Shy Zeenat's transformation Ch. 02

Mark's thoughts came to me like a forbidden and exciting perfume. I was feeling a strange excitement and anticipation. It made me proud and at the same time scared. I couldn't help but think about him, how he was so close to me, his soft breath against my skin. It was a bit good, but I knew it was a bad idea.

My heart whispered, "You can get closer, you can embrace, but you can't go any farther."

My dear husband Imran came home that night with some news. In a brief moment, when he came back, his constant love overpowered the turmoil and the struggle within me. His devotion to me was as constant and dependable as the North Star.

"One of the other staff members, who's just 25 years old and new to the company, is getting married at church this Friday, and he invited us to the wedding reception tomorrow night."

A wedding reception in New York. Wow! It gave me a jolt of electricity when I thought about it.

What better place to reinvent myself than in this colourful city, which had become our new home? I said to myself that I wanted to look different, and my boldness was indeed surprising me. "Not just different - unforgettable."

The week before Saturday was filled with preparation. I picked a black saree, the dramatic one in black, a black sleeveless blouse with a low cut in the back. I wore a sheer, crimson bra and panties underneath, my secret weapon, my sensuality to be enjoyed only by me.

When I got ready for the mirror on Saturday evening, I tied the saree low as was the norm; it flowed down to show the soft curve of my abdomen and navel. I painted my lips in a deep, shiny red, and wore jewellery that sparkled in the light - a choker necklace, pendants for my ears, and light, jewelled bracelets that would be noticed on my wrists.

Imran was beside me when he saw me. "Zeenat," he whispered, "you're... incandescent. Every head will turn tonight." He came closer, and his fingers ran down my jaw. "Is it ok if I ask you something?" He was jesting, but not joking.

I replied, "Anything, my love."

Imran: If someone hugs you tonight, kisses you on the cheeks, or perhaps asks for a dance, then accept it gracefully. It's normal in New York.

I nodded at his words, although my heart was pounding. "I'll try, Imran." His peck on my lips made me feel good.

"Love you," I whispered. "Love you too," he replied.

But a part of me wondered if I was promising more than I was able to give.

When we reached the reception, it was softly lit with golden lights. Guests were already in attendance, their joy and laughter forming a symphony of celebration.

We went first to Jake and Kate, his new wife. They were both in their 20s, and they were both happy. I welcomed Kate with a happy hug and said she was happy to hear my congratulations.

I looked at Jake, and a change came across my face; on instinct, I couldn't resist. I went straight out toward the groom and hugged him. The athlete was rather firm under my hands, and I reddened as his hands caressed my bare back. I clutched him just a little longer than seemed decent.

"Thank you," he whispered in my ear.

"You look beautiful," I said, "both of you" I added with a smile. "God bless your marriage."

Imran chimed in, saying, "Zeenat," as if introducing my name to him.

I caught Jake's eyes. "You're so gorgeous, Zeenat", Jake whispered. "Thank you," I replied, smiling.

As we moved away, Imran showed me the way to his boss, Thomas. He was a tall, Black man in his late forties, maybe 6'3" or 6'4", and the shape of his body was that of an avid gym-goer. The shirt he wore was tight-fitting, three buttons undone to expose a smooth, muscular chest.

After Imran shook hands, Thomas leaned towards me to hug me in a friendly embrace.

My body took over when we connected, and it was like electricity was running through me; even though the room was warm, goosebumps were still on my arms. Another shiver ran through my body as he whispered to me, "You are damn hot. Will see you in a while."

We walked around the guests, couples in their early-to-mid-thirties, Frank and Joseph, and Sophia and Steve.

Mark and Jennifer were unable to attend as Mark was in hospital due to a minor heart attack suffered by his mother.

Then Steve came up to me, an 18-year-old, tall, slim, muscular, intense-looking in his eyes.

He asked, "May I have this dance?" his voice was gravelly, deeper than I ever thought it would sound. Remembering Imran's words, I placed my hand in his.

The music was slow, soothing, and I kept a bow-length of half a foot between us. He didn't look away from me, and my heart began to race as he held his gaze.

The tempo slowed even more, and he was closing in on me, pulling me into him. He softly nuzzled my ear and said, "I want to bring you to bed and screw your brains out with hot sex."

