My Indian Summer Pt. 03

He.

I was desperate for an excuse to sleep next to her, and she had solved my dilemma, virtually handing me an invitation on a platter. The rain had eased up, but the winds were still going strong as we sat in the alcove in the window. She was looking bewitching in the pale glow of the moonlight, her skin glowing even brighter, carpeted with a fine mist of droplets brought in with the wind, that sparkled like tiny diamonds as the light struck them.

Her hair loose, streaming behind her, she closed her eyes, and hummed a tune that heightened the mood, her melodious voice a delight to the ears. I joined in too, and the lilting melodies infused the air with feelings of love, that made their way from our hearts to our lips. Time stood still as we crooned away, until the longing grew unbearable, and even a hand's breadth felt too far, as she clasped me to her bosom, our heartbeats in sync with the other, singing the same tune. We brought our lips together, tongues dancing a tango, from her mouth to mine.

The chill of the night was exacerbated by the wind and the rain, the warmth of our love, notwithstanding, and we retreated to the comfort of the bed. She was always full of surprises, never a dull moment with her around, and tonight was no different. She was going to deliver a lecture, the third part, of the series on human sexuality. I was all ears, if the first two parts were any indication, I was in for a treat.

Events earlier this afternoon had inspired this talk, which was on foreplay and relieving the urges, without resorting to intercourse. She made a telling point, of the journey being as important as the destination, pleasure was paramount. She said that arousal was a prerequisite for those participating in making love, and using all your senses to recognise it in your partner. Foreplay was mandatory to get to the state of arousal.

I was incredulous when she said she could get me to orgasm, using just an orchid, without so much as a touch on my skin. As she got going, using all her wiles, describing her fantasy in lurid detail, punctuated with exclamations of pleasure, that she interjected with at regular intervals, had me hard and rising in no time. She then used the orchid to trace the contours of my body. I had no idea that a soft flower could stiffen my soft tissues so much, and open the valves with just a caress.

If I thought that was incredible, even more arousing, was when she moved it over her own sensuous curves, that coupled with her moans, had me goggle eyed and sweating. She brought her tits to her lips, sucking them noisily, that had me drooling. As she spread her thighs wide, to accommodate it within her confines, I couldn't even blink. I was rooted to the spot, as she dipped the flower in her open slit, and it emerged shiny with her sticky love fluids. She brought it to her beautiful lips, tasting it, licking the sweet goodness.

Furthermore, she now used it as a double edged sword, not only dabbing me with her juices, but following it with her breath, wherever it went. As it drifted lower, my cock rose higher to welcome it back. I was now a puppet in her hands closer to the brink, my whole body filled with sensations beyond my control. She had indeed achieved what she had promised, and as she reached the home stretch, her moans had my groans echoing in her ears.

It felt like sweet torture, and her luscious lips so close, I could feel her breath all over my skin. As the flower reached my glans, her mouth close enough to lick me, she deeply inhaled, causing a vacuum to form a suction drawing up my seed to the finishing line. I was now ready to fire, and soon erupted, coating her face and chest with pleasure.

I was blown, without her even touching me, and now was eager to try it out myself, giving her a return gift. She relayed a set of instructions and I got busy, hoping to give her the same pleasure that she gave me. I didn't want to be a carbon copy, but add a little touch of myself to the mix. For one rule of great sex, that I had deduced by now, was to go with the flow, and a little kinkiness went a long way.

So instead of pursing my lips and blowing cold, I opened them wider, blowing hot, to contrast with the chill all around. The next variation made a radical departure from her technique, but my intuition told me it would work. As I caressed the orchid over her skin, I consciously avoided all her erogenous zones, working my way around them, circling her lips but not touching them, the same with her breasts, avoiding the areola altogether.

At first she was perplexed, as she expected me to follow her instructions to a t. But then grew increasingly frustrated as I backed off, biting her lips to suppress her urge to tell me off, and make her do her bidding. I was playing mind games with her and she had deduced what I was up to by now. The more you try to avoid thinking of something the more you end up thinking of it.

