King of a Distant Country Ch. 04

This is fortunate because, on my latest foray, I started to hear the same rumour repeated over and over, like a mantra. Basically, the word in the bazaar was that the King had been killed in an expedition up country and the man who now sat on the throne was an impostor, some sort of devil who changed its appearance to resemble the good king but was utterly bent upon the ruination of the kingdom. Sensible men repeated this sort of nonsense as though it were the Gospel truth. I found one purveyor of the peculiar tale and demanded that he explain to me why he believed such utter rubbish. He looked at me askance and then coolly informed me that it must be true, he'd heard the story from one of themullahs. Adjinn had taken up residence in the palace and was busy impregnating the palace women with a host of littleafrits.Soon the entire land would be overrun by devils, great and small.

The only possible response to all this will have to be a granddurbah at which the king will present himself to the people and demonstrate that there is no truth in the outlandish stories. However, it is sadly true that there will always be those who will see conspiracies and plots where none exist and with whom one can never win. If I ignore the rumours they will see this as a tacit admission of guilt but if I refute them vigorously they will claim I'm protesting too much. Either way, they will claim, the king and government are attempting to gull them in some way although to what purpose, they are unable ever to say. Nothing I do will convince these types that nought is amiss.

It is an article of faith with them that there must be something going on and that the government or the king are obviously at the back of it. However, if I do nothing, their mad ramblings will become accepted on a wider basis and that will never do. Who knows what mischief might be worked if the people believe that the kingdom lies prey to supernatural forces.

It will take a couple of months or so to organise properly as we must summon representatives from outlying towns and villages. I made a point of despatching each messenger in person so that they might tell any who ask that the king is alive and well and they have seen this with their own eyes.

March 1873

Yesterday we held the granddurbah. Villagers and tribesmen descended on the capital and the whole of Nambhupore wasen fete for the occasion. An extremely closely-fought cricket match, which spectacle delighted the locals but puzzled the visitors to the city no end, preceded the actual solemn ceremony of thedurbah. Once the excitement died down somewhat, I gave the word and a Royal Pavilion was erected at one end of themaidan while hawkers and peddlers set up their own stalls and stands at the other. With the pavilion in place and the sun starting to set, we paraded down from the palace by torchlight. There must have been fully forty thousand people on the square and a low buzz arose as we approached.

I'd stationed my own trusted agents among the crows and these began now to hail their king in loud voices and, gratifyingly, it wasn't long before the crowd took up the chant so, by the time elephants knelt to let us disembark from the royalhoudah,the ancient walls of the city were echoing to the shouts of acclamation. I was accompanied by as manyBrahmins andMullahsas I could lay my hands on and once we were all assembled on the platform under the silken canopy I held up my hands for silence.

"Who among ye here tonight believes the king is dead and his place usurped by an evildjinn?" I cried. "Where is the child so credulous? Where is the woman so superstitious? Where is the man so foolish as to believe these things? I, King Harry, stand before you. With me are the priests and holy men. Would adjinnremain in their presence? Would not the evil one be burnt by their collective piety? I ask you now: Does anyone here believe I am not your king? If such a one exists, let him step forward without fear. Come up beside me, touch my flesh, feel the warmth of a man alive not the fire of a wild spirit nor yet the pallid chill of a corpse. Come! Satisfy yourself, examine me as you see fit. If there be any who doubt come here now and let this be an end to all such nonsense. It is true that men plotted to poison me but they failed and paid with their lives. Here I stand, your true king and your true friend."

The same low hum of conversation resumed along with much shuffling of feet and averted glances from some who had been at the forefront of spreading the tale of my demise and were now clearly being challenged by their fellows to take up my offer of examining me in person. At length, the crowd parted and a small, filthy, twisted old man clad in the meanest rags was shoved forward. "Let the guru see the King!" was the shout and the ancient itinerant holy man limped up beside me. "Spit, please, Your Highness," he said and I duly spat. His seamed face broke into a one-toothed grin. "The King is the King!" he shouted to the crowd, "For do not all men know than anaffritcan make no moisture?" The crowd took up the shout and "The King is the King" reverberated around themaidan."Say: God is great," shouted a man from below me, "For all men know that devils cannot say His name." I duly obliged and once more the chant of "The King is the King" rang out.

