Cecily kept quiet. She’d been caught in the act—the Rajah was more than intelligent enough to understand her sudden interest in energy technology.
He tugged at her scalp. “You’ve been snooping, haven’t you? Trying to uncover the secret to our remarkable prosperity?” Reaching around her body, he cupped the underside of one heavy breast then delivered a vicious pinch to her already-swollen nipple. Despite her intention to remain silent, she could not suppress her gasp at the sudden pain. He trailed one finger along the tender outer curve. The throbbing ache evaporated as sparks sizzled through her, igniting a blaze between her thighs. “What a very a naughty girl you are, Cecily! Now I’ll have to punish you again. I would have supposed you’d had enough last night, but clearly I was wrong.”
“Release me this instant, Amir.” Cecily managed to invest her voice with enough authority that he actually did loosen his grip on her hair. In truth, the idea of another session in the dungeon terrified her. It wasn’t the whip she feared, or even the cane. What she couldn’t face was her own reaction to Amir’s and Pratan’s abuse—the helpless arousal their indignities engendered. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You are supposed to be searching for the key to Pratan’s curse. To the extent that you’re doing anything else at all, you are violating my instructions and deserve correction.” The Rajah wormed his hands under her fitted bodice to capture both her breasts briefly. Her pleasured sigh turned into a yelp as he dug his nails into her flesh. “Free my brother, and then, perhaps, we can discuss the question of Rajasthan’s mysterious power source.”
“I, ah… Are you offering a bargain, sir? Oh!” Cecily’s nipples had always been sensitive. Amir alternated between teasing circles that spiralled straight to her clit and brutal twists that brought her to the edge of tears. “Ah—ow!”
“Find the counter-spell. Let that be your only concern. I’ll station a guard in here with you to guarantee you’re not slacking, pursuing your own treacherous investigations. Until you find what we seek, you’ll spend all day, every day, here in the library—and every night being punished.” The Rajah snatched his hands from her bosom, leaving her frustrated and hungry.
The tension around her wrists relaxed as he unfastened the cuffs.
He yanked her head around to face him and delivered a brief, savage kiss that left her lips smarting. “Behave yourself, Cecily. When Pratan is free, then perhaps you’ll reap your reward.”
As quickly as he’d appeared, he was gone. Five minutes later, Bhuni showed up with a plate of dahl, rice and chapati. Cecily wondered what the Rajah had told Sarita about the change in luncheon plans. She hoped he wouldn’t turn the woman’s mercurial sentiments against Cecily once again.
As she consumed the simple but tasty meal, Cecily pondered her situation. Should she reveal her find of the parchment verses? Caution and stubbornness aligned in convincing her that she should still wait. Perhaps she could outwit Bhuni, pursuing her quest for information about Rajasthan’s secrets despite the sullen guard’s presence.
After placing Cecily’s empty dish outside the door, Bhuni settled into a chair in one corner of the library. “You, get to work.” Her hand resting on the stun gun tucked into her belt, she leant back and stared at the wall.
With as docile a manner as she could manage, Cecily opened several of the magic books and pretended to study their contents. There was one volume—a history of sorcery in the realm—that was written in Rajasthani. After ten or fifteen minutes, she brought the book over to the bored-looking guard.
“Excuse me for bothering you, but I’m not an expert in your language. Can you tell me what this word means?”
Bhuni’s eyes flicked from the page to Cecily’s face and back again. She studied the page of flowing script for a few breaths.
“No,” she said finally. “Look it up.”
Cecily flipped to the next page. “What about this one? I’m sorry, but it’s not in the dictionary.”
Bhuni frowned in concentration, then shrugged. “Don’t know. I didn’t go to school. You’re the smart one, my lady says. You figure it out.”
“All right. Thank you in any case.” Cecily headed for the ranks of technology books, unable to suppress a small grin of triumph. If Bhuni was illiterate, it should be fairly easy to conceal the topic of her research from her jailer.
On the other hand, surely Amir knew of the guard’s limited education. So why had he assigned such an inappropriate individual to guarantee her attention to the question of Pratan’s curse? Was he tempting her? Seeking more excuses to chastise her?
