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She did not like the railway station and cringed her nostrils in disgust. The Nizamuddin railway station was packed with peddlers, beggars nomads and passengers translating the whole stage into pure pandemonium.
‘What a madhouse,’ she protested as usual.
‘This is our country, there is a method in this madness,’ her father defended the melee.
The dust, filth, noise, and litter literally unnerved her.
‘This time also will come to pass,’ she consoled herself stoically and followed her father to the station in suburban Delhi and proceeded to the platform. She was traveling alone to Kerala, her home state, without any support. Having turned eighteen she was matured enough for that adventure.
The train had already pulled in, fresh and washed, braced up for a long haul. It basked in the gentle early April sun. He carried her baggage to the coupe anxious to see her settled. There was nobody in the cabin meant for four high-class passengers.
‘Only polished and cultures people will choose first class AC,’ he whispered to her. He was indeed worried about characterless brutes the jeer at and pester good looking girls. In fact, she was good looking at eighteen, with a 5′ 7” body developed in perfect proportions. Her sky blue churidar clung close to her nubile body proudly and happily as if an azure and serene peace of heaven were on the move.
‘Sorry for leaving you alone, but I have important work in the office at this time. Do not dare to venture out of the compartment until you reach Ernakulam. You may get stranded at strange stations as the train will slide away before you notice it. Do not speak to strangers, I will call you time and again.’
He began his regular sermon and she silently endured it was she was sure that that stage also will come to pass. Then a handsome young Punjabi youth emerged with his newly wedded wife. They were apparently on a honeymoon trip to Kerala, ‘God’s own country’ three thousand kilometers and three days away. When the couple settled father stood there searching for words to caution his daughter. The announcement came that the train was ready to leave. Father patted her in a bout of passion, ‘take care we will meet after a week or two. Do not venture into the river as the local brats do, be a good support to your grandmother.’
Then a lady entered, flustered and in a hurry. Hers was an expensive rose saree. Her subtle perfume filled the cabin.
‘Are you to Ernakulam?’ father asked affably.
‘Oh yes, I would have missed the train, the traffic was horrible.’
‘Meet my daughter Manna Susan John. Hope you would keep a supportive eye on her. She is going home to stay with her grandparents as the exams are over.’
‘Oh sure,’ she looked at Manna with a warm curiosity.
The train was already moving, her father darted off saving them from further melodrama. Manna felt relieved as she was at last on her own. It was long due, she had the right to be on her own. If possible she would pursue higher studies in Kerala safely away from her father’s shadow.
The train was floating past the dry yellow underbelly of the capital interspersed with wheat fields turned gold and ready for harvest. Manna felt thrilled and electrified not entirely because of her newly gained liberation from an overbearing father, more by the sheer presence of a graceful and charismatic feminine perfection. The lady in translucent rose was settling by the window seat tucking her bags under the seat. Her rose blouse which stuck to her well-designed body like a second skin proudly showed the silhouette of her delicate bra. Her rich silken hair with a shade of coffee was exquisitely coiled up into a braided heap, obviously with professional help. Her ears were adorned with a simple yet graceful set of gold rings and a small locket had settled sweetly just above her enticing cleavage. Altogether she had a pale rose complexion and the saree accentuated her charm. The lady had deep black eyes which were mysteriously thoughtful and yet confident. Her large charming face had a perfectly shaped nose. The black eyelashes contrasted with the gentle wisp of fluttering locks the frilled her temple and forehead. And those lips, Manna felt her mouth go dry. They were the most delectable pair of lips good god had created till date. They were thin oft and deep red naturally.
Manna cleverly strained to get a glimpse of her breasts. They must be a full 36D. It was not the size that thrilled her, the shape, the morphological masterpiece of god. The impeccable symmetric geometric perfection was obvious behind the eloquent saree. A jolt of excruciating excitement streaked past her nether world and her nipples strained against her 34C bra cups. The lady had a thin curvaceous waist followed by an impressive hip area. From the hip, her eyes, on their own gravitated convulsively back to those marvelous twin sisters on her bust. Despite her age, those twin cones of poetry showed no sign of sagging.
