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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
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India and a Schoolgirl's Passion
by Rachel Childs (rach_childs@hotmail.com)
***
A young schoolgirl leaves England for India to be with
her parents... her teacher leads her into her first
great sexual passion. (Mf-teen, 1st, oral, anal, intr,
rom)
***
INDIA
I was in my local town, Colchester the other day when I
was sure that I saw an old friend. I saw him first as I
walked through the shopping mall but stood and watched
him, unsure that it was he. I am forward, but I don’t
approach strangers and I stood and watched him as he
passed along the clothes racks and I was undecided
until I recognised the pose. He stood with one hand
across his chest and the other holding his chin. The
class-room memories came flooding into my mind, the
smell of floor polish, the slam of closing desk tops,
and I felt filled with excitement and expectation as I
approached him in my usual self assured way; as he
turned and faced me, his eyes moving across my body, I
knew I was right, it was the same man.
"Hello, Saleem," I said with my head slightly to one
side and a broad welcoming smile on my lips.
He smiled, his face a picture of thought, his memory
cells holding him in pause mode. He had aged a good
deal, but it was some eight years since we last met in
India. He looked at me with the same smile that I
remembered but slowly it froze and fell away and he
paled visibly before me. My own expression must have
reflected his, for he looked as if he had seen a ghost.
He said nothing but his mouth opened and closed in a
sort of mechanical way and then he turned and fled.
He nearly knocked one man over in his haste to depart
and I watched as he, without looking around tried to
open the shop door the wrong way in his panic and at
last succeeding he passed through it and fled down the
High street. I stood and watched in amazement and felt
so sad for him... there is a story you see.
When I was about ten my Father was posted to India as
an attaché to our embassy there. There was a history
and some tradition in our family, my Grandmother is an
Indian high caste lady who married my late Grandfather,
who was Irish... the result of their union, my Mother,
was born and lived in India until she was sent back to
England to be educated.
My Mother was delighted with his posting as she loved
the country and its customs, and spoke Urdu well. I on
the other hand was not so pleased as I had then to
become a boarder at my school... something I hated. I
went to India at the long summer holidays and my
parents came back to see me when they returned from
time to time. My work suffered at school, as I was
unhappy there and inclined to be disruptive. So after
eighteen months it was decided, with some relief to the
school, and great joy to me, that I would join my
parents in India and be schooled by the local English
school out there.
I was so excited to be there... like my Mother I loved
the country and its people. India I found fascinating,
full of colour and music and charm. I went with my
parents to all the wonderful sites, the Taj Mahal, and
many Hindu temples, where I stood in fascination
looking at the erotic sculptures surrounding the
doorway. I suppose that was my first experience of
erotic art but there was no embarrassment as I stood
there holding my dear Grandmother’s hand as she
explained what it all meant.
Sexuality in India is bound up in the culture and life
there. It is not a separate thing, kept in a locked
Pandora’s box as it is in the West. I became very close
to my Grandmother and she talked to me of all sorts of
fascinating things, which I find now to be part of my
own foundation. She was the most elegant, sensual
person I have ever met, and even now in old age she
exudes a strong sexual presence. She still has several
admirers who hold her in the highest regard and have
promised myself that I shall return soon. The bazaar’s,
streets and the people are an inspiration there and I
was and still am captivated by it. The Indians on the
whole are a passive people, friendly and easy going and
the troubles there between the Muslims and Hindus has
been blight on the nation.
But I digress...
I had a good education; the teachers there were both
dedicated and highly intelligent, furthering the
knowledge through interest and good learning. I was
very keen on literature, especially early English prose
and for a girl of now nearly fifteen I was educated to
a very high standard. Then there was one of those
periods in life when everything seems to be changing
and there is no stability; the headmaster left and was
replaced by a man who knew less than I did.
