Backstep
1st Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Feb 14, 2006
- Messages
- 1,177
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It was the week before going back to university and Haasika was elated. Things in her suburb were slower, less evolved. It wasn’t fast or musical enough like the city, and she wanted to be back with the vespas and cars from places like Japan and Germany, not the local beat up things driven by leering men. She carried pepper spray in the city. Here, a taser.
And besides, her mother was the one who wanted to marry her off to whatever his name was that lived in wherever the place was instead of respecting her boyfriend. Or rather, ex-boyfriend, but still. The city was dating, here was a two hour ceremony and marriage to a man she couldn’t care less about.
Such thoughts occupied her as she exited her bedroom in pajamas, resting before starting the spring semester. And sitting in the kitchen was ma and Aunt Pari, waiting. They watched her, not speaking a word. “Good morning,” said Haasika, tying her hair back.
Ma nodded to her. Or she thought her mother did. An arm came around her from behind holding something. “Hold still,” said a male voice, and before she knew it, a roll of tape was binding her arms to her side, then her legs in a cocoon. Of course it was papi, there to play a prank. Make her eat breakfast without utensils, no doubt. The trust she had was why she didn’t fight, more’s the pity.
Ma had laid something on the chaise lounge and was waiting patiently for papi to bind their daughter. “I’m sure that will do,” she said just as Haasika was feeling more like a caterpillar than the butterfly that papi had called her as a child.
Papi picked her up and deposited her on the couch on her belly. “I’m going to watch Australian football with Sam,” he said with some distaste. “Call me when you’re done.” He left the first floor apartment.
Aunt Pari brought a small table with some items over to the sofa and shared a meaningful look with ma. “Whatever the prank is here, I want to shower and change soon,” said Haasika.
“Prank,” said ma. “Indeed.” She sat on the back of Haasika’s knees.
Aunt Pari lifted the lower legs and laid the socked feet on a towel in her lap. “Socks when it’s over 30 degrees out. Ridiculous British prudishness.”
“What is this?” asked Haasika, now fearful and confused.
Pari removed the socks quickly, exposing Haasika’s size 8 feet. “And you see? Smell! Good God, my feet never stank so.” She took a piece of tape from the table and tied the big toes together.
“What are you going to do?” demanded Haasika, thinking of needles or tweezers for some reason.
“She doesn’t know. You did say she was still quite ticklish, did you not?” Pari asked ma.
“Oh yes,” said ma, looking down at her daughter, who was squirming.
“No! Oh, ma, Auntie, please no!”
“This is one of those silly American games, yes?” said Pari. “This little piggy went to market…” She began playing with Haasika’s toes. “I don’t know how the rest goes.”
Haasika was giggling helplessly. “Steeehhee! Stop, auntiiieee ehee!”
“Very good,” said Pari. She took a dish from the table filled with honey and dipped a small paintbrush in it. “This will do.” The held the taped big toes with one hand and ran the brush gently along Haasika’s left arch.
“Naaheee-ehee, aahhaaae!” Haasika bucked as her bare feet were painted. “Mmm-a help ahhaa!”
“Very well, I’ll help,” ma said, feeling around Haasika’s ribs for other promising spots.
Pari twirled the brush in circles around her heels. “Hardly any callouses. I scarcely know whether to be jealous or ashamed.”
“Or both,” said ma. “Oh, right there,” she said as her daughter flailed while her hands searched her upper ribs.
“Pllee-heeease! Stsaahhaaap!” Haasika’s cheeks became rosy and her eyes began to tear up.
“Hmm,” contemplated Pari as the brush left gooey trails over Haasika’s writhing bare feet. “Has she peed?”
Ma reached down, eliciting a shriek of offense. “No, not yet.”
“T-ttorture! Ahhaaeee!”
“Good.” The brush worked back and forth until there was a dripping amber gloss over Haasika’s helpless soles. “Good, your feet smell quite a bit better now, I must say. Quite delicious.” She put the brush down and ma stopped searching her ribs.
Haasika gasped for air. “Auntie, don’t lick my feet!”
Pari gasped, deeply offended. “What person would do such a thing? A sick man, perhaps.”
