Rajasthani Moon (6 page)

He removed his fingers, leaving her open and gaping. She swallowed her moan of disappointment. The next thing she knew, something monstrous and unyielding pressed against her loosened entrance.

“No!” she cried. “Please…” Too late. The artificial phallus he’d mentioned to Sarita slid into Cecily’s hind hole, facilitated both by the oil and her own copious lubrication. She’d expected pain, the tearing of flesh as the polished wooden artefact breached her defences. That she could have handled. Instead, the infernal toy entered with embarrassing ease, settling in her depths and triggering a wonderful, obscene sense of fullness. “Oh my God,” she gasped, as Amir wriggled the shaft and ripples of sensation wound their way down to her core. “Oh…”

She tried to relax. She was determined not to surrender to another climax at Amir’s hands, no matter what he did.

Amir chuckled. “Like that, my lovely?”

“I, uh, doubt that it matters…ah—what I like. Ow!” He wriggled the rod, impaling her while pulling on the clamps. Agony mingled with shameful delight.

“Well, I like it, I must say. I like to see the ropes compressing your soft, ripe limbs and the clamps biting into your cunt lips. I like the lewd way the phallus juts from your delectable arse. You’re making me very hard, Miss Harrowsmith.”

He circled around the hassock to show her his cock, which he’d extracted through a gap in his garments. The rod of flesh reared up from his groin, ruddy as a pillar of flame against the white satin of his trousers. He ran his slender, jewelled fingers up and down its length, smearing the liquid that pearled at the tip until the taut skin gleamed in the torchlight. He looked utterly delicious. Cecily couldn’t stop herself from swallowing the saliva that gathered at the sight of him.

Of course he noticed. “I’d like nothing better than to bury myself in your mouth. But first you must tell me the truth about your mission.”

He disappeared from her view, a relief of sorts since she didn’t have to look at that tempting cock. Air moved behind her, tickling her damp, spread thighs. She heard the crackle of his electric implement an instant before lightning struck.

“Aye! Aw! What in bloody hell…?” She’d been stung by a monstrous bee, in the sensitive crease just below her butt cheek. Sharp pain radiated from the point of contact, fading to a throbbing heat as it curled around to settle in her cunt.

“Talk, Cecily.” Another sizzle, another vicious spark, this time catching the moist, swollen tissues of her lower lips.

“Ow!” He smoothed the glass dome down over her mons to her aching clit. “No, no! Not there, please… Aaah!” The current stabbed her, tearing her apart. She shattered, screaming, jerking in her bonds, as a raw-edged orgasm welled up from her punished flesh. “Oh God, God…” He shocked her again, letting the sparks jump to the metal clamps embedded in her labia. Agony stitched through her and yet she found herself flying off once more into climax.

“Tell me what your blasted Queen wants with us, and I’ll stop.”

“No, no, I can’t…”Cecily whimpered, limp and drained, twinges of irresistible pleasure still rippling through her body. The dreaded crackling came again. She tensed, tightening around the intrusion in her rear, expecting another jolt. The sound died away. Pain and pleasure flickered through her in alternating waves.

She closed her eyes, exhausted by conflicting sensations. Something round and silky-smooth prodded her lips. Without thought, she opened, and Amir’s hot cock slid inside.

Cecily could have sworn she was incapable of further arousal. Yet the sensation of his rigid bulk sliding over her tongue rekindled her. New moisture flowed from her exposed pussy. Her battered clit throbbed anew.

She sucked gratefully, tonguing the head, flicking at the ridge beneath, using all her considerable skills to wring delighted moans from her royal partner.

“Ah—Cecily—in this regard, at least you live up to your reputation… Ah!” Amir tangled his fingers in her hair, seizing her head and taking control. She did not fight him, but simply opened wider to give him access.

The Rajah fucked her mouth with single-minded ferocity. Again and again he buried himself in her wet heat, filling her mouth with solid, salty flesh. The damp satin of his pantaloons brushed her cheeks. His earthy musk rose through the fine fabric, teasing her nostrils. He was gloriously, wonderfully hard, like stone wrapped in velvet. Her neglected pussy tightened as she imagined that lovely hardness burrowing between her thighs. He thrust deeper, grunting as his rhythm grew ragged. She tilted her head, allowing him to take whatever he wanted.

