Maternity – Part 1 (Such A Yearning)

Hey friends. This is the first time when I’m writing a story in English. Although I write in Hindi, this time, I am trying to write in English as well. You probably won’t believe it, but I have been writing erotica since I was 19.  Now I am 23. If ever found time, I will write a story on how this happened at such a young age.

This story is truly about passionate sex with lots of feelings. So I wish you too read it with full feelings and imagination.  So now, let’s get to the story.

This story is about Preeti. I’m giving you a small sight of what happened with her in the past. Preeti was a playful girl and was doing a good job in Kolkata. She was married to Ayan when she was 28. Ayan belongs to a wealthy family. That’s why Preeti’s parents (lived in Durgapur) didn’t even think further and got her married to him.

Ayan was a good looking and charming guy. He was so lucky that he could have a wife like Preeti. He was attracted to her plumpy body when he first looked at her in a photo.

Finally, Preeti got married, but unfortunately, it lasted less than three years. As time went on, Preeti felt Ayan became emotionally abusive in many ways. Through it all, Preeti realized that sex was an important part of the relationship, especially to her husband. But over the years, the sex fell off.

Preeti realized it had become transactional. If she gave in to what he wanted in bed, she could get something in return – for example, a vacation or something she needs. Sometimes Ayan became violent when he drunk. Preeti talked about this with her parents, but they said that it was her family matter now.

Eventually, she divorced for many reasons.

After the divorce, Preeti moved in a 3BHK apartment in Golf Green in Kolkata and started her job again where she worked before. She could have shifted to Durgapur, where her parents lived. But their cowardice made her stay away from them. She also stopped taking her parent’s calls.

The main story begins now. Preeti’s eyes went heavy as she was going through the pages of the newly arrived magazine. It is happening to her often these days, a side effect of having too many pills for sleep.

She can’t sleep at night, and throughout the day, a spell of depression and drowsiness hangs heavy over her. Her cell phone was buzzing with vibration on the table beside the bed. It must be Sayani from her office. She has been calling so many times.

“Don’t they realize that I won’t be going back to work?” Preeti was thinking about sending the resignation letter to the H.R. It has been weeks since she last checked her Facebook and Twitter accounts, which she couldn’t live without before. No WhatsApp, no messages, no Gmail, no calls.

She lives in the massive 3 BHK apartment in Golf Green (a posh residential locality in the metropolis of Kolkata in India) like a helpless sailor. Her only connection with the outside world was the maid who comes every other day to clean up and cook for her.

She doesn’t even feel like making food for herself. If the maid doesn’t come, she orders lunch or dinner from the nearby restaurants who deliver at home.

A sudden gust of cool wind brushed on her bare feet, entered the lower part of her saree like a mischievous lover. It blew the pallu (part of the saree cloth covering the breasts), baring her blouse-covered chest.

She climbed out of bed and, arranging her saree, headed outside towards the balcony. A storm was blowing. The lines of trees across the road were shaking their shaggy heads. It was a storm accompanied by thunder squall that occurs a few times every year during or slightly before Baishakh.

The owner of the tea stall across the road was struggling with the shutter of his shop to close it against the violent gusts. People were running helter-skelter to find cover from the impending storm and rains.

Another gust of violent wind blew away Preeti’s pallu as she caught it instinctively. The wind was like an invisible naughty lover trying to violate her modesty. As she covered her chest, drawing back the slick strip of silk, she could notice two circular damp stains on her blouse.

She could also feel slight throbbing pain as well. The doctor had prescribed some pills to stop spontaneous effusion. Preeti had stopped taking them for quite some time. The pain was nothing compared to the pain of sadness that captured her heart and soul.

This pain was a constant reminder of what she had been robbed off, what those monsters had done to her. It had been around three years since she divorced her husband. The physical pain provided some balance to the pain of her heart.

She could smell herself, the scent of her womanhood, the scent of her robbed motherhood. The scent of pent up milk in her breasts, now spilling out. She had been effusing for quite some time. She didn’t even realize. This is why Preeti doesn’t wear western clothes like T-Shirts, tops, or salwar-kameez these days.

