Sensual Experience With A Dusky Girl I Met In Flight - Pt 4
Well, guys, I hope you have enjoyed the slow ride so far. Years ago, I had landed on a blog with only one person (I think), was managing the stories all by himself. Not a single story was drab. It only incited more and more interest in the reader. I do not say I want to match that, but sex in general, like wine and good food, is something that results best when enjoyed with time and patience. A few may still complain regarding the pace of the story. Fine, I have too, been a bit upset when in the second paragraph itself the writers have ended up ramming their dicks in multiple holes leaving nothing for imagination. Bores. Why are you writing then? You had no kissing? You had no build-up? You did not even have a conversation before you began making out? A writer is one who paints pictures with words, and I do not attempt much different. Recall your sex experiences? Yes, there have always been a few quickies in our lives at some stages but what about the times when we all have planned and explored and achieved unprecedented pleasure? Different times, different achievements. We exited a lift on an empty floor which had dirtiness all around. Dirt, dust, left behind construction debris and whatnot. Sex, ultimate sex was on our minds, yes, but there was so much more that we had expressed — without speaking much — that we wanted to do. “Hey babes, why is there so much of dirt around? I am sure you and your roommate would not be liking this,” I asked. “Not our fault and not our botheration,” said Mansi as she began unlocking her house. It had two newly installed gates and locks. “Our landlord was the first to buy a house in this building and the first to set up his home. Then all his effort went in the drain when he was summoned to his company in Egypt, and he took his entire clan along with him,” she went on. “First, they used to land up here every now and then. But now no one comes. We are left with WhatsApp messages and online transactions,” she said as we moved in, opened our shoes and locked the world behind us. She was still bending over to take off her shoe. It had got somehow stuck in her foot. With her left hand on the wall supporting her twisted body. I went to her from behind, quickly ran my fingers on her back. I took my palms right up to her breasts and gave them a small little squeeze. “Oh no you hungry, desperate man!” she screamed taking herself out of my grabs. “Wait up, let me take a breath?” I smiled. Her breasts that had looked perky and not too big had fitted in my palms nicely. My intention was to let her know that I had felt her nipples too (assuming they were still hard from my warm breath on her neck earlier). But honestly, I felt nothing. Nada. Fuck those padded bras. Who the fuck even invented them and why? She asked me to settle down in their massive hall. It had a tiny sofa, a big TV, a few bean bags lying here and there. Overall, the proof of two girls sharing the flat — it was bloody clean and well-kept. I wished I had these girls as my roommates. Not those retards who live in smoke, filth, and smell of alcohol and unwashed clothes. She came back into the hall again, wearing her same blacktop but very short shorts. Her freshly shaved legs gleaned in the fading daylight, well supported by indirect yellow lights from nearby lamps. “What makes you so interested in armpits?” she asked. We settled with another round of coffee which she had made. She had prepared coffee to take care of a mild headache — afternoon flights and the smell of smoke do leave such effects. “I don’t know,” I replied, “Years ago in an auto-rickshaw I had seen an elderly girl, all sweaty. Coming straight into the ride back home after her games period. Her shirt was loose, and she began adjusting her hair. I was taken aback by the smell that had suddenly hit me. I leaned on to see her glistening armpits between the gap of her arm and sleeve. She was completely wet from inside. Since then I have had a thing for armpit, and only recently, I realized I have a serious thing for them.” “You’d be surprised. Once I was in an event interacting with a model who was in a sleeveless dress. And all I did was to stare at her armpits,” I went on. “I was a bit shocked when she came to me, said hi and left with a peculiar smile. It had left me wondering what it meant? I am sure she’d have taken me as an armpit lover. God, I’d have given everything back then to have a closer look even if it was for a minute. But I never got to meet her again,” I added. “And what made you mad about my armpits?” she asked while sipping her coffee. “I don’t know! See, it has to be an overall package, which you have got there,” I said signaling at her boobs with my eyes. I got the hint that the girl wanted some ego-satisfaction, some words in praise of her beauty. That she was desperate for some pleasure was evident when she invited me to her home right after the flight. But she wanted some hearing too was a bit new to me. That we were having a nice buildup was enough for me to keep going on talking. “Look, the arms have to be in shape. Not thin, not fat. Not very dark, not very light too. The color of the hair must appear clearly, the shade of the armpit. Importantly, its overall shape when the arm is stretched out well — no part of the skin dangling loose — is when it becomes a great armpit.” “Aaha, nice, what else?” she winked while asking. “The girl has to smell good, inviting. If she’s all sweaty and smelling like a pig, I would not go near. A girl has to smell nice, of course, the pussies have their own smell. Then the hair, they have to fall short on the shoulders. But not come in the way of the armpits. Some girls, they go out wearing sleeveless dresses and part their hair in two directions covering both their armpits and shoulders. What’s the point, madam? That is so unfair!” “And of course, most importantly, shapely breasts with the small areola.