30-06-2019, 03:32 PM
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A JAM OF TARTS
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14
AS THE COCK GROWS
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In the quiet murmur of daybreak, the scbang of the broom is unnaturally loud. It is repeated steadily, in a hypnotic rasp. Nalini, the sweeper, shuffles across the sprawling penthouse terrace garden, her body bent forward. Her left arm is turned behind her, her hand curled to rest on her slim buttock, the palm out.
With her other hand, she moves the broom rhythmically from left to right, her bangles tinkling softly. The dawn breaks quietly over the city. A cool breeze plucks at her printed cotton *sari*. She pauses and straightens, the fallen leaves in a tidy pile at her feet. She lifts her hand to pull the *pallu* of her *sari* over her head. She wears it in the Gujarati fashion, the long *pallu* over her right shoulder and down her front.
She is slender, dusky, attractive. Her face is a planed oval, with high cheekbones and a clear forehead. Her eyes are large and doe-like, rimmed with the dark *kajal* she prepares herself once a week. Her nose is fine and straight, her glossy raven hair caught in a neat bun behind her head, accentuating the lovely sweep of her long neck. She walks with an immensely graceful, utterly natural yet tempting swing of her hips. Her body is lovely, her breasts high, firm, sloping, tipped with long nipples that stiffen quickly in arousal at the slightest stimulus.
Her belly is flat, the waist nipped in. Her hips flare to long, shapely legs. Her hands and feet are slim and elegant, the wrists and ankles slender. Her tight blouse has a deep V-neck that plunges sharply into the valley between her breasts. It is cut high and short, its lower hem running hard under her breasts which jut out provocatively like succulent fruit, the fleshy mounds squeezed together by the tightness of the garment and deepening her prominent cleavage. She wears nothing under either the *sari* or the blouse. Her *sari* is slung low, well below her navel, looping down in a sexy curve from her high hips. With the blouse short and the *sari* low, a lot of her dusky midriff is exposed.
Pausing in her work, she turns her head, her hand over her eyes to shield them from the brightness of the rising sun, looking for her husband, Hasmukh, who works mornings with her. She cannot see him. Dropping the broom at her feet, she walks across the dewed lawn to the penthouse to look for him. As she nears it, she hears a sharp, high cry, a sound she knows well, and, smiling to herself, quickens her step.
The French windows to the master bedroom are flung wide, the curtains drawn back. She knows that this is a house without secrets and does not hesitate to enter - she has been here often before, used it herself, knows it well. She steps in with the sunlight. Her feet sink into the deep pile of the carpet that covers the floor.
Her husband is within. He is naked, and he is in bed with Sunnu, the mistress of the house.
Sunnu is astoundingly beautiful. She is tall and fair with an impossibly perfect face. Her nose is fine, the mouth full and luscious, the *kohl*-rimmed eyes like almonds, with long lashes. She has high cheekbones and a clear forehead. Her hair, long and thick, dark with an auburn tint, is in disarray now, fanned across the counterpane. Her neck is incredibly long and graceful. She wears a thin, long gold necklace. A solitary gold bracelet is on one wrist. Her body is stunning - superb breasts, large and firm and high, beautifully shaped like mangoes, with long nipples.
Her belly is firm and flat and her hips are sweetly flared. Her buttocks are firm and trim. Her legs and arms are smoothly turned, slender, her feet and hands elegant. Her complexion is flawless, like creamy satin. There is not an ounce of surplus flesh on her. She is sleek, long-limbed, near perfect.
She is on her back now, sucking Nalini's husband's penis. He kneels across her face, his legs spread wide, his hands gripping the wrought-iron bedstead. Encircling his cock and balls with the fingers of one hand, she rocks her head rapidly up and down between his thighs, sucking hard. His cock is long and thick and hard and dark and it glistens and shines with her ministrations, distending her face with its size. Hasmukh gasps and moans and pumps his hips as he fucks her face, his buttocks flexing and unflexing. His head is bent to watch his mistress suck him off.
