****** The Earth Moved - Twice by zygote@chapelon.demon.co.uk ******
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The Earth Moved - Twice


The best encounters are often those you don't plan in advance and least expect
to happen. Talk to anyone who has traveled in the mountains of North-West
Pakistan about the chances of a sexual encounter and they will laugh you to
scorn. Yet it actually happened to me. This is how:

Two years ago I was working as an English teacher in a remote town in the Hindu
Kush Mountains. I had just retired from teaching in England, and was fit enough
to undertake voluntary service abroad on a two-year contract. Students came to
the town from a wide radius, including villages tucked away in the furthest
folds of the mountains.

I had been invited to one of these villages by Ibrahim, another teacher, to
stay with his family over a long weekend and sample the varied delights of
rural life on the North-West frontier. The village setting was astonishingly
beautiful, but a harsh and unforgiving environment in which to live. At about
9000 feet it was high enough for hard physical work to become draining very
quickly unless you had grown up at this altitude. The days were hot, especially
the afternoons, but at sunset the temperature plummeted to below freezing. The
village was set on a long, narrow ledge perched partway up a stupendous V-
shaped valley, the sides of which were sheer in many places and draped with
loose scree in others.

The road to the village was a rutted dirt track, passable by four-wheel drive
jeeps for the affluent, or donkey carts for the majority. The twice-weekly bus
from Rawalpindi was an option, but not for the faint hearted: overloaded,
disintegrating, and driven as though on a death wish by a driver more intent on
chatting up female passengers than on watching the unprotected corners on the
road. The village was an oasis of green among the brown mountainsides, fragrant
with the scent of apricot and almond groves, with grain and vegetables jammed
into every flat corner of soil, and goats and sheep tethered to graze on
scrawny-looking, dusty greenery on any manageable slope.

The villagers were devoutly religious Moslems, and I had been well briefed on
the etiquette to be observed, including respecting the intensely protective and
male-dominated culture of the region. Adult women were not to be spoken to
except with a male member of their family there; to transgress would be to
invite a cut throat during the night in the settling of someone's honor, no
matter how well-intentioned the "crime". To go unbidden into a house containing
women was unthinkable. You can appreciate that casual sex was the last thing on
my mind!

It was well into the afternoon, and Ibrahim and I had climbed along a donkey
track to a tiny hamlet about a thousand feet above the main village. I wanted
to take some photos of village life, and Ibrahim had come to translate for me
and get peoples' permission. We knew that one of the school's pupils, a girl of
about twelve and whose widowed mother was a distant relative of Ibrahim's,
lived in the hamlet and that she (the girl) had been sick with a fever.
Wherever I traveled in Pakistan I was asked for medicines, and I had brought
some antibiotics from the school dispensary to give the girl.

The hamlet consisted of about four houses sheltered behind an enormous cliff of
bedrock projecting out from the mountainside, with a series of small grassy
terraces scattered around it. Ibrahim had gone to find the mother and enquire
about the daughter. I sat outside on the grass drinking from my water bottle
and taking some snaps of the huge landscape.

From out of nowhere there was a sound like a jet plane approaching, followed a
few seconds later by a massive jolt, which threw me flat on the ground. I was
experiencing my first (and, I hope, last) earthquake. It was really terrifying.
Everything around me was moving; there was nothing to hold on to or brace
against. The quake only lasted a few seconds, but what followed next made me go
cold with fear, despite the heat of the day. With a noise like breaking surf
the whole mountainside to my right started sliding down - on top of the
village. The hamlet was protected by the rock outcrop behind it, which acted
like a breakwater. It looked to be only the top couple of feet of earth and
scree which was moving, but there was no doubt it was going to overwhelm the
village and would wreak havoc on the flimsy houses there. I felt sick knowing
that people were almost certainly dying, yet there was nothing I could do to
prevent it.

Ibrahim shot out of the house, yelled something incoherent, and ran down what
remained of the donkey track towards his parents' house in the village. I
stayed put at the hamlet. I don't really know why: the girl and her mother had
come out of their house in alarm, and I suppose I felt protective towards them
and wanted to help the girl, who at least knew me. But unable to speak Pushtu,
and as a "strange" male to all other women, it wasn't a sensible thing to have
done.

