The Woman with a Cigarette - 3
Fingers and Panties
Previously
3
I took off her panty, and let it fall on the floor.
I looked at the panty, and then into her eyes. Her lips had parted, and her breathing labored. I flattened my palm, and touched her pussy, with the entire breadth of my palm.
The intimate sliminess of her pussy was intoxicating. I leaned forward and said in a quiet voice, “Spread your legs wider.”
Aisha looked at me, her eyebrows contorted, her face confused with what she was feeling. She obliged though. She planted her hands on each of her side, and spread her legs. She looked beautiful then, in her sundress, which still covered all of her intimate parts.
I love these moments with women — these moments of tacit consent. These are intimate, way more intimate if a woman told me to fuck her. When Aisha spread her legs for me, she told me that I could do what I pleased to do with her. Or maybe, she did that so that I could do whatever I wanted to do, to please her.
The place between her legs was warm and sticky. As I rubbed her pussy with my entire palm, I felt it getting more slippery, in each passing moment. I used my wrist to move my palms, applying the force of my entire arm to rub her slit, and apply pressure in and around her clit.
We were quiet, and so was the room, except for the intimate sounds of her breathing, the sound of my rubbing her crotch with my palm. I saw her knees move as if she couldn’t decide how wide she should spread her legs. Or maybe it was the Aisha inside her which told her that it was wrong to let a strange man touch her, that she was pregnant with someone else’s child, and that she shouldn’t be getting her touched in her living room.
“Lift your dress. I want you to see me, touching you,” I said.
I had started touching her with just my middle and ring fingers by then. Her pussy had gotten wet by then, providing little resistance, as I ran my two fingers across the length of her slit. Every time I went past her hole, I threatened to penetrate her with my fingers. I enjoyed watching her eyes widen as I did that.
She reached for the hemline of her dress and started pulling it upwards.
Until then, I had only imagined Aisha’s thighs. I had only seen her in dresses, so, I had seen a little of her thighs, but when she lifted her dress, to reveal her crotch, I was mesmerized.
Brown, thick and soft. Her inner thighs were of a lighter tone than the rest of her body. As I had guessed when I had touched her for the first time, she had pubes growing back. I could see the exact extent of her pubes, it was all too easy to imagine what her crotch would have looked like if she had let her pubes grow.
The place between her legs was darker than the rest of the body, but because of her fairer thighs, it was a beautiful contrast.
I looked at her face. Aisha was focused on my hand between her legs, especially my fingers running the length of her slit. I stopped at her hole. Her mouth gaped wider when I started pushing inside her pussy, with my middle finger. Her lips formed an O when I finally entered her.
I wiggled inside her, the tip of my middle finger, bent just a little.
“Ohh,” she said. She turned her face away from her penetration, to look at me.
With our eyes locked, I entered deeper inside Aisha. Our lips were close, but a kiss seemed inappropriate at that moment. It was a lewd moment. It was a moment that was intimate because it was lewd. To be in her living room, to be on the couch where her boyfriend and she probably sat down and watched Netflix. In a place, where they might have made out. And there she was, holding her dress in one hand, to see a finger of a man whom she had met barely hours ago, enter her.
When I was knuckle-deep inside her, I gave her pussy a moment to get used to my finger. Her pussy gripped my finger, hungrily surrounding it. Knuckle deep inside her, I hooked my finger, to touch the walls of her pussy. Wet and warm, her pussy felt incredible to be in.
And then, I started finger-fucking her.
It’s a simple thing, to fuck a woman with your finger. After all, it’s just her who is being penetrated. Fingers are sensitive, but not near as sensitive as your dick. When you finger a woman, before you enter her, you tell her that her pleasure matters more than yours.
With Aisha, her pleasure indeed mattered more than mine. I wouldn’t know what she was thinking when she looked down at her crotch, and saw my finger thrust in and out of her pussy, vigorously. I was quick and vigorous with it, shaking her entire lower body as I did that.
Every time I pulled my finger out, I made it a point to run it across the top wall. I couldn’t find the bump there, the root of her clitoris. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was her moaning.
I used my shoulder to finger fuck her, applying the entire force of my arm to penetrate her. What had started as moans, had quickly turned into moans. She had to use her other hand to hold my wrist as if to tell me to slow down. Her delicate fingers were no match for my lust to pleasure her. It’s a crazy thing, to see a woman moan for you. It makes the world smaller. For me, at that time, the only thing that mattered was Aisha. Aisha, and her body, which she had surrendered tacitly when she raised her ass to let me slip her panty off when she spread her legs for me.
Her phone rang at that point.
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Her phone had been lying on the dining table, a good three feet behind her. I looked at her when it rang. I stopped moving my fingers. She was breathing heavily, as she jerked her head in the direction of the phone. I took out my finger. I touched it with my thumb, feeling up the texture of her juices on my finger.
She quickly got up from the couch and walked to the dining table near the kitchen. I leaned back on the sofa and reached for a cigarette. When I didn’t hear her speak on the phone, I turned my head to look at her.
