A Wedding With Dhipa

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The Doctor looked out the tinted window of the Rolls as it swept through the gate, peering over the rims of his dark glasses at the lush and manicured lawn, the neat flower beds. all as sunny and idyllic as a bride could wish for. The towers of the Pittsfield hotel could just be seen over the green trees and soon the large tent was visible, set up on the lawn just outside the hotel.

“God how I hate being out in the daytime.” he said. “Especially among a bunch of your relatives at some sort of pagan fertility rite. I’ll bet they won’t even be speaking English.”

Dhipa elbowed him playfully. “Would you stop! Of course they speak English, and we’re not pagans. It’s my favorite cousin’s wedding, and it’s a very important occasion. I’m sure it will be lovely.”

“Is this what our wedding will look like?” he asked her.

She looked down her nose at him. “Perhaps. But much grander.”

“There won’t be any animal sacrifice? No fire walkers, that sort of thing?”

She slapped his knee. “Now stop that! These are all very important people: my parents’ friends, all the leaders of the Pakistani community here. They all want to meet you so be good. You’re an art dealer, remember.”

“Yes, of course.” He turned back to the window as the Rolls came to a gentle halt near the tent, which was festooned with balloons and enormous bunches of flowers. A crowd had already gathered, the men in their black or white tuxedos standing in knots and talking, the women bustling around with trays of food and drink, looking like flowers themselves in their brightly colored clothes. Children ran about chasing each other and screaming happily. The pool had not yet opened for swimming but they were already hysterical with excitement.

It was a perfect day for a wedding, sunny and hot with the sky an intense, vivid blue and the grass a vibrant green. Everything was alive with color and excitement and the Doctor frowned when he saw all the gaiety. He would have much preferred to skip this event, but Dhipa had begged and pleaded, wheedled and pouted to get him to come. This was the social event of the year for her, perhaps the decade, and everyone would be there; how could she not show? It would cause talk, scandal. Furthermore, by now everyone had heard of her betrothal to the Doctor but few had met him or even knew anything about him other than that he was enormously wealthy and not Pakistani.

The wedding represented the union of two rich and powerful families. Her cousin Alana on one side and Kumash Gomar on the other. The entire Pittsfield hotel and its grounds had been leased for the event, caterers arranged, musicians lined up, elaborate preparations carried out. The honored guests would be put up in the hotel overnight and festivities would continue the following day before the newlyweds would be allowed to leave on their honeymoon.

Mickey jumped out and opened the back door of the Rolls, and the Doctor slid out. He looked around to see if people were watching, then he extended his hand for Dhipa.

He had selected her outfit himself, just as he selected almost all of her clothes these days, especially when she would be appearing in public. Today she wore a bright yellow suit: a mini skirt that showed off her long legs, and a little jacket that v\barely closed over her sumptuous breasts. The white blouse she wore below it was also straining to contain her breasts, and he had insisted that she leave it open enough to show generous cleavage. Her hair was up, and she wore a broad-brimmed yellow sunhat and sunglasses behind which she hoped to hide some of her embarrassment. She had become accustomed to the fact that for some reason men liked to see her dressed like a cheap slut, but she never got used to people’s reactions to it, the startled looks, the raised eyebrows, the knowing looks they exchanged. Here, before her parents’ friends and relatives and the leaders of her community, people who had known her since she was a child, her shame was that much deeper.

But if she had learned anything with the Doctor, it was how to bluff her way through her embarrassment, how to act as if the scandalously sexy clothes she wore were nothing special. She stood up straight now in the high heels the Doctor had made her wear, and saw some of her friends and relations headed for her now, all conservatively dressed, chattering happily.

They surrounded her, all talking at once with natural happiness, excited to see their exotic relative. Many of them were still too young to know what it meant for a woman to dress like this, but others knew very well that it wasn’t right, yet still, they all were gracious.

Dhipa introduced them to the Doctor in a bewildering flood of names he knew he hadn’t a chance of remembering. Some shook his hand, some just nodded. He was as polite to each as his befuddlement would allow.

