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Old 21st May 2009
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Incest,Gangbang,Young love,Rape....Jhakaas Hindi/English stories

Dear exbiians,

The stories featured in this thread are collected/written by me over past 15 yrs
Around 25-30 dick-raising stories which will flirt you in ur dreams long after reading.

This effort of mine requires encouragement, hence, keep repping & giving feedbacks.

Some stories might be from some other forums & original writers, hence, credit goes to them.
I'd just like to share the credit of compiling & serving on platter for exbiians.

Ask for more if u like it.

KEEP SHAGGING

Hilwaane mein appka sahayogi...........

WICKED

Pg1
Sumit ki shaadi ka safar (Hindi fonts)
Banged by a gang in a bus

In flight with an Indian Bride


Pg 2
Wife & I fucked in a train
Sex escapades of a newly wedded bride
Educating Chhamiya - The virgin maid
The young widow's incest family

Pg3
Young bride used well
Innocent First Love
Schoolgirl Padma's sex escapades

Pg4
BABAJI

Pg 6
Nikita's rough sex with an old man
Gangbang in the mountains
My Village uncle & me



WICKED

Last edited by wickedviks : 3rd September 2009 at 11:55 PM. Reason: Addition

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Ist One is in hindi fonts





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End of Ist Story

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When we just got married, my wife and I decided to go to a templelocated high up on the Himalayas. It is a very special temple whereShiva and Parvati got married and we thought it would bring good luckto our newly married life. The temple is located at a very high altitude of 8,000m above the sealevel and understandably it is bitterly cold there. Being young, theonly way we could afford to reach there was by a private bus. Weboarded the already packed bus at 2am and realized there was no way wewere going to get comfortable at all as most of the passengers weregoing to the same area as there are many famous temples in thevicinity. The bus which was probably meant to accommodate about 45 passengershad more than 100 passengers, crammed every where. The seats meant forthree people were packed with at least five and there was absolutelyno place to move once you parked yourself even in a standing space.The specially designed bus had a slightly larger standing area at theback. This area had no seats at all but it had this standing seatalong the bus walls. We couldn't even find one of these standing seatsas a group of loudly speaking village men parked their backsides therejust before us. Anyway, we knew it was a long five-hours journey but since we haddecided to go, we just decided to endure it. The temple, being in suchcold area, was opened to worshippers only for two months in a year,and we unfortunately were going there only in the last week before thetemple closed for the next 10 months. Thank god it was winter, otherwise all these packed bodies inside thissmall space would have been horrible. In fact we were quite warmbecause of all the people around us, wrapped in blankets and shawlsand all things warm. We ourselves had a big blanket to wrap aroundourselves. As the bus started we realized what problem we will face throughoutthe journey - the hilly-terrain road curves at every 200 or half a kmmaking all the passengers sway here and there like pendulums. Sincethe bus was very crowded, even if we didn't hold on to the handrails,we still pushed against someone or the other. The very first time, the bus lurched over the corner, my wife waspushed against this old villager on the standing seat but people inthe Indian villages are very accommodating and caring about suchthings and the man didn't make a fuss and he even helped her get backin her standing position by holding her still with his two hands. We were also overdressed. I was wearing two pairs of longjohns undermy corduroys and four layers of shirts and undershirts with a warmlarge jacket topping it all. My wife on the other hand, was dressed inthe traditional Indian saree. There is no way to wear many layersunderneath so she had worn stockings under her petticot. On top, shewas wearing a traditional blouse which shows a lot of midriff but whenit comes to cold winds, you can freeze to death. But anyway, she waswearing a cardigan and a thick kashmiri shawl was draped around hershoulders. And like I said it was very crowded, whenever I tried to put my armsaround her waist, I invariably touched other people's body so I justlet it be. After we passed the outskirts of the small town, to our relief, thedriver switched off the lights and brought the bus into utter darknesswith no light even from the thick forested external environment. My wife held on my shoulders and putting her face to my chest, shetried to grab a few winks. It was impossible for me to get any sleepin the "lurching" situation, so I just held on the handrails for dearlife with both hands. The bus was swaying and rocking and movingforward