Monica and the Black Fortress
by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)
(story continues from Monica and the Black Fortress)
Chapter Twelve – The Temple of Shiva - Monica’s Story
We watched the Indian girl, hands cuffed behind her back, led away by
Seeta. I wondered who she was. What awful thing had she done
to offend this pair?
The rain poured down and life seemed to have reached an absolute nadir. Steven was missing and we’d been brought here to this fortress to some dreadful fate. The elephant ride had been the last straw. Firstly, the mere fact of having to be seated on the wooden saddles, given the raw state of our bottoms after the beating, had been agonising in itself. My resistance was low, and three orgasms brought on by the insidious - but oh so well constructed – saddles was the last straw. My climaxes were indicative of my declining will to resist, my belief that I had made a major mistake in ever accepting this job, however altruistic my motives. We had found one of the missing girls, but at what cost? I was cold, soaked and miserable, and the fact that I had dragged Leila and Rani into this same mess did nothing to alleviate my feeling of despair.
But most of all I was concerned about Steven. Two days previously I had never felt so close to him as when we shared the evening at the Taj Mahal. Something had happened between us that I had not experienced before, and I didn’t understand it. But I felt warm and comforted as a result. Steven’s strength beside me had made me stronger at a time when, without it, I may just have lost my nerve. Now, just as this wonderful thing had happened, he was gone, and so was the magic that had been previously hidden. Tears trickled down my cheeks, mingling their salt with the rain that flattened the veil against my face, covering the gag beneath it.
I sat on the elephant, my wrists still bound to the pommel, the carved phallus still embedded inside me, now slick and wet with my juices. Sanjay approached, looking calm and in control under a big umbrella, seemingly heedless of the rain. He motioned to Prakash, beside him, who moved around the platform to the opposite side of the elephant and untied Claire’s hands, allowing her to ease herself off her own private pleasure saddle.
Claire walked slowly around to where Sanjay stood facing me and knelt before him, heedless of her soaking state and the fact that there was a big puddle there. Prakash followed, and Sanjay said something to him in Hindi. The bodyguard – for I presumed that was the nearest thing to a job description he might have – squatted briefly, his umbrella resting in the crook of his neck, and pulled back the end of the golden material that was Claire’s sari, and which covered her head and face as a veil. The rust-coloured hair underneath was wet and plastered darkly against Claire’s shoulders, overlain by a leather strap that held the gag in place. Prakash undid this sufficiently for the gag to be removed, but still to hang around her neck, a symbol of the control still retained over her.
“We will be going to the Amber Room,” Sanjay told her. “Go to the kitchen, order some food for Seeta and I, and bring it when it’s ready. And put on some dry clothes.”
“Yes Master,” mumbled Claire.
It was the first time I had heard her speak. Her voice was low and husky, and only now I could see in her manner a surprising subservience which did not look to me to be wholly the product of fear of beatings. She arose and pattered away, her bare feet splashing through the puddles as she went up the curved staircase to the next level. There was something about her manner which reminded me of Shawnee. My heart gave a lurch, for the thought occurred to me – a dawning reality – that I might not see my slave again. Shawnee was a pain and talked far too much, but she was devoted, and I loved her. More tears welled in my eyes and mingled with the rain, hopefully undetected by Sanjay, for I could not afford any sign of weakness at this point. I mentally filed away my observations on Claire for further investigation. Her behaviour made me a little uneasy, though I wasn’t sure why.
At a nod from Sanjay, Prakash undid the rope securing Leila’s wrists to the pommel, while leaving it as a trailing cinch rope for the still-bound wrists. Leila groaned as she stood up slowly, and worked her leg over the saddle, dragging the sodden sari behind her as she stepped on to the stone platform. Prakash handed the trailing rope to Sanjay who looked at Leila and pointed to the ground. Leila knew the drill and sank to her knees. I could tell from her body language that any resistance she might have had, was gone.
Rani followed, and she, too, had a beaten and dejected look about her, as she was made to kneel in the puddle beside Leila. Both girls bowed their heads instinctively, staring at the wet polished leather of Sanjay’s boots.
Finally it was my turn and my bound wrists were released from the pommel, while remaining tied in front of me. I stood up slowly, feeling the phallus slide out with a strange mixture of regret and relief, before I swung my leg, heavy with the weight of the dripping sari, over the saddle and stepped on to the stone platform.
