Rajasthani Moon (14 page)

“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 circuit 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.

She could do this. She would do it—for Pratan, and for the sake of her own freedom.

“Half an hour left. Tomorrow we’ll move up to the next plug. Or would you rather try this afternoon?” Amir released a diabolical chuckle.

Cecily shut him out of her world. Her eyes flitted over the still water. The lake was deep, changeless, ageless. She allowed its peace to seep into her soul as Amir’s implements remade her flesh into a fitting receptacle for a monster.

Chapter Fourteen

The days crawled by in the lovely palace by the lake. The moon waxed. Normally Cecily was predisposed towards impatience, but she was in no hurry for it to reach its peak.

Every morning, Amir trained her to accept ever larger items in her rear orifice. He never failed to bring her to orgasm in the process. By the fourth or fifth day, she began to get wet before he’d even touched her—as soon as she entered the room where he kept his fiendish devices.

Amir noticed, of course, and didn’t fail to mock her for her lubricious tendencies. “Still, you should be grateful,” he had added in a rare moment of kindness. “I suspect your sensual nature will make the ritual a good deal less difficult for you. Who knows, you might even find it pleasurable.”

Unconvinced, she steered her mind away from all thoughts of her impending sacrifice. When she wasn’t involved in her exercises with the Rajah, she spent her time reading in the small library that perched atop one of the snow-white towers, playing chess with Sarita—who turned out to be quite adept at the game—or wandering in the lush gardens skirting the shore. Sometimes, in the afternoons, she would practise
jujitsu, taekwando
,
capoeira
or
Varzesh-e Bastani.
Her elegant, sparsely furnished chamber, like almost all the rooms in Akanksha, had a view of the tranquil lake. Nude, alone in her room, she willed her body to flow from one martial pose to the next. The sight of the still, deep water soothed and centred her.

Three days after the amphibious coach had left Jaipur, the caravan arrived. The earthy odour of animal dung mingled with the more usual fragrances of jasmine and hibiscus. Rainbow-garlanded and decked with tinkling bells, the camels spat and grumbled as they were relieved of the bales and baskets strapped to their backs. The bleat of goats and the lowing of cattle mingled with the songs of the servants as they bustled through the palace, unloading and stowing provisions, sheltering the livestock in the extensive stables, polishing silver and airing the Rajah’s finery. Sarita dashed about in a forest-green sari, issuing orders and criticising staff who did not meet her expectations for speed and efficiency.

That evening Cecily dined with Amir, Pratan and Sarita for the first time since they’d come to Nakki. The colourful spectacle had raised everyone’s spirits, it appeared. Sarita was far more voluble than usual, relating various tales of the day’s successes and mishaps. Amir’s voice was full of affection when he addressed his concubine, his touch uncharacteristically solicitous and gentle. Even Pratan smiled occasionally, as he and Amir made plans for a hunting trip into the nearby forest the following day.

Other than that evening, she saw little of the bandit-prince. It seemed clear that he was avoiding her. Cecily understood his concerns, but nevertheless resented his absence. With all that she expected to suffer on his behalf, could he not spare her an hour or two? A smile? A kiss? Each night he haunted her dreams, usually in wolf form. During the day, she endured a constant ache just beneath her breastbone that she recognised as longing for his company.

She tried to convince herself that she didn’t need him. Occasionally, for a few hours at a time, she succeeded.

Amir told her one morning on the way to her training session that Pratan had gone into retreat at Parshvanatha Temple, on Abu’s slope. “He is praying to Vishnu for strength and self-control.”

“I’m the one who needs the strength,” Cecily complained, irritated by what she saw as Pratan’s self-centredness.

The Rajah cocked one eyebrow. “I suspect that he may be offering petitions on your behalf as well. Your role is far easier than his, though. All you need to do is be open.”

“Easier? Perhaps you’d like to take a cock the size of a stallion’s in your rear channel.”

Amir offered her a serene smile. “After the past week, you’ll find it no challenge at all, Miss Harrowsmith. Now, down on your belly. You know the procedure.”

Cecily complied, annoyed to discover she was even wetter than usual.

One day before the full moon, Amir announced the training was complete. “I’ve done what I can,” he told her, as he helped her rise from the bench. “Now it’s up to you and Pratan to bring the ritual to completion.”

