The Broken Valve - Ch. 01

Welcome to the second story in the series - "My Husband Is Perfect For Me". This story continues from the events of the previous one - 'The Indore Express', so please do read that one first, to fully understand Meenal and Harish's journey so far.

This is a tale of an insatiable yet reluctant wife, and her bumbling, pompous husband. And the compromising situations the husband accidentally engineers for her. If you enjoy stories with psychological tension, slow-burn temptation, and a healthy dose of irony, and SEX, you'll enjoy this one.

~BhagiRath

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My Husband Is Perfect For Me: The Broken Valve Ch. 01

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"And please be honest with me, Meenal," her mother asked over the phone. "Are you... you know... being... good?

"For god's sake maa!" Meenal exclaimed, clearly annoyed at the repeated questioning from her mother. "Can you please stop asking me this? Everything is fine!"

"Okay, okay, theek hai, fine!" her mother said. "It's just that... you know... Harish babu is..."

"Yes, yes! Your Harish babu is a god's gift to us all," Meenal responded with sarcasm. "And we're all lucky that he's accepted your characterless daughter as his wife..."

"MEENAL! Stop talking like that!" her mother scolded. "What if Harish babu hears you?"

"Relax maa, he's still sleeping! And besides, I'm in the kitchen."

Her mother started muttering to herself now. "This girl will drive me to an early grave, why did I ever..."

Meenal had lost interest by now, she stopped listening.

It had been around two months since Meenal arrived at her new Indore home. And since then, her mother had called almost every other day. Always checking, always reminding, and always preaching.

Meenal's adventurous past, it seems, was not easily forgotten by her mother.

Not that Meenal didn't deserve her mother's suspicion. At least she was honest about that... with herself.

On the very second day of her married life, on her way to her new marital home... Meenal let four random strangers on a train fuck her senseless. Of course, there were certain circumstances which made it... almost inevitable. One of the biggest ones being Harish's cluelessness, of course.

But still... it wasn't the best excuse, and Meenal knew it. She fully realized that it wasn't exactly the best start to her 'faithful' married life.

So part of her understood why her mother was being so paranoid.

"Are you listening to me?!" her mother's voice interrupted Meenal's thoughts.

"Of course I am, maa!"

Meenal WAS indeed trying to be a good wife. She didn't mind the cooking, the cleaning, the housework. It was just the two of them... it wasn't much work.

Her only complaint was... how dull all of it was. The monotony.

And adding to that dullness, was Harish himself.

However much she tried, Meenal couldn't bring herself to get over Harish's unique mix of pomposity and obliviousness.

He constantly overestimated himself, by a LOT. And underestimated everyone else... including Meenal herself.

But regardless of the type of person he was, Meenal had decided to give her marriage a true fighting chance.

Yes, she'd stepped out during the train journey. But that was just a one-time blip. Never to repeat.

No... it will never happen again... I won't let it happen again! Meenal decided.

"... hello? Are you still there, Meenal?" her mother asked again, her voice sounding even more irritated.

"Yes, maa," Meenal said, biting her tongue. "I'm here. But, can we talk about something else, please?"

"Accha... have you and Harish babu talked about kids yet? When will you be giving us good news?"

"Maa... we literally JUST got married!" Meenal wondered why the topic shifted back to her so quickly. "We haven't even gone on our honeymoon yet!"

"I was thinking about the exact same thing... why hasn't he taken you on a honeymoon yet?"

"I don't know," Meenal admitted, honestly. "He seems very busy with work."

Her mother was silent for a few seconds.

"Meenal," she said cautiously. "Is everything... ahem... good in the bedroom."

OH MY GOD! Meenal was screaming inside.

"Maa," she said. "I have to go. Harish ji will be waking up soon, I have to make his breakfast and pack his lunch. I have to go."

"Okay, okay," her mother said. "Drop a hint about taking you on a honeymoon! Soon!"

"Okay, whatever... theek hai , bye!"

Meenal ended the call. And let out a sigh of relief.

She shook her head at her mother's tenaciousness. And her directness.

Is everything good in the bedroom? How could she even ask something so personal?!

But then again, Meenal herself wondered about the answer.

Was everything good?

Not really. At least not for her.

Sex with Harish was... underwhelming at best.

It had been two months now. Two months of marriage, of sharing a bed, of the same fumbling routine. And in that time, Meenal had learned one irrefutable truth... Harish Kumar Yadav was absolutely, spectacularly, consistently terrible in bed.

It wasn't for the lack of enthusiasm. Harish was eager, she'd give him that. Eager and confident. Too confident. That was the problem.

Sure, Harish's dick was slightly smaller than average, which had disappointed Meenal a bit, but she was willing to look past that.

His inability to listen or learn on the other hand... that was the bigger issue.

On their wedding night, he'd refused to take any of her suggestions. He grunted and rutted for five minutes straight and ended up coming between her thighs.

He hadn't even entered her properly!

The subsequent nights in Indore were no better.

"Don't worry Meenal, I know what I am doing," he'd said, brushing her hand away from where she'd tried to angle his hips. "You just focus on the pleasure I'm giving you!"

Pleasure he was giving me? Wow.

Meenal almost laughed at the memory. Almost.

It had been the same pattern ever since.

Two or three times a week, Harish would decide it was time. There was no seduction, no buildup, no reading of her mood. He would simply roll toward her in bed, grab a breast, and announce his intentions with all the romance he could muster.

"Come on, Meenal. Let's do it quickly. So we can sleep on time."

