Komal's Transformation

[Set up in an Indian background this is a work of pure fiction. So the circumstances, background and characters would be in wide variance with those not living in South Asia. There is no resemblance to living characters but just an effort in writing something that may seem far-fetched but not absolutely impossible. Just a fantasy? Yes, could be. Lack of imaginative thinking? Most probably. But the writer makes no pretension about her writing skills and the deficiencies may be ignored in a gesture of graciousness. Thank you.]

*****

Komal stood at the door step of their apartment as Nishant, her husband, was walking out to catch a flight that evening. Nishant was a very busy executive and, for a good period of each month, he would be on his trips. Komal, his wife, was the shy and obedient type, one who was mentally prepared for these trips of her husband and her own loneliness that always followed when he was not home. But, she never grumbled. She never expressed any sadness or regret at the outcome of her marriage to a man who her parents had selected for her – a bright, intelligent, well-paid electronics engineer. Nishant's only drawback was his age – because it made a difference of over ten years with his wife, who was just twenty four when they got married. Komal, now, was still below thirty while Nishant was past forty but, more than this reason, tension and pressures at work place had already created wrinkles on his face. As things stood, Nishant could hardly pay attention to his beautiful and certainly naturally endowed curves of his wife because of the pressures and responsibilities attached to his post. He loved his wife but was indifferent to her needs. Komal, however, still remained a beautiful and an extremely desirable woman whose cravings, unfortunately, for the circumstances mentioned earlier, remained unfulfilled in her conjugal life. But she loved her husband, fulfilled her responsibilities as a wife to perfection and remained true and faithful.

For the benefit of the readers and to properly understand how and why things developed in the way they did, it is essential that one should know what best described this woman. Komal had a fair complexion with long hair, pouting lips and a perfect set of pearly white teeth that enhanced her smile. She was 5'6" tall and was slim without being thought of as thin because she had an envious figure, almost hour-glass, with a perfect cup size that adequately compensated the smaller 34" pair. She had grace and poise and usually wore sarees, even salwar kameez or lehenga choli (typical dresses worn by women in South Asia). Occasionally, she chose western attire but whatever she chose, she always looked graceful.

Underneath the dignified and reserved façade of this lady there dwelled, for a long time, deep sexual inner urges that Komal kept under control, mainly due to her timidity and upbringing. She could never imagine herself to be wayward or even think of someone outside the arena of her vowed marriage. Whenever she felt a fire in her loins, she would take recourse to some release through touches on her sensitive areas herself. This may not have led to complete satisfaction, but they did enable a relief, even if it was temporary.

As life went on in this manner for this beautiful wife, events all of a sudden started to twist and take a new direction. In a way, this could be termed as 'being helpless' to circumstances although she should blame herself with the sudden arousal she started feeling.

It happened that Komal had been shopping in a reputed mall and, having purchased a few sarees, visited a tailoring shop recommended by her close friend, not too far away. For some time now, she was getting more and more dissatisfied with the stitching by her regular tailor to the point of exasperation and she thought of trying out this new tailor whom she had heard about. The tailoring shop was named "Mashoor Shilaii Ghar" meaning, in the local language, 'famous tailoring shop.' The tailor was called by various names – Master or Mashoor or Tailor but his real name was Pawan, Pawan Lal to be precise. Even when Komal casually asked his name, he smiled and said "Madam, my name is Pawan, but people call me by different names and even after the name of my shop. Tell me, if they think me famous, why should I mind?"

The purpose of Komal's visit now was simply to get a few blouses stitched to match her purchased sarees. She didn't have anything else in mind and was indifferent, otherwise, to the tailor's explanations on his name when she walked into the tidy, cozy tailoring shop for ladies. But she hoped that he lived up to what his name implied.

"Well, I certainly hope that you live up to the name that has been thrust on you," she said hoping that at last she might have found the right tailor.

The tailor would have aged around thirty two or so and was well built. Having begun tailoring since he was quite young he had become a 'master' in this profession and women flocked to his shop for perfect tailoring.

