To Be or Not To Be a Doctor

Manjula, nude. The first, the only naked woman Tony had seen in the flesh. His cock was stirring, that was to be expected. But his mind and his heart were just as touched. On all levels he wanted her so badly it hurt.

He stepped forward.

"Wait." She held up her hand.

"I—I want you to touch me. I know there are other ways you can touch me. I want you to feel me every way you want. But... but..."

He waited patiently.

"I cannot go back to Sri Lanka and lie. I cannot tell anyone I am a virgin if I am not."

"You want me to touch you... without having sex?" He reflected for a moment. "What counts as sex?" He felt like Bill Clinton.

"We cannot do anything that could get me pregnant. Even a Western girl would need to see the doctor, right?"

"Right."

"And what they said before, about sucking cock. I think I am beginning to understand, now. Why they do it. If it were clean...but no, I think that also counts as sex."

"So what can we do?"

"Anything else. I want you to tell me what to do and I will do it."

He forced his eyes off her pussy and back to her face. He saw the love shining there, but the fear too. Dimly, he realized just how hard this was for her, how much of an effort she was making.

He took her in his arms and kissed her softly. He knew she could feel his cock through his shorts. She pressed closer to him.

"I love you, Manjula. I will never hurt you," he said. He tenderly stroked her back, downwards, downwards. As gently as he could, he put his hand on her ass.

The effect was electrifying. She went rigid, holding onto him tightly. Her ass was unbelievably smooth, like nothing he had ever felt in his life. He drew his fingers across it, rubbing it, playing with it. When he squeezed her cheeks she gave a sharp breath, then brought her lips to his.

And they were kissing again, kissing ravenously, their tongues tasting each other, his hands on her ass, feeling that incredible softness, like sinking his fingers into the softest of fabrics.

He began to tug at his shirt, but she silently brushed his hand away, and lifted it off herself. She knelt in front of him and kissed the wet spot that had already appeared on his pants. His cock jerked in response. She rapidly pulled off his pants and briefs, and stared wonderingly at his dick. She was so close that he could feel her breath on it. He wanted desperately to grab her head and push his cock into her mouth...

Instead, she prostrated herself on the ground and kissed his feet again. Simultaneously turned on and appalled, Tony lifted her to her feet and led her to the bed. He lay down behind her, cock nestled in the crack of her ass, and put his fingers on her nipples.

She started. Tony was not at all sure what he was doing, and he knew his own rough fingers could not possibly be a match for Manjula's soft ones. As tenderly as he could manage, he wiggled her nipples. It was like sending an electric current through her body. She started to vibrate, arms and legs flailing.

The sensation of her nude body against his was overwhelming. Tony was used to masturbation, when feelings were limited to his cock. This was total. Manjula's warm cuddliness aroused his hands, his arms, his chest, his legs, even his feet. He felt fully alive, fully a man, in a way he never had before.

Her breasts — could anything feel so pliable, such a delight? They melted into his hands as he squeezed them, fondled them, played with them. He softly stroked her belly and traced his finger along her thighs.

With a sudden roll, she was on him, kneeling on top of him, then lowering those glorious tits, lowering still further — would she really — oh god —

And her breast was in his mouth. Tony felt like he had departed this earth, gone to heaven. Her arms were around him. She kissed his forehead lovingly and cradled him against her like a baby, indeed he felt like a baby now, sucking, nursing from one nipple, then the other, licking between them, savouring them. Only the shaking of her arms and the occasional moan revealed that she was just as aroused as he was, if not more.

His hands were free to explore her, and he did. Her ass felt just as awe-inspiring as before. A thought occurred to Tony. He released Manjula's breast and rolled her on her front again. He kissed her backside, leaving a trail with his tongue, down, down, all the way to her ass.

He buried his lips in her ass cheeks. They melted into his face, soft and delicate. It was intoxicating. He pushed his lips deeply into her ass cheek, breathing it, feeling the coolness of her smooth skin.

He rolled her over again and hovered over her pussy. The aroma of arousal was hot and heavy. This was it, the very epicentre of female pleasure. This was the test.

He dove in, looking for her clit.

Was that it? It felt like a little round flap, in what should be the right place. Gingerly, he licked it.

