"Every glass empty now?" The prince asked. "OK, gentleman, please do the honors."
The men on either side of Carol reached out and tugged at the top of her sari, loosening the knot between the pale skinned white mounds that Ravi was fondling so avidly. The material wrapped around her body came loose and slipped down as another flashbulb popped. Camilla Hartley-Dexter heard the men stroking her arms and shoulders gasp with excitement: the fingers rubbing her ears squeezed harder. Up above there was a jabber of excitement like a monkey taunting an enemy from the treetops as the boy on the rafter saw Carol's naked figure – a figure well worthy of the attention it was getting.
Like her friends, Carol rode miles every day, swam in the club pool most days and played tennis or hockey at least three times a week. It was an article of faith in Anglo-Indian society that the surest way to stay healthy in the tropics was through sport, and in a society where all menial work was done by servants the opportunities for sport were many. So, though in her early thirties and a mother, she still had an excellent figure. Rather taller than the average, wide hipped, and well breasted, but with only a few extra pounds to show for her age, and those distributed to good advantage.
She was by any standards a good looking if not a beautiful woman, with a body which any man would want to possess, and all the lustful male eyes in the Moorghi-Khana were taking in her large red nipples and the wet curls of the patch of straw colored hair visible between her legs.
The incongruity of the well tanned arms and bleached hair against the milky whiteness of her soft curves would have seemed strange only to those not bred in one climate and grown accustomed to living in another. But most of the officers inside the hut were in exactly that category and their first sight of a naked European woman bought forth comments of appreciation, many of them in perfect English and clearly audible.
"By Jove, that Carnac-Smyth woman is looking like a jolly good fuck, Musad, old boy," Amanda Priller heard one of the Kultooni officers standing behind her say with glee in his voice. Then a hand patted her on the head as if she was a dog and another officer answered.
"Not to worry, Yasir, I think our mare here will give us all even better rides once we get the whip out to her on the straight."
Everything that was happening was clearly impossible in the real world. Amanda decided this had to be a drug induced dream and very soon reality must break through. She saw Carol putting a foot in one of the stirrups and swinging a graceful leg over the rocking horse.
But instead of sitting on top of the plump red pillow, Carol had to bend forward over the horse as though she were a jockey, her lower belly on the pillow, her hands clutching on the reins and her bottom directly above the toy's tail.
An officer stood on either side of the front of the horse and pushed down on the rockers with their feet, tipping it forward and lifting Carol's bare backside higher up for Ravi's inspection. He clapped his hands, took the riding crop off his wrist and called behind him. The ayahs giggled into the hands they were covering their faces with and formed a line behind the horse. Whether by accident or by her own efforts Manga was at the head of the queue and eagerly accepted the riding crop the Prince offered her.
"More drinks, girls, more drinks," he called out genially. "You must enjoy yourselves for we've gone to no end of trouble to arrange this entertainment for you." The Prince sounded to Amanda like the Garrison Padre introducing a magic lantern show about English cathedrals.
The glasses were refilled, the woman accepted them with shaking hands and sipped from the dew beaded glasses. As Camilla reached up for hers one of the Kultooni officers put his fingers around her hand and rubbed the back of it against the hard projection under his pyjamy jacket. She'd never felt a man's stiffened cock through silk before and she thought it a very erotic feeling. Then again, everything was becoming erotic, with the continual stroking and now a tongue flickering into one of her ears as she sipped from her glass. She'd now firmly decided that ice cold '13 vintage Bollinger was the finest thing ever invented for a parched throat. Whatever else might be mind shrivelling lunacy, the champagne had to be real because no dream had ever tasted so delicious.
"What's your name?" she asked, sotto voce. So quietly that only the Indian nuzzling her could hear.
"I am called Osama, Pearl of the East, and you are to be the flower of my life," her lover whispered mockingly. "Incidentally, I was watching you play hockey the other morning, and I must say you have very attractive legs, old girl. Well worth the trouble of getting up early to come and admire."
Camilla almost giggled herself at the incongruity of the words, but now she remembered seeing Osama at the hockey pitch. He'd been the only Kultooni there because the match at been held at dawn, in the coolest hour of the day, when most of the Irregular's Officers were still abed. A tall, slim man – no, boy – with a broad smile who'd clapped loudly at every goal by both teams.
"Thank you," she said, and then felt totally stupid as Carol called out in pain.
Both the officers beside her had each taken a handful of womanly flesh and removed their feet from the horse's rockers. Now it was only their hold on Carol's breasts which was stopping the horse from tipping back again. And as Carol whimpered one of the Kultooni men was winding up the gramophone on the table. As soon as the spring was tight he put a record on and lifted up the stylus to place it in the groove. Prince Ravi stood aside and nodded to Manga. She drew back the riding crop and lashed it down with the full strength of her arm on the creamy white buttocks offered up to her. Carol twitched and yelped in painful response. The hiss of the stylus became a jaunty tune.
"A more humane Mikado
Never did in Japan exist,
To nobody second,
I'm certainly reckoned
A true philanthropist."
The men around the pool laughed and joined in the song in high good humor as the old Ayah continued to spread a criss cross of red weals onto her target. Years of servitude repaid with interest. And certainly with plenty of interest from the spectators. Then the Prince held Manga's arm as she reached back for another swing. She was pushed aside and he stood close to the rocking horse's tail with his hand underneath Carol's quivering buttocks. She squealed again, as she had done for each stroke of the crop. But this time, instead of having her eyes tightly closed, they were wider than the painted eyes on the wooden horse.
"It is my very humane endeavour
To make, to some extent,
Each evil liver a running river
Of harmless merriment."
The cavalry officers roared out the words with glee as their Prince dipped his fingers into Carol's fully displayed and proffered sex.
Carol was sobbing loudly and trying to ease the pain on her breasts by clutching at the sleeves of the two officers kneading her nipples.
Laughing himself, the Prince offered the officer beside him a turn at feeling the white woman's most intimate parts. And as Carol cried out again in disbelief he took the crop from Manga and gave it to the next ayah in the queue.
"My object all sublime I shall achieve in time- To let the punishment fit the crime- The punishment fit the crime."