“It’s not that straightforward, memsaab!” Parvati gently thumped the table with her bruised fists as she fought back her tears.
“Parvati, I understand.” I got up from my chair, crossed the table and stroked her back to soothe her. “I understand it’s not straightforward. Or even simple. But you have to do something or this will continue forever.”
She then burst into tears. I sighed, picked up a box of tissues from my table and handed it to her. She used the tissues to wipe the tears from her face and blow her nose. This is the worst part of my job. Dealing with someone in denial about their situation.
I am a psychology graduate employed as a social worker with an NGO that specializes in helping out lower income women in Delhi. My expertise is counseling women under the poverty line, typically from the slums, who have been victims of domestic violence. When these women get beaten up or otherwise mistreated by their husbands, the police often get involved. The husbands are dragged away by police constables, beaten up, and spend a couple of days in jail. The women are brought to NGOs like ours where we help them recover from the trauma and try to counsel them on the best ways forward.
The police and the courts in India are nowhere close to perfect when it comes to dealing with women, but they generally at least try. The biggest problem that cops face in such cases is simple. The women are angry in the immediate aftermath of their trauma and are forthcoming about the abuses they have suffered. But after a couple of days, some traditional or familial instinct kicks in and they are not willing to press charges or testify. So the cops have to release the husbands. The police department is under-staffed and over-worked so they have to prioritize more serious crimes like murder and rape. So they put the case file away and then send the women to us.
My job is to counsel such women against changing their minds. To convince them, gently but firmly, that it is in their best interests to leave these men and have them put behind bars. And that is what I am trying to convince Parvati about.
“He is good with the girls. He really is!” Parvati took a break from her sobs and said.
“I believe you.”
“He loves them. Always looks after them. It’s just me he has issues with.”
“Parvati, listen to me.” I said. “Yes, he is good with the girls. Which means he doesn’t hit them or abuse them. But he hits you. In front of them. Right?”
“Yes.” she softly replied. “But it’s only when he is drunk. When he is sober…”
“Don’t use alcohol as an excuse…” I interrupted her “to justify his behavior. Alcohol doesn’t change what a person is deep down inside.”
Parvati opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it again and wiped her tears.
“Now if you continue to stay with this man, what example are you setting for your daughters? Do you want them to grow up internalizing the belief that it is okay for a man to just bash up his wife? Using alcohol as an excuse?”
“When your daughters grow up, do you want them to be beaten up by their men? And accept it as normal?”
“NO!” Parvati raised her voice. “I don’t want my daughters to have a life like mine. I want them to be…”
She paused and looked at me.
“To be like you, memsaab!” she nodded and continued. “Educated, mature, strong, and independent.”
There it came again. The effusive praise for me from the female victims, a classic example of transference. In my rookie days, I tried to brush it off. But now I knew better. I still didn’t fully indulge in it. Just tried to channel it in the right direction.
“Well Parvati, if you really want your daughters to be like me, you have to set a good example. Which means you have to do something about…what’s his name again?” I flipped through the file.
“Lallan…” Parvati whispered with a shudder.
From the file, Lallan seemed to be quite the textbook problem case. No steady job, mostly lived off the money his wife made selling vegetables, habitual drunkard, got in fights all over, and beat up his wife regularly. The last time it happened, the beating had spilled over onto the street just as a police patrol car was driving by. They scooped up Lallan, put him in the station lock-up and one of the lady constables helped Parvati file a complaint. But in a couple of days, she had shown up to withdraw the complaint. And they had to let the guy go with a stern warning.
“So you see my point?” I asked.
“Yes, memsaab.” Parvati nodded earnestly.
“The only way forward is for you to file a police complaint, make him take his punishment as the law decides, and then we can help you leave him and divorce him.”
“Divorce????” she sounded shocked.
“If you care about your daughters, that’s the only way. So…are you ready to press charges? I know all the cops in that police station. They will help you. And we can also help you a lot.”
“I don’t know, memsaab…divorce seems so extreme!”
But I pressed on. I used all the persuasive skills at my disposal, all the things I had learnt in my training, everything I knew from my five years of experience in this job, to talk Parvati into acting on her own survival instincts. Finally, I seemed to have broken through.
An hour later, I was on the phone with Inspector Dubey who had referred her case to me. Parvati, I noted with a sense of accomplishment, was pressing charges against her abusive husband. As long as she testified, he would be sent away for a couple of years, and she could get a divorce as well as sole custody of her kids. Then another division of our NGO would help her resettle in another city so if her husband decided to get vengeful after getting out of jail, he couldn’t torment her more. I closed the file from my side.
I felt cautiously optimistic about this case. Part of this job was regular disappointment. An odd kind of reverse recidivism where women we convinced still changed their minds and went back to their battered lives despite having the option to escape. Whenever that happened, I felt sad and defeated.
Years of this had taken a toll on me, and my husband Anup had seen it from close quarters. He saw me go from a perky and idealistic aspiring social worker at 22 when we started dating, to a slightly hardened postgrad during my internships at 25 when I got married, to an often morose and cynical veteran now at 30. Anup often tried to convince me to quit the job and do something less stressful and depressing. I resisted, knowing that what I was doing made a difference. But as the years passed, it was getting harder and harder to resist his suggestions.
So when Anup’s company decided to send him to the US on an onsite assignment with the possibility of a green card, I decided to change my career tracks too. I took the GRE and starting sending applications to doctoral programs in social psychology. With a good score and a hefty experience in social work on the frontlines, I was optimistic that I would soon enter the world of academia and leave this soul-sapping job behind.
I was counting the months.
I saw Parvati again a month later. She walked into my office looking considerably more cheerful and entirely free of bruises. She was accompanied by a short wiry man. Maybe her brother, I presumed.
“Namaste, Shikha memsaab.” Parvati said, and was echoed by the man in a flat voice.
“Namaste.” I smiled at her and looked at the man questioningly.
“Memsaab, this is Lallan, my husband.”
What the hell? I thought this case was closed and the guy would be in jail by now. The inspector as well as the prosecutor had assured me that it was an open and shut case as long as Parvati didn’t recant.
“Oh umm… namaste!” I said, not sure of what to say now that this woman had brought her tormentor along. I couldn’t very well ask her in front of him about what happened with the police complaint. And why the man was here in my office with her. “Please sit down.”
“Memsaab, we have come to thank you. Because of your advice, our marriage is now on the mend. Lallan has given up drinking, gotten a job, and things are really great like they used to be.” she said, beaming and putting her hand on her husband’s.
He had been staring at the table until then. At her touch, he first looked at her and then at me. For a second I felt like there was a flash of anger in his eyes. But it passed. And he started talking.
