On the big bed in the penthouse flat, Jenny Westerly straddled her elderly would-be mentor, red faced and wringing her hands as he groaned in frustration and then snapped at her bad-temperedly. “Bring here, the cane!”

“Huzoor ... please ... I couldn’t help it!” She had been labouring to bring him off for ages without a result that satisfied him. The old man was just too ambitious. He thrust her from him impatiently.

“Bring cane!” Weeping, Jenny crawled off the bed. Her little cap had fallen off and one plump breast had escaped the V of her jacket. Stuffing it back with white-gloved fingers she trotted from the bedroom followed by the exhortation of the grumbling old tyrant. “Jaldi! Jaldi!” She knew only a few words of the language, enough to summon a waiter or a room maid. Now she had to remember them the other way round, applied to her! She took up the little bamboo cane with trembling fingers, anticipating the impact of its slender severity on her soft flesh.

“There! Up! So!” Meekly depositing the cane in Narain’s hands, she stepped up to the little bar at his direction and scrambled up by way of one of the red cushioned stools to go belly down upon its polished top, instinctively trying to tug the little tails of the jacket over her ample bottom.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! With responding howls, she gave up the attempt at once, knocking over empty whisky tumblers with her flailing elbows. Dangling head and shoulders over onto the service side, she gripped the edges of the sink to hold herself steady. The old man was still shaky and his aged muscles failing, but she was careful to make her howls good and convincing. If he thought he wasn’t hurting her enough she would get double.

“Ohhh ... Owww…! Ohhh Huzoor!”

“Ohhh … Owww…! Please…!”

“Ohhh … Owww…! Mercy…!”

“Ohhh … Owww…! Ohhh Huzoor!”

Jenny splayed herself widely, the tall stool between her knees, her high heels kicking in mid-air. Once the caning had stopped her hands reached back again, fluttering over her red-striped bottom. “Ohhh …Owww…!”

The old servant brandished his cane, having fiercely smacked her fingers away. This was the way to keep a woman in line! English women were no different! This one was sobbing satisfactorily. She had evidently learnt her lesson. He felt his fire was quite up to giving her a further one. He prodded Jenny with the cane.

“A woman must learn to please or be well beaten! Now I give you good hard fuck!”

Heaving himself up onto the red stool-cushion, he thrust Jenny’s thighs apart and directed his stiffening cock at her vagina, openly pouting where it was thrust over the edge of the bar. His gnarled hands gripping her cane-wealed flanks made his victim gasp and writhe a little.

“Ha! I still fuck hard, eh!” he boasted and rammed brutally into her, obviously assuming that it was his size and mastery that produced the response. Jenny hastened to encourage that assumption. She had learnt that it was just as much in her own interest to make a lot of noise about that as well. The old man went deep into her, right to the hilt and lingered there for a moment, admiring his image in the bar mirrors. He drew himself erect, scrawny neck stretched and Adam’s apple bobbing, reflected amid the ranked bottles, multiplied into three at slightly differing angles, poised over the smooth curve of the Englishwoman’s rosy rump which was humped over the bar top. Her face was reflected at the base of the mirror, reddened and distraught, mouth agape, and her blonde hair tumbling in a loose mop over blue eyes full of tears.

“Hah! You like big cock, eh!” Her shudders were transmitted as liquid pulses to his deep thrust penis. “Ahhh ... Huzoor ... Ahhh …”she gasped.

His hand descended. Smack! “Eh? Eh?”

“Ooohhh ... Yes ... Big … Huzoor!” Jenny yelped, humiliated yet knowing she had no alternative but to satisfy him. Meeting his eyes in the mirror, she strove even to control her expression. The old manservant grunted dubiously, but he dropped the matter to concentrate upon more immediate business. He began to stroke in and out of her in leisurely fashion. Unwillingly, Jenny began to respond. She knew that otherwise she would be prostrated here for ages and might even be blamed.

“You ... like ... eh?”

