Adultery Vinod- A Financial Cuckold.

[V4poison]

Vinod came back the next morning just like he’d promised. He had the new washer, some plumber’s tape, and a shy smile that he tried to keep hidden by pretending to read messages on his phone. When Sharmi let him in, she wore a yellow T-shirt with faded blue track pants, her hair up in a loose bun. She looked like she had just rolled out of bed, but her eyes were sharp and awake.



He fixed the faucet in ten minutes. This time, no water sprayed out, and when he ran the tap, it made a clean, steady stream. He wiped his hands on the rag, put all the tools away, and then lingered a moment longer, as if waiting for a mark on his report card. His stomach twisted. He took a deep breath.



“Uh—Sharmi?” he said, voice so soft he almost missed it himself.



She turned from the cupboard where she was putting away the instant coffee jar. “Hmm?”



He looked at his shoes, then at her, then back at the shoes. “Could I… talk to you? I mean, about something.”



She leaned her hip against the counter. “Go ahead.”



Vinod’s hands shook as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small white envelope. It looked even smaller in the kitchen’s bright light, a strange object among the cups and spoons and old grocery lists on the fridge.



“I—I have something for you,” he said, holding it out. His hand hovered in the air.



Sharmi raised an eyebrow but took the envelope. She weighed it in her palm, then squinted at him. “What’s this?”



Vinod tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. “It’s… um, payment. For, uh, your time.”



Her eyebrow went even higher. “For my time? You just fixed my faucet. If anyone gets paid, it’s you.”



Vinod shook his head, his ears burning. “No, it’s not for the faucet. I mean, yes, I fixed it, but—I wanted to ask you something.” He looked at the floor, then at the envelope, then at her face, and then right back to the floor.



Sharmi didn’t open the envelope. She waited.



Vinod’s fingers tugged nervously at the hem of his shirt. “If you don’t mind,” he said, voice small, “I’d like to do more work around your house. Like chores. Or errands. Or whatever you need. But—” He sucked in a shaky breath. “i can even pay you. For letting me.”



For a long, silent second, neither of them spoke.



Sharmi stared at him, head tilted to the side. “You want to pay me,” she repeated, slow and careful, “so you can do my housework?”



He nodded, looking like a kid who’d brought home a dead lizard as a present.



“Why?”



Vinod’s fingers picked at a scab on his knuckle. “I like helping. I mean—I like helping you. It feels nice.” His voice started to go faster, like it was trying to run away. “It makes me happy, but if I just do things, maybe you’ll think I’m being creepy or weird, or maybe you’ll say I’m interfering. So if I pay, it’s like… it’s like I’m not being a bother, because you benefit too.”



He wasn’t sure what he’d said, but now it was all out there, fluttering between them.



Sharmi didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile. She watched him like she was trying to solve a puzzle.



After a moment, she said, “What chores?”



Vinod looked up, surprised she hadn’t thrown him out. “Anything,” he said. “Sweeping, washing, watering your garden. I’m good with repairs. I can also—” He stopped, embarrassed. “—I can also organize things, if you want. Or fetch groceries. Or, uh, clean.”



Sharmi considered this, lips pursed. “So, you want to pay me to let you clean my house.”



“Yes.”



“How much?”



Vinod’s heart thudded. “Um. I put a thousand in the envelope. For a week.”



She opened it now and thumbed through the crisp hundreds. She didn’t look impressed or offended, just curious.



“What if I say no?” she asked.



Vinod’s mouth twisted. “That’s okay. I just—I wanted to try asking.”



She leaned against the sink, arms crossed, the envelope pressed to her chest. “Most people want to be paid to clean,” she said. “You’re the first who’s offered to pay.”



He nodded, feeling his face flame.



Sharmi was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “Why me?”



Vinod’s lips trembled, but he made himself speak. “You’re nice to me. Not just polite. You… notice things. And when you ask for help, even by accident, I feel useful.” His voice dropped even lower. “Sometimes I worry that if I don’t find ways to help, nobody will want me around.”



He hadn’t planned to say that last bit. It just slipped out. He stared at the floor, humiliated, waiting for the world to end.



But the world didn’t end.



