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Erotica by Mary Jorsay Gandmar
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NOTE: This story may be archived and distributed free, but may NOT
be sold or otherwise distributed for commercial gain/profit.
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Copyright 1998,
Mary Jorsay Gandmar
<maryjg@finebody.com>
OBSESSION
1
PAST PERFECT
Pallavi felt Vijay's long, thick cock throb and pulse ominously in
her cunt and smoothly accelerated her motions, pushing for an
orgasm. He thrust deeply into her, stroking quickly in and out,
making her body jerk and snap with his thrusts. With a soft moan,
digging her fingers into his shoulders, lifting her hips to his,
she arched her back steeply and squeezed her cunt over it several
times in quick succession. He gasped and thrust back into her,
ramming in hard. Pallavi moaned thickly and began to orgasm. Her
cunt convulsed on his penis and he groaned and pushed his cock
deep into her and began to come, twitching his hips at hers,
making her jerk gently as the spoot geysered into her slit. She
moaned again. His orgasm passed in seconds and his cock promptly
began to shrink. Grunting, he slid out of her cunt and lay panting
beside her. Pallavi snuggled close to him and flung her legs
across his hips. She was very horny, very hot. But there was no
way he would be able to fuck her again. They had done it three
times already. Pallavi sighed. Oh well. Everyone had their limits.
He was an Attorney, a partner in a hundred-year old law firm and
they had been lovers for just about a year now, friends for a lot
longer. He wasn't the kind she usually fucked. She only did it out
of a sense of obligation.
At the time when she was just starting out on her career and the
briefs were trivial and far between, Vijay sent her a steady
stream of work from his firm. He paid her fees promptly and
without question, often paying her more than she billed. At least
once a day he came to Court and sat by her while she worked.
He wasn't a bad sort, really, and his intentions were pure in that
horrible middle-class way. He came from humble beginnings, the son
of a clerk and he had put himself through college and then law
school, picking up English on the way. As a result his accent was
terribly coarse and he was acutely aware of his serious handicap
with the *lingua franca* of litigation. A few years ago, he had
married. He lived in the suburbs in a modest flat in an even more
modest housing colony. As far as she knew, his wife was a typical
housewife, docile and unambitious, content to spend her time in
the house and kitchen and, Pallavi imagined, to allow him to fuck
her once or twice a month without complaining or making any
attempt to enjoy herself.
At first, Pallavi thought that he was only sexually attracted to
her. That was easily met. Still, unsure of his intentions, for he
made no proclamations of love or devotion, she hesitated. Then she
noticed that he had begun to spend more and more time around her.
He took her to lunch in the bustling South Indian vegetarian
restaurant across the street. They had coffee together after Court
at a coffee house. If there was a Bar dinner, he never brought his
wife but always asked if he could pick her up. Recently, he had
taken to dropping in at her Chambers unannounced.
Once, he had almost caught her *in flagrante delicto*, just as she
was undressing for sex with her peon. Fortunately, Anant had the
wit to stall Vijay outside while he called in and that gave her
just enough time to put her clothes on again. Then he wouldn't
leave, said he was free and would sit while she worked, would wait
till she was through and walk her to her car. Finally, she had to
tell him to go, saying she couldn't concentrate with him sitting
opposite her. Of course, she hadn't the heart to be brutal about
it and she turned it into a joke, with a veiled innuendo he caught
and understood. He fled immediately. Within minutes, Anant had
locked and bolted the door and was with Pallavi. Laughing at Vijay
and his almost childish innocence, Pallavi and her peon fucked
slowly and unhurriedly on the floor of her Chambers. She slipped
out of her clothes and knelt before him. Anant was a strong,
wickedly handsome youth with a broad-shouldered, lean, muscular
body and a handsome cock of sizable proportions. Pallavi loved
fucking him. She knelt before him and sucked his cock slowly, with
deep enjoyment. He fucked her face happily, his head bent, holding
her head and rocking it back and forth before his pumping hips,
calling soft obscenities to her. She liked that.
"Mm ... yeh ... suck it ... suck my cock, whore ... yeh ... you
give good head, bitch ... keep sucking ... just keep sucking!" It
was even sexier in the vernacular. "*Hanh* ... *chul* ... *choos*,
*rundi* ... *choos* *mujhe*! *Accha* *choosti* *hain*, *rahnd* ...
*choosti* *reh* ... *chul* ... *jorse* *choos*!"
When he was ready, he pushed her head away and Pallavi went down
on the floor on her back and spread her legs wide, bending her
knees. Anant bent over her and slowly squeezed his cock into her
cunt. She groaned in pleasure, arching under him, clenching the
bulging biceps in his outstretched arms, bucking her hips eagerly
under his. He grunted as her cunt convulsed on his throbbing cock
and, bending his head, kissed her deeply, thrusting his tongue
into her mouth. She writhed under him, her breasts hot under his
chest, caressing the powerful, knotted muscles in his shoulders.
He pushed his cock deeper and deeper into her cunt till it was in
the hilt.
"Mm," she murmured. "That's lovely ... c'mon Anant ... fuck me ...
slowly ... mm, yes ... that's it ... *hanh* ... *chul*, Anant ...
