“We should get going by now.”
Initially, Dad spoke in an assertive tone.
But I did not want him to be rude next time. Thereby, I quickly came out of the room, ready.
We were going to Mr. Kumar’s place.
Dad was eager about the fact that after a long time I would meet Mr. Kumar and his wife Sudha. Ironically, his two daughters were in the USA. Yes, I’m saying it ironically because Mr. Kumar was an ardent communist like Dad and still preferred a capitalist country for his daughter’s education.
I told myself that the communists in India were never sincere. Their ideals echoed loudly in speeches, but somewhere between theory and reality, conviction dissolved into compromise. Unfortunately, today India is turning right-wing.
It was a 30-minute ride because it was Sunday, as the roads were empty with less traffic compared to normal days.
We were at Mr. Kumar’s place, and after the normal greetings, we sat with the couple to talk on various issues. Suddenly, a foreigner entered their house.
Dad was quick to introduce me to the foreigner John Moore. He was an intriguing young man and a research scholar from Illinois University. He travelled all the way from the USA to India to research the communist movement in South India. He was in Kerala and Tamil Nadu and planning for West Bengal. Moreover, he learned Malayalam and Tamil and is still learning Hindi from a linguist.
Well! John Moore had an impressive profile. Must be 27 or 28 years old; looked inquisitive about Indian history. I wonder why this man from the USA, who has Irish ancestry, chose to focus on the archaic topic of communism in South India. Communism in this part of the world is about to become extinct. Only Kerala is the last bastion of communism. The communist party in Kerala is expected to be gone by 2026, eight years from now, but this incident occurred in 2018, when I was 38 years old.
After the initial introduction with John, Dad started discussing a topic with Mr. Kumar. The topic of discussion was related to communism, possibly focusing on dialectics. These leftists and communists will only argue on irrelevant topics, and one day the right-wing will control everything in India. Regardless, they are losing globally, so let the old men enjoy their fleeting glory.
All this while, Sudha was stealing glances of John. I could see a sensual expression on her face. I could feel an intriguing chemistry that she had with the blond-haired John. She must be in her mid-40s, slim and well-maintained with firm orbs, strong black hair, a rounded belly, and a sweet South Indian face.
Mr. Kumar was 20 years older than her. Both were in an open relationship. Therefore, if Sudha was fucking a white man, it wouldn’t bother Mr. Kumar.
Suddenly! She inquired with John about the cream-colored jeans. John, embarrassed and in a shy tone, said, “I’m not wearing it.”
“Why?” She asked.
John replied, “Come on, it resembles my skin tone.”
We broke out laughing at his brazen reply, and our laughter brought shyness to his face. But Sudha’s bold question convinced me that she had some naughty secret with John.
It was already afternoon, yet no one seemed interested in lunch, so we decided to leave. Dad invited John to accompany him, and John, as always, did not mind. Still, I felt guilty for pulling him away from the pleasure that Sudha’s company might have offered. Dad, however, valued his presence for another reason entirely—Dad could speak with remarkable eloquence about leftist politics in India and the long, complicated history of the CPI.
Thereby, John was with us, and the couple accompanied us towards the gate. It was a giant house, and Dad politely said goodbye to them. We ambled towards the car.
I rushed to the front seat, and looking at me, John decided to enter the back seat. But Dad suddenly called him to sit beside him. Quickly I let go of the car door and moved back while he was coming forward and touched my behind, feeling me up for a while. The Wagon R is a small car, and at first, I felt embarrassed when my tight jeans touched his palms, but soon after sitting behind him, I felt wonderful.
Very soon we were at our building and walking towards the elevator. Our apartment was on the 7th floor; we soon entered the elevator, and it stopped on the 6th floor. A family of five rushed in the elevator, and they wanted to go on the ground floor.
How foolish of them. The packed elevator would be at the 7th floor, and we would get down, and then the elevator would open at the 6th floor and then at the ground floor if no one pressed the button in between.
From the 6th floor to the 7th floor felt like an eternity. We had to maneuver and make space for them. John did all the maneuvering, and while making space for the family, his back touched my boobs. I couldn’t say anything, and it wasn’t his fault. We were packed in the elevator. His back pressed against my blue t-shirt, feeling my breasts.
Finally, we were on the 7th floor. We struggled to come out of the elevator; I quickly left the place and disappeared in the apartment.
I went to my room, bolted the door, and collapsed onto the bed. I desperately needed the rest, and sleep overtook me almost instantly. For nearly two hours, I remained lost in that heavy silence.
