I got to know Mr. Vinod Reddy much before my marriage and, that too, in a town far away from my future sasural (in-laws place). The circumstances that had led to such acquaintance were far from pleasant. Rather, it was my teenage folly that had created this most stressful and unwanted acquaintance.
At that time, Mr. Reddy was a neighbor, living just a couple of houses away from my father’s place. He was married to a rather plump wife, was the father of two sons, worked in a bank and, almost always, gaped and stared at me whenever I was around. He started visiting my father under some pretext, got friendly with him, and sometimes picked up unusual subjects to draw me into conversation.
During this time, however, a private tutor was engaged to coach me on one or two of my weak subjects. Immature infatuation during my teenage soon put me in an uncomfortable relationship with the tutor. He was of dubious character and almost double my age. He too was married but he exploited my weakness and I had, foolishly, succumbed. There was an element of physical relationship too with the tutor.
Eventually, my parents got to know of it and, almost forcibly, that ignominious relationship broke under threat and strict vigilance. Unfortunately, the relationship could not be kept a secret, and quite a few neighbors got to know of it too. Mr. Reddy was one of them, someone who thrived on getting this sort of information.
He seized the opportunity to visit us even more, won my father’s trust and, while I was still in college, arranged my marriage to the son of one of his seniors in the bank. My relationship with the tutor was, obviously, held back from my future in-laws at the time of negotiation. Mr. Reddy, thankfully, cooperated in that deceit.
A few years passed away since then. My married life went along smoothly, and I was loved by members of my new family. The dark episode of my teenage was forgotten and buried. I was now almost twenty-nine.
Imagine my surprise when this neighbor from the past walked into my father in law’s house one day. He informed us that he had been transferred to our city recently. My FIL was overjoyed to have an ex-colleague visit him, to remind him of his active days and reminiscing the past.
Soon, Mr. Vinod Reddy became a frequent visitor to and almost a part of my husband’s family. He was, however, younger than my FIL. Still in the mid-fifties, he was in active service while my FIL had retired a year ago.
Affectionately, my husband and others who were young, addressed him as Chachaji because, being a friend of my father-in-law, he was an uncle of sorts. I too called him Chachaji, as I did in my teenage days when he was a neighbor. However, there was a lurking fear that he knew my past and, were he to ever disclose the episode involving my tutor, it would possibly be the end of my marriage which was now more than six years.
Yet, in all those six years of marriage, despite my longing, and yet much to my embarrassment, the cherished motherhood was elusive. There was nothing wrong with either of us, my husband and me, but it was just that case where nature seems to sleep over what should be the logical outcome in a marriage.
Coming back to Chachaji, it was during one of his visits to our house that he raised the topic of my motherhood with my father-in-law. But the latter, at first, avoided talking on this sensitive and embarrassing topic. I understood his feelings, he was sparing me the uneasiness that usually overcame me in such moments.
“She is still young. What’s the hurry? Everything in due time,” my father-in-law said protectively, trying to hold Chachaji at bay.
“No, no, Mehta Saab, complications arise if you defer childbirth too much. It could affect your bahu’s health as much as the baby’s.” Chachaji said, and then looking at me, “Bahu, tumhe der nahin karni chahiye. Aaj mai Prakash se bhi batein karunga. Kitne baje lautega woh dafter se (Bahu, you should not delay. I will talk with Prakash today. When is he expected back from office?)?”
Now Prakash is my husband, and he feels bad that we don’t have a child of our own till now. And he feels agitated when this topic is broached by anyone, be it family, friend or even colleague.
I blushed, but just fumbled in saying anything other than an inconclusive, “Ji.”
I kept looking at my FIL, as if my replies would be coming from him rather than me.
Luckily, my FIL changed the subject, and they started talking about their days in the bank when they worked together.
I was fortunate, however, that he left a bit quickly that evening, as he had some work at home. I heaved a sigh of relief when I heard the door closing after him downstairs.
When he had left, my FIL asked me to sit down beside him. He consoled me in the face of my embarrassment just a while back. The, he came up with a suggestion that filled my heart.
“Look Bahu, it is not your fault. So, throw that guilty feeling out of your mind. Listen carefully. I have heard about this temple in the south where they say the lord fills the womb of those who come to worship on a specific day every year. It is a very auspicious day they say, and that day is just three days away.
Prakash never gets holiday, not at least during this time of the year. So, we both, you and I, will catch the flight day after tomorrow. I’ll tell Prakash to book the tickets today itself.” He smiled, and I felt grateful to him.
The next day Chachaji was back in the evening, coming directly to our place from office. I had opened the door when I heard the chiming of the doorbell and there he was, standing with his portfolio bag in hand. He was a bit heavily built, but he was tall and dressed well, and looked quite smart.
I could be wrong, but I felt that he had that look on his face that made me feel instantly uneasy. It was almost like the ones that he used to give during my teenage days. Nonetheless, I greeted him respectfully, informing that my father-in-law was ill and was in his room, taking rest.
“Why, what happened? Does he have temperature?” He asked.
“Yes, it’s around 102˚ and the doctor has suggested certain tests, because there is malaria lately all over the city.”
“I am very sad to hear this, bahu. Chalo unse mulakat kar loon, phir chala jayunga. (Come, let me go and meet him and then I will leave).” He said.
We were already near the staircase and, wanting me to lead, he pointed a finger to say, “Pehle tum, bahu. (You first).”
I turned to hold the railings, but just then Chachaji too went towards the stairs. In one fleeting second, we bumped into each other. I felt my breasts push into the lower part of his chest and embarrassingly, turning red in the face, I hurried to jump the stairs.
I wondered if it was accidental. Or was it intentional? Why would he try to get onto the stairs first when he had indicated to me to go ahead?
Chachaji quickly held my hand, and almost in a tone showing much concern he said, “Careful, careful!” As if he had done something to prevent my falling.
I wanted to rush up the stairs. But he spoke again.
“Bahu, one must be careful. You will hurt yourself if you rush on the stairs. Carelessness hurt you when you were a teenager, remember?”
I panicked quickly on hearing these words. This ominous utterance from Chachaji was enough to make me freeze in my steps. He was needling my Achilles heel and he knew it.
“Well? What have you to say?” He asked.
“It’s ok, Chachaji,” I said, overcoming the shame of my breasts touching this man, more concerned now with the looming danger of my teenage secret leaking out in my ‘sasural’. He held a secret that gave him leverage.
“I hope so,” he said. My hand remained cuffed in his closed palm.
His grip was strong. For a few moments, his hand alternatively applied and then released the pressure on my soft hand that he had gripped. I turned and shyly glanced at his face. I saw unmistakable lust in those eyes.
Yet, he went on saying tenderly, “Bahu! Bahu! Where did you hurt yourself, show me?”
I couldn’t convince the man that I was perfectly fine, that I hadn’t hurt myself. My efforts to draw away my hand met without success.
“Were you hurt here?” He pointed to my arm. I shook my head.
“Here then?” He asked again, showing my leg, which also I denied.
“Must be here, you almost banged this place on the iron railing,” Chachaji said, this time a finger was touching my ass.
I was horrified, almost shivering in ashamed embarrassment.
Before I could protest, or at least push away myself, or even run up the stairs, he had placed his hand on the right side of my ass.
“It hurts here, doesn’t it? So delicate and soft. The iron railings are too hard to bang against.” He was running his hand over and over on that area. I shriveled in shame and yet my feet seemed to be rooted at the very step where I stood. I had to cooperate I knew.
“Feeling better?” He had lowered his voice, which was almost husky now.
Out of desperation to end this lecherous display by Chachaji, and the fear of disclosure of my past, I blurted out, “Yes, Chachaji. I am feeling far better.” Blushing profusely, my eyes closed, I felt a strong, demanding and unstoppable hand probing eagerly. A finger ran along my crack, and I shivered unstoppably.
I was now surprised at my own behavior. What was happening to me? Why couldn’t I just turn and run away? Or tell this man to move away his hands? Perhaps I was too scared. Timid that I was, I even failed to muster courage to threaten about disclosing his advances.
“You like it, don’t you, just as you liked it with that tutor back home when you were younger?” He hissed.
“Noooo,” I said but kept my voice low lest anyone else heard me.
“Why? Is this far different from what happened years ago with your tutor, Asha?” He persisted in getting me to say ‘yes’.
I just wanted this act to end now. Do anything that would put this man’s lecherous advances in abeyance. I could then, later at night, tell Prakash my helplessness in the face of this otherwise respected elderly man’s behavior.
I just nodded my head and, inaudibly murmured, “Haan (yes),”
“Couldn’t hear you, bahu. Louder.” He insisted on an answer.
“Ji, haan!” I cried, and then “Aab mujhe choriye, chachaji. Koi dekh liya toh musibaat hogi. Meri minati suniye, (Please leave me. If anyone sees us there will be trouble. I beg you.)” I rushed through my words.
“Your mobile number. Give it to me, and I will let you go.” He said sternly.
I knew it would not help if I declined. So, I hurried through the ten numbers in whispers. But I must credit the man for his memory. He had got it correctly even though I told it only once.
His mobile was out, and he had typed the number into his contacts. But before that he murmured my name, slowly spelling out the letters, “A s h a.” In later days, I got to know his real need for taking my number.
“Will you release me now?” I implored.
“Yes, but you must respond to whatever messages I send to you. Agreed?” More conditions!
“Yes,” I said even as I took two steps up the stairs. But my hand had stretched fully, and it hurt, all because he held on to it.
I looked around, fearing that at any moment just about anyone could come to use the stairs. No one would make out that there was a resistance on my part. Rather, I would be mistaken. Probably taken to be one who had indulged in this deceit.
