Chapter 6: The Tables Turn
The humid Mumbai morning pressed against the tinted window of Vishal’s corner office, the city’s chaotic symphony muffled by thick glass and the low thrum of the AC. Coffee steamed in a ridiculously delicate porcelain cup on his vast, empty desk. He leaned back in his ergonomic throne, fingers steepled, watching us. Me, perched on the edge of a sleek but uncomfortable visitor’s chair in my deliberately tight grey pencil skirt and that blouse – the pale blue one where the third button strained, offering a sliver of shadow. And Sauni, standing slightly behind me, near the door. Her posture wasn’t the terrified hunch of yesterday. It was… watchful. Still. Like a predator assessing the wind.
"Morning, ladies," Vishal drawled, his gaze sliding over me, lingering on the straining button before flicking dismissively to Sauni. "Sleep well?" The question was loaded, cruel. A reminder of last night’s violation in his sterile palace.
Sauni didn’t flinch. Her voice, when it came, was low, calm. "Well enough, Sir. Thank you for asking." Her eyes met his, steady. No fear. Just… calculation. It sent a tiny, unexpected thrill through me. Shabaash indeed.
Vishal’s smirk faltered for a nanosecond. He recovered, gesturing vaguely at the spreadsheets on his desk. "Budget review. Tight. Very tight." His eyes settled back on me, hard. "That ten percent… it’s looking excessive. Given… circumstances."
My pulse jumped, not with fear, but with fury. The bastard was reneging. Already. "Circumstances, Sir?" I kept my voice light, tilting my head. "We delivered." I let the words hang, heavy with implication.
He pushed back from the desk, standing. He walked around it slowly, deliberately invading my personal space. The expensive cologne was cloying this morning, mixed with the bitter tang of coffee. He stopped inches away. "Delivered?" He snorted, leaning down, his breath hot on my ear. "One terrified virgin doesn't count as ‘delivered’, Divya." His hand shot out, rough fingers grabbing my chin, forcing my head up. "I want you. Undiluted. Unscripted. Right here. Right now." His eyes flicked over my shoulder. "And she watches. Understands the price of failure."
The demand was brutal. Explicit. A power play. My stomach churned, but beneath it, the familiar coil of excitement tightened. This was the game. The dangerous, exhilarating game. I met his gaze, letting a slow, challenging smile curve my lips. "Is that all, Sir? Seems a small price for thirty percent." I saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes. Greed warring with anger. Sauni’s plan – our plan – was already working. He hadn’t expected the counter.
"Thirty?" He barked a laugh, but it sounded strained. His grip tightened on my chin. "You think you're worth thirty, you randi?"
"Prove I'm not," I whispered, holding his stare. "Or are you scared you can't handle it?"
He snapped. A low growl escaped him. He shoved me backwards. I stumbled, catching myself on the edge of the desk. "Chup kar! Belt utaar!" Shut up! Take off your belt! His command, crude and loud in Hindi, shattered the office veneer. He was already fumbling with his own trousers, his eyes blazing with furious lust. "Sauni! Dekh! Dekh ki tumhari dost kaise nachegi!" Sauni! Watch! Watch how your friend dances!
I didn't look at her. I didn't need to. I could feel her presence, a silent, intense focus radiating from the corner. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for the clasp of my belt, but it wasn't fear. It was adrenaline. Pure, raw fuel. I slid the belt free, the leather sighing. The zip of my skirt followed, a louder sound in the suddenly charged silence. I let it pool around my ankles, stepping out of it, standing in just my blouse, the straining button, and my lace panties. Vishal’s trousers were down, his erection jutting out, thick and demanding. He hadn’t even taken off his shirt or tie. This was about dominance. Pure and simple.
"Chal!" He snarled, pointing at the cleared space on his enormous desk. "Upar! Jaldi!" Come on! Up! Fast!
I hoisted myself onto the cold glass surface, the shock of it sharp against my thighs. He was on me before I could settle, his hands rough, shoving me down onto my back. His weight pinned me. The glass was unforgiving. He grabbed my wrists, slamming them above my head, held in one crushing grip. His other hand yanked at the front of my blouse. Buttons popped, scattering like tiny pearls across the glass and floor. The cool air hit my bare skin. He didn't kiss me. He bit. His teeth sank into my lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. The coppery tang flooded my mouth.
"Sauni!" He roared, tearing his mouth away, spittle flying. "Dekh! Dekh isko! Dekh is rand ko jo mujhe challenge karti hai!" Look at her! Look at this whore who challenges me! He ground his hips against me, the rough fabric of his trousers scraping my inner thighs. "Teri saheli ko bata, Sauni! Bata usko ki kaun boss hai yahan?" Tell your friend, Sauni! Tell her who the boss is here?
