Desi Sex Stories A few years ago, I was again deep in that kind of married drought where the only thing getting action in the bedroom was the ceiling fan.
Half a month of radio silence from the usual department, and I finally lost my cool. Wanted to get something real quick. Logged onto those late-night forums on Reddit where people advertised everything from second-hand vehicles and home appliances to practically everything.
There she was, posting the same thing like routine every week:
“33f, resident doctor at a government hospital, currently in my internship year. My workplace has decided to suck every drop of my blood via soul-sucking 24-hour duties. I don’t eat on time and look after patients non-stop. I get a 15-hour break after that marathon. If I don’t get four hours of proper relief, I’ll maybe start talking to the IV stands. I’m bi-curious. I welcome men, women, shemales, any human configuration. Perhaps anyone with a pulse and a hole to penetrate. I’m into Roleplay and bondage. I don’t charge because I’m not a call girl; I have a salary. DM me. Rules apply; we’ll discuss.”
The comment section was a graveyard of unanswered things. I directly DM’ed a simple “Hi” and got a reply so fast I wondered if she had the app attached to her brain. I have her name changed here for obvious reasons.
“Hi. I’m Dr. Pushkarini. Working in the Rural health centre on the outskirts of Panvel. I’m bisexual, with a strong desire. I’m into roleplay and BDSM. Flogging and biting are my personal favorites, but I’m a doctor, so if I damage anything in you physically, I’ll treat it myself and keep it quiet. I’m too aggressive in bed. If you’re still interested, reply with age, sex, location. Willing to travel here? If no, then fuck off! Erect dick picture for men and shemales are a must to proceed. Boobs and ass for the others. Recent negative HIV report mandatory; that’s because I don’t do condoms! You can get the test free at my hospital if you want.”
I answered the first three. Sent the required photo. For the report, I checked local labs; most of them looked at me like I’d asked for a forbidden substance, and the ones that actually did the test quoted prices that felt like protection money.
They won’t maintain secrecy and spread incorrect gossip despite being negative. You’d become the talk of the town soon. So I told her I’d take her hospital option. Might as well meet the woman behind the post, I thought. The next day she replied.
Pushkarini: Meet for the blood draw on Thursday. We proceed only if the reports come clean. Normally I don’t entertain any dick under a foot long and properly thick, but responses are thin this week so I’ll make an exception for you.
Me: That was unnecessarily savage. You said too much.
Pushkarini: Dude, standards exist for a reason, and sometimes the scarcity like I’m facing now forces me to compromise. Do you get it? Be grateful that you’re at least getting somewhere.
Me: My own sex life has hit a similar scarcity. If it didn’t, I wouldn’t have to meet people like you.
Pushkarini: I really liked your wordplay and hope that the rest of you could keep up. It would be very interesting to meet you. Meet me the day after tomorrow, Thursday, on an empty stomach, before 10 am.
This woman had an attitude like it was government-issued!
We met at the hospital. She wore a maroon V-neck scrub that looked like some co-ord set, an expensive Littmann stethoscope draped around her neck, and a surgical mask covering most of her face. Round-frame, thick black spectacles.
She had a slim body, curves hidden under the loose fabric. She made a handshake.
Pushkarini: Hi, Pritty. Is it your first time here?
Me: Obviously. Why would I come to remote villages for this?
I wanted to give a taste of her own medicine with this attitude.
Pushkarini: Dumbo, I’m asking because if you had visited earlier, you might have had a patient case paper. Just take it with my note and get into the lab. No payment needed.
Me: Okay, fine. My bad.
She sent me to the reception for a ten-rupee case paper, scribbled the test order on a hospital notepad, and walked me in. I raised a solidarity point.
Me: Pushkarini, if you need proof stating I’m clean, I want the same from you.
She actually paused as if I said something objectionable. She raised an eyebrow.
Pushkarini: Hey mister, nobody’s asked me that before. Why do you even want it?
Me: Because equality, ma’am!
Pushkarini: You’re stubborn. Good. We’ll have fun.
She wrote a second order. Both of us got tested. Afterward she suggested coffee in the staff canteen. It was free for employees and their guests.
Then her mask came off. Light wheatish skin, messy bun, black eyes. Average height, nothing that screamed overflowing attitude, but the attitude was there anyway!
