Indian maid catches me masturbating, and spanks me

My Indian maid catches me masturbating, and spanks me as a punishment.. Rashida had been our family maid servant for a long time. Moving to Kolkata from a distant village, and coming from a very poor family, she was merely eighteen when she started to work at my family’s place. From pictures of her that I saw later, the young Rashida was a beautiful village belle. She had a curvy figure, full sized breasts, and a beautiful radiant smile. Like many women from the poorer strata of society, she did not wear blouses at that time, so the picture simply showed the top part of her thin sari wrapping around her upper body, with her breasts prominent in the picture. Later on my mother had gotten Rashida to wear blouses around the house.

I was fifteen years younger than her, which meant when she started working here at my parent’s place I was merely a toddler of three. I was practically brought up by Rashida — she used to care for me as my high flying parents were frequently away on social engagements. Rashida had seen me as a toddler and then a child, and I grew up in front of her eyes. I loved her almost like a second mother, and she also had a special fondness for me.

However, it was always the case that we were from different classes of society. She was a servant, and I was the son of the master of the house. As I grew up, I came to see her less and less as a mother figure, and more as someone who made my bed, tidied up my room, washed my clothes, cooked my food and cleaned my toilet. She would lovingly (and respectfully) call me baba, rather than my name, Tarek.

Here I should also mention that since we lived in Kolkata, all our servants were Bengali, like many of the lower class folk in the city. We, like many of the upper class businessmen, hailed from Urdu speaking families. Since our domestic help did not speak Urdu, so whenever we conversed with them we always spoke in Bengali.

Our story really started when I was eighteen, and Rashida was thirty-three — one of those slightly older and strict matronly Indian women who were the object of every teenage boy’s wettest dreams. I was in my final year of high school, and had already gotten accepted into a prestigious university in Kolkata. Physically I was tall and lanky, with an athletic frame and was a member of the school cricket team.

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I had just hit puberty some time ago, a late bloomer, and suddenly I had become aware of a whole new world. My whole existence was suddenly filled with visuals of big breasts and exposed navels and the women wearing sari and baring the sexy slender midriff and the sari riding into the butt crack. Each woman around me suddenly radiated a charm and a magnetic pull towards her chest that I was constantly in a state of arousal. I would walk the streets, my penis brushing against my underwear, and get hard simply looking at the buttocks of the lady walking in front of me in the street.

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You have to realize that in those days, in India, the internet wasn’t as developed as it is today. My main source of entertainment was Bollywood, and every movie had the heroine dressed in a body hugging sari, with her waist exposed and her blouse tight, displaying the outline of her breasts, dancing seductively to a fast track music. We even have a word for it — thumka. I would spend hours rewinding a Juhi Chawla movie to that scene where she sways her belly, with her navel exposed, and then turns around and swings her butt in rhythm with the music.

I had also discovered how to masturbate. Every afternoon, after coming home from school, I would close the door to my room, lock it, and then pull down my pants. Taking my penis in my hand, and armed with a supply of Johnsons & Johnsons lotion close by, I would start to fantasize about actresses Madhuri Dixit or Juhi Chawla, or my really hot English teacher Mrs. Geeta Patel.

In my fantasies, I would be in a house with these beautiful women, or on an island, and they would make me their servant, making me serve them tea and drinks. They would then call me, hold me by the ear or twist it, and then slap me for mistakes I made. I would then be forced to lick their feet and then kiss their beautiful buttocks. They would use me and abuse me as their personal boy toy. In no time at all, I would be ejaculating a huge amount of cum into my hands. This was my daily routine.

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Lately, I had started to notice my maid servant Rashida as well. We also kept a younger maid called Rubina who knew how to cook well. Rubina was just a young scrawny thing; her only redeeming feature was her big butts. Otherwise she had a thin small figure. Rashida on the other hand — she was bigger, and filled out quite nicely. You could say Rashida was a little chubby, but the weight was in the proper places.

