Old Man and Indian Wife Ch. 02

And just as I was about to push him away, I felt it. A gentle poke at my thigh. Oh my god! he was getting an erection right there! I swayed in his arms spellbound as the poking intensified. And soon I felt it, and I mean ALL of it, rubbing along the length of my thigh. Alan began to gently grind against me, rubbing his dick against me, and I started feeling panicky. Just by feeling it grind against me, I could tell it was larger than anything I had ever seen or experienced. Heck, it was even larger than what I had fantasized in the the shower that afternoon. Longer AND thicker.

"What do you think?" Alan whispered as he intensified his grinding. I started feeling alarmed and looked around, hoping no one had noticed it.

"Huh?"

"Do you think your puny little Indian cunt can take something that big?"

"I...I...I...I don't know." I truthfully replied. My throat suddenly felt all parched. For the first time that night, I actually seriously flirted with the possibility that this might happen. And I might let it happen. I could feel myself starting to get wet down there. That's not a great situation to be in - dry throat and wet pussy.

"Maybe we'll see later if it can, huh?" he said and continued grinding the dick even harder against me. I almost felt it invading my skin.

I said nothing and continued swaying, petrified and struggling with conflicting feelings.

"I asked you something." Alan said and pinched my butt really hard. I stared into his eyes. And then whispered my response,

"Maybe..."

The song ended and the band announced a break. Alan let go off me and started leading me back to the table. I looked at the crotch of it pants. And there it was, forming a huge tent now, almost threating to tear apart the fabric. I was feeling disgusted at my reaction to what he had done, but more than that I was enraged at Pavan for watching this silently. As I sat back down i cast him an angry and dirty look. He responded in kind and I looked away in disgust.

There was another glass of scotch at the table and I nervously sipped at it, hoping to calm myself down. I looked back at Pavan and saw that he was staring at the tent in Alan's pants. Pavan must have realized that this old codger had spent the last few minutes rubbing his erection against his beautiful wife. Surely he would say something now. But instead he wore a look of alarm. And I realized that Alan was in complete control of the proceedings. And of my actions. Even sitting at the table, my pussy remained moist.

A few seconds later, I felt the familiar touch of Alan;s wrinkled hands on my thigh. But this time, he didn't stop. the hand kept going and going. All the way inside. before I could open my mouth and yell "STOP!" his finger stroked me. Right there on the clit. He clearly knew where to aim and what to do. My resolve to stop him weakened as his fingers started rubbing my clit over my panties. I could not help but give myself in to the moment, and I closed my eyes and just enjoyed whatever he was doing to me.

Minutes seemed like hours as my arousal grew exponentially with every stroke of his. I marveled at Alan's skill to be able to play with me so deftly over my panties. I wondered what he would do if he got his finger inside. A few moments later, i got my answer. His other hand poked at my thighs meaningfully and I parted them. This allowed Alan to slip his finger into the side of my panties and touch my clit directly. I was in a daze as I started experiencing please that was tenfold of what he had been giving to me over the panties. I could feel my nipples harden and poke against my top.

I was at that moment more turned on than I had ever been in recent memory. And I could feel a mammoth orgasm approaching. Even in that state, I could not help but think of Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally. If this went on for a while more, I would be having what she had, or what she pretended to have. It was coming. It was bearing down. I could feel it. I knew it would create a scene, but I didn't care.

And then, Alan took his hand out. Just seconds away from climax. I could not help but moan in frustration. I had been so close. But at the same time, I was glad it hadn;t happened. I opened my eyes and looked into Pavan's. His face wore an odd expression. Angry, aghast, but also, turned on. maybe Alan was right. maybe my husband, unknowingly, was rooting for this to happen as well. That's why he didn't stop me when he should have. What a wimp! But it was in my hands too, wasn't it? I looked away from him in shame.

Alan got up. I was staring at the table when I heard him say,

"I am taking her to my suite back at the Venetian. You can come along too if you want."

It was clearly directed at Pavan. Alan held out his hand in my direction. From his perspective, all the hard work was done. The trap was laid. He just needed to swoop in and finish the job off. I was let him rub his dick against me, and then let him finger me into a state of frenzy in a public place. Of course I was, at that point of time, all but ready for the kill. I wanted it. I needed it. It was going to be the culmination of the chapter that had started in Goa all those years ago, but cut short by Nigel's wife. It was a more primal and intense need than I had ever felt with Pavan. I had to go.

