Stepping from the shower in her modern suburban house a week before the Catastrophe, Laura Allen Pandarannahdi had reflected upon her relatively fortunate position. The city lay high up out of the reach of Tsunamis and set upon a rocky plateau. Her house was secure from earthquakes being single storey and frame built. Her Pandarannahdi in-laws filled half the positions of power in the place and would see that their eldest son didn’t starve even if it meant feeding his detested foreign wife as well.

She picked up a soft towel and dabbed at the wetter places. The power supplies had been restored at last after the latest terrorist bomb and so the water was back on. The bathroom was moist and cool. A pleasant breeze from the louvered windows caressed and dried her skin very pleasantly. The air was scented by garden flowers with only a trace of the smell of charcoal cooking fires that pervaded the distant city. She stretched languidly, arms high above her, enjoying her own reflection in the tall mirror. Not bad, she reflected complaisantly as she ran her eyes over the curves of her hips, the flatter curves of her belly and the firm, high roundness of her breasts. Ashad, her husband, had always said that she could have taken her place amid the rows of devadasis, the round breasted round hipped females who accompany the gods.

Even her skin colour fitted; the sculptures were usually painted pink on the temple facades. She noticed with irritation the difference where her sari left shoulder and arm bare. Whilst they had lived in the UK she could have sunbathed without restriction. Since Ashad and she had been forced to return to his ancestral home and his conservative family, she had been thwarted in a lot of things.

“Karmala! Tea please!” she called to the girl through the open bathroom door before returning to the view in the mirror. She wondered what the chances were of persuading Ashad to let her return to London until any possible trouble was over. There was still a whole week to go before anything could happen. Ashad had been more and more difficult lately. She suspected that his family were trying to poison his mind. They were probably behind his absence, particularly the old Begum, as Laura jokingly named her mother-in-law. Strange how, in a world where men were supposed to be all that counted, an old woman could still rule the roost! The old woman had no scruples about being one of the privileged, took it for granted and didn’t think her daughter–in-law worthy of them.

The family were formerly hereditary office holders under the old Maharajahs, of the highest caste and intimately connected with the former ruling house. They had never forgotten past glories, for which new wealth and political office was an inadequate substitute. Revivalism had attracted their support. Laura grimaced into the mirror. The old lady would probably prefer Ashad to strangle his low-born English wife and set up a harem of Dravidian beauties in her place.

Karmala came in unexpectedly with the tea as Laura was caught up struggling with the arms of her bathrobe. The girl was a beauty, Laura thought, but probably didn’t count as Dravidian since she was a Goanese by origin. Putting down the tea tray, she hastened to help Laura with her bathrobe. Laura’s former maid had left unexpectedly a week before on the strength of a dowry provided her by a rich uncle, but she had strongly recommended Karmala as her cousin.

“You could be an actress, Karmala!” Laura had said to her at once. She felt that kind of beauty would go well on the big screen. The girl had given such a start that Laura had apologised, assuming that some Indian prudishness was offended by the notion of kissing strange men in public. Standing, drinking the tea while the girl cleared away the towels, Laura reflected upon her own feelings of guilt and loneliness. She had a comfortable home even if the electricity supply was uncertain at times. She was married into the richest and most powerful family in the state, so she was reasonably safe, even though in the present disturbed conditions she had to wear a sari and keep her hair hidden under a scarf so as not to attract notice. Foreigners were blamed for everything these days. She only wished that Ashad was at home more often but the old Begum kept him busy travelling between the family properties. There was no knowing when he would return and she felt both lonely and at a loss for comfort.

She sighed, remembering the story about the Chief Minister of an Indian state who resigned upon the grounds that his mother disapproved of his activities. Being the only son he had explained, he was not in a position to disobey her. He had never done so, he said, in his life. The same habit of obedience ran deep in Ashad, she knew. Far away in London she had no trouble with that. Here, she wondered uneasily whether he felt she was too much of a handicap, but she could only go so far in adopting local dress and conduct, giving up sunbathing and hiding the alcohol, just to propitiate an old witch who had no intention of allowing herself to be won over.

Laura fumbled her feet into high-heeled slippers and emerged unsteadily from the bathroom. Her limbs seemed somehow to have lost co-ordination and her brain unable to keep her balance.

“Karmala! I feel strange …” She seemed to be slurring her words a bit too.

“Madama!” The ayah sprang forward and helped her solicitously to the big leather covered couch. “It will be the heat today! I will fetch a drink. Rest and it will soon pass!” The girl rushed to the cupboard where Laura hid the booze. It was not easy to get anything decent and Ashad had lately taken to being difficult about it.

The drink was a stiff one; the ayah had produced it with the air of someone conniving at dissolute behaviour. Laura smiled. Prohibition had that effect. She reached for it anyway and found to her astonishment that she missed her grasp on the glass. Karmala promptly lifted it to her lips as if was medicinal. The fool girl seemed to expect Laura to take it in a gulp. She spluttered and coughed, getting half of it down her front.

