My Temporary Maidservant - Suni

Story so far: On my arrival back in India for a ten-day work-related assignment, I found a temporary maidservant at home, filling in for my regular housekeeper who was away on her annual vacation. A dark complexioned, doe-eyed beauty with a non-conformist set of social values, this 5'2" of fantastically well proportioned body, became my sexual partner and companion over the year-end season.

The ice broke fairly rapidly but the build up to our first intensely libidinous experience was slow, powerful and steady. From the first fiery explosion of orgiastic delight, instigated by some amazing fellatio, we moved to a frenzy of cunnilingal activity. The process of unravelling the sexiest of garments - the Indian saree - off her voluptuous body was in itself a mesmerising experience. Replete with multiple orgasms, we even spent quality time in a bathtub and under a shower (where she gave way to some unexpectedly kinky behaviour).

With ten days of fairly immersive work on my part, the releases of pent up frustration during the first few days in the company of this glorious damsel were rejuvenating. However, at the back of my mind was the nagging thought of whether this relationship was growing beyond animal carnality; was there any emotional content forming? And of course the troublesome rumination I occasionally found myself in: this was just temporary.

After the most intense hours of foreplay and sexual intercourse on Sunday night, the maid and I finally fell asleep in her bed, exhausted and naked in each other's arms.

***

I woke up on Monday morning at 5:30, at least an hour and a half before sunrise, but my maid, Suni, wasn't lying by my side. Thinking she was in her bathroom, I got out of her bed where I had slept the night, with a throbbing erection that stood almost upright against my abs. Her bathroom door was open and the lights were off, so I assumed she had risen long before me and was possibly ready for the day.

My clothes weren't where I had dumped them at the entrance to her room last night, nor were they anywhere in sight as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I willed my hard-on down, walked into the maid's bathroom and wrapped a damp towel around my waist. As I walked into the living area, I saw the overhang light on in the kitchen and bar area but still no sign of Suni. I walked across the central length of the apartment towards my own bedroom and only then realised that that's where she was.

Like the day before, she wished me with folded hands, saying "Namaste, Sahib. I hope you slept well?" I smiled and nodded a little sheepishly at her as my erection flagged, said "Good morning!" and waited for her to vacate the room. She was tidying up the bed, which hadn't really been used, but then straightened up and walked past me, shutting my bedroom door behind her. She had been dressed once again in a saree, a different one from the previous day, and I thought that she considered it her work dress. In the evenings, when she considered herself "off-duty", even though she was a live-in servant, she would change her dress into something more comfortable I guess.

I went into my bathroom and spent the next 45 minutes getting ready for my day. While under the shower, I thought about the night before and the absolutely salacious and lustful time my maid and I had spent in her bathroom. And like the previous day, I wondered about her complete transformation in the morning; her demeanour was as though nothing had transpired between us. Very polite, even formal, as she went about her professional chores. However, it helped me stay focussed on the day ahead, and the acuity I would need to display during the parleys leading up to our company acquiring an Indian one.

The owner of the concerned firm insisted that we have the first of a series of meetings at his headquarters in Jaipur, a city less than 300 kms southwest of Delhi. The company was managed by family members of the late Maharaja of Jaipur, and their offices had made all transportation arrangements, including for our flight this morning.

I had informed Suni, my temporary housemaid, the evening before about my plans and the fact that I would most likely be back on the first commercial flight from Jaipur to Delhi tomorrow morning. However, since the royal family (although technically they are no more referred to as such) was making all arrangement, I was not aware of the details.

After my ablutions, when I came out of my bathroom, laid neatly on my bed were a pair of socks, a set of underwear, a white shirt with cufflinks, a red tie, and a dark Armani suit. At the foot of the bed was the freshly polished oxfords I had worn last Saturday for the meeting with our bankers. Also, at the other end of the bed, was a slim overnighter holding another white shirt and a fresh pair of socks, briefs and a vest. My spare toilet kit, always on the ready, was also snuggled into the carry-on bag. I had not instructed the maid on any of this so I wondered if she'd had a briefing from my regular housekeeper before she left on vacation.

