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[Set up in an Indian background this is a work of pure fiction. So the circumstances, background and characters would be in wide variance with those not living in South Asia. There is no resemblance to living characters but just an effort in writing something that may seem far-fetched but not absolutely impossible. Just a fantasy? Yes, could be. Lack of imaginative thinking? Most probably. But the writer makes no pretension about her writing skills and the deficiencies may be ignored in a gesture of graciousness. Thank you.]
Komal stood at the door step of their apartment as Nishant, her husband, was walking out to catch a flight that evening. Nishant was a very busy executive and, for a good period of each month, he would be on his trips. Komal, his wife, was the shy and obedient type, one who was mentally prepared for these trips of her husband and her own loneliness that always followed when he was not home. But, she never grumbled. She never expressed any sadness or regret at the outcome of her marriage to a man who her parents had selected for her – a bright, intelligent, well-paid electronics engineer. Nishant’s only drawback was his age – because it made a difference of over ten years with his wife, who was just twenty four when they got married. Komal, now, was still below thirty while Nishant was past forty but, more than this reason, tension and pressures at work place had already created wrinkles on his face. As things stood, Nishant could hardly pay attention to his beautiful and certainly naturally endowed curves of his wife because of the pressures and responsibilities attached to his post. He loved his wife but was indifferent to her needs. Komal, however, still remained a beautiful and an extremely desirable woman whose cravings, unfortunately, for the circumstances mentioned earlier, remained unfulfilled in her conjugal life. But she loved her husband, fulfilled her responsibilities as a wife to perfection and remained true and faithful.
For the benefit of the readers and to properly understand how and why things developed in the way they did, it is essential that one should know what best described this woman. Komal had a fair complexion with long hair, pouting lips and a perfect set of pearly white teeth that enhanced her smile. She was 5’6″ tall and was slim without being thought of as thin because she had an envious figure, almost hour-glass, with a perfect cup size that adequately compensated the smaller 34″ pair. She had grace and poise and usually wore sarees, even salwar kameez or lehenga choli (typical dresses worn by women in South Asia). Occasionally, she chose western attire but whatever she chose, she always looked graceful.
Underneath the dignified and reserved façade of this lady there dwelled, for a long time, deep sexual inner urges that Komal kept under control, mainly due to her timidity and upbringing. She could never imagine herself to be wayward or even think of someone outside the arena of her vowed marriage. Whenever she felt a fire in her loins, she would take recourse to some release through touches on her sensitive areas herself. This may not have led to complete satisfaction, but they did enable a relief, even if it was temporary.
As life went on in this manner for this beautiful wife, events all of a sudden started to twist and take a new direction. In a way, this could be termed as ‘being helpless’ to circumstances although she should blame herself with the sudden arousal she started feeling.
It happened that Komal had been shopping in a reputed mall and, having purchased a few sarees, visited a tailoring shop recommended by her close friend, not too far away. For some time now, she was getting more and more dissatisfied with the stitching by her regular tailor to the point of exasperation and she thought of trying out this new tailor whom she had heard about. The tailoring shop was named “Mashoor Shilaii Ghar” meaning, in the local language, ‘famous tailoring shop.’ The tailor was called by various names – Master or Mashoor or Tailor but his real name was Pawan, Pawan Lal to be precise. Even when Komal casually asked his name, he smiled and said “Madam, my name is Pawan, but people call me by different names and even after the name of my shop. Tell me, if they think me famous, why should I mind?”
The purpose of Komal’s visit now was simply to get a few blouses stitched to match her purchased sarees. She didn’t have anything else in mind and was indifferent, otherwise, to the tailor’s explanations on his name when she walked into the tidy, cozy tailoring shop for ladies. But she hoped that he lived up to what his name implied.
“Well, I certainly hope that you live up to the name that has been thrust on you,” she said hoping that at last she might have found the right tailor.
The tailor would have aged around thirty two or so and was well built. Having begun tailoring since he was quite young he had become a ‘master’ in this profession and women flocked to his shop for perfect tailoring.
In all fairness, the tailor didn’t reveal any sign of deviating from what he had set out to do – that is taking the required measurements to complete his task. In the process, his measuring tape had to be wound around Komal’s breasts, as he usually did in respect of all his clients, and the tailor had to make careful but deft touches to obtain the correct measurements. He didn’t bat an eyelid, didn’t show any outward uneasiness or having any other intention. However, although Komal had faced numerous similar situations in the past without even a semblance of emotion, this particular day she was overcome with a feeling that made her blush. Somehow, instead of her normal easiness in the past, she felt a strange liking as the tailor went about his task. Rather unusually, she asked him to take the measurement again as if she was not satisfied with the figures jotted down by the young tailor. She looked down on to the tailor’s hands as they held the tape with the tailor telling her to check if his measurement was correct. She was a trifle unmindful. Her attention was riveted not so much on the measurement as to the big strong dark hands of the tailor. For a fleeting second, she thought of the hands holding her breasts, softly squeezing them perhaps, before she awoke to her senses. She quickly recovered and blurted out that the tailor was indeed correct and that he should quickly stitch the blouses even if these cost her more than usual. After that, she quickly walked out of the shop and headed home, a trifle ashamed at the ‘wicked’ thoughts that had crossed her mind, as if she was already impure!
Yet, in the privacy of her bedroom that afternoon, she sought relief from a rising tide of arousal. She felt helpless in suppressing these thoughts, as the events in the tailoring shop overcame her rational senses. Soon, lying on her bed, she had to run her hand over her mound, which was still covered in the dress she was wearing. A little later, in her aroused state, she blurted out the name of the tailor, Pawan. Without further hesitation, she stood up and und****d her saree, blouse and petticoat. She was back in bed, adorned only in her lingerie, an exotic fancy pair in black. A hand ran across her breasts while another extended below, creeping down to her navel and then to her womanhood that was already on fire. Her panties, she realized, was now wet beyond imagination.
The next afternoon Komal was back at the mall, selecting a few more blouse pieces. Soon, she was driving back to her tailor, her dark glasses hiding the excitement that was creeping in. The events of the day before were fresh in her mind but, more than ever, there seemed to be a deeper urgency to meet the tailor, hand over the blouse pieces and ask him to stitch blouses out of them.
Once she got out of the car, she trotted towards the building that housed the shop and quickly rushed in. Inside the building, she was in a hurry to reach her intended destination – Pawan’s “Mashoor Shilayii Ghar”. She could feel her legs shaking a trifle, without warning, and Komal was surprised at herself. It was as if some invisible force was shaking her legs with a purpose. At the door to the shop, she saw Pawan and she felt her heart palpitating faster. Fortunately, the tailor was alone and she would not be hindered by others when she faced him.
She was out of breath when she opened her carry bag to take out the blouse pieces. She handed these over and uttered, “Pawan, I want these pieces tailored urgently. Could you quickly take my measurements?”
“That’s not necessary Madam,” said Pawan, “your measurements were taken only yesterday and they will do.”
“No Pawan…please take it again. I think that measurement was not correct, and I want to go in for a change in design too” said Komal in a tone of finality.
“If you insist Madam, I’ll…take it again…but really it’s ..it’s unnecessary,” said Pawan, afraid that madam might over react to an honest statement on the futility of the exercise.
Pawan, the tailor, was rather surprised at the insistence of his rich client. He was certain that the existing measurement was correct, but Madam, was adamant.
But then it seemed to him, wanted changes in the style – for she wanted the neckline to drop further, the back to be no more than two inches deep and sleeveless arms with the shoulder strap less than an inch in width. He was quite surprised at these specifications since just the previous day she seemed prudish and conservative in her style without a trace of boldness or being overtly liberal. Nonetheless, he took the tape hanging on his shoulders and started taking measurements afresh.
“Pawan,” implored Komal, “I want my blouses to be tighter and…you know… a bit ummm … showy…if you know what I mean,” She was proud of her body, knowing that she had the right shape and curves.
As Pawan coiled the tape around her chest, Komal took a deep breath out of a rising sensuality which she found difficult to suppress. Pawan could feel the heaving breasts touch his fingers that, unknown to the tailor, sent waves of excitement running through the woman’s mind. A faint moan escaped her mouth and when Pawan looked up again to ask a question, her lips were parted. There could be no doubt that in the rapid stages of her arousal, Komal was surrendering to her deeper wants and it would be a matter of time before she would succumb fully. However, she pulled away suddenly. Discretion was a better option and, for this sophisticated lady, the shop was no place to release her physical weakness.
“Listen Pawan…I want these tomorrow…can you come over in the afternoon to my house? I’ll wear them and check if they are okay…please, don’t refuse” said Komal in a voice that could almost be termed ‘seduction’. Faint traces of the woman’s weakness caught the tailor’s eyes.
“Yyes..yyyess,” Pawan was stammering, “but I need th..the address.” His excitement was suppressed in his stammering. His wife and family lived far away and he was living the life of a deprived hermit in this big city, almost sunk in the breeding millions that made a living in this concrete jungle. Komal hadn’t said anything that could be directly sexual, yet her behavior revealed everything that could imply a need, a burning need! She quickly provided her address and hastily left the shop when she observed two young ladies walking in.
The next day began as usual for both Komal and her tailor Pawan. Each went about their chores but as the day progressed, the thoughts of an impending ‘appointment’ clouded their otherwise normal schedule.
In effect, however, it was a patient yet painful waiting for both the lady and her tailor during this stage, when an undeclared craving between the two remained unrevealed and unexpressed but awaited to be unlocked. Each went through imaginative visuals in their mind throughout the remaining period of time, obviously more exaggerated that night than ever before.
Komal had her usual lunch of curd and salad rather early the next afternoon, much before the arrival of Pawan. She flipped through a woman’s magazine in the living room of her apartment, wearing a saree made of soft chiffon in beige and a sleeveless maroon blouse. Her thick black hair fell on to her shoulders and she was, without doubt, looking ravishing. She went on looking intermittently at her watch, becoming more excited with each passing moment.
Pawan, on the other hand, was a bit impatient when a few ladies barged into his shop just when he was about to leave for Komal’s apartment. He pacified the girls, pleading his helplessness to attend to them immediately due to some urgent work in hand and promising them to be back by evening. Moments later, he was on his way.
Komal heard the sound of the elevator as a single tinkle announced its arrival and stoppage on her apartment floor. This was followed by footsteps slowly walking up to her apartment door and she held her breath till she heard the musical calling bell play when Pawan pressed the button. She got up from the couch as soon as she heard the sound and, arranging her saree and tightening it around her, she walked up to the door but not before casually letting it fall aside to leave her partly uncovering one of her sharply protruding breasts.
“Pawan! Thank God! I was waiting for you for the last hour or so…come in,” she said, closing the door after Pawan who was wearing a shirt that fell casually over his pair of jeans. His shirt had absorbed a bit of sweat as did his forehead where a few beads had formed as well.
“What to do Madam, some clients had turned up just as I was about to come out,” he said explaining her delay, “I had to plead and beg them so that I could come here.”
“Oh, is that so? I would have felt awful if you didn’t come,” Komal was speaking the truth, “Now that you have come, I am relieved.”
Pawan brought out the blouses that he had stitched from out of his bag and handed them over to Komal.
“I stayed awake last night to finish these blouses, madam,” Pawan boasted, “I hope they fit you well. Won’t you try them on?”
“Oh, how sweet of you! Yes, yes…let me wear them and see for myself,” Komal said in a broken voice and walked away into the bedroom.
When she re-entered, she was wearing a newly stitched blouse which would have made even the most daring girl uneasy. Her saree was now rolling and dragging along the floor and she had left her shapely breasts completely uncovered. Her eyes no longer gave the looks of a sober and reserved woman but that of one who was almost seeking adulation from a man.
“I think you have stitched it very nicely Pawan but see for yourself?” Komal said.
Pawan merely nodded his head, for he could feel a growing hardness in his loins. He found it difficult to express himself and simply nodded his head.
Komal swung around, twisting her body right and left, for a better understanding of his tailoring by Pawan. But, it had other intentions as well. She had allowed Pawan to have the perfect view of her pointed breasts from every angle.
“Well? What do you think?” Komal insisted on getting an answer from her nervous tailor.
“Yyy..yes Madam,” he was stammering again, “except fffor..tthis…aaa .tiny…wrr..rrinkle here.” He had come forward and pointed a finger at the place where the curves of the woman’s right breast ended almost below her armpit.
“What? Where? I can’t see…,” Komal tried to locate the place, bending sideways.
At that moment, another newly stitched blouse that she was holding in her hand to try out later fell down. Whether that was intentional or accidental could be anyone’s guess. But, it resulted in Komal bending down to pick it up. As she did so, Pawan got a glimpse of her cleavage, her pair of exciting breasts dangling together and almost fighting for space. It was an unforgettable sight for the tailor, who beheld a pair of very fair, fresh and extremely desirable boobs. He ached and arched to see more, to have a glimpse of the imaginative g****s that were definitely sitting on the top of those curves but he couldn’t.
