yoni

#03: Rudyard Kipling, Kim



Kim lay under the banyan tree with closed eyes. His thoughts swirled in his mind. “Kim … Kim …. Kim … who is Kim?” Kimball O’Hara, son of a deceased regimental sergeant. Kim of the Punjab, whose native mother died in his youth, leaving him to live as he could. Kim the quick-witted, who knew how to beg a little rice and a bit of ghi at the stalls of the bazaar. Kimball, student at the madrissah where Colonel Creighton sent him after his identity as the son of a sahib was discovered. And now, after turning eighteen, attaining the age of manhood among the sahibs, and leaving the school, he was Kim the wanderer, Kim the chela (disciple) of Teshoo Lama from the high hills, and beyond all this, Kim of the great lingam, known across half India as the bedder of girls beyond counting.



Kim was of both worlds, carrying the blood of the British Raj and the blood of Hind in his veins, speaking many languages, of which English was only one and not the strongest, knowing the ways of the sahibs and the ways of the bazaars. Who better to be entered into the great game, ranging across India and contributing his part to that mass of “information received” by which Her Majesty’s officers governed the empire?



Kim let his mind drift. He remembered that shortly after the sahibs recognized his manhood by their count of years and he was relieved of the Madrissah, he had donned his native garb and visited his old friend Mahbub Ali, dealer in horses and also player of the great game, in his stall at the packed serai. After talking his way around all of India, in the manner of the native, Mahbub Ali turned to talk of horses. He had much to say on the races that year, and which young sahib won or lost great amounts of money. He had much to say on the folly of impecunious young subalterns, who must waste his time examining many horses that he knew they had no rupees to buy. He had much to say on the subject of how a stud enters his great member into a mare, and of the amounts of juice thus produced. After all this talk, he lowered his voice and said, “I have work for a Son of the Charm. There is a Colonel who is waiting for news of the pedigree of a white stallion. It must be taken to him tonight. He gives a party at his house, so thou must be careful.” At that, Mahbub Ali tossed over to Kim a flap of greasy Mussalman bread.



Kim knew that if the Colonel gave a party, many white memsahibs would be there in beautiful clothes, cut low to show their soft bosoms, so he was intrigued. Kim also knew better than to bite into the bread immediately. He felt it carefully and found in a corner a closely wadded piece of paper. This he extracted and tucked into a fold of his turban. Then chewing on the bread, he grinned at Mahbub Ali and said, “I have eaten your bread for many years, great one, but bread alone does not fill the hand of one who must make his own way in the bazaars.”



Mahbub Ali chuckled. He tossed a small coin to Kim and said, “Take this, then, for much money is not picked from the hooves of horses. Make haste for the pedigree must be delivered tonight.”



No one knew the streets and alleys of Umballa as Kim did. By dark ways and over rooftops and trees he reached the Colonel’s house. But driven always by his curiosity, first he unfolded the paper to read what it said. He saw nothing there except the words, “The pedigree of the white stallion is fully established.” But he noted also in one corner of the paper five small pin pricks.



“Aha,” he thought to himself, “this touches on the five kings of the North. If the great game carries me that way, I know of beauteous women whose soft lips and softer tits wait for my touch. Let the word be said, and I shall deliver their message to the rulers and my hard rod to the girls of the hills.”



He then jumped softly into the garden of the villa belonging to the Colonel sahib who commanded the troops of the region. Quiet as a mongoose he made his way into the garden. From the building he heard the strains of a regimental band and he knew that a dance party was underway. So he slipped silently to a bower he had visited before when need drove him to observe, where the trees hid the view of others in the house. As he expected, this bower was well occupied by a young officer and a pretty maiden. He settled comfortably in the branch of a tree to watch.



Clearly this was no green recruit, and clearly the girl was no inexperienced innocent. Kim thought she was perhaps nineteen or twenty. They knew exactly what they were doing and, to Kim’s practiced eye, had some small ability to do it well. The young man already had the top of the girl’s dress pulled down, and was kissing her white neck and soft shoulders as his hands caressed her round tits and rolled the pink nipples around. She moaned gently and pressed close to him, her hand rubbing the front of his uniform trousers. Kim felt his own shaft harden as he watched these exertions.