His raw boldness in his words did shock me, and I instinctively tried to pull back. I stammered, "Please, I cannot... I am married."

He gripped my hand for a second and then let go. He gave me a note containing his contact number. "Think about it. Let me know in case you decide to change your mind."

I felt a tap on my shoulder after a few minutes while I was dancing with Frank. Thomas was standing there, and Frank moved quickly.

I went straight into Thomas's arms, our bodies pressed close together, unhesitatingly.

"You seem to be interested in me," he growled, a low rumble that was clearly vibrating through my chest.

I felt my face getting hot. "You're my husband's boss," I weakly added, "You deserve attention."

"Just because I'm his boss?" he pressed.

I admitted, my voice barely audible, "Because you're... handsome." "And strong." My hands moved lower on his back, just above his buttocks as he pulled me. My breasts were pressed against his chest, and I experienced a very real reaction in my body; my nipples hardened, my legs clenched, moisture building between my thighs. It was not a passing fancy, not like I had gotten attached to Mark; it was immediate and primal.

Thomas bent his head so that we were nose to nose. I could sense the heat and rhythm of his breath. "I want you," he whispered.

Two men in one night, Steve, young and white, Thomas, mature and black, who both wanted me. Thomas had the upper hand, due to his stature and presence in Imran's company.

"That is not a good idea," I whispered. "I don't feel this way, I'm married."

He replied quietly, "There is no right or wrong. You feel good. Don't you?"

I could only nod.

My lips touched his thick, insistent lips, the flavour of whiskey on them. While I kissed him, I lost everything inside me; all thoughts of Imran vanished like the seeds that, upon being exposed to sunlight, dissolved into the air. On a dance floor in New York surrounded by people, I was lost in this moment with my husband's boss.

He traced my lips with his own, and I opened my mouth automatically, allowing him to go further in. I felt his hardness on my belly, long, thick and much bigger than Imran. It made me feel a new surge of lust.

He whispered, "Let's go upstairs."

"No!" I gasped, pulling back a little. "I cannot do it, I have a husband."

He said quietly, "Don't worry about Imran. I'll talk to him."

"No, don't," I sort of requested, with a fear of facing my husband in this state.

He moved toward my husband.

I watched in horror as Thomas talked to Imran, who then approached me with an unreadable expression.

I began to say, "I'm so sorry," but I couldn't get it out; guilt ravaged me.

Imran took my hands in his. "That's okay, darling. I'm good. As long as you love me, everything else is okay."

Relief washed over me. "Then let's go home," I said.

Gently, Imran said, "Please, do as Thomas says."

I looked at him and said, "What?" "What? Are you insane? Do you want me to sleep with your boss?"

Imran: Have fun, Zeenat. I have no issues as long as you come back to me as my only love. Just don't fall in love with anyone else.

Before I could react, Thomas' hand came to rest on my shoulder.

Thomas: Let's go, Zeenat, it will be fun.

What was I becoming? In public, I was about to leave with my husband's boss. How fast I had changed... Was I changing into someone else?

Thomas lifted me like I was made of air and carried me up the steps where I was no longer being watched.

The bedroom where he took me was fancy, with a king-size bed, satin pink sheets and pillows, inviting me to surrender.

He laid me on the bed, his eyes filled with desire.

He ordered me to take my saree off.

Thomas: Be ready for me.

I slowly stripped down to my underwear, and he stripped to his underwear. His cock outlined by his tight underwear, was huge—it was eight inches at rest, and grew larger to over ten inches when it was up. It was easily twice the girth of Imran's, which was a formidable weapon of pleasure.

Thomas got rid of this underwear too and stood by the bed holding his fine cock up.

I knew what he wanted.

With Imran, it was shyness that never allowed me to enjoy oral pleasure before.

He was not only flesh, but life, breathing, and his weight lay in my hands. His skin was smooth and warm - impossible to miss - but underneath I felt the sturdy, steady beat of a thick vein that was pulsing like a heartbeat of power, matching my own rapid pounding heart.

The slender, delicate fingers looked almost white in his deep, rich skin, as they reached out to wrap around him. It was an abortive, sexual gesture - my thumb met my middle finger - more proof than that was needed of the size of him.

