22-03-2019, 02:53 PM
"What the hell?" I said, annoyed. But I was enjoying the fucking too much to stop. I did however pull my sweater down to hide my swinging tits from the old man.
The boy looked at his grandfather, clicked his tongue and said in an irritated tone while continuing to fuck me.
"Daddu!"
Like me, he too was too engrossed in the sex to stop. As the fucking continued, all sorts of thoughts ran through my head. The shameful shock as well as forbidden pleasure of having sex while someone watched. A worry that the old man might want to fuck me next. A bigger worry that I might actually want the old man to fuck me next.
"MMMHHHHHHHHHH"
This time it was the boy. His thighs slapped against mine faster as he started shooting his cum inside me again. I looked at the old man who was just watching everything with a flat expression on his face. And for some reason that did it. I started cumming too, this time not from my fingering, but from the increased pace of the dick inside me combined with the kinky delight at being watched.
We both were groaning and yelling in orgasmic pleasure as the old man watched, for about 20 seconds. And then the dick finally got done shooting its jizz inside me. The boy, making a habit of it now, collapsed on top of me again. His wet dick rubbed against my ass as I took the weight of his slight frame on my back. And we both just lay there for a minute or so, breathing heavily.
The boy rolled off me and started putting his clothes on.
"Daddu!! Go back to the dhaba! The truck will be here any minute!"
Daddu cast one long look at my naked ass and then shuffled away.
"Truck?" I asked, getting off the cot myself.
"Yes, your ride."
"My ride is a truck? What the fuck?" I said the last line in English unable to resist the rhyme.
"What?"
"You said it was a taxi." I said, taking my boots off so I could put my jeans back on.
"No!" he said, buttoning his pants. "I never said taxi. You asked me if you could get a taxi somewhere because you had to get to Meerut by noon urgently. And I said I could get you a ride to Meerut. I never said it would be a taxi. It's a truck that always comes by around this time of the week. Like clockwork. I know the guys. They will take you to Meerut."
I snorted and laughed, slipping my panties on.
"You sneaky motherfucker!" I said.
Ten minutes later, we were walking back to his dhaba, fully clothed. I didn't fancy that bicycle ride again. We didn't really talk much. It was that familiar awkward silence that follows when you are fully clothed with a stranger you've just had sex with. Or so I imagine. I had never done it before.
Sure enough, there was a truck at the dhaba. A truck that had clearly seen better days, probably back when Nehru was running the country. There was a nondescript balding guy checking the tires. He looked at me as I walked to my old table 50 feet away from him and sat down. He kept sneaking glances at me, and I got the feeling he was smiling.
The old man was blowing life back into the wooden fire they cooked on. I sat and checked my phone in vain for any sign of a network. I sat there waiting for the boy to arrange things with the truck guys.
Going all the way to Meerut in this rusty old heap didn't seem like good news for my bones. But at least I could get a ride to the next major town. There I could get a taxi, report my accident to the security officer and call my insurance company about where my car was.
The boy walked out from behind the truck talking to a big swarthy bearded guy in a loose Pathani pyjama kurta that screamed truck driver. They were talking in low voices about something. The big bearlike guy looked at me for a few seconds expressionlessly and looked away.
The boy looked at his grandfather, clicked his tongue and said in an irritated tone while continuing to fuck me.
"Daddu!"
Like me, he too was too engrossed in the sex to stop. As the fucking continued, all sorts of thoughts ran through my head. The shameful shock as well as forbidden pleasure of having sex while someone watched. A worry that the old man might want to fuck me next. A bigger worry that I might actually want the old man to fuck me next.
"MMMHHHHHHHHHH"
This time it was the boy. His thighs slapped against mine faster as he started shooting his cum inside me again. I looked at the old man who was just watching everything with a flat expression on his face. And for some reason that did it. I started cumming too, this time not from my fingering, but from the increased pace of the dick inside me combined with the kinky delight at being watched.
We both were groaning and yelling in orgasmic pleasure as the old man watched, for about 20 seconds. And then the dick finally got done shooting its jizz inside me. The boy, making a habit of it now, collapsed on top of me again. His wet dick rubbed against my ass as I took the weight of his slight frame on my back. And we both just lay there for a minute or so, breathing heavily.
The boy rolled off me and started putting his clothes on.
"Daddu!! Go back to the dhaba! The truck will be here any minute!"
Daddu cast one long look at my naked ass and then shuffled away.
"Truck?" I asked, getting off the cot myself.
"Yes, your ride."
"My ride is a truck? What the fuck?" I said the last line in English unable to resist the rhyme.
"What?"
"You said it was a taxi." I said, taking my boots off so I could put my jeans back on.
"No!" he said, buttoning his pants. "I never said taxi. You asked me if you could get a taxi somewhere because you had to get to Meerut by noon urgently. And I said I could get you a ride to Meerut. I never said it would be a taxi. It's a truck that always comes by around this time of the week. Like clockwork. I know the guys. They will take you to Meerut."
I snorted and laughed, slipping my panties on.
"You sneaky motherfucker!" I said.
Ten minutes later, we were walking back to his dhaba, fully clothed. I didn't fancy that bicycle ride again. We didn't really talk much. It was that familiar awkward silence that follows when you are fully clothed with a stranger you've just had sex with. Or so I imagine. I had never done it before.
Sure enough, there was a truck at the dhaba. A truck that had clearly seen better days, probably back when Nehru was running the country. There was a nondescript balding guy checking the tires. He looked at me as I walked to my old table 50 feet away from him and sat down. He kept sneaking glances at me, and I got the feeling he was smiling.
The old man was blowing life back into the wooden fire they cooked on. I sat and checked my phone in vain for any sign of a network. I sat there waiting for the boy to arrange things with the truck guys.
Going all the way to Meerut in this rusty old heap didn't seem like good news for my bones. But at least I could get a ride to the next major town. There I could get a taxi, report my accident to the security officer and call my insurance company about where my car was.
The boy walked out from behind the truck talking to a big swarthy bearded guy in a loose Pathani pyjama kurta that screamed truck driver. They were talking in low voices about something. The big bearlike guy looked at me for a few seconds expressionlessly and looked away.
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