She was staring at her phone, holding it with both of her hands. It rang again, only to be silenced immediately. I could not see her face, but the way the sundress curved her ass, I wish she was sitting on me, with my hard dick against her ass, and my fingers inside her pussy — just the way it was meant to be. However, there she was, far away in the room, silencing calls that she doesn’t want to take.
I turned away and flipped my lighter open to light a cigarette. When my finger was near my lips, I got the faint whiff of her juices on my finger. I wished I could have tasted her before she left.
I exhaled the smoke casually. The room was silent again, except for the occasional honks that traveled all the way up from the road. I reached for my phone. I texted Nisha and asked her if she was up for lunch any time soon. I tapped on her profile picture. Nisha always kept a pfp with her husband. Whenever we texted, I made it a point to write things that she will have to delete.
It makes me hard knowing that I can do that, knowing that I can tell her that I would have liked to fuck her for a few more months before she got pregnant. I would tell her that I often jerked off, thinking of her porcelain skin, and the way her breasts jiggled when I was on top of her. I would tell her that I want to cum inside her again. She will send me blush emojis, and she will see my text and reply later, telling me that Adish was around. I would often jerk off to such simple conversations.
“Should I take this call?” Aisha said, still near the kitchen aisle, still with the phone in her hands.
I exhaled my smoke, and said, “You should.”
I got up from the couch, stubbed my cigarette, collected my things, and pocketed my phone.
When she realized that I was walking up to her, she turned toward me, her phone still near her breasts, the breasts which I hadn’t gotten the chance to touch.
“Will it be too much if you can tell your driver to drop me home? I can call an Uber, but it’d take some time, and there’s the entire coordination of the exact location where to come. It’d be —”
“Why?” she turned her entire body towards me. I was near her by then, her hair looked beautiful. Her breathing had become normal by then. She looked pretty much like how she looked when she walked into the room.
I reached for the back pocket of my jeans and took out her panty. I had picked it up from the floor. I handed it to her and said, “This is a rough night, but I think it’s best if you talk with your boyfriend, and tell him about your pregnancy. Getting fingered on the couch isn’t probably the best way to spend this night.”
She raised her eyebrows, her expression sad and concerned.
“I am sorry,” she said, keeping the phone down, “for all this drama.”
“It’s not drama, it’s your life,” I said.
“As much as I liked dipping my finger inside your pussy, I understand that there are more important things,” I added.
She bit her lower lip and lowered her gaze. Perhaps she wasn’t used to such crass talk. Perhaps Harsh would use phrases like “to touch your wetness”. But I am me.
The phone rang again. We both looked at it.
“You should pick it up,” I said.
She looked at me, and then to the phone. It was Harsh, of course. His little profile pic looking at us — his girlfriend standing in the kitchen in her body hugging sundress, freshly penetrated and me, holding her panty in my hand.
She took a deep breath and then sighed, “Please stay. I don’t know if —”
“I will stay, only if you take this call on the couch, sitting on my lap,” I said, in a matter of fact voice.
She was surprised by my specific request. I said it because I wanted something do while she talked to her boyfriend. If you have ever heard a couple have tough conversations, you’d understand that it is an awkward situation to be in. The night was still young till that point, and if I were to commit to spending the night the there, I’d want to be more than a shoulder to cry on. Maybe, a dick to sit on?
She replied to me with a nod.
“Alright,” I said and started walking back to the couch. She followed me, the phone in her hand. It had stopped ringing by then.
I sat down on the couch, kept her panty on the coffee table, and took out my pack of cigarettes. She was still standing, look at me, unsure what to do, even in her own home.
I lit my cigarette, and patted my thigh.
She gingerly sat down on my lap. Aisha’s weight was comforting. I hadn’t seen her naked, but what I could tell from the sundress, she had fat where it looked nice. Her ass felt soft as she sat on my lap. I wrapped my arm around her waist, and adjusted her, till we both were comfortable.
With her hair down, in the warm light of the living room, she looked even more beautiful. I might have been based, because I had a hard-on by then.
Weight of a woman does that to me. I kept the palm of my hand on her bare, and asked her if she was comfortable. She nodded. There was a hint of a smile on her face. I smiled back. I squeezed her bare knee and said, “Let’s get this call thing out of the way.”
She nodded, and dialed her boyfriend.
All the work here is supported by the readers. All the content in this newsletter, including the Art that you see, is available for free. This has been possible only because of donations that readers like you make. Small donations, as low as $1, go a long way in helping me keep all the content free, and dedicate more time and resources in producing such work.
Consider showing your support by visiting my Buy me a Coffee page and making a small donation. These donations are anonymous, and non-recurring. It will show-up in your banking records as simply a buy me a coffee donation, and will have no indication of erotica.
You can use the QR code to make a quick donation, or visit my page for more details.
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I have put together an art pack inspired Aisha. Women in the Kitchen is a collection of 11 photos of Indian women imagined in the kitchen, of course, with a lustful gaze.