Slave to My Indian Maid - Part 08

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 ...

My maid servant then asked me to stand facing the wall, with my palms pressing against it, and my butt sticking out. I stood beside her and pressed myself against the wall as instructed.

Rashida slipped an arm around my waist to hold me tightly, while her other hand cupped my butt cheeks. So, there was I, a university graduate and scion to a respectable family, yet naked as the day I was born, held firmly around my abdomen by my family maid, ready to be punished. Rashida continued to caress my behind, prolonging my agony, cupping, and squeezing my butt cheeks. She then let go and raised her hand.

SPANK!

A thunderous crack resulted as she struck my ass with her bare hand. I knew what to do and speak. I had been doing and saying this for the last five years.

"One! I am so sorry, bua. I should never have delayed listening to you. I will always carry out your orders immediately. Please spank me again."

"If only you had bought my suitcase yesterday or today, baba! I would then have been able to start my packing." Rashida said, as she caressed my butt. "You know I don't like packing last minute."

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

SPANK!

"Two! I am so sorry, bua. It was my mistake. I will buy it tomorrow. Please spank me again."

"You have been serving me as my little bitch for years now. By now, obeying me immediately should come second nature to you."

"Yes, my lovely bua."

SPANK!

"Three! I am so sorry, bua. Please forgive me. I deserve to be punished, please spank me again."

SPANK!

"It's a mistake you have committed ..."

SPANK!

"... again, and again. Just like when I wanted to ..."

SPANK!

"... go visit my family. I had to wait ..."

SPANK!

"... until I now visit them, with you, after your convocation."

SPANK!

"... And here we are ... again you are ..."

SPANK!

"... delaying obeying me. ..."

SPANK!

For the next ten minutes, Rashida continued to spank me. Finally, after what must have been thirty spanks, Rashida took a small breather. I was clenching and unclenching my buttocks as they had started to really sting, and I was also glad she was taking a break. Whenever Rashida was genuinely angry, my punishment was severe.

"Baba." Rashida commanded. "Go stand in that corner and think about why you are here. Standing naked in your maid's room. Getting punished. By your old and fat maid servant."

"Yes, bua. Bua, you are not old. You are beautiful."

"So ... I am fat?"

"Er ... no, bua ... you are ..."

"Just shut up and go and stand there in the corner."

As I stood in the corner, I heard Rashida get up. The wooden chair squeaked as my heavy (and yes, fat) maid stood up. I heard her walk towards her bed and sit down which creaked again as she put her weight on it.

Nothing further was said, and for next fifteen minutes or so, I remained standing in the corner, my face to the wall, my back to Rashida, my buttocks on fire. As I started to think about the situation I was in, standing stark naked in my maid's room, after getting thoroughly and humiliatingly punished by her, my cock started to get aroused. It was undeniable - I was not only in love with my maid, my domestic help, but I was in love with how she treated me, the way she punished me, the way I submitted totally to her.

"Baba!" My maid servant ordered, breaking the silence. "Come here."

"Yes, bua."

I took care to turn slowly, keeping my eyes on the floor and not looking her in the eye. As Rashida often reminded me, I was her lowly slave, and was NOT to look at my mistress in the eye but had to be deferential and respectful.

I knew my place, as Rashida liked to say. Just like outside this room, Rashida was our servant and she was the one who had to sit on the floor, inside her room it was I who was the slave, and I who had to keep my gaze down.

Obediently I walked to the bed where she was sitting. For a moment I wondered how normal it was that I was here, in my maid's room, completely naked, while she remained fully clothed, ready to punish me. I, the son of their employer, the master of the house, was willingly putting myself at my maid servant's mercy! My nudity further enhanced my complete vulnerability and added to my sense of powerlessness at the hands of my domestic help. "Class structure" my foot! Here I was, in her world. Yet she had trouble emerging from her own imposed social differences and step into mine!

Rashida reached out and stroked my penis.

"You are getting hard." She commented. "Getting punished arouses you."

"Er, bua." I gently corrected my mistress. "Submitting to you is arousing to me. I like being under your control, my dear bua. When you have your way with me. I am your dog, your bitch, your slave. It is being your slave that arouses me. I love you so much, my dear bua. I want to marry you and make you my wife."

Rashida gave me a small smile.

"I worked very hard all day." My maid told me. "I have to get up way earlier after little sleep. I am not as young as I used to be. My feet are killing me. I want you to kneel and massage my feet like a good little slave."

"Yes, bua. Of course, my pleasure. Your wish is my command, bua."

I knelt down on the floor and took Rashida's right foot in my hands and slipped off her sandal from her feet. Using the palm of my hands, I pressed the sole of her feet and then began to massage it.

"Mmmm, that feels good." My maid, the queen of my heart, murmured, as I pressed her heel and used my fingers to apply pressure to specific points on her sole.

No further words were exchanged for the next ten minutes or so as I concentrated on doing a good job with her feet. It was something I once used to do for both Rashida and Rubina - the maid that used to work here before Zarine. After a good hard day's work, they had often come to my room and ordered me to massage their feet. But after Rubina's marriage and departure, there had been less and less of Rashida coming to my room like that. Nowadays, it was mostly I who visited her room, and that too on the two days she had designated.

Zarine, the new young maid, is nice and all, but in terms of dominating me along with Rashida, she is not up to the same material as Rubina was. Rubina was sassy, and had a mean streak to her, and fit naturally into her role as Rashida's apprentice and co-conspirator. She loved to dominate me in a sadomasochistic manner, often slapping me, caning me, whipping me and spanking me. Or teasing me. Zarine was different. She would punish me, and often punish me hard, but it was more of a sense of duty, and obedience to Rashida, than anything else.

Rashida suddenly snapped her fingers. I stopped what I was doing and gently let go of her feet. She immediately snapped her fingers again and pointed at her feet.

I immediately dropped my face down to her feet. Rashida arched her head back so she could feel my mouth planting kisses on the top of her toes. She sat back, enjoying her total control over me as I slobbered over her feet.

"Tarek! That's more like how you should always be." Rashida commented. "Head down, face on the floor, at my feet, your pasa up, ready to be spanked."

"Yes, my dear bua."

"Tut tut. You may speak only when I permit you to."

After some time, Rashida again snapped her fingers.

"Over my knees." My maid ordered. "Get your ass over my lap."

"Yes, bua."

"And make sure to put your little penis in between my thighs as you go over."

"Yes, bua."

As always, I knew my place.

I was obedient and respectful, like a well-trained dog. I, the son of the rich businessman, the scion of a powerful family, was demurely bending over, going over my maid servant's knees and presenting her my bare bum for a spanking. Carefully I placed my semi turgid dick in between her thighs. I could feel the rough material of the sari rub against it. Soon I was lying across Rashida's legs, over her knees, on the bed.

"My dear bua!" I hastily tried to add. "Just ... letting you know ... I am really sorry about the delay in getting your suitcase. Please punish me."

"Good. I will punish you." Rashida chuckled. "Let's get one thing straight, Tarek. You would have been nothing but an unwanted male failure without me. That is why you need to learn that you exist on this earth to serve me. You need me. You should always be on your knees before me."

"Er ... yes, bua."

Rashida gently inserted a fat finger into my anus and painfully moved it around. She then took it out and rubbed the slime off her now dirty finger on my behind.

"Baba," She scolded me. "You should not leave your tasks to the last day. Even with that ticket, you knew very well that you HAD to do it, so you should have done it BEFORE they went on strike. And now again you are delaying with the suitcase purchase."

"Yes, bua. I understand completely. It is my mistake, bua. Please forgive me."

Rashida again inserted her finger into my anus. Once more she agonisingly moved it around, before rubbing it against my inner thighs. She then placed her hand on my butt cheek.

"You have a problem with focusing." Rashida continued to calmly caress my behind. "I have noticed it since you were in high school. Unless you are punished, you don't focus."

Her hands were gently stroking my ass. Meanwhile my penis was rubbing against her sari. All of this was giving me a hard on, which made it tough for me to focus, knowing that at any moment she would start spanking me.

"This lack of focus is very serious, baba. When you take over your father's business, you need to be extremely focused, baba."

"Er ... yes, bua."

"You can't be taking a business decision without focusing, baba. I am not going to be there in boardroom ready to spank you so you can focus."

"Er ... yes, bua. Although if you-"

SPANK!

The blow was hard, and unexpected. One minute Rashida had been caressing and patting my buttocks, talking about my lack of focus. The next minute her palm had risen and then come down crashing on my butt cheek.

"Ow!" I cried out, and then hastily added. "One! Thank you, bua, for the spank. I am sorry about not buying the suitcase today, bua, please spank me again."

"It's not about the suitcase, baba. It's your focus. You need to pay attention, Tarek." Rashida told me. "Remember this: What NEEDS to be done, HAS to be done first. What you WANT to do, do it after."

"Yes, bua."

SPANK!

This strike, now on my right butt cheek, was even harder.

The spanking continued, as my maid servant scolded me for failing to take her instructions seriously. I, of course, humbly counted and then meekly thanked her, and asked for another one after apologizing for my poor behaviour. Every time.

SPANK!

Rashida showed me no mercy as she continued to scold and berate me, in between my spanking.

SPANK!

Each blow was hard and fast, and my buttocks began to sting.

"I am the maid who is responsible to make sure you are in line, young man," Rashida told me, "And you BETTER stay in line. The next time I mention something, you will do it without any delay."

"Yes, bua."

SPANK!

"You are a pathetic young man who gets slapped and spanked by his maids. His maids! So, the least you can do for us, is to make sure you listen immediately when we say something!"

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

SPANK!

It was a severe spanking, and tears started to flow down my cheeks. It had been some time since I have been spanked like this, and Rashida showed no mercy - she wanted a red ass. Yet I lay there, submitting myself to her. I knew I deserved this punishment, and I was glad Rashida was punishing me. She was keeping me in check, and making sure I was a better man for it.

After almost thirty spanks, Rashida paused. As I lay across her lap, whimpering, sobbing, Rashida gently massaged my sore behind. My maid laid her hand across my bum, painfully squeezed my butt cheeks and then asked me, "Do you wear underwear in the house, baba?"

"Er ... of-f-f-f course n-n-n-not, bua."

"Why, baba?"

"Er ... it-t-t-t is your orders, m-m-m-my bua." I answered in between my sobs.

"And why did I order you to do so, baba?"

Not only had I just been punished severely by my maid servant while being scolded and taunted by her, but Rashida was now further humiliating me by making me explicitly admit the fact that I was her slave - ready to be punished by her on my bare bottom at her whim. She was driving home the point that I was her submissive bitch. I drew in a big breath, stopping my sobbing.

"S-s-so that, bua," I answered. "W-w-whenever you want, you should j-j-just be able to pull down my pants or p-p-pajamas down, and you should be able to see my b-b-bare bottom, so that you can spank me."

"Good boy, Tarek! Your pasa is now a familiar sight for me."

Rashida slowly rubbed her hands across my bare bottom, as if deciding on the next punishment. As her fingers glided across my butt, each touch of her fingers on my skin produced a thousand watts of current through my body.

"OK, Tarek, get up." Rashida ordered me. "And kneel in front of me."

"Yes, bua."

