Chapter 6

Please Read the pevious Chapters. This is a continuation of that.

The return journey was a humiliating gauntlet. Every stroke was an effort, her arms heavy with lead, her heart hammering against her ribs. The fifty yards felt like a mile. The roar of the waves and the distant chatter of the beachgoers seemed to amplify in her ears, mocking her.

By the time the water level dropped to her waist, Zubeidha was gasping for air, her chest heaving. She stood up, the water cascading off her bare, sun-browned shoulders. The relief of touching the sandy bottom was short-lived.

Without warning, a wall of water hit her square in the face.

It wasn’t a playful splash. It was a coordinated assault. Ravi and Shyam had cupped their hands and launched a barrage of seawater directly at her eyes and nose.

“Agh! My eyes!” Zubeidha sputtered, clawing at her face. The stinging salt blinded her instantly. She squeezed her eyes shut, coughing and hacking, her hands instinctively flying up to protect her face.

“Whoops!” Shyam’s voice rang out, dripping with false innocence. “Slippery hands!”

In the split second Zubeidha’s vision was obscured and her hands were busy trying to wipe the burning salt from her eyes, she felt two sets of hands on her hips.

“No!” she gasped, but it was too late.

She felt the sharp tug at her hip bones, followed by the sudden, sickening slackness around her waist. The strings of her bikini bottoms had been undone. Before she could clamp her legs together to catch the fabric, Shyam and Ravi yanked the loose garment down her thighs with a swift, brutal jerk.

The red Lycra snagged for a moment on her knees, then slid free, floating away into the swirling surf.

Zubeidha froze. The panic of the blindness warred with the sudden, chilling exposure of her lower half. The cool ocean water rushed in, touching her everywhere—her thighs, her buttocks, the smooth, sensitive mound of her sex. There was absolutely nothing left. She was completely, utterly naked.

“Got ‘em!” Ravi cheered.

“Open your eyes, Aunty!” Shyam laughed. “Look what you lost!”

Zubeidha rubbed her eyes frantically, blinking away the tears and blurred vision. The world slowly swam back into focus.

The first thing she saw was the beach. It was no longer a distant blur of colors. It was terrifyingly close. She could see people lounging on chairs, children building sandcastles, a vendor walking with a stack of coconuts. They were fifty feet away.

She looked down.

The water around her waist was clear and turquoise. Below the surface, her body was pale and brown, her legs long and smooth. But there was no red triangle. No fabric. Just the dark triangle of her pubic hair, floating weightlessly in the current.

“My ... my bottoms,” she whispered, her voice trembling so hard it almost disappeared in the ocean breeze.

She looked around frantically. The boys had backed away, forming a semi-circle around her, grinning like hyenas. There, floating lazily between Ravi’s legs, was the tiny red scrap of fabric.

Zubeidha made a lunge for it. “Give them to me!”

She tried to wade forward, keeping her thighs pressed together, but the water slowed her down. The boys simply kicked the floating bikini away from her, playing a crude game of keep-away.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Ravi tsked, splashing water at her. “We’re not touching them. They’re yours. You go get them.”

“But ... but I’m naked!” Zubeidha cried out, crossing her arms over her chest, trying to preserve some shred of dignity while her nether regions were on display to anyone who cared to look through the water.

“You’re in the water, Aunty,” Rajya pointed out calmly, adjusting his wet spectacles. “The water provides cover. Technically, you are decent.”

“Get them, Mom,” Jamal said. He was standing a few feet away, his eyes fixed on the water swirling around her waist. He wasn’t helping. He wasn’t defending her. He was watching.

“You have to bend over, Mom,” Shyam snickered. “Like a good servant girl picking up the laundry.”

The red bottom had floated toward the surface, bobbing enticingly in the shallows. It was just out of reach. To grab it, she couldn’t just squat. She would have to lean forward. She would have to expose her backside to the beach.

“I can’t,” she sobbed. “Please, Jamal. Make them stop.”

“Get the bottom, Mom,” Jamal said, his voice tight. “Just get it and put it on. Let’s just get it over with.”

His dismissal was the final straw. He didn’t care about her shame. He just wanted the show.

Defeated, Zubeidha took a shuddering breath. The water was waist-deep, low enough that if she bent over, her buttocks would break the surface. High enough that she couldn’t hide what she was doing.

She took a step toward the floating red fabric. The boys fell silent, watching intently.

