Free Indian Sex Story:

The Initiation by Shivaji Sengupta copyright 1999 Anishua Tayabji lives like large shadow. Recently becoming the matriarch of the ancient and arch conservative Tayabji family, her only gain is not to be at the beck and call of all the women in this household. She is still a maid to her husband, the patriarch, Vikramji Sher Singh Tayabji, a man of God at 45. Anishua is his wife, nurse, servant. For 25 years now, she has lived in silence, hand-maid to the ex-matriarch, her mother-in-law. She is a scrawny, old woman, more scrawny than old. Bad tempered and crochety, she treats her only daughter-in-law with the viciousness of a jealous rival, bemoaning the few minutes she spends with her husband, yet despising her for not having any children. Of course it was all Anushua's fault. "Gulavi told me," she would scream at the top of her voice, "Your vaginal passage is blocked, you witch!" Gulavi is the woman who washed and cleaned the Tayabji's latrines. How exactly did the woman, blind in one eye, discover this defect in Anushua is anybody's guess. But the old "mataji," meaning matriarch, would shout loudly, curse her "bahu," for being an ungrateful to her husband's attention. "Vikram is a nice boy!" She continues. "He never wants to marry again. When I tell him it's OK, bahu should consider herself lucky we aren't turning her out, we owe her nothing. She is banja, banja! can't bear children! ---" mataji goes on shouting for any one who would hear, "And what does he say, that noble son of mine?" Here, mataji pauses, lets out a long arc of spit, red with beetel juice, and resumes, "What does he say? He says, 'Let it be, Ma, marriage is made only once, in heaven!' But is bahu deserving of such a patidev, master?" In response, she spits out another red arc. The truth is that it was Vikramji Sher Singh Tayabji, the grand patriarch, who was impotent. From the first day of his marriage. In those days, seventeen year old Anushua was a gorgeous girl, dark as the monsoon clouds, pouting delicate lips, firm breasts, and sudden, dreamy eyes. Vikramji used to undress his young wife, in great hurry, sweat drenching his face, tongue lolling. He would tear her chemise, and then gaze at her genitals hypnotized, eyelids barely moving. Anushua who never uttered a word, never made a sound through this daily ritual, knew how it would end. She stole a glance at his crotch and barely saw his penis, a shurnken, miserable bit, lost in a mass of manly hair. Anu actually felt sorry for him. But what could she do? A teen-ager, utterly and ridiculously innocent, she didn't know the first thing about sex. Her only acquaintance with that part of her anatomy was during her period. Women were cursed for being women. It was God's way of telling them that they were miserable and deserved the monthly punishment. So how could she know? Yes, after many physical attacks of her husband on her femininity, Anushua did feel a tingling down there, the sort which made her want to caress herself. But, ayeee! The smell! What would she do about the smell? All the scents of Arabia cannot take away the smell if a woman touches herself there! It announces itself to the whole world that she has been disgusting! Her mother told her so. That was 25 years ago. Now at 42, Anu is still a lovely woman, her body delicate and sybaritic though two decades of hard labor has obviously taken its toll. She is now rounder at the waist, her behind plumper, reminiscent of ancient Hindu erotic sculptures.What hasn't changes at all are her eyes. Always kind and benign, exhuding feminine tenderness, they have retained the seventeen-year old's dreaminess, but now a days, if you looked into them deeply, there is a hint of lewdness that she is herself unaware of. At this age, she is mellower, sexier, and less afraid to indulge in her curiosity about her body. The ghost of her admonishing mother is gone. The mother-in-law, silenced by the din of her own noise. Not that Anushua Tayabji was planning any sexual escapade. That would be too irresponsible for the new matriarch of this family which was the very institution of conservatism. Still, still, when the lights were off, in hot, humid nights, when she lay in her lonely, single bed on the terrace, sweating with heat and a strange erotic excitement, only in her chemise and blouse, when her husband, master and lord, was miles away, grovelling at the feet of some "guru," begging Nirvana, Anushua would stare into the night sky, her finger secretly exploring the moist craving of her inside...the