Heart and Other Toys

"Hey bitch..." Pathan rambled, staring into her deep eyes, while his hand moving to the back of her neck, bunched her hair in his iron fist. Despite the roughness of his grip and the command of the situation he was in, Pathan couldn't stop a silly grin on his face.

Sneha vividly remembered the flat black color of his eyes the last time he glared at her—the color was striking against the background of his sunburned skin and his curly hair. Today, his eyes were a completely different color: a strange ocher, darker than butterscotch, but with the same formidable tone.

"Want to break peace... huh?" he smirked and his other hand on her breast drew her closer to him. She could feel his increased heart rate and hear his ragged breathing. His mouth released a soft and warm breath — caressing, teasing and threatening her lips. And she held her own. Shocked and startled, Sneha looked away, as if wishing away that kiss hanging between them, a deadly sweet promise suspended in time.

"Please slap me, Pathan," Sneha pleaded, her cheeks burning red as she looked at all of them watching and eagerly waiting for the spectacle. "I slapped you, and you can slap me. But let me go, please."

Technically, she should have cried in this situation—but pretty contrastingly, a rare sense of unknown and unstated excitement gripped her lips to curl into a faint smile, on the idea of being slapped. Fuck you sadist bitch.

"Look at me..." Pathan slurred, "I've better ideas, to settle the score." He lowered his lips to hers, and unlike she'd anticipated, unlike she'd known with Ravi or even Pawan. His kiss wasn't sweet and soft, but demanding and sure — sucking her both lips in his mouth.

"Leave her you bloody thug in disguise..." yelled Pawan, smacking his palm against forehead. But, he dared stepping closer to stop Pathan.

"Or at least allow her to breathe, Pathan," Qureshi giggled, taking their picture on his cell phone.

Feelings so long buried that Sneha thought they'd passed out completely. Breathlessly, she made a reflex gesture to push him away, but as she felt the warm, hair-dusted backs of his hands—she sighed in his mouth. Sneha couldn't seem to stop herself from exploring the shape of his long bones, the hard angles of his wrists. His fingers flexed around her round breast, like a cat kneading his paws, and she moaned in his mouth, only to allow his tongue to plunge and explore her mouth.

"See her tongue..." Qureshi slapped Pawan's ass, playfully. "She's kissing back. So why roasting?"

Pawan's reluctant gaze spots Sneha's sweet little mouth, lost and locked with Pathan's hungry cakehole. The rage he felt, the jealousy that another man was touching his girlfriend had floored him, already. What Pawan felt one seeing her tongue on Pathan's tongue—was something so unique that Pawan had no name for it. He gasped feeling a throb between his legs.

"In fact, you don't even love her, so calm down, Pawan," the cunning Qureshi pointed toward Pawan's erections. "He who is not possessive isn't in love."

Pawan had never felt so embarrassed before. He looked away, but Pathan kept doing what he was good at. Stuffing Sneha's mouth with his fat tongue, Pathan depended on the kiss, licking her throat with the tip of his tongue. He tasted in her mouth, like tobacco, with a hint of tea and sheer, raw lust. Then his strong fingers closed around her hardened nipples and pinched them until she was at the tipping point when pain and every sense of repulsion diffused into an unheard pleasure.

Sneha could feel every nuance of his fingers pressed against her skull, felt the tug of her hair through his fingers, felt the swelling of her breasts in his palm. Suddenly she burst into heat, inflamed at the places he touched to engulf her and make her weak. Sudden spurt of heat burnt regions in her brain that regulate critical thinking, self-awareness, and rational behavior and she went mindlessly into the kiss, into a loathsome carnal passion.

"Someone call the police..." Pawan shouted in a soundproof room, for which he had paid extra. "Some other police...help."

"Why do you like a policeman with her only?" Qureshi mocked. "Why not a doctor, or someone else?"

Pawan slammed the floor with his feet in a helpless jealousy recalling all of her resistance to kiss him. Sneha hardly smooched him despite his romantic plea, and here she was letting Pathan to explore her panting mouth, resisting only with her little velvety tongue, wrestling with his rampant tongue and teeth.

Sneha was but lost, She had never experienced anything like this kiss before. Pathan's demanding mouth seemed to have a suction pump inside. That was extracting, blending and slurping her saliva-even her breath, leaving her limp and pliable against him. An eternity seemed to pass before he lifted his head, and then it only seemed that he'd risen for desperate air, even his eyes were closed, like he was smiling in a dream.