One bead of pure, clear liquid ripened at the end and glittered with a gentle light of the room like a little diamond. I felt a hunger, a primal hunger, a hunger that I had never felt before. I wanted to sample the man, take this first offering.

Thomas looked at me with his dark and intense gaze, as a predator watches its prey. At last he said, "Go on, go on," his voice a deep growl deep in his throat. "Let me see what those beautiful lips can do."

The command was a key to unlock a door I was not aware of.

I leaned toward him, and the clean smell of him, the man of his previous shower, filled my senses. My heart beat in my chest, a frenzy of nerves and exciting anticipation. His velvety-headed cock rubbed my shiny red lips in an electric, soft contact.

Hesitantly, I extended my tongue, the tip just barely touching the glistening drop. It was very hot, a little salty, a taste no one I know would ever have gotten. It certainly had its moments - it was intoxicating.

A surge of boldness, born from that first taste, coursed through me. I opened my mouth wider, silently, and I slowly, carefully, placed just the swollen head in my mouth. It was amazing how smooth and tight the skin felt against my tongue, and how big he was that he filled up the space.

My hands, which had been on my thighs, lifted automatically, one slipping to his strong leg, the other into the manly hairs at the bottom.

A low noise reverberated in Thomas's chest, it was a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. That's it, Zeenat, he breathed, his hands cupping the back of my head. "Right there."

He was all I needed to encourage me. I started to move, and moved slow and in a sensual rhythm. Every time I took him a bit deeper. Every time I tested my own limits, tested myself, my mouth.

I stretched my jaw, a nice stretch to remember his great size. I discovered a rhythm, just the right blending of the way my mouth moved and the soft draping of my hands.

I had my left hand tightly gripping the thick base; it served as a secure base, a firm point to squeeze and pump with my mouth when it fell. My right hand became more adventurous; my fingers rolled in his soft skin, feeling his balls become tighter and pull up under my tender hand play.

All around us had vanished. There were only the soft, wet noises that I was making on him, his growing moans and murmurs of encouragement, and the pounding of my own blood in my ears.

My own saliva started trickling out of my mouth, mixing with his and coating him with a glisten on him so that he felt even sleeker and easier to take than before. I was no longer merely acting, but singing at an altar of pure male, and I was a zealous and eager convert.

I withdrew a bit, letting him go with a gentle, wet pop. I glanced up, and he had a heavy-browed look in his eyes, and my mouth was watering with the expectation of licking my own lips and his, slick with him cum and my saliva.

I could see the lust in his eyes, and it awakened my own.

Again I leaned in, but this time I wasn't just taking him. I explored the distinctive vein under his penis with the flat of my tongue, starting from the bottom to the top, then swirling around the head of the penis, briefly dipping it into my small mouth.

"Fuck, Zeenat," he grumbled as my fingers curled tighter in his hair. "You're a Goddamn Natural," he added.

His words were a strong aphrodisiac. This time I put him back in my mouth, more confident, more hungry. I took him in deeper and deeper, feeling the head brush the back of my throat, pushing myself. I gagged a bit; my eyes watered, but I didn't retreat. Rather, I relaxed my throat and breathed through my nose, and pushed and pushed him further.

It was a sense of being filled to the brim, of giving way because of his size, and it was all surpassingly good.

His hips started to sway and the pattern of his thrusts became slow and shallow and it was the same pace as mine. He was no longer passive; he was active, he was fucking my mouth, at a steady pace, deliberate, and wild. I could hear him increasing in size, the flesh becoming iron hard, his breathing becoming rough.

He ordered me, again, to look at him, and he sounded strained. I want to see those beautiful eyes when I come.

I lifted my head up, my mouth once again around his and fixed my eyes on his.

His eyes got to me. He roared like a lion, cried out loud and in a loud voice; he cried out, he cried out. The initial hot, thick plunge barged its way into the back of my throat, strong and abundant.

I swallowed, I don't know how, mindless, a taste of him that was salty and undeniably male. He panted and pumped me, holding me head high as he poured himself into me with eager lips.

I found myself seeking more—seeking to take all of him; seeking to please him. "Look at me", he said, and, while I continued my ministrations, I looked up at his eye.

His eyes were dark with desire, his lips were ever so slightly parted. "You're beautiful like this Zeenat. Beautiful with my cock in your mouth."

