My Temporary Maidservant

When I got back from the village, after Sunita's sister's wedding, I had to fly out almost immediately to Chennai on work. Before I left, I spoke to Bahadur and Sunita and let them know that they could extend their break by another week if they chose; both of them were happy to do so.

On reaching the Chennai office, I realised it was a fruitless trip because the problem which brought me there had in fact been resolved without my presence. I stayed on a day anyway, and then flew to the Mumbai office for another day and got back to Delhi by the middle of the week. I took the first flight out on Thursday morning and got to Delhi around 10:00. In Bahadur's absence, the office had sent another car to pick me up. I had the driver take me directly to the office where I spent a couple of hours before heading home.

When I got to the apartment, the door was unlocked. Surprised, but not unduly worried, I pushed open the door and entered my house, feeling a welcome sense of relief and comfort in the familiar surroundings. I dragged my luggage into the spare bedroom before walking into the large bathroom to relieve myself and generally freshen up. I had grabbed a sandwich at the office and had no pressing matters to occupy me now that I was home. I was planning to take a warm shower and relax for the rest of the afternoon.

As I pushed the bathroom door open, it met a soft obstruction and rebounded on its hinges. I heard a scream from behind the door which caused me some alarm but I instinctively held the door steady as I peered around it into the bathroom. There was a girl with her hand clamped against her mouth, eyes wide open and startled as she looked at me. Not knowing who she was, I apologised and walked back though the master bedroom into the living room.

I reached for the cordless phone and hit the button for my office. I spoke to my assistant in a rushed and hurried manner, asking who the hell was in my house and why had the keys been given to some stranger, and whether she knew anything about it. She listened silently, letting me vet. Then, softly and with considerable deliberation, she told me that the landlady had informed the office of her intention to send her housemaid every other day to keep the apartment clean since neither I nor Sunita were in town. I felt rather foolish but still berated the secretary for not letting me know when I was at the office earlier. She apologised but reminded me that she had been out during my short two-hour visit.

Putting the phone down I turned to go back and apologise again to the housemaid for my behaviour. She was standing in the doorway between my bedroom and the living room, holding a broom in one hand and wiping her brow with the other, using a fold of her saree. I walked towards her rather gingerly, but stopped a good ten feet away. I couldn't quite tell what her age was but I would have guessed around 30. She had on a maroon coloured blouse and a patterned pink saree. Under the hem of her saree, I saw the scalloped edge of a petticoat the same colour as her blouse.

"Tumara naam kya hai?" I asked. She whispered her reply which I couldn't hear and made a gesture with my hand cupping my ear towards her, signifying that I hadn't heard. "Anita", she said, and I smiled at her in an attempt to make her a little more comfortable. Another Anita, I thought. "Tum ghar ka safai ke liye aaye ho?" I asked, desperately trying to use what little Hindi I had mastered over the years.

Anita nodded her head and said "Jee, main naukrani hoon". I said sorry again, using the English word, and then turned around to walk out on to the terrace. "Aap kyon sorry bol rahe ho; aap ka koi galti nahin." I smiled back at her again but continued towards the plants on my terrace. It was still January and the weather was almost perfect today; cerulean blue sky, the sun radiated a comfortable warmth, and there was a touch of chill in the shade. Perfect afternoon. I got myself a beer and settled on the chaise lounge outside.

When I went back in to get another can of beer, I didn't see the maid so I assumed she had finished her work and left for the day. The rest of the afternoon went by without incident; for dinner I went out to the hotel which housed my office, and retired fairly early. The next day was a holiday for some reason, thus allowing all schools and offices a long 3-day weekend.

I had woken up early and jogged to the nearby market to grab a street breakfast of omelette and bread, along with a steaming hot glass of tea; something I did occasionally on Sundays but hadn't for some time after Sunita's arrival. I walked back home by about 8 o'clock; the winter fog was beginning to lift as the early morning sun rays penetrated through the night chill. Stripping off the sweat soaked tracksuit, I wrapped a towel around my waist while I brushed my teeth and readied for a shave in the heated bathroom.