Zubeidha planted her feet in the sand, shoulder-width apart to keep her balance. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to pretend she was anywhere but here. Then, she bent at the waist.

It was a nightmare in slow motion.

As she lowered her upper body, her heavy breasts swung free of the water’s buoyancy, dangling down like ripe fruit, slapping wetly against her chest. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

As she leaned over to reach for the fabric, her buttocks rose from the water.

The sun was high and bright behind her. To the people on the beach, if they looked, they would see a woman bending over, her back arched, presenting two large, round, wet brown globes to the world. The water cascaded down her spine and dripped from her anus, running into the crack of her ass.

It was a pose of total submission. A pose of offering.

“Nice view!” Shyam shouted loudly, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Hey! Everyone look! Moonlight at noon!”

Zubeidha flinched at his shout, her hand closing around the wet red fabric. Her fingers clawed at it, desperate to cover herself.

“Lower,” Ravi teased. “You almost have it. Stick your ass out more.”

Whimpering, Zubeidha stretched her arm further, arching her back even more. The movement spread her buttocks slightly, exposing the dark, hidden recess between them to the sun and the wind. She felt the air hit her anus, a sensation so intimate and violating it made her gasp.

She snatched the bikini bottom and straightened up with a jerk, water sluicing off her body. She immediately clamped one hand over her breasts and used the other to fumble with the tangled strings of the bottoms, trying to find the ties.

But her hands were shaking too hard. The wet knots were tight.

“Need help?” Ravi asked, wading closer.

“No! Stay away!” Zubeidha screamed, backing up.

“Turn around,” Jamal said.

She looked at him, confused.

“Turn around, Mom,” he repeated, his voice husky. “Put your back to us. Put it on.”

It wasn’t an act of kindness. He wanted to watch her ass again while she struggled.

Zubeidha’s fingers were slippery with saltwater and trembling violently, but she finally managed to knot the strings of the bikini bottoms at her hip. She pulled the fabric tight, wincing as it dug into her soft flesh, covering the last remnant of her modesty. For a fleeting second, she felt a surge of relief—false, fragile relief.

“There,” she gasped, turning to face the boys, her arms crossed desperately over her chest. “I have them on. Let’s go back to the room. Please.”

“Not so fast, Aunty,” Ravi said, stepping forward.

The water swirled around his waist as he closed the gap between them. Shyam flanked her on the other side, boxing her in. They loomed over her, their youthful, muscular bodies blocking her view of the shore.

“The fit looks all wrong,” Ravi said, his eyes dropping to her hips. “It’s bunching up. Here, let me fix it.”

“We don’t have all day,” Shyam added. “We can’t walk with her looking like a mess.”

Before Zubeidha could protest, four hands descended on her.

They didn’t adjust the fabric. They mauled her.

Ravi’s hand slid between her legs, his palm cupping her mound over the red triangle of the bikini. He squeezed hard, his middle finger pressing the fabric into her slit, rubbing her roughly through the Lycra.

“Ah! Stop! Don’t touch there!” Zubeidha shrieked, trying to twist away, but Shyam grabbed her hips to hold her steady.

Shyam’s hands were worse. He ran his hands up and down her outer thighs, his fingers digging into her flesh, before moving inward to stroke the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. He pinched the loose skin of her groin, making her yelp.

“Nice and tight,” Ravi grunted, working his finger against her clit, the friction of the wet fabric sending unwanted jolts of electricity up her spine. “But I think the camel toe is showing. What do you think, guys?”

“Looks like a sloppy package,” Shyam laughed, his hand creeping up to tug at the waistband, snapping it against her skin.

“Please! Jamal! Make them stop!” Zubeidha cried out, tears mixing with the seawater on her face.

Jamal stood a few feet away, watching his mother being manhandled in the open water. He saw the way Ravi’s hand was moving between her legs, saw the way Shyam was groping her thighs. He saw the flush rising on her neck despite her protests.

Jamal stood motionless in the waist-deep water, the red bikini top still clutched tightly in his fist like a captured flag. He watched his mother’s face—a twisted mask of humiliation and unwanted stimulation—as Ravi relentlessly ground the palm of his hand against her clothed sex.

“Jamal, tell them!” Zubeidha screamed, her voice cracking.

