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Message-ID: <29202asstr$983614201@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Sharmila Sanyal" <anu_g42@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} My Story (Part 17) by Sharmila Sanyal
Date: Sat,  3 Mar 2001 05:10:01 -0500
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<1st attachment, "mystor17.txt" begin>

Thank you for all your prayers and thoughts for the victims of the
earthquake. Let us also pray for all those around the world that
suffered under the recent spate of quakes.

I am grateful for the encouragement I receive from the readers.

Please visit my ftp site at ASSTR. Please write at
<anu_g42@hotmail.com> with comments and corrections.


WARNING:  Do not proceed beyond this "warning"  if you are not a
mature person and/or are  offended by explicit written descriptions
of sexual encounters.



My Story (Part 17) by Sharmila Sanyal

"Can't you stay a few more days?" he whispered as I stood at the
steps to the doorway, while the servants loaded out small suitcases
into the car. My parents were inside the house, talking to my aunt
and uncle. His proximity had my juices flowing again as I
remembered the impetuous night.

"Why?" I looked at his eyes and threw back a plethoric question.

"You know very well, Shona-di!" he murmured under his breath as he
doodled on the dirt with his foot.

"Yeah . . . you want to do more naughty things, right?" I said --
very aware of the naughty tone in my own voice.

"Well . . . " he looked straight at my eyes with an impish grin and
answered with a question, "don't you?"

"Sanju!" I hissed, "we'll be in big trouble if somebody finds out!"
I furtively swiped my glance around us. I sincerely hoped -- and
prayed -- that the servants at the foot of the stairs were truly
out of the earshot.

"Why . . . how should anybody find out?" Oh the boldness of
adolescent testosterone!

"People will -- if you don't watch out," I couldn't find a very
convincing reason myself that would keep me from seeking a repeat
of the pleasure. I struggled with myself to keep my mind from
remembering the intense arousal that I had experienced. It was hard
for my libidinous mind to close the door completely on any future
rendezvous with my fifteen-year-old cousin.

"I'm not going to tell anyone, Shona-di!" he pleaded with his
assurance.

"OK . . ." I could not have been more transparent, I realised, "I
can not stay anymore now, maybe when you come and visit us in
Calcutta." I am sure Sanju's manhood received the vague promise
without any "maybe", for I could swear I saw a bulge forming in
that general vicinity. The open prospect of a future tryst was also
affecting me, I should confess.

"There you are," Sharmila-boudi appeared at the doorway behind us
and startled me. "I was looking for you to say 'bye'!" and then she
looked at Sanju. I thought I saw something there which I could not
quite put my finger on.

"Oh . . . Boudi, I was chatting with Sanju," I said. I was feeling
rather uneasy having Sanju around in her presence. I was afraid
that I was going to give us away by just being too much on our
guard. At times I felt she exuded a subtle earthy aura that was
hard to miss. It made me wonder if and how much of my own carnal
disposition she could see. Women, I dare say, are notorious for
such insights.

	During the past two weeks, we had gotten to know each other
better. I found her extremely lovable and simple, and -- as the
expression goes -- with a very 'country like' charm about her.  I
also had a feeling that, in a very girlish sort of way,  she
herself was unaware of her very palpable lusciousness.

"We should meet more often, Sharmi," she said with a smile. She
wore that very sexy look now. I found Sanju looking at her
adoringly, and I was abashed to discover myself begrudging that.

"Sure," I agreed. Till that very moment, I never realised how
ridiculous it was for us not to have been better acquainted since
her marriage. Although a first cousin, I have never felt
particularly close with Parimal-da, and as a consequence Sharmila-
boudi and I never connected -- despite the fact that they actually
lived a couple of streets over. "I will come over sometime," I
added.

"Yeah, I will too," she said, and then added in an undertone, "I
think I may need your advice on something!" Her beautiful smile,
accentuated by the two canines slightly raised from the rest of her
otherwise perfect set of teeth, stunned me in that monsoon
morning's subdued light. Beauty is not always in perfection!

"My advice? What for?" I was a little amused at that.

"Oh . . . aren't you going to be a doctor?" she said with a giggle.

"Yeah . . . but I am only in my second year now!" I was little
embarrassed, "I know virtually nothing of medicine, Boudi!"

"Never mind that . . . talk to you later. We are going to be taking
the next train out," she continued to giggle and disappeared
inside.

"So?" I looked at Sanju and said, not meaning to say anything.

"I'll miss you, Shona-di," he said and walked over to the car -- as
if to inspect something.

