Slave to My Indian Maid Ch. 16

I am punished thoroughly by the maids before our trip to the village - Tarek

As I start writing my last chapters of this saga - of my love affair with my maid - I would request the readers not to judge me too harshly. After all, I was a young man, full of hormones and testosterone, always horny as hell, and I was submitting - fully naked - to a lady, and she would rub my balls, stroke my cock and give me a spanking on my ass. I would have done anything for that.

I am also writing the story from memory, journaling the events as I remember, so some things may be out of order, or I may jump from event to event. Please keep this in mind; I am not here to write a literary masterpiece, but jot down from memory how the events unfolded. Moreover, in this particular chapter, you will see that I get punished a lot. You might think, why I would ever tolerate that. If you are thinking like that, you do not understand my love for Rashida. My love is my total submission to her, and her domination of me, including the beatings, is our love.

It was now nearing the end of the month of June. My convocation was last week, and it had been a grand affair. Following my graduation, my parents had thrown parties all week. Relatives from across the country and abroad had been here at our place, including my older siblings and their families. Everyone had just left two days ago.

Today was a weekday morning. My father wasn't in town; he was in Delhi looking after the business there, and hunting for an apartment where I would stay with Rashida from end of August, when I would take over the family business there. He was returning to town in three days. My mother was at home, working on some official documents. Also home were our two maids - the older buxom maid Rashida, and the new, younger, maid girl Zarine.

As for me, I was enjoying my brief time of doing nothing. I knew soon I would have lots of responsibilities. In a three day's time, the day my father would return, I would be traveling with my maid Rashida to her village and stay there for some time - almost a whole month. I would be living with Rashida, her elderly mother, and her younger sister. Knowing Rashida, I would spend the whole month in service to her family and friends in the village.

The excuse I had told my folks was that I wanted to see and understand village life, to better understand how to start marketing the goods that we have, to a lower economic class. And of course, by end August, I was going to move to Delhi, along with Rashida to serve me as my maid, to take over my father's business there. Lot of responsibilities, and hence I was enjoying this little time off.

Today I was to meet my friends and then we were to go for a cinema. I bade my mother goodbye, got dressed and headed out of the house. I had a brand-new mobile phone, state of the art for that time, as a graduation gift. And then it rang.

Almost immediately after stepping out of the house, one of my friends had called me to say our meet up was cancelled as some people couldn't make it. Instead, we were to meet up in the evening, if I was free.

I hated sudden change of plans, and I hated people who committed to something and then backed out at the last minute.

So rather glumly, and angrily, I traced my steps back and re-entered my house, merely fifteen minutes after leaving it. I don't think any one in the home realized I was back, as they had all heard me leave. I had spent half an hour this morning arguing over something with my mother, so I wanted to go back to her study to sort of apologize to her.

And that's how, by pure dumb luck, I found out another of those juicy family secrets.

"Rashida!" I heard my mother, working from her study, call out our senior maid. "Can you bring my tea in here please! And hurry."

"Yes, memsaab." I heard my chubby maid Rashida's reply as she started to walk heavily up the stairs from the kitchen towards my mother's study. "I am bringing the tea upstairs, memsaab."

"Good!" My mom replied. "I also want to talk to you about some things, Rashida."

For some reason, suddenly, I decided I want to see ... or rather learn ... what my mom wanted with our older maid. What she wanted to "talk to her" about.

My mom usually didn't deal much with the help, except for orders here and there, and 'fetch me this' or 'make me that'. If they did their duties like cooking, cleaning etc., she usually left them alone. She was unique, my mother. When most women in that era were content being housewives, especially if their husband was a businessman, my mom was a successful professional in her own right. She managed a small consultancy and was a board member of several large corporations. This is why she didn't get into the petty domestic squabbles that her peers usually did, and this is partly why Rashida as the senior maid was the one who really ran the household. My mother intervened only where necessary.

There was a large plant and a cabinet around the corner from my mother's study, so I tiptoed towards the plant and positioned myself, such that I was near the door, but hidden behind the cabinet. This way I could eavesdrop on their conversation without being seen, and if needed, peer into the room. But I was content just to listen in for now.