at the same time. The old carriage was rickety and the windowsmade deafening din with glass frames colliding with the body frame.And of course the cold wind that was creeping inside from the hundredsof nooks and crevices in the bus. My wife was soon asleep, and I could feel her hands slipping down frommy shoulder. At last they stopped at my waist and stopped there. Shewas also slumping a bit having been dead tired because of not sleepingbefore boarding the bus and for walking 23 miles out of our village.She was sleeping deeply and probably didn't even remember that she wason a bus. Now her head had also slipped down almost to my stomach andher buttocks were slightly splayed, pushed behind further away fromher body. Her ample ass had landed right in the lap of the oldvillager, who also seemed asleep. Almost everyone around us seemed toenjoy some shut eye. There were men of all shapes and sizes on all sides of us. There weresome women, but they were lucky enough to get seats in the front.There was a rather unusually tall man next to our right and there wasa rather pathetic looking wretch on his right, making him positionedjust next to my wife. To our left, were four nasty looking swarthy menwearing stale smelling clothes and covering themselves with hugeblack, woolen blankets. There were three men behind me to the rightand the left and right smack behind me but I couldn't see them. Thestanding seats were taken mostly by men whose wives were sitting infront. Everyone seemed fast asleep, holding on to whatever they could. I also sort of dozed a little in the cramped but surprisingly cosyinteriors. At one corner as the bus lurched, I was awakened slightly.I felt some movement behind me like, but anyway the man behind me hadbeen so close to me all this while that I had been feeling his frontat my back right since the bus started moving. Then I notice that mywife had further slumped down in the lap of the old man. But he was nocomplaining. If it was me I would have thrown her off my lap but thenice old man had actually held her from her waist to prevent herfalling down. Although it was difficult to see in the dark, I could make out that mywife's sari had been pulled up to her thighs in all the movement. Thenice old man was rubbing her thigh with one hand probably to keep herwarm in such cold. I made a mental note to give him a thank you giftwhen we got down. Then I realized that the very tall man on my righthad his hands on my wife's breasts and he was slowly massaging them.But his eyes were shut so I brushed the movement to the fact that hewas probably thinking it is his wife in his dream. Poor thing! His bigblack paw of a hand had covered the entire breast of my wife andlooked just so incredible. The other wretch like man next to the tallone, was shivering with cold and had placed his head between my wife'sbreasts, just next to the tall man's hand. On the other side, the four nasty men had very kindly draped some oftheir blanket on their side of my wife to keep her warm. The rest Icouldn't see as most of the other side of my wife was covered by theirblanket. The movement behind my back had made me feel itchy and I snaked myhand behind just to scratch my back a little. My hand slid along mywife's hand somehow still draped behind my back holding me forsupport. But I was surprised to find that she was holding something inher hands. Something very hot and slippery. I felt a jerk, when myhand touched the hot rod like thing. Oh it felt so nice. The thing wasburning hot and in such cold weather seemed like heaven send. I alsoheld on to it tightly. It was fairly large and I was not able to holdit completely in my hand. I could also feel some throbbing vein-likeprotrusions on the surface. And it was getting wetter and wetter. Themore I sqeezed it, the wetter it got. My wife's hand was moving up anddown the rod-like thing. When I moved my hand further away to checkhow long was that thing, I can across some scrubby, brush-likesubstance sticking from a flat hot skin like surface and as I trailedmy hand downwards I could feel two strong and large but very hairyfruits. Just then I felt hot air on my neck and the man behind me pushed ontome a little. He bit my ears and whispered, "Yeah stroke my nasty cock,you faggot." I repulsed at the thought that I had been stroking hiscock and that made me almost puke, I tried to put my hand to my mouthto stop the feeling only to realize that the slick pre-fuck juicesmeared all over my hand was now all over my face and lips.Involuntarily I licked my lips and to my horror, enjoyed the saltyaftertaste. Immediately to my shock, I craved to lick some more andinvoluntarily, I moved my hand back to taste more of this stranger'sprecum. I felt his hands surround me as he stroked my now hardening cockthrough my pants. In the noise and the darkness I never realized thathe had opened my trousers and pushed all the longjohns down to myknees. I only realized when I felt the wet and very hard tip of hiscock probing at my asshole. I also felt my wife pulling