*chodh* *mujhe* ... *ahiste* ... *hanh* ... *aise* ... *chul* ...
*rok* *mut*!"
The peon began fucking her unhurriedly, slowly sliding his cock in
and out of her cunt, flexing and unflexing his buttocks
alternately, moving his hips from the waist in a controlled,
exquisitely slow rhythm. Pallavi loved the way his cock surged
into her cunt, driving a huge wall of pleasure before it through
her body.
"Anant?" she murmured, craning her neck to lick his small, hard
nipple, pulled low and wide under his deeply cleaved chest.
"Mm?"
"Should I fuck him? *Usko* *mujhe* *chodhne* *doonh*?"
"Who, Vijay?"
"Mm. Yes. Should I? *Hanh*. *Karoon* *kya*?"
Anant pursed his lips and thought about it, not stopping his
in-and-out motions. Pallavi moved in unison with him. Their
orgasms were yet distant, but growing steadily closer.
"I don't know. How d'you think he'll take it? He's in love with
you. That's obvious. *Woh* *toh* *tujhe* *pyaar*-*mohabbat*
*karta* *hain*. *Zahir* *hain*."
She bit her lower lip and moaned thickly as he ground deep into
her. Her legs opened wider and her feet rose up the backs of his
strong thighs. Her hips arched to meet his in descent. He grunted
and, deep in her cunt, held still, moving his hips gently from
side to side. The feeling was exquisitely delicate.
"Oh Anant ... that's lovely ... yes ... well ... I don't really
know, that's the problem, you see. *Wohi* *toh*. I can't decide
whether he wants to fuck me - whether it's just *lust* for my body
- or if he's got some silly notion of a pure and beautiful
relationship that will endure forever. You know that kind of
thing."
Anant chuckled softly. "Yeah. Hindi movie middle-class. Stupid."
She grinned. "And boring. I mean look at us now. Nothing pure
about this, is there?"
"But it's beautiful, isn't it?"
"Yes," she laughed. "It's that all right. So. What do you think?"
He shrugged. "Give it a shot. But do it slow. Sort of like a love
thing, all that gentle tender shit. Not just the wham-bam scene."
"No, of course not. That'd tear him apart."
"Yeah, I think it would. Imagine if he saw us here now."
"Imagine." She laughed. "Now come on ... I'm getting hot ... fuck
me hard! *Jorse* *chodh* *mujhe*!"
Vijay didn't pluck up the courage to come back till the middle of
the next week. He wasn't hurt that she'd asked him to leave that
day, just terrified. He felt confused and bewildered. He couldn't
understand what drew him to her so. He could sit for hours
watching her, looking at her face, the way it lit up, her bright
smile, her infectious laugh, the way her little nose-stud winked
and the pretty birth marks danced on her face and throat. And yes,
he'd found himself watching her body, too, her firm, curved belly
when she wore a *sari* and the way her breasts jumped when she
moved, but it was a tender, concerned interest, not that he wanted
to sleep with her, no, nothing like that, she was too good and too
decent even to imagine any such thing.
With his wife, he was suddenly and unwontedly hungry, and Deepika
didn't know what to make of it when her husband wanted to fuck her
two nights in succession. Since their honeymoon, a fifteen day
period when they'd fucked every night, he never turned to her more
than once or twice a month. It was almost as though he had been
under some sort of sex stress before his marriage, and vented
everything during the honeymoon. After that, he seemed to lose
interest - almost as if having sex with his wife was just part of
his marital obligation and nothing more.
Though his cock was adequately sized - eight inches long and over
an inch thick, and he knew the usual routine, fucking her mouth,
licking her slit and so on - he lacked imagination and power. She
always let him fuck her when he wanted, doing as he instructed,
playing the obedient acolyte and, usually, there was a small
element of genuine pleasure in the sex - she had an orgasm
occasionally - but nothing that was really satisfying. Still, he
was a kind, gentle soul, did nothing to hurt her and made no
demands. Of course, there were other men around - servants and so
on, but Deepika didn't have the heart to upset him.
She fought the temptation valiantly. For a while.
And kept the truth from him.
Deepika loved sex. She'd loved it ever since she was sixteen when
she lost her virginity to the family servant's son, a boy she'd
almost grown up with. He was a couple of years older than her and,
as it turned out, already sufficiently experienced to guide her.
She was lovely at sixteen, slender and fair-skinned with finely
chiselled features, lovely eyes, a slim, straight nose and full
lips, clear skin, a long neck, full breasts, a narrow waist and
bell-shaped hips, elegant legs and arms with slender ankles and
wrists. Her body had begun to torment her with strange, exciting,
frightening sensations and she found herself looking at Mohan out
of the corner of her eye and feeling curiously light-headed by the
sight of his body. They lived in a small two-room apartment, she
and her parents and elder brother. Mohan lived nearby and worked
in a motor garage. She passed it on her way from school and always
stopped to chat with him.
One afternoon she found him alone. There was not much work in hand
and he suggested they go to a *chai* shop at the corner. They had
tea, sitting in the half-empty place, laughing and chatting and he
said he'd walk her home. It wasn't far. On the way, they passed a
cluster of huts by the road.
