No doubt he was reminding them of things they would rather have forgotten and simultaneously emphasizing how far their circumstances had changed. These two women had been conditioned by disaster into accepting their fate. They were truly sex slaves whose only purpose was to satisfy their users’ lust. Living as they did, a life that centred entirely upon the erotic use of their bodies, their minds had become numbed and habituated to such treatment. They had ceased to expect release from the obligation to perform degrading and perverted acts for the satisfaction of a succession of strange men, thrusting such hopes to the backs of their minds where they had already relegated the memory of their past lives.

Now they had those past lives suddenly brought into humiliating conjunction with the present. Chandra was a figure from that past but they had been made to incorporate him into their new degradation. They seemed to cling to one another more closely.

“We first met at a tea party which you gave for the new High Commissioner did we not?” He spanked Caroline lightly with the leather slipper.

“Ohhh... Y-Yes …” Smack!

“Yes?” Smack! He heard her gasp and felt her writhe, the hard sole making triangular red imprints on her bottom.

“I mean, Yes Sir!” she squeaked.

“Good! You keep your wits in a strange place!” He chuckled as she squirmed even more, scrabbling at the carpet with nervous fingers. “We last parted company in strange circumstances! Did you enjoy your sessions with the Kangali? I have many photographs of you with your little playmates.”

She tensed across his lap, silenced. Evidently that gave her something to think about! “Shame upon you, Caroline! All those little boys!” He smacked her bottom hard with the slipper, evoking a series of dismal yelps and mumbles.

“Oh they forced you, eh?” He deciphered her despairing excuses. “Not worthy of your talents, Caroline! Letting yourself be fucked by a lot of little bugger-boys!” One final smack and he left her sobbing with a well-reddened bottom.

“Now it’s your turn, Jenny!” His fingertip across the other’s smooth bottom cheeks traced the faded pink lines he had noticed before. “How did you get these?” Jenny gulped nervously. She had twitched with each smack her colleague had received, in sympathy with its recipient.

“Please sa- please Sir ... a customer, Sir ... He was angry with me ... and he used the c-cane,” she quavered.

“So you won’t want to displease me, will you? Who rescued you from the mob?” Knowing what to expect she answered quickly, but two red imprints of the slipper on her bottom were still her cruel reward.

“What! That wrinkled old fellow! He was old enough to be your grandfather!” Smack! Smack! “How many times did he manage to fuck you eh?” Smack!

“And his servant as well! You must have been putting yourself about to these old goats, Jenny!” Smack!

“You were afraid of him! Shame on you! An old grandfather!” Smack!

“He beat you eh? So we know what gets you going, eh!” Smack! Smack! Chandra had built himself back up nearly to full erection beneath the warm weight of soft bodies squirming on his lap. Judging by their uneasiness, Caroline and Jenny were well aware of it. Rolling the pair unceremoniously from off him, he stood up. “Kneel before me!”

They sorted themselves out, disentangling their naked limbs and knelt side by side while he resumed his place on the couch. They both looked up at him with eyes that reflected a confusion of emotions, shame, doubt and panic.

“Now we have renewed our acquaintance, does it alter your desire to please?”

There was silence for a few seconds, no doubt while their minds ran through a frantic calculation, broken by Caroline nervously repeating one of their stock phrases. “S­-Sahib! Conqueror of my body, I am thy slave!” echoed by Jenny frantically gabbling the same phrase.

“Now in English!” Uncertain silence again, until he stirred slightly.

Then from one, hastily averting displeasure. “I am …your s-slave, ah Sir,” and from the other almost simultaneously, “I … w-wish to s-serve you, S-sir!”

“Perform your salaam then, as you did when I arrived!” Full breasted, shapely, a pair of marble nymphs in the flesh, the two Englishwomen slowly abased themselves, nose to the carpet, hollowed their white backs and lifted heart-shaped hindquarters, which in contrast to their previous delicate hue, were now flushed bright red. Shuffling their knees apart, they opened their white thighs wide until they were displayed in this most humiliating posture. Chandra considered the pair.

“If I am to fuck you properly, you will have to do most of the work this time!” he said with a smirk. “Caroline! I will take you first. See what you can do!”

