A Week in a Brothel

(To be read as a fantasy only and nothing to do with real life. Readers to exercise due judicious discretion)

We are a couple who just completed three years of inter-caste marriage much to the displeasure of our families and native villagers. We are both from conservative north India but we worked together in a private company in Mumbai. I am 33, well built and muscular guy and belong to so-called lower caste of Hindu caste system. My wife, Smita is from a orthodox Brahmin family. She is 27, having sharp youthful features. She has a charming round face, big buttocks, and glamorous curves on the upper part. She is tall by Indian standard, 5'5" to be precise.

We got married against the wishes of our families and the conservative villagers as such we seldom visited our native village after marriage. In Mumbai, nobody questioned our caste nor bothered about it. We had been to the village nearly two years after our wedding to settle some landed property after the death of Smita's grandpa. Even our presence for business created somewhat commotion in the village. So after completing the work we decided to go back within three days.

It was summer and the heat in Uttar Pradesh was scorching. We left our village at around 5 PM in our own car and was passing through village road so that the distance could be cut short and save time so as to reach Gorakhpur town by 8 PM. There was hardly any human habitation along our route and mostly the vast agrarian fields on both the sides. At around 7, when the dusk had set our car stopped with a screeching sound and though I struggled hard for nearly forty minutes, I could not put it back to life.

It was getting darker and traffic in this short route was sparse and rare. We tried to signal the cars passing through intermittently for help but they ignored. As we lived mostly in Mumbai, we did not have contact numbers of nearby garages of this locality either to contact them over cell phone.

However, after several failed attempts to get help from passing vehicles, one SUV stopped. They told us in Hindi that it would be difficult to find a garage at this hour. They informed us that they belong to a charitable trust running a dharamshala (a cheap hotel for tourists, common in India, that provide shelter at low or no cost), situated about 8 kms from where we were stranded. They suggested that they pull our car to that Dharamshala and we stay the night there and in the morning get our car repaired in a nearby garage.

Having no other alternative, we agreed to their suggestion. Our car was roped to their SUV and I sat in the steering of our car with Smita beside me. We took a sub-way and reached the spot in ten or fifteen minutes.

It was a big round building with shabby look. At the big entrance gate there were guards of the Trust itself in blue uniform while outside the gate there was a hut where three policemen were leisurely sitting on a bed made of ropes. We left the car outside the building, locked it and were led inside by three persons who were in the SUV. The way the guards and the policemen glanced at us made us uncomfortable. We also realized that in the rural area Smita's dress of a tight jeans pant and a sleeveless shirt was slightly offensive.

We were led through the gate to the office that was a kind of reception counter. A lady of around 60 years greeted us there. She politely said in Hindi, "Ours is a shelter for the poor and destitute. You may not be very comfortable here as we don't have attached toilet and cosy rooms. But you will enjoy staying here."

We thought that for one night we could manage and we had no choice but to manage. They asked for our photo identities, details of our address, service records for making entries in their register. But once they saw our surnames they demanded our marriage certificate.

Smita had retained her surname even after marriage and it was her Brahmin surname while my surname clearly indicated my so-called lower caste identity and marriage between these two castes was very rare in the caste ridden rural village. Our problem was that we didn't have our marriage certificate with us, it was in Mumbai. The lady seemed to disbelieve us. Her look was very humiliating as if we two were posing falsely as a couple to enjoy carnal pleasure. Finally, she agreed to provide us a room in payment of an extra five hundred rupees.

After registration and retaining copies of our identity documents, we were shown our room, if one can really call it a room. It was a big hall partitioned into several compartments by bamboo walls. The bed and other materials were clean but the room lacked security, was poorly lighted and dingy. The bamboo partitions that separated the rooms were about six feet in height and between the ceiling and the bamboo partition there were gaps of more than two feet so that a room in the middle is literally exposed both from the right and the left sides. 40 watt tube lights were hanging just above the bamboo partitions so that in the room allotted to us half of two tube lights were hanging. In the room on our left someone was drinking beer and it smelled in our room too. The first question that haunted us was the security of the room. I thought of keeping some friends and relatives informed about our stay but there was no signal in our cell phones. It was almost 9.30 PM. The lady we met at the reception knocked the door and came with two glasses of sharbat (cold drink) made of curd and said in Hindi, "This is the only welcome drink that we can afford for our guests on arrival."