Sharmi was still there, head tilted, studying him like he was a new type of insect. She glanced at the envelope, then at the faucet, then back at Vinod.



“Okay,” she said finally.



He looked up, not sure he’d heard right. “Okay?”



Sharmi tapped her fingers against the sink a few times before answering. “One week trial,” she said at last. She took the envelope, folded it, and tucked it into the deep pocket of her old blue track pants. “You sweep the porch, water the garden, and do laundry on Sundays.” She looked him up and down, measuring his nervous energy like it was another appliance to fix. “You do not come into the house unless you knock and wait for me to let you in. If you want to talk to me, you have to ask for permission first. Understood?”

Vinod’s reply was instant, urgent. “Yes. Absolutely. Thank you,” he stammered, glasses sliding halfway down his nose as he nodded too hard.

Sharmi uncrossed her arms and leaned closer, voice low but not unfriendly. “Why the rules?” she asked, looking at him with that steady, curious stare.

Vinod’s hands were locked together in front of him, knuckles pressing white. He tried to keep his voice even. “Rules help. I don’t always know what’s okay or not. Sometimes I get things wrong.” He chewed his lip. “I’d rather you tell me exactly what you want. It’s easier to do a good job that way. I don’t want to… overstep.” He didn’t say it, but the word lingered between them: “again.”

Sharmi turned away, filled a glass of water, and drank half. She set the glass down and took a moment. Her reflection, sharp in the microwave’s chrome, seemed to be thinking too. “So, you want this to be like a job, but you pay me,” she said, just to hear it out loud.

Vinod’s face reddened, but he nodded. “Right. A job, but… the opposite. I mean, you’re the boss, but I pay you instead.”

Sharmi found herself smiling, the edges of her mouth curling despite herself. She didn’t know why it amused her, but it did. Maybe it was Vinod’s awkwardness, or the way he seemed both desperate and hopeful at the same time. Maybe it was because, for once, someone needed her in a very clear, practical way—and was even willing to pay for the privilege.

She took another look at the envelope in her pocket. “How did you decide on a thousand?” she asked.

Vinod hesitated. “I looked online. That’s what some cleaners get in a week, but I figured I should pay more since—since it’s not normal. The arrangement, I mean.” He wrung his hands. “If it’s not enough, I can add more.”

Sharmi’s eyebrows went up, but she didn’t say no. She just nodded, like she was filing the information away for later. “You might as well start tomorrow,” she said. “Just the porch and the garden at first. If you do a good job, we’ll see about the laundry.”

Vinod’s head bobbed again. “Thank you. I’ll do my best. I promise I’ll be early.”

Sharmi closed the cupboard and turned to leave. Before she did, she glanced back at Vinod, who was still standing by the sink, eyes wide and posture straight, like a soldier waiting for orders. She thought for a second, then added, “There’s a list of groceries on the fridge. If you want, you can pick them up on your way.”

He nodded, so eager now that his voice almost cracked. “Okay. Will do.”

Sharmi left the room, and Vinod stood there for a moment, heart hammering, not sure if he was supposed to go or wait for more instructions. When it was clear she wasn’t coming back, he shuffled out, his shoes making almost no noise on the tile.

Vinod felt his shoulders loosen, like he’d set down a heavy backpack. “I’ll be here early,” he promised.



“Not too early,” Sharmi said, a hint of smile in her voice. “I like to sleep in on Sundays.”



He smiled back, small but honest. “I’ll wait for your signal.”



Sharmi snorted. “You’re impossible.”



But she said it with a smile. Vinod walked out of her house feeling taller than he’d ever been.



As he stepped onto the street, he looked up at her window, half-expecting her to be there already. But the curtain was closed.



He grinned to himself and walked home, thinking about tomorrow.

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After Vinod left, Sharmi stood in the kitchen for a long time, turning the envelope of money over in her hand. She didn’t open it at first. She just held it, feeling the smoothness of the paper and the way it barely weighed anything. She set it down on the counter, but then picked it up again, rolling it between her fingers. Finally, she slipped a nail under the flap and opened it.



