Sunday, May 30, 2004

Unreserved Access

Though I had a ticket to travel by the air-conditioned coach in Coromandel Express from Howrah to Chennai, I was waitlisted 21. Enquiries at the station confirmed my worst fears. That I would have to travel in the unreserved compartment as I could not be accommodated in the air-conditioned coach. Twenty-six hours, including two sweltering hot afternoons while the train raced through four hot spots in India, wasn't a welcoming prospect. But I had to go because of the research work I do. I had to complete my field studies of the crop pattern in the southern States of India and the crop auction traditions before I could take the plane back to my university in Canada. My dissertation was pending and this was the last of the phases before I submitted it for appraisal. The worst aspect of traveling by unreserved coach is that it is overcrowded. There is no limit to the number of passengers who can board the coach. And usually many waitlisted passengers find to their dismay that they have to travel by this coach if they wished to travel at all.

Armed with my briefcase – a cute little thing I bought in Canada – and a mineral water bottle, I plunged right in. Well, it was not exactly as smooth as piercing through water when you dive from the board at a swimming pool. I had to elbow and push and shove, and wait, before the person in front managed to turn a little, yielding space for me to go right in. I gave up the idea of taking a chance of finding some place inside the compartment. It was packed like a tin of Jell-O, with people sitting on the floor, on the passageway, and eight on a bench meant for six. Luggage racks too had people, sitting comfortably and dangling their feet in front of the face of those seated below. There was some space near the toilet and I moved in. There is always space near the toilet because people generally avoid sitting close to it. The stench of an overused restroom can be overpowering. The water in the tank runs out soon enough but one's need to relieve one's self is not dependent on the availability of water. So the restroom begins to stink in no time. I was safe because I had an ample supply of facial tissues and eau de cologne to take care of my urge to stop breathing.

People had begun to settle down after the train pulled out of Howrah, and soon the passengers were either sitting down or standing till their exhausted legs gave way.

After some six hours out of Howrah, a young couple boarded the train. The husband managed to push his way through a mass of humanity that preferred to occupy the entrance to get the blast of cool breeze as the train hurtled along at 120 kmph (nearly 80 miles an hour). The people near the gate relented to allow the couple in. Chivalry is obviously not dead yet in India and I felt justifiably proud. With his suitcase lodged firmly on his head, he tiptoed through the crowd, banged a few heads accidentally which drew some grunts of protest, but finally managed to get in safely with his wife following him closely behind.

He had to stop short as he could go no further. The number of people who stood or sat on the passageway ruled out his progress with his wife unless he could, like a spider walk upside down along the roof to reach the spot he desired. He craned his neck to look inside and realised that there was absolutely no space for him or his wife. His young bride, wearing gold bangles and pretty ear-rings and a bright red sari, noticed that there space near the toilet. She told her husband who responded immediately in a language I didn't understand.

Obviously that it would be stinking in no time, but the wife decided to move. She needed some space to sit so she tip-toed across those who dared to sit near the toilet and reached the spot where I was sitting. She looked around and our eyes met for the first time. I smiled and got a bright smile in return. She bent down and spoke to me but I didn't understand a thing, because I just didn't know her language. I expressed my ignorance through sign language which she understood. Her response was a very pleasant smile which warmed my heart, sent my pulse racing. My eight-incher strapped under Jockeys and protected from all coefficients of expansion began to enlarge.

I began to study her more carefully. There was nothing else to do. Not even reading a book because there was hardly any light. The massive number of people in the compartment had blocked out whatever light there was. Here was this young married woman, definitely not more than 19, with flawless skin and a 32-28-36 figure one could die for. Her breasts were not large but they were firm. The blessing of youth and an unspoilt body. I couldn't help my imagination run. She turned her head towards me, saw me staring at her breasts, smiled shyly, pulled the end of her sari and tucked it into the waist.