stars would go out of focus as her breath became quicker, the buzz of a thousand chikadas would fill her head, her nipples tingle, the stars spin...spin...spin..! Then Thakur came. The name means God in Hindi, but he looked more like a Chinese Buddha. Always happy, always merry, for ever laughing, this rotund little man in his early thirties, a distant and poor relative. Ostensibly, Thakur supervised the gardeners, but his real hobby was herbal and mystical medicine. He would cure all sorts of ailments with juices of plants, rich black earth and god knows what else. Strangely, the beneficiaries were never the Tayabji family but outsiders. His own folks did not believe in him. They openly laughed at this uneducated man, the roundness accentuating his stupidity. "Arrey Thakurbhai!" Vikramji, the patriarcch, made fun of him good naturedly, "What have you concoted today with women's piss and cowdung? Whom have you cured?" "Not you, my lord of the house. What I can cure with organic excrement that you can't by merely wishing!" Actually, it was Thakur's impish way of reminding the lord of the manor of his own childlessness. Vikramji, who never ever caught any hint, gave out a belly laugh. But Thakur's eyes were small and very sharp. Amidst his own ridicule, amidst general laughter (when the patriarch laughed all the males near about were obliged to laugh), Thakur observed, in a distance, the suddenly sad face of Anushua, dressed in a comely orange colored saree, her shiny black hair flowing like the dark waves of a river. Alone among the Tayabjis, she did not laugh. She looked at Thakur in a comisserating way, or so he thought, two souls both ridiculed by their arrogant master. Their eyes met, and Anushua moved away. The men were still laughing. That night was Ram Navami, the ninth day of God Rama's fast when that epic avatar had lost his wife, Sita, to the demon, Ravan. The evenings were full of rural stagings of the story of Ram. Naturally, Vikramji, being a holy -- and a rich -- man, was invited to many of these shows. Just as naturally, Anushua was not, not because she was a woman, but because she was banja, barren. The August night was typically hot. Just about every body in the house, even mother-in-law, had gone to watch the gaudy shows of gods and goddesses. Anushua was alone, loving the solitude, because it was in these circustances that she felt most erotic. It was time to show herself to the dark God of the Sky, to let him explore the mysteries of her body. Shutting the door to her solitary bedroom, but leaving the windows open, Anushua greeted the dark night sky with a smile that only the stars could see. It was a sensual, mysterious smile, partly still ashamed that she had opened her heavy loins to the dark Sky-God, partly on account of the erotic thrill she experienced from her own nakedness. Yes, she was naked, Anushua, the matriarch naked, her still voluptuous thighs and breasts coming up in goose flesh. She closed her eyes, licked her parched lips wet, took in a deep breath as the Sky-God probed the mass of pubic hair, yes, parted them, yes, yes, parted her thighs. The dark and debonair Sky-God now laughed naughtily, and crept stealthily toward her and placed his blue-blood hand, oh so soft yet manly, on her stomach, just below the belly button, above the pubic hair. Anushua could now see in darkness, the dark God's eyes, so bright, sparkling, as she looked at him, wanting with wanton eyes, thrusting up her pelvis, pushing her fingers in still deeper, one finger feeling the corrugated part, so hot, so wet, pulpy, Anushua lift her heavy buttocks off the bed, thumb rubbing the hard nub electrifying her body ...she was sighing deeply, uttering mewling sounds, soft moans, breathing heavily. Ohhhh...! There was soft knock on the door, bringing Anushua, in a trice, upright into a sitting position. She held the discarded sari to her breasts. "Who is it?" She whispered. There was no sound for a few moments. Just a soft shuffle of footsteps. Then Anushua saw the rotund Thakur standing at the window. In his bare upper-body, the only part visible, he looked naked. Thakur touched the curtain. Anushua shivered. "What is it?" She asked again, partly irritated, partly scared. "Forgive me, mataji," Thakur began in a whisper, his voice respectful to the utmost. "I knew you were home, so I came here to ask you to see something I've made. It's a cure, good for you," he was still whispering. "What?" Anushua exclaimed, upset at the mention of 'cure." "Cure for what!" Silence. Then in