"Pathan..." Sneha breathed his name aloud, and a dim part of her mind wondered if she was asking him to stop or asking for something she couldn't even define. "Leave me, you rascal." As the tip of her tongue took a trip down the palate, she hated herself, for still tasting like him, for trembling, and for wanting more. A crimson blush crept all over her face, despite his eyes being squeezed tight in some dirty dream about her.

Pathan released her hair, as if her words slapped him awake — while her own dreams were drifting. He released his hold on her, and slowly, his mouth curled back into a grin. "Don't blush bitch, when you hate me," Pathan mocked her before his head fell on a pillow, letting her head fall on his broad chest.

If his heartbeat was hurried and heavy—hers was ragged and chaotic, curbing another moan, Sneha looked around through the curtains of her long eyelashes, and three spectators, standing around the bed and watching her. Sneha quickly covered herself with the bedsheet. She was half lying over Pathan—like a kinetic toy between his magic hands. She was fretful and blushing with embarrassment at the helpless position she found herself in but he couldn't escape half-nude moving. Finally, she raised a hand to her seared lips—they were bleeding.

"Cummed, huh?" Qureshi teased her with a big smirk.

Sneha didn't—couldn't—say a word to these vultures; she just buried her face under the bedsheet, and using every ounce of force in her body, pushed Pathan off the bed.

"She is bleeding!" Pawan screamed, the sour expression on his face, was quite revealing that it was not empathy but it's something else that is turning him mad. Jealousy.

"You loser, Pathan..." Pawan yelled. "She slapped you—because she loved me, and now you're taking it to me. You're a loser, Pathan."

"You were a mere coincidence in her life, Chutiya," Pathan rebuked, pouncing on Pawan. "Yes, she hated me, because I wasn't what this bitch wanted. I was what she needed."

Pawan looked at Sneha with eyes wide open, and somehow her silence spoke volume in confirmation to what Pathan was saying, "Sneha?" But then he rushed to hide behind Qureshi.

"Come inspector Pathan..." Qureshi calmed Pathan, "Love is an offence in crime. Be practical here." Then patting on Pawan's cheeks, he added; "You leave them, and better worry about your ass you've only two options, Pawan."

"Options?" Pawan asked, feeling so embarrassed for his cowardice was exposed so nakedly in front of Sneha, but he couldn't risk messing with Pathan. "What options?"

"Either your family is going to see this footage or call your wife here," Qureshi's voice matched the callousness of his face, even what he spoke playfully, "I know you've a few cucky fantasies."

"WHAT?" Pawan asked, with his Nepali eyeballs popping out of their sockets. "Why drag my wife into all of this? Please. I'm giving you money."

"Money alone isn't good enough...!" Pathan declared.

"Please, don't bring my family. I've kids." Pawan fell on his knees, at Pathan's shoes. "Don't ruin my life—I didn't slap you. She did."

"Sneha is mine. Forever." demanded Pathan. "No word about her will go out."

"Done. I'll give you the money..." Pawan sighed, "Please let me go. Sneha is on her own."

"See bitch..." Pathan pulled her hair so roughly, like he would root them out from her skull. "You preferred this sissy pimp over me."

Sneha didn't even look at Pawan, as if — now he was nothing to her, just a lesson in time. She wasn't even looking at her captors. Somehow her mind had paused, like it's making a new connection, one that brings high emotion of either joy or sorrow. This evening of shocks had brought a quietness within, a moment to feel her emotions change gear and girder her soul for what is coming. Next moment she felt herself unexpectedly on a platform, the train approaching—realizing that this time the destination was not a choice.

"Let's come with us, Pawan boy..." Qureshi tossed Pawan's shirt at him. "Time for some online banking."

"I'm sorry Sneha..." Pawan mumbled, wearing his dress, "It's one grave here—and two bodies. So one of us has to sacrifice."

"Get lost from here, asshole..." Pathan rose from the bed, and slapped Pawan so hard that he lost his hearing for a few seconds. Pawan almost ran away from the room, and managers followed.

"By the way Pathan..." Qureshi stopped at the door, "My offer is always on. We can always share both — money and her."

"One more word about her, and you won't see the sunlight again, Qureshi," Pathan roared.

"You know, inspector Pathan... there's nothing personal, in business," Qureshi objected, removing an imagery wrinkle from his coat. "So, better don't ruin things here."

