Indian Aunty Tales: Cool as a Cucumber – Part 1… or how Revathi was ravaged by a Cucumis sativus

Revathi had always been one tough woman. Independent minded, strong willed, and a challenge for any man who dared say hello. She was 45, had been married once but had since been divorced – he, Balan, had neither been loyal nor dutiful.

Her parents had never approved of him and once she figured out he was into kinky sex of every kind, she never wanted to be with him again. Having oral sex was one thing, but subjecting her backside to the whims of odd shaped pieces of  adrak (ginger) was quite something else… “figging”, he had called it and said it was very popular in Britain.

Then there were other things… like his insistence she wear a sari and blouse without any bra or panty – after a loud argument he let her wear the petticoat when she showed how it held up her sari. With just a nice woolen shawl for cover over her bra-less blouse and sari, they went to dinner parties and dances.

Once, Santokh Singh, her husband’s colleague had brushed against her buttocks in the dance floor – and she could swear he noticed the absence of panty lines….

Yes, Balan had been a bad man and unfaithful, but he knew how make her feel good, guilty and godless… Of course no man since had ever dare intrude her dry un-lubricated existence. Neither had she made any advances, nor did she feel the need to. She had this sneaky suspicion that her South Indian diet did more for her intellect than for her libido… perhaps she should try eating more chapatis. parathas and naans!

The last few weeks though were aggravating. Her urinary tract infection (UTI) had re-surfaced. The Delhi heat was doing nothing to make it easier. The A/C (air conditioner) she had kept since her married days was falling apart and no matter how much cold water, ice cubes and sandal wood paste she applied her vagina and urethra burned with a fire of their own. She squirmed the whole day in the office and felt a deep urge rub herself against the corner of the table, but dared not.

She had even gone to Dr. Gupta, her doctor of many years. As always he was dismissive and uninterested, asking her to stand near his chair, raise her sari and pull her panties down as he thrust his fingers in for an exam. He gave her some antibiotics and a cream. Nothing worked, it still burned and Dr. Gupta was still uninterested.

And then she remembered Balan and the cucumber. It was wrong and she hated doing that to a cucumber….but it had felt cool and where was the harm… besides it was all vegetarian.

It had been a quiet Saturday afternoon and the maid was noisily washing clothes in the bathroom when Balan approached her at the lunch table. He showed her a cucumber and calmly asked her… “inside you?” and winked. Before she could recover from the shock, the audacity of the very suggestion, he had raised her saree and rudely shoved in an unsuspecting fruit into her unsuspecting cunt.

And then for what seemed like hours he had played with the cucumber inside her – right there over the dining table, right next to all the carefully home-prepared food which was getting cold! And the maid was still working in the back of the house.

Though it had hurt, as the rough warty outside of the pickling cucumber rubbed against her tender pussy, it left her feeling full, satisfied, rigorously explored and hungry for more. Then just when she was just about to come, he pulled it out, ignoring her completely. He proceeded to carefully peel the cucumber, it as she lay agonizing, and then inserted it again – this time gently and lovingly.

It had felt cool, magical and utterly sinful – she climaxed  again… right there in the dining room with the food getting cold. That was when she realized for the first time, where the phrase ‘cool as a cucumber’ came from… but no matter what she could not get over it – somehow it seemed wrong – even though it felt good. She even felt sorry for the cucumber…

Anyway, if she were to do it now no one would know, no one would care and no one would guess… and while mother may not have approved, she was long gone, peacefully to heaven… bless her pure soul. There was a problem though. The rough pickling cucumber Balan had used was small, making up in spirit what it lacked in style. However it was not available this part of town and she would have to make do with the guy around the corner = the telawala! (vegetable cart seller) 

When she first approached him, the telawala had looked at her, almost slyly and said … pick any you like maam? whatever your pasand (“fancy”). And he turrned around, spat on the ground, looked up again  – and leered at her. She knew, he knew, what she knew she did not want him to know.

 

She selected two cucumbers, almost randomly, feigning disinterest, until her hand came to rest on a third – it seemed long yet stubby and at first glance, too suggestive a shape. It even had a yellow cleft at one end – from some old injury – the tip of a fruity phallus. She picked it up, wrapping her right hand around it almost as if

She mumbled something about how everything was getting expensive, and without meeting his eye handed him a hundred rupee and started walking away. “your change madam….  your change” he yelled after her. She knew, he somehow knew….and without undue haste, yet a little bit of hurry, she fled the short distance home. Rushing in, she dropped the bag, turned around and locked the kundi (tower bolts) close…  now safe, in the fortress like confines of her home.

