Express Train

This is the story of Prerna, a newlywed Indian wife, who is taken against her wish on an overnight train. 

HER: My name is Prerna. I was a newly married 24 year old woman. Married just three days ago, I was on my way to our honeymoon to a nearby hill station. Sitting on the lower berth in an AC 2 tier compartment of an overnight express train, with my husband sitting beside me, I was staring at my reflection in the train's huge glass window. The reflection in the glass window made me reflect on my life till then.

Born in a typical middle-class Indian family and being an only child, I had been raised like a princess. My mother said that I was the apple of her eyes. Although slightly pampered throughout my childhood, I had grown into a fine mature girl by the time I was eligible for marriage. 

Praised for my beauty from the time of my birth, I had developed into an attractive woman after puberty. And adolescence had put the icing on the cake. By the time of my last teen birthday, I had, to put it bluntly, 'ripened' perfectly. I was medium built with average Indian height, very fair skin, dark eyes, and jet black shoulder length hair. My breasts were of the perfect size for my build; neither too big nor small, firm and round. My hips had grown in size at a rapid pace size my puberty; now their curves accentuated my near perfect hour-glass figure. But the icing was not the final thing; there was one more thing to top it, the cherry over the icing. My fair elegant face had been blessed with a small mole (black spot) just above my upper lip on the left side.

From an early age itself, I had been aware of my sensuality and the effect it had on men around me. Heads turned as I walked, and they stayed turned for a while. I had even won the 'Miss Fresher' title at my Fresher's Party at college; and had gone on to win 'Miss Beauty Queen' title in all subsequent annual day functions.

Having said that, I must remind you, that I had been born and raised in a typical middle-class Indian family. That meant almost nil interaction with the opposite sex, wearing traditional attire or non-exposing tops. Figure hugging clothing, tights jeans or tops, were strictly forbidden. 

Throughout my school and college life, I never had a boyfriend. Although no one said anything directly to me, but I knew I was the subject of ridicule amongst my friends, regarding the iron clasp control my parents had over me.

After college, my parents started to search for the perfect groom for me. Matrimonial columns were printed, relatives and friends put to task to find a suitable match for me who fulfilled the criteria of religion, caste, occupation, income, family background, his father's occupation/income, and many more such things Indian parents look for in a man they deem fit to have sex with their daughter; but not his looks or actual personality. There are so many criteria and sub-criteria that it was almost 2 years before my parents could narrow the choices down to a handful of 'eligible' bachelors; another six months in finalizing my 'perfect match'; then a full year before both could agree to each other's terms and conditions.

So, finally, after a lot of drama, I got married at the age of 24 years. My 'perfect match' was a relatively short man, three years older to me, dark; and with a slight belly already pouting out his lower abdomen. He had a 'stable' job and had studied in one of India's most prestigious institutions. According to my parents, relatives, and friends of relatives, I could not have found a better husband for myself.

My first night as a married woman was uneventful. Of course, both of us lost our virginities to each other; and awkwardly brought each other to orgasms. Well, that's the case with two virgins of the opposite sex, in their twenties, allowed to sleep together for the first time. We both agreed that there was a long way to go in our sexual lives and that this was just the beginning of an erotic journey. 

And so, to make sure our erotic journey was off to a flying start, we were headed for our pre-planned honeymoon to a hill-station nested in the Himalayas. And here I was, staring at myself in the train window!

It was time to sleep, the curtains were pulled and the lights switched off. My husband climbed to the upper berth and I lay down on the lower one, blissfully aware that this vertical separation between us would not be there the next night.

THEM: Prerna woke up, realizing that she needed to go to the washroom, and looked at her watch in the dim light coming from the other side of the curtain. It was 3 AM by her watch. Not wanting to disturb her husband, she quietly got up and groped for her sandals in the dark. He was sleeping soundly. 

Stepping into the aisle without any noise, she headed straight to the lavatories to her right, as they were nearer. Everyone was fast asleep; it seemed there was no movement in the whole carriage, except for a lovely married lady heading to answer nature's call.

Reaching the well-lit vestibule, she opened the door to the Indian style toilet (she preferred them in public places as there was no contact with the seat) and relieved herself. Damn, she thought, as she let out a gush of urine! She should have taken a pee before going to sleep.

Annoyed at the break in her sleep, but now well relieved, she headed back to the vestibule to go back to her berth. But to her surprise, the well-lit vestibule moments ago, was now dark. 

