Chapter 1. Skilled Hand

“You, Jim Priest?” the polite well-spoken young Indian man asked. “That’s what it says on the badge” I replied. The American soldiers had given us name badges to go with our bright orange prisoner suits. I was moping around by the wall of our communal dank dingy cell hoping that I wasn’t next for the interrogation that had broken so many of the others. The young man seemed a quiet, pleasant guy of slim build, about 5’6 with neat short black hair. “I’ve seen your stuff on the Internet. I’m a great fan of your stories” He told me. “Why, thank you” I replied, flattered. Then he asked “are they real?” “What do you think?” I asked in return. “I think they are real. Let me tell you why” he began. My name is Piyush and what I tell you is true.

I am at the University of Delhi having just finished my first year studying IT. This summer during recess, my parents sent me to stay with my aunty Chanda who lives in a small village in the Thar Desert close to the border with Pakistan. Although it is out in the middle of nowhere, the roads are very good so that the army can move quickly to the border if there is an incident and there is a small regional airfield about 40 miles away. I had known aunty all my life, meeting her at family occasions and the like. However I was quite intimidated by her for she was as fierce as her name. She is a typical domineering Indian matriarch who is very loud, brash and outspoken and not afraid to speak her mind. I told my parents that I didn’t want to go but apparently she had requested my presence and even they were too scared to refuse her command.

So it was that I got on small aircraft belonging to an internal airline that seemed barely airworthy for a scary flight from Delhi into the desert. When we landed at the sun-bleached airstrip and they opened the doors, I was hit physically by this blast of hot air. This continued as I walked down the stairs and onto the apron. I thought it was just the backwash from the engines but as I stepped away and walked towards the small single story sandstone terminal building the hot blast stayed with me and I realised that this was the wind blowing off the desert. Rather than the nice cooling, sometimes chilling, wind that we get in Delhi this was like a blast furnace giving no respite and sucking all of the moisture from the air. After collecting my luggage, I got into a decrepit taxi, a vintage car painted with a yellow upper half, black bottom with worn leather seating dating from the 50’s by the look of it with shot suspension and dusty windscreen. Even with the windows down, it was like an oven inside with the scorching air blowing in giving no relief.

By the time I arrived at the small village of simple cube shaped sandstone buildings, I was close to passing out in the dry heat. If I had expected any kind of warm welcome from aunty then that was instantly dispelled. Aunty Chanda glowered at me fiercely as if I was something that she had scraped off the bottom of her shoe with her hands upon her very wide hips making no attempt at pleasantries or to help me with my luggage. Aunty is a stereotypical Indian aunty, not particularly attractive and very plump, overweight from good food and easy living. I doubt that she had ever done a decent day’s work in her life although of course, she was an excellent cook, although I suspected she had one of her servants do the work while she supervised closely.

She wore a traditional sari of expensive looking quality and coloured pale blue that fully covered up her over-large body apart from her thick fleshy arms, the lower parts of which were left bare by the short sleeved mid-riff blouse. Her long straight hair was jet black, although I suspected she had used dye. auntie’s face is quite large and rather square in shape, an impression given by a very slight slope to her broad cheeks that reached a very straight wide jaw. This was not helped by wearing her hair high off her forehead before cascading down around the back of her ears which were studded with large expensive looking crystal earrings. Although her cheeks were wide and chubby, the skin beneath the jaw looked firm which made me think that she was probably in her late 40’s or early 50’s. Small but very penetrating brown eyes glared out with chilling effect that somehow always seem to be looking down at you even though she is shorter than me at around 5’4. Her eyes sit in sunken recesses which are noticeably darker in skin tone. Despite her pudginess her nose is sleek and elegant and her mouth small with thick lips glossed in scarlet lipstick. The only other bits of noticeable make-up were thickened eyebrows between which she wore a red bindi spot.

