Chapter One -
It was last weekend of October and the night was about to be an hour longer than usual as the clocks change at midnight. For most people, this was a good thing as they can sleep an extra hour on the Sunday morning after an extra hour of party the night before. But this would add an hour to Komal's toment. Komal was dreading this evening more than the previous Saturday nights. As always, she had put our two children to bed earlier than usual and after having her shower, she was getting ready to leave. I waited for her in our living room looking at the clock and regretting. It was almost 9, just over an hour before 10. Thats all I was doing these days, regret and look at the clock. Killing time, passing time waiting for something to change and I'd give anything to get our old life back. Anything, even my own life if that would change things, but I knew if anything, it would make things worse. For Komal and for our children. Komal would do the same. May be more for she was the one who was paying for my mistakes and would continue to pay for a long long time.
I heard her walking down the stairs as I waited for her in the living room of our home. Not sure if I could still call this house a home. We lived together but I had not spoken with my wife Komal in the last 6 months. She hardly lets me come close to my own children. I would leave early in the mornings and come late in the evening long after our children and Komal had gone to bed. Every day. Drinking most days of the week, alone, miserable and regretting. And yet, I feel I am the lucky one. Luckier than Komal for sure. Saturdays are slightly different. These are the only days I would be home from 6 in the evening. To look after our children who knew I had done a horrible thing to their mother but did not know what and why. Whilst Komal got ready, I would take care of the children and put them to sleep. Then, just wait in the living room for Komal to come down. And she was stepping down.
She did not look at me and went straight to the kitchen. I heard her gulp 3 shots of vodka down her throught. And she came out right from the kitchen and headed straight towards the main door. I briefly looked at her as she walked passed me, ignoring me as if I dont exist. She had washed and conditioned her hair, she had put on a make up to hide some of the marks on her face, mostly from last weekend but some from weekends before which she will wear as badge of horror for the rest of her life. She was wearing a tight fitted blouse that had criss crossed strings in the front, its hem hanging loosely instead of tucking under, barely covered her 34DD, big and rounded breasts, ******** her belly button and navel fully. The blouse was atleast one size smaller, if not two for her body size and it wasn't an accident, it was intentional. It was so tight on her body that her breasts were so compressed and were literally oozing out of the criss cross strings trying to break free and giving a feeling that a simple pull on the strong will free the melons and they'll break lose and almost explode. Underneath, she was wearing a skirt. I wouldnt call it a skirt. It wasn't one of those types that you get in a normal high street stores. It was a black shiny leatherite micro skirt with a big silver zipper right in the middle at the back.Not a midi, not a mini, a micro skirt. Once again, it was intentionally one size smaller to her normal size. Her hips had grown bigger since her first delivery and she had put on a bit more flesh on her arse and her arse had become more rounded. It seemed like the micro skirt was meant for a size zero model bought from one of those sex shops. On both sides of the skirt were again criss cross strings that were stretchable which was the only reason she was able to put her skirt on her. I could see she wasnt wearing any underwear. The sides of her skirt were stretched to extremes and could break anytime. I was sure when broken free, the marks of those tight stings will last on her skin for some time. As she walked past me, I saw her from the back. The bottoms of her naked arse was showing from behind and if she bent just to touch her knees, the skirt would move up to roll over her waist. As she walked in front of me, she held and pulled the sides of it down to keep her skirt from lifting up. She wasnt wearing any stockings but she was wearing high pencil heals that added atleast 3 inches to her height. This was just a start but managing those rags on her curvy body and walking in those high heals alone would be a torture for someone as elegant and as nice as Komal was and this was just the beginning of what she was going to endure.
As I moved out behind her, she picked a bag in which she had some change of clothes. She had learned to pack loose fitting clothes such as nightie that she can just slip over herself. The first time, she regrestted packing jeans and a t shirt as she couldnt get inside one after what she went through. She was carrying the change of clothes for two reasons. One she hated the clothes she was in right now, if one could even call those rags clothes. And more importantly, she knew that by next morning, even those rags will not be in any possible state to hide any part of her body. They were meant to be worn for one time use only and not with the purpose to hide any part of her voluptuous body but to accentuate every curve of it. These clothes had just one purpose to serve which was to be snatched off from her body. Not taken off but snatched off. This is not how she dresses out every week on Saturdays. Every week is a new theme. Every week she is sent a new set of clothes that are sent to her based on a certain theme and possibly how they want to set the evening depending on what I'd come to know as the chief guest and his taste and his likings. Last week, she was asked to dress up as an Arabian Belly dancer for an Arab Sheikh and was also encouraged to learn atleast one obscene belly dance move. She was warned if she failed then she'll be taught a move on the night. The week before, she dressed up as a an office secretary and I swear, as much as I felt humiliated by her going to these events, I did feel massively turned on seeing her in such outfits. This was the third time she was asked to dress up as a slut, a hooker, a prostitute. And this was going to be a long long night for her, longer than all previous nights. And the previous nights she had gone out dressed as a prostitute, she had had the worse time ever. Not that it is ever enjoyable for her but if you asked her what she dreaded most to dress up as, I am sure she'd say to dress up as a slut. And tonight, she did look her part. She did look like a cheap slut, a hooker, a cunt. As much as I felt sorry for her and blamed myself for what she was enduring, at that point, at the very poing when I saw her walking from the kitchen to the main door, I did wish I could pin her down to the floor then and there, snatch her rags from her almost naked body and fuck her all night long. I couldnt have. She was my wife and I hadn't fucked, kissed or touched her in the last 6 months.