"Business...?" Pathan roared, pouncing on him, and in the next moment Qureshi was hanging in the air, with Pathan's firm grip around his shirt collar. "She isn't your business. She is mine?"

"You'll regret this day, Pathan..." Qureshi shouted through his cough. "My one call will strip you from this uniform, you know that, boy."

"And my one call will strip you from this skin, Qureshi," Pathan mimicked the threat. "Don't even think to harm her shadow, and you just keep your pimping business."

"Done. She is your KEEP..." Qureshi conceded, "But, don't come in our business again."

"I'm out of your pimping racket." Pathan nodded, dropping him on the floor, and Qureshi just scampered out of the room.

Sneha was shivering under the bedsheet, and it was pretty astonishing for her that Pathan had gone that far to claim her. It was like another revelation about her inability to judge the people. Day-in—day-out, she has to make decisions at the workplace, based on her assessments of situations and people, and never once has it occurred to her that trash can be a place to find a jewel.

Pathan didn't come to her on the bed, but started moving in the room impatiently, like he was grappling with something. Sneha did not know if the worst was over, or it hadn't even begun. The room felt silent like a grave for a while, except the sound of her heartbeats.

Her mind had already moved past those early stages of shock and grief, and subconsciously she had surrendered to the fact that one or other vultures would exploit her vulnerability in this compromising state of her. She was still but very depressed, and her mind still shut to move to that beginning stage of what if? What if her husband finds out? What if she informs him? What if she jumps out of the window, what if Pathan really loves her?

The last question of her subconscious shocked her, and she looked at him. Pathan had moved to the window, gapping into dying sunlight. She felt more anxious, as he wasn't even moving to feed that painful silence that stood between them as a wall, and she didn't know how she would survive on the other side of this wall, when he would tell her—his demands, his wish list.

The silence was so chilling, yet pregnant with all possibilities. Every second, another streak of silver glows: parentheses, exclamation points, commas—a whole grammar made of light, for words too hard for them to speak. Her heart was pounding like a prison against the prison bars. Nothing around her was making sense, and everything seemed equally threatening-his silence too.

"Come here, bitch..." finally Pathan demanded, sitting on a chair. "I promise, your husband will never find what a whore you're. But you've to be one. The best one."

Pathan's voice broke the silence, like smashing a glass, and his words also murdered a faint hope that was surging in her. Somehow, very irrationally though, she had begun to count on his humility. He had but unnerved her now. He was jeopardizing years of her self-control and discipline and reduced her to the quivering semblance of a frightened child. However, no more she was a naive girl. She had to respond to these threats and personal emotional humiliation, or the scars from it would haunt her to her grave, forever paralyzing her along her path to discover her true potential in life.

"An eye for an eye..." Sneha whimpered, lowering her feet from bed, "I thought this is what your religion taught."

"No religion teaches this, bitch..." he roared, "But you rejected me, because I was Muslim."

"That's not true..." the alacrity with which she interjected was quite telling of her honesty. "This isn't the truth. It was you, an evil, and it's you, and what you do is evil."

"Yes. I was born as an evil and I'll die an evil." Pathan spitted, and a rare shade of sadness in his voice drew her to think that even monsters do dream of fears and wants.

"Will you let me go, after taking your revenge?" Sneha looked into his eyes for the briefest of moments. The fire in his eyes could have consumed an entire forest. Dropping her eyes downward, she tried to steady her trembling fingers. Her question was spontaneous, since she had no choice but to obey, still she felt embarrassed by her own words.

He didn't even smile or speak, he just kept his eyes focused on her, and then suddenly he sprang from the chair and started moving in from here to there. Pathan was losing himself, of this he was certain. He'd bargained his soul for revenge and loathed himself because of it. Where was the honor in this? He yearned to hear her whimper; he ached to feel her yield to him willingly. He knew Sneha had the power to redeem him, and Pathan very much wanted that redemption. He wanted her love, but he couldn't conjure how on earth Sneha would ever love him.

His grappling with destiny allowed Sneha for the first time to look at Pathan, as the silvery aura from the window fell across his stature. Somehow, in the course of a few minutes, this vulture had swooned her, and then terrified the hell out of her.

He looked good, like sin in a uniform. Time had certainly robbed his boyish innocence, but only to turn him into a perfect balance of danger and charm, he was dismaying, yet — utterly attractive in an enticing and forbidden way. It made her think that perhaps that's why the villains were always ugly in books and movies, because if they were attractive — if their looks matched their charm and their cunningness, they wouldn't only be lethal—but too irrespirable, like him.

