Days of the Raj Ch. 03

Beverly started at the shocking image.

"...so no gown. He shall be bare, apart from a mortarboard. You might come here first and help him undress...and lead him to his classroom."

The girl agreed, swallowing greedily.

With the late afternoon drawing in, she walked under her sun shade down Coronation Parade. She walked past the pink Maharajah's palace with the lounging palace guards in scarlet turbans and 1910 Rolls Royce. She passed the neo-Gothic building of the British resident and the Secretariat. She passed the Gymkhana Club with the sound of cricket coming from over its caramel coloured walls. Camels and bullock carts threatened a coating of dust. A one legged beggar rattled his mug. The merchants in the bazaar were packing up their goods and closing their stalls.

She reached the street with the spreading branches and the pillared, single-storied bungalow, her knees still shaking, her insides in turmoil.

She pushed open the iron gate and entered the walled garden. As she expected Kama stood expectant under the shade of the giant fig, at the wall of fernery, with his shears. He was their gardener whose story Fanny Goodman had learnt and shared: trained as a boy in a temple of a weird cult- wrItten about by the explorer Sir Richard Burton- where young men developed their chests and built up their nipples with exotic exercises, learning to reach orgasm without genital contact, with temple prostitutes tweaking their nipples.

Right now, in the perforated shade of the fig, Kama's lustrous caramel skin was on display, his deep, defined chest and the rest of his lissome form. He was naked except for a loin cloth.

The tiniest loin cloth.

Little squares of blue hanging on his front and back. The small flaps did not conceal his pubic bush. They did not conceal more than a little of his penis stem. They did not conceal his scrotum. They did not conceal more than a few upper inches of his intergluteal cleft.

He was virtually naked.

The flaps were a joke.

By women folk. On these males.

The three other servants, who worked in the household, had also been forced into loin cloths. The cloths had been sewn by the young female teachers, Beverly's housemates, who like all Englishwomen prided themselves on their needlework. They had chosen material- a shiny blue silk- worthy of Lord Krishna.

How big to make the two pieces of cloth, front and rear? As they designed this male household uniform, they debated the tantalising question- illustrated their arguments with tape measure and fingers- each veering, it seemed, to the most diminutive solution.

The "hair down there" was to be displayed, the band had to hang low. This was Fanny's advice. "Yes, the waistband should sit just above the organ," agreed Helene. "Yes, and the cloth must be short as well so their lower parts might fall...just so," insisted Penny. That is, their genitals hang lower than the cloth. She gestured to confirm her meaning. There was a premium on letting- as Fanny put it- "their charms shine forth." Hermione had agreed, saying in the villages she heard that 18 year old males might be nude most of the time. Or in temples.

That there would be measurement and fitting was unavoidable. And in this context no objection could be taken to the young males who served as the cook, as his assistant and as the cleaner, being asked to undress to their underwear. And, ultimately, go a step further, so in a particularly piquant moment- with all seven young women hovering- the males had been ordered, one at a time, to slither out of those undergarments. They had started at the command, winced and looked around wildly.

But in the end they shyly obeyed, not daring as they stood naked to look the females in the eye.

For their part the females stared, eyes on stalks. And then moved in, with tape measures and cloth to fuss and fiddle.

And if the piece of cloth was so short as to fail any test of decency and allow a view of the young males' organs- say, Akim's puckered foreskin or Johar's low-hanging left testicle, both of which were particular challenges - then, so be it. "Isn't keeping cool the major requirement here?" Penny had asked, on her knees before Lalo, removing a pin from her lips and looking to her housemates for support while the cleaner, a rangy dark skinned 19 year old, had stood horrified that the petite cloth- while caressingly smooth and regally coloured- did nothing to protect either his pubic bush or over-large, mushroomy glans, with seven young English women looking at him pruriently.

As for the rears the tiny piece of silk was a gesture only, bound to be lodged within their clefts, leaving most of their nates and the dividing canyon available for inspection.

Kama's measurement and fitting had been somewhat relaxed as the 18 year old gardener had only ever worn a dhoti and had been trained in a temple to go nude and take pleasure from temple prostitutes. Beverly burned with jealousy, however, as Hermione had unravelled his dhoti and Jenny had whipped it away, all her colleagues growing stimulated at his perky, dark brown, quickly inflating organ with more veins than several of the females had ever seen on any penis. His stubborn erection had made his fitting a drawn out affair and a delight to her housemates.