She put on a long overcoat on her otherwise semi naked body to cover her exquisitely beautiful body. She took a deep breath and opened the door and left it open and went straight out and stepped in the car. No words were said, no eye contacts made. I simply got behind the wheel of the car and drove off. Through out the journey she looked outside the window from her side. I kept looking at her admiring what a woman could do, her endurance, her courage. I could see her fisting and biting her nails as we got closer. She was clearly terrified but she did not look at me once. She tried to remain strong but I knew there was a turmoil building inside her. She just wanted to run away, disappear and never return if she could but she knew she had to do this. Not for herself, not for me in the slightest, but for her children and her ******. AS the car took that final right turn in that street which was lit with neon lights and pubs and one could clearly see girls dressed in skanty clothes standing at the door enticing men to come inside. It was a red light district and some of the regulars had come to know of our car by now and were waiting for it to arrive. As I stopped outside the gate leading to a narrow staircase, there were three men standing right outside the stairs. They were smoking and talking to each other laughing but they stopped as soon as they saw our car. They put down their cigarettes on the floor and curiously waited for my gorgeous wife to step out. I looked at her. She took a deep breath, wiped her tears and I noticed her eyes were red as always. I tried to put my hand on her shoulder as that was the only thing I could do to comfort her, so I thought. But as soon as she felt my hand on her body, she stared at me with such hatred that I immmediately removed my hand. She didnt have to say How dare you? but her eyes said it all. Nothing had changed over the last 6 months and it hadn't become any easier for her than it was for the first time. Somethings do never change and this was one of those things.
As she stepped out of the car still wearing her overcoat covering her body, I noticed a few more guys gathering around our car. Some just wanted to get a glimpse of her and carry on in their lives and some were keen to join her upstairs. In total there were the 3 who were shamelessly waiting at the entrance of the establishment plus another 6 or 7 had joined standing around the car. She kept the door of the car open after stepping out. And from the side, I could see her trembling and shaking hands had started to unbutton her coat. Then I noticed she putting her both her hands on the side of her waist and pulling her micro skirt down which had obviously climbed up to her waist as soon as she sat in the car at our home. In a split second, she took off her coat and without turning back, she threw it inside the car and slammed the door. She was told not to wear anything more than what she was sent that week. She made a mistake once of wearing that coat all the way as she climbed those stairs and she had to pay for it in a way that she would never repeat that mistake. Nothing more than what was sent to her that week and was told if she was sent nothing for any particular week, then that is what she must wear. Nothing! So far, that hasnt happened but I'd not be surprised if this happened. The logic behind this was that it creates stories and interest amongst people and people gather outside the establishment as spectators and sooner or later, some or many of these spectators would turn into visitors to the club.
I saw her semi naked arse showing under that skimpy skirt held tightly by her hands to keep it as low as possible but that means she wasnt able to wrap her hands around her breasts. The dillemma of a lady who is trying to save her modesty about what to protect, her upper body or her lower but I guess her decision to keep her lower body covered was purely based on the fact that she new there were atleast 3 or 4 punters who would just follow her up the stairs and would want to just touch her anywhere they can until she gets inside that door and she wanted to delay her humiliation for as long as she possibly could. She quickly paced towards the stairs without once turning back. Her backless blouse only tied with a string behind her neck compleltely ******* her creamy dusky skin all the way from her neck down to her waist to her butt where the crack began and slightly showing. Overall, you couldnt put any less clothes on a lady without calling her completely naked. As she disappeared inside to climb the stairs, the group of men waiting were rushing to follow right behind her for obvious reasons. I saw atleast 8 men walking up the stairs behind her that night. The few lucky ones who were directly behind her tried to grab a piece of her arse and slap it hard and laughed out loud. She just tried to be as fast as she could with those high heals on those metal stairs without tripping over. I waited till 3 of the ones who followed her returned laughing and passing obscene remarks came back saw me still there. They knocked at my car window and made obcene gesture and laughed at me and asked me to go away. I drove ahead and heard them slapping and banging on my car bumper...
