Marchwood Ch. 05: Venus in India

Marchwood had been allocated a very pleasant bungalow in the officers' lines with a shady verandah and a little garden with a tree and many perfumed flowers. He was also allocated his own bearer, Banerjee, who looked after his uniforms and served drinks and snacks. Banerjee spoke quite good English, having served a number of English officers. However, he was quite surprised when Marchwood expressed his wish to learn Hindi. However, he was soon teaching Marchwood words for everyday things and so they passed to conversing in a mixture of Hindi and English.

Marchwood quickly became attached to another young subaltern, by the name of Leadbetter, in his company who had been in India a little longer than he had. Leadbetter took it upon himself to act as Marchwood mentor and show him the ropes. One afternoon Leadbetter and a couple of other young officers suggested that Marchwood should visit the local bazaar with them. Marchwood was keen to indulge in a little local shopping and for half an hour or so they wandered among the market stalls, occasionally stopping to haggle in broken Hindi for some item.

"I say does anyone fancy finding some girls?" asked Lieutenant Mitchell who was one of the party. "I know just the place."

Mitchell led them through a maze of alleyways until they came to an ancient looking door on which he knocked. A tough looking Indian peered out suspiciously but then, recognising Mitchell, admitted the group of officers. Marchwood wondered where he was being taken but felt it would be churlish to refuse the invitation, especially as his fellow officers were all so enthusiastic. The doorman led them through to an inner room where a few other Europeans including some other officers were lazing around on divans and cushions. Some were smoking cheroots and hookah pipes while others were drinking and Marchwood could not fail to notice that a number were also consorting with young Indian women. In some cases dandling them on their knees. One officer even appeared to be fondling the breasts of a young Indian lady under her sari.

Marchwood did not know what to make of this. He had only visited a bordello once before and that was Mrs Cummings' hotel where matters had been conducted far more discreetly than this. For a couple of minutes he perched on a chair dazedly observing the cavorting of his fellow clients. Then a young woman of no more than twenty years sat down beside him and placed her arm around him. Looking into her face he noticed she had the most enormous dark eyes outlined in kohl and was rather beautiful.

"Sahib very handsome," she said. "Sahib maybe like to have good time with me."

Marchwood was uncertain how to respond to this but before he could reply the young lady slipped one hand into his groin and began to feel his manhood through this trousers. He groaned inwardly wondering how he could resist such a direct importuning as this.

"Sahib very big man," said the courtesan. Come now and I show you good time,"

In a daze he allowed himself to be taken by the hand and led along a corridor to a small room containing a large bed and a washstand. The young lady gently pushed him back on the bed and to his surprise climbed on top so she was straddling his legs.

"Will Sahib permit?" she asked and without further ado began to unbutton his flies.

Marchwood was stunned, part of him wanted to push off the courtesan and flee from the place but another part of him was intrigued as to what it would be like to make love to his first Indian lady. She was after all rather attractive and it was some time since he had enjoyed his frolic with Mrs Cummings so he was in need to release. Before he could make a choice the girl reached inside his trousers and pulled out his semi-erect phallus. She began to gently rub it and soon had it in a fully aroused state so it was standing to attention like one of Marchwood's sepoys.

Marchwood wanted to resist but he was powerless. His desire for the whore overcame any scruples he might have. When she then locked her lips around his raging pole and began to suck on it he could do little but lie back and enjoy her pleasuring him. Marchwood wondered whether the girl would fellate him to climax or whether he might get the chance to enjoy penetrating one of her other orifices. His Hindi was still very rudimentary and the prostitute seemed to speak very little English. Once again, before he could take and action for himself the girl took matters into her own hands.

As soon as she had obtained a really firm erection, the girl knelt upright on the bed and began to unwind her sari from her body, carefully folding it and placing it on a chair by the bed. Underneath she was entirely naked. Marchwood had never viewed a naked Indian lady before and what he saw pleased him immensely. Of course the girl had darkish brown skin but to him this was no fault and he admired her pert breasts each surmounted by an exquisite brown nipple. Like many Indian women the hair or her arms was rather darker and thicker than usual among Europeans but again to Marchwood this was no demerit. In fact, when he lowered his gaze and observed the lush forest of dark pubic hair adorning her nether regions he was considerably aroused. Marchwood was a devotee of the bushier lady and the sight of the whore's rampant Mount of Venus made him want to bury his tool deep in the cleft covered by this thick vegetation.

