THE TEMPLE WHORES

The Temple Whores


By


Gordon KerrCopyright resides with authorDownloaded from bdsmbooks.com


Kaghli is a god of rape, the supernatural ravisher of women. Ever his avatar searches earth for women to possess and violate. Yet in his possession do all his women become willing servants, enthralled to his lust and potency. And so must his hunger be eternally unsated.
-Ancient Sanskrit fragment



Chapter 1

The hideous stone idol grinned down, its features illuminated by flickering torchlight. All around the chants of worshipers reverberated within the walls of the ancient temple, the sound rhythmic, hypnotic. Incense, thick and choking hung in the air as hundreds of men knelt abjectly before the god, watching, waiting- Waiting for Kaghli to show his approval of the offering and take the beautiful, naked young woman impaled on his stone phallus.
It was an ancient ritual of the Temple of Hinja Punt. A rite of worship devoted to the god Kaghli, the deity of masculine lust and voracity. The sacrifice at this ceremony was an Indian woman, with an incredibly lithe figure and perfect, light coffee skin. Her black hair hung to the small of her well-striped back as she clung to the god, pierced to the core by an eight inch rubber phallus mounted on the end of the idol’s member. The girl herself squatted awkwardly on the tip of the much larger stone erection. Her small hands and feet gripped the huge stone penis, which stood taller than a man and stuck up rigidly from the colossal statue at an angle of rampant erection. The effect was both grotesque and fantastic. A beautiful human woman ravished by a giant/god.
The girl found the perch difficult and precarious and she struggled to maintain the lewd position. She looked back at the priest with an expression of pure terror and helplessness, knowing that if she fell, or allowed the god’s maleness to slip from her vagina the consequences would be horrible; a long, methodical caning that she had seen drive other dasi to the brink of insanity.
The priest of Kaghli, the Baugwan, stood before the worshipers and raised his hands. The chanting ceased instantly and every eye was trained expectedly as he spoke. The hapless girl also listened- and waited. He mouthed some incantations and took a long flint knife from a dais at the idol’s feet.
Gesturing to the woman, the Baugwan spoke and the intoning hum from the crowd of men began anew. She writhed with pain and fear on stone rod, straining to hold herself in position. She had been told that she must please Kaghli, offer her body completely, fuck the god to fulfillment. The frightened woman was more than willing to put on a good show to save her flesh from the whip or the cane, but she simply did not know how she was going to coax an orgasm from Kaghli. It was just a carved piece of stone!
She knew it couldn’t have real thoughts or feelings. But the whips behind her were real! If she didn’t perform well for these men they would be used on her tender skin.
The Baugwan stepped up to the hapless girl, raising his hands. The worshipers stilled again.
“You belong to Kaghli,” he said to her, stroking the flesh of her rear cheek. “You must serve him as he demands- with your soft young body!”
Then he spoke louder, to the crowd of followers. “Kaghli shares his bounty with those who serve him! This woman is being infused with the potency of Kaghli, with his essence. She will be offered to all of his faithful. Use her body to worship Kaghli!”
The Baugwan turned, speaking once more to the girl. “Now. You will please him. You will move as you have been taught.”
The girl began to rut on the phallus; up and down slowly, trying to establish a convincing coital movement. She wanted to get the horrible act over with. Besides, it was easier on her strained muscles to be able to flex and pull. She closed her eyes and thrust with her back, but the thing inside her was motionless, the idol too inanimate and inert to provide a sexual focus. Her movements were both stiffly mechanical and hesitant.
The Baugwan made a motion and a powerful looking African man stepped forward carrying a whip. Without warning he lashed the girl’s back brutally and she screamed. But something inside her made her body hold back. She was strong willed and the thought of giving herself totally to a dead, stone god in front of a few hundred primitives touched a defiant chord within her. She did move a little more, hoping to appease the priest enough to cheat the god of her complete surrender.
The Baugwan was not having it however and the black man lay into her with a will, striping her back with lashes in quick succession. Each stroke brought screams of agony from the woman to punctuate the intoned, rhythmic chanting from the crowd of men.
Finally the girl gave in. She began fucking the idol with desperate alacrity, moaning and bucking on its smooth, hard penis as if it were a living being. She hooked her heels under the colossal rod and looked up into the snarling face adoringly. Anything to please the Baugwan and escape the blows of the whip.
The Baugwan allowed her to writhe and churn with enforced carnal motions for several minutes, watching her build an expectant heat inside, despite the horror she was feeling. Then he brought the knife to her face and she screamed with terror. The woman began to fuck the stone idol with frantic passion, thrashing wildly and salaciously. He waited for her to climax, hearing her gasp out with passion, not knowing or caring whether her orgasm was real or an act meant to placate him and end the torment.
As she screamed and bucked at her peak he laughed maniacally, then thrust the knife violently into the center of the dais just below her.
The Baugwan couldn’t suppress a low burst of course laughter as the woman’s eyes flew open with astonishment. She looked back at him, her face flushed with shock and revulsion. A warm, viscous fluid was flooding her vagina, running copiously down her legs. The stone god was cuming inside her!

The white missionary wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to concentrate on the crowd of brown faces around him. It was oppressively hot on this narrow street. The stone buildings seemed to radiate with waves of heat in the early evening and the air was still and clingy. He had put in a hard day’s work, trying to reach the people of this village and was winding down an eloquent, but useless sermon. There were no takers here for the religion he was selling; only a mixture of skepticism and outright hostility.
Charles McKinna was not lacking in dedication, but he was tired and discouraged. It was getting late and he finally concluded his message by asking if there was anyone in the crowd who wanted to convert. As usual, there was no one, at least not in public. They were too near the overbearing presence of Hinja Punt for any of the locals to take the risk of openly joining a foreign belief.
McKinna shrugged inwardly. He could scarcely blame the people. It had been his own greatest fear when he had considered preaching in this city, that he would somehow run afoul of Hinja Punt. The sect was enormously powerful and unfathomably old, its origins lost to antiquity. A complex mixture of Hinduism and Buddhism, it was in some respects profoundly different from both.
The fabulous wealth of Hinja Punt was its Devadasi, the temple prostitutes. For centuries they had been renown throughout the land of the Indus for their beauty and devotion to the carnal arts. It was rumored that some of the women were of European ancestry, for many had fair skin and large breasts. Countless thousands of men had come to worship Kaghli, indulging in the flesh of his subservient dasi and making offerings of gold, sliver and precious stones. Still others paid with political favors and the sect was rumored to have once held sway over all India. There were legends, (scoffed at by most) that it would one day rise again to dominate the world.
The motifs surrounding Kaghli himself were of strong Hindu influence, but the god and his temple were pariahs among other adherents to that faith, who nonetheless greatly feared them. Now as ever the rites of Kaghli were shrouded in secrecy and mystery- as well as peril.
The missionary made one last call for converts. After waiting a bit, he turned to go. At that instant, a young woman burst from the crowd and fell crying and trembling at his feet.
“Please, Sahib,” she entreated desperately. “Take me with you… Take me with you. I want to convert! Oh please, Sahib…!”
McKinna was used to looking for souls among the outcasts and the untouchables. This girl was neither. She was well feed and though raggedly and scantily dressed he could tell that she was no outcast. In fact, she was probably just the opposite. Someone regarded as property and jealously kept on a short chain. McKinna frowned. He could tell a genuine convert from a young girl who was simply trying to escape an indenture, or a life of slavery.
“What have you done girl?” asked McKinna. “If you have committed a crime I cannot help you.”
“No, Sahib. I am an honest girl who will make a good convert to your faith.”
“I see,” he said suspiciously. “You speak well, from a quality background. Where are your parents, your family.”
“My husband and family died in the floods two years ago, Sahib. I have no one. Please take me with you. I am a good worker and I…”
Her voice trailed off and she cringed, holding tighter to his legs and whimpering pathetically as a huge, imposing African approached. He sneered at her menacingly then seized her, lifting her effortlessly with one massive, muscular arm. Without a word to McKinna, he reached to the girl’s head and took her by the ear lobe, pulling until the terrified girl let go of the white man. Then he tightened his grip on her upper arm and turned to lead the helpless woman off.
McKinna’s sharp command halted him.
“Stop. Where are you taking this girl? What has she done?”
The African turned to McKinna, a look of hatred and contempt in his eyes. His voice was low and cruel as he hissed; “She is the indentured servant of the Baugwan Kareesh, Swami master of the Temple of Kalhi.”
The black man again turned to go, as if the mere mention of the Baugwan’s name was enough to answer and quell all dissent. McKinna had of course heard of the Baugwan and his blood ran cold. Here in Tanjore the name was feared by people of all chastes and classes. His personal wealth was vast and he was one of the most powerful religious leaders in India. And in India, religion was often more powerful than the government.
The African was a few paces away when McKinna challenged him again.
“Stop.” The powerful black man turned again, this time obviously annoyed and surprised at the white man’s persistence. His bearing told McKinna that this man was not used to having his authority questioned, particularly by white skinned foreigners.
“What will happen to the girl?” asked McKinna, his voice as even as his pounding heart would allow.
“She was supposed to be buying food for the pilgrims of Kaghli,” said the African. “I was talking to a spice dealer when she disobeyed by sneaking off. She has committed sacrilege by approaching and touching you.”
“Surely it cannot be a sacrilege to merely speak with me,” said McKinna.
“Her body is the property of the temple and she is forbidden to go near any who are not the servants of Kaghli,” said the African. “She will be severely punished.”
So that was it. The girl was a temple prostitute. The vocation was technically illegal, but in this state of India the practice was widespread. He looked at the girl. She was quite beautiful with long black hair and the dusky skin of the native Indian. He felt an overwhelming pity and an instinctive urge to save her. But there was also something else, the tingle of lust in his own loins. He realized helping her would be perilous in many ways.
A crowd was gathering now, drawn by the novel argument between the two men. McKinna’s stomach was doing flip flops, but he summoned his courage. “She has not committed sacrilege! She has converted just now. She is going with me.”
The African scowled, his eyes flashing with rage. “She is the property of the Baugwan, Swami of Hinja Punt! You dare risk his wrath?”
“No one is the property of another,” said McKinna. “Your master must know the law. I intend to purchase her freedom. She has converted and is going with me.”
The African was angry enough to kill McKinna. His arm twitched as he considered flaying the man alive with his bullwhip. He was literally capable, but thought better of it. These foreign missionaries often had the ear of government administrators. If he killed the man here, in front of the crowd, there would be inquiries. He knew they could be quashed, but his master would probably be displeased should he have to trouble with it. It was better to let the Baugwan deal with this foolish Western interloper.
He released the girl and shoved her toward McKinna. “Beware, badmash,” he spat venomously, “my master will demand compensation, or the return of the woman.”
“You master will be disappointed, if he expects more than the woman’s indenture price,” said McKinna. “Now be off with you, before I summon the police.”
The African looked about the crowd. He was seething over the loss of face in such a public place, but he knew the Baugwan’s revenge would be swift. Then he would be free to take his own. He turned and bounded off.
McKinna looked down at the girl. She was still hugging his knees, having gone back there after the African had released her arm. She kept repeating a phrase in Hindi, intoning her gratitude and relief. He lifted her up.
“What is your name, girl?”
“My temple name is Pashu, but my family named me Swana.”
McKinna was looking nervously down the narrow street. It did not appear as if the African was going to return, but it would probably be best to start moving on. The faces of people on the street showed they were none too happy about the altercation and he knew the Baugwan was profoundly feared here.
Once they were back in the missionary’s truck and headed to the main road, McKinna spoke to the woman.
“Well, Swana, what am I going to do with you?” he asked.
“I am a convert,” she said evenly. “Your religion is my religion. Your faith is my faith.”
McKinna shook his head. It wasn’t the type of heart felt conversion he was looking for. Still, he was stuck with the woman now.
“Tell me about yourself, Swana.”
“I cook meals for the Brahman in the temple of Kalhi. I also repair and wash their clothes.”
He looked at her, startled. He could tell that she wasn’t lying. Neither was she telling the whole truth. He decided not to press her however. Perhaps she was so ashamed or traumatized by her life as a prostitute that she could not admit it, even to her rescuer. She would probably need time and privacy to come to grips with it.
He was sure that she would be able to deal with it. The temple of Kaghli had a reputation throughout India. It was a tough outfit, as they would have said back in the States. But anyone who could live through an indenture there and still have the resolve to escape must possess an extraordinary will.
“How did you end up in the temple of Kaghli?”
“When my family died in the floods, I was left destitute. My husband and I were married for two years, but he was a heavy drinker and gambler. When he died his debts were more than I could pay off quickly. Our house and belongings were taken and I was forced into an indenture to pay off the rest. That was a year ago. Since then I have lived at Hinja Punt.”
“They did not treat you well there?” It was as much a statement as a question. Her tattered clothing and her obvious terror of the huge black man indicated that her’s had been a harsh life, at least recently.
She looked down at her bare feet. “They beat me, Sahib. The African man you talked to is named Shakaba. He is the Baugwan’s most trusted servant. I have often felt his whip.” That much was true. She had the welts on her back to prove it.
It took them about four hours to make the drive back to the compound. When they neared the mission, McKinna stopped along the side of the road. He opened a case in the back of the truck and handed her a blanket he always kept for emergencies. She was a very beautiful girl and he decided he could not take her into the compound dressed as she was.
On the long road back to the mission compound McKinna had continued to question the girl at length, acquiring a deep sympathy for her as she told the details of her difficult life. He was determined that the mission should help her.
Finally they arrived at the compound and he took the girl to the infirmary. While the doctor examined her, Mckinna went to find his oldest daughter. She was in the mission office, typing a letter to the central missions directorate.
“Caroline, I’ve brought a new convert home to the mission. Young native girl by the name of Swana. I’d like you to find her a bed and then introduce her to the staff. Then later we’ll find her some work.”
“Yes father, I’ll tell Indra,” replied the girl warmly. “Oh, by the way, Brian and I would like to move up our wedding to next month and have the ceremony at the Witness to Truth Chapel, instead of the National Hall…”
Her father began to protest. It was quite an honor to be extended the right to use the National Hall and he didn’t want to be seen as rejecting the generosity of the locals.
“Oh, please father?” she asked, smiling. “It will mean that some of friends from his old school can attend.”
McKinna looked down his nose. “That’s the reason? Are you sure there’s no other?”
Caroline blushed, but laughed good-naturedly. “Of course that’s the reason, dad… and… we want to be together.”
McKinna shook his head but smiled. “I thought so.”
“Well?” she queried.
“OK, fine,” he sighed. “It’s up to you two anyway.”
“Thank you, father,” she laughed, pecking his cheek. Then she took off to find the new girl.
McKinna sat at his desk, staring at the bright blue Indian sky through the window and losing himself in thought.
Caroline was so much a woman now. Sometime in the last couple of years she had grown from gangly teen to stunningly beautiful adult. Yet in many ways still a young girl. He understood why she and Brian would want to move up the wedding. Caroline was a virgin and the young man wanted to begin the life of holy matrimony with his lovely dark haired betrothed. She had kept herself pure for Brian and was determined that her first experience with sex would be with the one love of her life. Now it was time for her to explore the natural delights with a mate and he accepted that. But life seemed to be moving so fast!
Brian was a very good man. Committed to the Witnesses to Truth movement, he was an only child of a fabulously wealthy family. His parents, who had founded the sect along with McKinna, had recently been killed in a plane crash and the boy was like family. He and Caroline had been romantically involved for more than three years, but had been faithful to the girl’s commitment to virginity. McKinna knew Caroline had made a good match.
His youngest daughter, Elsbeth on the other hand, might be a different story. Caroline seemed to have inherited all the poise and confidence of the McKinna clan. Elsbeth seemed adrift. Perhaps it had been the loss of her mother when she was very young, or the sheltered existence at the mission, but the girl seemed to languish in isolation of her own making. The blond girl had few friends at the small school she attended for Western students and apparently no luck with boys.
In a selfish way, he supposed he was grateful for the fact that she was both shy and overweight. There was less of a chance that some local Indian boy would take advantage of her. In fact however, she was far from grossly obese. Most of the detachment she had from people her age, specifically boys, was simply in Elsbeth’s mind. Precariously caught between child and woman, she had the normally fragile ego of a barely sixteen year old. Her identity was still forming and the weight problem served to damage her self esteem severely enough that she had withdrawn from social contact.
McKinna knew that it was an extremely sensitive time for his youngest daughter. The point at which many of her attitudes would be set for life, including attitudes about sex. But there seemed to be nothing he could do for Elsbeth except let life take its course. He was sure she would find fulfillment somehow, someplace.
He suddenly realized how exhausted he was. He was glad the day was over and felt relieved to be back at the compound. No place in this state of southern India was truly safe for foreign religious missionaries, but the walls of the mission were thick and the staff were loyal. He went to sleep that night, totally confident that he had dodged a bullet, fired from Hinja Punt.

Caroline looked in on Swana early the next morning, expecting to find the girl dressed and ready for productive work at the mission. In fact, Swana was still asleep when the white girl entered the tiny backroom she was to use as a bedroom. Caroline was roundly irritated and berated the new girl a little more harshly than was fair.
It was a bad start for the two women, made worse by misunderstanding and later mutual suspicion.
Caroline told Indra, the staff’s matron, to put Swana to work straight away in the laundry, then left for the office to do some of her father’s paperwork. She did not return to until near the end of the day, but was disgusted and disappointed in the Indian girl’s progress. Barely two thirds of the laundry had been washed.
Indra reported that the girl was simply not interested in work, and was flirting shamelessly with the male workers. Though Caroline scolded her continually, Swana’s performance as the week progressed improved but very slowly and she was continually falling behind.
“Why isn’t this done?” asked Caroline crossly. “Now I have to get someone else to help you complete the job tomorrow. Really Swana, you must acquire a better work ethic.”
“I work as fast as I can,” said Swana, defensively. “I don’t know the machine.”
“You have to learn it and quickly, Swana. We can’t afford to have two people working the laundry.”
The Indian girl sneered defiantly but returned to work. The white girl rolled her eyes. Caroline was not completely unjustified. She had done the job plenty of times herself and knew it was not easy. But she hated laziness, particularly in the natives and she had gotten an early impression that Swana was a lax worker.
Even more troubling were the reports that the Indian girl was manipulating the male staff with sexual favors. The stiff and proper Indra was outraged at such conduct and reported Swana’s antics to Caroline.
“To think such shameful behavior could go on within these walls,” said the old Indian woman. “I have always had the greatest loyalty to my employer, whomever that may be. And I detest seeing him taken advantage of in this manner!”
“I’ll speak to my father,” said Caroline. “But he’s determined to give her a chance. He thinks she is a genuine convert.”
Indra shook her head and went about her work.
In two weeks the differences between Caroline and Swana had grown to an intense dislike. Swana chafed at her menial jobs and at Caroline, who always made sure she was working. Caroline tried to catch the Indian girl in one of the illicit sex acts she knew was occurring, so she could get rid of her. But Swana was cleaver enough to avoid the trap.
More and more McKinna’s older daughter came to regard the Indian girl as a good-for-nothing who was taking advantage of her father. Worse, she was sure that Swana was trying to get Brian alone, for reasons she knew couldn’t be Platonic. She was becoming more determined every day to expel the troublesome native girl. One day in the marketplace, she was handed some information she thought would allow her to accomplish just that.
Caroline had taken Swana with her to the local bazaar to shop for meat for the compound’s staff. Anytime Caroline left the mission now she brought Swana with her. This was as much to keep her away from Brian as anything else. She had sent the Indian girl to the next street to buy some produce. After she had left the shopkeeper spoke to Caroline.
“I know that woman,” said the vendor. “She is a Naugth-girl.”
Caroline looked intently at the man. “No, it can’t be,” she said. “My father would not allow such a woman in the mission.”
The man shook his head. “I have seen her at Hinja Punt. She is of the Devadasi.”
“You mean she’s a temple prostitute?” asked Caroline, her eyes widening.
“Oh yes,” replied the man, smiling. “A whore and a dancing girl in the Temple of Kaghli. I tell you she was there three months ago.”
“She told my father she was a cook.”
The man laughed. “She may have cooked there but that was not her primary duty. My brother lives in Tanjore and I visit him often. I have seen her many times in the marketplace in the company of the dasi trainer. She has the brands and marks of the Devadasi.”
Caroline nodded, smiling. She was a little shocked, but she had suspicions about the girl almost from the start. Now she thought she had the ammunition she needed to get the girl turned out and end her influence on her fiancée. She did not realize that her father had known from the beginning about the girl and had taken mercy on her. She only knew her father hated prostitutes more than anything. She herself found them loathsome creatures.
No wonder the Indian girl seemed so loose and tempting around Brian. She was trained to it! The woman was obviously playing in circles far over her station and it was time someone put a stop to it.
Swana however, was thinking much bigger than Caroline would have imagined.
On the next street she had used her body to bribe a shopkeeper’s son for the use of a small back room. There she waited for the man she knew well, her old trainer. Now however, thought Swana, smiling, they would meet as equals.
Swana’s ambition had given her steady nerves. Even so, she could barely suppress the shudder at the appearance of the ominous Shakaba. She took a moment to steal herself then motioned him into the little shop.
The big African shrugged his shoulders and followed her to the rear of the building. He had a rough looking, stooped Indian man with him. But Swana knew she could handle his type.
The hunch back man was eyeing her openly, licking his lips with lust. “Pashu has pleased Kaghli,” he said smiling. “We should take her back now. Why should we hear about any women’s plans?”
Swana smiled cunningly. “You would not dare take me from here. The Bagwan’s influence in this city is not as it is in Tanjore. And I have associates.”
She glanced at the beaded door to see the shopkeeper watching them impassively.
“Quiet, you fool,” said Shakaba. “I will make the decisions. You will follow.” He turned back to Swana. “Tell me of your plan, woman.”
“I do know of the Bagwan’s rage at losing me to the American missionary,” said Swana. “It is whispered in the marketplaces even here. I have in mind something that will serve both our interests.” She purposely paused to irritate him. She was enjoying this moment as his equal. It almost felt like revenge for the things she had suffered at the temple. Soon, she thought with elation, I’ll have my revenge on the arrogant white girls at the mission compound.
“Tell me,” said Shakaba impatiently. “But do not waste my time, woman.”
“McKinna has two daughters. Perhaps the Baugwan knows this?”
Shakaba nodded.
“I can arrange to have them delivered into your hands.”
The great African’s eyebrows raised. “Go on.”
“In exchange, the Baugwan will release any claim to me.”
“Why you do this to man who helped you?” asked Shakaba.
“I have reasons for wanting to remove the older McKinna girl. She is an impediment to my plans. The younger one you can have thrown into the bargain. They are both white women and the Baugwan will do very well trading them for me.”
“But they are untrained,” said Shakaba.
“Of course they are untrained,” said Swana. “They are white. But surely the great Shakaba is able to make a Devadasi out of any woman. Listen, I will tell you of my plan.”
They conversed in low whispers for several minutes and finally, Shakaba rose.
He was nervous. He did not like conspiring with a woman and thereby bringing her to his own level. He did have to admit however, that she had a very good plan, as well as a good offer for the Baugwan.
“Very well, I will take your plans to the Baugwan and ask for his approval. You will speak of this to no one.”
She frowned. “Do you think I would be foolish enough to talk about this?”