"You live here now, don't you?" she said.
Mohan had moved out of their house when he was seventeen and, with
a loan from her father, Mohan and his mother had got themselves a
ramshackle tarpaulin covered tin hut in this almost-slum.
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"Yes." They walked on a bit. Suddenly, he said, "Would you like to
see it?"
She looked at him and, slowly, nodded. He smiled and took her arm
in his hand. She thrilled at the touch of his hand on hers. She
looked at him and flushed as his eyes drilled into her. He turned
down a cramped alley between a row of huts. It was reasonably
clean, but very noisy. The lane ended in a gutter running hard by
a bramble. He turned the corner and led her to a small hut with a
sloping tin roof and a rickety wooden door with a padlock. Mohan
unlocked the door and pushed it open.
It was very spare, almost Spartan. One chair, a little table, a
kerosene stove in a corner, a few pots and pans on two wooden
shelves. A cheap calendar on the wall by a small mirror. Clothes
hung on a line, a tin chest. A hemp *charpoy* with a thin pillow
and sheet and sagging mattress. A cheap novel lay on the floor by
the *charpoy*.
"Well," he said. "That's it. Home. My mansion. *Meri* *haveli*."
Deepika looked around. "It's ... it's very nice. *Accha* *hai*."
Mohan looked at her and she went very still. Time stopped and the
sounds of the city faded. He came closer. And closer. And closer.
Took her face in his hands. His head bent. Hers tilted. Her lips
parted. She could feel his breath on her face, smell the warm musk
of his body, feel its warmth. His lips came closer.
In that afternoon of heat, Deepika experienced an explosion of joy
she had never imagined possible. Mohan was tender and gentle and
his body was wonderful and when his cock surged into her flesh,
Deepika almost fainted with ecstasy. She wanted more, more, more,
wanted it never to end. He fucked her on the *charpoy*, taking her
slowly and deeply and then faster and faster as she bucked and
heaved and writhed desperately under him, her teenage body tossing
and jumping and jerking in an uncontrollable fever, her cunt
convulsing and spasming on his thrusting cock which was so big, so
thick, so hard, so hot, so good, so very good. Her nipples ached
with the sweet tension of it and when he sucked and licked them
and crushed them in his hands she felt the heat flood her from
head to toe. On and on he went and the *charpoy* creaked and her
voice was ragged and hoarse from calling and moaning. She came in
an explosion of bliss, the breath shooting from her throat.
The next afternoon, he fucked her again.
She baulked at nothing, absolutely nothing. When she had his cock
in her mouth, it was the most wonderful feeling. He fucked her
mouth slowly and happily and she wouldn't have minded if he'd gone
on all night.
Then he turned her on her front, kneeling on the floor and bent
over the bed and entered her from behind, straddling her hips in a
low crouch and pushing his cock in and in and in till she thought
it would rip her in two, it was so big, so thick, so hot, so hard.
He fucked her hungrily then, thrusting greedily in and out of her
cunt and she came again, long and slow and this time he came too,
his cock buried deep in her cunt. Deepika never forgot that first
exquisite feeling of hot jizz spurting and spurting and spurting
into her cunt.
After that, they met in his hut every afternoon. She was naturally
curious and adventurous in bed and willing to try anything so long
as it felt good. She never tired of sex. When he suggested anal
sex, she didn't hesitate and as his cock ground into her anus, she
felt no pain, just a glorious, stinging exhilaration that made her
call out to him for more in the gutter words he had taught her.
A few weeks later, he introduced her to his friends from the
garage, Dinesh and Deepak, both lean, hard-bodied youths with
quietly handsome faces. Now she was 'his', Mohan's, his woman, his
mate, his keep. She didn't mind living the lie, somehow it had a
nice feeling to it. She played her role dutifully, almost like his
wife. Without his asking, she dressed in *saris* when they were
together, changing out of her school tunic.
In his hut, she made tea for all of them and served the men. She
noticed how Dinesh and Deepak followed her with their eyes and
knew, with a woman's instinct, that they wanted her, too.
Deepika had a natural streak of exhibitionism in her and she knew
with a clarity unusual for a teenager that she didn't love Mohan,
that it was the sex that drew her, that and the additional
exciting fillip of doing something secretly and on the sly,
something risky. Danger was a powerful aphrodisiac. If she had
more than one lover, the risk was magnified and so the temptation.
She teased Dinesh and Deepak, giving them glimpses of her breasts
under her low-necked blouse, moving sensually around the hut,
letting her eyes smoulder on theirs.
The men finished their tea and stepped out for a smoke. Deepika
sprawled on the hemp cot with a magazine, waiting for Mohan to
come back.
"Deepika," Mohan said softly as he returned.
She was lying on the *charpoy* now on her side, her head propped
in her hand, her elbow bent, leafing through a trashy magazine.
Her *sari* had slipped into the crook of her arm. In the heat, two
or three of the buttons down the front of her tight blouse were
open and her breasts strained at the cloth, showing a lot of her
deep cleavage and luscious breasts. Mohan sat behind and leaned
over, an arm in front of her belly. She didn't look up at him.
