Sauce*Box 21: The Frangipani Grove

The Frangipani Grove
by Modesté Balthus

was hurriedly putting the finishing touches to my hair when the servant girl, breathless and panting, dashed into my room to announce that my father had returned with our new house guest. I waved her off, delirious with the thought that I was that much closer to indulging in that indescribably wicked pleasure from my childhood.

I looked at the mirror on my way out, pleased with my reflection. I wore the traditional Kerala attire of understated elegance; a gold-bordered, cream-colored, ankle-length silk wrap, worn sarong-style and a matching figure hugging top which accentuated the thrust of my bosom and left my lean midriff exposed. The only jewelry I wore were a single string of tiny gold beads, two thin, gold bangles and a pair of ear studs I have had since my ears were pierced as a month-old infant. The servant girl had tucked my defiant curls into a bun and adorned it with a single strand of closely-woven sweet-smelling jasmine buds. It was a ritual I tolerated only because I had to present myself before my father when he was entertaining a guest.

My brisk footsteps traced the familiar path along the wide inner corridor overlooking the shady central courtyard of the 200 year old family mansion. In no time, I arrived at the living room where we normally received our guests. I was accustomed to seeing a steady stream of writers and scholarly types from all over the subcontinent, visit upon us. My father, a novelist of ample repute loved to entertain and engage them in conversation. Some, inspired by the tranquility and peace of the countryside, graciously accepted our hospitality and remained with us for weeks to complete their works, soaking and drinking in the atmosphere. In this instance however, I was more anxious to get over the formality of serving tea well before sundown so that I could make my escape, the planning of which had consumed the major part of the day.

Unfamiliar sounds of loud, thunderous laughter greeted me as I approached the threshold of the living room. I quickly concealed my surprise as I stepped into the dark, earthy warmth of the living room, the interior of which was built mostly from the wood of the ubiquitous jackfruit tree. I tried not to stare at our curious looking houseguest, our first foreigner, a Caucasian of fair skin and hair that appeared to be many shades of brown. I quietly appraised his handsome built and was struck by the color of his skin. It almost glowed against the dark, woody interior of our living room. I stood politely by the door and grew slightly uncomfortable as I sensed the weight of his intense and piercing stare. His blue-green eyes reminded me of precious stones I had seen on display at the jewelers. His handsome face reflected a youthful exuberance and belied a naughty, playful streak as it creased into a generous smile in my direction. I instinctively dropped my gaze and receded into the shadows as my father made the introductions. I was quietly frustrated at not being able to catch his name, it was a short name that simply rushed out through my father’s lips, a monosyllabic blurb that seemed incomplete compared to the familiar Malayalee names my ears were accustomed to. I did however perk up when my father explained that our guest had arrived all the way from Norway, land of the Vikings and the fiords. Geography had always been my favorite subject in school and I had a fascination for maps, people and culture. I glanced at him again with this new knowledge, my fertile imagination briefly conjuring images of him in armor and a horned helmet, with a wild mane of hair and unkempt beard and the fierce countenance of a brutal warlord. A stern stare from my father interrupted my thoughts and reminded me of my duties.

I hurried into the adjoining kitchen to see to the preparation of tea and in no time returned with a tray of savory plantain crisps and two stainless steel tumblers of steaming hot South Indian masala tea. I served our guest first, stealing a fleeting, closer look at his face and this time noticing his luscious red lips nestled in the thick, brown fuzz of a short, trim beard. I was close enough for a split second, to almost feel his breath on my face and felt a strange tightening knot of arousal in the pit of my being. I served my father next and it was then that I noticed the object of my desire lying unceremoniously near his feet. It was wrapped in newspaper and tied together with criss-crossing lengths of cord....the gift my father had promised to return with. My father smiled as he picked up the bundle and handed it to me, signaling my dismissal with a wave of his hand. I clutched my precious cargo and sped for the door. Our guest looked on in amusement while my father summoned the male servant, instructing him to lead him to the guestroom which overlooked the backwaters.