I was momentarily unsteady on my feet, like a sailor returning to the land after a long time on a pitching boat. The ground still seemed to move with the rolling elephant gait, which I put down to a lack of food and the chill of the rain which was seeping into my bones. Sanjay took the trailing cinch rope and passed the three to Prakash, who slung them all over his shoulder and headed for the stairs, towing the three of us behind him.
We ascended the stairs to the next level, passing through another massive gate at the top. Inside this we found ourselves in a large open courtyard protected on the outer three sides by battlements and small turrets, while the inner area was a conglomeration of gardens, banyan trees and small open-sided summer houses and pavilions. Momentarily I saw it as it once must have been, populated by Maharajahs and princesses attended by multitudes of servants, with peacocks wandering through their midst. Now it had a look of cheerlessness, of gloom and melancholy, the trees dripping and the rain sending up little bullets as the drops spattered in puddles. I glimpsed faces peering out from behind the iron bars of door grilles. I suspected they were servants or guards, who had no reason to leave the dryness of their quarters, while checking out the latest acquisitions of their lord and lady.
At the back of the level was a wall of black rock with several iron grilles and wooden doors in it, while central to the wall was an open-sided but covered staircase that we now climbed. It zig-zagged up wide steps to another level which was fully covered, with a broad cloister-like terrace around all sides. We now seemed to be at the topmost level of the fortress, with this portion being built on the summit of the black mountain.
It was a huge relief just to get out of the incessant rain, though the soaking clothes clinging to our bodies meant life was still unpleasant. Sanjay was in an expansive mood, however, and clearly our comfort was not high on his priority list.
“Let me treat you to the view,” he said. “You might as well take a last look at it now, so you can see the place where you will die.” His words sent a shudder through me that had nothing to do with the cold. Leila turned her eyes to me and gave me a look of fear that nearly broke my heart. Sanjay’s matter of fact approach made it hard to take in what we were seeing, for my mental focus was destroyed.
We looked back the way we had come, over the turreted pavilions and gardens of the second level, down to the pool and massive walls and gate of the first level, then to the winding path disappearing into the forest. On both sides the ground fell away, the forest dissolving into the low cloud and rain.
“This fortress was built in 1689, by my ancestors,” Sanjay said casually, as though conducting a tour. “It was never taken in battle, nor could it fall through starvation. The British bypassed the place and left it alone because of the difficulty in attacking it. There are massive caves under here, which acted as food stores, and one which is a huge water tank, which collects all this rain. People have survived here over long periods of drought because of the capacity of that reservoir. My ancestors were brilliant engineers.” He sounded terribly smug, and I wished I could wipe the gloating expression from his face.
We moved around to the right hand side and stared out on a sheer drop down a vertical face partly cliff, partly man-made, to the tops of the trees perhaps thirty metres below.
Further around, on the side opposite the entry, the mountainside fell away in a similar but steeper fashion. The base on which the fortress was built merged into two rock promontories to the left and right, with a deep, narrow gully between them, down which rushed a small stream. On the left of the stream was a colonnaded walk - an open-sided pathway roofed with stone slabs and half cut into the tree-covered hillside. I followed the line of it as it descended to the bottom of the gully, where a small stone bridge branched out at right angles. The bridge crossed the stream, then a series of steep steps climbed up to a jutting rock outcrop perhaps a hundred metres from where we stood. The top of this had been levelled off and a small shrine stood centrally in the middle of a mass of white debris.
Sanjay saw where I was looking. “That is the Cliff of Bones.” He paused. “You know of course that we Hindus do not bury our dead, but normally cremate them, or leave them for the birds of the air. The Cliff of Bones is where your bodies will be placed, for the vultures and eagles to pick clean. It is part of our cycle of reincarnation - the original recycling concept.” He chuckled.
I shuddered, and looked beyond the gruesome outcrop. From the junction with the bridge the covered walkway continued to follow the contours of the gorge a few metres above the stream for about fifty metres, before the right hand side of the gorge fell away and the stream disappeared in that direction down the forested mountainside. The walkway climbed a few steps at that point to join what might have been - in an English location – a summer house. It was a round, turreted building of stone, the roof supported on columns, with open sides, partially hidden by jungle. There seemed to be some sort of shrine inside, but it was too far away to really make out the details, which were further blurred by the misty rain clouds that drifted over it.
