After finishing my morning chores and sending the children off to college, I headed straight to my room, eager to get ready, my eagerness bordering on impatience. A broad grin was all I could see in the mirror as I stood before it.
Saturday was the day when I went to the market, to buy all household items required for the coming week. I could buy everything that was needed in the nearby local market, but I never did. Not since I had realized the importance of this day. I made it a point, giving one excuse or other, to go to the biggest market in the city. After all, it was my day.
I spent a lot of time and effort in preparing for the day’s ‘activities’. Right from a facial scrub to shaving my underarms and waxing my legs, it was a tedious process. But I did it with the same broad grin on my face every Saturday. Not that I wore revealing clothes, no. No sleeveless kurtas, no skirts, just the traditional Indian salwar kurta, but the lack of hair in my armpits and the smoothness of my legs gave a weird sense of confidence to the woman inside me.
The anticipation of the day’s ‘activities’ made me work in a very efficient manner, making sure that I was out of my house by eleven in the morning. It gave me ample time to reach the main market by noon, a quarter of an hour away from my house by metro.
It was five minutes past eleven and I was at the metro station of my locality, waiting for the next train. In a couple of minutes I was standing inside the train coach. (It is impossible to get a seat on the metro here, even if it is not rush hour). It was not rush time so I had ample room for myself, not like office hours when it was impossible to differentiate one body from other. The rush would be in the evening, when I would be returning home; that thought made my grin even broader.
I saw my faint reflection in the glass windows of the metro coach. I was looking beautiful, more as if I was glowing with pleasure. I was wearing a pink kurta without a dupatta as women wore these days (with normal length sleeves, almost up to my elbow), and white leggings that were as tight as leggings usually are. Although the kurta was not hugging my body tightly (unlike the leggings), but still my figure could be made out underneath it. I carried a black purse, hanging on my right shoulder, which was actually large enough to be called a small bag.
I was a medium built woman, with fair complexion and shoulder length black hair, which I usually wore open, like today. My breasts were neither too big nor too small, just perfect on my body, good enough to attract their share of stares. My ass was another thing though. It was as if it had been stuffed good, bulging prominently out of my medium-built body. Today, my tight leggings were making sure that my most prized possession was jutting out on display, ready to attract stares and much more.
My name was Madhu and I was ready to enjoy my Saturday’s ‘activities’.
I stepped out of the metro at station serving the main market, aware of all the stares focussing on my ass, and felt a few hands brush meekly against it.
In the bustling cacophony of what was the busiest metro station in the city, I headed for the escalators at my own sweet pace. Given the huge amount of rush at this nodal station at any given time it was inevitable to bump into people accidently, more so when you were consciously trying to do the same.
In the couple of minutes that took me to leave the station and to ascend to ground level, I had bumped into at least a dozen people, all men. Some hands had found their destination, a poke on my breasts, their momentary half-cupping, a gentle but definite nudge on my midriff, and brushes against my ass. All of them were of the smallest magnitude of time possible, in the smallest magnitude of time that was available before the act seemed too obvious. Except for the fifteen second ride on the escalator, where a man behind me whose face I didn’t see, made sure that his groin was tightly pressed against my left ass cheek. Well, it would be better if I said that it was me who made sure of that.
So here I was, at the inner circle of the main market. I smiled into my watch, it was exactly noon.
I looked around to see a plethora of high-end shops, offices, showrooms of the biggest brands, leading coffee chains and eateries. But that was not my mind focussed on. It was looking at the roadside vendors, people who sold things on the roadside, either wandering around or sitting on a thin cloth with all their items on display. Even though it was the high-end market area of the capital, it was inevitably splattered with such vendors, a ubiquitous sight all over India. They formed almost a complete ring inside the inner circle of this market, sitting opposite to and facing the elite shops, almost as if daring them.
These shops were manned by men from the lower classes. Those who lived on the edge of the pompous city’s outer circle made their living by selling cheap items on the inner circle of its most glorious bazaar. They were the –wallahs, the book-wallah, the ice cream-wallah, the jewellery-wallah, the mehendi-wallah, and so on. Then they were other men, the homeless people, and the beggars, those who made their living scavenging on the rich environment. And then there were those men who just came to the bustling market to enjoy the sight and feel of the lovely high-class ladies who wandered about the place.
