Pallavi felt Vijay’s long, thick cock throb and pulse ominously in her cunt and smoothly accelerated her motions, pushing for an orgasm. He thrust deeply into her, stroking quickly in and out, making her body jerk and snap with his thrusts. With a soft moan, digging her fingers into his shoulders, lifting her hips to his, she arched her back steeply and squeezed her cunt over it several times in quick succession. He gasped and thrust back into her, ramming in hard. Pallavi moaned thickly and began to orgasm. Her cunt convulsed on his penis and he groaned and pushed his cock deep into her and began to come, twitching his hips at hers, making her jerk gently as the spoot geysered into her slit. She moaned again. His orgasm passed in seconds and his cock promptly began to shrink. Grunting, he slid out of her cunt and lay panting beside her. Pallavi snuggled close to him and flung her legs across his hips. She was very horny, very hot. But there was no way he would be able to fuck her again. They had done it three times already. Pallavi sighed. Oh well. Everyone had their limits.

He was an attorney, a partner in a hundred-year-old law firm, and they had been lovers for just about a year now, friends for a lot longer. He wasn’t the kind she usually fucked. She only did it out of a sense of obligation.

At the time when she was just starting out on her career and the briefs were trivial and far between, Vijay sent her a steady stream of work from his firm. He paid her fees promptly and without question, often paying her more than she billed. At least once a day, he came to court and sat by her while she worked.

He wasn’t a bad sort, really, and his intentions were pure in that horrible middle-class way. He came from humble beginnings, the son of a clerk, and he had put himself through college and then law school, picking up English on the way. As a result, his accent was terribly coarse, and he was acutely aware of his serious handicap with the *lingua franca* of litigation. A few years ago, he had married. He lived in the suburbs in a modest flat in an even more modest housing colony. As far as she knew, his wife was a typical housewife, docile and unambitious, content to spend her time in the house and kitchen and, Pallavi imagined, to allow him to fuck her once or twice a month without complaining or making any attempt to enjoy herself.

At first, Pallavi thought that he was only sexually attracted to her. That was easily met. Still, unsure of his intentions, for he made no proclamations of love or devotion, she hesitated. Then she noticed that he had begun to spend more and more time around her. He took her to lunch in the bustling South Indian vegetarian restaurant across the street. They had coffee together after Court at a coffee house. If there was a bar dinner, he never brought his wife but always asked if he could pick her up. Recently, he had taken to dropping in at her chambers unannounced.

Once, he had almost caught her *in flagrante delicto*, just as she was undressing for sex with her peon. Fortunately, Anant had the wit to stall Vijay outside while he called in, and that gave her just enough time to put her clothes on again. Then he wouldn’t leave, said he was free and would sit while she worked, would wait till she was through and walk her to her car. Finally, she had to tell him to go, saying she couldn’t concentrate with him sitting opposite her. Of course, she hadn’t the heart to be brutal about it, and she turned it into a joke, with a veiled innuendo he caught and understood. He fled immediately. Within minutes, Anant had locked and bolted the door and was with Pallavi. Laughing at Vijay and his almost childish innocence, Pallavi and her peon fucked slowly and unhurriedly on the floor of her chambers. She slipped out of her clothes and knelt before him. Anant was a strong, wickedly handsome youth with a broad-shouldered, lean, muscular body and a handsome cock of sizeable proportions. Pallavi loved fucking him. She knelt before him and sucked his cock slowly, with deep enjoyment. He fucked her face happily, his head bent, holding her head and rocking it back and forth before his pumping hips, calling soft obscenities to her. She liked that.

“Mm ... yeh ... suck it ... suck my cock, whore ... yeh ... you give good head, bitch ... keep sucking ... just keep sucking!” It was even sexier in the vernacular. “*Hanh*... *chul*... *choos*, *rundi*... *choos**muje*!* Accha**choosti**hain*, * rahnd*... * choosti**reh*... *chul*... *jorse**choos*!”