Suddenly, Pathan stopped moving, as if he had come out of whatever he was grappling with. Their gazes locked again, briefly. His eyes were dark, fierce, demanding. A whirlwind of panic swept through her as Pathan stripped off his uniform shirt.

She switched her gaze to the floor, but not before she had seen how large and formidable his body was, his torso heavily muscled, his chest covered with soft curly hair. His big-framed body was clearly built for destruction rather than romance. He was a man who made a woman feel safe, and at the same, extremely insecure.

"Get nude and come here..." demanded Pathan, tossing his shirt away. His demand perfectly met her fears about him. Before Sneha could move away, with a rough flex of his arm, he pulled the bedsheet, exposing her seminude body. His swiftness and act both were so surprising, that Sneha could hardly cover her fulsome breast.

"Just show me what a good whore you're..." demanded Pathan, sitting again on that chair. "You can go then."

His command both degraded and terrified her. Gritting her teeth, Sneha forced herself to obey, taking one step, then another, the fine Iranian carpet prickling beneath her bare feet, as she removed her pants. She knew— Pathan could see everything: the flashes of ivory skin, and the shape of her body. Her panty still encased the delicious triangle between her pencil legs. Her face burned as she stopped before him.

Pathan sat like a statue. His faint smile had died away, and he set aside the wine bottle as if his fingers had become nerveless. He barely seemed to breathe as his gaze swept from her feet to her eyes. The room no longer seemed cold, but Sneha continued to tremble under his burning gaze.

From her docile posture, she was using every ounce of self-control to keep from bolting. She looked like an angel in hell, with slender arms wrapped tightly around herself—her long black hair gathered in a dark shining stream over her shoulders, cascading down to her panty.

"Drop your hands...!" Pathan demanded sternly, but couldn't hide the excitement in his hungry gaze.

"You think because you can humiliate me, you can control me?" Sneha probed, glaring at him, her eyes enormous. He noticed they were dark as night, the sort that picked up whatever darkness was near.

Pathan wore a strange expression, as if he was insulted, enraged, and amused all at once. "You'll live this humiliation until you become an addict of my Muslim cock." His voice sounded raspy this time. "So, it's all on you."

The air between them seemed to crackle with challenge. Sneha's heart began a swift, heavy thudding, its rhythm resonating all through her. Her composure was further shaken when gave her a smile that held a disarming, self-mockery. "See, my patience isn't limitless... unlike my authority."

Sneha was awash with emotion she felt incapable of handling. His anger and quest for revenge she could take, it made him much easier to hate. This man was completely blackmailing her. He may rape her raped her, abuse her in the worst way possible—and yet she felt from him a tenderness that was more dangerous than anything else she'd expect.

Did he want her complete surrender? Would he not leave her one scrap of dignity? Or would he strip her as emotionally bare as he had stripped her physically bare? She couldn't find that answer, she just gasped:

"Tell me what to do?" Sneha surrendered, the words blowing against him. Her gaze dropped to his boots, and her pencil legs trembled, the sense of degradation within her causing her to shake so violently that she could barely put one foot in front of the other. Yet, she dropped her hands peevishly, as if she knew; there is no hope in this pig. "But ruin me fast. My husband will be home soon."

"Take off your panty", he demanded, hoarsely, as his gaze sweeps over her fulsome breast, and lingered over those bullets of her nipples. Now that she wasn't running from him or terrified by him, he realized, there is a streak of wild quirkiness that made her dazzlingly attractive. Pathan felt a smoldering heat begin in his groin. He couldn't ever remember wanting a woman like this, craving the feel and scent and taste of her with every fiber of his being.

Their gazes met, and a wry grin twisted his lips, "an eye for an eye, huh?" he probed, staring between her tightly closed legs. "So you want to settle it with spanking?"

"Please stop it..." Sneha said with a snort. Her hand reached to her panty, and lifting her legs, one-by-one, she lowered her panty, and threw it — at his face.

Her naked glory had already captivated Pathan so deeply, that he was too naïve to be offended by that contemptuous throw of panty. From her deep eyes to polished toes, everything was worthy of an ode. But, like every wonder of nature, he just sat there, speechless, motionless — stunned and dazzled. His body hardened with a savage, unfamiliar need.