15-06-2019, 06:40 PM
His hips were high and lean. His torso was hairless and smooth, which she found sexy. His arms and legs were thick with muscle. She knew that he worked out regularly and the results were impressive.
Anuja, too, harboured erotic fantasies about him and that they were cousins and the knowledge that their relationship could not be seen to anything but a purely platonic one of siblings only made her sexual dreams more piquant.
In his swimming trunks, she had often let her eyes linger on the thick bulge in his crotch and tried to visualise his cock, its length and thickness. She imagined it would be an imposing organ; she longed for it.
When her parents said they planned to visit his in Aurangabad while he was in Bombay on a short holiday after finishing his final exams, Anuja wondered if she would be able to entice him to fuck her.
The stars seemed to be favourable. She had no way of knowing that he, too, was aching for just such an opportunity. Ignorant of her sexual history, he hesitated; a scandal in the family was the last thing he wanted.
Anuja sat on the slatted wooden bench and bent over to open her sports bag. She was wearing a fine white T-shirt with a collar and three buttons and a handsome, short, white pleated skirt.
Her long hair was braided and coiled double, held with a thick Turkish towel hair-ring. She wore wristbands, thick socks and expensive tennis shoes.
She had not buttoned her T-shirt. Her legs were bare high up her thighs and Jayant noted that they were firm and trim and supple.
As she bent over, the lapels of her T-shirt swung low and he saw the luscious swell of her breasts, her long gold necklace glistening on her dusky skin, nestling in her deep and inviting cleavage.
She wore a pretty brassiere, cut fine and thin, that seemed to only just cover her nipples. He ogled her unabashedly, enjoying the sight.
He noticed a sexy little dark beauty spot on the inside of her left breast.
Anuja knew that he was watching her and, for a minute, thrilled with excitement. Perhaps, after all, things would work out for them. She dawdled, rummaging pointlessly in her bag.
Finally, she straightened, pulling out her zip-up full-sleeved sweat-shirt. The T-shirt was damp with sweat and he could clearly see the sharp stubs of her nipples and the dark shadows of her aureoles.
She slipped into the sweat-shirt and he watched her breasts move. Zipping it up to just below her breasts, she rose and collected a towel from the rack. He took one too, and they rubbed themselves dry.
Jayant retrieved his sweat-shirt and zipped it up. Discarding their towels in a plastic bin, they hoisted their kit bags on their shoulders and walked off the tennis courts together.
At the club-house, they sat chatting on the lawn and sipped tall, icy cold fresh lime sodas. When they had finished, they strolled out and walked the short distance down the road to her house.
She opened the door of the flat with her latch key and they dumped their kit bags in their rooms. He came into hers a few minutes later. She selected a tape and slotted it into her expensive stereo.
Bright pop music pulsed through the high-fidelity speakers mounted at the corners of the room.
Anuja's room was bright and spacious. It opened off the corridor just inside the entrance foyer. This was an advantage to her, because it enabled her to slip in and out of the house without alerting anyone.
She had often returned late from an assignation with one or other of her several lovers when her parents were asleep and shamelessly lied about the lateness of her return the next morning.
At other times, while they slumbered, she slipped out to fuck one of the servants on the landing or up the two flights of stairs that led to the terrace, where there was a convenient little room that housed the water pump and building maintenance gear.
In the three-bedroom apartment, this was easily the best suited to Anuja's peculiar needs.
Just inside the bedroom door, ranged along the left wall was a deep walk-in closet. To the right of the door stood her desk, with an anglepoise lamp, a bulletin board and shelves for books and files.
On the other side of the desk was a handsome rocking chair with a matching footstool and a floor lamp with a pretty shade.
A brightly patterned rug was arranged in the center of the floor, and another, smaller one at the foot of the rocking chair.
Another armchair stood opposite, across a small wicker stool and a low glass-topped coffee table.
Opposite the door, just where the walk-in closet ended was a full-length mirror with a dressing table beneath it.
Beside it was a bed that served as a couch during the day with plump bolsters along its back and low, smart shelves with books and magazines above it.
A large window swept along the wall above the bed to the opposite wall where a door opened to the attached bathroom.
A fan whirred overhead and the lighting was soft and gentle. The bedspread was bright and cheerful as was the upholstery on the armchair.