I writhed, not to escape, but to feel the friction, the delicious roughness. I arched my back, pressing my breasts against his chest, a moan escaping me – half pain, half overwhelming desire. "Majboor kar, Vishal!" I gasped, the Hindi raw and defiant. Make me helpless, Vishal! "Dikha usko!" Show her! I twisted my head, meeting Sauni’s eyes. They were wide, dark pools, absorbing everything. Not horrified. Not disgusted. Intensely focused. Calculating. "Dekho, Sauni!" Look, Sauni! I cried out, my voice breaking as Vishal’s free hand shoved my panties aside, fingers plunging inside me with brutal force. "Dekho ki wo kaise marta hai!" Look how he fucks! I was soaked. Aching for it. The violation was the point. The power was the prize.
Vishal grunted, releasing my wrists to grab my hips, yanking me violently to the edge of the desk. He thrust into me in one brutal stroke. No finesse. Just raw, claiming power. The glass surface rattled. My cry was swallowed by his guttural groan. He pounded into me, each thrust jarring my spine against the unyielding surface. He kept his eyes locked on Sauni. "Dekhti reh, Sauni! Dekhti reh ki main isko kaisa chodta hoon!" Keep watching, Sauni! Keep watching how I fuck her! His voice was thick with exertion and triumph. "Teri bari abhi baaki hai!" Your turn is still coming!
I closed my eyes, surrendering to the punishing rhythm, the delicious stretch, the way the desk vibrated beneath us. The pain was sharp, grounding; the pleasure was a dark, rising tide threatening to drown me. I met his thrusts, my hips snapping up, my nails digging into his shoulders through the expensive shirt. "Haan! Aur! Zor se!" Yes! More! Harder! I moaned, the words tumbling out. "Usko dikha do!" Show her!
He obliged, slamming into me with renewed ferocity. His breathing was ragged gasps near my ear. "Sauni! Aage aa!" Sauni! Come closer! His command was rough. I opened my eyes. Sauni had moved. She stood beside the desk now, mere feet away. Her gaze wasn't on his face. It was fixed lower. Watching him piston into me. Her expression was unreadable. Not aroused, not disgusted. Absorbing. Filing away.
"Haath daal," Vishal grunted, pausing his thrusts for a second, slick with sweat. "Uski choot mein." Put your hand. In her pussy. He meant me. He meant Sauni should touch me. There.
My breath caught. Sauni didn't hesitate. Not for a second. Her hand, cool and steady, slipped between my legs, her fingers sliding easily through the slick mess Vishal had made, finding my clit with unnerving precision. The shock of her touch, deliberate and clinical, combined with Vishal’s thickness inside me, sent a jolt of pure, electric pleasure searing through my core. I cried out, arching off the desk, a strangled gasp tearing from my throat. "Ah! Haan! Sauni!" I gasped, the name escaping me in a plea, a revelation.
Vishal watched Sauni’s hand work, his eyes glazed, mesmerised. "Aise hi… aise hi chaba usko," he breathed, his thrusts resuming, slower now, grinding. Like that… chew her up like that. Sauni’s fingers moved, applying steady, relentless pressure exactly where it drove me wild. It was terrifying. Exquisite. She wasn’t just watching. She was participating. Controlling the pace, the sensation. Vishal was just a tool. His grunts grew louder, his rhythm faltering. He was close. His eyes darted between Sauni’s focused face and where her hand moved between my legs.
"Ruk…" he gasped, trying to pull out. "Bahar…"
Sauni’s fingers pressed harder, circling faster. "Nahin," she said, her voice low, flat, absolute. No. Her eyes lifted to his, holding his gaze. "Andar hi chhod do, Vishal Sir." Come inside her, Vishal Sir. It wasn't a request. It was an order. Her other hand rested lightly on his thrusting hip, not stopping him, but… guiding. Owning the motion.
Vishal’s eyes widened. Shock. Then, a helpless, almost animal surrender. "Haan… haan…" he panted, the fight draining out of him. His thrusts became shallow, frantic jerks. "Sauni… Sauni…" He wasn’t calling Sauni. He was gasping her name like a mantra as his body locked, a guttural roar tearing from him as he emptied himself deep inside me, shuddering violently, his weight collapsing onto me as Sauni’s relentless fingers finally stilled.
The silence was deafening. Broken only by Vishal’s ragged gasps against my neck, the frantic thud of my own heart, and the soft hum of the AC. I lay pinned beneath him on the cold glass, spent, trembling, the scent of sex and sweat thick in the air. Sauni slowly withdrew her hand. She didn't wipe it. She just looked at Vishal, collapsed and vulnerable on top of me.
