tagGroup SexWhen It Rains, It Pours

When It Rains, It Pours


The speed with which the clouds gathered and the skies opened up took me by surprise. I was on my scooter, driving back from a work-related assignment in a village about 100 km outside of Delhi. Usually, I'd take the car for such a distance, but it refused to start in the morning. I expected to return before sunset, but the assignment had taken longer than expected and by the time I got done, the villagers insisted I have dinner before leaving.

So there I was, on my scooter, close to 10 pm on a narrow local road when it started raining cats and dogs, as the cliche goes. Since it wasn't the time for monsoons, I expected the rain to stop soon, so I just pulled over by the side of the road and stopped under a tree. Half an hour later and the rain still had not let up. I was completely soaked, even under the tree.

I thought of calling home for a rescue from my predicament. As I reached into my purse to take my cellphone out, I felt a certain dampness. That's when I realized I had taken my fabric purse, which was obviously not waterproof. The cellphone was also wet, and had conked off. Great, I thought to myself. Stuck here without a working cellphone on a highway late at night. Some vehicles were passing by. I thought of flagging one down. But there had been so many news stories recently about a group of men in their cars or SUVs kidnapping women from the roadside and raping them, that I did not feel comfortable doing so. I decided the best course of action was to drive until I reached some village, and then make a call from there.

So I got on my scooter and drove for about half a km when putt..puttt..putt...hisssss. The scooter engine just stopped with some ominous noises. I tried to restart it. Even tried the manual kick-start. Did not work. Great. As if things couldn't get any worse. Now I was soaked to my skin, with my scooter and cell phone refusing to work, stranded on a deserted road at almost 11 pm. I stood there re-evaluating the option of flagging down a car. The rain had gotten even harder now, definitely the heaviest downpour in the region in years.

Finally I decided to take the chance and stood by the edge of the road waiting for some vehicle to pass by. Nothing. Zip. Nada, for about 10 minutes. Not a single car or truck. Was I in the twilight zone, I wondered.

That's when I noticed a guy on one of those old rusty bicycles approaching from the Delhi side. He was wearing a raincoat, and had his eyes on the road, so did not notice me immediately. I called out to him and he stopped. Crossed the road and came close to me.

"Hello.... my scooter has broken down and my phone isn't working either. Do you have a cellphone on you?" I asked in Hindi.

The man pushed his hood back. He was bald and in his 40s. Wiped the water from his face and replied in Hindi,

"Cellphone? No. I don't own a cellphone. But I am a mechanic. Want me to take a look at that scooter?"

"Oh, thank you. It will be great if you can fix it."

He got off his bicycle, and started examining my scooter.

"Why are there no cars at all on this road?"

"It's a pretty bad storm, Madam. Trees fallen all over. The road is shut on the Panipat side about a km that way. And on the Delhi side a couple of km that way. I was just cycling back home from the garage I work at. It's just a km away."

This did not sound good. If the road was closed both ways, how was I to get home? The man realized what I was thinking from the worried look on my face and said,

"Don't worry about the Delhi side. They were saying it will be cleared within an hour. It's not a very big tree, they say."

He looked under the scooter a few times. Took the toolbox out of the side-box and puttered around. Tried to start it a few times. And then said to me,

"Sorry, Madam. There is thingummy thingummy with the thingummy of the thingummy and we need a thingummy". Well, that's not exactly what he said. But I am a total dunce when it comes to automobiles so he might as well have said that and I wouldn't have understood it any less.

"Alright, so can you fix it?" I asked.

"No, not here. Don't have the tools and parts for it. But if you like, we can go to my garage. It's just a km away. We'll get there in no time. There's also a phone in the garage, so you can call someone and have them pick you up."

That sounded like the best possible option. So we set off on foot towards his garage. Him dragging my scooter, and me rolling his bicycle along.

"So Madam, if you don't mind. What is your name?"

"Mukta" I replied, and out of courtesy asked him, "and what is your's?"

"I am Zahid Qureishi. If you don't mind my asking.... what is a young lady like you doing here at this time? We usually don't get Delhi 'memsaahibs' in our parts."

"I had some work in a village near Panipat. Was driving back when this storm started."

"Yes, this storm is really unexpected. Never seen it rain like this even in the monsoons."