When I woke up, the apartment was empty. Perhaps Dad had taken John somewhere. Ever since the divorce, he had more free time than he knew what to do with. After my mother’s death, he remarried, but that marriage too eventually dissolved. Since then, he had grown accustomed to solitude, almost as if he preferred it.
For years, I had lived separately while he stayed with his second wife in another apartment. But now I was living with him again—partly because age had made him quieter and lonelier. I was single myself, and truthfully, I preferred it that way. I had my share of sexual experiences, and you can read about my escapades right here on Literotica.
Quickly I entered the bathroom for a shower. After the shower, I entered the bedroom while slightly opening the door. I wonder when the slight opening became wide open, maybe because of the wind, as the window in the dining room was ajar. It was a windy day, and I didn’t realize it. With a towel, I removed the water beads on my body and dried my hair using an electric dryer. I wore my pink dotted panty and stood in front of the full-length mirror, topless, with the panty and the door wide open.
Someone was at the door watching my naked body. Fear started creeping in, as it was an invasion of privacy and a criminal offense. My normal reaction was to look for a towel and hide myself. But the exhibitionist in me overpowered my rational response.
Well! It was John watching me with his horny eyes. I kept examining my humungous boobs while he watched every inch of my curvaceous body. John wasn’t the first guy to watch me naked. Before there were Jamal, Kunal, Victor, Sandeep, Chetan, Bhushan (my fuck buddy), and the mathematician Vikas.
Slowly I felt excitement, validation, thrill, nervousness, and a sense of power from being watched naked by John, who was drooling all over my shapely body. I was in my late thirties, enjoying the attention from a young guy who was 10 years younger than me. The attention that I was getting created sexual stimulation.
In a nutshell, I was enjoying it. The normal reaction of a conservative Indian girl was to create a hue and cry, but I remained calm and enjoyed the attention from a person who belonged to the liberal Western civilization.
I remained silent, and my silence implied a tacit approval. I walked to my cupboard, and he quickly left the door. I wore a white maxi and entered the hall with confidence. He was indifferent, and I remained unconcerned about what happened.
Dad entered the apartment, and they continued the discussion. I could observe the jitters and nervousness on John’s face. Maybe hours ago he could give the best counterargument to Dad. Watching me naked changed everything. He failed to concentrate on the debate, and Dad could win.
After Dad’s victory, I got up and opened the refrigerator, and the curry spilled on the floor. It was kept on the edge of the fridge. Thank goodness it was kept in a steel utensil; otherwise, a glass utensil might have injured me, and the pieces of glass would be spread on the floor.
Dad and John quickly got up to see. I said not to worry, and the mess will be cleaned.
I have a ritual that before cleaning and sweeping, I transform my maxi into a miniskirt. Yes, I deliberately hike my maxi above my knees and tie it. It virtually turns into a miniskirt.
Luck was favoring me as Dad was on the other side and not visible, but John, on the other hand, could see me and was stealing glances. He received a perfect view of me cleaning the spilled curry. I bend over, and he gets a perfect glimpse of my cleavage. I could sense that my cleavage was never satisfying to him. As he saw my big boobs a few minutes ago.
As I sat on the floor cleaning, I could feel my tight maxi slowly riding up over my thighs. For a moment, I was grateful it was fitted; had it been loose, the fabric would have spread out and concealed everything. Instead, as I shifted slightly and parted my feet just enough, the pink-dotted panty beneath became faintly visible. The awareness of that accidental exposure sent a strange thrill through me, one that made the entire moment feel unexpectedly alive.
John had a full view of my panties but was struggling to keep focus on Dad’s arguments. After cleaning the mess I swiftly went to my room and bolted.
The volume of the discussion decreased and eventually vanished. I slowly stepped in the hall. The lights were off, and they left again. Perhaps they went to a nearby bar for a drink.
It was night time, and it was a regular Monday tomorrow. I took one week off from the office. But a big yes to hit the gym in the evening. I wanted to take off my panties and show my pussy to him. I was excited and getting naughtier and naughtier, which was eventually building my confidence.
I was an exhibitionist from the start the moment I hit teens. I never knew that it was a recognized disorder until I was grown up. Mom died early in my teens, and Dad ignored the exhibitionist streak in me. Above all, it was a taboo in conservative Indian society. It was very hard to overcome; I have always had a thing about taking my clothes off. I love the idea of swimming nude in the sea, but the opportunity is non-existent in India. Hence, I grew wise and treaded carefully.