The girl positioned herself over him straddling his hips and grasping his now throbbing member she guided it towards the entrance to her well-oiled shaft. With a downward thrust of her hips she impaled herself on his prick pushing it deep into the moist recess of her hairy cunt. Marchwood enjoyed a moment of intense pleasure as he felt the velvety folds of her pussy envelope his hardened tool. Then she began slowly and rhythmically to grind he hips up and down on him, almost releasing his cock from the grasp of her soft fanny and then plunging it deep into her dark cleft. The sensations were exquisite and Marchood knew that he would not be able to hold on for long. After a couple of minutes of vigorous pumping he could feel himself ready to climax. He would have liked to ask the girl whether he could attempt penetration of her tightest orifice but it was too late, his orgasm was imminent and then he was ejaculating deep into her womb in a short but pleasurable climax. For a moment the girl rested astride him in the St George pose.

She smiled and said, "Is good Sahib?".

"Ah yes," panted Marcwhood, "Most satisfactory."

He suddenly realised he had not paid the girl. She was dismounting from his and then quickly dressed hersely by skilfully wrapping the sari around her body.

"How much?" he asked.

"Ten rupees, Sahib," she replied.

"This seemed a great deal of money for a few minutes work. Marchwood had no idea of the going rate for a prostitute in India but he had the distinct impression he was being overcharged.

"That seems rather a lot," he objected.

"Sahib no want to pay," said the girl, suddenly no longer smiling in an alluring fashion but looking distinctly menacing.

"Well no.... it's just that..." Marchwood stammered.

Before he could say any more the girl opened the door and beckoned down the corridor. In a trice a huge Indian ruffian with a large knife in his belt was standing in the doorway.

"Sahib have pleasure, now sahib must pay," he said threateningly.

Without further hesitation, Marcwhood handed over ten rupees, almost all he had in his purse, and fled from the rapacious pair. He found Leadebetter smoking and drinking a glass of whisky.

"I say old man you look like you saw a ghost," Leadbetter commented. Did you at least have a good fuck?"

"Well yes," admitted Marchwood. "But I think I may have been overcharged and when I tried to complain this villain threatened me with a knife."

"How much did she charge you then?" asked Leadbetter.

"Well, ten rupees actually," Marchwood admitted.

"My god man, you were robbed," Leadbetter replied looking surprised. For that I would expect to have the girl all night and in all three holes and still expect to get some change. Still you live and learn."

Marchwood had to endure some merciless ribbing from his fellow officers once they were all together again and for his first few months in the regiment his nickname became Ten Rupees Marchwood until he was able to live it down.

Chapter 4 Marchwood goes to the ball

The next Marchwood woke up with a sore and itchy cock. At first he tried to ignore it and get on with his duties. He had to inspect his platoon in their barracks and then supervise target practice on the range.

The following day his prick was on fire and when he examined it there were patches which we red and raw under his foreskin. He began to worry that he had maybe picked up some dreadful venereal disease from the bazaar girl. He had been warned about this when he first arrived in India and now regretted his decision to join his fellow officers in visiting the brothel. There was only one thing for it, he must consult Major McIntyre and find out the worst. He had visions of himself being medically discharged from the army and perhaps ending up with his brain rotting from syphilis in some dreadful asylum.

When he presented himself at the sick bay Dr Mcintyre ushered him into his consulting room and asked him what he could do for him.

"Well doctor it's a bit embarrassing, I am not quite sure how to explain things..." said Marchwood haltingly.

"Dinnae fret laddie, I am sure it's nothing I havnae seen before," said Macintyre reassuringly.

"Well I have got this sort of itchy rash," Marchwood went on.

"Dinnae tell me, it's on your privates and ye had a wee visit to one o' the bazaar girls recently," added McIntyre as if he could read his mind.

"Well as a matter of fact yes, Major," he replied.

"Very well, drop your trews and let's take a look," demanded McIntyre.

Marchwood was now red with embarrassment but followed the doctor's order and unbuttoned his trousers letting then fall around his ankles. The major peered at his flaccid penis and then to his shock reached out and pulled back his foreskin exposing the ugly sore red patches and white discharge beneath.