‘Hi Manna girl, I am Amala from Ernakulam,’ she introduced herself offering her delicate hand. With glassy yozgat escort dreamy eyes, Manna came back to her senses in a shock. Amala looked deep into her eyes and smiled. The smile catapulted her again to the garden of stars. Amala’s hand remained here like a bunch of fragrant petals. Manna had an urge to lift that hand and kiss it. She just smirked idiotically and her lips quivered. Amala laughed lovingly, almost with a motherly charm. Her cute set of white teeth looked like an array of jasmine buds. Manna thought that she was back in heaven.
Painfully Amala extricated her hand and got up. Her sweet fragrance wafted into the soul of the girl. Now she could get a view of those breasts from below. She would have ceased to be filling her soul with that side view of heaven. Her saree rustled along Manna’s thigh and she felt her nipples hardening again. Her new pair of panties were already damp. Amala bent down to collect a set of dress from the bag and her breasts assumed their real shape. The girl thought that she was swooning.
‘I was in a hurry after the director board meeting to catch the train and did not get time to change into something comfortable. Let me get out of this bothersome formal dress,’ Amala proceeded to the latrine outside. Her sweet lavender perfume enveloped Manna.
When she was gone, Manna was suddenly catapulted to grim reality. She was disenchanted back to her real world, like a bulb that was denied electricity. She gently felt the expensive leather handbag left behind by Amala, the bag that had the prerogative of being caressed by those deft divine hands.
Amala remerged in a fresh cream-colored shirt and a khaki skirt running down below her knee. The shirt exquisitely reinforced the bra and the breasts. Through the slit between the button holes, she got flashes of the creamy bra. The open space above the top button roused the promise of a hidden paradise between the consolidated cones of sheer feminine beauty.
‘You are so beautiful,’ Manna exclaimed despite herself. She was shocked when she blurted it out.
Amala smiled and sat on her seat. She stooped and stashed in her saree and underskirt into the bag. Her skirt rustled and passed electricity to the girl from that mesmerizing charm.
The honeymooners were straining to melt into each other. They were oblivious of the world around. They kissed hissed petted and whispered sweet nothings. As language perfectly divided them, both groups could stay to themselves with a high degree of privacy.
‘I am already forty-five Manna,’ Amala confided in.
‘Really? You hardly look thirty-five. I have never seen a woman as graceful as you. I guess I have been looking for you all my life.’
Amala looked at the girl with a disarming smile and bathed her in the redeeming warmth of her poetic eyes. Manna basked in the deep ocean of those eyes and purified herself from the blemishes part and parcel to her existence. Amala sat there like a full moon in the Autumn and the girl sat there like a water lily quivering and brimming with nectar secreted by pure love for the goddess she worshipped.
She inched closer to Amala reveling in her heady fragrance.
‘Tell me sweet girl, where you are headed,’ Amala asked sweetly.
‘To my ancestral home in Palai, to cool off after the exams. My father and two brothers are in Delhi. If possible I will continue my studies in Palai.’
‘That is nice. What about your mother?’
‘She left us long ago. She ran away with somebody else more gentle than my father when I was just three. I can understand her but I miss her terribly. I look for her everywhere in the crowds.’
‘I see, and your father was so nice that he chose not to marry again for your sake.’
‘He is tired of marriage I guess. He loves me deeply. But I virtually adore women, they are the mothers I missed altogether.’
‘You are a sweet and lovely girl for sure. All women will like you.’
‘Really, thank you,’ she blushed profusely.
‘In fact, I have a daughter almost your age.’
‘That is wonderful, where is she?’
‘Oh. She chose to be with her father abroad. She is old enough to choose.’
‘How could she stray away from you, it is intriguing. If I were in her shoes, I would never have ventured beyond your radiant personality.’
‘People have reasons dear, they may appear to be reasonless reasons, still, they are reasons.’
‘Does it make you sad?’
‘All bonds are painful when they are on and when they break. Love is pain sweet girl, sweet heady pain.’
‘I wish I were your daughter.’
‘So sweet of you.’
‘Do you live alone.’
‘Yes, I have always been so, for all practical purposes. Every successful woman is ultimately lonely.’
‘I always fancy a mother exactly like you, beautiful eternal and gentle.’
‘When we are busy we are not fussy about emotions.’
Manna inched closer to Amala and inhaled the fragrance from behind her ear.
‘Your fragrance is heavenly,’ she observed.
‘It is just yozgat escort bayan lavender, readily available on the market, but thank you, ‘Amala said.