There was no pain now, only the sweet knowledge that he was close to spending, brought to the crisis point by her agile mouth. Over the years, more than one of her foes had succumbed to this sort of delectable oral torture. Perhaps she could charm him into removing the fiendish poisoned collar. Maybe he’d come to trust her, and share the secret of Rajasthan’s astonishing prosperity…

Tension rippled along his considerable length. Amir dug his nails into her scalp and ground his pelvis against her bruised lips. His cock spasmed. Gout after gout of cum spilled over her tongue. She swallowed every drop.

He leaned for a while against her bound body, as if he didn’t have the strength to stand. She pursed her lips around his softening cock, lapping at the smooth, salty skin. The smell of him, the taste—made her hungry again, though he’d wrung so many orgasms from her she was sure she couldn’t bear another.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, he stirred. She allowed his drooping member to slip from her mouth. It slid out of sight inside his clothing. He grinned down at her. “That was quite delightful, madam. You almost make me forget my purpose.”

“Untie me, Your Highness.” Cecily pitched her voice sweet and low. “Please. I could provide you with a great deal more pleasure if my arms and legs were free.”

“But as I’ve already explained, it gives me the greatest of pleasure to see you bound. However, if you’ll reveal the details of your assignment, I might relent.”

Cecily was silent.

“Perhaps some persuasion of another sort would be more effective.” The Rajah pulled his tunic over his head, revealing a well-muscled chest dusted with black fur that set up a new ache in her cunny. When he stepped out of his trousers, Cecily could not contain her gasp of amazement. He was hard again.

“You have a most salubrious effect on my manhood, Miss Harrowsmith. I do believe I’m prepared to fuck you already. Would you enjoy that?” Circling behind her, he ran a fingertip along her soaked cleft, ending with a flick to her clit. Pleasure sizzled through her. She trembled, struggling for control.

He leaned close to her ear, adopting a conspiratorial tone. “It seems that you would. I’ll be most happy to oblige, too. And you don’t even need to confess anything. Instead, I’ll offer you some of my theories. You just need to confirm or deny them.”

That tempting cock of his bobbed in front of her face. A bead of pre-cum glistened at the tip. Despite herself, she licked her lips. His rich, mocking laugh sent a thrill straight to her core.

“I’ll take that as an acceptance. Let’s get started. I suppose I should remove these, as picturesque as they are.” He was behind her again, fiddling with the clamps. “This may hurt a bit. Be brave, Cecily.”

When the steel jaws released their grip, blood surged into her tender flesh. White hot pain shot through her. The world went black and stars danced in front of her eyes. If not for the bonds, she would have collapsed.

Amir patted her ass as the pain finally faded. “That’s a good girl. Now the other one.”

Knowing what to expect just made it worse. She took shallow breaths, waiting for the agony to subside. The Rajah made soothing noises of approval.

“You may find that you’re more sensitive now, after the clamps,” he told her. “Though you’re already so responsive, that’s a bit hard for me to imagine.”

She felt his slick knob positioned at her entrance. “Ready, Miss Harrowsmith?” Without waiting for her reply, he drove his rod into her drenched cunny.

Oh, God in Heaven, that’s glorious!
He fit perfectly, stretching and filling her without the slightest sense of discomfort. In the aftermath of the clamps, her lower lips prickled and ached, but with him inside her, those sensations somehow transmuted to a weird sort of pleasure. He was still for long moments, allowing her to acclimate to his bulk. Then he began to move, each thrust grazing her swollen clit.

“Ooh—oh—ooh…” The force of his thrusts stirred the rod plugging her arse, setting up a circuit of sensation that raced to her clit and back. Steady, unhurried, Amir ploughed her eager pussy, forcing little moans from her unwilling lips with each stroke.
Yes. Oh yes…
It felt so good, she almost forgot he was her opponent, perverse and perilous.

“Now, Cecily.” Amir pulled partway out, then slid back into her depths. “I think you’re here to sabotage our power plants. Am I right?” Drawing back, he reached between her legs to tweak her clit.

“Ah! No, no—ah! Oh, please…!” Crazy with lust, Cecily hardly knew what she was saying. She strained against the ropes that held her immobile, trying to arch back and increase the friction between them.

“Did you come to assassinate me, then? I heard that the Empire already eliminated two uncooperative princes…”

“No, of course not! That’s slanderous—ah, God, more, please! More!”

He plunged in and out, twisting his hips somehow so that his cock corkscrewed inside her. In all her carnal encounters, she’d never felt anything like it, pleasure beyond description.