“Yes ... Sir,” she murmured obediently and crawled forward at once, shouldering between his thighs. Her blonde head dipped into his lap and a warm wet mouth enclosed the half erected knob of his penis, tongue and lips working together, with every evidence of well-developed skill. Of course, he reflected, she would have done this often before. It was well known that Western women were particularly given to the practise and probably every customer would expect it of them.

He sent Jenny off for a tray of refreshments, whatever the establishment offered. She seemed reluctant to go and it took the threat of the cane before she made up her mind and scuttled self-consciously naked through the curtains. Presumably she had to run a gauntlet of waiting customers there, since distant yells and rough laughter followed her disappearance.

“Most professional!” Addressing Caroline through tight lips, Chandra affected to believe his commendation of the remaining one’s efforts would be desirable to her. He looked down at the fair head rising and falling with desperate persistence between his drawn up thighs. There was even a gurgled attempt at a dutiful reply. Indeed, despite all his self-control, she was clearly capable of extracting a premature response if he allowed things to go much further.

Jenny’s return made an excuse to break off in order to sample the tray of drinks she delivered. He made them both wait meanwhile up on the capacious bed, kneeling side by side upon all fours again, knee to knee, bottoms in the air and thighs well apart. In this pose both vulvas were nakedly thrust back at him only a few hand’s-breadths apart, reddened and glistening.

Once he felt he had recovered sufficient equanimity, then he resumed work upon both of them together. First Jenny, and then Caroline, he took them in turns, keeping control by stopping for contemplative sips of brandy and keeping his mind focused upon intensive questioning, going over the details of their progress from the wreck of the rescue vehicle to their present employment in this suburban brothel.

Out ... then ... In ... Out ... then ... In ... “And what age was the youngest boy?”

Out ... then ... In ... Out ... then ... In ... “Did the old men need help to fuck you?”

Out ... then ... In ... Out ... then ... In ... “How did Madame Rao train you?”

Out ... then ... In ... Out ... then ... In ... “A whip eh! And the cane too! Or else the slipper!”

Out ... then ... In ... Out ... then … In … working into Jenny at a leisurely rate.

“How did the other whores treat you? Ahhh! Perhaps they were jealous of your skill?” He switched targets to Caroline without warning.

Out ... then ... In ... Out ... then ... In ... He questioned that one closely about her most recent caning, the marks that he had noticed.

“T-Twelve ... with the c-cane ... s-sir.” Her voice wobbled. He swilled the last mouthful of brandy.

Out ... then ... In ... Out ... then ... In ... “Would you say that you deserved it, Caroline?”

“Sahib ... ahhh ... sir ... It was ... an-an important customer ... sir!” She sobbed aloud with the effort.

Out ... then ... In ... Out … then … In … “So am I, Caroline!” He felt her push onto his thrust, almost clamping his shaft in her anxiety to please and immediately he frustrated that by abandoning her for Jenny. He went from one to the other more quickly now, giving each a few short strokes in turn. The implied threat evidently inspired both of them for both displayed equal eagerness for service.

Out ... then ... In ... Out ... then ... In ... He compared their respective performances, finger-fucking whichever of the pair was currently spare.

He had been conscious once or twice before of a stifled giggle somewhere in the background and now at last located the peephole he had guessed must exist. Whichever of the madam’s subordinates had the duty of invigilation was certainly being entertained and he had the prestige of the goddess to maintain after all. Pretty soon both the slave women were exciting themselves helplessly towards orgasm, not daring to exercise restraint. The two pink bottoms were bobbing and squirming, the answers to his questions growing less and less coherent and more and more breathless. The bed twanged and creaked noisily beneath the three of them as if the workout it was receiving tested its capabilities to the limit.

“Go to it then, you randy bitches!” he urged from between gritted teeth, exerting all his control over himself and all his skill upon them. Jenny and Caroline whimpered, moaned and gasped, swinging hips buffeting one another, shoulders jostling and long tresses intermingling. Faster! Faster! Still faster! Jenny was squealing, Caroline wailing, both setting one another off where one might have resisted. With his last shred of control, Chandra held off until he felt that both women were teetering on the verge of explosion.

But of course they weren’t to be allowed to indulge themselves. They were sex-slaves and obliged to control themselves as long as their purchaser required it to be otherwise. Chandra took prompt action; he had no intention of ending things yet.