The words brought a second surge of arousal to me, and I pushed him further in to the back of my throat.

I gagged a little, but I didn't pull back but relaxed my throat so I can take more of him.

He pressed his lips to my hair as he said, "Fuck. "That's it... take all of me..."

I could feel him growing more inside my mouth, he was thrusting harder. His breathing became tempestuous and I knew he was near to ejaculate more.

With a guttural groan, he exploded in my mouth.

I was taken aback by the rush, hot and thick on my tongue. I swallowed it instinctively as more arrived, and my mouth was filled with his essence. It was a bit of a bitter taste but somehow so much more personal and I wanted all of it!

Then the spasms stopped and I continued to suckle him, milking the last bits of his softening dick.

I finally pulled away, and a thin thread stretched between us, until it snapped.

Thomas gripped me, lifting me into my arms and devouring my mouth.

He whispered, "You're incredible. Absolutely incredible."

I was filled with a sense of pride and a subtle feeling of guilt towards Imran at these words.

However, as Thomas' hands traveled my body, I felt that guilt slipping away, only to be replaced with a desire for what was to be next.

The cool fabric of the satin sheets was in stark contrast with the heat of our bodies as Thomas guided me back to them.

He wasn't trying to make me do anything; he wasn't trying to get what he wanted; he just lay down next to me, propped up his head up with one hand and just looked at me.

His eyes were searching, yet tender, roving my face, my neck, my breast fullness. "You are even prettier up close," he whispered, the free hand reaching out to touch my cheek, tracing a strand of hair with his fingertips.

His touch was light as a feather. I could sense that I was blushing as he looked at me.

"Thomas, I..." My finger traced the outline of my lips, and he whispered, "Shh. No words now; just feel."

His head was lowered. I thought he would kiss me again, but he didn't, he softly pressed his lips against my forehead and against my eyelids and against my nose, each contact a gentle promise. Finally, when he reached my lips, it was a tender exploration.

Slowly and gently, his tongue moved with mine. He kissed me deeply, tracing my lips before their mouths met in a lingering kiss.

Our lips locked together; his hand started to wander leisurely down my body, playing with the skin of my inner elbows, my arms, my shoulders, and all my skin.

I felt myself bowing into his arms and my body reacting to his tender worship, even as the voice of guilt in my mind whispered over and over.

He was kissing my lips, kissing my collar bone, putting sweet kisses on my neck. I bent my head back slightly so he could reach it better, as his mouth started to explore the tender crease of my throat. I could hear his pulse beating in my pulse, both racing but somehow in sync. He murmured against my skin, "So beautifully responsive."

He continued to explore my breast with his hand, through the sheer fabric of my red bra. His thumb was circling my nipple, which pebbled the instant he touched it. His mouth closed over the other breast, sucking through the lace, and I gasped. His mouth and his hands brought waves of pleasure to me, and I entangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.

He was taking his time, giving special attention to every breast before going behind me and unbuttoning my bra.

His eyes grew darker with the appreciation of the fall of fabric. "Perfect," he hissed out before he took a nipple into his mouth, this time without any barrier between us. He was feeling exquisite—the way his tongue swirled around the hardened peak, the way his teeth gently grazed, sucking the rhythmically moving mouth.

I noticed the moisture between my legs, my body preparing itself regardless of my desire to enjoy each and every moment with him.

His lips continued to worship me with oral attentions, as he moved his hand down my stomach, his fingers rolling circles around my belly button, and then further down to the edge of my panties.

There he stopped, teasing me with playful touches that set me to jumping up and down.

"Please Thomas..." I pleaded.

"Have patience," he whispered.

His fingers finally found their way under my lace panties, under me already wanting, wet.

I cried out as his thumb rubbing slowly in circles on my clit while his fingers explored my lips and folds.

His lips never stopped, paying attention to my breasts, making a symphony of sensations that could not be described. When I thought I had enough, he turned his head to the side, his lips licking my breasts, leaving a trail down my stomach.

Thomas was a slow sauntering holy pilgrimage down my body. His tongue went from my breasts to my belly button, leaving me gasping in amazement. His hands that caressed my hips, my thighs, his worship and his possession. He stepped in between my legs, pushing my legs apart until I was all open to him.