As I rinsed my mouth and wiped it with the hand towel hanging on a rack, I heard the door bell ring. Not sure whether I should go to the door with a towel around me, I decided to ignore the summons and see whether the visitor was going to be persistent. I wasn't expecting anyone this morning, and wasn't keen to meet anybody. Splashing my face with warm water, I extracted shaving gel on to my palm and began to evenly spread it cross my stubble. With the running water now turned off, I heard the door open - it had been locked - and I immediately realised it was probably the maidservant who was cleaning the house in Sunita's absence. What was her name, again?

Anita...I remembered. I decided to ignore her and let her go about her chores. I had almost completed shaving when the bathroom door behind me opened softly and I saw Anita's face in the mirror, peering in with hesitant trepidation. As soon as she saw me, she said "maaf karna, maalik" and began to pull the door shut again. I called out to her, "Anita" but she either didn't hear me or was too embarrassed to come back in. I wasn't wearing anything other than the towel wrapped around my middle. I called again, "Anita", not sure why I was doing so.

Using the warm water to clean the remaining streaks of lather from my face, I pictured the woman and realised that she was quite beautiful in a rustic way. I wasn't sure why, but her looks were so obviously from rural India. Was I stereotyping? Probably. But I saw her as an innocent village girl working her way through the dirty urban society; uneducated and hence reduced to working as a naukrani in Delhi's elite upper class homes.

I hadn't seen her in the mirror for more than four or five seconds, but I found myself recalling the picture. It was a pretty picture. She had a dark complexion, large eyes, fairly thick eyebrows, smooth skin on her face, and a sharp noticeable jawline. On the previous afternoon during our brief encounter, I had noticed a scar on her neck and had briefly wondered what had caused it. Was it a knife cut that had healed over time? Was it just an eruption, like a boil, than had burst and then healed without medication?

This morning, she was wearing the same clothes she had on the previous day: maroon coloured blouse and a pink saree. She walked around the house barefoot, her slippers neatly placed just beside the main entrance door. Her hair was jet black; it may have been oiled but didn't look sticky or gooey. Her ears were delicate, and although half covered by hair drawn over them, small golden ear studs punctured the lobes, and an even smaller one in her nose.

I was getting mildly aroused as my mind recollected the servant's various features. Standing as I was in front of the mirror, contemplating her, I felt a gentle erection begin to push against the towel and rub against the wash basin. I stared into my eyes reflected in the mirror, then strayed across my chest and biceps, I looked at my face and the hair on my head. But I couldn't get the girl out of my inner vision. I tried to recall the swell of her breasts, firm and round, encased snugly in the tight fitting blouse. But I wasn't sure if I had actually observed her or was just adding fantasy to my feelings.

And then the door opened again. I looked into the mirror and saw her standing there, framed in the doorway, the bright lights of the bathroom illuminating her face and front; her curves cast in deep shadow. And she was staring back at me. I wondered if she could see my slight hard-on tenting the towel, but figured it wasn't in her field of vision. "Tum bahut sundar ho", I said, not knowing how or why I uttered those words. She looked bashful and bent her neck, staring at her feet silently. I watched her reflection and let my eyes wander over her body, knowing that she was not looking at me now.

Yes, her breasts were perfectly shaped behind the brownish-red colour of her blouse. I couldn't see the outline of a brassiere and assumed she wasn't wearing one. The pallu of her saree was thrown across one shoulder and the end tucked into the waist. The blouse was a short one, with barely a centimetre below the underside of her breasts. She wore her saree a little lower than Sunita so that a large swathe of midriff was visible. Smooth dark skin that I now desperately wanted to touch.

I turned around to face her, no more concerned about the burgeoning erection tenting my towel. The dark crater of her puckered navel was centred on her naked belly. She still didn't look up, studiously contemplating her feet. I looked down and saw a ring around one of her toes, and an anklet around a very dainty ankle. "Tumhe nanga dekhna hai, mujhe", I said bravely. She looked up suddenly, and I saw a gleam in her eyes. Had I crossed the line? Was she angry? Would she raise a scene now? Maybe she would scream and go running out of the apartment. I lost my erection faster than I could have imagined.

