As a girl, I have always asked myself this question: What pleases a man the most? Now, this is only taking into context Indian men. I have minimal or absolutely no idea of how men in other countries expect their women to be.
Among many things I’ve come to believe, it’s a mouth. Does it matter if it’s a man’s or a woman’s? Who knows?
Part of my daily routine is waking up and attending college. A man or the professor whom I despise the most constantly annoys me. While knowing someday, it is going to get out of hand. And so it does, but not as I expected it to go.
Every one of his hours would start with him singling me out. Making me a butt of his jokes right in front of the entire class. I was the resident introvert who seemingly looked lovely and all dolled up in my hijab. But I would rather die than socialise with my peers other than a select few.
And hardly with any of the faculty, let alone that middle-aged, balding guy. But he seemed to take it personally. No matter what I did, he always felt it was directed at him. I, too, gave it back in equal measure.
Often mocking in my circle of friends about his heavy Bihari accent whenever he struggled to speak in English. Somehow, it always seemed to reach his ears. He was very much peeved that I hadn’t given him much attention.
Also, I had missed his birthday when the entire class had turned up to celebrate. I think it was to butter up his ego into giving them better marks. He had personally invited me too. He made my friends tell to me to watch my back, as he seemed very unhappy.
There was something, even in my mind, that told me he wasn’t going to let go of such a rebuttal. Then, one fine day, he called me to meet me at his office for a chat. I waited outside for nearly an hour, forced to skip my lunch break. His colleagues and the rest of the faculty made fun of my predicament.
Even donning a burqa that covered me from head to toe failed to hide my embarrassment. As a rule, do not wear footwear inside the office unless you have a separate pair. I was even barefoot at this point. My slippers were left outside the building where his office was.
God, was I thankful when I was finally called in! At least to escape the judgemental glances directed at me for the past hour. I winced at the coldness of the floor on my bare feet and entered his room by pushing past the door. I was in his office now, frustrated beyond belief with this man’s antics.
But I had no choice. I could barely make out his outline through the thin slit for my eyes in my burqa. I was secretly thankful for that. He had no striking features. He was your typical Indian uncle next door if he bothered dressing up nicely and had a great education.
My professor, who hailed from Bihar, sported dull spectacles. He was always clean-shaven, further accentuating his black skin. With the same pair of tucked-in shirts and pants that I had noticed the first time I had seen him.
Now, I wasn’t biased or anything. But to me, he represented the worst of that place. It should really give an idea of how much I liked to avoid him.
“Lift your veil. I’m not comfortable talking to people who cover their faces.” He said to me, putting his arms behind his head as he leaned on his revolving chair.
I could have argued. But at this point, I was hungry and just beyond annoyed. I was in this stupid situation, so I silently lifted my veil to look directly at him.
“See, now, don’t you look prettier like that?” I cringed at his remark but fought the urge to say something provocative.
Instead, I asked him, “Why am I here, sir?”
“Ah, yes. About that.” He raised his leg and folded it on his other leg. He revolved around in his chair like he was a bigwig or something. I rolled my eyes.
“You see, I know your family, and they know me. If they have an iota of the boys you’re roaming around with, I will be the last difficult person you’re going to be dealing with after your family. Especially your Abbu.”
I gave him a blank stare like his words did not affect me at all. But inside, my tummy was churning at the consequences of facing my parents. I had no idea how he knew about my boyfriend nor why it was his business. I am a 19-year-old girl, but there wasn’t much I could argue about.
And how much ever I hated to admit it, but he had a point. My family was traditional, like most Indian ones. But they were also Muslim. So you get the idea of how cross they would be with me if they ever got to know that I was seeing a boy outside my religion.
“Ok, fine.” I threw my hefty college bag from my shoulders in a bad temper, “You win. Now, what do I have to do then to make you forget?”
Oh my goodness, the smile of satisfaction on his face at finally having succeeded in putting me in my place! It severely made me regret ever having gotten on his bad side.
“I wouldn’t say forget. More like putting this alarming conversation with your family away for a while. But I’ll admit that was an interesting way to put it. How about we start with a blowjob?’
It was more the way he said it that sounded appalling to me. He said it in Hindi, “Kabhi muh me liya hai kya?” (Have you ever taken it in your mouth?) He uttered those words without batting an eyelid. Embarrassingly enough, I had no idea what he was talking about.
