by Ladd,Ashley
“No! No, please, don’t bother, I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” Jon could just imagine Priscilla’s reaction, finding his cock wakened by the presence of this native stranger, when he had just turned down the offer of her body. “I’ll be fine in just a minute.”
Kumar snaked his arms around Jon’s body, pulling it back against his own. Jon froze. His cock jerked skyward. “Let me help you, Jon. You are so tense. You need to relax.”
One of Kumar’s hands stroked Jon’s pectorals. Jon’s nipples spiked up into tight triggers that shot incredible pleasure through him when touched. The native’s other hand reached between Jon’s legs to cup the bulk of his erection.
“No,” Jon moaned, but at the same time his engorged cock threatened to explode in response to the intimate caress. Kumar squeezed the rigid organ, and Jon groaned again. Please, I can’t…”
Kumar nibbled Jon’s earlobe. Sparks flashed down Jon’s spine to ignite in his groin .” Why not?” he murmured, his voice rich with encouragement. “Why not allow yourself the release you crave, that you need?”
Nimble brown fingers unbuttoned Jon’s trousers. Jon gasped at the first touch of Kumar’s bare skin on his own. He slumped back, letting Kumar take his weight as the Indian fondled his aching cock. Jon could feel the hard bulk of Kumar’s own erection pressing into his backside. Panic seized him. He had to escape.
At the same time, the rock-hard evidence of the other man’s arousal nearly took him over the edge. He leaned against the other man, not daring to move, trying to ignore the insistent tease of Kumar’s cock, knowing that with the slightest provocation he would experience the ultimate shame. Yet the humiliating image of his seed shooting out all over Kumar’s hand only drove him closer to that extreme.
Kumar slid his thumb back and forth over the exposed and sensitive bulb. Jon gave a strangled cry of pleasure and anguish. “Don’t resist it, Jon. Why not enjoy the flesh that the gods have given you?”
“But—it’s an abomination. You, me…”
“Perhaps in England. Here we know that male and female are merely two aspects of the One. Turn around now, and I will show you such pleasures that you will not doubt they come from the gods.”
Jon could not help himself. Kumar steered him around until the two men were face to face. The Indian fastened his ripe lips on Jon’s mouth in a sweet, deep kiss. He crushed Jon’s exposed cock to his own groin. Through the thin cotton trousers, Jon could feel the native’s rigid cock, duelling with his own.
The heat of the kiss stole Jon’s breath. He had never before kissed a man, but now something was loosed in him. He opened his mouth to Kumar’s agile tongue, welcoming the foreign sensation of being invaded, savouring the exotic taste of anise and coriander. He wrapped his arms around the Indian’s muscled frame. Kumar’s light cotton garments were no barrier to sensation. Jon could feel everything—the heat coming off the native’s silky skin, the dampness near his armpits and his groin, the stony pillar of flesh rising between his thighs.
The Indian finally broke the kiss. Before Jon could sigh his regret, Kumar had slipped to the floor, kneeling in front of the Englishman. Before Jon could think about propriety or shame, Kumar had sucked Jon’s cock into his mouth.
Wetness, heat, pressure—the sensations were incoherent but overwhelming. Jon threw back his head and howled as he rammed his cock down Kumar’s throat. His seed gushed into the other man’s mouth; he felt new pleasures as the man swallowed, then opened wide for more.
Like an earthquake, the climax was followed by weaker aftershocks. Finally, Jon collapsed to his knees, totally spent. Kumar had to hold his shoulders to keep him from sinking onto the floor.
“I—um—you,” Jon began, trying to reclaim the sanity that had so precipitously deserted him.
“Hush,” whispered Kumar, kissing him lightly and leaving a distinctive bitter aftertaste on Jon’s lips. “Don’t think about it. Just enjoy.” He pulled the Englishman to his breast, cradling him gently. “Don’t worry, Jonathan. All will be well.”
All at once there was a frantic knocking. “Sir! Sir! Do you need help? I heard a scream.”
