Thank you WhiteWave48 for taking time off during the Christmas frenzy to read this chapter, edit out mistakes and make it more real.
It had been almost a year since the day Eashwar and I met in a coffee shop in Bangalore. That night a cancelled flight and one drink too many saw us become lovers. It was good then, and it still is now.
Eashwar was impulsive and quite, quite sexy, and I was crazy about the man. But now it was time for a change in our relationship, and the change had to be marked by something extra special.
The river stones felt smooth and heavy in my palms – I had picked them up from the bed of the Ganges during our time in Rishikesh, and Eashwar had made me promise to paint them for him. I looked at the glowing colours and thought about all those good times they represented. There was yellow on black for Bangalore, our first time, and the aquamarine with gold waves was for when we rented a cottage on the beach for a wild weekend of love-making in Goa. We had got high on sex and grass and the thrill of having two whole days together. The stone with the stylised gold Ganesh on green was for Hyderabad.
We had gone shopping for clothes, and I picked out a forest green hand-loom shirt for him.
“When my mother sees it, I bet she’ll say it looks like one of her dupattas,” he laughed, but he bought it anyway.
We made love all night that night, coming together again and again, sometimes tender, sometimes urgent. It was almost dawn when the thought of food occurred to either of us. Even then, in the kitchen, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.
As he stood at the stove cooking up some instant noodles, the scene reminded me of our first night together. I moved in close behind him and pressed my cheek against the sweat-damp skin of his back, inhaling his sexy scent. He tensed, but carried on with whatever it was he was doing.I dropped little kisses down the length of his spine, kissing the firm curves of his ass and the sensitive skin behind his knees, and blowing on the soft hair on his calves. I felt a shiver run through his body, but he still didn’t turn around, or grab me, or do any of the hundred things I wanted him to do. I walked my fingers up his spine again, knowing how ticklish he was, wondering how much longer he would let me continue this torture.
I didn’t have to wait long. He turned around and grabbed my hands.
“Stop,” he growled with mock ferociousness, “unless you want to eat burnt noodles.”
“I want to eat something else,” I pouted, “and you won’t let me.” I batted my eyelashes for extra effect.
Eashwar burst out laughing; I don’t do coy very well. He put his hands on either side of my waist, lifted me and sat me down on the edge of the kitchen counter.
“Do you, really?” he asked, desire smouldering deep in his eyes “Well, I want to eat something else too.”
Watching me watch him, he knelt between my legs, and pushed them apart gently. I felt his warm breath on the soft insides of my thighs, and stiffened in anticipation. He pressed a soft kiss on the mound of my womanhood, and his tongue lapped lightly against my closed lips, seeking the nectar welling up inside of me. Then, roughly, impatiently, he spread me wide open with his thumbs and closed his teeth and lips over my throbbing clit.
My breath rushed out in surprise, and as he sucked hard, and scraped the sensitive bud with his teeth, lightning bolts of pleasure shot through me. My back arched as I grabbed his hair and thrust my hips into his face. I came in his mouth, moaning, shuddering my orgasm against his tongue, totally out of control.
He took me on the kitchen floor, pounding into me again and again with long hard strokes, till I could feel both our orgasms building up against the tight walls of my vagina. He waited till the first waves of my orgasm crashed over me, then jerked out of my warm wetness.
“Open.” He ordered, and pushed himself roughly into my mouth. Hungry for the taste of him, I grabbed his ass, pulled him in deeper, and welcomed his groan of release, as he filled my mouth with his thick, creamy, cum.
We fell asleep in each others arms, tired and happy, waking almost immediately to shower and get dressed. We were headed for different flights, different cities, and God alone knew when we would meet again.
Before I left, I took off the thin gold chain with the tiny Ganesh pendant that I wore, and slipped it around his neck.
“For luck,” I murmured against his lips as we kissed good-bye, “and for love.” He smiled.
It looked so good on him; gold and green.
****** The flat, round stone with the pink lotus on its bed of gold was for Delhi. I dropped it into the sand-filled bowl, already glowing with the vibrant blues, yellows, and gold of the other stones.
Eashwar and I met whenever we could. Sometimes co-incidentally we were in the same city at the same time, and sometimes we planned it that way. Then of course there were the phone calls, and almanbahis adres the chats on IM, but somehow it was never enough, and I was starting to think maybe, just maybe, I was falling in love!