a louder, but still gentle voice, he said, "You miss the Sky-God, mataji. My cure will bring him to you. Every night. Whenever you want." Anushua was stunned. How did he know? She fantasized about this imaginary God only when she was convinced she was utterly, utterly alone. In body and in soul. How did Thakur know? "Where is it...this...cure?" She asked, tentitively, after a prolonged silence. "In my hut," came Thakur's quiet voice. Anushua had never been to his or any of the poor relatives' lodgings. They all lived in the outer skirt of the massive courtyard at the back, covered by huge Banyan and Neem trees. "You go ahead," she replied, "I'm coming." Half an hour later, Anushua arrived at Thakur's little hut. It was pitch dark outside, the huge trees like giant sentinels protecting the humble dwellers. The sky was brimming with stars. Away, afar, songs of Ram and Sita wafted through the still air. Thakur's window was lit by a lantern. She pushed open the slightly ajar door, and stepped in. For a single man, the little one-room cottage was incredibly neat. The mud floor thoroughly swept, his belongings arranged neatly, clothes hanging on the walls, a tiny bed, neatly made. The rest of the floor was covered in some kind of embroidery, possibly with white liquid chalk. There was a four-square low table, just inches from the ground. He sat near the table in the middle of the room, bare bodied, a safron cotton cloth wrapped around his waist. He sat in a Yoga position, feet tucked in together, his light colored body full of baby fat. A round, shaved head with tiny little eyes. "Sit down, mataji," Thakur said in a strange voice like he had been high, agitated, but his palms folded together, he seemed like he was in prayer. Anushua did as told. The room was filled with some kind of incense, that smelled sweet and intoxicating. Anushua felt like she wanted to cough, but didn't. Thick smoke was gushing out two small candles, of about four inches, stubby and thick. Anushua was sure the intoxicating smell came from there. She was certain she shouldn't have come, but had no intentions of leaving. She didn't understand what was happening, except that she felt the sexual feeling returning to her body, sort of creeping up her feet, thighs, deep between her legs. Her still conscious mind told her to leave. The tips of her breasts said, no. In a little while Thakur finished his prayers. Looked up at her face with incadescent eyes, and gravely, authoritatively, told her to look, stare, deep into his eyes. Anushua obeyed. Thakur removed the cloth covering a stainless steel plate, and revealed a strange exotic fruit, the sort Anushua had never seen before. It was round, sort of longish, covered with soft, brown fur, a parting crease running through its middle longitudinally. Thakur rubbed the fur, caressing, his face looking strangely wild. Anushua stared. Thakur opened the fruit at the parting, and exposed its bright pink, soft inside, like pulp The juice oozed out and dripped. Anushua's mouth opened of its own accord. The incense had made her high, she felt sweaty, and now seeing the fruit, she felt its impact deeply in the center of her body. She looked at Thakur helplessly. Then something incredible happened. Thakur bit into the fruit, sucking it noisily. Anushua's body jolted straight up, then convulsed with an incredibly tingling sensation in her cunt, so sharp, that she had to clutch at her vulva, forgetting modesty, letting out a groan. She watched him holeplessly, with wild eyes, saliva dripping from her mouth, convusling, convulsing every time Thakur sucked at the fruit. It felt just like he was sucking her cunt. Anushua collapsed, her body lying on the floor, writhed, as Thakur sucked at the fruit, not once touching her. He looked at her, his eyes glowing, lascivious, Anusua wriggling like a hooked fish at his mercy. She pulled up her sari, baring her thighs, fingers reaching for her cunt, loudly imploring him to stop, please stop. Thakur went on sucking. At last Thakur sucked out all the juice from the fruit. As he stopped, so did Anushua cease to writhe, her breath coming quitening slowly. She looked at him, tears brimming in her eyes. Thakur came toward her, and whispered almost in the same way when he was at her window, respectfully, "Mataji, Sky-God will come to you now!" Thakur would make love to her now, she thought. She was intelligent enough to realize that this was an elaborate seduction, a hoax, but she didn't care. She wanted to fuck him, feel his cock inside, it has been