"I am here, memsaab." Rashida walked into my mother's study and placed the tea on the desk where my mom was seated at. "Here's your tea. Will you be going out later, memsaab?"

"Yes, I just have to read through certain documents before I meet with the company's lawyer and go to their office. I will be leaving in about half an hour to forty minutes."

"Is there anything I can get for you, memsaab?" Rashida asked. "Some biscuits? A sandwich?"

"Rashida." I heard my mother curtly reply, as she took a sip of tea. "Please take a seat."

"Yes, memsaab."

... Please take a seat ...

There was no sound of a chair being pulled, because of course Rashida did not pull up a chair, even though she was asked to "take a seat". In my mother's presence, Rashida could never sit on a chair, but on the floor.

Those who are not Indians may not get it, but there is a big class structure at play in our country. My mother is the wife of the owner of the house, and as such she was the mistress of the house, while Rashida was a mere maid servant employed here. When asked to take a seat in my mother's presence, Rashida did what any other maid servant in the country would do. She adjusted her sari around her big body and sat down on the floor.

The title Rashida used to address my mother - memsaab - should tell you about the class structure in India. When the British used to rule India, they would often have a governor or some senior army officer to rule a particular area. That person would have the title of sahib. His wife would be called memsahib or memsaab, and she would have a huge team of poor Indian servants and attendants tending to her round the clock. The memsaab often ruled by the whip, and her word was the law in the house. The Indian servants were there to do her every bidding and remain a part of the background. That was the class structure the British had instituted in India.

When the British left, the white colonial memsaab had gone, but new Indian memsaabs took their place. Over time, this class structure became firmly engrained in society, along with certain practices.

If you are a servant, you are treated as a lesser human being. You do not sit at the same level as your employer. If your master or mistress is seated on a chair, you sit on the floor. If they are eating at the dining table, you wait but do not eat at the same table. Servants usually ate in the kitchen, or later when the masters had finished dining.

If you are a servant and your master is speaking, you stay silent until spoken to. In their presence, do not stare at their face but keep your glance respectfully at the floor. Look up only when you have to speak, and even then, do it respectfully. Many servants even lived apart - for example ours is a former colonial house. This is why in our house we had a whole separate servants' quarter with their own bathrooms.

My father, to his credit, despite being a businessman, a member of the ruling political party, and from the rich upper class of society, did not really care for such traditions. In his presence, he hated it when Rashida would sit down on the floor. Ironically my mother, who is usually progressive when it came to women's issues, was more traditional in this aspect.

"Everyone should know their place in society," Ma would always say. "It's there for a good reason. Get educated, work harder, and uplift yourself. Otherwise, you can sit on the floor. It's your place in society."

She and my father would often argue on this, and my mother would win.

"You are asking me why SHOULD the maids sit on the chair?!" She would be incredulous. "They are servants. They KNOW where they should sit. On the floor!"

To my utter surprise, even Rashida and the other maids agreed with this type of thinking. So ingrained was this class structure drilled into their heads that whenever I would bring up the topic of my love for Rashida, she would categorically dismiss it with nary a second thought.

"But I really love you, bua." I would profess my love earnestly. "I don't care what society says, I really want to spend my life with you. I want to marry you."

Sometimes Rashida would even punish me for merely suggesting that we marry each other.

"No, baba." Rashida would remind me, twisting my ear. "You are from a rich Urdu speaking family of Kolkata. Look at your parents! You belong to the upper class of society. I am a mere Bengali servant woman, baba."

"But I don't care about that, bua." I would adamantly tell her. "I love you. I want to marry you. I want to spend my life with you. Isn't that what is important?"

"Everyone should know their place in society," My buxom maid Rashida would parrot my mother, while continuing to punish me. "You cannot fight our society's laws. You SHOULD NOT fight our society's laws. There is a 'class structure', baba. We are where we are for a reason. You are where you are for a reason. I am from the lower class. You are from the upper class. You may think you love me, but you cannot marry me. The sooner you realize this, the better, baba."

