They called her a whore when I first met her. Getting off the train at a ramshackle station halfway to nowhere, the early morning mist mingling with the steam from the engine, she sat quietly. Waiting perhaps. Who knows what for. I walked up to her, standing in front, my crotch just before her face.
Her hands rose to her blouse, raising it up to expose whole fulsome breasts, fingers playing with her nipples as they rose to face the wind. With a sudden deftness, she slid down the zipper of my jeans and pushed in a hand, groping for the thickness of my penis, already growing hard. She drew me out and grasped the rugged hardness, pushing back the skin to expose a raging fiery tip.
My hands grabbed her pendulous breasts, full and soft and succulent in my palms. A quiet groan escaped her lips as she opened her mouth and took my cock in, letting her slithery wet saliva douse some of the burning heat. Her fingers tickled the base of my dick and the wrinkled skin of my scrotum.
I pushed deep into her mouth till she enveloped its entire length and I felt the back of her throat. Memories of another time flashed through my brain. Bhuvaneswari gave me her body when she was only 18. Behind the temples, hidden in a cave in the rocks, she stripped her clothes and bared her body to my eyes.A thick bush already grew above her cunt.
She demanded her pound of flesh every time I came in her. She wanted me hard again; she wanted my cock to spray her with cum, to bathe her face and her tits, to shoot out against her breasts and stomach. She always wanted more.Even in her shanty home, where she lived alone. She would be dressed for the night. For me. She forbade me to touch her till she allowed. She would deftly unhook her blouse, letting it flap open to reveal her breasts, unhindered by a brassiere.
That once, she let me lay her down on the ground, pull her dress up and thrust myself deep into her. My palms grabbed her buttocks as I pummelled my cock into her in a raging fit. She came in huge lusty heaves, screaming to the heavens as she grabbed my hair and pushed herself wildly against me. Oh Bhuvaneswari, my whore, my bitch!The Glitz YearsAnd now, so many years later, they still call her a whore. True or not, she still doesn't charge me; in fat she owes me. She still has my love and my soul. Not a year goes by when I don't visit her; sometimes in her village home, but mostly in the city. She knows when I'm coming, even though I never tell her. She grows her pubic hair for me, wanting the same pleasures that we always had, rekindling the lust and the love of a bygone time.
When I stand above her now, she shows me her pussy, parting the lips through the thick foliage. She wants me tokiss her there. I can never resist. I stick my penis in he mouth and she sucks till I feel the fever rise. I push fingers into her cunt till I feel the shivers run through her. Then I kneel before her and taste the delicate scent of musk from her depths. Feeling the gorged clit against the tip of my tongue, hard and demanding. Slathering her as I grasp her buttocks and pull her towards my face.And she slips out of her dress, pulling it off her. Bhuva-neswari. Bhuva. Dancer. Whore. Slut. All mine.Revealed in all her glorious splendour, she beckons me.
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I stand like a supplicant before her as she eases my jams off my legs, the short off my back. No accoutrements on the body. Pure flesh. Ripe. My hardness cannot be contained. She grips my cock firmly, stroking, petting, kissing, licking. I shudder as her tongue flicks out at my testicles, my penis throbbing.But she lays back, watching my body. Its been a very long time. I know she is transported back to the days in the village, where I stepped off the train as a stranger and met this fateful woman. Made her mine. Or did she make me hers? I stare into those eyes and the passionate lust peers at me as she raies her thigh. parts the lips of her cunt, and invites me in.
She tells me she has never been with another man. Never. Not before I got off the train; and never after she met me. So why do they call her a whore. I know she was a virgin when I first slept with her; yet they called her a whore, a harlot, even then.An act. A play. Draped in virginal blue, she strips for me. Reminds me that her purity remains untarnished despite what we have been doing overthe years. Perhaps because of what we have been doing. Do we make love, or do we fuck? Does it even matter? Do I want my soul back? Or am I happy with it in her custody.
Oh! Bhuvaneswari, answer me. Show me the way.Lie back, let my eyes drink in the beauty before the wildness in me surfaces. Spread your legs apart, show me the forest that protects paradise. Then allow me to enter. Kiss me, Bhuva. Push your tongue into my mouth, drape your arms around me and let me feel your palms play on my back. Let me feel them glide down to my ass, grip me, pull me in. Hard as a rock, my staff pushes through the gates of your body