"What is it?" she murmured.
He cleared his throat. "Deepika, I ... um ... Dinesh ... that is,
Dinesh and Deepak ..."
"Yes?"
"They ... um ... they would also like ..."
"What?"
He didn't reply. There was a soft rustle as Mohan's chums came in
again. She glanced at them, saw the looks on their faces, and
turned back to Mohan.
"What, Mohan? What would they like?"
He looked at her nervously and swallowed. She smiled.
"They'd like to fuck me, isn't that it?"
There was a little silence. Then Mohan stared, nodded glumly.
"Well, you don't have to look so downcast about it, Mohan," she
grinned. "Of *course* I'll fuck them. Any friend of yours is a
friend of mine, as they say, and if I can't please your friends,
I'm not a good friend to you, right?"
The men stared at her, dumbfounded. She closed the book and
flipped on her back on the *charpoy*.
"On one condition, though," she murmured, reaching up and
unbuttoning his shirt slowly. "Before they fuck me, they must sit
here and watch you fuck me. Then they can fuck me and you've got
to watch. Okay?"
Mohan grinned in excitement and pulled her blouse open and
squeezed her naked breast. She was wearing nothing under it.
Smiling, she hiked her *sari* up to her hips and pulled Mohan down
over her, unbuttoning his shirt and trousers.
Squatting on the beaten dirt floor, Deepak and Dinesh watched in
excited fascination as their friend fucked his girl on the
*charpoy*, taking her furiously. His buttocks danced over her lap,
bobbing and bouncing up and down and they could see his cock
plunging and pistoning in and out of her cunt. Her hips heaved and
pumped under his, and her cries rang in their ears. Their
erections, when Mohan finished, were monstrous. Deepika smiled in
pleasure.
Deepika never wanted for a lover after that. One of the three was
always available to take her to Mohan's hut and fuck her. On good
days, she had all three together. Dinesh was good, as good as
Mohan, but Deepak was terrific. He had a round, sweetly handsome
face, a dark, wiry, strong body and an absolutely magnificent cock
she loved. It wasn't long before she tried taking all three
simultaneously in her cunt, mouth and ass.
She finished school, and grew lovelier, her breasts filling out,
her curves getting more accentuated. In college, she took a
polytechnic course in hotel management and did reasonably well.
There were other lovers now, for she had greater freedom and was
out of the house a lot longer. There was her trainer, a handsome
Goan who took her to his house and fucked her all afternoon. There
were a couple of her fellow-students with whom she had torrid sex
in squalid little suburban hotels that rented by the hour.
She graduated and, for a few months after that, waiting for a job
offer and replies to her applications, she spent time fucking with
what she called her three musketeers, long afternoons of glorious
sex in Mohan's hut. The days passed and she got no response but
letters of regret. Deepika grew morose. Finally, it was Deepak who
broke through and took her into a whole new world.
They were fucking one afternoon, and she was astride his hips on
the *charpoy*. He groaned and bucked his hips under her, sliding
his hands up her body to cup her breasts.
"Hey, Deepika."
"What?"
"Got a job offer yet?"
"You know I haven't."
"How would you like to do this for money?"
"Do what?"
"This. Fucking."
She stared down at him. "You must be joking." She bent over and
kissed him, her lovely, sloping breasts pressing against his
chest, her tongue slipping in and out of his mouth. He squeezed
her breasts and pressed a fingertip to her anus. Her cunt was
really incredibly hot and tight. He grunted as it convulsed on his
penis.
"No. I'm serious," he murmured, licking her stiff nipple. "Think
about it."
"You want me to *whore*?"
"Why not? It's not like anyone's forcing you into prostitution,
you know. You'd whore because you want to. And the money's good.
Very good."
"Oh yes? And how would you know?"
He grinned. "I've been meaning to tell you. I've been working at
this place, this hotel downtown."
"I thought you were working as a peon. A peon-cum-chauffeur."
"That was before."
"You never told me."
"No. I didn't. Anyway, this hotel's not just a hotel. It's a
world-class, high-quality whorehouse, too. Top five, six floors.
I've got in as a stud."
She stared down at him. "A stud?"
"Yeah. Stud. Gigolo. Dame comes in, needs a fuck, I fuck her. I
get paid."
"*Women* come into this whorehouse?"
He grinned. "What's the matter, women don't fuck?"
"No, it's not that. It's just that, I mean ..."
"Yeah, I know what you mean. I was surprised, too, at first. But
there's a whole load of women out there who like a good fuck with
a stranger. Any number of reasons. Nowhere to go, no one to go
with, many of them are married, too, husband's not interested,
whatever."
"So they come to you and you fuck them."
"They don't come to *me*. They come to the hotel where I work. If
my name's up, I fuck them."
"And they pay you for this?"
"Very well. Ten grand a pop. Minimum. My take's seventy five
percent. Excluding tips and gifts and shit. Like this watch. See?
Solid gold bracelet."
"You must have done some fucking for that."
"Yeah," he chuckled. "Fucked her brains out. She said she never
knew it could be that good. So I fucked her again - hard and rough
this time."
