Sharing her

The next afternoon I called her into the cabin and locked the door. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, the same careful posture she had used on her first day. I opened the video on my phone, turned the sound off, and set it on the desk where she could see it.

On the screen she was on her knees, shirt open, mouth around me. Then the angle changed and she was on all fours, face turned into the mattress. The recording was only thirty seconds long. I let it loop.

“Sit,” I said.

She sat. Her eyes stayed on the phone. Color rose and then drained from her face.

“Abhilash is coming at seven,” I told her. “He has seen shorter clips. He wants the rest of you.”

Her mouth opened. Nothing came out at first. Then, very small: “Please don’t.”

“You can leave now. Walk out, tell your brother, tell HR. Or you can stay and do what I ask. The video stays on my phone either way.”

She looked at the looping image of herself. Her hands tightened in her lap until the knuckles went white. After a long moment she nodded once.

Abhilash arrived just after seven. He was taller than me, broader through the shoulders, and he smiled when he saw her. The smile did not reach his eyes. I had already moved the chairs. Samyukta stood between us in the middle of the cabin. The blinds were down. The rest of the floor was empty except for the night guard two levels below.

“Take the shirt off,” I said.

Her fingers shook on the buttons. Abhilash watched without speaking. When the shirt fell he stepped closer and ran one hand down her bare back. She flinched. He did it again, slower, until she stopped moving.

“On your knees,” he said. His voice was ordinary. She looked at me. I nodded. She knelt.

Abhilash undid his belt. He was thicker than I was. When he pushed into her mouth she made a choked sound and tried to pull back. He held her hair and kept her there. Spit ran down her chin onto her chest. I filmed it from the side. Every time she gagged he waited, then pushed deeper. Tears started. She kept her hands on her thighs because I had told her not to push him away.

After a few minutes he pulled out. Her lips were swollen. She coughed once, quietly.

“Over the desk,” I said.

She stood on unsteady legs and bent forward. I pushed her skirt up and her underwear down. She was still sore from the night before; I could see it in the way she tensed when the air hit her. Abhilash ran two fingers between her legs, then pushed them inside without warning. She cried out and rose onto her toes. He worked them roughly until she was wet enough, then lined himself up.

“Tell him to stop if you want,” I said.

She shook her head. The motion was tiny. He pushed in. She was tight and raw. The sound she made was high and broken. He did not pause. He gripped her hips and fucked her in short, hard strokes that jolted the desk. Papers slid to the floor. She bit her own forearm to stay quiet. It did not work. Every thrust dragged another sob out of her.

I kept the phone steady. Abhilash reached under her and pinched her nipple hard enough to make her jerk. She tried to straighten. He shoved her back down.

“Stay,” he said.

She stayed. Tears ran off her nose onto the wood. I watched the place where he entered her; she was stretched around him, the skin shiny and red. When he sped up she started saying “please” under her breath, over and over, not loud enough for anyone outside to hear. He ignored it. I stepped closer and put my hand on the back of her neck, holding her in place while he finished. He came deep. She felt it and made a small, miserable sound.

He pulled out slowly. She stayed bent over, shaking. Come and a little blood leaked down her thigh. Abhilash wiped himself on her discarded shirt and dropped it on the floor.

“Again,” I said.

She turned her head. Her eyes were red and unfocused. “Rajesh… it hurts.”

“I know.”

Abhilash sat in my chair. I guided her onto his lap, facing him. She winced when she sank down. He was still hard enough. Her hands braced on his shoulders. I stood behind her and pushed her forward so her chest was against his. Then I pressed against her ass, slow, until she understood. She shook her head hard.

“No. Please. Not both.”

I pushed anyway. She was too tight. The stretch made her scream into Abhilash’s shoulder. He held her hips and rocked up into her while I worked deeper. She cried the whole time—loud, ugly sobs that she tried and failed to muffle. Every movement hurt. I could feel it in the way her body locked and then gave. Abhilash kissed the side of her neck and told her she was doing well. She did not answer.

We moved her between us for a long time. When one of us pulled out the other stayed inside. She stopped forming words. Only sounds. At some point her phone rang. Brother. I answered it, put it on speaker, and set it on the desk beside her face.

“Samyukta? Are you still there? Please just say something. I’m outside. I’ll wait. Just come down.”

She heard him. Her eyes opened. For a second something clear moved through the pain. Then Abhilash thrust up hard and the clarity broke. She sobbed his name once—her brother’s—and then bit her lip until it bled. I told the brother, calmly, that she was in a meeting and hung up.

When we finally let her off Abhilash’s lap she could barely stand. Her legs shook. She tried to pull her skirt down and missed the zipper twice. I helped her. She would not look at either of us. In the bathroom mirror her face was blotched and wet. She cleaned herself with paper towels, slow and careful, wincing every time she touched between her legs. When she came back out Abhilash was already gone.

I sat her in the chair. She stared at the floor.

“I didn’t want that,” she said. Her voice was hoarse. “I kept thinking he would stop if I said it enough. He didn’t.”

“No.”

A fresh tear slid down. She wiped it angrily. “My brother is still outside. He’ll see me like this.”

“Then fix your face.”

She did. She used the compact from her bag, hands unsteady, until the worst of the redness was covered. When she stood to leave she paused at the door.

“Are you going to show him the video?” she asked.

“Not tonight.”

She nodded as if that were a kindness. Then she walked out. Through the glass I watched her cross the empty floor. At the elevators her brother was waiting. He took one look at her and reached for her arm. She pulled away, small and sharp, and stepped into the elevator alone. He followed. The doors closed on both of them. She did not look back at the cabin.

I stopped the recording. The last frame was her bent over the desk, Abhilash behind her, my hand on her neck, her mouth open in a cry she had not been able to swallow. I saved it. Then I turned off the lights and left her to the long ride down with her brother, and to whatever small, useless words she would manage to say before the regret settled in and stayed.