my asscheeksapart to give easy access to this man to fuck my ass. I was shiveringfrom cold and the unknown anticipation of being fucked in public forthe first time. By now, my eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I saw, the tall mangroping my wife's breasts was actually groping her bare boobs, and hiscock, as big as he was tall, was smearing precum all over her boobs.The stinking beggar next to them was actually licking all his precumfrom her boobs and sometimes he sucked his cock as well. On the other side, under the blanket, my left hand traced its way downto my wife's face and came across the meanest and fattest and thickestcock ever. It was stuck in the mouth of my bride of five-days who wassucking the cock earnestly. As my hand moved around, it felt threeother cocks, strategically placed to alternate being sucked by mywife. All four cocks were fat, thick and as I realized after slidingthe skins, uncut. On one of the cocks I felt something grainy andsqeezing it off the cock brought it back to my nose and it smelledheavenly like ripening cheese. I licked it once and the cock cheeseexploded my senses. I had to immediately go back for more but beforethat I screamed in pain as the man behind me slammed his cock to thehilt in my virgin asshole. Luckily he also clamped his large hand overmy mouth and so sound escaped. He waited for a moment and started fucking me with deep strokes. Icould feel the veins throbbing on his cock, I could feel the thickcock pulsating with every stop...oh I felt so full and nice. He musthave been very quick because within a few strokes he thrust as deep ashe could and I felt ropes after thick ropes of his blazing hot spermcoating the innards of my rectum. He stayed inside for 10 minutes andthe withdrew leaving me feeling empty. The feeling didn't last long asthe man next to him took his place and pushed his even larger cock inmy well fucked and well lubed ass-pussy. I think the men realized that I was no threat and started openlyplaying with my whore of a wife. With all the pushing and thrustingfrom behind, my mobile phone fell down from the front pocket of myshirt. As I bent down to pick it up, I came face to face with my wife.Her eyes were closed as if she was still sleeping. She was some sightwith her massive tits being mauled by one giant cock and the skinnyman. Her mouth was full of cock and the owner of the cock wasthrusting in and out lazily, enjoying the sensations o her warm moistmouth. My face was so close to her that I could smell all the sweatyaromas of their balls and the musky smell of their precum made my headswim. Just then, another fat uncut smelly cock brushed against my nosesending shivers down my spine. The moment that man realized that hiscock hit my face, he took hold of his abnormally fat fucktool andforced its foreskinned cock head in my mouth. I held it inside tosavour the taste and he started fucking my mouth like an old pussypushing in mercilessly past my throat. I gagged but he held my head ina iron-grip. Soon I was being fucked from both ends. And I realizedthat the old man at the standing seat was holding my wife protectivelyonly because he had raised her petticot and was fucking her slowlywith his old, gnarled but very large uncut cock. His grey pubic hairwere shining in the darkness. Soon, the cock in my mouth erupted with thick, clotty, load of sperm.It was very bitter and smelly but I had no choice but swallow it. Themoment the shrinking cock withdrew from my mouth the second oneinvaded my cock-craving mouth. One my one, my wife and I sucked allthe cocks in the rear of the bus and my wife got fucked in her fertilepussy by all the old villagers who could raise their cocks up. Time passed very quickly, and the dawn started breaking. As the lightstarted illuminating the bus, I realized my wife and I looked like cumsoaked whores with cum splattered on our face, hair and clothes. Mywife rearranged her clothes and so did I and all the men, just stoodtheir with massive satisfied grins on their faces. The bus came to its final destination within the next half hour andeveryone alighted. Both my wife and I were, on the other hand soexhausted that we just couldn't move. Just then the driver of the bus- a really fat and ugly man of 65, with a jet black skin - walked tous at the back of the bus and asked if we wanted to rest for a whilein the bus itself. We said yes. He took out a really tattered mattressfrom under one of the seats and spread it on the floor of the bus forus. As we lay down, he unzipped and hauled out the meanest, blackest,fattest and smelliest cock we had ever seen, and he slapped my facewith his 10-inch fat monster cock a few times leaving a trail of thickprecum all over. "Suck my smelly cock you cocksucker wimp," he said, "make it wet andhard so that I can fuck your wife's pussy and impregnate her with mysmelly sperm." I just smiled and started chewing on his fat cockhappily as my wife started removing her clothes in preparation of thefucking that was going to follow.The End.

