Humbled by Hindu

"Heathens, every one of them. Godless heathens!" The governess hissed in protestant fury as their palanquin was born behind the Regiment of Foot in solid British scarlet. The harsh and heavy wool and brass seemed out of place in the opulent heat of Madhya Presh, even as the heavy boots and heavier guns dragged behind the column trampled the traditional freedoms and culture of the Hindu lands as the Mughal or Mongol had before them, and as the Muslim and even famed Alexander the Great had tried and failed to do.

The twin daughters of governor Ian Cavendish fanned themselves wearily. Their dresses reflected their station, a tightly laced corset over a bodice or chemisette, and paired them with a skirt adorned with numerous embroideries and trims; over layers of petticoats whose only concession to the hot climate was to be white rather than the darker tones more common to London fashion and the ever present cold and soot filled fogs. The wasp waist showed to great advantage the great swell of bosom that marked their Prussian ancestry, rather than the more common modest bosom of the few other English dependents marching with the Viceroy's troops to secure what was to be the Imperial Province, now that the East India Company had been forced to ask for Imperial aid in crushing the revolt of 1857.

Bernice Cavendish sighed and corrected their governess pedantically "They have hundreds of gods, and goddesses as well. They were building temples here before we were doing more than figuring out the skull we just took made a pretty decent soup bowl once you filled the eyes in" Tara Cavendish wiggled her fingers by her eyes suggesting leaking soup, and giggled prettily as Kate, the grey haired dowager cousin who was their governess fumed. When she giggled she looked more like an eight year old imp than an eighteen year old heiress of an ancient and noble house.

Kate replied angrily "They are Heathens because they worship idols. Christ denying dirty little brown people, worse than the damned Muslims. I hear tell they practice all manner of wickedness and perversion here, even in their temples"

Bernice and Tara both perked up and looked at the distant peak of Khajuraho, where their father, deep in his wine had related in lurid detail about the temple artwork to their uncle who commanded the Engineering battalion responsible for improving the roads and establishing Imperial post rider stations and telegraph lines for the new Imperial network. Perhaps this posting would not be as dreary as Kenya after all.

The palace occupied by Governor Cavendish and his entourage had belonged to the Chandelas dynasty, but fallen into disuse during the Mughal or Mongol rule. British Engineers had not only restored it to functional, but had put in such amenities and modern conveniences with an aim not only to making the seat of Imperial power more live able, but to show the material superiority of Britain's ruling house and race. With the intent to subvert the existing power classes into extensions of British Imperial power, staff had been recruited to run the house and town from the noblest houses of the area.

Vivek stood in Imperial House and smiled. He was a Brahmin, a twice born noble, raised to the disciplines of the priesthood, scholarship, the higher arts and mysteries medical, tantric, and martial. These British were a might and a power, more terrible than the Mongol at their peak, but they were Kshatriyas, warriors and even administrators yes, but always and forever requiring the rulership and direction of the Brahmin. These English did not know it, but they had come to the place where they will be the conquered people. He had argued with the Kshatriyas of his own people, those who looked upon the hirelings of the East India Company and knew they could beat them upon the field. Calling upon Kali they raised war upon the barbarian, and fell upon the field to the superior weapons and discipline of the English Redcoats.

He was Brahmin, he looked upon the temples at Khajuraho and bowed deeply three times. Parvati, who danced life as well as death, Shiva whose all seeing eye fortold the need, and to the forgotten Chandelas kings who heeded the word of the all seeing god and loving goddess to lay the foundation for English conquest where their Hindu children would one day need it. Indeed, the English Lion was unconquorable upon the field, but it was the Hindu bull who would tame the British Lioness, and restore these barbarians to proper Brahmin rule.