Jon scrambled to his feet. He grabbed his jacket to hide his bare, drooping penis .” Never mind, Lalida.” The servant’s broad, dark face appeared at the half-open door. “I managed to slam my finger in the desk drawer, but don’t worry, I’m fine.” The woman looked dubious, but she nodded.
“Very well, Sir. Will you take afternoon tea on the porch, as usual?”
“Yes, that would be excellent, thank you. In about twenty minutes. You might want to let Mrs. Archer know.”
“Ah, Madam went out walking, Sir, about half an hour ago. She said that you should not wait for her to have your tea.”
Walking? That was an unusual thing for Priscilla to do. Normally she spent afternoons indoors, reading or handling correspondence, and walked after tea when the weather was cooler. On the other hand, she had not been herself at lunch. Perhaps she had felt a need for some air.
Perhaps they were both suffering from some kind of fever that was affecting their senses and their judgement.
“Alright, then.” Jon was desperate for some privacy so that he could put himself back together, but the servant remained stubbornly in the doorway. “Is there something else, Lalida?”
“Yes, Sir. The boy came back from the Resident’s compound. He says that the Resident will send his driver with the car tomorrow morning at ten.”
Jon glanced at Anil Kumar, who grinned with just the slightest hint of cockiness .” It seems, Jon, that the gods have smiled.” Anil gestured at the pile of papers. “Should we see if we can get through these before tea?”
Chapter Four
Priscilla woke before dawn from dreams that she could not recall. They must have been concerned with sex, given the stickiness she felt between her thighs. Whatever the content, they had not brought her satisfaction. The bud at her centre throbbed, demanding stimulation. She was aching, hungry and empty.
She stole a look at Jonathan, curled up on his side next to her. For once, he was not tossing about and moaning. With his knees pulled up and his fist curled under his chin, he looked peaceful and young, his worries erased by sleep. His tousled blond curls and the cupid’s bow mouth below his silly little moustache made him seem like some innocent youth pretending to be a man.
As if he sensed her attention even in his sleep, he sighed and shifted onto his back. Priscilla wanted to throw her body on top of his, to mash her breasts against his chest, to feel his strong arms encircling her. She noticed that his pyjama bottoms formed a tell-tale peak at his groin. Some dream image had aroused him. She imagined what it would be like to loose his cock from his clothing, to scatter light kisses over the swollen bulb, to wake him with the heat of her mouth engulfing him. Perhaps that was what he was dreaming of, her swallowing him as she used to in the early days, when she could drive him crazy with her lips and tongue.
The picture was vivid enough to make her sex throb with new hunger. One move, one touch, and she could make her vision real. But something held her back. She remembered Jon’s coldness the previous morning. It was not she whom he desired. Whatever his dreams, it seemed that they did not include her.
With tears in her eyes, she turned her back on his tempting form and sought solace in sleep.
* * * *
It was past nine when Priscilla woke again. Jonathan’s side of the bed was empty. Unexpected sunlight filtered through the slats in the shutters; normally at this hour it should be raining. She felt groggy and lazy. She even contemplated going back to sleep. Then she remembered the planned excursion to the temple.
She rose in a hurry, splashed some water on her face, and, after some deliberation, dressed in her twill riding skirt with its front buttons and a long sleeved cotton blouse. She really had little idea what to expect, but she knew enough to shield her English skin from the fierce Indian sun.
Anil was waiting for her on the veranda, drinking tea.
He was once again wearing his formal lawyer’s garb. There was no sign of Jonathan.
“Good morning!” His smile was as brilliant as the sun riding high in the cloudless sky.
“Good morning. I’m sorry to have slept so late. Do we still have the time to get to Gauhati city and back today?” Priscilla found herself hoping that something would derail the plans for the expedition. Although Anil was charming, she was not at all sure that she wanted to spend the day alone with him.
“Certainly. There is no problem. The car and driver are already waiting down at the gate.”
“Oh dear! Let me just have a bite of breakfast and we can be on our way.”
“There’s no need to hurry, Priscilla,” Anil poured her a cup of tea, as deftly as any British matron, and offered her a roll. “This day is devoted to your enjoyment.” As he handed her the porcelain cup, his fingers briefly brushed hers. Electricity charged through her. Her nipples tingled; her sex clenched, then relaxed, flooded with moisture. “Take your time.”
