Sheela: Visitor of Mischief

She was absolutely stunning.........

Standing at the threshold of Dr. Grant Harris's door was Sheela, the Harris family's first international student boarder. She was Indian, her dark skin gleaming, almost luminescent. While trying to remain on her almond-shaped, vixen eyes, Grant tried to peripherally take in the rest of her body -- so heart-stoppingly perfect, with huge 40-DD's, supported by a lacy, burgundy bra that JUST covered her mesmerizing dome-shaped aerolae/nipples, all encased under a white cut-off t-shirt that was so threadbare that Grant -- later on, upon further furtive viewings of her lethal temptress body -- found himself transfixed by trying to ascertain the darkness of her voluminous, jiggling tit-flesh under the fabric.

The way she stood up on the balls of her feet and hooked her thumbs into the straps of her huge backpack (while thrusting her volleyballs out at him) made for the most distracting hello he had ever received. He didn't respond right away, and immediately fought back feelings in his loins that he hadn't felt in some time.

In a voice so soft and so high, through upturned lips so tempting and glossy and stuffable, Sheela's words seeped right through him, it seemed to him, rather than registering through his ears. Such a melodious, delightful cascade of patter came from her lips that in no time she had him hanging on her every word....a voice almost excessive in its daintiness, and to Grant -- and to every man she came across -- it was the most addictive phone sex operator's voice imaginable.

As he dazedly allowed her to walk right in -- her back still to him -- he hungrily took in her petite frame: the high-riding ass characteristic of Indian women, curving upwards to the deep, deep swoop of her short back, a swoop that was so ridiculously pronounced in profile by the opposing jutting of breasts, so mammoth, on so wasp-like a frame. Sheela's slim, toned legs shimmered in the light, as sandal thongs criss-crossed up her calf. She tugged up the belt loops of her jeans cut-offs and turned around to catch Grant lost in her hotness. With that knowing look in those lidded, cat eyes, Sheela let Grant's desire feed upon itself.

As this was going on, Grant's wife Debbie looked on, from the kitchen entrance. She incredulously watched what looked like a scantily-clad escort with a back-pack rendering her husband into a babbling, uncomprehending fool at the doorway, and then slowly removing her backpack for his viewing pleasure, the straps that had framed the sides of her enormous hooters now slooowly coming off sensuously slinky shouders. Light reflected off her very long, clear-polished finger nails.

Debbie almost intervened when Sheela walked right in, past Grant, without waiting for the invite. She had the most gracefully serpentine walk -- even Debbie couldn't deny it -- and seeing her husband staring dumbly at Sheela made Debbie feel a combination of repulsion and craven curiosty, and elected to remain at the recessed nook of the kitchen entrance, to see what Sheela might do next.

Sheela's sly smile vanished as soon as her face was turned away from Grant. Surveying the front area, her darting eyes took stock of everything, and when she saw Debbie standing awkwardly at the kitchen entrance, Sheela froze for an instant that was so quick that the only thing Debbie could recall was the return of that wickedly lascivious smile and square gaze of bed-room eyes seizing its prey, in the form of Debbie, but only momentarily, hoping not to bring her to the attention of Grant, who was feasting his eyes on the most voluptuous morsel of sexiness he had even seen, Sheela's back once again to him to let him look and lust freely some more.

Reveling, now, in the show she was putting on for Debbie, too, the Indian cockteaser took her time running her hands luxuriously through straight hair that reached down to the top of her tits, and fanned out beautifully around her. The bang cut helped emphasize the allure of her penetrating cat eyes. Tilting her head to the side to rake those conspicuously long fingernails through her hair, Sheela stole another look at Debbie, and then looked askance -- back at the increasingly enraptured man behind her -- and then back to Debbie again, playfully cocking an eyebrow.

Whirling around to Grant a second time, her hair an inviting black swirl of sexual refuge, with enough spring in her step to make those gigantic, firmer-than-shit jugs jiggle, she asked, in that cock-stiffeningly light, delicate voice, followed by a wink, "Aren't you going to introduce me to your wife?"

Finally some words that snapped him back into a reality that he found, at first, embarrassing (that "BUS-ted" feeling), and then -- to his own bewilderment -- a sexual frustration verging on blood-boiling fury, which fortunately gave way to relief that the rumblings of an impending erection were, for the time being, effectively quashed. Debbie was also embarrassed at being "discovered", and then angry with herself for not stepping in sooner -- when she still had some pissed-off ammo -- for defusing a situation that instead made her look like a peeping tom.

