01-05-2019, 08:19 PM
The three men looked petrified, confused, and turned on as I bent in front of each of them, giving them tea as well as a long look at my cleavage. From a distance, they had seen my boobs naked many times. But from this close, it was still a novel and exciting sight. The three of them were sitting in a circle so as I moved to sere each of them, whoever was behind me also got a look at my partly exposed ass cheeks and the thin strip of the thong covering my pussy.
I could imagine what they were thinking. They had already seen the high class memsaab being banged daily by their boss and exposed in the house through the windows. That could still be dismissed as the boss's doing. But here she was, voluntarily, dressed like a whore, her nipples poking through her top, her cleavage shoved in their face, and her ass partly on display.*
I served them the tea and stood there on the uncomfortably tall heels, holding the tray against my stomach. Jamal started speaking in Hindi, occasionally adding a Bengali word for clarification.
"You guys know my friend Sheetal memsaab. Her husband, who is very happy with your work, gave me that money to generously tip you. Memsaab here is also very happy with your work. And she wants to tip you in her own way on your last day here."
The three men all opened their mouths in surprise. They had seen enough over the past three weeks to understand what that meant. They looked like they were in shock. My cheeks also went red with embarrassment as Jamal said that. I knew what he had in mind, but still, being offered that way to the men was a different sort of humiliation.
"So I have given my permission for her to do that." he continued. "I have to go to the office for some paperwork. I will be back in an hour. Memsaab will be happy to do whatever you want for that hour. Isn't that right, memsaab?"
I was feeling really shy so was looking at my feet but nodded, my cheeks still red.*
"Now you guys obviously understand that you can't go into the house. You are all sweaty and filthy. So you will have to make do with the outhouse. Is that acceptable?"
It was a ridiculous question. They would have said yes even if he had offered them the opportunity to do it all right there on the street. The men, still too shocked to speak, nodded eagerly.
Soon Jamal walked away leaving me with the men. They were halfway through their lunch. I started walking back towards the house. The men, still probably suspecting this might be some kind of cruel practical joke, just sat there, with the tea cups in their hand. I stopped at the gate and turned to look at them. For the thousandth time, our eyes looked into each others. I opened the gate and gestured with a nod for them to come in. The men finally got up, still a little nervous.
As they walked, I could see the tents formed in front of each of their lungis. I walked to the side of our compound and to the outhouse where we kept a lot of extra stuff and a lot of things left behind by the old owners that we had never gotten around to throwing out. The men, sporting their lungi tents, walked in. I closed the door and bolted it.
I looked at the three of them one by one. They were practically indistinguishable. They were young men with lean short bodies, about 5 ft 2 or so. All had mustaches and week long stubbles. They were dressed in discolored and stained baniyaan vests that might at one time have been white, or maybe even brown. Their shoulders and arms were cakes in dust, and given that it was a hot day, streams of sweat were flowing down their bodies. They were all wearing checkered lungis that went to their knees, below which were taut calves. It didn't look like either man had even a gram of extra fat on their bodies.*
As I stood in the outhouse looking at the men, I felt a surge of that old funny feeling that I had feared Jamal had completely stomped out of me. That same sweet tension I had felt with Bajwa and his men, with Raza, with the nukkad guys in the forest and in the mandi returned. After being a rude entitled fat old man's private slave for weeks, I was now back in a position of dallying with young fit men.
One of them said something to the others in rapid Bengali, which I didn't get. The others also responded equally rapidly. The tone of their voices kept rising as if they were arguing. And then one of them loudly uttered something, whose meaning seemed to be "Oh what the hell!" and lunged at me. The other two men soon joined me.
Suddenly I was mobbed by the three Bengali men in my own outhouse as they kept saying incomprehensible stuff in their language. I was already half a foot taller than them. Add the long heels and I felt like I was a tree on which a bunch of guys were trying to climb. I put my hands on their sweaty dusty shoulders and felt the toned hard muscle built after years of hard labor. That made me feel the moistness grow in my pussy.
The men themselves had been very busy with their hands. One hand on either side of me had pushed down the shoulder straps of my tank tops and rough sweaty palms were now rubbing my naked tits hard. Another Two more hands were behind me, under my teeny tiny skirt, feeling my bare thonged ass cheeks. One hand was rubbing the insides of my thighs and the last one was poking a finger inside my navel making me giggle. That last bit reminded me of an old boyfriend who also loved playing with my navel. All this while, their erections were poking against various parts of my thighs through their lungis.*
As the four of us jostled together inside that muggy hot outhouse, I started sweating too. One guy licked the sweat streaming down my neck before it made it to my boobs. The whole scene was a busy and hectic one, with all our hands exploring various parts of each others bodies. I had slipped one hand inside a baniyaan and felt a chest and put the other lower to feel their erections over the lungis one by one. They all seemed reasonably well-endowed.*
Finally one guy randomly broke away from our huddle, and I craned my neck to see where he was going. He was looking around the room and spotted a couple of empty jute sacks. He picked one up and then walked to a corner where there were a bunch of steel trunks. He put the sack on one of the trunks and said something loudly. The two men still playing with me looked up. Then they each grabbed me by the arm and started walking towards their friend.*
I could imagine what they were thinking. They had already seen the high class memsaab being banged daily by their boss and exposed in the house through the windows. That could still be dismissed as the boss's doing. But here she was, voluntarily, dressed like a whore, her nipples poking through her top, her cleavage shoved in their face, and her ass partly on display.*
I served them the tea and stood there on the uncomfortably tall heels, holding the tray against my stomach. Jamal started speaking in Hindi, occasionally adding a Bengali word for clarification.
