Mutiny Release

His name was Rani Peshwar. I would do anything for him as long as he put his snake of a cock inside me. I did do everything for him. I gave him the Satrap of Sagala—at least for a short time.

Life in the men’s harem wasn’t quite as dull after that first encounter with Rani. Either I was waiting for the next mysterious appearance of the snake charmer at the end of the garden from who knows where? Or he was there, with me, in our secret garden bower, casting a spell over me, deep inside my gut, pulling my very soul out of me, fucking me like I’d never been fucked before. Or he had just been there and I was recovering from him.

He came to me periodically, demanding everything from me, and I gave him everything. Eventually, I gave him the keys to the palace. Over time—it was only a matter of weeks, but it seemed like forever—he conveyed to me that he wanted me to study the patterns of the guarding of the harem. He could get to the terrace garden, but he needed, he said without telling me why, to be able to get beyond the harem and into the palace proper. He didn’t say that he had come to me to fuck me like I’d never been possessed before because he wanted to use me to be able to access the palace, but of course that was the sum total of his plan.

I did what he wanted. I watched the guarding of the harem and identified the vulnerable times when the guard could be counted on to be more lax than usual. The harem was only loosely controlled and the guard force wasn’t changed sufficiently to keep the guards from becoming friendly with the harem men. They managed to arrange the schedules so the guards who liked to be with men had a period during the night when they could be bedding the young men rather than standing guard at the access points to the harem. The young men were bored enough with life that they would relish any attention they could get. The guards were selected for their strong, muscular bodies.

Indeed, in my need, I had cultivated a strapping black, big-cocked guard myself to relieve me and entertain him during this period in which the guard force had managed to have men who covered men scheduled. The men of the harem certainly didn’t complain.

Rani Peshwar named the night he wanted access and I named the time period in which he could operate and told him where the exit doorways were located behind carpet hangings. I even devised a plan that would enable me to be there to guide him in his coming and going.

I can’t say that I was entirely ignorant of why Rani Peshwar might want access to the palace. The fact that there was unrest across the subcontinent, much of it centered on growing dissatisfaction with the presence of the British and the heavy controlling hand of the East India Company, had reached the harem. Small uprisings were cropping up everywhere in the British-controlled areas and where, as the Maharaja of the Satrap of Sagala had now done, local prince states had allied with the British. Thus far they were isolated and at the nuisance level, but the pot was boiling.

It occurred to me that Rani Peshwar might be an assassin. He certainly had that look and feel about him, and he assassinated my gut each time he penetrated me. It wasn’t lost to me that perhaps he wanted access to the palace to assassinate the maharaja and thus plunge Sagala into chaos. I didn’t really care. I wished him luck getting past Mahmoud if that was his intent, but I held no loyalty to the maharaja—or, truthfully, at this point—to British policy in India. At the same time, though, I refrained from warning him that if he got as far as the maharaja’s bedchamber, he was likely to find an alert, protective, and capable Mahmoud in bed with the monarch, but with weapons near to hand.

As it turned out, I was on the right track but had completely misjudged the scale of Rani Peshwar’s intent.

I was lying, naked, in pillows on a divan in a corner of the large harem room when the big, black guard came to me in the semidark, the gas-lit wall sconces having been turned down low. The general sound across the room was of low moaning of harem young men satisfying themselves or each other or entertaining early-arrived guards and the soft jangling of jewelry bells as bodies were being set in motion by the swaying of the fuck. I was on my back, legs spread and bent, one hand stroking my hard cock and the other working my lubricated and perfumed channel with an ivory dildo when the strapping black appeared in my vision between my legs. As he was accustomed to doing, he stood over me, stripped off his salvar, and then reached down and took over the working of the ivory dildo inside me as he worked up his mammoth cock with his other hand. Then he was on top of me and inside me, with both of us moving our pelvises in countermotion and me pressing my fingernails into his shoulder blades and moaning low to the rhythm of the fuck. He was thick and vigorous and adequate to the task, although no comparison to Rani Peshwar or any number of other lovers I’d had inside me.

