The Maid's Secret

I wish all this would just burn to hell, Zareena thought to herself, as she eyed the delicately sheer fabric of her baji’s sari.

She then turned to the black velvet cape, adorned with tiny crystals, which twinkled in the light. Her gaze fell to the turquoise and silver gharara which lay haplessly on her Baji’s four-poster bed.

Zareena sat in her baji’s bedroom, tasked with organizing the “shadi kay kapray”. Not her baji’s own shadi kay kapray, but kapray she would wear to other people’s weddings. Laced with intricate pathways of embroidery and studded with glistening crystals, her baji’s collection was nothing like Zareena had ever seen.

All clothes needed to be steam ironed, wrapped in malmal dupattas, so the fine wired metal work wouldn’t darken, and then zipped in the plastic bags, which were to be finally tucked away in the closets.

She had seen her baji, many times in such fine attire. Laden with jewels, tips of her fair hands flashed dark red, matching her lush red lips. She was a sight to behold.

So queenlike from the outside, but an utter bitch on the inside.

Zareena sighed and gathered a white charmeuse lehenga. The satin softness slipped through her hands. Zareena paused and rubbed the softness on her cheek. It felt absolutely luscious. The faint smell of fruity perfume wafted from the fabric.

This was the simplest thing baji owned. Plain porcelain white, with nothing to adorn it. The lush fabric spoke for itself, pure and unadulterated. Baji had specially bought this fabric from somewhere abroad.

Zareena adjusted the hanger on the steam iron stand, readying it for the white dress. She had been doing this for over three hours. There were just a few more clothes left and would be done for the night.

Carrying the dress like a sleeping child, Zareena slid the choli onto the hangar. She gently ran the steaming prod over the fabric, ensuring not to get the iron too close. Her eye caught her reflection in the mirror. She saw herself, standing behind the white choli. She moved closer to the stand when it almost seemed like her head protruded from the choli itself, almost giving the effect of her wearing that wondrous fabric.

She eyed herself, “wearing” the choli.

Maybe just once, this one time in her life, she can know what it feels like to wear something beautiful. Something which slides on the skin like a sensual touch.

Baji was out of town for two days, and her mother-in-law had already taken to bed.

The longing was too much for Zareena.

She had been a good maid, hadn't see? Always tending to baji’s beck and call, her cranky demeanor and downright rude comments.

She deserved a bit of niceness. Yes, she did.

With that thought, she tiptoed to the bedroom door, and slid the bolt home.

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It's odd, she thought. She had never seen herself naked in a full-length mirror. It felt strange, and somehow wrong to be able to see herself in all her glory. She almost felt shy of her reflection. But she couldn’t help but stare. Indeed she was not “gori” like bajee, but her browned skin reminded her of tea. Strong tea, which heightens one's senses One sip and you're done for.

She had opened her braid, and her long hair tumbled down to her waist, caressing her back. It was a good feeling, she decided. The feel of her hair on her naked back. Her eyes fell to her plump breasts. Watching her reflection, she tentatively touched them, only to hastily draw her hand away like she was doing something forbidden.

But they were hers. If her husband could squeeze them, why couldn't she touch them? Her mud-colored nipples were erect, as if in anticipation of a performance.

Ever so slowly, her eyes on her reflection, she circled her thumb around the chocolate discs. A new kind of sensation began to unfurl inside of her. From her breast all the way down.

She stilled. Her eyes roamed over her naked form. She liked what she saw, and now it was time to make it even more beautiful.

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There she stood, nervously gazing at herself, clad in the most luxurious of fabrics she had ever felt. The charmeuse roamed over her skin, caressing her like a lover's touch. It sensually stroked her nipples; persistent, begging. The white slid through her legs, embracing them in their softness. She looked like strong tea, with a dollop of malai. She felt beautiful. She twirled, reveling in the touch of the white, slipping on her skin. The fabric felt alive, feeling her everywhere, its hands on her buttocks, her breasts. It wanted her.

Loud rapping on the door froze her beating heart. It couldn't be.

The reverie of sensuality came crashing around her, only to be replaced by a deep fear.

“Zareena?! Are you in there?” came a muffled voice.

It was her damn husband Fawad. Relief washed over her, almost making her faint. He worked as a driver for the household, and seemed like he was back from his errands.

“ Haan, I am in here. Fixing baji’s clothes.” She called back. “I’ll be done soon.” She guiltily glanced at her reflection. She felt like a queen.

“ I want a cup of chai.”

Zareena didn’t hear what he said. She was too engrossed in her reflection. The dress was waking her up, it was telling her that she is beautiful, and she deserves beauty.

Slowly, Zareena turned towards the door. The Fabric, swayed, cupping her hips. She walked in her own embrace and undid the door.

Upon seeing her, Fawad's mouth fell open. His dark eyes traveled all over her, inviting, asking, demanding.

He swallowed hard. It was evident he would have no words.

Zareena smirked. She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him inside, bolting the door.

His eyes were glued to her protruding nipples, creating tiny tents in her choli.

“Zareena, what are you doing?”

It was the correct thing to say, but she knew his heart wasn't in the words.

Zareena eyed his own tent, below his abdomen.

She was the queen. And she was beautiful.

“ Fawad. Today I am your queen.” She said. She didn't know where the words were coming from. Where she felt such power. But by God she loved it.

Fawad distractedly looked at her. She knew he wanted to take her now. His usual, fumble in the dark, two grunts, and good night.

But not today. That is not how you treat a queen.