Stumbling, and aided by a flicker of light coming from inside the carriage, she took a couple of tentative steps, before she was almost knocked off her feet!

At first it seemed to be a crash, she thought that the train had met with an accident and that she had been jolted backwards by its force. But then, she became aware of a tight grip around her waist and also a rough palm over her mouth. Now inside the Western style lavatory on the other side of the vestibule which was well-lit, she became fully aware of her situation.

It wasn't a train crash! A man had appeared out of the Western style lavatory as she was heading back. She had been grabbed from behind; a strong palm put over her mouth, and pulled into the Western style lavatory. It was a small space, as most of it was occupied by the toilet seat. She was being held in such a manner that her back was towards the mirror, and she couldn't see his face.

In reflex, she was began to scream into the palm of her captor, making a muffled noise; at the same wriggling her body, trying to free herself from his grip.

He loved it when women struggled, even more so when they had no chance of escaping what was in store for them. He turned her left by ninety degrees almost effortlessly and pinned her to the wall. Then he let go of the grip around her waist, knowing perfectly well that his weight was more than enough to prevent her from moving. He fumbled in his pocket and took out a small pocket knife, which he held against his captive's neck. Make one noise and I'll cut your neck and throw you out of this moving train, he snarled. He was happy that it had the desired effect on her. He had scared her to death.

Just do as I say and you wouldn't get hurt, he said, still pushing her against the wall.

He took out a piece of cloth from his pocket and tied it around her mouth, threatening her as he let go of his palm grip. Without even a try of scream from her, he had managed to replace her gag from his palm to the piece of cloth. Now, he released the hold on her body and made her turn around, forcing her to sit on the open Western style toilet seat. In seconds, he grabbed hold of her dupatta and used it to tie her hands to the water pipe behind the toilet seat. Tying the dupatta tightly around one wrist, he flung it around the water pipe, to bring it back in front and tied it around her other wrist. He had managed to complete the most precarious part of his task, the capture of his victim, within a couple of minutes.

He then stepped back as far as the small lavatory would allow him, to admire his handiwork.

The moment he had seen her step onto the carriage, he had known that he wanted her, very very badly. He saw her as a typical newlywed woman on her way to the hill station, to get fucked by her husband. He noticed the mehendi, still fresh on her hands (right upto her elbows); her traditional pink salwar suit along with a dupatta (not many women wore them these days!); a streak of red vermillion on her forehead just where her hair parted; her new mangalsutra which dangled proudly in front of her breasts; her hands almost full with designer bangles; and most importantly, the most natural ornament on her face -- the mole near her upper lip.

He had her now, at his disposal, ready for his moment with this newlywed beautiful sophisticated lady, some other man's wife. 

The past couple of minutes had been a blur for Prerna. Pulled into the toilet, gagged, held against the wall, gagged, and then tied, everything happened so fast that she didn't have time to register it. She became acutely aware of her situation when her captor stepped back, and looked her up and down, an evil smile forming on his face. Her hands were painfully tied to the water pipe behind her, in a very uncomfortable position.

It was then that she had her first look at that man, her captor. She saw him as an old man (50-55 years, she guessed), medium built, and a bit short. His belly was very large, out of proportion to the rest of his body (in a better state of mind, Prerna would have attributed that to chronic alcoholism!); it was almost spilling out of his shirt, which was unbuttoned all the way down to where his tummy bulge started. She saw his rough chest skin, covered with dense grey hair. She looked up to his face, which was wrinkled in a crude manner. His teeth, which she saw through that evil grin, were dirty, misaligned and eroded by constant chewing of tobacco. He was definitely not a man who belonged to an AC 2 tier compartment. 

She saw him extend his evil smile; it was almost ear to ear now, making him look like an ugly goblin. Her mind was in a daze, unable to comprehend her position. But it was thrown into frenzy, with panic and despair filling her entire skull, as she heard, even over the loud rumbling sound of the train, the sound of a zipper being undone.

Her eyes dropped to where her captor's hands were. After undoing his zipper, she saw him unbuckle his trousers. Her eyes, instead of following the trousers as they fell down to the ground in a flash, remain glued to where his hands were. He was not wearing anything underneath; his semi-erect penis had sprung out the moment he had undone his trousers, which his right hand was now stroking.

The moment of reality struck her. Her captor was going to turn into her rapist. 

