Her Fantasy His Fetish

Rekha Diwe was no great beauty. She'd known that all her 40 years. Even as village girls go in India, she had been quite plain. The teeth were uneven and her facial features rather masculine. But when she'd been married at age 18, her husband's family had been pleased with the gifts of sarees, kurtas, a milking cow, five pregnant she-goats and a collection of bridal jewellery. And she'd had a pleasing figure. Neat and curved hips below a small waist and breasts which were already heavy and well formed at 18; and were to become superb as the years went by.

Her husband Ratan had been a caring but useless man. No job and no ambition, but good to her and their children in the early days. Now, after 24 years, he was still employed only on a casual daily basis by construction firms, or as a labourer on the roadways. He had become less caring towards their elder daughter now aged 23, their son of 18 and the younger daughter of 13. Also her husband had become lazier and less demanding in recent years, as regards his conjugal rights, and she was relieved. Years ago, he'd stopped trying to please her although her memory of early orgasms still came to her in quite moments or in the night, as she explored her own body in the dark.

Their house was hardly what the word implied: a single room of 7 metres by 5 metres in which they all slept, ate and kept dry during the monsoon. With a kitchenette lean-to on one side and a small bathroom with chemical toilet on the other. Husband slept on the only bed, a brass-knobbed single bed from at least 60 years earlier. Rekha and the children slept on the floor, on mattresses of straw and feathers. Rekha's elderly mother also slept there, and lived in the house practically every hour of the year.

But Rekha was regarded as successful. She had a job as daily housekeeper at the big bungalow at the end of the village, belonging to a high-caste Indian business woman and her Britisher husband. She earned more every month than Ratan had ever earned in their life together. She kept her family clothed, fed and respectable and was seen by most village women as a model of good housekeeping and perseverance in the face of life's difficulties; meaning especially her sot of a shiftless husband. She had no schooling at all. Not a single day in her entire life, despite the national requirement and provision for free primary education. She'd even paid for her son to attend school so that he could now write his name and address in English as well as their local dialect, and could read the local newspapers. Yes; she was a successful woman and mother in her village.

But Rekha had a dream, a fantasy, which she knew was only that but it had sustained her year after year in her employment up at the big bungalow. She had a secret and shameful desire to hold next to her the pale Britisher husband of her employer, and to feel his nimble hands on her skin, on her breast and holding her hips. She was realistic enough to realise that he would no longer be able to hold her waist, simply because it was no longer clear to her or any man where her waist had once been; or at least that is how she felt about her figure. But to have him hold her and press her to him, would be the very zenith of her sensuous desires in life; of that she was quite certain, even if he did not fill her or show very great sexual interest in her. The paleness of his skin, the fairness of the hairs on his arms, the slim hips and broad chest (very much the reverse of Ratan's figure), the mobile and sensuous fingers and thumbs; these all attracted her.

Although 20 years older than herself, she believed him to be fit and strong, and longed to find out. She watched him whenever he wasn't noticing her, which seemed to be all the time, although he did give her a big smile occasionally. Also occasionally, she had done some dangerous and scandalous things to please herself and she hoped would not be found out. In her small laundry at the bungalow, she'd reached below her saree and touched her labia before hanging out the Britisher's underwear; as if to place her scent on them, no matter how faintly. On a few occasions, she had tried on Sir's briefs before they were washed. Then she knew that she had his scent on her, no matter how faintly. But also she knew how small his hips and bottom were because she needed to stretch them over her own, so that they dug into her waist, and around the tops of her thighs, and between her legs. She longed to see his hips and thighs and buttocks for herself.