He grinned. Her eyes were glittering with excitement. He knew she
had taken the bait.
"Last couple of months, they've taken me off the stud-roll," he
continued.
"Why's that?"
"I'm heading a talent scout unit now. We have several. I'm head of
one."
"Talent scout?"
"Yeah. They found I had a knack of getting with dames and scoping
them out. Brought in a couple who've turned out to be great
whores. Customers love 'em and they make great profits for the
hotel. So I was put in charge."
"And now you're scoping me out?"
He laughed. "No, idiot. I scoped you out years ago. I'm only
recommending you try it. With you it's different. We don't have to
play catch and all that. I don't have to - seduce you, see? You're
right here, doing it already. Tell you what, why don't I set it up
for you, try it, see if you like it, then decide. The girls tell
me it's quite a kick having a stranger come in and fuck you and
leave and pay good money for it. They're very well looked after,
too. Interested?"
But he knew the answer to that already. She was looking down at
him with a deep glitter in her dark eyes, and her face was flushed
with excitement.
"Yes," she murmured. "When can we go?"
"Now?"
"No," she groaned. "Not now ... after we finish ... come on Deepak
... fuck me ... fuck me ... fuck me!"
That afternoon, Deepika started whoring at the hotel where Deepak
worked. She was told that for the first week, she was on probation
while they assessed her capabilities to decide her grade. Before
doing anything else, she would have to sit for a photo-shoot.
Deepika didn't know what to expect when they led her to an airy
studio. There, the makeup crew went to work on her face while the
costumes staff measured her and quickly altered several outfits.
She was photographed fully clad by a quietly handsome young man
with a completely professional approach. She was wearing a simple
*churidar* and *kurta* ensemble, the *kurta* with a low V neck. He
took shots of her in different positions from different angles.
Then he switched off the lights and nodded to the prop crew. They
re-did the set and re-did her hair and re-did her make-up and got
her into another outfit. This one was more revealing, showing a
lot of breast and leg and Deepika felt strangely aroused by it.
She returned to the floor and the photographer went to work again
and this time he made her bend in different, distinctly sexual
positions, kneeling, tilting her face up, leaning forward, showing
her cleavage.
They went through several more costume changes, each more
revealing than the last, including a zipped up black leather
jacket that was left undone to the crotch with nothing under it,
and a *houri* outfit, transparent harem pants with deep slashes
outside and inside to the crotch and a ridiculously small and
tight top out of which her breasts squeezed invitingly. The last
was a completely see-through fishnet and now the photographer made
her get into blatantly sexy positions, on her front, looking over
her shoulder with her legs spread so that her anus and cunt
showed; on her back, her legs lifted and parted, showing the moist
flesh of her cunt.
Deepika got steadily hornier through the shoot, her natural
exhibitionist streak subduing any hesitation she might have had.
She found she enjoyed showing off her body and the appreciative
smiles from the crew gave her a special thrill.
They weren't finished yet. Now a handsome young man stalked in to
the studio and spoke quietly with the photographer.
He turned to her and smiled. He was devastatingly sexy. "Deepika,"
he said. "Good afternoon. My name is Hemant and I run the photo
and film divisions of this company. My compliments. You've done
very well so far. Exceptionally so."
Deepika smiled shyly. He pulled up a chair and sat beside her.
"Now what we want to do is a little more complicated. We want to
do a longer shoot, first of you masturbating and then of you
fucking. Are you ready for that, or would you like to come back
tomorrow? You could even stop now and leave, if you prefer."
Deepika looked at him, suddenly hit by a twinge of nervousness.
This was *very* dangerous. It was one thing to sneak off and fuck
a guy. It was another thing to be filmed doing it. There would be
*evidence*.
Hemant saw her hesitation. He cupped her face in his hand gently.
"Deepika. Think about it. Take your time, there's no rush. But you
shouldn't be made to do something you don't want to do. But let me
tell you this. From us, you have nothing to fear. If you stay on,
the prints and films will be locked in a vault abroad. We will use
the footage very discreetly only in select films that screen in
foreign countries, never here. If you leave, we return everything
to you and you can keep it or destroy it, as you wish. We do *not*
run to blackmail, though some of our lesser competitors do and so
give us a reputation we don't deserve."
He watched her in silence. Deepika looked at him and at the quiet
set waiting expectantly. She was feeling very horny. She smiled.
"I ... I'll do it now, sir," she said softly.
He grinned broadly and pecked her on the cheek. "That's the
spirit. Never give up. Come on, we'll get things set."
The next session was the sexiest thing Deepika had done in her
life. She was put into a diaphanous gown and photographed
masturbating. First she used her fingers only. Then she used the
lovely toys they gave her, dildoes and vibrators that she ran in
and out of her cunt and ass till she orgasmed with surprising
satisfaction.
And then her lover stepped onto the set. He was a gorgeous black
man with rugged, handsome features and a stunning body. He was
wearing an eye-mask and a black leather cod-piece and nothing
else. He had the most awesome cock Deepika had ever seen. Her body
crackled with lust.
