Mostly beauty changes with time and weather. Sometimes — beauty carries her own weather with her. She tranquilized the evening, as Sneha walks into the hotel lobby. The dull golden of the setting sun submerged on the dusk of her cheeks with the silver of clouds. She blushed looking at him—and everything exploded crimson.
Pawan rushed holding her in his eyes, Sneha was in a stylish outfit of loose top, only expressing the overwhelming curves and skin-tight pants at her narrow waist—groin, upper thighs loosening into pleated pants, embodied with frills. A loose multicolor scarf was encircling her head, shoulders and breasts. The scarf was never a part of her regular dress, but she preferred it today, to see her ex-boyfriend, Pawan. It was just a casual lunch date, yet Sneha ensured that her dressing didn’t convey any expectations, all she wanted was to see him, for once- after long years.
His heart skipped a beat and another as she approached him. Despite that modesty in her dressing, Sneha had turned out to be a beautiful princess of the Mysore dynasty, augmented with her dark eyes and fairly dusky skin. Pawan, recollected with uncertainty whether she is looking good now or before with her conservative sarees, where only the tightness of wrapping would squeeze her curves, her lovely figure with full bosom and shapely hourglass frame.
Her scent filled his head, triggering memories. The entire decade flashed in front of his eyes—from the first meeting of their eyes to their rueful parting. It was a more affectionate friendship, then a romantic love. When Pawan first proposed to her, she neither accepted – nor rejected, but she hung out with him. It was more out of her sense of insecurity in the University campus where a goon union leader was up for her panty. His relation with Sneha was yet far from a platonic attachment. Their bond was just calm, friendly, and foolish enough, more emotional than carnal. He always wanted to marry her—and perhaps her too. Somehow Pawan always had this feeling of not being her instant choice.
“Hello Sneha…!” Pawan waved his fingers in front of her eyes. “I’m here.” His lingering gaze and twinkle of adoration in his eyes were enough admiration of her charms.
Standing against him — Sneha was also gapping into the vacuum. The past seemed as a candle at a great distance: too close to let her quit, too far to comfort her. How sad, and bad yet mad it was – but then, how it was sweet. She shivered—his voice unfamiliar to her as if it was coming from an acquaintance of many years.
“Hello Pawan…” Sneha giggles. “Good to see you.”
They sit, surrounded by glossy tables in the luxury dining hall of Marriott. Her hands started shaking. Pawan noticed. “It’s just lunch.” He smiled, assuredly.
Sneha nodded, trying to dab her glistening forehead with the back of her finger. She let herself really look at him for the first time. Time- cruel time had taken anything, a lot of his charms and a handful of his hairs—leaving with more fats. He still looked handsome.
Pawan reaches across the table for her hands. He smiles, and Sneha sees the boy she once was to marry — in the man across from her. She shakes head and sits on her hands in hopes they’ll stop shaking.
“So glad to see you, Pawan,” Sneha broke the uncomfortable silence between them. “It’s been 10 years since we last saw each other?”
“Eleven,” Pawan smirked.
“Any good in adding an extra year of agony?” probed, Sneha, looking away.
“Let’s talk about pleasant things,” said Pawan. “How is marriage?
“Almond,” Sneha sighed, “a bitter almond.”
“Do you love him?” Pawan leveled her with a frank gaze and waited for her to speak. When she didn’t, he asked, “Do he love you?
“As much as you love your wife,” Sneha giggled, leaving his hand.
“But, we were really in love.” Pawan also dodged her question. But, somehow, his question sounded like a newsflash.
“We’re young, Pawan…” Sneha smirked, “Probably we didn’t know what love is.”
“And yet, we were in love!” Pawan gleamed.
Sneha shrugged. “You were my best friend Pawan,” said Sneha in a husky voice, her eyes heavy-lidded with affection. “You’re the only friend I’ve waited most in my life to meet again.”
“Oh, so what about all of those kisses and sex?” Pawan tried to gleam, but the sparks in his eyes faded into moisture.
“We only kissed once, Pawan,” Sneha corrected him with a little blush.
“Do you still remember our kiss?” he probed, gazing into the air, like he was re-playing that kiss. “Was it your first kiss?”
“How can I ever forget it, Pawan?” Sneha smiled feebly. “That was when dad caught us, and everything changed.”
“Was it your first?”
Sneha blushed—then flushed, as if something bitter had soured her memories.
“I thought it was your first.” Pawan’s voice trembled; as if something had died inside him. He rested his forehead on the table for a moment.
“Are you crying, Pawan?” Sneha exclaimed.
“No…” Pawan rubbed his eyes. “It’s just really in this. This biryani is really spicy,” he gestured to the untouched food between them.
They both laugh, which suddenly made her cry, too.
“Why are you crying?” he asked. “Do you miss me as much as I miss you?”
“I miss my youth, Pawan!” Sneha mumbled. “I’m crying because it is always my hope that I’ve romanticized the past. I’m crying because I’m reminded of the pain I feel—in losing my husband, despite living with him.”
“I thought something better would come along,” said Pawan, his voice sounding like a sob.
All at once, she had no idea what she actually expected from this encounter. She had no plan for what she’d do or say after she’d found Pawan; something like, Hi, I keep missing you and then they’d have a laugh at their awkwardness, and it would break the ice, and… Then what?
“Why are we here, Pawan?” Sneha probed, and with a shrug. “We’re not here to make a scene on what we couldn’t be.”
“So what you were expecting?” Pawan asked, whipping his chubby cheeks.
“I just wanted to see you Pawan…” Sneha said, staring at him, as if she is absorbing his looks, to never see them again. He had become an emotional masochist, and for so long, she got hurt by association. “I’ve seen — and I must go now.”
“Stay,” Pawan pleaded, and reached across the table for her hand. “I want to kiss you one last time.”
Her hands have stopped shaking now. Sneha finally knows what to do with them. “Never to see again?” She asked in a low but shrill voice, gathering her pochette.
“Deal.” Pawan still agreed, readily. “But please give me a parting kiss.”
Sneha didn’t want to go to his room—but somehow she was convinced that Pawan was just too harmless. She couldn’t see a MAN in him anymore—who could hurt her or harm her—or even intimidate her. As if there wasn’t any hope left in him—but she still didn’t want to hurt him, taking a mental note of never meeting with him, she moved to his room.
True to expectation, Pawan wasn’t very demanding, he showed her his family album, gifted her an expensive watch and perfume and then his eyes and hands held her as fast as if he’d cradled her face with his hands.
“You still love me…” Pawan cajoled himself, fluttering eyelashes. “Don’t you?”
“I better go now, Pawan.” Sneha said, with a dejected face, and nuzzled him. “We’re not her to dwell on these things.”
Pawan quickly wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her closer. His lips found her closed lips. Her belly clenched, and a warm glow settled between her legs. The smell of his perfume was soothing, but there wasn’t a manly scent about him. Pawan just smelled like Ravi. Sneha pushed him harder away from her.
“First you keep your wife happy.” Sneha whispered, without realizing it may embarrass him.
“I’m not a stereotypical bull, frankly…” Pawan pouted, and began kissing her neck, her chin, her cheeks, and then he nuzzled his lips with her—with baby softness. “But, she is also modest.”
“Oh-fu…” Sneha rasped. It wasn’t a sound of moaning, but it was a frustrated gesture. She had actually discovered in a matter of few minutes — what she couldn’t in a decade with Ravi. Now it was clear what has bothered her most with her hubby—it was this sensual cheesiness.
“Please, Sneha, I want to see what I’ve lost. Just for once.” Pawan murmured against her neck. “I don’t want to die without knowing how beautiful you’re.”
“Hey, buddy,” Sneha probed, narrowing her eyes. “What’s going on with you?”
But somehow his emotional card had worked, as she gave in to his lips again. Pawan kissed her all over — his lips baby-soft caressed her eyes, her cheeks, her chin, and when his lips pressed on her closed lips.
“Enough Pawan, please…” Sneha forced a smile. “Let’s not part again in bitterness.”
“But your soft skin tastes so sweet, baby…” his soft whisper caressed the back of her neck, as his fingers rubbed gently on the back of her neck. He placed a soft kiss on the column of her neck as his hand lowered to her heavy breast. “You know all those years, I’ve been wondering what you hide here?” He cupped her breast, lightly caressing his palm without applying any weight.
