The Lord of the House

Chapter 1 - Disillusionment

Kriti stood in the center of the sitting room, head bowed. Her father-in-law sat in his chair with hands on the armrest, legs planted firmly. Everything about him exuded authority, not only of his position as a Thakur, but also his force of will. As always, he was dressed in a black suit and tie with a white shirt, the only color being the red prayer strings tied around his wrist and the red tilak on his forehead. He was a large man and even though age had softened him somewhat, powerfully muscled. Piercing dark eyes and a heavy black beard added to a noble bearing.

To his right sat her husband, Sunil. He was a younger version of his father, tall, powerfully built, with the same dark eyes and upright posture. A curled moustache that was oiled and well-kept marked his high caste status. As his father, he bore a red tilak. His black slacks and white shirt were bespoke and of the finest fabrics.

To the Thakur's left, her younger brother-in-law, Raj, slouched in his chair. He seemed out of place. Almost too slender, with youthful features, he seemed younger than his twenty-two years. Having just returned on break from his junior year of college, he had adopted less formal dress and bearing. He wore a colorful t-shirt and jeans. And, yet, the same red tilak emblazoned the center of his brow.

Beyond them stood half a dozen servants.

Two years out of college, just entering graduate school, she had met Sunil; wealthy son of a Thakur, the modern equivalent of a prince. Theirs had been a Bollywood whirlwind romance. Her friends and coworkers had whispered in amazement. Handsome. Charming. A dream come true. She was of a more modest upbringing. The marriage had been mildly contentious—her parents concerned with a girl of such modest means marrying into such a wealthy family. For all the stories Sunil had told her about his father, the Thakur had been more accepting of the arrangement. Back then she had taken it as a sign of an open-minded, modern thinker.

The wedding was as one would expect of a family of such wealth and status. There had been no dowry and she had been gifted with jewelry and fine clothes. Again, a modern household. Once moved into the house, though, Kriti had seen little of her father-in-law except during meals. Raj had been the playful young brother-in-law she expected; Sunil, a doting husband during the day and a passionate lover at night who left her aching with need and fulfillment.

Then, this morning, two months after she joined the household, he had sent a servant to tell her that he wanted to speak with her after breakfast.

"Bahu." The Thakur had never called her by her name. Always her title, Bahu - daughter-in-law. "You are treated well here, yes?"

She nodded.

"You are the bahu of this house, my house. In my house, you will want for nothing." The Thakur stood up and gestured to the servants. Folding his arms behind his back, he continued, "The bahu of this house does not work. Not inside the house. Not outside. There are other demands on her time."

She raised her head in curiosity. The stern expression never left his face.

"This is a traditional house. First, there is respect. I am the lord of this house." He gestured to her husband. "And he is your lord. Just as the servants will obey the bahu's word, so the bahu must obey the word of the Thakur and her husband."

Kriti nodded. She had thought to say something but held her tongue. She realized she had not been bidden to speak.

"Second, the bahu of this house must always be presentable. Our guests expect no less. When you awake to the time you sleep, you will be presentable." He did not mention it, but his eyes traveled the length of her body, taking in the embroidered salwar kameez. "The bahu of this house does not wear cheap clothing. This afternoon, the tailor will come and fit you for new clothes. Your old clothes will be given to the villagers."

He then gestured to a waif of servant girl to step forward. "From today, Choti will help you become ready in the mornings. If you need anything or have any complaints, you will come to me." His tone suggested there should be no complaints.

A bit apprehensive about being attended through some of the most private time in her day, something she had not expected, Kriti nodded. She intuited that questioning this requirement or refusing was not acceptable, particularly not before the entire household.

"Good. Understand your responsibilities and you will enjoy your privileges."

***

Three days later, Kriti stood in her bedroom and looked at the clothes stacked neatly in her vast closet, which was more a whole dressing room. She could not help but grin as she entered and surveyed the kaleidoscope of colors along three walls. She fingered the expensive silks and linens. As the Thakur had said, she would not be wearing cheaper cotton. Then, there were the boxes of jewelry—gold and pearls—finely-worked leather sandals and slippers, and pashminas of the purest cashmere for chilly nights. Before now, she could not have imagined the collective cost of the closet's contents being spent on her.

