Nilima's Gift

Nilima's Gift by Neil McCall

According to Nilima's younger brother Saeed, arranged marriages as
practised by their Bangladeshi community had considerable advantages
over the Western ideal of a love match. Furthermore, he was always
ready to elaborate on these advantages, which included the
following:

a) you don't have to pretend you like girlie dancing in order to
meet women b) you don't have to spend loads of money on restaurants,
flowers and all that sort of crap c) you don't have to be too
particular about personal hygiene d) if you get any funny business from
your wife, you give her a slap or, better still, get your mother to do
it.

However, these advantages were not enjoyed exclusively by the male
gender; there was always one overriding factor which, in Saeed's
opinion, would work in his sister's favour:

e) if you're old and fat and ugly like Nilima, there was always some
poor distant relative who could be bribed or threatened to take you
on.

But, amazingly, there was someone who was prepared to take on Nilima
without undue pressure being applied; a first cousin, a British
citizen, the ideal choice from the family's point of view. Furthermore,
Nasim was not exactly poor, for he had a good job in an import/export
business, although Saeed pointed out that Nasim wore very thick
spectacles which he would probably mislay on every occasion on which he
had to meet his betrothed, and would doubtless ensure that he trod on
them just before the wedding ceremony. And his parents were very
well-off!

Despite Saeed's disparagement, Nilima was not a bad catch either;
although her shalwaar qamiz was supposed to conceal her bodily
contours, to the practised eye she had a good, if slightly full, figure
and her face, which by contrast was open to view by all, was
unblemished. Her eyes - when not modestly downturned - sparkled with
humour and intelligence, her nose was pert and shapely and if her lips
were slightly too wide for classic beauty they accentuated an earthy
attractiveness which appealed to David, as did her carefully-painted
toenails, for whilst Nilima was orthodox in modesty and always kept her
hair covered, she spent freely on facials, manicures and pedicures to
ensure that her visible extremities were immaculately maintained.

Nilima, David and David's girlfriend Fiona were all IT
undergraduates coming to the end of their industrial placement at an
insurance company's West Midlands headquarters and had built up a solid
if slightly strange friendship over the past year; religious and
cultural considerations meant that Nilima could not refer to David, a
single man to whom she was unrelated, as her friend, whilst Fiona's
easygoing immorality was something Nilima had both scorned and secretly
envied at the same time. Yet Fiona, a born diplomat, had crossed these
boundaries to become Nilima's closest friend, and had even managed to
charm Nilima's well-meaning but strict parents, at whose home she had
become a regular fixture. Fiona, with her loose baggy tops and
calf-length skirts; Fiona, who never drank alcohol except at festive
occasions when British culture demanded it; Fiona, who talked with
knowledge and understanding about their Bengali homeland and ate
everything offered in hospitality, this other Fiona had somehow become
set in the minds of Nilima's parents as a fit person to fulfil a
chaperone role, and thus they were perfectly happy to allow their
daughter to visit Fiona's little flat, which Fiona had thoughtfully
furnished with a double bed, in case, as she explained, Nilima should
ever wish to stay over.

A week before Nilima's wedding Fiona drove Nilima straight from work
on the Friday evening to the flat where they shared a takeaway; David
had decided to stay late at the office, catch a bite to eat in town and
watch a film; they all knew that Nilima's parents would be uneasy if
they knew that she was seeing the supposedly-single David outside of
the necessity of the work environment. Shortly after seven o'clock
there was a knock at the door. "Can you answer the door, Nil?" asked
Fiona who had contrived to be in the bathroom at the time. Nilima
reluctantly answered the door and was astonished to see two of her
female cousins plus two Bangladeshi girls of a similar age who lived in
her street standing on the doorstep, arms laden with cakes, soft drinks
and mysterious items wrapped inside shopping bags. "We couldn't let you
get married without having a hen night," explained Fiona, emerging from
the bathroom wrapped in a towel.

