The Presentation

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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. THIS WORK CONTAINS ADULT MATERIAL, INCLUDING EXPLICIT SEXUALITY. IF SUCH MATERIAL OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READ FURTHER.

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Ashwini really is a very attractive woman, with her bright, wide laugh, her slightly irregular, but very white teeth, her lovely fair skin and her plump and generous body. I'm entranced by her simple

mangalsutra

, disappearing under the collar of her tight blouse. I love the smoothness of her back and the way her spine dips sexily inwards, so much like Sunita's and Leela's. Ashwini's breasts are wonderful -- large and ripe and heavy and succulent.

We are at her house one warm weekday afternoon. Her husband is at work. We have several hours to ourselves. How we managed to get here is not important; probably something to do with her asking my advice on a new project. We're in the same field, she and I and only marginally competitors. We still help each other out informally. There are fringe benefits to this, for both of us.

The work is the last thing on either of our minds. This is not the first time we've done this, but somehow, we still go through the motions. I guess we're both a little awkward about doing what we really want, though, god knows we've got straight to it often enough in the past.

Now she sits by me as I walk through my notes and suggestions. I have all this on a CD, of course, and we're at her home PC terminal. I tell her to go through the presentation for herself and get up to stand behind her.

I guide her through the screens. Occasionally, I have to lean over her shoulder to tap a key on keyboard; and when I do, my arm is over her shoulder and my face is very close to hers. The first couple of times this happens she shifts away slightly. The third time she does not. On the next, she moves closer ... and I don't miss it. I hesitate, my fingers over the keyboard, arm stretched, bent over the back of the chair, my face close to hers. She looks at me, her face inches from mine, her lips slightly parted, and her breath is warm and sweet on my face.

Neither of us can resist longer. Her lips part; her gentle brown eyes are lit by a hungry fire. The minute draws itself out into an eternity; and then our lips meet, and her open mouth is soft and moist under mine and her tongue flips gently between my lips.

As we are, my head is suspended over hers. I lower my hand from the keyboard, move the other up and cup her face and neck and slowly move my hands down under the

pallu

of her

sari

and over her breasts. Her body arches in the chair. I cup and squeeze her breasts. The hunger grows in her kiss. I realize she isn't wearing a bra: I can feel the sharp stubs of her nipples through the fine material of her blouse. I slip her

pallu

off her shoulder and flick open two buttons of her blouse.

Her cleavage is deep and enticing, and I explore its soft depths with my fingertips. She shudders under me, and I squeeze her tits hard in rising excitement. I want to fuck her tits, her mouth, her cunt, her ass.

Minutes later, in her bedroom, Ashwini is sucking my cock. Taking off her

sari

and petticoat, still wearing only her blouse with several buttons open, her long

mangalsutra

outside it now, she kneels before me. My shirt is unbuttoned and hangs loose. My trousers are puddled at my feet. I keep myself fit and lean with regular workouts and solid exercise and the results show. She loves the toughness of my body. She moans, caressing her face with my cock, jerking it lovingly in her fist. By now we have abandoned all pretence of chastity. We surrender to our desire, prisoners of our lust.

"C'mon ... suck my cock, slut," I growl.

I know she gets turned on by rough language and hard handling. Once, after we had spent a long afternoon fucking like demons -- I was especially demanding and brutal that day -- we lay together, snuggling close despite the torpor, our bodies glistening with sex sweat, her breasts hot and heavy against my chest, her fingers curled loosely around my still thick penis. She confessed she prefers being fucked by rough, hard men, who use her for their pleasure. It sates her more than the genteel lovemaking of her husband. Poor sodding cuckold; if only he knew how many men regularly fucked his wife.

Though she's discrete in her affairs, they are plentiful and she has no hesitation in fucking even her male servants. I haven't failed to notice that they're exceptionally well-built and good-looking. In bed, they treat her like the neighbourhood whore, but otherwise with infinite deference and respect. It's curious, this mixture of wanton sluttiness and middle-class respectability but, I suspect, not uncommon.

I grunt softly, looking down. She's sucking my cock hard now. She really does it very well. My cock fills her face, making her cheeks distend. She pumps my rod in her fist and her head rocks back and forth between my thighs. I think it looks very sexy. It feels wonderful, too: her mouth is warm and moist and her tongue has an electric cunning that stokes the fires in my balls.

"Mm ... yeh ... c'mon ... suck it, bitch," I grunt softly as her tongue coils languorously around my bulging cock-head, her teeth scraping delicately along my thick shaft. "That's good ... yeh ... keep sucking, whore ... mm ... yeh ... oh fuck yes ... suck harder! C'mon ... yes! That's it! Ohhhh uhhh yes!"

Faster and faster she pumps my cock, her head rocking back and forth, her face distended with the size of my bloated penis. Groaning thickly, she rises and caresses her pretty face with my penis, her eyes half-closed, her mouth open. She pushes my cock down into her cleavage and squeezes her wonderful breasts in a tight, warm, soft sheath over my throbbing erection; her lips are hot on the base of my hard belly. I groan loudly. It feels wonderful. Her hard

mangalsutra

rasps over my inflamed shaft and I can feel the rigid points of her nipples pressed to my cock. Slowly, she unbuttons her blouse and lifts and squeezes her breasts, dips her head and sucks my cock again. I grin to myself, watching her suck me off, fondling her breasts wantonly. The fires grow and spread in my loins. I want to fuck her now.

