Hello all, welcome to the sixth part of my fantasy world. This is a continuation of a series. Please read the earlier parts if you haven’t read them yet. Let’s get started with this part.
Two days after the Eid incident, Samar came over. Sunday afternoon. Isha had cleaned herself up. Back to being Samar’s perfect mistress. His mangalsutra around her neck. No trace of Sahil. No evidence of that night. Except for the broken pieces of my face. The shattered pieces of my soul.
Samar arrived looking excited. “Dubai! Everything’s confirmed! Ten days! December 15th to 25th! Perfect timing! Christmas season! Everything magical!”
He spread brochures on the table. Hotels. Restaurants. Beaches. Shopping malls. Everything luxurious.
Isha’s eyes lit up. Greed. Excitement. Want. “Really? Everything?”
“Everything, my darling. You’ll be my queen. My princess. Dubai will bow to your beauty.” He kissed her.
“And the hotel?” she asked breathlessly.
“Atlantis The Palm! Honeymoon suite!” He looked at me. Remembered I existed. “Oh. Shailesh. You’ll have a standard room. Different floor. For work. For meetings. You’ll be busy.”
“Busy with what?”
“Clients. Important clients. Sheikh brothers. Rehman and Suleman Al-Maktoum. Billionaires. Abu Dhabi royalty. They’re investing in factory expansion. Big deal. You’ll handle paperwork. Meetings. Legal stuff. Keep them busy. While Isha and I…” He smiled. “Enjoy. Properly.”
“Understood,” I said.
“Good! Now let me show Isha what I bought for her! Come, darling!” He pulled her to our bedroom. Locked door. Sounds started. Immediately. Her moans. His grunts. Bed creaking. They were celebrating Dubai.
December 15th arrived. Flight to Dubai. Business class for them. Economy for me. Isha looked stunning. Designer salwar kameez. Cream and gold. Elegant. Expensive. Samar’s gift. Isha was looking like a Bollywood actress. Dubai airport. Opulent. Modern. Rich. Everything we’d never afford. Everything Samar gave her was easy.
Limousine waiting. Driver in uniform. “Mr Samar, madam, welcome to Dubai.
“It’s like a dream,” she whispered. “Like heaven.”
“This is just beginning, darling,” Samar said. Hand on her thigh. “Wait till you see our suite and everything I’ve planned. You’ll never want to leave.”
“I don’t want to leave already,” she said. Kissing him.
Atlantis The Palm. They got VIP treatment at the hotel. “Mr Samar, your honeymoon suite is ready. And Mr Shailesh, your standard room on the 15th floor.”
The next three days were a blur. For me, endless meetings with the Sheikh brothers. Legal documents. Factory expansion plans. Investment structures. Boring. Tedious. Necessary. For them, a honeymoon.
Day four. Important dinner with the Sheikh brothers. Last meeting before finalising the deal and signing. Samar insisted Isha attend.
We dressed formally. Isha is in a stunning red saree. Designer. Probably costs lakhs. Low-cut blouse. Deep neckline. Backless. Her fair skin glowed. Hair in an elegant bun. Heavy jewellery. Looking like a bride. Like queen. Like everything desirable.
“Beautiful,” Samar said. Appreciative. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect. They’ll love you.”
The restaurant was exclusive. Private room. Just five of us. Sheikh Rehman. Sheikh Suleman. Samar. Isha. Me.
The brothers were imposing. Rehman may be 45. Suleman 40. Both tall. Maybe 6’3″. Broad. Strong. Traditional Abu Dhabi royalty. White kanduras. Ghutras. Everything pristine. Everything powerful. Billionaires. Making Samar look middle-class.
In introductions, “Sheikh Rehman, Sheikh Suleman, this is Isha. My business associate. She handles my personal affairs.”
“And you know, Shailesh. Our accountant. He’s been handling documentation.”
Sheikh Rehman’s eyes are on Isha. Appreciative. Hungry. “Beautiful. Very beautiful. Indian women are exquisite. And you, Isha, are exceptional.”