He stayed silent after that, but I noticed that he'd keep stealing glances at me. I had been so preoccupied with thinking about the scooter and how to get home, that I didn't realize how completely soaked I was. Fortunately, as I always do while on village assignments, I was wearing a very conservative salwar-kameez (google it if you don't know what that is), with a long scarf around my neck and chest. But even so, being as soaked as I was, the fabric was hugging some curves of my body more tightly than it ever would.

Nothing too scandalous, mind you, but I am sure it was titillating enough for a middle aged car mechanic like Zahid. His name indicated he was Muslim and Muslim women in those parts dressed very conservatively. So I must have been quite a sight for him. I tried not to think too much about it though. Apart from a few glances, which were perfectly normal for any male, he had been very polite and well-behaved. I did not feel threatened by him at all.

Finally we reached the "garage". I use quote marks because calling it a garage would be too effusive. It was just a small tin shack, probably no bigger than the average bedroom. There was a rusty signboard on top saying "Madinaah Atto Garriage" with some arabic phrases on it.

Zahid put my scooter on its side-stand and banged the metal door of the shack.

"Who is it?" came a thick voice from inside.

"Mansoor, it's me Zahid. Open up."

The door creaked open and out peered a man I guessed to be Mansoor. He was shirtless and wearing a dirty pair of boxer shorts. He was a small man, shorter than me, and I am just 5 ft 3. Had a thick beard, and curly gray hair. I'd guess him to be older than Zahid, maybe in his 50s.

"What happened?" he asked, staring at me.

"This is Mukta Madam. She was driving back to Delhi when her scooter broke down. I saw her when I was going home, so brought her here."

"Hmpfff... OK... bring it in." Mansoor said and opened the folding doors completely. Zahid and I walked in. It was, as I said, a small shack. There was a small mattress in the corner where I guess Mansoor slept. The rest of the shack was filled with two-wheelers, their parts and other tools. The whole place also reeked of something I couldn't quite place... probably just grease and male sweat. In another corner was a chair with a table, and on top of the table, a telephone.

"Can I use the phone?" I asked.

"Yes sure." Mansoor said as he started opening the scooter's casing.

I picked up the receiver and held it to my ear. Silence. No dial tone.

"There is no dial tone" I said.

Mansoor came over and took the phone from me. As he did, I could not help but notice his still shirt-less torso. It was hairy, and he had a big pot belly. There were some stains of grease on his belly, chest and arms.

"I guess the storm knocked the lines out."

"Oh. Is there someone close by with a cellphone?" I asked.

"There's just our garage and two other shops here - one a tea stall and another for hardware. Both are closed, and the guys who run them don't stay in the shops like me. You will have to walk a couple of km that way for any other shops or houses."

I weighed my options. It was still raining pretty hard. I could walk to the other shops. But maybe I could just wait for these men to fix my scooter and then drive. Zahid was already working pretty hard at it. Mansoor went and stood next to him and they started discussing whatever was to be done. That's when my sneezes started. Achoo's after achoo's. About a dozen or so.

"Looks like you are catching a cold because of your wet clothes." Mansoor said looking at me. "If you want, I can give you a clean shirt and a lungi to change into."

"No, that's fine. I can wait. It won't take long to fix this anyway, right?"

"It will take about an hour, and..."

He was interrupted by another bout of sneezing from me. After my sneezes subsided, he looked pointedly at me. I could feel the sneezes getting worse. I decided that it would be stupid to risk getting pneumonia when there wa an option to change out of my wet clothes.

"OK I suppose I should change."

Mansoor went to the corner and opened a box. He took out a towel, a relatively clean t-shirt, and a lungi. A lungi, for those who don't know, is a sarong-like wrap that many Indian men wear. He gave it all to me and said,

"As you can see, there is no other room. You can change in here. Zahid and I will wait outside." They walked out and I went to close the door. It was just a rusty bolt which I slid into the loop. There was a nail hanging from a thread from the bolt. The purpose of the nail, as I later realized, was to be inserted into a hole at the end of the bolt, to act like some sort of a lock. I didn't realize it then and left the nail hanging as it was instead of inserting it into the hole. Which, ironically, lead to further events.