"Here, in front of me." Rashida instructed. "Kneel here."

"Yes, bua." I replied, doing as she instructed. Rashida reached out and cupped my chin, forcing me to look up at her.

"You are here. Naked. Kneeling. Getting punished. In your own house, by your maid."

"Yes, bua. I am ashamed, bua."

She let go of my chin. I kept my eyes fixed on the floor in embarrassment.

Rashida then raised her hand.

SLAP!

It was a strong, hard, powerful slap. My maid slapped me again, this time again forcefully with the back of her hand.

SLAP!

"Look at me when I am talking to you!"

I immediately looked up at my buxom maid as she commanded. My right cheek was getting instantly warm where Rashida had authoritatively slapped me.

SLAP!

"I am so sorry, bua." I looked up at her, my cheeks stinging as she hit me firmly on the other cheek with the back of her hand now. With each powerful slap, her big breasts also bounced a little.

SLAP!

"Today I wanted to talk to my mother, to let her know when we would be there. But I couldn't. The cell network in our village is spotty, and sometimes we are without reception for days."

SLAP!

"It's been almost six days I have spoken to my mother."

SLAP!

"I wanted to tell her I am done packing and looking forward to seeing her again, but I couldn't even do that."

SLAP!

Again and again, Rashida struck me powerfully across my face. Recently, Rashida often slapped me without giving me time to count and apologize, just like she was doing tonight.

SLAP!

"The last time - all my cousins and my sister and mother and aunts were there. I should have been there, but I was here."

SLAP!

"I know I punished you for that continuously for ten days, but I felt it's not enough. I knew you would mess up again."

SLAP!

"And here I am, again slapping you for not immediately listening to me. Again!"

SLAP!

"Like now ... I feel like slapping you all night."

SLAP!

I finally got a word in, after about fifteen or so slaps.

"Bua." I said. "You can slap me however you wish. However long you wish. All night, even! Punish me as you see fit. I am your slave, bua, and I have disappointed you. I deserve your full punishment, bua. Even if you take me to your village, strip me naked in front of everyone there, and punish me, I will abide by your decision, bua. I am your slave. I am your bitch."

Rashida looked at me. For the first time that night, a very small smile entered the corner of her beautiful lips.

"Baba." She gave a small laugh. "I may just do that. When I take you to my village, which is full of women, I will strip you naked right out there in the field, in front of everyone. Every lady will come right there to see you and your beautifully small nunu. I will put you on a leash like an animal, and then you will be paraded naked through the village, in front of all the ladies. Then I will whip and cane your big buttocks until they are tomato red right there in front of everyone."

"Bua, I am your slave." I reiterated. "I submit to whatever you have in mind. If you want to parade me naked in the village and then whip me, I will submit, my bua. I have drunk your urine, tasted your sweat, licked your anus. I loved doing all of them. I want to be your slave forever, my dear bua. I really messed up not following your orders immediately. Please punish me."

"My family is really looking forward to meeting you," Rashida told me, "My mother and my sister ... they can't wait to spank you on your pasa as well. I know they would love to punish a man with a small nunu like you."

"Bua, I love you." I continued. "You know how much I love you, and I love you sincerely, with all of my heart. I have submitted myself to you. I accept whatever punishment you ... and your family ... mete out to me. I have delayed in obeying the person I love and submitted to. Please punish me for this mistake."

Rashida smiled.

"You say you love me, but we all know the reality, baba." She replied. "When you are with me, I sit higher than you, and you are on the floor. But, in front of the world, I will always be the maid, and you the master. I will be on the floor, kneeling, and it will be you who is seated, baba. We are from different worlds. We are from different classes. You cannot fight society, baba. We have the class structure dividing us."

"I DON'T CARE, bua." I insisted. "I will take on the whole world for you. I love you and you will be mine. I want to marry you, bua, as I said."

"I love you and you will be mine. I want to marry you." Rashida repeated my words. She suddenly grasped my ear and twisted it hard. "Baba! You have your future to think about. You cannot fight society. If you are with me, you will lose your family. Your friends. Your wealth. Your way of life. Think carefully of what you are saying."

"Yes, bua." I squirmed slightly as Rashida continued to hold and twist my ear. "I understand, bua. I don't care! I love you, bua. Please! I want to marry you and make you, my wife."

"Baba. You are thinking with your little nunu." Rashida said, giving my ear another pull. "You want to marry me! Baba! There is a world of difference between us."

There was only one answer.

"Bua." I replied. "I am ready to come to your world. I love you. I want you to come into mine."

"Baba." Rashida's voice was gentle, even as she firmly twisted my ear again. "Listen carefully. You may think that is true, you may say it, but when it comes time, you will realize that you are a slave to your society, just like me. You will fuck me, and that is it. We both know our places in society, baba, and it is better for society we stay in our places."

"Bua, I love you. I want you to be my wife. It is not just about fucking you, bua."

For some time, Rashida did not speak, but continued to painfully pinch and twist my ear.

"Baba." Rashida tugged my ear painfully. "I am a dominant female. I assert my power over you, despite being your maid and servant, because I want to be in control. Do you think you can handle that all your life? Your own wife, a lowly formerly house maid, slapping you, spanking you? Every day?"

"YES! Oh, my dear bua!" I answered. "You are born to be in charge, and I believe you have earned the right to be in charge of me. I will always be your slave, even as your husband. I benefit by your ... guidance ... and punishment, my dear bua. The way you ... instruct me ... intuitively I know that your inner strength and your inner wisdom is superior to that of any one I know. I will be glad to submit to a dominant female like you. I will make me better, not worse, to have a wife like that."

Rashida continued to hold me powerfully by my ear.

"Baba. For me personally, a relentless degree of strictness is paramount to how I dominate." She stated. "You know this. It is paramount in what I expect from slave, even if he is my husband. In addition to listening to me, you must also learn to listen to all women. I believe in women power and the authority of a female."

This was new to me, but I continued to listen. Rashida laying down conditions for being my wife was a good thing - it meant she was coming around to the idea of marrying me!

"As you know, stern rules and sound spankings are how I make my own dominance a reality." Rashida continued. "As I said, I believe in female authority not because I want a world of weaker men but because I want a world of stronger men who are ultimately guided by the wisdom and strength of an even stronger women, every day. I will be beating you every day. You will be listening to me, every day."

"Bua." Once again, I repeated. "I would follow you, and your orders, to the end of the earth. Any orders you give ... your wish will be my command."

"And yet, Baba, you still cannot get me a suitcase on time." Rashida spoke slowly as she twirled my ear. Then she repeated, "Listen carefully, baba. All that you are saying now is fine, but when it comes time, you will realize that you are a slave to this society, just like me. You will fuck me, and then discard me. And I will do nothing, because we both know our places in society, baba. Now, let's get up."

"Yes, bua."

Rashida stood up, and still holding on to my ear firmly, she hauled me to my feet by the ear. Her fingers were now slowly caressing that ear.

"Baba. You are now 22 ... or is it 23? 22 ... yes. Ready to live by yourself and be the head of a business in a city! But, here I am once again, year after year, day after day, giving you a kaan dola. One would have thought you should be ashamed of getting your ears pulled by your maid servants by now."

"I am sorry, bua."

Rashida let go of my now stinging ear and patted my cheeks.

"Go to your room. That's enough punishment for now, my love. I will see you in the morning."

My love!

She called me ... my love! Progress! Not only did she put out some conditions for marrying me, but she also called me "my love".

"Er ... Yes, bua."

That was last night. Let me come back to this morning, as my maid Rashida sat down on the floor in front of my mother, and I was peering, hiding, watching the whole scene.

As I said, even the maids respected these class structures, divisions, and traditions. Even if these same traditions discriminated against them. Right now, my older maid was seated on the floor of my mother's study out of respect for my mother's higher social stature, even as my mother remained seated on her chair. Just because she was the malkin - the boss.

Class structure personified.

"Rashida," My mother began. "I have been meaning to talk to you about ... about Tarek ... for a long while. I think the time has finally come."

As I heard my mother speak, I found my interest piqued. What did she mean "the has finally come".

"Ji aggey, memsaab." Rashida said, which basically meant 'yes, memsaab'.

I could see that my voluptuous maid was a bit puzzled too. What could my mother want to talk about with her?

"Do you remember, Rashida, when Tarek was in his final year in high school, his marks were not that good?" My mother was saying. "And how I often told you how worried I was!"

"Yes, memsaab, I remember."

"He was getting in trouble in every class, but it was his English teacher, I think ... who complained about him. All the time." My mother recollected. "Not only was he mixing with the wrong group, but passing lewd comments at the girls, and even that teacher."

"Yes, memsaab." Rashida nodded. "It was ... Ms. Geeta Patel, I believe."

Oh no! The rather infamous Ms. Geeta Patel, I thought. The one who ... started all of this. Well, you have to go to the first chapter of my story to know what I mean.

"Yes, yes." My mother concurred. "Fancy, you, Rashida, are remembering the name after all these years."

"It was a rather surprising incident." Rashida recalled. "I remember you telling me in detail about it, memsaab."

"I could always share everything with you, Rashida." My mother looked at our maid fondly. "You were always an older sister to me, and not my maid."

And yet Rashida WAS the maid, and she WAS sitting on the floor, despite my mother's nice words.

"I am just happy to be of service, memsaab." Rashida replied demurely. "You and sahib and baba have always been kind to me. And my family."

"Yes, yes. You are like family, Rashida." My mother said. "Rashida, do you remember a particular complaint by ... by ... Ms. Geeta Patel? Quite scandalous too, it was."

Rashida took a deep breath and nodded.

"Baba had drawn a picture of her in a school notebook. Not very flattering ... but rather ... um ... vulgar." Rashida recollected. "It ... showed ... Ms. Patel as a ... prostitute ... and doing sexual acts. But it came to Ms. Patel's possession, and she was angry. I think she had called you to complain also. Even the school principal was involved."

"Yes, it was very awkward. I had to apologize profusely. It was so embarrassing! Such a filthy drawing - that sketch - he had made of her."

There was a little moment of silence before my mother continued.

"Rashida, do you remember me telling you that time ... that I was worried for Tarek's future."

"Yes, memsaab." Rashida replied. "I told you baba was just being a teenage boy, full of hormones."

I could make out that my maid was choosing her words very carefully. Rashida was smart ... I think she suddenly had an inkling of where my mother was going with this, so she wanted to play safe. I was also listening with rapt attention.

"But I was worried about him." My mother said. "He was hanging out with the wrong crowd ... and his marks were going down ... and he was making those filthy drawings."

"I remember you saying, memsaab," Rashida nodded. "He was not listening to you and was on the wrong track. You were worried about how he was turning out as a teenager."

"We, my husband and I, had always spoilt him." My mother confessed. "We had three daughters before Tarek. And even Tarek ... there is almost 15 years between him and Tania. A surprise child, really! When Tarek was ten, all his sisters were married. He practically grew up here as the only child ... and all of us spoilt him. I could never say no to him."

"Yes, memsaab," Rashida interjected. "Boys like Tarek need a strong woman to take him in hand and keep him in line. Usually the mother, or an aunt, has to do it."

Oh, so many times had Rashida told me this!

