Slave to My Indian Maid Ch. 16

I heard the scrape of a chair. My mother must have leaned forward.

"Rashida, I will be sending you with Tarek to Delhi. You will be with him in his new apartment. This is because of all the people in the world, I trust you to be with Tarek. To make sure he is always on the right track. To keep him in line."

"Memsaab. I will not disappoint you." Rashida replied. "I will do my best. You know I am quite fond of baba too. I will make sure he is focused on the business, and he does not get into anything unsavoury in Delhi."

"Tell me, Rashida." My mother asked, a note of curiosity in her voice. "How exactly ... did you ... discipline ... my son? Keep him in line? I mean ... I, as a mother, could not bring myself to do it, but you ... you are a maid. And yet ..."

"Memsaab." Rashida answered. "Do you really want me to tell you? I mean, it will be embarrassing for baba. Why not just let it be?"

"Yes ... yes ... but I also want to know." My mother insisted, albeit somewhat hesitantly. "I didn't ask all these years because I was afraid. But now ... he is going to Delhi, and he is all grown up, so he must not need any discipline anymore. So, this is why ... I waited until now. Tell me, Rashida."

I heard Rashida take a deep breath. I was scared ... what was she going to tell my mother? She must give my mother something ... but she cannot reveal the full extent of it!

"After his English teacher had complained, I once walked in on Tarek." Rashida admitted. "He was masturbating. His pants were down, he was naked, he had his nunu in his hand, and he was fantasizing about his teacher!"

And you, Rashida.

"Oh no!" My mother must have made a disgusting face. "It's so disgusting. And he was not too discreet at all! I knew whenever he was going to his room ... what he was up to!"

I groaned. It's one thing to be caught masturbating, but to know that your mother knows ...

"Memsaab, I told him that exactly." Rashida answered. "It's disgusting, it's vulgar, and it's shameful. He should not be doing it. There were ladies in the house ... of his own family ... and us maids! And then ... I gave him a good kaan dola. A proper twisting of his ears, memsaab."

"A kaandola?" My mother was surprised. "And he let you ...!"

"I did not give him too much time to think." Rashida recounted. "He was sitting there, completely naked, his penis in his hand, masturbating. His nunu was out there, pointing at me. I grabbed both of his ears, one with each hand. Now each of his ears was being twisted and pulled. Tarek was blushing furiously, his face flushed with shame and mortification. It was very humiliating for him, to be punished by his own maid. The servant lady who usually takes his orders, gets him his tea, and makes his bed. And here I was, punishing him for masturbating by twisting his ears, while he was sitting there, naked, and aroused."

My mother was listening with apt attention.

"And he never rebelled against your punishment?" She finally asked. "He just let you ... hold him ... by ear and scold him?"

"I guess." Rashida again chose her words with great care. "Baba had a reverence for me, even though I am a maid. After all, I had seen him grow up since he was a toddler. He was apologizing profusely and telling me how sorry he was. Even as his nunu was still hard."

"Is that how you disciplined him every time?" My mother asked again.

"More or less." Rashida replied cagily. "Initially, Tarek needed a lot of scolding and punishing. I had thought one scolding incident would have set him straight. The shame of having one's maid servant giving a kaandola would be enough to keep any young man in line. But I was wrong. I had to punish him quite a lot in the first year."

My mother drew in a sharp intake of breath.

"Of course," Rashida then added a lie. "That was a long time ago. Now he doesn't need that - just a stern word here and there."

As if!

"Perhaps, I am better off not knowing all the details after all." My mother finally said. "The only thing I am happy with is that he is now a young man with a bright future all because of your care and attention at that crucial time."

"Oh, memsaab, you are too kind. I did what any loving ... aunt ... or someone like that ... would do."

"No, you are a Godsend, Rashida. I could never have done it, so it was you who stepped up. And this is not the only time you helped us." My mother recollected. "I remember you advising us also, when Tarek was just a child, to go to bed early. It saved our marriage."

"You were both over working yourself, memsaab." Rashida replied. "And your marriage was on rocky grounds. I knew if you both went to bed sharply at 9, it would lead to lot of stress going out of your life. No more late nights, by force, and you wake up early, fresh, after a good night's sleep. Both of you."