I should have moved to the back of the shack to change. But whether it was the greasy smell or just laziness, I did not. I started changing just a couple of feet inside the closed door. I then took off my salwar and kameez which were by now dripping with water. I thought for a second about keeping my bra and panties on, but they were too wet. So I took them off too, and got completely naked. I took the towel and started drying myself. I was drying my hair when it happened. The wind suddenly picked up, and the door started shaking from the wind.

A big and audible gust of wind came and as if in slow motion, I saw the bolt sliding back under the pressure. In what must have been just a second, but felt like an eternity, the bolt slid back completely and the folding doors opened with a bang. Zahid and Mansoor who had been standing with their backs to the door were startled by the noise and turned around.

I stood there motionless with my hands holding the towel to my hair, as Zahid and Mansoor stared at me dumbfounded. There I was, completely naked. In front of two men I had just met.

I was caught in two minds about what to do. Whether to cover myself up or close the door. My first instinct was to grab whatever I could and cover my nakedness. I had grabbed and picked up my salwar and kameez which were bundled together on the floor at my feet. I held them in front of me and then ran forward to close the door again. Which was a big mistake.

The gusty wind which had blown the door open was still blowing strong. My hands were wet and slippery, as were the clothes. So the gust of wind blew my salwar and kameez out of my hand and outside on to the street and into the darkness. And once again my nakedness was visible to the two men who were still standing rooted to their spots, a few feet away from the door. I now decided to close the door first. Because of my hair getting in my face, I was struggling to pull the door back against the wind gusts when WHOOOSHHH... something else flew by me. The shirt, towel and lungi that Mansoor had given me had also flown out. Those were the last possible things to cover myself with. I could now think of no short term fix to my visible nakedness.

I sank to the ground, wrapped my hands around my folded knees, and hid my face in them, hoping this would at least hide my boobs and pussy. The face was hidden mainly out of shame. In a few seconds I heard someone walk in and close the door. I also heard a chuckle, and then realized, I had heard only one set of footsteps. I looked up and saw Mansoor putting the nail into the hole of the bolt.

"You didn't put this nail in, did you? I thought it was obvious that's what it was there for." he said. I just started at him, red-faced. "Well, Zahid is out there running after your clothes to get them back. Good man, that Zahid. Always does the right thing. I, on the other hand, just had to have another look. Hehe. Come on, don't be shy. I've seen everything anyway."

Mansoor was now standing right above me. He was fully drenched, as were his boxer shorts, and his erection was adding to the effect, leaving little to imagination. I could not help but stare at his penis and testicles outlines through the wet shorts. Which turned out not to be a smart thing because he noticed what I was looking at and said,

"Oh, that interests you? Well, fair's fair. You showed me everything, so the polite thing would be to do the same." and in one motion he slid his shorts down. I stared even harder. His dick was circumcised, like all Muslim men. I had so far been with only Hindu men, and the only circumcised dicks I had seen were in porn films. I had often fantasized about what it would feel like to touch one, take it inside, maybe even suck it. This train of thought was running through my head as I, almost involuntarily, reached out and touched the head of his dick. I wrapped my fingers around it and shook it around playfully. Almost at once, the realization of what I was doing hit me and my hand froze. I looked up at him with trepidation.

He seemed at a loss for a few seconds. So far his behavior was mostly about bravado and arrogant needling. He probably expected me to feel shy and shrink back. And frankly, I would have expected the same from myself. But my unexpected reaction had surprised him as much as it surprised me. We were motionless like that for a few seconds. I staring at him with his dick in my hands, and him standing there staring back at me. Who moved next would be crucial in deciding the turn of events. If I had shrunk back, or maybe yelled at him, he would certainly have backed off. But my motionlessness gave him the opening he needed.

He bent down, grabbed hold of my hair and pushed my face towards his dick. I let go of his dick as it hit me on the cheek. He pushed my head back and pulled it again, this time the dick hit my closed lips. I looked up at him, and our eyes met. He gave me a stern look, a primal dominant male look which I tried to return with a laboriously mustered up look of resentment. Then he smiled and cocked his head to turn his gaze lower. I followed his gaze and was shocked at what I saw. My left hand was fingering my clit. And I was now on my knees. My body was reacting entirely on its own without keeping me updated.