My father became concerned and he instigated the hiring
of Saleem P****, a brilliant young man who had won a
scholarship to Bombay University and came from a very
poor background. He was then about 23 and I thought he
was a prince... my Prince. His main subject was English
Literature and I started to excel in the subject, he
was a good teacher, somewhat hard to understand at
first, but we became quite good friends and he lent me
books about Chaucer and one in particular I remember,
"Sir Gawain and the Green Knight", which I still have
on my bookshelf today, the very copy he leant me. He
was a handsome young man too and young girls of my age
(just fifteen) were as susceptible then as they are
today to a bit of hero worship.
He liked me too, I knew that and I was mature for my
age. I had most of the attributes of a woman, with the
reserve and innocence of a girl... my how things have
changed. I suppose looking back I was a sort of Lolita,
with that fatal charm that has been the undoing of many
men. I also knew that I had inherited my Grandmother’s
highly developed sensuality and she had by now become
my role model and I tried to walk like her even, I
still do.
The schoolroom itself was a converted military
building... nothing special but adequate for the task
at hand. There was Saleem on the staff and an English
woman who had stayed out there when her marriage had
broken up. I forget what we were doing but I seem to
remember an essay being at the start of this story. I
had written it and somehow the ink had run, because of
the rains one day as I walked to school, so this must
have occurred in the monsoon season.
Saleem called me up to explain something he could not
read. His desk was a usual one, sitting on a raised
platform, very old fashioned and traditional, like a
big box with a large top, closed in all around except
for the knee hole between the two sets of drawers where
he sat. I went up and he asked me to explain about this
word and then about that word and I stood beside him
explaining what I was trying to say in the essay. I
remember thinking how black and shiny his hair was and
how smooth his skin looked, wondering if it felt like
velvet too.
He told me the essay was excellent and as I stood there
talking with him, discussing what effect Chaucer had on
literature during that time, feeling special because we
shared this same interest... when I felt his hand
touching the back of my leg; it ran up over my sock to
the soft flesh, then down again, each time getting
higher until it was on the back of my thigh. I was
standing on his left, and looking over his shoulder.
I froze at first, but the passage of his hand upward to
my inner thigh was to say the least... absorbing my
attention. My mouth went dry, my temples pounded and I
felt a movement inside me, in my sex, as if an awaking
serpent was uncoiling in me. He carried on talking
quite calmly and I continued to stand there, his hand
now at the back of my panties, feeling my almost mature
bottom, lifting one cheek then the other as if sampling
them. I felt like jelly, my knees felt weak, but I did
not move away.
Even when I felt his hand move between my thighs I
stood there and moved a leg sideways and nearly died of
pleasure as he felt my swelling sex. I was hairy there
then at that age and as he moved through and held all
of me in one hand I trembled with excitement and
expectation. I had secretly dreamed of this, he was at
the centre of my very private self-stimulation,
although of course he was ignorant of that. My mouth
was so dry and I could not swallow, my head was
thumping in unison with my chest and my left knee
started to tremble, just as it does now when I am
sexually excited.
He was just about to pull the hem aside when the bell
went, making us both jump, and his hand was quickly
removed. I shakily removed my books and went back to my
desk as the others all packed up and started to leave
and I in my turn gathered my things and at length
looked up at him but he was absorbed in something and
did not look at me. I left in silence, looking back
once more at him sitting there, ignoring me. I removed
myself to my room when I got home to relieve the
tension he had built in me.
I lay back, naked from the waist down with my hand
working myself furiously... it did not take long and I
writhed and trapped my own hand there as I gasped with
an intense orgasm. I suppose he obsessed me and perhaps
it was my obvious charm with him that led him further.
I also used all my young womanliness to my best
purpose, my skirts became shorter and I started to wear
a little make-up.
My parents put it down to my age and found it amusing,
which perhaps spurred me on too. My Grandmother knew
though, she smiled a warm smile at me, my eyes moving
away from hers’ betrayed me; when I looked back at her
again a few seconds later, the smile returned and I
held her gaze and smiled back... she knew I had an
admirer; I wondered if she would approve though of the
attentions I was receiving from Saleem.