The impromptu hen night went with a swing; more so than Fiona would
ever have imagined. Once inside the safe confines of the house, the
girls began to shed their inhibitions as they greedily guzzled and
started to unwrap wedding presents of varying taste as "Bend It Like
Beckham" played on the video recorder. One cousin presented Nilima with
two beautiful shalwaar qamiz which a relative had made up and sent from
Sylhet, together with a large chocolate willy from much nearer home
which Nilima was forced to eat in front of them all. The other cousin
presented her with sheer stockings and co-ordinated underwear which she
had to try on, gyrating like a belly dancer as they clapped and
cheered. Out came magazines featuring raunchy stories of Bollywood
stars, a vibrator and a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs with which Nilima
was restrained whilst she was blindfolded, prodded with the vibrator
and fed what turned out to be a seekh kebab wrapped in a chocolate
flavour condom. Fiona could hardly believe what she was seeing; the
normally demure Nilima, now the centre of attention, was lapping it all
up. An idea began to form.

They finally got rid of the four giggling visitors, high on
adrenaline and freshly-released libido, just before David's film was
due to finish. Fiona carefully piled Nilima's real presents into a
corner and swept the tacky stuff into a carrier bag. Her own present, a
tasteful embroidered tablecloth and place mats, had been shown, admired
and rewrapped ready for presentation at the wedding to which Fiona was,
of course, invited. David, again for cultural reasons, hadn't been
invited and hadn't been allowed to buy a present, although he would
have dearly loved to. "I suppose I ought to be getting back home," said
Nilima reluctantly. "You could stay over," offered Fiona, "David won't
mind sleeping on the settee; I'll ring your folks." And once the matter
was settled, Fiona revealed her plan for the rest of the evening to an
incredulous and embarrassed Nilima; David would provide a gift for her
after all!

Eleven o'clock; Nilima lay on the wide bed in the pitch-blackness,
her heart thumping wildly and her mouth dry. In the next room, soft
voices, then a double chuckle and the sound of the late-night music TV
channel grew in intensity. The door opened softly and admitted diffuse
light, framing the figure of David. The door closed again, the darkness
returned and he silently approached the bed. He lifted the billowing
silken underskirt, borrowed from Fiona's boudoir collection, until it
lay in soft folds around Nilima's midriff. Then he lay face down at the
end of the bed and leant forward until his face gently rested between
her knees. Slowly she opened her legs to admit him further, his evening
stubble grating against her new stockings until she felt his lips
against her bare upper thigh. With an effort of will she stretched her
legs as wide as they would go and was rewarded with a flurry of soft,
light kisses across her labia; she lifted her buttocks involuntarily to
met his exploring tongue as it traced the path of the kisses, then
flicked deeper within her. The tongue snaked higher and she gave a gasp
as it made contact with her clitoris; then the lips came back into play
and gently drew her clitoris into his mouth and held it there for a few
seconds. Back to the labia, firmer this time, following the contours
round and down, then on to her clitoris again. Masterful with her
external organs but hesitant around the perimeter of her unbroken
hymen, David tried to stay as still as possible as Nilima panted and
writhed; she grabbed the pillow and bit on to it hard, for fear that
her cries and the creaks of the bed would drown out the music, then
realised that the music had faded several minutes previously. So what
if Fiona was listening, this was all her idea! As Nilima's orgasm
peaked, she let out a long, shuddering moan which the pillow could not
stifle, and heard a gleeful "Yes!" from the sitting room. David then
asked her very politely if she had been satisfied, or maybe she would
like further attention? Her answer was to take the soggy pillow and
wedge it beneath her back so that her body was arched and her dripping
vulva raised and exposed to the cool night air; this time David knelt
before her in obedience and slowly renewed his offering in the pitch
dark. Her second orgasm was less urgent and intense but slower, deeper
and more delicious; when David had departed to wash his face Nilima
realised that he had been incredibly self-controlled; as promised, he
hadn't touched her with his hands, he hadn't even seen her nakedness
and she had no idea to what extent he had enjoyed the experience. And
she could still face Nasim the following week and truthfully make the
rehearsed declarations of purity: "No man but you has ever seen me
undressed!" "No man but you has ever kissed my lips!" "No man but you
has ever laid his hands on me!" But even as she worked through all the
virtuous things she could honestly say to Nasim, and the details which
must remain unspoken, she realised that she would be perpetrating an
unnecessary deception; all that would really be required at the time
would be the proof of virginity, that she hadn't hitherto been
penetrated. And also she was being unfair on her best friends by being
too proscriptive, too self-centred in response to their amazing
generosity. As she fumbled for the switch on the bedside lamp, her hand
came into contact with something cold and hard.

