15-02-2022, 05:14 AM
It is a long drive and Ashok is taking a nap. He has just returned from Europe and is still jet-lagged, so he asks Swati to drive while he grabs forty winks.
Swati has a lot on her mind, so she agrees without argument even though driving in the bumper to bumper traffic of Delhi is not her thing at all.
It is the weekend before Christmas and Abhi has called Ashok over.
Swati cannot wait for 2019 to be over. This year has been a long one, and an awakening of sorts. Especially the last few months. The sex has been frequent and, while sometimes degrading and humiliating, always thrilling and exhilarating. She has learned to take the aches and pains that go along with this kind of lifestyle, but sometimes the marks on her skin, the bruises have been hard to explain.
One time after Prakash had been especially brutal with his leather belt, Ashok had inadvertently seen a portion of her back, and asked about it. She could not call it a rash this time, so she said it was a bruise from falling down the stairs.
She also said, without thinking, and perhaps laying the groundwork for other injuries, that she bruised easily these days, and Ashok was instantly solicitous, asking to see the bruising, but she put him off and promised to go to a doctor.
“You know, a cousin of mine had this kind of thing—bruising. Then they tested her and she had leukemia. So, don’t take this lightly, please baby, go see a doctor.”
She agreed, but planned to put it off, but Ashok insisted, and then reminded her again, and in the end, she made an appointment with Dr. Grover, a skin specialist. Ashok knew Grover, and had called ahead, telling him about her skin condition. She had no option but to show him her bruises, which had by now taken on all kinds of colors. She had no doubt he would know instantly what was going on, but she had no choice.
As expected, Dr. Arvind Grover had raised the gown, taken a look and smirked. “Hmm,” he said.
He motioned to Swati to get dressed and dismissed his nurse who was acting as chaperone. In order to avoid malpractice suits, she supposed, in this age of #MeToo.
“So, experimenting, huh?”
She reddened and gave him a vague nod.
His smirk widened. Neither had any doubt about what was going on. If Ashok had no idea, then Swati knew that Grover had made the obvious connection that she was doing something extramarital.
They stared at each other for a few minutes.
“Don’t tell my husband,” she begged as they faced each other across the consultation table. She was dressed once again, and he was wearing his white coat.
“I see,” he said, and Swati could clearly see the wheels in his head spinning. She knew he was wondering how he could leverage this woman into bed, or at the very least get some advantage over her, preferably sexual.
Before he could say or do anything, Swati had pulled her shirt off, easy enough with the loose tee shirt she had on, unsnapped her bra, turned his chair around, and dropped to her knees in front of him, saying, “How about a blowjob? For now that is? We can figure something out later. I might need to have…” here she winked elaborately, “follow-up appointments, don’t you think?”
Her heart wasn’t in it. She wasn’t attracted to Grover even though he was a nice enough guy.
The sex would probably be good, but not the way it was with Prakash and Inder, but this was the only way to ensure his silence.
She knew that as a doctor, he was prohibited from discussing her condition with anyone else, even Ashok, but there was no way she could guarantee it. And if he did tell Ashok, what could she do? Sue him? And so, she had made her own deal and sealed it, as they say, with a kiss.
Swati has a lot on her mind, so she agrees without argument even though driving in the bumper to bumper traffic of Delhi is not her thing at all.
It is the weekend before Christmas and Abhi has called Ashok over.
Swati cannot wait for 2019 to be over. This year has been a long one, and an awakening of sorts. Especially the last few months. The sex has been frequent and, while sometimes degrading and humiliating, always thrilling and exhilarating. She has learned to take the aches and pains that go along with this kind of lifestyle, but sometimes the marks on her skin, the bruises have been hard to explain.
One time after Prakash had been especially brutal with his leather belt, Ashok had inadvertently seen a portion of her back, and asked about it. She could not call it a rash this time, so she said it was a bruise from falling down the stairs.
She also said, without thinking, and perhaps laying the groundwork for other injuries, that she bruised easily these days, and Ashok was instantly solicitous, asking to see the bruising, but she put him off and promised to go to a doctor.
“You know, a cousin of mine had this kind of thing—bruising. Then they tested her and she had leukemia. So, don’t take this lightly, please baby, go see a doctor.”
She agreed, but planned to put it off, but Ashok insisted, and then reminded her again, and in the end, she made an appointment with Dr. Grover, a skin specialist. Ashok knew Grover, and had called ahead, telling him about her skin condition. She had no option but to show him her bruises, which had by now taken on all kinds of colors. She had no doubt he would know instantly what was going on, but she had no choice.
As expected, Dr. Arvind Grover had raised the gown, taken a look and smirked. “Hmm,” he said.
He motioned to Swati to get dressed and dismissed his nurse who was acting as chaperone. In order to avoid malpractice suits, she supposed, in this age of #MeToo.
“So, experimenting, huh?”
She reddened and gave him a vague nod.
His smirk widened. Neither had any doubt about what was going on. If Ashok had no idea, then Swati knew that Grover had made the obvious connection that she was doing something extramarital.
They stared at each other for a few minutes.
“Don’t tell my husband,” she begged as they faced each other across the consultation table. She was dressed once again, and he was wearing his white coat.
“I see,” he said, and Swati could clearly see the wheels in his head spinning. She knew he was wondering how he could leverage this woman into bed, or at the very least get some advantage over her, preferably sexual.
Before he could say or do anything, Swati had pulled her shirt off, easy enough with the loose tee shirt she had on, unsnapped her bra, turned his chair around, and dropped to her knees in front of him, saying, “How about a blowjob? For now that is? We can figure something out later. I might need to have…” here she winked elaborately, “follow-up appointments, don’t you think?”
Her heart wasn’t in it. She wasn’t attracted to Grover even though he was a nice enough guy.
The sex would probably be good, but not the way it was with Prakash and Inder, but this was the only way to ensure his silence.
She knew that as a doctor, he was prohibited from discussing her condition with anyone else, even Ashok, but there was no way she could guarantee it. And if he did tell Ashok, what could she do? Sue him? And so, she had made her own deal and sealed it, as they say, with a kiss.
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