My Temporary Maidservant - Suni Ch. 02

Her hair had been tied and knotted at some stage but at that moment it was an unruly mass of curls, tangles and waves all over the pillow. She was lying supine on top of a pinkish floral bedspread that was crumpled under her. The light blue, half sleeved blouse was open down the front and the flaps had fallen on either side of her chest. The cups of her brassiere had been pulled down to expose her large breasts which thrust upward from her body, supported by the bra band under them.

For a fraction of a second, I feared the worst. But when I looked at her face, her eyes were shut and there was an expression of pleasure that looked seraphic, serene and calm. One of her hands, the one away from me and next to the wall, rested against her left breast and her fingers toyed with a bulbous nipple that stood out large and firm from her dark areola. The smooth swath of chocolate brown exposed skin from beneath her breasts to the waistband into which her saree was tucked low at the hips, had a fine sheen of perspiration on it. With the filtered ambient lighting, it almost glowed.

As I watched, immobilised outside the door, Suni raised her right hand off the bed and rubbed her palm over the other breast. Both her hands now moved in tandem, stroking her boobs from the outside towards the top and centre. She teased herself with light movements of her fingertips, then clutched the breasts firmly and squeezed, then took both nipples between thumb and forefinger and tweaked them. For a long couple of minutes, she continued titillating herself and I saw her chest move with her breathing as it got deeper and heavier.

While she kept her left hand on one of her tits, she took the other hand to her face and pushed a finger between her lips, sucking it in a couple of times. The she brought the lubricated finger back to the enlarged nipple and continued to twist and twirl the nub. As I ogled her, my throat was getting parched so I took a long pull of the single malt and savoured its taste as I let it trickle down my throat. I leaned against the door frame, wondering whether I should go up to her bed and join my temporary maid. From the first time we made love four days ago, I had been conscious of how transitory this liaison was, given the fact that she was a temporary substitute for my regular housekeeper, as also the fact that my current visit to India would soon end. So why was I wasting time?

But I stood almost hypnotised by what I was witnessing; I wondered what was going through her mind. Was she imagining a lover, perhaps even me, as one of her hands ran delicately across her body below the chest while the other still played with her breasts and nipples. She dragged the hand over the pleats of her saree till it rested over her vulva and I noticed her fingers curl into hooks digging into the dress. She pressed down, applying more pressure through the saree and the petticoat under it till I heard a sudden groan as she touched the spot she was searching for.

Clearly not satisfied, she hurriedly started drawing up the dress, her fingers pulling up the folds as the hem crawled up her legs and she began to gather the overlapping layers around her stomach. As the dress rose, I first saw her shins and knees exposed, then the top of her thighs as she pulled further. She was wearing a pair of black lace bikini panties and I could make out the mound of pubic hair under them just before she cupped her pudenda with her hand and started rubbing a finger against her gash. An almost silent moan escaped her parted lips as she licked them with the tip of her tongue.

The movements of her finger increased in tempo and her hips moved slightly as she applied more pressure. Her left hand was still on her breast, fingers digging into her flesh as she massaged her bosom. Then she slipped her other hand past the elastic band of her underwear and stroked her crotch from beneath the panties. I couldn't make out whether she had pushed a finger into her vagina or if she was teasing her clitoris, or maybe both. But I could clearly see her knuckles move under the lace undies as the soft moans emanating from her mouth mingled with the bass rhythm from her phone speaker on the window sill.

I was unable to tear myself away from this blatant voyeurism that I was indulging in, feeling a little guilty but not enough to look away. I saw Suni take her hand away from her breast and with all fingers hooked into the waistband, she pushed her undergarment past her hips and managed to extract one leg from it. The panties stayed hooked around one ankle at the foot of the bed as she spread her thighs apart and pushed her fingers into the dark recesses of her pubic hair. She stroked the length of her pussy lips, starting low and slowly caressed along the sides of the pink labia till she reached above her clitoris without actually touching it.

