A Wedding With Dhipa

“They were all looking at you. Every eye in the place.”

“Mmm.” she said. “I know. I mean, I couldn’t look, but I could feel them all. God I felt so filthy, so fucking cheap.” As she said this she raised her hands and absently began to circle her nipples with her red-painted nails.

“And now how are you going to face them all?” he asked.

She was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know. These aren’t strangers. I’ve known some of these people since I was just a little girl. A part of me hates to do this.”

“And a part of you just loves the hell out of it.”

She turned her face away. The truth was, she didn’t know how she felt about this or why she had to do it. She had stopped trying to figure it out a long time ago. All she knew now was that the thrill it gave her was more intense sometimes than the sex itself.

She felt deliciously fucked and used, she still felt the excited touch of strangers’ hands on her body, felt the desperate thrust of their cocks inside her, how badly they wanted her.

“What about your father?” he asked.

She turned back to him and her face grew serious. Again she pushed her hair back behind her ears. It was a gesture she made when she was forced to reflect. “He’ll know sooner or later.”

“But was that the best way of telling him?”

“That was Bashir’s doing. The shit. Doctor, give me a cigarette. Please.”

He got up, took one from the pack on the dresser and lit it for her. She took it in her slim fingers and took a deep pull on it.

“God, that was good too. That was so exciting. Could you really see everything?”

“I could have counted every pubic hair.” he said. “Even the kitchen staff came out to see.”

Dhipa smiled and crushed the cigarette out.

“Doctor?” she asked. “Fuck me? I need it again. For real this time.”

He laughed. “Not now, darling. We’ve only got a couple of hours before dinner, and I want to sleep. You should too. We night try something new tonight. You’ll need your strength.”

*****

Dinner that night was an elaborate banquet, a traditional Western-style sit-down meal, and formal, so the Doctor didn’t dictate Dhipa’s wardrobe. She wore a very simple and elegant white shift, perhaps a shade too tight across the hips and bosom, but then he did want to show off the fact that she wore no underthings. While he didn’t have much opportunity to make her parade around in front of the guests, she did make a suitable impression on the people at their table, and turned enough heads so that dinner was interesting and more than a little amusing.

By now all the guests knew of Dhipa, and wherever she went she was preceded by a wave of whispered warnings and elbows to the ribs. She was aware of this of course, and it was the only thing that made the dinner bearable to her, in a perverse way. She could no longer separate her sense of shame from her sense of pride; they’d become entirely and totally mixed, so that to feel one was to feel the other. The Doctor understood this better than she did. She only knew that she was what she was, and it was up to them to deal with her as best they could.

After the dinner the bars were opened, the tables were pushed back for speeches and small entertainments, and a band set up for the dancing that was to follow. Many couples retired to change into more comfortable clothes, and the Doctor went through his wardrobe for something suitable for Dhipa.

He settled on a pair of skin-tight pants tailored so as to separate and show off each buttock, the seam running tight and snug right against her flesh and caressing her with every step she took. What made the pants so terribly trashy was not the very thin and clingy synthetic fabric, in gloss black of course, but the lacing that ran up the outside of each leg from cuff to belt, showing an unbroken band of skin.

The top was a simple scoop-neck affair of the same weightless fabric which showed off her nipples and the rounded mass of her breasts. The four inch heels she wore were not really very well suited for dancing, but they made her legs look fantastic and they gave her body a fascinating jiggle as she walked, which kept her in a state of high arousal.

In any case, the Doctor was not much of a one for dancing, and the few times he led her to the floor for a slow, romantic torch song she had to constantly remind him to keep his hand where it belonged: on her back, and not on her behind. But he was too busy going table to table to line up recruits for his private entertainment for the night to dance with her much.

“I can’t tell you who she is,” he was telling one table of young men. “but she’s good-looking and she’s clean and she fucks like crazy. And at these prices, gentlemen, you could, as they say, put a cloth over her face and fuck for flag and country. Now who’s interested?”

At fifty dollars a head he soon had more than enough subscribers and went out to the desk to arrange for another room for Mr. and Mrs. Ecks, a suite in an isolated part of the hotel. Then it was back to his patrons to give them a rough timetable. He didn’t want them all showing up at once.

At about eleven the party was already winding down. Most of the guests were not late night people, and people were wandering off to bed or to look for something more exciting to do. The Doctor found Dhipa at the bar surrounded by men, excused her, and took her back to the room.