Turning to his wife Akshara, herself dressed in silk and gold saree that could have easily bought the elephants carrying the new governor's family to the Imperial palace Vivek whispered. "Like the Mughals, they sequester their women. This does not mean they are safe from temptation, this means they have no experience with it. I think you shall be the one to teach them their proper place. Do not tell it to them, allow them to discover it. Allow them to suspect it, to seek to test it, but do not ever offer it to them. They must walk each step to delivering themselves into Hindu submission on their own. I think first we will have to address their clothing, before the poor things faint. Then the bathing. The men smell worse than untouchables, and they wear far less than the women do"

Akshara smiled. "Dress and deportment, they move so badly. I think their father would appreciate seeing such upright posture if we taught them that women were not made by the goddess to march like toy soldiers, but to flow like a petal on the wind. I will teach them dance, and with it, their body." She laughed. "Once their body is awake, they will deliver themselves unto you, and their training becomes more interesting"

Governor Ian Cavendish looked down his eagle nose, sweat dripping from his great beak onto his handlebar mustache as his twin daughters Bernice and Tara were collapsed where they had fallen in the middle of their Latin class, decaiming verbs for their Governess and cousin Kate. "What ails them, do I have to summon the surgeon from the camp?" He roared, for Governor the General Sir Ian Cavendish was happiest speaking over the roar of his guns, and somewhere between confused and alarmed when dealing with any feminine issues. The death of his wife left him with two alien creatures to raise, and no understanding of how to do so.

With a whisper, Akshara entered smoothly, her temple trained grace making of her glide across the floor almost a formal dance, the only sound the whisper of her slippers upon the stone. Bowing deeply to the Governor, she said in richly accented English,

"A thousand pardons my lord, but I fear the rich wool and cotton layers that so well ward off the London fogs and Scottish winds trap the heat of Grishma Ritu, of Indian summer, where their pale and delicate maiden bodies may not resist it. I fear they may well not last to Monsoon if you do not allow them to be guided by the noble women of this land as to what fabrics to wear. We can indeed keep their outward modesty to your Christian standard, without leaving them prey to fever"

That last was a calculated barb, as it was a Kenyan fever that took the life of his late wife. Sir Ian was a Kshatriyas, a warrior born and bred, and acted with the decisiveness that had won him a thousand skirmishes and no small number of wars. He roared again, this time casting his eye over all the assembled women of the British Imperial Household.

"Now hear this, we will be in India for generations to come. We will teach these bloody wogs to be civilized if we need to slaughter half of them to do it. That being said, this isn't bloody Cornwall, and I will not lose half of you to fever every single season because you are wearing a cannon's weight in broadcloth like we were shivering in Whitehall at midwinter. You will take direction from Akshara in how to dress for local conditions. Her instructions are my instructions, and will be obeyed!"

The idea he had just delivered his daughters, and the wives and daughters of the whole British mission into Hindu slavery would be some years sinking in.

Akshara took charge of the young girls of the mission, those old enough to marry, who required proper dress and deportment for civil affairs and society, and who required enough Hindi for social occasions with the local ruling class. She began by removing her Saree, and allowing the girls to feel the smooth and blessedly cool silk. She pretended unconcern as the overburdened English women looked upon her golden body, so firm and toned, exotically bangled and henna painted, moving with an unconscious sensual grace that would make a leopardess growl in appreciation, and felt immediately not only inferior but inexplicably drawn to her.

"The key is breathing, your skin need to breathe in the dry heat of Grishma Ritu, the wet heat of Monsoon, or the fever will take you. Your own fabrics are designed to keep the heat in, and in India you will not survive it. I have brought for you undergarments as worn by women in this land. and note that with your large hoop skirts and these garments you will be blessedly cool. I will take one of you as an example, one who is bold enough, and pretty enough to show us what an English rose looks like in a Hindu garden" Akshara looked at the twins as she said this, and as one they both volunteered.

Calling her assistants, Akshara enjoyed slowly stripping the girls before their peers. Making them stay still and pretend they were not helplessly aroused as Akshara ran her hands all over their naked bodies and directed the ladies of her staff to do the same before dressing them in the underwear common to the prostitutes of the local tribe. It was the custom of the local tribe to prostitute their daughters and sisters, but to marry a chaste woman from another tribe. The women of this tribe were famed for their natural inclination as prostitutes the whole breadth of the Hindu world, and by dressing the English women in their underwear, she was instilling in the other Hindu women the knowledge of what the English women truly were. The instruction of those women was already begun.