"Give me the pills!" he cries suddenly. "*Goli* *de* *mujhe*!"
Without pausing in her cock-sucking, Sunnu fumbles for a bottle of pills on the bedside table and gives it to him. She sucks his cock harder now, working it wildly with her tongue, her head rocking furiously up and down under him. Hasmukh grunts and flips open the cap of the bottle with one hand, the other on her head.
He tilts the bottle into his palm; several capsules and vials spill out, scatter on the bed and floor. He snaps a vial under his nose, inhaling sharply and deeply, then throws his head back and, opening his mouth, pops three pills.
The effect of the drugs is astonishing. His cock swells visibly. His hard body arches, muscles cording and popping in his shoulders and chest and arms and thick neck. His belly snaps inward. His hips surge forward. He gasps loudly.
"Oh fuck yes! Suck me, whore! Suck me hard! *Choos* *mujhe*! *Jorse* *choos*!"
His orgasm is almost immediate, and violent. He gasps again, sharply, and thick, sticky jets of his gunk spurt from his cock-head. Sunnu has sensed his orgasm in time and she opens her mouth wide just as he begins to come so that he can see his thick jizz jetting down her throat, spattering her face and cheeks.
She pumps his cock vigorously and his seed splashes on her breasts. She swallows what she can, licks her fingers and lips lasciviously. Her head sinks back into the soft pillows and she smiles dreamily up at her lover. Gunk dribbles between her breasts; she runs her fingers through it, massages it into her skin, licks her fingers again, scoops up more off her cheeks, laps at that, too. Hasmukh chuckles softly.
His cock is still hard; Nalini knows the effect of the drugs. As she watches, her husband bends and kisses their mistress, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth. She murmurs softly in pleasure, looping a lovely arm around his broad, powerful shoulders. He is a strongly-built man, dark and tall and with rough-hewn good looks. His shoulders are wide and his chest is broad and deep. His arms and legs bulge with muscle.
His belly is hard and flat, his waist narrow, his hips high, his buttocks taut. His torso is matted with fine, dark, curly hair. His penis is big, about nine and a half inches in length, nearly two inches thick. His balls are heavy and low. Nalini knows that he is a powerful and demanding lover, and has penchant for bedding women socially superior to him. It turns him on to fuck them hard and rough like cheap whores.
He enjoys making them beg. It gives him a sense of social standing and worth, restores a social imbalance in his own eyes. Not that he is any less satisfying when he has sex with women of his own societal level, but with the *memsahib*s he pushes himself further.
Nalini watches her husband break the lingering kiss, plucking at Sunnu's lips. She swirls her tongue through his ear.
"Fuck me with your tongue, Hasmukh," she murmurs. "Lick my slit.
*Mere* *chuth* *ko* *chaat*."
Smiling, Hasmukh slides down her body, kissing her breasts, licking the gunk-flecked nipples, whipping them with his tongue. Sunnu shivers and moans softly. He drags his tongue through his own jizz and kisses her, dribbling his seed from his tongue onto hers. It is an inordinately erotic sight to watch. He returns to her breasts, laps more gunk on his tongue, smears her face with it. He is like an animal - and she loves it.
She moans her passion, licking the sticky fingers he presses to her lips. Sliding a hand down her belly, he presses his hand to her cunt. She groans and arches under him. Slowly, he sucks one breast, drawing the turgid mound into his mouth, then moves to the other, nibbling and biting gently on the hard nipple. She gasps, running her fingers lovingly through his thick, dark hair. Her squeezes both breasts together and sucks them simultaneously.
"Yes ... oh god yes ... c'mon! Lick me!" she whimpers through clenched teeth.
Chuckling softly, Hasmukh slithers lower, his tongue tracing a long trail down her firm belly, licking at dainty dewdrop of his own gunk in her navel. Lower he goes, and lower still, nuzzling the dark delta of her pubic fuzz. She groans and forks her legs wide apart, claws her cunt-lips open. Her knees bend. Hasmukh bends, pries open her cunt-lips with the fingers of one hand and thrusts his face into her crotch. Sunnu gasps.
