Kate and Julia: Abducted in India (12 page)

“Ugh! Mmm! Oosh!” The tickle of a minor orgasm thrilled through her, contracting her belly and anus as Wetherell pushed his thick meat all the way to the back of her throat. Penny tried to pull back, and felt his grip on the back of her neck tighten. His hips thrust forward and his broad cock-head filled her throat again. Eyes widening, she felt a moment of panic in his unyielding grasp before the cock slid backwards and she could suck in a shallow breath.

For a minute or so he made her rub her tongue over the tip of his shaft and suck on the fat plum-head, while his breathing quickened and he gave occasional jerks of his hips. God, it felt good, but how much better it would be buried in her tingling sheath. A deeper thrust hit her throat and Penny had to suppress the need to gag. She looked at him with a silent plea. He stared back with eyes slitted and glittering with lust.

Penny tightened her lips around his cock and pressed her tongue firmly to its underside.

“You fucking bitch,” he swore suddenly, rising to his feet. The movement pushed the cock deep, forcing her head back and making her splutter as she fought the urge to cough. His hands clasped her head.

“Umpf!” Again the fat cock-head bumped the back of her throat.

Wetherell lunged again. Careless of her discomfort or her feelings, he thrust hard and fast between her stretched lips, using Penny’s mouth as if it was her sex. Half-choking, she knelt helplessly in his grip, awed by his strength, frightened by his anger, overwhelmed by the violence of his plunging cock.

He gave a sudden grunt and his hips jerked even more vigorously.

Penny felt the sudden spewing of his hot, sticky spunk flooding her throat. Fighting to breathe, she gulped and nearly vomited as half of the slimy stuff slid down her gullet almost before she realized it. He held her head tightly, still thrusting in and out and spurting semen into her mouth.

Even as her stomach heaved her sex quivered and contracted.

The thrusts slowed then stilled. Too stunned to do anything but keep her lips clamped around his thick shaft, Penny obeyed the pressure of Wetherell’s hands and tilted her head up. He looked down at her, his bright eyes still full of anger, pulled his cock free and slapped the hard baton across both her cheeks. A dribble of semen overflowed her lower lip. His hand under her chin forced her head back further.

“Do you want a fucking, Penny?” Wetherell smacked her face with his cock again. “I know you do.”

Penny shivered as her pussy twitched greedily.

“You were never very keen on swallowing come, were you? But that’s what little sluts do, and you
are
a proper little slut. So swallow it all.”

With a stab of shame at her abject surrender, she forced the salty fluid that had pooled around her tongue down to her protesting stomach.

Even with Tom she had drawn the line at swallowing. It was just too degrading. Tremors teased her sex.

“What do you want, you dirty slut?” Wetherell demanded.

“I….” It was hard to say the word she had schooled herself never to use. “I want… fucking.”

He grinned wickedly. “Not a chance, you cow.” His hand stung her cheek with enough force to set her ears ringing and send her sprawling across the floor. Penny lay there, breathing hard, angry and ashamed. All she need have done to end his cruel abuse was bite down hard on his cock. So why had she not done it? She heard the door open and looked up. He was gone.

“Don’t bother making up a room for the
mem-sahib
,” Penny heard him say to the servant. “She can have mine. Tell Courtney Sahib that I’m staying at the barracks with my men.”

“Bastard,” Penny muttered, breaking her no bad-language rule again. She struggled to her knees. Her bottom was smarting fiercely, her breasts hurt and her throat was sore, but it was the urgent, fiery heat in her pussy that obsessed her. Still with her skirt and panties around her knees she crawled onto the hide sofa and lay belly down on its tacky leather surface. Her nipples pulsed as she pressed her breasts into it and slid both hands beneath her, one to the swollen nub of her clitoris and the other to the slick wetness bathing her pussy-lips. Panting, she thrust her fingers inside.

“Oh, thank god!” she groaned as she rubbed her madly quivering sex. Moaning and gasping, she worked her slender fingers over the tender, tingling membranes and her hard bud, revelling in the delicious friction. Her sheath wriggled and clenched and her hips jerked uncontrollably as the sudden wrenching spasms of orgasm made her head spin. Toes curling in delight, Penny sighed and shivered through a stunning climax, and slumped breathless onto the leather cushions beneath her.