“Yes, thank you very much, memsaab. I know I have not been a great husband. And I have made a lot of mistakes. But in the future, it will be different. I love my wife and my daughters, and will do anything to not lose them. I will change.”
Although his words sounded very genuine and sincere, there was a hint of rehearsed pretense to the way he said them. I did not believe he could change. More than that, I did not believe he wanted to change. I had handled many such cases, and the patterns are predictable.
I wasn’t sure what to say. I just looked at him and nodded. That’s when my cellphone rang. It was a cousin calling.
“Excuse me, I have to take this.” I said to the couple in front of me and answered the call. “Hi, Priya, what’s up? I am at work. Can I call you back in a little while?”
“Shikha didi, this will only take a second. I’m sending out the wedding invitations today and I just realized I don’t have your new address.”
My husband’s project had entered a critical stage and he had to go to the US nine months earlier than the original plan. Our lease was almost up anyway, so we had given up our old rental apartment, and after he left, I had temporarily moved into a house belonging to his cousin who was also away in the US with his family.
“Oh ok…I will text it to you.”
“Could you just tell me right now? I am typing out the labels and I have to get this done soon.” she said.
“Alright it’s House number 134, Sector G4…” I gave her the address right down to the pin code.
“Thank you, Didi. Bye.”
I hung up the phone and got back to Parvati and Lallan.
“Well, I am happy you recognized the error of your ways.” I said.
“I really have.” he nodded. “I haven’t touched alcohol in a week, and I have been hired as a cleaner by a transport company. I will be accompanying trucks on long haul trips to Bangalore. In fact I am leaving for my first one tomorrow.”
“That’s good. A steady job is the backbone of a healthy lifestyle.” I said, while thinking to myself, it’s good that he will be away for many days, and have less time to beat up his wife.
There was a little more polite small talk, and then they left, looking very happy together.
But I was troubled. I did not think Parvati was thinking straight. If she had been alone, I could have at least tried to talk some sense into her. But bringing the husband along meant that my options were limited.
I called up Inspector Dubey next. He and I had gotten to know each other well over the years. He was that rare honest cop who also had empathy. While most cops in Delhi believed NGOs were a waste of time, Anil Dubey was different.
“Shikha…I have been expecting your call.” he said. “I guess you heard about Sunita.”
“No…what about Sunita?”
“Oh sorry…I thought you heard. She was…found dead yesterday. Stabbed. Her husband is on the run.”
“Shit!” I felt sick to my stomach. I had tried really hard to convince Sunita to leave her husband just like I had with Parvati. But it hadn’t worked. I said, “I wish I could have done more, Anil.”
“You did all you could, Shikha. There’s only so much you can do. Anyway, what were you calling about?”
“About a similar case…Parvati and Lallan…let me get you the case number.”
“Oh, you don’t need to. I remember that case. Same old story. She agreed to press charges. We had the husband in the lock-up for a few days. But then she came and took the complaint back. We had to release him again.”
“Yes, I just saw her.”
“You know why I remember the case? That Lallan fellow…he really gives me the creeps. I can see that he is much more of a sadistic psychopath than the others. Usually in the lock-up, these guys are remorseful, begging for forgiveness, promising to change. This guy was like a stone. Not a hint of remorse.”
“I know exactly what you mean. Parvati just brought him along. He parroted promises of changing his behavior and everything. But there’s something ominous about him.”
“Hmmm…if she doesn’t wise up soon, I am sorry to say, I think she might end up going Sunita’s way.”
“Can’t you…do something about him, Anil?” I had seen how Delhi police worked and how much power they had at their discretion.
“I looked at that possibility. But other than the wife-beating thing, his record is clean. Nothing else that I can use to lock him up.” the good thing about Anil being a straight shooter cop who played by the rules could have some disadvantages as well.
“Maybe I should try talking to her again. Alone.”
“Maybe. But I doubt it will help, Shikha. I know you have tried hard. But trust me, when a woman like that backs off twice, chances are she is going to back away a third time and a fourth time and so on.”
“You know me, Anil. I still have to try.”
“Yes, I know.” he said. “We are really going to miss you when you go to America, Shikha.”
“I will miss you too, Anil.” I said.
“Madam…are you sure you have the right address?” the Uber driver said. I guess he was surprised and a bit worried to see an upper class memsaab like me wanting to go to one of the seedier slums of Delhi late in the evening. But I had to go in the evening, because according to Parvati’s file, she would be working during the day.
“Yes, I do. I am a social worker who deals with slum women and their problems.” I said.
“Oh ok then. You seem to know what you’re doing.” My answer seemed to satisfy him.
I had waited for a few days, trying to decide if I should really go to Parvati’s place. On one hand, Anil was right, it probably wouldn’t have a long term impact. But on the other hand, the Sunita case was weighing heavily on my mind. I felt like I had failed her. And now here was another case that could go the same way. In half a year, I would be away in the plush confines of some American university. That also made me feel like making my remaining months here count that much more. So I finally decided to make the house call, something that was unprecedented. I had never visited any of my cases in their home before.
I was dressed in a simple salwar kameez, but I still drew stares from men, women, and children as I walked through the narrow and dirty bylanes. I had a folder in one hand with a can of pepper spray inside, in case some men got any fresh ideas. You can never be too careful in Delhi.
Finally, asking a couple of friendly old women for directions, I reached Parvati’s house.
“Shikha memsaab!” she sounded surprised when I poked my head in through the door of a tiny single room brick house. She was serving her daughters a simple meal of dal and rice.
“Parvati, I need to talk to you.”
“Please come in, memsaab. Have a seat. Please join us for dinner.”
“It’s okay. I just ate.”
“Please memsaab, just a little.”
I accepted a tiny portion, knowing that refusing too insistently could be seen as a sign of condescension or ingratitude. I spoke to the girls, asking what they studied, what they liked to play, and so on. Parvati probably knew why I was there, because she didn’t make much eye contact. I did notice though that there was a fresh bruise on her arm that she kept trying to hide with her pallu.
“You girls go to Pinky’s place and watch some TV.” she sent the girl away after dinner, closed the door behind her, and then turned to face me.
“Do you know why I am here, Parvati?” I said.
“Who told you? Was it that nosy Naina? Anyway, it was nothing major, memsaab.”
“Told me what? What was nothing major?”
She stayed silent.
“I can see the bruise on your arm, Parvati. Are there more bruises…under your clothes?”
She nodded and started to sob.
