Slave to My Indian Maid Ch. 16 - Sex Stories

Slave to My Indian Maid Ch. 16

... 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 maythink 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, whenI 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 dearbua."

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 ...