tagLesbian SexHorny Meetra

Horny Meetra

bychartersaveme©

Oh god, I was so horny.

I was watching dirty movies whenever I wasn't at school, I was masturbating for hours every night. I'd sit in the lecture hall, twirling a shiny, jet-black curl of hair, eyes not registering my pathology professor droning away. While my classmates scribbled notes furiously on either side of me, I would be concocting daydreams filled with big cocks, silk sheets, and the wild animal humping. I had been fantasizing about sex so much I was hardly paying any attention to my ten classes. That's right, ten classes -- such is the life of a medical student. But just because we're busy doesn't mean we don't have needs, special needs that need special attention...

It wasn't that I wasn't getting any action at all. I had gotten engaged over the summer to lovely man my parents introduced me to at a family gathering. He was kind and thoughtful, successful and ruggedly good-looking. We became good friends very quickly, and with our parents' encouragement, we decided to get engaged. You might wonder at the quickness of it, but arranged marriages are quite common in my family, and I have never been the romantic type. Ali and I were both very pleased that we had found someone we'd like to spend the rest of our lives with. I thought that he was probably one of the only men that could ever make me happy.

After the engagement, we were finally allowed to spend time alone together, which I hoped meant that we could safely fool around a bit. Whenever we did have time to meet between our respectively busy schedules, there was plenty of snuggling, kissing, and sometimes light petting, but never anything more than that. We both came from conservative immigrant families, and as much as I might want it, there would be no sex before marriage. Too bad for me, the closet nympho/horny virgin.

One particularly desperate night just before the fall semester had begun, I was dying to be fucked, so horny that I couldn't keep my hands off Ali as we made out on the couch in front of The Daily Show. He had spent the day helping me move into my new apartment near the medical school. Watching him lifting boxes all day, all sweaty and oh so sexy, it was all I could do to keep from running to the bathroom and wanking off. My poor aching pussy was screaming for release. We had taken our (separate) showers and eaten a take-out dinner in front of the tube. Now we were cuddling in each others' arms watching Jon Stewart, usually my favorite show, and the last thing I could think about was politics.

"Babe?" I ventured.

A kiss on the forehead -- how chaste, I thought ironically. "Yeah sweetheart?"

"You know what I can't wait for? More than being a bride or having this wedding?"

"Hm?"

"I can't wait for our wedding night."

A squeeze around the shoulders. And silence.

Another try, then. "I can't wait for us to make love for the first time. It's been all I can think about for the last few days." I looked into his eyes, yearning to see some of my lust reflected there in the glare of the television. There was something there, but I couldn't quite discern what.

"Meets, you know, I think it's going to be the most amazing night of our lives." A peck on the nose -- this particular habit is one of the many reasons why I'm ecstatic that we found each other. He looked deeply into my brown eyes, probably seeing more there than I'd care to have him know just yet. "You are a spectacular woman, Meetra, and believe me, I can't wait to be your man in every," another nose-peck, "sense," this time, a real kiss, "of the word."

He smiled a slow, easy smile that went straight to my soul, before he kissed me deeply, his hands wound in my hair. I kissed him back urgently, more brazenly than I ever had before, physical need driving my actions. I teased his lips with my tongue, and I heard his breathing start to quicken. My hands were fluttering everywhere, now on his shoulders, now his waist, now pulling one of his hands down from my neck and pressing it on my breast. My breath sucked in from the electricity of it; I had never felt another person's touch there, and the feeling was almost too heady to bear. I gasped, and Ali sucked on my lips, just grazing them with his teeth.

Words had long since abandoned me, and I was feeling nothing but pure lust. Every time Ali's fingers brushed my swollen nipples, pertly poking through bra and t-shirt, I moaned from the icy shiver running down my back. I rejoiced to feel his heart pounding so close to my own, to feel his crotch harden against my leg. Would I now finally get release? But the more I writhed and pressed against him with years of repressed sexual energy, the more he seemed to slow down and pull away. Was he some kind of saint? Why had I chosen to marry such a prude, I thought angrily. But then again, I am a rather insistent person. I thought I had an idea to bring him around.