“Where did you say is that wrinkle? Come on, show me,” said Komal standing up and then, as an after thought, raised her right arm and placing it behind her head, quizzically looked down to find the defect in her blouse. Pawan looked in wonder at the exposed armpit of this lady, shaved to a nicety. He was delirious and intoxicated by what he saw but was almost delirious as a pleasant aroma invaded his sense of smell.
“Here,” he said, pointing his finger at the spot again.
“I can’t make out a difference. Touch the spot Pawan so that I know,” Komal’s voice was now almost in a sensual whisper.
“Here madam,” said Pawan as his finger now touched the spot. But that mere touch made him lose the last vestige of resistance and Pawan was engulfed in a fire that would be impossible to extinguish quickly.
Komal, at this stage, did something unthinkable. She drew herself nearer to the tailor, so much so that the man’s finger suddenly pushed into this woman’s breast.
Pawan felt helpless in this sudden and unexpected ‘nearness’ and he felt helpless an uncontrolled and torrid need. From an extended index finger that rested on the edge of a breast, that touch had quickly enlarged as his palm grabbed Komal’s soft breast, pressing tenderly before increasing the pressure. Soon, both his hands were on the pair, squeezing and mauling them, like a starving a****l that has finally caught his prey before devouring it. There was absolutely no resistance from Komal.
If Pawan presented the picture of a hungry a****l, Komal complemented him now. Her pent up desires were released and she brought her parted lips on to his. Her sweet breath covered Pawan’s face making him desperate to want more of her.
“Kiss me Pawan…hold me in your arms,” her lust for him was now unchecked. Their lips met and their tongues entwined together, as Pawan went on squeezing those perky breasts. He held the nubs, twisting and pulling them outward, not caring if it hurt Komal. She moaned as Pawan swung her around and held her from behind, holding those breasts in the cups of his hand, running his cheeks against hers and, to top it all, pushing his hardness into her butt.
“Take me Pawan,” she cried again and again, till the tailor had und****d her out of her saree and was about to rip open the newly tailored blouse. Even in her heightened lust, Komal had the senses to stop him and, quickly, unhooked the blouse to throw it on the floor. To Pawan, Komal looked even more desirable in that exotic white bra, its beauty enhanced with exquisite laces on the cups. His hands went to the string that held the petticoat to her waist, in one bold tug it was loose enough and ready to fall. It grazed her legs and fell to the floor, lying in a heap around her feet. Komal stood in her bra and panties, a delicately woven soft piece that was slightly moist in front as it hugged the beautiful woman. To Pawan, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Possibly, he would never get another opportunity like this ever again and he didn’t want to lose a moment. He was quickly holding Komal in his arms again.
It was apparent that both Komal and Pawan had been deprived of one of their basic needs for quite some time. Each tried to be as nearer to the other as they could, pushing and pressing into each other with an urgency that expressed their need. Her breasts were squeezed into the tailor’s chest but these were still not fully bare as Komal was still wearing her brassiere. She was just as much eager as Pawan for that raw touch now, raw skin against skin, manly chest against. There could be no doubt that her passions were now fully released and needed to be expressed fully. Just at that moment she felt his hands lift her off the ground. The intention of the tailor was clear. He needed to take her to a bed, or at least make her lie on her back. Just like the cloth pieces that he laid out on his table top before he began his ‘work’ – that of cutting the blouse pieces before stitching! His bulge in the middle of his jeans was almost bursting out and Komal guessed what he had to offer, the mere thought increasing her own arousal.
“Pawan, the bedroom is that way. Carry me there,” she whispered, not hiding the craving that seemed to coat her words. Pawan looked in the direction of those slender fingers, the crimson red polish on the nails glistening even in the modest light of the apartment. He had an urge to kiss the hands but a quick glance at the woman’s lips, almost similar in color as her nails, attracted her more. He bent his face and kissed her even as he carried Komal.
“You are beautiful Madam. Too beautiful.” He was lost for words, not knowing what to tell to this graceful lady who lived in a society that was beyond his reach. As his passion took control over him he seemed to be losing his way in this big spacious apartment. But guided by the woman in his arms, he found his way to the master bedroom.
Komal still had her arms around the tailor, taking in the manly odour that lingered on his chiseled body even though the sweat had dried off in the chill of the running AC. Pawan kissed her passionately before slowly lowering her on to the bed but stood beside it looking down at the glamorous Komal. He was hesitant and uneasy, initially not willing to climb on to the bed of this rich lady. But Komal wouldn’t stop now. She couldn’t. She had succumbed to her desire and had already disclosed her want for the man. It would be ridiculous retracing now. Her body had become receptive and she didn’t care if this man was just a tailor and did not exactly belong to the society where she dwelled and belonged. She looked at Pawan, raising a hand towards the man and gripping his hand with her own soft and small palm.
“Come to me, Pawan,” she whispered, “lie down here beside me.”
She was trying to remove the man’s uneasiness, pouting her lips and breathing heavily. As he sat down she took his hand and held it to her breast.
“You are a man Pawan. Do you not see a woman before you? Is she not desirous and worthy of your touches?” Komal asked imploringly.
She was looking intently at the man’s face. Had she looked down, more towards the man’s thighs, she would have seen the bursting bulge in the middle of his jeans that was an unfailing answer to her question.
“Yes madam, I do, I do.” Pawan was overwhelmed at the words that were uttered by this sensual woman. He wanted to take her that instant and the pricking hesitation that came out of their differences quickly started to recede.
“Madam, I want your body, your boobs and what you are hiding underneath,” Pawan said clumsily but in lustful emotion. He knew the words were inappropriate and quickly hid his awkwardness by expressing himself through physical demonstration of love and desire. He put his arms around Komal, raising her back a bit and then indulging in the wildest and torrid kisses one can imagine. They were sunk in their saliva and breath as the man’s rough hands gripped Komal’s breasts, squeezing and kneading the pair in sheer delight. Pawan had not been to his village and wife since almost three months and his passions were now let loose on a woman he could never imagine of touching, leave aside lying in bed with her.
“Would you not like to undress me fully Pawan?” Komal asked teasingly when they had parted their lips gasping for breath.
Komal had released a switch that instantly had an effect on the tailor. Pawan could wait no more as he unclasped the bra, taking the straps off her milky shoulders and lifting the piece of cloth from over her breasts. As the naked pair lay bare before his eyes Pawan was lost in lust. It wasn’t like what his wife possessed that were a bit too big, certainly not as milky and perky as this pair which lay before his eyes awaiting to be fondled. And the nipples sat prettily on the top like cherries. But his immediate attention shifted downwards, towards the lace panties that covered her womanhood. Pawan was torn between the two areas – her breasts or what lay below, still covered in the intricate laces of the lingerie.
Komal trembled in anticipation. She was eager for Pawan to go on, not wanting him to stop at this stage. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she looked at Pawan imploringly. To Pawan the sensual beauty of this luscious woman had brought about a fire that needed to be doused. And that could be doused only if what he had begun could be completed.
“Madam! Madam!” his voice was hoarse in the weight of his lust. He ran the palm of his right hand over the laced panty that was now dotted with the leaking moistness of what it hid underneath. He had bent down his face, sniffing the spot and inhaling more deeply after doing so once. A finger ran along the elastic waistband before that was inserted underneath to grip the cloth and with the aid of the fingers of his other hand he began to lower Komal’s sheer lingerie.
As her nakedness became more and more exposed Komal, despite her rising arousal, brought her hands to cover the spot. She felt ashamed for another reason – she hesitated to expose the curly muff that was a part of her womanhood because this had not been trimmed by her for a while. But the tailor had gathered courage by now and held both her hands and held them apart and away from the dark triangle.
“Madam, please keep your hands away,” he begged. Komal didn’t resist further and Pawan proceeded with what he had intended to do.
“Then let me unbutton your shirt,” Komal smiled mischievously and proceeded just like she said, unbuttoning and then even pushing it off the man’s shoulder till he was naked up to his waist. Komal stared at the man’s chest layered with thick hair at the top and tapering down towards his flat stomach. She stretched her petite hands and ran them along the manly chest and then on to his arms. She looked at Pawan but the man’s eyes were riveted not on his eyes but elsewhere.
With the lady’s hand out of the way, the tailor kept staring at what had unfolded before his eyes, not able to look anywhere else. He brought the panties down her shapely legs and out from under her feet. He held the gossamer piece in his hands, the soft material of the fabric sending a surge of excitement before he took it near his face to take a whiff of the sexual aroma that it held.
But Komal had taken it out of his hands, slightly ashamed.
“Ummm Pawan! What are you doing?” Her voice carried a tone of mock admonishment as she chided him. But she smiled at the guilty man before throwing the panties on to the floor.
Without further delay and forced into action at the command of his much excited mind, Pawan gently but purposefully held the woman’s legs with both hands and separated them, a little at first before they were truly spread apart. He was now kneeling in front, staring intently and admiringly at this lovely, sweet and so very excited ‘client.’ Oh god! Such a ravishing a beauty!
Komal waited in anticipation. Tingling sensations had swept across her entire body and she knew that the earlier moistness had not left her alone. It continued unashamedly, the smell of her ‘sex’ invading the gap between the leaking spot and Pawan’s face.
Pawan expressed himself now through his kisses as he covered each area, starting again from her lips. And each kiss increased Komal’s passion a notch. The kiss now seemed different to her, something that was far more ardent. She watched the tailor.
He was savoring the taste of each of her sensitive areas, building up an inner fire so that it would wildly rage all over. He rested his face on her armpits, breathing in deeply and exclaiming the pleasures that her aroma gave him. Down further he went, as he kissed her navel and the point of focus that was her belly buttons. Komal felt the mild kiss on the spot, a sort of tickling sensation but knew that the tailor was bent on giving attention to each spot. She waited expectantly, excitedly and shivered all over knowing what was soon to follow.
His face wedged between her thighs, Pawan had placed his hands on her breasts, gripping them roughly as he squeezed Komal’s tender breasts. His hard fingers and thumb pinched the nipples, just hard enough for the girl to utter a small cry of pain. But Komal liked that pain, delighted in the pleasure that she felt. These touches, mild or rough, had hardened her nipples as the pair cried for more attention. Pawan didn’t disappoint or deprive her of that basic need in a woman.. the suckling of her breasts. He was up on them in a flash.
Pawan’s lips parted to take in the light brown nipples, one at a time, suckling in sheer delight. He rolled his tongue around the buds, now and then brushing his teeth on them. He didn’t want to even grip them with his teeth, lest unmindfully he hurt this beautiful woman. This gesture didn’t escape Komal who warmed up more to the man. She stroked his hair as his head lay on her breasts, playing with the strands. Her soft hands ran across his wide back, her nails almost digging into the man’s flesh as she found him more and more irresistible.
The moments that followed went on increasing their want and they were buried in passionate open-mouthed kisses. At one point, Pawan stood up to unzip his jeans and release his surging hardness. It didn’t take long for Pawan to part himself of his jeans and underwear marked with wet spots of arousal.
Komal stared at Pawan’s released manhood. She felt an instant urge to hold the organ that throbbed uncontrollably in front of her eyes. It was lengthy, it was thick and its tip was quoted in wetness. Thick veins crisscrossed along the length of the shaft, almost bursting out of the hard shell. Excitement and want gripped Komal in a manner that she had never felt before. Pawan came and stood nearer, his proud shaft jumping right in front of her face and Komal could get a whiff of the acrid smell that lingered around.
“Madam, would you like to touch it?” Pawan said in a shaky voice.
“Yes! Yes! I so much want to,” Komal’s voice didn’t hide her need. She raised her hand, touching the length of meat for just one fleeting second, before drawing away. She giggled once at her ‘unfaithfulness’, of what was so unthinkable of her … touching the penis of someone who was not her husband.
That little touch, on the other hand, made Pawan restless for more. He looked at Komal as she lay in bed, giggling.
“Madam, please,” he implored, as his manhood jumped pathetically in front of Komal, crying for her touch.
She stretched her hand but instead of just touching the hardness she gripped it with her hand. It was hard and warm and it sent tingling sensations through her body. She squeezed it softly at first but as it throbbed in her palm, she gripped it harder. She tugged at it, drawing Pawan nearer.
The touches of her soft hand drove the tailor crazy for more. If only, if only … he kept thinking if kaçak iddaa Madam would really take this in the warm recesses of her wet mouth. He was hungry for it. Komal must have had similar thoughts for she had partly raised her back and drew her face close to the swaying erection that was tempting her invitingly.
Just at that moment, Komal’s cell broke the silence and the couple froze like statues. Komal quickly released herself from the man’s arms and dashed over to answer the call.
“Surprise! Surprise!” she heard Nishant’s mirthful voice at the other end, “I am back honey. Had to cut short the trip due to an emergency call back here. I have just landed and should be home in about half an hour.”