There was a creaking sound of the door; I thought both had returned, but it was Dad alone. He looked tired; I inquired about John, and he said that he would sleep at Mr. Kumar’s place, so I dropped him.
I was disappointed; perhaps he craved the warmth of Sudha’s body. There was no certainty of fucking me tonight in the presence of Dad. And most of the time they will discuss communism.
The next morning I woke up late at 10:00 AM. Monday is usually a working day, but I applied for one week of leave. As I had balance leaves from last year, they will expire by the end of the month.
I whiled away the afternoon scrolling through social media and watching random podcasts on YouTube. Before I knew it, the clock had struck 4 p.m. — time for the gym. I tossed my gym tracks and tops into my bag and rushed out, heading toward the gym that was about twenty minutes away.
After gym I rushed home and saw Dad involved in an intense debate with John. I greeted them and knew my research scholar’s dark secret, that he must have had a great time with Sudha. I deliberately poked him by asking, “How were the dinner and breakfast at Sudha’s place?”
He understood, felt embarrassed, and replied in a meek tone, “It was good.”
I gave a sly smirk and left for my room.
A couple of hours later, it was time for dinner. Both of them stepped out to pick up food along with a few beer bottles. Within half an hour, they were back home, and Dad called me to join them for dinner.
They went to a Chinese restaurant and brought fried rice, noodles, and Dad’s favorite chicken drumsticks. We started relishing the food, and then Dad continued the debate on communism. It was fascinating to enjoy Chinese food and a debate on communism, but the government in China gave up classical communism long ago.
The topic of the debate was intriguing: whether communism or capitalism provides sexual freedom. My dear research scholar chose nothing, but Dad believed that communism provides more sexual freedom. He gave the example of East Germany being more sexually progressive than West Germany. He argued that capitalism does not provide real sexual freedom and commodifies sexuality—turning intimacy, bodies, and desire into products shaped by advertising, entertainment, and profit.
My research scholar gave the example of the Soviet Union, where they became socially conservative, regulating sexuality heavily, censoring art, policing queer identities, and prioritizing state morality over personal freedom.
Both had merits in their argument. However, I dared to intervene between the scholars. And said, “Karl Marx focused more on economic liberation than sexual liberation directly.”
I concluded that sexual freedom usually depends less on pure economic ideology and more on culture.
Dad tacitly agreed, but similar to most of the Indian communists, he had a problem with the word “culture.”
He was about to deflect my point, but I quickly asked what he was looking for in sexual freedom.
He was quiet for some time, then replied that, although he had been married twice, he never believed in marriage as a sacred custom. He spoke of women’s rights and feminism but remained mute when it came to the state.
That is when John intervened and asked a bold question.
If your 20-year-old daughter wants to remain single and plan for a live-in relationship, and the state disapproves of it, will you accept her?
My dad gave a broad smile and answered, “That my 38-year-old daughter is unmarried, and I don’t intervene.”
Exactly, I said, “Your morality is way better than state morality, whether it is communist or a right-wing state.”
Now Dad was in a fix; he could not defend state morality. Without a state, communism will go for a toss.
Dinner was over, and John grabbed a few beers from the refrigerator. He politely offered me one as well. I don’t usually drink much — only occasionally, maybe once or twice a year — but I said yes. Soon, a glass of Kingfisher beer was poured for me.
After taking a few sips, John brazenly asked Dad what he thinks about nudity.
I was taken aback, but John persisted with the same question.
Dad giggled and replied, “What is the point of asking about nudity to a 65+ man?”
“It is important,” said John, as the entire question of morality depends on it.
He had a point because he belonged to a liberal Western culture where nudity is never frowned upon. Whereas Indian culture finds it abhorrent.
I was taking small sips, and the sips became gulps. Surprisingly, I finished my glass before John and Dad.
John poured more beer but cautioned me that I’m drinking too fast, and the beer was strong.
I was a bit tipsy, as the beer seemed strong. But I was enjoying the conversation.
Dad replied to John that he was personally okay with nudity.
With every sip of alcohol, his questions grew bolder. Then, quite audaciously, he asked whether it would anger him if he were to see a naked photograph of his 20-year-old daughter circulating on social media.
He laughed and said, “I won’t be trolled, so it won’t make me angry.”
Listening to his brazen reply, I got up and immediately left to my bedroom.
Both men were dumbstruck.
I closed the door and immediately stripped naked and removed my underwear and sports bra. I stood naked in front of the mirror.
Dad’s words were echoing in my ears, and on top of it, the intoxication was playing its tricks.
I knew what to do and wore a tight black t-shirt, which was above my belly button, and dark-red French-cut panties.