The desk was neat and clean. There were colourful posters on the wall above the seating arrangement and on two of the louvered closet doors.
The bulletin board above the desk was a jumble of photographs, notes, memos, postcards.
Jayant loved the room. It had a soft feminine touch with the fluffy stuffed toys on the shelf above the bed, the sleek music system on the rack above the desk, the colourful magazines and pictures.
As Anuja turned from the stereo, he sat down in the rocking chair and, kicking off his shoes and tugging off his socks, perched his feet on the footstool.
Anuja grinned at him, lowered the volume slightly so they could converse, and perched on the low wicker stool by the coffee table. She, too, was now barefoot.
She sat casually, her legs spread, one foot crossed over the other. It was an unusual position for a woman, but Anuja tended to do things like this, without a hint of being self-conscious.
Jayant couldn't help noticing that her skirt had slid up to her thighs, almost to her crotch. She noticed his gaze and smiled inwardly, making no attempt to adjust her clothing. He could see the white flash of her panties.
They chatted and she leaned forward on her elbows and the lapels of her sweat-shirt and T-shirt swung low again, giving him another glimpse of her splendid breasts.
The neck of the T-shirt pulled to one side and he could see the thick gold necklace against her dusky skin, curving sexily over the hollow in her collarbone.
Her skin was smooth and clear, soft, yet firm, silky, like a ripe gbang.
Anuja felt his eyes on her and waited for him to make a move. He did nothing. She sighed to herself and discreetly lifted her skirt higher, bent lower, giving him a better look at her crotch and breasts. Still he did nothing.
"My god, it's hot," she said. "Look at us both sitting under this fan and still sweating!"
"Yeah. And it's the humidity that gets you in Bombay."
"Shall I get you a towel?"
"Yes, please."
She smiled and got up and went into the bathroom.
When she returned a minute later with two thick towels, he stiffened and sucked in his breath sharply. She had taken off her T-shirt and she was wearing just the sweat-shirt now, the zip closed to a point just below her breasts.
He could see the heavy mounds pushing at the cloth and the tempting valley of her cleavage, the gold necklace glistening on her flesh.
"It's too hot. I just had to take off my T-shirt," she said, handing him a towel.
Anuja, too, harboured erotic fantasies about him and that they were cousins and the knowledge that their relationship could not be seen to anything but a purely platonic one of siblings only made her sexual dreams more piquant.
In his swimming trunks, she had often let her eyes linger on the thick bulge in his crotch and tried to visualise his cock, its length and thickness. She imagined it would be an imposing organ; she longed for it.
When her parents said they planned to visit his in Aurangabad while he was in Bombay on a short holiday after finishing his final exams, Anuja wondered if she would be able to entice him to fuck her.
The stars seemed to be favourable. She had no way of knowing that he, too, was aching for just such an opportunity. Ignorant of her sexual history, he hesitated; a scandal in the family was the last thing he wanted.
Anuja sat on the slatted wooden bench and bent over to open her sports bag. She was wearing a fine white T-shirt with a collar and three buttons and a handsome, short, white pleated skirt.
Her long hair was braided and coiled double, held with a thick Turkish towel hair-ring. She wore wristbands, thick socks and expensive tennis shoes.
She had not buttoned her T-shirt. Her legs were bare high up her thighs and Jayant noted that they were firm and trim and supple.
As she bent over, the lapels of her T-shirt swung low and he saw the luscious swell of her breasts, her long gold necklace glistening on her dusky skin, nestling in her deep and inviting cleavage.
She wore a pretty brassiere, cut fine and thin, that seemed to only just cover her nipples. He ogled her unabashedly, enjoying the sight.
He noticed a sexy little dark beauty spot on the inside of her left breast.
Anuja knew that he was watching her and, for a minute, thrilled with excitement. Perhaps, after all, things would work out for them. She dawdled, rummaging pointlessly in her bag.
Finally, she straightened, pulling out her zip-up full-sleeved sweat-shirt. The T-shirt was damp with sweat and he could clearly see the sharp stubs of her nipples and the dark shadows of her aureoles.
She slipped into the sweat-shirt and he watched her breasts move. Zipping it up to just below her breasts, she rose and collected a towel from the rack. He took one too, and they rubbed themselves dry.
