I hope you’re right, she thought. Because even I don’t know exactly why I’m doing this.
“Ah, good morning, Pratan-ji!” Amir’s voice interrupted their tête-à-tête. The Rajah hoisted himself into the carriage, then offered a hand to help Sarita board. He was attired in a kurta of scarlet satin, green pantaloons, and a black leather vest studded with gold. Cecily’s mouth watered at the ravishing sight. On the other hand, Pratan looked equally magnificent, though he wore a plain cotton shirt and trousers, both as black as his flowing hair.
To Cecily’s relief, Sarita took the spot next to her, leaving Amir to settle diagonally opposite. The last thing she needed on an extended journey was to feel the Rajah’s heat on her skin and smell his damned perfume.
“How long will it take to arrive at the lake?” she inquired, trying to hide her persistent excitement.
“I’ve taken the liberty of re-engineering some aspects of this excellent carriage you were so kind to provide”—Cecily wanted to kick him, despite her rising lust—“so we should arrive just after nightfall, I would expect.”
“After nightfall?” The worry in Pratan’s voice was obvious.
“But certainly before moonrise, brother. And we are well-equipped with silver implements, in any event.” He turned his attention back to Cecily. “The caravan will travel more slowly, of course. The bulk of the entourage won’t arrive for two days. I’ve arranged for essential supplies to be delivered by aerocopter. Still, we’ll be more or less by ourselves for the first day or two. I imagine we’ll come up with a variety of entertainments…”
Quick as lightning, he leaned across the gap between them to pinch Sarita’s nipple through her pink and gold sari. She gasped, her eyes going wide. The Rajah chuckled. “Unfortunately, this carriage is a bit cramped for much activity of that sort. I did consider having you travel with your arse plugged, Miss Harrowsmith—why waste any time with your preparation for the ritual? However, my brother talked me out of that plan.”
Cecily beamed a look of silent gratitude in Pratan’s direction.
“Well then.” Amir rubbed his hands together in what struck Cecily as a very British gesture. “Shall we be on our way?” Without waiting for a response, he activated the communication panel and barked an order to their driver.
The coach rolled forward towards the great gates leading out of the castle. Cecily peered out of the window at the ranks of the Rajah’s minions, lined up to see him off on his journey.
They entered the glow-lit tunnel Cecily recalled from her arrival. She stirred among the cushions, eager to catch a glimpse of the city outside the fortress walls.
“Wait!” Sarita gave a sudden cry. “Stop! Stop, my Lord!”
“What is it, pet? Are you ill?” At the Rajah’s command, the vehicle ground to a halt.
“The collar.” She pointed at the silvery band circling Cecily’s throat. “The device will activate as soon as we leave the castle.”
“Oh my God.” Cecily’s stomach turned over. Her limbs were suddenly rubber. “I had totally forgotten. I can’t leave, not unless you remove it.”
Three sets of eyes focused on Amir. “Hmm. If we take it off, you might try to escape.”
“I won’t. I give you my word…”
“Still, the word of a spy…”
“We’ve been through this already, Amir.” Cecily heaved a deep sigh, shaking her head in frustration. “If you don’t trust me, you might as well grab one of the guards’ guns and shoot me now.”
“Amir-ji…we’re wasting time. Take the damned thing off and let’s get on the road.”
“Very well.” The Rajah nodded at Sarita. The courtesan reached over to manipulate some secret control Cecily had been unable to find in hours of examination. The collar came apart into two arcs. Sarita tucked it into her travel sack.
“Thank you,” Cecily breathed, more to Sarita than to her master.
“Be sure you keep your promise, lady.” Amir stabbed the air with his forefinger, like a stern schoolmaster. “If you flee—if you even make an attempt—I’ll slit Sarita’s throat.”
Cecily turned in shock to the woman beside her. Her eyes were round and her mouth was set in a thin line, but otherwise she did not react to her Lord’s vicious threat. Cecily captured the courtesan’s hand and held it tight.
“You bastard,” she hissed. “You’re worse than your wicked mother.”
Amir burst into laughter. “Cecily, Cecily… Can’t you tell when I’m joking?”
