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The Religious Mother

The High Street Phoenix Mall was an upscale shopping mall in one of the more fashionable suburbs of Mumbai. Strategically located just off Senapati Bapat Marg-the main freeway through the metropolitan area-and surrounded by six-lane arteries that allowed access with a minimum of traffic jams, it was the mall to shop in. People came from all over the region to patronize the four major department stores that anchored the mall, or the dozens of smaller specialty shops that gave it character. The parking lot surrounding the High Street Phoenix Mall contained over two thousand parking slots, all connected by a beltway that circled the outside. During business hours, even on the slowest of shopping days, this parking lot was typically at least three-quarters full. During the Christmas season, the Gardenia Police Department had to assist with traffic control and shuttle buses were often used to ship patrons in from other parking lots several miles away.

On this particular Saturday evening in late May, however, the parking lot of High Street Phoenix Mall was almost completely deserted. It was 9:45 PM and the mall was now closed. All of the patrons had long since departed with their purchases, and all of the employees had gone home. Even the security force-which cruised around in small pick-up trucks with orange light bars mounted on the roof-had shut down operations for the night. The only activity to be seen was a couple of teenage lovers making out on some of the decorative planters.

Behind Big Bazaar's Department Store, in a dark recess where customers never came, even when the mall was open, was the loading dock. A concrete inlet that dipped down against the loading doors, it was wide enough for two trailers to park side by side. Currently there was one trailer there-a delivery of overpriced clothing from Bangladesh. It had not been unloaded by closing time. In the space where another trailer would go was a six-year-old Matuti Alto, its engine off, the windows more than a little steamy.

Inside the car, in the front seat, were two employees of Big Bazaar's who had elected not to go home just yet. Gautam Doshi was a 25-year-old salesman in the electronics department. Lavanya Patkar was a 18-year-old clerk in the shoe department. The two of them had been dating each other for nearly 11 months now-the longest boyfriend/girlfriend relationship either had ever been involved in. They liked to think they were in love with each other, that they would one day marry, and perhaps it was even true. It was one of those things that time would tell. At the moment, however, marriage was the last thing on Gautam's mind. Lavanya's alluring body was pressed up against his tighter than it ever had been before. He could feel her ample breasts pushing into his chest as they leaned towards each other across the centre console. His mouth was pressed to hers, his tongue sliding in and out, dancing with her softer tongue, exchanging saliva, swirling and probing. She was kissing him back with unmasked passion, the likes of which she had rarely displayed in the past. His left hand was resting on her knee. Like the rest of her legs, it was clad in nylon. Her black, conservative skirt, which hung to mid-calf when she was standing, had worked its way up to mid-thigh, and those lovely thighs were slightly parted in a manner that was just suggestive enough to make him think that tonight might be the night he finally got somewhere with her.

"Oh, Bhagwan," Lavanya breathed, breaking the kiss for an instant. She was breathing very heavily, her gray eyes shining from behind her glasses. "We should stop, Gautam. Don't you think?"

Gautam was not discouraged by her words, not in the least. On the contrary, they excited him. She had actually taken the Bhagwan's name in vain in response to what he was doing to her. And she didn't even realize she had done it. As the oldest daughter in a strict Hindu family, that was remarkable indeed. He had never heard her say anything stronger than "Oh, gosh" or "Salay" in the past.

"I love kissing you, Lavanya " he said, leaning forward again, letting his tongue probe out and lick her pouting lower lip. "Don't you like kissing me?"

"Yes," she said, almost moaned. "Oh yes."

He leaned into her again, attacking her lips with his, sliding his tongue back into her mouth. His hand slid up a few more inches on her leg, onto the lower part of her thigh. His fingertips caressed the nylon there. She made no attempt to stop him. His right hand he slid up her back, passing over the protrusion of her bra strap beneath the white, button-up blouse she wore. He slid it under the locks of her shiny black hair and onto the skin of the back of her neck. He caressed her gently here. She cooed into his mouth and her legs came apart a little bit more, unconsciously he was sure, but apart nonetheless. Her hands were on his back, stroking up and down through his shirt, her nails lightly scratching at him.