"It also improved our sex life." My mother replied, with a chuckle.

I groaned again. NO ONE wants to hear about their parent's sex life.

"Memsaab, I was only giving advice that I thought was best." Rashida was modest, but my mother was having none of it.

"I really have to thank you a lot, Rashida, for many things. So, I wanted to give this to you."

I heard the rustle of paper. My mother was giving an envelope to Rashida.

"Oh, memsaab, what is this!"

"Just a small token of our appreciation, Rashida." My mother said. "Please accept it."

"Memsaab, you are too kind." Rashida said. "You helped with my mother's treatment, you gave money for our house in the village, and you paid for my sister's tuition. And now this."

"You are family, Rashida." My mother said.

And yet Rashida had to sit on the floor. Some family! She had now stood up to take the envelope, presumably full of cash. My maid kept thanking my mother.

"Rashida, I also wanted to talk about Zarine." My mother subtly changed the topic. "How is she?"

"She is a good worker, memsaab. Still learning many things, but she will serve you well, especially after I move to Delhi, memsaab. She is a good replacement for Rubina."

There was a pause. Again, I felt my mother was building up to something. My mother was like that - she never got straight to the point. She had a habit of saying things in and around until she got to the bottom of what she wanted to talk about.

"Rashida," She final said. "You know ... my husband and I ... we are not particularly religious. Especially ... we don't really enforce the purdah and all."

"Of course, memsaab." Rashida replied.

"Many Urdu speaking families from our upper-class society practice purdah." My mother continued. "The women have their own spaces in the house and when they come in front of men who are not their mahram - like fathers, husband or sons, they are expected to be properly attired and covered. Especially the maids."

"Er ... yes, memsaab."

Rashida knew how true that was. Her good friend Farida worked in such a household. As a maid, she had to fully cover up, in a proper hijab, whenever the owner of the house - a man - was there. Even when she was in the kitchen, she had to remain fully covered up, just in case her master walked in.

"We are more relaxed here." My mother continued. "I know you Bengalis - especially your women - do not observe purdah to the extent like us. And so ... it makes your life easier when you work here. I am not worried about my husband going to the kitchen or my son seeing your hair."

"Of course, memsaab."

"What I am concerned about," My mother finally got to her point, "Is dressing decently. I am not concerned about full purdah, but you should be decently attired."

"Er ... decently attired, memsaab?" Rashida still didn't get it.

"Rashida." My mother sighed. "I know the way you Bengali women wear the sari, you just drape it around your body. It leaves a lot of the body uncovered, such as the waist, the belly, the navel. Frankly, it has not bothered us so far, but recently I have noticed Zarine taking it almost to the next careless level."

Wisely, Rashida kept quiet.

"Rashida. I am little concerned about her dress choices." My mother continued speaking about our younger maid. "She needs to learn that she is working here in a respectable household, and the way she wears clothes has to change. Tarek is still here. There is a young man in the house! And the way Zarine wears her clothes ... "

"Oh, I will talk to her, definitely, memsaab!" Rashida surmised. "She needs a stern talking to, memsaab. Er ... what exactly concerns you, memsaab? Just so I can relay the message."

"Everything!" My mother scoffed. "Zarine is wearing clothes that are too ... thin ... you can see underneath! She also doesn't cover herself well! I think yesterday, I saw she was not wearing a blouse... just a sari! I could see ... you know ... especially when she from the side. And this morning, when she was mopping the kitchen, I saw that the way she had tucked her sari, it showed a lot of her waist. Her tummy and so on. I mean, as I said, we are not strict ... but she is not here in some dance bar! This is a respectable Muslim household and our servants must be dressed properly!"

"I am sorry about this." Rashida apologized on behalf of her fellow maid. "I will talk to her about this, memsaab."

"Good, thank you." My mother's tone appeared to convey relief. "It would be embarrassing for me to bring this up to her, you see. Probably for her too. I can understand ... her social class before this house ... what her father was ... but now, she is working here. She needs to know."

Implicit in my mother's note was that this was matter for the lowliest help in our house, and she didn't want to deal with it. So, she was asking the senior maid to look after the affairs of the other folks from the help staff.