“You would have seen, Pawan…” Sneha blurted out, her face flushed. “Only, if you had the spine to stand my parents.”
“We can still marry, Sneha?” Pawan murmured, against her throat.
Both the soft entreaty and his ridiculousness somehow mellowed here. “‘m not modest like your wife,” Sneha giggled.
“Then why didn’t you marry that Bull?” Pawan said, frowning at her. “What was his name? The thug of our college?”
Sneha glowered at him, shaking her head, her crimson face suddenly turned orange on her chin, and she glanced away. “This is unbelievably mean, Pawan.” Sneha hissed in a low tone.
“Oh, baby,” Pawan said in a pleading voice. “I’m really sorry. I was just…” he reaped his arms around her in a conciliatory hug. Clearly his hands reached to her bra hook.
His fingers trembled as he unbuttoned her shirt. The sight of her white bra cupping her golden breasts almost sent him into cardiac arrest, still not quite believing that this was really happening. His voice trembled with emotion as he moved to her ear and whispered, “Please, marry me.”
Sneha squeezed her eyes shut. Her resentment, and anger had vanished, she felt nothing but a pity for him. Somehow she felt these angel lovers of her — her husband, or Pawan, has just evolved selfishly in reverse gear, over the years. Somehow — for the first time in her life, the naked darkness of that college goon appeared far more attractive than the meanness of these masked men.
“Pawan…! What are you doing?” Sneha’s voice was high-pitched, as she realized his fingers on her bra-hook. “I still don’t want to slap you. Please, don’t.
Pawan didn’t move. She rose a little, and her shirt slid down her round shoulders. “Did we agree on a kiss?”
His head sweeps up in a little panic. “Okay, just one last kiss, please,” he whispered. His lips played across hers, his tongue running along them before he pulled away just barely and searched her half-lidded eyes. “I’ve everything now Sneha, money, business, everything to keep you happy.” His fingertips brushed the bared skin above her bodice in teasing strokes.
“But, wealth has turned you cheesy, Pawan.” Sneha whispered back, and a ghost of a smile crossed his lips, as if she was thanking the almighty for not putting her with him. “I shouldn’t have come here.” Sneha pushing him off realizing his fingers on her bra-hooks
“It’s a tricky one…!” Pawan giggled, fumbling with the bra hooks. “Just a minute, please.”
—-
“This room… 210?” Suddenly Sneha heard a loud manly voice from outside the room.
“What’s your room number, Pawan?” Sneha probed, there was something so lethally lurked in that voice that a shiver of fear raced down her spine.
“I was going to ask, what your bra number is?” Pawan giggled, finally unlocking her bra hook. “36 C cups seems like a punishment here.”
Startled by the expression of stupidity on his hopeless face, she suddenly broke off. “I’m serious, Pawan…” Sneha hissed, and her hand instinctively moved, feebly covering her fulsome breast. “What’s your room number?”
“Yes. It’s 210.” Someone replied from the other side of the door, before Pawan. “Your hunt is here,” the voice added, with a laugh.
“Lovely…” Sneha again heard the roaring voice. Her face turned pale and pushing Pawan from her body, she crawled swiftly to the other end of the bed, pulling the creamy colored bedspread over her seminude body.
One furious kick from outside, and she saw the door flew open, stopping hard against the wall with a loud thud. Sneha covered her tearful face under a feeble camouflage of a thin bed sheet. Stunned, Pawan watched two well suited men enter the room.
“What the fuck…” shouted Pawan, throwing her bra towards Sneha. “How dare you guys enter my room?”
“Well, who cares about manners—with a porn footage in hand, huh?” The fat manager hooted. “A soft-core porn, though.”
That sounds vaguely like a threat. It’s not vague, and it’s not a threat. It’s clearly blackmail. Pawan shivered, releasing they were recording his love making with Sneha. Instinctively his gaze wandered in search of a hidden camera. His unaccomplished eyes return to that fat man. A badge on his coat declared he was QQ Qureshi, the GM of the hotel—in full command here.
In his 50s — and Qureshi looked so. Pawan could see his eyes shining through like he was behind vines. It was all black, no gray. There was no color in his face, where his face showed; it was white; not like another man’s white, but a white to make a body sick, a fish-belly white. Pawan shivered.
“No. Mr. Qureshi… you can’t blackmail the guests here…” Pawan shouted on top of his lungs, desperately reaching out to his cell. “I’ll call the security.” But, he froze, watching a policeman entering the room.
“Hahaha…!” both managers laughed, like happy fountains in a cave. “Here you’ve it.” Qureshi’s suggestive voice pointed towards the police officer. “The best cop of Bangalore.”
“You guys are messing with the wrong person…” Pawan mocked them. “You don’t know my father-in-law is a police commissioner.”
“The commissioner would love to know…” said the policeman, bending down to pick Sneha’s bra from the carpet, “…that his son-in-law got killed, amid licking, someone else’s wife…”
Pawan suddenly collapsed on the lush carpet. Like a failed soldier he covered his eyes. “Please don’t drag my family into it…!” he pleaded, through tearful eyes.
“Save your ass then.” the inspector rebuked, putting her bra in his pants pocket and his gaze turned to Sneha.
“What do you want?” Pawan tried to get on his feet, “Money?”
“Money too…” giggled Qureshi, offering a hand to Pawan in getting up. “How much do you’ve?”
Under the thin bed sheet, Sneha’s bare shoulders slumped at Pawan’s surrender. Somehow, she knew in her heart that they’re trapped too deep in this to find a decent exit. With each footstep of that policeman, her pulse increased. She clutched the bedspread cloth tight around her. As she uttered the words of the prayer, she glanced up at him through the thin fabric. He stood very tall, nearly seventeen hands high.
Sneha’s bugged eyes watched him approaching her, even when she didn’t want to, his closeness suddenly made her unusually and keenly alive—alive the way a knife is sharp. So that the humiliation she was enduring was perfect, like the paring of skin from a hard apple.
The police inspector sat on the edge of bed, and before Sneha could jump away, his long arm lingered, wrapping around her bare back—like an anaconda, he dragged to his lap.
“Leave me, you devil…” Sneha’s voice sounded like a howl of agony beyond words, primal and wordless. Still she couldn’t avoid feeling like sitting at the tip of a volcano, as the long, hard length of his erection pressed into her butts. In her feeble attempt to escape his grip, she was rather grinding over him.
“Please leave her…” pleaded Pawan. “Sneha doesn’t deserve this humiliation, please.”
Pathan swallowed her scream—his cry, like a rock. “She isn’t getting what she deserves…” Pathan slipped his hand inside the bed sheet. “She is getting what she needs.” While his one hand savored the feel of her bare midriff, the other also slipped inside the bedsheet, and a brutal squeeze completely disfigured her oval navel.
Sneha pouted, but his hand kept sliding up until the heels of his hands brushed the sides of her breasts. To her bewildered dismay, she felt a responsive ache inside.
“You’re going to burn in hell, bastard…” Sneha snarled, low in her throat—angry at him, angry at herself. Her back arched, volunteering more of her breast into his palm. “You’re going to get caught. At your trial I’m going to request the death penalty, for this torture.”
“Why hanging…?” He retorted, and with a swift precession he cupped one of her breasts, and it vanished in the bucket of his palm, “When you can kill with a slap.”
Being topless—escape wasn’t an option even for Sneha. She squealed helplessly, keeping her eyes tightly shut, her body shook with suppressed sobs and tears flowed down her cheeks. His warm hand moved to her other breast, crushing the flesh in his hands, his thumbs roughly rubbing her nipples into erection.
Her teeth sunk deep on his wrist, on the back of his hand, she scratched his forearm with her fingernails—but all in vain. His grip on her breast grew even tighter, like he’d choked the blood supply.
Never in her life had anyone squeezed her breasts, half hard as this. Never ever she felt such intense physical pain — shockingly her fulsome breasts had ever savored anything that much. Her nipples grew like bullets under his palm. Her grip softened over his wrist as she tried harder to resist this pain, the sweet-bitter pain of restraint.
“Why you’re hiding like a bride, huh?” asked Pathan, his voice taking on a seductive tenor. Then he rubbed the back of his palm over her nipple and areola, using her drool to lubricate them. Then he started rubbing her nipples, softly, tenderly, provokingly—making them ache for a rough pinch — but he didn’t.