"You can visit us during the Puja holidays, can't you?"

"May I?" he spun around and looked at me . . . a look that few
would construe as conveying boyish excitement!

I had created a monster!

++++

"You must be crazy . . . !" Debi was shocked and incredulous when I
told her, "he is a little boy!"

"Not anymore, Debi, not anymore," I said as I lay exhausted from a
torrid session of sex with her.

	As I was describing what the two weeks at my aunt's had led
up to, she was grinding herself against one of my thighs. Under
her, my sodden womanhood was getting its fare share from the
movement of her undulating body. She had her head buried against
the side of my neck as I was whispering the lurid details into her
ear.

	I had debated with myself for several weeks whether to bring
Debi into confidence. I had never kept anything from her, but this
felt so very scandalous that I just couldn't be certain how she
would be reacting.  What had also bothered me was the fact that,
since returning from that eventful trip to my aunt's, I could not
keep myself from reminiscing -- with much fondness too!

	That night, I had gone over to spend the night with her.
After the last class of the day, I headed for the Coffee House.

	Debi and Ajit were sitting in our favorite corner. It was
one of the tables beside the windows against the south wall. The
guys at the cafe knew us and our routine. As I drew up a chair at
the table Debi held up a hand to signal a waiter.

"What are you guys up to?" I said.

"Ajit has to leave shortly," Debi said, "he has to spend some time
at Jadavpur looking for some papers."

"Yeah, I wish our library had the journals," Ajit didn't seem too
thrilled at the prospect of leaving us.

"You know what? You could come and spend the night at our place!"
Debi said excitedly.

"But . . ."

"Looks like you two are going to have some fun tonight," Ajit said
with a wink.

"What would you like Sharmi-didi?" I looked up and was surprised to
find Ramu-da standing beside my chair.

"Ramu-da! When did you come back here?" I asked the gentle old guy
with a big smile. Ramu-da had gone to work at the Coffee House down
South near the Jadavpur University. He always had a smile under
that big pair of whiskers that made everybody feel at home.

"I am going to be here for another week,"  he said in his endearing
raspy voice and the unmistakable Bihari accent, "they were short-
handed. So, what? I am busy . . . can't chat."

"Just a coffee," I said.

	Most that frequented the enormous cafe, did just that . . .
ordered a cup of coffee or "infusion" (espresso) and spent hours
talking. Some didn't even bother. The din that spilled over into
the bustling streets just a floor below, carried thoughts about
politics to poetry, religion to sex. Big contemporary minds
gathered there almost everyday. Poets, painters, future politicians
and journalists have all said the same thing to Ramu-da: "coffee".

"C'mon, Didimoni, the Chicken Kabiraji is good today," he insisted.
Not that it made any difference to him what we ordered, but, I
suppose he just had to ask and make sure that we ate something with
our coffee. I don't remember any other waiter there bothering to
ask the way he did. Not every big mind got that from him, I liked
to believe.

"No money, Ramu-da," I looked up at him with feigned helplessness.

"To kya? Ajit khilaiga, hehehe . . ." he said with a chuckle,
lapsing into Hindi momentarily, and turned towards him, "Kyon re?"

"What am I? Gouri Sen?" Ajit responded with indignation.

"What has happened to men these days!" Ramu-da shook his head in
mock exasperation.

"OK, get a piece of cake for me, " I said and let him go.

"So, are you coming?" Debi asked as soon as Ramu-da left. I could
understand her eagerness.

"My God, Debi!" her fianc  sounded hurt, "won't Sutapa be there?"
Ajit knew what Debi was thinking about.

"Would I ask her over for the night if she were there?" Debi
answered with a naughty smile, "she has gone to her friends house
in Dumdum for the weekend."

"Hmmm . . . I wonder . . ." Ajit made a suggestive remark about
Debi's sister.

"Ajit!" Debi censured him by making her big eyes even bigger. I was
amused. Her voice conveyed caution that was absolutely superfluous
at the Coffee House; for, in that place,  I have never been able to
overhear anybody past my table.

"What?" Ajit responded with the same impish grin. He knew perfectly
well that somebody spending the night at a friend's place did not
automatically translate into sex, but he rarely passed up an
opportunity to be lewd.

	I called home from the Coffee House and let my Mom know that
I would be spending the night with Debi. She reminded me to be back
early the next morning, as we had to visit one of my father's
friend for lunch.

