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This is my first attempt to write an erotica, so your feedback will be greatly appreciated. All characters in this story are fictional and above the age of 18.
Thanks to PrabhatNaked for taking time to edit my story.
Sometimes when I look back at the recent months and weeks of my life, I startle at how it changed so dramatically and so quickly. I get a sense of both disbelief and thrill to recall how a series of seemingly innocuous events led to a tremendously liberating journey – sexually as well as emotionally. But to sincerely describe that remarkable journey, I must start from the beginning – from the very beginning.
I was born in the Indian metropolis of Kolkata, in to a wealthy family, and to an educated, socially well respected parents. Later, they told me how happy they were to finally have a girl child. Well, their happiness certainly didn’t translate into pampering as far as I can remember; perhaps a tribute to my level-headed parents.
I went to a reputed private school, became friends with other rich kids. Though I never achieved outstanding grades in school, I really don’t recollect my parents were ever concerned about my academic performance. I never had a lot of friends, but I was happy with the ones that I had.
I loved my brothers but as I was growing up they gradually assumed the role of a ‘counsellor’ rather than that of a ‘confidant’. But that was possibly not surprising as I was 7 years younger than my elder twin brothers.
My love life during the high school days was limited to a few rare heartbreaks resulting from discovering my teenage crush was going out with other girls. Back in those days, it was neither easy nor indeed common for an Indian teenage girl to sleep around; and I was even more timid than the average teenage girls of our time, as far as sexual adventures are concerned. I didn’t even learn to masturbate until I was 16!
I duly fulfilled my parents’ aspirations of their child completing higher education and following their footsteps. I was not sure though whether they would appreciate it when I fell in love with my classmate while doing my Masters’. But I was 23 by then and per the prevailing social customs, my parents were looking for a suitable groom for me anyway. They didn’t grumble when they found my boyfriend comes from a very affluent family and aspires to be a renowned economist. With the financial support of his parents, getting married early was hardly a career-limiting move for my boyfriend. So I got married at 23 and by then I had realised that academia was not for me.
I was really excited as a newlywed bride, living with my husband in a big house served by maids and cooks. Not many newly married couples from Kolkata could afford their own place back in those days – it was certainly a privilege. Our sex life was pretty active; or so I believed until I embarked on a sexually liberating journey many years later in my life. I was still doing my Masters’ when I became pregnant and I gave birth to our beautiful daughter shortly after completing my degree. I was 24.
I decided to forego my career and instead become a homemaker and support my husband’s budding career as an economist. I might have felt a little blue in my subconscious initially when my husband was not particularly forceful in trying to change my mind. But largely, I was content playing the supporting wife and watching our beautiful daughter bloom in front of my eyes.
Life moved on and the years went by without throwing any big surprises at us. Sumita, our daughter, was now 17, in her final year of school. Her father was visiting Chicago University to present his recently published paper. Our phone rang very early in the morning in Kolkata and delivered the terrible news that my husband had suffered a massive heart attack the previous night and was declared dead when he was rushed to the nearest hospital. Out of the blue, my world was shattered in an instant. Just like that – no forewarning, nothing.
To my surprise, however, the feeling inside me was one of numbness rather than a deep sorrow. I was completely at a loss. My parents, brothers and in-laws all showed compassion and offered to help but I found it terribly hard to look forward to life, to gather myself and go again. The sudden death of her father and seeing her mother constantly depressed and numb had an awful impact on Sumita. The problem was that both Sumita and I were heavily dependent on my late husband for emotional guidance and support and now we both had lost it.
A few months after that dreadful morning, I began to realise that I could not afford to fall to pieces. That I had to be strong and stand on my feet for Sumita if not for anything else. But staying at home all day – the place was immersed with memories of my late husband – I found it impossible to come out of my depression. I recognised that that I need a reason to venture into the outside world and keep myself busy. I needed to find work.
I had my History degree Ankara bayan escort and my grades were consistently good but I didn’t have any experience. I needed a favour in order to land a job. Fortunately, most of my family were in academia and my brothers managed to pull a few strings to get me into a newly opened private college as assistant professor.