When he was ready, he pushed her head away, and Pallavi went down on the floor on her back and spread her legs wide, bending her knees. Anant bent over her and slowly squeezed his cock into her cunt. She groaned in pleasure, arching under him, clenching the bulging biceps in his outstretched arms, bucking her hips eagerly under his. He grunted as her cunt convulsed on his throbbing cock and, bending his head, kissed her deeply, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She writhed under him, her breasts hot under his chest, caressing the powerful, knotted muscles in his shoulders. He pushed his cock deeper and deeper into her cunt till it was in the hilt.

“Mm,” she murmured. “That’s lovely ... c’mon Anant ... fuck me ... slowly ... mm, yes ... that’s it... *hanh*... *chul*, Anant... *chodh**mujhe*... * ahiste*... * hanh*... * aise*... * chul*... * rok**mut*!”

The peon began fucking her unhurriedly, slowly sliding his cock in and out of her cunt, flexing and unflexing his buttocks alternately, moving his hips from the waist in a controlled, exquisitely slow rhythm. Pallavi loved the way his cock surged into her cunt, driving a huge wall of pleasure before it through her body.

“Anant?” she murmured, craning her neck to lick his small, hard nipple, pulled low and wide under his deeply cleaved chest.

“Mm?”

“Should I fuck him? *Usko**mujhe**chodhne**doonh*?”

“Who, Vijay?”

“Mm. Yes. Should I? *Hanh*. *Karoon**kya*?”

Anant pursed his lips and thought about it, not stopping his in-and-out motions. Pallavi moved in unison with him. Their orgasms were yet distant, but growing steadily closer.

“I don’t know. How do you think he’ll take it? He’s in love with you. That’s obvious. *Woh**toh**tujhe**pyaar*-*mohabbat**karta**hain*. *Zahir**hain*.”

She bit her lower lip and moaned thickly as he ground deep into her. Her legs opened wider and her feet rose up the backs of his strong thighs. Her hips arched to meet his in descent. He grunted and, deep in her cunt, held still, moving his hips gently from side to side. The feeling was exquisitely delicate.

“Oh Anant ... that’s lovely ... yes ... well ... I don’t really know, that’s the problem, you see. *Wohi**toh*. I can’t decide whether he wants to fuck me - whether it’s just *lust* for my body - or if he’s got some silly notion of a pure and beautiful relationship that will endure forever. You know that kind of thing.”

Anant chuckled softly. “Yeah. Hindi movie middle-class. Stupid.”

She grinned. “And boring. I mean look at us now. Nothing pure about this, is there?”

“But it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she laughed. “It’s that all right. So. What do you think?”

He shrugged. “Give it a shot. But do it slowly. Sort of like a love thing, all that gentle, tender shit. Not just the wham-bam scene.”

“No, of course not. That’d tear him apart.”

“Yeah, I think it would. Imagine if he saw us here now.”

“Imagine.” She laughed. “Now come on ... I’m getting hot ... fuck me hard! *Jorse**chodh**mujhe*!”

Vijay didn’t pluck up the courage to come back till the middle of the next week. He wasn’t hurt that she’d asked him to leave that day, just terrified. He felt confused and bewildered. He couldn’t understand what drew him to her so. He could sit for hours watching her, looking at her face, the way it lit up, her bright smile, her infectious laugh, the way her little nose-stud winked and the pretty birth marks danced on her face and throat. And yes, he’d found himself watching her body, too, her firm, curved belly when she wore a *sari* and the way her breasts jumped when she moved, but it was a tender, concerned interest, not that he wanted to sleep with her, no, nothing like that, she was too good and too decent even to imagine any such thing.

With his wife, he was suddenly and unwontedly hungry, and Deepika didn’t know what to make of it when her husband wanted to fuck her two nights in succession. Since their honeymoon, a fifteen-day period when they’d fucked every night, he never turned to her more than once or twice a month. It was almost as though he had been under some sort of sex stress before his marriage, and vented everything during the honeymoon. After that, he seemed to lose interest - almost as if having sex with his wife was just part of his marital obligation and nothing more.

