Tea and Spices (An Erotic Novel of Colonial India) (2 page)

 
“What kind of trouble could I possibly have?”

 
“Oh, you know. If the servants become disobedient or if you suspect them of stealing. It might take some time before they get used to taking orders from you.”

 
“Well, I’ll just have to be extremely authoritative then.”

 
“Yes, stand your ground. If you show them who’s boss, they’ll obey you.”

 
Devora frowned. “Really, Gerald. They’re not dogs.”

 
“Trust me, Devora. I know Indians much better than you do.”

 
Devora was in no mood to argue, so she merely gave another little moan of pleasure as Gerald rinsed off her hair. Soapy water trickled in rivulets over her body. Then Gerald’s hands slipped down to the back of her neck, rubbing the tight tendons until they became pliable under his touch. Slowly, his stroking hands moved over her shoulders and down to her small breasts. He cupped them in his palms, flicking his thumbs over her rigid nipples.

Devora let her eyes drift closed. She hadn’t been touched by a man since Gerald left for India, although that wasn’t to say that she hadn’t had any opportunities. She had even considered being unfaithful, but something always stopped her in the end. Probably the stiff, British propriety that had been instilled in her since childhood. Thank heavens she might have the opportunity to scrape some of that away in India and let her natural inclinations spill forth.

 
Gerald continued massaging her breasts, creating a most delicious river of sensations through her body. He smoothed the crevice underneath the pale globes before his hands slid lower, over the slick, wet surface of her belly. His finger dipped into the indentation of her navel and through the soaked curls of her mons. Devora parted her lips to draw in a breath of air.

 
“Spread them, darling,” Gerald whispered, his tongue lightly teasing the shell of her ear.

 
Her heart thudding, Devora spread her legs to allow Gerald free access to her swelling sex. Her blood surged when he pushed his forefinger into her. His breathing rasped hot against her ear as he began to slide his finger up and down the crevices. Devora gasped, curling her hand around the edge of the tub. Gerald thrust his finger back and forth as if foreshadowing a far more intimate kind of intercourse.

Devora whimpered, abandoning herself to the sensations of cool, refreshing water and Gerald’s hands on her body. Dust and fatigue became subsumed by arousal, flowing through her veins with increasing force. Gerald’s left hand continued fondling her breasts and teasing the hard peaks while his right hand worked steadily at her sex.

 
Devora had been left to her own devices for so long that the feeling of someone else touching her affected her like an electric shock. Pleasure rippled through her body with such suddenness and strength that she cried out, trembling with a suffusion of vibrations. Gerald’s fingers pressed hard on her sex and milked every last sensation from her body.

 
“Good?” he murmured, pressing a kiss against her neck.

 
“Oh, yes,” Devora sighed. “Very good.”

 
“I’m so glad you’re here, darling. India is difficult to get used to at first, but I’m sure you’ll love it in no time.”

 
“I hope so.”

 
“Finish your bath, then come and have some tea.” Gerald stood and dried his hands on a towel. He dropped another kiss on her head before leaving.

 
Feeling sated and very loose, Devora rinsed the remaining lather off her body. She wrapped herself in a cotton robe and went into the bedroom. Her clothing and belonging had all been unpacked and neatly arranged in the chiffarobe and chest of drawers.

Not a bad way to live, having people do all the mundane chores for you, Devora thought as she sat down at the dressing table and began to brush her hair. She might get very used to this kind of lifestyle.

 
After slipping into a modest and concealing housecoat, she went into the sitting room. Kalindi was busy pouring tea, her movements both light and graceful. Devora didn’t fail to notice how Gerald’s gaze was fixed on the young woman, and she told herself to keep an eye on both of them.

 
Kalindi turned her lovely, dark eyes on Devora. “Cream and sugar,
memsahib
?”

 
“Both, please.” Devora sank down into a cushioned chair, then started at the sight of a small lizard scurrying along the wall. “Gerald, there’s a lizard inside!”

He glanced up. “Yes, I know. They often find their way inside. You’ll have to get used to them. The good thing about them is that they eat mosquitoes.”

 
He waved his hand towards Rohan, who stood near the door. Devora was convinced that the servant was laughing at her as he picked up a whisk broom and shooed the lizard outside.

 
Kalindi handed Gerald and Devora cups of tea and plates with butter biscuits. Devora took a sip of the sweet tea.

 
“Quite good,” she remarked.

 
“Yes, the Indians do make good tea,” Gerald said. “When the hot season arrives, you’ll be able to visit some of the tea plantations in the hill stations. They’re rather interesting.”

 
“Don’t you go to the hill stations as well?” Devora asked.

 
“Not usually. I might be able to come and visit you, but like I said, I do have to work, darling.”

 
“Yes, I know.” Devora glanced towards the door, where Rohan had resumed his post after driving away the lizard. He reminded Devora of a statue, all stone and implacability.

 
“Does he go to the hill stations?” she asked, addressing the question to Gerald, but making it loud enough for Rohan to hear. She wondered what it would take to spark a reaction from him.

 
“Who, Rohan? No, he’ll stay with me. One mustn’t let the servants have too much freedom, you know.” Gerald chewed on a biscuit thoughtfully. “Remind me to pick up some paints and paper for you the next time I’m in town,” he said. “I imagine you’ll want to do your little paintings here.”

 
“Of course I will. I brought several sketchpads and pencils with me, but no paints.” Devora had possessed a love of painting and drawing since childhood, although it had remained a hobby rather than a serious craft. She was, however, looking forward to painting the hills and trees of India, not to mention the exotic people.

