Rajasthani Moon

by Lisabet Sarai

  “Suck her,” Pratan instructed. “Bury your face in her cunt and suck hard.”

  Rough hands pushed her face deeper into Sarita’s pussy. At the same time, hidden fingers probed Cecily’s own holes, both front and rear. Overcome by sensation, she closed her eyes and burrowed into Sarita’s wet nest, mouthing the layers of flesh and nuzzling the swollen clit.

  Sarita squirmed and thrashed. Her thighs clamped around Cecily’s ears, muting the sound of her pleasured cries. Her pelvis jerked in rhythm with Cecily’s sucking. Tension rippled through Sarita’s soaked flesh. She’s close to spending, Cecily thought, with a surprising sense of satisfaction, and so am I.

  She pursed her mouth around Sarita’s clit and turned on the suction, flicking her tongue over the nub at the same time. Sarita froze, taut, hovering on the edge.

  The fingers in Cecily’s cunt disappeared. Her moan of loss vibrated against Sarita’s clit.

  Pratan rammed his cock into her from behind, burying himself to the hilt. Her crisis hit, sudden, sharp, overwhelmingly powerful, like a bomb exploding. Her whole body convulsed as he pulled back and skewered her again.

  Her teeth caught the tip of Sarita’s bud, pulling the girl over the precipice with her. Sarita arched up, grinding against Cecily’s nose and chin. Her flesh shuddered against Cecily’s lips and tongue, drenching her face with fresh moisture. Cecily could scarcely breathe, but she hardly noticed. Pratan’s cock was the only reality, driving her relentlessly back up the slope to another climax.

  She continued to lick and suck at Sarita’s twitching pussy, until the girl twisted away in irritation. Bleary, shaking, her cheeks tacky with Sarita’s juice, Cecily raised her head.

  Directly in front of her, Amir crouched over the sleek length of Sarita’s form, his weight resting on his arms, which pinned the girl’s hands to the couch. His cock was buried in Sarita’s eager mouth. With her head thrown back, she struggled to swallow his full length. He rocked his pelvis, thrusting deep and hard.

  His eyes were fixed on Cecily, however. I know you, they seemed to say. I know what you really want, what you need.

  Shame washed through her. She was a pawn to her own lust. Was there anything she wouldn’t do, for this kind of pleasure? What had happened to her courage? Her self-discipline?

  New waves of sensation swept her anxious thoughts away. Amir’s face blazed with power as he pumped his seed down his slave-girl’s throat. Pratan fucked Cecily like an animal, his nails raking her arse and his cock tearing her apart. He swelled and burst in her cunt, bathing her in heat, taking her over completely. A final, impossible orgasm thundered through her, searing her with bolts of shimmering bliss.

  She collapsed, her cheek pressed to Sarita’s sticky belly, racked by aftershocks of ecstasy. Her companions sprawled around her, equally exhausted. Eyes closed, she listened to their mingled breathing.

  Harsh reality assailed her. She would never escape the clutches of the Rajasthani brothers. Horror and self-disgust threatened to overwhelm her as she realised she didn’t care.

  Chapter Eleven

  Things always seemed more hopeful in the morning.

  Cecily awakened alone and unrestrained in a soft, clean bed. The modest but beautifully appointed room was drenched in buttery sunlight. Moist, cool morning air laced with frangipani drifted in through the open window. She felt clean, refreshed, strangely satisfied with life, but seriously confused. She could not recall how she’d come to this room. Had she dreamt the previous night’s excess?

  As soon as she moved, she knew it had been no dream. The stripes from her flogging rasped against the linen sheets. Her pussy and anus felt tender and sore. She slipped her fingers into the aching cleft between her legs, wincing at the sensations even her gentle touch evoked from the abraded flesh. Yet, at the same time, those tentative strokes made her wet and hungry.

  No matter how vague she might be about how she’d ended up here, her memories of what she’d done before that point were all too vivid. The diabolical rocking saddle, Amir’s flogger, Pratan’s cock, Sarita’s pussy… Her cunny grew wetter still as the recollections unrolled in her mind.