Though his cock was adequately sized— eight inches long and over an inch thick— and he knew the usual routine, fucking her mouth, licking her slit, and so on— he lacked imagination and power. She always let him fuck her when he wanted, doing as he instructed, playing the obedient acolyte, and usually, there was a small element of genuine pleasure in the sex— she had an orgasm occasionally— but nothing that was really satisfying. Still, he was a kind, gentle soul, did nothing to hurt her, and made no demands. Of course, there were other men around— servants and so on— but Deepika didn’t have the heart to upset him.

She fought the temptation valiantly. For a while.

And kept the truth from him.

Deepika loved sex. She’d loved it ever since she was sixteen when she lost her virginity to the family servant’s son, a boy she’d almost grown up with. He was a couple of years older than her and, as it turned out, already sufficiently experienced to guide her. She was lovely at sixteen, slender and fair-skinned with finely chiselled features, lovely eyes, a slim, straight nose, and full lips, clear skin, a long neck, full breasts, a narrow waist, and bell-shaped hips, elegant legs and arms with slender ankles and wrists. Her body had begun to torment her with strange, exciting, and frightening sensations, and she found herself looking at Mohan out of the corner of her eye and feeling curiously light-headed by the sight of his body. They lived in a small two-room apartment, she and her parents and elder brother. Mohan lived nearby and worked in a motor garage. She passed it on her way from school and always stopped to chat with him.

One afternoon, she found him alone. There was not much work in hand, and he suggested they go to a *chai* shop at the corner. They had tea, sitting in the half-empty place, laughing and chatting, and he said he’d walk her home. It wasn’t far. On the way, they passed a cluster of huts by the road.

“You live here now, don’t you?” she said.

Mohan had moved out of their house when he was seventeen, and with a loan from his father, Mohan and his mother had gotten themselves a ramshackle tarpaulin-covered tin hut in this almost-slum.

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.” They walked on a bit. Suddenly, he said, “Would you like to see it?”

She looked at him and, slowly, nodded. He smiled and took her arm in his hand. She thrilled at the touch of his hand on hers. She looked at him and flushed as his eyes drilled into hers. He turned down a cramped alley between a row of huts. It was reasonably clean, but very noisy. The lane ended in a gutter running hard by a bramble. He turned the corner and led her to a small hut with a sloping tin roof and a rickety wooden door with a padlock. Mohan unlocked the door and pushed it open.

It was very spare, almost Spartan. One chair, a little table, a kerosene stove in a corner, a few pots and pans on two wooden shelves. A cheap calendar on the wall by a small mirror. Clothes hung on a line, a tin chest. A hemp *charpoy* with a thin pillow and sheet and sagging mattress. A cheap novel lay on the floor by the *charpoy*.

“Well,” he said. “That’s it. Home. My mansion. *Meri**haveli*.”

Deepika looked around. “It’s ... it’s very nice. *Accha**hai*.”

Mohan looked at her, and she went very still. Time stopped, and the sounds of the city faded. He came closer. And closer. And closer. He took her face in his hands. His head bent. Hers tilted. Her lips parted. She could feel his breath on her face, smell the warm musk of his body, feel its warmth. His lips came closer.

In that afternoon of heat, Deepika experienced an explosion of joy she had never imagined possible. Mohan was tender and gentle, and his body was wonderful. When his cock surged into her flesh, Deepika almost fainted with ecstasy. She wanted more, more, more, wanted it never to end. He fucked her on the *charpoy*, taking her slowly and deeply and then faster and faster as she bucked and heaved and writhed desperately under him, her teenage body tossing and jumping and jerking in an uncontrollable fever, her cunt convulsing and spasming on his thrusting cock, which was so big, so thick, so hard, so hot, so good, so very good. Her nipples ached with the sweet tension of it, and when he sucked and licked them and crushed them in his hands, she felt the heat flood her from head to toe. On and on he went, and the *charpoy* creaked, and her voice was ragged and hoarse from calling and moaning. She came in an explosion of bliss, the breath shooting from her throat.