"You guys know my friend Sheetal memsaab. Her husband, who is very happy with your work, gave me that money to generously tip you. Memsaab here is also very happy with your work. And she wants to tip you in her own way on your last day here."
The three men all opened their mouths in surprise. They had seen enough over the past three weeks to understand what that meant. They looked like they were in shock. My cheeks also went red with embarrassment as Jamal said that. I knew what he had in mind, but still, being offered that way to the men was a different sort of humiliation.
"So I have given my permission for her to do that." he continued. "I have to go to the office for some paperwork. I will be back in an hour. Memsaab will be happy to do whatever you want for that hour. Isn't that right, memsaab?"
I was feeling really shy so was looking at my feet but nodded, my cheeks still red.*
"Now you guys obviously understand that you can't go into the house. You are all sweaty and filthy. So you will have to make do with the outhouse. Is that acceptable?"
It was a ridiculous question. They would have said yes even if he had offered them the opportunity to do it all right there on the street. The men, still too shocked to speak, nodded eagerly.
Soon Jamal walked away leaving me with the men. They were halfway through their lunch. I started walking back towards the house. The men, still probably suspecting this might be some kind of cruel practical joke, just sat there, with the tea cups in their hand. I stopped at the gate and turned to look at them. For the thousandth time, our eyes looked into each others. I opened the gate and gestured with a nod for them to come in. The men finally got up, still a little nervous.
As they walked, I could see the tents formed in front of each of their lungis. I walked to the side of our compound and to the outhouse where we kept a lot of extra stuff and a lot of things left behind by the old owners that we had never gotten around to throwing out. The men, sporting their lungi tents, walked in. I closed the door and bolted it.
I looked at the three of them one by one. They were practically indistinguishable. They were young men with lean short bodies, about 5 ft 2 or so. All had mustaches and week long stubbles. They were dressed in discolored and stained baniyaan vests that might at one time have been white, or maybe even brown. Their shoulders and arms were cakes in dust, and given that it was a hot day, streams of sweat were flowing down their bodies. They were all wearing checkered lungis that went to their knees, below which were taut calves. It didn't look like either man had even a gram of extra fat on their bodies.*
As I stood in the outhouse looking at the men, I felt a surge of that old funny feeling that I had feared Jamal had completely stomped out of me. That same sweet tension I had felt with Bajwa and his men, with Raza, with the nukkad guys in the forest and in the mandi returned. After being a rude entitled fat old man's private slave for weeks, I was now back in a position of dallying with young fit men.
One of them said something to the others in rapid Bengali, which I didn't get. The others also responded equally rapidly. The tone of their voices kept rising as if they were arguing. And then one of them loudly uttered something, whose meaning seemed to be "Oh what the hell!" and lunged at me. The other two men soon joined me.
Suddenly I was mobbed by the three Bengali men in my own outhouse as they kept saying incomprehensible stuff in their language. I was already half a foot taller than them. Add the long heels and I felt like I was a tree on which a bunch of guys were trying to climb. I put my hands on their sweaty dusty shoulders and felt the toned hard muscle built after years of hard labor. That made me feel the moistness grow in my pussy.
The men themselves had been very busy with their hands. One hand on either side of me had pushed down the shoulder straps of my tank tops and rough sweaty palms were now rubbing my naked tits hard. Another Two more hands were behind me, under my teeny tiny skirt, feeling my bare thonged ass cheeks. One hand was rubbing the insides of my thighs and the last one was poking a finger inside my navel making me giggle. That last bit reminded me of an old boyfriend who also loved playing with my navel. All this while, their erections were poking against various parts of my thighs through their lungis.*
As the four of us jostled together inside that muggy hot outhouse, I started sweating too. One guy licked the sweat streaming down my neck before it made it to my boobs. The whole scene was a busy and hectic one, with all our hands exploring various parts of each others bodies. I had slipped one hand inside a baniyaan and felt a chest and put the other lower to feel their erections over the lungis one by one. They all seemed reasonably well-endowed.*
Finally one guy randomly broke away from our huddle, and I craned my neck to see where he was going. He was looking around the room and spotted a couple of empty jute sacks. He picked one up and then walked to a corner where there were a bunch of steel trunks. He put the sack on one of the trunks and said something loudly. The two men still playing with me looked up. Then they each grabbed me by the arm and started walking towards their friend.*
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