Cecily heaved a sigh as a predictable wave of arousal flashed through her. Amir could do what he pleased. He certainly didn’t need an excuse.
Amir’s promised punishment turned out to be far different from what Cecily had expected. After her delicious but solitary dinner, she had not been dragged down to the Rajah’s subterranean playroom. Instead, he’d led her to the chamber where she’d awakened that morning, which had apparently been designated as hers for the time being, and ordered her to strip. He had then bound her face up on the bed, taking particular care not to touch her more frequently than the process absolutely required. Just being in his presence puckered her nipples and made her wet. He surely realised this. However, he was merciless in his determination to frustrate her.
With her arms and legs secured to the four corners of the bed frame, Cecily had a very limited range of motion. She could wriggle a bit—the sheet waking echoes of the previous night’s beatings—but that was all. The position kept her thighs, and her lower lips, spread wide. Random air currents fluttered over her damp, exposed pussy-flesh, sending shudders of need through her.
“Are you quite comfortable, Miss Harrowsmith? Any last requests before I leave you for the night?” Amir’s nostrils dilated as he leaned close and picked up her all-too-obvious scent, but he still didn’t touch her.
“You’d leave me like this? Alone? What if there’s an emergency? What if I need—um—the sanitary facilities?”
“In the former case—scream. Your voice is most certainly loud enough to carry to the guard station down the corridor.”
Cecily had grimaced at the notion of Bhuni seeing her in this humiliating state.
“As for the latter situation… Well, if you need to piss, you have two choices. Hold it, or let it go.”
“That’s inhuman!” Cecily had protested, ignoring the queasy little thrill his words kindled.
“This is supposed to be a punishment, woman. Although the most difficult part for you, I suspect, is yet to come.”
“Wait! Amir—Your Highness—please…”
The Rajah had ignored her pleas. After dimming the glow-globes, he opened the chamber door. “Have a good night, Miss Harrowsmith.” Cecily shivered at the ominous gaiety she heard in his voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Cecily sprawled on the bed and fumed. How dare he? When she had the information she needed—when she was safely away, back in London—she’d make the sadistic bastard pay for all his indignities. He thought he was so brilliant—all right, it was true that he was some sort of scientific genius—but men had tried to outwit her before and failed. Perhaps tomorrow she’d uncover his secret. Late that afternoon, she’d found a cache of his college notebooks that looked very promising, crammed onto a shelf near the back of the library…
Her nose itched. She tried turning her head, to rub the spot against the bedclothes, but couldn’t reach. Now it felt as though some kind of insect was skittering up the inside of her right calf. By rotating her hip joint, she was able to make contact between her leg and the bed, but the sensation persisted.
Damn him! Her skin crawled from real or imaginary stimuli. Meanwhile, on top of these myriad discomforts, she was ridiculously aroused. A drop of moisture dribbled out of her cunny and meandered along the inside of her thigh towards the mattress. Her clit throbbed in time with her pulse. She imagined it, scarlet and swollen, peeking out from her splayed labia. All her
flesh felt tight, full of blood, aching for stimulation.
With intense longing, she remembered her viridium-powered egg. She could imagine the lovely vibrations, the teasing brush of cool brass against her hot folds. How lovely it felt, smooth and hard and full of power, prodding her up the slope towards a delicious climax. She clenched her fists, tugging at the restraints that kept her away from her hungry sex, to no avail. Amir knew exactly what he was doing. Last night had been about sensory overload, unbearably intense. Tonight was about sensory deprivation.
A moan broke the silence. For an instant, Cecily thought it was her own involuntary response to her deep frustration. Then the sound came again—a woman’s voice, throaty, sensual and full of need.
“Oh, my Lord… Ah!”
Sarita’s voice—a sigh that ended in a sharp exclamation of pleasure. It sounded close, practically at Cecily’s ear, yet even in the dim light she could tell she was alone. The vocalisation, so drenched with lust, increased her own arousal tenfold.
Slap!
“Ow!” Sarita’s anguished cry was almost simultaneous with the snap of a palm against bare flesh. Slap! Cecily writhed, remembering only too well how the raw sting of such a blow could transmute to delight.