In all fairness, the tailor didn't reveal any sign of deviating from what he had set out to do – that is taking the required measurements to complete his task. In the process, his measuring tape had to be wound around Komal's breasts, as he usually did in respect of all his clients, and the tailor had to make careful but deft touches to obtain the correct measurements. He didn't bat an eyelid, didn't show any outward uneasiness or having any other intention. However, although Komal had faced numerous similar situations in the past without even a semblance of emotion, this particular day she was overcome with a feeling that made her blush. Somehow, instead of her normal easiness in the past, she felt a strange liking as the tailor went about his task. Rather unusually, she asked him to take the measurement again as if she was not satisfied with the figures jotted down by the young tailor. She looked down on to the tailor's hands as they held the tape with the tailor telling her to check if his measurement was correct. She was a trifle unmindful. Her attention was riveted not so much on the measurement as to the big strong dark hands of the tailor. For a fleeting second, she thought of the hands holding her breasts, softly squeezing them perhaps, before she awoke to her senses. She quickly recovered and blurted out that the tailor was indeed correct and that he should quickly stitch the blouses even if these cost her more than usual. After that, she quickly walked out of the shop and headed home, a trifle ashamed at the 'wicked' thoughts that had crossed her mind, as if she was already impure!

Yet, in the privacy of her bedroom that afternoon, she sought relief from a rising tide of arousal. She felt helpless in suppressing these thoughts, as the events in the tailoring shop overcame her rational senses. Soon, lying on her bed, she had to run her hand over her mound, which was still covered in the dress she was wearing. A little later, in her aroused state, she blurted out the name of the tailor, Pawan. Without further hesitation, she stood up and undraped her saree, blouse and petticoat. She was back in bed, adorned only in her lingerie, an exotic fancy pair in black. A hand ran across her breasts while another extended below, creeping down to her navel and then to her womanhood that was already on fire. Her panties, she realized, was now wet beyond imagination.

The next afternoon Komal was back at the mall, selecting a few more blouse pieces. Soon, she was driving back to her tailor, her dark glasses hiding the excitement that was creeping in. The events of the day before were fresh in her mind but, more than ever, there seemed to be a deeper urgency to meet the tailor, hand over the blouse pieces and ask him to stitch blouses out of them.

Once she got out of the car, she trotted towards the building that housed the shop and quickly rushed in. Inside the building, she was in a hurry to reach her intended destination - Pawan's "Mashoor Shilayii Ghar". She could feel her legs shaking a trifle, without warning, and Komal was surprised at herself. It was as if some invisible force was shaking her legs with a purpose. At the door to the shop, she saw Pawan and she felt her heart palpitating faster. Fortunately, the tailor was alone and she would not be hindered by others when she faced him.

She was out of breath when she opened her carry bag to take out the blouse pieces. She handed these over and uttered, "Pawan, I want these pieces tailored urgently. Could you quickly take my measurements?"

"That's not necessary Madam," said Pawan, "your measurements were taken only yesterday and they will do."

"No Pawan...please take it again. I think that measurement was not correct, and I want to go in for a change in design too" said Komal in a tone of finality.

"If you insist Madam, I'll...take it again...but really it's ..it's unnecessary," said Pawan, afraid that madam might over react to an honest statement on the futility of the exercise.

Pawan, the tailor, was rather surprised at the insistence of his rich client. He was certain that the existing measurement was correct, but Madam, was adamant.

But then it seemed to him, wanted changes in the style - for she wanted the neckline to drop further, the back to be no more than two inches deep and sleeveless arms with the shoulder strap less than an inch in width. He was quite surprised at these specifications since just the previous day she seemed prudish and conservative in her style without a trace of boldness or being overtly liberal. Nonetheless, he took the tape hanging on his shoulders and started taking measurements afresh.

"Pawan," implored Komal, "I want my blouses to be tighter and...you know... a bit ummm ... showy...if you know what I mean," She was proud of her body, knowing that she had the right shape and curves.

As Pawan coiled the tape around her chest, Komal took a deep breath out of a rising sensuality which she found difficult to suppress. Pawan could feel the heaving breasts touch his fingers that, unknown to the tailor, sent waves of excitement running through the woman's mind. A faint moan escaped her mouth and when Pawan looked up again to ask a question, her lips were parted. There could be no doubt that in the rapid stages of her arousal, Komal was surrendering to her deeper wants and it would be a matter of time before she would succumb fully. However, she pulled away suddenly. Discretion was a better option and, for this sophisticated lady, the shop was no place to release her physical weakness.