Sheikh Suleman nodded. “Traditional. Yet modern. Perfect combination. The saree. Very elegant. Very… attractive.”
They stared. Openly. Not hiding. Power allowed them.
Isha blushed. Demure. “Thank you, Sheikhs. Very kind.”
Dinner progressed. They asked her questions. About India. About work. About life. She answered. Charming. Witty. Beautiful. They were mesmerised. Both of them. Couldn’t take my eyes off her. Off her cleavage. Off her curves. Off her fair skin. Off her beauty.
“So, Samar,” Sheikh Rehman said after dessert. “Tomorrow we sign? Everything agreed?”
“Yes, Sheikh. Everything ready. Just signatures. Partnership begins.”
“Good. Very good. We’re pleased. Very pleased.” His eyes on Isha. “With everything.”
Dinner ended. Handshakes. Promises. Tomorrow. Signing. Success. Everyone happy. Everyone satisfied. Everyone winning.
The next morning, the signing was scheduled for 11 AM.
The Sheikhs arrived late. Something had shifted overnight. Rehman barely looked at the documents. Suleman kept checking his phone. Finally, Rehman stood.
“Samar, private word.”
They disappeared into the conference room. Door closed. Twenty minutes. Thirty. We sat outside. Me. Isha.
They emerged. Expression controlled, but I knew that face. Something was wrong.
“We’ll revisit tomorrow,” Rehman said simply. Then left. Both of them.
Isha touched Samar’s arm. Worried. “What happened? What went wrong?”
“Nothing. Minor issue. Will resolve.” But his eyes were calculating.
That evening in his suite, Samar got a call. We waited in the living room area. Isha was picking at her food. Worried for him. She loved him.
“There’s a way to fix this. Rehman called. He wants you to deliver the papers personally. To their Abu Dhabi residence. Tonight. They’re flying back tonight. Deal closes there, tomorrow morning.”
“Me?” Isha surprised. “Why me?”
“Because they liked you. Trusted you. A woman’s touch sometimes makes a difference in Arab business culture. They respond to it.”
“Shailesh goes with you. For formality. Driver arranged. Tonight.”
“But it’s already nine…”
“Isha.” His voice is softer now. Hands on her face. “This deal is everything. Everything I’ve built. Everything our future is. Please. For me. Do this.”
She melted. “Okay. For you.”
He handed her a package. She opened it. Stylish burkha. Elegant. Dark navy. Designer even. “Abu Dhabi is more orthodox than Dubai. Wear it over the saree when you arrive.”
Isha emerged forty minutes later.
Pink and black Chiffon saree. Heavy designer work catches light with every breath. Backless blouse, showing her fair, smooth back completely. Deep neckline. Samar’s mangalsutra is resting between her 36D breasts. Hair pinned up with diamond pins.
Diamond earrings, heavy jhumkas swinging. Bangles stacked on both wrists, singing with each movement. Anklets on both feet. Kajal’s eyes are thick and dark, making her eyes enormous. Cherry pink lipstick. She looked like a goddess. Like a bride. Like everything precious and beautiful in the world.
Samar stared. “You’re… extraordinary.” He kissed her.
The driver was waiting downstairs. Black Mercedes S-Class.
I sat in front with the driver. Isha took the back seat alone. The princess in her carriage. Looking out the window as Dubai slid past. Eyes soft. Dreamy. We drove in silence. An hour and fifteen minutes. Desert highway. Abu Dhabi appears from the darkness. Different from Dubai. More traditional.
The mansion appeared after two more turns. High white walls. Security gates. Guard towers. The driver spoke into the intercom in Arabic. Gates swung open. We were received at the entrance by a staff member. “Welcome. Sheikh Rehman and Sheikh Suleman are expecting you. Please come.”
Isha put the burkha in the car as Samar had instructed. Covered completely. Only her eyes and hands were visible. Both brothers were waiting in the main sitting room. They stood when we entered. Then Isha removed the burkha.