Now he bent to take the hard nipples in his mouth and suckle at the white breasts. She fumbled with his belt, and then began working on the buttons of his fly. He helped her with those, and pulled his trousers down along with his drawers. Kim laughed softly to himself as the officer’s cock sprang out. Hard and upstanding, it was as long as Kim’s outstretched hand from thumb to little finger. Kim knew that this was a respectable length for an Englishman and the girl was probably satisfied with it. But Kim was thankful that he had inherited the lingam of a native from his mother. He knew his own cock was three fingers longer than that sahib’s.



He watched with interest as the girl went down on the officer’s cock. Gently at first she licked it, around the tip and up and down the shaft. The Lieutenant threw back his head and closed his eyes, moaning softly. The girl enfolded the sensitive tip in her lips and Kim saw the movement of her mouth and knew that she was giving soft butterfly flicks to the opening of his dick. Then she began to take more and more of the shaft into her mouth, and stroked up and down on it with a regular rhythm.



The officer’s hips began to thrust toward her, and he put a hand on the back of her head, pressing it toward him. Kim watched respectfully as almost the entire span of the Englishman’s cock disappeared into the throat of this slim memsahib. There she paused with his organ throbbing deep in her throat. Kim felt his own cock throb in response. Quickly then the girl began rapid up and down strokes, holding the cock with one hand while she sucked the end of it in and out of her lips. The sahib twisted his hips and the girl rolled her mouth, and then he pressed deep into her throat and Kim knew that he was shooting his juice down her throat.



Without a word, he pulled the girl to her feet, grasping her white tits in his hands again and pouring kisses on her lips. She pressed against him tightly and Kim thought she was ready to take her own pleasure. But suddenly, all of them heard a commotion coming from inside the house. The young officer shushed the girl, and listened carefully. “All officers are called!” he exclaimed. “I think that we are off to war!”



The girl gasped and clung closely to him, but he swiftly pulled up his trousers and adjusted his uniform. Putting on his regimental cap, he pulled her to him and gave her a last kiss, and ran from the garden. The girl sank down on the bench sobbing softly.



Kim recognized her vulnerability and knew he could take advantage of it, but his curiosity overcame the throbbing in his loins for the moment. He moved silently to lie on the ground near the veranda of the house. Indian bungalows are opened through and through, and he could see the Colonel speaking to his staff. “It is not a war, it is a chastisement!” he declared. “The Queen’s power cannot be challenged without consequences. The troop trains leave for the North tomorrow.” Kim reflected that the five tiny pin pricks in the pedigree of the white stallion must be the cause of this. Truly, the great game ranged over all India.



But now Kim’s mind was on another kind of game. Softly he returned to the bower where the girl had been left. He peeped through the bushes, and saw that after tears, as Kim had expected, the girl sought to comfort herself. She was reclined on the bench, and had again pulled down the top of her dress, so that her own hands could clasp those white boobs the Lieutenant had abandoned. Softly her finger traced a patter around the nipple, and then flicked it back and forth. She let her head hang back and closed her eyes as she squeezed the boobs and rolled the nipples. Little gasps escaped her. Kim saw how round, how white her tits were, and how the pink nipples stood hard and erect as she played with them.



Then the girl was raising her skirt, and her hand went inside the frilled bloomers which lay under it. Kim knew that she sought her slit, which was undoubtedly already wet from her encounter with the young officer. Her hand rubbed up and down and she rotated her hips. Wise from his experience in the ways of women native and British, Kim knew that now was his time. He rose softly from the ground to stand near the girl. Dressed only in a loincloth and turban, and with his skin carefully darkened with walnut juice, he was no part sahib but only a native in appearance.



He shuffled his feet gently and the girl opened her eyes. Quickly Kim stepped forward and laid a finger on her lips, as she stared at him in wonderment. He must have appeared to her as some ghostly spirit of the country, rising out of nowhere, having no reality. Gently Kim reached out a hand to the white boobs she had been stroking. He fingered her nipples as the girl’s eyes widened more and more. Leaning toward her he breathed into her ear softly. She seemed to reach some conclusion in her mind, and closed her eyes again as he rubbed her tits.