Things started to settle down slowly as Sumita and I began a new phase of our lives. She did very well in her school final exam. With her marks, she was certain to get into most of the top universities in India. Although I always wanted Sumita to avail the best possible option for her higher study, secretly I was hoping that she would choose a university close to our home. I was not ready to live on my own, not yet. Luck smiled at me for once as Sumita stayed home and pursued her bachelor’s in History following the footsteps of her mother.
For the next three and half years, I devoted myself to work and supporting Sumita. Everything was getting back to ‘normal’.
I met Arindam a couple of years later.
Our History Professor, Sagarika Sen, was an extra ordinary woman. There was something enigmatic about her and that drew me towards her virtually from the very moment I saw her for the first time. She was quite unusually tall for an Indian woman and extremely voluptuous. But despite having some extra flesh on her, Prof. Sen’s physique never looked disproportionate – remarkably big structured for an Indian woman, yes, but still full of magical symmetry.
Despite her imposing figure, Prof. Sen always looked very elegant in all her postures. Watching her effortlessly glide on the elevated platform in front of the black board – always neatly draped in her expensive and tasteful sarees and accompanied by equally tasteful full sleeve blouses – it was almost impossible not to mentally undress her. Whenever Prof. Sen turned her back towards the classroom to write something on the black board, the subtle wobble of her Rubensesque, buxom buttocks would invariably drag me into a naughty daydream; and I am sure I wasn’t the only one in my class having such intimate thoughts. Yet there was an aura and a reserved firmness about her personality that often impeded my sexual thoughts and forced me to look at her with respect instead.
I was never keen on so called sophisticated women hailing from so called elite class of the society. Whatever little interaction I had with them during my life, such sophistication seemed like an artificially created mask that fell away when circumstances challenged it. But in case of Prof. Sen, I felt that her sophisticated manners were ingrained in her personality; it felt authentic and added to her aura.
She was a good teacher too. I would have attended her lectures even if she looked like blobfish. But her stunning appearance meant I would go extra miles to make sure I am prepared for her lectures; hoping to impress her in an impromptu QA session – impress her in any way possible really. I always tried my best with the assignments, submitted them on time, participated in class discussions. I could not be sure but I felt I was on her good books. But I never had any opportunity to have amy one to one interaction with her – not until the classes resumed after the winter break.
That day, I was about to leave the classroom at the end of the lecture when Prof. Sen spoke to me while gathering her papers from the table in front of her.
“Arindam, can you wait for a minute please?”
“Sure Madam.” My heart started to beat a little faster.
“Madam?” She frowned playfully. “I thought I had asked all of you to address me as Ms. Sen?”
I nodded quietly. The classroom was empty by now except the two of us. For months and months, I had waited for a moment like this. And now that I was standing just 3 feet away from her in an empty classroom, I was dead nervous.
“I have been reading your essay and I wanted to discuss it with you.” She gathered her laptop and the books from the table. “Are you ok for popping down to my office for a bit?”
“You mean right now Madam…er… Ms. Sen?” I mumbled.
“Well, it doesn’t have to be right now but I don’t have any more classes for today, so whenever it suits you.”
I had planned to meet one of my friends after college but I didn’t want to miss this opportunity despite being nervous about what she was going to say. “Sure, Ms. Sen, I can come now, I don’t have any more classes today either.”
“Very well, shall we then?”
As we walked through the long corridor, I could not help but to amaze at her majestic statuesque frame once more – she was at least 6 inches taller than me and she wasn’t wearing heels.
At her office, Ms. Sen pointed at the chair in front of her own where she sat holding up my essay paper.
“Come, sit here.” She asked.
“Is it okay?”
“Nothing to worry, Arindam.” She perhaps sensed my anxiety. “I can see that you are working hard and I have been impressed with Escort bayan Ankara most of your assignments this semester. But the reason I wanted to talk to you separately is that I think your latest essay is a brilliant piece of work – both original and thought provoking. I am really curious to understand how did you come up with it?”