The effect was immediate. Suleman’s eyes travelled the full length of her. Slowly. Deliberately. Taking in every curve, every sparkle, every inch. Rehman’s expression shifted from formal to something deeper. Both of them recalibrated in real time.
“Please sit,” Rehman said. Voice is lower than before. “We are very glad you came.”
“The pleasure is mine, Sheikh,” Isha said.
Champagne appeared. Gourmet food. They treated her like royalty. Pulling her chair. Serving her first. Asking about her preferences. Laughing at her observations about Dubai. She was animated. Enjoying herself. Enjoying the attention.
She leaned forward when she talked. Showing cleavage. Not deliberately. Just naturally. Of course, they noticed. She crossed her legs. Her anklet caught the light. Suleman’s eyes went there and stayed.
I was given one glass of champagne and a plate. Then, it was largely ignored.
After dinner, Rehman stood. “Isha, I would love to show you some of our home. We have some remarkable pieces. Art. Architecture. You would appreciate it.”
“I’d love that,” she said genuinely.
They left. Suleman stayed with me. We talked. About nothing. Factory timelines. Production projections. His phone buzzed constantly, and he half-engaged with both me and it. Twenty minutes passed. Then he stood. “Excuse me briefly.” And he, too, was gone.
I was alone. Ten minutes later, a uniformed man appeared. “Sir, your room is prepared. Please follow.”
“Isha ma’am, where is she?”
“Still with the Sheikhs. Discussions about the papers. She will be comfortable. Please, your room.”
Discussions about the papers. At eleven PM. In a palace. Without me.
I followed. The guest room was luxurious. I sat on the bed. Anxiety building. Slow at first. Then faster. Something was very wrong.
I waited twenty minutes. Then I opened the door and walked out.
The mansion was enormous and disorienting. I took wrong turn after wrong turn. Too many rooms. Eventually, a sound. Voices. I followed.
A corridor. End of it, double doors. Slightly open. Light flooding through the gap. I moved closer.
Inside was a massive suite. Ornate. Enormous. Gold and silk and light. And in the centre of it all, Isha. Still in her saree. Standing. Deal papers in her hand. Both brothers are standing close. The three of them are in a serious, urgent conversation.
Rehman reached out. Handed her a phone.
She took it. Put it to her ear. “Hello?”
I watched her face change.
First confusion. Then understanding. Then the colour drained completely. “What? What do you mean? No. No, Samar, this wasn’t… You said… You PROMISED me…”
Her voice rising. Hand gripping the phone tighter. “How could you? How could you tell them…” She was crying now. “You said you loved me! You said I was… I trusted you! I trusted you completely!”
Whatever he said next made it worse. Her face crumpled. Then hardened. “You’re a bastard,” she said quietly. Devastated. “You’re a complete bastard.”
She threw the phone. It hit the marble floor and shattered.
Both brothers watched her. They’d known all along. This was always the plan. Samar’s plan.
“Please,” she said to them. Voice small. “There must be another way. I’ll do anything else. I’ll help however I can. But not this.”
Rehman stepped forward. Suleman to the other side. She was small between them. They were enormous. 6’3″ each, broad, solid with the certainty of men who had always taken what they wanted.
“The deal was agreed,” Rehman said. “You are here. Papers will be signed tomorrow. This is how it works.”
“I didn’t agree—”
“Your Samar agreed. On your behalf.” Suleman’s voice. “You are a gift. Most beautiful gift.”
Rehman reached for her. She took one step back. Hit Suleman behind her. Nowhere to go. His hands came to her shoulders. Firm. She closed her eyes.
“Please be gentle,” she whispered.
Rehman began unwrapping the saree. Suleman held her in place, hands on her shoulders. The saree came away in slow circles. Pink and black pooling at her feet. Nine yards of Samar’s gift being removed by the men Samar sold her to.
