“Shout and I’m sure couple of other –wallahs will join me here!” he snarled in between his thrusts, “That’s what you want, don’t you bitch? To be bred by low class people?” Even though I wasn’t able to hear the whole of his sentence, the word ‘bred’ reverberated in my ears. SHIT! The realization of the situation hit me harder than the book-wallahs powerful thrusts. This low class shit-of-a-man was going to impregnate me, a married housewife and a mother of two children, a woman of considerable social standing and repute. I simply couldn’t let that happen! Immediately my body sprang into action, twisting and coiling, trying to free myself from the vicious grip of my fucker. “Excited you have I?” he sniggered, his thrusts not even pausing momentarily. “Please do not come inside me,” I pleaded, tears returned to my eyes as I realized that I could not muster my way out of the grip he had on me, “Please…don’t do this…I may get pregnant!”

The thought of getting a high class lady pregnant, the fact that he was going to ejaculate his semen inside the vagina of a married woman, drove the book-wallah into an even more violent rage. His left hand left my waist and grasped my breasts, such that my right breast was in his palm while the left one was being squeezed by his forearm. His grip around my breasts was stronger than the one he had held on my waist, making me wince in pain on the top of the hard thrusts. Kneading my right breast with the palm of his left hand, the book-wallah was in his wonderland. He let go of my right shoulder and his right hand also came to the region of my breasts. Now both his hands were gripping my breasts on either side, strong enough to make me realize their presence. My hands were still supporting me against the wall, although his hard fucking had brought me a lot closer to the wall than what I had originally been. So his only grip on me were his hands (on my breasts), and obviously his penis (deep inside me). I felt him lean in such that there was no gap between our bodies. I realized that he had unbuttoned his shirt because I could feel the hair on his chest pricking at my back.

Still sobbing, I continued to whimper my requests of not ejaculating inside my unprotected vagina. Felling the pace and frequency of his thrusts, I became aware of his impending orgasm. His grip on my breasts had tightened, interjected by frequent kneading and pinching of nipples; his breaths were now heavier and more laborious, I could feel him exhale through his mouth – the hot air brushing against my right cheek; and, as if to top it all, his saliva was dribbling from his mouth, dripping on my right shoulder and travelling down my back. I made a last ditch attempt to save myself from the ultimate humiliation of having this man come inside my unprotected vagina. Letting go of my hands from the wall, I moved forwards in a desperate attempt to get away from my fucker –wallah. I succeeded in breaking away from his grip and his penis slid out of my vagina, it was more due to the shock than my strength. The book-wallah was so deeply engrossed in ravaging my married vagina that he didn’t see this coming.

Now, although free from my fucker grasp, I was standing with my back facing the wall, that is, my naked body was facing my enraged fucker, whose anger had reached boiling point. Before I could even think about what to do or move even an inch, the book-wallah was upon me. SMACK! A tight slap left me rooted to the spot. “Lesson number three, never interrupt a man who is about to ejaculate, you whore!” he raged as he slid his throbbing penis back into my vagina. Now the two of us were facing each other. “Is this more romantic for you, you bitch?” he said looking into my eyes. I immediately lowered my gaze and my eyes fell upon the front of his body. Having unbuttoned his shirt sometime earlier, the book-wallah’s bare chest was visible to me. Dark and rough, it was covered with greying hair. I could see small bulges on either side of his chest and his nipples were large and jet black. I repulsed at the ugly sight. His pout belly, also covered with the same hair, was rubbing against the milky white smooth silky skin of my abdomen, he, having resumed the frenzy of his powerful thrusts.

With my head drooping with shame and my eyes closed in pain, I said, “Please don’t come inside…” “Who the fuck cares what you want, bitch! I have spent half my life masturbating to the sight of hot women like you…Do you think that I’ll let my seed go waste when I have the chance!” he retorted before I could even complete my plea. The orgasm, which I had miraculously stalled a few moments ago, was building up again inside the book-wallah, ready to wreak havoc in my married life. The book-wallah, now gripping my breasts from the front, let out a very audible gasp which summed up his immense pleasure in its entirety, his body jerked and he lunged one final time into my unprotected vagina, almost convulsing, as he ejaculated his semen inside me. Having registered surprise at the duration he took to ejaculate, now, I was shocked at the enormity of his ejaculate. At what I had thought to be the final lunge, I had felt a splatter of hot semen at the opening of my cervix. Then, the book-wallah, moaning with pleasure, took a few small lunges (in comparison to the earlier ones) and it was as if he ejaculated the same amounts of semen with each successive lunge as when he had done with the first one.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, I felt the now limp penis of the book-wallah sliding out of my soft vagina. He stepped back a bit, as if to admire his craftsmanship. A deep smile of immense satisfaction was etched over his ugly face. My vagina, which had been dripping with my own juices earlier, now lay battered and coated with the book-wallah’s semen. I realized that it was now flowing out of my vaginal opening and dripping down my vulval lips. A weird sensation of hotness began to develop between my thighs, radiating to all over my body. It was as if my clitoris was on fire, instinctively my fingers reached out to the troubled organ. As soon as my fingers touched my engorged clitoris, I felt a wave of pleasure sweep across my body, originating from the very area of hotness.

