Sexy sister in law

“Where the hell is the party boy?” Suri asked, already in stratosphere and still swigging away the whisky.

I smiled at him. “Dilip’s gone to fetch Ron.”

“Well, that’s cute. Why couldn’t Ron make it on his own? He gotta problem with the place or what?”

“Well, Suri, Ron’s one of Dilip’s best pals and he don’t know the city that well. He just flew in today.”

I excused myself and walked quickly to the wet bar.

Dilip had left barely a couple of minutes ago and already the crowd was missing him. And why not? It was, after all, his party. Today was the silver jubilee of his firm. He had begun Ess Associates exactly twenty-five years ago when he had been about 24 years old. Armed with a diploma and a couple of years of experience with a large architectural firm, he began his operations in a dinghy ten by fifteen office across a small lane that branched half a mile off the Main Street. There was a beat up old table, three chairs, a telephone and a drafting board. He shared a common bathroom with the offices on his floor.

He’d come a long way from there. He now had a swanky office with all the bells and the whistles and half a dozen staff working under him.

I grabbed a beer and plunked back against the bar, sipping the chilled liquid and surveying the crowd. I wondered for the thousandth time why architects and those connected with any form of art often sprout beards and / or act so whimsically. Dilip himself had a beard, wore trousers that seemed to be bought in a flea market and slippers that looked like he had found abandoned in some alleyway.

Most of the crowd I saw that day were similar though of course, the women had their own way of expressing their eccentricities. On women architects (and there were quite a few of them) I found a generous proportion of them with piercing. Shit! Apart from those piercing in the ears, and perhaps on the side of the nose, I abhor piercing on any other part of the body.

One lady was wearing something that looked like a cross between a bathrobe and a skirt. Another was in a wrap- around sari, while yet another wore tight pants that perhaps were made by stitching together a number of doormats.

Seated directly ahead of me in a group of about half a dozen weirdoes was Radha, and as it happened every time I looked at her, my heart skipped. (Something else skipped to, and I leave it to your imagination to know what did).

Dilip was 49 and Radha, 36. And as the years rolled on, the difference in their ages was getting (and looking) more pronounced. It was difficult to believe that Radha was a mother of a 14-year old daughter, but to look at her husband, one would think that the 14-year old kid was his granddaughter. Too often, one got the impression that Radha was his daughter, not his wife.

Tongues started wagging and he was getting used to the sniggers behind his back. This had affected him psychologically and so she had given up the contacts and taken up wearing huge, and somewhat dowdy-looking glasses and saris (whenever they went out, though today the contacts were in and the glasses were out, perhaps on Dilip’s instructions, as this get together meant a lot to him and maybe he wanted her to look young just for this day, at least) – this get-up gave her a more mature look, but comments made by those within the family – gosh, you look so young – (as a compliment to her) hadn’t helped repair Dilip’s psyche.

It wasn’t that she was petite; on the contrary, she was a big woman. At five seven, she was just about a couple of inches shorter than him and the hundred and twenty-five pounds she weighed was exquisitely proportioned, and this big-boned body of hers, supposedly draped up to look a lot older than she really was, didn’t quite work, because, in contrast her face was soft with large, dark flashing eyes, well-defined lashes and eyebrows and the well maintained thick, dark, long luxurious hair falling in gentle waves to her waist. Add to that her creamy skin and her full soft mouth and you could well toss out the theory that clothes could make one look older than one really is.

She had mile-long legs and I have seen them on many occasions when she wore those gowns and robes at home. (Oftentimes, she also wore knee length skirts). In her saris, especially those that weren’t meant to be draped tightly, you couldn’t see those great knees and strong thighs that went up to her rounded buttocks. The sudden dip at her tiny waist (tiny by her otherwise big standards) had once made my teenaged daughter blurt out that she had a great figure.

Great, hell, her figure was every man’s dream and I am human. And what really got to me were those amazing breasts that she could only hide by draping the border of her sari across them. I have seen her with that border tipping away from her shoulders. I am amazed that my heart has survived all those mild heart attacks whenever I have seen those blouse-encased breasts, straining out of the flimsy material. Even in the most orthodox-looking saris, she almost always wore low-neck blouses that revealed lots of cleavage whenever, by chance, the border of the sari fell down her shoulders. When she bent down, like to pick up something from off the floor, those huge breasts strained against her front, which made me wonder why they didn’t rip off the blouse and tumble out.

She looked my way, gave me a small smile and a quick wink, rolling her eyes in mock despair and gently shrugging her shoulders, indicating the weirdoes bunched around her. I grinned back, lighting a cigarette. We were pretty close to each other and why not? Her husband was my wife’s brother.

She was my sister-in-law. And though I was a year younger than her husband, I had no such psychological hang-ups like Dilip. If my petite wife, all of 45 years old looked a decade younger, I too looked like I was in my late thirties and my spirit complimented the looks.

There were a lot of times that I thought she knew I fantasized about her but we kept the charade by limiting ourselves to mild flirting, and equally flirtatious messages on the cell phones.

It was during this time that I noticed what eventually led up to our breaking the ice. She was wearing a flimsy pink sari with matching blouse. She had draped the border over one shoulder and not across her chest and even if she had, the material was flimsy enough to reveal the outlines of her lacy bra.

My eyes almost popped out when I noticed that one strap of the bra had come off and even from this distance I could notice the goof up. For a moment, I thought of walking up to the group and quietly inform Radha about the particular predicament, but hell, that would have been very embarrassing for her.

I looked back and spied upon the room at the back of the hotel that Dilip had hired for the party to store the paraphernalia required to throw such a party at this big a scale. I knew that she had the key to the room and this gave me the idea.

I whipped out my cell phone and scrolled to ‘Write Messages’. I manipulated the touch buttons to write: “Emergency! Embarrassing! Don’t look my way but urgent u cum to room. Ur dress is not in order. Pretend nothing wrong & xcuse urself 2 cum here. Rpt urgent”

I sent the message and watched her shuffling with her cell phone. Her eyes widened and despite my warning, she looked my way questioningly.

