Reverse Stockholm Syndrome Ch. 02: India

This is the second chapter of what was meant to be a silly/romantic one-time standalone story. When fellow author AzureAsh suggested a potential plot line for a second story, however, I found I couldn't resist. He also gave me vital cultural suggestions to make the details authentic.

Ergo, AzureAsh, this one's for you!

* Everything in this story is consensual.

* All sexual activity is 18+

* "Thick" women are the best.

Just for fun, each chapter has a title derived from a song, and a few related lyrics. Enjoy!

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Chapter 1 -- Remember (Walking In The Sand) "Oh no, oh no, no no no no no no."

I was close, so very close to my climax. Despite the condom limiting my sensations, I was about to achieve my release. My beautiful wife Devyani was mounted astride my hips, moving up and down, brown skin of her ample breasts in beautiful contrast with the white skin of my hands caressing them. She suddenly shuddered as her orgasm ripped through her; I felt her pelvic muscles clinging to my rigid manhood. The look of satisfaction on her pretty face was worth more than a bag of gold. My lover, my wife and the mother of my daughter meant everything to me now.

I anxiously waited for her to recover so I could finish off as well, but she didn't move. I asked her, "Darling, is something wrong?"

She slid off me, and cuddled up next to me, her breasts and arms pressed to my chest. "Edward, I want to ask you something." Oh no, oh no, oh no! Not NOW! Arrrrrrrgh!

Like any good captor, I tried to sound angry and firm, but my efforts failed; my words came out sounding like those of a whiny child, "Devyani, NO! Why do you keep asking? I don't WANT to go to India. I hate your parents for how they treated you." This was valid. When Devyani had told her parents that her then-husband was beating her, they told her to accept it as her wifely duty. As far as I was concerned, they could both eat shit and die. My wife obviously did not share my harsh opinion.

"But Eddieeeeee...." Damn it! Devyani knew I loved it when she called me Eddie like that. She was the only person in the world allowed to; it had become part of our love vocabulary. She also knew it turned me into a damned invertebrate that she could wrap around her finger. "...Saniya needs to experience her mother's culture."

Wow. Devyani was pulling out the big guns. Asking me about it during sex, calling me Eddie, even invoking our 11-month-old. It was difficult to resist her, but I remained absolutely resolute -- until she reached down and pulled the condom off.

"I stopped my birth control this week," she teased, "and I'm fairly certain I'll be ovulating by the time we reach my home village. If you say yes..."

And this was how we ended up two weeks later on Air India Flight AI775, on approach and preparing for landing at Kempegowda International Airport. DAMN IT!

This was not how it was supposed to work, not at all. By this time in my life, I planned on having a female love slave who would obey my every command, adore me, and provide me with mind-blowing sex whenever I wanted. This is not what I ended up with; my being on this cursed flight was humbling testimony to my failure.

Let's review, shall we? My name is Edward Gardener, I'm 36, 5'11", 170 pounds, and I work in consulting roles as a Cybersecurity Specialist. Since I've been known to work in both white hat and black hat capacities, we'll leave it at that.

Since I was always awkward around women, one day after doing some historical reading about the Sabine women and Stockholm Syndrome I got a fantastic idea. I'd simply kidnap a woman, take her prisoner, and hold her captive until she eventually would fall in love with me. Then she'd be my obedient and adoring love slave, a toy to satisfy my carnal needs. A foolproof evil plan, right? Well, it should have been, foolproof, anyway, but the fates threw me a curveball named Devyani Roy.

I only learned her name by looking at her ID after I'd kidnapped her, of course. As I loaded her into my van, I discovered she was physically perfect; looked to be South Indian with long black hair and a pretty face, about 5'6" tall with mocha-colored skin. She was a little on the thick side, which I loved. (Later, I came to find out her cheating ex-husband was into blonde bimbo skeletons, the damned fool.) The one troubling thing about Devyani was her skin being covered with bruises. Unless she was a rugby player, these bruises made no sense at all!

At first, I kept her in the basement and had frequent sex with her; she was lethargic and unresponsive. Oh, and mute. She couldn't or wouldn't say a word to me. We communicated via a pad and a pencil. Because of her unexplained bruises, I made it a point to rub down her skin her with coconut oil every night. It got the point where, if for some reason I missed the evening rubs and caresses, it felt like something was wrong.

