Aakaash Ganga

Aakash Ganga

All characters indulging in sexual activities in this story are above the age of 18.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people living or deceased is just coincidence.

To all of you who have appreciated my earlier stories,I wish to express my sincere gratitude for your votes, comments and feedback.

This story is written differently and oscillates between the present and a couple of flashbacks into the past. I hope you like this style of writing.

Please do continue to vote and comment.

Ganga: Centreline

I sense, rather than see Aakaash place the bookmark carefully between the pages, then set his book down on the bedside table on his right. I hear the soft click as he switches off his reading lamp. The room turns partially dark.

I take a deep breath, mark my page with that small tag that always comes with a paperback from Amazon, drop my book on the table to my left and angle the reading lamp down and away from the bed.

I know, as I have always known intuitively, every time, for the last 17 years, that Aakash wants to make love to me now, and to be very honest, I too am horny as hell. We love to watch one another in the dim lighting as we couple impassionedly. Aakaash has a slim steely body, the athletic kind, where the muscles are not conspicuously visible, but when you touch them, you feel raw power beneath the skin. Then there is his love muscle that hangs between his legs and rears itself up for me. It is huge, thick, with a mind of its own, but most importantly, fits tightly and snugly inside me and makes me go crazy. But that is not the only resource that Aakaash reserves for me, he has a repertoire of techniques that take me to the very edge of the universe and often has me screaming as a woman possessed.

I glance through the corner of my eye towards our bedroom door. It is open, but tonight, I couldn't care less. We are alone at home, our lovely daughter Manjula is with her grandparents for the next couple of days. Both sets of grandparents, my father and mother whom she calls Naana and Naani, my in-laws whom she refers to as Daada and Daadi, live next to each other in a gated community not far from our place.

Manjula has just aced the entrance examination that will assure her a seat in a premier medical college in the country. She is ranked first in the entire nation and quite naturally, is on top of the world. A few days from now, she will turn 18 and a few weeks later, she will be in a hostel on campus. Studying at the Jawahar Institute of Postgraduate Medical Education and Research, or JIPMER as it is known, and becoming a doctor has been her dream from the time she was in the 8th grade.

Established in 1823 by the French, when they occupied parts of India and called Ecole de Medicine de Pondicherry then, it is presently named after the great visionary and freedom fighter Jawaharlal Nehru who went on to become the first Prime Minister of India. The institute takes in just around 150 undergraduate and about the same number of postgraduate students every year. No wonder all of us are so happy today.

I turn towards Aakaash, he has that enticing smile on his face and that puppy dog look in his eyes. Eyes that worship me, love me, lust for me depending on his changing moods. Right now it is worship, just like the look a pup has for its mistress whom it adores. I lean in to lightly kiss his lips, without realising that his left hand has stealthily moved under my neck and his palm is now on the back of my head. My lips are touching his, but I cannot move back, I cannot break the kiss.

Our lips are still touching, I pucker them and make a smooching sound. And then I feel that gentle pressure, as his hand pulls my head towards him while his lips sensually press into mine. Then the tip of his tongue flicks wet across them and gently tries to probe them open. I keep them closed, just to tease him, and his tongue continues to exert gentle pressure. Suddenly I find his right hand gently squeezing my left breast and then roughly tweaking my nipple. I do not even have the time to wonder how the hell he managed to get his hand under my saree and on to my blouse covered breast. I let out a gasp and that is enough for his tongue to wriggle its way into my mouth.

We are now hugging tight, our tongues are wrestling, I can feel his hardness against my stomach and my pussy is moist. He lowers me back on to my pillow and kisses me deeper as his hand returns to rhythmically squeeze my left breast.

He breaks the kiss. "You are wearing that old saree to bed again. What happened to your 'Victoria's Secrets' lingerie collection?"

I ruffle his mane, then pull him towards me and bury my face into it. He has a thick and luxuriant mop of black hair with a few random streaks of grey. It feels soft and silky and has a fruity lemony smell.

"Do you remember this saree? It is the first cotton saree that you got me. I love it. Remember, I used to wear it at least once a month to work? Every time I washed it, I starched it so that it was crispy stiff as it draped itself around me. It is old now, faded in parts, but I love to wear it at home. It is so soft that sometimes I like wearing it to bed."