I pointed slowly at my left shoulder. Casually she ran a hand across her left shoulder and her eyes widened when she realized the goof up. She didn’t get up immediately; I’ll give that much for her, but a minute later, she excused herself and walked gracefully over to where I was standing.

“Since when?” she asked me softly, standing in front of me.

“I just noticed,” I told her conversationally, aware that a few eyes maybe diverted towards us. More specifically, towards her, because she was so elegant and gave that aura of statuesque personality.

“What now?” she asked, her eyes pleading and frantic.

“Use that room. I presume you have the key. Immediate repair is called for. The party’s hardly started.”

She smiled gratefully and walked to the room.

I had been hardly able to keep my eyes away from her heaving chest when she had stood in front of me. The left strap of her bra had parted from the cup and the cup had slid down considerably. Through the flimsy, almost transparent blouse, I could see the top of her near naked breast.

She disappeared into the room and I could hear the bolt shooting in the dead lock. I continued to sip my drink and smoke my cigarette, aware that I had a slight bulge between my legs that made standing uncomfortable.

After perhaps five minutes and another cigarette, I heard the bolt sliding back and she whispered, “May!”

I glanced at her. She was peering through the crack of the door, the dim light behind her illuminating her thick mane of hair.

“What’s it?” I whispered back.

“Need your help!”

I straightened up flicking the cigarette to the floor and stepping on the butt, casually glancing around the garden where the crowd was busy, engrossed in their gossip and drinks. I wondered why she hadn’t asked me to locate her best pal, Mina, who had already arrived with her husband. Then I realized that Mina and her husband were playing the temporary hosts.

Slowly, so as not to be noticed, I slid into the stuffed room. It was full of plates, glasses, bottles, folding chairs and tables, casseroles and what have you. She had closed the large window and drawn the drapes. A naked low-wattage bulb hung in the center of the ceiling, providing very little illumination. There was also a dressing table with a narrow, but tall mirror pushed up in one corner.

“What’s wrong?” I asked as she bolted the door behind her after I entered.

“The goddamned thing’s snapped,” she told me as I swung around to face her.

The border of the sari was off, bunched around her waist, her blouse unbuttoned and she was clutching the bra to her chest. She was wearing a tight, flimsy and lacy pink bra, perhaps to match the sari and the blouse.

“What’s snapped?” I muttered, trying to look away.

“The place where the strap holds the cup,” she explained, her eyes averted from mine and watching the damage instead.

I looked at it. Sure enough, the strap had sheared off the cup, which she was now holding against her breast. The strap hung loose off her shoulder.

I shuffled in place, trying to hide my bulge.

“So what do you suggest?” I asked plaintively.

“I have a safety pin, but I can’t manage to pin it up with one hand.” She was blushing now and I suddenly realized that her voice was no longer flirtatiously flippant as is the normal case, but had a definite edge of embarrassment in it. I also caught a hint of helpless intimacy in the voice, now that she had only me to help her out of her predicament.

“Pin what up?” I said stupidly.

“The strap to the cup. Temporary repairs. Just to see if it works.” Her voice was now definitely husky and her eyes fluttered beneath her lashes as she glanced at me and then abruptly back to the bra-cup that she held over her half naked breast.

I understood her difficulty. She couldn’t possibly hold both the cup and the strap together and pin them up with both her hands. The bra, as I later learned was a tight fit.

She extended her hand holding the pin towards me and I dumbly took it in my shaking hand. She was standing in front of the mirror and I had to bend down to bring the pin to the tattered bra.

She held the cup and the strap together in her hands and had to thrust her chest forward to allow me access to be able to pin them up together.

Her breast was heaving and that meant that she was breathing heavily. So was I, painfully aware of my erection as I gazed at the top of her large breast, so tantalizingly close to me. I could smell the perfume that she had sprayed there, mixed with the unmistakable heavenly smell of woman.

I slid the pin through the material, making a conscious effort not to touch any part of her body. From the corner of my eye, I watched our reflection in the mirror. Her head was bent; she was apparently gazing at the sight of my hand fumbling with the pin.

As I slid the pin into the slot, the back of my hand brushed the top of her breast and I felt her body stiffening in response.

“No way that blouse is going to conceal the pin,” I managed to utter hoarsely.

“L-let me see,” she stammered as I straightened. She pulled the strap over her shoulder and bunched the blouse over her breast. She looked into the mirror when she reached behind to button her blouse.

Her eyes met mine in the mirror and she held the gaze as she buttoned up. With her hands behind her, her chest thrust up against the blouse, emphasizing the size and the shape. The border of the sari still lay down at her waist.

Finally, she had buttoned up her blouse and she shifted her glance to the mirror.

I was right. Even though she let the border of the sari drape across her chest, the pin was clearly visible.

She tried to shuffle the border towards the pin, but the garment was too flimsy and too transparent to hide the pin. Shuffling around like that gave me generous glimpses of her cleavage and I clamped my lips together to prevent the groan that was building up inside me.

“Guess it won’t help, huh?” she finally asked me, striking a pose in front of me.

I looked at her chest. I had to clear my throat before answering her. “No, Radha, I guess it won’t help. I think you have got to change.”

She looked dubiously at her reflection in the mirror, still flushed and breathing heavily, and thrust her chest out again. That sent another spark through my groin. Another thing happened. When she thrust her chest out, there was an audible ‘plop’ and the pin popped out.

“Oh shit!” she exclaimed. “That does it. I can’t possibly depend on this arrangement.”

She turned to look at me. There was a strange look in her eyes, which I detected as being a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. (Hopefully) Thank God for the dim light in the room! If there had been sufficient light, I’d bet she could have easily seen the prominent bulge inside my trousers between my legs.

“What the hell do I do now?” she asked, desperation in her voice, her eyes drifting back to the mirror, her hand fingering the place where the pin had opened up. I could clearly see the gap between the cup and the strap.

“I suppose you will have to change it,” I suggested.

She considered this for some time. “You think so?”

“Well, the party’s not yet started and you can’t go around like this.”

“The crowd’s going to miss me if I have to get back to the apartment to change,” she said. “Plus, what kind of plausible reason could I give?”

