. She felt the swell of the hood over her clitoris and pressed firmly down on it, making her hips thrust forward. She watched the tattooist's hands working quickly and skilfully over Adam's cock. But as aroused as he looked, after a few minutes he began to soften. She heard the old woman cluck her tongue and entreat him in a soft voice. She saw his haunting grey eyes speaking to her, pulling her. She saw his lips moving, forming the same soundless words over and over.... "Come out...come out." A shock of excitement shot down through Lise's belly, feeling like a probing tongue had suddenly stroked firmly over her most delicate parts. He wanted her to reveal herself, to come out from behind her curtain. But the tattooist! She could never go out there with that woman there to see her. The man must have seen Lise's spying eye flick to the back of the tattooist's head. A broad smile spread across his face and then his words were no longer silent. He whispered. Too quietly for Lise to hear, and a moment later she saw the tattooist's profile change. Her eyes widened and a look of pleasure opened her lips into an 'o' of delight. Her face turned in Lise's direction and suddenly she was looking right at Lise. CONTINUED IN PART II PRABHA'S ART is copyright 1999 by Elana White No reproduction is permitted in any form without written permission of the author. -- If you enjoyed this work, take a moment to email the author. Your comments are their only payment. 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