“Ahhh ... Yes, Huzoor! Yes!” she gasped, as his claw-like hands tormented her welted bottom, jerking and squirming in a manner that gave Narain exquisite pleasure and increased the depth and stiffness of his stroke.

“Hahhh ... Good ... You English ladies! Hot bitches! Like hard cock!” He even attempted to build up a faster rhythm. Jenny, dutifully responding, felt a momentary flush of hope and encouragement, but he soon dropped back to his former rate, wheezing and gasping like an ancient steam engine. Again and again, his bony loins drove into her plump bottom. Jenny worked desperately as he grumbled and groaned. In the mirrors she could see a mouthful of broken yellowing teeth, his reddened eyes slitted in folds of skin.

For a moment he sagged over her, half sunk into her, giving vent to a spasm of coughing. His cap had fallen off, his bald head gleaming like a polished brown billiard ball while drops of sweat fell onto Jenny’s bare back. He hawked and spat right and left, then after a moment he recovered and resumed valiantly. For over five minutes by the clock that was reflected in the mirror he thrust and withdrew with desperately fading energy. At last, unable to keep up the pace, the old man sank back sullenly. His eyes were sunk deep in their dark sockets yet still glittering malevolently. She would get another caning, Jenny thought!

At that moment, she might perhaps have used the advantage of youth and freshness to thrust him violently aside and reach the door to the roof garden with a desperate leap before he could come up with the gun. But it never occurred to her to try it. Hope only extended as far as propitiation. The moment promptly eluded her anyway. Tripled in the mirrors, a figure had appeared in that doorway. Narain saw it too and reaching for the revolver swung round before the intruder could disappear again. Then he stared. It was only a boy of the Kangali type in a man’s striped shirt.

“How did you get here?”

“I climbed up the rope.”

The ex-servant relaxed a little. He cackled. “What do you want, boy?” Then, looking at the skinny undersized street urchin, he noticed what was poking at the front of the youngster’s shirt.

“I want the white woman!” the boy said boldly. Narain eased himself back, suppressing a groan.

“Would you know what to do with one?” He attempted to discount the massive projection. The boy glanced behind him then shrugged. He squinted past Narain at Jenny, still obscenely presented with legs apart on the bar top. Impatiently he shrugged his shirt over his black mop head.

Narain grunted. The boy was hung like a donkey all right. His own ancient penis, hanging in a down-curve, sagged further still, as if in defeat before a mightier rival.

“I want to stick this up her cunt!” The intruder strutted proudly. Jenny followed their exchange without comprehending the meaning of the words, but seeing every gesture in triplicate in the mirrors. The appearance of the massive erection startled her too. Incredulity was followed by shame and then desperation, as his ambitious plans for her became clear. But before she could arrange her thoughts sufficiently into action, it was too late again. Narain had conceded the field. The boy was up on the stool behind her with his hands gripping her flanks competently.

“No…! No…!” She felt this was somehow too much and began to push herself backwards and upwards as if to abandon her position.

“Hah!” The old man, as if glad to assert his control dropped the gun and, snatching up his cane, gave her a swift disciplinary cut. “Boy gives you big cock! You take!” Jenny froze automatically, a long red welt vivid across her magnificent bottom. Her abortive movement rearward had thrust her right onto the youthful loins and put him inescapably between her thighs. He bent his head and spat. Jenny jerked with a startled squeak. Narain chuckled. The boy knew what he was about. His gob of spittle had landed neatly upon Jenny’s exposed vagina. Desperately trying to pull herself together, Jenny felt the juvenile finger vigorously employing the spittle as a lubricant and lost any control she had gained, jerking and wriggling as it penetrated her with swift circular sweeps.

“No ... no!” Again she began a confused protest.

“Bad lady!” Jenny was given a hard spank and her recent habituation to this mode of treatment froze her obediently in position before she could reflect upon what she was doing.

Narain watched with envy as the boy bent his knees, settling the huge beet-red knob of his cock into the position for attack. The Englishwoman’s sexual capacity was maturely generous, but the boy’s abnormal size more than matched it.