Playing at the ends of her hair and reciprocating Debbie's less-than-welcoming expression, Sheela gave her a curt "hi", but as Debbie reluctantly approached, the icy resolve of Grant's wife of twenty years soon melted in Sheila's delectable, irresistible, sensually magnetic proximity, reinforced by the arousing perfume -- Addict -- that the Harris family was soon to be subjected. One of the most insidiously powerful forces known to man, this particular brand of perfume on this particular woman created an effluvium that was soon unshakable, so erotically stimulating, that soon the household was under siege by an unleashed torrent of pheromones that made the blood race, the loins blaze, and thoughts muddle.

Shaking hands, Sheela gently clasped both hands around Debbie's right, and kept her hands around Debbie's as she withdrew from Sheela's hand sandwich -- a lingering, fingers-slipping-away-from-fingers contact that made Debbie subconsciously think that her hand just got softly, smoothly, fucked, the resulting horniness the only thing Debbie being acutely aware of. Sheela's two-handed clasp also allowed her arms to come together in a "v", making her biceps squeeze her already pert melons even further upwards and towards Debbie, who of course fell for the visual trap and then looked back up at Sheela's unabashedly leering gaze. Grant astonished himself once again with his involuntary, heated reactions to Sheela's subtle, yet distinct, machinations -- this time stewing over Sheela shaking Debbie's hand, but not his.

By now the sweet, seductive shroud of Sheela's aroma was starting to make its stronger impact on Grant, his testicles playfully dancing up and down to the sheer joy they received from his olfactory senses. He had to be careful that Sheela didn't trick him into nut-dancing his way to a full-blown erection, especially with the complete lack of constraint provided by the bathrobe he was wearing.

They went on an awkward tour of the house. Grant found himself hankering to linger behind the two, simply to view the lazy pendulum shift of Sheela's ass moving one way, then the other, back the other way, then back the other, as her dark, slim legs moved like a pair of sexy scissors. Picking up on this, Sheela made a show of hiking up her cut-off shorts every ten seconds or so -- those long sexy talons hooking into the belt loops -- insuring that Grant's attention was on one thing, and one thing only. At one point she even playfully looked back at Grant, prompting Debbie to do the same, albeit less playfully.

"Ah yes! My playground!" exclaimed Sheela when they came to her bedroom. They watched as she walked up to her window, placed both hands on opposite panes, and surveyed the typical surburban neighbourhood before her. A cyclist riding by saw Sheela in the window, who managed to give him a cheery wave hello with just enough enthusiasm to make her big tits shake, in turn distracting the cyclist just enough so that the tip of his handlebars bumped into the corner of a parked flatbed truck, sending the poor fool onto the pavement hard, his face now a raw, bleeding map of road burn.

Sheela's o-mouthed whoop of shock was a sight Grant will never forget: the hot little Indian, a hand over her glossy-lipped, open mouth; going up on her toes; her butt protuding ripely one way, those glorious, hypnotically huge breasts the other; the way she turned to the side solely to show off the most amazing feminine profile Grant and Debbie Harris were to ever see in their entire lives. Whether they liked it or not, it was a "polaroid moment", if you will, that they weren't likely to forget too soon. Especially the look in Sheela's eyes. Shock, disdain, and concern, it seemed, were not looks that came to mind.

Turning back to the bed again, Sheela said, "I love it," sneaking a come-hither look at Grant, and then at Debbie, who found herself strangely divided between fury at Sheela's brazen flirting, and jealousy over Sheela not giving her that "I love it" look at Debbie first. This hurt snapped Debbie back into a reality she was starting to dread, and suddenly she felt the need to flee, to be elsewhere, to gather her thoughts.

"Fine then.......If that settles everything.......I need to put some body lotion on now from sitting in that plane for ten hours -- my goodness! I was getting soooo dry......my body was nagging me: lotion me, oh, lotion me, naughty Sheela! I beg you -- lotion me good and smooth! Get into every little nook and cranny....EVERYWHERE!!! And so now I've finally the chance to give myself a nice, good, long, slow, lotioning....aaalllll over.....mmmmmm it will feel soooo good -- that nice REFRESHED feeling!"

On "REFRESHED", Sheela did the slightest little jump up and down, her bouncing hooters ensnaring Grant and Debbie's vision long enough to snap them out of being lulled by her easy-to-listen-to, soft, high-voiced palaver about the impending lotion rub-down.