She made a V with her middle and forefinger and pressed the hood of her clit, pressing it down against the nub. Her other hand went back to her breasts and she lifted one up towards her face, craning her neck to take a nipple into her mouth. She massaged her breasts, tweaked her nipples, while her other hand kept stroking her cunt. She was well lubricated and slowly two fingers of her right hand slipped into her vagina; she thrust them in deeper with every stroke for a while before removing them and rubbing the top of her clit again. Her eyes were shut and her head moved from side to side as her moans grew louder.

Her right hand was moving much faster and her thighs kept clamping against her wrist as she clamped them together before tearing them wide apart again. The spread of her pubic hair covered a massive triangle and every time she removed her hand, I could see the wide open slit in the middle of the forested jungle. Her face was contorting with seemingly deep anguish but I knew it was sheer carnal delight as her fingers moved feverishly over her cunt, digging fully into her vaginal canal. Her hips rose off the bed to meet her fingers and I realised that my maid would soon be in the throes of an uncontrollable orgiastic explosion soon.

She was groaning, head thrashing from side to side as her fingers continued to pulverise her gash. Both hands were at her crotch now; she used one to rub gently on her clitoris while three fingers of the other were deep inside her. Her thighs were at their widest spread as she screamed, pinching the hood of her clit and ramming herself; her body went into spasmodic convulsions as she continued to thrust into herself. And then quite suddenly, with a massive heave, her body rising off the crumpled bedcover, she removed her hand and squirted a short jet of fluid that spewed out about six inches and drenched the sheet.

She quietened down as her body began to relax, still gently stroking her pussy with one hand and her nipples with the other. I was not sure what I should do at that moment; go into her room and surprise her, or spare her the potential embarrassment of knowing that I had been witness to a most private moment? I kept replaying in my mind what I had just witnessed, coupled with visions of our delightfully debauched weekend before my trip to Jaipur. But I restrained myself and walked away from her bedroom door.

On the way back to my room, I switched on a couple of lamps on the way, turned on the overhead hanging light in the kitchen and bar area, and walked into the bedroom leaving the door ajar. I unpacked the overnighter which was lying on my bed and hung up the suit and shirt in the wardrobe. The clothes I had worn during the day were still lying on the bed. I walked into my bathroom and splashed some water on my face, ran my wet fingers through my hair, wiped off with a towel and exited. I went to the bar and poured myself a shot of Jack Daniels into a crystal tumbler, added some cubes of ice from the refrigerator, and prepared to go and sit down on my leather recliner.

"Sahiiiiiiib! What are you doing here? No, no, I mean of course you can be here but how? I think you coming tomorrow morning, maybe?"

"Hello, Suni", I responded, very cool and jokingly formal, giving her a taste of her own morning medicine when she greets me as though there's been nothing going on between us.

"Namaste, Sahib", she greeted me with folded hands, a sudden look of worry and maybe trepidation writ on her face. "I am very sorry, Sahib; I was not expecting you this evening so the house is not ready for you and I have not cooked any dinner."

"That's fine, Suni", I said, "How has your day been? Did you rest well?"

"Yes, Sahib. Yes sir", she mumbled, a little flustered and perhaps nervous; unsure of what my mood was since the house was "not ready" for me. She looked down at her feet, head bent, and asked if I would like her to cook dinner for me. "Or maybe some snacks?"

"No, thank you", I said rather sternly, and quite unnecessarily. I carried my glass of bourbon to the recliner and sat down, my face in shadows while hers was bathed in the glow of the kitchen overhang. I took a sip without saying a word, reached out for the remote control of the audio system, shuffled the CD changer to a random one, and punched the play button. It was some obscure French CD called 'French Kiss', and I remembered its cover blurb had called it "soft sex chillout music". I had no idea where it had come from, but played low and with the bass boost on, it did have a certain erotic flavour to it.

"Suni kept standing a few feet away, not sure what she should do, and I wasn't helping any. I looked at her, maintaining my silence, and realised I was being childishly sadistic. I pictured her in her bed only ten minutes ago and felt a strange, very strange, sense of jealousy; like she had been making love with someone else and not me. Now, she stood demurely in front of me, her hands clasped together in front of her lower abdomen, her delicate feet stood together, and her head hung in subjugation. Or was it shame?