Then quietly and gently, Kim lifted her long skirt, revealing her white frilly bloomers. He ran his hands over her thighs and she shuddered lightly. Then he pulled down the bloomers, and the dark patch of her pubic hair was revealed, over the pink lips of her pussy. Kim could see the wetness gleaming on it, and knew that she was ready for him. Kneeling before her, he began to lick her warm slit with an up and down motion. Probing with his tongue, he found her hard little clit and began to roll it around. She moaned softly and raised her hips toward his mouth. He pressed his tongue deeper inside the wet warmth, and sought the most sensitive spot as he had been taught by the dancing girls of the bazaar.



Gently but firmly he pressed, as the girl moved her hips in response to his stroking tongue. Now she became more insistent, putting a hand on his turban and pressing him closer to her dripping cunt. He responded by increasing the force and speed of his licking, and pressed her until by the jerking of her hips and her soft moan he knew she had released her orgasm.



Now he rose up, and his hand pulled hers gently to his loincloth. She fumbled with the unfamiliar way of tying it, but soon it fell to his feet and his hard cock stood up before her. She gasped slightly, and then took it in both her small white hands. Her two hands together barely encompassed the mighty cock of this man of the land. Rubbing and twisting she gave Kim his pleasure, and then softly encircled the hot tip of his cock and tantalized him with gentle circles. For some time she enjoyed stroking its length, and Kim felt his tension build. Finally he jerked his hips toward her, and with a final pull his hot juices spurted forth on the ground.



The girl sank back on her bench, looking bemused and trying to understand what had just passed with this spirit of the garden. She was not sure if she dreamt or woke. With a wry smile, Kim bent toward her, and whispered in her ear, “Thank you veree much, my dear!” Hearing her native spirit speak English, the girl drew back wide-eyed, but Kim vanished into the foliage so quickly she did not know where he went.



Kim’s body lay under the banyan tree and a soft smile ghosted across its lips. But Kim’s mind and spirit still soared in memory. He drifted to the city of Peshawur and looked down at events in a back alley, on the floor above the street. Mahbub Ali and Hurree Babu had led him here, saying, “When you first began the great game, Huneefa who speaks to the spirits made you a Son of the Charm and gave you the talisman which lies around your neck still. But now that you have reached manhood there is a further dawut (magic) to be done.” The babu pointed up the stairs, and left Kim to climb them on his own.



He entered the dark room, and saw faintly the many statues and masks of demons grinning and grimacing, and the candles of strange shapes burning in odd corners. Voices came from the darkness speaking his name. He remembered Hurree Babu’s scornful dismissal of them as, “ventriloquy, belly-speak,” but they were still strange to hear. The Huneefa came out of the darkness, older and more wrinkled if that were possible. She bore a single candle. Without a word she beckoned Kim further into the darkness. In the back of the room, Kim made out a sort of altar, draped in red and black cloths and illumined by three candles at its east, west and south corners. On the altar, he was amazed to see the body of a naked woman, lying on her back. Her arms dropped down on each side, but her legs were propped on statues of small demons, keeping them elevated and spread wide.



Kim could see that she had large firm breasts, tipped with dark nipples which were hard and erect. She had a rounded belly like a dancing girl, and below it her dark pubic hair topped a cunt which was forced gaping open by the spread of her legs. Nothing in the previous dawut had prepared Kim for this.



Now Huneefa picked up a candle shaped like a lingam. Slowly she passed it over the naked body of the woman on the altar. The wax began to drip from it, and make a pattern on the sacrifice’s bare belly. Kim knew the wax must be hot, but the woman made no sound or movement. As if knowing his thoughts, the witch now drew one of Kim’s hands to the bared tits, and as he grasped its softness, let the wax flow over both the tit and Kim’s hand. The hot wax burnt, but Kim was determined that as the woman made no sound nor movement, neither would he.



The witch woman was chanting softly now, and the patterns of wax drew down over the girl’s thighs and began to circle her female flowers. Commandingly, the old woman gestured to Kim’s loincloth, and obediently he dropped it, letting his cock stand forth, hardened by the display of the naked woman. The witch approached with the candle and Kim was afraid he would flinch, but then he saw that her other hand held a flask. She poured warm oil from the flask over his hard lingam and then over the soft warm yoni of the woman on the altar. Then she pushed him toward her, with unmistakable intentions.



Kim knew what the gods demanded now, and hwas willing enough to let his lingam worship at the yoni displayed for him. Deep into her soft wetness he plunged, and now she rolled her hips as he stroked hard with his shaft. The voices from the darkness began, speaking no language of Hind known to Kim, but impelling him to deeper and deeper penetration. They rose to a wail as the body on the altar moved her hips up to pull him deeply inside, and he felt her pussy contract as he shot his juices into her.