"I remember you telling me that ... same thing ... many times, as Tarek was growing up here." My mother said in a soft voice. "Boys like Tarek ... he needs a strong woman to take him in hand and keep him in line. You wanted me to be stricter with him. Punish him. I could never do it, Rashida."

Once again there was silence, before my mother spoke.

"You are quite fond of Tarek, aren't you, Rashida?" She asked.

"Of course, memsaab!" Rashia answered. "He practically grew up in my lap!"

Oh, how often I had been ordered to sit, naked, on her lap, after a thorough spanking!

"I always looked at you, Rashida, as Tarek's second mother." My mother said. "Rashida, you played an equal part bringing up him, even as I remained busy with my work, and his father with the business. We are older too ... when we had Tarek, so we depended on you more than ever. Today, if Tarek is successful, you have a major role to play, Rashida. I genuinely think you were more of a mother to him than I!"

"Oh, no, memsaab. Ki je bollen apni! What are you saying!" Rashida was modest. "I am just a mere old maid servant, memsaab. It is your big heart that you treat me like family. I know Tarek ... baba ... is affectionate of me and all, but growing up, I am just a maid, memsaab. I am someone who made his bed, tidied up his room, washed his clothes, cooked his food, and cleaned his toilet. You are his mother, memsaab."

"No, no, Rashida. You ARE family." My mother insisted. Then she looked straight at Rashida and said, quite firmly, "You are Tarek's second mother. You also know this, I know."

Once again, there was an awkward pause. And then my mother continued.

"That day, five years ago, when I had received a call from Ms. Patel about Tarek's behaviour in the class ... you said the same thing to me. Again. Do you remember?"

Rashida looked at my mother, paused and then nodded.

"Boys like Tarek usually need a strong woman to take him in hand and keep him in line." Rashida repeated her line. "Usually the mother, or an aunt, has to do it. Memsaab, you needed to hold him firmly by the ear and give him a good talking to. Keep punishing him often, in humiliating fashion, until he would have mended his ways."

"Yes, yes." My mother smiled. "But I was never able to do it, Rashida. I was too soft. And I never punished him. But ... I remember ... Which is why when you told me again to be firm with him, I said ... I can't Rashida. Maybe you can be the firmness he needs."

There was a bit of a pause after this.

"Do you remember, saying, Rashida ..." My mother was trying to recollect, "Memsaab, if Tarek's mother or one of his aunts are not doing it, perhaps I should do it."

Once more a silence, before Rashida replied, "Yes, memsaab. I did say that. But you know, memsaab ... I was just speaking out loud."

My mother smiled.

"Rashida." She said. "I knew I could never be strict with my son. But something remarkable happened after that day."

Rashida remained silent, so my mother continued.

"Tarek was getting insolent when that incident happened." She spoke. "All of a sudden, he was no longer arrogant or brash, but respectful. It was a drastic change. I noticed it but didn't say anything. He started to pay more attention to his studies, and his marks improved ... all in his final year of school, before starting university. I know that you because of you, Rashida."

"Oh, no, memsaab. Not me, definitely."

"Oh, don't be modest, Rashida. You have ... somehow ... kept my son in line, even where I couldn't. That day, after the teacher had called me, and I had talked to you, I was worried. But soon, Tarek was doing well at school, and he was becoming a very respectful boy to his teachers. Even the same teacher had said so at the end of the year. I knew right then, that you had something to do with it. You MUST HAVE ... punished ... him. Taken him in hand, as you often wanted me to do. I knew you must have done it, but I kept quiet."

Rashida didn't reply immediately. I felt she was weighing up exactly what to say. I was now deathly scared at what my mother was implying. I thought ... all this time ... all these years ... what went on between me and Rashida ... no one else knew, other than the maids. And here was my mother, putting two and two together.

"I remember ... even when he was in university ... whenever I felt Tarek was on the wrong track, I would talk to you." My mother continued. "And whenever I talked to you, soon the problem would be fixed. Like initially when I knew he was ... he was ... playing with himself ... all the time."

My jaw dropped. I thought I had kept my masturbation during my high school years a secret. Looks like my mother knew! Not only that ... she had complained to Rashida about it!

"I knew that boys grow up and do it." My mother said. "I always told Tarek's father to have a talk with him ... but he never did. Tarek was in his room ... all the time after coming home from school, and then he would go for a shower. I hinted to you about it. But soon, I knew he wasn't ... playing ... masturbating ... any more ... as often."

As I overheard this exchange, my thoughts went back to an incident five years ago. Rashida had just started to punish me ... it must have been just about after a month of her regularly starting to discipline me.

I was in the kitchen, standing with my face to the wall. Rashida had unbuckled my pants, so there were on the floor around my ankles. Rashida had gently stroked me before beginning her punishment.

If anyone had walked into the kitchen, what a sight would have greeted them! I, the master of the house, standing against the wall, butt naked, and my maid Rashida was fondling my testicles. Rashida had then started to punish me, spanking me with a spatula.

WHAP!

WHAP!

As she hit me, she also began to scold me. As I counted each hit, and thanked her, and asked her to hit me again, Rashida had responded, ""With pleasure, baba. It looks like you will need a lot more over the years to properly rectify your behavior, Tarek."

As she hit me again and again, she had continued, "What was regrettable, baba, was that no one ever punished you while growing up. You have become a spoiled young man, and now it's up to me to properly train you into a polite, humble gentleman who respects women. An aunt, or your mother, should have done this a long time ago, baba. Now it has fallen to your lowly maid servant to guide you and teach you, Tarek."

Later on, she had sat down on a stool in the kitchen, and I had gone over her lap for a hand spanking.

SPANK!

SPANK!

As she was spanking me, Rashida continued to scold me.

"I was quite fond of you, Tarek." She had said. "You practically grew up in front of me. And I wanted you to be a good boy. That is why now I have to discipline you."

Rashida was clear that she was punishing me for my own betterment, and not as part of some sexual game.

"I am spanking you because I want to teach and lead you to be a better person." She told me, even as I lay naked on her lap, getting a thrashing from her. "It is about focusing your mind. And it is about making you into a stronger man."

"Yes, bua."

And so ... it had continued. It had come to the point that I was allowing my maid servant to punish me as and how she willed. I also recalled her instructing me about masturbation.

"Baba." Rashida had told me. "I know you ... boys ... have to masturbate. It's a disgusting habit. You will do it only with my permission, baba. And I want you to clean up your mess properly. It's disgusting, and I don't want to see a stain on the bed sheet or chair or anywhere."

"Yes, bua."

"And my permission for you to cum," Rashida had said, "Has to be earned with good behaviour, Tarek."

That was around the time when she had started the practice of me reporting to her twice a week at night, Mondays, and Thursdays, for my punishment.

That night, that first Thursday night, Rashida had led me, naked, by the ear, from my room to hers. And then once in her room, she had slapped me again and again until I had tears running down my cheeks.

"Please don't slap me anymore, bua, please don't," I had begged. "Please bua, I'll be a good little boy from now on. I will not masturbate without asking you, bua."

"I put limits on your masturbation for your own good, Tarek. And yet you continue to defy me!"

Later on, after my punishment was done, Rashida had sat down on the bed, and then had made me sit, naked, on her lap, where she quizzed me on my masturbation habits even as she played with my testicles. First, she had asked me how often I masturbated.

"Usually, I play with myself about once or twice every day, bua!"

"You should be ashamed of yourself, baba." Rashida had scolded me. "There are two adult female maid servants in the house, baba, and a boy your age, playing with himself in full view! We have to do something about that, baba."

Even now when I think about it, I blush a bright shade of red. It is so humiliating to be in my maid's room, naked, on her lap. being scolded by her for masturbating and having a hardon while that scolding was taking place! And since Rashida had my penis and testicles in her hand, she could clearly feel my manhood throbbing with everything that she was saying to me.

"We need to tone your masturbation down." She had told me. "You will now masturbate once a week, after I punish you, and once I have given you permission."

"Er ... yes, bua." I had agreed, obviously.

"And later on, we will keep increasing the time between your releases."

I realized now, as I listened to my mother speak to Rashida after all these years, that Rashida had started to regulate my masturbation from that time, and my mother had noticed it.

Somehow.

"He was always so tardy." My mother was speaking. "Now, he is always so punctual with everything I say! He was always such a dirty boy, and now he is so clean and neat. Even ... he used to be a little chubby ... but now ... he is fit and handsome and athletic. I realize, Rashida, whenever I had a problem with him, I used to complain to you. And then ... somehow ... magically, I should say, I would find Tarek's behaviour rectified."

Rashida smartly kept quiet, letting my mother speak. I was also listening with complete concentration. I was wondering exactly what my mother knew, and what she wanted to find out, and what Rashida would tell her.

"Do you remember the time he did very poorly on his mathematics exam in the university." My mother said. "His next semester results were extraordinary. I know it was all due to you, Rashida."

"Memsaab." Rashida finally spoke. "I wouldn't say it is all due to me. And I won't call myself a second mother, memsaab. I am just a maid, who is doing her duty for her baba. I love baba, memsaab, and whatever I do, is for his good."

There. Rashida finally acknowledged to my mother what my mother had been hinting. Now it was known to my mother that Rashida HAD taken an interest in "keeping me in line". She was "doing her duty".

My mother smiled.

"Today," My mother commented with some pride in her voice, "My son graduated magna-cum-laude and top of his class. His career is set - he can help his father with his business. If he had wanted to go anywhere for higher studies, he would be accepted at all major American universities. And a big part of this is because of you, Rashida."

Again, there was a bit of a pause, before again Rashida commenting, "Memsaab. If you say so. I am just a maid in this house, and I know my place."

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."

Rashida laughed.

"You are just infatuated with me, baba, and that's your little nunu talking. You just want to fuck me." Rashida dismissed my talks of marriage again. "I am an old, fat, lower class servant lady. Some day your match will be made with a suitable young lady from your social standing, and you will marry her."

"Bua, can I say something?"

Rashida looked at me and nodded, giving her consent.

Part of the great thing about being a submissive was that I could just open up to Rashida without fear. Not only was I naked to her when submitting, but naked to her spiritually and emotionally as well. In true sense of the word, I had no secrets from her. Standing naked in front of her, I had a dual feeling. I felt weak from the mixture of fear and shame of how I was going to be punished. At the same time, I felt so alive, almost uncontrollably excited, and that feeling was renewed every time I was in her room.

"Bua." I said. "I really do love you. But if you are not ready for my love, at least allow me to love you, until I have to get married to someone else. Bua, I get excited ... thinking of all the ways I can be in service to you. Without sneaking around. Without hiding."

"Baba," Rashida had only the slightest smile on her face. "Good that you said so. Tonight, I want to remind you that even though the Delhi apartment will be booked in your name, it will be my apartment. I don't care that I am the servant, but in my apartment, naughty boys will get punished. And you can be very naughty, as well know."

My cock twitched again, and Rashida noticed it. She laughed again.

"Time for you to smell my feet, Tarek." She snapped and pointed at her ankles. "Now that I think of it, I don't really need to give you a reminder who the real servant is in this household."

"Er ... no, bua. I am your slave."

"And this slave," Rashida continued in an ominous voice, "Gave me a suitcase that was fully locked, and the key was still in his room. I had to go to your room to get the key to open my new suitcase."

