Wife wants door open while having sex

[ashuezy2]

Title: The Open Door Policy

Characters:

• Myra: The Queen, bestowing her favor.
  
• Sagar: The King, observing the ceremony.
  
• Kishore: The victor claiming his prize.
  
• Lata: The defeated witness.
  

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Scene 8

Kishore: (breathless and confused) Approach... the bed, Memsahib?

Myra: That is what I said. But first, a little housekeeping. A good boy doesn't leave a mess for others to clean. Use your handkerchief. Be quick.

(Kishore looks down, his face flooding with shame. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and awkwardly kneels, wiping the floor clean. He doesn't dare look at Lata. He quickly finishes and shoves the soiled cloth back into his pocket, then stands up, his entire body trembling.)

Myra: Well? I am a very patient woman, but even I have my limits. Come here.

(Kishore takes a slow, hesitant step forward. Then another. It feels like he is walking a thousand miles. The soft Persian rug muffles his footsteps. He stops when he is standing beside the massive bed, inches away from Myra. He keeps his eyes downcast.)

Sagar: He looks like a condemned man walking to the gallows, my love. Or perhaps like a peasant called before his queen.

Myra: He is both. Look at me, Kishore.

(Kishore slowly raises his eyes. Myra is smiling at him. She is radiant, powerful, terrifying.)

Myra: You were brave tonight. You were obedient. And you said something very sweet. You admired my breasts. A prize must be given. Kneel down.

(His knees hit the soft carpet with a faint thud. He is now at eye level with her body.)

Myra: That's right. Now, I believe I promised you a taste. A reward for your devotion.

(She reaches out and places a hand on the back of his head. Kishore flinches but doesn't pull away.)

Myra: Shhh. Don't be frightened. This is a gift. You may kiss me.

Kishore: (a choked whisper) Kiss... you, Madam?

Myra: Not my lips, silly boy. Your prize. You may kiss my breast. Just once. A small taste of what you desire. Go on. Show me your gratitude.

(Slowly, gently, she guides his head forward. His eyes are wide with a mixture of pure terror and ecstatic disbelief. He can smell her skin, a mix of expensive perfume and sex. He closes his eyes as his lips make contact with the tip of her breast and he sticks out his tongue to lick the entire areolas first to make it wet and then lands a soft kiss on the nipple.)

(From the doorway, a single, sharp sob breaks the silence. It is Lata.)

Myra: (her voice a triumphant whisper as Kishore kisses her) Good boy. A very, very good boy.

(Kishore pulls back, his face pale and awestruck. Myra looks from his dazed expression to the doorway, where Lata’s sob is clearly audible.)

Myra: That is enough, Kishore. You have been rewarded. Return to your place in the doorway.

Kishore: (scrambling to his feet, bowing his head) Yes, Memsahib. Thank you, Memsahib.

(He practically stumbles back to the doorway, his eyes wide and unfocused. He stands there, trembling, as Myra’s attention shifts completely.)

Sagar: Listen. Our other little guest is weeping. Did the sight of your generosity break her heart?

Myra: Perhaps. Or perhaps she is merely sad that she lost the race. Jealousy is such a powerful spice, isn't it?

(Myra’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and clear, silencing Lata’s crying instantly.)

Myra: Lata. Stop that noise. Tears are for children. Now, come closer.

(Lata flinches as if struck. She looks up, her face streaked with tears, her eyes wide with fear.)

Lata: Madam...?

Myra: You heard me. Your turn is not over. Walk here and stand where Kishore just knelt. Let me have a proper look at you.

(Lata, looking like a lamb being led to the slaughter, slowly shuffles forward. She passes Kishore in the doorway, who can only stare. She walks the long path to the bedside and stands there, her head bowed, her hands twisting the fabric of her kameez.)

Sagar: She looks so pitiful. What prize is there for second place?

Myra: Tell me, Lata. Why were you crying? Were you upset that your friend was so bold? Or were you upset that it was his mouth on my breast, and not yours?

Lata: (a choked, miserable whisper) I don't know, Madam.

Myra: Oh, I think you do. It's alright. It is a bitter thing to watch someone else receive a gift you desire. But I am not unfair. First prize may be gone, but there are other rewards. Other lessons to be learned.

Sagar: What kind of lesson?

Myra: A quieter one. She is not a creature of appetite, like Kishore. She is a creature of feeling. Give me your hand, Lata.

(Lata looks up, confused and terrified.)

Myra: Your hand. Now.