We move to the bed, and she lies down on her back, her legs spread wide open, her cunt-lips unfurled for my delectation. I know she enjoys having her slit licked, and, for myself, I love tongue-fucking a juicy, wet cunt. I bury my head in her crotch. Ashwini gasps and arches, biting her lower lip, her hands flying to her breasts. Her cunt-juices are already streaming, and their heady taste and musky odour make my head swim. I lap at them, flip her stiff clitoris back and forth under my tongue, whip it gently to and fro. She gasps and moans, her hips writhing under my face, her body jerked back and forth, her breasts jiggling. Her

mangalsutra

lies askew, looped around one gorged, succulent mound. She twists the chain in her fingers and rasps the hard metal over her quivering nipple, gasping thickly. I draw her hard clitoris between my lips and nibble it tenderly. She cries out sharply.

"OHHHHHHH uhhh yes! OH god yes! Do it, Anand ... yes Oh ma uhhhhh ahhhh uhhh yes! OHHHH uhhh yes!"

I continue tongue-fucking her mercilessly and her cries get sharper and louder now, and her fingers are twined in my hair, moving my head around between her thighs. Her hips buck and lurch under my face. I sense the imminence of her orgasm and pause in the nick of time.

Rising, I move up over her body, between her thighs. She is panting and moaning wantonly and she fondles my penis, pulling it down to her crotch.

"Fuck me," she groans. "C'mon Anand ... fuck me!"

I kiss her, thrusting my tongue deep into her mouth, squeezing her breasts in my hands. My cock-head is at her cunt-lips. Slowly, I flex my taut, firm buttocks and ease my hips forward. My huge, hot, throbbing erection squeezes into her tight, wet, soft cunt. I grunt thickly as her cunt convulses on my penis. She gasps and, biting her lower lip, arches steeply under me, her mouth wide open.

"OHHHHHHHH uhhhh yes!" she cries. "Oh god yes!"

I shove my cock deeper into her cunt, and yet deeper, going in and in till I have buried myself to the hilt in her body. Her hips buck up at mine, her loins pressed taut to my crotch. I lift my body on outstretched arms, my hands on her swollen breasts, crushing them under my weight, and begin fucking her slowly and heavily and deeply. I unflex my buttocks, slide my cock out of her, making her gasp; I pause briefly; then, flexing my buttocks, I swing my hips forward and drive my cock into her cunt again. Ashwini's fleshy body arches and bows under mine, her hips rising and falling in an erotic cadence that matches my tempo perfectly. Spasms of pleasure cross her pretty face and her cries are loud and erotically lewd.

"Ohhhh uhhh ohhh uhh yes! Oh ma uhhh yes!" she cries. "Yes! Fuck me! Fuck me, Anand! Fuck me!"

I keep stroking in and out of the older woman's cunt with a deep, skewering, grinding action, pushing and squeezing my cock as deep into her cunt as I can, savouring its delightful heat and wetness and convulsions. Her hips buck and rock in unison with mine. The heat flares in my loins and I slip my hands off her breasts. She groans, squeezing her breasts herself, kneading them in mounting excitement. I begin moving faster and faster, pumping my hips vigourously up and down, plunging greedily in and out of her body.

"Take it! Oh uhhhh yes ... c'mon, Ashwini ... take it ... take my cock, whore ... take it!" I gasp.

Faster and faster I go and her body jerks and snaps under my thrusts, her breasts jiggling, her head whipping from side to side, her long

mangalsutra

dancing on her creamy skin. She begins to orgasm and I arch my head and gasp in joy as her cunt convulses frantically on my penis. I growl in satisfaction and ram my cock hard and deep into her cunt, again and again, slamming it in, drawing out, reaming in.

"OH! OHHHHH uhh OHHHH uhh OHHHH!" she cries. "Oh ma! Oh ma uhhh OHHHH!"

"C'mon ... take my cock!" I grunt.

I shift gears smoothly, moving from deep, snapping thrusts to an undulating motion so that my cock squeezes in and up and out and in and up and out in one seamless action. Ashwini moans and gasps, trying to match my rhythm. Her lovely face is suffused with lust, her eyes half-closed, her mouth half-open, her head turned to one side. Her body jerks and rocks with my thrusts, her breasts jiggling, her

mangalsutra

slithering between her swollen breasts which she cups and kneads in both hands.

I move faster and faster and her cries rise in pitch and volume. Her orgasm nears and grows and grows and then hits her like a thunderclap. She cries out hotly, arching under me, her cunt convulsing frantically on my penis. I keep moving rhythmically in and out of her flesh. Her orgasm peaks and begins to wane and I move faster, taking her for myself now. Faster and faster and harder and deeper and deeper, now rocking and reaming wildly in and out of her cunt till my own orgasm hits.

With a shuddering groan, I pull out of her cunt and scooting up her body, shove my cock between her tits. She cranes her head and sucks my cock-head. I explode, moaning in relief as the heat surges from my loins and spurts in hot, thick, creamy jets into her open mouth and spatters her face and neck and breasts, puddles in her deep cleavage.

~~~~~ E N D ~~~~~

Comments are, of course, welcome: mixoscopist@cnbindia.com; mixoscopist@gmail.com

This story is copyright Mix O'Scopist, 2001-2005. Please do not republish, repost, transmit or distribute without permission (which will be readily granted, without fee, but only on condition that the authorship is acknowledged and credit lines and copyright notices, including this one, are retained intact).

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Glossary:

mangalsutra

: typical necklace, usually of black beads, or black and gold beads, with or without a pendant, worn by married Hindu women. Along with the vermilion mark on the forehead or in the parting of the hair, signifies marital status. A

mangalsutra

sometimes has a pendant of diamond or gold. The pendant design varies, but most commonly is a pair of small twin inverted cups.

sari

: traditional Indian garment for women. Six yards of cloth wrapped around the waist, tucked into a petticoat and the trailing edge carried over the shoulder to form the upper body part of the garment.

pallu

: the trailing edge of the

sari

.