Free Kate and Julia: Slave Girls of the Raj by Lindsey Brooks

Desperately, Penny had dived her half-numb fingers between her madly twitching thighs, and seconds later her lower belly had roiled ecstatically with a profound and protracted climax. Wincing though she had been at the bright-eyed stares of Courtney and the girls watching every writhe and wriggle, she could not remember when anything had ever felt so wonderful.
    Recalling it was enough to send a tremor through her just as the door opened. Courtney raised a beckoning finger. Cursing her thoughtlessness at taking a deep breath that strained the thin material of her dress against her breasts and increased the guard’s leer, Penny stepped forward.
    With her stomach performing somersaults, she heard the door close behind her and barely noticed her luxurious surroundings as all of her attention was seized by a man sitting in the big, leather armchair on the opposite side of the room. Or rather, not all of it, for it was not the sight of the man that made her catch her breath and her eyes go wide. It was the nearly naked Indian girl kneeling on the floor at his right, and more especially the equally scantily clad white girl at his left.
    “Your Excellency, this is Mrs. Penelope Winter.” Courtney’s hand in the small of her back propelled Penny towards the seated man.
    “Penelope, I present His Excellency Sahar Gul, Wazir of His Highness the Prince of Jargahal.”
    They could only be slave girls. The thought repeated continually in her head as she struggled to focus on the wazir.
    “H… how do you do, Your Excellency,” Penny stammered. Why in heaven’s name had Courtney brought her here? What possible business could this man have with her? The nagging discomfort in her bruised buttocks increased as they clenched nervously, and Penny fought the urge to stare at the slender, white slave whose hair was the same light-brown shade as her own.
    Sahar Gul did not greet her. Leaning back in the deep armchair he moved his gaze slowly up from the cream, high-heeled shoes Courtney had made her wear to the blush she could feel staining her cheeks. Self-conscious under his silent scrutiny, Penny lowered her eyes and heard him snort a laugh.
    “Better,” he said in almost accentless English. “It is customary for women to bow before they address me, but I am not surprised by her discourtesy. I see she has the usual challenge in her eyes so common among her kind. The mem-sahibs are all so convinced of their own superiority.” He stood up, and Penny would have backed away but for the continued presence of Courtney’s hand on her back. It was hard, insistent, controlling. She swallowed. The wazir’s comments had been addressed to him, not her.
    The Englishman chuckled. “I believe she is not quite so certain of it as she was a day or two ago, Excellency. You will see why if you care to remove her dress.”
    With a very audible gasp Penny turned her head to stare in fearful astonishment at Courtney’s face. “But….” He’s a damned native, she wanted to say, a heathen tribesman hiding behind a thin veneer of civilisation. The white man could not possibly mean to expose her to such a barbarian. Sahar Gul smiled coldly as she looked anxiously into his face.
    “It appears she is not enthusiastic about your suggestion, Courtney Saaquib .”
    The Englishman’s hand slid slowly down the aching curve of Penny’s bottom. “She will warm to it when she understands I have explained to you her wish and that she needs your permission to carry it out, Excellency.”
    Penny gasped again as realisation struck her like a slap in the face.
    “Then she can remove her dress herself,” the wazir said evenly.
    Courtney moved to stand beside him and she saw his face bore the same harsh, uncompromising expression as Sahar Gul’s. “Do it, Penelope,” he said quietly.
    Mouth dry, Penny looked at the curious stares of the kneeling slave girls and did not move. Courtney was telling her to strip naked in front of them and some heathen Pathan. Did