"I am so sorry bua, I had genuinely forgotten. Zari- I mean choto bua - had surprised me in the ..."

"Do I want to discipline you more often?" Rashida asked me rhetorically. "I don't , but I often do. It keeps you motivated and fearful. Now ... I am seeing that you are not again focused. So I will MAKE you focus. I will control everything in your life. I will spank you hard every time you need to be spanked. Not just Mondays and Thursdays. These are my new rules."

"Yes, bua."

"From today ... and when we are in Delhi ... Either you act like a perfect slave boy, or I will whip your ass to a nice shade of red. Any time." Rashida warned me. "Is that clear?"

"Er ... yes, bua."

"Now, you will position yourself over my lap, Tarek!" Rashida instructed me. "I'm going to spank you again until your bum is as red as the plates we had breakfast on this morning. I didn't want to have to spank you again, especially since we will be travelling in a couple of days. But there's nothing like a thick leather strap to teach a man a lesson he'll remember for a long time."

"Yes, bua."

"Keep those legs spread or I will whip your balls."

I submitted myself to my house maid again. There were no two ways about it. She was pretty determined to teach me a lesson, with my bare butt perfectly positioned, and I got the spanking of my life.

CRACK!

The heavy leather strap snapped against my vulnerable skin, a lightning crack of searing pain remaining in its wake.

"Ahhh!" I screamed and then managed to croak, "One."

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

Soon the tears were flowing as Rashida taught me a lesson in focusing.

CRACK!

CRACK!

Rashida lit up my butt on fire, but in many ways the embarrassment of the situation - of being naked in my maid's lap and being punished by her - hurt me the most.

Afterwards, Rashida asked me to kneel, and raised her hand.

"Stop crying and get on your knees, baba." She ordered.

SLAP!

"Men are slaves, remember that. They are simple creatures."

SLAP!

"Control their cock and you control them. And you have a little nunu ... far easier to control."

SLAP!

"And still ... you forget ... and you cannot focus."

SLAP!

"You have fetishized your maids and now it is you who are in a vulnerable subservient position."

SLAP!

"You are lucky, baba. If I was an evil maid, I could have exploited you."

SLAP!

"I could have blackmailed you, falsely alleged that you did it forcibly and so on."

SLAP!

"But ... as I said ... you are lucky. You have a maid that wants you to be the best man possible. So ... I punish you."

SLAP!

I was punished for over two hours that night.

* * *

"Come, baba." Zarine, our younger maid, turned to look back at me. "We must be at the park before it gets crowded."

It was the next morning.

"Yes, of course, choto bua." I answered, as I followed her, my eyes on her ravishing youthful figure.

"Are you having trouble walking, baba?" Zarine asked with a slight grin. "After all, Rashida apa flogged you pretty hard this morning. And I heard you were spanked last night as well!"

I didn't answer but gave her a wry smile as I quickly rubbed my buttocks, trying to do it in a way that no one would see.

It was around eleven in the morning, and we were on our way by foot to the nearby Maidan, near the Victoria Memorial, in Kolkata (then called Calcutta).

"I was surprised, when Rashida apa brought you to the kitchen in the morning," Zarine continued, as we walked towards the open grassy area. "She had a very firm grip on your ear, and I could see you squirm every minute she had your ear in her grasp."

"She gives a good kaan dola." I replied. "It is very painful, choto bua. She holds my earlobe firmly between her forefinger and thumb and gives a good twist."

"Unlike me." Zarine grinned. "I am still getting used to being your mistress, so my kaandolas are not that firm."

Then, right there in the middle of the park, Zarine reached up and twisted my ear. We were in public, and though it wasn't quite that busy, there were still a lot of people around. Zarine reached up, grabbed my ear, and gave it a firm pull and twist for about a minute. I stood there, blushing a bright crimson red, as my younger maid gave me a good kaandola, before letting go.

"Come." Zarine beckoned with her finger as she resumed walking, and I followed her. For a couple of minutes, there was absolute silence, as I contemplated my sudden public humiliation.

At that moment I didn't know about it, but a lady had seen Zarine twist my ear. It was Beena, the same lady who had been at that CFNM femdom party I had attended some months ago with Rashida, and who had seen Rashida punish me in the Dungeon. Just by pure coincidence, Beena had been out for a walk and had seen Zarine and me. I, of course, did not know, and we walked on.

"Does your buttocks hurt?" Zarine asked, as we entered the Maidan. "I could see you were very uncomfortable on the taxi ride here."

"Yes, a little, my dear choto bua." I answered, trying to covertly rub my ass once again. "But it's almost gone now, the pain. As you said, I was punished last night, and then again this morning."

This morning, around 8 am, Rashida had entered my room. I was under orders never to lock my room, so the maids could enter any time.

"Baba, wake up." Rashida gently woke me up. "It's 8 in the morning."

"Yes, my dear bua." I groggily sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes. I had gone to bed at 2 am last night, so my sleep wasn't fully complete. Rashida walked towards the windows and drew open the curtains, letting fresh sunlight flood into my room. She then turned towards me.

"How's your buttocks?"

"Er ... it's ok now, bua." I answered. "There is no sting anymore."

I had been punished for almost two hours straight last night by Rashida in her room, and hence the reason for my late night to bed. All for not giving her the keys to the suitcase, I had been spanked, then slapped, then caned, then whipped and then slapped again, before Rashida had taken mercy and rubbed an ointment on my sore and blistered bottom. That had allowed me to have some sleep.

"It's good to hear." Rashida sat down on my chair. "Your mother has just gone out. She has some important meetings."

"I see, bua." So, I was alone in the house with the two maids.

"Strip." Rashida commanded. "Take off all your clothes. I want you naked."

"Yes, bua."

Once again, I was getting naked in front of my Rashida.

Then, once I was fully nude, my maid servant caught hold of my ear, and led me - pulling me painfully by the ear - through the house and towards the kitchen. I was led like a cow would be led, except where there would have been a noose, was my maid servant's hand painfully twisting my ear. It was extremely humiliating to be led by the ear, naked and vulnerable, knowing that at the end of the walk you will also get punished.

I have written about this before, but being taken by the ear, completely bare naked, like this to where I was going to get my spanking was doubly embarrassing. And there wasn't anything I could do about it either. As much as it was shameful, there was the thought going through my mind that it was my fault that my love, my mistress, my housemaid had to do it. I was the one who'd been a bad boy. She was just doing what she had to do - what I had made it necessary for her to do.

It was different of course when I was already in Rashida's room, and she would come in and twist my ear. I was in her room because I have obviously done something wrong, and I would be lectured for it by Rashida while my ear would be twisted hard. This is before my mistress would slap me a few times until my cheeks were red, before putting me over her knee.

But now, being led through the house by the ear like this, Rashida was in firm command. As I was taller than her, even though she was a big lady, I was a little bent over, which increased my humiliation. By twisting and pinching my ear all the way to the kitchen, she was making the whole walk as painful for me as she liked.

In the kitchen was the younger maid Zarine, chopping some vegetables, and the vegetable lady Shabina, who had come to drop off some merchandise. They both giggled and put a hand over their mouth to stop their laughter as Rashida walked in with me. Both were dressed in sari, and as was the typical style of the lower-class Indian Bengali women, a lot of their navel, midriff, and tummy was exposed for all to see. I could see some beads of sweat around Shabina's navel and neck. It had nothing to do with the hot and muggy summer morning, but the fact that she hauled big baskets of vegetables from house to house all morning.

Rashida led me firmly to the centre of the kitchen and then let go of my very red ear.

"Baba." Rashida instructed. "Stand straight. Hands behind your neck."

"Yes, bua."

"Did he just wake up?" Shabina giggled. "He still has a bit of morning wood!"

"Maybe." Zarine sniggered. "But you know him - he gets a little aroused when we punish him."

"That's probably it." Rashida chuckled. "Though it's hard to say ... such a small nunu!"

The three ladies were talking about me as if I wasn't even there, and it was common to have a naked, tall lanky young man standing in the kitchen, hands behind his head, ready to be punished.

"Baba," Rashida instructed. "Kiss our feet. Start with Zarine, and then Shabina, and then me."

"Yes, bua."

There was a chair in one corner of the kitchen; Zarine pulled it towards us and sat down on it, before extending her feet.

I walked to where she was sitting, and humbly went down on my knees. Prostrating so that my head was near the floor, and my bum in the air, I pressed my tongue to her feet and began to kiss her toes.

"Do you like kissing my feet?" Zarine asked me, as I placed small pecks on her big toe of her right foot.

"Um ... yes, my dear choto bua." I replied, keeping my head down, and kissing the toes of her other feet now. I wasn't lying. Submitting to my maids was now my way of life, and kissing their feet was an important part of this submission.

Once I was done kissing Zarine's feet, she got up, and Shabina took her place. Her sandals were dirty, and her feet were sweaty. As I kissed her ankle and then her toes, Shabina laughed.

"Does the sweat on my foot taste good, Baba?" Shabina taunted me, as I kissed her right foot.

"Um ... yes Shabina apa." I replied.

"What a perverted little boy you are!" Shabina snickered, and then snapped her fingers.

"Raise your head, Tarek. I know something else that also tastes good."

As I raised my head and looked at our vegetable lady, Shabina held my chin in her hands. She then leaned in very close as her fingers wrapped themselves around my ears. I could feel the warmth of her breath on me.

"Open your mouth, Tarek." She ordered, as she twisted my ears hard.

"Yes, Shabina apa."

SPIT!

Shabina spit into my open mouth. I gulped and swallowed her sputum, which had landed right smack in the middle of my tongue.

SPIT!

SPIT!

I swallowed her spit again. As both Zarine and Rashida laughed, Shabina raised her hand.

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

She then nudged herself close to me, even as my cheeks started to redden with shame, and asked, "So tell me, baba, how good was that?"

"Uh, yes, very good, Shabina apa."

Shabina laughed.

"You have no shame -- no lojja! Go back to kissing my feet, you loser!"

Finally, it was Rashida's turn on the chair. She didn't say much as I paid homage to her feet, kissing her ankles and toes and licking the soles. Once I was done, Rashida asked me to stand up.

"Go there, face the wall, hands behind your neck, and remain like that until I call you."

"Yes, bua."

"Unfortunately, I have to go, Rashida apa." Shabina giggled again, as I made my way to the wall. "Otherwise, I would have enjoyed myself today."

"You loved it last week, didn't you." Rashida smiled.

"Oh yes." Shabina nodded. "Taking baba to the toilet ... urinating on him ..."

"And accidently farting in his face ..." Zarine added.

Once again, all the three ladies laughed, completely ignoring me.

"Maybe not an accident." Shabina replied wickedly. "But I really have to go. Oh wow ... what is that!"

I had been standing in the corner, and Shabina just caught sight of my buttocks.

"I can see the blisters on his pasa." Shabina remarked, as she observed me from the back. "Looks like you had to punish him severely last night, Rashda apa."

"Yes, I did." Rashida commented.

"Too bad I have to go now." Shabina repeated. "I would have really loved to flog that pasa some more."

"Zarine." Rashida ordered. "See her out. Lock the main door and then come back here."

"Yes, apa."

