MAID Care 1

My mother left for Delhi early in the morning, explaining that her sister was very seriously sick. My mother is 65 and frail. So I sent her in my car with my driver, a trusted man working with us for a long time. Chandigarh to Delhi drive is quite good, so my mother won't have any problem. I waved her off from the balcony of our not so big but quite decent bungalow. 

Ma was very worried about leaving me alone. Actually she used to take care of my well being as if I was still her small child. That's mother's love you know. I am actually not so helpless, though. In fact rather the opposite. I'm an IT professional, a successful Project manager. I have already worked in Europe for 5 years and now back in India after Covid. I am 40 years old and work for an American IT company, working basically from home. This is our own bungalow I inherited from my father, who was a successful corporate lawyer. My father is no more and I live here now with my mother. Yes, I'm still a bachelor. Nothing wrong there; it's just that I didn't meet the right kind of woman… as yet. 

My mother had repeatedly told me not to overwork and not eat outside junk food when she is away, but only home cooked meals. Well she had her odd logic there. She felt that just because I'm not a big man, I needed more care. Well how could I explain to her that a Software Engineer doesn't need height and weight and muscles in his body. He needs grey cells in his brain, which I had in ample measure. So what if I'm just 5 feet 3 inches and only 64 kilos in weight, I control a team of 30 software engineers spread all over the country.

That food part of course was well taken care of. Ma had her own team of domestic-helps. (You shouldn’t call them maid-servants, that's derogatory you know). A mother-daughter duo from a village near Jalandhar, Punjab. Ma trusted them, especially the senior one Kamla. Ma calls her Kammo, a tall 5 feet 9 inches and big 88 kilos farmer woman of 55 years. She had been working with us for the last one and a half years or so. Her daughter, Meena, a 22 year old tall 5’10” / 85 kilos athletic and strongly built girl, has just joined her mother a few months back. 

So when Ma left for Delhi, she entrusted my care to her right-hand woman Kammo. I was actually not too fond of her daughter Meena. I somehow felt that she inwardly ridiculed my small size compared to hers. I felt as if she purposely tried to show off her height in front of me. Like, if I was trying to pick a tin of biscuits from the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet, she would suddenly reach out from behind me and pick it up over my head and bring it down for me, with a taunting smirk on her face.

After seeing my mother off, the moment I closed the door behind me, a subtle shift in energy filled the bungalow. Kamla and her daughter Meena, exchanged mischievous smiles. They had long been kept in check by my mother's firm but loving restrictions. Today, though… Today, I was entirely at their mercy.

Meena was the first to step forward, her eyes glinting with playful anticipation. “Well, our chhotey Malik,” she said softly, her hands already reaching for my arms, “it seems from today you’re all ours.”

I tried to protest weakly, my 5’3” frame looking even smaller against Meena’s 5’10” solid figure. “Hey! What do you mean ? I-I’m all yours?...”

Kamla laughed warmly, shaking her head. “Oh, hush, beta. Ignore her. She's so naughty.. Actually what Meena means is that Badi Malkin, your mother has asked us to look after you when she will be in Delhi. To take good care of you…that's what Meena meant.”

I retorted, “That's fine. But tell her not to say such things. She's just a young girl of 22; and I'm much older than her at 40. I am also a responsible Manager of a big company. And the owner of this house. Let her not be disrespectful to me.”

Meena was by now standing right in front of me, dwarfing me. She came closer on purpose just to tower over my small 5’3 stature with her 5’10 tall strong figure. I had to crane my head up just to look at her eyes.

She was not at all flustered by my firm rebuke. She was smiling mischievously, “You may be forty, but look at you! Looking so small standing in front of me, you are not even reaching my chin. It's a perfect time for a little pampering session. Come let’s see how our little Malik behaves.”

Before I could react, Meena bent slightly, scooped me up in her strong arms—chest to chest, my legs dangling around her waist—and held me snugly. My arms instinctively went around her neck, but I couldn’t help feeling completely trapped and overwhelmed by her sheer strength.

Kamla hovered nearby, clapping softly. 

Meena looked at my face, now right in front of her, “See? I told you… no chance of escape. I may be younger than you, but I'm strong enough to hold you like this all day if I want.”

I struggled a little, flailing my arms and trying to wriggle free, but it was hopeless. Meena laughed, the sound rich and teasing. “Relax, little Malik. You’ll get used to it. Today, you’re just going to be our tiny Boss… and we’ll have some fun.”