The next afternoon, he fucked her again.

She baulked at nothing, absolutely nothing. When she had his cock in her mouth, it was the most wonderful feeling. He fucked her mouth slowly and happily, and she wouldn’t have minded if he’d gone on all night.

Then he turned her on her front, kneeling on the floor and bent over the bed and entered her from behind, straddling her hips in a low crouch and pushing his cock in and in and in till she thought it would rip her in two. It was so big, so thick, so hot, so hard. He fucked her hungrily then, thrusting greedily in and out of her cunt, and she came again, long and slow, and this time he came too, his cock buried deep in her cunt. Deepika never forgot that first exquisite feeling of hot jizz spurting and spurting and spurting into her cunt.

After that, they met in his hut every afternoon. She was naturally curious and adventurous in bed and willing to try anything so long as it felt good. She never tired of sex. When he suggested anal sex, she didn’t hesitate, and as his cock ground into her anus, she felt no pain, just a glorious, stinging exhilaration that made her call out to him for more in the gutter words he had taught her.

A few weeks later, he introduced her to his friends from the garage, Dinesh and Deepak, both lean, hard-bodied youths with quietly handsome faces. Now she was ‘his’, Mohan’s, his woman, his mate, his keep. She didn’t mind living the lie; somehow, it had a nice feeling to it. She played her role dutifully, almost like his wife. Without his asking, she dressed in *saris* when they were together, changing out of her school tunic.

In his hut, she made tea for all of them and served the men. She noticed how Dinesh and Deepak followed her with their eyes and knew, with a woman’s instinct, that they wanted her, too.

Deepika had a natural streak of exhibitionism in her, and she knew with a clarity unusual for a teenager that she didn’t love Mohan, that it was the sex that drew her, that and the additional exciting fillip of doing something secretly and on the sly, something risky. Danger was a powerful aphrodisiac. If she had more than one lover, the risk was magnified, and so the temptation. She teased Dinesh and Deepak, giving them glimpses of her breasts under her low-necked blouse, moving sensually around the hut, letting her eyes smoulder on theirs.

The men finished their tea and stepped out for a smoke. Deepika sprawled on the hemp cot with a magazine, waiting for Mohan to come back.

“Deepika,” Mohan said softly as he returned.

She was lying on the *charpoy* now on her side, her head propped in her hand, her elbow bent, leafing through a trashy magazine. Her *sari* had slipped into the crook of her arm. In the heat, two or three of the buttons down the front of her tight blouse were open, and her breasts strained at the cloth, showing a lot of her deep cleavage and luscious breasts. Mohan sat behind and leaned over, an arm in front of her belly. She didn’t look up at him.

“What is it?” she murmured.

He cleared his throat. “Deepika, I ... um ... Dinesh ... that is, Dinesh and Deepak...”

“Yes?”

“They ... um ... they would also like...”

“What?”

He didn’t reply. There was a soft rustle as Mohan’s chums came in again. She glanced at them, saw the looks on their faces, and turned back to Mohan.

“What, Mohan? What would they like?”

He looked at her nervously and swallowed. She smiled.

“They’d like to fuck me, isn’t that it?”

There was a little silence. Then Mohan stared, nodded glumly.

“Well, you don’t have to look so downcast about it, Mohan,” she grinned. “Of *course* I’ll fuck them. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, as they say, and if I can’t please your friends, I’m not a good friend to you, right?”

The men stared at her, dumbfounded. She closed the book and flipped on her back on the *charpoy*.

“On one condition, though,” she murmured, reaching up and unbuttoning his shirt slowly. “Before they fuck me, they must sit here and watch you fuck me. Then they can fuck me, and you’ve got to watch. Okay?”

Mohan grinned in excitement and pulled her blouse open and squeezed her naked breast. She was wearing nothing under it. Smiling, she hiked her *sari* up to her hips and pulled Mohan down over her, unbuttoning his shirt and trousers.