 

When laid on the bright orange table mat from Cottage Emporium, the three cucumbers looked innocent, almost coy. Except the one in the center with a cleft – it seemed almost to wink at her, cock its head at a jaunty angle and say… fuck me baby, fuck with me. She could wait no longer.

 

She stripped her sweaty clothes of and stood legs apart in front of the A/C, the cool air blasting her vagina.  She put on the kaftan (gown), the one with the spaghetti straps, she had got stitched a month after her divorce.

She could swear the tailor had taken extra interest in her measurements that time, as she stood in the dark of his little store. And she had let him – holding her bra cups against her breasts, she slid the straps off so he could measure things right – after all she was paying good money for the kaftan and -  she was newly single again. She made sure the hems stopped at mid-thigh, right below those vaccination marks she had gotten as a kid. She hated those marks – made her feel ugly, even though her ex could never quit pinching, biting and kneading her there.

She reached across the dress and clicked Play. Her favorite MS Subbalakshmi (MS to her fans) CD played in the background, the rich golden voice calming her down, easing her senses.

She held her small green friend in one hand and rubbed it with coconut oil, the one that came in those weird blue plastic bottles with the lids so hard to open. Anytime she squeezed its curved ends…. the cucumber slithered back and forth, in her hands, alive, ready to do her bidding.

Using a vegetable peeler her sister had got her from Singapore, she peeled the skin off the naughty end of the cucumber  – the one with the cleft. Now it really did look like a green penis.

Standing straight up, she raised the kaftan and placed one leg on the study chair. Hooking her right forefinger she pulled her pink panties aside just enough to squirt some cool coconut oil straight on her vagina. It worked like magic, she could feel it – her dry scorched pubic hair glistened a shiny glossy black, the wrinkled folds of her long neglected vagina now feeling all relaxed and juicy.

Oil dripped down the thigh, running all the way down her leg, forming a little pool on the mosaic floor. She would clean it up later…. for now… she was happy nestling the cool, shaved end of the cucumber against her oily vagina.

It had been a long time, since she had felt anything push against her pussy – and that is when she realized it was big, too big – the cucumber that is. She had lost all sense of size over the years, or perhaps it was lack of use – no matter which, her vagina seemed unequal to the task of swallowing a humble cucumber.

Surprised and disappointed, Revati retreated to what she knew best – her vast fund of GK (general knowledge), gathered over many a summer afternoon in middle class Mylapore. She had been preparing very hard for, and “hoping against hope” she would get selected for the Bournvita Quiz contest. She never did, instead that stupid Sindhi girl had been shortlisted – they looked just like Punju women but were lot more hairy and more studious. Anyway – her fund of GK had told her two things – that pythons could open their mouths and swallow whole deer and that the female vagina could expand to issue forth one, two or even more healthy babies, let alone a solitary elongated fruit (yes cucumbers were fruit!)

The cucumber Balan had used years ago had been short and warty – pickling cucumbers he called them – but go get those you had to go to the other market a few kilometers away. The tehlawala (vegetable cart seller) around the corner only carried these big ones – che! if she was only back in RK Puram!

The fat green mass felt cool and for a moment and the burning due to her UTI seemed to fade into the background. And she was in love with this special one… almost cock like, erect, confident yet playful and mischievous. There was no way she was going to step down to his smaller cousins.

Never mind… she would only play with him on the outside – and determined woman that she was, she proceeded to slide, prod, rotate and tease her clitoris and labia  – sometime rough and fast so the hairs bit into her soft skin, and sometimes steady nice and slow, so the hairs could slide out again.

Images of Mr. Dandapani – her physics teacher from school floated in front of her head. He was strict yet gentle, and did not hestitate to spank hard on the backsides of student’s who kept repeating their mistakes – especially that dumb good looking punju girl – Thithlee Bajaj. And Dandapani had those nice bright eyes and those hairy ears!

mmmm…. fitch! vish! fitch vish….the rhythm of the oiled cucumber kept picking up pace as she let its stubby rounded extremity slide up and down her vagina, her labia lazily caressing it on either side.

