Murtaza : Monster, Master or Mentor?

Part : 1

Like most Indian girls I lost my virginity on the threshold of womanhood. Indian girls become sexually active during their late teens or early twenties; most with their husbands and some with men whom they get involved with. By the late teens our sexual awareness is heightened and desires, inchoate but nevertheless aroused, are impatiently waiting to find expression. It was at this phase of my life that it all happened.

I was an 19-year-old Hindu girl and lived with my parents in South Delhi. My father worked in the government. We lived in a government apartment, one of three on the fifth floor, in a multistoried complex, for a little over 5 years. All our neighbors were government officials and their families. All festivals and social functions were celebrated in the complex with families which formed a close community. So, parents were assured of their children's safety, and all the young people enjoyed a great degree of freedom. One of our neighbors was a Muslim man, about 42-43 years old, who lived with his wife and 4 children one floor below ours. His name was Murtaza Ali Khan. I used to call Murtaza "uncle" as it is usual in India to address an older person known to you. I used to see him on the staircase or the elevator and would wish him. He was very friendly and used to smile a lot at me.

Holi, a very important Indian festival, is celebrated with great gusto throwing colored water on each other. It is celebrated in March each year. Like 'Mardi Gras' in Latin America it is celebrated in an atmosphere of great permissiveness. People throw colored water on each other and there is a rowdiness, roughness and lewdness along with the playfulness. Men and women play without restraint and guys take that opportunity to grope girls. It is a Hindu festival, but many Muslim men join in because it gives them a chance to grope and feel up Hindu girls and women. Many clandestine affairs start during Holi.

The previous year I was out on the front lawn of our apartment complex with other boys and girls playing Holi throwing colors on each other, when Murtaza like some of the older folk joined in the horse play. He was paying me a lot of attention splashing color on me and chasing me around. My clothes were wet with colored water. I tried to hide behind a hedge on the lawn. But he suddenly came up behind me and caught me from behind, rubbing color on my face and pressing himself against me. And then he put his hands on my breasts squeezing lightly. I was shocked and confused. But after that day he would smile at me in a peculiar way whenever we met. I was not able to understand my own feelings. His hands had felt very warm, evoking a strange feeling of fullness in my breasts. I knew it was not right, but I kept quiet. I was just 18 at that time. Remembering that episode afterwards I would feel my cheeks getting hot and red and a kind of tingling in my breasts.

The next year the festival of Holi did not come soon enough for me. I waited for it with some apprehension and a lot of anticipation too. As we started playing with colored water, I was keeping a weather eye cocked to see if Murtaza was joining in the fun. I was a bit let down when I didn't see him anywhere around. A bit later when we were all in full swing of throwing color on each other and rubbing colored paste on each other's faces I saw him coming towards me. I realized he was stalking me, hoping to catch me unawares. Strangely enough I ran away from him and hid behind the same hedge. Even today I don't know if I was really trying to hide away from the prying eyes of others almost unconsciously expecting him to pursue me there. Like the year before he stealthily came behind me and caught me, holding me closely in my wet clothes against him. It was almost as though he knew I had run in behind the hedge to be caught by him. His hands were all over me, on my thighs, bum and breasts. He squeezed my breasts very hard. I was very surprised when I seemed to feel a strange excitement in his touch. But I broke free and ran away. After that day whenever we met on the staircase, he would look at my breasts and smile knowingly. I used to blush. A few times in the elevator, if we were alone, he would touch my breasts and buttocks. I would struggle a bit and break free as the elevator would stop and open. This went on for many weeks. I am surprised I never told anyone. I felt a lot of shame. But more than that I realized I was very excited and used to be looking forward to this brief groping.

After my high school final exams in March, I was preparing for the entrance examinations for several college admissions. It was early May. Very hot. My parents used to go to a hill station each year for 2 or 3 weeks to get away from the heat, once schools closed for summer vacation. That year I stayed behind because I was preparing for the college entrance examinations. The servants had also been given a vacation to visit their village, except for an old maid who was left to look after me. She would be usually in the servants' quarters gossiping with other servants or going out to meet friends. It was a Sunday, and I had told her I wouldn't need her. She said she would visit a friend and come back late at night. Around 4.30 in the evening I was relaxing after mugging for the exam when I heard the front doorbell ring. When I opened the door, I saw it was Murtaza uncle. He smiled and asked me if I was alone. I said I was. He knew my parents were away because everyone in the building knew since my parents had asked some neighbors to keep an eye on me for my safety. I think he had also guessed our maid was away too.

He told me he had dropped by to see if I was OK. ( He said," tum theek ho ki nahi dekhne chala aaya "). I said, "Thank you uncle I am fine". Then he looked at my face smiled and let his gaze drop to my breasts and then back at my face. I blushed, feeling hot and flustered. Then he asked me, "Won't you offer me a cup of tea " ( 'Arrey chai nahi pilaogi'). I guessed he wanted to come inside. I sensed something but thought it would be like in the elevator. I must confess I was excited by the thought too.

