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Saroja had never felt this uncomfortable ever before with Sundar around the house. The young man had come visiting his aunt and uncle, ostensibly on a college vacation. To his parents it did not seem like an unusual request. The twenty-year boy had been visiting his aunt’s since his childhood and spent many of his vacations there. Those were usually during long summer vacations.

But this time, Sundar had gone there, even though he had very few days off. And yet, no one thought anything of it.

But Saroja knew better. Several months ago, Sundar, his brother Gopi- both her nephews — had two unexpected sexual encounters with their aunt whom they loving called “Manni” (for sister-in-law; though strictly speaking she was their aunt).

In those episodes, Gopi had stolen a march on Sundar. While Sundar had to be content with the vigorous jacking-off his manni gave him, Gopi had actually got to fuck her. Even today, when Sundar lay on his bedding roll trying to sleep, the image of Gopi kneeling behind his beloved Saroja Manni haunted him. He had fucked her like an animal and she had enjoyed it like one.

He knew. Her moans and groans and the way she had fisted him conveyed her extreme pleasure. And yet, he felt he could have loved his manni more than anyone else. Before, when he masturbated thinking of her, it was sheer fantasy, pleasure and illicit beyond dreams. Now when he masturbated, it was always an agonizing scream in his throat as he came, that it was not he who filled her that evening in the bullock cart.

It became an obsession. If she did it twice, if she did it to his brother and to her own brother-in-law, then she could go some more distance. He fantasized about how he might do it. And where. And when. The kitchen? At night? When uncle was away at work? And how to leave his brother behind, for traditionally, they had always traveled to his aunt’s together? Sundar’s seething jealousy slowly resulted in a cooling of his relationship with his brother. In fact, Sundar had nothing on his mind nowadays other than Saroja’s breasts, her soft thighs and the heaven he could experience lying with her, inside her.

It was that obsession which Saroja spotted instantly as the young man arrived at her doorstep having come in by the morning train. She was in her nightgown and his eyes seemed to be piercing through to see if she was wearing any under garments. The normally relaxed and casual Saroja felt compelled to throw a dupatta (a thin chiffon veil) around her shoulders. She knew that the arms of her nightgown were so lowcut that her breasts could be seen below the armpit. And all the bending and leaning during the course of housework….

“No,” she decided. Her face flushed at the thought of all the randy things she had done during that marriage trip. “Weddings are like that,” she rationalized it to herself. The atmosphere was always flirtatious bordering on libertine. Yet, three uninitiated men, first in turns then simultaneously, shamelessly baring herself in different ways — she had gone too far. And now look at Sundar. Crazed. Obsessed. “No. What I did, is in the past. I could justify that — but anything further from here cannot be. It would be wrong,” Saroja was decided and determined.

They sat at the breakfast table. Arvind, Saroja’s husband knew nothing of his wife’s new found dimension to the fondness for his family. They were having breakfast and Arvind was ready to leave for work. Saroja was now dressed in the traditional saree and blouse, having bathed before entering the kitchen to cook.

“Your father called to say you aren’t doing too well at your college. Look, you have very high scores from the previous semesters, don’t let this one semester drag you down,” said Arvind to Sundar.

“Mm,” grunted Sundar.

“What kind of reply is that? Did you bring any books along?” asked Arvind. Though he was the young man’s uncle, the age difference was a lot lesser than one would imagine. Sundar’s father frequently had Arvind help him with handling the boys.

Sundar shook his head in the negative. No, he had not brought any books. (He actually had, but didn’t want to tell his uncle that he had, to avoid studying.)

“Look, this won’t do,” Arvind scolded the young man who nodded his head dumbly. Suddenly Arvind felt sorry for the kid. “What is the big thing I have achieved with all the pressure I went though in my studies?” he wondered. “At least let these kids enjoy. Enough of preaching.”

“Ok, now that he is here and without books, let him have a relaxed time,” he told Saroja. “Promise me you will go back and study like before?” asked Arvind.

Sundar nodded. The only thing he wanted was for his uncle to go. He wanted to be alone with the woman of his dreams- Saroja manni. Could he get her to show him her breasts again? The first time it was all-too hurried and the second time there was not nearly enough light. Moreover, she was on her knees, her breasts were swaying below. He had touched them and felt them. But he had not had enough of them. They had felt nice and full; he wanted to try squeeze them, milk them and suck them.

