Dr. Martin's Treatise on Asian Women Ch. 03

Although this can be read as a stand-alone story, a greater background appreciation of Dr Martin and his methods can be obtained by reading the series.

This is the second film I discovered in the used desk sourced from maintenance as part of my contract to write a fluff piece about the Chancellor of Monash University so that he could receive a government-issued honorary title. The files in the desk were supposedly written by some past department head, a certain Dr. Graham Martin who purportedly was a former head of Asian studies and moonlighted for the Government and these files were supposedly a record of his activities. I say supposedly as it was pure porn and couldn't be true. As were all the rest of the files. It was better than Literotica, or any sites on the web for sex stories.

Detailed research on my part (see Chapter 2) supported the view a Dr Graham Martin had existed with a career that matched the timelines of the files and the writing in the files had a 97.89% correlation to the writing style of his diary, "A Treatise on Asian women - A life devoted to fucking Asian women and watching their sexfights" (See Chapter 1). Further proof above that in Chapter 2 is the Taylor Llorente of London desk and filing cabinet that I found these files in is mentioned in this story. I leave it up to you to believe in their veracity.

The second file I am posting is about Aparajita Patel and her son Amir and the late Dr. Martin had it classified as Indian Hot Curry.

It was ten years before COVID-19 decimated the number of overseas students attending Australian institutions. It was the start of the Indian invasion seeking permanent residence via lax Government-approved study courses. Covid was unwelcome not because of the health risks but because we charged overseas students fees two times that of locals and that income had dried up. It was so profitable before COVID that I started my own my own independent college, the Graham Monash Institute which took students who did not satisfy the real Monash University that employed me, standards. Surely it was up to the applicant to know Graham Monash Institute and Monash University institutions were not the same. Of course, it helped that I had a large part to play in deciding if a prospective student's standards were acceptable at the University or be diverted to the Institute where all fees went to me.

However, some investigative reporter was pursuing the idea that Tertiary institutions were, for want of a better word, lowering the level of diligence in marking overseas students' efforts: i.e., handing out degrees for money, just like the ones I had purchased from overseas, the latest of which was being embossed on my door in gold as I write this. We had to look like we cared, so a few examples would be made, and the evidence presented before any official enquiries progressed too far. I thought about ten would be a good number.

I looked up from the Taylor Llorente of London office furniture brochure I was perusing, most of which was expensive and definitely worth importing I thought, and faced Aparajita and her nineteen-year-old son Amir who was studying some course that sounded impressive but was actually useless in the real world. His mother was about forty-three and was I suppose what you would call an "Indian aunty" if you were searching the net for porn. Don't ask how I know.

She was full-breasted and broad-hipped, probably had a figure of 42D 40 42 with a round face featuring Kohl-enhanced eyes and the obligatory red bindi dot on her forehead. She was like a lot of southern Indians, darker skinned and was dressed in a blue sari with a lighter blue blouse top stretched across her tits. It was however made of cotton, not silk and she wore little jewellery, just a plain mangala sutra necklace to show she was married: signs that the family had scraped and saved to get Amir studying overseas. She had accompanied Amir to look after her spoilt, probably ungrateful son.

I was barely listening to Amir as he wailed, "I am not doing the cheating, Sahib. Amir is never doing such a bad thing." I had never had an Indian woman as the flood of Indian students had just commenced and was imagining her nude and mentally comparing her with Phoung, my latest Vietnamese woman. It was like chalk and cheese: they were both mid-forties but Phoung was sexily dressed, slim, trim, taut and small and firm titted while the woman before me was, how to put it kindly, curvy, voluptuous and soft and very plainly dressed with zero flesh showing at her upper body, midriff or ankles.

Still, I love a challenge, so I cut off Amir's protestations. I knew he was guilty as I had sent him the answers he had plagiarized. It was quite a money earner for me. I had all the students' email addresses and had written both the question and the answer, and so anonymous spam-type messages advertising essay writing would appear in their inboxes. Like most of the students, Amir had responded and paid for the service of answering a mid-semester assignment. I dismissed him from the room telling him I had to discuss this serious matter with his mother.