“Oh Madama! The ayah assisted Laura out of the brandy soaked robe. “I shall bring you something else to wear!”

The brandy seemed to have made things worse. Laura lay on the couch with unfocused vision, feeling exhausted and unwilling to move. She was aware of Karmala fussing about her, wrapping her in a black lace negligee that had been Ashad’s favourite. She felt warmth welling into her loins as she thought of him and tenderness towards the girl. Glass clinked. Music suddenly swelled up, romantic strings. The smell of brandy seemed to grow stronger making Laura’s head swim, surely she hadn’t drunk or spilt that much! She tried to judge how much was left in the glass but her eyes wouldn’t focus.

“Karmala …” she murmured drowsily. “Please … you … I want …” she faded out, uncertain of what she wanted.

“Yes Madama!” The ayah came over, soothing, her voice warm and purring. “I will look after you… You will have anything you need …”

Laura stirred briefly but failed to hold her concentration. Her mind kept wandering off. How had this started…?

Karmala caressed her, murmuring reassurance, shifting onto the couch beside her comfortingly. Laura felt rather like a limp puppet. The Indian girl giggled and squirmed against her. The negligee was hardly more than a decoration and Laura lost track of its folds, her limbs sprawling nakedly. Her body throbbed and tingled in the most intimate places, thighs, breasts, cheeks and lips seemed swollen and tender. Her hair had come undone and tumbled damply about her.

She tried unavailingly to close her thighs, conscious of her exposure and found Karmala’s warm body on top of her and between them. A glass was thrust into her hand and she clutched it tightly with both hands afraid that she might let it drop.

“Karmala … love … dear…” She had really meant to protest but her tongue seemed incapable of framing coherent sentences.

“Madama …” Karmala murmured huskily, kissing Laura, the effect of lips on lips was so astonishing that Laura let them linger a moment. She tried to raise herself and thrust the girl off but it made her so dizzy and her limbs responded so slowly that she only found her fingers slipping over wriggling flesh finding that the ayah had somehow become naked too. Squirming round on top of her, Karmala and she ended up head to tail and Laura clung convulsively to the girl’s smooth flanks as she felt a slow, creeping, incredibly lingering tongue exploring her vagina.

She heard her own involuntary squeal and tried to pull herself together, not understanding what was happening to her.

From the doorway a cool draught swept across Laura’s over-heated belly and thighs, making her groan and wriggle in relief. Then, realising where the air was coming from, she threshed in panic, striving to collect her wits. Before she could get as far as voicing her dismay, Karmala’s hot pubic bulge rammed down like an impromptu gag against her open mouth, while the tongue raised trickles of ecstasy between her legs.

Laura was submerged under warm flesh, her high heels lifting and kicking wildly but without aim, in reaction to the diving tongue. Nothing of what she thought she should say was now audible above the dreamy music, only muffled gurgles. One of her hands still clutching an empty glass waved it in the air above Karmala’s brown rump, the other at first clawing at the fleshy curves that threatened to smother her, turned without any intention into a circling enjoyment of their softness.

“Ahhh … Daaarling … Laura …” Karmala clung to her confused mistress with tenacity, controlling her reactions and raising her voice loudly enough to be heard in the next room. “You are sooo … good to me … daaarling …!”

Laura’s weak protest, surfacing through a throbbing daze of desire, was rendered totally inaudible, muffled by the other’s hot loins rotating vigorously over her mouth.

“Ahhh … Daaarling … I love you so … that’s right … suck me … daaarling … suck me … darling Laura …”

Laura was dazed, breathless, half fainting, wholly bewildered. Suddenly the soft feminine flesh lifted from her face and she turned her head to gasp for air. Her startled eyes went past Karmala’s lifted rump.

Flash! Flash! Bright, dazzling shocks. Karmala screamed with sudden theatrical effect. Flash! Flash! A door banged and men’s voices, elderly and indignant clamoured incomprehensibly, close at hand. Karmala sprang up with astonishing speed.

“It was the Madama who made me!” she shrieked hysterically and, hurling incoherent abuse at the interrupters, she ran out naked through the door to the kitchen. Flash! Flash! Laura struggled upright on the couch, hair tangled and dishevelled, hot and flushed, to all intents and purposes, naked herself.

The front door was open. Four old men with mouths agape hovered in the doorway. Behind them a younger man was fitting another flash bulb to a camera. Two more faces peered round the kitchen door, the sweeper and the gardener she saw in confusion.

“The best piece of acting I ever did!” In the kitchen Karmala, wrapped in her mistress’s discarded bathrobe, said, giggling, to her real employer’s lurking agent. “Did you see the faces of your old men?”

“You did a good job!” he conceded. “They were respectable men shocked to be witnesses to a wife’s infidelity, as reported by a police officer concerned for the family’s honour and confirmed to them by the servants. The drug you administered is something my master can provide as a matter of routine, but you were his real touch of genius! The astonishment of the witnesses who had expected a male lover inhibited them from taking action. A man they might have seized and questioned.”