They walked towards the tent as Mickey carried their bags up to their room in the hotel. Soon the Doctor was being introduced to more people then he could even keep canlı bahis track of: men and women, cousins, second cousins, third cousins, everyone seemed to be a cousin of some sort. This isn’t a family, he thought to himself, it’s a tribe. He caught sight of two of Dhipa’s brothers towards the back of the tent but was in no hurry to greet them. The last time he had met them, Dhipa’s eldest brother Bashir had been involved in a sleazy plan to use Dhipa’s body to further his own fortunes, and things had gotten ugly, with Bashir coming out on the losing end. It was also due to the brothers that the Doctor had met Dhipa at all. After racking up thousands of pounds on gambling debts, they had in effect simply sold her to the Doctor, traded their own sister away in order to save their skins. They had all known that in all likelihood the Doctor would put her to work as a common prostitute, but that didn’t seem to bother them at all. Most of them thought that’s what she already was anyhow.

The Doctor remained where he was while Dhipa circulated through the crowd, talking excitedly. In her happiness she seemed to have forgotten what she was wearing, but it was obvious from the looks she was getting behind her back that everyone else noticed, and the looks of shock and outrage of the other guests amused him.

A loud commotion from the hotel signaled the arrival of the bride and groom, who entered the tent in a shower of rice and confetti with much laughing and cheering. The happy couple sat down, and the rest of the guests all took their seats on the exquisite and deep pile hand woven carpets that covered the ground. There was a series of very low tables under which their legs would fit as they sat on the ground, and the tables were covered with white table cloths.

The Doctor found a note on his plate. Only a fool would marry a whore it said.

He looked around for the brothers and found them all engaged in innocent conversation. No one else seemed to be looking his way that he could tell, but he knew it had to be them. He folded the note and put it in his pocket.

The Doctor enjoyed picking out Dhipa’s clothes, for he knew about her particular fetish, and even if he didn’t really share it, he indulged her in it for his own reasons. Dhipa hidden passion was to be made to dress, if not cheap, then sexually easy, and she especially liked being forced to dress like a streetwalker with short skirts, revealing tops, skin tight pants. Perhaps it wasn’t a matter of enjoyment as much as it was excitement, for she found this sort of public humiliation terribly exciting, even thrilling.

Despite her ne’er-do-well brothers, Dhipa came from a very good family, her father was an important and respected lawyer and so her own behavior was always expected to be beyond reproach. In the conservative Pakistani community into which she’d been born, even a hint of female flesh was scandalous, so being made to dress in such scandalous outfits went far beyond the accepted norms. And it was in the tension between being the perfect and dutiful daughter and the outright lascivious slut that she found her excitement. It excited her terribly, and he liked to see her excited.

Beneath her yellow miniskirt he had made her wear a pair of very sheer, very tiny, bright red panties, so that if someone should get a glimpse up her skirt there would be no doubt as to what they saw. He knew that the guests would be sitting on the ground in traditional style, and he knew that it would be almost impossible for Dhipa to manage this in such a tiny skirt without flashing her crotch to those sitting nearby. He looked forward to watching the expressions when they saw that bright flash of slutty red, but somehow Dhipa managed to sit and slide her legs under the table cloth without exposing herself too scandalously..

She was radiantly beautiful. The yellow set off her complexion and her natural excitement at being amidst her friends and family at such an affair made her eyes glitter and her skin glow.

“Cross your legs.” he whispered to her, determined that she should be seen.

“I can’t, Doctor. My skirt’s too short.”

“I said, cross your legs.”

Dhipa got up on her knees and sat back down, crossing her legs, her ankles under her thighs and stuck her knees beneath the table cloth. The brief yellow skit slid up around her hips, leaving her pussy totally exposed to anyone who should duck to look under the table.

She immediately ceased talking to her neighbors across the way and looked down, trying to see how exposed she was in this new position. Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. The tables were low, and a person would have to put their head almost on the ground to see the bright red flash of her panties.

Her seat mates were talking about another relative, speaking in a mixture of English and Pakistani that the Doctor could not keep up with even if he’d wanted to. Dhipa regained her composure and rejoined the conversation and things seemed fine.

Reaching casually bahis siteleri under the table, the Doctor slid his hand up her naked thigh and touched her pussy through the sheer fabric of her panties. She jumped, but no one seemed to notice. She looked at him in annoyance, and found him facing her. She could not see his eyes through the dark glasses, but she saw that totally innocent look on his face and it infuriated her. She reached down and took his wrist and tried to push his hand away, without much luck.