We talked. I gave the standard introduction – Married guy, dead bedroom version. She nodded as she’d predicted it.
Pushkarini: I’ve been with so many people. With that experience, I already predicted the reason why you wanted to meet me.
Me: Now tell me about you.
Pushkarini: I have a master’s in orthopedic surgery, finishing an internship just for the degree.
She went on. But I was astounded because she said her parents were the sort who had brought a hospital chain into the state and were politically well-connected.
Me: So you’re “the Dr. Pushkarini”?
I said that because her family was well known. I had an influential person sitting across the table, and I’ll be having sex with her in a couple of days. Wow! She just nodded, smiling.
Me: Pushkarini, given the fact that you come from such an influential family, why couldn’t you skip this rural posting and walk into one of your family centers? Very easy for you, right?
Pushkarini: I actually wanted to see the ground level instead of staying inside my closed noble circle. That’s how I will know problems from the grassroots level, I thought. Well, that’s the determination and grit with which I started all this. Now, I’m failing at it miserably and regretting my own idealism!
Me: What do your folks at home say about this?
Pushkarini: Well, they were ready to make a few calls, bribe a couple of officials so I don’t have to go through all this. I would directly get my degree after the final exam results got declared in college. But since it was my choice, I need to fight it out.
Me: That’s oddly admirable, Pushkarini!
Pushkarini: I need to go for today’s sexy meeting (winked). That person might be waiting outside. See you Saturday, only if the reports behave.
We made a warm handshake, and then she left.
Reports came back clean the same evening. She shared both our reports on our chat on the forum. I still hadn’t asked for her phone number. Big mistake!
On Thursday, I arrived at ten. She was running an hour late because her reliever had overslept, and the chief medical officer, which means center head, only appeared long enough to mark his attendance and vanish.
She pointed me to her allotted parking spot. The area we were heading to was too narrow for cars; trucks would scratch my car. So scooty it was.
I sat pillion. My dick, already optimistic, poked her ass the entire ride. She didn’t say anything. Just moved half an inch backward so her ass pressed against it in what felt like an official acknowledgment! We reached a shady lodge.
Me: Are you sure we want to do it here? What about raids? What if people know you? I heard government doctors in rural areas are like small-time celebrities.
Pushkarini: It’s my regular place and the locals trusted Jholachhap (fake private doctors) more than real ones. They know it’s a doctor from the rural hospital, not specifically know it’s me. So the surgical mask is staying on until we are inside the room. And for the guys carrying out raids, they’ve never stepped foot into this village. So shut the fuck up and walk in with me.
I’m thinking, fuck logic!
I paid, and we went inside; her face was already shiny with sweat. I suggested a shower together. She declined and went in alone, emerged two minutes later, totally annoyed since there was no water!
I suggested calling up and asking the guy at the reception. She said it won’t work. Rural India, water is a rumor that only sometimes shows up.
She was lightly moist from sweat with messy hair. She undressed right in front of me, and I followed. She took off her maroon scrubs first. A green camisole, which obviously had her pokies, and panties came off. She didn’t wear a bra. Sexy!
Slim but properly curvy with round, firm tits, a soft and slightly hanging belly pouch. She asked if I was still fine without the shower. I said the water shortage ranked nowhere on my current list of concerns. So we were good!
She laid out the plan with the same tone she probably used for patient consultation. First hour: she sleeps. I get unrestricted access to kiss, lick, suck, and light bites from head to toe, finishing with slow, dedicated pussy work until she cums in my mouth. I should not deliberately wake her up.
I started. Salty skin under a slow creaking fan. She slept with one hand under her head, lickable armpit like an open invitation. I took the armpits first. They were slightly darker than the rest of her body. It was more cactus than expected. I then spent a long time on the tits, soft and heavy in my mouth.
Worked down the stomach, licked the soft underbelly, the hips, all the way to the toes. She laughed in half-sleep when I sucked them, the ticklish kind.
Eventually I settled between her legs and started slow. Long flat licks, building pressure, focusing on the rhythm.
Somewhere in the middle she gasped, her eyes fluttered open, and she shoved my head firmly back down with a quiet ‘don’t stop, Pratty!’
I kept going until my jaw started filing formal complaints. Close to an hour that was!