He handed Karmala a bundle of notes. “Pack up quickly whatever you think she would take with her if she had decided to run away with a lover; clothes and jewellery. Make it look as if you have run away together. You can keep everything that you take, as a bonus for good work!”

He went back next door where Laura, while trying to pull herself together, had only succeeded in toppling off the black leather couch. She was now crawling upon all fours on the floor amid empty bottles, dazed, bewildered and quite naked except for her high heels. The four old men had been ushered away and the two servants had discreetly faded out of sight. Only the young man with the flash camera was still watching her appreciatively.

“Help me …” She fell over onto her face, trying to get her hand between her legs and crawl towards the two men at the same time. They were young. Little more than teenagers, dark featured and long-haired in long shirts and baggy trousers; they might have been brothers. From her helpless position on the floor, Laura saw with a strangely confused agitation that both were showing definite signs of sexual arousal.

Flash! Flash! The one with the camera was breathing hard, leaning over her nearly naked form as belatedly she lunged groaning and thrust an open palm at the camera lens.

“Enough!” his colleague said chuckling. “We can make that an excuse to end it there! It will look as if she managed to interfere with the camera. Wait for the rest until we get her out of here.” Laura whimpered in uncomprehending panic as the two men seized her.

“Don’t worry, darling!” they laughed. “We are taking you where you will get what you need!”

 

She was kidnapped in slow motion, conveyed away from her home in a gaudily painted buffalo cart drawn by two beasts with gilded horns and red harness. The elder drove, the photographer in the rear guarding Laura. She was still naked, face down in the bottom of the tightly enclosed cart. She had been tied up like a parcel for delivery, doubled up with her wrists tied to her ankles and her own knickers used as a gag between her jaws. She thought vaguely that she must have been drugged with something, but she could barely focus her brain and control of her body and limbs was beyond her. She could only try to lie still, while fires continued to burn between her thighs and her nipples throbbed stiffly, sending signals that demanded intimate contact.

The route was evidently suburban, motorised traffic was scarce for lack of petrol these day, but she could hear occasional sounds of car horns in the distance the shouts of street vendors and once the ringing of a bicycle bell close at hand. Nevertheless, it wasn’t long before the younger man got down on the bottom boards behind her in the concealment of the canvas cover.

“I’m going to test her pussy!” he said to his companion’s back. He leant over Laura and she squirmed beneath his encroaching hands, closing her thighs upon them but not fast enough. She could only manage a slow motion response. The aphrodisiac, if that was what it had been, seemed to have disconnected mind from body. She began to be uncertain whether her slow-motion response was rejection or acceptance. Her brain wanted to resist but her flesh was beyond control and dictating her need. She could hardly believe that the man could act so confidently, with only a thin canvas screening them from the public view. She kept assuring herself in shame that she need not resist, since discovery and release would surely come at any moment.

“Open to it! Open! Spread yourself wide!” Neutrality was not enough. Insistent hands thrust at her quivering thighs. Laura gasped and panted, telling herself she would not obey, disgusted by his brutal crudity and yet crazy with desire to be touched. Strong, insistent male fingers thrust her thighs apart, driving between soft surfaces, forcing reactions she could no longer control. He hissed appreciatively to his partner.

“The silly bitch is becoming hotter by the minute!” All Laura’s strength of will evaporated and she let him push her knees wide, exposing to his exploration the furred mound of her pubis and the glistening wet cleft of her slot where his brown fingers were inserted to the knuckles.

She rolled her head, whimpering, eyes half closed. Her hair was spilled all about her in damp tangles obscuring her view. Her breasts were squeezed beneath her the nipples exposed to a draught from between the floorboards prickled tenderly in response. She squeaked and moaned in soft half denial of her reactions as the male fingers, confident of their power over her, slid over her sex lips and teased the swollen bud of her clitoris. Her brain swam in a daze while her body responded automatically. The man with her took his time, exchanging low voiced jokes with the driver as he played upon his demoralised victim.

“Listen to the bitch! The Master’s drug has really got to her! She’ll soon be hot enough to suck me in!”

Laura didn’t understand the words, but the tone of their voices aroused her briefly to a moment of shame. She tried to calm herself, but the teasing fingers seemed to arouse waves of aphrodisiac fires that in her helpless state were beyond quenching. She tried to frame a plea, but the tantalising fingering took the breath from her. The fingertips slithered like silk across the seething volcano of her pubis, snaking down her cleft, softly teasing her clitoris until she heaved under his hand, rolled her hips this way and that, and tossed her head, snorting above her gag in short gusts of breath driven by the insistent titillation.

“She’s thrashing like a captured snake! She wants a cock all right!” The man let his fingers slip out. Laura groaned at once then again deep in her throat as she felt the first nudge of what was to replace them. She clenched her bottom-cheeks in a last effort to detach her mind from what was happening between her legs, and even that slight twitch sent an electric current up her spine and down her thighs.

A hot liquid seemed to be oozing within her around his sliding penis and she could not control it, her bodily reactions were on automatic pilot.