"Every time you wore this saree, and I kissed you goodbye while going off to work as you waited for your staff bus to pick you up, you made the saree look so beautiful. The goodby kiss would be a lingering one compared to other days."

"Oh god, Aakaash, I never realised this was because of the saree."

He kisses me again, deeply and aggressively and our tongues try very hard to knot themselves around each other.

"Not just the saree, it was the blouse too," he says. I feel his palms on my breast, skin to skin.

"Aakash, how do you do this?" I ask with a laugh. "I did not even feel you undoing the hooks of my blouse."

"Good you are not wearing your bra, that would have been such a bother," he responds mischievously.

"You are beautiful, Ganga," he continues, gently tightening his grip on my breast and then manipulating the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

My lips seek his again, and this time I am aware of his hand leaving my breast and tugging at my saree. Within moments, he has my saree and the petticoat sliding down my legs. I roll on to him and sit up, straddling him and let him peel my blouse off me.

"Aren't you overdressed for the occasion?" I ask as I pull on his nightshirt.

He holds both my melons, kneads them, tugs them towards him, and my lips, once again grab him hungrily. We kiss for a long while, as his hands caress my back, and I squirm my way into position such that his hard cock rubs against the front of my rather soaked panties. I unbutton his shirt and let him wriggle out of it, then I dismount so that I can pull down his pyjamas. He isn't wearing his briefs and his cock rears up in a salute. His hair down there is neatly trimmed, his nuggets seem to have contracted in the chill of the air conditioning, they are beautiful to cup and caress.

"Wow! Aakaash, this never fails to impress me, every time I see this little dragon of yours I seem to fall in love with it all over again."

"You call it 'little?' That is so gross," he grins.

"I and my big mouth," I reply as my lips engulf it.

"Now I know why it is little," he guffaws. I take it in even deeper and my tongue goes to work with great earnestness on my dragon monster.

"Ganga darling," he groans.

I tilt my head to look into his eyes, without taking him out of my mouth and raise an eyebrow.

"When did we last make love? Was it a week ago?"

There is a 'pop' sound as I release him. "You horny stallion, you made me come twice, that too at the unearthly hour of 4:30 this morning!"

"Then why do I feel like coming now in torrents?"

"You are not coming now," I almost scream as I grip his cock, making sure my fist and consequently his foreskin tighten around the tip when I realise he is just making merry mischief. I move up in a trice and sink my teeth into his right shoulder, close to his neck.

"Ouch!" he yelps, but he holds my head in place. I love to bite him there and he loves it when I do. We always carry a fresh love bite or two on each other, very often, even when we don't make love. Our favourite spots are the neck, breasts, back and our inner thighs. As I am busy biting him, he bends his right leg, grips the edge of my panties between his toes and tries pulling them down. I let go of his shoulder and giggle.

"Nice try, lover, and just for being so creative..." and I reach down and take my panties off.

He pushes me down on my back. "You are going to be centre-lined," he announces.

"I love that," I whisper, knowing exactly what he will be doing to me, and just the anticipation of the caresses to follow makes me drip between my legs.

He kisses my cheeks gently, then my eyelids. As I close my eyes, he grabs my palms and holds both of them over my head, pinning them to the pillow with his left hand. Then he brings his lips to my right ear, nibbles the earlobe and whispers,

"I love you, Ganga, I love you like crazy."

"Oh, Aakaash, why do you do this to me, why do I love you so much?" I moan.

Then I feel his forefinger on the centre parting of my hair. It is a delicate touch, feathery and silken. It slowly starts to move down the centre of my forehead, between my eyebrows, where it lingers at the spot where my 'bindi' would have been if I were wearing one.

"Wear a large red bindi for me tomorrow," he whispers.

"In the daytime? Or in bed?"

"In the morning, Ganga, right after your shower, I can take you to bed anytime, and when I do, I want the bindi there."

"Yes, my horny husband, with Manju not around, I am sure you will, so anything you say," I reply with a laugh.