The first fuck over and having rested and drunk from flagons I provided, his drugged and mine not, we moved on to the new innovation I had introduced for the last week. There were restraint holds and leather straps all around the sides of the divan. I had suggested the higher pleasure he could receive if he were bound and I rode him. He had agreed and had, indeed, enjoyed the times I’d done it earlier in the week. Now I put him on his back on the divan, bound his wrists to the frame above his head and his ankles to the frame below. I didn’t stint with him. I mounted his hips, facing him, swallowed his erection with my channel, leaned back and grasped his knees with my hands, and rode him hard and fast to an ejaculation. He managed to come but already was fading from the effects of the drug in his drink by the time he was finished.

I gagged him with one of my scarlet sashes in case he woke before I returned and raised questions and objections. Then checking how the others were doing with the effects of the flagons across the room I had drugged, I pulled on a less-revealing salvar than I usually wore and a vest and went to the end of the garden to find Rani Peshwar. There I received a shock. Peshwar wasn’t the only one there. There were a good dozen armed men hunkered down there, waiting for me.

“What—?” I stammered.

“There is no time. Just show us the way,” Peshwar said.

I did so, leading them to the unguarded door of the harem into a palace corridor. The men with him had fanned out around the room but gathered again at the door. I didn’t want to even think about what they had been doing.

“You too,” Peshwar said to me as the men fanned out into the corridor.

“Me?” I asked.

“Yes, you can’t stay here. They will know who let us in.” And then we were off down the corridor, to stairs leading down, and then through other corridors, searching for and finding an entryway to the forecourt. Dozing guards were set upon and dispatched at these doors. The doors were flung open, and a motley horde of insurrectionists, armed with varied weapons, some primitive, until better ones could be torn from the hands of overwhelmed palace guards, poured inside.

At the door, Peshwar turned me over to another man. “Here. Take this Frenchman to the rear. Bind him and hold him for me.”

“Rani,” I cried out in confusion.

“Hush, Frenchman!” Peshwar growled. His repeating of “Frenchman” made me understand. I could not survive here as an Englishman. I had to be someone neutral to the purposes of the insurrectionists. Peshwar was trying to preserve my life. I clamped my jaw shut as the insurrectionist tied my hands behind me.

Peshwar said in Hindi simple enough for me to get the gist of, “We will hold him for hostage. He may have some use for us.” Then he pulled me away from his man for a brief moment. I whispered, “What are you doing, Rani?”

“I am trying to save your life,” he hissed at me. “But, indeed, your only use to anyone but me now is as a hostage. Do what you can to survive. It’s all up to you.”

Just what everyone was telling me. It was what my father told me when he banished me from England. It was what Lord Dinwiddie told me when he abandoned me to life in a harem. And now it was what the snake charmer was telling me as he sent me off into uncertain captivity.

And then Peshwar was gone and I was being led away through the milling, teeming crowd of angry villagers, as flames began to lift up from the roof of the palace.

* * * *

“Hsst. Wake, but don’t make a sound.”

Even in a hoarse whisper, I recognized the voice from somewhere, but when I opened my eyes, it was just another turbaned Indian in a white cotton tunic over a dhoti and a handkerchief over the lower part of his face. Or was it? I was exhausted. Rani Peshwar had left me not long ago to lead his men on a raiding party of a village and he had ravished me before he went. I took great pleasure from it, of course, but when he fucked me, he took everything from me, leaving me a panting, moaning shell, albeit one swimming in his cum.

The man cut the bonds at my wrists, unhooked the cloth covering his face, and then worked at releasing my ankles. We were several yards inside the mountain cave, one of several in this mountain that Rani Peshwar was using as a hideout as his band terrorized the neighboring area. It had been two weeks since they had attacked and burned the Maharaja of the Satrap of Sagala’s palace. I had asked what had happened to the maharaja, but Rani refused to tell me. I didn’t care all that much, although I would be slightly sad to know that Mahmoud had perished.

I gasped when the cloth dropped from the man’s lower face. “Owen,” I exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. “How? When?” My lieutenant, Owen Smythe had dropped out of the heavens.

“Shush,” he pressed. “Wait until we’re well away. I’ll tell you all I know then.”