“That is the temple of Bhairava, the Hindu God of Fire,” said Sanjay. “Take a good look at that, Monica. It will be the last place you will see. We have decided that we will make an example of each of you to a different element – earth, air, fire and water. Oh, I see you wondering about the fact that there are only three of you. The fourth will be Abby Wilkes, the other girl you’ve come all this way to find. She is currently suffering beneath us, as we speak. Perhaps you should take a look?”
We had no choice in the matter, of course, as we were towed into the rooms inside the terrace. They were sumptuous, furnished with expansive seating and a myriad of cushions in entertainment areas. The place was huge, with some rooms obviously for leisure, with open sides or polished wooden shutters, while others were private quarters, closed off behind ancient-looking doors. The whole complex was built around a central open courtyard, and here we were taken, meekly tagging along behind our captors.
Briefly we were out in the rain again, and up went the umbrellas of Prakash and Sanjay. The courtyard was perhaps twenty metres square, with formal gardens and marble seats. In the centre was a round waist-high circular parapet, with a heavy iron grille across the top. Sanjay stood beside it and directed us to look down.
The grille revealed a big hole in the black rock and I found myself looking down to the level below. From my position I could see a naked female kneeling on some sort of stone platform or shrine. Her bound hands were held above her by a rope which rose up to disappear out of my field of view, hidden by the rocky lip. She was a brunette, but I couldn’t see her face for her head was bowed. She was unmoving, and was clearly secured in such a way that this was the result.
“Abby Wilkes,” said Sanjay smugly. “She tried to escape once too often. Most disappointing. We have no choice but to get rid of her, which is a shame. I do so enjoy breaking western women into submission. This one proved just a little tedious and troublesome. Mostly I can tell which ones will submit. Claire, for example, has proved exceedingly good. She now enjoys her role here, though of course, she remains a captive, and always will do. Nevertheless, she has proven to be a natural slave.”
That was what I had seen that reminded me of Shawnee, a natural acceptance of her submissive role, a compliance that had now come to over-rule all the past supposed important things in life, to a point where no decisions need be taken, where food was provided, where pain was a fact of life, and where pain could bring pleasure. Claire was a natural subbie. God, we had come all this way to rescue someone who may not want to be rescued - not that we were in a position to do anything about it now. I couldn’t believe it. But then there was Abby, kneeling below, oblivious to us, and somehow suffering, though I couldn’t tell exactly how from this angle.
“Now, ladies, please come around here.”
We followed Sanjay around to the opposite side of the parapet.
“You will see the other lady who was on the elephant with you. Perhaps you have not yet realised this, and maybe it is time to enlighten you as to the fate of your friend Steven. You’re looking at him – or her, as the situation soon will be.”
Had the ball not been strapped in my mouth, I would have gasped with astonishment. At that moment the sari-clad figure – also kneeling and bound like Abby – looked up, possibly at the sound of our voices. The veil had fallen, and I saw the gagged mouth, nose stud and religious spot on the forehead, all surmounted by a glossy cascade of black hair down the back. I looked hard past these superficial traits and saw the eyes God, yes, it was Steven! I heard the same stifled exclamation from Leila beside me, and we looked at each other in a mixture of relief, amazement and fear.
“You’re probably wondering what is going on with your friend,” Sanjay said blithely. “I think it’s time we went in out of the rain and got a little more comfortable. I can assure you that your fate – though somewhat more terminal than you’re friend’s, will be infinitely preferable to his.”
The things we were hearing were starting to lose their ability to shock me. My mind was becoming numb at the details of our fates that Sanjay was so casually tossing around. We trailed him out of the rain, passing through an ornate gateway into what appeared to be a temple of some sort. It was large and high-roofed, this being supported on a myriad of stone columns the thickness of a man’s thigh. We were led to separate columns and here we were secured by heavy iron bars that wrapped around our necks and locked behind the columns. They were relatively loose, such that we could sit or stand, but I doubted I could even get my hands to the lock, much less escape from the bar at my throat.
Central in the temple was an altar of sorts, topped by a statue made from painted gold in the form of a god of some sort seated in the yoga position. It was not like the buddhas I had seen, for this statue had a menacing quality that was totally the opposite of the peaceful expression I would normally have expected. It was now late in the afternoon, and the room was lit by a multitude of candles. Incense smoke created a gloomy feel and it took little to let one’s imagination run away here. Beyond the edges of the lighted candles, heavy drapes closed off what might have been other parts of the large chamber.
