The Corruption of Erica Fernandes 01

The Corruption of Erica Fernandes Chapter 1.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, business-organisations, and incidents are entirely the figment of my imagination and are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to any persons, dead or alive, or any actual events, is purely coincidental. This work is under my copyright. All characters mentioned herein are eighteen years of age or older. This is my first attempt at writing erotica, and I welcome your comments and suggestions. I can assure you that there will be plenty of sex, but it's on a slow burn.

It was the mid-1990s. Erica Fernandes, a fresh graduate, had secured a coveted position as an air hostess with the national carrier. Unfortunately, her joining letter was endlessly delayed. Unwilling to be seen as idle and unemployed, she enrolled in a postgraduate programme at the university while waiting. In a close-knit Catholic community where reputation mattered, appearances were almost as important as reality.

And the Fernandes family had a reputation to uphold in their parish. Since her father's death, Erica's mother had worked hard to raise her daughters and maintain the family's standing in the community.

Erica and her younger sister Nafeesa were the pride of their community. Ever since the family had moved into a new locality after their father's death, church attendance among young men had mysteriously risen. The sisters were the subject of their admiration and, to be honest, their wild sexual fantasies. They were hence adored and even pursued by them despite everyone knowing full well that they were already involved in relationships.

Nafeesa was the more conventionally attractive of the two. Taller, bustier and considerably more daring and sexually liberated, she was dating Ruskin, a rich brat whose family owned several businesses, including a photography studio, a wine shop and a travel agency where he worked. Ruskin was cheery, happy-go-lucky and entitled; a man who was accustomed to getting what he desired. Their relationship mainly involved going on dates at fancy restaurants in South Mumbai, ending in full-on make-out sessions in his car or frantic sexual escapades in one of the many apartments his family owned--or more commonly in his father's office after the employees had left for the day.

Erica, by contrast, was dating Sherwin, a middle-class young man aspiring to become a commercial pilot. He worked irregular shifts at his uncle's factory while waiting for his aviation career to take off. Their dates were modest affairs. Meals at Udupi restaurants, rides on his Yamaha RX100 through suburban Mumbai, sneaking in stolen kisses in quiet corners and by-lanes, where they hoped nobody from their parish would spot them.

Erica, conversely, was also a proud and devout Catholic unlike Nafeesa; and for Erica, being respectable was not merely a matter of personal pride; it was an obligation. She was groomed to believe that premarital sex was wrong and sinful and 'good Catholic girls' should preserve their virginity until their wedding night. However, under her seemingly strong convictions and strict upbringing lay a far more complicated and paradoxical personality.

Her fascination with all things sexual was insatiable. And, though she would never dare to admit it even to herself, she craved it immensely. She secretly noticed and marvelled at men's bodies, wondered about the experiences other women described and increasingly found herself fantasising about intimacy. But whenever these thoughts and feelings became too intense, her religious values took over, and she was back to being 'the good catholic girl'.

Desire was a temptation; resisting it was a virtue. And this particular virtue, she had come to believe, made her superior to women who surrendered to their desires.

Her virginity was therefore more than a personal boundary. It was proof, in her own head, that since she possessed restraint and discipline; that she was therefore morally superior to other women (like her sister Nafeesa), who, in her opinion, lacked both.

Dichotomously, Erica was also fascinated by the art of seduction and the power of attraction. The power dynamics that evolved through this thoroughly enthralled her.

Erica's life primarily revolved around three circles: her university friends, her parish community where she actively participated in organising many Church functions, and then there was Sherwin. Out of the three social silos she mingled in, she felt the most attractive amongst her university friends and gradually started spending more time with them. She would have to be content with being the number two in her church group as long as her younger sister was there.

Erica wasn't tall and busty like her sister Nafeesa, standing at 5 feet 2 inches with a 32B bust and a 37-inch well-rounded ass. But what she lacked in height, she more than made up for it with her natural and effortless charisma.

With a face that seemed sculpted for poetry. She possessed expressive black doe eyes, luscious lips, a sharp nose, luminous light-brown skin, glossy black hair, and an oval head that gave her a feminine, childlike look. But what truly made her irresistible was her demeanour that alternated between gracefully reserve and mischievous playfulness. She knew she was attractive, but she did not consider herself a beauty in the same league as Nafeesa.