“I’ve arranged for you to entertain some of the guests tonight, love.” he told her. “But they’re not to know your identity.”

Dhipa, irritated by being dragged away from the party, asked him, “And how are you going to do that?”

He held up a pillow case. “With this.”

Her jaw fell. “Oh no! You’re insane! I’ll suffocate in there! They’ll hear me! They’ll know who I am! I won’t do it!”

“Try it on.” he said. “We can put a drawstring through the opening and tie it around your neck.”

“You’re out of your mind! Doctor really! I can’t!”

Ignoring her, he put the pillowcase over her head and drew it down. He couldn’t see her at all through the cloth, but she could see out slightly.

“This is ridiculous.” she said.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Doctor…”

“Take off your clothes, Dhipa!”

She wiggled out of her pants. She managed to get the top off without removing the pillow case and stood naked before the mirror.

She looked grotesque. There was something very obscene about the sight of her lovely body surmounted by that featureless cloth. When the Doctor went behind her and pulled the case tighter around her face so that her head assumed a more normal size, the effect changed. Now she looked tragic, victimized, like a casualty of war or a corpse. And yet her body looked so alive and terribly sexual.

She could see herself in the mirror and she almost gasped. “Oh my God.” she said. “I look horrible. I look like the victim of a lynching or something.”

The Doctor’s eyes were intense. “I know. It’s bizarre, isn’t it.”

“It’s frightening.” she said. “No Doctor, I can’t.”

He grabbed her shoulders and she could tell by his grip and by the look in his eyes that she would have to. Something horrid and perverse was stirred inside him, and inside her as well. Only he wasn’t the one who would have to lie there with his head in the bag and be fucked by men he didn’t know.

Minutes later he was dragging her down the hall to the room he had rented, a suitcase in his other hand. Dhipa was still objecting, but it was only for form now. The whole idea was terribly exciting to her, and she clutched her robe to her body and staggered along after him as well as her heels would allow.

The Doctor turned on the lights in the new suite and looked around.

“This room will be the waiting room.” he said. He led her then into the bedroom. “You’ll be in here. Then they can go out through the bathroom so it’s perfect.” He drew the shades, turned off the overhead lights and threw a red scarf over the bedside light. He went into the bathroom and came out with two large towels which he spread out on the bed. She knew what that was for and she felt fear or excitement stir in the pit of her stomach.

“Take off your clothes.” he said. “Your jewelry too. Even your earrings. Give them to me. I want to tie you to the bed.”

“Tie me?”

“Yes. I’ll stay with you the whole time, so don’t worry. You know what to do if you really want to stop.”

“But they’ll recognize me.”

“Maybe.” he said. “Isn’t that the point?”

He tied her wrists to the headboard and left her hands free. He smoothed the pillowcase over her head and tied it around her neck with a couple of lashings of rope. As he was doing this they heard the door to the suite open several times as the men began to arrive. The Doctor went out to speak to them leaving Dhipa alone in the darkness, smelling the starch in the pillow case and straining her ears. She could hear him speaking in his usual public voice, slowly and reasonably, but when he came back into the room his voice was hot and excited.

He sat down next to her on the bed. “Do you know how sexy you look, you hot bitch?” he asked her as he ran his hand over her naked body. “I could just come in my fucking pants looking at you like this. This is going to get me so goddamn hot! I love you so much, Dhipa! I just love you to pieces. If I die tomorrow I’ll die happy because of what you’re doing for me tonight. Are you ready?”

“No. Not yet, Doctor.” she felt his weight leave the bed and then press down by her hips, then she felt his lips as he kissed her thighs, her mons, kissed her pussy. In spite of her nervousness Dhipa lifted her hips to his kisses and spread herself for him. She knew what he was doing. He was getting her ready, getting her wet, and already she felt her body respond even as she closed her eyes in fear and horror. She could feel his heat and desire as he licked her and slid his tongue along her flesh, teased her clit and fingered her pussy. She was ready before she thought possible, ready and excited.

“Okay.” he said.

She waited for the first man to come in. She heard the door close behind him and the Doctor said, “There she is, my man.”

“Oh yeah!” he said. Dhipa didn’t recognize his voice.

She heard the jingle of a buckle and the sound of a zipper.

