The Revenge

Disclaimer: The names of characters and situations occurring in this story are all fictional and any resemblance to any person dead or alive is purely coincidental. The story is purely for leisure reading and the author at any point does not mean to make fun of or degrade any caste, religion or sex in the story. If you think so, it is purely unintentional and the author apologizes for the same.

I had a troubled childhood. And I hold all my relatives, the endless list of uncles and aunts and my neighbors, another endless list of uncles and aunts, responsible for this. My only fault that I can remember was that I was a cute kid, with chubby cheeks, a mop of curly black hair on my head and round plump buttocks.

Whenever these people would come to visit my family during festivals or we went to visit them, I would be put to third degree torture. My cheeks would be pinched, my hair would be ruffled, my belly would be poked and tickled, and if they ran out of ideas my buttocks would be slapped so that it jiggled. And they would all laugh with sadistic pleasure as I would make faces and try to wriggle out of their grip, trying to get away from them.

Soon I reached a point where I was scared to death whenever I heard of a family get together. I started to device plans to escape the torture, wearing a cap to prevent from my hair being pulled or applying too much oily face cream on my cheeks so that people would not be able to get a proper grip on them. Once I even thought of placing a thick cardboard under my pants to protect my buttocks, but all in vain. The torture went on, I continued to suffer and people continued to pinch my buttocks and laugh with sadistic pleasure. But this story is not about my helpless sufferings, it’s actually about my revenge.

As I reached adolescence and hair started to grow all over my body, the tormenters stopped harassing me. But there was one lady, (name not disclosed because it’s classified information) who didn’t stop. She used to live a couple of blocks away from our house and she had befriended my mother at one of our neighbors’ weddings, a few years ago.

She was a good looking, married lady, much younger than any of the other tormenters, and had a nice, voluptuous body. She used to come to our house during the afternoons just after we came back from school and have had our lunch. She used to come to our place sometimes to learn to knit, or sometimes to learn a new cake recipe that mother had tried or sometimes just to chat. And every time she came I had to run for my life.

Sometimes I would hide on the terrace or in the garage but she would call out my name and come looking for me until she would find me. And then she would pinch my both cheeks, pulling me towards her and I would sway too and fro, screaming helplessly. But she wouldn’t stop at that. She would hold my face close to hers and smother me with kisses on my forehead and my cheeks which would leave my whole face wet. Sometimes she would hold me very close and in all the excitement her duppatta would fall off and her huge breasts would be right there in front of my nose, the cleavage showing through her deep neck salwar suit. And it was such an incident that prompted me to take my revenge.

It was actually after my thirteenth birthday when we were newly into our teens and were discovering ourselves that this incident happened. At that time the discussions with friends revolved around the things people did on the first night of their marriage or around the huge breasts of some actress in a new movie or newly learnt jokes on private parts of people. Each time someone would mention a girls body part I would feel a sensation all over my body.

One afternoon this lady was half way through her ritual of tormenting me when she held me very close and suddenly her duppatta fell. I could see her cleavage right in front of my face. And then it happened, accidently my face brushed her breasts, her open cleavage to be exact, and I felt something move in my groin. I pushed her back, turned around immediately so that she was unable to see the bulge in my pants and ran from there. I must have sat for at least an hour all alone on the terrace before the bulge in my pants finally subsided. But all the time I thought about her soft cleavage and realized that I had actually enjoyed the whole thing. I was secretly happy.

It was Holi, the day when I finally came of age. I was on the streets with my friends, putting paint on everyone in sight, when I saw her opening the gate of our lawn and enter. I dipped my hands in dark green oil paint and rushed in front of her and greeted her “happy Holi aunty”. Her face, hair and hands were all red with gulal and her white salwar suit had a few color spots here and there. I could see her cleavage through her transparent duppata. “Happy Holi”, she replied with a big smile, and caught hold of my cheeks. I could see there was some red color on her teeth as well.

She bent down, started pinching my cheeks with both hands, and started to pull me towards her. As soon I reached very close to her breasts, I pulled her duppatta very lightly which she didn’t seem to notice and it fell off her shoulders. She gave one big pull to my cheeks, and I almost fell on her, but I raised my left hand to prevent myself from falling directly into her breasts and my hand, wet with deep green oil paint, landed on her right boob. It all happened in a flash and I don’t know whether it was my reflexes or male instincts which told me to squeeze her breast really hard. I did, and almost immediately removed my hand. She stood shocked for a second, her mouth open, looked at her breasts, her duppatta on the ground and then at my face as I looked at her with my left hand raised and my mouth open.

“Shaitaan (demon)”, she screamed. I ran. She ran after me screaming, “Shaitaan rukk jaa abhi batati hoon tujhe. (Stop you devil, I will teach you a lesson).” I ran out of the house, she followed me. I turned around and saw her running after me in her white salwar suit, tying her duppatta around her neck. And as she ran her round breasts bounced up and down, the right one deep green in color.