There he stood now, in the garden, wearing only those two little flaps of blue silk. It left his brown flanks bare, with the slightest movement delivering views of his organ. Which, when thrusting forward, easily pushed aside the silk cover.

As it did now, and at this time each day, responding to the return of his mistress. And the promise of what happened with her each night in a remote storeroom that held his gardening gear. Their nocturnal meetings took a well worn path: the quick shedding of his garment, the playful spankings, her drawn-out tweaking of his nipples and his joyful explosions, all while she grew flushed and excited and often fell into spontaneous eruptions of panting and gurgling, her skirt and her petticoat lifted high and drawers lowered.

Their eyes met.

His penis instantly inflated and jerked froward, shoving the delicate silk to the side.

His erection saluted her. Welcomed her home.

Their eyes said, we will meet later.

After dinner. After the young women had read from the secret collection. After Beverly's excitement had mounted with those stories and the wild and whirling words of Victorian pornographers.

"I don't think I've ever seen a male so embarrassed."

They were at dinner and broad, fleshy Fanny Goodman was telling the six other young females about what she had witnessed when George Applewhite had been brought in to face the group of teachers gathered by Miss Maitland. As they had arrived they had, of course, seen him standing at the door, hands behind his back and in nothing but his mortarboard. "Unrigged," as Fanny had put it. They had all teased him, making quite lascivious, mocking remarks and relished seeing him wince and blush. Seated in the study, with tea served by maids, they had looked up mischievous and expectant when Sarah had guided him in.

"His tallywag...his rod...was sticking out parallel to the floor..."

"Oh tell us...what was it like? His...thing!"

"Yes, was it a big one? Like Tagore's?"

"Well, no. Not at all like Tagore's. I think he was embarrassed that it was shorter than those on most Indian boys. It was short...and stocky...a fat round head on it, pinkish..."

"But in a state of engorgement?"

"Yes, hard as oak but one of those that juts out, points forward, parallel to the floor...doesn't stick up reaching for the ceiling..."

There were prurient grins and giggles. The word picture was tantamount to an undressing.

Oh, this was too wicked to be believed, thought Beverly...this conversation, over pork vindaloo, under the heavy, droning fan and with the tropical night beyond the fluttering curtains. Never in Dorset could she have imagined such lack of inhibition here in the East, such daring games embracing females against males. "Females are to be obeyed, males are to submit," Sarah had so often told them.

At that moment Akim and Johar entered with trays of vegetables and rice. Beverly and the others were shocked again, whenever the servants suddenly appeared, by the nudity they had forced on them. Our servants, thought Gloria, are effectively naked, it's as simple as that. As Akim crossed to their table his absurdly tiny front flap swung and they saw his longish penis stem sheathed in its overhanging, puckered foreskin. Under the gazes of the young women it was stretching. If he was embarrassed he didn't show it. Rather, the contrary. He was proud to have it swing into view in front of aroused and interested white ladies.

As Johar leant to place his tray Helene unseen placed her palm on his rear of his thigh, ran it upward to play with his exposed crease. On his other side, Jenny was able discretely to finger his brazenly low-hanging left testicle. He stretched out his attention to the tray, took on himself the rearrangement of serving spoons and a straightening of napkins while two female hands flickered over him on either side.

When the two backed away from the table both pricks were jutting parallel to the floor, exposed with front flaps off to the side. Were there the slightest hints of smiles? They turned and exposed two bottoms and tiny rear flaps, with most of their clefts exposed.

Each of the seven delighted in what they had wrought.

Fanny waited till the door clicked and continued her account.

"As George stood there- and the mortarboard made him so ridiculous- we all locked our eyes onto his naughty bits which he clearly hated but he had been told to keep his hands behind his back and Miss Maitland told him to present himself to each of us, walk the circle, saying 'Good Afternoon' which gave us all close-ups of his little ball bag..."

Sheltered by the table and its heavy lined cloth, Beverly pressed two fists into her mount. She was leaking heavily. "Poor George," she kept thinking. "Poor little George."

"...and his veins and arteries..."

More cruel giggles. Beverly swooned imagining his embarrassment.