We thanked her and took the glasses. It was really a delicious drink made of curd and very helpful during the summer to restore energy. While sipping the drink Smita tried to be friendly with the lady and asked her if we can have a better room. But the lady replied that all rooms are like that. However, a room in the extreme corner is vacant, which has full wall on the left side. But that room is poorly lighted as it got only half tube light from the adjacent room on the right. Then with a meaningful smile that we didn't understand, she said, "That room can't be given to you."

As Smita pointed out about the gap between the ceiling and the bamboo partition, the lady assured us not to be bothered about security as they have strong wrestlers as guards. She then called two guards, who were stout and wearing only loincloth and ordered them to be near our room in case we need any help. The guards were only in their loincloth with no cloth or even vests on their upper part. They looked vulgar in their appearance.

In the meantime, we had finished the curd drink and handed over our glasses to the lady. The lady gave the tray to an attendant and asked Smita in Hindi, "Will you like to have a glimpse of our den?"

Before Smita could say yes or no, the lady said to her in Hindi, "Come let me take to a tour round our dharamshala."

The lady guided Smita out of the room and the two were walking. As the two walked along the verandah in front of the rooms, Smita could hear various sounds of lecherous love making, moans and groans pouring out of the rooms. As Smita looked awkwardly at the lady, the latter smiled and said in Hindi "These are all ladies like you who came with their fake husbands to enjoy."

"We're not fake couple," Smita sharply protested, "He is really my husband."

"Every pair coming here says so," replied the lady in Hindi with a boisterous laugh.

Smita and the lady were about ten feet away from our room when from the room beside them Smita heard a sensual moaning sound of a woman and a hoarse male voice commanding, "Fuck baby, fuck faster."

Smita shivered and felt a terrible feeling running down her spine. She suddenly left the company of the lady and in swift steps came to our room and said to me in a frightful voice, "Raj, we're in a wrong place. Let's quickly go out of this place."

A heaviness and tipsy feeling had grabbed me, perhaps something was mixed in the curd drink. I heard Smita but could hardly make out the meaning. In the meanwhile the lady came running to our room and said quite roughly in Hindi, "Come with me to the adjacent room."

Smita defied and said, "No, I will stay with my husband."

The lady gestured something to the wrestlers, who suddenly came near me and overpowering me made me lie flat on my back. Soon the other one took a hard wooden rod and struck hard under my feet. I screamed in pain and tried to get up. The other wrestler caught my balls and gave such a squeeze that the world reeled and tears rolled from my eyes. The lady almost thundered in Hindi to Smita, "Go to the adjacent room or he will be tortured more."

"You can't do like this," shouted Smita, "We have paid the money you asked for as rent. I will go to police."

The lady gave a vicious smile and said in her contriving style in Hindi "You are yet to pay something more. You don't have to call police, I am calling them."

The lady asked one wrestler to call the police constables who were languishing outside. The other wrestler had in the meantime taken Smita forcibly out of our room and pushed her in the adjacent room. When the other wrestler returned with three policemen, the lady said in Hindi to the two police constables, "You two are take care of this man till the two wrestlers do their job."

After a pause she said to the third constable referring to Smita, "This lady wanted to complaint to police. I know you're a ruthless bull. Get rid of your uniform and along with the wrestlers teach this woman the best lesson of her life."

The third constable immediately got out of his uniform with a lascivious smile on his face and entered the adjacent room where Smita was. Smita shivered as the constable entered her room wearing only his undergarment that could not hide the erection.

Soon, the two wrestlers wearing only loincloth also entered the room. Smita instinctively knew the danger she was in. She tried desperately to plead for mercy. The lady ordered her wrestlers in Hindi, "Put the lights and camera on. Every details should be recorded. Shout and describe loudly what you do so that her fake husband can have some idea of what you're doing to his fake wife."

