Flirting with Fatima

Hey guys, I’m Vikram – call me Vikki. This is the story of my summer in Pune, back in 2001. This is my first time penning down a story; constructive feedback is welcome.

Summer in Pune:

I had just finished my bachelor’s at IIT and had three months before my MBA. At 6’1″ with an athletic build from years of sports, and an easy smile, I had my share of flings. Having a thick 7″ cock was also a bonus. Each encounter only fueled my appetite for foreplay and forbidden fun.

My absent father, an army man, insisted I spend the summer at our bungalow outside Pune. He had recently split the old duplex into two separate apartments – a penthouse for me, and the ground floor rented out. My plan was simple: mornings attending MBA-related courses, evenings spent boozing, playing video games, and browsing through stacks of porn magazines. A lazy summer, or so I thought.

Downstairs lived Fahad, a traveling salesman, his twelve-year-old son Imran, and his wife, Fatima. She was 32, fair-skinned, and 5’2″ with a 34B-32-36 figure. She had shoulder-length hair and a face with large, expressive eyes, a softly rounded nose, and full, lush lips. There was a scar on the lower part of her chin, but that did not make her any less beautiful. She was always busy, looked dull, and felt like a caged bird.

Dinner with the tenants:

Two weeks into my vacation, I had an engaging dinner with them. They admired my academics but still saw me as the same Vikki Baba from a few years ago.

That day, I saw Fatima in a completely different light. She stepped out of the kitchen, her saree barely holding up after a long day’s work. Strands of hair had slipped free from her bun, falling in a way that made my dick twitch. She sighed, adjusting her pallu, but I already got a clear view of her glistening cleavage and navel.

I was already getting bored of my porn, and the entire sight of her just turned the horny gears in my head.

Later, Fahad asked me to teach Imran math and science, and I jumped at the opportunity.

I thought tuition was a fantastic excuse to be around Fatima every day. I made it a habit to compliment her – her cooking, the way she kept the house tidy, even her earrings. I could sense that she liked the attention based on her expressions, but it was limited around her family.

For the next few days, my lazy routine included tuition, ogling at Fatima, followed by immediate masturbation in the penthouse. I was waiting for some opportunity for my interactions with her to go further.

And it arrived quickly; Fahad had a two-month work trip to Dubai, so I eagerly offered to drop him at the airport.

Airport Ride:

On the day of the airport ride, Fatima wore a green silk saree, and her hair, as always, was in a bun, with red lipstick. Compared to her usual self, this was a different look. She rarely traveled, so she was looking outside.

After dropping off Fahad, I felt a weight lift, and I relaxed. I wanted to see how close I could get to Fatima.

In the parking lot, she kept thanking me for the airport ride. I pulled her into a side hug and chuckled. “Any man would do that to see you dressed like this,” I teased.

She looked surprised but didn’t say anything when I asked her to sit in the front.

With Imran talking nonstop in the back, I couldn’t do much. I jerked off three times that night, enough to fill a bucket.

Post Airport ride:

From the next day, I chose to spend more time with Fatima. An evening routine of tuition, chai, and TV developed, undisturbed by the morning chaos of maids, gardeners, and nosy neighbors.

I noticed Fatima chatting with me comfortably. Her outfits got bolder, and tighter salwars with no dupatta, silk sarees with an awesome view of her petite tits. The hesitation was absent, and she smiled whenever I was ogling at her. As days went by, I was confident enough to make bolder moves.

One day, I introduced my handheld video game to Imran. He was engrossed in the game, and I snuck into the kitchen. Fatima was wearing a tight blue kurti, but it barely contained her bubbly ass.

Me: “Bhabhi, you’ve been looking extra beautiful these days… What changed?”

Fatima: “Nothing, Baba… just clothes from a decade ago,” smiling.

Me: “They fit nice,” placing my hands on her hips.

Before she could respond, I hugged her from behind.

Fatima: “Imran might see us!!”

Me: “Him seeing is the problem, not me doing this?” I started kissing her neck.

Fatima: “No, no… wait!!”

Me: “Relax bhabhi… he is busy playing.”

She got calm. I started grinding her ass as my cock found a comfortable spot. As she was breathing hard, her silence meant I could proceed. I cupped her soft boobs over her dress and found erect nipples and began playing with them.

As my dick began getting hard in my shorts-

Fatima: “Baba, you have grown up.”