These spontaneous effusions have become an issue of embarrassment for her. If she wears a saree, the pallu covers her blouse, the wet stains are hidden beneath the cloth. Sometimes, when she goes downstairs, she could see the neighborhood kids playing in the park.

Looking at them, Preeti could neither control her tears or her breast milk, which threatened to ooze out of her eyes and breasts. Preeti could not take that smell anymore. The first drops of rain had spotted the road on the ground. The musty smell of the wet earth and her leaking motherhood were strangely identical.

The sky will satisfy the thirst of the earth. Preeti’s breasts were full to the brim, but she had no one thirsting for her. Her lap was empty as a desert. She returned to the bedroom. She was hurting. Today it was worse. Her breasts felt like they were going to explode.

She pulled them out one by one from the captivity of her blouse and bra and saw a thick white stream rolling down her nipples. They weighed heavy in her hands and becoming heavier with the coagulating milk. Her eyes become wet with tears looking at the elixir of life spilling out pointlessly.

There was no little hungry mouth to clamp on them and swallow the sweetness filling a little belly, quenching the thirst. She will never have that eternal peace and satisfaction. She stripped off her half-wet blouse and bra and exposed herself in front of her dressing table.

As she looked at herself in the mirror bare, Preeti was startled! Who is this she is looking at? There were dark circles under her large beautiful eyes. Her face was drawn in. A heaviness had settled on her once slim and athletic figure. It was the heaviness of maternity.

Some time, before, it would have made her look more full and beautiful. But she was not a mother. She could not be a mother. Her armpits were giving off a faint pungent smell of her body. It was her natural pheromone. She had not used deodorants or perfumes for quite some time as she didn’t feel the need to go out these days.

She was currently at the age of 34. Preeti’s breasts had bulged beyond belief, with the ripeness of her fully matured youth and the milk that was trapped in them. At this point, she was a full 38DD.

Preeti’s nipples were bloated and moist with seeping milk. The doctor had given her a breast pump, but she never used it. She knew there is a chance of breast cancer if milk is not pumped out regularly, but Preeti didn’t care!

Preeti did not like the way she looked in the mirror. Once she took pride in her nakedness, but she was not in that mental state anymore. She looked inside her wardrobe and picked out another blouse that matched her saree.

She dropped her moist blouse and bra in the washing machine and wore the new blouse skipping the bra. She got this blouse tailored after her divorce but wore it occasionally. It had a dangerously drooping neckline.

When she wore it for the first time, Sayani had complimented, “You are looking gorgeous wearing such a low-cut blouse. But it is showing a huge amount of cleavage.”

However, she didn’t care anymore. She wore the blouse but had to struggle. She had grown bigger after it was made. The blouse’s thin material barely contained her massive boobs. She didn’t have to wear a bra as they were so tightly fitted.

Half of her breasts were bulging out of the neckline like boiling milk, heaving out of a pan, about to be spilled. At this moment, any man would have gone mad with lust looking at her. But she couldn’t think of any man coz she was starting to hate all men!

She went to the kitchen and pulled out the bottle of Vodka from the freezer, and made a large drink for her. Preeti started taking alcohol after her divorce. She was not a regular smoker, used to smoke occasionally. But now she started smoking regularly.

Besides that, she also bought a few bottles of Smirnoff. Alcohol still didn’t suit her much. After a couple of drinks, she started losing her good senses. She was drinking and smoking in the balcony. After a few sips, Vodka had its effect. She was feeling desperate, her body was on fire, and she needed someone.

This was not only this time, but it was the story of whenever she got drunk. But being involved with a man was impossible after what happened with her.

At that moment, she started to think of older days with Ayan. She could remember Ayan’s thick seven-inch penis. She could remember every detail of his penis, the circumcised swollen head, thick veins crossing the entire penis, and the dense spurt of semen.

