Story 118

In continuation of Story 117.
The Story begins here

She knew she should have not reacted the way she did. She did not want him to think that she did not trust him around her daughter because of his past. Her reaction had been involuntary protective response of a mother. She would have reacted the same way even if he did not have a past or around any other man. She had become over-protective of her daughter especially after the girl had started menstruating. The girl was too young to have her periods, she thought. She blamed herself to some extent for the girl’s growing up early.

She had been through a lot in life and as a mother it was her duty to protect her daughter from the effects of her failed marriage. She should have shielded her from all the bad, the way her mother had. She understood her mother now and missed her. She was not sure how she was going to raise her daughter alone. It would be selfish on her part to expect him to be a part of her life and help her raise her daughter; he had already done enough by giving her a place to stay. It was temporary she had told him and he had simply nodded. There was no way she was going back to her husband. What he had done to her that day was monstrous. Her daughter had taken the decision for her that evening and she had respected it. She was glad to walk out of that house forever.

No daughter should have to see her mother the way her daughter had seen her. In a state of half undress and bleeding from the wounds on her face. Bite marks on her neck and breast.

She felt the panic rising as she thought about that day. She turned off the burner and stepped away from the kitchen platform. She looked around for a paper bag but found none. He was inside the bedroom, she wanted to call out to him but changed her mind. He had seen her vulnerable several times and she did not want to add this to the list. She did not want him to think that she was weak. His opinion mattered. She struggled around the living room looking for the paper bag. Her vision blurred and she collapsed on the floor, she saw him rushing towards her before she closed her eyes.

She could feel his arms around her as he picked her up. She was having difficulty breathing. He rushed to the bedroom and placed her on the bed. “I cannot breathe… paper bag” she said amidst the gasps. He held her hand and asked her to calm down. “No paper bag” he said. “Try to relax. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. You will be fine. Breath” he encouraged her.

She tightened her grip around his hand and did as he asked. She tried to slow down her breathing but it did not help. He ran his fingers through her hair. Tears escaped from the corner of her eyes.
“You are safe, I promise. I am here.” He said, still running his hand through her hair. She tried to slow down her breathing and succeeded. She took a deep breath through her nose and breathed out through her mouth. She realized she was breathing on his face; his face was so close to hers. She wanted to reach out and kiss him.

The first time they had kissed it was when she had gone to his house to apologize after their fight. He had surprised her by rushing towards her, cupping her face and kissing her on the mouth. After the initial shock, she had kissed him back. Guilty of her action, she had moved back and fell on her knees, he had apologized for kissing her but she had changed the subject. If she did not think about it, did not acknowledge it, it did not happen. That was her way of dealing with it. But the fact was it had happened and the memory had never left her alone. She had liked it, his mouth covering hers, his tongue about to explore her mouth. Had she not stepped back she would have given in completely.

The second time they had kissed, it was unexpected. She had invited him to her house for lunch. It was her birthday. Her daughter had wished her in the morning before going to school, her husband was out of town and had not called to wish. She was feeling lonely. She was still preparing lunch when he rang the doorbell. He gave her the flowers and chocolates he had bought for her. He wished her happy birthday and kissed her on the cheek. A shiver had run down her spine. She knew at that moment, inviting him over had been a mistake but it was too late to step back.

He had insisted on helping her in the kitchen. She had been amazed to find out about his culinary skills. They talked, they laughed together while cooking, like a normal happily married couple. Spending time with him felt good.

They did the dishes together after lunch, she washed and he dried them. Each time their hands touched she felt the shivers. Something bad was about to happen, she had known then. She knew she would end up doing something that would leave her guilt-ridden for the rest of her life. When they sat on the couch to relax, she sat close to him on purpose, she had made up her mind to explore what was beyond the safe limits of her life. She looked at him expectantly, she had wanted him to kiss her and he did. She kissed him back. She did not pull back when his tongue entered her mouth, she met it with her own. He ran his hand through her hair, tugging at it at intervals, it had felt good and arousing. She had moved back eventually, a short break before taking the next step. She wanted him, she needed him. He straightened up on the couch and placed an arm around her shoulder. He was not ready to take it to the next level. She had rested her head on his shoulder when the doorbell had rung.

“Are you okay?” his voice brought her back to the present at the right time. Had she thought about what had happened next, she would have perhaps had another panic attack. She realized she had been staring at his lips.