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I first saw her in the airport, the day I was taking my flight home to England.
My eyes were drawn to her. A young bride, an Indian girl in her marriage garb; a blood red sari, one end looped over her head, so only her fine young face was showing. Glass and gold bangles on her slim wrists.
The tops of her feet and the backs of her hands had patterns painted on them, in henna.
She was surrounded by, I supposed, her relatives. She was beautiful, very beautiful. But she did not look happy, not happy at all. The look on her face, her expression, was more of defiance than anything else. Her eyebrows were knitted together, the corners of her small mouth turned downwards in a frown.
Her mother was sobbing a little. A simply dressed man, her father? Was talking to another, higher caste man, a higher up. I didn't like him.
As if it was up to me to like or dislike any of these people. I didn't know them; I couldn't hear what they were saying in any case. My turn came to check in, and I forgot them.
I was pleasantly surprised when the young bride was shown to the seat next me by the English stewardess.
She had the window seat, I, the aisle.
Fate is a strange thing, if you believe in fate. I never did, but I think I must now.
The flight was delayed for several hours. Were that not so, we probably would've never had the time to get to know each other. The flight to Kuwait is only four or five hours. For that's where she was headed to; Kuwait. To be married.
“My name is Tom.” I told her, hoping that she would speak some English.
Sometimes I’ve taken transcontinental flights without exchanging a word with the passenger in the seat next to mine. Other times, I’ve had great conversations, even started friendships on planes.
It didn't seem very likely that I'd have much in common with this girl, but that didn't mean she wouldn't be fun to talk to.
“I am Salima” she replied, hesitantly.
We made a little Small talk, then I asked her;
"So why are you so unhappy?”
"He's horrible." she replied.
"Then why are you marrying him?" I asked, like an idiot. Was not the scene in the airport self-explanatory?
"I have been sold." She said.
I had realized she was less than willing, but I was still taken aback at what she told me.
"I thought that sort of thing didn't happen anymore," I said.
"Oh yes," she said calmly "it is happening every day."
"But perhaps," I offered, "you'll find happiness after some time."
"How can I ever be happy with him," she replied, " when he is old enough to be my grandfather?"
I was shocked into silence for a minute, then I replied, "Now surely he's not that old."
"One moment," she said to me, "and I will show you his snap."
After looking in her little bag, she produced a little folder, and opened it. A black and white photo, passport sized, head and shoulders. Indeed, the man did looked nearly old enough to be her grandfather. 50, 60 years old at least. How could this happen? This girl had to be a teenager. I was flabbergasted.
"How, how old are you?" I immediately regretted the question, it was too personal. Then again, we were already having a pretty personal conversation.
"I am 18 years old" she replied.
"Here in India," she replied, "everybody is corrupt only. Nobody will take my side. We are poor, while my husband's agents will pay money, and everyone take his side."
"So you're already married?" I asked her
"It is not legal," she replied, "we were married by a mullah, but there is no paper. We are to be married properly when I arrive in his country."
There was silence for some time, then I said; "Your father accepted money for you." It was not a question, a statement.
"Yes," she said, "my father likes to drink. He has no money, he has no work. One man suggested to him that I could be answer to this problem. Normally here in India, a dowry must be paid to get a daughter married. My father would never have this money, and this is shame to all of us. By marrying me to this Kuwaiti man, he will be taking money instead of giving money."
"But that man, your husband, he is so old and you are so young."
"He was wanting a virgin." She said to me.
I was quite shocked at the forwardness of the statement. She was young, 16 years old. That she should speak to me, a foreigner, about her virginity, impressed me.
I said to her "Do you have a boyfriend, somebody you would've liked to be with?"
"Yes" she said, "I had a boyfriend, in Delhi."
I was filled with emotion, the hopelessness of her situation, the mundaneness of my own. Returning from my holiday. A cheap Third World holiday, sharing a flight with her, as she headed toward her emotional doom.
"Is there anything I can do for you," I asked her, "is there any way I can help you?"
What a stupid thing to say, I thought, how can she know what it was possible to do. If she knew, she wouldn't be here; she wouldn't be on this flight, which was now heading towards the runway at last.
In she was looking out the window, and then she turned to me so her that her lips were nearly at my ears, and she whispered to me: "What upsets me most is that he is getting what he paid for."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
She said nothing. She looked down between her feet. I looked there also. She wore open shoes. She had very pretty feet too. She had silver rings on her toes.
I looked back up at her face. She was dark, for an Indian girl. In India, a dark complexion is equated with lower caste. I found her very beautiful. Her dark complexion was silky smooth, and the thin gold ring in her nose contrasted wonderfully with it.
At last, I realized what she meant. That she had saved herself, she had not allowed her boyfriend what he wanted. She had saved herself, but not for this.
I slid my hand under the armrest and took her small brown one in it. I had no intention to take it further, I merely wanted comfort her, I swear.
As we reached cruising altitude, and the little dong sounded announcing that we may smoke, remove our seatbelts, and use the toilet, the evil thought came to my mind. I could have her here, on this plane, in the toilet.
The temptation… could any man resist? Yes, I can hear you saying, a man could, should resist. But it was not I. I looked into her eyes. They were huge, brown, and clear. Sensuous, almond eyes, eyes I could look into forever. Could she possibly be thinking the same thing that I was thinking? I squeezed her hand lightly and brushed across her palm with my thumb. A simple gesture, almost nothing, yet filled with meaning.
She looked out the window and squeezed my hand in return, and I thought I detected an increase in her respiratory rate.
She kept her silence as I ran my fingertips up her slim brown wrist to the inside of her elbow, and back again. She turned her head to look at me, and her large young eyes stared deeply into mine again. I had overwhelming urge to kiss her, to hold her, to comfort her, to love her. I wanted to defend her against the world and it's horrible reality. Yet, weren't my own feelings a part of that horrible reality? What I wanted was only the same thing to the old man from Kuwait wanted, to have this beauty for my own, for this moment, or forever, whatever I could get.