He helped me to the entrance to the cave. The man left to guard me was lying on his back by the opening, his unseeing eyes looking up at the afternoon sun. I didn’t regret his passing. He had been mean to me, which was probably why Rani had chosen him to stay with me and guard me. He had no interest in men and he had no use for me. His loyalty was to Rani Peshwar, which was as it should be. He kept any but Peshwar away from me. There were plenty of the men in the band who would like to be friendly to me and to use and abuse me, but that hadn’t happened to me. The insurrectionists had come away with some other captives from the harems—young men as well as women, and for several days and nights I’d had to lay here, guarded by this dead man, and listen to their cries farther back inside the cave as, one by one, they were used up. All had been quiet for days now, other than the few hours after the raids, when there would be fresh victims to satiate the insurrectionists’ lusts.

“Come. Down this path. Hurry,” Lieutenant Smythe urged, and, allowing him to help me as I had been sitting or lying in the cave for some days, we scrambled and stumbled down the path to a grove of trees. There it was my time to gasp again.

“Malcolm,” I exclaimed. “How? What?”

But yet again, I wasn’t permitted to query further what the deputy East India Company manager in Delhi, Malcolm Randall, who had taken me to and in the hookah den in Delhi, was doing there, holding the reins of three horses.

“Later, when we’re well away,” Owen said again. “We will stop somewhere safe for you to clothe yourself in something less conspicuous.” I had been wearing just a white cotton salvar since I’d been in the palace harem. My gold jewelry, of course, had been stripped from me as soon as we’d left the palace forecourt. I had regretted the loss of the emerald navel plug. I had spent several hours in boredom in the maharaja’s harem estimating what more I was worth with the emerald than without. When we did stop next, it was only long enough from me to change into a white cotton tunic over a white cotton dhoti and a white turban, with face covering, matching what both Owen and Malcolm were wearing.

We rode until dark, seeing nearly no one on the road or in the fields. All were hiding from the effects of the insurrection across British India. Near twilight, Owen halted the pace. “We must stop. The horses can’t take much more of this.” He pointed to the ruins of a building at the top of a nearby hill, the sides of which had been denuded of whatever crop had been growing there. “We will spend the night up there, if there aren’t others hiding there,” he said. “It’s defensible. A clear view in all directions.”

Ever the soldier, I thought. But what was a British soldier doing out here, I thought, rescuing me? Owen took it upon himself to make sure the ruins were clear before he let Malcolm and me ascend the hill.

There was enough grain left on the verge of the hillside of the ancient ruins of the abandoned Hindu temple for the horses to graze and there was a well in the temple to provide water for the horses and the men. Malcolm saw to the horses, while Owen made a fire and cooked some supper and boiled coffee. It was all I could do to stay conscious as I leaned against one of the horses’ saddles on the stone floor of the small temple.

Over dinner, Owen and Malcolm, together, provided me an explanation for what had transpired.

“The sepoy regiment in Meerut, east of Delhi, set off the tinderbox,” Randall said. “The sepoys there were a Hindi and Urdu mix cavalry unit, which was the backbone of the British native forces in the Delhi region. They wiped out the British there, men, women, and children, in a single night. Your Colonel Franklin was in Meerut at the time.”

“So, he is—?” I started to ask.

“Surely dead, yes,” Owen said.

“He was your superior officer, wasn’t he?” I asked Owen.

“He had been, yes,” Owen answered. “But I had mustered out of the army already. I was on the road.”

“Mustered out of the army?” I asked and looked at him, but he looked away and Randall continued. “Two days later the rebellion had reached Delhi and the slaughter of British nationals continued there. They’ve set up the old Mughal ruler of Delhi, Bahadur Shah Zakar, as the emperor of what they now declare is Hindustan. I doubt he’ll last long. He’s eighty-one, so I think he’ll die of the excitement before the British can depose him, which they surely will do. This rebellion won’t stand.”

“But you were in Delhi, weren’t you?” I asked Randall.

“Yes, but I was able to disappear into the old city and be hidden by Indian friends until I could slip out of Delhi.”

“He caught up to me on the road back to Sagala,” Owen interjected.

“Lord Dinwiddie’s mission?” I asked.

“Yes. They all were still in Delhi,” Randall said in a quiet voice. “I’m sorry, Sean, none of them made it out alive.”