In front of her Jenny could see her image in the multiple mirrors, with her well-reddened bottom reared up higher than her head and the shock-headed scrawny juvenile poised behind her, grinning evilly. For a moment she could hardly believe it was real and then the young brute got going. Forced then to accept its truth, Jenny closed her eyes, groaning in shame and dismay.

Its proud young owner worked the stiff cock within the elastic folds of Jenny’s labia but there it met resistance. He gave it great thrusts with his skinny hips, grunting and hissing in manly fashion, but making little progress, not having the necessary weight that alone would drive it deep. The recipient neither could nor would, do anything to help. She clung to the edges of the bar top, her bottom jerking before the boyish thrusts, yelping in mingled shame and indignation, while her long legs wavered and kicked wildly in a surreptitious attempt to sabotage the efforts of her juvenile abuser. In response the boy shrilled curses at Jenny, slapping her hard to make her desist.

“Pay no heed!” Narain adjured him. “Women like to sound off when they get a big cock up them!” He stopped laughing and slid off his flat-soled leather slipper.

“This will hammer your peg in the hole!” And with that, he laid it hard across the boy’s tight, narrow rump. The Kangali convulsed with a howl, while Jenny immediately followed suit in replicating his motion. The boy yelled again, but this time with excitement, feeling her soft warmth envelop him. Narain brought the slipper down in a second blow, then another, then another. Ruthlessly, he drove the boy’s over-sized tool deeper and deeper into Jenny’s yielding vagina with echoing smacks. The precocious juvenile yelped and squealed, but determined to make good his boast and matching his thrusts to the tattoo upon his behind, he rammed his meaty shaft with steady jerks into his groaning target.

After an old man’s shrunken implement, Jenny felt as though she was being skewered an inch at a time by a veritable flagpole. Knowing that she would only be punished further if she protested, she spread herself wide open as best she might, with only panting wordless groans. Fortunately the effort excited the boy so much that his still impetuous juvenile lust came quickly to the boil. The volume of his explosive discharge was fully proportional to the massiveness of the instrument, but Jenny received its copious outburst only with a wail of relief.

Stepping forward through the garden door, Madame Rao hit Narain hard across the back of the head. The big pottery urn shattered, soil and shrub-roots exploding, but the old man fell without a groan, the rest of the boys who swarmed into the room after her, piling on top of him to make sure.

It was Madame Rao, however, who had put her foot smartly upon the fallen revolver, securing it to her own possession.

“So!” she commented, as she surveyed the groaning female body folded over the bar top. “Now we have a pair!”

 

Chandra Boshi drifted with the crowd among the piled-up wares in the market that lined both sides of the old highway. The road surface ran out into the salt lake towards the drowned city until it disappeared under the surface like a slipway, upon which the home­made boats were drawn up. Most of the vendors were survivors of the city population, now turned fishermen, but few outsiders would touch their fish. The fish had multiplied amid the ruined towers that stood in the new lake. No one bothered much about caste any more, no one of high caste could have survived the Catastrophe undefiled, but there was still a prejudice against carrion eaters.

A man with half a dozen wild ducks was plucking them for a buyer. They were selling better than the sun-dried scraps of nameless meat, probably dog or jackal, but they were harder to catch with nothing better than bow and arrows. The important buyers in the market were peasant cultivators with foodstuffs to exchange and the wares that attracted them were the results of scavenging amid the flooded ruins.

All of the crowd were male, of course, both sellers and buyers. No one nowadays would risk exposing their womenfolk to a stranger’s envy. All the men wore weapons of some sort, axes and broad bladed machetes, even a few antique swords. Weapons were on sale and were among the few recent manufactures. There was a great variety of tools and metal ware, little affected by submergence, useful items but so common as to fetch no great price. Less useful but of more interest were the items of gold and gem studded jewellery upon offer. Perhaps one day when the fertility of the land recovered and peasant numbers multiplied, gold might become scarce and therefore valuable again, but for the time being every peasant aimed to load his wife and daughters with gold. The value of a millionairess’s jewel case would barely feed the finder’s family for a season.

