He knew the very second their eyes locked that she desired him. And that she was his type, the adventurous one. No, they had never met before, never knew of each other’s existence until now. He crossed the whole length of the sprawling lobby, looking at her, smiling his mischievous smile. She took it all in shamelessly imagining what lies beneath his well-tailored shirt.

‘Shall we?’, he said.

‘Sure’, she replied swinging her laptop into its bag and got up to lead the way.

Her room, then. By leading, she had decided. Words were redundant when intention spoke louder.

She slid the card to light the room, dropped the bag on the floor but refused to let go of his lips that had stayed on hers from the time they alighted from the lift. His hands were where she wanted them to be feeling her up. She held him against the wall with her body while her hands searched for his zipper.

She knelt.

His moans egged her on.

He pulled her up, cleverly, not wanting to end too soon. His wet tongue played with her earlobes while his fingers efficiently unclasped her brassiere. She gasped in anticipation as his hands searched for more. Each clothing was discarded hurriedly.

They collapsed on the bed, she on top, when he let out a cry.

She unrolled away to find him clutching his chest, face contorted in pain. She ran to the bathroom and returned with a glass of water.

There he was! A stranger, in her bed, naked, dead.

She felt her throat burn, bile raising, now choking her. She felt breathless and limp.

Then she too slumped down, naked, dead.


‘This cannot keep happening, Appa. He will finish my…err our political career with his antics.’ he said.

The shrewd father knew what his first-born was doing.  He was trying to undermine his brother’s authority. Both his sons had a relentless hunger for power, the same hunger that he, the father had,  that pushed him from being a small-time menace in the shanty to a two-time MLA now. The Chief Minister’s post was not too ambitious for him now, his cronies felt.  

The brothers’ race against each other did not augur well. There were reports of clashes between the two camps within the party.

Now, one is using the latest mishap as a reason to advance his cause.

But there was a grain of truth in his complaint too.

The second-born had run over a couple of pavement dwellers last week. The matter was hushed up in a hurry and the errant son was ordered to lay low in the capital city’s hotel. With the election just a month away, they had to be careful.  


She was very discerning with her selection of clients. She only had regulars and very occasionally took new ones and only if requested personally. Her clients liked her discreet and professional services.

One of her regulars wanted her at her usual haunt, today. Here sitting in the lounge while waiting for him, she sniggered at her ensemble. Her client wanted her to be dressed in a cotton saree, with a laptop to boot. She wondered whom he would be imagining while he was with her. His long lost love? His boss?  His bank manager?

She laughed aloud as she went through the list of skins she had to wear for her performances.

She had been an actress, a doctor and even a teacher. All that she had wanted to be one, but that the destiny had denied.

‘Men! And their fantasies!’, She tsked tsked.   

Her phone lit up and died down with a message.

‘Sorry, baby. Can’t make it today. Minor emergency at the plant. How about next Wednesday?’

She did not like last minute cancellations. It meant that she had to foot the room bill. It meant a day wasted.

Could she take a risk just once?

It was 1 0’ clock. A quick one would do no harm. She looked over the expanse of the lobby. Then she spotted him looking at her.


He had just finished his lunch and had dismissed his henchman till the evening. There was nothing much to do anyway.  With all the election action taking place outside, he felt emasculated by his big brother, holed up like a criminal in a room. How he wished he had company! Someone on whom he could practice his powers. Whipping, some teeth, and blood. The very thought made him high.

He could call Asha for company. But his brother’s warning had been clear. No hookers until the election was over.

Bastard! Dictating whom he should fuck. How He wished he could do that now. Then, he looked at her.


‘Veera, did you put ‘sugar’ in Thambi’s Pan?

‘Yes. He wanted to spend his time alone after lunch. I just left the hotel’

‘One or Two’

‘Two, to be sure.’

‘Keep your phone handy. I might need you anytime once things start happening’

Now, he could start consolidating his authority within the party without worrying about dissent. His old man might not last long and it was time his cadres knew who the real boss was.


He could not resist anymore. He wanted to de-stress. The lift door hardly closed when he pounced on her. His lips crushing her, his hands grabbing her hard. She yelped, without meaning to. He pulled by the hair and sunk his teeth into her cheeks.

‘Please! It’s hurting,’ she begged.

He came back for her lips again prying it open with his tongue. She could taste his pan juices in her mouth, a hint of Zarda.

‘Can I have one?’, she asked, ‘might help to numb down if it is going to be rough’

He fished the second one out of his pocket and shoved it into her mouth saying, ‘Oh! Yes. It’s is going to be rough, baby. ’

‘Let’s start gentle, though’, she said as they stepped out of the lift, their mouth still clasped together.

Her request was heeded to momentarily.  But he turned the dial to frenzy in a matter of minutes. She gasped, moaned and screamed.  

There were bite and blood, scratches and bruises. He felt invincible and power drunk. She was ordered to climb on top and make him see heaven.

He was just a step away from deliverance, he said.

A sweet pain spread through his body.

How intoxicatingly sweet!

How breathlessly, painfully, powerfully sweet!


Times of India, March 17, 2019

MLA’s son dies of cardiac arrest after a day of grueling campaign.

Exhaustion and overwork kill an upcoming political star. Brother swears to fulfill his dream of seeing their father as the Chief Minister of the State.

Sympathies keep pouring in for Sellur P Rameswaren, SPR, who second son, the 34 -year-old…….


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The author wishes to write like J M Coetzee, cook like Nigella Lawson and earn like Beyonce and at the end of the day, not look like something the cat dragged in. If wishes were horses...
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