The Lord of the House Ch. 02

Chapter 2 - Adaptation

Now, Kriti knew that the Thakur had been watching Sunil and her together since their wedding night and, as far as she understood, Sunil had given no protest. Whether the Thakur was present behind the mirror every time or not, on some level, her humiliation was already complete.

When Sunil came to their bedroom the next night, she did not go to him. Still, he called her to him, standing at the foot of their bed. She felt all too conscious of the ornate mirror looming over them. Upon touring their future chambers for the first time, she had raised a brow. Sunil had teased that once married, they could have that indulgence in the sanctity of their space. Sanctity indeed.

From the day Sunil abused Choti, Kriti had struggled to resume enjoyment in their coupling. She had just begun to recover a semblance of it when he handled her so roughly in the aftermath of his father's greed for sole credit in the business expansion. Still, she had tried to find a way to authentically participate. With this third blow, it was all she could do to remain compliant and lie beneath Sunil, fighting the overwhelming urge to flee, taking her mind elsewhere and away from the likelihood that her father-in-law was watching them and ... pleasing himself.

Sunil took his time, moving her into different positions. Somehow, she bore it. She could not have known how physically and emotionally frustrated he was from earlier in the day, from being stirred and then crushed once again, how badly he wanted to prove that it did not matter. Had she understood, perhaps she would not have cared any longer. Sunil may have been her husband and lord, but she had to worry about herself.

After he was fully satisfied, Sunil rolled off her, trying to catch his breath. "You seem tired," he said.

"It is only the many... changes," she replied. "I'm accustomed to working, to using my mind more. Don't worry, I'll adapt."

"Good," Sunil grunted, wrapping himself in the blankets, "understand that your Lord prefers an active bedmate."

Rage rose in her so quickly that she could scarcely prevent herself from kicking him. How effectively he had produced the illusion of attentive suitor, then boyfriend, then, lover. Dropping all pretense, he was now himself. Seated on the edge of the bed, she waited. He was already asleep, breathing steadily. She had no way of knowing whether the Thakur had left his hunting blind as she had come to think of it in the short thirty-six hours of knowledge.

Kriti slipped into the bathroom and warmed the shower. Quickly, she sluiced the sweat and fluids from herself, squeezing her internal muscles and watching Sunil's seed slide down her legs to the drain. Not for the first time of late, she skimmed her fingers over the nearly imperceptible, tiny bump of her implant. Until a few weeks ago, she hadn't given it a thought in just over two years.

In her senior year of college, an acquaintance had been assaulted near campus by a group of men and beyond the trauma, in the worst of outcomes, became pregnant. Realizing in shock that abstinence was not the blanket protection they had thought, Kriti's tight circle of friends had vowed this would not happen to any of them and went together to a clinic. Now, this tiny capsule seemed of vital importance. There would be no way she'd bring a child into the current situation, let alone—if things continued down the current path—risk not knowing whose child it would be. She had a little time before children would be expected.

Drying off, she chose a set of light and soft raw-silk pajamas from a lower drawer. She couldn't reach her yoga practice clothing in her closet without making noise.

Stealthily, she slipped through the house to the small mat room next to the home gym. Here, the brothers practiced kalarippayattu and sparred with one another. It was perfect for her practice as well. For fifteen minutes, she worked slowly through asanas meant specifically to calm, to let her anger flow through her and out. At the end, she sat for a brief meditation.

Out in the hallway again, she had started back to bed when a shadow appeared further down near the main kitchen. With a start, she recognized Raj's silhouette. He beckoned to her. She couldn't help but worry that more surprises of the nasty sort were in store, but she went all the same.

He had turned on a light at the end of the kitchen where a seating area accommodated snacks and hasty meals. A glass of salted lassi sat in the small pool of light. "Can I get you something?" Raj said softly, startling her.

Kriti realized that she was ravenous. Her practice had apparently settled energies that had been interfering with her desire to eat. She nodded. "The same, please." She watched Raj move as he shook the capped jar and poured, then ground a little salt and cardamom in the mortar and sprinkled it with his fingers. Although he looked younger than he was, he had left any awkward phase behind and had settled into grace.

