Charma

"A strong man like you should be able to look me in the eyes, no?"

I had just been introduced to "Charma," which was short for something in Hindi, I didn't catch the whole of her name, and apparently Westerners never did; that's why she shortened it to Charma. She was from India, and she had just been hired by the Women's Studies Department at my university. This was her first day here, so she was making the rounds, being introduced to everyone by Clarity, a woman who taught in the university and who also had a lot of familiarity with India. There was another woman with them who seemed to be Charma's companion but to whom I was not introduced. This other person was carrying all three women's purses and things, and she had been the one I had seen opening the door at the end of the hall my office was located in; she was some kind of helper for the other two, and she stared at me in an excessive sort of way.

"I mean, you have muscular arms," said Charma, moving her hand up around one of my biceps, "You certainly seem like a strong man."

"Oh! Well, thank-you, I guess," I blurted out. The truth was I didn't know where to look. Charma was shorter than I and quite a bit heavier. She had a fantastic bosom which jutted out from her body and which was somewhat exposed by her tight-fitting sari. If I looked down at her, it would be hard not to seem to be staring at her swollen breasts (which in truth I longed to do) even if I was looking into her eyes. The right thing to do, of course, would be to make eye contact and just get in control of whatever urges I had, and then look away so as not to seem to be staring. But I was too distracted. I find it very difficult to look headlong into the eyes of any woman who shows confidence, and Charma was already exuding power and having the effect of making me painfully erect.

* * *

I had been standing outside of my office door, taking a bit of a break from work. Just standing there, almost, well, waiting for something, it felt like. I watched idly as the door at the end of the hall opened, and I saw that third woman coming through and holding the door open for Clarity and Charma. This was no small feat, she was struggling with carrying a load of bags and paraphernalia. Still, she did it, and the other two came through the door. I inhaled. Clarity and Charma were unconcerned with the third woman and did not try to help her, but rather carried on with a conversation they were having. Clarity (who had also called herself Siva to me) I knew, having had a weird experience with her the previous week. Maybe. In truth, I wasn't sure that I hadn't dreamed the whole thing. I blushed a little just thinking about it, and turned my attention to the other member of the party, who I was about to learn was named Charma.

She was of dark complexion, short, and had straight, short, jet black hair to match. She was very voluptuous, almost overly so, with very wide hips under a narrower waist and fulsome thighs. She seemed to be having trouble walking, she moved slowly, and took small steps, placing one foot almost directly in front of the other. If I had to guess I would have supposed that her inner thighs were chaffing, rubbing up against each other in the forced tightness of her sari, and that this was causing some discomfort. That, and it was plain that she simply did not like to expend the effort involved in walking. By the time she was half-way down the hall she was breathing heavily. Her posture was good, she kept her shoulders back, and since she was taking large breaths from the effort she was expending, the effect on her breasts was spectacular.

Noticing that she was distressed upended my lackadaisical voyeurism and I felt an intense desire to help her. Without thinking I strode right up to the little group, held out my arm to Charma, and said to her directly,

"Can I be of any help to you?"

Well that was not like me! I am never that forward with women, preferring to be the cool type, and here I hadn't even stopped to introduce myself. But seeing her in a needy state was compulsion itself, and I had reacted automatically, as if my consciousness was no longer in command of my actions. My higher brain functioning simply stopped at crucial moments when I was exposed to Charma, and some more primitive and slavish animal uncovered himself.

"Yes, Yes you may. I was hoping someone could provide assistance, I have trouble supporting myself at times," she said, and took hold of my arm. At first though she did not use it to brace herself but instead applied a turning force to it in order that she might look me over head on. I readily complied with her hand's force, and moved around to face her from the front. As I did so, I started to harden. The motion of deliberately being brought around, head on to her, for her judgement, gave my body expectations and hopes that were frankly embarrassing, and it was responding appropriately. Of course what was really happening was that she was gathering me in for inspection. And while she was clearly controlling the interaction, her eyes gave me a different impression: they were so large and open they looked bewildered, a bit like a frightened animal that did not know where to go. But she also had a sense of yearning, that she longed for something she did not have. The intensity of eye-contact was too much for me, and I turned away. She had a presence that exuded waves of vulnerability that forced others to worry and do her bidding, and she knew this and could control it. Coming close to her was like walking into a radiation bath, and I felt hot all over. I had the urge to care for her, give her whatever it was she needed. I felt her now putting her weight on my arm. With that I relaxed somewhat, because I was now supporting her and doing something to serve her need.

