Chapter 7: Getting to know Sarita

"Now you, my man, go and have a shower." She leant over me and the overlarge tee shirt ballooned out as she bent over to kiss me.

I was, sure she'd made it billow on purpose and I carefully raised my hand to touch her freed breast. "They're not large, only a 32B," she apologised. But I gently stroked her before I was really aware that I'd broken my resolve. Its warm softness allowed me to explore the contours. There was nothing for which to apologise for as I was really satisfied with what was more than a small handful.

I just couldn't concentrate. How the hell do they size breasts? Or do I mean bras? To me, what I was experiencing was more than good enough and I allowed my head to break away from her kiss and now that the neckline of the tee shirt was pulled out of true I could address one tiny nipple. It quickly rose to assert itself and got hard. Very hard!

As I released it, she stood up, lifting the dishes to return them to the small kitchenette. At the same time I arose with a mutually silent decision that we were delaying the inevitable.

When had this been decided?

I had a sense of déjà vu here that my right to make decisions was being taken away from me.

But did I see an enigmatic smile coursing over her face? She knew I'd conceded to share my bed with her.

Time slowed down for me. More had passed between us than mere words; the meeting in the library, my rejection of her that was then confounded by the fight, sharing my plans with her, the sharing of my secret hoard, her coming out of the shop to deter any police interest; all had brought us closer. Yes, she had supported me with no word of complaint and I'd relied on her all day. The open way she talked about her devotion was suddenly beginning to register on me.

I had seen her lifting far more than she was really strong enough to carry, more than she was able to lift easily. I saw it now for what it was. She'd been trying to impress me.

I chuckled. We also shared the fact that, by the end of the day, both of us were hobbling. I didn't know why my ankle hurt. Was it in sympathy as she too was limping a little?

OK, I was not interested in her silly idea of sharing. One amazing woman was enough for me. All I thought of, as I took myself off to the shower, was that I wanted to be clean enough for her.

After a few minutes she came in with a pan of warm water and pulled me out of the cubicle without saying a word.

I felt very self-conscious of my slightly aroused cock but she appeared to understand that I was not yet OK with her seeing me like this. Still, her fingers led me to the washbasin. Here, she placed me in a similar stance to that she had adopted earlier leaning low over it.

Then she passed me a dry towel, "To keep the suds out of your eyes." Standing so near I was aware of her body heat, she poured the water, now with added shampoo gently over the crown of my head, ensuring that my hair was dampened.

I'd never experienced such consideration before. I'd not had anyone shampoo my hair since childhood. In my family, it was considered unmanly to go to a barber's. I'd heard other students even had a wash and dry, an expensive waste of time and money, a luxury. Dad had always cut my hair and in the summer Gramps had done it. No one had ever recognised that it was a DIY* job.

Now, her gentle fingers were massaging my scalp. I'd never experienced anything like it. Never had I been aware that there were so many pleasure nerve endings all over my skull. It was a real eye opener.

And, if that were not enough, suddenly, I was conscious that the warmth, brushing up against my nakedness, was her nude body. Her uncovered breasts were rubbing against me with every movement of her hands, rubbing up and down with a delightfully enticing excitement that sent my cock into vertical mode and made me step further away from the basin to give it space.

When had that tee shirt disappeared?

Later, I was to discover that her mother used to wash her father's hair and that Sarita had once had the opportunity of spending a day, learning something about scalp massage, a most rewarding experience as far as I was concerned.

Finally, she stepped back and I vaguely appreciated that she'd also shampooed and rinsed my hair with warm water. The experience had such a wonderful calming effect on my whole body. I was mentally at ease now.

At ease but for one thing. I had a sense of guilt that I'd not treated her as gently as she'd pandered to me. There was an assumption, I had, that I was in her debt. I knew I would agree to anything she wanted me to do. Having made that adjustment to my thinking, even that was forgotten by the effect of the attention she had lavished on me.