I thought about it for a while and suddenly came up with an idea. “Tell you what, Radha, I got an solution. I could ring up Akshay and tell him that I am going to pick him up. I know he doesn’t have any transport and he was going to take a cab. I don’t know where he exactly stays and you would accompany me to give the directions.”

Akshay was a mutual friend and a budding architect. He was more my friend than Dilip’s, but Dilip was his idol and that was the reason that he was sent the invitation for the party.

She brightened up. “Yes, that could work. I’ll tell Mina to handle the crowd in the meantime. You’d better let your wife know that you are going to pick up Akshay and would be back shortly. Better still, you tell them while I make my way to your car. I don’t want anybody to see this.”

I managed a hoarse laugh and so did she. I handed over the car keys to her, aware that my hand was still shaking. The situation and the sight didn’t help my condition any and I wondered if she too was nervous.

“I’ll call Akshay and ask him to wait for me. There’s still another hour or so for the party to start, so we do have the time.”

“I don’t know how to thank you. First, for bringing this to my notice and now for this,” she said, and that strange look was back there in her eyes.

“Oh, that’s all right,” I told her.

“I really meant that. Two occasions you have helped me out.”

I looked at her for a long time. “Perhaps you could thank me later on,” I whispered. “Twice. But now it’s time we make a move.”

She nodded and then, hesitantly patting my shoulders, she slowly opened the door and slipped away.

It took some time for me to compose myself. God, but it was difficult for me to do that. I had to struggle with my mind to will my erection to go down before I slipped away to inform Mina about the arrangement. Mina called up Dilip and after speaking to him for a while, informed me that he was still to reach Ron’s place as he was caught up in the downtown traffic jam. I knew that Ron’s place was at least an hour’s drive from this hotel.

I cornered my wife, who was chatting away with a group of women. “Hey hon, I’m on my way to get Akki. I’ll be back in a while, okay?”

She hardly paid attention and just nodded.

I got into my car – she had unlocked it and was sitting in the passenger’s seat, the border of her sari wrapped around her ample chest.

I glanced at her when I called up Akshay to tell him to wait for me. He was about to call for a cab.

“Something important has come up, pal,” I told him, grinning nervously at Radha, who smiled back, equally nervous, that strange look in her eyes. “I’ve got some real important work and I would be around your place. Just wait for me so that I can pick you up, okay.”

He was glad. “Gosh pal, that’s neat. The hotel’s more than an hour away from here and it gets terribly boring to be alone in a goddamned cab.”

I fired the engine and slid the car out of the parking zone, hanging a U turn to get onto the main street.

We were silent for some time and listened to the gentle noise of the air conditioner humming softly.

Finally, she broke the silence. “God, May, I really, really don’t know what I could have done without you. I just don’t know how I could thank you for all this.”

May was short for “Mayur”, my name, and though I was sick of this abbreviated form, I was nevertheless stuck with it.

I laughed, and trying to sound nonchalant, I said, “That’s the second time you said that, Radha. And yeah, you have got to thank me back two times.”

“With the situation I was in, maybe thanking you back a hundred times wouldn’t be sufficient. I could have made a complete idiot of myself and boy, Dilip would have flipped his lid.”

Suddenly, I realized that what she meant was that we were going to hide this from her husband and that made us look like a pair of co-conspirators.

I kept glancing at her and yes, she was definitely breathing hard. I could tell it by the way her chest heaved and the way her tongue kept flicking over her full lips.

Was this the day that our light flirtatious banter going to finally give way to something more serious? Even as I thought about it, my erection began to poke against my trousers. My mind kept going back to the sight of her half naked glorious breast. Large, firm and soft, they had succeeded in arousing the beast inside me.

I always had the hots for this lady. I had forgotten how many times I had fantasized about her while I lay in bed, masturbating. My mind had considered various scenarios whenever I did fantasize, but surely, this scenario, coming as it did so unexpectedly, took the cake.

I cleared my throat, deciding to go for the kill. I wasn’t probably going to get a better chance than the one I had now to turn my fantasy into reality. Keeping my voice light and flippant, I said, “Maybe you could thank me today itself. You said you owed me!”

She glanced at me. “Anything, May. You name it you got it. Anything. You saved me from a veritably potential disaster.”

I stole a glance at her, slowly dropping the speed so that we could get some extra time squeezed in before we could reach her apartment.

“Well, are you really sure about the ‘anything’ part?”

“Just try me,” she replied defiantly.

“Okay,” I shrugged and cleared my throat again. “But before I tell you how you could pay me back, twice remember, I want you to understand that you can back out anytime you want and there would be no hard feelings. Besides,” I rushed on before she could interrupt, “this remains between us irrespective of whether you could thank me back or not. I just don’t want to be misunderstood.”

She looked at me for a long time, so long, that I began to get uncomfortable. She must have realized what I was getting at. We had had enough hints in the past.

“What would it be,” she finally replied, her voice dropping to a whisper that was barely audible, “that could be so, so difficult as to warrant these conditions?”

I gave a short, nervous laugh. “It’s really nothing extraordinary, Radha. I mean it isn’t beyond you. I am not going to ask for something that’s impossible. Don’t worry about that. You know me better than that.”

“That I do,” she said. Then, after some time, she said, “Okay, you’ve got yourselves a deal. I completely understand the terms and conditions.”

That made us laugh and then, there was silence again.

“Well?” she prompted.

“Would you,” I began tentatively, “I-I mean would you… if you don’t mind, er, I mean…”

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed. “Either you are asking something that you think is weird or you are still a kid at heart. I mean, I remember stuttering like that when I used to ask for the chocolates from Mum when I was a little girl!”

It was like that, I thought. Like asking chocolates, only, it wasn’t chocolates and it wasn’t mom.

“You won’t get pissed off?” I insisted again.

“Well! No. Not at all – now come on and get it out of you.”

“Well…you, I mean you are going to change that…that er, I mean that b-bra, aren’t you?”

She was puzzled and also a bit embarrassed. “Yes. Isn’t that the purpose of this whole exercise? And isn’t that the main reason I promised to that I would have to thank you back?”

