The Unwholesome Adventures of Harita Read online

  A Total-E-Bound Publication

  www.total-e-bound.com

  The Unwholesome Adventures of Harita

  ISBN # 978-0-85715-692-1

  ©Copyright Lily Harlem 2011

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright September 2011

  Edited by Janice Bennett

  Total-E-Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2011 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-burning and a sexometer of 3.

  THE UNWHOLESOME ADVENTURES

  OF HARITA

  Lily Harlem

  Dedication

  To Emmy, for everything.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owner of the following wordmark mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Chantilly: Houbigant, Inc.

  Chapter One

  The Unwholesome Adventures of Harita—episode 166:

  It has been an eventful weekend in my nocturnal world. Saturday night was my first pole performance at Talin’s. The club was overflowing and the air thick with cigarette smoke and the bellow of men’s chatter. During my first steps I was nervous, but practicing paid off, my routine went well and I was pleased with the new black suspender belt. It was sexy and risqué when I spun around the pole then belly danced for the front row of the audience.

  Madan was, of course, there, sipping a drink chock full of ice, and his seductive, brown eyes never left my body as I danced and writhed, swung and twirled. He’d been keen to see this new craze, this new sizzling dance the girls had been talking about in hushed whispers and rehearsing in secret. I’d been even keener to show him, to perform for him. Just one look from Madan is like a thousand caresses from any other man.

  When my erotic performance came to an end, he stood, slammed his drink on the table and stalked to the exit. My heart fluttered, and a lump grew in my belly. Had he not enjoyed watching me coil around the cool, hard steel? I’d caressed it like a lover and been shameless in the way I’d flashed the gusset of my panties to the entire room. I’d even considered doing the routine topless next time, it felt so good, so liberating, to be spinning through the air while everyone watched adoringly.

  I headed into the backstage corridor, keen to get to my dressing room. Just as I wrapped my fingers around the door handle to my room, I heard my name called sharply.

  “Harita.”

  I turned, clutching my chest. “Madan! You took me by surprise.”

  He took three ground-eating paces towards me, his jaw set and his eyes flashing. I couldn’t tell if he were beyond furious or consumed with desire. There was a rise of colour on his cheeks and his fists were balled.

  “What is it?” I asked, pushing open the door and taking a backwards step inside.

  “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said in a voice that was more like a growl than human speech. “Ever.”

  “You liked it?”

  “Oh, yes.” He moved into the small room with me and kicked the door shut. “And I’m going to show you just how much I liked it.”

  His fine-tailored jacket hit the floor with a quiet whump and he tore off his shirt. Between one breath and the next, he’d shifted the contents of my dressing table, bunching them to one side, and lifted my bum onto the cool wood.

  “Madan,” I gasped, gripping his hot, hard shoulders for purchase. “We can’t, not here.”

  “You will do as I say.” He ripped at my thong panties, tearing them from my body. “Especially when you have me about to combust, my sexy little Janu.”

  His eyes were stormy with desire, and lust coiled in my belly. I needed Madan the way I needed my next breath.

  “Unzip me,” he growled. “Take my lavDa into your sweet mouth. Don’t stop sucking until I tell you to.”

  As his kiss threatened to consume me, I dragged at the zip on his pants and released his big, pulsing…

  “Kamini, would you get off that laptop? You have a fitting in less than an hour.”

  “Yes, Mother,” I shouted, quickly hitting ‘save’ and closing down the screen. I would have to finish Harita’s sex scene later. Right now, there were essential wedding plans to organise.

  “And make sure you have something to eat before we go.”

  “Okay, Mother.” I raced downstairs and into the kitchen. My appetite had been waning lately. My upcoming marriage to the delectable Damon was consuming all my energies and thoughts, leaving little time to think of practical matters such as eating and writing.

  Even though we’d met only once, several months ago, when our parents had introduced us, Damon’s soft, intelligent eyes and handsome face had stayed with me. He’d surveyed me from head to toe that first evening, taking in my petite frame and emerald green sari, my flawless makeup and my most dazzling jewellery. Then he’d nodded and shifted his feet. His broad shoulders had relaxed, he’d pulled in a deep breath and a wickedly sexy smile had tilted the corners of his mouth, showing off perfectly straight, white teeth.

  I’d spent the rest of the meeting trying not to squirm. In fact, Mother had frowned at me twice for fidgeting. But it was hard not to when my panties were damp and my nipples tight. Damon had hardly taken his gaze off me, studying me like a starving man who’d been offered up his favourite dish but told he wasn’t allowed to take a single bite.

  By the end of the stiffly formal evening, even though we’d barely spoken, it was clear how compatible we were going to be. The air practically fizzed between us, our desire and lust another live, physical presence in the room.

  It seemed our parents had matched us well in more ways than they’d anticipated.

