Go Deep Inside Me

This is a simple, feel-good love story. It is set in Bangalore, Chennai and Mumbai which are large cities in India. Readers familiar with India's various cultural practices will better appreciate the nuances in the descriptions and dialogues.

The meanings of the very few vernacular words in the story are either explained or will be obvious from the context. They will not take away anything from the story.

This story is around six Literotica pages and for those who do not prefer long tales, you could try reading this over multiple sittings.

I write in British English, and since I am not a native speaker of this language, there will be a few errors. My apologies.

And now for the disclaimers:

This story is a work of fiction and any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is just coincidence.

All characters who indulge in sexual activities in this story are well over 18 years of age.

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A thin film of sweat covered my otherwise naked body. As his sweet-tasting tongue retracted from my mouth, I moved my head a wee bit to my right. His wet lips relinquished their hold on mine leaving a damp trail as they slid down my left cheek. With a soft groan of pleasure, his forehead came to rest on the pillow and the rest of his face settled between my ear and shoulder. His smooth left cheek nestled against my neck.

I held him tightly to me. His muscular chest pressed heavily on my plump 34Ds. Breasts that were a tad big for my typical Indian frame. But from how he had treated them over the last hour or so, there was no doubt that they pleased him.

As my breathing synchronised with his heaving body, I let my brain focus on the parts between my legs. I was conscious of my inner thighs strongly gripping his hips. Talk of an iron hand in a velvet glove but my vaginal lips were squeezing a steel shaft wrapped in smooth silk. The torrential bursts, that he had moments ago released into my innards, were now being supplemented by sporadic spurts as my muscles massaged and milked him.

The cushions, strategically placed beneath me, had provided me that perfect depth of penetration and for him, that ideal angle of attack. His girth and my tightness had resulted in near-simultaneous explosive orgasms for both of us.

We lay like this for quite a while. When I felt his face move, I took my left palm and fingers to the back of his neck and firmly held it there. He muttered something, but his muffled voice was incoherent to my ears.

"Don't move," I whispered. "These are sensations I have not felt in a long time. Let me savour them."

My words obviously pleased him, for I felt him twitch rather vigorously inside me. It triggered yet another moan of ecstasy from me...

My name is Sujata. I am a divorcee. A rather horny one too. It has been four years since my divorce and six since I have let a man touch me intimately. Six years of just fi-vi-di; fingers, vibrators and dildos, to keep me from going insane.

"Why?" You would ask. But that is the way it often is with us Indian women. We would think a thousand times and check a hundred boxes before sleeping with someone. Yet, it would be perfectly normal to make love to a complete stranger whom we married, just because the family or the extended family thought they were the best person to be your spouse.

Thus are marriages often arranged here and so it had been with mine. Thirteen years ago, a distant relative had brought a proposal from a family they knew. His horoscope matched mine to a 'T' which was three-fourths of the job done. That he and his family were well off and he had a master's degree took care of another twenty per cent. We went out for lunch one day. He seemed to like what he saw. I found him smart, handsome, and nice to talk to. And before we knew it, we were married.

The troubles began soon after. He was a little too insecure. If he saw me talking to other men, be they colleagues, the vegetable vendor or a waiter in a restaurant, he accused me of flirting with them. He had his insecurities and they were always on a head-on collision course with my exuberance.

I always bubbled with energy. He remained mostly in a cocoon, but only when it came to me. He was fine with his colleagues, friends, clients and acquaintances. But he wouldn't let me be fine with mine.

We hardly had any shared interests. Come to think of it, he had no great hobbies either. It was just work and TV. I loved singing and was a trained singer. Every song I sang was a duet with some other imagined lover to him. Sex was one way. He got on, he got off. I thought maybe fatherhood could bring about a change in him. But after about a year, with neither of us using protection, when nothing happened, I quietly got back on the pill. I had somehow realised this wasn't going to last and the last thing I wanted was to be saddled with a baby.

It never occurred to him that he could be the problem. His parents and he started passing snide remarks about my womanhood. They concluded that I was barren. I let them believe it. The years rolled on. Finally, after seven years of marriage, I asked for a divorce. He seemed relieved. The process took nearly two years. But I was free.