It was these three categories of men, present in abundance, which brought water in my mouth.
“How much is this book for?” I asked the book-wallah, pointing at a random book among the many spread out on the pavement. He was a dark fat middle-aged man who was sitting alongside his ‘shop’ of second-hand or stolen books.
“Fifty,” he replied, eyeing me up and down, and I was sure he was imagining me naked.
“And what about that?” I pointed at another random book, now almost kneeling down on one knee to properly see the books.
He did not reply. I knew he wouldn’t. Because now in my almost kneeling down position, I was bent slightly forwards, making my kurta fall away from my body. I looked up at him and saw his eyes looking down my hanging kurta, at my cleavage.
“How much?” I asked again, in a louder voice.
“That too fifty,” he replied, diverting his eyes away in a jerk.
Again, I pointed at another book. But he couldn’t make out which book I was asking for.
“Which one are you asking for, madam?” he asked.
“Oh God! That one, can’t you see?” I said in a slightly irritated voice, bending down even more to point at a book at the far end.
“Can’t you see?” I scolded him, making sure that I stayed in that bend down position.
“Yes madam I can see,” he said. I looked at him. He was not looking in the direction in which I was pointing but instead right down my kurta. Now that I was bending down more than before, I was sure he could see my deep cleavage, along with the top of my milky-white breasts covered by the cusps of my striking black bra.
“What?” I asked.
“Fifty, that too fifty,” he said, this time not bothering to divert his gaze away.
At that moment it couldn’t be said which of the two was more shameless, the poor low-class vendor staring at a high-class woman’s cleavage, or me, the high-class woman who was exposing herself to the poor low-class vendor.
“Ok, what about that?” I said and moved directly into his line of sight, now kneeling down on both my knees, stretching myself to touch a book kept almost right at his foot.
I saw his mouth gape open as he saw my black bra clad breasts completely and at such close distance. I saw him swallowing the saliva which was overflowing in his mouth at such a lovely sight.
Realizing that he had been leering too long he looked down at the book I was touching, and I saw a weird smile form on his unshaven unwashed face.
“That one is for twenty rupees,” he said grinning. I looked down at the book and was taken aback by what I saw.
The cover of the book had a photo of a semi-naked woman and was titled ‘A Woman’s Desire’. Shit! It was a cheap erotic novel in Hindi. I gulped at my folly and retracted back to my standing position, unsure of what to do next.
“I have more of them here,” he said, “if that’s the type you want.” His eyes were glowing with excitement and the grin hadn’t left his face.
“No, I don’t,” I managed to mumble.
“I have some in English also,” he persisted, pointing to a stack close to him which was covered by a cloth, “come here I’ll show you.”
Still unsure of what to do, I stood my ground, staring at the book-wallah’s grinning face. Then I walked around to the place where he was sitting.
He got into a squatting position and uncovered the stack to which he had pointed. It was full of cheap erotic novels, all adorned by a cover featuring naked or almost naked women.
I squatted next to him and started flipping the books around, my mind blank and still unsure. I had exposed myself to so many vendors and strangers for so many Saturdays that it had become a routine, but I was not prepared for something like this to happen.
“I have to hide such books, else the police-wallahs come and confiscate them,” he said as my hands were still flipping through the collection.
He reached behind him and pulled out another stack, “These are really hard core,” he said and smacked his lips. As I turned towards the new stack, I saw something that made me swallow the saliva that had so suddenly filled my mouth.
We were now squatting such that we were facing each other. In the process of showing me these books, the book-wallah’s lungi had pulled up to his knees. I could see right inside it as he was not wearing any underwear. I felt a lump in my throat as I saw his black thick penis jutting out from a forest of curly dark hair. It wasn’t fully erect but it looked quite big to me. I was squatting so close to him that I could see the thick green veins bulging on its surface. In the handful of seconds that I looked at it, it increased in size at a rapid pace, twirling like a snake.
Then, the book-wallah was back in his normal sitting position on the ground. I was dumb-struck. I couldn’t make out whether he had intentionally pulled up his lungi or it had been pulled up due to change in posture.
“Do you like it?” he asked, pulling me out of the daze.
“Wh…what..tt?” I managed.
“Do you like the book you are holding?” he asked pointedly. I realized that in the moment of stupor I had clutched on to one of those cheap novels. Immediately, I dropped it back on the ground, got up from my squatting position and walked away from that book-wallah as fast as I could.