Being older, Rashida was also more carefree with her appearance, with more skin exposed — back, navel — and her big pendulous breasts were always bouncing about in her blouse as she mopped the floor or dusted the furniture. Rashida’s blouse was always a size smaller for her humongous boobs, and her cleavage was always visible, even more when it was just I who was around. When she used to mop the floor, I used to sit at the dining table, pretending to study, while ogling her as she bent over, her gigantic butt protruding, while engaged in the housework. After she was done, I would usually go to my room, trying to be discreet about my raging boner, and jack off to thoughts of Rashida and Mrs. Patel together.

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One afternoon there was no one home except the two maids — Rubina and Rashida. I knocked on the door after returning from school and Rashida opened the front door.

“Hi Rashida. How are you?” I greeted her as I walked in.

“I am fine, baba.” She replied. “Thank you for asking. Your parents are out, and will be returning late. Do you want your food right away, or sometime later?”

“Perhaps later, Rashida.” I told her. “I want to relax in my room for some time.”

“Alright, baba. I have to finish sweeping the floors before I mop them. After that I will make your food.”

Rashida had turned around and was heading back to the kitchen. My eyes went to her shapely buttocks, and how her clothing was clinging on to her shapely figure. Her ass cheeks swayed from side to side as she walked, and I could feel my penis hardening. Oh, how I would love to bury my face between her ass cheeks!

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I went to my room. Carefully shutting the door, I started to strip. First I took off my socks, then my shirt, and then my pants. I was now dressed only in my underwear — a thin, cotton, elastic underwear — and ready to begin my masturbation session.

Mrs. Patel had been extra sexy that day. She had worn a dress shirt and a tight skirt that clung to her small ass and rose slightly above her knees, and the windows of the classroom had been open. An occasional gust of wind through the room would suddenly blow her skirt up, and we could even see the outline of her white panties. Of course she would just laugh and flatten her skirt down again, not knowing what affect it was having on us. There was always a scrum before English class — even the usual backbenchers would fight to sit at the front row for her class. Every time Mrs. Patel had her back to us and was writing with the chalk on the blackboard, her little ass would wriggle and shake, leaving us all excited.

I sat down on my comfortable leather chair at my desk, and unbuttoned the slit on my underwear. Carefully I took out my excited cock from its resting place. I started to rub and stroke my penis, thinking of Mrs. Patel and Rashida. In my fantasy, I was imagining that I was in my classroom, after school, with Mrs. Patel behind the desk. I was dressed in my school uniform.
“C’mon,” said Mrs. Patel, in my imagination, “If I am going to make you my slave, Tarek Zia, you need to get completely naked.”

“Yes, Mrs. Patel, ma’am.”

In my erotic imagination, I gulped as I slowly began to undress. First my shoes and socks, then my shirt, then my pants. My underwear was the last remaining article of clothing on my body.

“Those need to come off too,” Mrs. Patel said. “I need you fully in the nude, boy. Slaves don’t get to wear clothes.”

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“Yes, ma’am.”

I then gripped the sides of my underwear and quickly took them off. My penis was there, fully exposed. A grin appeared on my teachers face.

“Your penis.” She uttered. “It’s so small.”

A snicker came out of her mouth, before she quickly covered it and attempted to hold in her laughter. I looked at her face. As much as Mrs. Patel tried to hide it, I could read pure amusement in her eyes. I could tell what was running through her head — of all the boys and men she must have seen, comparing them to me — I was the smallest. I felt completely belittled and emasculated just by looking at her.

“Ok then,” she said, “This … thing … won’t take long to examine thoroughly.”

Mrs. Patel then bent down and began to squeeze my little penis, lifted it and checked underneath. The warmth of her hand as she touched my petite penis caused it so turn hard in between her index finger and thumb. I heard her snicker under her breath.

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“I should probably not grip too hard, it’s so small and must be delicate!”

She then laughed out aloud. I turned bright red. She just showed me that she was not afraid to tell me directly that I was a small man.

“Rashida!” Mrs. Patel called out. In my fantasies, Rashida was the maid in the school. The door to the classroom opened and Rashida came into the room.

“Look how small this boy is, Rashida. We need to measure it. Can you find me a small ruler?”

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Oh Rashida! I thought, as I continued to furiously stroke my penis, lost in my fantasy.

I dreamt of Rashida as she hunted a small ruler in the classroom for Mrs. Patel.