Luckily, no one made an appearance. And luckier still, Chachaji released my hand. Reverting to a gentlemanly behavior, he behaved like the elderly, serious and respectable man that he was considered in this house.
“Come on, Bahu. You have got me worried about your FIL,” his voice boomed for all to hear while turning from a lecherous middle-aged man to a concerned friend. He had released my hand, and I ran up the stairs.
We were soon inside my FIL’s room. The sick man was down and out, hardly able to talk with his friend who had pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed.
“How are you feeling, Mehta Saab?” Chachaji asked seriously, before he put a hand on the sick friend’s forehead to fathom his temperature. “Looks like your temperature is much higher now.”
My FIL could hardly answer. His lips quivered, as he said in a croaky whisper, “Don’t worry about me. But about her.” He had pointed a shaky finger towards me.
“Why, what has happened to her?” Chachaji asked.
“Poor girl. I was supposed to take her to this temple by flight day after tomorrow. You know they have this auspicious day for women who want to be blessed with a child? Now I am sick, and it is impossible for me to take her. She will have to wait for another year for this auspicious day again.” My FIL tried to convey in an almost inaudible voice.
“Hmm,” exclaimed Chachaji. To me, it seemed he was thinking over the matter and trying to find a solution.
He looked at me and there was a sort of twinkle in his eyes.
Suddenly, he stood up, excused himself, went over to the toilet and closed the door.
I stood at the head of the bed, running my hand over my FIL’s forehead, trying to give him some relief. He had been telling all day that he had a splitting headache.
As I stood attending to my ailing FIL, my mobile chimed to show an incoming SMS. I glanced casually at my mobile.
To my horror, it was one from Chachaji.
Message that I received read, “My hand is already eager again.”
I turned red. Although Chachaji had wanted answers to all his text messages, there was none to offer here, so I did not respond.
I didn’t have to wait for long.
Message again – “You will accompany me to the door when I leave.”
No answer required. No response. I feared he would soon drop one which would require an answer. I just hoped it wouldn’t be one which would be too embarrassing to answer.
Message – “I will take you to the temple. You must agree.”
It was just a statement that didn’t require a response. A sort of order that needed acceptance. I did not respond.
In another minute, I could hear the flush inside the toilet, and soon Chachaji came out. Unabashedly, he threw a kiss at me, knowing that he had a sick, indifferent friend in bed with closed eyes.
“Mehta Saab, don’t you worry about your bahu. She is certainly going to the temple on this auspicious day. I will take her. I promise you that she will offer prayers for fulfillment of that cherished wish of motherhood,” Chachaji said in a convincing tone.
My FIL’s face lit up. “Reddy, I don’t know how to thank you. You have taken a big load of guilt off my mind.”
But I didn’t know how to react. Overjoyed that I would be able to go to the temple? Or horrified to know who my companion would be? I kept mum.
Chachaji and my FIL talked for a while, but it was evident that he was too ill to continue talking. He mumbled a few words now and then, till he fell asleep.
“Bahu” Chachaji said aloud, testing if my FIL was awake or asleep, “I think his head is aching too much. Press your fingers harder on to his forehead and massage, or else he’ll not get any relief.”
He went on checking for responses or movement from the sick man on bed. There was none. In his high fever, he must have fallen asleep. In the end, satisfied that he would be undisturbed in his mischief, Chachaji got up from the chair.
“Let me help you,” he said to me as he walked over and stood behind me. Instantly, I could feel a hardness on my ass, just on the crack.
At the same time, he had stretched a hand and placed it on my FIL’s head as I was doing. But, not for long. In moments, his hand was pressing on the back of my hand. At the same time, he had taken another arm around my back and placed that hand underneath the ‘pallu’ of my saree that covered my breasts.
Even if anybody walked into the room, this side of my body would not have been easily visible. It seemed very convenient for him to begin his mischief. His hand began squeezing my breasts over the blouse, gently at first, before he began a more vigorous approach.
I was dazed and shocked. My timidity didn’t help, and I remained immobile, bearing his aggressive fondling meekly without so much as a murmur or protest.
Soon, the hand had moved inside the blouse and underneath the white bra that I was wearing. I felt it touch my naked breasts, taking a firm grip on one, and then kneading it. I knew my nipples were getting hard and felt terribly embarrassed at what was happening to me. I shuffled uneasily while standing.
Two fingers were now tweaking my nipples and making them harder.
“Hmm, hard nipples!” He said rather impishly.
I was red in the face. I pretended abhorrence and reluctance, trying to move away. He held me back.
“No, Chachaji! What are you saying?” Trying to bring in as much shock in my voice as I could.
But I squirmed there itself. I could feel a fire engulfing me very quickly, not wanting the hand to stop what it was doing. My body arched back on to Chachaji’s and my head, involuntarily, rested on his chest. How could I be so shameless?
I realized that my resistance was quickly ebbing. I was becoming responsive and desirous. Chachaji bent down his head and kissed me on the lips. And, like a shameless girl, my lips parted even though there was an outward show of reluctance.
Outwardly, I softly uttered, “Nahin, ye thik nahin Chachaji. Choriye mujhe. (No, this is not proper. Leave me please).”
“Then what was proper, your affair with the tutor?” The sharp words hissed through gritted teeth.
At that moment, we heard footsteps outside the room and quickly we drew away. When the maid entered, both of us were at least a couple of feet apart – I busy in massaging my FIL’s forehead and Chachaji intently looking at him.
“He will soon be well, but you must give him the medicines. See that his temperature never exceeds 102˚F. I will keep coming to boost his spirits,” Chachaji said in mock seriousness, pretending a serious engagement in my FIL’s health than in me.
“Yes, Chachaji,” I said in a low voice.
“Good. In the meantime, I will book the tickets for our flight day after tomorrow. I will let you know when to get ready. I must go now.” Chachaji said. He turned towards the door. I stood where I was.
“Won’t you see me off, bahu?” Chachaji asked, ignoring the maid.
I felt uneasy. I knew that it would be difficult for me to resist his advances which he would very likely resort to again.
But Chachaji didn’t give me a chance to decline. He addressed the maid.
“Malati, attend to your malik(master). I have some important things to tell bahu while I am on my way out,” he said in a tone of finality before turning to me, “come Bahu, I am in a hurry.”
On the way down, he seized the opportunity once again to run his hands over me. The stairs, being at one end of the floor, gave him the privacy that he sought. With each step, the intensity of the gripping hand on my ass increased. Fear of getting caught lurked in my mind. I could think of no other feelings.
At the door, he turned and looked around. Quickly, he held my cheeks in both hands and pressed his lips on mine. I pushed back in horror. He let go.
“Don’t you dare deprive me of these touches when we go on that pilgrimage! And don’t you dare keep my text messages unanswered. Or else …” he said threateningly. He pushed the door open and left.
I remained apprehensive after Chachaji had left. I worried that any moment I would get to hear the notification sound of an incoming message from this man. If Prakash, my husband, were around when that happened, he would certainly want to know, “Whose is it?”
Or even, if I was not near, pick it up innocently to check.
I took the wiser course. I switched off the notification sounds on my mobile. If Prakash enquired, I would just tell that it was such an irritant at night to hear these sounds that usually woke him up.
I didn’t have to wait long. Even before Prakash was back from office, and as I sat beside my very ill FIL, there was a message.
“Bahu, you are unforgettable. Hmm. Did you like it?”
I knew I had to answer. Or else!!
What do you reply to a question like that? Yes … or … No? Either of them would get me into trouble. I decided on ‘yes’. At least, it would keep this man quiet for now. Or would it?
Prakash returned home in an hour. I was left undisturbed by Chachaji and informed him about my FIL’s decision. He seemed a bit surprised that I had agreed to go on this pilgrimage with Chachaji who was after all, not a relative. But he accepted that there was no other choice in the face of my FIL’s illness and Prakash’s own busy schedule which wouldn’t allow any holiday right then.
Just when I had begun to relax, a message came through. In silence. Prakash, fortunately, didn’t notice. I went into the kitchen to read it in privacy.
“Flight tickets purchased. Booked a suite at the hotel. I am already hard. Excited?”
I responded quickly, typing out my one-word SMS fast… “Yes”. It was not true, but I had little choice.
I waited in case he responded, afraid to walk out of the kitchen and to Prakash. He did respond.
“Just you wait, my sexy bahu. I’ll buy the best lingerie for you. You’re in for surprises.”
Although I was shocked, I tried to keep calm. I had to stop the flow of incoming messages.
“Prakash is here. Stop now if you care for me.”
Hoping for sanity in this man past middle age, I walked out of the kitchen.
As I came and sat beside Prakash my mobile started ringing, and one glance made it clear who it was from. Chachaji! I almost froze, fearing the worst. Should I answer? If I didn’t, it would only raise suspicion in my husband.
“Hello,” I answered, my voice almost shaking in apprehension.
“Bahu, is Prakash there?” Chachaji sounded like an innocently caring elder, “could you give the line to him?”
Somehow, I felt this call was not going to put me in danger. I handed over my mobile to Prakash.
Although surprised, Prakash started speaking and, from the conversation, I could make out that Chachaji was just making it the most natural thing to do.
I heard Prakash respond to whatever Chachaji might have said, “Yes Chachaji, Papa has informed me that you’ll be accompanying Asha because he is ill and cannot accompany her.”
Then, a bit later, I heard my husband saying, “I am not worried at all. You will be there, and I know you since long. You make the best arrangements and take the best care possible…eh …what are you saying? … yes, yes… you do whatever is best … yes, I will be at office, so you may have to pick her up on the way to the airport.”
They kept on talking for a while before I heard him say, “No. We are not going out now. I am too tired and shall just go and take some rest…yes, yes …she is here.” And then to me, “Here Asha, Chachaji wants to talk with you.”