I noted with some anxiety, the approaching colors of dusk and almost broke into a run, tugging at the pins that held my hair in place and leaving a trail of jasmine buds in the wake of my footsteps. I eventually managed to free my hair which immediately rendered my spirit buoyant and effervescent. Tendrils and tendrils of wild, untamed curly black hair tumbled luxuriantly around my face and shoulders. I headed for the secluded side gate of our walled compound and in no time arrived at the frangipani grove where I had planned to enjoy my childhood ritual in solitude. I had arrived at the secluded playground of my innocence, where dreams were dreamt and tears shed. It was an enchanting place and by the time I arrived, the amber rays from the late afternoon sun were sneaking through the feathery palm leaves and casting a ghostly spell on the scenery. The air was thick with the heady tropical fragrance of frangipani blossoms abundant on the trees and sprinkled generously on the damp, springy ground.

Wasting no time, I did what came naturally to me amidst such quiet and haunting beauty. I peeled off my clothes and threw them in a heap on the grass near an ancient tree with its gnarled branches and roots. Completely nude, I stretched my limbs and reveled in the child-like thrill that suffused through me, allowing the rebellion of youth full expression. Somehow, it felt natural, almost elemental to be nude amidst such breathtaking beauty. I sat on a bulging, exposed root leaning back on the trunk, and tore open with gusto the wrapping of my bundle and with growing excitement, finally unveiled the heavy fruit. One whiff of the fragrant fruit and I was immediately transported to the days of my childhood and the secret decisions I had made about the consumption of that particularly rare variety of mango. It was no ordinary fruit to be consumed ordinarily. I believed that the only way to relish it with passion and ceremony was to eat it, skin and all, while naked and let the juice drip and flow over bare skin. It was to be a deliciously, tactile experience, nothing less.

I closed my eyes as if in meditation, took a deep breath and punctured the speckled, yellow-gold skin with my first bite of the fruit. I smiled gleefully as thin jets of the yellow juice squirted all over my face and dripped down the corners of my mouth and chin. The taste of the fruit was just as I remembered it, the sweetness was celestial and the texture resembled that of custard....it melted deliciously in my mouth. I lustily chomped huge chunks of the meaty fruit and watched in fascination as the juice drained down the soft, undulating curves of my breasts and abdomen in little rivulets that merged and separated at various points on my golden-brown contours. Much of it dribbled from my chin and formed a ticklish, meandering pathway through the valley of my breasts towards my navel where they collected in a little yellow pool.

I was in a blissful state of contentment until I sensed a stirring in the bushes behind me. I sat up and froze as a pair of pale, hairy masculine arms curled around me from behind and grabbed my wrists locking them in a firm grip. The fingers of both my hands dug deeper into the flesh of the half-eaten mango in an instinctive bid to prevent the precious half-eaten fruit from slipping off. I felt the warmth of the intruder's body as he leaned heavily on my back, his bearded face pressed close against the side of my own face. I knew it was him, and the realization was swiftly accompanied by overwhelming feelings of shame, anger and outrage. I tensed my muscles and tried to twist my wrists free as he mischievously whispered 'Aren't you going to share this with me? After all. I helped your father make the choice at the market in town'.

Against all attempts at resistance, he stubbornly guided my hands, still gripping the pulpy mass, to his mouth and bit a huge chunk of the flesh. I looked on in disbelief and watched, transfixed as cascades and cascades of juice and pulpy debris dribbled down his bearded chin and bathed my left shoulder and breast. I could not believe his audacity and yet was mesmerized by that rare and compelling sensuality that he exuded, that curious charisma that I was finding so hard to resist. His fingers loosened their grip on my thin wrists and glided over my chest, nonchalantly grazing my nipples and causing me some embarrassment as they burgeoned in response. I was rudely reminded of my nudity but just as strangely, thoughts of resistance faded and was replaced by a heart-thumping excitement as his inquisitive fingers gently examined my left nipple. I held my breath as he traced the stark outline of the coffee-colored areola, running his finger over tiny glands that occasionally studded the boundary. He was genuinely absorbed, his juice-soaked, beard dipped over my left shoulder, as he fingered the swollen raisin-like nub that crowned my nipple. His ministrations were relentless as he twisted, tweaked and pinched the turgid berry between his fingers. I relished his touch quietly and sunk deeper into the cozy hollow of his embrace as he continued to roll the swollen nub between his fingers, his other hand gently, cupping the fullness of my other breast. I succumbed to his sensual touch, feeling the wetness welling in the secret spaces of my sex.