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“We don’t usually have such small rulers here,” Rashida told Mrs. Patel. “But this will do for him.”

She pressed the small ruler against my dick, laughing as she read the measurement aloud.

“He’s just a baby,” Rashida told Mrs. Patel. “Such a little dick, memsahib!”

“Maybe he needs to get hard, Rashida.” Mrs. Patel suggested. “Perhaps you can rub him and see if … it … gets a little bigger?”

“Oh, bua! Oh, Rashida. Oh, Mrs. Patel!” I gushed out aloud, rubbing myself furiously as in my imagination, Rashida walked to me.

“Tarek,” She told me. “I am going to rub your little penis.”

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“Oh, yes!”

I was so lost in my masturbation that I didn’t realize that I had forgotten to lock the door of my room. I was stroking my cock harder and harder, and mumbling, “Oh, Rashida! Oh, Mrs. Patel! Oh, Rashida!”

Suddenly, the door to my room flew open.

It was Rashida, and she had a broom in her hand. She had meant to clean the room, and had knocked. Unfortunately, as the door wasn’t locked and bolted, Rashida’s knock had sent it flying open. She walked in, and stood transfixed at the sight in front of her. Here I was, eyes shut, repeatedly rubbing my weenie, and murmuring “Mrs. Patel! Rashida!” when she had walked in!

And there she was — dressed in a green sari, tucked over to one side as she had been working profusely, her big stomach and belly button completely exposed. Her bosom was heaving, and I could see a little sweat on the blouse material around her arm pits due to her hard work. Now she stood starting at my exposed manhood, and a sly smile creeping to her lips.

“What’s going on, baba?”

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Oh I was scared. My dick immediately flopped. Would she tell my parents? Rashida knew exactly what I was doing.

“Oh, bua, please, I am sorry.” I immediately started to apologize to her, using the respectful term bua (which meant aunt). I usually called the maids by their names, but here I was, calling her bua. I did not think then what I had thought later — why was I apologizing to her? She had barged into my room!

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“I am so sorry, bua.” I cried, trying to hastily put my engorged prick back into my underwear. “Please, it won’t happen again. Please don’t tell my parents.”

“Well, Tarek Zia!” Rashida replied, “This is highly unusual, you know. There’s two women in the house!”

She always called me ‘baba’. Here she was, calling me by my full name.

“Please, please, bua, I am so sorry. You see, I don’t know what came over me. Please, I will never do this again.” I was close to blubbering.

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“You left the door open on purpose, Tarek.” Rashida accused me. “You left it so I would open it and see your … nunu! What dirty game are you playing? Why are you showing me your nunu?”

The Bengali word for penis was nunu. Rashida was accusing me of exposing myself to her on purpose!

“No, bua, please believe me!”

Rashida smiled a naughty smile. I noticed she made no move to leave and shut the door, as a normal maid would have done had she interrupted her master’s private moments. Instead, she towered over me, completely dominating the situation. I also realized that with the door still open, Rubina could walk in any time as well.

“This is not something good you tried to do, baba,” Rashida stated. “I will have to think about this. Wait here.”

She turned to leave the room, and then turned back to command me in a very cold voice. “I don’t want to see you MOVE from that chair, OK, Tarek? Otherwise it won’t be good for you.”

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She left. To my surprise, I realized my penis was throbbing, slowly rising again. Her commanding voice and domineering nature was completely turning me on! I decided to disobey her and crept to the door, trying to hear what was happening.

Rashida went to the kitchen, where Rubina was cutting some vegetables. I heard the two maids talking. Taking my chance, I decided to clothe myself. Whatever the situation, it wouldn’t do good to remain undressed. I was already in my underwear, so I started to wear my pants when I heard the front door slam — and I froze. What happened? Did my parents come back?

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“Didn’t I tell you NOT TO MOVE?” It was Rashida, and she was back at my door. There was anger in her eyes and steel to her voice.

“Oh, bua! I…” I started to mumble something, and then dropped my trousers. “I thought …”

“I just sent Rubina to the market, to fetch something.” Rashida announced. So the door I had heard shutting was Rubina leaving for the market.

