French Kissing

by Antonia Adams

  She waved as the taxi pulled away to disappear in the heavy traffic of the Piazza.

  Turning back to The Arena, I passed through the gate and the statue of the three nymphs. I looked at each face, which seemed caught in rapture, and wondered if they indeed had an orgy as they posed.

  If so, they couldn’t have had the time we had under the warm Italian sun. Romeo and Juliet’s Verona will never be the same for me. It’s Carrie’s Verona now and those magnificent breasts and silky pussy.

  And I’ve got the pictures to prove it.

  From Bradford To Bollywood

  by Victoria Blisse

  Aisha had never been abroad, never been further than London. Her father owned a successful Indian restaurant in Bradford and she worked there. There was no other option open to her, she was a good girl and she did what her father commanded. Her life was boring and she often dreamed of marriage and escape although she realised the promises of her favourite Bollywood movies were empty ones.

  One especially busy Friday night Aisha saw a man who made her insides burn with desire. His jet black hair billowed around his brow. His brown eyes were large and promising. His lips were soft, juicy and begged to be kissed. She tried hard not to imagine what was underneath his smart suit but his broad shoulders and slim waist made her mouth water.

  ‘Good evening, sirs,’ she said as she handed menus to the object of her lust and his guest. ‘Welcome to The Palace, I am Aisha and I will be your waitress this evening. Would you like a drink?’

  The wiry, rat-like man replied with the name of the most expensive wine they sold. She bowed her head slightly in respect and went to get their order from the bar. The hot man barely seemed to acknowledge her presence. When she got back to their table his head was buried in the menu.

  ‘I really must try the Chicken Tikka Masala. It is supposed to be the most delicious British travesty. A curry but not as we know it.’

  The rat man laughed and ordered the same. Aisha smiled it was obvious who was in charge at this table. When the hot guy finally looked up his stare was heavy and intense.

  ‘A good choice. Would you like any accompaniments?’

  ‘Bring me your boss,’ he demanded, sternly.

  ‘My father, I mean … my boss? Why, sir, do I not please you?’

  ‘Please just have him come to the table immediately.’

  Aisha was scared witless but she scurried off and brought her father to the table. He cursed her in Urdu the whole length of the restaurant and she knew she would be the one closing up that night.

  ‘Sir, does this girl belong to you?’ Hot guy asked when they returned. Aisha dipped her head and looked at the floor so he would not be able to see her hot cheeks. Her mixed origins meant that her cheeks flushed at the merest thing, her lighter tanned skin did nothing to hide her shame and embarrassment.

  ‘She is my daughter, yes. If you are not happy with her service I shall find someone else to serve your table, sir.’

  ‘Oh, quite the contrary, I want to take your daughter to Mumbai.’

  ‘Mumbai, sir?’ My father sounded confused. I looked up, wondering what the man could possibly mean.

  ‘Your daughter is perfect for the lead role in my new movie, I am Kareem Patel if you did not know and I want your daughter to be my newest star.’

  ‘But I don’t know how to act,’ Aisha exclaimed, forgetting her manners in her shocked state. Her father scowled and then looked back to the director.

  ‘She is not incorrect. She has only ever waited tables. She has never been away from home, sir.’

  ‘I promise to look after her well and she will get a very good wage indeed, some of which I will ensure she sends back here to support her family. She has the perfect look for my heroine, her European curves and light skin tone are simply perfect.’

  Much to Aisha’s surprise her father gave his permission for her to go to India and her preparations passed in such a haze it was as if it was simply a cut from one scene to another.

  Mumbai was a strange place. It bustled. People on the streets shouted, on every corner a wallah tried to sell you something. The heat was heavy and oppressive, not even in the hottest British summer had she felt any heat so constant and stifling. She was not sure she was going to enjoy the Bollywood experience at all.

  It turned out that the hotel and studio had very good air conditioning so things weren’t as bad as she first feared. At least she understood most of the native language, her father had brought her up bilingually with her Bradford born and bred mother. She did miss home and her mum. She was particularly despairing the first morning she had to put on an elaborate and traditional sari. Aisha wore trousers and T-shirts usually; even her work uniform was a simple two-piece affair. A sari, she feared, was a twirl too far.