“I see no possible humour in your so-called jest. If I were to escape, be assured that I’d take Sarita with me.”
“She wouldn’t go. Would you, pet?”
Sarita shook her head, apparently still mute with horror.
“She loves me too much. And she knows that, in my own way, I love her.” He donned an innocent expression that might have fooled someone who didn’t know him. “Let’s go, then.”
The voyage was far from comfortable. Despite Amir’s enhancements, the poor roads still made for a bumpy ride. Pratan’s cheerful spirits had fled. He paid no attention to his companions, staring out of the window with a scowl twisting his lips. Furious at Amir for his cruelty, Cecily refused to be drawn into conversation, giving monosyllabic replies to direct questions she could not ignore. Sarita dozed among the cushions. Perhaps her diabolical master had kept her from sleeping the previous night. Cecily sneaked a glance at the girl’s wrists and noted the tell-tale abrasions. Poor creature!
Foiled in his attempts to bring some levity to their group, Amir finally gave up and buried his nose in a book. Once freed from his scrutiny, Cecily breathed a bit more easily, but she still felt restless. Her body hummed with low-level arousal because of the proximity of Pratan and his brother. She watched the landscape fly by, villages and farms alternating with vast stretches of emptiness. Every hour brought them closer to Mount Abu and her destiny. She did not want to think about what awaited her at the end of their journey.
They arrived in good time despite the road conditions. The carriage crested a hill. Cecily gazed out to see the calm waters of Nakki Lake spread out before them, gilded by the setting sun. Across the lake loomed the conical bulk of Mount Abu, crowned with gold as the fiery orb sank behind it. On the near shore, just below them, Akanksha Palace gleamed in the waning light, a fantasy in white marble.
“The lake is ancient and holy,” Pratan commented. He had roused himself from his funk. “The palace, though, is fairly new. My father built it as a gift for my mother. ‘Akanksha’ means wish or desire.” His face clouded, and Cecily’s chest ached in sympathy.
“It’s lovely.” Cecily spoke the plain truth. Though fashioned of stone, the edifice had the delicacy of a cloud. It looked like some confection of spun sugar, all airy balconies and minarets, graceful arches and courtyards open to the sky.
The few retainers who had arrived beforehand by air had set candles in the tall windows. As the sun dropped out of sight and the light faded, the place twinkled as though inhabited by fireflies.
“Gorgeous,” Cecily murmured. The coach had left them just outside the gate, in a circular courtyard centred on a fountain. She recognised the motif—Krishna and the Gopis, the milk maids who so adored him. The palace was no less wonderful at close range. Carved friezes decorated the exterior walls, gods and goddesses entwined in sacred congress. Inside, the ceiling rose twenty feet or more, vaulted like the great cathedrals of Europe. Silver chandeliers bearing hundreds of candles dangled from the apex. Meanwhile, a cool breeze wafted in from a terrace that overlooked the dark lake.
She gazed around her in wonder. Pratan stood by her side, brooding and silent. Amir had disappeared with the sleepy Sarita, presumably conveying her to their room. A palace named desire.
On impulse, she seized Pratan’s hand. “Stay with me tonight.” The raw need in her voice astonished but did not deter her. “Please, Pratan-ji. I don’t want to be alone.”
“I dare not, lady. The moon is still below the horizon,
but already I feel her energy. I must hasten to my cage. Every minute I spend here with you increases the danger.”
He tried to extricate himself from her grasp. She clasped his hand to her breast, feeling her nipples knot under her blouse. Brazen, she rubbed his palm over one taut nub, striking sparks that sizzled down to her pussy.
“I’m not afraid. You didn’t hurt me before…”
He snatched his hand from her grasp and backed away. “Have you really forgotten the pain, woman? The blood? Leave me be!”
“Pratan…”
“And if I bite you, and make a monster of you as well? No, no… We must not be together at all, not until the night of the ritual.” He strode off down the corridor, towards the sleeping chambers where she knew they’d set up his iron cage.
“Please…” she murmured, sinking to her knees in the empty room. “Please! I need you. I want you.”