Caroline was infuriated. For the third time in as many days she’d had to have someone else complete Swana’s laundry duties because the girl had walked away from the job before it was done. It was evening and a large part of the mission’s laundry still lay in a dirty pile. The Indian girl was becoming increasingly insubordinate and disrespectful to both Caroline and the rest of the staff. Things were coming to a head as far as the white girl was concerned.
The only good thing about it was that Caroline felt she finally had enough on the Indian girl, to induce her kind hearted father to throw her out. Caroline no longer felt the slightest sympathy for her. Moreover, she didn’t need this extra stress only a few days before her wedding.
The white girl was still talking to herself angrily when she turned the corner and stopped dead. Sitting together on the low wall just ahead was her fiancée and that nasty brown girl, Swana.
Caroline grimaced with shock and disgust. There didn’t seem to be anything overtly sexual going on between them at the moment, but the two were seated far too close for Caroline’s idea of propriety. She was of a mind to barge over and berate both of them, but something held her back; some curiosity about exactly what was happening.
They were facing toward her, but it was dark and she was screened by the thick tropical shrubs. She was able to creep close enough to hear them and still keep them completely in view.
“It is so sad that you are to be married next week, Brian,” said Swana.
“It’s… it’s not sad, Swana. Caroline is a wonderful girl. We have been going together for more than three years.”
“Such a long time,” breathed Swana. “And you have had no other women in that time?”
“Of… of course not… why…?”
“Such a long time for a man to go without relief.”
Both Brian and Caroline held their breath as they watched the Indian girl boldly retract his pants zipper and reach into his fly for his manhood. The white girl’s eyes widened, waiting for her faithful fiancée to push the nasty Swana’s hands away and go back inside the house. But Swana brought her lips to his neck and began to lick him sensuously. She closed her warm fingers around his throbbing shaft and Brian sighed with lust.
Caroline boiled with rage. She nearly jumped from her concealment, but at the last second, two things held her back. One was the advantage to be gained by knowing what they were doing. She could watch this ugly little encounter unfold and get some insight into her future husband’s behavior and weaknesses. She planned to make Brian more than a little uncomfortable over his passive acquiescence to the brown girl’s advances. She was also going to talk to her father in the morning and disclose what she knew about the girl’s past as a temple prostitute. She was sure her father would cast the girl out of the compound but in case he needed any other reason, she would confront him with the news of this attempted seduction of her fiancée.
The second reason she held back from revealing herself was more complicated. Caroline was a virgin. She knew almost nothing about sex. The subject however, fascinated her. She realized that Swana, being a prostitute had learned more about sex in a few months than many women learned in a lifetime. In short she was just plain curious as to what the Indian girl was going to do. And there was an oddly masochistic feeling of betrayal that welled up inside her.
Swana moved her face to Brian and gave him a wet, sensuous kiss. Even in the dim light, Caroline could see their mouths and tongues, hear their little breaths of passion. The brown girl broke the kiss and eased her face to Brian’s lap. At first Caroline was confused, then she became nauseated. Swana’s tongue emerged and eagerly laved the shaft of Brian’s penis, then she took the entire thing in her mouth.
Caroline had never been so disgusted and she was astonished that Brian would allow the woman to practice such a filthy act on him. But his face radiated obvious enjoyment and a note of worry arose inside the white girl. Brian clearly liked what the Indian girl was doing; what if he expected his wife to perform the degrading deed after they were married. She knew she could never submit to something like that. Brian would have to control his wants and urges, it was as simple as that.
Caroline watched as her fiancée began to buck his hips and hold Swana’s dark head in his hands. Moments later he gasped and went rigid as he spewed his ejaculate down her throat.
“Ohhh Swa… Swana. Oh baby that’s good… Yeah…”
The brown girl swallowed and licked her lips, then snuggled close to Brian’s ear.
“Your fiancée can’t make you feel like that. Caroline’s too prudish and proper to suck you Brian… but I can do that for you. I can give you that and much more!”
“Swana… Swana, no,” said Brian, guiltily. “I can’t walk away from Caroline. We’ve been together all along and… and I do still love her. Swana, we can’t do this anymore. I… I want to remain… I don’t want to hurt Caroline. I hope you understand.”
“I do,” said Swana, stroking his face tenderly. “It’s not your fault my love. She has you under her spell. It is so sad, but I will have to hope for the best.”
She turned her head and kissed his ear, sucking on the lobe.
Caroline was waiting in Swana’s room when the Indian girl returned.
“Where have you been?” Caroline asked coldly. “The laundry was unfinished again.”
Swana sneered and ignored her, undressing for bed, as though the white girl were not there.
“I asked you a question, Swana. Tell me where you were.”
The brown girl continued to ignore her and pulled her dress off. Caroline could see the tattoos on her belly.
“So it is true,” said Caroline. “You are of the Devadasi.”
Swana’s eyes flashed with anger, but they quickly narrowed and the contemptuous smile returned.
“I am going to tell my father you’re a temple prostitute. He will have you put out tomorrow. I suggest you enjoy your last evening here.”
“Oh?” said Swana. “Your father learned about my past life at the temple the day I met him. He wants to save me,” she laughed. “Such a simple man. He doesn’t know my talents.”
Caroline stepped forward and slapped the Indian girl viciously in the face. “My father doesn’t know about the things you’ve done with my fiancée either- but I do.”
Swana was taken aback, but only for a moment. Her poise returned almost instantly. “So you saw us in the garden. Did you learn anything?”
“I learned what a slut you are,” said Caroline. “I learned you’re a traitorous vermin. But by tomorrow, Swana, I won’t have to deal with you anymore.”
The beautiful Indian girl moved to the window. A round, glorious moon shone through and seemed to make her face appear paler, almost like a white girl’s. “Yes,” she whispered. “Tomorrow I will no longer be your concern.”
Caroline did not understand the comment, but she was still supremely confident. In the morning she knew she would finally be rid of the odious brown girl and her life could get back to normal. She was also going to talk some sense into Brian- after the wedding.
Swana scowled at her and turned her face to the window. Caroline did not see the evil, knowing grin that crossed her face as her nemesis stared over her shoulder at the full moon.

At midnight, Swana made her way down to the mission wall. At the corner of the courtyard a seldom-used path led down to a corridor lined with overgrown wisteria. Concealed at the base of the wall was a massive wooden door. It was one of the rear entrances to the compound, normally chained shut and secured with a padlock.
Swana inserted the key and for one anxious moment was afraid the ancient padlock was rusted closed. Then with a sharp tug, it opened and she was able to pull the heavily timbered door open on its hinges. Shakaba was there outside the wall, waiting with three of his men.
“Do you have my indenture paper?” whispered Swana, cautiously hanging back in the corridor.
“Here,” said Shakaba, handing her the document.
“This way,” said Swana. “The women sleep in a separate bungalow, near this part of the wall. The guard is asleep at the front gate. If your men are careful it will be easy to take them. No one will know they are gone until tomorrow.”
Five shadowy figures proceeded, cat-like to the small hut, housing the women. Fortunately there was plenty of cover from the moonlight and the compound was dimly lit. Once at the door, Swana produced another key. She let the African and his men inside and they crept into the bedrooms, finding both girls asleep. They were briefly awakened with hands over their mouths, then chloroform soaked cotton pads were used to knock them out. Neither woman was a problem to carry. Shakaba and his men slipped through the moonlit courtyard like ghosts and in seconds they had Caroline and Elsbeth secured, unconscious in a van. They had left no traces.
“You must make sure the women do not return,” said Swana. “Especially the older one. That is part of our agreement.”
“Don’t worry,” said Shakaba. “They are being taken directly to Hinja Punt. They will be safely there by morning. Once inside, no woman ever escapes. They will not be allowed outside its walls, so there is no chance they will be seen by their father. And the Baugwan is all powerful in his district.”
“I am free now,” said Swana.
“You have the paper. The Baugwan keeps his promises,” said Shakaba. “And makes good on his revenge.”
When they were finished they boarded the vehicles and drove off quietly. An elated Swana re-locked the compound door from the inside, and returned the keys to the sleeping guard.
She had won! She had disposed of the proud white girl and was now free to take her position and her fiancée. She was sure she could handle McKinna, and the feckless Brian was practically hers already. Now she was in control and the feeling was intoxicating.
She wanted to dance with joy, but it wouldn’t do to be seen at this hour and draw attention to herself just at the moment of victory. With great difficulty she managed to suppress a shout of triumph and return to the comfort of her bed.



Chapter 2

A little over an hour later, as the van still sped over the highway, Caroline was shaking off the effects of the chloroform.
Her first conscious thoughts were pure panic. She had a terrible headache and had no idea where she was. It was obvious she was in a moving vehicle. She could hear the drone of the engine and feel the bumps in the road, but when she tried to get up she found her hands and feet were tied.
For one terrifying moment, she thought she was blind. But the bonds allowed her to bring her hands to her face and she discovered the tape covering her eyes. That was when a new terror entered her mind, the realization that she was being abducted.
She called out for help, but no one answered and she had to fight back the bile that was welling up in her throat. Finally, still weak and confused by the drug, she collapsed back onto the floor and waited for her head to clear.
Moments later the vehicle stopped. She could hear nothing and called out again for help. Her blood ran cold with the laughter that met her ears. There was an incredible cruelty conveyed in that voice somehow and in terror she began to scream. A rough hand grasped her breast and pinched her nipple with agonizing pain.
“You keep your mouth shut, woman!” hissed a male voice with an Indian accent. Caroline was instantly quiet. There was no threat needed to emphasize that fact that the man could twist her nipple off if he chose to. She was too frightened to call out again.
They transferred her to another vehicle. Caroline heard the rear doors shut and realized she was in a van. Then they continued the journey. After what seemed like several hours later she felt some heavy jolts, as if they were traveling over a rocky road. Then the vehicle stopped and she was pulled out.
They released the bonds around her ankles, but her legs were asleep. When she went to pull the tape from her eyes a hand slapped her face. “When we cover your eyes don’t uncover them, woman,” said the deep, cruel voice. “Keep hands away.”
What must have been a very large man picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. He carried her for several minutes. The men’s voices suddenly became hushed and reverent and the sound reverberated off walls. They were obviously in a building.
Finally they stopped. The man lay her on a hard stone floor and cut her wrist bonds. When they pulled the tape from her eyes she found she was in a totally unfamiliar room. It was dark, lit only by torchlight and the walls appeared to be ancient and massive stone, blackened with long ages of soot. There was a large iron brazier loaded with glowing red coals, smoking in front of a raised floor hewn from solid rock. There was no furniture, only an abundance of beaded cushions and pillows, in the Eastern style.
She was alone except for a large black man who stood directly behind her. Before she could say anything to him another man entered the room. He was fat and ugly, but there was some underlying swagger about him, as though he felt supremely secure and confident. Caroline could almost feel his eyes as the revolting man ogled her overtly and she couldn’t suppress a shudder in his presence.
“Where… where am I… who are you?” Caroline was still struggling with her confusion. She remembered retiring to her room for the night, then the van ride and the raucous voices. But nothing else, until this horrible place.
“You are in Temple Hinja Punt, Miss McKinna. I am Baugwan Kareesh, Master of the temple. We serve the god Kaghli.”
Caroline caught her breath. She had heard of this man and this temple. He was supposedly one of the most evil and powerful men in India, head of a sect that once controlled this entire region and had secret adherents throughout India and beyond.
“What… Why have I been brought here?” she asked.
He chuckled knowingly and the jowls on his cheeks shook. “To serve, Miss McKinna. You’ve been brought here to serve.”
“I… I don’t understand. Tell me what this is all about!”
The Baugwan stepped close to her. He reached out and took a lock of her brown hair, stroking it, feeling its softness. “You are very beautiful. Kaghli desires beautiful women. He takes them, possesses them. He bends them to his will.”
She shook off his odious hands, which had begun to pet her head, but he smiled, unperturbed by her scowls of outrage.
“You will serve me,” he said. “You will serve Kaghli, here, in his temple.”
She gasped, still perplexed, but enraged that he would assign her any connection to the infamous Hinja Punt. “You expect a white women to participate in your temple’s rites? How… how dare you. I’m not a worshiper of your god!”
“Miss McKinna,” he said with a leering smile. “We have had
white women before. During the great mutiny over 150 years ago, Kaghli enjoyed many of the wives and daughters of British officers. Over the centuries we have purchased fair skinned women at great price from the Arab slavers who traded along our shores. All those women were subdued. All learned to love Kaghli- and worship him. They became Devadasi, so will you.”
The words hit her like a slap in the face. Devadasi! Temple prostitute! He must be insane to think she would become one of them. “I’m no harlot!” she screamed. “And I’m not going to serve in your filthy pagan temple. Release me before my father has the authorities raid this den!”
The Baugwan laughed. “The reason you are here to begin with is because of your father’s foolish mistake of stealing the girl Pashu from me. I have taken compensation- you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she shouted. “There must be some mistake. I am an American. We are here to…”
“There is no mistake, Miss McKinna. Your father stole a woman indentured to me. A servant of this temple. You know her as Swana.”
The white girl’s eyes widened. She was beginning to understand. “Yes, I know her. I’m not surprised to find she’s acquainted with someone like you. You can have the slut back for all I care.”
The Baugwan laughed. “No, Miss McKinna, I think I am happy with the trade.”
A very large black man seized Caroline’s arm, looking to the Baugwan as if expecting an order. He towered head and shoulders over her and she cringed away from his imposing presence.
“Now we shall begin,” said the Baugwan. “Those Western clothes you are wearing are entirely inappropriate to your new status. Remove them, now.”
Caroline’s heart pounded with alarm. Up until now she had felt an overwhelming anger and revulsion before this evil man. But now she could tell he was actually going to force her to disrobe. She couldn’t imagine standing before this ugly pig-like man and his black minion denuded. That would be the height of shame- or would it. Would he then demand something else? Would she be sexually assaulted or even worse? Her blood was running cold at the thought that he might be serious about forcing her to become one of the Devadasi.
“I… I can’t…” He voice was cracking with fear despite her best efforts. “You don’t really expect me to… to undress… here?”
“As master of the temple I expect you to obey me, instantly and without question.” Again there was that infuriatingly arrogant smile.
“I will not,” she spat, summoning up her anger to mask her fear. “Not in front of you or your big black lackey. I’m a virtuous woman, a Witness to Truth Christian, not one of your pathetic Devadasi.”
The Baugwan nodded and smiled. “Very well, Shakaba will demonstrate the penalty for disobedience.”
Out of the corner of her eye Caroline saw the flash of the big African’s hand and heard the swish of leather an instant before she felt her backside erupt with pain.
“Aaaiieee!” She yelped and jumped forward, trying to rub the sting from her buttocks.
“You will remove your clothing Miss McKinna,” said the Baugwan calmly. “Shakaba will whip you until you do.”
“You can’t do this to me,” she screeched. “This is illegal!”
Now both men were laughing.
“The only law at Hinja Punt is the will of Kaghli,” said the Baugwan. “And I am the arbiter of that will.”
“Ahhhggggh,” the whip snapped down on her ass again. This time the force was even greater, the pain more lingering. She bolted forward again to evade the African, but he had no trouble following her and delivering the next blow. Then he began to rain them down on her defenseless form, swinging his arm with a graceful, methodical rhythm.
“Ahhggggghhhg, please… stop it. Ahhhgggghhhggg, stop… ahhhhgggghhhh please…” She was scurrying about the room now, pride and dignity falling by the wayside as he dealt lash after sharp lash. Each one seemed slightly more painful than the last and the sting seemed to build.
The blows were coming faster now. Her back, rear cheeks and legs were laced with agonizing pain. She was screaming and writhing. The African never seemed to hit the same place twice and there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop him. Wherever she shielded herself with her hands he simply lashed a different spot. The pain was becoming unbearable, but suddenly he paused on his own. She was aware the Baugwan was speaking to her.
“It’s so useless to disobey,” said the Baugwan with mock kindness. “Shakaba will break you in the end. He has trained dasi his entire life. Look at him. He’s not even winded.”
Caroline was sobbing now, cursing them bitterly as vile servants of an evil god. Still the white girl could not bring herself to perform the mortifying task of disrobing in front of them. The brief respite had allowed the sharp sting of her lashed backside to fade somewhat and her will to resist had momentarily solidified. She was more determined than ever not to succumb to his demands.
Because she refused to look at the repellent Baugwan, she did not see his grinning leer. He had motioned for Shakaba to pause, just as he sensed she could take no more. But it was not out of pity. He was playing with her as a cat torments a crippled mouse. He knew that when the pain of the short whip subsided the stubborn, modest Western woman would then decide to resist further. It was quite entertaining to see her running around the room, trying in vain to ward off the African’s lash. These first punishment sessions set the tone of training for a new whore and he wanted to prolong the psychic and physical agony of her first stripping.
“Why should you suffer further, Miss McKinna?” smiled the Baugwan. “Submit. Take your clothes off and Shakaba will stop hurting you. It could not be more simple.”
“Never!” she shouted. “You horrible fiends. Nothing can force me to become one of your whores!”
The Baugwan laughed again and nodded to Shakaba. He went to one of the massive stone columns and hung up the short whip. He reached behind it as the girl watched apprehensively and produced a much longer whip with several strands of leather attached to the handle. Caroline’s breath caught in her throat and her momentary confidence faded.
“You were saying, Miss McKinna?” grinned the Baugwan. He was watching her expression as the black trainer slowly waved the cat. She shook her head with terror.
“Please… just let me go,” begged Caroline. “I swear, I’ll see you get Swana back. Please… she’s the one who belongs here… not me.”
“But I told you Miss McKinna. I am perfectly happy with the trade your father has made. Kaghli has many Indian and African dasi, but we have not had a pure blood woman of northern European extraction for many years.”
“PLEASE…” she wailed. “I CAN’T DO IT!”
“You must begin to embrace your fate,” said the Baugwan. “Strip. Shakaba will not stop whipping you until you do.”
Then the African began the assault anew.
“Agghhhh… Aggggnnnhhh… Aiiiiieeeeeehhh, stop it, stop it!” Caroline’s eyes widened with panic. The whip the big black man was now using was far worse than the short one he had wielded before. Each slash administered devastating pain and the effects were cumulative. The white girl’s determination to protect her modesty crumbled in seconds.
“Aaaggghhhhhh, oh god, stop please!”
“Strip…” yelled the trainer. “Obey the Baugwan!”
“Aaagggghh, please… aaaahhhggg, I can’t… It’s too much… ahhhaggghhh.”
She had ceased running about the big room, but simply cringed on the floor now, screeching and crying as Shakaba whipped her and the Baugwan laughed. The panic was beginning to rise inside with the realization that she was nearly at the breaking point, but there was no reason why the big African couldn’t continue to whip her indefinitely.
“AAAAAAGGGGHHHH, STOP, OH PLEASE…! AAAAGGG… AAAAIIIIIHHHH I CAN’T STAND IT. Stop it, I’ll do it… I’ll do it!”
He didn’t stop. Now whimpering and broken, Caroline tried to feebly crawl away as she begged him to stay his hand, assuring the loathsome, fat Baugwan that she would obey.
“AAAAAAggghhhh,” I said I’ll do it. Please! AAAAAAGGGGHHHHH! I’LL TAKE OFF MY CLOTHES!”
At last the huge black man paused again.
With her mind numbed with shock and her skin screaming with agony she sat sprawled inelegantly on the stone floor. She began to pull her shoes off, then her white socks. She stood on shaky legs and unzipped her dress, desperately trying to close her mind to what she was doing and where she was. She had never felt so ashamed but she told herself there was nothing she could do to resist. She was convinced that soon the blows would begin to draw blood.
Shakaba held back his whip as long as she made progress denuding herself. But a couple of times she paused, erupting in tears of humiliation. He would then immediately resume the coercion.
“Aaaaggghhh, please… I’m doing it!”
“You no stop, missy,” said Shakaba. “You keep pulling those clothes off or you feel my whip.”
Caroline struggled out of her blouse, then she pulled the skirt down and let it drop. She moved as slow as she dared, not knowing that the hesitant pace she was taking and her obvious mortification were merely feeding the Baugwan’s sadistic avarice.
Finally, she skinned her slip down. She stepped out of the little pool of cloth at her feet and stood before them in nothing but her bra and panties, bright faced with shame.
“Aaaggghhhh… please, can’t I… can’t I keep my… Aahhhhhiiiaaaaa,” she screamed as the cat impacted her naked back.
“Shakaba will not stop until you are naked,” said the Baugwan. “That is how a woman presents herself to Kaghli, in Western garments.”
Caroline whimpered with unspeakable humiliation and reached back for the catch to her bra. She closed her eyes and with a sob, unhooked the undergarment. She could not however, will her fingers to pull it from her breast.
“Aaaaggghhhh, all right, all right… oh god,” she wailed. The impact of the lash on her now bare skin was even worse than when he had whipped her through her clothes. Her body could take no more and simply rebelled. Her fingers released the bra without her volition and the modest garment fell from her hands, leaving her delicate, white chest bare. She immediately crossed her arms over her breasts to shield them from the itchy eyes of the Baugwan.
“Ahhhhhgggghhh.”
“Get panties off, girl,” said Shakaba. “No more stalling!”
Defeated at last, Caroline closed her eyes tight and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her last covering. She pushed the cotton panties down her smooth legs and with one last agony of spirit, stepped out of them as well.
She stood before them naked, sobbing, her skin glistening with sweat and her back and rear cheeks striped with glowing red wheals. She vainly tried to cover her genitals and breasts as the Baugwan chuckled with triumph.
“See,” said the Baugwan. “Shakaba always wins. Kaghli always wins. You suffered needlessly. If you obey the trainer he will not punish, but if you resist…”
The great African lashed the floor near her bare feet and she jumped with fright. The deafening snap of the leather against the stone told her that the man could have whipped her much harder if he had wanted to.
“Now, girl,” said the Baugwan. “It is time to make your first offering to Kaghli. Gather up your clothing and put it in the brazier.”
She gasped. Somehow when she had stripped for him she had assumed that he just wanted to see her naked and would then let her get dressed again. If her clothes were burned she would then wear only what they wanted her to wear. Permanently. She felt like there was something of her own identity in those clothes and she clutched them to her as she picked them up.
“In the fire, girl,” the Baugwan repeated.
Caroline glanced back at Shakaba who was waving the cat playfully. She walked over to the brazier, but hesitated.
“Please,” she said with a final appeal. “Don’t do this! I can’t… I can’t be a Devadasi, my father… aaaahhhhhggggghhhhhh.”
She screamed as a new, more potent pain struck her soft buttocks. It was the hardest he had hit her yet and she nearly pitched forward into the fire. Her skin still screamed with the latent sting of the lash. But she clung to her clothes stubbornly.
“Please… Don’t make me… What will I wear? Aaaaahhhhgggg, stop. I caaaan’t. Aaaaahhhhhgggg, I can’t go nakeeeeeed! Aaaahhhhgggg. Aaaagggghhhh. Eeeeaaaahhhggg.”
It was too much. The pain exploding on her rear cheeks was simply beyond her capacity to endure. Once again her body and unconcious mind acted on impulse and she threw the clothes onto the coals. They instantly burst into flames. The whipping stopped and Caroline stepped back from the blast of heat, sobbing and rubbing her wounded bottom.
She had lost. In horror she saw that the cloth was consumed almost immediately and only the shoes still burned. It was as though she were watching her life being devoured in those flames. And across the fire she could see the face of the Baugwan, grinning sadistically, the red glow of the fire reflecting in his cruel, oily face.

Elsbeth awoke with a start on the straw floor of the cell. She had been knocked out with repeated applications of the chloroform and her abused brain struggled to make sense of her new surroundings as she slowly regained consciousness. Waves of nausea broke over her splitting skull as she pulled herself into a fetal position.
Her first thought was that she must be very sick. The night before, she had felt fine. But since falling asleep her semi conscious mind had been assailed with the most abominable nightmares. A huge, ugly black man had held something noxious over her face and the darkness had descended. The thick, murky veil had lifted periodically, only to reveal strong, evil men who grinned luridly at her paralyzed form and pressed the choking pad back onto her face. The ordeal seemed to go on and on, like a bad dream she was unable to wake from.
She turned over on the straw and nearly blacked out again from the sudden movement, but at length the effect of the drug began to dissipate and her head began to clear somewhat.
Muscle control returned quickly and though still very dizzy, she made an attempt to get up.
That was when she discovered she was naked.
It was a sudden, horrible shock and it came at the same time she realized she was not in her own bedroom. What was happening? She never went to bed without her pajamas on.
She lay on her back for a moment and closed her eyes again, hoping this was a bad dream and she would open them to the familiar sights of her own room. It didn’t work. She was fully awake now and still in the stark, black chamber.
Elsbeth was finally able to get up. She struggled to stand and for the first time took stock of where she was.
The area was dimly lit. For that she was momentarily thankful due to her pounding head. A single smoky torch hung from heavy iron brackets protruding from the low ceiling. The walls were black and appeared to be solid stone. A heavy iron door barred the only exit and the room was empty save for herself, the straw and two old wooden buckets.
She was obviously in a rather primitive prison cell, but without the slightest idea of how or why she had been placed there.
Elsbeth whimpered as the walls suddenly seemed to close in about her. She was somewhat claustrophobic and she had abruptly realized that she was locked in and confined. She tried to open the iron door and found not surprisingly that it was indeed locked. There was however a small vent hole in the door, covered with a metal plate. It was hinged and when she lifted it she found she could fit her head through the hole. She could see outside the cell, into a shadowy corridor lined with the same dirty rock as her cell. It was dead silent.
“Hel… Hello?” she called weakly. She had hesitated to speak. Being naked she did not want to summon a stranger. But she was terrified of being alone and locked in. The fear soon won out over modesty.
“HELLO… IS THERE… IS ANYONE THERE?”
The sound of her voice seemed to echo forlornly into the gloom.
“Please… Where am I? Is anyone there?”
The plaintive sound of her call died and she pulled her head back into the cell. Bewilderment was turning to panic now, as the walls seemed to press ever closer. She held her chubby little body and sat on the floor, crying. “What’s happening… where am I,” she whispered.
Then she heard a bolt opening in the corridor. She sprang to her feet, suddenly conscious of her nudity once more.
The massive door swung open on creaky hinges and a gigantic shadow cast onto the floor. Elsbeth brought her hand to her mouth with fear, and shrieked when the biggest black man she had ever seen stood towering in the open doorway.
“Ple… Ple… please. What… Where am I? Don’t hurt me.”
He grinned sadistically, baring his white teeth. After looking her over for several seconds he strode over and, without a word, seized the terrified girl by the neck. Elsbeth gasped at the incredible strength in his arm and hand as he pulled her effortlessly from the cell and out into the corridor. She was too afraid even to struggle; hoping only that he would relax his grasp if he saw that she wouldn’t resist.
“Aaahhh, please… who are you…? Where am I…? Aaahhh… that hurts, please…” she babbled, as he led her naked and bent over at the waist, through the long dark passages. His steal grip on her soft white neck was almost unbearable, but he ignored her pleading and useless protests.
After what seemed to Elsbeth an interminable barefoot journey through a stone maze, they emerged into a great hall, lit only with flaming torches. There was a fat Indian man sitting as if in meditation on a very large cushion. The African dragged her over in front of the man.
“What do you want?” asked Elsbeth, trying to rise from her bent over posture. “Who are you? Please, I… aahhhh!”
The black man slapped her in the face brutally and squeezed her neck.
“Silence, little pig. You in the presence of the Baugwan, Swami master of the Temple of Kaghli. You will kneel.”
“I… what? Aahhh.” She protested as he kicked her legs from under her and she sprawled onto the stone floor. Once she was down he put his foot on her back and held her there, pushing her over whenever she tried to get up. She wanted to hide her breasts but the black man kept pushing her face down. She needed her hands to shield her face from being ground into the rough stone floor.
The obese Indian man seemed totally unperturbed and unimpressed with the naked white girl. His piggish eyes followed her as she thrashed about ineffectually before him. He did not change his posture however for several minutes, as though the girl was an errant novice to be deal with at his convenience.
Finally he emerged from his trance and pulled his greasy body erect. He stood in front of the helpless girl and lifted her chin with his sandaled foot.
“You’re McKinna’s youngest piglet,” sneered the Baugwan. “And I think you are indeed a fat little overfed sow. Just as my men have said.”
“Please, what do you want?” she cried. In any other setting, someone else might have laughed at such a corpulent man calling another person fat. But Elsbeth was so frightened and moreover so sensitive about her weight that she flushed with shame and looked down; wishing her naked body would melt into the cracks in the floor.
Shakaba’s foot pressed harder into her back and she strained to keep hold herself up from the dirty stone. Suddenly he pulled his foot away. He reached down and took a handful of her golden blond hair, wrenching her head up and forcing her to look at the smiling, flabby face of the Baugwan.
“You’re a virgin aren’t you piglet?” he hissed, deliberately turning the psychological knife. “No man or even boy wants a fat little pork like you, do they…?”
She gasped when he slapped her face. “Answer me… DO THEY?”
“N… No… please…”
Elsbeth closed her eyes. She could not bear to look at him as he mouthed the hateful words, made all the more humiliating because she herself believed them. She knew he was right. She could not find a boyfriend because she was so fat and the rejection had haunted her entire life. Now to be naked and kneeling while a loathsome man of color confirmed what she had always known was almost more than she could bear. She closed her eyes and sobbed.
“Don’t worry, little one,” said the Baugwan with a tone of mock kindness. “We are going to change all that.”
Shakaba pulled her into an upright kneeling position and stood in front of her. The Baugwan stood to the side. He was fondling her hair and stooped to bring the rich blond curls to his face. He looked her vibrant young body over. He did not like fat on a girl and had considered her almost as a throw in, with the real prize being her older sister. Now however, he could see there were definitely some possibilities as far as she was concerned. Her skin was so clear and vibrant and she had a lovely, delicate face. Moreover, it might be very amusing to explore those possibilities with such an innocent and sheltered girl.
“Do you know how to suck a man’s lingam little one?”
Elsbeth frowned. “I… I don’t know what… What that is.”
The Baugwan laughed and Shakaba seized her by the hair, turning her face to his crotch. He unbuttoned his pants and brought his rampant manhood into view, inches from her face.
“This man’s name is Shakaba. He is your trainer, piglet. He is going to begin your lessons by teaching you to suck a man’s lingam, his cock. Take it in your mouth and pleasure it.”
Elsbeth stared at him, her eyes round with disbelief. He wanted her to put her mouth on that filthy thing! She could hardly keep from retching just from the thought of it. Imagine putting your tongue or lips on the strange, disgusting thing a man urinated from!
The African gathered more of her hair in his grasp and held it fast with one hand, then he pulled a wicked looking whip from his belt. “Get it in your mouth, now,” he said simply.
She shook her head. Despite the terror the whip invoked within her, she could not come to grips with the idea of putting her mouth on it. She looked up at him pleadingly.
“Aaaaaiiiii,” she screamed when the whip descended with force on her naked back. A bright red mark appeared on her soft, white flesh.
“Aaaaaaeeeeiii… Please.”
“Get mouth on. Do it now or I whip harder!” said Shakaba.
To the side she could see the Baugwan standing, his belly rolling and jiggling repellently as he laughed.
Elsbeth was crying. It was just not in her nature to resist. She was too afraid and too timid. The whip was too painful. She parted her lips and allowed the big black man to push the glans past her teeth.
“Use tongue. Don’t bite or I gouge your eyes out!”
“Pweeese,” she moaned, around the head of his phallus. But he simply thrust the shaft even further into her throat.
Aaannnnnggghhfff,” she cried as he brought the whip down on her back. She had instinctive tried to pull away when she started to gag.
“Relax throat… Use tongue underneath,” said Shakaba. “Get hands over part you can’t get in mouth. Suck good and I give you more time.”
Elsbeth whimpered and nodded. She closed her fist over the shaft outside her mouth and her checks hollowed as she sucked. She knew she was a coward and was performing something unspeakably nasty, but she simply could not stand being hurt. She would do anything to avoid that whip and she knew her captors could sense it. The young white girl did not know what they had in store for her, but whatever it was, she knew in her heart she was already broken. The mere threat of pain would coerce her to do anything. She was utterly at their mercy- or lack of it.
The great black phallus was gliding in and out of her mouth now and she was able to control the gagging reflex. She moved instinctively over it, wanting only to please him and end the horrible act. She got nothing but humiliation from it. But she found if she concentrated she could turn her mind off, make the moment tolerable by ignoring it, yet still perform. But when she felt him begin to ejaculate, she tried to pull away, thinking he was urinating in her mouth.
He tightened his grip on her head and held her still, pumping spurt after viscous spurt into her throat as she wheezed and tried desperately to pull away. She had no choice but to swallow some of it and the feeling as it slid down her throat almost caused her to vomit.
Finally he finished and let her go. She immediately went to all fours, spitting out what she had not swallowed and sobbing with shame and degradation. Elsbeth felt as though her very soul had been drenched with filth and she was certain she would never feel clean again.
“So you don’t like sucking a man’s lingam little one?” asked the Baugwan. “That is unfortunate, since if will be one of your principle duties. We must alter your distaste for the male essence and turn it into a craving. We shall call you Soour- little pig. For that is what you are going to be.”
The girl had no idea what he was talking about. She only knew she wanted to be away from there. Gone from the evil fat man’s presence and the African’s whip. It was a blessing when Shakaba led her back to her dank cell where she could at least be alone with her shamed misery and the odd taste in her mouth.

