Heart and Other Toys

Author's Note: An underlying theme in this tale is reluctance, but it doesn't fall under the non-consent theme. Thus I'm posting it in the interracial category. Still if you don't approve or adore sexual reluctance, please avoid reading it.

The story is a pure work of fiction, all characters and events in this tale are fictitious. Although, external stimuli also influence human imagination and motives. In my case, someone has always been a muse to my imagination. So, the story is again dedicated to her... heart unfold before whom, like a flower

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Mostly beauty changes with time and weather. Sometimes — beauty carries her own weather with her. She tranquilized the evening, as Sneha walks into the hotel lobby. The dull golden of the setting sun submerged on the dusk of her cheeks with the silver of clouds. She blushed looking at him—and everything exploded crimson.

Pawan rushed holding her in his eyes, Sneha was in a stylish outfit of loose top, only expressing the overwhelming curves and skin-tight pants at her narrow waist—groin, upper thighs loosening into pleated pants, embodied with frills. A loose multicolor scarf was encircling her head, shoulders and breasts. The scarf was never a part of her regular dress, but she preferred it today, to see her ex-boyfriend, Pawan. It was just a casual lunch date, yet Sneha ensured that her dressing didn't convey any expectations, all she wanted was to see him, for once- after long years.

His heart skipped a beat and another as she approached him. Despite that modesty in her dressing, Sneha had turned out to be a beautiful princess of the Mysore dynasty, augmented with her dark eyes and fairly dusky skin. Pawan, recollected with uncertainty whether she is looking good now or before with her conservative sarees, where only the tightness of wrapping would squeeze her curves, her lovely figure with full bosom and shapely hourglass frame.

Her scent filled his head, triggering memories. The entire decade flashed in front of his eyes—from the first meeting of their eyes to their rueful parting. It was a more affectionate friendship, then a romantic love. When Pawan first proposed to her, she neither accepted - nor rejected, but she hung out with him. It was more out of her sense of insecurity in the University campus where a goon union leader was up for her panty. His relation with Sneha was yet far from a platonic attachment. Their bond was just calm, friendly, and foolish enough, more emotional than carnal. He always wanted to marry her—and perhaps her too. Somehow Pawan always had this feeling of not being her instant choice.

"Hello Sneha...!" Pawan waved his fingers in front of her eyes. "I'm here." His lingering gaze and twinkle of adoration in his eyes were enough admiration of her charms.

Standing against him — Sneha was also gapping into the vacuum. The past seemed as a candle at a great distance: too close to let her quit, too far to comfort her. How sad, and bad yet mad it was - but then, how it was sweet. She shivered—his voice unfamiliar to her as if it was coming from an acquaintance of many years.

"Hello Pawan..." Sneha giggles. "Good to see you."

They sit, surrounded by glossy tables in the luxury dining hall of Marriott. Her hands started shaking. Pawan noticed. "It's just lunch." He smiled, assuredly.

Sneha nodded, trying to dab her glistening forehead with the back of her finger. She let herself really look at him for the first time. Time- cruel time had taken anything, a lot of his charms and a handful of his hairs—leaving with more fats. He still looked handsome.

Pawan reaches across the table for her hands. He smiles, and Sneha sees the boy she once was to marry — in the man across from her. She shakes head and sits on her hands in hopes they'll stop shaking.

"So glad to see you, Pawan," Sneha broke the uncomfortable silence between them. "It's been 10 years since we last saw each other?"

"Eleven," Pawan smirked.

"Any good in adding an extra year of agony?" probed, Sneha, looking away.

"Let's talk about pleasant things," said Pawan. "How is marriage?

"Almond," Sneha sighed, "a bitter almond."

"Do you love him?" Pawan leveled her with a frank gaze and waited for her to speak. When she didn't, he asked, "Do he love you?

"As much as you love your wife," Sneha giggled, leaving his hand.

"But, we were really in love." Pawan also dodged her question. But, somehow, his question sounded like a newsflash.

"We're young, Pawan..." Sneha smirked, "Probably we didn't know what love is."

"And yet, we were in love!" Pawan gleamed.

Sneha shrugged. "You were my best friend Pawan," said Sneha in a husky voice, her eyes heavy-lidded with affection. "You're the only friend I've waited most in my life to meet again."

"Oh, so what about all of those kisses and sex?" Pawan tried to gleam, but the sparks in his eyes faded into moisture.

"We only kissed once, Pawan," Sneha corrected him with a little blush.

"Do you still remember our kiss?" he probed, gazing into the air, like he was re-playing that kiss. "Was it your first kiss?"