"Fiona, would you come in here a minute, please?" asked Nilima
meekly. Fiona stepped into the room wearing pyjamas; a very different
Nilima suddenly pounced from behind the door, yanked Fiona's arms
behind her back and snapped the handcuffs on her wrists. They were not
the pink fluffy ones but the solid steel variety from the military
surplus store, the kind Fiona preferred and had left lying around.
Nilima propelled her roughly on to the bed and ripped down the pyjama
bottoms. "Get a good earful did you, you randy bitch? Well, you've got
it coming to you now!" She tweaked Fiona's nipples through the fabric
as hard as she dare, and heard her gasp. David stood in the doorway
again, open-mouthed. "And as for you, ghora, take that kit off and get
a good, long hot shower! I'll be dealing with you next and I don't want
you stinking of this little white slut!" For, despite being a modest
and practical girl, Nilima had a fertile imagination, and had watched
some of the wrong kind of films; David took his shower as ordered,
slowly and gleefully, and left Fiona to her fate.

Half-past midnight, and Mistress Nilima was flagging, but prospects
of imminent sleep were dashed as, with an unspoken accord, David and
Fiona suddenly rose up together, pinioned Nilima's arms and frogmarched
her towards the wide dressing table; they pushed her on to an upright
chair facing the mirror and David held her until Fiona had retrieved
the fluffy handcuffs, with which she linked Nilima's wrists behind the
chair. "Now it's your turn; you can sit and watch what we're going to
do to you," smiled Fiona. Nilima tried to be stoical; if she could give
it she had to be prepared to take it, but she was still anxious.
"Please don't leave any lasting marks," she pleaded, "I don't want to
have to explain them on my wedding night!" David selected a
long-handled hairbrush and tapped it meaningfully against his palm.
"I'll try not to make it hurt too much," he promised, "But you've been
a very wild girl tonight, you know!" Fiona picked up an emery board and
tested its abrasive qualities on her thumb. "I'm not promising anything
after what you did to me," she warned. Nilima glanced down at Fiona's
wrists, chafed by straining against the metal handcuffs, and bit her
lip. "I'll get everything ready," continued Fiona sweetly, "and I'm
sure you won't mind taking her stockings off, will you, David?"

David obeyed promptly, for this was one of his very favourite tasks!
He unpeeled each stocking slowly, kissing Nilima lightly all the way
from thigh to toenails. She could not see what Fiona was doing in the
kitchen, but she could hear that it clearly involved water; by the time
Fiona reappeared, Nilima was still unable to deduce what Fiona had in
mind, for by now David was fondling her and stealing passionate
open-mouthed kisses which she was unable - and unwilling - to resist.
There was a click, followed by a rising hum and a bubbling noise. Fiona
put an end to the foreplay by directing David back to the hairbrush as
she manoeuvred the foot spa into place and proceeded to give Nilima a
thorough pedicure before repainting her toenails, whilst David tenderly
brushed the tangles out of Nilima's long midnight-black hair. When he
had restored her hair's glossy smoothness he carefully refreshed her
smeared make-up, then released her wrists and massaged her neck and
shoulders with fragrant oils until she drifted off to sleep in his
arms.

Nilima awoke with the first rays of Saturday's dawn, wedged between
David and Fiona in the rumpled bed. Her two lovers were still asleep,
though David's hand rested across her breast and Fiona lay curled
towards her, so as to maximise their nocturnal touch; as Fiona had
said, no one should sleep alone on their hen night. David and Fiona had
still been mindful of Nilima's virginity and, though threatening all
kinds of thrilling depravity, had in reality handled her with care and
gentleness. Which was more than would be the case the following week
when she would, she feared, be deflowered clumsily and painfully,
blood- and semen-stained sheets being paraded round her new husband's
household like some vile flag proclaiming virtue and honour; Nilima now
had no doubts as to just where the obscenity lay! For David and Fiona,
the immoral Westerners, had given her a most precious gift, imparted
cheerfully and whole-heartedly; she had to take it and cherish it, let
it flourish in her private world of desire, and maybe if Nasim turned
out to be a good and understanding husband she would some day take his
hand and lead him there. She gently disentangled herself from her
friends' bodies, shuffled down the bed so as to not wake them and began
to rummage for her discarded clothes.