“But it was nothing big, memsaab. At least nothing big enough for you to come here and get involved. He was having one last night of drinking with his friends to celebrate his new job before going on that truck to Bangalore. He just got a little carried away in bed and slapped me around a bit. It wasn’t like he was hitting me out of anger.”
“Wait…what are you saying? That these bruises are from sex?”
“Yes! That’s what I am saying. It’s not like that last time.” she smiled and said. “Last time it was from a fight. This is just from sex.”
“You think it’s okay for him to hit you during sex?”
“Yes…I mean no…no…it’s not that…it’s…you won’t understand memsaab. But believe me, he has changed.” she sincerely believed it.
I sighed, opened the folder and took out a Hindi newspaper. And I walked towards her.
“Sunita also told me something like that. That her husband had changed.”
I handed her the newspaper and pointed the story to her. She read slowly, moving her lips, as her eyes got big.
“What are you saying, memsaab?” she asked, her voice now almost a whisper.
“I have been doing this work for many years now. I see similarities. In fact, I think your husband is even more psychotic than Sunita’s was. And that nice inspector who helped you the last time? He thinks so too. Sunita was once sitting in the same chair in my office you were sitting in. She was making the same excuses, telling me her husband had changed. See where she is now.”
I was a little relieved to see that the news seemed to have shaken Parvati as much as I had hoped it would. She stayed quiet, just staring at the newspaper. Finally she started talking.
“Sometimes…sometimes…I really am scared that he will kill me.”
“Then leave him, Parvati. Leave him. Go back to the cops. I know Inspector Dubey. He will re-arrest Lallan. And our NGO can help you move. They had already started the process last time. I checked. We can expedite it. If you want, I can have you and your daughters on a train tonight.”
“I don’t know that. I can’t know that. It is kept secret from everyone except for a few people so it doesn’t leak to your husband. But it will be a train to a new place, a new life. Our people will put you up in a new home temporarily, help you find a job, put your daughters in a school, even get you new names if you want.”
“If you re-file the complaint, they will arrest him. And you won’t have to see him again. When you testify against him, it will be through video conference.”
“By TV…you can tell the judge what you want sitting in whichever town you are in. Even your divorce will be handled that way and expedited. We will take care of everything, Parvati. You just have to say yes.”
“But…memsaab…it feels unfair. He has changed.”
“He said in my office he had given up drinking. And yet you tell me he just drank…”
“But that was to celebrate.”
“You can make up any number of excuses for bad behavior, Parvati. But think about your daughters.”
This back and forth went on for a while. But maybe it was my extra passion and anger because of the Sunita case that finally carried the day through. After an hour’s argument and cajoling, Parvati finally agreed.
Things moved rapidly after that. It didn’t take her long to pack her meager belongings and get her daughters ready. I had pulled a lot of strings and called in a lot of favors to make this case move fast. Very soon, she was sitting alongside me in the police station in front of Inspector Dubey, giving a more detailed statement that was videotaped this time. Then our relocation team came and whisked her and her daughters away.
Before leaving, Parvati hugged me tight and thanked me for saving her life. Her tears moistened my kameez shoulder. As I watched her go and wave me goodbye, for the first time in a long time, I felt a sense of exhilaration about doing my job.
“You did a great job today, Shikha.”
“Thank you, Anil.” I smiled. “What about the husband? Can you contact the truck company, find out where he is and get him arrested?”
Anil grimaced and paused.
“I’m sorry, Shikha. I know how much this case means to you. And so I have done all that I could. But it takes a lot of resources to carry out an arrest in another state. If it were up to me, I would have made it happen. But there’s a whole machinery in place that has to move to make it happen. And frankly, a guy with an otherwise clean record, and wanted only for beating his wife doesn’t rank high enough in the priority list.”
“I understand.” I said, feeling a little sad.
“But I have made arrangements to have him arrested as soon as he gets to Delhi. Don’t worry about it.”
“Thank you, Anil. I appreciate all your help.”
There was a spring in my step for the next couple of days. Even my colleagues noticed it and a lot of them congratulated me as word of my extra efforts in the Parvati case spread. I got a letter from the relocation team saying that Parvati and her daughters had been put up in a small house and she had already found a job. It had no details about where she was, as per protocol, but it felt good to know that she was okay and away from her psychotic husband.
And then the following week, I got more great news.
“ANUP!! I GOT INTO STANFORD!!” I yelled as soon as he answered the phone.
“Whoa! Congratulations!!” he said in the middle of his meeting.
Stanford was my dream school, not only because it was the best social psychology department for my research interests, but also because it was in the San Francisco Bay area, where Anup’s job was. In a little over eight months, I would be with my husband in San Francisco, getting a PhD at my dream school. Life could not get any better.
After talking to Anup, I whatsapp-ed all my close friends and cousins to break the news. They were delighted. And in a matter of minutes, plans had been made to celebrate this triumph. Dinner at a fancy restaurant, followed by drinks at the hottest new pub in town.
“It’s so foggy, yaar.” one of the friends on our whatsapp group said.
“Fuck fog! It’s not everyday that one of us gets into a dream university! We have to celebrate!” another friend said.
And celebrate we did. I dressed up nicely, something I rarely got to do in my day job. And my friends picked me up and whisked me away for a night of revelry. Rich foods, followed by a long sequence of toasts and tequila shots. I was happier than I had ever been. I only wished Anuj could’ve been there with me.
“Damn…in your colony it is…verrrrry froggy.” a friend I was leaning against said.
“Froggy?” I asked and giggled. We were all quite drunk.
“Foggy…you know what I mean.”
We giggled as the Uber slowed down in front of the house I was currently staying in.
“Okay Shikha…that’s your stop.” my friend Piyush said. “Should I door you to your drop?”
“Haha…it’s okay.” I said. “Door me to my drop? You sound more drunk than me. I’ll manage. Thank you again, guys. Love you.”
“Love you too, Shikha. Congratulations. Don’t forget us when you become a hot shot Stanford grad!”
I got out of the car and found my balance on the high heels with some trouble. I was drunk but not pass-out drunk. I blinked as my eyes got used to the dark outdoors. It really was foggy, even by Delhi winter standards. From the gate, I couldn’t even see the door of the house 50 feet away. I opened the gate of the house and walking with great concentration, made my way up the walkway. It seemed like a struggle to even reach the door. That’s when my phone rang.
“Hi darling!” I said, slurring.
“Haha, you sound so drunk.” Anup said.
“Well I am drrrrrunk.” I giggled.
“Congrats again, honey. You wanna skype for a bit?” he asked.
“Hmm…I’d love to, but I am really tired and drunk. I think I am gonna just get inside the house, drop on the couch, and fall asleep.”
“Okay. Send me a text when you wake up and we’ll talk.”
