Rajasthani Moon

by Lisabet Sarai

  “Shiva’s balls!” he cursed. “That hurts!” She cocked her knee back for a second blow, but he caught her foot in mid-kick and raised it until her leg was almost at right angles to her prone body. Her skirt slipped down, baring her knee and part of her thigh, and releasing a flood of her woman-scent.

  The miscreant’s eyes widened. No doubt his nostrils flared as well, but they were hidden beneath his impromptu mask. Had Cecily been a fair English rose of a woman, her cheeks would have burnt bright pink. Her mixed heritage allowed her to hide her embarrassment.

  “Unhand me, sir!”

  Instead, he seized her other ankle, brought her leg parallel to the first, and whipped out another of his devilish self-binding ropes.

  “No, please, sir!” Seeing that outrage would get her nowhere, Cecily decided to try deception. If he bound her legs, she would never be able to escape him. “Stop, please. I will reveal everything to you.”

  “Of course you will, madam.” The mockery in his voice stung, especially when she remembered that most of her lower body was now visible to his sharp eyes. “Back at my quarters. Bind.”

  In an instant, the robotic shackles wound themselves around her calves and ankles. She tried tensing her muscles, so as to create some slack later. The device clamped down with relentless power, forcing her to relax.

  “There. I hope I’ll be safe now from your most unladylike aggression.”

  Cecily fumed inside, but managed to maintain a calm demeanour.

  The bandit grasped her around the waist with both hands. “Just have to get you out of this coach and onto my horse…” His rough fingers dug into her bare flesh, yet she missed the pain when he released her after heaving her body up onto the seat. “You’re not exactly delicate, but that’s fine with me. I prefer a woman with some meat on her bones.”

  The substantial bulge in his dusty black pantaloons made his meaning more than clear.

  “Do not imagine you’ll succeed in stealing my virtue, sir. I’ll kill myself first.”

  “I doubt that very much.” She couldn’t see his grin, hidden as it was behind his mask, but she could feel it, hear it in his taunt. “If you were the virginal flower you pretend to be, I suspect you would not be travelling with this.”

  He picked up the brass egg, its shiny surface now dulled by her secretions, and held it to his shrouded nose. “Mmm. Recently used, too.”

  Cecily wanted to sink into the earth. Instead she raised her chin and skewered him with a defiant glare. “That’s private.”

  “Yes, exactly my point. But you do not need to hide anything with me. Indeed, I won’t allow you to. No, you’re going to share all your secrets.” He scratched his head. “Now, let’s see…”The reason for his uncertainty was obvious. Carrying her bound body, he would not be able to get out of the narrow door of the carriage.

  “You could untie my legs so I could exit on my own,” she suggested. “Then bind them again when I’m outside.”

  “That’s far too risky. I’d hate to have to wear out my poor horse chasing you. No, I have a better idea. If I’m not mistaken, fancy coaches like this one usually have an emergency escape mechanism…” The rascal studied at the control panel, peering at the labels engraved into the brass plaques. Apparently he was literate. “Ah, yes, here we are…”

  Cecily was totally unprepared for what happened next. Leather straps shot out from the seat cushions behind and beneath her, fastening themselves across her lap and chest. A portal slid open in the carriage roof. Then a steam locomotive, or something equally as powerful, rammed into her bum, propelling her body and attached cushions through the roof and out into the night.

  The few seconds that she flew through the air seemed like a century. She noticed the stars burning like torches in the inky heavens, the cool air on her face, the sharp scent of crushed vegetation and the animal reek of the bandit’s mount. Then her body slammed into the hard ground. The pillows strapped to her back and bottom protected her from injury but the impact jolted the brain in her skull and drove the breath from her lungs.

  Some minutes passed before she recovered sufficiently to look around her. Her head still ached, but the dizziness had ebbed and she could breathe again. She strained against the confining bands. The brigand’s laugh made her look up.

  He stood over her, legs apart, hands on his hips. From where she lay, prostrate before him, those muscular legs were massive columns reaching to the sky.

