She was absolutely stunning.........
Standing at the threshold of Dr. Grant Harris's door was Sheela, the Harris family's first international student boarder. She was Indian, her dark skin gleaming, almost luminescent. While trying to remain on her almond-shaped, vixen eyes, Grant tried to peripherally take in the rest of her body -- so heart-stoppingly perfect, with huge 40-DD's, supported by a lacy, burgundy bra that JUST covered her mesmerizing dome-shaped aerolae/nipples, all encased under a white cut-off t-shirt that was so threadbare that Grant -- later on, upon further furtive viewings of her lethal temptress body -- found himself transfixed by trying to ascertain the darkness of her voluminous, jiggling tit-flesh under the fabric.
The way she stood up on the balls of her feet and hooked her thumbs into the straps of her huge backpack (while thrusting her volleyballs out at him) made for the most distracting hello he had ever received. He didn't respond right away, and immediately fought back feelings in his loins that he hadn't felt in some time.
In a voice so soft and so high, through upturned lips so tempting and glossy and stuffable, Sheela's words seeped right through him, it seemed to him, rather than registering through his ears. Such a melodious, delightful cascade of patter came from her lips that in no time she had him hanging on her every word....a voice almost excessive in its daintiness, and to Grant -- and to every man she came across -- it was the most addictive phone sex operator's voice imaginable.
As he dazedly allowed her to walk right in -- her back still to him -- he hungrily took in her petite frame: the high-riding ass characteristic of Indian women, curving upwards to the deep, deep swoop of her short back, a swoop that was so ridiculously pronounced in profile by the opposing jutting of breasts, so mammoth, on so wasp-like a frame. Sheela's slim, toned legs shimmered in the light, as sandal thongs criss-crossed up her calf. She tugged up the belt loops of her jeans cut-offs and turned around to catch Grant lost in her hotness. With that knowing look in those lidded, cat eyes, Sheela let Grant's desire feed upon itself.
As this was going on, Grant's wife Debbie looked on, from the kitchen entrance. She incredulously watched what looked like a scantily-clad escort with a back-pack rendering her husband into a babbling, uncomprehending fool at the doorway, and then slowly removing her backpack for his viewing pleasure, the straps that had framed the sides of her enormous hooters now slooowly coming off sensuously slinky shouders. Light reflected off her very long, clear-polished finger nails.
Debbie almost intervened when Sheela walked right in, past Grant, without waiting for the invite. She had the most gracefully serpentine walk -- even Debbie couldn't deny it -- and seeing her husband staring dumbly at Sheela made Debbie feel a combination of repulsion and craven curiosty, and elected to remain at the recessed nook of the kitchen entrance, to see what Sheela might do next.
Sheela's sly smile vanished as soon as her face was turned away from Grant. Surveying the front area, her darting eyes took stock of everything, and when she saw Debbie standing awkwardly at the kitchen entrance, Sheela froze for an instant that was so quick that the only thing Debbie could recall was the return of that wickedly lascivious smile and square gaze of bed-room eyes seizing its prey, in the form of Debbie, but only momentarily, hoping not to bring her to the attention of Grant, who was feasting his eyes on the most voluptuous morsel of sexiness he had even seen, Sheela's back once again to him to let him look and lust freely some more.
Reveling, now, in the show she was putting on for Debbie, too, the Indian cockteaser took her time running her hands luxuriously through straight hair that reached down to the top of her tits, and fanned out beautifully around her. The bang cut helped emphasize the allure of her penetrating cat eyes. Tilting her head to the side to rake those conspicuously long fingernails through her hair, Sheela stole another look at Debbie, and then looked askance -- back at the increasingly enraptured man behind her -- and then back to Debbie again, playfully cocking an eyebrow.
Whirling around to Grant a second time, her hair an inviting black swirl of sexual refuge, with enough spring in her step to make those gigantic, firmer-than-shit jugs jiggle, she asked, in that cock-stiffeningly light, delicate voice, followed by a wink, "Aren't you going to introduce me to your wife?"