I didn't have time to change my mind - it was made up for me. With a noise like
a series of gunshots there arrived a series of aftershocks to the earthquake -
more sharp jolts which felt as if my feet were being hammered from below. The
path to the village disappeared under a second landslide, and two of the four
buildings in the hamlet collapsed in a shower of rocks and shriek of rending
beams. I was trapped at the hamlet, with the sun about to sink below the
mountains opposite and no hope of returning to the village - always assuming
there was a village left. I quickly searched the collapsed houses for signs of
people trapped. There was none. The third house was also empty, but twisted at
a dangerous angle, with flakes spitting from some of its stones and the roof
beams creaking ominously. Staying overnight in it was not going to be an option
- it could collapse at any moment. The fourth house - that of the woman and
daughter - was also twisted, but less so - it lay directly in front of the
protecting rock outcrop. I would have to spend the night with them in the
house, or freeze to death out in the open. To hell with codes of honor - it was
an easy decision for me.

Reassured that her house was not about to collapse, the woman went inside. The
girl stayed out, looking steadily at me. Unveiled, she was a stunning sight.
Long, straight, jet-black hair framed an oval face with almond shaped eyes set
in a perfect, flawless, dark brown skin. The shalwar kameez she wore couldn't
conceal a budding figure, and like all mountain women the constant exercise of
work and walking at high altitude had made her tall, slender and graceful. With
a mixture of gestures and pigeon English we were able to communicate to each
other that I couldn't return to the village and would have to stay the night
with them. After a hurried conversation with the mother I was invited to eat
with them - a sign of acceptance as a guest to whom the duty of hospitality
must be shown, whatever the consequences. The destroyed houses provided an easy
supply of firewood for cooking and we were soon eating rice and lentils.

The mother had relaxed about my presence, reassured by her daughter. Her face,
burnt dark by the sun and creased into lines by the wind, could have been the
face of any woman from forty to sixty. But even in the firelight I could see
she was tall and well proportioned. The daughter's fever had evidently
subsided; her forehead was cool and she seemed tired but recovered.

As the fire died down we prepared to sleep. The house consisted of a single
room, and as mother and daughter laid blankets on a straw mattress for
themselves, I put down a bed of straw at the other end of the hut and tried to
make myself comfortable by putting on extra clothes from my rucksack. A few
mild aftershocks from the earthquake rumbled across the darkness. The cold and
occasional shocks made sleep impossible. I resigned myself to a long, cold
night.

Suddenly, in the darkness, I felt a rustling in the straw towards me. Moments
later a darker shadow loomed above me. The mother had walked soundlessly across
to me. I assumed she was going outside to relieve herself, and turned over to
face away from her and give her privacy. But she didn't go outside. I felt
blankets being quietly put down next to me. My mind went into overdrive. I
could hear the girl breathing in her sleep, across the room. Wordlessly, the
mother continued to spread blankets over me - and then climbed into them
alongside me. This was so unexpected I thought I was hallucinating. But as the
firelight flickered among the embers there was no doubting the dark eyes
looking calmly into mine, and the heat from her body next to mine.

My heart bumped with panic: what if someone found us together - we'd both be
done for! But there was no one around except us. The villagers were too
preoccupied with rescuing what they could from the landslide. They wouldn't be
bothered about us and probably wouldn't dare try climbing the mountainside. (I
later found that they had assumed us all dead in the second landslide). As the
woman's warmth spread out into the blankets I realize the unthinkable had
happened. I had a woman who wanted me, and we would be each other's for the
rest of the night!

Gingerly I reached out to break the taboo of contact. Hand touched hand, and
immediately I felt as if an electric current had been switched on in me. I was
warm, I was wide-awake, and I was alive. I explored her hands; she turned on
her side to face me. Slowly I reached up to touch her face, her hair, and her
mouth. Her hands moved over my chest. I gently moved my hands down, tracing the
outline of her throat, her shoulder, and her chest. As I ran fingers over the
outline of her breasts - full, firm and with nipples hard under my fingertips -
her hands explored down across my stomach to rest lightly on my penis, now
fully aroused under two layers of trousers! I thrust both hands up inside her
shalwar top, feeling her lift her back to loosen the material. Her breasts felt
like warm silk, heavy and taut. Nudging my head under the blankets, I kissed
and sucked her breasts, starting on the underside of each in turn, working in
spirals across the swell and sides, and ending by flicking my tongue across
each nipple. She arched her back next to me, pushing the whole nipple and
aureole into my mouth. Her breasts smelled of apricots and wood smoke, tasted
lightly of salt in the creases.