“Oh yes, and cousin Achmal, Nita and Mousad’s son? He was in France for university but had to leave as the climate was too disagreeable.” a lady was saying.

Dhipa didn’t dare press to hard on his wrist or people would notice. She relaxed her grip and the Doctor resumed teasing her pussy, sliding his finger up and down her crease. She tried to ignore him.

“Oh yes, but didn’t he marry that girl from Germany?” she asked.

He pressed harder, feeling her moist warmth through her panties, and he began to get aroused. He knew that pussy well, knew just where she liked to be touched. He leaned towards Dhipa and pretended to ask her a question as he worked his finger through the leg hole of her panties and touched her naked cunt.

“What is that little dish for, darling?” he asked innocently.

Dhipa looked at him without losing her composure. “That’s a finger bowl, Darling.” she said. “You wash your fingers in there between courses.”

He nodded in feigned amazement. “But what if I’ve already washed my fingers?” he asked as his finger slipped into her vagina.

“Then you keep them in your lap!” she hissed, biting her lip to keep from groaning.

He knew that this burst of anger wouldn’t last, that inside she loved it when he humiliated her like this, using her in front of other people. She always got angry before her body took over, and her anger wasn’t even directed at him, not really. She was angry at herself for succumbing, and she always succumbed.

“What if I want to keep them in someone else’s lap?” he asked her, slowly pumping just the tip of his finger in and out of her pussy. The lewd excitement she felt at being fondled public accelerated her arousal, and already he could feel her pussy beginning to lubricate. He could also see her beginning to blush, though others might miss it in the darkness of her complexion, and she squirmed her hips.

The woman opposite Dhipa, the one who’d just been talking about cousin Achmal, looked at her with arch curiosity, knowing something was going on, but not sure of what.

The doctor slid the finger in to the second knuckle, and Dhipa gave a barely audible moan and lurched forward, hanging her head so no one would see her face.

“What is it, dear?” the woman asked. “Are you ill?”

“No.” Dhipa said. “I just get sad sometimes, thinking of everyone being so far apart.”

The woman seemed to believe it. And in any case, the food arrived, bowls of rice and lamb, vegetables and sauces, fruits and salads, again more than the Doctor could keep track of.

It was the custom to eat with the right hand only, and luckily the Doctor had his left hand in Dhipa’s cunt, so he was able to eat with his right. And when, every so often, he put his left hand to his mouth and sucked his fingers clean, no one took any notice but Dhipa, who hardly touched her food.

“Aren’t you well, Dhipa?” the lady asked her.

She was holding on to the Doctor’s left arm, resting her head on his shoulder, her head down, her attention on what he was doing in her cunt, trying to suppress her sighs and gasps of pleasure.

“She’s tired.” the Doctor said looking at Dhipa sympathetically. “She hardly slept all night.”

He kept moving his finger inside her, and he felt her dig her nails into his arm and moan softly in his ear. That meant that she was getting close to orgasm, the obscenity of what he was doing to her bringing her rapidly to crisis.

He couldn’t do that to her. Not yet. Not now. The trick was to take her close, as close to the edge as he could, and then stop. Dhipa would retain the heat like a rock in the desert. and would return it later in the privacy of their room, where the feel of his cock inside her would turn her into a shameless sexual animal.

He stopped now and withdrew his finger, leaving her hanging in her distress. She squeezed his arm harder in a silent plea to get her off, to finish her and damn the consequences, but he just licked off his fingers and reclined on a pillow as she mewled in frustration and tried to arrange herself.

“Attention! Attention!”: a short bald man said at the microphone. “The swimming pool is now open for all who wish to use it!” The rest of what he said was drowned out by the screams of the excited children, many of whom had already changed into their bathing suits.

“Pardon us, please.” the Doctor said, standing and helping Dhipa to her unsteady feet. “But I know Dhipa has been looking forward to this swim. It was so good bahis şirketleri to meet you all.”

He led her away, and more than one man watched her hips swaying beneath the tight mini as she walked and wondered who she was.

They passed out of the tent and crossed the bright lawn, then into the cool of the hotel.