"Yes, that's better. You see, I've had a long trip, and that's very hard for me. Oh, I don't mean the actual travel, but being cooped up on a plane full of people for an overnight flight can be very taxing. My first time was when I was younger and hadn't quite learned the extent of my effect on others. During the night a fight broke out: some men were arguing over the honour of providing me with their blankets and it got out of hand. I was sleeping at the time and so my presence just radiated out uncontrolled; this was too much. Of course I woke up from feeling the intensity of desires in the cabin when the fight broke out, and once I got in front these men they became more placid. But it had caused such a scene that the crew turned the plane around! They even locked the doors to the cockpit, which is standard procedure in the event of an emergency, I gather. The captain would not consider anything but returning to India, but I wanted to see the West. Fortunately one of the stewardesses was in fact a man! Well he intuitively understood my distress at not getting what I wanted and worked it so that I could talk to the pilot on the intercom phone. I guess the sound of my voice was enough to make the captain want to help me himself and so he let me in, and that against the company's policies! And after I promised I would stay in the cockpit with him (he made the co-pilot leave, who was very disappointed) for the rest of the flight, we continued on. He said that I must stay with him so that he could insure my safety from the mob in back. He was very devoted, and well, we were alone, so I rewarded him for his attention. I later heard he was fired for breaking procedural rules. But don't worry, he wrote me several letters telling me how much it was worth it and that he would do it again, if he ever got the chance. Anyways after that I made sure that whenever I make long flights I stay awake and control my influence as much as I can. So I'm very tired and need someone's help. I wonder, can you be that man?"

Gulping in air, I looked down and rasped, "Yes." So I bore her weight as much as possible and we began to amble down the hall. Clarity has a mischievous look on her face as she said, "He seems to be working hard."

"No, no, Clarity, he's just breathing deeply. I like it. More excitement than tiredness, I should say. I doubt that it's really that that much work for him to physically support me. Isn't that right?" and here she looked at me again, her huge eyes gaping a helplessness that demanded attendance. "Yes," I struggled out again, and immediately looked down and lowered my head, redoubling my efforts to support her.

"Oh now come now! A strong man like you should be able to look me in the eyes, no?" There was a bit of a pause.

"I mean, you have muscular arms," said Charma, moving her hand up around one of my biceps, "You certainly seem like a strong man," and she squeezed my arm muscle, inhaling sharply through her nose. I couldn't help but imagine that she had her hand around my cock, squeezing it into obedience to her needs.

"Oh! Well, thank-you, I guess," I blurted out.

"And yet, I hope I'm not too heavy for you . . . My goodness, I do believe you are starting to sweat!" and she sniffed the air with a smile on her face.

It was true, I was sweating, I could feel it myself. Worse, I could smell it myself. That was unusual, first because I am a relatively fit man, as Charma had already realized. I like to work hard and I was clearly strong enough to support her while walking. It made no sense that I would start sweating the moment she put some of her weight on me. And second, even when I do sweat, there's very little smell to it; I've had lovers comment that my body odor was subtle to non-existent, so why on earth would I suddenly start giving off a scent now?

"But that makes no sense," I said. "Why, I could pick you up in my arms and carry you down the hall to help you from getting tired. I don't understand . . . " I trailed off.

"Yes, you would like that, wouldn't you?" she replied in a low, quiet voice, still smiling, but now with a bit of menace in it. Her face brightened, and she said more clearly, "I'll tell you a little secret: I'd like that too. What woman would not bask in the devotion of a man who displays such strength for her? But I think there are others working in this hall who are beginning to become agitated, and I'm not sure how it would look, or what their reaction might be. We wouldn't want a fight breaking out now, would we?" Her eyelids darted up and down at this, and she laughed a bit.