“Pawan, please stop him, ahhh,” Sneha wanted to scream, but what came out from her mouth was a feeble moan.
“Seems like we’re in an assembly of her lovers…” Qureshi giggled, “Some have become hopeless pimps,” he patted Pawan’s shoulder, “some heartless cops.”
“Aren’t you the same Pathan, from our college?” suddenly Pawan probed. “So this is about her, huh?”
“Did she, Pathan? Really?” Qureshi asked with a quizzical smile, and waited for his reaction. When Pathan didn’t, Qureshi turned to Pawan again. “Did she really slap this bone-crusher?
“He was just a rowdy punk then.” Pawan wrinkled his nose.
PATHAN…!
When Sneha heard — the name struck her like a bullet. No more she could stay veiled under the bedsheet. Her face emerged from behind it, and she looked at him, like a bride would look at the groom, for the first time, from under the draping veil of her saree.
She frowned, recognizing him instantly. He was older of course — it was getting on for a decade since she’d last seen him, force Slapped him — but he had changed little. Same dark hair, razor-sharp cheekbones in a well-defined face, and the devilish smile. Everything was there — little refined with age.
“Hey bitch…” Pathan rambled, staring into her deep eyes, while his hand moving to the back of her neck, bunched her hair in his iron fist. Despite the roughness of his grip and the command of the situation he was in, Pathan couldn’t stop a silly grin on his face.
Sneha vividly remembered the flat black color of his eyes the last time he glared at her—the color was striking against the background of his sunburned skin and his curly hair. Today, his eyes were a completely different color: a strange ocher, darker than butterscotch, but with the same formidable tone.
“Want to break peace… huh?” he smirked and his other hand on her breast drew her closer to him. She could feel his increased heart rate and hear his ragged breathing. His mouth released a soft and warm breath — caressing, teasing and threatening her lips. And she held her own. Shocked and startled, Sneha looked away, as if wishing away that kiss hanging between them, a deadly sweet promise suspended in time.
“Please slap me, Pathan,” Sneha pleaded, her cheeks burning red as she looked at all of them watching and eagerly waiting for the spectacle. “I slapped you, and you can slap me. But let me go, please.”
Technically, she should have cried in this situation—but pretty contrastingly, a rare sense of unknown and unstated excitement gripped her lips to curl into a faint smile, on the idea of being slapped. Fuck you sadist bitch.
“Look at me…” Pathan slurred, “I’ve better ideas, to settle the score.” He lowered his lips to hers, and unlike she’d anticipated, unlike she’d known with Ravi or even Pawan. His kiss wasn’t sweet and soft, but demanding and sure — sucking her both lips in his mouth.
“Leave her you bloody thug in disguise…” yelled Pawan, smacking his palm against forehead. But, he dared stepping closer to stop Pathan.
“Or at least allow her to breathe, Pathan,” Qureshi giggled, taking their picture on his cell phone.
Feelings so long buried that Sneha thought they’d passed out completely. Breathlessly, she made a reflex gesture to push him away, but as she felt the warm, hair-dusted backs of his hands—she sighed in his mouth. Sneha couldn’t seem to stop herself from exploring the shape of his long bones, the hard angles of his wrists. His fingers flexed around her round breast, like a cat kneading his paws, and she moaned in his mouth, only to allow his tongue to plunge and explore her mouth.
“See her tongue…” Qureshi slapped Pawan’s ass, playfully. “She’s kissing back. So why roasting?”
Pawan’s reluctant gaze spots Sneha’s sweet little mouth, lost and locked with Pathan’s hungry cakehole. The rage he felt, the jealousy that another man was touching his girlfriend had floored him, already. What Pawan felt one seeing her tongue on Pathan’s tongue—was something so unique that Pawan had no name for it. He gasped feeling a throb between his legs.
“In fact, you don’t even love her, so calm down, Pawan,” the cunning Qureshi pointed toward Pawan’s erections. “He who is not possessive isn’t in love.”
Pawan had never felt so embarrassed before. He looked away, but Pathan kept doing what he was good at. Stuffing Sneha’s mouth with his fat tongue, Pathan depended on the kiss, licking her throat with the tip of his tongue. He tasted in her mouth, like tobacco, with a hint of tea and sheer, raw lust. Then his strong fingers closed around her hardened nipples and pinched them until she was at the tipping point when pain and every sense of repulsion diffused into an unheard pleasure.
Sneha could feel every nuance of his fingers pressed against her skull, felt the tug of her hair through his fingers, felt the swelling of her breasts in his palm. Suddenly she burst into heat, inflamed at the places he touched to engulf her and make her weak. Sudden spurt of heat burnt regions in her brain that regulate critical thinking, self-awareness, and rational behavior and she went mindlessly into the kiss, into a loathsome carnal passion.
“Someone call the police…” Pawan shouted in a soundproof room, for which he had paid extra. “Some other police…help.”
“Why do you like a policeman with her only?” Qureshi mocked. “Why not a doctor, or someone else?”
Pawan slammed the floor with his feet in a helpless jealousy recalling all of her resistance to kiss him. Sneha hardly smooched him despite his romantic plea, and here she was letting Pathan to explore her panting mouth, resisting only with her little velvety tongue, wrestling with his rampant tongue and teeth.
Sneha was but lost, She had never experienced anything like this kiss before. Pathan’s demanding mouth seemed to have a suction pump inside. That was extracting, blending and slurping her saliva-even her breath, leaving her limp and pliable against him. An eternity seemed to pass before he lifted his head, and then it only seemed that he’d risen for desperate air, even his eyes were closed, like he was smiling in a dream.
“Pathan…” Sneha breathed his name aloud, and a dim part of her mind wondered if she was asking him to stop or asking for something she couldn’t even define. “Leave me, you rascal.” As the tip of her tongue took a trip down the palate, she hated herself, for still tasting like him, for trembling, and for wanting more. A crimson blush crept all over her face, despite his eyes being squeezed tight in some dirty dream about her.
Pathan released her hair, as if her words slapped him awake — while her own dreams were drifting. He released his hold on her, and slowly, his mouth curled back into a grin. “Don’t blush bitch, when you hate me,” Pathan mocked her before his head fell on a pillow, letting her head fall on his broad chest.
If his heartbeat was hurried and heavy—hers was ragged and chaotic, curbing another moan, Sneha looked around through the curtains of her long eyelashes, and three spectators, standing around the bed and watching her. Sneha quickly covered herself with the bedsheet. She was half lying over Pathan—like a kinetic toy between his magic hands. She was fretful and blushing with embarrassment at the helpless position she found herself in but he couldn’t escape half-nude moving. Finally, she raised a hand to her seared lips—they were bleeding.
“Cummed, huh?” Qureshi teased her with a big smirk.
Sneha didn’t—couldn’t—say a word to these vultures; she just buried her face under the bedsheet, and using every ounce of force in her body, pushed Pathan off the bed.
“She is bleeding!” Pawan screamed, the sour expression on his face, was quite revealing that it was not empathy but it’s something else that is turning him mad. Jealousy.
“You loser, Pathan…” Pawan yelled. “She slapped you—because she loved me, and now you’re taking it to me. You’re a loser, Pathan.”
“You were a mere coincidence in her life, Chutiya,” Pathan rebuked, pouncing on Pawan. “Yes, she hated me, because I wasn’t what this bitch wanted. I was what she needed.”
Pawan looked at Sneha with eyes wide open, and somehow her silence spoke volume in confirmation to what Pathan was saying, “Sneha?” But then he rushed to hide behind Qureshi.
“Come inspector Pathan…” Qureshi calmed Pathan, “Love is an offence in crime. Be practical here.” Then patting on Pawan’s cheeks, he added; “You leave them, and better worry about your ass you’ve only two options, Pawan.”
“Options?” Pawan asked, feeling so embarrassed for his cowardice was exposed so nakedly in front of Sneha, but he couldn’t risk messing with Pathan. “What options?”
“Either your family is going to see this footage or call your wife here,” Qureshi’s voice matched the callousness of his face, even what he spoke playfully, “I know you’ve a few cucky fantasies.”
“WHAT?” Pawan asked, with his Nepali eyeballs popping out of their sockets. “Why drag my wife into all of this? Please. I’m giving you money.”
“Money alone isn’t good enough…!” Pathan declared.