“Ah, doctor,” said The Baugwan, rising to meet his guest. “How are the Devadasi this month?”
“Very good, Swami. There are no sexual diseases and the women appear to be in excellent health overall. As usual Swami, your trainer has kept them in peak condition.”
“Excellent,” said the Baugwan. “But there is a matter with which I would like your opinion.”
“Is it about the two new white women you have acquired, Swami?” asked the doctor, his eyes sparkling.
“Yes,” chuckled the Baugwan. “Indeed it is. Tell me, how long can a healthy woman go without food before she is facing serious problems.”
“Well, it depends on the person and the conditions, Swami. Ordinarily there is no problem for at least two weeks, but after that, the subject should be closely monitored.”
The Baugwan nodded. “Did you have a chance to see the younger of the new white dasi?”
“Not really. Only from across the room.”
“But you could tell she is rather overweight?”
“Yes, of course Swami. Are you intending to starve the girl?”
The Baugwan laughed. “Only for a few days. I’m trying to get the flab off of her. I think she will make a delightful dasi if we can improve her appearance.”
“Yes, I agree,” said the doctor. “I would like to be one of the first to worship Kaghli with her body once she has been pacified.”
“Oh course, doctor,” laughed the Baugwan. “But I have in mind a training program for her and I want to know if my idea is feasible. We must be careful. She is of no use to me if she is not healthy.”
“As you know,” continued the Baugwan. “She is somewhat overweight, and has an aversion to the taste of a man’s ejaculate. I want to solve both problems at the same time. I propose to limit her died to semen, which does have nutritional value, but not enough to maintain her weight. By allowing her nothing else, she’ll be forced to at least develop a tolerance for the taste in order to ease her hunger pangs.”
The doctor’s brown face erupted into wide grin as he contemplated the shear lewdness of the idea. “It should be no problem. But…” he cautioned, reaching into his bag and removing a small bottle of pills. “Give her these. They’re a supplement we use to treat mal-nutrition. They contain vitamins and some trace minerals. You can dissolve it into her water. Don’t restrict the water; give her as much as she wants so she doesn’t dehydrate. When she approaches her desired weight, start giving her solid food a little at a time. Bread at first, then some fruit and nuts. Let her have a little fish when her weight stabilizes.”
“So you think it will work?” asked the Baugwan.
“Yes, no question. Starving her for a week or two will not hurt her. But you must watch her closely, especially after the first two weeks. Such a precipitous drop in caloric intake is bound to be a shock on her system.”
“Good,” said the Baugwan. “I want to shock her body, it will open her mind. We have done this before but not with a white woman. I went to a lot of trouble to obtain her and I don’t want her damaged. I also don’t want her training delayed. The pilgrimage season is coming and I want them both ready for work by then.”
The doctor nodded. “She will be fine. Just call me back in a fortnight or so. And you might sneak a little sugar into her water or give her some bread scraps if you think she needs it.”
“Very well,” said the Baugwan. “Thank you, doctor.”
“It is a pleasure to serve Kaghli, Swami,” said the doctor with a gleam in his eye. “Let me know when the girl is ready so I can leave my offering in her belly.”



Chapter 3

Imprisoned in the bowels of Hinja Punt, Caroline did not see the sun come up that morning. She merely awoke from a night, (or actually, a day) of fitful, troubled sleep, punctuated by frightful dreams.
It had all happened so bewilderingly fast. Only a few hours ago she had been free, with a bright, joyful future as Mrs. Brian Ironson. Now she was prisoner, trapped in a nightmare of shame and uncertainty.
She had watched her clothes burn to ashes like offerings in the iron brazier, while the Baugwan laughed at the anguish in her face. Then Shakaba had dragged her by the hair, down to the filthy dungeons beneath the Temple, seemingly away from light and the life she had known. It was as if she had been swallowed up by the solid living rock foundations of Hinja Punt.
The proud and dignified girl had wailed with impotent outrage when the great African had dragged her naked to the temple leatherworker, to be fitted with a stout collar as though she were an animal. She struggled to no avail as the two strong men had seized first her arms and then her legs; to manacle her with the unmistakable trappings of the Devadasi; the course brass wrist and ankle bands. These were riveted in place, driving home the fact that they were intended to be permanent.
It had taken several lashes with Shakaba’s whip to induce her to lie still as they applied the obscene tattoos of the Devadasi to the pale skin below her navel. Even so, she had to be tightly bound when the incredibly lewd and pagan images began to take shape.
The temple artist applied his works with superb skill and astounding speed, imparting an evocative, living picture perminantly into her skin. As hours passed agonizingly by, she watched with profound horror as her pristine flesh was emblazoned the image of the hideous god. His body was covered with gray scales and a smile of sadistic lust blanketed his face. He stood, raping a small, helpless women impaled on his massive phallus. He held the woman by the neck with his clawed hand as he gored into her. Nevertheless, she gazed back at him with beaming adoration, and there was no mistaking the eager intertwining of her legs behind his back.
A bandage was carefully applied to the tattooed area. Then Caroline was flipped over onto her belly and another artist began to work again.
The dark, scaled penis of the god was indelibly imprinted onto the skin of her lower back. From the top of her gluteal crevice, Kaghli’s impossibly long organ seemed to slither up her spine to the base of her neck, where it’s fat, reddish-gray head appeared to spit torrents of semen into her brain. At it’s base the god’s fat testicles hung heavily, tattooed onto her buttocks. Then this area too was covered with a sterile gauze.
It had all taken over twelve hours, and the white girl slumped in her bonds. The latent sting of the new tattoos mixed with exhaustion both physical and emotional, and she hung in a state between resignation and hysteria.
Finally, the powerful African had released her, and taken her to a cell even deeper below. He had forced her into a kneeling position and bound her arms above her head so that she could not smudge or spoil the tattoos. Even so, he warned her.
“Let marks heal,” he said roughly as she stared onto the straw floor. “You damage them, we whip you unconscious. Then we put more tattoos on you. Maybe on you face!”
Caroline groaned but did not try to look up. She heard the massive door bolt lock into place, the sound echoing through the corridor, mocking any determination to resist them.

