Indian Smalltown Girl
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
2009 had started well. I’d gone over to Europe during the Christmas and New Year fortnight and then come back to India and headed straight for Sunita’s village where her younger sister was getting married. Bahadur travelled with me by train to a town called Jaunpur and from there we’d taken a bus to the village. Sunita was of course extremely surprised since, despite her invitation, she hadn’t been expecting me because I had earlier declined. Living a couple of days in an Indian village, experiencing the immense hospitality and joys of camaraderie, had all been a very humbling occurrence. I met her entire family, lived and dined with them, helped in the wedding preparations, and generally enjoyed myself thoroughly.
There had been a night of wanton sex with Sunita and in some small measure with her sister-in-law Anu. And the debauchery had been divine. Too soon it was all over and I was heading back to Delhi and work. We were all supposed to be taking the train together; Sunita, Anu, Bahadur and myself, but the ladies had begged off saying they would return by the weekend with Anu’s husband Ram. We managed to get the tickets postponed and the local station master at Jaunpur had assured us that the empty berths in the compartment would not be filled. Bahadur and I would have the four-berth compartment to ourselves so my driver had organised a good bottle of Old Monk rum, some bottles of coke, and some savoury snacks to go along with the drinks. We were travelling first class of course.
Sunita’s father had accompanied me from the village to the railway station and left me in the capable hands of the station master, his friend. He didn’t wait for the train to leave because he had some work to do in the town before returning home by bus in the evening. Bahadur was to join me at the train since he had gone off to meet some very distant relatives in the neighbouring town. Departure was scheduled for 6:30 on this mid-January evening, just as the sun would be setting.
The train pulled in on time at 6:10 and Bahadur still hadn’t arrived. I’d been calling him for about fifteen minutes but kept getting messages from the service provider saying the phone was not within a cellular range. When Bahadur still hadn’t got to the station by 6:30 I was worried; I knew it was too late for him to catch the train but my concern was the fact that he was incommunicado. As scheduled, we left Jaunpur station just when the sun was setting; I heard the long hoot of the diesel engine and then with a slight jerk the train set off on its way. Ten minutes later my cell phone rang; it was Bahadur. After a thousand apologies, he finally managed to convey that his bus had broken down on the highway between the town he had gone to and Jaunpur. There was nothing to be done so I told him to catch the next available train to Delhi and that I’d see him at home.
When the conductor came to check tickets, I told him that the other passenger had missed the train. Since the station master had introduced me to the conductor he was very polite and said that I could keep the entire compartment to myself and that he would not be giving the berths to any passengers on the journey. By 7:30 an assistant conductor and another service person both entered the compartment and busied themselves with making the beds. They pulled down the backrest which converted to a fairly wide berth, spread a clean white bed-sheet on it, laid a pillow and neatly spread a blanket over another sheet. They also left a spare blanket at the foot of the bed. Then, surprisingly, they did the same with the other three berths; two top berths and another lower one. Clearly, nobody had told them that I was the only passenger in this compartment.
The ticket checker came in after his rounds and informed me that dinner would be served in the compartment shortly and wondered if there was anything else I needed. I pulled out the bottle of rum that Bahadur had left with me along with a couple of cokes and invited him to join me for a drink. He smiled and immediately went off to organise two tumblers and a pail of ice cubes. Brilliant! I poured out a round and we chatted about nothing in particular for a while before he said he needed to go back on duty. I was left to myself so I had another drink as I gazed out of the first class windows and saw the feeble street lights go past as a highway ran alongside the railway tracks for some distance. There was a short halt for about four or five minutes at a small station, possibly to pick up postal mail, and then we trundled off again.
Soon after that, the dinner service arrived; a white table cloth was laid out on the pull-out table between the two lower berths and a steel thali placed on it. Dinner consisted of rice and chapattis, chicken curry, a mixed vegetable, daal and yogurt. It all went down well with another glass of rum and coke. After I was done I went to the toilet at the end of the bogey, brushed my teeth, washed up and returned to my compartment. Standing at the entrance, knocking on the door, was the conductor and a lady wrapped in a dark blue woollen shawl. I excused myself past them and slid open the door, looking quizzically anime porno at the conductor as I entered. He apologised profusely for disturbing me and asked permission to enter.