"How can I ever forget it, Pawan?" Sneha smiled feebly. "That was when dad caught us, and everything changed."

"Was it your first?"

Sneha blushed—then flushed, as if something bitter had soured her memories.

"I thought it was your first." Pawan's voice trembled; as if something had died inside him. He rested his forehead on the table for a moment.

"Are you crying, Pawan?" Sneha exclaimed.

"No..." Pawan rubbed his eyes. "It's just really in this. This biryani is really spicy," he gestured to the untouched food between them.

They both laugh, which suddenly made her cry, too.

"Why are you crying?" he asked. "Do you miss me as much as I miss you?"

"I miss my youth, Pawan!" Sneha mumbled. "I'm crying because it is always my hope that I've romanticized the past. I'm crying because I'm reminded of the pain I feel—in losing my husband, despite living with him."

"I thought something better would come along," said Pawan, his voice sounding like a sob.

All at once, she had no idea what she actually expected from this encounter. She had no plan for what she'd do or say after she'd found Pawan; something like, Hi, I keep missing you and then they'd have a laugh at their awkwardness, and it would break the ice, and... Then what?

"Why are we here, Pawan?" Sneha probed, and with a shrug. "We're not here to make a scene on what we couldn't be."

"So what you were expecting?" Pawan asked, whipping his chubby cheeks.

"I just wanted to see you Pawan..." Sneha said, staring at him, as if she is absorbing his looks, to never see them again. He had become an emotional masochist, and for so long, she got hurt by association. "I've seen — and I must go now."

"Stay," Pawan pleaded, and reached across the table for her hand. "I want to kiss you one last time."

Her hands have stopped shaking now. Sneha finally knows what to do with them. "Never to see again?" She asked in a low but shrill voice, gathering her pochette.

"Deal." Pawan still agreed, readily. "But please give me a parting kiss."

Sneha didn't want to go to his room—but somehow she was convinced that Pawan was just too harmless. She couldn't see a MAN in him anymore—who could hurt her or harm her—or even intimidate her. As if there wasn't any hope left in him—but she still didn't want to hurt him, taking a mental note of never meeting with him, she moved to his room.

True to expectation, Pawan wasn't very demanding, he showed her his family album, gifted her an expensive watch and perfume and then his eyes and hands held her as fast as if he'd cradled her face with his hands.

"You still love me..." Pawan cajoled himself, fluttering eyelashes. "Don't you?"

"I better go now, Pawan." Sneha said, with a dejected face, and nuzzled him. "We're not her to dwell on these things."

Pawan quickly wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her closer. His lips found her closed lips. Her belly clenched, and a warm glow settled between her legs. The smell of his perfume was soothing, but there wasn't a manly scent about him. Pawan just smelled like Ravi. Sneha pushed him harder away from her.

"First you keep your wife happy." Sneha whispered, without realizing it may embarrass him.

"I'm not a stereotypical bull, frankly..." Pawan pouted, and began kissing her neck, her chin, her cheeks, and then he nuzzled his lips with her—with baby softness. "But, she is also modest."

"Oh-fu..." Sneha rasped. It wasn't a sound of moaning, but it was a frustrated gesture. She had actually discovered in a matter of few minutes — what she couldn't in a decade with Ravi. Now it was clear what has bothered her most with her hubby—it was this sensual cheesiness.

"Please, Sneha, I want to see what I've lost. Just for once." Pawan murmured against her neck. "I don't want to die without knowing how beautiful you're."

"Hey, buddy," Sneha probed, narrowing her eyes. "What's going on with you?"

But somehow his emotional card had worked, as she gave in to his lips again. Pawan kissed her all over — his lips baby-soft caressed her eyes, her cheeks, her chin, and when his lips pressed on her closed lips.

"Enough Pawan, please..." Sneha forced a smile. "Let's not part again in bitterness."

"But your soft skin tastes so sweet, baby..." his soft whisper caressed the back of her neck, as his fingers rubbed gently on the back of her neck. He placed a soft kiss on the column of her neck as his hand lowered to her heavy breast. "You know all those years, I've been wondering what you hide here?" He cupped her breast, lightly caressing his palm without applying any weight.

"You would have seen, Pawan..." Sneha blurted out, her face flushed. "Only, if you had the spine to stand my parents."

"We can still marry, Sneha?" Pawan murmured, against her throat.

Both the soft entreaty and his ridiculousness somehow mellowed here. "'m not modest like your wife," Sneha giggled.