"Now," Akshara continued. "with just this one small scrap of silk beneath your great hoop skirts, you will be just as covered as before, only air will move freely about your legs, your flanks, your bottoms, caressing you with each gust and stir. Moving over your legs in a constant feather like caress of cooling Indian blessing"

She watched as the images of secret nakedness, and hidden constant Indian caresses played into the sheltered English women's minds. Now that they were heated up, it was time to stoke the fires until reason was something they were no longer capable of. Clapping her hands, Akshara called in a liquid burst of Hindi for her women to begin playing, and without a word, she began to dance.

Her Saree was a proper garment, as her undergarments were also proper, yet her form was lush and toned, and unlike these English virgins, or unsatisfied white wives, she had a Hindu bull at home who had the power of Shiva, the patience of Brahma, and the dark magnificent cock of a line of kings that went back before these barbarians learned to paint themselves blue before killing their neighbors. She danced with the full sensual awareness of a lover who is well and frequently loved, with a joy that shone through, but a formal grace that made the most complex English court dance look like a sailor's drunken jig on the foredeck.

Speaking softly, she said, "I will teach you to dance in the Indian fashion, so that you too can move with grace so that you will not embarrass your husbands and fathers when they have Princes by the dozen in attendance of their social functions here" She continued with the calm assurance of the cobra as she sank the fangs of desire deep into them "If you are good students, I may ask the Majordomo, my lord husband Vivek to dance for you as well. He is trained both by the local temple as Brahmin priest, and by the finest noble tutors, as his blood is that of the former kings or Raj's of the Chandelas dynasty."

Taking them into the classroom set aside for the wives and daughters of the British Mission, Akshara laid a copy of a richly bound book on each of the tables for a quartet of girls to share.

"Part of the job I have been given is to prepare you to be good wives for your husbands here in India. This will be especially hard, as your men will continually be surrounded by Indian women, many of whom excel in the arts I will be teaching you. If you do not work hard to study these arts, you will stand little chance of getting or keeping a husband with a suitable position here In India."

The girls opened the Kamasutra, and their instruction in the proper role of both wives and prostitutes began. Sir Ian would be shocked to know that it was not other noble women who Akshara had brought in, but professional prostitutes, who spent days in between yoga lessons and Hindu lessons, teaching the girls how to perform fellatio, how to avoid becoming pregnant in the wrong season by offering their ass, and letting their husband...or lover...cum in their mouths instead of their pussies.

By the end of the month, the prostitutes were using small dildo's to train the girls and wives in the arts of taking Hindu cock in the bum and mouth, the little brown prostitutes taking great delight in sodomizing the pretty English girls, and Akshara taking a riding crop to them when the English girls failed to perform properly.

It was time to take the class to the next level. She sent a runner to her husband, it was time for Vivek to dance for them.

Part of every lesson Akshara had the prostitutes repeat to the impressionable young women was how they would sleep with the English men for money, after all, they didn't take long, and didn't have much in the way of a cock, but it was only so they could spend time with Hindu men, the more the better, as only they could give true pleasure to a woman.

Two of the officer's wives had initially insisted in the superiority of white men, but the Hindu prostitutes had quickly taught them to beg for Hindu cock with their dildo's and tongues, teaching the poor white wives that English sex was not even close to the sacred tantric beauty of true Hindu love. They also had to break it to the white wives that the dildo's being used were training ones, only about half as long and thick as a Hindu husbands penis, which caused the white wives to beg for real Hindu cock.

Akshara watched as Vivek entered the room, no longer the smiling majordomo, but the stern judge, the fierce prince, the oncoming storm. He danced the dance of Shiva and Parvati, his shirt loose to show the hard muscles of his chest and abdominals, his great cock half hard, showing against his pants like the swaying trunk of a hungry elephant as he danced. The girls began to touch their breasts, for they had been beaten if they touched their privates without instruction, and their arousal was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Vivek danced, and Akshara responded, dancing opposite her husband, the tension between them telling a story of love and power. The devotion of Parvati and the power of Shiva were danced so the young English girls were consumed with lust.