He caned the pair of them soundly for entirely invented faults, giving them each six of the best, bent over and touching their toes like an English schoolboy. That reduced their excitement satisfactorily.

He took them both together once again. This time round he had Caroline lie on her back across the narrowest point of the bed and made Jenny climb up and stretch on top of her. Yelping in anticipation of a threatened reminder, she positioned herself as he directed, dipping her head between her partner’s up-thrust thighs, her own straddling Caroline’s face.

The sight of the two demoralised Englishwomen each in abject contemplation of the other’s red-wealed bottom, hardened Chandra so effectively that his cock bobbed out horizontally before him as he pranced from one side of the bed to the other, tapping them masterfully with the cane. The nervous yelps of his two sex-slaves were effectively muffled by reason that Jenny’s nose was dutifully buried in her partner’s blonde mound and her own more gingery one pressed firmly into Caroline’s face. Chandra moved between them grinning and making sure they each had an equal share of the cane.

He noticed with amusement, that Jenny yelped almost as loudly as Caroline each time the cane landed its meaty smack upon the latter’s bottom cheeks right under her nose. In her turn, Caroline squealed in sympathy with Jenny whenever another red stripe was laid across the jerking female bottom just above her. One or two of the stripes cut right across the plump pubic mounds which in both cases protruded and gaped in very tempting fashion, the coral-red inner lips pushing wet and swollen out of their confinement.

Stimulated to bursting point by the hopeless howls and identical reactions of his victims, Chandra dropped his cane and readied his cock. He aimed to enter Jenny first, straddling Caroline whose tangled tresses tumbled down the insides of his thighs. His balls brushed her upturned face, dangling over her nose as he manoeuvred his rigid cock against Jenny’s swollen sex and thrust in hard. Jenny squealed like a stuck pig and was echoed by her partner in muffled fashion from between his legs. Gripping anonymous portions of the feminine flesh before him, Chandra began to fuck with ruthless vigour, aware that this must be his last. Jenny still had enough life in her to gasp and groan in response to the surging shaft, but Caroline beneath them, half buried by two pairs of thighs and battered by thumping pussy and surging balls could only gasp intermittently for air.

As he had anticipated, he came close to giving it a full emission before he checked himself and withdrew from Jenny just in time, only a few white drops landing on her pussy or upon Caroline’s face below. Caroline was to have the final shot. He changed ends. Facing Jenny, he found her flushed pink and still gasping, her mouth agape. She was put immediately to work, restoring what stiffness he had lost in vacating her cleft, so that it might be finally and copiously expended into Caroline’s, which lay spread open and receptive a few inches beneath the other’s nose.

It was very true what the peasant trader had said; Chandra got a very good meal at a reasonable rate served in a private room by his two subdued purchases. The brothel, of course, would have no lack of fresh supplies. Probably they took their customers’ agricultural produce in payment for services provided. After the meal and a good cigar, he made his intentions known to Madame Rao and got down to business. The brothel owner bargained long and hard, but the power of the temple was now well known and to have her establishment under its protection would be a desirable asset in itself. Chandra had already calculated that such a pair as Caroline and Jenny were of more value to the temple than to their present owner. For temple prostitutes a pink skin was a desirable trait; that colour reminding their users of the traditional representations of devadasis on the temple walls. Madame Rao’s, he suspected, would be a more conservative trade. In the end, for a substantial sum he bought Caroline and Jenny for the service of the Great Temple.

“I will be sorry to lose the pair!” Madame Rao sighed. “Although they have lost their original novelty value for my regular customers, I have enjoyed training them. It will be like losing two pet animals!”

 

Below steep stony ridges, dry and brown, awaiting the never returning rains, a city newly built in the latter years of the 20th century stood in complete abandonment. It filled the valley floor with a concrete wilderness, buildings blackened by fire, streets deep in shattered glass, littered with whitened bones. Haunted by the ghosts of dead inhabitants, shunned by the survivors, it was visited only, and in daylight hours, by professional scavengers. Past its ruins the river ran shrunken in its bed, looping round a rocky knoll a mile or so downstream where the old city stood, walled and defensible, but equally deserted, a crumbling warren of rubble-choked alleys. Here though, the valley suddenly became green with new cultivation, the land returning to fertility after a few years of abandonment. Little threads of silver glittering among the green revealed the irrigation system that sustained it.