It happened again a few days later... Oh how I ached
for his attentions... this time his hand was firmer,
and kneaded my inner thigh and my legs were parted
wider for him. My heart pounded again in my chest and I
looked at his hair and fine features as his hand pulled
down my panties at the back, exposing my full cheeks to
the warm air. He caressed me as before, lifting each
cheek in turn, parting them and sliding between, to my
most private parts.
My leg started to tremble as I felt his attentions
about my soft under-mound, feeling through the hairs
there and parting me. I thought I was going to die with
passion as he pushed into me, I was well lubricated
with my own desire and I could now smell my own
arousal. He removed his finger and in one quick
movement he slid right through and found my swollen
clitoris, and started to stimulate me. It was too much,
I could not breathe and I felt a red curtain fall over
my eyes and I started to pull away, afraid of crying
out with abandon. He handed me my corrected paper and I
gathered it with a trembling hand as I discreetly
pulled up my panties at the back and returned to my
desk.
Nothing happened for a week and I began to wonder
whether I had frightened him off with my sudden
withdrawal the last time. My passion was consuming me
and I daydreamed things that I was afraid of... images
from the temples... mad intrusions to my body in places
I could not really understand. Another day came and I
was standing there again at his desk and as I stood
there as before, he did nothing... I leaned over him,
pressing myself against him... still he did nothing and
I felt a sort of desperate despair.
I seemed to be spending my spare time dreaming and
masturbating in private and my Mother asked if I felt
all right; I think I decided then to make a move
towards the goal I desired. A few days later an
opportunity arose when I was again standing at his side
having some work checked. He dropped his pencil... the
shiny red one that looked so wonderful against his dark
smooth skin as he held it with his delicate fingers. I
dropped to one knee to pick it up, but it rolled under
his desk and he looked under it as I stretched forward
to recover it for him.
Our eyes met and in an instant I closed my mouth on
his. His response was immediate; his tongue invading
me, his mouth sucking me to him and his hand fondled my
breasts. I gasped at the reaction and somehow still
grasped the pencil for him and when our mouths parted I
got up and placed it on his desk, looking around the
class to see if anyone had seen... but no... our secret
was safe. During the next two days I was on a high of
sexual expectation... he still liked me... I wanted him
so much.
A day or two later when the bell went I stayed at my
desk until the room was clear, pretending to look for
some lost article. Mrs. Hesketh, the other teacher came
into the room and discussed something with Saleem and
left soon after... we were alone. He calmly rose and
went and locked the school door and returned to where I
stood and as I turned to face him, he gathered me in
his arms, kissing me with a passion I cannot describe.
I seemed to melt into him... I felt as if I was being
eaten alive. His mouth was everywhere... on my own...
my neck... travelling down to my now exposed breasts...
I watched as he sucked on one teat and then the
other... he lifted my chin and my eyes raised to his,
he told me to relax as I felt my pants being removed. I
watched as he drew them away and he lowered to me, I
watched as he put his mouth on my sex and his tongue
parted me. I gasped and shook as I still watched him do
his magic. I was lifted to the desk, his mouth still
devouring my sex, sucking me out into the open, my
labia like pink petals moving back and forth like sea
anemones in water.
His tongue was like a magician’s wand and as I watched
him, the erotic images on the temples flashed through
my mind and I lifted a leg for him, exposing all I had,
stretching myself, my head fell back and I started to
gasp as he brought me to a full orgasm. I was consumed
inside and out by him and as he undid his trousers and
drew out his stiff penis I just sat and watched him
with my brain in limbo. He approached me and I lifted
my other leg, now draped across my own desk, assuming
he was going to fulfill my dreams. I prepared myself as
all virgins do for that one act in life that changes
everything... I spread for him, my sex open and wet,
fully prepared for him, but he did not do as I
expected. He drew me from the desk top and sat me on
the seat... approached my face with his fully erect
member and again the images on the temple came to my
mind and I accepted him into me in the other way
depicted there.