“They’re all dead?” I asked, not believing it.

“Yes—their native men—Vaseem, Ashwin, Basim, and Ahgay—all were spies for the insurrectionists. They murdered your friends in their beds the same night as the sepoy’s rose in Meerut.”

I thought on that several minutes before I could speak again. But, eventually, I needed to hear more about our circumstance. “But you, at least,” I said, turning to Owen. “You survived.”

“Yes,” he answered quietly. “I was already on the road; on my way to Sagala.”

“Why were you coming to Sagala? Why had you left the army?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. He turned away, and then he stood, taken our empty dinner plates with him and went to the well to wash them off.

“He was coming for you,” Randall said.

What could I say? We settled down then, beside each other, Randall and I, as Owen remained separated from us, fussing around with this and that.

I stretched and gave a low moan.

“Are you sore from the ride?” Randall asked.

“I’ve been sore for weeks,” I said, not expounding on the discomfort I’d been put through while with Rani Peshwar’s band. Randall probably didn’t need to be told how I would have been knocked about and abused. He took out his hookah water pipe, loaded it, and took a puff when it was set up. He offered it to me, and I took a puff too. I don’t know if it was loaded with Cannabis or Opium, but it took effect almost immediately. Very quickly I had no worries in the world and I was aroused.

Randall put his arm around me as we passed the pipe back and forth and I didn’t move away from that. I looked in Owen’s direction occasionally, but he was studiously not watching us and was keeping busy—or at least looking like he was. Randall pulled me over into his lap, facing him, and I let him. We were sitting cross-legged, my legs encircling his hips, my heels pressed into his buttocks, and his legs encircling my hips, his heels pressing into my buttocks.

He took a puff from the pipe and I took a puff from the pipe. He kissed me on the lips, and I let him. He puffed on the pipe and I puffed on the pipe. He untied his dhoti at the waist and moved the material to either side, exposing his cock and balls. He was in erection. He puffed on the pipe and I puffed on the pipe. He untied my dhoti at the waist and moved the material to either side, exposing my cock and balls. I was in erection. He wrapped a hand around our bunched cocks and frotted them together, stroking them slowly. I gave a deep sigh and began to pant. He puffed on the hookah and I puffed on the hookah. He took my mouth in a kiss and docked our cocks—pressing the bulbs together in a kiss and pulling his foreskin over my bulb. We rocked back and forth together, and with a moan and a sigh, I came.

Randall repositioned our bodies, and I let him manipulate my body as he wished. We were both leaning on our sides against the saddle, Randall behind me, pulling my body into his. His hard cock was pressed between my closed thighs and he was sliding it in and out, rubbing between my thighs, fucking them. He encircled my chest with an arm and held me close to him. He palmed my belly with the hand of his other arm. I felt the bulb of his cock move up to my entrance. Whatever drug I’d been smoking had aroused me and opened me. Two men, even two men and a dildo could have slid inside me without effort. I gasped and then sighed as he pressed his hand on my belly, pulling me back into his pelvis and onto his cock. He entered me and began a slow pump immediately. I set my hips in motion to work with him.

I looked over to where Owen now was crouched down on his haunches on the other side of the fire, watching Randall fucking me. There was a sadness in his eyes. And a want.

He had come back to Sagala for me. Randall had specifically said it was because of me that Owen had left the army and was on the road back to Sagala. He wanted me. He still wanted me.

Exhilarated, I picked up the pace of fucking Randall back until I’d pulled an ejaculation out of him and we both dozed off, in an embrace.

Later in the night, I extracted myself from Randall’s arms and went to the other side of the temple room, to where Owen was laying on a blanket with another blanket over him. He was just in a loincloth. He snorted but didn’t awake as I turned him on his back and untied and pulled his loincloth aside. He was more awake when I was sucking his cock to an erection. He gave a deep moan and whispered, “Sean.”

“Shush,” I whispered as I moved my body over his, held his erect cock in position, and sank down on it. Long, thick, and hard it made its way to the center of me, to my soft, spongy core, and I rode his cock, holding his arms captive above his head and dipping my face to kiss him on the lips and his nipples, as I raised and lowered myself on him, always keeping his caressing cockhead in the soft zone of my core. We came nearly together. Then I lowered my body on his and nuzzled my face into his throat.