When he moved his mouth from her lips to the side of her neck and began to kiss and nibble at the soft skin there, she melted. Her head went back, exposing more skin for him to pleasure. Her eyes closed in an expression of surrender. Her arms tightened around his back. Her legs fell open just a little bit more. Gautam knew she was as turned on as she had ever been before. He was tempted to try sliding his hand further up her leg, possibly to the junction between them. He longed to feel the wetness he knew had to be there, to feel the heat, to transfer the odour of her musk to his fingertips. But he had been in enough make-out session with Lavanya to know that might be pushing things too quickly. Lavanya was determined to follow the teachings of her faith and save herself for her future husband on her wedding night. If he pushed her too fast she would clam up in an instant, pushing him away, her passion deflating like a life raft with a bullet hole in it. She probably wasn't ready to be touched between the legs. But maybe... just maybe... she was ready to be touched somewhere else.

With reluctance, he removed his hand from her leg and slowly placed it on her upper abdomen, just below the swell of her softball-sized breasts. He scratched lightly at her here for a moment, feeling the cotton of her blouse, feeling the firm skin beneath it, feeling the way her diaphragm was heaving up and down with her excited breathing. He let the hand move upward, inching it northward, until, at last, he felt the underswell of her right breast just touching his knuckles. She made no objection to his actions, if fact, it seemed as he'd heard a little moan come from her mouth, had felt her twist a little in his arms, trying to increase the contact. He gave another soft nibble at her neck and let his hand move upward, passing over the underswell and directly onto the breast itself. This time, the moan was quite clear, as was the push towards him. He could not believe his luck. He was cupping her tit and she was moaning! She was pushing into him! She liked it!

He moved his lips back to hers and started kissing her again, driving his tongue further into her mouth than ever before. She kissed back enthusiastically, almost drooling in her passion. He cupped the breast a few times, running his hand up and down, pressing it from all angles. It was as soft and squeezable as he'd always imagined it would be, the epitome of femininity. He let his right hand come down from her neck, across her shoulder, and down to her chest. It found her left breast and cupped it as well. It was as soft and sensuous as its twin and Lavanya moaned again as he felt it up.

Encouraged, he let his right hand twist inward, his fingertips probing for the gap between the buttons on her blouse. Lavanya always wore blouses and skirts to work and he had spied fleeting views of her white bras and the dark pinkness of the tops of her breasts on many occasions between these gaps when she twisted her body just right. Now he exploited the opening, going for tactile stimulation instead of visible. His plan was successful. He gently pushed his index and middle finger through and the tips of them were touching her bra near the top. She moaned again, her tongue driving harder into his mouth, telling him that he needn't stop just yet.

He let the fingertips roam up and down, touching everything they could reach. On the downward end of their extension, he felt her fat nipple pushing through the cotton of the bra insistently, demanding attention. He stroked it a few times, eliciting more moans, more passionate kisses. It was the upward end of his probing, however, that truly excited him. For the first time in their relationship, he found himself touching the bare skin of her breast. True, it was high on her breast, well north of the nipple, but it was her tit! The skin was soft and silky. He ran his fingers back and forth along the border between bra and skin, pushing at it and finally managing to get a few millimetres beneath. She did not try to stop him.

He began running his fingertips into the bra itself, worming them in from the top. With each stroke, a little more flesh was touched, a little more of her tit was opened to his exploration. She was still into it, obviously liking what he was doing to her, obviously not ready to call a halt to things yet. He tried to probe further, to reach his fingertips down far enough to touch her bare nipple. If he could get that nipple in his hands, she would be his. He was certain of it. But the gap between her buttons was not wide enough to allow his hand in that far. No matter how hard he stretched his middle finger out, no matter at what angle he dipped it, he could not reach the nipple. He thought he felt the edge of her areola at the far end of the stretch, but that might be nothing more than wishful thinking. He needed to get his hand in there more.

He pushed it forward, meeting nothing but tough resistance around the back of his fingers from the material of her shirt.
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