  ‘My British Bollywood Blossom, are you ready to face the cameras?’ Kareem shouted through her changing room door.

  ‘No,’ she replied holding billows of material in her arms, ‘I can’t work out how to get this thing on.’

  ‘What thing?’ Kareem poked his head around the door. Aisha yelped and tried to cover herself with the billowing material dangling from her arms.

  ‘Oh, that thing. OK, I’ll send one of the wardrobe ladies over to help you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she croaked, her voice hoarse with nerves.

  ‘I’d stay and help myself but I’m not sure I’d be very good at the task in hand.’

  Aisha nodded and cursed her heated cheeks. She was sure they’d be shining like stop lights. She’d never been nearly naked in front of a man before and as much as she dreamed about getting naked with Kareem her practical cotton undies were not what she planned to wear. Her curves needed a little more artful decoration she thought but now Kareem had seen her in all her worn out everyday undied glory.

  She was wrapped in her sari by a huffing wardrobe lady, who seemed to think it was unseemly for a Bollywood star to be unable to even dress herself. Aisha was getting used to being tutted at. Not everyone was as enamoured with her Bradford roots as Kareem seemed to be. She was an unwanted foreigner taking a job that some local beauty would do so much more justice. She wondered how they’d feel if they knew she kind of agreed with them.

  Things got no better on set. Her opposite number, the very famous but highly strung Akshay Mistry, did nothing to settle Aisha’s rattled nerves. He flounced off after ten minutes of her stopping and starting, cursing in Hindi about damn wooden amateurs.

  ‘Aisha, my dove, can I have a word?’ Kareem smiled, but Aisha could see the worry in the back of his eyes. He rested his hand on her upper arm as he led her to a quiet corner.

  ‘You’re not feeling it, are you?’

  ‘No, Kareem, I’m not. I told you I’m not an actor. I don’t think I can do this.’ Aisha’s voice was a little high pitched and warbly as she fought back tears.

  ‘Now, now, now, don’t panic.’ He stroked her arm. She assumed he was trying to calm her, but the action enflamed her passion and made her more on edge than ever.

  ‘I know you’re going to be brilliant at this; you just need to let go and use your imagination.’

  Aisha was using her imagination. Her fantasy revolved around them both naked: his hands holding her down as he ploughed his cock into her.

  ‘You don’t like Akshay much, do you?’

  ‘Well I don’t really know him, I’m sure he’s a very nice man really but he’s a bit, well he’s a bit …’

  ‘Gay,’ Kareem answered and Aisha’s jaw dropped to her chest.

  ‘Not that that’s a bad thing, not at all, he’s got a whole generation of young Indian men watching my films who were never interested before but he does not appeal to you, does he? You don’t – what’s the British word for it – fancy him, right?’

  ‘No,’ she replied with a shake of her head, her lip curled up with repulsion, ‘definitely not.’

  ‘Just think of someone you do fancy when you look at him, someone who makes your heart race, your lips smile and y
our nipples harden.’

  Aisha couldn’t articulate so she just raised her brows in response.

  ‘Just pretend he’s someone else; I know you can do it.’ Kareem grinned and pushed her back onto set.

  She found it uncomfortable at first, but once she got used to superimposing an imagined visage of Kareem over Akshay’s feminine features she found the lines she’d remembered by rote rolling off her tongue with ease and emotion. The joy of Bollywood was that longing was kept mainly to glances and long introspective songs sung about one’s love. There was not much touching and that suited her down to the ground. And Akshay seemed happier with the arrangement too.

  Kareem was as pleased as punch with her and she revelled in every word of his praise. She saved it up and remembered it each night as she writhed on her luxury bedsheets trying to satisfy the ache between her thighs. But no matter how much she masturbated the need just intensified with every orgasm.

  She danced and spun and sung and proclaimed her love each day on set but at night she tossed and turned with unrequited lust. The make-up ladies commented upon the black marks beneath her eyes, scolding her for too many late nights.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised, ‘it is the heat. I am missing the cold of home.’