A climax loomed, hovering over her like a massive wave, ready to crash down and drown her. She was close, so close, every slide of the Rajah’s wondrous cock dragging her nearer to the edge. The sensations grew more and more acute, her entire body tingling. She couldn’t take any more. It was too much, too much…

“Our technology, then. You want to steal our secrets. You want to know how we’ve survived without Her Majesty’s precious viridium. Right? Answer me, Cecily! Tell me the truth!”

Amir pounded her in time with his questions, again and again and yet again. She closed her eyes and let him take her. His mellow, coaxing voice—his unrelenting cock—these were her only realities.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, yes…”

The wave crested and broke, hauling her down into a maelstrom of sensation. She drifted, helpless, battered by unbearable delight, her bound body jerking uncontrollably. She was utterly and completely lost.

The Rajah continued to fuck her as she twitched beneath him. When he came at last, with a shout of triumph, Cecily tried not to give in to a new crisis. She failed.

Shameful pleasure welled up and swept her away.

Chapter Eight

Morning sun filtered through the latticed windows, the intermittent light adding new patterns to the intricately-woven carpet. Cecily stirred in the nest of cushions Amir had scattered upon the floor at the foot of his bed. She stretched her bondage-stiffened muscles, wincing as embroidered satin abraded her punished backside. The Rajah’s spanking appeared to have irritated the welts from the flogging administered by his brother.
What a pair of deviants!

A short chain tethered her ankle to the massive mahogany bedstead. Otherwise she appeared to be free—not counting, of course, her deadly collar. Rising to her knees, she peered at Amir, who lay careless and relaxed in sleep upon the fine linen sheets. With his eyes closed, luxurious lashes brushing his smooth cheeks and full lips slightly parted, he looked boyish, fresh and innocent. How appearances could deceive!

Was he merely feigning sleep? Cecily scrutinised his naked form, studiously ignoring the tell-tale swell below his waist. She could not detect the slightest evidence of tension. His gloriously-muscled chest rose and fell in a slow, regular rhythm. She held her palm above his luscious mouth and felt the warmth of his breath upon her skin. A faint aroma of almonds hung around him. She recalled the scented oil with which he’d greased her rear channel and shuddered, half disgusted, half aroused.

For the moment, the Rajah appeared to be in her power. Cecily knew many techniques for quickly and efficiently terminating a man’s life, without the need for excessive force or blood. It would be quite simple to eliminate this enemy of the Empire.

The train of thought came automatically, a consequence of her training. She dismissed it as impractical. She would still be a prisoner, and a proven assassin rather than merely a seeker of intelligence. Besides, what purpose would such a murder serve? Amir was far more valuable to her alive, as a source of information.

Underneath all her rationalisation, Cecily was keenly and shamefully aware of the fact that she could never kill this man—no matter how vicious or dangerous he might be. He had a hold on her, far stronger and more difficult to escape than his silvery chains. Her quim was still tender and raw from the effects of his infernal instruments—his sparks, his clamps and his cock—but she felt herself moisten as she gazed on his slumbering beauty. In his presence, what she truly wanted was to give in, to have him use her like the helpless captive she was.

Helpless?
She shook her head as if to scatter her offending thoughts. What was wrong with her? Had the Rajasthani ruler cast some sort of spell over her? She should be focusing on escape. She might not have ferreted out all the Rajah’s secrets, but already she knew much that was of value. Furthermore, if she managed to get out of the palace, she could disguise herself and engage in some additional sleuthing…

“Good morning, pet.” Amir’s piercing eyes fluttered open and pinned her gaze, while his lips curved into a self-satisfied smile. Any semblance of innocence fled. “Did you sleep well?”

“I’m not your pet. Furthermore, I scarcely had a comfortable moment all night, due to the after-effects of your tortures.”

“Tortures? Please! Based on your reactions to my little games, I don’t think ‘torture’ is exactly the appropriate term, my delectable spy.”

He reached up, grabbed her shoulders and pulled her down on top of him.

“Ow!” Cecily began as the chain bit into her skin. His voluptuous lips sealed off any further commentary. She wanted to struggle but his arms were steel bands confining her. Her breasts mashed against his solid chest, the nipples plump and swollen as grapes, while the sweet rigidity of his cock poked into her from under the sheet.

It felt far too pleasant—outrageously so. Amir prised her mouth open and probed deep with his brazen tongue. She could not help imagining that tongue rooting in her cunny. Desire shimmered through her as she opened to him, savouring his flavour of cinnamon and fennel.