In a moment, she realized she could not find a single salwar kameez. There were only saris and lengha cholis. Nothing else. Well, even though such clothes often took more time to put on, she did have Choti to help her get ready. Kriti picked out a light blue sari that subtly shimmered in the morning light. And, then realized something else was missing - undergarments. There was not a single panty or bra to be found.

"Choti?" She called to the young woman. "Uhm, where are my panties? My bras?"

Choti stepped back into the dressing room and shrugged. "I don't know, memsahib. These are the only clothes the tailor sent. The Thakur said to get rid of everything else."

Kriti look around, confused and frantic.

"You should get ready, memsahib." Choti said, unfolding the sari her mistress had chosen earlier.

With Choti's help, washing and dressing did not take much time. It was strange, performing her ablutions in the presence of someone who wasn't a sister or her husband, something to which she would have to become accustomed.

Soon, Kriti stood ready before the massive, gold-framed mirror that was mounted to cover nearly half of one bedroom wall. The sari's pale blouse seemed unduly small, cut low in the front to reveal the expanse of her throat and cleavage. The ties left her back practically bare. The front view caused her to take a deep swallow, for the whisper-thin silk was scandalous. It not only accentuated the curves of her breasts, the outline of her nipples was noticeable and would become shamefully so if they became hard, which they often did, too readily. She had tried to wear the sari high on her waist, but it was not cut for such a style and when settled where intended, it revealed the expanse of the flat plane of her abdomen. The only modesty was what she could manage with the top half of the sari. That was not much when she also tried to cover her head. Was this what the Thakur had meant about always being presentable? It made her shudder in discomfort. Kriti had considered changing into something else but realized that the rest of the clothes would be of similar cut.

Kriti had not considered herself a prudish person. She had gone to nightclubs in less modest clothes although that was in the dark of the night and in a sea of similarly dressed women. She was not naïve enough to be unaware that she was an attractive woman. Though her figure was slender, she did have enough curves to give her a graceful allure. And she didn't really need a bra beyond the modesty of it, having full, firm, high breasts topped with small, dark nipples. Her cobalt black hair had been styled in the layered style Sunil liked. The make-up on her long, heart shaped face was subtle, accentuating her full lips and the bright red bindi on her forehead.

"I really wish you hadn't thrown out my underclothes." She sighed, looking at Choti. The maid said nothing, keeping her eyes downcast.

Before Kriti could continue, she saw Sunil standing at the doorway of their bathroom, finishing the knot of his tie. He had a frown on his face. "Don't worry, Kriti. You won't need them."

Apparently, he had been listening. "What? Why—"

"I never really liked you wearing a bra." He looked her up and down with a slow perusal. Last night, she had been too tired to consider the absence of her underwear. Now, even though it was Sunil and they were standing in their private suite, she suddenly felt very naked.

Walking up to her, he cupped a breast in his large hand and grinned. "With breasts like that, you don't need anything hiding them."

Kriti stiffened and saw Choti avert her gaze in embarrassment. Her husband brazenly ran his thumb over her nipple. It responded, hardening under his touch. He put his other hand on her neck and drew her in for a kiss. It was soft at first, but then he pried open her lips and his tongue dove in. His grip tightened when she tried to pull away from his sudden harshness.

She grabbed his wrist, trying to stop him from kneading her breast. "Stop," she managed after finally pulling away. Her eyes darted toward Choti. "What are you doing?"

"Don't be so silly." Sunil glanced dismissively at Choti before turning back to Kriti, the grin taking on a more predatory look. "You are my wife. Remember what Father said. I am your lord." He emphasized this with some satisfaction.

"But—" she cast another glance toward Choti.

"What? So? Servants see all sorts of things. And they know to stay quiet. How else can you trust them?" He turned toward Choti. "Isn't that right, Choti? You know that what happens in this house stays in this house?"

Choti raised her head and nodded.

