The Inferior

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Rajiv

Switching off the television, Rajiv eased himself from the sofa he had been slumped upon for the past five hours -toilet breaks too numerous to mention- to hitch up the bottoms of his jogging suit.

An exercise aid worn more for comfort and practicality than its eponymous purpose.

It not being too often he left the apartment these days and, when he did, physical exercise could not be said to rate high on his list of priorities.

Though still an imposing looking man as he passed his mid-sixties, the physical activity missing from his day-to-day went some way to explaining his aches, pains and physical lassitude. The three companions of his twilight teaming up to win a huge groan as he stretched underused arms towards the ceiling and moved towards the window.

The aforementioned “Five hours” having been whiled away –killing time until he Skyped his protégé halfway across the world- with a selection of dross brought to him by the wonders of satellite and a little light m**********n triggered by his twice daily contact with his protégé in England and the prospect of the latest upcoming tête-à-tête.

That he was little more than a voyeur -albeit on speaking terms with one half of the couple he pumped his meat over so regularly- bothering him not in the slightest.

Anya had already told him of the mans troubled dreams and his reaction to her in the new wardrobe he, Rajiv, had suggested, and her retelling of Bernard Lambert’s first sight of his housekeeper in more typical English clothing was something he couldn’t seem to get enough of hearing - the genesis of a new conquest always, with hindsight, the most exciting point of the process.

Explaining his insistence she repeat the episode for him.

The image of this conceited Englishman seeing his disregarded young housekeeper in skirt, nylon, and heels for the first time one he could not get enough of. Imagining his reaction to the hourglass, Junoesque, body he had yet to be privileged to see in its uncovered glory –as he, Rajiv Singh had been so privileged; albeit in the form of a computer slideshow. The power inherent in the girl’s womanhood no less diluted for her only standing an inch or so over five feet. His reaction when it was finally unveiled to him, if only the Englishman were astute enough to know it, being the seedling that would soon develop –if Rajiv and his protégé proved adept enough- into an overwhelming craving that would, as young Anya desired, see him flat on his back as she perched above him and emptied the contents of her bladder into a mouth as eager as it was disgusted.

“Tell me, Rajiv,” his protégé had asked shortly after he had received the photo slideshow of her: “were we not separated by two oceans, and I were suddenly of a mind to give a man permission to place his c**k in my virgin cunt, would you like to be that man?”

“My dear, Anya,” he had laughed, playing down the disturbance at his groin caused by her use of such language for the first time, “were we not separated by two oceans, I assure you I would neither ask for nor need your ‘Permission’.”

It had been her turn to laugh then:

“Then I must make sure we do not meet until I have you… tamed,” she told him; something in her light-hearted tone warning him she was not being quite as flippant as she would have him believe; her mentor taken by surprise, just the same, at the eager way his p***s reacted to her assertion in his regard.

Replaying the conversation as he reached the window, he groaned again; aware that, despite his aches and pains; he had another erection to give witness to the fact the one he had experienced after her stated intention of having him “Tamed” was no fluke.

Though he remained, as said, a striking looking man, the stiffness in his legs and upper body provided one more reminder of the passing years to go with his closely cropped silver hair and recent desire for companionship. The same need making his daily contact with Anya Jalav of such importance to him.

Past retirement age, he was comfortable enough in a financial sense. His civil-service pension and the contents of his late partner’s will had seen to that. But no abundance of material possessions could fill the void the loss of Ilse had created. Such a meeting of minds, sexuality and compatible temperaments came along only once in a lifetime.

The gap created by her departure from his life one he hadn’t even bothered to try and fill.

Few people, he thought, would understand how any man who had treated a fellow human being so unjustly, so cruelly; so disdainfully and autocratically; could protest to having finer feelings for that person. There being nothing in their mundane lives -lived out, as they were, to the specifications of church, government, or trashy magazine- to promote the understanding that not all “love” resulted in the simulated achievement of marriage, mortgage, babies and grandchildren. A toeing of the establishment line resulting, finally, in the advent of the greatest catchall of the lot.

Death.

Gazing out from his twentieth floor apartment at the sunbaked panorama of Calcutta, stretching westward towards the Hooghley River and the Sarangabad Government Complex –the same complex where, many moons ago, he had worked as a clerical-officer- a hint of moistness around his eyes gave further evidence of the changes the years had wrought and brought a shaking of the head for such, previously inexplicable, sentiment.

From the sill he picked up what had once been his former partner’s collar; the thick and heavy band of leather he had locked around her neck to signify she was his.

The very same collar she was not allowed to remove without his permission and now took pride of place upon his windowsill as a reminder of what he had lost and so missed - so much so, in fact, he had begun the blog in her memory that recounted their life together.

The same “Blog” that had been seen by his young protégé and had led her to seek his assistance.

Eyes still fixed on the panorama beyond his windows; even if the view he was seeing was of a different kind; he recalled the moment Ilse had begged for the leather he now found himself stroking with such tenderness.

Guessing, and not for the first time, at the nature of her thoughts as she waited for him to put the final piece of her submission to him in place…