Amid an expanse of green parkland above the river a great pagoda reflected the sun, white and dazzling, renewed and renovated by the devotees of long disused rituals and superstitions. Supported by the prospering agriculture of displaced survivors, gathered together and re-settled upon the most fertile parts of an emptied but now reviving land, the great white temple was the focus of a dark cult. In its origins it fed upon the effects of terror and displacement to gather adherents. The fear and stress of the Catastrophe led to survivors seeking to propitiate such a terrible power.

The worship in its precincts of the goddess of death had, as the Catastrophe receded, focussed upon the ‘little death’ of sexual orgasm as a means of propitiating the dread goddess, a part payment to fend off her final demand. The institution of temple prostitution had been revived, the devadasi acting as the receptacle, a human conduit for violent currents of emotion, her sexual union with the worshipper an act of devotion pleasing to the goddess. The release felt by her male partner was taken as proof of the deity’s satisfaction. Likewise the darker forces of terror and suffering were also gifts calculated to assuage the appetite of the dark goddess and win her indulgence towards the provider of the victim.

The bullock cart that carried the two new recruits lumbered over the crest of the hills, the great white central tower of the restored pagoda gleaming above the surrounding greenery in dazzling purity. But as it grew closer the lower walls were revealed as bright with painted plasterwork; figures in the half round, male and female intertwined in sexual couplings. The flesh was done in the traditional pink, lavishly embellished with gilt ornaments, the other appurtenances of clothing, vegetation and animal figures, painted in bright primary colours. Along the margins of the road that approached the main gate a bazaar had grown up, wooden stalls and hastily erected shops. The Great Temple had numerous staff and was well attended, at times drawing in large crowds. Jewellers, metal, wood, cloth and leather workers, as well as the ubiquitous scavengers of the ruins had been attracted to what was almost becoming an urban centre. The main absentee was the moneylender, for the temple reserved the financial functions to itself.

As the bullock cart forged its way through this thronged bazaar, the covers were drawn back from the curved ribs to exhibit its cargo. The two women were trussed up naked with their wrists tied to the ribs overhead, displayed to the interested, mainly male crowd as the newest acquisitions to the ranks of the temple devadasis, to be dedicated there to the sexual servicing of the worshippers.

At the end of the street, the temple gateway loomed up before the cart. About it were clustered an almost medieval collection of beggars with missing limbs or grotesque disfigurements, survivors who had only just survived, warnings and reminders of how precarious was good fortune and how much of what survived was irretrievably damaged.

Looking beyond their pinioned wrists as the cavernous portal was about to swallow them up, the demoralised pair saw the tiers of sunlit figures mounting its facade. Clusters of postured male and female forms were ranked in pairs, trios, quartets. The female figures were curvaceous, round bosomed, naked but for their jewellery. Standing, squatting, bending, they exhibited every mode of receptiveness to male lust, as if frozen in an awful inexhaustible sexual mania. The figures were intended to whet the appetite of the approaching visitor and prepare him for the better performance of his lustful act that the goddess might be fully pleased. To Caroline and Jenny it was a suggestively detailed job description from which they had no choice of dissent.

The cart emerged into the temple enclosure and crossed the paved interior. Ranges of lesser buildings around the outer walls formed a warren of rooms, living quarters for the controlling college of pandars, the temple servitors and guards, dancing girls and actors, lodgings and store houses, byres for the sacred cattle, rare survivals, that grazed the surrounding parkland. Women carefully veiled and in the company of their families were admitted to celebrate the festival here, safe within this well policed enclosure, buying charms, consulting fortune-tellers or watching jugglers, their children running and shrilling after the cart.

A second wall surrounded the central tower, now shimmering pink in the setting sun. Within its gate, lining the inner courtyard, were the ranges of cubicles wherein the temple prostitutes served the goddess. The descent of tropical night was swift and within the precinct flares were already being lit, lamplight showing in windows. Only male celebrants were admitted this far, and the mood here was frenziedly sexual. This was a less innocent aspect of the festival. The only women here were conduits for male lust.

Between gate and temple proper a group of ancient peepul trees seemed to be a feature deliberately preserved. The bullock cart had come to halt and here the two captives remained for a while, surrounded by lustful men, helpless witnesses to what was currently taking place nearby upon a stage illuminated by flares. Performances were taking part here that were intended to boost the erotic charge that would send the audience rushing to seek the services of the waiting devadasis to effect its release.