so, so long. Yet, what would happen tomorrow, the next day, what would happen if Thakur told every one? Her head was still muddled because of the incense, she couldn't think straight. Stupidly, she nodded yes. Thakur gently opened her blouse, felt her heavy breasts, sweaty, hot, the nipples distended, angry. Thakur squeezed her nipples bringing a groan from her. Then he brought out one of those incense candles, thick and short, and held near a flame. Anushua stared open mouthed. She saw the candle glow oprange and pulsate, but no wax dripped from it. A few seconds later, Thakur held the candle in his right hand and urged Anushua in a soft, tender voice, "Lift your sari more...show the Sky-God your "yoni," this is His cock, warm and throbbing with desire, He wants to come home!" Without waiting, he drew Anushua's sari way, uncovering her till above her waist, baring her nakedness to his lascivious gaze. His mouth, too, was now open, as he, with a trembling hand, stroked her richly covered mound. Anushua looked at Thakur's face, desire in her eyes, but not sure whether her body was too old for this much younger man. Thakur spread her legs slightly, and felt the moist heat inside. Slowly, bending his round, fat body toward her midrif, Thakur began to rub the blunt head of the thick candle on her plump, hairlined lips. Anushua was surprised to feel the candle just a little bit hotter than warm, it spread its heat inside her, oozing forth her juices. No man had "ever" touched her like that! For what seemed like a long, long time, Thakur teased her sex with the candle, heating it over the flame periodically, then applying it again to her flesh, rubbing it up and down the furrow, spreading the thick lips apart. Anushua had by now abandoned her body to him. Closing her eyes, she took in the sensations, for the first time in her life, when her body had reached the point of no return. She moaned continuously forgetting everything, husband, family, every one. Suddenly, without a bit of warning, Thakur thrust the candle bluntly inside her, making her body buck up, a long drawn out wail coming out of her. His hand moved fast, in and out, the candle, maintaining its smooth and warm hardness, getting hotter by the second, it reached deep inside her. Anushua was beside herself with this fulfilled and voluptuous pleasure. Crying, moaning, she momentarily saw Thakur sitting next to her, his body positioned midway between her shouldder and hips, ministering the candle with total diligence and devotion. His eyes were intense now, sweat breaking out on his forehead. Anushua wriggled and writhed, her breath coming out in rasps, she spontaneously reached out for Thakur's cock, underneath the safron cloth. It was hard, stocky - and hot! She pulled at it, reaching with her hand for his balls. How tight they felt in her hands, how smooth and pulsating his "lingam." She pulled at it so hard that Thakur had to move toward her a little more. The candle in his hand had melted into half its size, covering Anushua's cunt with a warm foamy lather, making her clitoris that tingle crazily. Sudenly, Thakur pressed the candle-cock of the Sky-God on her clitoris with all his strenth and almost the next instant slipped it deep into her vagina, all in one swift motion. Anushua gave a savage, blood-curdling cry, shattering the dark silence. Her fist that had secured Thaku's cock trembled and vibrated, making his semen spurt out on her belly. At the touch of his hot come, the candle melted completely inside her, turning into white hot foam. With a shriek, Anushua came. Her urethra twitched and a pale clear whitish liquid spurted out of her. At first she was too far gone to notice the discharge. But she kept on sputing like a little tap gone besirk. She felt such a confusing mass of sensations, utter ecstasy, shame at coming like that in front of this man. Thakur stared at her ejaculation with awe and began to chant a "mantra." Even in a daze, Anushua understood. He was calling upon the Sky-God to take her away, "She's your, lord, yours, you have made her orgasm like a man, only you can do that, lord!" Sometime later that night, Anushua wrapped herself in a sari, covering her face with a veil, and stealthily returned to her own room. No one had returned yet, but would soon. The night was silent, murky. A slight cool breeze stirred up, the Neem trees outside her window began to sway, filling Anushua up with a deep satisfaction. Dreamily, her eyes closed. She saw the Sky-God's face, smiling with his dark eyes, sensual lips.