I glimpsed down my body, meeting his eyes in the gloom of the room. They were dark and hot, their flames roaring and purpling my breath. I had a strong sense of power in that instant, a feeling of intoxicating desire, of being entirely desired. The very thin red panties that were all that I had on felt like a paper-thin layer of protection, a degradation of the ravenous appetite in his eyes.

I surprised myself with my confidence in my ability to grab hold of the lace with my thumbs. Slowly lifted my hips off the bed, slowly and deliberately. As I dropped the panties down my legs, my eyes never left his, as I slowly unravelled the last layer of my inhibitions. It was more than just undressing; it was unveiling. I was offering. I was acting like a woman who knew what she wanted and who wasn't afraid to get it, a slut, my voice in my head said, ready and willing to be fucked.

He didn't speak. He simply looked at me, his looking a caress more arousing than any touch. Now the panties were removed and left on the floor, he bent his head. My entire body was on its guard; my limbs were rigid in anticipation.

The first taste of his tongue was like lightning. Not a hesitant, timid toss, but a steady and decisive beat to my most fragile bundle of nerves. I let out a gasp and my back arched off the bed, a rush of pure, uncomplicated delight surged through me. My hands were at his head, and my fingers were interlaced in his thick hair, holding him to me, silently begging for more.

I heard a deep growl of his approval, which reverberated through me. His manner of doing things was flawless, a symphony of feeling. Sometimes he was wide and flat with his tongue on all my folds, and sometimes he was precise, holding his tongue in tight circles on my clit, blurring my sight. He was reading my body like a musician an instrument, he was familiar with the notes to play to make me go wild.

After that his fingers started playing in the orchestra. When one, then two, went into me; thick, demanding, reaching up to find that secret, spongy spot deep within. I breathed his name and my hips pressed against his face, pursing him for the bliss he was so insatiably creating. It was too much, too much stimulation, the constant thrusting of his mouth on my clit and the way his fingers were brushing in and out of me in time.

The muscles tightened in the deep dark of my stomach, hot and compact, each turn of his tongue, each press of his fingers making it tighter and tighter. I could only gasp for breath and shake my body all over the place. The world was now reduced to the one point of contact between my sex and his mouth.

My words were torn from my throat, "Thomas... I'm going to..." Tightly clenching my hands, I twisted the satin sheets, resisting the rising torrent inside.

He didn't stop. In fact, he grew more intense, as his tongue darted more quickly, his fingers ticked faster. He raised his head slightly to allow his voice to be heard, and his words were a deep and commanding whisper in my damp skin. "Let go Zeenat, come for me now."

His orders were the last straw. So did the spring in me. The orgasm that crashed down on me was not a wave it was a Tsunami. A delight that shattered my soul, deafened me and left me blind. I shrieked his name in a raw and primal cry of pure ecstasy, as my muscles convulsed in violent movements. My fingers were trapped in my inner walls, vibrating with the power of my release. My every wave of intense pleasure was more powerful than the next, leaving me breathless, shaking and utterly exhausted.

Thomas failed to get away. He remained with me, his tongue softly lapsing my oversensitive clit, his fingers still ploughing in and out of me, teasing me out of all my aftershocks until I was a limp, quivering mass on the bed.

Finally, his head rose with his face was covered in my essence. His eyes were dark with a satisfaction that was both primal and deeply intimate as he crawled up my body. He placed his lips tightly over mine and I knew that he had possession of me, sensing the musky, sweet taste of me on him, and it was so very sexy and erotic.

Against my lips, he whispered, "Perfect." His voice thick with desire. "You're fucking perfect."

As my body shook with joy, my mouth worshipped, I cried out his name until I collapsed exhausted and shivering against the sheets.

Thomas moved over to hug me again, holding me as I shook with tremors aftershocks. He didn't say anything, just held me as I slowly let myself down to the ground, his hand stroking my hair.

Finally I opened my eyes and he was smiling. He said so with a kiss on my forehead, "Beautiful." "Absolutely beautiful." I touched his face, ran my fingers down his jaw. "That was... incredible."

"Not yet," he vowed, his eyes dark with new desire.

