“In fact,” she said, coming back to the present, “more than one of them has said they feel there’s no better way of controlling their man than by making him obsessed with the feel of their warm and succulent lips as they work in tandem with a knowing tongue to vacuum the cum from his twitching balls…”
Flicking a glance at the Indian woman opposite and assured from her expression and erratic breathing that she had her full attention, Julianne Prakash finished:
“…Prior to swallowing it as if they had just been gifted the ambrosia of a Greek god.”
She smiled at the Indian woman’s embarrassment going went hand-in-hand with the aforementioned rapt attention that betrayed a desire to hear more.
“I suppose,” she went on, “that so long as the cock in question is suitably grateful and knows who has control of it then no harm has been done… And by ‘suitably grateful’ I mean long periods between his superior other’s legs as he pays due and reverent attention to her glorious cunt by way of a thank-you.”
As the c-word ate into the space between bold American lips and conventional yet aroused Indian ears, Rena’s mouth sagged open.
“Julianne!” she gasped, a somewhat repressive childhood and only slightly less sheltered passage through her teenage years ensuring she was unused to hearing the frowned upon anatomical description used in conversation.
And certainly not in regard of forcing a manservant – for Rena was in little doubt that it was the handsome man who had just served them their Mojitos who was forced to spend long periods between the legs of his ‘superior other’ – to perform this less than manly task.
The aforementioned anatomical description, she reminded herself, one she had never heard issue from the lips of another female.
“My apologies, Rena, I’m being too blunt and my language has offended you.”
“No, no!” Rena said with raised hands, a little surprised that she was not offended in the slightest and was experiencing a completely opposite reaction. “Not at all. We are friends. And friends must feel free to… be themselves… with each other… But…”
A mildly relieved but unsurprised Julianne waited.
“It is just… just…”
Again the former Brooklyn girl finished her friend and neighbour’s train of thought:
“It is just that you have kept these same thoughts in your head for so long it’s unnerving to hear them from the lips of someone else.”
Rena nodded, acknowledging her friend’s ability to read her thoughts.
Not to mention excite them.
“All I can say is that a servant who would do such a thing for his employer…”
Brown cheeks still suffused with rushing blood, Rena quickly caught herself:
“I mean in respect of him… you know… worshipping her, hmm, pussy and… and… shit-chute…”
She actually tittered at the daring of her language and placed a hand over her mouth in the way of a mischievous schoolgirl rather than the woman of forty as Julianne looked on, both amused and enchanted as her Indian neighbour and friend finished qualifying her original intent:
“…Not, hmm, you know… placing his… thing… in her mouth.”
Where a delightfully shocked Rena had sucked air into her lungs the outraged Julianne expelled it violently.
Julianne was amused and they shared a giggle as Rena finished:
“Any servant willing to do such a thing is well worth the high salary he must surely demand.”
Suddenly serious at this, the American woman leaned forward and placed one expensively be-ringed hand over the similarly accessorised, if more long and slender, fingers of her friend and now confidante.
Sensing she was about to hear something… serious… Rena waited as her friend gave some thought to whatever it was she was about to say.
“And how would you feel if I were to tell you that the man I have just described, the man who attends to all the requirements of my body, as well as those of my husband and his young Indian step-daughter and step-brother – the same man who just bowed and scraped before us as he served our drinks, terrified to raise his eyes and show disrespect by meeting those of his superiors…?”
Pausing to take a breath after such a long sentence, Julianne could see that, lengthy syntax or otherwise, her neighbour was hanging upon her every word.
“…How would you feel, my love, if I were to tell you that this same man performs his duties to us for no salary whatsoever, save for his meagre board and keep?”
Rena was lost now, unable to process such an outlandish scenario.
“Why would a man work for someone in such a way for no financial return?”
“Not one brass penny,” Julianne confirmed, before adding, “at least not one that goes to him.”
Not understanding what she meant by the latter statement, Rena stayed with what she could make head and tail of:
“It is incredible. Even stranger than I first thought it to see a white American man in the role of a servant to a woman here in India. And a woman with an Indian husband and a younger step-sister and step-brother at that.”
Her arms went wide as she continued to marvel:
“And you say he works for you like… like a dog… for… for…?”
Julianne finished her sentence for her:
“For not a rupee of pay. That is correct.”
Her expression was one of amusement for the reaction to come when she added:
“He has been with the family for two years now.”
The statement drew yet another look of amazement from her guest.
Julianne, looking pleased with herself for the reaction she had just won, nodded as her friend’s head shook with amazement and what she took to be, unless she was very much mistaken, envy.
“I have heard and read of such male masochists willing to submit themselves to voluntary servitude for short periods of time,” Rena marvelled, “but not examples of such an extreme and enduring kind.”
Her friend’s head was shaking before she had even finished speaking and Rena gave her a quizzical look.
“What is it?”
“You are correct on one thing and wrong upon the others,” Julianne told her, hand still covering that of her neighbours and even using her thumb to caress its back.
“I am not with you, Julianne.”
“He does not receive a ‘rupee of pay’, you are right. But his servitude to us is not voluntarily and neither is he a masochist.”
Rena left the sentence unfinished and shook her head, as if the movement would enable her thoughts to better understand what was being explained to her.
She was not successful.
“Why?” she asked finally.
The smile her question fetched to the forbidding face of Julianne Prakash and in no way softened it was a mixture of pure feline satisfaction for having entrapped an exotic bird and deprived it of the freedom conferred upon it by the ability to fly, and the equally untainted evil pleasure its owner took from that bird being an actual living and breathing homo sapiens she appeared to have under her complete control.
Even if Rena Gokhale had not dismantled that smile into its component parts in quite such a way as yet and would only do so upon later reflection.
For now, however, she was too busy concentrating on her friend’s reply and her own eager anticipation to hear it to give much in the way of thought to anything else.
“Because, my love, he has absolutely no choice,” came her friend’s answer.
“We all have a choice, Julianne, surely?”
The cold features opposite were not made any warmer by the emphatic shaking of the head containing them in response to the question.
“Not this… servant,” she almost spat.
Rena waited, breathless once again in the presence of her friend’s certainty and control.
“And,” Julianne told her with an accompanying expression that spoke volumes for her steely resolve on the issue, “if I have anything to do with it, he will never find himself with one again.”
No nearer an understanding as to how anyone could be so sure of such a thing in regard of another human-being – and at this particular time in history when human-bondage of such an everyday and domestic kind was all but unheard of – the elfin features opposite the more matronly and assured expression of her neighbour gave up.
“Then my question to you should not have been ‘why?’ so much as ‘how?’” she said.
Still smiling, Julianne Prakash retrieved a tiny bell from the table and gave it a hearty shake, its tinkling startling in the silence of the verandah and deserted grounds.
“Before I tell you, my dear, allow me to have my manservant replenish our Mojitos.”
About to respond in the affirmative, Rena noted that the man in question was already coming towards them, white servant’s outfit brilliant in the sun and the dome of what she could see was a freshly shaven head reflecting its rays as he hurried to do the bidding of his female employer.
“It is, after all,” Julianne Prakash told her, “a very long story…”