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 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.