Both Komal and Pawan looked at each other perplexed and dejected, their passions flying literally out of the window, as they scrambled to part without any delay. In next to no time, Pawan was dressed and, having picked up his bag, dashed outside and towards the elevator. Faster than she ever could, Komal was decently attired, the perfect picture of a homely and loving housewife. Even in haste, she didn’t forget to tidy up the crumpled bedsheet on her bed, arranged and kept her new blouses in the cupboard and even paid the tailor his stitching charges.
In their final moments of unfulfilled need, the aroused couple had parted without further word, touch or even a kiss. Nor even the promise of when such intense rendezvous would take place again. The fear of getting caught was of primary concern.
But, even at the point of separation, both of them knew exactly where they could get to meet each other. This was not the end but only the beginning, they were sure of it.
To Komal, she had cracked the first wall of hesitation and her transformation had just begun.
Sometime after Pawan had left and Komal had restored the bedroom to its stage of ‘innocence’, she got a call from Nishant, her husband.
“Must be something really important to call me back from a flight, honey. I’m headed for office right now as they want me there. It’s likely that I’ll be late. So, you just have dinner if I’m not in by 10.00. Ok, darling?”
As Komal switched off her mobile she was visibly upset at this turn of events. She and Pawan had quickly parted in the face of the threat of her husband’s sudden return to their apartment. And now it seemed that she would have to spend hours alone, just as usual.
Thoughts of those intimate moments with the tailor returned in a flurry and she could feel the return of that tingling sensation that had consumed her then. She wished she could call him back, for she did have the tailor’s number with her. But sanity prevailed, and she turned away these thoughts. She picked up the book “The Silent Wife” by Susan Harrison, one that she had begun reading the day before and quickly got engrossed in its pages.
When Nishant walked into their apartment, it would have been impossible to make out that their lovely home had witnessed the beginnings of an infidelity. Komal was very fastidious about neatness, and nothing had escaped her eyes when she had returned it to its tiptop best. He looked quizzically at the book in Komal’s hands and smiled.
“Am I responsible for my wife’s silence?” Nishant asked, taking a cue from the book in Komal’s hands, and with a smile on his face. He seldom read books; his packed schedules didn’t permit him that luxury.
Komal looked at her husband and smiled back. Her loneliness never diminished her love for the man. It was just unfulfilled needs that made her do what she did that day.
She retorted with a grin on her face.
“He who does not understand your silence will probably not understand your words … any guesses whose quote this might be?”
Nishant stared blankly. He knew his wife had a literary bent of mind, was a voracious reader and to top it all, she could come out with quotes at opportune moments.
“Elbert Hubbard, in case you want to know,” she said, in a matter-of-fact manner, before she walked into the kitchen. The cold food needed some warming up. She wondered if anything could eventually ‘hot’ up her life from the ‘coldness’ that covered it!
That night Nishant passed into slumber as quickly as you could drop a hat. Komal stared blankly at the ceiling as the humming sound of the AC filled the room. She thought of Pawan and the shy and inept approach he had adopted initially before his inborn ‘instincts’ took over. But he could kiss so ardently, so passionately and those lips on her sensitive nipples! Oh god! Komal shivered beside her snoring husband. She made up her mind to visit the tailor the next day, each nerve in her body crying out for that. The last thought before she fell asleep was that of a fleshy erection throbbing in her hands.
By afternoon the next day, Komal found herself declining two requests from her friends, who either wanted to drop in or go and watch a movie together. She found excuses to turn them down.
As Komal nibbled at her lunch, she suffered from a lack of interest in what she was doing. She was desperate to revisit the tailoring shop within the shortest possible time. Dressing as elegant as always in her saree, she was off in half an hour, and her heart beat fast.
By the time she walked into the big building that housed the tailoring shop, her heart was thumping loudly, and she imagined people passing near her could hear her heart beats.
Nearing the shop, she could make out “Mashoor Shilaii Ghar” signboard and quickened her pace. This was not only out of her urgency to meet Pawan but her guilty mind warned her to exercise caution. If any of her friends saw her at that spot they would be surprised at this visit. She had convincingly proclaimed that she would be otherwise busy that afternoon. The door to the shop seemed the farthest when she was at its nearest. Komal rushed in, the door banging shut behind her.
“Pawan …” she started to say before she realized that there were two other ladies engaged with the tailor. He was assuring them about the quality of his fashionable stitching with a big smile on his face.
As soon as Pawan saw Komal, his face flushed. Till now, he was talking to his clients in a convincing tone, but now he started stammering. Luckily, they left quickly and Pawan was left alone with Komal. But that was just for a moment. Other clients streaked in and while this was unavoidable, these intrusions were becoming unbearable. Komal fretted and fumed, shrugging her shoulders in impatience. Till finally, at one point, there were none in the shop other than the tailor and his sophisticated client.
Komal’s lips parted instantly. A deep breath escaped her as she looked at Pawan. The tailor too was almost shaking in an excitement that was impossible to hide. Komal wished she could go and shut the door and possibly would have done so. But Pawan stopped her.
“Are you mad? If you close the door to my shop during busy business hours, it will bring all the nearby shopkeepers at my doorstep. It’ll be impossible to continue here after that.” Pawan was the meek and mild type and he was not prepared to take a risk and jeopardize everything.
“Don’t you have a room at the back? Some space where we can sit for a while?” Komal was in turmoil.
“No, but this shop has a mezzanine floor which I can enter from that small opening at the corner of the ceiling. It’s a sort of store and I sometimes stitch blouses there too. But it would be impossible for you to get up there on that narrow ladder. And what if anyone comes in at that time?” Pawan was trying to wriggle out of an uncomfortable situation despite his excitement.
“Very well,” Komal said, “I have brought my car and am driving it myself. You know the Mall just three blocks away from here? They have a nice parking lot surrounded by trees and hedges. I’ll park my car there. You come there at 6.00 PM sharp… it would be almost sunset by then. Don’t keep me waiting, Pawan.”
Komal took a slip of paper from Pawan and quickly scribbled her car number. “There, that’s my car number. Don’t lose it. And be there in time.” She stomped out of the shop.
Pawan spent the next two hours stitching busily. His mind kept thinking excitedly of Komal, recollecting their intimate moments at her flat. Would there be another opportunity?
At six, the tailor had reached the parking lot of the Mall. He took along a small jute bag, carrying a few blouses within it, just in case the purpose of his visit was questioned by anyone.
Komal had already parked the car and was waiting anxiously. She saw Pawan hurriedly walking towards the parking space. Quickly, she got out of the car and stood beside it. Her intention was to prevent the tailor from walking about aimlessly looking for her car and avoid unnecessary recognition of either of them. But the result, in the end, turned out to be just the opposite.
Unknown to either of them, the scurrying tailor was seen by the owner and landlord of the building that housed his shop. His name was Asad, a middle-aged man of 48. The burly man, sporting a Dutch beard and wearing a dark grey kurta pajama suit, had just parked his car. Just then, the door of the parked car beside his opened, and a very elegant lady in dark glasses and dressed in saree, slid out of her seat. The necessity of wearing dark glasses in the falling sunlight intrigued Asad. From the manner she was swiveling her head around she was certainly looking for someone, Asad surmised.
Asad kept the engine running in his car so that the AC would keep things comfortable inside. His curiosity had been whetted and a loss of a few minutes wouldn’t end the world for him, he thought. His car had tinted glasses which kept the insides dark and secluded. In the mellowed light, he was hardly visible. He was pleasantly surprised to see Pawan sprint towards the waiting woman. Purpose? He wondered.
In this veil of secrecy Asad remained, watching this gorgeous woman and the petty tailor, who was subservient to him. He let them bask in their privacy.
A few words about Asad. This middle-aged man was a Muslim. His forefathers belonged to a sophisticated, respected and cultured clan, dealing in exotic silk, embroidery, nuts and fruits. They were rich and prosperous, belonging to the upper class, and had built a reputation for themselves and were very religious minded. But, starting from his father’s time, much of this was squandered away …. fame, riches, assets and dignity. Asad’s father tried some nondescript business when all was lost but met with little success. He died before he had reached fifty.
Asad became a real estate agent and promoter. His business flourished quickly in a city with bursting population and inadequate housing. He accumulated a fair degree of wealth but what was a known secret was that he was also into unfair and murky business dealings. He was unscrupulous as he was persuasive, intimidating as he was influential, husband just as much as he was a debauch.
His brother Javed was about ten years younger than him but both stayed together with their families. Asad had married very young and became a father of a son and a daughter before he was twenty. Asad’s son Farooq was disinclined to join his father’s business and got himself sufficiently educated to land a well-paying job in a foreign country. His daughter Fatima was married to Shamsher, no less a rouge than his father-in-law, Asad.
At this parking lot that day, Asad had kept his eyes and ears open. He could hear every word that was exchanged between Pawan and Komal.
“Pawan, I hope no one has seen you,” were Komal’s first words to him when he was near.
“No, Madam,” he was panting for breath, “but I am scared. And I brought along a packet with blouses in it, just in case I needed an excuse if we are caught.”
“That’s wise. Come, let’s sit in our car. It’s safer.” Komal had already opened the rear door. She took Pawan’s hand in hers, her eyes closing once with a kissing twitch on her lips to show what she wanted.
Pawan too responded. He checked if anyone was near before placing a hand on Komal’s hip and tugging her softly into him. Her breasts just squished into his chest for a second before Pawan released her. But the touch of the nipples pricked a nerve.
“I can’t take my mind off what happened yesterday, Pawan. Believe me!” Komal’s voce was shaking, as she looked at the tailor.
“Neither can I, Madam. I only thought of you ..and you … and you,” he said and his voice was deep and emotional. “I want to hold you again.”
Komal slithered into the rear seat of her car followed by Pawan. The door shut hastily. Light tinted glasses in her car too, just as in Asad’s car. The couple now were invisible to the prying man.
Asad could feel questions ringing in his mind. What had evolved between these two who were glaringly so apart in class? How did they breed such a familiarity? And since when did this grow between them? It was apparent that some deep physical relationship bonding had developed between the two. He was certain beyond doubt that the pair would have begun exploring themselves further within the confines of the car.
As Asad remained sitting in his car he wondered what he should do. He had already taken a fancy for this radiant, gorgeous and beautiful woman, and his lascivious mind was working hard to find the best way to make her his docile subservient. He must have her, he resolved. She was far too pretty, far too desirous to fritter away her life with an incompetent husband or a shoddy tailor.
After much deliberation he decided that it would be unwise to just accost them at that place. He would plan it meticulously, leaving no slips to let the prey escape from his clutches. For the time being, he would leave.
An impulse to watch them in physical proximity got hold of Asad. It was an opportunity his crooked mind didn’t want to lose. And he knew his timing had to be perfect for what he intended to do. He backed his car out from where it was, and just when it was face to face with Komal’s car, he switched on the headlights. It was almost dark then, and the beam of light was powerfully focused inside the woman’s car. He held the beam, his hands free of the steering wheel of his stationery car. Unknown to the two, Asad’s high pixel android had captured their intimate kissing to perfection. The woman’s car number had also been caught in the frame!
Komal’s saree was off her breasts, hands were mauling the pair and the couple were wildly kissing each other with eyes closed in blissful oblivion. The lights did have an effect though, for they soon opened their eyes. Realizing that there had been a breach in their privacy, they bent down quickly and hid themselves behind the backrest of the front seat.
“Pawan! You are my bait! You’ll lead me to my prey and I’ll have my kill,” Asad sniggered silently in his car. Then, twice blowing the car horn unnecessarily, he turned and drove off from the parking lot.
“What an imbecile! Blowing horns like that!” Komal couldn’t hide her disgust at the man who had intruded and broken their moment of togetherness. But they were back kissing one another. Pawan was overwhelmed in the sweetness of her breath that excited him. They searched the insides of their mouth with their tongue, rolling them over and over one another, extracting the saliva as they sucked on them.
As Komal lay on her back Pawan was on top of her. He had opened the blouse hooks and grabbed her breasts on top of her bra. His mouth opened wide as he almost devoured a breast, still under the protection of the white bra, pressing his lips hard on it.
“Unh ..Unh” Komal moaned insanely.
“Madam, I want them …I want them. I’ll want to take the nipples in my mouth,” Pawan just didn’t know what to do with his rising passion. Grabbing her butt, then mauling her breast, kissing her lips and almost pulling them apart, running his hands up her legs and thighs…. and Komal bore all this, holding him in her arms.
Pawan’s hand had moved up drawing Komal’s petticoat and saree along with it. He had reached her panties, feeling the soft fabric. He ran his hand over the rounded curves, a finger ran along the crack. Komal moaned.
But then, realization dawned in her. This was too public a place and what happened just a while back could happen again. Somebody could turn on a light and stare at them from outside. They drew apart, Komal rearranged herself.
“Pawan, this is not the place. It’s safer if you came to my apartment. Tomorrow afternoon? Will you be busy?” Komal enquired.
“Day after tomorrow my shop will be closed, I can come on that day. May I, madam?” Pawan asked.
