A slow, seductive Bollywood song oozed from the speaker--the room fell into a hush of anticipation.
Tanya stood. Her face didn't betray any emotions. She simply stepped into my space, erasing it. Her back was to my front, and before I could adjust, she leaned back. Her ass pressed firm against my crotch. She didn't just stand there. She began to grind.
It was slow circular rotation of her hips that molded her soft flesh against my hardening cock. I felt her weight, the heat of her body through the thin barrier of clothes, the rhythm of her hips pushing all worldly thoughts out. Amplified by the thin cotton of my trunks on her. She rolled her hips back, then forward, then back again, a rhythm that was less dance and more dry humping. With each rotation, my cock ached as the friction built--a delicious drag of sexual tension.
My hands shot out to my sides for modesty infront of the audience, a pathetic pantomime of non-participation.
But my eyes betrayed me. They were livid.
Then, in one motion, she turned.
She hooked her arms around my neck, pulling my face down to the level of her burning eyes. Her breasts, unbound beneath my t-shirt on her, crushed against me. I could feel the firm peaks of her nipples pressing into me. She began to move again, but now it was frontal. Her pelvis rolled into mine, a slow, sensual undulation that left no room for interpretation. She wasn't playing the game any more. Her thigh slipped between mine, pressing up with a firm, insistence. I could smell her.
My hands were still frozen in the air, paralyzed by a war between decency and desire. She saw the conflict in my eyes. A triumphant smirk touched her lips.
Her dance became more intimate. She pressed her entire body along the length of mine, letting me feel the soft give of her stomach, her firm thighs and the relentless pressure on my cock. She shifted her weight, moving her hips in a way that made the seam of her underwear drag directly over the head of my cock. It became very sensitive against the fabric.
It was a full carnal immersion. Time dissolved. The room, our friends, the music--all of it blurred into a haze of sensation focused entirely on the point where our bodies met and moved as one.
When the song finally faded, she didn't move away. She held the position for one last pulsing second, letting me feel her in the quiet. Then she released me.
The room exploded--applause, whistles, shouted commentary. My ears rang with it.
This wasn't like Aananya's dance--no cautious distance and intimacy. Tanya used her body fully, letting me feel her every curve. It left no doubt in my head that I was now hers to take.
Tanya walked back to her seat with her head held high, unbothered and unapologetic, wearing none of the embarrassment the other girls usually hid behind.
I followed a moment later, lighting a cigarette to give my hands something to do. My face burned, my body still humming with the echo of her movements. Visibly embarrassed--alone in that feeling.
The game got over after that. One of the girls protested that we had gone too far.
We all downed two more glasses of whiskey. The room swam--a soft, amber blur of sound and smoke. Tanya's thigh pressed against mine, and I felt my desire pooling low in me. My control fraying, my hand slid to the curve of her waist. My palm pressed flat against her lower belly under her tee, fingers splayed, applying a slow, insistent pressure. She shuddered--then turned her face to mine. Her eyes were dark and mellow. Her lips brushed my ear, her breath hot and laced with whiskey.
"Let's go," she whispered.
We got up holding hands as she guided me to another room as the rest of the gang must have stared at us.
Inside the other room, I threw the bolt. The lock clicked into place, sealing us in a sudden, profound quiet. Only our breathing breaking it. The room was dark, only lit by some light fluttering in from the window. I lit a joint, the flare of the lighter illuminating her face for a second. She didn't wait. She closed the distance, her hands rising to cup the back of my neck, her mouth on mine. Her kiss was pure hunger. My tongue swept into her mouth, tasting whiskey, tangling with hers. Her hands roamed down my back, under my shirt, her nails dragging lightly over my skin, pulling me closer.
I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her tighter, feeling the entire length of her body align with mine. Without breaking the kiss, I walked her backward until her shoulders met the wall. I pulled back just enough to look into her eyes--pupils wide from weed. I took a long, deep drag from the joint, held the smoke, then sealed my mouth back over hers. I exhaled slowly, feeding the smoke into her. She inhaled the smoke from my lungs, her chest rising, before letting it out in a hazy veil around our faces.
I tossed the joint aside. It glowed on the floor like a fallen star. Taking her hand, I led her to the mattress--Harpreet's bed. She lay back, her hair fanning out beneath her. I followed her down, settling over her. My mouth found the salty skin of her neck. I kissed, then licked a wet trail from her collarbone to her jaw. My hand slid up her side, over the soft cotton t-shirt, and closed over her breast. I squeezed gently, then more firmly, my fingers finding the nipple through the fabric.