Ajay uncle stepped forward with a friendly smile to give me a hand with my bags until waved off by his wife. “A-cha! Ajay leave the boy alone. He is not an invalid” she said in a loud commanding voice that the whole village must have heard. Uncle gave me a look of apology. Truth was that while aunty was large and plump, uncle was a skinny beanpole of a man at least two decades older with thinning grey hair and bottle glasses. He was a nice, friendly man who smiled and laughed a lot and I liked him. So it was that I struggled up the pathway to the house with my cases and steeled myself to settle in for a summer stay with my very strict domineering overweight aunty in her house in a small village with the blistering heat of the desert blowing in on the wind. The food was excellent and bountiful but of course she filled my every waking hour with chores. This mainly meant working in auntie’s near-dust bowl of a garden in the blistering heat, re-building walls and building up rockeries to give a little shade to what plants she did have. Although I never fully got used to the heat, I did slowly begin to acclimatise. Uncle Ajay used to be a professional architect and under his gentle guidance, I realised the plans he had drawn up for an efficient irrigation system that collected and stored what little rainfall and moisture there was to water the plants. It was hard work but it kept me out of auntie’s way.

I had brought my laptop but anticipating no broadband out in the desert, I had purchased an overpriced 3G dongle in Delhi because thanks to the need for communications with the front line, there was a good connection. However I soon found this to be costly and I could only afford to use it sparingly. Unable to get my full fix of images of sexy Amazon women like those featured in your stories my attention wandered to the only dominant woman around. Aunty would not place in a beauty contest but like many plump Indian aunties, she was very well-endowed. An exceptionally wide full shelf of a bust hung disturbing low. It was also supported very firmly by her undergarments and from the side it looked like she had a large lop-sided pyramid stuck to her front, a view that made my groin tighten. Due to the heat, aunty wore light saris, so thin that her large nipples pressed very visibly against the fabric. It was such an unexpected sexy sight on a unsexy woman that I kept finding my eyes returning them when she wasn’t looking. That’s when I also began to notice that the short-sleeved mid-riff blouses she wore beneath the long tail of silk draped diagonally across one shoulder were low-cut giving tantalising glimpses of a very deep dark cleavage packed with high-sided mounds of flesh on either side. For a young man starved of Internet Amazons, that huge forward-thrusting heavy-looking package on such a fierce strict mature woman caught my attention and fuelled my night-time lust. This was enhanced by the way that she verbally dominated all around her and the confident way she held herself which gave her such a powerful air of authority. I saw how everyone was frightened of her and gave her deference and that appealed to my secret fetish for strong women even though I didn’t find her physically attractive apart from her large heaving bust. All that was soon to change.

One morning I was outside in the searing heat struggling to move a particularly large boulder across the garden to its intended position where it would provide shelter for her precious plants. I was huffing and puffing and straining, concentrating on trying to move it without doing myself or, more importantly, her garden damage. Suddenly to my surprise the boulder became lighter and floated up into the air. “Here boy, you’ll do yourself a mischief trying to carry it like that” a familiar loud stern voice sounded. I looked up in surprise to find that aunty had taken hold of the other side and was actually helping me. In disbelief I found that I barely had a grip on the thing because she had almost lifted it completely out of my hands. She was standing there holding up this massive boulder that I had been struggling with showing no signs of exertion, looking like she was just holding an inconveniently sized empty cardboard box. “T-thank you, aunty” I managed to gasp trying to cover my amazement at her unexpected strength. “Come along, Boy. Put some put back into it” she scolded then proceeded to helped me carry the boulder across the garden. I was stunned to find that the boulder just seemed to float across the garden with little effort on my part. I had always thought her fat and lazy yet now she was doing most of the heavy lifting, not really sharing the burden. For my part, I felt that all I was doing was keeping the awkward shaped thing steady whereas aunty was actually the one carrying it. Astonished by strength that I never suspected she had, my balls tightened and my dick lurched and stiffened with new appreciation for this fearsome matriarch. I began to steal glances at her arms whenever I thought that she wasn’t looking at me hoping to catch a glimpse of massive bulging biceps like a Jim Priest superwoman. I was disappointed for peeping out from the short-sleeves of her mid-riff length blouse, auntie’s arms were certainly very thick and not as flabby as I had originally assumed but showed no obvious signs of bulging muscle, although they looked very firm. However as we manipulated the boulder around and over obstacles in the garden, I saw subtle hints of hardness and swelling around her biceps and triceps with briefly visible thick tendons in her wide forearms. She caught me gawping a few times and I quickly gave my attention back to the large object we were carrying feeling her steely gaze upon me.

