The land Khokhapur, in which this tale; my tale is based in, is a small agricultural hamlet in Haryana, a northern agrarian state in India.
There are about 80-90 families residing here since many centuries now and it suffices to say that our village isn't any different than a typical crude hamlet of peasants and feudal lords. What's different though is our village is known for its hardy men and their proud history of serving in the Indian armed forces.
But it's always a village that bears the cost of a war and as history very well knows, we have had several painful ones and they have taken a toll, a frightful one, for all of us.
Our family is considered fairly rich among the native people of Khokhapur. We have always owned more than ample land in the village, where we have grown wheat and maize in plenty. We live in a large but antiquated spread out bungalow that is made up of five medium sized houses arranged in a large circle, connected to one another by common walls but has separate entrances to each house from the inner circle only. These houses were all made of stone bricks, may be 2 centuries ago, build together inside one large compound wall at-least 20 feet high, to stop meddling lowly peasants from interfering.
We have always been very private about our affairs and our family.
The compound wall is also made out of stone bricks. It has a tall solid black-rusted iron gate as a single entrance to all five houses.
There are also another 10 small houses to accommodate the various servants who have been serving the household since a long time, but they are located towards the distant left side corner area of the property, with a large bamboo forest and a century old well that separates the main compound from theirs.
We have a common terrace joining the circular compound, but the stairs were built only from the main house, so that the patriarch or his man-servants only can utilise the terrace at night to oversee distant lying agri fields on all sides of the house. This was done primarily during the crop cutting season to keep the guards vigilant and alert them to any thief or miscreants from other villages trying to steal or burn the ripe crops. It was like a vantage point. There is a small room on the terrace with a cot or two and ropes and kerosene and other such things for flaming torches to warn the guards.
The porch of the five houses all open inward to an open aired brick layered field where the crops and the grains are stored after winnowing them in the fields. It also serves up as a common tittle-tattle area for the ladies and servants.
During the hot months of summer, sometimes the family would sleep on the cots in the open.
Let me introduce the family before I proceed further.
I, Sangeeta Devi, live with my mother-in-law Kavita Devi, in the second house that was on the left side. I am a widow of an army captain, Anandpal Singh, who was 10 years elder to me when we were married off by our parents. He was an energetic hardy man and a loving husband.
But to my ill-gotten luck, he was martyred 18 years ago when our child, Arjun was only 2 years old and still feeding at my ample breasts.
I am 39 years old and when I wistfully look back at myself now, it doesn't feel that long when I was still a virile busty young woman in love with a darling hunk of a husband and a beautiful angelic son.
Arjun is my only child and also the only able male in our family.
Arjun, 21 years old & my beautiful son has grown up to be a splitting image of his father and to my great delight has also quickly taken up the responsibility of the feudal lordship and also that of the household.
Since Arjun turned 18, he has occupied the central house facing the main gate.
It was vacated by Kavita Devi after the death of the patriarchal head, her husband, late Choudhary Harpal Singh.
My mother-in-law moved in with me after his death, as the central house is ritually occupied by the head of the family, which my darling son has grown up to be.
On Arjun's left side is the house of Amritpal Singh, younger brother of my beloved dead husband, who has been posted in Kashmir where he was involved in a grenade attack on his convoy two years ago. Since then, he has retired to the village as a paralytic cripple, more or less, & spends most of his awake time in the outhouse amongst the servant quarters on his hookah and country made whiskey.
Amrit's wife, my co-sister, Sharmila Devi resides in the house mainly. She's my closest confidante and a cheerful woman in spite of all her troubles. She's 37 years old but unfortunately barren since marriage, which is a big curse in our culture. She loves Arjun like her own son and always manages to pamper him. Since childhood, Arjun would spend more time at her house than ours.
I still don't know who Arjun is closer, between the two of us.
Another reason why I am so proud of my son is because when Amrit came back from the Army and wanted to separate from Sharmila, Arjun insisted to let her stay in our house, although Amrit bhai never wished to see her here.
Barren women are not even the equivalent of lowly maid servants in rural India and I shudder to think of what would have happened to Sharmila's life if Arjun didn't have his way. She is still so young in my eyes. Arjun makes us proud every day.
On the right side of Arjun's central house, resides Ashwini Devi, Arjun's aunt & youngest sister of Anand and Amrit, along with her husband Karanpal. Ashwini Devi is 3 years elder to me but has aged gracefully and is still today a stunning beauty. We don't have a good talking relationship though. She always maintained that I am cursed & still blames my bad luck for Anand's death, Amrit's crippling injury and Sharmila's infertility.
Till this day she won't' talk to me with a straight face, and this used to hurt a lot. I have never had any bad eye on them and always wish good things for everyone including their family. They have a beautiful daughter together, who was recently married to a distant cousin of Sharmila, from a nearby village in Hisar district.
My mother-in-law, Kavita Devi decided that after marriage, they should stay in our house as we had a vacant fifth house, second on the right side. Another reason is as we were short of members in the family, Anand opined that it benefits if we have more trusted hands to help to oversee the many different petty jobs.