“Will you finish me in the room?” she whispered, pressing her breasts against him as they climbed the stairs.

“Certainly not, Dhipa.” he said, pretending to be shocked. “What a scandalous thought. At your own cousin’s wedding too!”

She dare not say anything in return. He was still her master, and though he was being kind to her now, she knew he had a terrible mean streak if she pushed him too far. She swallowed her frustration as the boy showed them to their room.

She threw her hat on the bed and pulled the pins from her long black hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. The room was spacious with an old, high ceiling. French doors looked out on a small balcony, and the pool was below, now filled with screaming children and adults.

“Do you really want to come now?” he asked her.

“Yes.” she said, her eyes gleaming with hunger.

“Take your skirt off. And your knickers. Let me see how wet you are.”

She unzipped the tiny skirt and let it fall down her long legs and stepped out of it., Then she skinned her panties down and threw them aside.

“On the bed.” he said, and she climbed onto the bed naked from the waist down.

“On your stomach and spread your legs.”

Dhipa did as he said, lying on her stomach. She still wore her yellow shoes.

The Doctor took a banana from the complimentary bowl of fruit on the table and got on the bed. He ran it up and down her slit a few times and she moaned and raised her hips.

“Please.” she said.

He spread her apart with one hand, and slowly pressed the banana into her, watching the lips of her pussy distend around it and making her gasp.

He watched her pussy with a clinical eye as the banana emerged shiny with her juices. “Play with yourself.” he said. She reached a red-nailed hand beneath her body and she saw her begin to massage her clit as he fucked her with the banana.

“You are such a whore.” he said to her softly. “Such a cheap slut. You’re all excited because I finger fucked you in front of your family, aren’t you? Because I shoved my finger into your whore pussy in front of everyone you know. And you know they saw. Your father saw. Your uncles did too. I could see them at the other table. They knew what I was doing. They knew I had my fingers up their Dhipa’s hot juicy cunt, finger fucking you while you begged me to make you come, you shameless slut. They must all know now what a real cock-hungry whore you are, you sweet bitch. All your relatives saw you.”

Dhipa groaned and her hand began to move faster. He knew how to play her. He knew just what to say.

“They should see you now with a piece of fruit up your pussy, playing with yourself like a slut, like a cheap cock-sucking whore. You’ll put anything in your cunt, won’t you bitch? A piece of fruit or a stranger’s cock, it doesn’t matter to you, you fucking whore!”

Dhipa screamed as her feelings hit a peak, but just for a moment. She wasn’t there yet. She lifted her ass off the bed, her fingers now moved in a blur of desperation. “Oh fuck me! Oh God, fuck me!” she panted.

The Doctor began to slide the banana rapidly in and out of her sodden cunt while his other hand pressed rhythmically at her asshole. Dhipa’s hips began to buck and hump back at him and she grunted with the effort, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Yes!” she moaned. “I am a whore! I’m a slut! I love it! Fuck your whore, master! Fuck your cheap cunt! I’m going to cum! I’m going to cummmm!”

Then she was there. She kicked her legs out and arched her back, sucked in a gasp of air and he heard her swallow her scream of release as she came, mewling and sobbing, burying her face in the pillows to stifle her screams.

When she finally calmed down he threw the banana on the table and wiped his hand on the bedspread. He went to the table and lit a cigarette, then went over to the window and looked out. “Are you going swimming?” he asked casually.

Dhipa was panting on the bed, her hand still at her pussy as she tried to regain control of herself.

“I don’t know.: she said at last. “I don’t really feel like it now.”

He looked at her casually. “You’re going.” he said. “I packed your suit.”

She could imagine what kind of bathing suit he’d packed for her without even seeing it. He knew it was her secret shameful thrill to be seen, just as it was his to have her be seen. He opened the suitcase now and rummaged through the clothes and pulled out a scrap of red fabric.

“Put that on.”

“Now.” he added.

Dhipa pulled herself off the bed and went into the bathroom. As she had suspected, it was the merest wisp of a bikini. A thong back left her behind totally naked, and if she didn’t already keep herself carefully shaved, her pubic hair would no doubt have shown in the front. There was a piece of cloth no larger than a package of cigarettes that preserved the privacy of her pussy.

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