“The bitch is nearly sucking me in!”

Laura whimpered in unconscious admission of the desire to which she had succumbed. She might hate the brute, but though she meant to fight him, every effort she made ended by inciting him to drive deeper. She had surrendered her body to the only available source of a penetration she now lusted for.

Somewhere along the way, the cart had turned off onto a rougher surface. Laura’s nose was pressed down to the floor and through a crack in the boards she could see that a rutted earthen track had replaced the tarmac roadway. The pace of the cart slowed even more. It now bumped and lurched so that the brute who was ramming between her legs dug deeper than he intended, but even the heavy lurches now brought his victim exquisite satisfaction. Sometimes, in pulling back out of her just as they bounced over a rut, she thought she had lost him and had to bite her lips hard to stop an involuntary cry of dismay.

Too soon for Laura, who was left trembling with sexual tension, and weeping frustrated tears, the man came to his own finish. He only laughed at her gag-choked moans while he busied himself fastening a girdle of rope and canvas around her waist.

The cart jolted to a halt and the canvas cover opened to daylight. Laura was rolled over and out of the rear of the cart to land with a breathless thump on her back in the ruts, bound wrists and ankles in the air. They had been following a cart track along a high wall overhung by dense vegetation on the left, with a steep brushwood-choked ravine on the right. Tall ornamental gates within a curious gothic arch, evidently a relic of the imperial past, barred further progress. They were padlocked and thick with rust and the jungle of encroaching vegetation behind them hinted at a century or more of disuse. Above her, a large tree had extended over the wall and made the little shaded space to one side of the gate in which she lay. From somewhere up in the darkness of its boughs a rope descended and dangled alongside her.

The men rolled her over onto her side and she discovered the purpose of the girdle when they fastened the end of the dangling rope in the middle of her back. The younger man swarmed up the rope and disappeared into the boughs. A whistle sounded presently from within the wall and the rope drew taut, lifting Laura first onto hands and knees and then off the ground. In a series of swift jerks she shot upwards, arms and legs dangling, bumping the crumbling stucco surface of the wall with her shoulder and hips. She was swung helplessly across the wall top and into the leafy green interior.

The place was a cemetery, disused for many generations and now abandoned and overgrown. Through its tangled jungle a narrow path had been cleared ending where some long forgotten Orientalist had erected as a monument to his wife, a little marble pavilion in the Mogul style. It was still quite intact, though the ornamental tank before it was silted and overgrown with water weeds. In its shady interior the manipulator of Laura’s misfortunes awaited her arrival.

A gross, brown skinned creature lay on the cool bare marble pavement of the pavilion like a stranded whale, naked, bald and hairless. A great curve of belly was the most prominent feature. Plump rounds of mammary flesh bulged outward from it ending in brown nipples as big as saucers. Belly and thighs were pressed together to form a triple cushion of flesh that totally obscured the creature’s sex.

As Laura’s naked figure loomed out of the gloom along the track, slung from a pole shouldered like some exotic hunting trophy by his two acolytes, the immense form rolled over to face them with an immense grunting effort. Vast rolls of flesh continued to subside slowly for several seconds after the move was completed. The new posture exposed a set of male sexual organs looking ridiculously tiny appendages against the enfolding bulk.

He faced Laura with his head supported upon one hand. From a thick roll of flesh, concentric curves of chins and dewlaps surrounded a small, hooked nose and rosebud lips. Small black eyes sparkled knowingly at the new arrival. Unfastened, ungagged and unrolled by her captors, she was held up, exposed for the inspection of this creature, dishevelled and aghast.

She knew him for the Aghori whose usual pitch had been on the pavement outside the railway station. A practitioner of Tantric magic, he lay there daily in the shade of a peepul tree, stark naked and scandalous in his defiance of convention, his bloated body giving him the appearance of some sea monster thrown up by an unexpected flood. Though he was said to own nothing but the piece of matting upon which he lay and a small sack dyed deep orange, he was also reputed to make a good sale of copies of a cheaply printed little book.

Laura’s husband had said that it was a book of prophecy that the Aghori had written himself and that his customers firmly believed that he could see into the future. Every evening two young acolytes, the men who had kidnapped Laura, came and levered their master with great effort to his feet, supporting his tottering bulk one upon each side as he slowly waddled and undulated ponderously off. This evidently was the lair to which he retired. A place of the dead.

The Aghori regarded Laura’s shrinking reaction with complacency. His dark eyes appeared like currents in his brown doughy face, plump red lips pursed, half smiling, self-satisfied, not wholly mad yet not quite sane. Such a reaction was expected of her, a tribute to his power to shock.

Although of high caste origin, Aghoris are deliberate defilers of custom and ethics. They are thought in this way to gain control over demons who they summon from tombs and burning-ghats. They recognise no taboos, no prohibited food, not even excrement, nor it is rumoured, cannibalism. Sexually their practices similarly defy decency, taking delight in gross forms, engaging with partners of indecent or repulsive character, or belonging to unclean castes. There were many passers-by who enlisted the Aghori’s magic for disreputable purposes, desiring a partner or a rival to be cursed, or lustfully desiring a charm to reduce a victim’s resistance.