“I am fine, now.” She whispered. He let go of her hand and was about to move back when she held his hand in hers again. “Don’t leave” she begged. He stayed close. He wiped the sweat off her forehead with a towel and ran his free hand through her hair, which was matted with sweat. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Her husband had never been there for her like this. This man who was once a stranger had become an important part of her life. She had tried to deny it for a long time but had finally accepted that she was in love with him. She had been a broken doll after her husband had violently raped her, this man had put her back together. She owed him her life. She knew he practiced restraint to stay sober of his addiction and she knew how much difficult it was for him, because of her presence but he never complained. Had he ever given in to the addiction because of her, she knew she would have not complained, either.

He was holding her hand when she fell asleep and he was still holding it when she woke up. He smiled when she opened her eyes.
He moved in closer and kissed her on the forehead. She put her arms around his neck and pulled him in and kissed him on the lips. This was the first time she had ever taken the initiative to kiss. She felt his hand on her waist as he kissed back. She felt his hand under her t-shirt, his sweaty palm on her warm skin. She ran her hand over his back and tugged at his t-shirt in an attempt to take it off. That’s when he stopped kissing her and moved back. She stared at him; her lips still parted, her body radiating heat and demanding more. He got up from the bed and walked out of the bedroom. She shifted in bed, turning her back to the bedroom door and cried, not because she was guilt-ridden, she cried because she was disappointed.
Maybe he does not want me, she thought as she cried.


He was breathing through his mouth, running his hand through his hair and pacing back and forth in the kitchen. What was happening to him? He felt the tingling sensation all over his body. He wanted to take her. Why then had he stopped when she had taken the initiative to undress him? Perhaps because he was scared of what would happen if he let go of the control that he had perfected. What if he could not stop once he started? What if she grew tired of his addiction; grew tired of him wanting her so much? The what ifs made it difficult for him to breathe. He was having a throbbing headache. His emotional turmoil turned into physical, he rushed to the bathroom and vomited in the commode.

She must have heard him hurl the contents of his stomach because he heard her knocking on the bathroom door. It was not locked but she asked for his permission to come in. He refused. She waited for him outside the bathroom door as he finished and flushed the contents.

“Are you okay?” she asked, banging on the door again.
He opened the door and it broke his heart to see that she had been crying. He was the reason this time.
“I am sorry for my behaviour earlier.” He apologized. “Please let me explain” he pleaded.
“You don’t have to” she replied as she put her hand on his cheek.

“I can see how much this hurts you” she said and moved closer and rested her forehead against his. She never had these intimate moments with her husband, it was either sex or nothing at all. She realized she had been comparing him to her husband quite a lot, she did not know whether it was the right thing to do, but whenever she compared, he won and her husband lost.

He held her in the circle of his arms. “I want this” he said. “I want more as well but I am scared.” He confessed. She looked at him and he knew she understood. His stomach grumbled and they both laughed.
She stepped away to continue with the lunch preparations. He helped. The sexual tension between them eased automatically.


Her daughter had the right to know, she thought as she waited for the girl to return from school. Her daughter had been supportive the whole time, she did not want the girl to feel cheated. She could never tell her about her father’s affair but she was not going to hide how she felt about the man they stayed with.

The girl already knew that she had been alone in the house with the man when her father had come back from the business trip. Her father had painted a picture with his words and she had seen the dishevelled hair as well. She would have told her daughter that she had kissed the man, had she gotten the chance but she never did because of what happened next. The girl had walked out of the house and then hell broke loose.

Her husband had accused her of being a bad influence to his daughter. He blamed her for his daughter’s behaviour. He had punched her in the face and flung her on the bedroom floor and kicked her in the stomach. He had accused her of being a whore. He’d taken off his belt and hit her across her chest and stomach. She’d struggled to get up and he had hit her on the legs, leaving a slash mark on her fair skin that started to bleed when he hit her on the same spot again.

“Please stop” she had begged amidst the sobs. She noticed it then, the bulge in his pants. Her begging had aroused him, he smiled. She struggled beneath him, tried to refuse him access to her body for his sexual gratification. But that did not stop him from taking her. He had not bothered to undress her. He tore off her blouse for access to her bare breasts and pushed up her saree to expose her thighs. The belt blow came again, this time over her thighs and she screamed and he laughed. He choked her with one hand and unzipped his trousers with another; freeing his erection. He pulled off her panties and entered her, tightening and loosening his grip on her neck and punching her amidst the thrusts. He had discovered a new way of excitement and he had just begun.

He bit her on the neck and breasts until he could taste her blood in his mouth. He came inside her and fell on top of her, exhausted. She wriggled beneath him to free herself, but she could not push him aside. She cried, buried under his weight; his body shaking in sync with her sobs. This infuriated him and he slapped her hard across the face.

“You look beautiful” he said as he looked at her broken, bleeding body. Her face was swollen and she was bleeding at the mouth. “He can have what’s left of you.” He spat at her and walked out of the bedroom zipping his trousers.