Me: “You have been waiting for me to do this right?”

I was ready to fuck her in the kitchen, but Imran called for my help. After composing myself before leaving the room, I whispered, “Come to the penthouse through the common door tonight, Bhabhi.”

Missed Chance:

I waited for her to unlock the upstairs door that night, the rain setting the perfect mood. But nothing happened. By 2 AM, disappointment sank in, and by morning, frustration took over.

That evening, I got all my answers. Fatima was sleeping on the sofa with an injured hand and ankle sprained. Imran mentioned she had slipped the previous evening due to rainwater leaking in. After tuition, I arranged for a maid and informed Imran. He recalled how his father dismissed Fatima’s injury as a “small thing.”

She slept through the evening, and I let her rest. But before leaving, I quietly unlatched the upstairs door.

The same night:

The clock struck 1 AM. I had waited long enough. I entered their apartment and crept toward Fatima’s bedroom. The dim light showed that she was facing the other way. Cautiously, I sat on the corner of the bed, shook her slightly, closing her mouth. From this point, we were just whispering.

Me: “Bhabhi, It’s me, Vikki…. ssh..”

Her: “How did you come here? What if someone sees?” panicking.

Me: “I came through the common door.”

Her: “Why did you come?” slightly calmer.

I showed her the coconut oil.

Me: “I came to massage your leg and help you get better quickly!!”

Her: “For a massage, you could come tomorrow, Baba…”

I made a poker face and pretended to get up, “Ok, I will go…”

Her: “Ok, only massage and nothing more.”

Me: “For now, only massage,” smiling wickedly.

She placed pillows against the wall and sat upright. Closing the door shut, I found a towel placed under her legs.

Her: “Nobody gives me that look, you know?”

Me: “What look?”

Her: “That ‘I want to eat you’ look… hehe…”

Me: “People around you need an eye doctor.”

We both laughed. I massaged her ankle sincerely for 20 minutes. I slowly lifted her saree beyond her knees, her milky thighs visible now.

Her: “No, you said only massage?” biting her lip.

Me: “I promise,” with a grin.

She was curious but silent, looking at my confidence. Making big motions with oily hands, I reached from ankle to thighs in five minutes. Laying back again, she had her face with pallu in one hand.

With one hand massaging her thigh, I slowly pulled her saree till the waist and found the petticoat knot. Fatima was breathing heavily and looking at the ceiling but slowly spreading her legs apart. I removed her petticoat and motioned her to scoot. I placed a pillow under the sprained ankle so it wouldn’t disturb the ‘massage’.

My dick was semi-hard and oozing precum in my loose shorts.

I removed the saree wrapping her waist. Only the blouse and red panties remained. The room filled with the pleasant smell of an incredibly wet pussy, oil, and sweat. She was moaning into her hand. Spreading her legs even wider, I removed her panties, which were soaked.

The sight was memorable – a small curly bush covering her wet pink lips. I should get an award for keeping it in my shorts.

Fatima’s face was super red. She had one elbow covering her face and the other hand gripping my thigh.

I had two hands and one pussy to please. I got it to work on it by pouring the last few drops of oil. And started massaging her outer lips. Mixing oil with her juices, the room was filled with soft squishy noises. With my left thumb on the clit, I started making circular motions.

“Uhhmm…” A moan came out of her, and she immediately shut her mouth with one hand. While the left thumb danced in circles on her clit, the right middle finger went in knuckle deep. It was tighter, but I started finger fucking in slow motion.

“Fap… Fap… Fap…” wet noises along heavy breathing. I undid her blouse, revealing her pink nipples. I helped my tongue onto one nipple as she held my hair.

A few minutes later, two other fingers went in, and she was reaching the end. Within a minute of the three-finger assault, her body was shaking like a teenage girl orgasming for the first time… her grip on my hair tightened, but I was having the time of my life.

Her: “Huff… huff… huff…. I never did that before…”

Me: “It’s called an orgasm, and you will be having it more and more from now on.”

It was already 3 am, and there was a big wet spot on the bed. I helped her to the bathroom while she cleaned herself. I replaced her bedsheets, removing all evidence of a fun massage experience.

I was ready to go back, but she leaned in for a sloppy kiss and gave me her dripping panty. Grabbing my dick over the shorts, she said, “Use this until I get better, Baba”

This vacation was only getting better, I thought to myself as I went back.