My young Indian Lover: 3

I was in my early 30s, married, and while my husband was away for a time, I started an affair with my 19-year-old Indian gardener. If you’ve read the earlier stories, you’ll know all about that.

One thing I used to think about while we were getting it on was what my mother would say if she could see me. My mother and I were never really close. As I got older, we argued a lot. She disapproved of the way I carried on, and she had some very unfortunate attitudes toward things I enjoyed doing.

In a way, that made it even better for me. If you’re a girl, there’s nothing quite like having the kind of sex that you know your mother would be shocked by. It feels naughtier, more thrilling. I even used to imagine her watching while I was getting laid. Something like this:

“So here I am again, Mother, your wayward daughter, the one who always liked to do things that shocked you. Or that you said shocked you, but did they, really? Or were they maybe things you secretly wanted for yourself? You were still an attractive woman, alone at home with two children, Dad away on the ships most of the time, your desires unsatisfied, your body unrelieved. And me, growing from a girl into a precocious teenager.”

“The day you found my pills, you were furious. Was it because I wasn’t still a good little virgin, Mother? Or was it because I was getting plenty of what you were missing? Then you said, ‘Well, I can’t stop you, so you’d better just go on taking them.’ And that was that.”

“You probably thought I was dropping my panties in alleyways or parks for some local boy around my own age. You never knew I’d given my virginity to a man more than twice as old as me, who was teaching me everything, all the wicked things that you and Dad couldn’t even bring yourselves to mention. Giving me confidence in my body and myself, so that after he left for another country, I could go out and enjoy myself with whoever the hell I wanted to.”

“And yes, that included the dark-skinned men you were so scornful of. You used to say that any white girl who opened her legs for one of those was a common slut. Well, Mother, this is your common slut daughter here, your married, thirty-something slut daughter, about to open them again for my beautiful teenage Indian lover.”

Of course he’s not the first Indian man I’ve given it to, not by any means. Indian men are sexy, their skin, their lovely eyes, those smiles, and oh my goodness, they’re so keen. Keen to get their hands on a white girl, to strip her, to press her pale, naked skin to theirs. To explore her pink cunt with their hard, dark cocks.

They want to feel her hips buck and her body writhe as they mount her, to feel her tighten and hear her cry out before they empty their cum deep into her, and afterwards to watch their Indian semen dribbling out between her thighs. And then they want her to suck and lick them clean. Yes, Mother. I’ve done all that. I’ve been that slut.

Some of them were married. Oh yes. I used to meet them in bars and cafes, the businessmen away from home, away from their wives and kids for a few nights. Out on the town, not expecting to meet a willing girl like me, but amazed at my boldness, at the way I gave myself to them.

This one isn’t married. He’s still only a teenager. So much younger than me. Can you imagine? He was still hardly old enough to go to school when I dropped my panties and went down on my back the first time. Now he’s a young man, sexed-up, virile.

We’re alone. My husband went away, to work, for too long. I got hungry. I know you know that feeling. I’ve seen it in your eyes, all the times you didn’t ask me about what I was up to, all the times you looked at me when you knew that I’d been doing it, doing what you lusted for, but you couldn’t allow yourself. Poor Mother.

Be honest. How badly, how often you needed a fuck, didn’t you? But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, could you? Couldn’t just go out and find a man to give you what you needed between your legs. Poor Mother.

How envious you must have been of your hot slut daughter. Did you look at me and imagine me with my panties down, my bra pushed up, and some man’s hands all over me? Well, look at me now. Look at him. Young, strong, sexy as all hell, ready to go and go.

Look at him stripping, his slim brown body, the lean muscled arms and legs, the hair on his chest and belly. And as he drops his pants, ahhh! His cock, his hard young cock, standing proud, and so dark! You could even call it black.

I like how it looks on him when he stands tall in front of me, and I like how it looks when I kneel in front of him and take it in my hand and bring it to my mouth, and I like how it looks when it’s sliding in and out of my belly, fucking my flesh for his pleasure.

I can hear your voice: “White girls who go with dark men, common tarts. Cheap sluts. Backstreet bints.” Yes, Mother. Hello. Keep watching, Mother.

“Never mind her now, love. Come here. You’re so beautiful. That hard, lovely prick, all mine. Look at me. No, don’t touch, not for a minute. Just look. See? My white skin, my pink slit, see how swollen it is already, how wet? For you, dear. It’s hungry for you. Whitegirl cunt, and it’s yours.”

“Yes, I know how much you want it, right now. Yes, I do know that once won’t satisfy you. I know what you’re like. Your sex-smell, your energy, your lust. Once you get started, you can’t stop, can you? Oh, just look at that hard, throbbing rod.”

“Yes, you can cum inside there. You don’t need to put anything on it and you don’t need to pull out. You can fill me with as many loads as your balls can make. Let me kneel in front of you. You like that, don’t you, a married white woman, naked, on her knees, one hand around your cock, the other cupping your balls?”