"Fine," Kriti retorted, sounding not at all in agreement, "That's fine. But there is still some decency! It's not proper to—"

"To love my wife?" Sunil stepped in and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her into him. Even through his slacks, she could feel his heavy manhood press against her. "To lust after my wife? It's impossible to deny what I feel for you."

Before she could say anything, he availed himself of another deep kiss and she heard the rustle of him unbuttoning his pants. The zipper pulled down. Then, his cock was out.

Kriti drew away again, eyes wide in shock at what was happening with Choti still present in the room, her husband holding his erect cock in his hands.

"Take it." He grabbed Kriti's wrist and drew her hand toward his cock. She stiffened, staring straight ahead. When she resisted, he frowned and let her hand go.

She said nothing, glaring at him. He had never treated her this way before. What had come over him?

"Choti," he commanded, turning toward the young woman standing in the corner. "Come here." He did nothing to cover himself.

"What—" Kriti was too stunned to continue. She stared at the young woman as she approached and then looked back at her husband in query.

"Well, if my wife won't do her duty, what else should I do?" he demanded with a shrug.

Choti came to stand before the two, eyes remaining downcast. She did not look at all surprised, only resigned. Without a word, she dropped to her knees and took Sunil's cock in her hands. With a momentary glance up at him and then away, she began to stroke him.

"See." He sighed in pleasure, still grinning at Kriti. "She knows what to do."

Kriti trembled, confusion, anger, and fear playing across her face. Clearly, Choti had done this before. With Sunil. Then, she raised her head like a wary gazelle and made for the door. She would not stand by for this.

Sunil's hand lashed out and grabbed her wrist again. "Oh, no!" His grip tightened. "You don't get to just walk away from me. What did my father say? Your Lord commands you." He yanked his wife toward him and wrapped his arms around her waist, locking her in place against his side.

Kriti gave a moment of struggle and then went limp. She involuntarily glanced down to see that Choti had taken her husband's cock in her mouth. The servant's eyes were tightly closed as her head bobbed up and down. Kriti could see that this was a task, not a pleasure.

Sunil sighed again and chuckled, "She's almost as good as you," he growled into Kriti's hair. "But you know how to use your tongue better."

She tried to pull away as his body tensed, recognizing the look on his face. She didn't want to look down, but Kriti couldn't help but watch as he grabbed Choti's head in place and his hips bucked. The young woman on her knees made a futile effort to shift back when her husband emptied himself into her mouth. He held her in place even as she gurgled at the intrusion and struggled for breath.

When Sunil finally pulled out, Choti's eyes were watering and remnants of his semen mingled with her spit to coat her chin. The woman's eyes flickered to the mirror and back.

"I needed that," Sunil announced to no one in particular, his movements lazy now like a sated tiger. He released his wife, stared into the mirror as he tucked in his cock, arranged his clothing into a presentable state, and left the room.

Kriti remained rooted to the spot, staring at her reflection in the massive gold-framed mirror, Choti still on her knees beside her, head bowed.

On the other side, the Thakur watched, his breathing fast and loud.

***

Nearly a week passed, and the incident was not spoken about. Sunil pretended nothing had happened. Choti went about her daily tasks. The image of her husband's cock in the young woman's mouth was burned into her, but even Kriti said nothing. What was there to say? She was going to leave? Go back in shame to her parent's house?

The first day, she had felt overwhelming anger at Choti, as she would any woman who laid hands (and mouth) on her husband. Surreptitiously observing the young woman move almost silently through the days that followed, she came to understand that Choti had even less choice than she did in the circumstances. The pittance a servant girl would make (and the meals she did not eat at her home) would be so needed in her family that she would face repercussions from them, perhaps even beatings, if she lost her position. The cause would not matter, in fact, if she were to disclose the abuse, she would pay for it for the rest of her life. Not Sunil, certainly not the Thakur.

Kriti realized that her husband would pursue anyone he wanted, that he had been doing so all along. That had been a blow. She had wept in private until the wound scarred and she began to accept that she had not entered a fairy tale. No, not a fairy tale. Her's was going to be a very different kind of story.

