Sunita smiled gently, looking at the handsome nineteen-year-old youth. The same age as her son, they’d been childhood friends. How they’d grown, she thought. He wasn’t a kid any more; he was a young man, confident, poised, strong and, yes, sexy.
She looked at Vinod again with renewed interest, her pulse quickening slightly, feeling a rush of excitement, a knot in her belly. Yes, sexy, most definitely sexy. She wondered if he had any sexual experience.
It was crazy. She couldn’t be thinking like this. He was her son’s age, she’d known him since his infancy, she couldn’t be thinking of him as a lover.
Then again, why not? She was in her late thirties, she had a sex drive and it wasn’t like he was a blood relative or anything. It wouldn’t be incest.
He stood just under six feet, lean and dark with fine straight features. His shoulders were wide, the torso hard and tough with a flat belly and a broad chest. His shirt was open low and she knew he didn’t have much body hair. She liked that. His hips were high and narrow and his limbs were long and muscular. She wondered if he had a sizable penis; she liked well-hung men. Certainly the bulge in his crotch was promising.
“You must be hot,” she murmured. “We’ve been out in the sun a lot. Why don’t you have a quick wash and change, you’ll be more comfortable. Then I’ll fix you something cool to drink.”
“Thanks, I think I will,” he said. “I need to bathe.”
“Come, I’ll show you the bath.”
She led him to the servant’s bath, gave him a thin towel, a cake of cheap soap, a bucket and a tumbler.
“The door doesn’t lock, by the way, but don’t worry about it. There’s no one else home.”
“Okay.” The boy didn’t seem embarrassed. Evidently he trusted her.
Sunita left him. Back in the servant’s room, she stripped off the bra under her blouse, dropped her panties under her sari and even dropped the petticoat, deftly re-wrapping the sari so that it tucked in on itself, wrapped around her narrow waist. She wore it low, well under her navel, just above her crotch, high on her hips. Already her breasts were turgid, her stubby nipples stiff with excitement.
She heard the water running in the bucket, heard the splash, the slap and squelch of soap on wet flesh. Taking a deep breath, she went back to the bath, softly opened the door. He was squatting, balanced on his toes, sluicing water over his back and head with the tumbler, his back to her and she stopped for a moment, sucking in her breath in excitement as she took in the sharp V of his body, the strength of his muscles rippling under his taut skin. He hadn’t stripped fully, was still in his small, tight briefs and she saw how firm and tough his buttocks were. God, she wanted him!
She picked up the ends of her sari and folded it up, tucking it into the waist to keep the bottom from getting wet. It showed her legs to above her knees.
“Here, let me do your back,” she said, taking the tumbler from his hands. “It needs a good scrub.”
“Auntie!” he gasped in shock.
“Shut up, idiot,” she said in mock anger, but smiling. “How long have I known you? I cleaned your bum when you were six months old, remember?” Not waiting for a response, she began soaping his back vigorously. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?”