The new bride, Ananya, had been married for only ten days. She was city-educated, sharp-tongued, and always one step ahead of everyone.
Her husband Rohan had left for Singapore for work the morning after the wedding night. “An emergency at the factory,” he said. “I’ll be back in fifteen days. Ramu will take care of everything.”
Ramu was the old family servant—forty, quiet, thick arms, always barefoot, lungi tied high on strong thighs. Ananya looked down on him. Villager. Slow. Easy to manage.
On the twelfth night, the electricity went off. The whole colony was dark. The inverter died too. The heat was cruel. Ananya sat on the bed in a thin cotton nightie, sweating, legs stuck together.
She called out, “Ramu! The fan is not working!”
He came with a hand-fan made of palm leaf and a steel glass of cold water.
“Memsaab, the inverter is finished. I will fan you.”
She rolled her eyes but lay back on the pillows. The nightie rode up to her thighs. White thighs, soft, shining with sweat.
Ramu sat on the floor beside the bed and started fanning slowly. Cool air moved over her face, her neck, her breasts. The nightie had only two small buttons at the top. One was already open from the heat.
Ananya closed her eyes. “Keep fanning.”
The fan moved lower, over her stomach, then thighs. She felt the air kiss the damp patch between her legs. She pressed her thighs together, but the feeling grew.
After ten minutes, she was breathing heavier.
“Ramu… It’s still so hot.”
“Memsaab, if you allow, I know one village way to cool the body.”
She laughed. “What way? You will pour cold water on me?”
“No, memsaab. Better. But you have to trust me.”
She thought: he is just a servant. What harm? And Rohan is not here. The heat is killing me.
“Do it fast,” she said, still thinking she was in control.
He stood up. “First, nightie is making it worse. Cotton sticks to skin. If we remove it, the body will cool faster.”
Ananya opened one eye. “You want me naked in front of you?”
“Memsaab, I have seen many bodies. I am like your elder brother. Nothing will happen. Just cooling.”
She hesitated, then thought: he is an old servant, scared of the sahib. And I am too hot to argue.
She sat up, pulled the nightie over her head in one motion. Now only a small black panty. Her breasts—full, heavy, light brown nipples already hard from the air—rose and fell fast.
Ramu’s eyes stayed calm, but his lungi tented a little. She didn’t notice. He took a bottle of coconut oil from the dressing table.
“Lie on your stomach, memsaab.”
She obeyed, thinking: massage. Rich people do it in spas. I am modern. Nothing wrong.
He poured cool oil between her shoulder blades. It ran slowly down her spine, pooled at the waist, then slipped under the panty string.
His big, rough hands started rubbing—slow circles. Shoulders, back, lower, lower. Thumbs pressed into the soft flesh above her ass.
Ananya sighed. It felt too good.
He moved to her legs. Oil on calves, behind knees, then thighs. Each time his hands went higher, stopping just before the panties.
Her legs opened a little by themselves.
“Memsaab, the heat is trapped here,” he said softly, one finger brushing the edge of her panties, right where her pussy lips were swollen and wet.
She jumped. “Ramu!”
“Shh… only cooling. If I leave this place, you will burn all night.”
She bit her lip. He was right. She was burning. And Rohan was not here. Just one servant. Nothing much she could do.
“Do it then,” she whispered, thinking she still had control.
He smiled behind her.
He dripped more oil directly on the cloth of her panties. It soaked through instantly. The cool oil met her hot juices. She moaned without meaning to.
Slowly, he pulled the panty down—not off, just to mid-thigh. Her round ass opened a little. The pink-brown lips of her pussy glistened, already dripping.
He put one thick finger in the oil, then traced her slit from top to bottom, slow, slow.
Ananya grabbed the pillow. “Ramu… what are you doing…”
“Cooling, memsaab. See how much heat is here.” He pressed the finger inside just one inch. Her pussy sucked it greedily.
She pushed back before she could stop herself.
He took the finger out.
She whimpered.
“Memsaab has to say please if she wants more cooling.”
She turned her face, eyes wide. “You… you are tricking me!”
“No trick, memsaab. Only helping. But if memsaab doesn’t want…” He started to pull her panties back up.
“No!” she almost shouted. Then lower, ashamed, “Don’t stop… please.”
He waited.
“Please, Ramu… cool me there…”
He turned her over gently. Now she lay on her back, legs open, panty still around thighs like a soft black rope. Breasts shaking with every breath, nipples begging.
He poured oil directly on her pussy. It ran over her clit, into her hole, down to her asshole. She shivered hard.
Two thick fingers slid inside slowly. Her back arched. She made a sound like crying. He moved them in and out, slow, curling, finding that spot that made her toes curl.
Her hips started riding his hand by themselves. But every time she got close, he slowed down.
Again and again.
She was dripping on the bedsheet now, a big wet circle.
Tears came to her eyes. “Ramu… please… let me finish…”
“Memsaab has to ask properly.”
She broke.
“Please… fuck me with your fingers… make me come… I can’t bear it… I am your memsaab, but I am begging you…”
Only then did he add a third finger and press his thumb hard on her swollen clit.
Ananya screamed into the pillow. Her whole body lifted off the bed. Juices gushed over his hand, down his wrist, soaking everything.
He kept rubbing slow circles until she fell back, shaking, crying, legs wide open like a broken doll. When she could breathe again, he leaned close to her ear.
“Tomorrow night, the inverter will not work, memsaab. Same time?”
She couldn’t even speak. Just nodded fast, eyes wet, pussy still pulsing. He pulled her panties off completely, folded them, and kept them in his pocket.
“From now on, no need for this in the house,” he said softly.
Ananya, the clever new bride, closed her eyes and whispered, “Yes, Ramu…”
She still didn’t understand she was already locked in the sweetest trap. Every night for the next three weeks, until Rohan returned, she begged the servant to “cool” her. Louder, dirtier, happier each time—thinking every single time that she had no choice.