The club gets new premises and has its first sexfight – Indian Fuck Club

It was 2 weeks after the Indian women tested themselves against Anupama by trying to find out who could make her cum the most. (See the 2 previous stories in this series). I was driving a minibus with the 14 Indian women who were present then and now were the founding members of the Subcontinent Railway Station Sex Club. We were on the way to evaluate an unused warehouse in Rockbank, a far west outer suburb of Melbourne.

Dhriti, a 21-year-old from Indore and cousin of Nabh, the prodigious cummer, had an uncle who was willing to rent it to us. As I drove on further and further from civilisation I was humming the Talking Heads hit, “Road to Nowhere.” It fitted perfectly. The mini-bus was filled with the excited chatter of the 14 Indians who ranged in age from Saanvi the 56-year-old mother of the captain of the Indian Tertiary student cricket team I coached to the 18-year-old private school student Vanya. Eventually, we reached the warehouse.

It was an old double story ex-farm barn and the promised parking lot was simply a truckload of gravel sparsely scattered over the grass. The women got out of the minibus. Gone were the cotton Salwaar Kameez they had worn that night. Now they tottered on their newly purchased high heels and tight wore belly exposing silk saris with a halterneck or string choli, an overtight exotic anakarli suit or a western night club dress. The restrictive nature of their new outfits hampered their progress over the muddy uneven ground. The exception was the 18-year-old Vanya who in her Year 12 school uniform, having wagged school for the day.

Dhriti opened the door on the ground floor and we all flinched. Pallets of old broken Indian cooking utensils and out of date ingredients covered the floor. Discarded wrapping and broken packets lay everywhere. And the rotting. sour smell. It had to be experienced to be believed. “We could clear it up and clean it,”‘ Kyra hesitantly ventured after a long pause. Dhriti replied unconvincingly, “Its not this. It’s the upstairs floor.

I think that is better from my uncle’s description and he only wants $400 a week.” There were stairs at the back and I sent Navya, the 200 pound plus aunt, up first before I would trust myself to step on those stairs. We went up and the silence from the women as they entered was deafening. It faced us: an empty, dirty, dark room with walls covered with graffiti.

Rotted floorboards complete with used condoms, broken glass from the shattered windows, old empty MacDonald food containers, stale rotten food, and the remnants of fires completed our visual inspection. It wasn’t pretty but it had a toilet. Yes, the room corners had dried urine pools and what I hoped was only Rocky excrement. Then the smell hit us and we staggered downstairs and luckily the staircase didn’t collapse from the surge of bodies.

The women were distraught, but I managed to say that I had located another building to visit, and surely it had to be better. Downhearted they got on the minibus and I drove the now subdued group to High Street Northcote, a trendy suburb about 7 km from Melbourne’s CBD. I pulled up outside a double fronted three-story building in the main shopping street strip.

Northcote dated from 40 years after Melbourne was founded in the 1850s and this building was from the 1920s in an art deco style. It even had an original granite face stone on which the engraving proudly stated I Wright Purveyor of Fine General Merchandise Since 1921 Downstairs was currently occupied by a seller of reproduction Edwardian fittings for the now trendy, expensive renovated houses in that area.

By : asiansexfight

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