Chandra fingered his bag of fresh coffee beans, a better currency than gold. He was after information, but he wasn’t averse to the possibility of a bargain. He moved slowly and with interest through the market, stopping to watch a jeweller who was working with excellent tools but using a charcoal brazier for his heat source. The craftsman was dismantling one of a pair of diamond-studded earrings to be re-used. They were abstract shapes, nothing Eastern about them, New York or Paris the onlooker guessed, about to be transformed to suit peasant taste.

A boy approached him from among the crowd, a half-starved child wearing a brightly coloured cotton shirt that hung down to his skinny thighs. It was easier to be well dressed here than well fed. He thrust a sheaf of coloured photographs of women at Chandra. With the present shortage of females the man wasn’t surprised that so ancient a trade had survived. He automatically made to brush them aside then checked curiously. The flesh exposed was pale; the images were certainly of European women. Likely they were only dried out flotsam from the city, but they looked less battered than he would have expected if that had been the case.

The would-be vendor seized the chance to spread them in a fan under his prospective customer’s nose. All the pictures featured the same woman, a nubile European with long blonde hair. The one he had first seen showed her sprawled naked in a basket-work chair with her thighs thrown wide and knees drawn up. She was spreading her nether lips for the camera and trying dutifully to leer. Chandra took the photo with trembling fingers and carefully examined the face. Not much changed. How could Caroline Prescott have come to this? He took the whole sheaf and leafed through the pictures one by one.

All were of Caroline against a background of bare brick walls, the props a chair, a mattress, a few pillows, a stack of plump full rice bags. The first had been of her posed alone. In the others she posed with boys, skinny black haired juveniles just about the age and size of the dirty-picture seller. They were explicit poses, with the boys visibly rampant and using Caroline sexually, singly, in pairs and in threesomes. He looked again at one of the pictures, then at the boy. It was almost certainly the same boy.

“Where is this woman now? There will be a generous reward if you can deliver her!” He lifted the gold chain with its jewelled symbol out of the front of his shirt. The boy bowed deeply in acknowledgement of the goddess, but his face showed dismay.

“We have her no longer, Sir!” he said regretfully. “The water came. We ran short of food. The old woman had a gun. She took this and the other one away with her, on a boat to sell them for food.”

“Two of them? Sell them! Where? What old woman?”

“They call her Madame Rao.” The boy shrugged. “Where would you get food, but from the peasants? She set up a whorehouse somewhere near here. The men who come here to sell in the market will be able to tell you. Most of them call in there, if they make a good profit.”

A brothel organised already! Chandra reflected that it was said to be the oldest trade after all and these days a woman wouldn’t last long trying it without protection. He got what little else the boy knew and dismissed him with a gold link from his chain. The youngster darted off, making for a stall selling cooked food. The gold would buy him a good few meals if he stuck to fish. Chandra made enquiries of one of the stallholders who he expected would know the place if it was anywhere near to hand,

“A brothel! You want a woman? Two European women? Of course! My brother has a boat. He will take you! You must show him you have gold first!” Chandra showed his token and the man fell silent. Chandra smiled. He had no intention of being rowed out among the dead towers to be robbed and then thrown overboard with a weight around his neck.

As he walked away, a man who had been making a purchase at the stall tapped him on the shoulder.

“You were wise not to trust them! Those carrion eaters would sell their wives and daughters if they had them, but you would be lucky to find a female left out here, let alone anything exotic!

“The cannibals preyed mostly upon women and children,” he explained. “None of us would linger overnight this close to the waterside. The place you seek isn’t far away, though, it’s well known to us outsiders. Some of the men who come here have women-folk at home, but there are many young men and not enough women to accommodate them and then there are always those fools who prefer to waste their gains upon trying a different variety! How much difference is there between one woman and another?” he grinned.

