The Valley of Fire and Ice
After the battle for the Punjab, I was captured. My injuries were minor; the blood staunched. My clothes were ripped and dirty; some parts had been slashed to bandage scimitar gashes. I had bled some, but not too much.
One of the Rajas, Galwaliman Gupta, examined the prisoners and separated some from the others. I was one selected. I didn’t care at all, for I was dead as far as I was concerned and ready for my next life whenever it would occur. I didn’t pay much attention. Some captain said to go here, and I went there. About forty of us were walking, roped together, but under minimal guard. We were in the rags that remained of our clothes. We were the walking dead. Somewhere in the column of soldiers and camp followers, the great aristocratic leaders of this raja’s army rode on elephants in splendid luxury. We followed, not caring if we stepped in dung or blood or urine. We stepped over the living humans, animals, and plants, but only out of a deeply ingrained habit.
My shoes gradually wore out as we climbed to one of the passes and followed high pastures towards some destinations. I walked barefoot. Sometimes someone brought be water or food. I drank and ate. It was plain but nourishing. Only a few soldiers guarded us, and they seemed to take better care of us as we progressed. Undoubtedly someone had ordered them to do this. I didn’t ask. I didn’t interact with those captured with me. Occasionally one would fall, and a soldier would pick him up. From time to time as we moved to another higher pass, we had vistas of gorges from cliffs that stood in the shadows of higher peaks, glittering with ice and snow. Barefoot was not my preference for the icy heights, but I would follow until my body gave out. I expected to die soon, along the way or at our destination. I slept on the hard ground, huddled with other prisoners for warmth in the cool nights. I prayed when others prayed, but silently for my voice seemed gone.
Villages were along the way. The villagers would come out and greet the head of the processions, giving their few luxuries to the raja and his high officers. They would stare at us as we went past, not knowing what had happened to us or out castes or our fates. This raja was surely Moslem, and I was not. My caste would not protect me any more than my horse and men had protected me from the elephants and chariots of the conquering army during battle. None around me were familiar, and they talked so rarely that I could not guess their ranks or castes. I spoke not at all, but the remains of my garments marked me as wealthy. Now all I could do was walk with the others, further east and north into the mountains.
After weeks, we crossed a high icy pass and viewed a beautiful valley with a small city and elegant houses dotting the country surrounding it. The harvest was almost ready and looked particularly rich. We went through the city and then further to the east where the raja had a great palace beside a placid lake with a view of sunrise and sunset, and fields, mountains, waterfalls, and the occasional steaming pool. Our first stop was a simple bathhouse where we were ordered to strip our rags, shave our bodies, and clean ourselves to the highest standards. The waters were hot and clear. The razors were sharp. Soaps and oils and fragrances were plentiful. Old servants checked us as we emerged, clean and reddened from the hottest pool, to dry in a cool breeze while some official inspected us. He took us to another building under a light guard and bid us enter, eat, and rest. This building seemed a large dormitory with comfortable main rooms and many private sleeping alcoves. We, now thirty, sat on cushions, and dozens of serving boys brought us platters of food and drink. If they put it in front of me, I ate it. When they poured, I drank, tea, cream, or liqueur, it mattered not. They brought more, and I ate until I bulged painfully. Several of the boys took me to an alcove and massaged me until I slept.
When I woke, they were huddled around me under a warm blanket. They took me to the lavatory, saw to my bodily needs, cleaning me elaborately, and took me to a pavilion with a view of much of the exterior of the palace. They brought me more food and drink and began to talk to me about my life, the battle, and coming to the Palace of the Valley of Fire and Ice. Gradually they taught me the local language and customs, and I began to think that I could live.
I relaxed, and they kept me overfed and clean. Soon my belly was a constant tight curve, stuffed with food until it hurt, and kept that full all my waking hours as my slave boys massaged it, pushed it, kissed it, and then stuffed me with more food. Of course, I had erections spontaneously, and then would touch my cock to relieve the growing desire. The boys would laugh at this, move my hands away, and feed me into unconsciousness. They were obviously not going to allow me any sexual relief of any kind.
The large meals kept my belly full. My slave boys were becoming gelatinous little butterballs, but I was swelling up like a pregnant elephant. When my belly became a permanent resident of my upper thighs when sitting, we were moved to more elegant quarters with six rooms on the fifth floor, a balcony and a view of the lake. The furnishings were gilded and upholstered in elaborate silks.
That evening, one of the mountains glowed, shooting fire and smoke. When I asked my slave boys what was happening, they only giggled and fed me into oblivion, saying that this was a promotion because of my beautiful girth. My only exercise was gentle knee bends and climbing up and down stairs to the baths and meals in the dining hall.
For months, they kept up a regime of stuffing me into morning distension, then a warm and luxurious bath and gentle swim with others sharing the grand apartment where we were housed. Luncheon was a massive meal that went on for hours in the great dining hall of the apartment building. The boys fed me and each other, massaged me (and each other), and then fed me to the point of explosion before allowing me a little break, but that was only the first half of the lunch. Next, they fed me mountains of sweets washed down with rich, creamy drinks. They measured my gut and required that it be a little bigger than ever before. So before I could leave the table, I had to swell bloated gut with so much food that it crawled down my thighs to stop only when it had reached further than ever before. My gut reached mid-thigh and then beyond. I sometimes slept right there at the table supported by pillows and massaged by fat fingers. Then they would bring be an afternoon gorge of something to keep me full, but that wasn’t all, dinner and a midnight snack were scheduled and any waking during the night was accompanied by another meal.