“Rubina won’t be back for at least an hour. And then I return to find you ….” Rashida stopped speaking in mid-sentence and looked at me. Again, a slow smile crept to her pouty lips. And then, to my surprise, she turned around as if to exit the room, her back now to me.

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“I think,” Rashida announced, as she was leaving my room, “I better tell your parents and let them deal with this.”

Oh no, no! In a trice I was on my knees, throwing my arms around her legs.

“No, no bua! Please don’t! I beg of you. Please have mercy on me. Please don’t tell my parents!” I blubbered. “I will do anything, ANY thing! I am so sorry, bua. Please have mercy on me!”

“Idiot!” Rashida had turned around and once again there was fury in her chubby face. “I almost fell!”

“I am so sorry, bua!” I continued to apologize, kneeling on the floor at her feet and looking up at her gigantic melons. “Please, I will do anything for you. Please forgive me, and have some mercy!”

“Hmm.” Rashida slowly bent over so her bulbous breasts were now inches away from my face. I noticed she did not tell me to get up — she liked me on the floor, on my knees, begging her for forgiveness and mercy.

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“Baba!” She said. “I told you not to move from the chair, yet you got up and so you disobeyed me. What happens to boys who disobey their elders?”

Gulp! I swallowed. “Er, bua, they get punished?”

“Exactly!” Rashida beamed. “And before that, I caught you masturbating. Masturbating! What happens to boys with little dicks who get caught masturbating by their maids?”

“Um, they get punished?” I looked at her eyes, hoping for an answer.

“Correct again! Now,” Rashida smiled now, “Would you rather let your parents know about this and punish you, or would you rather not let them know, but get punished by me, your maid servant?”

“Oh, of course, you, bua, you!” I was so relieved that Rashida was not going to report me to my parents that the words came out of my mouth like a torrent. “Please punish me. Please slap me, bua, please cane me, please whip me! Do anything, bua! I would rather be punished by you! It would be a dream …”

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I shut up, biting what I was about to say. I always had a fascination with big and powerful women, and here I was placing myself at the mercy of my maid servant.

“Well, Tarek, you are at my feet begging me for mercy. At the feet of your maid servant! Show me, baba, just how desperate you are for my mercy!”

I looked up at her, puzzled. I was kneeling on the floor, nearly naked, just in my underwear, looking up at her. Rashida slightly pulled the hem of her sari, exposing her ankles and her feet.

“Go ahead, Tarek. Kiss my feet. Kiss the feet of your lowly maid servant.”

I glanced down and saw her feet in the house sandals. Slowly, almost like a zombie, I bent my head down and pressed my lips to her toes. Oh, her skin felt so soft, and I felt so humbled, as I paid homage to her feet.

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“Kiss them, lick them and lick them clean.” Rashida ordered.

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After the first moment when I kissed her toes, I lost any inhibitions I had. I was swept up in the moment, and succumbed to my passion. I pressed my lips against each of her toes and pecked them. I flicked out my tongue and licked her feet clean.

Suddenly Rashida reached out and grabbed my right ear. She twisted it hard, so hard that I cried out “Ow”. Rashida pulled me to my feet by the ear.

“I am going to punish you, as I see fit, when I see fit.” She told me, pinching my earlobe hard with her fingers. “I will punish you whenever I want, however I want. Is that ok with you, baba?”

“Yes, bua, yes. Please punish me as you like bua, I am all yours to be punished. You do what you want to me, bua. I will be your slave, bua. I am at your mercy. Oh, ow! My ear!” I caught her hand as she continued to twist my ear. “Bua, it hurts.”

“Oh, it will hurt, baba.” Rashida said grimly. “Don’t touch my hands baba, for that will cost you extra punishment.”

She gave my ear another pull. I dropped my hands to my side, wondering what I had gotten myself into. I was also extremely turned on by the thought of this big, chubby, beautiful maid with big breasts dominating me. My phallus started to rise again and poked its head through the slit in my underwear. Rashida saw it.

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“Baba, we will have to do something about your little nunu.”

While she was twisting my ear with one hand, her other hand lingered for a moment on my manhood, which she felt through my underwear. I was getting harder by the second.

