Worship: But Not The Planned One

You could blame it on the situation. The temple queue was such a crush that it was inevitable that the people in the queue were pressed together in all sorts of awkward ways.

But when Srikant, an 18-year old from her neighborhood first brushed against Shobha aunty (mami) in that crowd he was guilty of allowing it to happen rather easily. He had always secretly fantasized about Shobha aunty, with her full bosom and enticing way of wearing her saree. She always showed cleavage, her face was radiant and she wore flowers in her hair — which somehow seemed raunchy to him.

She always seemed dressed to seduce; or was it just the desire in the eyes of the 18- year old boy that she looked that seductive?

And when she came up against the awkward and geeky youth from in the temple crowd, she recognized him from get togethers though she did not know him by name. She immensely preferred him to the anonymous males brushing up against her and crushing against her. And not all those brushes and crushes seemed forced; now here was that cock rubbing itself on her ample, rounded ass, even pausing between her buttocks for an extra rub. Her reaction was somewhere between bubbling desire and revulsion.

In general she loved how sexy she felt and how wanton and lustful she really was. She dressed, showed off and mentally seduced all the men, young and old that she socially encountered. And she took all that pent up energy to her husband at any time and place where she could get him to fuck her.

She would have happily fucked Sundar uncle who was her husband’s mother’s brother. An ex-military type he seemed fit and his body seemed strong. “Would that strength extend, despite his age to his sexual stamina?” she often wondered.

She often dreamed of seducing Sundar uncle’s his son Surya and really wanted to allow her own cousin Shashidhar to plunder her as he did with his lustful eyes — but decorum restrained her.

Sometimes she wondered if it was her own inhibition. Sometimes she felt it was a consciousness that she played a key role in her household and somehow any such unleashing of her sexual desires would create some imbalance.

She also thought of what might happen if someone, especially Sundar Uncle who was a figure of authority reacted badly and exposed her in front of the family. She was a bit surer of the younger guys — they would happily indulge in her and fulfill their own fantasies she was sure.

So some combination of inhibition, fear, cowardice and a lack of opportunity outweighed her pulsating sexuality and fertile imagination.

So she did all this mentally. Every day. Every opportunity.

She was one of those mamis who was always doing a lot around the house. And theirs was a house where there was always a lot of coming and going. If it was not in the family, it was some neighborhood function around some festival.

On all these occasions, Shobha mami’s zest translated to a bubbling personality. Add to that her curvaceous figure and playfulness — she was quite a package. The menfolk in these situations always spent a lot of time eyeing her and thinking about her. If they were not imagining themselves in bed with her, at the very least they imagined her breasts to play with.

Many of the younger men yearned to work alongside her putting up flowers or stirring ingredients. They wanted to be near her just so that she might flirt with them. Or hands might touch. Or her saree pallo might slip. And who knows, if one was lucky he might die and go to heaven in those soft plump arms and everything that lay within.

But Shobha mami did much of that kind of work with the kids in the community. Her flirtatious best was reserved for men older than her; men she could really bed if she got down to it. But unknown to anyone, beyond that flirtatious exterior was a woman who furiously fantasized about every man she encountered. And on more than one occasion she masturbated to that fantasy.

Or brought it to her marital bed. And on those occasions she surprised her husband with additional sexual energy and her sluttish devotion to pleasure and lust.

She might have mouthed him to orgasm imagining him to the strict, disciplinarian Sundar uncle and viewed the cumming as his taming. She might have ridden him, on top, to an uncontrolled, explosive orgasm pretending she was deflowering the young Surya.

Or bent over and insisted he ride her like the bitch on heat she felt herself to be at that moment.

Her husband, on all such occasions enjoyed the whore in her and the contrast with the dutiful social mami added to the lust of her slutty tendencies when in bed with him.

He could make out which were ordinary days and which were days of extra energy. She was not the same woman. Making love to her oscillated between worshipping a divine, motherly woman and plundering and being plundered by a wanton slut.

So yes, there was some playfulness in her for all the men who used the opportunity to feel her in different ways. In some ways it was also a compromise in a society where crowds were what they were and men were the way they were.