With their ‘date’ settled they decided to depart, and Pawan made his way back to his shop hurriedly. Komal too drove off immediately because she wanted to be back before Nishant returned from office. Not that it mattered, but it felt better if she did.
Not long after Pawan reached his shop and was contemplating whether to close for the day, he saw Asad walking in. Pawan was surprised. The landlord rarely visited his shop, leaving the collection of monthly rentals to one of his many agents.
“Asad Saab! Is anything wrong?” Pawan asked apprehensively. He feared the man because he had clout, and he feared him because he was his landlord and capable of throwing him into the streets in the twinkle of an eye with the ill powers that he wielded.
Asad just walked up to the tailor’s stitching desk-cum-counter. He stared at the tailor, his fingers just drumming on the wooden top.
“You tell me what’s wrong. Go on.” Asad’s voice was grave.
The poor tailor was flabbergasted. He looked at the landlord meekly, not knowing what to say.
“Whaa what?” he responded.
Asad simply opened the palm of his left hand and, with the open palm facing the tailor, he raised it up to his shoulders in a gesture demanding silence.
“So, you think pretense will help you, Pawan? Eh?” His voice was scorning the frightened tailor.
“Bu… But Asad Saab …,” he tried to extract some hint for the man’s current acrimony.
“Where did you go leaving your shop shut during business hours?” Asad questioned him.
“I.. I …. Just went to ..to…have some tiffin. I swear,” Pawan explained and even swore to stress his point.
“Liar! You lie without remorse, you god fearing tailor,” the landlord’s words whipped across as he slapped a hand on the desk.
Pawan was already sweating, guessing what might have gone wrong and apprehensive that he had been caught near or on the way to the mall.
“Does your wife know?” The question was so sudden, so relevant to the brewing predicament in Pawan’s mind that he froze for a while.
“You are a filthy cheat…. Your wife must know this, I’ll see that she does,” Asad continued to torment the tailor and threw another salvo at the hapless tailor before he could recover, “Who was she, Pawan, the lady in the car?”
“Wh ..who?” Pawan’s face was drained of all blood.
“So, you prefer to feign ignorance, tailor?” The voice was cold.
“Believe me Asad Saab, it’s nothing. I had gone to hand over a few blouses that I had stitched for her,” Pawan tried to cover up.
“Shut up! Shut up! Keep quiet, you fool. You are into enough trouble already. Don’t anger me or you’ll sink into a disaster that you cannot recover from.” His voice was more than threatening.
“I want the name Pawan …. The name of the woman you were with in that parking lot. Oh no, no, no …. Don’t shrug your shoulders in ignorance. Don’t keep me waiting … just the name ….. the woman’s name and of course her mobile number,” Asad was almost trying to twist information out of the scared tailor. He had casually picked up Pawan’s cell phone from the counter that stood between them. He fidgeted with the key board, rummaging through the call log.
“How’s Radha by the way?” Asad asked. Radha was Pawan’s wife and the mother of his two c***dren.
“She is not well, Asad Saab,” Pawan answered meekly.
“How can she, when her dishonest husband has taken up infidelity as a pastime, eh?” Asad was still looking at the phone’s log.
“Interesting …. no calls to your wife during the day. Hmmmm,” Asad said, “and yet women keep calling you … so many names …. Sneha Mam, Mrs. Bhandari, Anushka Mam, Komal Mam, Seema, Leela …. interesting list you have here, Pawan.” He went on surfing the names on the tailor’s cell phone, “Which one?”
The tailor, bless him, stood his ground. He didn’t budge, at least not immediately.
It is only when Asad had suddenly dialed his wife’s number and spoke into the phone that Pawan’s courage had eroded.
“Radha, this is Asad …….” He paused, allowing the gravity of the situation to sink into Pawan. The frightened tailor was now in folded hands, silently begging the landlord not to go on with this torment and indicating that he was prepared to divulge the name.
Asad knew his ploy had worked and, diverting his attention to Pawan’s wife on the phone, pretended that he was concerned about her health.
“….. Asad …Asad …. Yes, yes, your husband’s landlord. No, don’t worry, he is fine. It’s just that I came to his shop and heard that you are unwell. Kaisi ho bitiya (How are girl)?” He talked with Pawan’s wife for two minutes before he cut off the call. But he still held Pawan’s mobile in his big, hairy hands.
“So?” Asad looked at Pawan.
Flush in the face, and unable to look at his landlord Pawan leaked out what was an unwritten understanding between him and his ravishing client — secrecy.
“Komal,” he whispered, wishing he had not been heard and Asad would leave him alone.
“Ah! A pretty Hindu girl’s name. Even Muslims have that beautiful name. It means soft and supple, doesn’t it, Pawan?” He was getting to the details of that contact number on Pawan’s phone, eager to find her cell phone number. The rest would fall in place gradually.
“Yessss! Got you lady,” he was beaming in joy. Quickly, he had tapped Komal’s number into the contact list of his own mobile phone.
Pawan had dreaded that this notorious womanizer would probably ring Komal from Pawan’s own phone itself. But, he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t ring her at all at that moment but just kept back the phone in his pocket.
“I won’t disclose your name, Pawan. She’ll never know that I extracted this from you. So, you shouldn’t tell her anything either, if you know what is good for you. And remember, no one, not one soul is to know that you and I had this small ‘friendly’ talk. If you listen to me, no harm will come to you. Otherwise …….” From assurance to threats, that’s how these words ended.
Asad turned and left.
It was past eight thirty in the evening. Returning home Komal had changed into a peach color three-quarter sleeve kameez, a maroon sharara salwar and a maroon chiffon dupatta that fell across her sharply pointed breasts. The kameez fitted her very nicely, emphasizing her curves perfectly just as much as much as it emphasized her flat waist.
Meeting Pawan early that evening, with the promise of a rendezvous soon, made Komal happy and content as she hummed a tune while she moved around the apartment.
Finally, she came and sat down on the couch, stretched her legs on to a low cushion, and started reading the unfinished ‘The Silent Wife’. She awaited her husband’s arrival, the timing of which she could never guess correctly.
Her android phone drew her attention. This was not Nishant, for the ringtone was different. It was someone unknown, from the sound of it. Komal stretched her hand and picked up the phone from the glass top centre piece. This was a stranger. Possibly, it could be a promotional call, ones that she had got tired of.
“Hello?” Her voice seemed irritated when she answered the call.
“Komal?” A cold, steely voice came floating from the other end.
She was careful with strangers, even though this one seemed to know her name.
“Wrong number!” Komal responded and hung up.
It took just a minute before her phone rang again. Same ringtone, same person. She let it ring for a while and into silence. But the caller was adamant. He rang again.
“Who is this?” Komal said out of exasperation.
“You don’t know me Komal, but you will.” Asad’s voice was firm and unyielding.
“What nonsense!” Komal’s didn’t hide her irritation, “get off my line this instant.” She was about to disconnect.
“No nonsense this, lady,” Asad retorted, “and you’ll do well to be on the line without hanging up…….” Silence for a few moments before he spoke again, “Does he know?”
Komal’s became tense, unable to comprehend the meaning of this question.
“Wh..what do you mean?” She asked.
“Does your husband know?” It was a cold, sinister and investigative voice.
“What? Wha ..what should he know?” Komal’s courage was already ebbing.
“Why were you at the parking lot of New City Mall this evening?” This was no curious enquiry. It was something more ominous. Komal froze. She knew the secret of her misdemeanor had been breached.
“I had some work at the Mall and I had parked my car,” Komal tried to sound convincing.
“Oh really! Work with the tailor I believe? A tailor whose shop is situated in a building, my building actually, almost a mile away?” Asad hammered in his questions.
“S ..So? I can park any where I like. I didn’t find parking place elsewhere,” Komal replied.
“To help the tailor walk that one mile? Hmmm, you try to convince but you fail miserably. Let me tell you lady, there’s no iota of truth in what you say.” Asad’s rejoinder.
“It is true. Why don’t you believe me?” Komal was about to cry.
“Because I happened to be there at the same spot. Very near to you and the man you were with …. Pawan, I think you know him?” Asad now went in for the kill.
“Noooo … you are lying!” Komal broke down as Asad could make out that her voice was trembling.
“Komal, can you recollect the moment? When a headlight beamed into your car? The lights stayed on for a while, didn’t they? Why do you think that happened?” Asad wanted to tell him more, convince her that denial will serve little purpose.
“…. Amazing pictures these android phones capture! I have a few of you two … in not too decent a position, believe me …. including a frame that captures your car number too, unfortunately. Just to help you recollect, while you two were smooching around inside, you heard the intruding car blow its horn twice, didn’t you?”
“Why are you telling me this?” Komal was tearfully said, “Please, why are you doing this to me?”
“I’ll tell you my reasons when we meet. Just remember …you utter one word to your husband and he gets to see these pictures.” Asad said seriously.
“I don’t believe you. I don’t think you have any evidence. I won’t meet you,” Komal gathered the last vestige of courage.
“Very well. I’ll give you proof. I won’t send these pics to your mobile now. But I’ll send Sajida to your apartment tomorrow. She is a lady, so you needn’t worry. She is well known to me and will tell you everything. You’ll meet me … oh yes! You will. Unless you decide on a break in your marriage to Nishant.” Asad replied.
There was a pause in between.
“Oh! By the way, I know where you reside. Just as much as I know of your illicit relation with that timid Pawan. I’ll warn you once again …. This will not be discussed with anyone. Do you understand, Komal?” Asad tormented.
There was silence. Komal was shrouded in a fear that made her mum.
“Komal?” Asad knocked on her silence. But she kept quiet.
“Very well Komal, I’ll leave. Oh! did I tell you? You have the sweetest name that a woman can possess. I am already endeared to the softness of your name, Komal. You are as soft as your name.” Asad switched off.
Komal looked at her phone after the call was disconnected. She still didn’t know the name of the man who made this threatening call, or how he looked. She didn’t know his purpose. She didn’t know how foolproof his evidence was. She didn’t know if Pawan had divulged anything by himself. but she was too scared to ask him now. All she knew was that she was helpless.
Sitting restlessly on the couch, the frightened Komal also knew that, for her own good and safety, she would have to meet this lady named Sajida and find out more about her own predicament. The tormenting man knew too much, and she would have to obey and do whatever he wanted so that her infidelity was not leaked to her husband.
In the fading light the previous evening Asad hadn’t been able to see Komal fully. Even the picture that he had taken, with his car headlight on, didn’t really do justice to describe the beauty of the woman whom he had now targeted. But, these were enough to arouse a passion in Asad. He had many women in his life and usually never let a woman escape if he had a fancy for her. Something told Asad that this woman was special, someone he must have … in every sense of that term.
The rich Muslim promoter lay on his bed, rolling restlessly for a while. He had stopped sleeping with his wife for many years now, ever since his c***dren ran into their teens. And that was quite some time back.
Although he had an option of getting a second wife, he hadn’t married again. May be, may be …
He thought back on how he had gathered all the relevant information from that weak Pawan. He had squeaked for sure … name, number, and even her address that he had quickly found in the tailor’s bill book. Not that he couldn’t get it otherwise …. he had enough contacts in the city’s motor vehicles department to get hold of the address from the vehicle registration number.
Lying on bed, Asad recollected the phone call with this pretty woman. Komal’s voice, when it was bold and haughty, or even when scared and nervous, were so sweet and melodious to hear. How soulful would that be when she whispered ardent words of love to him! Asad’s passions were going out of control. He didn’t want to defer what had usurped his mind.
It was late in the night when he stretched his hand and picked up his cell. He flicked through his contact list till he came to ‘Sajida’. Sajida was well known to Asad, and she and her husband were close confidants in a ‘murky’ world that they shared.
Sajida was surprised to receive this call from someone whom she called ‘Bhai Jaan’ (Brother) so late at night. Even her husband Aquib looked at her in askance. Usually, late calls came when there was something urgent and important. She switched on the ‘speaker’ button for both husband and wife to hear.
Asad’s voice carried the serious tone that was intended. He explained, in details, what had happened since that evening, not hiding that he was desperate for this Hindu woman named Komal. Sajida knew this man well enough to realise that he would be remorseless in his pursuit and would not stop till he accomplished what he set out to do.
“I want you to go to her house tomorrow. If need be, show her the picture of her and Pawan in passionate kisses. I’ll send the picture to your mobile after I end this call. Convince her that it would be folly to mess around with a man like kaçak bahis me. Tell her that first and foremost I want to meet her. I want to see her, Sajida … I want to see her face to face, not in the dim lights, not outdoors, but right in front of me. Right here, in my office. I am dying to see her face more fully, just as Allah made her.”
“But Bhai Jaan, what will others think if this married woman walks into your office? And you know that area and the building …. mostly Muslims occupy those floors. It would be too embarrassing for her too. And neither safe.” Sajida tried to appeal.
