Gairik & Shefaali - Blog Posts

Pristine White

There are instances which while I am not particularly proud of to boast, did present a mix of intense pleasure, a bit of pain and valuable experience.

Without getting into too much of details, let’s just say that the ‘gentleman’ I report to in my office enjoys a lot of "consented"-privileges on me. It wasn’t a willful decision on my part at the beginning, rather a Hobson’s choice. Having said that however, I also must add that over a period of time of getting to know each other ‘very closely’ while deriving pleasure, a level of fondness did develop and what started as a coerced submission eventually paved its way into willful enthusiasm in full consent. That although didn’t mellow him, he knew he won’t have to struggle to enjoy his rights at his will.

A time came when he knew about his ‘ownership’ status on my physical being and being personally very satisfied, it was then extended to his very close friends and few men whose decisions mattered a lot on the scope of new business to be won. It was on one of these ‘extended privileges’ that I found myself in a position similar to the image here, which reminded me of it. I was summoned into his office on one of the days and I found one of his friends sitting in his cabin, someone who had been close to me a few times at my boss’ home. Something told me the mood prevailing inside the room wasn’t a very upbeat one. “You have an assignment”, my boss told me very matter-of-factly. “I wasn’t sure if I wanted to send you for this one, but then I trust only you to handle this. He will tell you of the rest while you will be on your way in the car this evening”, he said, pointing me towards his friend. He then turned towards his friend and told him, “you need to assure that she is safely escorted out after the ‘assignment’ is over and faces no difficulty in reaching home. You need to be present yourself there and not through one of you other employees. I will not risk her at all. You need to assure me of that”. His friend responded with a complete assurance and his physical presence at all times permitted. “Call me once you are out upon completion of the task and have reached home. I will be anxious about your return”, he told me.

While in the car on my way to a really posh hotel that evening, his friend explained. A really big decision is awaited from a political leader of a western country. Apparently he would be leaving India in the coming week and by then would have formed his mind about the decision which will have a direct impact on the business that this friend is engaged into. So far, he feels that the decision would be in his favour. However he has been privately ‘requested’ by this leader that while in India, he was desirous of trying out everything Indian to satisfy himself as to if he should sign the document in favour of a businessman in India. He wanted to be with someone Indian to show him around the city on the next day in case he liked her company today. He paused and looked at me and the implications of ‘everything Indian’ sunk into me. Hence is his need to borrow my presence from my boss for the evening.

He made a call to the people in the hotel to ensure that I am not made to wait in the lobby under any circumstances and be escorted to the appointed suite immediately. He told me that this leader made it very clear that no compromise to be made on the quality and thus only someone with a recommendation be allowed to come inside his room. Definitely not someone who is available for a price. And so, I am from this moment on be known as his best-friend’s wife, someone who he had to coax and persuade a lot, a lot to her agreement to come over for a while today and show him around the city for the rest of his stay here.

We reached the hotel. The organization was flawless, I was forthwith escorted by my “husband’s best-friend” to the floor where the suite was. When he knocked, the door was opened by a gentleman who greeted both of us with a big welcome. We came inside and the door was locked behind us. Our host said he was very pleased that I could come to spend some time with him today and maybe over the next few days to show him around. I smiled and pointed to my companion and said, I came only because he and my husband are best-friends and…”, I paused and added, “and he really really persuaded me to meet you”. I guess my mention about my exclusivity impressed our host and he invited the two of us to have a drink. My boss’ friend quickly mentioned that he had to attend to some very important calls and would rather be there. He requested our host to call him so that he could come to pick me up once our host is ready. He rose and left.

