05-04-2026, 09:39 AM
Hi All,
This is my continuation of Defeat of Poroma: https://xossipy.com/thread-45741.html
------
Chapter 38: The Full Confession
"I started feeling a huge excitement and was turned on when I came to know he was my own husband's colleague and his boss!"
She was still pressed against my chest, her voice low and deliberate now, the earlier tears completely dried. Her hair was loose and spread across my shirt and she was speaking into my neck like she was telling secrets to the dark rather than to me. Nine months of lies were unwinding in this bed and I had to hear every word of it even though each word was quietly destroying something inside me that I knew I would never fully rebuild.
But I needed it. All of it. Fatima had been very clear.
"So from that very first meeting at the shoe store," I said quietly, "you were already attracted to him."
"Not attracted exactly," she said. "More like disturbed. He disturbed me. I had never felt that kind of thing from a man's eyes before. Not even yours Ranjeet, and I love you more than I have loved anyone in my life. But his eyes on me in that shop were like a physical thing. Like being touched." She paused. "I know how that sounds."
"Tell me what happened on Valentine's Day," I said. "From the beginning."
She was quiet for a moment. Then she drew a slow breath and began.
---
Valentine's Day. The office party at Mohit and Rashmi's place in Gariahat. I had taken an early auto home after the party because Rajiv had a slight fever and Poroma had stayed behind saying she would get a lift with Rahul whose car she later claimed had an engine problem.
She pressed her face harder into my chest as she told me the truth of it.
"He had been messaging me for three weeks by then," she said. "On Facebook at first, then WhatsApp. Just friendly messages. Jokes. He is very funny when he wants to be. And he never said anything inappropriate. Never a single word that could be called flirting. He was too clever for that." She paused. "He just made me feel seen. That is the only way I can describe it. Like he was paying attention to exactly me, not the wife of his colleague, not the mother of two children, but specifically me."
"So when he offered the lift," I said.
"I had already decided before he offered," she said. "I had decided in the car on the way to the party. I knew if we were alone together something was going to happen and I went to that party having already made the decision."
I said nothing. I lay in the dark and listened.
"He drove very slowly," she said. "He took the long way around past the Maidan. The city was quiet because it was late. He did not play music. We just talked and there was a kind of electricity between us that neither of us was pretending not to feel any more. He had one hand on the steering wheel and he reached over with the other hand and touched my hand on my lap. Very lightly. And I turned my hand over."
I felt something cold move through me.
"He stopped the car near the Victoria Memorial," she continued. "The gate area is dark at that hour. He turned off the engine. For a moment we just sat there. Then he turned toward me in his seat."
She stopped. I could feel her breathing against my chest, slightly unsteady.
"Tell me," I said.
"He put his hand on my face," she said. "He held my face in both hands and looked at me for a long time without saying anything. And then he kissed me."
She went quiet for a moment.
"It was not what I expected," she said, almost to herself. "I expected it to be exciting but mechanical. An affair kiss. But he kissed me for a long time, slowly, one hand cupping my face and the other moving to my hair, and I had absolutely no resistance to it. None. I kissed him back with everything I had and I was aware even in the middle of it that I was betraying you and I could not stop."
"What happened after the kiss," I said.
She hesitated.
"Tell me everything Poroma," I said. "You said you would."
A long pause. Then she began.
"He pushed the passenger seat back as far as it would go. He did not wait for me to move. He took my arm and pulled me across onto his lap and shoved the saree fabric out of the way with both hands, no ceremony about it. He pushed his fingers straight into my underwear and when I gasped he covered my mouth with his hand and kept working until I was grinding against his fingers and making sounds into his palm. He made me come twice like that, sitting on his lap in the dark with the city asleep and your sick baby at home, before he touched anything else."
She described it in flat precise detail, her voice barely above a whisper. How quickly it had happened. How she had not been able to stop the first one even if she had wanted to. How the second one left her shaking and he had watched her face the entire time with the specific cold attention of someone who is cataloguing results.
"He unhooked my blouse," she said. "Not carefully. He pulled it open and pushed it off my shoulders and looked at me and said something I am not going to repeat to you. Then he put his mouth on my breasts and he was not gentle. He bit. He sucked hard enough to draw milk and he kept doing it while I held his head against me because I could not make myself let go, and I was ashamed of every second of it and I could not stop."
She described the specific feeling of it. The soreness of it afterward. Her nipples raw from his teeth and her whole chest flushed and the shame that did nothing at all to slow her pulse.
