Part 3: HIM
My name is Narayan. I was 47 years old, but as life had been very harsh on me, the weight of the harshness had made me look older. I was a serial rapist for the past 10 years.
Born and raised in a low economic background, educated at a dingy dusty public school, and with no college degree, I wasn’t in a chance for a decent job. Somehow, due to some contact of my relative, I had been appointed on a contractual basis as a coach in-charge in the railways, as soon as I was out of school. After getting a job, my parents had married me off to some random girl from our native village.
So, at the age of 18 years, I had started working, earning and giving my meagre income to my parents. By a stroke of good luck, the railways appointed all contractual workers like me on a permanent basis. Out of nowhere, I had a permanent job, small quarters in a worker’s railway colony and a pretty decent salary. My wife and I moved into the quarters.
My marriage wasn’t a happy one. First of all, I had been married to some ugly village girl whom my relatives had deemed fit for me. Secondly, she couldn’t adapt to life in the city. Thirdly, she couldn’t bear me any child. I had to fuck her as she was my wife, but she failed to excite me. I had to arouse myself by thinking of the beautiful memsahibs I saw in the trains when I was on duty. All of them traveling in those AC compartments used to be so fair, beautiful and charming. They wore a variety of clothes, wore a variety of fragrances, and showed a large amount of skin. I would get an erection just by seeing them; sniffing them as they walked around in ‘my’ compartment would make me cum with pleasure. And with such a narrow aisle, some brushing and touching was inevitable, I took full advantage of the opportunities presented to me. Usually, I put myself in such positions where some brushing and touching was inevitable.
For twenty years, I lived my life like this. When I was on duty as a coach in- charge, I would survey all the goods on offer in my coach, fix my attention on the most beautiful memsahib, and then masturbate to her thought, lying on my jump bed in the vestibule outside the AC compartment. In the mornings, when the train reached its destination and all passengers had disembarked, I would masturbate again, this time wrapping my memsahib’s bed sheet around my face. When I was at home, I would fuck my wife, all the while imagining her to be that memsahib.
Many a times, I masturbated in close proximity of these memsahibs. When they would come out into the vestibule and wait for their turn to use the toilet, I would, sitting on my jump bed under a blanket, be stroking my penis, ejaculating at the thought of fucking them.
Some of the memsahib’s were very nice. They wore short and tight clothes, bent carelessly to show a lot of cleavage and also occasionally flirted with me. But most of them were mean bitches. They were rude to the ‘low class’ people that worked on the coaches, like me, the coach in-charge or the luggage porters. They would shout and yell, scolding at petty things or mundane issues. This built up a weird frustration inside me, which I relieved by masturbating at the thought of taking those mean bitches.
Then, ten years ago, my life changed. My wife passed away, a severe dengue infection took her life. After that, my sexual desire used to be left unsatisfied. I tried the red light areas, but to no avail. Despite frequent masturbations and visit to brothels, I felt hungry for a real vagina. One night, I did it.
She was one of those mean bitches, shouting away uselessly at me for things beyond my control. First, I masturbated, as I had done all these years, to relieve my frustration. But it was pent up inside my head, and in my balls. She went to the toilet after dinner and I pounced at her, violating her, releasing my pent up frustration inside a married woman’s vagina. That first time, it was untidy. I felt scared to death. What if she complained? But, she had gone back quietly, head hung in shame. It was then that I came to realize the power I held over such married bitches – they would not let such an incident ruin their family life.
Such an incident – a low class man taking a high class woman, violating her womanhood, filling her with his unworthy semen, was seldom reported; as these high class women were ashamed of the fact that their family, relatives, everyone in the society would come to know of their ordeal. This thinking was even more valid for the newlyweds, who hadn’t even established their places in their new family, where every member analysed their each and every move. They were like sitting ducks for my new found hobby. Also, I didn’t do any visual damage or took away anything that would require elaborate explanations from them to their husbands or families.
Usually women woke up for a pee once every night, more so towards the morning hours. I was always on the alert, looking up and down the aisle, waiting to pounce on my ‘wife’ for that night. Just scare a bit, a quick fuck, a bra or panty as a souvenir – I had all of them at my home, labelled with their names and berth numbers; and I was done.
To scare them was good. To humiliate them was ultimate. That is why I started forcing money on them after forcing them. Both of us knew it was naughty, but this gesture made them think of themselves as some cheap prostitutes, servicing men on overnight trains. To be branded a whore was the ultimate humiliation for a married woman. After I was done with them, they were more worried about the fact of concealing their ordeal than the ordeal itself.
Pulling a few strings, I had managed to get my posted on the ‘honeymoon special’, an overnight express train to the foothills of Himalayas, where newly married couples went to celebrate their honeymoon. The AC coaches of this train swarmed with the type of meat I absolutely devoured. With each woman I ‘married’, I perfected my technique, picking the ones which were absolutely certain for anonymity. Elated with my approach and encouraged by the results, my sexual appetite also grew. One ‘wife’ per night was an absolute surety, whereas during peak wedding seasons, I managed two to three each night. That I tell you is ultimate job satisfaction.
That day, I saw her get onto the carriage with her husband. I saw her occupy her berth. I looked up her berth number on the reservation chart. I knew that my ‘wife’ for that night was, as my penis tingled with excitement for the first time that night, Prerna.