	We took the train. It was packed with homebound commuters.
At the Sealdah station, we were virtually carried into the
compartment by the crowd and ended up standing in the middle of the
coach. The three of us huddled together and slowly moved towards a
safe corner by the wide door so that getting off at our
destinations would not be too much of a hassle. Debi and I, being
females, were distinctly at an advantage over others in settling
down -- thanks to the still chivalrous commuters. Ajit, being part
of the close trio, reaped the benefit. I felt his hard "thing"
against one of my thighs as he shuffled his position as best as he
could between his two female companions. I felt my pulse quicken as
he looked at us and smiled. Debi knew exactly what was going on,
for we had talked about his "moves" in crowded transports. The
knowledge that Debi was enjoying this little indiscretion was not
helping to calm my own libido.

	After Ajit got down at the Jadavpur station  we were
standing face to face -- the entire lengths of our bodies pressed
against each other -- and I could feel the heat of her body
permeating into mine. With the gentle sway of the locomotive, our
breasts, flattening against each other, rubbed through the soft
fabric of our clothes and made us both hot. I felt like kissing her
right there among the weary commuters. I felt like sticking my arm
inside her saari. I looked into her eyes and saw the same heat
there. I formed a word with my lips moving silently and she
responded by widening her eyes, feigning reproof. I felt her hand
on my buttocks, as she naughtily drew me closer. It was thrilling
to have our foreplay started in a commuter train while being
kneaded by the swaying bodies all around us.

	Our juices were flowing in full gush as we were being pushed
out of the train and onto the platform. Debi grabbed my hand
strongly and pulled me away from the crowd as the train started to
pull away. We headed towards the gate and decided to walk to their
house which was only a mile or so from the station. It was cloudy
and rain seemed imminent, but we did not mind. We welcomed the
fresh air after the muggy ride on the train.

"That was naughty, Sharmi!" Debi said as we descended down the few
stairs and onto the street.

"Wasn't it though!" I squeezed her hand and said. I could feel the
trickle down my inner thighs as we walked.

"I know," she squeezed back.


	 We took showers (no, not together . . . her parents were
home), had our supper around eight and, after I had dutifully
fulfilled my obligation of exchanging niceties with her parents, we
retired to her room for the night. I had changed into one of Debi's
Maxis after the shower. It was early by any standard, but then we
were not in a mood to hang around the kitchen looking busy.

	We were all over each other even as the door was being
bolted. We had not been together since I returned from my trip to
the wedding, and I could sense the longing in Debi. I too wanted to
feel her body against mine and the little exhibition of our passion
-- although  probably unnoticed -- whetted my appetite.

	I turned the table lamp on and the shaded light cast a
warmth through the room as if humoring our mood. Debi walked over
to me and holding me with both arms, staggered towards her bed. We
lost our balance and fell to the floor, laughing aloud like little
kids.

	I buried my face into her deep cleavage, taking in her smell
with a deep inhalation. She pushed her hand into the maxi that I
was wearing. It was buttoned all the way down my front and looked
more like a house coat. She undid several of the buttons and her
hand found my naked skin.

Her impatient fingers caressed both my breasts passionately while I
worked to expose hers.  With her blouse ou of the way, I held one
of her nipples between my teeth and my tongue touched its tip. I
sensed the shiver that ran down Debi's body even as I felt the
nipple grow and become taut. She pulled me up and kissed me
passionately. As our tongues darted in and out of each other's
mouth,  our hands were busy unclothing ourselves. I was out of my
maxi in no time, but Debi had to eventually stand up to get out of
her saari and the rest.  As she stood in the middle of the room in
her petticoat, I looked up from the floor and playfully disappeared
under it and between her legs. My nose found its mark and I nuzzled
up deep into her wet love-canal, and she planted her feet further
apart to accommodate me between her thighs. As I licked and probed
with slow, deliberate motion, she started to gyrate her hips,
making low sounds to announce her pleasure. My own cave was craving
for my fingers and I battled with my urge to oblige for as long as
I could.

	I finally lost the battle gladly. My cunt muscles gripped my
two fingers in spasms as I licked at Debi's swollen clit under her
petticoat. I started lapping her up earnestly even as my own sex
dripped with juice along the length of my digits.

"Oh . . . oh . . . oh . . . Sharmi . . . " I could faintly hear
Debi hiss, as she moved and pressed her inner thighs to my head.
She gasped . . . she shuddered . . . and her legs gave. She
squeezed hard with her thighs . . . and I felt her reaching the
point of no return.  I took her clit between my teeth and gently
caressed her buttocks with my free hand. As I lightly nibbled, she
came helplessly, tensing up and relaxing uncontrollably in fleeting
successions. I felt the unmistakable flexing of her thighs and the
tightening of her buttocks and I forced my chin up into her,
kneading and nibbling at the same time. It was a short orgasm for
her as my own cunt kept its pressure on my fingers, warning me of
an impending resolution if I so chose.

