The Broken Valve - Ch. 04

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My Husband Is Perfect For Me: The Broken Valve Ch. 04

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Meenal woke up early. In fact, she'd barely slept. She turned her head to look at Harish. His mouth was open, a thin line of drool dried on his cheek. His belly moving with his breath. Snoring which she'd gotten used to.

This is my husband. It wasn't a resentful thought as such. Maybe more like stating a fact.

She'd refused him last night. First time in the two months of their marriage. Harish handled it better than she'd expected - didn't sulk, didn't push. Even offered to buy her anklets.

Her mother had told her that she should never refuse her husband.

'So that he never strays...' she'd told Meenal.

And how do I stop myself from straying? Meenal never actually asked this question.

Meenal felt a pang of guilt. But guilt, she was learning, was a temporary emotion.

It came and went very quickly. Especially because she had more pressing feelings occupying her mind.

Biswa was coming today. Day four.

In the last three days Biswa had seen her naked twice in a row, forced a paan into her mouth, held her close to himself while she was just wearing a towel.

If she wasn't careful...

I'll be careful. I won't let it cross the limit...

She sounded unsure in her head. Because the fact was, she couldn't deny how hot it was when he entered the shower and told her to wash. There was something almost hypnotic about submitting to his demands.

Biswa. A plumber. A low-class laborer. Her husband's inferior when it came to money, status and education. But why couldn't she stop herself from giving in to him?

Meenal pressed her thighs together under the sheet, thinking of his eyes on her body... the way his arm circled her yesterday, the bulge in his pants touching her...

Stop.

She slipped out of bed, brushed her teeth, washed her face and walked to the kitchen. The routine was same as every morning. But today, her mind was somewhere else.

Should I call him and cancel?

It's just for a shower. He will just turn the water on. I DO need to shower.

But what if...

Meenal shook the thought out of her head. Concentrated on the vegetable curry she was making for Harish's lunch.

Harish shuffled into the kitchen twenty minutes later, still in his undershirt and shorts. His hair was sticking up on one side.

"Good Morning, Meenal," he said, his voice still groggy. He let out a big, loud yawn. "Tea ready?"

"Of course, Harish ji," she said, pouring him a cup.

Harish sat down at the dining table and took a long sip. "Ahh. Did anyone tell you, your tea is very good... quite delicious."

She didn't respond, just gave him a smile.

"Listen, Meenal," Harish started, his voice softer than usual. "About last night..."

She stiffened. "What about it?"

"I just wanted to say... I understand. You're homesick. You were feeling down and I... I shouldn't have pushed you."

Meenal didn't turn around. She flipped the roti on the flame, watching it puff up.

"It's fine, Harish ji."

"No, really," he continued. She could hear the effort in his voice. The clumsy, well-meaning effort. "I know this city is new for you. You don't have friends here yet. You're alone all day. It must be hard."

"I'm fine, Harish ji. Really."

"Okay, okay," he said, sensing her closed-off tone. He took another sip. "Oh, by the way... did the plumber say when he's coming today?"

Meenal's hand paused for a fraction of a second on the roti.

"He said he'd come in the morning. I don't know the exact time."

"Good, good," Harish said, already distracted, scrolling through his phone. "Make sure he doesn't overcharge us. One hundred rupees just for turning on a water valve! Can you imagine? In my office, we don't even..."

Harish's voice drifted into the familiar drone of complaint. Meenal stopped listening. She packed his lunch box, his tiffin, his water bottle.

"Harish ji, your lunch is ready."

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Good." He put his phone down and stood up. "Can you also pack my towel and clothes in the gym bag. Showering in the office is turning into a hassle. Did the plumber say when the shower valve will be delivered?"

"Not yet, Harish ji."

"Ask him today, won't you."

"Sure, Harish ji."

---

Meenal stood at the door for a full minute after Harish left. She looked through the peephole. And as expected, Mr. Kamble was sitting on his chair, right in front of his door, waving at Harish.

Meenal turned and went into the living room and looked at the time. Nine AM.

She looked at her phone. No messages from Biswa. She hadn't texted him yet, of course.

She sat at the dining table, tapping her fingers on the surface. The apartment was quiet. The fan creaked overhead. The heat was already building.

She started scrolling on her phone, but got bored quickly.

Nine thirty.

She picked up her phone. Put it down.

Don't text him. He'll come.

Nine forty-five.

