22-04-2026, 10:32 AM
The next hour was spent on logistics.
Karthik, the youngest and most tech-savvy, would handle the communication. A separate WhatsApp group, encrypted, no screenshots, no forwarding. Each man would use a pseudonym. Sharma would be "Fire," Mehta would be "Smoke," Gupta would be "Ash," Karthik would be "Flame," and Singh would be "Ember."
"Very dramatic," Mehta observed.
"Security isn't dramatic. Security is paranoid." Karthik typed quickly on his phone. "The group is live. I've set it to disappear messages after twenty-four hours. If anyone gets caught, the evidence vanishes."
"Nobody's getting caught," Sharma said confidently.
"Nobody's getting caught because everyone follows the rules." Singh's voice was steel. "Rule one: no one touches her without her explicit consent. We're not animals. Rule two: no photography, no recording, no exceptions. Rule three: what happens in the shed stays in the shed. If I hear a single whisper about this outside this room, I will personally ensure that the whisperer's life becomes very, very difficult. Understood?"
Nods all around.
"Now," Singh continued, "the practicalities. We'll need supplies. Condoms—plenty of them. Water. Towels. Something to drink—not too much alcohol, we need our faculties. And a mattress. The shed has a concrete floor."
"I'll bring a mattress from my guest room," Gupta offered. "My wife never uses it."
"Good. Mehta, you're in charge of refreshments. Karthik, you handle protection. Sharma, you're the point of contact—you've already been with her, so you'll approach her about the... invitation. Make it clear that participation is optional. No pressure. No coercion."
"And if she says no?" Mehta asked.
"Then we shake hands, drink our whiskey, and forget this conversation ever happened." Singh looked around the room. "But she won't say no."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I've seen the way she looks at us, Mehta. The same way a cat looks at a bowl of cream. She's hungry. She's been hungry for a long time. And we, gentlemen, are the cream."
The conversation drifted after that—to work, to politics, to the usual frustrations of middle-class life. But the energy had shifted. There was an electricity in the room now, a sense of purpose that had been missing since the meeting began.
The room settled. Glasses clinked. The fan clicked.
"One more thing," Singh said quietly. "The Holika Dahan ritual. The burning of Holika, the demoness. The triumph of devotion over evil. Do you know why we celebrate it?"
"To burn away our sins," Mehta offered.
"To burn away our inhibitions," Singh corrected. "For one night, we are allowed to be wild. To be free. To touch the fire and not get burned." He looked at each man in turn. "Let's not waste the opportunity."
The meeting ended at midnight. The men dispersed into the dark colony, their footsteps echoing off the concrete walls, their minds full of flames and flesh and the promise of a woman who would, very soon, belong to all of them.
Behind them, in the generator shed, a spider spun its web in the corner, patient and waiting. The night was quiet. The fire was coming.
Karthik, the youngest and most tech-savvy, would handle the communication. A separate WhatsApp group, encrypted, no screenshots, no forwarding. Each man would use a pseudonym. Sharma would be "Fire," Mehta would be "Smoke," Gupta would be "Ash," Karthik would be "Flame," and Singh would be "Ember."
"Very dramatic," Mehta observed.
"Security isn't dramatic. Security is paranoid." Karthik typed quickly on his phone. "The group is live. I've set it to disappear messages after twenty-four hours. If anyone gets caught, the evidence vanishes."
"Nobody's getting caught," Sharma said confidently.
"Nobody's getting caught because everyone follows the rules." Singh's voice was steel. "Rule one: no one touches her without her explicit consent. We're not animals. Rule two: no photography, no recording, no exceptions. Rule three: what happens in the shed stays in the shed. If I hear a single whisper about this outside this room, I will personally ensure that the whisperer's life becomes very, very difficult. Understood?"
Nods all around.
"Now," Singh continued, "the practicalities. We'll need supplies. Condoms—plenty of them. Water. Towels. Something to drink—not too much alcohol, we need our faculties. And a mattress. The shed has a concrete floor."
"I'll bring a mattress from my guest room," Gupta offered. "My wife never uses it."
"Good. Mehta, you're in charge of refreshments. Karthik, you handle protection. Sharma, you're the point of contact—you've already been with her, so you'll approach her about the... invitation. Make it clear that participation is optional. No pressure. No coercion."
"And if she says no?" Mehta asked.
"Then we shake hands, drink our whiskey, and forget this conversation ever happened." Singh looked around the room. "But she won't say no."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I've seen the way she looks at us, Mehta. The same way a cat looks at a bowl of cream. She's hungry. She's been hungry for a long time. And we, gentlemen, are the cream."
The conversation drifted after that—to work, to politics, to the usual frustrations of middle-class life. But the energy had shifted. There was an electricity in the room now, a sense of purpose that had been missing since the meeting began.
The room settled. Glasses clinked. The fan clicked.
"One more thing," Singh said quietly. "The Holika Dahan ritual. The burning of Holika, the demoness. The triumph of devotion over evil. Do you know why we celebrate it?"
"To burn away our sins," Mehta offered.
"To burn away our inhibitions," Singh corrected. "For one night, we are allowed to be wild. To be free. To touch the fire and not get burned." He looked at each man in turn. "Let's not waste the opportunity."
The meeting ended at midnight. The men dispersed into the dark colony, their footsteps echoing off the concrete walls, their minds full of flames and flesh and the promise of a woman who would, very soon, belong to all of them.
Behind them, in the generator shed, a spider spun its web in the corner, patient and waiting. The night was quiet. The fire was coming.
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