Prakash had finished his tiffin and walked out from the dining room, leaving me alone.
I silently said, “Yes Chachaji?”
“Is Prakash there still?”
“No, he has gone to the bedroom upstairs,” I replied in whispers.
“See, even Prakash wants that I go with you. So, you have nothing to worry. What are your favorite colors?” Chachaji asked over the phone.
“Why,” I asked in a tremulous voice.
“I want to take a few lingerie sets for you. That’s why.” I could hear him chuckle.
“You don’t have to. I have them sufficiently,” blushing I said, and wanting to end the conversation.
“Aww Bahu! But I want to. Lovely, sexy ones, just for you,” he said mischievously, “come on, be a sport. Your bra sizes?”
Ashamed and uneasy, I kept quiet.
“Colors, bahu! And the size of your boobs. And hips.” This time his voice was serious. I knew this was an order.
“If it is for lingerie, it could be white, pink, lavender, black, beige, and sometimes red,” I said, blushing with each word and wanting the discussion to end. I was breathing heavily.
“Lovely. My favorite colors too. Sizes?” He had a single-minded intention of getting the information.
“34C … 28 … 36,” I said, knowing fully that he would be asking my cup sizes.
“Wonderful! Just the right sizes,” I could almost hear a devilish chuckle before he continued, “I leave the selection of sarees to you, Bahu, although you’ll be needing a white one, preferably with a red border, when you visit the temple to offer prayers.”
“Yes, I have just the right saree for visiting the temple,” I said.
“Good. But about blouses, you do have sleeveless, don’t you? Wear them, the ones which are most revealing, deep neckline, thin back … you know the ones I am taking about. Bring them along,” Chachaji said.
“I’ll try,” I said meekly.
“No trying, my dear. You must.” He was adamant. I kept quiet.
“You heard me? Either you bring them along or you go about the town without any blouse at all. I think that would be easier for you?” He was as stern, as he was wicked.
“Yes, Chachaji,” I surrendered.
“That’s better,” I heard him before he disconnected.
That night I was left undisturbed by Chachaji. There were no further messages, nor calls. Prakash kissed me a lot in bed, wanted to make love, which we did, and then he was fast asleep. I didn’t blame him, for I knew how tired he usually was these days.
Yet, before he fell asleep, he murmured, “You know, Asha. In a way, I am relieved that instead of Papa going with you, it will be Chachaji. He is much younger than him and, therefore, far sturdier. Certainly, he isn’t the nervous type.”
I wished I could reveal that the man was not just sturdier but much bolder too. How wickedly adventurous!
The next day passed off uneventfully. I got just one message from Chachaji, which read, “Purchased lingerie. Will pick you up tomorrow at 8.00 AM sharp.”
By evening, I had packed my requirements, complying with Chachaji’s stipulation to the extent possible.
When Chachaji came the next morning, I was dressed and ready. Bidding goodbye to all, we headed towards the airport in the Uber taxi that he had hired. He waited for the car to go beyond the neighborhood before he tried to become intimate.
He shifted a bit, allowing his body to touch mine. An arm was quickly around my back, running a hand along my upper arm. With another hand he held my chin and turned my face. He cared little that the Uber driver was able to see us through the rear window.
“You are beautiful,” he whispered, “Can’t tell how much I had desired you.”
I was uneasy and was trying to push away from him. The driver’s attention was making me far too embarrassed.
He planted a small kiss.
“I have many plans,” he said. I wished he would keep quiet for now. I indicated to him to remain silent, placing a finger on my lips. He understood, but it did not deter him from conveying what he wanted to say. Thankfully, he brought his lips near my ears for privacy.
“I’ll be careful with the driver for now. But remember, thereafter, the moment we alight from this car, it would be different. There would be far more exposure in what we do. There’ll be a lot of fun in our interaction with others. I’ll call you ‘bitiya'(daughter) and you’ll call me ‘papa'(daddy).”
I looked at him, not hiding my surprise. What exactly was this man wanting? Chachaji continued to whisper into my ears.
“For our flight, we are booked truthfully for identification purposes. But, thereafter, at the hotel and onwards we are booked as Mr. Vinod Reddy and Mrs. Asha Reddy, husband and wife. And yet, for the sheer fun of it, you’ll be calling me ‘papa’.
Imagine their shock! Father and daughter, and yet booked as husband and wife!” He chuckled loudly as he drew away his face from near my ears.
Oh god! What sort of fun was that? What sort of perversion?
“I don’t know if there’s any fun in what you are planning to do,” I whispered tremulously.
“Ever heard of exhibitionism or voyeurism, Asha?” Chachaji looked straight at my face.
I was faintly aware of the words but what had that got to do with what he was wanting to do, I wondered. I remained quiet.
“You’ll learn,” Chachaji said, guessing my ignorance.
We had reached the airport and were soon checked in by showing our identity proof. No questions asked at the counter, two individuals with proper identity, intending to travel from one place to another. Even our security check was smooth and quickly over.
We waited in the lounge for the announcement to board the aircraft. As we sat beside one and another waiting, Chachaji dug into his cabin bag and took out a covered packet.
“Here, take this. Just go to the toilet. You’ll get your instructions.” Chachaji said. He looked dead serious, and I wondered what might have made him behave as such.
“Whatever for? I have no need now,” I looked at him puzzled.
“Obey, Asha! For your own good,” he said while he looked at me sternly.
I trotted off to the washroom.
Once inside the toilet and, in privacy, I opened the packet. I blushed the moment I looked at what was inside. It was an exquisite panty, all lacy, thin and soft. It was baby pink in color, and it was crotchless.
At that moment, it was beyond me to know why he wanted me to wear it now, just before our flight. Only later, while we were in flight, its purpose would become clear.
Anyway, as I stood looking at what I held in hand, I received an SMS on my mobile. It read as follows:
“Take off the one you are wearing right now. Keep it in your vanity bag. Wear the one I gave to you.”
I knew I had no option and followed what he wanted.
I felt decidedly naked wearing the crotchless panty. I had never worn one before and there was uneasiness in my crotch. I kept the worn black one inside my bag and came out of the restroom. My face was flushed when I stood in front of Chachaji.
“Pink?” he asked simply.
Uneasy and flushed in the face, I still nodded in confirmation.
Not much later, boarding announcements were made, and we sauntered in through the airbridge to our seats.
One of the first things that Chachaji did was ask for blankets – one for each of us.
“Sometimes, it gets too cold inside the aircraft” he said, smiling both at the air hostess and me.
By the time the plane had taken off and the ‘fasten seat belt’ sign switched off, the blankets were spread widely over the two of us. I was becoming more and more apprehensive. I knew something was about to begin and my body was instinctively getting ready. Frankly, I was uneasy and scared.
Soon enough, I felt a hand slide along and up on to my thigh where it rested for a moment. Then a gentle squeeze. I was embarrassed beyond measure, little realizing that absolutely no one had any inkling of what was going on underneath the blanket.
As I looked out of the window, the hand on the thigh became restless. I felt it run a bit lower and starting to lift my saree and petticoat. Slowly, both these fabrics came up my legs together, till I could make out that the hem was resting on my thighs. The nakedness below occupied my mind. I just hoped the blanket would hold.
‘Chachaji, please. Must you do this here? What if anyone guesses or the blanket falls off?” I whispered silently.
“Nothing will happen, just relax,” he replied, not heeding to my worries.
His hand was insistent, greedy and hungry. Yet, outwardly he was calm. Enjoying himself with his eyes closed.
Soon, the hand had closed inches nearer to crotch, intending to move to the center of it. Bald as I was at that spot, that too at the insistence of my husband, I heard Chachaji exclaim softly, ‘Wow! That’s nice!’
I felt as if all eyes on board were on me. Possibly, their ears were eavesdropping into every word that we were uttering.
It seemed that even the airhostesses who walked along the aisle had their eyes particularly on the blanket spread across both of us.
“Everybody is looking, Chachaji. Aap bandh kyon nahin karte (why don’t you stop)?” I squealed, not hiding my agitation.
“I want them to,” he replied nonchalantly, “and you better feel the same way.”
It’s pointless, I thought, to tell anything to this man. He would do anything with the control that he had over me. It would be wiser to offer the least possible resistance to ensure at least a degree of secrecy. I decided to keep quiet.
The hand had moved over to my labia, sending an instant shiver over my body.
“I admire that Prakash chooses well. He had three options – bush, trim or bald. And he went for the one that is most appealing in a woman.” Chachaji said, trying to keep his voice low but certainly not in whispers.
I could vouch that the gentleman in the front seat had turned his head and quickly glanced at the two of us through the gap within the seats. I was red in the face in embarrassment and shame.
How do I express my feelings when a finger traversed the mounds to come and rest on the entrance to what is a woman’s very own? He rubbed his fingers over it, allowing it time to get used to foreign intrusion.
“So sweet!” His voice carried ecstasy. He seemed overjoyed while, at the same time, a tingling sensation sent spasms of excitement running at the spot. I braced myself for more. I knew these were bound to follow.
“Liking it, bitiya?” He asked.
I bit my lips. I wish I could say “No,” but I kept quiet.
A thick finger nibbled at the gate, searching for responses from the owner. I squirmed in my seat. He understood.
The probing finger knew its purpose. It pushed in, almost in a hurry now when permission was indicated. It circled freely around the walls of my vagina, pushing and digging, yet not immediately touching my clit. Just around it again and again.
Oh god! I thought. He knows how to tease. Here I was, wanting the male finger on my clit oozing its fountain of excitement, and he just held himself back.
I squirmed more and moaned softly as my back arched into the backseat.
“Liking it, aren’t you, bitiya?” He asked again.
Half in my senses now, I whispered, “Yes, Chachaji.”
