Rajasthani Moon (5 page)

Cecily stole a glance at her captors. Both Amir and Pratan appeared focused on the spectacle. Even as she admired their elegant profiles and pondered her possible fate, however, Amir turned to catch her watching.

He brushed his fingertips over her hair, before reaching down to stroke the side of her breast through the bodice. The casual touch sent a bolt of pleasure straight to her pussy. “Are you bored, Miss Harrowsmith?”

“Oh, no, not at all… It’s all extremely impressive. I’m just wondering how you manage everything—where you’re getting the viridium to power the lights and the machines…”

“You’ll have to do more than just ask if you want to ferret out my secrets.” One finger traced the line of her neckline, idly it seemed, barely grazing her bare skin. Her clit pulsed, all out of proportion to his minimalist caress.

“I’m willing to do whatever is necessary, Your Highness, to repair the diplomatic breach between your country and my own.” Cecily bit back her groan of frustration as the Rajah withdrew his hand.

His luscious voice held a mocking edge. “Believe me, Cecily, I intend to test your willingness most fully.”

She honestly couldn’t decide whether her shiver was owing to fear or anticipation.

“But look—here’s the final dance.”

The silver arc of the new moon rode high above the courtyard now. The musicians took up a new song, with a pounding beat Cecily felt deep in her belly. The crowd clustered around the edges of the amphitheatre poured in the centre, churning and writhing to the insistent drums. The brothers stood, swaying with the rhythm, clapping in time.

Cecily couldn’t bear to sit still. Hampered by the chain and her loose-draped clothing, she clambered to her feet. Everyone was whirling, stomping, wailing along with the singer. The courtyard below was a kaleidoscope, coloured patterns forming and dissolving, shifting before her eyes.

Pratan was doing a sort of jig that would have been ludicrous if he’d been a less graceful, well-made man. Amir dipped and turned as though entranced by the music. The beat was infectious, impossible to deny.

The song was a drug—everyone was intoxicated. It flowed through Cecily’s body like molten energy. She had to answer its call, had to move, but her fetters made that impossible. “Please,” she begged. “Unfasten the cuffs.” She seized a handful of Amir’s tunic, trying to make him pay attention. “Free me—let me dance! Please!”

The Rajah stared at her, still swaying, his eyes unfocused. Gradually he came to his senses. “Oh—you. I’d almost forgotten. The music does that.”

He leaned in to brush his lips across hers. It was the barest touch, just enough to give her an impression of soft flesh and a whiff of anise. She wanted to scream at his smug grin. Instead, she moaned, as he gave her breast a rude squeeze.

“Free you? A luscious, sensitive, devious creature like you? Not bloody likely, my dear. Oh no, if you think you’re bound now—just wait for later.”

Chapter Seven

Cecily strained against the ropes that held her fast. Loops of rough hemp bit into her flesh, preventing anything but the most miniscule movements. Her nude body had been draped over one of the red-leather-covered ottomans scattered around the opulent apartment. The low stool was broad enough to support her chest and belly but left her arse jutting out into space. Her legs had been spread wide. Then her wrists and ankles had been secured to iron loops embedded in the floor.

The ungainly arrangement exposed her most delicate parts to anyone who cared to look. A cool evening breeze filtered in through the latticed windows, raising the tiny hairs on her arms and tickling her moist quim like invisible fingers.
I must not allow myself to become aroused,
Cecily reminded herself.
I must remain lucid, rational, alert to any information that might bring me advantage.
Alas, the dampness painting her inner thighs suggested she was already losing that battle.

The indignity of her position enraged her—that they should treat Her Majesty’s envoy in such a way! Still, it couldn’t help but focus her own attention upon her sex. Her lower lips fluttered and her clit pulsed as she imagined, despite herself, the lewd picture she must present.

To add insult to injury, it had been Sarita who had bound her thus—at the Rajah’s instruction, presumably. The lady had not been gentle as she’d stripped away the finery she’d so recently bestowed, forced Cecily’s legs apart, and circled her limbs with the scratchy cord. Her roughness had made Cecily suspect that Sarita was anything but pleased by her assignment.

It had required every ounce of Cecily’s self-control to resist temptation and not fight back. A well-placed
silat melayu
punch or a
ninjitsu
kick would have rendered the haughty young woman helpless for long enough that Cecily might have slipped out of the room. Where could she go, though, naked and constrained as she was by the fiendish collar? Besides, Bhuni and an equally massive colleague stood guard outside the Rajah’s quarters.

Now Sarita lounged on a carved ebony settee across the room, reading and pointedly ignoring Cecily’s squirming and sighs. Apparently she’d been ordered to remain with the captive, at least until the Rajah arrived.

He seemed to be taking his time. Cecily’s nose itched. Her over-extended muscles were starting to cramp. Her arousal faded, vanquished by boredom and physical discomfort. Still, there was no sign of the elegant ruler.