“Okay, love you.”
“Love you too.”
I disconnected the phone and walked up to the door. Standing against the door for support, I opened my purse. It took me a while to find the keys in my purse. My head was still swimming a little from the drinks. I tried to put the key in the lock but my shaking hand kept slipping.
That’s when a figure stepped forward from the fog.
“Need some help, memsaab?”
“Wh-who?” The voice seemed vaguely familiar. Was it one of the neighbors? Or maybe the colony security guard?
“Don’t you recognize me?” the man whispered menacingly.
I blinked and stared at the short wiry figure in front of me. Who was this man? He looked familiar.
“I am the man whose life you have ruined.” he said angrily, and then moved swiftly to grab me.
It was Lallan! Parvati’s husband! He was standing right next to me, looking very angry, just as I was alone in front of my house drunk on a foggy night! My heart sank.
I tried to yell and call for help. But I couldn’t.
Lallan pressed one hand firmly on my mouth muffling my sounds of protests and with the other pulled my hair really hard. My purse and phone dropped from my hands as I waved them trying to fight him off. If I were sober, I would have been able to. I am 5 ft 8 and have an average built. I was six inches taller than him and probably weighed more too. But with half a dozen drinks in my system, I wasn’t exactly well coordinated. And although short and thin, he had a really strong grip. He kept muffling any sounds from my mouth and pushed me against the door even harder.
I tried to kick him, especially aiming for his crotch. But the high heels made me lose my footing and I almost fell down. He kept his grip on my hair and mouth and bent down as my legs gave way, all the while muttering obscenities,
“You arrogant two-faced bitch…you make my wife leave me because I drink and now you are traipsing around town getting drunk…”
Finally my flailing hands made an impact. My palm landed right on his face resulting in a loud resounding slap. He was stunned for a moment by how hard I slapped him. But then I saw rage flash in his eyes as he took his hand off my mouth and responded in kind. He slapped me very hard back-handed across my right cheek. The force of that slap made my face sting and brought even more tears to my eyes. I was stunned for a couple of seconds.
“HELP!! HELP!!” I shouted, taking advantage of my mouth now being open. Hopefully one of the neighbors would hear me. But he immediately put his hand on it again. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and gagged me with it. I guessed I wasn’t the first person he had gagged because he did it with expertise. Shoving the rolled up fabric into my mouth and then with two fingers, pushing it all the way in so it pressed down on my tongue and against my tonsils, cutting down the air supply to my mouth. I tried to dislodge the gag with my tongue, but to no avail. My nose was now the only source of oxygen.
He then grabbed both my hands by the wrists and held them behind my back. Squatting behind me, he reached towards the keys that had fallen on the ground when he lunged at me. Still struggling, I heard him put the key in the lock and turn it. Our combined weights against the door made it open instantly. He still had both my hands in a tight grip and using my wrists, he pulled me into the house. I had left the lights on, knowing I would be drunk getting home. I had no idea this would unwittingly make his vile task easier.
I heard the door slam shut behind us. I was flailing and kicking with my legs, but all it was making me do was rotate around on my butt helplessly.
“Stand up!” he whispered pulling my arms up painfully behind my back. My heels slipped a couple of times as I tried to get on my feet, not to obey him, but thinking that standing up, I might be able to fight him off. But I wasn’t able to. Much of my motor skills were being expended in staying in balance on the heels. I still struggled hard, hoping to catch him off guard for even one second.
“Umggghhhh!” I groaned as he pulled me closer and punched me hard in the side. That made me lose my breath.
“Stop fighting or I will punch you in the chest and crack your ribs.” he said, pushing me around. And then punched me again. Even as I was struggling for my own survival, I could not help but this of how he must have assaulted Parvati like this.
I was still trying to wrestle my arms free. It did not seem to be working.
“Nice big house you live in, you rich bitch. Living in these nice houses and then breaking up the homes of us poor people? Don’t you have any shame?” he said angrily.
Suddenly I felt his grip on my wrists loosen. I swerved around and swung my hand to hit him. But he easily ducked out of the way. And then he balled his hand into a fist and punched me in my stomach hard. That made me double over in pain and brought more tears to my eyes. He grabbed one wrist again and started pulling me towards the seating area. Even as he dragged me, I landed a couple of kicks on his shins, but it didn’t stop him.
“Move, you fat cow, unless you want to me turn you into a cripple!” he whispered ominously in my ear as I stumbled towards a couch. I was still trying to fight him off, but by now exhaustion from the struggle had crept in, adding to my already dulled motor controls because of all the drinks. My resistance was having very little effect on him. He finally dragged me towards the back of a couch and held me against it, the edge of the backrest digging sharply into my stomach. he pulled my wrists behind my back again. I was still trying to kick at him with whatever strength I had left, but by now he had figured out the angles to avoid them.
“I can smell how drunk you are, you whore.” Lallan said a little breathlessly as he reached for the decorative throw resting on the top of the couch backrest. It rubbed against my stomach as he pulled it off. “And yet you are fighting like a feisty cat.”
I felt his grip on my wrists loosen but only momentarily. Before I could react and bring my arms forward, I felt the fabric being tightened around my wrists. It hurt as he knotted it really hard twice, and tied up my hands. I tried to move them but soon they were affixed against my lower back.
“Will you fucking stop this nonsense with your legs?” he said in an irritated tone of voice and kicked me really hard on my right knee. More tears sprang forth.
As the kick made me pause my struggles, he grabbed my hair and pushed my body forward. The roots of my hair hurt as he dragged my head forward and then down until my face was touching the seat of the couch. He put the other hand in the front of my thighs and pushed them up. Soon my left cheek was on the seat of the couch, my torso was resting against the front of the backrest and my hips were on the top of the backrest. My legs were in the air and I tried to put them back on the floor, but my weight towards the front made it difficult with my hands tied.
Soon I was motionless, slung over the couch backrest like a foldable piece of cardboard. All I could see was the side of the couch through my watery eyes. I had tried kicking my way out of that position, but it was futile.
Lallan let me go once he was sure I couldn’t free myself from that position. It seemed like an eternity since his hands were not touching my body, although it had been just a couple of minutes. There was silence for a few moments, disturbed only by heavy breathing from the two of us. The way my face was turned, I couldn’t see him. But I could smell his sweat. My tears soon formed a small pool under my cheek.
“Damn, that’s one fine ass.” he said and then I felt a hard spank land on my butt. It stung even through my skirt and my panties. “I am sure lots of dicks have gone up it, huh, you arrogant slut? Breaking up families while you whore around?” Another hard spank. I tried to shake my head in refusal.