  Get hold of yourself, woman! If you ever want to get out of here, you’ve got to stop listening to your quim. Shaking her head to clear away the lascivious images, she made an attempt to stand up. Her legs felt wobbly at first, but she managed to make it to her feet by holding on to one of the bedposts.

  Although the room was unfamiliar, she found her way to the water closet concealed behind a curtained arch. Sunbeams slanted in from slits near the ceiling, dappling the tiled floor. She relieved herself and washed, grateful once again that Rajasthani sanitation appeared to be so advanced, then limped back into the bedroom.

  “Good morning, Cecily.”

  She started and brought her hand to her racing heart. She’d been right—there must be some way for them to spy on her. How else had he known she was awake?

  “Have you never heard that it’s polite to knock, Pratan? But then matters of etiquette do not much concern a bandit like you, do they?”

  The Rajah’s brother perched on the corner of the bed, looking more royal than usual. He wore flowing trousers of midnight-blue silk, and an embroidered kurta in a lighter shade, set with pearls. He had combed his moustache and brushed his long hair. It hung in a gleaming plait over one broad shoulder. Despite her earlier resolution, Cecily felt herself moisten at the delicious sight.

  “My apologies, lady. I came to enquire after your health.”

  Cecily glanced around the room, seeking some sort of clothing. She didn’t want to converse with Pratan naked, if she could help it. She knew he could read the signs of arousal in her body. Whatever had happened to her luggage from the expropriated coach? It certainly didn’t seem to be anywhere in this room.

  Finally, she grabbed the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around her ample curves, then seated herself in a chair across from the bed. Given the small size of the chamber, this didn’t put much distance between them.

  Pratan raised an eyebrow in amusement at her modesty, but said nothing.

  “My health is fine. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, we used you rather hard last night.”

  Now it was Cecily’s turn to cock a silent eyebrow.

  “You swooned senseless towards the end. My brother and I were worried.”

  “Why should you care about the well-being of a prisoner? A sex slave?”

  “Be honest, Cecily. We didn’t exactly compel you last night.”

  “Of course you did.” Cecily shook her head in mock exasperation. In fact she was intrigued by his apparent concern. “I had no choice in the matter.”

  “You could have refused.”

  “I did refuse, multiple times, if you recall. To no avail.”

  “Well, you seemed to enjoy our attentions so much…” The uncertainty on Pratan’s face made him look younger. “We assumed you weren’t serious. You were obviously aroused, even by the flogging. If you’d really hated it, we would have stopped. Or at least I would have.”

  “No means no. My level of excitement is irrelevant. In any case, I suspect that the Rajah would have continued regardless. He has a cruel streak, I’ve been told.”

  Pratan’s eyebrows twisted into a scowl. Cecily pressed her advantage.

  “In any case, I seem to be perfectly healthy, aside from the expected effects from being beaten and then fucked senseless.”

  “You asked me to fuck you.” His black eyes flashed. “That at least you can’t deny.”

  “You’re quite right.” Cecily shook her head wearily. “The flesh is weak, as we all know. It shan’t happen again.”

  Pratan was on his feet in an instant. He dragged her out of her chair and pulled her to his chest. “I hope that’s not true,” he murmured, nuzzling her ear. “Because I most certainly would like a repeat engagement.” His strength, his now-familiar scent—Cecily fought her instinctive reaction, her urge to melt into his arms and offer him her b
ody. She might have succeeded, had he not fastened his mouth on hers in a firm but unexpectedly chaste kiss.

  This morning he tasted of oranges and black tea. She opened, almost automatically, silently inviting his tongue to enter. When he did not respond, she ran her own tongue along the seam of his closed lips, seeking access. Her nipples peaked under the sheet. Moisture pooled between her thighs.

  He broke the kiss to lick her earlobe. She squirmed as though he’d flicked his tongue across her taut clit.

  His breath was hot against her neck. “Do you want something, Miss Harrowsmith?” He gave her full bottom a brief squeeze. “All you have to do is ask. But if you don’t ask…” He released her, allowing her to sink back into her chair. His mocking smile made her fume.

  With a Herculean effort, Cecily subdued her burgeoning lust.

  “Actually, sir, I’d like some clothing and some breakfast.”

  Pratan chuckled. “I think we can manage that.”