I was not the kind to fall in love, and even if I was, Eashwar was not the kind of man I thought I would fall in love with. He was younger- I liked older men. We had different tastes in just about everything you could think of. Both of us travelled a lot. When would we ever spend time together?
Our families spoke different languages; he was brought up in a house where women had their place inside the home, and in mine we believed she could do anything a man did as well, if not better.
I had been my own person for too long to survive in a family where somebody else told me how to dress or what to do and think. After all, it was not for nothing that everybody said when you married an Indian man, you married his family!
Don’t get me wrong, I hadn’t reached the age I was without having some domestic dreams of my own. I had been married, done those things Eashwar wanted in his life, those things he found new and exciting. There was nothing wrong with them, just that I didn’t want to go down that road again.
Then Delhi happened.
Eashwar let himself into my hotel room and found it empty. The lights were turned down low and strains of Ravi Shankar’s sitar music played softly on the laptop on a desk by the window. He walked towards it.
“Be with you in a few minutes,” he read on the screen “help yourself to a drink.”
He poured himself a small drink from the bottle of single malt on the table, settled into the comfortable chair, and switched the TV on. He smiled in anticipation of the evening ahead.
A few minutes later, he turned to get another drink, and stopped. I was standing in the room leaning against the frame of the door, watching him. He stared at me; when had I come in? I was wearing a hot pink and gold Kancheevaram saree with a tiny gold crushed-tissue blouse. Heavy gold chandelier earrings with rubies and emeralds dangled from my ears, I wore a necklace to match, and at least a dozen gold bangles on each hand.
A gold tikka glittered in the parting of my hair which was brushed loose over my shoulders. I could have stepped out of the pages of an Indian bridal magazine. Only my smile, tinged with mischief and seduction, seemed out of place.
This was his fantasy; to have me wear traditional clothes, to make love with the smooth cool silk of the saree wrapped around us. His eyes, already hot with desire, locked with mine.
Eashwar walked towards me, his drink forgotten. He knelt down, as if in a trance, and gently lifted my foot onto his thigh. I wore high heeled stone encrusted slippers and thick, heavy, gold anklets. Wordlessly he traced the design of an anklet then slowly bent down and licked the arch of my foot. I held onto his shoulders and moaned.
Liquid pleasure unfurled from the places his fingers touched. The heat rose to my trembling thighs and to the soft spot in between them. I was sure he could smell the musky scent of my arousal.
He slid his hands under my saree and up my tingling calves and thighs, placing tender, barely there kisses on every inch of skin his hands exposed. My saree moved up with his hands, and bared more and more of my dusky skin to his eyes and lips.
The silk was now bunched about my waist. He looked up at me, eyes glazed with desire. Still not a word was spoken. He squeezed the curves of my ass, and his eyes widened with surprise.
“Turn around,” he ordered. He pushed the saree up and I could feel his hot gaze on me, then heard his soft laughter before he pressed light, barely-there kisses on my curves.
“You like?” I asked, unsure. I was wearing a jewelled thong. I remembered him mention them saying they looked sexy, and bought myself a pair. I had never worn anything like this before.
“I love,” he answered as he ran his fingers lightly along the sparkling drops, flicking them against my skin. His fingers slipped between the curves of my ass.
My breath caught with a sharp hitch. I turned around swiftly.
“Eashwar,” I pleaded. “Don’t tease…”
He didn’t answer, just pushed my thighs apart. The thin silk glistened wet with my juices. He buried his face in that warm triangle, and inhaled deep. My fingers tangled in his hair. Oh god, this man was so good.
“Eashwar?” I breathed. No reply. Instead he lapped at the wetness of my honey-soaked panties with the tip of his tongue. I couldn’t stand it, I couldn’t even stand upright anymore.
I dropped to my knees in front of Eashwar. We looked into each others eyes. I kissed him. Licking across his lower lip, and sucking it into mine. I nibbled on it, gently at first, then harder. Biting, drawing a swift sound of pain from him. I sucked on his tongue, tasting my juice on him. The scent of his skin was intoxicating, and I just couldn’t seem to have enough.
I slipped almanbahis adres the fingers of my right hand into his shirt and rubbed the tips of my fingers across his nipples. I heard his groan, and laughed. I pinched his nipple hard and absorbed his gasp into my mouth. The next thing I knew, I was lying flat on my back, on the dhurrie.