“Oh, the bitch wants to say something?”
He moved to the side of the couch and lowered his face so we were looking into each other’s eyes. He then slapped my upturned cheek lightly.
“I want to hear you speak too. So let’s make a deal.” With his left hand, he grabbed my left pinky resting against my lower back and pulled it back. “I will take the gag out. Just so we can have a civilized conversation. But you try to scream…and…” he pulled the pinky back even more making me wince in some pain, “…and I will snap your finger off and REALLY give you something to scream about. Understood?”
I nodded the best I could.
Lallan held my pinky between his left thumb and forefinger, stretched backwards and ready to snap. With his right hand, he pulled the handkerchief gagging my mouth. I inhaled loudly through my mouth, feeling a sense of relief. For a moment, I considered yelling for help, but I could feel the pressure of his fingers on my pinky. I knew he was demented enough to break it.
I decided instead to appeal to his conscience and sense of personal well-being.
“Lallan!” I said gasping for breath, “Have you gone mad? Let me go and stop all this before…OWWW”
He had pulled me finger to the very edge of snapping the bone, but just held back.
“Before what, you rich arrogant bitch? What do I have to lose? You have already taken away from me what I really care about – my family.”
“Lallan, be reasonable. I didn’t take anything from you. You are the one who mistreated your wife. I was only looking out for her. I was helping her!”
“Looking out for her? Helping her?” He brought his face right next to mine and hissed. “So that’s how you do it? By breaking up a family?”
“Lallan, just…just untie me and we can talk about this.” I said, trying to sound reasonable. “Let’s talk about your problems before you do something you regret.”
“Do something I regret? Oh that’s rich!” he got up and moved out of my sight.
I struggled around to get myself off the couch, but it didn’t work. I heard the sound of metallic clangs coming from the direction of the kitchen. Lallan was going through my utensils. A couple of minutes later, the sounds stopped. I heard his footsteps as he walked towards me again.
“You see this, bitch?” the blade of my sharpest kitchen knife was waved in front of my eyes. “Do I need to spell it out?”
I just whimpered in fear. Lallan poked at my neck with the tip of the knife, making it hurt without breaking the skin. The threat was enough to make me stop moving altogether. He then traced a circle moving the tip of the knife until it was behind my neck. And then there was a sound of a metallic rip as he cut the back of my top. He put the knife next to my face and then ripped my top behind my back until the rip went under my tied hands and all the way to the hemline. He picked up the knife again and swiftly sliced the sleeves too. Within seconds, my top was in pieces that he had pulled away.
Now only a bra covered my body from waist upwards.
“Lallan…please…” I finally mustered the courage to speak again, although my voice was barely audible “…please let me go. I beg you.”
He only uttered a derisive snort in response. He put the knife next to me again. Then I felt his teeth biting parts of my bare back all over as his body clung to mine.
“OUCH! That hurts!” I cried out in response to a particularly hard bite on my shoulder.
“It’s supposed to hurt, you bitch!!” Lallan said and slapped my cheek hard.
For the next couple of minutes, Lallan continued to bite and slobber all over my back. His crotch was slowly humping my body and I could feel an erection forming in his pants as it thrashed against my thighs. I was just sobbing throughout. I had never been manhandled in my entire life. This was a completely new experience. Finally, i just gave up and lay there motionless except for my sobs and wheezes, praying that all this was just a nightmare.
After most of my back was covered with a sheen of his saliva, Lallan stood up. He picked up the knife again. I felt its cold blade against my lower back as he slid the tip into my skirt and pulled. The sharp edge sliced through the fabric easily and he pulled it all the way down, cutting my skirt down the back. The front of the skirt brushed against my thighs as he pulled it away and threw it on the floor.
I was now propped up on the backrest of my couch wearing just my bra and thong panties. I usually didn’t like wearing thongs. But that night, I was wearing a nice tight skirt, so I thought a thong would be better to avoid panty lines. Little did I know that it would mean even more humiliation as this bully forced himself on me.
I closed my eyes and hoped against hope that somehow Lallan would change his mind and let me go. But that was not to be.
“Look at these undies!” Lallan said and ran his fingers over my bare butt cheeks visible because of my thong. “What is the point of even wearing them? There’s hardly any fabric! Your whole ass is on display.”
And then he spanked my ass a couple of times.
“Tell me, memsaab, what is the point of wearing these?”
I was in neither the mental state nor did I have the willingness to explain to him that thongs are worn under tight skirts to avoid panty lines. Not that he was expecting an answer from me anyway. He grabbed the back of my thong with one hand and pulled it down until it felt down from around my suspended ankles.
“Mmmmm…nice shapely round milky white ass!”
He stood still for a few seconds just admiring my naked ass. I shut my eyes even tighter, trying to fight off the image of what he must be seeing. I was now naked except for my bra, suspended over the back of the couch, at the mercy of this two bit bully. My legs were hanging in the air, parted in the thighs. I doubt I had ever been in a more humiliating position in my life.
“Let’s take a look at that cunt!” Lallan said and threw the knife on the floor, making a clanging sound. Then he put the fingers of both his hands inside my butt crack and parted my butt cheeks.
I instinctively clenched.
He didn’t like that. He started spanking the fleshiest parts of my ass cheeks hard and then planted a couple of hard slaps on my pussy. I was yelping in pain as he rained more slaps on my most delicate parts a few more times until I coaxed my body into not resisting anymore.
“That’s better!” Lallan said and ran his coarse fingers all over my ass and my pussy. I was feeling humiliated at how he was violating me. The tears were still flowing and my mouth had settled on a sad whiny sob. Lallan finally tried to insert a finger inside my vagina.
“What the hell, slut? You’re as dry as an old hag!”
As if to confirm, Lallan thrust his hips forward and his thick moist dick touched the inside of my thighs. With his hands, he positioned it to enter me, but it wouldn’t go in. He tried to force it in and I wailed out in pain.
Lallan grabbed my hair and pulled me back. My feet finally touched the floor as my stomach slid off the couch. He turned me around to face him. I looked down into his bloodshot eyes. His face wore an expression of rage. He slapped me hard a couple more times and yelled,
“WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU SO DRY???”
Part of me wanted to scream out – of course I am dry, you sick son of a bitch. You are trying to rape me! But as he slapped me a few more times, all I could say was..
“You’re not getting away with just a dry cunt!”
And Lallan pushed me to the floor. He made me lie down on my back, my tied arms between my back and my floor. He then pulled both my legs up by my ankles and with his right foot, pushed my shoulder until my ass was resting against the back of the couch. He then pushed my legs down so my knees were pressing against my shoulder and my feet were on the floor above my head. If I thought that earlier position was humiliating, this was even worse, my body twisted like a pretzel.