And Meenal complied. Because that's what wives did. Because she was trying. Really trying. But also because... she wanted sex too. Good sex. And every time, some small, irrational part of her hoped that maybe, maybe this time would be different.

It was never different.

So, Meenal thought, no.... things were NOT going well in the bedroom. Either way, it was no business of her mother's!

Meenal looked at the clock on the wall... it was 6 AM. Harish would wake up soon to get to work. She'd taken her mother's call from the kitchen, so that she didn't wake him accidentally.

Meenal stood from the dining chair and straightened her full-length cotton nightie. She'd brought several of these before coming to Indore - short sleeves, snug against her body, tight in all the right places. She'd gotten them special-made by Ramesh ji, the ladies' tailor in her village.

Ahh.... Ramesh ji. The shady ladies' tailor. Meenal remembered that evening... when he took her measurements by hand...

Stop it. You're a married woman. You promised yourself.

Meenal stopped herself. No point thinking about all that right now and getting worked up for no reason.

She headed back into the bedroom to get ready, stopped on the way to look at herself in the mirror.

At 5'10'', Meenal was tall for a woman in her circle. She was even two inches taller than Harish. But she carried her height with confidence... upright posture, shoulders back... presenting her breasts to the world like an offering, much to her mother's dismay.

Her 22-year old body was slender, yet curvy in the right places. Moderate-sized breasts which sat high on her chest, firmness that came from youth. Her nipples were sensitive... she knew that, and her past lovers knew it too. A brush against them in a crowded market could make her gasp; and a man's deliberate touch would make her lose her mind. Santosh, her tractor-mechanic-ex-lover, knew exactly how to treat her nipples.

Her waist was narrow, but then flared out dramatically into her most prominent feature... her hips. When she walked, the sway of her hips was what made men follow her and track her movement like prey.

Her ass was the most remarked-upon feature, and she knew it. An ass that was round and plump, the kind that would make men walking behind her match her pace... just so they could stare at it longer. Some women called her dimensions "lucky" with envy, men called them other things with hunger.

She gave herself another glance and then walked towards the bathroom.

As she was walking by the bed, a hand shot out from the large lump that was covered with a blanket.

She looked at Harish with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, you're awake Harish ji?" she asked. "I was just about to freshen up and start cooking."

"Barely awake," he said. "All that talking with your mother, early in the morning, it disturbed my sleep."

"I'm sorry Harish ji, that's why I was taking the call from the dining room..."

"Why does she call so early in the morning?" he asked, his eyes squinting at the light coming from the windows.

"Things start early in the village," Meenal said.

"You women and all your talking," he said, still not letting Meenal's hand go. "What's there to talk about... every day?"

"We were just..."

"Anyway, now that I'm awake," Harish said, pausing for a second. "Let's do it."

Meenal sighed.

"Now? Won't you get late?"

"I can go a bit late today," he said. "My boss is out on inspection... he has four sanitation plants to cover, he'll be back much later in the day."

Meenal thought for a second. She'd worked herself up a bit... thinking of Ramesh ji and Santosh. A quick session with her husband might actually be just the thing she needs.

"Okay," Meenal said.

---

Meenal slipped off her nightie and climbed onto the bed in her bra and panties. Harish was already tugging at his shorts, his small erection jutting out proudly. He looked at Meenal's body like it was a spread at a wedding buffet... and he was approaching it the same way - grabbing whatever he can get his hands on.

"Aaja... come on, lie down," he said, patting the mattress.

She lay back, putting her head on the pillow, looking at him. Harish had that familiar hungry look on his face. He started at his usual place... Meenal's breasts.

He fumbled with the bra strap behind her for a few seconds before Meenal helped him out by unclasping her bra.

Harish grabbed her bare breasts like he was testing a fruit for ripeness... squeezing, kneading... and for some strange reason... shaking them. The first time Harish did that, Meenal struggled to keep her laughter down. Now she'd gotten used to it.

His palms pressed against her nipples, rubbing them back and forth with no rhythm.

Meenal took his wrist and tried to guide his thumb across her nipple, with slow, gentle circles... the way she liked.

Harish pulled his hand away. "I know what I'm doing, Meenal. You don't have to teach me."

"I wasn't teaching, I was just..."

"Shh. Just feel it," he said and started palming her breasts again.

She closed her eyes. Feel what?

His mouth replaced his hand now... sucking hard... but not on her nipple, but the side of her breast. In a few seconds, she felt his tongue lapping at the side... like a dog drinking water from a bowl. She wanted to guide his head so he could at least lick her nipples, or suck on them, like she actually liked... but then she thought better of it.

After a few minutes of the pointless licking Harish rolled over Meenal, positioning himself between her legs and nudging them apart with his knees. He then slipped her panties off her legs.

No oral or even playing down there with his fingers. She wondered if he even knew what foreplay was.

He positioned himself between her legs. She felt the blunt head of his dick prodding at her, missing the entrance twice, poking at her outer lips. She reached down to help him...

"I said I know what I'm doing!"

His voice was sharp. Wounded male pride. She pulled her hand back and just stared at the ceiling. Motionless.

Harish pushed in... missed. He thrust in again. This time, luckily, it went into the right hole. But at an awkward angle.

Meenal was glad to get what she could. She had not been fucked properly in weeks... she was looking forward to some action. She involuntarily shifted her hips to make him go deeper.

"Stop moving around! You're making it difficult!" Harish said, straining over her, his forehead sweating.

Meenal went still again.