They led me from the living room to the lounge, making me sit on Meena’s lap, or gently setting me down on a chair while Kamla brushed my hair or adjusted my clothes. Every movement reminded me just how small and weak I was against them—yet strangely, I felt safe in their care, too.

Hours passed in this teasing, playful routine. Meena would sometimes pick me up for a short stroll around the room, holding me chest to chest, while Kamla hovered nearby, occasionally bending down to kiss the top of my head or ruffle my hair in a mock “motherly” way. Every glance, every touch reinforced the contrast: leaving me completely at the mercy of these strong, teasing women.

By evening, I found myself curled on the sofa, exhausted from their constant playful handling, wrapped snugly in Meena’s arms while Kamla sat nearby, brushing my hair. The bungalow, usually a place of calm, had transformed into a world where my helplessness and surrender were fully on display—and I couldn’t deny that I felt strangely content being small and cared for by their immense strength.

I couldn’t believe what was happening. Here I was, a 40-year-old adult man, the Project Manager of a multinational IT company, and usually the “master” of my own house in Chandigarh, utterly at the mercy of Kamla and Meena. They had completely disregarded my authority. ‘Boss? Employer? My social status?’—all irrelevant in their eyes today. I was their tiny little plaything.

They grinned at each other conspiratorially, and I felt my heart sink and rise at the same time. Meena bent down and scooped me up into her arms, chest to chest, my legs dangling helplessly around her waist. I wrapped my arms around her neck, tried to protest, but it was useless. Her firm, strong grip made it clear—I was entirely trapped.

Kamla came up behind me, hands on my shoulders, and whispered, “Today, beta, you are just our little girl. Our chhota sa Malkin. And Meena’s old dresses would be perfect for you.”

I froze. “What? No… I can’t… I’m—”

Before I could finish, Meena carried me over to a small trunk in the corner. She opened it with a flourish. Inside were her old school dresses, frocks, skirts, and salwars from when she was just 13 years old. They looked impossibly small, yet as she pulled one out, my eyes widened. Somehow… They were a perfect fit for me now, a grown man of 5’3” and 64 kilos. That meant - Meena, at 13, had been my exact size, which I am now at 40.

“Oh no, you don’t!” I squeaked, trying to wriggle free, but she just tightened her arms around me. “Relax, little one. You’ll look adorable,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Kamla clapped her hands, laughing. “Let’s see how our tiny boss looks as a little girl. Hair, makeup, everything!”

Before I knew it, I was being undressed. Meena held me from behind and lifted me up straight holding me around my stomach. I went up in the air with my back held strongly to her front. My head was at the level of Meena now meaning that my feet were dangling 6 inches over the floor. Kamla started unbuttoning my shirt. Then she pulled out my hands from the shirt sleeves. My shirt was off my body but stuck between my back and Meena’s chest. I felt embarrassed and helpless, yet their every motion was slow and deliberate. Next Kamla started unbuttoning and unzipping my trousers. I was hanging helplessly from Meena's strong arms. She carefully pulled my trousers down and bending down pulled them from under my feet, which were dangling six inches over the ground. I was now just in my underwear. Kamla tugged at the elastic band. I protested and held both of Kamla's wrists. They were so thick, my fingers didn't ever go half way. Kamla just smiled at me sweetly and not even bothering that I was holding her wrists, just pulled my underwear down my thighs and out of my feet. I desperately covered my privates with my two palms. Both Meena and Kamla burst out laughing seeing my helpless efforts to hide my shame. I hung there from Meena's arms fully naked, her thick arms wrapped around my stomach like steel belts. In just a few minutes, my own maids have stripped me full naked, with me flailing and protesting and screaming.

Kamla picked me up from Meena's arms cradling me on her strong full breasts. She said, “See Meena, how our Malik is lying totally nangu-pangu in my arms. Ekdum chhota sa bachha jaisa.”

Meena came closer standing practically touching my body. She was giggling like a teenager, “Dekho Ma, Malik ka ‘woh’ bhi ek dus saal ka ladka jaisa chhota hai. Ek chhota chuhiya jaise lag raha hai.” 

Kamla laughed at her words, “Nahi rey, bechara Malik dara hua hai..isiliye..”

Meena slipped the frock over my head and hands, the soft fabric brushing against my bare skin. My arms instinctively went over Kamla's neck, hugging her for protection.

Meena brought out her old red coloured panty and put it through my legs dangled over Kamla's right hand.

“Perfect!” Meena said, stepping back to admire me. The bright yellow frock hung on me like it had been made for a child, yet somehow my adult frame filled it out just enough to make it ‘look ridiculous and completely submissive’. I felt a strange mix of humiliation and… comfort.