I opened my eyes to see a sick disgusting sight. Lallan’s hairy ass, parted just a couple of feet above me, giving me a glimpse at his asshole, his hairy balls and his erect swinging dick. It wasn’t particularly large or thick. At about six inches, a little smaller than my husband’s. And not as thick. I closed my eyes again, shocked and revolted at the sight.
I heard Lallan loudly spit and felt a wetness on my pussy from his spit. He spat a dozen more times all over my crotch and then with one finger, started rubbing the spit into my cunt. He also spat a few times on his dick. Then I felt him grab my ass and pull it up until only my shoulders were touching the floor.
I screamed as Lallan’s dick invaded me despite my dryness. The copious spit had provided enough lubrication for the tip of his dick to breach my cunt.
“Shut the fuck up!” Lallan growled, “Or I’ll cut it open with your own knife!”
The menace in his voice made me bite my lip. He spat a few more times on the junction of his dick and my cunt. And then thrust some more. I squealed at a high pitch but low volume, biting my lip.
I kept biting my lip and squealing. He kept spitting and thrusting. In a couple of minutes, he had penetrated me completely, and the friction had made my pussy release some juices on its own. Soon it stopped hurting. At least physically.
I opened my eyes again. And here’s the depraved sight I saw. My thighs on either side of my face. My boobs partly spilling of the bra, resting against my collarbone. And almost right above me, my cunt lips, parted as Lallan’s dick pistoned in and out of them, his hairy ass swinging back and forth.
“How do you like it now, huh, bitch? Destroying my family, turning my wife against me…how do you like it now? You arrogant snotty…”
And Lallan continued abusing me as he kept fucking my pussy hard and fast. Dazed, I looked at his dark hairy ass swing above my face and winced at every stroke of his dick. It was happening. It was really happening. This vile bastard was fucking me. He was raping me. And there’s nothing I could do about it.
Around this time is when the last semblance of resistance completely exited my being. I more or less relaxed my tensed up body. I closed my eyes. The tears dried up. And the only utterances from me were involuntary rhythmic yips in response to Lallan’s strokes.
Lallan fucked me in that weird position, my body folded like a matchbook, for about five more minutes. The verbal abuse and the slaps kept coming too.
“Rich whore! Getting drunk, trolloping around with me, and destroying the lives of poor people. I’ll teach you a lesson.”
I had more or less zoned the abuse out. At that moment, oddly enough, the only thought in my mind was how uncomfortable my tied up hands felt against my back.
Finally, Lallan took his dick out. I thought he was about to cum. But instead he got on his knees and dangled his dick over my face.
“Open your mouth wide, slut!” he commanded. “And if you as much as attempt to bite it, I’ll shove that whole knife up your cunt!”
He shoved his wet dick inside my wide open mouth. His balls rested on my nose as the tip of his dick hit the back of my throat making me gag. But I couldn’t move enough to take his dick out of my mouth. As his dick invaded my mouth, his tongue invaded my cunt. He 69-ed with me for a few more moments. He was surprisingly good with his tongue, knowing exactly where and how to use it against my clit. I tried to resist the waves of pleasure, reminding myself that this was not a fun consensual thing. Thankfully, he stopped with the 69ing soon.
As he got up, he pulled my ass up as much as he could until my torso was almost vertical. Then came the hard spanks. Really hard. Not playful stuff. He was raining blows on my ass to make it hurt.
“Pleeeeeeease…stoooooooooooop!!” I begged.
He reached out with his left hand and picked up the knife.
I started whimpering, fearing the worst when he said,
The blade sliced through the fabric tying my hands together. Finally, that discomfort was gone. I slid my hands out from under my back. He paused, as if to see if I would start flailing them again and hit him or fight him or anything. But by this time, I was too exhausted. I just let them rest on the side.
He turned around to face me. He pushed my knees down even more and barked,
“Hold your ankles with your hands!”
I did as I was told. He then put his hands on my calves, bent his knees and entered me again. By now I was not dry. In fact, I was a little ashamed to note, that I was extremely lubricated, much more than with my husband.
“Open your eyes and LOOK AT ME!”
My hands on my ankles, my knees next to my ears on the floor, and my thighs open as my cunt was pistoned by his dick, I looked into his eyes. He stared at me, an evil grin on his face, as he fucked me. And then he spit. And he spit some more. My face was covered with his spit. But I didn’t look away. I stared at him, expressionlessly. He kept drilling down into me. For what seemed like hours.
But it was only a few minutes when I felt something inside me. A strange spasm. Not exactly a spasm. Not painful. But something really overwhelming. What the hell was this? Was I about to pee? My hips started trembling over and beyond Lallan’s strokes. And then suddenly, I started convulsing as if possessed. And Lallan started chuckling and started drilling me even harder. A trillion nerve endings seemed to come alive inside me and a tidal wave of sensations washed over me.
What was happening to me?
Lallan took one hand off my calf and put it on my mouth to muffle my scream. I trashed about for what seemed like an hour but was probably 30 seconds, until my body ceded control back to me, and I stopped.
I could still hear the rhythmic squelching sound of his cock ramming my cunt as I regained control of my senses. And the realization hit me. And it made me start crying again.
I had just had an orgasm. The first ever vaginal orgasm of my life. I had read about them. My husband had often tried to bring me to one, with his penis as well as his fingers. But I had never had one. I had also read that many women just couldn’t have them. I had always assumed I was one of those women. Until now. Now I had had one. And that too while I was being raped by a disgusting monster.
I was thinking about all this when Lallan withdrew his dick from my cunt and stood up. I let out another sob as I realized that my hips had involuntarily moved upwards to pull him back in. My body was betraying me.
Lallan forcefully pulled me to my feet holding my hair. I felt a cramp in my thighs and my knees buckled, making me fall back down.
“I said UP!”
He pulled me up and started dragging me towards the bedroom wearing nothing but a bra that my boobs were spilling out of. Oh god, this man was now going to defile me in the very bed my husband and I slept in. I tried to resist, but he kept dragging me there.
“Please, not in there!”
“No one asked you for permission, slut!” he said and spat at me. A big glob of his saliva hit me on my cheek.
Soon I had been thrown on my bed and then made to get on all fours like a Rocky(D). My bra had been taken off, and with it the last vestige of modesty. I had then been entered and fucked Rocky(D)gy style, the bedposts creaking with the motion. I groaned with each stroke as he rammed into me hard. I could see us in the dressing mirror next to the bed. What a ghastly vulgar scene we made, me bent over with with my big tits squashing against the bed and my ass raise in the air. Lallan, short and wiry, but very energetic and pounding me with intensity.
