Riding Horny Indian Girl

Last May I went to visit my sister in India, for six whole weeks. It was great fun but I missed my fiancé - we aren't accustomed to spending so much time apart. He had to stay in England while I was off gallivanting. I should say that I have Indian heritage - my hair is coal-black and my skin coffee-coloured; my eyes are dark and I'm medium height with a physique that attracts attention.

Anyway, I returned to London one Friday afternoon in early June. It was unusually warm. I dropped off my bags, showered, rested, and then got ready to go out to meet him - James and I had agreed to meet up with some friends in town. I thought we might stay in a hotel. I had missed him so much.

I have so many outfits - Eastern and Western - but I knew which item to wear on this very special occasion: one of James's all-time favourite dresses: it's a bit slutty, but it's so pretty too - a mini-dress that clings to my body with an elastic snugness that leaves little to the imagination. It's made of lycra. Lycra is so soft and stretchy. It's black with a pretty green flower just above my tummy. It is a halter-neck, held up by a green bow that's tied behind my neck, and it is backless - I can't wear a bra with it.

So on this night, feeling jet-lagged and tired but aching to see my James, I caught the underground to Leicester Square wearing this little dress.

With my sexy dress I also wore black tights and little black boots, but still, as I waited for James and his friends outside the station, I had several boys approach me. Some asked me for a light, others asked for my number, others commented on my dress, others blatantly took photos - pretending to be snapping something else.

Most of the boys were south Asian - eighteen year old boys with their eyes and pants bulging, other more timid, older Indian men stealing glances while their wives or girlfriends were distracted.

All of these boys had their eyes trained on my breasts - I should have said that I am a twenty-eight years old with legs and a chest that are, shall we say, admired. Because I'm petite with dainty shoulders and arms and hands, my boobs seem bigger than they are - they're just a C cup. I felt conspicuous, but also aroused - I love being enjoyed and stared at, within reason, and I could feel my body trembling, my breasts enlarging and aching. My arrogance was gigantic - I longed to see James. I was impatient for drinks and dinner to be over so he and I could go to bed together. It'd been ages. My body wanted his.

I suppose I do know what those bad boys were going to do with the photos they'd secretly taken of me - look at me later on their mobiles, zooming in on the indents my nipples have made, zooming in on my bare neck and back. The dress was very hot, but more than that, after six weeks in India, I was toned and tanned - no junk food, no booze, just sun and heat and celibacy. I felt firm. I felt trim and fit and horny. My hair was thick and black and luxurious.

James and his friends finally arrived - ten minutes late - and we dined at a nearby restaurant. There was James, his friends Michael, David and Katie, and me.

I felt a little under-dressed, but James was so pleased to see me; we talked no end, drank many cocktails, and afterwards the five of us went to a bar, where we talked, danced a little and drank a few more cocktails and some wine. David and Katie are a couple, so Michael mainly spoke with me and James. Several times I saw him glance down at my chest, when he should have been looking into my eyes - but I don't blame him. When you go braless boys eyes do linger long on one's roundness.

By the time we'd finished partying it was almost one o'clock; the last tube home had been missed; but Michael offered us his spare room.

Michael is one of James's oldest friends - he's tall (6 foot 2), a bit chubby, aged 42, American, and has a small flat in Camden Town that he shares with his wife, Cynthia. We drunkenly, thoughtlessly got a cab to his and agreed to spend the night there.

Michael didn't get on very well with Cynthia - they'd been married a long time and had tired of one another. They only had a one bedroom, so James and I had to take the living room sofa. We saw Cynthia briefly, exchanged pleasantries, had a cup of tea, and then retired to our respective quarters. Cynthia is a rather grumpy woman - pretty - slightly plump with bobbed brown hair.

James and I lay together on the sofa with a duvet and a pillow and felt like teenagers again. We giggled. We whispered. I stripped off my tights and James took off his socks and trousers - we then waited a respectable amount of time before we began kissing - maybe thirty minutes - then James started nibbling my neck, my bare and bony shoulders, my mouth again, stroking my hair, my sides, my face...he was hungry...then he took off his t-shirt; he looked nice, solid and strong - he was only wearing his boxers now: we continued kissing, trying to be quiet, trying to control our lust. I licked and nibbled his chest, his tummy. I teased down his boxers and stared at his hardness - James was fully erect.

I kissed the tip of his cock, sucked it, licked the sides like a lolly, and then moved my wet mouth down to his testicles. I kissed them gently, parting his legs and licking beneath his balls. He loved this. He moaned. I stroked his cock up and down as I did this. But I didn't want to over-excite him. Not yet.

I sucked him for a few seconds then knelt before him, arching my back. In the semi-darkness, by the light of the window, he determined the plump curvy ridges of my dress-clad figure, the rise and fall of my 32 C breasts, pressed and imprisoned inside the lycra. He could also comprehend my quivering, anxious, impatient longings.

It was awkward on the sofa - there wasn't much space - but I hastily whipped my knickers off. I felt wet and warm between my legs. I would have done anything at that moment to feel his cock inside me. I lay on my back.

His finger is inside me. We kiss. He moves his bare body down and opens my legs wider, kissing and fingering between my thighs. It's sensational, but frustrating. I move his head up to mine, we kiss and I feel the tip of his cock on my pussy lips. "Push" I say and he does.