I gathered the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it up and over her head. She raised her arms to help. It fell away. Her breasts were full, tipped with nipples the color of ripe berries. I lowered my head and took one into my mouth. My tongue flicked and circled as she gasped in pleasure. My hand travelled down her stomach, over the waistband of her underwear--my underwear--and slipped inside. My fingers slid through soft curls of her pubes, to the slit beneath. I explored the smooth lips of her pussy, parting them, and was struck by the sight as I removed her trunks: her pubic hair was not black as with most Indians, but a sun-kissed light brown, sparse and silky. Her inner lips were flushed red and glistening.
Without waiting for our desires to lull, I stood hurriedly, tearing off my own t-shirt, vest, shorts, and underwear. I was naked before her for the first time. I knelt and she opened her legs for me. My tongue found her neck again, my palms covering her breasts, the tip of my cock pressed against her wet pussy. Drunk and stripped of all inhibition, I pushed.
She let out a choked cry--a sound of pain, trying to muffle it in the skin of my shoulder. I was inside her, fully. I held perfectly still, letting her swim out of her pain, feeling the clamp of her inner muscles. Then, I began to pump. Slowly pulling it out before diving back in.
"In and out," she whispered directly into my ear, her voice a rhythmic chant. "In and out."
She set the pace, her hands on my back and her verbal commands dictating my motion. Her nails carved half-circles into the skin of back--my own taste of pain. My foreskin too felt a raw burn of friction.
I was not fucking her. She was fucking me, using my body, using me for her pleasure. And it felt fucking intoxicating, the surrender to someone I thought would never choose me. The most coveted girl in college, naked and open beneath me. I felt a sense of accomplishment that I rarely felt otherwise.
She was so wet, warm and very tight, I slid in to what felt like a flesh-microwave and the sensations bordered on madness.
Soon I felt the telltale build in my balls and not wanting to get her pregnant I pulled out with a sigh. I knelt up, my cock wet in my hand, and shuffled closer to her face.
"Please," I managed, my voice hopeful and pleading. "Swallow."
For a heartbeat, her expression shifted--a flicker of disgust. She shook her head in a strong no. Instead, her hands replaced mine, stroking me with a firm rhythm. She guided me over her body, and I came in white stripes across her breasts and stomach and some of it pooled into her navel.
Spent, I collapsed beside her. After a moment, I reached for the half-finished joint, relighting it with fingers that still carried her scent. The smoke hit my bloodstream like a sedative, magnifying the exhaustion in my limbs. We passed it back and forth in silence. I used the corner of my discarded t-shirt to wipe my semen from her skin. We lay tangled in the aftermath, our bodies slack, the air heavy with sex and smoke and something unnamable. Some sort of relation we knew would continue long. We didn't talk about it. We didn't know what it meant. But we knew we were not the kind of people who made commitments.
And she fucking knew I had a girlfriend.
After about 20 minutes of just lying there, high as fuck and in each other's arm our spell was broken by Ananya as she banged on our door.
"Tanya are you alright" she shouted, "It's been an hour, we are thinking about leaving at around 5."
Fucking bitch.
Tanya looked at me before shouting back, "Yeah, I am good, we are taking about something serious. We will join you guys soon."
A knowing look passed between us. As she got up or should I say staggered up to get dressed. I noticed the mattress was covered in blood and so was my cock. I looked at her inquisitively.
"I was a virgin." She replied dismissing it all as if it was nothing big. "I did not enjoy it much, it was painful. Masturbation is more fun."
"First time is always painful Tanya. Don't be a fucking elite prude. Don't be a bitch with me, you will enjoy it the next time," I replied firmly. This is probably why women were crazy about me, the way I talked to girls, especially in a society where every guy is just dying to give girls princess treatment.
We got dressed and left the room; I flipped Harpreet's mattress over so that he would not find the blood and accuse me of dirtying his bed.
We took an hour to sober up before they went back home in their respective autos. Their families waiting for their children to be back from college.
Later, I told Nakul about Tanya and our sex. We laughed a knowing laugh and went to eat Momos and more beers.
Life in Delhi seemed brighter at the moment.