She slept, a little. Such was he trauma that now fatigue overtook her. But it was a fitful rest, filled with pain and dreams of defilement.
Caroline McKinna was strong and revulsion for the Devadasi was deeply ingrained. Even under the extreme duress they had subjected her to, she could no imagine being one of them.
“They’ll never make me a Devadasi,” she whispered to herself with conviction. Yet her voice sounded small and frightened and the very walls seemed to stifle her breath. She realized fully at that moment that she was a prisoner, totally in their power. Oddly enough, after so much abuse in the presence of the Baugwan and Shakaba, it was the quiet and loneliness of this room that really terrified her.
What little light there was in the room came from the torches in the corridor and streamed through bars in the door, casting a sickly, dull luminescence of lurid red on the stone walls. The captive girl thought she could hear voices in distant rooms or chambers, but on her level, silence reigned. After what seemed like a long time, she had called out, with predicable futility. There was no answer. She was alone with the chains, the stone floor, and the fading pain of the tattoos. With nothing else to do, she cried- and slept.
That must have been hours before. Now she heard a key in the door once more. Immediately she was fully awake and aware of her own nakedness. Her hands went instinctively to cover her charms and she discovered she was still bound. The iron door swung open to reveal Shakaba, a torch in his hand and a wicked looking whip on his belt. The firelight flickered on his face, giving him an almost demonic look as he grinned down at her.
“Please… You must let me go!” she whined, unsuccessfully trying to keep the plaintive pitch from her voice. “I will be missed at the mission and there will be inquires. If you let me go now I’ll…”
“Your lessons start today, woman. I take you to the Baugwan now. You show respect and reverence or get skin flayed.”
Caroline hated the African, but his physical presence was truly intimidating to a frightened, naked, young white girl. She was totally cowed. He released her from the chains and she staggered to her feet. Frowning apprehensively she got up and followed him out the cell door, still trying to hide her naked charms with her hands, but not daring to disturb the gauze bandages.
Several minutes later, Caroline was kneeling before the Baugwan, having been whipped into that position by the tireless hand of Shakaba. He dictated her exact posture; legs spread, hands behind head, breasts thrust forward boldly and the soles of her feet upturned. A position to demonstrate utter subjugation. Her ankle bands rattled against the stone as she sobbed softly with humiliation and outrage. She looked with loathing at the obese form of the Baugwan as she awaited his emergence from the meditative trance he was in.
Soon his eyes fluttered and he smiled. “Miss McKinna, how good of you to come. And I can see you’re at last properly attired and decorated to begin your new duties here.”
“You’re insane,” she spat. “You think you can kidnap women with impunity. There are laws… aaahhh.”
The Baugwan slapped her face viciously. “You would do well to remember that service to Kaghli is the only law which concerns you.”
Caroline’s flash of defiance was over. The big black trainer had pulled his short whip from his belt and the white girl felt her courage flow like wax.
“Let us see how the marks have taken,” said the Baugwan.
Shakaba moved to her side and began to peel the bandages from Caroline’s decorated flesh. The artistry astounded them all.
The images were perfect, vivid and striking. Even though she had seen them the day before, Caroline gasped with horror and dismay. The marks were like a stain of deepest shame, proclaiming her new condition as temple whore indelibly on her very flesh.
“Excellent,” breathed the Baugwan, after several minutes of admiration. It surpasses all my hopes.”
Caroline hung her head and sobbed.
“They must be allowed to dry now,” said Shakaba. “But there is less danger of her blurring them.”
The Baugwan watched her closely, enjoying every second of her distress. “You see?” he snickered sadistically. “Now you can see what you are with your own eyes. The marks of a Devadasi.”
The young white woman stared at him through hollow, defeated eyes, crying softly with shame. Suddenly she felt the hand of the black trainer around her soft throat.
“Now,” he continued, “I do not find ‘Miss McKinna’ to be an appropriate name for woman of the Devadasi. Since you are taking the place of a former dasi, you will also take her name, Pashu. To that we will add the name, Vama. From this moment you will leave your old identity behind. Your new name is Pashuvama, which means filthy beast. A base animal woman. Say it.”
Caroline’s breath caught with the sheer humiliation of name, but fear gripped her as well. “Please… I… I can’t be a… A Deva… Dahhggggghhh.”
Shakaba tightened his grip on the girl’s neck until she was afraid he would snap it. “Obey the Baugwan,” he demanded. “Say your new name.”
“Hhhhggg… Please… Ahhhhgggh… Pashuvama… Pashuvama…” she gasped.
“Very good,” smiled the Baugwan. “You will bear that name with pride, Pashuvama, sex beast and Devadasi of Kaghli.”
Caroline turned away, her face a rictus of shame at the horrible prospect. An instant later she cried out with shock when the fat Baugwan slapped her across the face once more.
“Look at me when I speak to you. Look into my eyes, I am your master. You will show respect or we will whip it into you. Kaghli has entrusted you to us for training and train you we shall.”
Caroline wept quietly, unable now even to hide her face from the Baugwan. She hated his petulant, arrogant countenance and the mere proximity of his obese, shirtless form caused her to feel soiled. She could hardly bear the thought of his tallow-like eyes raking over her exposed body, but he sneered, as if her beauty were a trifle, a cheap trinket offered to him by a street vendor.
Once again he seemed calm and sophisticated, as if he were discussing one of the temple’s business transactions. He stroked the girl idly on the head as though soothing a favorite pet.
“You are a virgin then?”
“Yes,” she choked.
He nodded as if greatly pleased. He motioned to Shakaba who gripped her arm and lifted her onto her feet, leading her over to a stone idol. The thing was slightly larger than life and sitting on a short pedestal. It was a statue of Kaghli, sitting cross-legged, face leering and tongue protruding salaciously. It was a close replica of the great idol in the temple’s main sanctuary, made from the same dark granite and complete with a long, thick penis lancing up from between its legs at an obscene angle.
“You will offer your virginity to Kaghli,” said the Baugwan, his voice intoned, almost chanting. “You are Pashuvama, Kaghli’s slave. You will come to love him. Kaghli will possess you… And you will love Kaghli!”
Caroline stared at him, horrified as well as puzzled. The idea of having physical relations with a chunk of granite seemed as impossible as it was unnatural. But her eyes fixed on the carved phallus and she suddenly understood what he wanted. The very notion made her sick to her stomach.
Caroline’s outrage conspired with the last of her pride to kindle the flame of resistance within her. Such humiliation and debasement could not be borne. Moreover, she had a deep-seated hatred of idols and paganism, having been indoctrinated into her monotheistic religion from an early age.
“Never,” she screamed. “You’ll never make me love that… That thing… I refuse to even touch it… Aaaaaaaaaaaahhgghh.” Her back erupted with pain from the impact of Shakaba’s whip.
“You will speak with respect and reverence to Kaghli,” said the Baugwan. “This is his avatar. You love it. You love Kaghli.”
“Your religion is sick,” shouted the girl, rage still overcoming even her paralyzing fear. “How can any woman feel anything but disgust for this… horrible idol? Aaaaaiiihhhggghh,” she screamed from another blow.
“Pashuvama’s ass bleed if she not learn respect,” snarled Shakaba.
“Respect and obedience,” said the Baugwan smoothly. “Now, you will fuck Kaghli. You will place his lingam inside you and lower yourself on it until your hymen splits. Then you will sit in his lap with your legs around him and arms about his neck. Rut on him and have a climax- or Shakaba will indeed whip your soft white ass bloody.”
Caroline stared with open-mouthed shock. She could scarcely believe they would demand something so incredibly obscene. But the sting in her bottom and the memory of the whip from the previous day dispelled any illusions. Given time they could force her to do anything.
“Please…” whimpered Caroline. “I’m a virgin. I’m going to be married soon. Please… Don’t do this to me.”
The Baugwan smiled. “Kaghli loves to ravish the unbeliever’s woman. He loves to bend the woman’s heart to himself and feel her surrender to his avatar’s maleness.”
“I… I can’t…” she wailed. “You can’t make be do that! AAAaaaaaaaaiii…”
“Straddle him, sit in his lap… get his lingam inside you,” said Shakaba, punctuating his demand with another sharp, scorpion-like sting from the whip.
“NO… NOOOO… Aaaaiiiieeeee!”
“Do it now! Give yourself to Kaghli!” shouted Shakaba.
“Pleee… eeeee… eeeaassse…” she broke down, sobbing. “I’m white! I’m a virgin! AAAaaaaaaaeeeeiiii.”
“Yessss,” hissed the Baugwan, his eyes sparkling with lust. “And you will offer your virginity to your god/lover.”
“Aaaaaiiiiieeeee… stop. I can’t stand it…”
“Squat down… get yoni on Kaghli’s shaft, NOW!” yelled Shakaba.
She sat on the stone idol, her feet on either side of his legs. Shakaba had to give her another slash across the back with the whip before she centered the phallus at the entrance to her vagina.
They had smeared some kind of lubricant on the idol’s penis and it slid past her labia without resistance.
“Aaaaiieegggghh,” he struck her again. Blind with pain she lowered herself further. She could feel the rigid shaft now pushing the walls of her feminine core aside as it sunk all the way to her tissue of chastity. Like many girls Caroline had masturbated with her clitoris a little but had never stuck anything up inside of herself. The object felt alien, frightening. She began to pull off of it.
“Aaaaaaiiiiggggh,” The black man landed the whip. The pain seared her backside. She pushed herself back onto the object, instinctively trying to escape the source of the torment.
“Aaaaiiiiiigggg aaagggg, please… It won’t go any deeper,” she cried.
“Yes it will,” said the Baugwan. “You must push it all the way in. Sacrifice your virginity to Kaghli.”
“NOOOOO… I can’t do it… Aaaaaaiiiiihhhhhhhhh… Aaaaaaaiiiiihhh… Aaaiiiiigggg oh god stop it… I can’t stand it. AAAAAIIIIIHHHHHHHHGGG.”
Shakaba was laying into the blows with a will, snapping the leather against her back and rear cheeks with a violent crack. Caroline pressed herself forward onto the phallus, stretching her internal tissue, but there she stopped. Though the agony engulfed her back she still could not force herself to pop her own cherry. She was sobbing, screaming hysterically. But still, the idol’s lingam sunk no further. It required every scrap of concentration to hold her position, struggling through a fog of mind numbing pain, so intense she failed to notice a first that Shakaba had stopped whipping her for the moment.
She craned her head to see the black man. He was talking with the Baugwan.
“Please… Please let me go… Oh please tell me what you want.”
“I want you to rape yourself on Kalhi’s lingam,” said the Baugwan evenly. “The pain will not stop until you give him your maidenhood.”
Caroline sobbed with desolation. They were forcing her to relinquish something she had cherished, something that belonged to Brian. Now she was being compelled to proffer her physical purity to this disgusting idol and the spiritual pain was devastating. She looked past the Baugwan to Shakaba. He had discarded the whip, but her blood ran cold when she saw what he had replaced it with. He was holding a long rattan cane.
“NO… no no… No no… oh please no…” she breathed, her voice quivering with panic.
“AAAAAAIIIIIIIIHHHHHHHHH.” The white girl’s rounded ass cheeks exploded with indescribable agony as the trainer dealt the first blow. Even the whip had been nothing like this.
Aiiieeeeeee…” she screamed as he began methodically caning her. He was yelling at her to hilt herself on the shaft. But even three vicious lashes from the big black man could not induce her to press her hips forward, and tear her own virgin sheath.
“Do it now… rip your hymen on Kaghli!” yelled the Baugwan.
“No… nooooo…” she screamed. “Ohhh pleeeease! Aaaaiiiieeee… Aaaiiee, aaaaiiieeegg, aaaiiieeeee. Oh god, nooooo!”
He was raining lashes down on her, violent stripes that seared into her tortured body.
Caroline was sure he was ripping the flesh from her, thought there must be pools of blood beneath her. She lost control of her bladder and golden urine gushed over the phallus and trickled down her legs. She could feel the big, hard object up inside her, the head stretching her virgin tissue taut as she strained to escape the cane. Still she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t break her own chastity on the penis of that hideous stone statue!
The white girl’s howls of torment echoed off the dark stone walls of the hall. With painful irony she clung to the idol she hated so, trying to borrow some of the strength from the dense stone. But the sting was becoming unbearable, as if someone had throw acid on her back. Her intellect was disintegrating, leaving a mindless, shrieking animal.
Finally she could stand it no longer. Shakaba landed a particularly potent slash on her lower rear cheeks and her body surged forward of it’s own volition. She felt her treasured maidenhead rip inside her and the artificial penis burrow into her deepest recess.
“AAAAAAAEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIII, it hurts… It hurts… stop it. It’s done, it’s done…” she wailed.
Caroline could feel the unyielding head of the phallus graze her cervix. She cried hysterically and the muscles of her arms and legs continued to twitch and tremble, despite the fact that the trainer had ceased the striking her for the moment.
The Baugwan was chuckling with delight, his fat belly quivering like a bag of gelatin.
“Yeessss… Worship Kaghli. He has taken your virtue, now fuck him… Cum on him… Give Kaghli your female soul!”
Caroline moaned and wept with pain and defeat- and abysmal shame.
“Aaaaaiiiihhhhgggg…” She had began to pull off of it but Shakaba dealt her soft globes another blow.
“Do not raise off,” said the trainer. “Fuck it, cum on it. You Kaghli’s Devadasi!”
The white girl groaned and pushed herself back down to the hilt. The stone organ felt unnaturally rigid and lifeless within her, but its surface was so highly polished that it did not chafe. Fortunately her vaginal muscles were already instinctively adjusting and flexing around its girth, as if preparing to pleasure a lover.
Caroline whined and bit her lip. There was a tiny ridge carved into the stone at the base of the statue’s penis. Now that she had all of it inside her the smooth lip was rubbing the hapless girl’s clitoris, giving her all kinds of bright, unanticipated- and totally unwanted feelings. The sudden onset of the little tingles made her grimace with disgust. She was sure the feelings were illicit and to acquire pleasure from this act would be the pinnacle of self-betrayal. She pulled her clit away from the stone lip and sat still, hoping they would let her off the idol now that she had ruptured her virgin tissue on it.
The two men who looked on gave her a few seconds respite, then Shakaba was prodding her ass with his foot.
“Fuck Kaghli. In and out, woman. Get ass moving.”
Caroline groaned. Slowly, tentatively, she began to work herself on the idol’s member. Her movements were artless, mechanical. She had no sexual experience from which to draw and the stone figure offered no direction, as a real lover would have. But as the moments passed and her vagina began to adjust to the intruder, the pain faded. In its place remained an odd feeling of being stuffed, made almost surreal by the inanimacy of the thing she was impaled on.
“Good,” said the Baugwan. “Very good. Feel Kaghli inside you. Feel him take you. Make love to Kaghli and show him your submission.”
Caroline tried to ignore the shame invoking words. It was enough for her that the caning had stopped, at least for now. The degradation of this instant was eating her soul like acid, but she was too afraid of these men and of the pain they could inflict, to do anything but turn her mind off and continue the instinctive coital motions. But the odd, pleasurable feelings were getting stronger. She tried to descend only part way down on the shaft, but Shakaba sliced her rear cheeks with the cane a couple of times and ordered her to grind herself against the base on each thrust. Even though she still tried to avoid it, the stone lip was pressing her clitoris every time she bottomed out on the phallus, delivering surges of lust she could not suppress.
Caroline began humping the idol faster, more fluidly now. She had closed her mind to the presence of the Baugwan and the trainer. It seemed the only way to survive the soul withering moment. Her only goal was to complete the act so she could escape the statue. Unfortunately she had no idea what completion of the act meant, or how long it would take. Still, the African was no longer punishing her with furious, regular strokes and that was enough. The panic subsided along with the ache in her back- and the strange, illicit feelings grew even more intense.
“Aaaaaaiii.” The cane landed again on her back without warning.
“Move faster now,” shouted Shakaba. “Make yourself cum.”
“Oh please,” she whimpered, pumping her vagina over the idol’s phallus with new vigor, “I’m doing it… don’t hurt me anymore, please…”
“Keep moving,” ordered Shakaba. “Get arms around him, use legs. Woman no stop till she cum.”
Caroline looked up to the hated Baugwan, hoping against hope to find a tiny shred of mercy. But there was nothing but lust in his eyes and a voracity to rip away her innocence and self respect, just as he had forced her to rupture her physical hymen moments before. There was no mercy, no escape from this act except in its consummation. She groaned and closed her eyes and began to fuck the idol faster.
It was the last defeat. Caroline swallowed all pride and dignity, humping on the stone idol and its hard phallus with alacrity. On each downstroke now her clit would grind against the stone without resistance, sending electric shocks of potent pleasure up her spine. The feeling was continuing to build and she was beginning to lose control of her own body. It was a terribly disconcerting and new feeling to the hitherto virgin white girl.
“Yess, yessss,” hissed the Baugwan. “Let it take control of you. You love Kaghli. You want to fuck Kaghli. You can not resist him. Feel him driving inside you, taking you…”
Caroline tried to concentrate and deny the feelings that were starting to crest within her. But the motions they were forcing her to make were fueling the fire. If only she could stop she knew she could control them, but they wouldn’t let her stop!
“Please… Ahhhhhh… Please! …Isn’t this enough?” she moaned, with disgust.
“You cum on Kaghli,” said Shakaba. “White girl stay there till she does.”
“Please…” she sobbed. But the motions of her hips were automatic now and her pleas to be allowed to stop were irrelevant. She was rutting on Kaghli lewdly, unconsciously trying to maximize the mind-bending pleasure.
“I don’t know what’s happening…” she bleated. “I can’t… Ahhh ahhhh ahhhhh… Please… I can’t stop… What’s happening! Aaahhhh aaiiee haaa haaaaa haaaaaaahh.”
The Baugwan and the black trainer were laughing in triumph as her body took over. She humped herself wildly on the idol, interested now only in drawing the fulfillment that the greasy, lewd feelings seemed to promise. Caroline held the god tightly, crushing her breasts and pubis to the smooth, unyielding stone.
The girl’s conscious mind reeled, unable to cope. Forced to rape herself and sacrifice her own virginity on the cold, lifeless idol, the humiliation was too much, the debasement too overpowering. Yet so was the awakening of her libido. She retreated into her own mind where she could enjoy the feeling of the act, yet shut out the presence of the Baugwan and his minion. There she could forget the shame for the brief present and immerse herself in the masochistic glory of the moment.
She could see herself vividly, with an uncanny detachment. Impaled on Kaghli’s lap, so naked and conquered, vulnerable and beaten. So raped.
Then she was gasping and shouting again as the strange orgasmic feelings gripped her and the waves of carnal tension broke for the first time. All thoughts were driven from her mind and her sole desire was to satisfy the hot wanton spasms that gripped her belly.
Aaahhh, aaaahhhh, aahhhh, ahhhh… Aaahhhhhhiieee, yeeesssss. Fuck me… Yeeeessss…” She was cuming, climaxing, immersed her own universe of ecstasy, swirling through space and time. Just herself- alone with the life energy of Kaghli.
For a brief eternity she rode the idol with non-sentient carnal instinct. But the climax peaked and as its drive subsided, Caroline was once again conscious of her physical environment. Reality and the magnitude of what she had just done imploded upon her in an instant.
Oh god, what shame of shames. She had given in. Surrendered her virtue, indeed she had enjoyed it. And in front of these two evil men!
She groaned, feeling hollow, as of part of her soul had been ripped out. Legs weak, she pulled herself from the idol and collapsed to the floor. She wept bitterly as waves of biting humiliation crashed over her with the realization of what she’d done and who she had witnessed it. But she was not even allowed a private moment with her misery. Shakaba pulled her up by the collar and held her before the Baugwan.
“You see now, Pashuvama,” said the Baugwan grinning salaciously. “You understand a little, I think. Kaghli is a god of rape. He glories in the capture, the piercing of the female on the male erection, the rut and the climax. He is taker, abuser, enslaver of women. And Kaghli loves the corruption of youth and virginity most of all. You have worshiped Kaghli by climaxing on his lingam. You belong to him forever now.”
Caroline continued to cry, the tears rolling down her cheeks as she struggled internally with what had just happened. But Shakaba pulled her up by the collar again and forced her over to the pile of cushions.
All Caroline wanted to do was to collapse, curl up into a ball and die, but her captors wanted to take advantage of her disoriented state to drag her down a bit further.
“Lay down,” ordered the black man. “On your back, legs spread!”
Hating herself, the broken girl complied, turning her anguished face to the stone wall.
The huge African trainer quickly stripped, moving to mount her. She sobbed when she felt his massive manhood parting her labia and looked up to see him in the age-old position of the conquering male. The unthinkable crashed in upon her. She was about to raped again. This time by a real, breathing male.
“Please,” she begged. “I can’t… take anymore. Oh please…”
“You fuck Shakaba now,” he breathed. “Start training today, woman. Right now. You all wet inside, take Shakaba easy.”
Caroline burst into choking sobs. She had been shamed beyond measure by the illicit encounter with the stone idol. Now she was to be forced into sex again only minutes later. Was there no end to this nightmare?
The young African pushed her legs apart forcefully, sliding his hips tighter between them and bringing his pelvis up to hers. He took his erection and dragged it back and forth through her labia, which were still soaked from her encounter with the idol. When it was covered with the girl’s own natural lubricant he centered the head of his manhood at the entrance to her love canal and pushed inside.
She could feel him pulling her neither lips aside with his fingers and she suddenly cried out. He was pinching them painfully.
“Turn your face to me, dasi. Keep eyes on my face and watch my lingam. Shakaba want you to see him fuck you as well as feel.”
Caroline whimpered and obeyed, locking her horror widened eyes on his black face.
He pressed down on her now, forcing his massive nine inches further into her abused vagina. She groaned with discomfort and looked down to where the huge black rod was penetrating her most intimate flesh. Her newly deflowered vagina was still a little sore from the loss of her hymen and there were small flecks of blood in the juices that coated his organ.
Fortunately for Caroline, the light in the cavernous stone hall was dim and she didn’t see the evidence of her bleeding sheath. Her body and sex primed by the interlude with the statue adjusted to his length and size quickly. The irritation of being stuffed so full again faded and Caroline felt her body now passively accepting him.
“Uuunnnnnggg,” she grunted inelegantly as once again she was skewered to the hilt. He reached to her breasts and vulva and began to play with her. Most men began foreplay before penetrating the woman. Shakaba began afterward, so that she would experience the entire build up to orgasm with him inside her. He felt it gave the woman, especially if she was a recent virgin, an expectation and dependence on the feel of his lingam.
The same sharp, tingling sensations that she had felt from her clit while on the god’s phallus now assailed her again. This time it was his large but nimble fingers that brought about the hot, itchy tinglings.
She was adjusted to the great rod pushed up to her vitals and the pain had ceased. She felt so open, so vulnerable. And she realized with a detached confusion that the odd, masochistic joy she had known on the idol was returning with renewed potency. What puzzled her most however was how little it alarmed her. Her mind was appalled but strangely eager, even as her body responded.
“Yes,” said Shakaba. “Woman ready to receive, ready to fuck. Woman stop fighting and fuck back. She be happy girl.”
Caroline sighed. She was loosening up fast now and her gasps were becoming softer and less stressed. The bright angel of sexual arousal was banishing the inhibitions and mores she had possessed mere hours ago and it no longer seemed so bad to be lying helpless under this dark man while he had his way with her.
At least she wasn’t being hurt at the moment.
Shakaba moved his hands up her belly, caressing and massaging her milk white flesh. When they finally reached her breasts and palmed the ripe fruit, he began to slowly rut on her, moving his dark penis in and out ever so slowly.
The white girl had tired of resistance. What does it matter anymore? She asked herself. It’s just them here and they’ve already raped me. Why shouldn’t I just let it happen so they don’t hurt me anymore?
Caroline relaxed, trying to control herself this time by not fighting it and concentrating on passivity.
The young girl quickly realized however, that this sexual encounter was not like the act with the stone idol. There, all they had extracted from her was the crude, lubricious display of a virgin raping herself. The unexpected orgasm had been spurred on by the weakness of her own flesh and the threat of the whip. Now, Shakaba was giving her feelings she had not experienced before. A kind of quickening deep inside her, an unwanted, oily pleasure that seemed to slither through her belly as the big black shaft moved in and out.
It was when the exhausted girl ceased to struggle that she discovered something that was to be a constant of life at the Temple of Kaghli. The physical and emotional pain eased when she surrendered. As she lay still and pliant, she was surprised at how gentle her lover became. Even the violence of his thrusts became smoother and more graceful. As her own body relaxed and became more receptive he seemed to piston evenly in and out, plying her in a way that she could not deny was pleasant. Bright stabs of desire radiated up her spine as he ground into her clit with every downstroke. Soon her body began to respond instinctively to him, demanding, like her trainer, more than simple acquiescence.
She began to move with him, tentatively at first, then with more confidence and vigor. Soon she was fucking for real, taking her female sensation with ardor, even greed. And a new shame reared in her mind. The fact that now she was cheating on Brian for real.
The idol had been different. There, she could assuage her conscience with the knowledge she had been forced. Even as she had gained pleasure from it, it was still an inanimate object, a particularly revolting form of masturbation, but no more.
Now she was engaged in actual sexual intercourse with a real man. A man she knew would deposit his seed in her at the last. There could be no doubt that she was having carnal relations and her last mental defense was the fact that he was making her do it. If she now began to enjoy it, and cooperate…
“Uuuaaahh uuuaaah,” she gasped with surprised joy. He was accelerating his strokes, slowly building speed and power in his thrusts, and the effect on Caroline’s libido was immediate. Her mind was alert even as her senses were saturated, but she was not thinking normally. To her surprise she discovered she didn’t care about what Brian would think, he would never know. She was living only for the thinnest slice of the present, the next delicious thrust from Shakaba’s male shaft.
Her will crumbled even as her intellect screamed with violation. Just as it had on the idol, Caroline’s body took over; submitting, taking, fucking. Her legs went up, then her arms. She entwined them around his hard, muscular body to spur him on. She wanted it. Needed it! That big, black, uncircumcised rod. And he was fucking her, drilling her with strength and alacrity, utterly male, utterly masterful. He brought his mouth to hers and she felt his heavy-laden testicles slapping against her anus. He seemed to drive his weight even harder into her and his huge maleness was kissing her spongy cervix with each stroke. Suddenly he broke the rhythm and held the bloated, throbbing manhood deep inside for several seconds. For the white girl, time seemed to stand still, as if there would be no outstroke and she would be skewered on his shaft forever.
Caroline’s mind and body exploded. She writhed under him, thrusting and jerking, pushing her sex onto him with wicked eagerness. Her body bucked, hips pumping and breasts bouncing, as if intent on throwing him off.
“Oh… Oh, oh, oh, ummmmmmhhh… Please… Shakabaaaaa…” she squealed.
Amused, he remained motionless, feeling her twist and churn with carnal need. Let her learn to work for it, he thought. She needed to get used to the idea of making a man come, begging with her body for the warm, comforting contents of his balls.
“Fuck it…” he yelled. “FUCK IT WHITE WOMAN! Fuck my African spear. I take you from you white man now… Fuck it, beg for my seed!”
She bucked madly, raw sexual pleasure electrifying her frame. Being almost three times her weight, he held her easily, bearing down into her with even greater force.
“Say it, slut,” said the big African. “Tell Shakaba what you want.”
Caroline’s mind swirled in a maelstrom of lascivious need. She gurgled, emitting sharp little cries of unsuppressed ecstasy. But it was not enough for Shakaba, he wanted her to verbalize the whines of now unresisted pleasure and he pinched her nipples painfully to emphasize his point.
“Beg Shakaba fuck you,” said the big African. “Beg now or he make these teats hurt bad.”
“Please,” she gasped, no longer caring what she said or who heard. “Please fuck me. Fuck me Shakaba. FUCK MEEEEEE!”
The huge black man obliged her, slogging her deeply with his full length, burrowing onto her cervix with each powerful thrust, feeling the woman grasp him now desperately, possessively.
The Baugwan looked on keenly with a professional as well as prurient interest. He knew Shakaba’s power over the female libido was formidable and the whip persuasive, but he also sensed there was something else behind the girl’s relatively quick surrender. She had resisted no doubt. But she’d also been transformed from reluctant virgin to sperm hungry whore in scant minutes and there had to be more to it than Shakaba’s big cock. He had expected it would take days or weeks to get the girl to respond at this level. There was obviously an untapped spring of latent sexuality in her, as well as a cauldron of masochistic lust, which simmered just beneath her cool exterior. The perfect raw material with which to mold the consummate Devadasi.
It was nothing volitional or conscious on her part and she would undoubtedly deny it even to herself. But he strongly suspected that within her lurked the dasi soul, the need of some women to submit and serve. That need was most profoundly met and manifested sexually and he knew the rapes could be bringing it to the surface. If so, it was an extraordinary stroke of luck. Or was it. Was this kind of corporeality common to fair skinned Western women?
He wondered if the other girl would prove to have a similar hot streak and he was already thinking ahead. Perhaps other white women might prove to have the same predilections. If so…
“Ahhh, ahhhh, ahhhh, yesss… Don’t stop… Fuck me… Fuck meeee,” cried Caroline.
Yes indeed, thought the Baugwan, after these two are trained the addition of more Western women could prove a powerful inducement to new recruits both inside and outside of India. Kaghli’s power and wealth could grow exponentially through the supple, nubile bodies of girls like these. Men would flock from the four corners of the earth to savor what Hinja Punt could provide, black, brown and white female flesh in abundance.
His thoughts were broken finally by Caroline’s orgasmic screaming as she clawed Shakaba’s back and pressed against his buttocks with her heels. She kissed him, open mouthed, dueling his tongue with hers as he crushed her pale, round breasts with his ebony torso. She could feel her nipples raking through his Negroid chest hair, bouncing salaciously with every thrust. For Caroline there was no longer anything in existence but the hard, male body rutting vigorously into her very core. Her fiancée, her religion, even the Baugwan and his ugly temple seemed meaningless. The stiff fleshy rod skewering that formerly secret hole between her legs encompassed the entire world.
They tumbled over the threshold together. Shakaba stiffened and pressed his lions into hers with his massive weight. Her ankles locked tight, spurring his ass. And her hands grasped his buttocks with feral desperation, trying to drive the last measure of his length into her. Then she felt him explode. Spurt after spurt of hot, viscous jism spat copiously from his heavy balls, splashing against her spongy cervix.
“AAAAAIIIGGGGGHH, ahhh, ahhhhh, aaahhhh, aaahhhhhh, aaaaaahhhhiieee. So deep. Oh god, you’re so deeeep!” she screamed.
He bellowed, pouring the last of his essence into her. She was groaning, crying into his mouth as he gasped and grunted, holding her helplessly pinned beneath him. The pleasure washed over her as the powerful climax lingered and she felt his sweaty body settle onto hers. She kissed his lips and caressed his back, relishing the sensation of his thick load flowing within her.
Then reality came crashing back in on her. In an instant of naked totality the intoxicating pleasure was gone and she saw herself with crystal clarity.
She was having sex with a black man, in a pagan temple! And she had begged for it, enjoyed it. She would gladly have exchanged death for the humiliation of that moment, but life and thought mercilessly continued. Her body went limp and she groaned with despair, lying beneath him, inert, desolate, consumed with self loathing- and sated lust.
Miss Caroline McKinna’s prized virginity, in all senses, was no more.
Shakaba finally led her wordlessly back to her cell; her weakened knees buckling, semen trickling from her swollen, red vulva.
Yes, indeed, thought the Baugwan.



Chapter 4

“PLEASE… PLEASE… I’m hungry… I’ve got to have something to eat,” wailed Elsbeth as the big African entered her cell. She was rubbing her empty belly in a futile attempt to sooth the hunger pangs, hugging her flabby little white torso with modesty and fear. Shakaba stared at her impassively, as if studying a scientific experiment.
Elsbeth, or Soour, as she was shortly to become, was in a pathetic state. She was still naked and now stank with the ancient filth of the cell and her own unwashed body. Her hair was disheveled and her skin was grimy with the soot off the walls and the old straw stuffed mattress she slept on. The bottoms of her feet were black from the carbon-darkened floor.
She had been left alone for five days after her initial encounter with Shakaba. No one had come except to change the water and waste buckets. She had not even seen the people who did that. They merely reached into her cell at odd hours from beyond panels in the door.
For a while she was glad. She was afraid they might make her perform that hideous act again, sucking that big, nasty thing that hung between a man’s legs. And she was still mortified of being naked in front of them. But now her empty stomach was finally winning out over modesty and inhibition and she was truly thankful to see anyone- even the big black man.
“Please…?” she asked, intimidated by his huge presence. “I… I… Need something to eat.”
“You get plenty to eat whenever you ask,” chuckled Shakaba. “Many men here eager to feed you.”
“Please… don’t make me touch your… your thing.” The young girl moved back into a corner of the cell, watching him with wide, apprehensive eyes.
The African laughed again, “Don’t be so frightened, little pig. This thing where life comes from. You suck life from it. Like baby suckling milk.”
“Please! I can’t do that again. I can’t…”
He unwrapped his tunic and sat on the stone ledge that held the mattress. He spread his legs and once again the white girl could see his massive manhood, erect and throbbing with lust. She shook her head and sniffled but the trainer was crooking his finger, gesturing at his crotch.
“On your knees little Soour. Time to feed.”
The hapless girl whimpered and went to her knees. But she could not bring herself to approach him until he pulled the whip from his shoulder.
“Suck now,” he said simply. “Or I make pretty red stripes on piglet’s white skin.”
Soour was crying now. Hunger and fear were driving her forward, yet the ingrained revulsion of putting such a thing in her mouth still held her back, filling her mind with disgust.
“Aaaaiiiiieeee,” she screamed as the whip descended across her chest. That was all it took. She scrambled over to him on her knees, weeping pathetically, looking up at him with round, limpid blue eyes.
He was surprised to find himself touched with feelings for the girl, especially one as unattractively fat. His tastes ran to the nubile, lithe young beauties that the temple of Kaghli was famous for. But he had never seen such a lovely, innocent face. So vulnerable, so yearning for love and acceptance. He stroked her soft, golden hair with genuine affection.
“It not so bad to suck lingam,” he said gently. “You like the taste after a few times. We help you learn, make you pretty. You lose all that pig fat soon. Be slender little Devadasi for Shakaba’s bed.”
Soour began to cry again. Not from fear or shame this time, but from the remembered pain of rejection. She had always felt bloated and ugly and she couldn’t imagine being pretty. The unexpected kind words from this huge, alien black man opened the floodgates and she cried with all the accumulated loneliness of her young life.
He let her cry, petting her wordlessly as she knelt before him. Then he drew her forward gently but firmly.
“It’s all right,” he said softly. “Put mouth on. Be good girl.”
Soour nodded, responding to his gentle tone. She tentatively stuck out her pink tongue, just contacting the tip. She looked up at him with a guileless pout and he nodded reassuringly.
Her tongue extended again to lightly graze the underside of his glans. It tasted salty, the way she remembered from a few days before. Now she became a little bolder, smiling meekly and placing her lips around the tip. When he reached for her head she was afraid he would force her mouth roughly down onto his phallus the way he had the first time. Curiously, he did not, but merely stroked her hair and caressed her soft throat. She laved her tongue along the shaft, swirling it about the head.
The huge black man leaned back and closed his eyes. The girl was struck by how open and trusting he looked. He was smiling at what she was doing and she liked that. It gave her a sense of control after nearly a week of utter helplessness. It also yielded a feeling of security. She knew he would not hurt her while she pleased him thusly. To the traumatized young girl a few moments of safety and acceptance were golden bliss indeed.
She plunged her mouth onto his cock of her own accord, wanting to obey, to please him and retain his favorable demeanor. Sucking the odd flesh rod with her lips and tongue seemed a small price to pay for- dare she think it? Love?
The black trainer gasped as she worked her lips, teeth and tongue over his manhood with an instinctive skill that belied her sheltered innocence.
When he came seconds later, Elsbeth swallowed instead of spitting it out. It was so desperately wonderful to have something in her belly. Something to quell the pangs of hunger. And best of all, she was pleasing him, making him happy with her. Only when she had licked every trace did she let it fall from her mouth, whereupon she sat back on her heels and smiled awkwardly.
“Please… Sir…”
“Shakaba you master,” he said firmly, but not unkindly.
“Please, mas… master. Don’t hurt me…”
The big black dasi trainer smiled. “No one hurt you little one. You be good little whore and no one hurt you.”
The blond girl nodded and whimpered, jism dripping from the corner of her mouth. Her expression was so open and needful. Shakaba looked at her almost fondly, taking some of the semen from her chin and bringing it to her lips where she licked his finger clean.
He grasped the girl by the hair, though not as roughly as before, and led her out into the corridor and up several levels. She trailed him obediently, nervous about being naked in such strange and threatening surroundings. But even if he was not holding her head securely she would have been unwilling to leave the man she now viewed as her protector.
He took her first to the doctor, who examined her while the Baugwan observed. She was noticeably thinner, but still did not appear weak. She was desperately famished but the food deprivation had not affected her health as yet. The Baugwan was very pleased and talked with the doctor in Hindi so that white girl would not comprehend their plan.
The High Priest of Kaghli had an intuitive grasp of human psychology. He knew that the stress of being without sustenance, when she was used to abundance would have a profound effect on her psyche. Her mind was as malleable as clay and as writeable as parchment. Ripe to accept the behavior and attitude changes he wished to make. Moreover, he had a theory as to the girl’s obesity.
He thought it likely that she had unconsciously come to use food as an infant uses a pacifier, to gratify some inner need for love or affirmation. If he could replace her compulsion to eat with one to perform sexually, he could transform her into the most enthralled Devadasi, supplanting her corpulence with sheer carnal heat.
The doctor too, seemed satisfied by her overall physical state. Her body was being conditioned to burn fat and he expected the weight loss to be precipitous soon. He did advise the Baugwan however that it was time to introduce a limited diet in the form of some starches and sugars, concurring with a grin the Baugwan’s suggestion of semen.
“She’s likely to retain a distinct preference for whatever food you allow her now. Her body will regard it as a staple and she might even develop a craving for it.”
“Excellent,” laughed the Baugwan. “You know, I had thought of this fat little swine almost as chaff, being primarily interested in her sister. I took her only because I wanted McKinna’s devastation to be complete. Now though, I think she will make a first class dasi once she’s been trained. Many of the faithful will make sizeable offerings to Kaghli in order to fuck such a young and fresh faced girl.”
“She will also have an attractive body soon, Swami,” said the doctor, idly running his hand down Soour’s naked back.
“Yes,” said the Baugwan, his eyes sparkling. “One which we can all enjoy.”
The white girl sat quietly while the two Indian men conversed in a language totally incomprehensive to her. She was as patient as she could manage, but soon the hunger prompted her to dare speaking.
“Please… I’ll be good. Please give me something to eat.”
“Soon little one,” said the doctor, palming her budding chest. “Very soon.”
Shakaba came in and led the girl back to her cell. There was something new in it. A seven foot tall statue of Kaghli. This idol was cunningly made of some dark hardwood, polished smooth. It was also different from the other images in that the god was standing, legs parted. From between them hung a massive phallus, nine inches long and made of rubber. The face of the god had the same sneering leer of all the other statues of Kaghli and stared down at its own penis with an almost animate male arrogance.
“This you master, you god Kaghli,” said Shakaba. “Kneel before him.”
Soour hesitated, despite her fear. In the religion she had grown up with, she had always been taught to abhor idols and idolatry. She scowled with disgust.
“Aaaaiiiieeehhh.” The whip impacted her rear cheeks.
“Kneel now,” said the African. “Give homage to Kaghli!”
With a cry of defeat, the girl went to her knees in front of the avatar.
She noticed a small hole in the end of the god’s erect penis.
“Suck Kaghli’s lingam. Suck now. You feed.”
Fear of the whip impelled the white girl to obey. Having already twice sucked the member of a real man, the demand that she perform the act on a wooden figure was more puzzling than revolting. She closed her mouth over the phallus and began to suck, turning her eyes to Shakaba to see his face. He was the only man who had ever made her feel even slightly attractive and in truth she was as fearful of displeasing him and being rejected as she was of his whip.
Her cheeks hollowed as she obeyed his order to service the god and she was surprised to find she was drawing a thick liquid from it. It tasted sweet and had the consistency of a milk shake. She sucked harder, eager for the sustenance.
“Yes, little one,” said Shakaba. “You see, it is good to drink from Kaghli’s lingam. Fill your belly with his seed.”
Shakaba reached down to fondle the girl’s head and neck as she sucked voraciously from the god’s penis. She was consuming a viscous, porridge-like mixture containing sugar and flour, along with some of the doctor’s vitamins. A silver tube inside the phallus extended to a small bowl inside the idol’s abdomen. There was an access panel in the back where the bowl could be removed and replaced with a fresh one every time the dasi fed. It was a superb training tool to de-sensitize a new slave and get her accustomed to fellatio.
When Soour was finished, after having worked hard for the last drop, she pulled her head away and smiled faintly at her trainer, somewhat embarrassed at her unorthodox method of eating. Shakaba gestured to her. “Come.”
He led her once more through the maze of passages, up to the inhabited sections of the huge shrine. First they stopped at the temple smith, who fitted Soour’s neck with a leather collar and placed brass bands around her ankles and wrists. The white girl whimpered but did not resist as the huge Indian man drove the rivets into each of the bands. She looked up at Shakaba who smiled. Somehow his smile was comforting and she felt he would not hurt her as long as she obeyed. She could not help but smile back, albeit weakly.
It was his presence and strength that allowed her to lie unflinchingly still as she was tattooed like her sister with the lewd markings of the Devadasi. She watched as the temple artist applied the image of a large brown phallus onto her belly, holding Shakaba’s hand during the painful procedure. When it was finished she saw that the African was pleased. A sense of pride welled up in her and she smiled meekly.
She was ordered onto her belly, so the tattoo artist could apply the image of Kaghli onto her back. Then it was done, and like her sister she bore the permanent marks of the Devadasi.
“Now you thank man who give you such pretty adornment. He want lingam sucked,” said Shakaba.
Soour’s face clouded and she pouted ever so slightly, but she obediently went to her knees and reached under his tunic, feeling for his genitals. She looked up at the man with her soft blue eyes and slowly pulled the material of his tunic aside.
This man’s penis was much shorter than Shakaba’s, but with greater girth. The girl licked along the shaft. He tasted different from her master, more musty and stale. She would have vomited had she been doing this only days before, but now she only wanted to please Shakaba. And he was right. It really wasn’t so bad to suck on the strange tube that protruded from a man’s crotch, now that she’d done it a few times.
The young white girl was soon working her mouth up and down quickly, using her lips to gently bite the edge of his uncircumcised head. He seemed to like that and grabbed fistfuls of her soft blond hair, directing the movements of her head. She could hear the two men conversing in Hindi between the smith’s grunts of pleasure and she closed her eyes to concentrate.
He was moving his hips back and forth, sliding his brown cock in and out. It was definitely a pleasant feeling for the white girl to know she was pleasing the man. She felt wanted and useful and it gave her a sense of self-worth. It was her mouth that was making him feel good, her body he wanted. She was desired and needed. It made her feel better about herself than she had for a long time.
At length, there was a tenseness to the man’s loins and she felt a pulse and heard him gasp. Then his semen was pumping.
The one thing about sucking this man that was similar to Shakaba was the feel of his cum squirting in her throat. As with her black trainer she was able to control the urge to gag and swallowed dutifully, gazing up into his face as his organ throbbed.
“Good, little pig,” said Shakaba. “You get nice reward of man juice in your belly.”
The Indian smith chuckled and couldn’t resist bouncing his deflating penis onto her upturned face, splashing droplets of cum onto her pretty features.
“Come with me now,” said Shakaba. Soour noticed that instead of seizing her painfully by the hair, her trainer instead grabbed her wrist and led her down the ancient passageways. He took her into an area she had not been to before. There were numerous side galleries cut into the rock, partitioned from the main corridor with curtains of glass beads. She could feel the sooty sand between her toes and smell the incense wafting through the tunnels. Shakaba stopped at one chamber and pushed aside the curtain. He stepped into the shadowy room, pulling the white girl with him.
Inside sat three Indian men, taking turns drawing puffs from an odd looking pipe. Soour recognized the smell of the bettlenut, but not the pungent odor of the opium smoke. In seconds however, at Shakaba’s instruction, she was lying prone before one of the cross-legged men, avidly sucking his penis.
He was a young man, richly dressed. He stared down with pleased arrogance at the girl as she worked her mouth over his love piece with skill and determination despite her novice at the art. This time she did not look up at the man she was servicing, but simply concentrated on making him squirt the salty, sweet nectar into her mouth. When he came she swallowed the slime and was told to move onto the next man, who, after several minutes of the girl’s work also obliged her with his sperm. When the Soour had completed her task on all three men, she sat back, kneeling on her bare heels and smiling faintly to her trainer, who patted her head.
“Good girl,” said the black man. “See, your stomach not feel so empty now.”
The girl nodded timidly as traces of their pearly slime dripped from her lips and Shakaba once again picked her up by the arm. He took the compliant teen down the passageway from room to room, watching as she serviced each man with her mouth. With each passing act Soour grew more confident and less inhibited. It was nice to have something in her stomach and to know she was pleasing the big African. Somehow her shame and revulsion of oral sex with strange men seemed to diminish as she went. It was like milking a cow or a goat, she thought, giggling inanely through her nose.
After several hours she had swallowed the ejaculate of just over twenty men. It wasn’t enough to eat, really, but it was better than nothing. Shakaba also gave her a small crust of bread and a little wine. Then he took her back to the cell.
She curled up on the dirty mattress, tired and ready to sleep. It had been a traumatic day, but she was glad she had satisfied Shakaba and learned that cock sucking was not so bad. She belched and could taste the half-digested semen, but it wasn’t gross at all. It was good to have something in her stomach and the hungry young woman quickly swallowed the liquid again. The last thing she thought about as she nodded off to sleep was the smiling face of her trainer, whom she was rapidly coming to accept as her provider and master- and her love.



