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The land Khokhapur, in which this tale, my tale is based in, is a small fertile agricultural village in Haryana, a northern state in India.
There are hardly 80-90 families residing here since many centuries now and it suffices to say that our village isn’t any different than a typical crude hamlet of peasants and feudal lords. What’s different though is our village is known for its hardy men and their proud history of serving in the Indian armed forces.
But it’s always a village that bears the cost of a war and as history very well knows, we have had several painful ones and they have taken a toll, a frightful one, for all of us.
Our family is considered fairly rich among the native people of Khokhapur. We have always owned more than ample land in the village, where we have grown wheat and maize in plenty. We live in a large but antiquated spread out bungalow that is made up of five medium sized houses arranged in a large circle, connected to one another by common walls but has separate entrances to each house from the inner circle only. These houses were all made of stone bricks, may be 2 centuries ago, build together inside one large compound wall at-least 20 feet high, to stop meddling lowly peasants from interfering.
We have always been very private about our affairs and our family.
The compound wall is also made out of stone bricks. It has a tall solid black-rusted iron gate as a single entrance to all five houses.
There are also another 10 small houses to accommodate the various servants who who have been serving the household since a long time, but they are located towards the distant left side corner area of the property, with a large bamboo forest and a centuries old well that separates the main compound from theirs.
We have a common terrace joining the circular compound, but the stairs were built only from the main house, so that the patriarch or his man-servants only can utilise the terrace at night to oversee distant lying agri fields on all sides of the house. This was done primarily during the crop cutting season to keep the guards vigilant and alert them to any thief or miscreants from other villages trying to steal or burn the ripe crops. It was like a vantage point. There is a small room on the terrace with a cot or two and ropes and kerosene and other such things for flaming torches to warn the guards.
The porch of the five houses all open inward to an open aired brick layered field where the crops and the grains are stored after winnowing them in the fields. It also serves up as a common tittle-tattle area for the ladies and servants.
During the hot months of summer, some times the family would sleep on the cots in the open.
Let me introduce the family before I proceed further.
I, Sangeeta Devi, live with my mother-in-law Kavita Devi, in the second house that was on the left side. I am a widow of an army captain, Anandpal Singh, who was 10 years elder to me when we were married off by our parents. He was an energetic hardy man and a loving husband.
But to my ill gotten luck, he was martyred 18 years ago when our child, Arjun was only 2 years old and still feeding at my ample breasts.
I am 39 years old and when I wistfully look back at myself now, it doesn’t feel that long when I was still a virile busty young woman in love with a darling hunk of a husband and a beautiful angelic son.
Arjun is my only child and also the only able male in our family.
Arjun, 20 years old & my beautiful son has grown up to be a splitting image of his father and to my great delight has also quickly taken up the responsibility of the feudal lordship and also that of the household.
Since last 3 years, he has occupied the central house facing the main gate.
It was vacated by Kavita Devi after the death of the patriarchal head, her husband, late Choudhary Harpal Singh.
My mother-in-law moved in with me after his death, as the central house is ritually occupied by the head of the family, which my darling son has grown up to be.
On Arjun’s left side is the house of Amritpal Singh, younger brother of my beloved dead husband, who has been posted in Kashmir where he was involved in a grenade attack on his convoy four years ago. Since then he has retired to the village as a paralytic cripple, more or less, & spends most of his awake time in the outhouse amongst the servant quarters on his hookah and country made whiskey.
Amrit’s wife, my co-sister, Sharmila Devi resides in the house mainly. She’s my closest confidante and a cheerful woman inspite of all her troubles. She’s 37 years old but unfortunately barren since marriage, which is a big curse in our culture. She loves Arjun like her own son and always manages to pamper him. Since childhood, Arjun would spend more time at her house than our’s.
I don’t know who Arjun is closer, between the two of us.
Another reason why I am so proud of my son is because when Amrit came back from the Army and wanted to separate from Sharmila, Arjun insisted to let her stay bursa escort in our house, although Amrit bhai never wished to see her here.
Barren women are not even the equivalent of lowly maid servants in rural India and I shudder to think of what would have happened to Sharmila’s life if Arjun didn’t have his way. She is still so young in my eyes. Arjun makes us proud everyday.