At long last, the door rattled and then swung open. Sarita leapt from her seat, crossed the richly-patterned carpet, and sank to her knees in front of the entering Rajah.

“My Lord, I have done as you commanded. The spy awaits you.”

Amir took in Cecily’s shameful state in one astute glance. Amusement was evident in both his voice and his expression. “Excellent work, Sarita. I could hardly have done better myself.” He raised his favourite to her feet and bestowed a kiss upon her lips. She pressed her lithe body against his in an attempt to prolong the embrace, but he gently put her aside and strolled over to confront Cecily.

“She looks extremely fetching in bondage, just as I’d expected.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Cecily glimpsed the other woman’s deepening scowl.

“How are you feeling, Miss Harrowsmith?”

The mockery in his tone was not enough to prevent a surge of renewed lust, which she struggled to suppress. “I presume that’s a rhetorical question, Your Highness,” she replied after a moment.
God, but his eyes are hypnotic!
“Given that I’m stark naked and trussed up like a turkey about to be roasted.”

“Not entirely rhetorical.” The handsome Rajah circled around to inspect her from the rear. “It seems to me that you’re distinctly
damp
.” With a chuckle, he swept a finger down the length of her cleft, gathering her moisture. Her inner muscles clenched as sparks struck her clit. When he smeared her juices across her bum, she wanted to sink through the floor. “Based on the available evidence, I’d say that being bound excites you.”

“Nonsense—” she began. Her attempts at a cool, sarcastic response were interrupted by the ferocious slap he landed on her arse. “Ow! Oh…” The sting from his spank vanished, overwhelmed by the delicious sensation of his fingers playing in her cunny. “Oh…ah…”

“And it’s clear that, like many of your compatriots, you find corporal punishment arousing.”

“No—ow! That’s ridiculous… Ow! Ah! Ow!”

He alternated sharp blows to her buttocks with exquisite explorations of her cunt.

“Fondness for punishment is one of the many intriguing cultural phenomena I encountered during my sojourn in your dank country.” He circled her back hole with a slick finger, then probed gently. “I suppose that being exposed to those notions at a tender age might have shaped my own predilections in that regard.”

She tightened her sphincter, trying to keep him out, without success. Guilty pleasure rushed through her as he wiggled his digit just inside the entrance. “Oh—you…uh—you spent time in England? Ah…” Though he pulled out, the effects of his lewd touch continued to ripple through her body. Her sex gaped, hungry, dripping with excitement she couldn’t hide. If only he’d stop chattering and simply take her…

“I was schooled there. Pratan as well. My father believed in the value of knowing one’s enemy.”

“I’m not— We’re not—oh!—your enemy, Your Highness. Ow!”

The Rajah had pinched one of the welts raised by his brother’s whipping. “Hmm. We’ll see. Speaking of Pratan, it looks as though he did quite a job on you yesterday. Perhaps I should refrain from inflicting any further damage on your delectable bottom at present.”

Cecily bit back a moan of disappointment. She hung her head, appalled by her reaction. Her hair tumbled around her face, hiding her shame.

“Fear not, sweet Cecily. I have other ideas about what to do with you—equally nasty and painful, I guarantee.” He gave both her butt cheeks a solid squeeze, waking echoes of her previous beatings, then moved away.

She heard a lock click on some chest or cabinet behind her. He must be seeking some new instrument of punishment or humiliation. She shuddered, from fear or anticipation, or perhaps both at once.

“Where
is
Pratan?” she ventured as the noise of his rummaging continued. At the moment, she would have felt safer in the company of the bandit.

“He’s—um—indisposed at the moment. That is why I was delayed. Ah, here we are! Don’t worry. I fully intend to share you with my brother.”

Share? Each man was fearsome in his own right. But together…

She pushed the thought away.
Focus. Be strong.

“My Lord, may I leave?”

Heavens! Cecily had completely forgotten that Sarita was present, watching the entire scene. Her cheeks burnt anew.

“Oh, I don’t know. I thought that perhaps you’d like to participate in our little games.”

“No, sir—truly…”

Let her go,
Cecily begged silently.
Please just let her go.

“You don’t want to put these clamps on her labia? Or work this wooden phallus into her rear hole?”

This was almost too much for Cecily’s all-too-vivid imagination. Her swollen clit throbbed. Her sex muscles clenched around hungry emptiness.
If either of them touches me
, she thought,
I’ll explode.

“My Lord, please…” Sarita sounded desperate.

“I thought I might make Miss Harrowsmith lick your cunny. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Oh my God, no!
And yet a sidelong glance at the lovely courtesan almost sent Cecily over the edge.

“I am your obedient servant, sir…” the girl began.

Amir laughed and swept Sarita into his arms once more, mollifying her with an energetic kiss. “Never mind. I won’t force you do something that so clearly displeases you. Not tonight, at least!”