Soon Dandapani faded, and in came visions of a shirtless Akshay Kumar…Mother would not approve a North Indian boy but it was ok this once. Revathi was on a roll now, breaking all taboos, and masturbating to a Bollywood film star did not seem all that risky a thing to do. At most it might lead her fingers astray.

fitch! vish! fitch vish fitch! vish! fitch vish…. the rhythm continued to pick pace. and her body moved… tight chubby thighs slapping in unison with the right hand, firmly holding the gyrating cucumber. Her panty seams occasionally got caught, tugged and released in the relentless movement, naughtily biting into her labia…

and then she started coming…. the first hints of an orgasm, searching and hungry, waves of contractions and releases unleashed themselves, as her vagina showered years and years of liquid love on her green suitor…..

Revathi was never used to screaming loudly, or even moaning in passion – she often just breathed heavily, like an old pair of bellows flagging a stump of red hot iron…. She had once read, of course as part of acquiring GK, that the human female, unique among all primate females, experience sexual orgasm – oh why was she like this!

And this time was no different… she breathed heavily….

Smooth, stubby and oily thought it was, the cucumber had left her normally deject clitoris sitting taut and shiny.…like one of those gaudy red buttons she bough at Moore Market (Madras) years and years ago before it burned down….

fitch! vish! fitch vish fitch! vish! fitch vish….She breathed heavily and readied herself for the climax…. love juices raced after the coconut oil on her inner thigh….

She sighed to the heavens…. biting her lip and with a loud gasp, arched back. as the final joy sent shivers down her spine…… then she flopped forward in guilt, relief and release… as the shameful moment was painfully over.

….MS Subbalakshmi droned on… what a golden voice, she hoped the gods had not noticed.

The gods indeed had noticed, as Revathi felt the world around her give way, spinning in slow motion…. her right leg slipping forward, giving way… her left leg slipping outwards ….the cucumber held firmly in her hand now rested against the solid wood edge of the chair, as if awaiting the inevitable.

She succumbed the cumulative effect of coconut oil and vaginal juices on a smooth mosaic floor… who would have guessed..

Gravity ruled……… as her fast descending vagina impaled itself on the humble cucumber…… its green mass plunging in quietly and forcefully, dragging the crotch area and the cheap elastic of her panties with it…in one smooth punch.……. a dull pain enveloped her lower stomach as the cucumber firmly and fully sunk in, minimized only by the burning sensation where the panty lining had been pulled in….

She screamed in ecstasy and pain, falling on her back, feet spread wide apart, the cucumber protruding like a grafted penis on some ancient god! She twisted and lay there on the floor, slowly folding herself into a foetal position, feeling the full bulge of the cucumber inside her… her panty pulled down and uncomfortably tight around her waist…Where the hell was that idiot Balan when she needed him!!!%^%^%$##@##

For the first time in her life… Revathi felt fucked! fully, wholly and royally fucked! And was loving every painful, twisted burning minute of it.

Revathi moaned softly once and then loudly… not in anguish or distress… but in the full pink health of a woman whose hunger had finally been sated. The animal inside her was awake and needed more…

She held the cucumber with both hands and tried pulling out… it hurt terribly, her labia stretched around the fruit like foreskin. With nothing left to lose she yanked the green stump from side to side, up and down, groaning in agony at the havoc being wreaked inside her pussy… her full buttocks slipping and sliding on the floor… Balan should have been here… he would have known what to do…. but never mind… she knew what she liked and she was gonna do it!

She continued to gyrate the cucumber like an Aattu Kal (grindstone used in South India) till her insides felt like pulp… and then she came again… moaning loudly…. oh the shame! MS droned on …

Rolling to her side Revati slowly stood up…. and took stock of the situation. How was she going to get the cucumber out? Heaven’s what if it remained stuck there till Monday, and she had to work all the day with it inside her saree! And with that she headed towards the kitchen….

When for the second time that day – gravity struck.

Revathi slipped hard and fell hard, this time  landing, so the few protruding centimeters of the hapless cucumber were now fully, firmly, and painfully pushed into her cunt!

She felt it hit her cervix, the pain unbearable, the sense of violation and joy – indescribable…. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! she screamed….. and then she blacked out….

….. to be continued

Copyright 2009, All Rights Reserved – Tales by Kamayogi

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