A Divine Union

June, 1975

"Our blood is marked by the deities, Kamala." Mira spoke with a blissful smile. "We have descended from the purest of Brahmins."

Kamala was trying to wash the rag that was stained by her menstrual blood. Hopefully it would dry out in the sun by the time the one she was using now would soak up. "Papa says being Brahmin doesn't make us special. We're just the same as everyone else. Papa also says our religion doesn't matter and he'll let me marry Hamid when we're both--"

"Hah, Uncle would say that! But only we can be the vessels for the gods' seed. It will be our womb from which Lord Vishnu will be reincarnated. Or, well, mine at least." She crinkled her nose. "You're intent on running away with a boy who will befoul the purity of your blood."

"I don't even want this stupid blood. It hurts and all the boys look at me different!"

"Enjoy their attention while you can." Her cousin looked bitter now. "Once you're married, you are owned by another."

"And who claims to own you, Petal?" A smooth, silky voice cleaved the silence like thunder in the sky. Kamala squealed and hurriedly threw her menstrual rag away where no one could see it. Guess she would have to make do with a filthy one again, she thought glumly.

A tall, dark man cast a long shadow over the two girls. His pale skin -- paler than any Indian had the right to be -- gleamed in the moonlight. It was both unnatural and very, very enticing. She almost forgot about Hamid in that instant.

"Well, I'm to be married," her cousin said, in the sullen tone she used when she had to help out around the house. "My parents found a nice, rich man of our caste."

"Ah, and since when did my little petal like nice

men?" The voice was amused, making her giggle like a child. "No, you want someone mean, someone who will treat you the way your filthy mind can only dream of, don't you?"

As Kamala gaped, he pulled Mira up, lazily undraping the sari she wore and unhooking her modest blouse from the back. Her skin was covered with bruises. And welts from what were clearly lashings.

Her scarred cousin embraced the man passionately while he gently stroked her back.

"Who is this child?" his eyes flicked to Kamala dismissively.

"Oh, this?" Mira half gasped and trembled, almost as though electricity was running through her. "She's no one -- my cousin."

"Not yet ripe for the plucking. Maybe when you're older, girl."

"Never mind her, my Lord. I have something to show you."

Giggling again, she gently tugged at the tall, pale man's arm.

He spared Kamala one last glance, his whole being exuding pure wickedness. "Much older," he whispered to her, before allowing himself to be led away.

Kamala shivered. What had her cousin got herself into?

***

Amara woke up -- tired and aching all over -- in an unfamiliar bed. The mattress hugged her every curve like it was custom made for her, and the silken sheets felt soft to the touch. Bright sunlight streamed through the arched windows, making the horrors of last night feel like a distant reality.

She winced as she sat up. Her entire body felt sore but the pain in her ribs was strongest. How badly had he hurt her last night? With another wince, she got out of bed, letting her feet touch the cold marble floor. She was stark naked. Just as she suspected, her skin was covered in black and blue bruises. She stood up straighter. No permanent damage. Lakir wouldn't be able to say the same once she got to his sleeping body with a butcher's knife, though.

With a grim smile, she looked around for her dress and shoes. They were nowhere to be found. Instead, she found jewel encrusted slippers next to her bed. She slipped into them and looked around for a spare set of clothes. There, on the chaise. A bright sari made of heavy silk with golden temples woven into it, accompanied by an ostentatious blouse, covered with jewels, and a plain petticoat to go underneath. She inspected them for a solid minute. Did these gods think she was going to act like a traditional daughter in law and wear this unwieldy attire? With a grin, she pulled the silk bedsheet off and tied it around her like a toga. The gods could go to hell.

She had barely stepped foot outside when she collided with a passing maid. Now, this woman knew how to wear a sari. Her petticoat was fastened well below her navel, allowing the world a clear view of her tiny waist. The folds of her sari did nothing to conceal the generous bosom that her lowcut blouse revealed. Compared to her attire, the toga looked downright matronly.

"Oh, my Lady!" The woman bowed. "I have orders from my Lord to bring you directly to his chambers."

"Taras?"

"Haha, my Lady, you

are

funny!" The woman giggled, but the mirth did not go beyond her lips. She was clearly sizing Amara up. And was there a glint of jealousy in her eyes? "No, it's Lord Lakir who demands your presence before his hallowed self."