As I got dressed, there was a subtle knock on the bedroom door before it was gingerly pushed open. Before the maid even spoke, I breathed in the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. "Sahib! Coffee. You want I bring inside?" Since she had taken the trouble, I answered in the affirmative, and she walked in with the mug that I normally use in the mornings, steaming as it rested on a small salver which she held up to me. I took the mug and inhaled the aroma again before taking a small sip. She reached forward with the tray and I placed the cup there, thanking her while I got back to pulling on my socks.

When I stood up to knot the necktie in front of the mirrored wardrobe, she just waited and looked at my reflection. We smiled at each other; she had an alluring look on her face as her cheeks dimpled slightly with the smile. "Very handsome my Sahib", saying which she made a moue that suggested a delicate kiss before returning to the kitchen area outside. I followed her out in a minute and sat on the barstool next to the bar counter, stretching out an arm in solicitation of her help with my cufflinks.

When she walked up to me and inserted the links, I could smell the early morning freshness of her skin, perhaps bathed and scrubbed before I awoke. I reached for her shoulders and drew her towards me, kissing her on the head and then gently on her lips. My hands caressed the swell of her covered breasts, hoping to touch her flesh but she smiled up at me, ran two fingers across my lips, stepped back and offered me the coffee again. I looked into her eyes, trying to decipher whether there was a hint of desire, or even anticipation for later, but was unable to fathom any sign of yearning.

So be it, I thought, trying desperately to keep my eyes away from her bosom or the saree-wrapped hips or the honeyed chocolate complexion of her midriff where she wore her dress low down, exposing the dark fold of her navel. Her hair was once again pulled tight over her head and then braided into a long thick plait that descended down to her rump. Perhaps there was a passing look of dejection on my face which she spotted because, when I turned and entered my bedroom to close my overnighter, she came running up to me and hugged me from the back. Her voluptuous breasts pressed tightly against my back and her arms folded themselves around my chest as she hugged me closely.

Then, as I turned to face her, she quickly released her grip and brushed down the length of my tie and shirt as though to remove any creases or wrinkles that she may have caused. I looked down at her face, almost a whole 12 inches beneath mine, and moved my arms behind her. With my palms splayed across her buttocks, I pulled her hard against me and bent down to kiss her on the mouth. But when I felt the burgeoning mass in my trousers, the growing bulge of my phallus, I immediately set her free and backed away. She smiled coyly, lowered her head and went back into the living room.

At precisely 7:30 am there was a call from our security guard telling me that my driver had arrived. I shouldered the overnighter, grabbed a portfolio of papers and headed for the door. Suni came out with me to the elevator lobby and waited while the lift came up to my penthouse floor. She reached for the knot and made a small adjustment to my tie just as the elevator car doors opened; I whispered a good bye, patted her on her waist and began my descent to the ground floor.

Outside, just as the sun broke through a bank of cirrus clouds on the horizon, stood a smart liveried driver with the door to his Mercedes Benz S650, also known as the Maybach, held open. He saluted, took my carry-on bag, waited for me to sit inside, and then placed the overnighter in the carpeted boot of the sedan. He then got into the driver's seat, wished me by my name once again, and told me that we were heading for the Indira Gandhi International Airport. He then proceeded to deftly manoeuvre his way through the early morning traffic and got us to the airport by 8:10.

However, instead of taking the usual ramp for Departures, the driver took a somewhat different turn and before I was fully aware of our whereabouts, I saw a large sign that read "ExecuJet". This was beginning to look impressive when the driver finally drew the Maybach to the curb and said "Thank for you giving me the opportunity to bring you to the private jet terminal. Ms Anjali will escort you to the aircraft." Saying that, he stepped out of the car at the same time as a very pretty saree-clad lady opened the passenger door for me.

"Mr Hjjer, Good morning! I'm here on behalf of Mr Singh. If you'll follow me, I'll get you to your aircraft. Don't worry about your luggage; we'll take care of that." And so saying, Ms Anjali turned around and walked; I followed, very impressed now. This was a far cry from flying commercial, even if that was first class. I followed the lady, watching her derriere sway gently as she walked briskly on her 3" high heels. She wore a midnight blue coloured saree with a wide border in embroidered gold. She had a name tag, with wings and a logo that I missed, pinning the drape of her saree to her blouse just above her left breast.