Then one day, an ordinary day at the big bungalow, something changed. Madam was away for some days, on business, as was often the case. Sir was alone in the house although the gardener went about his business around the lawns and herb plantations; but the driver was absent, carrying Madam around the State in their SUV. On this day, the gardener finished his work early and went to the nearest town, 40 km distant, to buy in a new supply of liquid fertilizer and insecticide for the herb garden. Rekha was alone in the house and Sir was closed up in the office, adjacent to the main bedroom. Rekha's fantasy was far from the front of her mind as she prepared the vegetables for the evening meal. After that she would sweep and swab all the rooms in the house and Sir, going by previous practice over some years, would vacate the office and bedroom, and sit on the veranda while she did it.

She heard his voice, "Rekha." She replied equally with the monosyllable, "Sir?" and walked towards the office. Her hands were damp and she was drying them on a cloth as she saw him just inside the bedroom door. He beckoned her as he often did when something needed cleaning or tidying. As she moved towards him, his right hand raised and took hold of her shoulder. It was almost the first physical contact they'd ever had apart from when lifting things together or passing items for storage or cleaning. He let his fingers fold and press down the back of the shoulder, with his palm flat on her bloused shoulder. He pressed slightly again as if to propel her forward with that one shoulder blade and then his other hand took hold of her right wrist, still holding its drying cloth.

He moved backward hardly a single pace and pulled her with him. Her feet were now both inside the door frame of the big bedroom; three times the size of her entire house. She resisted his dragging by instinct; everything she's learnt from a child was to resist such urging from strange men. But also she knew that this is what she had desired for years, and now something was going to happen. She knew that she ought to extricate herself and flee but knew just as certainly that she wanted more to happen, and to know the answers to her many questions. As she faltered momentarily, and pulled back from his grip, he seemed to sense her difficulty and she felt his grasp weakening.

In that moment, all her womanly desires came to her aid: she would go through with this, whatever it was and whatever he wanted from her. What he wanted she would not only accept but she would want it also, even if it were new, maybe frightening and unfamiliar. Before his grasp could become noticeably weaker, she took a small step into the bedroom. They looked into each other's eyes and he smiled one of his broad grins which made his eyes crinkle and his nose pucker at the bridge. She smiled back as if to say, "Yes, anything." And she could tell that he knew what she meant although he had none of her Hindi dialect and she had no English. He walked backwards into the room and she followed him. With his left hand, he flicked the door gently and it clicked shut. The only sound was the AC panel, softly whirring high in the corner. He spoke in his foreign tongue, and she understood not a word except she heard her name in the jumble of sounds.

"I've been waiting for this to happen, Rekha. I've watched you for months and years. I think you're a sensuous woman and I also think we could please each other. I've seen you watching me, so I think I know you'll accept my invitation."

Before she knew what was happening, and in a daze of excitement and wonder, she realised she was moving towards the bathroom built onto the big bedroom. Sir let his right hand drop from her shoulder and placed it with the back on his fingers on the skin of her torso, gripping the multiple folds of her saree. He tugged on the fabric and then moved his hand toward her left hip to find the safety pin which kept the folds together. A very useful modern invention, the safety pin, for wearers of the ancient mode of dress called saree. Deftly, in a way that surprised her, he unclipped the pin, slid it from the fabric, and then held it up between them to close it and make it safe again. He tossed it to one side, onto the easy chair nest to the bed. His left hand lifted the shoulder shawl part of her saree fabric and threw it over her shoulder so that it hung down her back. Quickly he tugged on the saree so that it unravelled on her figure until it could be dropped to the floor of the bedroom, which he did. She was standing there in her blouse top over her white western bra, and with only her grey (once white) shorts covering her female nakedness. He took the same hold on her shoulder and wrist, and pulled her completely into the bathroom, and then did something for which her experience and culture had not prepared her.

He kneeled down in front of her and pulled her shorts down, all the time looking up like a small boy, straight into her eyes. He gave her the broad grin again and she smiled back She had never had a man on his knees in front of her and it was over 20 years since Ratan had deigned to take off her clothes. Instinctively, she placed both her hands under her loose abdomen, and supported the folds of skin and fat that were the remnants of her childbearing so long ago. He reached up and took her hands away from her embarrassment and placed them at her sides. She let it happen and was not even surprised to feel the cool smoothness of his left hand with soap washing over her stomach, down her thighs a little, between her legs and over her bottom. He pressed slightly on her anus finally, the better to clean it. And then he dipped his hand in a basin of clean water to one side and rinsed her skin and her sex.