A mixture of trepidation and fury fluttered through Amara. She was going to see him. Again. It was wrong. It was too soon. But her nipples were hard and eager under her toga, singing a different tune altogether. She followed the woman down a curving hallway, adorned with rich tapestries and an obnoxious amount of intricately carved pillars, before alighting in front of a gigantic door.

Almost as if it had known she was coming, the door opened. The woman gently shoved Amara into the room, before following suit and closing the door behind her.

He sat in a chair that looked more like a throne, studded with rubies and emeralds and enamelled with ivory. His hair ruffled in the gentle breeze of the two massive peacock fans wielded by women who were dressed even more scandalously. They wore no blouses and the saris, draped between their bare breasts, did nothing to make up for it. A silver chain dangled from their nipples, fastened to clamps and weighed down by a single, large ruby. Memories of last night flooded in and she remembered how he had abused her. She imagined him clasping the painful ornament to her own nipples, making her breasts sway as he took her from behind.

"My Lord." Amara's reverie was broken by the woman who had brought her there. She was crouched in front of him, bowing her head.

"Sonia," he said. "You have brought my pet to me. Now you may have your reward."

His eyes met Amara's, glinting in the light as he smiled lazily. "Watch and learn, Pet."

As she watched, Sonia crawled towards him seductively, before taking hold of his pantaloons and gently untying them. She eagerly freed his cock, stroking it slowly with her small hand as she started to lick the head, swirling her tongue and moaning.

"Undress yourself,' he ordered, and she took off her blouse, playing with her nipples as she slid his cock in and out of the valley between her breasts, her tongue lavishing attention on his cock every time a thrust brought him closer to her mouth. His smile widened. "Come closer, Pet."

Horrified as she was, Amara didn't resist when the other maids in the room pushed her until she was close to Lakir. His head lolled back and he closed his eyes in pleasure, letting his hand softly guide Sonia. He had never been this gentle with her. Never called her by her name either.

Humiliated and upset, Amara wanted to leave, but countless hands held her in spot. They roved over her, pinching and stroking every inch of her.

"Get her out of those ridiculous clothes," Lakir said, eyes still closed. "Yes, Sonia, please your Lord. Worship me."

Sonia sounded ecstatic as her head bobbed up and down. Amara started to struggle but the hands holding her in place had started to unravel the toga she wore. They took their time, teasing her while their mouths planted butterfly kisses on her sensitive skin. For a second, she allowed herself to feel the pleasure of their touch. And then Sonia let her hand take over while she turned around and gave Amara a triumphant grin, bringing her crashing back.

"Oh my God, stop!" Amara sputtered angrily. "Tell your whores to let me go."

There was a moment of silence. Sonia stopped bobbing her head on Lakir's cock and looked at Amara, drool and precum dripping from her mouth as it opened in surprise. The hands touching her withdrew, leaving her exposed to the morning chill. Lakir got up, cock still gleaming from Sonia's saliva.

"What did you just call them?"

The danger his voice promised only bolstered her nerves. "Oh, are you not paying them in exchange for these sexual favours they're bestowing upon you?"

Growling, he was upon her in the blink of an eye. He squeezed her breasts painfully hard and pinned her against the wall, his hot breath doing nothing to stave off the cold. "It is none of your business what my relationship with them is. You are not fit to lick the dirt beneath their soles, you bitch. You're the filthy whore, jumping from one brother's cock to another."

Did he think ... she and Taras...?

"I was a virgin, you asshole," she yelled. "What you put me through yesterday, that was -- my first..." She couldn't continue, choking back her tears. He had taken her, used her, defiled her. And he hadn't cared about the bond he created between them one bit. Here he was, using another woman's hole in front of her.

The words gave him pause. "You've never lain with a man before?"

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

"Sucked a cock? No. Touched another man's cock? No. Gods, you really were a virgin. Look at me, girl,' he ordered, tilting her chin up to look in her eyes, searching her for signs of deception. He found none. "Last night was your first time? I knew you had never been fucked in the ass before but ... Gods."

***

Lakir could tell she regretted telling him, regretted giving him the power he now had over her. A part of him wanted to jeer and humiliate her more, push her buttons until she fought and cried some more. A bigger part of him, however...