Now I have to admit I am no longer the poster pin-up boy I was in the 70s. What I had lost in hair had been more than replaced by weight, especially in my belly. My new teeth implants, although they were whiter than George Clooney's in the Nespresso ads gave me the appearance of a predatory shark. But I still had the power and the ruthlessness to implement it. Though I didn't need to I threw down the evidence on my desk and exaggerated slightly inferring jail time, an immediate departure from Australia with a passport marked never to return. Tears flowed down her face. It was time. I looked worried and said, "Of course, I am sympathetic, especially as you seem a nice person and want to help you, but how?"

The tears flowed in greater quantities as she sobbed heavily causing her large tits to wobble. "We are very poor. All our savings went for educating my Amir." At least she understood I wanted something from her. I pursed my lips trying to look as though I was racking my brains for a solution." Perhaps I could make an exception for you," I said in a kind, fatherly manner.

Hope flooded her eyes and face. Emphasizing certain words, I spoke slowly and deliberately, "You know, TIT for tat, you RUB my back and I'll RUB yours. I need to have a CLOSER CONNECTION to Indian culture, and I would LOVE TO EAT INDIAN."

It worked as she smiled and nodded her head in agreement. "Yes, I could clean your house and cook some meals for you." I almost beat my head on the desk but instead picked up a 15th-century edition of The Kama Sutra, in the original Sanskrit and beautifully illustrated as I was shifting my ill-gotten gains into gold and rarities. "I was thinking more like this."

She turned her head away in horror. "I am being married for years before and be rest assured I am always of chaste nature."

I stood up to say the interview was over, but she wailed and cried again and said, "You is full to the brim of evil and is being a bad man very much, but I am presenting my body for your use for my son's future." I took that as, yes, I could fuck her.

That afternoon to my surprise as I thought she would have second thoughts and I would have to find someone else, she returned, and I escorted her to, and unlocked the door to the Muslim prayer room. It was funded by the Government due to multi-racial inclusion and I had it furnished in the same style as "The Daily Planet", Melbourne's most famous brothel at that time where I had picked up a lot of fixtures cheaply when it was redecorated. A pity that there were no Muslims here at the Graham Monash Institute to use it, although I had found better uses for it.

She was dressed as before, definitely not in a way to excite, and was as tense as anybody I had ever seen pre sex. But I was wanting to tick another item off my bucket list, fucking an Indian, so I took her hand and escorted her into the room. She shuddered involuntarily as I pulled back the doona on the bed and I asked her to undress. She froze and then it came out with a rush. "You will be seeing me naked. Please sir, can't you make the darkness by using the light switch?"

WTF? But I was too horny to complain so I put us in the darkness of the prayer room with a click of the light switch and listened to the rustling as what seemed layers and layers of clothing were removed before a stiff body was lowered onto the mattress and the doona was quickly pulled up. I rolled over and pressed against the Indian mother expecting to be greeted by a fleshy, willing body. Was I wrong? It was like I had a corpse beside me, though my searching hand discovered full, big nippled tits, thick strong thighs and arse, and the hairiest pussy I had ever encountered in my life. I didn't find out about her tongue work as her lips were as impenetrable as Alcatraz's defences were against escape.

I found her cunt beneath the shaggy thatch of pubic hair and was surprised at its quality. It was very prominent, had widespread thick lips with double long hanging inners and a clit hood that had a massive bulb beneath it. Unfortunately, it was as dry as the Sahara no matter what I tried. God, I had to resort to KY jelly to get my cock into her, and of course, it was strictly the missionary position.

I fucked her slowly, trying not to get her more apprehensive and corpse-like, but even that didn't start her pussy juices flowing. Her cunt remained dry and unresponsive, though its muscles gripped my cock tightly, and I knew she was not feeling any pleasure from the fucking. I could sense her misery and disgust, and I knew the only anticipation she felt was an eagerness for it to be over.

I kept trying but her unresponsive pussy remained dry and unlubricated. She was not aroused by any of my sexual tricks, and her cuntal walls were just not secreting the lubricating juices that could have smoothed the way for my prick and given me a pleasurable fuck. I gave up and thought of something else and came partly in her cunt, partly on her thighs and the mattress. She greeted this with a sigh of relief and clambered out of the bed. My night vision had improved, and I could see the cotton bra and granny briefs she quickly put on before arranging her sari.

I dressed and with a relieved look on her face she said, "Now the shameful deed is done, my Amir is studying here with permanence."

