Caged

I knew that Rao Agrawal was a younger brother to the Maharajah of Baroda. I'm not sure that Nigel, having waited so long before telling me where we were headed, realized that I would have taken on the journey more eagerly than I did if I'd been told we were going where the Indian Prince, Rao Agrawal, lived. Of course, there was no guarantee that this was where Rao Agrawal now was.

But it was where Rao Agrawal was now located, and although he lived in a palace across the city from the maharajah's palace, he was there to greet us when we arrived at the maharajah's palace. I thought it was all fortuitous. Naïve as I was, I didn't consider that it all actually was as contrived.

When formalities were over and Nigel and the maharajah got down to talking business on Nigel's family firm setting up a textile factory in Baroda to make and supply for the European market the distinct local Potala, Bandhani, Dhamadka, and Ajirakh textile designs, I was asked to take notes. Rao Agarwal was also present. He organized a fashion show of sorts introducing Nigel to the textiles. Those modeling were both women and men, all young, all introduced as part of the maharajah's harem, with the exception of Rao Agrawal, who also modeled for us, wearing the traditional male wraparound skirt, the dhoti, and leaving his magnificent, tattooed chest bare.

We were invited to try on some of the clothes, which Nigel and I did. I was provided only with one of the chest-baring dhoti wraps and we spent the rest of the afternoon walking the extensive gardens of the palace and ogling each other. The dinner, taken kneeling at low tables and resting on cushions on a wide terrace under torch light and being fanned by young, handsome men in dhotis, was followed in the evening by explicit dancing and sex play by members of the maharajah's harem.

Nigel was given a willowy Indian youth to toy with during the evening entertainment and Rao Agarwal sat close to me, holding me in his embrace, and playing my body with his hands.

He didn't fuck me there and then. Near midnight we went to our own chambers. Nigel took his Indian youth with him, so I knew he wouldn't be calling on me in the night. The room I was given opened out onto a balcony that extended down one side of the palace. I hadn't been there long before Rao Agarwal appeared out on the balcony, in a dhoti, and posed there until he knew I'd seen him. Then he slowly walked away, down the balcony. I, of course, followed him.

The room I followed him into was sumptuously appointed with all of the exotic textiles we had seen and discussed that day. Much gold thread was in evidence and gleamed in the light of the wall torches. A massive four-poster bed dominated the room.

And then, in turn, Rao Agarwal sexually dominated me. Two attendants were there who bound me, hanging, between the two sturdy posts at the foot of the bed, my wrists bound high on the posts and my ankles bound to the foot of the posts. The men were strong and I had no chance of evading or fighting them off. I was stripped of the dhoti I was wrapped in and Rao Agarwal took up a hand whip with vermillion, silk strands, and he whipped me on the buttocks, back, and thighs, not too hard, but enough to sting and to cause me to writhe under his attention and to become vocal. I also went hard, as did he.

"Do not bother to try to be quiet," he said. "Everyone knows what we are doing in here. You are under maharajah law now."

I could not hide that the exotic bondage and whipping didn't arouse me. I was naked. After a short while Rao Agarwal was naked as well. As the two attendants stood against the wall, looking impassive, but ready to assist if I managed to break free--although I had no capability or desire to do so--the Indian Prince encircled my waist, lifting me up, and setting me down on his cock. His initial fuck was taking me from behind as I hung between the bedposts, one hand palming my belly and the other stroking my cock as he thrust up inside me to his ejaculation.

Later in the night, I was spread-eagled on the bed, face down, my arms and legs stretched out and bound to the four corner posts, and he rode my ass.

We no longer were part of the textile business discussions. For the next three days, we remained in the sumptuously outfitted bedchamber and Rao Agarwal fucked me in every conceivable position and using a variety of exotic sexual toys. If he thought I would object to that, though, he was wrong. I gave him whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it.

On the morning of the fourth day, I was on the balcony looking down into the palace's forecourt in time to see Nigel Standford and his luggage loaded into the Hindustan 10 car.