Her enjoyment? Her whole body hummed with excitement. She felt light-headed, girlish. Guilt and fear were not sufficient to weigh her down. She sipped her tea, trying to regain her composure, wondering what it was about this stranger that drew her so.
“Where is Jonathan? Perhaps I could persuade him to join us.”
“I haven’t seen him today. I assume that he is in the tea fields; he was already gone when I woke up around seven. He is very diligent.”
“Maybe too much so.”
“Well—perhaps. But his father would have been pleased. As I told Jon yesterday, his father loved this plantation very much.”
Priscilla wondered what Anil would think about their plans to sell it. She took another swallow, and then put down her cup. “There, that’s enough. I’ll just get my bag and then we can leave.”
“Be sure to bring an umbrella.”
Priscilla squinted up at the turquoise sky. “Actually, it’s strange that it’s not raining. Since the monsoon started, the rains have run like clockwork. Every day, it pours from seven until noon. Then it clears and the rest of the day is fair. Surely the rainy season can’t be over already?”
Anil laughed, the sound warm and smooth like a subtle caress. “Hardly. It will rain until at least the end of September. However, as the monsoon progresses, the rain becomes less predictable. Nevertheless, I can guarantee that we’ll see some rain before we return this evening. So, as I said, I recommend an umbrella, and also a hat.”
“I will be right back. Lalida, would you please clear the table?”
“Yes, Madam.”
Back in her room, Priscilla gathered a shawl, a comb, her diary, some toffees and her money purse, and swept them into a leather satchel. She stopped in front of her mirror, surveying herself critically. Her hair was an unruly shock of ginger curls. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes sparkled. She looked younger than her twenty seven years, and incredibly excited. Too excited, she thought. I must not forget that I am a married woman, and that my husband trusts me. The girl in the mirror, though, did not look married.
Anil took her arm to guide her down the steep path to the road. Priscilla had to fight to keep from swooning at his touch. Just outside the gate, the luxurious burgundy and chrome auto gleamed in the sunlight. The native driver, who wore a spotless white uniform, gave them a brisk salute. Anil handed Priscilla into the open back seat, then spoke to the driver in what Priscilla guessed was Bengali.
“The driver says that the road to Gauhati is open. Last week, it seems, a landslide closed it for two days.”
“A landslide? Perhaps we should not undertake this trip after all.”
Anil took her hand. Warmth crept through her body, starting at her extremities but eventually settling in her sex. “Don’t worry, Priscilla. The terrain for most of the trip is quite flat and poses no danger. The English have sent in men to reinforce the site of the previous slide.”
Priscilla extricated her hand from his. Her reactions were so intense, she couldn’t bear his touch for long. “Are you sure?”
“Trust me, Priscilla,” Anil replied, holding her gaze for just a moment longer than was proper. “All will be well.” She turned her head to stare at the passing scenery, afraid of what he might read in her face.
There was little traffic on the packed dirt highway, aside from a few carts drawn by bullocks or water buffalo. Twice they had to stop and wait while a cowherd drove his handful of scrawny animals across the road, but generally they made good time. The location of the landslide was obvious. The road ran through between two hills, the raw sides of which were bristling with labourers digging ditches and building retaining walls.
By noon they had reached the outskirts of Gauhati and were driving through a sprawling maze of wooden shacks intermixed with stuccoed official buildings and verdant plots overgrown with banana plants or sugar cane.
“Are you hungry?” asked Anil. He had been quiet for most of the drive, allowing Priscilla to pretend fascination with her surroundings. In fact, she hardly noticed the picturesque scenes of native life as they passed. She was too busy trying to ignore the heat emanating from the lean, masculine body seated beside her. “We could stop at the Hotel Nanda for luncheon before proceeding to Kamakhya.”
“No, I’m fine. Let’s just head for the temple.”
“Very well.” Anil leaned forward and exchanged some words with the driver, who headed into the city proper.