The men outside thought that I was offended and waiting expectantly for the door to open—not realizing that I would come out in a T-shirt and panties.
Next, I stepped out of my bedroom, and the men froze in shock, their eyes widening as if they could hardly believe what they were seeing.
They never expected that I would walk in panties. I sat with them and sipped my beer as if nothing happened.
I smiled at them and said, “You guys don’t mind nudity. So why are you shocked?”
Surprisingly, my dad burst into laughter, shook his head, and casually said he was too tired for any more drama before heading off to sleep.
There I was alone in the hall with John. I stood in front of him and removed my black t-shit. My boobs were shaking because of the tightness of my t-shirt.
I audaciously told him that I can remove the red panties if he plans to crash here in my bedroom.
We headed towards the bedroom and locked the door from inside.
While he was removing his shirt, I jiggled my big breasts at him. Teasing him.
He was so excited that he stripped off his underwear, and his bare white body lay naked in front of me. His huge white dick was hungry for my pussy, but my pussy was hidden in panties.
He came forward and passionately kissed my neck and shoulder and helped me remove the panties. We were stark naked while his hard dick poked my belly.
I’m notorious for leaving hair on my pussy, and from his expression, it seemed that he loves hairy pussies.
John secretly admired my full figure despite having brown skin. While kissing and licking my boobs, he said that I had a great body for my age. He loved my full, round bums and my fleshy hips. His hands were running up my thighs, feeling my ass—stroking my naked body. He played with my breasts, and he squeezed and pressed my huge breasts while our lips were locked. Then he started sucking my nipples one by one.
I made him lie on the bed and enveloped his bulging dick with my hands and started stroking him. While he played with my naked breasts, I swallowed his hard cock in my mouth and sucked him so vigorously that he might have ejaculated albumin, which I gleefully swallowed.
Don’t mind what will happen with interracial sex between a white man and a sexy brown Indian woman, who is 10 years older than her paramour.
After a good blowjob, his well-toned virile body and mouth-watering hard cock deserve my wet pussy. My body was crying for love and sex – all the feelings and emotions inside were dormant and needed a volcanic explosion.
He pulled me down towards the bed and pushed his knees between my thighs, which further opened my thighs wide. Then he started caressing my ass and smooth inner thighs.
My ass and pussy were completely bare. He was running his fingers all over the two cheeks, between and up and down my thighs. He touched my vagina, but all the time his fingers were moving nearer. Suddenly he brushed the tips of his fingers around my lips.
Ahhh! The surge of sensation hit me and jerked my body. It was a volcanic eruption.
Oh! My soaking wet lips.
My pussy begged for pounding, and I said, “Fuck me.”
I grunted madly, “Aaargh, ooooo,” as I felt his fingers slide inside me.
I was helpless and badly needed hard pounding. His fingers probed deeper and pumped harder, and I was helplessly reacting.
This time I said firmly, “I want you to fuck me, John, and fuck me right now.”
And we fucked.
It was a wonderful feeling to be crushed against a powerful muscular body. It was a thrill to feel the body of a white young man. I loved his firmness and grip. His hard cock slipped between my legs. My mind for a split second thought about the consequences of pregnancy.
Well! At 38 I’ve passed the advanced maternal age (AMA). The chances of getting pregnant are slim. But if I’m carrying a white man’s baby, then it is great. It is a privilege to carry a white man’s burden.
As I was thinking about it, in a split second the tip of his smooth cock was against the folds of my pussy. His long hard cock slid smoothly up my welcoming pussy. The throes of pleasure engulfed me. And all thought of an impending pregnancy evaporated from my mind. I lifted my knees and wrapped my legs around him for deeper penetration.
I wanted to maximize the pleasure from his young, firm body and excellent, rigid cock. He vigorously started to thrust up and down, and both of us were grunting and moaning with pleasure.
He first fucked me on the bed and inserted his long and hard cock in my pussy. He ran his hands up and down my back. I moaned with pleasure as he stroked my huge ass—sending electric shocks of pleasure, squeezing, and pinching it.
Having sex with a brown-colored interracial Indian woman was a fascinating experience for him. But he might have been intimate with Sudha before.
“Oh fuck Ann,” he moaned as his body was getting rigid.
“I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum,” he squealed.
We climaxed together. It was a good orgasm for him, for he poured his sperm deep inside me. It was an unbelievable energetic eruption. He rolled his body while moaning and grunting.
It was a great fuck.
We slept naked, and the bedroom door was locked from inside.