“Well…okay, I mean, could you let me, er, help you to take it off and put on the other one?” I blurted. There. I had finally said it, and I felt hot under the collar. I had either blown up our relationship, or I had hit pay dirt.

She fumbled with her hands, looking down at them, blushing. She brought one hand up to adjust her sari over her chest and stole a glance at me.

“B-but why that?” she queried.

I couldn’t possibly tell her that it would be a very erotic situation and maybe it would help her get as horny as I was getting and that it could eventually help break down the barrier between fantasy and reality.

“Whew,” I breathed. “I was expecting a slap!”

She giggled nervously. “Is that what you really want to do? I – I mean its most unusual.”

That it was, I guess.

“I mean, pardon me if I am getting too personal, is that what you like to do with your wife? Or is it a fantasy?”

I laughed. “No, no. I’ve never done that either to my wife or to any another woman. I well, I just thought, considering the circumstances, that would be a proper quid pro…”

She laughed, cutting me off mid-sentence.

“You think I’m a weirdo?” I asked.

She stopped laughing and I could feel her eyes on me. “No, not at all. Though, I could say that it’s pretty devious!”

She said it lightly and I didn’t press it. There was silence again. “Well, that’s one return of the first thank you.”

My heart began to hammer and the response between my legs wasn’t too far behind either.

“Gee,” I muttered, trying to imitate a kid’s excitement. “You mean you would let me do that?”

“Depends on the other returnable thank you,” she said.

“I’ll let you know about it in good time, okay?” I said, somewhat confidently, now that the ice had been broken.

She looked away from me and out of the window. There were hardly any streetlights outside and it was pretty dark.

“Hey look,” I said, “if this makes you either angry or uncomfortable, lets just drop it, okay?”

“I brought up the subject of returning the ‘thank you’ didn’t I?” she murmured, still looking out.

I managed a laugh, afraid that she may back out.

“And,” she continued in the same tone, “you aren’t asking me something that is impossible to give.”

“Well,” I said, “think about it. As I said, this is just between you and me. No misunderstandings, right?”

She looked at me dubiously, the flush still there on her face. I was too excited, so much so, I couldn’t decide whether to peek at her heaving chest or at her pretty face. I fervently hoped that she too was just as exited as I was. By the look on her face and the increased heaving of her large breast, I concluded that she was.

The rest of the drive was made in utter silence. I don’t know what she was thinking about, but all I could see in my mind were her bare breasts…

When I finally drove into the parking area of the building, she whispered, “Okay, May. I guess its okay.”

I tried to appear casual as I locked up the car. But I could feel that sudden tingly feeling I usually got when I am aroused.

“That’s good of you,” I said as we got into the elevator. I was aware of her closeness and I could smell those sweet smells emanating from her.

Her hands were trembling when she unlocked the door to the apartment. So, I thought, she’s pretty much in the same condition as I was.

She laughed, a high, nervous laugh, when she couldn’t insert the key in the slot. On the third attempt, she finally slid the key in and unlocked the door.

I followed her inside and when she flipped the lights on, I locked the door behind me. She glanced at me when I did that, blushing, that strange look back in her eyes.

She hung the key on the holder while I pocketed the car keys. She stood there for a while and then, hesitantly turned around, walking inside.

“My clothes are in the bedroom.”

I followed her to the bedroom where she flipped on a table lamp, which admitted a dim light at one corner just by the side of the mirrored dressing table.

I had been to this room several times, though, not alone only with her in the apartment. There always was Dilip, or their daughter or my in-laws present.

There was a large double bed in the center with the usual side tables at the bedstead. Bolted to the wall above the head stead was a powder-coated grill encompassing the entire width of the bed. The large wardrobe lined one side of the wall. The other wall opened into a balcony through French doors. The other corner had a door that lead into the bathroom.

Trying to be as nonchalant as I could, I lowered myself on the edge of the bed and watched her walk over rather unsteadily to the wardrobe. She opened the one in the centre, revealing various separate compartments. One was filled up with her dresses that she wore when with the family, all lined neatly, hanging from blue plastic hangers. By its side, I could see quite a lot of saris, neatly folded and kept on top of each other in two columns. Just above them were the various blouses and tops. There was another compartment for her gowns and housedresses and directly above it was the one reserved for her undergarments.

“I – I will have to check for the closest matching one,” she croaked and then cleared her throat.

I glanced at my watch. Twenty minutes since we had left the hotel, so I said, “Take your time. We are running on schedule. And since I have already told Akshay that I would pick him up, he will wait, even if it’s late.”

I bit my tongue when I said the last part about being late. Why should we be late? It sounded ominous; as if this little thing between us was going to take us a lot of time. After all, on the surface, we had agreed that I should change her bra and nothing else, so there was no point in us taking any additional time.

“Oh, I-I am s-sure w-we won’t be late,” she stammered, drawing out a pair of pink bra from the closet. She laughed nervously, “I mean, why should it be late?”

“I-I didn’t mean it that way,” I replied rather lamely.

“Does this match?” she handed over to me the bra, which I took in my trembling hands. It was as flimsy as the one she was wearing, but it was perfect as far the matching part of it was concerned.

“Swell,” I replied huskily. The bra had laces all around it and naturally there was no wire rope underneath. Her breasts did not need any support; neither did they need to be pushed up.

She made her way slowly to stand in front of the mirror that was pretty close to the bed where I was seated and reached behind her to unbutton her blouse after pulling her hair to one side of her shoulders.

“No, not that part,” I said getting off the bed.

She froze, looking questioningly at me in the mirror.

I grinned. “That’s my job as well, right? I want to change the bra, which was the understanding. And that includes removing the blouse as well.”

She blushed, averting her eyes away from mine and I took the two steps so that I was standing about a couple of feet behind her.

The border of the sari had fallen away from her shoulder lying atop her hair and tied as it was at the waist, the end dropped to the floor. There is no sight more erotic than the back of a woman, her sari uncovered from the top but concealing completely what lay beneath the waist, the tiny patch of blouse revealing the midriff and the top (or rather) the back of her neck and the glimpse of the bra under the blouse. Her waist was narrow in stark contrast to the width above and under it. Her skin was creamy and looked real soft.