Realising, despite my drugged condition, that we were in a great danger, I tried to respond by getting up as I heard Smita's frantic call, "Raj, save me. These are wicked people."

But the moment I tried to get up, the constables forcibly cuffed my legs and hands making me unable to move and said in Hindi, "Listen to what is going in the adjacent room. You might enjoy."

I still used verbal abuse against the perpetrators. One of the constables looked at me and said in Hindi, "Keep shouting as much you can till you hear your wife shouting, first for mercy and then in pleasure and once you hear her scream in pleasure your sound might stop for ever."

Smita was already begging for mercy and to be spared from humiliation. The lady, as usual replied in Hindi, "After a long time we got such a sexy and glamourous woman like you. So don't waste your pleas in futile effort."

The hard hearted words of the aged lady made Smita wail in shame and fear. She tried to strike a bargain by offering the lady as much money she wanted. The lady looked brazen faced and her looks were as cold as stone. The lady said, "Once you are through, I will earn more money by selling your movie and by offering you to customers than the money you can offer."

Smita, by then, was crying loudly at her ordeal. She appealed to the lady as a woman. The lady replied, "Every woman wails, cries and screams for first few days and then fall in line. You will also fall in line soon, you are so hot. Didn't you hear the women in other rooms enjoying with their partners? They all initially cried, pleaded and they are now enjoying. Behave like a good girl, we might let you go early."

Finding no other means Smita started screaming for help at the too of her voice. The guards only laughed and one wrestler said, "In a randikhana (brothel) no one hears the scream nor comes to the rescue."

I tried to get up once again but the constable dealt a heavy blow on my temple and I fell flat. The adjacent room was flooded with light and the lady instructed her men where the camera should be. I realized why we were given this room and why Smita was pushed in the adjacent room. The room was a kind of studio with light and camera to shoot movies that captured explicit sexual activities. Smita was screaming all along and this irritated the lady. She said to the constable and two wrestlers already inside the room with Smita, "You're still in your dresses? Show her your tools and she might get mesmerized and stop screaming."

With a brief pause, the lady said to the constable inside the room, "Stop her screaming and if needed stuff your tool in her mouth. You're the bull and you should take the lead."

The constable was only in his undergarment and at the lady's command he stripped himself completely. The lady too got inside the room, shut the door of the room and said to Smita, "Just watch his tool and how horny it has grown at the prospect of hot cunt, you have never seen such a cock in your life."

As I could hear from the adjacent room, the lady then asked the two wrestlers to get rid of their loincloth wrestlers, and all the three males were stark naked before the lady and Smita. In all probability, the lady took one or two of the three horny cocks in her palms and said to Smita in Hindi, "Fobyou see how these lovely tools jump at female caress? Let me see if your hubby has taught you how to caress a male cock. Take them in your palm one by one and caress them like a good slut."

Smita pleaded to the lady addressing her as an elder sister to spare her. The lady totally ignored her plead and said, "Oho, you're ashamed, give me your hand."

As I could feel the lady forcibly pulled Smita's hand and placing her hand on the erected cocks, said to her, "It's hard and hot and throbbing, isn't it baby? Treat this tool well so that it will treat you well too."

Most probably the lady made Smita to touch the dicks of two wrestlers one after another as I could decipher from her raw words in Hindi when she told Smita, "Now you will feel the size of pulsating bull. Your fist will be smaller to take it. He is our horny bull and now that you touched it you know why he is called a bull! Isn't it?'

I did not hear Smita's words except her sobbing and panting. The males in the room giggled as the lady placed their dicks in Smita's palm and made dirty remarks about pleasing her with their tools. The lady then loudly said, "Now that she has taken your tools in her palm, you should have no problem because she will take it everywhere in her body. It is now time for you to see her youthful treasures. Already her tight and sleeveless outfits have outlined her sexy body. Time now, for you, to see her by freeing her body from the chains of clothes. She might be ashamed at first, so you know how to handle."

Feeling the ensuing humiliation, Smita once again pleaded in most humble tone to the lady and the wrestlers. Then she

appealed to the constable, "You're to ensure law and order. Please help me maintain my honor."

