Dormant Eroticism 1

Aditi was a forty-eight-year-old divorcée, residing in Delhi in a standalone house; a ‘kothi’ it was called. Her house was but a humble abode; after all, she had gotten it as part of her divorce settlement from her husband. The house was a single storey alongside a terrace situated in the B block of a gated society in central Delhi.

She had divorced her husband into her late thirties—they had an arranged marriage like all their friends and family. Her ex-husband was a typical Punjabi, residing in the central parts of Delhi— a loud upbringing, pompous lifestyle, and a petite penis. All he was good for was ogling at another woman's breast, and snoring after barely lasting two minutes. Even then, he managed to father two children.

Her kids were under the care of her husband. They had chosen to live with her husband, or more like she wasn't really keen on the idea of having to take care of a boy and a girl all by herself, not that the children had any say; they were, after all, barely nine years old at the time. In all frankness, this arrangement suited them better; it was better for them after all. Even if she decided to take custody of them, she would not have the means of sustenance to ensure a safe future for her kids, or more like she really never wanted to. She knew they were better off with her husband, who had a decent business and could take care of them; at least, that was what she made them believe.

Even if she received any alimony, it would go towards the kids, and she still would have to struggle for money. So rather, she opted for a house in an upper-middle-class society, with a one-time settlement amount for four crores (40 million rupees) along with the kothi. Her husband had happily obliged to agree to this settlement, even though it did put a decent enough dent into his portfolio— he was a builder and owned multiple such properties; this had just been one of them.

It was, after all, a one-and-done deal; no hassles later.

Aditi’s house was a 3BHK— three-bedroom-hall-kitchen; two bedrooms of which had an attached bathroom, while another one was in the foyer. Aditi had eyed this house since the beginning of their divorce, due to its secluded location— the house stood all alone near a park in a residential area, on a secluded corner with enough space between the next few houses, which were across the park, to not be disturbed by neighbours and other related disputes.

Once her husband had agreed to give her this house, as part of their divorce settlement, she also had him renovate it properly— according to her liking; more like **** him into doing it or else she would have asked for alimony until she herself could afford to do so. The house was made in such a way that it ensured her complete privacy; if she wanted to, she could even sunbathe nude in her veranda or on the terrace. A staircase was situated at the far right end of the veranda that led to her terrace, where there was a small studio-type room. This was where she kept all of her artwork or did her work, though it became extremely hot in summers and the continuous back and forth for supplies made her work in her own bedroom itself.

Apart from the fact that the veranda and terrace were beautifully decorated and arranged for sitting or gatherings, even if not, she could have enjoyed sitting in the sun all nude, or practicing yoga every morning. The veranda was divided into two parts; one part where her car was parked, the car which she’d bought from the settlement— a decent subcompact SUV worth around eighteen lakhs (1.8 million rupees). Her veranda opened into her living room from where the rest of the house followed, a foyer which connected the three bedrooms, a restroom and the kitchen. Aditi did not live alone; she herself lived in the master bedroom, and had rented out another room to one of her friends, Naina.

Naina was a spinster, who was the same age as her friend who worked at an NGO. She was religious, though not excessively, but still devout enough to pray after a bath, and to perfume the house with the smell of incense sticks she burnt every evening. They had been residing together for five years without any issues.

The rent given to her by Naina, though modest and, frankly, less than market price, was enough to run the bare necessities of the house, like electricity, food, and water. Alongside, she also worked as a part-time artist, so her room was filled with art materials. With this, she earned enough in a month to keep herself afloat, with extra cash to spend on luxuries; apart from that, she would take out whatever she needed from the funds she had carefully invested from the four crores she had gotten.

However, this arrangement was going to add another individual. P

She was expecting a boy of nineteen years of age to come to live with her for the duration of his preparation for a competitive exam that was to be held in January. If he succeeded, he would be eligible for one of the prestigious universities of the country right here in Delhi. He was the son of one of the only friends, who had supported her during her divorce, helping her monetarily as well as emotionally. She had provided Aditi a place to live until her divorce was settled.