“You came for me. You left the army for me,” I whispered.

“Yes,” he said.

“You want me.”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“But before. You wanted me before but then you pulled away from me. You went with Mercy Ratcliff. You chose a woman.”

“I didn’t choose,” he whispered. “The army chose for me. Colonel Franklin chose for me. He told me I couldn’t have you. That you were a British agent on a mission, a mission that didn’t and wouldn’t include me—a mission you wouldn’t return from, and you were aware of that and accepted it. He commanded me to show interest in Mercy instead. I tried. But in the long run I couldn’t do it. They didn’t tell me what you had to do for the British—that you were being given to Babua Jahan. I couldn’t take it anymore. I resigned from the army and came for you.”

“That’s all that mattered,” I whispered. “You came for me.”

Silence but I was still disturbed by something. “Tonight. You just sat there and watched Randall fuck me.”

“You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but—?”

“I will never come between you and any pleasure you want to have from another man. I know your nature. I will share, as you want, as long as I can be included. But there’s something else.”

“Oh?”

“I’m a practical man. It’s a matter of survival. Randall said he would come to Sagala with me—that he would help me find you and get you away from the maharaja—and then the Hindu rebels. But only if he could use you. We need him—both you and I need him to survive. And then when you so easily gave yourself to him . . . the hookah . . . the drugs . . . you must be careful.”

“Shush,” I said. “I am a practical man too. I understand. So, I will leave you now.” I did leave him and go back to Randall, who was stirring a bit and muttering in his sleep. I moved back under his embrace and took his lips with mine in a kiss. He woke enough to press his tongue between my lips and for his loins to stir. Within minutes, he rolled over on top of me and was hard again. I opened my legs to him, pressing the heels of my feet under his buttocks cheeks and taking him inside me. Only half awake, he was fucking me again.

In the morning, Owen had breakfast ready for us when Randall woke and rolled off me. Over breakfast, we took stock.

“I have no idea where we are and, I admit, little idea what to do from here,” Owen said. “The British are still solid in Bombay. If we can get there, we should be safe, at least for a while. But we are a long way from there.”

“Certainly a long way around if we stay in British territory,” Randall said. “And it isn’t safe in British territory up here in the northwest. I do know where we are, though. We are on the border of Rajputana Holkar.”

Rajputana Holkar was the large, anti-Britain Hindu state that we’d had to skirt around to get to Delhi from Bombay.

“We have to stay out of there,” Owen said. “This is a Hindu rebellion. They won’t take kindly to Englishmen trying to transit their territory—even less now than when we were going to Delhi.”

“Not necessarily,” Randall said in a quiet voice. “You didn’t have me as a guide then. You do now.”

“You are an official of the British India Company. That’s the enemy of the Hindus now.”

“But I myself am not an enemy of Rajputana Holkar,” Randall said. “I could get us safely through the state and then we’d be close to Bombay.” He wouldn’t explain further, but he didn’t need to. Randall was a schemer and a survivor. He had the look and instincts of a fox. It was clear that he must be a spy of the Hindu rulers of Rajputana Holkar in the East India Company management.

“So, you can get us safe passage across the Hindu state,” Owen said, showing that he wouldn’t ask further and that he wouldn’t balk at the offer.

“Yes, for a price—an additional price,” Randall said, his fingers playing with the material of my tunic to convey that he wanted the use of me but he wanted something else too to help us.

“What price?” Owen asked, a hardness entering his voice.

“I don’t know if young Sean realizes it, but someone in England had lodged a hefty sum in his name in the East India Company bank in India. He can access that in Bombay. I want half of what is in that account when I deliver you both safely to Bombay.”

“Sean, what do you know of this?” Owen said, looking at me.

I laughed. How ironic, I thought. My biological father sent me out here to get rid of me. No doubt the Earl of Heathdon would have been pleased if I had perished already in the Sepoy Rebellion. How ironic that it might be the support deal he had struck with me that kept me alive. “I know of money being deposited for me here monthly,” I said, “but I have no knowledge how much it is. And, not knowing, I have no trouble giving half of it away if it gets Owen and me to safety.”