If I had had only a bad fuck, I would have probably written the whole thing off and said yes. There were plenty of other student sacrificial lambs to satisfy any enquiry from the press. But this had been the worst fuck of my life. It was an insult to my sexual proficiency; one of my limited few skills and probably just below self-preservation, blaming others and lying. So, I said, "No, the bargain hasn't been completed. We haven't fucked, I have just masturbated in the same bed as you. For Amir to keep his place we need to fuck."

Of course, Aparajita cried and wailed and called me things like 'the devil incarnate himself', 'untruthful deceiver', and the one I treasure most, 'unwholesome womaniser', but what could she do but agree. However, my pride wouldn't allow me to have a repetition of what had just occurred, so I changed my tactics.

I apologised for my rush to bed her stating that the sight of her, the sex appeal she radiated had brought out the beast in me and that I should make up for it by taking her to dinner. At first, she demurred but the mention of Atta, Melbourne's most expensive Indian restaurant and their Sikandari Raan and Murgh Makhani dishes changed her mind.

That evening I used some of my normal ploys; acting the gentleman, praising her, crossing the road knowing it was peak traffic and placing my arm around her for 'safety' reasons. But I had one Dr Graham Martin special. I had paid a couple of hookers to approach us offering their services to me. I dismissed them, drawing Aparajita closer and telling the two hookers that I didn't need them as my Indian wife was better than them and gave me more than they combined would. Aparajita pushed out her tits and hissed, "Yes, my husband is saying truth very much."

We continued walking and she made no move to separate; in fact, she pressed closer into me. In the foyer of the Monash Institute (it sounds closer to Monash University if you leave out the Graham) we waited for the lift to take us up to the floor with the prayer room. I pressed up against her from behind so she could feel my hard-on. I kissed the side of her neck and pulled her back against me. She pressed her arse back and up against me, rubbing against the swelling. "You are being very bad man, very much," she whispered.

As the lift ascended, I slid one hand between her flesh and the wrapped sari bottom to cup her cunt and gently outline it through her full briefs. She moaned which I took as approval and soon had my hand inside her briefs and one finger stroking her very wet pussy.

Soon we were snuggled together on the bed in the prayer room, and yes, I had remembered to lock the door, and then we were cuddling and then we were kissing. Her lips were as warm and moist as I'd hoped, and her kisses were just the right combination of passion and sweetness. Soon, she was straddling my thigh as we clinched, and I could feel her moisture oozing against my thigh. I mouthed her full, soft breasts and her nipples responded slowly but when they did, they were incredible; the thickest I had experienced. She ran her hands through my hair as I licked and sucked at her tits, marvelling at her nipples and huge, dark areolae.

I grabbed her hips and pulled her firm arse to the edge of the mattress. Kneeling on the floor I began to eat her. She shivered when I licked the insides of her thighs, and I could smell the sweet, healthy, lusty aroma of her cunt juices long before I reached it. I slid my hands under her arse, cupping her hard cheeks and lifting her towards my mouth. I dove in.

"You is a very bad man. This is same as porn videos. Is very unclean, is depravity. I am loving it very much." Through the muffling of the sheet, I could hear her shrieks match her writhing as she came. And came. And CAME! Her juices weren't merely sufficient or ample; they were copious. She flowed and flowed and flowed like a dam breached by raging floodwaters. My face was covered with her cum, and her thick pubic bush was wet and matted. I finally came up struggling for air and then knelt on the bed, straddling her thighs, and laid on top of her and began kissing again. Her hands moved to my groin and every now and then, she'd caress my balls and my cock and would squirm as my tool quivered.

Aparajita lay there and panted,massaging her tits and rubbing her nipples. "Nobody ever did that before. Is same as being porn star."

"I love to eat you!" I spoke. "It turns me on. A lot. What I want to do right now is fuck you."

She lay there, fingers clenching her nipples, and seemed to tense all over -- and then she shivered, unmistakably cumming. "Ooooooo -- I am loving it when you is bad man and talk much dirty to me. What are you going to do?"