Squatting on the beaten dirt floor, Deepak and Dinesh watched in excited fascination as their friend fucked his girl on the *charpoy*, taking her furiously. His buttocks danced over her lap, bobbing and bouncing up and down, and they could see his cock plunging and pistoning in and out of her cunt. Her hips heaved and pumped under his, and her cries rang in their ears. Their erections, when Mohan finished, were monstrous. Deepika smiled in pleasure.

Deepika never wanted for a lover after that. One of the three was always available to take her to Mohan’s hut and fuck her. On good days, she had all three together. Dinesh was good, as good as Mohan, but Deepak was terrific. He had a round, sweetly handsome face, a dark, wiry, strong body, and an absolutely magnificent cock she loved. It wasn’t long before she tried taking all three simultaneously in her cunt, mouth, and ass.

She finished school and grew lovelier, her breasts filling out, her curves getting more accentuated. In college, she took a polytechnic course in hotel management and did reasonably well. There were other lovers now, for she had greater freedom and was out of the house a lot longer. There was her trainer, a handsome Goan who took her to his house and fucked her all afternoon. There were a couple of her fellow students with whom she had torrid sex in squalid little suburban hotels that rented by the hour.

She graduated and, for a few months after that, waiting for a job offer and replies to her applications, she spent time fucking with what she called her three musketeers, long afternoons of glorious sex in Mohan’s hut. The days passed, and she got no response but letters of regret. Deepika grew morose. Finally, it was Deepak who broke through and took her into a whole new world.

They were fucking one afternoon, and she was astride his hips on the *charpoy*. He groaned and bucked his hips under her, sliding his hands up her body to cup her breasts.

“Hey, Deepika.”

“What?”

“Got a job offer yet?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“How would you like to do this for money?”

“Do what?”

“This. Fucking.”

She stared down at him. “You must be joking.” She bent over and kissed him, her lovely, sloping breasts pressing against his chest, her tongue slipping in and out of his mouth. He squeezed her breasts and pressed a fingertip to her anus. Her cunt was really incredibly hot and tight. He grunted as it convulsed on his penis.

“No. I’m serious,” he murmured, licking her stiff nipple. “Think about it.”

“You want me to *whore*?”

“Why not? It’s not like anyone’s forcing you into prostitution, you know. You’d whore because you want to. And the money’s good. Very good.”

“Oh yes? And how would you know?”

He grinned. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’ve been working at this place, this hotel downtown.”

“I thought you were working as a peon. A peon-cum-chauffeur.”

“That was before.”

“You never told me.”

“No. I didn’t. Anyway, this hotel’s not just a hotel. It’s a world-class, high-quality whorehouse, too. Top five, six floors. I’ve got in as a stud.”

She stared down at him. “A stud?”

“Yeah. Stud. Gigolo. Dame comes in, needs a fuck, I fuck her. I get paid.”

“*Women* come into this whorehouse?”

He grinned. “What’s the matter, women don’t fuck?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that, I mean...”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I was surprised, too, at first. But there’s a whole load of women out there who like a good fuck with a stranger. Any number of reasons. Nowhere to go, no one to go with, many of them are married, too, husband’s not interested, whatever.”

“So they come to you and you fuck them.”

“They don’t come to *me*. They come to the hotel where I work. If my name’s up, I fuck them.”

“And they pay you for this?”

“Very well. Ten grand a pop. Minimum. My take’s seventy-five percent. Excluding tips and gifts and shit. Like this watch. See? Solid gold bracelet.”

“You must have done some fucking for that.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Fucked her brains out. She said she never knew it could be that good. So I fucked her again - hard and rough this time.”

He grinned. Her eyes were glittering with excitement. He knew she had taken the bait.

“Last couple of months, they’ve taken me off the stud-roll,” he continued.

“Why’s that?”

“I’m heading a talent scout unit now. We have several. I’m head of one.”

“Talent scout?”

“Yeah. They found I had a knack of getting with dames and scoping them out. Brought in a couple who’ve turned out to be great whores. Customers love ‘em and they make great profits for the hotel. So I was put in charge.”