“Please, don’t bring my family. I’ve kids.” Pawan fell on his knees, at Pathan’s shoes. “Don’t ruin my life—I didn’t slap you. She did.”
“Sneha is mine. Forever.” demanded Pathan. “No word about her will go out.”
“Done. I’ll give you the money…” Pawan sighed, “Please let me go. Sneha is on her own.”
“See bitch…” Pathan pulled her hair so roughly, like he would root them out from her skull. “You preferred this sissy pimp over me.”
Sneha didn’t even look at Pawan, as if — now he was nothing to her, just a lesson in time. She wasn’t even looking at her captors. Somehow her mind had paused, like it’s making a new connection, one that brings high emotion of either joy or sorrow. This evening of shocks had brought a quietness within, a moment to feel her emotions change gear and girder her soul for what is coming. Next moment she felt herself unexpectedly on a platform, the train approaching—realizing that this time the destination was not a choice.
“Let’s come with us, Pawan boy…” Qureshi tossed Pawan’s shirt at him. “Time for some online banking.”
“I’m sorry Sneha…” Pawan mumbled, wearing his dress, “It’s one grave here—and two bodies. So one of us has to sacrifice.”
“Get lost from here, asshole…” Pathan rose from the bed, and slapped Pawan so hard that he lost his hearing for a few seconds. Pawan almost ran away from the room, and managers followed.
“By the way Pathan…” Qureshi stopped at the door, “My offer is always on. We can always share both — money and her.”
“One more word about her, and you won’t see the sunlight again, Qureshi,” Pathan roared.
“You know, inspector Pathan… there’s nothing personal, in business,” Qureshi objected, removing an imagery wrinkle from his coat. “So, better don’t ruin things here.”
“Business…?” Pathan roared, pouncing on him, and in the next moment Qureshi was hanging in the air, with Pathan’s firm grip around his shirt collar. “She isn’t your business. She is mine?”
“You’ll regret this day, Pathan…” Qureshi shouted through his cough. “My one call will strip you from this uniform, you know that, boy.”
“And my one call will strip you from this skin, Qureshi,” Pathan mimicked the threat. “Don’t even think to harm her shadow, and you just keep your pimping business.”
“Done. She is your KEEP…” Qureshi conceded, “But, don’t come in our business again.”
“I’m out of your pimping racket.” Pathan nodded, dropping him on the floor, and Qureshi just scampered out of the room.
Sneha was shivering under the bedsheet, and it was pretty astonishing for her that Pathan had gone that far to claim her. It was like another revelation about her inability to judge the people. Day-in—day-out, she has to make decisions at the workplace, based on her assessments of situations and people, and never once has it occurred to her that trash can be a place to find a jewel.
Pathan didn’t come to her on the bed, but started moving in the room impatiently, like he was grappling with something. Sneha did not know if the worst was over, or it hadn’t even begun. The room felt silent like a grave for a while, except the sound of her heartbeats.
Her mind had already moved past those early stages of shock and grief, and subconsciously she had surrendered to the fact that one or other vultures would exploit her vulnerability in this compromising state of her. She was still but very depressed, and her mind still shut to move to that beginning stage of what if? What if her husband finds out? What if she informs him? What if she jumps out of the window, what if Pathan really loves her?
The last question of her subconscious shocked her, and she looked at him. Pathan had moved to the window, gapping into dying sunlight. She felt more anxious, as he wasn’t even moving to feed that painful silence that stood between them as a wall, and she didn’t know how she would survive on the other side of this wall, when he would tell her—his demands, his wish list.
The silence was so chilling, yet pregnant with all possibilities. Every second, another streak of silver glows: parentheses, exclamation points, commas—a whole grammar made of light, for words too hard for them to speak. Her heart was pounding like a prison against the prison bars. Nothing around her was making sense, and everything seemed equally threatening-his silence too.
“Come here, bitch…” finally Pathan demanded, sitting on a chair. “I promise, your husband will never find what a whore you’re. But you’ve to be one. The best one.”
Pathan’s voice broke the silence, like smashing a glass, and his words also murdered a faint hope that was surging in her. Somehow, very irrationally though, she had begun to count on his humility. He had but unnerved her now. He was jeopardizing years of her self-control and discipline and reduced her to the quivering semblance of a frightened child. However, no more she was a naive girl. She had to respond to these threats and personal emotional humiliation, or the scars from it would haunt her to her grave, forever paralyzing her along her path to discover her true potential in life.
“An eye for an eye…” Sneha whimpered, lowering her feet from bed, “I thought this is what your religion taught.”
“No religion teaches this, bitch…” he roared, “But you rejected me, because I was Muslim.”
“That’s not true…” the alacrity with which she interjected was quite telling of her honesty. “This isn’t the truth. It was you, an evil, and it’s you, and what you do is evil.”
“Yes. I was born as an evil and I’ll die an evil.” Pathan spitted, and a rare shade of sadness in his voice drew her to think that even monsters do dream of fears and wants.
“Will you let me go, after taking your revenge?” Sneha looked into his eyes for the briefest of moments. The fire in his eyes could have consumed an entire forest. Dropping her eyes downward, she tried to steady her trembling fingers. Her question was spontaneous, since she had no choice but to obey, still she felt embarrassed by her own words.
He didn’t even smile or speak, he just kept his eyes focused on her, and then suddenly he sprang from the chair and started moving in from here to there. Pathan was losing himself, of this he was certain. He’d bargained his soul for revenge and loathed himself because of it. Where was the honor in this? He yearned to hear her whimper; he ached to feel her yield to him willingly. He knew Sneha had the power to redeem him, and Pathan very much wanted that redemption. He wanted her love, but he couldn’t conjure how on earth Sneha would ever love him.
His grappling with destiny allowed Sneha for the first time to look at Pathan, as the silvery aura from the window fell across his stature. Somehow, in the course of a few minutes, this vulture had swooned her, and then terrified the hell out of her.
He looked good, like sin in a uniform. Time had certainly robbed his boyish innocence, but only to turn him into a perfect balance of danger and charm, he was dismaying, yet — utterly attractive in an enticing and forbidden way. It made her think that perhaps that’s why the villains were always ugly in books and movies, because if they were attractive — if their looks matched their charm and their cunningness, they wouldn’t only be lethal—but too irrespirable, like him.
Suddenly, Pathan stopped moving, as if he had come out of whatever he was grappling with. Their gazes locked again, briefly. His eyes were dark, fierce, demanding. A whirlwind of panic swept through her as Pathan stripped off his uniform shirt.
She switched her gaze to the floor, but not before she had seen how large and formidable his body was, his torso heavily muscled, his chest covered with soft curly hair. His big-framed body was clearly built for destruction rather than romance. He was a man who made a woman feel safe, and at the same, extremely insecure.
“Get nude and come here…” demanded Pathan, tossing his shirt away. His demand perfectly met her fears about him. Before Sneha could move away, with a rough flex of his arm, he pulled the bedsheet, exposing her seminude body. His swiftness and act both were so surprising, that Sneha could hardly cover her fulsome breast.
“Just show me what a good whore you’re…” demanded Pathan, sitting again on that chair. “You can go then.”
His command both degraded and terrified her. Gritting her teeth, Sneha forced herself to obey, taking one step, then another, the fine Iranian carpet prickling beneath her bare feet, as she removed her pants. She knew— Pathan could see everything: the flashes of ivory skin, and the shape of her body. Her panty still encased the delicious triangle between her pencil legs. Her face burned as she stopped before him.
Pathan sat like a statue. His faint smile had died away, and he set aside the wine bottle as if his fingers had become nerveless. He barely seemed to breathe as his gaze swept from her feet to her eyes. The room no longer seemed cold, but Sneha continued to tremble under his burning gaze.
From her docile posture, she was using every ounce of self-control to keep from bolting. She looked like an angel in hell, with slender arms wrapped tightly around herself—her long black hair gathered in a dark shining stream over her shoulders, cascading down to her panty.
“Drop your hands…!” Pathan demanded sternly, but couldn’t hide the excitement in his hungry gaze.
“You think because you can humiliate me, you can control me?” Sneha probed, glaring at him, her eyes enormous. He noticed they were dark as night, the sort that picked up whatever darkness was near.
Pathan wore a strange expression, as if he was insulted, enraged, and amused all at once. “You’ll live this humiliation until you become an addict of my Muslim cock.” His voice sounded raspy this time. “So, it’s all on you.”