“Thank you, my Lord…” Sarita pressed her lips to the back of his hand in obvious relief. “I am very grateful…”

“Go then! Off to the women’s quarters with you!” He swatted her diminutive rear on her way out. “I’ll call if I want you.”

She turned upon the threshold to give him a deep bow. “As you command, my Lord. Thank you again.” The door closed behind her.

“Thank you,” murmured Cecily, her raging heartbeat starting to slow down.

“You don’t find my Sarita desirable?” Amir faced her, drawing back the curtain of her hair and fixing her with his compelling gaze.

“She’s lovely but…” Cecily was uncertain how to continue. She didn’t want to offend him unnecessarily. Her future depended on his goodwill.

“But she doesn’t seem very fond of you, does she? Well, who could blame her? All she wants is to give herself to me, body and soul, but I’ve chosen you as my companion for tonight instead.”

He lifted Cecily’s tangled locks to drape them over her shoulders. When his fingers grazed her back, tiny shivers of delight raced along her skin. His half-smile told her that he’d noticed.

“Shall we continue, then?” That question, at least, seemed rhetorical, since he disappeared without waiting for an answer.

When he returned to her field of view, he carried a cylindrical device as long as his forearm, fashioned of the same greyish metal as the robotic shackles. An oval of glass adorned one end of the tube. The other fit comfortably in his hand.

Amir brought the glass close to her bare shoulder. Something sizzled like water falling on a heated skillet, then a burning needle pierced her flesh.

Cecily jerked in her bonds, as much from surprise as from the sudden sting. “Ow!”

The air smelt sharp, metallic. Grinning, Amir let the globe hover near her upper arm. This time, she saw the spark that leapt from the glass to her tingling skin.

“What in heaven…?”

“A little invention of mine, adapting the principles of our stun guns, which I believe you’ve seen, to more pleasurable purposes.” Another bolt crackled across the gap between the device and her naked flesh. Yes, the shock hurt, but now that she’d got over her surprise, she found the prickling sensation that followed quite enjoyable.

“Of course, the effects are more dramatic when my electrostimulator is applied to more, um, sensitive areas. And if you know anything about electricity, you’ll understand that moisture enhances conductivity, intensifying the sensations considerably.”

“You can’t mean…?” Cecily shuddered at what he was implying, even as her juices welled up and trickled down her thighs.

“I’ve been told that agents of the Empire are trained to endure almost any level of pain. I’m quite curious to evaluate that story myself.”

He vanished, busying himself behind her. “First, though, we need the clamps.”

“No, please…!” A surge of pleasure stopped her. Amir had plunged his fingers deep into her hungry channel. He stroked her inner walls, generating pulsing waves of delight. Something brushed across her clit, a touch so light it was barely there, yet enough to make her whole being knot into pre-climactic tension. There it was again, the faintest trace of his finger or thumb, not quite enough to send her into release, but almost, almost…

Cecily arched back, trying without success to rub herself against those teasing fingers. Her bonds forbade even this slight movement. Amir was in complete control of her body. He could do whatever he wanted.

The realisation should have dismayed her. Instead, she felt a perverse thrill. A finger grazed her bud, more firmly than before. Climax coiled in her belly, drawing tighter with each breath. He refused to set it free. So be it. She closed her eyes, focusing on the storm of sensation raging in her sex.

He caught her clit between two fingers and squeezed. Before she could come, he released his hold. Cecily groaned in frustration. He tugged on her sex lips and her clit pulsed in time. If only he’d concentrate on that swollen, needy nub, instead of playing with her in this way!

Something hard and cold bit into the soft flesh of her labia. Agony arced through her world like a meteor streaking across the night sky. At the same time, relentless fingers clamped down on her clitoris.

A scream tore itself from her throat. Her climax ripped through her, swirling ribbons of sensation exploding from her shuddering cunt. As she shook in her bonds, barely conscious, she felt the jaws of a second clamp seize her, and she came again.

“You are not nearly as self-controlled and stoic as I would have expected,” Amir commented as she trembled with the aftershocks of her crisis. “Perhaps your reputation has been inflated by rumour.” He flicked at one of the dangling clamps. She bit her lip as pain raced through her, determined not to cry out, but she couldn’t halt the juices trickling from her twitching quim.

“Still, I’m personally delighted to find you are so responsive—to both pain and pleasure.” Wetness spilled along the crevice between her buttocks and the scent of almonds surrounded her. “That will make the interrogation much more entertaining, at least for me.” Once she was slippery with the aromatic oil, he worked his fingers into her back passage, despite her clench-muscled attempts to keep him out.

The sweet, dirty feel of him stretching her sphincter sent quivering waves through her belly. With all her amorous experience, she’d never received a man’s member in that most private orifice, though she’d been probed and teased enough to be familiar with the exquisite pleasures that channel could afford.
I can bear it
, she told herself.
As long as he keeps away from my clit…