The blouse next. Rehman unhooked it from behind with two fingers. Pulled it off her shoulders and away. She stood in her bra and petticoat. Fair skin glowing in the suite’s warm light.
Suleman reached around from behind. Unhooked the bra. Her 36D breasts spilt free. Round, fair, full. Dark nipples hardening in the cool air. She crossed her arms instinctively.
Rehman gently moved her arms away. Held them at her sides. “Don’t hide. You’re too beautiful to hide.” He cupped her breasts. Both hands. Weighing. Squeezing. Thumbs circling her nipples. She inhaled sharply. Body responding despite everything. “Exquisite. Truly exquisite.”
Suleman’s hands at her petticoat string. Untied it. Let it fall. Her pink panties. He hooked both thumbs in the waistband and dragged them slowly down over her wide hips, over thick fair thighs, to her ankles. She stepped out of them. Completely naked now except for the jewellery.
Both brothers stepped back. Just looked. She stood in the centre of that opulent room, her fair skin flushed pink. Her body was a perfect hourglass. Narrow waist. Wide hips. Full breasts. Thick smooth thighs. Everything men with money and power expected when they paid this price.
They undressed without ceremony. Underneath, the bodies of men who had every privilege. Both broad. Both are powerfully built. Their cocks. When they freed them. Enormous. Both of them. Nine inches at least. Thick. Dark. Uncircumcised. Fully hard.
Isha saw. Her breath caught. Eyes wide with fear. Her body knew what it wanted even when her mind was breaking.
Rehman sat on the edge of the enormous bed. Gestured to her. “Come here.”
She walked to him on unsteady legs. He spread his knees. She understood. Knelt between them. Took him in her mehendi-decorated hands. Those beautiful hands. Hands she’d applied bridal henna on for Sahil’s Eid. Now wrapped around a huge cock in Abu Dhabi.
She took him in her mouth. No choice but to take him deep and try. She worked him with her tongue. Her lips stretched around his thickness. Taking him deeper. Gagging when he hit her throat, but not stopping. “Gllkk… gllkk…” Eyes watering.
Suleman came behind her. She felt his hands on her ass. Spreading. A finger probing. She moaned around Rehman’s cock. Suleman positioned. Pushed inside her pussy in one long, slow stroke. She cried out. Muffled. Full. “Mmmfff—”
They found rhythm. Suleman fucking her from behind, steady and deep, his massive cock filling her. Rehman fucking her mouth. Her body rocked between them. The bangles sang with every movement. The mangalsutra swayed against the bed. Her dark hair was coming loose, falling around her face.
“Beautiful,” Rehman said above her. “Look at her. Look how she takes it.”
Suleman gripped her hips. Hard. His fingers would leave marks. He increased the pace. Brutal now. Deep. Her ass rippling with each thrust. Her moans became continuous. Involuntary. Her body is doing what bodies do. Responding. Opening. Accepting.
Suleman pulled out suddenly. They switched. Rehman moved her onto the bed on her back. Her fair body against the white silk sheets. He climbed over her. Pushed her knees back. Entered her slowly. Deliberately. Watching her face as he filled her.
Her expression as eight, nine inches pushed into places she’d never been reached. “Ah, too deep.” Her hands gripped the sheets. His cock hits her cervix. She writhed. He held her legs pinned back. Began to move. Each stroke is complete.
out to the tip and then sinking fully back in. Unhurried. Thorough. A man who knew how to make something last.
Suleman was at her head. She turned her face. He pushed into her mouth from the side. She took him. Gagging. Drooling. Taking both of them simultaneously. Completely used. Filled. The spitroast is complete.
Her body came. She couldn’t stop it. Orgasm crashing through her. Her pussy is clenching Rehman’s cock. Her back arching off the silk. He felt it. Smiled. Slowed to let her ride through it. Then resumed.
They moved her again. Suleman is lying on the bed. They lifted her onto him in the air. She sank on his cock. His cock is impossibly deep. She sat there a moment. Adjusting. Trembling.