This was the early 1990s; India and the world hadn't sexualised JLo and Malaika Arrora Khan's ass as yet. This was the era when the media sexualised, and society idolised, either tall, lanky models like Madhu Sapre and Coleen Khan or voluptuous actresses like Madhuri Dixit or Pamela Anderson. Erica was neither particularly tall nor exceptionally busty. Her well rounded ass, which she was quite proud of; was often ridiculed jocularly as "Donald Duck's butt" by her friends and even Sherwin.

Though she laughed it off, it stung.

Consequently, any furtive glance from even a moderately attractive man resulted in a small personal victory. Her insecurities would vanish momentarily whenever men showed interest. If men desired her despite her perceived shortcomings, then it meant that she had something even more powerful than conventional beauty. She thought.

Lately she had begun to discover a peculiar pleasure in the process of attraction itself.

She had learned that a lingering glance, an ambiguous remark, a teasing smile whilst wearing a carefully picked outfit could allure and mesmerise

The deliberate act of a momentary invasion of personal space, a light touch on the hand just long enough to cross over from the 'friend zone ', was enough to encourage a man to believe he stood a chance. Withdrawing herself just before he became too confident left him confused and yearning for more. The power and control this 'game' gave her made the whole endeavour extremely exhilarating.

This way she could enjoy being desired without actually doing anything that she considered sinful. Better still, she could tell herself that she had remained in control. This little game of wills and wits she played gave her an intoxicating high.

Erica never admitted how much she enjoyed this 'game' so to speak. If truth be told, Erica wanted to be admired by several men, and she also wanted to be regarded as a respectable young Catholic woman. She was however, cognizant of the fact that the same attention from men that nourished her ego could also destroy her reputation.

This was why Mohit's presence would eventually become so important to her.

But before Mohit, there was Sherwin.

Things were not exactly rosy with Sherwin lately either. After four years of courtship, his patience was wearing thin with her stubborn refusal to take their physical intimacy further. The growing sexual frustration that this resulted in made Sherwin increasingly less invested emotionally and more obsessed sexually. He had stopped buying her small gifts, which he did earlier and was visibly more disinterested in what she had to say. A hand job was the boundary Erica had set, and lately their dates had fallen into a mundane routine. Wherein after a perfunctory conversation, he would kiss her, then attempt and try to get to second base by fondling and trying to get her boobs out, which is where he would encounter stiff resistance from Erica. He would eventually give up on his endeavour after he had begged for it relentlessly. He would in the end resentfully settle for the hand job. Erica was by now an expert at hand jobs and would make him cum within a minute or so. Once satisfied, Sherwin would thank her, invent an excuse to leave and kiss her goodbye.

Erica found herself increasingly unsatisfied.

She did not want to abandon her principles, and neither did she want to feel that her boyfriend was using her primarily as a source for his sexual gratification. She wanted tenderness, admiration and excitement. She wanted to feel desired without feeling pressured to indulge in the act. The epitome of her sexual fantasy was to witness Sherwin pleasure himself whilst looking at her, without them touching each other. She could of course never dare to express this desire, though, fearing judgement from Sherwin. She was by now sure that Sherwin was incapable of understanding her desires.

Erica, despite all this, still remained committed to their relationship.

But increasingly, the relationship felt more like a burden she was obligated to drag rather than it being a source of any joy or pleasure.

It was during this period that Mohit Sharma entered her life more intimately. At six feet two inches, fair-skinned, light-brown-haired, with light-brown eyes to go with it. Mohit was no gym freak but had a naturally strong body, which was the result of hard manual labour that he had to perform whilst helping his father, a civil contractor in his business. Mohit was the most attractive man Erica had ever seen.

The Sharma family hailed from Peshawar and had to migrate to Mumbai during the partition. Like most refugee families they had to rebuild their lives in India, and Mohit's dad had done a good job of it.

His elder brother had become a doctor after graduating from Johns Hopkins and was now settled in New Jersey.

Mohit, meanwhile, had taken his GMAT and was applying to universities in the United States. He had enrolled in the postgraduate programme primarily to avoid going onsite with his father and also to prevent a gap from showing in his academics, while he prepared for his next step.

He also earned a respectable income as a photographer and occasional videographer at weddings and birthday celebrations.

Erica was captivated by his sense of humour, his impeccable grooming, his aesthetic sensibility and his perfect English diction; rare amongst non-Christians in those days. More importantly, Mohit exuded a quiet confidence and poise that was absolutely charming and, more importantly, it never transgressed into arrogance or hubris. Although women frequently admired him and showered him with attention, he handled their attention with effortless restraint. Their friendship had grown organically over the past few months.