Prerna screamed the loudest cry for help of her entire life. However, the perfect mouth gag and the loud rumble of the train, made sure that none of the passengers sleeping soundly in the AC carriage, heard it.

He saw her scream into the mouth gag. It made his semi-erect penis twitch with excitement. His mouth was wet with saliva, the tip of his penis with pre-cum. She gulped in desperation. He realized that the time window for his 'suhaag raat' was limited; he didn't have the luxury of time.

As his hands reached the knot of her salwar, she began to wriggle, like a fish does when taken out of water. He couldn't undo it as she was moving too much. With the back of his right hand, he slapped her right cheek violently. SMACK! And again, SMACK! Her body lumped at the ferocious attack, giving him time to undo her salwar with ease. He pulled it all the way down her smooth milky legs and removed it completely, absent-mindedly putting it on a rack above the mirror, which Prerna hadn't noticed before. Before she could recover from the double blow to her face, he hooked his rough fingers at the waistband of her new pink panty (part of set of sexy lingerie she had bought for her wedding and honeymoon), and pulled it swiftly down; consciously making sure to pocket it (in his front chest pocket). 

He expected her to be shaved down there, as were most of the newlywed women. What he didn't expect was the feminine pinkness of her vulval lips, so beautiful and well, lady like; it was one of the smoothest vulva's he had ever seen. His now almost-erect penis gave a bigger twitch of excitement. 

He noticed her vulva was completely dry, which was a surprise to him. Normally, these newlyweds thought about sex 24x7, especially on the way to their honeymoons, fantasising about the sexual pleasures awaiting them; which made their vaginas ooze out sexuality, in anticipation for their imminent fucking. But that was not the case with her; maybe she wasn't turned on by her husband. 

Hurriedly, he caught hold of the lower edge of her kurta and pushed it upwards, over her breasts, bundling it around her neck. He took his hands to her back, unhooking her pink bra, and immediately bringing them back to the front, in order to squeeze her just exposed heavenly breasts. He let out a moan of pleasure as he felt the smoothness of her young breasts, the taut milky white skin and perky pink nipples. Without much ado, he took the right one in his dirty mouth and started to suck with all his might; mauling and pinching the left one with his right hand. All this while, her mangalsutra oscillated in between her breasts.

The sensation of something wet brought Prerna to her senses, which she hadn't completely regained since the slaps. She realized that that 'something wet' on her breast was the saliva of his captor, pouring out copiously from his dirty mouth. She tried to wriggle again, to free her breasts from the painful assault, but couldn't move an inch due to the grip which his captor had around her waist with his left hand.

Unable to move, she started shouting again into her gag. Hearing her muffled attempt at shouting for help, her captor let out a groan of self-accomplishment, a 'huh'!

Although he would have loved to play with such perfect breasts all night long, all nights for his entire lifetime, he didn't have much time at his disposal. Letting go of her breasts, he adjusted her body, pulling her off the toilet seat slightly, with his left hand holding her around her waist. He spread her legs apart, pushing at her smooth soft thighs with his dark hairy ones, and positioned himself between them. All this while, she tried to oppose every movement he was making, but she just didn't have the strength to match him. With his free right hand, he placed his fully erect penis at the entrance of her vagina, its moist pre-cum coated tip touching the lips of her pink vulva. 

His penis gave the biggest twitch of excitement of the night while she shuddered with fear, desperation and despair. 

Still holding her by her waist with his left hand, he used his right one to guide the tip of his penis beyond her vulval lips, his penis throbbing with ecstasy at their tightness. He left it there, at the edge of her vagina, and moved his right hand to her face, which was ashen with fear. He gripped her jaw tightly with his right hand, forced her face straight, and aligned it with his own; their nose tips barely a centimetre away. 

She smelt his ugly face before actually seeing it close up. He still had that evil smile etched all over it. He saw her beautiful face and read her fear. He could hear her desperate attempts at shouting for help, feel her feeble attempts at wriggling herself free from his grip, and then, see her pearly tears roll down her elegant cheeks as she resigned to her fate. 

Holding her jaw, he made sure her eyes were fixed on his own; as with one forceful thrust of his pelvis, he tore into her dry vagina. 

She shrieked out in pain as his penis assaulted her dry vagina. Such was the force of his first thrust that his penis was almost completely embedded inside her the first time itself, she heard him release a low moan of pleasure.

