Innocent Days

I wasn't really a slut. My husband was in America working for some software assignment. But Pune seemed to have changed during his absence. All this sexual revolution stuff going around. It touched me in an unusual manner.

We had rented an ancient house in one of those country side parks that were not upwardly communities. I'd barely gotten to know my neighbors before my husband, Yash was sent to America. Those were lonely days for me. It was fall and there was a chill in the air, as cold as my bed was at night. I was only nineteen, and my teenage juices were running like the sap in spring.

One afternoon, after I'd been alone about a month, a man who lived further back into the street, asked me if I would like to pick raw mangoes with him. Actually between his house and mine there was a mangoe orchard. I was hanging clothes on the line and he introduced himself as Dinoj. I shook hands with him and told him mine was Manisha. "My wife's got a busted leg," he'd said. "But she can make a damn fine mangoe pie. 'Preciate your help."

Without too much thought about it, I agreed. Dinoj seemed like a nice-enough man; in his thirties, square-jawed and handsome in a rugged way. His long hair was too long for my taste, but his eyes were warm and brown. He looked like an aging hippie, except that he wore khaki pants and a red flannel shirt, was clean and neatly dressed. There was a beery smell about him however, a masculine musk. "I'll just change out of this dress," I said.

"No need, Manisha," Dinoj said. "You won't get dirty."

"We have to shake the mangoes loose," Dinoj said. "You're small, can you climb the tree?" I felt a warmth spreading in my lower belly, a heat between my legs. We were all alone and his smile was soft and easy. He appeared slightly drunk.

The mangoes clattered like dried nuts in the chill wind as he lifted me into the fork of one giant old mangoe tree. His hands around my waist felt big and the strength in his arms was amazing. Then he stabilized my footing by holding my ankles to each side of the forked branches. I was painfully conscious of my underwear being visible to him below. I hadn't worn a slip, just my bra and panties.

I felt his grip tighten as I attempted to scale the rough bark of the limb on my right. Then of his hand moving higher, to my calf. A gentle pressure, an upward bunching of my muscle. My foot slipped. His hand did not hold me upright, rather, it slid further up my leg to just above the knee.

Was it me? Did I truly not know what was happening, what I was doing as I lowered myself to his sliding palm? Dinoj's hands felt rough and calloused as they slid up my legs to the fork of my own body, inverted branches like the mangoe tree's. I honestly don't know. I don't remember or don't wish to remember how much resistance I put up as his large, warm hand cupped my mound.

But I do remember the feeling of helplessness to control what was happening to my body. And therein lay the key to my sense of wantonness. Because my body reacted willfully on its own, a traitorous desire against my mind, betraying my expressed fidelity.


"Ah" he whispered. "So beautiful." Caressing. Touching. Feeling. My young juices sloshed about in my budding vulva of their own volition. I was powerless to stop the need. Not a word was spoken as I lowered my bottom onto his waiting hand. My vagina was wet, palpitating with animal need.

He slipped my underpants to one side and his finger slid into me easily. My legs trembled and my feet slipped further down the branches of the tree. He was in me all the way and he slipped a second finger into my slickened pussy.

I looked down. Growing from his khaki clad groin, his erection appeared immense. He stroked himself as he worked his finger in me. My juices soiled his hand when he withdrew and a spreading patch of moisture wet his groin. He lifted me and lay me flat on my back.

I was speechless and crossed my arms over my heaving breasts protectively. I had never encountered such apparent male rutting lust as he exuded. "No!" I exclaimed as firmly as I could muster.

Dinoj used his eyes like weapons, like staccato gun fire, a bursting fusillade of meanings, literally filling the air between us as he uttered the single word,"Yes." And then they softened, drew me in. I fell tumbling headlong into those warm eyes which replaced the blazing contrails of his lust. Something like an ensheathing glove of soft flesh crept up my body, setting every raw red nerve on edge. I teetered on some brink of myself for only a moment longer. It seemed as though a numbness overcame me, a blurring in my eyes and a deep thrumming in my head. I sighed.

Dinoj knelt down on the ground beside me and put his hands on his hips like a army man. "Take my cock out and suck it for me," he ordered in the manner of that same simile, although a little slurred.

In my own defense, I was terrified. I'm a slight person, weighing between 45 and 55 kgs all my life. My husband had referred to me as "doll-like", and I can't argue with that description. My long hair was what he'd said had made him fall in love with me.