Sexual magic was this Aghori’s speciality. He was never without lustful young male acolytes who ran his errands and acted as contacts with customers hoping to profit from his powers. Consulted by Laura’s ruthless in-laws, the Aghori had supplied the aphrodisiacs that, properly applied, would result in convincing evidence of shameful marital misconduct. The family had only had poison in mind for the unwanted daughter-in-law, but the Aghori’s suggestion had been rather to discredit Laura with her husband and to contrive her apparent ignominious flight and disappearance.

His bulk and lack of mobility made him vulnerable to disorder. In return for the family’s assistance he offered to dispose of the supposedly runaway English wife. The family would pay heavily and could then be relied upon to provide his food and conceal his place of refuge, if only to keep their secret undiscovered. His acolytes would keep him in contact with the outside world for as long as he required.

Now he lay waiting in keen anticipation of success, his clever and wicked mind trapped in his grossness of flesh, working his will by remote manipulation. He had remembered the English lady in question passing his pitch with a quick glance of horrified fascination followed by a quiver of disgust. She had a good body and, by his astute estimation, an impressionable mind. She was his now to be moulded. That his plan had worked faultlessly confirmed the accuracy of his estimate. Kept mentally off balance and influenced by his drugs she would be as clay in his hands, constantly disgusted by what she did, but unable to break free.

“How many times have the brothers had you, Laura?”

Laura stared in mental confusion at the matter of fact question, which emerged from the gross creature in a rich fruity bass voice. Her dazed mind strove to make sense enough to frame a reply.

“Only once, on the way here, Master!” the elder acolyte answered grinning.

“Again then. Let me judge how she reacts to it!” The Aghori’s flesh rippled, he grunted deep within his bulk. Slowly and with the air of one performing an exceptional feat, he heaved and rolled his vast bulk again, turning onto his back as he had been before. A vast rumbling complacent sigh escaped him, while his vast belly continued to quiver for several seconds after the rest of him had come to rest.

Laura was propelled forward and sent flopping headfirst across that enormous mound of flesh. She sprawled face down over its softly receptive curve, weak limbed, her dangling fingers and toes barely reaching the marble floor on either side. Beneath her weight the vast barrel gurgled and the Aghori groaned as if in ecstasy. A fat hand fell heavily across the back of her neck, pinning her in place.

“I shall do it!” The one who had been the driver claimed his turn. Laura was horsed high over the Aghori’s bulk in a convenient position. The acolyte lifted and spread her thighs to open her to his thrust. It was as if she were being fucked atop a wobbling rubber balloon.

Her abuser was as confidently unhurried as his brother had been aboard the cart. Laura had believed the shameful effects of her sexual arousal were beginning to ebb but now, assaulted at such a slow pace and with inordinate skill, found the Aghori’s drug working upon her once more at full power. Judged by the wheezing exhortations from below, the monstrous human slug seemed to be finding erotic stimulation in her plight. Her strangled protests and sobbing groans altered subtly into shamed recognition of burgeoning desire. In some detached corner of her brain she listened in horror to the animal sounds emerging from her own throat. Against her will she let out wails of frustration as her penetrated body begged for the release of orgasm constantly approached and then denied. Beneath her the Aghori shook and quivered enormously chuckling at her plight and restraining her from any attempt to move or help herself.

At last the thick shaft of male flesh was fully engaged. Laura was thrust back and forth, slipping a little on a film of sweat between her flesh and that of her wobbling mounting. She wailed with relief, shame and lust vying for expression while underneath her the Aghori trumpeted like an elephant and his acolyte humping hard behind, bellowed as masterfully as a bull. This time she achieved release herself, almost synchronised with that of the man, and betrayed it with an involuntary lack of disguise.

Apparently the Aghori found this stimulating, too. At his word the acolytes picked Laura up and swung her through ninety degrees until their panting victim was astraddle their master’s curved and wetly glistening belly, like a mermaid astride a whale. Clutching at his bulk beneath her with gripping fingernails she found herself back to front, facing his feet. A slap drove her forward, slithering sweat-slick, down the wobbly curve of his belly to face his newly erected penis, which now poked up out of the folds of fat. Small only in relation to the rest of him, it looked like a bursting purple sausage.

“Suck! Suck!” his acolytes urged her.

Seeing the fleshy nub through a cloud of wild hair, Laura recoiled unwillingly. The drug had eased its urgency within her. This would do nothing for her.

The Aghori boomed impatiently. He had her fast by the ankles. One of the young men stooped at once and seized her by the back of her hair, twisting a big hank of it in his fist.

“See there!” He turned her face sideways so that she could see the other acolyte who was brandishing a long bamboo cane. “Suck or you will be taught who is your master now!” Laura was held face down between two strong pairs of male hands, stretched in a curve over the Aghori’s mountainous bulk and, realising what portion of her was uppermost, her brain began to frame panicky words of submission.

