The marriage preparations were abruptly stopped. As usual, there was no provocation for it beyond a sharp exchange of words, and egos were bruised on all sides. The boy’s father, Thakur Hari Singh, flew into a rage when his plans for the young couple’s future were challenged by the girl in front of her father and other family elders.
But what really set the stage for what happened next was the way in which the disagreement became a war of words. In the typical swaggering style of a feudal lord, the Thakur had pronounced that he would wait for exactly 9 months to become a grandfather and that his newly married son should set about propagating the clan forthwith.
This announcement was made at a gathering of the two extended families. Binita, the bride-to-be was expected to sit in on the proceedings only to know what was expected of her and not to respond, react or offer comment. But her father had not brought her up in that manner, even though socially they were from a family that would be expected to be subservient to the Thakur. To her father, the escape from the social inferiority lay in higher education. He sent his daughter Binita to the best of schools in the town and later to a larger city in a hostel. Now, at the age of twenty, she was among the best educated from the village.
Her reaction to being treated as a commodity in marriage was predictable. She stood up as the Thakur concluded his desire to become a grandfather, and with eyes blazing with anger, she proclaimed loudly, “I have no intention of motherhood for the first five years. I am going to work and so is Pritam. We are going to build our own base before we build a family.”
As she said this, her tension rose and her breathing became pronounced and ragged. Her face flushed red and her head was turned up in defiance. Now she slowly realized that the deafening silence that enveloped the gathering was shock at her defiance of the ultimate authority in their village. Yet, she held her head high, glaring at her father-in-law to-be.
“Hey, girl!” the Thakur bellowed, “How dare you refer to your fiancé by name? And who are you to decide what will happen and what will not in my household?”
“Ask your son,” she replied acidly. “When he was chasing me around to marry him, it was he who said I should call him by name and think and do as I please!”
Binita’s father could see the situation slipping out of control and rose with folded hands and bowed head to try mediating the two extreme positions. “Thakur sahib, the girl wishes to work for a few years and it would not be possible if she were to get pregnant. However, once she marries into your family it is your choice and you can discuss it amongst yourselves,” he suggested.
“I do not see the need to discuss!” raged the Thakur. “In our family we do not discuss the obvious. Is there anything you are hiding from me about this girl of yours that you are supporting her? Is she capable of bearing children or not? Or are the women in your family not complete women?”
The reference to the womanhood of his clan brought Binita’s father’s entire family to its feet. And from there it was downhill all the way. Heated words were exchanged, things which were not meant were said, and in about half an hour, just after sunset, when preliminary celebrations should have started, Binita and her family were back in their modest home, pondering next moves.
At the Thakur residence, Hari Singh was taking his son to task for going around publicly with a girl he was not yet betrothed to. Undoubtedly that was what had given the girl the courage to stand up to him.
And Binita, sitting on the roof of her home, was indignant over the aspersion cast on her womanhood. That man needed to be taught a lesson. As she reflected on her choices she realized that there was nothing any one would dare do against the Thakur. Whatever needed to be done would have to be done by her. And what better lesson to teach him than to make him accept the superiority of her womanhood.
Under the cover of darkness, Binita made her way to the Thakur’s mansion. She was let in by the guards who recognised her and she found her way through the maze of corridors and rooms, through to the back yard. There, under the mango trees, near the cowsheds, sat the Thakur, surrounded by a few of his cronies, smoking a hookah.
The animated conversation fell to a hush as the men saw Binita make her way towards them. She stood there, looking at Hari Singh, her chest heaving from the exertion of her walk and the tension of the moment. By the light of the lamps, her curves were accentuated and her tight choli (blouse) showed her breasts to her advantage. Her ghagra (skirt) with its mirror work glinted by the light of the lamps. Those dark angry eyes flashed at him, and it took the Thakur a while to realize he was looking at his prospective daughter-in-law and not just any woman for him to lust after.
He signaled his men to leave them alone.