“Very well, take a burqa along when you meet her tomorrow. Tell her to wear that and come. No one will see her, and she’ll be safe in that way. I’ll arrange for her protection. But she must come. Tell her that. I must have her, Sajida, believe me. I will have her, whatever that path is,” Asad said in finality, but his voice was shaking in emotion as Komal’s thoughts gripped his mind.
Aquib nodded to his wife. They knew that it would be erroneous to rake up the wrath of this powerful man.
“Yes Bhai Jaan, I’ll meet her and try to convince her,” Sajida said as silently directed by her husband.
“Not just convince her but ensure that she comes, I don’t want to be refused,” Asad said firmly.
By the time she hung up the phone, the intimate pictures of Pawan and Komal had arrived in her android. She looked at the snap and gaped at the beauty of the girl who was in the tailor’s arms. Even Aquib whistled in appreciation.
“Your Bhai Jaan will have her Sajida, make no mistake. I just wonder to what extent he’ll go. He seemed to be completely infatuated. I know what he means when he says he must have her,” Aquib said with conviction.
“What do you mean?” Sajida was curious to know.
“I am worried to what extent he will go with her. I fear he’ll take this right up to the nikah (marriage).” Aquib said seriously.
“But he can’t! It’s impossible. Unless she is converted! And what about her existing marriage?” Sajida stared at her husband in disbelief.
“If his hunger is what I apprehend it is, she’ll be converted. I am sure of that. Asad will try to get her love and make her do it willingly. Otherwise ….,” he let his words trail away to silence.
“Otherwise what?” Sajida pursued with her questions.
Aquib evaded that question but went on discussing about marriage.
“You asked about the existing marriage, isn’t it? In his case, as you know, there’s no problem. As a Muslim male, Asad can take another wife provided she is a Muslim, or she converts to being one. In her case, however, she cannot have two husbands,” Aquib explained to her.
“But wouldn’t conversion make her existing marriage void? Wouldn’t she be free to marry Asad?” Sajida enquired. She seemed to wish that such a marriage took place.
“No Sajida, Indian law doesn’t permit that, so she’ll have to seek divorce. Will her husband ever agree? Give her a divorce I mean?” Aquib pondered aloud.
Sajida intervened, “Remember that she’ll be able to marry a Muslim only if she has followed ‘Iddah’ or the waiting period, when she’ll have to refrain from all sexual activity with her existing husband.”
Aquib countered, “How can she have this ‘waiting period’ unless she discloses her intentions to her husband? Because, most certainly, he’ll demand sex? And that would lead to divorce certainly. Very tricky situation, isn’t it? But really Sajida, we shouldn’t be giving such opinions. I am sure the Maulvi will decide on this.”
“Yes. Why are we discussing these things, Aquib? We are quite content in our own marriage, isn’t it? It’s just Asad who’ll decide on his own woman and whether he wants her as his wife. We can only guess what he will do,” Sajida agreed. “But I can tell you this much — Bhai Jaan will have sex with her, marriage or no marriage.”
That night Aquib and Sajida had the most torrid sex in many days just talking and visualizing the sex scenes between the ravishing Hindu woman Komal and their infamous Muslim friend, Asad.
Around Ten O’clock the next morning Sajida received a call from Asad again. Apparently, he couldn’t keep his mind away from the thought of this woman and wanted to be assured that Sajida would undertake the task seriously.
“I have talked with her after her husband left for office this morning, Sajida. She’s frightened like a timid kitten, so your work would be easy. And she’ll be alone in the afternoon, with the maid gone. That’s what she told me, wanting that you meet her when she is alone. Take the burqa with you without fail. I have told her to wear it when she comes to my place. If she refutes or rebels in any way, show her the damaging picture, she’ll fall in line,” Asad went on advising Sajida.
“Bhai Jaan. Don’t worry so much. You’ll get your Komal!” she giggled.
“Of course, she’ll be mine. I must have her, I must. And you’ll have a big part to play in that. Not just now but for what I have in mind involving her and me.” Asad was adamantly saying.
Sajida was about to ask more but, on second thoughts, she didn’t raise any more questions.
“I’ll go in the afternoon,” she said and hung up.
Sajida left for Komal’s apartment after her lunch, not forgetting to take the burqa along with her. It took her more than an hour to reach the place even though her expert driver, Ahmed was behind the wheels.
Sajida was wearing a sky-blue embroidered salwar kameez straight suit and looked nice in this dress even at 38. However, it was with some nagging dread that she came and stood in front of Komal’s apartment. Uneasily, she pressed the calling bell.
The woman who opened the door and stood in front of Sajida was remarkably beautiful and had an enviable figure to match. Sajida was not surprised that ‘Bhai Jaan’ had fallen for this strikingly pretty lady and would go to any pains to bed her, if not possess her permanently. But the face of the girl, despite the beauty that was carved in flesh, couldn’t hide the lurking fear that lay behind her. Sajida felt sorry for her, although the biggest question that cropped up in her mind was how a woman of such rare beauty could fall for that nondescript tailor called Pawan.
“Komal?” Sajida asked politely and introduced herslelf, “I am Sajida.”
“Yes, yes. Please come in.” Komal said. The detestable man had told her the name of the woman who would call one her although he had not disclosed his own identity. She shut the door behind her softly, leading Sajida to the sitting enclosure and asking her to sit down comfortably. Her voice was shaking when she spoke.
“I …I …really don’t kn..know who has sent you nor do I know his purpose in sending you.” Komal said in a tremulous voice.
“May be if you sit down I’ll be able to tell you,” said Sajida.
“Would you like a glass of water? Cup of tea?” Komal asked, as any courteous host would. At this moment, however, she needed the water more than her guest, her lips and throat parched in discomfort.
When Sajida politely declined, Komal sat down opposite her.
“I understand how you feel Komal. All you should do is meet him once. He’ll explain everything to you.” Sajida tried to say soothingly, not wanting to be threatening to the docile and pretty host.
“He? Who’s he? Do you realize I have no inkling of who this man is?” Komal asked softly.
“Oh! You don’t even know his name? Oh Allah! Oh! my helpless girl! He is Asad…. Asad. A rich and influential man who has numerous properties in this city. He welds a lot of power, let me tell you,” Sajida not really wanting to scare her.
“Asad? Asad? He’s a Muslim?” Komal asked incredulously. She didn’t know anyone by that name and was surprised that she got entangled in a situation where her actions would be levered by an unknown Muslim man. Deep within, she was enormously scared. And, in this situation, she would never have the support of her husband, because she would never be able to confide her indiscretions to this one man who could have helped.
“What if I don’t meet him?” Komal tried to explore where she really stood. The truth behind the threats needed to be clear before she succumbed.
“In that event Komal, all that you have will be at stake. I know Asad. He’s undeniably influential, filthily rich, a devious schemer, an unrepentant terror. He will spare no pain to get what he wants. You’ll lose a comfortable life, husband, relatives …. Everything worth living for. You’ll be out on the streets, literally doing what street girls do.” Sajida said, this time seriously conveying the risks to which this girl was placing herself without hiding the man behind an artificial facade of goodness.
“But he’s telling lies when he says he saw me in the parking lot. I don’t believe him.” Komal protested and tried to wriggle out again, as if to state that the man’s words were mere concoction of falsehood.
It is then that Sajida picked up her mobile and, flicking the screen, turned to one that had Komal and Pawan in a compromising position, and kissing one another more passionately than one can imagine. And it was obvious that Komal had been taking the more active part in that ardent meeting of lips.
She held it in front of Komal’s face.
“See for yourself Komal and decide,” Sajida’s voice was firm.
The shock and shame registered on Komal’s face instantly. Her face was flushed as she hid her face within her hands.
Sajida came over and sat beside her now. She had an arm around her, trying to comfort her.
“Komal, treat me as a sister. I know I can’t help you in a way you want, but at least I can lessen your turmoil, make things a bit better in a difficult situation.”
Komal by now had started to cry. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she incoherently sobbed in front of Sajida.
“I suggest that you meet Asad first. May be his offer may not be totally unacceptable to you. At least, your life will go on …. May be for the better,” Sajida tried to comfort her. The discussions with her husband the previous night was fresh. The couple hadn’t ignored the possibility of Asad conniving to marry and possess this gorgeous woman who sat beside her.
“Just let me tell you one thing. Your own act of deceit only demonstrates your need for something better, a relationship that could bring about a perfection.” Sajida carried on in her own way of convincing and persuading the unlucky woman who sat crying beside her.
“Oh! How shall I? What’ll happen to me?” Komal said in muffled cries. “Oh! God! Oh! God” she went on murmuring, seeking atonement for her sinful transgression of these last few days.
“Allah will help you. I am sure He will find what is best for you and lead you there,” Sajida said, patting her back and then running her hand over her hair that lay open across her shoulders.
Komal was in too much turmoil.
“How will I meet him? How can I? I am afraid, Sajida,” Komal said.
“Look Komal, crying will not help you. At Asad’s direction, I have brought along a fresh burqa, just for you. See, he has thought this over out of concern for you. That you will need absolute privacy when you go to meet him. No one is to know. And you’ll be meeting him in his own building …he has an office and a private apartment, exclusively his own,” Sajida said.
Komal went on looking at this woman who was trying to bring a degree of courage in her otherwise terrified mind.
“The mohalla (neighborhood) where you’ll be going is predominately Muslim, and you’ll find most women moving around covering themselves in burqa. You’ll be safe, no one will know you or recognize you there, Komal. You see, how considerate and thoughtful is my ‘Bhai Jaan’ about you? And you’ll find that there will be an able bodyguard just beside you the moment our car stops at the building. Nobody will dare do anything to trouble you,” Sajida tried to generate confidence and reliance in the unknown man by telling these words to the nervous woman.
After some time, Komal’s sobbing subsided and she sat quietly, staring at the burqa that lay beside her.
“Go and freshen up, Komal. You wouldn’t want Asad to see you in this stage, with those swollen eyes? When you have such a lovely pair of large, innocent eyes like that of a doe? Bhai Jaan finds you far too pretty and a real paragon of beauty. Don’t dishearten him dear, on the first date, it’ll break his heart,” Sajida giggled.
Praises worked nicely. Komal had a little smile at the corner of her mouth. Just a hint of a smile, but a smile nonetheless.
“And dress well, something that makes him fall at your feet. Only then you’ll be able to mold your way and wriggle out of an uncomfortable situation,” Sajida goaded her on.
“Give me some time to get ready,” Komal said as she got up from the couch.
“Wear something soft and light … or else the burqa will make it uncomfortable for someone not used to it. And if you have a shade of green, or even yellow, you can try that. Asad loves those colors,” Sajida was being helpful and yet she was tactfully getting Komal ready for ‘Bhai Jaan’.
When, after almost half an hour, Komal came out from her bedroom she was wearing a stunning fire yellow georgette saree that had an amazing border with contrasting threads, and a green sleeveless blouse. To add to it, her accessories comprised of an exquisite pair of silver jhumkas (earrings), an elegant neck piece and a few bangles. She had also taken out a nose pin from her jewelry box, which she wore on her the right side of her nose. There was just a hint of make-up, but it was not gaudy. But, she had applied a dark maroon shade of lipstick that made her lips stand out sensually on her face. Komal looked stunning and Sajida gaped at her.
Frankly, Komal didn’t know why or what made her dress up so beautifully. After all, this was not an occasion that required her to dress. It was neither for someone who had caught her fancy. Nor for someone, who had captured her love. Yet……! Why did she dress in manner that would make a man desire her more? Was it the instinctive behavior in a woman to look beautiful? Or was it something seductive — to entrap a man no matter how threatening he was? She didn’t have an answer.
As she stood outside her bedroom, the nose pin caught Sajida’s attention. And she shook her head.
“No …No … you can’t wear nose pin now, Komal. Keep that for later,” Sajida quickly advised her.
Komal look at her surprisingly, unable to fathom why this was forbidden for her and, more particularly, why she could wear it ‘later’! She looked at Sajida questioningly.
“You’ll get to know in time, Komal. It’ll look wonderful on your pretty face no doubt and, I promise you, you’ll be required to wear it at one time, but not now. You’ll have a horde of admirers on that occasion,” Sajida giggled again.
By now Komal had taken off the nose pin and kept it back in her room. She stood in front of Sajida and said, “I am ready.”
Sajida got up and picked up the burqa that was lying on the couch. She looked at Komal appreciatingly.
“Pity you’ll have to hide that rare beauty of yours underneath this drab burqa, but it’s for your own safety. Anybody seeing you now in Asad’s mohalla will be tempted to k**nap you, Komal. You’ll be lost, even before Bhai Jaan sees you.” This time she was in splits of laughter.
Komal softly slapped Sajida’s hand in mock anger. She was warming up to Sajida slowly, taking her to be a friend or like a sister, someone to whom she could open out her mind, if and when the need arose.
