My First L&C Experience 3

My First L&C Experience 3

The First Night in the Flat.
That night after dinner, she spread a mattress on the floor of the living room. “I’ll sleep here,” she said.

But around midnight, the power went out. The AC stopped. Mala came up to my room to open the windows and noticed me tossing in my sleep, sweaty and restless.

Without warning, she slid into bed beside me and wrapped her arm around my chest, pulling me into her.

“Come here.”

She was facing me on her side. She slid her arm under my head and pulled me towards her. Her other arm folded over me like a warm blanket. Her long leg came up and hooked gently over mine. I was like sandwiched between her thighs and arms—helpless, safe, breathless.

“Mala…”

“Sleep, Bhaiya. You’re mine now. Chennai is ours.”

She pulled me closer to her body. My head was resting on her solid biceps…it felt like a thick cushion. My face was nestled in her collar bone. 

“You’re sweating,” she said.

“So are you,” my muffled voice came out inside her neck.

She smiled, “Do you mind ? Should I release you?”

“Mmm ..noo ! I love it inside your neck. Let me sleep.” 

We slept like that in each other's arms. 

No AC. No fan. Sweating. 
Who cares …


My first morning in the Chennai flat started unusually.
I opened my eyes to find Mala sitting cross-legged on the floor beside my bed, looking at me with a calm smile. She had already bathed, her long hair damp and flowing down her back. A soft yellow cotton saree hugged her full figure. She looked...grown. Womanly. Strong.

I stretched lazily. “You’re already up?”

“I’ve been up for two hours. Took a bath, cleaned the kitchen, made tea, unpacked. You’ve been snoring like a child,” she teased.

I groaned and sat up. “I’m tired…”

Before I could finish, she stood up, placed both hands under my arms—and lifted me right off the bed in one swift motion.

“Mala!” I gasped, legs dangling.

She carried me to the bathroom and left me there. “Freshen up fast Bhaiya, I'm getting your breakfast ready.”

Mala was waiting for me when I came out. She just swept me off my feet. She turned and sat down on the chair with me now seated sideways on her broad lap, her arms tightly wrapped around my back and under my knees like she was holding a sleepy toddler.

She held a mug to my lips. “Drink tea, baby Bhaiya.”

“Mala, I can drink on my own—”

She gently tipped the cup to my lips. “Shh. Let me feed you. Like old times. You’ve become more delicate, na? MBA baby.”

I sipped the hot tea, completely caught in the strange mix of humiliation and comfort. Her arm under my thighs had grown so thick, not so muscular though, but my entire body rested easily on it, like a cushion. I could feel the pressure of her firm belly against my side, and her other hand was stroking my hair while I drank.

“Do you want me to carry you to your office too?” she whispered.

I said nothing… just slapped her thigh.

She giggled and pressed her cheek to my forehead.


That evening, Mala insisted we go shopping to stock the kitchen.

She wore a loose-fitting salwar suit, but it could hardly hide the wide expanse of her shoulders, the thick biceps, and the firm swell of her hips. As she walked beside me through the local market, people actually thought she was the elder one.

Even the vegetable vendor smiled and asked, “Madam, your little brother is quiet, is he ok?”

Mala beamed. “Haan, thoda thak gaya hai. But don’t worry—I’ll carry him home if needed.”

I blushed. “Mala…”

She picked up two heavy bags in each hand—filled with rice, dal, oil, and veggies. I offered to take one.

“No need,” she said. “You carry the bread.”

She handed me a single loaf in a plastic bag while carrying about 20 kilos of groceries herself, effortlessly.

The store was close by. We walked back home. She carrying two heavy bags, I carrying a loaf of bread.

As we entered our building stairway, I felt a slight tug on my collar. Suddenly, she put her bags down, pulled me aside and before I could react, bent down and picked me up into a cradle carry, right there on the stairway.

“Mala, no! Someone will see—”

“Let them,” she said, adjusting her grip. “Look at you. Already tired in this Chennai heat. What if you faint? I’ll carry you up the stairs.”

I struggled lightly, but I was no match. My arms went around her shoulders and my legs lifted helplessly into her arms.

“Mala, I'm four years older than you”, I said, embarrassed, going up the stairs helplessly cradled in a teenager girl's arms.

She looked down straight into my eyes and said, “So what Bhaiya. You are becoming too small for your age.”

And with that, she carried me all the way up the building stairs to the third floor, me in one trip, the groceries in another.

First day in my new office was obviously hectic.

