King of a Distant Country Ch. 01-03

She rolled me onto my back and straddled me with her sex over my face, taking my member into her mouth and mewling and sucking like a babe at its mother's teat. The sight of her spread yoni just above my face created some kind of madness born of lust in me and I lunged upwards and plunged my tongue into her salty depths. This met with her approval, for she proceeded to rub her sopping yoni all over my face. I could taste my own seed along with her secretions and although the thought is distasteful to me now, at the time it drove me wild and I thrust up at her willing mouth and used it like I would customarily use her yoni. I have never experienced such ecstasy before in my life. I was as out of control as a bolting stallion and Cat was along for the ride. She ground her sex against my face while forcing her mouth to accommodate more of my rampant member. I felt my crisis drawing near and thrust deep into her throat. The stout-hearted maid did not miss a beat but gulped at me, sending delicious pulses through my lingam and up my spine to explode in my brain. All the while her hips jerked frantically and I seized her sex lips between my teeth and chewed upon them in my frenzy. We both spent almost simultaneously and I blacked out momentarily as I pumped the scalding seed into that gripping, sucking softness. I heard her mewing as my consciousness faded.

(Editor's Note: Now we begin to see the wretched man's true nature. I regret to inform the reader that there is more, and worse, in a similar vein.)

I woke this morning feeling refreshed and rested and in better spirits than for some time. The situation at court has preyed on my mind of late. I doubt that old Mansoor will last the year out. He is grown so frail and rheumy-eyed of late, it cannot be long before he meets his maker. He may be a cruel old buzzard but, in the main, he has played fair by me and my salary is paid every quarter on the nose. I doubt his people love him but they do not hate him. He has been largely oblivious to them and if he has done little to alleviate their sufferings, he has not added to them. The court is like a State within a State, insular, corrupt, lascivious in the extreme. The common folk, by contrast, are a cheerful bunch. They go about their daily lives in relative harmony with one another. It is as if their contention with nature is sufficient evil unto the day. Theirs is a hard life, bound to the whims of the weather and the vagaries of their beliefs. If a white cow decides to eat the tender shoots of their crops, they will simply stand and watch, unable, because of their religion, to drive it off.

It may seem strange to western eyes, but the Palace has little intercourse with the city or the surrounding countryside. The people will desist from their labours and make a deep obeisance if some functionary happens to be passing but the day-to-day affairs of the populace are ordered more by the Brahmins than the Musselmen of the court. It is an arrangement that they accept with equanimity. Life at the Palace is entirely different. Most of the courtiers have some sort of titular occupation but few do any actual work. I am viewed with suspicion because I take my duties seriously and spend at least part of every day with the soldiers. I have constantly to devise drills and evolutions to keep the men busy. I have instituted standing anti-Dacoit patrols and we have enjoyed some small successes in nipping threatened incursions in the bud. We have also begun the business of building flood defences in those parts where the flooding was most severe last year. The monsoon is imminent once more and I would wish to avoid a repetition of last year's depredations. It is surprising to me that nothing similar has been attempted previously. Perhaps the natural fatalism of the inhabitants has stifled such initiatives but I think it more likely that they have simply wanted for any sort of leadership. Of course, those in the Palace excuse their inactivity by ascribing all natural disasters to the ‘will of Allah.' It seems to me that Allah might help those who help themselves, as the Christian proverb goes.

November 1869

His Highness Mansoor Iqbal Khan, Nizzam of Nambhustan, died yesterday at about three in the afternoon. The funeral was today and a very ornate affair it was too, they must have been preparing for weeks. A period of thirty days' mourning has been declared during which time all must refrain from any kind of revelry, no fires are to be lit, except on the burning ghats, and men are to refrain from having relations with their wives or concubines. As yet, no successor has been acknowledged and the political mayhem within the Palace has scaled new heights. No less than eleven of his nibs' closer relatives have been seen off since the old boy died. Since the demise of Sikkander Khan, the succession has been a matter of conjecture. It now looks to be a case of ‘last man standing.'

