An Indian tradition

“Consequence?” Riya's soft voice trembles, and her hands twist together nervously. “You mean like a punishment, Sir.”

“That's right, Miss Kapadia.” I sigh loudly, “I'm not sure what would be appropriate. What kind of punishment would this Avni have received if she had ruined dinner for your family?”

“I don't know for sure, Mr. Patterson.” Riya is even more fidgety than before, and I use the intuition I've developed over twenty-five years of teaching. “You're not lying again, are you?”

“No, Mr. Patterson!” Riya does her best to fix the situation, “I don't know because my father always punished the servants in the privacy of his office. In India it is the head of the household who disciplines the staff.”

“Alright then, Riya. What do you think happened in your father's office?”

“Avni was caned, Sir. When she came out of my father's office there were tears on her cheeks, and she couldn't sit down.” Riya's cheeks get even brighter, and her voice drops to a hushed whisper, “I never saw this, Sir, but I once heard my mum arguing with my father because she didn't like how he made the maidservants strip naked for their punishment.” Fuck! This just can't get much better, the mental picture of this slender Indian beauty naked and bent over the table made my cock throb.

“What about you?” I ask softly, “Did your father punish you like that too?”

“No!” Riya seems shocked that I even suggested it. “It didn't happen often, but when I was punished, it was always my mother who did it.” She squirmed in her seat like she was remembering an uncomfortable experience. “She would make me drop my bottoms and she'd use her slipper, it was humiliating.” I remember reading about an Iraqi throwing his shoe at President Bush back during the Gulf War - something about the fact it was a shoe made the **** particularly insulting in the Middle Eastern culture and I wonder if it is the same in India.

“In the US,” I tell her conversationally, “it is traditional to use a belt, but I bet I could come up with something like a cane in my workshop ... or should I get a slipper?” I can see the look of horror and fear on the girl's face when she realizes that I plan on following through with this idea. Under any normal circumstances, there is no way that this proud young woman would submit to this kind of punishment, but these were hardly normal circumstances, were they?

“The belt, I guess, because we're in America.”

“OK,” I nod and reach for my belt. “Off with your clothes then.” Riya's fearful expression changes to shock and embarrassment, but one look at my stern face stops whatever it was she was going to say. I try to disguise my curiosity and excitement at seeing what my new tenant looks like under her clothes, but I doubt I fooled her even for a second.

I don't know why Riya even bothers to wear a bra; her breasts are firm little cones that don't drop even a centimeter when they come out of the small cups. Interestingly, I notice that her pubic hair is completely shaven. For someone with no boyfriend and no apparent interest in casual sex, I was expecting to see a dark tangle of curls, not the faint shadow of a smoothly shaved mons. Time enough to find out about that later, at the moment I have a task to do.

When she assumes the required position with her forearms resting on the countertop, I get a perfect look at her ass. As good as it looks in her jeans, Riya's backside looks even better like this; I particularly like the way her dark vulva peek out between her thighs.

“Are you ready for this Miss Kapadia?”

She doesn't speak, but I see the silent nod of her head and she settles into place with a tempting wiggle of her pretty ass.