“There is one thing, though. Do you both speak French well enough to pass as French with a Hindu?” Randall asked.

Owen nodded that he did, and I answered, “I’ve been French, and have convinced Hindu insurrectionists that I was, since I was captured at the palace in Sagala.”

“All right, then,” Randall said. “Shall we enter Rajputana Holkar boldly and with a smile? I’ll do the talking.”

Randall was good to his word. He could get us across the Hindu state. In turn, Owen and I were happy to forget that he was able to do this. Three weeks later, we stood outside the train shed in Kallian, twenty-five miles short of Bombay and once more on British India soil, waiting for the train to take us into Bombay.

* * * *

The three of us stood, uncertain what to do next, on the docks in Bombay. The port was as busy and as teeming with people—mostly small brown Indian men—as it had been when we’d arrived here by ship months earlier. There was little evidence that there was a bloody anti-British rebellion going on in the north in which English men, women, and children were being hunted down and slaughtered. None of the three of us could say Bombay would escape the rebellion, however. The whole Indian subcontinent was a tinderbox and no one knew where the uprisings would appear next. We had been off on our individual missions and had met, by agreement, here by the docks owned by the East India Company.

“Did you get your money?” Owen asked me.

“Yes,” Malcolm Randall and I answered in unison, although both of us spoke as in shock.

“Mine is verified and half has been transferred to Malcolm, as agreed,” I said. “It was a lot more than I imagined it would be. And you. Did you find the Ratcliffs?” I almost didn’t want to ask. Owen had said he would call on them to say that there was nothing going in a relationship with Mercy, although of course he wouldn’t say that he preferred men in general and me in particular.

“I called on their residence, but they are gone,” Owen answered. “Back to England, I understand. They left even before the rebellion broke out, the doctor having read the unrest as not to their liking. I must say that it was smart of him.”

“So, Mercy is out of your life without the need for explanation.”

“Yes,” Owen answered. “Apparently she married and they took the young man with them. She’s with child, I was told.”

“Yours?” Malcolm asked.

“Possibly,” Owen said. “But another man has taken on that burden. So, I’m free. But free to do what? To go where? I supposed I could take my commission back. They need all of the officers here now they can get.”

“I agree with the Ratcliffs,” I said. I was looking at the ship docked right in front of our eyes.

“You seem concerned about something, Malcolm,” Owen said. “Were you not satisfied with the amount Sean gave you?”

“No, that was fine. Very fine. More than I had thought it would be. But the question is where to send it.”

“Where to send it? I don’t understand,” Owen said.

“I need to send it out of the country—somewhere else. While I was at the East India Company offices, I learned that the company is folding. Almost immediately. The rebellion was the last straw in its ability to operate in India. Sean will have to send his account elsewhere too if he doesn’t want to risk losing it by leaving it in India. The company can still send it somewhere, though. But where? It means I have to find other employment too—preferably outside of India considering the continued unrest here.”

“Just a few minutes, please. Let me check something,” I said. We’d been standing and looking at the merchant ship, Orynthia, owned by the East India Company. The same ship we had sailed here on from England. And there, at the top of the gangplank, was the same Sikh first officer we had sailed with and who had ridden me on the waves. Before the other two could say anything, I was off, striding up the gangplank. The first officer beamed a smile at me to welcome me aboard.

“Hello there, Abhijeet,” I called out to the Sikh first officer of the Orynthia, Abhijeet Singh.

He hailed me back. We spoke for several minutes and then I came back to the dock.

“She is sailing for Singapore from here,” I reported. “We can book passage. I can pay for it out of the East India Company account here and send the rest to Singapore. Would you like to live in Singapore, Owen? Abhijeet says he can even arrange for our names not to be on the manifest if we don’t want our departure from India to be recorded. If we want to essentially disappear, we could become just more names on the massacre list.”

“The sounds interesting,” he answered. “But what would I do there? I suppose I could get an army commission there, but they may not permit me to stay in Singapore. I don’t know if you’d follow me.”

“I’ll follow you anywhere you go as long as you permit me too,” I answered.

“What would you do in Singapore?” he asked.