"My luggage isn't with his," I nonsensically said as Rao Agarwal came up behind me and put his arms around me. I could feel him in erection again against the small of my back. The man was insatiable.

"He's made his deal here and says he's moving on to Nanking, China, where they make the most luxurious brocades," the Indian Prince said.

"We're going to China?" I asked, still not getting it.

"No. Nigel is going to China. You're staying here--in my harem. You were part of the deal he was striking with my brother."

Yet another cage. "You made this deal back in Tangier, didn't you?" I asked. "You and Nigel and Richard."

He didn't answer. He didn't have to. He pulled me back into the bedchamber, as the Hindustan10 started up and drove off. He slapped me around, as he liked to do, until I was collapsed on the Persian carpet, panting and almost sobbing. And then he ran an arm under my belly, pulled me up on all fours, mounted, and penetrated me, and fucked me in what must have been the twentieth time over the previous three days.

Later that day I was moved to his palace across town, where I joined three other young men and five women in his harem. I was the only European in his golden cage.

Once I was lodged in his harem, he called for me less frequently and he misused me more cruelly. After a session with him, I needed several days of rest and healing. But, I'm ashamed to admit, there was never a time I didn't want to go to him when Rao Agarwal called for me. My body betrayed me. He always knew that I wanted him inside me. I never resisted. I always gave him everything he wanted and begged for him no matter how cruel and brutal he was. He was my Indian Prince.

* * * *

March, 1949; Baroda, India

The master of the harem was a big, muscular Gurkha, one of those dusky, massive, fierce warriors from the northern hills, favored by the British and the rajas alike for their stature and their prowess with their swords. This particular Gurkha had a mighty sword indeed. He knew what to do with it and Rao Agarwal gave him license to do as he pleased with it in the harem.

He was big in every way, and it was he who exercised me sexually for the periods, which had now become months prolonged, when Rao Agarwal had not called for me. I looked forward to this exercise. The Gurkha filled and stretched and worked me as not even the Indian Prince could. Though ugly and menacing in looks, He left me blissfully wrung out and purring. He was virile and vigorous and had great staying power and multiple ejaculations in a session. It was during just such a session when I learned why I hadn't been called by Rao Agarwal for months, why there were four fewer in the harem than when I entered in it--the four youngest, two women and two men. And it was the session which caused yet another transition in my life.

The Gurkha liked to take me in inventive ways and as a captive. I was bound at the wrists and the ankles by red, silken cords, and lying stretched along the Gurkha's body on a divan well within sight of the others in the harem, although used to sexual acts and cruelty, they weren't paying all that much attention. My arms were stretched over my head and my bound wrists behind the Gurkha's neck. My legs were raised straight up from my body, the ankle binding captured on an overhead hook. My thighs were bound together in a silken cord as well. This was to constrict my opening and passage to provide maximum invasiveness and stretch of the man's mammoth shaft. Like Rao Agarwal, the Gurkha enjoyed experiencing my glorious suffering.

The Gurkha's legs were spread and bent, his giant feet were placed flat on the surface of the divan, giving his feet leverage for power thrusts up into my anal passage of his massive erection. I was, of course, crying out in pain and passion, mostly passion as the man now was frequently visiting and using me and I was reamed to his needs.

When he had breeded me in that position and after a short respite on my panting and whimpering and the Gurkha humming, he unhooked my ankles, turned me over to where my buttocks were raised to his desire, my knees were supporting me, and my cheek and arms were pressed to the surface of the divan. There he pressed his bearded face into my crack and fucked me with his tongue until I was writhing and begging for his cock again--and make no bones about it, I did beg for the Gurkha's cock. Then he rose and bent over me close, clutching my breast with one hand and my cock with the other, mounted me from behind and above, thrust up inside my restricted channel, and fucked me to another strong ejaculation.

He left me, then, moving over to a chair, his eyes still devouring me, as, moaning and sighing my satisfaction, I stretched out on the divan, my wrists still bound. That usually was a sign that the Gurkha wasn't finished with me, which was quite all right with me. I had gone two weeks without sex before the Gurkha gave me relief and release. It had been over two months since Rao Agarwal had called for me. This in mind, I asked the Gurkha what he knew about the absence.