Chapter 5

Caroline was kneeling beside the Baugwan, staring with terror into the open pit below them.
For more than a week she had been raped by her black trainer every morning in the temple’s great hall. The Baugwan watched with leering interest as she was taken in a new position each time, always brought to a screaming orgasm by her African trainer, always at the feet of the idol of Kaghli.
They had forced her into the most degrading and shameful acts, compelling her to play the whore in word and deed in order to purchase temporary relief from the whip. But the Baugwan knew they had not truly broken her yet. She was cowed, subdued, disoriented by the combination of extreme pain, humiliation- and intense pleasure. But her mind and heart were not fully transformed. They were making excellent progress with the younger girl, but this one was proving to be a bit of a challenge. Not that the Baugwan minded. It was incredibly stimulating see the rapid inveiglement of McKinna’s youngest daughter. But it was even more deeply gratifying to watch the proud, elder girl being dragged slowly into the slime pit, transformed with delicious languor into one of Kaghli’s most obedient and lust inciting Devadasi. It was something to savor, like the exquisite moment now at hand.
He looked down at Caroline. She was still naked, except for her collar and the bands on her arms and legs. A chain perhaps two feet in length connected her wrist bonds and rattled against the rough floor as she fidgeted nervously. He loved her in this state, dank and unwashed, hair disheveled, flesh fouled with the stale semen that dripped from her labia and dried on her legs. But her delicate skin remained alabaster white and her beauty untouched under the filth and soot covering it. There was preserved the air of besmirched elegance about her, as of a comely and virtuous girl defiled. It was as yet however, only superficial. She was physically and emotionally soiled, but only on the surface. She was not yet truly Devadasi and her inculcation had only begun.
Yet the Baugwan intended to see it through- and enjoy it to the full.
He wondered if it had been so delightful training the white captive women of the mutiny a century and a half before. They had provided Kaghli and his followers with years, even decades of pleasure. Some of the present dasi were descendents of those hapless girls who had spent the rest of their lives at Hinja Punt.
He was already considering how he could obtain more fair skinned women. He was now certain they would be a highly prized novelty among Kaghli’s disciples. The McKinna daughters were the key. He would develop methods of enslaving Western women by experimenting on the two that he had. There was much to learn, but he was sure he could break them to the same discipline as the temple’s other Devadasi. It was just a matter of conditioning, training and time.
That was why they were here, at the edge of a pit containing dozens of large snakes. To push the older girl a little further into the whirlpool of depravity. It was time to take her training beyond elementary sexual indoctrination and rape. The traumas and the violations of her sex, will and identity, inflicted during the past week had ripped open her psyche. Her consciousness was exposed, fertile, like a reclining woman with her legs wide spread. It was time to plant the seed, he thought with appropriate analogy. Time to cum in her mind as well as her belly and conceive within her personality of the temple whore she was fated to be.
“What do you think, Pashuvama?” asked the Baugwan with mock sincerity. “Isn’t this a delightful, enchanted place?”
“I… I’m… I don’t like snakes,” she whimpered with a shudder. The white girl was unconsciously clinging to the Baugwan’s leg and did not see her tormentor’s evil grin.
He had been questioning her for days, probing for weaknesses and cracks in her psyche that he could use to break her. He was delighted to find she had a snake phobia. There was, very conveniently, a perfect place within the temple to exploit such fear.
“This room is very old,” he continued. “These are Kaghli’s serpents, referred to in the most ancient manuscripts of the temple. You couldn’t pronounce the name for this place in Hindi, but it is loosely translated as “the Hell Hole.”
Caroline looked up at him, her eyes pleading. Her pride and self-confidence had been largely broken down and there was nothing left but to beg with word and action for mercy. Mercy from a man who had none.
“Please,” she gasped, sensing he was about to subject her to something particularly nasty. “Please… I can’t stand snakes… I…” Her voice trailed off as she gazed into the pit, grasping even more tightly to his leg.
“But these serpents belong to Kaghli,” he said. “They are a phallic symbol of his power. They serve him as the avatars of his lingham and you must love them. You must love all of Kaghli’s servants.”
“Please, master,” she cried, her voice cracking. “Let me suck you… let me please you. Take me away from here. I promise I’ll do what you want. I’ll serve you.”
“But you must learn to serve all the worshipers of Kaghli. They are all your masters.”
Down in the pit many snakes of all sizes were crawling across the sandy floor. There appeared to be several deadly King Cobras among them. Suddenly, from a door at the other end of the pit a muscular man appeared. At first glance it looked like he was wearing a kind of strange, form fitting garment. It was only when she looked carefully that Caroline realized that he was in fact, naked. There was the oddest quality to his skin. All over his arms and chest were what looked like scales, gray in color. He stepped among the snakes without a care, as if he were immune to their venomous bite. Caroline shuddered and her toes curled nervously on the dirty stone.
“This is Jawa’s lair,” said the Baugwan. “The snake-man. He keeps Kaghli’s serpents as Shakaba keeps the dasi.”
The snake man looked up and grinned. Caroline shuddered at his appearance. He did fact look like a reptile. The scales were tattooed onto his skin, but he was also coated with oil so that the effect was shinny as the skin of a snake. To the white woman’s tormented, suggestion susceptible mind, he really was part snake; a serpent in human form.
“Please…” she whimpered. “Take me back to the cell. Take me away… Please…”
“Please, master,” corrected the Baugwan.
“Please master, please master,” repeated Caroline quickly. “I don’t… I hate snakes… They… They’re…”
Suddenly the Baugwan seized her chestnut hair and pulled it around, forcing the girl to look directly at his face.
“Whose slave are you?” he asked her sharply.
Caroline hesitated. She knew the whip could be seconds away and could see Shakaba uncoiling it in the corner of her eye. But she sensed that in this instance the whip was present only for effect. The real threats were the hideous creatures, man and reptile, in the pit. She felt the panic, the unreasoning, overwhelming fear of the phobia well up inside her. She was physically shaking now.
“Yours,” she answered, nearly choking on the words. “Yours and… And Kaghli’s.”
Caroline cringed and flushed with shame. In the past week she had discovered that she could avoid the lash only with the most servile obedience to the Baugwan. That lesson was obvious. But what she had also learned about more subconsciously was her own weakness. She had been so sure of herself before her capture; her virtue, her self-confidence, her inner strength. But she knew now that it was all an illusion. Here at the edge of a snake pit, at a place called the Hell Hole, she saw at last the ugly truth about herself. She was already in truth, a whore.
She was indeed willing to submit to the Baugwan’s lewdest commands. Willing to engage in the practices and wear the trappings of a temple prostitute, if only she could thereby escape the whip- and worse. Formerly virtuous and proud Caroline McKinna would do or say anything to stay out of that pit.
She had thought herself cleaver and indomitable in having found a way to outwardly placate them, yet inwardly maintain her detachment and dignity. Even though the orgasms engendered with each sex act confirmed the premise of her captors, that her body was vulnerable and indeed receptive to their lusts, she consoled herself that it was only a corruption of her physical body. Deep inside she still clung to her identity. The real Caroline hated what they were doing to her and her resistance was unabated. They may force me to do these depraved acts, she reasoned, but my soul remains clean.
Yet she realized at this moment that she had underestimated the Baugwan’s capacity for mental and spiritual manipulation. The game had changed and once again the feckless girl was overmatched. They were threatening her with something she simply could not face and she knew she would sell herself, body and mind to escape it.
Shakaba had taken hold of a long rope that hung from a pulley on the ceiling. He looped it through her wrist chain and secured it with a simple hook. Caroline’s blood ran cold. Were they going to lower her into the pit?
A wave of fright welled up inside the young white woman and she felt like bolting from the room. But the chain would prevent that and she summoned the last scraps of her courage and self-control to calm herself, attempting to reason it through. It was simply not believable that they would force her into a pit with deadly snakes. If they wanted to kill her why had they not already done so? She assumed this place was intended as a new threat and it was clear what the Baugwan wanted.
With a fresh blush of humiliation she found herself scheming inwardly, conniving exactly as a prostitute would, to give her body in exchange for escape from the Hell Hole. She would say and do whatever he required; barter her sexual favors for less suffering. But that was nothing new. She could survive it. All she needed to do was play and placate him as she was learning to do, in the age-old manner of a harlot- and block the shame from her mind.
“Please master,” she begged, trying to calculate just the right plaintive tone and cocking her head invitingly. She forced an almost convincing smile onto her stressed face. “Please let Shakaba fuck me in front of Kaghli. Please… Or let me fuck the god again… Or… Or suck you again. I… I’m starting to like it, master.”
The Baugwan smiled. “Yes, we will indulge you later, dasi. But for now, I want you to pleasure Jawa. You must learn to submit yourself carnally to anyone I choose.”
Caroline’s eyes widened with disbelief and panic when the African pulled on the rope, taking up the slack and lifting her arms over her head. She was dragged toward the pit whimpering and crying, terrified of the snakes even at this distance.
“You don’t have to do this!” she sniveled. “Please, I’ll do what you want.”
“I want you to fuck Jawa in the Hell Hole,” chuckled the Baugwan. “I want you to take his cobra into your belly.”
The rope pulled taut and the chain was stretched. Caroline had no choice but to hold onto it to alleviate the stress on her wrists. She was lifted from her feet and swung over the space above the pit. Hysterical screams tore from her throat as Shakaba began to lower her into the hole and she tried hopelessly to free herself from the end of the rope. The loop was too long and her wristbands prevented any escape. She looked up to see the pulley turning, creaking and groaning with her weight as she descended, naked and vulnerable into the serpent-man’s lair.
“Please… Oh god please… I’ll do what ever you want! DON’T PUT ME DOWN THERE!” she screeched.
“What are you afraid of?” the Baugwan asked smoothly.
“THE SNAKES. OH GOD, THE SNAKES… AND… HIM!”
“You are a Devadasi. You must charm them as you would all of Kaghli’s worshipers.”
Caroline was pulling on the chain between her wrists, attempting with pathetic desperation to climb back up the rope. But she didn’t have the strength to get far and if she removed the loop from the hook there would be nothing to support her. She screamed and kicked, her bare legs flailing wildly as she strove in vain to get a toehold on the smooth, vertical walls of the pit. The dark stone of the wall however, was just out of reach and with each passing second she descended further, closer to the reptiles.
“PLEASE, PLEASE!” screamed the white girl in abject terror. “Oh god, please, master… They’ll bite… No… No… Let me out, master, please…”
“I was not impressed with your enthusiasm when I saw you being fucked yesterday by Shakaba, Pashuvama. You didn’t seem overjoyed with performing for him. And you did not fuck Kaghli with the alacrity I would expect from one of his Devadasi.”
“I… I do love them, master… I love Shakaba, I love Kaghli… I… Oh master, please. The snake’s coming closer!”
“You must be totally enraptured with the thought of fucking, little one. You are here to serve Kaghli and his worshipers. You must have special feelings for Shakaba. He is the one training you to be fit as Kaghli’s slave.”
“I’LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT. I’LL FUCK ANYONE OR ANYTHING… PLLEEEEAAASSSSEEEE… AAAAAIIIIEEEEEEE!
She was screaming now, her shrieks becoming ever shriller, less like human cries and more like a terrified animal. She was only a few feet from the bottom of the pit and she writhed and screeched, dancing on air, her lovely body sheened with cold sweat.
Fortunately the area she was being lowered to was clear, for the moment, of the big cobras. But there were several elsewhere in the room and Caroline’s phobia was now out of control. She felt as if the stone walls were closing in on her, swallowing her up with the snakes. She let out an inhuman howl of pure, mindless terror as her bare feet touched the bottom and once again she tried to scramble up the chain. It was then that the rope went slack and the loop pulled through her chain. Her arms dropped free and the little hook ascended up to the pulley, leaving her stranded in the Hell Hole. Caroline lost control of her bladder.
Golden streams of urine gushed down her legs, splashing onto the soot-blackened floor. Caroline however, hardly noticed. She was standing, petrified. Even her screaming had abruptly stopped. She was simply too terrified to breathe as she watched the snakes slither only a few feet away.
The white girl looked helplessly at the men on the rim of the pit. She was sure they meant to murder her now. She would be bitten within seconds. But even the thought of death did not frighten her as much as the almost spiritual presence of the snakes and the snake man. Phobias work strangely. At that moment, Caroline would almost have welcomed death as a release from the torment of this place. Almost- the instinct to survive was still paramount.
She heard little whines of fear and realized that they were coming from her own mouth. Then there was a hissing sound behind her, she turned and screamed again.
Her sudden appearance and frantic thrashing had startled the cobra closest to her, which reared up and hooded in the classic pre-strike position.
“Run, Pashuvama,” laughed the Baugwan, calling into the pit. “Run to Jawa and beg his protection. Or perhaps you wish to fuck the snake and charm it?”
The white girl’s volition returned and she immediately scampered to a corner devoid of snakes and collapsed, sobbing.
“Please, Oh please let me out of here! I’ll learn to be a Devadasi, I swear I will. Please let me out!”
But the Baugwan simply laughed. She moaned with relief now that she was out of striking reach of the agitated cobra, but safety was only temporary. Two of the snakes, aggressively defending their territory were beginning to slither in her direction. Once again she cast a plaintive look at the Baugwan and the trainer, hoping they would see the surrender on her face and decide to rescue her.
“Go to Jawa,” yelled Shakaba. “He master of snakes. He protect you.”
“Yes, go,” said the Baugwan. “Offer yourself to him, whore. Sell your body in exchange for protection.”
“I can’t,” cried the hysterical girl. “HE’S A SERPANT MAN!”
“Yessss,” hissed the Baugwan. “And you must charm him before he bites. Charm him with your yoni, dasi.”
Caroline’s mind reeled. The terror had now taken on the sexual dimension she had feared. She was expected to have intercourse with this hideous man, a mystical personification of her darkest nightmares. He was going to enter her, not merely come close or slither over her. He was going to penetrate her body through the secret passage she had intended to keep only for her loving husband. The doorway to her soul, meant for conceiving babies naturally and with love. He would crawl up inside her and… Oh god, he would spit his venom. He would plant his snake-man seed into her womb and she would become pregnant- with little snake children. She lost control and retched onto the floor.
They allowed her to wallow in misery for a few moments, then Shakaba called down. “Better get up, girl, Cobra coming your way.”
Caroline was instantly jolted back to realty. She scrambled even further back into the corner, cowering as the snake inched closer.
“Please… Please…” she babbled. “What do you want? Take me out of here!”
“Go to Jawa,” said the Baugwan. “Fuck him now. We will pull you up after you have served him.”
The white woman was terrified of the sinister looking man, but obeying the Baugwan appeared to be the only way out. At the moment, Caroline quite simply would have done anything to escape the slithering denizens of the pit.
“Yes… Yes, I’ll do it,” she cried. “But please. Tell him to keep the snake away!”
“Go to him,” demanded the Baugwan.
“I can’t,” she wailed. “There’s snakes between us! Please master, lower the rope. It’s getting closer!”
“Perhaps you want to let the cobra slither right up your wet yoni, Pashuvama?” snickered the Baugwan with amusement. “Go to Jawa. Beg him to fuck you.”
“Please… I can’t get to him. Oh god please let me out of here. Master, I swear I’ll become your Devadasi. I’ll serve Kaghli, I swear! JUST PLEASE KEEP THE SNAKES AWAY!”
“Fuck Jawa,” said Shakaba. “Go to his mat and fuck him. Make him cum inside you. After he spit his seed into you we lift you from the pit.”
“Please… I might be bitten before then. Oh god, please!”
“Make him cum Pashuvama,” said the Baugwan. “Beg him for it. Take his serpent’s semen into you.”
Caroline was frozen, unable to will herself to move past the snakes to get to Jawa’s mat. “Pleeeaaassseeee,” she sobbed.
“Go to Jawa,” repeated the Baugwan, without a trace of mercy. “Or let the serpent take you.”
Across the floor of the pit, the snake-man lay comfortably on his mat as if relaxing, calmly ignoring the frightened woman’s commotion. There were two snakes between Caroline and relative safety, but they weren’t coiled. If she was fast she might sneak by them. The approaching reptile was very close now. The terrified girl made her decision.
She jumped and sprinted over to Jawa, just out of reach of the intervening cobras. She literally dove onto his mat and clung to him in abject fear. Her will to live had overcome even her total revulsion for the man.
“Please save me… Oh sir… Jawa… Master, please keep the snakes away.”
“I fuck you now,” the man laughed, as if nothing was wrong and they were in no danger.
“Yes… yes, all right” she agreed.” You can fuck me… but please keep the snakes away!”
The white girl could see the tattooed snake scales up close now. They covered his arms, legs and torso. Even his face had been marked to resemble that of a cobra. She was shaking uncontrollably, utterly repelled by what she saw as the pagan ugliness of his persona, yet inexorably driven to his arms as her only refuge.
Caroline reached for his phallus and found that it too had been tattooed to look like a serpent, complete with slit eyes on the glans. She recoiled, dropping her hand away instantly and receiving a vicious slap on the face from the snake-man.
“Dasi show more respect,” said Jawa.
She looked up at the Baugwan helplessly, hoping against hope to find a scrap of compassion. He simply frowned.
“The serpent is a living phallic symbol and a favorite of Kaghli,” he said. “You will take him inside your body and be filled with his essence.”
Caroline’s disoriented mind could offer no resistance. She reached down to grasp Jawa’s penis, gritting her teeth and straddled his body. She noticed it was already slick with some form of lubricant, oiled like the rest of his body. She guided the head of it to the folds of her spread labia.
His gray tattooed hands reached up to clamp onto her hips, pulling her down onto him as his serpent phallus slithered into her, crawling with smooth, oily purpose up to her very core.
Caroline’s mouth fell open and her eyes glazed, taking in the sheer abomination and degradation of the event. She felt the head of his lingam bottom out against her cervix and he reached for her collar, pulling her face close to his. Suddenly she screamed anew, confronted with one more atrocious horror.
He flicked his tongue onto her lips. It was forked like a snake’s. “Fuck me dasi,” he hissed. He opened his mouth wide and Caroline nearly swooned with disgust. There were two large, yellow fangs hanging menacingly from his upper jaw.
Driven only by fear and without conscious thought, the white girl began to hump herself up and down on his manhood. “Please don’t hurt me. Don’t bite me!” she wailed. The snake between his legs slithered right to her depths and back out again, over and over. She felt him snap his loins against hers on each downstroke, massaging her clitoris and sending bolts of unwanted tingling up her spine.
Caroline was shocked and deeply ashamed at her own arousal. Yet she could nothing to smother or escape the now familiar spasms of lust, which were tickling her belly and brain. They seemed to creep into her with terrifying suddenness, excising volition and inhibition.
She heard the men on the Hell Hole’s rim chuckle with lewd appreciation at the way she pumped her hips salaciously, gliding along his length, seemly oblivious to everything but her own fear and the odd pleasure that was beginning to trickle into her loins. It was happening again, the strange masochistic heat that rippled through her in ever intensifying waves. She was astonished that she was feeling it now, in a moment of such pure corruption and humiliation, but it was back. And seemingly stronger that ever before. It fed off the fear, the outrage, the humiliation. It seemed to mock her former virtuous identity, Caroline McKinna the chaste, virginal daughter, the pristine bride to be.
The white girl wept with overwhelming self-revulsion. Even in this horrible place and with this hideous snake-man, her wicked libido had been kindled and brought to flame. She threw her head back, her face contorted with shame at what she knew she was becoming. But the electric waves of forbidden pleasure sparking from her clit could not be denied and the truth could not be more evident. The feeling crystallized into a word, now screaming inside her head and echoing in her mind; DASI, DASI! Devadasi- of Kaghli!
Gasps of soul wrenching defeat echoed in the chamber as she began to fuck him with real mindless abandon, surrendering to the hot, debasing need in her loins. Jawa reached up to seize her breasts, pinching her nipples to wordlessly demand more enthusiasm and surrender to her rut. Caroline whimpered and complied, placing her soft hands on his chest and feeling his length pulse deep inside her belly. With each stroke the spongy head of his glans kissed her cervix like a viper’s tongue. She tucked the soles of her feet under his knees for better leverage and bore down onto him, groaning and squealing, wanting and reveling. Fucking the snake man!
Fuck, fuck hard, FUCK MYSELF ON HIM! Spontaneous thoughts flooded into her conscious mind. Fuck his big cobra and he’ll save me! He’ll keep the snakes away.” She was a dasi, a slave. But she had no choice. She was joining, intimately and physically with that which she most detested and feared, selling her body and all that she held dear within herself in order to escape death. And that knowledge was eating her spirit like acid.
His passion fully aroused now, the snake man clasped Caroline’s sides tightly and flipped her over onto her back. He settled his weight between her legs, driving his massive, tattooed manhood into her. The captive girl responded instinctively, wrapping her lithe legs about his torso and rutting back up to him. She could feel his body cover hers, felt her nipples rake against his chest. He brought his mouth to hers and drove his long, forked tongue between her teeth as if trying to reach down her throat.
The fucking did not last long. It couldn’t. It was a coupling born of basest lust and fear, seeking fulfillment as an end to itself. It was an orgy of the flesh such as the Devadasi excel at, pure loveless sex in ritual form.
The rhythmic thrust of Jawa’s hips continued with lewd intensity as the snake man reached down to stroke the girl’s clit. She was turning her head from side to side but he fixed her gaze with unblinking, hypnotic eyes. Maniacally torn between the terror and the pleasure, she watched him pick up one of the largest cobras, which had slithered up to the mat. She cried with shrill, staccato gasps and tightened the grip of her labia around his shaft as he wrapped the snake about his neck, smiling down at her expression of rank fear.
“No… Nooooo! It will bite!” she squalled.
“Dasi make me cum,” hissed Jawa. “Snake man’s essence make Devadasi immune to venom. But you must hurry. Make me cum and you live.”
The lust intoxicated white girl instantly became a writhing, thrusting, bucking piece of fuck flesh, her entire universe converging on the cobra hovering above her and the imperative of coaxing the semen from Jawa’s balls. She believed him. He was the snake-man and his semen was the antidote to the poison. She had to have it to survive and she was eagerly, desperately begging for it. She knew in her deepest being that only the irreversible consummation of pure whoredom could save her. Defile myself or die, she thought. She did not want to die.
She was fucking him madly now, unconsciously making her vaginal lips bite with servile insistence. Her body wanted his venom, wanted to feel the squirts of his fecund essence. The pleasure was intense, blinding her along with the fear. A climax was breaking far more powerful than any she had ever experienced- an impossible mixture of terror and ravenous sexual dissipation.
The cobra still coiled about his neck, but was moving, dropping. It looked down at her with an almost conscious evil as she lay panting, pinned helplessly beneath him. She watched with terror as the reptile hung inches from her face, it’s tongue flicking curiously. She gazed into its lidless, silted eyes, transfixed with trepidation.
“Who is your greatest love, Pashuvama?” she heard the Baugwan ask from the rim of the pit.
“Kaghli… I love Kaghli, master!” she answered. She snake was right in front of her face and she scarcely dared to breathe. But she continued churn and pump on Jawa’s lingam for fear of displeasing him- and her fulfillment was very near.
“Yes,” continued the Baugwan. “And you will fuck Kaghli and his worshipers. Because you love Kaghli. Soon you will serve the pilgrims of Kaghli while they are here to worship him. You must fuck them with the same zeal you are showing now.”
The snake curled around Jawa’s arm and continued to glide downward. Caroline barely stifled a scream as it began crawling over her belly, rising and falling with her agitated breathing. Caroline kept up the fuck rhythm, as the bright waves of pleasure radiated out from Jawa’s fingers dancing on her clit. The snake felt cold and clammy on her flushed skin and she could sense the rhythmic movement of the scales as the creature moved. It was slithering across her chest, head raised between her breasts now.
The serpent flicked its tongue onto her nipple as the white girl helplessly ground herself onto the full length of Jawa’s prick. Caroline clinched herself tightly on his manhood and curled her bare heels around his buttocks. Sexual pleasure and terror convulsed and intertwined within her and her emotions bordered on insanity. Then, startled, the cobra reared back, preparing to strike. Caroline was screaming, finally nearing delirium.
“Ahhhhhhh, aaaaahhh, ahhhhhhh, please…” she screamed. “Take it away! I’ll do anything. I swear I’ll do whatever you want! Please… Take it away before it bites me!”
“I don’t think you sound sincere enough, Pashuvama,” said the Baugwan, still toying with her.
“I swear I love Kaghli… Oh please master… It’s going to… Please!”
“Are you of the Devadasi?” asked the Baugwan calmly. “Do you love his servants?”
“Yes, yes, I’m Devadasi! I’ll fuck them. I love them! I’ll fuck them all… OH PLEASE TAKE IT AWAY!”
Panic surged through her body, mixing with a searing orgasm. She was writhing beneath him like a banshee, screaming and humping wildly with a final obscene surrender. His long gray dong was slamming in and out beneath her, buried to her very soul.
“PLEASE HURRY! CUM IN ME PLEASE…! OH GOD PLEASE SQUIRT IT IN MEEEE! CUM IN MEEEE, JAAAWAAAA!”
She felt his viscous jism, spitting like venom into her deepest core. Waves of pure carnal sensation washed over her as she screamed out the simultaneous release of her orgasm and her terrified revulsion as the snake prepared to strike.
Then it happened. The serpent struck her creamy breast just as her orgasm peaked. Caroline screamed, as she never had before as she felt the animal work its fangs into her flesh. Then all was blackness and she knew no more.