The air between them seemed to crackle with challenge. Sneha’s heart began a swift, heavy thudding, its rhythm resonating all through her. Her composure was further shaken when gave her a smile that held a disarming, self-mockery. “See, my patience isn’t limitless… unlike my authority.”
Sneha was awash with emotion she felt incapable of handling. His anger and quest for revenge she could take, it made him much easier to hate. This man was completely blackmailing her. He may rape her raped her, abuse her in the worst way possible—and yet she felt from him a tenderness that was more dangerous than anything else she’d expect.
Did he want her complete surrender? Would he not leave her one scrap of dignity? Or would he strip her as emotionally bare as he had stripped her physically bare? She couldn’t find that answer, she just gasped:
“Tell me what to do?” Sneha surrendered, the words blowing against him. Her gaze dropped to his boots, and her pencil legs trembled, the sense of degradation within her causing her to shake so violently that she could barely put one foot in front of the other. Yet, she dropped her hands peevishly, as if she knew; there is no hope in this pig. “But ruin me fast. My husband will be home soon.”
“Take off your panty”, he demanded, hoarsely, as his gaze sweeps over her fulsome breast, and lingered over those bullets of her nipples. Now that she wasn’t running from him or terrified by him, he realized, there is a streak of wild quirkiness that made her dazzlingly attractive. Pathan felt a smoldering heat begin in his groin. He couldn’t ever remember wanting a woman like this, craving the feel and scent and taste of her with every fiber of his being.
Their gazes met, and a wry grin twisted his lips, “an eye for an eye, huh?” he probed, staring between her tightly closed legs. “So you want to settle it with spanking?”
“Please stop it…” Sneha said with a snort. Her hand reached to her panty, and lifting her legs, one-by-one, she lowered her panty, and threw it — at his face.
Her naked glory had already captivated Pathan so deeply, that he was too naïve to be offended by that contemptuous throw of panty. From her deep eyes to polished toes, everything was worthy of an ode. But, like every wonder of nature, he just sat there, speechless, motionless — stunned and dazzled. His body hardened with a savage, unfamiliar need.
Sneha stood there, her face blushed and flushed. His long and lecherous scrutiny, the way curled, licked and bitted his red lips, on every curve and mound of her body, and flickers of flame in his dark eyes, and top of all — his silence was making her feel like she isn’t only an object of his lust, but also a subject. No man had ever looked at her that way, as if he could eat her with his gaze, as if he wanted to possess every inch of her body and every flicker of her soul. Sneha had never felt so ashamed before – Never had she found herself so adorable, as she did — against his hungry gaze.
“Don’t look at me like this,” Sneha wailed, despite knowing that she is at his mercy, but she felt, if one more second he won’t blink his eyes — and she will be ashes.
And Pathan blinked, with a grunt. He started roaming around her. Sneha closed her eyes. At once his sexual appetite grew, erotic desires pouring into his mind, into his cells, flooding him with images of taking her in every way possible, of having her whenever, wherever he wanted. Pathan had never thought about the things he would need or want from a woman, but she roused dark passions and an edgy hunger in him.
She closed her eyes and felt his breath, his gaze and his hands wandering all over her body— now playing with her nipples, now tugging the lobes of her cars. Now, his thumb running down her spine and now grabbing the hips from behind. Now soft, small and docile — now hard, rough and aggressive.
Drowning in guilt and fear and desire, she tried to push his caressing hand away from her throat. His fingers delved into her hair with a grip just short of painful. His mouth was close to hers. He was surrounding her, all the strength and force and maleness of him, and she closed her eyes as her senses went quiet and dark in helpless waiting. Sneha felt an intense urge to moan and rub herself against him, but she held herself, tight-lipped, eyes-shuts, knees closed, till she sensed him moving back on that chair. Sneha looked at him agitatedly.
“Show me…!” Pathan demanded, sniffing her panty.
Her tearful eyes widened, inquisitively. He laughed at her bewilderment.
“Show me. How you pleasure yourself.” Pathan repeated, pocketing her panty into the holster of his police revolver.
“What?” her beautiful eyes fluttered open; it was evident from her voice that her anger had vanished into disbelief.
“I can’t speak your Tamil. So you better obey in English” Pathan declared, putting aside his holster. Then suddenly, one of his hands slid to the triangle between her thighs, caressing her pulsing flesh, while the other went to her breast and clamped the nipple roughly between his thumb and finger and he dragged her closer between his legs. “How do you pleasure yourself? Taking oral or giving?”
“Oh, please… I’m telling you.” Sneha moaned in astonishment of his sudden attack, like this was she needed. Her both palms fell to his broad shoulders and cried out repeatedly, in ecstasy that sounded like anguish. Satisfaction rushed and ebbed, back and forth, in heavy waves that soon broke into shudders. She really couldn’t stand then, her limbs quaking, and she fell in his arms.
“Yah. Tell me…” he teased, clenching her entire pussy, “Giving or receiving oral. How do you take pleasure?”
“Giving… Giving!” Sneha moaned—and at the helm of this unexpected ecstasy, it completely shut her mind to rationalize her untimely honesty. Her clenched pussy in his fist had taken her senses, and resistance she might’ve harbored to this dangerous, inevitable escalation dissolved into a big fat pool at her feet.
Pathan studied her for a moment, he too was a little surprised by her cock sucking passion, and a slow smile curved his lips. “Lovely. Go on,” removing his fingers from her pussy and breast, he allowed Sneha to collapse at his feet, between his legs. “The floor is yours, baby.”
It didn’t come as any relief, but a sudden sense of emptiness filled her into a frustration that she couldn’t decipher. Sneha whimpered, her breasts heaving against his knees, her burning cheeks, tantalized over his pulsating erection, through his pants, she felt the telltale bulge of his huge, rigid manhood. Little shudders assailed her, as did a surge of panic. Instinctively she closed her knees, on the carpet.
“No. I can’t, please,” as Sneha uttered the words of the prayer, she glanced up at him as if he were God himself.
Pathan watched her with growing pleasure. In front of him was kneeling a Brahman woman, being degraded by a Muslim man—she hated once. In front of him was a praying lady—humiliated by her own nakedness. In front of him was whimpering another man’s wife—disgraced by her own lust for him.
This threefold image of demeaning had pacified his range and own sense of contempt, but it had intoxicated him—like power does. It gave him a stupor—like poetry does. It mellows him strangely—like love does. He rose, amid a kaleidoscope of these emotions, and his uniform pants fell at his boots.
Sensing the danger she tried to move but Pathan reached for her swiftly, both hands wrapping around the back of her skull. Sneha tried her best to not to look between his legs, she glanced up, into his burning eyes, “Please, I can’t. Let me go, please,” She pleaded.
Leaning down his alert gaze raked over her tearful face, and he smiled. “You’ve to suck it, that’s what you’re doomed to and destined for,” Pathan declared, completely ignoring her cry of alarm, he kissed her mouth.
Her hands came up to his muscle-roped wrists, trying in vain to pry herself free. The sensation of his mouth, incendiary, again stunned her. He used his teeth and lips and tongue, seducing her in a blaze of sensuality. She floundered for purchase until he handed her a burning baton. She shivered at the touch of his enormous cock — his turgid, pulsing shaft, that part of him that would play havoc not only with her body, but her mind, as well.
Pathan hated for she would not touch him of her own accord, but that did not stop him from forcing her to participate. Her hand looked incredibly small encompassing him the way it did.
“Serve it, and you’ll survive. You’ll thrive.” Pathan groaned, and his eyes glazed with the thrill and passion of her acceptance. His bulbous cock-head, kissed her navel, filling the oval-pool with pre-cum. She moaned in a fearful delight, and he groaned in vanity, “You’re a lioness, bitch.”
Sneha kissed him — just to quiet him, knowing his derogatory words will only free her from the gravity of grace. Her fingers kept on measuring the never ending length. Both, Ravi and Pawan together, couldn’t form a single dick- half as thick as his. The long journey of her hand on his shaft had also affirmed that Pathan was easily twice as big as them.
In her fragile hope to keep him cajoled and distracted, for once she sucked lower lips — like the rest of him, his lips were firm, and demanding. Sneha started stroking his hard and fast as she could, but to her chagrin, his big cock kept growing, until it became a steel monster, and her wet fist gave into aching.
