This story uses Indian female clothing – sari, choli and petticoats – as a part of the action. A choli is a short blouse that typically ends just below the breasts. A sari is a six-yard bolt of cloth that is wrapped around the body, pleated and tucked into a petticoat. One end is worn over the left shoulder and is called the pallu. The pallu is sometimes worn over the head and sometimes drawn around the right shoulder to envelope the entire upper body over the choli.
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All characters in this story are fictitious with no relationship to any person living or dead.
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My name is Jahan Ara Peerally and I am the younger daughter of Seth Ismail Azeem Peerally and his wife, Nabila Nazneen Peerally. My father is a wealthy businessman and making money is the only thing that truly interests him. My sister Ayesha Banu and I were mostly brought up by my mother.
It all began when I was seventeen years old and happy with life. I was cooking in the kitchen with my mother. She was normally talkative, prattling on about anything under the sun, but this day she was unusually silent. Mother and I were very close, so I knew something was up.
"What's the matter, Mother?" I asked.
"Nothing, Jahan Ara," she said. "Nothing at all."
"No," I insisted. "I can tell that something is up."
Mother was silent for a while, stirring the vegetables sautéing in a pan. I knew my mother, so I waited for her. Eventually she spoke.
"Jahan Ara," she said. "Your father has been contacted by a distant relative of ours, Seth Rashid Khan. He lives in Canada. He is looking for a bride for his son, Iqbal."
My blood ran cold. Canada! I knew where this was going.
"But Mother, I am only seventeen!"
"By the time he comes here in three weeks, you will be eighteen. He will arrive just after your birthday. Your father is keen on this marriage. Seth Rashid is far wealthier than your father, he will give us a lot of business. It will be a fine match."
My heart sank. I knew there was no use protesting. I wanted to study, I wanted to go to university, but all that was off the table now.
Seth Rashid came a week after my birthday. Mother dressed me in a richly brocaded sari with a tight blouse that bared my straight back and showed my firm young breasts to advantage. She tied a tight choker necklace with a heavy gold pendant around my neck to emphasize its swan-like grace.
"I apologize for coming like this," said Seth Rashid. "This is normally women's work. But my dear wife passed away several years ago and I must do what I can in her absence."
He made me stand and walked around me, inspecting me like a mare in an auction. He came close and with his back to Father and Mother, allowed his eyes to linger on the swell of my breasts. Even though my blouse was mostly concealed under the heavy brocade of my sari pallu, the lust in his stare was palpable. It frightened me. I wrapped my pallu around myself to completely cover my tight blouse and hide my breasts from him. Then he went back to stand on the opposite side of the room from Father and Mother.
"Walk across the room for me, rajkumari," he said to me, calling me 'princess'. I looked over at Mother, but she merely nodded approvingly.
I walked across the room with him on one side and Father and Mother on the other. I swayed on the tall, strappy platform heels Mother had made me wear. I had protested, because I am quite tall for a girl, but she insisted, saying, "Being tall is an advantage on the marriage market. We must use every advantage, this match is very important for us."
I turned at the end of the room and Seth Rashid beckoned me to return. I walked back up to him, eyelids fluttering with nervousness. It was awkward approaching him. For even though he was heavily muscled and must have outweighed me by a good fifty kilograms, I was taller than him on my platform heels.
"Turn around, meri rani," he said, calling me 'my queen'.
I turned around so that I was facing Father and Mother with my back to him. He put his hands on my hips, holding them so tightly that I felt his fingers through my sari and petticoat, tracing the lines of my panties.
"A good set of hips, she'll have no trouble birthing children," he said.
To my amazement, my parents both beamed with pride.
"Indeed, she has a body made for childbearing," said Father.
I blushed furiously, feeling the blood rushing to my face. His hands moved around, out of sight of my parents and he gripped my buttocks firmly, a cheek in each hand. He squeezed them hard and massaged them, making it me rock on my tall heels.
"Are you uncomfortable, soni?" he asked, calling me 'sweetie'.
Father and Mother continued to smile when he said this.
"No, no," I mumbled.
Then he pushed his fingers between my legs, gathering my sari and petticoat between my butt cheeks. I moved my hips, in an attempt to ease my discomfort, but this only enabled him to push his fingers deeper, pressing the layers of my sari and petticoat against my nether lips. I was shocked by how intimately he was able to invade my privacy through the protection of my clothing. I was dreadfully frightened of having my parents find out and causing a scene – and perhaps losing this match that they so wanted. But now I became aware of another feeling – a heat in my lower belly that was slowly descending to my loins.
"A firm, round ass. And a thick set of pussy lips." His tone was low enough that my parents did not hear him. I blushed deeper. For some reason, his filthy talk seemed to accentuate the heat that was growing between my legs. "With an ass like this, you will be a great fuck, doggie style. But of course, no one has fucked you. Yet."
His hands moved up from my buttocks to my lower back and traced the line of my bare spine, from my sari waistband to the hem of my blouse.
"She has a very straight back, Seth Ismail," he said in a normal tone.
My father took it like a compliment and beamed even more broadly.