She instinctively pulled up her saree and touched her panty covered vagina. She became shocked to realize that her panties were wet. Her vagina was already coated with her body fluids. She tried to pull her mind away from such arousal and decided to have a bath.

Preeti’s body was pleading for the male genital. Preeti could have easily invited any man from her social and work circle. There were so many of them who slavering for her. But the idea of sharing the bed with another man was completely unacceptable for her.

She came to the bedroom and lay on the bed. Her body was on fire. She felt restless. Her hands were traveling all over her body, her face, her neck, and then she started squeezing her breasts. Preeti couldn’t take it anymore and moan loudly. Her huge milk loaded breasts felt like they would burst.

“Oh God, why are you doing this to me? Why can’t I control my body anymore?” she groaned. She lifted up her saree and started rubbing her thighs. Preeti pulled her saree up toward the stomach and slid her fingers down under her panty. Letting her fingertips find and gently stroke over her labia.

Preeti then circled over the hard nub of her clit, enjoying the sensation as her hand explored the fabric-restricted area between her legs. She was quite enjoying it. It was a strange flavor, sexually arousing self-inflicted frustration.

She licked her lips. She had time to enjoy a little, just a little taste of self-satisfaction. With her other hand, Preeti pulled her breasts free from the confines of the blouse. As they liberated from the fabric, she breathed out.

Her hand met the fleshy mounds of her breasts, natural and soft. The nipples puckered up and thrilled as her fingerpads lightly, so lightly, brushed over them. The wall clock ticked in the silence.

Preeti then pulled her panty down to the thighs. She ran her fingertips lightly over her soft thighs, trailing patterns over them, moving slowly upward. Her juice was already spread over her thighs, which act as a lure for her fingers. She softly teased the sides of her soft fleshy vagina.

Preeti was writhing, twisting, losing herself, and getting tangled. She was enjoying smearing her juices over the bed and her shining inner thighs. She rubbed her fingers between her wet vagina lips, enjoying the slipperiness of it.

Her fingerpads lightly strummed over the spreading, eager lips and caved lightly into her vagina. Preeti felt so hot, so slippery, so tight and intimate. The heel of her palm rubbed joyously against her urgently needy clit, causing a surge of orgasmic sensation back through the body.

With her middle finger dipped inside, her whole hand comes into play, and she started fucking herself mercilessly. She wasn’t going to be able to hold back much longer. Preeti pulled her finger out, and she dipped her two fingers inside. Fingers slipping over it, faster, faster.

Her pussy clenching and swallowing her thrusting fingers. Preeti’s other hand tweaking her nipples and there to add an extra layer of stimulation. Dipping her fingers down again into her hot, tight entrance, gathering more of the copious lubricant and returning to her fingertips once more.

Preeti’s index and middle finger easily slipped over her erect, exposed, and straining clit. Her slippery hot pussy juice forming the perfect lube. Faster and faster, she moved her fingertips lightly over her slicked clit. She couldn’t hold back anymore.

Forgetting everything else but the last few fantasies dirtying up her mind. The sensation of her fingertips slipping with incredible speed over her slick clitoris. Suddenly light bursts into her brain, and she flooded.

She rides over that waterfall of emotion, sensation, carried away, lost to the orgasm. Never wanting it to end, this molten gold feeling suffused with warmth and breaths coming ragged and fast.

Hazy vision returns as she realized that her eyes squeezed shut for the final tantalizing few moments of that climactic ride. She returned back to calmness with ebbing throbs. Her pussy gulps with the aftershocks, and her clit feel numb after the explosion.

Preeti gave herself over to her orgasm and cried out too loud. She let her hands lay where they were. One between her legs, enjoying the post-orgasmic ripples of her pussy and clit together. The other was on her boobs, exposed to the growing sunlight. Her orgasm caused a wet patch on the bed.

She yawned once more and decided to get out of bed to go run a much-needed bath.

To be continued.

If you like my story, you can mail me your thoughts and feedback about it. [email protected].