A naked man who hung successively heavier weights upon his enormous erection had just been followed by a quartet of performers, three women and a man. Two of the women and the man were dark skinned, naked but arrayed in glittering jewellery, performing agile acrobatic feats to the beat of hidden musicians. The other was blonde and tall, wearing nothing but a silver metal collar. The Westerner played only a supporting role at first until she was seized by the more professional pair of females and lifted upright between them. The man, fiercely moustachioed, shaven headed and muscular, flipped over onto his hands and danced like that before the trio. Then, approaching the collared woman’s white belly to his upside-down brown one, he closed with her, wrapping his legs about her waist.

His audience recognising the posture as one from the mural illustrations shouted encouragement. As his muscular brown buttocks tensed and thrust, his two assistants shrilled in similar vein, swaying their charge forward and back in co-ordinated rhythm. The recipient of his thrusts tossed her head back and forth, mouth agape and eyes wide. Whether it was she or her supporters who provided the penetrating rhythmic cries that accompanied the thrusts was unclear, but as the whole tableaux turned in a slow shuffling circle it was demonstrated to the two newcomers from every angle that she was being all the while expertly fucked in mid-air.

Before the performance on the stage had quite drawn to a close the attention of the captives was caught by the approach of another pale figure, a woman slim and quite naked, gliding through the crowd of men, dodging grasping hands as she came.

In the darkness beneath the trees a monstrous figure lay reclining with a begging bowl to hand. Had it not been stark naked and thus identifiable as a human male it might have been some inflatable model of a sea monster. Though almost motionless, head propped upon one arm, black button eyes like currants in a bun had been surveying Caroline and Jenny with distant interest. The newcomer bending over the stranded monster under the tree spared the pair only a glance. A titanic struggle ensued before them as she levered the massive body of the man upright and then, bowing under the weight, inserted herself beneath the wobbling bulk as he struggled upright. For several minutes they stood motionless and then slowly, with the monster using the woman as a crutch on one side and a stout stick on the other, they shuffled towards the ox-cart.

At last the captive’s wait seemed to have ended. Chandra too, emerged from the eddying crowd and approached the cart. He was followed by yet another startling figure.

This man towered head and shoulders above the throng. Nobly headed, hook-nosed, large-eyed and thick-necked, like a Roman emperor, his long, dark, curled locks were proudly bound with a gold diadem. Broad-chested, strong-armed and as muscular as a wrestler, his neck and arms glittered with necklaces and armlets. Then the crowd of attendants and devotees parting respectfully before him revealed this impressive figure to be only the upper half of a man with no legs below his hips.

His apparent height was due to the singular mount upon which he rode; a tall and shapely woman, pale skinned and light haired, another Westerner like themselves and the others they had seen. She was entirely naked, ridden as if she was a horse, with a bridle and a bit between her white teeth and her hair gathered in bunches like those worn by a small child, so as to clear the reins. As she paced steadily through the crowd, her anklets of golden bells jingled at every step. The small saddle that supported her rider behind her shoulders was carried upon a splendidly gilded and jewelled harness. Her ample breasts were supported and shaped by a net of gold wire into a resemblance of the cannonball-like attributes of the plaster devadasis on the temple gate and the blue sparks of sapphires to match the colour of her eyes, glinted as pendants from each thick nipple. Between her well-developed thighs and depending apparently from the pierced lips of her nakedly shaven and rouged pubis, a huge ruby swung to and fro at the end of thin gold chain as she walked.

The founder of the Great Temple, riding his favourite mount, had come to view the latest exotic additions to the service of the goddess.

Caroline and Jenny were cut down at last and made to dismount, prostrating themselves instinctively before what they foresaw to be the new master of their fate. They were left there for long minutes while a conversation took place above their heads, in which Chandra bore only a subsidiary role, between the mounted cripple and the naked monster. At last the two new captives were made to rise and display themselves to the men as they had been trained in Mme Rao’s brothel.

The woman who attended the monster addressed the pair, speaking in an expressionless tone without looking directly at them. Her two listeners had no doubt that one or both of her strange masters understood her well enough to monitor her speech.