But she just stood there, looking me in the eye without saying a word. She was about 5'3" tall, a whole head shorter than I was. I walked up to her, taking the few steps very slowly. She didn't move away from the door and there was no way I could walk through to my bedroom without touching her. I kept walking, turned sideways and tried to sidle past her through the door. But she just stood there, so I stopped and turned to face her. She turned as well, and we now stood facing each other, our backs against opposite door frames. The top of her head was level with the bottom of my chin as we stood there, still and unmoving, wondering what the next move was going to be.

I reached out and touched her face. Anita tilted her head and rubbed her cheek gently against my palm in a gesture that almost suggested she was going to purr like a cat. My fingers stroked her jaw as I traced a line from below one ear all the way to the other. They brushed past her lips and I felt a dewy wetness to the soft texture. I took a step forward and closed the gap between our bodies, my bare chest feeling the texture of her saree. I lowered my hand from her face and placed both of them on her waist, feeling the smoothness of her chocolate complexion.

There was so much skin for my palms to traverse: from the delicate curve of her waist to the swell of her hips before the saree encased the res of her. My fingers brushed past her navel as they went across the flatboard stomach; firm, without an iota of fat. Behind her, I felt the ridges of her spine run from under her blouse down the curve of her back before it disappeared into the saree and petticoat. All this while, she stayed almost completely steady; only her head was thrown back against the door jamb, her eyes tightly shut, her succulent lips parted and glistening, and a slight sweat breaking over her brow.

My erection was now getting obvious and I thought that the maidservant would certainly soon react; I only wondered what her reaction would be. But surely, she had let me already take considerable liberties. I brought one hand carefully to her front and kept feeling the skin of her midriff. Then, gradually I moved upwards and let my palm and fingers caress one swollen breast, feeling the relatively rough texture of her cotton blouse. Within seconds, I felt the hard protrusion of her erect nipple. I looked down to see the abutment pressing against the cloth and I took it between my fingertips and fondled it.

With my other hand I cupped her left breast and rubbed till I found her other nipple, equally hard and protuberant. Anita let out a gentle sigh as her head was thrown back further against the door. I leaned in closer to her and my cock pushed out horizontally against the towel, the hardness now pressing into her. Inadvertently, the two ends of the bath towel parted, although still knotted around my waist, and I knew my penis had worked its way out. I felt the free falling folds of her saree rub against my hardness as I pushed myself against her.

I took her left hand and drew it towards my erect phallus. At the same time I lowered my head and ran my mouth against her neck, suddenly feeling the smooth aberration of the scar against my lips. As I licked her neck, I felt her small hand take my rod and pull at it. She stroked me, pulling back the foreskin and letting the heated red helmet uncover itself. Her fist didn't encircle my manhood completely, but her grip was now firm. As she tugged, my hips began moving rhythmically forward and back, each thrust digging deeper into the folds of her saree.

I raised my hands to her blouse and my fingers found the hooks that held it together instead of buttons. I started to unsnap them and in my haste, I think I tore one apart. But I was now in a state of fervour, not knowing how exactly I had got there. I had now gone past the point of no return and I hoped fervently that the maid would not back down from here. Pulling apart the two flaps of her blouse, I started to push them off her shoulders but couldn't get them beyond her upper arms because she was not letting go of my cock which she now had firmly gripped in one hand.

Anita was not wearing a bra. Her breasts, now freed from the confines of her form fitting blouse, were firm. There was no sag. They stood unyielding and proud; my hands were only just able to cup them completely and the nipples rubbed hard against my palms. I lowered my head and sucked one nipple into my mouth, fingers playing with the other. The servant's moans were now a lot louder and her hand-job getting more furious with every passing moment.

As I sucked on her nipples, first one then the other, I kept wanting more but was never sure how fast I could go, fearing that she may change her mind. She was now mumbling in Hindi, words that I couldn't understand. "Nahin bhaiya, maalik, aur mat karo." Her nipples were exceedingly hard now; centred in large dark aureoles. Taut and almost black, they were now swollen with arousal; even her breasts seemed to have grown somewhat in size. Small pimple like bumps were raised on the dark halo around the nipples, now upright at almost half an inch in size.