I closed my eyes and tried to will myself to somehow pass out or fall asleep or something, so I would not have to live through this. But my eyes opened with shock as the lout shoved two fingers in my ass.
“No need to scream, bitch. I know women like you love getting buggered.”
The pounding continued as did the anal invasions with his fingers. I hated myself for the fact that my body was responding favorably to him. I didn’t want to. My mind didn’t want to. But what I saw in the mirror was a woman clearly enjoying the sex, even the fingers in the ass. It was like watching someone else while still knowing there was no one else. It was me. I was being fucked in my own bed by some random slum Rocky(D). And acknowledging that somehow seemed to coincide with another orgasm that I had been working hard to stave off. And that made Lallan start cumming too.
The bed creaked even more as the two of us throbbed and grunted to climax at the same time.
Lallan finished pumping the last of his seed inside me, puled his fingers out of my ass, and then rolled over on his side. I stayed on all fours, still breathing heavily, my ass up in the air, and his jizz dripping down the inside of my thighs. Lallan propped himself up on his elbow and started playing with my tits.
“You came twice.” he said matter-of-factly.
The tears started again. I covered my face and started sobbing.
“Stop crying.” he growled but I couldn’t.
It wasn’t enough that I had been raped. But I had actually had orgasms during it. How could that be? How could a worthless psychotic unemployed guy from the slums make me cum the way my handsome caring educated husband never had.
Lallan rolled off the bed and stood up. He went outside the bedroom and for a moment I was relieved, thinking he had left. But in a few seconds, I heard his footsteps come back. I turned my head away and kept my eyes closed, not knowing what he would do next. I was grimacing and bracing for the next indignity. Nothing happened though.
I opened my eyes and was shocked and saddened by what I saw. Lallan had a phone in his hand and he was snapping pictures of my naked curled up body from all angles.
“Please don’t.” I said, trying to pull a blanket over myself.
“Don’t worry, memsaab. These are just for my private enjoyment. I won’t whatsapp them to anyone. As long as you behave.”
There was an edge to his voice. My shoulders slumped again, knowing there wasn’t much I could do as of now to stop him. I rolled off the bed and struggled to stand up on my feet. There were aches all over my body.
“Where are you going, bitch?”
“Bathroom.” I weakly said.
“Hmm…leave the door ajar. I don’t want you trying some nonsense in there.”
As I relieved myself, cringing at the open door, Lallan stayed outside, but talking.
“Parvati says you’re a smart woman. So I don’t need to spell it out. But I will. You need to rectify the blunder you made when you destroyed my family. You need to tell me where Parvati and my daughters are so I can go join them. And bring them home. If you don’t do that or go to the police, these images of you will be splashed on every phone and every website and pretty soon every new channel. Your bosses, your colleagues, everyone will see how your shaved pussy looks and will be able to count the moles on your ass.”
I said nothing. Finished peeing. Then cleaned myself up, washed my face and walked out.
“Well?” he said.
“Well what?” I asked, standing there naked next to him.
He slapped me.
“Where are my wife and daughter, you bitch?”
“I have no idea. I seriously don’t know…please…no please just listen…”
Lallan had picked up a bathroom slipper by the bed and was pulling me towards him.
“A few smacks on that big round ass with a rubber chappal and you’ll remember.”
“But I swear that the information is kept…AAAAAA”
Rubber on naked ass skin hurts. It really hurts! I had never been manhandled or beaten before in my entire life, so I had no parameter or frame of reference to compare. But it hurt. Much more than his spanks.
Soon I was once again a sobbing quivering mess, curled up on the floor as he kept yelling at me to tell him. Finally I cracked under torture like many people do. I lied.
“Surat…she is in Surat.”
He stopped hitting me.
“Where in Surat?”
“The exact address will be in the office files. We can do there in the morning.” I wiped my tears while on the floor.
“We? What are we, a picnicking couple?” he growled. “You will get that information and give it to me.”
My ass still stung from the chappal blows as I tried to stand up. Lallan walked away to the living area. I was hoping that maybe he would leave. But the night was far from over. I saw him walk towards our liquor cabinet.
“Hmmm…nice expensive imported booze.”
He picked up a bottle of cognac and took a big swig from it. I stood tentatively for a few seconds looking at him, then walked towards the couch.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting dressed.” I said.
“Did I say you could get dressed?” he asked in a menacing voice.
“No.” I whispered in fear.
As I walked towards him with uncertain steps, he snapped a few more pictures with his phone between swigs of my expensive brandy. He was drinking that refined flavorful liquid like it was country hooch.
“Have some.” he pushed the bottle towards me.
“No thanks, I’m fine.”
“You stupid whore, do you like getting hurt? When will you realize that what I say to you are commands, not requests. Why don’t you save yourself pain by just complying?”
I sighed, took the bottle and had a small sip.
“Big sips. Biiig sips, that’s it.” he said while taking pictures of me naked with the bottled tipped at my mouth. “I don’t know why you’re being so coy about it. When I grabbed you outside, you were clearly drunk. So it’s not like you’re some nun or sadhvi. I know you get drunk and whore around every night.”
“Not every night.” I protested.
“Haha, so you admit that you whore around?” he laughed maniacally about catching me in a verbal corner.
My throat burned with the chugs of the cognac. It was my husband Anup’s. He was the one with the interest in brown liquors. I was more into wine and sweet cocktails. So the swigs of the strong booze started making me feel warm and also a little tipsy right away.
“This is what I hate about you rich people who pretend to care about social work and all that. In your office, you’re like a Mother Teresa, being smug and lecturing people and telling poor people nasty things. But then you come home and wear these slutty clothes and buy expensive booze and that makes you modern.”
I stayed quiet. It didn’t seem like he was looking for a reply anyway. He was ranting.
“Lallan spends hundred rupees on some country booze and he is an evil monster his wife should leave. Shikha memsaab spends thousands of rupees on booze and she is posh.”
“Wasn’t about drinking.” I muttered. I had been standing there naked for a while and by now had lost an sense of self-consciousness about my nudity.
“What did you say?”
“Parvati leaving you. It wasn’t about drinking. It was about the beating. You drank and you beat her up until she was badly hurt.”
“So what? It was just a little playful slapping around. Besides, why single me out? All men hit their wives sometimes when the wives misbehave. I am sure your chocolate hero there has slapped you around.” he pointed towards a picture of Arun and me on the mantle.
“No. Never.” I defiantly said as he pushed the cognac bottle back in my hand and started opening a tequila.
