When David, a good-looking and strapping fellow in his early twenties, returned home from a long day at the office, his servant Sabu stood silently in the corner of the living room awaiting his Master's instructions. The thirty-eight year old Hindu wore a basic turban, dhoti and kurta. His feet were clad in embroidered, rather feminine slippers.
"Sabu, Sabu," Master David sighed. "What am I to do with you?"
"I am yours to command, Sahib."
"That goes without saying. Follow me to the bedroom and help me get undressed."
Sabu trotted behind his youthful Master. In the bedroom, he undid his Master's tie and removed his Master's light blue, custom fit, Ralph Lauren dress shirt. Then, he dropped to his knees to take off the young man's black leather oxfords and black silk socks. Lastly, he unbuckled the Master's belt and removed his single pleat Giorgio Fiorelli dress pants.
"Remain on your knees, Sabu," said David, wearing nothing now but a white sleeveless undershirt and black boxer-briefs. "I want to have a word with you."
"Yes, Sir."
"As you know, Sabu, you fucked up. The other morning when I went to my computer in the study, I did not find what I expected to find. Did I, Sabu?"
"No, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir."
"I was horny, Sabu. I'm sure you remember how I get when I'm horny."
"Yes, Sir. I remember, Sir."
A strange look flickered on the servant's brown face, like that of fond memories mixed with dread and apprehension.
"I thought I was going to find some porn lined up for me. But what did I find? Nothing. Nothing at all. I went to work with an erection. That wasn't pleasant. In fact, it was a major inconvenience. At least my secretary, Miss Babcock, came in early for once and was there to help me out with my problem. But it should never have come to that."
"I'm sorry, Sir. I was up late scrubbing the toilet as you ordered, Sir. I was weary, Sir, and I forgot. I'm very, very sorry, Sahib."
"See, that's just it, Sabu. Very, very sorry doesn't cut it. You have to be punished."
"I understand, Sir," replied the Asian manservant submissively. His eyes were at the same level as his young Master's bulging crotch.
"The problem," Master David went on, "is that I don't know what punishment would be suitable for a pathetic indo-nigger cocksucker like you. There's always the possibility you might enjoy it."
"Yes, Sir. I apologize, Sir."
"Draw my bath, Sabu. Then, prepare my dinner. I'll have that curried shrimp you make so well. In the meantime, I will give the matter of your punishment some thought."
"Yes, Sahib."
"One thing you may be sure of, Sabu," said Master David with a somewhat sadistic snicker. "I am going to teach you to NEVER forget or disobey a command from me again. You can be replaced, you know. Now, do what you've been told, boy!"
The older man scurried away. The threat of punishment, or worse, being thrown out into the street with no prospects, hung over his swathed head like the sword of Damocles.
Considering that he came from a prominent family and attended the finest private schools, it was ironic that Sabu found his true calling as a servant. Not that he was actually "employed" as such. His only recompense for attending Master David's every whim and need was room and board, nothing more. Yet, it was enough.
While David relaxed in his bath, Sabu slaved over a hot stove, preparing his Master's repast exactly the way he liked it with just the right amount of curry, ginger, coconut milk, fresh cilantro, and a dozen jumbo shrimp.
Poor Sabu. Although he had to taste the sauce to make sure it came out right, this was the closest he would come to enjoying a meal like this. The Hindu servant's meals were monotonously the same, a vegetarian diet of naan, brown rice, lentils, chickpeas, oatmeal, cornflakes, and unsweetened yoghurt. On special occasions he was treated to chutney.
As soon as David sat down to the dining room table, wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his loins, Sabu served the curried shrimp and filled the Master's wineglass with a Sauvignon Blanc.
While David dined, Sabu cleaned the bathroom: flushing and scrubbing the toilet, scouring the tub, wiping down the wall tiles, and taking his Master's dirty clothes to the washer in the utility room. All the while, one thought ran through his mind: what was his punishment going to be?
That evening, David relaxed in the living room, talking with his buddies on the phone, watching his favorite TV shoes, resting his feet on Sabu's back. On his hands and knees, the brown-skinned indo-nigger functioned as a convenient footstool.
When it was time for David to retire for the night, he ordered Sabu to stand before him at attention.
"I've decided what your punishment will be, Sabu."
"Yes, Sahib," said Sabu, nervously.
"You're dying to know, aren't you, Sabu."
"Yes, Sahib."
"Well, it can wait until tomorrow. I will let you know then. Now, go to your room and ponder what it means to disrespect a White man."
Sabu repaired to his small, spartan chamber and rested on the thin mat which was his bed, unable to sleep, dreading what was to come. At the same time he was so very grateful to be owned by a young White man, whom he knew was his superior in every way.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This short story is loosely based on an actual situation. Before I continue with it, I would like to hear from readers what Sabu's punishment should be. Any and all suggestions will be considered. Send your ideas to davidxyz54@yahoo.com.