So Saina, Ashwini's daughter and her husband Sukhiram have been residing with us since almost a year. Sukhiram mostly oversees the field work and Karanpal manages the accounting stuff, mostly from his work room in their house.
Like all big joint families, we have our share of the skeletons in cupboard and I am privy to a dark secret since many years now and my heart is burdened with the knowledge of it.
How can I forget that hot windless & restless night of June, last year?
...
It was unbearably hot that whole month and even after two cold showers, I wasn't able to sleep. My bedroom window opens towards the inner centre and I had kept it open that night.
From there I have an unrestricted vision of Arjun's house, as any doting mother would like to have. I was continuously tossing and turning on my bed and finally gave up.
It was almost 3 in the night and the whole house was eerily silent. It was a moonlit night and I thought I will sit in the inner facing porch and look at the night sky for a bit to soothe my restless nerves.
Saina & Sukhi had gone to her in-laws village for a month and Ashwini Devi & Karanpal had gone to Rishikesh for a temple visit for a few days and so both the families were not to return back till at-least two weeks.
I went over and sat on the cemented porch for a few minutes. A distant clock was ticking by and as time passed, streams of sweat began to run from my neck and pooled between my generous and deep cleavage and trickled below to wet my saree near my mound. The streams tingled my bare skin as they slivered through and awoke a funny feeling deep inside my stomach. This often happens many a night since my husband's death and now I am pretty much accustomed to live cold like this, without a strong male to roughly fondle my heavy breasts through my loose blouse, to pull up my saree and finger and lick my bare womanhood, to lie below him & feel that warm steel rod of throbbing veiny cock enter deep into my womb and deposit multiple hot burning loads night after living night.
No number of cold showers can bury a lusting woman's fire. The coal embers of cravings have been smothered but not dead as yet. Yet another forsaken night when I have to finger myself to sleep I guess.
There was no wind at all and as I turned back frustrated, to return to my room, my old eyes were alerted towards a flicker of a weak light coming through a tiny gap in the window of Arjun's house. Why was he awake at this hour of the night! Is he also feeling as restless as me, due to the heat? Or is he feeling lonely!
Although he's only 21, he's been doing a man's job for so many years now and probably misses a woman's comfort. I simpered at the thought of a lusty wife being ridden hard by Arjun, as did his father with me for hours together and rebuked myself, almost immediately. He's too young for my wanton imaginations.
How wrong was I?
I went to the door and tried to push it gently. The door was locked from inside. It was quite odd to find the door locked, as doors of all four houses, other than the main house, generally remained open from the inner side. None of the four houses have doors opening to the outer compound, other than through a single door between the 5 of us opposite to Arjun's house. I went through the door and came over to the outer side wall and peeped in through the small glass window of the bedroom of the main house.
Although the window curtains were drawn and the glass hazed with damp fog, after straining my eyes, I could see a candle burning at the far corner & the room was dim lit and a bit hazy. Two lithe figures were joint at the hips & heaving on the bed. My eyes quickly went wide at the sight.
Inside the hazy room, I watched Arjun half-knelt behind Sharmila, both stark naked. Their bodies glistened in the hazy candle light that waved around in the mist of damp sweaty fog. Sharmila was facing towards me, her hair loose around her neck and her pendulous breasts hanging low & swaying violently near her forearms.
Her titties looked so full and heavy that they lugged half a second slower than the rest of her violently well-fucked body. Her dark brown nipples were grazing the bed-sheet, although she was half kneeling half crouching under my son like a bitch in heat.
As I watched him move like a hydraulic piston pump, my eyes fell on her face. She was glowing with radiance in the dim-lit room and her sharp jaw was drooling with saliva oozing out the corner of her gaping mouth. Her pupils were almost rolled back into her eyelids and I feared she would die with the ecstasy caused by his demonic thrusts.
My son was kneeling on one knee and the other leg, half bent on the bed as he pumped like a never-ending lorry into her wide behind. His facial expressions were gnarled and his body was like that of an athlete after he's run a full marathon. Arjun's chest muscles were rippling with raw energy and his abs we're shining with sweat as he gradually fastened his pace, while in his large hands he bunched Sharmila's hair and jerked her dainty little head towards him like that of a horse being ridden to its death.
Arjun was always a big boy as he grew up but he was always gentle and soft spoken & I had never imagined him to be such a rough lover. Sharmila always used to naughtily comment that Arjun would need more than one woman to satisfy his urges, but I always brushed them off as silly banter between village hags.
Little did I know!
The sounds of Arjun's soft grunts, Sharmila's more animalistic ones, and the loud primal slapping of skin on warm skin filled the large, dark bedroom. He kept riding her for a long time.
"Ufffff Mamma (Hindi for mother) ... I am cumming in your womb..." said Arjun as he shut his eyes tight.
He came and came inside this strange woman under him, whom I thought I knew so well.