"Listen Pawan...I want these tomorrow...can you come over in the afternoon to my house? I'll wear them and check if they are okay...please, don't refuse" said Komal in a voice that could almost be termed 'seduction'. Faint traces of the woman's weakness caught the tailor's eyes.

"Yyes..yyyess," Pawan was stammering, "but I need th..the address." His excitement was suppressed in his stammering. His wife and family lived far away and he was living the life of a deprived hermit in this big city, almost sunk in the breeding millions that made a living in this concrete jungle. Komal hadn't said anything that could be directly sexual, yet her behavior revealed everything that could imply a need, a burning need! She quickly provided her address and hastily left the shop when she observed two young ladies walking in.

///\\\///\\\

The next day began as usual for both Komal and her tailor Pawan. Each went about their chores but as the day progressed, the thoughts of an impending 'appointment' clouded their otherwise normal schedule.

In effect, however, it was a patient yet painful waiting for both the lady and her tailor during this stage, when an undeclared craving between the two remained unrevealed and unexpressed but awaited to be unlocked. Each went through imaginative visuals in their mind throughout the remaining period of time, obviously more exaggerated that night than ever before.

Komal had her usual lunch of curd and salad rather early the next afternoon, much before the arrival of Pawan. She flipped through a woman's magazine in the living room of her apartment, wearing a saree made of soft chiffon in beige and a sleeveless maroon blouse. Her thick black hair fell on to her shoulders and she was, without doubt, looking ravishing. She went on looking intermittently at her watch, becoming more excited with each passing moment.

Pawan, on the other hand, was a bit impatient when a few ladies barged into his shop just when he was about to leave for Komal's apartment. He pacified the girls, pleading his helplessness to attend to them immediately due to some urgent work in hand and promising them to be back by evening. Moments later, he was on his way.

Komal heard the sound of the elevator as a single tinkle announced its arrival and stoppage on her apartment floor. This was followed by footsteps slowly walking up to her apartment door and she held her breath till she heard the musical calling bell play when Pawan pressed the button. She got up from the couch as soon as she heard the sound and, arranging her saree and tightening it around her, she walked up to the door but not before casually letting it fall aside to leave her partly uncovering one of her sharply protruding breasts.

"Pawan! Thank God! I was waiting for you for the last hour or so...come in," she said, closing the door after Pawan who was wearing a shirt that fell casually over his pair of jeans. His shirt had absorbed a bit of sweat as did his forehead where a few beads had formed as well.

"What to do Madam, some clients had turned up just as I was about to come out," he said explaining her delay, "I had to plead and beg them so that I could come here."

"Oh, is that so? I would have felt awful if you didn't come," Komal was speaking the truth, "Now that you have come, I am relieved."

Pawan brought out the blouses that he had stitched from out of his bag and handed them over to Komal.

"I stayed awake last night to finish these blouses, madam," Pawan boasted, "I hope they fit you well. Won't you try them on?"

"Oh, how sweet of you! Yes, yes...let me wear them and see for myself," Komal said in a broken voice and walked away into the bedroom.

When she re-entered, she was wearing a newly stitched blouse which would have made even the most daring girl uneasy. Her saree was now rolling and dragging along the floor and she had left her shapely breasts completely uncovered. Her eyes no longer gave the looks of a sober and reserved woman but that of one who was almost seeking adulation from a man.

"I think you have stitched it very nicely Pawan but see for yourself?" Komal said.

Pawan merely nodded his head, for he could feel a growing hardness in his loins. He found it difficult to express himself and simply nodded his head.

Komal swung around, twisting her body right and left, for a better understanding of his tailoring by Pawan. But, it had other intentions as well. She had allowed Pawan to have the perfect view of her pointed breasts from every angle.

"Well? What do you think?" Komal insisted on getting an answer from her nervous tailor.