“What have you come for now?” he asked, thinking that she might possibly want to apologize for her behavior earlier in the evening.
“I have come here to tell you that having a moustache as large as yours does not guarantee the masculinity of your clan. So you should watch it before you talk about our womanhood,” she said with a taunting smile.
The woman he had chosen to be his son’s wife looked bewitching with that saucy, taunting smile. The warm glow of lamps, the hide and seek of shadow and light, just made her seem all the more haunting. The challenge was not only in her words but also in her body language. He felt aroused and his male chauvinist instinct was to respond with a demonstration of his manhood.
He covered up his loss of control with a show of anger. He got up from the low slung cot made of rope, and strode forward towards Binita, his arm outstretched as if to strike her across the face.
For the first time, Binita took note of his tall stride, his muscular arms, his broad shoulders and sinewy body as the man overshadowed her. She felt panic inside her, but was not about to show it and continued to play her game of nerves.
“Violence? Is that what you use to hide your impotence?” she asked laughingly, knowing the relaxed smile on her face would infuriate him.
He grabbed her throat and pushed her back till she her back came up against the trunk of the mango tree. As he touched her, he was taken aback by the softness of her skin. His grip on her throat relaxed from a stranglehold to an open hand just pushing her back. Something about his animal vigor in that shove struck a chord in Binita. She noticed the strong hands with rough calloused fingers. She allowed herself to be pushed back, bracing herself for a fall and then she came to rest against the tree trunk with a hard whack.
They were now in the shade of the tree and away from the circle of light and the seating area where the Thakur had sat with his hookah. As their eyes grew accustomed to the lesser lighting, both the man and the maiden took in each other with their eyes. The lighting here was pale with the glow from the lamps reaching only partly, and the tube light from the pump house providing another ray of faint glow.
And yet, her eyes sparkled. She knew she had him where she wanted him. Hari Singh’s hand completely relaxed as he realized what the girl was up to. He was now touching her on her neck, just above her bosom and his thumb ran over her chin.
“I wish I could ask you to demonstrate your womanhood in identical fashion,” he muttered.
Her hand gripped his wrist as she tried to move his hand from her body, but she merely ended up captivated with the strength of his body. “Maybe you will not ask me to demonstrate my womanhood because you would then be exposed totally,” she said spontaneously, and instantly regretted what she said. She knew that you could go only so far with a Thakur without arousing the worst ire in him.
And she was right. Blinded with rage, Hari Singh gripped the top of her choli (blouse) and pulled down and in one swift ripping motion the front of her blouse tore, and hung down, held only by the strong band of cloth that went around the lower border of the blouse. Her breasts, brown, young, firm and proud, stood there bathed in the pale light fully exposed, heaving up and down from the anger she felt.
She reached with her left hand to slap him but Hari Singh was too quick for her and fended her off. Binita lunged lower and grabbed at his crotch and was successful this time, getting a full hand of his semi aroused cock. It had been that way ever since she walked up to his charpoy. Now she knew more about his manhood than she wanted to know. In seconds, Hari Singh’s cock filled with blood and he had a full blown erection. It was years since he had been grabbed so authoritatively by a young woman and his body was instantaneous in its response to the stimulus.
The situation was erotic. His cock was in the grip of a young woman, whose breasts were exposed and heaving and he and she were both under the low branches of a mango tree, outside the circle of direct light, even though they could very well be spotted by anyone looking on. Her grip relaxed and immediately the cock swelled to its largest ever dimensions in recent times. As she felt it fill out more, she instinctively closed in on it again. It had the effect of pumping the cock. The Thakur groaned and involuntarily pumped his hips as the fist provided him with relief.
The girl stared down at her hand. She had in her grip a handful of the Thakur’s garment and in it was wrapped an obscenely large cock. Her pussy juiced up even as she realized the enormity of the situation she had let herself in for. She let of the cock and rested back on the trunk of the tree, both hands behind her, gripping the trunk. The hands behind her back only served to thrust out her proud and heaving breasts some more.