Harish finally started moving. Short piston-like motion. No rhythm, but at least Meenal was feeling something.

She was still relatively dry, and she could feel the friction. She tried to think of anything that would make her turned on, and a bit wet. Anything to stop the chafing.

The freshest memory was the train incident... the way Mangal took her in the ass... yes, he definitely liked her ass. And Laksh... oh... that handsome face...

Stop. Don't think about other men.

Not when your husband is trying to make love to you!

But he's so... useless!

Harish continued the shallow drilling that he was doing. Meenal was not feeling it... at all.

"Harish ji," she tried once more. "Can you... can you go slower? Just for a..."

"This is the way, Meenal. This is how women like it."

WHICH WOMEN? WHO TOLD YOU THAT?? WHO LIED TO YOU!? She wanted to scream.

But she said nothing. Because arguing with him would make him lose his erection... like it happened last week, and then he'd sulk for two days straight and she'd have to hear about how she "didn't support him."

So she lay there. Taking it. Thinking about Mangal... and Laksh... and Santosh... and...

There. That feeling. It was building. Despite Harish's underwhelming efforts, having some movement between her legs, paired with the memories of her past lovers was doing it for Meenal.

She could feel the tension grow between her legs... and the wetness.

"Mmm..." a small moan escaped her mouth.

Harish's eyes widened. Her tiny moan did wonders for his ego. He increased his pace.

"Yes," she whispered, her eyes tightly closed, imagining Santosh's tongue between her legs.

Harish's breathing quickened. His thrusts became more erratic.

"Keep going... please... don't..."

Harish grunted once, twice... and then let out a weak gasp, collapsing on Meenal.

She opened her eyes in shock... and utter frustration. She couldn't believe it.

So close!

Harish lay on top of her for a few seconds, his full weight pressing her into the mattress. Then with another grunt, he rolled off.

A few seconds of silent panting went by.

"That was good," he said, reaching for his shorts. "Very good."

Meenal stared at the ceiling. Her unfulfilled need made her want to scream.

Harish looked over at her.

"You had fun too, right?" he asked.

Meenal was silent for a second.

Should I tell him?

"Um... not too much fun," she said. But then she worried and added "You were very good though! I just..."

"You know what, Meenal," Harish interrupted. "I think I know what's happening."

She turned her head to look at him.

Harish was propped up on one elbow, looking at her with an expression she recognized now.

He was about to preach his wisdom.

"You see, it's completely normal," he started. "You don't need to feel embarrassed about it."

"Embarrassed about what?"

"You were a virgin until just a few weeks ago, Meenal," he settled into lecture mode. "It's natural that you wouldn't... you know... finish the first few times."

Meenal's mouth opened to say something. Then closed.

"For women," Harish continued, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice, "it takes longer to learn how to... how to appreciate these things.

He smiled at her.

"You're still getting used to the whole experience, Meenal." He reached out and patted her thigh. "So don't worry... you'll get there... with a bit more practice."

Practice? He thinks I need more practice.

Meenal was tempted. Really tempted to correct him on a thousand things. She wanted to tell him exactly how much 'experience' she has and puncture that balloon of overblown ego with some actual facts.

But she didn't. Because doing that would reveal her own truths. Her own past. It would mean shattering his fragile ego. It would mean arguments and accusations. And her marriage likely collapsing.

So instead, Meenal just smiled. Like she had done the past two months.

Then she sat up, pulling the sheet over her chest. Her body still needed a release. She decided that she'd make herself cum in the shower.

"I'm going to take a shower," she said, swinging her legs off the bed. "So I can get started on your breakfast and then I have to make your lunch box."

"Good, good." Harish was reaching for his phone on the nightstand, clearly distracted. "Make something nice for lunch today. Do we have paneer?"

Meenal didn't respond. She was still a bit peeved with him.

She found her bra and panties tangled in the sheets. Pulled them on and grabbed a towel from the closet, didn't bother with her nightie. She walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Meenal took her bra and panties off and hung them on the towel bar, next to the towel.

She stood in front of the shower and looked down at her body. Her nipples were still hard. Between her legs, she could feel the wetness from Harish's release, slowly trickling down her thigh.

She decided to quickly rub one out under the warm water. And then, once Harish leaves for work, she'd have the whole day to herself.

With one hand between her legs, she turned the handle with the other.

The shower sputtered. A few drops fell, then nothing. The pipes made a long groaning noise, like a dying man taking his last breath.

She tried again, turning it back and forth. Nothing.

"Come on," she muttered, jiggling the handle. "Just work. Please!"

Nothing.

She stepped out of the shower, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around herself. She yanked open the bathroom door and called for Harish.

For the next several minutes Harish was inspecting the shower handle, and then the showerhead and then the handle again. He looked at it silently for a while.

Meenal was standing behind him, clad in her towel, waiting patiently.

"It seems," he began after a long silence. "The shower is broken."

Yeah, no shit. She thought.

"Yes, Harish ji," she said. "Should we call a plumber?"

"PLUMBER?" Harish's voice got high, as if she'd said the most ridiculous thing in the world. "Why a plumber? Those guys charge SO MUCH money! And for what?"

She looked at him. Unsure whether it was a rhetorical question.

"No, no plumber needed, Meenal," Harish continued. "I'll take care of it myself. Don't forget, you're married to the water supply supervisor for zone four of the..."

"Harish ji, are you sure... this seems complicated. It might be better to..."

"Just let me get my tools, Meenal... you worry too much!"