The gentle touch of her fingers and the nearness of her lithe warm body had endorsed the inevitability of our forthcoming love making. It was a tender form of foreplay that settled me, made me feel good about her being next to me.

What the hell was I waffling on about? I was trying only to sort out the thoughts going through my head. This was no time to display, (even to myself) the detailed academic analysis that set me in the top strata of my uni course. My mind was in turmoil. The only certain thing was that I was drying my hair before slipping in to see my lover.

Enjoy! Take pleasure in the moment.

There was no rush. I hate wet pillows so I really did scour my head with the towel. For the first time, before bed, I ran a brush over my head. Then I threw a towel around my waist and moved into the bedroom to be greeted by a smiling welcome.

Cross-legged on the bed, her pubic hair was trimmed straight and black, her vulva was pulled slightly agape, hidden vaguely. My eyes were drawn to identify her lips, almost black, within which there was a contrasting vivid pink enticement staring at me.

Then I realised that the rather scandalous view was not being performed for my benefit, she'd just finished fastening an elasticated bandage around her ankle. "Should have done it earlier," she stated.

She saw me looking, saw me averting my eyes from below her navel.

"Well, that failed to work." She said this with mock grumpiness.

Did she always catch me looking puzzled? She must think I was retarded.

"I'm trying to say I'm available and ready." She pronounced with a little difficulty. "I'm available to you whenever you want. You want to look? You know you can, you have a right to. It's sort of meant to get you interested."

She blushed. "You've not read the right book. You're meant to stare so hard, you start ravishing me, the poor helpless naïve girl. You are not meant to be so bloody polite. You really are making it difficult for me. Are you trying to make fun of me?"

I try to be well-mannered and I get blamed! Typical!

Forget it, I regarded her face, her dimpled cheeks and she blushed a dark pinky colour through her brown soft skin.

"No! I've never let anyone see me like this but you." Her voice softened, "I don't mind you. I WANT to let YOU see me." She bit her lip nervously, first the top and then the bottom one.

We were both fencing verbally. No, we were sailing out of our depths, in uncharted seas; wallowing, floundering.

I had been distracted as she had pulled me onto the bed facing her. I was sitting with my foot outstretched and now she laid my own weak ankle right between her thighs. The contact of my foot against her bare thigh was electrifying. "A crêpe bandage is needed. Your foot is going to get a lot of work over the next few days."

She meant the cycling.

It was a relief that she became more positive and professional, and the anxiety slowly dissolved away.

"Push the ball of your foot back towards me," she instructed.

"Hold that."

She muttered to herself in another language. I found it funny. I really did think she had no idea that she was doing it as she concentrated on the correct tensioning of the bandage being wrapped around my foot and ankle. Only now, did I recall I'd twisted it on the university steps earlier in the day. It seemed such a long time ago now.

She looked up to see my eyes focussed on the process at my foot. Purposefully, she stopped winding the bandage and moved my foot a little to one side now. I appreciated that her smiling vulva was once more in full view and I raised my eyes to a cheeky smile.

This woman was full of surprising moves. Would I ever understand her?

Yet I understood she found her own display somewhat chastening. She was making a real effort to make herself sexually inviting and no, she was not a rampant Saturday-night sex artist.

But she tried to avoid displaying her feelings by talking about the bandaging "You know, doctors are crap at putting on wound dressings. Four years ago, during a vacation, I went to the Dr. Ram Manohar Lohia Hospital in Delhi and did nothing else in the Emergency Unit for a month. The sister was a real tartar. She had me doing it again and again."

I don't know if she was talking to give me confidence in her expertise or to cover her nervousness.

"I tell you, if they had a difficult wound dressing in A&E* down the road the nursing staff would point me in that direction and stand and watch my expertise.

Now, with these elasticated dressings, there's a happy medium; too loose and it's ineffective, too tight and you can get circulation problems and cause bruising on susceptible patients."