Ma shook her head. “Kids these days, yes?”
Haasika struggled. “Then why honey?”
“Well,” said Pari mischievously, “here comes your answer.”
A pair of stray cats walked into the apartment right in front of Haasika, her eyes huge. “No! Oh please God, no!”
“We’ve been training them,” explained Ma. “They’re quite friendly.”
“Here, you are, dears,” said Pari as they jumped up onto the cushion.
Each cat licked a foot, their raspy tongues relishing the sweet texture covering Haasika’s flailing arches. Each hadn’t eaten much for at least a day and both were desperately hungry.
Haasika screamed in ticklish agony, trying desperately to escape the sensations, compounded by ma quietly counting her ribs again. Hot tears ran down her face. “Ahhhhaaa! Ohoohhaaa-haa I-I’m gg-oinggg to p-peeeheee!”
“Oh,” said Pari in mock sympathy, nudging one of the cats who had started lapping off to the side to focus back on the arch again. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Haaahaa! Aieee-ahhaa!” Haasika’s eyes opened as she felt her bladder give out. “Ohhh nooo-haaaaaaaa!” A wet warmth spread out, soaking the towel under her.
“Ah, there we go,” said ma. “Naughty girl wet herself.”
Haasika’s face was crimson as her laughter descended into a wailing scream punctuated by sobs.
“Okay,” said ma, finally. “Enough.”
Pari shooed the cats away. “That worked quite well.”
Haasika gasped, humiliated and exhausted. “Why? Why do this?”
Ma chuckled. “This? Nothing. Tell them about when you were younger, Pari.”
“When I was…disobedient,” she said, searching for the right word, “I was wrapped in an old carpet from neck to ankle sunup to sundown one day. Anyone who wanted to could come by the home. The favorite was doing the same here but with goats. It was horrible.”
“I am disobedient?” asked Haasika.
“She does not understand,” sighed ma.
Pari picked up the brush. “Australian football lasts, what, two and a half hours?”
“Something like that.”
“No, please, I’ll be good!” Haasika insisted.
“Indeed, you will,” said Pari. She dipped the brush in honey and started again.
And besides, her mother was the one who wanted to marry her off to whatever his name was that lived in wherever the place was instead of respecting her boyfriend. Or rather, ex-boyfriend, but still. The city was dating, here was a two hour ceremony and marriage to a man she couldn’t care less about.
Such thoughts occupied her as she exited her bedroom in pajamas, resting before starting the spring semester. And sitting in the kitchen was ma and Aunt Pari, waiting. They watched her, not speaking a word. “Good morning,” said Haasika, tying her hair back.
Ma nodded to her. Or she thought her mother did. An arm came around her from behind holding something. “Hold still,” said a male voice, and before she knew it, a roll of tape was binding her arms to her side, then her legs in a cocoon. Of course it was papi, there to play a prank. Make her eat breakfast without utensils, no doubt. The trust she had was why she didn’t fight, more’s the pity.
Ma had laid something on the chaise lounge and was waiting patiently for papi to bind their daughter. “I’m sure that will do,” she said just as Haasika was feeling more like a caterpillar than the butterfly that papi had called her as a child.
Papi picked her up and deposited her on the couch on her belly. “I’m going to watch Australian football with Sam,” he said with some distaste. “Call me when you’re done.” He left the first floor apartment.
Aunt Pari brought a small table with some items over to the sofa and shared a meaningful look with ma. “Whatever the prank is here, I want to shower and change soon,” said Haasika.
“Prank,” said ma. “Indeed.” She sat on the back of Haasika’s knees.
Aunt Pari lifted the lower legs and laid the socked feet on a towel in her lap. “Socks when it’s over 30 degrees out. Ridiculous British prudishness.”
“What is this?” asked Haasika, now fearful and confused.
Pari removed the socks quickly, exposing Haasika’s size 8 feet. “And you see? Smell! Good God, my feet never stank so.” She took a piece of tape from the table and tied the big toes together.
“What are you going to do?” demanded Haasika, thinking of needles or tweezers for some reason.