He smiled. In moments, he had raised the intervening armrest between us. We were at the end of the craft and there were only two seats in our row.
Chachaji buzzed for the airhostess who soon trotted up to us.
“Yes Sir?” The airhostess enquired.
“The lady is not feeling too well. A pillow might help.” He explained. Although surprised at this explanation, I kept quiet.
She was back in moments to hand over two pillows and went away. Chachaji shifted in his seat to push back to the edge, leaving a wider space between us. He placed the two pillows towards the window beside my seat.
“Bitiya, lie down. And raise your legs on the seat. Try and get some sleep, you’ll feel better.” I heard him telling.
Such deceit! I looked at him dumbfounded.
He behaved in the most natural manner. Caringly, he held my arms and, turning me around, made me lie down in the best way I could. But the space being little, I could just manage to raise my folded legs on to the seat. My back rested on the pillows stashed at the end of the seat.
Chachaji rearranged the blankets again, ensuring that these covered me fully from the neck downwards, right over me and my folded legs, and then over his laps.
I watched the man. The extent of tricks and ploys that he was taking to get some moments of pleasure on the flight was truly amazing.
Satisfied at his own ingenious arrangements, he seemed relaxed as he closed his eyes. I went on watching. By now, I was curious to know what he planned to pull out from his ‘bag of tricks.’
A finger soon began tickling my feet, around the toes, circling on the ankles and then suddenly opening his eyes and looking at me.
“Why don’t you wear ‘paayals’ (anklets) around these pretty ankles? They look so nice on girls, bitiya and musical too. I must get a pair for you soon.” He said softly.
The exasperating pair of eyes from the front seat once again turned back, possibly having heard his words. I don’t know if Chachaji had observed this, but he was least bothered.
I soon realized that the finger was gently advancing up along my legs. The saree and petticoat were no more a hindrance, now that I had been ‘positioned’ advantageously by him. Up the leg, over the knee, then down again along the thighs.
It stopped inches away from my vagina. He must have noticed the wetness around. Looking at me, he just brought his tongue, running it over his thick lips before jutting it out a bit and holding it by his teeth. In a few fleeting seconds, he just swayed it up and down. Anyone seeing him would feel he was just moistening his dried lips. I knew otherwise. It was dirty indication of what he wanted to do with his tongue.
It was clear now why Chachaji had gifted a ‘crotchless’ panty and insisted on wearing it before we boarded the flight.
He placed his finger on the vagina, naked as it was now, teasing it more, and extracting further moistness from an already excited clit. The finger now became aggressive. Pushing in, it ran berserk. Luckily, we were covered with the blankets and no one could really witness this brazen display of sexual activity.
It went on for almost five minutes. But it was enough to take me to a high degree of arousal and need. I stifled my moans, covering my lips with the edge of the blanket.
My eyes closed. I surrendered.
When the finger stopped touching my body, I opened my eyes. My eyes questioned his sudden withdrawal, almost pleading for him to continue.
He saw that expression in my eyes. He had his plans. I knew it, for there was considerable movement in his arms underneath the blanket. Possibly, he was taking out something from within some pocket.
I didn’t have to wait to know what that ‘something’ was. There was the touch of a foreign body that was different from human flesh. Chachaji rubbed it along the lips of my vagina for a while till he slowly pushed it inside. The wetness made the insertion smooth and easy.
I guessed what it was, although I had never owned nor used one before. A vibrator, and possibly remote controlled.
With the toy snug and settled inside my wet pussy, his hands moved away.
He bent a little, his face nearer mine.
“You’ll feel better now, I can assure you,” he said softly.
Instantly, I felt the initial movement of the toy, whining softly inside my ‘cunt’. God! It felt good. Soon, he must have increased the speed. It vibrated faster, and the more it did the more restless I became. I pressed my hands on my crotch and, in deeper arousal, my raised knees swayed left and right.
Chachaji smiled as I became clearly aroused. He was playing with the remote, fluctuating the speed, even stopping it once to see how I reacted.
“Chachaji!” was the only word I could exclaim, a hand gripping his thigh to show a sense of need. He was enjoying my reactions. He stretched a hand himself, teasing the area around my pussy while the vibe teased the insides.
I felt the hand run along my tummy and up. He squeezed my firm round breasts, flicking the thumb on the nipples. I was receptive to his play. My nipples proved my arousal with their hardness.
My breath came in gasps. My lips parted. My eyes closed and I lusted for more.
In deep arousal I squealed, “Oh! Chachajii.”
“Yes, Bitiya?” He responded, and then, “You are feeling better? Would you like to sit up?”
He didn’t wait, helping me to sit up in normal position. But the blanket cover remained. So did the intrusive vibrator.
Underneath the cover, he fidgeted for a while. Then, when his movements seemed to have ended, a hand had moved over and gripped mine. Without waiting, he was guiding that hand of mine towards him and on to what was now a very hard and throbbing length of meat.
I was taken aback. I understood what had happened when he fidgeted underneath the blanket. He had taken out his manhood from within his trouser and underwear.
I froze the moment my hand touched that warm, hard shaft. It became restless instantly.
“Do you know what it’s called?” Chachaji asked in whispers.
“Yes,” I blurted shamelessly. Keeping quiet wouldn’t have helped me.
“No, you don’t. At least, you don’t know its nick name,” he brushed me off with a naughty smile.
I looked at him askingly.
“Lund,” he said, “the sweetest name that you should call it by, Bitiya.”
What a vulgar name, I thought. But, oh how manly!
“I guess you don’t need any introduction, do you? You are aware of the prowess of ones similar as this?” Chachaji was enjoying his teasing.
“Chachaji!!” There was a degree of uneasiness, and mock admonishment, in my tone.
“I’ll introduce you to the power of this one in our hotel. In the meantime, just get a feel of it, dear. This is just for introductions. Go on, press the girth. See how it reacts,” he ignored my earlier expression.
His hand remained on mine, exerting pressure so that I had no way of pulling away. His face now turned serious, and I knew he would have his way.
I had no choice and I surrendered. I started feeling his organ, running my hand over it. I could imagine the size and thickness and guessed it to be quite enormous. The mushroom could be easily made out, so also the veins that crisscrossed over it.
“Feel the tip,” he commanded.
Hesitatingly, I ran my thumb over it. Oh god! He was oozing precum. I couldn’t resist, I played along the tip, parting and pulling the foreskin down and yet running another finger over and over the wet tip. There was a faint desire to see the throbbing organ.
Chachaji was certainly loving it, I could make that out easily.
“Like to taste it?” He asked in a hoarse voice. Thankfully, the voice was low.
I was horrified.
“Or smell it at least? Just a whiff?” He toyed to see my reaction.
Without further ado, he began to draw out my hand from underneath the blanket.
“Go on,” he said, when my hand was out. The wetness around the fingers was clearly visible. So were patches on the palm of my hand.
I shook my head, uneasy and ashamed. But he had raised my hand and brought it towards my face. There was a normal need to breathe and when I did, the strong, acrid smell hit me. I lowered my hand.
“Later, Chachaji,” I said, “please, not here.”
Just then the announcement to fasten seat belts for landing was announced. The sticky juices had almost dried on my hands.
I tried to go to the toilet to wash my hand but the sharp cracking words of the airhostess, ‘Madam, sit down please!’ was enough. I remained seated.
As I looked out of the window of the aircraft on to the city we were to land, I wondered what the next few days held for me. Whether I would be able to pray at the temple on the auspicious day? And, more importantly whether, in the end, my cherished desire of motherhood would be fulfilled.
When we reached the hotel from the airport, it was mid-afternoon. Chachaji had made online reservations, and we were quickly ushered to the reception.
A few welcoming words before the female receptionist opened out the Visitors Register in front of Chachaji.
I glanced over my shoulders as he filled in the details.
Visitors name – Mr. Vinod Reddy
Number of Guests – 2
Relationship – Wife
The Register required other information and Chachaji busily filled those in. But I just waited with bated breath. Wife? What if they required my identity as well?
Luckily, they were satisfied with just his.
When, later, I had asked Chachaji what if they insisted on my identity proof that had a different surname, he had a ready answer.
“These days, many women keep their pre-marriage title. I am sure the receptionist wouldn’t be bothered,” he had said.
But coming back to Chachaji’s weird perversions, it began with the way he addressed me right in front of the reception desk.
“Bitiya (daughter), I have booked a suite for us,” he said, ensuring that his voice was loud enough to be audible for those around us.
The receptionist looked up in surprise. Daughter? Yet, I had been registered as wife, the receptionist must have thought. Not that our age difference wasn’t a good reason to evoke curiosity.
I wished I could get away from the spot. I was uncomfortable, to say the least.
Chachaji, unperturbed as he was, had an arm around me as we walked towards the elevator. In moments, his hand had slid from my back towards my ass curves, where it rested. The young bellboy in uniform led us, pushing the luggage trolley in front.
The elevator was big and both of us walked back to the end. The bellboy pushed the buttons and we began to ascend.
At that moment, Chachaji gripped my ass hard, pulling me near.
“Bitiya,” he said. Without a care, he kissed me hard and noisily. I am sure hotel staff are well trained these days for tact, and pretend ignorance at what guests do.
I tried to push Chachaji away, but he held me firmly.
“Mujhe mat roko (Don’t stop me),” he hissed, again loud enough for the bellboy to hear. He didn’t turn his head, no movement at all that would indicate a curious mind.
I understood it was Chachaji’s way to initiate me into exhibitionism. It was his kink and he would fulfill that weird fantasy in this trip. I was a toy in his hand, and he would play with it like a child did to one that was new.
Luckily, we reached our floor and, as the door opened, we walked out and followed the bellboy.
