The Mystery of the Wrong Door

Bunching her fist, Kirti stuffed it into her mouth, feeling not just Jibon's tongue rolling around in her navel but the shivers rushing through her body emanating from her sex; she felt that rush of wetness that always accompanied her orgasm, no doubt soaking her panties. What would Jibon have thought had he delved so far? Would he have expected quite such a sopping mess of flesh, curls and cotton?

The feel of Jibon's fingers to the top of her salwaar brought Kirti back down to Earth. She liked Jibon but perhaps not that much, certainly not in such a place. Better on a bed, though arranging to be watched again might be rather difficult! And, whilst she had not made a noise, there was still all those people the other side of the wall. The more clothes she lost the more difficult to regain modesty in a hurry. Her hand dropped from her mouth to his hands and she said, "Not yet." A negative but with hope for him for the future. Maybe.

Kirti could sense Jibon's considerable disappointment. Perhaps he did not know she had come. It was unfair of her really, she did not at all think he had done the same. Should she perhaps just... but she was not sure that was really fair on Jibon: not the hand job but doing it to him whilst he had an audience. She was sure he would hate the idea of those two young men seeing him coming, even if he did not know. Kirti began pulling her clothing together but let Jibon continue to kiss her, turning the two of them away from the door to allow the other lads to depart - if they took the hint. If not, hopefully Jibon would not notice them as he and she left. Maybe they would be able to slink further into the room and hide. A couple of times she had to gently lift Jibon's hand from her breast. As she pulled her brassiere up, he made to kiss her breasts again. "One more," she said and felt wet lips around a sensitive nipple.

It was an amused Kirti who came out through the study room, amused to see Behru and Shakti sitting at a table, heads down and ostensibly studying. It was so obviously pretend studying because neither had a book in front of him. Kirti doubted Jibon noticed the lack. They came out into the hustle and bustle of the common room without anyone seeming to notice or remark on the time they had been away. Perhaps it was because of the large grouping around a ping pong table where a, no doubt close fought, match was being played.

"I think I need to go home."

Jibon walked her to her bicycle, asking if he might 'see her again.' Kirti said it had been 'nice' and she would think about it. She could not ride the bicycle until the college gate (though she certainly did not need to carry it!) and he took her all the way there. Finally, she could mount and ride away with her own thoughts about what had happened. She could hardly not think about that, not with just how 'squishy' she felt astride the bicycle seat!

And so Jibon still did not learn the colour of Kirti's panties. Kirti, unlike another day, had not forgotten what colour they were: had known they were lime green - well, actually not lime green all over, if the truth be told, but a darker green where they were all rather soaked... and soaked in a great part they most certainly were!

And if Kirti had been careful not to let Jibon go too far, that was not at all where she stopped him that night in bed: in her head, of course, not for real. Between the sheets her hand slipped to where she was again rather wet; her thoughts not of her fingers stroking, not of feminine fingers up inside herself but manly fingers, long manly fingers - Jibon's fingers.

And if Kirti was thinking of fingers sliding around within her hot wetness then, that night, she was not the only one thinking of just the same thing. In their own beds, three young men were having very similar thoughts, each imagining his own hand delving inside Kirti's salwaar, inside her panties indeed, and playing. Of course they imagined too that it was not their own hands stroking their cocks up and down but soft feminine hands; gentle, encouraging hands belonging to a particular girl.

Coincidence, to an extent, but at the very moment Kirti got those self-same shivers she had had in the store room; at the very moment she stuffed her fist into her mouth so as not to make a noise at home (and whether she was imagining her fist was something else was perhaps rather her own business, rather like the colour of her knickers) across the town three swollen penises spurted in that very male way and all for Kirti; because that was where they were all aimed in the three young men's rather fevered minds.

Lovely thoughts of Kirti in each of Jibon, Anish and Shakti's heads as they came but, funnily to relate, each got the colour of Kirti's panties completely wrong. The images in their heads of their exploring hands slipping under elastic were each quite mistaken. Jibon thought white, Anish blue and Shakti thought orange, just like the salwaar-kameez set.