Finally she fixed it and sat back, "I'm not asking you if that is all right. It is." She asserted this with hushed confidence.

Looking up, she moved my foot away from her crotch. I admired the smile on her vulva and gave her a big smile too. The way she had been fussing over me, she deserved a big hug.

I leaned forward to do just that and, suddenly, she bit her bottom lip. "Fiddlesticks!"

"Do you want to make babies or would you prefer me to use birth control?"

I know I looked puzzled, particularly when she added. "That decision is too big for me to take."

What was she asking me? It was a question, right? "Er, I'd love you to have a baby." Was that the right thing to say? "But I don't see where we are in nine months' time. A bit risky, don't you think?"

She wasn't serious? Was she? Decisions like that were left for years before you decided to have a family and certainly never just the man's choice. What was her agenda?

Hesitantly she added, "I'm in the middle of my cycle now so it does matter."

Fucking hell! was my immediate reaction, "Don't you think you'd better wait until there is a bit of stability in your life and you have a home?"

At first I thought I saw a measure of relief in her features. That was what I expected but I wasn't quite sure, I got the impression she might even have said, "Thank you," if I'd been reckless and said, "Let's get you knocked up!"

What was I letting myself into here? Was she mental? That copper did say he had seen her at the hospital, didn't he? In my heart I knew she was a doctor and not a patient, it's just I could not weigh her up. She was a new shock a minute. She confused the hell out of me.

"I'm sorry, I've spoiled the moment," she said rising up off the bed, "Do you mind me nipping out to put it in."

What?

She saw my consternation and that prompted her, "I've got to use a diaphragm."

Diaphragm? Trouble breathing? I had no idea what a diaphragm was. Then, some half-forgotten memory came back from school Sex Ed. I supposed it was what others called a ring. Oh heck, why bother thinking? She clearly had everything in hand. She was the expert.

"There's nothing else we can use immediately unless you prefer a condom?" She was already shaking her head answering her own question.

"Do you mind if I do it in the bathroom? I know what I said earlier but I'm not used to fiddling about inside with it and they have a hell of a spring. I'd get nervous with you watching and I'd not get it fitting right."

I was laughing now, I think to relieve the nervousness she was starting to show. "Off you go," and I realised again that my reticence in having sex with her was no longer there. It was now inevitable, a cast-iron certainty.

It was quite a few minutes before she came back. A few minutes! It was over half an hour! It did cross my mind that I'd be fucking infuriated if, when she finally did emerge, it turned out that she had changed her mind and there was a 'No' involved in there somewhere.

Later, much later, I was to discover that she had brought a selection of Dutch caps from the clinic and, first of all, had to find the correct size.

She emerged red faced. "That was embarrassing," she blurted out, "the bloody thing sprang away from me over to the other side of the room and almost went down the loo. I was all set to bring out the spare when I found it in that towel. Went and hid itself, it did and covered itself up. Do you think it's trying to tell us something?"

We giggled.

She stood in front of me for a moment and wiggled her hips, shook herself, first raising one leg and then the other disclosing a VERY open sex and then announced, "Can't feel it. Must be in the right place."

I certainly liked the effect it caused. Suddenly, she burst into tears and dropped on me, "Hold me, please!"

She recovered very quickly announcing, "I'm sorry, it's been a hell of an emotional day, waiting each moment for someone to stop us with the water, worrying we wouldn't get bikes. I really appreciated you being there with me all day. You also just took those two fights in your stride."

Two fights, I've never even been in one before. OK, I have done martial arts for years but only as a sport!

"That seems a long time ago now," I responded, "and it's the first fight I've been in. Believe me, I was shit scared!"

We lay together.

It was good just to feel her next to me. Then, as if she were exasperated, I felt the towel being whipped away from between us. "If I have nothing on, neither can you."

Her voice went much thinner, "I'm really not very good at this but I'll try my best."

One moment she was in charge and asserting herself only to insist that I take over.

