Adultery Who Watches The Watchmen (continued)

[samgreenvalley]

That evening, Gupta's flat was charged with a different kind of electricity.
 
The men arrived one by one—Sharma first, still shaken from his encounter with Menaka; then Mehta, rubbing his hands together like a merchant counting gold; then Gupta himself, nervous, checking over his shoulder every few minutes as if his wife might materialize from the walls; then Karthik, calm and collected, his gym bag slung over one shoulder; and finally Singh, who walked in last and closed the door behind him with the finality of a judge's gavel.
 
Joshi was there too, pale and sweating, sitting in the corner like a man awaiting execution.
 
"She said yes," Sharma announced before anyone else could speak. "Not directly. But yes."
 
"What does that mean, not directly?" Mehta asked.
 
Sharma described the meeting—the shed, the conditions, the way she had straightened his collar and looked into his eyes. When he finished, the room was silent.
 
"She's playing us," Karthik said. "She knows exactly what she's doing."
 
"Of course she does." Singh poured himself a whiskey, not offering any to the others. "That's what makes her dangerous. And desirable."
 
"But she agreed," Gupta said. "She actually agreed."
 
"She agreed to consider it," Karthik corrected. "There's a difference."
 
Singh raised his glass. "Then let's make sure she has nothing to consider except yes."
 
---
 
The next hour was spent in meticulous planning.
 
Karthik, as promised, had brought the LED lights—dimmable strips that he would install the day before Holika Dahan. He also had a small Bluetooth speaker for music, though Singh vetoed that immediately. "No noise. Nothing that carries."
 
Mehta had procured the refreshments—bottled water, soft drinks, a single bottle of single malt for courage. "No one gets drunk," Singh insisted. "We need our faculties."
 
Gupta had arranged the mattress—a thick, queen-sized memory foam from his guest room, which he had already moved to the shed under the cover of darkness. "My wife thinks I donated it to the temple," he said, and everyone laughed.
 
Sharma was in charge of protection. He opened his briefcase to reveal a box of condoms—Magnums, as Karthik had specified—and a bottle of lubricant. "Enough for an army," he said.
 
"Let's hope it's enough for five men and one very demanding woman," Singh replied.
 
The order was decided by lot, as Singh had proposed. Karthik pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and dealt. Hearts for first, diamonds for second, clubs for third, spades for fourth, and the joker for fifth.
 
Singh drew the ace of hearts. He would go first.
 
Sharma drew the king of diamonds. Second.
 
Karthik drew the queen of clubs. Third.
 
Mehta drew the jack of spades. Fourth.
 
Gupta drew the ten of hearts. Fifth.
 
Joshi, who had drawn nothing, looked stricken.
 
"You'll get your turn," Singh said, not unkindly. "If she's willing. And if she's not—" He shrugged. "There's always next year."
 
The room laughed nervously.
 
"Now," Singh continued, "the acts."
 
He pulled out a notebook—old college, no digital trail—and began to read from a list he had prepared.
 
"Position one—missionary. Standard, intimate, allows for eye contact and verbal communication."
 
"Position two—doggy style. More aggressive, allows for deeper penetration and easier access to the clitoris."
 
"Position three—cowgirl. Woman on top, allows her to control the pace and depth."
 
"Position four—reverse cowgirl. Visual focus on her back and buttocks."
 
"Position five—spooning. Intimate, less strenuous, allows for mutual caressing."
 
He looked up. "Those are the basics. Any objections?"
 
Shaking heads.
 
"Now. Advanced options."
 
The room stilled.
 
"Option A—double penetration. Vaginal and oral simultaneously. Requires coordination and communication."
 
"Option B—double vaginal. Both men, same hole. Requires significant lubrication and patience."
 
"Option C—anal. Requires her explicit consent and preparation."
 
"Option D—airtight. All three holes simultaneously. Mouth, pussy, anus. Requires four men—one for each hole, plus one to direct."
 
Karthik raised an eyebrow. "You think she'd go for airtight?"
 
"I think she'll go for whatever we ask." Singh capped his pen. "But we won't ask. We'll offer. And we'll let her choose."
 
"She chose us," Mehta said. "That's enough."
 
"No." Singh's voice was steel. "She chose to consider us. That's not the same thing. We will not presume. We will not pressure. We will not coerce. This is not a conquest. This is a collaboration. Remember that, all of you, or you answer to me."
 
The room nodded, chastened.
 
"Now," Singh continued, "the timeline."
 
He laid it out: Holika Dahan, 8 PM. The bonfire would be lit at the central ground. The entire colony would gather for prayers, songs, offerings. By 9:30, the crowd would disperse—the elderly to their beds, the families to their homes, the children tired from running around the fire.
 
By 10 PM, the colony would be asleep.
 
By 10:15, the men would assemble at the generator shed.
 
By 10:30, Menaka would arrive.
 
"And then?" Gupta asked, his voice barely a whisper.
 
"And then," Singh said, "we burn."