Though this friend of hers herself lived in Delhi, she found it better for her son to live with Aditi, as her own house was unfit for his studies. Aditi happily obliged, by letting him live with her, as she was, after all, indebted to this friend who had supported her. This friend, herself a widow, had been keen on providing a helping hand to Aditi during her divorce. Not only that, Aditi was well acquainted with this boy; he was, after all, only thirteen or fourteen years of age when she’d left their place. They all did live together as a family treating the lad as her companion - she wasn't keen on taking care of any more children.

He was to arrive in the afternoon on a Sunday, and had planned to live with her for the next four months. As Sunday rolled around, she got up early in the morning, and made all the necessary arrangements with Naina to welcome the boy. She prepared his room, ensuring proper furniture— a bed, a table to study, an almirah, as well as a chair alongside a mirror and two side tables. Doing the arrangements, the morning passed and the afternoon arrived.

At around three o’clock, she heard her doorbell ring. She was in the bath, when she heard Naina open the door, and loudly greet him.

“Hi, you must be the new gentleman, who is going to be living with us. I am Naina. Aditi and I have been living together for the past five years. Nice to meet you.”

To which the boy replied, “Yes, I spoke to Aditi didi, and she did inform me of you. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Naina exclaimed, “Aditi is DIDI, and I am AUNTY! Not fair.” Which was followed by joint laughter.

It was true, as when Aditi did reside with her friend, she had been adamant on being called didi by her son; it was one of those friendly gestures that allowed them to bond together.

She continued, “And you must be his mother , nice to meet you Aditi does talk a lot about how you helped her .”

As the commotion settled down, Naina loudly exclaimed, “Aditi is in the bath right now, we have been arranging and sorting everything out for the boy to get comfortable since morning. She’ll just be out in a second.”

This was her cue. Aditi quickly finished her bath and she got out of her shower. She stood in front of the vanity.

In the mirror, one could see that Aditi was a woman unlike any other. A light-skinned woman, at least compared to other Indian women, and like many Indian women, she had a heavy, womanly hips. Though, unlike many Indian women, she wasn’t fat with a protruding belly, only a very slight paunch, one that looked tender and soft when she wore a saree.

She was curvy and voluptuous; her breasts were firm and rounded, though slightly droopy with a perfectly round areolas— not too big and not too small— perfectly placed at the peak of each breast, with two curvy, cube-shaped nipples that were slightly darker than her skin tone— a pinkish-brown with a hint of red.

She had a tiny waist as compared to her round, heart-shaped butt, one that remained firm to grasp in one's hand. With age, her butt was a little fatty with some slight wrinkles here and there at the bottom, but they smoothed out nicely before reaching her waist. She was a well-endowed woman and well kept for her age, compared to other women who were practically covered in folds of fat and wrinkles from top to bottom. She could have easily become a busty mature model with her figure.

Aditi decided to wear a salwar kameez, which she had recently sewn for herself; after all, she rarely got to wear them thanks to her profession as an artist. She could also receive feedback about it from her friend. It was style that captured her rounded, curvy figure well, along with a neckline showing some cleavage, which was to be covered with a heavy dupatta.

She was in a hurry, since she couldn't keep her guests waiting. She applied a singular green bindu, which matched her clothes, complementing her bright red lipstick. With a towel in hand, she vigorously wiped and dried her hair as she exited her bathroom and then her room, though she didn't bother with her dupatta as she was well acquainted with her guests; after all, she had lived with them for three whole years.

As she entered the living room, her friend and her son got up as they saw her. She embraced her friend before embracing the boy, and as she parted, she landed a small peck on his cheek, which she usually did when she had lived with them.