“You are now the slaves of the black goddess. You have been purchased from your owners for the service of her temple and the use of her worshippers. As devadasis you will become receptacles for the sacred lust of the male devotees who come here and a means with which they can appease the dread goddess by the release of sexual passion. At the time of the next festival you will both be ceremonially fucked before her altar as an act of dedication. While you are awaiting that time, you will practise your duties assiduously, for afterwards you will be very busy since many worshippers eagerly seek out a new devadasi. As temple slaves you will be well cared for and well fed, provided you do your duty to the goddess and suitably excite her male devotees. You are already a pair of well-trained whores and will be expected to demonstrate your expertise in bringing men to orgasm. Whenever you are judged unskilful or sulky you will be assigned to the entertainment of those men who are excited to their sexual release by the use of whip or cane.”

Caroline and Jenny were each allotted to one of the cubicles occupied by the white devadasis standing in a section of their own a little apart from those built against the courtyard wall.

These cubicles, their places of work as Temple prostitutes, were no more than barred cages containing only a pallet bed, together with elementary washing and toilet facilities. On the outer side, the cages were open to the view of the male devotees who strolled past all night long, examining the available females on display before making their choice for the purpose of practising this sexual ritual. The cages were numbered and, in the working hours after sunset, accessed only by possession of a key handed over upon payment of the appropriate fee. The men might draw a curtain across if they wished for privacy and bring their own refreshments of food and drink purchased in the outer court if they had paid for a longer stay.

The Western slaves were particularly favoured by many keen practitioners of the left hand way because their reputed association with formerly unclean, deviant or indecent practises that seemed to imply a special intensity of sexual magic. Since special efficacy was considered to reside in the mingling of terror and pain with sexual release there was always an implement hanging up ready in the cage. Leather was always employed as having unclean connotations and each devadasi was required to keep her strap or tawse supple by daily greasing with her own hands.

As the settlement grew and the fame of the Temple spread among other newly prospering groups, regular festivals were held to attract the visitor from further afield.

The festivals celebrated the goddess and her deeds, the destruction of demons, transformations, divine couplings, births and death. Some were original, though twisted to suit the orgiastic ethos, some borrowed from other deities or conjured out of ancient legend. Actors re-enacted the divine events on stage in the outer courtyard and devadasis substituted for the deity with the visiting men in the cubicles and cages. The Aghori, whose knowledge and prestige had inspired the modelling of the festivals, had cunningly designed them to be associated with the agricultural year upon the success of which the prosperity and survival of all now depended. Each one attracted its complement of enthusiastic pilgrims and so were times of hard work for the devadasis, performing the goddess’s service with a succession of randy male devotees.

Between such spells of hard fucking the days were devoted to massage and exercise, bathing and training. Lessons were given in ritual dancing and singing and in the numerous sexual techniques to be expected of devadasis in a temple devoted to the satisfaction of lust. In practice most of the services required by individual worshippers were of the simplest kind, a grappling of sweaty bodies in a dark cubicle. The exotically varied couplings depicted upon the temple walls were more the province of the public performers.

The western devadasis all took a special part in the festival displays. There was a festival of cross-dressing lasting several days, with men dressing as women and the temple girls parading with toy swords and painted moustaches. The slave women too were paraded in pairs, one with blonde false beard and a bobbing, strapped-on phallus, her hair coiled under a topi helmet, leading her naked and long-haired partner on a chain. Appropriate kinds of erotic farces were played out on stage. The sexual performances within the private cubicles also involved the devadasis playing an active part and the worshippers a passive one.

Laura took part in a prominent position in the festival celebrating the goddess as the incarnation of the moon when the temple was decorated with flowers and lights, while the actors played out dramas of unreasoning or violent love. She was fastened to a garlanded swing above the main entrance to the temple, suspended just above the devotees’ heads, where she was swung slowly from side to side with her bare bottom prominently displayed as a personification of the moon. All the devotees this night were encouraged to practice rear entry in their couplings with the devadasis.

The western devadasis starred less comfortably in a festival involving the throwing of coloured water. Jenny was the first to take her turn, the others following throughout the day. She was set up as a target in the outer and more public courtyard, fastened onto a small wheel shaped frame that left her head and shoulders projecting, her breasts dangling freely and her bottom stuck up in the air. The frame was raised by the pole axle upon which it turned, to about a man’s height from the ground, with the crowd kept at a distance by a low railing. Specially prepared missiles of a round sponge loaded with multi-coloured liquid could be bought from the vendors for the purpose of pelting her.