Eventually, Devyani scrawled on a piece of paper that she hated my bland cooking, so I let her cook for us instead. Her food made me realize how awful my cooking was, so from then on out I let her be the cook.

One night during a horrible winter storm the farmhouse's ancient furnace broke, so I brought Devyani upstairs and took her into my bed to stay warm. This resulted in my wanting her in bed with me every night. Then at some point I, um, may have even professed my love for her, or something.

The following morning, I found Devyani hunched over the toilet, vomiting. After 8 weeks as my 'guest', she spoke to me for the first time, revealing that she was pregnant with my baby. She also told me how she'd been running away to end herself alone in the woods, because her husband had beaten her almost daily and was in the process of divorcing her.

That's when I realized my Stockholm Syndrome plans had completely backfired on me; I'd seriously fallen in love with this woman and couldn't live without her.

I mean, come ON, all I wanted was an obedient sex slave, was that so much to ask? Instead, I'd ended up in an actual relationship, married to a beautiful woman and with a baby on the way. My original intent was to be an evil genius, a kidnapping criminal mastermind; somehow, I'd gotten it all wrong! Yet, things turned out so right.

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Devyani's rural village was just outside just outside the city of Davanagere, about 280 kilometers from the airport. As I had just spent 22 hours with my family crammed into a plane with 600 other travelers, I wanted some alone time. Rather than take a train, I suggested we engage a driver. None of the younger cabbies wanted to drive us that far, except for an old Sikh man with a long white beard whose nametag read, "Jessi".

His cab was an old black and yellow Fiat-designed Premier Padmini, barely big enough for us, but any port in a storm as they say. Besides, being squeezed tightly against my wife for a few hours was hardly torture. I might have even sneaked in a kiss or two. Or three. Or four. I mean it was a long drive, at least 5 hours, so no need to waste it! When Devyani needed to nurse or change the baby, I got in the front passenger seat next to Jessi to give her the space she needed. He turned out to be quite a talker, and I soaked up every word.

After Jessi had stowed our luggage -- one bag in the trunk, one tied to the roof rack -- he got back in the car. Devyani whispered, "Are you sure we can trust him?"

I told her, "Darling, this man has been probably driving a cab longer than we've been alive. He'll get us there." Jessi said nothing - but looked at me in the rearview mirror and winked. I could tell he was a survivor. I was confident we'd get to the village safe and sound, and we did exactly that, sort of.

By 'sort of', I meant Devyani's village used to be located near Davanagere was now actually IN Davanagere; in the years she'd been gone, it had been swallowed up as the city expanded. My wife couldn't believe the small town of her childhood was now chock-a-block with new apartments, condominiums, and office buildings. Even her old house had been bulldozed for new construction, Her parents had moved into a luxurious flat in a high-rise building.

Jessi pulled up and stopped in front of my in-law's building and proceeded to unload our luggage. I settled up with him, paying him double what he charged us. It was worth it. This was India, after all -- Jessi's price for a 5-hour drive was equivalent to what I paid for a 35-minute cab ride from San Francisco International to my hotel downtown the last time I was on assignment there. Jessi drove all the way, staying cheerful and patient the whole time, even when Saniya was crying.

I thanked him, reiterating I knew he'd get us to our destination safely. When he heard that, he gave me a hug, and I hugged him back! One thing I like about India is, unlike in the US, men can be physically affectionate, and nobody thinks anything of it.

Chapter 2 -- Hello, Goodbye "You say goodbye, and I say hello."

The good feelings I had after saying goodbye to Jessi were immediately dashed when we walked into my in-law's place. Things got really ugly, really fast.

Devyani's parents were both about the same height as their daughter -- 5' 4". Her 57-year-old father Govind was thin, with all-white hair and face fixed in what appeared to be a permanent scowl. On the other hand, at 46, her mother Rajani was an older version of Devyani. Very pretty to look at, but unlike her daughter, she had the demeanor of an angry red scorpion.

I gave it my best. I smiled, bowed my head, greeting them as my wife had coached me, "Baba and Mummyji, it is a pleasure to meet you." From their reaction, you would have thought I had personally asked Alexander the Great to salt their fields and forever curse their houses when he invaded India in 326 B.C.

