The ayah also laid on with all her strength, strength enough to have Carol's cries audible over the the sound of the gramophone and the swelling chorus. Camilla Hartley-Dexter found herself being hauled up to her feet, almost uncaring of the brown hands holding her captive as the Mikado's song continued. She was staring at Prince Ravi with awe.
It took some special gift for devilry to mass rape a group of British women with a musical selection from Gilbert and Sullivan as an accompaniment, as though they were at a garden party instead of an enforced orgy. And an orgy was certainly what it was developing into.
Camilla had a chance to see Jean Ellington already on her feet and having her tits squeezed by her escorts from behind before the same fate befell her own breasts. And as several different hands fondled her she could look around the pool and see all her other friends being compelled to their feet, then having their arms and elbows lifted high for easier encirclement from behind.
"And make each prisoner pent
Unwillingly represent
A source of innocent merriment!
Of innocent merriment!"
The prince pushed the ayah aside, opened the front of his silk tunic and stood close to Carol. The ayah put one hand down in front of him, giggled and seemingly positioned him for his onslaught. He spoke one word, the arms that Carol was clinging to like a shipwrecked survivor lifted slightly to tilt her bottom down to the required position, and then Prince Ravi caught hold of Carol's hips and plunged his manhood deep into her body.
She yelped and arched her back as he began his task of throughly ravishing her. Some of the other Kultani men came closer to the horse, slapping her buttocks and tickling at the soles of her bare feet as she was bounced about as if she was a rider in the Grand National.
Carol's face was protruding from the knot of bodies around her, eyes rolling back like a terrified mare's and sounds coming out of her throat which might have escaped from a steam boiler about to blow up.
A popping flashlight went off inside the shadowed hut like summer lightning. Carol was now officially a hunt trophy, with the picture taken to prove it.
"My object all sublime I shall achieve in time- To let the punishment fit the crime- The punishment fit the crime."
Camilla was gasping as if she was under the sea in a diving suit with a blocked air tube. A tongue in each ear, a hand on each breast, a hand on each buttock and every other woman in the room being treated just as lewdly, Carol excepted, who was being treated about as lewdly as woman could be and looking to get her comeuppance at any second from the royal penis. Then she yelped out like a vixen caught by a pack of hounds and the Prince shouted out in triumph. The music from the gramophoone ceased as the stylus was lifted from the disk. Already one of the men was filling in the Prince's name in one of the boxes alongside Carol Carnac-Smyth's name on the blacboard.
Ravi threw aside his pyjamy jacket and called out orders in his own language. The officers grinned, though they were taking their hands away from the women, even Carol. She was panting as heavily as a hunted deer and clutching the neck of the wooden horse as if it was stopping her from drowning. An officer was, for some reason, pouring a whole bottle of ice straight into an ice bucket. One of the ayahs, the youngest and prettiest one, knelt down in front of the Prince, struggling desperately to control her giggles as she slipped off the contraceptive sheath he'd been wearing. She stood up again, holding it by the open end as if it might fly away like a tiny balloon it was.
When she received another order from Ravi her giggles almost overcame her even as she hurried to obey him. Looking at all the white woman in the pool with delight, she dropped the used condom into the ice bucket.
"A toast, ladies, a toast. To be drunk in turn."
The Prince took the bucket by the handles and walked around the pool.
Towards Camilla first, and her escorts turned around to face him.
"Here you are, my dear," he chuckled. "Take it and drink deep."
The condom was floating on top of the Bollinger like a dead fish.
Camilla considered very briefly about whether to try to avoid the humiliation, even though the choice didn't exist. Not for her, at least. Joan Of Arc would no doubt have spat in Ravi's face. Camilla Hartley-Dexter didn't: she put her own fingers on top of Ravi's hand as he kept hold of the handles and she prepared to drink from the bucket. On one side she could see the horse being swivelled around to face the camera. Carol was sitting up with a disrobed Kultooni officer close on each side. She was smiling in a slack jawed sort of way and holding a brown skinned erection in each hand. Another flashbulb popped to record the scene. Then Camilla lifted up the bucket and swallowed a mouthful of the champagne, the used contraceptive floating in it brushing against her lips.
"Well done, Camilla," the Prince said. "Looking forward to your own fucking?"
His eyes seemed to be holding hers like a snake charmer's: "Yes, your Royal Highness." There was no choice but to answer meekly.
"Then we won't disappoint you. Put her across the horse."
Whether or not the champagne was responsible, Camilla was sure she would have fallen in stepping over the pool wall if so many hands hadn't been holding her up. As she was taken towards the rocking horse she heard applause from around it. A Kultooni officer was on the back of the model, facing the tail, his feet pressed up against the rockers. Astride him, her feet in the stirrups, was Carol. Her hands were holding tightly onto the man's bared shoulders and she was jerking herself up and down on his prick like a performing animal. The hands holding her nipples had drawn her breasts out from her body as an obvious threat of what would happen if her performance wasn't good enough. Further encouragement was coming from two other men swatting at her already chastised buttocks with riding crops. A counterpoint to the clapping sounds of wet flesh slapping together between the two bodies One of the men holding Camilla spoke to the man impaling Caroclass="underline"
"Having a good fuck, Suhail?"
"An excellent one, thank you. I'm not having to move a muscle now we've got Mrs Carnac-Smythe so well trained."
It was true, Suhail was being used by the wild eyed, snorting English woman as a stage to act out her own humiliation on. Carol was staring down at the man's face as though it belonged to some God whom she was gladly worshipping with her cunt as she frantically galloped herself on his manhood.
A voice spoke to Camilla. It was Osama's: "Oh, Pearl of the East, take this and use it well."
Into her hand he put a riding crop. The men who had been whipping Carol stood back to make room for Camilla. But then their crops slashed down against the sides of her legs, so powerfully that one of the blows cut right through her thin sari. No word was spoken, none was needed. Camilla began to beat Carol's bottom as though it was a piece of dusty carpet hanging up for cleaning. Carol screeched and the quivering buttocks Camilla was lashing jerked up and down Suhail's glistening shaft like a shuttle on a loom. The top of Camilla's sari came undone as she swung the crop, then fell free, and her breasts hung naked and swinging in front of Suhail's admiring eyes Suhail laughed, grabbed Carol's hips and held her down tightly against him as he finally jerked upwards against her, his passion exploding in the ultimate satisfaction. After he'd finished with her Carol was lifted off the horse and set down on her hands and knees on top of a coffee table by the two officers who'd been spanking her. One tapped the end of his crop against her bottom as if reminding her of his presence. The other one took hold of her hair and lifted up her head to show her his upcurved cock nudging against her lips.
Camilla gaped at the sight of the Gazepore garrison's senior lady opening her mouth for an Indian's prick. Yet, though it was a sight she was sure she'd never see, it now seemed to becoming normal because Jean Ellington and Deborah Boxwood were both on their knees in the pool, both kneeling down in front of the Prince and licking on his reviving cock as though they were attending some religious service.