Born in a poor family, verbally abused by my alcoholic and perpetually depressed father who was certain that I was a curse to the family – the reason for my mother’s death trying to give birth – and growing up in a rough neighbourhood. I didn’t need any inspiration for an essay on class divisions in the contemporary Indian society.
“Actually, it was quite easy Ms. Sen. I wrote what I see around me every day, Ms. Sen.”
“Oh!” She sighed, probably taken aback by the sudden yet nonchalant admission of my difficult life. “I didn’t realise… I mean, that you had to…” Her words trailed off lamely.
I always reacted coldly to any pity or sympathy that anyone ever offered to me. But I felt the shadow that cast on Ms. Sen’s face was of genuine compassion. She seemed to be deep in her thoughts, oblivious of my presence. I kept looking at her face intensely – she was no Sophia Loren – but her somewhat longish face was beautiful and elegant in its own way; the smooth, fair skin on her face had no visible sign of ageing and bore evidence of an opulent life. I kept watching her face intently as her large but shapely nostrils flared in a mesmerising rhythm of her breathing.
“I wanted to mention something else as well.” Said Ms. Sen, seemingly waking up from her deep thoughts.
I nodded looking at her large dreamy black eyes.
“The content of your essay is fantastic – and not just this particular assignment – I found most of your assignments are full of very good and original content” She paused for a bit. “But I think your language skill needs some work. It would be a real shame if you don’t get the grade that you deserve just for linguistic reasons.”
Thanks to the bizarre education policy of my state Govt., most of us were taught English only from the sixth grade. And the English language was almost never a part of my social circle. “I am sorry Ms. Sen; I know I need to improve my English writing.” I admitted. “I have been working on it as much as I can.”
“Have you considered taking up additional classes or tutoring?” Asked Ms. Sen crossing her legs. “It’s great that you are working on it, but it is going to be difficult without any help.”
“I understand what you are saying Ms. Sen; but I have already taken up a hefty loan on top the Govt. grant, I am afraid I can’t afford any extra tutoring.”
“Hmm…” That’s all she murmured as she glanced through my essay paper once more.
Ms. Sen was seemingly unware that crossing her legs made the hem of her saree hike up and expose her left calf. There is something about the legs of matured Indian women – as they are usually covered under saree – a sudden and accidental sight of them would always excite me. At Ms. Sen’s office, I knew I had to be discreet but I could not help but admire the impressive feminine curvature of her fleshy and well-formed calf. With a spine-tingling sensation, I imagined how wonderful it would feel to gently massage her wonderfully smooth calves. My heart was beating fast and I knew I needed to remain composed.
“If you are ok with it, I can help you build your linguistic skills” Ms. Sen said laying my essay paper back on the table.
I was in a dilemma. I despised people throwing charity at me – oh look at the poor kid and all that. But I felt the proposal from Ms. Sen sounded sincere though, her tone was not patronising. I also knew that Ms. Sen was right, I was not going to improve my linguistic skills on my own – not as quickly as it needed to be done anyway. Besides all that, just the opportunity to spend time with my favourite professor alone was extremely tempting.
“That is very kind of you Ms. Sen, but I am not sure if I can accept it” I was still struggling to come to terms with the ‘charity’ aspect of the proposal.
“Look, I can already foresee that you would produce some very powerful pieces during the semester and yet your grades will be comparatively low because teachers will repeatedly point towards your linguistic deficiencies; and I think that is very unfair. My intention is not hurt your self-pride or anything; I am only trying to do my job.” She seemed to have understood my dilemma.
I was undoubtedly turned on at the thought of spending some one on one time my professor despite my inner resistance. I nodded affirmatively at the end.
“Ok, that’s it settled then.” Ms. Sen exclaimed with a sense of relief. “I suggest we start with twice a week after college and take it from there. Now, Tuesdays and Fridays suit me best – does that work for you?”
It didn’t really, but I was more than happy to move things around to be with Ms. Sen. “Sure Ms. Sen, that is fine with me.”
“I am somewhat occupied this Bayan escort Ankara week with the upcoming seminar, so how about if we start from Tuesday next week? I can give you a lift after college, that would probably be easier for the first day.”