	I chose not to. I have always liked to prolong the sensation
and have, almost as a self-torment, enjoyed hovering at the brink
of a climax for as long as my brain would allow. So, as Debi's
short and flattering release made her stagger off my face and
toward her bed, I released my fingers from the throbbing grip. I
sat on the floor, my buttocks resting on the heels of my feet. I
looked at her in the subdued light of the shaded table lamp as she
almost slumped down on the bed. She looked unbelievably luscious
lying topless like that. I tasted her juice on my lips and I
smelled her sex on my nose.

"That was quick!" I commented . . . amused at the sanguine tone in
my own voice. It is always so gratifying to prevail.

"That was, wasn't it?" she gasped out her response, "I was terribly
hot."

"Why?" I asked as I stood up from the floor and approached her.
That had become a rather habitual query which, till today, does not
seem 'overused'. I knew perfectly well why she was 'hot'; for the
same reason that my cunt was dripping! Yet we asked each other that
question to elicit the predictable response of recapitulation. More
often it would happen during our mutual pleasuring, but sometimes
it also served to rekindle the fire after a lopsided outcome not
unlike this one.

"Wow!" Debi exhaled, "Did you feel his dick?" She was referring to
Ajit's dick, of course.

"Did you?" I asked her with a naughty grin as I sat down on the bed
beside her.

"Sharmi, I do 'most everyday . . . " she said in a lofty tone, "I
just let you out of pity . . . poor Sharmi . . . has to be
satisfied with me only . . ."

"That's what you think . . ." the words just escaped my mouth as I
cut her off in the middle.

"Right . . . " and it took her a few seconds to grasp them in their
context, "what on earth do you mean by that?" A frown replaced the
mischievous smile.

"Easy, Debi . . ." I placed a hand on her petticoat-covered thigh
and said, "I did not mean Ajit."

"Then?" she still looked perplexed. "Anyway, not that it mattered,"
she added hurriedly -- perhaps to hide the natural jealousy that I
had been mindful of all along.

"Oh yeah?" I squeezed her thigh and moved my hand up towards the
junction of her legs, "You mean that I could 'feel' him myself?"

"Well, if you want to," she tried hard to sound lofty, and then
added, "As long as I am with you."

	I suppose, had our sexual appetite not been at a similar
level, Debi would have put her foot down a long time ago. But, the
fantasy of including me in their sex life had been just too
powerful for her to ignore. Furthermore, the lewdness of our
imagination had increased several fold since Dipankar arrived at
the scene. Perhaps, in our minds, his ultimate inclusion was a
given.

"Don't worry," I said, as I undid the cord of her petticoat and
started to lightly touch her above the pubic area, "it's somebody
else." I felt the muscles of her stomach tighten as I ran my
fingers across her trimmed silky triangle. I knew at that moment
that I was going to tell her all. The fire burning between my legs
had helped remove the last mental obstacle.

"You remember Sanju, don't you?" I said as I lay down beside her on
my side, my hand never interrupting what it started.

"Sanju?" with little recognition in her voice, she asked.

"My aunt's son . . . you had met him at our place," I said and, by
the time I had finished narrating the first night's incident in
that drawing room, Debi had started showing signs of heat. My
finger entered into her tunnel and I felt it come alive. She closed
her eyes and, with her breathing growing faster, placed one of her
hands on my chest. She took one of my nipples between her fingers
and gently massaged it between them. Her hips started to heave and
rock as I gently slid my two fingers in and out. I stooped over her
and put my tongue inside her open mouth. Our tongues played with
each other for a while before she broke off her kiss and panted,
"Then what happened?"

	I described the afternoon's tryst in as much detail as I
could. As I was describing Sanju's coming inside the towel, Debi
rolled over on top of me and started to rub her cunt on my thigh.
She had her head buried against the side of my neck as I was
whispering the lurid details in her ear.

"Tell me more . . . Oh . . . Oh . . ." Debi panted, and I obliged.
My own cunt throbbing against her smooth thigh, I recalled how
Sanju throbbed in my fist -- his semen  spurting out under the
cover of the towel -- and how he bucked his hips in rhythm.