I was exhausted, and the thought of at least sitting down made me start to slide down the column, only to be caught halfway as the bar abruptly caught on something and came up hard under my chin. I scrabbled about and managed to get back on my feet and stand erect as Sanjay laughed at my mistake.
“Don’t try to get too comfortable. The bar at your throat can be tightened by bolts at the back. In fact I think we might just give you a little demonstration. Prakash?” I became conscious of Prakash moving somewhere behind me, and the bar waggled around my neck, then began to become tighter. I tried to adjust it, to stop it’s sudden relentless progress but I might as well have tried to turn back time. I positioned the bar away from my windpipe, under my chin, but the cold metal closed in on that, too. I was starting to make gurgling sounds as the pressure came on, clutching at the bar with my bound hands, while Leila was tugging violently at hers in an effort to somehow help me, or plead for mercy. My breathing, already hampered by the rubber ball was now suffering, and I was beginning to see stars when suddenly the pressure eased, and I sucked in air through my nose in a series of desperate snorts.
“My ancestors used to execute people this way,” Sanjay enlightened me. “It’s a form of garrotte which ultimately crushes the windpipe and causes suffocation. Very unpleasant, but you have been spared this today, Monica. It was simply a little lesson to behave yourself if you wish your last hours to be no more unpleasant than necessary. Such a demise would be too ordinary for a woman of your quality. I think something rather more special is called for in your case.
“And something very special is intended for your friend Steven – that is what I was going to tell you about. We will turn him into a Hijira, which is a kind of trans-sexual prostitute. He is currently undergoing rather painful treatment to stretch his genetalia away from his body, and after a day or so of this it will be surgically removed. At the same time his tongue will be removed, and his fingers may have to be broken to negate his writing ability. Then he will then be let loose in his present form in the shanties of Madras or Calcutta – we haven’t yet decided which, yet. His only option will be to sell his body to the lower caste men who can afford no other outlet for their sexual desires. He will most likely die a slow, humiliating and frustrated death from starvation or disease.”
I was looking at Leila as Sanjay spoke these words, and saw her face go white. She spluttered around the ball in her mouth and I felt myself go utterly numb. It was a nightmare unfolding, the likes of which I had never encountered, even in our worst dealings with Portia Tang or the Earl of Penhros. This man was talking about torturing and killing us as though we were flies to be swatted as a minor inconvenience.
Seeta appeared. She had changed into black leather skirt that reached halfway down her thighs and a halter-neck top, with her glossy hair in a long ponytail. Out of the rain the air was warmer, though the atmosphere was saturated still. Her outfit, accessorised by high-heeled sandals, was appropriate for the steamy conditions. She walked across the marble floor and circled each of us as we stood locked to our respective columns, pools of water forming around us as our clothes dripped steadily.
“Dear brother, you’ll make these girls catch their deaths, having them stand around in wet clothes,” she tutted. “I think we should get them out of their outfits at once. They served the purpose in bringing them here.” She turned her attention to me. “Your outfits impressed the locals and have enforced their perception that events far above their standing take place here in the fortress. The peasants hold us in awe, and every so often we are obliged to carry out some charade to maintain that awe. Of course the fortress provides employment for them as guards, cooks, cleaners and so on. Oh, there may be one or two comely peasant daughters employed here in particular roles as well. These roles may not be entirely voluntary, but they serve to keep the peasants in line. Any rumours to the outside world would be very detrimental to the health of their daughters, and well they know it. In short, it is a slightly feudal system that nevertheless works. Is that not so, Sanjay?”
“Oh indeed,” Sanjay agreed, lying down on a well-upholstered sofa. “Ah, here’s the food.”
Claire appeared, now clad in a pale blue sari and carrying a silver tray. She shuffled across the room, deliberately not looking at us, and I saw that her ankles were now manacled, and joined by a short hobble chain. She put the tray down and the smell of spicy samosas filled the room.
“Come here, girl,” Sanjay said and Claire shuffled obediently across to him, kneeling before him as he pointed to the floor. The ball gag that was at her throat was now gone, and I caught a glimpse of a silver collar around her neck, now visible since she no longer had her head covered by a veil.
