The screen of her smartphone glowed under the cover. She had been trolling this chat room for almost an hour, but found no one interesting. As soon as they found she was a girl, the chat turned juvenile, and guttural. She turned over and adjusted her panty that had become moist. She was unsure if it was real arousal or just the dry heat. Any urges that seemed to have existed, evaporated with the badly framed questions and misdirected sexual energy of the chat room. She was tempted to take off her tshirt so she could sleep peacefully in the oppressive heat. But she settled for airing her hair, rolling up her tshirtto expose her belly, and hitching her faded skirt just above her knees. She rolled over and went to sleep, with the restlessness that marks a job unfinished.
She was 22. And she really wanted to know what it felt like. She shared a room with a younger sister and brother. Her conservative joint family in her conservative town had ensured that any act of rebellion or self expression would be looked down upon. Joint could not describe how large her family actually was. There were her grandparents, and their 3 sons, one of whom was her father, and 2 daughters, both of whom were married and were part of different joint families. Then there was her mother, and her father’s brother’s wives. On an average they all had 2 kids. And as was the norm in such families, she was to obey as a child, and get married as an adult. Everything else, including any time she spent learning the ropes of her family’s business, was inconsequential.
Not that it stopped any of her friends, but then they were younger siblings, or their families had a better idea of the world. When her mother had forbidden her from cutting her waist length hair or wearing it open once she developed breasts, she knew self expression was a dream, as far as away as the world of sensuality she longed to step into. Even displaying a hint of her cleavage had resulted in a family meeting, with her uncles and father deciding that she was watching too many of those American shows and forbid her from doing the same. Her mother and aunts began to time her baths, watching the bathroom door like hawks. She would have mere minutes to hook her finger, between her thighs and please herself. She had to be careful, any sight of blood, and a storm would follow. Until once she got carried away in the ecstasy and thrust her finger in too far. Then she looked up ways she could lie about it on the internet. Using the pretext of oiling her hair, she carried her hairbrush in.
She had to cup her mouth as she slowly let it in. She even got rid of the boxer shorts she kept on out of a vague guilt. She needed the support of the door handle, and she rested one leg on a bath stool. She shuddered as she finished, her face flushed and mouth dry. Now she really wanted to know what the real thing felt like. She had heard varying accounts from her friends – one who had been married, and one who had a secret boyfriend. Of endless sessions of animalistic lovemaking, full of cheap and costly thrills, with husbands. And unenthusiastic, underwhelming minutes from boyfriends. She had seen them in porn. Cocks. She wasnt sure if she was particularly attracted to their shape, or the way they dangled when the oddly muscular white and black men moved on the screen. But she thought about having one to herself, feeling the throbbing skin inside her and she wondered if it would be as good as the hairbrush. And the restlessness set in.
She expected to be disappointed with the men in real life. Between her friends, brothers and the few men she met in seedy chat rooms, she didnt think too highly of them. She had felt the same restlessness when she had been on her college tour. Her all girls’ college had a water park on their itinerary. All the girls were in long tshirts and cycling tights. Well almost all. One of the popular seniors had taken off the wet tshirt. She couldnt help but stare at the frilly fitted underwear. For weeks afterward, she had thought about the triangles that were printed on it, and the top of a dark brown nipple that almost made an appearance, sometimes in the stolen movements in the shower, wondering when she could dress like that, and fantasising about men admiring her body in it.
Her family, in an uncharacteristic nod to the world around, taught her to drive and gifted her a car on her last birthday. The car was to be under strict supervision. And one rule was unwritten and unspoken – no boys. Which she expected. She also knew it was to be purely for logistical purposes. Meetings for the family business, driving around her siblings and younger cousins, and shopping trips for the numerous weddings that happened in their family. It wasn’t long before her father added another purpose. For the “modern” families in the arranged marriage circuit, she would drive herself to meet a prospective groom, if any of them insisted on meeting her alone. They could also see that her family could afford a car for her, and by default that meant they could afford dowry. Most of them didnt insist on the meeting, and she’d reject them for some or the other reason. She rejected one more, and he insisted that he actually meet her alone for coffee. Her room became a hive of activity before she went to meet him. Her mother showed her the less modest underwear that she had bought just for an occassion like this, and her aunt ensured her hair was styled professionally. The younger of the aunts showed her what dress to wear, and suggestively pulled the neckline on her kameez lower. Then she put a small pendant and a small bindi on her forehead as her mother obsessed about her makeup. She drove to meet him and ran into him at the entrance to the hotel which housed the coffee shop. He complimented her car, and she blurted out what it stood for. She was worried he’d complain about disrespecting her parents, or make some excuse to leave. But he just burst out laughing and rolled his shirt sleeves, telling her his family’s version of prepping him. They spent the next few hours exchanging stories about their family, and she didnt feel the restlessness fo a while. She thought he was quite polite and she was fascinated as he regaled her with stories about adventures in his boys’ school and then the foreign university. She confessed she had nothing similar to share, and he laughed again, promising her that if they did end up together, he’d ensure she had plenty of stories to tell. And then he winked. She found him incredibly attractive then. When it got dark, and the coffee foam crusted their white ceramic cups, he offered to take her out for dinner. She lightly touched his arm, and he smiled at her. He dropped her till her car, making