I didn’t realize in which direction I was going. As I walked away, I could feel the wetness beginning to form between my legs. Unknowingly, I smiled. After so many Saturdays of exhibitionism, which had actually begun to become monotonous, I had a new experience. I was amazed at the amount of pleasure a momentary sighting of a low-class vendor’s penis had given me.
I was actually thrilled, my heart thumping wildly as I looked around to zero in on my next –wallah.
I headed towards a part of the pavement where many vendors were gathered together and stood at the poster-wallah’s shop. Beginning my conversation with him, a young man (probably in his late twenties), I asked him to show me some Bollywood posters.
Kneeling down in front of the posters, I was ready for some more action when I felt someone move up next to me. A man had taken up the same kneeling down position on my right side.
“Show me that one,” I heard him say as he instructed the poster-wallah. Shit! Now I had to wait for him to leave before I could continue with my show or else involve him too. But I usually avoided educated men, preferring to exhibit myself to the –wallahs.
As he withdrew his hands after examining a poster, the back of his left hand grazed forcefully against the side of my right breast. By the feel of it and the lack of any apology on his behalf, I knew for sure that it was intentional.
And before I could gather my thoughts, he did it again. As he extended his left hand to hold another poster, he made sure that it rubbed the side of my right breast. This time his motion was slower, the rubbing taking for a longer duration. Then as he examined the poster by bringing it closer, his hand stayed put against my breast.
Not expecting such a thing, I was just staring in front. The back of his left hand was firmly lodged in place, exerting a forceful push against the softness of my right breast. He moved his hand in a to and fro motion, as if he was examining the poster carefully, making my breast to move in the same manner. He was actually fondling my breast with the back of his hand!
He then returned the poster and moved to the other side, on my left. Repeating the same tactic, he now fondled my left breast with the back of his right hand as I remained frozen to the spot.
The feel of a stranger’s hands on my breasts was having its effect on me. I felt myself flush with excitement. Feigning ignorance, I continued browsing through more posters, anticipating his next move.
There was an announcement on the public address system, “There is going to be a flash mob performance in the central park in five minutes.”
Out of nowhere I felt a pull at my elbow, “Let us go.” The man had pulled me up from my kneeling position and was taking me towards the central park.
“Wait…wh..at…ttt?” I squeaked after we had taken a couple of steps, trying to stop walking. But his firm and persistent pull made sure that I continued to stumble forwards.
He did not reply nor did he make any effort in explaining his action. Before I realized it, I was actually walking in front of him and he was pushing me. But his action was such that to anyone observing us, it would have seemed like he was my husband, and we trying to make our way through the heavy market rush.
Within a minute we were at the central garden. He was still firmly gripping my arm. I had initially grown apprehensive, what were his intentions, was he going to rape me? But we were in the middle of the busiest market of the city; there were too many people around for that sort of thing to happen. Slyly, I had let him guide me. A part of me wanted to know what he was up to, another part hoped that it better be good.
The park was already full to its capacity, with a central clearing where the mob would perform. He guided me towards the boundary of the central park where there was a raised platform for people standing in the distance to observe the centre. There were already many people on the platform, but still he pushed me, asking me to climb.
“Wh…y?” I looked at him. It was the first clear look I had of his face. Fair but unshaven, he looked like a well off person, and my guess was that he would be in his early twenties.
“Just climb up,” he snarled into my ear, pushing me towards the platform with his hand against my ass. Another young man, who was already on the platform extended his hand to help me climb. I felt the first man cup my ass cheek tightly as I was pulled and pushed onto the platform.
Before I could get my bearings I was surrounded by four men. The man who had brought me all the way was standing behind me. Then there were two men on either side and the one who had pulled me up was in front of me. They were all of the same age group and looked educated; they were not like the low-class vendors.
“What is this nonsense?” I finally managed to speak.
“What?” said the one on my right.
“Why have you brought me here?”
“To enjoy your slutiness, you bitch,” snarled the one behind me, slapping my ass cheek. I was shocked. The feeling of apprehension was fast growing back on me. I looked around to see my surroundings. We were on a platform that was at the extreme edge of the park with a wall right behind us. It was completely filled with men.
“I’ll shout for help, you can’t do anything here in all this rush,” I said with all courage I could muster.