He was gasping with the exertion, but Huneefa pushed him away from the altar, and let her fingers probe deep into the cunt of the sacrifice. Withdrawing them dripping, she then scraped some of the wax off the girl’s thighs and molded it in her fingers. The pussy juice and the wax blended together and deftly the witch pulled the wax into a small horned demon. She found a scrap of black silk, and carried it to Kim. Gesturing at the pouch around his neck, she opened it and dropped this new charm into it next to the small piece of turquoise and other objects already there.



Kim moved as in a daze, and found himself standing on the dark street. From the shadows emerged Hurree Babu. Kim never understood how the fat man could move so silently and hide so well, but the babu played the great game as well as anyone in Hind. “Hah, I have been making some notes for a paper to present to the Royal Ethnological Society,” he muttered. But Kim knew that his mentor feared the very magic he pretended to study. Kim marveled at this new initiation, and wondered how it would help him play the game. But he knew that Mahbub Ali, and yes, Hurree Babu too, were some of the very best on the books of Col. Creighton’s Service, and trusted that what he learned at their urging would not be wasted in the great game.



Under the banyan tree his mind still soared free of his body. He was thinking how the great game found him serving as chela to a most Holy Man, a Lama from far Tibet who wandered Hind searching for a certain holy river. In that guise, he and the Lama had roamed far into the mountains, which the Lama insisted were only low hills compared to his home monastery. There they followed two Russians, purportedly hunters but, Kim believed, players of the great game for the Czar’s side. After making fools of the spies, Kim sought lodging for himself and the Holy One in the hill village of Shamlegh. It consisted of only four or five wretched huts perched high on the side of the mountain, but it held attractions for Kim.



First, Shamlegh midden received all sorts of waste. Down this steep cliff, Kim cast off certain books and documents of the spies. Secondly, Shamlegh had several strong men who, for a rupee or two, would carry his master’s litter down to the plains. And they would do so because of the orders of the third attraction this village held for Kim of the mighty lingam, the mistress of the villagers, the Woman of Shamlegh. Her strength and power over her men were spoken all over the mountains, and even down to the bazaar at Lahore. More, though, Kim knew, was said about her sexual appetites and her constant search for satisfaction.



Therefore, after Kim had seen the Lama safely bedded down, he sauntered toward the hut on the edge of the cliff where the woman of Shamlegh lived. As befits the disciple of a Holy Man, whom even these degenerate Buddhists revered, he sauntered into the hut like a man of strength. The Woman saw him enter, and demanded, “Who art thou, to come thus proud into my house? I am the Woman of Shamlegh, and I hold from the Rajah. I am no common bearer of babes. Here my word is the law. I say to my men, go hither and they go. But you are attached to the holy one. What hast thou to say to one such as me?”



“Ah, my …” Kim had it on his tongue to say Mother, but quickly changed it to “…Sister, when work is done and the sun is setting, what have a man and a woman to say to each other? I have even now planned desirable things in my heart as thou must know. Let there be no speech at odds between thou and I.”



Saying this he advanced toward the bed. The woman of Shamlegh rose to embrace him,and pressed her hard body against his. Months walking the mountain had given Kim strong arms and stronger legs, and as they fell to the bed he wrapped them around her. Here in the Himalayas, hesitation was weakness, and weakness was death. The woman of Shamlegh knew what she was about. She tore at Kim’s robe as he tore at hers. Rapidly their naked bodies were pressed together beneath the sheepskins which covered the bed. Kim’s hands grabbed her tits and rolled them about, and her legs wrapped around his and pressed into his hard dick. He moved quickly, spreading her legs and inserting one, two, three fingers into her hungry cunt.



Her hips thrust into his penetration, and her hand moved on his hard shaft. Two minutes of this sufficed for all the foreplay that the cold mountain air allowed, and in their heat they pressed tightly together. She spread her legs,and Kim shoved his hard hot cock into her cunt and forced it deep. She moaned her pleasure and began to jerk her hips. Women who work hard and live hard also fuck hard and have no time for the pretenses of the memsahibs of the plains. She wanted his cock in her pussy and she wanted it deep and hard. All she could do to increase his penetration she did.

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