My Temporary Maidservant

She screamed. Her fingers clawed on the muscles of my shoulders as her vice-like grip dug into my flesh. She moaned. She asked for more. Her resistance was gone. I thrust into her, then withdrew like a sword from its sheath before driving in again. With a solid grip on her arse now, I began a rhythmic movement going deep inside her, then drawing myself almost out to the edge, then back in again. Finally, holding her by the haunches, I straightened up and lifted the maidservant off the ground. With my arms, I lifted her up and lowered her in a continuous fluid motion on to my cock. I penetrated her greatest depth, the ridges and veins of my phallus rubbing against the sides of her vaginal canal and stimulating her swollen glans.

Carrying her as she sat on my cock, I walked into my bedroom. Her arms were tight around my neck and I felt her teeth bite into the muscles above my clavicle. In fact, I was sure she had drawn blood but my body was in full control of my mind at that moment. In fact my body, in its over heated state, was effectively out of control.

I pulled the woman off my thickness and lowered her on to the bed. I then stripped her of her saree, meeting no resistance from her at all. I found where the folds had been tucked in and ripped them out, pulling and unwrapping the yards off her body. Then, yanking the draw string of her petticoat, I pulled it down past her hips and threw it into one corner of the room. She lay naked, her knees bent as the legs folded over the edge of the bed, her feet barely touching the cool marble surface of the floor. A thick triangular bush of pubic hair guarded the entrance to her vaginal cavity; her firm round breasts proudly stood over her chest, hardened nipples at the centre of near black aureoles.

I gripped my cock in a tight fist and stroked it as I stared down at the beautiful rustic wonder in front of me. I wanted to take her in every conceivable orifice. Her eyes were still shut, her lips still a mite parted. She raised her arms and folded them under her head. Her hair had come undone and the black luminescence was splayed across the bed-sheet under her head. Black hair bunched in her armpits, the sight of which had a surprisingly erotic effect on me. I kept stroking my penis as I stared down at her body.

After what seemed like a fairly long time spent in just ogling her wild and captivating body, stroking myself continuously, I walked up to her and stood between her widely parted thighs and legs. Holding my raging tool in one hand, I lowered the other to the overgrown bush of pubic hair and stroked the undergrowth. Hidden below were the succulent folds of her nether lips; my fingers parted them, running a line through the sticky overflowing wetness till I felt the hardened tip of her clitoris. Her body convulsed at the first touch, bucked high into the air as the pink protuberance was grazed by my fingertip.

I stroked her clit for a while, watching her body throw from side to side. My fingers ran along the inside of her thighs and I saw fluids stream out of her hole, trickling along the soft skin and pooling on the sheets below. When I pushed a couple of fingers into her cunt, she tried to clamp her legs together but I was standing between them and felt the strength of her clasp. I bent down, kneeling on the cold floor and brought my face in line with her soggy wet hairy pussy. I could smell the sex emanating from her; a sweet-sour fragrance and I knew what the taste would be like.

Bending forward till my nose was amidst the deep undergrowth, my lips found the entrance to her grotto. I rubbed my lips against her wetness, keeping my mouth closed. I stroked her most sensitive erogenous areas with the hard bone of my chin, rubbing along the length of her cunt. Her screams were getting louder but it didn't register with me; I didn't really care who may hear them. Then I slipped my tongue out and tasted the uniqueness of this woman. A mix of fruit, both sweet and acidic, fragrant and volatile, perfumed and wild. I sucked her juices into my mouth, drew her lifeline into mine. As I sucked, I pushed a finger into her, gently rubbing. Her thighs gripped my head in place, never easing up, almost pulling me towards her. Then I felt her hands in my hair, gripping tight, pulling me down against her cunt. I drank.

She convulsed. Her body jerked upwards as her first orgasm tore threw her body. My head was in a vice as the smooth firmness of her inner thighs held me in place. Her fingers tore through my hair as her body fell back. Then again, her torso threw itself upwards, taking my face along with it, still clamped between her thighs. For a moment of crescendo, we stayed suspended in the air, her body lifting high off the bed with my head between her thighs, her hairy bush wet and soggy against my face. Till we crashed down on the bed again.