Thomas's smile was a slow, predatory curve of his lips, a promise of dark delicious things to come. He came over me not in a rush but like a panther stalking her prey. His body was a hard landscape of smooth skin, a cage that held me, one I never wanted to break free of. I fell headfirst into the scent of a man, clean and male, filling my senses and intertwining with our recent passion and musk.

His grand cock, still as big and potent as ever, bumped at my pussy entrance. I was still tender, still swollen from his previous ministrations, and after his touch I felt a jolt, a sharp, exquisite ache, a foretaste of pleasure. I shivered, a full-body tremor of pure anticipation.

He growled, the vibration low in his throat, his eyes narrowed to slits, and I could feel it in my bones, a response I didn't know I had. "Ready for more, beautiful?"

I couldn't speak. Words seemed to be insufficient, worthless. All I could do was nod, a frantic, desperate gesture, my breath stuck in my throat, unable to speak as I looked him in the eyes.

He began to push forward more, and the world contracted, focusing on just one thing: our coming together. The first one was a great burn; a feeling on the edge of pain, yet it was so pleasing, and I was breathless. I hated the way he was so thick; my body squirmed and faded, and then it was a delicious fireworks display as he went as far as he could, inch by glorious inch into me.

He's been methodical; a slow, careful penetration. His eyes never left mine: he watched every tinge of emotion, every gasp and whimper that came out of my mouth. This was all he had wanted to enjoy, all he had to savour while he took me over, holding my body completely.

Then, when he finally hit the most inner part of my pussy, my hips met his, and I felt full. He was focused and intense, and I felt his weight against my cervix.

He began to up the pace. His strokes were long and slow, almost all the way out, but then all the way back in, each one a deep grinding stroke that had a touch of every nerve ending in me.

It was not about sex; it was a conversation; it was a dialogue between our bodies themselves. His hips began to roll in a sensual, circular way, as his pubic bone rubbed against my clit with every inward thrust, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through me.

I explored his back, the definition of his powerful muscles, my nails digging into his skin as the intensity grew. My legs wrapped around his waist, and I pulled him in further and further, silently begging for more. His name appeared on my lips, "Thomas," I gasped. "Please... harder..."

He growled aggressively, his flow getting faster, his movements more intense, more challenging. The room was alive with the sound of our bodies colliding in the rhythm of flesh on flesh, my gasping breaths, his gutty grunts of satisfaction.

He seized my mouth in a painfully hot kiss, his tongue dancing around like his hips, taking my mouth as he was taking my body.

"Like that?" he growled at my lips, his voice thick with lust. "You like my big cock stretching that little tight pussy? Tell me."

I became incensed; my response was wild and uninhibited. His foul language was like gasoline on a fire. "Yes," I shouted, my voice screaming with passion. "Oh God, yes... fuck me harder, I love it, I love your cock in me..."

I cried out as he hit a really sensitive spot inside me; he shifted his weight, the angle changed a bit, and I cried out. "There," I gasped. "Right there..., don't stop... oh god, don't ever stop..."

He did, and he was pounding into me again and again tirelessly, with a knack of force that I didn't expect and almost felt like he was driving a horse over me.

His hands were on my boobs, squeezing and pinching my nipples, in sync with his thrusts, sending jolts of pleasure-pain straight to my core. The mix of feelings was more than I could bear; it was like a storm of pleasure and was driving me further and further to the brink.

He spoke harshly, demandingly, "Come for me, Zeenat." It was a hard, loud whisper: "Come for me, Zeenat. Come over my dick, like a good little slut. I want to feel you come."

The release of my orgasm hit me like a tidal wave, filling me with pure, raw and unmodified pleasure. I cried his name, my body shaking and trembling, my insides tightening and squeezing him like a clamp. It was long and intense, and I was shaking and gasping, and my body was weak and soft under him.

But Thomas did not desist. He didn't even slow down. But he kept going, his excitement growing. "Not yet," he growled out, gritting his teeth to keep from yelping. "Not yet..."

He withdrew from me, and I cried out at the loss of him, but he quickly turned me over so that I was on my hands and knees. He entered me from behind, this new angle allowing him to go even deeper. It felt amazing, something I've never experienced before, and I was seeing stars.