Raj brought her glass and they both sat. At first, they were quiet, sipping together. It was, fortunately, an easy silence. "I feel like I should apologize to you, Kriti," he said at last, looking at his hands. "You've been nothing but sweet to me. I don't like how you're treated. My god, the formal lecture about your place in the household. I mean, it was expected given how traditional the Thakur is." He frowned. "But the way father treated you at that breakfast, I was shocked! He and Sunil have always had an unhealthy competition. Sunil was so excited about your engagement, I actually thought things would be different. Maybe he did too." He looked up at her, his big eyes soft. There was a momentary hesitation before he continued. "I like you. I can't outright defy Father, or Sunil for that matter, but I'll help you as I can."

Kriti took a moment to consider his sincerity. This could, of course, be a trap, but she did not think so. His eyes might be shining with something sensual, but she'd never caught him ogling her. "Did you know that he has been watching Sunil and me in our room? From behind the mirror." From his horrified expression, she knew that he didn't. "I only just learned of it. The shame is so .. so overwhelming." There was little either could say to that revelation. Finally, she ventured on. "Raj, was your mother... shared?" She felt a surge of apprehension at the possible answers.

Raj shook his head. "Absolutely not. Everything in this house revolves around Father. He would never share what is his." He fiddled with his glass and took a few long moments before he went on. "He did put her on display, used her to provoke jealousy and desire among his colleagues—Father doesn't have friends, of course, everyone is beneath him. Mother handled all that with her usual grace and I think, secretly, a sense of irony."

Kriti nodded. "There's so much I don't know about managing these... appetites. Sunil is becoming unhappy with me. I'm struggling to, as you said, perform. In the past, when I struggled, I just looked at it as a problem to solve. But this - "

Unabashed affection suffused Raj's face. "You're brave. And smart."

She smiled at him gratefully.

He drew his hand away as if not wanting to take a liberty. "Kriti, I want you to know that you're beautiful to me in every way, deeply attractive. I'd be lying if I tried to tell you that I'm not drawn to you. I can't imagine any man who wouldn't be. But I'm not one of the lions, I promise you that."

"Thank you, Raj."

"I think I have an idea how to help at least a little."

All she could do was smile back at him.

***

For the next few days in a row, Sunil would touch Kriti while standing before the mirror in their room, which he seemed to find particularly stirring. When he pressed down on her shoulder, which was becoming a regular signal, she would kneel and open her mouth for him, her mind necessarily going to a favorite piece of music or how the wind caused the riot of flowers in the gardens to ripple. From a distance, she would follow his directions, employing her tongue as he most loved, but adding nothing of her own volition. She discerned that he was showing off his youth and strength while using her, competing with the Thakur in what he seemed to think were subtle ways. They were not.

Around the house, there were the occasional glances from the Thakur, his eyes raking her body, but nothing was said. Since that breakfast, he had not touched her.

Then, Sunil became lost in the expansion of their factory. He would be away for days, and when he returned, he was buried in paperwork in his home office. He came to bed late and fell asleep immediately. Once or twice, she woke in the pre-dawn to him entering her for a quick fuck before showering and leaving the house. Otherwise, it seemed that he lacked the energy to do anything but work.

Perhaps out of a sense of guilt or merely to keep her busy, a large swimming pool was being built near the veranda. Kriti had always enjoyed swimming and considered herself quite good at it. She had been thrilled at the prospect of a pool being ready before the end of summer, something to look forward to. Of course, it would be yet another place for her to be observed less than fully dressed (if her sheer garb could even be considered dressed). She began shopping for a new swimsuit, only to wonder whether she'd be required to swim naked.

Kriti could feel tensions rising in the house. One night, when she was finishing another yoga practice to help her sleep, she heard smacking accompanied by muffled sounds of resistance. On cat's paws, she eased down the hallway toward what she thought of as the audience room where the Thakur's great chair usually stood. From the shadows, she could see one of the night-attending women servants— married no less—bent over an arm of his great chair, her skirts hiked over her back. The Thakur was repeatedly spanking the woman with the flat of his palm, loudly. He suddenly paused and reached down toward his pajama bottoms. Kriti fled back to her bedroom. As much as she wanted to stop what was happening, clearly, what he was doing was not something new, and in no way did she wish to put herself in the position to be substituted.