It was last weekend of October and the night was about to be an hour longer than usual as the clocks change at midnight. For most people, this was a good thing as they can sleep an extra hour on the Sunday morning after an extra hour of party the night before. But this would add an hour to Komal's toment. Komal was dreading this evening more than the previous Saturday nights. As always, she had put our two children to bed earlier than usual and after having her shower, she was getting ready to leave. I waited for her in our living room looking at the clock and regretting. It was almost 9, just over an hour before 10. Thats all I was doing these days, regret and look at the clock. Killing time, passing time waiting for something to change and I'd give anything to get our old life back. Anything, even my own life if that would change things, but I knew if anything, it would make things worse. For Komal and for our children. Komal would do the same. May be more for she was the one who was paying for my mistakes and would continue to pay for a long long time.
I heard her walking down the stairs as I waited for her in the living room of our home. Not sure if I could still call this house a home. We lived together but I had not spoken with my wife Komal in the last 6 months. She hardly lets me come close to my own children. I would leave early in the mornings and come late in the evening long after our children and Komal had gone to bed. Every day. Drinking most days of the week, alone, miserable and regretting. And yet, I feel I am the lucky one. Luckier than Komal for sure. Saturdays are slightly different. These are the only days I would be home from 6 in the evening. To look after our children who knew I had done a horrible thing to their mother but did not know what and why. Whilst Komal got ready, I would take care of the children and put them to sleep. Then, just wait in the living room for Komal to come down. And she was stepping down.
She did not look at me and went straight to the kitchen. I heard her gulp 3 shots of vodka down her throught. And she came out right from the kitchen and headed straight towards the main door. I briefly looked at her as she walked passed me, ignoring me as if I dont exist. She had washed and conditioned her hair, she had put on a make up to hide some of the marks on her face, mostly from last weekend but some from weekends before which she will wear as badge of horror for the rest of her life. She was wearing a tight fitted blouse that had criss crossed strings in the front, its hem hanging loosely instead of tucking under, barely covered her 34DD, big and rounded breasts, ******** her belly button and navel fully. The blouse was atleast one size smaller, if not two for her body size and it wasn't an accident, it was intentional. It was so tight on her body that her breasts were so compressed and were literally oozing out of the criss cross strings trying to break free and giving a feeling that a simple pull on the strong will free the melons and they'll break lose and almost explode. Underneath, she was wearing a skirt. I wouldnt call it a skirt. It wasn't one of those types that you get in a normal high street stores. It was a black shiny leatherite micro skirt with a big silver zipper right in the middle at the back.Not a midi, not a mini, a micro skirt. Once again, it was intentionally one size smaller to her normal size. Her hips had grown bigger since her first delivery and she had put on a bit more flesh on her arse and her arse had become more rounded. It seemed like the micro skirt was meant for a size zero model bought from one of those sex shops. On both sides of the skirt were again criss cross strings that were stretchable which was the only reason she was able to put her skirt on her. I could see she wasnt wearing any underwear. The sides of her skirt were stretched to extremes and could break anytime. I was sure when broken free, the marks of those tight stings will last on her skin for some time. As she walked past me, I saw her from the back. The bottoms of her naked arse was showing from behind and if she bent just to touch her knees, the skirt would move up to roll over her waist. As she walked in front of me, she held and pulled the sides of it down to keep her skirt from lifting up. She wasnt wearing any stockings but she was wearing high pencil heals that added atleast 3 inches to her height. This was just a start but managing those rags on her curvy body and walking in those high heals alone would be a torture for someone as elegant and as nice as Komal was and this was just the beginning of what she was going to endure.
As I moved out behind her, she picked a bag in which she had some change of clothes. She had learned to pack loose fitting clothes such as nightie that she can just slip over herself. The first time, she regrestted packing jeans and a t shirt as she couldnt get inside one after what she went through. She was carrying the change of clothes for two reasons. One she hated the clothes she was in right now, if one could even call those rags clothes. And more importantly, she knew that by next morning, even those rags will not be in any possible state to hide any part of her body. They were meant to be worn for one time use only and not with the purpose to hide any part of her voluptuous body but to accentuate every curve of it. These clothes had just one purpose to serve which was to be snatched off from her body. Not taken off but snatched off. This is not how she dresses out every week on Saturdays. Every week is a new theme. Every week she is sent a new set of clothes that are sent to her based on a certain theme and possibly how they want to set the evening depending on what I'd come to know as the chief guest and his taste and his likings. Last week, she was asked to dress up as an Arabian Belly dancer for an Arab Sheikh and was also encouraged to learn atleast one obscene belly dance move. She was warned if she failed then she'll be taught a move on the night. The week before, she dressed up as a an office secretary and I swear, as much as I felt humiliated by her going to these events, I did feel massively turned on seeing her in such outfits. This was the third time she was asked to dress up as a slut, a hooker, a prostitute. And this was going to be a long long night for her, longer than all previous nights. And the previous nights she had gone out dressed as a prostitute, she had had the worse time ever. Not that it is ever enjoyable for her but if you asked her what she dreaded most to dress up as, I am sure she'd say to dress up as a slut. And tonight, she did look her part. She did look like a cheap slut, a hooker, a cunt. As much as I felt sorry for her and blamed myself for what she was enduring, at that point, at the very poing when I saw her walking from the kitchen to the main door, I did wish I could pin her down to the floor then and there, snatch her rags from her almost naked body and fuck her all night long. I couldnt have. She was my wife and I hadn't fucked, kissed or touched her in the last 6 months.