She walked around the desk to his expensive leather chair. Sat down. Swivelled slowly to face us. Her gaze was cool, appraising. Calculating the cost. The victory. Vishal finally pushed himself up, staggering back, fumbling to pull up his trousers, avoiding her eyes. His face was flushed, slack with spent exertion… and a dawning, humiliated awareness. He hadn't broken Sauni. He hadn't truly dominated me. He’d been played. Used. Reduced to a shuddering instrument.
Sauni leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on his pristine desk. "The thirty percent raise," she stated, her voice quiet, utterly calm. "Effective immediately. Signed paperwork on my desk by end of day." She didn't ask. She commanded. "For both of us."
Vishal stared at her, his jaw working. Shame warred with residual lust and utter disbelief. He opened his mouth, maybe to protest, maybe to roar. Sauni’s gaze didn’t waver. It held him frozen. Finally, he gave a jerky, almost imperceptible nod. A defeated animal acknowledging the new alpha.
He turned away, fastening his belt with trembling fingers, unable to look at either of us. I pushed myself up on shaky arms, the glass cold against my bare skin, my torn blouse hanging open. I met Sauni’s eyes over Vishal’s hunched shoulders. A ghost of that terrifying, triumphant focus lingered there. And something else. A hunger. Not for Vishal. For the game. For the power we’d just tasted.
My own body still hummed with the brutal echoes of sensation. I swung my legs off the desk, my feet finding the cool floor. The silence stretched, thick with the aftermath. Vishal finally turned back, his face a mask of forced composure, but his eyes were hollow. Broken. He opened a drawer, pulled out a letter pad and pen, scribbled something with a shaking hand. He ripped off the top sheet, pushed it across the desk towards Sauni without looking at her. A silent surrender. The thirty percent. Signed.
Sauni picked it up. Glanced at it. Nodded once. "Thank you, Sir." Her voice was perfectly polite. Perfectly lethal.
The silence after Vishal’s scribbled signature was thicker than Mumbai smog. Cold glass still pressed against my bare thigh where I perched on his desk, the torn blouse hanging uselessly. My body hummed, a raw tuning fork vibrating with the brutal rhythm he’d just hammered into me, the slick mess between my legs a visceral reminder. He stood hunched over his reclaimed chair, fiddling with his cufflinks, refusing to meet our eyes, the arrogant manager reduced to shivering prey. Divya, pulling her skirt up with practiced ease, caught my gaze. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated, not with fear, but with a dawning, almost fearful awe. Shabaash felt insufficient now.
Vishal cleared his throat, the sound brittle in the heavy air. "The... the paperwork will be processed." He gestured vaguely towards the door, a dismissal dripping with humiliation. "You can go." His voice lacked the steel of command; it was the plea of a man wanting the nightmare to end. Divya slid off the desk, smoothing her skirt, a slow, deliberate movement. She picked up her discarded belt, coiled it like a snake. Ready to leave the cage.
My feet touched the cool marble floor. Not moving towards the door. Moving towards him. The click of my sensible work heels echoed in the vast, sterile space, each step a measured beat. Vishal flinched, finally looking up. His eyes, bloodshot and bewildered, darted from my face to the ripped blouse, down my body, a flicker of exhausted, confused lust momentarily flashing through the shame. He saw something else too. Resolve. Cold and absolute.
I stopped inches from his chair, the expensive cologne now undercut by the sour tang of sweat and sex. "Not yet, Vishal Sir," I stated, my voice low, flat, devoid of Divya's theatrical defiance. Calm water hiding a deadly current. His brow furrowed, confusion warring with the dregs of his ingrained arrogance. "The thirty percent is signed," he mumbled, gesturing weakly at the paper Sauni still held. "What more could you possibly—"
"Look at me," I commanded, the words cracking like a whip. Not loud. Absolute. His head snapped up, his gaze locking onto mine. I saw the flicker of fear then. Real fear. The predator recognizing a more dangerous one. My hand, deliberate, unhurried, reached out. Not towards his face. Down. My fingers brushed the front of his perfectly tailored trousers. He froze, a choked gasp escaping him. Beneath the fine wool, I felt it. The traitorous, involuntary twitch. The stirring. Despite everything. Despite the humiliation, the shock, the spent exhaustion, his body was responding to the proximity, the dominance radiating from me. Weak, but undeniable.
"See?" I murmured, my fingers tracing the faint ridge beginning to form. "Not finished, are we?" A cruel smile touched my lips, devoid of warmth. "You took what you wanted, Vishal Sir. Took it roughly." My gaze flicked pointedly towards Divya, still watching, frozen near the door, her earlier confidence replaced by stunned fascination. "Took it without regard." My fingers pressed down, slightly harder, feeling him jump beneath the fabric. "Now," I said, leaning in so only he could hear the icy whisper, "you take what I offer."