"...and then Miss Maitland told him that to teach a lesson about discipline he was to present his bottom to each of us for a good slapping just as teachers might give to a bad boy and that he could begin with Julia Maxse. Goodness! Can you believe? He had to stand bottom sticking out in front of her and she struck him so hard on the side of his backside- SLAP!- that he hopped sideways and his mortarboard flew off! But she then got him on his other side and he hopped sideways again. Then back and forwards she went and he was hopping around exclaiming 'Ow!' and 'Ah!' and 'No!' and 'Please No!' "

More cruel giggles. Beverly felt an inner glow imagining his embarrassment.

And so, according to Fanny, George had to do the circle of his female colleagues getting walloped by their palms. Cora Wrightwick had risen from her chair and had savaged his left buttock with at least 10 slaps and then instructed Harriet Marsden-Smedley to deliver the same to his right buttock. This had evened up the spreading redness. A redness which the ladies had remarked on at length, making him still more shamed- if that was possible.

Miss Favisham had roused herself too and, in a touching gesture, had extended her left hand around George's waist to rest nervously on his tummy while she steadied herself...and then slowly planted 15 weak spanks on the lower middle of the boy's posterior, across his cleft. Fanny said that the old lady's fingers had steadily lowered themselves to rest on his penis as her right hand did its job and that he regained his stiffness that had been weakening with the assaults on his bottom.

"The old dear must have tickled as she held on...brought it to life again!"

Fanny said they could hardly believe that they had been watching the young male teacher who had taken tea with them, who had hovered nervously at their parties summoning courage to dance. And here he had stood naked and had offered up his bottom inviting them to turn it red.

"His bottom was flaming when he shoved it in my face. It was a lovely bottom, the nicest part of him, very round and somewhat plump. 'Please punish me, Miss Goodman,' he said, as instructed by Miss Maitland. I had noticed a paddle- one with holes- on the side table and I sensed that Sarah wanted one of us to use it. I picked it up..."

There was an intake of breath.

"...held it high...and brought it down with real force...collecting that crease she has told us about in her instructions..."

"The intergluteal crease."

"Yes, right at the fold of his bottom. SMACK! And it sent him leaping! And I got him three more times, SMACK SMACK SMACK! sending him into a spanking dance. Oh, it was so funny! Him, George, leaping up and down and around in circles rubbing his sore bottom, with all of us laughing our heads off."

"Oh what jolly fun," said Gloria. "And he's a colleague! Not an Indian pupil, but a teacher like us!"

Fanny finished her account with Sarah taking him over her knee, having assumed a linen apron, and flailing his red behind with the paddle, making him yell with pain, his arms and legs in vigorous swimming motion.

"She stopped...eventually. And he just lay there, sobbing. We all had our eyes on his beautifully shaped bottom- his two nates- blazing red. Oh my god, you should have seen Julia Maxse's eyes...blazing too, just blazing. But there was a stillness...until it was clear something was happening-to George that is. He kind of gasped or gurgled and he shifted his hips...it looked involuntary. And his eyes just sort of bulged..."

Jenny Garland looked knowing- she had worked at a Home County school renown for physical discipline.

"Miss Maitland knew something. She just ordered him, 'Get up!' She said it in angry tone. And he struggled to his feet. And it became clear what had just occurred..."

The females looked expectant.

Hermione offered, "He suffered an embarrassment!"

"...oh, yes indeed! There was gallons of it...all over his belly...in his hair...his hair, down there, that is...making his steed all sticky...or, I should say, his organ, his penis. The fluid was still flowing out of his slit, or I should say, his meatus...it wasn't his Cowper's...it was the real thing! Georgie- our own little colleague- had..."

"Ejaculated!"

"A pearly effusion!"

"A full throated emission!"

They roared laughing and Beverly felt she had to join in.

"Exactly, and we could smell it, a fresh odour like soap. And Miss Maitland made him stand there, one arm on his shoulder and let us see. In fact...she made him walk the circle again and thank us for teaching him a lesson and then stand by the wall facing out while we continued tea..."

Beverly's mind rioted.