“Will you take me there?”

“What will you pay?”

The fellow was readily satisfied with a handful of coffee beans and an invitation to sample the delights of variety, free of charge, at the next temple festival. His transport was a cycle rickshaw, the passenger seat replaced with a wooden frame like a farm cart. A boy who looked like his son was keeping guard on it among the bicycles and similar machines.

“A good piece of workmanship!” Chandra remarked of the crossbow the boy was cradling.

“The steel bow is from before the Catastrophe,” its owner said. “The stock was some kind of plastic, though, and fell apart. I replaced it with a wooden shotgun stock.”

Chandra climbed aboard at the man’s invitation. The interior was filthy, having been entirely given up to carrying farm produce but, as promised, the journey was not a long one. The owner pedalled steadily, the origin of his bulging thigh and calf muscles made evident, the boy trotting behind them. They threaded a maze of lanes on what had been the outskirts of the city among decayed and ruinous suburbs, where flimsy dwellings had collapsed, been gutted by fire, or overlaid with drifts of dust in the long drought, seeming abandoned even by scavenging dogs and jackals.

“The city folk don’t dare come this far!” the peasant said. “It used to be the haunt of eaters of human flesh. They are long gone and it is safe enough now, but the reputation remains.” The roadway was cracked and uneven but clear of obstacles and the multiple wheel ruts through the dust indicated that it was a regular route.

“This is the place.” A large house still intact, with a frontage of peeling stucco was just visible within a high wall topped with rusty coils of razor wire. The density of dusty trees and shrubs showing above the wall indicated a large garden. Above the greenery, rose elaborately ornamented balconies and intricate window screens, crowned by a roofline of miniature cupolas and turrets. Once perhaps it had been the home of a wealthy businessman or banker, now it was as effectively isolated in the ruined landscape as a caravanserai in a desert. The rider drew up his vehicle before the ornate gateway and gave a long call. A man emerged from the shadows within the iron-barred gate. He wore an ornate brocade coat and a turban and was armed with a long spear. After a brief exchange he produced a key and unlocking the gate swung it open wide bowing to Chandra who had scrambled down.

“Young Sahib! Enter! You will find what you desire!”

“It’s early yet.” his guide remarked, changing places with his son on their vehicle. “You will be able to take your pick of the beauties!”

“You aren’t coming inside?”

The father’s eyes flicked briefly to the son who sat up hopefully in the saddle. “I have a woman at home and the boy is too young.” The vehicle was pedalled away as the gatekeeper refastened the gate and called a boy from the small gatehouse to lead Chandra up a dark drive, rutted gravel underfoot. The garden was a veritable jungle of vines, ancient mango trees and palms, their former leafiness slowly regenerating. Decaying pillars lined the front of a long veranda approached by a flight of marble steps. Beneath its cover the front door was big and though battered, still solid. A knock followed by a few words in a low voice through an opened grill and the door itself swung open.

“Enter, Sahib!” The gatekeeper’s boy gestured and then retreated back to his post at the gate.

The lamp-lit, pillared hall was expensively furnished in a neo-Mogul style fashionable before the Catastrophe, but the lamps burned vegetable oil, the familiar smell mingled with those of incense, roses and hashish. A short heavily made-up lady stood composedly before Chandra. Her sari was elegant and she wore a large quantity of gold jewellery upon her bosom with diamonds glittering in her ears. Her black button eyes shrewdly assessed him. She would know already that he had gold, for it had been the gatekeeper’s only question to the driver. Standing there, Chandra repeated the story he had prepared. He had heard, he said, that this house could provide European women to be used for a man’s amusement. The madam nodded readily.

“You have heard of the attractions of our English ladies? Yes, certainly! We have available English ladies of the most well-bred sort. Very beautiful! Very well educated!” Pursing her lips, “Of course such creatures are great rarities now, and the price for their services is correspondingly high!”