The waters of the lake lapped against the shore. Wind sighed in the garden, bringing hints of jasmine and gardenia. Her vision blurred as she fought against traitor tears. Pull yourself together, she scolded herself. He’s nothing but a savage scoundrel—a beast—Her Majesty’s foe. He’s not bloody worth crying over, that’s for certain.
It was a long, dark and very lonely night.
The next morning brought no sign of Pratan, but Amir barged into her room just as she was completing her ablutions. He wore a plain white kurta and dhotis. “Ready to begin your training, Miss Harrowsmith?”
“Would it make any difference if I told you no?”
“What do you think?” The Rajah grinned like some lascivious demon. “Come on, then. You needn’t put on any clothing. There’s no one around.”
“I can’t walk around the palace stark naked!”
“Of course you can. Sarita often does.”
Not by her own preference, I imagine, Cecily thought. But honestly, what does it matter? I’m about to have my anus stretched to accommodate a monster. Everything else rather pales in importance by comparison. Barefoot, her waist-long hair partially hiding her breasts, she allowed the Rajah to march her down a corridor and into a spacious chamber that looked out over the lake. Sunlight fractured on the sapphire-blue water, the sparkles so bright they hurt her eyes. A bird swooped through the cloudless sky. Otherwise, there were no signs of life at all.
“You see? I promised you a lovely view.” Amir indicated a carved bench upholstered in padded leather. “Stretch out over here, where you can see it. Belly on the bench, please. Arms overhead with your hands gripping the opposite edge. Knees on the carpet.” As she followed his instructions, he opened a wooden cabinet set into the wall and retrieved a coil of rope.
“You don’t have to tie me,” Cecily protested from her half-prone position. “I agreed to this. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I think that, once we start, you’ll be glad to have the ropes. In any case, you do look so delightful in bondage, Cecily.”
Knowing it was useless to argue, she did not fight him when he looped the cord around her wrists and tied them to the legs of the bench. He then wound the rope around her waist and under the bench several times. He left her ankles unrestrained.
“There. Is that too tight?”
“No, Your Highness.”
“Sarcasm does not become you, Miss Harrowsmith. Are you quite comfortable?”
Actually, she was moderately comfortable, though she wasn’t about to admit it. The bench felt solid under her, reliable. The leather upholstery was lusciously soft and smelt divine. The thick silk carpet cushioned her knees. Gazing at the jewel-like empty lake brought her an odd sense of serenity.
“Now, where did those blasted servants put the graduated plugs?” Amir rummaged in the cabinets behind her. Cecily tuned him out, enjoying her strange sense of well-being.
“Ah, here we are. Just the thing for the current problem, as you can see…”
“Oh my God! You can’t be serious!”
Amir carried a wood and brass rack, large enough that he needed both hands. A dozen or so brass-lined circular depressions marched along the top. Each one held a bullet-shaped lump of what looked like rubber, which increased in both length and diameter from left to right. The leftmost one appeared to be about six inches long and three inches in diameter. The one farthest to the right was easily as big as a good-sized brinjal, or even a papaya.
Cecily shook her head. “No. I can’t possible take even the smallest!”
“Come now, we’re talking about my brother’s life here. Anyway, the phallus I used that first night was easily the size of this little plug, and you had no trouble at all. And don’t forget the horse…”
Cecily’s cheeks burnt as she remembered the sense of lewd invasion and the helpless lust it kindled. “But… But I was aroused then.”
“And so you shall be today, I guarantee. By the time the moon is full, I’ll be able to insert even the largest plug with ease.”
He disappeared from view. She heard him place the rack on the floor behind her—the thump suggested it must be heavy—then more opening and closing of doors. Swallowing hard, she stared out at the placid lake. Why in heaven had she agreed to this?
“Spread your thighs a bit, pet. Yes, that’s right.” He’d positioned himself between her legs—she could feel his heat, beating against her bare skin. She smelt almonds and knew he’d poured oil into his palm. “Now just relax…”
He trailed warm, well-greased fingers down the crevice between her cheeks, then dipped into her sex.