... Everyone should know their place in society ...

... You cannot fight our society's laws ...

Coincidentally, this is why, when I was in the presence of Rashida, it was I who sat on the floor and she on the chair. When we ate together, she was at the table, and I ate from a bowl on the floor. I knelt in her presence and kissed her feet. In our little space, she was the mistress and the queen, and I the slave. In our little fantasy role playing escapade, she was the upper class and I the lower class, and I knew my place. When I was with Rashida, the whole class structure, as she called it, was completely inverted.

For example, last night, just around 10.25 pm or so, I was in my room. I was just getting ready to go to Rashida's room, when my buxom maid just walked in.

"Salaams, bua." I greeted her, and immediately got up from my chair out of respect. "I was just about to head to your room, bua. I wasn't going to be late; I promise, my dear bua."

Very promptly, I went down on my knees and knelt on the floor, gazing down at her feet, not looking up, while she towered over me. I knew my place. It wasn't to be on the chair, whenever my dear Rashida was there. It was to be on the floor.

"Baba!" Rashida sat down on my bed and snapped her fingers, pointing at her feet. I immediately turned towards here, and bent over, almost prostrating to her, and placed my lips against her ankles. I began to kiss her feet, paying homage to each of her ten toes until I heard her snap her fingers again.

"Baba." My Bengali maid then gave me one simple command. "Nangta ho!"

She had ordered me to strip naked. Living in Kolkata, even though we were an Urdu speaking family, I spoke fluent Bangla, which is the language I used to converse with the maids.

"Yes, my dear sweet bua."

By now, it was routine for me, and I undressed quickly. After all these years, I had long lost my sense of dignity and shame of nudity around Rashida, and very quickly my T-shirt was placed on the bed, and then I rolled down my pants and stepped out of them. Now completely nude, I waited for my maid to issue the next set of instructions. My cock was slowly starting to get aroused, even though I knew she was here to punish me. At the back of my mind I was thinking, when we would be in Delhi, would she keep me naked all the time in our apartment?

Whenever I would sit naked in front of my maid servant for a scolding or a punishment, I would feel incredibly humbled and meek. I had lost my sense of control and felt extremely vulnerable. I understood that my maid really does own me.

Rashida then walked over to a cabinet where she knew I stored my clothes, on the other side of a room, and rummaged through it, before picking out a belt of mine. It was a leather belt that I often wore with my jeans, and it was a tough one that she sometimes used for my punishments.

Rashida turned to look at me, naked, ready, waiting in rapt attention for her next command.

"Baba, chair, now! Assume the position."

"Yes, my dear lovely bua."

Gulping, I positioned myself with my hands gripping the seat of my chair, bent over the backrest, with my butt sticking out, up, completely unprotected, and at the mercy of my buxom maid servant, to whom long ago I had submitted myself fully and wholeheartedly.

As I said, I knew my place. I heard Rashida walk to stand behind me.

LASH!

LASH!

LASH!

Rashida belted my buttocks hard, whipping me thrice very rapidly.

"Ow! Ow!" Was all I could say, as Rashida thrashed me. Even after all these years of being punished in various ways by my maids and other ladies, I still had trouble taking a proper lashing from a belt. Rulers, brushes, slaps and hand spanking I could handle, but caning was still tough, and a belt was even tougher.

"Keep still, baba." Rashida murmured in annoyance. "One would think this is the first time I am lashing you with a belt."

"Yes, bua. It is painful. I am so sorry, my dear bua. Please forgive me, bua."

"Hmmph. It IS supposed to be painful. You were supposed to get a new suitcase for me from New Market. And now it is late, I can't start packing. This is why you are going to get lashed."

"Yes, bua. I am sorry, bua."

"Keep still, baba."

LASH!

"Even after all these years you are still lazy and do not obey me immediately when I give you a task."

LASH!

"I told you three days ago I need a new suitcase! And all you do is go to movies with your friends!"

LASH!

LASH!