Instead of the moans he'd seen on the weekend, she gave only a soft breath.

He tried again, a little harder. Instead, he found her fingers pushing at his face, pushing him away. Was this, then her limit?

"Do you want it?" he asked.

"Venam," she replied. Want. So did he. He wanted desperately to make her climax. He had to try.

Very slowly, as cautiously as he could, he probed into her pussy with his finger instead.

Manjula yelped, and jerked in his arms. He withdrew his finger. "Venam, venam, venam," she moaned. I want, I want, I want.

Tony traced his finger right outside her pussy, enjoying the music of her squealing. He teased her, probing right outside her folds, caressing but not entering them, as gently as he could manage.

"Tony...please...venam..." she begged. Somehow his finger was working where his tongue had not. He inserted it in, sliding it back and forth. Each motion of his finger made her face come alive. Her pussy felt wet and soft and accommodating. He found a second finger could go in. And a third.

He tried curving his fingers upward, until his fingers touched something leathery, like a football. As he stroked it Manjula cried out.

He stroked it again. She cried out again. She was so cute when she was horny.

Was this what they called the g-spot? He wondered if Manjula herself even knew. No matter. Her clit had to be around here somewhere too. He fumbled around quite a while until finally his thumb touched it. It was so small and delicate, easy to miss.

But unmistakable when found. If he made a pinching motion, squeezing her clit with his thumb and g-spot with his other fingers, her body roiled like a wave. She babbled away in Tamil, mixing up his own name with various Hindu deities. Tony had not thought himself the equal of Lord Shiva, but what greater power does a male have than taking his girl to a glorious climax?

Manjula screamed. Her head thrashed from side to side. Her legs leaped in the air, heels slamming down on the bed. Still, Tony kept to his gentle pincer movement.

And then she had rolled over, rolled him on his back, and was kissing him fiercely, embracing him tightly. He could feel her heart throbbing, could hear her breath panting, could see the dishevelment of her hair, the jumble of emotions on her face.

"Tony...oh, Tony, that was the greatest, the greatest thing anyone has ever done for me."

"For me too. But..."

"But what?"

"Why didn't you let me lick your pussy?"

"It felt very sensitive. I liked it much better when you touched it with your fingers."

Tony tried to contain his disappointment. If she couldn't handle him licking her, how could he expect her to lick him? Manjula was thinking the same thing.

"I know how badly you want me to suck you. I... I want to. But... I cannot. Not today. Please forgive me."

He was touched by just how guilty she looked. "You don't need to feel guilty. I can cum in your hand like before."

An idea popped into his head, but he didn't dare mention it. But Manjula was too canny not to see the gleam in his eyes. She smiled.

"You are thinking of something else. I know it."

"No, nothing."

"It is you who should not feel guilty about what you desire. I will give you all I can. If I cannot, it is still okay for you to want it."

"I want—" and he told her. In great detail. It came from a lifetime of watching porn. Just confessing this to a beautiful naked girl, while being naked himself, made his cock snap back to attention, poking Manjula's leg.

"I will do that for you."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to."

And thus, a few minutes later, Tony was in his own part of heaven, lying on his back, while Manjula kissed and licked him. She nipped at his neck affectionately, making him jump. She twirled her tongue on his nipples, and he felt them buzz in response, his temperature rising. As she nuzzled on his chest he felt a hot spot growing, a warm burning feeling under her lips. The warmth continued, like a fiery fluid of joy, following her tongue down to his belly, down to his waist.

She pried under him with her hands, squeezing his ass expectantly. Was she actually going to—?

He turned over, and — oh god — her lips were on his ass!

What meant more to him than the soft sweetness in that region was what lips on ass represent. How many times, after all, do we use kiss my ass as an expression of dismissal, of contempt? His heart felt like it would burst with gratitude for her submissiveness. He lay there passively, letting himself enjoy the attentions she was giving.

"Sit up," she commanded. He did so, and Manjula was down on the floor, on her knees, massaging his inner thighs with her tongue, pausing now and then to give him an adoring smile. He loved her so much. His cock felt like it was going to explode. Soon it would.