Her hair and her dress showed no signs of the salaciousness of her behaviour a little while before. Her hair was combed and smoothed, loosely knotted behind her head with her unbraided tresses flowing out of the knot to her waist. Her saree was proper and the pallu modestly draped across her chest and thrown over her left shoulder, and the pleats neatly arranged in front of the dress and tucked into the waistband of her petticoat. The blouse was seemingly buttoned all the way from neckline to the bottom band of the garment.

And then my heart melted; I saw one teardrop escape her left eye and trickle down the smooth skin of her face, over the cheekbone and down to the chin where it lingered for a second before it dropped on to her saree covered chest. I was reminded of another occasion in Vietnam when I had spent an unexpected weekend with a female Government labourer, and how she had wept during a rather melancholy moment. Suni looked so defeated and fragile, unsure of herself and totally lacking the confidence that she normally displayed. My instinct was to get up and hug her close to my body and assuage her feelings but for some reason, I didn't. Was I intentionally making her suffer? That same begrudging resentment towards what I saw as narcissistic self-pleasure? Without me.

Another teardrop fell from the same eye, followed by a third from her other eye; trails of misery etching lines over the contours of her face. Her bosom seemed to heave with every breath she struggled to take as her sobs became more audible. And then she started crying, soft mewling sounds escaping her throat and mouth as she looked away from me and wiped her eyes with the drape of her saree. With her profile now towards me, the sideways view offered me the first glimpse of bare skin on her body this evening.

Her breasts rose out from her chest, large and proud as I remembered, the pallu of her saree sloping from the shoulder to the top of her mounds, before angling down to her haunches where they wrapped around her in a complex whirl I could never fathom. In the resulting tent as the saree stretched from the top of her tits to the lower part of her body, I saw from below the blouse to the top of her hips where the saree was tucked in, that wonderful chocolate complexioned nakedness that I had hungered for all day. As her dress hugged her hips, I could see the silhouette of her firm rounded buttocks against the light behind her.

She dried her eyes, sniffed into the folds of her attire, and then turned back to face me. "I am very sorry, sir. Very very sorry. Please mujhe maf kar dijiye, Sahib".

I relented finally, seeing the pain in her eyes, and reached out a hand to her saying "Come here, Suni. You don't have to say sorry. It is not your fault. I should have sent you a message or called to tell you that I was returning home tonight. Come to me", I cajoled. She took a few tentative steps towards me, wiping her face again with the drape of her dress, and timidly slipped her hand into mine. I wrapped my fingers around hers and pulled her down on to my lap, cradling her as she finally sat side-saddle.

It was a wide recliner, with very comfortable arm rests, and a lever which I pulled to raise a footrest that doubled the size of the seat. My maid lifted her knees off the ground and curled her legs up on my lap, leaning sideways into my chest. That pushed the back rest down, and had I let it, it would have almost flattened and created a bed, but I didn't allow it to push back more than an inch or two. We sat quietly, listening to the strains of French chillout music, as she snuggled up closer against me. I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her tight, hoping to convey a sense of reassurance and comfort to my temporary servant.

I stroked her hair as it fell from the knot on top of her head like a curtain over her back, stroked the bare nape of her neck and her blouse covered back, felt the naked skin below the blouse and the lower half of her spinal column. Curled up as she was, Suni slipped a bit off my lap to the right and her hip almost reached the seat of the leather chaise. She wiggled a little and made herself more comfortable between me and the armrest, her face still nuzzled against the denim shirt I was wearing.

As I continued to stroke her, she bent her head backwards against my chest and looked up at me, gently raising her left arm and touching my face with her fingers. "Sahib, I missed you full day", she whispered. I smiled down at her, cupping her chin and rubbing my fingers across her lips. She kept her head tilted upwards and shut her eyes, parted her lips and pushed the tip of her tongue against my fingers. I let her suck one into her mouth and she bobbed her head slightly so that she could wrap her lips around the middle of my forefinger, her tongue gently swishing against it.