It was only then that she realized that it had been, what, four years since she had last seen the boy. She remembered him breaking through to puberty, but here, he had matured, though he was one of those who always looked younger than his age, both facially and physically— this still stood to be true. His facial features had developed, and one could see how he would look, once he’d be twenty-five, whence his face would have completely matured.

He had feminine, curvy eyes with long eyelashes; complementing them, his cheekbones had started to take structure with a slight protrusion, and with a diamond-shaped jaw. His lips were of a similar shade to her nipples, with a thin-shaped upper lip and a more fuller lower one. He had medium-length hair that started wavy and then curled at the ends, giving him a controlled-messy look, like some of those younger models.

He had surely matured, facially turning into a handsome young lad, though his physique wasn’t great, which was something that also remained true. He always looked younger and smaller compared to boys his age, and even at nineteen, he was comparatively thin, though not frail. He clearly had structure to his body, which could be clearly seen thanks to the fitted black satin shirt he was wearing. Aditi took notice of these things, as she’d known him since young, though any other woman would not imagine him to be nineteen, they would have guessed him to be fifteen or maybe sixteen years of age at best.

Before they could settle back down, Aditi suggested showing the boy his room. Aditi and her friend could catch up, while the boy would settle in his things and organize his room the way he wished. They agreed.

Aditi had given the boy the only empty room she had, which was just opposite of hers and the detached bathroom. She had earlier informed his mother of this, to which she had no issues with, but Aditi apologized again for the sake of courtesy, to which they scuffed it off.

After showing the boy his room and all the other amenities, trying to make him comfortable, they carried his luggage to his room. It wasn't much, just a suitcase and two smaller bags— one with his electronics, the other with his books. The boy, like those his age and generation, was an avid gamer, after all. He always dreamed of becoming some esports athlete and YouTuber.

Once his stuff was moved in, they returned to the living room to find Naina serving tea and snacks. They indulged in the regular small talk and catching up, while having some snacks. As the clock struck four-thirty, her friend got up to leave, at which time, Aditi obliged her to stay longer, to which she respectfully declined, citing some housework and wanting to give her son some time to unpack his luggage and set up his room. The mother finally left her boy behind in Aditi's care.

As soon as the boy's mother left, Naina started to pick up the leftovers and dirty utensils, to which the boy offered to help. Aditi told him to relax for the first day, and to unpack his stuff as his mother had told him to. The boy acknowledged it and retired to his room to do his duties. Aditi and Naina got done with the kitchen work before retiring to their respective rooms as well.

As evening rolled around, and the clock struck seven o’clock, Aditi decided to order food from outside, as her cook was on leave on that particular day. She got up and changed into her usual babydoll nightwear with no bra and only her panties, forgetting the boy was an adult and no longer a child.

She decided to enquire to find out what the boy wanted to eat, so she went ahead and knocked on his room door. She heard the locks click and the door opened. The boy had just taken a shower; his face and hair were wet and he was in his pajama bottoms and a tight-fitted, plain black t-shirt. Aditi enquired of his food preferences, to which he answered he had no restrictions. Aditi knew what he liked, so she ordered that, alongside other dishes, including starters, from a nearby restaurant, which would deliver food to her home .

An hour later, the food arrived. Aditi decided to set the table out on the veranda with utensils and cutlery, as Naina helped her. Once prepared, Naina went in to call him for dinner, to which the boy replied he would be out in ten minutes.

Aditi found the weather to be pleasant, with slight winds making it almost perfect for such dinners that could only happen in the month of September. Soon enough, the boy was out and had joined him; Aditi went to get herself a drink. She wasn't a regular drinker and only enjoyed them in the company of a few people, one of whom was the boy's mother. The boy was aware of this, so there weren't any restrictions. Naina and the boy were the first ones to serve food on their respective plates, and to settle down in their porch chairs, while Aditi was preparing her drink.

As she did, Naina enquired, “You're old enough to drink, right? You don't drink…?”

