Adultery Who Watches The Watchmen (continued)

[samgreenvalley]

The generator shed was exactly as Singh had described it—ten feet by twelve, concrete floor, one door, no windows. It sat behind the community hall, hidden from the main road by a row of neem trees and from the colony by a high wall. The generator itself was a massive yellow machine in the corner, silent now, its purpose suspended until the next power cut.
 
Menaka walked to the center of the room and turned in a slow circle. The acoustics were dead—no echo, no resonance. Soundproof, Singh had said. She believed him.
 
"So?" Sharma stood by the door, nervous, his hands clasped in front of him like a collegeboy called to the principal's office.
 
Menaka faced him. She had worn a simple cotton saree today—pale green, almost white—with a blouse that was modest enough for the colony but cut low enough that when she breathed, the tops of her breasts swelled above the fabric. She had left her hair open, let it fall in waves past her shoulders. No makeup except kohl and a bindi. The picture of a demure watchman's wife.
 
She began to walk toward Sharma slowly, each step deliberate, her bare feet silent on the concrete.
 
"You want to worship me," she said. "That's what you said. In this room. On Holika Dahan."
 
"Yes." Sharma's voice cracked.
 
"Four men. You, Singh, Mehta, Gupta. And Karthik makes five."
 
"If Joshi—"
 
"Joshi will come." Menaka stopped inches from him, close enough that he could smell the jasmine oil in her hair. "Joshi has been watching me from his balcony every morning for two weeks. He wants this as much as the rest of you. Maybe more."
 
Sharma swallowed. "Then five. Five men."
 
Menaka reached up and straightened his collar. Her fingers brushed his neck, and she felt him shiver.
 
"Here are my conditions," she said. "One—no photographs, no recordings, no witnesses outside this room. I don't care what you do inside, but nothing leaves. Not even whispers."
 
"Agreed."
 
"Two—I decide when it starts and when it stops. I say the word, everything stops. No arguments, no negotiations, no 'just a little more.' Do you understand?"
 
"Yes."
 
"Three—no marks. No bruises, no scratches, nothing that my husband will see and question. You can be rough, but you will be careful."
 
Sharma nodded, his eyes fixed on her face.
 
"Four—" Menaka's voice dropped to a whisper. "You will not kiss me on the mouth. Anywhere else, but not the mouth. That is for my husband."
 
She didn't specify which husband.
 
"Five—" She stepped back, breaking the spell. "I want to know exactly what you have planned. Every position, every act, every detail. No surprises."
 
Sharma exhaled shakily. "Tonight. We're meeting tonight at Gupta's flat. I'll—I'll bring you the plan. Written down. Signed by all of us."
 
Menaka shook her head. "Not written. Never written. You will tell me. And I will decide if I agree."
 
"And if you don't?"
 
"Then you will find another slut to worship." She walked to the door and opened it, letting in a shaft of afternoon light. "But we both know that won't happen. Because there is no other woman in this colony who would let five strange men fuck her in a generator shed while her husband works the night shift."
 
Sharma stared at her, his face flushed, his breath coming in short gasps.
 
"Menaka ji," he said, and his voice was full of something that might have been awe, "you are not like any woman I have ever met."
 
"No," she agreed. "I'm not."
 
She left him standing in the shed, alone with the generator and his thoughts, and walked back toward the quarter with a smile playing on her lips.