I brushed the tips of her nipples with my tongue, occasionally taking them between my teeth and biting down gently. My hands moved from her breasts to her neck and her face; they wandered ceaselessly across any bare skin I could find, never seeming to get enough. Now splayed across her back, I tried again to strip her of the blouse. This time she let go of my engorged member and let her arms drop to her sides. I pulled the blouse off her shoulders and down past her arms till she extracted her hands from the sleeves. Letting the garment drop on to the bathroom floor, I now held her tightly, pulling her hard against me. Her hands found my phallic mast hard and pressed against my belly; her fingers pulled at the hair around my crotch.

Sometime during these manipulations, my towel had unwound itself and lay pooled around both our feet. I was stark naked against her, her breasts flush against my chest. I lowered my hands down her back till they rested against her buttocks; firm and young as I clamped them and drew her towards myself. I massaged her arse through the folds of petticoat and saree as she pushed herself against my steely manhood, her hands both trying to grip my shaft. My mouth found hers and our lips mangled each others; my tongue slipping deftly into her mouth as it washed around her. I felt her tongue push against mine and thrust into my own mouth; sashaying around in a mind numbing storm.

My hands went lower till they were absolutely straight down her length; bending my body slightly I felt my palms almost touch her knees. I gripped her saree and started pulling it up as I straightened myself. "Nahin sahib. Maalik. Aur mat karo kuch. Yeh theek nahin hain, bhaiya." All I understood was bhaiya, brother, but ignored her pleas. As I pulled up her saree, and with it the petticoat, my knuckles ran along the taut smoothness of her legs. I pulled the clothing all the way up to her hips and then clasped her thighs as I let go the dress to fall over my hands. I felt her muscles and the back of her thighs; then raised my hands to grip her taut rump, the tips of my fingers pushing into the crevice between the two perfectly shaped fleshy parts of her body. She wore no underwear!

Suddenly, and quite without warning, she pulled away. As the door frame was behind her, she side-stepped and moved into my bedroom. As I wondered what exactly was happening, the servant bent her back and brought her face flush against my hot erect phallus. Holding it again in one tight fist, she opened her mouth and drew me into her. I felt the warm wetness of her mouth engulf the searing heat of my cock; for a moment I almost lost my balance because of a strange sense of vertigo. I looked down and saw the top of her head bobbing as she drew my stiffness in. She moved her head up and down the entire length in easy strokes, the fingers of one hand cupping my testicles as she gripped the base of my penis with the other.

I looked down at Anita, the hair on her head now slightly astray, her back completely bare. As she sucked on my penis, I tried to lower one hand under her and grip the swaying pendulum breasts. Not able to do that comfortably, I reached over her back and got a grip of her arse. As she kept moving, I began to draw her saree upwards, inch by inch with every mouth stroke of hers, my fingers pulled the cloth upwards till I had uncovered her rump. I ran the fingers of one hand into the crack between her buttocks and then recalled that she was not wearing any panties. No underwear beneath her petticoat.

That thought had the effect of further hardening my shaft if that was possible. I was now thrusting my pelvis and trying to push myself deeper into her mouth. I could feel the engorged tip touch the back of her throat as she loosened her facial muscles and let me pulverise her face. I felt a stirring deep within my insides, a roiling of the seas, an eruption in the making. But I was unable to slow the pace, not thinking that this might all end suddenly if I blow my load deep in her throat. Almost as though she knew, Anita pulled her mouth away from the ever stiffening rod and stood up straight again.

I lowered my head to take her nipple, in fact as much of her breast as possible, into my mouth. My body was extremely high strung at the moment and there was a viciousness beginning to take over. I had begun to sweat despite the fact that the room was not overly heated. Once again, this time with far less hesitation, I bent and grabbed the folds of her saree and pulled it all the way up to her belly. She was no more leaning against a door so I had to hold her to support her as well. I pushed a leg between hers and tried to part her legs. She seemed to understand and accept the fervent command because she parted her feet and stood as though waiting for me to enter her.

I bent my knees quite low, given how short she was compared to me, and let the tip of my erect upright cock push against the lips of her cunt. She was soaking wet and I easily slipped into her. The first four inches of my rampant manhood slid smoothly into her juicy entrance before she squealed what sounded like a desperate appeal to stop. Her eyes were shut tight, but her mouth was wide open and I pushed more gently now. Another inch went into her, then another. And with one final heave, I pushed my entire length deep into her pussy.