They surfaced too late. The man’s arm was already swinging. The cane came down from on high, landing with a meaty swippp-smackkk! across her already squirming bottom, lifted again and almost before she had time to give vent to her reaction, dealt her a second one like the first.

Laura made no attempt at school-boyish stoicism. The cane cured her of her feeling of exhaustion, too. The third time she tried to interpose her hands between herself and the cane, only to have her fingers sliced in two, as it seemed. She snatched them back with a howl and beat at the rubbery flesh beneath her with ineffectual palms instead, begging for mercy. Tidal waves of flesh seemed to erupt beneath her as she bobbed and wriggled, unable to escape the repeated strokes. She never had so much as a hand laid upon her and the pain of the cuts across her behind made her bounce the Aghori’s belly beneath her like a wobbling jelly, howling vigorously.

Fortunately this seemed to have the effect of arousing the Aghori to such an extent that he raised a plump hand to cut her flogging short. Laura’s vigorous expressions of submission were accepted. Halted in mid strike, the cane was stretched out and used to push her head down, back to her duty.

Bottom throbbing and in tears, she wriggled forward over the wobbling belly and applied her lips and tongue to the fleshy nodule poking from its folds, thrusting the latter with the fervour of a convert into whichever horrible recess she thought might stir his ardour. She sucked the exposed cock head with what expertise she could muster, unshrinking in her desire to appease the master of the cane. The great slug merely grunted happily all the while, without sign of further reaction.

Baffled in her efforts, Laura halted to gasp for breath, panic in her mind. What would happen if she failed him? Would she be blamed? The thought of more of the cane spurred her on. She applied herself with added energy.

The Aghori snorted with amusement, wobbling gently beneath her unsteady ministrations. He lay almost inert beneath her as yet, but tiny quivers ran constantly through his blubbery bulk. Her warm mouth and quivering tongue were giving him delicious pleasure. He looked to where Laura’s lushly rounded bottom wobbled above him, poised atop the rising hillock of his belly, well striped by the cane. Her thighs were stretched wide to bestride him, revealing the reddened crevice of her vagina openly displayed and glistening wetly, her lightly furred mound brushing his flesh as she squirmed to and fro, engrossed in her oral effort.

He hadn’t expected fast results but she had no alternative than to keep trying until she roused him. Completely under his control, she could be made to serve to whatever limits he dictated.

 

“How do you intend to dispose of her, master?” the elder acolyte asked him later, after chaining the exhausted Englishwoman by her ankle to the Aghori’s pavilion.

“I intend to keep her here.”

“Master, you promised the Pandarannahdis that she would be disposed of.”

“I said that she would not trouble them again and neither will she.”

He had decided to keep that family’s unwanted English bride for his own purposes. No one would look for her before it was too late. Soon, in this ending time of the world, the wheel of existence would make a different turn and she would be lost in the darkness, a trophy to be picked from the wreckage, which he would claim as his property. The money the family had paid would be usefully laid out upon to secure him the means for survival in the catastrophe he foresaw.

In the cool hush of dawn, the old cemetery lay silent with hardly a leaf stirring. On her little strip of matting by the marble balustrade, Laura uncurled herself painfully, stark naked and chained by one ankle. Her hands went first to her rear, gingerly testing the stripes still tender where the Aghori had caned her last night, then instinctively to claw the tangled tumble of hair from her face and shoulders. She attempted to tidy herself, then recollecting what she had been taught, looked hastily to where the monster lay like a half inflated balloon stranded overnight. Was he awake? She couldn’t tell, nor was it safe to guess. She must do her duty. She crawled on hands and knees, slinking across the cool paving towards her master, her chain making a slow metallic hiss on the marble behind her. She kissed his feet, reluctantly but assiduously until he opened an eye and emitted an indecipherable grunt. Laura scrambled to her knees, kneeling with bent head and palms together respectfully.

“Master! What do you command me?”

She waited while he grunted and yawned, lifting a plump hand to scratch, considering her with a dark inscrutability that made her tremble. At last he merely waved his hand dismissively and, bobbing respectfully, she scuttled away to do her morning chores, to sweep the marble floor with a small whisk broom, to refill the water jug and prepare the Aghori’s morning meal of fruit. Time passed slowly and Laura, still on her knees, the chain snaking across the floor, attended to her master’s almost immobile bulk, cleaning and massaging his smooth brown skin with skill painfully acquired.

How many days had she been held captive here? Would she ever be able to shrug off the habit of abasement that had become second nature now? She fetched the bowl of fruit and rice and held it up while he fed with leisurely enjoyment. Afterwards he reclined complacently while his assiduous slave cleaned the dribble of mango juice from his multiple chins. She knelt once more before him, bowing her head and putting her hands together.