"Then why didn't you marry that Bull?" Pawan said, frowning at her. "What was his name? The thug of our college?"

Sneha glowered at him, shaking her head, her crimson face suddenly turned orange on her chin, and she glanced away. "This is unbelievably mean, Pawan." Sneha hissed in a low tone.

"Oh, baby," Pawan said in a pleading voice. "I'm really sorry. I was just..." he reaped his arms around her in a conciliatory hug. Clearly his hands reached to her bra hook.

His fingers trembled as he unbuttoned her shirt. The sight of her white bra cupping her golden breasts almost sent him into cardiac arrest, still not quite believing that this was really happening. His voice trembled with emotion as he moved to her ear and whispered, "Please, marry me."

Sneha squeezed her eyes shut. Her resentment, and anger had vanished, she felt nothing but a pity for him. Somehow she felt these angel lovers of her — her husband, or Pawan, has just evolved selfishly in reverse gear, over the years. Somehow — for the first time in her life, the naked darkness of that college goon appeared far more attractive than the meanness of these masked men.

"Pawan...! What are you doing?" Sneha's voice was high-pitched, as she realized his fingers on her bra-hook. "I still don't want to slap you. Please, don't.

Pawan didn't move. She rose a little, and her shirt slid down her round shoulders. "Did we agree on a kiss?"

His head sweeps up in a little panic. "Okay, just one last kiss, please," he whispered. His lips played across hers, his tongue running along them before he pulled away just barely and searched her half-lidded eyes. "I've everything now Sneha, money, business, everything to keep you happy." His fingertips brushed the bared skin above her bodice in teasing strokes.

"But, wealth has turned you cheesy, Pawan." Sneha whispered back, and a ghost of a smile crossed his lips, as if she was thanking the almighty for not putting her with him. "I shouldn't have come here." Sneha pushing him off realizing his fingers on her bra-hooks

"It's a tricky one...!" Pawan giggled, fumbling with the bra hooks. "Just a minute, please."

----

"This room... 210?" Suddenly Sneha heard a loud manly voice from outside the room.

"What's your room number, Pawan?" Sneha probed, there was something so lethally lurked in that voice that a shiver of fear raced down her spine.

"I was going to ask, what your bra number is?" Pawan giggled, finally unlocking her bra hook. "36 C cups seems like a punishment here."

Startled by the expression of stupidity on his hopeless face, she suddenly broke off. "I'm serious, Pawan..." Sneha hissed, and her hand instinctively moved, feebly covering her fulsome breast. "What's your room number?"

"Yes. It's 210." Someone replied from the other side of the door, before Pawan. "Your hunt is here," the voice added, with a laugh.

"Lovely..." Sneha again heard the roaring voice. Her face turned pale and pushing Pawan from her body, she crawled swiftly to the other end of the bed, pulling the creamy colored bedspread over her seminude body.

One furious kick from outside, and she saw the door flew open, stopping hard against the wall with a loud thud. Sneha covered her tearful face under a feeble camouflage of a thin bed sheet. Stunned, Pawan watched two well suited men enter the room.

"What the fuck..." shouted Pawan, throwing her bra towards Sneha. "How dare you guys enter my room?"

"Well, who cares about manners—with a porn footage in hand, huh?" The fat manager hooted. "A soft-core porn, though."

That sounds vaguely like a threat. It's not vague, and it's not a threat. It's clearly blackmail. Pawan shivered, releasing they were recording his love making with Sneha. Instinctively his gaze wandered in search of a hidden camera. His unaccomplished eyes return to that fat man. A badge on his coat declared he was QQ Qureshi, the GM of the hotel—in full command here.

In his 50s — and Qureshi looked so. Pawan could see his eyes shining through like he was behind vines. It was all black, no gray. There was no color in his face, where his face showed; it was white; not like another man's white, but a white to make a body sick, a fish-belly white. Pawan shivered.

"No. Mr. Qureshi... you can't blackmail the guests here..." Pawan shouted on top of his lungs, desperately reaching out to his cell. "I'll call the security." But, he froze, watching a policeman entering the room.

"Hahaha...!" both managers laughed, like happy fountains in a cave. "Here you've it." Qureshi's suggestive voice pointed towards the police officer. "The best cop of Bangalore."

"You guys are messing with the wrong person..." Pawan mocked them. "You don't know my father-in-law is a police commissioner."

"The commissioner would love to know..." said the policeman, bending down to pick Sneha's bra from the carpet, "...that his son-in-law got killed, amid licking, someone else's wife..."