He replied, “Old enough, as in I am nineteen about to turn twenty, and well, the legal drinking age in public bars is twenty-five in Delhi…”

“Oh,” she exclaimed.

“But, I do drink… at home with my mother. I am not really into it, so I don't specially go out of my way to drink… only when the opportunity arises. What about you?”

She replied, “NO, NO! I don’t drink, smoke, or eat non-veg.”

Aditi was listening to their conversation; she smiled, as she decided to pick up another glass— for the boy, he had grown up after all.

With the two glasses with ice cubes in them, she stood in front of him, extending her arm, saying, “Here! Opportunity is here! Give me company while I drink…”

Naina jokingly said, “He’s just arrived, don’t start spoiling him already!!”

They laughed as the boy took his glass. Aditi enquired about his choice of drink.

He answered, “Whisky please!”

She went in to get a bottle of whisky, and finding the bottle, she herself settled for whisky. She also brought a bottle of Coca-Cola. As she headed back, she heard Naina and the boy joking and laughing.

She opened the bottle of whisky and Coke, and stood in front of the boy, as he raised his glass. When she poured his whisky, a small peg (shot), he waved his hand, indicating to pour some more. She filled his glass halfway of pure, unadulterated whisky over ice before picking up the bottle of Coke, which the boy politely declined.

Seeing this, she exclaimed, “Hmm… classy! Huh! For you to drink whisky without Coke, and also to know how to drink it, you must have had quite an experience drinking, but never invited me!”

The boy laughed, claiming that was all he drank and was used to drinking. She pulled his cheek in an affectionate way before pouring herself some whisky and Coke, after which, she served herself food and settled in with the other two.

They ate and chatted, beginning with the basics before starting to pull each other's leg. It was mainly Aditi and the boy reminiscing about the times when Aditi resided with his mother, while Naina listened with great interest, and burst out laughing in between.

Soon enough, the conversation steered into the boy's life, as both Naina and Aditi teased and pondered about his friends, goals, and finally his love life. The boy cleverly dodged their questions, joking around. Soon enough, Naina got up; it was nine-thirty and Naina had always been an early sleeper. She took her leave and both the boy and Aditi could hear her do her nightly ritual and retire in her bed as they sat in silence for the next ten minutes.

Aditi broke the silence by continuing their conversation, while majorly talking about herself and her time during her divorce to make the boy comfortable. They kept pouring drinks and kept on talking.

“When was it that I had last spoken to someone like this?” she pondered. She knew the last time she’d done it was this boy's mother, but speaking to the boy made her happy and lightheaded, further supplemented by the drinks. Soon enough, the night fell silent again.

As they sat in silence with their drinks in hand, the moon beaming, the air heavy, and the silence daunting. Aditi got up to make another drink. As she did, she enquired if he wanted another one, to which he obliged.

Making the drink in silence, she picked up tongs for ice cubes, breaking the silence. “Now that you're old enough, and we are alone… Are you in a relationship…? A girlfriend?” she enquired again, but in her own fashion, as she moved towards him, extending a glass in hand.

He took his glass, then took a sip, smirking and shaking his head sideways.

Acting surprised, she asked, “Why not?” with her mouth slightly agape, as if she meant, ‘you should have one,’ before continuing, “You do seem to be sensible enough for you to get whatever experience in bed at this point of your life.”

To this, he looked at her, as he rested his head back and slid into a more comfortable position and said, “That's the issue— sex! Or wait… not sex, but women of my age. As a matter of fact, they aren't even women, they are girls. Girls who are physically grown, with their ovaries pumping out hormones. They fuck around with a guy, who drives a big-ass car, with seventeen-inch biceps, who buys them expensive gifts and what not, just to get them in bed.

They act all lovey-dovey, which doesn't really matter 'cause once they get married, their life is the complete opposite. Locked in a house, while their husbands go fucking other women, using the same tactics they’d used on them. Dumb bitches! They can't even divorce them ’cause, well, all they were doing was fucking around— at least you divorced your husband…” He broke off realising it had become a personal attack.

