The Long Night 4/5 (13)

Chapter 1

It was last weekend of October and the night was about to be an hour longer than usual as the clocks change at midnight. For most people, this was a good thing as they can sleep an extra hour on the Sunday morning after an extra hour of party the night before. But this would add an hour to Komal’s toment. Komal was dreading this evening more than the previous Saturday nights. As always, she had put our two children to bed earlier than usual and after having her shower, she was getting ready to leave.

I waited for her in our living room looking at the clock and regretting. It was almost 9, just over an hour before 10. Thats all I was doing these days, regret and look at the clock. Killing time, passing time waiting for something to change and I’d give anything to get our old life back. Anything, even my own life if that would change things, but I knew if anything, it would make things worse. For Komal and for our children. Komal would do the same. May be more for she was the one who was paying for my mistakes and would continue to pay for a long long time.

I heard her walking down the stairs as I waited for her in the living room of our home. Not sure if I could still call this house a home. We lived together but I had not spoken with my wife Komal in the last 6 months. She hardly lets me come close to my own children. I would leave early in the mornings and come late in the evening long after our children and Komal had gone to bed. Every day.

Drinking most days of the week, alone, miserable and regretting. And yet, I feel I am the lucky one. Luckier than Komal for sure. Saturdays are slightly different. These are the only days I would be home from 6 in the evening. To look after our children who knew I had done a horrible thing to their mother but did not know what and why. Whilst Komal got ready, I would take care of the children and put them to sleep. Then, just wait in the living room for Komal to come down. And she was stepping down.

She did not look at me and went straight to the kitchen. I heard her gulp 3 shots of vodka down her throught. And she came out right from the kitchen and headed straight towards the main door. I briefly looked at her as she walked passed me, ignoring me as if I dont exist. She had washed and conditioned her hair, she had put on a make up to hide some of the marks on her face, mostly from last weekend but some from weekends before which she will wear as badge of horror for the rest of her life. S

he was wearing a tight fitted blouse that had criss crossed strings in the front, its hem hanging loosely instead of tucking under, barely covered her 34DD, big and rounded breasts, exposing her belly button and navel fully. The blouse was atleast one size smaller, if not two for her body size and it wasn’t an accident, it was intentional.

It was so tight on her body that her breasts were so compressed and were literally oozing out of the criss cross strings trying to break free and giving a feeling that a simple pull on the strong will free the melons and they’ll break lose and almost explode. Underneath, she was wearing a skirt. I wouldnt call it a skirt. It wasn’t one of those types that you get in a normal high street stores.

It was a black shiny leatherite micro skirt with a big silver zipper right in the middle at the back.Not a midi, not a mini, a micro skirt. Once again, it was intentionally one size smaller to her normal size. Her hips had grown bigger since her first delivery and she had put on a bit more flesh on her arse and her arse had become more rounded. It seemed like the micro skirt was meant for a size zero model bought from one of those sex shops.

On both sides of the skirt were again criss cross strings that were stretchable which was the only reason she was able to put her skirt on her. I could see she wasnt wearing any underwear. The sides of her skirt were stretched to extremes and could break anytime. I was sure when broken free, the marks of those tight stings will last on her skin for some time. As she walked past me, I saw her from the back.

The bottoms of her naked arse was showing from behind and if she bent just to touch her knees, the skirt would move up to roll over her waist. As she walked in front of me, she held and pulled the sides of it down to keep her skirt from lifting up. She wasnt wearing any stockings but she was wearing high pencil heals that added atleast 3 inches to her height. This was just a start but managing those rags on her curvy body and walking in those high heals alone would be a torture for someone as elegant and as nice as Komal was and this was just the beginning of what she was going to endure.

As I moved out behind her, she picked a bag in which she had some change of clothes. She had learned to pack loose fitting clothes such as nightie that she can just slip over herself. The first time, she regrestted packing jeans and a t shirt as she couldnt get inside one after what she went through. She was carrying the change of clothes for two reasons. One she hated the clothes she was in right now, if one could even call those rags clothes.

And more importantly, she knew that by next morning, even those rags will not be in any possible state to hide any part of her body. They were meant to be worn for one time use only and not with the purpose to hide any part of her voluptuous body but to accentuate every curve of it. These clothes had just one purpose to serve which was to be snatched off from her body. Not taken off but snatched off.

This is not how she dresses out every week on Saturdays. Every week is a new theme. Every week she is sent a new set of clothes that are sent to her based on a certain theme and possibly how they want to set the evening depending on what I’d come to know as the chief guest and his taste and his likings. Last week, she was asked to dress up as an Arabian Belly dancer for an Arab Sheikh and was also encouraged to learn atleast one obscene belly dance move.

She was warned if she failed then she’ll be taught a move on the night. The week before, she dressed up as a an office secretary and I swear, as much as I felt humiliated by her going to these events, I did feel massively turned on seeing her in such outfits. This was the third time she was asked to dress up as a slut, a hooker, a prostitute. And this was going to be a long long night for her, longer than all previous nights.

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