Even his pelvis had not escaped the hot kiss of the sun on long days spent with indolent friends and liberated women on the French Riviera. He had, she reasoned - like her - made a habit of sunbathing naked. White skin, to his mind, as well as to hers, looked better when softly bronzed.
Ripe but not erect, his member reposed on its triangular cushion of dark, silken hair.
Katie imagined how cool the grass would be against his naked flesh, how tantalising the breeze and the nearness of the three young women. Not once did his penis rise. It lay there, nodding gently; a coiled spring just waiting to unwind. Spellbound by the sight, she waited to see who or what would lead to its unwinding.
The girl whose knickers still layover Carew’s face knelt between his ankles, her eyes wide with wonder as she viewed his sleeping sheath.
The girls on either side of him began to kiss him, then run their hands down over the flatness of his stomach, their fingers just stopping short of touching his coiled-up flesh.
Their eyes met and, in unison, the two girls peeled off their jumpers, their blouses and their camisoles. Pert breasts of unsullied white and hard pink nipples with plush pink aureoles hung low over his chest.
With deliberate intent, they each placed their breasts upon him with one hand whilst their others ran down again to his sex.
Katie heard them moaning. Her own breasts were becoming tantalised by what she was seeing. Her own sex was seeping with the essence of her own desire. But she dare not touch herself. If she did, the grass would rustle, and the piquancy of the moment would be lost.
Soft, white fingers encircled Carew’s length; one from root to middle; one from middle to crown. Lush lips and young breath kissed his cheeks and, although Katie could hear nothing from Carew, she could see the silk knickers moving with his breathing and his sighing.
Entranced until now with what her colleagues were doing to her host, the American girl placed her hands on either side of Carew’s legs, then walked herself forward on them until her face was level with his velvet sac.
Her breath loud and her face flushed, she dived gently between his legs. Her mouth fastened over his scrotum.
‘It’s rising! Oh my! It’s rising!’ said one of the girls wearing jodhpurs.
Hushed breaths of wonder and excitement mingled with more words that Katie could not hear. But she could see that Carew’s worthwhile member was indeed stiffening.
The other girls stopped what they were doing and stared as it became harder.
His erection stood straight and tall. Suzanne, the American girl who sucked at his scrotum, did not look. It did not matter. Her rampant tongue was enough to keep his erection pulsing with each new rush of burning blood. Someone, Katie thought to herself, would have to do something about it shortly.
Someone did.
Suzanne’s head was suddenly up. Her face was red, and her mouth hung open, her breath racing in hurried bursts as she beat the others to it, hitched up her skirt and lowered herself on Carew’s erection.
Open-mouthed the other two stared. They might have screamed or attacked her if Carew hadn’t suddenly spoken.
‘Well go on. Help her out.’
Moved by the spirit of the moment, they seemed to know what to do.
They undid Suzanne’s blouse and poured her generous proportions out over the top of her cameo. Both bent their heads to her nipples and, as Suzanne slid and slurped over the hard penis that filled her, the other two sucked and bit at her nipples.
‘He’s come!’ shouted Suzanne at last. ‘He’s come! And I... and I...’
There was nothing else’ she could say, and nothing else she needed to. She too had reached her climax.
A bark from the copse where she had left the dogs dragged Katie away from the scene. In a way, it was a happy release. Her breasts were hurting and her clitoris was dancing a merry beat against the rough male underwear she was wearing.
The dogs wagged to see her and everything would have been perfectly alright if Lady Maude hadn’t suddenly appeared.
‘Where have you been, Oliver? I only let Carew have your labour for a moment you know. You work for me and my husband today, and don’t you forget it.’
‘Yes, your ladyship,’ said Katie as she gathered up the dog leads, ‘I’m sorry. I was just...’
‘Relieving yourself! I know, and I know what dirty little boys like you do when you’re relieving yourself!’ Katie started and looked at her wide-eyed. Not liking what she saw in those eyes, she looked to the task of sorting out the dogs.
When she next saw Lady Maude, she was leaning close to her husband, her hand covering the gap between her mouth and his ear. By the way Lady Maude was looking at her, she was in no doubt as to who they were talking about.
It was a golden evening by the time they got back to Thompson Towers.
The house servants were standing outside with trays of sherry for the shooting guests and beer for the beaters.
Thinking of her journey back to where Phoebe would be waiting for her put Katie off from drinking the beer.
A prod from a long, dark finger jolted her back into the present.
‘Mister Carew Bentley Thompson says for you to take the dogs to the kennels. They are at the back of the stables - that way.
It was a man in a multi-coloured turban and the white uniform of a house chuprassi who pointed her in the direction she was to take.
She thanked him, but he was already gone, his dark head bobbing as he took orders or gave them out.
Indians, Katie thought to herself, always appear to be purely of service, yet are most definitely in control.
The width of the stable courtyard narrowed and filtered her through an archway which brought her into the kennel compound.
‘I’ll take them,’ said the kennel lad. Tails wagging, the dogs went off with their new handler and, somewhat down in the mouth at their fickleness, Katie turned away and went back through the stable yard.
‘Oliver!’