We walked for barely two minutes, sashaying through two separate revolving doors that required the lady to use a pass key, and stepped into a large hangar. Standing in the middle of gleaming marble flooring was a Beechcraft Premier, a small light jet painted in colours similar to Ms Anjali's saree - midnight blue and gold. It looked about 50 feet in length with a wingspan of maybe 45 feet; two Williams engines fitted on the body at the back, and bold letters stating the registration number VT-JAI under the wings.

Standing at the foot of the four-step airstair was the captain who I was introduced to by Ms Anjali as Captain Jagjit. We shook hands and I walked up the steps into a cosy cabin with four very plush leather seats. The woman followed me up and helped me into the front seat which I was happy to sink in to, given the fact that the cabin height was a few inches less than six feet. I shamelessly peered down her cleavage while she leaned over me to raise the window shade. Across the aisle was my Chief Financial Officer, looking as though he was used to this form of treatment every day of his life; he'd had enough time for the wonder of the experience to sink in. We smiled and nodded at each other; I playing along so that we didn't show how much in awe we were at this hospitality.

While Captain Jagjit explained the route and flight timing and other details to us, the saree-clad lady drew up the stairs and folded the clamshell like door shut. The captain then disappeared into his cockpit while Ms Anjali offered us a scented warm towel (which I declined) and asked what we'd like to drink before take-off. Once again, I turned down the offer. As we exited the hangar, I pulled out my William Painter polarised dark glasses from the leather portfolio I was carrying and slipped them on just before my eyes were hit by direct sunlight through the multi layered plexiglass windows.

The captain got his clearance while the flight attendant strapped herself down on a forward seat, and we had takeoff at 8:35 am. We reached our cruising altitude of 23,000 feet in less than 10 minutes. During the ascent, from behind my shades I switched my view from the foggy Delhi landscape to the stewardess and noticed how buxom she was. Of course, the pallu of her saree - the long drape that rises from the hips, stretches across the chest and drops over the diagonally opposite shoulder - was moulded over her boobs but the contours were clear. My mind drifted to Suni, my temp maidservant, and I longed to be back with her. But the thought of the next ten hours drew me back to reality in a jiffy.

My finance officer and I exchanged a few words across the aisle and then I shut my eyes, not really sleeping, and meditated till our descent began. But thoughts of the temporary maidservant I had left behind at home kept intruding; I kept imagining her voluptuous body wrapped in the folds of her saree, her breasts and her pubic hair, and the magic of her sexual prowess. At Jaipur International we were efficiently disembarked, hurried into another waiting Mercedes S650, and reached our destination in less than 30 minutes. Mr Singh, our gracious host and owner of the firm we were acquiring, was very courteous and welcoming as he escorted us from the reception to a 12th floor conference room of a magnificent office tower. The views of an old fort surrounded by greenery and a water body were captivating from the height, and even possibly distracting.

The conference room was just as spectacular and imposing as everything had been so far; mahogany table, plush seating, grand audio-visuals, the works. I was introduced to about six of his key staff amongst the 20 odd people sitting around the table. I waved or nodded to my own senior execs and bankers before taking a seat next to Mr Singh. Little time was wasted after that as discussions began.

Three hours later, I was confident that things were going our way. We broke for lunch in a very lavish setting on the same floor but nobody really indulged too much in the sumptuous servings. After the meal I was headed downstairs with some of my team for a smoke, but Mr Singh cornered and invited me to his office.

None of my own board members had considered it necessary to fly over from Paris for these meetings so I was the accepted lead executive from our side. Not once did Mr Singh even suggest that given his stature and position, he would have expected our managing director to be present; and if he had suggested it, I would have agreed. When we settled down in the richly luxurious and clearly expensive settings of his room, he offered me a cigar and we lit up together. Our discussions were not focussed on work; instead I learned a considerable amount of the history of his royal family and the city of Jaipur.