But was I? Not really. I did not want to flit in and out of relationships. I wasn't sure if sex without some emotional involvement was worth it. I longed to be wooed, loved, cherished, worshipped and doted upon. I kept saying to myself, "My Prince Charming is out there somewhere." And four years have gone by. But right now, I think I know where he is...

It all began around six months ago, with that phone call from my best friend, Sangeeta. I was in Washington DC on work and it was early in the morning. For Sangeeta in Bangalore, it would have been around four in the afternoon. Though we talk to each other at least once every day, Sangeeta rarely calls me when I am travelling abroad, primarily because the differences in time zones don't work out for us.

"This must be urgent," I thought, as I picked up the call.

"Are you okay to talk, Suja? She asked.

"Yes, Sangee," I answered.

"Vikram brought a girl home for lunch today. Her name is Priyanka. Do you know her or anything about her?" That was the way with Sangeeta and I. When we conversed, we came straight to the point, we never wasted time on pleasantries.

Vikram is her son. A twenty-six-year-old, tall, handsome, highly qualified engineer, working in a well-established firm. While he is very close to his parents, he prefers to share his secrets with me. I, at thirty-five, am somewhere between an older sister and an aunt to him. I am more like an advisor and confidante.

I quickly played back Sangeeta's query in my mind. Did she seem upset? Vikram had not spoken to me about this lunch engagement, but then we hadn't spoken to each other for a week since I had landed in Washington. But her voice did sound a bit edgy.

"I found Priyanka to be very beautiful from her photographs. Vikram has told me that she is a newly minted PhD. I have not yet met her, else I would have talked to you about this. How do you and Udit find her?"

"You will love her," Sangeeta gushed. "I never thought that my absent-minded husband would talk to her for more than a couple of minutes, but within seconds, she had him eating out of her hand. Now Udit insists that we call her father immediately, set up a meeting of the families and fix a date for a formal engagement and the wedding."

"So go right ahead. What is stopping you?"

"You, you idiot! You are family. You know very well that your presence is mandatory on such occasions. So tell me, how soon can you get back here and when can we fix up the family meeting?"

When I returned home a week later, I had Vikram and Priyanka over for a Sunday brunch. I wanted Sangeeta and Udit to join us, but Sangeeta insisted that I meet them separately and form my own opinion of the young lady whom Vikram was keen to marry.

That they were serious about each other, there was no doubt. Priyanka appeared to be a well-balanced individual. Yes, they had a lot of common interests, both professionally and in other areas. I took an instant liking to her. She belonged to the same Tamil Iyengar community that I did, not that it mattered greatly. I knew she would assimilate very well into Vikram's family, whose cultural practices, though not the same, were similar.

Sangeeta had jokingly said, "If I can put up with one Iyengar, I think I can put up with another!"

"Watch out," I joked, hugging her. "Two Tamils can be too hot to handle."

Sangeeta and I have been friends for nearly ten years. We met at the gym and soon became best friends. We keep no secrets from each other. She knows everything about my life and has turned out to be a pillar of strength during the rough stages of my marriage and the subsequent divorce. She is, at fifty, a good fifteen years older than me, but she looks much younger. People who see us together assume we are sisters. As they say, she has my back and I have hers.

Sangeeta and Udit have been married for twenty-eight years now. She had joined an airline as a cabin crew member, and Udit who was a pilot in the same airline happened to be the second in command of her first flight. 'Love at first light,' is what they would describe their first pre-dawn meeting in an aircraft. Within a year, they were married and after Vikram came along, Sangeeta opted to be a full-time mother and homemaker.

Vikram, the light of their eyes, has generally been evasive when it came to marriage. Not that he did not have friends of the opposite sex, but he was never serious about anyone. He has a good head on his shoulders, is sharp, and analytical and makes well-thought-out decisions.

