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Monsoon
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My stories are at ~swingingpuss
I also hang out at Things That Bang
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Monsoon
The room on the roof is called a Barsati in Hindi and though the term Barsat means rain the word Barsati rarely brings relief except when monsoons send pelts of thick droplets to sooth the parched roof of the room.
And here I wait for the monsoons to cloud the sky above my simmering roof. It�s so bloody hot that despite the damp mattress (yes, I have to dampen the mattress so the hot sheets don�t drive me crazy) comfort eludes me.
Lying in nothing more than my skimpy underwear that says- Hotter than hell (I�d rather it didn�t literally express my current predicament) I watch the blades of the fan rotate lazily. The fan sways like a tipsy belly dancer � sensuous circles rotating hot wind in a room where my brain is melting and getting all muddled like a melted ice cream.
Addled brain and a heated semi naked body roasting in a hell called Barsati I curse myself for inviting him over. Sex is the last thing on my mind. It�s so bloody hot I can�t even imagine putting a stitch on and he is planning to stick his skin next to mine.
The flush pulls in the bathroom. The water gushes in the wash basin. Shit! He will be out soon. Should I pull a sheet up to cover my bare sweaty breasts? The very idea of covering myself makes me groan.
Heat! That�s all that comes to my mind. Sweat trickles down from my forehead to my eyes and I let the salty droplets rest against my eyelids. Behind my lids I see him staring at his reflection in the mirror.
Those big dark eyes asking themselves in the mirror whether he wants to really do me? Do me in a Barsati and not in his air conditioned apartment?
I am a poor writer. A shitty writer and he the publisher of the firm I work for. Sex with the boss? Why not. He is a hottie- all muscles and satin skin.
Maybe I should tell him � not here, not today. But he is my boss and I�ve been wanting to fuck him since the day I saw him at the office. Thinking and wanting sex in that cool wall to wall carpeted environment is somewhat of a daily occurrence. He walks past, winks at me, calls me to his office and kisses me so passionately with his tongue doing all kinds of naughty things in my mouth that my panties get wet with wanting.
But why did I call him to my Barsati? Dumb bitch!! I really am a dumb bitch!! The bathroom door squeals open and I stare at him. The door needs oiling but he needs nothing. Like I said- all muscles and smooth skin. Not one blemish; just a lot of fuzzy hair on his chest.
Sex with my boss - finally and that too in my Barsati. His perfect smile makes me shiver despite the heat.
�Kind of hot, isn�t it?� he nudges my leg aside and sits.
�Kinda? I am fucking roasting here.� Fucking? Now why am I using bad language? Why the fuck am I lying in my underwear in front of my boss?
�You are all sweaty!! Wet all over� He lazily drawls and runs a hand up my thigh. I forget to breath. Who needs breathing?
The hand moved on and lies lightly on my bikini panty. It�s a white cotton bikini with blue flowers on it. Not very sexy but its either sexy lingerie or next month�s rent.
Rent! The rent is due. Damn reality!! Why does it always intrude?
His fingers slide in and he feels the skin under it through the bush of hair. I look at him. His big dark eyes stare into my mine. His hand slides all the way in and finds my clit. He rubs it gently with index and second fingers.
Sweet hot pleasure ripens my thickening clit and tightens the nubs of my breasts.
My fingers grab the clammy sheets and my bottom ups- demanding more.
He chuckles and places a light peck on my lips, takes my hand and places it on his tent-like shorts.
It�s a thick one. Thicker than what I had imagined it to be when he had pushed it against me back in his chamber.
I slide my hand in and return the favour. Gently push the foreskin back and wank it. Wank it? Funny word isn�t it? Yank, wank? God! I wanna see his prick.
I push him back and yank his shots off. He runs a finger between my breasts. Tracing the sweaty trails of salty water droplets and then with his skin.
I groan and lay my hands on his shoulders and nip his neck. He tries to push me back on my back. I straddle him.
The heat builds in the room and between our bodies- sticky sex. He pulls me up and makes me cover his penis. There is no foreplay. We did that in his office for over a month.
He swats my butt and I ride him. Ride his stick hard and fast.
He grabs my breasts, plays with my clit and watches me as I succumb to the heat rising within my body.
He has still to come. I know. He gifted me the little death.
I let him roll me below him. I let him grab my butt with his hands. He sprays his fingers and nearly touched my arse hole and plunges in deeply.
There is something very nice about the missionary position. The penis plunges in and the vagina receives � pleasure given and received. It�s a simple Wham Bam Thank You Ma�am, the simple Jon position- money given for pleasure assured but it�s comfortable. The bodies fit so easy, his and mine; pelvic alignment is perfect, my wrapping my legs around his waist easy and his movements within me sure and fast.
He pumps in. His breath becomes shallow and he shudders; he squirts within me and a thunder rocks my Barsati.
Rain?! Fat droplets of rain make pattering noise against the roof of my room. The room and I both finally feel quenched.
He raises his head.
�Rain! About time!!�
�Yeah!! Rain, Mangoes and Sex; my three most favourite things on earth.� I reply We both laugh and listen to the sound of monsoon finally drench the city.