Genuinely surprised this time, she pried, “I had an arranged marriage—”

Before she could continue, he broke her off, as he exclaimed, “Sorry!”

“No sorry…!” she continued, “You're right. Now that I am forty-eight and divorced, emphasis on the divorced, I have come to realise that half of the marriages die off. Sex is dead! Romance is dead! Honestly, the other person feels like a burden.

“In my case, I started to despise my husband, he was always ogling other women… and to be fair, even sex outside isn't even a problem half of the time we are sticking together for the kids, but what about me, huh? Am I supposed to listen to your family’s crap all day, take care of the kids? Keep myself clean and then when you come back at night, spread myself naked for you to fuck! And even then, you can't manage more than a couple of minutes before snoring off, all drunk…”

She paused before continuing her rant, “I don't even feel like fucking you… I don’t feel like fucking anyone. Irrespective of age, older or younger, people are just bloody fucking… pathetic! Love is pathetic!”

“Pffftt…” he reacted, with a smirk. “I beg to differ. Love isn't pathetic, it's bloody artificial… at least how we people do it. This gift, all lovey-dovey, saturates quickly, especially after marriage. For you to love, means for you to ensure that there is passion! Insatiable passion, this romance and what-not-bullshit doesn’t work.

“That's the issue with SEX! Wanting to have sex isn't just shoving your dick into someone's vagina— it is a careful and meticulous process. Where you want to do things and get things done to you… You play, bite, spit… there's no taboo… no stopping, just pleasure. And you only reach this, once you leave behind all expectations and needs. Where you aren't **** to keep poking in other people's lives in the name of love. Everything's open… I know it's cliché, but it's the realisation that counts… how can you love someone this way…

“You will know, once you're forty-eight and divorced,” he said, as he winked at her and laughed.

“Maybe you're right. At this point in life, I don't want some heavy burden in the name of romance. I just want someone to be there… Just a presence… Someone whom I can share a bed with, and cuddle with. Someone who isn't taxing, or with whom some moral social code has to be upheld with. Only him and me…” Saying this, she got up; looked at her phone to see the time was eleven o’clock before indicating to him to finish his drink.

He followed suit, as it was decided it was time for bed. She started collecting the utensils outside, to put them in the sink. He joined her, to which she told him that she would do it, though he continued. Once done, and the house was locked, they bid each other goodnight as they returned to their rooms. Before going to bed, she completed her nightly necessities, brushing and peeing, before lying down in the bed.

As she climbed into bed and lay down, she closed her eyes, but couldn't sleep. The conversation had left her uncomfortable, dreaded, and anxious. Why is that? She lay there, introspecting— her life up until then, the few sexual relationships after her divorce. Ughh! How ugly and disgusting they felt. His words had hollowed her, leaving behind a weird space full of dread and disgust. She felt dreamy and isolated; for the first time since her divorce, it hit her that she was alone. She wanted someone to hug her, cuddle her, cradle her, to dig into her. She wanted to dig her body deep into someone— anyone, but all of this was in vain, as she rustled and tussled in bed all alone.

Aditi felt restless, unable to sleep, as she tussled and fidgeted in her bed before finally giving up. She picked up her phone to see the time was one o’clock in the morning. They had bid each other goodnight at eleven. He must be asleep by now.

Thinking this, she decided to get up and stroll around the house, in the hopes that it might help her sleep. She got up and gently opened her room door to exit, ensuring no noise was made; she tiptoed out to the foyer. But to her surprise, she saw a sliver of light from the boy’s room passing from under the door.

He also must have not gone to sleep yet, she thought. It must have been because of the drinks, she reasoned with herself, as she moved closer to the door to check on him. As she laid a hand on the doorknob, she realised that the door was open, and from the corner of her eye, she saw him stretched out across the bed.

