The Husband Sitter
Part 2: The Scare
The best night of her life was a lie she walked into. The best Saturday of her life was three people who told her the truth.
Riya runs The Sitter out of a flat in Shimla. A wife goes away; she goes in, cooks, runs the house and sits with the husband left behind. The cooking is on the invoice. Nothing else is, ever.
Five months in, a man rings her himself and says his wife suggested it. Riya breaks every precaution she has not yet thought to write down, walks up three flights in Bharari, and has the best night of her working life with a man who never once loses his composure.
His wife is not in Bangalore.
Riya finds that out the next morning, from a phone left face-up on a kitchen counter. What she does in the ninety seconds after that is the reason there are six rules in the back of a notebook on Cart Road.
A month later Brooke rings. Australian, direct, and not going anywhere at all. She and her husband Vishal have a good marriage and a dead bedroom, and she has run out of her own ideas.
Riya says no, because that is not the business.
Eleven seconds later she says yes.
Part two of four. Explicit throughout.
MFM threesome • Wife arranges it • First time with a woman • Other woman • Indian heroine • Australian and Indian couple • Married man who lied • Two separate nights, one good and one bad • Contains a frightening non-violent sequence and an escape • Explicit standalone short with a series arc
Explicit. 18+ Adults only. Note: one storyline in this book involves a client who lies about his circumstances, and the narrator’s fear and escape are on the page. Nothing non-consensual happens.
A glimpse beneath the sheets…
I run a business called The Sitter in Shimla. A wife goes away; I go in, I cooks, I clean, I run the house and keep the husband company. The cooking, cleaning and company are on the invoice. Nothing else is, ever.
When Brooke rang—Australian, direct, and not going anywhere at all—and asked for a Saturday for herself and her husband Vishal, I said no, because that is not the business. Eleven seconds later I asked to meet them. And then said yes.
***
We ate with the fire going and the cold shut outside where it belonged. The food was right, the wine was right, and both of them were looser than they had been in the café, which is the entire reason you feed people first.
Brooke put her fork down halfway through the second glass.
“We’ve been trying to work out how to fix something,” she said. “The marriage is good. We’re good. It’s gone flat in the bedroom and we have genuinely run out of our own ideas.”
She said it the way you say a thing you have sat with long enough that the discomfort has worn off it.
“How long?”
“A year. More.” She looked at Vishal and he nodded once, agreeing to the figure. “Nothing is wrong. That’s the trouble. We know exactly what’s going to happen. Every time. From about the second minute.”
“He’s very good,” she added, to me, flatly, and Vishal put his face in his hands while she carried on. “He is. That isn’t the problem. The problem is that I could describe the whole of it to you in advance and be right, and so could he.”
I looked at her. Then at Vishal, who was turning his glass by the stem and had not looked up.
“Vishal.”
He looked up.
“Is that true?”
A pause while he decided to be honest in front of both of us.
“Yes.”
“Good,” I said. “Here’s an idea.”
I leaned across the table and put my mouth on his wife’s.
She made a sound, small and surprised and then not surprised at all, and kissed me back.
She kissed the way she talked. No approach, no negotiation, straight in, warm and certain, one hand coming up to the side of my face and holding it there. I had wondered for two days whether a woman would feel different. She did. Her mouth was softer than any mouth I had kissed and everything behind it was harder. She got her tongue against mine and I gave her room and she took more than the room.
I held it long enough to mean it. When I sat back her lips were parted and her eyes took a moment about opening.
Vishal had not moved. He appeared, in fact, to have forgotten how.
I turned, put my hand on his jaw and kissed him the same way, and felt the surprise turn into heat inside a single breath. His hand came halfway to my waist and stopped, being polite. I took it and put it where it had been going, which was on my breast, and felt him make a sound into my mouth about what was under the kurta.
Then I took Brooke’s hand and put it on her husband’s face.
She kissed him with a depth I had not seen between them, one hand braced on the table, leaning across the dinner things into him. He made a noise into her mouth and squeezed my breast.
So I sat there for a moment with a man’s hand full of me while he kissed his wife, and did nothing about it at all, and watched.
She had not been doing it for my benefit. She had been waiting all evening.
I stood up.
They looked round for me. I was already in the bedroom doorway, leaning on the frame with my arms folded, and I left the next move exactly where it belonged.
They came.
Continue the story in The Husband Sitter — Part 2: The Scare.
A little more spice — on me — for my lovers
This part is for my lovers only.
Sign up, sweetheart — it’s free, and I don’t bite. Unless asked 😉
All images are AI generated and do not depict any real person.