"Have I displeased the Indian Prince?" I asked. "Is that why he has not sent for me for some time?"

The Gurkha snorted. "Have you seen him send for anyone here still in the harem in that time?"

"No, I haven't now that I think about it," I answered.

"That is because the master has not been here since January. He is gone. And he took his favorites from the harem with him."

"Gone?" I was crestfallen. That meant I wasn't one of Rao Agarwal's favorites.

As if he could read my thoughts, the Gurkha dispelled that notion. "If you are thinking that the master doesn't favor you, you are wrong. You are a European. He felt he could not move around freely with a European in his entourage. Too many questions would be asked. He asked me to keep you well breeded, and I trust I have."

He certainly had. His cum was dripping down my inner thighs. "But why has he gone?"

"You don't know? You haven't heard about the Bombay Provincial Corporation Act of this year?"

"No, I haven't. What's that?"

"It's a new law in this state breaking the power of the maharajahs. It establishes civil law and rule. The old rajas are on the run. Ours has gone to Switzerland. Rao Agarwal has left as well. In fact, your stay here is coming to an end. The new government is seizing this palace for a government building. In two weeks you will be gone."

"Gone? Gone where?" I looked around my gilded cage. I had been held captive here long enough that I lost all connection with another existence.

"Don't worry, little one, I have plans for you if you do not have them for yourself."

"Plans."

"You are a prisoner of the cock. That has become obvious. You can't exist without a man to take care of you and keep you well breeded."

"You? Are you taking me away for yourself?"

"No. You are a man who craves variety too. You want many men vying for you and covering you. You are a natural courtesan for the brothel. There are many in Bombay. You will go to a brothel."

"A male whore house?"

"You are a European of fine sexual quality. You would be a waste in just any house. I have arranged for you to go into one of high class and refinement. I take you there in two weeks."

Such was my situation and my disposition, which I had to admit the Gurkha had correctly depicted, that I didn't question my assigned fate.

"But for now, I am ready to dominate you again." the Gurkha said. And, indeed, he was. Sitting in his chair he had stroked his cock to commanding and not to be denied again. "Come sit on it again," he commanded, and, trembling and whimpering, I struggled off the divan, went to him, and straddled his lap. Grasping my buttocks cheeks in his hand to spread me and enable to give his cockhead purchase, he pulled me, groaning, down onto the shaft. When I was fully saddled, his hands moved to my waist, and he pulled me on and off the shaft, taking me deep again.

Although, with these revelations and this discussion, my life was taking another drastic turn, I emptied my mind of all thoughts except for the magnificent Indian warrior shaft that was taking me to hell and heaven.

* * * *

May, 1949; Bombay, India

"We must bathe you and make you ready," the attendant in the Bombay brothel said to me as he entered my chamber, one that was quite luxuriously appointed. I had become a favorite at the exclusive male house on overlooking the Bombay waterfront. This had made me less available if more in demand, though, to emphasize how hard it would be to attain me. This was my day of rest, however.

"Make me ready? Today? Why?"

"A very important man. A man from England," was the reply.

"What makes him so important?" I asked.

"He buys contracts," came the reply.

I wasn't a slave here--not really. I was caged, certainly, but I was here willingly--at least willingly to have let the Gurkha from Baroda sell my contract. There were five months left on this contract. The Gurkha would fall out of the next contract and all of my share of the profits would be mine alone--not that I had any means of spending money here. But it was all going to buying a house of my own. There was all of my inheritance money building too. I just couldn't get to it now. If I went back to England, though...

"You say he is from England?" I said as the attendant started attending to me, making me ready for another client, preening me to ride another man's cock--unfortunately most often some fat and old Indian merchant's cock, as those were the men who could afford me now.