Harish came back with a wrench, a screwdriver and for some inexplicable reason... a hammer.

Meenal had given up hope by now... no shower... and certainly no self-pleasure. She'd have to bottle up that need for a release until later.

She picked up her already-worn red nightie from the laundry basket and wore it again. No bra and panties inside.

It's fine, she thought. She'll change after the shower.

She got started on breakfast in the kitchen, leaving Harish in the bathroom to tinker with the shower.

After about thirty minutes, Meenal was done with preparing breakfast, and lunch was also ready to be packed up.

She suddenly heard a heavy metallic explosion and then what sounded like a rush of water.

Meenal ran to the bathroom to find a disastrous scene.

Water everywhere. Spraying from the showerhead in an erratic arc that covered half the bathroom. And also leaking from the tap in a steady stream.

And somehow, also spraying from the hole where the handle used to be, because the handle was in Harish's hand.

His other hand had a hammer in it. It didn't take more than a second for Meenal to figure out what might've happened here.

Harish was standing in the middle of the bathroom, his clothes soaked, holding the handle. He looked shocked and dejected at the same time.

"Meenal," he shouted over the loud gush of water. "Bring me my phone... we need to call the plumber!"

---

Harish called the apartment's security guard and got a plumber's number from him.

When the doorbell rang, Meenal opened the door. Harish was still in the bathroom, mopping up the mess he'd made.

"Biswa... I'm the plumber," the man said, his voice deep and rough. "Is this Harish saab's house?"

"Yes, come in," Meenal held the door open and Biswa walked in.

He was younger than she'd expected. She wasn't sure why but she'd expected someone older. Someone smaller.

Biswa was neither. He was maybe twenty-five, twenty-six. Dark skinned, broad shouldered, and tall... definitely taller than her. He had a solid build... from hard physical labor. He had a short shaggy beard and unkempt hair.

He wore a faded grey tank on top of black, stained trousers. And a tool belt around his waist. His nails were lined with grease.

As soon as he entered the house, she could smell it. Smell him.

Dried sweat.

And that unmistakable smell of paan. The fragrance combination of the betel leaf, white lime paste and rose petal preserve... it overwhelmed her senses.

Based on the bulge in his cheek, his dark-red-stained lips, he seemed to be chewing some now.

Meenal was no stranger to the smell of paan, of course. But serial paan-eaters... they were a different breed. The men in her village who chewed paan constantly carried the smell in their clothes, their hair, even their skin. She could always smell it around them... sweet and herbal sometimes, sharp and chemical-like other times.

Her own father had been a daily paan-eater. One after dinner, every night... he'd walk to the cigarette and paan shop in the village, said it was good for digestion.

But men like this plumber... men who never went without a paan constantly pressed in their cheek, whose lips were perpetually rimmed with red... Meenal didn't particularly like them.

The smell from him made her nose wrinkle.

He stopped and turned towards Meenal.

"Well?"

"W... what?" she asked.

"Where is the issue?"

"Oh, right. In the bathroom," Meenal said, leading him inside. "This way."

Biswa followed her to the bathroom. Harish was on his knees, surrounded by wet rags, still trying to contain the water that was seeping through his makeshift plugs. He looked up with relief when he saw Biswa.

"Finally! I've been trying to manage this mess," Harish said, standing up. "The shower handle just... broke off. I don't know what happened."

Biswa stood there for maybe a second, assessing the issue. Then he turned and left without a word.

Harish and Meenal looked at each other, confused for maybe thirty seconds, and suddenly the water stopped.

Biswa returned.

"I turned off your main water line," he said. "It's outside your apartment, in the maintenance room for this floor."

"Ahh, yes," Harish said. "Yes, I was going to do that myself."

Meenal rolled her eyes. Luckily Harish didn't see this.

But Biswa did.

Biswa looked over the bathroom, the water pooled on the floor, the broken handle in Harish's hand. He took the handle from Harish and examined it, then looked at the pipe where it had been attached.

"The pressure valve is broken," he announced. "And the showerhead is rusted too. That's why the pressure built up."

"Can you fix it?" Harish asked.

"You need a new showerhead... the rusted one's no good. I can get a new showerhead in a day or two, no problem. But the bigger issue is the pressure valve. They don't make this specific model anymore. I'll have to get the part shipped from Bhopal."

"Bhopal?" Harish's voice rose. "Why Bhopal... is it not available anywhere in Indore?"

"You see this brand, saab?" Biswa pointed to the faucet. "They've stopped making this particular type of faucet. Only replacement parts nearby would be in the wholesale distributors in Bhopal."

"How long will that take?"

"Three days. Maybe four." Biswa shrugged. "Depends on the supplier. If they still keep the stock."

"Four days?" Meenal spoke up. "What are we supposed to do without water for four days?"

"The water has to stay off," Biswa said. "If I turn on the main line, the pressure will just build up again. Could burst another pipe."

Meenal looked at Harish, her eyes wide. "Four days, Harish ji? No water at all?"

Harish was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then his face brightened.

"I have an idea," he said. "Biswa, can you come by every day? You can turn on the main valve, let us fill up buckets for the kitchen, and then turn it off again."

"I can do that," Biswa said. "But I'll have to charge extra for the visits."

"Of course, of course," Harish said. "How much?"

"Hmm..." Biswa thought for a second, his eyes glancing towards Meenal for a split second. "Just give me hundred rupees per visit, saab... that will make it worth my time."

"Done," Harish said.