I ran fingers and tongue round and round these lovely breasts, now caressing
lightly, now squeezing, now exciting with tips of fingers and nails. Side by
side to each other, on her back with me working above her, above me and
brushing my face with just the tips of her nipples, we feasted on each other.
In the darkness her sighs and movements gave me all the cues I needed. It was
heaven.

We lay side by side to rest. I explored her face with fingertips. A fine,
straight nose, laughter creases at the sides of her eyes, a heavy braid of hair
resting on her shoulder. She reached behind her head to loosen her hair and
shook it out in front of her like a veil as my hands felt her breasts rise and
sway.

She took my hands away from her and held them in hers. In the glimmers of
starlight I saw reflections of tears across her face. This glorious woman was
weeping as the conflicting emotions of desire and repression seethed inside
her. Instinctively I reached up to wipe the tears away and cradled her to give
comfort. She didn't repulse me, and I waited patiently for the crisis to pass.
After a few minutes I felt her body relax and she turned into me and reached
out to me.

We put arms around each other and kissed, little pecks at first, then exploring
with tongues until we were thrusting into each other's mouths. As I kissed her
throat and neck she flung her head back and wrapped a leg around me. As I
kissed her I slipped a hand down the top of her shalwar trousers. I still
couldn't believe what was happening or how far she was prepared to go. I had my
answer - as my questing hand reached down across her pubic hair to the top of
her mound she lifted her hips and mashed her wet labia into my fingers. She
groaned with pleasure and shook with the intensity of her sensation. We had
both reached the point of no return.

We fumbled to remove our trousers - never the most dignified maneuver at the
best of times, and comic under blankets, in pitch dark and when trying to be
quiet so as not to wake the girl! The straw under our blankets rustled loudly
as we twisted. We came together like starved people at a banquet. There was no
finesse, no foreplay. We were famished for each other, she wet with desire and
me hard as iron and aching for release. I climbed over her and reached up to
find her. My penis found her entrance and sank in smoothly as she gasped with
sensation. She instinctively lifted her legs and wrapped them high on my back
as I sighed loudly and sank deeper and deeper into her warm, moist softness. We
clung to each other tightly and moved together until we were utterly and
totally into each other. Greedily pumping each other we rose higher and higher
into ecstasy until I felt myself about to erupt. She sensed my urgency and
clung to me with her vaginal muscles as I shot load after load of semen deep
into the uttermost spaces of her womb. I have never felt so completely spent as
I did after this lovemaking. As we kissed and caressed each other I could feel
myself trembling with released emotional energy, and we were both panting with
exertion. Despite the cold and frost of the night we were perspiring. I licked
across the salty, fruity warmth of her chest and stomach and explored the
pungent, damp recesses between her thighs, luxuriant with hair and totally
abandoned to me.

Sated, exhausted, relaxed, at ease with each other, we curled together to
sleep. A shaft of moonlight had penetrated the darkness in the doorway. I heard
a rustle in the straw across the hut.

The girl, my student, was wide-awake and watching us. We had woken her with our
lovemaking and this gorgeous twelve-year-old had watched me make love to her
widowed mother. Unsure of what her reaction might be (and my future at the
school), I smiled at her. She flashed a broad grin back. I gestured silence
with my finger and signaled to sleep. She nodded and we settled for the few
short hours before dawn.

In the morning would come a leisurely lovemaking, then the bitterness of
partings, misery in the devastated village, hard times for the woman and her
daughter. Beyond that, I would have a student with whom I shared a secret, and
the wall between teacher and pupil had been breached: who could tell where that
might lead. Life was going to be exciting, intriguing.

This story is part of White_Shadow's_Nasty_Stories.
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