![]() An expanse of the most beautiful, bountiful flesh rises up to meet him-and brushes for the briefest moment against a certain nameless appendage. Her tender caress of his toe is unbearably erotic. She goes up to him-he is standing, in his excitement, pun intended-and bends down to touch his feet. ![]() ‘You are my elder, and tradition says I should touch your feet.’ ‘Er, you see, actually, Indian culture, our traditions…’ ‘Savita Bhabhi? Wow! My God! Er, sorry, what was your question again?’ I thought I should pay you a personal visit to ask you why you have done such a thing.’ ‘Are you the Chief Secretary of Internet Banning in India?’ A stunning young woman, bootilicious, bodacious, mammacious, walks into the room, in a red chiffon saree on which the palloo seems an inadequate afterthought, wearing a low-cut blouse that almost need not be there. The door opens, and the bureaucrat gasps. Sweat gathers on his upper lip he is too lazy to wipe it off. ![]() A pot-bellied bureaucrat in a safari suit sits behind a table on which many dusty files are gathered.
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