For the next twenty minutes or so, I stood in that position, against the wall, hands behind my neck. I badly wanted to go pee, but I knew better than to disobey Rashida. The two maids were busy cutting vegetables and preparing for the day, and I was completely ignored as they went about their tasks. Then the maids went out of the kitchen, presumably to clean and mop and do whatever they had to.

Even though it was humiliating, to be in the "dunce" pose, in my own house, I knew that more humiliation awaited me this morning. I wondered what I had done! An empty chair sat silently beside me, awaiting my mistress. Somewhere a clock struck 9. So I had been in this position for close to an hour.

I heard the clip clop of our housemaids as they re-entered the kitchen, their slippers making the noise on the mosaic tiled floor.

"So, baba," Rashida came and leaned on the chair, and looked at me. "I spoke with Farida and Shabina. Looks like you will need some more bit of spanking this morning after all!"

"I am sorry, bua." I replied. "Please tell me what I did to upset them, bua."

Perhaps I know why, I thought to myself. I had been leering at Shabina lately, and she must have noticed me ogling her. I couldn't help it - that vegetable lady was tall, fit and had some big melons! And Farida had a big ass. I had been caught staring ...

"Oh, we will tell you all right." Rashida chuckled and then turned to my younger maid Zarine. "I have been punishing Tarek severely, every night! And here I thought we would pass at least a couple of hours without having to spank this naughty boy's big bottom!"

Zarine giggled.

"I am always amazed, apa!" The younger maid said. "Baba is standing here, shamelessly naked, ready to be punished, while not even knowing what he did wrong!"

Zarine, despite some time here as the new maid, was still getting used to me submitting to my own servants.

"He is a good little slave boy." Rashida scoffed. "He knows his status with us. Too bad he cannot keep his shenanigans under control, especially with his little nunu, and we have to ... ugh... take time out to punish him."

"I guess you need to punish Tarek properly this time, apa." Zarine reminded the elder maid. "Last time Shabina apu complained, I think you were a bit too forgiving with him."

"Yes. You are right."

Rashida came and patted me on my buttocks.

"Come on, Tarek. We haven't got all day. Go and stand in front of Zarine."

"Yes, bua."

I stood in front of the younger maid. She had a grin on her face.

"Hmm." She laughed. "Your little nunu is trying to rise to attention, baba."

"Er ... yes, bua."

I heard Rashida walk and stand behind me. She then placed her hand on my bare bum.

"His pasa is so fair." Rashida told Zarine, caressing my bum. "He heals well from a caning."

"Well, you will soon make his pasa red again, won't you, apa?" Zarine replied with a mischievous smile.

Rashida patted my bottom and laughed.

"That I will."

I was now standing naked in the kitchen as the maids surveyed me.

"Baba." Rashida commanded. "Go back to standing in the corner. Nose against the wall, hands over and behind your neck."

"Yes, bua."

"Think of what you may have done wrong. Meanwhile, Zarine and I will be back; we have more work to do."

"Yes, bua."

Around half an hour later only Rashida walked back into the kitchen. By this time my bladder was full, but I still stood there, squirming. Rashida approached me from behind. I felt her hands as she rubbed her them all over me. One hand went up and grabbed me by my ear.

"Come, baba." Rashida said, leading me by ear, giving it a firm twist.

"Yes, bua."

I was led again through the house, all the way to Rashida's room, and to a chair, which was now at the centre of the room. Rashida then let go of my smarting ear and sat down on the chair. She then patted her knees.

"Baba." She nodded. "Over my lap."

"Yes, bua."

I bent and laid belly down across her lap, over her knees. Rashida adjusted my penis, so it went between her thighs. She then rubbed my buttocks.

"Ready, Tarek?" She asked, as she caressed my bottom.

I gulped and nodded.

"Yes, my lovely bua."

SPANK!

SPANK!

My spanking once again began in earnest. After each beating, I had to count, apologize, grovel, and ask for forgiveness, and then ask to be punished again. It continued for some time before Rashida paused.

"Do you know why you are being punished, baba?" My housemaid asked.

"You know best, my dear bua."

Rashida resumed the spanking.

SPANK!

SPANK!

"You ass is big and firm now." She commented. "You have been working out, and it shows."

SPANK!

SPANK!

"It now takes a lot more to be red." Rashida laughed, as she took another breather. "It used to redden much faster before. Maybe you are developing a thicker skin."

SPANK!

SPANK!

SPANK!

SPANK!

Finally, after I had counted to thirty, Rashida stopped.

"Is it paining?" She asked me.

"Er ... yes, bua."

"Do you want to pee?"

"Er ... yes, bua. Can I go to the washroom, please?"

"Later."

Rashida rubbed me all over my stinging and no doubt red ass. She then rubbed my balls, before she inserted a fat finger into my ass crack.

"I don't want to punish you like this." She said. "But you have to control yourself. You cannot be ogling a lady in such an obvious fashion! Now ... reach over and hand me that hair brush."

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

SPANK!

SPANK!

"Does this hurt more than my hand, Tarek?"

"Yes, bua. A Bit more."

"Good!"

SPANK!

SPANK!

"Now, Tarek, let's go on your lower thighs a bit."

SPANK!

SPANK!

"Now on your bum, baba."

SPANK!

SPANK!

"Spread your legs, Tarek."

SPANK!

SPANK!

"Your ass is very red now."

Once again Rashida rubbed my ass and then inserted a finger into my ass crack. She moved it around, and then withdrew, reached under and stroked my balls, wiping off the slime on my testicles.

"Hand me that ruler, Tarek."

SPANK!

SPANK!

SPANK!

SPANK!

SPANK!

SPANK!

Finally, she was done.

"If I don't control your cock, your cock will control you, Tarek." Rashida told me. "I have big plans for you and me in Delhi, Tarek."

"Er ... what plans, bua?"

Suddenly, despite my immense stinging buttocks, and a desperate urge to pee, my penis started to get hard, just thinking about Rashida and me.

"My pussy is going to be the centre of your world." Rashida chuckled. "You will worship it. Ooooh Tarek! I get so wet thinking of all the orgasms you are going to give me with your tongue!"

"Bua," I mumbled, now really aroused. "I am your slave. Use me as you wish, whenever!"

"Good. Now stand up, and then kneel." Rashida ordered. "I want you to bow down and kiss my feet."

I did as she instructed. Rashida must have gone outside, as I saw the dust of the road on her feet. She saw my look and snorted.

"Yes of course my feet are dirty, you idiot." She vented. "Why would I ask you to lick them clean with your tongue if they are not dirty?"

That had been my morning with Rashida, my older chubby maid.

And now here I was, ready to take some glamour shots of my younger vivacious maid, to be given to her boyfriend.

About an hour later, as we had finished Zarine's photoshoot, and we were walking back towards the taxi stand, I reflected on how lucky I was. Here I am, a young man, and I had two beautiful maid servants who indulged my sexual fantasies. Yes, I had a strange fantasy of being dominated, of submitting to them, of being spanked and punished - but how lucky I was to have found such women!

"Choto bua." I turned to Zarine. "Thank you. Thank you for letting me take pictures of you."

Zarine grinned. Then she leaned in and kissed me - straight on the lips. Unable to control myself, I too kissed her back. We kissed for a full minute, before resuming our way towards the waiting taxis.

Unknown to us, and by extreme bad luck, Beena was just returning to the taxi stand herself after her walk. Once again she saw me ... and Zarine ... my maid ... and this time we were kissing. In India's nascent kink community, there was an understanding that what happened in parties, what happened in Dungeons, and behind closed doors, remained there. Secrecy was paramount, especially due to India's regressive morality laws.

Unfortunately for me, Beena was a lady who loved to gossip.

* * *

It was one day after that photoshoot with Zarine. Tomorrow afternoon we were leaving for Rashida's village.

It was now 1 pm, and I was once again home alone with the maids, as my mother had to go out again for work. Moreover, the next-door maid Farida was also visiting Rashida.

"Baba!" Rashida suddenly called out. "Baba! Come here at once!"

"Yes, bua!" I yelled back from my room. "Coming, bua."

Rashida was in the kitchen along with Farida. The two maids were in the kitchen, yapping. I wonder why Rashida had called me.

As I neared the kitchen, I could overhear snippets of their conversation. The two ladies could be quite loud.

"... so ... the doctor said," Farida was saying, "it's some rare condition. She overproduces her milk."

"Will your sister stay with you now?" Rashida asked.

"Not now," Farida replied. "But in two months."

"And your memsaab is ok with that?"

"Actually my memsaab welcomed it. She is now alone, right, with baba and sahib going to America soon for some time. Thus, she didn't mind having my sister over, with the new baby."

"And now your sister ..." Rashida's voice trailed off. "How bad is it?"

"Bad." Farida replied. "She had to go twice to the doctor. They connected her with one of those machines, you know. But it's expensive. Already her husband took out a loan."

"And you think ..." Once again Rashida's voice lowered, and I couldn't hear what the ladies were saying.

"Don't worry about baba." Rashida suddenly declared loudly. I froze. They were talking about me!

"I am sure baba can help." Rashida continued. "He's not like a normal boy. He's a faithful dog. A bitch. He will do what I order him to."

"I know." Farida said. "That's why I thought of it. I spoke about it to my sister. She was hesitant, you know ... but then the money ..."

"But we are going tomorrow to my village." Rashida said. "And then we are back, but only for two weeks. After that, in August, we are going to Delhi."

"I know."

"So, baba can only help you for two weeks in this city." Rashida said. "After that ... if you want to come to Delhi ... and before that ... to my village."

Farida thought about it for a bit.

"I will talk to my sister." She said. "Maybe by then the situation would be fixed. You never know."

"I wonder where baba is." Rashida suddenly wondered out aloud.

I didn't know what they were talking about, but clearly it was time I reported to the kitchen.

"Bua." I knocked at the door frame of the kitchen. The door was open of course. I entered and then nodded to Farida. "Apa."

"Tarek Zia." Rashida rebuked me. "You certainly took your time."

"I am sorry, bua." I apologized to my maid servant. Before she could scold me further, I knelt down on the floor, bent over and kissed her feet. First the right, and then the left. I then turned to her friend and kissed Farida's feet as well.

"You have him well trained." Farida remarked, as I remained in position, kneeling, on the ground, awaiting Rashida's next command.

"Yes." Rashida lovingly tousled my hair. "Baba's been my bitch for five years now. I like to think he's a good slave. He gets punished far less nowadays."

"I see."

"Although he is being severely punished every day this week. Do you want to see the marks on his ass?"

"Sure."

"Baba." Rashida turned to me. "Stand up and pull down your pants."

I was then humiliatingly ordered to bend over and exhibit my naked bottom to Farida. She rubbed her hands on my ass.

"Nice!" Farida remarked. "I can see the cane marks."

"Pull up your pants and stand up properly now, baba." Rashida ordered.

"Yes, bua."

Farida then turned to me.

"You are going tomorrow to Rashida's village." She said. "You will be staying there for a month. And then you are back here ... for two weeks. Before going to Delhi."

"Er ... yes, Farida apa. That is our plan."

"My sister will need some help from you." Farida told me. "I will talk to her, and see if I can bring her over to Rashida's village."