This allowed me almost complete visual access to her smooth, flat tummy, her recessed navel and her small pert breasts that threatened to tear out of her tight blouse. I couldn't help winking at her. She noticed that and her beautiful, painted lips curved into an inviting smile. Or was I imagining? What if I am imagining? Nothing like it to while away the hours. And forget the pain of traveling without rest or sleep. The young girl took the suitcase from her husband, who was visibly relieved to get rid of the load and ventured to move on as far as he could. But he couldn't go very far. He told her something again, and she nodded her head in reply. She took the suitcase and placed it next to my briefcase on which I was sitting.

After a few hours, I could see her dozing. She had placed her right hand on the wall of the restroom which allowed me an unobstructed view of the profile of her right breast. And I began imagining how it would be to touch, knead and suck them if possible. If possible! My foot! In an overcrowded compartment with at least a dozen people around the restrooms and watching each other's face from time to time to while away the painfilled hours. Ruled out, I thought. Her head began to dip from time to time and soon I realised that she was too tired to continue standing. She came and sat on her suitcase, turned toward me and smiled again. I stared at her lips in anticipation, looked straight into her eyes and smiled back. She whispered something but I couldn't make anything of what she said. So I whispered in English, "I am sorry, but I don't understand your language." She tilted her head to the side, looked at me and said, "You know no Oriya?"

"No," I said. She gave me a broad smile which showed me her beautiful, sparkling teeth behind her sexy lips. "My English good no," said and smiled silently at her own ignorance. We tried to talk and it was a time-passing experience. The programs of cryptology that I had studied were no use here. We struggled to communicate and I struggled to piece together her messages from the broken words of English she uttered. Her name was Pushpa (flower) and she was on her way to Bangalore with her husband who had just got a job as a technician in a company.

After sometime, she yawned, fidgeted on her suitcase to make herself more comfortable. This brought her beautiful arms in contact with mine. I couldn't help deliberately brushing her arms with mine. Rocking was natural and one would brush with another standing or sitting close by but I was doing much more than the rocking motion of the train allowed. Slowly I could see that she was falling asleep. She had done what all others in the train were doing. Sleeping the boredom away.

My heart began to race immediately, as my mind devised ways to tough her without her knowledge. My head was bowed but I was watching her. She swayed and swayed and plop! Her head fell on my shoulder. Next moment she peeled her eyelids open, looked at me, smiled as brightly as she could through her sleep-laden eyes and her plopped on the other side. Before her head hit the restroom wall with a resounding thud and led to a painful swelling on her detectable head, my arms shot out and caught her. I gently pulled her to my shoulders and placed her head on top and began to pat her to sleep. I had by now raging hard-on.

I looked down at her and as her sari had loosened from her waist and shoulder, I could see her left breasts pushing at her blouse. From the gentle curve of the blouse I could make out that she wore no bra. I noticed also that her gold bangles and ear rings were not really gold but cheap imitations. A poor but extremely beautiful young woman on her way to begin life with her husband. Far away from her native home in Orissa. I could see the gentle curve of her waist which was barely ten inches away. The slim waistline was making it difficult for my cock to survive. I had seen that her bums were shaped like rose petals. So she had obviously been married less than a month ago and had not been fucked out of shape.

The few occasions that I was forced to travel in unreserved coaches, I would get off at each station, stretch my legs for relief, have a coffee and restart the painful process of sitting cramped in the compartment till the next station. But this time I decided not to venture out at all. I was too excited and didn't wish to lose my place.

Soon the afternoon faded into evening which melted into pitch dark night. In between her husband had bought her some food to eat, woken her up. She had told him something so at the next station he got some food for me as well. We shared the food from the same plate. And we shared parts of the puris which I or she had bitten. It gave me a vicarious pleasure because it was a poor substitute of a french kiss. But I tasted her saliva as much as she tasted mine. And both of us seemed to enjoy it. We would keep staring at each other's lips and once when I ran my tongue over my lips, she almost groaned and squeezed her lovely legs together. I wanted to reach out and grab her tits and lick her pussy then and there. But I knew her husband wouldn't keep quiet and neither would the other passengers in the compartment. Despite my proficiency in the martial, I knew I could keep off a crowd bent on murder. So I kept my hand to myself, biding for an opportunity.

