I always felt a strange kind of kinship with Kajal. Both of us were women in the heavily male-dominated world of machine tools. I was the only woman in the dozen-strong sales team of a small machine tool manufacturing firm, the archetypal “small and medium business”. Kajal was the only female among the half or dozen or so interns we had hired from a local engineering college for the summer. In our field, women were either derided, undermined or treated with kid gloves.
Through years of hard work, I had earned my spurs and was now treated as an equal. And Kajal too had been outperforming the male interns and had impressed everyone with her knowledge of our products, our manufacturing process, and our clients.
So within 3 weeks, she and I had built up a very good rapport that others in the firm had also noticed. They called us “Double K” for Kajal and Kanika. Although we were separated by almost a decade (Kajal was 21 and my 30th birthday was just a few months away), there never seemed to be a generation gap. We shared a lot of common interests, and most importantly, our temperaments were very similar.
There was one small difference though. Being a hardcore saleswoman myself, I was hoping to steer Kajal towards sales too. But she seemed more interested in the manufacturing process. After the initial introductory 2-day stints in manufacturing, product development and sales, while all other interns had chosen one of the last two to work in, Kajal had been the only one to opt for manufacturing. Which meant she would spend most of her internship on the shop-floor in the basement of the building.
So Kajal and I got to meet and talk only during lunch, coffee breaks, and in the mornings when she would spend a couple of hours doing the the SAP-related work on the computer before heading down to the shop floor. But even in those few hours, we bonded a lot. I told her about my marriage to my engineering college classmate, Rohan, who now worked in software. How we had chosen not to have any kids, not because of career-related reasons, but just because neither of us wanted any. She told me about how she had recently broken up with one of her classmates, because he had been insecure of her “non-feminity”, which was ridiculous, because Kajal was an extremely pretty girl. She was of average height for an Indian woman, about 5 ft 3, had a very pretty face, a fair or even milky-white flawless complexion, waist-long hair, was slim and although she was not very buxom, whenever she wore jeans, it was obvious she had some great curves.
And although we were both alike in many ways, appearance-wise I was almost her opposite. I have a pretty face too (even if I do say so myself), but I have dusky skin, shoulder-length hair, am tall at 5 ft 9, and while I work out to make sure here is no flab, I am not quite petite, and have rather inconveniently large 36D breasts. The big boobs attracted a lot of welcome and unwelcome attention when I was growing up, but I thought I had now reached the stage in my life when, apart from a few furtive “checking out” looks by men, they had stopped being an issue.
Anyway, one day I had stayed behind a little longer at work than usual, catching up on some paperwork. It was almost 8 pm when I got done for the day. When I finished with everything and got up to leave, I noticed there was absolutely no one in the office. This happened frequently enough, so I switched off all the lights, locked the front door with my copy of the key and went to the parking lot. In the parking lot, I noticed there were only two vehicles left. My car, and Kajal’s scooter. Seeing her scooter there puzzled me. Ours was a small manufacturing operation that had only one shift, which ended at 5 p.m. Kajal usually spent the second part of her day on the shop-floor and left directly from there. There was really no reason why her scooter should still be around. Unless she got a ride from someone and decided to leave it there.
I decided to just double check and make sure nothing was wrong. I took my cellphone out of the purse and called Kajal’s number. It rang for about a minute, and then I heard the standard message “The person you are calling is not answering their phone.” I decided to call once more. Same result. I called again, and this time, the message came on after just 3 rings, as if someone had opted to ignore the call. This got me really worried. Fearing the worst, I decided to check the shop floor in the basement. I went down the stairs, and saw that the shopfloor was fully lit, but completely deserted. It’s a small shop-floor really. We have about two dozen lathes and other kinds of machines, but only 10 workers. And none of them was around.
That got me even more worried. If she was not here, and her scooter was still there, and she was not answering her phone, where was she? As I started to walk back towards the stairs to go up, I dialed her number again. As soon as the phone started ringing, my ears picked up something. There it was….very faint but still audible, the “O Fortuna” ringtone that Kajal’s phone had. The phone was around here somewhere. Kajal was around too. I was about to yell out her name, when something inside my head stopped me. Maybe it was the ominous paranoid sentiment that O Fortuna always tends to invoke. I had no idea what situation she was in. Maybe she was being held captive by someone against her will. Maybe she was being raped. If so, I could not make my presence known. If someone was indeed holding Kajal captive, they would get me too.