Meenal stood up, walked to the kitchen, drank a glass of water. Walked back. Sat down. Stood up again. Went to the balcony and looked out. Kids were playing cricket down below. A woman was hanging laundry on her balcony two floors down.

The heat was unbearable. She came back inside. She was sweating, and feeling sticky.

Ten.

This is ridiculous. I'm not going to sit here waiting for a plumber like some desperate...

She picked up her phone and opened her contacts.

[BISWA PLUMBER]

She typed: [When are you coming?]

She stared at the message. Her thumb hovered over send.

Don't send it. Don't.

She sent it.

Three minutes passed. Five. Eight.

No response.

Meenal was highly annoyed now. She put the phone down, face-flat on the table. Walked to the bedroom. Walked back. Picked up the phone.

No response.

He's doing this on purpose.

She typed again: [Biswa?]

Send.

A minute passed. Then two. Then her phone buzzed.

[Are you wearing a saree?]

Meenal stared at the message. That asshole.

[No. Why?]

[I told you yesterday. Saree. Or I don't come.]

Meenal's fingers moved quickly, angrily.

[That's ridiculous. Just come and fix the shower.]

No response. She waited.

One minute.

Two minutes.

She typed again.

[Biswa?]

[Yes?]

[Biswa, I need to shower. It's hot. Just come.]

[You know what to do.]

Meenal put the phone down on the table.

He's not coming. He won't come unless I...

She picked up the phone.

[Okay. I'll wear it.]

[Good. Do you have a sleeveless blouse?]

Meenal paused. She did. The black one. That one.

[Yes.]

[Wear that one, Madam. You'll look great in it.]

Meenal didn't respond for a long time. Her thumbs sat motionless over the keypad. Then she typed.

[You're such a kameena.]

[So will you wear it?]

She typed.

[Yes.]

[I'll be there in 30 minutes. Don't shower before I come.]

Meenal put the phone down. Her heart was pounding. She felt that familiar mix of anger and excitement that had become her daily companion since Biswa entered her life.

She walked to the closet and opened it. Pushed aside Harish's shirts, her nighties, her other sarees. There it was. The green cotton saree, thin fabric, the one she'd bought at the village market.

And the black sleeveless blouse, folded neatly underneath.

She took them both out and laid them on the bed. Then she found her petticoat. Black. Thin cotton.

Meenal stripped off her nightie, and then her bra and panties. She stood in front of the mirror and looked at herself. The mangalsutra hanging between her breasts.

She raised her arms. Her armpits needed attention. She hadn't been able to shower properly in days, and the stubble was visible.

Meenal went into the bathroom and found the razor and shaving cream in the bathroom cabinet. There was a bucket of water she'd filled yesterday from the kitchen tap... she'd stored it for emergencies. She dipped a mug in it, splashed a little under each arm, applied the cream and quickly shaved.

The cold water on her skin gave her goosebumps. She ran her fingers across them--smooth. Good.

She came back into the bedroom, picked up the blouse and put it on.

The blouse fit tight. Tighter than she remembered.

The fabric stretched across her breasts, the curve of each one visible through the thin cotton. The neckline was low enough to show the tops of her breasts and the mangalsutra nestled between them.

She wrapped the petticoat around her waist and tied the string. Then she draped the green saree around herself, pleating it in the front, tucking it into the petticoat, wrapping the pallu across her chest and over her left shoulder.

She looked at herself in the mirror. The saree was thin enough that the outline of her blouse was visible through it.

She wondered why he wanted her to wear a sleeveless blouse. It didn't matter now. He was here.

---

The doorbell rang at exactly ten thirty.

Meenal opened the door. Biswa was standing there, toolbox in one hand, his usual faded tank top and stained trousers. That smile.

She looked past him at Mr. Kamble's door. He was sitting in his chair, reading a newspaper. He looked up briefly and then just stared at her.

Meenal gave him a quick polite smile. Then stepped back to let Biswa in and closed the door behind him.

Biswa set his toolbox down and turned to look at her. His eyes moved slowly, from her face down to her feet and back up. The smile widened.

"Wow, Madam," he said. "You actually wore it."

"Don't flatter yourself," Meenal said, crossing her arms. "You were holding my shower repair hostage. That's the only reason."

"Ha ha ha." Biswa's laugh was low and genuine. "Sure, Madam. Whatever you say." He looked at her again, head tilted slightly. "The sleeveless blouse looks very good on you."

Meenal felt herself flush. "Just... just install the showerhead. Do you have it?"