Arvind türkçe bahis shook his head as he came down the stairs and found the young man still at the table staring vacantly. He could not have known than in his mind’s eye Sundar was seeking out Arvind’s wife’s breasts.

“Pamper the boy!” called out Arvind to Saroja as he left for his day’s work. Saroja had avoided sitting at the table after Arvind had gone up.

She came to the door of the kitchen and leaned on the door and watched the sullen youth at the table. Behind her the maid was washing vessels making clanging noises.

“What is wrong?” Saroja asked, taking care to spread the upper part of her saree cloth wide enough to cover her chest and midriff completely. A saree is worn with a petticoat and blouse. What might seem like a very modest dress is actually extremely sexy, and especially so if the woman who is wearing it wants it to be so. The midriff between the petticoat and the blouse, sometimes exposing the navel and the soft curve of the belly is alluring. And the blouse can leave nothing to imagination, if it was tightly cut, or with a low neckline, struggling to contain full, heavy breasts and you could also have the tailor make them practically backless.

Saroja was conscious that blouse she was wearing was a bit tight. Indian women tend to wear their older clothes around the house, even if they are ill-fitting. But Saroja, extremely self-conscious about her sexual aggression from the marriage season was regretting her choice of blouse at this precise moment.

Sundar didn’t reply. He just shook his head. What he wanted to say, he couldn’t. He wanted her to just take him in her arms and soothe him, break out his tension, and let him bury his head in her breasts while she took him in between her warm inviting legs. How was he to say all that?

“Have you really allowed your marks to slip?” she asked. He nodded, yes.

“Then how are you going to get into your MS program?” she asked. No reply.

Saroja almost knew for sure what the matter was but she didn’t want to acknowledge it. In her mind she had blocked it out. She was in denial.

Looking at him, sitting there in a slouch, head hunched, she realized the young man was a psychological shadow of his former self. She had seen him grow from a little boy to a tall broad young man. And yes, she had felt his cock, longer and bulkier than that of her own husband, his brother Ravi and of his elder brother Gopi. Ravi was thicker — for her the pick of her lot. She was comfortable with that. Ravi, Arvind’s brother seemed more legit, given that he was older, in his late 20s. She felt a flush. Oh god! How she had gorged on these three in those two days!

But here was the outcome. She felt bad for having converted this bright young man into a gloomy brooding guy.

“Come on, what is it?” she demanded, moving closer to where Sundar sat. Sundar kept his head down. The maid watched from the kitchen beyond, continuing with her chores. She was on old hand and had seen this family grow from one thing to another.

“If you are going to say nothing and do nothing why did you come?” she asked. Still no reply. She moved really close. From where he was sitting, her much-desired breasts were at his head level. All he needed to do was turn towards her and embrace her. But he didn’t. All he dared do was look at her form from the corner of his eye…

She reached out and ruffled his hair. “Come on, Sundar. It’s not so bad!” she said to him softly. He turned towards here. He could practically smell her. The damp smell of mild sweat, typical of the heat of this port city. He looked at the cloth covering the entire torso of Saroja’s body. He leaned back and looked beyond at the maid in the kitchen. But for that maid there, he would surely have put his arms around Saroja manni and buried his face in those cushiony breasts.

She knew that was exactly what was on his mind. And she knew it was the maid restraining him. If this young man was going to do anything good with his life, it would be because she solved this problem for him. And if he was going to amount nothing, that too was going to be because of her. And having nurtured him, looked after him and mothered him from time to time over all those years, she could not let that happen.

She put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Come with me,” and she was surprised at how dry her throat had suddenly become.

Saroja led the way up the stairs, to her bedroom, towards her marital bed. That was the only place the maid wouldn’t enter if the door was shut. Sundar didn’t follow. He just sat there at the table. “Hey! Come on! Vaa da!” she called from there. She was going to hold him close and talk to him, make him open out. Then she would explain to him that whatever happened during that wedding was over and in the past. She was there for him, but the way an aunt should be there for the nephew. Not the man-woman thing. She could swing it with him, she was confident.

The maid turned to look and saw her mistress leading the young man up the stairs. Sundar walked behind Saroja, his eyes iddaa siteleri on her ass, as it rolled and swung sexily as she climbed up the stairs. He wanted to lean forward and bite her. God, he wanted to eat her, consume her, and devour her!