Once inside my compartment, I invited him in and asked what the matter was. He continued his apology for some time and then said that a young girl, the daughter of the village head where the train had just stopped for a couple of minutes, needed to travel for about six hours. “She will not go all the way to Delhi, only a few stops and she will reach her destination by about 3:00 a.m. Please Sahib, I must give her a berth to sit so that she is not troubled by any scoundrels outside. She will not disturb you. She will be ready to leave the train at 3 o’clock and I will come to help her out. Sahib, only your compartment has vacant berths. A thousand apologies Sir but you can see my predicament, no?”
He rattled that off in one long monotonous string of words. I was a little put off, having been promised and hence had my expectations raised to believing that I would not have to travel with any company. But I understood the quandary the man was in, and more so the jam this young girl was in. So I acquiesced, nodded at the conductor and stepped aside for the young lady to bring her luggage into the compartment. As it turned out, she only had a tiny suitcase and a backpack. She pushed the suitcase under the berth and placed her bag on the side table at the foot of the bed, next to the door. The conductor looked at me with much appreciation, thanked me, spoke some words to the girl in Hindi, and slid the door shut. I wasn’t sure whether I should bolt the door or not.
The next five minutes were spent in silence; a shroud that settled uncomfortably over the suite, only the rattle of the wheels racing over the steel rails in the night. The windows were all shut so the noise was limited but in its own way, a comforting rhythm. With an element of sublime arrogance, I poured myself another drink, thinking I wasn’t going to change my pleasure just because I now had forced company. But then I began to feel bad for the girl, or at least my attitude towards her began to seem rather petty and mean. I looked up at her and saw that she was sitting quietly, mouse-like almost, in the corner and staring out of the window.
She had drawn her feet up and sat cross-legged on the lower berth opposite me. Her thick shawl wrapping her up so completely that all I could see of her was her head. As she continued to gaze out of the window the overhead lighting fell partially on her face, with the rest being in shadow from the berth above. She had a fairly dark complexion, darker than the normal wheatish brown that most other women had. Her hair was tied back tight over her head but then neatly braided from the neck down, the ponytail disappearing under cover of the shawl. Her forehead was broad and wide, the eyebrows well groomed, large eyes bordered by long eye lashed, a well structured nose, a small mouth with seemingly regular lips. Her chin was rounded but the jaw line running up to the base of her ears were distinct. Her neck was thin and a little on the long side but it flowed in well with her shoulders of which I could barely see an inch before the shawl covered the rest of her. It was a very young and pretty face and I found myself looking quite unabashedly at her as the train darted through the chilly darkness outside.
I saw her eyelashes flutter; that was the first movement on her body that I observed after we’d settled down on our berths. A couple of seconds later she turned her head and looked me, instantly bowing her head when she realised I was staring at her. I apologised, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to gawk like that.”
“Please don’t apologise”, she said, her head still bowed so that her chin almost rested on her chest. “You have been most kind. I should be apologising to you. Thank you very much for your kindness.”
I continued to stare at her, this time completely surprised and taken aback at her near fluency in the language. “You speak English very well” I replied.
“Not so well. I practice in my mind that last few sentences before I say them to you”. And with that, she looked up at me with a shy, almost coquettish, grin on her face. She was even prettier with that smile and my involuntary reaction was to smile back at her.
“Would you like to have a drink of Coca Cola? I have some here” I asked.
“What are you drinking?”
“I’m having some rum mixed with coke. I’ll just go and wash this glass for you” and I picked up the tumbler which the conductor had used, heading to the wash basins at the end of the bogey.
“No, no, no, please Sir. You no go. Here give me, I go wash.” She saw that I was about to object and instead said “OK I have coke but I drink straight from the can so no need glass.” Saying that, she reached her hand out and I handed the can to her.
She popped the can and took a couple of thirsty sips and said “Thank you. You always like this kind?”
I ignored her question and asked her if she would like to eat something, thinking I could offer her the savouries that asyalı porno Bahadur had purchased for our journey. But she politely refused my offer, saying that she’d had supper before boarding the train. We sipped our drinks silently as she slid back into the corner of her berth, once again looking out of the window next to her. I topped up my half empty glass with some more rum and coke and pushed back on my berth, resting against the wall of my compartment and returned to contemplating her.