Walking along the passage and turning through two bends, we reached our suite. It was somewhat isolated and had a privacy that would meet the requirements of a honeymooning couple.
The bellboy quickly opened the door with the electronic key and kept our bags inside. Chachaji was magnanimous in his tips and the lad bowed in delight. Yet, even before he could close the door to leave, I was within Chachaji’s very tight hug.
He had gripped my ass curves and was pulling me into him as tightly as he could. His lips were on mine, impatiently parting them with his thick pair, when my eyes fell on the bellboy through the yet unclosed door. He was gaping inside, looking at us, mouth wide open. Just for a few moments, but I pulled away and he also, embarrassed at being caught, quickly shut the door.
“What happened?” Chachaji was taken aback at my sudden withdrawal.
“The bellboy. He was staring at us,” I said, somewhat out of breath.
“So? Isn’t that what I said I want?” Chachaji seemed annoyed, “Don’t ever stop me like that again. And I think I clearly told you that starting from our entry into the hotel, you’ll address me as ‘Papa’? I want to hear you use that term frequently and audibly.”
“Yes, Chachaji,” I answered, not able to hide an element of fear in my voice.
He gripped me by the arm in a manner that hurt. The pain was evident in my eyes.
“Papa. That’s what you are to address me as. Why do you keep forgetting?” There was only impatience and anger in his voice.
I lowered my eyes and nodded.
“Well? I am waiting.” He waited like one admonishing a delinquent.
“Ye…yes, Papa,” I stammered.
“That’s better. And I want to hear that more often when we have dinner later in the evening,” Chachaji said in finality.
This primary behavioral instruction having been established, Chachaji turned different.
“Come to Papa, bitiya,” he said, pulling me into his chest again. He was running a hand over the top of my head, almost brushing my hair, somewhat in a show of affection.
Moments later, his behavior changed. Affection turned to lust, as he gripped both my breasts, kneading them madly while his lips kissed me hard. He pushed in his tongue into my mouth, searching for mine. I felt it roam around inside, running over my teeth and the insides of the cheeks before it began to swirl around my tongue.
He lowered his hands, letting them go around my back and down on my ass. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of my rounded curves, pushing hard and lifting me up. I was overwhelmed in this raw display of passion. Saliva was dripping out of my mouth and down my chin.
“God! You are sexy!” he mumbled, “Get ready for a torrid seven days, unforgettable ones I can assure you.”
I realized that my efforts to show a degree of resistance and keeping the man at bay, were weakening. If it went on in this manner, I would succumb in a very short time.
“You held my ‘lund’ on the plane under blankets. What holds you back when you can see and play easily with it?” He asked in a husky voice.
“Uh?” I responded, trying to be evasive.
“I know you want it.” He was asserting. “Never deny yourself what your mind and body want. Take it, bitiya.”
I felt his fingers nudging on my shoulders, and then the palm of his hands, pushing me ever so slowly to go down on to the floor.
I slid to the floor, in the end resting on my knees right in front of Chachaji. His enormous bulge loomed right in front of my face and even underneath his trousers, I could sense its efforts to get out from cover.
“Feel it,” Chachaji said, his voice full of lust and want.
I ran a hand over the bulge. I cannot deny that it sent a shiver of excitement through my body. I pressed on it, wanting now to feel and see it.
“Oh! Bitiya rani!” He said, his voice shaking.
I looked up at his face. There was a pleading in those eyes, a need that I could understand.
“Pleaseee,” he begged.
I held the zipper and slowly pulled it down the length of his fly.
“Yes, yes,” he goaded me on. No pressure, no threats. Just the shaking voice of a man who cannot wait.
Pulling aside the sides of the fly to his trousers, I saw spots of his arousal on his underwear. Something overcame me. I touched the spots, shivering as I did.
“Don’t tease me, I beg you,” Chachaji’s voice was hoarse, “take it out!”
It was easier to unzip the trousers than it was to take out his ‘lund’ from within the Jockey underwear that he was wearing. At its stage of heightened arousal, it had grown enormously big and hard to allow the necessary maneuverability to bend and pull out. But the touch on the naked skin of the shaft that shook in my hands could be another reason for this.
In the end, the entire length was in my soft hands. Warm, thick, hard and leaking on the tip! I looked at it, almost frozen, in amazement.
It seemed eager to release itself, as my grip on it was weak and loose. Curious to see what it did when free, I pulled away my hand and released it. Instantly, two things happened.
One, it jumped up and down freely, like one would do when nodding one’s head. But it was far more erratic.
And two, Chachaji almost screamed, “Noooo, don’t let it out of your hand!”
I knew that, bit by bit, I was beginning to have an overpowering effect on this man. Were it not a fact that I was shy and submissive, I could easily overpower him to do as I pleased.
I looked up now. He placed a hand on my hand.
“Please Asha. Choro maat. (Don’t leave it),” he said, begging for my touch, “lagao nah muh uss mein, aur der nahin seha sakta (touch it with your mouth, can’t wait any more).” He had never called me by name, but he did so now.
His pleadings and my rising desires got the better of me. I held it with one hand and touched the wet tip with my lips.
“Rub your lips on it, bitiya. You don’t realize my condition,” he reacted.
I did as he wanted, rubbing it over and over my lips as I looked upwards. He had closed his eyes and went on repeating, “Oh god! Oh god!”
My lips and the areas around them were completely smeared with a thick coating of his escaping precum.
Just then, there was a knock on the door. I froze.
Chachaji, in his deep arousal, was incapable of a saner reaction.
His spontaneous response was, “Come in!” before he realized his folly. But it was too late. The bellboy entered, carrying with him two bottles of water.
Chachaji desperately tried to save his embarrassment, turning around to face the other way from the incoming bellboy. At the same time, he fiddled with his penis, trying desperately to push it inside, under the cover of his underwear and trousers.
I quickly attempted to get to my feet, almost falling over in the process. I would have, hadn’t the bellboy, involuntarily, caught hold of me at my arms to prevent it.
The bellboy’s face was very near to mine for a few seconds. But it was enough for him to see my lips and around, still smeared in sticky precum. I felt ashamed that he had, in all probability, got a whiff of that ‘wetness’ and must have made embarrassing conclusions.
He let go of my arms and, turning around, quickly left.
I was too shocked and embarrassed to say anything. Ashamed and red in the face, I quietly sat down on the bed.
Chachaji was quiet for a few moments, and once fully back being decently dressed, started to laugh.
“He got a good scare, didn’t he? He will have sweet dreams tonight imagining what he saw you doing. Wow! Sexy wet lips of a ravishing housewife. And for what reason!”
“Stop it!” I said, out of disgust.
Chachaji ignored my outburst.
“Remember, this act is not going to end here. There’ll certainly be more exhibitionism, more display of this priceless and alluringly sexy beauty who accompanies me. I intend to carry on the scenes, as both the director and an actor.
Just you wait!” He was in considerable mirth.
It was obvious that our small interlude with the bellboy, although accidental, was very much to his liking. But I knew that he would carry out what he had in mind, as events proved later in the evening.
A couple of hours before dinner, Chachaji was asking me to get ready. He rummaged through my bag, making a mess of it, till he came up with the one blouse that met his requirement.
It was a deep crisscross patterned bustier blouse that paired with a thread and mirror embroidered lehenga. It had a double-dori at the back and some dainty latkans attached to the strings. The base colour was lavender and had a matching see-through dupatta.
It was one that I wore just once, at my husband’s insistence, one that exposed more than it covered. I felt too ashamed and uneasy wearing it, and I kept it at the back of the wardrobe shelf since then.
I tried to keep my makeup refined and subdued, barring the lipstick shade of ‘Revlon cherries’ selected by Mr. Reddy or chachaji as I called him by.
When we were about to walk out of our suite, he stopped.
“Remember, that from now on, you’ll call me papa. I’ll ignore if you call me by any other name.” He was serious.
We walked out. As we stepped towards the elevator, he held my hand till it was soon behind my back.
When we walked into one of the dimly lit restaurants of the hotel, I was aware of the many pairs of eyes that were on me. It was quite unsettling for me, but I trudged along in my heels with Chachaji, his hand still around my back.
He guided me to a corner, one that seemed even further engulfed in semi darkness, and helped me slide into a cushioned couch that arched into a quarter circle. It was big enough to accommodate the two of us. When I did, he sat down as close to me as he could.
When the waiter had almost come to our table, Chachaji muttered between clenched teeth, “Go on, call me ‘Papa’ right in front of the waiter and make a request for any special dish or drink of your choice.”
It was not easy for me to respond in the manner that he did. But I went along with his crazy requirement.
“Papa, I’m not too hungry,” I said when the waiter stood beside us, “but I could do with a fresh lime soda.”
I think our bellboy had disclosed the earlier intimacy between me and Chachaji in our room to some of the other staff. The waiter looked at me when I said ‘Papa’, wondering perhaps the true relationship between us.
“Nahin bitiya, kuch toh khane hi paregi (no, my girl, you must have some food),” he said in a caring voice, and placing a hand on mine which rested on the table.
He flicked a hand over my lips and said soothingly, “What will you like to have, tell me?”
I quickly glanced at the waiter and saw a look of bewildered confusion. Here was a man whose every move showed him up as a lover or husband, and yet the way we addressed each other indicated our relationship to be genetic, of same flesh and blood.
“Anything that you’ll select for me, Papa.”
Chachaji was satisfied that I continued to follow his instructions. He scanned the menu list and came out with a couple of vegetarian items to go with ‘roti’. He didn’t forget to order fresh lime soda that I had wished, and hard drink for himself. But I was curious to know why did he, and what he might have whispered into the waiter’s ears when he bent down.