I hesitated, wondering whether I really wanted to go through this. If my wife, or her husband found out, there would be hell to pay. But having fantasized about her for so many years and lusted for her, I dismissed all such thoughts away from my mind and reached out for the row of the tiny buttons that held her blouse together.

My hands shook when I tried to get the top button off. The blouse was quite tight as evidenced by the way that the front of her amazing chest pushed and strained outwards. She hunched her shoulders, pulled them together and whispered,

“You will have to pull the blouse together to get those buttons off.”

That meant I had to shove my hands, except the thumbs, inside the blouse from the top. When I did that, I felt her shudder at the first contact of the back of my hand on her bare skin.

Her skin was slightly moist, but very, very smooth. I pulled the blouse together and pulled out the first button with my thumbs. My hands started to lower as I succeeded in getting off one button after the other till the blouse lay open.

“I guess you will have to push your hands in front of you so that the blouse will come off,” I said, aware that my voice was hushed and off key.

She was still looking down at the floor when she extended her hands in front of her to allow me to slide the blouse over her hands.

The damaged cup fell off her breast and the strap slipped off her shoulder to reveal the entire flesh.

If I were to just rub my hips together, I am sure I would have ejaculated. I was aroused now, beyond the point of return. Her breast was big: very big. Perfectly shaped, no sag, creamy and looking soft, she had big areola and the big nipple was, I assumed, erect.

She would have had to be frigid if she weren’t aroused by now. The entire situation and what was happening now was very erotic and sensual.

Though one cup and one strap of the bra were not in place, the rest of the bra still clung to her other breast.

I unhooked the bra, and this time my hands weren’t shaking; rather, I was desperate to get the bra out and gaze at her awesome breasts.

She still held her hands extended in front of her and that pushed her breasts together, emphasizing the cleavage.

My mind suddenly went back to a discussion that Dilip and I had more than a decade ago in the balcony of their old apartment. We had a few beers, Radha was staying with her parents and our discussions were mainly about our sex lives.

He had told me how enthusiastic and eager she was for sex.

“I’m telling you, man, there was this time when I was working at my desk late at night and she was sleeping on the bed, the blanket drawn right up to her chin. About an hour after I had started my work, she must have got impatient, because she just called out my name softly. I turned in my chair to look at her and what do you know? In one fluid movement she jerked the blanket completely off her body and oh god, she was stark naked! End of work!”

He had regaled me with other instances as well. I was holding back a bit about me because after all, my wife was his sister and it looked extremely out of place for me to relate to him my adventures or anecdotes with my wife. Though, I did tell him (after he had asked me) that yes, my wife does go down on me but I have never ejaculated in her mouth or any other part of her body except maybe her belly sometimes.

“You are missing a lot, pal,” he had laughed. “Radha? Oh man, she loves to get plastered if you know what I mean. I was amazed when she worked out one position that I had never known to exist. She had me straddle her belly, or rather crouch over her. She asked me to lay my boner between her tits and then, trapping them there, she tells me to go on and pump. Shit, man, that was great. As a matter of fact, even to date it still is. And when I pumped forward to send my dick surging up between her tits, she would take my glans in her mouth! When I couldn’t hold back any longer, she urged me on, refusing to let go till I creamed – into her mouth, between her tits and partly on her face! Shit, that really is great! You should try that with your wife sometime.”

It was new to me as well and yes, I did take his advice and as a result, up to this day, it remains one of my favorite positions. Only, I still don’t come in my wife’s mouth or on her breasts.

But when Dilip had spoken to me about this, we had been a lot younger than we were today. In fact, that was the only time we had spoken in such graphic detail about our sex life.

However, what he had told me had remained fixed in my mind and perhaps that was when Radha had started appearing in my fantasies. I always visualized my penis sandwiched between her fabulous breasts when I would ejaculate and breasts took a totally different meaning all together. Because from that day on, the first thing that I began to notice in women that I met (or passed by in the streets) were breasts!

And here I was, barely a couple of feet away from her and her naked breasts totally exposed. My eyes were glued at their reflection in the mirror. She was still facing it and I was still standing behind her.

Finally, she shook her hands to allow the blouse and the bra to slide down to the floor.

“I reckon you will now put on that bra,” she said in a small, hoarse voice. Her eyes drifted up and settled onto mine and we looked at each other for a long time.

“The bra,” she reminded me again.

Dumbly, my eyes still holding hers, I reached out blindly behind me and picked up the bra from the bed.

“Do you know how it is to be worn?” she asked attempting a gay laugh that didn’t quite come off.

“There’s always a first time, I suppose,” I replied.

“I guess men know how a bra is to be taken off, not how it is worn,” she whispered.

“Let me try,” I answered, unconvincingly. I really did not want to proceed to the next step of covering her breasts back inside the bra.

She stretched her hands in front of her and I slid the bra over them. Her eyes locked on mine again as I pulled the bra up till the cups covered her breasts. I pulled the back of the bra together to try to slide the first hook in place and realized that her breasts were still not completely enveloped by the cups.

I had often watched my wife heft her breasts into the cups before reaching behind to fasten the bra and I knew that I would have to do the same thing here.

“Okay, here goes,” I whispered and slid my hands around her, reaching for her breasts.

When my palms cupped the naked flesh, a kind of an electric-like shock shot through me. God, they were so soft and pliable and firm and large! I could even feel her pointed nipples as if they wanted to drill holes in the centre of my palms.

I tore my eyes away from hers and felt her body going rigid, and then she shivered. She kind of collapsed against me, the back of her head cradling on my chest.

Her face was turned sideways, tilted up to me, her lips looked swollen and they were parted and the breath was coming out real fast. There was a smoldering look in her eyes, like they were on fire and her lips quivered. I felt her breath on my face and it wasn’t just warm, it was positively hot. Our faces were separated by barely a couple of inches or so.

Very slowly, very gently, afraid that she might notice, I increased the pressure of my hands on her breasts. She did not make any effort whatsoever to stop me; in fact, she made no movements at all: she simply stared at me with that look in her eyes, the weight of her entire body against mine.

And then I watched her tongue creep out of her half-open mouth and sweep over her lips.