  “And then I’d like more time in the library.” She hadn’t planned this request, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she understood the benefits of this approach. She’d told them she’d made progress towards finding a way to reverse the curse. Of course she’d want to return, to search further. She could buy time, choosing the right moment to reveal her discovery from the previous day. Meanwhile, it occurred to her that the library might answer some of her questions—Her Majesty’s questions—about Rajasthan’s mysterious source of energy and its surprisingly advanced technology.

  “Do you think you’ll find it—the way to undo the curse?” Pratan looked stricken at the reminder.

  “I don’t know. I can only try. Yesterday I found what I believe are the Rani’s spell books. I can read them, at least to some extent. Magical language tends to be obscure, however, replete with metaphor and symbolism. It will take me some time to work my way through the old tomes, to see if there’s any mention of wolves or shape-shifting.”

  “How much time?” Pratan was on his feet again, looming over her—almost threatening.

  “How can I tell? I’d like at least another day or two. Perhaps as much as a week.”

  “The moon will be full in less than two weeks.” His obvious distress kindled her sympathy, despite her determination to resist him. “And I’ve changed twice already… Probably I should return to my cave and lock myself up in my cage every night…”

  Cecily laid a hand on his sleeve, trying to ignore the hot, hard muscles shifting underneath the fabric. “Wait a few days, Pratan-ji. Let’s see what I can discover during that time.” She didn’t want him to go away. For one thing, that would leave her entirely in the Rajah’s fiendish hands. Pratan appeared to be somewhat more civilised in his sentiments, despite his rough demeanour.

  “Ganesh’s tusks! I hate this!” He shook her off. “The waiting. The uncertainty. All I want is to be fully human.”

  “I understand completely. I really do want to help you. I’m not your enemy, despite what your brother thinks.”

  He gazed down at her with those fierce eyes of his—the eyes of a hungry wolf. Despite her determination to remain aloof, affection welled up in her breast. His gaze softened, and for a moment Cecily thought he’d kiss her again. Instead he made an abrupt turn and headed for the door.

  “I’ll order clothing and food, as you requested, lady,” he called over his shoulder on his way out. “Then I’ll have Sarita escort you to the library.

  Sarita appeared subdued but in good spirits when she arrived at Cecily’s quarters. She led Cecily through the labyrinthine corridors of the palace, her gait stiff and awkward in comparison to her usual fluid grace.

  “Are you all right?” Cecily asked, concern overcoming her shame. Their recent intimacy had confused her, all the more because it had been so thrilling. “Amir—His Royal Highness—used you quite harshly last evening.”

  “That is his right,” the courtesan answered, her voice dreamy. “I belong to him. Body and soul, I am his to use, in any way he wishes. I want nothing more than to please him.”

  “But—you told me he’s cruel…”

  “Cruel or not, I love him.” She slowed, so that Cecily could fall into step beside her. “There’s nothing he could do to me that I wouldn’t welcome. In any case, he can be quite solicitous of my pleasure.” She glanced up at Cecily, eyes wide with feigned innocence and the hint of a grin tugging at her mouth. “As you may have noticed.”

  Cecily’s cheeks burnt. “Um—yes. I hope—I hope you didn’t mind. I’ve never done anything like that before…”

  The smile blossomed, rendering her lovelier than ever. “When my Lord commands, it’s my duty to obey.” She patted Cecily’s arm. “Don’t worry, it was fine. Very nice, in fact. Perhaps he’ll order you to do it again.”

  Their arrival at the library terminated the embarrassing conversation. “Ring the bell when you want lunch,” Sarita instructed. She favoured Cecily with another of her rare, angelic smiles. “We can eat together.”

  Well, at least she seems to have given up on the notion that I’m her rival, Cecily thought, as she roamed the stacks of dusty tomes. She extracted the grimoire where she’d found the parchment and set it on the table, to serve as cover in case she should happen to be interrupted. Then she went searching for books on technology.

  In fact, she discovered an entire rank of shelves covering various branches of science and engineering. She scarcely knew where to start, although the shelves appeared to be well organised and quite a number of the books were in English.