"Yes, memsaab." Rashida nodded, and then cleared her throat. "Er, what about me, memsaab? I just noticed I too wear my clothes very carelessly. A lot of my tummy ... my big fat tummy ... is always showing. And my blouse ... my poor blouse has seen better days. My boobs always seem to want to come out."

My mother actually laughed.

"Oh Rashida." She giggled. "As I said, you are like a second mother to my son. That's how I look at you, and I am sure he also thinks that. I have no complaints about the way you dress. You have served us long enough ... you should be comfortable. Show your belly, don't show ... it's your decision. Just ... with Zarine ... I want her to cover up a bit more. We also always have guests here also, as you know."

"Yes, memsaab."

"As for your belly ... well ... if you see my son staring ... you know how to deal with him." My mother laughed. "And Rashida ... I have a lot of ... um ... extra ... clothes. I was meaning to donate. You should wear a good bra ... for your big ... um ... boobs. I have some. Go through my drawer next time you are in the room. Take what you like. I will get new ones."

I could sense that my mother was ready to dismiss Rashida, so I slowly crept out of my hiding spot and walked softly back towards the front door. I decided I had heard enough - I better get Rashida's suitcase so she could start packing.

* * *

It was late afternoon when I returned home. I was carrying a brand-new Samsonite suitcase, purchased from one of the city's exclusive stores that sold imported merchandise. As I entered the house, I saw Zarine come out of the kitchen towards the front door.

"Ah, choto bua." I nodded respectfully. Zarine nodded back with a smile.

There are moments I missed Rubina, our former younger maid that Zarine had replaced, and this was one of them. When Rubina was still in our employment, Rashida had made some rules on how I was to greet the maids when I would come home, if my parents were not in the house.

With Rubina, I was to clasp my hands behind my back, lean in, and give her a respectful kiss on each of her cheeks. Whenever I had kissed her, my lips had always lingered for a bit longer than necessary on her smooth and nubile cheeks.

With Rashida, I was to completely bend down, almost in a prostrating manner, kneel, and kiss her outstretched feet. Her ankles, and each of her toes were to be kissed. After that, I was to stand up and if she wanted, give her a peck on her cheeks as well.

If I ever forgot this little greeting, I was immediately summoned by the maids and slapped hard. This was one instruction though, that I followed to the letter. After all, which red blooded Indian man would refuse to kiss a lady, even if it was a platonic peck on the cheeks? Especially if those plump cheeks belonged to my shapely maid Rashida.

Rubina always made sure I followed each and every instruction of Rashida, including this one. She was particularly severe on me with slapping, and I was always a little bit scared of her. When Rubina got married and Zarine replaced her, Rashida had to train her as to how I was to serve the maids, including my punishments. Initially Zarine was eager and adept in holding me to the same standards as Rubina, but I have seen recently that she has been letting more and more things slip. It appeared that she wasn't as much into this role as Rubina had been, and she was only doing it because it was expected of her by Rashida.

Such as now. As she saw me, if this was Rubina she would have looked sternly at me. I would have walked to her, my head down, and asked her permission to give her a kiss. Rubina would then allow me to do so. After I would kiss her, Rubina would have found something wrong in the way I did, and given me a couple of tight slaps, before sending me to my room.

Zarine, however, looked at me with a blank stare.

"What do you want, baba?" She asked.

She was pretty, I would give you that. I could see what my mother was concerned about. She was wearing a blouse and a petticoat, and no sari! Her blouse was quite high, and her petticoat quite low, so her whole thin stomach, including her navel, was completely bare and exposed. Zarine was 19 years old, and she was just blooming into a beautiful young woman. She was slim and slender, but her hips were just the right width to give her a delightful figure 8, and her attire gave her a very sensuous appeal.

"Choto bua." I put the suitcase to one side and walked up to Zarine. "May I kiss your cheeks?"

Zarine giggled, before she made a serious face.

"Yes, baba. Go ahead."

I leaned in and kissed her cheeks. My cock gave a little twitch as my lips pressed against her skin, and then once more on her other cheek. As I stepped back, Zarine giggled.