And a third time; once again my face flush against her pelvic region, my mouth open and sucking in the fountain of juices bursting out of her cunt, my hands desperately trying to grip her arse so I could anchor my existence to her dominance. Fluids poured out of her, gushing into trails that streaked down her flesh towards her arsehole, flowing from vagina to rectum before dribbling on to the soaked bed sheets. Holding her buttocks firmly, I slipped a finger into her anus as her body settled down from the crashing orgasms she had experienced.

She lay exhausted on my hand, barely realising that I had a finger inside her arsehole. I extracted it and stood up again. My cock was still hard but it had reached a state of engorgement where the hardness was almost permanent, at least for the foreseeable future. I stood up with my erection all too evident as I saw Anita return to a state of near normalcy. It was 10 o'clock in the morning and I knew what the day held in store. I saw the maid slip into a somnambulant state and decided to let it ride for a while.

Walking to my wardrobe, I pulled out a pair of jeans and slipped into them, pushing my still engorged penis under cover with some difficulty. Pulling on a vest and a jersey, I walked to the guest room and took a duvet from there and went to cover Anita with it. Let her sleep for a while, or for as long as she wanted. Or needed. I would handle my blue balls for the moment.

I walked out on to the terrace; the sun had banished the early morning fog so I pottered around with the plants for about half an hour before deciding I wanted to go and take a shower, my ablutions having been interrupted in the morning. When I walked towards my bedroom, I saw that the woman had left. The duvet was neatly folded on one end of the bed; there was no sign of her. I shrugged off my disappointment and proceeded with my shower.

Refreshed, I pulled on my jeans again, ignoring any underwear. I then worked at my desk for about an hour, finishing some work-related correspondence and some reading that I had been postponing for a number of days. I though of Sunita and missed her, wondering how she was and when she would return. I expected her to be back with Bahadur on Monday morning. It was now Friday.

It was nearing 12:00 noon but I wasn't particularly hungry so I pulled a can of beer out of the refrigerator and went back out on to the terrace. I thought of the maidservant as I sipped the chilled beverage, relaxing on the chaise outside. Visions of her dusky dark complexioned body floated in front of my eyes. I had this urge to photograph her, or maybe even film her. Wondering where my Canon camera or Sony video-cam were, I thought about how I would ask her whether she was willing to pose for me. Perhaps if I offered her some money, she may be willing. Still hoping that she might return, I walked into my bedroom in search of my photographic equipment.

I had used the video last about three months ago, and now found it discarded on the top shelf of my wardrobe. Taking it out of the case, I was surprised that the battery still had almost an 80% charge. I took it out on to the terrace garden and idly filmed some of the flowers and part of the skyline beyond. Nothing exciting; just fooling around with it.

I went in to get another beer from the fridge. While I was popping the can, I heard the front door open and saw the maidservant framed against the lit-up lobby outside. "Mai aun andar?" she asked if she could come inside. I nodded silently and walked out again, letting her know that I was somewhat miffed at the way she had disappeared earlier. She followed me to the terrace and stood somewhat embarrassed against the frame of the glass sliding doors. Head hung low, she absentmindedly stroked an ankle with the other leg, her fingers clasping and unclasping as she mumbled an explanation.

"Mujhe Vimla malkin ke ghar jana tha", saying she had gone to Mrs. Vimla Kapoor's residence - the lady who lived on a lower floor; the one who had helped me find my current apartment. I told her that she could have informed me, instead of having left without a word. "Sorry bhaiya, mujhe maaf kar do", she apologised. I looked up at her and she slowly raised her head to look me in the eyes; I let my glare linger for a while before allowing my facial features to relax, but I didn't smile. I still pretended to be angry so I turned away from her and sat down on the garden chair, facing out towards the skyline.

"Maaf kar do, please" I heard her whisper after a few minutes. Although I hadn't heard her bare feet move, she had walked up silently to where I sat and I could now hear the faint rustle of her saree right next to my ear. I relented after a minute and raised my arm towards her without looking up, my palm open and inviting her to clutch it. I felt her fingers delicately move into my hand which I clenched shut, gripping her by the wrist. Pulling her forward, I led her to come in front of me so I could see her face.