But as far gone as I was, and as eager as I felt to take his hand and go with him, a part of me resisted. No, this is not right. I am a married woman. This man sitting across from me is the father of my child. How could he just sit back and let this happen? Surely it was his job to stop me.

"Pavan." I said in a voice I myself could barely recognize.

"Hmmm?" he said, looking stunned.

"What should I do?" I asked in a voice that was on the verge of breaking down. I fought back the instinct to cry.

Pavan just stared at me. Alan was still holding his hand out.

"What should I do, Pavan?" I said once more in a high pitched voice.

In my mind, I silently implored Pavan to say - don't go, or this is enough, or let's get out of here. Instead he stared at me for what seemed like an eternity.

And then he shrugged.

He shrugged!

He fucking shrugged!!!

This man, my husband couldn't even bring himself to say what he was feeling. If he wanted it to stop, he wasn't able to verbalize it. And if he actually wanted it to happen like Alan had been insisting all along, he didn't have the fortitude to admit it. After riding roughshod over a lot of other decisions in our lives, he was leaving this crucial one for me. So he could blame me later?

I exhaled loudly and threw Pavan a look of disgust. I took Alan's hand and got up. He put his arm around my waist and led me away, strutting like a peacock. --- Preface - This story is the same as Old Man and the Wife but here, the wife narrates. Again, thanks to aurelius1982 who helped me write what was in my head. You can read the husband's narration first. It will put the events here in perspective. This story also fills in some gaps that the other story has. In fact I suggest having both stories open simultaneously to note the different ways in which two people view the same situation.

My name is Shipra and before I get to the events in Las Vegas, I think it'd be useful to talk a little about the relevant portions of my past.

I am the younger of two sisters, born in a family that was very liberal. My parents were both college professors, and they never treated my sister or I like average Indian parents treat girls. We were encouraged to give our best and excel at everything, be it academics or sports.

I was always considered a very cute and pretty child, and was used to attention from everyone. But despite my dainty looks, I was a bit of a tomboy and spent most of my early childhood on the playground with boys. Around age 12 is when the first major changes in my life began. I hit puberty and started growing in every which way. I shot up eight inches in just over a year, and started filling out as well. Initially, I was embarrassed at the unstoppable growth of my boobs. Boys whom I used to play with were starting to notice the change too, leading to some awkwardness. My abnormal height combined with my big boobs led me to unconsciously adopt a hunching posture.

Luckily, my parents were great at communicating with me and explained that I had nothing to be ashamed of. I was told that an ample chest is seen as a sign of beauty, as is being tall, and I should not be ashamed of my body. I stopped hunching, and through my teenage years, came to terms with my looks. I started reading about love and sex, watched sneaked porno films with girlfriends, and was soon fantasizing about naughty things.

It turns out that having encouraging, even demanding parents, can be a bit of a double edged sword in India. Thanks to their pushing, I excelled at studies, sport (played basketball and volleyball for the state), and was well-read and exposed to quality cinema. While my girlfriends read Nancy Drew, I had moved on to Raymond Chandler. When they moved on to trashy Mills&Boons romance novels, I finished Jane Austen. And when they discovered Jane Austen, I was reading the works of Camus, Dostoevsky, Vonnegut, and Borges.

While my parents were proud they were raising such a well-rounded daughter, they didn't realize that it made me something of a snob when it came to my peers. I wasn't a bitch or anything, but I did find it difficult to get interested in guys my age. The good looking jocks were too dumb for me to connect with intellectually. the smart ones were too clumsy, geeky, and awkward around my radiant beauty.

By the time I turned 18, I had briefly dated a few guys, but couldn't really feel too attracted to them. I had a hyperactive imagination when it came to sex and I read about it voraciously. So I had no qualms losing my virginity to a jock one year older to me one weekend when his parents were out of town. We had sex a few more times, but I simply did not get the rush or the excitement I had read so much about. Maybe because he had been a virgin too, and didn't know much of what he was doing. I broke up with him, hooked up with another guy, but again, the mental as well as physical connection was lacking.