  “Get me out of this contraption!” The leather showed no sign of relaxing. “There must be a release button…”

  “I don’t know. You look quite fetching, all strapped up as you are. I have a certain weakness for women in bondage. In any case I’m sure it’s safer for me to have you immobilised.”

  “Please, sir… My fingers are turning numb.” If the man had an ounce of pity, he would be moved by the meekness and desperation Cecily injected into her plea.

  “I seriously doubt that. However, I can’t really sling you over my saddle if you’re connected to half a coach seat.” He squatted beside her and flipped a lever near Cecily’s hip. The buckles snapped open and the straps retracted. Cecily tumbled sideways onto the scraggly grass to lie helpless at his feet.

  His crotch hovered inches from her face, still engorged with his lust. His rank, wild scent was all around her. Her quim moistened automatically in response to his rampant masculinity. He ran his fingers through her tangled hair. The slight pull at the roots was disturbingly pleasant. He used his other hand to brazenly fondle her breasts. She gritted her teeth to suppress her sigh of delight as he trailed his fingertips down her torso to circle her navel. Unwelcome pleasure shot to her centre.

  With her arms and legs still tied tight, there was little she could do to oppose him. She considered screaming, but decided that would simply annoy him. No, she should pretend to be subdued and bide her time. If he intended to rape her, he’d need to unbind her legs first.

  She held her breath, waiting for his next move. She was unprepared when he gathered her to his chest, one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back, then returned—with some slight difficulty—to a standing position, without making any further attempt on her virtue.

  The black-maned bandit grinned at her involuntary sigh. “Time enough for that after I get you back to my place.” A black stallion trotted over in response to his piercing whistle. He draped Cecily across the horse’s neck, with her head hanging down, her cheek pressed against the rough saddle blanket, and her bum in the air. Then he mounted behind her, his thighs pressed tight against her shoulder and hip.

  As heat radiated from his flesh, her own cheeks grew warm. She told herself this was merely the effect of blood rushing to her head.

  It wasn’t a particularly uncomfortable position, but Cecily had never felt so undignified in her life. That feeling only intensified when he pinched her arse through her skirt.

  “Ow!”

  He answered her protest with a swat hard enough to be painful even through the fabric.

  “Ouch!”

  The masked man clucked his tongue. The horse headed uphill, picking its way carefully across the stone-strewn landscape. The rider landed another vigorous slap on her well-padded bottom.

  “Ow! What do you think you’re doing?”

  Her captor’s tone sent chills through her helpless body. “Whatever I like.”

  Chapter Three

  The brigand’s headquarters turned out to be a cave hollowed from the side of a mountain. After tethering his horse to a stunted tree near the entrance, he slung Cecily over his shoulder like a sack of flour and carried her inside. His casual handling of her body both inflamed and enraged her, but she remained quiet, observing her surroundings with care in the hope of discerning some means of escape.

  The interior was less dirty and claustrophobic than she had feared. An uneven ceiling arched over their heads, reinforced by pillars fashioned from whole tree trunks. Oil lamps tucked into niches hewn into the walls dispelled most of
the shadows. A wooden table, two chairs and a bedstead, all of rustic construction, constituted the only furnishings. However, to her left, on a natural rock shelf, she was surprised to see a sleek, modern com unit. Its low hum mingled with a faint gurgle of running water, coming from somewhere deeper in the cave. In the shadows she noticed a cage fashioned of iron bars, of the sort she’d seen used to transport sheep and goats. Does he keep animals here? she wondered. There was no barnyard scent.

  He dumped her without ceremony onto the straw-filled mattress, then unsheathed his knife. Before she could even cry out, he had sliced her filthy, rumpled clothing off her body, pulled the fabric from underneath her, and tossed the bright rags into a corner. He also relieved her of the knife strapped to her arm and her other earring.

  He paused to ogle her nakedness, the dark eyes above his mask burning with lust. Cecily’s nipples peaked and her cunny moistened in response to his brazen inspection—she couldn’t help herself—and she was uncomfortably certain that her reactions were not lost on him.

  Using her bound arms, she managed to manoeuvre herself into a sitting position, with her bound legs dangling over the edge of the bed. He watched, neither assisting nor hindering her, clearly amused by her awkward progress. Refusing to be cowed, she answered his bold stare with one of her own.

