Wrong Accent

Honestly. “Can you re-check the shyshtem parameters?” Shyshtem. I almost bit my tongue to keep from laughing. Ravi. Sweet guy, I guess, but good lord. It’s SYS-TEM. SSS. How many years has he been in this country? You’d think he’d pick it up. It’s like his tongue is too big for his mouth.

Funny. My own tongue feels a bit… thick, all of a sudden. Like I’ve been eating sticky rice. Must be dehydrated. I should tell him, you know? Just to be helpful. “Ravi, darling, it’s SYS-tem.” But he’d get all flushed and… and…

…and shy. Shy. Why did I say it like that? Sh-eye. It just… rolled off the tongue. So easily.

Okay, that’s weird. I’m feeling… flushed. It’s not hot in here, is it? No, the AC is blasting. But I feel this… this heat, blooming in my chest, spreading down my arms.

What the… My hands. They’re… darker. Is this the light? No… no, this is not the light. My skin… it’s turning… warmer. Like… like honey. No, deeper. Like… brown sugar. The colour of… of Ravi’s skin. Oh god.

I can feel it… a tingling. Everywhere. Oh my god, my skirt… it’s getting tight. My hips feel… wider. My ass… it’s… oh god, it’s swelling. It’s pushing against the fabric, filling out, becoming so… heavy. So round. A proper… child-bearing arse.

And my legs… they’re itching. It’s… it’s hair. I can feel it. I can feel thick, dark hair sprouting, pushing through my skin. Coarse and black. On my calves, my thighs… my arms, too! I had them waxed last week! Now they’re covered. And my eyebrows… oh, gods… I can feel them getting thicker, bushier, drawing together over my nose… My face… my nose is getting stronger, my lips fuller… I look…

I look… Indian. I look like a beautiful… Indian woman.

And the smell… it’s not my perfume anymore. It’s… musk. A deep, earthy smell. Cumin and cardamom and… and woman. A rich, fertile, stinky sweat that’s all mine. It’s intoxicating. It’s… powerful.

And I’m looking at him. Ravi. And I don’t feel like mocking him anymore. I feel… this pull. This deep, throbbing need. All of this… this body… this heat… this musk… it’s for him. He made me this way. He deserves a reward.

My body moves on its own. I’ve slipped off my shoes. My feet are darker, wider, with thick black hair curling on the toes. He’s just staring, his mouth open, watching me become… this. For him.

I’m standing over him. He’s frozen in his chair, looking up at me with such… fear. Such… desire.

I lift my foot. This dark, hairy, perfect Indian foot. And I place it… right there. On his crotch. Right on the bulge in his trousers. He gasps. He’s already so hard. Straining against the sole of my foot.

I press down. I curl my hairy toes, digging into him through the cheap fabric. He lets out a strangled cry. I can feel the frantic pulse of him against my skin. I roll my ankle, grinding into him, pushing, and I can feel the dam about to break.

“Yes…” I hiss, my whole body vibrating. “Yes, give it to me. Fill yourself for me. Come for your goddess! COME!”

Ahhhhh… yes. There. I felt that. That hot, wet surrender, soaking through his pants, all for me. All from a touch of my foot.

Such a good boy. Now… I think I will have him make me a proper chai.