She pulled him into the room. She stood near him, not too near according to her; but tantalizingly close if you asked him.

“What is the matter with you?” she asked.

The young man stood there dumbly.

“Go on, tell me! Otherwise how am I to help you?” she pleaded, “Your performance is falling at a crucial time in the college, isn’t it?”

She thought she saw him nod ever so slightly, but she couldn’t be sure. This conversation was going nowhere.

He was in a daze. When she led him up the stairs his heart started thumping hard and he was not sure what would happen next. He knew that was her bedroom and that could mean intimate things. But that room was also Arvind Uncle’s; it could be that nothing illicit would happen there. The act of taking him to her bedroom suggested an invitation from his vivacious and risqué aunt; the sacred marital bed suggested a limit to what might happen. Whereas in any other room, he could even be bolder….

Such were his thoughts, even as his dear and beloved manni hoped a conversation — intimate if need be, but a conversation nevertheless- would have the young man focus back on his work.

Finally she felt she needed to make a move. She pulled him close, leaning back against the wall. “Enna (What)? Tell me now atleast” she urged him. She had her arms around his neck, and caressing his head. She noticed how she was looking up to him, he was taller than her.

He felt her softness envelope him. Those soft cushiony breasts were pressed against his chest. Saroja shifted slightly and her thigh grazed his crotch. It indicated a strong hard erection. “Oh no!” thought Saroja.

An instant later Sundar buried his head in Saroja’s neck. His face felt hot and suffused. “Enna da! What!” she said. She was not asking; she was comforting. Sundar shook his head, nuzzling her neck.

She lifted his head, and holding him by his chin, she asked, “You want me?”

Silence.

“You are shy with me? With your manni?” she asked gently. “But there is nothing shy about this, is there?” she said, as her hand wandered down to his hard on.

“What is it that will make you focus on your work again? You want this?” she asked, her hand pulled aside her saree cloth; Sundar could see the slightly faded blouse, working hard at keeping those straining breasts in place.

“You want me to make you cum like I did last time?” she whispered. May be that would help. This much she had engaged in before as well. It was not new, nor further. She waited for him to respond. If she was going to masturbate him, pleasure him, it would be a quid pro quo. He had to open out to her and promise performance at college. No freebies here.

For Sundar, it was now or never. If he kept quiet, manni would fist him like she had the other evening. And that would be the end of it. He decided not to let go of the opportunity. If was to have her fully, if he was to feast on those breasts, if was to sink into her arms and merge his body with hers, he would have to tell her and now!

“But you did so much more for Gopi!” he blurted out.

Saroja stiffened. The young man wanted sex. He was obsessed with her body and he wanted to fuck her. Maybe the two brothers had discussed the events of that evening. Maybe Gopi had boasted. Maybe….

“I will do all I can for both of you boys. But you must forget that evening. That was an unusual situation,” she reasoned with Sundar, as he pawed at the side of her breast.

“But I love you!” sobbed Sundar as he rubbed his cheek against hers, feeling her soft wonderful face with his own face, with wispy strands of a new beard.

“Love?” asked Saroja. “Its not love. You want this. My body. You lust me. That is what has jammed up your brain,” said Saroja. She took his hand which was pawing her breast and squeezed his hand so that her own breast was squished. She grabbed his other hand and let him feel her midriff. Her skin felt hot and flushed. She felt delicious and he felt a banquet was at hand.

“No, I love you!” he groaned, as his cock felt trapped. He needed to be let out and he couldn’t wait for this negotiation to be concluded.

“Love?” she mocked him. “If you loved your Saroja manni you would focus on your studies only because I said so!” she said, pushing him away now. As she did so, she allowed her hand to drop to see if her debate on love and lust had taken any heat off him. It had not. In fact, his seemed to be a solid heavy cock. She remembered Gopi as being thicker. But that might have only been comparative. Compared to her own husband, Sundar’s dimension seemed to be just as impossible and a serious upgrade. “Same family, different dimensions,” she found herself thinking incongruously.

“Nor would you be in this state of arousal,” she said.

“That is only because I love you! I don’t feel this way with all those girls in deneme bonusu veren siteler my class,” he protested.

“Love means not being able to like that with anyone else. But you will get married. In fact, in all probability I will only be selecting the girl for you! Will you not forget this Saroja manni then?” challenged Saroja. It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but the young man took it literally.