Komal was guided by Sajida to wear the burqa, a woman’s cover that she had seen umpteen times but never had any necessity to wear one till then. Now fully covered, with a netted veil in front of her eyes, she felt uneasy. But, she could clearly see Sajida and didn’t find any difficulty in walking around. With nervous steps she walked towards the door of the apartment with Sajida, locking it quickly. They took the elevator and then straight to the door of the car.
A couple about to enter the building looked at the odd woman in a burqa, surprised a bit perhaps, but then walked away to the elevator. Within the burqa, Komal knew they were Mr. and Mrs. Patel, and would have certainly wished them had not Sajida held her hand and tugged on it.
Ahmed, the driver, opened the door when they came and stood beside the car. He had been a driver with Aquib and Sajida for more than twenty years and was loyal beyond doubt. Even then, Sajida indicated to Komal that she should continue wearing the burqa and the veil kept in place. Komal did as she was told, she was too nervous to even think otherwise.
The road seemed endless and only affected her nerves more. As if people on the road and surroundings were only watching her in this silky blue burqa. By that one cloth covering, she felt she had become a Muslim by choice.
Fifty minutes into the journey, Komal could see a distinct difference in the areas that the car went past. More and more shops with Urdu nameplates, or even nameplates written in both English and Urdu bearing Muslim names were frequently visible. On the streets, women in burqa became more and more frequent, and Komal somehow felt a sort of kinship and comfort with these women. At least, she wouldn’t appear strange or someone out of place when she got out of the car.
Finally, the car came and stood in front of a towering building beside a mosque. Instantly, two rugged tall men, in jeans and T-shirt, came and stood at the side where Komal was sitting.
“Bodyguards,” Sajida said, “For your protection. Thank my Bhai Jaan when you meet him. See, I told you he cares for you. Be grateful to the man at least even if, at this point, you hate him. You’ll like him though, I am sure of it.” She held Komal’s hands for a moment, smiling to give the nervous girl a boost of confidence.
Casual glances from pedestrians did fall on her, but these were so inconsequential that Komal didn’t hesitate to alight from the car. In any case, her identity and privacy were well covered.
“Good bye, Komal. My duty is done, now that I have brought you where ‘kismet’ (destiny) wanted you. Allah be with you,” Sajida said smilingly, as her car drove off.
The two bouncers kept a discreet distance from Komal, not wanting her to feel uneasy while at the same time being very protective. Hedged in between, she felt she was fully secured even in this unfamiliar, strange surrounding.
“This way please,” the taller of the two told politely and led the way till they entered the building and up to the lobby.
When the lift came, they prevented others from getting in, telling them to catch the next one. It was obvious that these two burly men had a reputation and gave an impression that they shouldn’t be needled nor questioned by anyone. Discreetly, they stood aside.
The elder of the bouncers walked in with Komal, stood politely in front of the switch board while she stood behind, almost frozen against the back of the elevator. He didn’t utter a word, pressed the key to the 8th floor, and then informed her that Asad Saab was waiting for her in his private apartment instead of his office. That was a surprising change, for Komal had heard that she would be meeting Asad in his office.
And, on the 8th floor, the bouncer stood outside as Komal got out of the lift. There was just one door visible on the entire floor, and this polite yet serious man pointed a figure to it.
“That door, Madam. Asad Saab already knows you have come. The door will open automatically for you. Please allow me to leave.” He said and turned. In seconds, the lift sped down, leaving Komal alone on this empty but illuminated corridor.
The burqa clad Komal stood despondently as she stared at the intimidating wooden door about twenty feet away at one end. Just beside the door, pinned reverentially to the wooden panels, there was a large decor of the Kaabah, the Holy Shrine of Muslims.
Her eyes shifted quickly from one to the other in repeated succession — the wooden door and the holy picture! To Komal, while one had the stamp of fear on it, the other was the epitome of faith, even though her religion was different. In her heart she knew that, in the end, it was faith that would protect her from fear.
She took small steps in that direction. Her ‘Kismet’ (destiny), as Sajida had said, thought Komal
For Komal, each step took her an eternity. She was painstakingly slow, wondering whether to turn around and flee from the cutches of her venomous tormentor. But her wiser senses held her back. A man who could have taken so many steps to draw her into his den would have, most certainly, done everything to prevent her retreat.
Her eyes fell once more on the religious frame of the Holy Shrine before she came and stood in front of the door. The moment Komal stood there, it opened on its own, making her gasp softly as she gaped inside. Almost sucked in hypnotically, she couldn’t see anyone, but the door shut behind her.
She found herself in a modest foyer that had a built-in bench at one end of the narrower wall for removal of shoes. She took off her flat white sandals, easing out of the straps that held her dainty feet, kept them underneath the bench at the allotted place, and turned towards a huge door with decorative glass on it. She took the few steps barefooted, her toes with dark nail polish clearly visible underneath the saree, as she took each step. Nervously, she pushed open the heavy door.
The door opened out into a vast living room that had a rich, flowery Turkish carpet sprawled along the entire floor. The room was exquisitely furnished, giving an element of fullness to the vast space that had opened out before her. But, at first, she could see no one.
A more inquisitive glance around the room led her eyes to a burly man standing in front of one of the large windows. He was looking out and beyond. He was huge, certainly much more than six feet and appeared heavy but muscular.
The dark green kurta that he was wearing extended beyond his knees. His pajama was also of the same color. Both the sleeves of his kurta were folded up to his elbow, leaving his thick, very hairy arms visible to Komal. Even from a distance, his wrists appeared to be rather wide to the pretty guest. Komal still couldn’t see the man’s face.
“Sit down! I do not wish to see a pretty lady like you standing in front of me as an ordinary servant or maid would,” a commanding voice floated across the room, “but, do take off your burqa first.”
“I thought you preferred to keep me covered … as women in your religion do,” Komal softly uttered, not hiding the sarcasm in her voice.
“You are no ordinary woman, and as yet you do not belong to my religion,” Asad’s retorted, to even the score. He seemed to stress on the words ‘as yet’. It that did not escape Komal’s ears.
“Would you object if I kept this on?” Komal asked tentatively.
“After the enormous pains you took to look gorgeous? And that even for my benefit? No, No … don’t deny it, woman. I have eyes everywhere and Sajida is one of them,” Asad stifled a wry smile. He had now turned his face and was walking towards Komal, who was still standing entrenched within the many couches. Komal, embarrassed beyond measure, blushed guiltily at the man’s words. Oh! Why did she have to take that effort and time to dress for this visit, and dress so well? Just because Sajida had told her?
As the man came nearer, a strong yet sweet smell of attar invaded Komal’s sense of smell. Some costly attar, no doubt about it, she thought. Asad had, in fact, applied a bit under the ear lobe and on the neck, as he normally did.
Asad came and stood at a little distance from the woman. Komal looked at his face for the first time. What caught her attention was the thick Dutch beard that hung on to his cheeks and chin like a bee hive. And yet, the portion just above his lips was clean shaven. He had thick black hair that he back-brushed. His face was big but looked bigger with the beard that he wore. His nose was straight and sharp, he had a deep scar just at the side of the left eye brow and his eyes were deep and searching, like a hawk. How would you describe this face? Fearsome? Sinister? Diabolical? In her mind, Komal struck off each as inaccurate. They were hypnotic, she felt, because they drew her eyes to him. He would be in his mid-forties at most, Komal guessed. He was tall, stout and had certainly maintained his health and vitality that would make him stand out in a crowd.
“You can go to the washroom and take off your burqa if you want.” he said, pointing to the door at the corner, “You’ll find hangars inside, in case you want to keep the burqa there.”
“If you insist,” said Komal, knowing the futility of holding back the inevitable. And besides, Sajida had put her to shame by disclosing that she had come looking ‘pretty’ at her own volition. She walked away to the washroom.
In the privacy of the washroom, she stared at herself in the big mirror. Burqa clad, there was not an inch of her face, skin or dress visible in the reflection of herself. Not having ever worn a burqa before, Komal found it was cumbersome to get out of it without disturbing the lovely georgette saree that she was elegantly wearing underneath. In the process, the ‘pallu’ of the saree fell off her shoulders.
She looked towards the mirror again. Her eyes fell on her reflection and she smiled as she saw the soft and milky white cleavage underneath the blouse that she was wearing. The top of her visible breast curves clung to each other, fighting for space within the white bra that she was wearing. A thin line of laces ran across the top of her bra, sensually resting on the soft flesh that was her bosom. She turned her body sideways, admiring her own taut and shapely breasts that lay covered by the blouse. Seeing them sideways, the taut breasts looked even sharper, tighter and fuller. Komal was proud of her breasts and always loved the silent attention that her lovely bosom received from known and unknown admirers.
Quickly, she checked her make-up but was aghast at what she saw. Her hair now was partially in disarray, her face too was a wreck with the burqa greasing her sensitive skin, and its synthetic fabric had made it so uncomfortable that she had sweated a bit and made a mess of her make up. She needed to straighten and rearrange her saree, which she now did, as it tightly wrapped around her butt curves and breasts. She tugged at the hem of the blouse so that there were no wrinkles on it. She retouched her face and redid her lips to make them much more alluring. Satisfied that she looked the way she wanted, she walked out of the washroom.
Outside, she couldn’t see Asad. When she had gone to the washroom, he was standing at the center of the room. Unknown to her, the man had moved away and was rummaging through a wall cabinet somewhere behind the washroom. It was impossible for Komal to see Asad unless she looked back. She walked towards the couch.
From where he was now standing Asad stared at the swaying hips of the retreading housewife. So attractive, so very tempting, he thought greedily. How much would it measure? More likely it was around 38″. He imagined holding her from behind, running his hands on both her naked arms, so clearly visible now that she was out of her burqa. He felt an immediate hardness just thinking about being behind her and his hardness touching the crevice between those curves.
And her breasts? Should be 36″ and so tempting. So very loveable, waiting to be fondled by a man’s hands. His hands! Hands that were big and coarse. And she had a nearly flat waist that made all her curves stand out. All that on a particularly tall and beautiful woman. Asad found her irresistible. He followed behind.
Standing among the sofas, Komal turned and saw Asad. The man firmly clapped his hands twice, and Komal raised her eyebrows. What sort of appreciation was that? How cheap, she thought.
But, she was mistaken. It was just the man’s signal to a young housemaid, for she quietly came into the room out of nowhere with a silver tray and a silver tumbler on it. She came and stood shyly in front of Komal.
“Sherbet,” it was almost a whisper from her.
Komal’s eyes traversed from the tumbler, to the housemaid and then on to the tall man who stood before him. There was no doubt that she was apprehensive, and perhaps skeptical that it would contain enough intoxicants to floor her into unintentional submission.
“There are many things I can force you to have, or do, Komal. But not what you fear. Certainly not to a guest, and an extraordinarily beautiful guest at that! That drink would certainly quench your thirst and soothe your nerves in this hour of your … ah …crisis,” Asad didn’t hide a little bit of mirth in his voice.
He turned to the maid, telling her to keep the tray on the table and leave. When he glanced back, she had left and there was none excepting Komal and himself. He turned towards her.
“It would be tiring for both of us to remain standing while we talked about something that involved our lives. I would certainly feel honored if you sat down. And do try that sherbet … ” Asad said decently.
Komal sunk into one of the cushioned couches. At least, it helped her to be steady rather than standing on her nervous legs. Asad sat down opposite her. He had uncovered the decorative lid on the silver tumbler as he stretched his hand towards Komal to offer the drink.
“Safe and simple Rooh Afza, with ice, for your parched lips,” said Asad, “Have a sip … without fear.” He observed her sensual lips. With the fresh coat of dark maroon that Komal had applied in the restroom the pair was more luscious than before. He imagined his own lips on them.
She ignored his offer.
“Later, if I feel like it.” Komal said, “I am keen to know why you brought me here. Sajida insisted that I meet you.”
“Why do you think I wanted you here? What could be the reason?” Asad countered.
“To blackmail, what else!” Komal said indignantly.
“For what?” Asad was curiously asking.
“Money. Because you know we have that in abundance,”Komal said, knowing very well that it was a wrong reason.
“Splendid. Just that I have fair amount of it myself. Allah has been kind.” There was a hidden mirth in his eyes once again.
Komal withdrew into silence. She decided that it would be best to leave the questions to the creepy man who sat opposite to her.
Asad got up and walked over to a built-in wall cabinet. Unlocking it, he pulled out an envelope and came back to Komal.
“Blackmail is a very offensive term, Komal. I usually refer this as ‘bargain’. It sounds better. Bargain is neither i*****l, nor irritating. A sort of battle, in fact. Most people indulge in it and take a lot of pleasure when doing so. Even you must have done this a thousand times in your life. Let’s see what I can bargain with you, pretty lady.” Asad inserted his fingers into the envelope that he was holding and took out a photograph.
Komal stared at her opponent, for he could be termed only as an ‘opponent’ if he was to talk of bargains and battles.
Asad güvenilir bahis placed the enlarged photograph on the center-piece that separated them. A quick glance at the picture confirmed Komal’s dread. It was the same one that Sajida had shown her in the mobile. Only, this was an enlarged hard copy. Komal’s hands shook as she picked up the photo from the table.