"And Meenal," Harish continued, turning to her. "You can shower when Biswa is here. He'll turn on the water, you can take your shower, and then he'll turn it off again. Problem solved."

Meenal's stomach tightened. She didn't like where this was going.

She looked at Biswa, who was watching her with a small smile on his face.

"Harish ji, can you come here for a second," she said, walking away from Biswa and into the bedroom.

"Uhh... yeah," Harish said, uncertain. He followed her into the bedroom.

Once they were out of earshot, Meenal protested.

"I don't want to shower when he's here, Harish ji," she said, her voice firm. "Can't he just turn on the water and leave? I can shower after..."

"After what?" Harish laughed. "After he leaves? And then what happens if the handle breaks again while you're alone? You'll flood the whole apartment."

"Then I'll shower at the neighbors'..."

"At the neighbors'?" Harish's voice was incredulous. "Meenal, we just moved here. You're going to go ask strangers if you can use their shower? What will they think of us?"

Meenal was silent. She couldn't very well say what she was really thinking. Not in front of Biswa. Not in front of her husband.

"It's just a shower, Meenal," Harish said, his tone dismissive. "He'll turn on the water, you'll take your shower, he'll turn it off. What's the big deal?"

Meenal looked at Biswa again. He was still watching her, still smiling that small smile, even though she was sure he couldn't hear what they were talking about.

"Nothing," she said quietly. "No problem."

"Good." Harish checked his watch and his eyes widened. "I'm very late for work! I need to shower at the office."

He walked towards the closet, got something and came back to her.

"Here," he said, handing her a hundred rupee note. "For today's visit." He leaned in even closer, his voice barely a whisper. "And don't let him overcharge you. These low-class laborers... they're all thieves... always trying to take advantage."

Meenal didn't know how to respond to that. She nodded.

Soon, Harish got ready for work while Biswa made some temporary repairs and adjustments on the shower. Harish, briefcase in hand, came to the bathroom door.

"Uh... listen," Harish said to Biswa, already having forgotten his name. "I have to go to work now. After you're done with the repairs, turn on the water so my wife can shower."

"Okay saab," Biswa nodded.

Harish left soon after. Meenal saw him to the door and waved goodbye.

And just when Meenal was about to turn back into the house she saw him.

Their neighbor... the scary old man... with the mustache. Apartment six. Right next to Harish and Meenal's apartment number five.

Harish had told her that his name was Mr. Kamble.

The first time Meenal had seen him was on the day they'd moved in. He scared her a bit... looking like a stern headmaster.

She'd seen him a few times since then. But they'd never spoken before. He was always around, though. Either sitting in a chair on his balcony or hanging around his apartment door. Always curious to see who was coming and going.

He smiled at her, and Meenal smiled back. She just remembered that she wasn't wearing any underwear inside her red nightie. She quickly went inside and closed the door behind her.

As soon as she did, she looked through the peep hole. Sure enough, he was still standing there, looking towards her door.

Why is he always there?

And why does he always stare?

Meenal could've probably guessed the answer to the second question.

She walked back into the apartment. It was a hot day... May heat. The sex with Harish this morning, however unsatisfactory it was, combined with the high heat of Indore, was making her feel sticky... and dirty.

Meenal remembered that she also needed to mop up all the water that had leaked onto the bedroom floor. She grabbed a couple of towels and walked towards the bedroom.

Biswa was still at work near the shower... he seemed to have gotten the handle attached again. He gave her a quick glance as she walked in.

Meenal squatted down and started mopping up the water outside the bathroom door.

Biswa walked towards her, leaning his shoulder against the door frame.

He looked down at the squatting Meenal.

What a view! He thought to himself.

Her nightie had ridden up as she squatted, exposing her calves and the lower curve of her thighs. The fabric pulled tight across her hips. Wide, womanly hips that flared out from her narrow waist, making the nightie strain at the seams. And from this angle, looking down, he could see the soft curve of her breasts, hanging slightly as she leaned forward.

The neckline gaping just enough, just right... hinting at what lay beneath. Her mangalsutra was hanging between her breasts, a reminder of her forbidden status.

She wasn't wearing a bra. He was certain of it now. The way her breasts moved freely under the thin cotton, the slight bounce when she reached forward with the mop. When he walked into the bathroom, the first thing he'd seen were the bra and panties hanging on the towel bar.

She must've taken them off to shower, and never put them back on.

No bra. That means no panties either.

He'd noticed their style and the lace. They weren't modest... not designed to hide, but rather to present. He realized this housewife might be one of 'those' women... the adventurous ones. He liked such women. He had fun with such women, especially in his line of work.

He noticed that she hadn't crossed her arms, hadn't pulled the nightie up. Most women would've done at least one of those things by now.

No... she's not like most women.

Biswa was starting to get excited now.

Meenal on the other hand, was far from excited. She was cursing Harish in her mind.

Harish ji seems to know just as much about plumbing as he knows about women.

"So," Meenal asked, looking up at Biswa. "Is there any way you can make that valve come from Bhopal sooner?"

Biswa was openly staring at her cleavage. In the angle that she was, squatting, leaning forward, the view of the smooth valley between her breasts was irresistible to him.

But, interestingly, Biswa noted - she was letting him do it. She made no move to cover up, to pull her neckline up.

Interesting, he thought. Very interesting.

"I don't know what to tell you madam," Biswa said. "It's a rare part... I have to make some phone calls to some wholesale distributors to see if they still store this valve..."