When she reached out for the can of cola, her shawl had naturally dropped to the sides and now hung loosely over her shoulders. She was wearing what looked like a school uniform: a light blue collared shirt buttoned down the middle, a grey pleated skirt that came below her knees, and grey stockings that ran up her calves. There was a belt that ran through hoops at the waist of her skirt. Her face looked so young I was hardly surprised to see her in a school uniform. But her body seemed to be that of a well blossomed mature lady; her breasts were clearly full and round and pressed out against the shirt. The belt cinched around a narrow waist and although she was sitting, the swell of her hips were clearly apparent despite the rather modest skirt she wore.
Not wanting to be caught staring again, I diverted my attention to my cell phone and tried to see whether I was getting an internet connection. I continued sipping from my tumbler and the rum was beginning to bring a familiar buzz into my head and body. “My name is Vidya” I suddenly heard the girl say. I looked up and smiled in response, repeating “Vidya?” Then “nice name, what does it mean?” I asked.
“It means knowledge”, she said seriously. So I asked her whether she took her studies seriously and was that why she was in a school uniform. “I am wearing this because it is the only decent dress I have; all my clothes are at home and my suitcase only has dirty clothing inside.”
I nodded in understanding and we both slipped into a rather uneasy silence; I wasn’t quite sure why. I continued with my drink and attempts at getting a connection on my cell. “Can I have some drink that you are drinking?” Vidya asked after a few minutes.
I looked up surprised and asked her whether she was not too young to drink. She smiled and said “I am old enough… 19”. I was in two minds, not sure whether her face or her body reflected her true age. But who was I to second guess her. I passed the bottle to her and asked her to help herself. She got up, took the spare tumbler outside to wash and then returned. I observed her pour a fairly stiff shot into the glass and then top it up with cola from the can. “Have you ever had alcohol before?” I asked. She just smiled back at me, not answering my question.
Drink in hand, she pushed herself back on the berth and sat with her legs stretched out in front of her, the soles of her feet towards me. She wasn’t more than five feet tall so most of her was on the berth, with only her ankles and feet over the edge. Her shawl had now parted completely although it still rested precariously on the ledge of her shoulders. While pushing herself backwards on the berth, her grey pleated skirt had pushed upwards and I could now see bare skin from the top of her stocking to mid-thigh on her right side. “Do you live in India” Vidya asked again in that sudden manner she seemed to have. “Yes, in Delhi” I replied.
We talked a bit about my work and where I was from, we chatted some about her and the town she was headed for. She asked questions about Delhi and told me she intended to go there and find a job maybe next year. Sometime during this meaningless dialogue of ours, she poured herself another drink and even topped up my glass without asking. She drained the coke out, splitting it between the two tumblers and used the spoon in the ice bucket to manoeuvre ice cubes into both glasses. Placing my glass on the side table, she raised her and said “Cheers!”
I was finding it difficult to keep my mind on the conversation. My brain still saw and accepted her as a young girl with a very pretty face; I was unable to come to terms with her drinking and the vision of her body, slowly revealing itself. Unable to decipher whether her moves were intentional or not, I now looked unabashedly at her.
Her skirt had ridden up her thigh, revealing the top and side of a very firm and smooth shank; her shawl had parted and my eyes were now riveted on the massive bulge of her bosom pushing hard against the blue shirt that she wore. She finished her glass of rum and coke before I’d taken three sips of mine; her eyes may have begun to glass over, I wasn’t quite sure. But the coquettish smile returned to her lips as she looked me in the eyes. I chose to say nothing. “It is getting hot inside compartment, no?” she asked. I nodded with an ambiguous shake of my head but kept staring at her.
She brought her fingers to the top of her shirt and unbuttoned first one, then another; her thighs parted imperceptibly as she sighed and threw her head back against the wall of her berth. She then undid yet another button on her shirt, leaving only backroom casting porno two more going down to her waist where it tucked in to her skirt. “I can have one more drink please?” she said to me. I was uncomfortable with the situation but said nothing, only stared back at her. She got up from her bed and walked over to the table, picked up the bottle and poured a slug into her tumbler; then leaned into the hamper which Bahadur had made for me and pulled out another can of coke which she popped. Pouring half of it into her glass, she turned to the ice bucket and scooped out a large piece of ice with her fingers and dropped it into her drink. She raised the glass to me silently, tipped her head back and took a large gulp from it.