Vivek ended the dance with a final stomp, glaring at the room in unquestionable dominance, he held them silent for several seconds with the power of his gaze, then he turned to his wife and slapped her shapely ass five times hard.

"Wife, you have aroused your husband, and we are not at home for you to attend to my needs. This is disgraceful behaviour. How do you plan to make it right?" This was for the English girls, as Vivek usually found a reason to spank his wife before sex, or she would create one. No this was a time to push the English girls to make the final step, to admit the need for Hindu loving.

Bernice spoke first, "My lord, we have been studying the Kamasutra under your lady wife, we beg you to show us how a husband takes a wife so that we may one day be even a tenth a gracious a wife as she is"

Her twin sister was blushing just as red, her fingers tugging unconsciously on her prominent nipples half visible through the sheer tops that had replaced the heavy wool of their tops. She whimpered and begged.

"Lord Vivek please, we have seen pictures of Hindu cock in the book, and in the statues, but we have never seen one in real. Can they really be that much better than white ones?"

Vivek turned and looked at them sternly. Akshara knelt before him, stroking his rock hard cock through his pants, making it clear to all the English women in the room that she felt truly blessed to even touch his Hindu cock. He shook his finger at them and spoke at last.

"What goes on between a man and a woman is a sacred mystery, but I am a priest. There is the festival of Maha Shivaratr at the temple Khajuraho where you might be initiated into the mysteries. If you swear by your Christ, by Lord Shiva and the great goddess Parvati that you will take part in this initiation and help raise money for the restoration of the temple your people have vandalized, I will consent to letting you see the tantric mysteries between Hindu husband and wife."

Both Bernice and Tara dropped to their knees and kissed his slippered feet. Begging as loud as they could, they swore before Christ, Shiva, Parvati, Brahma, and Vishnu that they would offer themselves for initiation at Maha Shivartr to raise money for the restoration of the temple if only he would consent to show them how a Hindu husband took his wife. The babble of the other English women rose to shake the walls as they rushed to do the same before Vivek roared in a commanding voice.

"Be silent! Undisciplined children, pale flawed and unexciting copies of real Hindu women, because my beloved wife has begged this favour for you, and because you have bound yourself to serve the temple during Maha Shivaratr, I will grace you with the sight of my cock, and the smallest taste of what Hindu love is like."

Turning to the twin Governor's redheaded white daughters, he instructed them.

"Remove my slippers, pants and underwear, taking care to show proper reverence and respect. As you have delayed my wife's pleasure with your begging, you can do her work in preparing my cock for her pussy. You will use your mouths as instructed to prepare me to mount my wife, and you will use your mouth on her to prepare her for being mounted by a real man, with a strong Hindu cock."

Both Bernice and Tara raced to strip Vivek, kissing and sucking his toes as they removed his slippers, then kissing up his legs when he stepped out of his pants. Tara began to suck Vivek's cock into her mouth, even as Tara began to lap at his great and heavy balls.

Akshara walked to her husband, kissing him deeply and sensuously as he was serviced by the two virgin daughters of the Governor of India she whimpered with awe as he grabbed Bernice by her long red hair, and pulled her off his rampant cock, pushing her face into his wife's pussy to prepare her for the fury of his pending assault.

Aware of his audience, Vivek practiced his yogic breath control to keep his passion from making him erupt in the virgin mouth of the English Governor's daughter. He waited until Akshara screamed in a powerful orgasm under Bernice's tongue before pushing aside the two white women and taking his wife to the hilt in one stroke.

Grabbing her hair, he bent her back in a bow, and her hands went backwards to cup his hips as he took her like a storm. Pounding her with a passion, listening to her cries of unfeigned ecstasy, it took every ounce of his control to keep from cumming right away.

Pushing her forward, he placed a bare foot upon his wife's cheek, pressing her head to the ground as he drove her pussy balls deep into her upraised womanhood.