Sometime into our dinner, I started feeling lighter. I wondered why that could happen. Not that I felt bad. On the contrary, I had the nicest feeling and, rather than being uneasy and nervous that had overcome me for the last couple of days, I felt relaxed and very happy. I seemed to enjoy Chachaji’s company, loving his attention and ardor.
“Papa, I love this place and being with you,” I blurted as I took further sips on my drinks.
“Really? You would do anything for Papa?” He asked. He placed a hand across my shoulders.
“Uh-huh,” I nodded.
“Nice girl,” he said, planting a short kiss on my lips.
He seemed least bothered by the appearance of the waiter who came to enquire if we required anything else.
“Get us two scoops of tiramisu ice cream,” Chachaji said before he held both my cheeks and kissed me again. I placed my hands on his chest.
The waiter bowed, turned and left.
I was a bit unsteady on my feet when we left after dinner after some time. But Chachaji’s arm was around me tightly, and my head rested on his chest.
I guessed that there could have been some alcohol in the sweet lime and soda that I had been drinking, and it was not that innocent a drink that I had taken it to be.
Each moment, my dizziness seemed to increase. I realized that I was losing control on my actions. Even Chachaji was finding it hard to hold me and help me stay on my feet. I wobbled.
The familiar bellboy of the morning came rushing out of nowhere, asking Chachaji if he could be of help. I don’t know what Chachaji told him, but he trudged along beside us.
I was behaving in a manner that I wouldn’t normally do in my proper senses. I indulged in unabashed and wanton display of physical nearness to the man who was with me.
I giggled more than I remained serious, without a care in the world.
“There, there, bitiya! We will soon be in our suite,” Chachaji said comfortingly, a hand holding my hand and another gripping my ass as we walked into the lift.
The bellboy, being helpful, rushed in first, holding the button for us. It was only when we were safely positioned at the rear that he pressed the button to our floor. He stood in front of us.
There were repetitions of our behavior in the lift earlier in the day. However, there was one difference now. While I had been shy and hesitant then, I seemed far more responsive now. I matched Chachaji’s physical display of affection with mine, kissing him just as passionately, and not in in way diffusing the sounds of our torrid smooching.
“Oh bitiya! Oh, my bitiya!” he groaned.
And I moaned, “Oh papa! Oh papa.”
Even I seemed to be taken in by Chachaji’s weird perversity and exhibitionism. Just a game, I kept thinking. And that too, at a place far off from home and relatives where we were strangers.
There were full size mirrors on the side and rear partitions of the lift. It was easy for the bellboy to look into the side mirrors out of the corner of his eyes. Most certainly, he stole glances to catch what we were doing. I was sure of that.
When we walked out of the lift, I almost fell on an excited bellboy. In my stage of intoxication, I do not know if my breasts squeezed into Chachaji or on the young man. I was neither embarrassed nor angry.
Even when we reached our floor, he walked with us to our suite. Chachaji didn’t object. I had no reasons to object either.
Back in our suite, and with door still open, I smiled at the bellboy.
“Thank you, dear. Goodnight.” I mumbled.
“I think we have exhausted our drinking water. Get us two bottles.” Chachaji ordered to the exiting bellboy, leaving the smallest crack open in the door when he left.
We stood in the living room, Chachaji and I. His attention was now fully riveted on me. He hugged me tightly, kneading my breasts, engulfing my lips with his, and plunging his tongue within my mouth.
I realized that the man had remarkable strength in his arms even at this age. He had lowered his hands from my breasts to my back, and then further down to grip my ass curves. Effortlessly, he had lifted me of the carpeted floor.
My face was at level with his now, and he continued with his passionate kissing. In moments, he had pushed me near and on to the big couch in the living room.
He was on me, pushing me on to my back, so that my head rested on to the cushioned armrest. In his wild sexual aggression, a heel fell off my feet while the other remained. My legs too were now partly uncovered as the saree had moved upwards in our wild cuddling.
His hands were back on my breasts and, in doing so, the ‘anchal’ or end of my saree had slid off and was lying on the floor. And we were kissing passionately, searching each other’s tongue.
Just then, the bellboy returned with the bottles of water. The door having remained slightly open unlocked, the lad possibly didn’t have any reason to assume the necessity of privacy. He walked in and froze.
I made a desperate attempt to get up. But Chachaji would have nothing of it. He held me where I was, hugging me as intently as he was doing. Neither did he look at the intruding bellboy.
“Keep one on each of the side tables of our bedroom,” he said nonchalantly, and continued with his wild kisses and hugging.
“Chachaji! He…” I said, feebly trying to free myself.
“Stay!” was all that he commanded and went on swirling his tongue in mine. Saliva trickled down my cheek.
The bellboy took his time. When he walked out from the bedroom, after what seemed ages to me, and possibly enjoying our torrid embrace, he had a big bulge on the trousers of his uniform.
The moment the bellboy left Chachaji got up and rang room service and talked with them for a while. In the end, he hung up but am certain he placed an order for some drinks.
Thereafter, he fiddled inside his luggage bag and pulled out a packet. He handed it over to me in a serious face.
“Take off that blouse that you are wearing, and the bra. You’ll find another bra inside this packet which you’ll now wear,” he instructed me.
I did as I was told, covering my breasts with the saree for a moment while I opened the packet. Inside the packet I found a very alluring and transparent lacy bra. At least, it was better than being naked, I thought. I quickly slipped it on and was about to wear the blouse when Chachaji intervened.
“Uh uh… leave the blouse alone,” he snapped.
I looked at him in askance.
Just then, we heard a soft knock on the door that drew away our attention.
“Open the door, Asha,” he said firmly.
Instead of the bellboy, a young man in early twenties stood with a tray in hand. He had brought the ‘drink’ in an ice bucket that Chachaji had ordered. Coming into the room, he placed it on the centre table in front of us. He simply couldn’t turn away his gaze from me and on my breasts, gaping open mouth without shame.
Chachaji’s intentions were obvious. He was playing a game of display and exhibitionism, and he was creating situations to play it out. The problem was that I was also being drawn in, consciously or helplessly, as a willing participant, thanks to the effects of what had been secretly punched with my fresh lime soda.
The light brown nipples and areola inside my transparent bra were clearly visible, and I was sure that there could be no doubt in the attendant’s mind that these were taut and erect. They were bound to be, for I was already in a stage of semi-excitement.
Chachaji had already pulled me on to the couch and began kissing me most ardently once again, right in front of the attendant whom he was trying to tease. He moaned and grunted as he kissed and fondled, making me respond with moans myself.
This was a game to Chachaji., a carefully created perversion. He had done this deliberately, knowing that an attendant would be up to cater to room service soon after he placed an order.
The attendant waited, for he had to obtain the signature of the guest on the slip that he had in hand. Guests sometimes deny the drinks ordered by them in their stage of inebriation. Hence, the slip.
After what seemed ages to me, although it was really for a few moments only, Chachaji released me. It was only then that the attendant could obtain his signature on the slip and bowing, left with a fifty Rupee tip in hand. He had, I am sure, enjoyed those few moments. It was a guess how much of that would leak out to the house staff and how quickly.
Later, after an exhausting session of fondling and foreplay between us, Chachaji was making obvious moves towards sexual intercourse, something that he insisted upon. I, on the other hand, was not willing to accommodate. I had an unusual conservative mentality in this regard, not wanting intercourse outside wedlock. One may laugh, but I thought that my vagina was only for my husband.
I was pleasantly surprised that he didn’t insist. Maybe he had other plans and would attempt sometime later during our stay. But, for the time being, I escaped.
In the end, I lay cuddled in his arms. I could only think of the week lay before us, and the situations that would crop up, all planned by Chachaji, but which would be unexpected and leaving me unprepared. Just so long as it didn’t put me in trouble or ones that I disliked.
“Sleep now Asha, you have done so well till now.” His words rang in my ears as I drifted off to sleep in his arms. The next morning, however, I got to know that he made more arrangements to take his perverted game forward.
I woke up startled the next morning when my mobile began to ring. As I stretched my hand to pick up the android, I saw that Chachaji was not in bed.
At the same time, I heard his voice on my mobile.
“This is a wake-up call. I want you to get up and read the letter that’s lying on the side table beside you. Remember one thing – you shall follow the instructions that are given on the letter without fail. Or else …” Chachaji had cut off.
Naked as I was, I sat up on the bed and picked up the sheet that lay there. I noted that he had written his letter on the hotel’s scribbling pad that had been provided. I began reading its contents.
“My lovely, sensual Bitiya,
When you read this, I won’t be beside you. But I’ll have access to what you do in the suite. In fact, I am watching you as you read this letter.
Remember last night, Asha? The moments just before you fell off to sleep. I craved for your vagina, desperately wanting you, and yet you withstood all that. You didn’t want to lose your chastity, you said, out of your love for your husband. I admired you.
You also feared pregnancy because this is now your most fertile period. Pregnancy would be something outside wedlock and your mind was unable to accept that. This is despite your longing for motherhood, for which we have come here in the first place.
In the end, I had to ask for something else. Something to quench my thirst, a thing which I found impossible to contain. Can you recollect? Yes, bitiya, it was your rounded ass. It drives me crazy the moment I see it. Shyly, you had turned me away even that too. I know you will be pliable in the end, but I didn’t pursue for the time being.
However, even when you went on with your refusal, I persisted on some relief because I was in a hopeless situation. So, we ended with oral sex while you remained naked for my pleasure. That was till you dozed off stark naked beside me.
Well, what I want you to do is this:
You will continue to remain naked. No, don’t get up, unless you must go to pee. Even then, you shall get back on bed.
Underneath your pillow you will find the vibrator that gave you so much pleasure in our flight yesterday. Holding it alone would give you a degree of excitement, I am sure. Kiss it, if you want to. The remote control is under my pillow.