"Yes, I have it." He patted his toolbox.

"Good. So how long until the valve comes from Bhopal?"

"Could be a few more days," Biswa said, shrugging. "I haven't called the distributor yet."

"What? Why not?"

"Been busy, Madam. Other jobs. You're not my only client."

Meenal gave him an angry look. "Biswa, call the distributor. Today."

"I will, I will. Let me install the showerhead first." He picked up his toolbox. "Come help me."

"Help you?"

"Yes. I need someone to hold the showerhead in place while I work on the pipe connection. You have to hold it steady."

"Can't you do it yourself?"

"I can," Biswa said, already walking toward the bathroom. "But the sealant needs to set while the showerhead is held in place. Ten minutes, maybe. If it shifts, the seal breaks and we'll have a leak."

Meenal followed him into the bathroom.

Biswa set his toolbox down, opened it, and pulled out a new showerhead--still in its plastic packaging.

"This is the new one," he said, unwrapping it. "The old one was rusted inside. That's part of why the pressure built up."

"And you didn't think to mention this yesterday?"

"I'm mentioning it now, Madam." He inspected the showerhead, turning it over in his hands. "Come here. Stand here." He pointed to the spot directly under the pipe where the showerhead would attach.

Meenal walked over and stood where he pointed. The bathroom felt smaller with both of them in it.

Biswa climbed onto the edge of the bathtub and began unscrewing the old showerhead. He set it aside and pulled out a tube of sealant from his toolbox. He applied a bead of it around the pipe threads, then positioned the new showerhead against the pipe.

"Now," he said, climbing down. "Hold this. Keep it pressed against the pipe. Don't let it move."

Meenal reached up and wrapped both hands around the showerhead, pressing it against the pipe. Her arms were raised above her head.

"Good," Biswa said. He knelt down by the base of the pipe and began working on something below.

Meenal stood there, arms above her head, holding the showerhead in place. She became very aware of the position she was in. With her arms raised, the sleeveless blouse exposed her entire armpit on both sides. The thin cotton of the blouse pulled tight across her breasts.

It dawned on her why he wanted her to wear a sleeveless blouse. He had planned this.

"How long do I have to stand like this?" she asked.

"Told you, ten minutes."

A minute passed. Biswa seemed to be working below. She couldn't see what he was doing because she couldn't lower her arms without moving the showerhead.

"How much longer?" The impatience in Meenal's voice clear."

"Don't move, or the seal won't take."

She heard Biswa shift below her. Then he stood up.

He was standing very close. His face was level with her raised arm. She realized... too late... what he was looking at.

Her armpit. Bare, freshly shaven, exposed by the sleeveless blouse.

"Madam," Biswa said, his voice quieter than usual. "Did you shave today?"

Meenal's face flushed. "What!? Why are you... don't look there!"

"Can't help it, Madam," he said, moving his lips closer to her ear.

"Biswa..."

"You look so... inviting," Biswa said, his lips within inches of her armpit. "And you smell amazing."

"Biswa... stop... don't say things like that."

He didn't stop. He leaned closer to her raised arm. She tried to twist away but couldn't without moving her arms.

"Madam, I really can't control myself... you smell so good."

"I... what are you... I haven't showered, I've been sweating all day..."

"Exactly," Biswa said.

And then, suddenly... before Meenal could react, Biswa leaned in and put his nose directly against her armpit. He inhaled deeply.

"Ahhh! Biswa... stop!" Meenal screamed, twisting away from Biswa. But his hands were on her waist immediately, preventing her from moving.

"Oh no, no, no... don't take your hands off the showerhead... the sealant's still setting..."

She didn't let go. But she still tried to get her armpits away from him, her torso turning while her arms stayed raised. "Then stop doing that, Biswa... that's... that's so..."

"So... what? Low class?"

She was silent for a second.

"It's... it's vulgar," she said. "Disgusting!"

Biswa laughed.

"Oh Madam... all you rich people and your unnecessary hang-ups. You never learn to enjoy the true pleasures of the body."

"Biswa, stop!" she warned. Then, softer. "Ahh... stop, please."

Biswa pressed his face deeper into her armpit. His nose was flush against her skin. She could feel his breath - warm and damp - against the sensitive skin of her armpit. Biswa's stubble scraped against the smooth, freshly shaven skin.

"Fuck, Madam... you have no idea..." His voice was muffled against her. "This is what a real woman smells like. Not those city girls with their perfumes and deodorants. This... this is raw."