Eashwar straddled me and held my hands up above my head.
“Want to play games, my vixen?” he asked, a wicked smile on his face, and before I could reply he bent down and bit the corner of my lower lip. Hard.
“Aah!” I yelped, taken aback by the sharp pain. Tears welled in my eyes. I could feel the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. I struggled to get free; I wanted to scratch his eyes out.
Eashwar watched for a few seconds, amused at my efforts, and leaned forward to lick that drop of blood from my lip. Without even thinking, I bit at his tongue, and was rewarded by a small sound of pain.
But he didn’t move. He kept kissing me, tongue rubbing against mine, sucking on my lip, my tongue, licking my tears away, touching and squeezing my breasts, rolling my hard and hurting nipples between his fingers, through their covering of sheer gold cloth.
I was moaning and whimpering now, arching my back, struggling to get free, this time to touch him, to caress him like he was caressing me. To give him pleasure, to rub my palms over my aching breasts and soothe the burning want, to touch and tease him.
Finally, when I thought I couldn’t take any more without bursting into flames, he released me and got up. I looked at him, eyes clouded with desire and confusion.
“Eashwar?” That’s all I seemed to be saying all evening, his name.
He ignored me and walked away. What had I done wrong? I imagined how I must look, lying there on the floor, hair all messed up, pink and gold silk bunched around my waist, legs wantonly apart, my swollen sex barely hidden by the scrap of wet black silk, arms, legs and neck festooned with gold and precious stones.
Shame washed over me, and I moved to cover myself.
“Leave it.” Eashwar said. How did he know? He wasn’t even looking at me.
I lay back, and watched him as he walked to the table. God, how good he looked from behind, body lean and firm. The grey trousers and indigo silk shirt looked so sexy on him. I imagined taking that shirt off, and kissing my way down the tattoo of the tiger that stalked from his shoulder across the expanse of his back. I slipped my hands between my legs, and softly rubbed myself through the wet silk.
He picked up his drink and walked back towards me. Eashwar knelt beside me, pushed the knee of one leg up and propped the ankle of my other leg on a low footstool. It was as if he was arranging my body for his viewing pleasure. I was wide open for him now. He unpinned my saree from the shoulder of my blouse, and slowly drew it off my breasts. He could see the dark areolae of my nipples through the sheer gold fabric; I wasn’t wearing a bra. He placed gentle, wet kisses on my aching nipples, making them harder and hurt as they rubbed against the rough tissue.
He sat back on his heels.
“Touch,” he whispered, “I want to watch.”
His eyes followed my hands as they rubbed across the wet spots on my blouse, teasing my breasts, pinching my nipples and rolling them between my fingers. Setting his drink aside, he leaned forward and pushed my legs even further apart. With a sudden jerk, he snapped the clips on the sides of my thong and slowly drew it up and out from between my legs. I moaned as the crystals bumped against my throbbing clit, teasing me.
“Touch,” he whispered again, and, crushing my juice soaked panties in his hand, he took it to his face, and inhaled deep.
I rubbed my palms along the soft insides of my thighs and brushed them across my smooth mound. He watched as I spread the lips apart and rubbed two fingers along the slick wet opening and traced circles around the clit. How that aching bud wanted my attention, but I refused to touch it yet. Instead I slipped two fingers inside, and then one more, and moaned as I played with myself. Half the pleasure was from my fingers, and the other half in knowing he was there, watching, hard and throbbing, wanting to be where my hand was.
Eashwar shifted, and knelt in between my thighs.
“Please,” I whispered. I didn’t know what I was begging for. I wanted his touch. My body was burning for him.
Eyes locked on mine, he took my fingers up to his mouth and sucked my wetness off them, licking along the side, and teeth scraping the soft sensitive pads. I gasped as sharp ripples of pleasure seemed to spread from my fingertips all the way to the pit of my stomach. I wanted him, his weight heavy on me, his hardness filling me up, driving me over the edge.
“Please,” I begged again.
He dipped his fingers in his whiskey and dripped it over my tingling body. I shivered as the cool liquid flowed over the hot skin of my stomach and pooled almanbahis adresi between my legs. He scooped up the wetness, whiskey and honey and slowly licked it from his fingers. I moaned. Damn, I wanted those fingers in me.
I grabbed his hand and placed it on my wet lips.