Mohit knew about Sherwin and despite harbouring feelings for her; respected their relationship; he never explicitly flirted with her or tried to pursue her in a romantic manner. Erica on the other hand, found herself increasingly drawn to him, especially because he offered her something Sherwin no longer did: attentive conversation, emotional composure and the reassuring sense that he could handle himself in any situation.

His European-looking features were a major turn-on to her colonial-conditioned mind, which associated anything Western with sophistication and superiority. Oddly enough, she never recognised the absurdity of this bias.

Erica had started to accompany Mohit on his photography assignments, assisting him with equipment setup and any other tasks that came up. She even convinced Ruskin to allow Mohit to use his studio and the darkroom to develop the pictures for free. It wasn't all out of altruism, though; assisting him in his work with aspiring models and actors came with its perks.

She particularly enjoyed the atmosphere and vibe around the shoots where handsome men flirted with her in clumsy English, and she found their awkward attempts to charm her endlessly amusing.

They were unlikely to get anywhere with her, of course. That was precisely what made the 'game' safe.

With Mohit, she had discovered a freedom and a sense of security that she had never experienced with Sherwin.

With Mohit around, she was free to wear clothes that revealed her toned legs, flaunt her cleavage, give a glimpse of her firm, toned midriff and indulge in coquettishness with handsome models and aspiring actors during their photography assignments; it wasn't just the clothes that carried the allure, though. It was her body language. ~~The seemingly innocent yet deliberate way she moved, the way she walked up to them, invading their personal space for a moment or two, altering her posture to highlight the swell of her modest bosom. Making them more prominent. On occasions allowing them a glimpse of her cleavage, or at times, almost brushing her well-rounded, voluptuous ass against their crotches only to retreat just before any contact, the subtle modulation of her voice, and the play of her facial expressions were all part of her shenanigans. She revelled in their reactions. The whole arrangement was just perfect for her. This way she could enjoy their adoration without worrying about the consequences. Mohit never judged her pejoratively or accused her of inviting trouble. If a man became too forward, he intervened with an assertive look or, at most, a quiet word. He did not need to raise his voice. His physical presence alone was enough to restore boundaries and rein them in.

Erica found this immensely reassuring.

This advantageous dynamic was what made this arrangement so incredibly attractive for Erica.

Erica valued restraint in men because their restraint gave her room to 'misbehave'. She wanted to provoke their desire without submitting to it, to test and push the boundaries without suffering its consequences. She was sure that Sherwin would never understand this dichotomy; neither did he possess the confidence and the physical prowess to manage a confrontation if one arose. Mohit, she knew, could do both.

His presence made her feel protected enough to indulge in this side of her that she otherwise kept hidden. Yet she was careful and never let out how much she depended on his company to indulge in her rebellious impulses and satiate her mischievous cravings.

She wanted to be considered virtuous, not vain; desirable, not promiscuous. Mohit seemed to understand the contradiction without demanding that she explain it.

Additionally, Erica also secretly enjoyed the envy that her association with Mohit evoked.

Boys who had once pursued her now watched from a distance as she rode pillion on Mohit's Royal Enfield. Some resented his looks and physical stature; others simply accepted that he was a more formidable rival.

The girls were less discreet. "'Yahan Ek nahi Mil raha aur Sali do ko ghumharahi hain" (We aren't able to find one good guy, but the bitch is having a dalliance with two), they would complain.

Their jealousy and resentment only boosted her sense of triumph. She enjoyed the fact that she would easily monopolise his time and attention vis-à-vis other girls. The high that she felt from knowing that he would choose her over other 'single' and conventionally more attractive girls was a boost to her self-esteem that she had come to rely on more deeply than she cared to admit.

As she lay awake in bed, she confronted the fact that she had lately been thinking about Mohit more often than about Sherwin. She was planning her days around Mohit rather than Sherwin. This led her to contemplate Mohit as her life partner. He was perfect for her in more ways than Sherwin was.

There was only one insurmountable obstacle, though.

He was a Hindu.

An idol-worshipping pagan!

Her upbringing had conditioned her to only imagine herself with a fellow Christian. A Catholic at that. Why did the one man who made her feel genuinely understood have to belong to a faith she had been taught to regard as fundamentally inferior to her own?

Why couldn't he have been a Catholic? Erica cribbed. She could not answer these questions, so she pushed them aside as she drifted away into her slumber.

To be continued.