As he stood up, he took a soft cool towel from the stand and held it to her skin, pressing it then into her hands for her to dry herself. As she did so he undid the top button of his white trousers and they fell to his feet, whence he flicked them to one side. She'd been right; his hips and legs were slim and muscular. She took a glance at his buttocks and saw firm rounded pads of muscles that quivered as he moved, with the tension of muscles, not the wobble of fat.

He took her left hand and held it in the soapy basin, then massaging the soap with her hand and his, until she had lather on hers. He pulled her hand towards his erect penis and made as if to lean it. She did so, all the time watching his face and feeling the strength of his erection against her finger. When she was ready, she brought the rinsing water on his hand and swilled him off, and then took the towel without his urging and dried him. She lingered over the erection, and around his testicles, and underneath between his legs. All the while, they smiled into each others' eyes.

He took her left hand in his right and walked backwards again, this time towards the bed. She knew what was going to happen; or at least she thought she knew some part of it. He took her to the bedside and raised both hands to undo the buttons and hooks down the front of her saree blouse, and eased it over her shoulders, leaving her bra and breasts on display. He cupped them both in his hands and lifted slightly, and chuckled very softly, almost like a smile with sound. She chuckled also, more audibly. He pulled her towards him, using her breasts inside the bra until his hands were touching his own chest and just her nipples were grazing his hairs, through the bra.

Then he reached round her and pulled her to him so that he could unfasten the hooks at the back. She always had difficulty with them, partly because they were behind her but also because there were six hooks. She needed such a firm and long bra to hold her heavy breasts in place inside the blouse. He pulled the bra forward and over her arms, which she let drop so that the bra fell to the floor. He took her to the edge of the bed and gently pushed her until she toppled sideways and had to locate herself by putting out a hand and finding support. Within a second she was lying in the bed and he was leaning over her, with one hand on a breast and the other on her waist; or where her waist used to be at one time, she thought. She lay back as he leaned further over, and nuzzled her breast with his lips; gradually sucking on her nipple until she felt the warmth and moisture gathering between her legs. He shifted position and did the same to the other breast and nipple.

By now her eyes were closed and she was sinking rapidly into an erotic daze. Without her realising it, her legs opened a fraction and she could feel the coolness of the AC on her wetted and swelling labia.

He put one hand down to her groin and slowly let his middle finger slide down towards her clitoris and between the lips, until it rested in the cool moisture she had made for him. He played in his lips and over her clitoris, and placed his finger inside her and then repeated the movements and pressure again and again. She could feel her orgasm building and he sensed it, but he didn't want it to finish yet, and he slowly withdrew his hand. She opened her eyes and gave the unspoken question, "Why? Why not? Oh please!" He gave her the big grin and his eyes crinkled again as he shifted his weight to lie on her so that she could feel the stiffness between her legs, pressing gently on the same creases and the clitoris where his hand had been a minute earlier.

She raised her knees and he lifted his chest off her, sliding forward so that he entered her without either of them needing to provide any guidance. She hadn't felt so controlled for many years, or pleased by being filled so spontaneously. He wasn't especially big inside her after three childbirths, but he was hard and he moved cleverly, so that he rubbed and shivered exactly the parts she needed to feel. How did he know, she wondered, but gave up thinking as the orgasm started building again, and this time he kept up the motion and the pressures until she came. Quietly but positively, her body shuddered and her mouth opened even as her eyes closed. She heard nothing and saw nothing, but felt everything inside her and his body close to hers. She reached up and held his shoulders, feeling the strength in his shoulder blades and the tautness of the muscles at the back of his neck. He moved a little inside her but was not pressing for his own climax, she realised. She had never come across that sort of delay and control before; certainly not with Ratan, who went for the final explosion as soon as possible, regardless of her pleasure.