"Of course, Farida apa." I nodded. "I am always ready to serve you. You are my dear bua's friend."

Farida soon left. She never specified what help I was supposed to give her sister, and Rashida did not elaborate either. All I knew ... from overhearing ... is that her sister's breasts were overflowing with milk ... overproducing the amount ... for her newborn.

"Have you finished your packing?" Rashida asked me.

"Yes, bua, almost." I lied again. I was just about to start.

"Ok, go to your room. I have some work."

"Yes, bua."

* * *

It was 4 in the afternoon. My mom had returned home, eaten lunch with me, and then headed out again. I was just half done packing my suitcase for the trip when the door to my room opened.

My younger maid servant Zarine sashayed into the room, her body's curves hidden under the thin chiffon sari she was wearing. The sari clung tightly to her svelte figure, and the faint outline of her breasts and her nipples could be seen, indicating she wasn't wearing a blouse. Apparently, Rashida hadn't had that talk yet with her that my mother wanted to.

Zarine didn't bother knocking on the door, as usual. It had been a long time since any maid servant in this house respectfully knocked my door and asked permission to enter. Nowadays, the reverse was true. If I had to enter their rooms, I was the one to knock and meekly ask for permission, whereas they would just enter mine at any time.

"Baba!" Zarine smiled. "All ready for your trip tomorrow?"

"I am just halfway done through the packing, choto bua." I replied. "Maybe an hour more."

"Tsk tsk!" She tut-tutted me. "Rashia apa has told you since the morning to pack, and you still aren't done? When did you start?"

"Er ... just some time ago, choto bua."

Zarine walked up to me until her face was inches away from mine and smiled.

"You better not let her know that, baba. She thinks you are done!"

"Yes, choto bua."

"If she comes in and finds that you still haven't packed, she will give you a proper spanking, baba."

"Yes, choto bua." I gulped. I knew she was telling the truth; Rashida - my older house maid - wouldn't be pleased that I had ignored her instructions for over half the day. Especially after I was beaten by her the last two days for exactly that - not listening to her.

"She will make your butt so red you won't be able to sit on your big ass for the train ride tomorrow, baba." Zarine grinned. "And it's a looooong train ride."

"Yes, choto bua."

Zarine reached and caught the waistband of my pajamas and pulled it slightly to expose a little gap. Slowly her hand made its way inside, and she wrapped her dainty fingers around my now not-so-flaccid member.

"Does it arouse you, baba, when I talk about Rashida apa spanking your big bottom?"

"I ... I ..." I grew red as Zarine rolled her fingers across my balls. "I ... I am sorry, choto bua, for being aroused. You know how I love serving you both."

"No, baba." Zarine laughed even as she stroked my hardening penis. "You just love to serve Rashida apa - your buxom, middle aged, older house maid. Do you know I have an older sister, Tarek?"

"Er ... no, choto bua, I didn't know that."

"Her name is Saima." Zarine told me, as she continued to stroke my manhood. "She is three years older than me, but we were inseparable. Zarine Saima. Zarine Saima. People used to just call us that. Zarine Saima. But then ... my parents divorced ... and Saima went to live with my mother. And I stayed here with my father."

I wondered why Zarine was telling me about Saima.

"I am telling you about Saima," Zarine told me, reading my mind, "So you understand why I adore Rashida apa. I have gotten the love of a sister from her ... and she has lessened the pain of not having Saima around for me. So ... when you disobey her, or when she asks me to punish you ... I am going to listen to her. I love you ... baba ... you are amusing ... but I also love Rashida apa as a sister."

I nodded.

"This is why you took the job opportunity to work here." I told Zarine. "Even though, choto bua, you are not as much into all of this ... spanking ... and so on ... unlike Rubina."

"Yes," Zarine nodded. "But I have learned. And I think I am now pretty good, am I not?"

Suddenly Zarine's fingers moved from stroking my penis and wrapped around my testicles. She gave my balls a sudden squeeze.

"Ow!" I yelped. "Choto bua!"

"Tomorrow you will be carrying her suitcases and fetching water for her and bringing food from the railway station canteen to her." Zarine continued to cruelly squeeze my balls. "You will be helping her up the stairs on the train while taking care not to ogle her big butt as she walks in front of you. You will be travelling with her to her ancestral village, where you will stay with her and her sister and her mother for a whole month. Does the thought make your little nunu hard, baba?"

"Er ... yes, choto bua." I managed to gasp. Zarine loosened her grip on my testicles ... just a little.

"Maybe Rashida apa will strip you naked and spank you in front of her little sister, or her older mother, eh, baba?"

"I ..." I honestly didn't know what to say.

"Tell me the truth, baba." Suddenly Zarine again held my balls in an iron grip. "Do you want her to?"

"I ... I am hers to use as she sees fit, choto bua."

"She made you apologize to her mother, didn't she?" Zarine asked me. "When you had forgotten to purchase her tickets?"

"Yes." I nodded.

It had been a shameful phone call.

It was the first night when Rashida has spanked me and punished me for not buying the ticket. She had called Dania, her mother, and given me the phone.

"Baba, this is my mother Dania on the line." Rashida told me. "You can call her amma."

"Salaam alaikum, amma!" I greeted her. "Amma" meant mother in Bengali.

I spoke to her for some time, humbly apologizing for not buying Rashida her ticket, and making her miss the family gathering.

"Tell me how she punished you." Dania commanded in a stern voice. "I want you to recount each punishment you had gotten as a result."

"Yes, amma." I gulped. "First, I knelt at bua's feet, and she held by my ear."

"Were you naked, Tarek?"

"Er ... no ... amma. Bua just made me kneel at her feet, and holding me firmly by the ear, she began slapping me."

"How many slaps did you get, baba?"

"Bua must have slapped my left cheek at least fifteen times consecutively, while scolding me, amma." I had recounted. "Suddenly she had let go of my right ear. Reaching out with her right hand this time, she caught hold of my other ear. Giving it a sharp twist, she raised her left hand and began to slap my other cheek."

"How long?"

"It went on for a long while, amma." I admitted. "By the end, my cheeks were stinging - both with pain, and the shame and humiliation of being suddenly punished sharply like this."

What I didn't add was ... by my own maid servant.

"You deserved that humiliation." Dania rebuked me. "Go on."

"After that, amma," I said. "I was taken to choto bua's room ..."

"Is that ... what's her name ... Zarine?"

"Yes, that is her. And she caned me for the next half an hour."

"How did she do it, baba?"

"I was bent over a desk, amma."

"And then?"

Here I lied a little bit. I of course did not tell her Dania of how I had then massaged Zarine's feet and she had rewarded me with a blowjob.

My next punishment was later that night, I recounted to Dania.

"I went to bua's room around 1030 pm. After I was slapped for a while, I had ... um ..."

I turned to Rashida, unsure whether to say it, but she nodded.

"I had to eat bua's ass out." I told Dania. "And then I was bent over the chair as I was caned by her."

"Did she make you do the Murgha and Uthak Baithak, Tarek?"

"Er ... yes. I am sorry ... I had completely forgotten about that, amma." I apologized. "And then I was spanked... I think first with her hand ... and then she used a hairbrush on me ... And then with her chappal."

"She should punish you like this every day." Dania harrumphed. "And when I see you, baba, I will punish you myself."

"Er ... yes, amma."

So that was the phone call to Dania that Zarine now reminded me about. Her voice brought me back to the present. Zarine was now fondling my genitals, making me harder and harder.

"Rashida apa's younger sister ... Tamanna." Zarine reflected. "How old is she now? Eighteen? Nineteen? So much younger than you, baba. And yet you may have to kiss her feet or present your bum to her for a caning."

"Er ... it is possible, choto bua."

As she stroked my penis, Zarine then leaned in and said, "Baba, I have a small request to ask of you."

"Your wish is my command, choto bua."

"You sometimes used to call Rubina your pichchee choto bua." Zarine told me as she now inserted her other hand into my pajamas. Both of her hands now took hold of my manhood again. "I have replaced Rubina as your choto bua. So ... you should call me what you used to call her. In addition to 'my lovely choto bua' and 'my dear choto bua' and other terms of endearment you called her. You will also say 'my pichchee choto bua'. You DO know what does the word pichchee mean, right."

"Yes, choto bua." I replied as I got really hard. Zarine knew how to stroke me to almost the point of no return and stop just at the right time.

"Use it in a sentence." Zarine ordered me.

"Er ... I have a pichchee nunu." I answered.

Zarine laughed.

"You are right. Pichchee means small." Zarine answered, stroking me. "When you call me your pichchee choto bua it will remind you that even though I am younger than you, I am smaller than you and shorter than you and beneath you in social status, in this house-" and here Zarine cupped my balls in her hand -"I hold your balls in my hand."

"Yes, choto bua."

Zarine laughed loudly, and then withdrew her hands. Snapping her fingers, she ordered, "Baba! Please take off your pajamas."

"Yes, choto bua."

Even though it meant I was getting delayed, I hastened to comply. I untied the string that held my pajamas together, slipped my fingers into the hem, and then slowly pushed my pajamas to the floor. Once they were at my feet, I stepped out of them.

I was now naked from the waist down, and the hardness of my manhood was completely exposed. Zarine told me to sit down on the bed. She then came and stood in front of me.

SLAP!

"Rashida apa has been telling me I should become more assertive towards you and punish you more and more."

SLAP!

"Thank you, choto bua, please slap me again."

SLAP!

SLAP!

"Thank you, my pichchee choto bua, please slap me again."

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

Zarine slapped me a few times, and then turned around so that I was staring into her buttocks. The sari clung tightly to her ass cheeks, going into her crack, and she had very fleshy buttocks indeed.

"Baba, is your cock nice and hard?"

"Yes, choto bua."

"Even after I slapped you, baba?"

I couldn't help but be a little playful.

"ESPECIALLY after you slapped me, choto bua. You are such a sexy lady."

"So your pichchee maid slaps you and instead of getting angry, you get hard?"

"Yes, choto bua. Especially when I am looking at that beautiful ass of yours."

Zarine laughed and ran a finger seductively down her ass crack line.

"Baba, what do you think of my ass?"

"I .. Choto bua, you have a very nice pasa indeed."

"Thank you, baba. Now please lift my sari up to expose this lovely pasa of mine."

"Yes, choto bua."

Zarine was wearing a black thong underneath, which was just a string across the crack of her butt. She reached around and parted the thong.

"Do you see my ass hole, baba?"

"Yes, choto bua. You have a very nice ass hole."

"Lick my very nice ass hole, baba. Make it nice and wet."

"Yes, choto bua."

I buried my face into the mounds of her buttocks and started to lick her ass hole. Even as my nose tried to ignore the rancid odor, my tongue poked and lashed its way into the depths of her anus, obediently tried to make it wet. She thrust her behind into my face as I remained buried like a dog sniffing its master's butt.

"You like that, baba?" Zarine laughed, as I flicked my tongue deep into her crevice. "You are pathetic, baba."

"Yes, choto bua."

"Alright, baba, out. Good, now kiss my ass. Cover it with kisses. Make it wet."

"Yes, choto bua."

I held her from behind and as instructed, covered her derriere with wet kisses. She was my house maid, my servant, younger to me - but it was I who was kissing her ass!