Caroline awoke, gasping desperately for breath. She was drowning, immersed in cold water. No. There was air. She could breath. She had fainted and they had flung water into her face. She was on the rim of the pit again.
“Now I see you are back with us,” said the Baugwan. “Such bad form to faint as your lover cums, Pashuvama. You must show your lovers more consideration in the future.”
“What… What happened? The snake bit me,” she said, trembling, the memory coming back with frightening clarity.
“You made Jawa cum inside you,” laughed Shakaba. “His cum antidote for snake venom. You fuck Jawa good when you in pit. You fuck like that all the time… You make fine dasi.”
The once proud girl hung her head and sobbed with abject relief, thankful to be out of the pit and willing to do anything to remain out of it.
Baugwan thought about his next move. Having now vanquished her resistance, he knew it was time to methodically strip away her personality and all traces of the virginal Western lady she had been. He needed to act quickly, while the mental trauma of her time in the Hell Hole was at its peak.
He had Shakaba drag her from room to room in the vast temple complex, where she was compelled to repeat her acts of servile prostitution over and over. Each lover she accepted willingly. There was no fight or pride left in her. Her only thought was to avoid being placed in the horrible pit again and she knew that the loss of all virtue and dignity were a small price to pay.
By evening Caroline lay gasping, her psyche and identity ravaged by the ordeal. Almost psychotic, her mind was warped by the events of the day. She was convinced she had narrowly escaped death from a fatal snakebite. Her vagina was drenched with semen, her belly having welcomed the seminal flow of the dozen or so worshipers of Kaghli she had been subjected to. Such was the price they had extracted from her for survival.
She did not know that the Baugwan had manipulated her yet again. The cobras in the Hell Hole had had their venom glands removed, so that they were in reality harmless pets. She knew only that she had slipped further into the whirlpool of depravity that the Temple of Kaghli was sucking her into. This day she had truly been a whore. And she would be one over and over again in the future. For the first time, she truly knew herself to be a Devadasi.



Chapter 6

It was one A.M. when Swana finally rolled off Brian. The boy was exhausted, having been ridden hard for four hours and coaxed, or rather forced, to give up three loads of sperm. It had been so easy seducing him. He was ripe, starved for sex and saturated with hormones. The former Devadasi’s wiles had been irresistible and untiring. She had played him expertly and gone for the kill with lightening speed. Now she owned him from his cute bubble butt to the tip of his pink little five-inch wang. Her plan was well advanced.
Swana wriggled from his sated grasp and lay at his side, running her hands over his chest. He was sullen, lost in thought.
“What is it darling?” she breathed.
“It’s… oh nothing. I was just wondering if we should ask the police to make one more search… Maybe they missed something the first two times…”
“Lover, It’s time to let go,” said Swana, soothingly. “She will probably never be found. She must have gone for a walk and been abducted. The victims are usually thrown into the rivers to dispose of the body. The animals get them and there is nothing to be found.”
He nodded sadly. It had been three months since his former fiancée’s disappearance and he knew that Swana was right. It was the only explanation.
Everyone, at the mission station, staff and family was at last giving up hope. The authorities were baffled. Though McKinna suspected the involvement of Hinja Punt there was simply no evidence and no one was willing to challenge the power of the Baugwan without overwhelming proof. At any rate, searching the Temple of Kaghli was out of the question. At last, reports were heard of two white women who were seen in a river a few miles away, devoured by crocodiles without a trace. The police had told McKinna and the others at the compound that they must face the fact that the girls were certainly dead.
Why, thought Brian. Why had she gone for a walk outside the safety of the mission’s walls without telling anyone? And what had happened to Elsbeth?
“It’s so odd that Elsbeth disappeared as well,” he said.
“Its not so strange,” said Swana, licking his ear. “Perhaps they went for a walk together. You know how headstrong Caroline was. She probably thought it was safe with the two of them.”
“Yes… that must be it,” he admitted, turning his face to hers to for a tender kiss. Thank god Swana was here to help him pick up the pieces of his life. He simply did not know how he would have coped without her support, her strength, her understanding- and her incredibly good fucking.
He had worried about how it would look when he’d announced their engagement so soon after Caroline’s disappearance, but it seemed that everyone had at least accepted it. Even McKinna.
Actually, Caroline’s father had been the most supportive. He was devastated by the loss of his beloved daughters and had nearly suffered a mental breakdown. But his love for the Indian girl he had saved helped him survive. In the end, he found that he needed her just as much as she had needed him.
McKinna lavished his affections and favor on Swana, doting on the Indian girl as though replacing his lost daughters. He totally supported Brian’s new romance with the native girl, understanding his sense of loss and his desire to move on. He had just announced his adoption of the Indian girl and had made her his sole heir to his vast fortune as a wedding present. More than anything he wanted to see the two young people he loved the most, happy.
McKinna would not have approved of their premarital sex, so they had to keep their present liaison secret. But it was a simple thing for Swana to sneak up to his room after everyone had retired. What McKinna didn’t want to know wouldn’t hurt him.
Brian felt her hand on his penis, stroking lovingly, provocatively. She knew just how to touch him and soon his vigor returned.
“Darling,” said Swana as she mounted him, guiding his newly responsive manhood to her wet femaleness. “She’s gone, you must leave her in the past. I know you loved her but you have me now. Let me show you paradise. Let me ease your pain.”
She descended onto his loins and without a word the white boy began to buck and rut beneath her. She smiled down and seemed to mold herself onto him. Deep, deep into her belly he thrust as the girl pressed tightly, clinging to his shoulders. Her rock hard nipples bounced against his and her vagina seemed to milk his organ with wicked hunger. He was indeed being sucked into heaven and all thoughts of Caroline McKinna slipped from his mind.

Caroline sat cross-legged on a cushion in the Baugwan’s hall. The brazier was flaming brightly and the torches flickered on the walls. A faint smile crossed her lips. She was content and at ease for the first time in weeks and her being was diffused with a warm tingle that seemed to radiate from her belly out to her limbs.
Her naked body was covered with red wheals and bruises, evidence of the beatings and whippings she had been recently subjected to. But they had never sent her back to the Hell Hole. There was no need. Whenever the white girl displayed any resistance to her training Shakaba would make a casual reference to the pit. That was enough to send the novice Devadasi to her knees pleading and quaking with fear. She was always an especially enthusiastic fuck for the remainder of the day.
And fuck she did, several times a day with whomever Shakaba chose for her. He was honing her skills in every facet of the carnal arts, training her body to the peak of sexual response. Her mind and soul, however, were the target of the Baugwan. And it was time for another step toward complete whoredom.
The liquid they had slipped into her water was a very old concoction. Countless dasi had been trained and manipulated with it and the temple’s worshipers and trainers considered it nothing less than magic. Most knew it contained opium, but there were also Indian herbal extracts and derivatives from rare plants that few men alive could identify. Even Western science was ignorant of some of them. The exact formula was a closely kept secret, known only to the Baugwan and his most trusted acolytes. Perfected over the millennia, the drug rendered the person who ingested it pliant and serene. It suppressed the will, yet left the subject alert- and extremely open to suggestion. It was the perfect drug with which to mold a new dasi’s thought patterns and modify behaviors.
“Hello, dasi,” said the Baugwan pleasantly. “How do you feel today?”
“I feel fine,” she said, her face utterly without expression. There was a slight glaze to her eyes and her voice was somewhat monotone, but she was certainly conscious and aware.
“Good,” said the Baugwan softly, hypnotically. “You must relax. Concentrate on everything I say. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“You are a very lovely girl. So lovely. What is your name?”
“Caroline.”
“No,” he said, gently but firmly. “Your name was changed. You are Pashuvama now, remember? Say it, little one. Say ‘my name is Pashuvama.’”
Her eyes flickered and there was a hint of resistance, but seconds later her voice intoned clearly, “my name is Pashuvama.”
“Very good.”
“Do you know who I am, Pashuvama?”
“You are the Baugwan.”
“Yes. That’s right. You must call me master. I am your master, am I not?”
“Yes… you are my master.”
“Now say, ’my name is Pashuvama, of the Devadasi.’”
She repeated the phrase, looking into his eyes for approval. She smiled when she saw his smile.
He moved behind her, seating himself on a cushion. Pressing his open, hairy chest to her back he reached around to cup her breasts, drawing a sigh of pleasure from the drugged girl.
“Now, you must relax totally,” he said softly. “You are not going to be hurt today, Pashuvama. Today you are going to learn about your god/master Kaghli. You love Kaghli, Pashuvama. You want to please him, say it.”
“I… I love Kaghli… I want to please him…”
“Very good, Pashuvama. But to please Kaghli, you must know what he craves. You see, little one. Kaghli is the ravisher, the god of rape. His eternal lust is the violation of unwilling women, the corruption of virginity and innocence. Kaghli cares nothing for a woman’s race, or social status. Her former religion does not matter, nor does her family or marriage. Kaghli’s will is all that matters.”
The Baugwan caressed the satin skin of her belly, slowly circling her navel with his fingertips. Then he dipped his hand downward to her swollen labia, stroking them lightly and grazing her clitoris with a feather touch. Her eyelids drooped and she groaned with arousal.
“You love Kaghli, Pashuvama. He is the center of your universe, your master, your god. Kaghli is your ravisher. Yet Kaghli is not evil. No indeed, he seeks to possess, not destroy. He strives to give you pleasure, as well as pain. You love Kaghli.”
“I love Kaghli,” she repeated as programmed. “I love you… I love you, Kaghli!”
The white girl gasped as the fat Baugwan dropped his hand, to fondle the insides of her thighs before returning to her sex. He rubbed her vaginal lips languidly with one hand as he continued to palm her nipples with his other. Caroline closed her eyes and shuddered.
“You love Kaghli, Pashuvama. You love his followers. And you love me, don’t you?”
“Love…” she murmured, the hot tingling of pure lust coursing through her fogged mind. “Love you all… ooohhh… love it…”
“Show me, Pashuvama,” he whispered. “Show me how much you love.”
The Baugwan now sat in a lotus position directly behind her. He gently prodded her to turn around and she obeyed. She sat in his lap facing him, preparing to fuck in the favored Eastern style. Her legs straddled his torso and she felt surrounded with and supported by his body. She entwined her arms about him naturally and he pulled her toward him, pressing her upper body tightly onto his chest.
His smooth oily voice seemed to seep into her inner soul, creating an irresistible urge to please him, to obey and surrender to his lust. He took her hand and guided it to his rampant manhood.
“Put it in, little beast. Show me your love!”
“Love… love you…” she mumbled. Caroline pressed his thick organ to her vaginal opening and tucked it between the lips. She felt his hands now grasping her rear cheeks, pulling her downward onto his phallus.
“Aaaahh,” she gasped as she felt him glide into her. “Soooo good, master…” She began to hump him with instinctive coital motions immediately, cooing and crying out softly as the drug wormed its way into her subconscious, fueling her libido like an aphrodisiac.
“You love me, don’t you Pashuvama,” said the Baugwan. “And you love Kaghli.”
“Yessss,” she hissed. “Love you all. Fuck you all… fuck meeee.”
She was doing the work, rutting on his stiff organ and making her breasts to bounce lewdly. She gazed into the Baugwan’s face, surrendering to the golden warmth that coursed through her veins. The feeling of well being seemed to wash over her and she gurgled with delight. She couldn’t understand why she had thought he was evil. He seemed like the kindest man she had ever known and she never realized how handsome he was. When he smiled she felt complete, fulfilled. She knew he was telling her the truth and she trusted him totally. She loved the Baugwan.
Caroline smiled again and wrapped her legs about his back. She was eager to make him cum and feel his sperm. And she savored every sweet inch of his strong, piercing cock within. Her love canal seemed to grasp him of its own accord, drawing greedily from his balls.
Everything seemed so right, so finally in place after the weeks of chaos. She saw now how silly she had been to resist him and his god Kaghli. It was perfect bliss being taken and possessed. Perfect female existence. They were hers to submit to- hers to worship.
The drug swept her to the brink of orgasm and left her hovering there, deliciously, agonizingly. Only when the Baugwan reached below her rear cheeks and pressed a fat finger into her anus did she tumble over into the abyss of her masochistic climax.
“Yes…” she squealed as he clasped the cheeks of her ass and held her fast to his hips. Then she felt the gushes of his precious semen. “Yes, give it to me! Fill meeee… Masssssterrrrrr.”
The room swirled as torrents of raw pleasure poured into her brain. She was freed of the need to resist and be a good religious girl. Free to become what she now deeply wanted to be. A temple whore serving her idol master and his priest. She let out an inhuman scream of pure ecstasy as her hungry sex exploded with orgasm, drenched with the liquid fire of his jism. Then the waves crested and receded.
The drug left her lethargic and exhausted. She was resting her head on the Baugwan’s shoulder, trying to catch her breath. But the chemical still coursed through her blood, reminding her of the exquisite joy of sexual submission, blocking out all shame and virtue.
“Remember,” said the Baugwan. “Your name is Pashuvama and you love Kaghli.”
“My name is Pashuvama and I love Kaghli,” she intoned, glassy eyed.
“You are of the Devadasi.”
“I… I am of the Devadasi.”
“You are happy here, serving Kaghli.”
“I am happy serving Kaghli,” she gushed, gazing with longing through unfocused eyes.
The Baugwan’s concoction was still swirling through her brain as Shakaba led a smiling Caroline back to her cell, the Baugwan’s jism leaking slowly down her legs.



Chapter 7

Caroline, or now Pashuvama as she was beginning to call herself more and more, was seated, sprawled undecorously at the Baugwan’s feet, feeling his thick, brown fingers stroke idly through her hair. They had weaned her from the drug and she was totally free of its effects for the first time in nearly a month. She was able to think somewhat clearly at last, but there was an oddly alien feel to her own thoughts. In addition, she was now subjected to the jittery, reason-numbing symptoms of withdrawal.
Everything seemed subtly changed. There were sensations, needs, drives within her body that she had never known about before. Compulsions of such instinctive power that they were virtually irresistible. And there were strange memories, dreamlike recollections of fleshly debauchery that she had indulged in with the Baugwan and others. They seemed so real, yet she could scarcely believe she had done such things.
She had been swept up by the unseen, mystical power of Hinja Punt and the mind of the Baugwan. But the methods were hidden from her. She remembered only an intense whirlpool of sex; relentless continual, ever more corrupting sex. Her cognizant mind was sick, literally ill with the memory of the things she had done in the past few weeks under the relentless training of the Baugwan and his black acolyte Shakaba.
She had performed acts totally opposed to her nature, her upbringing and her religion. Yet most puzzling of all was the fact that she felt fine physically and emotionally. Her intellect kept telling her she should be mortified, but her body even now echoed with the remembered ecstasy of every orgasm.
“My god, what am I becoming,” she muttered to herself, even as a chill spread down her spine. Deep inside she knew. She was becoming a whore.
She had been engaging in sex with the temple’s worshipers on a daily basis and continued to undergo Shakaba’s carnal training. She was in fact living the life of a whore each day, though the Baugwan had not deemed her ready to join the women of the Devadasi just yet. He had to be sure that her mind had been so enslaved that she would not try to escape and return to the mission if she had a chance. He did have a plan for that as well but it required a little more preparation before he could set it in motion. In the meantime, there was still work to be done on McKinna’s daughters.
Caroline fidgeted on the cushion nervously. The Baugwan’s touch was stirring the now familiar fire between her legs. She knew she should resist; that yet another vile act of prostitution was to be required of her soon. But somehow her will and inhibitions liquefied whenever a man touched her now.
Though her consciousness was finally clear, she was profoundly confused about herself. She simply could not be sure of anything anymore, even her own identity and personality. The only thing she knew for certain were the amorous feelings she had for the Baugwan and the god Kaghli. The oddest thing was that she didn’t know why that should be the case. She was not even remotely attracted to the Baugwan romantically, nor did she find his primitive, heathen dress and demeanor anything but repellent. Yet she felt strangely and compulsively drawn to him. She craved his touch, his sexual attentions- even, most inexplicably, his whip. It was almost as if she were falling in love with him, accepting her new life.
Suddenly a lovely young white girl appeared in the great hall, running naked onto the room, her long, flowing blond hair wisping behind her. She was lithe and tan, with a kind of wild look. The girl seemed to glide and dance with graceful movements, oblivious to anyone else. Like a young girl alone in a green meadow, she giggled with mirth and whirled about as if bubbling over with the joy and freedom of nudity.
She turned and Caroline could see she wore a curious kind of mask that covered her entire face. It was of strong Indian motif and skillfully crafted to resemble the god Kaghli’s visage as he had been rendered in countless carvings and statues at Hinja Punt. The mask fit the girl’s face securely, hiding all hints of her identity, but it did not seem to hinder her vision or movements. She continued to dance lightly, her steps and motions emphasizing the feminine but newly pubescent curves and angle of her body. She was truly a beauty of shapely perfection, but her dance was as yet, totally non-sexual.
Shakaba entered the hall presently and the white dancing girl made her obeisance, falling to her knees before him and casting her eyes at his feet.
He was carrying a whip; a long, evil implement that the black man uncoiled and handled with consummate finesse. He snapped the leather loudly on the floor to either side of the kneeling girl, but she did not make the slightest flinch. She was either well trained or trusted him implicitly- or both.
The black trainer circled her slowly, trailing the ends of the whip over the smooth flesh of her back and neck, down her spine. Caroline could see that the leather implement was in fact a cat, fitted with several frayed tips of cowhide. It was designed to inflict pain, but leave only temporary surface marks on the skin.
Shakaba allowed the cat to trickle like water running lightly between the soft globes of her rear cheeks, then down to land on the soles of her upturned feet. The girl’s tanned skin flushed with anticipation as she groveled at Shakaba’s feet. Surrounding them all the flickering light of the torches played over the hideous idols of Kaghli, making them seem to come alive with leering expressions of lust and desire. The very air in the pagan hall tingled with anticipation, suddenly charged with energy.
Caroline held her breath and gazed at the black coil of leather quivering on the white girl’s back. It was shinny and hypnotic. More than an instrument of punishment, its presence was almost animate and spiritual. The girl beneath gasped and cooed softly as if reacting to the caressing hand of a lover.
There was a low command from Shakaba and the girl reached down and began to masturbate. Caroline could see her hand working rhythmically, the slave girl’s toes curling unconsciously as she stoked her own arousal. He allowed her to stimulate herself for a few moments, until her golden hips began to undulate with coital motions and her needful cries became urgent. Then the black man lifted the cat and cracked it again, and the girl removed her pleasuring hands with a frustrated groan.
The Baugwan held a cylindrical object up before Caroline’s face. As her eyes focused she could see it was the shape of a large penis. It was ornately carved from some hard, jet-black material and at its base was the ubiquitous, tongue-protruding image of Kaghli.
“This is Lust,” said the Baugwan. “The Fetish of Kaghli. It is very old and has power and spirit of its own.” He handed the phallus to the kneeling girl.
“Show this new white girl how a Devadasi dances before Kaghli,” said the Baugwan. “…with his fetish of lust in her cunt.” He turned to Caroline and whispered, “watch Kaghli’s whore. Watch and learn.”
“Dance,” shouted Shakaba at the blond girl. “Dance for Kaghli.”
The girl sprang to her feet and inserted the fetish into her vagina with one thrust. She raised her arms high, arching her chest out and displaying her breasts boldly. The Baugwan clapped his hands and musicians hidden behind a screen began to play. The lovely golden-skinned female instantly began to dance once more. This time there was no graceful artistry or classic beauty in her movements. The dance was hard and jarring, and she thrust her hips in a way that could only be described as obscene. It was as if she were making love standing up with an invisible partner. Caroline could see the girl’s every sinew, every muscle staining to the mesmerizing Indian music, but not her face. It was still concealed behind the mask.
Caroline and her masters watched the show for several minutes. The girl was in good physical shape and she never tired. Her movements comprised a series of ultra lewd gyrations similar to a belly dance, only centered on her sex. Her pelvis pumped back and forth on the phallus, which she held in place with her vaginal muscles alone. Something in her mask rattled like a maraca. She was gasping and breathing heavily now, but not because of the exertion of the dance. Her nipples were protruding sharply and her sex glistened with wetness. On the floor her prancing feet smeared the droplets of her sexual receptiveness as it dripped with impudent voracity from her red, swollen labia.
Shakaba’s whip snapped wickedly on the floor, always inches and split seconds behind the girl’s bare feet. Whenever he thought the girl was not straining for maximum effort, the whip would be brought down solidly on the girl’s flesh, causing her to scream and writhe with even greater alacrity.
“You will observe, Pashuvama,” said The Baugwan, stroking the dark haired girl lightly on her puckered anus. “Dancing is one of the ways a slave girl may serve Kaghli. When it is combined with a ritual whipping it is an expression of a Dasi’s most fervent devotion.”
He leaned forward to whisper lubriciously into her ear. “Do you not wish it was you dancing, Pashuvama. You who were showing her submission to Kaghli?”
“Aaaaagggnnnn, ahhhhnnnnn, annnnnnnnnuuuuuhhhh,” the naked dancing girl screamed with each lash of the whip. Her small breasts bounced and jiggled and her rich hair tossed to and fro.
Caroline was in a daze. The dance the girl was performing was degrading, foul beyond description- and fascinating. She was astonished by the beauty and sexual license, as well as the color of the girl’s skin. That such pure, base whorishness could be displayed by a white girl was shocking of itself, even apart from the idolatry it implied. But deep inside, Caroline felt the stirrings of her own libido. It was true. Part of her really did wish she were the one who was dancing with such utter carnal freedom. But another part of her conscious mind screamed with outraged protest at the thought.
“She… she’s white… like me,” Caroline sighed, brokenly.
“Yessss,” the Baugwan laughed. “Like you, Pashuvama. She is a Nautch Girl. A dancer of the Devadasi. This dance is called Deva Yoni- the cunt slave. The movements focus the eye of Kaghli’s male faithful onto the doorway to the female soul and announce its hunger for maleness- for Kaghli and his worshipers.”
They watched, as the performance seemed to build with intensity. Shakaba was whipping the girl now in time to her steps, not viciously but with a methodical cadence. Caroline realized that the trainer’s lashes were actually part of the choreography of the dance. The pink stripes on the young girl’s skin, her sharp gasps of pain and the sound of the cat striking her flesh all added to the atmosphere of Eastern decadence. The dance was an expression of the girl’s enthrallment.
“Haaaahhhh, ahhhhhh, aaaannnnnhhhhh!” The Naught girl’s movements became almost frenzied as she cried out loudly with each successive blow. Caroline wondered how any woman could take such punishment, yet the sounds that emerged from behind the mask were not screams of agony. They more resembled those of a woman nearing a climax.
“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH, NNNNAAAAAAAAAAHHHH, AAHHHH, AHH, AHH, AHHH HAAAAAGGGGH,” she shouted, seizing the end of the carved phallic object and stabbing it into her love core with maniacal fury, shamelessly frigging on it as her feet continued to jig. The lashes from Shakaba’s whip fell on her back, the crackle of the leather interspersed with her cries of orgasmic ecstasy. Finally the Baugwan clapped his hands and the music stopped. The Naught girl went to her knees, collapsing in a heap of sweat and rasping exhaustion, her hands quivering, still holding the phallus sunk to the hilt between her cloven labia.
“This girl brings many men to Kaghli’s temple,” said the Baugwan after allowing her several moments to grovel on the floor. “She also has other skills beside dancing.”
He snapped his fingers and the Nautch-girl pulled the phallus from her ravaged core with a wet pop. In a flash she scrambled over to Caroline, pushing her onto her back on the cushions and positioned her face at Caroline’s sex. She pressed her own crotch to the protesting woman’s lips as Caroline moaned with revulsion.
“Don’t fight it,” barked the Baugwan at Caroline. “Open your legs. Use your mouth on her. You are Devadasi as she is and you must caress her yoni/soul with your tongue.”
Revolted, Caroline tried to hold her face away until Shakaba landed a lash of the cat on her rear cheeks, only inches from the mystery girl’s face. The blond girl had shed her mask now but her face was buried in Caroline’s crotch. Her agile tongue was playing with knowing skill over Caroline’s clitoris, and the feeling was instantaneous and devastating. Caroline’s belly erupted with bright lust.
“Yessss,” said the Baugwan. “Make love, take your delight. You must keep your bodies hot for the faithful. Revel in each other’s mouths and tongues!”
Caroline desperately tried to close her mind to what she was doing, but the sensations were simply too overpowering to resist. Especially with the merciless conditioning she had undergone in the past weeks. The salacious goodness fairly bubbled like a hot spring in her vagina and in seconds she was bucking her hips with fervid joy, licking the other girl’s wet, musky sex.
The Baugwan chuckled, pleased. “Ohhh yessss. You are Kaghli’s sluts,” he hissed. “Make each other cum. Prepare each other for Kaghli’s use!”
Minutes went by and the great brazier flamed, throwing an undulating play of orange and red light on their wicked entangled flesh. The dancing girl writhed on Caroline’s body, gliding through their mutual sweat. Caroline still could not see the girl’s face as it rooted between her legs. She was running her hands over Caroline’s skin and rubbing her budding breasts and firm, tan flesh onto Caroline’s creamy whiteness. Their crisis was building fast and Caroline’s need, already taut as a bowstring from the Nautch-girl's performance quickly gained fever pitch. The mystery girl took Caroline’s clitoris between her teeth and bit lightly, sending explosive waves of pure pleasure into her addled brain. She convulsed with sensation, rocketing into orgasm with a shrill squeal of delight.
Ahh, ahhh, ahhhh. Please… Yes… Ahhhhh please… Bite me! Ahhhhhhh.”
The dancing girl too humped her sex against Caroline’s pleading lips and gasped with climax. Finally both girls sighed and collapsed, falling into a mound of steaming, stinking female meat.
Caroline could hear the two men laughing, muttering to each other. She smiled with post orgasmic bliss as the Baugwan grasped the dancing girl by the hair and pulled her around to face her lover. Caroline pursed her lips to kiss the lovely female who had given her such a satisfying climax with her mouth.
An instant later the horror broke with naked intensity to shatter the remnants her fragile mind.
“No… Noooooo… NOOOOOOOO!” she screamed.
“Yes,” said the Baugwan. “Look upon her. She is wholly Devadasi!”
Caroline was seeing the most repulsive and shame inducing sight of her life, in the expressionless visage of a familiar face.
She recognized this girl who had danced so expertly and so lewdly for them, the girl whose oozing sex she had pleasured with her mouth and in whose lesbian embrace she had cried out with so devastating an orgasm.
It was her sister Elsbeth! SHE WAS BEAUTYFUL… AND SLENDER… AND… A TOTAL SLUT!