Finally some words that snapped him back into a reality that he found, at first, embarrassing (that "BUS-ted" feeling), and then -- to his own bewilderment -- a sexual frustration verging on blood-boiling fury, which fortunately gave way to relief that the rumblings of an impending erection were, for the time being, effectively quashed. Debbie was also embarrassed at being "discovered", and then angry with herself for not stepping in sooner -- when she still had some pissed-off ammo -- for defusing a situation that instead made her look like a peeping tom.
Playing at the ends of her hair and reciprocating Debbie's less-than-welcoming expression, Sheela gave her a curt "hi", but as Debbie reluctantly approached, the icy resolve of Grant's wife of twenty years soon melted in Sheila's delectable, irresistible, sensually magnetic proximity, reinforced by the arousing perfume -- Addict -- that the Harris family was soon to be subjected. One of the most insidiously powerful forces known to man, this particular brand of perfume on this particular woman created an effluvium that was soon unshakable, so erotically stimulating, that soon the household was under siege by an unleashed torrent of pheromones that made the blood race, the loins blaze, and thoughts muddle.
Shaking hands, Sheela gently clasped both hands around Debbie's right, and kept her hands around Debbie's as she withdrew from Sheela's hand sandwich -- a lingering, fingers-slipping-away-from-fingers contact that made Debbie subconsciously think that her hand just got softly, smoothly, fucked, the resulting horniness the only thing Debbie being acutely aware of. Sheela's two-handed clasp also allowed her arms to come together in a "v", making her biceps squeeze her already pert melons even further upwards and towards Debbie, who of course fell for the visual trap and then looked back up at Sheela's unabashedly leering gaze. Grant astonished himself once again with his involuntary, heated reactions to Sheela's subtle, yet distinct, machinations -- this time stewing over Sheela shaking Debbie's hand, but not his.
By now the sweet, seductive shroud of Sheela's aroma was starting to make its stronger impact on Grant, his testicles playfully dancing up and down to the sheer joy they received from his olfactory senses. He had to be careful that Sheela didn't trick him into nut-dancing his way to a full-blown erection, especially with the complete lack of constraint provided by the bathrobe he was wearing.
They went on an awkward tour of the house. Grant found himself hankering to linger behind the two, simply to view the lazy pendulum shift of Sheela's ass moving one way, then the other, back the other way, then back the other, as her dark, slim legs moved like a pair of sexy scissors. Picking up on this, Sheela made a show of hiking up her cut-off shorts every ten seconds or so -- those long sexy talons hooking into the belt loops -- insuring that Grant's attention was on one thing, and one thing only. At one point she even playfully looked back at Grant, prompting Debbie to do the same, albeit less playfully.
"Ah yes! My playground!" exclaimed Sheela when they came to her bedroom. They watched as she walked up to her window, placed both hands on opposite panes, and surveyed the typical surburban neighbourhood before her. A cyclist riding by saw Sheela in the window, who managed to give him a cheery wave hello with just enough enthusiasm to make her big tits shake, in turn distracting the cyclist just enough so that the tip of his handlebars bumped into the corner of a parked flatbed truck, sending the poor fool onto the pavement hard, his face now a raw, bleeding map of road burn.
Sheela's o-mouthed whoop of shock was a sight Grant will never forget: the hot little Indian, a hand over her glossy-lipped, open mouth; going up on her toes; her butt protuding ripely one way, those glorious, hypnotically huge breasts the other; the way she turned to the side solely to show off the most amazing feminine profile Grant and Debbie Harris were to ever see in their entire lives. Whether they liked it or not, it was a "polaroid moment", if you will, that they weren't likely to forget too soon. Especially the look in Sheela's eyes. Shock, disdain, and concern, it seemed, were not looks that came to mind.