I reached out with my free hand for the whisky and took a sip, replacing it on the low side table. When I looked down at her again, the pallu of her saree had slipped off her shoulder and I could see the swell of her large breasts, and the deep cleavage disappearing into the light blue coloured blouse. There were three snap buttons down the front but they were all straining, not only because of the size of her breasts but also on account of the angle she lay in. Between each button, the fabric of the garment was pulled apart and I could see bare flesh through each of the gaps. That meant she had not put on her brassiere, perhaps in a hurry to ready herself when she realised I was home.

I extracted my finger from her mouth and let my hand drop to the exposed part of her chest above the low neckline of her blouse. I ran my fingers over the smooth taut skin of her bosom, feeling the bulge of each breast; I stroked her neck and felt the ridges of her collarbones and the roundness of her shoulders. Pushing a finger into her cleavage, I snapped one of the buttons free on her blouse. My manhood was stirring behind the fly of my jeans as my hand pushed deeper inside her blouse, undoing first one and then the last button. The two front panels flapped apart and I pushed them aside till her breasts were fully exposed.

Looking down past the top of her head, which rested on my chest, I saw the DD-cup breasts stand out naked from her body, firm despite the lack of support from a bra. At the pinnacle of her pert boobs was a darker shade of brown, the radius easily 3cm, considerably larger than average, and centred on them were almost black nubs about one-third the size of her areola. With my arm over her left shoulder, I palmed the expanse of her bust, feeling their weight as I cupped them from below, then ran my fingers over her nipples. In an instant they were rigid and firm, protruding by more than a centimetre. Feeling them like that, I immediately recalled my first discovery of her nipples just a couple of days ago, and how amazed I was when I first sucked them into my mouth.

No doubt, her arousal levels were elevating to where they must have been less than an hour ago and she squirmed on the seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. But given the fact that her head was twisted to lie on my chest while the rest of her body was on my side, she gave up any attempt at minor modifications in her position. Instead, she raised herself of me, got off the recliner and stood beside it. She then pulled the sleeves of her blouse off her shoulders and arms, folded the garment casually, and placed it on the table where my whisky tumbler stood half full.

Then, in a strangely bashful gesture, she turned around and faced away from me as she pulled the folded pleats of her saree out from where they were tucked four inches below her navel and unravelled the long metres of the fabric. She bunched the garment roughly with her hands and let the six metres of fine georgette pool beside the lounger I was on. She deftly unknotted the petticoat drawstring somewhere to the side, and pushed the undergarment past her hips till they trailed down to the floor as well. With one foot, she dragged and kicked it to where the saree lay. She had no panties on; once again, clearly in a hurry to present herself when her master came home earlier in the evening.

The brown-skinned maid stood still and unmoving in front of me as I reached out for another sip of my drink; all 5'2" of her standing upright. The glow of the lamps, as I had observed the previous night, cast an iridescent lustre on her otherwise chocolate-brown skin. Raising both hands to her head, she unknotted the loop of hair on her head and let the full length of her glossy black hair cascade down to her hips, the trimmed edges bouncing around her buttocks. The only adornments on her were a thin golden ankle bracelet and a tiny golden stud in her nose, both of which she never seemed to take off.

She turned slowly; not fully facing me but giving me more of a profile view of her voluptuous body while she combed her hair with her fingers running over her head and tucking stray lengths behind her ears. Her breasts had a perfect shape, full in the top half and slightly fuller below the areola. Standing out five inches from her chest, they were large but had a completely natural look to them. Her waist dipped drastically to a slender 23" maybe, or 24", and then the swell of her hips were gentle but definitely proportionate. Her stomach was like a flatboard curving in as it disappeared between her thighs, the thick bushy pubic hair prominent even with this side view which I had.

The shape of her buttocks was almost perfectly rounded above the arse crease, below which the smooth taper of her thighs descending to her knees. The sharp contrast between light and shadow, cast by the table lamps in the room, made her look like an artistic study in nude photography. She moved her hands up to her breasts and then glided her palms in the most seductive curves, flowing over her boobs, sown the flat of her abs, over the slight bump of her belly, descending to the forest between her legs. She was reminding me a lot about my Vietnamese labourer woman, a grass-cutter in fact.