"He lifted me and pulled me down onto him," she said. "There was no warning. The size was—" She stopped. Tried again. "The first moment was worse than painful. I made a sound I had never made before. He held my hips with both hands and did not let me pull back. He waited until I adjusted and then he drove up into me from below and the only thing I could do was hold onto the headrest and take it." She paused. "We were in that car for nearly an hour. He controlled every climax, built it and stopped it and built it again until I was begging him out loud in words I would not use in my own home. By the end I could not sit straight. My saree was completely off, my blouse was on the floor of the car, my hair was everywhere. I was shaking and I could not make it stop."
She stopped.
Neither of us spoke for a long time.
"The engine problem story," I said.
"Was something he suggested while I was straightening my saree," she said quietly. "He said it so calmly. Said I should tell you the engine cut out. He coached me on the details in case you asked technical questions. And I was so completely. I had no capacity to object to anything he said at that moment. I just nodded."
I lay there and breathed steadily.
"What happened after that," I said. "How did it continue."
She told me about the weeks that followed. The messages. The meetings arranged during my office hours when she told the Aya she was going for a stitching class or a doctor's appointment. The flat he rented in New Alipore that she had been to seven times before the Holi party.
"Describe one of those visits," I said.
She turned her face further into my chest. "Ranjeet—"
"You said everything Poroma."
A pause. Then she described one afternoon in January. She had told the Aya she was going to her gynecologist for a postpartum checkup. She had taken a cab to Rahul's flat, a clean two-room place on the fourth floor of a building near the lake. He had been waiting for her. He opened the door in just his jeans and nothing else and pulled her straight inside without a word.
"He undressed me in the hallway," she said. "Not carefully. He pulled the blouse hooks open without looking at them. He pushed the saree and petticoat off my hips and let everything drop. He kept his jeans on and made me stand there with nothing while he looked at me. His hands on me like he was checking something. My breasts were full and when he gripped them the milk came and he did not stop, just watched and gripped harder until I winced. He didn't care."
She described the afternoon in its entirety. The bedroom that smelled of his cologne. How he had sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her down into his lap and held her hair in his fist and told her in a flat voice exactly what he wanted her to do with her mouth, correcting her when he wanted something different. The sounds she made when he finally pushed her down onto the mattress, shoved her knees back toward her chest and drove into her in a single stroke that punched the air from her lungs. How he edged her four separate times and stopped each time she was close, his hand clamped around her hip to hold her still when she tried to move to finish it herself. The release when he finally allowed it was so violent she did not recognize the sound she made.
"After the first time he got up and brought water and cut fruit," she said. "He sat on the bed and fed me slices of papaya and talked to me about completely ordinary things. His Delhi apartment. A film he had seen. He made me feel completely normal and then he started touching me again and it began all over."
She had stayed for four hours that afternoon. She had gone home with marks on her thighs and her wrists and fed Rajiv his evening meal and made our dinner and sat across from me at the table and said nothing.
I lay in the dark with this knowledge and felt it settle into the permanent part of me where all the other knowledge lived.
"After the Holi party," I said. "The recordings. The agreement. I need you to tell me all of it."
And so she did.
She told me about Mandarmoni. The two-day trip. The hotel room with the sea view that Rahul had booked in advance before the party, because he had known what was going to happen. She told me about the specific provisions of the blackmail arrangement in detail she had never shared before. The clause that allowed him to extend the three month period indefinitely. The list of what was permitted and what was not. The fact that he had filmed their encounters at his flat without telling her, then shown her the recording calmly when she had tried to end the arrangement after Rajiv turned two.
"He played it on his laptop," she said. "He sat beside me on his sofa and we watched it together. Me on screen and him beside me watching my face while I watched it. He was completely calm. He said: this is what happens if you stop coming." She was very quiet. "I could not speak. I just nodded."
She had been coming to him twice a week since then.
"The visits when you were away on the Delhi trip," I said.
"Yes."
"And the afternoon visits when I was at office."
"Yes."
"How many total," I said.
She counted quietly. "Fourteen times after Mandarmoni," she said. "Not counting Mandarmoni itself which was two full days."
I said nothing.
"Ranjeet," she said. Her voice had changed. Smaller. "I know there is no version of this where you are supposed to forgive me. I know that. I am not asking you to. I am only asking that you understand I have been trying to end it for four months and I cannot find a way out alone. He has the recording and the photographs from that night and he has absolute control over what happens next." She pressed against me harder. "But I want to end it. I want our family back. Please help me."
I put my arm around her and held her.
In my mind I was thinking about Fatima's face the previous afternoon reviewing the nanny cam footage. I was thinking about Nupur's cheek. I was thinking about the forty seven minute audio recording on my phone that I had made tonight.
"We will figure it out," I said. "Sleep now."
She slept. I did not.