Clearly he sensed her surrender. He released his hold on her torso so that he could trace her bountiful curves, down over her hips to her buttocks. Seizing two handfuls of her opulent flesh, he ground his cock against her mound. His fingernails scored her arse and woke twinges of remembered pain that only fanned her need. Awkward because of her chains and his still-tight hold upon her, Cecily tried to spread her thighs, so that his erection would provide more direct stimulation. The sheet that separated their flesh was soaked by their pooled secretions.

She wanted to roll away, so that they could remove that barrier. Amir held her fast, determined, perhaps, to frustrate her, while he continued to ravage her mouth with astonishing ferocity. Even Cecily’s well-honed muscles were no match for his strength. She gave up, closed her eyes and allowed him do whatever he pleased. For now, at least, he was in control—and if she was honest with herself, she didn’t mind. Desperate, tingling hunger pulsed in her engorged clit, hunger she knew only Amir could assuage. A fog of lust settled over her.

“Amir-ji—are you awake yet?” Pratan’s voice broke into her amorous trance. It came from somewhere to her right, where she’d noticed a curtained arch. At the same time, Amir’s finger slid into her still-loosened rear hole. She bucked against the intrusion, wanting him deeper. Pratan released an all-too-familiar evil chuckle. Hot shame washed through her as Amir impaled her with a second finger. Pratan, she knew, could see everything—including the eager clench of her muscles pulling those probing digits farther inside.

“So sorry to intrude! I didn’t realise you were busy, brother! I’ll give you some privacy, come back later…”

“No, no! No need for that, Pratan!” The Rajah disentangled himself from Cecily’s clinging limbs sufficiently to assume a half-sitting position. However, he kept one wriggling finger embedded in her bum. “At this point I believe Miss Harrowsmith is far beyond modesty. Besides, she’s as much your prisoner as mine. Care to join us?”

Cecily quivered with perverse excitement at the suggestion. Thus far in her numerous erotic encounters, she had never simultaneously entertained two men.

“Thank you for the invitation, but after last night, I’m not sure I’m capable of giving our English guest the attention she deserves.”

The edge she detected in Pratan’s voice dissipated most of Cecily’s lustful swoon. She opened her eyes to scrutinise the intruder.

The prince-bandit most definitely looked the worse for wear. His normally-keen eyes were bloodshot, with grey circles of exhaustion beneath them. His long hair was matted and tangled. Dirt smeared his only garment, a pair of homespun trousers, and a long, rust-hued abrasion disfigured his chest, from his left breast down to his navel. A livid bruise darkened one cheekbone. Blood-crusted bandages wrapped both his hands.

Amir made a noise of concern. Before she knew what was happening, he had released Cecily and tumbled her out of bed, back onto her pile of cushions. The men ignored her squawk of protest.

“Come here—sit down, brother. You definitely did put up a fight, I’ll admit. Took six of my strongest guards to get you into the cage.” The Rajah’s voice took on a more serious tone. “Has this happened before—changing at the new moon as well as the full?”

Pratan lowered himself to the opposite corner of the bed from where Cecily was bound. His normally graceful movements were stiff, as though he was in pain.

“At the Vaishaka new moon, I felt some symptoms of the change, but the beast never arrived. Last month—Jyaistha—the new moon passed without incident, so I figured the previous time was some anomaly. Obviously I should have been more careful. If I’d known…”

 
Cecily read regret and embarrassment in Pratan’s features. She almost didn’t recognise him.

“I’m so sorry I put you at risk, Amir-ji. If I’d changed during the ceremony—if I’d injured or killed some of your subjects—” The brigand dropped his battered face to his bandaged hands. Cecily experienced a flicker of sympathy, though she didn’t fully understand their conversation.

“Never mind, brother. There’s no harm done. Though perhaps this should be your last new moon ceremony, until the curse is lifted…”

“What curse?” The men had seemed to forget her presence, and she’d sensed she was acquiring useful information, but Cecily’s curiosity got the better of her wisdom.

Pratan and Amir locked eyes. “Should I tell her?” the Rajah asked, no trace of a smile on his succulent lips.

The royal brigand shrugged. “Why not? It’s scarcely a secret. Everyone else knows the story. Perhaps the clever Miss Harrowsmith will have some ideas about how I might change my fate.”