I had just managed to get my hand inside the waistband of his jeans before he pulled it right back out again.

"Um, why don't we wait on that for a bit? Don't you think it'll make it that much more special on the big night?"

No!!! I want your dick now, I want you to fuck me now! my soaked panties screamed. But I heard my voice say, "Well, yeah, I guess you're right. I do want our first time to be perfect -- so I guess we can take it slow." Reluctantly, I let him pull me up into a more upright position. So much for building honesty in the relationship. I respected him for his restraint, but I was still so horny, damn it! I crossed my arms over my throbbing nipples and felt like crying from shame and frustration, but I felt Ali watching me, so I forced myself to stay composed.

I think he must have read the lust and disappointment in my eyes, because before I knew it, Ali was kissing me full on the mouth, with a little tongue for the first time ever, and surprise! Ali slid a hand over my throbbing crotch and began to grind me slowly through my jeans.

I almost sobbed with relief as we continued to kiss deeply, Ali's urgency now beginning to match my own. I pulled him closer to me, moaning as I felt the weight of his body above mine, his straining erection on my thigh. My legs spread and drew up reflexively, at least one managing to wrap around his beautifully shaped ass. Ali pulled away from my mouth, propping himself on one arm, the other busy between my legs. I dug my fingernails into his ripped arms, and he slowly rubbed the tent of his jeans against the inside of my thigh as he watched my face.

We were rocking rhythmically now, my hips bucking to match his hand. Obviously, I was so randy at this point that it didn't take much to put me over the edge. I arched my pussy against his hand as he rubbed, grinding my clit against the inseam of my jeans, and I came hard and fast, too fast, whimpering into Ali's starched collar, already wishing it wasn't over so soon.

As my fiancé discreetly excused himself to the restroom to take care of his own business, I was left on the sofa, nipples and clit throbbing, unfulfilled and unsated. The muskiness of my crotch and the freshness of his laundered shirt still filled my nose.

Several months later, I still hadn't seen Ali since our dry-humping session in August. He had gone overseas to work on a business deal, and I was counting the days until our winter wedding. I had come to accept the fact that my marriage night would probably be the next time I had any hope of getting any. My attention was so diverted between the wedding planning and fantasizing about sex that it was a wonder I didn't fail any classes. My secret vibrator (known to some as 'electric toothbrush') was all that kept me from flying out to Dubai and humping Ali, wherever he was. But I was still just as horny, just as dissatisfied since August.

What was unusual were my fantasies. Since I had met Ali, these had been rigidly restricted to imagining my wedding night, wild lovemaking in elaborate positions, with the only variables being my choice of lingerie and the particulars of our honeymoon suite. Now I found myself reverting to those secret fantasies I had concocted in college as I lay in bed touching myself, listening to my suitemate being fucked by her boyfriend on the other side of the wall. Night after night, I imagined myself on the other side of the wall with Jane, tasting her lithe body and feeling her touch on my skin.

And she was such a tease, too! Jane hardly ever wore pants around the suite so I always had to consciously find somewhere else to focus my eyes when we chatted in the hallway, painfully conscious of the shape of her pussy through her cotton panties, surreptitiously looking for a stray brown curl. Jane was blessed with one of those effortlessly toned bodies; she had been a dancer when she was younger, and even though she didn't keep up with it in college, her muscled legs and firm butt maintained her physique.

Along with pants, Jane didn't care for bras either; and this was nearly my downfall. She had the most succulent breasts I had ever seen on a woman, perfectly sized and shaped, with plump upturned nipples that were always poking through her t-shirt. I would get turned on just thinking about them. Being a good four inches taller than her I had to consciously remind myself not to look down her shirt. Not that I always listened.

On more than one occasion, I had the pleasure of seeing Jane nude. Being suitemates we shared a bathroom with four other girls, and because of our schedules we'd often cross paths there at night. As I would go in to wash my face and brush my teeth before bed, she would usually be just getting out of the shower. And it was perfectly comfortable for her to be standing there on the mat in front of the shower stalls, dripping water off her beautiful body, her usually nut-brown hair dark and sexily slicked back, carrying on a conversation with me as though she weren't glisteningly wet and stark naked. I never knew what to do when this happened; she always acted so sophisticated and nonchalant, not bothering to turn away or cover herself as she toweled off, not realizing that i was staring at the curve of her breasts, the shadow of her thatch. I would stand there red-faced, unable to take my eyes off her, toothpaste dribbling down my chin as I pretended to listen to what she was saying.