  A slim leather-bound volume embossed in gold caught her eye. Piezoelectric Nanomachinery: Some Experiments with Alumina-Quartz Aggregates by Amir Pratihar, read the spine. ‘A thesis submitted in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the Masters Degree in Engineering, Cambridge University, May 13, 1878’ added the front cover. At first, Cecily was not completely certain the Amir who authored the monograph was the Rajah. However, a quick perusal of the diagrams within convinced her that this was indeed an early effort by the perverse ruler.

  The elegantly-drafted illustrations showed rings of tubular metal, generically similar to last night’s restraints. Cross-sectional views revealed chains of crystals and a mesh of tiny, interlocking gears. Although mechanical devices were not her speciality, Cecily had studied enough science to grasp the basic principle. A small electric current applied to the quartz would deform the crystals, which would then transfer their kinetic energy to the gear train, magnifying the final effect. Clever, and as Cecily could testify from personal experience, remarkably effective.

  What, though, would serve as the source of electricity? The thesis assumed the existence of a compact, viridium-powered cell, but that would have made the cuffs far heavier than they were in reality. In any case, Rajasthan had no viridium deposits—at least according to Her Majesty’s geological experts—and had not received any shipments of the energy-rich mineral since the establishment of the embargo. Clearly the kingdom had developed an alternative energy source. Discovering its nature should be her focus here, given the limited time she had available.

  Returning the Rajah’s thesis to original spot, she scanned the shelves, looking for titles related to electricity or energy in general. She located several fat volumes in English and German—quite likely Amir’s textbooks from his time at Cambridge—but nothing written in Hindi or Rajasthani. Frustrated but determined, she lugged the texts back to her table.

  She surveyed the table of contents from one of the English books. It was organised based on different categories of energy source—coal, petroleum, biomass, hydropower, wind power, solar power, and minerals. Although, as a scholarly work, the book attempted objectivity, it was clear that the authors believed the newly discovered wonder of viridium and perhaps other mineral energy sources held the most promise for future technological and social development.

  Where did Rajasthan get its energy? Certainly the country was too dry to derive all its power needs from dams and turbines. W
ith its vast, empty desert regions, wind was a possible power source, but Cecily thus far had seen no windmills during her journeys through the kingdom. Using the sun’s energy was a distant dream, practical only on a very small scale at present. Perhaps the Rajasthanis mined some other, previously unknown mineral superior to viridium. If so, this general textbook wasn’t going to help her.

  Her stomach interrupted her thoughts, rumbling in a most unladylike manner. The angle of the sun made her realise that it was already midday. Should she ring for Sarita? First, she realised, she should replace the science books on the shelves.

  Before she could follow through on this intention, the library door opened. Instead of Sarita, as she had expected, the Rajah stepped inside.

  “Your Royal Highness.” Trying to avoid an appearance of haste, she crossed her arms and rested them on top of the open book, to hide it from the man’s immediate view. “You startled me. I was just about to break for lunch. Sarita and I planned to eat together. Perhaps you’d like to join us.”

  In three long steps, the man was behind her, peering over her shoulder. “How is your research proceeding, Miss Harrowsmith?” He didn’t touch her—not quite—but his body heat penetrated her thin garments. To her mortification, her nipples sprang to eager attention and answering heat bloomed in her quim. She was grateful that Amir did not seem to notice. Instead he picked up the grimoire, blowing dust off the battered cover.

  “A Guide to Conjuring, Curses and Incantations,” he translated, haltingly, from his mother’s tongue into the English he normally used with Cecily. “You can read this?”

  “To some extent. I can make out most of the words, but the content is, as you might expect, fairly obscure. I’m working my way through the chapter on hexes, but so far I haven’t encountered any spells related to shape-changing.”

  “Hmm. And what’s this?” His grip closed around her wrists, wresting them apart to reveal the volume beneath. “The Science of Energy. I haven’t looked at that book for years! Crotchety old Professor Moorehead’s class…” In a flash, he’d dragged her hands behind her back and secured them to the chair with one of his infernal piezoelectric cuffs. Seizing a fistful of her hair, he pulled her head back until their eyes met. His sparkled with evil delight. “I don’t quite see what this has to do with curing my brother of his affliction, however.”