The fabrics hissed softly on her skin as she moved. It possessed her, and she was more than willing to give in to its whims. Her whims.

Placing her palms on his chest, she looked him in the eye. He looked back, silent. Questioning.

As if broken out of a reverie, he roughly grabbed her by the arms, jamming his lips into hers.

A silent sort of rage lit her insides, and she pushed him, causing him to drop on the bed.

His penis still jutted, aloft and waiting. He looked at her questioningly, his eyes roaming over her person.

“Only, I will do the touching today.” Her voice came out strong, commanding. It almost didn't sound like hers.

Fawad felt this, and nodded dumbly, his eyes, still seeking, still hungering.

“Undress!”

Like a puppet on a string, Fawad hurriedly did away with his shalwar kameez. He lay back on the bed, his eyes, alight in anticipation.

Zareena sauntered over. Slowly. Swaying her hips as the dress caressed them. The area between her legs was awake, it throbbed, and demanded.

She drew closer to him, finally having a long good look at his nakedness. She had never really seen him stark naked. She liked it. And by the way, he was looking at her, he could also tell that she liked seeing him in just skin.

Curious, she delicately laid her finger on the tip of his manhood. Fawad jerked at her touch, hissing in pleasure.

Ever so gently she drew circles with her finger on his tip. Fawad sucked in a deep breath, shuddering in response to her maddening touch. He made a move to reach for her, but she stilled him with her eyes.

“Only I can touch you”

Miserable and desperate, Fawad watched her ravenously, as she continued to madden him by fingering his member. Never had she touched him like such. It was wrong. It wasn't it. It was hot. He felt he could come undone right there.

“Do you like me to touch you?” Her voice grew hoarse. Her inside throbbed. The dress wanted more.

Fawad nodded, half mad with desire. He wasn't sure what she was saying.

Zareena let out a throaty laugh at her husband's helplessness. How was he so obedient today? she wondered. It was the dress.

She felt her wetness slither down her thigh. For a second she wondered if she bled. Hastily afraid of staining the dress, she lifted the lehnga and ran a finger over her wetness, only to see it was not blood.

Fawad’s eyes were glued to her hand. Watching him watch her, she deliberately brought her finger in between her legs and began to stroke herself. Her own touch unspooled rivulets of desire. Her limbs felt weak. The dress lay open, baring all.

Fawad sat paralyzed at the sight of Zareena, clad in white, lehnga scrunched up, fingering her own self, with the same hand she did him.

Zareena moaned, at her own feel. Soft, wet, wanting. Her eyes slid to Fawad’s inviting shaft, and her insides thrummed in response.

Slowly, she got on the bed, and positioned herself over Fawad's protruding manhood. She gradually descended, ever so slowly. The shaft slid into her wetness, ensconcing him.

Fawad grunted and immediately began thrusting like a rabid animal.

“Stop,” she commanded.

Fawad stilled, his eyes scrunched up. “Zareena…. I can't…” he croaked.

Zareena slowly began rocking herself on his cock, like a gently swaying ship. She could feel his member pulse inside her as she moved it within her.

The soft pleasure was dizzying. She could see Fawad’s eyes shut tight, a grimace marring his face. He was trying. Trying not to lose control.

“Move with me. Slowly.” her voice came out, guttural, but the tone of the commandment was there. It was the dress. It was her.

Tentatively, Fawad moved with her. When she rose, he rose with her. Sometimes he would lose it, but he would find the rhythm she wanted. The rhythm which pleased the Queen.

An intense sort of force began building inside of her, like the draft before the unleashing of the torrent. This was new. She didn't know if she should be feeling this. But by God, it was a good sort of pressure. Her breaths began to quicken, and she took up her pace up a notch. Fawad followed suit, his own chest heaving.

Zareena lifted up her choli and began thumbing her breasts. An intense sweet pang stemmed from them going downwards to her groin. A rough gasp escaped her. She felt beautiful. Every inch of her.

The pressure inside her began climbing, reaching for a pinnacle unknown to her. She kept moving. Loving her breasts. She pressed herself lower, deepening her hold on his cock. Fawad began to whimper and he was panting like one thirsting for water.

Deeper and deeper she thrust herself, something was happening inside her. Something beautiful. Her heart pulsed rapidly in her chest as she slammed herself onto him. All at once, a feral cry tore from her throat as her insides exploded with a juddering release, traveling to every inch of her body. The beauty was unleashed, crashing on her in waves, going through her in paralyzing tremors. The Queen inside of her was set free.

Zareena collapsed atop her husband in sweet surrender.

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Almost an hour later, the room had been cleared up. Fawad had stayed to help her tidy away the clothes and put them up on the top shelves of the closet.

Zareena had seen him cast awed glances her way now and then. This gave her utmost satisfaction. That he finally sees her for the queen she is.

After their coupling, Fawad had remained in silent awe. Forgotten was his cup of tea or whatever else he wanted of her.

She had asked him to return to his living quarters, but he insisted he remain by her. He had become ever so helpful in her errands, almost like having an eager child ready to do anything.

Zareena took one last look at herself in the full mirror. The white dress would be the last to go. The charmeuse clung to her as if saying goodbye. Zareena mentally thanked it, for what it did for her, for what it had shown her. A lesson from a beautiful stranger, on this sordid path called life.

“We can take it, she has so many, she won’t know,” Fawad said in a small voice from behind her.

Tempting. It was so very tempting. But a queen does not steal. With the last thought, Zareena began to undress.