Sensing this was the opportune moment I clapped my hands and on this signal, a horde of cooks and servants, who were awaiting my command, made their way down into the square and began setting up a free feast for all the assembled multitude. I hired about five hundred extra staff simply to meet the size of the task and we soon had succulent sheep roasting on spits while others prepared dishes of curried vegetables and other delicacies so that both Hindoo and Musselman could gorge to their hearts' content. Soon the night was filled with the strains of music and impromptu dancing began. It was like one of the great holidays but all the better for not having been eagerly anticipated for weeks. Usually, in such cases, I find the anticipation of the event greatly superior to the actual experience. As the man said, "It is better to travel hopefully than to arrive." The same could not be said of my first experience with Cat and her sister. Whatever I may have imagined was unmatched by the reality.

Bandong, for such proved to be her name, was every bit as lithe and slender and Cat with even smaller breasts. Indeed, her bosoms were little more than the smallest bee-stings on her chest and to see her beside Baljit, for the pair were much of an age, was a startling contrast. On the other hand, her yoni was wholly unlike Cat's, being extremely long and full-lipped. Indeed, her fleshy petals protruded a good inch and a half from her plump, outer folds. Her hips and rump were nicely rounded and her dark hair fell to her waist. She was nervous when Cat first brought her too me and kept her eyes down, avoiding my gaze. I soon found this was a temporary condition for, once, the ice was broken, so to speak, she proved to be every bit as bold a baggage as her elder sister.

I commenced proceedings by gently lapping at those extraordinary lips and soon she was emitting a high-pitched squeal that put even the ever-vocal Cat in the shade. She wriggled and undulated her hips as my tongue slipped into her core and flicked back up to lave her exposed jewel. I clung to her hips and gripped her tightly to prevent her evading my flickering tongue and softly nibbling teeth. Bandong was utterly transported, her eyes rolled back in her head and she kept us this high keening as her yoni spasmed in climax not once but thrice with scarcely an interval between each one. I do believe she could have kept on with one crisis after another all night. As it was, it was Cat who pulled me away and encouraged me on to my back. Then Bandong went to work.

Her first act was to sweep me with her long, silky hair from head to toe. No other part of her touched me but it was sensational. Those little bee-sting breasts swelled to the size of oranges even if most of the swelling was chocolate brown areola and hard little nipple. Her breath hissed as I ran a finger into her sopping yoni and she gripped with it her muscles and then imparted a strong rippling sensation, the like of which I have never experienced heretofore. Such powerful clasping and rhythmic rippling boded well and I was not wrong. However, before she attempted such heightened pleasures, she lowered her head and began to sweep me with her lips and tongue where, as moment before, she had used her hair. Her lips circled my nipple and her tongue swirled about it at truly phenomenal speed. The feeling of this communicated itself straightway to my rampant lingam and I was so hard I feared my skin would like a serpent.

Her mouth trailed down my chest and stomach with aching slowness, teasing, nibbling, licking and sucking until I thought I would pass away from pure lust. At length, just as I reached the point where I believed I could stand it no longer, she pounced, taking my lingam into her mouth and sending bolts of pure pleasure coursing through my body. Not content to concentrate her ministrations on the head of my member, she pushed herself down on it, ingesting more and more of my length. I felt the tip butting against the back of her throat and she withdrew slightly, repositioned herself and then swallowed the entire damned thing. I was stunned. Her nose was pressed tight against my lower belly and her eyes were wide and locked on mine. She then did something quite incredible with the muscles of her throat and produced those same waves of sensation that she wrought upon my finger with her yoni. I cried aloud and shot my bolt, pumping a massive load of seed into her belly. She fought back the urge to choke and swallowed and pulsed her throat muscles until I was wholly spent. The sensation grew too intense and I was forced to push her away.