Oh wow. You can't imagine the pleasure and relief, slowly, slowly, inside, deeper, deeper and I say "Oh gosh deeper...James...I love you," out loud. "Mmmm," I continue, "all the way inside, then out, yes darling..."

Deep and big and fat inside me, his pubic bone is grinding against my clit. Already I am cuming. I am lying on my back, legs parted as wide as the sofa allows, that tiny little dress keeping me modest, while Chris, naked, helpless, moving, strong, in and out. "Oh gosh," I whisper, "James yes fuck me...fuck me...fuck me..." Was I saying this aloud? Was I being too noisy? In truth I don't know.

"Sorry, but can you keep it down please." Michael is standing in the doorway - his bedroom is only a few paces down the corridor. He is sleepy rather than cross. He whispers, he does not shout. "Try and be more quiet."

James pauses, his throbbing cock still extending all the way inside me. This heightens our pleasure - delay - counterpoint - excitement - being heard - being seen - being caught. I can see Michael over James's shoulder, just ten feet away. He is standing in the doorway in his white boxer shorts, his hair messy. He's rubbing his eyes. I can see he's got a hairy chest. What can Michael see? Just James's backside and bare back in the half light, and my knees parted allowing James in me. We pause. Frozen. Michael says "sorry" then goes back to bed.

"Shhh," James says, not moving. I bet it is that bitch Cynthia that's sent him in here to shut us up. She's jealous. She's such a killjoy. Frustrated bitch. Why don't she and Michael do it the same time we do it?

James waits, then begins again, slowly, pushing in and pulling out. If anything it feels even better now; more intense. I cover my mouth. He's lasting ages. The alcohol. I feel like cuming but it always seems a whisker away, deliciously so - the build-up is so amazing...

We wriggle and manoeuvre on the sofa. James is tired. We sit up. I lay James on his back. His head is now on the armrest and I am facing the door, which is ajar. I position myself over my fiancé, and lower myself, open-legs, on top of his erection.

"Oh. Ah," I cry out. I can't help myself. I feel so full of him. I don't cover my mouth again. I sit up straight, so sexy in my dress. It sticks to me, with lycra and with perspiration. I look at myself. My brown skin is glistening. James lifts up my dress and holds tight onto my hips - the last thing he wants is to climax too soon. I move and grind slowly on top, riding him. Oh god. Is this the best sex I have ever had? It feels like it. And I feel dazed. Drunk. Orgasmic. I am maybe making too much noise, selfishly disturbing Michael and Cynthia.

"Oh fuck...Mmmm. I love it..."

I am whispering but a whisper in a small flat is like a shout - I am arching my back, I am aching to be freed from my dress, to shout, to cum loud and noisy.

I open my eyes - Michael is standing in the doorway again, in his boxers, but this time he doesn't say anything; he's not complaining about the disturbance...just watching me. I am feeling very very horny. I am not in control of my fingers, which reach behind my neck and undo the bow of my halter-neck.

The dress does not fall down immediately - it sticks to me. I enjoy having my hands behind my neck. I keep them there. Michael is staring at my shaved armpits. He's reaching down, into his boxers. James of course can't see that his friend is watching me; that his friend is stroking himself. But I don't care who sees me. I want to give Michael a treat - a show, to make up for his dour wife.

I move my hands down. I am peeling my dress off, slowly. I am still grinding and I find myself saying "Oh, oh baby look at me," just as my nipples pop out.

I push my dress further down and reveal my big breasts for both boys to enjoy.

Michael is masturbating quicker now. He is scared that it might end - that his wife will catch him -that I might change my position. Even in the half-light I can see his purple helmet, his stiffness poking out from his grasp. He must be six inches or so. I now push the dress down as far as it will go, down below my belly button. It's wrapped round my waist like a belt. Oh god how I love James and Michael's eyes popping out as they see me.

I say "you like that?" I am out of control. "Do you like watching me?"

Neither James nor Michael say anything - James pushes himself harder in me, trying to take control, moving faster, while Michael, his boxers are right down now and he's wanking so nicely - he looks like he's going to cum - is he? Maybe he should come closer to me - I'd like to take him in my hand or better still inside my mouth - give him the best blowjob he's ever had. No. What am I saying?

"Yes like that...I'm cuming - I want you to cum too - cum for me. Cum for me, baby." Am I talking to James or to Michael? "Yes baby. Oh god - that's it - cum all over me. Cum baby yes, oh yes."

I wish Michael was standing next to me, instead of in the doorway, hands behind my head, cock in my mouth, my hands on his naked bottom as James cums inside me - as Michael shoots his release onto my tongue - and just as I visualise this thought - just as my fantasy climaxes - the rush and awe of orgasm washes over me, fifteen-seconds strong.

As I cum both boys cum too - James I feel inside me, sudden, full, sticky spunk shot inside me, he moans, and Michael, all over his hands he cums. I see this even from afar, with my eyes half-open, half-closed - a three way night time drunken orgy of fun.

Now, a few months on, I think about it often. It still makes me so very hot and horny; it helps me masturbate and relax. It makes me feel amazing and sexy.