But until noon nothing happened. I cursed my luck when the doorbell rang. I ran and quickly opened the door. She was there standing in a white Punjabi dress. I let her in and closed the door. When I turned around she was standing right there facing me. I swallowed in nervousness, gathered some courage and pushed her against the wall near the door and kissed her on her lips. She pushed me away instinctively and slapped me hard. I was embarrassed and taken aback. I looked down wondering if I had rushed in. My cheek was stinging from the slap.Then I slowly looked up into her eyes again. This time I don’t know what came over but we both pounced on each other smooching and hugging. With her in my arms and engaged in a wild passionate kiss I moved her to the bedroom. We both fell on the bed kissing and feeling each other. I threw her dupatta away while kissing and pressing her boobs and ass. She moved her hands on my chest and back and slowly moved to the front towards the zip of my jeans.. Not one man lived who could identify the family of languages hers belonged to, let alone understand what she was chanting. But if Lameya’s speaking voice sounded like a toned-down orgasm, then her chanting was an orgasm multiplied by itself a thousand times. She squealed with delight, gasped from blends of pain and ecstasy, wailed like a cat in heat, and moaned with horrified satisfaction.These senses hit the gentleman’s brain more strongly than the taste of blood in his mouth, or the sharp pains in his still-gripping knuckles, or the buzzing sensation in his aching penis, but neither sight nor sound could compete with the inferno unleashed in his brain by his sense of smell.The thin, almost imperceptible smell of molten wax from the candles was suddenly quite apparent to the gentleman. The cloying scent of lilacs hit him, sending its purple-sweet tendrils up his nose and directly into his brain where they writhed and wriggled, making sure that their presence was known. Stronger.
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