On the right side of Arjun’s central house, resides Ashwini Devi, Arjun’s aunt & youngest sister of Anand and Amrit, along with her husband Karanpal. Ashwini Devi is 3 years elder to me but has aged gracefully and is still today a stunning beauty.
We don’t have a good talking relationship though. She always maintained that I am cursed & still blames my bad luck for Anand’s death, Amrit’s crippling injury and Sharmila’s infertility.
Till this day she wont’ talk to me with a straight face, and this used to hurt a lot.
I have never had any bad eye on them and always wish good things for everyone including their family.
They have a beautiful daughter together, who was married recently to a distant cousin of Sharmila, from a nearby village in Hisar district.
My mother-in-law, Kavita Devi decided that after marriage, they should stay in our house as we had a vacant fifth house, second on the right side.
Another reason is as we were short of members in the family, Anand opined that it benefits if we have more trusted hands to help to oversee the thousand different petty jobs.
So Saina, Ashwini’s daughter and her husband Sukhiram have been residing with us since a year almost. Sukhiram mostly oversees the field work and Karanpal manages the accounting stuff, mostly from his work room in their house.
Like all big joint families, we have our share of the skeletons in cupboard and I am privy to a dark secret since many years now and my heart is burdened with the knowledge of it.
How can I forget that hot windless & restless night of June, last year?
It was unbearably hot that whole month and even after two cold showers, I wasn’t able to sleep. My bedroom window opens towards the inner centre and I had kept it open that night.
From there I have an unrestricted vision of Arjun’s house, as any doting mother would like to have. I was continuously tossing and turning on my bed and finally gave up.
It was almost 3 in the night and the whole house was eerily silent. It was a moonlit night and I thought I will sit in the inner facing porch and look at the night sky for a bit to soothe my restless nerves.
Saina & Sukhi had gone to her in-laws village for a month and Ashwini Devi & Karanpal had gone to Rishikesh for a temple visit for a few days and so both the families were not to return back till at-least two weeks.
I went over and sat on the cemented porch for a few minutes. A distant clock was ticking by and as time passed, streams of sweat began to run from my neck and pooled between my generous and deep cleavage and trickled below to wet my saree near my mound. The streams tingled my bare skin as they slivered through and awoke a funny feeling deep inside my stomach.
This often happens many a night since my husband’s death and now I am pretty much accustomed to live cold like this, without a strong male to roughly fondle my heavy breasts through my loose blouse, to pull up my saree and finger and lick my bare womanhood, to lie below him & feel that warm steel rod of throbbing veiny cock enter deep into my womb and deposit multiple hot burning loads night after living night.
No amount of cold showers can bury a lusting woman’s fire. The coal embers of cravings have been smothered but not dead as yet. Yet another forsaken night when I have to finger myself to sleep I guess.
There was no wind at all and as I turned back frustrated, to return to my room, my old eyes were alerted towards a flicker of a weak light coming through a tiny gap in the window of Arjun’s house. Why was he awake at this hour of the night! Is he also feeling as restless as me, due to the heat? Or is he feeling lonely!
Although he’s only 19, he’s been doing a man’s job for so many years now and probably misses a woman’s comfort. I simpered at the thought of a lusty wife being ridden hard by Arjun, as did his father with me for hours together and rebuked myself, almost immediately.He’s too young for my wanton imaginations.
How wrong was I?
I went to the door and tried to push it gently. The door was locked from inside. It was quite odd to find the door locked, as doors of all four houses, other than the main house, generally remained open from the inner side. None of the four houses have doors opening to the outer compound, other than through a single door between the 5 of us opposite to Arjun’s house. I went through the door and came over to the outer side wall and peeped in through the small glass window of the bedroom of the main house.
Although the window curtains bursa escort bayan were drawn and the glass hazed with damp fog, after straining my eyes, I could see a candle burning at the far corner & the room was dim lit and a bit hazy. Two lithe figures were joint at the hips & heaving on the bed. My eyes quickly went wide at the sight.
