The bond between Lady Chantra and Busaba had not begun on any single night. It was a slow-burning fire beneath the ash—gathering heat from the fragile twigs of girlhood.
They had grown up side by side in the grand household. One always watching the other—quietly, wordlessly. And no one ever dared name what it was.
To the eyes of the household, one was a noble daughter, the other a lowly servant. One gave commands, the other obeyed. But to each other, they were something else entirely. They were each other's yearning—deep, unspoken, undeniable.
Years passed. And both women came to understand what truly lay beneath their closeness. It wasn't just attachment. It wasn't loyalty. It was desire. Raw. Sensual. Forbidden.
It was a love between women—one that society would neither name nor forgive, and that status kept shackled in silence.
Until one day… a day that changed everything.
That afternoon, Lady Chantra had gone to bathe behind a thin cotton curtain in her private chamber.
As always, Busaba waited outside—preparing bowls of scented water, setting the tray of oils, ready to be summoned when needed. She sat still, hands folded neatly in her lap, eyes resting on the gently swaying curtain. But minutes passed… and there was no sound of water. No splash. No hum. Not even the rustle of movement.
"…My lady?" Busaba called softly.
No reply.
Hesitating, she leaned forward and peered through the slight gap in the curtain.
And what she saw—stole the breath from her lungs.
Lady Chantra sat naked on the damp wooden floor, trembling. One hand was between her thighs, fingers moving slowly across the slick folds of her womanhood. Her eyes were shut tight. Her lips parted in a breathy moan.
But what scorched Busaba's body with flame were the words falling from those lips:
"…Busaba… I need you so much…"
The servant's eyes widened, her heart pounding like a war drum.
That image burned clearer than any confession. And before she could look away—Chantra's eyes opened, and met hers.
"Come in, Busaba…" The husky whisper floated through the curtain.
Busaba flinched. Her heart lurched as she stepped past the thin fabric.
here, still bare and gleaming with water, Chantra sat with legs tucked beneath her—nude and glistening, her fair skin dappled with droplets.
She tilted her chin and looked at Busaba with that still, unreadable gaze.
"Come closer," she said.
Busaba crawled on her knees, inching near—her throat dry, her breath unsteady.
Chantra reached out and lifted her servant's chin with delicate fingers.
"Don't look away from me. Deep down… you desire my body too, don't you?"
"I… I do, my lady," Busaba whispered.
"Then do as your desire commands. Make me yours. Take me… as if I were your wife."
"But… I—"
Chantra placed her palm against Busaba's chest and gently pushed, guiding her down—until Busaba's body leaned fully over hers.
Then the noblewoman lay back against the damp floor, hair fanning out beneath her.
"I want to be yours, Busaba… more than I can bear. Please… Can you quench this thirst I have for you?"
Busaba's lips brushed against her mistress's damp shoulder. Without hesitation, she bowed and obeyed the command. Chantra lifted one hand, fingers slipping into her servant's hair, gently pressing her downward—guiding that hot breath closer to her chest.
Busaba began to kiss and lick the soft swell of her mistress's breast, sucking delicately at the tender peak. Her hands trembled slightly.
But the suction was too soft… too hesitant.
"Suck harder… or are you afraid of hurting me?"
The whisper was low, barely audible by the ear—but it left no doubt about what Chantra wanted.
And in that instant, something inside Busaba snapped. The lips that once wavered now crushed the nipple with hungry need. Her bite deepened. Her tongue circled the tightened bud in slow, deliberate strokes.
A moan spilled from Chantra's throat as a shiver rippled down her spine.
But that was not enough.
Not for the woman Busaba had become in that moment.
Her eyes drifted downward—toward the forbidden place between her mistress's thighs. The desire to possess surged within her like a wild beast tasting blood.
She lowered herself further, inhaling deeply against her mistress's skin—drawing in the scent that was uniquely Chantra. Then, with a steady hand, she parted the soft nest of hair shielding the center of womanhood and flicked her tongue against the wet, trembling folds.