When he realised that, he found it funny. When he explained what a blowjob entailed, I wasn’t terrified or disgusted but more confused. How the hell can a man be satisfied with just my mouth?
But he was also a man in his mid-40s, with kids, a wife and a marriage that he was most definitely not happy in. Who was I to question his kinks? I shrugged to myself and lifted my burqa so that it didn’t trip my feet.
I went around his desk and got on my knees in front of his sitting figure. Painfully watching his glee as he leant back. I took time to unbuckle his belt and remove his pants. My fingers had begun trembling at this point, unsure of what I was doing.
I involuntarily zoned out making a note of all of his pant’s stitching, the zip, the feel of his cloth and the number of holes in his belt. He began to unbutton his shirt. I struggled to look away so as not to see his protruding pot belly. I took off his underwear, and I saw his flaccid dick amongst a thick mass of man hair.
Not aesthetic in any way but it was what it was. My professor’s weary old penis. It was fat on the sides, with a bulging of loose skin hanging on the side of the faded dark skin of his penis, revealing his pink mushroom head.
“Do you want me to undress?” I asked him. For some reason, it made me feel like a cheap whore, asking her client for his preferences.
“No, I like it this way. Reminds me I’m getting my cock sucked by a Muslim girl.”
“Whatever,” I rolled my eyes. I sat on my toes, ankles folded beneath my bum and bent forward to take him in my mouth. I felt the immediate taste of salt flow out on my tongue. I tasted him and felt a pang of guilt wash over me. I was betraying the boy I was roaming with.
I had no idea how much I would enjoy sucking on a cock at that time. When I looked up, I saw this man, my perceived tormentor, struggling. Like I was holding his life in my hands. I smiled at that.
“You’re trembling…”
“It’s cold.” He tried to defend himself.
Such a liar. I didn’t say that. Didn’t have to. I knew I had him. In fact, I think I knew then that I had all of them in my grip. When I went back to suck on him, I thought to myself, ‘This wasn’t so bad at all.’
I pushed his legs apart. His dick had grown by now, which meant I no longer needed to hold it. So I considered removing my hands from it before I plunged from above, taking him wholly into my mouth. His knees buckled in alarm, and he pulled my head away.
When he let me go back, I sensed his apprehension, clearly thinking he had got more than he bargained for. Now, I wanted to experiment on him.
“You…you seem to be an expert at this. Your boyfriend is very lucky,” he tried speaking normally. But I could feel him hold on to dear life. I glanced for a second while sucking on his cock.
His knuckles had turned white as they held onto the chair’s armrests. I let out a smile of success, only showing my front teeth.
“Trust me, you’re the first man I’m doing this to.”
“You can’t be that innocent.”
“I’m not innocent, yes. But this is truly my first time.” I wiped a bead of precum from his tip with my index finger. I began to slowly peel back his foreskin, revealing his pink head, quite fascinated by it.
He said to me, “I guess you haven’t seen much of this then, the foreskin.”
“No,” I said as I didn’t take my eyes off his dick. I was now stroking slowly to observe its movements closely. I had to agree with him. My boyfriend didn’t have one. But I had never gotten so up close and personal with it. So in a way, both men’s dicks were drastically different to the touch.
I looked up at him and asked, “Doesn’t it feel weird to you?”
“Not at all. I quite like how it makes it wet,” He struggled to tell me and let out a fake smile.
“I can see that. It’s become too slippery for me to hold.”
I saw him sit back, beginning to relax. I didn’t want him to be comfortable. I placed my lips where he was wet more. After a couple of times bobbing my mouth on it, I pulled back. Revealing a stream of saliva and precum from my mouth to his dick. I gasped at the amount.
So I started to lick. Using my tongue, I sensed him all over, his little dick throbbing. I sucked on his head with just my lips, stroking his shaft. When I looked up to see him, he could no longer hold it back. He let out his cum in huge, thick ropes.
I giggled as he had a mild seizure and let him drench my lips. My fingers coaxed more of his aged jizz out. I sat admiring his balls, which were continuously pumping out the good juice. His cum wasn’t the best taste, I’ll be honest, but knowing it would rile him up.
I made him watch as I cleaned my wet fingers by putting them in my mouth. I gave a final lick with my tongue’s tip to clean it well. I swallowed whatever I could, and he just stared at what I did.
From my kneeling position, I sat back on my legs, licking my fingertips. I was watching him naughtily. He muttered about the rest of his classes, saying I could take the hour off for the last session that day.