My hands shook as I fumbled with his zipper. When I succeeded in dragging Dinoj's dick out, I thought my heart would burst out of my chest. He had a fire hose for a penis and as much foreskin as I've ever seen on any man. His uncircumcised skin formed a huge nozzle over the flaring knob and lubricating drool oozed out in copious amounts. His penis was veiny and the shaft was like a roadmap of bluish worms.

"Skin me back," Dinoj mumbled. His sweetish breath was hot in my face. His penis felt feverish in my hand. I clutched the shaft and pulled back his skin, feeling like thick rubber and slippery on the bone. I felt his flesh skimming over the veins as I drew back his foreskin and unhooded his bright red knob. He was lubricating as much as some men come, drooling strands of clear oil actually dripping from his maleness.

"Lick on it, open your pretty lips and suck me," he whispered. My husband had asked me to suck him off one time, and I'd tried, not really wanting to. But I found myself actually craving to taste this man's cock. So I sank my mouth down onto his penis and held my fist against my lips, stroking up and down as I sucked slowly on the blood-engorged shank of his incredible maleness. His lubricating juice was mellow on my tongue. He sighed contentedly.

Then he reached over and caressed my breasts through the the thin material of my yellow dress which had fallen slightly open. My nipples stiffened inside my brassier, and he pinched and twisted them gently between his fingers. He held his oversized penis in his fist and growled, "I want to fuck you, Manisha."

I could only bite my lips and quiver. He pulled open the buttons of my dress and dug his calloused palms into my cleavage, began to chew his way to my breasts. His breath assaulted my senses as I thrashed in his grasp. I was no match for his absolute insistence and though I attempted to stop myself, I felt my body trembling under his heated mouth. He removed my bra and roughly pushed my panties down to my ankles. I was the one who kicked them off.

As if under a spell, I slumped in his embrace and allowed him to caress my belly, my breasts, down, down between my legs, his hand gently sought my warmth, my juices flowing. I was powerless. I must continue to reaffirm that, I must say it again and again. If only for myself. I was powerless.

I allowed my legs to be stretched open on the ground where he tenderly licked between my thighs, up and down, nibbling on the insides, his tongue a heated organ. In all honesty, I was wet for him. I splayed my legs as wide as they would go and pulled his head to my center. His darting tongue was like a squirming fish at my hole, feasting inside my vaginal lips. I arched my spine and gave myself to him.

He came off me and his lips were moist and hot as he kissed me and I tasted the juices of myself. I sucked out his tongue. He grappled with his pants and pushed them down below his ass. He penetrated my clitoris like a succulent clam, his penis moist and dripping juices, near liquefying my vagina. And I likened his gentle coupling to the sea, a wash of soft foamy waves, cresting and breaking over me. The very air was suffused with such humidity, it was as if I drowned in him, his vastness like the ocean's, tossing and rolling on the heaving body of
water I had become.

Indeed his body seemed of the sea, his gonads, growing like treasures from the sea; oysters, scallops, the yielding firmness of unshelled mussels. He smelled and tasted eternal like the sea, liquid and saline, moist juices in unexpected places, faintly sea-weedish, salty shoreline smells wafting from every pore. He had clam-like buttocks of dewy assflesh, smooth as the skin of an eel's as I pulled him into me.

And it. That. That which penetrated me relentlessly, which rode me like a wanton hag, seared my nether depths with a burning intensity unlike any I'd experienced in my life. Sheathed inside my trembling body like a great ship mooring to harbor, skillfully docking with a precision as though this man knew the deepest pits of my being and played them like a mighty orchestra. Then a single willing instrument.

Dinoj played my body like a guitar and my heart like a violin. His round ass -globes, flexing, alternately taut and relaxed, driving me, driving himself, driving us, over the precipice of simple sex and down into a veritable pit of lust. His rough, calloused hands stroked my heaving breasts, the scabbed flesh of their palms, drawing my nipples to ever greater sensitivity. I felt every scabrous inch of skin tingle throughout my entire midsection and there was no patch of my flesh left unaroused.

I consigned myself to dying in this man's arms. Again and again he brought me up and spilling out in jerking spasms of a turbulent climatic fury, only to ebb then surge anew with ever increasing intensity, like a performing puppet, yanked this way and that by a demented puppeteer, I came time and time again in his arms. His cock battered my depths.

Dinoj fed on my body as an animal might, seeming to draw sustenance from each shuddering release, goading him to greater heights of endurance. Then he frantically jabbed and mercilessly stabbed at my clitoris, making me come in stuttering bursts as he pumped my trigger like an automatic rifle. And when his shattering ejaculation filled me, I began hopelessly sobbing. Whether at myself or him, I would be unable to say.

