Before you start reading this please know that I do not wish to insult any country/race or glorify any country/race, this story is meant solely for the purposes of erotic enjoyment. And a lot of erotic enjoyment, especially femdom and BDSM, circles solely on taboo subjects, of which there will be a lot in this story, so if you're not interested in that sort of thing please don't read it. Oh, also everyone involved is 18+. This is chapter 1 and just the beginning. Hope you enjoy!
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The thick sultry air of Mumbai hit him like an angry beast. A million people live here he thought, trying to put things into perspective, as he searched around for an auto-rickshaw. 'Must be inhuman or terribly poor' flashed across his mind, and then - 'fuck this is why she pounced on me so easily'. Nicer, be nicer. As he stood there a bunch of drivers in khaki uniforms had approached him and were asking him to be chose one of them as his driver. He should be thankful he thought, she wants me to be thankful, as he accepted the invitation of one who had already taken hold of his single bag, such that it was less an acceptance and more a 'please don't take away my bag from me'.
As he walked with the overjoyed rickshaw driver, he passed by a fleet of cabs - ranging from the simple affordable ones to the luxurious, and of course all of them would be air-conditioned. This would be have been so easy with an Uber, he thought, but mistress had given him strict instructions as soon as he had disembarked from his flight. 'No cabs, no luxuries for you - take an auto rickshaw and tell him to take you to the railway station.' He looked at the grin on the driver's face and realized that he's going to be looted heavily due to him being a foreigner, but he swallowed his anger and stifled the thought. He got in the auto and took a huge swig of water again - the humidity was draining him.
It got better with the flowing cool air as the auto finally started moving. As usual his first thoughts regarding the Indian city were mean but he had gotten better with a year of practice and putting things into perspective. 'This is not so bad', he thought, eyeing the Mumbai skyline, I mean not as bad as they show in the movies, and he wiped the sweat from his eyes. 'I, I can get used to this' he thought, followed instantly by 'She'll make you anyhow' as he felt a bulge growing in his underwear.
***
His name is James Cairnway, and he is a 35 year old bachelor who had lived in London all his adult life. He was earning very well, in lieu of a comfortable job, and had a comfortable apartment in a 'cool' part of London. Blond hair, blue eyes, 5' 11", good-looking with a sharp nose, square jaw and high cheekbones, and a good muscular well-maintained body; he always had a steady string of girls (and twice in his life guys) available for relationships. But something had always been missing, and it took him 33 years of his life and a lot of soul-searching and internet-browsing to realize it. At first he assumed he was just a sub, as countless others he found on sex-chat websites, but then he slowly realized that this wasn't enough. He was a slave, and he accepted it.
He prepared for it. He bought dildos and butt-plugs and panties, for it all turned him on - humiliation, bdsm, cross-dressing - any form of femdom. He measured his cock on cam for girls he paid and was overjoyed to hear them squeal with delight at his 5 inch cock and he came even faster. He came in his mouth for them, he sucked large cocks for them, and he even met a couple of mistresses and was spanked and treated like a slave for a day or a few days. But deep in his heart he knew that he had not yet found the one whom he could lock up his life and give to. Also he realized that he could not continue with his double life for long, and he resolved to find a permanent mistress once and for all.
He was 35 when he came across Mistress Damini. Black hair thick at the top and wild at the bottom, with large black eyes that needed no eye-makeup to appear ravishing, and a beautiful dark face. At first they just chatted on a sex-cam website, and he was surprised to find that this woman who had made him cum thrice in 1 hour would do it for free. She was sympathetic and she listened to his problems in finding a mistress he could trust and enjoy. She told him that she understood the sorry plight for slave-men these days: too much demand for mistresses, not as much supply. He then asked where does she live - he had no problems in moving to USA or Australia or some other country for her - even if it costs him his job.
Then his doom fell upon him, with an involuntary gesture at her next words. 'India', she spoke, her thick lips never really joining, just touching, and giving her face a luxurious pout. He grimaced, his feelings about India as a poor country, overpopulated and dirty coming to his mind, and she noticed. Her eyes flashed and she punished him, and he truly felt the power of a woman who literally didn't care about anything else except her own satisfaction for the first time that day. And then the next day. And the next. She made him quit his job in a month, and severe all his connections by two. She had enslaved him, this Indian witch with long nails, and a habit of curling the front of her hair when annoyed or bored. She made him do other things he had never imagined doing-walking out in public as a girl, going to lingerie shops and such, sex-stores and glory holes. In a year, she had him convinced to leave everything in London and come to India, the country he had grimaced upon, to be her permanent slave. Of course she gave him sufficient proof that she was real and everything, and it took a while to convince him, but honestly they both knew that convincing this weak man was just a matter of time.
***
He got down at the railway station, handed the driver the requested fare with a smile and genuine gratitude, and informed his mistress duly. She sent back the train ticket she had booked for him - an air-conditioned first-class coach, which he found out was a bed attached to the wall in a room with three other beds. The train he was traveling on was pretty empty, he thought as the other seats were empty currently. The train was about to move when the door opened and a hot woman -probably in her early twenties, dressed in tight skinny jeans came in with a huff. She had obviously just got the train in the nick of time. 'Hi' she grinned broadly, her face plastered in sweat - undoubtedly the result of running so much as she flopped down on the opposite seat.
Her face was oval, fair-skinned, large hipster earrings and very light makeup, her hair tied up in a bouncy pony, and a light yellow top with the words 'Say Cheese!' plastered over it. She had the air of someone who had never had any trouble in making new friends or initiating conversations. "Fuck, just got it in time, oh I'm sorry, do you mind if I say Fuck?"
"No, no, I'm cool with umm, it... I mean saying fuck", somewhat taken aback by this sudden and abrupt break into conversation.
"Yeah phew, I can barely go 2 sentences without saying fuck. It's like a disease but I'm afraid it's completely incurable, and yeah, yeah don't believe me if you want, but I've tried a lot. Oh my god, you should see me at my parents' house, I'm literally always censoring my free speech - I mean that's self-tyranny don't you think? Anyhow that was a couple of years back, I don't even try anymore." The grin again. "Where are your parents?"
"Uhh I'm sorry?" James felt he had never been this confused this fast.
"Your parents. I'm assuming you have them; unless they're dead, in which I'm so sorry I brought the subject up." She was opening the laces to her shoes revealing winnie-the-pooh socks.
"Yeah I do, but I don't talk with them anymore."
"Oh that's sad I think. Although I don't know your parents - is it sad? I mean they could be awful people for all I know." She was sitting cross-legged staring at him now with one hand digging in her bag for something.
"Yeah they weren't great people. We never connected really".