He saw her eyes dilate in shock and heard her groan in pain. Bringing his penis almost all the way out of her vagina, he thrust again, this time a little less forcefully as it regained its original depth. Then, like a man possessed, he began to piston his penis in and out of her vagina, in forceful rough thrusts, grunting like a pig every time the tip of his penis hit her cervix.

She thought that this was her worst nightmare come true. With each thrust, she felt unbearable pain radiate from her vagina, to all over her body, right to her head. Her initial loud shriek of pain had given way to low groans, which were synchronised with his thrusts; almost as if the energy of his thrusts travelled all the way up to her throat, vibrating her vocal cords of their own accord.

He stared into her helpless eyes as he continued to thrust in and out of her vagina, which had now begun to respond to his assault. He could tell, by the decreased amount of force that was now required to piston in and out of her, that her vagina had begun to release her own sex juices. He could also feel the increased wetness around his throbbing shaft, and also on his thighs. She was really secreting a huge amount of juices, now, his every thrust made a sloppy noise in her copious juices. To his surprise, he heard her moan in pleasure into her gag. It was a low sound, but it was definitely a moan of pleasure. He immediately stopped his thrusts and withdrew his penis out of her dripping wet vagina.

She couldn't believe that her vagina had begun to respond to this assault, as if it had a mind of its own. After fear and despair, she now felt immense shame as her vagina was adjusting and accommodating his rapist's penis, trying to derive pleasure out of her rape. Maybe it was because of the slight repulsion she felt for her husband, maybe the feeling of being suppressed since childhood, maybe her womanhood needed an escape route. The initial pain had subsided; and with each and every thrust, she could now feel a wave of carnal pleasure radiate from her vagina, to all over her body, right to her head. She couldn't believe her ears as a low moan of pleasure escaped her lips. At that moment, his rapist stopped fucking her and withdrew out of her vagina completely. To her surprise, her mind was swept by a wave of disappointment. 

Bitch! Who do you think I am? Your husband! I am not here to pleasure you, he shrieked, anger sweeping his face. He had to do it now. He rarely did this to newlywed women. But he had to teach this 'whore' a lesson. 

Before she could fathom the reason for his abrupt halt, she had been flipped over. If her earlier position had been uncomfortable, this was hell. Her dupatta got twisted more, increasing the pressure on her wrists; her shoulders were also twisted, making her delirious with pain. Her head now faced the dirty toilet seat, barely inches away; her mangalsutra hung down due to gravity and its lower end was well below the rim of the toilet seat, oscillating like a pendulum. Her knees were awkwardly bent, half her weight supported by the toilet seat. She felt her ass cheeks being drawn apart by his rough hands, and felt some wetness around her asshole. As she realized what was going to happen to her, she let out another shriek, her second last one that night.

He spread her meaty ass cheeks, exposing her pink asshole. He hadn't expected her anal region to be devoid of hair too! The sight of her tight pink puckered asshole, the smooth surrounding hairless skin and the feel of her juicy ass cheeks, elicited another big twitch of excitement from his eager penis (even bigger than the one on touching her vulval lips). He was almost certain that she was an anal virgin, which made his penis twitch continuously. He, as well as his penis, was eager to violate this newlywed wife's anus and teach her a lesson. 

He used the liquid soap in the toilet (Ah, the benefit of an AC 2 tier toilet!), to lubricate her asshole. He held her hair by both hands, pushed her further down (her face now at the level of the toilet seat rim) so as to get her ass up at a proper angle; and positioned his penis at her anal entrance.

She let out the loudest shriek of the night when she felt his penis tear through her virgin asshole. If the earlier pain had made her delirious, this was intense enough to kill her. He poked at her asshole with increasing thrust, her tightness making it difficult for him to enter her anal canal. After a handful of pokes, her anal opening gave way and the whole length of his shaft entered her anal canal, with such a force that her head painfully banged against the water pipe behind the toilet seat.

It was as if her whole body was on fire, such was the intensity of the pain. She became a part of his thrusts inside her anal canal. With each thrust he gave, her body experienced its own mini earthquake, her head banged against the water pipe, her dangling breasts swivelled as if they would tear right off her body, her knees buckled; her eyes, which she had shut close to black out her mind, opened due to the forceful impact. 