“Oh…” She sucked in her breath as he grazed her clit, sending bolts of pleasure arcing through her. “Oh—uh…” Two fingers—or maybe three—sank into her channel, pushing deep. It felt delicious, she had to agree, especially when he stimulated her bud simultaneously.
Meanwhile, his other hand, equally slippery, was circling her rear hole, teasing the sensitive tissues and of course making her want more. She arched back and he parted her sex folds, stroking and prodding her, while all the while he toyed with her still-virgin entrance.
His touch woke a perverse hunger. Cecily recalled, only too well, the sweet shame of having her arse penetrated. The more he played there at the portal, the more she craved the feel of him inside.
“More,” she moaned, swallowing her pride as her cunt swallowed four of his fingers and his thumb strummed her clit. “Give me more, damn it!”
Amir slid a digit into the rosette between her cheeks and Cecily gasped. “Like this?” He could scarcely keep himself from laughing—Cecily could hear the mockery in his voice—but at this point she didn’t care.
“More! Please!” He pushed deeper into her anus, then added another finger. It wasn’t enough, not nearly. Three fingers were better, but still she needed, she wanted more.
“Give me the plug!” she cried, humping his other hand, which was still busy in her cunt.
“Are you sure you can you take it, Cecily?” Amir taunted. He didn’t wait for her answer, though. His probing fingers disappeared from her rear, to be replaced by a hard, solid bulk that felt much, much larger. He rubbed it back and forth across her sphincter, letting her feel how well lubricated it was, then pushed.
For a moment, nothing happened. An awful pressure built against the loosened ring of muscle. “Ooh… Aye…”
“Open for me, pet. Let me in.” She wanted to open to him, she really did. The plug was just too big, though. There was no way it could ever make it inside. And it hurt, stretching her tender orifice as he increased the pressure, unyielding, relentless…
Amir relaxed for an instant. She sucked air into her lungs, hovering between relief and regret. Then he gave a vicious thrust and the obscene thing breached her portal, filling her with shameful delight.
At the same instant, the devil twisted her clit, sending her crashing into climax.
Cecily released a wail that echoed from the high ceilings. Convulsions racked her body—she would have tumbled off the bench had she not been secured. Fire raced back and forth in a circ
uit from her arse to her clit and back again. Pleasure and pain reverberated through her, each stoking the other.
Amir didn’t touch her again until she lay quiet, shivering and gasping like a beached fish on the sweat-slicked leather. Then he pushed the plug deeper into her rear channel, scraped his fingernail over her clit, and sent her back into awful, glorious crisis.
“No more,” she begged, when she recovered from her latest spend. “I can’t bear it.”
“Enough?” Amir’s mockery had no power to touch her. She was too far gone to care. “Are you sure?” Very, very gently, he ran a slick finger through her folds, drawing her just to the edge. The plug seemed to vibrate inside her, though she was fairly sure the device wasn’t motorised.
“Enough for now,” she replied, her voice weak as a ghost’s.
He crouched by her side, blocking the view. “You’re doing well, pet.” When he brushed his lips across hers, her pussy clenched around emptiness and she thought, for an agonised instant, that she’d come again. “I’m going to leave you for a while, here with the plug in your anus, so that it can stretch you out. Just an hour or so.”
“An hour? Oh no—no, please don’t go away…I don’t want to be alone, Amir, not when I’m bound. Remember what happened last time…”
His handsome face darkened briefly before he nodded. “Very well. Let me go get the book I’m reading, then I’ll stay with you until it’s time to remove the plug.”
“Thank you,” Cecily breathed, closing her eyes. Her limbs felt like jelly. Indeed, she was glad to have the security of the bonds, just as Amir had promised. “Thank you, sir.”
Amir returned and seated himself in a corner behind her. “Forty-five minutes more, pet,” he told her, then left her with her own thoughts and sensations.
Her clit still tingled slightly. The plug distended her tissues. She tried to loosen her muscles. She thought about stretching, opening, allowing herself to be filled. Any remnant of pain faded. An undercurrent of pleasure hummed through her.
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