I did, "Tonight, I'm boss man. You do what you're told." The assertion, out of my own mouth, sounded strange to me and out of character but her reaction was an eye-opener.

She stiffened at my command and I thought I'd read her wrongly but almost immediately I sensed a complete easing of her muscles. Her sensuous body, over the top of me, went limp and sort of melded into my own shape. Her face adopted a calm persona.

My cock grew rigid and she acknowledged its presence by shifting to adapt the pressure against the tender skin of her belly more comfortably. We held each other for some considerable time and then I started to plant gentle kisses all over her face and neck.

No move we made was pre-planned. We sort of ended up facing each other as she stared at my cock and lifted it up delicately to study it.

"Not seen one before?"

"A few but only one that was erect but it was nothing like this." She stopped speaking and then uttered two words, "The bastard!" was blurted out sotto voce* with loads of feeling.

I'm sure she realised she'd spoken the last part aloud and I'd heard her.

She leant down and planted a kiss on me and on my cock almost with reverence, two, three or four kisses. Looking up at me, "I wanted to do that," her eyes, brown eyes, brimming with tears.

My first thought was that she was doing something she hated but I was slowly beginning to understand women. She was happy!

In an awed voice, I heard, "I've never imagined how women could say they like a cock. To me it was a body part, until now I never saw its beauty. I always thought it to be a drawback to a relationship. Today, I want to show you how much it means to me, I think I understand now: it's not the cock, it's who it belongs to."

She lowered her head and stroked me slowly along my length with her tongue, enticing a dewdrop of clear liquid to appear. She tentatively lapped it, carefully tasting with her tongue thoughtfully.

She leaned over to kiss my lips then halted just before she touched me. "Sorry, I've just..." and I knew she was concerned about having the odour of precum on her lips. She was worried I'd be offended or turned off by the taste.

My response was simple. If she was prepared to take in my juice at least I could show my appreciation and if I sensed my own taste on her lips, oh well! After all it was mine!

I bent down and gave her a humdinger of an open-mouthed Frenchy, tasting for the first time my own flavour. It wasn't that great and it wasn't bad exactly but, hey, I'd not had to take it straight from the source!

"Good girl," I thought and the lingering taste was soon forgotten as the embrace got into a little more of a heated kiss. It was she who started tentatively searching through my lips with her tongue into my mouth and then we got lost in each other.

There was no planning. She relaxed onto her back and pulled me on top, her thighs parted and the head of my cock slipped over the top of its natural objective.

Hardly moving over her squirming hips, I sensed her fingers' tips delicately guide my ready solidity into the right place at the entrance of her vulva. In half a move she had lifted her pelvis to guide the crown of my cock into her very tight vaginal mouth.

"In," she pleaded using one word almost as if in pain, waiting to be salved.

I was so ready. I sensed there was room for me so I had the urge to push forward. I'd never had a virgin but this is how I imagined it would be if were deflowering a girl who had never had a cock inside her before.

Was that right? She hadn't had a cock in years? I never doubted her assertion from this moment. I forced myself to ease ever so slowly forward against the over-tight constriction all around the top of my stem.

A surprise! "I want you to take me hard. I want to know you're there!"

By now there was no hesitancy in my complying, I rammed through the tight-gripping walls and forced open the obdurate muscle, staring at her face as I did so. I only saw a determination there and could read nothing else except a firm resolve.

Inside, she was wet but so unyielding. Her face curled in contorted pain. Nostrils flaring sharply, she bit her lips, first the bottom and then the upper one.

Her vagina was so tight it was almost painful.

I stopped and immediately recognised it was the wrong move as she heaved herself up and at me in an ineffective attempt to get me in deeper.

What the heck! If that's how she wanted it!

I wasn't aggressive by nature but this time I rammed through, forcing my way until I had gained a further inch or so. Then I retreated and thrust in again making her yield a little more ground at each onslaught.