Intermittently, during those moments when her eyes opened, she saw her mangalsutra, the sign of her harmonious matrimony, rubbing the inside of the toilet seat; each thrust making it scrape the seat more and more. All she could hear at that moment was the sound of that scraping. The sacred and pure necklace tied around her neck by her husband three days ago, was now being contaminated in the impurest of locations, both literally and figuratively.

He could feel the approaching orgasm. His breathing became laboured and he took in this moment of pure ecstasy; gripping her dangling breasts tightly, he licked her neck from behind, as he felt the bulbous head of his penis bulge inside her anal canal, releasing his semen inside. 

He orgasmed in pure delight; ejaculated his semen in huge quantities, giving few secondary thrusts until all his juice had been milked out of his penis. It was one of the longest orgasms he had experienced, all the while moaning out in pleasure. Even after he had withdrawn his penis from this newlywed wife's anal canal, he was moaning in pleasure!

Hurriedly, he cleaned himself up, buckled his trousers, and made sure her panty was safely lodged in his shirt's pocket. Then he undid the dupatta from 'his' bride's wrists, who now lay slumped almost unconsciously into the Western toilet seat, and pulled her up. He made her sit up, all the while holding her lest she slumped again, and assessed the damage.

Her forehead was bleeding slightly due to the repeated impacts against the toilet pipe. He washed the cut with water, throwing a few fistfuls on her face in order to get out of her stupor. She was sitting on her own now, dimly aware of her situation, still dazed mentally. He poured few more fistfuls of water on her face.

It was almost as if she felt herself rise from the grave. She was sitting on the toilet seat without any support, gradually regaining her mental functions. She was dimly aware of water being splashed on her face. She felt his hands doing the bra hooks behind her back; pulling her kurta down her front, back into its normal position; helping her legs into her salwar which he had retrieved from the shelf; arranging her dupatta in front of her breasts, hanging it from her shoulders; undoing her mouth gag. He stepped back again, as he had done before raping her, to look at her from top to bottom.

He took out a five hundred rupee note from his pocket and, inserting his hand behind the neckline of her kurta, placed it inside her bra, between both her breasts, in close proximity to her mangalsutra. 

As a final act of violation, he licked the mole above her lips. "You were a great fuck, Prerna!" he said, before leaving.

The sound of her first name being spoken by her rapist brought her to reality. She immediately locked the toilet door from inside and looked at her in the mirror. There was a slight cut on her forehead, but it wasn't bleeding. She washed her face with water, again and again, till it became numb with cold. Scared, dazed and scarred, she couldn't think of anything else to do there. After making sure that her outer appearance was okay, she stepped back into the vestibule (now brightly lit again) and headed back to her berth. 

There was no sign of the man who had altered her internal appearance forever. Everyone was sleeping soundly, exactly as before. As she stepped back on to her berth, she felt a blob of her rapist's semen ooze out of her asshole and at the same time became aware of something pricking the skin in her cleavage. 

Lying down on her berth, panty-less, her ass cheeks wet with her rapist's semen, she retrieved the five hundred rupee note he had placed in her bra, as a payment for her services to him, making her 'his' whore! She looked at her watch; it read 3:20 AM. In just 20 minutes, Prerna had been transformed from a newlywed wife to a cheap whore by a man who had forcefully violated her 'inner appearance'.

She closed her eyes, in an attempt to draw a curtain on the night's event; but she couldn't close her mind. She lay awake for the remaining part of the night, tightly clutching the five hundred rupee note in her right hand, as the voice of her rapist calling her by her first name, reverberated in her ears. 

HIM: My name is Narayan. I was 47 years old, but as life had been very harsh on me, the weight of the harshness had made me look older. I was a serial rapist for the past 10 years. 

Born and raised in a low economic background, educated at a dingy dusty public school, and with no college degree, I wasn't in a chance for a decent job. Somehow, due to some contact of my relative, I had been appointed on a contractual basis as a coach in-charge in the railways, as soon as I was out of school. After getting a job, my parents had married me off to some random girl from our native village.

So, at the age of 18 years, I had started working, earning and giving my meagre income to my parents. By a stroke of good luck, the railways appointed all contractual workers like me on a permanent basis. Out of nowhere, I had a permanent job, small quarters in a worker's railway colony and a pretty decent salary. My wife and I moved into the quarters. 

My marriage wasn't a happy one. First of all, I had been married to some ugly village girl whom my relatives had deemed fit for me. Secondly, she couldn't adapt to life in the city. Thirdly, she couldn't bear me any child. I had to fuck her as she was my wife, but she failed to excite me. 