Before Grant could stop himself, he said, "Really? If you ask me, I think it looks like.....you don't....need...to...."

Sheela went stock still, an arched eyebrow imploring him to finish his sentence. She brought her open palms up (as if to say "Well? WELL?!") near those luscious tits -- those sand-dollar sized, domed nipples almost imperiously poking out at Grant, who felt a hungry twitch in his cock when he saw the dark/light border of pigmentation on the edges of her hands and fingers. He didn't even need to look at Debbie.

"I mean.....like......I mean your lotion......"

"Yes?"

"........what -- how -- what kind is it?"

"OH! It's Lolita Lempika Butterfly lotion! Here-" and quick as a whip she was rifling through an outer compartment of her backpack.

"Thanks Sheela", Debbie mustered in a condescending voice, and, elbowing Grant, steered themselves back out. "If there's anything you need we'll be around for-"

"-HERE!" the dark, sultry gamine said, as she wickedly levelled Grant a stare that screamed "yes you're mine now" and squirted out the white cream onto an upturned palm that was now in offering, her playfully wiggling fingers providing an absolutely dazzling display of dancing fingernails that must have been an inch long, beckoning radiantly, with sparkling flashes, to the biology professor. Debbie's patience was particularly tried by the ludicrous way Sheela made an o-mouthed show of "accidentally" letting too much of the white goo fart its way out of the tube and over-reacting as though there was going to be a huge mess, making a fuss that was completely unnecessary yet so demonstratively sensual that Grant couldn't help but fantasize about giving Sheela the absolute fucking bukake of her life.

As she kept her predatory gaze on him, Sheela worked a liberal amount of the wet, slimy-sounding stuff between splayed palms, and swiftly approached him with a little extra 'scissor' in her step, and with more dance, accordingly, in those imposing honeydews. Debbie looked on in speechless astonishment as the swarthy coquette quickly placed both hands on John's cheeks, and then withdrew in the same manner as her handshake with Debbie -- that lingering, dragging-the-fingers-along retreat, however this time Sheela's pinky-nails snuck behind his ears and scraped their way down to where his jaw started, sending an erogenous chill from that region down to the base of his spine., causing an involuntary little spasm that was noticed by a now doubly agitated Debbie.

Quickly fending off Sheela's lotion-y advances with an "UH-UH. NO THANK --YOU", Debbie was more successful this time in commandeering herself and Grant out of the room, further annoyed by Sheela's little giggles. The machine-gun pulse-rate she felt when she grabbed him near the elbow told her that Sheela really got his synapses crossed, and the all-too-pleasant aroma of his lotioned face -- along with the perfume on her hand from Sheela's handshake, making her nipples constantly hard and panties soaked -- were making her head swim in despair.

They finally reached their bedroom; Debbie leaned back against the door after she closed it. Grant sat at the edge of the bed, and was about to plunk his face down in his hands when he stopped himself.

"Aw FUCK! Well, I'll go try and wash this off my face, then," he said as he got up and went to the master bathroom. Happy that he already seemed back on terra firma again, Debbie followed, hoping they could get to the heart of the matter a.s.a.p.

"Grant -- are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

His face in the sink, he looked at her and said, "Martin?"

"Grant -- we HAVE to get her out of here! She might....be....."

Martin was an old friend of Grant's who used to be the dean of the chemistry department at a nearby university. Martin had made some breakthrough discoveries that some believed would have made him the shoo-in for the chemistry Nobel. He was in the final preparation stages of his initial presentation to his colleagues when a pretty young student came into his life. She was German and went by different aliases. Soon he was kicked out of his house and living with her in some apartment downtown. After a couple days, she left him and took off with every single copy of every format of his findings. He blew his brains out a couple days later. Some said she was hired by a company like Monsanto, and word in the academic community was rife with lurid speculation.

In Grant's case, it wasn't just the passing of an old friend. Like Martin, Grant was also in the midst of some critically important research , wrapping up some top secret work in synthetics and fossil fuel substitutes that had the potential of completely handing the oil cartels' asses to them on a silver plate. No Nobel, but Grant didn't care. He just liked the idea of a greener planet. News about Martin unnerved him, as he imagined being coerced and undermined by some sex spy who pilfers all his work, and concluded that things were too tight with Debbie for something so ridiculous to happen. All the important security codes were in his head anyway -- a factor that was the deciding point in their dispute over what to do with Sheela.

