Lust for Hindi Teacher

Note:

1) This is my first time writing an erotic story.

2) English is not my first language

*-*-*-*

"Hamza! Are you still sleeping? We're almost at the station," his Ammi called.

Hamza woke with a start, hearing his Ammi's voice. (Ammi means 'Mother' in Urdu.)

"I'm up, Ammi," replied Hamza from the upper berth of the train, as he took off his earphones and climbed down from his seat.

The 24-hour journey from Delhi to Mumbai wasn't eventful. In fact, he slept through most of it, only coming down when his Ammi called him to eat or for tea.

--Outside the Station--

"It's good to be back. Although, things have changed around here," said Abba, as he looked around. (Abba means 'Father' in Urdu.)

Hamza was born into a Muslim family. At 5'9", he was fairly tall. He was a bit thin, but he vowed to be more consistent with his gym workouts. Being 20 years old, though, it was easy to be swayed by worldly desires.

Not to say he was a porn addict, but he masturbated quite frequently. Among all genres, MILF was his favorite. For as long as he could remember, he'd always been attracted to older, mature women. He was infatuated with them.

"Alfaz Bhai! This way!" a voice shouted from the other side of the road, interrupting Hamza's musing.

His Chacha (his father's brother) had come to pick them up from the station. They lived not too far away--about 15-20 minutes in his Chacha's car. His Abba settled into the passenger seat, while Ammi and Hamza took the backseat.

Chacha and Abba were already talking about business and work-related stuff. Feeling slight movement to his right, Hamza turned to see his Ammi resting her head on his shoulder, snuggling up to him.

"Feeling tired from the journey?" Hamza inquired in a caring tone.

"I'm fine, Beta, just a bit sleepy," his Ammi replied. (Beta means 'son,' but can also be an affectionate way to address young people.)

Hamza had always been closer to his Ammi than his Abba, mainly because his Abba was rarely home. At times, Abba wouldn't even return at night, caught up with work.

His Abba and Chacha worked together in the business founded by his Dada. (Dada means 'Grandfather' in Urdu/Hindi.)

His Dada had come to Mumbai filled with determination and high hopes, establishing himself as a relatively successful businessman. A few years later, he handed the business to his two sons.

Hamza was born in Mumbai and had lived there all his life until he completed his 10th standard. His Abba wanted to move to Delhi to expand their business. Hamza had no choice in the matter; at 15, he had to leave all his friends behind.

He completed his higher studies in Delhi, and now they had returned since the business in Delhi was well settled. His Abba might still need to visit Delhi once a month, though.

It didn't take long to reach their destination as their SUV came to a halt.

A strong wave of nostalgia washed over Hamza as he gazed at his old house. It had been five years since he'd been there.

His Chacha's house was right next to theirs, with their rooftops connected. He used to sneak into their house as a kid, and his Dada would scold him for it. His Dada had always lived with Chacha.

Their house was surprisingly clean, though no one had lived there for five years. Apparently, his Chachi (Chacha's wife) had come to clean it that day and even prepared dinner for them.

It was nighttime. Hamza was in his room, lazing around. His parents had already turned in for the night. Left with nothing to do, he found himself thinking about women again. He wasn't a virgin--his first was a senior at his college. Nida, two years older than him, had been 18 when they met.

Nida was attractive, with full breasts and a plump ass. She always wore a salwar kameez and dupatta (an Indian dress), which made her ass stand out even more.

They had given their virginity to each other and had lots of sex throughout the year, until Nida graduated and left college. Their first time was at her friend's place. What began as passionate lovemaking gradually escalated into rough, intense sex.

His cock twitched as he recalled every sinful detail of that night. Slowly, he slid his hand into his trousers, fingers wrapping around his cock, already semi-hard. Closing his eyes, he started stroking himself. A memory came back--how he used to masturbate in this same bed as a younger boy. As he stroked, he recalled the woman he fantasized about most: his Hindi teacher, Anjali.

She was hands down the hottest woman he'd ever seen. From her soft, rosy lips to the captivating shape of her figure, wrapped in a black saree, her pallu shielding her modesty. His favorite part of her body had to be her gravity-defying breasts--the biggest pair he'd ever seen.

He was fully hard now. He wasn't worried about someone walking in; his parents were most likely asleep. Slipping his cock out of his trousers, he began stroking with growing intensity. His cock was above average in size and much thicker. He imagined her tits, her hardened nipples visible through her blouse, her creamy cleavage whenever her pallu slipped as she reached for something, the swell of her juicy ass when she bent over. His thoughts blurred, lost in a rush of arousal.

His movements quickened as his mind was overtaken by lust. With a deep groan, he climaxed, overwhelmed by fantasies of her.

Hamza took a moment to catch his breath and collect himself as the last wave of desire faded away. He pondered whether she was still teaching at his old school. "Perhaps they'll run into each other soon," he thought. With that hope lingering, he drifted off to sleep.