Unrest has spread to the town, too, which I was not expecting. There is always the odd troublemaker and a few ‘budmashes' have appeared from under some stone or other to foment the unpleasantness further. To date, I have kept the troops in barracks but may have to intervene if order is not restored soon. I am desirous of keeping the army out of the politicking; it is always best if the army is seen to be the arm of the State and not some upstart's plaything. We have a standing guard on the arsenal and infantry magazines just in case any of the local bad hats find themselves suddenly fall victim to an idea. The barracks is off limits to anyone from the Palace save me and my immediate servants. Thus I hope to contain any infection, it remains to be seen if I will be successful.

Bazaar rumours run rife. There is much talk that some distant-cousin fourteen-times-removed from over the frontier is mobilising his tribesmen to come and seize the throne. Given equal credence is the story that the British will come and absorb the country into the Raj and yet another tale that would have us invaded by some Mogul Prince from Oudh. Needless to say, each rumour starts a fresh panic in a different section of the population. I have removed household to a bungalow next to the barracks. It is not as comfortable as my old quarters but I feel more at ease away from the internecine warfare taking place within the court. Even Baljit, usually serenity itself, has been moved to observe that these are dangerous times. Cat is happy to be out of the seraglio and is reassured by the presence of the guards I have placed around the bungalow. I do not believe we are in any serious danger but innocents may also be killed by crossfire.

December 1869

With great reluctance, I fear I shall have to use the army to restore order. Since the old Nizzam died we have seen two would-be successors arise only to be murdered, one by a rival and one by the mob. The madness at the palace spread to the town about a week past and different factions have been roaming the streets. They set upon anyone with a different allegiance and a pall of smoke hangs over Nambhupore from the many fires started by the rioters. I have armed the Lancers with lathis, stout bamboo sticks about four feet in length, and tomorrow we shall impose some discipline on the city.

The following day

I find myselfde facto ruler of Nambhustan. Once troops appeared in the bazaar, order was restored with a minimum of difficulty. I decided to take a squadron of cavalry up to the Palace. The place was a disaster area. I imposed martial law forthwith and rounded up any who chose to dispute this. There are now some sixteen minor nobles languishing in the cells. I know it won't stop the intrigue completely but it might give most of the warring factions pause. Towards evening, I was greeted by a deputation of the townsfolk who requested that the General-Sahib formally take charge of the country. This has caused me something of a dilemma. If I do make myself ruler on a permanent basis it will not sit well with the Raj. If I step aside at present, anarchy will reign once more. I can see already that the longer I am in charge, the more difficult it will become to relinquish the reins of power. It would be better if I could find a successor who is agreeable to all but this looks unlikely. I shall have to give the matter considerable thought.

Christmas Eve

Tomorrow is the feast of Christ's Nativity and if I am the sole Christian in Nambhustan, I intend to honour the occasion as best as I may. I have bought gifts for Cat and Baljit and have arranged a lavish dinner for the morrow. It won't be goose, of course, but one must mark the day somehow.

Things have been peaceful for the past few days and this morning it was the turn of the representatives of the city's merchants to press me to formally appoint myself as ruler. Unrest is bad for business, of course, so they would support anyone who promises a strong and peaceable rule. I have organised something of a government from among the more able and level-headed of the court and they, too, implore me to take the vacant throne. Ramnesh Lal is of the opinion that army would definitely approve of such a move and, in truth, apart from my own reluctance, I can see no better course of action as things stand. I have promised all concerned that they shall have my decision after the feast. This will give a day of contemplation during which to make up my mind.

There are a number of complications. For example, I will ‘inherit' a multiplicity of hangers-on – all in receipt of Royal pensions. Then there is the small matter of some four hundred concubines, thirty eunuchs, sixteen elephants and treasury stacked from floor to ceiling with gold, silver and precious stones. I will also find myself the owner of a round dozen residences and hunting lodges and a vast army of bearers, sweepers, syces, punkah-wallahs and the like. My head was spinning so much that I had to summon Cat and have her give me one of her Siamese massages. That ended up with me giving her a royal rogering. I swear that the woman has buttocks of sprung steel.