I shifted and stood on the floor beside the bed. I reached down and lifted her legs till they were on my shoulders so that her arse was at the edge of the bed. I leant forward, watching for any sign of discomfort (on my part). I needn't have worried; surprisingly, despite her build, she was very flexible. My posture forced her legs back and her cunt higher. When my face was next to hers, I locked my gaze on hers. Her eyes were heavy-lidded with lust. I reached down, took one of her hands in mine and lead it to my cock. My cock was harder than it had ever been, even with that very first fuck in the 70s which introduced me to Asian women and sexfighting. She grabbed and pulled on it, short strokes that told me of her hunger. I bent farther and kissed her lips, then her tits.

"What am I going to do?" I nipped her nipple lightly between my teeth. She shivered again. "I'm going to fuck you!"

She was bent almost double, her thighs pressing her nipples, when I introduced the head of my cock into her cunt. She shrieked when I was halfway in; I slammed the rest of the way and ground our pubic bones together and she came again. "Say dirty things to me!" She gasped desperately.

I obliged as I fucked her. In my mind, I am a great lover, but I think it was mainly her as she was ready and eager to cum a great deal and she did, over and over again. When I finally relaxed and let myself cum, she was nearly inert, except for her cunt, and in a state of constant orgasm. When I collapsed beside her, I knew I had found someone special.

Little did I know that so far, Aparajita had been as conventional as she ever got to be. Throughout the next couple of weeks, Aparajita and I became intimately acquainted, not simply acquainted intimately. We spent a lot of it fucking and sucking and we spent a lot of it talking or simply being together. A true friendship developed along with sheer physical passion. There was a lot of passion.

A week later we couldn't wait long enough to get to the prayer room, but there was this terrific new Taylor Llorente of London desk in my office. Monash Uni had purchased two on my request, so I had purchased from them cheaply the second one supposedly bought in error to save them the costs of shipping it back to the UK. I closed the blinds, locked the door and led Aparajita to the desk and put a cushion on the edge of the desk. Then I arranged her wide hips on the cushion, bent her forward and gently stroked one finger across her slit. As I did, she leaned forward to kiss me burying her tongue in my mouth. I kept fingering her cunt until it was nice and moist, but I didn't insert my babymaker into her.

Aparajita was becoming aroused from the kissing and fingering and I went back to her now wet slit and continued my massage of her clit. She was beginning to moan as she was really getting turned on. I spread her legs wide, grabbed my now hard cock and lightly stroked it up her slit and back down. As I continued sliding my cock around her wet slit she moaned, "Oooooooh. That is feeling good, my wanting is very strong." I stood up to wipe my cock across her lips leaving them glistening with her cunt juice. Then I returned to her wet slit to continue with her clit massage.

As I slid my cock up and down her slit, Aparajita tried to push forward to get my cock inside her. " Put it in me," she said in kind of a begging voice." Put your cock in me."

"Not yet," I replied, "you have to earn it."

.

I went back up to her mouth, smearing my cock across her face and lips

again. Each time I neared Aparajita's lips her mouth opened trying to

suck me, but to no avail. I wanted her to beg. Again, I went down to her cunt sliding my hard cock down her slit and back up. I gradually slid my cock down her slit and kept going this time to her arsehole. I paused for a moment right on her back hole. I pushed my cock up and down her arse crack and stopped again on her puckered arsehole. Then I rubbed the head of my cock around her anal hole.

"How about in here," I whispered. "Yes, please. Put it in any hole, she answered. "No, not yet," I said and returned to her oozing slit again smearing my cock up and down her soaked pussy. "Oooooooh, please put it in. Pleeeeeeease, Pleeeeeease fuck me!!! Aparajita was almost in tears as she wailed her desperate plea. "Don't do this to me. Please put your cock in me."

I pushed the head of my cock just in Aparajita's cunt and stopped. "That's it! That's it, she cried out. I pulled out and laid my cock across her clit. I thought she would break down and cry as my cock left her hot, wet hole. " Put it back in, please! Please."

I slipped my shaft back in and gave her about two inches this time. "All the way, baby. "All the way," she kept pleading. I pulled out again. I looked into Aparajita's eyes. She was on the verge of tears. She was reaching for my cock, trying to shove me back in her dripping wet cunt. Again, I gave her two inches. " Please, baby." I started pushing slowly. 3 inches, 4 inches. Aparajita let out a deep low moan, "Ooooooooooooooooh. Oooooooooooooooooooooooooh. Deeeeeper. Give me more."