His mouth against her armpit, the vibrations from him talking while his lips were firmly on her skin was driving Meenal crazy.

"Biswa... oooh... stop... this is disgusting! I'm sweating... I haven't bathed..."

"That's the point, Madam. This is you. All you..."

Biswa pulled back slightly. Just enough to look at her armpit up close. And then, without warning he extended his tongue and licked her armpit.

One slow, deliberate stroke. From the bottom of the hollow to the top.

Meenal shuddered.

"Ahh... chee! Biswa stop... so disgusting!" Meenal screamed in shock. She was almost about to let go of the showerhead but Biswa laughed and stopped her.

"Just keep your hands on the showerhead, Madam... don't let go..."

And with that, Biswa licked her again, this time on the other side.

It was a strange sensation. His tongue was rough. Wet. The texture of a tongue against her sensitive armpit skin was unlike anything she'd felt before. None of her prior lovers had ever done that.

This is disgusting... this is filthy.

But Meenal felt something else, too. That familiar feeling... between her legs.

How can I be getting turned on by this?

Biswa kept going... licking, sucking, kissing her armpits. He would switch every few seconds, kept Meenal guessing.

Meenal was reduced to a whimpering, shuddering mess.

Finally, after a few minutes, Biswa stopped for a moment and reached down to the shower handle. "That should be sufficient time for the sealant to take effect. Let's see how it does with water pressure."

He turned the handle.

Water exploded from the showerhead directly onto Meenal. Cold. She gasped.

"Biswa... what are you doing...!"

Meenal started bringing her hand down to cover her face, but Biswa immediately held her elbow and pushed her arm back up.

"Uh huh... just don't take your hands off, Madam."

The water soaked through her thin saree in seconds, making it go almost completely transparent, clinging to her body. The black sleeveless blouse was clearly visible through the wet fabric.

Meenal's nipples hardened instantly from the cold.

Biswa walked around behind her. She felt his hands on her bare waist... the part exposed by the shifting saree, right above where the petticoat was tied. His palms pressed flat against her wet, sensitive skin.

"Your skin," Biswa whispered into her ear. "It's so soft Madam."

"Biswa... don't... you can't just..."

His hands moved to the saree's pallu draped across her left shoulder. He pulled it. The wet saree fabric slid off her shoulder, unwrapping from across her chest, exposing the black blouse underneath completely. But the saree still clung to her waist, the pleats tucked tightly into her petticoat.

Meenal knew what was coming. She felt Biswa's fingers at the tucked pleats at her waist. He pulled them.

One firm tug and the wet fabric came free from the petticoat, the whole saree unwrapping from her body and dropping to the bathroom floor in a heavy, soaked heap.

She was now standing in just her sleeveless black blouse and petticoat, the water pouring over her bare arms and the exposed skin of her midriff.

She let out a gasp as Biswa's hands made their way up from her waist, over her ribs, over her wet blouse and to her breasts.

He cupped them through the soaked fabric of her blouse. No bra underneath. Her nipples were hard, he could feel them under his palm through the thin cotton.

He squeezed. Gently at first, and then harder. His fingers found her nipples and he tweaked them through the fabric. He pinched them and then rolled them between his fingers.

Meenal's head craned back, her mouth open. A soft moan escaped her mouth. Her back arched, pushing her breasts into his hands.

"Unnh..."

Biswa didn't stop. One hand on each breast. He was kneading, pinching, and massaging them. She was moaning again. The water was pouring both of them, drenching their bodies completely.

His hands moved to the back of her blouse. Meenal felt Biswa's fingers on the hook. He unhooked it with one hand, making her skip a breath.

He didn't remove the blouse. Instead, he brought his hands forward and slid them under it, directly onto Meenal's bare breasts. Biswa's calloused plumber hands rubbed against her smooth skin. His rough fingers, nails lined with dirt and grime, directly on her nipples.

"Ohhh..." Meenal moaned. Her eyes were closed, water running over her face.

Suddenly Biswa's mouth was on her neck. Kissing. Biting gently. She turned her head toward him, almost instinctively. Her eyes were still closed, and their lips met.

The kiss was immediate. Open-mouthed, no hesitation. Her tongue darted towards his, tasting the paan. She sucked Biswa's tongue into her mouth, desperate for that taste. The one she'd thought she hated. The sweet, sharp flavor of betel leaf and lime and gulkand. And Biswa.