After the final bell rang, Arjun's face dropped, the weight of inevitability crushing him. He hefted his heavy bag—stuffed with his mother's stolen sarees, Catherine Aunty's bra and panty, and the matching black bra for his current underwear—and boarded his usual bus. This time, he rode a few stops further, toward Vikram's house near his apartment complex.
By the time he arrived, exhaustion and dread had worn him thin, his mind swirling with dark possibilities. He rang the bell, and the door swung open to reveal the servant. Panic flashed through him: Oh shit, I forgot her saree. "Saree boy is here again," she mocked, smirking. "Did you wash my saree and bring it?" Arjun choked, his voice faint and fearful. "I'm sorry... I'll bring it next weekend. I'm sorry." She eyed him coldly. "You better, saree boy, or I'll pimp you out in it. Don't forget. Now come in."
Stepping inside, he spotted Vikram, Karan, Sameer, and Rohan lounging in the living room. "Oh, our wife is here, boys," Vikram announced with mock cheer. He rose angrily. "Anjali, you're late and not dressed properly. You'll pay for your disobedience."
The others chuckled. "Vikram, forgive her," one said. "She's just starting her journey. She'll learn—or we'll make sure she does." Vikram's grin turned evil, sending chills down Arjun's spine.
He couldn't process the horror: Anjali... her... she. The words twisted like knives, stripping away his identity.
Vikram interrupted his thoughts. "Let me introduce your closest friend during this transformation. This is Roja. You'll call her Roja Akka. Say hi."
Arjun gulped. "Hi, Roja Akka."
She smiled wickedly. "We're going to be really good friends, saree boy—or should I say Anjali?"
His face fell—not the servant too. Desperation surged. "Please, Vikram, just let me go. Let's forget the last week. You live your life, I'll live mine."
Vikram's anger flared. "See? I told you she'd throw tantrums. We'll have to use that special item." He turned to Roja. "When you prepare our wife, make sure to use it."
Arjun's confusion mounted—what special item? And why "prepare" him? Dread coiled tighter, a sensual undercurrent of vulnerability humming beneath his fear.
Vikram snatched the bag, spilling out the sarees, blouses, petticoats, then Catherine Aunty's lingerie and the black bra. "See, Roja? You didn't believe me."
Her eyes widened. "Oh my God." She looked at Arjun with feigned sympathy. "My, my, saree boy—you're eager to be their wife. Don't worry, Anjali, I'll help you, honey." With that, his last hope—the one person he thought might intervene—vanished, leaving him exposed and aching with betrayal.
Vikram smirked. "Let's check if our wife's been obedient." Arjun knew what was coming. Vikram's hands went to his pants button, unzipping and shoving them to his ankles, then lifting his t-shirt to reveal the black panty clinging to his skin.
The others whistled. "Look how hot she is down there," Rohan jeered. Vikram slid a hand along the crotch, his touch firm and invasive. "Safe and ready," he murmured, his fingers lingering just enough to send an unwelcome shiver through Arjun's body.
Humiliation burned hot, deepened by the presence of a woman witnessing his degradation. His masculinity ebbed away with that intimate graze, leaving him raw and trembling.
Vikram stripped off the t-shirt and kicked away the pants. Instinctively, Arjun covered his crotch like a man. Roja Akka laughed. "No, no, darling saree boy—a girl covers her chest and crotch. Come on, do it." Ashamed, he complied, crossing his arms over his nipples while shielding below. Phones rose, recording his surrender. Head bowed in defeat, he felt Vikram undo his man bun, his long hair cascading down like a veil. "There's our wife Anjali, boys and girls."
Vikram picked up the black bra. "Too many men here—time for Anjali to appear. For being late and unprepared, your punishment: beg me for your bra back."
With cameras rolling, Arjun had no escape. "Husband, can you please give my bra back?" Whistles erupted.
"Of course, wifie. You can have your bra." Vikram handed it over. "From now on, it's 'my panties, my bra'—because you're a woman, and you need them."
Arjun fumbled with the hooks at the back, fingers clumsy. Roja Akka burst out, "You stupid, you don't know how to wear your own bra?" She instructed sharply: "Put the back in front, hook it, swirl it around, slip your arms in, and pull it up." As he finished, the fabric cupped his flat chest snugly, a strange, silken constraint. "Good girl," she cooed, patting the empty cups cheekily. "We'll fill these soon," she winked, her touch light but teasing, igniting a flush of unwanted heat.
Vikram and the boys roared with laughter, reveling in his torment. "I see you didn't buy the other things—lipstick, bindi, bangles, scrunchies," Vikram noted. "So, punishment: after you get ready in the kurti, leggings, and dupatta, Roja Akka takes you shopping."
Arjun's heart plummeted, stomach twisting. "But... what if someone recognizes me? My apartment's close. Please, I'll buy them next weekend."
"No, a punishment's a punishment. But since you stole Catherine Aunty's bra and panty, I'll be nice—you can wear a face mask."
I didn't steal them for me—you made me, Arjun thought bitterly, unspoken.
"Now go. Roja will help you become the Anjali you should be. Arrange those sarees, blouses, and petticoats in your closet." Roja Akka gripped his hips firmly, her hands warm and guiding as she led him toward the room. Vikram spanked his butt sharply—"Cute butt, baby"—the sting adding another layer to his mounting humiliation, a mix of pain and forbidden sensation that left him breathless.