At this point, I bent down slightly, my heart still hammering wildly, my mind still uncertain and confused, and then slowly brushed my lips against hers.

She stifled a moan; her hands rose upwards and then bending back, they wrapped around my neck. I felt the surprising strength in them as she pulled my head closer to her, my lips fusing to hers.

Her mouth was open, warm and inviting and I did not hesitate to probe it with my tongue. She closed her eyes; I kept mine open, watching her while I explored her mouth with my tongue: the roof, the sharp teeth and her gums and finally, sweeping over her tongue.

Our tongues dueled with each other within the confines of her hot mouth and she successfully managed to bend my tongue backward and thrust hers into my mouth.

By this time, I was fondling and kneading her ripe breasts, awed buy their size and shape, their softness and their malleability. I felt her nipples graze repeatedly against the skin of my palms.

Continuing the kiss and the breast play, I stepped forward and pushed the front of my body against the back of hers and I heard a sharp intake of her breath when I ground my erection against her buttocks.

I still don’t know why I did not ejaculate immediately. I mean the conditions were ideal. I was charged up. She had been my favorite fantasy and god knows how many times I have masturbated with her in my mind. All those make-up fantasy stories involving her ran through my mind even as I handled the reality that was happening now. In the beginning, I would come just pretending that we were kissing in exactly the same way as we were indeed kissing now. Then, I jacked up the fantasy stories a bit that included us undressing each other, progressing to the point where we were ultimately in a sixty-nine, each bent into the other’s groin paying obeisance till the point of complete satisfaction.

Understand here, that I don’t particularly think that having sex with your sister-in-law is incest (though in this case, if it were to be so considered, to hell with it). After all, she belongs to a different family and is in no way connected to your family, by blood or by flesh. She’s some one married to your brother or to your wife’s brother. In fact, there are so many places in India, where the elder brother has a moral right to have sex with the wife of his younger brother.

But now was the truth, the reality. This was for real. I was finally with the woman who had haunted me in all those lusty and wild dreams that probably every man in the world, married or not, old or young, always have.

I would either have to be made of stone, uncaring as a Buddha or gay not to have responded the way that I was doing now. I wanted to do a thousand different things to her and wanted her to do a thousand different things to me.

I pushed her left breast towards her right, trying to knead both with my left palm, primarily to free my right hand to let it slide down over her glossy waist, going further down, down…

She moaned again when I began to bunch the sari up her legs, till I had it around her hips and finally easing the yards and yards of material along with the petticoat over her waist.

She pulled me closer and whimpered when I began to caress the insides of her thighs, sliding my fingers and my palm over her knees and the rest of her legs, inching up, up till I was caressing her panties.

She pushed her buttocks hard against my bulge when I finally cupped her mound, and I felt the wetness seeping through the flimsy panties.

She slid one hand down and grabbed my exploring hand, pressing it harder against her crotch. By god! This was unbelievable! She actually was egging me on!

I slid my hand up till I was caressing her belly and then pushed my fingers through the elastic waistband of her panties. I groaned; she gasped.

I felt the bush there between her legs and without any further finesse I cupped her naked pussy.

She pulled her face away from mine, simultaneously, pushing her hips forward in a subtle gesture to encourage me to further increase the level of play with her pussy.

“Ohhhh…” She finally broke the eerie silence with this.

When I slid my fingers across and over the lips of her pussy, her body went rigid.

“Ahhhhh…ugghhh…” she moaned expressively.

With my left hand now squeezing, not just kneading, her ample chest, I stepped closer as she strained forward, so that I could rub my erection against her buttocks.

“Oh, pl-pl-please, please…” she uttered and I did not understand what it was she was pleading with me for till her hand began to guide mine up and down over her pussy.

I realized that she wanted me to start rubbing her pussy in this direction and at the pressure with which she was pressing my hand. I obliged, settling immediately into a rhythm that obviously was just what she needed, because she began moving her body up and down over my finger.

With the fingers of my left hand I began rubbing one erect nipple that had her quivering uncontrollably. She was trying to push my other hand, which she was holding with one of her own, up over her pussy. I realized she wanted a quick release, or that she was on the brim of orgasm and she wanted me to play with her clitoris.

I was amazed when my finger encountered her clit. It was swollen, erect, almost like a little penis and when I massaged it, she let out a sound that was a cross between a scream and a moan. She raised her left leg and spreading it away from her body, laid it atop the bed that was about a foot away from where we were standing.

Her hand left mine and drifted to the sari, which I had been holding in my hand, bunched up as it was around her waist. Presumably, she had gauged by now that I understood exactly how much pressure and in which direction she wanted herself to be touched there and wanted to use her hand for better purposes. That resulted in her pushing my hand off the sari and she herself took hold of the material and lifted it well above her waist.

I glanced at the mirror in front of us and suddenly realized her intentions of doing this. She had opened her eyes and we could now both see the reflection of my hand playing with her pussy lips and her swollen clitoris. Since she had spread her leg apart, her pussy lips had stretched wide open as well.

She had a well-maintained (neatly trimmed) bush: a bunch of curly dark hair in the shape of a triangle. I don’t know when and how her panties had slid down to her hips, almost down to her knees. Maybe they had slipped down when she had wiggled and squirmed during my initial foray inside them, but I swear I never knew when the garment had been pushed down.

She had leaned her head towards her left so that she could watch our reflections in the mirror. I noticed how swan-like her neck was and I dipped my head down to kiss the naked flesh between her shoulder and the neck.

I increased the pressure and the pace of my fingers across her pussy lips and her clit and it took no more than a minute for her to sway and thrust her hips forward, uttering incomprehensible words as she climaxed yet again. Her legs almost collapsed under her, and had it not been for my other hand holding her up by her breasts, she would surely have fallen down.

Breathing hard and raggedly, she gasped, “Oh, oh my god, oh god, p-please, please, its too much, too much, stop now, please, stop, stop…”

I decided, rather sadistically I think, not to let her go as yet. Ignoring my own need to release my pent up emotions by way of ejaculating (which appeared imminent anyway), I pushed on.

“Once more, okay, once more, I know you need it, okay, you want it, go on, go on, take it one more time, go on!”

