The Sensual Price of Land

The air in Paras’s ancestral village was thick with the scent of dust and jasmine, a stark contrast to the sterile, air-conditioned existence of their life in Pune. For Paras, 29, it was a homecoming haunted by loss. The modest two-story house where he’d grown up stood silent, a monument to the parents he’d lost to Covid a few years ago. Now, a different shadow loomed over his inheritance: the five acres of fertile land that had been illegally occupied by Rajesh, the son of the village’s political strongman.

“Are you sure about this, Paras?” His uncle’s voice was a low, worried rumble as they sat on the charpai in the courtyard that evening. “Rajesh is not a man you reason with. He is a man you obey. He has the police in his pocket, and his men… they are like his shadows.”

Paras felt Sameeksha’s hand find his, her grip firm and reassuring. At 25 years, she possessed a quiet confidence that often steadied his cautious nature. “It’s our land, Uncle,” Paras said, his voice tighter than he intended. “We have the papers. It’s rightfully ours.”

A childhood friend, Rohan, leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “He’s a womanizer, bhai. Be careful, especially with Sameeksha. He has a taste for city beauty.”

A cold knot tightened in Paras’s stomach. He glanced at Sameeksha, who met his gaze with unwavering resolve. They had built a life together on taking calculated risks. This was the biggest one yet.

The next morning, Paras made the call. Rajesh’s voice on the other end was smooth, laced with a casual arrogance. He agreed to a meeting but insisted Paras bring his wife. “A man is more… composed when his family is with him,” Rajesh had said, the statement hanging in the air, loaded with unspoken meaning.

That evening, as they prepared to leave, Sameeksha draped herself in a turquoise green saree. It was her preferred attire for village visits—graceful, traditional, yet on her, uniquely sensual. She tied the pleats with a practiced ease, the pallu flowing over her shoulder, but the most distinctive touch was hers alone: the saree was tied low, just below her navel. It was a style she favoured for comfort, she claimed, but Paras knew she loved the way it accentuated the gentle curve of her hips and the slimness of her waist. A deliberate sliver of waist skin, smooth and toned, was exposed on her left side, a secret she carried with an unconscious allure.

The drive to Rajesh’s farmhouse was tense and silent. The property was imposing, surrounded by high walls. Four burly men lounged outside the heavy iron gates, their eyes tracking the car as it passed through. The farmhouse itself was a display of new money and raw power.

Rajesh, was waiting for them in a vast, opulently furnished hall. He was a thick-set man of thirty-five, with a confident smirk that didn’t reach his cold eyes. “Welcome, Paras,” he said, remaining seated as they entered the hall. 

His gaze slid past Paras before landing on Sameeksha. The appraisal was slow, deliberate, moving from her face, down her neck, over the elegant drape of her saree, and lingering on the exposed curve of her waist. 

He gestured to a single sofa chair opposite him. “Paras, please sit.” Then, he spread his hand out towards Sameeksha. “And you, madam, please come here.”

Sameeksha’s eyes flickered towards Paras, who gave a tense, almost imperceptible nod. Hesitantly, she walked forward. Rajesh took her right hand in his left, his grip firm. Then, with a shocking lack of ceremony, he landed his right hand directly on the exposed skin of her left waist.

Sameeksha gasped softly. The touch was electric and invasive. His palm was rough and hard, a stark contrast to the soft, silky skin of her midriff. She stood frozen, her right hand captive in his, his other hand branding her waist, while her left hand clutched her mobile phone like a lifeline.

“What is your name, beautiful?” Rajesh asked, his eyes locked on her flustered face.

“Sameeksha,” she managed to whisper.

Paras felt a surge of white-hot anger, but he clenched his fists, remembering the warnings. Powerful. Dangerous.

Rajesh then smoothly moved her to his left side, wrapping his left arm around her waist. His hand came to rest possessively on the same exposed curve, his fingers splaying over her skin. He then turned to Paras, as if Sameeksha were merely an accessory he’d chosen to wear for the conversation. “So, you want to talk about the land?”

The discussion was a farce. Paras presented copies of the original documents. Rajesh waved them away with a laugh. “I can get a hundred papers like this printed. The land was my grandfather’s. It’s mine now.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a menacing growl. “If you go to court, my lawyers will tie you up for years. You will waste all your city money and get nothing. Is that what you want?”

Throughout this, his hand never left Sameeksha’s waist. Paras and Sameeksha exchanged helpless glances, the dream of reclaiming their legacy slipping away.

Seeing their defeated expressions, Rajesh leaned back, a thoughtful look on his face. “But… I am not an unreasonable man. I will give you back your land.”

A flicker of hope sparked in Paras’s eyes. “You will?”

“On one condition,” Rajesh said, his tone turning stern. “Once I tell you the condition, you have to fulfill it. There is no backing out. If you try, the consequences will be… detrimental.”

Paras’s blood ran cold. He remembered Rohan’s words: womanizer. 

“Don’t worry,” Rajesh said, as if reading his mind. He chuckled, his gaze dropping to Sameeksha’s tense profile. “I won’t ask to let me have sex with your wife.”

The explicit statement hung in the air, shocking them both into silence.

“Then what?” Paras asked, his voice strained with anxiety.

Rajesh turned his head, leaning his face towards Sameeksha’s midriff. He inhaled deeply, his arm tightening around her. “I want to enjoy her. Her soft midriff, her deep navel, her buttery cheeks, and her yummy neck. For thirty minutes.” He emphasized each body part, his breath hot against her skin. Sameeksha winced, her eyes wide with shock as she looked at Paras.