"Noo what we have here laddie is a classic case of candiasis, commonly known as thrush. Ye're in luck if you had gonorrhoea or syphilis then we might need to worry but thrush is eminently treatable and you should be right as rain in a few days," the Major explained.

Marchwood breathed an almighty sigh of relief.

"So what's the treatment?" he asked.

"Here apply this ointment to the offending organ three times a day and keep away from those bazaar girls would be my advice," the doctor replied.

Marchwood hastily pulled up his trousers and fled with his tube of ointment as soon as he could get away.

Back in his bungalow he applied some of the ointment and immediately felt its soothing effect. He was heartily relieved but kicked himself for his stupidity is visiting the brothel. He had not only been fleeced but had risked picking up a serious disease. The problem was where could he find a sexual outlet in this remote posting in the middle of India. White women were few and far between and the few on the camp were mainly the wives of fellow officers who seemed hardly likely to want to offer themselves to him.

Later that afternoon Marchwood was sitting on the verandah of his bungalow reading a book a sipping a refreshing glass of lime juice supplied by his bearer, Banerjee. He looked up to see an attractive middle-aged woman standing in his front garden.

"Mr Marchwood I presume," she said on a low contralto voice.

Marchwood sprang to his feet and replied, "At your service Ma'am."

"Ah excellent, let me introduce myself," the lady continued. "I am Mrs Forsythe, the Colonel's wife. How nice to meet you."

"And likewise you," replied Marchwood stepping forward and taking Mrs Forsythe's gloved hand and shaking it. "Won't you come in and take a glass of lime juice or a cup of tea."

As she stepped into the shade of the verandah, Marchwood was able to observe the Colonel's wife more closely. She was aged perhaps forty, certainly considerably younger than her husband and she still retained a fine ample figure. She clearly took pains to avoid the hot Indian sun as her skin was pale and unmarked by sunburn. Beneath her large straw hat tendrils of dark hair were trying to escape, suggesting a woman who was outwardly very prim and proper but who struggled to suppress hidden desires. When she looked at him directly, her deep blue eyes flashed some kind of hidden message.

Mrs Forsythe accepted the offer of tea and Banerjee was dispatched to supply this.

After some small talk about how Marchwood was settling in and how hot the weather was Mrs Forsythe came to the subject of her visit after taking a few sips from her china teacup.

"Well Mr Marchwood I am sure you are wondering why the Colonel's wife is visiting you when I am sure you are very busy with your manifold duties," she began.

"It is an honour to welcome you to my humble little abode," Marchwood replied, ever courteous.

"Well the fact of the matter is that we have our regimental ball in a fortnight. It is really the highlight of our very limited social season here in Amalabad," Mrs Forsythe explained. "Of course all the officers and their wives will be there together with everyone of rank in the European community, the District Officer, the Magistrate, the Chief of Police and so on. An excellent chance for you to make your acquaintance with everyone of note in the locality."

"I am sure I should not miss it for the world," replied Marchwood.

"Excellent," responded Mrs Forsythe. "Now there is just one regimental tradition that you should observe. At his first regimental ball it is customary for a new officer to ask the commanding officer's wife for the first dance. I just thought it might be helpful to alert you to this so you can observe the custom when the day arrives."

"Mrs Forsythe, I am honoured," Marchwood replied. "You may be assured that I will reserve the first dance for you and will be very much looking forward to that pleasure."

Having finished her tea, Mrs Forythe departed not long after, leaving Marchwood to ponder why she had taken the trouble to visit him in this way and why she was so keen for him to ask her to dance.

All too soon the day of the ball arrived. Marchwood had instructed Banerjee to ensure that his best evening dress uniform was thoroughly cleaned and pressed. That afternoon he had a delightful bath and Banerjee carefully shaved him and waxed his moustache. At seven o'clock officers, their wives and guests of the regiment began to congregate in the mess. The officers looked magnificent in their scarlet and gold evening jackets while the wives had all turned out in their finest ballgowns. Turbaned bearers served drinks and appetisers on trays and in the background the regimental band played soft music.

"I say it's old Ten Rupees himself," chortled Leadbetter as Marchwood helped himself to a stiff drink and sidled up to a bunch of his fellow junior officers.