To her great ecstasy, Manna observed that Amala’s nipples were erect now. They were trying to burn out from behind the sophisticated sheathings. Hers also were erect and perceptible. Mann stole glances at those soft and glossy peaks of paradise, the nipples appeared like additional buttons on her shirt.
They had reached Agra in the meantime. When the train pulled in pestering hawkers ran after the train to sell their goodies.
‘Shall I go out and bring some sweet meant?’ Manna ASKED.
‘Never, I have everything with me. Always buy hot and boiled food or you will spoil your stomach,’ Amala was protective of the child. Manna felt that she was safe with that divine being, with that motherhood being deified. Everything happens to be what it is taken to be. She continues to feast ion te4h breasts with extreme concentration.
‘Your breasts are marvelous,’ Manna observed carried away by inexorable passions.
‘Are they?’ Amala looked down on her chest. The erect nipples told volumes, thank you again,’ she said demurely.
‘I have never seen such a perfect pair in my life. I would worship them all my life.’
‘Are they so beautiful?’
The erection was more conspicuous now.
‘Oh yes, I wonder how you keep them so perfect.’
‘Maybe my regular exercise, then I carefully choose my bra. Above all, it must be genetics.’
‘I will adore and worship them for the rest of my life.’
‘Will you sweet child? You are squandering words. But excuse me I must go to the bathroom.’
Amala floated out giving a sweet gentle pat on Manna’s head. She felt that her young breasts were on fire, her panties very sticky. Electric pulses shot past her hormone ravaged body.
Amala stood in front of the mirror opened her shirt and examined her breasts. She had put on the shirt to entertain the infatuated girl who was obviously hypnotized by her beautiful breasts. She felt the profile of the mounts over the shirt. The nipples were pulsing and burning. She opened her shirt and unhooked her bra. The red aureoles were puckered and invisible ants were biting there, invisible feathers were tickling there. Long long back those sweet buttery mountains used to be ravaged with a feline fury. They have never been worshipped and loved. Even after her failed marriage, many crude men have violently groped her during night travels, many men had feasted lecherously on them. Even many classy women had subtly hinted on their fascinating perfection. Amala had been vaguely conscious of homosexual tendencies, which she had been too busy to explore. Now she felt that all women are inherently lesbians and most women are bisexual as well. Her body was agog with excitement, the screaming pain at the tip of her breasts and the jittery fluttery sensation in her panties had made her moments and hours sweetly ecstatic. She reasoned that all human beings seek their lost paradise, the sublime timeless existence in the warm world of the uterus. Men and women love that paradise lost. In the past, many women had vaguely expressed their attraction for her and she had not encouraged it. She was rediscovering herself at long last through a sweet lass she hardly knew. Amala lifted her skirt and collected it in a bunch around her waist and looked at her panties. They were very wet, her pussy was literally dripping and the puffed lips were convulsing. She lowered the panties and was surprised by the amount of white syrupy honey settled on the gusset. She decided to change them before going to bed. She had an urge to pleasure herself as she fancied the girl on her breasts. Then she resisted that temptation to remain in the lingering ecstasy. Amala washed her face and adjusted her dress to regain some degree of normalcy.
When she entered the coupe, Manna was seen lying on the lower berth kissing the spot where Amala had sat. She got up in a hurry when Amala entered.
‘ I was inhaling your natural fragrance,’ she said and winked.
‘Naughty girl,’ Amala smiled.
The gentle night was descending upon central India. The sun was setting on the western horizon and it reeled like a furious crimson disc.
‘If you would permit me, I would take a photograph of those celestial breasts and worship them in my solitude,’ Manna exclaimed.
‘Let us see,’ Amala laughed light-heartedly.
‘I wish I had a pair like that.’ She greedily looked at them.
‘You will have a pair like these in due course dear. Yours are already in good shape and size, there is no reason to complain.’
‘But I feel mesmerized and highly charged when I look at them.’
‘Sweet naughty child.’
Mann inched closer and put her head on Amala’s shoulder quite tentatively. Amala did not object to it and she got bold.
‘I can see the swell of those adorable darlings from here. The cups are so jealous, they will not let me feast on them.’ She nibbled at escort yozgat the ear lobe and sniffed the fragrance.
The honeymooners had retired to the top berth in their libidinous frenzy. Amala softly planted a kiss on Manna’s forehead and smiled. Goosebumps bloomed on her.