Rashida then grabbed both of my ears, one with each hand. Now each of my ears was being twisted and pulled. I was getting what we call in Bengali a proper kaan dola. I was now dark red, blushing furiously, my face flushed with shame and mortification. Rashida then stopped wrenching my ears.

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“Baba, now tell me why I will punish you first. Start with you disobeying me.”

“Bua, you told me to remain in my chair while you went out of the room.” I answered her, my ears stinging, both with pain and shame. “I disobeyed you. I am very sorry, bua, and I deserve whatever punishment you give me.”

“Ten slaps.” Rashida announced.

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I grimaced. I was now going to be slapped by my maid servant.

“And listen carefully baba,” Rashida continued, “After each slap, you will count it, thank me, apologize for your mistake and ask for another slap. And if you miss…” Rashida made a slapping motion with her hand, “another extra slap! You don’t want extra slaps now, do you baba?”

“Yes, bua. I mean, no, bua. I mean, whatever you wish, bua. I am yours to be punished.”

“Good, baba. Now, show your left cheek.”

Grimacing, I stood as Rashida raised a hand and slowly rubbed it against my cheek, patting my face. She took her time, building my anticipation and fear. She then raised her hand. I waited, reading myself for a painful smack to my cheek.

SLAP!

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It was sudden and quick. Even though I was waiting for it, Rashida moved fast. She slapped me hard — a loud smack that left a large red mark on my embarrassed face.

“One,” I remembered to count. “Thank you for slapping me, bua. I am very sorry I disobeyed you, I deserve to be slapped. Please slap me again.”

“Of course, baba.”

SLAP!

“Two. Thank you, bua. I deserve this for not listening to you. Please slap me again.”

SLAP!

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“Three. Please slap me again, bua.”

“You forgot to thank me, Tarek. We will start again from one.”

SLAP!

“One! I am sorry, bua. Thank you for slapping me, bua. Please slap me again, bua.”

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SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

And so it continued. Ten slaps, each of which made me blush deeply. It was such a humiliation — to be slapped by your busty maid — the normally docile maid who usually takes your orders, gets your tea, and makes your bed — and here she was slapping my face, punishing me for masturbating. I wonder what anyone would say if they could see Rashida and me then.

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As slap after slap rained on my face, I had to count, thank her for the slap, shamefully apologize for my mistake and then ask her meekly to slap me again.

“Ten. Thank you, bua. I deserve your punishment. Please slap me again.”

“Ten is quite enough, baba.” Rashida stopped, looking at me. I was bravely trying to hold back my tears or even squirm, even though my cheeks were burning with pain and shame. I had now been slapped by a maid, and I had even thanked her for it!

Rashida walked and sat down on my bed. She beckoned at me to come closer to her. My wiener was now hard, and Rashida could see the bulge in my underwear.

“Tell me,” Rashida commanded, placing a hand on my loins, and slowly caressing the bump in my underwear, “What were you masturbating to?”

“I … I …” I stammered. Rashida threateningly raised her hand, as if to slap me again, and I replied quickly.

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“I was thinking about Mrs. Patel, my English teacher.” I told Rashida about Mrs. Patel’s short skirt and wind blowing it up. Rashida continued to lovingly touch my manhood through my underwear.

“I heard my name too.” Rashida reminded me, her fingers cupping my balls.

Shamed-facedly, I told Rashida the truth. “I was thinking of you and Mrs. Patel. You both had ordered me to strip, and were using me as a slave boy.”

I didn’t tell Rashida about how they were measuring my penis.

“Well,” Rashida smiled. “I don’t know how I will be using you as a slave boy, but I will think about it. For now, it’s your pasa (ass) that is going to get some action. Go, get me that ruler.”

She pointed to a ruler I had on my desk. Silently I picked it up and handed it to Rashida, who grabbed it with her right hand.

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Still sitting on the bed, her left hand again lingered for a moment on my manhood, which she felt through my underwear. Then she placed her fingers on the edge of my underwear, and with one tug of her hand, pulled it down to my ankles.