"Yyy..yes Madam," he was stammering again, "except fffor..tthis...aaa .tiny...wrr..rrinkle here." He had come forward and pointed a finger at the place where the curves of the woman's right breast ended almost below her armpit.

"What? Where? I can't see...," Komal tried to locate the place, bending sideways.

At that moment, another newly stitched blouse that she was holding in her hand to try out later fell down. Whether that was intentional or accidental could be anyone's guess. But, it resulted in Komal bending down to pick it up. As she did so, Pawan got a glimpse of her cleavage, her pair of exciting breasts dangling together and almost fighting for space. It was an unforgettable sight for the tailor, who beheld a pair of very fair, fresh and extremely desirable boobs. He ached and arched to see more, to have a glimpse of the imaginative grapes that were definitely sitting on the top of those curves but he couldn't.

"Where did you say is that wrinkle? Come on, show me," said Komal standing up and then, as an after thought, raised her right arm and placing it behind her head, quizzically looked down to find the defect in her blouse. Pawan looked in wonder at the exposed armpit of this lady, shaved to a nicety. He was delirious and intoxicated by what he saw but was almost delirious as a pleasant aroma invaded his sense of smell.

"Here," he said, pointing his finger at the spot again.

"I can't make out a difference. Touch the spot Pawan so that I know," Komal's voice was now almost in a sensual whisper.

"Here madam," said Pawan as his finger now touched the spot. But that mere touch made him lose the last vestige of resistance and Pawan was engulfed in a fire that would be impossible to extinguish quickly.

Komal, at this stage, did something unthinkable. She drew herself nearer to the tailor, so much so that the man's finger suddenly pushed into this woman's breast.

Pawan felt helpless in this sudden and unexpected 'nearness' and he felt helpless an uncontrolled and torrid need. From an extended index finger that rested on the edge of a breast, that touch had quickly enlarged as his palm grabbed Komal's soft breast, pressing tenderly before increasing the pressure. Soon, both his hands were on the pair, squeezing and mauling them, like a starving animal that has finally caught his prey before devouring it. There was absolutely no resistance from Komal.

If Pawan presented the picture of a hungry animal, Komal complemented him now. Her pent up desires were released and she brought her parted lips on to his. Her sweet breath covered Pawan's face making him desperate to want more of her.

"Kiss me Pawan...hold me in your arms," her lust for him was now unchecked. Their lips met and their tongues entwined together, as Pawan went on squeezing those perky breasts. He held the nubs, twisting and pulling them outward, not caring if it hurt Komal. She moaned as Pawan swung her around and held her from behind, holding those breasts in the cups of his hand, running his cheeks against hers and, to top it all, pushing his hardness into her butt.

"Take me Pawan," she cried again and again, till the tailor had undraped her out of her saree and was about to rip open the newly tailored blouse. Even in her heightened lust, Komal had the senses to stop him and, quickly, unhooked the blouse to throw it on the floor. To Pawan, Komal looked even more desirable in that exotic white bra, its beauty enhanced with exquisite laces on the cups. His hands went to the string that held the petticoat to her waist, in one bold tug it was loose enough and ready to fall. It grazed her legs and fell to the floor, lying in a heap around her feet. Komal stood in her bra and panties, a delicately woven soft piece that was slightly moist in front as it hugged the beautiful woman. To Pawan, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Possibly, he would never get another opportunity like this ever again and he didn't want to lose a moment. He was quickly holding Komal in his arms again.

It was apparent that both Komal and Pawan had been deprived of one of their basic needs for quite some time. Each tried to be as nearer to the other as they could, pushing and pressing into each other with an urgency that expressed their need. Her breasts were squeezed into the tailor's chest but these were still not fully bare as Komal was still wearing her brassiere. She was just as much eager as Pawan for that raw touch now, raw skin against skin, manly chest against. There could be no doubt that her passions were now fully released and needed to be expressed fully. Just at that moment she felt his hands lift her off the ground. The intention of the tailor was clear. He needed to take her to a bed, or at least make her lie on her back. Just like the cloth pieces that he laid out on his table top before he began his 'work' – that of cutting the blouse pieces before stitching! His bulge in the middle of his jeans was almost bursting out and Komal guessed what he had to offer, the mere thought increasing her own arousal.