"What are you doing, standing around?" he barked at the maids in the room. "Leave us, now."

They scurried away. Sonia was the last one out. She gave Amara one last baleful glance, but the girl probably didn't see through the tears swimming in her eyes. Gods, but she was incredibly erotic, shaking before him, her dark nipples taut in the cool morning breeze. He could hardly hold himself back. He wouldn't have to, any longer.

Without another word, he scooped her into his arms, much like last night, yet his hold was different. She averted her gaze, looking at his broad, muscled chest as he carried her into an adjoining room. This time, when he threw her on the bed, it was gentler. Her big, doe-like eyes were transfixed as he unfastened his clothes, letting them drop to the ground. He stalked toward her, the way a cougar does its prey, drinking in her sight. All other smells in the room paled in comparison to hers -- cinnamon, jasmine, and pure fear. A primitive instinct took hold of him as, with a growl, he was on top of her, his cock pulsing against her naked thigh, his gaze burning a hole in her.

"I'm going to give you an early wedding present, Amara," he said, grabbing her hands in a vice like grip to stop her from squirming under him, even though her squirming felt really good. "Just once, I'll give you what you always craved on those dark, lonely nights when you touched yourself, pretending those fingers belonged to my brother."

"I--" Amara began but he shushed her with his palm.

"Don't talk," he whispered, as he ripped the curtains from the four-poster bed on which they lay. He tied her hands to the bed posts, and then did the same to her legs. "This is the most vanilla I can manage, okay?"

"No, this--" she began again but he silenced her with a kiss. It was long, slow, languorous. His tongue teased her lower lip, causing her to moan before capturing her in a kiss again. His hands moved lower, retracing the bruises on her skin, until they reached her breasts. In contrast to how he had pulled her nipples painfully the night before, he circled them with a feather light touch. She arched her back, shoving her breasts at him wordlessly. This girl was very easily aroused. He smiled against her mouth, and rubbed her nipples gently, making her moan. He broke their kiss to gently nip at her collarbone.

"I--"

"Shh," he murmured. "Lie back and enjoy this."

It was very clear that she didn't want to enjoy this. This firebrand of a woman would feel humiliated when he tore pleasure from her body against her will. The thought made him happy. He sucked on her earlobe.

"Please--"

In a flash, he slapped her, stunning her into silence. "I can be gentle, but I can also be rough," he warned. "Now, will you keep quiet?"

She nodded at him, looking terrified and ... thrilled. She was thrilled that he was violent with her, thrilled that he was in control of her, thrilled that he would do with her what he pleased, even if she never admitted to it. Oh, he was definitely going to enjoy her descent into a depraved, living sex doll. More than he had when breaking in all those other women.

His tongue found its way to her nipple, teasing it gently, before he began to suckle it. His fingers traced patterns round her belly, making her mewl, before they moved lower, right down to her little nub. Just as he touched it, he let his tongue shock her nipples with a light jolt of electricity. Her whole body quivered as he increased the pressure on her clit, rubbing harder and deeper, shocking her with low voltage sparks every now and then. She was on the brink; he could see it. Her breathing was irregular, her motions frantic as she tried to grind her pelvis against his hand. She wanted more, needed more. And she would get it.

His cock was almost painfully hard from Sonia's earlier ministrations and now the sight of this lovely woman who squirmed and moaned under him. He lined it up with her slit, letting her juices lubricate it.

"Don't shut your eyes, Amara," he said. "Look at me. I said, look at me. This will hurt. Not as much as yesterday, but it will hurt. Do you understand?"

She nodded, her glazed eyes trying to focus on his, her panting making words impossible.

"Now, come for me," he said, pinching her clit.

Amara's whole body seized up. For a breathless second, she was suspended in space, held in this man's tight embrace, scared of letting go lest she fall into oblivion. And then she came with a scream, wave after wave of pleasure taking over her senses and every rational thought. All she could see was Lakir, poised above her, his face inscrutable as he stared into her eyes. And just as the next wave of pleasure hit her, he shoved into her.

The pleasure mixed with pain, but it was not unpleasant. It was overwhelming. She started to weep from the sensations, wishing her hands and legs were free so she could wrap them around him.