His fingertip travels down the bridge of my nose and then goes caressing down the septum, to come to rest on the Philtrum, just above my upper lip. He wriggles his finger in a circular motion, applying a wee bit of pressure that I can feel on my gums. I kept my lips glued together. Aakaash starts strumming on them with his finger, like a Sitar maestro strumming on the strings of his instrument. I slip the tip of my tongue out, still keeping my lips together, and he applies a wee bit of pressure with his fingertip.

We play this game for a while, my tongue trying to push his finger away, and his finger trying to push my tongue back into my mouth. I suddenly pull my tongue into my mouth, but he is equally quick to follow it. His digit and my lips are lubricated with my saliva, thus his finger slips in easily, past my teeth, and then curves up to touch the roof of my mouth. I let out a loud moan as I feel a weird shiver pass through my body.

As quickly as it had entered, his finger slips out and comes to rest on my chin, then traces a wet line down the centre of my neck, to my Adam's apple. After a momentary pause there, it moves down to my cleavage, stopping just in line with the top of my breasts.

"I can feel the beating of your heart," he whispers into my ear as he lies beside me, his finger making small up and down movements.

"It beats only for you, Aakaash, it beats because of you. And it is you, my love, you are my heartthrob, my heartbeat, my life, my soul," I whisper back.

He lets his finger rest there as he leans in and kisses me. I try to free my arms so that I can hug him, but he holds them tight above my head.

"Why do you hold my arms like this, why can't I hug you?" I whimper.

"Of course you can hug me, but, be patient. I promise you will love it when you hold me tight after I am done with what I am doing."

"Hurry, please, I ache everywhere...."

"And I ache to touch you where you ache, but I too have to be patient. Nevertheless, here is a concession for both of us." He kisses my right breast and takes the nipple in his mouth, and like a baby, sucks on it. It only serves to inflame me further, and I cry out with desire.

His finger moves swiftly now, down the centre of my torso, tracing a line that bisects my breasts, goes down my tummy and comes to a halt at my belly button. He pushes as if it were a push-button switch, and a thousand small electric currents surge through different parts of my body.

"Aaaagh, Aaaakaaaash, I scream. Without removing his finger, he adds his tongue to the onslaught.

"Oooooh," I scream. "A wet tongue plus a wet finger in a wet belly button equals a flooded pussy.... What kind of an equation is this?" I wonder.

Now his movements are slower, this tormentor of mine is tantalisingly torturing me, and I am actually loving it. After what seems like ages, his finger just grazes over the hood before resting gently on my clitoris. Then with delicate strokes, his finger starts to manipulate the small knob.

I raise my hips, to meet his downward pressure, he rotates his finger some more, and I am going over the edge. Using his index finger on my clit as a pivot, he flicks his wrist and in a smooth move, his thumb enters my already dripping love hole even as his forefinger remains on my clit. He wiggles his thumb as I start to buck like a wild bronco, then with his thumb as a pivot balanced on my pussy, he flicks his wrist the other way, his index finger, all wet with my pussy juices, enters a wee bit into my butt hole.

"Aaaakaaaash...! I scream as I come explosively. His hand releases my palms, I twist towards him and wrap my arms around his body, as he hugs me to him. I can now feel his wet fingers on my back, and his hard-on pressing into my belly. His lips find my whimpering mouth, which he then seals with a deep, passionate kiss......

In a while, my breathing slows down, and my heart-beat returns to its normal rate. I can now feel the tip of his cock oozing its lubricant on my skin.

"Make love to me Aakaash, I want to feel you come inside me, hurry my love," I plead.

He pulls a pillow towards him and then pushes it under my hips. He does this when he wants to go very deep in me, I know he comes like a broken dam when he penetrates me deeply. And I love it when he swamps my insides like this.

I hold his cock and guide him inside me, and gasp when his hardness fills my slippery passage. His hands go under my back and grip my shoulders, his face nuzzles my breasts and his groin grinds into mine in a circulatory motion as he thrusts into me. He wants to give me a fair amount of clitoral stimulation and I make it easy for him by thrusting and gyrating against him.