At around 7.20 A.M., you’ll push in the vibrator into your ‘chut’. I am guessing that touching the vibrator and reading this letter would already make you somewhat wet. Feel it slide in, imagine it to be a man’s cock – could be anyone’s. May be the bellboy, or the attendant who brought my drink, or me or anybody else who comes to your mind.
Once it is snugly settled inside your warm and wet cunt, you’ll switch on the vibrator with the remote control. It has two speeds …low and high. Keep it on ‘low’ for now. No, don’t worry. I have ensured that it is fully charged.
Your arousal level will increase sharply. I know how sensual you are and how little it takes to make you very, very, receptive.
After 7.30, you’ll get out of bed. You’ll go and keep the remote control on the center table in the living room and get back to bed immediately. Lie down once again and enjoy the stimulation from what’s inside your vagina.
I have already arranged with room service to bring you a pot of hot tea and cup sharp at 7.35 A.M. The room is unlocked. I left it that way. So that whoever brings the tea, can easily enter.
I have left specific instructions to walk in very quietly and that too without knocking, insisting that the lady is not to be awakened nor disturbed under any circumstances. They have been cautioned not to make any sound whatsoever when they enter, just leave the tray with the pot on the centre table of the living room and leave.
By then, your arousal would be such that you’ll be squirming in bed underneath the blanket, throwing your legs about, and moaning as deeply as I know you will. If, in your frenzy, the blanket moves away to leave your body uncovered, just relax and enjoy, irrespective of whether someone in the room is watching.
Remember, however, that you shall not indulge in any physical intimacy with anyone, no matter how deep your arousal.
Also remember that you are to follow whatever I have told in this letter.
I’ll be back by 8.00 A.M. Good luck.
I had little time to react to Chachaji’s letter. It was almost 7.20 when I came out of the toilet. I knew I had a time schedule to follow.
I wondered how Chachaji was keeping a watch inside this room. Did he take some staff into confidence to plant a hidden camera? Which would be the likely place? I gave up looking for it because I had to get ready.
I fumbled underneath my pillow and, not surprisingly, the silicon vibrator glistened underneath. I took it out, and instantly felt a tingling sensation in my crotch. It had brought immense pleasure when it was used earlier on our flight, and that thought itself got my adrenaline going.
A kiss on it, just as Chachaji had predicted, followed. Did I do it in acquiescence or was it spontaneous? Without further delay, I slowly pushed it inside my very receptive vagina which quickly swallowed it in its wetness. It felt nice to have this inside, filling in a void that, in its present state, it did not want. And what would happen when I switched it on?
Underneath Chachaji’s pillow lay the remote control. In the flight and even later last night, this always stayed with the man who turned me into a craving, sexually hungry woman at his command. There were quite a few function keys that I could not understand. But the high and low keys were understandable.
It seemed that I was being addicted to it, and even my sexual needs had reached an alarming level. The vibrator was irresistible.
I switched on the remote on ‘low’.
Chachaji was right. It took very little time for me to feel deeply aroused as it begun to vibrate inside my warm vagina. In the silence of the hotel room, I could almost hear the humming sound.
My imagination soon took wings. I thought of the growing intimacy with Chachaji, how it had begun back at home. I thought of our flight and what he did with the same vibrator, of how excited I had become.
Soon, the thoughts came back to episodes in the lift, and even in the room, involving the bellboy who had viewed our intimacy. We had even allowed him to see my wet lips, coated as they were with Chachaji’s precum, after an intense bout of sucking of his manly ‘lund’.
I realized soon that there was a growing need within me for the bellboy. Was this the effect of the vibrator which was making me more and more vulnerable?
Just at that moment, there was the faintest of sound, indicating someone had come into the suite. No matter how silently he moved about, I could feel his presence. I didn’t really know if it was a he or a she. Nor did I care to find out. To my imagination, he was the bellboy.
That immediate thought sent me in a frenzy of desire. I squirmed in bed, still underneath the blanket, my hands on my crotch. I wished this inanimate silicon vibrator would magically transform itself into flesh and blood, could possess the orbs that stored the male sperms, and plunder my very essence of womanhood.
And beyond all imagination, there stood the bellboy in my imagination. I wished I had asked his name when he came to our room the previous day.
I moaned heavily, taking deep breaths.
“Ahhh … mujhe le lo (take me) … chodo mujhe (fuck me),” I was expressing my intense desire in very audible tones. I wanted the intruder to hear.
I was surprised that I was able to utter these words at all. I wondered if I would express these words in a saner mind, considering that I had a deep reluctance in sexual intercourse with anyone other than my husband.
In a few minutes, I felt that the vibrator had suddenly begun to throb and jerk at an increased speed. Even in my stage of insane desire, I could make out that there could be only one reason responsible for such a switch. Whoever had come to our suite had picked up the remote and pressed the ‘High’ button.
I understood, instantly, Chachaji’s purpose in asking me to keep the remote control in the living room. Possibly, he had advised the attendant to take hold of the remote.
Or, more likely, he left it to the intruder’s indiscretion, for him to act in this manner.
I longed to call the unknown attendant into the bedroom but, Chachaji’s specific instruction to avoid intimacy with anyone, prevented me.
So turned on was I that in my stage of insanity and indiscretion, I flung away the blanket that was covering me till now.
I was now naked from top to bottom, except for the ‘mangalsutra’ around my neck, the pair of earrings and a few gold bangles around my wrists. I continued to writhe in bed, a picture of a woman in extreme heat. I didn’t care.
Mischievously, I smiled. Chachaji had prevented me from physical intimacy with anyone. He never put a bar on someone seeing me writhing naked in bed with a pulsating vibrator inside my vagina.
If that ‘someone’ was that bellboy, let him have the best view of a horny woman. Yet, let him not know that I knew of his presence. Exhibitionism from me, voyeurism from him.
He must have waited and watched for a long time, because I didn’t hear any sound of a closing door for quite a while.
Luckily, my senses were still at a level of intelligent behavior. I knew Chachaji would be back by 8.00, just as he had mentioned.
Five minutes before his arrival, I took out the vibrator from my vagina and, keeping it on the bedside table, walked into the bathroom.
Even from within, I could make out the intruder’s presence in the bedroom and very near to my side of the bed. What was he doing, I thought? He could never get a glimpse of me inside the toilet, for sure. Then? Must have taken the vibrator in his hand, I guessed.
He must have left shortly.
In ten minutes, Chachaji returned. It was only when I heard his voice calling out my name that I came out from the bathroom wearing a robe.
“Your face looks flushed. Are you uncomfortable?” he asked when I stood in front of him.
“Yes, Chachaji,” I said softly.
Back of my mind I kept thinking that he had seen me in acting so wildly on the bed indulging in self pleasure. Oh god! How I had thrown my legs about, how I had pressed my hands on my vagina as the silicon toy played havoc inside me, how I had moaned! Every detail would have been witnessed by this man.
“I am happy that you obeyed my instructions. You know who had come inside our suite when you gave him a free show?” Chachaji asked.
“No, how can I know?” I answered truthfully. But, frankly, I wanted to know. I was very curious.
“The bellboy,” Chachaji informed, “and I know exactly what he did while he was in the adjacent room. He even entered the bedroom when you went inside the bathroom.”
“Ohhh!” I blurted. There was a twitching smile that I couldn’t hide. It was one of contentment.
Why was I feeling so happy and content? I really had no answer. But I was eager to know how Chachaji could get to know what I did in my room and how the bellboy behaved in the other.
“I want to ask something, Chachaji. Please tell me. How did you arrange to see us from somewhere else?” I asked.
“I shouldn’t be telling you all my secrets, should I?” He laughed.
I never got to know what Chachaji had done, whether he did it alone or whether he had involved some of the hotel staff too.
Yet, in my sobriety, it made me uneasy whenever I stepped out of our suite and walked along the hallways, or entered the lift, stood in the lobby or even dined in any of cafeterias of the hotel for the rest of our stay.
I always kept thinking that anyone, just about anyone, out of the numerous hotel staff might have been a partner to Chachaji’s planned voyeurism.
More particularly, I couldn’t look at the face of that bellboy and blushed red whenever he was in sight. He was young, under twenty-five, and must have longed to see the woman whom he had watched naked and in the throes of passion. He seemed to be appearing at areas where I went more frequently than what can be considered coincidence.
But I’ll come to that later.
As we stood beside one another after Chachaji had returned, he suddenly held the flaps of my white bath robe and pulled me near him.
Unprepared, I fell on to his chest, my breasts squeezing into him. His hand was behind me raising the hem of my short robe. In moments, both his hands were on my naked ass, pressing the pair in glee.
“You have been lucky last night. I could have fucked that sweet cunt of yours if I wanted. I needed you so bad. But you insisted on preserving your chastity. What is it in Prakash that makes you still resist any infidelity?” He asked, not hiding any trace of desire.
“I cannot think of anyone else other than my husband taking me there, which is a woman’s very own. My mind revolts at that thought, Chachaji. I may have allowed liberties to you elsewhere – but not that.” I said sincerely.
Strange, but it was true. Despite what took place on the flight, or the blatant exhibitionism on my own, that I indulged in involving the bellboy a short while ago, I didn’t want to have the ultimate sexual union outside my marriage.
“But I want you so bad. Give yourself to me now, Asha.” He pleaded.
“Chachaji, mujhe maph kijiye (forgive me) I cannot be unchaste to my husband. My womanhood is his, it is only through him that I want my child.” I cried.
“No! Give yourself to me. I must have you now,” Chachaji insisted, gripping my arms strongly.
His insistence on vaginal sex only resulted in my refusal to accommodate. In my mind, I could hardly accept this, wanting to be loyal to my husband.
I shook my head in all seriousness.
