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I met him at a time when I wanted calm. Something light. He was from Mumbai, and funny. He could be grave and brooding too. He was comfortable. I wasn’t expecting to know him more than that dinner. I remember that when he said he never come to Bangalore ever, it suited me. He was a damn vegetarian too.

I was at work, and I told re, “Your Bihari type, I’ll just have dinner and be done.”

I walked in to this tony vegetarian place we’d mutually decided to meet at and he was there, rather bored. Serious face, talkative, naughty, funny, but capable of making me feel just a little warmth. He was chatty, and introduced me to the tangy mango salad and that jasmine tea.

It should have ended there. As I messaged re, I felt no emotion. But it did not end there. The man hugged me goodbye, a firm arm around me, a firm grip on the curve beneath my left breast. His moustache grazed just under my right ear, a momentary flash of his fingers, and I wished I was close to his hips, because I needed to feel them. Suddenly, I wanted to know what his need was. Dangerous territory, woman! Men don’t want your type. I must find a quick fling to fight off this man with that erotic birth mark and fingers I wanted to tease my folds.

Such an obstinate man. My imperfect body parts. I asked if he would pick me up that night, to smell the space, and create a pretext to make my story come alive. Through that midnight drive, it was an effort to hold my palms ataşehir escort bayan together and not reach out to hold him between his legs while also touching myself. Sigh. All I did was talk rubbish, bore him and feel my clit throbbing in my panties. That night, at my friend’s place where he dropped me, I must have smelled of my own juices and given off signals to the wrong man, who sensed something and thought it was because of him.

His birthday. I still don’t know why I did it. I was pissed that he would not give me his attentions. All those other men I met during those months were wonderful, but it was him I wanted. As the chats progressed that September night and I shed my clothes, I lay spread-eagled on that shady hotel bed with my fingers grazing my smooth folds.

The frantic messaging interfered with my right arm delving into the increasing wetness. My boss’s messages about the meetings the following day frustrated me and interfered with my growing need for him to lick me. I rubbed a little of the moisture on my tongue and wiped my tits with it. I wanted him right there, the tip of his tongue arousing my nipples as I curved my legs around his waist, and he ate my breasts.

I dug deeper into my wetness imagining this, while he talked innocuously of perfumery. Man! I wish you could have seen my violent need, darling, to hold your penis at the opening of my cave. I would have gently awakened him, as escort kadıöy he bit under my breasts and I rubbed my wet folds all over him.

Someday, as I sit in a room filled with people, I want to come with him, without a touch. But that night, as we chatted and he talked of carrots, I wanted him to put his mouth where my waters once broke and feel his rough stubble as he drank me up. I came at that moment, as he asked me if I wanted to meet him. My body was still smeared with my juices and I wanted his dick inside me.

Today, a month later, he said I was sarcastic and that I did not understand him. It’s true, I cannot understand him. I want him to put his hands through this Khandua sari that I am wearing today, and feel me from behind. I want him to lift me, bend me over the balcony railings and push into me. I want the world to watch as he thrusts, and I want to stop him.

I want to drink him. I turn towards him, correct my sari that has slipped, remove his grip and gently go down on him. I cannot see anything but those brooding eyes, as always.

I ask for his permission to taste him. He’s not sure but he lets me unbuckle his belt. I kiss the front of his trousers as I grasp his thighs tight, kneeling. As his pants fall, I nuzzle his pelvis and look at his eyes, the wolf inside me challenging him to stop me.

I cannot see his desire yet. I see his penis and tell him that I’d like to shower him with all of maltepe escort me. I hold him and rub my nose over his tip. My tongue flicks across the cleft and I can feel him awaken. I fondle his balls gently so not to hurt him and he tries to interrupt me. I warn him of my bite if he does, and I take small portions of his length inside my mouth as he impatiently holds his hands by his side.

His phone rings just then, and I ask him to answer it, all that while eating him. It feels wicked to make a man suffer, for not giving me him. His pre-cum mixes with my saliva, a little salty as I swallow. I go faster and harder. I want to shed my clothes, but tonight is for me to take him. I lead him to his chair, and seat him as he reaches to pull my sari off. I stop him. Tonight is mine. The sky over Mumbai and those neighbours do not matter either.

I can only remember his video of the rains in Kaziranga as I kneel and continue to suckle him. I take his balls in my mouth, one at a time, and he yelps. Being seen with a dark-skinned South Indian woman like me may not be appealing, but his penis is now alive and about to be mine. I unbutton his shirt, let it drop, lift my sari and lower myself on his erection as he grips my hips and I his neck. I rock him. I want him to fill me up now, and as he thrusts up, I push him down with the same need, faster and harder.

He holds me so I don’t fall backwards, and he doesn’t slip out of me. I want him to come, and he me. For the only time, our eyes meet. I see that his eyes have changed, and his moustache shines in the night. Those eyes are focused on mine as he grabs me and thrusts hard. I burned as he spurted inside me, and my cunt poured out in response.

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