Sneha broke the kiss, realizing this man was the storm and the shelter too. It dawned on her that surrendering to him means a reckless giving of herself to the darkness of his ecstasy. On the flip side, it was also pretty clear that life without him will plunge her back into gibbering hell of longing that no other torturer could devise. Pathan was what she craved for. He was what she was afraid of most.
Finally, Sneha pushed him away, with whatever force this quandary had left her with. Pathan fell on the same chair. He laughed, staring up at her with a hooded expression in his eyes. His mouth was wet from hers, and his breathing was slightly labored.
“Please don’t corrupt me, Pathan…” pleaded Sneha, trying hard to not look at that monster that was hiding his navel.
“What you thought, I’m a jerk, who you’ll blow and bluff your way through?” the entire intimacy was gone both from his voice and face.
“No, please…!” Sneha replied softly, cajoling him, as her last resort, “You’re THE MAN, Pathan. A real man. You can find any other girl. Please don’t ruin me.”
“What you find so hot about me, suddenly…” he smiled and teased her more than his words. With a swift swing of his arm, Pathan grabbed her, before Sneha could pick the bedsheet from the floor.
Pathan dragged her to his lap, again as he sat again on the same chair, that seemed to have become his throne. “Do you still hate me?” he tried looking at her face through her long hairs that were spread all over his face, over his chest, across her bare breasts.
Sneha shrugged her hair cascading over her shoulders rather romantically, and he found her eyes. She was staring at him, already. Pathan’s heart thud as her generous mouth curved. This was the smile he had been waiting for 15 years.
“No, I don’t…” Sneha chimed. Her reaction even shocked her, as Pathan was still her captor. “But, I wish you were a better human,” she added, and despite her crimson face, her voice sounded sad, like the sun in the day of mist.
“That’s why I’m a cop…” Pathan confessed, roughly grabbing her neck, “Because you called me a thug.”
Sneha had even forgotten when she called him a thug. Somehow his yearning has touched her. She looked at him closely—the look of experience suited him, especially because somewhere deep in those eyes, there still lurked a dangerous invitation to play. Something devious about his eyes made him utterly unreliable.
“Then let me go, please…!” Sneha whimpered, straining again in his arms, although she didn’t know whether she was trying to escape or press closer. Her fist on his broad chest uncurled. A finger began to stray, tracing the line of hair down toward his navel. It was a slow, tentative movement, for this was all too new. “Give me some time to think about us,” she added, picking on her racing pulse.
“Listen bitch,” Pathan jabbed, completely unable to read her heart. “You can’t bluff your way with me.
Suddenly his voice felt like a cool, silk sheet dragged across her naked flesh. She looked at him with shock and grief written over her face. Every time that she felt him touching her heart, he would show his real colors to wipe her blush. Her shoulders slumped again, and tears shimmered in her eyes, as she looked away from him. She didn’t want to look at him anymore, because he looked so that he was no longer terrible, only dehumanized.
“All right,” Sneha didn’t feel scared of him as she pushed him off, coming out of his grip. “Then rape me. Where you want to rape? On that bed?” Sneha started moving to the bed.
Pathan punched in the air, suddenly without her in his arms his deep sense of guilt returned, for all his sins, for exploiting the woman he loved most in his life. But—guilt never comes alone. Guilt is the dance partner of greed in the grand theatre of emotional indifference. That was happening with him, as his sinful eyes fixated on her pleasantly rounded bottom. Pathan loved how it wiggled engagingly, as Sneha walked in anger.
He wanted her body—she was too irresistible and yet he wanted her love. In his own world of logic it startled him—why she still considers him a rapist, while he has saved her from ravishment. His inner battle of guilt and lust—coupled with that sense of being a loser, just turned him heartless. Zombie.
“Not on the bed…” Pathan roared behind her. “Over there.” His gaze pointed towards the adjacent gallery of their luxury suit.
Sneha dared look at that open gallery, her rage, grief, and disappointment suddenly faded into the darkness of utter shame and humiliation to even imagine herself at that place of public display. Back on her feet, she hobbled to him. “Pathan, please…” Sneha pleaded, “There’re people outside. I’ll do whatever you say. But not there”
“Fuck you, bitch…” He retorted, peevishly and his long fingers threaded through her hair roughly. “I didn’t come here to rape you. I didn’t even know that it’s you or who- before coming here. I want you Sneha. I want to fuck you—but I’m not a rapist.”
“I don’t care who you’re…” her voice sounded so passive like she had lost all her hopes in him. “I just beg you to be a human.”
“I should have let that Qureshi to whore you out here, on every weekend,” Pathan retorted, matching the bitterness of her voice. “Then you’d have seen the humans.”
“What?” Her eyes widened, and she cupped her mouth. Sneha knew she had fallen in some trap, but she had no idea that it’s so grave. “They just needed a policeman to harass you deeper. It was their, or perhaps your bad luck that—it was my shift.”
Her gorgeous face contorted, wrapping her arms around her nudity Sneha gave into his arms. “They have that footage Pathan.” Sneha uttered that fear which she didn’t want to even think about.
Selfishly he savored her vulnerability again, as her fear and shame had sent her back in his arms. “No one can harm your shadow even, as long as I’m alive.” He deposited her shivering body in his warm embrace. “That’s a Pathan’s promise.”
Her hands found their way around his neck and into his hair- threading through the dark locks. The caress sent a shiver of pleasure through him. “Please take me away from here, Pathan,” Sneha sobbed, rubbing her nose through the soft curly hair of his chest.
“I want you, Sneha…” he whispered huskily, “I want to fuck you, right now. Right here.”
In torturously slow degree she looked up, in his eyes, her chin still quivering. “I feel so scared here, Pathan,” Sneha sobbed, her breasts—squeezed between their naked bodies were unfurled, all over his hairy chest.
“You’re safe here now. Trust me,” grunted Pathan and lifting his hand, he cradled the side of her face, indulging in the smooth warmth of her cheek against his palm and the way her pulse fluttered where the pad of his little finger rested below her earlobe.
“Pathan.” His name was a whisper, a sigh, a sacred vow on her lips, “I’m more scared of this monster.” Sneha skimmed a petal-soft fingertip over the head of his cock, tracing the flared ridge of the crown and the dewy slit of the tip. Then her touch teased down his length, all the way to the root.
Her touch was so sudden, and delicate that his sturdy legs thrashed on the silky carpet. Sneha moaned that a handful of his pre-cum had glued her fingers firmly around his cock.
“Beast.” Sneha murmured deliciously, and his tongue took advantage of her opened mouth to plunder its depths. Sneha moaned in his mouth, as his tongue parried and thrust with acute precision, wearing down her defenses until she felt herself wanting to surrender to his expert touch. The hard length of his arousal pressed against her stomach, no longer a weapon to be feared but an instrument of pleasure. Yet, she was still half-afraid to touch him, but kissed him back, and her erect nipple kissed his.
“Fuck…!” Pathan groaned against her lips. “When will you beg for chudai?”
Then all at once he caught her hand, as if he could stand it no longer, and guided it down the tight grid of his belly, between the ridge of his hips. Straight to the heart of him.
She gasped in shock when he dragged her hand to her pussy. Her eyes flew wide. It was a caress as outrageously shocking as when he’d slid his fingers inside her married pussy; as bold and daring as the man himself.
“Oh, Pathan!” Sneha stuttered his name, part-question, part jarringly shocked. Using her own fingers her stroked and spread the folds of her sex, and then he was pushing them inside her again, and her moans became uncontrollable. Helplessly she collapsed on his chest. She bit at the coarse skin of his shoulder, hoping to stop him. His monster cock throbbed between her heavy breast, like a wounded bird.
She fought for control as the big, burly man continued to tease and titillate beyond that which her body could defend. She begged, sobbed, groaned, even cursed, and she heard him laugh softly as he drove her into a shattering burst of rapture. Breathing deeply, she filled her nostrils with his spicy scent, and sliding her arms around his neck, her lips moved to his ear, and Sneha murmured; “Take me, bastard.”
Pathan smiled, pleased at her reaction. He gave her no time to settle into stoic acceptance; instead he teased her, “What?” he probed removing their adjoined fingers from her blazing pussy.
“Fuck you.” Sneha squawked, but her knees gave in, collapsing her on the lush carpet.
