This can be read and enjoyed as a stand-alone story, but deeper character depth and the effects of the plots, rivalries, twists and turns of the Subcontinent Railway Sex Club will be found by reading the Indian Sex Club Story series.
"I've been thinking."
Just three words, but three words that when spoken by a woman put the fear of God into any male. I mumbled some innocuous reply to the speaker, Saanvi. She was the 42-year-old president of my Indian sex club, hoping that she would move on to another topic. I had originally thought she was 52, not 42, but that was due to me mishearing her musical, sing-song Indian-accented English. She took my noncommittal murmurings as interest on my part and continued, "It's Vanya." (See Chp. 3 for the background).
Ah, Vanya was the 18-year-old, strictly brought-up student attending an exclusive all-girl Catholic college, Sacre Couer, in Melbourne. A school that absolutely allowed no riffraff among its strictly handpicked students. If I had been a girl, they certainly would have rejected me. She was round-faced, quite short with a small boobed thin upper body and was big arsed and strong thighed. I doubt if four months ago she had even known of the sex available on the internet to be viewed or discussed, but now she was addicted in real life and insatiable. (See Chp. 9).
"Mmmmm." I was trying to give Saanvi nothing.
"Yes, I think she has her eyes on you." Probably she had arrived at that conclusion because, without her knowledge, I had been secretly encouraging it, even considering the thought that Vanya could replace my still secret, hidden away, preferred sex queen of the club, the Anglo Indian, Ruth. (See Chp. 4).
"Whaaat?"
"I am sure, plus I don't like the little bitch. She thinks she is better than me because she goes to some private secondary school here, and I stopped school after primary. But even worse she thinks she is the horniest Indian in the club." Her voice rose in volume and pitch as she continued, "I want to make her my slave, my fuck bitch, my fuck toy, my own cunt eating whore, while you watch it."
We had just finished fucking when she said those 3 words, "I've been thinking," and now a minute later I had a new erection as big as any I had had in the last year. "Yes, I see you want to see me do that," she said her eyes locked on my hard-on.
"But how?' I stammered.
As she explained her plan and my part in it, I got even harder until I couldn't take it any longer. I rolled her into doggystyle and hammered my cock into her waiting pussy. Saanvi, as I said, was 42, She was a short-haired, pinched-faced, 5 ft 2 but long-legged, thin-bodied 32A 26 32, 110-pound widow from Jagdalpur. The first time I had met her she was cold and distant and I had thought she was 52. Although she had changed, and quite liked sex, she was nothing like the Anglo-Indian Ruth or the younger Vanya who were constantly horny and would do anything in or out of bed. She was the current number 1 of the club strictly because of my long-term plans and political manipulations.
She thrust back and came quickly and loudly. A surprise as normally she was quite docile in bed. I had enough sense to find out more, so I somehow slowed down to steadily fuck her from behind, as I played for time. It was my club: I was the composer here. I was the scriptwriter, not her. I navigated the ship that was the Indian sex club I had created. I explored her cunt and started talking, giving myself time to plan. By the time I had exploded in her, I had calmed her down. Now to investigate further.
By luck, that Saturday I was in my office. I looked across my desk at the two 18-year-olds who were on work experience. Vanya was, as I said, dark-skinned and well on her way to, in another 15 years' time, when in her thirties, becoming one of those big-bellied Indian aunties that young Indian males masturbate about. Not that that is a bad thing. Think Velemma, the South Indian plus-sized comic strip Aunty. But there was no doubting her love for both my cock and for sexfighting. Just as there was no doubting her accounting skills. Vanya was aiming for above 97 in her ATAR score.
Ha Nguyen was Vietnamese, 18 years old, 5 foot 4, 33B 24 32, 95 pounds, fine-boned with a small featured, very attractive face with her black, yellow streaked hair pulled up only to fall back down from the small bun on top of her head. It was like the design of the bun couldn't accommodate the volume of hair she had, but somehow it worked. She was dressed in a clinging black boob tube and fluorescent pink, low-hipped, skintight, Lycra training leggings and 4-inch platform heels. Her boob tube revealed in fine detail the fact she had normal-sized nipples but her areolae were swollen into very prominent puffy nipples.
She lived in government housing with her mother and sisters, but a scholarship she had won ensured she attended Merton Hall, Melbourne's most exclusive and expensive private girl's school. She was aiming for a perfect ATAR of 100 in the final Accounting statewide exam.
I had first encountered her as she warmed up for a preliminary event for the Vietnamese Best Body Competition and secured her in a contract with me as her manager. It was her first competition and on stage she was nervous. In the actual competition, she stumbled more than strutted to the front of the stage and stopped several feet before the optimum stage position. She swung her hips to the left and the right several times, then with nervous hands pulled the top half of her shocking pink, short, skin-tight, almost sprayed-on boob tube down over her lemon-sized tits. Led by me, the crowd applauded and cheered, and this gave her a little more confidence. She grabbed hold of the pole and tossed up her heels a few times. Then with her back to the audience, she slowly slid the miniskirt down, while keeping her legs straight. Her tight little arse was covered only by the mandatory G-string, and the crowd loved it. She turned around, shook her boobs at the audience and removed the minute strip of silk that hung from the bikini strings and rested between her legs.
Again, the crowd applauded and then she went wild in her first competition against some of Melbourne's best and most experienced Vietnamese women. She walked and gyrated the length of the stage, twisting and turning as she moved to display her shaved thick-lipped slit and her huge puffy nipples. Several times, she squatted, spread her legs and allowed the audience a full view between her legs so they could see her sex gaping open: her clit rings moist from her juices caused by the excitement of men and women staring at her sex. (See Chp. 8).