She kissed it, full on the tip, giggling when it squirmed at her. "Oh, Manjula," Tony was moaning. She pressed his cock against her cheek, closed her eyes, and began to stroke it with her face, not inside but outside her mouth.

And Tony painted her face.

In porn, Tony knew, covering a girl's face with cum is a sign not of intimacy, but of its absence. Not so here. Manjula had done a taboo fantasy, an icon of male dominance, without shame or fear.

He looked at her cheek, dripping with his mark on her.

"You have never...you have never looked more beautiful than you do now."

"Do I?" she wondered. Idly, she picked up her phone and took a selfie. She looked back at Tony, leaned in so her cum-drenched face was beside his, then took another. She even took a selfie with his cock, which managed one last gasp of hardness at that prospect, before she collapsed, laughing.

Chapter 5

Tony should have been on seventh heaven after that experience. But one thing nagged at him.

"Why...why did you kiss my feet?"

"I am parachi, you are karaiyar. For centuries my people have prostrated themselves before you."

"No! I don't believe in the caste system. We are equals."

"I was only teasing." She grinned. "Your parents were telling me how the community here thinks of caste. I did not tell them, but actually they are stuck in the eighties. In Sri Lanka we have moved on. The rebels did not believe in caste, and did a lot to stamp it out."

"Really?"

"The rebel leaders were karaiyar, like you. You know that your people started out as mercenaries, right? It was the Sinhalese kings who paid for them to come from India. But the karaiyar are not the highest caste, they are the second highest," said Manjula.

"Who were the highest, then?"

"They are called the vellalas. They have history with your people. During colonial times, the karaiyar got rich sucking up to the Europeans. They had so much money they bought up whole fleets of fishing boats. Lower castes had to pay them rent to use the boats and earn the money back by doing the work of fishing. Your ancestors had imperial patronage and did not do much work. The vellalas were jealous. They called your people the 'boat-owning caste'." She giggled. Tony made a face.

"During the war the vellalas looked down on the rebels and even fought against them. So they made a big deal of equality. They recruited pariah soldiers — they even tried to recruit me. They made sure anyone could go to any temple. Soldiers could marry into any caste. I went to the same schools as vellalas, and teachers had to teach me. Now it is possible for me to be a doctor. Your people here are a bit behind the times."

Tony reflected on the sociological irony.

"You said you like a girl to be submissive," Manjula reminded him. "And... all my life I have been the leader. My little cousins depended on me. All the other children at school, sometimes even some teachers, depended on me. Here I have to constantly navigate this foreign culture. Sometimes I think my ancestors had it simpler. They did as they were told, no matter how dirty, they prostrated themselves, and they did not have to make decisions and plan."

"So you like to submit, because it means you don't have to be responsible?"

"Well not really. I know I am always responsible. But I like to pretend. I like to be dirty. And besides..."

"What?"

"It is worth doing these things just to see the look on your face. I have never seen anyone so happy. It makes me feel very good inside that I can do that for you."

Tony hugged her. "Everything you do makes me happy."

***

They settled into a routine. Over time, Tony rutted in a variety of places; her forehead, between her breasts, her belly, even on the crack of her ass, if not actually in it. Manjula loved the sense of being marked as property. She felt particularly docile, even kittenish, after his fingers had been inside her.

They didn't get to do this as often as they might have liked. Their homework burden was growing, as were their other activities.

Manjula had been serious about Tony starting an exercise program. She joined him at the gym, worried that the high-calorie Western diet would erode her figure. Tony liked ogling her in yoga pants, but was dismayed to find that she was in much better shape than he was.

The non-profits Tony had contacted advised him against unpaid internships, but they did ask him for volunteer help — cleaning up their databases, fixing bugs on their websites, and the like. In addition to the time he spent on that, he had signed up with one of the political parties active on campus, and now sometimes went to rallies or wrote articles.

Tony reflected that he wouldn't even have had the level of energy to sustain this pace without the joy that Manjula had brought to his life. For her part, she volunteered as a math tutor, and had also become active in the foreign students' association.

Lacking the time for long play dates in person, Manjula made do by sending Tony nude selfies, sometimes re-enactments of poses from his Playboy collection. He would have liked to send her a dick pic in return, but didn't dare. They both kept each other informed about their masturbatory activities, sending each other racy texts at odd hours of the day or night.

