Flirting with Fatima
Hey guys, I’m Vikram – call me Vikki. This is the story of my summer in Pune, back in 2001. This is my first time penning down a story; constructive feedback is welcome. Summer in Pune: I had just finished my bachelor’s at IIT and had three months before my MBA. At 6’1″ with an athletic build from years of sports, and an easy smile, I had my share of flings. Having a thick 7″ cock was also a bonus. Each encounter only fueled my appetite for foreplay and forbidden fun. My absent father, an army man, insisted I spend the summer at our bungalow outside Pune. He had recently split the old duplex into two separate apartments – a penthouse for me, and the ground floor rented out. My plan was simple: mornings attending MBA-related courses, evenings spent boozing, playing video games, and browsing through stacks of porn magazines. A lazy summer, or so I thought. Downstairs lived Fahad, a traveling salesman, his twelve-year-old son Imran, and his wife, Fatima. She was 32, fair-skinned, and 5’2″ with a 34B-32-36 figure. She had shoulder-length hair and a face with large, expressive eyes, a softly rounded nose, and full, lush lips. There was a scar on the lower part of her chin, but that did not make her any less beautiful. She was always busy, looked dull, and felt like a caged bird. Dinner with the tenants: Two weeks into my vacation, I had an engaging dinner with them. They admired my academics but still saw me as the same Vikki Baba from a few years ago. That day, I saw Fatima in a completely different light. She stepped out of the kitchen, her saree barely holding up after a long day’s work. Strands of hair had slipped free from her bun, falling in a way that made my dick twitch. She sighed, adjusting her pallu, but I already got a clear view of her glistening cleavage and navel. I was already getting bored of my porn, and the entire sight of her just turned the horny gears in my head. Later, Fahad asked me to teach Imran math and science, and I jumped at the opportunity. I thought tuition was a fantastic excuse to be around Fatima every day. I made it a habit to compliment her – her cooking, the way she kept the house tidy, even her earrings. I could sense that she liked the attention based on her expressions, but it was limited around her family. For the next few days, my lazy routine included tuition, ogling at Fatima, followed by immediate masturbation in the penthouse. I was waiting for some opportunity for my interactions with her to go further. And it arrived quickly; Fahad had a two-month work trip to Dubai, so I eagerly offered to drop him at the airport. Airport Ride: On the day of the airport ride, Fatima wore a green silk saree, and her hair, as always, was in a bun, with red lipstick. Compared to her usual self, this was a different look. She rarely traveled, so she was looking outside. After dropping off Fahad, I felt a weight lift, and I relaxed. I wanted to see how close I could get to Fatima. In the parking lot, she kept thanking me for the airport ride. I pulled her into a side hug and chuckled. “Any man would do that to see you dressed like this,” I teased. She looked surprised but didn’t say anything when I asked her to sit in the front. With Imran talking nonstop in the back, I couldn’t do much. I jerked off three times that night, enough to fill a bucket. Post Airport ride: From the next day, I chose to spend more time with Fatima. An evening routine of tuition, chai, and TV developed, undisturbed by the morning chaos of maids, gardeners, and nosy neighbors. I noticed Fatima chatting with me comfortably. Her outfits got bolder, and tighter salwars with no dupatta, silk sarees with an awesome view of her petite tits. The hesitation was absent, and she smiled whenever I was ogling at her. As days went by, I was confident enough to make bolder moves. One day, I introduced my handheld video game to Imran. He was engrossed in the game, and I snuck into the kitchen. Fatima was wearing a tight blue kurti, but it barely contained her bubbly ass. Me: “Bhabhi, you’ve been looking extra beautiful these days… What changed?” Fatima: “Nothing, Baba… just clothes from a decade ago,” smiling. Me: “They fit nice,” placing my hands on her hips. Before she could respond, I hugged her from behind. Fatima: “Imran might see us!!” Me: “Him seeing is the problem, not me doing this?” I started kissing her neck. Fatima: “No, no… wait!!” Me: “Relax bhabhi… he is busy playing.” She got calm. I started grinding her ass as my cock found a comfortable spot. As she was breathing hard, her silence meant I could proceed. I cupped her soft boobs over her dress and found erect nipples and began playing with them. As my dick began getting hard in my shorts- Fatima: “Baba, you have grown up.” Me: “You have been waiting for me to do this right?” I was ready to fuck her in the kitchen, but Imran called for my help. After composing myself before leaving the room, I whispered, “Come to the penthouse through the common door tonight, Bhabhi.” Missed Chance: I waited for her to unlock the upstairs door that night, the rain setting the perfect mood. But nothing happened. By 2 AM, disappointment sank in, and by morning, frustration took over. That evening, I got all my answers. Fatima was sleeping on the sofa with an injured hand and ankle sprained. Imran mentioned she had slipped the previous evening due to rainwater leaking in. After tuition, I arranged for a maid and informed Imran. He recalled how his father dismissed Fatima’s injury as a “small thing.” She slept through the evening, and I let her rest. But before leaving, I quietly unlatched the upstairs door. The same night: The clock struck 1 AM. I had waited long enough. I entered their apartment and crept toward Fatima’s bedroom. The dim light showed that she was facing the other way.