She moved in, holding a small comb and a box of girly makeup. I was still held in Kamla's cradle high over her big breasts. I buried my face inside the crook of her neck to hide my shame. “Time for your hair and a little touch-up,” she said. My protests were ignored. My hair was brushed, tied in a cute braid, and even a little powder and lip balm were applied. Each stroke, each adjustment reminded me of my helplessness and smallness.

Meena just scooped me up in her arms and sat on a big chair, holding me smugly on her lap. She fed me a few bites of snacks, patting my head occasionally. I tried to protest, “I’m a grown man! I—” but the words fell flat. I was ‘completely engulfed in her control’, just like a little girl.

All day, they alternated between carrying me chest to chest, letting me sit on their laps, adjusting my frock, brushing my hair, and teasing me. I felt ‘utterly small, helpless, and trapped’—and strangely, I ‘loved it’. Their strength, their height, their control over my tiny frame—it was intoxicating. I couldn’t even move freely without them letting me.

They paraded me carrying me around the house, laughing at my petite size, the frock, and the absurdity of my surrender. “See,” Meena said, holding me on her lap, “even a grown man can be our little girl. You fit perfectly!”

Kamla leaned down, ruffling my hair affectionately. “And don’t forget, beta, no escaping. You are ours today, your own maids have captured you. We will feed you, dress you, carry you… everything. Just enjoy it.”

I sank into Meena’s strong arms, hugging her neck, legs wrapped tightly around her, my face buried in her neck. My mind was spinning. I was an adult, yes—but today, ‘I was completely helpless, completely cared for, completely their tiny, little girl.’

I could barely breathe as I sat in Meena’s arms, wrapped snugly against her chest, my legs tightly around her waist, my arms clinging to her neck. The frock she had dressed me in rustled softly against my skin, every movement reminding me how utterly small and helpless I was.

Kamla’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You know,” she said, leaning down to whisper in my ear, “today, walking is completely forbidden. You will be ‘carried everywhere’—from one room to the next, up and down the stairs, to the kitchen, the balcony… wherever we go. Isn’t that right, Meena?”

Meena chuckled and tightened her hold around me. “Absolutely. Our little girl doesn’t get to walk today. You fit so perfectly in my arms, beta. I might as well just carry you everywhere myself.”

I gulped, feeling my heart race. I was a 40-year-old grown man, yet here I was, completely at the mercy of my two maids. “Wait… I… I can manage walking a little,” I tried to protest, but my words were weak against their confidence and height.

Kamla laughed, loud and warm. “Manage? Nonsense! You are far too small, far too helpless. Let us take care of you. You are ours today.”

Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I tried to reach for it, but Meena’s arms were too strong, keeping me tight against her. “Don’t even think about moving, little girl,” she said with a teasing grin. “We’ll see who answers it.”

Kamla gently lifted my chin to see the screen. It was my mother. I watched, powerless, as Meena answered the call for me, holding me so I couldn’t twist or shift. She put the phone on speaker so all could listen.

“Hello, beta,” my mother's voice came over the phone. “It looks like I’ll need to stay in Delhi for a few more days. My sister’s condition has not improved. Sorry to leave you there… but Kamla and Meena will take good care of you.” 

She asked me how I was. What could I say? I couldn't tell her that I was held helplessly captive in the arms of my big tall maids, dressed like a school girl. 

Meena’s grin widened dangerously. “Ohhh, Ma… did you hear that?” she said, rocking me lightly in her arms. “Badi Malkin is going to be away for four or five more days!”

Kamla’s eyes sparkled like fire. “Finally! All the restrictions lifted… I mean, you gave us the excuse, beta. For the next few days, you are completely ours.”

I felt a pang of panic mixed with… excitement? “Wait… wait a minute… four or five days? You mean… I’ll be carried around like this… nonstop?”

Meena hummed, squeezing me closer. “Exactly. Every single step, beta. You can relax, but you will *never touch the floor* unless we decide.”

I reacted, “You don't call me ‘beta’, Meena. I'm almost double your age. You are 22, I'm 40.”

“So?” Meena laughed out loud, “Look at yourself, you are just a little girl lying on my chest and in my strong arms, ‘beta’.”

Kamla reached out, lifting me straight from Meena’s arms and transferring me onto her own. She held me chest to chest. I squeaked, my legs dangling helplessly. “See? I can carry you too. I'm a 55 year old woman and you are a 40 year old man. I'm 15 years older than you, but still you are a helpless little girl in my arms,” she said, stroking my hair. I hugged her neck tightly, my body pressed against her solid, tall frame. “Don’t even try squirming. You are our little girl for these next few days.”