"Good evening gentlemen, how we all this fine evening. Ten rupees or not I understand it is I who will be taking the first dance with the delectable Mrs Forsythe this evening," Marchwood responded.

"Oh you had better watch yourself there," chimed in Lieutenant Fakenham.

"In what way?" asked Marchwood a little taken aback.

"Oh you will find out for yourself soon enough," Fakenham replied mysteriously.

At that moment Marchwood spotted Mrs Forsythe across the room. She briefly glanced in his direction and indicated with the merest hint of a raised eyebrow that she had recognised him before continuing her conversation with the group of ladies around her.

"I see you are looking at the Petticoats," Leadbetter said.

"I beg your pardon," Marchwood replied.

"The Petticoats, that's what we call Mrs Forythe and her little clique," Leadbetter explained. "It's those ladies who rule this regiment so you'd best get yourself on the right side of them to start with."

Marchwood filed this bit of information away with all the other useful snippets he had picked up in the last few weeks. At that moment the band struck up a waltz and couples began to make their way onto the dance floor. Marchwood hastened across to where Mrs Forsythe was standing chatting to the other Petticoats.

"Mr Marchwood what a pleasure to see you again," cooed Mrs Forsythe as if his presence at her side were entirely unexpected.

Marchwood made a small bow and replied, "A pleasure to see you as well Mrs Forsythe and who are these lovely ladies?"

"These are some of the officers' wives, let me introduce you. First we have Mrs Buller, the wife of Major Buller who you have certainly met."

Mrs Buller was stout middle age woman with a face reddened by the Indian sun and perhaps a little too much sherry, she looked rather dubiously at Marchwood but acknowledged her introduction with an incline of her head.

"Next we have Mrs Sinclair, wife of Captain Sinclair," said Mrs Forsythe, indicating a rather younger lady with elegantly coiffed blonde hair and a beautiful face adorned with sparkling blue eyes and a slightly sulky looking mouth.

Mrs Sinclair smiled sweetly at Marchwood and returned his small bow with a hint of a curtsey.

"Then we have Mrs Blunt, the wife of Lieutenant-Colonel Blunt who, as you know, is second in command of the regiment."

Mrs Blunt was a tall reedy looking woman with mousy hair and a thin face. While Mrs Forsythe radiated confidence and authority Mrs Blunt looked rather downtrodden despite being taller than her companions. Marchwood wondered whether she had only been admitted to the ranks of the Petticoats because of her husband's elevated rank.

"Last but not least here is Mrs Reed, wife of Captain Reed our regimental adjutant."

Mrs Reed was a small dark woman with twinkling dark eyes. Marchwood briefly wondered whether she was an Anglo-Indian but later found out her ancestry was entirely English. He was also to learn that while Mrs Reed appeared one of the most reserved members of the Petticoats she wielded more power than first appearances suggested.

"Ladies, it was delightful to meet you all but Mrs Forsythe promised me the first dance this evening as I believe is the custom so with your permission I will ask her to take to the floor with me," Marchwood said.

With this he held out his arm and escorted the Colonel's wife onto the floor. Marchwood prided himself on being an excellent dancer, he had had lessons as a boy and then attended a few balls with his parents. He swung Mrs Forsythe around the floor and was delighted to find that she too was delightfully light on her feet. As he danced with her, he was able to observe her more closely. She was dressed in an exquisite pale blue ball gown, which was cut low at the front revealing her magnificent bosom and décolletage which were pushed up into two creamy domes by some mysterious mechanism beneath her dress. Around her neck was a magnificent necklace of diamonds and sapphires which set off her dress and blue eyes perfectly. Her wavy dark hair which had been escaping from her sun hat on their last meeting was now perfectly arranged in a complex coiffure.

As they danced, Mrs Forsythe leaned in and whispered in Marchwood ear. "In precisely half an hour I want you to meet me in the garden behind the ballroom. There is a sort of summer house at the end of the garden you will find me there."

Marchwood was intrigued and excited in equal measure. What was so private that Mrs Forsythe could only divulge to him away from all the other guests? Soon the band played the closing bars of the waltz and Marchwood gave a small bow to his partner and joined in the polite applause. He returned Mrs Forsythe to her clique and was about to leave and rejoin his own friend when Mrs Forsythe spoke.