.. I had to let him know what was going on under his eyes. Paul… the only man to have fucked me since my marriage. Paul… the father of my aborted baby. I had to let him know what kind of wife he had and I had to do it now! * The journey across town with a car full of complaining children was unpleasant but I closed my ears to their moaning, my mind focussed on the task ahead. Still in their pyjamas, I had almost dragged them from in front of the TV and marched them to the car, the same idea running over and over in my mind. ‘Tell Paul... let him know what a slut his wife is... hurt Lisa... hurt Tom... hurt Paul...’ My hands were shaking as I turned the car into his driveway, shuddered to a halt then violently pulled on the handbrake. “Wait here!” I yelled at the kids who had immediately recognised the house and were getting excited at the prospect of seeing their friends for the first time in months. “Are we staying? Please can we stay? Why can’t we stay?” “Just wait here quietly,” I. And yet, her eyes sparkled. She knew she had him where she wanted him. Hari Singh’s hand completely relaxed as he realized what the girl was up to. He was now touching her on her neck, just above her bosom and his thumb ran over her chin. “I wish I could ask you to demonstrate your womanhood in identical fashion,” he muttered. Her hand gripped his wrist as she tried to move his hand from her body, but she merely ended up captivated with the strength of his body. “Maybe you will not ask me to demonstrate my womanhood because you would then be exposed totally,” she said spontaneously, and instantly regretted what she said. She knew that you could go only so far with a Thakur without arousing the worst ire in him.And she was right. Blinded with rage, Hari Singh gripped the top of her choli (blouse) and pulled down and in one swift ripping motion the front of her blouse tore, and hung down, held only by the strong band of cloth that went around the lower border of the blouse. Her breasts,.
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