Beside them Amanda Priller was standing upright, kissing and being kissed with open mouthed passion by three cavalrymen. And her hands were darting around, along and over their hardened flesh as if she was at a market stall trying to choose which one to buy.
"Time for your first gallop, old girl," Osama said loudly. "I think we'll have you on your back to start with."
Without any further ado Camilla was prepared for the men's pleasure.
The crop was taken from her hand, her sari thrown aside, half a dozen brown hands pushing her down until her spine was along the silk pillow and the rocking horse's tail between her legs. But that was only for a second, until more hands took hold of her strongly muscled calves and lifted them level with her body. Somewhere nearby she could hear feminine laughter from one of the ayahs. The officers holding her onto the horse were looking down at their captive and smiling as if this was only some kind of horseplay, some kind of a party trick. And then Camilla screeched out with pain as riding crops slashed across the soles of her feet.
Lifting her head up, she saw that the blows had been delivered by two of the ayahs. It was no surprise that one of the women standing near her was Manga. What did astonish Camilla was that the girl brandishing the other riding crop was her own ayah, Jumila. The girl's teeth were clenched in a savage grimace as she punished her mistress, showing no signs of hesitation at all. In fact both of the women seemed to be acting under restraint from the men not to hit Camilla too hard. Even so, the pain was incredible and the pinioned woman begged at the top of her voice for mercy. A sight and sound which distracted Mr Manji away from the photos he was taking of two officers standing on either side of the coffee table and both enjoying Carol's hospitality, front and back. Reluctantly, the cameraman moved the tripod away from the brown bodies straining against the submissive white one and let off a flashbulb to record Camilla's torture. Then there was a babble of voices and people moved into fresh positions, as if staging a rehearsed play.
Jumila and Manga stepped away, both as unwilling to be pulled away from their prey as blooded hounds. Camilla looked up through watering eyes to see Osama laughing at her with a bottle in his hand. He dribbled some of the chilled champagne over her breasts and immediately two mouths settled down on them as lightly as falling leaves and began gently biting her nipples. More cold liquid dripping onto her belly button, and another tongue lapping at it. On her feet, and the blessed coolness splashing onto her raw soles before her toes began to be nibbled.
Another flashbulb popped and Camilla's lungs expelled air as though she was trying to blow out an enormous mass of birthday candles in one breath. Then the draining of more liquid down and around her patch of pubic hair, until the champagne was running down the cleft of her cunt like a strickling mountain stream. To be immediately swallowed up by yet another mouth, another tongue, with fingers moving up between her widely stretched legs to hold her wide open. Camilla arched her back, shaking like a fever victim underneath all the hands holding her, smelling the spicy native smell of the brown flesh surrounding her.
Overhead the boy was now sitting on the rafter, masturbating his exposed organ in delight as he stared down at Camilla's treatment. She screamed again, so loudly that it must surely have been heard all over the cantonment, but caring for nothing except the physical satisfaction being given her, a totality of bodily pleasure enhanced behind belief by the pain she had just endured.
An officer's face appeared above her, laughing as he poured the dregs of the bottle onto Camilla's lips. She licked them with her tongue, then held her mouth open in invitation. He bent over her as if he was about to kiss a sleeping beauty awake, though Camilla had never been less asleep in her life. She was aroused beyond belief, tits and toes and cunt mastered by tongue and teeth, gentle fingers stroking her inflamed soles, and now a finger playing with her clitoris. She wondered whether it was Osama, and screeched out his name. The man bending over her put his lips against hers, their tongues slapped together like mating snakes and entwined in uncontrolled passion. And, second later, Camilla's cunt was opened by a cock that seemed supernaturally thick and of an unbelievable length.
It was what she was lusting for now, body and soul, to be fucked as no respectable woman could ever dream of being fucked, without any restraint or decencies at all. And, incredibly, as she was used by a gang of natives in front of her friends, she heard the gramophone start playing again. Only music this time, with the Maharajah's Own Irregulars singing their own words to another G and S favorite, words laced with obvious sarcasm.
She is an Englishwoman!
She is an Englishwomanman!
For she herself has said it,
And it's greatly to her credit,
That she is an Englishwoman!
That she is an Englishwoman!
Camilla climaxed before the man, and again, and then a third time, snorting out against the mocking words. Her hands were directed to stiffened ramrods of flesh that she jerked on frantically as the man beasting her withdrew. But it was only a mere changing of the guard, for another lusty soldier quickly came to attention in her steaming sentry box. The tongue in her mouth was withdrawn and Camilla blinked up at the brown faces looking down on her. The thing she noticed most was the flashes of white teeth as the Kultooni officers bellowed out their teasing words. An act of humiliation they reinforced by turning Camilla's head to one side towards a cock curved like a scimitar with a top like a ripe plum. She took as much as she could of it within her mouth and sucked on it.
For she might have been a Roosian,
A French, or Turk, or Proosian,
Or perhaps Itali-an!
Or perhaps Itali-an!
But in spite of all temptations
To belong to other nations,
She remains an Englishman!
After she'd been taken twice and filled her mouth once with sticky sperm, Camilla was pulled up to her feet and given another glass of champagne. Staggering, she was pushed aside as Deborah Boxwood was seated on the horse, in a rider's position as Lucy had been, and Camilla was forced down on her knees to lick Deborah's clitoris from behind. She hardly knew what she was doing, nor cared, but felt some vestiage of relief when her mouth was required again for another male's pleasure, a waiting cock which seemed ready to plunge into Deborah. Looking up, Camilla saw that the brown baton she was giving suck to belonged to the Prince, renewed again by Jean's and Deborah's harem tricks and eager to put his name on the rider's board again. He was laughing and drinking from a bottle, then threw it aside.
"Put me into your friend's cunt," he roared. "Come on, Camilla, put me in."
Still on her knees, Camilla aimed the tip of the royal prick with her fingers in between Deborah's puffed out cunt lips. Deborah called out, perhaps in encouragement, and louder again as the Prince filled her void. The Indians crowded around the horse again as Camilla was taken back to the pool.
There seemed to be some kind of a game going on in the middle of it. A kind of daredevil game for the Kultooni officers. A table had been set down in the middle of the pool, underneath the bowl of kraits. An officer was sitting at each end, risking his life from a possibility of the bowl falling in return for the pleasure of spurting his seed into the mouth of one of the British wives. At one end of the table Jean Ellington was bobbing her head up and down in an Indian's lap as Amanda crouched on her knees in the water to lick the same man's ball sack. The Kultooni at the other end of the table was holding Carol's hair in one hand as he apparently did his best to suffocate her by ramming her lips right down the length of his cock again and again, like a terrier shaking a rat to death in its jaws. Carol was snorting and snuffling through her nose and feverishly stroking the native's thighs with her fingertips in a kind of mute plea for mercy, until she was suddenly realised to go fall down on her knees, face tilted back and dribbles of come running down her chin.