She finally arched, thighs locking, and came hard with a wet, pulsating effect on my tongue, the kind of release that left a visible mess on the sheet.
We both sat up, breathing, exchanged the usual “that was intense” small talk, then she reached for her bag.
She pulled out and wore a leather corset that barely contained her tits, black frills ending just above the pubic mound so ass and most of the pussy stayed fully exposed.
Next came the rubber stick with a peacock feather on one end, a flat fly-swatter on the other. Then a sparkling butt plug. She sanitized it in front of me with the calm of someone prepping a surgical tray, wiped it, told me to lift my legs, and worked it in my ass. It pained a little.
Me: Why use this?
Pushkarini: When the strap-on comes out later, you’ll thank me. Consider it preparatory dilation for your ass hole!
I was like, strapon? I’m going to get my ass fucked today. Oh God!
Then it was roleplay time. I suggested student-teacher along with punishments for me.
She rejected student-teacher. Preferred her favorite scenario: I was the useless center head who dumped every duty on the resident doctors and disappeared. She was the overworked doctor finally confronting me.
Then she got a catwoman-style mask on. She straddled me, grinding her bare pussy slowly along my cock while the feather traced idle patterns across my chest and neck.
Pushkarini: Why do you put every duty on us and vanish?
I tried replying what I could. I had to; this was a roleplay exercise. My first time, so it was comic for me.
Me: Pushkarini, the system is under pressure, we all…
She didn’t let me complete. The swatter slapped across my thigh.
Pushkarini: Where are you when critical patients face complications, and we need your advice as a senior?
Me: Maybe I process the paperwork.
Harder swat, this time higher.
She gripped my jaw so hard, forcing my mouth into a pout, and kept grinding. At the same time, she listed every frustration: missing equipment, angry patient relatives, the medical officer who only appeared to sign the register.
Mid-sentence, she even spat into my mouth. Thick, deliberate. Then another, aimed at my eye. The grinding picked up speed. She was venting years of clipped wings and systemic nonsense through pure physical dominance, and somehow it was working on both of us.
For me, it was part torture, part thrill. For her? I feel it was therapy because she was venting out her frustrations!
When she hit me, it felt slightly painful in places, intensely arousing in others. She built it for a full hour. Slow circles with the feather, tracing on my chest. Her moves turned urgent, and her breath went ragged, until she arched hard.
We both finished in a sticky, sweaty mess without even having proper penetration until now.
She ordered me to hold her while she recovered, then slowly peeled the corset off. It was saturated with sweat from the inside. She asked how I’d found it. I said unpredictable. Then she pulled out the butt plug.
Pushkarini: The best is about to come. I’m going to record us having sex. Rest assured, our faces will be blurred. This is for my posts on the forum.
I agreed. Like what other option did I have?
She had a mouth guard pushed between my teeth; I was hand-cuffed at my back. She positioned me face-down, ass elevated like a trophy. Legs stayed slightly separated.
The swatter landed in steady rhythm across both cheeks. Then the biting started—neck, shoulders, the meat of my back, the curve of my ass, even the calves. Visible marks left behind on purpose.
She licked a long wet stripe up my spine, then licked my hole with thorough, salivating attention that felt both filthy and arousing.
Without much warning, she wore the strap-on and pushed in my ass. She fucked my ass with the strap-on with urgent strokes. It felt like half an hour of steady pressure that hurt and somehow still kept me hard.
Pushkarini: Pratty, hope this is fine. Not getting too much or uncomfortable, right?
Me: No. I’m liking it.
After some time, she stopped and removed the strap. She flipped me and licked from my collarbone to hip, left fresh hickeys on my neck and chest, bit my shoulders hard enough to leave clear teeth marks. Then she settled between my legs for the blowjob.
She took the head into her mouth with perfect wet heat, tongue working the underside while she stroked the rest. Eyes closed, soft slurping sounds, the kind of focused suction that made every nerve ending give her a standing ovation. I was sinking into it nicely. Then she bit the tip!
Actual teeth on the glans, sharp enough to make me shake and scream hard!
Me: Fuck, Pushkarini, do not bite my dick. Ever again!
She pulled off, giving that low mischievous laugh, and wiped a string of drool from her lip with the back of her hand. Then she went straight back to the proper work—deep, wet, rhythmic suction, no more teeth, just skilled pressure and tongue until I came hard.
