Married Woman by Manju Kapur

do you have to read these things?’ Astha demanded for form’s sake.
    ‘They are interesting. Look.’ Hemant tried to show her, but Astha turned away her head, and Hemant did not persist. ‘I will show you in other ways‚’ he murmured in her hair.
    Astha blushed and said nothing, too diffident to tell him that she had already noticed a change in his lovemaking, he was less in a hurry, and his focus had widened from the single point of her vagina.
    New positions, timing the length of intercourse, variations on a theme. There seemed no end to what one could do with two bodies. At the suggestion of sexy clothes she balked.
    ‘What do you think I am? A whore?’
    ‘There is nothing to be ashamed of darling‚’ said Hemant caressing her. ‘It is to increase married pleasure.’
    Astha looked at the lacy black thing he was offering her. ‘What is it?’ she asked suspiciously.
    ‘A teddy.’
    ‘So I am to be your teddy bear?’
    Hemant was not interested in double meanings. ‘I went to a lot of trouble to get it for you‚’ he said.
    ‘For me?’
    ‘Who else is the woman in my life?’ asked Hemant, pushing her towards the bathroom. Thank God their room was slightly separated from her parents-in-law’s bedroom, thought Astha, and they had a bathroom to themselves. Otherwise there was no way she could do these things. She locked the door and looked at herself in the mirror, clad from throat to ankle, neck to wrist. Diaphanous, lacy, and a soft pink she had all along thought this nightie made her look quite attractive. Slowly she took it off and looked at her body. She was in her hairless condition, the way Hemant liked her, with legs, arms, and underarms freshly waxed, shining smooth, with not an unsightly black stump in sight, only a series of pink bumps where the wax had pulled too hard and left its protest. She raised her arms and anxiously sniffed the wet place underneath. Hemant didn’t like the smell of sweat, or vaginal fluids, he was a little squeamish in that respect, and she now washed and dusted herself with powder before turning her attention back to the thing. Single piece, lace and satin, slinky, with holes and slits, she could crumple it in one fist, its only stiffness the wires in the cups.
    She put it on, and there from below her chin, a deep cleavage appeared with black laced mounds on either side, the dark nipples straining through black net hearts. She almost didn’t recognise herself, with the sexual parts so emphasised. She raised her arms to take out the pins from her hair, watching as her breasts rose and thrust forwards, feeling an excitement that embarrassed her.
    Astha wrapped a dressing gown around herself, and slowly went into the bedroom locking the door quietly. Hemant was lying on the bed with the small bedside lamp on, his arms and chest shone brown and shapely. He kept his eyes on her, as she took off the dressing gown and walked self-consciously across to him, desire rising still higher, tryingnot to think of what she was wearing, what it was doing to him, to her. She sat next to him, and he grabbed her tightly encased body.
    ‘Sit on me‚’ he said hoarsely, pulling her on to him, twisting the little bit of lace aside.
    Astha sat on him, her breasts tight and forward, falling over him, over my husband, she thought, as they rocked together, while sensation took over, drowning thoughts even of husbands.
    *
    The days passed. Astha had not imagined that sex could be such a master. Slightly ashamed, she kept hidden that she longed to dissolve herself in him, longed to be the sips of water he drank, longed to be the morsels of food he swallowed. The times he was away she was focused on one thing, the moment of their union. When he came through the door, she wanted to jump on him, tear his clothes off, thrust her nipples into his mouth, and have him charge his way through her. One with him, one with all that mattered.
    I haven’t really lived, thought Astha, till now I did not