Her eyes were glistening and a single streak dribbled out of each eye where the teardrops had run. I still held one hand of hers but she raised the other one to her face, wiping away the wetness from her face. I stared at her for a while and then smiled gently, letting her know that all was forgiven and she should stop crying. I then said that there was a video camera lying on top of the fridge where I had placed it when extracting a beer; "jao! le ke ao" I instructed her to bring it for me.

She came back and handed the gadget to me; I pulled out the viewing screen and pointed the lens towards the flowers, playing with the zoom and wide-angle, testing the lighting, shooting a minute of mindless shots. Anita was looking at me curiously; she seemed to know it was a camera but the quizzical look on her face suggested that she wasn't too familiar with the item. "Bhideo camera hai?" she asked, and I confirmed that yes, it was a video camera. "Aao, dekho", I asked her to come and take a look.

She came around and stood behind me as I sat in the chair, the camera pointed out towards the rest of the terrace. She leaned over the backrest and brought her face very close to mine, peering at the screen that framed the scene in front. I pointed at the single button for shooting film and said "isko dabane sey, movie ban ta hai". By pressing this button, you can film a movie - saying that I pressed the shoot button and panned across the terrace, then moved to capture the distant skyline. Having filmed about 30 seconds of that, I pressed the button again to stop the process and told her "Phir se dabao aur picture band ho ja ta hai".

I then turned my head to look at her face barely an inch away from me; she angled her head and our lips were almost touching. I made no move whatsoever; instead I asked her if she wanted to shoot anything. She took the camera very gently from my hand and pointed it at my face; then moved backwards presumably so as to capture a wider angle. I noticed her finger depress the shoot button; she held the camera very steadily for about 10 seconds before walking back further and lifting the camera towards the flowers. After another 5 seconds or so, she started walking towards the front of the terrace but kept the lens pointed at my face. I smiled, then waved at her, picked up my beer and took a sip; just trying to give her some animation.

After a minute or so, she started back towards me and I saw her press the button to stop filming. She had learnt very swiftly. When she handed the gadget to me, I asked her to come around and look at the screen again. I quickly rewound to find the clip she had made and played it back for her. She was overjoyed at this; she giggled first, then laughter rang out - a delectable sound of glee. I looked at her face and saw how happy she was at the result of her first film. Flinging her arms around me in a sudden show of affection, she kissed me on the cheek. But then, as though she had suddenly realised that this display of familiarity may not be reciprocated, she stood upright and apologised.

Once again, head hung low, she moved away from me and stood about 10 feet away, expecting some form of reprobation. Instead, I pointed the camera at her and started filming. When she realised what i was doing, she turned away and said "nahin malik, mera picture mat lo". I asked her why and she said she was too bashful; "sharminda" was the word she used.

I kept the camera pointed at her till she turned to face me, giving up her objection quite quickly. In fact in less than a couple of minutes she took to the lens like a fish to water, a little shy perhaps but willing. I realised how much the camera loved her; she looked very appealing on the tiny screen and I wondered if I could brave my way into asking for more. "Pallu ko thoda side mey karo", I gestured, asking her to push the pallu of her saree to the side instead of it covering her entire front. She didn't react to my request, so I repeated it.

Anita seemed a little uncomfortable suddenly but I kept staring at her, appealing with my eyes that she push the fabric aside. Then, very slowly, she raised a hand to the pallu and pushed it sideways so that it rose from her hip and then curved around the swell of her firm breast. This resulted in my now being able to see a lot more of her flat abdomen, the deep ring of her navel, and the swollen breasts encased in the form-fitting blouse. And most exciting, the deep cleavage between her breasts. I used the zoom function on the camera to capture these close up, before moving up to her face.

Although I was concentrating on capturing this rustic beauty on film, I was also aware of my penis shifting as it uncurled towards a less dormant state. Not wearing any underwear, the friction between rough denim and rising erection was doing nothing to calm me down. I looked at the maid and ventured "blouse ko thoda khol do", wondering if she would comply and open up her blouse. "Nahin!" she exclaimed. "Koi dekh lega". With some hope I thought her only concern was that someone from a neighbouring terrace, or somewhere, may see her. So I said, "koi nahin dekh sakta"; nobody can see, and I gestured waving one hand in a long sweeping arc suggesting that there were no houses overlooking us. But she didn't seem convinced.