By the time I moved to her navel, she knew the caress would never come, yet couldn't prevent the physiological reaction of her body expecting it to happen. I could sense the frustration building up in her, wanting so much to grab my hand and guide it to where it was supposed to be, her whole body trembling in suppressing this desire. Simultaneously, I had sensory confirmation that my tactic was paying dividends, as I could smell the juices seeping out of her, as she clenched her thighs together, trying to distract her attention from what I was doing.

Something had to give, and as I reached her loins, giving her mound the go around, she squirmed and bucked her hips, craving my touch, but not getting any. And then I pulled my rabbit out of my hat when she was least expecting it, and at her most vulnerable. I took the orchid to her raised clit, and gave it the most delicate of touches, just like a feather settling down.

And the dam gates were breached, with a geyser erupting out from her depths, as she squirted like never before. The fluids reached my lips, a good distance away, as she screamed so loud that it drowned out the thunder, wetting not only my face but drenching the mattress below her. Her whole body was slick with sweat as her eyes still shut, her breathing returned to normal. As she opened her eyes, she found mine, staring back at her, trying to deduce how she felt.

She said that she had never felt this way ever before, and I had some hidden talents that I needed to acquaint her with. I requested permission to clean up the mess she made and she complied, lying back, enjoying my tongue lick up all the vestiges of her passion. She beckoned me close, meeting my mouth in a kiss, partly in gratitude for taking her to heights of ecstasy. But mostly out of curiosity, to find out what her squirt tasted like, the last vestiges still coating my lips.

As our passions cooled down, the cold wind blowing through the window made me shiver, and she pulled out the quilts, draping herself in them. She said it wasn't warm enough without her personal heater, beckoning me to bundle up with her. Her body was so warm and inviting that I jumped at the opportunity, before she had second thoughts. She clung to me tightly as we shared the warmth of each other, feeling her curves mould into me. I felt a familiar stirring down below, and she patted me to keep it down. But it only served to make me harder, standing up like a tent pole in the quilt.

Despite three servings of desert, the non stop action had left me feeling a little low on energy, my throat parched. I asked her if I could get my quota of milk before we fell asleep, She wordlessly pulled my head toward her bosom, as I greedily sucked them dry. Now she needed my dose of protein too, rubbing my dick under the quilt. She spread her thighs as my fingers reached her slit, wet again after all the efforts at licking it clean, hardly a few minutes back. Soon the bed was shaking and the quilt in a mess as we reached bliss together.

There was a flash that lit up the sky and a huge rumble, as the lights went out. She was afraid of the dark, even sleeping with a solitary light on at grandpa's village home, and scooted over into my arms once more. I sang some old Hindi numbers to distract her attention and allay her fears, and soon we were singing along in the darkness.

She traced the contours of my face with her fingers,and I hers, taking her beauty to another dimension. Her lips quivered as my fingers ran over them. As I reached her eyes, I could discern a wetness in them. I brought my face closer to hers, and saw that she was crying again. I reassured her that there was nothing to be afraid of as I was there at her side, and if it was me that frightened her, we could put up a pillow wall, or I could sleep on the floor.

She kissed me again, saying I was such a fool that I couldn't make out tears of joy. And that she had gotten used to a tiger in the bed, and I was responsible for that bad habit. She asked me if I wanted to spoon. I thought that I wanted a spoon, and got up to get one.

She broke out laughing again at my naivety, saying that spooning was a sexual position, that provided a level of comfort and intimacy, guiding me turning away on her side, asking me to nestle close to me, wedging her butt against her prick and draping my arm around her front asking me to fondle her breasts or clit, whatever took my fancy. I pushed my penis into her buttocks, and my fingers roamed her front, as we fell into a deep comfortable sleep, cosy in the quilt as the storm raged on outside.

I woke up in the morning sprawled on her bed in a sweat. The power which had gone off during the night, had not yet returned. Even her customary singing that I had got so used to every morning was missing. Thankfully the heavy rain during the night had stopped, although it was terribly windy, as I could see the trees sway outside the window from the bed. I went to the window and looked down into the garden. It was like a disaster zone. There were trees and branches fallen everywhere, plants uprooted, mud slides, lines down and the like.