This is my continuation of Defeat of Poroma: https://xossipy.com/thread-45741.html
------
Chapter 38: The Full Confession
"I started feeling a huge excitement and was turned on when I came to know he was my own husband's colleague and his boss!"
She was still pressed against my chest, her voice low and deliberate now, the earlier tears completely dried. Her hair was loose and spread across my shirt and she was speaking into my neck like she was telling secrets to the dark rather than to me. Nine months of lies were unwinding in this bed and I had to hear every word of it even though each word was quietly destroying something inside me that I knew I would never fully rebuild.
But I needed it. All of it. Fatima had been very clear.
"So from that very first meeting at the shoe store," I said quietly, "you were already attracted to him."
"Not attracted exactly," she said. "More like disturbed. He disturbed me. I had never felt that kind of thing from a man's eyes before. Not even yours Ranjeet, and I love you more than I have loved anyone in my life. But his eyes on me in that shop were like a physical thing. Like being touched." She paused. "I know how that sounds."
"Tell me what happened on Valentine's Day," I said. "From the beginning."
She was quiet for a moment. Then she drew a slow breath and began.
---
Valentine's Day. The office party at Mohit and Rashmi's place in Gariahat. I had taken an early auto home after the party because Rajiv had a slight fever and Poroma had stayed behind saying she would get a lift with Rahul whose car she later claimed had an engine problem.
She pressed her face harder into my chest as she told me the truth of it.
"He had been messaging me for three weeks by then," she said. "On Facebook at first, then WhatsApp. Just friendly messages. Jokes. He is very funny when he wants to be. And he never said anything inappropriate. Never a single word that could be called flirting. He was too clever for that." She paused. "He just made me feel seen. That is the only way I can describe it. Like he was paying attention to exactly me, not the wife of his colleague, not the mother of two children, but specifically me."
"So when he offered the lift," I said.
"I had already decided before he offered," she said. "I had decided in the car on the way to the party. I knew if we were alone together something was going to happen and I went to that party having already made the decision."
I said nothing. I lay in the dark and listened.
"He drove very slowly," she said. "He took the long way around past the Maidan. The city was quiet because it was late. He did not play music. We just talked and there was a kind of electricity between us that neither of us was pretending not to feel any more. He had one hand on the steering wheel and he reached over with the other hand and touched my hand on my lap. Very lightly. And I turned my hand over."
I felt something cold move through me.
"He stopped the car near the Victoria Memorial," she continued. "The gate area is dark at that hour. He turned off the engine. For a moment we just sat there. Then he turned toward me in his seat."
She stopped. I could feel her breathing against my chest, slightly unsteady.
"Tell me," I said.
"He put his hand on my face," she said. "He held my face in both hands and looked at me for a long time without saying anything. And then he kissed me."
She went quiet for a moment.
"It was not what I expected," she said, almost to herself. "I expected it to be exciting but mechanical. An affair kiss. But he kissed me for a long time, slowly, one hand cupping my face and the other moving to my hair, and I had absolutely no resistance to it. None. I kissed him back with everything I had and I was aware even in the middle of it that I was betraying you and I could not stop."
"What happened after the kiss," I said.
She hesitated.
"Tell me everything Poroma," I said. "You said you would."
A long pause. Then she began.
"He pushed the passenger seat back as far as it would go. He did not wait for me to move. He took my arm and pulled me across onto his lap and shoved the saree fabric out of the way with both hands, no ceremony about it. He pushed his fingers straight into my underwear and when I gasped he covered my mouth with his hand and kept working until I was grinding against his fingers and making sounds into his palm. He made me come twice like that, sitting on his lap in the dark with the city asleep and your sick baby at home, before he touched anything else."
She described it in flat precise detail, her voice barely above a whisper. How quickly it had happened. How she had not been able to stop the first one even if she had wanted to. How the second one left her shaking and he had watched her face the entire time with the specific cold attention of someone who is cataloguing results.
"He unhooked my blouse," she said. "Not carefully. He pulled it open and pushed it off my shoulders and looked at me and said something I am not going to repeat to you. Then he put his mouth on my breasts and he was not gentle. He bit. He sucked hard enough to draw milk and he kept doing it while I held his head against me because I could not make myself let go, and I was ashamed of every second of it and I could not stop."
She described the specific feeling of it. The soreness of it afterward. Her nipples raw from his teeth and her whole chest flushed and the shame that did nothing at all to slow her pulse.
