29-05-2026, 01:19 PM
**Story Continuation: The AC Repairmen intrusion**
After Papa’s death, money was tight. We bought a second-hand AC at a low price to survive the terrible Lucknow summer. But within a week, it stopped cooling. We had no choice but to call the repair shop. Three big '. labourers — all tall, heavily built, dark-skinned men in their 30s-40s — arrived the next morning in their dirty labour clothes (sleeveless baniyans and pants).
From the moment they entered, they took complete charge of the house like it was their own. They spoke loudly in mixed Hindi, moved furniture without asking, and ordered us around casually. We three felt very uncomfortable and scared, but stayed quiet because of financial pressure.
---
**Day 1 & 2**
The heat was unbearable with the AC open and fans off. All of us started sweating heavily. Pragya was in a thin white kurti and leggings, Aanya in a short top and shorts, and Maa in her loose nighty with dupatta.
The men worked shirtless most of the time, their muscular bodies glistening with sweat. They used our bathroom again and again. Every time one came out, he would openly stare at our colourful innerwear hanging on the balcony — especially Aanya’s tiny pink bikini panties and my skin-coloured hipsters. One of them even touched Maa’s beige boy shorts hanging there, pretending to move them for “space”.
While working in the bedroom, they kept going to the bathroom. They saw our used panties in the laundry basket — the tiny, colourful ones we had recently bought. Their eyes would light up every time.
---
The heat was killing us. All three of us developed huge sweat patches under our arms and on our chests. Our clothes stuck to our bodies, making our bra outlines clearly visible. The men noticed everything.
At one point, one labourer (the biggest one) wiped his own sweat and said loudly to another in crude Hindi, laughing:
“Arre bhai, dekho in madamo ki peshab nikal gayi bagal se! Kitna paseena hai… bra aur panty tak geela ho gaya hoga.”
The other two laughed. We heard it clearly. Our faces burned with shame. Aanya almost had tears in her eyes. Maa pulled her dupatta tighter, but it was useless. The vulgar comment made us feel so exposed and helpless.
We felt sorry for ourselves — three women alone in the house, sweating like this in front of these dominating strangers who were openly enjoying our discomfort. The sexual tension was heavy in the air. The men kept stealing glances at our wet patches, our clinging clothes, and our bodies. They took their time fixing the AC, stretching the work to two full days, clearly enjoying the power they had over us.
By the evening of the second day, when they finally left after taking full payment, we locked the door and sat together, faces red, bodies still sticky with sweat.
Maa whispered, “Un logon ne sab kuch dekh liya… tum dono ki chhoti-chhoti colourful panties bhi.”
Aanya replied softly, “Aur woh comment… ‘peshab nikal gai bagal se’. I felt so cheap.”
I (Pragya) could only nod, feeling the deep embarrassment mixed with a strange, unwanted heat in my body. Another group of men now knew too much about us.
After Papa’s death, money was tight. We bought a second-hand AC at a low price to survive the terrible Lucknow summer. But within a week, it stopped cooling. We had no choice but to call the repair shop. Three big '. labourers — all tall, heavily built, dark-skinned men in their 30s-40s — arrived the next morning in their dirty labour clothes (sleeveless baniyans and pants).
From the moment they entered, they took complete charge of the house like it was their own. They spoke loudly in mixed Hindi, moved furniture without asking, and ordered us around casually. We three felt very uncomfortable and scared, but stayed quiet because of financial pressure.
---
**Day 1 & 2**
The heat was unbearable with the AC open and fans off. All of us started sweating heavily. Pragya was in a thin white kurti and leggings, Aanya in a short top and shorts, and Maa in her loose nighty with dupatta.
The men worked shirtless most of the time, their muscular bodies glistening with sweat. They used our bathroom again and again. Every time one came out, he would openly stare at our colourful innerwear hanging on the balcony — especially Aanya’s tiny pink bikini panties and my skin-coloured hipsters. One of them even touched Maa’s beige boy shorts hanging there, pretending to move them for “space”.
While working in the bedroom, they kept going to the bathroom. They saw our used panties in the laundry basket — the tiny, colourful ones we had recently bought. Their eyes would light up every time.
---
The heat was killing us. All three of us developed huge sweat patches under our arms and on our chests. Our clothes stuck to our bodies, making our bra outlines clearly visible. The men noticed everything.
At one point, one labourer (the biggest one) wiped his own sweat and said loudly to another in crude Hindi, laughing:
“Arre bhai, dekho in madamo ki peshab nikal gayi bagal se! Kitna paseena hai… bra aur panty tak geela ho gaya hoga.”
The other two laughed. We heard it clearly. Our faces burned with shame. Aanya almost had tears in her eyes. Maa pulled her dupatta tighter, but it was useless. The vulgar comment made us feel so exposed and helpless.
We felt sorry for ourselves — three women alone in the house, sweating like this in front of these dominating strangers who were openly enjoying our discomfort. The sexual tension was heavy in the air. The men kept stealing glances at our wet patches, our clinging clothes, and our bodies. They took their time fixing the AC, stretching the work to two full days, clearly enjoying the power they had over us.
By the evening of the second day, when they finally left after taking full payment, we locked the door and sat together, faces red, bodies still sticky with sweat.
Maa whispered, “Un logon ne sab kuch dekh liya… tum dono ki chhoti-chhoti colourful panties bhi.”
Aanya replied softly, “Aur woh comment… ‘peshab nikal gai bagal se’. I felt so cheap.”
I (Pragya) could only nod, feeling the deep embarrassment mixed with a strange, unwanted heat in my body. Another group of men now knew too much about us.
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