And oh, Lord, what the man did with me then. With a sure knowledge far beyond anything I'd experienced with my husband, he took me into the gloriously sun -washed realms of anti-climactic ecstasy. No man had ever had the prescience to do this before, or rather, not the desire or knowledge that a woman can respond in this manner. But almost as if Dinoj were a woman, he sensed every nuance of that part of me lying fallow beyond the physical repletion. Far past the exhausted reservoirs of sexual contentment, Dinoj led me through tunnels and alleyways of myself that even I had been unaware of. This was more than the
delicate stroking and tender murmuring he kept washing into my ears in a steady flowing stream like the warmest of honey. More it was as if he became part of me.

Afterward, we lay there in the chill, and I felt remorseful. "Now let's get those mangoes," he said, playfully tousling my hair. "And then tonight, you're gonna come over to taste the best mangoe pie you ever had."

I must have been the most naive woman in the world, because when I arrived at Dinoj and Farzhana's house, they were both clad in only their underwear. And I thought it merely odd. Farzhana wore a filmy and transparent slip, red, her single piece of lingerie. She had a knee brace on her left leg, so Dinoj had been truthful about that. I could see the dark mass of her pubic patch as she welcomed me into the tiny living room. She was a petite lady, around thirty and her coal-black hair fell in soft coils over her shoulders. She wore a pink lipstick, making her fleshy lips look moist and wet. There was a knowing gleam in her penetrating, near-black eyes.

"Why don't you make yourself comfortable, honey," Farzhana said, nodding at my skirt and white blouse. "Dinoj's told me a lot about you."

He couldn't have! Surely not, I thought. Told her he'd fucked me! If anything, their house was smaller than mine, with only a single couch to be seen. Farzhana guided me to it and sat me squarely in the middle, she and Dinoj sitting to each side. If there had been any doubt in my mind about their intentions, they soon evaporated as Dinoj placed his arm across my shoulders. Farzhana sat so close to me that I felt her body heat the length of my figure. And then she placed her hand on my knee.

"Dinoj tells me you're a wild little thing, Manisha," she murmured, her voice throaty and seductive. "I love wild things, don't I, hon?" Her hand drifted down my leg, coyly pressing her long red fingernails against my nylons.

"We both love wild things," Dinoj said softly into my ear. He began nibbling on my ear lobe, swabbing my ear with his tongue. He pulled me closer to him. Farzhana's hand had moved up under my skirt and was caressing my inner thighs, my moist opening. She started to pull my pantyhose down, and I lifted my bottom from the couch. Their touches were inflaming me from my scalp to my soles.

Dinoj began kissing me with that maddening tongue, wriggling the tip of it deep in my mouth like a rattlesnake's tail, flicking my tonsils. Farzhana was hastily undressing me. With the sure, quick hands of an experienced woman, she stripped me naked all the while her husband fucked me in the mouth with his tongue.

Dinoj came off my lips and watched his wife as she began licking and slobbering between my legs. "Lick that cunt," he whispered gutturally. "Ah, yeah, baby, eat that good pussy."

He cupped my breasts in his hands and fed on my nipples with his teeth, nipping gently, just to the verge of pain, an exquisite sharpness which spread like white heat across my bosom. Their hands seemed to have a thousand fingers which stroked and probed into all the secret hollows of my body and sex.

Farzhana mouth planted on my vagina was the best thing I've ever felt, her tongue, a darting snake into the deepest pit of my sex-pocket. Dinojs' white briefs strained from his groin as the thin material sheathed his growing erection. Farzhana clutched at the hardening mass and freed the cockhead from his waistband. Dinoj stripped them off impatiently. Then, still feeding in my vagina, she blindly sought my trembling hand and directed it onto his hard cock. Her hand covered mine as we stroked him in a languid pumping motion.

Dinoj held my face to his. He stuck out his tongue and wagged it lewdly from side to side, wetting his lips and slobbering a bit. "Do you wanna suck my cock?" he asked lasciviously.

I had begun melting inside, my organs loosened and quaking under the silken ecstasy of Farzhana electrifying mouth on my pussy. I twisted sideways on the couch, one leg draped to the floor, spread-eagled, with the other leg thrown to the back of the seat, my head lolling against Dinoj, and Farzhana bringing me to the first jolting climax. I arched my pelvis and almost screamed with delight as the shuddering tremors ran through my groin. Dinoj squatted up on the end of the couch, his legs bent and spread, cock jutting almost to his knees. I brought my face to his cock. Dinoj gently wedged the fat head between my lips.

