Adultery Slave to My Indian Maid by spankedboy

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"He was shocked. I guess he never expected that me, a demure young servant girl, would be like this. But I slapped him again. And again. It was some hard slaps that left bright red marks on his cheeks. And he began to apologize, and I began to scold him for groping me. And I slapped him again."

"The next time I had to go to his house, I hesitated, but only for a little while. We really needed the money. This time, once again the malkin was away. But this time, instead of trying to bang me, the man apologized. I stood there, shocked and surprised, as he really, really apologized. And then I slapped him. To my surprise, I liked it. And even bigger surprised -- he liked it!"

"This actually became a sort of regular routine. Whenever I would go to clean his house, and his wife was in the washroom or in another room, this man would come to me, and apologize for his behavior and for having dirty thoughts of me. And I would slap him. And slap him hard. And he seemed to like it more and more -- and you know what? I got extra bakshish, or tips, from him. This was the first time I realized that I could take out my hatred of men on men, in such a way, and actually get paid for it. I didn't realize it then, but this man was my first submissive. And me -- I am a dominating woman at heart. A woman who likes to beat men and punish men for fun. Soon I was spanking him, and then beating him, caning him, and so on."

Once again there was a pause as I took a third helping. I also began to understand a lot of Rashida's background, and a lot of our relationship now was making sense. This is why Rashida was so comfortable when she first started to spank me and slap me and punish me. She had done this to other men before. It came naturally to her. She was a natural dominant.

And this is why Rashida never returned my love. She grew up hating men. ALL men. So in reality, she wasn't rejecting me. She just wasn't interested in any men. So ... was she a lesbian then?

"Bua." I interjected. "May I ask you something?"

"Sure, baba."

"In this time, did you ever have any romantic interest? A boyfriend? A lover?"

"Hmm." Rashida pursed her lips. "I am not a lesbian, if that is what you are thinking."

As usual, Rashida was too smart for me.

"I did have a couple of flings." Rashida continued. "But ... then after my sister Tamanna was born, and my father's health worsened. Before my sister was even six months old, he died. And my mother dutifully cried at his funeral, but all I could feel was more hatred. And that he had left us with a lot of debt and no sustainable future. With my mother forced to stay home to care for my baby sister, there was only one option left for me. I had to go to the big city, to Calcutta, and seek a job there. A maid there would earn much more than a cleaning lady back in the village. And so I came to Calcutta when I was eighteen and half, or just shy of my nineteenth birthday, I think, and soon I was working for your family."

As she finished, there was a pause as I took in her story. It was riveting, listening to her experiences of a harsh life, and I wondered if my own family knew the background of their maid who had been working here for 19 years now. She had started when I was three and she was eighteen (and half, or nineteen ... she didn't remember), and now I was twenty two and she was thirty seven (or thirty eight ... though I think her passport age was thirty seven).

Something else started to click. There was a story here. Another story. A family secret. Something vaguely knocked at the outer layer of my consciousness. I was aware of something, but only on a subconscious level. I wanted to follow that train of thought, that hidden story, but right now I was infatuated with Rashida. And her story.

Soon our dinner was done, so I asked Rashida if she wanted some dessert. I told her the cheesecake here was very good, and she wanted to try it, so I ordered a couple of slices for her and myself.

"Bua," I asked her, as we waited for the dessert to come. "In all these years, why didn't you ever marry? My mother told me countless of times that she tried to arrange one for you but you didn't want to."

There was silence for some time. I wondered if I had asked a deep personal question that I shouldn't have. I was just about to apologize when I saw Rashida smile and nod.

"Baba, I don't marry because I cannot have a child." She stated.

I looked at her, in shock. Rashida was infertile! I never knew!

Was that the family secret? No, that wasn't it. There was something else. Something still gnawed at me.

"Yes." Rashida ruefully nodded. "Once, in my early days in the city, I was crossing the street. I didn't look -- and there was a car coming. Before I knew it, it had hit me, and I was flying through the air. Next thing I knew, I was in the hospital. And do you know what, it was your father who had brought me to the hospital. Your father was driving right behind the car that hit me, and he had seen the accident. When the driver who hit me fled, your father and your mother took me in their car, and brought me to the nearest hospital. Apollo General."

So that was how Rashida had met my parents! I remembered this now. I had heard the story of the accident before. And something else. Something that was now becoming clear.

"I was there for a few weeks." Rashida recalled. "Your parents paid the bills -- kind souls. When they released me from the hospital, your father gave me a job here at your house. You were a toddler, and your mother needed a maid, and I was a good fit."

"And that accident ..." I mouthed, "That accident made you ..."

"Yes." Rashida nodded. "I cannot ever have a child. So now, whenever there is a marriage proposal, as soon as they find that out, the proposal disappears. Now that I am crossing thirty seven, marriage is probably out of my destiny, sadly."