"That just sounds like an excuse. This whole arrangement... you coming every day... I'm not very comfortable with..."

"What do you want me to do madam?" he asked with a wider smile. "I mean... you're welcome to come and shower at my place. I live nearby."

"What?!" Meenal's voice rose, the shock evident in it.

"I didn't mean it in a bad way madam," Biswa immediately course-corrected. "I meant, I'd love to offer a better way... but you know... we just have to wait for the part."

Meenal didn't say anything in response. She was trying to figure him out.

He definitely seemed bold. He made no attempt at hiding his shameless staring. Meenal knew exactly what he was eyeing. She thought about saying something to him, but didn't want to get into an uncomfortable conversation with him.

She didn't question why she wasn't just covering herself up. Perhaps a small hidden corner of her mind was craving some attention?

"So," Meenal asked. "Can you help me shower today?"

"Of course, madam," he said. "I just need to step outside and turn on the main valve."

Meenal was near the door, squatting and mopping. He'd have to get past her to step out of the bathroom. She stood up.

Before she could get out of the way, Biswa had walked straight up to her.

Meenal didn't have time to react. And Biswa, he didn't ask her to move, or even bother to say excuse me. He just moved past her, like she was just an obstacle in his way.

Meenal was like a deer in headlights, frozen, as Biswa's body pressed against hers. He didn't stop. He just... went. His chest brushed against her shoulder, then her chest, as he squeezed past in the narrow space. His arm grazed her stomach, his tool belt clinked softly against her hips.

She could smell him. Sweat and paan. The smell filled her nostrils... pungent. She pressed herself against the wall instinctively, but it was a bit too late... he'd already walked out of the bathroom.

Meenal stood alone in the bathroom for a few seconds, still pressed against that wall, still processing.

What just happened?

Did he just...

Was that on purpose?

He touched me...

She finally exhaled... a shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her hand went to her stomach, where his arm had brushed against her.

And then she realized - he'd be coming back any second. She should move. Step out of the bathroom.

But she didn't move quickly enough. She heard his footsteps in the bedroom.

"Water's flowing now," Biswa said, as he stepped back into the bathroom.

Meenal heard him getting closer. This time, she was ready.

Move. Get out of the bathroom before he comes back in.

She started walking toward the door. But Biswa was already there, stepping through the doorway into the bathroom.

"Wait..." Meenal said, putting up a hand. "Let me get out of the way first..."

"It's okay madam, I'll just pass through," he said, not slowing down.

"No, wait... I'll move..."

She tried to step aside, but the bathroom was too narrow and Biswa was already there. Meenal had no choice but to press herself back against the wall to avoid him walking directly into her.

This time he was closer. Much closer than before.

Meenal pressed her hips against the wall, trying to maximize the distance between them, but that jutted her chest out. Biswa's chest pressed against hers, flattening her breasts against her frame.

She turned her face away, pressing her cheek against the wall tile. She held her breath again, closed her eyes tightly.

He's doing this on purpose. He has to be doing this on purpose!

Maybe it was psychological but she felt that he was moving past her slower than needed. His body sliding against hers, as if he had all the time in the world.

She smelled his smell again. His thigh brushed against hers. His arm brushed against her shoulder.

And then he was past. He went and stood next to the shower handle.

She turned to face him. "What was that?"

"What?"

"You could've let me move first!" she said, her voice sharp. "Why were you passing by me when I was standing right there?"

Biswa looked at her, a small smile appearing on his face. "The bathroom is narrow, madam. I was just trying to get past."

"It's not so narrow that you had to press against me like that."

"Madam." His voice was calm. "I have other job sites to get to. I don't have all day. I was just trying to move quickly. Nothing personal."

Meenal was silent. She didn't want to argue more. She wanted him to get done quickly anyway.

"Okay, so is it ready?" she asked. "Can I shower now?"

Biswa smiled. A small battle won.

"Before you shower, let me show you how to use the handle." He stepped under the shower, gesturing her closer. "Come. Stand here."

He gestured for her to join him right under the showerhead.

Meenal hesitated, then stepped forward, positioning herself next to him.

"No, no," he said, shaking his head. "Stand in front. Like this. So you can reach the handle yourself."

He took Meenal by her shoulders and turned her to face the showerhead, and then stepped behind her.

Meenal stiffened. He moved before she could react. He was right behind her. Close. Too close. She could feel his body behind her, his chest was touching her shoulders.

"See," Biswa's voice was low, right next to her ear. "The handle is sensitive, because there's no valve to regulate the pressure..."

Biswa raised his arm from behind her, inserting it between her arm and her torso.

Meenal was shocked to feel his bicep against the side of her breast... first just a brush from his arm against the curve of her breast, but then a firm press against her side boob as he moved the handle.

His other hand came up from behind her and rested on her waist. Casual. As if this was a completely normal thing to do.

Meenal couldn't believe it. There was no reason for him to be standing this close. No reason for his hand to be on her waist. No reason for the intimate way his arm was touching her breast, inserting itself under her armpit.

She was too shocked to move. Or to say anything. She was still processing his audacity.

"So just be careful, madam," he whispered into her ear. "Just gently turn the handle, slow... like you're handling a sensitive..."

"STOP!" Meenal was trying to make her voice sound firm, but it came across breathy and shaky.

"What?" Biswa asked. She could feel his breath on her ear.

"Take your hand away from me," Meenal said, her voice strained. "Let me go."

He let go of her waist, and then lowered his arm.