Pawan suddenly collapsed on the lush carpet. Like a failed soldier he covered his eyes. "Please don't drag my family into it...!" he pleaded, through tearful eyes.

"Save your ass then." the inspector rebuked, putting her bra in his pants pocket and his gaze turned to Sneha.

"What do you want?" Pawan tried to get on his feet, "Money?"

"Money too..." giggled Qureshi, offering a hand to Pawan in getting up. "How much do you've?"

Under the thin bed sheet, Sneha's bare shoulders slumped at Pawan's surrender. Somehow, she knew in her heart that they're trapped too deep in this to find a decent exit. With each footstep of that policeman, her pulse increased. She clutched the bedspread cloth tight around her. As she uttered the words of the prayer, she glanced up at him through the thin fabric. He stood very tall, nearly seventeen hands high.

Sneha's bugged eyes watched him approaching her, even when she didn't want to, his closeness suddenly made her unusually and keenly alive—alive the way a knife is sharp. So that the humiliation she was enduring was perfect, like the paring of skin from a hard apple.

The police inspector sat on the edge of bed, and before Sneha could jump away, his long arm lingered, wrapping around her bare back—like an anaconda, he dragged to his lap.

"Leave me, you devil..." Sneha's voice sounded like a howl of agony beyond words, primal and wordless. Still she couldn't avoid feeling like sitting at the tip of a volcano, as the long, hard length of his erection pressed into her butts. In her feeble attempt to escape his grip, she was rather grinding over him.

"Please leave her..." pleaded Pawan. "Sneha doesn't deserve this humiliation, please."

Pathan swallowed her scream—his cry, like a rock. "She isn't getting what she deserves..." Pathan slipped his hand inside the bed sheet. "She is getting what she needs." While his one hand savored the feel of her bare midriff, the other also slipped inside the bedsheet, and a brutal squeeze completely disfigured her oval navel.

Sneha pouted, but his hand kept sliding up until the heels of his hands brushed the sides of her breasts. To her bewildered dismay, she felt a responsive ache inside.

"You're going to burn in hell, bastard..." Sneha snarled, low in her throat—angry at him, angry at herself. Her back arched, volunteering more of her breast into his palm. "You're going to get caught. At your trial I'm going to request the death penalty, for this torture."

"Why hanging...?" He retorted, and with a swift precession he cupped one of her breasts, and it vanished in the bucket of his palm, "When you can kill with a slap."

Being topless—escape wasn't an option even for Sneha. She squealed helplessly, keeping her eyes tightly shut, her body shook with suppressed sobs and tears flowed down her cheeks. His warm hand moved to her other breast, crushing the flesh in his hands, his thumbs roughly rubbing her nipples into erection.

Her teeth sunk deep on his wrist, on the back of his hand, she scratched his forearm with her fingernails—but all in vain. His grip on her breast grew even tighter, like he'd choked the blood supply.

Never in her life had anyone squeezed her breasts, half hard as this. Never ever she felt such intense physical pain — shockingly her fulsome breasts had ever savored anything that much. Her nipples grew like bullets under his palm. Her grip softened over his wrist as she tried harder to resist this pain, the sweet-bitter pain of restraint.

"Why you're hiding like a bride, huh?" asked Pathan, his voice taking on a seductive tenor. Then he rubbed the back of his palm over her nipple and areola, using her drool to lubricate them. Then he started rubbing her nipples, softly, tenderly, provokingly—making them ache for a rough pinch — but he didn't.

"Pawan, please stop him, ahhh," Sneha wanted to scream, but what came out from her mouth was a feeble moan.

"Seems like we're in an assembly of her lovers..." Qureshi giggled, "Some have become hopeless pimps," he patted Pawan's shoulder, "some heartless cops."

"Aren't you the same Pathan, from our college?" suddenly Pawan probed. "So this is about her, huh?"

"Did she, Pathan? Really?" Qureshi asked with a quizzical smile, and waited for his reaction. When Pathan didn't, Qureshi turned to Pawan again. "Did she really slap this bone-crusher?

"He was just a rowdy punk then." Pawan wrinkled his nose.

PATHAN...!

When Sneha heard — the name struck her like a bullet. No more she could stay veiled under the bedsheet. Her face emerged from behind it, and she looked at him, like a bride would look at the groom, for the first time, from under the draping veil of her saree.

She frowned, recognizing him instantly. He was older of course — it was getting on for a decade since she'd last seen him, force Slapped him — but he had changed little. Same dark hair, razor-sharp cheekbones in a well-defined face, and the devilish smile. Everything was there — little refined with age.