a reference to their incident from earlier, and waiting till she drove off. She felt lightheaded as she kept thinking of him winking at her. She felt full and couldnt stop smiling. The blood was rushing to her head and she missed a turn on her way home, ending up in an unfamiliar part of town. The streetlights felt dimmer and they made stripes on her plush leather seats as her car ambled along the treelined roads. She waited for a signal and saw a sign next to a bus stop. She could have missed it, but didnt and the restlessness came over her again. She realised she was unsupervised after a long time. Her family wouldnt call, believing her to be sipping coffee with the foreign educated boy. She dialled the number, and a rich voice answered. The same voice answered all her queries. “Where do you want me to come?” “Yes I can be there in 10 minutes” “500 rupees for an hour, full service” “Yes, you can do whatever you like, but we might charge extra” Then he hung up. She picked him up at the next signal. He was dressed in a fitted tshirt, clearly to highlight his broad chest and muscular arms. The smell of his perfume and hair gel filled the car. His jeans were tight and in contrast to his leather dress shoes. He sat inside the car, and the same rich voice, asked “Here?” She nodded to say no, and drove for a while before turning into a small alley. There was almost complete darkness, the street lights and signals through moving stripes on the both of them. She sighed, and told him to take it off. He was taking off his shirt, as she pulled it down and said “Not that. I have seen that.” She gestured toward his crotch. “Whatever” and he unzipped his pants. She tweaked it between her thumb and forefinger, it was limp. “Will this work?” “Give it a while”. He reached for her breast and she smacked his hand away. “You’ve paid for the full thing ” “No, I just wanted to touch one” “Your money” She tugged it with her fingers, and felt it, tracing the veins. He yelped when she reached the wrinkly sack that was resting on her seats, and in her curiosity, tugged it a little too hard. But it seemed to have worked, as she felt the blood flowing into him, and it rose, slowly, pulsating a little. The light from the signal lent an eerie glow to the pink tip, which was now swollen. She used both her hands to feel it, and released the seat belt to turn towards him. She tied her in a high ponytail as she leaned towards him to get a closer look. “It’s bigger now” she stared wide eyed. A thick clear droplet formed on his tip. She rubbed it along the length and gripped him tight. Her heart beat fast. She could feel it pounding in her rib cage. Her breasts felt heavier and she felt an intense urge to pinch her nipples. The lacy brassiere felt prickly and suffocating. Then she worked her hands the way she’d seen men do it in the pornos, slowly, and then faster as her grip got tighter. He arched his back and moaned. She felt an obvious, intense wetness between her legs and rubbed her thighs together while she ran her hands on him. She dug her nails into his hairy thighs as he grunted. With her thumb she spread the droplet on his tip and spat on him. She traced the veins and marvelled at the way it curved upwards. Then she began stroking it. As it got wetter, she couldnt help biting her lips. it took all the strength she had to not put her mouth on it and then take it inside her. She fought the urge to shove her hand in her salwar and thrust it inside. She could swear she was gushing. At the back of her mind, she worried about staining her underwear and salwar. “Fuck it”, she thought as she stroked him harder. As she felt him get tense, she tightened her grip and pointed it away from her. He grunted and let out a loud, throaty moan as he came in thick, white spurts. She touched it with her finger and tasted it. The taste and smell made her gag. Her mouth felt dry. She felt light headed as she groped around her purse and fished out a tissue, and gave him one. She didnt feel any fear when she realised that some of his seed was on the seats. Then she found her wallet and gave him a new crisp 500 rupee note. He cleaned up, zipped his pants and stepped out of the car. He lit up a cigarette as he faded into the darkness. The car smelt of him. She sat in the silence for a moment, before letting her hair loose and loosened the knot of her salwar. She ran the tips of her fingers down her thighs, and traced the fabric of the thin frilly panties she was wearing, before raising her knees uncomfortably and taking off her salwar. She raised her kameez, feeling her stomach, touching her waist, making her way up to her brassiere and her round, smooth breasts. The top of her breasts glowed, with the tinge of blood that was rushing all over her body, made redder with the light that came through the windshield. She pulled off the kameez over her head. Her salwar lay in the back seat. She took off her brassiere and tossed it casually. Spreading her legs, she put one foot on the dash, next to the steering. She tugged at the hair between her legs as she felt the wetness. She wanted to feel every bit. She traced the sides, and the lips, pinching the more sensitive parts of the warm, pink flesh. She squeezed her breasts and tugged on her nipples, enough to give out a short cry in pain. “Fuuuuuuuuuuccckkkkkk!”, she moaned loudly in the car, in a way she wouldnt have dreamt of at home. And that felt like a victory. She held the pink flesh apart as she first put in a finger, slowly, then two and thrust them inside. Rubbing her insides slowly at first, then pretending they were the large organ she had just seen, thrusting them with all her strength. Her foot was on the windshield now. She dropped her back rest so she could lie flat. Her other knee kept hittng the steering. With every touch, she moaned, loudly, freely. Her elbows hurt and her fingers felt numb till she let out years of restlessness and pent up desire in one long cry. Her mouth felt dry and she shivered and twitched and convulsed with the force of her own desire. The moan lasted longer than the twitches and the convulsions, long after her thighs stopped shivering. She lay on the seat for a while, her face glowing a tell-tale scarlet, and breathing heavily, unsure of how much time passed. She fumbled while putting her clothes on, her hands like loose strings.
She pulled out of the alley and made her way home. As she found familiar roads, she called her mother on the car’s speaker phone. “Maa, I’m on my way home. Tell them it’s a yes from me”, she said, the smell of her juices and dried semen on her fingers filling up her nostrils.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/uji2wc/glow_indian_female_pov_mf_masturbation