  And now I was very much looking forward to married life and all the naked fun it would entail. Well, apart from one thing…would I still be able to continue writing The Unwholesome Adventures of Harita?

  No one in the whole of Mumbai knew it was I, Kamini Singh, who wrote the explicit weekly column in Ichchha magazine, a racy glossy for men. It was a secret I’d kept close to my heart for three years now and a wonderful way to explore my sexual fantasies. But could I risk telling Damon, my new husband, about my fictitious alter ego whose sexy antics sold across India? As his bride I was supposed to be open and honest, promise to love, honour and obey and live without secrets or hidden agenda.

  Mmm, it was something to which I would have to give some serious thought. But one thing was for sure, I wouldn’t be letting Harita hang up her suspender belt without a fight, and with a bit of luck my bedroom antics with Damon would give me even more ideas for future adventures.

  * * * *

  Sitting beneath the lavishly decorated mandap in the Siddhivinayak Temple four weeks lat
er, I glanced at Damon again. My new husband was even more heart-stoppingly gorgeous than I remembered. He wore a pristine white kafni adorned with gold embroidery, and I could just make out dark coils of chest hair peeking from the ‘V’ below the hollow of his throat. He still wore the garland I’d placed around his neck several hours ago, and the red and white flowers seemed to have an extra vibrancy against him. They weren’t wilting, they were alive, blooming, flourishing. It was the way he made me feel, too—I was full of hope for the future, our future.

  His gaze captured mine, and once again a rush of heat spread to my cheeks. I was already warm wearing the red, white and gold sari he’d bought for me, but whenever I looked at him I just got hotter—from the inside out. The reason for this was in part owing to the two gold spheres that sat in my pussy. A pre-wedding gift—from him. They’d arrived by courier and been signed for, luckily by me, the evening before, just as the sun was setting and my family were distracted with stringing together floral decorations.

  I’d known straight away they were love balls. Even though I’d never owned a pair, I was well up on sex toys thanks to my online research for Harita. There had been no note with them, just his name scrawled with an ‘X’ on a slip of paper.

  Before Mother had begun to help me dress the next morning, I’d slipped the cool metal between my legs and gently pushed the orbs upwards, inserting them into my warm, virginal channel. I’d lodged them high and secure, so only the little, white string was left protruding.

  All the time I’d been fussed over, made up, coifed and adjusted, the balls had exerted a delicious pressure against a super-sensitive spot on the front wall of my pussy. Several times, when moving about during the day, I’d needed to suppress a shudder as pleasurable sensations threatened to overwhelm me.

  Now, nearing the end of our ceremonial celebrations, all I could think of was Damon’s soft, sensual lips on mine, his tongue peeping into my mouth and his hands on my skin, sweeping down my belly, delving into my panties and finding the string. Tugging, rolling, jostling those balls and increasing the pressure and the pleasure, then pulling them completely out and replacing them with his long, hard cock. Taking me how he wanted me until I screamed his name, and he released his pent-up desire. Surrendering his polite, formal conduct to the animal inside and satisfying his basic needs.

  I exhaled, long and slow.

  Did he know this was the erotic image that rushed through my head as we sat in this holy place? Was it the same picture that rushed through his and made him smile in that sinful way? Did he want us to tangle our tongues? Did he want to touch me down there and discover if I’d used his gift? These were all questions to which I was only hours from finding out the answers.

  I could hardly wait.

  He leaned towards me, his lips by my ear and his warm breath tickling my neck. “My beautiful bride, it is time to feed one another.”

  Touching the sari covering my long, black hair, I nodded and tried to contain the tripping of my heart. He smelt so delicious—lime and spice, bergamot, too. Pulling in a deeper breath, I let the scent infuse my passageways and lie on my tongue like the most exquisite incense I’d ever encountered. If he were such a treat to my nostrils, what on earth would he be like to actually, physically taste?

  Heaven wrapped in paradise?

  I studied the smooth flesh of his neck and the cords that led down beneath his shirt to his shoulders. The texture of him fascinated me—I’d never explored a man’s skin before, and to know soon I would no longer have to use my imagination was an aphrodisiac all in itself.

  Smiling shyly, I opened my mouth and allowed him to place honey and yogurt on my tongue. The gentle gesture was intimate and familiar, and despite our parents, his twin brother, my sisters and all our other relatives and friends watching, I became lost in his swirling, chocolate gaze, transfixed by the hunger I saw there—a hunger I suspected was for more than food, a hunger that would require satisfying…soon.