We were back in the conference room a little after 2:30 pm. In half an hour, Mr Singh leaned over towards me and whispered as I bent forward, "Do you want to go back to Delhi now? I think our presence is not required till the next set of meetings which we will have in your offices." I was nonplused and looked at him with obvious surprise on my face when he smiled briefly and turned back to the audience. He told them that he had some issues he needed to discuss with me and that they should continue thrashing out the details. Then, with a hand on my elbow, he ushered me out of the room.

As we got into a waiting elevator, he said "I know you know that we will agree with most of your askings. And you also have a look as though you want to be with someone back in Delhi. Am I right?" I looked at his face and he had a mischievous smile accompanying the twinkle in his eyes. I couldn't help burst out into laughter. We walked across the foyer with his arm lightly on my shoulders, talking in soft undertones as members of his office staff looked on in awe; some even in open-mouthed wonder.

I thanked him profusely as we shook hands, and then he personally held the car door open for me as the driver stood aside in confusion. What a wonderfully charming man! He waved as the Maybach started its smooth ride back to the airport.

Captain Jagjit and Ms Anjali were in attendance as soon I was driven directly to the tarmac at the airport. This time we took a little longer to get clearance for takeoff but were in the air by 4:30 pm. Ms Anjali, the flight attendant, provided me with a fresh wet towel and a drink of water. She then plied me with some un goûter or quatre-heures as we say in French; like a small meal kids have in the late afternoon when they return from school. The flight was barely more than an hour but landing at New Delhi unfortunately was delayed because of heavy traffic at that time and we were put into a holding pattern for almost 40 minutes.

By the time I got home, given Delhi's evening rush hour, it was almost 8:00 pm and I hadn't informed my maid about the change in plans; she would be expecting me only tomorrow morning. On reaching my apartment building I thanked the driver, took the unused overnighter from him, and headed for the elevator. The sensor-triggered lights came on in the vestibule upstairs where I dug out the key card from my all-purpose portfolio and used it to open the penthouse door silently.

I entered my apartment to complete darkness and was reaching instinctively for the light switch when I wondered suddenly if my maid was at home, and if she was, was she asleep. Not wanting to disturb her if she was, I walked to my bedroom as my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and I realised that there was in fact some dim lighting that helped me across the room. Shutting the door quietly behind me, I turned on a bedside lamp and laid my bag on the bed. I took a few moments to wash up and change out of my formal wear into a pair of jeans and a denim shirt. When I walked out, I left the door open a crack to allow some of the light to filter through.

Silently, I walked to the bar and kitchen area, found a tumbler, opened the refrigerator and scooped out a couple of cubes of ice. Dropping them quietly into the glass, I left the refrigerator door open and used the light to hunt for a bottle of scotch in the cabinet under the bar counter. Finding an opened bottle of Old Pulteney 21, I poured a generous amount of malt into the crystal, shut the refrigerator door and walked to the glass panelled wall that separated the room from the terrace garden outside. While I stared outside into the near darkness, I noticed a reflection in the glass of a long but dim beam of light escaping from the maidservant's room.

The door was open about two inches and I walked quietly towards it, thinking I had been right not to disturb Suni. As I approached, I discerned the soft and deep strains of a bass and drum rhythm emanating from her room, sounding very similar to tantric sexuality music I knew from YouTube. When I reached the opening, I was startled as the faint light struck my eyes and hastily stepped away. Staying in the shadows, I walked up to the doorjamb and peered inside as the drumbeats sounded clearer, though still at a very low volume. There was a table lamp on by her bedside, with an ochre yellow cloth of some flimsy material draped over the top, creating an ambient golden hue that bathed the room.

Taking a sip of the whiskey, I used my toe to push the door in another couple of inches so I could get a better view of the room and decide whether or not to disturb her, wondering whether she was awake or not. I had been longing for her all day and didn't quite understand why I was so concerned about disturbing her if she was resting or sleeping. My first clear view of the bed showed her lying down with her head on the pillow, legs stretched out. She was, as she did most of the time, wearing a saree; it was a powder blue dress with a darker midnight blue border that ran along the hem and the drape, or 'pallu' as it is known.