Rehman is behind her. His hands are on her hips. She felt him pressing against her ass. “No— please— not both—”
“Breathe,” Rehman said. He pushed. Her ass resisted. Then slowly, painfully, inevitably gave way. His cock entered alongside Suleman’s. Double penetration. Both brothers are inside her simultaneously.
“Ah! Oh God! Too much!”
They stilled. Letting her adjust to the impossible fullness. Her breathing was ragged. Every nerve ending obliterated. Then, slowly and coordinated, they began to move. There are no words for what it looked like or what it did to her. Her fair body was completely owned. Every hole.
Both brothers are moving together. Not words. Just sounds. Her body is shaking. Cumming again. Couldn’t stop it. Her pussy and ass clenching both cocks simultaneously, milking them. The intensity of it is pulling her apart. They fucked her for a long time. Positions changed.
She is on her knees again. On her side. Bent over the edge of the bed. Her saree is somewhere. Her blouse is somewhere. Her dignity was somewhere she couldn’t find.
When they finally finished, they pulled out. She was on her knees automatically. They stroked themselves over her. Suleman first. Thick ropes of cum hit her face. Her hair. Her chest. Landing on the mangalsutra. Pooling in her cleavage.
“Take it. Take it all.” Rehman next. Covering what Suleman had started. Her face. Her dark hair. Her lips. Her closed eyes. She stayed there on her knees. Head bowed. Completely covered. They got dressed with quiet efficiency. “Sleep well,” Suleman said. The door closed. The lock clicked.
I tried the door. Locked. I pressed my forehead to it. What was I supposed to do? What could I do? What had I ever been able to do? Nothing. I was nothing. I went back to my room, and I sat on the edge of the bed in the dark, and I stared at the floor.
Morning came the way mornings do after terrible nights. A staff member unlocked her room at eight. I was already standing in the corridor. I’d been there since six. Waiting.
She emerged still in the saree. Crumpled now. Her blouse was back on, wrongly hooked in two places. Hair down and tangled. Makeup destroyed. She looked at me. I looked at her. Neither of us said anything.
The brothers came down in fresh kanduras. Cheerful. Hospitable. As if last night was simply another business dinner. Rehman signed the deal papers over orange juice with the gold pen. “Excellent partnership,” he said warmly. “Samar is a lucky man. To have such a dedicated team.”
The drive back to Dubai was the longest hour of my life. Isha is in the back again. Same position as last night. Same princess seat. But an entirely different person occupies it. She watched the desert pass. Said nothing the entire drive. Not one word.
I tried once. “Isha—”
“Don’t.” Quiet. Absolute.
I didn’t.
Hotel. She walked past the lobby. Straight to the lifts to his floor. I followed. She knocked. He opened immediately. He’d been waiting. He saw her face. Something moved in his. Briefly.
“You should shower and rest—”
“You sold me.”
“Isha—”
“You sold me to them. Like a thing. Like an object. You arranged it. You planned it from the beginning. The dinner, the deal falling through, sending me there. All of it planned.”
“It was business. The deal needed—”
“DON’T.” The word is like a slap. “Don’t say that to me. Don’t you dare stand there and tell me what the deal needed. I needed. I NEEDED you not to do this. I loved you. I actually loved you. I left my marriage. Wore your symbols. Fasted for you. Gave you everything. Every part of me. And you calculated what I was worth to a client and handed me over.”
“You’re being dramatic. It was one night. You’re fine.”
The coldness of it stopped her. She stared at him.
“You’re fine,” he said again. Practical. Impatient. “These things happen in business. You benefited enormously from our arrangement. The flat. The gifts. Dubai. All of it. Did you think that was free? Did you think men like me give without accounting for it?”
“You said you loved me.”
“I’m very fond of you.” Not even the same words. He’d already downgraded.
“I want it over. All of it. I’m going home, and I’m done with you.”