The voice was instantly recognisable. Lady Maude, her monocle tightly clenched in her left eye, stood with her hands clasped together in front of her. Sir Charles stood at her side.
‘Yes, your ladyship.’
‘Do not consider me a fool Oliver. I know you did not stay with those dogs. I know you went wandering, and I know where.’
Unable to stop it happening, Katie blushed. It was entirely out of character and that fact only made her blush more.
‘You are a very bad boy, Oliver!’ Sir Charles licked his lips once he’d got the words out and there was a sparkle in his pale eyes that there hadn’t been before.
Lady Maude’s face came close to Katie’s own. She could smell her face powder, the hint of violets and the tang of old sherry on her breath.
‘You will not get away with spying on your betters like that, my boy. You will not get away with it at all!’ As though she were a smaller boy rather than the adolescent she was pretending to be, her ear was taken firmly between Maude’s powerful finger and thumb.
Half dragged and half marched, she was taken into the cool confines of the stables.
The warm humidity. of horseflesh and soiled straw filled her nostrils. Her boots clattered on the cobbled floor and she briefly wondered what punishment was in the offing and who was going to give it.
Her thoughts were answered.
Bales of straw were piled at one end of the room. It was from here that the grooms took a bale of straw to renew the bedding of the superb hunters still kept at Thompson Towers. In the old days, there would have been carriage horses too but half the stables had now been converted to accommodate motor cars.
Sir Charles placed one bale on top of another, then sat down on it. Eyes bright, and face beaming, he slapped his thighs with his hands.
‘Undo his breeches, Maude,
then put the young scallywag across my knee,’ he said.
Maude reached for Katie’s fly buttons.
‘No! I’ll do it.’ Katie crossed her hands over the front of her trousers.
Maude raised her eyebrows and exchanged glances with her husband. Seemingly pleased to find her so compliant with his wishes, he beamed even wider than before.
‘That’s what I like to hear,’ he said with a lick of his lips. ‘A young strapper who can take his punishment like a man.’
Clutching the front of her trousers, and trusting in the length of her shirt to hide her true sex, Katie was hustled forward by Lady Maude.
‘Bend over,’ ordered Maude, and pushed her down onto her knees.
Katie could do nothing about Maude hitching her pullover and shirt up above her waist, and pulling her trousers down at the back so that the waistband cupped the cheeks of her bottom.’
‘Now get over my husband’s lap.’
Katie did as ordered, her hands trapped between his legs and the front of her trousers which she still held very tightly.
‘Beautiful,’ murmured Sir Charles. ‘Like two round and ripe cheeses.’
Face hot, and heart beating more quickly, Katie tensed as the broad palm of Sir Charles Thompson cupped each buttock in turn.
‘My, my,’ he said, his breath sounding too hot to be let out. ‘What beautifully soft skin you have, my dear Oliver. And such a lovely colour too. Do you know Maude, a bottom like this reminds me of Capri. All those golden young boys romping bare-assed in the sea. Do you remember?’ he asked wistfully.
‘Yes, darling,’ returned Maude. Katie was aware of her shadow falling over them. Maude, she guessed, was caressing her husband’s brow. ‘But they are far away and long ago, my darling. Oliver is here and is pretty. He also deserves punishment. He has been spying on his betters, has he not?’
‘Of course, my dear. Of course.’
A new firmness entered his voice. Katie winced as his fingers dug into her flesh. She wanted to wriggle or to squeal, but pride would not let her do that. She must do nothing to give the game away.
The first blow was aimed at one check, and it stung like mad. Katie bit her bottom lip to stop from crying out. The second was aimed at the other cheek. Again, she rode it, and did not wriggle and did not cry.
When her bottom had first been exposed to the air, her flesh had almost welcomed the coolness of the evening. Now, her behind felt as though it was on fire and as the third blow landed on each rounded cheek, the fire burned brighter.
‘Now,’ said Sir Charles with obvious pride, ‘what do you think of that, my dear?’
Katie heard straw rustle beneath stout shoes.
Cool fingers trailed over each cheek, then slid into her divide as though to examine each cheek in greater detail. Then, short, but sharp nails dug into each cheek in turn.
‘They are hot, my dear Charles, but not hot enough. Here, use this. I’ll let him see it first, then he’ll know exactly what’s coming.’
‘Good, good. I think that is a simply marvellous idea, Maude darling.’
Katie did not.
‘This is what you are getting next, you naughty young man,’ said Maude as she dangled a riding crop before Katie’s eyes.
Katie clenched her buttocks.
‘Yes,’ she said in a small voice. It was not as an answer to anything, but purely to release the pressure building up inside.
Once back in Sir Charles’ hands, the whip sang through the air four times, and each time Katie’s behind burned that much more.
She was sweating when it was over and her mouth was dry as dust. But she had got through it, and even though her behind felt hot enough to singe her trousers, she had not cried out and did not cry now.
Maude came to her before joining her husband at the entrance to the stables.
‘You were a very brave boy,’ she said, her voice now as smooth as old brandy. ‘If I see you again, I might give you a little present for being so brave, but for now I’ll give you a kiss - the kiss of a lady.