Gradually her pounding heart steadied. She was hot and sweaty, and her bottom felt as if it was on fire, but the ferocious urgency of her desire was satisfied. She could think clearly again. At once she remembered the girls. Brushing her light brown hair from her face with damp fingers that smelled of sex, she opened her eyes. A brown, bearded face looked down at her over the back of the sofa.

With a squeak of absolute horror, Penny leapt to her feet, dragged her skirt and panties up and grabbed her blouse and camisole. Heedless of her bare, bouncing breasts she dashed past Courtney’s servant in utter humiliation and rushed upstairs to find the sanctuary of her room.

*

“Ooh, it’s burning me!” Julia whined. The brown-skinned hands gripping her wrists and calves tightened as she wriggled.

“Only for a moment,” Afia told her in her almost perfect English.

“It won’t harm you. We know. We have felt it too.”

The sensation of heat the white paste she had smeared between Julia’s legs was causing was not the only reason for the blonde girl’s alarm. Being in the grasp of four naked native girls who held her firmly down on the stone bench beside the pool was also making her stomach flutter with fear. But most of all, it was because she knew everything that was done to her as a helpless prisoner in Jahngir Khan’s
zenana
was to prepare her to be sold as a slave.

Afia poured a bowl of water over Julia’s sex. The white paste foamed and bubbled as it was washed away. Julia stared in shock. All her pubic hair had washed away with it. Her mound and labia were smooth and bald.

The girls released her and, naked though they were, went out into the garden. Afia remained.

“Bathe now,” she said.

Julia followed her into the bath and took the sponge the girl handed to her. She dunked it into the water and rubbed at the irritation between her thighs, but stopped immediately when she realized the prickling there was not solely the result of the caustic paste used to depilate her.

“That is not the way,” Afia said. “Here we bathe each other.” She took Julia’s arm and drew her to where the water barely lapped the cheeks of her bottom, and then began to gently rub her skin with a sponge of her own. The English girl shied from it at first, but the unfamiliar feeling of being bathed by someone else was not unpleasant, even when Afia moved from her back to her front and began rubbing her shoulders and breasts.

“You must do me too,” she said, and Julia reluctantly sponged her brown-skinned body in return. Even when she was at school she had never been so close to a naked girl before, let alone touched one.

Nevertheless, it felt much safer than when she had been forced to share the bath with Jahngir Khan the previous day.

“You are very beautiful,” Afia said, rubbing in circles on Julia’s left breast.

“S… so are you,” she replied, astonished that the girl would compare her to her own darkly exotic loveliness.

“Our lord is careful in his choice of concubines,” Afia told her.

“You must please him greatly for him to have chosen you.”

“C… concubines? Oh, no!”

“Is it not the right word?” the native girl asked. “I thought that was how my lord taught it to me.”

“It’s the right word,” Julia said with an odd sensation in her belly.

“It’s just I….” She had never dreamed it would one day be applied to her. “I’m not his c… concubine. They… they’re going to sell me.”

Tears filled her eyes.

Afia gave her a sympathetic look and transferred her sponge to Julia’s right breast. The English girl had forgotten all about bathing.

“That is unfortunate,” Afia said. “It is not a pleasant thing to be pawed and stared at by strangers and then stood up to be sold. I was lucky to be bought by my lord.”

“It happened to you?” Julia asked, surprised.

“To all of us here. I hope you have the luck to find a master as good as mine.”

That was not the kind of luck Julia wanted. “You think he’s a good m… master?” She remembered the girl was a half-civilised native and could know no better than to think there was nothing wrong with a man buying a woman.

Afia shrugged, making her pale-brown breasts, almost equal in size to Julia’s, jiggle. “He can be stern.” She glanced towards the entrance.

“He is moody sometimes and not always easy to predict, but he is kind too.” She pointed at the grass and trees outside. “He had the soil brought up from the valley to make us our beautiful garden.”

Julia asked the question that mattered most. “Does… does he beat you? With those canes on the wall?”

“Never with those,” Afia assured her. “He has switched me a few times when I annoyed him, but that is not a lot in six years.”