“Are you sure you won’t have the sherbet, Komal?” Asad pricked Komal with his words.
“What do you want to do with this?” Komal asked in a shaky voice.
“Depends. That’s where bargaining comes in. I have mentally tagged a price on it and usually, when I sell, I have this ‘Fixed Price – No Bargaining’ glued to the item. But, in this case, giving due honor to the most beautiful woman that I have set eyes upon, I am prepared to play this bargaining game. What price are you willing to pay?” Asad sounded relaxed and enjoying his time.
“Price? How can I say anything about the price when you said earlier that it’s not money that you are interested in?” Komal was out of her wits. Her lips had parted in dryness and she ran her tongue on them.
Asad quickly glanced at the pink tapering tongue that wetted the parched lips. He was himself prepared to pay a price to kiss those lips, desperate to possess her. But he held back his passions, at least till he was unsuccessful in what his real aim was.
“What if the price is decided not in cash, but in kind? Would you be prepared to give a kiss and take this photograph? Or something more, say kissing and squeezing, to make me delete it from my android? Of course, Sajida also has one stored in her mobile. And what would you offer so that I left you alone entirely? I don’t really see that as a possibility though.” Asad was toying with her.
“Asad Saab!” Komal stood up in complete indignation, “You are a vile man.”
“Sit down!” He had raised his voice. It was serious and stern. “Sit down or the world will know about your secret affair. And don’t show yourself to be so upright and righteous.” He thundered. Komal shriveled instantly.
He, in turn, softened the moment Komal sat down.
“This is a bargain, remember? It is up to you or me to reject the offer … or accept, that’s how they do it while trading, isn’t it?” Asad now said with a smile, “Don’t forget that, quite likely, even I may reject what you offer. You see, I am willing to sell all to get the best deal.”
He looked at Komal. She is beautiful, no doubt about it, thought Asad. His gaze shifted from her face to her silky shoulders on which the blouse rested. Underneath, the outlines of the bra straps attracted him. He wanted to see her in her brassiere, gorgeous ones. What color was it? He couldn’t make that out underneath the green blouse.
Komal looked at the man who was giving these preposterous offers. A kiss? How much would that get her? Just the one snap that was lying on the table. She quickly checked his lips. They were thick, prominent, and demanding, partly bearded because there was none over the upper lip. How disgusting would a kiss be from him? And, in any case, a kiss would only earn her a copy of the photograph. The original would remain with him, so would the threats of disclosure. Not a good bargain, she concluded.
“What’s your best deal? All photographs, deletion of the pictures in all electronic storages, no disclosure, no further interference from your end – physically or mentally. What’s the price? What helps me get peace of mind?” Komal decided that if she were to sacrifice something beyond a kiss, she might as well get all that would ensure her safety and dignity.
“If you ask what helps you to get peace of mind, I would say ‘Only Allah can get you that’. But if on the other hand …” he trailed into silence as Komal had started speaking again.
“Ok. Leave out that portion about peace of mind. What price for everything else?”
Asad looked at her face intently, staring coldly into her beautiful eyes.
“Nikah! Marriage” Asad said, stressing on the words as he pronounced them, and leaving no scope for ambiguity. Without battling an eyelid, he stared at Komal.
Komal almost fainted. She gaped at the man before she blurted, “Whattt?”
“That’s what I want, Komal. Believe me. And I am dead serious. There’ll be no bargain on that. That, for exchange of everything that you want. Or nothing at all. “Asad replied.
“Impossible!” Komal almost screamed out of indignation, “I am married!”
“Married! Ha! And yet indiscreet enough to have those lips of yours pulled and those perky breasts mauled by that classless common tailor. I can only guess what he might have done to the rest of your body, including your butt.” Asad didn’t mince his words.
Komal was red in the face.
“Let me ask you something. How many years have you been married, since I now doubt if you are indeed the homely housewife that you declare yourself to be?” Asad’s agitated mind surfaced time and again.
“Five years. What relevance does that have in what we are discussing now?” Komal was confused.
“Five years! Enough to have c***dren by now. Why don’t you have any, Komal?” There was a bit of a pinch and sarcasm in his words.
“That’s none of your business,” more indignation from the hurt woman.
“Certainly not my business, I agree. But are you on pills? You two still planning your family? You may be twenty-nine but he’s already forty, remember? He would be a fool if he went on planning still. Or is it that his sperm count is abysmally low, eh?” Asad laughed out aloud.
“Shut up, keep quiet,” Komal, for once, mustered the courage to tell these words.
“May be, you have been waiting for me, Komal … he’s just five years younger to me, you know, and I am far more fit and virile than he is” he laughed aloud again, tormenting the ashamed woman who sat in front.
Komal covered her ears with her hands, disgusted at the man, disgusted with herself.
“Why, Komal? Why do you think me so bad? Am I not better than the tailor? Or your husband, who has little time or romance for you and incapable of breeding you? When was the last time you two have had sex? Be honest.” Asad wouldn’t stop tormenting her.
“Stop! Stop! Please, please stop!” screamed Komal.
“No wonder you dashed off to that moron to satiate your desires. And secretly too, and that places you under constant threat of being caught by your impotent husband. It speaks volumes of your unfulfillment in marriage, of your dissatisfaction in the most cherished emotion of our life – sex!” Asad was neither sparing Komal nor her husband Nishant.
“I am leaving,” Komal said out of exasperation and stood up.
“Sit down! You are not going anywhere,” thundered Asad. “You’ll leave only when I want.”
Komal collapsed into the layered cushions of her couch. She looked on despairingly at this man who was toying with her, threatening her and playing with her emotions.
“Look woman! If you have any inkling of what type of a man I am you would know that I have the means to remove you without a trace. I could destroy you by various means, such that you will be ashamed and disgusted with your own life. You would be forced to sell yourself, that lovely body of yours – every part of it, for the pleasure of men. Yet, till now, I haven’t as much as touched you. Not a finger on those soft and silky curves. I gave you the respect, even when you were coming here. All for a purpose,” Asad had already lowered his voice.
Her face hidden within her hands, Komal kept listening to every word that Asad went on saying.
“Believe me, Komal. My mind had made an enormous decision the moment I saw you with the tailor. I am prepared to woo you, love you and make you my wife and begum. Yes, I do have a wife and grownup matured c***dren, but my religion doesn’t forbid me to have another wife,” Asad raved emotionally. “Accept me. You’ll find complete fulfillment in your life. I promise you that.”
Komal kept quiet. She just went on allowing the words to sink in. She wondered how preposterous this man’s wish was. And yet, she was certain that she had no choice. This was just a choice between complete ruin and an unthinkable marriage.
Komal shook her head.
“Don’t you realize the futility? And what do I tell Nishant? Nobody is going to accept this marriage. Certainly, none from my side. What do I do then? Please, leave me …let me go. Don’t play with my life, I beg you,” Komal pleaded, while her hands rested on her lap.
“I can’t, Komal. I can’t. You don’t realize the fire that’s burning within me. That fire won’t stop easily, not till I have you as my own, the woman who can only be mine. Only you can douse that fire, or that fire will devastate you. Don’t make me do it.” Asad tried to make her understand.
Komal looked at the man. The earnestness in his voice and face was something that Komal could never imagine this man could possess. There were so many contradictory emotions in the face of the man at that moment – determination, arousal, lust, pride, dejection, anger and even revenge. Any of these emotions could surface on that one decision she took. It could mean either respect, or complete ruin for her. She was certain of that.
Komal looked back at her life – the years since her marriage. What really led her to commit that one aberration in her life, that one act of infidelity? It was surely not a matter of love for Pawan, the tailor. Rather, it was the unfulfillment in her conjugal life that led her to that self-inflicted damage that took such an unimaginable grip over her life. Much as she wanted, she didn’t have any c***dren either to love and care, to be busy with in life. She recollected the many lonely hours that she was required to spend due to Nishant’s busy and strenuous work life. Would these ever change? She sat thinking, brooding, lost in her thoughts.
Asad watched her face too. It was obvious that she was thinking of her life and of what Asad told her. Would she agree?
He got up after a few moments of silence between them and stood beside Komal and she, in turn, looked up at his bearded face.
The big man sat down beside Komal now. He took her hands that were lying on her lap and held them within his own and then pulled the clasped hands to his chest. Komal made no attempt to pull her hands out and away.
“Komal, please don’t refuse me, I’ll not be able to withstand that refusal,” Asad said in earnestness.
“I am sorry Asad. I must refuse. My marriage may not have been heavenly, my conduct recently has not been beyond question, but I cannot negate a wedlock that came out of promises and solemn vows. You have got to believe that and let me go,” Komal said, hoping that Asad will see reason in what she said.
Asad’s face turned to one of anger in an instant. He raged at Komal, ” I don’t believe you. You cannot refuse me, Komal. Not after my mind has settled the issue. You belong to me, to Asad only. I’ll have you by any means, no matter how crooked or devious that may be.”
He pulled at her hands and as she fell on her chest he put his huge arm around her shoulder and gripped her by the naked arm that her sleeveless blouse had exposed. It was a rough grip from a man of immense strength.
“You’re mine. You will not refuse me, you understand?” He had pushed himself on the woman till her body arched backwards on the couch. He held her on his arm, allowing her to rest on it. Komal shifted on the couch uneasily but he held her. Asad’s bearded face was almost on Komal as she looked on horrified.
In the next moment Asad’s lips were on Komal’s. There were murmurs of protest from Komal, inaudible words of refusal. But she was helpless in the big man’s strong arms.
Asad forced her to open her lips, pushing them apart by the force of his own thick lips. His tongue slid in, tasting her saliva and taking in the sweet breath of the ravishing woman in his arms. Soon, he was sucking her lower lip. Komal tried vainly to push him away with her hands. But, it was a hopeless situation. Helplessly, she let her be kissed, her agitated mind slowly relaxing into an unexplained calm. The man’s hand on the back slid down, touching the naked skin between the blouse and waist, as he felt her silky softness. But he didn’t stop. Both his hands now gripped her butt curves and pulled her nearer into him, squeezing her into his chest as he continued to kiss her insanely. Komal gasped for breath. As her breasts pushed into his chest, he could feel the nipples that crowned the beautiful orbs. He had taken in her lips fully in his mouth at one stage, as he pressed and sucked both the soft lips so hard that Komal cried out in pain.
Luckily, Asad didn’t proceed further. He remembered his bargain and didn’t want to stretch this too far for now. Like he said while bargaining – marriage was the only option and he held all cards to his advantage. He pushed his own face away suddenly and stared at Komal’s. He saw the beautiful face and the closed eyes. Did she enjoy the kiss? Even if he asked, she wouldn’t answer truthfully. Of this, Asad was sure.
Asad released her, allowing her to move away from him to the edge of the couch. Her lips looked swollen and much of the lipstick had been sucked away. The sides of her lips bore reddish marks of aggression. She had a flushed look on her face and her hair was all disheveled. In the wild hug, the pallu had fallen of her breast and uncovered her blouse. And Komal’s cleavage was now fully visible, as she took deep, panting breaths. The most beautiful woman, Asad gaped, but there were no further physical demands on her from this man.
Asad continued to stare at Komal for a while but she had, in shame, turned her eyes away. She really didn’t know how far this man would prolong her torment. She recollected the terms of his ‘bargain’.
Suddenly, Asad picked up the photograph that he had shown to Komal earlier. He kept it back in the big envelope that contained another copy of the same photo.
“Here. You get these pictures for the kiss that I got as per terms of our bargain. Remember? Even though, it is one that I had to force and get and was by no means voluntary from your end. But do remember that what I told you at the beginning holds true even now. There’s no change in the terms … You get all, but you give yourself fully to me. And fully includes marriage …Nikah!”
He clapped his hands twice again, and the young maid returned. She didn’t dare look at either Asad or at Komal, for that was the written rule of the household. She wouldn’t be knowing what took place between the master and the guest just a while back.
“Water, for both of us. And tell the driver to bring the car to the front. Our lady shall be leaving soon,” his voice was without emotion.
Komal was lost in her thoughts, not knowing what she should do or where events would take her or both. Asad too had many thoughts rushing through his mind. But he was focused on his intention.
Both sat quietly till the maid had brought two tumblers of drinking water. This time, Komal didn’t wait. She picked up one and quickly gulped down the water to quench her thirst.
“Before you leave Komal, I remind you that I do not waver in my intentions. Particularly, in your case, there’s no question of reconsidering, because I cannot afford to lose someone who has taken possession of my mind and body. I will not repeat again but I am pleading with you to return home and think over everything that I told you here today. May be, when you consider the odds, you’ll take a decision that shall be to our mutual benefit. I’ll give you a week’s time before I bite,’ Asad said seriously.
“Should I wear the burqa when I leave?” Komal asked in a surrendering voice.