“That’s perfect and thank you so much Ms. Sen, I really appreciate; I am really sorry if I came across as difficult – I just can’t help it sometimes.”
“It’s ok Arindam, I understand.” Ms. Sen smiled fondly as she got up to let me out. “I will see you tomorrow after college then.”
“Sure, Ms. Sen, I’ll wait outside your office.”
“Tell you what, note down my mobile number as well, just in case.”
I saved her number on my phone and gave her a missed call so that she had mine too.
As I walked out of Ms. Sen’s office, in my mind, I replayed the image of her luscious curves wobbling subtly as she stood up from her chair. I realised that I was hiding an erection in my trousers.
I was feeling very tired that evening as I pulled my car up in front of the main entrance. I indulged myself in a long and relaxing shower first and got changed into my homely cotton saree and sleeveless blouse. I always maintained an extra layer of reservation and modesty when I am interacting with the external world; and that made letting the guard down at home that much more satisfying. I made myself a cup of tea and sat down on the sofa and glanced through a few news and current affairs magazines. My late husband was a voracious reader and I seemed to have picked up that trait from him. I flicked through the TV channels – as usual, there was nothing really worth watching. I had our daily customary mother daughter Skype session – something I look forward to all day. It was just like any other evening.
But there was something different about it too. I was feeling content. I was satisfied enough with my job – it gave me and my family a new start after all – but I had been feeling an urge to do more. And there is nothing more exciting for a teacher to spot a gem and help nurture it to see it bloom in front of your eyes.
I was impressed with Arindam throughout the semester. There was something about him. Every assignment that he submitted, every discussion that he participated in – he struck me as someone who had the rare ability to think outside the box. He worked hard too, I never found him unprepared for any of my lectures.
His latest essay was particularly brilliant. May be the fact that Arindam could draw from his own life and surroundings did help him to enrich the content, but still it was an impressive piece of work without a shadow of doubt. I was very confident that if I can somehow dust away his linguistic deficiencies, I could present the academia with a future gem.
I felt some sort of a connection with Arindam, too. Despite difficult circumstances he was proud of what he represented. I respected his pride although it was borderline stubbornness. After my husband’s premature death, despite everyone offering support and help, I wanted to do something on my own. I wanted to stand on my own feet. So, even though it bothered me a little, I could very well relate to his unwillingness to accept any extra help than what he thought was due.
At least it would keep me busy – I said to myself. Since Sumita moved out to pursue her higher study, I had often been bored in the evening in our large and empty house. Helping Arindam seemed far more promising to me than watching some trash on TV.
Later that night, as I rested my tired head on the pillow, I remembered how I yearned for another child. My husband was not so keen – he had his absurd theory that parent’s love for their offspring need not be shared; apparently that’s why I was not pampered as a child. I wanted a boy after I had Sumita. I could not decipher whether the attachment that I felt with Arindam had anything to do my past maternal longing.
On that Tuesday our History class was cancelled as Ms. Sen had to attend an urgent meeting. I had been fighting with myself all day – was it the right thing to accept Ms. Sen’s offer to help me? I thought, on one hand she represented the societal class that I had purposefully avoided all my life – rich, convent-educated and posh; on the other hand, she seemed honest, compassionate and a person of integrity. Then there was her gorgeous buxom figure.
It was definitely the right decision, I concluded. I regretted to have suggested to meet outside her office though. I wished we had agreed to meet at the University car park, it would have been far less crowded. I was desperate to avoid anyone getting the idea that Ms. Sen was helping ‘that poor kid’.
I waited for about 10-15 minutes after our class disassembled following the final lecture of the day and then made my way towards Ms. Sen’s office. Luckily, the passage was relatively empty; I pretended to be occupied studying the numerous house sharing ads that were haphazardly jumbled on an information board near the office door.
Her courteous smile greeted me as Ms. Sen appeared through the door minutes later. She was holding a few files on her left hand vertically rested against her chest. She looked even taller today; I wondered if she was wearing heels.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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