The Prerogative of Power
It was going to be quite the evening. Not only one of the trendiest restaurants in town, but the chance to meet someone who could be Prime Minister one day! That's why Sonia had acquiesced to her husband's demands when he had chosen a rather revealing outfit. He had a good taste in clothes, but they were usually far more modest that what she was supposed to wear tonight. And, given the trendiness of the restaurant and the guests who would be there, Sonia was now wearing the outfit he had chosen. . The dress was a silky grey thing and far more revealing with its plunging neckline and high hem than she had ever worn before. And, making it worse, the cut prevented her from wearing a bra. Sonia certainly wasn't a prudish woman. She had worn western dresses, revealing saris, but nothing like this. The material clung to her body and accentuated every curve. And yet, as she looked at herself in the mirror, she also knew she looked amazing. She felt like a Bollywood star. Unlike most men, Adnan knew clothes.
When they arrived, the restaurant wasn't too crowded. They were a bit late and were led to a private room on the mezzanine where they were let in by a hulking bodyguard. It was like a fish tank - a rectangle of glass that lent a sense of privacy while giving views of the main restaurant below one side and the twinkling nights of the city on the other side. The others had already gathered at the long mahogany table and, disappointingly the only available chairs left Sonia and Adnan separated. They took their seats with apologies that were quickly waved away.
Adnan had ended up at the far end of the table, diagonally across the table from where Sonia sat. Beside him, another executive and his wife. Beside them and across from Sonia sat a deputy from the Ministry of Trade. He was a rather sleazy looking man. Behind him stood a hulking bodyguard with the cliched earbud. Then a couple more of the Minister's functionaries with the remaining seats filled by Adnan's colleagues and their wives. She noted that the only women were from one side of the negotiations. And, of all the guests, the most out place was man dressed in saffron robes with a red tilak smeared on his forehead sitting at one end of the table. He had the air of a hindu priest. One of the idiosyncrasies of the Minister of Trade. He was known to hold a great deal of faith in the esoteric.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet, you Mrs. Malhotra." The CEO said as he pulled out Sonia's seat next to the Minister of Trade. Dinner itself was a rather regal affair catering to the sensibilities of the illustrious guests, but that was all a blur of tastes and colors that had little weight compared to what happened to Sonia during the after-dinner cocktail hour. Even the conversations - business and otherwise - that occurred were forgotten by the time it was all over.
When she looked back on the night, she realized even the seating arrangement had been planned. She had always been a negotiated part of the bribe package along with the expected suitcase of black money that was openly exchanged by the CEO and the Minister's secretary. Sonia was placed between the Minister of Trade and his senior aide, a man named Vikram Seth. Had Adnan been in on it? Did he know what was supposed to happen? He certainly had made no protest about being sat so far from his wife. Regardless of her husband's complicity, she knew it was the CEO who was ultimately responsible. A man like him was diligent in his research. He would have learned of the Minister's tastes in pretty young women, so had made sure she was where she was supposed to be.
As the last course finished, the Minister suggested that after dinner drinks be ordered. Even for the wives. Drinks were brought and the serving staff dismissed. The restaurant below had nearly emptied. The atmosphere became more relaxed. Then, Adnan started telling one of his stories - an old village folktale, drawing everyone's attention to him. It was another reason that Sonia held him partly responsible for that night. The other was that he had chosen her dress. Chosen to make her an object of lust for lecherous men. He had betrayed her.
It was a few minutes into her husband's story, that events went out of her control. She felt a hand on her knee beneath the table. As she looked back on it, perhaps she could have stopped things. She should have stopped things. But she hadn't. She had decided to leave the man's hand were it was. Was it shock? The hand belonged to the Minister of Trade. A man who had risen in the ranks of the government. He would be Prime Minister one day according to the newspapers. And, he was old enough to be her father, if not her grandfather. He was a man to be respected - for his age and for what he had accomplished. And, in this world, didn't status have its privileges? Was she his privilege? Then there was the fact that they were in public. She was not someone to make a scene. What was a good wife at a business meeting with virtual strangers supposed to do? Embarrass herself and Adnan. Instead, she had convinced herself of the innocuousness of the act. This was an elderly statesman. There was nothing really inappropriate about him kindly placing a hand on her knee. It was foolish of her let her imagination run wild. This was an old man who hadn't even glanced at her the entire time preceding the placement of the hand. That is what she had told herself then.