She sat back, her shirt now open down to her navel. The white lace bra pushed her breasts tightly together, forming a deep cleavage on her chest. Below the bra I could see a firm abdomen of dark flesh, and her belly button deeply embedded. She leaned across to the table on her side of the compartment and rummaged inside a bag; one leg on the floor and the other rose on to the berth as she stretched across. She pulled out a smart phone from the bag and sat up again; her thighs were now wide enough apart for me to be able to see her white undies. Her crotch showed a swollen mound behind the cotton underwear and I knew she had a jungle surrounding her pussy, the slight crevice of which was shadowed through the panty.
I took a large swig of rum and coke and continued to gape at her, my mind simply refusing to come to terms with what I was seeing. I felt my penis stir, growing hard very fast within the confines of my trousers. She sat upright, slid forward towards the front of the berth and stretched her hand out to me with her cell phone in it. “Will you please to take my pictures?” I wasn’t quite sure what was going on as I reached out and took the camera phone from her. “Pictures of you?” I asked rather irrelevantly. She nodded in the affirmative, then stood up in front of me and straightened out her skirt; she brought the lapels of her shirt together but didn’t button up. “Yes. Please. Many pictures.” I was too dumbfounded to ask any questions so I simply complied with her request.
It was a simple enough camera to operate. I aimed at her face and snapped one of her; she wasn’t smiling any more, but there was a pout on her lips as she stared down at me. I zoomed in and took another close-up of her face, then zoomed out and snapped one full-length of her. The flash kept going off with every click since there wasn’t enough light in the compartment this time at night. She raised her arms up, reaching for something on the top berth and I took a couple of her in that pose, her shirt now falling apart to reveal her brassiere. She pulled off the bed-sheet from the berth on top and wrapped it around her, then made some deft movements under the sheet and within five seconds threw her shirt down on the bed next to me.
I took a picture of her wrapped in the sheet just before she let it slide off her shoulders; she stood there in front of me in just her bra and frock. As I had noticed earlier, it had a lace edging with scalloped trimming around the top of the cups. Her boobs weren’t as large as Sunita’s or Anu’s but they were still big; a D-cup for sure. Her breasts were pressed up and tight against one another and the cleavage was very deep. I wanted to suddenly push a finger into the ravine, maybe even bury my face into it; instead I got up and picked up the bed-sheet from the floor. As I was handing it to her, Vidya said with a rather forlorn expression on her face, “You no like my looks, Sahib?” Not wanting to hurt her sentiments, and also in all honestly, I replied saying she was very beautiful. My throat was parched and I barely managed to get the words out.
“Then please take many more pictures; I send to my boyfriend in Delhi.” I was surprised at this explanation although I had decided by this time that nothing about Vidya was going to faze me anymore; she’d already shocked me to the limit. I clicked a few more pictures of her, standing up and moving around to get different angles. She posed in different postures; lying down, standing, sitting on the lower berth, one leg on the floor another on the bed. Then, catching me off guard, she clambered up to the top berth and sat there, her thighs parted and her legs dangling down. Her panty clad pussy was at the same level of my face; there were stray hairs peeking out from inside the underwear but the lump was so obvious and I could make out the dark jungle inside.
As I stared at her crotch, I took some close up pics and saw on the screen of the camera phone, the fingers of her right hand pulling aside the hem of her panties to reveal the fullness of that hairy growth. The hair was thick and dark and long, matted in small areas where the pressure of the underwear had constricted their blossom. Her fingers now played with the bush, tips running through the dense undergrowth; occasionally she would pull a small tuft to its full length of almost two inches. She then reached for the top of her panties and quickly pushed them down, raising her buttocks momentarily as it slid past her hips and stretched across the breadth of her thighs. “Pull down for me please, Sahib”, I heard her say. Her breath seemed heavier that before; the cuteness had been replaced by something a lot more mature and feral.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32