She looked into the Thakur’s face who looked right back. And then his eyes wandered down to the breasts, succulent and topped by magnificent nipples. All bathed in pales shades for the lack of full lighting. Her eyes flickered, her throat dried up and her lips parted ever so slightly. She didn’t move; she didn’t dare to move.
Hari Singh’s hands came up to gently rest on the breasts, cupping them lightly, as if weighing the precious booty. Binita gasped, her body shivered and she gripped the trunk of the tree behind her ever more tightly. Her chest was now thrust out and up, and her awareness and control of the situation melted away.
The rough, coarse hands of the Thakur held the breasts and the thumbs flicked the nipples. “So this is the woman who my son was to marry,” he whispered.
Binita nodded. Then, realizing that her might-have-been father-in-law was taking the original discussion further, she let her hand drop back to his dhoti (sarong-like lower garment.) Her hand found a way in and she touched the bare skin of his thigh. Navigating from there she felt around for that monster of a cock. From her position her hand could not claim it. She shifted the position of her wrist; with the palm facing upward she was able to take the shaft in her hand the way she would hold a bat. Her fingertips touched his balls and the palm of her hand had the trunk of his cock. The head touched her wrist.
“And this is the specimen of manhood your clan has to offer,” she whispered in reply. She ran her thumb along the length of the cock, back to front, and then she encountered wetness, followed by the head. As her thumb rounded the head of his cock, Hari Singh shuddered. His hands gripped the breasts firmly in his hands as a reflex action. The pinching effect on her nipples hurt her and she winced, but bolts of pain felt so pleasurable!
She gripped his cock and masturbated him, stroking forward and back, gently but firmly. Hari Singh kneaded the breasts and soon his hands ran down the sides of her body and he was stroking the roll of flesh at her bare hips. Binita shifted from one foot to another as she felt her pussy start to flow.
“Babuji!” she whispered her first acknowledgement that day of his seniority as she referred to him as she would refer to her father-in-law.
Thakur leaned over her, his head hunched over her head as his hips jerked and pumped as the fisting caused ripples of sensations through this body. He slowly lifted up the skirts and bunched them in his hands, pulling up more and more, baring his son’s fiancé’s strong legs. His hands went under and cupped her ass. She was wearing nothing under her skirts and with both hands he gripped her ass, lightly lifting her, testing her weight to see if he could lift her completely
She rested back on the trunk and made it easier by bending her knees. Instinctively, this young woman who had no previous sexual experience worth mentioning lifted her legs.
She pulled at his garment, undoing it to the point his cock was bare and exposed. He lifted her level up to where his cock was nosing at her pussy. The wetness between them was obvious as cock and cunt kissed. Binita held on to her Babuji’s shoulders to hoist herself. Hari Singh maneuvered his hips to try and snag his cockhead in her crotch.
And as the manhood that she had so challenged touched her, Binita knew that she was going to be torn asunder by the monster. She grunted and squealed as she tried to spread herself more. The cockhead nosed apart the wet but inexperienced cunt. Hari Singh’s strong hands held her in his grip. He brought her over the cock and wiggled her. It had the effect of smearing her cunt on his cock head. But he held her there, like a threat. He was unsure of what to do next.
Through the haze of intense excitement, she too realized that this was the father of the man she was to marry. She could not fuck him. At least, she ought not to.
“Babuji?” she asked.
“What shall we do beti?” he asked, addressing her in the fashion a man would address his daughter-in-law (beti).
“Let go of me!” she whispered, as she hoisted herself up further, and with wet lips spoke into his ear.
“And your challenge?” he asked.
“I have been answered, I think,” she replied, “and have also shown you how womanly I am.”
“What kind of man and woman could control themselves in this situation?” he asked her, his head bending to lip her nipples. He brushed his proud moustache against her skin and lips ran over the sweet, fruit-like offerings.
“A father-in-law and a daughter-in-law?” she asked, reaching between them and painting her furrow with the dripping wet cock.