Inside the hazy room, I watched Arjun half-knelt behind Sharmila, both stark naked. Their bodies glistened in the hazy candle light that waved around in the mist of damp sweaty fog. Sharmila was facing towards me, her hair loose around her neck and her pendulous breasts hanging low & swaying violently near her forearms.
Her titties were so full and heavy that they lugged half a second slower than the rest of her violently well-fucked body. Her dark brown nipples were almost touching the bed-sheet, although she was half kneeling half crouching under my son like a bitch in heat.
As I watched him move like a hydraulic piston pump, my eyes fell on her face. She was glowing with radiance in the dim-lit room and her sharp jaw was drooling with saliva oozing out the corner of her mouth. Her pupils were almost rolled back into her eyelids and I feared she would die with the ecstasy caused by his demonic thrusts.
My son was kneeling on one knee and the other leg, half bent on the bed as he pumped like a never ending lorry into her wide behind. His facial expressions were gnarled and his body was like that of an athlete after he’s run a marathon. Arjun’s chest muscles were rippling with raw energy and his abs we’re shining with sweat as he gradually fastened his pace, while in his large hands he bunched Sharmila’s hair and jerked her dainty little head towards him like that of a horse being ridden to its death.
Arjun was always a big boy as he grew up but he was always gentle and soft spoken & I had never imagined him to be such a rough lover.
Sharmila always used to naughtily comment that Arjun would need more than one woman to satisfy his urges, but I always brushed them off as silly banter between village hags.
Little did I know!
The sounds of Arjun’s soft grunts, Sharmila’s more animalistic ones, and the slapping of skin on warm skin filled the large, dark bedroom. He rode her for a long time.
“Ufffff Mamma (Hindi for mother)… I am cumming in your womb…” said Arjun as he shut his eyes tight.
He came and came inside this strange woman under him, whom I thought I knew so dearly.
After almost a minute of pumping hot cum in her, he kicked her butt as if to push her away. It was so humiliating to see my gentleman of a son treat her this way.
Sharmila immediately turned towards him affectionately and said, “Oooooohhhhh Arjun, my master, my lover… See how much of your cum is flowing out of my barren cunt.”
She pooled her fingers under her cunt and brought a dollop of thick cum to her mouth and made loud slurping sounds.
What was transpiring was obscene by any standards of imagination, but I was exotically hooked on like a magnet.
Unknown to myself, my left hand had crept inside my saree and violently inserting three fingers in my dripping wet pussy.
I thought to myself aloud, “I’m dreaming”
I felt something trickle down my bare leg. I realised that my vagina was so wet that it was dripping. “Heavens.” I put a hand between my legs, under the hanging flaps of the saree and felt my slit. I’d never been that wet before.
“Wow, Arjun… Is it even bigger than yesterday?”, said Sharmila as she kneeled in front of my son, her fingers draped on his organ.
She looked at that great hanging thing, like a formidable digging drill dripping with warm liquid from her pussy. Her gaze went behind it to those two tumescent balls.
“I want to show you something I learned” quipped Arjun as he stood up and guided her to a sitting position on the marbled floor.
“Would you like me to… you know… service you now?” Sharmila whispered as she looked up at him with soft eyes, & her pupils dilated.
Arjun immediately replied “No thank you.You were so nice to sneak out as usual and see me. I want to do something for you.”
Arjun sank to his knees and spread her legs.
“What are you doing down there? No one has ever touched me there. You shouldn’t… ooooooohhhhhhh… oh no… mmmmmmmm… it’s… nice.” Sharmila felt him spread out her lips, exposing her clit.
She felt his tongue dart out and lick her slit. Quickly, he was alternating between licking and nibbling on her protruding lips and lapping at her clit.
I vaguely knew people did this sort of thing, but I had never considered it for myself.
“You… you…” Sharmila couldn’t finish her thought as Arjun’s tongue rocketed her off with a powerful orgasm. She shook like a leaf and her fingers dug into Arjun.
“How was that?” Arjun looked up at her, his face glistening in the orange glow.
“Marvel… marvellous…” She lovingly replied.
After a few minutes Sharmila pushed Arjun down escort bursa and rode him, with her feet planted on the rug on either side of his legs, her knees high, her back straight, and her head lolling back and forth. Her pretty face twisted itself in rapture.