I tried to protest again, but the words died in my throat. Between the two of them—one young, strong, and teasingly cruel at 22, the other experienced, tall, and steady at 55—I was *utterly trapped*. I felt my small 5’3” frame, my 64 kilos, completely swallowed by their combined presence.

Kamla held me to her chest, walking towards the living room. “Now, beta,” she said, “we’re going to make you comfortable… and you are going to enjoy every second of it, even if you don’t admit it yet.”

Meena followed behind, arms crossed, eyes twinkling with delight. “And remember,” she said, glancing at me, “you are not allowed to walk anywhere, little girl. We will carry you… every single time. Understand?”

I nodded weakly, my face buried in Kamla’s neck, my heart pounding. I couldn’t deny it… I was ‘thrilled and terrified’ all at once. Four or five days of being utterly captured, utterly helpless, utterly carried… and cared for, dressed and treated like a little girl..

I had no idea what they had planned next, but I knew one thing: ‘I was completely theirs, and there was no escaping.’

I could hardly believe it as they started their game in earnest. Kamla, towering and steady, lifted me, holding me snug against her chest. My legs wrapped around her waist, my arms clinging to her neck, my face buried in her shoulder. I could feel the solid warmth of her body, the effortless strength of her arms. And as she looked down at me with that mischievous glint, she said, “From now on, beta, you will call me ‘Mummyji.’ Understand?”

I froze for a moment. My 40-year-old adult mind tried to protest, tried to cling to reality—but my voice came out shaky, almost involuntarily. “Y…yes, Mummyji,” I whispered, my heart pounding, feeling strangely… small.

Meena stepped forward, taller, big, and deceptively strong, taking me from her mother's arms and carrying me like a feather. Her hands were firm on my back and thighs, lifting me effortlessly. She smiled down at me with a teasing sparkle in her eyes. “And I,” she said, “will be your… husband. You can call me ‘Meenu’. Your new, strong, tall husband. Don’t forget it.”

I blinked, my lips parting in disbelief, my brain struggling to process what was happening. My mind was telling me I was a 40-year-old grown man, but my body, trapped in their arms, and the teasing tones of Kamla and Meena, were telling me ‘something entirely different’. Slowly, as I looked at Meena, the way she held me, the way her solid arms cradled me effortlessly, a strange warmth began to creep through me. My heart raced. My chest fluttered.

I whispered, almost on a breath, “Y…yes, Meenu…”

Kamla chuckled, patting my head, “Good little girl. You’re learning your place fast.”

Meena shifted me higher, straddling me gently on her chest, making sure I felt completely enveloped by her tall, strong body. “See?” she said softly, leaning down so her face was near mine, “You fit perfectly. You feel like my little girl, but you’re also mine… my responsibility. My wife-to-be, if you will.”

I felt my mind blur with confusion and strange delight. My hands wrapped around her neck without thinking. My legs tightened instinctively around her waist. My face buried deeper in her neck, inhaling her scent, feeling her solid body beneath me. I could feel ‘her power, her strength, her ‘femininity’ (or should I say, her ‘masculinity’) becoming my shelter, and somehow, it made me feel incredibly safe.

Kamla, still towering behind me, laughed softly. “Looks like our little girl is finally accepting her new role. You see, beta? Your mind and body both know where you belong now.”

I gasped softly, “Yes… I… I feel like I’m… actually… a girl… and you, Meenu… my tall, strong husband… are carrying me around effortlessly.”

Meena’s grin widened as she began to walk around the room, carrying me like this. “Everywhere you go, little girl… your strong husband will carry you. You will ‘never touch the floor unless I allow it.’ Understand?”

“Yes… Meenu…” My voice was small, hesitant, but my body responded entirely—wrapping, clinging, and surrendering.

Kamla chuckled again, her hands on her hips. “And remember, Mummyji here will keep an eye on you. If you misbehave or forget your place… there will be consequences, little girl. I'm your mother-in-law now.”

I shivered—partly from fear, partly from excitement—as Meena carried me across the lounge, then toward the balcony, my entire adult self slowly melting into the role they had created for me. And strangely enough… I felt it. I ‘really felt like a girl’, helplessly small and safe in the arms of my tall, strong husband.

Every step I was carried, every sway of Meena’s stride, every pat of Kamla’s hand, reinforced it: my mind was telling me this was absurd… but my body, my heart, my very senses were saying otherwise.

I was completely, utterly… theirs.

( To be continued…)