She relented, her eyes fixed on the mirror as I redoubled my efforts, this time, changing the angle of my finger so that it rubbed inside the pussy lips, and as it advanced downwards, the tip began to slowly enter the opening. Her pussy was hot, wet and seemed to be so tight that I had difficulty in increasing the depth of penetration of my finger during the subsequent thrusts. Now, almost half of my index finger kept sliding inside her pussy during its movement down the slit, so that, I was all at once, massaging her pussy, rubbing her pussy lips and also sliding the tip of my finger inside her.

“Oh god, oh, oh, oh my god,” she chanted, beginning to move her hips to and fro in the unmistakable imitation of pure and raw intercourse, grinding her pussy against my thrusting finger.

“There,” I murmured softly into her ear, which I was also nibbling. “There, there. Doesn’t that feel good? Don’t you want that? Aren’t you really loving it?”

I am basically not much for talking during sex. But this woman, the dream of my dreams had set me on fire and what I was going through now, was sheer lust. Suddenly I knew that I wanted to do and experience all that I had only dreamt of doing before and Maybe read about and seen in the adult magazines and films.

“Oh my god, yes, yes,” she cried out. “Please, p-please use both your hands! Push that finger all the way in, oh god, please!”

Fixated though I was on her large breasts, I decided to give her what she wanted at this moment. I slid my other hand down her waist and immediately found her clit with it, massaging it in the same rhythm with which I had been massaging it with my other finger. At the same time, I thrust my index finger of the other hand savagely inside her opening and she gasped.

“Oh my god, yes, yessss! Fuck it harder inside me!”

There it was. Finally. Now, the ice had not merely been broken, all barriers were smashed. She had used the F-word, just as I was wondering whether I should start it. This was lust, pure wanton lust. There were no other feelings. No romance, no love, no poetry, just raw lust.

I rotated my finger over her clit and pushed in and pulled out my finger rhythmically.

Our eyes were fixed on the reflection in the mirror – the sight of my finger sliding in and out of her pussy and another finger rubbing her inflamed clit seemed to us as almost hypnotic.

“You like this?” I whispered in her ear. “You like my finger fucking your pussy and playing with your clit, don’t you?”

She nodded her head furiously, her bright eyes and mouth open, the former burning like fire and the latter breathing out hot air. Her enormous chest heaved, the dark brown nipples taut and erect.

I decided to do something about her chest. I leaned down and thrust my face against her breasts. She arched them to me. I did not go for the soft melons, or the inviting nipples. Instead, I managed to get my head between the cantaloupes: don’t ask me how. Here I am, standing behind and slightly away from her, my hands working furiously at her crotch, her arms stretched up and behind, wrapped around my neck. Of course, she turned her body (waist up only) slightly and sighed when I began to lick that amazing, soft flesh between her breasts. Oh god, were they big! I had a feeling that half my head was buried between them.

“Oh, please, suck on them, please,” she implored.

At last! I fastened my mouth over her nearest breast, taking in as much of the flesh inside my mouth as possible, sucking hard till my cheeks hollowed completely. Even as I sucked her lovely breast, I allowed my tongue to sweep over the hard nub of her nipple, and that made her moan louder and louder.

I felt her hand coming down to rest on top of my head and urging me to switch over to the other breast. Who the hell was I to refuse? I had been dreaming of these beauties for so long now. I immediately stuffed her other breast into my mouth, repeating my actions again.

I began licking her nipples now, first one and then the other, alternating between the two, wishing that there were some way I could lick both at once. In the position I was in, this was impossible. I was aware that my saliva was steadily dripping down her breasts. I went back to sucking them again.

She was pressing her breasts against my mouth and her pussy harder against my fingers.

“Oh yes, oh yes, suck it harder, oh god, oh god, harder please! Fuck your finger faster, faster, oh god, deeper, ah yes, yes, oh my god, I’m going to cum, yes, going to cum!”

And as her body began to shudder, she pulled my face away from her tantalizing breasts. She raised her face, turning sideways and opened her mouth.

“Kiss me when I’m cumming, now, now!”

Without interrupting the movement of my fingers, I leaned down and put my mouth on top of hers, shoving my tongue deep in the warmth of her oral cavity that seemed to me like a furnace.

Simultaneously, I pushed my hips forward and rubbed my penis against her tight buttocks, eager to seek my own release.

She moaned and cried out yet again as she climaxed, letting go of her sari and wrapping her arms back over my neck, pulling my face deeper into hers, fighting my tongue with hers, sucking voraciously on it.

Very slowly I decreased the pressure and the pace of my fingers, feeling the hot wetness seep over them, till finally, I cupped her entire pussy as though to prevent her fluids dribbling down her thighs.

Her body thrashed and squirmed for a long time and then she tore her lips away from mine, gasping aloud.

“Oh god, oh my god, it was so good, it was so good!” she moaned, planting wet kisses on my cheeks and on the top of my nose.

“I’m so glad for you, Radha, I’m so glad you liked my finger fucking you, making you feel so good,” I replied.

She pressed her buttocks back to grind them against my hard on. She looked into my eyes in the mirror.

We did not need any words now. I was aware that she was feeling the contours of my penis against her firm buttocks and it felt natural when she slid one hand down the side of my body. She pushed it between our bodies, looking in the mirror for guidance and shuffled sideways slightly to expose the front of my bulging trousers. Her sari had fallen down over her waist again.

I let out a grunt when she cupped my bulge and her eyes flew back to bore into mine. I brought one finger (the one that had been sliding in and out of her opening) up and even as she stared at me, squeezing my hard on over my trousers, I slid the finger in my mouth.

She gasped when I sucked on my finger and then opened her mouth when I offered it to her. She licked my finger first before devouring it in her hot mouth, her head bobbing to and fro. With my other hand, I cupped her cheek and moved my finger in and out of her mouth: out when she bobbed her head back and in when she leaned forward to suck it back in.

She fumbled for the belt around my waist, and though I wanted to help her undo it, I preferred to let her do it.