“She doesn’t know. You did say she was still quite ticklish, did you not?” Pari asked ma.
“Oh yes,” said ma, looking down at her daughter, who was squirming.
“No! Oh, ma, Auntie, please no!”
“This is one of those silly American games, yes?” said Pari. “This little piggy went to market…” She began playing with Haasika’s toes. “I don’t know how the rest goes.”
Haasika was giggling helplessly. “Steeehhee! Stop, auntiiieee ehee!”
“Very good,” said Pari. She took a dish from the table filled with honey and dipped a small paintbrush in it. “This will do.” The held the taped big toes with one hand and ran the brush gently along Haasika’s left arch.
“Naaheee-ehee, aahhaaae!” Haasika bucked as her bare feet were painted. “Mmm-a help ahhaa!”
“Very well, I’ll help,” ma said, feeling around Haasika’s ribs for other promising spots.
Pari twirled the brush in circles around her heels. “Hardly any callouses. I scarcely know whether to be jealous or ashamed.”
“Or both,” said ma. “Oh, right there,” she said as her daughter flailed while her hands searched her upper ribs.
“Pllee-heeease! Stsaahhaaap!” Haasika’s cheeks became rosy and her eyes began to tear up.
“Hmm,” contemplated Pari as the brush left gooey trails over Haasika’s writhing bare feet. “Has she peed?”
Ma reached down, eliciting a shriek of offense. “No, not yet.”
“T-ttorture! Ahhaaeee!”
“Good.” The brush worked back and forth until there was a dripping amber gloss over Haasika’s helpless soles. “Good, your feet smell quite a bit better now, I must say. Quite delicious.” She put the brush down and ma stopped searching her ribs.
Haasika gasped for air. “Auntie, don’t lick my feet!”
Pari gasped, deeply offended. “What person would do such a thing? A sick man, perhaps.”
Ma shook her head. “Kids these days, yes?”
Haasika struggled. “Then why honey?”
“Well,” said Pari mischievously, “here comes your answer.”
A pair of stray cats walked into the apartment right in front of Haasika, her eyes huge. “No! Oh please God, no!”
“We’ve been training them,” explained Ma. “They’re quite friendly.”
“Here, you are, dears,” said Pari as they jumped up onto the cushion.
Each cat licked a foot, their raspy tongues relishing the sweet texture covering Haasika’s flailing arches. Each hadn’t eaten much for at least a day and both were desperately hungry.
Haasika screamed in ticklish agony, trying desperately to escape the sensations, compounded by ma quietly counting her ribs again. Hot tears ran down her face. “Ahhhhaaa! Ohoohhaaa-haa I-I’m gg-oinggg to p-peeeheee!”
“Oh,” said Pari in mock sympathy, nudging one of the cats who had started lapping off to the side to focus back on the arch again. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Haaahaa! Aieee-ahhaa!” Haasika’s eyes opened as she felt her bladder give out. “Ohhh nooo-haaaaaaaa!” A wet warmth spread out, soaking the towel under her.
“Ah, there we go,” said ma. “Naughty girl wet herself.”
Haasika’s face was crimson as her laughter descended into a wailing scream punctuated by sobs.
“Okay,” said ma, finally. “Enough.”
Pari shooed the cats away. “That worked quite well.”
Haasika gasped, humiliated and exhausted. “Why? Why do this?”
Ma chuckled. “This? Nothing. Tell them about when you were younger, Pari.”
“When I was…disobedient,” she said, searching for the right word, “I was wrapped in an old carpet from neck to ankle sunup to sundown one day. Anyone who wanted to could come by the home. The favorite was doing the same here but with goats. It was horrible.”
“I am disobedient?” asked Haasika.
“She does not understand,” sighed ma.
Pari picked up the brush. “Australian football lasts, what, two and a half hours?”
“Something like that.”
“No, please, I’ll be good!” Haasika insisted.
“Indeed, you will,” said Pari. She dipped the brush in honey and started again.
Sorry I didn't reply earlier. Not my favorite story that I've written, but I wanted to play with a tone that I wasn't comfortable with to see if I could get it to sound somewhat authentically Indian.
