Sin City
Copyright© 2009 by Audrey Haber
Chapter 31
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 31 - A tale about Page 3 lifestyles and relationships set in Bombay, India, in the late Nineties.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic NonConsensual Rape Blackmail Cheating Cuckold Rough Torture Interracial White Male Slow
Arif was smiling. Laughing. Chortling. Throwing his hands up in the air and leaping around like an ecstatic acoylte at the Kumbh mela. Freaking out.
This was the happiest day of his life.
Sarla was gone. Out of his life. Vapourized. History.
Past tense.
The woman who had plagued him these last few years. Whose constant demands had become a drain on his resources -- both emotionally and financially. Whose interests, choice of friends, and outlook on life had developed so differently from his own that they had become two completely different individuals from the people they had once been, back in the ancient times when they had met, mated and married.
The wife who had become his worst enemy.
The daughter of the rich lala from whom he had made the mistake of borrowing money -- not really borrowing, but simply accepting the "interest-free loan" Mr Gupta had given him -- to set up his business. A business that had become a travesty of everything he believed in. The exact opposite of how he had wanted to function.
And because Sarla's father had financed him -- and continued to finance him when the business struggled against mounting losses -- he had felt trapped, imprisoned in a life he had never wanted for himself.
And Sarla had assumed she owned him. That he was nothing without her. That she was the great benefactor who had raised him up from the gutter. And without her father's money and her so-called social contacts and snobbish graces, he would have been just another nobody slogging in a mid-level job for the rest of his life.
But now she was gone. And he was free. Free to live life on his own terms. To do as he pleased. Work as he wished. To pursue the dreams that really mattered.
And so he was happy. Maha khush. And to prove it, he was dancing a jig around the empty flat, still holding the note that Sarla had cello-taped to the inside of the front door.
"BYE, SARLA!" he yelled as he danced. Repeating it over and over again, like a disco crowd at a hot dance shop chanting a favourite chorus. And as he yelled out the words, he fell automatically into the rhythm of one of his favourite numbers, the old Everly Brothers number, Bye Bye Love:
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