"Wait a moment, then follow me," I said her, as I removed my hand from hers, unbuckled my seatbelt, stood and walked to the back of the plane. I had absolutely no way of knowing if she would follow or not. But it wouldn't take long to find out. Of course, you all know the answer to this question. If she had not followed me, there would be no story, nothing to write about. Well, I suppose the story would still have been worth telling. But there just would not have been much to say.
If you ever have the opportunity to make love on a plane, there are always one or two toilets with an emblem on the door depicting a baby being changed. These toilets have slightly more room than the others.
She was tiny, the top of her head was about level with my nose, her hair was tied back in a large bun on the back of her head. There was flowers in her hair, she smelled sweet, of Sandalwood. She was so fine, so small. She had fine bones, a straight nose, full lips; I took her in my arms, pulled her to me, her head against my chest, and rocked her little bit from side to side. I was having second thoughts, I didn't know if this was right. But a hard cock has no conscience, and mine was very, very, hard. The softness of her body against mine, her arms around my waist, her small breasts against my chest…
I stroked her head and her face with my fingertips as I held it against me. She looked up at me, and I bent my head down to put my lips to hers. Her mouth tasted sweet, virginal.
Removing her complex marriage sari in such a confined space was difficult, but together, we managed. Soon she was naked, her ass perched up on the little sink. Her head was level with mine in this position, and I held her head in my hands and kissed her, stroking her small, fine body with my hands, loving her. her body was exquisite, perfection itself. her breasts were small but firm. They stood proudly, waiting for my touch. her hips were narrow, lean and muscular. she must have been used to some form of heavy work. this was born out by the surprising calluses on her small hands. her ass, the color of dark chocolate and as sweet, was small and oh so round. her legs, although muscular and short, had a beautiful shape.
I didn’t feel bad about stealing her innocence from the man she was going to marry. I didn't want him to have her, but if he would, I wanted her to have known passion first.
She had no passion for that man, that was clear. Perhaps it would build later. Arranged marriages have as high a rate of success as the love marriages that we favor in the West. But, this marriage was very, very, badly arranged indeed.
Soon my shoes were off, my pants down, my hard white penis stood proudly, and when she took it in her small brown hands, the top of my head almost came off from the sensation, her trembling small brown hands around my hard, white, confident cock.
After we had fondled and kissed for a few minutes, I knelt down on the floor, and put my mouth to her crotch. She whimpered and held my head in her small hands. She wrapped her lovely brown thighs around my head, and pounded my shoulder blades with her tiny heels as he had her first orgasm, perhaps ever.
She was very flexible, and I put one of her ankles up on my shoulder. She was spread wide now, her lovely little vagina opened to my cock. Slowly, carefully, lovingly, I pushed my hard dick into her softness. Her big almond eyes seemed to become even bigger as I entered her, holding her, watching her expression changing between fear, excitement, doubt, lust.
I have had sex; I would've thought I was a fairly experienced young man at 25. But nothing like this, nothing so electric, so erotic, so amazing.
It wasn't the sensation of her tight young pussy on my cock [although that did help]. It was the unlikeliness, the outlandishness, the outrageousness of the situation. She was giving her virginity to me, clearly for the reason and the purpose of not allowing her husband to have it.
“A condom,” I said to her, “we should be using a condom.”
“Do not worry,” she replied “it makes no difference now.”
“But”, I said “you could become pregnant.”
“Yes.” She said, her angel eyes locked on mine, her small arms around me, my consiousless cock throbbing inside her, aching to do the dirty deed and release the load.
As I looked into her big eyes, I wondered how this young girl from Delhi could know so much.
I started pumping in and out of her again, and we came together there in the tiny cubical, holding each other tightly.
We cleaned each other up. Yes, there was some blood. And it was a tough job getting her back into that sari.