Her eyes widened in shock; she moved her face closer to ensure what she had seen was true. Her heart pounded, as she made sense of the sight she was witnessing. In the dimly lit room, though there was enough light to illuminate his body, she saw him. With his eyes closed, stretched out in the bed, shirtless, and his pajama bottoms pushed down to his knees— no doubt was left as to what she was witnessing.

She should have pulled back, but couldn’t. As she looked on, her anxiety mounted and a sudden shiver passed through her body.

His left hand stretched and tucked under the pillow beside his head, while his right hand was on his dick— he was slowly caressing his cock. With his dick flaccid, he pulled his foreskin all the way back before rubbing the tip of his penis with his thumb and index finger, in circular motions, after which he would grip his dick and wave it back and forth before going back to its tip. Soon enough, it started gaining its rigidity and she could see strands of pre-cum each time he rubbed the tip, and lifted his finger back up. With his penis semi-erect, he sat up with his legs still wide apart, and let his spit drop from his mouth onto his penis before adjusting himself and finally lying back down. He was playing with his cock in the dead of night.

This scene made Aditi sweat, her mouth salivating like Pavlov's dog to the sound of the bell, her throat dry, and most of all, her nipples were erect and as hard as pebbles, being borderline painful. Her heart was pounding, her body was hot, and her vagina was flowing with juices; her panties and the area around her pussy had become wet and slimy. She thought to herself as to why felt this way.

She had seen plenty of dicks in her lifetime; even up close, as men tried to jerk off their dicks, trying to ejaculate whatever was left of them onto her face and breasts after a good time. As after her divorce, she had had a lot of time to spend in bed with men with dicks of different size and shape.

Though this feeling— it was anxious— it felt as though she recognised it, but it was her first time feeling it. The thoughts of prior men made her feel disgusted about herself, as if she had been used and discarded.

Ahh! The way he played with his own body, if only she could join in; if only someone would come and play with her body; if only she could lose herself forever in the night, nestled in a cosy bed as someone made love to her, while she played with his tool— like the boy was playing with his. What ecstasy!

As she came back to her senses, she realised her right hand had slid onto her breast, fiddling with her erect nipple poking through her nightgown. Her thoughts, her morals— everything— had become completely eradicated, as she opened her mouth and started to pant and salivate like a bitch in heat. Like a bitch which would shake its butt to entice a hound to mount it.

So, Aditi did.

She imagined herself present there, right in front of his cock, as he rubbed his spit over its shaft and head, until it was completely erect. Once erect, it stood tall, glistening in the dim light, while he rubbed his own balls to get rid of the extra spit in his hand. It would, after all, hinder his ability to stroke.

At this point, Aditi was incapable of stopping. She was pinching and pulling her nipples inside her gown, as she saw the boy's face, barely visible, his eyes closed, head turned towards the side, with his mouth slightly open as he gasped for air. His hand was firmly gripping his dick, as he pulled back and forth his foreskin. Aditi concentrated on his cock with great intensity, as she watched the first few strokes, which were slow, controlled, and concise— from completely covering his tip to pulling all the way back. With each subsequent stroke, his grip became tighter and his strokes faster. His hand worked with such intensity that soon enough, she could hear his slight moan, as he shivered and jerked while masturbating.

Soon enough, the tip excreted some of his cum, though, this did not stop him. He, at this point, was aggressively stroking with all his strength; his cum covering his hand, and his penis covered with a frothy white substance all over it. His legs were then completely stretched, slightly lifted off of the bed. He continued stroking, until his hips thrust upwards and his back curved like an arch; he let out a loud, continuous moan and his penis spewed out a huge load. The first shot went flying in the air before landing on his stomach, while the rest followed suit. He ejaculated in such a quantity that it flowed down the length of his penis onto his balls from where it dripped onto the bed sheet; though this mess did not stop him from giving himself pleasure. He continued with shorter strokes to ensure every last bit of out.