Guilt and fear ruined her sleep. The next afternoon she lounged on the small terrace outside her private sitting room trying to read a chemical engineering journal, one that she looked forward to receiving each month. A connection to another life. Another possibility. She finally found herself going over the same paragraph several times. She set it aside with a sigh and reached for more chai.

A soft knock sounded at the doorjamb. At her acknowledgment, Raj stepped onto the terrace. "Sit," she offered with a genuine smile. His curly hair was tidy, and he smelled pleasantly of woody oils. His jeans and a T-shirt bearing a colorful mandala design were a permitted departure from the rest of the household members' uniforms. Raj had once said to her that if he was going to always be third in the hierarchy, he'd damn well enjoy the benefits. His handsome face was freshly cleanshaven although he still had such a young aspect that shaving was more a ritual than anything effective. Sunil often teased him, stroking his own luxuriant mustache with pride.

Surreptitiously, Raj slid a small flash drive under the edge of her abandoned journal. "I've always had a healthy imagination," he said, "much to Father's chagrin. But it helps me through difficult times. I think that might be of help to you as well." He didn't elaborate. "Oh, I meant to tell you before, you're always welcome when I go to the movies. I think I'm considered an appropriate chaperone for the bahu of the house." He grinned, full of his usual mischief and now, shared confidences.

"I'd love that. It has been too long since I watched an epic in a proper theater."

"Excellent. Perhaps Thursday?" He stood. "I'll see you later. The open sesame is freshCardamom, capital C," His parting smile was mysterious.

With Sunil away so much for work, Kriti had been more able of late to spend time on her laptop. She'd long ago installed an encrypted tunnel for her former work with proprietary formulas. Now, while she kept her up-front browser looking busy with refreshed tabs marking pastimes considered womanish as well as with chemistry topics, she also educated herself in the world of pornography, something she'd avoided out of initial shock and distaste. Most of it she found as appalling as it was enlightening. A rare bit here and there she found titillating. But it was all educational in the present circumstances.

Kriti had come to realize over the course of a week or so that by absenting herself as much as possible from the act of sex, she had inadvertently been prolonging each session. There were things she could do to make it all easier on herself as well as to please Sunil. But she would have to be careful about introducing new things lest he feel the need for an explanation. And she was far too stubborn to feign pleasure like these performers. For better or worse, Sunil didn't seem to care any longer so long as she was an active participant in his own satisfaction. His attentiveness to her enjoyment had evaporated sometime in the six weeks after their wedding.

Today, she had more than enough privacy to pop in Raj's flash drive and slip in one earbud, keeping the other ear tuned to any unannounced visitors. It turned out that Raj had provided her with a high-quality animated movie - a pornographic video - ostensibly based upon a popular videogame. The protagonist was an warrior princess, improbably skilled in battle, gorgeous of course and ridiculously shaped (as though anyone built like that could actually walk, let alone fight). Her tribe lost a war and she was taken prisoner by a tribe of barbarians. Fascinated, Kriti watched the explicit scenarios play themselves out. Gradually, the princess learned to ignore the repugnance of her captors and went from cringing submission or mere passivity to taking initiative and mastering her own pleasure, daydreaming of other partners, through all of which the brutes were easy to satisfy. Eventually, she ended up ruling the tribe and leading them into battle to free her people.

After closing down the drive and clearing her video card history, Kriti realized that despite the ugliness, she was aroused. In her distress it had of course been some time since she had experienced orgasm herself. Rather than do anything about it now, she let herself simmer. That could be useful if Sunil returned home with more energy than usual.

***

At the evening meal, Sunil was nearly silent, looking exhausted. Raj was telling them about an exhibit of paintings he'd read about and wanted to see. The Thakur seemed to only half-listen, starting at Kriti for lengthy periods between generous mouthfuls. She kept her attention on Raj as though listening politely.