Chandra assured her that this would not be a problem. “And are these well -bred English ladies willing providers of these services?”

Madam pursed her lips again, shrewdly assessing him. There were no police now either to be feared or bribed, so presumably it was a matter of judging his taste. “Since they are slaves now, they have no choice! They are my property. I acquired them at great expense and have trained them personally to give my customers pleasure!”

“How much to have one for the night?”

Without a flicker of an eyelash she mentioned a price that would once have staggered him. Gold was of less worth these days, but nevertheless either the pair were very much in demand or this wasn’t the price she expected from her peasant customers.

“Perhaps I can inspect the merchandise before I make a decision?” He felt he ought to bargain a little for form’s sake, though the temple’s finances were virtually inexhaustible and in any case, if this went as expected, he planned to make the madam an offer she could not resist. An offer that in any case she might find it dangerous to resist.

“All will be displayed!” The woman bowed to ready money. “Please take your ease, while all is made ready for you!” She clapped her hands with a clink of gold bracelets. “Prepare this young sahib!”

“Yes, Madame Rao!”

Chandra was immediately attended by three girls, two of them brown and one very black, and led into an adjoining salon. He was persuaded to recline on a cushioned divan while the girls soft voiced and soft fingered, relieved him of his outdoor clothes. They robbed him in a fine silk dressing gown and embroidered slippers. They were handsome girls, large eyed sleek haired wearing a great deal of jewellery and very little else. One sang huskily, to her own accompaniment, a song from a pre-Catastrophe film score, while one of her colleagues brought in sweets and drinks on a tray. They attended him as if he were a Sultan in his harem. He could see the attraction for newly rich peasant traders.

The girls murmured soft half-jealous, half-resentful reproaches for preferring those miserably unskilful white slaves to his own kind. The information he managed to elicit from them however only excited his particular lust all the more. They boasted of having beaten the white slaves themselves while they were being trained and of how they were used to impress ignorant peasants and attract new customers.

Suddenly, upon some covert signal, the dark skinned beauties melted away through the hanging draperies and Madame Rao re-entered the salon. Chandra sat up, alert and appreciative.

She drew in behind her, by means of chain leashes to their collars as if they were a pair of animals, the two fair skinned women he sought. Both were blonde, their hair tumbling over their neck and shoulders. Milky skinned, shapely and full breasted, they were sketchily clad in black lace, strapped sandals with stilt heels elongating their legs. The lace brassieres were sheer enough to reveal the dark rosettes of their nipples. Black nylon stockings were held up by flimsy black lace garter belts, which since they wore no knickers, revealed their unshorn pubic bushes. Framed by the long black stripes of the garter tapes, the little fuzzy fair goatees served to advertise the authenticity of their colouring. The madam slipped the leashes free from their collars and they advanced side-by-side, eyes lowered self-consciously, but nevertheless regarding the prospective buyer from beneath their lashes with nervous anxiety.

“Slaves! Greet the Sahib! Beg him to do you the honour to choose one of you!” The woman’s plump hands clapped sharply. The pair sank simultaneously, first to their knees, then dipping lower, heavy breasts almost escaping confinement, bowed until their foreheads touched the Kashmiri carpet, hair spilling about them.

Chandra sat back, smiling at the girls’ rather ridiculous posture.

“Please, Sahib! Please choose me!” they chorused together in English.

“Do inspect them, Sahib!” At the brothel owner’s urging, Chandra stood up, concealing his hardening condition within the folds of his gown. Another clap of the hands and a word from Madame Rao brought the two white rumps lifting upwards, framed by the tautened curves of black lace garter-belt and clinging suspenders, thighs spread revealingly wide, the black stocking tops making them appear whiter and plumper. He strolled past this show just clear of the spikes of the ridiculous stiletto heels, noting in passing that Caroline Prescott’s bottom displayed the faded but still evident traces of half a dozen stripes across the full curves. Evidently discipline was strict in the brothel.

“You have had to punish one, I see.”