“Tell me you want me.” he said. “Beg.”
I shook my head. No, I wouldn’t beg. He started to rise. I quickly grabbed his hand again.
“No.” I pleaded.
“No, don’t go.”
“I want you baby, don’t go.”
“What do you want me to do?” he demanded.
“I want you to take me now me. Please,” I begged.
His fingers plunged into my hot tight pussy, and I closed my eyes, shuddering with pleasure.
“Yes,” I moaned.
He stroked me — “yes” – slowly, two fingers at first, then three — “oooh yes” – and then four, stretching me wide, hurting me, pushing me towards the orgasm I could feel building up in the tightness of my thighs. I threw my head back, and thrust my hips towards him.
“More, more please, I think I’m going to come,” I groaned.
He pressed his thumb hard against my clitoris and my back arched off the bed as hot sensations streaked through me. Quickly he pulled his fingers out of me and smacked my clitoris sharply. I screamed. That touch had me coming, hurtling into space, blinded with pleasure, shaking, moaning, exploding into a million tiny fragments.
As I slowly came down from that high, he slid his fingers out, and licked them clean of my wetness. I smiled lazily. The waves of my orgasm still pulsed through me. Eashwar was so, so good.
I rose and stumbled to the bathroom. My reflection smiled back at me in the mirror, flushed, looking well-loved. I removed my blouse, saree and underskirt. I stroked dark red colour across my swollen lips, ran shaking fingers through my hair, rewrapped the silk loosely around my body, under my arms, and walked back into the bedroom.
I was ready for round two, and this one belonged to Eashwar.
He was standing by the window, looking out at the lights of India Gate.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked, even as I groaned inwardly at the inane question.
He turned, drew me close to him and caressed my hair.
“About you,” he replied “and about me.”
“Naughty thoughts I hope,” I teased, and looked down. There was no evidence of any hardness in his trousers. How selfish I had been. This evening had been all about me so far. It was time he had some some pleasure too.
The hand in my hair turned to a fist as he grabbed some tightly, and then his other hand was on my shoulder, pushing down. I looked up at him, and he kissed me full on the lips, soft gentle kisses at first, then harder till we were both gasping for breath. I pulled back slightly and smiled, never losing eye contact with him.
I rubbed the palm of my hand over the front of his trousers. He wasn’t very hard yet; perfect. I quickly undid the belt buckle, and slid the zip down. The tip of my tongue flicked out to lick at the corner of his lip. I reached inside his open trousers and cupped his firmness in my hand. Velvety hard.
I pushed his trousers over his hips, brushing my hands along his thighs as I moved on down. No inch of skin remained unkissed, and I took my own sweet time doing it. Down to his knees now – little kisses pressed into the sides, and lower still, to his calves and ankles.
I quickly took his shoes off, and his socks and pants. He ripped his shirt open, and flung it aside. It was my turn to tease him now, to press kisses on the sharp contours of his ankles, and to kiss my way up his legs, muscles tight with anticipation. When I reached his knees I pushed his legs apart and kissed my way up the insides of his hair-roughened thighs. I could feel the sweat bloom on his skin, and smell the warm, musky scent of his aroused maleness.
I heard Eashwar groan when I traced little wet circles with the tip of my tongue high up on his thighs. He grabbed a handful of my hair and tried to pull me in closer, but I hadn’t finished playing yet. I nuzzled at his groin and breathed deep; I just couldn’t get enough.
Slowly I turned my attention to his male hardness. Grasping him in one hand, I flicked my tongue out and licked at the slit at the tip. Mmmm…salty wet, delicious. Again Eashwar groaned in pleasure, and thrust his hips forward. I heard his breath come louder and faster and pushed him some more, circling the ridge of his shaft with the flat of my tongue, with long leisurely licks at first, then quick, butterfly movements that had him moaning and thrusting himself into my mouth, mimicking the movement of lovemaking. I swirled my tongue around him, sucked lightly,and then opened my mouth wide to take him all the way into my the back of my throat, the sounds of pleasure coming from him driving me on to please him more. His hands gripped my shoulders hard, and I knew I would carry his mark on me long after this evening was finished.
Later, much later, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, finger combing my hair, when he walked up to stand behind me, and hugged me tight, arms under my sore and aching silk-covered breasts. He rested his chin on my head, and smiled as our eyes met in the mirror.