“Oh! Oh yes! Oh, please…”
“You want me to spank you, Sarita?” Cecily recognised Amir’s rich, nuanced voice, flowing golden like honey on a warm day.
“Please, my Lord… That is, if you’d like to…?”
“Indeed I would, my pet!” Slap! Slap! “Your bottom is strawberry pink.” Slap!” And just as sweet, I think…”
“Ooh—ah…” Sarita dissolved into incoherent murmurs and moans, accompanied by a distinct slurping sound that told Cecily exactly what was going on. How was it possible that she could hear every detail like this? As if the couple were right beside her on the bed?
Oh, God, what a thought! How she wished they were!
Her clit was so engorged that it hurt. Moisture trickled from her cleft onto the bedclothes, leaving her sodden and sticky. Her quim clenched around emptiness each time Sarita released a sigh. She arched her back, humping the air, as Amir drove his cock into Sarita’s soaked channel.
The wet sound of flesh parting slick flesh reached her, along with a rhythmic thud as a bed slammed into a wall. Cecily could picture everything, especially given the scenes from the previous night. The Rajah’s fat length sliding in and out of the woman’s cunt. The gleam of her wetness on his rigid flesh. Her legs clasped around his slender hips. His biceps and buttocks flexing as he thrust again and again, as though he’d tear her apart. Her exquisite body, clinging to him, welcoming his fierce assault.
“Ah—ah—ah—ah…” Sarita’s breath came in short puffs, driven from her lungs by each savage stroke. Amir growled and Sarita released a wail of pain. Probably he bit her, Cecily thought, her shoulder or her nipple or her earlobe… She practically felt the marks of his teeth on her own skin.
The pace quickened. Sarita screamed, while Amir yelled Rajasthani obscenities. Cecily thrashed in her bonds, yelling along with Sarita as the girl reached climax. I’ll die if I can’t come, she thought wildly, I’ll simply die.
Something shifted in her mind. In synchrony with her desperate thought, without a single touch, bound and alone, Cecily did come. All at once she was quivering as pleasure flooded up from her depths and washed through her.
It wasn’t the most powerful climax she’d ever experienced, but it was enough, for the moment, to bring her some peace.
The amplified voices torturing her had died to intimate whispers. Another one of Amir’s clever inventions, Cecily mused, her mind muddled with sleep. I imagine it could be quite useful in espionage. She smiled into the shadows that draped her room, feeling as though she’d in some small way thwarted the Rajah’s devious designs, before she drifted into satisfied dreams.
Chapter Twelve
What?
Cecily started awake, her heart hammering against her ribs. Forgetting that she was shackled, she tried to sit upright. Alumino-quartz cuffs bit into her wrists and ankles, forcing her back against the mattress.
She peered into the darkness, trying to determine what had roused her. Someone had been in the room while she’d slept, it seemed, or perhaps the glow-globes could be remotely controlled. In any case, the fixtures were extinguished. The only light came from the waxing moon, shining in the open window.
Her prone position limited her field of view to some extent, but, as far as she could tell, she was alone. A rusty smell hung in the air, a scent that was somehow familiar though she couldn’t place it. Holding her breath, she listened to the silence. Her own elevated heartbeat was loud in her ears, but otherwise she heard nothing unusual.
Still, her instincts told her to be wary.
“Hello?” she whispered. “Is someone there?”
“Grrr.” The low growl sent icy fingers crawling up her spine. She twisted frantically towards the origin of the sound, behind and to the right of the bed. A dark, menacing shape lurked in the corner. Even as she caught sight of its hairy bulk, it lurched in the direction of the bed.
“Growr!” The roar froze her in place. The creature clambered onto the mattress and settled between her splayed thighs, looming over her. Talon-tipped claws rifled her hair. His eyes were scarlet-rimmed pools of blackness, threatening to drown her. He leaned closer, pinning her with his fiendish gaze. All the while his stone-hard erection poked at her cleft, sliding back and forth in the wet remnants of her earlier climax.