"Anita, achcha thoda sa hatao saree ko, zyada nahin", I appealed, willing her to shift the cloth a little bit only. Very tentatively and gingerly, she took the edge of the saree border and shifted it about six inches to her side so that it revealed the swell of one breast but not the other. I saw only a hint of the crevice between her boobs and my eyes lingered on what little skin I could see of her neck and chest. The blouse was fairly low cut but not vulgarly deep; there was also only about an inch-wide of fabric below the moulded breast, patterned as a border similar to the edge of her sleeves and neckline.

I smiled at her, trying to stop her from being overly self conscious; she smiled back at me coyly, a tentative parting of her lips. I put the camera down on the ground next to me and beckoned her towards me. She walked forward slowly and came and stood on front. I parted my thighs, took both her hands in mine and drew her closer. As I sat upright, her breasts were in front of my face and I breathed against them, wrapping my arms around her torso. I felt her raise her hands and place them on my head, her fingers toying with the dark long black curls of my hair.

I looked up at her and saw a gleam in her brown eyes; her jaws were slack and relaxed. I raised my hands to her midriff and felt the smooth texture of her taut skin; almost immediately I felt a shiver run through her and my fingers actually sensed the goose pimples that had burst momentarily over her body. Raising one hand to her saree, I drew it completely to the side so that it draped from over her right shoulder diagonally across to the left side of her body, disappearing around her hips. Her cleavage was now an inch from my face, deep and dark, vanishing into the neckline of her blouse. I pushed my face forward and kissed her chest, letting the tip of my tongue run delicately along the cleavage.

Her fingers gripped my hair tighter and imperceptibly pulled me closer to her body. The warmth of her cleavage contrasted with the coolness of the smooth rounded surface of her breasts against my cheeks. With my nose and mouth buried between her twin globes, I let my hands wander down her shank and legs till my fingers felt her bare feet. "Bhaiya, yeh kya kar rahe ho? Mere paon mat chuo!", She stepped away very suddenly and looked down at my face with some consternation, having reacted quite vehemently to the fact that I had touched her feet. I knew this was the proverbial caste system, or maybe the gender bias, which forbade a higher class person from touching the feet of someone lower down the social ladder. And certainly, a man touching the feet of a younger woman was anathema.

I got up silently and walked back into the house without saying a word to the naukrani. I knew she was not to blame, but this decadent and archaic mindset that pervaded the social ethos of this great country often got under my skin. For a moment after entering the dark interiors of the apartment, I was blinded as my eyes adjusted from the brightly lit exterior. I tried to forget the recent episode outside; walked to the fridge and took out some stuff to make myself a sandwich. Cheese, ham, lettuce, bread, pickles ... and another can of beer. Standing at the kitchen counter, I hurriedly ate my sandwich and washed it down with most of the Heineken.

After rinsing the plate, and putting back the ingredients into the refrigerator, I turned around to see that the servant girl had once again come into the living room from the terrace. She had brought the camera inside with her and was placing it gently on a side table. Then she drew the sliding doors together and pulled the curtains shut. A table lamp in one corner had been left on all morning, and was now the sole source of light in the room. She had pulled the drape of her saree back over her torso, and now stood silently and demurely in the dimly lit room, not having moved an inch.

I wasn't certain what to do next so I just stared her; she was looking down fixedly towards the floor and I felt a strange tension building up around us. As my eyes adjusted fully to the new luminescence, I once again observed the fine and beautiful features of the girl in front; the sharp jawline and the dainty neck, the swell of her boobs and the narrow waist, and the saree cascading down her hips to her feet below. Memories of the morning came into my head and I felt the familiar stirring in my groin.

Gulping down another swig of the beer, I placed the can on the counter top and walked around it and on to where Anita stood. Gripping her wrist, I pulled her along as she wordlessly followed me to the housekeeper's room. Fleetingly, I thought of Sunita, my housekeeper who was on a short vacation in her village. Pushing open the door to her room, I saw the neatness with which it was always maintained. On a side table stood some toiletries like creams and other unguents, a set of bangles, and a notebook. The curtains were slightly parted so there was some natural light streaming in.