He lifted me effortlessly and placed me sideways on his thighs. He was seated on yet another bulbous root from the same gnarled tree. My suspicions were soon confirmed as I faced him there at the grove for the first time. He was naked too, his torso, the perfect picture of raw masculinity and vitality. I nuzzled against his expansive chest in wordless submission as he silently traced patterns of whirlpools all over my juice-stained breasts, smearing the liquid all over my caramel colored skin and leaving a searing path of arousal in its wake. Cupping my face in his roomy palms, he brought his warm lips to mine until they sealed tight. Our tongues reveled joyously within, writhing and twisting in a crazy tango of mounting passion. His hand in the meanwhile slid down, softly caressing my abdomen and lingering tantalizingly in the wispy curls of my pussy. Scurries of pleasure raced through my body as he firmly grasped my thigh and parted it slightly to gain access. My body arched upwards instinctly in gentle urging but he teasingly didn't go any further. His hands instead, hastily plucked the forgotten pulpy mass of mango from my relaxed, unguarded clasp I watched curiously as he squeezed the remaining flesh on the almost nude seed and then to my horror, threw it to the ground. I sprang instinctively from his lap to retrieve it but it was too late...It fell to the ground and rolled a short distance away, gathering around it a coating of sand and grit. I was to be denied my final orgasmic pleasure, that of sucking on the seed. I turned around to confront him but my anger soon subsided as I watched him, totally engrossed in a strangely arousing ritual. My eyes widened at the sight of his beautifully constructed penis which had soared into a thick, purplish column that emerged from a dense nest of brown hair. He was grasping his swollen, glistening erection and slathering it with mango pulp and juice. I was spell bound by its throbbing magnificence. The mushroomed head looked enticingly rosy and deliciously moist. His blue-green eyes twinkled and smiled at me in wicked invitation as he surveyed my full frontal nudity with appreciation. Dense with desire, I craved oral gratification, having lost my mango seed. Entranced by his tempting offer, I knelt between his strong and steely legs and buried my face almost instinctively into the warm nest of his crotch. I was immediately intoxicated by the nice, male scent that was to be him, distinctly him. I nuzzled against the tumescent hardness of his cock, branding its entire taut and turgid length with searing little kisses. I reached below for his writhing sac, eventually coddling it within my cupped palm. I licked his swollen, quivering shaft in one long sweep of my wet tongue from the churning sac upwards, tasting the sweet mango juice on it. I painted a few more lashes of my tongue up and down his penis before I finally sealed my lips tightly around the pulsating circumference of his engorged penis head. I let my tongue swirl silkily around the moist, bulbous head imprisoned tightly between my lips and occasionally flicked teasingly at the puckered orifice at the tip where I tasted the exotic combination of salty-sweet pre-cum and mango juice. I looked up just in time to catch a low moan of pleasure escape his lips as I repeatedly took the entire length of his organ deep into my throat pulling it out through my pursed lips and occasionally halting to set my teeth gently on the flesh .

His eyes were closed in near delirium as I quickened the pace and increased the suctioning pressure on his throbbing organ. Unable to stand the tension any longer, he urged me to halt and release his tortured organ. I pouted as I watched the wet, succulent fruit of his sex slide out heavily from my reluctant lips. He grasped me beneath my arms as he would a child, and lifted me, positioning me back on his lap with my legs splayed apart on his parted thighs, facing away from him. I rested back on his chest again, my body slightly limp from the excitement and my exertions. He wrapped his arms tight around my petite form and kissed my temple. "Relax, sweetheart, you’ll be fine" he, whispered reassuringly as his breathing slowly returned to normal. The back of my knees were hooked over his parted thighs, and I soon became deliciously aware of my pussy lips, peeling apart I felt the cool sensation of air as it kissed the moist, secret flesh of my pussy as the folds of protection spread open slowly. I shifted slightly with the awareness and as if in tune, his embrace tightened around me. He peppered my neck with a shower of little nips, distracting me, as his hand skimmed down to my pubis. I closed my eyes in resignation, and waited, my thoughts swirling in a whirlpool of confusion and excitement. His first touch seemed decisive. I bolted as I felt his finger dip into the silky fluids at the distal end of my slit where the plump labial folds met close to the small of my back. "How did he know", I wondered thinking of all the time I had spent in the privacy of my room with a mirror, touching and discovering myself. I had always observed that my pussy lips would swell to a congested tightness closer to the distal end, and that when viewed from the back, with my knees tucked to my chin, this part of my sex that peeped through the twin cheeks of my buttocks resembled a juicy, ripened peach when aroused. He lodged his finger deeper between the folds and I mewled, writhing sensuously in the cradle of his lap.