I had to arouse myself by thinking of the beautiful memsahibs I saw in the trains when I was on duty. All of them traveling in those AC compartments used to be so fair, beautiful and charming. They wore a variety of clothes, wore a variety of fragrances, and showed a large amount of skin. I would get an erection just by seeing them; sniffing them as they walked around in 'my' compartment would make me cum with pleasure. And with such a narrow aisle, some brushing and touching was inevitable, I took full advantage of the opportunities presented to me. Usually, I put myself in such positions where some brushing and touching was inevitable.

For twenty years, I lived my life like this. When I was on duty as a coach in-charge, I would survey all the goods on offer in my coach, fix my attention on the most beautiful memsahib, and then masturbate to her thought, lying on my jump bed in the vestibule outside the AC compartment. In the mornings, when the train reached its destination and all passengers had disembarked, I would masturbate again, this time wrapping my memsahib's bed sheet around my face. When I was at home, I would fuck my wife, all the while imagining her to be that memsahib. 

Many a times, I masturbated in close proximity of these memsahibs. When they would come out into the vestibule and wait for their turn to use the toilet, I would, sitting on my jump bed under a blanket, be stroking my penis, ejaculating at the thought of fucking them. 

Some of the memsahib's were very nice. They wore short and tight clothes, bent carelessly to show a lot of cleavage and also occasionally flirted with me. But most of them were mean bitches. They were rude to the 'low class' people that worked on the coaches, like me, the coach in-charge or the luggage porters. They would shout and yell, scolding at petty things or mundane issues. This built up a weird frustration inside me, which I relieved by masturbating at the thought of raping those mean bitches.

Then, ten years ago, my life changed. My wife passed away, a severe dengue infection took her life. After that, my sexual desire used to be left unsatisfied. I tried the red light areas, but to no avail. Despite frequent masturbations and visit to brothels, I felt hungry for a real vagina. One night, I did it.

She was one of those mean bitches, shouting away uselessly at me for things beyond my control. First, I masturbated, as I had done all these years, to relieve my frustration. But it was pent up inside my head, and in my balls. She went to the toilet after dinner and I pounced at her, violating her, releasing my pent up frustration inside a married woman's vagina. That first time, it was untidy. I felt scared to death. What if she complained? But, she had gone back quietly, head hung in shame. 

It was then that I came to realize the power I held over such married bitches -- they would not let such an incident ruin their family life.

Such an incident -- a low class man raping a high class woman, violating her womanhood, filling her with his unworthy semen, was seldom reported; as these high class women were ashamed of the fact that their family, relatives, everyone in the society would come to know of their ordeal. This thinking was even more valid for the newlyweds, who hadn't even established their places in their new family, where every member analysed their each and every move. They were like sitting ducks for my new found hobby. Also, I didn't do any visual damage or took away anything that would require elaborate explanations from them to their husbands or families. 

Usually women woke up for a pee once every night, more so towards the morning hours. I was always on the alert, looking up and down the aisle, waiting to pounce on my 'wife' for that night. Just scare a bit, a quick fuck, a bra or panty as a souvenir -- I had all of them at my home, labelled with their names and berth numbers; and I was done. 

To scare them was good. To humiliate them was ultimate. That is why I started forcing money on them after raping them. Both of us knew it was rape, but this gesture made them think of themselves as some cheap prostitutes, servicing men on overnight trains. To be branded a whore was the ultimate humiliation for a married woman. 

After I was done with them, they were more worried about the fact of concealing their ordeal than the ordeal itself.

Pulling a few strings, I had managed to get my posted on the 'honeymoon special', an overnight express train to the foothills of Himalayas, where newly married couples went to celebrate their honeymoon. The AC coaches of this train swarmed with the type of meat I absolutely devoured. 

With each woman I 'married', I perfected my technique, picking the ones which were absolutely certain for anonymity. Elated with my approach and encouraged by the results, my sexual appetite also grew. One 'wife' per night was an absolute surety, whereas during peak wedding seasons, I managed two to three each night. That I tell you is ultimate job satisfaction.

That day, I saw her get onto the carriage with her husband. I saw her occupy her berth. I looked up her berth number on the reservation chart. I knew that my 'wife' for that night was, as my penis tingled with excitement for the first time that night, Prerna.