There was no hesitation now.
Her tongue lapped and sucked with an intensity that bordered on madness. Chantra's moans rose in pitch, her body arching, twisting in pleasure too sharp to contain.
Busaba no longer knew shame. She buried her face in that heat—licking, savoring, devouring. Her tongue slid over every delicate ridge, every shivering crease. Slowly at first. Then faster… and faster still… until Chantra's entire body began to quake.
Chantra's fingers dug deep into her servant's hair.
"Don't stop…" she breathed—again and again.
And Busaba would never stop. That voice only drove her deeper into a trance. She had only one purpose now:
To bring her mistress to the peak—beneath her tongue.
Tonight was not just an act of obedience.
It was the release of years of silent longing.
It was the claiming of the woman she had only dared to dream of.
"Like this… does it please you, Lady Chantra?" she whispered, voice thick with lust.
Her lips still kissed the soaked, swollen flesh as her eyes lifted to take in the trembling form above her.
"Ahh… you're doing so well… Busaba…" came the breathless reply.
Chantra's face was flushed, her body writhing without restraint beneath each touch.
"I can't hold back any longer… use your woman's body… and satisfy me…"
Busaba didn't wait. She tore away the last of her clothes with desperate hands, revealing her own bare skin.
She pressed forward—hips meeting hips—rubbing slick heat against slick heat, grinding slowly at first.
The wet slap of flesh against flesh filled the room—lewd, raw, and unbearably erotic.
Busaba could feel the intense warmth between them—their wetness mingling, soaking, blurring the lines between where one woman ended and the other began. Her hunger surged even higher.
Her thrusts grew harder.
Chantra's moans became faster, louder. Busaba's soft curls pressed into the most tender parts of her mistress with every movement, driving them both into maddening depths.
It didn't take long.
Chantra's body tensed beneath her—back arched, hands clenched—crying out as she shattered in release. Her lips parted, trembling as she called out her servant's name.
And Busaba followed—reaching her own peak as if pulled there by the sound of that voice.
When the waves of pleasure finally ebbed, Chantra reached up—cupping her servant's flushed cheek with gentle fingers.
Then she whispered:
"I belong to you now, Busaba…
I am your wife."
.
.
From that night onward, the closeness between Lady Chantra and her servant, Busaba, changed in a way that could never be undone.
By day, Chantra remained every inch the noblewoman—graceful, distant, composed.
But when night fell…
her chambers became a forbidden sanctuary of desire.
Sometimes, they met in secret.
Other times, in plain sight.
Not even the cold waters of the great forest pond could quench the fire that burned between them.
Busaba never asked what it meant—whether it was love, or something else.
She only knew one thing for certain.
She loved Lady Chantra more than anything in this world.
.
.
It was a summer afternoon. The sun, nearing the edge of day, had begun to soften.
The shadows of towering trees stretched long across the surface of a wide pond, hidden deep within the forest.
The faint chirping of crickets mingled with the rustle of leaves.
Then—soft splashes.
The delicate sound of water shifting as Lady Chantra's bare body glided gently across the surface.
Her pale back shimmered beneath the filtered light, each slow movement more erotic than nakedness itself.
On the bank, Busaba stood in silence, eyes locked on the woman before her—desire twisting inside her like a storm. The air may have been cool, but her skin burned.
"Come swim with me, Busaba…
Or will you stand there watching until nightfall?"
Chantra's voice was calm—too calm. And somewhere beneath that calm, a mischievous smile.
The servant could not refuse.
With trembling fingers, she shed her garments in haste, stepping into the cold water.
But the chill that should've doused her flame only made it blaze higher.
She swam toward her mistress.
Chantra floated closer, water glistening on her face as she leaned in—and kissed her.
A hot, open-mouthed kiss in the heart of a cool, shadowed pond.
Busaba's arms circled her waist, pulling her close. Her eyes darted briefly to the surrounding trees, and she whispered,
"My lady… it's too open here. What if someone comes…"
"Then finish before anyone does."