They subsided together; she from the height of her orgasm and he from the stiffness of his full erection. He leaned to one side and took his weight off her, lying by her and fondling her breasts, her throat, her shoulders and her tummy down to her groin. He legs were still side open from his earlier position on her, and he slowly pushed them together, so that she was long and pointed. Lying flat on her back, she could feel th flatness of her abdomen and wondered where all the protruding skin and flesh had gone to. She didn't know or care; she just felt fulfilled and satisfied.

He spoke to her in English and she understood not a single word.

"I'm going to dress you for my delight now. It may be very strange for you but I'll get such pleasure, I don't know if you'll be frightened or delighted. You're going to give me delights, anyway."

She was happy to be with him and to feel his nearness. She wondered briefly what his words meant but just rested back with eyes closed again, and her hand on his knee, as her own wetness trickled out of her and down her own buttock onto the bed. She felt no embarrassment and smiled as she thought she would be washing those very bedclothes tomorrow. He got off the bed slowly and she wondered if that was the end of their interlude of pleasure. She began to raise herself but he pressed her down by one hand between her breasts, to make her stay flat on the bed; and he went to a cupboard.

He returned with a bundle of items that she assumed were clothes but like no clothes she had ever seen. They were mostly brilliant white an seemed stiffened somehow. He placed them on the bed at her feet, and resumed his fondling of her body. Suddenly he took her right hand, on the opposite side from himself and pulled her gently but smoothly. She rolled over towards him and he stood off the bed, raising her until she was standing.

He reached across and took one item from the bundle. To Rekha it looked like a pair of pants with no bottom part. He held it towards her feet, tapping on her left foot to be raised, which she did. He slipped the garment over her left foot and ankle. Then he repeated the movements until she was standing in the garment, still with no inkling of what it was or how it was meant to fit. He kneeled to one side of her and slowly began to raise the garment to her knees, and then to her thighs. Rekha realised it was very tight on her and didn't think it could possible go over her hips; and it seemed to be ripped on the left side. Sir stood and took a firm hold at the front and lifted the garment until it could move no further over her hips. He took both her hands and placed them where he had been tugging. He sent round the back and took hold behind her, he wais a word and she knew that was the signal to lift the garment again, so she did. It slipped up her skin more easily than she expected, now that both of them were lifting all around her torso. It didn't feel like anything she had worn before and her abdomen seemed even more bloated and uncontrolled as it forced the garment to gape at the side where it seemed to be split. He led her to the bed again and motioned her to lie flat, and she did.

With her abdomen flat again, he leaned over, kissed both breasts and then slowly began to push her skin and flesh into a central position inside the garment. Because she was lying prone, it all fell into position relatively easily, and he reached down to the split on her left side. She could tell that he was joining hooks and eyes. The first two were easy, the next two more difficult, and the final two required a lot of stretching of the fabric and compression of her body until they were all closed. Then he moved a zipper with some difficulty over the hooks, until the split was made up and she was contained inside the garment. Lying down as she was, she felt pressure on her body from under her breasts, quite high on her ribs, until down over her thighs at the sides, under her bottom at the back and across her groin at the front. Sir moved to the pile of clothes again and selected two white objects, which he brought to her feet. He manoeuvred one of them onto his own hand, and then offered it up to her foot, before peeling it off his hand and slowly feeding it up her leg. It came to a position slightly above her knees in her lying-down position. He did the same with the other item and her other leg. When they were both at about the same height on her legs, he took her hand and motioned her off the bed once more. She moved with more difficulty this time, as the pressure of the girdle constrained her body and her muscles. She stood off the bed and he kneeled before her to lift the stockings higher and into positions that could be attached to the suspenders on her girdle. He did them both and she became aware of the tension in the stockings as well as in the suspenders and the girdle, as it now stretched even further to support the stockings.