The wave of pleasure was only momentary as it was replaced by a wave of guilt, which would last my entire life. My body had orgasmed! My mind and my body were in a duel and it had been my body which had come out on top. I fell down to the ground with a thud, almost as if the wave of shame had increased the weight that I had been carrying on my shoulders. Then, I felt a last plop of semen exit my vagina and roll down my perineum all the way to my asshole. My asshole muscles clenched at the feel of the hot foreign liquid. I could hear the laugh of the book-wallah. Even though he was a few feet away from me, it sounded as if it were coming from a very distant location. Sitting there in what was a pool of my fucker semen, I, Madhu, the housewife and mother, wondered how my Saturday’s ‘activities’ had taken such a disastrous turn.

“And friends, that is how I fuck a mother!” I heard the book-wallah exclaim to his imaginary audience. I spent a lot of time and effort in preparing for the day's 'activities'. Right from a facial scrub to shaving my underarms and waxing my legs, it was a tedious process. But I did it with the same broad grin on my face every Saturday. Not that I wore revealing clothes, no. No sleeveless kurtas, no skirts, just the traditional Indian salwar kurta, but the lack of hair in my armpits and the smoothness of my legs gave a weird sense of confidence to the woman inside me.

The anticipation of the day's 'activities' made me work in a very efficient manner, making sure that I was out of my house by eleven in the morning. It gave me ample time to reach the main market by noon, a quarter of an hour away from my house by metro. It was five minutes past eleven and I was at the metro station of my locality, waiting for the next train. In a couple of minutes I was standing inside the train coach. (It is impossible to get a seat on the metro here, even if it is not rush hour). It was not rush time so I had ample room for myself, not like office hours when it was impossible to differentiate one body from other. The rush would be in the evening, when I would be returning home; that thought made my grin even broader.

I saw my faint reflection in the glass windows of the metro coach. I was looking beautiful, more as if I was glowing with pleasure. I was wearing a pink kurta without a dupatta as women wore these days (with normal length sleeves, almost up to my elbow), and white leggings that were as tight as leggings usually are. Although the kurta was not hugging my body tightly (unlike the leggings), but still my figure could be made out underneath it. I carried a black purse, hanging on my right shoulder, which was actually large enough to be called a small bag. I was a medium built woman, with fair complexion and shoulder length black hair, which I usually wore open, like today. My breasts were neither too big nor too small, just perfect on my body, good enough to attract their share of stares. My ass was another thing though. It was as if it had been stuffed good, bulging prominently out of my medium-built body. Today, my tight leggings were making sure that my most prized possession was jutting out on display, ready to attract stares and much more.
My name was Madhu and I was ready to enjoy my Saturday's 'activities'.

I stepped out of the metro at station serving the main market, aware of all the stares focussing on my ass, and felt a few hands brush meekly against it. In the bustling cacophony of what was the busiest metro station in the city, I headed for the escalators at my own sweet pace. Given the huge amount of rush at this nodal station at any given time it was inevitable to bump into people accidentally, more so when you were consciously trying to do the same.

In the couple of minutes that took me to leave the station and to ascend to ground level, I had bumped into at least a dozen people, all men. Some hands had found their destination, a poke on my breasts, their momentary half-cupping, a gentle but definite nudge on my midriff, and brushes against my ass. All of them were of the smallest magnitude of time possible, in the smallest magnitude of time that was available before the act seemed too obvious. Except for the fifteen second ride on the escalator, where a man behind me whose face I didn't see, made sure that his groin was tightly pressed against my left ass cheek. Well, it would be better if I said that it was me who made sure of that.

So here I was, at the inner circle of the main market. I smiled into my watch, it was exactly noon. I looked around to see a plethora of high-end shops, offices, showrooms of the biggest brands, leading coffee chains and eateries. But that was not my mind focussed on. It was looking at the roadside vendors, people who sold things on the roadside, either wandering around or sitting on a thin cloth with all their items on display. Even though it was the high-end market area of the capital, it was inevitably splattered with such vendors, a ubiquitous sight all over India. They formed almost a complete ring inside the inner circle of this market, sitting opposite to and facing the elite shops, almost as if daring them. These shops were manned by men from the lower classes. Those who lived on the edge of the pompous city's outer circle made their living by selling cheap items on the inner circle of its most glorious bazaar. They were the -wallahs, the book-wallah, the ice cream-wallah, the jewellery-wallah, the mehendi-wallah, and so on. Then they were other men, the homeless people, and the beggars, those who made their living scavenging on the rich environment. And then there were those men who just came to the bustling market to enjoy the sight and feel of the lovely high-class ladies who wandered about the place.