“This is the condition. Fulfill it, and the land is yours.”

Paras shot up from his chair, but Rajesh’s voice froze him.  “My men outside won’t let you leave without my permission. This is the deal. Thirty minutes. It’s not sex. It’s just… appreciation.”

Paras looked at Sameeksha. This was the moment. He saw the initial shock in her eyes give way to a calculating calm. Sameeksha is a modern woman, a problem-solver. Rajesh released Sameeksha. She quickly walked back to Paras, and they conferred in hushed, urgent tones for a minute. Finally, Paras turned, his face a mask of grim acceptance.

“You promise?” Paras said, his voice hoarse. “Only the parts you said. No further. And you will not hurt her.” 

“On my word,” Rajesh said, a triumphant glint in his eyes. “Just the midriff, the navel, the neck, the cheeks, the back. No clothes will be removed except her pallu.” 

“We agree.”

A triumphant smile spread across Rajesh’s face. “Good. Come here, Sameeksha.”

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Sameeksha stood and walked back to him. Rajesh didn’t hesitate. He took the end of her pallu and, with a single, fluid motion, unwrapped it from her body, dropping the cascade of turquoise silk onto the sofa.

She was left standing in her blouse and the petticoat skirt of her saree, her entire midriff, from the swell of her breasts to the curves of her waist and the dimple of her navel, completely exposed. The air felt cold on her bare skin, and a wave of intense embarrassment washed over her, mixed with a bizarre, humiliating arousal at being so exposed to another man in front of her husband.

Rajesh’s eyes darkened with desire as he drank in the sight. Her waist was as slim and curved as he’d imagined, her skin like cream. And her navel—a perfect, deep indentation at the centre of her smooth stomach—was utterly captivating.

He placed his hand back on her waist, his touch now surprisingly gentle, and guided her through a door into an adjacent room, sparsely furnished with a single, compact cot. He left the door open, leaving Paras alone in the hall with the agonizing tick of the clock.

In the room, Rajesh led Sameeksha to the cot. “Lie down,” he instructed, his voice soft but firm.

She complied, lying on her back, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. He set a timer on his phone for thirty minutes and placed it on a small table. Then, he knelt beside her on the cot.

He started with her neck, leaning over her, his rough moustache tracing a path as he proceeded to place warm kisses on her neck and shoulders. Sameeksha shuddered, her eyes squeezed shut, trying to distance herself from the sensation. But it was impossible to ignore.

His hands then rubbed her lustrous hair and moved to her cheeks, cupping her face. His thumbs stroked the soft, “buttery” skin, as he had called it, before he leaned in to place a soft, lingering kiss on each cheek. He loved the softness of her cheeks and he alternated kissing her cheeks twice more. Sameeksha breathed heavily.

Before his attention descended to the main attraction, he began by tracing the curves of her waist with his fingers, as if mapping uncharted territory. His touch was slow, deliberate, worshipful. He traced circles around her navel, each loop drawing closer to the center.

Sameeksha’s breath hitched. She felt a flush spread across her chest. This was more intense, more intimate than she had imagined.

Then, he dipped his head, planting a couple of warm and deep kisses on her navel. Sameeksha gasped, a jolt of electricity shooting through her. His tongue, warm and wet, flicked out to trace the outer rim of her navel. He circled the deep indentation before his tongue finally delved into the “creamy” center itself, exploring the secret hollow with a lover’s intimacy. He alternated between soft kisses around its edge and slow, languid licks inside, each one sending shivers of unwanted arousal through her. His hands rested on her hips, holding her gently but firmly in place while her belly and her whole body kept shaking and trembling.

He spent a great time on her navel before moving to the smooth plane of her stomach, planting a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses from one hip bone to the other. He enjoyed the slight softness of her lower abdomen, murmuring appreciative words she couldn’t quite hear over the pounding of her own heart. He spent what felt like an eternity on her stomach, worshipping the landscape of her midriff with his hands and mouth, his lips leaving faint, burning trails on her skin. 

Sameeksha lost track of time, lost in a whirlwind of shame, arousal, and a desperate hope that this humiliation would indeed secure their future. With her arms raised upwards, she just offered her midriff to Rajesh whose deep and warm kisses were making her midriff, hips and her whole body tremble. 

He then gently rolled her onto her stomach, exposing the slender expanse of her back, now bare above the saree skirt. He kissed along her spine, from the base of her neck down to the waistband, his hands kneading the soft flesh of her shoulders and back.

The thirty-minute timer beeped, shattering the tense silence.

Rajesh stopped. He helped her sit up, his demeanor now oddly formal. “Thank you, Sameeksha,” he said, his voice quiet. “You are as exquisite as I thought.”

He left the room and returned moments later with a folded document. He handed it to Paras, who stood pale and tense. “The papers transferring the land back to you. It’s done.”

Without another word, Paras took the papers, helped a trembling Sameeksha to her feet. She quickly rewrapped her saree, her movements frantic. They walked out of the farmhouse in a daze, the eyes of the guards following them, but this time, they were allowed to pass.

Inside the car, the silence was heavy. Paras gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. Sameeksha stared out the window, embarrassedly feeling the ghost of Rajesh’s touch still lingering on her stomach. 

The relief of having their land back was profound, but it was eclipsed by a heavy, shared embarrassment. They had secured their future, but at a price that had been measured in minutes and the intimacy of a touch. As they drove away from the village, the price of it hung between them, a complex, unspoken thing of shame, relief, and a bond that had been tested in the most intimate of fires.