Another extended look passed between them, intimate and full of pain. It was Amir who spoke next.

“Pratan’s mother was a high-ranking courtesan, while mine was the queen—the Maharani. That’s why I’m officially the Rajah. My father loved them both. As the supreme ruler, he was entitled to bed as many women as he wanted. The queen, however, did not agree with this custom.

“She came to my father from the land of the high snows. Daughter of a lord whose palace soared above the clouds, the princess Ziya was cultured, learned and exquisitely beautiful. She was also, unbeknownst to my father, a sorceress with considerable skill in the dark arts. Some say that she enchanted him to bend him to her will. Certainly, for many years, she was the only woman who could arouse his desire. Then, after I was born, he met Pratan’s mother and brought her to court to be his concubine.

“Queen Ziya’s jealousy was icy as the peaks of her distant home. She pretended to welcome the newcomer, while practising her charms to weaken Lady Chameela’s hold on her husband. As Pratan’s mother grew pale and sickly, though, my father’s devotion to her only increased. Finally, my mother burst into their bedchamber with a poisoned dagger, determined to slay them both. As they coupled, she stabbed at my father’s labouring back—but the gods protected him and the knife slashed the sheets, which burst into evil-smelling flames.”

Pratan rose from the bed to pace the carpeted tiles as he picked up the thread of the tale.

“Maharani Ziya was condemned to death for her attempt on the Rajah’s life. The people say that when my father pronounced judgement upon her, there were tears in his eyes. On the pyre where she was burnt alive, she cursed my mother and me. ‘Your son shall be a rutting beast like his father,’ the witch cried as the fire licked at her perfect body. ‘And you, whore Chameela, will die without ever seeing his face.’”

Cecily watched Pratan’s restless progress, back and forth in front of the bed. Dark emotion ravaged his handsome face. Clearly, he couldn’t continue. The tendrils of sympathy she’d felt earlier burst into full flower.

Amir resumed the narration in the stead of his stricken sibling. “All she had predicted came to pass. Pratan’s mother expired in childbirth—weakened by loss of blood, she sank into unconsciousness and never awakened. My father sent both of us to England, to educate us but also in the hope that in that distant country, so far from my mother’s home, Pratan could escape his fate.”

“A vain hope,” Pratan added. “My sixteenth birthday fell upon a full moon. That night I changed for the first time, from a mostly innocent youth to a fierce, lustful animal—an enormous wolf with just enough human in my form to rape a village girl and then rip her body to bloody pieces.”

Pratan sank to the floor, as though he could no longer bear the weight of horror and guilt. Cecily laid a gentle hand on his arm.

“You couldn’t help it,” she soothed. “You didn’t know what to expect.” She understood now the solitude of his life in the wasteland, the cage she’d seen in his mountain den. “You’ve paid for that unintentional crime many times over, I’m certain.”

Amir swung himself out of bed and helped Pratan to his feet. “Don’t blame yourself, brother.” His voice was taut with anguish, too. “The fault lies with my damned mother and her evil magic. The blood you’ve spilled stains her soul, not yours. May she be reborn as a blind worm in a pile of dung.”

“Sometimes I wonder what sins I committed in my past lives, to bear this burden now.” Pratan shook off his brother’s consoling hand, strode to the window and threw open the latticework grille. Sunlight poured unhindered into the room. “For more than a decade, I’ve hidden myself away, raging and howling behind iron bars whenever the moon was full. Once a month was bad enough, but now it seems the curse is tightening its hold on me. Will there come a time when I wear my beast-form every night?”

Cecily’s chest ached with vicarious sorrow. She wanted to go to Pratan and enfold him in the comfort of her arms, but her bonds would not allow that. “Is there no way to lift the curse?”

“Sorcery is forbidden in Rajasthan,” Amir thundered. His voice faded almost to a whisper. “Of course, it’s too late for that now.”

“I’ve studied a bit about magic,” Cecily persisted, rising from the cushions to seat herself on the bed. “From an intellectual perspective only, of course,” she hastened to add. “My impression was that sorcery depends upon balance and contrast, that every charm incorporates its own undoing. There must be a way to counter this spell.”

“My mother brought many books with her when she arrived to wed the Rajah. Perhaps the secret to unravelling her curse lies within them. I imagine they’re still in the palace library. Nobody’s opened them since her death. In any case, most are in her native language—the ancient tongue of the mountain dwellers, which might as well be gibberish to us.”