  He was the one to break the silence. “So, my lady. Tell me now. Whom do I have the honour of entertaining here in my humble abode?”

  “Why should I reveal my identity to someone who will not even show me his face?” Cecily stalled for time, trying to work out a plan.

  “A reasonable point. Pardon me.” The man untied the cloth that hid his features, revealing a beak of a nose, black whiskers and lips that curled in a sardonic smile.

  “You!” Cecily cursed inwardly as soon as the word escaped.

  “You know me, woman?” His eyes narrowed and his brows drew together into a scowl.

  “I–I have seen your picture, sir—in the Bombay newspapers…”

  What was the Rajah’s brother doing, hiding away in a miserable hole like this? Why didn’t he have any servants or retainers? Why had he attacked her carriage? These questions and a dozen more assailed her. Meanwhile, she struggled to offer a coherent excuse.

  “My brother recommended that I should contact you, Your Excellency, when I arrived in Jaipur… He wishes to establish relationships with your weavers, to purchase your justifiably renowned textiles, but owing to his failing health, he sent me in his stead…”

  “Nonsense!” His voice was like thunder. “Do not insult my intelligence! You’re no merchant, madam! Who are you really? Or do I have to beat the truth out of you?”

  Cecily kept her mouth closed. Like all Her Majesty’s agents, she’d been trained not to break under torture. Thus far, that training had never been put to the test.

  Pratan seized her by her long hair and hauled her to her feet. Of course, with her ankles bound, she could not walk. Half pulling, half carrying, he bundled her over to the closest pillar, jerked her bound arms up, then pushed her face first against the rough wood. The bark abraded her naked breasts and belly. She tried to squirm away from him, but he leaned his weight against her back while keeping her wrists pinned against the pillar above her head.

  “Rebind,” he growled. In a flash the robotic rope unravelled and reconfigured itself, looping tight around both her arms and the column supporting her. Once he was certain she was secure, he dropped to his knees and touched the rope at her ankles. “Unbind.”

  Cecily stumbled as the force connecting her ankles disappeared. Her relief at being free was short-lived. Pratan dragged her legs apart and inserted some sort of rigid bar between her shins. “Bind.” Before she could take two breaths, her legs were restrained in a permanently spread position, wide enough to allow her captor easy access to her sex.

  Indeed, realising the degree of her exposure made her terribly aware of her quim, which she could not deny was soaked and swollen. You must be strong, she told herself. Think of England.

  The cool air of the cave teased her bared flesh. Then a light touch, delicate as a feather, traced its way along the inside of her thigh. Her pussy clenched and moisture dribbled out. The impudent finger smeared the juice across her sensitive skin. Pleasure sparked through her.

  “You can’t fight me.” His voice was like warm honey now, all the anger gone. It flowed through her, unbearably sweet. “And I don’t think you want to. There’s no shame in surrendering when you’ve been rendered completely helpless.” Pratan trailed his fingers upward, brushing across her damp nether curls. Lightning struck, searing her aching clit. She convulsed in her bonds, unable to control her reactions.

  “Who are you, my plump little dove? Tell me your name.” His roving fingers skimmed the slippery walls of her outer lips. She bit back her moan but couldn’t help arching back to seek more contact. He dipped into her wetness, deeper than before, but only for an instant. She writhed against the pillar, welcoming the scrape of the bark on her taut nipples.

  He had three fingers inside her now, or maybe four, plunging in then pulling back before she could tighten her muscles to hold him inside. He still kept well away from her throbbing, needy clit. She ground her pubis against the tree trunk. The indirect pressure offered some relief, but not enough to satisfy her.

  Swat! “None of that now!” His calloused palm landed on her bare arse with stunning force. Her soft flesh burnt in the wake of the slap. Meanwhile, the delicious stimulation in her cunny vanished. “I won’t let you spend until you’ve told me what I want to know.” Swat! His second swipe hurt more than the first. Her buttocks wobbled with the power of his third blow. The sting raced straight to her clit.

  Cecily chewed at her lip to contain her groans. She’d make the Queen proud.