The first lick. Very light. Just the tip of my tongue, from the base to the head. You’re trembling, darling. Let me peel your foreskin right back. That’s better. Licking around it. The salt, rank taste of a man’s cock, of Indian cock. (Yes, Mother. I’m taking a big, black mouthful to suck on. Just you watch me.)

You put your hand on the back of my head, press firmly. It slips further into my mouth, between my lips. I’m good, aren’t I? It took a lot of practice on quite a few men to learn this, how to swirl the tongue, tease the head, letting the saliva run down the rod.

How to take it in deeper, and deeper, until it finds my throat, and then let it go deeper still. There now. Do you think you’ll ever find a nice Indian girl who can do it as well as I can? I don’t think so. Enjoy your white tart while you have her.

“Do you like the sounds I make? The wet, slurping noises, the suckling, the choking as you hit deep in there? Do you like making your white girl choke as she swallows your cock, her mouth right up against your belly? Do you like it when she has to pull away to gasp for air, gobs of saliva dribbling down her chin, coughing up the mucus from her throat?”

(Do you believe it, Mother? Me, down on my knees for my Indian teen lover, swallowing his hard, prick.)

Gently, I mouth your balls. The smell and taste of man-sweat between your thighs. Your muscles quivering. I know how much you need to cum. And I need my own pleasure just as much. My cunt’s crying, dripping, desperate to be stretched and filled and fucked by your rod.

You push me down onto the sofa. You want me in your favourite position: sitting, leaning back onto the cushions, feet up on the seat to either side, knees opened wide. Everything on show. Tits with their swollen nipples, belly heaving with my gasping breath, cunt-lips swollen and slick with warm juice. My hands reaching out for you.

“Please baby, please, I need you to fuck me, now.”

Standing over me you’re tall, slim, irresistible. You’re looking at one place and it’s the most intimate, private bit of me, but it’s wide open and hungry for what you have standing up between your thighs.

We can both smell me now: the musky smell of a white bitch, on heat for Indian cock. (Oh yes, Mother. That’s exactly what your dear daughter is. And she’s happy to be.) Oh baby, I see your nostrils twitch and I know that smelling me is exciting you even more, making it even more certain that I’m going to be fucked.

Of course, I don’t want you to stop. I’m desperate for what you’re fucking, but I burn even hotter when I think of how you’re strong enough and aroused enough to do just exactly as you want with me, how you’ll use your weight to hold me down so you can spend your lust on my white girl body, pushing back into the cushions.

(Yes, Mother, see that cock touching, wetting itself on my cunt, my soaked lips quivering as they feel it, my clit swollen and begging to be pressed and rubbed. Dirty, filthy, lovely black cock. Aaahhh, how it plays over my hole.)

And oooohhhhhhh how slowly you slide it in, and I look down and I can see every inch going inside as I feel it fill me and stretch me. And my muscles grip down onto it and, yesss yesss yesss do it do it… fuck me fuck me fuck meeeeeee!!!!

(Ahhhh Mother, his Indian prick’s pushing deep into my sex-hole! It disgusts you, doesn’t it? You think I’m disgusting, that I’m dirt for letting him do it to me. But don’t you also secretly want it?)

Ahhhh baby. Your hips thrust and rotate, slowly, mercilessly, your cockhead exploring every inch of my cunt, stretching it, probing, massaging, and when you thrust in deep your pubes rasp on my throbbing clit. Your brown hands are all over my full white tits and your brown fingers are pinching and twisting my nipples hard until I moan and beg for more, and then you reach over me, seize my wrists and pin them down behind my head.

I’m helpless, naked, and your muscled Indian body arches over mine, you’re all sex and sweat and lust and you bend your head down and bite on a nipple just enough to take me to the border between pain and pleasure, which is where a white slut belongs when her Indian boy is using her body.

I moan and mew like a mad kitten, I’m just a sex-hungry animal now, and then something in me bursts and my muscles clamp down on your prick so hard. You’re strong and rigid and you’re still deep in there and holding me down, and as the waves take me I feel you spasm and I know you’re filling me with spurt after spurt of thick creamy Indian semen.

Yes, Mother, I can hear your voice: how you can’t bear to think of your daughter’s womb being polluted by his Indian seed as it fires out from his Indian cock. But I don’t care. I love it, Mother, I love receiving his cum, and I can’t get enough of him.

Oh baby. I know that after you’ve completely emptied yourself into your white tart, you’ll pull out and watch as it comes dripping out. And maybe you’ll put your cock in my mouth again so I can suck it clean, taste the mixture of your cum and my juice. And you don’t let me wipe myself after, do you?

I have to stay sticky and messy, with the smell of both of us clinging between my thighs. And soon, because you’re young and hot for it, you’ll be hard again, and of course I’ll be here, naked and eager, wide open and ready for my Indian teen to fuck me again.

*****