1975 Chaya Calcutta
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This is partially based on a true incident, a key and eventual part of my sexual discovery, episodes and explorations in life. Only names and locations have been changed to protect the anonymity of everyone concerned. Some poetic license has been indulged in.
Readers will appreciate that there is a story here, with erotic description, as appropriate, It is not full of wham bam from the first para.
My thanks and gratitude to those patient readers and for your comments and reviews
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I had discovered masturbation, in a roundabout way, described elsewhere in my Personal Sexual Anthology. Ever since then, I had started to collect bra advertisements and any other sexy pictures from here and there, mostly movie magazines. One was a bikini clad acrobat, part of a circus brochure, another was a topless pic of a porn actress from a foreign porn magazine, which my friend at school gave me. These were pasted into a small notebook, which I kept hidden from prying eyes.
Chaya was our servant maid, who was maybe a year or two older, and she always had this kind of scornful look on her face whenever she encountered me at home. Her work was initially restricted to sweeping and mopping the house, and she tried to pose as if she was the Queen of Sheba, doing us a favour. In time, she took on laundry and cooking as well.
She was clear complexioned, with a robust look about her. She wore her thick, waist length hair in a braid. Sometimes two. I had observed her bosom filling out over the last couple of years. She had been with us for the past four or five years, I forget the accurate time frame. She was never walking. Only Strutting around like royalty.
When I was a few years younger, I stood below her, and in one year, in my eighth grade, I overtook her in height. I was not athletic, but had a decent physique, thanks to genes.
As was their won't, she was not used to wearing a bra. I remember overhearing my mother telling her to start wearing a bra, but she would always reply that it felt too tight.
Her dresswear consisted of hand me downs from the places she worked at. Mostly old school skirts, some shirts, a few expensive looking dresswear, no doubt discarded from some wealthy family.
She was also quite casual and lazy about work, and would often skim thru the magazines at home, though I guess she could not read. She would also do the mopping and sweeping, half heartedly. My mother was quite familiar with her tricks, and a sharp, occasional smack would set things right, for the next few days at least. It was not unknown to have lipstick and perfume bottles disappear from the houses she tended to. She was careful to grab only those that were almost over, counting on her mistresses absent mindedness to not notice the losses.
On some occasions, when I felt my Mom was being unfair, I would intervene, but would receive a severe ticking off from her, for intruding into an area which was not my concern. Keep your Civics lessons for school, she would admonish me. Servants have to be kept in their place.
It was one such occasion, when my mother was leaving home, that the wench misbehaved, and got a couple of raps, with instructions to finish up the work quickly. Dark hints of possible punishment were delivered as the door closed.
Nangi karke, chappal se marungi
[1]
,
was the threat. It was a common threat from Mom, but I never saw her administer it. I could not help snigger, a bit loudly.
"Kya hasne ka hai"
[2]
,
she pouted, as she came into my room. I was preparing for my final board exams. We had completed the syllabus a few months ago and were going to classes for only half days, and then as exams drew nearer, we were given a month off as preparatory holidays.
I was reading my Chemistry text and the Biology text was next in line.
She was wearing a shirt, which was once white, a bit close fitted, and a faded blue skirt. Her bosom was well expressed thru the thin fabric. I could make out that there was no bra, not surprisingly, with the little nipple heads peeking out. I wondered whether she had any panties on. Well, it would not do to lift her skirt to check!!
In my mind, I was stripping her, trying to visualise her nude, getting a spanking. It was a new and a first time thought. Seeing someone punished in the nude was a common judgement, generally passed on younger kids, generally pre puberty. Boys got it in full view of the household and any chance visitors. Girls were spared the public humiliation, but got it nevertheless within the confines of the women's quarters.
Kuchh nahi
[3]
, I replied, pretending to focus on my test paper. I looked at her, and she had this perpetual scowl pasted on as usual. Don't scowl always, you will look better if you smile, I advised. I have nothing to smile about, she replied, as she flounced out of the room. You can, if you want, I yelled after her.
A little while later, I heard her at work in the rest of the house, and it looked like she wanted to do my room at the very last. Something in me was hinting that today might be different, as there hardly was any face to face interaction with her before.
She strode into my room, as it it were her own kingdom, wielding the broom in her right hand, like it was a weapon. Witnessing her attitude and general scornfulness, I guffawed, "Arre baba! Looks like you are going to beat me with that!"
I swear, for the first time, I saw the scowl vanish, and a half smile played about. Hmm, If it is necessary, I will certainly use it, she retorted.
Kaun
?
Aur nangi karke!
[4]
You or I, as nude? I inquired politely. Let's see, depends on how you behave, was her pert reply. She was smiling big as she started to quickly sweep the room, and I left my desk to take a break, while she completed her work.
Walking out, I glanced back, she was on all fours near my bed, facing away from me. Her skirt had crept upwards over her bum, and I saw the glimpse of a red panty, so that answered my question of what she wore over her
choot
[5]
.
As I walked back in, a good 10 minutes later, I noticed her swabbing under my desk, and her skirt had ridden up a bit more. There was no panty on!! This girl is something, I mused, still wondering whether I had made a mistake. I stepped out again, this time with a brusque knock on the door, telling her to finish up quickly. She looked back, looked at her exposed bums, and tugged her skirt down. There was no sign of anything unusual indicated in her expression.
She came out shortly and went to our bathroom to wash her hands and things. I knew my mother never liked her to do that, they had their own wash area.