By the time it was 11 p.m., the restrooms began to stink and both of us were suffering, sharing a smile at our misfortune but suffering the stench nevertheless. I got off my briefcase, opened it, fished out a disposable napkin, sprayed one of strong deodorants and handed it over to her. She sniffed at it , her eyes opened wide in pleasure and she gave me a fabulous smile. The best of all I have seen lighting up a woman's face so far. I smiled back. I gently reached for her sari-covered hand that was hidden from public view because of the shadow of people all round. I squeezed it gently, and she squeezed back. I knew then that I would fuck her – come what may.

Almost everyone had gone to sleep, including her husband who chose not to come near her. The crowd around had obviously pout him off and I was sure that more than anything else, he was not willing to find a spot near the stinking restrooms.

The light in the compartment was now visible because almost everyone had found some space to sit and doze. I took my newspaper and held it aloft. It not only cut out the light but also granted me and Pushpa some privacy under its roof. Pushpa had loosened her sari for more comfort. While redoing her sari, she had her eyes plumb on me, and her lips were bent in a taunting smile as if asking, "Can you dare to do what you want to?" I just nodded my head almost imperceptibly in reply.

She felt comfortable when she sat down, and looked at me as she placed her head on my right shoulder. My left hand held the unfolded newspaper aloft while I held her close to me so that she did not plop and hurt her head on the restroom wall. There was total privacy because everyone around was fast asleep, either standing or sitting. I looked at my watch. It was nearly 12:30 a.m. So I had at least four hours of adventure ahead of me. Pushpa's eyes were open but she was drowsy. I caressed her right arm lightly with my fingers. I could feel her shiver next to me, but she made no sound. I caressed her head, her right cheek and held her head close to my shoulder. She sighed. Slowly and surely she fell asleep.

Pushpa, the extremely beautiful woman with a face that only sculptors could mould; Pushpa, the young married woman, with a body that was unwasted and ready to receive all that a man had to offer; Pushpa, the sexy woman who did not hesitate to sit next tome, smile at me teasingly, was there for me for the night. The thoughts were enough to make my erection painful. I had to taste her.

I took my right hand and caressed her waist. She shivered again. I touched her recessed navel, dug my forefinger in lightly and turned it around gently, and Pushpa shivered again. I caressed her right arm, and then with difficulty her left arm, and could feel her goosepinples. Her hair downy soft as was her skin. I felt her arms for its tender girth as my fingers reached her armpits. She shifted suddenly, perked herself up, got her feet together and her knees and caught hold of her knees with her dainty hands. I now had total access to her beautiful, unrestrained breasts. She worse no bra as I had found out earlier.

After she fell on my shoulder again, I reached out and caressed arms all round before reaching for her breasts, My hand had gone round her back to prevent her from falling. It was not easy, so I got up slowly, placed my briefcase a little in front of her, and sat down facing her. I opened the newspaper like an umbrella and placed it over us to give us darkness and freedom. Now I reached for her breasts. From over her blouse, I felt the gentle shape of her erect tits which looked up at heaven almost and caressed it all round before slowly converging on her areoles. Her tits were much too small but it was fantastic under the circumstances. And I was determined to make the best of it. As I gently massaged her breasts, first with my fingers and then with my palm, she sighed, and her tiny nipples turned hard. The feel of the hard softness was incredible. I moved from one breasts to the next and enjoyed the feel of it as it responded to my touch. I wanted to dive behind her blouse to feel them straight. So I put my hands in slowly. It was difficult so I unhooked the first two buttons of her blouse and could see the cleavage. Not much but enough to kindle my interest.