“A good western slave is worth so much more than these peasants we have here,” Sanjay pontificated to nobody in particular. “Better educated, able to be trained properly. You will recall I never instructed her to put on her ankle chain, yet she knew to do it. She knows that such an accessory is part of her proper dress here. An Indian peasant girl would be too stupid to do that, and any educated girl – with the exception of a rare few,” he inclined his head towards his half-sister “– would have no concept of being in touch with their dominant or submissive side. I often wish I could travel more internationally, but regrettably that is just not possible.”
I recalled that he had a fear of flying, but was sure that it was not something he would concede to his prisoners. He continued to ramble.
“Take that girl there,” he said, pointing to Rani. “She’s probably been to university, and immediately becomes full of ideals and dreams for some sort of new order in society that will dispense with the feudal hierarchy and that of the castes. She forgets that these have worked for centuries and this is what the majority of people understand. The girl is probably a virgin and is so puritan in her upbringing that she wouldn’t see a naked man until her wedding night.” I looked across at Rani. Her cheeks were flushed and she was staring at the ground. “I don’t hear any noises of disagreement,” he smirked.
Sanjay helped himself to the samosas and his sister sat on a leather chair beside him.
“Claire, you may remove the clothes from these girls, and you may untie their hands. There will be no talking, of course,” said Seeta.
“And in case you were wondering what this place is, I can tell you that it is the temple of Shiva,” Sanjay enlightened us. “Shiva is one of the three main Hindu gods, along with Brahma and Vishnu. Shiva is the destroyer – he who will change the world through death and destruction ahead of re-creation by Brahma. It is appropriate that you are under his gaze, for you will all become sacrifices to the various lower gods under his control.” Sanjay sat back and watched as Claire untied Leila’s wrists and removed her sodden clothing, before Rani received the same. Finally Claire came to me. She avoided my eyes as she untied my wrists, but could hardly avoid them as she removed the wet fold of sari cloth from around my head. There was only the flickering of contact, but one that told me Claire was gone, that she was at once afraid, but also caught up in a series of events that she was powerless to control, which involved making choices that she could not handle. Somehow I knew she was going to capitulate to the strongest force controlling her, and that would not be us.
She removed the petticoat and bodice, and all at once the absence of cold wet garments seemed to revive me. My nipples, which had remained hard and erect through the wet fabric, now softened in the warm evening humidity. Being naked, gagged and anchored to a stone column was another matter, but one thing at a time, I figured.
Sanjay and his sister had watched the process of disrobing with the interest of voyeurs, and had several times put their heads together and whispered. They were planning something that made me feel apprehensive, to make a considerable understatement. Truth to tell, I was still petrified at what was going to happen, and it was all I could do to try to maintain my calm in the presence of Rani and Leila.
Seeta dismissed Claire with the wet clothes, and I watched as she shuffled out of the room, her ankle chain making soft clinking sounds. Sanjay stood up and swept aside the drapes hiding the left hand alcove in front of the shrine to Shiva. Here there was a structure rather like an altar itself – a flat stone bench at waist height, with a series of anchor rings along the side at knee height. At one end there was a slight bump rising from the surface. Just looking at it - though I couldn’t exactly fathom it’s purpose - gave me the creeps.
I noticed for the first time that Prakash, who had been lurking in the shadows somewhere behind me, now came forward.
“We have decided that Leila will be the first,” said Sanjay, his voice cold and impersonal. Leila’s eyes widened in shock and all colour drained from her face. Prakash seized one of her arms and Sanjay the other, while Seeta secured a length of rope to each wrist, tying the two together behind the column. It was not particularly tight bondage, and I knew it was leading up to something else. Leila was frightened and went a little crazy. She was struggling as much as she was able, lashing out with her feet and making frantic mmmphing noises through the gag, shaking her head within the confines of the iron bar.
Prakash removed a pin of some sort behind the column, allowing the bar to slide down, and between them they forced Leila into a kneeling position, where they bound each leg, thigh to ankle, with many turns of cord. When this was done they released the neck bar, then undid the knot behind the column. With a momentary freeing of her arms, Leila again flailed briefly, but with her legs bound and her wrists able to be controlled, she was no match for her captors as they manhandled her across the chamber to the altar and lifted her on to it, lying on her back. The wrist ropes were quickly attached to the rings so that her arms were pulled down vertically on each side of the platform, and I saw that the bump on the top fitted precisely under her neck. I saw now that there was a depression in the top, just beside the bump, and it was in this that Leila’s head rested.