Kriti had to believe that the Thakur's servants were not beaten in service—she had not observed any obvious maltreatment until Choti. The compensation, as little as it might be relative to the lifestyle of his household, and the prestige of serving the Thakur, ensured a line of hopefuls clamoring to replace any of the servants. The men of this household would not need to actually threaten Choti to gain her compliance with their every whim. That said, the young woman was clearly fearful.

With revulsion, Kriti realized the likelihood that all three men had availed themselves of Choti's unwilling yet unresistant body. She suddenly viewed all the women servants differently, now understanding the true expectation of service in this household. So began the small kindnesses. While firm, she spoke gently and politely to all the women. She bestowed sweet meats and spiced nuts upon Choti, perceiving that she was given virtually no time for meals. She suggested that the exhausted girl nap in her sitting room while Kriti read, for even Sunil would not enter that space without knocking. It took a number of tries before Choti trusted that she was not being baited. Choti's increasingly grateful expression around Kriti was more than enough thanks.

Kriti unnecessarily adjusted an earring and admired how Choti had arranged her hair this morning. The thought of being seen in her near-transparent garments by any of the male servants had already caused Kriti hours of internal horror, even as she understood that none of them would dare look at her straight on even if her back was turned. She still found it difficult to dress as required. She had tried to think of it as her uniform. This had only helped a small measure. She realized that she could view this process of dressing in an unfamiliar and unwanted manner not as a uniform, but as donning armor, steeling herself for a long battle fought on unexpected ground—her own body.

She applied her bindi, took a deep breath, and went downstairs for breakfast.

Served on the veranda, as usual, the table was arrayed with the typical variety of western and Indian breakfast foods. Coffee, tea, and juice. Two different kinds of scrambled eggs, white and wheat toast, and north Indian parantha. It was far more food than needed for the four of them, but Kriti had quickly become used to an indulgence that would have brought a frown at her family home.

Both the Thakur and Sunil were dressed in black slacks and white shirts, the Thakur in a dark red tie and Sunil in a light blue one. The finely tailored shirts fit snugly, emphasizing their powerful builds. Her young brother-in-law wore his typical jeans and t-shirt. Today, it was a black, intentionally faded shirt with artwork referencing some obscure rock band from the States. The Thakur and Sunil were in conversation as she approached.

Today would be an important day for Vardhani Industries. For the last three days that she had been in her private agony, they had been in negotiations with a US conglomerate for a lucrative textile contract. This was the final day of negotiations, and if everything went according to plan, the contracts would be signed. Beyond the immediate injection of cash, it would open the door to other international contracts.

A servant drew back a chair for her as she approached. Just as she was about to sit, the Thakur gestured for her to remain standing. "Bahu," he said in this flat tone, "let us admire your new clothes for a moment."

Sunil continued to sip his tea while Raj just grinned at her. Slowly, the Thakur appraised her. His dark eyes moved across her body. The silk blouse seemed to cling even more tightly against her breasts, the material more translucent than it had been upstairs. She acutely felt the absence of bra and panties under her father-in-law's gaze. In the breeze, even the end of the fabric covering her head slipped off.

The Thakur gestured for her to have a seat. Still, his eyes lingered on her.

Her hunger had fled, but she forced herself to partake. The meal was as well prepared as she would have expected. Raj focused on his coffee and his cellphone while the Thakur and her husband were engrossed in their plans for the new contract, though it was clear there was some disagreement. Sunil seemed to think the numbers were off. She wanted to say something, but looking at her fathers-in-law's dark eyes, she knew it would not be appreciated. He had made clear what he expected from a bahu and it had nothing to do with her intelligence, education, or work experience. She focused on the meal.

Eventually, conversation turned to more mundane matters that were of even less interest to her - cricket, the congress party - and she was glad when the Thakur called an end to breakfast.

Sunil was the first to rise and helped her out of her seat. He pulled her into him and, to her fresh shock, drew her in and gave her a kiss in front of everyone. It was a deep kiss, not on the cheek, but on her lips, forcing her mouth open. She froze when his hand drifted to cup her ass. He whispered something in her ear, but she was too confused to even understand what he said. Raj stared at her intensely over his cup, his expression unreadable.