She could see his penis spasm, as cum flowed out of it in small continuous pulses. Once his balls were empty, his dick and hand were all covered with his own cum, he let his dick fall back sideways. He wiped his hands beside his balls and on his inner thighs to clean off the cum from his hand, after which, it fell to his side. He pushed his head back into his pillow, groaning and panting softly.

Aditi had watched all of this, and could barely stand. She rubbed her inner thighs against each other, as she sucked her right hand, covering it with saliva. She couldn't take it anymore, she had to relieve herself— she pushed her left hand inside her vaginal-juice-drenched panties.

She had completely forgotten that she was holding the door with her left hand. As soon as she removed it from the door handle, leaving the door free, it squeaked and opened a bit. The squeaking sound startled the light-headed boy, who was lost in pleasure still playing with his penis, and brought him back to his senses.

He quickly got up to find the door slightly ajar. He was sure he had locked it, or had he not? He pulled his pajamas up without managing to clean himself, fearing someone had seen him. He hopped around to find his shirt, which was behind his pillow.

Aditi, realizing what she had done, quickly moved away anxiously. She thought of what to do before dashing for the bathroom in the foyer right beside his room. She hurriedly opened the door and locked it behind her. Luckily, the washroom had two light switches— one inside and one outside. She switched on the light, as she heard the room of his door squeak completely open.

To make her act sound believable, she loudly let the toilet seat down, and quickly pulled her panties down and peed. The sound of her peeing was loud enough for anyone standing in front of the door to his room to be heard. When she finished peeing, she pulled up her wet panties, which felt sticky all over her butt and vagina. She flushed the toilet and started washing her hands to ensure she removed the smell of any of her bodily fluids with soap, if she had unintentionally touched herself. She wiped her wet hands on her nightgown, which helped hide the saliva that had dripped from her tongue. She was prepared to face him.

She opened the door, and ensured to look back to close it, so as to not make eye contact. She acted startled when he spoke.

“You're still awake,” he managed to say. “I just got startled by the sound of the washroom,” he continued.

She replied, “Oh! My flush doesn't seem to work. I'll get it fixed tomorrow. So I used yours today. Hope you don't mind, I couldn't use Naina’s as she sleeps with her door locked.”

Saying this, her eyes wandered as she saw that he also had tried to smartly hide his antics by tucking his dick upwards under the waistband of his pajama bottoms and hiding it by wearing an oversized shirt. Though, both also showed clear signs of slip-ups.

Aditi was sweating profusely and still heaving, as if she had run a marathon; not only that, but her nipples were clearly erect, still poking through her nightgown, which were surely noticed by the boy. He, on the other hand, exuded a strong stench of his bodily fluid. He also tried to hide his right arm behind his back, by standing with his hand holding his doorknob, though she could still see the dried-up white marks on it.

Just then, Naina's room door clicked as it opened. Naina came out, rubbing her eyes, asking about the commotion, which both of them assured was nothing but a misconception. She continued towards the kitchen to fill her water bottle up, as both Aditi and the boy went back into their respective rooms. She heard the boy’s door lock, followed by Naina, as she locked hers.

He double checked his to ensure it was locked this time.

Aditi felt flustered; her tits were covered in sweat and her vagina was sticky, as she ran to her bed, forgetting to lock her room herself.

On her bed, Aditi tumbled from side to side, as she rubbed and pressed her tits aggressively for pleasure, but to no avail. However much she used her own hand, she couldn't find pleasure. Her nipples ached as she pinched and pulled on them, but her tits couldn’t seem to feel any stimulation. She used her nails to dig into her areolas, as she aggressively scratched and dug them into her nipples, trying to rip them off, but all of it was to no avail.

Her vagina betrayed her further, as it oozed her secretions, involuntarily throbbing and contracting; each time, leaking more and more of the white substance. Before she knew it, the white gooey substance had collected inside her panties before flowing down where it reached her anus, penetrating the cracks and hole, making everything unbearably wet and sticky. She just wasn't able to find the pleasure she was looking for.