Leila’s resistance was pretty well all over, now. Her bent and bound legs were similarly secured to the rings, pulled backwards and out so that she lay open and exposed. She managed to turn her head towards me and the terror in her eyes made me struggle futilely with the bar about my own neck and attempt to remove the gag strap still locked behind my head, all the while trying to enunciate some sort of plea for mercy.
Sanjay stood over the helpless, pinioned girl. Leila’s breasts rose and fell as she strained on her ropes and made a plaintive mewing sound.
“You will be a sacrifice to Shiva’s mount, Nandi the bull, representing the element of air. You will die by having the air cut off from your body. You may now consider the mode of your death, while we prepare Rani for hers.”
It was like something surreal, as Rani, struggling and fighting and scratching as best she could with her neck still secured to the column, had her wrists bound behind her and her ankles hobbled, before the bar at her neck was released. All the while she was crying into the gag and trying to breathe. She was led away sobbing, tears streaming down her face, and I was unable to prevent my own tears. The nightmare kept getting worse. Somewhere there might have been a hope that it would all turn out to be a joke, that Steven would walk into the room and announce that he had really wound me up and that we could all go home, just as he had done in Oman with his bad taste set-up there. It had cost him dearly, as Megan and I had extracted our revenge on him, but somehow I knew this was for real, and that no eleventh hour surprise would take place.
I was left alone for maybe fifteen minutes, shackled to the column with only Leila’s stifled sniffling breaking the silence. I thought I heard what may have been thumps on the roof before the threesome returned. Prakash was thoroughly soaked, while the other two were not. Prakash left the room, perhaps to go and find some dry clothes. Nothing was said as to what had happened to Rani, and in some ways this only added to my fears.
I put up a token resistance when they came for me. The bar about my throat was tight, and there was no point. They bound my wrists in front of me, palm to palm, then hobbled my ankles with a very short rope before undoing the bar. My hands were cinched with a long piece of rope and I was led in front of the shrine to Shiva, where the rope was tossed over a beam and my arms were hoisted over my head. With this rope tied off it was easy for them to then retie the ankle ropes such that my ankles were pulled apart and I stood there facing Shiva the Destroyer.
“Now you can see the ends that will be faced by your friends, Monica,” Seeta hissed at me. “That slut Rani will be sacrificed to Kaileshvari, the Goddess of Water, who will ultimately crush her, both literally and figuratively.” She swept aside the curtains on my right, and I saw what on first glance might have been mistaken for a fish tank. It was about one and a half metres square, with stone columns at each corner and heavy glass sides rising to the height of a man. Inside was Rani, unbound and ungagged, looking terrified. She was standing with her arms above her, apparently supporting the roof.
“The roof of the box is a big steel tank,” Sanjay explained smugly. “It has a counterweight on the roof, and when we open a small pipe, the tank begins to fill with water, slowly lowering within the glass box. The victim will be able to support the box for a while, but it will become harder and harder. Eventually she will be crushed. The pipe will take about twenty-four hours to fill the tank completely, though Rani will be dead by then. It is a very nasty way to go, as the ribs and pelvis crack and the body cavity and the organs are crushed.”
I could just make out Rani’s cries from inside the box, and could only assume she would not hear Sanjay’s voice in the soft tones he now spoke in. I had a dreadful suspicion that he had already told her the gruesome nature of her fate.
“And in case you are hoping that she might suffocate first, there is a pipe through the middle of the tank that lets air into the box, so she cannot hope for an easy release like that. Nor will she be able to break the glass – stronger people have tried.” He smiled at me with cold eyes – a smile that made my heart freeze with incomprehension of how one human being could do this to another.
“Now we must turn to Leila.” He moved across to where the helpless girl lay on the slab, and ran his finger through the blonde hair, before letting his hands stroke her breasts, teasing her nipples into reluctant erection. Seeta also took advantage of her victim’s vulnerability, running her fingers through Leila’s exposed pussy then bending to first lick it then to suck it hard such that Leila tried to arch her back and shuddered in her ropes, uttering a drawn out moan.
“I think we should give her one last moment of pleasure,” Seeta suggested to her brother. “You recall how this one almost got off on the whipping on the train?” Sanjay grinned back and the pair disappeared out of my field of view, before Sanjay returned with a multi-thonged flogger. He ran it over Leila’s breasts then down between her legs, trailing the thongs in a way that made her legs tremble.