But I have a secret weapon, that Aakaash is unaware of. Over our years of lovemaking, I discovered this accidentally. When Aakaash is in his throes of copulation and yet takes a long time to come, I can tip him over by pulling at his hair. A strong grip on his locks and a couple of firm tugs makes him come in a gush. I don't know why it happens, but 8 times out of 10, it works. This lets me take full advantage of his staying power and just when I am about to orgasm, I tug, and he comes with me. Coming together, for us, is the ultimate bliss.

As I feel the beginning of those crazy spasms in my loins, as his lips leave my nipple and searches for my mouth, I kiss him deeply and pull my secret trigger. In response, he blasts his blowgun deep into me, in burst after burst, then after a few more thrusts, as he loses his built up momentum, he collapses on my breasts. My pussy convulses around his cock and milks him dry.

"I think we came together," he mumbles.

"Yes, darling, we are wonderful lovers," I whisper as I pepper his face with soft kisses.

"I love you, Ganga, I cannot live without you."

"I love you, Aakaash, I am yours forever."

The best part comes now. We will talk for a while, interspersing our sweet nothings with our plans for the following day or week, building on our dreams as we mesh our bodies to each other like a series of interlocking dovetail joints. With our arms and legs like a ravelled skein, and invariably with his semi-hard cock still inside me, we will fall into a deep slumber, only to wake up in the morning in the same entangled position.

Aakaash: Flashback

When we sleep, especially after making love, we are lost to the world. We sleep the sleep of the dead, holding each other tight. When I wake up, it will sometimes be Ganga's head, nestled under my chin, her cheek resting on the upper part of my chest. Her left hand will be tight around my waist, her left leg over my right thigh. Her right arm would be either under my neck or positioned somewhere near my groins, which would be very close if not touching hers. My right thigh would be close to her pussy, and invariably caked with our secretions that would have flowed out of her when we slept.

Sometimes, she would be on her back, with my head cushioned on her soft, smooth, size 36B breasts, with pink elongated nipples that protrude from a rather small patch of brownish pink areolae, her arms around me and both her thighs clamping one of mine.

Tonight, it is her head under my chin, as she sleeps blissfully, with a contented smile on her face. I, though, stay awake.

It is one of those rare days when with my beautiful Ganga in my arms, I am reminded of Jamuna.

Jamuna and I had been recruited by the software company that we worked for from different college campuses. We joined the company on the same day with around 20 others. After going through a brief orientation and training programme, both of us were assigned to a project developing some complex scientific applications for a leading research laboratory.

While we hardly spoke to each other during the training period, once assigned to this project, we quickly learnt to work together as a team. Our boss was a tough taskmaster and an absolute go-getter, who stood up for his team. His depth of knowledge was vast and we soon developed an amazing rapport with him. And as is often true with geniuses, he had scant respect for company protocols and procedures. But when it came to designing software, he had this keen eye for detail and was a stickler for documentation.

Jamuna and I had different working styles. If I developed a module in 5 days, she would do it in 3. Mine would be meticulously built, well checked for errors and would perform almost flawlessly in the first run itself. Jamuna's would have a ton of bugs, mostly because of a casual coding technique, but she had this uncanny ability to locate and squash bugs at amazing speeds. Quite often, when she resolved one piece of malfunctioning code, another 10 would resolve themselves. So in effect, what I could do in 5 days, she would complete in 4.

"Spend some extra hours in checking out your stuff, Jams," I would tell her. "You are so amazing with your design and logic elements and then you mess it up with shoddy coding."

She would just grin, and then go off to the cafeteria with her friends from HR. And I just couldn't stand that department. Every morning there would be a mail with some (what they assumed to be) motivational message but which was just some crappy cliched shit that was plucked out from somewhere on the Internet.

Then they had this 'ethnic wear day,' followed by 'wear something red day,' or a 'gift your buddy a rose day' and other such stuff that I felt only distracted us from the job on hand. And being typically HR, they would conveniently misplace leave applications, ask for attendance statements, again and again, add the wrong phone numbers or email ids to various groups and still come out smelling of roses. Jamuna had great friends in HR and most of her coffee breaks were only with them.

But she was fun. She would breeze in with a cheery good morning, come out with weird nicknames for colleagues, crack the funniest of jokes, and keep insisting I work too hard and never have fun.