It was these three categories of men, present in abundance, which brought water in my mouth. "How much is this book for?" I asked the book-wallah, pointing at a random book among the many spread out on the pavement. He was a dark fat middle-aged man who was sitting alongside his 'shop' of second-hand or stolen books. "Fifty," he replied, eyeing me up and down, and I was sure he was imagining me naked. "And what about that?" I pointed at another random book, now almost kneeling down on one knee to properly see the books. He did not reply. I knew he wouldn't. Because now in my almost kneeling down position, I was bent slightly forwards, making my kurta fall away from my body. I looked up at him and saw his eyes looking down my hanging kurta, at my cleavage.

"How much?" I asked again, in a louder voice. "That too fifty," he replied, diverting his eyes away in a jerk. Again, I pointed at another book. But he couldn't make out which book I was asking for. "Which one are you asking for, madam?" he asked. "Oh God! That one, can't you see?" I said in a slightly irritated voice, bending down even more to point at a book at the far end. "Can't you see?" I scolded him, making sure that I stayed in that bend down position.
"Yes madam I can see," he said. I looked at him. He was not looking in the direction in which I was pointing but instead right down my kurta. Now that I was bending down more than before, I was sure he could see my deep cleavage, along with the top of my milky-white breasts covered by the cusps of my striking black bra. "What?" I asked. "Fifty, that too fifty," he said, this time not bothering to divert his gaze away.

At that moment it couldn't be said which of the two was more shameless, the poor low-class vendor staring at a high-class woman's cleavage, or me, the high-class woman who was exposing herself to the poor low-class vendor. "Ok, what about that?" I said and moved directly into his line of sight, now kneeling down on both my knees, stretching myself to touch a book kept almost right at his foot. I saw his mouth gape open as he saw my black bra clad breasts completely and at such close distance. I saw him swallowing the saliva which was overflowing in his mouth at such a lovely sight. Realizing that he had been leering too long he looked down at the book I was touching, and I saw a weird smile form on his unshaven unwashed face.

"That one is for twenty rupees," he said grinning. I looked down at the book and was taken aback by what I saw. The cover of the book had a photo of a semi-naked woman and was titled 'A Woman's Desire'. Shit! It was a cheap erotic novel in Hindi. I gulped at my folly and retracted back to my standing position, unsure of what to do next. "I have more of them here," he said, "if that's the type you want." His eyes were glowing with excitement and the grin hadn't left his face. "No, I don't," I managed to mumble. "I have some in English also," he persisted, pointing to a stack close to him which was covered by a cloth, "come here I'll show you." Still unsure of what to do, I stood my ground, staring at the book-wallah's grinning face. Then I walked around to the place where he was sitting. He got into a squatting position and uncovered the stack to which he had pointed. It was full of cheap erotic novels, all adorned by a cover featuring naked or almost naked women. I squatted next to him and started flipping the books around, my mind blank and still unsure. I had exposed myself to so many vendors and strangers for so many Saturdays that it had become a routine, but I was not prepared for something like this to happen.

"I have to hide such books, else the police-wallahs come and confiscate them," he said as my hands were still flipping through the collection. He reached behind him and pulled out another stack, "These are really hard core," he said and smacked his lips. As I turned towards the new stack, I saw something that made me swallow the saliva that had so suddenly filled my mouth. We were now squatting such that we were facing each other. In the process of showing me these books, the book-wallah's lungi had pulled up to his knees. I could see right inside it as he was not wearing any underwear. I felt a lump in my throat as I saw his black thick penis jutting out from a forest of curly dark hair. It wasn't fully erect but it looked quite big to me. I was squatting so close to him that I could see the thick green veins bulging on its surface. In the handful of seconds that I looked at it, it increased in size at a rapid pace, twirling like a snake. Then, the book-wallah was back in his normal sitting position on the ground. I was dumb-struck. I couldn't make out whether he had intentionally pulled up his lungi or it had been pulled up due to change in posture.

"Do you like it?" he asked, pulling me out of the daze. "Wh...what..tt?" I managed. "Do you like the book you are holding?" he asked pointedly. I realized that in the moment of stupor I had clutched on to one of those cheap novels. Immediately, I dropped it back on the ground, got up from my squatting position and walked away from that book-wallah as fast as I could. I didn't realize in which direction I was going. As I walked away, I could feel the wetness beginning to form between my legs. Unknowingly, I smiled. After so many Saturdays of exhibitionism, which had actually begun to become monotonous, I had a new experience. I was amazed at the amount of pleasure a momentary sighting of a low-class vendor's penis had given me. I was actually thrilled, my heart thumping wildly as I looked around to zero in on my next -wallah.

I headed towards a part of the pavement where many vendors were gathered together and stood at the poster-wallah's shop. Beginning my conversation with him, a young man (probably in his late twenties), I asked him to show me some Bollywood posters. Kneeling down in front of the posters, I was ready for some more action when I felt someone move up next to me. A man had taken up the same kneeling down position on my right side. "Show me that one," I heard him say as he instructed the poster-wallah. Shit! Now I had to wait for him to leave before I could continue with my show or else involve him too. But I usually avoided educated men, preferring to exhibit myself to the –wallahs.OUCH!