Then Dinoj took both hands off my head and skinned his cock back and it felt like something being born inside my mouth, a slow unsheathing of the swollen plum, swelling even further and becoming smoother, wetter. I felt the tiny nubbles of his excited organ on my tongue, pebbled flesh causing friction as he wedged more meat inside. There was no way any woman could have taken much of the shaft, and Dinoj seemed to be satisfied for me to hold the head and swab it with my tongue.

I pushed his hands aside and put both of mine around his shank, and tried to suck as much dick as I could. Dinoj began swaying his hips from side to side, up and down and around like you would a screwdriver trying to gouge a larger hole in a wall. The flange of his knob was wedged in back of my teeth, my lips locked onto it. His immense balls hung low in their bag, swinging against my chin as he thrust his loins against my face.

Farzhana was finger-fucking herself as she speared her long tongue deep into my spiraling depths. She suddenly came off my pussy and let out a long, wavering sigh, shivering with pleasure, her eyes closed, climaxing and masturbating herself more swiftly. Her mouth opened and she groaned, "Aahhhh, yes!"

Dinoj pulled my mouth off his cock. "Let's get to bed, I'm getting close to cumming."

In less time than it takes to set down, we three were plugged together like serial lights on a Christmas tree. I was on the bed on my back, legs spread and Dinoj penetrated my juicy vagina with ease. His immense cock filled me so deeply, I feared he was pushing his cockhead into my belly. It was a whole new experience for me, but they awakened some hidden craving for lust-drugged pleasure. I pulled Farzhana on top of me, facing Dinoj, her pussy at my mouth.

For the first time in my life, I sucked into the rich yielding pudding of a cunt. I heard them kissing madly above me, but was feverishly awash with the drenching ecstasy of eating the sex of another woman, while being fucked like a bitch in heat by her husband.

Farzhana and Dinoj both fondled and kneaded my fully aroused tits, and my nipples felt as hard as eraser caps. They unlocked their lips and went all verbal on me.

Farzhana hissed, "Fuck'er! Fuck'er! Suck my cunt!" "Ah, yeah!" Dinoj gasped. "Sweet fucking pussy! So good! Pull her ass open, Farzhana."

Farzhana bent over me, her tits bobbling against mine and dug up under my buttocks. She palmed my butt-cheeks apart, and stroked through the moist cleavage of my ass-trench. She fingered my hole and I felt her gliding her palm around Dinoj's root as the thrusting club sawed in and out of my vagina.

"Good God!" I panted as I felt another wave of orgasm hit between my legs like a rip-tide of ecstatic torment. Dinoj plowed into me with renewed vigor, hunching his lower back more rapidly, harder and harder, and undulating his groin, his cock touching every soft yielding custard of my sex-flesh, battering into my guts with a demented fury.

"Fuck that cunt, baby," Farzhana slurred. "Show'er what a real man's cock is like. Set that pussy on fire!"

She turned around to me. "Finger fuck me, sweetie. Make me cum some more." She spread her legs wide above me and I inserted three fingers held tightly together. She sank her smooth-fleshed loins all the way down on my hand and fucked herself like a brood sow, grunting and groaning as I brought her off time and time again.

"Pull out when you're ready to shoot!" Farzhana barked at Dinoj. "Wanna get a good look at my man's cream."

"I don't --- I don't ---" Dinoj gasped. "--- think I can!" he yelped, and I felt him start spurting inside me. That was all it took.

Like the splitting tremors of an earthquake, and the dwindling aftershocks, my body stuttered and jerked, shuddered and writhed under the force of an explosive orgasm, which seemed to last an hour, on and on, it roiled and rippled through my sex, tearing holes through every shred of my maddened senses.

Dinoj managed to haul his spewing cock out of my well-fucked hole and shot a broad stream of his man-juice across my heaving breasts. Then a final streaking spit of his milk, popped a rope of creamy pDinojs under my neck that would've made Liz Taylor jealous. Farzhana was on the white stuff in an instant, licking my tits and sucking up her husband's spunk like the sweetest honey she'd ever tasted.

She really could make an absolutely heavenly mangoe pie, which we shared in comfortable nudity around their kitchen table. Our menage a trois lasted until Yash came home from America a few months later.

But Yash thought he could teach innocent little me some of the tricks he'd picked up in America.