Days of the Raj Ch. 01

The young women read aloud to one another, at first with much blushing and giggling. Then with mounting gusto. And Felicity admitted, in even lower breath, that she and her friends had experimented with one another - in fact, on their Principal's bed, with the blinds pulled low, and the three had done it with the kind of humor and enthusiasm the characters in the secret literature had shown. They had "tossed off" one another, kissed, and applied their tongues to their friends' private parts. The three of them together, glueing their mouths to friends' "muffs." And stroking one another's breasts, kissing one another's nipples. Once they had used a cucumber, just like the activity described in the naughty novels.

The three girls realized they had never been told the truth. Now they were learning the secret gardens that men and women revelled in, of what they could do with their bodies if they...well, took a deep breath and did what their bodies had been telling them to do all along.

Which is what, she sighed, she and Raj had just been doing.

She told him he was a better lover than any in Sarah's books and she had loved doing it with him much, much more than the games with her two friends. None of the things we girls did, she said, could compete with the feeling of Raj's "thing" up her "cunt."

Raj said he and his friends sometimes pleasured themselves in the dormitories and the bathrooms. But there had been much more activity since the nude punishments started. Going naked, being looked at by women and seeing their friends with "engorgements" seemed to make many boys "very, very eager." When one of his colleagues, Asoka, returned from an hour on nude corridor punishment he had roamed the dormitory naked and erect and entered the beds of at least five other boys, gaining relief. So did Prasan after his nude, anti-self-abuse punishments, masturbating brazenly in the showers and grabbing other boys from behind. Some boys were always seeking to touch Raj's member, some to suck it. A few boys would allow him to enter them but he would only manage it if there were some aromatic Indian oil on hand.

"That makes them like women," he explained.

But he added that it was nowhere as delicious as the feeling he enjoyed when his member had plunged into Felicity's juicy hole. "That was like heaven," he sighed.

At home his father had many books like those Miss had read and he had urged his sons to read them. He said the stories always made him very "eager and restless." Once after reading some nineteenth century erotic literature he had had to pleasure himself five times, sometimes to find an experienced older maid to help. "There is some old Hindu wisdom," he said. " 'The hand or the penis - what will get tired first?' "

When Miss came to their home in the mountains he would slip into her room. They would strip off all their clothes, they would read these books in bed together.

"And we will do those secret things."

He was moving on top of her again. And she was plainly excited by what she had been saying and by his revelations. The world was, in fact, how it was described in those books.

But time had run out. There would be no excuse if she were found like this. She hauled up bloomers and pants, straightened her skirts. They stood facing each other...clothed female, naked male again.

Flushed and fulfilled, she had something more to say. There was something he would need to do for her.

Miss Maitland wanted Sarah to start to discipline boys more...discipline in the corridor sense. Her career at the school would depend on it. Even her opportunity to be allowed to spend that month with Raj's family where...yes, they would have many hours together. She knew Raj was terrified of being seen by the maids but she would have to insist. And it would have to be now, today, so Miss Maitland would see him on her return.

The boy hung his head. His loathing of being seen by the maids was bred in his bones. From her hideout Sarah knew this would be the moment, the test. For him, for her, for all of them.

The boy nodded.

He had been broken. Submissiveness flooded his veins. Naked into the world in the care of women, naked in their care now. And if sari-clad maids would stare and mock then that was part of his new subdued, obedient male role.

They sealed their understanding with a kiss.

Felicity led him by the ear - naked except for the turban, his member, fully engorged and shiny, pointing his way. They left the study and closed the door behind them. Sarah thought when the maids saw him, for the first time naked, they would not believe their luck - this was the day they won the lottery.

She waited a minute and then crept from the cupboard. She slunk at her desk and slid into deep thought. There was so much work to do. There was, for example, the nude cricket game to be played for charity before a gathering of white ladies. She had resolved to do it: the ladies, under their parasols, would be served by the school's maids, the boys would be running and bowling and batting naked. It would last for an entire afternoon. They would hate it. She must ensure those English schoolgirls get to join the crowd as well. And a special invitation to the sisters of the boys required to play.

Lying in front of her was a recently received letter from the West Indies, from a colonial administrator who had heard of her educational leadership in Bombay, especially her approach to disciplining young males, and inviting her to run a college in Jamaica. It was a well-endowed school for senior boys from Negro families, grandsons of slaves. The boys were big and athletic and full of energy. Discipline was even a greater challenge than in India. The conditions would be good, the support from the trustees for anything she wanted unquestioning. Discipline would be entirely her's to enforce.

She thought of cricket, under the Caribbean sun. And corridor punishment...

There was a letter, too, from a Maharajah, the uncle of a boy at the school who believed his nephew had benefited enormously. He himself had been raised on this nude discipline and was a great believer in Total Clothing Deprivation as practiced by "good ladies such as yourself." He was a widower and he enclosed a photo showing himself as a fine looking man. He proposed Miss Maitland visit him in Rajasthan and even accompany him to the south where he proposed to show her some little-seen cave sculptures which "may be seen to reflect our philosophy."

Oh yes, those Khajuraho cave temples where the relief sculptures explore the tumbling variety of human desire, the pluralism of Hindu sensuality, the Indian science of love. She could well believe there were depictions of males without any clothing other than pendant jewelry, subdued and submissive, standing under the pitious gaze of temple priestesses.

There would be time, she thought.

But now another priority, an urgent one. She went to the door and locked it. She picked up the paper weight elephant tusk from her desk and took it with her to the leather sofa. Seating, she breathed the fragrances hanging in the air from the recent wild activity. She found the odors intoxicating. She noticed the sofa was drenched in a mix of fluids. She ran her finger over it and held it to her nostrils. She reached up under her skirt and drew down her bloomers and panties and hitched up her dress.

There was moisturizer in her desk and some Indian oils. But she wouldn't need them.

She maneuvered the tusk, pointed end first, to a humid cave of her own. She let her head fall back and closed her eyes.

Yes, there would be time.