"But don't worry on my account," she continued. "A little musk from a man is perfectly natural and makes me feel at ease. Why, I am sweating myself, as you can clearly tell! And as for the ah, scent, well, you tell me if that's anything to be embarrassed about," and with that she reached over with her other hand and pulled my head down to the nape of her neck.

"Go ahead, isn't it delightful?" I tried to resist the pressure for decorum's sense and stopped myself from actually touching her bare shoulder with my nose. The flesh was smooth, unblemished, and plump, and begged to be caressed by lips. The smell was intoxicating, just as she had said.

"I can tell you like it. One wouldn't expect any different. Of course nature has made men and women to be attracted to one another, we wouldn't survive as a species if it hadn't, and smells are just one way we have of signalling this to one another. I, a woman of luxury, am ready to be serviced and express this through my dampness. You, an endowed young man, who is just entirely suited to taking care of my needs, perceive me, and come to the task, exuding your own musk to indicate to me your readiness to serve. But come now, you're not playing along! There's no such thing as a little death." And with that she pulled my head down further, forcing my nose upon her skin. The experience was overwhelming. Her swelter overwhelmed my self; I felt I was turning into a feral animal. I immediately pushed out my tongue to taste any flavour I could find on her shoulder and neck.

"Yessss," she started whispering in my ear, like a cat beginning to purr. "Another secret: that savour is not just my perspiration. Where do you think it comes from? The most intense perfume a woman can produce? That demands a man's attention and subservience? I think you know. Yesssss, more, boy. I pleasure myself and apply it to the nape of my neck as a fragrance. Or rather, I have someone else pleasure me to produce my bouquet. I prefer a man, but if none are to be had, a woman will do; in a pinch I will even resort to my little Melitta here."

She tasted salty and earthy and I could feel blood hammering through my head with an intense rhythm.

"You see how fitted you are to caring for my needs? Even now your thoughts of yourself are leaving you. Mustn't have too much or you'll be rendered immobile while you system tries to process an overdose. So for now, can you stand up straight for me? I need you to lean on, and even protect me, possibly. Do it for me, please? You do want to help me, don't you? I'm afraid in this new place, I need someone vigilant, someone who can strike out against those who might try to harm me. Are you angry at them? Can you be angry for me?"

Yes. Yes I was angry. "Of course," I was straining as I said it out loud in a soft voice with all the urgency I could muster. I stood up to my full height, flexed out my chest and tensed my biceps. Hands clenched, my face was pained with the seriousness that I felt in taking on my new role as protector. My penis became so large and hard that it came out from the top of my jeans and pushed my pants forward. I stood in front of her a little to get in the way of anything that might be a threat, and reached back with my arm to support her. Anxiety and stress continued to fill my face.

"Impressive," said Clarity.

"Yes, you see how it is," replied Charma with a rather drunk and sated tone. She waited a moment, almost as if she was enjoying a drug of her own, but then her voice turned sly, more self-congratulating. "Can you do the same? At first I wondered if it was just chance, his being out in the hall when we came through, but I see now that you have prepared him into something especially susceptible. He was waiting to be of use, and, as we now know, I am good at taking advantage. My god Siva, look at that! Hard as iron! He is intimidation itself, all erect and furious. I'm sure he works out, he clearly has fears about the limits of his own power and needs to compensate. Let us see."

Here Charma moved forward a bit and lifted the t-shirt I was wearing to expose me more. Abdominal muscles bulged out from underneath like an anatomy drawing. "As I suspected." She looked up into my face from beside me and said in a more plaintive voice, "Oh my, you're so very strong, aren't you? Is that for me? Can I lay down on that washboard stomach, rest myself on your work?" She was almost whining now, and started to speak to me in a more mocking, girlish tone, "All those muscles for me? My big protector. So strong, and it just makes you all the easier to exploit." This last she said while opening her eyes very wide again and nodding while staring at me, holding my gaze.