Ravi looked over at his friend, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. He didn’t stop his movements; if anything, he pressed harder, making Zubeidha’s knees buckle. “Jamal,” he called out casually, as if they were discussing homework. “Your mom is asking for your opinion. Do you think the top suits you better than her?”

Jamal looked at the wet red scrap in his hand. He looked at his mother’s heaving, bare breasts, glistening in the sun, swaying with the rough movements of Ravi’s groping. He felt a dark, possessive thrill shoot through him. The top belonged to him now. A trophy.

“I...” Jamal started, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat. “I think I’ll hold onto it, Ravi.”

Zubeidha’s head snapped toward her son, her eyes wide with betrayal. “Jamal? No! You can’t! Give it to me!”

“See?” Ravi laughed, finally pulling his hand away from between her legs with a loud, wet smack. “Democracy in action. The boy keeps the trophy.”

“And since you took so long fetching the bottoms,” Shyam added, releasing his grip on her thigh and giving her buttock a sharp pinch, “I think you’ve forfeited the right to the top. Consider it a penalty for poor performance.”

“But ... but the beach,” Zubeidha stammered, wrapping her arms tighter around her chest, trying to hide her heavy mounds. “There are people. Families. I can’t just ... walk.”

“You can and you will,” Ravi said firmly. He turned and began wading toward the shore. “March, Zubeidha. Single file. And hands down.”

“Hands down!” Shyam echoed, splashing water at her backside. “Or Ravi goes back in and finishes what he started.”

Zubeidha looked at the receding figures of the boys, then back at Jamal, who was already wading past her, refusing to meet her eye. She was alone in the water, surrounded by enemies. She knew they weren’t bluffing. If she resisted, they would bend her over right here and rape her in the surf.

With a sob of defeat, Zubeidha dropped her arms to her sides.

The sensation was immediate and terrifying. Her breasts felt heavy, exposed to the open air. The cool ocean breeze dried the water on her skin, tightening her dark brown nipples until they were painfully erect. She felt naked, not just physically, but spiritually stripped.

“Let’s go!” Ravi shouted from the shallows.

Zubeidha began to walk.

The transition from water to land was a slow-motion nightmare. With every step, the water level dropped, revealing more of her body. First her waist, then her hips, then the curly dark triangle of her pubic hair peeking over the red bikini line.

When the water fell below her thighs, the bikini bottoms provided little coverage. They were cut high, exposing the full roundedness of her buttocks and the fleshy tops of her thighs. But it was her chest that drew the eye.

She was a voluptuous woman. Her breasts were large, heavy, and possessed a natural, maternal sag that accentuated their size. As she walked, they bounced rhythmically, slapping softly against her ribs. The sunlight glinted off the wet skin, making them gleam.

They reached the dry sand.

“Last lap,” Shyam cheered. “Let’s pick up the pace.”

Zubeidha tried to hurry, but the soft sand made her feet sink. The motion of running made her breasts bounce violently, up and down, side to side. She had to fight the instinct to hold them.

They passed a couple in their twenties, lying on towels reading. The man looked up, his sunglasses sliding down his nose. His mouth fell open. He elbowed his girlfriend, who sat up and stared, a look of shocked disgust on her face.

Zubeidha heard them gasp. She saw them pointing.

“Oh my god,” she heard a girl whisper as they walked past a group of teenagers playing frisbee. The game stopped. All eyes turned to the topless Muslim woman being marched down the beach by four young boys. Whistles and catcalls began to erupt.

“Nice tits, Aunty!” “Show us your ass!” “Go back to the nudist colony!”

The humiliation burned through Zubeidha’s skin. She kept her eyes fixed on the ground in front of her, counting her steps, trying to detach her mind from her body. She felt like a piece of meat being paraded to the market.

Jamal walked ahead of her, the red top swinging from his hand. He didn’t look back at the spectacle, but he walked taller, his chest puffed out. He heard the comments, the jeers, the lust. He knew they were looking at her, his mother. And he was the one leading her.

Finally, they reached their spot. The umbrella was still there, the towels laid out. The sanctuary felt tainted now.

Ravi stopped and turned, gesturing to the empty space between the towels. “We’re here. Safe and sound.”

Zubeidha collapsed onto her towel, curling up into a fetal ball, wrapping her arms around her breasts to hide them from the staring crowd. She buried her face in the crook of her arm, shaking uncontrollably.

“Good walk,” Ravi said, sitting down on his towel and grabbing a bottle of water. “Got the blood pumping.”