Once, I paused to assess if this was what she wanted but her intentions were obvious. She needed another push forward.

I advanced painfully but a deep need to satisfy myself overcame all reserve. Now, I had satisfyingly made more progress and it was easier for the blunt head of my cock to intrude through the obstruction. It was not without some discomfort.

Nevertheless, even the annoyance egged me on to bury the full length for my cock. The base of my rock hard member was having a natural urge to find itself surrounded by a warm tight enclosure.

I rammed in and back, forcing the last restriction to let me reach my goal. My balls gave me the satisfaction of slapping hard against her wet vulva.

And beneath me, I experienced a total capitulation. All her body language told me she had yielded herself to me.

Now I began hard to aggressively assert the right I'd won, I started fucking her violently.

My tempo increased as the adrenaline of a hard won achievement fostered an attack on what had once been a reticent body.

I forgot to check on how she was taking it. All I needed was to slake my lust. At that moment I understood the possession a man has for a woman. And she understood the need to be possessed.

She took satisfaction in the way she had empowered me to force myself within her. I was aware too, of the sense of contentment her body had in capitulating to my influence.

I fought to release the tension that had built up over the last few days. The frustrations of my thesis, the concerns for my friends and my family, my doubts and worries for the events worldwide all were relegated to the back of my mind. I sought to obliterate the effect of anything that had encroached on my existence and I wanted to ignore the fact that my life was in turmoil.

I ignored all the fights, all the worries, all the concerns in a mindless hunger for pleasure-seeking lust. I lost myself and welcomed the diversion from reality. Sexual pleasure overtook my whole body.

I strove for one thing only, I sought to seek to fulfil a man's need to fill a woman with his seed and. As I erupted, it crossed my mind that, at this moment, I could have been impregnating her. That thought spurred me on again to exert that last ounce of effort before I lost my energy, dissipated in fulfilling my duty. I forgot all but the immediate enjoyment, all except a part of my concern for my partner. In ensuring her gratification, my own exhilaration was enhanced.

When I did recover from my labours enough to look, there were beads of moisture on her brow. And sweat dripped from my damp skin onto her own breasts.

She made one big gasp out "Phewww!" She lay beneath me and regarded my face with respect and with approval, her own visage saturated with contentment.

"Thank you! Please don't pull away. Just stay where you are until my muscles adjust to accommodate you." Her bum squiggled around under me. Her manner of speaking was completely different from before. There were no demands.

We were equals.

That fact was blatantly denied in the next few seconds, "Next time I'll do better." She apologised.

This woman I did not understand.

"It's going to be ages, days, before these muscles recover." I sensed a wet light flickering of identification around my cock. There was no recrimination. It was more like sense of bravado she was exuding. "If they don't ease after that, they never will."

Her eyes never left my face. She was thinking.

"Penny for them."*

Looking me in the eye, "I've been a pain. I was so nervous. Sex was always painful with him. I wanted you to hurt me more, to take away his hurt. I know it doesn't make sense but it does to me."

For some reason, I think it was because she said she had always associated soreness with sex, I was concerned that I was smaller than my predecessor.

She looked apologetic. The head of my cock hurt. I felt good. I was inside a woman. I'd missed that for months.

I felt closer to Sarita than I'd ever felt with Marcie. It was as if she had let me into her private, innermost thoughts. Marcie was always so self-contained and slightly distant.

The way Sarita smiled her appreciation, the thanks she imparted just for my being there meant a lot to me. I liked the simple need for my presence. Her wanting me, inside, expressed more than words.

We stayed there until I felt my cock held less painfully and I needed to move. Just as I'd made up my mind, she tilted her pelvis and started to ease backwards and forwards so I slid a short way in and out.

A large smile developed on her face.

"Now do it properly, my man." It was not an order. The last two words were uttered with passiveness yet a hint of deference. "I won't be so silly this time."

She tittered, "If I'd have known how hard you could do that I'd not have encouraged you."