He tasted good and I liked it and I wanted to please as
well. He was slender in size, with well-formed glans
that curled away from his shaft. I looked and memorised
the image of him; I can see his member now as I write.
I did what I thought he wanted and when he placed my
hand around him I rubbed and pumped as he indicated. He
seemed to be very intense suddenly and my mouth was
full of him, almost to the back of my throat, his balls
swinging against the back of my hand when he tensed and
I felt him throb and pump... the jets of fluid took me
by surprise and I went to withdraw but he drew me fully
onto him and I had to swallow or choke. I swallowed it
all... my first taste of a man... I wasn’t sure I liked
it.
He was very gentle with me afterwards; I wanted to know
that I had pleased him and he soothed me, reassured me.
He had a greater understanding than I then knew about
and when I left the classroom and wandered in a daze
back to my house... all I could think about was my
fulfillment... how I could please him... my training
had begun.
A few days later I found myself in an area of the town
I did not know. I was there on a pretext of returning
some borrowed books. My Mother wanted me to take a
servant with me for protection, but I managed to
dissuade her... as I said it was daylight and I was now
grown up. I knocked on the open door and waited and
soon I heard a shuffling up the hallway... it was
Saleem in his slippers. He looked over my shoulder to
see if I was alone and as I entered he closed the door.
The atmosphere was electric, we walked down the short
hall into a pleasant room; the walls were hung with
carpets and highly coloured cloths to hide the mud
walls. He moved slowly it seemed at the time towards
the shutters and closed them, the room immediately
became cool and dimly lit. As I stood and watched him
throw some pillows on the floor everything seemed to be
in slow motion...
I was in a sort of trance, but somehow totally calm. I
looked about the room it was poverty in the extreme...
with a strange atmosphere of something behind it all, a
hint of cinnamon reached my nostrils as I was then
consumed with a raw, natural, erotic feeling and the
images on the temple came sharply into focus. This was
going to be sex... a raw unabashed sex... like thick
rich paint mixed on an artist’s palette... the primary
colours strong and vibrant. He pulled me down to him
and we joined in a passion of discovery... he of me...
and me of myself.
When I look back as I do now... I truthfully cannot
remember what happened in detail... the sequence of
events is blurred into a crazy picture of images. I
remember being pierced by him, my virginity carried
away on a single thrust; my lip bitten and bleeding as
he did so. I remember his mouth at every opening, his
tongue in my bottom as I lay there on my front, my
bottom lifted and offered to him.
I looked in front of me, open eyed at a shaft of light
dancing across the floor... something exploding inside
me, like the birth of a new passion. Then his penis
invaded my bottom and I did not balk at it, rather
embracing the wild passion of the feelings and I
remember doing the same to him with my finger and his
thrashing as I did it. I remember his straddling me,
his penis between my breasts, my hand pumping him
furiously, his bomb like explosion as he scattered his
seed over me, splattering into my face and over my
breasts... saving me from the worry of pregnancy.
I bathed in him literally and I look back and thank
heavens that my first experience was so dynamic and
vibrant... how lucky I was. It was nearly dark by the
time I arrived back home and there was a panic on for
my safety but I was in such a serene state of sexual
satisfaction that it all passed over me and I went to
my room and slept for hours. I awoke the next morning a
woman... a woman with new needs and desires.
Saleem for his part was not so fortunate or so careful
in his choice of lovers. He was caught in a
compromising situation with the wife of a senior
Official and was lucky not to have been severely
punished. The feeling was that he was led astray... I
think not, but I did not voice my opinion at the time.
He was vilified, shamed and dismissed and left the
area, much to my own sadness and I have not seen him
again... until the other day. I am sad and upset that
he feels as he does... I feel nothing but gratitude and
warmth.
Perhaps we might meet again and talk awhile... but what
happened can never be repeated, and I hold dear those
memories of my first great passion... I have them
forever, they are mine and I treasure them.
END
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 57