“When you can enjoy in this rush, why can’t we?” asked the one behind me. The others laughed.
“Wh..at? What do you mean?”
“I saw you at the book-wallah,” he said, “you were putting on quite a show there, weren’t you bitch?”
The others were still laughing.
I mumbled for words. He continued, “Exposing yourself to low-class men, that’s what turns you on, right?”
His hand poked through the gap between my right hand and my body to reach my right breast, which he cupped forcefully, this time with his palm.
“Ouch!” I groaned in pain and confusion.
“Listen bitch, we see high-class whores like you here all the time,” he said, mauling my breast with a constant kneading motion. “We just want to have some fun too!”
“Here? How?” I heard myself asking, intrigued by a sense of helplessness and of being referred to as a bitch and a whore!
“You’ll suck our dicks here!”
Before I could say or understand anything, I felt his hands travel to my shoulders and push me down. I was now kneeling down in between the four men. I did not know whether to shout for help, attract attention of others or just sit there. I looked up and all I could see were the four men who were completely surrounding me, blocking any view to and from outside.
My dilemma was soon solved as the guy standing in front of me turned around to face me. I was kneeling such that my eyes were at level with his groin. Then he took out his penis from within in pants in a matter of seconds but it was as if I saw it happen in slow motion. My eyes were fixated on his groin as he reached down to unzip his trousers, that sound of his zipper going down made me salivate as one would on seeing delicious food. Then with on flicking motion of his right hand, he took out his penis, which was semi-erect, forcing him to manoeuvre his hand and pelvis to get it out completely. It was black and average-sized. I could see the tips of his pubic hair jutting out from the edges of his zipper.
So, before I could fathom my situation, a stranger’s semi-erect penis was dangling in front of my face, its slightly wet precum coated tip brushing my lower lip!
“Open your mouth and start…oohhh…” the owner of the penis was saying as I opened my mouth and flicked my tongue over the tip. “Yes, that’s right bitch!”
I got down to work.
I ran my tongue all over his shaft, licked his balls and kissed the tip…as fast as my saliva-dripping mouth would allow. I took his penis inside my mouth, as much as I could manage, while at the same time rolling my tongue on its under surface. My hands reached over to his balls which I massaged softly. The warmth of his growing penis was giving rise to a weird feeling of warmth throughout my body, which was converging between my legs.
“This bitch sucks good!”
“Finish fast, we want her too!”
I was listening to these comments as if I was far far away, my mind concentrating only on the task at hand, or rather mouth.
I could tell that his penis had grown fully and that he was about to orgasm.
“Oh yes…oh yes…suck it good!” he said as I continued with my to and fro rhythmic motion. I felt the tip of his penis grow at the back of my mouth and his hands gripped my hair, increasing the frequency of my head’s motion. Then in a moment of pure ecstasy, I felt hotness at the back of my throat. It was as if the tip of his penis had exploded inside my mouth. He ejaculated his hot semen into my mouth and held my head so tightly that I couldn’t withdraw from his ejaculatory onslaught.
I gagged at the enormity of his ejaculate, almost choking as I swallowed it in its entirety, his firm persistent grip on my hair making it impossible for me to spit it out. In the process, I milked out more and more of semen from his satisfied penis. He gave one final tug at my hair as I felt his now limping penis convulse for the last time inside my mouth.
His breaths were laborious as he withdrew his saliva-coated penis from inside my semen-covered mouth.
“That’s how good bitches suck a dick,” he said as he slapped his penis on my cheeks a couple of times, almost as if he was patting my back in appreciation.
I looked up and saw deep sense of satisfaction etched all over his face. I am sure that as he looked down at me he could have seen slutinees etched all over mine.
But, there was no time for procrastination as the second guy, the one standing on my right, unzipped his trousers and directed my face towards his fully erect penis. Kneeling down in between these four men and surrounded by a crowd at a public park in the middle of busiest market of the city, I, a married woman and mother of two children, gave a blowjob to four strangers, sucking at their penises passionately as if my life depended on it and then swallowing their semen in entirety.
Sometime in the course of the second blowjob, I felt that weird feeling of warmth concentrating between my legs. My vagina was secreting copious amounts of womanly juices which was now spread all over my vulval lips and my inner thighs. It was almost as if my clitoris and vulva were on fire, the feeling of pleasure causing heat to radiate from them. As if automatically my right hand reached down to between my legs, to rub my womanhood over my clothes in an attempt to seek the ultimate pleasure.