I noticed the same traits in Priyanka. I also discreetly scrutinised her background. I was presently surprised when the search engines threw up her name multiple times. There were many papers she had published, and many seminars and conferences where she had presented her work. It was obvious that she was a great scientist in the making. Then, except for a very professionally written profile on LinkedIn, she was nowhere else on social media.

Her LinkedIn connections too were mostly fellow scientists and researchers from all over the world. Except for one name, 'Sayuj.' That name was intriguing. It is not a very common name and it caught my attention because four of the five letters in his name were also in mine. When I clicked on his profile, I found that he was an entrepreneur, not a scientist. He had his factory on the outskirts of Chennai, a city not far from Bangalore, where we lived. There was no profile picture, but his network was large.

"I think Vikram and Priyanka make a good match," I said to Sangeeta and Udit. "They are obviously in love and really care about each other. Her mother tongue is different from yours but that really doesn't matter, does it? She, like the rest of us, is fluent in Hindi and English, so there is nothing to worry about."

Subsequently, Udit called up her father and a luncheon meeting was fixed up for the following weekend. Priyanka's father wanted to visit Sangeeta and Udit at their home. I could understand that. He probably wanted to see for himself the kind of family that Priyanka was marrying into.

I watched from Sangeeta's portico as they parked their car. Sangeeta and Udit waited in the driveway to receive them. A short, very smart and dignified lady alighted from the passenger side. I noticed that the car was an 'A Class' Mercedes hatchback. Nothing flashy, not a high-end expensive vehicle, just a subdued expression of utility and class. Not that I know much about cars. I have a top-of-the-line Honda Jazz that probably costs a fraction of this Mercedes. Sangeeta and Udit have a Toyota Camry and a Ford Endeavour.

As she smilingly shook hands with them, the driver's door opened and Priyanka's father stepped out smiling. I almost swooned. He was tall, slim, athletic, rugged and had deep grey eyes. If his skin colour had not been dark, he would have been a twin of Daniel Craig.

He came around the car and as he stretched his right hand out towards Udit, his left hand possessively went around the woman accompanying him. A small wave of resentment swept through me, for I knew the lady was not Priyanka's mother.

Priyanka was just four years old when her mother died in a rather tragic terrorist attack. While visiting the city of Mumbai for work, to avoid the bumper-to-bumper traffic, she chose to board a suburban train instead of taking a taxi to her hotel. The terrorists had placed a bomb in the ladies' compartment of that train. She just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and for the wrong reason.

I knew this because Priyanka had talked about her childhood during our brunch conversation. My heart had gone out towards this motherless girl. But Priyanka had seemed very stoic about this.

"I really do not have any memories of her," she had stated. "For me, Dad was and is everything." She smiled at me and then looked away. I could quickly glimpse that her eyes had turned moist and I could not fathom what was then going on inside her head.

But why was I resentful of a lady I had yet to know, because of a man I had yet to meet? "Get a hold of yourself, Sujata." I chided myself as the group stepped into the portico.

"This is Sujata, my best friend and very much a part of our family," Sangeeta said, by way of an introduction.

"Vanakkam, my name is Preethi," said the lady as she hugged me lightly. She had caught on that I was a Tamil like her, but then it was not very difficult to identify people from different Indian states by their looks. Then she placed her hand on the forearm of the man beside her.

This is Sayuj, my cousin and Priyanka's father."

I took the hand he extended in mine with a smile, willing my heart to slow down, worried he would hear the 'thump, thump' sound that it was making. He smiled at me, and that smile only caused my heart to race even faster.

I don't know when he released my hand but soon Udit was guiding all of us down into the living room. I rushed into the kitchen to bring out the cold drinks, thankful for that brief respite which allowed me to catch my breath. The first thought that passed through my mind was, "Hmmm, Preethi is his cousin, not his girlfriend!" I now felt so stupid, wondering why I had allowed that feeling of resentment to dominate my mind in the first place.

"Hmmm, Sayuj is Priyanka's Dad," I said to myself, recalling the LinkedIn connection. I wondered how his name had not come up at all in any of our conversations, be they with Priyanka or with Sangeeta. He had always been referred to as Priyanka's father.

