All those who have read my earlier stories (“Tara gets the drop in” and “Planned surprise system lets them have fun” and the rest) would have seen that I have set up a deal with my lover, Tara, to play adult games to keep our sex life full of surprises and with anticipation of how we would get fucked next.
This happened yesterday and I thought that it might be of interest to you. This is a true story.
If my stories have got atleast one panty wet or one dick on the hop or one couple has enjoyed their fucking session better, I am overjoyed. Frankly, reading stories written by many of you has made me excite Tara many a time and fuck, and she has helped me overcome tiredness and fuck.
It was Saturday morning and I was having my breakfast tea. I suddenly decided to call Tara and talk to her about some shopping we had done the evening before. I felt she had spent far too much on her clothing. During the phone conversation, I had to tell her many a time “You don’t know your maths." She said, “I am a Biology student." I sounded pissed and said, “I will have to teach you maths. Atleast with our money." Tara said ‘It was my money, not yours. So why are you upset." I was more pissed and said, “What did you say?” Tara said, “I am sorry, I made that distinction” But all I bought was some lingerie that was expensive. Rest was humdrum stuff. Anyway, I am sorry you feel so. Darling all my money is yours and all your money is mine. Even I am yours. So what is the fight about!” I agreed with her and said, “I will HAVE to teach you maths anyway." Tara added, “I promise to make it up with you darling. Just don’t get pissed early in the morning." I said “Bye. See you soon darling” and hung up.
The whole day went by lazing and doing some standard housework. In the evening, I had a bath and started to get ready for my ritual visit to Tara to spend an evening of fun and maybe some torrid sex.
While getting ready, I got an idea. Let me surprise her. Let me dress like a traditional teacher of India. I took out my Dhoti (a white long piece of cotton cloth that is worn traditionally in India and a Kurta. Remember Gandhi with his loincloth. A better version of that). I slipped into Kolhapuri slippers and dabbed some Aramis cologne. (Tara hates bad smell).
A short 30-minute drive through bad traffic reached me to Tara’s home.
I walked slowly up the steps and rang the bell. I heard her come to the door and felt she peaked out through the eye spy on the door. I had been telling her to be careful. I could hear her slipping in the door chain and then she slowly opened the door a crack and asked, “Yes?” She then saw me and said “Good God. What is this? Why are you wearing all this?” I said “Miss, didn’t you want a Maths teacher?” Tara said, “Yes. Yes. Sir. Please come in."
Tara was wearing a traditional white cotton sari and red blouse with hooks in the front. Her sari was crumpled. She had been having a nap. Her eyes were swollen, as they would be after she woke up from a nap. Her hairs were open. She would carelessly wrap her hairs and make them into a bun. She smelt good. Like always.
I could see the traces of her white bra through her blouse. Actually, I did not like this dress sense of hers. Nevertheless, she always wore such stuff at home when I was not expected.
I walked in tentatively and asked, “Where is the student?” Tara said “Sir I am the student." I answered, “Aren’t you rather grown up for learning maths?”
I said “I charge Rs 200 per hour." Tara said “That is okay Sir. As long as I learn Maths, it is okay with me." I said, “Miss, I didn’t get your name." “Sir. My name is Tara."
I said “Okay. So should we start today?”
“Yes Sir. Let me get the copy books etc."
Tara led me to a small square study table. She pulled to two handle less chairs from the dining set and placed them on both sides of the table. She placed some rough paper and placed the pens and pencils.
I sat myself down and asked, “Where do we start? Sit down Tara. . . . . . And bye the way, I am strict about work”
Tara said “Okay Sir."
Tara added, “Sir I spend too much money and I can’t even add well. I was a Biology student. Therefore, Maths did not matter too much. But my friends are keen that I learn minimal maths atleast."
“Okay. Let us see how much you know."
I gave her some short additions, done the long way. She did it all right. Then I gave her some longer additions with six digits across and seven numbers one below the other.
Tara was foxed and said, “This is hard."
I said, “Just do it. No talking when doing sums - okay."
Tara went on trying. She made a mistake and I told her to do it again. Tara tried again. And again another mistake.
Over the next half and hour I saw that Tara was terrible in Maths. And then her hand writing. It was truly bad.
When she made her sixth mistake, she looked frustrated. I got up and spoke in a stern voice “Your handwriting is terrible. It has to be better."
Tara said, “I cant. Sir."
I went behind her and leant over her shoulder and held her right hand and firmly made her write numbers one below the other.
The moment I sat down, Tara again lapsed into bad handwriting.
I decided that this was the time to have some fun.
I looked cross and said, “One more mistake and you will have to be punished."
Tara did not take long to make the mistake. I quickly reached out, caught her by her ear, twisted it, and said, “Correct this."
Tara took out the eraser and corrected the mistake.
In less then five minutes she made one more mistake. I grabbed a small bunch of her hairs and tugged them and said “What is wrong with you?’ Tara winced and corrected the mistake.
I got up and started to pace up and down and she continued with her work.
She made one more mistake. I went behind and her and held her ear again and pulled it hard. I think her ear tops hurt. She said, “It hurts."
I simply took off her ear tops and threw them in the corner and said, “You wear all this stuff and sit for studies. Is it? Take off all your jewelry and keep it away. You do not need to look dressy to study."
“One more mistake and I will be very angry”
Tara was trying very hard to keep her work straight.
Tara was scratching her head and then her torso. I found that she was scratching her breasts also, from above her blouse.
I came behind her and said, “Why are you scratching everywhere?”
“What is wrong with you”?
Tara said “Sir. It is scratching. What can I do?”
I went behind her and caught her by her shoulders and pulled her elbows up. Her hands came behind her head.
I slowly moved my hands over her breasts over her blouse.
Tara said “Sir. What are YOU doing?”
I said, “ Where is it scratching Eh?”
Tara pointed out a place. I scratched and pinched that part of her breast.
She said “Ouch. That hurts." Tara gasped and appeared to be a little shocked where I was taking the evening.
“Just go ahead – do your maths."
Tara continued with her work.
Once again, she started to scratch part of her body.
I caught her hands from behind and pulled then on top of her head and asked “If you don’t stop scratching and making mistakes, I will have got check if you have some skin disease”
I gave her a difficult sum to do. She floundered and scratched her head.
I shouted, “Stop. Just stop the work. I HAVE TO CHECK whether you have some scratching disease."
Tara stopped and looked up at me.
I went behind her, pulled her sari away from above her breasts, and threw it aside. I just caught her blouse front ends and unsnapped the blouse hooks one by one, agonizingly slowly. I was standing behind her. I pulled the blouse up onto her arms. Her arms came down as if in mock arrest.
I slid my hands behind her blouse and unsnapped the bra. I slowly moved the bra straps down her shoulders and lowered the bra.
Her breasts leapt out of that small-constricted bra. Indian girls have large breasts - certainly compared with European girls. In the west, there is a notion that breasts should be the size of wine glass. In India, compared, they are not breasts, they are udderly large and creamy.
I told Tara “Scratch them if you like."
Tara meekly said “Sir, my hands are caught. I cant.”
I said, “I don’t care. Just scratch them. I want you to get over this stupidity."
Tara tried and failed.
I told her angrily “Do I have to do that also?”
With that, I scratched her breasts one at a time. Tara said “Sir. Yes here. Up, a little bit. Yes Yes. Here."