“A customer did so. He was dissatisfied with her conduct.”

The thought of that almost ruined his simulation of detachment. If he chose Jenny, he could see to it that her bottom looked like her friend’s before he was done. On the other hand, though, if he picked Caroline he could bet she would be all the more eager to avoid earning a repetition.

“Impossible to decide. Have them show themselves off a little more.”

Madame Rao sighed, but she spoke rapidly to the kneeling Englishwomen while Chandra, returning to the couch, adopted a critical pose. Caroline rose to her feet, tossing back her long hair with a swift feminine flick. Red-faced and momentarily flustered, she looked uncertainly at her putative customer and then with visible dread at Madame Rao. Turning anxiously back to Chandra, she put her hands to her breasts, easing them from the black lace, lifting and displaying them. Then she slid her hands down over her curves, gyrating her hips like a belly dancer. Her eyes flicking briefly to the watching madam, she spread her long legs, thrusting her pelvis hard and then quickly swung and turned, bending over until her hair swept the floor and she was looking at Chandra upside down through her legs.

He gestured vaguely and his hostess snapped another order. He sat back again, struggling to conceal his enjoyment as he watched the erstwhile Mrs Jennifer Westerly shame-facedly performing a similarly lewd exhibition of her attractions in an effort to outbid her friend for his attention. The women, he reflected, were so deadly serious that he wondered what the penalty must be for the one who failed to be picked.

“A ridiculous costume!” he commented to their owner. “Let me see them naked.”

“Most customers find it evocative and exciting.” she frowned.

“If I cannot decide between them, what would be the price for having them both together?” Madame Rao smiled again. She turned to the two anxiously poised Englishwomen.

“Strip naked! The sahib wishes to see everything he is to buy.”

Chandra affected to engage the brothel owner in a bargaining session as if trying to get a reduction for taking the pair, but his heart wasn’t really in it. One eye was upon the two beauties squirming out of their underwear behind her. By the time they were both divested of lace and nylon he had fixed their price and the madam was sliding pieces of gold, with the temple stamp upon them, into a purse. She bowed.

“Both of these beautiful English ladies are now entirely yours to command!” She twitched at her sari and gave a wave of a heavily ringed hand. His purchases obediently pattered forward bare foot, now stark naked but for their collars and several inches shorter without their high heels.

“I am honoured that the sahib has chosen me!” Two voices chorused a little breathlessly almost in unison, like schoolgirls repeating a lesson. They tangled with one another in momentary confusion then knelt one on each side of him as they reached out to relieve Chandra of his gown.

“They have had little training as a pair,” their owner said critically. “Most of the customers can only afford one at a time. In case of difficulty you can summon me. However should you prefer to sort them out yourself you will find in that cupboard beside the couch a cane and a slipper which will aid you in making your wishes clear. You should remember, though, their skins are delicate and any serious damage must be paid for at my valuation.”

Chandra nodded, endeavouring to look cool and collected. He had never expected to be given such a free hand, though he guessed it was likely that he would be kept under surveillance from some concealed vantage point. Briskly she departed, leaving her customer to contemplate his two purchases. Immediately he fished the cane out of the cupboard and lounged naked among the cushions of the couch idly testing its flexibility.

Caroline was carefully folding his brocade gown, Jenny crouching and massaging his feet quite expertly. He wondered how many mis-shapen peasant feet she had practised upon.

“Do you have names?” he asked, as if they were two stray animals who might be named or not at their owner’s whim. The two women flushed a little, whether at that or from being addressed in English he couldn’t tell. However they both gave a little bob of the head and began to answer simultaneously; then as a hasty glance flashed between them, Caroline answered first. “I am called Star of Delight.” Her voice was low and husky, and Jenny followed at once, declaring in similar vein. “I am Flower of Pleasure!”

Chandra roared with laughter. ‘Not your whoring names! I mean your real names!”

“Please, Huzoor.” Caroline seemed suddenly disconcerted. “Please Huzoor, I ah ... my name … is Caroline ... Huzoor.”