"Do you like kissing my ass, baba?" Zarine laughed again.

"Yes, choto bua. It is a very sexy gaand that you have."

"What do you say, baba?"

"Thank you, choto bua."

"Say 'thank you choto bua for letting me kiss your sexy gaand."

"Thank you choto bua for letting me kiss your sexy gaand."

After some time, Zarine told me to stop, and then turned around. She caught me by the ears and pulled me up to stand in front of her, facing her.

"I am going to give you a kaan dola, baba."

"Yes, choto bua."

"You are really hard, baba." Zarine observed, even as her hands continued to twist and pinch my ears.

"Yes, choto bua."

Zarine used her right hand to twist my left ear. Then she used her left hand to twist and pull my right ear. She alternated, giving each of my ears a tight and sharp pull every time. I was blushing deep red, my ears going crimson, even as my dick remained hard due to my humiliation. All of a sudden Zarine reminded me of Rubina - her sassiness, her toughness, and her meanness. Yet ... with Zarine ... I knew at some point she would drop the act.

"I am going to slap you again now, baba, and slap you hard. I want you to count each one, baba."

"Yes, choto bua."

"I will slap you ten times. Maybe more if you don't do it properly."

"Yes, choto bua."

Zarine raised her hands. Almost instinctively I braced myself.

SLAP!

"One! Thank you, my dear choto bua. Please slap me again."

SLAP!

"Two! Thank you my sweet choto bua. Please slap me again."

A sharp sting was now evident on each of my cheeks, as Zarine struck me again and again.

SLAP!

"Ouch! Three! Thank you, my lovely choto bua. Please slap me again."

SLAP!

"Thank you, choto bua. Please slap me again."

"Tsk, tsk, baba! Where's the count? Try again."

SLAP!

Zarine slapped me quite hard as a result of my error. Once more she was reminding me of Rubina. And yet, once more I was waiting for her to drop the act.

"Four! Thank you, choto bua. I am sorry for my mistake, choto bua. Please slap me again."

"Better, baba. Much better. But I want you to start from the beginning again."

I groaned. Now Zarine had turned fully into Rubina.

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

Zarine slapped me a few times in quick succession, far too quickly for me to count. Her hands were a blur as they struck my cheeks rapidly. This is how Rubina would have slapped me. It was almost as if Zarine was taking lessons from her.

SLAP!

SLAP!

"Why did I hear you groan?" Zarine thundered at me.

"I am so sorry, choto bua. Please ... please forgive me. It won't happen again."

SLAP!

"One! Thank you, my dear choto bua. Please slap me again."

SLAP!

"Two! Thank you, my cute choto bua. Please slap me again."

SLAP!

"Three! Thank you, my lovely choto bua. Please slap me again."

SLAP!

"F...four! Thank you, choto bua. Please slap me again."

SLAP!

"F...five! Thank you, my beautiful c...choto bua. Please s-s-s-slap me again."

SLAP!

"Six! T-t-thank you, my sexy choto bua. Please s-s-slap me again."

I started to mumble as the pain spread.

"Having fun, baba?"

SLAP!

"Seven! Er ... yes, ch-ch-choto bua. Thank you, my pichchee choto bua. P-p-please slap me again."

SLAP!

"Eight! Thank you, choto bua. Please slap me again."

SLAP!

"Nine! Thank you, my sweet choto bua. Please slap me again."

Only one more!

SLAP!

"Ten! Thank you, choto bua."

"You didn't ask me to slap you again, baba. I will repeat that."

"Yes, choto bua."

SLAP!

"Ten! Thank you, choto bua. Please slap me again."

"Haha. If you say so, baba."

SLAP!

"Ow... E-e-eleven! Thank you, my dear choto bua. P-p-please slap me again."

SLAP!

"Ouch! Twelve! T-t-thank you, choto bua. P-p-please slap me again."

"That's enough for now, baba."

"Thank you, my kind choto bua."

And then Zarine dropped the act.

She did what she had done before, and what Rubina would never have done. Zarine kissed me. I kissed her back.

We kissed for a long time. My arms wrapped around her back and hers around my neck. My tongue entered her mouth and wrestled with her tongue even as my lips sucked on her lips.

Zarine smelled lovely. She always did.

"You are a good kisser." Zarine smiled and commented as we came up for air. Her hands softly stroked my cock. "You are very hard, baba."

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

"Looks like this little nunu of yours has gotten you into a lot of trouble, baba." Zarine grinned.

"Er ... yes, choto bua."

Zarine gently kneaded my balls in the palm of her hand. I knew what she was going to do.

My younger maid slowly went down on her knees so that she was now kneeling down in front of me. Her beautiful cheeks touched my manhood and then she opened her lips. I placed my rock-hard manhood in her mouth. Zarine took it in completely.

I knew wasn't going to last long. Zarine started to lick and kiss my manhood and soon I was rubbing it back and forth against her throat. In less than three minutes, I was ejaculating inside Zarine, down her throat.

As always with a blowjob from Zarine, the sheer power of my orgasm ... built up for so long ... was mind-blowing. My legs went. Zarine caught my body and gently brought me to the ground. She pulled me in close to her as I knelt in front. Her hand stroked my hair as my head spun.

We kissed again. I was kissing her while smiling my own cum on her mouth.

"Next time, Baba." Zarine murmured shyly. "I will give you more than a blowjob."

This was our little secret.

* * *

That night, sharp at 10.30 pm, I walked through the house, past the main living room and the dining room, past the kitchen, towards the servants' quarters. My mother was fast asleep by that time. Making my way to Rashida's room, I knocked softly on her door. It was Friday, but as Rashida said ... my punishments were now every day. No longer were they limited to Mondays and Thursdays.

"Who is it?" Rashida's voice thundered through the closed door.

"It's me, Tarek." I answered.

"Come in, baba!"

"Thank you, bua."

I opened the door and entered and shut the door behind me. A faint and pleasant scent greeted my nose; Rashida had lit up some incense. It was a hot and humid night, and the air conditioner in her room struggled to keep the temperature down.

Rashida was sitting on the bed, her legs up, reading a magazine. She hardly bothered to look up as I entered. I walked to one corner of the room, and turned so that my back was to her and my face to the corner, and then I started to undress. First, I took off my shirt which I folded carefully and placed on the dresser nearby. Then I unbuckled my trousers, moved down the zipper, and slid out of my pants. I folded the trousers and kept it on top of the shirt. I was now stark naked, in my birthday suit, facing the wall, standing there meekly awaiting the punishment of my maid servant. It was a routine familiar to me, one that I was used to and submitted to for the last several years. And I think over three times in the last twenty four hours alone.

Rashida let me stand in "corner time" for a full ten minutes. It was her way of making sure I knew who the boss was (as if I needed any reminding!). Yes, I was the employer, the owner, and she was my maid servant - but she was the boss.

Standing there in silence, while not knowing when she would call me, and what I had done, and how she was going to punish me - my mind played all sort of tricks on me and my imagination ran riot. Finally, when she did call me, it was a relief.

"Baba!" Rashida ordered, "Go get that chair from the corner, and please place it in the centre of the room."

"Yes, bua."

My maid servant rose ponderously from the bed, the bed creaking as she got up. As she made her way to the chair, her big breasts swayed from side to side, and like always, it seemed they would just burst out from the blouse that contained them. The blouse - always one size smaller - clung sharply to her body and I could see the faint outline of her areole. Rashida wasn't wearing a bra. She hardly ever wore a bra nowadays, and sometimes when she worked, I would see the faint outline of sweat around her nipple through the thin material of her blouse.

Her sari, draped haphazardly around her big body, left her ample midriff completely bare, with her belly button exposed. When she turned around, I could see the sari creep into the crack of her giant buttocks. Rashida, my lovely maid servant, was big.

Rashida sat down on the chair, and then turned to me.

"Baba, what are you waiting for? Please come here and assume the position! Over my knees!"

"Yes, bua."

I went over to submit myself. Gently I placed myself across her lap, over her knees. My flaccid dick smacked against her thighs - a thin layer of her sari separating my member from her flesh, and I dared not move - rubbing myself against her thighs was sure to give me an arousal. She placed a hand on my naked bum.

"Baba." Rashida laughed softly. "How many times do you think I have spanked you?"

"I ... I don't know, bua."

"Think about it, baba. How many smacks do you think your ass has gotten from my hand over the years?"

"I ... I ... a lot, bua."

"Hundreds!" Rashida exclaimed. "Maybe thousands! You are here, every week, twice at least, and if not more!"

"Yes, bua."

"And yet," Rashida suddenly squeezed my butt cheeks, leading me to gasp, "You still don't grasp the essential meaning of following orders, baba!"

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

"I sent Zarine in the afternoon to see if you were packed. Zarine told me how late you started packing!" Rashida gently kneaded my bum as she rebuked me. "Yet, I had told you since the morning to get started, but you didn't."

"Yes, bua. I am sorry, bua. I was feeling lazy."

"This will hurt, baba. We are on a journey tomorrow, so I didn't want to beat you, but now I will."

SPANK!

The blow was sharp, quick, and Rashida landed a resounding smack on my right butt cheek.

"One! Thank you, bua. I am so sorry, bua, I will not delay again. Please spank me again."

SPANK!

"Two! Thank you, bua. I am really sorry, bua. Please spank me again."

SPANK!

"Ow! Three! Thank you, bua. I am quite sorry, bua. It won't happen again. Please spank me again."

SPANK!

"Ouch! Four! Um ... Thank you, bua. I am really, really sorry, bua. Please spank me again."

"You had a tough couple of days, didn't you, baba?" Rashida rubbed the area where she was spanking me. "Every day ... and every night ... getting spanked. Even today. First me. Then Zarine, and now me again."

"Er ... yes, bua."

"Wrong answer, baba!"

SPANK!

SPANK!

SPANK!

"You still haven't learnt ..."

SPANK!

SPANK!

SPANK!

"... what to say when I ..."

SPANK!

SPANK!

SPANK!

"... ask you a question, baba!"

SPANK!

SPANK!

SPANK!

Rashida hit me rapidly, alternating fast between each butt cheek, too fast for me to maintain the count.

"The right answer ..."

SPANK!

"... baba, would have been to say ..."

SPANK!

"... that you deserved it."

SPANK!

"Er ... yes, bua." I could finally get a word in as Rashida took a breather. "I am sorry, bua. I deserved the rough day. Zarine, I mean choto bua, came and saw that I had delayed in packing, and therefore punished me. And now I deserve whatever punishment you give me, my dear bua."

"How many spanks was that, baba?" Rashida asked me, as she squeezed my butts painfully.

"Er.. I lost count, bua. Sorry about that ..."

"Here you are, like a beshorom, naked, lying across your maid's lap getting a beating from her, and you don't even know how many times your maid has thrashed your pasa?!"

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

Rashida sighed.

"You duffer! Start again from the beginning, Tarek."

"Yes, bua."

SPANK!

"One! Thank you, bua. Please spank me again."

SPANK!

"Two! Thank you, bua. Please spank me again."

Rashida continued to spank me, chiding me in between spanks. I felt like a naughty little child being spanked by a strict matron. Finally, she stopped, and I remained still across her lap, my bum now stinging with pain, and no doubt quite red. Rashida used a hand to gently part my two legs, so that her palm was now lying against my ball sack. Tenderly she began to rub my testicles.