I lay there gasping and panting like a stranded fish, my mind roiled in turmoil occasioned by such exquisite physical pleasure. And to think, she is but some seventeen or eighteen. Cat watched this performance through narrowed eyes before falling upon me and pushing her breasts into my face, demanding that I suckle upon them. Baljit's reaction was one of utter fascination as though, like me, she was not quite able to believe what had taken place. She crawled over beside me and pressed herself against my flank, her heavy breast flopping on to my chest. She asked me in a whisper what it felt like and I could only sigh, "Amazing." Bandong, now recovered, helped herself to some wine and chattered to her sister. Cat said "She says she has never done that with so large a lingam. The ambassador was not blessed as you are, my lord." I could only grin dreamily by way of reply.

May 1873

My immediate household has either swollen to three others or reduced to just Baljit and I, it is hard to say which circumstance applies with any certainty. Cat and Bandong seem to have taken the harem by storm. Bandong's ability to sustain a state of climax for hours at a time is something of a wonder and the harem girls work shifts, lapping at her phenomenally sensitive yoni while Cat cradles her sister's head and the latter suckles on Cat's breasts while she shudders and thrashes from one peak of passion to the next. They come to me when I summon them and I must confess that this is not all that often, the sensations imparted by Bandong's muscular throat or twitching yoni are almost too intense to be repeated over much. Cat has grown strange, slightly fey, one might think and exhibits all the signs of jealousy when her sister lavishes her attentions on me. I cannot say which of us is the object of her envy. I have questioned Baljit but she merely shrugs and tells me these things will pass. Cat has been separated from her sibling for so long, she is now uncertain how to react and Bandong is turning out to be something of a spoiled brat, demanding the attentions of the other girls and, because of her young age and peculiarly strong responses, has become a pet among them.

I try to get to the other harem girls every couple of months but, to be quite frank, I find increasingly that the prospect lacks appeal. Tupping sixty-odd females may sound like every young rake's dream but the reality is unfortunately different. It demands limitless self-control and leaves me sore and aching for a couple of days after each lengthy bout. I can manage about fifteen at a time so there are four or five sessions to be got through and, in the days following, my appetite for carnal matters is much diminished. It is possible after all to have too much of a good thing.

My real worry, however, is Cat. Her mental state is causing me definite concern. She can be seen about the place, slack-jawed, eyes unfocussed and walking like a somnambulist. Whenever I try to address the matter with her, her face clears and she insists that everything is fine, I am imagining things and that she has never been happier now that she is reunited with her sister. All other evidence, however, points to the contrary but I cannot fathom what the problem should be.

On the positive side, Miss Emma Jones seems to have come to her senses and we reached an accord whereby she may continue to prosthelsyse her religious beliefs as along as she does not preach sedition against either the kingdom or my person. It has taken a while but I do believe that she understands that I have these people's interests at heart and am not the vile exploiter that she first imagined. In fact, it could be said that our relations are now most cordial and although she professes to despise me still, she does join me for a drink or a meal with increasing frequency. Now that the odious Piepsecker has departed to plague somebody else with his homespun philosophy and sanctimonious scribblings, we are two of only a handful of Europeans in Nambhustan and, consequently, are thrown much upon each other's company.

July 1873

I will confess that I little imagined that Emma Jones and I would ever become lovers but such an unlikely occurrence has come to pass. I have already related how we reached an accommodation and I have to confess it came as no surprise me after the little bazaar rumours I planted that she has not managed one conversion, much to her chagrin. She blamed me for this state of affairs originally but has now to own that I have played no hand in her lack of progress. I haven't bothered to disabuse her.

One evening we were sitting on my terrace with Baljit enjoying the relief of a cooling breeze and some longnimbu paniwhen I happened to mention Cat's worryingly strange demeanour of late. Emma was all solicitude, promising to spend some time in Cat's company and get to the root of the trouble. Our conversation then turned to what she termed the lasciviousness prevalent in hot climes. It is her contention that the heat of the sun so affects the temperature of the blood that, in the white races at least, it counterfeits true passion, making men more demanding and women more prone to seduction. She claimed that she did not ever have one impure thought back home in Birmingham but since arriving in Nambhustan, had often been plagued by an itching in her loins that was previously unfamiliar to her.