Suddenly, the Thakur cleared his throat and Raj fell quiet. "Bahu." He had Kriti's full attention. Her heart thundered with apprehension. She could feel both Sunil and Raj's eyes snap to her and then to their father. "I once told you that there are expectations and responsibilities of every member of this household. Mine. Your husband's. Raj's. Do you agree that family and this house must always come first? For me? For you?" he asked.

Of course, there was nothing to do but nod.

"That the roles we play are all in service to the family? To our legacy?"

Setting her little-used fork down, Kriti bowed her head in assent.

"Good. So, you understand that just as we serve the family, so must you. The role of the lady of the house - and you are the lady of this house and this family - was taught to me by Sunil's mother."

The three men dropped their heads a bit and muttered a brief prayer before the Thakur continued with a commanding gesture. "Stand up."

Kriti did as she was told. It had been some time since she had been on display before the three men together. As usual, the pastel-colored sari did little to hide her lithe figure.

"You have brought beauty to this house." The Thakur sat back in his chair. His eyes grazed over her form with unhidden lust. "You bring desire into this house."

Tugging reflexively at her duppata to try and cover her bare abdomen, she started to reply. "I -"

He stopped both action and speech with a cutting gesture. "Do not be ashamed of your power over men. My wife was not. No, she used it in the service of this house. And so shall you."

"I don't understand." Unfortunately, she did understand. But she could not appear more worldly than he expected. No, that would lead nowhere less bad.

The Thakur glanced at both his sons and slowly smiled. His smile turned into a grin. "You make men's cocks hard. And a man with a hard cock is a confused man. A distracted man."

Kriti's throat suddenly constricted, and her face flamed at his vulgar words. She clasped her hands together tightly in an attempt to maintain a semblance of composure.

The Thakur chuckled darkly at her apparent discomfort. "You cause this desire to rise, therefore, it is incumbent upon you—whenever it does—to restore balance, to satisfy and soothe what you have stirred that we three might properly go about our work." The implication was all too clear.

Under her lashes, Kriti carefully glanced at her husband. Sunil looked apprehensive, his shoulders tense, his jaw set. For a moment, hope rose. It might be one thing for him to enjoy ordering her about as he never did while courting her, to emphasize her subservient position to him with relish. But this demand was an affront to Sunil, a mockery of his samskara of marriage. Perhaps this was finally the line that he would not allow to be crossed.

It could have been Sunil's exhaustion, his necessary absences, and the recent infrequency of their coupling had led the Thakur to this escalation. But it occurred to her that this moment of impossible demand presented an opportunity for Sunil to rebel, to regain some self-respect. Sunil should take her from this house at once, a true husband would. Surely, one such as the Thakur would respect that strength in his elder son if Sunil would but assert it.

The silence grew and her dim hope flickered. Presented outright with the requirement that she service his father and brother, violate his own entitlement, her husband stood there wearing a half-smile, saying nothing, doing nothing to protect her. It made her hate him. She already hated herself for being so gullible as to have believed that theirs was a true romance. Finally, she knew that Sunil was too weak, too beholden to the Thakur. Tears started in her eyes. Fiercely, she held them back. The Thakur might think to take her dignity, but he could not, that was something that arose from inside, a precious flame that she would protect for herself.

In her extreme distress, Kriti did not notice Raj's expression of quiet horror. He quickly smoothed his features into impassivity. "Father," he began calmly.

"Silence, young leopard! Your turn will come."

Her eyes cast downward, Kriti saw in her periphery that Raj's hands had become fists against the table. Sunil's had not.

As if on cue, the servants began clearing the table. Whether the meal was finished or not, clearly, no one had permission to continue eating.

Kriti started her careful breathing regimen lest she faint. It seemed a distinct possibility with dark spots swimming in her vision.

"We shall retire to the great room. Sunil, direct the servants to withdraw for the evening. Raj, fetch the Greedy Angels and four glasses." The Thakur stood and rounded the table. Kriti stood her ground, head bowed. Taking her upper arm in his hand, he pulled her along with him across the room, down the hallway, and into the great room. She stepped carefully so as not to stumble. She could not control the situation - yet - but she could govern her own comportment. He released her before his chair, stepped up on the raised dais, and sat with a sigh of satisfaction.