  “Do I need to whip you? I’d be glad to.” Her skin chilled as he stepped away from her body, taking his heat with him. With her face turned in the opposite direction, she couldn’t see what he was doing, but she heard him moving around the cave. Her clit pulsed like a radio beacon, broadcasting her need and demanding attention. Her scent rose around her, overwhelming the musty dampness of the cave. She tried to relax, to let some of her arousal drain away. She would not—could not—allow him to break her. He seemed to know, though, that she could bear pain a good deal better than sexual frustration.

  She recalled receiving her instructions, back in London. Z looked more like an elderly country vicar than the head of Her Majesty’s secret service. “We are all relying on you, Miss Harrowsmith,” he’d told her. “The Queen believes that, given the reported youth and virility of these rebel princes, you are the ideal operative for this mission. I will not deny, however, that we are sending you into grave danger. You must remain in control at all times.”

  Remain in control. The recollection was bitter. Here she was, in her enemy’s hands, more or less helpless to resist.

  But she would resist. She swore it.

  She sensed Pratan moving behind her. Something whistled as it flew through the air. A trail of fire raced across her left buttock.

  “Ow! Oh my God!” Whoosh! The whip, or switch, or whatever it was, cut a path of agony across her other cheek. “Ay! Ow!”

  “Just tell me who you are, lady, and I’ll stop. Until then…” Whoosh! Another stroke sliced into her flesh. Every blow magnified the pain of the previous one. “Ow! Oh…oh…”

  “Talk to me. Let it out.” Whoosh! More pain flared.

  He lashed her again and again and yet again, until her arse felt like he’d doused it in kerosene and set it alight. When she thought she couldn’t bear another instant, he moved downward, applying the switch to the even more sensitive skin at the backs of her thighs.

  Cecily tried to distance herself from the agony. It’s not pain, she told herself. It’s pleasure. Remarkably, she found herself getting aroused again. It’s not his whip, she imagined. It’s his cock. She felt the echoes of his fingers delving in her quim. Each vicious, searing st
roke of the switch brought her closer to spending.

  “Damn it, woman, you’re stubborn!” Her captor’s whip clattered to the floor. He moved closer, gripping her abused buttocks, digging his nails into her lacerated flesh. New sparks sizzled down to her clit.

  Smooth hardness prodded her butt. “Oh…” She moaned despite her determination to remain silent as he parted her lower lips. With a single powerful thrust, he seated himself inside her, driving her to the very edge.

  “Oh, by Krishna’s blue body!” Pratan withdrew slightly, then rammed his cock back in, forcing her body against the column. The pressure on her clit sent waves of pleasure crashing through her. “You feel… You’re so… Oh my God—uh!—uh!—uh!”

  His massive cock stretched her to the limit of endurance, yet when he pulled out, the loss brought tears to her eyes. He fucked her hard, slamming her against the pillar with every stroke. The bark scraped her tender skin—the sting transmuted as if by magic to incredible delight. Her climax hovered, a breath, a touch, away but she didn’t strain or struggle to reach it. She was more than content to simply have her captor fill her, over and over, while she hung in her bonds and shuddered with the pleasure of being possessed.

  Pratan’s strokes grew wilder and faster. Cecily’s experience told her the man was close to his own spending. Still, his sudden explosion inside her quim took her by surprise, sweeping her away with him. Pain and pleasure knotted together in her belly, then flew apart. A million strands of ecstasy threaded through her, and the world dissolved into sparkling shards of colour.

  He clung to her as his breathing slowed, his chest flat against her back, his powerful arms encircling both her body and the pillar that supported it. His organ still nestled near the entrance to her cleft. The roughness of his pubic hair scratched her punished arse. Each twinge was strangely sweet.

  “Oh,” he murmured close to her ear. “That was incredible. Too wonderful for words.”

  Still shimmering from the aftershocks of her own climax, Cecily could only nod. Pratan brushed his lips across her cheek, then trailed kisses down the side of her neck. After the fury of his fucking, his tenderness astonished her. Wonder and gratitude swelled in her chest. She wanted to fasten her mouth on his, but that was impossible in her current position.