“Should I let you marry my son?” he asked, tasting the salt of the day’s sweat on her breasts. He continued licking at her and tonguing her nipples. Those breasts felt so full, so ripe and so tasty!
She looked down at the man devouring her and felt shots of electricity race to her cunt from her nipples. The question of marriage lay unresolved.
Binita reached up for the lower branches of the mango tree and pulled herself up. Hari Singh felt his large powerful hands lose control of her as her weight rose off him. She hovered over his cock now, completely in charge of her own body, ready to resolve the issue of her marriage by conquering him.
The new raised position of her body allowed him to suck in more of her breasts and she was wet now with his saliva. His fingers, free from holding up her weight, pulled at her cuntlips from either direction. The moment Binita felt the cockhead at her gateway, she let her body down and impaled the waiting monstrosity that his cock was.
It was a brave thing to do, for a virgin cunt to slam down on such a weapon of a cock. But ignorance is bliss and the deed was done. The pain was unbearable as her cunt seared open to the hot cock plunging up. Her weight carried her on and she could not stop herself. The cunt sank fully and he was up in her womb, twitching and pulsating before she could even register the fuck.
Hari Singh howled with pleasure as he felt the velvet sleeve of the virgin cunt grip his cock. Sensations ripped through his being and he briefly felt her hymen resist even as he tore into her. Now more of her weight transferred to his hands and he held her as she quivered and shuddered on her crucifix. The insides of her thighs tensed to an unbearable point of pain in reflex. She let her body settle and relax, shivering and shuddering.
As she whimpered he held her steady, knowing she must be in pain. Her virginity was torn apart in brutal fashion. She clung to him. Tears welled up in her eyes and as the sensations gave way to pleasure, she actually wanted to feel all of that again. It seemed impossible, why would anyone want to feel that brutal pain and stretching again? But nature took over and her instincts made her want more. Once again, her weight transferred to her hands and his hands were freer now to manipulate her body again. Hari Singh ripped off what was left of her blouse and let it drop to the bed of leaves below.
As she lifted herself up, her body stretched out magnificently. He saw the ripple of well toned arms as her hands stretched upward. The arms led to the round of her shoulders. Her muscles were taut with the stress of lifting up her body and flowed into her breasts which were stretched and pouting upward as her body was one long stretch of flesh from torso to fingertips.
Light played games on the curves, the hills and valleys of her breasts, shoulder, stomach and thighs. Her body glistened and Hari Singh marveled at the woman’s young taut and flexible body.
She sank down on his cock for the second time, this time with more assurance and she felt a surge of fluid flow out of her. Hari Singh felt his own pubic hair soak and the fluid race down his balls and thighs. It could have been blood or it could have been her juices. He did not have any way of knowing and he did not care.
His hands cupped her ass and gratefully accepted her weight, while her flesh opened out fully once again and settled down around his aching cock.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” she hissed as her cunt distended and filled up to the neck of her womb. She laughed and threw her head back, her eyes closed, savoring the massaging of flesh on flesh.
Now she lifted and dropped herself again. And again, and again. “Take that, Babuji! Take that you animal! Take that, father of my man!” she repeated over and over again with every thrust and parry of her body down on his waiting cock.
As she lifted and dropped herself, the branches of the mango tree sagged and bowed. Her thrusts were met by the rustle of leaves as she humped him. The branches shook and the leaves told their own tale with every thrust down of Hari Singh’s daughter-in-law down on her father-in-law’s cock.
Hari Singh gave himself up to the intense pleasure of being sheathed by a tight virgin cunt. His cock was broad and head round and was well gripped by most of the pussies he had encountered. But this was a near-first and the tightness was maddening.
He gripped her asscheeks and decided that he must drive the pleasure process for a few thrusts. He lifted her up, higher, aided by her own efforts, and when she least expected it, let her down with no support on her way down. The thrusting of the cock into her cunt was more powerful than ever and Binita started to sob in pleasure.