“Bitch get your hands back on my balls,” I heard the voice of the man whose penis I had in my mouth. I felt one of the other guys grab my hand and remove it from over my groin, taking it to service his own penis, rubbing it on his erect penis over his trousers.
“Plea…please…let me…orgasm…too…” I pleaded in between blows to the back of my throat.
One of the guys laughed. The others sniggered.
“Look at this bitch begging for pleasure!”
“Will anyone believe that she is a married woman?”
“Ple…please!” I repeated.
“Shut up bitch! And concentrate on your work!”
I felt my both hands being grabbed and rubbed on to the trousers of two of the other guys.
“This is for our pleasure and not yours’.”
“You have your husband for that, don’t you?” chuckled one of them.
So, one by one I sucked on the penises of the remaining three men, devouring the moment of their ejaculation and savouring on to the last drops of their semen. In the meanwhile, the sense of pleasure between my legs kept on building, almost begging for release as I tried to rub the inside of my thighs together.
As soon as the last of the four men finished with my mouth, milking his balls out into my throat, they let go of my hands which rushed down to seek the pleasure that was caged inside me. But as soon as I had rubbed over my vulva once, I felt a jerk under my arms.
The original guy (who had brought me there and the last to receive a blowjob) had caught me under my arms and lifted me up, making me stand.
“Please let me finish!” I exhaled, my breath still caught between my legs.
“Do whatever you want once we are gone bitch!” he snarled.
I was not able to understand what he was up to. I was standing facing him (towards the wall) and the two guys standing on my side were holding my hands away from my body. Then I felt the first guy’s hand (now behind me) under my kurta, on the small of my back.
“NO! Please don’t…”
“Shut up! We are not doing anything.”
I felt the first guy’s hand reach my bra strap under my kurta. Effortlessly he unhooked my bra and then proceeded to stretch the two shoulder straps in either direction. My mind was vehemently opposing the happenings even as my body lay paralysed in the grip of the two men on either side of me. Those two got into the act, pulling at the straps under the sleeve of my kurta, stretching it so as to get it to my hands and then pulling them through. After the straps were free of my hands, they let go of them and the recoil of their elastic made a hurtful snapping contact with my skin. My bra was now free under my kurta, unhooked from behind and made free from my hands. The original guy reached down under the front of my kurta and pulled it off me completely. Within a matter of seconds, I was braless.
The four of them sniggered as the original guy pulled out my bra from under my kurta. It was a black one which I had brought as a lingerie set on my last anniversary. He sniffed at the cups of my just removed bra and let out a sigh of pleasure.
Even though I was wearing a kurta, my hands went to my breasts, covering them as if I were naked.
“I wish we could take your panty too!” he said before embracing me and planting a rough kiss on my lips.
“Take this,” he said as he released me from his grip. I thought he was returning my bra but he handed me a piece of paper.
“It’s my phone number, give me a call if you want some real sex!” he whispered into my ear.
Before I could even mumble the word ‘what’ in its entirety, the four of them vanished into the crowd, leaving me on the platform, my hands criss-crossed in front of my breasts, my mouth gaping wide open with surprise and my vulva drenched in my womanly juices, desperate for pleasure.
Although I had seeked pleasure in this market for a long time by means of exhibitionism, rubbing and groping, it had all been anonymous, not leaving even an iota of physical trace. It all had been at a mental level, imagining and recollecting the touches and gropes drove me to orgasms, alone or when I was being used by my husband. But this was different. I had left me different.
Very consciously, I lowered my hands and looked around, hoping that no one was noticing me. I saw a couple of men, who looked like rickshaw-wallahs, staring at me with looks that suggested that they knew what I had been up to. Normally, the piercing stares of such –wallahs had drawn me to further initiate some ‘activities’ but I was no longer normal.
I alighted down from the platform with a sense of emergency and made my way out of the garden, as fast as I could, my bra-less breasts juggling up and down with the hurried steps that I took. I was acutely aware of the sloppiness between my legs. My head was drooping with shame, thinking about my husband and children. How easily could I have destroyed my family life? How could I have allowed myself to take part in such an ‘activity’?