Preethi delved into her rather large ethnic 'Shantiniketan' leather bag and brought forth a beautiful gift-wrapped fruit basket followed by a large box of dry fruits. Then there was this traditional box of laddoos that she handed over to Sangeeta and me.

Laddoos are considered the most ancient of sweets in the Indian subcontinent, dating back to over five thousand years. They are generally made from various flours, mixed with honey or sugar syrup and then shaped into small round spheres. The most popular one is the 'Motichoor' laddoo. Tiny fried balls of chickpea batter that resemble crushed pearls (which is what 'Motichoor' means), are soaked in sugar syrup, shaped into small balls and then garnished with slivers of almonds, walnuts and pistachios. Laddus are considered auspicious and are the most commonly distributed sweet on happy occasions.

I brought out the glasses of water and the chilled orange juice. Sangeeta served the snacks. We made small talk, about how refreshing orange juice is in this hot weather, about the World Cup cricket matches, the latest political developments in the country and so on. It was during one of those moments of silence that occur in a conversation among relative strangers when one is thinking about the next topic of discussion to be brought up, that the conversation suddenly veered to the proposition that we had gathered to discuss.

"You all have met my daughter and I am happy that you consider her worthy of your love and affection," began Sayuj. "Priyanka has briefed us extensively about your family and though I have not yet met Vikram, I have heard a lot about him from her."

"We are eager to formally welcome Priyanka into our family," said Udit and then hastily added. "With your permission, of course. You can ask us anything you need to know about us and Vikram. Please be very frank. We know you will be concerned about your daughter and her well-being."

"My daughter is a very good judge of people. We too have taken an instant liking to all of you," said Sayuj. I thought he was looking directly at me when he said this, but then it would very well have been my imagination.

"Get a hold on yourself, Sujata! We are here to discuss Vikram's wedding," I mentally chided myself.

"Though I have technically been a single parent to Priyanka, my many cousins have stepped in whenever required to be a mother to her. Preethi especially, has made a considerable contribution to her upbringing. She is very close to me and has also been geographically well-placed to help us out. She is the one who would pick her up from school, and take care of her till I returned from work. I think she has attended more Parent Teacher's meetings than I have, and been there for Priyanka when she needed a woman's arms around her."

I could, from the looks Preethi and Sayuj gave each other, discern a very deep bond between them. They were genetically cousins, but they could just as well have been siblings.

"Preethi has worked out a few tentative dates for the wedding," Sayuj, continued. "You could look at them and choose what works out best for your family. I know you have many friends and relatives in different parts of the world who would like to attend and I think you will find at least one most suitable date. Conventionally, the wedding is held at the bride's place, so we request that you consider having it in Chennai. We have a few octogenarians in our extended family who will find it difficult to travel to attend the wedding were it to be held elsewhere."

"Please don't worry about your stay in Chennai," interjected Preethi. "Just let us have your guest list and we will take care of all the arrangements."

"We really do not want to impose on you. Our kinship group is also large and would be well over a hundred persons. Why don't you let us handle their boarding and lodging arrangements? Udit replied.

Sayuj had this big smile on his face. "That will not be a problem. I have planned and budgeted for it, so your family will be our guests for the wedding. I know the wedding preparations and shopping will keep you busy, but if you could organise for someone from your side to coordinate the various activities and logistics with Preethi, we should be able to work this out. Priyanka does not want that "big fat Indian wedding," she is keen on a traditional Tamil Iyengar one. We could work out any rituals or conventions that you have into the ceremonies for a nice combo wedding."

Even before I could see Sangeeta's lips move, I knew what she was going to say. "Of course," she responded to Sayuj instantly. "Sujata is my best friend, so she will be the go-to person from our side. She then looked at me with a "I didn't ask you but you better not refuse," look in her eyes, a look that I could read from our long years of being friends.

"We can carry on our discussions while we eat," said Udit as we all moved to the dining room. It was a delicious lunch that Sangeeta and I, both of us really good cooks, had painstakingly prepared. Sayuj and Preethi were pretty lavish in their praise for each dish. The meal as well as the discussions went off very well.