A JAM OF TARTS
==============
14
AS THE COCK GROWS
---------------------
In the quiet murmur of daybreak, the scbang of the broom is unnaturally loud. It is repeated steadily, in a hypnotic rasp. Nalini, the sweeper, shuffles across the sprawling penthouse terrace garden, her body bent forward. Her left arm is turned behind her, her hand curled to rest on her slim buttock, the palm out.
With her other hand, she moves the broom rhythmically from left to right, her bangles tinkling softly. The dawn breaks quietly over the city. A cool breeze plucks at her printed cotton *sari*. She pauses and straightens, the fallen leaves in a tidy pile at her feet. She lifts her hand to pull the *pallu* of her *sari* over her head. She wears it in the Gujarati fashion, the long *pallu* over her right shoulder and down her front.
She is slender, dusky, attractive. Her face is a planed oval, with high cheekbones and a clear forehead. Her eyes are large and doe-like, rimmed with the dark *kajal* she prepares herself once a week. Her nose is fine and straight, her glossy raven hair caught in a neat bun behind her head, accentuating the lovely sweep of her long neck. She walks with an immensely graceful, utterly natural yet tempting swing of her hips. Her body is lovely, her breasts high, firm, sloping, tipped with long nipples that stiffen quickly in arousal at the slightest stimulus.
Her belly is flat, the waist nipped in. Her hips flare to long, shapely legs. Her hands and feet are slim and elegant, the wrists and ankles slender. Her tight blouse has a deep V-neck that plunges sharply into the valley between her breasts. It is cut high and short, its lower hem running hard under her breasts which jut out provocatively like succulent fruit, the fleshy mounds squeezed together by the tightness of the garment and deepening her prominent cleavage. She wears nothing under either the *sari* or the blouse. Her *sari* is slung low, well below her navel, looping down in a sexy curve from her high hips. With the blouse short and the *sari* low, a lot of her dusky midriff is exposed.
Pausing in her work, she turns her head, her hand over her eyes to shield them from the brightness of the rising sun, looking for her husband, Hasmukh, who works mornings with her. She cannot see him. Dropping the broom at her feet, she walks across the dewed lawn to the penthouse to look for him. As she nears it, she hears a sharp, high cry, a sound she knows well, and, smiling to herself, quickens her step.
The French windows to the master bedroom are flung wide, the curtains drawn back. She knows that this is a house without secrets and does not hesitate to enter - she has been here often before, used it herself, knows it well. She steps in with the sunlight. Her feet sink into the deep pile of the carpet that covers the floor.
Her husband is within. He is naked, and he is in bed with Sunnu, the mistress of the house.
Sunnu is astoundingly beautiful. She is tall and fair with an impossibly perfect face. Her nose is fine, the mouth full and luscious, the *kohl*-rimmed eyes like almonds, with long lashes. She has high cheekbones and a clear forehead. Her hair, long and thick, dark with an auburn tint, is in disarray now, fanned across the counterpane. Her neck is incredibly long and graceful. She wears a thin, long gold necklace. A solitary gold bracelet is on one wrist. Her body is stunning - superb breasts, large and firm and high, beautifully shaped like mangoes, with long nipples.
Her belly is firm and flat and her hips are sweetly flared. Her buttocks are firm and trim. Her legs and arms are smoothly turned, slender, her feet and hands elegant. Her complexion is flawless, like creamy satin. There is not an ounce of surplus flesh on her. She is sleek, long-limbed, near perfect.
She is on her back now, sucking Nalini's husband's penis. He kneels across her face, his legs spread wide, his hands gripping the wrought-iron bedstead. Encircling his cock and balls with the fingers of one hand, she rocks her head rapidly up and down between his thighs, sucking hard. His cock is long and thick and hard and dark and it glistens and shines with her ministrations, distending her face with its size. Hasmukh gasps and moans and pumps his hips as he fucks her face, his buttocks flexing and unflexing. His head is bent to watch his mistress suck him off.
"Give me the pills!" he cries suddenly. "*Goli* *de* *mujhe*!"