My host poured me a glass of wine and asked if I wanted to have a small dance with him. I said I am not very good in it but probably can try. Gulping down a few quick ones, he put on a nice waltz and beckoned to me to join him. The dim yellow lights really played on with our moods. I adjusted my saree and offered my hand to him to lead me into the dance. He pulled me closer and pretty soon his hand was pressing down on my waist while pulling my torso firmly against him as we waltzed around. There were smiles and giggles and touches and feels all over me. Somewhere between the drinks and the dances I realized I was in the process of losing my saree and the petticoat. He paused for a moment to look at me. I think he felt satisfied savouring the sight of everything Indian in a dusky brown complexion which was a stark contrast against his fairness. I saw him loosen his belt and unbuttoning his trousers which fell to the ground as he stepped out of it. I saw him pulling the elastic of his underwear down till his lower body was in nude. He stepped closer and a push backwards landed me on the soft, smooth, pristine white linen on the big bed. A combination of several rapid movements made me realize I was pinned down on the soft, white bed while his entire fair-skinned physique with hairy chest hovered all over me, pausing to feel specific places before moving on to the next. Despite his urge, he exercised good control over myself to ensure I get into the mood too instead of just submitting. It felt good and I allowed him to keep playing. A while later, I don't know how long was it after, I realized he was trying to align himself with me to engage in coitus while pinning me down under his huge frame. A momentary sensation of a robust erection trying to find its way inside me was followed by the feeling of a 'void' inside me which got gradually filled. There were a few seconds of rest while he rejoiced in the successful breaching of the castle door and then he assumed his primal masculine form to begin the process to summon his seeds. The thrusts were powerful enough to jerk my entire body upwards even while being under his enormous masculine weight.

It may sound funny now, but the last thought that flashed through my mind before the pleasure of his maleness numbed the consciousness out of me was that the pristine-white bedsheets won’t be as white tomorrow morning after they dry.

Your place? or mine?

A thought-sharing on the proverbial ‘place’.

There have been a variety of places that I get taken to when ‘picked up’ (or hunted, if you wanted to use that word) by a bull. Very few actually takes me to their home.

Some who were married, took me to their single friend’s house where he convinced the friend to step out of his house and leave us in private for a while. Some even didn’t do that and just took me inside one of the bedrooms while the friend waited patiently outside. The bull would deliberately get noisy, maybe just to let his friend outside know of how much he is enjoying doing whatever he is doing to me, and at times despite me trying consciously to be as silent as possible, my physical resistance would break and even I would get noisy in the flow of things. It was then kind of embarrassing to step out to the living room where his friend would be waiting after the bull would have finished doing his things to me. The sight of us emerging out of the room with his shirt hanging out of his trousers and our partially disheveled hair and crushed clothes, faces shining in sweat, would often result in an exchange of shy smiles laden with embarrassment, sometimes a silly giggle which conveyed to each other about ‘I know what you did there in the last few minutes’ and ‘I know that you know’; in some cases a total avoidance or acknowledgement of each other and just being in a hurry to step out of the house; or, in some rare instances, being offered a cup of tea with our host, getting to know him better and a polite request from the bull to give our gracious host my companionship, which in a way meant vanishing inside the room again, this time with the host, and staying over at his house longer than it was initially planned.

Some bulls, who are unmarried and had their own house available would take me there, make me feel comfortable at the new settings, pleasure both of us and then drop me back once the needs are adequately fulfilled.

Yet some, who are well ‘connected’, had their friends working in hotels would manage to get a room without having to go through the formality of having id checks etc. I found there are so many hotels that allow a ‘willing’ couple some privacy and in a way I think they are god-sent. So I often find myself in some not-so-good hotels where the linens are stained and at times in really posh ones which has wall-to-wall mirrors on the wardrobes. While the soft, diffused light and the soft, white linen is definitely something I love, the mirror isn’t particularly much of a turn on for me though its presence made a difference in the mood. But I realized it is a really strong aphrodisiac for my bull (men in general) to be able to observe himself as a third person, how he is getting me done…synonymous to watching a live show of a couple indulging in sex where he controls and sees what the male does to the female and thus trying to do all that he wanted to see getting done on screen. Men are very visual creatures and I love them for being that.

And yet, there have been those instances, triggered by the sense of his urgency coupled with lack of the proverbial ‘place’ where he drove me in his car to somewhere secluded enough which afforded us the privacy in the darkness of the evening/night to pleasure each other inside the cramped back seat, before he drove us back to the city again. It was far from the relaxed and comfortable setting of a bedroom, but had its own charm of giving in to his primal desire to copulate.