The first strike, when it came, was sudden and loud in the quietness of the temple. The leather thongs struck Leila fully between her legs. She jerked and cried out into the gag, struggling to close her bound legs. A second blow followed, then a third, then a staccato pattern of them over her inner thighs, on her stomach, and on her breasts. Leila was screaming as best she could while trying to breathe around the ball in her mouth. She desperately tried to bring her bent and bound legs together, but the ropes pulling them up and outward remained fixed and effective.
Seeta appeared. She had removed her skirt and sported a large strap-on dildo that looked as if it was a double-ender, with one half buried in her own pussy. I figured that she would not be doing the deed for Leila’s benefit, only for her own. She stood at Leila’s head and massaged the girl’s breasts, squeezing and twisting her nipples while Sanjay continued with the flogging. Then there was the briefest of eye contacts between the two, with not a word spoken. Seeta moved to the opposite end and plunged her prong into Leila. Leila stiffened and as Seeta thrust in and out only a couple of times, Leila let loose a drawn-out high-pitched scream that I knew signified a powerful orgasm. Whatever else the beating did to her, whatever pain she felt, it acted as a timer and detonator for the main explosion.
Leila was almost hyperventilating now, her breasts rising and falling in ragged and uneven time as she strove to catch her breath whilst trying to howl at the top of her lungs. As Seeta continued to drive in and out of the helpless girl, Leila shook her head violently in utter capitulation and let loose another gagged scream that echoed off the ancient rafters. Seeta seemed immune to the gasps and snorts coming from her victim. Seeta was interested only in Seeta, and it was another five minutes before she climaxed herself, leaning forward on to Leila’s stomach and panting, before looking up with a satisfied expression. The contrast between the respective intensities was remarkable. Leila had surrendered everything, as she did. Seeta remained in control, only permitting herself to go so far.
Now she withdrew and Sanjay took over working on Leila. I was surprised that he didn’t continue with the rape, though I suspected I knew the reason. I was next on the menu, and Sanjay liked to save the best for last. Now he set about preparing whatever horrible thing was in store for Leila, who lay there, completely drained. Perhaps it was best this way, like an anaesthetic, with Leila past caring. But I knew it wouldn’t last long. Leila might be passionate and susceptible to such physical things, but she was physically strong and her love of life would not let her surrender it without a fight.
Sanjay appeared with a smoothly carved U-shaped piece of marble, which he placed over Leila’s forehead. The shafts of the U were as thick as my wrist and dropped through holes in the platform beside Leila’s head, holding it in place like a U-bolt. The cold of the marble on her skin made her moan, and she suddenly found herself unable to turn or raise her head. A new tone of terror could be heard in her whines.
Sanjay disappeared briefly and returned with a steel frame that looked like a cage made by a mad sculptor. It was made from what looked like 5-millimetre wire welded at cross-over points in semi-random fashion, and had lugs which fitted in locating holes on the marble platform. In all, the cage provided clearance of perhaps ten centimetres above her body. Leila watched, wide-eyed, as I did. At the ends of, and mid-way along many of the wires were what looked like small receptacles, perhaps 2 centimetres in diameter. I had no idea what it meant until Seeta returned, now naked from the waist down, carrying a cardboard box. She reached in and came up with a handful of its contents. Candles!
I was astonished, but suddenly saw what this frame was for – it was a bizarre sort of candelabra. Dozens of candles were now being positioned over the top of the frame, making it look like one of those votive offering platforms in churches. I could still see Leila’s prone body through the side of the frame, for the candles only went on top. I realised what would happen in concept, but couldn’t see the plan.
As Sanjay began to light the candles, starting with the ones located over Leila’s exposed crotch and thighs, Seeta explained the plan to us.
“I’m sure you’ve had the wax treatment before, Leila. I’m sure you can cope with a little hot wax. Oh yes, it will hurt, and ultimately it will cover you, in your pussy, on your stomach, on your breasts, and finally building up around - and finally running into – your nose, blocking the passage of air. You should value your last hours of breathing as the candles burn down and Nandi finally denies air to your lungs. You will probably last many hours, and many replacement candles, but as you try to stay awake under the wax, to time your breathing to slow intakes and fast expulsions to keep the wax clear, you will eventually succumb. They always do. One girl lasted over a day before she suffocated under several inches of wax. The last drop formed a plug over her nose. That was all it took – one drop.” Seeta was smiling as she said this. “We made it interesting by inserting various things inside her, just to keep her alert. Perhaps we’ll do that with you.”