As Lady Maude’s thin lips kissed her cheek, Katie kept her eyes fixed on the ground. And once Lady Maude and Sir Charles were gone, she trembled. Whatever strength she had left in her legs, seemed to melt. She slumped onto a bale of straw. Despite her determination to succeed in what she had set out to do, her resolve splintered and tears stained her cheeks.
‘What’s the matter, Oliver?’
She hadn’t heard Carew come in. He was silhouetted against the light from the door, a man whose appearance gave a certain lift to the cold stone and earthy smell of the stables.
He came close to her, and she tried not to sniff. If she sniffed too much and too long, she would swallow his smell and might even want to swallow his body. ‘Have you been crying, Oliver?’ Carew squatted on the straw beside her.
Katie hung her head, glad that the peak of her cap gave her time to suitably adapt the look in her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she answered in a small voice.
‘Why? Is it because you’re still hurting from what the others did to you, or have my aunt and uncle been using you badly?’
This was something she wouldn’t answer. Somehow, she knew that if she were to stay in this place for any length of time, she would have to accept both his employees and his relatives.
‘Not really, sir. I was just thinking how much I’ve enjoyed myself. It’s very lonely where I live. Very lonely indeed. You know how lonely you can get sometimes - like when you were at boarding school. I expect you got lonely there. So when you find a place you like, you want to stay and be happy.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Don’t send me away, sir.’ She looked at him round-eyed and, as expected, saw sympathy in his gaze. Strange, she thought, that a man who treated women like he did could show her - as the boy, Oliver - such sincere consideration.
‘How can I send you away if you truly like it here?
How could I be so heartless?’ His voice was gentle. A wistful look came to his face. ‘I remember how I felt when I was a few years younger. I remember being taken advantage of; of having my feelings trifled with, I know how you feel, Oliver. I know very well indeed. But you have to understand that people here can be a bit strange at times - even a bit cruel.’
‘I don’t care. I like it here.’
‘Alright then, Oliver. I will take you on myself, especially as you are so good with the dogs. How will that be?’
Eyes bright, Katie jerked her head quickly to look up at him. As she did so, her cap fell to the floor. A stray wisp of hair fell onto her forehead.
‘Thank you! Oh, thank you, sir!’ She was all adoration, all gratefulness. She knew she looked as appealing as a boy as she was as a woman and, by the look in Carew’s eyes, he saw that too and smiled. But then, he didn’t know she was a woman.
He put his arm round her and gripped her shoulder in the manner of one friend to another. ‘My servant will show you your quarters, young man. Rest assured, I will take care of you. You will not be forced to take part in anything you do not truly want to take part in. I can assure you of that.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ replied Katie as a book and a plot came into her mind. ‘That’s very kind of you. Is your servant the Indian gentleman, sir?’
‘Yes. Have you any objection to that?’
She shook her head as she recalled the name of the book and the princess who kept her lord and master spellbound with one hundred and one different tales. ‘No, sir. Indeed, my grandfather was with the Indian Army, sir, at the time of the mutiny. He told me many tales about it, sir. Sat me on his knee as he told me, sir. He knew India and her strange customs very well, sir, and told me many stories about the Sowars, the Sepoys and their battle against the Thuggee. The Thuggee were the ones who deceive and worship the goddess with the ripe boobies and blood dripping from her mouth. In fact, sir, he g
ot captured by them once. It was quite an eye-opener, sir, and quite a story.’
Carew looked genuinely interested. ‘Is that so, young Oliver? Go on. Tell me about it. I like a good story.’ His arm was still around her shoulder and he seemed in no hurry to take it away.
She took a deep breath and began her tale.
‘My grandfather, sir, was escorting a beautiful lady to be married to some Indian prince who was loyal to the crown, and was therefore favoured with special privileges by the British Resident and even the Viceroy himself. He told me the lady had eyes very much the colour of my own, and dark hair too. Her skin was fair - lighter than most Brahmins, but darker than most Europeans. She had a smile and a look in her sloe-shaped eyes that made my grandfather tremble from top to toe and made his member rear in speculation.
‘But my grandfather was a gentleman sir, so he did not take advantage of the situation.’
As she paused, she licked her lips. She saw him do the same. Judging by his unwavering attention and the swelling in his trousers, her story was having the desired effect.
‘Go on,’ he said.
‘I will.’ As she answered, she was aware of a warm patch collecting on her shoulder as the sweatiness of his palm seeped through the thin cloth of her jacket.
‘They joined a caravan journeying northwards into the hill country. Everything seemed fine as long as daylight lasted. But when night fell and supper had been eaten, and the camp fires began to die, those that had joined them rose up and garrotted the Sowars - the cavalry under my grandfather’s command. Before the personal attendants of the princess died, they ripped off their clothes and, whether man or woman, they raped their bodies.
‘My grandfather, as well as the princess, they decided to hold for ransom.
‘When they got to their hide-out in the hills, my grandfather and ‘the princess were taken into a stone cavern which inside was fashioned like a temple. Before them was the stone statue of the goddess Kali; awesome, grotesque, and encrusted with the blood of past victims.
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