Cheap

[Cheap; Low in price, especially in relation to similar items or services; Inexpensive because of inferior quality.]

It was a cheap hotel. One that he found on the fly. One that he knew will not ask too many questions or proof of identity from either of us. One that wasn’t in either of our locations and one where once we came out of it, nobody will question and (hopefully) wouldn’t know where we came from or where we are headed towards. One where the ‘management’ knew the purpose of the rooms being let out, sometimes only at an hourly rate because it was often uncertain for the guests to decide beforehand the time that would spend indoor. One with a dim yellow bulb inside it which barely about let the couple see each other. One where the room had the bare essentials, a bed (double bed; they knew single rooms were useless for their purpose) with sheets which often are not exactly the cleanest, but also acceptable enough to use for the brief period while we were there, a small bedside table to keep the various ‘items’ which are typically involved, wall hooks and cheap plastic hangers to rest our clothes when they are not being used (which is about the most part of the time that we’re there), and a bathroom which had a shower which sprinkled just about the water required to ‘remove traces’ and be ‘civilized’ when we would step out of the room. One where the rickety wooden bed squeaked and creaked in the rhythm of the violent movements it so often endured. One where a passer by outside the room can hear the noise and voices and expressions of pain & pleasure (unless the inmates are completely muffled and stifled) and will still not bother because he/she would be more eager to get inside their own room (the irony being it is to remove the muffles and shackles from one’s mind that one has entered upon those premises in the first place). One where the rooms had that typical smell of being used for a certain purpose. One that would upon entering it, or even approaching it through the passage, would remind one of the purpose for which couples enter inside. One that will imprint on the memory that we are not the same anymore when we exit the room.

He took me there because the place we both are from, there exists a strong social/financial-status bias. While neither he nor me cared about the bias, we knew once “it” is over we would need to return to our respective neighbourhoods. And the bias would have raised questions if I were to invite him to my house…and his wife being a homemaker, his house was out of bounds. Thus was the need for him to identify the hotel.

I knew that I was fascinated by his ruggedness and coarse behaviour, and strange as it may sound the use of his words which were ‘absolutely unacceptable’ in the so-called society I belong to, and yet words, which instigated in me an uncontrollable desire to be his personally owned whore, to let him have his way around (and on) me. He was a bull, who I selected for myself, someone I knew for a brief while from before and developed the need to be together. For him, it was getting a high-society ‘housewife’ free for his personal use, which motivated him to spare the money on the hotel room. It didn’t take him a moment’s shyness to get rid of his own clothes, but did take some cajoling and maybe a slight exertion of force to tear the inner clothes off me despite our mutual knowledge that that’s why we were there, so he would ensure he gets his return from paying for the room rentals. It came naturally to him to get on top of me and move himself, but it took some convincing by him to get me on top of him to have myself so exposed as opposed to when under him, his body would keep me shadowed underneath it, that too with the lights on. He did had to pay extra because we used the room for a while longer than he estimated initially. I suppose he liked it more than he thought he would.

Losing oneself

Men are sweet, men are funny and men are really cute.

I love to see how the men, irrespective of their ownership status with respect to me, i.e. be it any of the several capacities in which I (as a woman) am related to the men in my life, transform into the various degrees of being cute with passage of time.

At the onset of sex it would be more look and feel and touch and grope and tease and torture and smiles and giggles. As time passes and he ensures that he has established complete ownership over me, he starts settling down and the usage of his hands and mouth are relatively lesser and his waist and hips take over gradually to initiate the primal pleasurable motion.

Once he starts getting into the groove eventually he stops using all his facilities except for his hips that pistons his swollen erection in and out of my vagina. He goes into a state of trance and all the other parts of me that attracted him till literally a few moments earlier, now takes a back seat. His body remains laid on top of mine, my breasts crushed under his huge chest, sometimes his face remains lifted and his eyes fixated with mine though they are more in a trance-like state being immersed in the pleasure of sex, or their face is placed next to mine on the pillow. His entire body remains motionless except his hips that keeps intensifying the thrusting motion, sending me shudders of intense pleasure while I try to grab and hold him as tightly as I can, often scratching his back unknowingly in the process till I die a mini death in my own orgasm or he spills his precious seeds all inside me marking the end of that session of our copulation.