"He lifted me and pulled me down onto him," she said. "There was no warning. The size was—" She stopped. Tried again. "The first moment was worse than painful. I made a sound I had never made before. He held my hips with both hands and did not let me pull back. He waited until I adjusted and then he drove up into me from below and the only thing I could do was hold onto the headrest and take it." She paused. "We were in that car for nearly an hour. He controlled every climax, built it and stopped it and built it again until I was begging him out loud in words I would not use in my own home. By the end I could not sit straight. My saree was completely off, my blouse was on the floor of the car, my hair was everywhere. I was shaking and I could not make it stop."
She stopped.
Neither of us spoke for a long time.
"The engine problem story," I said.
"Was something he suggested while I was straightening my saree," she said quietly. "He said it so calmly. Said I should tell you the engine cut out. He coached me on the details in case you asked technical questions. And I was so completely. I had no capacity to object to anything he said at that moment. I just nodded."
I lay there and breathed steadily.
"What happened after that," I said. "How did it continue."
She told me about the weeks that followed. The messages. The meetings arranged during my office hours when she told the Aya she was going for a stitching class or a doctor's appointment. The flat he rented in New Alipore that she had been to seven times before the Holi party.
"Describe one of those visits," I said.
She turned her face further into my chest. "Ranjeet—"
"You said everything Poroma."
A pause. Then she described one afternoon in January. She had told the Aya she was going to her gynecologist for a postpartum checkup. She had taken a cab to Rahul's flat, a clean two-room place on the fourth floor of a building near the lake. He had been waiting for her. He opened the door in just his jeans and nothing else and pulled her straight inside without a word.
"He undressed me in the hallway," she said. "Not carefully. He pulled the blouse hooks open without looking at them. He pushed the saree and petticoat off my hips and let everything drop. He kept his jeans on and made me stand there with nothing while he looked at me. His hands on me like he was checking something. My breasts were full and when he gripped them the milk came and he did not stop, just watched and gripped harder until I winced. He didn't care."
She described the afternoon in its entirety. The bedroom that smelled of his cologne. How he had sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her down into his lap and held her hair in his fist and told her in a flat voice exactly what he wanted her to do with her mouth, correcting her when he wanted something different. The sounds she made when he finally pushed her down onto the mattress, shoved her knees back toward her chest and drove into her in a single stroke that punched the air from her lungs. How he edged her four separate times and stopped each time she was close, his hand clamped around her hip to hold her still when she tried to move to finish it herself. The release when he finally allowed it was so violent she did not recognize the sound she made.
"After the first time he got up and brought water and cut fruit," she said. "He sat on the bed and fed me slices of papaya and talked to me about completely ordinary things. His Delhi apartment. A film he had seen. He made me feel completely normal and then he started touching me again and it began all over."
She had stayed for four hours that afternoon. She had gone home with marks on her thighs and her wrists and fed Rajiv his evening meal and made our dinner and sat across from me at the table and said nothing.
I lay in the dark with this knowledge and felt it settle into the permanent part of me where all the other knowledge lived.
"After the Holi party," I said. "The recordings. The agreement. I need you to tell me all of it."
And so she did.
She told me about Mandarmoni. The two-day trip. The hotel room with the sea view that Rahul had booked in advance before the party, because he had known what was going to happen. She told me about the specific provisions of the blackmail arrangement in detail she had never shared before. The clause that allowed him to extend the three month period indefinitely. The list of what was permitted and what was not. The fact that he had filmed their encounters at his flat without telling her, then shown her the recording calmly when she had tried to end the arrangement after Rajiv turned two.
"He played it on his laptop," she said. "He sat beside me on his sofa and we watched it together. Me on screen and him beside me watching my face while I watched it. He was completely calm. He said: this is what happens if you stop coming." She was very quiet. "I could not speak. I just nodded."
She had been coming to him twice a week since then.
"The visits when you were away on the Delhi trip," I said.
"Yes."
"And the afternoon visits when I was at office."
"Yes."
"How many total," I said.
She counted quietly. "Fourteen times after Mandarmoni," she said. "Not counting Mandarmoni itself which was two full days."
I said nothing.
"Ranjeet," she said. Her voice had changed. Smaller. "I know there is no version of this where you are supposed to forgive me. I know that. I am not asking you to. I am only asking that you understand I have been trying to end it for four months and I cannot find a way out alone. He has the recording and the photographs from that night and he has absolute control over what happens next." She pressed against me harder. "But I want to end it. I want our family back. Please help me."
I put my arm around her and held her.
In my mind I was thinking about Fatima's face the previous afternoon reviewing the nanny cam footage. I was thinking about Nupur's cheek. I was thinking about the forty seven minute audio recording on my phone that I had made tonight.
"We will figure it out," I said. "Sleep now."
She slept. I did not.
Mail: mvishakt[at]gmail[dot]com
Kik: mvishakt
Kik: mvishakt
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