The constable laughed and said, "You are such a sexy piece that I can't think of let you go. Moreover, madam pays us more than what we get as salary. So we are bound to follow her instructions. Now come on, let us not waste time. Show us your beauty."

There continued some more teasing by the three inside the room and repeated pleadings by Smita. It went on for about ten to fifteen minutes. The lady got impatient and said to the wrestlers in angry voice, "She will not relent. You two held her so that she can't create much fuss and Dinesh (the naked constable inside the room) you take away her shirt."

I could hear Smita scream as the two wrestlers caught her and then rustling sound of clothes and then heard Dinesh exclaim in Hindi, "What a beauty!"

I heard the lady again, "Dinesh, throw her shirt in her husband's room."

Through the gap between the bamboo partition and ceiling, the Smita's shirt was thrown in the room where I was. Two constables guarding me collected the shirt, gave it to me and with a dirty smile said in Hindi, "One chain has been torn away ( ek janjeer fad diye gaye)."

I lowered my gaze in shame and insult and just then, Smita's bra fell on the floor of my room and from the protesting sounds of Smita, her screams and the hustle and bustle, I knew that three males were exploring and kneading her. My senses were clear, I felt insulted and angry but a heaviness gripped my head and though I tried to rise, an unknown numbness disabled my limbs. One of the constables in my room taunted in raw Hindi, "Do you hear? Your wife is getting milked. After they finish, we will have our turn. I'm dying to milk her boobs. Is she sexy enough?"

My head stooped further when I heard the lady instructing the three goons, "I'm holding the camera, take her towards the light, lift her face, it should come in camera and two from the sides suck her nipples. Remove your faces at intervals so that her hard nipples soaked in your saliva can be captured."

Without being in that room I knew or was intentionally made to know what was being done to Smita, each and every details. Two constables brought out their hard cocks to show me how they felt about my wife and then licked their lips like greedy cats for their turn.

For what seemed an endless period, in the adjacent room the three horny males kneaded and sucked her boobs. From the sounds pouring out I could feel that Smita was being kissed on her lips and every action was recorded in the video camera by that lady. The came a time when Smita's scream became sharper and there was a struggle inside that room with rustling sound. I heard the lady ordering her pimps in Hindi, "One held her hand, one held her legs, and Dinesh you unbutton her jeans and pull it out of her body."

It was not that easy and there were scuffles for about half an hour in that room and then a long wailing of Smita followed by the falling of her jeans pant on the floor of my room. One constable said to the other in Hindi but purposefully to me, "She is getting ready for a good fuck by the bull. Only one chain now hides her treasure. It too will go soon. We might have our turn by tomorrow."

Helplessly I listened though if I had the strength, I would have smashed their heads. But my limbs were numb. From the other room I could hear terror stricken screams of Smita as the males talked loudly all dirty words about her nude body and were probably groping her. Suddenly, there was a loud scream of Smita and it was followed by a rough scolding by Dinesh in Hindi, "Remove your hands from your chest. After all, we have seen and tasted your boobies already. They are too big to hide behind your hands. Tell us now, whether you're going to pull out your panty yourself or should we tear it into pieces?"

Smita didn't reply and then there was her sudden moans. Dinesh said to the lady, "This woman has hairs in her pussy."

The lady replied, "Yes, I noticed she has hairs in her armpits too. You put up with her hairs tonight, tomorrow she will be waxed clean."

Dinesh reported to the his partners in Hindi, "This bitch is hot and wet. Her spot is getting flooded by her juice."

Smita grunted, quite louder this time. I knew instinctively that her pussy was being fingered because she always grunted like this whenever I fingered her during foreplay and it was likely to grow louder if the fingering continued. True to my anticipation, her grunts were getting louder. One of the constables in my room taunted me, "Boss, she is growing hot."

I didn't reply to this vulgar remark. Suddenly, there were sounds of hard slaps, probably on her asses as it was followed by Smita's cry of pain and a hoarse voice asked her in Hindi if she was going to get rid of her panty herself. As there was no reply from Smita, the lady said to her goons, "Why waiting for her answer? Tear it away."