  Which was an out and out lie. Aisha was becoming an accomplished actor. She did not miss home at all. She didn’t miss the monotony of serving and waiting and cleaning at her Father’s beck and call. She didn’t miss the grey Bradford skies and the pervading dampness in the air. Everything in Mumbai was pretty much perfect. Except for the fact she was being driven crazy with lust. Something she’d not experienced before. Yes, she’d experienced the odd crush in her schooldays but the desire created by Kareem was something new.

  It was this passion, this overwhelming urge to fuck, that drove Aisha into Kareem’s office one evening. Most people had gone home. She’d taken her time unwrapping the folds of sari from her body. She enjoyed every caress of her fingers on heated skin. She imagined Kareem undressing her and a wicked little idea popped into her mind.

  She pulled on her jeans and smoothed down her simple red T-shirt. All was quiet and she thought it would be safe to sneak into the director’s office. She looked in through the little glass window, the room was empty and so she tried the knob. It turned. She looked furtively around, listened for movement then scurried into Kareem’s office and closed the door gently behind her.

  She was a good girl, she really was. Kareem just haunted her thoughts every moment of the day. His toffee coloured skin, the sparkle in his burnt sugar brown eyes, the promise of his ripe lips and his subtly muscled body. Her mind was just taken over by him; she wasn’t thinking straight, she was thinking sex, pure sex.

  She was content just to sit in his chair at first. Big, black, leather and well-worn around the edges it was an impressive seat for an impressive man. She sat and spun from side to side gently and contemplated her next move. She could sit here on his chair, surreptitiously slip her fingers down the front of her jeans and no one would know what she was doing. She justified her behaviour with the fact no one was around anyway and if anyone did come in she could stop wanking before they discovered her. She could say she was waiting for Kareem: people would believe that she was certain.

  She unbuttoned her jeans and pressed her fingers through the gap and down inside her knickers. His sweet, spicy scent surrounded her and mixed with the leather and printer ink smells of a well-used office. She wanted to close her eyes, immerse herself in a dream but she had to keep an eye on the door, she couldn’t afford to be caught.

  Her heart throbbed ten to the dozen and she licked her dry lips nervously. Aisha was absolutely sure that masturbating in her boss’s office was probably not the cleverest thing she’d ever decided to do but she could not deny the thrill of doing something so very, very naughty. As the pleasure built she couldn’t help but close her eyes. She imagined Kareem on his knees before her, his face buried between her thighs, his tongue lapping at her juices and caressing her clit, slowly coaxing her closer to climax.

  ‘And what do you think you’re doing?’

  Aisha’s eyes flew open and her jaw dropped in shock. Kareem stood on the other side of the desk, his hands on his hips.

  ‘Oh, Kareem, I was just waiting for you,’ she said as she remembered her well-rehearsed excuse but she forgot to pull her hand out of her trousers.

  ‘Oh, you were, were you? What exactly did you want me for as you’re sat in my chair with your hand in your cunt?’

  ‘I’ve not–’

  ‘Oh, Aisha, I’ve caught you red-handed, masturbating in my office, in my chair in fact. Please don’t give me excuses.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Kareem,’ she replied, looking down at the worn desk before her as she pulled her fingers from inside her jeans. ‘I just – oh, I don’t know. I’ll just go now, shall I?’

  ‘Stay there,’ he demanded, ‘and give me your hand.’

  Aisha looked up and into Kareem’s face. She held out her left hand, the clean and dry hand that did not smell of her juices.

  ‘No, the other one.’ Kareem was not giving anything away in his stony gaze. She didn’t know what he might do next but she lifted up her right hand as she lowered her left.

  He closed his eyes and inhaled.

  ‘Yes, naughty girl. I can smell your sweet juices all over your fingers. How rude to masturbate in my office–’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry, Kareem, I should just go, go back to my room, go back to Bradford even.’ Aisha had never felt so horrified in all her life but yet she was still wet, her pussy lips still plump and throbbing with need.

  ‘No, you didn’t let me finish. I was about to say it was very rude of you to do it without me present to watch. Now let’s do this right, OK?’