“Would master like to fuck?” She waited anxiously as he wriggled his vast bulk into a more comfortable position and considered her with a beady unwinking eye. The marble pavilion was silent except for his laboured breathing. Usually the Aghori exercised her sexually in the cool of the evening, sometimes personally, sometimes using the services of the two acolytes, but the cool of dawn had tempted him before now. She watched his pursed lips anxiously.

“Do your best then, girl!”

She breathed a sigh. The Aghori was reclining with his head pillowed on his fat arms, watching her as she wriggled abjectly forward. From her level his vast belly was mostly what was visible, subsided a little and bulged over to form an overhang to the gap between his thighs, from beneath which his penis was just visible as a bulge of purple knob, the dark testicles totally hidden from view.

With a feeling of gratitude that she knew to be quite absurd, she climbed up on top of his immense bulk like a child clambering over an adult.

The gratitude was simply because his monstrosity made the reverse arrangement especially terrifying to her. In that case she would have been forced to lie supine while he rolled his vast bulk over her body, rolling her flat, with only the extremities of her limbs visible, barely able to breathe. She was always in a panic lest she be overlain and smothered as he grunted and puffed into place. He spread-eagled her like a captured butterfly beneath his weight, shifting himself by inches this way and that until his stiffened penis pinned her fast and he began to move vertically with prodigious slowness but solid certainty, a slow motion pile driver. She had no control and no way of either speeding or easing her ordeal. Only her hands and feet were left free, out-thrust beyond his bulk. The Aghori, her master, humped very, very slowly with long panting pauses. His final ejaculation wasn’t even the end either, as it might be hours before he decided finally to roll ponderously sideways sufficiently to release her from imprisonment.

Thankful then to be granted the upper position this time, she put every effort into her nimbleness. With her slim figure poised astride his bolster-like thighs, she slid her hand down between their two bellies and groped until she found the crown of his cock. Enclosing it in soft fingertips, she worked them gently up and down the top of the shaft, making a small fist about it as it stiffened and rose into her palm. She began to use her hips, rubbing her own flat belly up and down the heavy curve of the Aghori’s like a small girl bouncing on a spongy cushion. She could feel her successful progress, the rising knob nudging at her waiting sex with every bounce. Peering anxiously over the great hump of brown belly she saw the Aghori’s cherubic mouth pouting as if in imitation.

“Go on…” he murmured dreamily. “Go on…”

Laura lifted herself a little up the steep curve of his belly, arching herself for a moment, her thighs sliding wide, her teeth set in effort of concentration, then she lowered with a little shuddering sigh into the cushion of his loins like a rider settling into the saddle. A brief wriggle of her hips had lodged the blunt headed projection within the waiting slot of her vulva, its size no longer a surprise. She had learnt by frequent practise how deceptive it appeared against such an unnatural bulk.

From the Aghori there emerged an almost explosive exhalation of air followed by a wheezing chuckle. Why need to lay siege to women when an intelligent mind and a freedom from scruple could acquire one as a helpless slave! No longer was there any need for drugs, or even for much of the whip, Laura’s service had become second nature to her. He was big enough to go deep and stretch her to the utmost and he could delay his orgasm almost indefinitely. Having to give herself fully to the effort inevitably excited her own flesh. Forced to focus all her attention upon the connection between them, she was entirely vulnerable to his plump fingers teasing and tweaking, playing upon her trembling body as effectively as the drug.

Embracing the wobbling roundness of his belly for support, she began slowly to move up and down, upon her impalement, sliding it in and out, bouncing a little at each thrust, making a little wet smack as their two bellies met. She tried to match her strokes to fit the ponderous wobble of his massive flesh below her, sinking into the cushioned folds to seek and swallow every inch of cock, not without shame at the process, but knowing that no other course was open to her.

With a sly smirk the Aghori reached out as she went up, gripping Laura by her round bottom cheeks and sending his thick fingers delving into the soft crevice between them upon an exploration of their own. Laura rode unsteadily up and down, wide-eyed, like a naked Godiva upon an unexpectedly lively horse, never quite sure whether she was riding his cock or his fingers, but staying erect and gracile against his grossness. She knew quite well that the Aghori’s powers of concentration were far beyond those of a normal man and that she was going be made to orgasm more than once.

Her white belly began to rotate voluptuously this way and that, bouncing like a well-trained Egyptian dancer against the Aghori’s quivering brown bulge, imparting a twisting and screwing effect to his slowly expanding root. Sweat began to lubricate their flesh. Their undulating gyratory interaction began to affect the hapless woman more than her target.

Laura began to mew and arch as the Aghori’s fingers suddenly switched to tantalising her stiffened nipples swinging above him. Her eyes closed, lashes fluttering on hot cheeks. She was going higher and deeper, ramming down into the cushioned saddle of his swallowing flesh, then surging up the rearing stalk of his cock as if ready to take off. Both participants panted and grunted, Laura the noisier of the two, as she was doing most of the work, slithering and slapping atop her master who wheezed and shook, giggling and pouting with erotic relish.