She tried to get up but she could not move. She wanted to yell, call out to the neighbour because she knew he would be waiting to hear from her; after what had happened earlier. But no words came out of her mouth, she spat blood.

That’s when she heard her daughter searching for her. “Don’t come in” she wanted to tell her daughter but once again blood spilled out of her mouth. She could not see her daughter clearly but she heard her scream. The girl rushed to her and straightened her saree and helped her sit up straight. She hid her face in her palms and started sobbing; when the girl embraced her, she continued sobbing in her daughter’s arm. The girl had started crying too.

It was too much trauma for the girl to handle alone. She knew the incident would leave a permanent mark on the girl’s mind. She did not have the strength to get up on her own; she wanted to ask the girl to get help but she did not have to. The girl had wiped her tears, she pulled the bedsheet from the mattress and wrapped her half-naked mother in it. “I will be right back” the girl had told her and went to get help from the neighbour.


He watched her from the bedroom as she sat on the couch, staring blankly at the wall and tears streaming down her face. He knew she had drifted into the past, went back to that dreadful day.

He remembered waiting eagerly for some news. He had tried looking out of the window but the window to her bedroom was closed. The main door was open, he was tempted to walk across the street to check. He had seen the girl walk out of the house and knew that she was alone with her husband. He grew restless and was about to step out of the house when he saw the man walking out of the house. The man looked at him, a cunning smile over his face. What had that man done? He thought. He wanted to storm into her house; it took a lot of effort for him to not interfere in her life. In the end, it had not mattered.

He saw the girl returning, he stepped out of the house and waited. Then, he saw the girl running towards him and she begged him to come with her. He ran towards the house and stormed into the bedroom. He fell down on his knees when he saw the condition that she was in. Her monster husband had left his mark on her. She was wrapped in a white bedsheet, which was stained with blood. He crawled towards her; his vision blurred with tears. He picked her up in his arms and was about to place her on the bed when the girl stopped him.

“Not here, your place.” The girl said. He took her out of the house and across the street to his. People watched them; saw her wrapped in bedsheet, her face bleeding; heard her sobs, heard the daughter crying but they did nothing.

He placed her on the bed and walked out of the room, giving the two women their privacy. The girl cleaned up her mother as much as she could and then they took her to the doctor. The doctor cleaned her wounds, bandaged few, wrote painkiller prescription and told her she was free to go home. He came to know later from the girl that her mother had told the doctor what had happened but the doctor had not said anything; the girl had told him that the doctor was her father’s friend. He had suggested going to the police but she had been too exhausted. She told him that she wanted to go back to his house and rest and he had obeyed.

While her mother rested the girl had gone back to her house and packed few clothes and carried her books to his house. That’s when he had known that the girl had decided to never go back home. He saw the determined look on the girl’s face as he stood at the door watching her. As the girl walked past him into his house, he had said, “I am proud of you.” And he was, he was proud of the girl.


She had not moved an inch for almost an hour. He looked at the clock, there was still time for the girl to return from the school. He made up his mind and walked towards the couch. He touched her on the shoulder and she shuddered.
“It’s me.” He said as he sat next to her and wiped her tears. “Come with me” he said as he held her by the arm and stood up. She stood up and followed him. He took her to the bedroom and made her sit on the bed. He closed the bedroom door and walked to the window and closed it. She watched him through teary eyes. Realized what he was doing and what he was about to do.

“I do not want pity sex” she wanted to tell him. But at the same time, she wanted him to make love to her; to tell her that she was not a broken doll.

“You are beautiful… he can have what’s left of you.” The words echoed in her ears and she screamed. He took her in his arms and she screamed some more. He tightened the grip around her and allowed her to scream, allowed her to let out the frustration.
When the screaming stopped, he let go of her. He kissed her on the lips and along the jaw-line. He looked at her, seeking permission and then unbuttoned her shirt. He saw the bite marks on her neck and as he took off the shirt, he saw the marks on her breasts, half concealed by the bra. He placed his hands on her shoulder and made her lie down in bed. He kissed the exposed bite mark and slipped off the bra strap and continued kissing, a trail of soft kisses from her chest to her stomach. The belt wound had left a faint pink mark across her stomach. He ran his fingers over it and felt her react. He did not look at her, he did not want her to see his tears.

He unbuttoned her jeans and took them off. The faint pink marks ran across her thighs and her legs. Despite trying hard to hold back his tears, he could not. His tears fell from his eyes on to her thighs and she knew he was crying. she sat up straight in bed and reached out for him. He did not make eye contact but went into her arms.

He never intended to have pity sex with her, she realized. He merely wanted to help her heal.

... Story 119

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