There were people outside waiting to use the toilet when we came out. Well, what could they do? I could feel their disapproving eyes on us as we returned to our seats.
We sat down and had our last precious hour together before landing.
If it had been an English plane, I would have tried to get the flight crew to hide her aboard during transit in Kuwait, but it was a Kuwaiti plane.
She told me of her life in that hour. Her drunken father, her prostitute mother trying to hide enough money from him to pay for the school. Despite this, finding friends and happiness on the streets of Delhi as a young girl. Until the Kuwaiti man paid his down payment, and she was virtually under guard until the flight, when she was seen to the plane.
After all. what could happen on a plane?

I received a letter from her a year later. I was living in London, trying to hold a relationship together with a wild Caribbean girl.

Dear Tom;

I am hoping that this letter finds you in the best of health by the grace of almighty God.
I am sure you did not believe me that I was knowing to write as well as read, but as I told you, I attended school for some years.
I have wanted to write to you for all of this time, but there was no chance, as my family here has been very strict with me until now.
My husband has passed away last month, leaving me a widow with child. The sons of my husband and their wives were very cruel to me, as they did not want to give me any share of my late husband’s property. They say it was a sham marriage only, that I was only a house girl. They say that my baby can not be their relation, because my husband had an operation before our marriage so could not have more children.
I am staying in a shelter now, this is a place some good women have made for Indian girls who find themselves in trouble here. They will send me back to India, but I do not want to go there. Even if my family accepts me, I will never find a husband.
You can phone me here at the shelter. Otherwise, the sisters say they will arrange for me to return to Delhi in three weeks.
I do not know if it is true that my husband had the operation. Only I can say that my son is very fair.

With kindest regards, Salima

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Old 21st May 2009
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Pls provide feedback on these 3 stories.

Another 16 to go.

Depends on the repps & enthusiasm.

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