“Just…do it?” he asked.

“That’s what she’s here for.” the Doctor said.

Dhipa felt the man’s weight on the bed as he climbed between her legs. He squeezed her breast in his unfamiliar hand, ran his hand over her body and down to her pussy.

“Fuck! She’s already wet.” he said.

“Then do it.”

“Yeah.” he said. “Yeah, fuck! Why not?”

Dhipa winced and bit her lip as she felt him put his cock against her pussy, he was not fully hard yet but he quickly firm up, and then he pushed forward and penetrated her, making her groan in shame.

He didn’t seem very experienced and he immediately began to writhe on top of her, hardly knowing where to touch her first, his hips humping clumsily at her as he gasped wildly, almost beside himself. He finally began caressing her breasts and kissing them as he worked his cock around inside her before settling down to a more or less steady thrusting, the zipper from his pants scraping the inside of her thigh.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck yeah!” he chanted. She pulled at the bonds and gripped the ropes as she felt him tighten, and before she would have believed possible he was slamming into her as his cock throbbed inside, spitting his load inside her cunt.

The Doctor gave him a moment to catch his breath, then said. “Others are waiting, my man.”

She felt him get up and heard him leave, his buckle still jingling as he hobbled out.

“You okay?” The Doctor asked her after he’d left.

“Yes.” she whispered breathlessly. “Doctor? How many?”

“Enough.” he said. The next man had come in and was unbuckling his pants.

By the fourth man Dhipa was in a state of desperate heat. She was no longer afraid of being discovered. It just wasn’t important. The way the men used her, the things they said, the way they touched her, the way they jerked and pushed as they ejaculated; it was all dizzying. Some folded her legs up against her chest, some left them as the were. Some suckled on her breasts, some seemed loathe to touch her at all except with their pricks. And all through it she was haunted by the image of what she must look like there, without a face, without a voice, without a soul.

The men came in, saw her lying there tied to the bed, her breasts sheened with perspiration and saliva, the towel bunched up beneath her ass. She lifted her lags as she felt them get between them, and she lifted her hips as they slid into her come-soaked pussy. Some of them grabbed her ass, slippery with semen, others just held themselves up so they could watch her big tits shake as they fucked her, or stare down at the pillow case over her head. Her helplessness seemed to set something off inside them, and they pounded her ferociously, as if she weren't human. Occasionally she would groan or grunt or whine, and some of them got so carried away that they tried to kiss her through the pillowcase. None of them lasted very long because none of the wanted to. She was no more than a soft hole and a pair of tits as far as they were concerned. That’s what they paid for, and that’s what they wanted.

Such degradation was almost beyond what she could stand though. There was something terrible about lying there with her entire head covered so that the men had no idea of who she was. She might have been their own sister, or the wife of a friend. None of them seemed to care. They just fucked her, spewing their come inside or over her stomach and breasts, one after another.

After the sixth man she told him that was enough, but he let in three more, letting two watch while one fucked her till they all had had their turn. Then another three before he stopped it, sending the others away after giving them their money back and something extra for their disappointment.

Dhipa was still lying there, panting beneath the pillowcase, bruised and exhausted and covered in semen when she heard the last of them leave and the Doctor lock the door. He came back into the room and she heard him stop by the bed, then nothing. He must be staring at her.

She heard him undo his belt. Heard the zipper follow, then the rustle of material as he dropped his pants.

“No, please, Doctor. I can’t. I’m too sore. I can’t I…. Oh Goddd!”

He sunk into her to the hilt, the thickness of his cock causing more semen to ooze out of her stuffed pussy as he let his weight down on top of her and kissed her neck. He used his cock as a probe, searching for that one spot where she still felt things, that she kept just for him. He searched and he found it.

“You sweet fucking whore.” he whispered to her. “You cheap slut! I love your filthy ass, you know that? You cunt!”

He grabbed her breasts, red with the marks of strangers’ teeth and hands, and ran his thumbs around her nipples. “You make me fuck you when you’re filled with other men’s come. How does that make you feel, Dhipa? Do you like it? It’s the only way you can get off, isn’t it, baby? You cheap little tramp! You hot little piece!”

“Yes! Yes!” she moaned, feeling herself rising to another climax. “Fuck me! I’m your whore! I’m your slut! Just fuck me! Fuck me!"