Hushing her with his mouth, he lifted and turned her roughly until she was lying on her stomach. Dazed and shaking, Sneha felt his hands on her ankle, and he spread her as a book. She couldn’t tear her gaze away, as she watched him settling in the lee of her thighs. Despite the inherent shame, somehow she was captivated by the display of raw, unfettered male strength and raw lust.
Their eyes met, it stunned him to see the animalistic hunger in her eyes. He looked at her like a stranger, someone he had never seen before, and Sneha looked at him like he had been lost to her for a thousand years and finally found. That was his redemption. The hope of winning her heart was the solace from the agonizing longing for her.
“Say it, you want my cock.” Pathan’s voice took on a seductive tenor, and he teased her, slapping his heavy monster over her pussy.
She screwed her eyes shut, in agitation. But, what shocked her was the sound echoing at those slaps, as if he was beating a wet cloth. She had never been so wet in her life. Her own liquid heat surprised her. Despite being married for a decade, she’d felt nothing like this fire-and-ice jolt of awareness before.
With a helpless little moan, her both hands wander over the lush carpet to grab something. She wanted to yell at him for this torture, but the power of words had once again deserted her. The expectation was climbing, like her lust, spiraling high and fast, taking her by storm, and she grunted aloud, as bulbous cock-head, parted her pussy lips.
“Oh, boy…!” Sneha cried out. Even at the tip of his monster, her body filled with a liquid rush of delight, a shudder of expectation. She spread her legs wider.
Instead of pushing – Pathan pulled back. He wanted to fuck her brain out – with all the finesse and grace of a stallion at stud. But he didn’t—he was wary, once they’re done, her hate will return, and he would lose what he’d just built up between them. He did not want the mask of hatred and stoicism to mar her lovely features.
“Ohhh…!” Sneha shrieked, whimpering in distress. Her pussy clenched hard, needing to be filled, but she could barely breathe, much less string two words together to abuse him or be him for what she wanted.
“You’ll not hate me, after this,” Pathan grunted, revealing his hidden fears.
“I hate you already, you fucking saddest,” Sneha cried out with intense frustration. Her gaze turned reproachful.
Pathan laughed, and in one brutal thrust he slammed her married pussy against his meat, her channel resisted his girth utterly, only allowing a few inches of him.
“Ah, Pathan,” Sneha exhaled a loud cry, and arched her spine as pleasure and pain overlapped into a singular sensation, transcending all other perceptions of discomfort and need. It didn’t matter that it hurt, as the pain was fleeting and brief. Her body shook with violent spasms, gripping the hard organ without a clue that it’s only half of it
Pathan felt a gush of juices, bathing him his cock head, in a warm reception. He never had experienced any woman shuddering – with only half of his cock inside her. He looked at this epitome of lust in disbelief, and withdrawing his monster — Pathan hammered it back with every ounce of energy in his body, till his balls corked her cunt.
“Ahh! O.. Oh!… Aghh! AAAH!” Sneha was yearning for him in her — but, the pleasure of Pathan’s cock was something beyond ecstasy — beyond a bliss. A lush, decadent pleasure unwound within her, snaking through her veins — as though it had lain coiled in anticipation for years. Waiting on this moment. Waiting on this man. Sneha began to weep in that pleasure.
Pathan though grunted so loud in her depths, He had never felt anything like the toxic combination of elegance and hunger. His head spun, drawing logic away—and misreading her cries, he leaned down.
“What did you say?” Pathan asked, zooming his blank stare over her face. Sneha’s eyeballs were rolled back into her head. Her drooling tongue was hanging out of her quivering lips; her saliva was dribbling to her chin. A tear rolled down her cheek, and more followed, like a stream. All he could grasp was her gasping for oxygen. Perchance she was unconscious, maybe she never saw it coming, or perhaps it was over before she knew it. “What happened, bitch?”
“Kaadhal (Love).” Sneha murmured, and a faint smile spread over her face, and kept spreading and spreading, till burst into a grunt.
“Bitch.” Pathan grunted in her mouth, stretching her — stretching all over her. Skin against skin. Breasts against chest. Belly to belly. There was not an inch of her body that wasn’t engulfed by his. Had he not propped himself up on his elbows, his weight would have been intolerable.
Her warm breath mingled with his, their tongues mingled, – as they drank together, a cocktail of their mixed saliva. Pathan resumed what he was sent for on earth. Sneha wrapped herself around him, with her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, and her pussy around his meat, her tongue around his lips.
Pathan began to pick up the pace – each thrust faster, harder, and deeper than the last. Each gut-depth thrust was a sensuous jolt until they turned into the wild—merciless pounding of her pussy. Every bit of pressure corresponded with another withdrawal, leaving her panting and yearning. On each brutal invasion of Pathan’s magnificent cock—his heavy balls met her backside with sharp, rhythmic smacks. They echoed through the room, obscene and arousing. That was the best music she had ever heard.
“Fuck. What a horny bitch are you?” Pathan shivered, feeling her pussy muscles again pulsating against his manhood. He leaned back — his mouth went to her erect nipple, tugging sweetly in time to his thrusting.
“Look at me, bitch…” Pathan rambled, his voice sounded like a primal grunt, and kneading his paws kinda hands, he clutched her both breasts fully. He had a rough, workingman’s fingers that stimulated her nipple until she wished his mouth was on it instead. “You hate me, huh? Then you’re going to hate how much you love it.”
“Slower please,” Sneha moaned knowing, he’ll do the opposite. Her lustful gaze caressed his sharp features. His face was grave, almost severe. Nature had squandered an irrational quantity of male beauty on this complex creature of brutal nativity.
She couldn’t rationalize anything—her surrender to him—his possession of her, and even her own feelings. What they were doing wasn’t a wild fuck alone. But one intricate—involved layered with meaning, which she couldn’t decipher, while thinking from the middle of her body. Her nipple in his mother sent her another shudder, she squeezed her eyes—another world came alive, a landscape of lust and longing, with sensation the promise of glory.
“Does your husband ever fuck you this hard?” Pathan rumbled, still in those self-doubts, He withdrew almost to the head of his shaft, then submerged the entire length with excruciating velocity.
“Always.” Sneha teased him for his diabolical grin and silly probes, while her pussy clamped down clutching his meat. Though, to her own surprise, she didn’t want to think of her husband; she didn’t want to think of anyone—but him. Then she murmured something in Tamil, biting her lower lip — pretty vulgarly, like an actress of a B-grade movie would do. Her hooded bedroom eyes gazed at him.
“Bitch. I’ll make you forget his name even,” in rasping breath, Pathan swore, tormented in jealous, and all of his anguish manifested in
Pathan hummed, and started fucking her—with his full length, emptying and filling her, swiftly, mercilessly. It was only his firm grip on her breasts that kept her from going out of the window, against those powerful, relentless thrust.
“Please slow Pathan…” begged Sneha. “I can’t survive you. Oh, please.”
Pathan didn’t stop, but his hands moved from her breasts. His strong fingers kneaded her breasts, molding them as an artist did clay. Pathan drew her feet to his broad shoulders. His thrusting kept in momentum, and this new position, leveraged his cock retreating further on each backstroke and surging in harder.
“You’re mine…” he rasped, licking her toe, “every inch of yours is mine.” He kept driving into her, fierce and unrelenting, brutalizing her. “Your cunt is mine and you are mine.”
Sneha offered her being against him, rocking her hips in time to his strokes. Each time he drew his steeled length from her body she screamed. When he shoved forward again, balls slapping against her clit, she started singing the ode in gratitude — both in Tamil.
Soon her body was again burning with a devouring fire, as he ploughed her cunt with demonic force. Sneha felt like the entire room—this entire hotel would ignite from the heat that seared her. She exploded into rainbows again, as her juices explosively gushed like a river all over Pathan’s piercing monster. In 10 years of her married life, from the loss of her virginity, she had never cummed thrice.
Like those whore — Sneha yelled all the dirty words, which she had never said to anyone. That she never felt like saying. But all he could fathom was his name in her Tamil screams.
“What’re you saying, bitch?” grunted Pathan as her pussy water bathed his monster generously. Probably he never felt so desperate for anything in his life, as he felt to hear those endearments. “Moan in English, bitch.”
Pathan rolled on his side, spooning her — he lay behind her. Even when the shattering climax left her. It took her awhile in recovering from that earth-shattering orgasm that only existed before in erotic stories.
