Adultery Who Watches The Watchmen (continued)

[samgreenvalley]

Bikram stepped in first, his face flushed, his eyes wide. Behind him, five other watchmen filed in—young men, nervous men, men who had no idea why they had been summoned.
 
They stopped at the sight of Menaka, sprawled naked on the mattress, her body covered in marks. Their eyes went wide. Their mouths fell open.
 
And Menaka stared back at them, her confusion turning to shock.
 
What was this? Where had they come from? What were they doing here?
 
She looked at Dara, her eyes searching his face for an answer. But his expression was unreadable.
 
Dara spoke from the corner, his voice flat and commanding. "Close the door."
 
Bikram hesitated. "Dara ji—"
 
"Close the door."
 
Bikram nodded, pulling the heavy metal door shut.
 
The lock clicked into place.
 
The six watchmen stood in a loose semicircle, their eyes fixed on Menaka. She didn't move. She just lay there, her body frozen, her mind racing.
 
What the hell is happening?
 
She had expected Dara to reclaim her. She had expected the old Dara, the Mumbai Dara, to take her forcefully, possessively, the way he used to. She had expected passion and anger and jealousy and the kind of sex that had made her fall in love with him in the first place.
 
She had not expected this. She had not expected a room full of strange watchmen.
 
She looked at Dara again, her eyes pleading. "Dara? What is this? Why are they here?"
 
He didn't answer. He just sat there, watching her, his expression unreadable.
 
"Please—" she started.
 
But Dara cut her off, his voice cold. "They're here to watch."
 
"Watch what?"
 
He didn't answer. He just looked at her, his eyes dark and complicated, and something passed between them—a question, a challenge, a hunger that neither of them could name.
 
"Show them," he said quietly. "Show them what you showed me."
 
Menaka stared at him, her mind reeling. She had wanted to provoke him. She had wanted to push him. She had wanted to rekindle the fire of the old Dara.
 
But she hadn't expected this. She hadn't expected him to take her games and turn them back on her.
 
And yet, as she looked at him—at the cold satisfaction in his eyes, at the hardness straining against his pants—she realized something.
 
He's doing exactly what I wanted. He's taking control. He's being the old Dara.
 
And she was his. His to command. His to control. His to use as he saw fit.
 
She looked at the watchmen—at their hungry eyes, their eager faces—and then back at Dara.
 
"Show them what?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "What do you want me to do?"
 
Dara leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable.
 
"Everything," he said. "Show them everything."
 
---

The generator shed had become something else entirely in the early hours of dawn. The six watchmen stood in a loose semicircle, their eyes fixed on the naked woman on the mattress, their breathing shallow, their bodies already responding to what they saw. Menaka sat frozen, her mind still reeling from the shock of their arrival, her eyes darting from face to face as she tried to comprehend what was happening. And Dara sat in the corner, his hands clasped in front of him, his expression unreadable—a man who had finally accepted who he was and what he wanted.

The reckoning had just begun.