Chapter 8

Soour was rewarded for her performance with her sister.
They moved her out of the locked cell and into a little alcove in one of the corridors. The chamber that was now her home was windowless, carved from the solid black limestone beneath Hinja Punt. Separated from the main passage only by a curtain of beads, it was where the young white girl serviced the men who had completed the rites of the temple and made their offerings. They would fuck her and use her in any manner they pleased on the old mattress and the young blond would respond with boundless energy and enthusiasm. She was totally broken.
Late one afternoon Shakaba came for her. He smiled and took her by the hand, leading her up the familiar stairs toward the great hall. Soour assumed she would be used carnally there as usual, as part of the evening ceremony. But he turned instead down a dark, winding passage she had never been through before, one that she had always wondered about. The smooth, worn stones were cool under her bare feet as they wound their way by flaming torchlight to a shaft and up a spiral staircase. They ascended what seemed like hundreds of steps, through chambers and floors, past gloomy, mysterious passages cut into the rock. But Shakaba seemed to know exactly where he was going.
The white girl could sense now how big the Temple of Kaghli really was. She had no doubt that there were literally miles of tunnels and caves, cut into the rock like a huge, three-dimensional labyrinth. She felt so small, so lost and naked. She would have been terrified without the strong, reassuring presence of her black master.
In many of the side rooms and galleries Soour could hear the sounds of other dasi fulfilling their duties and functions as Kaghli’s whores. There was the rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh, the gasps and sighs of passion. From some chambers the crack of the whip and the sharp female cries of pain resonated with the rape and discipline of the temple’s rituals. Kaghli’s faithful indulged themselves zealously while worshiping him.
Everywhere the sounds of sex echoed through the corridors as Devadasi coupled with the followers of Kaghli, in all forms of sexual expression. The harsh, guttural mouthings of male pleasure mixed with soft, feminine cries and wafted down the corridors. Soour wondered if her sister’s voice was mingled among them. She smiled and squeezed Shakaba’s hand tighter. The temple was alive with life and joy.
The little white dasi felt the hot, tingling warmth swelling her vulva and reached down to fondle her throbbing little clit. She stumbled and had to reluctantly stop playing with herself. Her knees were getting weak from the anticipation of Shakaba fucking her. And he had quickened his pace through the passageway.
At the top of the stairs a long shaft led to an opening. A blue patch of sky dazzled her eyes. For the past several weeks she had been taken outside the temple, to work the grounds of the Baugwan’s opulent palace and so allow her skin to become tawny and inviting in the Indian sun. But she had been underground for days during this, the pilgrim season and her eyes had grown accustomed to torchlight and gloom.
They were in the open now, outside the complex. They passed through the ancient outer walls of the temple, along a stone path overgrown with jungle vines and undergrowth. Soour stumbled on her bare feet and wondered where the great African was taking her. The path snaked up a cliff face, still covered with thick foliage. In many places the footing was treacherous and Soour fell. But her trusted master caught her and they resumed their climb.
They finally emerged onto level ground, in sight of a stunning waterfall, tumbling over a cliff made of the same black stone as the temple itself. Shakaba led her up another stone staircase, hidden behind the waterfall and drenched by the formation’s copious spray.
Here the water had flowed in ages past before cutting further into the rock overhead. It had left a shelf in the cliff behind the waterfall, a tiny cleft curtained from the bright sunlight by the water cascading from above. The floor was covered with soft, white sand and the rays of the sun filtered through the water, creating a moving kaleidoscope of flashing color on the limestone.
Shakaba sat cross-legged on the ground, his ebony skin in sharp contrast to the bone white sand. He beckoned her to stand before him and reached up to seize her rear cheeks, grasping handfuls of her firm, soft flesh.
She smiled and cooed subserviently. He wanted her to straddle his seated form. She liked doing it that way, facing his hard, dark body and looking upward into his handsome face.
Shakaba smiled as she wrapped her legs about him and sat. He ran his callused hands up and down the satin smoothness of her back, feeling the exquisite tension of her young, toned muscles.
He leaned back and bought his greedy hands to her chest. He pinched and pulled at her nipples, working them into erection. Her young breasts responded and swelled and he reveled in their glory. She was just sixteen, and the areolas were still puffy with youth, growing and blossoming with life. With a grunt of triumph her pulled her forward, crushing their firmness to his hairy chest.
With one hand he captured her head and forced his open mouth to hers. His tongue swirled and probed deeply, moving in and out with ravishing greed. It seemed to foreshadow what she knew he was going to do to her sex in a few moments. But there was plenty of time.
He pulled her golden hair back and pushed her away, just to look upon her, as if to gloat over her beauty and admire the slut he had created by his own hand. She just sat there on his lap, defenseless and nude and, feeling very vulnerable in the rugged confines of the rock cleft.
It was astoundingly beautiful. The stone surrounding them was dark as a womb, but color and brightness seemed to be everywhere. It was the water and the sunlight; the incandescent interplay between the two as it filtered through the opening. Soour saw the light gleaming in her master’s eyes as it reflected with urgent intensity. This little cave seemed so alive, so fertile. A perfect place for her lover to fuck her.
Once again his arms drew her. She brought her lips to his face and trailed them down below his chin.
“I… I like it here,” whispered Soour onto his black neck. “It’s so pretty…” She felt his manhood swell as it nestled between her legs. From weeks of intensive experience knew it was stiff enough to serve his need. She lifted herself slightly and reached down to guide it to her yoni, taking care to rub it on her slick labia before centering it.
“Ahhhh,” she gasped as he pushed in. She had never gotten used to his size. But that didn’t matter. She had to take it no matter what. She was dasi- he was male. The great ebony shaft pushed her labia aside, as if disdainful of their feeble attempt at resistance. Like a javelin aimed at her vitals it thrust upward, not stopping until it imbedded itself into her spongy cervix. Then he held her in place with his massive arms, thwarting any possible actions of her part to escape or move from his organ.
“Wha… what shall I do? What do you want?” she asked meekly, shyly. She had long since left behind both modesty and inhibition, but she was still overawed by the huge African himself.
“You,” he growled. “I take you white girl’s soul.”
Soour suddenly knew what Shakaba meant. And why she was here. She was being brought to the mystical apex of her destiny, the white-hot center of religious prostitution. There to be forever confirmed as Kaghli’s whore. That very fact made her libido race. She would please him, but he would show her precisely how. She would submit, but it would still be him taking, conquering- as Kaghli himself.
Somehow, in this beautiful, exotic place, being a sex slave seemed natural, even proper. She sensed that this rock was a special place to her trainer and that she was not to give herself here. She was to exist, helpless and female, a lovely body to be raped. Here they would share souls in a communion deeper than mere voluntary sexual surrender.
But this physical place was merely a setting, a matrix for an event that would take place in her mind and spirit. These were the things her trainer wanted to possess.
Now, impaled on his rampant shaft the white girl felt his hands clasping her pelvis. With his massive arms he raised her almost off his manhood, only to bring her slowly back down. She sucked in her breath with excitement. She had sex daily with many men, but it was never as good or stimulating as when Shakaba himself took her. She felt utterly helpless as he began pumping her up and down, probing her guts and setting a rhythm. She joined the action, taking care to move her hips with the exact beat he demanded.
He watched her through narrowed, smoky eyes as she worked herself up and down. Each little wiggle slid her naked chest against his deliciously. He stuck his tongue out and she captured it like a nipple in her mouth, suckling like an infant.
“Mmmmmuuuuuggggh,” she grunted. “Maaaasthh… Masthhhhhteerrr, pweeeese…Take me. Want your, uuuuuggggghhhh… Want your cock…”
Soour placed her hands on his shoulders to gain more leverage for her downward thrusts. Each time their bodies met with a fleshy slap she thrilled to the feel of his wiry pubic hair rasping on her clit. The jerking of his hips grew sharper, more insistent and she sensed he wanted to cum in her quickly. He had more planned for the evening and this little interlude was just to set the tone. She smiled and dug her heels into his buttocks.
Now the energy of their rut was unrestrained. He was moving in and out of her, thrusting deeply with all the power and sinew of his powerful frame. She felt and looked utterly helpless on his lap, yet her body bucked and wriggled as she hurled herself back to him with abandon. They rushed quickly toward fulfillment and the wave broke with cosmic violence.
“AAAGGHHH, white dasi… Shakaba fuck you living soul… Shakaba you god!” he shouted.
Soour went rigid, pressing herself to him with all her strength. Though she would rather have savored their coupling with orgasm after orgasm she knew the magic of the moment was not in its length. She was performing a religious act of spiritual whoredom and her master’s needs and wishes were paramount.
The rainbow of colors filtering through the waterfall swirled around her and time seemed frozen. She lived an eternity as his slut, sitting belly to belly, impaled on his maleness. Semen gushed in an endless torrent from the head of phallus and all temporal existence surged into her welcoming womb.
Then it stopped.
Soour struggled to catch her breath as she returned to reality. But the bright little rainbows were still dancing about them and she became aware of the pounding roar of the waterfall.
He held her closely, with genuine tenderness as they sat. She rested her head against his collarbone, running her hands affectionately over his hairy black chest. They remained joined by his manhood, now flaccid and still in her liquid depths.
Soour reached down idly to stroke their mated organs, delving her fingers into her leaking vagina and coating them with his sperm. She brought them to her lips and licked them clean. The big black man grinned.
“You like man-juice. That very good for you. You like Shakaba fuck you here?”
She nodded with a shy smile.
“This place special,” he said, gesturing to the cave about them. “Called Kaghli’s eye. Shakaba bring you here because you special. You Shakaba’s little white dasi whore.”
The white girl smiled. She understood. The shape of the cleft and the sunlight through the water really made it seem like being inside an eyeball. She cuddled closer to Shakaba, tucking her cheek under his chin. She held him, smelling the musk of his skin. She stuck out her tongue and licked some of the drops of sweat beading on his neck.
“Master, what will happen to my sister?”
Shakaba sighed. “She very stubborn girl. She have soul of Devadasi like you. But she fight it. Her training be harder for her, but we still win. She be good whore soon, you see.”
Soour sighed. She felt sorry for her sister. If only she could see. To survive at Hinja Punt a woman could neither resist nor passively acquiesce. She must transform into a living harlot of the stone god, to be taken and violated ceaselessly even as she worshiped her ravisher.
Soour clung to Shakaba and they sat for a time, listening to the water rush over the falls. Long moments of blissful, wordless communion passed and they breathed in unison, still joined as one.
In time she felt her lover’s phallus twitch, watched the light playing on his face and the reflections of the water sparkling in his eyes. She had never known a more handsome and desirable man and she knew the secret at last. He was maleness. He was Kaghli, the embodiment of the god’s avatar in physical form. From him she drew the sustenance of her fragile life. Her very existence issued in viscous, creamy jets from his potent balls. And she was greedy for more.
“Master,” she breathed into his ear with desperate urgency. “Please fuck me again. Please… Rape me!”

The sun had fallen by the time they were sated. The waterfall was dark and the hollow of rock about them was smothered in an inky blackness. Soour would have been afraid except for the presence of Shakaba. They slept and the girl could smell the damp, musty atmosphere of the cave, mingled with the scent of their raw, consummated sex. They lay intertwined until a round, pregnant moon rose, casting its iron-hued light into the cave.
Shakaba finally got up and clasped her hand. They left Kaghli’s eye, but they did not head back down the stair as she expected. They traveled up, into the jungle through tangled paths the black trainer seemed to know with precision.
In a clearing they came upon a huge enclosure and oversized pole buildings made from the native teak.
There were elephants here, kept by the temple and used to do the heavy work of harvesting timber on the sect’s extensive lands. A small hut, lit with the feeble rays of a few shadeless light bulbs housed the overseer and Shakaba spoke to him. He grinned and ogled the white girl openly and she fidgeted coyly on her tan, bare legs.
After some brief consultation, Soour was compelled to service the man with her mouth, after which the overseer brought one of the elephants to Shakaba and bowed.
The elephant knelt and the big African climbed onto its back. He ordered Soour up, reaching down to help her climb aboard the great beast and laughing at her awkwardness as she scrambled naked up its side. On its back was a padded platform, secured to the animal with massive leather belts. Shakaba motioned the girl to lie down flat on her back, positioning her directly over the animal’s massive spine. She was comfortable, but her pelvis was hunched up as though he had put a pillow under her rear. Then he took a soft, stout strip of leather and wound it once around the young, white Devadasi at her upper abdomen. The ends were tied off to rings in the platform. Her arms and legs were quite free, but she was stuck fast to the elephant’s back.
The girl was slightly puzzled. She felt sure he was going to use her carnally, but why did he have to tie her down. He knew she would give herself willingly, even eagerly. She did not need restraint or coercion. But then she remembered. She was not for her to yield, her sexual favors were not hers to give. She was to writhe and fuck back helplessly while he ravished- while he took!
“Haaaupppt,” shouted Shakaba and the huge beast began walking at a leisurely pace through a wide path in the moonlit jungle.
The white girl quickly discovered why she was tied in the exact position she was in. When the elephant walked, the enormous energy of his hind legs was transferred to a gentle but firm jolt to his backbone. She was tied, open and vulnerable. With every step he took, Soour’s belly and crotch were thrust upward, in an exact parody of the motions of sex. She smiled at her trainer/lover’s cleverness.
Shakaba removed his belt and loincloth and mounted her straight away.
The young white girl spread her legs and placed her bare feet on the elephant’s rough hide. She took Shakaba’s manhood and placed it at the entrance to her vagina, where the motions of the animal’s spine soon worked it into her already wet love canal.
He descended on her slowly, deliciously; giving her a little more with each step the elephant took. In seconds she was once more filled with him and felt the kiss of his huge balls on her upturned anus.
There was an odd cadence and rhythm to the thrusts, just a bit slower than she would have set. It was so bizarre, like being strapped to a fucking machine. Yet it was not mechanical at all. The fluidity of the animal’s movements and the slight variance to its gait meant that the thrusts were slightly offbeat, the rhythm syncopated. The subtlety of it was driving her to distraction and priming her libido.
Shakaba held himself rigidly still for the moment and Soour’s head swam. They were both rutting prodigiously yet neither of them was working. She felt like a puppet, thrusting her hips without volition or will, as if a wicked, unseen hand were irresistibly controlling her loins. The tiredness that slowly built during the exertion of intercourse, limiting a normal act of fleshly union was absent. She was free of the bonds of fatigue. Tied to the back of this animal she could be fucked mercilessly for hours. But paradoxically this knowledge rushed her climax.
Soour lifted her slender legs and wrapped them around her lover’s back as the elephant trotted on into the night. She gasped and gazed up at him, but could not see his face. His body was indistinct, like a phantom in the darkness, a black void against the moon and stars overhead. But she could feel the corporeal strength in his arms and her soft hands clung to the rock solid muscles of his shoulders. Soon the girl was screaming insanely as wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure washed over her, cuming like an animal whore.
But her abject surrender ended nothing. Still the elephant strode on, still the huge black manhood pistoned in and out of her sex with relentless audacity. Proving again that her resistance or capitulation was irrelevant. She was a female body to be raped and defiled.
Her mind foundered inert for the moment, her passion spent. But as he continued to fuck her and her body continued to thrust back, it imparted an incredible feeling of helplessness that dragged her consciousness back to her body. It was an aphrodisiac and stimulant of astonishing strength.
She heard Shakaba’s knowing laugh and he issued a sharp command to the animal. As its gait quickened, her lust returned with renewed intensity. She was thrust up to him even faster now, fucking him back with intense speed and energy. Yet still she did not need to work her hips. She could concentrate on massaging him with her internal muscles and caressing his back with her hands and heels.
Her black man turned his face to the moonlight and trumpeted his lust into the night. She could now see his features and looked into his handsome, Negroid face. She had never been roused to such love, such pure, sexual worship.
Without having to exhaust themselves, the incredible sex act was limited only by Shakaba’s control and the animal’s stamina, both of which were considerable. The elephant never tired from the brisk gait and the African held out for over an hour. The bound girl built up and screamed out several orgasms, each more intense than the last.
Finally, he grasped her tighter and shouted another command to the beast. It picked up the pace even faster. The two lovers were intertwined now, the white girl oblivious to everything but the thrusting of his huge lingam and the massive rouge orgasm building within her. At last she head him gasp and shout, felt him push his great organ up tight against her cervix and hold it there. Her clitoris was pressed tightly against the base of his manhood and Soour literally tumbled into delirium with sensation.
“Take it, sow,” he breathed. “Take it now in white belly!”
“Mas… ter… Love… You… Cum in… Meeeeee…!”
Then time and space exploded. Gush after torrential gush of semen erupted like a fountain inside her. She knew his fecund seed was flowing into her receptive womb and relished the possibility that he was pumping his baby into her. But most exciting and rapturous of all was the fact that she had absolutely no control, no place in the decision. It made the masochistic orgasm that tore through her belly and brain even more profound, pushing her over the edge, into the abyss of a final, mind-rending climax.
Soour actually swooned. When she regained her senses, the animal was walking towards the temple a short distance away. Shakaba’s huge manhood was still lodged inside her, still deep and powerful, but deflated now. She groaned and held him inside, not wanting to give up the wonderful object between her legs. It was soothing and comforting to be in his arms, the feeling alloyed with the delicious knowledge of her utter helplessness. She pressed her warm, naked body to his and sighed onto his shoulder in perfect happiness.
She was just a small, very young, delicate white girl, naked and impaled on the massive lingam of a huge African. Bound to the back of the huge elephant. She felt powerless and weak, but surrounded by strength and potency.
When he finally pulled out of her, that potency oozed from her swollen labia and glistened in the pale moonlight, shouting her whorish status with fetid glee.
Soour had found paradise.
Shakaba smiled and released her from the belt, helping her from the animal’s back. Soour held to her black god/lover with trembling arms as he led her back to her chamber.
It was so good!
So good to be alive and young and beautiful, she thought. So good to be possessed by a man of such strength and ardor and masterful will. So good to be vulnerable and captured and the object of his irresistible lust. And so very, very good to be a temple whore.



Chapter 9

Caroline was curled into a ball on the floor of her cell, brooding with the memory of how she had acted with her sister. There seemed to be no bottom to the dark hole she was she was plunging into, nor any way out. And the most humiliating thing of all was the servile way her body had surrendered and enjoyed it.
In the iniquitous ambiance of the great hall it had been all too easy. Simply submit and avoid the sting of the trainer’s whip. It was like an equation. But here, alone with her own thoughts, she knew that such calculations were the essence of prostitution.
She realized that the Baugwan was continuing to work on her. The ultimate goal of all she had been subjected to was the breaking of her deepest self, to so completely mortify and desensitize her as to mutate her into a willing slave. And he had unlimited time to accomplish his objective.
Still however, something within Caroline resisted. The training had effected deep changes in her psyche and mind. She was obedient now to the discipline of the temple and it’s demands on her flesh, but she was not truly devoted yet.
For some weeks her sanity had hung by a thread as her training progressed and the Baugwan employed his tricks and wiles to break her. He had not been able to do so. For the captive white woman had discovered an effective mental ploy which she clung to like someone dangling from the edge of a cliff.
It was utter psychological simplicity. She finally admitted to herself that she was in fact, a whore. Like a ruse this fugue of the mind had allowed her accept and justify the debauchery in which she partook and yet cling to the last thinly stretched lifeline to Caroline McKinna and her own soul. But it came with a terrible price.
As week after interminable week passed, it was always the same. In order to avoid the whip, or the Hell Hole, she would fuck each man they sent to her with enthusiasm and alacrity. Turning off her mind and letting her body to hump and wriggle like a nymphomaniac. She frequently achieved a real orgasm and had little trouble faking the odd time when a man did not distil her lust. After the act she would smile and towel him off and perhaps caress him as he dressed. Then she kissed him goodbye, with an entreaty to return and make new offerings to Kalhi.
Between men was the worst. As she prepared herself and the room for her next lover she had time to think and reflect. As she lay on the bed, the smoldering embers of her libido would die and she would be sitting there alone, semen leaking from her labia, her hair disheveled, eyes staring blankly. Often she would break down and sob, drowning in a sea of self-pity and degradation. Revulsion for what she was doing and what she had become washing over her like a tidal wave.
Always though, she survived, body, soul and mind, thanks to her ruse. She was a whore and a woman of base sexual needs. She could live with that.
The Baugwan knew he could not trust her, as he could the younger girl, to walk naked in the streets of Tanjore and surrounding villages with the other Devadasi, inviting men to Hinja Punt. There was still a chance she would rebel or run. He was a keen judge of women and was sure she needed one more turn of the screw to bind her mind completely, one more push into the abyss.
“Prepare yourself dasi,” shouted Shakaba through the bead curtain and startling her out of her reverie.
The Baugwan insisted that she keep herself clean and groomed as a Western woman. Her hair was to be combed and her body fresh for each new man. She hurried down the hall to bathe and douche, then back to the room to apply a few daubs of scent. Though she was naked and banded, she was to appear to the worshipers as newly captured, an unspoiled trophy of their god.
Caroline finished her ablution and returned to the room. She met the pilgrim on her knees. He was a younger man, though somewhat scrawny and bug-eyed.
“Welcome master,” she said with a radiant smile. “I am Kaghli’s dasi. How may I serve you?”
“Undress me,” he said simply.
She rose and obeyed, carefully folding and placing his garments on a chair.
“On your back,” he said. “You will pleasure me first.”
The white girl reclined on the bed and spread her legs.
The man mounted her without the slightest foreplay and after he had inserted his manhood and began the act, he pushed his face to her ear.
“Are you Caroline McKinna?” he whispered.
Caroline was so startled she gasped with astonishment and nearly stopped humping. But she managed a quick, “Ye… Yes… unnngh.”
“I am with the police. I’m here to ascertain your whereabouts in the temple. Is this the normal place you are kept?”
“Yes… oh, you’re so deep.”
“We are going to get you and your sister out of here soon,” he continued. “Be prepared. For now we must consummate this interlude to avoid attracting suspicion. Make me cum, then I will whip you.”
Caroline began to move against him with incredible lewdness, the thrilling prospect of freedom manifesting itself in the need to bring him to climax. Even the conscious knowledge that she was practicing pure harlotry did not disturb her in the least. She was a whore and this was simply one more act of prostration.