My name is Narayan. I was 47 years old, but as life had been very harsh on me, the weight of the harshness had made me look older. I was a serial rapist for the past 10 years.
Born and raised in a low economic background, educated at a dingy dusty public school, and with no college degree, I wasn’t in a chance for a decent job. Somehow, due to some contact of my relative, I had been appointed on a contractual basis as a coach in-charge in the railways, as soon as I was out of school. After getting a job, my parents had married me off to some random girl from our native village.
So, at the age of 18 years, I had started working, earning and giving my meagre income to my parents. By a stroke of good luck, the railways appointed all contractual workers like me on a permanent basis. Out of nowhere, I had a permanent job, small quarters in a worker’s railway colony and a pretty decent salary. My wife and I moved into the quarters.
My marriage wasn’t a happy one. First of all, I had been married to some ugly village girl whom my relatives had deemed fit for me. Secondly, she couldn’t adapt to life in the city. Thirdly, she couldn’t bear me any child. I had to fuck her as she was my wife, but she failed to excite me. I had to arouse myself by thinking of the beautiful memsahibs I saw in the trains when I was on duty. All of them traveling in those AC compartments used to be so fair, beautiful and charming. They wore a variety of clothes, wore a variety of fragrances, and showed a large amount of skin. I would get an erection just by seeing them; sniffing them as they walked around in ‘my’ compartment would make me cum with pleasure. And with such a narrow aisle, some brushing and touching was inevitable, I took full advantage of the opportunities presented to me. Usually, I put myself in such positions where some brushing and touching was inevitable.
For twenty years, I lived my life like this. When I was on duty as a coach in- charge, I would survey all the goods on offer in my coach, fix my attention on the most beautiful memsahib, and then masturbate to her thought, lying on my jump bed in the vestibule outside the AC compartment. In the mornings, when the train reached its destination and all passengers had disembarked, I would masturbate again, this time wrapping my memsahib’s bed sheet around my face. When I was at home, I would fuck my wife, all the while imagining her to be that memsahib.
Many a times, I masturbated in close proximity of these memsahibs. When they would come out into the vestibule and wait for their turn to use the toilet, I would, sitting on my jump bed under a blanket, be stroking my penis, ejaculating at the thought of fucking them.
Some of the memsahib’s were very nice. They wore short and tight clothes, bent carelessly to show a lot of cleavage and also occasionally flirted with me. But most of them were mean bitches. They were rude to the ‘low class’ people that worked on the coaches, like me, the coach in-charge or the luggage porters. They would shout and yell, scolding at petty things or mundane issues. This built up a weird frustration inside me, which I relieved by masturbating at the thought of taking those mean bitches.
Then, ten years ago, my life changed. My wife passed away, a severe dengue infection took her life. After that, my sexual desire used to be left unsatisfied. I tried the red light areas, but to no avail. Despite frequent masturbations and visit to brothels, I felt hungry for a real vagina. One night, I did it.
She was one of those mean bitches, shouting away uselessly at me for things beyond my control. First, I masturbated, as I had done all these years, to relieve my frustration. But it was pent up inside my head, and in my balls. She went to the toilet after dinner and I pounced at her, violating her, releasing my pent up frustration inside a married woman’s vagina. That first time, it was untidy. I felt scared to death. What if she complained? But, she had gone back quietly, head hung in shame. It was then that I came to realize the power I held over such married bitches – they would not let such an incident ruin their family life.
Such an incident – a low class man taking a high class woman, violating her womanhood, filling her with his unworthy semen, was seldom reported; as these high class women were ashamed of the fact that their family, relatives, everyone in the society would come to know of their ordeal. This thinking was even more valid for the newlyweds, who hadn’t even established their places in their new family, where every member analysed their each and every move. They were like sitting ducks for my new found hobby. Also, I didn’t do any visual damage or took away anything that would require elaborate explanations from them to their husbands or families.
Usually women woke up for a pee once every night, more so towards the morning hours. I was always on the alert, looking up and down the aisle, waiting to pounce on my ‘wife’ for that night. Just scare a bit, a quick fuck, a bra or panty as a souvenir – I had all of them at my home, labelled with their names and berth numbers; and I was done.
To scare them was good. To humiliate them was ultimate. That is why I started forcing money on them after forcing them. Both of us knew it was naughty, but this gesture made them think of themselves as some cheap prostitutes, servicing men on overnight trains. To be branded a whore was the ultimate humiliation for a married woman. After I was done with them, they were more worried about the fact of concealing their ordeal than the ordeal itself.
Pulling a few strings, I had managed to get my posted on the ‘honeymoon special’, an overnight express train to the foothills of Himalayas, where newly married couples went to celebrate their honeymoon. The AC coaches of this train swarmed with the type of meat I absolutely devoured. With each woman I ‘married’, I perfected my technique, picking the ones which were absolutely certain for anonymity. Elated with my approach and encouraged by the results, my sexual appetite also grew. One ‘wife’ per night was an absolute surety, whereas during peak wedding seasons, I managed two to three each night. That I tell you is ultimate job satisfaction.
That day, I saw her get onto the carriage with her husband. I saw her occupy her berth. I looked up her berth number on the reservation chart. I knew that my ‘wife’ for that night was, as my penis tingled with excitement for the first time that night, Prerna.