And there she was frazzled, working hard to get some semblance of order back, trying to make that difference, one step at a time. No wonder she wasn't singing, but as I looked down upon her radiant beauty, toiling away, my admiration for her increased manifold. For this was a disaster of gargantuan proportions, the time and effort, which she had nurtured her garden had gone to waste, in the space of one night. A lesser being would have been broken, and just put their head into their arms, overwhelmed by the sheer mountain of work to be done and cried.

But she had taken that first step, not to let the troubles daunt her, but chip away, courageously and persistently, trying to make that difference. I called out to her, and told her to wait, saying that I was coming down to help. She looked up with eyes softening in gratitude, but steely determination writ large on her visage and asked me to bring some buckets with me, as the power lines were down, and the electricity not expected to be restored for another few days at least.

Suddenly there was a rumble, and the earth literally gave way below her feet. As I looked on aghast, I could see her flailing, trying to grasp on to something, to arrest her fall as she tumbled down the slick slope and straight into the turbulent waters of the stream, in spate after last nights torrential rain. And as she struggled to find her bearings, going under repeatedly, panicking, my mind went blank, numb with fear at what I had just witnessed.

I had no time to think, and did the first thing that came to my mind. I just jumped from the balcony, luckily landing in some bushes, breaking my fall. I got up and ran to the spot where she had gone under, finding no trace of her in the muddy waters, and dived in. My body unfeeling, my heart torn asunder, just wanting to get to her, not wanting to lose her.

The visibility was near nil as the overnight rains had made the clear waters muddy and turgid. It was difficult to even keep my eyes open and I was near the point of despair, as time was running out. Then I prayed to a higher power and delved deep down into my heart, trying to establish a connection, found a calm and let it guide me. I did not thresh around frantically like my previous efforts but simply glided down, my eyes closed and let my body flow with my feelings, till I reached her prone body at the bottom of the stream.

My heart said a little prayer of gratitude as I gathered her in my arms, making it back up to the surface, lungs gasping for air, as I swam to the bank and laid her down. She looked pale and lifeless, no sign of breath, and I felt helpless as the feeling of guilt and sorrow consumed me. But it was no time for tears, even though they were streaming uncontrollably down my face.

I needed to do something fast, and I tried to remember the mouth to mouth resuscitation procedures, that they had taught me in one of the rural camps we had gone to whilst in college. I recalled being very disinterested, and had almost not gone for the demonstration, thinking it was such a waste of time and where I was going to use it. But now was glad that I did, wishing I had paid more attention.

But my photographic memory came to my rescue, and I got to work almost immediately, turning her face to drain the excess water out, pinching her nose and forcing my breath into her mouth four times. I did it over and over, getting more desperate every time as she showed no sign of life. And then suddenly, she sputtered a faint cough and she was breathing again.

My heart was overjoyed, the relief palpable as tears, continued to flow down my face, but of joy and gratitude, that she was alive once more. I drained the water out of her, but she was still not quite conscious, muttering incoherently, shivering uncontrollably, icy cold. I picked her up in my arms and made for the house as fast as I could.

I couldn't feel my legs, and it seemed I was walking on a bed of nails, but my thoughts were only of her, I got her into the lounge, depositing her gently on the sofa, not only was she shivering, but her teeth chattering too. I got the towels and sheets from the line, dabbed her dry, and then myself too. She was mumbling something too indecipherable, except for my name, and refused to let go of me, holding me tight.

I could see that her body was pale, icy cold and the tips of her fingers were blue. I ran up to get my phone, and all the quilts I could lay my hands on. I was starting to shiver and tremble myself from prolonged exposure to the icy cold water. I tried to dial the emergency number on the cellphone to call for help, but there was no network. I was grateful for my photographic memory again as I remembered reading about a cure for hypothermia.

I rushed back down with all the quilts on and lay them all, one atop another, on the sofa, and then laid her gently on it, and finally myself too, rolling up to conserve body heat. It was bitterly cold, and our bodies shivered, holding on to each other, as I tried to warm up, as best we could. She was mumbling my name continuously, as I held her close trying to transfer my heat to her, and calm her down, feeling drowsy myself and drifting off into a sleep, as our bodies shut down all non vital functions to conserve the heat.