I finished 12th grade in the same year my sister finished college. My parents decided to take us on a vacation to Goa. We rented a small beach cabin on South Goa and spent the days lounging on the beach, reading, trying different kinds of seafood, and playing some games.

One night, after my parents had fallen asleep, my sister and I went for a walk on the beach. We didn't want to stray too far that late at night, so we kept doing the rounds of the beach close to our cabin, as we engaged in the usual sisterly talk about boys, clothes, books, and life. My sister was planning on taking the GRE and applying to American grad schools, something my parents were extremely supportive of. She was telling me about her latest break-up, when we noticed a man walking a few feet behind us.

"Hi, sorry if I scared you." the man said in a British accent and approached us.

He was old, maybe in his late 50s. But looked very lean and fit. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and knee-length shorts and had what looked like an expensive SLR camera around his neck. he did not look scary or intimidating at all, so my sister and I stopped to talk to him.

"Hello. My name is Nigel." he said extending his hand towards us. My sister shook it.

"Hi." I said.

"I am sorry, but I couldn't help but notice you as you were walking on the beach." he said, looking at me. "And this may seem abrupt, but have you considered a career in modelling?"

"Excuse me?" my sister jumped in.

"I am a fashion photographer based in London here to scout talent for a modeling assignment. Would you be interested?"

"Shipra?" my sister smiled and looked at me questioningly.

"Ummm.. I don't think I am interested." I said. This wasn't the first time someone had suggested modeling as a career option. When you are a pretty young lady standing at 5 ft 10 in Bombay, you keep getting approached with such offers. But I had no interest in pursuing a career that consisted of starving yourself and strutting around on a ramp.

"Why not? There's good money in it." Nigel said, checking me out from head to toe. I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt.

"We don't need money." my sister barged in. "Thanks but bye."

We walked away giggling. My sister teased me about it for a while and we turned around and continued walking towards the cabin. We were both feeling a little peckish so we decided to stop at a beach shack for some food. I noticed that Nigel was sitting a few tables away drinking beer. He smiled at us when we walked in and we smiled back. The food arrived, we ate and then my sister said she needed to use the bathroom.

As soon as she left, Nigel got up and approached me. I smiled, and he took it as an invitation to sit down, which he did, next to me.

"You really have a gorgeous face." he said leaning close to me.

"Thank you." I said and blushed.

"Amazing tits too."

"Excuse me?!"

I shot him a dirty look but he was unfazed by it. He was very obviously ogling my breasts which were pushing against the t-shirt. At that time, I measured 34D. I expected him to look away, but he didn't. He continued to eye me with a hungry expression on his face. A few seconds later, he said.

"And these legs." and he put his hand on my thigh.

I felt a bolt of electricity surge through my body at his touch. And I felt confused. No other man's touch had ever produced this kind of a reaction from me. I sat there dumbstruck as he gently rubbed my thigh.

"You're a gorgeous little thing that could set the ramp on fire. All these Indian super-models have nothing on you." Nigel said in a husky voice.

That's when we both noticed my sister walking out of the bathroom. He took his hand off my leg and said,

"If you want to discuss this further without big sister snooping around, I am staying at the Palm Resort. Come by tomorrow. Just ask for Nigel at the reception."

I sat there stunned at the pass that had been made at me. My sister sat down and asked what the old Brit wanted. Nothing, I said. He was just saying hi. We got back to the cabin. And I had trouble sleeping. I kept replaying in my mind the moments when he was staring at my breasts and when he had rubbed my thigh. I was taken in by his confidence, something that was lacking in boys my age.

I found myself fantasizing about him. I imaged him fucking me on the beach as the waves washed over us. I imagined him putting his dick in my mouth and making me suck it. The fantasies made me cum hard in bed, and I had to struggle to not make any noise with my sister sleeping on the next bed.

The next morning I stood outside his cabin door in the Palm Resort, unsure about whether I was doing the right thing. I had feigned a headache when my parents woke me up for our planned day-long cruise and convinced them to leave me in the hotel. An hour after my family left for the cruise, I headed over to the Palm Resort.