“Don’t lie. I’m not the police. You can be honest.” he chuckled.
“I am serious.”
“Well then he is a wimp. Has no balls. No wonder you hollered so hard while cumming twice from my fucking. You needed a real man.”
I winced at the shameful memory and took a couple of big swigs of the cognac.
“You stupid cunt…you stupid stupid cunt.” he said angrily. “I did what you wanted and what Parvati wanted. Cut down on booze. Got a job. And while I was away, you fucked me over, didn’t you? I couldn’t believe it when one of my friends in the neighborhood told me that my wife and girls were gone. And there was a warrant for my arrest. Because of you, I now have a police record, you cunt.”
There was a flash of anger in his eyes. He grabbed the cognac bottle from my hand and put it on the side. Then he put one hand on my shoulder and pushed me down on my knees in front of him. His naked dick was flaccid. He waved it around in front of my face.
“Suck it and make it hard again.” he said. “I am not even close to finished with you tonight.”
“Please Lallan, I beg you. Not this. I don’t like it.” I had never been into giving blowjobs. Not with my exes, not with my husband. It was something I always found disgusting and the few times I tried it, I would gag and retch.
“Oh ok I see.” he said sounding reasonable. I was relieved, but just for a second. Because soon I was doubled over because of the kick to my stomach.
I had no choice. I had no say over anything. I straightened, closed my eyes, opened my mouth and took his dick in.
“Suck it properly, you cunt. not like you’re eating a toffee. Better. Yes. Use your fingers on my balls. Good. And open those lovely big eyes and look up at me.”
I could taste the bitter mix of my juices and his on the dick. I fought off the gag reflexes and started following his directions, looking up at his eyes. Of course, he took a few pictures of that and even a short video, of me naked on my knees with his dick in my mouth.
“Obviously, as soon as I heard about all that, I rushed back. Use your tongue. Around the head. Yes. Had to be careful, avoiding the police and others. Went back to my home but spotted the constables in our alley. Couldn’t even go to my own home because of you. Take it all the way in, bitch. And then I remembered. Sector G4. House 134. The whole address you had mentioned that day.”
That solved one puzzle that had been bothering me all night. How did he land up at my door? Of course, that day my cousin had called and stupidly, I blurted out my whole address in front of Lallan.
“And so I come here to confront you. And what do I find? The nasty bitch who made my wife leave me because I drink and whore around is going around doing the same. You hypocrite. I told you to look at me. Up, in my eyes. Yes. Suck it nice and deep. Yes. That’s it you rich cunt.”
For the next few minutes, he kept berating me as I sucked his cock to an erection. I had gotten used to the feel of the wet hard meat in my mouth by now and the gag reflexes had stopped. In fact I started sucking his dick with some enthusiasm, hoping that if I made him cum, I would be spared another round of fucking. But ten minutes passed and he was still hard and had still not cum.
“Get up, cunt.” he slapped me lightly on the cheek and said.
I got back on my feet, wiping the saliva from my lips with the back of my hand. He chuckled and took a couple of pictures of that.
“The great high and mighty Shikha memsaab. Passing judgment on poor people and interfering with their lives. And now look at Shikha memsaab. Naked, drooling, and about to get fucked in the ass.”
“No please.” I pleaded. Was there no end to his depravity?
“Shut up. I’m sure a slut like you gets fucked in your ass all the time.”
“Never. Never ever. And it will hurt.” I begged him to see reason.
“Well I had never ever had my family taken away from me and believe me, that hurt.”
What was happening? Why was this happening to me?
I wanted to cry but I think my tear ducts had dried up. This thug was in my house, having just fucked me and made me suck his dick. And now he was calmly telling me that he was about to sodomize me. What had I done to deserve this? I was only doing my job, trying to help a woman. And this is what I was getting in return?
I just stared at him open-mouthed and my head swam. With the shock of the situation and also all the booze he had made me drink. I was swaying a little, having a hard time standing straight. He had a sadistic smile on his face.
“Don’t look so shocked, cunt. You will like it. Parvati used to find it scary at first too. But I now fuck her in the ass regularly and she enjoys it. And she is this thin tiny person. You are tall and voluptuous, lots of padding. You’ve taken my beatings very well. Buggering will be fine. Have some more booze. It helps relax your muscles. Why do you think I have been making you drink so much?”
And then he picked up the bottle of cognac again and put it to my mouth. Glug after glug went down my throat as the bottle stayed tipped upwards. I didn’t resist it. The weird logic actually made sense to me. Being drunk could certainly make the inevitable buggering a lot less painful. Heck, if I was lucky, I would pass out and not feel a thing nor remember a thing.
The next bit of time is still hazy in my memory. Lallan had made me drink over half a liter of extra strength cognac in twenty minutes. I had already been drunk after the celebration with my friends. This just added to it. I was slurring, I was swaying, Lallan was having to hold me up as he laughed and taunted me.
“The high and mighty Shikha memsaab, swaying drunk and naked like a common bar dancer. Hahaha. This needs to be on video.”
I found myself back in the bedroom and on the bed, slumped on my elbows and knees. Memory of it is hazy. But I remember Lallan walking around, taking a video with commentary.
“So here you see a high class slut named Shikha. So drunk that she is almost passed out. Look at that big round ass. Look at those pink cunt lips. I fucked that earlier. Very tight twat. Loved it. Now look at that cute puckered asshole. Soon I will be shoving my dick there.”
The bed creaked as he got on it. Behind me. I could see a bottle of moisturizer in his hand that he had picked up from my dressing table. And then I remember feeling that cool slippery gel being poured on my ass and rubbed all around.
“You see how nice I am, Shikha memsaab? The state you’re in, I could just shove my dick into your asshole dry. And you wouldn’t be able to do anything. But I am being considerate about your well being. So putting this will make it easier.”
I watched with half-open eyes as he poured the moisturizer all over his erect dick, the dick that I had made erect by sucking. And then he got behind me. I felt his hands on my ass cheeks, parting them.
“Unghhhhhh!!” I groaned as the tip of his dick pushed against my asshole.
It hurt, but it did not hurt as much as I feared. Maybe he was right, I thought. The combination of all that booze and all that moisturizer made this easy.
“I can’t believe I am the first to fuck you in the ass. Your ass isn’t as tight as Parvati’s.” Lallan said slowly shoving more of his dick inside my virgin ass. Of course, he was taking a video of it too.
And then the pain increased as more of the dick entered my asshole. I could see the image in the mirror. And I am ashamed to say, it felt kind of weirdly good. I closed my eyes, unable to watch myself and Lallan in the mirror. Everything went dark.
Credit goes to original writer Shiprat