"I was just trying to make sure you understand how to use it madam," Biswa said. "Don't want another accident like your husband's."

Biswa stepped back half a step. Meenal turned around to face him. Her face was feeling hot.

"I know EXACTLY what you were doing," she said. "Your hands were all over me... that was completely unnecessary. You... you... that was..."

"I was just trying to help, madam."

"You were taking advantage of the situation," she almost screamed. "How did you even think it was an okay thing to do... especially with a married woman..."

Biswa looked at her face, and then he lowered his eyes towards her chest... the thin cotton covering her braless tits, her nipples hard. He then brought his eyes back up and looked at her with an expression that was clearly saying can you blame me?

Or at least that's what Meenal thought he was implying. And that made her even more angry.

"Stop that!" she snapped. "Stop looking at me like that... ever since you came you've been staring at my chest..."

Biswa glanced at her breasts once more, a small smile on his face. "I was just..."

"HOW DARE YOU," she said, the anger flaring up inside her, the more she thought about it. "WHAT DID YOU THINK WAS GOING TO HAPPEN?"

"Calm down, madam," Biswa said, still smiling. "I told you... if you're not careful with the handle..."

"Don't tell me to calm down, you shameless man!" Meenal spat at him. "Just because you're alone with a woman..."

"Madam..."

"... my husband was right. All you filthy low-class laborers are the same... I should tell my..."

As soon as she said it, she saw Biswa's eyes change.

"What did you say?" Biswa's voice had suddenly turned serious, and low, almost like a growl.

The shift in his voice was immediate. The prior amusement was gone.

Meenal realized her mistake instantly. It had slipped out of her mouth accidentally. Harish's words, mixed with her own anger.

But she realized it was a little late to back out.

"I meant... what you did... that was shameful for a man to do... don't you know how to behave with a lady..."

"You called me low-class," Biswa wasn't letting it go.

"I didn't mean it that way..."

"Why am I low-class, huh? Because I work with my hands?"

She was silent. This is not the direction she thought this conversation would go.

"Is it because I'm not as educated as your husband? Don't earn as much as he does?" Biswa continued.

"Look, I was just saying..." Meenal's voice was quieter than she wanted it to be. "What you did... staring at my..."

"And who are you to call me low-class, madam?" Biswa said, his eyes moving over her face... and then slowly, moving towards the wet nightie clinging to her breasts, her nipples jutting out clear as day. "I know a village girl when I see one."

Meenal paused. "What?"

"I can tell you've grown up in a village," he repeated, his voice turning gentle all of a sudden. "The way you squat when you mop the floor... city women bend at the waist. Not you... you go all the way down, knees apart, feet flat on the ground. Village girls learn to squat like that."

Meenal didn't know what to say to that. She hadn't expected this random plumber to analyze her.

"Just because you've come to the city, and are wearing fancy underwear for your husband," Biswa pointed to her bra and panties hanging on the towel bar. "Doesn't mean you're suddenly better than me."

Meenal opened her mouth, but then closed it.

Biswa saw her struggle. Knew he had her. "What happened, madam... nothing to say to me?"

"I..." Meenal straightened up, looked him in the eye. "I think you should leave now."

Biswa was silent for a second. Looking at her. Evaluating her.

"Don't you want to shower, madam?"

"No, I don't need to shower," she snapped back. "Certainly not with you around..."

Biswa shrugged, with a small smile returning to his face.

"Suit yourself."

He started collecting his tools with an unhurried ease, like a man who had all the time in the world. He kept glancing at her while putting everything away into his toolbox.

Meenal walked over to the closet and got the hundred rupees that her husband gave her.

"Here, take this money," she said, handing him the notes. "You don't need to come back tomorrow. Just come back directly when you have the valve."

"But madam," Biswa said, while pocketing the money. "Saab wanted me to come daily... to help you shower."

Meenal gave him an angry glare.

"I'm telling you... you don't need to come," she said. "I'll talk to saab. Just come back when you have the valve."

Biswa shrugged. "Suit yourself, madam."

He headed for the door, toolbox in hand. Meenal followed him, keeping her distance.

At the door, Biswa turned to her. His eyes swept over her once again, spending an extra second on her chest, before settling on her eyes.

"Look, madam..." he said, his voice sounding casual... almost businesslike, as if nothing had happened. "I know words were said... on both sides. But I'm willing to let all that go. Just call me tomorrow when you want to shower and I can come help you."

"No thanks! I'll manage." Meenal's voice was firm.

Biswa looked at her again.

"Your wish, madam." Biswa shrugged and stepped out into the hallway.

Meenal started to close the door, but suddenly, Biswa's hand shot out, holding the door open. Just enough space for him to stand in the doorway, half in, half out.

He put the toolbox down on the floor, out in the hallway.

Meenal looked at him with a surprised expression. Before she could react, he reached down and took her hand.

Meenal was shocked, again. "What are you..."

His grip was firm. His calloused hands and thick fingers, nails lined with grease and dirt, wrapped around Meenal's wrist, holding her in place.

With his free hand, he pulled a pen from his back pocket. A cheap ballpoint pen. And then with deliberate slowness, he began to write on her palm.

Meenal looked down and saw. He was writing digits. She tried to pull her hand back. But Biswa's grip tightened. Not painfully, but firmly enough that she couldn't free herself.

"Let me go," she said, her voice sharp. "What are you doing?"

"Just a second, madam. Almost done."

She watched the numbers appear on her palm. A phone number, being written on her skin.

Just like Mangal...