Once! Twice! A third time! At lengthening intervals, Laura going like steam pump, stiffened revealingly in mid thrust, wailing like a siren and almost faltering to a stop, her face suffused and scarlet, her mouth agape. For a few seconds she sagged forward clasping the Aghori’s immense belly, hair tumbling across its dome. Then each time a fresh assault of the cunning fingers recalled her to her duty and revived her to fresh effort, her groans returning to squeals as her drugged sexuality responded to his enormous impalement still undiminished beneath her.

For a while nothing was audible in the still and windless cemetery but the sounds of their mutual involvement. It was only as she orgasmed for the fourth time that she knew success.

Almost simultaneously, her master’s vast bulk shook earthquake-like beneath her, a deep rumbling growl of satisfaction emerging from deep within. He exploded wetly within her. Their mingled groans both gradually declined. Silence fell.

Laura lay upon the Aghori’s gently quivering belly, feeling his extrusion sag and sink within her warm depths but not daring to move without permission. In the distance the blue sky above the trees was stained with rising black smoke and she wondered vaguely what was happening in the city. All she knew was what few words the acolytes let drop. The strains of impending doom had proved too much for social cohesion. She imagined that she heard the crackle of fire and the screams of victims of the mob.

 

That night the abandoned cemetery lay perfectly still, black and silver in the moonlight, the marble of the Aghori’s pavilion reflecting its cool gleam. Beyond the tank, amid a dark mass of vegetation, was the entrance to an underground vault from which emerged a glow of reddish light.

The man squatting cross-legged on a strip of matting at the foot of the entrance steps felt the cool air from above upon his hot flesh with quivering pleasure. Fat- bellied, shaven-headed, a rich man powerful in the city, he had boldly cast off his garments and surrendered himself, naked, entirely into the Aghori’s hands. His bodyguards waited for him outside the walls, too fearful of the Aghori’s demonic power to follow him within. Within the cemetery walls the gross creature was protected by such fears, his wants supplied by admirers impressed by the appalling accuracy of his prediction of catastrophe and fearful of his association with the demons who had clearly been set loose in the world. Despite all that, his visitor himself had braved one of the Aghori’s demons. Heart in mouth, he had descended this far into the hot darkness of an underground vault, the demon’s lair.

“You say she must be forced?” He had been anxious to play his part correctly.

“She must be unwilling!” the Aghori had rumbled, smacking his lips over the basket of mangoes his customer had brought with him. “It would be less effective if it were otherwise. The more terror and unwillingness in the conduit, the more of the demon’s power is available to be tapped!”

The man had found that convincing. Already he had felt his capacity enhanced. He had found himself sweating excitedly at the very idea of rape. Wiping the traces of his own consumption from his mouth with heavily ringed fingers and putting down the small clay cup, he had followed with lustful eyes the movements of the woman whose body was to be used in this ritual.

She seemed to be the Aghori’s hapless slave, feeding her obese master from the basket of fruit, serving the visitor with eyelashes downcast. Perhaps she was used to such indecent exposure, he thought. She was bleached blonde and sun-tanned in a way that made it obvious that such nakedness was her usual state. She crawled to and fro on hands and knees tending to their wants, with only the faded pink welts across her peach soft bottom and the tinkling bells on her chained ankle hinting at more compulsion behind her obedience than the Aghori’s command of demons.

The magician had explained the ancient technique to utilise sexual ecstasy, the momentary intensification of reaction in mind and body to effect a release of power. It had been celebrated in the rites of temple prostitution in the past, but could only be used by the most intense practise and in advantageous circumstances. Suspended orgasm was the foundation of this enhancement, for the longer the delay the more power could be collected. Highly skilled adepts, the magician had claimed, could achieve phenomenal delays and powerful discharges. The client had been assured that some of this power could be tapped even by the untrained. The Aghori proposed to use the Left-hand way to strengthen his capacity, using violence and obscenity to control the power and channel it via a forced participant to his client.

Shaking with excitement, the man entered the chapel, inching forward to join the others. The underground vault was lit only by reddish light from a small oil lamp that drew flickering reflections from the brass figure of the demon above the altar at the far end and bright gleams from the red eyes in its blackened face. Music throbbed in the darkness from unseen drum and flute. Heavy scents of incense drifted on the hot air. The Aghori shifted before him a dark bulk chanting and gesturing with ponderous slowness, against the light.

The woman had been lying in an open stone sarcophagus, her flesh glimmering greenish-white, her eyes dark hollows, nipples like black bosses, her hands modestly crossed above the pubis. He saw her now lifted from the coffin and raised like an offering before the glinting figure of the demon. The music wailed and male voices rumbled deeply.

“Oh dread Kali! Oh great destroyer! Oh cruel one! Oh Durga! Oh cruel Din! Grant us the power of the little death!”

He had made a guess at the identity of the blonde woman. Rumours about the Pandarannahdi family scandal had been going about in knowledgeable circles. It was said that the Aghori had conjured up a female demon to possess the wicked wife and that she had run away with her demon lover. Another version was that she had conceived a passion for the person of the Aghori himself and now copulated with him by night among the dead.