  Willing my hand not to shake, I offered him the same four bites, as was tradition, and studied the way his tongue lifted from the base of his mouth to take the sweet treat. It was thick and moist and the tip was pointed. I had to clench my thighs as my aching pussy clamped around the balls with more gusto than at any other moment during the day. I’d written many times about Harita being loved intimately by Madan’s mouth, described it in fine detail from my imagination. But would Damon want to do that to me? And if he did, would he be good at it? Would he plant hot kisses over my feminine hair, swirl my clit with the tip of his tongue, dip into my entrance and tug at the ball string with his teeth?

  I shivered and tried to conceal the erotic shudder, but it was too late. Damon had seen it. The carnal tilt to his lips told me he knew exactly what had been happening inside my body.

  Sweat moistened my cleavage, and a flutter of nervous anticipation grew in my stomach. I had a feeling that beneath his charming exterior my groom was oh, so bad, and losing my virginity was going to be oh, so good.

  * * * *

  I turned as Damon stepped into the kitchen. Finally, we were alone together. Alone as man and wife in our new home.

  “Tum Sada mere sapno mein rahti ho,” he said, stepping up close and taking my hands in his.

  “And you have been in my dreams, too,” I said, looking down at his thumbs as he traced the intricate henna pattern spread over my palms. “From the very first moment, I knew we were right together.”

  He lifted my right hand to his cheek, spread out my fingers and pressed my palm over his lightly stubbled flesh. “You let me sit down first,” he said. “During the ceremony.”

  Absorbing the heat and sweetly sharp texture of his skin, I nodded and wondered if he were now going to ask me about the love balls.

  He didn’t. Instead, “You conceded to me being the boss of our relationship very easily. I had anticipated a more modern approach.” He grinned. “A scuffle for equality.”

  “I am your bride, your wife, I will do as you ask. Obey the same way my mother, my grandmother and her mother before that have.”

  “Oh, Siyàra,” he said, the endearment as sweet as sugar to my ears. “In this marriage I wish us to discuss our lives as two adults joined together in a team. You have a college degree, a job, you are respected and your opinions sought after. If I were a man who had no regard for your input, it would make me very foolish indeed.” He turned his head and pressed a kiss to my palm. “And I would hate to be considered foolish, most of all by you.”

  It was the first time his lips had touched my body. Like an electric shock, the current of pleasure shot up my arm, across my shoulder and settled in my breasts.

  “Then that is how it will be,” I managed, though my throat was tight and my mouth dry. Nerves were simmering in my belly, clamping my pussy, but desire burnt hotter. Desire for my husband was the overwhelming emotion.

  “We will plan together when to start a family, how many children we would like, how many hours you wish to work. I intend to be a thoroughly modern husband to you, Siyàra, and give you the control over your life every woman should have.”

  “And for that I’m very grateful.” A spark of hope grew that I would be able to tell Damon about Harita. Perhaps he would prove modern enough to understand that his wife had a character in her head who liked to flow onto the screen and entertain thousands, hundreds of thousands, every week with her saucy shenanigans. I hoped so, because one thing was for certain—I couldn’t give up Harita. But, equally, I wasn’t sure how well I would be able to keep her a secret. I’d created quite a dilemma for myself and had absolutely no one to turn to for advice.

  “But there is one thing.” His face became deadly serious, and a muscle flexed in his jaw.

  “Go on,” I said, worried as to the cause of the creases ploughing across his forehead.

  “There is something about me you should know.”

  I gulped. What if he wanted a marriage in name alone, for appearance sake, and was not interested in consummating
until the decision to have children had been made? What if the love balls were in place of his cock?

  He dropped my hand and rubbed his fingers to his temple as though soothing an ache. “I…I hope I do not shock you, but there is one thing I am going to ask of you. One thing I have to ask regardless of whether or not your answer is yes. It is not something we could have discussed before the wedding, but I hope with all my heart you will find understanding and consider the possibility of what I am about to say…of what I am about to ask.”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean. Understand what?”

  He turned and faced the drawn curtains. I studied his wide shoulders and broad back. The white material of his kafni stretched between his scapulas and hung down past his bum, skimming the base of his lean thighs, just above his knees.

  “Damon,” I said, anxiety welling in me. What on earth could he need to ask that had him so on edge? Did he know about Harita? No, impossible. “Damon, please, just tell me? Is it about the gift—?”

  “Kamini,” he interrupted, “I am a kind man, I go out of my way to help others and I’ve never intentionally hurt anyone physically or emotionally, I would never even step on an ant.”

  “But of course, Damon. I know your gentle nature from my parents.”

  He turned, and his gaze snared mine. “Kamini, what I am trying to say is I want us equal in all aspects of our lives except for one.”

  I hesitated. “Go on.”

  He pulled in a deep breath, as though summoning courage. “When we step into the bedroom, I want you to obey me without question.”

  My knees weakened, and I hitched in a breath. His words sent a thousand scenarios through my brain. I might be a virgin, but I was incredibly well read.