"Do I hear visitors?"

This sound came from an office up the hall. In an instant Charma moved around to the front of me, using her wideness to block the view of the exposed tip of my penis from Janelle, our department secretary, who had just come out into the hall. At the same moment both Clarity and Melitta took a step forward, also putting themselves in between Janelle and me. For my part I was so wound up that I wanted to spring out like some kind of avenging knight, but Charma had quickly grabbed my penis with her left hand and the back of my neck with her right. That arrested me completely. "Ahhh," I moaned in delight and obedience.

"Hi Janelle!" said Clarity, continuing to walk forward towards the secretary. Janelle was also a large woman, but her effect was entirely different; she was frumpy, her figure had no shape, and she was constantly scratching herself because of bad skin. She was not that perceptive, and deeply jealous of the position and status of those she worked for. I could see Clarity fight through a twinge of disgust as she moved forward. "We've got a new colleague from India joining us, so I thought I'd give her a tour of the campus."

Meanwhile Charma was masturbating my penis with a slow yearning. "Help me!" She whispered, pulling my head down to hers while she continued to thrill my loins. "I don't believe you. I don't believe you. I don't trust you! You're just acting this way and saying these things to humour me." She held my eyes with hers, our faces were almost touching. "You don't really want to help me. You're selfish! You're going to leave me to fend for myself!" My jeans were still buttoned up but her hand had made its way inside them, and as she slowly moved it up and down, the back of her thumb would pop up over the top of my pants and them back down inside again on the down stroke.

"NO!" I whispered back in a rage. I began to squirm, and thrusted my hips up in concert with her left hand's down stroke.

Clarity had reached Janelle by this point and reached out her arm to turn the secretary around. "We've got a new faculty member. I brought her around our offices, and Adrian was just moping about like a poor dog, so I introduced them."

"What's . . . Are they ok?" asked Janelle. She had only caught a glimpse of Charma and I, and was now being turned in the opposite direction of us by Clarity. Clarity demanded Janelle's attention by continuing to speak while directing Janelle back to her office.

"Well, they seem to be hitting it off. To tell you the truth Janelle, I'm not sure it's safe for you out here! You know how academics can get once they join together in something esoteric. I think Charma's giving him a lesson in the powers of Indian divinity. It seems to me Adrian wants to argue the point, but maybe not. Now I did want to ask you something about our enrollments this year . . ." and with that Clarity led Janelle back into the secretary's office.

While this was happening Charma had only increased the pressure on my psyche, pleading me with the most excruciating needs. Amazingly, my penis continued to grow under her hand.

"You see?" she whispered in my ear with a mix of rage and fear. "They're coming for me. They want to take me for themselves, they want to own me. I need help! Soon others will come out into the hall. They can't resist me, can't resist my pull and some ugly man will want to enslave me to feel better about himself. What are you going to do? Are you going to let them take me? Don't you want me for your own?" Her stroking stopped, but she gripped my manhood like a vice.

Her tone changed. It was less pleading now, and sharper, with clipped phrasing. "I can reward you. I can give your life purpose, and more pleasure than you can conceive of." At this point her thumb started circling under the tip of my penis, and, true to her word, the feeling was exquisite. "They want to devour me, they want to take me for themselves and hurt me. Are you going to allow that?" The circling motion was affecting my balance, and I began to gurgle, "No, no, no,"

"Pleeeeeeeeaaaaaase," she begged, and now her right hand came down from the back of my neck and moved to her sari. She started to pull at it, exposing more of her breasts, which were huge, plump things. "Look at me, I'm so helpless," she said, and then breathed in, pushing her chest up and up towards me. Her figure was hypnotizing. "Don't you think you can help me?" she said with a pout, all the while dragging at the fabric across her wonderful flesh. In my mind it seemed as if she was increasing her own fertility, and just as my penis had swelled, so too had her breasts, straining against the fabric that was barely holding them in. Her left thumb then continued its circling motion under my penis, as if it were winding up a spring-loaded toy. The more she turned, the more the pressure built up within me.