I squeezed in my hand, felt the smooth soft skin all around her left breast before touching her hardened nipple with my finger tip. I squeezed it in between two fingers. It felt soft and sturdy. I squeezed her breasts hard then. She convulsed as if I had touched her with an electrode. But didn't open her eyes. I moved to her right breast and caressed it softly. They felt so good, so soft, so warm, I wanted to eat them. I had to, I decided, or else I would go mad with unfulfilled lust. So I opened the rest of her three button hooks of her blouse and gently moved the flaps apart. Here was the chiselled marvel of Pushpa in all her splendour. The newspaper was intact and obviously it did not raise anyone's doubt, so I bent ever so slowly and reached her breasts. I put my nose in, smelt her breast, and slowly put my lips around it sucking it in. I kept sucking her left tit hard, hoping some milk would ooze out. But she wasn't pregnant. I slowly shifted my head to her right breast and sucked it in while playing with her left tit. Instinctivelt Pushpa sighed, pressed my head down to her breast and held it there. As I sucked her right tit, my hands played with her left tit and caressed her stomach and navel and waist. She spasmed again and again, but did not open her eyes. Her legs quivered and she stretched them out of the newspaper canopy. When I craned my neck around I saw her twirling her toes in sexual arousal.

I was enjoying the heavenly body so I didn't realise that Pushpa had woken up. She pulled my face up and hungrily took in my lips. As our tongues battled, she moaned. The cocktail of saliva tasted splendid and her breath was so fresh that it added to my energy. My right hand never left her tits and her flat stomach which I caressed in short circular slow motion. When I squeezed her nipples hard, she gasped and became silent. I knew she had an orgasm even though I hadn't touched her cunt or clit. Pushpa stopped short to catch her breath and then said something, signalling that I should get up. I let go of her young succulent body. She buttoned her blouse, adjusted her sari and removed the newspaper. She got up and headed for the toilet.

Once she entered, she looked around and when she saw that no one was watching, she signalled me to join her in the toilet. I looked around and everyone fast asleep. I folded the newspaper and entered the toilet. It was cramped inside and stinking. She had placed the scented napkin on her nose but I could make out the determined look in her eyes. As soon as I closed the door, she undressed herself. It was difficult because the train was hurtling down at 120kmph, but we managed. She held my face with her hands, caressed my lips my forehead, my hair and my chin. Then she took my lips in her mouth. I had a raging hard-on, so I quickly got rid of my trousers and brief, lifted her up – she seemed as light as a feather – and held her as she guided my cock in. She was wet and her juice had the egg-white feel about it so I knew she was ovulating and was at the peak of her sexual needs. I slowly plunged my eight-incher into her cunt as I held her 4'11' frame against me. She had wrapped her legs around my waist. It was a difficult manoeuver but we managed. Soon we started fucking. It felt fantastic because she was ready for all that I was willing to give her. We fucked and fucked. There were only her moans and my low decibel grunts because we had pasted our lips on each other. The she came.

She uttered something in her language, almost begging me and bit my lips as I was plunging into her at a furious pace. When she lifted her small breasts to my mouth, I sucked them in, tortured her nipple and came – right into he womb. We could not collapse and only held each other tight. I was drained but my semi-hard cock was still in her as she continued to milk me for whatever I was worth. We almost dozed in that position. When I woke up, I realised that I was still in her – now hard as ever. She was caressing my balls and kissing every inch of face. And I began my second journey into her. This time it lasted longer. She came and she came and she came. Silently. I was amazed by her control over herself and I only hoped that I fathered her first child, When her cunt muscled squeezed my dick, I could not hold back any more and came again.

She almost slipped off me but I held her. I got her up and asked her to wash her face and to keep her cunt muscled squeezed so that the sperms stayed in. She understood, smiled and gave me a tender kiss. She pushed her forfinger into my chest and said, "You child. My child" and pointed to her falt stomach. I kissed her and then asked her leave first. She silently opened the batchroom door and took her place on her suitcase. Much later I stepped out as well and took my place next to her.

I fell asleep almost immediately. It was she and her husband who woke me up saying that the train her arrived. I scrambled up, took my briefcase. She had got off the train. I looked around for her and found her standing next to the adjacent platform. As soon our as our eyes met, she smiled, bit her lips and sent an almost imperceptible kiss through the air. I wish I could take her again and again. But it doesn't matter, because Pushpa has me in her and I am sure she has our child by now. My only regret is I don't know how the child looks, and whether it is a boy or girl.
underwrap4u@yahoo.com

4 comments:

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