“I won’t!” he protested again.

“You won’t what? Get married? You will have to,” said Saroja, thinking of the prospect of reviewing the girls one of whom should be selected. In social circles, there are typical references to whether a boy and girl are suited to one another. Sometimes, an elder would say, “He is well built; the girl will not be able to take it.” She pondered that remark. What it meant was that he would lie atop and fuck her silly, and the girl needed to be physically matched with the boy for that. “Such hypocrites! They talk about sex without acknowledging sex! Well, if I go through with this I would be well qualified with first hand information on what it would take from the girl!” she thought.

“And I am married as well. In fact, that is how I know you, right?” said Saroja manni to her “little” — now large and hunky — Sundar. “You accept that don’t you? That’s how it is.”

“I don’t accept it!” retorted Sundar, thinking of all those unbearable nights he imagined Arvind uncle touching his Saroja manni in an intimate way.

“Nonsense! That too is just jealousy. Sexual jealousy. Another form of lust! Come on, now I challenge you. If your manni says that that one evening was a chance occurrence and you should let it pass, if you really love me, you should accept that. Will you?” she asked him.

Sundar didn’t know what to say. Saroja sensed victory. She let the pallu which she had so carefully used to cover her breasts and midriff completely, slide down. “If it is truly love, you should be able to resist this,” she said, displaying her tight blouse, with the damp spots and underarms soaked with sweat.

From less than an arm’s length away the treasures of her sexuality seemed so near, yet so far.

“Where,” she asked, “show me?” and stepped forward, moving towards him till it was he who had his back to the wall. As she walked toward him, she let the upper part of her saree trail her. It unraveled a little bit and her own breathing seemed to accentuate the plumpness of her breasts. Yes they were plump and heavy breasts, not full and proud ones.

The young lad seemed cornered. Saroja reached out and touched the bulge in his trousers. “This!” she exulted, triumphantly thumbing the head of his cock, “is the ultimate sign of lust!”

Sundar opened his mouth to say something but nothing would come out. He stared at the slopes of those luscious mounds, slick with sweat and smelling of her womanliness. He wanted to tongue her while squeezing the bulk of the flesh.

She might just have read his mind. “A young man will want this,” she clutched at her own breasts and pushed them upward toward him, as if they were on offer. “He will take it from anyone. From his Saroja manni, from Suguna the maid, from any woman!” she hissed.

The middle hooks of the blouse strained with the pressure created by Saroja and the clasp gave way. The blouse opened out in the centre, flesh pushing against the breach, trying to escape the tortuous confines.

The maid, Suguna, who had been wondering about what was going on upstairs, had decided to go snooping. Looking around for an excuse, she found the washed clothes which needed drying and headed up the stairs to pretend she was on the way to the terrace to put them out. She had heard the whispering and argument in low tones and it aroused her curiosity even more. And then suddenly, she thought she heard her own name being taken. She stopped at the landing. The door was open and she couldn’t see anyone or anything, so she too was unlikely to be spotted. This was a good place to linger and try and overhear.

“No! Never!” replied an agitated Sundar, his eyes firmly on the flesh peeping out from the gap in the blouse. He licked his lips and inhaled the aromas of his sweaty aunt.

“Liar! Your body will react!” said Saroja. Her voice was now loud and urgent. “Watch! And prove to me it isn’t lust!” challenged Saroja.

Her hand moved to her blouse and she opened out the top hook. The breasts gratefully surged. The slopes were on offer now. She reached to his head and pulled him down. She held his face on the pillowing slopes and rubbed his face on the flesh. It was hot, sweaty and abrasive. The effect on her own body surprised her more than anything. The boy was stiff and resisting, trying to disprove Saroja manni.

Her other hand had slid down his body and was desperately searching for the trouser waistband. In her feverish haste she couldn’t locate the gap between his t-shirt and his trouser quickly enough. She wanted the barometer of his arousal in her fist and his face in her breasts. She took a bet he wouldn’t last and the release would be the end of his sexual tension. ainst the flesh and despite himself; his lips were dragged and made wet strokes on her already damp breasts. He tasted Saroja’s salty skin and sweat. She was stroking his head and rubbing herself against him. And suddenly, she had the band of his underwear pulled as her hand stole in.

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