Minutes later, they were having sex under the hot lights and the
photographer and three assistants was scurrying around them,
taking them from every angle, calling instructions softly. The man
fucked her mouth and just went on and on and no matter what she
did it didn't make him blow. Deepika had never imagined a man with
such power and control. He fucked her face for as long as the
photographer wanted him to and then, quietly and without sign of
emotion, stepped away.
"Fuck her on her back first," the photographer said softly. "And
mind you spread your legs good and wide. I want close-ups of your
cock in her slit. And Deepika, just keep it going for as long as
you can, okay? Call if you want a break. Set?"
It was the most glorious fucking Deepika had ever known. She went
down on her back and the huge cock crushed into her cunt slowly
and heavily and the big man grunted softly as he flexed his
buttocks and pushed his hips down, squeezing his cock deeper and
deeper into her cunt. She gasped and moaned, biting her lower lip,
her hips bucking eagerly, her breasts hot and swollen and dug her
fingers into the immense, bulging biceps in his outstretched arms.
Her legs split wider and wider as he levered them apart with his
thighs.
"Oh uhhh oh ma uhhhhhh OHHHHHHH!" Deepika called, arching steeply
under the masked black man.
In and in his penis went. Deepika had never been fucked like this.
His cock was impossibly big, ten inches long, nearly three inches
thick, with a gorged, bulging cock-head. Deeper and deeper he went
and the breath rattled from her throat as she thought it would
surely rip her in toe. The man buried his cock in her and paused.
She heard the soft whir-click, whir-click of the camera shutters
and motor-drives, the shuffle of the photographers moving around
them. The hard lights and reflectors burned her skin.
The black man bent his head and kissed her slowly, deeply. His
tongue was thick and heavy as he pushed it gently into her mouth.
He began to fuck her.
Deepika felt giddy. She had never been fucked like this, never
with such mastery and control. The man raised his hips smoothly,
drawing his cock up and out further and further, making her gasp
at the sudden release in pressure in her cunt, till just his
cock-head was in her cunt. Then, with a slow, skewering,
spiralling action, he thrust down into her, driving his cock
relentlessly into her cunt and, before it, a huge tidal wave of
pleasure that rocked her body and made her groan and cry out and
curl up on the small of her back. Again he drew out, and thrust
down into her, and yet again. Deepika moaned feverishly. Her loins
blazed with lust. His cock was incredibly heavy and hot and hard
and it mashed and pulverized her inflamed clitoris in its passage.
On and on he went, his cock rising and falling, rising and
falling, his buttocks flexing and unflexing, his immense muscles
rippling smoothly and effortlessly. Deepika's hips bucked and
writhed in a frenzy under his.
"Steady," he grunted. "Steady. Keep it steady!"
Deepika moaned. He wasn't even out of breath! She arched under
him, her cunt convulsing on his cock and tried to match his
rhythm. Her fingers dug into the thick pads of muscle in his
shoulder and she gritted her teeth and forced herself to hold
back.
"Better," he said softly. "Much better. Keep with me."
He kept up the rhythm for several minutes, moving effortlessly.
Deepika felt dazed, her mind a numb effusion of pure, unbridled
pleasure as the lust-heat swamped her body.
"Yes," she moaned. "Oh god yes ... fuck me ... fuck me please ...
yes ... oh god yes ... ohh that's so good yes!" She squeezed her
breasts erotically, pinching the stiff nipples and heard him and
the photographer chuckle softly.
"Okay, Joe. Go for it," the photographer said. "Then lick her
slit, sixty-nine and from behind. Got all that?"
"No sweat," the man said.
"What's she like so far?"
"Damn good for a first timer. Needs practice with big cocks, but
terrific for a fresh chick."
They were talking about her as if she didn't exist. Deepika
whimpered. This was how it was to be, then, she was to be used
like this, like any common whore. Somehow, she found it very sexy.
The man was moving faster now, slowly gathering speed. She groaned
and looked at him. He was breathing harder, but still in complete
control, his muscles cording smoothly. She gasped and whimpered as
the huge cock crushed her cunt-flesh without respite, running
deeply in and out of her cunt in a steady, sawing motion. Deepika
groaned. It felt wonderful. Her body writhed and jerked, her
breasts jumping and jiggling with his thrusts, her gold necklace
tossing and slapping on her creamy, fair skin.
Faster and faster he went and now his cock was ramming into her
with deep, stabbing thrusts that forced the air from her lungs
each time. Deepika's head swam and she began to orgasm violently.
"OH! UH OH UH OH UH OH UH OH MA UH OH MA OH MA OH MA UHHH
OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" she called as her cunt convulsed frantically
on his pistoning penis.
Her orgasm intensified as he kept thudding into her, lengthened,
slowly ebbed. The man slid out of her and, before she could react,
was bending his head to her breasts, sucking them sharply, letting
go, biting her long, stiff nipples, scraping them across his white
teeth and gums and the roof of his mouth, squeezing both together
and sucking simultaneously. Deepika gasped as the lust-fires built
and spread again. His finger slid into her slit and he began
finger-fucking her slowly, jabbing his finger into her cunt,
pressing the hard knuckle to her throbbing clitoris, twisting his
finger this way and that, rocking his hand back and forth. She
moaned and cried out, her fingers scrabbling at his body. And then
he went down and drove his face into her crotch.