When I awoke, her breathing had returned to normal, and colour to her cheeks. My whole body felt stiff and lifeless, devoid of all energy. She was fast asleep, as I rose to go to the kitchen and prepare some nourishing broth to warm up her insides. By the time I returned, she was stirring, moaning something, trying to remove the blanket.

I rushed to her side and she weakly asked me where I had gone to. I said I had gone to prepare, a warm broth for her, and asked her to rest awhile. She said she was feeling chilly, and asked me to get in with her. As I got in, she hugged me, holding me tighter, as if afraid I would run away. I stroked her hair and saw her eyes moist with tears. I kissed them away, saying I was going nowhere, and she was indeed stuck with me.

She whispered in my ear that she had given me too much trouble. I replied that it was no trouble but a scare, I was frightened out of my wits, and felt that it was all my fault for what had happened, if I hadn't distracted her she wouldn't have slipped and fallen.

She said that it was a mudslide, that was not my doing, and she was glad that I was around, otherwise she would be dead and gone. I shushed her, putting a hand on her lips not wanting her to think such morbid thoughts. She said that I had given her a whole new lease of life, and she was beholden to me. And I to her for bringing love into mine, and making it worth living. I was glad that she was returning back to normal, and said that if something had indeed happened to her, I wouldn't be able to live with myself.

She was hungry, her energy reserves low and joked with me, asking if the soup was for lunch or dinner. I had forgotten completely about it and volunteered to warm it up. She said it smelt delicious and stimulated her appetite, but I would need to feed her, as she had no strength left. I started to feed her and she relished it, feeding me in turn.

It was one of mom's recipes, a simple soup of broken wheat, potatoes, and carrots. It was my favourite one pot dish in college, and never failed to keep me warm, providing sustenance against the cold winter chill. She said it warmed her up inside, and filled her stomach too. She said that she had been greedy and finished the bulk of the soup, and that I must be hungry, having taken just a few sips.

Her breasts were full and they needed to be milked soon, otherwise they would ache. I said that was all the nutrition I needed and proceeded first slowly and then with gusto to drain them of their contents. Our energy replenished we lay in each other's arms and she asked me what had happened, as she could only remember tumbling into the water and me in her thoughts, and awoke feeling a chill in her bones, me nowhere around.

I gave her as accurate an account as I could. She was a little upset to learn that I had jumped from the first floor onto the bushes, and seeing the bruises and scratches all over my back, began to cry. She kissed each and every one, saying that I was never to even think of attempting such a stunt ever again. As I went through the narration, the events played themselves out in front of my eyes.

When I reached the part where I despaired of losing her forever, there was a lump in my throat, babbling like a baby, tears streaming down. She tried to comfort me, but her water works were flowing faster than mine. As I recounted the part of her spluttering back to life, I couldn't go any further and just held her tight, not wishing to ever let go of her again.

She placed my hand between her thighs, and said that she was feeling a little cold and wet down there as well, as my fingers spread her lips to enter her moist cave. Then whispered that we needed to check up if all the other equipment was in perfect working order, as she began to stroke my rising erection. I nodded in agreement, saying that a close inspection was in order, to see whether the equipment was not only functional, but met all the sensory criteria of touch, taste, sound, smell and sight.

Also I still had space left over for desert and was looking forward to her creme fraiche. We unrolled the quilts and lay them down on the carpet to give us more space. And then lay down side by side inverted, as we commenced the inspection. She was none the worse for wear, after the mornings adventure, and as her lips enclosed my shaft I felt a familiar stirring in my balls as we did a thorough job, finishing off with a flourish as we erupted into each other's hungry mouths.

17 Lifesavers.

She.

I woke up early in the morning drenched in a cold sweat. Maybe it was the lack of power, or the storm raging on outside, but something just didn't seem right. I had a premonition that something bad was about to happen, and it wasn't just a bad dream. Though I had woken up from a nightmare, of him desperately calling out my name, but I was in a trance of my own, not even responding, strangely distant.