I finally knocked on the door and Nigel answered it after a couple of minutes. He only had a towel wrapped around his waist, and the sight of his taut hairy chest made my heart skip a beat. he invited me in and rushed to the other room to get dressed. He came out a minute later, wearing only beach shorts. I guess he had seen my taking an admiring look at his chest, so had chosen to remain shirtless.

"So." Nigel said sitting down so close to me that our thighs touched. "You are interested in modelling after all? But your conservative Indian family won't let you try it?"

"Well." I said looking into his deep blue eyes. "My parents are cool with anything I choose. if I decide to get into modelling, they'll support me."

"That's great!"

"But I am not interested in modelling." I said.

"You're not?" he asked, confused.

"No."

"Why are you here then?" he asked.

I just shrugged. He smiled. Then he confidently put his hand on my thigh and started rubbing it. Like the previous night, I felt excitement surge through my body. When he saw no resistance from me, he bent over and kissed me on my lips. I felt his grey stubble prick my soft cheeks and it actually felt nice. I kissed him back enthusiastically. he was a better kisser than my previous boyfriends, and we continued to make out for a few minutes, during which he started mauling my tits.

Nigel then took my hand and put it on his shorts. I could feel the erection under there. I started rubbing it. He took it out of the shorts and I got my first look at a white man's circumcised dick. I played with it with my hands for a while, getting it completely hard. Then Nigel forced my head down into his lap, making me take his dick into my mouth. I noted how confident and assertive he was, compared to my other boyfriends who had been very tentative and clumsy. Nigel was clearly very experienced at this and his assured adeptness was turning me on.

"Use your tongue. Swirl it around my dick." Nigel said. "Good, now wrap your lips tight and move your head gently."

For the next ten minutes, Nigel gave me a detailed lesson on blowjob technique. I must have been a quick learner, because soon after that, I felt his dick shiver in my mouth and he started cumming. This was a new feeling for me. I had sucked the other guys' dicks before, but they had never cum in my mouth. I tasted the unfamiliar bitter semen as it filled up my mouth.

"Swallow it!" Nigel said in a commanding voice, and I did.

A few moments later, I was naked from the waist down, my legs spread with Nigel's head between them. He was doing simply the most wonderful things to my clit with his tongue. This was the first time someone had gone down on me and I was loving it. I had my first orgasm in just a few minutes of his tongueplay, and the second was approaching when....

CLICK

The door opened, and in walked an old lady, about Nigel's age. Her mouth fell open as she surveyed the sight in front of her - me, naked from the waist down with my long legs spread out, and a naked Nigel with his tongue lapping at my clit.

"For fuck's sake, Nigel!" the lady yelled. "Who's this? Some Goan whore?"

"Edith, I can explain." Nigel jumped up and pulled his shorts on.

I reached for my shorts and panties and was about to put them on when 'Edith' rushed towards me and grabbed me by the ear.

"Your dirty tramp!" she screeched as she pulled me off the couch, still naked from the waist down, with my clothes in my hand. "Get out of here,"

She dragged me to the cabin door and pushed me out. I stumbled and fell on the porch.

"If i see you around here again, i'll cut those tits off!" she yelled and slammed the door shut.

I got to my feet and noticed that a waiter was standing a few feet away, staring at my naked ass. I hurriedly put my shorts back on, and ran back to our cabin.

-----

That was the episode that first piqued my interest in older - much much older men. I started wondering if all older men had the kind of confidence and expertise that Nigel had displayed during our short fling. But I didn't really have too many opportunities to explore this new hobby of mine. Even a short dalliance with an unknown foreigner in Goa had ended disastrously. What hope did normal life back in Bombay offer?

I got into the best engineering college in Bombay, and as one of the few good looking girls in class, got hit on a lot. But again, the guys just seemed too immature. I had my eyes on a couple of dishy looking older professors. Even flirted with a couple of them during office hours. But they were either very straight-laced or too intimidated by my appearance. No one ever made a move.

Through 4 years of college and then 2 years of MBA, I dated a handful of guys. The sex did get better. Twenty-somethings are bound to be more skilled at sex than teenagers. But still, I kept fantasizing about older men. A lot of the older men I met - from professors to shopkeepers to neighbors, featured in my fantasies as I slept with guys my own age. But an opportunity to act on it never arose. They were all married, and I was mindful of how the Nigel episode had turned out.