She put on a long overcoat on her otherwise semi naked body to cover her exquisitely beautiful body. She took a deep breath and opened the door and left it open and went straight out and stepped in the car. No words were said, no eye contacts made. I simply got behind the wheel of the car and drove off. Through out the journey she looked outside the window from her side. I kept looking at her admiring what a woman could do, her endurance, her courage. I could see her fisting and biting her nails as we got closer. She was clearly terrified but she did not look at me once. She tried to remain strong but I knew there was a turmoil building inside her. She just wanted to run away, disappear and never return if she could but she knew she had to do this. Not for herself, not for me in the slightest, but for her children and her ******. AS the car took that final right turn in that street which was lit with neon lights and pubs and one could clearly see girls dressed in skanty clothes standing at the door enticing men to come inside. It was a red light district and some of the regulars had come to know of our car by now and were waiting for it to arrive. As I stopped outside the gate leading to a narrow staircase, there were three men standing right outside the stairs. They were smoking and talking to each other laughing but they stopped as soon as they saw our car. They put down their cigarettes on the floor and curiously waited for my gorgeous wife to step out. I looked at her. She took a deep breath, wiped her tears and I noticed her eyes were red as always. I tried to put my hand on her shoulder as that was the only thing I could do to comfort her, so I thought. But as soon as she felt my hand on her body, she stared at me with such hatred that I immmediately removed my hand. She didnt have to say How dare you? but her eyes said it all. Nothing had changed over the last 6 months and it hadn't become any easier for her than it was for the first time. Somethings do never change and this was one of those things.
As she stepped out of the car still wearing her overcoat covering her body, I noticed a few more guys gathering around our car. Some just wanted to get a glimpse of her and carry on in their lives and some were keen to join her upstairs. In total there were the 3 who were shamelessly waiting at the entrance of the establishment plus another 6 or 7 had joined standing around the car. She kept the door of the car open after stepping out. And from the side, I could see her trembling and shaking hands had started to unbutton her coat. Then I noticed she putting her both her hands on the side of her waist and pulling her micro skirt down which had obviously climbed up to her waist as soon as she sat in the car at our home. In a split second, she took off her coat and without turning back, she threw it inside the car and slammed the door. She was told not to wear anything more than what she was sent that week. She made a mistake once of wearing that coat all the way as she climbed those stairs and she had to pay for it in a way that she would never repeat that mistake. Nothing more than what was sent to her that week and was told if she was sent nothing for any particular week, then that is what she must wear. Nothing! So far, that hasnt happened but I'd not be surprised if this happened. The logic behind this was that it creates stories and interest amongst people and people gather outside the establishment as spectators and sooner or later, some or many of these spectators would turn into visitors to the club.
I saw her semi naked arse showing under that skimpy skirt held tightly by her hands to keep it as low as possible but that means she wasnt able to wrap her hands around her breasts. The dillemma of a lady who is trying to save her modesty about what to protect, her upper body or her lower but I guess her decision to keep her lower body covered was purely based on the fact that she new there were atleast 3 or 4 punters who would just follow her up the stairs and would want to just touch her anywhere they can until she gets inside that door and she wanted to delay her humiliation for as long as she possibly could. She quickly paced towards the stairs without once turning back. Her backless blouse only tied with a string behind her neck compleltely ******* her creamy dusky skin all the way from her neck down to her waist to her butt where the crack began and slightly showing. Overall, you couldnt put any less clothes on a lady without calling her completely naked. As she disappeared inside to climb the stairs, the group of men waiting were rushing to follow right behind her for obvious reasons. I saw atleast 8 men walking up the stairs behind her that night. The few lucky ones who were directly behind her tried to grab a piece of her arse and slap it hard and laughed out loud. She just tried to be as fast as she could with those high heals on those metal stairs without tripping over. I waited till 3 of the ones who followed her returned laughing and passing obscene remarks came back saw me still there. They knocked at my car window and made obcene gesture and laughed at me and asked me to go away. I drove ahead and heard them slapping and banging on my car bumper...