I let him in, leaving our front door open. When he sat down in the drawing room, I went towards the kitchen to make tea. He got up and closed the front door and came after me. He caught up with me in the dining room. Grabbing me from behind near the dining table he cupped my right breast, his left hand circling my waist. I started to struggle while he was kissing the nape of my neck. He whispered in my ear, ' I won't leave you today. Don't scream or try to yell. You will lose your reputation. There is no one here. Let me do all i want to do.' ( "Aaj tum ko chodunga nahi. Cheekho chilawo mut. Tumhaari hi badnaami hogi. Yahan koi nahi hai. Mujhe jo karna hai karne de. Chup chaap karwa le.") I was frightened. It was a very different situation than in the elevator.

I was wearing salwar kameez, an Indian dress of loose pajamas and a long full sleeved shirt like top. Inside I was wearing a white lacy panty and bra which were flimsy. As I struggled with his grip, he pushed me against the dining table and forced my head down. Then with his hand on my waist I felt him untying the "zarbund" (the drawstring of my pajamas). Opening the strings he pulled down my salwar and dropped it around my ankles and then ripped off my flimsy panties. The sight of my naked bum seemed to excite him. Taking time to explore my tight pert round rump he kept squeezing my breasts. Then he tore the front buttoned kameez and pushed up my bras baring my breasts. I felt his hard hand on my breasts gripping, kneading them, his fingers digging into their softness. He pinched my nipples too. I was breathless gasping in panic, completely overwhelmed by this assault on my full naked breasts. I felt hot and flustered near tears, quite unlike the brief gropings during Holi or in the elevator. It was a very strange feeling, shame mixed with fear but also a strange sense of growing excitement.

Then for a moment his grip on me relaxed as he unbuttoned his trousers and stepped out of them. He now pressed against me again. He was naked and had not worn any underwear. I realized at that moment that he had planned this and had come prepared. Then I felt his naked manhood, erect, huge and thick rubbing against my bare buttocks. I gasped. He took his hands off my breasts pushing me down on the dining table and crowding in behind me. Then I felt his moist, hard, hot, unhooded Muslim manhood nudging open the lips of my labia. Then he thrust hard, and I cried out. But he had put his hand over my mouth and muffled my scream. He was ruthless in his thrusts but my cunt was tight, resisting the forced intrusion. And then I felt an even sharper pain as he broke through the resistance. I felt a bit of relief, but he was remorseless in his thrusting penetrating me even deeper.

It felt like a thick burning shaft going in deeper to explore the hidden recesses of my femineity. He had violated me; he had invaded me to my very depth; he had occupied my body. Now he was thrusting in long strokes enjoying me to the fullest. As he kept it thrusting without mercy I felt a strange heat within me. The pain was replaced by a type of ache, a prolonged sweet ache. My body was moving without me wanting it to move. I felt him hard thick and throbbing inside me and I felt an urge to push back on his manhood. I heard him chuckle. He relaxed his hold on my body. Once again he cupped my breasts squeezing it hard and touching my nipples. My whole body was suffused with a strange kind of tension. His other hand was caressing my flanks, my buttocks. Then he reached out and grabbed my hair, pulling my head up. My back was now arched like a bow. He was now thrusting with abandon, and I felt myself responding to him without any shame. He had sheathed his hardness to the hilt in me.

I was lost in a haze of sensual pleasure in which I forgot the pain. We writhed and moved together. My cunt was in a whirl of strange intense sensation, playing out a scene of domination and submission. Then I felt him swell inside me and he gave a powerful heave and I felt him flooding me with his seed. As his hot sticky cum scalded the walls of my bruised womanhood I let out a muted cry as my own release swept over me in waves. He held me tight against his hips, still hard until I shuddered to my own sticky climax. Then he pulled out of me, wiping himself on my panties and salwar. Pulling on his trousers he left telling me that I was now his bitch and he would take me whenever he wanted. He warned me not to dare tell anyone. ('Ab tu meri kuttiya hai. Jab chahunga tab lunga. Khabar daar kisi ko kaha to.')

Murtaza left me there defiled and violated. I then got off the table and looked down and saw a lot of blood on my thighs, my panties and salwar on which he had wiped himself. I felt raw and bruised. But there was a glow too and a strange lassitude. I slowly cleaned myself and had a shower. I tore up my bloody panty and salwar. Putting them in a packet I threw them away in the garbage. I didn't want anyone to know what had happened. In the next few days, I relived those moments of being possessed by Murtaza. It was a memory now not of fear and pain, but more than that a sense of shameful but intense pleasure. I had enjoyed the rock-hard fullness of his manhood invading my body. Even today I get lost sometimes in a reverie of how I lost my virginity to Murtaza. That day, in that rite of passage to womanhood, I got a glimpse of my own sexuality and the depth of my depraved sensuality.