The bills inside were neatly arranged. She counted them once, then again. A thousand rupees—ten blue notes, all crisp, barely folded. She tapped them against her palm, watching the way the edges lined up. It wasn’t much, but it was real. Money for nothing, or for something she hadn’t even decided she wanted yet.



She sat down at the kitchen table and looked out the window. The neighborhood was quiet except for the distant sound of a television, and the occasional street dog barking at shadows. Sharmi watched a moth beat itself against the porch light. She thought about Vinod: his anxious hands, his careful words, the way he looked almost relieved to hand her the envelope.



She poured herself another glass of water, then set the envelope beside it and stared at both for a while. She felt her heartbeat slow. She liked the envelope best when it was in her hand.



When the sun went down, she wandered into her bedroom and turned on her laptop. She sat cross-legged on the bed, screen casting blue light across her face and arms. She opened a search window and typed in: “paying for chores.”



The results were all wrong. Ads for maids, cleaning services, a few government job postings. She refined it: “paying neighbor to do chores.” Still nothing good. She changed the words again: “paying to do chores.” Closer. Some blog posts about obsessive cleaning and a single link to a forum titled “Financial Domination.”



She clicked.



The page loaded slow. It was mostly anonymous users, with pixelated avatars and usernames like “queenofcoins” and “debtdaddy.” She skimmed the posts, not understanding most of the slang, but catching enough to get the idea: some people wanted to pay to be told what to do. Some wanted to pay just for the chance to clean, or organize, or even just wait to be told what to do. There were rules. There were fees, tributes, punishments for breaking the rules. There were even lists of chores, spelled out like contracts.



Sharmi grinned. Not a big grin, just the small one she used when she solved a Sudoku puzzle in her head.



She opened a new tab and started a blank document. She typed: “Vinod Chore Rules.”



She listed them out, neat and simple, like the forum said.



- Must knock before entering



- Must ask permission to speak



- Must pay extra for personal items (laundry, bathroom cleaning, etc.)



- Weekly tribute increases by 10%



- Can request special tasks for bonus payment



She paused after each rule, thinking about how Vinod would react to them. She imagined his face: nervous, but excited. She pictured him waiting at the gate, envelope in hand, shoes already dusted, hoping to be useful. It made her want to laugh, but not in a mean way.



She made a second list: “Possible Rewards.”



- Verbal praise (“Good job, Vinod”)



- Allow him to have tea together after chores are finished



- Let him organize a shelf in her kitchen



- Thank him with a smile



She considered punishments, too, but that made her laugh for real. What could she do—ban him from sweeping the porch? Maybe that would hurt more than anything.



Sharmi flipped to the forum again, scrolling through more posts. Some were funny, some a little sad, but all of them had the same undercurrent: someone wanted to control, and someone wanted to be controlled. In her house, she had always done everything for herself, just to prove she could. Now she was being paid to let someone else do it. The power shift felt new, but also comfortable, like a sari that fit just right.



She closed the browser. She wrote a few more lines in her notebook, listing possible tasks for the week: weeding the garden, cleaning the ceiling fan, replacing the broken drawer handle. She doodled a box for “bonus tasks,” then went back and underlined it twice.



She looked at the envelope again. It sat on the bedside table, a little slouched from being opened, but otherwise still perfect.



Sharmi picked it up and ran her finger along the edge. She wondered how much Vinod would pay, week after week. She wondered if he would ever quit, or if she would get bored first. She didn’t think she would.



After a while, she turned on her phone and scrolled to Anjali’s number. She hit call and waited.



Anjali answered on the third ring. “What’s up, darling? Still awake?”



“You won’t believe what happened today,” Sharmi said, voice bright. “Remember that shy neighbor I told you about? He just offered to pay me to let him do my chores.”



There was a pause, then a squeal. “What? Wait, what? Tell me everything. No details left out, okay?”



Sharmi laughed and started from the beginning. The yellow faucet, the envelope, the way Vinod’s hands shook. She told Anjali about the rules she was writing, the forum, the feeling of power. She listened to her friend gasp and giggle on the other end, and felt the smile on her own lips get bigger with every word.



By the time she hung up, the envelope was still in her hand.



She put it under her pillow and slept easy.