He gripped my clit with his left hand and, in time with his heavy strokes, rubbed me. I could feel another orgasm building, different this time, deeper, more intense. Well, you better cum back again, he growled, now heading to make you scream my name this time.

Then, he leaned in, pressed his chest to my back, and his lips touched my ear. "You're mine now, Zeenat," he whispered, the growl in his voice a possessive growl. This little pussy is mine.

When he repeated himself and was pounding me back into my clit, I was on my way again. The second time I had an orgasm was more powerful than the first; it was blinding, it was mind-shattering, it was making my body convulse, it was me sobbing his name out loud.

This time, he released it. Finally, with a full frontal, hard thrust, he sank his hot seed to the hilt, and blew up, spilling his seed down my channel. I felt every beat in his release, the pounding of his cock inside me, giving me smaller, yummy thrills in my body.

We collapsed on the bed together, sweat and other liquids pouring off us, breathing in and out in a rough fashion. He held me close, and his body was like a heavy brick weighing me down, but a brick that was so comforting, so warm and gentle.

My arms, in his arms, he held me so, and we lay in companionable silence, our hearts beating slow and steady.

"You are Mine, Zeenat", he whispered, his lips on my hair. And at that moment, I knew that he was right.

The word "Mine" rumbled a quiet room, a possessive whisper to be feared, but in my exhausted body, a languid shiver of pleasure. Bedsheets were all dishevelled, and we were in a heap; I was sore and aching in the best ways. The air was filled with our exertions—sex, sweat and satisfaction.

We were breathing for a long time. I think the silence was not awkward; rather, it was full and satiated, a kind of language about fullness. The pulse of his heart against my back was reassuring and steady and seemed to have synced up with my own.

I'm not only Zeenat, wife anymore. I am the woman who had been claimed by Thomas. There was no sense of regret; rather, it was a strange, heady pride.

Now time to head back to the party.

The gentleman Thomas had been assisting me with my saree, and his fingers had been exploring my bare back. My legs trembled; my body still buzzed with our passion.

When we entered the main hall, we heard the soft rolling of voices and the soothing sounds of jazz music. However, there was something that was different.

When we came in view, there seemed to be a hush around the gathering. It was not quiet, but there was a reduction in the noise, a break in the action.

Dozens after dozens of eyes looked at us. Towards me. A blush rose up my cheeks; a blush rose up my neck.

My carefully applied make-up couldn't mask my ravished eyes, my swollen lips. My hair was once pretty and neat, and it was a bit dishevelled.

Imran noticed me. He had a complex, complicated look on his face—pain, resignation, and morbid curiosity all mixed together. Then he turned his head to one side, bit his lower lip, smiled slightly, and nodded, as though to say, 'Well, that's what we thought was going to happen.'

The young man, Steve, who had approached me with great courage, asking me to go out with him, was leaning by the wall. He was astonished, and his face was a blend of envy and pain as he returned to Thomas' self-assured smile, seeing my matted hair. I glanced, inclining to take a drink, but his eyes never twitched from me, and I could hear him saying: The old man got there first.

The guy that I had danced with, Frank, just shook his head, knowing. I was something he raised to in a silent toast of congratulations to Thomas, and I was like a prize he won in a friendly competition.

I then saw Joseph and Sophia, whom I spoke to earlier, and they were a couple in their mid-thirties. Sophia murmured something to her husband, her eyes goggled with disbelief, and her heart ached.

But Joseph was not a decent man; he didn't try to cover me up and stared at my body, as if stripping me with his eyes. It was a feeling of wanting and a feeling of appraisal and consideration.

There was an unspoken question there: If Thomas could have her, could I?

wasn't the lovely girl in the saree anymore. It was I who went up to the boss. The lady who had been taken. The woman who had surrendered completely.

And at that instant the transformation took place in me. I did not expect that there would be no shame that I had expected. But there was a heady, intoxicating power, instead.

I had trespassed on a boundary, an area I had vowed never to cross.

And now I was the object of intense, almost palpable desire.

For me, it was an amazing dream come true. A forbidden fruit not only eaten, but consumed. I'd thought that I was still the desire of Thomas, but as I stood there under the collective downward gaze of the party, I felt a sudden, sudden jolt that I was not the desire of Thomas anymore.

But now I was the desire of all.

.... to be continued...