Nevertheless, Tony found himself hungering for some real quality time with Manjula. He phoned her up one evening.

"Hi angel, do you think you could get Saturday free?"

"I have a lot of homework."

"So do I. But I want to take you to Toronto. We can rent a car."

"Why?"

"We need to take some time for leisure, otherwise we won't be as productive the rest of the week." He'd guessed that would be the best argument to persuade Manjula. She finally agreed, on the condition that they leave early morning and return by early evening.

***

It was a beautiful morning. The green of summer was giving way to the bright colours of fall. Yellow and orange decorated the roads. Manjula stared out the windows spellbound, never having seen autumn before.

She was also unprepared for the sheer number of cars on the roads.

"So in Canada... does every family have a car?"

"Most of them, yes. Many even have two."

"What an amazing country," she sighed.

Tony wondered if she'd still feel that way if they got stuck in traffic. But, luckily, they did not. He pulled into Rouge Park. Hand in hand, they strode into the forest of tall Canadian maple trees. Far from the roads, they could hear only the noises of squirrels running, a stream flowing nearby, the wind whistling in the pines.

Tony loved walking in the forest. The only thing he found more beautiful than the trees was Manjula. As the weather cooled, she no longer showed off her legs in short miniskirts. But she was no less a feast for the eyes in skinny jeans and a denim jacket, and many were the photos he took of her.

"We don't have a huge amount of nature here in the city, but we try," he said modestly.

"It is very beautiful," said Manjula. "It is not the same as Sri Lanka, but it is very peaceful. I can see why you enjoy it here. And you do not have to worry about dengue fever or snakebite."

"I haven't spent as much time outdoors as I should," Tony began. "But there are lots of things people do." He told her about camping, about water skiing, about canoeing, kayaking, hiking, fishing.

"It sounds like you people have a lot of fun. Nobody in Sri Lanka can afford these things," she said wryly. "If you are in a boat, it is because your job is a fisherman. And nobody would sleep in a tent if they had money to afford a proper house."

Perhaps that was why, Tony thought, his own parents had little interest in the Canadian outdoors. He'd had to beg them to so much as take him on a nature trail.

"But how do you stand the cold?" she asked. "It is fifteen degrees outside."

"That's pretty good for this time of year," Tony replied. "In the winter we can bottom out at twenty below,"

"Oh, I will die," she said. "How do you stand it?"

"Kids have the most fun of all. They build little forts from the snow. They pack the snow into balls and throw them at each other." He told her about skating, about hockey, about tobogganing, about skiing.

"Do you do this — this skiing?"

"I haven't tried it yet. Maybe we could do it together, this winter?"

"Maybe," she said, but it was clear to Tony the cold was getting to her. They returned to the car.

"How about a Sri Lankan restaurant for lunch?"

"What?"

"You didn't know? There are more Tamils in Toronto than in Jaffna itself, now. Lots of restaurants."

"My village does not have restaurants. Rich people hire cooks to come to their homes. Poor people work as cooks."

Before going to the restaurant, Tony showed her some of the many small Tamil grocery stores and take-outs in Scarborough. Manjula was shocked. "They have a better selection of spices than we have in our village!" she exclaimed.

"Toronto is two percent Tamil," Tony replied. "I think in all of Sri Lanka, only Colombo has a larger Tamil population. Wait till you see the restaurants."

Manjula had never actually been to a full-service restaurant before, only small cafeterias. She wasn't prepared for the sheer number of dishes on the menu.

"They offer — all of these dishes?"

"Yup. You pick the ones you want, and they'll bring them."

Getting to stay seated while being served by a waiter was a staggering experience for her. Tony had to restrain her from going to the kitchen and offering to help.

"But they are bringing me food."

"Yes, that's their job."

"But I am a parachi."

"So? Your money — our money — is as good as anyone's."

"I never imagined I would ever have servants of my own," said Manjula wonderingly. "How many places like this are there?"

"Thousands. Even the smallest town has at least one restaurant. People eat there a lot, just not when they're in a hurry," Tony explained.

Restaurant food wasn't quite as good as homemade, but Manjula loved it, though she blanched when she saw the bill. Tony paid it before she had a chance to object.