Kanchan's Protector
All characters indulging in sexual activities in this story are above the age of 18.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people living or deceased is just coincidence.
To all of you who have appreciated my earlier stories,
I wish to express my sincere gratitude for your votes, comments and feedback.
Prologue:
The woman writhed under him, consumed by the intensity of his lance that impaled her. He was a skilful lover as was she. At 29, she exuded a sensuality on which you couldn't peg an age. She had the stamina of a 20-year-old, and the virginal zest of one who has just been exposed to the ecstasies and ardour of lovemaking. Yet she had the maturity that could hold her man to her and techniques that would extend his indefatigability long after younger men would have slumped in exhaustion.
He was 49, but age is only a number. With a hard strong body built through very difficult times, where a small dip in the awareness of his surroundings could cost him his life, his strength was his youth that he still carried in him. He was capable of immense love, of giving, of concupiscence that could carry a lover to dizzy heights.
This was the night of coalescence that in hours, would lead to a dawn of separation. But the night, like them, was still young. He cleaved to her, knowing that soon they must cleave again. The irony of the word 'cleave,' that could mean both, 'to unite' and 'to separate' was not lost on him, though English was neither his or for that matter, her native language.
Their lips crushed against each other, his tongue probed in rhythm with his shaft as both her orifices welcomed them gleefully. There was still much time left with much to explore, much to do...
They clung to each other and kissed again, before she turned abruptly and rushed through the gates, to complete her exit formalities and board the waiting aircraft. He stood in the viewing gallery, watching her plane taxi, then waved, hoping she could see him from one of those oval windows behind which she sat. He watched the airliner race down the runway, lift its nose towards the sky and peered with narrowed eyes as it turned into a dot in the blue and eventually vanished.
The tears of sadness that had filled her eyes while she boarded, were soon replaced with those of joy as she prepared to disembark. Soon, she would be holding her 4-year-old daughter, whom she had left behind with her parents, in her arms.
"The seed you have planted has germinated," she wrote. That letter, when he received it, was dated over a month in the past. Such was the speed of overseas mail in those days.
Many months later, she would write again, enclosing a photograph of the fruit of her labour.
It would be a very long time before they would meet again.
Kanchan: An indecent proposal
As soon as I alight from my car, I am flanked by two muscular women. They look attractive too and are smartly dressed in the uniform of KK Corporation. While a security guard at the door directs my driver to the parking area, the taller lady introduces herself and her companion.
"I am Sadhana, and this is my colleague, Hema. Welcome to KK Corporation, Madame Kanchan. Boss has told us you are a VIP, so I am here to personally assist you through our security protocols and then guide you to his office."
I am beginning to feel uncomfortable. I have been specifically instructed to not take my assistant along for this meeting. I suddenly realise it has been a very long time since I have ventured out anywhere alone. As actors, we eventually end up with an entourage. A manager or an assistant as a necessary appendage, then when out on shoots, a make-up artist, a hairstylist, a person to help us with our costumes and sometimes, while venturing into crowded places, a couple of beefy security guys to keep exuberant fans from manhandling you.
"Would you like me to take your handbag for scanning, or would you like to place it in the scanner yourself?" The voice interrupts my train of thoughts. "I know it is a designer bag, so please put this in the tray here, I promise you, it will not be scratched or damaged." Sadhana has that sweet reassuring and disarming smile as she speaks.
I hand over the bag to her, step through the body scanner while she picks up my bag delicately and hands it back to me when I cross over to the other side.
The scenic elevator ride is breathtaking. I see the lobby is beautifully done, the wall panels have intricate sculptures, some abstract some classical, and I can see a cafeteria on the extreme left. It is just like the lobby of a five-star hotel.
"You are a wonderful actor, Madam, and I really am a big fan of yours. I try very hard, workload permitting, to watch your movies as soon as they are released."
I cannot make out if she is genuinely saying this, or having sensed my uneasiness, is just trying to make me comfortable. I smile at her.
As I step out of the elevator, a burly man stands up from his desk. "Welcome, Madame, Boss will be here anytime now," and he nods imperceptibly to Sadhana.
"This way, please," she says as she guides me down a large hall to what is obviously the corner office. She opens the door for me and boy, is the room huge. It is a long walk of about 15 yards to the desk at the far end of the room. There is just one high back chair in front of the desk and an almost similar one behind it.
She pulls out the chair for me. "Can I get you some tea, coffee or a cold drink?" She asks courteously.
"Some cold water will be fine," I respond.
She steps to the left, walks a few paces to a refrigerator that is built into a wall cabinet, takes out a bottle and pours a glass. She places it on a dainty coaster on the desk in front of me.
"I will leave you here now. Once your discussions are over, one of us will walk you back to your car. Have a great day Madame!"
I survey the room. The desk before me is leather topped, in a deep shade of burgundy. It obviously is an expensive piece of furniture. There is an old fashioned blotter, matching the tabletop, with a couple of inkwells and fountain pens, the type you dip into to write or sign. To the right lies an area that doubles up as a conference room, with a conference table, a few chairs, a projector mounted on the ceiling, a screen, a whiteboard and some small cupboards on the sides. While the room is well lit, there are heavy drapes all around what I figure out to be floor to ceiling windows.
"I am sorry I kept you waiting."
I jump out of my skin and my chair when I hear that voice right behind me.
"You scared me," I almost scream.
"I am sorry I startled you, I didn't mean to."
He walks around me, then around his desk to his chair. After placing his laptop down, he extends his hand towards me.