He stared, dumbfounded, his mouth working soundlessly. The implication hung, brutal and unavoidable. His erection, pathetic but persistent, pulsed faintly against my palm. "But... last night..." he stammered, his mind clearly scrambling back to the painful awkwardness, my tears, Divya’s coaching.
"Last night was practice," I cut him off, my voice gaining an edge of steel. "Tonight is payment in full." I stepped back, just enough. My hands went to the waistband of my own sensible work trousers. The button popped. The zipper rasped down. I pushed them, along with my sensible cotton underwear, down my hips, letting them pool around my ankles. I turned, presenting my back to him, bending slightly at the waist, gripping the edge of his obscenely expensive desk for balance. The cool air hit my skin. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird in a cage, but my breathing remained steady. Controlled. This wasn't about desire. This was about ownership. About erasing the memory of the terrified virgin. About branding him with my terms.
"Yeh lo," I said over my shoulder, my voice slicing through the stunned silence. Take this. "Merī gaand lo, Vishal." Take my ass, Vishal. The crude Hindi words, so alien on my tongue just hours before, now felt like weapons. Necessary, precise. Divya made a tiny, choked sound near the door.
Vishal made a noise too. A strangled groan, part disbelief, part raw, unwilling arousal. He was still half-soft, the humiliation warring violently with the primal command in my stance, the shocking vulnerability presented. "Tum... tum pagal ho gayi ho?" He breathed, You've gone mad? His voice trembled.
"Shut up," I hissed, the calm cracking for a second, revealing the white-hot core beneath. "Use the lube. In your top drawer. Left side." I remembered Divya mentioning it yesterday, a casual throwaway comment about his 'preparations'. My knowledge was another weapon. Another humiliation. I heard the hesitant scrape of the drawer opening, the rustle of a small bottle. The silence stretched, thick with his internal struggle. Then, the slick, wet sound. Cold gel landed on my exposed skin. I flinched, involuntarily. His touch, when it came, was hesitant, clumsy, smearing the lubricant. Not the confident groping of before. This was fumbling. Terrified.
"Jaldi kar," I commanded, my knuckles white on the desk edge. Hurry up. "Teri himmat chhod gayi kya?" Lost your courage? The taunt, laced with contempt, did it. A grunt. Then pressure. Blunt, insistent, foreign. He was pushing against the tight ring of muscle. It burned. A sharp, tearing pain flared, stealing my breath. Tears pricked my eyes instantly, reflexive, physiological. I bit down hard on my lip, tasted blood again. Not like yesterday. No panic. Just cold focus. Push through it. Own it.
He gasped as he breached me, a sound of shock more than pleasure. He was inside. Thicker, harder than he’d managed last night. Filling that impossibly tight space. The pain was a white-hot wire, radiating up my spine. I didn't cry out. I held my breath, absorbing it, transforming it into fuel. He stayed frozen for a second, buried deep, panting. Overwhelmed. Terrified of me. Terrified of this act he’d demanded in coarser terms yesterday, now rendered alien and terrifying by my control.
"Chal," I ground out, the word raw. Move. "Ab chod." Fuck me now. He obeyed. A shallow, experimental thrust. Agony flared anew. I gasped, my vision blurring. "Zor se!" I snarled, pushing back against him, taking him deeper, forcing the pain to its apex. Harder! "Teri aukaat dikha, saale!" Show me what you're made of, bastard! I threw his own crude language back at him, a whip across his pride.
He snapped. A guttural sound ripped from his throat. Not triumph. Fury. Desperation. He grabbed my hips, fingers digging in brutally, and drove forward. Hard. Deep. A brutal piston stroke that shoved me hard against the desk edge, forced a choked scream from my throat. The pain was immense. Consuming. But beneath it, riding the razor's edge, was something else. A terrifying sense of power. He was panting, grunting with effort, enslaved by his own need, by my command. I was setting the pace of my own violation. Each brutal thrust was my victory. My ownership.
"Sauni..." Divya whispered from the doorway, her voice thick with something I couldn't place. Horror? Awe? I couldn't look. My world narrowed to the slam of his body against mine, the slick, obscene sounds, the burning stretch, the cold glass under my clenched fists, and the fractured gasps tearing from Vishal's throat. He was losing himself, drowning in the violent rhythm, in the shocking, degrading power I'd forced upon him. His thrusts became ragged, uncontrolled. "Haan... randi... kutiya..." he gasped, the filthy Hindi words slurred, desperate incantations against the reality – he was the one being used. He was the one out of control.
I pushed back harder, meeting his force, taking him impossibly deep. The pain was a bonfire. My own release was irrelevant; this wasn't about pleasure. It was about breaking him completely. Watching the last vestige of his managerial facade crumble into animal need under my direction. "Aur!" I demanded, my voice ragged but commanding. More! "Apni saari gandi havas nikaal!" Empty all your filthy lust!