"I don't know if old Favisham realised what she had been looking at, his explosion. Anyway the three Indian maids, in their saris, rather relished swiping the poor young man with glances. Oh, he was sooooo ashamed. While we took such a long time finishing tea his stuff dried on him, strands of it, a real mess in his hairy patch. After a while too, his stick climbed up again in jerks and started pointing at us. How will he ever look us in the eyes?"

And the young female teachers, around the table, clucked in agreement.

Beverly considered. Should she tell them she had planted a letter in George's coat, telling him how unfair she thought his treatment- that, in her view, no male teacher should be punished like the boys? She had told him, in urgent handwriting, she was sure her friends would love to see him at dinner in their bungalow? And her motivation was clear, to herself at least: to see his withering shame close up. And perhaps beyond that, that they might get to play games with him and he might, for half buried reasons, want to consent. And further, that he might come to see her as in some way a special friend. Even strip for her, ask her to punish him.

Dinner over, the girls moved to the parlour with its dowdy furniture and creaking ceiling fan. Exhalations of air, fragrant from the garden but tainted by the river flats, breathed through the window slats. Cecilia held a precious bottle of Tanqueray Gin and Hermione produced glasses from the sideboard. Fanny rummaged in a drawer for one of the volumes from Sarah's collection, a 1876 novel with the title, The Romance of Lust.

There was a moving of chairs, an arrangement of cushions. Beverly, shy, shifted a cane chair into the shadow, over Fanny's shoulder. Each leant in close.

In the lamplight, Fanny found their place.

It was page 22. There had been steadily building tension in a fictional English household until the new governess, the beautiful Miss Evelyn, dismisses the two sisters Mary and Eliza and calls the son, Charles, to his punishment. Fanny read aloud, in her earthy, Liverpudlian tones. She read Miss Evelyn's instruction to the boy:

"'Put down your slate and come to me.'"

She paused for effect. The young women were captivated by a scene at once so familiar from their daily lives and so rich in possibility, a schoolboy being summoned for punishment. Fanny continued:

"I obeyed, and stood before my beautiful governess with a strange commixture of fear and desire.

'Unfasten your braces and pull down your trousers.'

I commenced doing this though but very slowly. Angry at my delay her delicate fingers speedily accomplished their work. My trousers fell to my feet.

'Place yourself across my knees.'"

Fanny looked around. Her friends were hanging on every word. Over her shoulder she felt Beverly's concentration. Gloria's hand was pressed into her groin. Hermione was sensuously stroking a breast, with a hypnotised gaze.

Their minds were racing. With the nudity of their four household staff. With the story of George Applewhite's spanking. With others they had witnessed, like Tagore's. With the ritual unbreeching of boys that took place in their school- and unbreeching, now it seemed, of male teachers their age. These activities were being celebrated in a gorgeously evocative 40 year old English novel, seeming to confirm there was a glorious English tradition of female-administered punishment of bared males.

Fanny returned to the page and the story of Charles' spanking:

"Trembling, with the same commixture of feeling, I obeyed. Her silk dress was drawn up to prevent it being creased- my naked flesh pressed against her snowy white petticoats. As I felt her soft and delicate fingers drawing up my shirt, and passing over my bare posteriors, while the warmth of her pulpy form beneath me penetrated my flesh, nature exerted her power..."

This was the part that stirred powerful feelings under the skirt of each of the young ladies. There was not one of the seven who did not suck in breath, and stir below at the next locution:

"...and my prick..."

Fanny nearly swallowed the wicked word. She froze. Could she go on? The girls willed her froward, none more excited than Beverly.

"...my prick..."

The word hovered.

"...began to swell out to a most painful extent..."

It was something the female teachers had relished. The cocks of Indian students deciding to "swell out" as they stood naked or rose from spankings or, as with their servants in their new, tiny loin cloths, became excited at a touch or just a sight- so easily excited.

She continued, quoting the boy Charles:

"I had but little time to notice this before a rapid succession of the most cruel cuts lacerated my bottom.

'Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh Miss Evelyn! I will do the sum if you only forgive me...'"

Gloria, Cecilia and Helene lounged into one another as if in a John Singer Seargent portrait of three sisters, hands clasped. Their eyes were glistening. Within an hour they would withdraw and Beverly would overhear unmistakeable sounds of self pleasuring from their shared room. One one recent occasion, after a reading from another thrilling novel called My Secret Life, that had been accompanied by the crash of a vase and hushed laughter.