The rings stopped and so did the ringtone. I started thinking about whether to call the police or my husband, when I heard, again faint but audible, “hehehehehe”… clearly Kajal’s laughter. I followed the voice. It was coming from the back of the shop-floor. And I remembered, that was the changing room for the shop-floor employees, where all the guys changed in and out of their overalls. Taking very small steps I walked towards it. Just to make sure, I called her number again. O Fortuna rang out again, and sure enough, it was coming from the changing room. The door was almost shut, but not completely. There was a window that was closed, but it had small glass squares that one could look in from.
Almost on my tiptoes, I went to the window. The ringtone was still audible. I thought of walking in the door, but decided to look from the window first. So I crept up to the window, and peeked inside. The sight I saw almost made me cry out in shock.
Kajal was sitting on a mat on the floor, with a beer bottle in her hand. Now normally, that itself might have been shocking. Alcohol is not allowed on the premises, and especially on the shopfloor. But it got worse. Kajal was topless, sitting there only in her jeans. And standing next to her was Heera, one of the shop-floor workers, his erect cock right next to her face. Kajal had a smile on her face and was looking at someone in another corner of the room. Finally. I heard her say,
“Yousuf, why don’t you just give me the phone and I’ll turn the sound off.”
“No way. I like this music. I hope people keep calling.” Yusuf, another worker who I could not see from my vantage point, replied. As soon as he replied, the ringing stopped. “Oh, damn. It stopped.”
“Haha, you idiot. No one needs to call for you to listen to that music. Here, bring it to me and I’ll play it for…mmmppfffffmmmm”
She could not complete her sentence. Because Heera, probably running out of patience, grabbed her hair and stuffed his dick into her mouth.
“Enough of this phone nonsense. Get back to what you were doing.” he laughed and said.
Kajal, very obviously quite voluntarily and even enthusiastically, started sucking his dick. I watched dumbfounded as she put the beer bottle on the floor and with her hand, started playing with his balls even as she kept sucking.
“Was it her again?” Heera asked, looking at Yousuf. To my surprise, a different voice answered.
“Yes, the same bitch – Kanika. Is she in love with you or something, Kajal? How many times is she gonna call?” I guessed this to be the voice of Babu, the oldest of the shop-floor workers, easily in his 50s. He was there too? This really took me by surprise. I mean, sure, I was surprised to see Kajal here having sex with Heera and, possibly Yousuf. But I gotta say, both those men, in their mid-20s were not at all bad looking. But Babu? He was old enough to be Kajal’s father. And not much to look at.
“HAHA, maybe she is. She could be a lesbian, you know?” Yousuf said with a cackle.
What happened next kinda made me happy in a vain way. Kajal took Heera’s cock out of her mouth and defending me said,
“Shut up, you assholes. Don’t talk trash about her. She is my friend. And she is not a lesbian. She is married.”
“Yeah, sure, married for as long as she has been here. And yet no kids. What does that tell you?” Babu said. “It’s unnatural. Either her husband is impotent, or then she is a lesbian.”
“Shut up, Babu!” Kajal said “She and her husband have chosen not to have kids. A sentiment you will never understand, with your brood of 10 kids.”
“Yeah, right! Chosen not to have kids. No one does that.” A new fourth voice, which I recognized to be of the new guy whose name I did not know, joined in. God, I wondered, how many men were in the room? Was Kajal going to suck them all? The new guy continued, “But you know, Yousuf, Babu, I don’t think she is lesbian. Hell, it would be a shame if she were, with those huuuuge tits. Man, have you guys ever noticed her rack?”
All the voices murmured assent and/or appreciation.
“Great point, Jaggu” Babu said… ah yes, new guy’s name was Jaggu. “Man those tits…. how I’d love to grab them, bite them, and slide my dick between them. There’s nothing that turns me on more than big boobs.”
“Really?” Kajal said very pointedly.
“Sweetheart! Come on! You know what I mean!” Babu said. I saw him come into view as he walked towards her and sat down next to her. Grabbing her smallish tits, my guess is B-cup, he said, “Size isn’t everything. Your tits are perfectly shaped, tight and so yummy. I am sure Kanika’s boobs sag all the way down to her knees.”
They most certainly do not, I felt like yelling. I am proud of the fact that my boobs are big and yet very tight and firm. There is no sag in them. But one thing was for sure. This whole discussion centering around me was having a mild effect on me. I was curious to see what they would say next. Babu playing with her tits made Kajal laugh, and she gave him a peck on his lips. Heera, meanwhile cleared his throat very impatiently, and Kajal took his dick back in her mouth.