“Ahhhhhhh. Ah.” Sneha moaned aloud. Her long lashes fluttered upward, her hand reaching to his face caressed his cheeks, his lips. The only thing Sneha hated about the position was that she couldn’t see him and take joy in his equally euphoric features. Hearing him wasn’t enough, no matter how he groaned out his delight with her body.
“Look at me, bitch,” he groaned against her earlobe, as if he could read her mind. “What did you say, huh? Translate it.” Pathan was damn curious to know, because he fathomed nothing, but heard her repeating his name again and again. “Were you still cursing me?”
“I said, let me go home now,” Sneha teased him in a raspy voice, twisting her head to look into his eyes — her lips brushed her’s. His perplexed face, impatient breath and desperation spoke volumes of longing for her. She melted for him. He has mellowed both, her heart — her pussy. But, she would die of shame to utter those vulgar words – which she spoke on the throes of a mindless euphoria.
“I’ll make you say again, you arrogant whore.” his bass voice thundered. Then his brawny arms enfolded her like a vice. Sneha felt trapped, as in a great iron machine. She didn’t free herself even, but only moaned a laughter, as his meat slid against her pussy wall.
The way her body fits in him in this position, amplified her newfound sense of belonging. She moved her leg behind his, allowing him deeper of her. The sense of being pounded for praise added a playful spice, and she enjoyed teasing him. “I was saying, will you drop me home? My husband will come home soon.”
“See you’re a whore. Missing your hubby on my cock.” Pathan rumbled in jealousy, yanking her leg up around his hip, squeezing her arse, the other cupping and kneading her breast, pinching her nipple. Despite he was already fucking for half an hour, there were no sign of weariness in him. In a few measured thrusts Pathan regained the preferred rhythm—ramming his cock from behind like a stud bull in its prime.
“Because…” Sneha moaned aloud. “I’ll miss you all my life with him.” Instinctively she contracted the muscles of her stretched sheath against his tool. Like her pussy wants to preserve the memory of this moment.
“You don’t want us to fuck again,” he groaned sadly, and slammed her monster in full length. On each thrust he withdrew his cock to the tip and pumped again.
Again she moaned something in Tamil that a paid street whore would not say. It frustrated him further. He thrust even deeper than before, probing and stroking and pleasuring her with a measured rhythm… deliberately pushing her over the edge of sanity. Her moans became uncontrollable screams, pleads, even cursing in her language.
“Do you now regret slapping me, bitch?” Pathan rumbled, clutching her shoulder for hold and slammed through her as his cock pumped like a piston, bringing them ever closer to the peak of ecstasy. “You’ll at least miss this chudai bitch, even if you won’t love me”.
Sneha cried out most lecherous of endearment and praise to his cock, but not to his avail. Her cries, again echoing through the dark emptiness as he continued to drive his cock deeper and harder. Each thrust had more force, the power of his body showing no sign of abating. A feeling of complete ecstasy took over and flooded her body until Sneha began to tremble.
“Have you gone mad, on my Lund?” Pathan
Again Pathan couldn’t grasp anything from her loud talks except, his own name on her lips again and again. He felt desperate to understand if there was something intimate about him. In that obsession he withdrew his monster furiously on her deviant teasing — even denying her from an orgasm.
“Ao-huu-O’huhhuuu-0h-OOohu,” Sneha whimpered in protest, in the agony of emptiness. Panting heavily, she looked back at him. A diabolic grin on his face tickled her wits. “Tired?” Sneha gasped, knowing she can also play with the soft tender man—hiding under this cruel and apparently heartless man.
“Tired of you…!” Pathan gulped, and then something flickered in his impenetrable stare, and he added, “Now you’ve to beg for my cock.”
Pathan rose, and in one mercurial movement to his feet, hauling her by her long hair into a kneeling position before his wetly shining rigid, cock touched her quivering pussy. “You’re already missing it, bitch.” Furiously he drove into her from behind, fierce and unrelenting. Her body moved away from him—he pulled her hair.
She grunted something aloud, again in Tami.
“What are you saying bitch?” His other hand rose in the air, and full on her right butt. Her dusky flash—shimmered- rippled. She screamed something again. “Can’t you moan in English?” roared Pathan.
“You’ve to worship it, thankless bitch” Pathan smacked again, and stopped moving in her punishment. “Then fuck yourself.” He spanked her other hip, “Move.”
Sneha arched into his thigh, grinding herself on its solid length. “Please, give it to me…” Another low cry escaped her as constricting tension pulsed through her core. She shoved until his cock pressed flush in her tight little snatch and they were fully joined. From that point forward nothing else mattered, as she squealed and went wild against his cock—her fingers, clawing threads of carpet.
“I know what you were saying,” Pathan pulled her hair, giving up his quest for her praise. He drove in harder until it should have hurt, but he only delivered the most amazing quiver inside of her pussy. Her legs became jelly, and the loss of them pitched her face down against the opulent carpet. She shuddered again as orgasm overtook her.
“Whore,” he growled behind her, and the unique blend of his stupid anger and wickedness lit her aflame with lust until she craved him even more. Until she couldn’t imagine sex with another man in all of her life. The need consumed her,
“Yours!” sighed Sneha in confession, every cell of her existence was caught in the throes of a powerful release that rippled outward from her core and seized her body in uncontrollable tremors.
That was it.
His fist around her hair loosened. Pathan clamped his teeth down on her shoulder and thrust his hips forward. Her cunt-slot was overflowing, spilling out foaming juice onto the Pathan’s cock-stalk and soaking his balls as those big bags of spunk swung in and slapped against her wringing pussy.
“Take it bitch… take my seeds.” He grunted, and the warm squirt of his seed parched her like a brand and the climax continued with merciless convulsions.
Sneha screamed again—milking him with every contraction of her womb. Her love juices blended with the copious spurts of his relief. Her vision blurred until she slumped forward on one elbow with her upraised rump receiving the brunt of his final strokes.
He didn’t end there. Swiftly withdrawing himself, he pulled her and demanded, “Now taste me”.
Before she could react from the mist of ecstasy—his fuck-juices splashed against the slopes of her tits. His cock was still going off like a machine gun. Sneha had never known that so much cum could explode from a single set of balls!
Eyes dilated in lust—in awe, she looked up at him, her hand reaching out to his balls. A delicious groan ripped from his chest as he gripped her hair, his fingers twined tight against her skull. It made her high.
Pathan watered her cheeks and shoved the bursting juicy meat in his mouth. Sneha swallowed copious spurts of his relief with reluctance. Both the taste and her own moan was a pleasant surprise to Sneha. Coming on the rebound, his second torrent skimmed over her flashing tongue, making her taste buds tingle. Sneha floated her tongue in his slime. The sharp taste he put out mingled with a touch of sweetness had her drugged. “Mmm,” she moaned louder, her tongue sliding over a thick bead of semen.
“You cock hungry whore of mine,” Pathan bucked into her mouth. She lavished her tongue from the thick base, all the way up the endless inches of his strident column, like she was giving it another coating of paint.
Pathan began to stagger, feeling as if his life forces were spilling from his cock and balls, and he collapsed on the carpet. Sneha fell on him, hugging his back; she murmured something in his ear. Again—he didn’t get her.
======================================================
1 months later:
“He is no more to rescue you,” Qureshi giggled in triumph. “Even his ghost can’t return after taking those bullets.”
His name alone triggered memories. Nostalgia brought a side order of yearning with it. There were flashes of consciousness… of that forced kiss, of his ecstatic invasions, of being taken by his storm, of his love, of his blood
“He’ll…” said Sneha, and her beautiful eyes there were heavy-lidded with sorrow, suddenly brightened.
“He’ll…” said Sneha, and her sad eyes brightened.
The sanguinity of his voice somehow terrified him to the extent that he took a mental note of checking with the police commissioner about Pathan’s grave.
“All right.” said Qureshi, shrugging his right shoulder. “But you better get ready. Mr. Barak will be waiting for you.” He pointed towards a salacious cocktail wear, and he added with a wicked wink, “For your first BBC!”
No. I won’t surrender to your blackmailing, Sneha relented, “You can do whatever you can.”
“All right…” Qureshi retorted, glaring at her. “Then I’ll prefer to wait,” and he looked at his wristwatch. “By the way, when will your dear hubby return home, normally?”