“I would suggest that you do. And keep it at a safe and secret place in your house. I think you’ll need it soon,” Asad said.
In a short while Komal was ready to leave. She was already wearing the burqa after going to the washroom. She came and stood before Asad.
“Asad Saab, I shall let you know my decision in a week. Whatever that may be, I beg you to be considerate on a helpless woman,” Komal pleaded.
Asad didn’t reply. He just picked up the cover with the photographs and stretched his hand to Komal. But Komal didn’t take it. There was a mumble of sorts from within the burqa which could mean anything. Looking at his questioning face she understood that.
“I don’t need the pictures. Those will not help me. Only you can, if you want. I am in your hands,” Komal said softly.
She found the bouncer waiting for her in the corridor, just outside the main door. Like before, she was escorted out of the building and to Asad’s car. Within moments, she was being driven back to her apartment. A thousand thoughts were racing through Komal’s mind when the car navigated through one of the busiest cities in India.
Back home, she quickly hid the burqa in her cupboard underneath her sarees. She trotted towards the washroom. She had to have a wash and look presentable before Nishant returned.
Inside the bathroom mirror she stared at the ravages of the man’s ardent kisses. Oh my god! What explanation would she give to her husband for the swollen lips and the light abrasions surrounding those lips. She got some ice from the fridge and, despite the discomfort, held it at these places. By the time Nishant returned home nearly four hours later, her face was almost normal. Even the faint traces of those aggressive kisses escaped her husband’s attention and, for once, Komal felt that even indifference has its merits.
When the couple retired to bed, Komal had started leafing through a woman’s magazine. Nishant took his medicine and sliding underneath the light blanket, placed a hand on Komal’s shoulder.
“Komal, I hate to tell you this, but early next month I’ll be out of the country for almost a month. There’s a fabulous order in hand for our company and I’ll be heading the team to initiate the task. If you wish, you can invite your Papa and Ma to stay with you, or even you can go to their place,” Nishant tried to lessen his fault by trying to be generous in his offer.
“That wouldn’t be necessary, nor would it be possible. They will be going to my brother’s place at Bengalaru,” Komal said, without looking up.
“Oh! Anyway, if you would like …” Nishant murmured but realizing that he was not getting Komal’s attention, he turned around towards the wall and closed his eyes.
Komal stared blankly at the magazine for a while before she looked up. She realized that Nishant was asleep. How near was she to Nishant? Or, to be more precise, how far apart were they? The loneliness was throttling her and the next month, when she was all alone, the spacious apartment would almost be like a haunted place and unbearable. There was a deep sigh from her as she looked at her husband once again. Then, switching on the night lamp, she too prepared to go to sleep.
Sleep didn’t come quickly. The events of the day fleeted through her mind. She recollected her fear and how she had tried to resist at first in the apartment of this towering man. Frankly, she had loathed the man in the beginning. He was so adamant in what he wanted and yet pretended that he was generously giving her so many offers to scape from his clutches.
However, lying in bed now, the more those events at the man’s place came to her turbulent mind, the more she was filled with a totally different feeling. Those moments on the couch came flooding back and she shook her head in shame at first. How could she ever think about this shameful thing? But, in a while, her fingers went up to her face and she found herself running them across her soft lips. Oh god! How the man had kissed those lips of hers. Even in the semi darkness of her room, she blushed. The man could kiss so very passionately, and the mere thought sent shivers through her body. Those large rough hands, how hard they had gripped her naked arms and even squeezed her rump when he pulled her into him. She squirmed in bed as tingling sensations swept through her body. Slowly, she drifted off to sleep and if she had any dreams related to those events, she couldn’t recollect them in the morning.
That morning, at the breakfast table, Komal was quiet and rather glum. Not that she was jovial on the other mornings, but it was obvious to Nishant that his impending foreign tour and long absence had contributed to her mood.
“Komal,” he said, as he sipped his tea, “I know you are feeling bad. I couldn’t refuse, could I?”
“I am not blaming you. Let’s not talk on this.” Komal said as she got up to get the breads from the toaster.
“I know. It’s just that you’ll feel bad staying alone,” Nishant wanted to carry on a conversation to break the silence at the dining table. Then after a pause, when Komal kept quiet, he said, “If only, we had c***dren …you wouldn’t feel so bad… you should think over what I suggested …about adoption.”
This matter had been discussed a number of times in the past, after it was almost certain that there was deficiency in Nishant. Komal had always refused. She longed for her own, not adopted ones.
“I have already told you that it is not necessary.” More silence!
There was no further discussion. Both quietly finished breakfast. Nishant searched the pages of the newspaper for things of interest. Komal fiddled with her spoon, apparently having little interest in the food.
Nishant finally got up, put on his coat and, picking up his office bag, walked out. His departure added to the existing silence. Komal got up and threw the remnants of her food into the garbage bin.
Compared to what had happened the previous day, the current one was quite uneventful. But while she didn’t have to think and fend herself against a scheming man, her mind was kept busy.
The fear of disclosure by the scheming Asad loomed large. Currently, there was another fear. Had the man schemed and secretly recorded the kissing that he and Komal had indulged on the couch? While this one between her and Asad was not voluntary on her part, she couldn’t deny that there were elements of submission in her too. And they kissed for quite some time. If the recording had been extended, there could be unmistakable evidence of swollen lips. It would only show her as extremely promiscuous – first with Pawan and then with Asad! If she got out by bargaining on her affair with Pawan, the other with Asad would be crippling. Oh God! What had she got herself into.
Once again, her mind ran through her options. The terms of bargain that the man had proposed. So thoroughly one sided in his favor if it were to ensure foolproof safety for her. How would she hold him off?
She would have to renegotiate. Convince the man to let her go. Make him understand the utter futility of his proposal of marriage. Komal resolved to meet the man again. And although she mustered courage, she didn’t do anything for two or three days other than just fret and stall. She had a week’s time from Asad. Finally, three days after her ignominious visit to Asad’s den, she dialed his number of her cell phone.
Her first reaction on hearing a deep breathy voice respond was to disconnect. What would the man think? That she was eager to meet him? Komal kept quiet.
“I know you are on the line Komal. It would be foolish if you kept quiet when you have phoned me on your own. Go on, or I will disconnect.” Asad knew that he had the cards, now that he was certain the woman was on the verge of succumbing.
“I … I… ha…have to meet you,” Komal stammered.
“But of course! You have to, for there’s nothing you can do otherwise,” Asad’s voice was almost intimidating.
“Wh…when can I? I mean …whe..where …how,” Komal was fumbling for words.
“You will meet me today, this afternoon … at my apartment. Do you understand? You’ll wear the burqa and come. I am sending my car. And dress well, Komal. You must. Be ready in an hour.” Asad said almost sternly.
Oh god! He is so dominating. So unwavering in his demands. Deep inside, a nerve inside her loosened instantly. Unlike Nishant, who was so soft spoken and so much acquiescing.
Asad had hung up. Komal just hoped that she was not getting embroiled in further trouble.
Now that her visit was finalized, and she had been directed to be well dressed, Komal quickly got up and walked over to her closet. She was in a quandary. Unlike last time, when she had Sajida guiding her in what to wear, now she had none. But, in the end, she picked up a lavender chiffon saree with zari work and border and black sleeveless blouse. She applied the right make up and applied a reddish shade of lipstick. Surprisingly, she applied a bit of lip gloss that made her lips alluring.
Her reasons for dressing so appealingly were beyond explanation. When she had finished with her makeup, and added her favorite perfume, she received a call from Asad. He advised her that the driver was waiting outside. Wearing the burqa. Komal was on her way.
An hour later, she passed through the familiar locality of their previous rendezvous. Like previously too, the bouncers were by her side and guided her protectively to the lift and the apartment on the eighth floor. This time, she didn’t have to be guided towards the door. The bouncer pressed the elevator key once Komal was outside and the lift was on its way down.
Komal was surprised that she didn’t have any traces of fear. It was a call of necessity, one that she had to answer. Would she agree to the offer of the man? Would she try to counter argue, knowing it was hopeless? No one knew, least of all Komal. She had come with dilemma in her mind. And had decided that she would leave events decide on her behalf.
Asad was waiting for her in the foyer. He knew about her arrival in advance and had positioned himself at a place where he would have a glimpse of the ‘rare’ beauty at the earliest.
“Lovely heels,” he said when Komal was about to open the silver pair and keep it underneath the narrow bench that was the shoe rack. Komal had applied a fresh coat of dark polish on her toes just that morning. Azad looked at her dainty feet with the polished toes. So tantalizing, he thought.
“Keep them on, Komal,” he said, not hiding the tone of admiration.
“What? Aren’t we…” Komal was dumbfounded.
“Not applicable to you,” Asad said, as he picked her up in his arms, not paying any heed to the feeble protests from Komal. She was beating her fists on Asad’s chest, showing her disapproval.
“Let me down. Please let me down,” the tone in her voice was certainly not one of anger.
Asad paid no attention. He easily pushed the heavy glass door that led from the foyer to the spacious living room, carrying the protesting Komal in his arms. She flapped her feet, with the heels clinging on them, like a c***d in tantrums.
Asad lowered her only when he stood beside the washroom. But, even then, he didn’t let her go immediately. He held her on the arms, looked into the netted veil, as if searching for her eyes.
“You may open your burqa inside the washroom, Komal. I shall be waiting here to carry you to the sofa,” Asad said and stood aside.
When she came out after five minutes, she was looking stunning. Asad couldn’t hide his joy when he saw her. He felt an instant urge to hold her by her naked arms, now that she had taken off her burqa. But, instead, he picked her up and carried her to a sofa. Komal didn’t protest, didn’t swing her feet like she had done earlier.
“I take it that your return visit implies that you have accepted my offer?” Asad enquired, his voice sounded like that of one who has won.
“No, I haven’t. I have come only to beg you once more. Surely, there is way out of this?” Komal asked.
In an instant, Asad’s happy face had turned to a serious one. He gripped her soft and milky naked upper arms that her sleeveless blouse had not covered. There was strength in that grip as he pulled her into him.
“You lie. You are as sure about accepting my offer as I am firm in my decision to take you as my wife. Your very actions and behavior are dead giveaways. You are only afraid to say so. Isn’t it Komal?” Asad was sure of the woman’s mind.
Komal tried to look away.
“Look at me. I know eyes reveal the truth in a woman.” Asad said seriously.
She turned her face a fraction. Asad waited no more. He put his huge arms around her, held her by her rump and squeezed her into him. Her breasts pushed into his chest, he could feel the tenderness of those orbs. The nipples seemed to have gathered a hardness almost instantly, as they dug into him.
“Look at me, Komal. Give me your answer,” Asad was desperate.
Komal didn’t answer, but she went on breathing heavily.
“Why do women lie?” He asked with a hint of scorn.
No matter how much Komal tried to evade and turn her face away, Asad wouldn’t let her. With a firm grip on the back of her head he didn’t allow her to move. He forced his thick lips on Komal’s luscious ones, pressing hard enough to part them and taking in a whiff of her refreshing breath.
“Ahhh! So intoxicating.” Asad said as he took in her breath.
Komal’s feelings were swaying into a haze of uncertainty. Certainly, she couldn’t accept the thought of marriage to this man. It was impossible to reconcile to it – not when she was already married and, more particularly, not when he was from a religion other than hers. And yet her body seemed to buckle under the rising tide of physical necessity. With her body entwined in Asad’s unrelenting grip, she had little possibility to get away.
‘Marry me Komal and earn your freedom. Not just freedom here and this instant, but from the freedom that your mind and body seek. No, don’t dent it. Every nerve in your body craves for it.” Asad said with passion.
His hands were pressing her butt, kneading the pair and, at the same time, drawing Komal into him. He kept grunting as his uncontrolled passions kept rising. Still kissing her hard, he swung the fragile body of the woman, unable to decide in which position he felt her to be nearest to him. Soon, he had forcibly guided her to the couch and sunk into the cushions. Their lips were inseparable, by choice or otherwise.
“I desire you, I need you Komal,” Asad’s voice was shaking as a hand came away from Komal’s back and onto a breast. He gripped it, pressing it softly, tenderly, before more urgent need took over. He mauled it now, kneading both the pair hard enough for Komal to cry out softly. He held the nipples over her blouse and brassiere, pinching hard in turn and then drawing them out.
Komal felt helpless against this relentless attack on both her mind and body. Asad was pushing in his tongue into her mouth. He ran it along her dazzling teeth, the insides of her mouth and swirling around her tongue. He sucked on it, intoxicated in its taste.
Moments later, Asad heard a moan – faint, imperceptible, but a moan nonetheless. For, at that moment, Komal had almost reached the last stage of her resistance. She was torn between surrender and refusal. What was her ‘destiny’? Where would life lead her now? Events would lead her to take a decision, she had thought earlier. And she had now decided.
She pulled her mouth away with all her ability, saliva dripping down her chin. She wanted to tell something to this burly man who held her in his strong arms. She had to.
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