He reached into his shirt pocket. Set his phone on the table between them. Opened a video. She was on the screen. Their bedroom in Mumbai. His bedroom. She’s doing things she’d believed were private. Intimate. Loved.
“This is the more modest one,” he said. “I have seventeen others. Various settings. Various companions.” A pause. “Your family would be devastated. Shailesh’s family also. The factory workers already suspect, but suspicion is different from proof. And these would be very easy to share.”
The blood left her face completely.
“Insurance. A sensible man keeps insurance.”
“You’re—”
“Careful about the next word.” Still calm. Still patient. Completely in control. “You’re an intelligent woman. Think about what you want to happen next. You can leave, yes. But you leave with nothing, and those videos find their way out. Or you can calm down, recognise the arrangement for what it was, and we continue as before. Comfortably.”
She laughed. Sudden. Ugly. “Sahil was right about you. He told me. He saw you clearly from the beginning. Rich men use. They don’t love. They use. I was too stupid to listen.”
Something shifted in his face then. Not guilt. Irritation. “Sahil. The factory worker. The slum boy. You’re comparing me to him.”
“He has more humanity in his little finger than you have in your entire body and everything you’ve bought.”
“Sentiment.” He picked up his phone. Put it away. “Go shower. You smell like them. Tonight, we have dinner reservations I’d like to keep.”
She walked out. Left the door open behind her. Didn’t slam it. Didn’t cry. Just walked. She came to my floor. My door. I opened it before she knocked because I’d been standing on the other side.
She walked in. Sat on the edge of my bed. Still not crying. Just looking at her hands. The mehendi had faded now. Just shadows of patterns left. Echoes of henna.
I didn’t know what to say. I never knew what to say. So I said nothing and sat in the chair across from her and waited. After a long time, she reached for my phone on the nightstand. She didn’t ask. Didn’t need to. I didn’t stop her.
She dialled. Three rings.
“Isha?” Sahil’s voice. Even through the phone.
She broke open. Finally, like something that had been held together by pure will, just let go. “Sahil.” His name in her mouth like a prayer and an apology simultaneously.
“You were right about everything. He— I’m so stupid. I was so stupid. He sold me. He actually sold me. Used me to close a deal. Like I was— like I was nothing.” Sobbing now. Hard. Not elegant. Not quiet. Just raw grief.
“He is blackmailing with videos. He’ll destroy me if I— and I had nothing. I had nothing at all this whole time. Everything he gave me was just—”
Sahil’s voice. Low. Steady. “Isha. Listen to me. Listen to my voice. You’re safe. Where are you?”
“Dubai. Hotel. Shailesh’s room.”
“Okay. Okay. You’re safe. He can’t hurt you right now. Just breathe.”
She breathed. Shaky. He talked. I couldn’t hear his exact words after a certain point, just the cadence. The rhythm of someone who knew her completely. Knew which words to use. Which silences to hold. An hour he talked to her. Maybe more.
The sun moved outside the window. She stopped crying. Started just listening. Sometimes answering. Once she laughed. A small broken laugh, but real.
Eventually. “I know. I know. Yes. I’ll come home. Okay. Yes. I know.” A long pause where she just listened. Her face was doing something complicated and soft.
“I know you did. I know. I’m sorry it took me this long to understand.” Another pause. “Okay. Okay, Sahil.” Voice barely above a whisper. “Allah hafiz.”
She hung up. Set the phone down. Lay back on my bed and closed her eyes. Still in the ruined saree. Still wearing jewellery, she hadn’t had the energy to remove. Within three minutes, she was asleep. The sleep of someone completely emptied out.
I moved to the chair by the window. Dubai glittered outside. Obscene and beautiful and completely indifferent.
Outside, Dubai continued. Tomorrow is the flight home. I didn’t know what came next. I wasn’t sure I was capable of deciding. But something was different tonight. Something had changed in everyone.
Hope you liked this part. This series will conclude in the next part. Please write to me at [email protected] with your comments and feedback.