payasam

The moon cast a soft, silvery glow through the sheer curtains of Queen Nandini’s chamber, illuminating the room in a tranquil light. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, a deliberate choice to soothe the heavily pregnant queen as she prepared for another restless night. At nine months, her belly was a massive, taut orb, straining against the delicate silk dupatta draped across her chest. The fabric, white and translucent, clung to her skin, revealing the curves of her swollen breasts. One nipple, engorged and rosy, peeked out from beneath the fabric, a testament to the changes her body had undergone. She sighed softly, her hand resting on the curve of her belly as she shifted on the plush cushions of her bed.

Nandini’s gaze drifted to the door, her lips curling into a faint smile as she summoned her servants. “Dasis,” she called, her voice melodic yet commanding. “Come to me.” Moments later, the door slid open silently, and three women entered, their heads bowed in reverence. They were her most trusted attendants, their movements graceful and practiced as they approached the queen. Their eyes flickered to her exposed nipple, but they showed no surprise—this was a familiar sight now, a part of their daily routine.

My queen,” one of the dasis murmured, her hands already reaching for the small jar of herbal oil on the bedside table. She poured a generous amount onto her palms, rubbing them together to warm the oil before gently cupping Nandini’s breast. Her touch was firm yet tender, her fingers massaging the swollen nipple in slow, circular motions. The queen closed her eyes, a soft moan escaping her lips as the oil seeped into her skin, easing the tightness that had plagued her throughout the day.

“More,” Nandini whispered, her voice husky with pleasure. The dasi complied, adding more oil and continuing the massage, her thumbs brushing lightly over the sensitive peak. The other two servants watched quietly, their hands resting on the queen’s belly as if to offer silent support. They knew their roles well, their devotion to Nandini unwavering.

“The king’s payasam,” Nandini reminded them, her eyes still closed. “He wishes for it tonight.” The dasis nodded, their expressions solemn. One of them reached for a small, ornate cup and placed it beneath the queen’s breast. With practiced precision, she began to extract milk, her fingers squeezing gently as droplets of creamy liquid fell into the cup. Nandini’s breath hitched, her body responding to the sensation with a mix of discomfort and arousal. She was no stranger to this ritual, yet each time felt new, a reminder of the life growing within her and the demands of her role as queen.

The room was silent save for the soft sounds of the dasi’s hands working and Nandini’s shallow breathing. The other servants moved quietly, one of them dampening a cloth with warm water to clean the queen’s skin after the massage. They were efficient, their movements choreographed from months of practice. Nandini’s needs were their priority, and they attended to her with a reverence that bordered on worship.

As the cup filled, the dasi carefully set it aside, her hands moving to the other breast, repeating the process. Nandini’s nipples were sensitive, her body responding to the stimulation with a flush of heat. She shifted restlessly, her legs parting slightly as she sought relief from the pressure in her lower belly. The servants noticed, their eyes meeting briefly before one of them stepped forward, a basin in hand.

“My queen,” she said softly, placing the basin between Nandini’s legs. The queen nodded, her face flushed, and relieved herself without hesitation. The servants had long since grown accustomed to this part of their duties, their embarrassment replaced by a quiet determination to serve. Once she was finished, they cleaned her with gentle, efficient motions, their hands never lingering but never rushed.

“Thank you,” Nandini murmured, her voice thick with gratitude. She leaned back against the pillows, her body heavy and tired. The dasis smiled, their hands smoothing the dupatta over her chest as they stepped back. One of them picked up the cups of milk, cradling them carefully as she bowed. “I will take this to the cook,” she said, her voice steady. “The king’s payasam will be prepared as he wishes.”

Nandini watched her go, her eyes heavy-lidded. The other servants remained, their hands hovering near her, ready to assist if needed. The queen’s gaze drifted to her belly, her fingers tracing the stretch marks that marred her once-perfect skin. She felt a surge of love for the child within her, a love that mingled with the weight of her responsibilities. Being queen was not just a title—it was a role that demanded sacrifice, even in the most intimate moments.

As the door closed behind the dasi, the room fell silent once more. Nandini closed her eyes, her breath evening out as she prepared for sleep. The servants remained, their presence a comforting constant in the stillness of the night. Outside, the palace grounds were quiet, the only sound the distant chirping of crickets. Inside, the queen rested, her body a vessel of life and duty, her mind adrift in the haze of impending motherhood.

The chapter ended with Nandini’s soft snores, her chest rising and falling beneath the sheer dupatta. The servants exchanged a glance, their faces softened by the moonlight. They knew their queen was strong, but even the strongest needed rest. As they quietly exited the room, they left her in peace, their devotion as unwavering as the moon above.