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The Body House

Blog and Bodywork for Men

EROTICA by Dyann

All rights reserved for this erotica. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at bridgesbodywork@ymail.com.

Erotica by Dyann

Meet Kamala…

A beautiful, 21 year old Princeton student coming back home to her family’s horse farm on Christmas break. During this time she meets an intense and troubled young man. She’s compelled to get closer to him.

 

Kamala is an intelligent, young woman of Irish and East Indian decent, as well as, a gifted psychic. A good psychic knows you can never disobey messages from your spirit guides or… bad things happen.

 

This is not hardcore erotica (not Dyann’s style) and it’s not romance (definitely not Dyann’s style).

This is sexy, feel good erotica. It’s intended for you to not only savor the sex scenes but savor the characters and their relationships, as well.

As always… Thank you for your interest in The Body House. Enjoy!

 

KAMALA’S MATA & BABA

Kamala yawned and stretched allowing her full bare breasts to slip over top of the blanket. Her nipples tightened in the chilly bedroom air. It was dawn on the first morning of her Christmas break from Princeton.

 

She and her mother or “mata” as she and her brother often called her, had stayed up late talking and drinking shiraz. She was up visiting her parents at the home she was raised in. Despite a slight hangover, she’d awoken before dawn. She lay there thinking, What better time to take a ride?

 

Kamala shrugged on her worn, rugged sheepskin. She ventured to the east side of the house to watch the sunrise, coat open, exposing her ample chest. Her coat was so warm she’d worn just a sports bra and thin white tank top underneath. Kamala reveled in the cold winter air forcing her nipples erect. She loved her breasts. They were full and round. Men loved her breasts too.

 

She navigated the icy old steps to the second floor balcony for what she knew would be an incredible view. Her snug jeans grabbed at her round muscular thighs. She reached the top and gasped. The dawn broke the skyline with spectacular splashes of bright orange, purple, grey and blue. Kamala reached for her chilly nipples and rubbed them gently. She shivered with pleasure. Nature’s beauty made her randy.

 

2000 acres of frosty white mounds of snow lay before her. The property had been in her mata’s family for five generations. The house was inspired by an Irish castle and nearly as old as one too. Built with brick, stone, blood and sweat with no less than two wrap around balconies providing unlimited views.

 

Kamala stood at the railing feeling raw, relaxed and powerful. It had been a challenging semester of pre-med classes, early morning yoga routines and avoiding the not-so-underground current of ivy league depravity. She loved medicine but found little in common with her insolent classmates. Her hard work paid off though. She was top in her class and skipped the dreaded away-at-college-and-feeling-overwhelmed weight gain. She was proud of herself.

 

The commingling feelings of success and winter morning air made her want to come. She was about to unzip her jeans and reach down the front, when movement caught her eye. She turned in curiosity. From between slightly open curtains, Kamala could see the shapely, pale and very naked backside of her 53 year old mother walking toward her father laying in their king sized bed. Talk about an incredible view!



Her immediate instinct was to look away, but something told her to stay. That something was a familiar voice in her head.

It said, “Stay and watch.”

 

It was Esta, her main spirit guide. As a child, Kamala understood she was a gifted psychic. Now that she was a 21 year old college student she knew not to contradict Esta. It was always trouble when she did.

 

Although, she couldn’t imagine why Esta was asking this of her, she obeyed. Kamala stood very still, transfixed on her mata and baba in their bedroom. Her mother was a beauty of Irish American decent. Her father was a swarthy East Indian man. They made a striking, if unusual pair and Kamala had become their voyeur.

 

A breeze kicked up and blew Kamala’s dark auburn hair across her face. No! I don’t want to miss this. For several moments her sight was blocked. As quickly as she dared, she brushed her long, thick hair off her high Celtic cheekbones. She was suddenly riveted by the scene unfolding in front of her.

 

Kamala’s mother was now in her fifties and still stunning. Kamala’s Hindi father possessed swarthy good looks and a quiet charisma. Even after twenty five years of marriage they still had a serious case of the hots for each other.

 

Although she had no sexual feelings for her father, she could understand why a woman could be uncontrollably attracted to him. He was sharp-witted, loyal and totally trustworthy. Her baba had a mental strength to go along with his physical strength. The combination conveyed a sense of protection and authority. Catnip for the ladies.

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