  Aisha nodded tentatively. She felt a subtle change in the atmosphere; she was no longer petrified of what might come next.

  ‘Stand up, Janeman, that’s it. Now take off those jeans.’

  Aisha’s trousers were already unfastened so she just shimmied the material down her legs and kicked off her shoes so the denim could be completely removed from her body.

  ‘Wow, your legs do go on forever.’ Kareem brushed past her to sit in the seat she’d recently vacated. Her nipples stung from the brief contact. She wanted to beg him to hold her, ask him to kiss her, to fuck her but the words were stuck in the back of her throat. ‘Now turn around, yes, that’s it. Peel down those panties.’

  Aisha gasped. She could feel her face heating to boiling point as she nervously slipped the plain cotton knickers over the curve of her ample buttocks. She couldn’t believe what she was doing but she was gratified to hear his growled moan as the underwear pulled away from her sticky lips and fell down to her ankles.

  ‘Back to face me now, sweetheart. And sit up on my desk yes, yes, make sure you spread those thighs wide open.’

  ‘Kareem, I don’t think I can.’

  ‘Of course you can, you were just sat in my chair wanking, don’t try and tell me you’re shy.’

  ‘I’ve never done anything like this before, Kareem, I’m scared.’ Aisha felt the need to tell the truth to her fantasy lover. She didn’t want to disappoint.

  ‘Oh, my sweet, sweet girl, you have nothing to be afraid of. I have wanted you from the moment I saw you but I have waited. I did not want to pressure you, my delicate Jasmine blossom. If at any time you want to back out you can, but tell me, this excites you, doesn’t it?’

  She nodded.

  ‘So sit on the desk for me, show me the delights harboured between your creamy thighs.’

  His silken words made her smile.

  Aisha took a deep breath and pushed herself back onto the desk. The cool wood felt like sweet relief to her hot skin. She slipped back and sat demurely, her legs closed tightly together.

  ‘OK, well maybe we have to work up to those delights.’ Kareem stood and walked forward. When he pressed against her knees he kept up the pressure until she parted th
em around him. He pushed in until he was tight up against his desk and her wet cunt. The soft material of his loose fitting trousers tickled her thighs and the hardness hidden beneath them nudged at her pubis.

  ‘Let’s take off this top,’ he whispered and ran his fingers up under her T-shirt and pulled it up as his hands skimmed up her hips, her stomach and her chest. He pulled it clear off her body and threw it behind him. Kareem looked down on her. Aisha craned her neck back to meet his gaze. His hands cupped her shoulders and his face dipped forward until his jewel-red lips pressed up against her own.

  Kareem’s kiss was gentle at first. His mouth just rested calmly against her own until she began to move her lips in response. She felt lightheaded. She wanted to giggle in delight and moan with pleasure at the same time. She pulled him deeper with each breath, his lips hard and demanding, his tongue soft and curious. Aisha opened herself up to him and loved it. Her body felt as if it vibrated with the energy of their kiss, it was so much more than she had imagined it would be. The intensity scorched her soul, etched his name there as the first man who had ever made her feel really, truly alive.

  ‘Now will you do it for me, Janeman, will you show me what you were doing when I interrupted you?’ His words were jagged, breaths pulled in deeply. It gave away his arousal. He was as turned on as she was, she could feel it in his touch, in the graze of his gaze over her face.

  She nodded tentatively. She bit her lip and wiggled her hips. Her fingers dipped down to her cleavage and toyed with the pretty lace at the edge of her bra. Kareem stepped back and sat down. In a moment of brave inspiration she tugged on the material and pulled until her breasts rested on top of the cups, naked to his sight. Her nipples seemed such a shocking shade of ripe plum in contrast to her latte skin. She traced her fingertips around and over her excited nibs. The moan that fell from her lips was echoed by Kareem who leant back in the chair and watched expectantly as her hands pushed lower.

  She lewdly spread her thighs. It was as if her fears had fallen to the back of her mind and so much pleasure and lust was in front of it that it became only anticipation. She slid her fingers to her slit. She leant back on one hand and let the other explore her sticky lips. Her eyes closed, her breath caught in her throat as ecstasy seared a path through every cell of her body.