She lifted her leg in the air, as she pushed down her panties down to her knees, after which she bent her legs towards her chest, curling her toes, while pulling her panties down to her ankles, leaving them there to hang. She was like an infant on its back, holding its legs; the difference being, her right hand was on her wet, creamy vagina, rubbing slowly from side to side. Her right hand, by then, was completely covered in her white gooey substance. She started patting her vagina, and each time she did, strands of thick, white mucus stretched like melted cheese from a slice of pizza. It pulled and dripped each time she patted her hand on her vagina.

Her head curled back into her pillow, as she opened her mouth, her tongue out, trying to lick her chin and cheeks, covering them in saliva. She rubbed her clitoris in a circular motion, while pulling it in between breaths. The mix of pain and pleasure didn't seem to have any effect on her.

Her left hand followed suit, in its search for pleasure, as she wrapped her arm under her left leg, reaching for her pussy to part her vaginal lips, and aggressively slap her meaty vagina, from time to time. This allowed the index and middle fingers of her right hand to penetrate her vagina. She slowly pushed them inside and back out, increasing her pace exponentially with each push. After a few strokes, her pace was so aggressive that she was practically scratching and rubbing the muscular walls inside her vagina.

Her head craned up, her chin digging into her chest, mouth wide open, eyes closed, as she panted and groaned. The room resounded with sounds of wet and sloppy pats schiliking and slooping as the gooey mucus dripped down in streaks covering her butthole.

While her body was doing all of this, her imagination was running wild— all she could see was the boy, imagining him lasciviously jerking off in front of her. She imagined his spit-covered dick in front of her face, as it was being jerked with greater passion.

She moaned loudly, “Uuuhh… aaahhh…!” as she imagined him moaning and calling her name while jerking his tool in front of her face. “Aaah!” If only she could ingest his dick in her mouth, as he jerked off and orgasmed, having the semen hitting the back of her mouth, instead of flying in the air. Her imagination was running amok.

She opened her eyes to see herself masturbating. The way she moved her hands, it further fueled her crazy sequence of images in her head— she imagined his semen-covered tool entering her mucus-covered vagina. He moved back and forth, mixing their fluids with each other’s, as it covered his pubes, with strands of thick, white mucus connecting to her ass. With each push, the room resounded with wet and heavy splats!and loud smacks! as his pubic region would bang against her creamy buttocks.

This was the final blow, as she started spasming and jittering all over. Her hands, not giving up as she pushed them further in, were continuously rubbing as she moaned and gasped loudly, tumbling around in the bed. She could feel the build-up, as if a flood was imminent; similar to how a dam was to be opened once the flow of the water became unbearable. With each passing second, the gushing feeling, the vaginal contractions became unbearable.

Finally, just as she felt it coming, she smiled and bit her lip, falling back on the bed, raising her legs towards the ceiling. Biting her lip as hard as she could to suppress her moan, not only did not help, but cut her lip in the process. She moaned out loudly, accompanied by the sounds of gushing, as she held her knees to her chest, while a watery, white substance spurted out all over in front of her, followed by a thick stream of gooey mucus running down her vagina.

She jerked and spasmed, her muscles shivering, as her legs fell back down to the bed. Her eyes, unable to remain open any longer, closed; while her hands fell down, beside her face, covered in the mucus, the natural lubricant. She lay there, exposed, with the lower part of her gown folded up on her belly, her legs spread wide in a puddle of climax, her vagina almost drowned.

Before she knew it, she was fast asleep after such an ecstatic performance, comparable to the boy’s act.

Note to the reader:

Please note that this is a female-centred piece of erotica, with an emphasis on the female characters.

I am requesting readers to provide feedback, review, and criticism to further understand the nature of this art.

Thanks for reading.

KavariS

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