Deepika loved being tongue-fucked, but she had never been
tongue-fucked like this. Joe's tongue was long and thick and heavy
and it jabbed deep into her cunt, found her clitoris, whipped it
rapidly, drew back, pressed into her cunt-flesh, probing the
flesh, tasting her flowing juices and then returned to torment her
clitoris.
"OHHHHHH uhh OH uh OHHHH uhh Oh yes oh yes oh god yes!" she
called, her body flecked with sweat. "Oh ma uhh ahhhh uhhhhh yes!"
The man slid his finger into her cunt and began to finger- and
tongue-fuck her simultaneously. Deepika cried out, her face
twisting and contorting in an agony of lust and suddenly his erect
cock was hovering over her face. Instantly, her mouth opened and
she moaned as the huge cock filled it, distending her face. Their
bodies rocked and writhed in a sixty-nine.
It ended with him taking her from behind, kneeling behind her and,
holding her hips, rocking her body back and forth before him,
dragging her cunt up and down the length of his shaft. Deepika
gasped, her mind whirling. His cock filled her cunt and he went on
and on and on, whacking his thighs at her buttocks, in no apparent
hurry, his hands everywhere, on her buttocks, on her breasts, his
tongue in her ear, at the nape of her neck, in her mouth. She
orgasmed again and he began moving faster, thudding into her
heavily, his balls slapping at her cunt-lips, his thighs bouncing
off her buttocks.
"Come when set. Call of two," the photographer said.
"Five minutes."
"Sure."
Smoothly, the black man levered himself into a squat astride her
hips and began to fuck her rapidly, stabbing his cock into her
cunt, lifting his buttocks high, then rocking them forward in
deep, rushing, piercing thrusts. Beneath him, Deepika gasped and
cried out, her breath coming in rattling, heaving sobs as the huge
penis plundered her cunt-flesh. On and on he went, in and out, in
and out, in and out, in and out.
"One! Two!" she heard him call as she tottered into another
orgasm.
And then he rammed hard into her once, twice, three times and
began to come. Deepika moaned. She had never known a cum-flood so
prodigious. His cock just would not stop spurting. It filled her
slit and overflowed in a sticky trickle down her thighs. He slid
out of her and more jizz spattered her back and buttocks, dribbled
into the cleft between them. Slowly, he squeezed his cock back
into her cunt and began to fuck her again.
The photographer killed the lights. Joe slid out of her. Deepika
sank down on the bed, exhausted, her chest heaving, her body
trembling. Joe got off the bed.
"Thanks. That was a very decent fuck," he said to her.
Deepika moaned, her fingers still clawed on the sheets. She heard
a soft, dry chuckle and her eyes fluttered open. The photographer
had finished packing up. He grinned at her and began to take off
his clothes as he came to the bed.
"S.O.P., around here," he said. "Standard Operating Procedure. I
get to fuck the models as a bonus. You don't mind?"
Deepika didn't care any longer, numb and dizzy with what Joe had
done to her.
"Good," the photographer cackled. "And there's others, too,
waiting, if you'll have them."
An hour later, she was still at it, this time with a young
spot-boy, a teenager with a wiry body and long, thick cock in a
room with four glass walls. She knew, instinctively, that even
here she was being filmed. By now, she was totally spent,
completely exhausted, drained, her limbs trembling. The
photographer had fucked her for over half an hour. He, too, had a
big cock and he had fucked her mercilessly in every orifice, even
taking her ass.
Then the spotboy came in, turned her over, cleaned her up with a
damp towel, gave her a drink. She felt better after that, and
distinctly horny. The spot boy grinned at her and pushed his cock
into her mouth and his tongue into her cunt. He fucked her
rapidly, taking her twice before he was done, coming explosively
in her slit.
"Enough."
Deepika looked up with dull eyes. Hemant was moving towards her,
concern on his face.
"Are you all right?" he asked. "Was it too much?"
She shook her head. "Yes ... no ... I don't know ..." Her speech
sounded slurred and heavy.
"You'll have to learn to deal with that kind of demand, if you
want to be in a decent grade here," he explained softly. "Do you
understand me? If I wanted to fuck you now, I should have an
immediate yes. Do you follow?"
Deepika was too far gone to respond. Hemant snapped his fingers.
Someone hurried forward with a drink in a plastic bottle. He
pressed the tube straw between her lips.
"Here. Take this. It helps. And don't let it worry you. Many girls
need it still, even after years here. It's no sign of failure."
Deepika sipped the drink and closed her eyes and sank back into
the pillows. There was a drug in the drink obviously. Slowly, it
powered through her body and, ten minutes later, she was on fire
again, her mind clear as a bell.
"I want to fuck," she heard herself say to Hemant, getting up and
looking at him with a hunger glittering in her eyes. "Can I?"
He chuckled. "Of course. We have someone waiting. Your very first
client."
She was taken to a richly appointed suite. A stranger was waiting.
He smiled when he saw her. He was obviously rich and quite
handsome. Deepika couldn't have cared less if he was an ogre. She
was burning with lust.