The hot sun scorched her back and bottom, while wet sponges flung by enthusiastic hands slapped and splattered to a chorus of laughter and cheers. Jenny kept her head bowed after the first one landed full in her face and they soon tired of firing at the crown of her head and watching the liquid run down off her dripping locks. Her dangling breasts made a ready target, stinging splatts from varying directions bouncing them back and forth. The more she wriggled the more the wheel frame spun round, so that those who had been bombarding her front were next presented with her rear. Fastened with her thighs slightly parted made the divide between them a tempting target, with well-aimed sponges thumping coldly into her sun-warmed cleft.

The Founder’s mare did not escape participation during the day, Meg being set to prance to and fro carrying on her saddle small children who yelled and whacked her as they pelted and were pelted by their enthusiastic little friends.

The Goddess demanded no taxes from those who settled on her land, but there were other ways of profiting. For significant agricultural ceremonies, the devadasis were hired out among the villages wherever they were required.

At the beginning of the farming year, in the time of the first ploughing of the rice fields, a gaily painted, ceremonial ox-cart lumbered along a rutted track towards a palisaded village. Beside the track, water ran swiftly in a narrow channel, running from the hills where the almost non-existent monsoons still deposited a sparse rainfall. Closer to the village it would be carefully measured out into the rice fields ready for ploughing by representatives of the temple and the village.

A boy in a shirt and turban walked before the white-humped oxen and two red-robed Temple staff attended its progress. Sighted by their scouts, a crowd of juvenile inhabitants of the village poured out to greet the arrivals with enthusiastic shouts and much beating of impromptu drums and gongs. Borne upon the cart was a cage of bamboo poles cunningly bound with split bamboo lashings, shaded by a roof of palm thatch under which the children, daring the flourished staffs of the pandars, stooped excitedly to peer. Crowded together within the shadowy interior four pale figures could be made out intimately huddled.

Its white oxen bedecked with flower garlands by the welcoming party, the cart entered the opened gates and rolled slowly into the centre of the village, a huddle of mud and thatch dwellings, granaries threshing floors and animal pens. Here the rest of the peasant population waited to greet the two representatives of the temple and view the team whose services they had combined to purchase.

Officiously the men drove back the women and children to a respectful distance as the cage door was unfastened and its occupants emerged into the bright sunlight; four of the famous western devadasis, slaves of the Goddess, rarities like the white oxen. These four were Caroline, Jenny, Laura and a big blonde ex-Austrian girl called Lisa. Plump from a special milk diet, they stood quite naked, eyelashes lowered against the sunlight, their fair skins gleaming, oiled daily with a sun-barrier. Wearing wide brimmed straw hats decorated with flowers over long hair, which almost hid their silver slave collars, they formed into two pairs without needing to be bidden.

Bowing their heads and shoulders, the length of gilt chain closely clasping their waists and clinging deep into generous curves, they stood submissively, while before the eyes of the assembled villagers, the attendant pandars arrayed them for their task.

Like plough beasts they were fitted with collars of twisted straw, a pole yoke linking them in their accustomed pairs, Jenny and Laura in the lead, Caroline teamed with Lisa behind. They felt the familiar straps of their gilded and jewelled harness enclose their ribs, the weight of the wooden ox-yoke across the backs of their necks as they bent meekly forward. The excited villagers pointed out Laura’s plump left cheek which marked her as the property of the Aghori himself, carrying a bright tattoo, the insignia of the black goddess encircled by stars, four-armed, dancing on a corpse, her bloody mouth picked out in red.

The collars, chains and yokes alike were entwined with strings of flowers transferred by the village children from the decoration of the oxen before they were ready to be hitched up to the plough.

Accompanied with rejoicing by the whole village, men, women and children, the pandars noisily cracking long whips, the yoked females were taken in procession to the newly prepared fields. All that afternoon, going from one field to another, they performed the ceremonial ploughing of the first furrow upon each in turn, watched with satisfaction by the peasants who had paid for their magical services.