Govind demanded, "Daughter, how the hell does this man address me in this familiar manner?!"

Devyani gently replied, "Baba, this is my husband Edward, and the father of our daughter."

Devyani's mother snorted, "Impossible! Your daughter is far too beautiful to have sprung from the loins of this gora, with that donkey face of his." She waved her hand dismissively at me. "The husband we chose for you was much better looking."

Govind joined in the chorus, "Pratik was a fine man, you were a stupid and foolish girl to divorce him."

I'm quite aware that I'm not the handsomest man on the planet by a long shot; Govind and Rajani's mocking of me had little impact. But they just called the woman I love stupid and foolish, and even worse, praised the man who had nearly driven her to suicide. That was too much, no way would I tolerate that.

Thanks to Jessi's tutoring me during the cab ride, I was ready to fight back. I declared loudly, "You two are delusional! Pratik a fine man? He was nothing but a lampat who beat your daughter and with a preference for skinny blonde American women, no less!"

Govind was becoming increasingly agitated and shouted back, "Pratik was a highly respected engineer until my daughter divorced him and brought shame on his family! Because of her, he lost his job and was forced to return here! To make it up to him, I had to help him get a job at the bank!"

I fired back, "You're wrong, old man! I don't know what lies that scumbag told you, but Devyani had nothing to do with Pratik losing his job! He abandoned Devyani before his visa was revoked and he was deported!"

Govind stopped cold, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. It occurred to me that in my anger, I may have said too much. The old man pressed me. "How did YOU come to know this, firangi? Visa information in the US is supposed to be confidential!" Since it was my hacking into the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services network that got Pratik fired and deported, this was going to be a tough question to answer. So, I did the only thing that made sense: I lied my ass off!

"I happen to be friends with someone who works in the HR department of Pratik's old company. In order to protect Devyani, I convinced my friend to provide me the facts on him in case she was called to testify against him. Fortunately, the government opted for deportation instead of prosecution." Whew!

I looked at my wife, "Isn't that right, Devyani?" Her head held high, my beautiful lover didn't miss a beat; she promptly lied her pretty ass off as well!

"That's exactly right! Edward is very respected in the US and has many influential friends in the high-tech industry there." She walked up and stood next to me, protectively putting one arm around me while holding the baby in the other. I made a mental note to cover that lying pretty ass with kisses as soon as we were alone together.

Govind was not backing down. "Daughter, since you were divorced in the US and not here, Pratik is still your husband! Tomorrow, you should go to him and beg him to take you back!"

This insane statement caused a firestorm of arguing. Fortunately, it was between Devyani, Rajani, and Govind, and it was all in Hindi. Since I didn't have a linguistic dog in this fight, I sat back and watched their body language. It appeared that Devyani's mother was beginning to take her daughter's side; Govind spoke angrily at both of them, then stormed off into another room, slamming the door shut.

Rajani switched back into English and spoke to me. "I apologize for my husband's rudeness. Even if you are a donkey-faced gora, you are still our guest, Edward. We South India people pride ourselves on our hospitality and manners. My husband seems to have momentarily forgotten that."

Even though it was a poor excuse for an apology, it was progress, so I thanked her. She led us to the guest bedroom. "Please make yourselves at home." She took a step toward the door, then stopped as if she'd just remembered something and said, "The walls here are thin, so please refrain from any 'touchy-touchy' in the night." Then she left.

I set up the portable crib in our room for Saniya, then took her from Devyani and laid her down. Wrapping my wife in my arms, I kissed her and teased, "As a condition of coming here, you promised me condom-free 'touchy-touchy'! Are you going to do as your mother asked and renege on your promise to me?"

Devyani put her arms around my neck and pulled my face down to hers, and gave me a little peck on the lips. "You should know me well enough by now to know I always keep my promises to you, husband. You'll have your 'touchy-touchy', we'll just have to be extremely quiet. Can you handle that?"

I kissed her back, but it was more than a peck. It had been too long since I'd been horizontal with her. "I can't make any guarantees, beautiful," I whispered.

After we'd all gone to bed that evening, I found myself weary but very much awake. Jet lag will do that to you. I was walking quietly out to the kitchen to get a glass of juice when I passed Govind's home office, I saw his computer. It was an older model, most likely lacking in sophisticated security.

