May 03 2012 | 19:50
It sometimes happens that a girl raised in the most conservative and modest environment will bloom into the most radical and audacious flower when planted in the right soil.
This was the story of Khushi. Nothing in her history could have foreshadowed the woman who now stood in front of the full-length mirror to tighten the ribbon on her ridiculously short coral pink negligee. To say it in delicate and refined language would not convey the reality of it. It had to be stated bluntly: Khushi had developed an insatiable appetite for the brand of sex that Arnav Singh Raizada provided. Like the man himself, his brand bordered on extremes. It would shift very suddenly from playful to aggressive; tender to tormenting--and Khushi thrived on it. She had agreed to travel ahead to Lucknow, but it was only at the dinner table that she absorbed the reality of what that entailed.
Five days and four nights without him. Unbearable. Even on the days where he plagued her with his autocratic imperious conduct, she could hardly wait for him to tear her clothes off at the end of the day. Their daily skirmishes and disputes only heightened her pleasure. She knew innately that what they shared was not common-place--he had said so--but she sometimes wondered if her behaviour bordered on the indecent.
She reached for her hairbrush and absentmindedly brushed her hair. Ought I exercise more modesty, more restraint, more self-discipline? Ought I not be so eager for his touch? Will I ultimately put him off by my uhm...enthusiasm? She placed the brush on the vanity table and looked at herself in the mirror. When she dressed to tease him, did he find her beautiful or did he see a tart? How was a woman to know? What were the boundaries? Were there boundaries between husband and wife? She recalled this afternoon's ice-cream incident and blushed. Arnav didn't seem to exercise any limits. And, she always took her cue from his words, his prompts, his guidance--had she not learnt from and been emboldened directly by him? How then could her behaviour be deemed inappropriate?
Dejectedly, she dropped down on the stool, and with a tissue wiped away her lipgloss. What did she know of appropriateness? Her sudden wedding had meant that she had not benefitted from that mysterious preparatory talk that Payal had received from Amma and Buaji. The talk from which she had been excluded, and Payal had refused to share details of. She couldn't go to Amma and Buaji and ask for the talk retroactively, could she? In any case, her question was not about mechanics, it was about conduct and propriety--how could she ask without compromising her and her husband's privacy? She was alone in this.
But not entirely alone--her family had inculcated in her the general rule that one always knew in one's heart when participating in any wrongdoing. She didn't feel wrong--but she did often feel naughty. Was that the same?
Confused and flustered, she decided to not be in this negligee when he returned. To err on the side of caution was not her usual stance, but her love for Arnav was too great a matter to risk for the sake of pleasure. She knew that he had in the past been embarrassed and offended by her high spirits--should he feel the same about this area of their life, she would never again be comfortable with him. It was best to remain on the safe side of gentility until she knew more. She stepped towards the wardrobe to fetch her night suit--yes, she was disappointed because she had really wanted him to see her in this piece. She slid the wardrobe door open--yes, she was dispirited because she would not see him for another four nights.
"Khushi?"
She turned around. It was her husband. Standing at the door to their bedroom. His eyes tracing her form from top to toe, taking in the frilly negligee and everything it refused to conceal.
It was fair to say that Khushi panicked.
Her judgments had left her in such a crisis of self-doubt that all her usual confidence when deliberately seducing Arnav now wilted. It was too late to change. She ran towards the bed, scrambled under the duvet and pulled it up to her chin. She knew she had exposed her legs and the tiny knickers in her dash to the bed, but at least she was decently covered now.
He entered the room, latching the door behind him. He was dressed in sand-coloured jeans and a black long-sleeved t-shirt.
She reached for a plausible excuse, and said, "I was just trying something on for fit."
To her discomfort, he approached the bed. He placed his phone, keys and wallet on the bedside table. "From what I saw," he said, his mouth curved into a smile, "it fits you perfectly." Khushi lifted her eyes to attempt to read his. She couldn't tell whether he was amused or aroused. Or both. "Is it from the lingerie boutique? Pearl?"
She shook her head.
"Where is it from?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I had it made by Buaji's tailor," she confessed, her eyes focusing on the duvet.
Her words garnered a rather strong reaction. He dropped his arms and took a step forward, "you what?"
She repeated herself, "I had it made--"
He held up his hand to stop her. "I heard you the first time. When? How? Why?"
The series of questions came at stunning speed. She attempted to answer them in the order they were put. "When Jiji and I spent the day at home earlier in the week. The tailor came to drop a kurta for Bauji. I told him what I wanted made. He made it. Dropped it off yesterday. Buaji gave it to me today."
"You allowed him to measure you for that!?"
"No," she replied. "He has my measurements."
"He can't have those measurements!" Arnav said angrily.
She frowned at his disbelief. "Of course he does. Who do you think made my saree blouses before your designers began to supply them?"
Arnav ran his fingers through his hair, and exhaled deeply. He reached to lift the duvet off her and she tightened her grasp on it. "Show me, Khushi," he said, his voice now without anger.
Khushi shook her head, and lied, "it didn't turn out well."
"I beg to differ." He had a good grasp on the duvet, and with his superior strength Khushi felt it leaving her body in increments. Rather than be caught on the bed in an inelegant position, she gave up the fight, moved the duvet aside and came to her feet. Her nervous hands smoothed the folds of the chiffon.
Arnav caught her hands and lifted her arms so he could have an unimpeded view.
"Not bad," he said.
She knew from her earlier mirror posing that it was rather short at the back, so she backed up against the wall.
He moved forward as she moved back, but he didn't touch her. "Did you make a sketch for the tailor?"
"No," she replied, "with my hands I said esse ither esse esse." Khushi showed Arnav what she did with her hands to convey design and draping to the tailor.
He smiled. "That tailor should be working for AR Group."
"He should be. He's so talented," Khushi said, taking his hands in hers, forgetting her self-consciousness for a minute.
Arnav replied, "you are talented. This is stunning." Their eyes met. "You are stunning" he added.
Khushi felt her dhak-dhak unite with his. Her breath quickened as he reached out to touch one end of the ribbon.
"Does this ribbon have a purpose?" he asked, his voice had deepened to a soft growl.
"Yes," she said, "it makes--" She stopped her sentence. She was about to explain to her husband that the ribbon was designed to lift the breasts to make the neckline more provocative. The smile on his lips told her that it unnecessary to explain design to the owner of a fashion house.
He lifted his arms and pulled off his t-shirt, tossing it carelessly on the floor. "Will you do something for me, Khushi?" he asked. He didn't wait for her reply. "Turn around."
[Photo added on post on same page]
PREVIOUS
May03 2012| 12:14 Pg54 https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/topic/2956956?pn=54
NEXT
May04 2012| 08:06 Pg67 https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/topic/2956956?pn=67
Edited by Inked - 12 years ago
comment:
p_commentcount