That night, I returned exhausted from a long onboarding session at the office. Mala had everything ready—food, water, ironed clothes for the next day.

I collapsed on the sofa. “I don’t know how I’m going to do this daily…it's too hot on the streets.”

Mala came and sat beside me. Then she slowly reached out, tugged me by the arm, and pulled me onto her lap. I offered no resistance.

She wrapped both arms around me, cradling me in a seated hug. “From now on, no eating outside. You’ll eat what I cook. You’ll wake up when I tell you. And…” she looked into my eyes, her lips close to my ear, “...if I feel you’re too tired, I’ll lift you into bed myself. Samjhe, Bhaiya?”

I nodded silently, my cheek against her shoulder.

Then she smiled and kissed my forehead. “Good boy.”

After dinner, around midnight, I dozed off on the sofa, reading an online story. My mobile had fallen off my hand. Mala came out from the kitchen and looked at me lovingly.

She walked over, bent down, slid one arm under my knees, the other behind my back—and in one smooth motion, lifted me off the couch.

I stirred awake mid-air. “Mala?”

“Hush. You need rest.”

“But I can walk…”

“No. This is my flat now too. And here, I decide when my Bhaiya walks—and when he gets carried.”

She took me into the bedroom, turned off the lights, and gently laid me down on the bed. But before leaving, she tucked the sheet around me and said softly,

“I’ll always carry you, Bhaiya. Not only now. For life.”


The Chennai heat had begun pressing down on us like a thick, wet blanket. Even in mid-April evenings, the walls of the flat radiated stored heat, and without an air conditioner, the living room became unbearable by bedtime.

I had a queen-size bed in my bedroom, with the only AC in the flat humming comfortably above it. The first few nights, Mala slept in the living room floor on a mattress, under a fan that barely cut through the stifling heat. I woke up one night to the faint sound of her tossing and turning, mumbling softly in discomfort.

The next morning, I caught her rubbing her neck while making breakfast.

“Mala… it’s too hot outside this bedroom,” I said gently.

She paused. “No Bhaiya, I’m okay. I’ve slept like this all my life.”

I walked closer and took her hand in mine. Standing close I had to look high up to meet her eyes. “But this is not a village courtyard, Mala. This is Chennai in April. You’re working hard all day, managing the house, taking care of me—sleeping on the hot floor isn't fair. The bed’s big enough for both of us.”

She looked at me in silence, uncertain. A slight blush crept onto her cheeks.

I continued, “You’ve been family to us for years. We’ve shared lifts, meals, even the mirror when you cradle-carried me like a baby. You’re my… closest person, Mala. I’ll keep to my side of the bed, I promise. But you shouldn’t suffer like this.”

After a long moment, she smiled shyly. “Only if you don’t snore loudly and kick me in your sleep, Bhaiya.”

That night, she quietly slipped into bed beside me in a soft cotton nightgown, her hair loosely tied. The bed creaked slightly under her weight as she got in. We lay back to back at first, but as the AC cooled the room, I heard her whisper:

“Bhaiya?”

“Hmm?”

She turned and gently pulled me into a warm hug from behind, one arm over my chest. She drew me inside her body, spooning me. Her hand slid under my head, cradling my head on her thick upper arm. Her other arm wrapped over my chest tightly drawing me deep inside her arms. Her hard but soft breasts pressed on my back. She put her leg over mine completely trapping me inside her. 

“Thank you”, she whispered.


The next day, I returned from my office a little early, holding a neatly packed box.

“Mala,” I called out. She was in the kitchen, mixing something with her sleeves rolled up. “Come here. I got something for you.”

She wiped her hands on her dupatta and walked over curiously. I handed her the box.

“A gift?”

“Open and see.”

She unwrapped it and gasped. “Phone?! For me?”

“A smartphone. Your own. Now you can call me if there’s any issue, video call my parents, and also talk to your parents back in your village.”

Her eyes were wide with disbelief and emotion. She looked at the sleek phone, then back at me.

“But Bhaiya… this must have cost so much—”

I stepped closer, cupped her hands with mine, and said, “Mala, you take care of my whole life. This is nothing.”

In the next second, she dropped the box on the sofa, stepped forward, bent at her knees, and swept me off the ground in a tight hug—lifting me cleanly into the air, arms wrapped tightly around my waist.

I gasped, dangling in her grip, feet a good foot dangling off the ground.

“Arey! Mala!”

“I’m very happy, Bhaiya!” she laughed, twirling me once.