His lipless mouth gaped in a parody of a smile as he bent closer still. Cecily closed her eyes, awaiting the agony of those enormous canines ripping into her throat. Instead the tearing came from below, as he pushed the head of his massive cock into her channel. It was far bigger than any phallus, real or simulated, she’d ever tried to accommodate. Red-tinged pain arced away from her abused tissues. He jerked his hips, forcing another inch or two past her strained entrance. Her clit buzzed from the pressure, but the swarming pleasure could not compete with the protests from her over-stretched muscles.
He growled again, feral and angry, grinding his pelvis against her resisting flesh. Blood dripped onto her chest from his slavering maw. The hot, iron-scented breath in her face thawed her into action.
“Aiyee!” she screamed, with every ounce of volume she could muster. “Get off me! Stop! Help!” She thrashed beneath him, mentally cursing the Rajah for immobilising her. “Someone! Bhuni! Help me!”
Her struggles appeared to inflame the beast’s lust. He bore down, and his monstrous organ claimed another increment of depth. Her battered cunny was taut and raw. The wetness she felt was surely blood.
“Please…!”Apparently tiring of her yells, the creature clamped one huge, hairy palm over her nose and mouth. Cecily could scarcely breathe. She sank into semi-consciousness, the pain fading and her mind spinning away. What an ignominious way for Her Majesty’s most trusted agent to expire—fucked to death by a giant wolf.
The creature’s thrusts grew wilder and more urgent. What will happen if he spends inside me? Cecily thought, giddy from lack of oxygen. Will I give birth to little wolfies…?
Enormous tension gathered in his powerful body as the wolf-man hung on the edge of climax. Then, without warning, his muscles went slack. His hand slipped from her mouth. Cecily gulped air, filling her aching lungs.
The swollen bulk buried between her legs tore away as the beast’s body tumbled sideways off the bed and thudded to the floor. Her abraded tissues screamed and fluttered around emptiness. Someone switched on the glow-globes and Cecily screwed up her eyes at the sudden brightness. Her pussy, her head, her joints—everything hurt. Pain seemed the only reality. She let it take over.
“Cecily. Cecily! Are you all right?” The pale oval hovering over her resolved itself into Sarita’s lovely face, frowning in apparent concern.
Cecily blinked, still dazed with pain. “Uh—ah—I think so… Am I bleeding? Down there?”
T
he courtesan disappeared for a moment. Light fingers dabbed at Cecily’s lower tissues, making her wince despite the tentative nature of the touch. “I don’t think so. You’re wet, but I don’t see any blood.”
“I thought he’d rip me open,” Cecily murmured. “That I’d bleed to death. I couldn’t do anything at all, thanks to the Rajah’s damned restraints…” Sarita had already unfastened the wrist cuffs. Cecily lowered her arms to her sides. “Ow! God, that hurts.”
“I’m sure my Lord didn’t mean you to come to any harm.” Sarita’s speed in releasing Cecily’s bonds suggested extensive practice.
“Well, the bastard—your damned master—almost killed me.” With painful effort, Cecily managed to prop her battered body up against the headboard. “If I’d died, it would have been his fault, not Pratan’s.” She craned her neck, surveying the naked, unconsciousness prince on the floor. All signs of his beast nature had vanished, aside from the gore spattered on his face and chest. He looked devastatingly handsome. “What did you do, anyway? How did you stop him?”
Sarita held up a small silver knife. “I’ve been carrying it ever since the incident in the library.” She wiped the blade on the already bloodstained sheets and tucked it into a jewelled scabbard at her waist. Her eyes held Cecily’s for a long moment. “We’re even now.”
A rush of affection and gratitude melted Cecily’s irritation. “Thank you, Sarita. I mean that sincerely. And I swear to you, I want no part of the Rajah’s attentions. He’s all yours. Though I have to say, I don’t think he deserves you.”
“Ah—uh…” Choked sounds emanated from Pratan’s throat as he regained his senses. “What…?” He sprang to his feet, and whirled around, taking in the scene. “By Shiva’s trident!” His eyes whipped from Cecily to Sarita and back to Cecily. “You’re covered with blood. Oh, damn it all, what have I done?”
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