"Shhh," he said, sucking the hollow of her neck, making her go wild. "Shh, the pain will cede."

There was electricity dancing between them, but not because of him. It was deeper than that, the primal connection between a man and a woman joined together in the most intimate way possible. His movements were slow, a far cry away from his crazed thrusting last night. He was letting her adapt to him, coaxing her pussy into spreading to accommodate his girth. She started raising her hips in time with his thrusts, making incoherent sounds.

"Please," she begged.

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me harder, faster. I need it. I need you -- ahhh!"

With a groan, he increased his pace. He needed her as much as she needed him. Holding onto the headboard with one hand and gently squeezing her throat with the other, he started to lose himself, getting rougher as he continued to plough into her.

She squealed and squirmed, begging him to keep going, driving him wild with her brazen words. As he began choking her, he twisted himself inside her so he could massage her just so. Her expression confirmed it; he had found her pleasure spot. With a grunt, he pushed deeper and started thrusting manically. She was unable to speak, her air supply cut off, but he could see the desire welling within her, see how close she was.

"Let go, Amara," he whispered. It was all she needed to start coming. Biting hard on his shoulder to muffle her ecstatic screams, she seized around his cock, trying to milk him. He continued to fuck her, forcing himself to last longer, as she screamed and wept and begged him to keep going. He was relentless, stealing her breath and her senses, leaving only a fiery explosion of pleasure in his wake. Her breasts jiggled under him, begging to be sucked and bitten. He took them in his mouth, no longer caring that he was gentle. He pulled back to look at where their bodies met, watching his cock leave her velvet folds completely before thrusting back into her pussy. He was covered in her blood but that only drove him wilder. Suddenly, he wanted all of her, every human bit. He owned her. He pulled her hair, forcing her to meet his eyes as he fucked her senseless. She was twitching and shrieking and crying his name out again and again.

He only stopped when she was reduced to an exhausted husk of her former self. Eyes staring into the distance as all of her went limp.

"Look at me," he ordered again and, with clear effort, she managed to focus on him. He pulled out of her and started to stroke himself. "Keep looking at me."

She didn't dare turn away. She was hypnotised by this man above her and his cock. Looking at it, she subconsciously licked her lips. And, just like that, he came all over her, his seed falling on her face, getting into her eyes, sticking to her hair. He groaned as he lost himself in ecstasy, collapsing atop her and crushing her under the weight of his muscles. For a minute, they both breathed in tandem with each other, their beating hearts matching each other's pace.

And then the spell broke. He got off her, trying not to think too hard about the things he felt while he was inside her. This girl was dangerous and he needed to distance himself from her. Coming all over her face helped, he thought, looking her over. She looked depraved, satisfied and ever so slightly confused. Probably didn't expect things to end like this.

And then his nostrils flared. He could smell her, the woman who shared his the girl's blood. A vague memory, which he pushed back down to the deep recesses of his mind.

"Would you look at that, Pet?" he drawled. "You have a visitor."

***

Dazed as she was, Amara knew something was not right. His tone had changed, the lines of his jaw were harder.

"V-visitor?" she mumbled. "Me?"

"Yes, you," he stepped away from her, regarding her impassively. "Hmm, not quite decent enough for outside guests, but this one's family."

"What?" Realisation finally dawned upon her. "Hey, untie me!"

Her protests fell on deaf ears. He was standing still, looking at the door.

A small part of her had known that her grandmother would come looking for her, but she didn't want her to see her like this, debased by her future husband. Footsteps echoed through the hall as they drew nearer. Too many footsteps.

Lakir barked out a laugh. "Guess my parents overestimated the old lady's strength and sent the cavalry to keep her in check."

Before Amara could process his words, her grandmother rushed through the door, surrounded by guards. Many, many guards. Her blood ran cold as she counted them. Twenty in total. Twenty men stood beside her grandmother, able to see her in her post coital state, naked as the day she was born.

"Amara!" her grandmother cried, moving towards her with a shawl in hand, no doubt to help her retain what shreds of dignity she still had. Two guards moved in front of her and shook their heads, stopping her in her heels. The other eighteen were trying very hard to not look at the naked fiancée of the young lord.