"Tomorrow, baba, we journey to my ancestral village."

"Yes, bua."

"You will spend a month with my, my sister and my mother, living in my village amongst my people. In my village, it is almost ALL women. The men are gone to the cities ... to earn a living."

Rashida was kneading my balls now.

"Yes, bua."

"I will need you to be on far better behavior there than you are here, baba. Especially when you meet any woman there."

"Yes, bua."

"You will obey me and listen to my every desire before I even utter the words, baba."

"Yes, bua."

Her rubbing and stroking of my manhood had now made my dick quite hard.

"And you will serve my sister, and my mother, just like you serve me and Zarine. In EVERY way."

"Yes, bua."

"I intend to spank and punish you there, baba, quite severely. In front of my sister and mother."

"Yes, bua."

"My sister will take part in the punishments, even though she is younger than you, baba. Be prepared to be slapped in public. And perhaps ... to be naked ... in public."

"Yes, bua. I am your slave, to be used as you wish."

"Good, now stand up." Rashida patted my bum.

"Yes, bua."

I stood sharply at attention, right next to my seated maid servant Rashida, even as my ass smarted from the spanking. Almost absent mindedly, Rashida continued to stroke my balls and manhood, making me quite turgid.

"Baba, for the next month or so, you will be completely mine." Rashida told me, rubbing her thumb across the tip of my penis. "In my village, no one knows you, but everyone knows me. You will be at my mercy."

"Yes, bua." I replied. I knew I should be scared, but the thought of being at the mercy of Rashida and her family was making me even harder. Rather than being afraid, somehow submitting totally to Rashida was making me feel emboldened. She would take care of me.

"Here in the city, baba," Rashida continued, while stroking my cock. "You know you can always escape, and you are the employer and I am the maid in your employment. But in my village, I will be in control and you will be giving yourself up completely to my whims."

"Yes, bua. I am your slave, bua. I am yours to do whatever you wish to do."

Rashida leaned in and placed a soft kiss on my now turgid manhood. My penis twitched at the touch of her thick lips.

"Baba, you know that I won't hurt you more than you can handle, and I do take good care of you ..."

"Yes, bua. I love you for that, bua."

"But," Rashida rolled around my balls in the palm of her hand. "You will become my sex hostage. You will become our sex slave. I will dominate you sexually, I will dominate you physically and I will dominate you mentally. I will have your balls in my hand ALL THE time. I know you fantasize about fucking me. But in MY village, it is I who will fuck with YOU! If you are OK with that, tell me how much of a goddess your maid servant is, baba."

"Oh my bua!" I gushed out. "My beautiful, lovely, delicious bua! You know you are a true goddess for me! You are all that I can think of! I am so lucky to have you in my life, oh bua. I will do anything for you, you know that, ANYTHING! I love you so much, bua!"

Rashida had a big smile on her face.

"Well done, baba. That's what every mistress loves to hear." Rashida then decided to tease me. "But what will your friends say, baba, if they could hear what you are saying now! What will your family say, baba! You are professing your love and your slavery to your maid servant!"

"Bua," I announced. "I don't care if anyone knows. I love you with all my heart, bua."

"Even when I spank you, baba?"

"I am yours to be spanked, bua. If I displease you, spanking is the least punishment for me. I deserve it."

"Even when I beat you and slap you, baba?"

"Even when you beat me and slap me, bua. I am yours to use as you please, bua. It is my honour when you beat me and slap me. A red mark on my ass from you is what a hickey is to others."

"What about the times I urinated on you, baba, and made you drink my piss, and spit on you?"

"As I said, bua, you can do anything to me; I am yours to urinate and piss upon. I am not even worthy to drink your urine, bua."

Rashida grinned. "Say, you are my toilet and my bitch."

"Bua, I am your toilet and your bitch. I am your dog. I am your urinal."

Rashida then stood up. She leaned in and kissed me twice - once on each cheek. I flushed deep red with pleasure. She still had my cock in her hand.

"Baba," she told me, after planting two more wet and sloppy kisses on my cheek, "You have pleased me, and you have made me very wet. So wet ... that I want to spank you ... and spank you hard."

Inwardly, I grimaced. My ass was already stinging and in pain. Yet I replied, "Of course, bua. I am your slave."

"Baba," Rashida purred, stroking me quite rapidly. "I want to spank you with a spatula. I want to spank you so hard ... I want to leave marks and bruises on your butt that I can show to my sister and mother."

Gulp!

"Yes, bua."

"Baba," Rashida ordered. "The spatula is in the kitchen. Please go and get it."

"Yes, bua."

I walked to the kitchen, filled with trepidation. Yes, I knew that my mother was asleep in her room, but what if ... what if she was not? What if she got up for a glass of water? She would see me, fully naked, cock semi hard, ass stinging red, walking with a spatula in my hand towards the maids' quarters. And then she would know how EXACTLY Rashida had "kept me in line".

Thankfully no one saw me and soon I was back in her room. Rashida made me bend over the back of the chair, so I was bent over with my hands grasping the seat of the chair for support, my ass hanging over the back of the chair, and my legs spread apart.

"Bua," I asked, as she patted my bum before the beating. "Do I count from one?"

"Baba," Rashida laughed. "Do you remember the count for the spanks?"

"Er ... yes, bua." I was proud I remembered the number of times she had spanked my buttocks with her bare hand. "It was 32, bua."

"Good job, baba!" Rashida lightly tapped my bum. "Now for this beating, I want to do things differently. I want you to start counting from 100, and count down rather than up."

"Er ... yes, bua."

"We will see how much you can take, baba." Rashida told me. "And the number that remains is the number of times I will spank you at some future time, without mercy."

"Er ... ok, I mean, yes, bua."

"So when you want me to stop, ask me for my mercy."

"Yes, bua."

Rashida arched her hand, raised the spatula high in the air and then let go. Her arm came crashing down, and the cupped end of the spatula landed with a crash on the delicate skin of my already smarting behind.

WHAP!

A thousand volts of pain ran through my body as I quivered.

"100! I ... um... thank you, bua. Please hit me again."

WHAP!

"99! T-t-thank you, bua. Please hit me again."

WHAP!

"Er... 98! I ... thank you, bua. P-p-please ... hit me ... again."

WHAP!

WHAP!

WHAP!

And so it continued. I wanted her to stop, really, but I was also aware that with each hit, I was lessening the future punishment. Still there was only so much I could take.

WHAP!

"87! Bua, mercy! Please, have some mercy on me, my mistress! My bua!"

"Hmm." Rashida pondered. "Only thirteen ... or fourteen hits and you are begging for mercy, baba? That won't do. Keep counting! I want to stop at a lower number."

"Er ... yes, bua. But please, have some mercy on me."

"Keep counting, baba."

WHAP!

WHAP!

WHAP!

Finally, when the count was seventy five, Rashida stopped. I remained bent over, whimpering, tears streaming down my face, as Rashida examined her handiwork.

"Very nice, baba." She said. "Few large red bruises, good strike marks, nice welts and your right butt cheek is quite black and blue. Amma will love it."

"I .... Sniff! .... Er ... thank you bua."

"I would have preferred to continue, baba," Rashida admonished me, "but I did give you the option of begging for mercy."

"Thank you, bua."

"Stand up, baba. Now ... do you want to cum tonight?"

I looked up at Rashida, my eyes still red, but my cock suddenly snapping to attention. Rashida started to laugh when she saw that.

"Er ... yes, bua. Can I please, bua?" I pleaded. "My cock is paining, bua. It would be a great relief to cum, bua."

"If you make me cum, baba," Rashida promised, "I'll make you cum."

"Oh, yes, bua, I will!" I told her enthusiastically.

"However," Rashida warned me, "If you fail to make me cum, you won't cum tonight and you may get those seventy five beatings, or I decide otherwise."

"Yes, bua."

Grasping my ear hard, Rashida twisted it, and then led me by the ear over to her bed and sat down, and spread out her legs. Immediately I knelt at her feet by the side of the bed. Bowing my head, I began to kiss her legs and feet in earnest.

I started by licking them. Rashida put her feet on my face and I licked. This was so hot. I found myself becoming intoxicated as Rashida used me to clean her feet. She soon stuck a foot in my mouth and I started sucking. I sucked every one of her toes too. All the while she kept running her fingers and hands through my hair telling me how much she loved having me as a slave. I was becoming lost in her dominance and my love for her. I was so grateful to her for letting me serve her. In between kissing her feet, I told her how much of a real goddess she was. With each kiss, I was telling her how I was falling further and further under her spell.

After about 45 minutes of intense foot worship Rashida decided it was time.

She bent down and raised the hem of her sari and began to roll it up. Her snatch soon came into view - she wasn't wearing any panties. A thick bush covered her vagina. Her eyes had the look of a woman in heat - beating me and having her feet worshipped had made her horny.

I remained kneeling and begat to eat out at her hole. My tongue lashed out, and soon I was getting to the center of her juicy cunt. Rashida was now breathing fast as I poked a finger, and then a couple in, before removing them and diving in with my tongue. Soon, Rashida started to scream and groan, and I kept licking and licking. Oh yes, she was certainly going to cum, and therefore so would I!

I made Rashida cum in a big way. Years of being her slave had certainly made me adept at giving her - or any woman - good oral service.

"Phew!" Rashida wiped her brow, and then slapped me a couple of times as she used to after reaching orgasm. "I have taught you well. Now, baba, I am going to do something special for you to cum."

"Er.... Thanks, bua."

"Since the next month is probably going to be hard on you, tonight will be something memorable."

"Thank you, bua."

Rashida asked me to get a container that was above the dressing table. I got it for her and she opened it. It was a small cup of whipped cream. The hot summer night had nearly melted it.

Rashida asked me to stand next to her, and she began to stroke me. Her fingers danced on my ball sack, and then went up and down my manhood. Within no time, I was rock hard. Rashida then took the cream, and plunged the container onto my dick. Using a finger, she spread the cream all over my penis and around my balls. Oh, it felt so good! Then she slowly, but methodically, started to lick the cream off my dick. Oh yes! She was slowly sucking my dick, and the cream gave it an extraordinary sensation. I was as hot as I could be and close to cumming. Rashida wrapped one arm around my butt and with the other, kneaded and squeezed my balls even as she continued to suck and lick me. I couldn't hold out any longer - my butt clenched and my hips violently shuddered as I started shooting loads and loads of cum. I have never cum so hard from a blow job Rashida had given me. My mistress swallowed it all, not letting a single drop fall.

"Did you like that, baba?" She questioned with a cooing voice. "Was that good for you?"

"Oh, yes, bua, OH YES!" I was still dripping semen.

"Good!" Rashida smiled. "Now, baba, go to your room. Go to sleep. We have a long journey tomorrow."

Sleep - I was guessing I would hardly be able to lie down with my ass stinging as it was, but there was only one reply I could give. I bent down and gave her a kiss on each cheek, smelling my cum in her mouth as I did so.

"Yes, my dear bua. I love you. With all my heart, bua."

Rashida then kissed me on my lips.

"I love you too, Tarek. With all my heart, baba."