‘Thank you so much,’ she hugged Amala’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. In a flash, Amala kissed her lips and disengaged for fear of being watched by the couple up there. Manna was so tipsy with a passion that she was going to swoon. She wanted more of those soft heavenly lips. By way of innocently hugging her, Manna put his arms around Amala’s bust and the erect and jutting nipples poked on her arm.
‘Now I know how soft and sweet my adorable twins are, I wish my face were there,’ she whispered in the ear.
They continued to whisper for hours. In between Manna would bury her face in Amala’s hair and inhale the scent of costly shampoo. She had presumptuously uncoiled and opened the hair, which spread like dark and soft monsoonal clouds.
Later they had dinner together and got ready to go to bed. Manna assiduously prepared her bed with bed sheets, woolen blanket, and white cover, she did the same for Amala also with the same meticulous attention. Amala went to the latrine and returned again, ready for bed. Manna also went to the latrine and returned to dive under the covers. It was pitch dark. Amala went to her and planted a sweet kiss on her lips and whispered, ‘dear I have a gift for you.’
She pushed in a ball of silk in =to her hand and retired to her bed. Manna excitedly opened it and pure holy natural fragrance of Amala wafted. It was her used panties soaked with pure honey. Manna kissed it and inhaled violently. Amala watched it in the darkness with bated breath. Manna slurped up the magic potion and a sweet twang spread in her mouth. She struggled to swallow every dreg of that precious manna secreted by Mother Nature. Amala heard the girl climaxing sucking on the honey. She felt elated and light-hearted. She forgot all the alarms and appointments, all the responsibilities and burdens. When she was slipping to sweet slumber, Manna stole to her and offered her own gift, the pair of panties Manna had put on. They furtively kissed again and from Manna’s mouth, the flavor of Amala’s syrup spread to her mouth. It was kinky and euphoric. Amala opened the panties and inhaled the sweet scent, the unblemished scent of pure virginity. She licked the gusset and for the first time relished on the divine taste of honey secreted by love. She slept away oblivious of everything sucking on the gusset like a child sucking on his nipple bottle.
Amala got up early in the morning, as usual, everybody else was fast asleep. After the regular ablutions, she put on a fresh pair of panties. She decided to keep the skirt shirt and bra. When she reentered the cabin, they were all still fast asleep. The lovers had secretly moved to a single berth in the cool of the night. Manna was sleeping keeping the panties close to her mouth, like a chi8ld sleeping with his favorite toy. Love simmered in the bosom of Amala. Furtively she planted a kiss on her cherubic lips which still had the fragrance of her pussy juice.
‘Good morning sweet pet,’ she whispered.
Manna opened her eyes, it was still slightly dark and upon seeing the face of Amala, Manna suddenly became radiant. It was a proud moment. Amala was had never provoked that radiance in any of her people.
‘Good morning my perfect goddess,’ she gasped softly. She was again glued to the twin peaks radiant on Amala s chest. She got up and planted two hurried kisses on the nipples as there was some degree of privacy and furtively looked at the sleeping lovers. The nipples, provoked by the early morning ministrations, were furiously erect again. Amala softly giggled and sat on the seat, wiping her face with a towel. As the couple was fast asleep Amala became a bit more adventurous. Manna had once again reclined on the lower berth. Amala went closer to the window as if checking where they had reached and furtively lifted her skirt to bury Manna’s face between her thighs. When the girl realized what had happened, a tremendous thrill swept past her. In a hurry, she planted butterfly kisses on the cool alabaster thighs and also on the gusset of the panties. The heady salivating fragrance of pure womanhood greeted her. She was awash with passions. Fresh honey spread on her young lips. Amala removed the skirt of a curtain in a hurry before getting caught and smiled at her young lover.
‘Thank you,’ Manna whispered.
Amala proceeded to check the important messages on her phone. She found a message from a new number. It was a flood of roses with a message, Good morning my venerable mother goddess, and my unconditional love and adoration to the twin divinities – your devotee Anna Susan John.
Her nipples puckered to attention again. She had never been carried away by such inexorable passions before and felt like a school girl.
Later in the morning, when the sun came up Manna asked her permission to dress her hair. Amala nodded with a conspiratorial grin. Manna opened the heavy mane of hair and proceeded to comb it with tender care and love. Amala wanted to purr, her panties were collecting pristine honey again. Occasionally Manna buried her face in that hazy silken cloud and inhaled the fragrance.
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