The four white women slaves had been well prepared, having spent long hours at the temple drawing a heavy log to and fro through a bed of sand under the instruction and governance of the whip. The dry fields of hard baked clods they were sometimes faced with entailed much groaning effort and frequent yelping from one or other of the four as tender skins felt the lash. They were securely gagged for they were required to simulate dumb draught animals and so the four women’s throats combined to produce noises very like those of beasts.

By comparison ploughing the wet mud of flooded paddy fields into a suitable medium for planting rice was easy and the whip cracked there more often for show than out of necessity. They went to and fro several times in each field, stirring up the mud and water and emerging at the other side muddy to the knees, appearing incongruously to be clad solely in a pair of black stockings.

Towards evening, having finished their duties, the now exhausted team were washed down by excited juvenile volunteers in one of the flowing irrigation ditches before being loaded back into their cage and being drawn away. The white devadasis knew very well that they would probably meet many of the men folk of the village again under more personal conditions, for the pandars were going round the leading villagers, handing out tokens.

There would be a special votive night at the temple itself for the farmers and their eldest sons and no doubt they would remember the plump white females they had seen when it came to exercising their lust.

Some-time after this, with the planting completed and the growing period begun, the slave devadasis were again hired out, singly this time, among villages far and near, to make fertility magic by ceremonial couplings out in the fields. Formerly this had been done using animals or even images made of straw and barley dough. Now, in the hope of increasing the potency of the magic, the peasants willingly hired one of the Temple slaves to take the female part in such ceremonies.

The chosen devadasi was carried out from the village upon a litter, winding among the fields, hoisted high above the accompanying crowd on the shoulders of four burly farmers. The litter itself was decorated with flowers and streamers of red silk and the female slave, posed upon all fours, wore ropes of pearls around her neck and hair, anklets and bangles of gold adorning legs and arms, a girdle of heavy filigree gold spanning her hips. Otherwise she was naked, displaying her shaven pubis and dangling nipples to public view, dusted red, the symbol of the goddess’s sexuality and fruitfulness.

In as many places as the payment allowed for, the devadasi would be set out conspicuously, white and naked upon a little platform built out in the open in the middle of the newly planted field. In each place, watched from the margins of the field by the anxious owners and their families, chanting and beating drums, she would be fucked by the male participant. The proprietors of the field might perform the ceremony themselves if they had the confidence, but more often in these public circumstances, one of the Temple pandars would officiate in their place.

To take advantage of these rites, any bulls, rams or other male animals that survived, were released to their females in the hope of sharing in the magic and restoring their diminished numbers. A more expensive ceremony incorporating this animal aspect of fertility involved a white devadasi and a specially trained donkey stallion, both garlanded with flowers, performing together in a temporary pen. Less time was spent upon training its human female partner who was firmly fastened to a timber cradle for her ordeal, so it was fortunate for the white devadasis that it was only affordable by the most prosperous of peasants.

 

In the year following her acquisition, Caroline was allocated as performer to a primitive village of survivors newly discovered in the distant recesses of the hills. It was a tribal village of dark-skinned keepers of pigs. Upon first receiving the white slave, the women of the village objected to Caroline’s hairiness as inappropriate. They tied her spread-eagled between two stout posts in the village square while they shaved and plucked off every evidence of hair, head, underarm hair and pubic bush too, in order to make her more acceptable for their purpose.

Once completely shaven, they forced Caroline down upon hands and knees, rump elevated and legs wide apart and, under the scrutiny of the attending pandar, fitted her with a wooden chastity plug. A foot or so long and thicker than a woman could get her hand around, it was driven right home into Caroline’s vagina. The projecting end had been drilled to take a leather thong by which it was fastened in place with a complicated knot sealed with clay.

So equipped to baffle the intervention of randy men, she was driven upon all fours through the village, followed by all the inhabitants, men women and children, making grunting and snuffling noises, to a public pen built of solid logs and normally used to hold straying pigs. She shared this muddy pen for a day and a night along with six fat sows, made to remain crouched upon all fours amongst the female animals and fed upon the same scraps. The next day she and the excitedly grunting and squealing sows were all driven together, followed by the same audience, to a larger pen where the boar awaited them.

The sows were introduced to the boar within, while Caroline was made to mount to a high platform that had been erected above the pen. The pandar then ceremonially broke the seal, extracted the wooden plug and, to the sound of drums and horns and among general revelry, publicly fucked Caroline as an example to the porcine grunters below.