Caroline sighed as the long, thick penis of the fat stranger who was fucking her moved in and out slowly. She smiled up at him and cooed, to make him think she was enjoying it. She tried to relax. This man was a regular and he liked to set his own pace and shag her for a long time. That was fine because she was finding hard to concentrate.
It had been several days since her encounter with the man who had said he was with the police. She was beginning to wonder if her tormented mind had imagined the event, or if it were simply another game being played by the Baugwan. If it was his work it had been effective. The sudden hope of rescue and return to her old life had caused unexpected inner turmoil and kept her on edge emotionally. There was something that troubled her about it.
It was days before she realized the stunning truth. She was terrified of going back. How could she explain to her father what she had done to survive- what she had become? She thought with bitter irony how far she had fallen. It seemed centuries since she’d been Caroline McKinna, a young virgin about to be married. Once she had thought of rape as a fate worse than death. Now she would willingly, eagerly spread her legs to fuck any man if it meant escape from the lash or heavy labor. She had dreaded the thought of the brown men touching her and longed for escape from the temple. Now her secret fear was that she would be rescued and find that the girl she had been, the independent, virtuous, modest Caroline no longer existed.
When the man had tired, he ordered her to straddle him and do the work. She was fucking the man as he reclined on his back, her feet flat on the mattress and squatting on his loins. Her breasts were bouncing with salacious boldness and she was humping with frenzied enthusiasm when three uniformed men entered the room. She nearly fainted with surprise and shame, pulling off the man just as he spent gushes of pearly semen onto her belly and breasts.
They stared at her blankly as she sat beside the mattress, attempting in vain to cover herself with her arms, jism cooling on her skin. Shakaba followed the officers into the cell moments later and pointed. “That her,” he said, sullenly.

The police had said curiously little to the McKinna girls as they were driven back their father’s mission. They were given blankets to wear but Caroline wished in vain for decent clothes and begged them to cut the brass bands of the Devadasi from their limbs. The officer had told her pleasantly to keep quiet and enjoy the ride. Elsbeth sat beside her sister, staring out the window and never uttering a word.
They were taken straight back to the compound and although Caroline flushed with the idea of meeting her father while still smelling of dried semen, she was overjoyed when they arrived.
All during the trip back she had pondered the future. Wearing clothing and behaving like a respectable Western girl once again would take some getting used to. And she knew deep down that the odd, forbidden urges and feelings in her sex and brain could never be fully excised. She would need time and understanding to heal. But would Brian give that to her?
They were summarily pulled from the car and left in front of the office without a word from the police. Then the car left and the gate clanged shut behind them. They were home. But where was their father?
In moments the office door opened and the girls smiled to see a familiar face. It was Indra, the old matron.
For some reason though, the Indian woman would not meet their eyes. She seemed to look over them and there was a strange and inexplicable air of superiority in her expression.
“Indra, where’s father?” asked Caroline.
“Your father is dead,” said Indra coldly. “So is Brian.”
Both girls were stunned to silence. With all they had gone through this latest tragedy hung in the air, uncomprehended while they simply stared with horrified expressions.
The old Indian woman continued, a cruel hardness to her voice. “Three months ago he and your father were working on a satellite mission near Tanjore when they were attacked by bandits. The bodies were found days latter.”
The McKinna girls looked at each other. There was nothing to say. Even if there had been they would have been interrupted rudely. The Indian matron was pushing them into the office insistently, ignoring their shocked grief.
“Inside both of you… hurry.”
They entered the office and Indra told them to stand and wait.
“The mistress will be about shortly,” she said.
“The mistress?” asked Caroline, puzzled. “Who are you talking about?”
“Brian and Memsaib Swana were married soon after you disappeared,” said Indra. “And Master McKinna named her his heir. She owns everything your father and Brian once owned.”
“And I own you as well.”
The girls turned. Entering the door behind them was Swana and a huge Indian man.
Caroline’s mouth gaped. She barely recognized the obnoxious young Indian girl. Swana was well fed and very well dressed. There was a palpable quality of pride and confidence about her.
The big man circled quickly around the white girls as they stood gazing with amazement at Swana. He seized the blankets they had wrapped about them and ripped them away. Instantly they were both as they were in the temple; naked, save for their brass bands and lewd tattoos.
“So,” laughed Swana. “You are both of the Devadasi. A very old and noble vocation…”
“It wasn’t by choice,” said Caroline. “We were kidnapped… forced to become dasi. We don’t… aaaggghhhh…”
The big Indian had seized her by the throat and was now squeezing with a vise-like hand. “Whore not interrupt her mistress,” he hissed. “She get sore neck.”
“I know all about your abduction,” said Swana. “I arraigned it.”
“You arra…” gasped Caroline. “But… Why… How?”
“To get rid of you of course and take your fiancée. You father’s estate was just a bonus, but he was stupid and easy enough to handle. As to how, I simply let the Baugwan’s men into the compound the night you were taken and led them to your room.” She grinned at Caroline’s expression of humiliation and horror. “Yes, dasi-slut. I made you what you are today.”
“What… what do you want from us?” asked Caroline.
“You are going to work for me now, in my thriving business.”
“Doing what?” asked Caroline apprehensively.
Swana gestured to the building surrounding them, “This really is a fine facility,” she said. “Very well suited for a religious compound- or a house of pleasure.”
Caroline frowned for a moment, then she grimaced with disgust. “You… you turned my father’s mission into a… A brothel?”
“Yes,” said Swana, beaming with triumph. “And now you two are among my whores.”
“We’re… we’re not going to work for you…” spat Caroline. “I’ll go to the police.”
Swana laughed, she reached out to fondle Caroline’s breast, and pinched her nipple. “I own the police in this district. They brought you here and if you try to escape, they’ll bring you back. And let me show you what will happen if you run off.”
Swana clapped her hands and a young Indian girl appeared. She too was naked and she bowed low to her mistress.
“Lay back on the desk. Spread your legs,” commanded Swana.
The girl obeyed. Taking both hands, Swana pulled the girl’s labia apart and showed the white girls a sight that made them cry out with horror. At the top of her vagina, where her little pleasure bud should have been, there was an empty hole and the nub of a scar. Someone had removed her clitoris.
“Female circumcision,” said Swana. “Painful yes. And once done, you’ll never have those delightful little feelings again. It does not effect your ability to please a man, but you’ll be half a woman, dead between your legs. It will be done to either of you if you try to escape or fail to please my customers.”
Both Caroline and Elsbeth were shaking their heads, moved almost to tears. They could not imagine anything more horrid or grotesque.
“You will obey Indra, and my man Guka, here,” said Swana. “They will punish you for any failures.”
The McKinna girls were separated and led up to the rooms that had once been theirs. Caroline’s bore little resemblance to the elegant, classy bedroom it had been before she had been taken.
Now gaudy and draped with Eastern décor, the beds were clothed with blood red sheets and cases. There were chains and manacles attached to each of the bedposts and a wide assortment of whips and canes hung from hooks in the ceiling.
Lewd pictures adorned the walls, depicting every sort of sex act and orgy imaginable. Each was titled in Sanskrit and English. There was incest and at least half a dozen forms of bestiality and pedophilia, even implied necrophilia.
Caroline shuddered. She had thought she would never find herself in a place more degrading than Hinja Punt. But after her first hour in Swana’s brothel she realized she had been wrong.

“AAAAAIIIEEEE… I tried! Oh Please…” screamed Caroline. “I tried to please him. I just couldn’t do that!”
She was bent over the foot of the bed, being caned mercilessly for refusing the demand of a customer. She had fucked six other men that day and they had left with empty balls. But the last man had wanted something bizarre and disgusting and the girl had been unable to force herself to comply. The man had complained loudly and Swana had ordered Caroline punished.
With amazing strength and accuracy old Indra slashed at Caroline’s rear checks, landing the cane with an agonizing pop.
“AAAAAIIIIEEEEAAA… oh god… Indra, please stop… Please, help me…” cried Caroline. “What has Swana done to turn you against us?”
“Memsahib is the owner of this compound now,” said Indra. “I have always given total loyalty to my employer. She has said you are going to work in this brothel and that is exactly what you and your sister are going to do. You will not shirk your duties while I’m the matron here, or you’ll feel this cane on your lazy backside.”
“AAAAAHHHHHHIIIII… I beg you… Please… I can’t take it… Please Indra, that man… He wanted me to drink his urine and eat his… his excrement… I can’t…”
“You will obey mistress Swana. Or you’ll get the cane. You know better.”
“AAAAAGGGGHHHH… Oh please, Indra, please… I can’t stand this pain!”
“Then obey mistress and customers and you won’t feel the cane. Do as you’re told without question.”
“AAAAAAiiiee… AHH, AAHHH, AAAAAHHHHEEEEE… Have mercy… Please; I’ll go mad! Ohmyyyyygoooooooood... Innnnnndddrrrraaaaa!”
“YOU’RE A WHORE!” shouted the old woman. “You will work and act as a whore. Consuming men’s filth is part of your life!”
“AAAAAGGGGG… AAAAAAIIIIIIIHHH… Alright… I’ll do it… I swear I’ll do it! Please stop… Stop before I die!”
“Only five this time,” said Indra. “Ten strokes next time you refuse a guest.”
Hours blurred into days and days into weeks. Time seemed to stand still and life became an endless cycle of desolation. Caroline knew her sister was going through the same thing with one difference. The younger girl was pining for her lost lover, her black sex god Shakaba. She rarely spoke to Caroline when they were together during their meals. The girl constantly masturbated, muttering the African’s name and repeatedly bursting into sobs. Caroline was afraid she was becoming suicidal.
Meanwhile, Swana was subjecting them to more and more. Ten men a day, then fifteen. Caroline’s vulva was sore and swollen and her vagina constantly leaking sperm. Her back and rear cheeks were bruised from the many whippings and canings she received both from the men and from Indra.
Swana also managed to slip a little cruel irony into her vengeance. She had not forgotten how Caroline had made her work in the laundry. In addition to serving over a dozen men the white girl was forced to wash everyone else’s clothes and was punished brutally when she was unable to finish the job. Her sanity was at the edge of a precipice and she did not think that she or her sister could last much longer. Then one day, Swana called them to her office.
Both Caroline and Elsbeth went to their knees when Swana entered, as they were required to do whenever they were in her presence.
“I do not feel that either of you have lived up to your duties as Devadasi. You are lazy and conceited. Also, I have not extracted my full revenge on you, bitch,” said Swana, pulling the kneeling Caroline’s hair painfully.
I’m taking you to Tanjore tomorrow,” said Swana. “You will walk the streets as I had to, as the Devadasi of Kaghli. You will persuade men to fuck you, but not to please your lover/god. You will do it to make money for me. You will prostitute yourselves with any man who will pay and you will each return with 10,000 rupee, or I will have your clits removed the day after tomorrow. Guka will go with you.”
Caroline gasped. There was no way they could make 10,000 rupee. She and Elsbeth would have to compete with the Temple’s Devadasi and fuck at least 100 men. She broke down and sobbed, holding her hands to her sex instinctively.
“Please mistress… Please don’t do that to us… Don’t cut it off…” Caroline pleaded abjectly. “Please, we’ll fuck them… We’ll fuck them all… Please, we can’t make that much!”
“10,000 rupee or I will have you circumcised,” said Swana firmly.
She strode from the room leaving the two white girls crying in naked, pathetic heaps, begging their mistress to relent.

They started early in Tanjore. Caroline and Elsbeth literally ran down the streets, speeding desperately from shop to shop. They begged men to fuck them, consummating the acts in alleys or back rooms, what ever was close and quick. They solicited every male they passed for sex, oral, vaginal or anal. Whatever the customer wanted they provided, bringing him off with energy and enthusiasm, then moving on for more. The pace was panicked and relentless from the start, but despite their best efforts both girls were falling off the average by mid day.
After a brief lunch to regain their strength they received a stroke of luck. A shopkeeper allowed them to use his back room as their bordello. They would rush out to streets, find a willing male and return to couple with him on one of the little cots the shopkeeper that had provided.
“Hello, handsome man,” said Caroline to a strange male on the narrow street. She shook her naked breasts provocatively and wriggled, smiling with wide, sincere eyes. “Let’s go to a room I have down the street. We can make love there! Please, lover!”
Many a male would succumb to her wiles and accompany her to the shop. She would fuck or suck him; bringing him off quickly and guiding him gently back out to the street. Immediately she was looking for her next customer to lead to the obscene confines of the back room. There to coax his sperm to join the growing pool inside her already drenched belly.
The white girl did not even have time douche or clean herself off. Semen was dripping from her overflowing vagina and she knew, inundating her womb with the seed of countless and sundry men.
By 6 PM the panic was setting in. She and her sister each had had sex with over 35 men and had accumulated about 6,500 rupee. But time was running out and they were not going to make it.
Ironically, Caroline wondered if the frantic, loveless sex she was doing on this degrading day were the last she would feel as a complete woman. But nothing mattered now. At last she was sitting with Elsbeth in the gutter, naked, filthy, sweaty and lathered with semen on her face, belly and legs. She cared nothing for the shame of it. She was a whore and she knew it in her deepest soul. She only grieved for her poor little pleasure bud.
Then against all odds, a ray of hope shone through.
Elsbeth was jumping to her dirty, bare feet, pointing into the crowd excitedly. “He’s there! Pashuvama, he’s there!”
“Who’s there?” asked Caroline.
“My master… My man! Oh Pashuvama, it’s Shakaba!”
Indeed, Caroline could see the big African standing at a corner, talking to a shop owner. She looked over to see Guka occupied for the moment, purchasing some bettlenut. It was their only chance.
Like a frightened dove seeking safety, Soour flushed, racing over to her black lover. On impulse Caroline followed before Swana’s man could react.
Both women fell prostrate before the huge black man, entwining their arms around his muscular bare legs and pleading for mercy.
“Please master, save us. Take us back to the temple!”
The great African acted surprised, but looked down at the younger girl and stroked her hair. The he spoke to the older white girl cringing at his feet. “What you name?” he asked, sharply.
“Caroline McKin…”
He delivered a vicious slap across her face. “Say you name… or go back to Swana woman’s stinking fuck-house.”
The white girl made her choice in an instant. “Pashuvama… my name is Pashuvama, master. Kaghli’s whore! Please,” she begged, “We want to go back to the temple. Take us back… I… we know we belong there now.”
“We want to convert,” said Soour. “We belong to Kaghli… And you.”
Guka was now standing before them, enraged but seemingly intimidated by Shakaba.
“These whores belong to Swana Ironson. She will be very angry at their flight.”
“They have converted of their own free wills,” said Shakaba with a triumphant smile. “That is the law. They belong to Kaghli now.”
The man scowled, but was obviously afraid of Shakaba. He uttered an idle threat and left.
Pashuvama suddenly felt an indescribable elation wash over her. She was going back to the temple where she belonged. Safe, as a grateful and enthusiastic temple whore. There would be no more resistance, no more mental games. She would serve the temple as a slave slut. She would submit to her god/lover who would take her body and soul. She would be raped continually- forever. And that knowledge filled her with happiness.
Swana and the Baugwan smiled at each other from behind the shop door where they had been concealed.
“Excellent,” he laughed. “Their conditioning is finally complete. It took some effort, but I think they’ll be worth it.”
Soour and Pashuvama clung to Shakaba, both girls literally crying with joy. They would be the first white women- of many, many more.
Efforts were already underway to obtain fair-skinned girls from America and Europe to serve in the local temples they planned to build all over India. Once established, the cult of Kaghli could spread internationally, using the Witness to Truth organization Swana now controlled. She of course would receive her share of compensation from Kaghli’s bounty and in time would be one of the richest and most powerful women in India.
Yes, thought the Baugwan. The relationship between Hinja Punt and Swana’s organization was going to be highly advantageous for both of them.
Swana left and got into her limousine, heading back to her life of luxury and privilege, but the Baugwan lingered a bit. He watched as the two white women were led away, willing accepting the chains on their wrists, and he thought about McKinna. The fool who had challenged him had paid such a high price. Even though he was dead, the Baugwan still hated him and was still seeking ways to defile the man’s living flesh and blood, his young daughters.
Tonight he would take the whip to both daughters, then anal fuck them mercilessly in front of each other. It promised to be a stimulating evening.




Epilogue




The Great Hall of Hinja Punt was brilliantly lit with scores of torches and the air was fairly choked with incense as a lonely female figure was led to the foot of the huge idol.
A ripple of excitement went through the hundreds of kneeling worshipers when they saw her pale skin. It was the dasi they had heard about!
Many had already fucked her; many more were on the waiting list. She was said to be a true nymphomaniac. A Devadasi who combined stunning physical beauty with a hyper-energetic rut and an obscene imagination. The white girl who fucked like no other and concealed behind an innocent, sincere smile a heart of the wickedest harlot. Hinja Punt’s creamy-skinned, blue-eyed, white whore.
She knelt before the dais, prostrating herself before the stone god. Above her stood the fat, self-indulgent Baugwan, Kaghli’s chief priest.
He issued several incantations while the faithful hummed, intoning their mantras while he spoke. He took a vessel of oil and poured in over the woman. She rose and spread it over her body so that her naked flesh gleamed in the firelight.
At his harsh command she bowed low before the god, still dripping with the unction. She scrambled to mount the idol’s huge phallus, awkwardly climbing the shaft until she could squat on the head. She centered the smaller stone penis on her vulva and descended, impaling herself with one motion and a base, guttural cry.
The worshipers behind her erupted with monotone chanting, which seemed to goad her on. She began to rut on the god’s lingam, using her hands and feet to support herself and moving with incredible lubricity.
The chanting grew louder and clouds of intoxicating incense wafted through the hall. All who were present looked on riveted, as the white woman threw herself into the ritual of final dedication to Kaghli.
The Baugwan himself began whipping her, lashing her back and rear cheeks to drive her to even greater intensity.
It was literally religious, the zeal which surged through her brain. At last, she was where she belonged. At last!
She loved Kaghli. He was so real, so alive, so potent!
For weeks she had been falling deeply and irrationally in love with the stone god. He had become a tangible reality to her ravaged mind. She thought of him incessantly, dreamed of him, lusted for him. When she was fucked by the faithful she thought of his phallus. When she was whipped she felt his hand. Even the idol’s petulant, gloating, bestial face before her now seemed so handsome and so very desirable.
Clinging tightly to the phallus and trashing her impaled body with vociferous carnality, she humped on the stone organ with obscene abandon. She gazed up at him, pure adoration radiant on her face. She truly loved Kaghli- Her master, her rapist, her god.
“You see,” shouted the Baugwan to the worshipers, who looked on with raging lust and astonishment. “Kaghli will eventually break any woman. Those who resist the most become his most devoted slaves. Behold Kaghli’s Devadasi. His temple’s whore!”
Inside the huge idol, in a tiny hollow behind the god’s belly, Shakaba and Soour lay fucking avidly. They could see the older girl writhing on Kaghli’s shaft through a hole in the navel. They could hear her voice and the moans of the worshipers.
In the days since Shakaba had rescued them the young white girl and her lover had rarely been separated. The Baugwan noticed, but he was of a mind to reward Shakaba and the temple had centered its interest on the older girl for the time being. There was ample opportunity for the African to slake his lust and to be honest the Baugwan couldn’t blame him.
The product of careful training, the younger girl exuded that elusive and lech inspiring quality of recently besmirched innocence. Some of Kaghli’s pilgrims were already paying double to delve into her charms. She was after all, a previously sheltered white virgin now captured and kept nearly naked; strenuously practiced in the erotic arts. And her meek little smile was irresistible.
But there was still a faint blush to her apple cheeks when she walked among the men to display herself. She was in love with one man and fate and desire had enslaved her to crave his touch above all others.
It was a fate she never could have imagined while in her father’s house; miserable, fat, ugly and unwanted. Now she was a religious object, a sacred/profane vessel for the essence of the faithful. She was Kaghli’s willing whore, but Shakaba’s woman.
Soour clasped him tightly between her welcoming legs, feeling him delve into the deepest recesses of her feminine core. His gloriously beautiful, Negroid face hovered inches above hers as he thrust into her with long, slow, powerful lunges. She allowed her mind to wander.
Often in her old life she had dreamed of marriage, of meeting some nice young white boy and having a family. Now the idea repulsed her. She was Devadasi, love slave of the temple. And Shakaba was her priest. She was utterly dependent on him for protection and sustenance. He was, in fact, though not in name, her real husband. The honest realization of this fact sent an odd shiver of excitement through her.
She could not imagine going back to her grim, desolate life at the mission, even if that were possible. And she certainly did not want to be a sex beast in Swana’s brothel, living only to enrich the cruel Indian woman. To her, Hinja Punt was paradise. She had learned about life and love at the temple and they had given her beauty. Most of all she had the only man she wanted, Shakaba. She was sixteen years old, still in her tender years, and he was old enough to be her father. Indeed she still needed such an authority figure; a new black father who would discipline her with a whip, and his huge black cock. And unlike most girls, she would never leave her daddy.
Best of all, she had a lifetime of subservient sex ahead of her, a life to devote to Hinja Punt and Shakaba’s training. There could be no more fulfilling future.
Their mating took her to celestial heights of passion, as sex always did. But there was something extra to be found in Shakaba’s lingam. It had the ability to fold the bright center of the universe in on itself and drive it lunging into her belly. When he came the once innocent girl felt faint with ecstasy and awe, wondering at once what kind of child he would force into her- and whether she was worthy as it’s receptacle.
Even as Shakaba grunted and emptied the contents of his balls into her receptive belly, she thought about how lucky she was to be the black trainer’s favorite. Tiny masochistic tingles danced from her sex to her brain as she pictured herself pinned under his weight, captured and conquered- fucked!
Her own climax surged, a gentle but overwhelming wave that carried her transfixed through space and time. She caught her breath as temporal existence spun and vibrated, finally coming to rest on the buried head of his lingam. She met his lips and gave him a long soul kiss.
They reclined in each other’s arms, communing in post orgasmic peace for several minutes, listening to the sounds of the ceremony. Soour caressed his hard, ebony muscles, sighing with contented bliss as she felt his warm liquid essence trickling in her womb.
As she lay helpless beneath her lover, breathing with him, Soour could hear her sister moaning and gasping. Looking through the hole, she saw Pashuvama impaled on the great stone phallus of the god. She was churning and rutting with utter abandon, tossing her head this way and that. The gaudy brass bands on her ankles and wrists clanked against the stone as lust overpowered her. She was rushing to orgasm on Kaghli’s maleness, sweeping the assembled faithful along with her.
“That white girl best whore this temple have in a hundred years,” whispered the big black man into Soour’s ear. “The Baugwan say she bring in thousands of new converts. They come just to fuck her. And watch her fuck Kaghli.”
The energy of Pashuvama’s performance was making the African’s manhood stiff again. He pressed the pliant girl onto her back on the smooth stone surface and her legs parted on their own. She smiled up at him with open invitation and placed her soft, white hands on his black shoulders.
He was surprised by his own response, so avid for her flesh that his cock was already throbbing with lust.
“Well,” said Soour, guiding Shakaba’s love piece back to her drenched yoni. “My sister has her lover- and I have mine.” The young white girl dug her bare heels into the warm, damp flesh of Shakaba’s buttocks as his stiff, comforting rod augured once more into her depths.
They fucked slowly, deliciously and watched as the Devadasi, a piece of female flesh once a young woman known as Caroline McKinna convulsed wildly, her greedy womanhood impaled to the hilt on the huge carved phallus of the idol. The gray snake/penis of Kaghli, tattooed on her back seemed to undulate and slither up her spine as she moved. The oily flesh behind her neck glinted like semen gushing into her brain. Pashuvama, the sex beast, raped in every sense by her pagan god.
The kneeling, bowing worshipers howled with delight as the Baugwan at last drove the knife into the dais and Kaghli’s ejaculate gushed forth, flooding the woman’s vagina and cascading down her legs.
The white temple whore, looked up onto the leering stone face with an expression of pure worship and eternal devotion, screaming and crying with exploding, feral ecstasy; “I love you… I love you. I love you, Kaghli… Oh darling… Oh yes… Yessssss…! Take me, Kaghli… Fill meeeee… FILL MEEEEEEEEEEE…! I’M CUMMMMMMMMING!”

end