Jayant retrieved his sweat-shirt and zipped it up. Discarding their towels in a plastic bin, they hoisted their kit bags on their shoulders and walked off the tennis courts together.
At the club-house, they sat chatting on the lawn and sipped tall, icy cold fresh lime sodas. When they had finished, they strolled out and walked the short distance down the road to her house.
She opened the door of the flat with her latch key and they dumped their kit bags in their rooms. He came into hers a few minutes later. She selected a tape and slotted it into her expensive stereo.
Bright pop music pulsed through the high-fidelity speakers mounted at the corners of the room.
Anuja's room was bright and spacious. It opened off the corridor just inside the entrance foyer. This was an advantage to her, because it enabled her to slip in and out of the house without alerting anyone.
She had often returned late from an assignation with one or other of her several lovers when her parents were asleep and shamelessly lied about the lateness of her return the next morning.
At other times, while they slumbered, she slipped out to fuck one of the servants on the landing or up the two flights of stairs that led to the terrace, where there was a convenient little room that housed the water pump and building maintenance gear.
In the three-bedroom apartment, this was easily the best suited to Anuja's peculiar needs.
Just inside the bedroom door, ranged along the left wall was a deep walk-in closet. To the right of the door stood her desk, with an anglepoise lamp, a bulletin board and shelves for books and files.
On the other side of the desk was a handsome rocking chair with a matching footstool and a floor lamp with a pretty shade.
A brightly patterned rug was arranged in the center of the floor, and another, smaller one at the foot of the rocking chair.
Another armchair stood opposite, across a small wicker stool and a low glass-topped coffee table.
Opposite the door, just where the walk-in closet ended was a full-length mirror with a dressing table beneath it.
Beside it was a bed that served as a couch during the day with plump bolsters along its back and low, smart shelves with books and magazines above it.
A large window swept along the wall above the bed to the opposite wall where a door opened to the attached bathroom.
A fan whirred overhead and the lighting was soft and gentle. The bedspread was bright and cheerful as was the upholstery on the armchair.
The desk was neat and clean. There were colourful posters on the wall above the seating arrangement and on two of the louvered closet doors.
The bulletin board above the desk was a jumble of photographs, notes, memos, postcards.
Jayant loved the room. It had a soft feminine touch with the fluffy stuffed toys on the shelf above the bed, the sleek music system on the rack above the desk, the colourful magazines and pictures.
As Anuja turned from the stereo, he sat down in the rocking chair and, kicking off his shoes and tugging off his socks, perched his feet on the footstool.
Anuja grinned at him, lowered the volume slightly so they could converse, and perched on the low wicker stool by the coffee table. She, too, was now barefoot.
She sat casually, her legs spread, one foot crossed over the other. It was an unusual position for a woman, but Anuja tended to do things like this, without a hint of being self-conscious.
Jayant couldn't help noticing that her skirt had slid up to her thighs, almost to her crotch. She noticed his gaze and smiled inwardly, making no attempt to adjust her clothing. He could see the white flash of her panties.
They chatted and she leaned forward on her elbows and the lapels of her sweat-shirt and T-shirt swung low again, giving him another glimpse of her splendid breasts.
The neck of the T-shirt pulled to one side and he could see the thick gold necklace against her dusky skin, curving sexily over the hollow in her collarbone.
Her skin was smooth and clear, soft, yet firm, silky, like a ripe gbang.
Anuja felt his eyes on her and waited for him to make a move. He did nothing. She sighed to herself and discreetly lifted her skirt higher, bent lower, giving him a better look at her crotch and breasts. Still he did nothing.
"My god, it's hot," she said. "Look at us both sitting under this fan and still sweating!"
"Yeah. And it's the humidity that gets you in Bombay."
"Shall I get you a towel?"
"Yes, please."
She smiled and got up and went into the bathroom.
When she returned a minute later with two thick towels, he stiffened and sucked in his breath sharply. She had taken off her T-shirt and she was wearing just the sweat-shirt now, the zip closed to a point just below her breasts.
He could see the heavy mounds pushing at the cloth and the tempting valley of her cleavage, the gold necklace glistening on her flesh.
"It's too hot. I just had to take off my T-shirt," she said, handing him a towel.
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