She took every drop, caught what spilled on her lower lip with a finger, and licked that clean too! We took a break.
Pushkarini: Most men run away midway. You’re one of the very few to stay. Thanks!
In my head I’m thinking, it was a different experience. Torture at first and then arousing treatment. People who couldn’t endure ran away.
We went again. Her on top this time, she put my dick inside her and started riding with slow thrusts. Then she guided my hands to her tits. I fondled them lightly. Rubbed my thumb on her nipples. She moaned.
Pushkarini: Pratty Harder. Press them till they pain. Be rough on my tits. Let them pain. I want to feel it.
I bit and pressed until she was moaning my name with every grind. Slapped them a bit. She said she liked the improvisation.
Then she cupped my face in my hands, moved close. Kissed me hard with tongues moving. Our thrusting continued until we reached another messy finish. We were moaning and breathing sexily into each other’s mouths.
Despite cumming she continued the grinding. She slowly spat a thick stream of saliva into my mouth when she withdrew from the kissing. It was filthy and arousing.
Then we had one more round. This time with me on the top. She spread her legs, then hooked them over my shoulders for a better angle.
Midway, her nails dug long tracks down my back as we both came, leaving the sheet a complete disaster of sweat and everything else.
I joked that the lodge staff would murder us on sight when they see this mess and think about the cleaning effort. She laughed and said they won’t. People only came here for one reason: that’s to have sexy time.
She asked me to get lunch. I tried ordering Chinese. The voice on the phone had never heard the word; it seems! Pushkarini immediately grabbed the receiver, hung up, and gave me the local briefing: “This is not the city. Say chowmein and maybe they will agree. But I think they won’t have it here. Or ask for thali. They understand thali.”
It was Chicken for me, mutton for her. I went to get it, wrapped in a towel, when the guy came at the door. She was under the sheets. I closed the door and got both our thalis slowly on the bed.
We ate it naked on the wrecked bed, still sticky, still laughing about the water that never arrived and the medical officer who only existed on paper. Four hours had quietly become six.
Me: Pushkarini, what do I do about these aggressive bite marks you’ve left on me?
Pushkarini: Sorry, I got carried away with my aggressive flow (laughed).
Me: You told me you’d treat me if I got injured, right? This is no less than an injury. Also, my wife will murder me if she sees these.
Pushkarini: (laughing again) Pratty, this isn’t too much, okay? (Scribbled a cream name – scar fix something on her prescription pad) You get this cream and apply it now. Let your skin soak it for the time until you reach home. Once you’re home, stand under the warmest shower you can. I guarantee that they’ll disappear.
She dropped me back at the hospital on her scooty. One firm hug, no dramatic promises. I got the cream and applied it in my car.
I drove home with wet memories. I tried contacting her a couple more times. Always booked. So this was a one-off special. Her forum profile sadly got banned under prostitution suspicions. Totally gone! And I hadn’t even taken her number.
Just a few days ago, a video of hers went mildly viral on Instagram. Her hair was shorter, straighter. She spoke with an American-ish accent with a slight South Indian edge still audible underneath.
Tight black glittery dress, empty pub that looked North American. Said she was pursuing a PhD in minimally invasive surgical techniques.
Recently married, informally separated, showing a clear pregnant belly while explaining that her bisexuality allowed her to sleep with women and men outside of her marriage, but her straight husband’s revenge fuck with another woman counted as cheating.
Comment section surprisingly fully on her side. I decided my feed did not need that particular brand of logic.
She noticed I’d liked the video and sent a message. Said she’d moved for better opportunities, would like to catch up sometime, and casually had seen me at a medical association meet just before she left. I had attended it with Anjali.
She knew my wife Anjali because she was also a doctor based in the same district as per her first posting. Same doctor’s association.
I looked at the request for a long moment, then declined and blocked her.
And that was the full, sweaty, my first BDSM play, very unhinged chapter with an eccentric rich doctor who once bit the tip of my dick mid-blowjob, laughed about it, and somehow remains the most memorable 6 hours of pure chaotic filth I’ve ever signed up for!
Hope you’ve liked this story. Let me know your views in the comments below or hit me up at [email protected].
The end!
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