Delhi Mayurvihar Scandal

I am uncomplaining, breathing deeply, compliant, a dumb doll for her. Obedient because, that’s the way it is now. She positions me in a chair, spread legged and facing the back, like a surly teenager sits. Like she would sit. I never sat like that when I was a teen. I’m twenty-nine now, and my deportment is good as ever, under normal circumstances. But under her care, I’m seated like a heedless wanton, knees poking awkwardly, my feet too high off the ground, my ass bare against the rough cheap upholstery. I feel too alert, tired and anxious both. Hot hours before I can get home, wash the chlorine from the children’s hair. She does my makeup, fixing my face to please her fancy of what I should look like, who I should be. My eyebrows are darkened into storm clouds, thick with the smudge of broken promises. My lashes become black and gloopy, heavy to lift beneath a sooty burden of sin. My lips are colored pink and glassy, a vision of delicately debauched innocence; my cheeks are daubed. I pointed Joyce out the sliding glass doors to the back patio, then took Andrea to the bathroom. She pulled me inside with her and shut the door. “Look, I really need your help tonight,” she said. “Why, what's wrong?” “I'm kinda on probation with my sorority, that's why Joyce came along tonight. They said I'm giving the house a bad name, so she's here to see just how I act at these parties.” “OK, so what do you want me to do?” “Well, can you just keep an eye on me? I kinda get rowdy when I drink, but if you just make sure I don't get outta control, I would totally owe you,” she asked, “and you know I will make it worth your while...” I definitely caught her drift, and while the idea of being played as her chaperon for any sexual favors she might give in return was not my first choice, how could I possibly say no? I glanced down across her awkwardly voluptuous frame: her large, heaving breasts taut with anticipation of my answer; her plentiful ass adding to the hourglass.
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