Adnan's stories tended to be long-winded and often referenced obscure village truisms. Born in Delhi, he had rarely visited a village, he told the story as if he was folk storyteller. Sonia only half listened to her husband and looking around, it seemed most of the others were only half-listening as well. It was a few minutes into his story that she felt the Minister's leg press against her's. Again, and largely for the same sort of reasons as before, she did nothing. She left his hand on her knee. Kept her leg against his. Another opportunity she had missed.
Sonia took a sip of her wine glass and took the opportunity to dart a glance at the Minister. He was smiling and looking at her husband, as if in rapt attention to the story. It was her second glass and perhaps had added to her confusion and acquiescence. The Minister's left hand was on the table. His right was beneath the table, on her knee. It seemed to her that they were both pretending nothing was happening, but only he knew what would happen next. He was in control. She took another sip of the wine, staring straight ahead. Her heart was pounding, and she struggled to draw a breath. Then, her shawl had slipped off a shoulder, showing more than she had wanted. And, she even lost the wherewithal to adjust that.
"So there's this lorry - "
Adnan's eyes swept brightly around the table, making sure everyone was engrossed. Stopping to rest on his wife only briefly, the smile turned to a flashed grin. The chill of the room had slowly had its effect - her nipples were hard and clearly visible against the silk of the dress. Even that, though was a fleeting thought as she focused instead on the Minister's hand which had started to slowly travel up her left leg with the fingertips caressing the inside of her thigh. She didn't drop her hand to arrest his progress. She convinced herself, as she had done throughout the night, that it would wander up her leg a bit, get the idea of how soft her skin was, and then he would release her. Exploration done. Instead, of course, she felt his fingers on the sensitive skin near the inside of her upper thigh. She realized that to get there, he had eased the hem of her skirt up another few inches. An overly revealing hem covering even less. It was another opportunity that she did not take. But, she realized that at that point, it was probably too late. How could she have stopped him then when she had already let him go so far?
The fingers dipped further between her legs as if they wanted to confirm that the lower curve of this new territory was as round and smooth as the curve at the top. Who knows what goes through men's minds when they find the upper regions of a complicit woman's leg beneath their fingertips? She took another drink of the wine. A gulp more than a sip. And then a quick second before putting the empty glass down.
The right hand lingered. The left hand kindly refilled the glass.
Adnan, encouraged by a chuckle from the CEO at a supposedly humorous part of the story, continued. Others joined in the laughter. His young wife, firmly in the middle, felt the Minister's fingers make a light pass over her cunt, to find the soft little button draped in silk. Adnan had chosen a pair of pink thongs to go with her dress. He had suggested that she not wear anything under the dress (again to make things easier for the Minister?), so the panties had been a compromise when Sonia had been adamant about leaving the house without them. That's why they had been late.. And, it was lingerie - not underwear. Supposed to make her feel sexy (Make her more willing to accept the man's ministrations?) The finger made another pass, exploring geography, finding the forest of trimmed hair.
As she looked back on that night. Playing it in her mind, she wondered if that was another missed opportunity to stop the man. Stopped him on the basis that, as he was the Minister of Trade, she had given him certain leeway that would not normally be given to another man. Other, less important men. Perhaps she could have convinced him that he had his enjoyment and it had gone far enough. She could have drawn upon his honor and need for decorum. The only thing she drew, however, was a muted, ragged breath. At this point, thought, there really hadn't been an unobtrusive way to bring the matter to an end. Could she have stood and left? Needing to use the bathroom as an excuse? Probably not. She would have disrupted Adnan's story. Drawn attention to what was happening. No, at that point, she had been well and conquered. Doing anything would have been an embarrassment to the company. To Adnan.
Another consideration, of course, was the fact that most men had always considered her attractive. And, she was. She had fair skin with the long face and full lips that gave her the look of a Bollywood starlet. Someone had one said she looked like Kriti Sanon. She had been flattered. She was tall for an Indian woman. Not overly large breasts, but firm and full. A long, flat abdomen. Toned legs. So, most of the men - maybe even Adnan - would not have sympathized with her. They would probably have wanted to be in the Minister's place! Adnan's hot wife, so easily available with her legs barely covered. Her body on display. They would have seen his actions as natural. Expected even! So, she had left the fingers where they were, between her legs, starting to toy with the silk and the softness beneath.