Still quivering from her latest orgasm, Cecily leaned on her companion’s arm. “When will he return from the temple?”

“Tomorrow morning, I believe, though I have not heard from him in several days. I’ve consulted the astronomical charts, by the way. Moonrise will occur around eight p.m. If we leave for the mountain as the sun is setting, we should arrive in plenty of time.”

“We? You plan to accompany us?”

“Who else will restrain the beast until the appropriate moment? Who will subdue him, if he becomes overly violent?”

Cecily had to admit this made sense. Still, despite the risks, she would have preferred to confront and couple with Pratan alone. She released a sigh that did not assuage the heaviness in her chest.

Amir swung her around to face him. “Cecily—pet—don’t worry. I’ll take care of you both.” To her astonishment, he gathered her into his arms and nuzzled her hair. “I’ve become quite fond of you,” he murmured. “And I deeply appreciate what you’re doing for Pratan, regardless of your motivations.”

“Amir—Your Highness…” Cecily struggled to extricate herself from the Rajah’s embrace. “I don’t think…”

“Don’t think,” he ordered, and took possession of her mouth with the same self-confident power with which he did everything else.

Cecily relaxed into the kiss. Given his lewd acquaintance with her most intimate parts, resistance seemed silly. In truth, she had to admit to herself that he felt absolutely delicious. His lips moulded to hers while his tongue slipped into her mouth with an authority that did not require force but brooked no refusal. He tasted of masala tea, cinnamon and cloves, with a tart undercurrent that might be lime. Surrender was sweet. His muscles shifted as he encircled her with his arms and drew her closer, mashing her full breasts against the rough cotton of his
kurta
.

The two climaxes she’d experienced during their ‘exercise’ did not stop her pussy from swelling and tingling anew, especially when he insinuated a finger between her rear cheeks and stroked her recently distended hole. “Please,” she moaned into his mouth, not really wanting more stimulation, but helpless to resist. Already her body was ramping towards orgasm, so conditioned had she become to that state in Amir’s presence.

She was grateful when he released her, rather than pressing his advantage to its ultimate conclusion. She wasn’t sure she could bear another climax.

“Alas, Miss Harrowsmith! I am sorry that we did not meet under other, more congenial circumstances.” Regret and relief mingled in her as he stepped away, allowing her to catch her breath. “You are magnificent. Indeed, you have the makings of a queen.”

“You have a queen already—or at least someone eager to play that role.” Cecily turned away to don her clothing. Since the arrival of his household staff, Amir had not, thankfully, required her to walk around the palace naked. “Sarita would make an admirable queen. She is beautiful, intelligent and capable. Plus she adores you. She’ll do whatever you ask.”

“Quite true,” Amir conceded. “Sometimes, however, I like a bit of a fight.” He grinned, looking like a mischievous boy. “I’ll accompany you back to your quarters, then I’ll check in on her. She has been feeling ill for the last day or two.”

“I’m sure that she’ll appreciate that, Amir. I know she craves your attention.”

They paused outside the door of her chamber. “I think you should rest for the next twenty-four hours. Gather your strength for tomorrow night’s ordeal.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Cecily bowed in mock deference. They burst into shared laughter, before Amir strolled away towards Sarita’s apartments.

Alone in her room, peering out over Nakki Lake’s still waters, Cecily replayed Amir’s kiss and wondered—no, worried—about what it could mean.

* * * *

The last day and night were the very worst. Despite the Rajah’s advice, Cecily found that sleep eluded her. She spent hour after hour at her window, watching the near-circular moon climb above the lake then descend. The orb appeared larger and brighter than in England, its edges crisp and sharp as a scimitar blade.

She thought about her life in London—tea parties and balls, hours in the gymnasium and on the target range, endless briefings about the latest international crises, flirtation and sometimes more intimate dalliance with the influential men who crossed her path. Plots and counterplots, etiquette and hypocrisy. The monochromatic stone buildings and macadam streets. Viridium-fuelled street lamps struggling to pierce the soupy fog. The persistent stink of coal smoke and excrement that lingered despite Her Majesty’s ambitious public works projects. It all seemed unreal, a place of grey ghosts, here in this land of brilliant colour, pure sensation and raw emotion.