“Six? You have been imprisoned here for so long?”

The girl laughed. “I live here. It is my home, not a prison. Do you think we are shut up and never allowed outside?”

That was exactly what Julia had thought.

“And you make me sound so old,” Afia said. “I am only twenty-three.”

Julia swallowed hard. She would go mad if she was locked away in such a place for years, and she had no greater desire to be switched than she had to be caned.

“What about what happened to Helai last night?” she asked. “She was not beaten but she was certainly punished.”

Afia shrugged. “Our lord has his ways. He will have order in his
zenana
. He has the right to discipline us as he sees fit and to do as he pleases in his own home. Helai was wrong to object that he has brought a barbarian amongst us.”

“A barbarian?” Julia suddenly realized the girl was talking about her. They thought
she
was the uncivilised one.

With a toss of her long, black hair, Afia laid her sponge aside.

“Come.” She led the way to the rear of the bathhouse with the English girl trailing hesitantly after her. Three long slabs of polished pink marble stood there, set at equal distances apart and lit by several small windows high in the wall.

Afia had Julia climb onto one of them and lie on her back. She fetched a bottle and poured oil from it into her cupped hand. Julia smelled the aroma of sandalwood and shivered nervously as the native girl laid an oily hand on the upper curves of her breasts and began smoothing it over her skin.

“It is our duty to always be beautiful and attractive for our lord,”

Afia said, “as you must be for yours. Your skin must be soft and supple.

Your hair must shine like silk.” She eyed Julia’s blonde locks. “I have never seen such hair. It is too short, but time will take care of that. I never knew it could be such a colour.”

“It isn’t anything special where I come from,” Julia said. For all Afia was a virtual stranger, she was finding it a lot easier to talk to the girl than she had expected. “The others kept touching it this morning.

They used a word of your language.”

“Not mine,” Afia said with a smile. “I am from Lahore. I was sold by my parents so my brother could go to school. But I have learned Pashto as well as English. That is the tongue of the Pathans. You must learn it too. The girls said
tsir
- yellow. They were describing your hair, though I think
sre
zer
describes it better. That means golden.”

Julia gasped suddenly. Afia had stopped rubbing her shoulders and transferred her touch to the swell of her right breast. What had been a pleasant sensation changed instantly to a nerve-racking one. The girl seemed unconcerned, however, and Julia did not want to anger her by protesting. She had another question.

“Please,” she said tentatively, “how do you say slave?” Her belly flipped as she spoke the awful word.

“
Mrayay
,” Afia replied, kneading Julia’s firm-fleshed teat with her oily fingers and making her gasp again.

It really felt so strange and unreal to be lying naked with another girl running her hands all over her body. The word Afia had told her was not the one she had expected. Whatever Jahngir Khan kept calling her, it was not ‘slave’.

“Now you know three words of Pashto. Learn what you can while you are here. Your new lord may not speak any English,” Afia advised, transferring her massage to Julia’s left breast.

Dread and fear rose up again as the full horror of her situation struck the white girl. She looked at the slim, brown fingers gently squeezing her teat and saw something equally horrifying. Both her nipples had stiffened to hard points. Afia’s hands slid down to her belly, then all the way to the plump mound above her sex. Julia caught her breath as the native girl smoothed a palm over the sensitive skin. It was pink from the effects of the depilatory that had removed the fleece that should have concealed it.

“Oh!” She flinched from the touch of Afia’s fingers rubbing her outer labia and the fleshy bump at their apex.

“Relax,” the girl said with a laugh. “It is only to soothe your skin.

I would not try to pleasure you without my lord’s permission.”

Julia was too shocked by what her words implied to do anything but stare at the hand massaging her sex. Surely she could not mean that girls actually... She cut off the thought before it could go any further, clenching her fists as a wriggle ran through her lower belly. It did feel quite pleasant, though. While one of Afia’s hands eased the slight sting around her sex the other was slithering up and down her stomach as far as the lower curves of her breasts. The regular rubbing relaxed her. A warm, soporific sensation crept into her head, joining with a different kind of warmth that had begun growing at the entrance to her sex. She heard herself sigh.