“I could do what I know best. I wonder if they have room for one more male brothel there.”

Owen and Malcolm both laughed. “There’s always room for male brothels in the Orient,” Malcolm said. “And that sounds enticing. Would you perhaps be interested in another partner? I have money to invest now.”

“Would you and Malcolm be able to gather enough money to open one? And what would I do in a male brothel?” Owen asked.

“Need you ask, as endowed as you are?” I said. “A handsome hung Westerner would be a favorite of the local submissive men, I would think. And you could be the enforcer of order. As far as money, I’m sure I can get whatever we need. I’m sure my father would be happy to send money to Singapore to keep me in Singapore and out of England.”

“If it’s to be Singapore then,” Malcolm said, “I’ll go back to the company offices and arrange for our funds to be transferred—all but what we each put in for passage on the Orynthia. I’ll, of course, pay my own passage.”

“As will I,” Owen chimed in.

As we watched Malcolm walk off, Owen asked another question. “Singh is being awfully helpful. He wants something for that, doesn’t he?”

“He wants what you suppose he wants,” I answered. “And he gives satisfaction. Do you object to that?”

“Certainly not. I’ve already told you that.”

My obligation to Malcolm had ended, even though it now seemed he would be sailing with us and doing business with us. I had room on my card for Singh. And I was already feeling myself going hard at the thought of Singh and the fuck positions built into the ship’s bow spars.

Five days later, the first day out of port, that’s where we were, Singh, Owen, and I, at the bow of the boat, where the bow spar jutted out over the water with the figurehead nestled under the spar, in the dark. I was standing at the bow, looking out over the water the Orynthia was slicing through. Abhijeet Singh was standing behind me, embracing me close. Both of us were naked. One of Abhijeet’s arms was wrapped around my belly and the other one around my chest, the hand of that arm cupped my chin and pulled my head into the hollow where his muscular arm flowed into his bulging bicep. His huge cock was pressing, insistently, at the small of my back.

He lifted me, sliding me up his body, with the arm encasing my belly, and then, as I panted and begged for his cock, he lowered me on his shaft, the bulb having found purchase inside my entrance and the thick, long cock following behind, moving up into me, deep. Owen, magnificently naked and smiling, appeared before me. He came in close, grasping my thighs and raising and spreading them. Abhijeet shifted his hips, rolling my pelvis up. Then I was panting hard and crying into the wind, as Owen entered me as well, his long, thick cock forcing itself inside me, sliding over Abhijeet’s throbbing shaft.

Both cocks, Owen’s slightly longer than Abhijeet’s and Abhijeet’s slightly thicker than Owen’s, fought their way to the soft core of me, where they made love to my spongy insides and to each other in a counter rhythm of thrust and retreat. I writhed between them, crying out my total taking, cursing them and praising them, begging them for mercy and begging them for more, deeper, harder. They worked me expertly for some time, working to come together. I was the first to give, my spouting sending Abhijeet off and then Owen. I collapsed between them, and the two of them kept pumping me until they had gone half hard.

We stood there, looking out to sea, arm in arm, me in the middle, as we recovered. Abhijeet had found a source in Bombay for Horace Walpole’s magic arousal enhancing cigars, and we each smoked one.

Then Owen laid me on my back on the bow spar, my legs raised and spread, my feet fastened in the rigging, my arms over my head, grabbing hand holds along the bow spar over the foaming sea, stepped up between my spread legs, thrust inside me, and laid me good, spending considerable time mining my soft core and listening to me sing and yodel before he added to the cum deposit he and the Sikh had made when doubling me. Then he stepped back and Abhidjeet replaced him, turning me on the bow sprint, so that my dick and balls fit in the accommodating padded hole in the bow sprint, my hands found the overhead hand holds again, and, my legs bent, my feet found the footholds on either side of the figurehead. And he pounded me to glory, taking an installment for the help he was providing in getting us to Singapore.

Malcolm Randall was back in his cabin, puffing on his hookah, and stroking his own cock. I would not ignore him, though. I enjoyed puffing on his hookah as well and being frotted, and docked, and fucked by him. It was a long voyage to Singapore, and I needed to keep in practice if I was going to open and run a male brothel there.

- FINI -