Within minutes, she was on her knees before the man, sucking it
feverishly. The man groaned in pleasure as he fucked her face.
"Mm ... yeh ... fuck you're good, bitch ... suck it! C'mon ...
suck it harder ... oh fuck yes!" he gasped, pumping his hips to
and fro, pushing his cock in and out of her distended face,
rocking her head back and forth in one hand.
Deepika moaned deep in her cock-filled throat, working his
cock-head with her tongue, sucking sharply, letting go, sucking
hard again. She loved sucking cock, and did it very well. The man
gasped at her cunning and prowess. His cock spurted pre-cum gunk
and she gasped, opening her mouth under his cock and letting him
watch it spurt into her throat, spatter her breasts and face. He
pushed her head away. Deepika groaned and, moving to the bed, went
down on her back, spreading her legs and clawing her cunt-lips
open for him.
"Fuck me," she gasped. "Take me, lover! Fuck me hard! Do what you
like with me! I'm want to be fucked!"
The man stared down at her. He was handsome and well-built, in his
late thirties, obviously very rich.
"How old are you, bitch?" he said softly.
"Seventeen," she gasped. "Almost."
"My god," he breathed, a grin splitting his face as he moved up
over her. "Oh my god."
Deepika pushed her hand between their bodies and guiding his cock
to her cunt. He paused and then, with soft cry, drove his cock
deep into her cunt.
It took an hour for him to finish and then she was taken off.
Deepak was with her when the manager, Santosh, asked her to
confirm her willingness to join service. She agreed without
hesitation and Deepak smiled and kissed her.
The next day, she was told, she would have to do a screen test.
For a porn film. With a small smile, Santosh told her the salaries
and perquisites she would get. Deepika's jaw dropped. It was more
money each night, in the lowest grade, than her father made in a
month. She could hardly wait to begin.
Deepika returned home in an euphoric mood. She told her family
she'd got a job at the hotel in reservations. The hotel was
well-known as among the city's finest, swankiest, most respectable
business establishments. Her parents were overjoyed. Her father
took them out to a restaurant to celebrate and her mother fed her
sweetmeats in thanksgiving. If only they knew.
The next day, Santosh escorted her to the sound-stage. There would
be no client today, he said, since she was doing a screen test and
that might require several takes. The clients would begin the next
day when her evaluations came in, and the next week she'd be asked
to do a live show. She could refuse, of course - but no one did,
he said with a hint of warning, implying that refusal would
inevitably result in a lowering of her grades and consequently the
money she made and the kind of client she was offered to.
"I hope you're not going to refuse?" he asked as they pushed
through a padded door into a sound-proof, cavernous film-set.
Deepika smiled. "No, I don't think so. I love fucking and I love
being watched so that seems to be a good way to do it."
Santosh smiled. He was stocky, but handsome all the same. "You're
lovely," he murmured. "Very lovely. We must fuck some time."
The screen test was a dream. Deepika was alone on stage. First,
one hugely endowed man fucked her, then another, then a third.
They looked like rough labourers or workmen, which they probably
were. They had hard, lean, sinewy bodies. All three began in
tight-fitting sleeveless under-vests, the kind that clung to their
frames, necks scooping down low on their broad, deeply cleaved
chests, and cut way in at the back. Even with them on, it was
apparent that these were tough men. The exposed portions of their
torsos were sexily hairless, with even their armpits shorn, and
even under the vests, the hard ridges of musculature were
apparent. Their trousers, when they came on, were baggy, but with
prominent bulges in their crotches. They soon discarded these -
but kept the vests on - and they wore nothing under them and their
cocks were huge.
At the end, they took her together in her cunt and mouth and ass,
fucking her slowly and heavily while she thrashed in a frenzy of
delight between them, the magnificent penises sawing rhythmically
and unhurriedly in and out of her orifices, plundering her flesh.
All three men came. There were no retakes and, as the lights died,
the unit applauded. Deepak, Santosh and Hemant came down to the
set, grinning hugely.
"Well done, Deepika," Deepak said. "Congratulations. That was
incredible."
She smiled at him. "What, did I make it?"
Hemant laughed. "Ducky, you're one of the few to jump straight
into the number four slot. Most first-time whore-cunts start at
*nine* or *ten*."
"Yes, it's quite an achievement," Santosh chimed in. "The boss
graded you himself. And that's *really* something."
"And that entitles you to a chauffeur-driven car and a flat of
your own. If you want it. The chauffeur is a good fuck,
incidentally."
Deepika panicked. "No, no," she said. "No flat. No flat. I can't
leave home."
"No sweat," Santosh said. "You don't have to take it. It's there
when you want it. Take the car, though. Commuting can be a
bummer."
That much was true though Deepika sometimes enjoyed being pawed in
a crowded train. Still, she could do without the stench.
"When do I start?" she asked.
"Oh, we'll just have you on ice for a few months before we ..."
Deepika laughed and flung a pillow at him. Santosh bent and kissed
her gently, cupping her breast.
"You want to start now? You haven't had re-takes, and I've got
guys waiting. If you want to."
"I do," Deepika said, her eyes filled with excitement. "I do."
= o =