Having transferred his seeds to me, he, all of a sudden would regain his control over all the other facilities that he had lost, i.e. his hands that would cuddle me again and feel my breasts, his smile, his mouth as he would kiss me again, before slumping down in exhaustion to recover while rejoicing in the aftermath of pleasure (…till he started the whole process again).

Men are sweet, men are funny and men are really cute.

This is a repost after i discovered that the Tumblr Gods who permit everything here, still took offence at my text.

May I spend on/’in’ you?

Men love to splurge their women with money, gifts, affection. Men also absolutely love to spend themselves in their women. One of the most common questions I am asked when being “interviewed” by a prospective client is if I swallow.

From my experience of being with men, I think the universal desire in men, irrespective of their age or virility, is to see their precious seeds not being wasted. And by wasted I mean not having to just wash it away or spill it on the floor, or fill the condom up (condoms are another universal hatred from my experience with men). From what I have observed, the flow of choices may be best described as the L-S-S-S-F Ladder. Don’t bother to look it up on Google. It is a term I made up. Make note, that the L-S-S-S-F ladder comes into play only in those situations where one of these five elements is not the natural desire of the bull/client. Husbands and boyfriends anyways enjoy special privileges, so they are out of scope of this discussion.

The topmost preference for the majority is to dump it inside (or Load i.e. L) and keep the vagina sealed till he goes soft. Once it gets softer, the ‘union’ breaks off on its own without him having to undertake the pain of pulling himself out. I feel it gives them a very high satisfaction of breeding the woman. In most cases it is difficult to find a woman willing to let her get loaded to avoid the pregnancy scares. Thus, though it ranks highest in the desire table, it is also one of the most difficult situations to fulfill.

That brings us to the next S (or Swallow). This depends on the degree of flexibility of the woman. If she swallows, then the obvious choice is to pull out before the fountain springs, and stick it inside her mouth and keep her gagged till the spasms have subsided and she has swallowed the entire production. Naturally the deciding factor is the prior experience of the woman to the taste of a man’s seed, which again can vary very widely from bitter-sweet to ultra bitter to outright acidic.

In the event the above S is ruled out, pops the second S in the equation, i.e.Spit. “Is it ok if I dump in your mouth? You can then spit it out.” a very common question asked. The deciding factor once again is the preference of the woman to receive the load inside the mouth, which also means getting to taste it. Unless the woman is flexible enough to try new things, or, have grown used to the taste of semen, this doesn’t get fulfilled either. The taste of semen, like wine, is an acquired taste. The first time I tasted it, I felt like puking. I however wanted to make my boyfriend happy and decided to acquire the taste of his semen. As time passed my range of getting used to the entire spectrum of tastes grew, till it reached where it is today, where I cherish the flavour and texture and viscosity. I have by now, to the delight of most of the bulls, answer affirmatively to the question asked in the interview.

Having been unsuccessful in the above ladder of preference, comes the third S, or Spray. “Is it ok if I spray it on your face/breasts/hair/belly/pelvis/hips or back (if in doggy position)?” Note, there are some men who actually are fond of this activity itself. For them, it is not the fourth alternative. It is the desired result for them. I am not counting that section here for this table. Because for me usually most bulls get their flow completed at the first S, it never usually comes down to this one except for the aforementioned class where this is the desired outcome.

The inevitable F comes in the last position, F, as in to Fill up (the condom). This is where all the prior steps in the ladder has been negated and what remains is to have the precious nectar accumulated inside the condom. Most common behaviour is to have it taken off and closely inspected to feel proud of the volume produced as seen deposited in the dangling ‘teat’ of the condom’s closed end.

Why this lecture? The reaction of the woman reminded me of the first few times when I was acquiring the taste of human semen.