“Bitiya, it is impossible for me to pass another moment without having my throbbing ‘lund’ inside your ‘choot’. Yet, I cannot force you to part with what you wish to treasure exclusively for your husband. Only time will make you give what you must someday.” He sounded considerate, but there was a signal, a sort of premonition in what he said in the end.
In any case, I felt happy that he accepted what I wanted.
But soon, Chachaji was expressing an intent for something else.
He started moving his hand around the curves of my buttocks, pressing the flesh now and then. He was taking deep breaths and I realized what was likely his focus of attention.
A finger or two ran along the crack, trying to squeeze in through the rounded curves. He looked at me, his eyes had a gaze of want before he twisted his head a bit to indicate what he wanted.
“Ashaaaa …” he prolonged the utterance, filled as he was in lust.
I shriveled in his arms. Although my husband had begged me many times, I had always refused any anal sex. Much of my dislike was based on fear. Fear of pain and hurt.
“Chachaji, I would rather not,” I said meekly.
“Why not? Have you ever tried?” He was quick to ask.
“No,” I said shaking my head.
“Then? Give me your reasons,” he wouldn’t let go.
“Because it’s not proper and it’ll hurt,” I said almost defiantly.
“Ha!” he brushed me off, “what do you know about proper and improper? Just half an hour back you were immersed in a shameless show of your body and sexual desire to an insignificant hotel bellboy. Was that decent and proper?”
I was red in the face. I kept silent.
“Besides, how do you know it’ll hurt? You are virgin there, aren’t you? Besides, there are ways of making it painless and enjoyable,” he said, driving in his point.
All the while, he kept pressing my butt and teasing the puckering hole. His big hands parted my ass once again, and a finger ran along the crack, and then started rimming my rose bud.
I was shaking at the spot. Soon, my ass hole began to quiver at the touches of a man much experienced in anal sex. He certainly knew how to take this tight cherry from an initially reluctant woman. I sensed he was trying to instill both courage and a longing in me for this variation in sexual union.
During this foreplay, there was abundance of passionate kisses, virtually rolling his tongue over and over mine, then curling them upwards to tingle my palate, running them across my teeth. Every effort was slowly and surely having the desired effect on me. Till I was almost ready to succumb, except for the fear of pain that still lurked within.
I held his rough, uneven cheeks with both my soft hands as he drew me in. Our kisses were passionate, and I completely forgot about my earlier dislike and abhorrence for this man. I must have moaned during our torrid kissing, for he suddenly withdrew his mouth. He wanted to say something.
“Asha bitiya, are you now ready to give up your virgin ass?” He asked, not hiding his intense lust for the spot.
I nodded my head to show my acceptance and said, “Try not to hurt me, Chachaji.”
“Can you call me Papa, just during these moments that we enjoy?” he begged.
“Yes, Papa,” I said, overwhelmed in the manner he asked.
“I’ll take care and see that you are not hurt, bitiya,” he said caringly.
He picked me up and laid me down on the bed. Picking up his carry bag, he searched inside and brought out a tube.
“Lubricant,” he said, as a matter of fact, “and after I apply this inside your rectum, it’ll ease my penetration so that you don’t feel hurt.”
I looked on shyly.
He came and stood beside the bed. Looking at me, he smiled a bit and then ran his hands over my head, and the tresses of my open hair.
“You’ll enjoy, I promise you,” he assured, and I warmed up to him.
“Yes Papa, I know you’ll not hurt me,” I responded.
He seemed happy at how I addressed him.
“Good. Now come, let me show you how you should be positioned,” he said and held my hands.
I looked at his face. I had the look of a shy yet curious girl.
“Take the position of a bitch. You know what that is, Asha? On all fours … on both your hands and knees,” he said as he gestured the position, “but take off your robe first. Yes, yes, remain on the bed.”
I loosened the string and, parting the robe, took it off and kept it on the bedstand.
“Good girl,” Chachaji said, “and now, be a true bitch.”
I sat on my knees at first, still ashamed to go the full position.
“Go on, Asha. That’s not what I wanted. Bend forward, rest the front part of your body on your hands. Yes, that’s it.” Chachaji said the moment I had dropped forward and held myself on my hands and knees. My perky breasts dangled, and I felt awkward.
In that position, with Chachaji standing somewhere behind me, I couldn’t see him nor what he was doing at that instant. But I turned my head and saw that he was taking off his clothes.
In a few minutes, I heard the soft creaking of the bed as he got up on it. And soon, his hands were on my buttocks, fondling the curves while I waited.
“I’ll apply some lubricant. Relax bitiya, try to help me instead of shying away or bucking like a mare.” Chachaji cautioned.
In moments, he had parted my ass and applied the lubricant from the tube. It felt cold and he dug in deep, rimming first and then deeper inside the crevice with a finger to apply quite liberally.
I waited, feeling his touches. An anticipation at first, and then the simmering excitement.
A break for a few seconds, when he was positioning himself, before I felt the first touch of a naked ‘lund’ on my virgin ass.
Oh god! Here it comes. The moment when I am taken. I braced myself.
Chachaji pushed in very slowly and waited. I felt grateful that he was making every effort to see that I was not hurt.
“Did I hurt you?” He asked.
“Not as yet,” I was just beginning to relax my muscles.
He pushed in a bit more, and even it hurt a bit, I withstood the pain. Chachaji began to bend his body over my back, and I felt his body go over my buttocks with his cock remaining embedded in my asshole.
In that position, he was still pushing in ever so softly while his hands had gone across and down under my body to grip both my breasts. He squeezed them in delight for a while, thrusting hard now with his ‘lund’.
“Are you enjoying, bitiya?” He asked as he fucked.
“Yesss,” I moaned.
He tweaked my nipples, pulling on them, just as one would do while milking a cow. My nipples were hard. I loved the way we were in union, in a manner that was not always acceptable. May be even abhorred at times. But, to me, it was something new and my body waited before it slowly became more and more receptive.
He was now fully inside; I could feel it stretch my sphincter. Assured that I was no longer afraid, that my muscles were relaxed, and that I was fully co-operating by pushing back into him, Chachaji increased the thrusts. Soon, he was a rampaging bull, mounted on a cow.
He fucked my ass hard and rough, grunting all along, till he screamed aloud when he was beginning to ejaculate and until he spent his full load. He released every bit of his sticky goo inside my ass, kneading my breasts savagely as he did so.
“Fuck you..fuck your ass, Ashaaaaaaa,” he screamed, “Take it! You bitch.”
‘Ohhh maaaaa’, I moaned in one continuous tone of satisfaction. It showed me now as one who had enjoyed what she had been resisting earlier.
Chachaji must have noticed that I was at the deepest level of arousal at that point. He held me nearer, digging his face in my nape and breathing in heavily.
“That was heavenly. Oh! How I wanted to take this virgin ass,” he said, now relaxed and easy, and patting my butt curves, “and I hope you did too.”
Ashamed to admit, I just smiled.
“We will have to go to the temple now. The auspicious hour begins in two hours. Get ready, Asha,” he said, quickly getting into the bathroom for a shower.
When finished, Chachaji left, wearing a white pajama and kurta to visit the temple. He had some work downstairs at the reception and told me to go and wait in the lobby after my shower.
I too got up to get ready, but initially found it difficult to walk, almost falling back on bed. There was an excruciating pain in my rear because of a rampaging Chachaji who had taken my virgin ass just moments back.
When Chachaji left, I almost limped to the bathroom. An invigorating bath in hot water helped to bring back my natural posture. It would have been embarrassing if it didn’t.
I wore a white silk saree with red border, and a red blouse to go with it. It’s a sort of prayer dress for women, and I felt in the right mood, forgetting my carnal behavior of the past hour or so.
As I came out of our suite and walked along an isolated hallway of the hotel that led to the lift, I found the bellboy come out of nowhere.
“How do you do, madam?” he asked, bowing his head.
Uneasy, and blushing, I could only nod my head.
“Anything you need Madam?” He asked softly.
My guilty mind read too much in between those lines. He is not being courteous, he is suggesting something else, I thought. He had seen me in the room indulging in such blatant, dirty masturbation and now he was indirectly hinting something related to it.
Vigorously, I shook my head, rushing to the elevator and walking in instantly. But the bellboy had followed, walking in together. Now, that was not something unusual or unwanted. Hotel staff go out of their way to keep guests happy and content. Partly out of the strict rules imposed by its management, but mainly in anticipation of handsome tips.
Yet, I knew the bellboy’s hidden purpose was different. I was convinced about that.
There was none excepting the two of us. Noiselessly, the lift descended. The silence within was, however, soon overcome by the unexplained heavy breathing from both of us.
He looked back once, and his eyes showed intense desire.
“Madam, please call me whenever you need room service. My name is Faisal,” he rushed through his words. I just nodded my head.
But the time of descent was little, and soon we were on the ground floor. I walked out and saw Chachaji in the lobby, chatting with someone I didn’t know.
Later, I saw that he was an ‘agent’ of sorts, who would help us to get a quick entry into the temple and meet the head priest.
Soon, we were in a car that would take us to this temple. There was still time and with this close liaison that the ‘agent’ seemed to have with the head priest, we would be able to offer prayers in privacy.
The agent went into ecstasy talking about the head priest and how his ‘powers’ had helped many a woman to fulfill their dream of becoming a mother. He cited numerous examples, couples who were deprived of parenthood for years and then happily having a child. The more I heard, the more I became jubilant.
As the car sped towards the temple, I waited in anticipation. It was the very purpose for me to come to this place! I knew the head priest would be of immense help. I was convinced that he would be able to fulfill my cherished desire of motherhood. And, having heard so much from the agent, I now longed to meet him.
By : AshmitaMadhukar