“Th-thank you aunty” was all I could think to say again as we set down the boulder into its final position. Free of its protection between us, I was now acutely aware of the stiffness showing in the front of my shorts and prayed that she wouldn’t notice. “Learn to lift properly, boy. I don’t want you to hurt yourself while you are in my care. It is not proper for a lady to move rocks so don’t ask me again” she told me with a harsh tone then turned to leave. I had never asked her in the first place and I watched as she walked away towards the stone staircase at the back of the house that led up to the upper floor and the flat roof. Lifting the hem of her sari to climb the steps I saw her thick ankles flow into very thick very large shapely smooth skinned calves. As she climbed, large hard shiny slabs briefly appeared then waned. My dick gave a lurch at the sight of the glimpses of real muscle on auntie’s legs. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. I rushed closer as stealthily as I could to get a better view and by the time she had reached the top of the stair, my stiffy had become a real aching-hard throbber in my pants. She wasn’t particularly attractive and still seemed grossly overweight but with the vision of those hard calve muscles and the memory of how easily she moved that large boulder with little help from myself added to the huge breasts bouncing around inside her sari created new fantasies about her in my wet dreams.

From then on, I kept stealing glances at her whenever I thought she wasn’t looking, staring at her arms for any positive signs of muscle in her very wide thick arms. All I confirmed was a definite firm swelling when she moved heavy pots and pans and the like but nothing that indicated anything more exciting and I began to wonder whether I had just imagined what I saw that day out in the garden. I even began following her whenever she climbed the stairs in the hope of catching a glimpse of her calves. They certainly had an amazing shape, from the side they swelled out deeply over a short distance from her thick ankles like half a heart shape of quite firm looking mass. As she climbed, this mass would become very firm then solidify into large slabs of hardness before disappearing as she moved on. It was a sight that kept me coming back for more but I got careless. One day I was climbing the stairs behind her, thinking how her very wide backside filled that sari like the back of a truck when she stopped suddenly. Looking over her shoulder at me she glared down at me and asked “What is this is? Why are you always following me upstairs, Boy? You are not going to try to force yourself upon me I hope because that would go very badly for you indeed”. That threw me because I would never have ever considered such a thing. “Er, No. I’m not following you” I lied. Aunty turned around on the step above. Since I was so close behind on the stairs I got a face full of her massive wide low-slung bosom with her big prominent nipples nearly taking out my eyes. They were right in front of my face and filled my entire vision. “Mahishasura finds work for idle hands” she intoned “Since you have nothing to do you except follow me, you can go and clean the toilet and don’t let me catch you following me again unless I ask you to” “I did that this morning” I protested “Don’t back-chat me boy, go do it again to a standard that will meet my high expectations” she demanded. Forcing my eyes to look over the massive shelf of breast I saw her stern facing looking down at me so fiercely that I didn’t dare argue and turned and went downstairs to get the cleaning stuff.

That evening after I’d finished all my chores I went to my room to have a bit of browsing time and to see whether my favourite author had published a new story. As I entered my room, to my horror I found aunty sitting on the bed looking at my laptop screen. I didn’t even know that she knew how to use one or how she had cracked my password, she certainly didn’t have a computer in the house. “Do you really masturbate to this?” she asked in a hard voice full of disgust. She turned the screen towards me and to my shame it was showing a thumbnail view of a folder where I had downloaded images of muscle women from the web. I felt myself blush in embarrassment at being caught out. She closed the lid and placed the laptop on the bed then stood up to face me. “I take you in and look after like my son and this is how you repay me? Masturbating in my house? You clearly need a lot of discipline to be instilled in you. You leave me no choice. I am going to have to punish you” she said in a hard fierce voice. Anger and a fear of getting spanked by a woman at my age flared up into defiance. “You can’t do that!” I cried in indignation “I’m not a child. You’re not my mother. You have no right to go through my belongings” CRACK! Her chubby right hand slapped me so hard across my cheek that it sounded like a rifle shot slamming my face so fast from one side to the other that my vision blurred and I felt dizzy bringing tears to my eyes and making my cheek sting and burn. “You will not raise your tone when you speak with me” She growled “While you live under my roof; I am responsible for your personal care and moral well-being. That includes the right to correct your bad habits in the you-know-what department. It’s the sari of discipline for you lad”.