 
Her eyes went to Rohan again. She would dearly love to capture his strong, refined features on paper. And then he turned ever so slightly, catching her gaze with his, and the look in his eyes sent a shiver of fear right down her spine.

 
“What is she like?”

 
Kalindi turned from the window to look at the woman who lay sprawled naked on the cot in the small, one-room apartment. Lota’s body glistened with a light sheen of sweat as she languidly ran a comb through her long, dark hair. The hot, heavy air was redolent of sweat and coconut oil.

 
Kalindi lifted her shoulders in a shrug as she thought of the fair, new mistress of the Hawthorne household. Devora Hawthorne had dark brown hair and brown eyes fringed with thick lashes. She also had lovely skin, pure and succulent. “She’s young and quite pretty,” she replied in Hindi. “Very fair.”

 
She stretched out on the cot next to Lota, looking down at her own brown arms. Her skin tone had been the bane of her existence. She couldn’t even call herself “wheat-colored” since her skin was darker than wheat. Her entire family worried about being able to find her a suitable husband since men greatly preferred fair women.

 
Lota was fair, with tan skin the color of milky tea. She had voluptuous, rounded hips and large breasts that recalled ancient Indian sculptures of goddesses and nymphs. Kalindi loved touching her, loved cupping those full breasts in her hands and teasing the nipples to tight points. She reached out now and rubbed her finger around one of Lota’s aerolae, watching the dark skin crinkle and compress. Lota murmured a low sound of pleasure, lifting her arms above her head so that her body curved in a graceful line.

 
“Is she nice?” Lota asked.

 
Kalindi shrugged again. “I suppose so. She’s snooty like all the rest of them, but at least she doesn’t seem nasty.”

 
“What’s she like with the
sahib
?”

 
“I don’t think they’ve been married long,” Kalindi replied. “I did see him go into the bathroom while she was bathing, so I assume that they’re glad to be with each other physically again.”

 
A little rush of jealousy went through her at the thought. The new
memsahib
was much prettier than Kalindi herself—there was no question about that. But that didn’t mean Kalindi had to like her.

 
“Hmm, I wonder what they do together in bed,” Lota mused.

 
“The usual, I imagine,” Kalindi said dryly.

 
“No, I mean I wonder if they do things that are strange and different.”

 
“I doubt it,” Kalindi said. “The
sahib
never did anything strange or different with me, although he did once want me to take him in the bum.”

 
Lota gasped. “And did you?”

 
“No, it hurt too much. But he didn’t try and force me.”

 
“I wonder if he does that with her.”

 
“I don’t know.” Nor did Kalindi really care, at least not when the air was thick with the scent of womanly lust.

 
She bent her head and pressed a kiss against Lota’s shoulder, licking up a few salty droplets of perspiration. When she was with Lota, Kalindi didn’t have to worry about men, what they wanted from her or what they expected from her. All she had to do was sink into the fragrant, lush pleasure of the other woman. Their clandestine assignations in the late afternoons were like bright, little jewels in the tedious mediocrity of their daily chores.

 
Kalindi slid her palm down the swell of Lota’s belly, rubbing the soft skin until her fingers encountered the crisp hairs of Lota’s mons. Dipping her fingers into the hot fissure between the other woman’s legs, Kalindi thought of how erotic it was to make love to another woman. Pleasuring seemed only a matter of doing, as if they already knew everything there was to know about each other physically.

Her heart began to pulse with the advent of need, warmth gathering in her sex. She adjusted her position so that she could ease herself between Lota’s thighs. She gazed in rapture at the sight of the moist, spread flower of Lota’s vulva, loving the musky scent that rose from her arousal. Drops of moisture clung to the petals, begging to be swept up with the touch of a tongue.

 
Lota propped herself up on the pillows, her expression languid as she gazed at Kalindi. Kalindi knew how much Lota loved to watch herself being pleasured. She stroked her tongue over the crevices of Lota’s sex, her head filled with the scent and taste of the other woman.

 
“Oh!” Lota’s hips bucked upward at the first touch of Kalindi’s tongue. She cupped her full breasts in her hands, plucking at her nipples with long, tapered fingers. “Yes, like that. Lick me just like that.”

 
Kalindi opened her mouth and drank fully of Lota’s taste. The flavor of Lota on the surface of her tongue was an aphrodisiac like no other. Squirming, Kalindi rubbed her own sex against the rough sheets of the cot, her bottom thrusting as she tried to ease the increasing pressure in her loins. She hooked her hands underneath Lota’s rounded thighs, pushing her legs farther apart. With a moan, Kalindi pushed her tongue deep into the other woman’s body. Thrusting a hand between her thighs, she began to frantically manipulate her own core, giving a muffled cry when a web of vibrations shuddered through her body. Seconds later, Lota pushed her hips fully against Kalindi’s face, screaming out her own pleasure. Kalindi’s tongue worked industriously to lick up the copious fluids of Lota’s sex.

 
She pulled herself up the length of Lota’s body, allowing their sweat-slickened breasts to press together as she bestowed a long, wet kiss on the other woman. Lota drew on Kalindi’s tongue to taste the flavor of her own nectar. With a sigh of pleasure, Kalindi sank down next to Lota, letting the heat of the afternoon cover them like a canopy.

 
“Are we still going to be able to do this with the new
memsahib
there?” Lota asked.

 
Kalindi nuzzled her face against Lota’s damp shoulder. “I don’t see why not. Particularly if she goes off for tea in the afternoons like they all do.”

“Well, they never seem to care what we do in our personal lives as long as we carry out our duties,” Lota pointed out.

 
“No. They never ask.”

 
“They haven’t asked you to be the
memsahib’s
maid, have they?” Lota asked.