Finally, she managed a few hours of restless slumber. In her dreams, the moon kept watch, a cold, implacable eye from which there was no escape.

She awoke at dawn, feeling anxious and irritable. An eerie quiet suffused the palace. After washing and dressing, she tiptoed down the spiralling marble stairs to the ground floor and out to the garden, seeking some sort of balm for her ragged spirit.

Verdant creepers twined along the stone balustrades, studded with pastel blooms just opening to the new morning. Despite the arid climate of the kingdom, dewdrops sparkled like diamonds on the velvety petals. Gentle winds rippled the lake and whispered through the foliage. Snowy gardenias peeked out from bushy clusters of shiny green leaves. Cecily plucked one and inhaled its intoxicating fragrance. She felt her tension ebb a bit as the first rays of sunlight slanted over the palace rooftops down into the leafy space. Closing her eyes, she filled her lungs with the perfumed air and let the sun warm her cheeks and forehead.

 
Some slight sound drew her attention. There, at the far end of garden, stood Pratan, gazing out over the water. He wore nothing but loose white
dhotis
and the white turban of a pilgrim. The breeze stirred his ebony hair. Even from where she stood, Cecily could see the rise and fall of his tanned, sculpted chest as he breathed deeply.

Sudden joy swept through her. “Pratan! You’ve returned!” She hastened to his side, snagging his arm as he tried to turn away. “Don’t go. Please.”

He looked weary, haggard, ten years older than the last time she’d seen him. “Best to keep your distance from me, lady. I can feel the beast move inside, every time I catch a whiff of your scent.”

Cecily ignored his admonition. She pulled his body against hers, revelling in the luscious hardness of him pressed against her soft, pillowy flesh. “Tonight we’ll put that beast to rest forever.”

“If the gods will it.” His gruff voice held such despair that she cringed in spite of herself. However, he did not move away from her.

“The gods will smile on you—on us. I’m certain. You are innocent and deserve redemption.”

“Innocent? I’m a murderer twice over. Tonight I may well claim my third victim.”

“Hush. Your brother has sworn he will protect me. And I am more than ready for the worst you can do to me.” She cradled his cheeks, stubble pricking her palms, and pulled his face down to her level. “Kiss me, Pratan. Kiss me and forget your pain.”

She expected him to refuse, to push her away. Instead, he allowed her to press her lips to his and wrap him in her arms. Docile and unresisting, he opened to her questing tongue, but at first he did not respond in kind. She drank him in, pouring all the longing of the past week into her kiss. She was on fire, his touch and scent kindling a passion so fierce she could scarcely breathe. Ravaging his mouth, she sought to ignite an answering fever.

She let her hands wander over his bare back, discovering the raised scars of his harsh life in the mountains. She slid her palms down to his taut buttocks, cupping the firm flesh and pulling his pelvis against hers.

His passivity was a lie. Under his thin cotton garment, he was like stone. Cecily ground her pubis against that lovely hardness and mashed her lips frantically against his.
Love me, my poor cursed bandit
, she thought.
Take me.

As though she’d struck a match, her companion burst into fiery activity. Suddenly he was devouring her, licking, nipping, suckling her tongue then thrusting his own deep into her mouth. His fingers roamed over her curves, slithering under her garments to stroke her bare skin, pinching and probing. Pressing her against a moss-cushioned wall, he slid his thigh between hers, stimulating her aching clit while his erection throbbed against her leg. Meanwhile his teeth and tongue were busy, alternating bites and kisses from below her ear to the hollow of her throat.

His turban tumbled to the ground. “Oh, God…” she moaned as he yanked up her skirt and drove his fingers into her soaked cunny. “Yes—oh yes…”

She untucked the cotton wrapping his loins. The garment collapsed around his ankles and she claimed his cock, stroking in time with his thrusts into her pussy. He gave a strangled gasp when she circled the plump head and licked at the magic ridge beneath.

 
She wanted to taste him, but she was impaled on the fingers buried in her sex. She wanted his cock inside her, but she was too paralysed by current pleasures to move. She wanted—oh, she wanted everything—to yield to him, to consume him, to cauterise his wounds in the fire of their mutual release.