Without pausing in her cock-sucking, Sunnu fumbles for a bottle of pills on the bedside table and gives it to him. She sucks his cock harder now, working it wildly with her tongue, her head rocking furiously up and down under him. Hasmukh grunts and flips open the cap of the bottle with one hand, the other on her head.
He tilts the bottle into his palm; several capsules and vials spill out, scatter on the bed and floor. He snaps a vial under his nose, inhaling sharply and deeply, then throws his head back and, opening his mouth, pops three pills.
The effect of the drugs is astonishing. His cock swells visibly. His hard body arches, muscles cording and popping in his shoulders and chest and arms and thick neck. His belly snaps inward. His hips surge forward. He gasps loudly.
"Oh fuck yes! Suck me, whore! Suck me hard! *Choos* *mujhe*! *Jorse* *choos*!"
His orgasm is almost immediate, and violent. He gasps again, sharply, and thick, sticky jets of his gunk spurt from his cock-head. Sunnu has sensed his orgasm in time and she opens her mouth wide just as he begins to come so that he can see his thick jizz jetting down her throat, spattering her face and cheeks.
She pumps his cock vigorously and his seed splashes on her breasts. She swallows what she can, licks her fingers and lips lasciviously. Her head sinks back into the soft pillows and she smiles dreamily up at her lover. Gunk dribbles between her breasts; she runs her fingers through it, massages it into her skin, licks her fingers again, scoops up more off her cheeks, laps at that, too. Hasmukh chuckles softly.
His cock is still hard; Nalini knows the effect of the drugs. As she watches, her husband bends and kisses their mistress, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth. She murmurs softly in pleasure, looping a lovely arm around his broad, powerful shoulders. He is a strongly-built man, dark and tall and with rough-hewn good looks. His shoulders are wide and his chest is broad and deep. His arms and legs bulge with muscle.
His belly is hard and flat, his waist narrow, his hips high, his buttocks taut. His torso is matted with fine, dark, curly hair. His penis is big, about nine and a half inches in length, nearly two inches thick. His balls are heavy and low. Nalini knows that he is a powerful and demanding lover, and has penchant for bedding women socially superior to him. It turns him on to fuck them hard and rough like cheap whores.
He enjoys making them beg. It gives him a sense of social standing and worth, restores a social imbalance in his own eyes. Not that he is any less satisfying when he has sex with women of his own societal level, but with the *memsahib*s he pushes himself further.
Nalini watches her husband break the lingering kiss, plucking at Sunnu's lips. She swirls her tongue through his ear.
"Fuck me with your tongue, Hasmukh," she murmurs. "Lick my slit.
*Mere* *chuth* *ko* *chaat*."
Smiling, Hasmukh slides down her body, kissing her breasts, licking the gunk-flecked nipples, whipping them with his tongue. Sunnu shivers and moans softly. He drags his tongue through his own jizz and kisses her, dribbling his seed from his tongue onto hers. It is an inordinately erotic sight to watch. He returns to her breasts, laps more gunk on his tongue, smears her face with it. He is like an animal - and she loves it.
She moans her passion, licking the sticky fingers he presses to her lips. Sliding a hand down her belly, he presses his hand to her cunt. She groans and arches under him. Slowly, he sucks one breast, drawing the turgid mound into his mouth, then moves to the other, nibbling and biting gently on the hard nipple. She gasps, running her fingers lovingly through his thick, dark hair. Her squeezes both breasts together and sucks them simultaneously.
"Yes ... oh god yes ... c'mon! Lick me!" she whimpers through clenched teeth.
Chuckling softly, Hasmukh slithers lower, his tongue tracing a long trail down her firm belly, licking at dainty dewdrop of his own gunk in her navel. Lower he goes, and lower still, nuzzling the dark delta of her pubic fuzz. She groans and forks her legs wide apart, claws her cunt-lips open. Her knees bend. Hasmukh bends, pries open her cunt-lips with the fingers of one hand and thrusts his face into her crotch. Sunnu gasps.
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