"Heh..hah...hahaha" Mansoor started laughing. I couldn't help breaking into what they call a shit-eating grin. I felt his grip on my hair get tight again. He pulled my head towards his dick. This time I opened my mouth and let it in. Immediate reaction - gag reflex. A combination of the strong stink of his dick as well as the fact that he had thrust his cock all the way in and probably hit my tonsils. He took the dick out. I turned my head coughed a little. Then turned back to face his dick. Took it in my right hand and started sucking on it slowly, using my usual blowjob technique. The foreskin-less head that I had encountered for the first time felt nice, almost like a big lollipop. I took it out occasionally to glance at it, gave it a peck or two. I was like a little kid transfixed by a new toy.

Mansoor was now moaning in pleasure and running his hands through my hair. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be enjoying this blowjob. I had been sucking for a couple of minutes when there was a knock on the door. Mansoor clucked his tongue in annoyance, and said,

"That is Zahid. Damn, I forgot about him."

He took the three steps to the door, and opened it. Zahid rushed in, holding just my bra in his hand, and closed the door.

"Sorry Mukta Madam, the rest of it just flew away. This was stuck in a tree so......." his voice trailed off as he took in the scene in front of his eyes. Mansoor was standing there naked with his dick erect. I was on my knees with my left hand still fingering my clit. He looked at Mansoor and me turn by turn, and then said, "Oh.... I see."

"Been years since we banged a chick together, old friend." Mansoor said, slapping him playfully on the back. He then walked past me towards the mattress and lay down on it. He then beckoned me to go to him.

"But... is she... I mean..how come.." Zahid tried to string a sentence together, "You're not forcing her, right?"

There was silence for a couple of seconds. I realized Zahid was looking at me for an answer. With this break in the proceedings and Zahid's question, I had suddenly become doubly aware of the situation. I had been willingly sucking a strange man's dick, a fat old stinky hairy mechanic's dick, and had been fingering myself while at it for good measure. Had I been forced? Zahid's question gave me an exit route if I were to take it. I momentarily even considered it. But the work my fingers had been up to down there had put me in a different state of mind altogether. The normal demure Mukta who had struggled a few minutes back to cover herself up and close the door had seemingly been carried away by the gust of winds with the clothes. This Mukta was possessed, consumed by the most animalistic and basest of instincts.

I got up from my knees and stood up. Slowly walked towards Zahid. Took the bra from his hands and flung it into some corner. Then I turned around, and walked towards Mansoor, swaying my hips exaggeratedly, giving Zahid a great look at my butt. I reached the mattress and got down on my knees between Mansoor's spread legs. Bent down and resumed my blowjob.

Zahid did not need an engraved invitation after this. He was out of his clothes in a jiffy and was on his knees behind me. He fondled, pinched and slapped my tight round butt for a while. Then put his finger in my pussy, and chuckled at the wetness. And very soon, ahhh... a cock in my pussy. It had been weeks. After experiencing how a circumcised cock feels in the mouth, I was now experiencing it in the pussy. Not too different in the pussy, I must say. But there was much more to Zahid's cock than just being circumcised. There was girth, the sort that I had never experienced before.

Zahid drilled me hard and fast. His hand kept moving from around my waist, up my back, playing with my boobs, back to my waist, grabbing my butt flesh and so on. His intense fucking distracted me from my sucking and I was just holding Mansoor's dick in my mouth. Mansoor took the lead then. He got on his knees, grabbed my hair and started fucking my mouth. I was being pistoned hard at both ends, and was experiencing a never-before bliss. Mansoor then started with his smack talk,

"Oh yes, oh yes, you randi, you slut. You like this don't you, you Hindu bitch? You like being fucked by two Muslim dicks. Don't you? Don't you? Answer me, slut." and he took his dick out of my mouth.

"Mmmm...hmm...AHHH" I moaned in response as Zahid was hitting the right spots and the right tempo.

"Say it, bitch. Say you like being fucked by Muslim dicks."

"Yes...OOOO...AAHHH...I like...AHH..MMMM...being fucked....AHHHHHHH...by Muslim dicks. Ohhh Zaaaaaaaaaahidddddd" I yelled as the first orgasm hit me. I don't know if Mansoor making me acknowledge the taboo nature of this encounter played a role in it, but I had an extremely intense orgasm. I yelled and shuddered as it lasted longer than usual.

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