The mood however changed drastically as his finger dragged stealthily upwards along the fluid-filled groove of my slit. The muscles of my limbs coiled instinctively in preparation and in a burst of reflex energy, I writhed, twisted and turned, my arms flailing in an attempt to escape. He shrewdly pre-empted my response and wedged the length of his lower arm across the span of my knees, preventing them from snapping back together. I pleaded, "Nooooooooooooo….please don’t touch me there, No…" stretching my body taut , but even as I was saying the words, my body was speaking another language which he seemed to understand better. "SShhhhhhhhhhhhhhh’, he admonished, nibbling the side of my stretched neck, "you’ll be fine. You’ve played with yourself quite a bit, haven’t you?", he chided as his finger continued its determined advance. My limbs were locked in taut, tension with my toes curled inwards in expectation. I was hardly breathing when his finger made its first contact with the swollen knub which in the past had me coming like a fire-cracker with a single touch. Its over sensitivity had always puzzled me. I moaned and twisted in a waning attempt at escape but he caged me in a tighter embrace as his finger circled the swollen base of my cream-coated clit, tapping it gently from its protective sheath. "One day, I’ll make sure you learn what it’s like to have it sucked", he chided lightheartedly in an attempt to lessen the tension of the moment, "and then", he continued teasingly, "you’ll be screaming for more". My tense muscles eased slightly with his repetitive ministrations on the swollen epicenter of my sweet torture. "Easy", he hushed, his breathing heavier as he slowly rose and dropped his knees on the soft, cushiony grass-covered ground. I was still pinned against him, firm arms wrapped tightly around my slight form in embrace. He knelt on his shin, thighs wide apart and allowed his hand to drop between my own parted thighs which were resting above his. Reaching down, he grasped the stiff stalk of his erect manhood and rose upright on his knees. "Easy", he whispered almost inaudibly as I squirmed and whimpered with expectancy, "I’ll be gentle", he promised as he poised himself, his arm firmly wrapped around my waist, while his other hand positioned the wet knob of his organ against the pouting folds of my labia. I winced, feeling the firm nudge at exactly the same spot where the congestion, the swelling of arousal was greatest. I closed my eyes, and held my breath as he carefully eased my weight upon his swollen erection and at the same time sustained a continuous upward thrust into my virgin snugness. I felt myself open and engulf him, eventually cocooning him fully in my impossible tightness. A rush of air burst out of my lungs as I gasped for breath. The snug collar of my vagina unaccustomed to the intrusion, began to pulse with a growing urgency. I flopped over his tense, muscular arm, like a rag doll, overwhelmed by the intense and powerful sensations erupting from our fusion. And then, almost impulsively, he lifted me off his lap, pulling me off his erection and turned me around to face him, arranging my limbs in a comfortable straddling position. I faced him, my lips pouting instinctively for a kiss. Our lips locked in a passionate exchange as his hands, in febrile haste, positioned me accurately to receive him again. My whimpers were lost in our kiss as he drove the rock-hard length of his cock straight into the steaming, wet entrance of my hungry pussy plugging it deep inside me again. I felt the searing heat of his large hands as his fingers curled around my hips in a vice-like grip that anchored me firmly to where we were fused. His fingers dug deep into the small, tight cheeks of my buttocks, massaging and separating them while he skillfully propelled his pelvis upwards, wedging his balls deep into the cleavage of my derriere. His thumbs in the meanwhile spread the creamy moist folds of my pussy in a feverish search for the hooded apex of my sensations, my clitoris. He rubbed it luxuriantly until the erect, angry knub of sensitised nerves set off a throng of sensations that drove me wild with desire. I ground and churned my pelvis against his pubis, bucking and thrusting in wild abandon as his hands reached for my breasts, squeezing and kneading them. I felt my energies ebbing, flowing inexorably towards my loins where the muscles of my sex were pumping and clenching in the throes of a massive, mind-blowing orgasm that triggered his equally explosive eruption of warm, molten semen, roiling and spewing frenetically into my hot, suctioning depths.

I collapsed on his chest, and sunk into his warm, protective embrace. We lay entwined as the last rushes of release emptied themselves and the quivering, palpitating spasms of our fused organs ceased. A satiated peace returned to our exhausted, sweat-drenched bodies. as the cloak of darkness descended swiftly upon us. A stray breeze drifted through the trees, ruffling my curls with their rushed kiss before returning the grove to the haunting stillness of a surreal painting.

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