Leila was now terrified at what was going to happen. She was making pitiful noises of denial.
“Nnnnmmph! Nnnph! Nnnmph!”
“Oh do shush, or we’ll drop some wax down your nose to give you a taste of what’s to come. Better to concentrate on more important things,” Sanjay said, a trace of irritation in his voice as he lit the last candles directly over her face. “I’d close my eyes if I were you. Hot wax on an eyeball will really make you scream. Trust me, I’ve seen it.”
I couldn’t see Leila’s face, for her head was away from me, closer to the altar, and partially obscured by the candles. It was perhaps fortunate, for my heart was so torn over what was happening around me, that I don’t think I could have handled it. I felt my resolve and determination to fight to the end falling apart. Where I had always prided myself as being strong, the sights I was now witness to were sapping my courage, replacing it with horror and anguish at what I had brought upon Rani and Leila.
“And the beauty of their protracted deaths will be that they will have time to see the degradation of their mistress,” Seeta taunted. “Well, Leila won’t, but she’ll surely be able to hear you. And you will meet your fate tomorrow, Monica, after we have had a little fun in the meantime. You will be the sacrifice to Bhairava, the God of Fire.”
I was so preoccupied with the horror of Leila and Rani’s fates that I lost sight of Sanjay and Seeta as they moved behind me. My attention was concentrated, however a moment later when a flogger caught me hard across the backside.
“Urrrgh!” My exclamation was spontaneous and uncontrolled as the pain knifed through my buttocks. They were already raw and bruised – as had been Leila’s and Rani’s - from the beating we had undergone on the train and then the tortuous elephant ride. Now I was clearly going to get another going over. This time I was on my own. The beating in the train had been on my back half only, the front being protected as the three of us had been forced to stand in a triangle. Now I was totally exposed, arms drawn high, and legs spread wide – every inch of me evidently begging to be flogged.
Certainly that was how my captors saw it, for they both set to with a will, working their way up my legs and taking alternat vertical swings upwards into my crotch. I writhed and twisted and cried out in a haze of pain, but I remained helpless against their attentions. The flailing thongs continued to beat my flesh to a bright red hue, covering my abdomen, stomach and back, then paying special tribute to my breasts, now jutting proudly with my arms up high, as though with a sign on them saying ‘beat me!’
I shut my eyes and tried to transcend the murderous thrashing, to will my mind through the agony, to focus somewhere beyond the nightmare we had all fallen into and which seemed to have only one likely end. My own stifled screams were echoing inside my head, competing with the blood pounding in my ears, the need to keep breathing but at the same time to utter screams around the rubber obstacle still strapped between my jaws. My body had tensed into a rigid object, striving to protect itself against the blows, and when they finally stopped my muscles collapsed into a fit of trembling and shaking as I sobbed into the gag.
My skin was on fire but I was given no mercy as I was grabbed from behind by Seeta, who wrapped her arms around me and grasped my nipples, sending further piercing shafts of pain through them. At the same time, I took a dose of what she had dished out to Leila, a hard rubber dildo being thrust into me, only this time through my back passage. Not content with having seared every inch of flesh, Seeta now wanted to defile me intimately and completely. I could feel her breasts clamped tightly against my back as the big phallus thrust in and out, up and down between my cheeks. My eyes were still closed in an effort to hide from the torture, to not see what was happening around me, or what might me going to happen.
I therefore didn’t see Sanjay open his trousers and embrace me and Seeta from the front in a bear hug, his member surging into my love slit. I was gasping and moaning as much from lack of air as from the two pistons driving relentlessly inside me. There was no pleasure to be derived from the mounting orgasm, which I knew would come whatever resistance I put up. There are some things that are so ingrained in my psyche and chemistry that I can do nothing to prevent them. The pain will always heighten the end result, and five minutes later, as Sanjay grunted in triumph as he shot forth inside me, I too, climaxed with a final wail, abandoning myself in the struggle against my ropes, leaving me hanging limp and exhausted.
* * *
21.02.05
story continues in Monica and the Black Fortress
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