Thursday , May 26 2022

Indian joint family living together

The first awakenings of my sex drive happened when I was about 18. My first memories of experimentation’s with sex were over my Chachi (Aunt) Kalpana. This woman was my uncle’s ex wife, a woman I always recognized as an undeniably beautiful woman, in a plastic sort of way. I never seemed to recognize that her body was probably never as good as I’d imagined, at least not until later years, but it was over her that I had my first fantasy. I remember the very first time I blew my load. Kalpana had actually been in our house that day. I was home from school, for whatever reason, perhaps a holiday, maybe sick, maybe a Saturday, but Kalpana was there. I’d noticed over the days before that my cock became hard, and it felt good to stroke it whenever it got stiff.

The house was small, tiny in fact, but whenever my Ma’s friends, of whom Kalpana was one, came to visit, they would spend most of their time in the tiny kitchen, talking and laughing and doing whatever stuff it was that adults did to keep themselves amused, so it seemed to me. It was easy for me to tell when the women in the house were moving about. It also happened that women were there quite frequently, as my Ma was a seamstress who did quite a lot of work for friends. So it was this day that Kalpana was over, and I’d found that rubbing my penis felt quite good. In fact, while sitting in the very room next to where my Kalpana Chachi and my Ma were talking, I felt the urge to caress myself. I slowly unbuttoned my pants, not at the Meant recognizing how dangerous that might be, and unveiled my erection, which had happened at the thought of Kalpana. I started to stroke myself, first slowly, then with more and more urgency, until within only a minute or so, I felt a release, and a tiny bubble of whiteness spewed from the tip of my dick. God, this felt wonderful! The sensation was the first of my life.

And it had come over my Chachi! I had copies of Playboy under my bed. Now that I knew what the sensation was like, I knew what my cock was really for. I’d of course looked at the pictures before, but they took on new meaning then. It was even later that day, or perhaps night, that I slid the ‘dirty’ magazines out from under my bed, and looked at the centerfolds with new eyes. I was on my bed, on my stomach, looking at the gorgeous breasts, the mysterious hair that had always fascinated me (and still does) which looks like a triangle between these women’s legs. And I felt my cock stiffen again. It felt good to feel the pressure of my thickening dick against the mattress. I wondered what it would feel like to expose my throbbing cock to the light fur bedspread under me.

I thought of my Kalpana Chachi, the strawberry blond hair that looked so wonderful, the triangle that I wished I could see that was probably the same color, and unzipped my pants, and pulled them down, allowing the shaft of my cock to meet the fur of the covers. Again, I started moving my hips, and thrusting and dreaming of my sweet Chachi, and started pumping more and faster and faster until I felt a sweet release, and a big load of white came out of my dick, and I was pleased…

I was happy with this, and found that the feelings I had were more wonderful when I thought of my Kalpana Chachi as I rubbed my dick against the covers, for days on end. In fact, I’d discovered an even better way to satisfy myself. Putting my stiff cock between a fur covered pillow and the bedspread, and sliding my aching cock in and out between them, until the release came. God, it felt unbelievable! Well, as I said, my Ma was a seamstress.

And she had many friends who needed work to be done. And in these days, the women who came to have their wares made became to regard me as just another piece of the furniture, so to speak. I think they often forgot in fact that I was a boy. So I got to see things that were more than I ought to have seen and still keep sexual thoughts away from my ever-horny mind. My favorite of my Ma’s friends was a woman of about her middle 40s, which described both her age and the size of her chest. Her name was Kamala, and she was impressive in my young mind. She was short, jet black hair, a tight, perhaps even flatfish bottom, but tits that were huge and so noticeable that I’m sure I had been aware of them even before my sexual interest. I’d had the pleasure of seeing her run around in a state that no red blooded boy should have to see and not be able to relieve himself, which, after my discovery, I was doing regularly.

But there was one day that would live in my mind. Kamala was over, and getting some new top made. It was her custom, being something of a brazen and lowers middle class woman that she’d just take off her outerwear and be not the slightest bit conscious of her…appearance. I was sitting there, on the floor, looking up, and almost gasped as I noticed something I’d never seen before on this goddess- like woman in all the times I’d seen her in various states of undress. I looked up and saw a sheer bra that encased those lovely breasts ever so gently, and saw to my amazement that the sheerness exposed her aureoles, dark and half dollar sized, absolutely perfect to match the size and shape of those gorgeous melons.

I couldn’t stand it, and slipped off to my bedroom, where I immediately pulled off my pants, listening intently for any telltale footsteps signaling trouble, and proceeded to take my cock, now stiff and trembling from the sight of those massive orbs that I now wanted to suck more than anything in my life, and started to stroke myself harder and harder until the come splattered from my dick in an explosion of ecstasy. Oh God, oh God, Kamala, how I’d love to feel my love pole inside your sweet pussy… I’d never forgotten the mystery of the dark triangle, either. It had not escaped my notice that the utter blackness of Kamala’s hair had extended itself to the hair between her legs.

Every chance I got, which were not nearly as many as I would have liked, I stole glances at her pubic area when she was in panties, the large, womanly kind, not the bikinis I’d experience in later life. I’d look for those stray wisps of blackness coming out from under those white sheer panties, and become excited. I’d found my new fantasy. Every day, I’d dream of undressing Kamala, looking at that incredible body, touching it, feeling it, licking it kissing it, and fucking it. And every chance I got, whenever I was home and she was over at the house, I’d close my bedroom door, and listen through the reverberating of the house for the voices of Kamala and my Ma, and pull down my pants and stroke my cock while I listened to the voice I wished I would hear in my ear, urging me to fuck her harder… I was always careful to listen as closely as I could to the sounds of the footsteps, which came and went often, as the full length mirror with which the women always looked at themselves as they tried on the new clothes was inside the closet door which was right outside my room. So, nervously, I always listened, worried that one day there would be a knock on my door and that I’d embarrass myself. One day, it happened. Kamala was over and she was trying on a new hot pants outfit, which I knew from experience made her look incredibly fuckable.

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One comment

  1. Please continue the story … Innocent wife with cab driver. It’s very awesome story

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