Vivek’s laugh was only air.
“Such bodies are to be fucked, bro.”
The sentence went through the room like a slap that did not miss.
“If you don’t,” Vivek said, eyes on Sanjay, “some Arvind will. Some mama-ka-friend will. Some college name she still says on a cot. We watched a peach petticoat and we came in our fists and we still called her Aunty in the morning. That’s the truth. Papa, Arvind, whoever—those men already know what that body does. We were the boys with a laptop. They were in the bathroom.”
Raja added, quieter, worse,
“I am not saying we go home and become the film. I am saying don’t sit here shocked that your head put Aparna Mummy in a doorway. We put her there in the holidays with our own hands. We put Kalpana there. We put Anjali there. And the porn on your laptop was only the practice paper.”
Sanjay’s mouth was a thin line. His cock had not gone down. Puja felt it and did not spare him.
Sonam whispered, “You jerked off to my mother.”
Raja: “Yes.”
Akriti to Vivek: “And you to mine. And to his.”
Vivek: “Yes.”
Puja stared at the television, then at the three men.
“Four we know of,” she said. “Plus two extra pairs of eyes in a passage. Peach petticoat. Tied over her breasts. You saw everything and you still ate breakfast.”
On the screen, Taboo kept pretending it was fiction.
In the bed, the peach cloth walked from the bathroom to the bedroom again, and nobody in the room could call themselves surprised.
The sisters looked at each other the way they had before the begging.
A wink. Then hands.
Puja wrapped her fist around Sanjay.
Sonam took Raja.
Akriti took Vivek.
Not gentle. A claim. Thumbs smearing the wet already at the tips.
Puja leaned in until her mouth was almost on Sanjay’s.
“Now you talk, Bhaiya. Not Arvind’s story only. Ours. Our mummy. Aparna Mummy. That peach petticoat. That red light. That bathroom. What would you do to our mummy. How. How dirty. If you go shy I stop my hand.”
Sonam’s grip on Raja tightened.
“Our mummy. Kalpana Mummy. You already came to her in your head after 12th. Say it to my face while I’m holding this.”
Akriti stroked Vivek once, mean, exact.
“Our mummy. Anjali Mummy. Sleeps early. You said. What would you do if she didn’t sleep. Filth. I want the version you used in the dark.”
The television moaned. Their fists did not pause.
Sanjay broke, because Puja’s thumb would not let him hide.
“Our mummy. Aparna. I’d wait till the house was dead. Two a.m. Same passage. I’d push that door the way I should have pushed it. Our mummy in the peach petticoat, knot over her tits. I’d pull the knot with my teeth. Those heavy breasts in my hands. I’d suck her nipples until they were as wet as yours. I’d put her on the cot, petticoat around her waist, and I’d look at that dark pussy I saw through the cloth. Then I’d eat her. Slow. Then not slow. I’d put my tongue where Papa was, where Arvind’s fingers were, and I’d make our own mummy drip on my mouth.”
Puja pumped him, listening.
“Dirtier. And tell them the part you still haven’t said.”
Sanjay’s voice went to the floor and stayed there.