“Arjun… Arjun… you’re crushing my uterus wall… it’s too deep…” Sharmila could feel another orgasm building.
“I need you Arjun… I need your giant dick in me every night…” Sharmila bounced on that impossibly long penis and rubbed her clit along the inside of his muscled thigh.
He stood after a few deep strokes and lifted her in his arms, his dick still hard and swaying almost a foot in front of his groin, beneath her like a taut snake waiting to strike.
Soon, Sharmila rode Arjun again on his bed, bringing herself to multiple orgasms.
I watched, mesmerised, as her inhumanly large tits bounced in wide circles, her brown nipples going in counter-orbit to one another. He came in her as she rode him.
He then flipped her under him and pounded her pussy as she writhed and tried to scream but couldn’t as Arjun’s palm was firmly planted on her mouth, her legs spread as wide as they would go.
The bed kept shaking for another half an hour as i stood there transfixed.He emptied himself repeatedly inside her.
I watched my son in awe. I could only fathom the beastly size of his cock, ripping Sharmila’s shaven pussy apart. As they switched position again and Sharmila rode him, I could see his balls lying on the bed like oranges in a small sack. They were so lowly hung and heavy that they swung up and hit her butt with a thump every time he pushed up into her deep.
I lost count of time and space.
Afterward, the two tried to catch their breath, laying on their backs side by side and staring at the ceiling.
“You… astonish… me.” Sharmila placed her hand on his muscled belly and her fingers moved down to his penis. “Even after five hours of fucking this worn out pussy…You’re still… hard.”
“Yeah… well…you have known since my childhood” Arjun looked over at her. He looked lost in the way her boobs hung to the side and rested on the bed while she was on her back. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to make her happy.
Seemingly reading his mind, Sharmila kissed him in the navel and looking up to his eye said lovingly, “I haven’t ever felt like this with anyone”.
She rolled onto her side. “Let me take care of you.”
As I watched them dumbfounded, she leaned over him, opened her mouth as wide as possible, and sucked the head of his monster into her mouth. It took him a considerable while before he exploded down her throat, but she didn’t mind. In fact, Sharmila relished the divine pleasure she gave her young lover.
When he released his seed, she happily swallowed as much as she could. She then put her head on his tummy and they fell asleep, as the first rays of a summer sun could peek through the sky.
I don’t remember how I stumbled back to my side of the house and when I had gained a semblance of my consciousness, I was panting on my bed, furiously masturbating my neglected clitoris, imagining all those things I had never seen anyone do to a woman.
As the day dawned, I reflected back on some of the words spoken between them and a few things shockingly became clear to me now.
Sharmila had mentioned yesterday which must mean it’s a regular fling between them and not a rare slip-up.
How long has it been going on?
Why would she call Arjun master?
Is it because he owns her in someway, but how?
How would any self-respecting woman tolerate to be kicked after giving up her heart and body to someone? Is my son behaving like a true lord over her? Is Sharmila just a poor thing to be utilised for personal gratification?
In common lingo, Sharmila was behaving just like a cumrag for Arjun to ravish and mistreat as and when he wants to, but why would she allow it to happen.
I kept thinking back to the old times since Arjun was just a teen and the answer was right in front of me!
Once when we were drawing water from the well for cooking, Sharmila looked more chatty that morning, than her usual happy self. It was almost 6 years ago and Amrit had gone back after a week’s holiday to Rajasthan, where his unit was posted then. It was unusual for any wife to be happy after her husband’s gone away for a long time but since I knew about their arguments and fights, mostly on Sharmila’s infertility, I thought she’s just happy to be not fighting and crying, for a change.
As we talked on things, Sharmila randomly whispered out to me, “Arjun is like a donkey” and giggled to herself.
I was shocked to hear her abuse my son and upon enquiring why she said so, she just avoided it and later upon further questioning, casually quipped
“Bhabhi (elder co-sister in Hindi)… You must know that Arjun is an idiot in his studies and needs personal tuition to complete his schooling on a good note…”.
“I don’t trust him with anyone else… I am the most intelligent female in this household and also the only one educated with a proper bachelor’s degree… it’s natural that I help him on this and anyways I have no other work as well…”.
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