Pavithra is probably the sexiest, instant
erection-inducing
MILF that I have ever come across; she is also my aunt. She is married to uncle Madhan and, since when I was a young boy, I have always referred to her as
Pavi
aunty. She must have had a perfect hour glass figure when younger but age had inevitably taken its toll. Nevertheless, she was still a veritable
sex bomb
. She stands 5 feet 5 inches, not too tall by conventional standards, with a 30 inch waist and 33 inch hips. She also boasts a plump, succulent ass and long, lustrous, silky, jet black hair, meticulously conditioned and maintained, that falls down to that shapely ass and extends marginally beyond. Often, I would fantasize about how it would look, cascading off her and on to the body of whomever she was riding on top of. She would normally have her hair worn in a simple three strand braid that hung down her structured back, like most Indian women of her age. When she walked, an immensely sexy walk that sashayed her butt from side to side like a cat walk model, her long braided hair would move in rhythm to her steps, brushing and sliding across her ass. When viewed from behind, it was such a dick raising site that I am sure many men had impromptu accidents in their pants just viewing it.
As if her ass wasn't enough, Pavi Aunty possessed two nuclear bombs attached to her chest: 30Es that strained to break free, even when kept tightly wrapped in figure hiding
saris
(Indian traditional dress consisting of a long piece of cloth draped around the torso). They hung tantalisingly from her petite frame, giving her that much desired
tits on sticks
look. The best times were when she wore
churidar kameez
(Indian traditional dress consisting of a tight fitting top that extended to the knees and pantaloons), with the tight top tunic perfectly hugging her monstrous melons and squeezing them together to form perfect half-moons. The
dhupatta
(covering cloth) would inevitably ride up off her boobs and settle around her neck so that her thumping tits were always on display to the world. Her cleavage, perfectly round and firm, peeking through her top was an instant erection inducer. When she moved, her breasts jiggled deliciously. I had not encountered a straight man yet who had seen Pavi aunty and not wanted to fuck her "seven ways to Sunday." Salivating guys, staring unashamedly at the hot MILF, no doubt with raging hard-ons in their pants, was a sight that I had gotten very used to when I went out shopping with her, firstly as a boy, and then as a teenager.
Pavi aunty was also a professional woman, a doctor, and this, no doubt, added to her eroticism. She would wear a pair of black glasses and a white doctor's coat at most times, which gave her the
sexy librarian
look. I had come to realise, growing up, that Pavi aunty was a shameless cock tease. She was aware of the power of her own sexuality and took full advantage when it came to dealings with men, whether they were her patients or work colleagues. However, she always knew the line that should not be crossed. She would tease and flirt, driving guys up the wall in the process, but always cut short of it being inappropriate.
I left India for pastures new when I was a teenager and so my physical proximity to Pavi aunty was broken when I was 17 years old (she was 37 at that point). She was already MILF ness personified but age had only added an enticing maturity to her sexiness. I had kept in touch with her through electronic means and so had witnessed her maturing into a fine wine of an older woman. I was away from India for a good 7 years, and, at 24 years of age, decided to return to see extended family.
"It would be good to bump into Pavi aunty," I thought to myself.
I had masturbated countless times to her pictures and thinking about her bouncing boobs in my fantasies had never failed to drive me to mind blowing, frenzied,
cum everywhere
climaxes. However, given that she was a relative, I had never dared to do anything about my horniness when I was in her physical presence.
I sat at work and day dreamed about what it would be like to go back to India when my reverie was rudely interrupted by a shout,
"Hey man, stop dreaming and get back to work."
I lifted my head to look up and saw the grinning face of my close friend Adrian looking down at me from over the partition that separated our cubicles.
"Who gives you the authority to tell me to get back to work, you fucker. You're day dreaming half the time yourself," I retorted.
Adrian boomed out a deep belly laugh.
"Very true," he admitted.
Adrian was a very good friend of mine from the company. He was what women would typically refer to as tall, dark and handsome. Half black and half Italian, he had an almost black olive complexion, stood at 6 foot 3 inches and, because he had been an athlete throughout primary and secondary school, possessed a toned and chiselled body with the right muscles in the right places. He also exuded an aura of arrogance coupled with a kind glimmer in his eye and so managed to maintain an alluring hold over women. He had the uncanny ability to bed any woman that he pleased. Indeed, the fact that he had fucked pretty much all the single (and married) women in the office was an open secret among our male co-workers. Internally, I was quite jealous of him because Adrian made me feel inadequate in every which way possible but I still considered him a close friend.
Adrian was going to join me on this trip to India. He had always wanted to see the country but lacked finances for a self-funded trip. I was only too eager to offer that he could stay with me and the extended family. He was, of course, very grateful.
"Right, so we leave in 30 minutes?" he asked me.
I nodded my head in agreement. We had packed our bags and come into the office ready to head to the airport and catch the flight right after work.
The ride to the airport and the check-in formalities were uneventful. Once we got on the airplane, it hit me that I was finally returning to my mother land after a very long hiatus. Adrian, sitting next to me, seemed to share my excitement. He had always wanted to visit India, and now that it was finally happening, he seemed on top of the world. Adrian passed the flight time flirting outrageously with all the air hostesses even managing one or two numbers off of them.
"Lucky bastard," I thought to myself and buried myself in some reading and channel hopping.
After a 14 hour flight, we finally landed in India. Immigration and customs was a breeze and we emerged into the bright summer sunshine and blistering heat.