An acute feeling of abject embarrassment and humiliation hit me like a shock wave. For the first time in years, someone was seeing me completely naked. My naked manhood, turgid and hard, was there in front of her, fully exposed. With my underwear still at my ankles, Rashida patted my bum.

“You have a very nice pasa, baba. Very fleshy and spankable.”

“Er … thank you, bua.”

“We will begin with a bit of spanking with this ruler, baba.” She said, smacking my behind with her hand and making my bum jiggle.

“Yes, bua.”

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“Ok, baba. Over my knee.”

“Yes, bua.”

Rashida grabbed me and pulled me on to her lap. My ass was now completely naked, protruding up, and I was totally helpless and exposed, ready to be paddled. My penis was buried between her legs as I lay over her knees, awaiting my punishment. Rashida placed her free hand on my butt, slowly patting it.

“Baba, you do know it’s wrong for you to think of me that way. I have seen you since you were a kid.”

“Yes, bua.” I answered in what I thought was an apologetic voice. “I am ashamed of myself. Please forgive me.”

“I am like a mother to you, Tarek.” Rashida continued to scold me, caressing my bum. “Yet here you are, on my knees, naked and ready for a spanking because you were thinking of me while masturbating. What will your parents say if they find out?”

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“I am so sorry, bua.” I was truly alarmed, and started to beg her again. “Please don’t tell my parents. I am really sorry, bua. Please forgive me.”

“Baba, I will start with thirty canings from this ruler.” Rashida told me, completely ignoring my abject apology. “Please count them out loud.”

“Er … yes, bua.”

I next felt her hand stroking my upturned bottom, then SWAT! It surprised me and all I said was “Ouch.”

“Baba, you forgot to count that caning, so I will repeat it after you apologize. Do you understand?”

“I am so sorry, Rashida.” I replied.

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SWAT! SWAT!

I felt two hard quick swats as Rashida said, “From now on, you will ALWAYS address me as bua, and NEVER call my by name. Those two canings will also not count.”

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“Yes, bua, I am so sorry, bua, I do understand.” I started to babble. “Do I need to apologize after each caning, and ask for another one as well, bua? Please do forgive my errors, bua. I have never been punished like this before, bua.”

Rashida patted my bum appreciatively. “You are learning fast, baba.”

“Yes, bua. Thank you, bua.” I replied. I was flummoxed, and completely at her mercy, ready to do as she asked of me.

“That’s a lot better. Here we go again, baba, with thirty strokes.”

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“Yes, bua.”

SWAT!

“One. I am sorry bua, I was masturbating, thinking about you. Please punish me again.”

SWAT!

“Two. I am so ashamed, bua, I am so sorry. Please punish me again.”

SWAT!

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“Three. I am so sorry, bua, that I was masturbating without your permission. Please punish me again.”

Even as I said that, I cringed. Did I really need my maid servant’s permission to masturbate?

SWAT!

“Four. I am really and truly sorry, bua. I disrespected you. Please punish me again.”

SWAT! SWAT! SWAT!

Then my paddling began in earnest. Rashida alternated between each ass cheek, and I had to count all of the canings out loud. My bottom started to sting after ten strokes. I was now crying and squirming, all thoughts of bravery lost. I missed a count and she swatted again.

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At the end of my paddling she said, “Stand up, and walk over to the corner with your hands on top of your head.” I did as she said, my underwear falling to the floor as I made over to the corner. I stood there in the “dunce” position, my hands over my head, completely humiliated.

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After ten minutes of standing still, I could feel her hands on my red bum, admiring her spanking. Then she turned me around so my erect cock was now facing her.

“Let’s do something about this.” She said, and opened my desk drawer where I had hidden a box of condoms that I used sometimes when masturbating. How Rashida knew about this I did not know. Rashida pulled out a condom and placed it on me. She then wrapped one hand around my balls and another around my shaft, and started to stroke me. After a few caresses I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Oh, bua! Oh Rashida! Oh bua!” I cried out as I started to shoot my cum into the condom.

That was the first of many punishments I was to receive at the hands of Rashida bua. When I did not of course report about my humiliation at her hands to my parents, Rashida knew she had a hold over me. She now owned me, and I was her slave.

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