The thought brought about a small tingle deep inside her.

"This is my mobile number, madam," he said, after he was done writing. But he still hadn't let go of her wrist.

"I know you said you don't want me to come again," he continued. "But just in case you change your mind... just call me."

Meenal stared at him. Her heart hammering. Her palm was tingling.

She forced her wrist out of his grip, and this time he let it go.

Biswa smiled, picked up his toolbox and turned to leave.

"See you later, madam."

Meenal watched him walk down the hallway. He didn't look back.

What a jerk! she thought to herself. What an absolute, insufferable...

Meenal was starting to close the door, but then she saw him.

Apartment six, the mustached neighbor. He was standing there, staring at her, right in front of his apartment.

Meenal froze.

Shit.

How much did he see?

A sick realization dawned on her - her thin nightie, the sweat... the fabric clinging to her chest. And he must've definitely seen Biswa writing the phone number on her palm.

Shit.

What if he gets the wrong impression?

What if he thinks there's something between me and the bloody plumber!

Meenal gave him a quick polite smile, pulled her nightie's neckline up and closed the door immediately.

She immediately looked through the peephole. Mr. Kamble was still looking towards her door.

What a creep.

Meenal turned and walked into the kitchen, thinking about what just happened. She raised her palm and saw it, the ten digits, scribbled on her palm, Biswa's phone number.

She felt that familiar feeling... the one that she had been trying to fight... the one that had been building for several weeks... the one that had taken over her in the Indore Express.

---

Harish came home at seven, a bit later than usual.

Meenal had calmed down a bit by then, but her mind kept taking her back to Biswa... his face, his actions, his sheer audacity. She felt anger. And she felt excitement.

"How did it go with the plumber?" Harish asked when he came home.

"It was... fine," Meenal hesitated. She didn't want to tell him everything that had happened. "He attached the handle back... but he says it's only temporary... we need the new valve."

"Yeah, at least we won't struggle for water too much until then," Harish responded. "Did he say what time he will come tomorrow?"

"Actually Harish ji, this is something I wanted to talk to you about," she said. "Could we get a different plumber?"

"Different plumber?" Harish asked. "Why?"

Meenal didn't know what to say. She couldn't exactly tell her husband that the plumber had stared at her breasts... and then made a pass at her, and pretty much groped her from behind!

No... she couldn't tell him that.

She had to come up with something else.

"He... he chews paan all the time," Meenal said.

So stupid!

This was the only thing that came to her mind. She decided to stick to it.

"I... I just don't like the smell."

Harish looked at her with a bewildered expression. And then he let out a short laugh.

"Paan?" he asked. "You want to replace the plumber because you don't like the smell of paan?"

"It's just that... I don't like him... or the smell. You know. Can we just find someone else, please Harish ji?"

"Meenal, he's a plumber. A laborer. What do you expect?" Harish asked. "Besides, if we bring someone else, we'll have to pay them again to do the inspection... and order the parts. We'll just end up wasting money."

"But..."

"No buts... it's just a matter of a few days, Meenal," Harish said. "Just bear with him... it's just the smell of paan. Who knows, you might end up liking it."

Meenal didn't see the point of arguing with Harish. She gave in.

"Just remember, you need to be firm with him, Meenal." Harish leaned back on the sofa, his belly straining against his undershirt. "Don't let him take advantage. These people... you need to show them you're in charge."

Meenal said nothing.

---

Later that night, Meenal lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling.

The fan rotated overhead. But all it was doing was pushing the hot air around the room in lazy circles. It did nothing to cool her. Nothing at all. Indore heat was no joke.

She was sticky. Uncomfortably, unpleasantly sticky. She hadn't showered.

And so she lay there, unwashed, uncomfortable, and unable to sleep.

Beside her, Harish snored. The sound was familiar now... a deep, erratic rumble that shook his belly with each exhale.

Meenal turned to her side, away from Harish's snoring. Her nightie was sticking to her back.

Gross.

She needed a shower. She needed it badly.

But she couldn't possibly call Biswa... could she? Not him! Not after everything that happened today.

Meenal pressed her thighs together, feeling a tingle between her legs again. She was thinking about the events of the day. All those moments with him.

She remembered the way he took her hand in his, without waiting for permission and wrote his number on it.

Why did I let him do that?

It was driving her crazy.

She opened her eyes, and slowly took her phone from the nightstand. The screen glowed in the dark.

She opened her contacts. Scrolled down.

[BISWA PLUMBER]

She stared at the name. Remembered how she'd washed his number off of her palm. But just minutes before that, she'd saved it to her phone.

He's a plumber. Of course we need a plumber.

It's for the house.

Right. For the house.

Her thumb hovered over the message icon next to his name.

Don't. Her mother's voice suddenly echoed in her head.

But her body was still sticky. Still unwashed. Still aching for a release.

I need to shower. This is only for the shower. I can't not shower.

Her thumb moved to the message field. She typed.

[Can you come tomorrow - 10?]

She stared at the words. So simple, so mundane. A wife texting the plumber for some repairs. But she knew what it meant. What it could turn into, if she wasn't careful.

Delete it. Don't send it! Her mother's annoying voice was warning her in her head.

Meenal thought about him squeezing past her in that narrow passageway, the way their bodies almost touched. Her wearing nothing underneath her nightie. Him with his tank, showing off his arms and shoulders and the upper part of his hairy chest.

And the smell. His sweat. The paan.

The smell she hated.

No. I won't message him.

END OF CHAPTER 1

---