On those lonely college nights when I'd diddle myself as Jane moaned with her lover next door, I'd imagine that one night, when I walked to into the bathroom and heard the shower running, I'd be brave enough to strip and get into her stall with her. She wouldn't look surprised, but rather, she would smile at me nymph-like, her eyes lazily running up and down my naked body. I'd allow her a few moments' glance, but then I'd grab her body and push her against the tiled wall, kissing her mouth ferociously and kneading her perky tits as she only half-heartedly mewed her objection. I would make her whimper as I pinched her swollen pink nipples, suck her neck at the soft spot behind her ear. Jane would be clawing at my back all the while, gripping the curve of my ass-cheeks, searching the dark thatch between my legs with her fingers.

As my kisses became less frenzied and more deep, she would gently push me away, and begin to nuzzle my breasts as the hot water still beat down on us. Slowly Jane would begin to suck them, starting with only the nipple but taking more and more in, attending with her hand to one as she sucked the other. It would feel delicious, the simultaneous sensation of her tongue flicking in ways I never thought possible on one nipple as her hand roughly squeezed my other tit. I would watch her work her dainty mouth on my plump brown nipples, both of us glistening with water, my golden-brown skin complemented by her smooth ivory.

As I arched my neck and moaned with pleasure, she would run a finger slowly down my soft stomach, looking up from my breasts into my thickly lashed eyes with her green ones, turned almost black with desire. My breath would catch and I'd suck my stomach in as she touched my navel, and she would pause there for a moment, smiling at me almost maliciously before trailing her finger tantalizingly downwards again. Her finger would slip between my folds, slick with water and my juices, and using her hand to spread my pussy she would slowly, tantalizingly begin to lick, teasing my clit with her tongue. My breath would become ragged as the sensation overtakes my body, and I would gyrate my hips to rub my pussy harder against her hot tongue. As she sucked my engorged clit I would come, grasping her shoulders for support, almost passing out from the orgasm, saying her name again and again as my eyes looked towards heaven...

At this point in my fantasy one hand would be moving lightning-speed over my wet, throbbing clit, the other squeezing my tit, and I would come every time, sometimes in synchrony with Jane and her lover on the other side of the wall, always afraid she would hear my cries.

It was this fantasy that I had been revisiting every night when I came home after school to my empty apartment.

Today, one of my old childhood friends was throwing me a bridal shower in her stylish downtown apartment. Weeks ago she had asked for a list of people she should invite, and I had included Jane, without any real hope of seeing her there. We had somewhat fallen out of touch in the last few years, phone calls being limited to birthdays, the last meeting for coffee several years ago. I hadn't spoken to her since I'd gotten engaged.

Sarah, the shower's hostess, had written on the invitation that the dress code was 'risque,' which, I supposed, meant that we were supposed to wear the outfits our mothers thought we didn't have, those sexy little numbers bought on a whim but never actually worn out by us conservative, modest girls. I was curious to see what the girls that I had grown up with would wear, having rarely seen most of them without a headscarf. For myself, I chose a sheer black chiffon tunic, embroidered beautifully around the neck and sleeves with shimmering silver threads in a delicate floral pattern. It was a gift from my parents from the last time they visited India, intended to be worn with a full coverage slip, pants, and a modest scarf. For the shower, I wore it with only a black demi-cup lace bra and skinny black satin trousers.

I stood in front of the mirror, trying the outfit on with tall silver patent heels. I was somewhat surprised by my reflection; my body looked sleeker, leaner, and my face was glowing. I guessed the pre-wedding workout regimen was working. I stayed in front of the mirror for a few minutes, studying myself. The effect of the sheer black tunic was dynamite; it showed only enough to be sexy, but not enough to be trashy. I turned around to see the curve of my butt in the tight pants, flirtatiously rounded out a bit from the high heels, and I admired the sleekness of my hair, naturally wavy, and falling just right around my face. The heels and skinny pant made me look even taller than my five feet eight inches.