To be continued…

January 1870

All hail King Harry of Nambhustan! I declined the title of Nizzam and adopted that of my native England. I hope this will appease both Hindoo and Musselman alike, having no connotations to either religion. My coronation was a splendid farce. I thought at one point that the crowd would be trampled by the elephants, so close did they rush to the procession to glimpse their new ruler. We had to suspend events for a while until the army could push them back. In the resulting turmoil, one of the food stalls got knocked over and the fire then spread to part of the bazaar. We only prevented a further proliferation of the conflagration by pulling down the houses to the east of the marketplace. It was fully three hours before the solemnities could be resumed. By that time, I was as pissed as a Judge, having spent the intervening period getting myself outside a couple of bottles of bubbly.

The entire court, en elephant, tramped about the town and back to the palace. I had Cat and Baljit in my howdah and that little Siamese minx kept grabbing at my privates and trying to stimulate me to passion throughout our progress. The alcohol I had consumed mostly thwarted her efforts but that didn't prevent Baljit getting into a terrible huff and refusing to speak to me. A couple of the elderly ladies of the harem expired from the excitement during the procession and more than one ended up her on her arse trying to alight from elephant back once we got to back to the palace. To crown it all – literally – the jeweller entrusted with the manufacture of the royal coronet had mistakenly assumed I would be wearing a turban. When they placed the thing on my noble brow it slipped down and ended up as a bloody necklace. I howled like a dog and wept with laughter. I haven't laughed so much since ‘Basher' Clayton stabbed himself in the ghoolies with the butt of a lance while pig-sticking. Poor bastard couldn't walk with his knees together for a week and a half!

My first act as monarch of this fair land was to appoint Armanath Singh to be my Prime Minister. He is a corrupt, venal, untrustworthy, lying toad and thus the ideal man for the job. As his name suggests, he is not a local but a follower of the Guru from up near Amritsah, which means, at least, that there is not a horde of relatives who all need places found for them. Friend Armanath is a very downy bird indeed but I have his measure and, as long as his fear of my wrath outweighs his avarice, we will get along. The hardest thing for me to get used to is the number of spurious ‘royal servants' that tradition demands I must have about me. I am intent on thinning the ranks a bit but it seems I will still end up with a considerable entourage. I managed to cut it down by giving each individual several appointments but even so, I am left with an irreducible core of about one hundred and fifty.

My next task was to tackle the harem. The old boy had kept every one of his concubines so there were passing four hundred women in the establishment. I held a bibi parade and ushered about three hundred and fifty of them into honourable retirement. This leaves me with getting on for sixty of the choicest morsels. I little suspected that tradition has it that I must bed them all in a single night to display my royal prowess. At least, that is what Armanath Singh insists upon, though I am at my wit's end to know how to accomplish such prodigies. I am not entirely convinced that the man isn't having a joke at my expense but the other senior courtiers all insisted this was the truth so I shall have to do my best. There is more to the business of being a Potentate than I had ever suspected.

February 1870

With a lot of help from Cat, I survived my trial by yoni. We devised a plan together that would allow me to penetrate each concubine in turn without so sapping myself of the male essence that I would be unable to do my duty beyond the first four or five. We selected one of the high audience chambers in the palace that gets the most cool air. The room was then carpeted with rose petals and fragrant oils were lit in all of the lamps. The girls were freshly bathed and perfumed and were assembled in the chamber to await the royal lingam. Cat played the role of mistress of ceremonies and sorted out a ‘batting order.' I made my grand entrance and they all prostrated themselves before me. Fifty-eight pairs of comely buttocks pointed skywards. It was as sight I will carry to my grave.

A low divan had been placed in the centre of the chamber for me to recline upon. I removed my pyjamas and lay back, not quite recumbent but yet not sitting upright. My feet were on the floor at either side of the divan. Then Cat ushered the first girl forward. I could see why she had been chosen to open the innings. She was a tall, statuesque piece whom Cat informed me was Persian. Her breasts were large and low-slung and tipped by enormous nipples. At a word from Cat, she crouched down and took my lingam between these magnificent teats, rubbing herself against me and stimulating me into readiness. On being given another command, she rose up and impaled herself on my rampant member. Sliding slowly down the entire length of my lingam until her body seemed to merge into mine. She was allowed but ten thrusts before the next in queue was summoned forth to take her place.