He was from England, and I knew him. "Lord Townsend," I exclaimed when he was ushered into my room. I had last seen him in Tangier, when he was part of the Chambers's group and had bedded me occasionally there. He hadn't been the worst of my lovers in that period. That "honor" had gone to the bishop of Reims, but he was middle-aged, and though distinguished looking, he had neither the stamina nor the vigor, length, or girth of either Richard Chambers or Nigel Standford. And he certainly didn't come anywhere close to the sexy exotic mastery of the Indian Prince. He'd been affable and tolerable. He also, I was now reminded, had used a strap.

I received him as an old friend now. But, although he was friendly enough, he also was here to get off at a high price, and, as it proved, he was here on business.

After a short period of pleasantries, he had me as he wanted me and was paying a vast sum to have me. I was bent over the bed, naked, my arms raised and spread, my wrists captured by silken cords attached to the posts at the head of the bed, and Lord Townsend was mounted high on my ass, riding me like I was a thoroughbred horse and stinging me with a strap on my back, thighs, and rump as he thrust. He was small enough that I hardly felt the cock. I did, however, feel the lash.

Afterward, as we were sitting at the French window onto the balcony overlooking the busy Bombay harbor and drinking tea, a civilized scene if you didn't take into account that I was naked and he, though dressed, had his shaft out and was stroking it in preparation for another assault on my body, I learned of his real mission here.

"You are as handsome and yielding as ever," he said. "You've learned new tricks but somehow have managed to keep the freshness of near virginal youth."

"Thank you," I said. "Near virginal?"

"Enough to excite men. I can understand why you are going for such a high fee."

"It's a long way from Tangier," I said. I had given it for free to whoever Richard Chambers designated.

"You are why I am here in Bombay," he said.

"Really?"

"Yes. I have come to negotiate your contract. There is use for you in England. How would you like to have the chance to return to London?"

"How have you found me here?" I asked.

Townsend mentioned a mutual friend, someone I had been corresponding with in London as I had been trying to set up a means to tap my assets there without having them seized by anyone here. I wasn't poor by any means, but I was still caged. Townsend's arrival here and the opportunity to return to England and regain my finances was fortuitous.

"I still have four months left on my contract here."

"We can wait," he said. "I'll arrange your sail to London and will meet you there and get you set up."

I should have latched onto the use of "we," but I didn't. I assumed Lord Townsend had an exclusive men's club in London where I would set up service, and perhaps he did, but I never found that out.

* * * *

October, 1949; Southampton and Guildford, England

Lord Townsend was in Southampton to meet my ship and we did start off in the direction of London in his new, chauffeur-driven Bentley. But we only made it as far as a remote country house in Guildford.

With no explanation, he sat in the car and had the chauffeur deliver me and my luggage to the front door of the house. A familiar-looking young man of Indian origin met me and ushered me upstairs to a bedchamber, not responding to any of my questions as if he didn't speak English. Another young Indian man, like him, followed on behind us to give me the distinct impression that I had no choice in going where I was being guided. I had expected Lord Townsend to come out of the Bentley and enter the house to give me some sort of explanation why we had broken our journey here--but he didn't. Rather, I heard the Bentley start up and crunch its way out of the forecourt of the mansion as I was being ushered up to the upper floor.

The room I was led to and left alone in was a luxuriously appointed bedchamber, with a water closet adjacent. There was a smaller sitting room through another door, as well. The windows were covered with drapes. When I went to a couple, though, I ominously discovered that there were bars on the windows. I went to the door to the corridor to find that it was locked.

An examination of the four-poster bed, with its sturdy oak columns, revealed what I was afraid of--restraints were attached both above and below on all of the columns.

It was a cage--yet another cage. It was luxuriously outfitted but it was no less a cage than I had been confined to for the past two years.

I had no time to reflect further on this, though. The door to the corridor opened, and the two young Indian attendants entered and moved along the walls of the room in separate directions, giving the impression that they would meet any attempt by me to escape--there, of course, being no means of escape, no where I could go from here.

The Indian Prince, Rao Agarwal, entered the room. He looked magnificent in his brocaded Indian attire. He was holding a hand whip, with red, silken strands, and was flicking it against his leg.

"You are looking as desirable as ever, Benton," he said to me. And then, to the two attendants, he said, "Strip him and hang him from the bedposts."