"Ssshhhhhhh . . . Sharmi . . . naughty . . . naughty . . . Sharmi .
. ." Debi's movement got faster, "is that all? You just jacked him
off?"

"No, aaaaaah . . . nnnghh . . ." I was trying to maintain my cool
as I narrated my experience. Every time I said his name and
remembered, the flames scorched me between my legs.

"You didn't . . . Oh . . . nnnng . . . Sharmi . . . yesss . . .
yessss . . . you  . . . did you . . . ah . . . ah . . . fuck?" she
held me tight, her breasts massaging against mine while her
undulating hips caused her soppy cunt to grind against my thigh. I
was almost there as I described that crazy night in a strained
whisper -- every labored breath inching me closer and closer to the
zenith. I felt her whole body quiver from time to time as I
described how he came in my hand and how I took the head in my
mouth. I could not finish describing the details before I almost
screamed out in delight at the final rubbing of her thigh against
my aching cunt.

"Aaaaa . . . aaahhhhhhhh . . . Debi . . . yesss . . .  thick . . .
white . . . sticky . . . all over me . . . oh . . . my god . . .
Debi . . . come . . . yesss . . . yesss . . . I  . . . I . . . I .
. . nnnnnnnggghhhh . . ." I pushed from below her to maximize the
friction and came . . . and came . . . and came . . .

"You must be crazy . . . !" Debi moaned without stopping the
movment, "he is a little boy!"

"Not anymore, Debi, not anymore," I said, panting from the
exhaustion and trying to get her to come.

"So, you fucked his leg . . ." Debi was close too, "Oh . . . I wish
I was there . . . my god . . . Sharmi . . . did you . . . taste . .
.  his cum? How was it . . . fuck . . . fuck . . . fuck . . . oh .
. . yeaaaaahhhnnnngggggg . . ." and she followed suit soon after.
Needless to say, we had graduated to the level where the slangs
flowed freely at such times.


"My . . . God . . . Sharmi . . ." Debi's hot breath seared the side
of my neck as she exhaled her words, "how old . . . he is a kid . .
. isn't he?" we still had our slippery cunts pressed against each
other and she was still undulating her hips in a deliberate -- if
listless -- motion. She was squeezing out the last bit of pleasure
as she restated the obvious.

"Well . . . " I was not sure this time how to qualify my answer.
When does a person stop being a kid?

"Well what?" Debi gave a final shove with her cunt and propped
herself up on her elbows. Our stiff nipples brushing against each
other's she asked again, "How old is he?"

"Past fifteen, I'm sure," I said.

"Sharmi . . . this is . . . this is so naughty . . ." I distinctly
felt her pressing her cunt down on me even as she said that.

"I know . . ." I said.

"May be you shouldn't . . . anymore," she said with a sigh as she
rolled off me.

"Why?" I asked quite innocently.

"Why? Sharmi, he is your brother," I detected a hint of reproach in
her voice.

"You're right, I should not," I conceded and momentarily something
flashed across my mind. I sat up straight on the bed and looked
squarely at her eyes. "But, why is it wrong for me and not when
Ajit and Dipu do it . . . did it?"

"But . . . they were boys . . ." the way her voice trailed off, I
knew she had momentarily realised the dissimulated logic.

"You mean it is OK for boys to do it between themselves but not so
when it comes to a boy and a girl?" I still retorted with some
sharpness.

"I guess you are right," she said, "but just make sure you don't
get into trouble."

"Debi, I did not let him do it, did I?" I tried to assure her but I
didn't sound too resolute to myself. Debi picked up on it too.

"Sharmi . . ." she frowned and looked at my eyes with concern, "are
you sure you will be able to resist it next time when you are alone
with him?"

"Well, why don't I call you up then," I laughed out loud as I said
that.

"Don't be naughty," she said, and finished with an equally
mischievous grin and a wink "but that may not be a bad idea!"

	That night we made love some more after Debi insisted on
hearing about Sanju again. As I described in more detail -- mixing
little fantasies -- she and I rubbed each other with our hands and
finished up in a sixty-nine. Spent, we drifted off to sleep with
our heads resting comfortably on each other's thighs.

+++++++++++++  End Part 17.


'Gouri Sen' : A name, I believe, gleaned from the
mythological goddess of plenty whose pots are never
empty (Gouri, one of the incarnations of Goddess
Durga). The 'Sen' is just a surname flippantly added.
An equivalent in American  would be "What am I, the
Fort Knox?" This is my take on it, since I never asked
anybody about its etymology.


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