Baljit muttered to me that was all humbug. The reason Emma felt able to disport herself and indulge in unimagined lewdness was that there was no one here to censure her. Of the two explanations, I find Baljit's theory the more compelling. Be that as it may, the upshot was that Emma attempted to vamp me in the most clumsy fashion imaginable. It appeared she had forgotten her punishment session entirely or, rather, she chose to pretend it never happened. She asked me archly, and in as roundabout a fashion as it is possible to ask a question and still have the object of the interrogation understand one's meaning, whether or not I ever felt the lack of a white woman. I answered truthfully that I did not. The more exotic ladies of my harem have much to commend them over their paler sisters, I replied. For a start, they were quite happy to ask for what they wanted and made an effort to please their man. Did she not find this with her Asian lovers?

At this she coloured prettily and denied any liaisons other than the one, the undeniable one, with Jahengir Khan that brought his death and her humiliation. She confessed that she had long admired me (a lie) and that she wished that she should could be as free of morals and inhibitions as my concubine (a hand waved at Baljit) while completely forgetting that said concubine speaks excellent English and understood every word. Baljit grinned at me and yawned ostentatiously. "Why don't you just get on with it and ask His Majesty to fuck you?" she asked and Emma blushed scarlet to the roots of her hair. Baljit led her into our chamber and started to help Emma undress. I caught the tone of voice if not the words exchanged. It appeared to me that Emma was protesting and Baljit was telling her not to be a hypocrite.

All went silent as Baljit took Emma down to the bathhouse attached to our rooms while I sat on the veranda and smoked a cheroot and waited for them to complete their ablutions. The next thing I heard was Baljit softly calling my name. "She's in there," she said nodding towards our sleeping quarters. "I won't come in for the moment – better give her time to get used to the idea she's a 'fallen harlot' or somesuch rubbish she was spouting in the bath." She gave me a quick kiss on the lips, grabbed my lingam and whispered, "Save some for me," before disappearing into the main palace corridor.

I opened the door to the chamber slowly, not wishing to alarm Emma. I needn't have bothered, she was sprawled across the big bed in as abandoned a style as any wanton. Her big mat of pubes had re-grown but, even, so, I could see the pearly glint of moisture on her ample lips and her eyes were heavily lidded and her speech thick with lust. I said not a word but stripped off my clothes and jumped up beside her. I seized a good handful of her luxuriant pubes and tugged firmly in an up and down motion. Her initial shriek of outrage gave way to a low rumble of contentment as the motion I'd initiated had the effect of moving the hood of her jewel back and forth across that little button's sensitive surface, exactly as I planned. I leaned over and captured the tip of one of her large breasts in my mouth, grazing it with my teeth and worrying it into a firm stalk while tugging on her maidenhair all the while.

Emma wriggled a little and her knees fell even wider apart and I took this as an invitation to insinuate a finger into her. She was dripping wet as though she'd suffered her own personal monsoon and I used the liquid to moisten her rear entrance and soon shoved two fingers in her yoni and one up her arse while she shrilled a complaint with her voice but shoved her backside at me to give easier access to my probing fingers. "Emma," I told her, "You are a royal pain in the arse or should that be a pain in the Royal Arse. For Christ's sake stop pretending and let yourself go. I promise that we'll both enjoy it a whole lot more if we're not constantly stopping for imagined moral boundaries or misplaced sensibilities."

At once she burst into tears and to prevent any great outburst of self-loathing or recrimination, I stuck my lingam into her mouth. That seemed to turn the trick for she gobbled it like she was starving and with my prick in her mouth and my hand up her yoni, she reached her first climax. After that it was plain sailing. Once the first crisis was over I turned her onto her back and went at her with a will. The force of my thrustings made her buttocks wobble in the most jolly fashion and after she came once more, I shifted my aim, ploughing into her fundament without so much as a murmur. Her fingers were a blur on her button and I could hear the sloppy, sloshing noises as she fingered herself to yet another orgasm. Her cries of ignited passion combined with the pulsing contractions of her internal muscled served to push me over the edge and soon I was pumping another load of seed into her bowels. This time, however, she was fully conscious throughout and urged me on to greater efforts with cries of "Harder! Faster!" etcetera.