For the next ten minutes, Rashida continued to whip me, leaving me gasping for breath, before she decided that was enough lashing, and she would continue the rest of the punishment in her room. She glanced at me, bent over humiliatingly in that fashion, taking in my nudity and the redness of my bum, before walking slowly to me and grabbing my ear tightly.

I remained standing there helplessly as my maid servant punished me by pulling my ear.

"Baba." Rashida remarked, somewhat sadly, as she twisted my ear. "Two months ago, you didn't buy my ticket. If only you had listened to me immediately then and bought my ticket! I would have visited my mother. Instead ... you got severely punished for the next ten days and nights. Do you remember those punishments?"

"Yes, bua, I am ... I ... OW!" I yelped as my maid servant pinched my earlobes before tugging my ear.

"Now, again you show tardiness." Rashida calmly continued to bend my ear. "Just like you did when you didn't buy the ticket. If you had bought the ticket when I had asked you to, rather than waiting and waiting and waiting ... I would have celebrated a family union in my village, rather than punish you severely. And now, here we are again. Three days - and still no suitcase."

"I am so sorry, bua, I ... OW!"

"Come, Tarek Zia." She said, taking my full name, indicating the extent of the trouble I was in, and giving my ear a firm pull. "We are going to my room. I feel much more comfortable dealing with you there. I am just starting with your buttocks. I am going to whip your whole body."

Gulp! I was in deep trouble. And unlike the time I didn't give her the ticket, this time there was no excuse - just plain laziness on my part.

"Yes, bua. As you wish, my beautiful bua. Er ... is my mother asleep, bua?"

Rsahida was going to drag me by the ear, naked, from one end of the house to the other. I did not want my mother to see this, obviously. Usually she was very punctual in retiring to bed, but lately she had been putting in some long nights, mostly reviewing work documents before going to bed.

"Of course, baba. I personally attended to memsaab. Now ... come!"

Leading me very firmly by the ear, and twisting it painfully when she wished, Rashida escorted me through the house. Through my own house, naked, I was being hauled by the ear, by my own housemaid.

"Don't you feel ashamed, baba," Rashida scolded me as she walked towards her room, all the while holding my earlobe between her fingertips. "After all these years, still getting a kaan dola from your maid? Your kaajer meye? Where's your sense of self respect?"

"I ... I am sorry, bua." I mumbled. "I really should have gone today to New Market. I will go tomorrow, I promise."

I had been punished severely every day for the ticket infraction. It had been a very tough ten days, especially for my buttocks. I didn't really want to be tardy with her suitcase.

Soon we were safely in the confines of her room, and the door shut. As usual, I was naked, and Rashida - seated on the bed - was now examining my balls.

"Full of cum, aren't you, baba?" She taunted, as she played with my testicles. I remained respectfully silent, my glance at the floor.

"When did you last masturbate, baba?" Rashida asked.

"Er ... yesterday, bua." I replied. By now I knew not to lie to Rashida about jerking off. Somehow ... she always knew.

"Did I give you permission for that?" Rashida asked.

"Er ... no, bua."

Rashida gently shook my balls.

"Don't you think you should have come to me, baba? Did I ever refuse you permission to cum?"

Quite a few times, I thought to myself, but I wasn't going to say that to her. Not now.

"Er ... no, bua."

"Look at your pathetic nunu," Rashida said, letting go of my balls and gently stroking my manhood. "It's trying to get erect, even as he knows I, his maid servant, will punish him."

Again, I kept respectfully silent.

"I have seen more meat in a vegan restaurant." Rashida taunted me, as she stroked my manhood.

Once more I remained respectfully silent even as my manliness was being insulted.

"Baba, bring that chair over here." Rashida then ordered, releasing my genitals from her hands. "Place it against that south wall."

I turned to where she pointed and picked up a small but study wooden chair from one corner of the room. I then placed it against the wall that she had indicated. Rashida got up from the bed and walked towards me. As she sat heavily down on the chair, it creaked a bit. Lately I think Rashida had put on a couple of pounds, and it showed - her buttocks were even bigger, and her love handles showed around her waist. All the food at all those parties ...