"Why don't you kiss my feet also, baba?" Zarined asked, standing there, and putting out a foot.

"Er ... yes, of course, choto bua."

I knelt and lowered myself on the hallway floor. Prostrating, I immediately kissed her right foot. I pressed my lips to her ankles, and then kissed the area just above the toes, and then kissed her big toe. I repeated the action with her left foot. I then stood up, waiting to see, hopefully, if she would beckon me to kiss her cheeks again. Instead, Zarine raised her right hand and caught my left ear in a vice like grip.

"Do you like me, baba?" She asked, giving me a little smile, as she twisted my ear.

"Er ... of course, choto bua. You are a joy to be around!"

"Do you think I am sexy?"

"Er ... yes, of course, choto bua. You are young, and you are very beautiful."

"Then, baba, do you think you can take a few good pictures of me, outside, in a garden?" Zarine asked, giving my ear another twist. "Sexy pictures. Yes, I will be wearing my sari, but you will take a picture with me ... like this ... showing my navel ... like a Bollywood actress. With your big camera. I want to give to my boyfriend."

"Er ... yes, of course, choto bua." I nodded. I had a DSLR camera that I had learnt how to use. "But choto bua, it is now afternoon. The pictures will not be good. Let's go tomorrow morning. We can take nice pictures after the sun rise. It is called the golden hour."

Not to mention, there will be less people there to see me take pictures of my maid servant.

"Hmm." Zarine gave my ear a final twist before letting go. She then patted my cheeks and continued, "Baba, you will now go put the suitcase in the kitchen and then go to your room. Your mother called; she wants you to call her on the phone. I will take and put the suitcase in Rashida apa's room."

"Er ... yes, choto bua."

I still remained kneeling, and my eyes fell on her navel. I saw Zarine give another sly smile.

"Would you like to kiss my navel?" She suddenly asked.

I looked up at her in surprise, and then nodded. Perhaps a little too eagerly.

SLAP!

She had slapped me!

SLAP!

I looked up at her, my cheeks stinging as she hit me on the other cheek with the back of her hand now.

SLAP!

She let go of my chin. I kept my eyes fixed on the floor in shame. I guess Zarine was starting to take her role as my mistress seriously.

SLAP!

"How does it feel, baba, to get slapped by me?" Zarine giggled. "The usually brash and loud young man, now meekly kneeling on the floor, at the mercy of his little maid."

SLAP!

"You could have avoided this whole embarrassing situation, baba, had you simply paid attention. Rashida apa wanted the bag a few days ago, and here you are ... late. Again."

"Yes, choto bua."

"Now go to your room!"

Once I was in my room, I called my mother.

"Are you done your packing for the trip to the village?" My mother asked me.

"Almost." I lied. I hadn't even started. "Just a few things."

My mother was silent for a bit before replying.

"I still don't understand why you need to go to a village." She harrumphed. "Whatever market studies you think you need to do we can always get it done."

I could tell that she was not buying my reasons for visiting an Indian village and staying there for a month.

"Moreover," She continued. "You can still go to the US for your higher studies. We don't need to continue the family business. You know this."

"I want to do this." I insisted. I wasn't having the same argument now that I had with her this morning. "Besides, I will be staying with Rashida, in her house. So, there's nothing to worry about."

"Hmm." As usual, my mother was skeptical. "I will be back soon. You have two days now before you leave. Your father is going to return on the morning of your travel. He said he found an apartment in Delhi."

"That is good." I kept my voice neutral. We spoke for a bit before she hung up.

That night, my mother went to bed early. She had two busy days ahead of her, in addition to all the work she did today, and she was tired.

And then, after the clock struck ten thirty, Rashida asked me to report to her room.

Again.

* * *

"Your father has booked an apartment for us in Delhi," Rashida told me, as she stripped me naked. "That's what your mother said."

Getting naked in front of Rashida was becoming a frequent habit. Again, I wondered if she was going to keep me full time naked in Delhi. Rashida wanted the shame of my situation to really sink in.

"Yes, bua." My penis sprung up, hard, as I stood in front of my maid, in full nudity. "I am so excited, bua. You and me, all alone in Delhi. I love you, bua. I want to marry you."