I threw my arms around her neck instinctively. Wrapped my legs around her firm waist. She walked to the mirror, both of us now reflected again—me clinging around her shoulders, pressed into her, her arms around my waist holding me up as easily as a child.

“You look perfect in my arms. So small,” she whispered, giving me a little bounce before gently lowering me back onto the ground.


One weekend evening, clouds rolled over Chennai. Thunder cracked the sky and warm rain began pouring outside, soaking the streets and balconies. As we sat watching from the bedroom window, the power went off with a loud click.

I groaned. “Ugh. Now what?”

Mala smiled, standing in the soft grey light from outside. “Now Bhaiya will become helpless again.”

Before I could reply, she walked over and grabbed me by the waist from behind, lifting me with a grunt of mischief. She carried me like a sack, then turned me around in midair and cradled me gently in her arms.

With the bed now too warm, she carried me to the sofa, opened the window for breeze, and sat down, placing me across her lap.

My head rested on her shoulder, and she rocked me slowly. Thunder boomed again. I tightened my arms around her neck.

“You’re safe,” she whispered, stroking my hair. “As long as you’re in my arms, thunder, power cuts, or anything else can’t touch you.”

I smiled, cheeks warm. “What if someone sees?”

“Let them. I'll tell them you are my baby.”

I said, “Mala…I'm 22 and you are 18. But you handle me like I'm your baby.”

She chuckled. Planted a kiss on my nose, “Not only my baby, you're my property. I own you.”

She pressed my face inside her neck – bent her head down, trapping my face inside her wide neck. Her long hair fell all over my neck and shoulders. 

I really felt owned by her.


Every Sunday, Mala turned into a whirlwind of activity. Dusting, mopping, sweeping—nothing escaped her powerful hands. That Sunday, she wore a bright orange kurti, tied her hair in a loose braid, and declared, “No lazing today. You’ll help me clean.”

I groaned. “It’s my day off, Mala…”

She gave me one warning look.

I stuck my tongue out. “Okay okay. What do I do?”

She pointed at the curtain rods. “Stand on the stool and hand me the curtains.”

I climbed up, teetering a bit. “Uff. These are hard to reach…”

“Bas, enough of this drama,” she said, walking over.

Without hesitation, she turned and squatted in front of me. “Climb on.”

“What?”

“Piggyback. I’ll clean, you hang.”

“Mala, no—”

Before I could object further, she reached up, grabbed both my thighs, pulled me onto her back, and stood up.

I yelped, “Malaaa!”

My legs instinctively wrapped around her waist, arms around her neck. She walked around the house like that, her firm body completely under me.

She climbed onto the stool with me riding her back, balanced easily, and reached up to unhook curtains like it was normal.

“Look at us,” she laughed, “MBA boy piggybacking on a maid girl to do household chores!”

“You’re no maid now,” I muttered into her ear. “You’re the boss.”

She turned her head slightly and said, “Exactly. Now hand me the duster, baby.”

She moved around the flat, cleaning, dusting. I clung to her back– my arms around her neck, my legs wrapped around her waist, hooked in front of her stomach.

She walked around carrying me on her back, humming, “Phoolon ka taaro ka, sabka kehna hai…ek hazaaron mein mera bhaiya hai…”


The next evening, after returning from office, I took a long bath and then realized I had forgotten to take my towel in.

“Malaa!” I called from the bathroom sheepishly.

A pause. Then a giggle. “Kya hua Bhaiya?”

“I forgot my towel. Please… just leave it outside the door.”

Instead, the door creaked open halfway—and Mala entered with the towel held up like a curtain, eyes shut, lips smiling.

She whispered, “I’m not looking. Come out, Bhaiya.”

I rushed forward and grabbed the towel. “Shameless.”

She laughed, then—before I could escape—she pulled the towel off slightly and quickly scooped me up into her arms, wet and shocked.

“Mala! I’m all wet!”

“And light!” she said, bouncing me. “Let me dry you off. Like the good big sister-maid-nurse-bodyguard that I am.”

Still cradled, she wiped me down gently with the towel, drying my back, arms, and legs as I squirmed.

“Mala,” I gasped, “What are you doing? I'm not wearing anything !”

She smiled mischievously, “I've not seen anything Bhaiya. I swear…see I'm looking at your sweet face only. You look so shocked. So helpless. So weak in my arms.”

Then, after patting my face, she whispered in my ear:

“From now on, you don’t need to do anything alone, Bhaiya. You just belong in my arms.”



( To be continued…)