She was exuding a lovely fragrance and as she moved her anklets made tiny silvery sounds. I took her into the kitchen told her where things were and what had to be cooked and left for work. When I came around 2 pm she was sitting on the floor, reading the Hindi newspaper. It showed that she was literate! I asked her to join me for lunch and when she refused coyly, I did not take no for a reply, and leading her by her arm, made her sit next to me and we had partaken of what she had cooked. That afternoon, monsoon hit town. And with what fury! Never had I seen such torrents of rain, non stop with thunder and the skies all black, and the entire prison complex getting flooded with waist deep water. The electricity had failed. For me, the rains could not have come at a better time! In front of m was this lovely apsara, all coy and looking like a bride to be taken. And I did not let go of this. I went to her, and lifting her by the chin, planted a kiss on her face. She covered herself. “Yeah. Well, it turns out she didn’t know what she was doing.” He paused, seemingly enjoying the recollection. “She drove that thing home.” “She put it inside?” I balked, bearing down on the vibrator in my own pussy. “Uh-huh. And she lost her grip on it.” Adam’s pace picked up again. “Oh, no!” I gasped. “Yep,” he smirked. “That little fucker had been drilling her for over an hour before I got home.” “Oh, poor baby,” I clucked, imagining the string of forced orgasms that had terrorised my sixteen-year-old daughter all afternoon. “Did you help her?” Adam gave me the most devilish Cheshire grin I’d ever seen. Another scorching wave poured through me. What the fuck was going on? I caught a glimpse of myself on the iPad: a glassy-eyed stare; my mouth hanging open. My laboured breath was fogging the other side of the screen. It was too much. “Did you put your fingers inside her?” I croaked. “I had to, Baby,” he explained with a groan. “There was no other way to get it out.” My husband had.
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