After a month of near isolation at the plantation, Priscilla found Gauhati somewhat overwhelming. The twisted streets were crowded with carts, carriages and the occasional automobile. Porters, vendors, school children and beggars all darted around the traffic, working to avoid being crushed. The air rang with the cries of hawkers, the hammering of construction, the wail of some native song coming over the wireless. She smelled charcoal smoke and fenugreek, jasmine and manure.
They emerged out of the tangled streets facing the mighty river. A broad promenade followed the river’s course. They turned to follow it westwards, crossing the railroad tracks. Before long, Priscilla caught sight of a steep outcrop jutting up from the green fields.
“Neelachal Parbat,” Anil explained. “The temple is perched on top. We will have to leave the car below and climb by ox cart.”
The rough wooden cart lurched up the winding road to the summit, repeatedly casting Priscilla’s body against Anil’s, then away. After several tooth-rattling cycles of this, Anil circled her shoulders with one arm, pulling her to him and holding her steady. “I hope that you do not mind, Priscilla,” he said, smiling down at her. “I don’t want you to be thrown out of the cart.”
Mind? she thought, her heart beating as twice its normal speed, I don’t think I have any mind left. In truth, her physical reactions and sensations drowned out coherent thought. She huddled against him, happy for an excuse to be so close. His sandalwood fragrance surrounded her. She could only hope that it would cover up the scent of her arousal. Her thighs were slippery with the juices leaking from her sex. Her taut nipples ached, dying for stimulation. Surreptitiously, she rubbed her chest against his coat and was rewarded with a sharp spasm of pleasure both above and below.
Despite the jolts and bruises, she did not want the ride to end. All too soon, though, they reached the temple precinct. Seven beehive-shaped towers of stone rose above the vault of the main building, each one topped with gold. Ancient trees shaded the complex. A white-robed priest reclined in the shade of one. A colony of monkeys squealed in the branches of another. The place was crowded with worshippers carrying garlands and sacrificial vessels. Still, it was oddly peaceful.
Anil took her hand to lead her through the throng. Somehow, this seemed completely natural. “This temple is sacred to Sati, the wife of the Lord Shiva. When her father insulted her husband, the goddess committed suicide. Shiva, in anger and desperation, danced the Tandeva to destroy the world. The other gods sought to calm his fury, and in the ensuing struggle, Sati’s corpse was accidentally c
ut into dozens of pieces. Her yoni —her female organ—fell here on Neelachal Parbat.”
He led her to one of the smaller buildings, through a low arch and into a cave-like interior. The only light came from a few smoky lamps. Coming from the bright outdoors, Priscilla could see little at first, but she heard the burble of flowing water.
“We believe that this spring is her yoni —the holy sex of the great Mother. At certain times of the year, the waters run red, and then we know that the goddess is fertile. Some say that those who dare to bathe in the spring gain the gift of bestowing ecstasy. If you are a man, your penis will become like the bull’s; if you are a woman, your sex will become so velvety and supple that mere entrance will bring your man to his crisis.”
Priscilla’s face grew hot with embarrassment. How could a near stranger speak to her of these things? Still, his words aroused her unbearably. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, gentle and provocative, and she imagined him stroking the folds of flesh curled between her thighs. She stood beside him, gazing into the sacred spring, powerless to take back her hand or to protest this unseemly intimacy in this heathen sanctuary.
He lifted her chin and gazed into her eyes. “You are as lovely as a goddess, Priscilla.” His mouth claimed her, his tongue more insolent than his fingers had been. One arm slid around her waist and pulled her body against his. She melted into him, grateful that she no longer had to resist her own desires.
Through the fine wool of his tailored trousers, she felt the hardness that testified to his own need. Panic and lust fought within her. I am a married woman, she wanted to cry out, but his lips played upon hers and stopped her voice. His hands roamed freely over her body, massaging her buttocks, cupping her breasts, fingering the tight nubs of flesh that poked so obviously through the fabric of her blouse. He strayed to the damp crease between her thighs. She moaned into his spice-flavoured mouth, urging him on to more brazen explorations. He began to unfasten the first of the buttons that closed her skirt.