For some strange reason, I thought that the extra time she’d take to get my trousers and my underwear off would help me in prolonging my ejaculation. Just a few moments ago, I had thought that one more rub against her buttocks, and I would be shooting my cum right in my underwear. But that wasn’t to be.

She didn’t stop sucking on my finger and she adjusted her body so that I could also begin to fondle her breasts with my other hand, pinching and rubbing them, rolling the hard nipples between thumb and forefinger.

The belt was off, the buttons were undone and she pulled the zipper down. My pants slithered down my legs to fall on the floor and when she pushed my underwear as well, her eyes widened.

It’s a cliché, when one describes his penis emerging out of his clothes as ‘like a lion freed from the cage’. But the metaphor did apply in this case. I myself was surprised at the erection I was spouting.

Now, my penis isn’t all that long and big. I’ve read smut stories describing penises as being a foot long and as wide as a bottle of coke. This has always amused me and I’d always pity the woman who’d have to accommodate such a monster inside her. I was always sure that if there were to be such penises (and I admit I’ve seen some pretty large ones in the porno films I have stacked in my private library), no real, normal woman would like to have it stuffed inside her and then get banged with it for as long as Peter North usually takes to come in the stag films. Besides, I had read a real good story in an adult book where the woman describes how a guy with an almost miniature penis had given her enjoyment more than all the other big dick guys ever had.

Not that mine was miniature. Far from that, at this moment as Radha gasped at its sight, it looked longer that its usual six-odd inches and thicker than the four and half inch circumference (I have measured and calculated it during one time that I was watching a porn flick). I don’t think you can accurately measure the diameter of a penis; it makes more sense to know the circumference. Just take a piece of string and wrap it around your erection. Measure the length of the string. That’s the circumference. (For academic interest, you could get the approximate diameter by dividing this circumference by 3.14!)

“My god!” she gasped again, her eyes wide with shock and her voice sounding like a croak. “My god, May, you have a awesome one!”

“Its because of you, I swear,” I managed to say lightly.

I shuddered and my body jack-knifed when she wrapped her fist around it wonderingly. My penis stiffened further and I still don’t know (honestly) why it didn’t empty its contents. I suppose it’s all in the mind. You lust for a woman this long, dreaming about her practically everyday, particularly when you are forced to masturbate in the event that the wife’s not around to help and suddenly, you are facing reality. And you don’t want it to end all too soon. Because you are thinking of the thousand ways you want to please her and the thousand ways you her to please you. And maybe you won’t fulfill your wish of thousand, but you certainly want at least a few of them done through during the first time.

She slid her smooth though wet hand slowly up and down my shaft. After a few strokes, she gently slid her hand down to take hold of my testicles. (They weren’t, for God’s sake, as big as tennis balls!). She juggled them, her head involuntarily shaking from side to side.

“My god, Radha,” I gasped. “Do that any more and I’m going to cum any moment!”

“Go on then, May, go on and shoot! I want to see it coming out of your cock!”

God, she was surprising me! I had been apprehensive about uttering those F-words, but here she was, freely using them. Talk about surprises!

I reckon that the use of these words were getting to me and was sure that if she continued talking this way, I was going to lose it one way or the other.

“I want to make it last, Radha!” I groaned, watching her hand glide back and forth over my penis.

“Some other time, May, some other time. Not now. You are hot; I know it and I want to see that cum shooting out. Please!”

This time, more than the tone of her sexy voice with that undercurrent of urgency in it, it was the fact that she had decided there would be other times that brought me to the edge. I had thought that this would be perhaps a one-time thing and I had reserved my other return of the ‘thank you’ for the purpose of getting it on with her again.

Preemptive strike!

“Okay, Radha, here it is! Just be a bit faster, oh yes, like that, oh yes! Your hand feels so good on my dick, oh god, and the sight of your tits and your pussy, oh god, its too much, yes, yes, harder baby, faster, faster! I want to come all over your pussy, baby, all over your pussy! Yes, yes…”

Her fist was a blur now as she concentrated on the speed, the pressure and the rhythm. She had all three going exactly the way I would want it. Her breasts swung with her effort and her fingers clasped my scrotum. She had to bend slightly so that she could get it right.

“Yes, May, yes, oh yes, come now, now, all over my pussy, all over my cunt!”

That did it! I let out a groan, thrust my hips forward, let my hands clasp her breasts to squeeze them hard and let out my juices in powerful, gut-wrenching bursts.

I felt the salvos hitting her first just above the patch over her pubis, before she was directing it towards her pussy. She pushed her legs forward and pulled my shuddering penis towards her, letting the rest of my semen splat against her pussy. All this time, she kept gently kneading my scrotum as I did her breasts and soon I was panting for breath, fiery and bright lights exploding in front of my eyes.

My god! It had been a hell of a long time since I have had such a powerful orgasm. It was like my guts were spilling out.

She kept jerking on my shaft in graceful sweeping movements of her fist, till she was sure that she had drained me out completely.

She straightened, a smile on her lips and I bent down to see the semen dribbling down over her hips till it was wetting her panties that were still hooked around her knees.

I shuddered when she used a finger to gently cares my wet glans, and still smiling, she brought her hand up to take the finger in her mouth. She sucked it in her mouth and that look came back in her eyes.

We were silent then, just soaking in the aftermath of our orgasms.

She spoke after what seemed to be a long time. “Don’t you think we should dress up and leave now? We wouldn’t want anyone to think about our absence as any other reason.”

Dumbly I nodded. “I want to get into it again, Radha,” I said hoarsely, looking squarely into her eyes.

She picked up the bra and the blouse, letting the sari fall back over her legs. She walked slowly to the bathroom.

“Why not? Lets watch for a ideal time and place, okay?”

Now, it was she who was in command. Not that I ever was in complete command, but at least, I did have her thinking and blushing at the suggestions I had been making. Things had reversed.

“Dress yourselves up. I am going to say that I had to change because a bottle of coke spilled onto my clothes at the party. Keep with the story, okay. Besides,” she smiled, “I have a bottle of coke in the fridge, and please get it here for me, will you? We might as well make it look real!”

We had driven over to the apartment so that she could change her bra.

It ended up in changing all her clothes as well.

Ah well!