Govind had seriously suggested Devyani leave me and go back to her abusive first husband! When I got the opportunity, I'd pay him back by firing it up and seeing what secrets it held. I was an evil mastermind, after all!

I drank some juice and went back to bed, where my wife was waiting for me. Saniya was asleep in her crib next to the bed. Mercifully, our little one was a heavy sleeper. Once she went down, regular noises didn't wake her; it took a jet engine or a rock concert to rouse her.

Devyani reached for me and pulled me to her. She'd slipped out of her nightgown and was completely naked. Her soft lips pressed to mine for a moment, then she whispered, "I'm sorry about my parents. My mother isn't usually like this, I expect my father put her up to it."

"I'm sorry you had to marry such an ugly donkey-faced gora," I apologized teasingly, "I'm clearly not worthy of you."

She giggled, "If you have a donkey face, then I'm Titania, Queen of the Fairies. All I see is my true love." I think Shakespeare would have been happy knowing that 400 years after he wrote 'Midsummer Night's Dream', my wife was using it to seduce me -- and was succeeding. Ohhhhhh, yeah!

We began to passionately kiss, and I could feel her hands beneath the sheets, stroking me to full hardness. There was nothing I wanted more than to make love with this fertile goddess. My hands roamed her breasts, gently massaging them. I could feel her nipples leaking, wetting my fingers.

She rolled onto her stomach, pulling a pillow underneath her belly so her bottom was elevated. "I want you to take me like you did the first time, husband." I moved behind her, and gently slid my rigid member into her. Without a condom, it felt so good I could swear I heard angels singing.

As I did so I ran my hands over her back, recalling all the bruises that had been there, and began our coupling gently. "Yes, I took you, my love, and I remember telling you how lovely you were even then. I also remember seeing bruises on this lovely skin of yours and wondering what piece of shit would do this to you."

Devyani gave out a little groan, "From the very first you were loving and kind. You were possessive, but in such a way that told me I was important to you." I began to thrust in my brown queen a little faster.

"You were, and you still are, my darling. No one will ever lay a hand on you again, I swear." As I increased my tempo, the headboard began to thump against the wall. "Shall I slow down, darling? I don't want to disturb your parents."

"NO," she hissed, pushing back against me. "To hell with them, I'm your woman, take me as you please!" How could I disobey? I plunged into her with abandon, the headboard beating a drumbeat on the wall as we became consumed.

After I'd released my seed into her and she peaked just afterwards, we lay there, joyful and sweaty in each other's arms. We were quietly laughing and kissing when we heard a steady thumping from the other side of the wall.

"Could that be?" I whispered to my satiated bride. She playfully slapped my cheek.

"Of course it is," she scolded, "my mother is only 47! She's still vibrant and desirable, is she not?"

Oooh, trick question. Answering too enthusiastically about her mother's beauty might make my wife angry, thinking I had a thing for her mother. Answer truthfully, saying how I thought her mother was a vicious ice witch that would cut my throat in the night if she thought she could get away with it, well, that might also make my wife angry.

It was time to put on the verbal tap-dancing shoes. I said, quite delicately, "I think your father would be a very foolish man if he failed to appreciate the many wonderful joys your mother brings to his life."

Thankfully, I seemed to have struck upon an acceptable answer. I got a smile and a kiss from my beloved, then she snuggled up against me and fell asleep. I was drowsy but still awake when I heard a second round of steady thumping from the other side of the wall.

On the flight over, Devyani had told me her father was 10 years older than her mother, so this made him 57. Doing his wife twice in one night at that age? Daaaaaamn! Govind may have been one curmudgeonly bastard, but I had to hand it to him, he had some serious stamina! I thought to myself, "Well-played, old man, well-played."

Chapter 3 -- Tainted Love "Take my tears and that's not nearly all..."

The next morning, I harbored a slight hope that getting laid twice in one night might have improved Govind's demeanor. My hope was immediately dashed when he sat down at the breakfast table. Devyani was in the living room breastfeeding the baby, while I, having eaten my toast, was sipping at some delicious chai that Rajani had made. I had quite enjoyed her cooking, thus far on our trip; if she had poisoned my chai, well, at least I would die a satisfying and tasty death.