They would grope on such occasions but at least enough of them were cowards like Sundar uncle — they would not have the guts to seduce or respond unless the woman made the definitive move. “Hypocrites!” she thought to herself.

So she told Srikant, “Let us stick to each other! It is unbearable in this crowd.”

“Yes, mami,” mumbled the taller, younger man, looking down Shobha’s cleavage. Sweat coated them and her blouse was at least partially soaked. How often had he imagined his face between those mounds of flesh! And here he was looking down and admiring them freely. The rivulets ran down her broad chest, converging at her cleavage and running down where he wanted his lips to run.

She looked up and saw his eyes riveted on her bosom. She struggled to bring her hand up to pull her pallo over her breasts, making both of them more conscious of the situation.

But her gesture was not genuine. She was already beginning to feel a different kind of heat radiate from within at the awareness of the young man’s eyes on her. Hypocritically, her actions were her social self, while she actually wanted to let him nibble at her with his eyes.

Her mind briefly dwelt on the situation. She had seen him in and about the neighborhood. She noted that he had never featured in any fantasy possibly because he was younger and not within the family. Even in her mind, she felt bolder with the older males. They often represented authority figures and she suspected that beneath that veneer was a male who could be subjugated with sex.

Every flirtatious gesture was to test if that theory was correct. Or within the family, where they represented opportunity and control. The rest of the working out of the theory — of she fucking the authority figure and reducing him to bubbling mass of flesh under her; of taming the young man and making him her sexual slave — was done in her mind.

As she was wondering on whether to flirt with this young man there was a lurch in the crowded mass of bodies. Her pallo was swept aside and her cleavage was again exposed. But also more of the blouse was now also visible to him and he saw the damp fabric stuck to her body. In fact, Srikant could smell Shobha mami’s womanly aromas as they rose off her body.

“Take this,” Shobha mami bellowed at him, handing him her pooja basket, loaded with a coconut, a dozen bananas and flowers. Srikant took them and held them high over their heads. Shobha pushed with her left shoulder to make way and both of them sideways, facing each other made their way forward. “Stay with me,” she shouted above the din.

He was not about to lose her. She featured in the standard set of two or three of his hot favorite women from the locality. He often ran errands for the other two, in the hope that opportunity for a steamy encounter would present itself. He had often been home alone with Saroja mami in her kitchen having just brought her some vegetable or ingredient she had just requested. Like with all the mamis of the neighborhood, the breasts were heavy and sumptuous. And in his limited repertoire of fantasies, all he wanted was those breasts.

Some of the stuff he had seen on the net told him there was more — but he did not fully understand many of things shown there.

Srikant’s fantasies usually revolved around their breasts; he imagined his buried in them, his lips sucking at them and him playing with those objects of his intense desire. It resulted in an erection that could not be controlled and he masturbated quickly to find release. At least once he had done this standing in the corridor of Saroja mami’s house, his eyes on her as she sat on the kitchen floor, grating coconut.

It was he who had brought her that coconut. When Saroja mami sat down with the grater on the floor he had a good view of her breasts. That morning she was wearing no bra within and in the heat of her kitchen she was soaked. Slowly from her armpits the sweat had seeped through and the side of her breasts were clamped to the cloth. Her nipples formed dark patches and Srikant’s throat had gone dry as his eyes riveted on those knobs he wished to suck.

When Saroja mami had started moving back and forth and grating the coconut the jiggling of her breasts was too much for him to take. Mami was talking to him about a forthcoming cricket match but his mind was on a different ground.

“Sachin’s last, isn’t it?” Saroja mami had asked, perspiration flowing from her effort. She always engaged these boys in small talk else they could not be asked to run these errands.

Suddenly, she was met with silence. Unknown to her, Srikant had moved off to where he was not likely to be noticed and has masturbated. His breathing was heavy as his hand massaged his cock feverishly through his dhoti, for that is where he meant to catch the mess of fluids that flowed.

He had come, shuddering, watching Saroja mami rocking while grating the coconut, and he imagined that rocking to be her atop him. He milked himself till the jerks receded and quickly made a quiet exit hoping not to meet anyone while on his way home to change his dhoti.