".....I mean, how can she steal THAT?"

"And I guess she's not very subtle either, I s'pose........ You'd figure those type of criminals would be a bit more....discrete. Or maybe....who knows...if she actually IS one, maybe she's just playing the skanky little coed as a cover, or....."

"Yeah, or we could second-guess ourselves till we're blue in the face, too."

"Or maybe it's not as far-fetched as it sounds, no?"

"Debbie -- for all we know she could simply be some promiscuous little coed who'll jump anything on two legs."

"Anything on two legs? HER?!....THAT thing?!?! Maybe a ceo or someone paying her 5,000 a night, Grant....NOT anything on two legs."

After getting glared at for saying that was quite the seal of approval , Grant continued, "Listen -- all we have to do is tell her that she'll have to ease off on the pals-y wals-y-ness and the perfume, ok? And even IF she was up to some kind of sabotage or whatever -- we have her right where we want her and get the authorities to bust that ass of hers, right?"

"Uh......THAT ass of hers?"

"HER ass, then, whatthefuckever. And like I was saying earlier....it's kinda hard stealing something out of my head, isn't it?"

Her arms crossed, Debbie leaned against the bathroom door frame and just looked at him.

"Anyway -- so -- I gotta take a dump right now, o.k.?" said Grant, and he closed the door as she wandered (AND wondered, unconvinced) out of the bedroom.

In the hallway, Debbie could hear some kind of electronic dance/house music -- with sensuous middle east female vocals and woodwinds -- blaring out of Sheela's room. So now Debbie will have to do some more baby-sitting and (politely) tell her to turn down the friggin' volume, not to mention keeping her door closed, but when she reached Sheela's doorway and looked in, Debbie was taken aback by the sight of the Indian seductress in a black thong bikini doing the splits on a yoga mat, her back to her instantly captivated hostess. The music's rhythm was danceable with well-produced layers of instrumentation, capped off with that singing that was sometimes hushed, breathy, or at other times floated with soothing high notes in the traditional Indian style.

Debbie realized that she'd have to flick on and off a light switch, or throw something at her, or (worse yet) actually go up to her, in order to get her attention. These options, however, soon became less important as Debbie got lost in the way her frisky, luscious boarder bounced that glimmering bubble butt -- all nice, exposed, ripe, juicy Indian butt-flesh -- like two round, mini-watermelons, her string of thong allowing Debbie a memory-destroying view of Sheela's sweat-glistened butt-crack that caught enough light to clearly delineate the darker skin vortexing into her butthole. Just below, the slightly wider, skimpy strip of black fabric outlined some mouth-watering cameltoe, puffy, lickable.

With her hands on the ground in front of her, and still doing the splits, Sheela thrusted her loins forward, then back, forward, back, in time with the music, looking like she was fucking. Her pussy and ass were moving in a sort of scooping motion, Debbie concluded, as she felt her nipples tingling hard, stretching and rubbing against her sweatshirt, the unavoidable moisture commencing its tumult below. Keeping one hand on the ground directly in front of her, Sheela reached around with the free one to give that booty a good slap, the hand remaining there, nails digging in deep, pulling on the cheek to show even more glistening rectum, her pinky-nail reaching in extra close to the star-fished opening to give it one, final, really up-close stretch to reveal to Debbie a pliant black hole that was "covered" up by that thin string of thong.

Meanwhile, Grant was still on the toilet, but not for its intended use. Madly jerking his cock -- which was now a straining, angry tower that made him compare it to his one-time "o.d'ing" of Viagra -- he gave it a good, thorough greasing with the pre-cum that Sheela had already coaxed and cajoled out of his semi-erect cock by the time she was strutting down the hall to her "playground". Grant was thankful his bathrobe pockets were low enough to tuck his hands into to "quell the beast" during the tour.

He could start to hear Sheela's stereo, its deep catchy beat making him unconsciously masturbate to it like a metronome, even matching the extra syncopated beats, every minute or so, with a customized encircling of his cockhead with thumb and forefinger, twisting back and forth in a sort of (native) indian rope burn way, a seething pain that galvanized Grant's explosive lust for Sheela, and then dutifully returning to the main beat with full shaftstrokes, increasingly pounding harder into balls already so fucking blue from her diabolical teasing. He repeatedly sniffed for remnants of Sheela's lotion like it was his last chance to smell it -- her -- ever again.