I was most reluctant to let her go as she had definitely begun to gain my interest. However, her replacement was equally delightful and she engulfed my lingam with a series of nibbles of her yoni so that I watched my manhood disappear into her by small stages. Her nether lips seemed to reach out and clasp me and suck me deeper at each turn. It was remarkable performance – all the more so since she was barely five feet high and as slightly built as a dancer. She had no breasts to speak of but made up for this with her amazingly prehensile cuntlips. Cat watched my reactions closely and ushered the girl away before I had the opportunity to spend. The third and the fourth girl were twins and approached me together.

One clasped the other about the waist and pressed closely against her sister's back. They then proceeded to mount me thus conjoined and by a synchronised undulation of their hips, first one and then the other took me in. They were obviously practised at this form of double lovemaking and, if hadn't been for the evidence of my own eyes, I would not have known that there were two women pleasuring me so avidly. The twins were both black Madrasi girls. I watched in wonder as the front one lifted to allow her sister to slide down on me. At each change I could see a delightful flash of pink contrasting against the dark velvet flesh. They were obviously competing with each other for the privilege of their master's seed but Cat was having none of it. Before they could work their unified magic, they were whisked away and their place was taken by a pale Rajput girl with heavy eyes and high round breasts.

The contrast could have not been greater. This one moved with infinite slowness, barely lifting herself from my lingam but applied a delicate, rhythmic rippling which spoke of great muscular control. I cannot begin to describe the sensation adequately. She was a true mistress of her art and even more impressive in the control of her yoni than Cat. Too late did Cat try to pull her away and as she hauled the reluctant girl off me, I spent my seed, fountaining into the air to splash across her belly and the underside of her breasts. It had been too much and my senses were utterly overloaded. Cat was furious with the girl. She had been unable to discern what the Rajput had been doing and thus had not been able to prevent my climax. At this point I called for refreshments and satisfied myself with a glass or two of cold nimbu pani. Alcohol would have not had assisted me in my task.

I took the opportunity afforded by this break in proceedings to study something that, increasingly, had caught my attention. To wit, the diversity of shape and structure of the various yonis on display. I summoned each girl in turn and closely examined the detailed topography of the intimate parts of each. I have been told that the Persians have identified thirty eight different types of yoni and I would hazard a guess that most of these were represented in my harem.

First, there were disparities of size. In some of the girls, the yoni was long, filling entirely the fork of the crotch. Others were much shorter, commencing their bifurcation lower and with more of a gap between the base of the yoni and that other aperture. Then there were marked differences in the plumpness of the outer lips. Some were swollen, as if stung by bees, while others were flatter and one girl had so little by way of outer protrusions that her inner lips hung quite clearly visible even when her thighs were together. There was a great range of shapes, sizes and colours when it came to examining the inner lips. Some were swirled with folds while others barely crinkled at all. Some were darker than the surrounding skin and others noticeably lighter. Those girls of a more dusky hue were most likely to have darker yonis with some, like my twins, verging on black. The prominence of these inner lips also varied enormously. The majority were visible when the girls stood before me with legs spread but there were one or two exceptions.

One girl presented only a plump, narrow slit while another would display long fleshy folds that opened like the wings of a butterfly. Another variation was to be found in the size and positioning of the jewel in the lotus itself. Some were heavily hooded and secretive while others wore only a short garment and peeped at the world at the slightest provocation. Such a study had restored my interest in the main event and I signalled to Cat that I was ready to resume. The second innings began with a small Malay girl. It was she whose yoni displayed only the plump exterior and I foolishly wondered if she was fully functional. I need not have worried for she seized my lingam enthusiastically and lowered herself rapidly on to me with a sharp hiss of her breath. What had been hidden now became wholly visible. Her inner slips were short and delicately made, to be sure, but there was nothing amiss. She had the most supple hips and gyrated in a corkscrew motion that had me gasping in no time. Cat was fully alive to this and tugged her off me at the double.