“While we speak in English you must address me as Sir,” he said wickedly. “Caroline, Sir,” she corrected herself, colouring violently.

“J-Jennifer ...Sir,” her companion chimed obediently in her turn and then, bobbing nervously, went on with a tremor in her voice, whether of anxiety or uncertainty he couldn’t tell. “Will you be pleased to f-fuck us, Sir?”

The purchaser of their services hesitated. Clearly they still hadn’t recognised him as a part of their former lives. He had intended to make himself known but their simulated eagerness amused him. He was intrigued to find out how they would comport themselves towards one they took to be just another customer. He nodded brusquely and sensed sudden relief in both females, as if they had found their places in the script.

Unhesitant and without needing to consult, they slid gracefully into place on either side of him and, first with soft fingers then with lips and tongues, swiftly roused him to full erection. He lay back in passive enjoyment of this treatment. Without words, only murmurs of entreaty and coos of encouragement, they coaxed him to his feet and then through the long silk drapes that had concealed an enormous heart-shaped bed. They were both wound about him, expertly teasing him to the point where he began to fear a premature and unguided outburst. Before more than a flicker of this concern had entered his mind however, they slid smoothly from him, leaving him standing straddle-legged and in full thrust of erection. They threw themselves before him onto the silken covers of the bed, side by side, one on her belly the other on her back, but both in postures of blatant invitation. Evidently it was for him to choose which he would make use of.

He descended upon the voluptuously rounded behind that Caroline thrust up to meet him. The bulge between her thighs split softly apart like a bursting melon. Her opened vagina-lips received his cock and enclosed it within invigorating warmth as he drove in deep. His driving hardness opening her with brutal vigour made her gasp and wriggle but his brown hands gripped her white flanks tightly, forcing her to stay steady. Before he had got more than a half dozen strokes into Caroline, Jenny, who was apparently not allowed to regard herself as spare, had crept round to join in. She rubbed herself up against him from behind, sliding her small hand between his legs to cup his balls and stroke the base of his withdrawing cock.

The pair were perfectly professional. They even produced some appropriate phrases, evidently taught them parrot fashion by their trainer. Conqueror of my body! Humbler of my pride! I am thy slave! Chandra let them go through their repertoire, controlling his own reaction without much difficulty now that the situation was more conventional. Whatever else Jenny’s hand was doing beneath them both, Caroline was now moving with superb vigour, groaning and gasping all the while. This was good practise for him, he decided, in separating mind from body.

He focussed his attention upon his surroundings, noting calmly the tell-tale signs of ripped out wiring on the padded bed head. No doubt, he reflected, its original owner had commanded the latest in electronic gadgets, but probably nothing superior to its present pair of furnishings.

By virtue of his recent temple training, Chandra was able to prolong the pleasure his body experienced in building to orgasm and yet by limiting his emissions, keep himself almost fully erect and readily restorable. So whilst he was fucking Jenny, with Caroline flushed and sweat-dewed, dutifully assisting, he focussed from time to time upon the distant sounds of a sitar and voices faintly audible. Evidently more customers were beginning to turn up, for tinkling female laughter was mixed with deeper masculine rumbles.

Jenny, while being fucked, made almost as much noise as her colleague had, thrusting back at him as if determined to milk from him whatever he had held back. With amusement he savoured their likely dismay at his staying power. They would not get away so readily as they hoped.

With Jenny in her turn successfully finished off, he took them both over his lap for a critical review of their performance. Caroline first, close up against his belly and then Jenny outside her, the pair of them head to tail. There was just enough room for both, squashed hip to hip. They were dismayed but obedient, supporting themselves across his thighs with out-thrust fingers and reaching toes and he made them hang on to one another with an arm each clinging to the other’s legs.

It was in this posture then, that Chandra at last made himself known to his victims. He felt them quiver in unison, the two plump bottoms trembling over his lap. The manner of the announcement could not but intensify the shock.