What pleased me most, however, was the effect of the scalloped, unfinished lace edges of my bra as they lay on my skin. What had been trimmed from my body on the treadmill was not lost from my chest; my breasts were as plump and full as ever, large but still proportional to my tall frame. I watched in the mirror as I did a sexy little dance for myself, my hands running through my hair and over my body. I smiled as I realized that I had never felt this sensual, this sexual before in my life, and that amazingly, it was somehow having an effect on my appearance.

"If only Ali were here to see this," I thought to myself. "I wonder how long his self-control would last then."

The wedding shower was unremarkable; Sarah did her best to impress my college and medical school friends with hired waitresses and dainty mocktails. Everyone had interpreted the dress code differently, some girls with plunging necklines and short dresses, others, inexplicably, wearing their old prom dresses. Though I didn't quite believe them, all my girlfriends told me I looked beautiful, and that Ali was lucky to have me. They were all full of saucy advice and lewd jokes about my wedding night, and after five minutes, I had almost completely tuned out. Not surprisingly, Jane had not come, and as the evening progressed, it became even harder and harder to act the blushing bride, gracious and glowing.

Finally, Sarah announced that it was time to open gifts, and I breathed an internal sigh of relief since this almost definitely signified the end of the evening. I unwrapped the white and silver paper and held up the cursory filmy negligees and lacy thongs as my girlfriends giggled and twittered, making raunchy jokes and snapping photographs, swearing to never show anyone. After what seemed like hours, Sarah handed me the final gift, which was much heavier than the others and wrapped in a most un-weddingish paper, black with tiny pink hearts sprinkled across it. With a little curiosity I removed the ribbon and lifted the lid off the box. There it was, a huge, pink strap-on dildo, sitting on a bed of black satin. I gasped, lifting it out of its nest by the leather harness and looked up at Sarah, my mouth wide open.

"It vibrates," she said quietly to me, looking more mischievous than I had ever seen her before. All the girls were in an uproar about the hilarious prank gift Sarah had given me and they didn't hear Sarah whisper in my ear, "It was the best gift I got at my shower, and my marriage is ten times better because of it. It's not a joke, darling, and I hope you'll both enjoy it."

I was so shocked I couldn't think of anything to say, so I hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. Who would have thought that little straight-laced religious Sarah was such a kink behind closed doors!

A few weeks later after a barrage of exams I barely managed to pass, I got a phone call from Jane. My heart beating a little faster than normal, I flipped open the cell.

"Hi Meetra, it's Jane! Honey, I'm so sorry I couldn't make it out to the shower, things have been pretty crazy lately."

"Don't worry about it Janie, believe me, you didn't miss much. Where have you been? Is everything alright?"

As it turned out, everything was not alright. Jane had been on rocky territory with her boyfriend for the past few months, and apparently, it had all come to a head just before my wedding shower. She'd basically had to start her life over, look for a job and a place to live, buy a car, and take care of all the things herself that she had taken for granted when she was with him.

"Anyway, it's been a horrible couple of weeks, but I so wanted to come to your shower. I had a gift and everything. But I'll be passing through your town tonight on my way down to a job interview. If you're not too busy, I could stop by and..."

Before she could finish her sentence, I said yes, and gave her directions to my apartment.

It was 8:30 pm that night, and I was pacing the apartment liked a caged panther, unable to sit still for a moment. I had spent hours that afternoon choosing an outfit to wear, finally deciding on a slim, chocolate knee-length skirt and a skin-tight turquoise jersey turtleneck, with my favorite brown heels. It took me another two hours to do my hair, trying it ironed straight and in a messy ponytail, but finally leaving it down and curling on my shoulders.

I couldn't decide if I was excited to see Jane because she was my old friend, or if I was nervous because I wanted something more to happen. I couldn't even calm myself down enough to think for a moment about what my feelings were exactly. Clearly, my horniness was clouding my thinking. At this rate, I would have to change my top because of the sweatstains. I was heading to the bathroom to put on more deodorant, when my phone rang.

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