I was moved to more luxurious apartments in a palace, living on the floor with the banqueting hall and the great baths. I had a view of the mountains, most capped with ice, but some spewing fire, and the valley with its fertile green fields and river. The stuffing never stopped. Sitting on the usual cushions, my belly reached my knees, swelling huge and round onto the cushion. My buttocks filled the cushioned settee I preferred. My calves, thighs, and arms were four times their original measurements. I had multiple chins and bulging cheeks. When I lay back, fatness seemed to flow everywhere. When I lay on my belly, my knees and arms barely touched because of the huge bulk of my belly. The boys rocked me back and forth, grunting and straining, to help me into an upright position, but they kept me scrupulously clean and massaged my legs to keep their shapeliness. I never had sex, except for the occasional spontaneous emission during a dream, usually one were I was eating, and my belly was crawling across the room to suffocate the chubby boys who attended me. My slave boys were rounder, but they seemed a little taller, or I was shorter because of all the weight I carried. They indicated I was ready, but ready for what?
I received a visit from an elaborately dressed and painted functionary of the Great Palace. He made clear to me that I was part of the raja’s harem and would begin serving that evening in the selection hall of this wing of the palace. He went through long and boring directions about my clothing, actions, and the rituals in the selection hall. He told me that I would wear green with peacock accents and then left.
My slave boys giggled. They knew what was coming. They emptied my intestines with enemas and oiled my rectum. They shaved me everywhere except my head, eyebrows, and eyelashes. They bathed me carefully and anointed my skin, massaging and pummeling me to a rosy tan. They painted my eyes with green and glitter to make them sparkle. They braided my hair, which had grown very long, and incorporated peacock feathers in the braids. They dressed me in a green silk loincloth and put on a decorated cape of peacock feathers with a cap that matched. They tutted and jabbered about how to emphasize the size of my belly, finally choosing a tight belt hidden underneath a loose kilt of emerald green silk with a feathered pattern. That belt was easily longer than I was tall, but it was still very tight.
Finally, the gong signaled the time of arrival. My boys escorted me to the selection hall where sixty large to hugely fat men were seated along the sides of the long room. At the back, an orchestra of sitars, pena, alghoza, pepa, pungi, kuzhal, morsin, kombu, and various drums played festive music. I was seated near the front on the left, so I could see well. My huge girth was carefully exposed, and my slave boys stood behind me.
A fanfare of kombu and kettle drums announced the arrival of the raja, a very tall, lean, young man, dressed in white silk churidars (pants) and a matching sherwani (long jacket). On his head was a simple white turban decorated with pearls, emeralds, and diamonds. About his neck, he wore a collar of diamonds and emeralds. He walked slowly around the room, examining each of us with some care. In his hands, he held a stalk or wand of some sort. A boy followed him at a respectful distance. He sat on a dais, looked around for a long time, and sipped tea. He talked softly to the boy as the music played. He handed him the stalk.
The boy came directly to me, handing me the thick jade stalk, which I realized was carved as a phallus. Thus, I was selected. The raja left. The boy stood in front of me, waiting while an escort of sixteen burly bearded guards approached my boys and me. We were escorted to a palanquin, which I mounted, and then I was carried out to an elegant waiting room where the palace functionary waited for me. Guards held me down, stripping me, and I was searched in every possible way, given enemas, and thoroughly lubricated before the jade stalk was inserted in my rectum. Then, each of my boys was as carefully searched. They were ordered to stand guard while I was with the raja and obey every command.
Ten boys in gauzy harem pants and modesty veils emerged from the inner sanctum. They tinkled as they walked because they wore chains of tiny bells handing from their ears, neck, pierced nipples and penises. They offered me a drink of nectar from a golden goblet. They carried a long, silk-and-gold gauze that they wrapped provocatively around me like a sari before hanging a veil over my nose and mouth. With this ministration and the drink, my penis rose, swelling larger than I could imagine, perhaps the jade stalk in my rectum was being replicated. Two boys took my hands, and the others surrounded me as the functionary led us into the next chamber. I had an impression of decorative opulence.
My attention focused on the raja, naked, serene, wiry, pale, oval grey eyes searching, massively erect. We knelt before him. He reached for me, ripping off the flimsy veil, and the others all scurried into the background. He pulled me to him and bent his head to kiss my lips. I dropped to my knees before him, belly puddling on the marble floor, and kissed his beautiful penis, slender, long, but not too long, roped with pulsing veins, the head like a velvet amethyst. He pulled me to him, and I inhaled his perfume, sandalwood and gardenia with an aftertaste of ginger. Our penises met and he gently grasped them together, burying his phallic head in my thick hanging fat while mine pulsed on the ridges of his lower abdomen. He squeezed into me pulling my soft frame against his firm one. We kissed, and his tongue explored my mouth for a lingering taste of nectar. I thought that his contracting abdominal muscles, closed eyes, contorted features, and convulsion in my fat indicated an orgasm, but he did not pause.
He led me to a round, curtained bed like a desert nomad’s fantasy in silk. He pulled a rope and curtains fell around us, tenting the bed for privacy. He lay me out against wide embroidered cushions, and felt my pillowy breasts with their hard pointed nipples. He nibbled daintily and then sucked vigorously before lifting my thick belly to expose my throbbing cock. He sucked it gently and then climbed above me, lowering carefully onto my jade-hard stalk. His penis rested against a bed of my thick lower belly, pulsing against the softness, and he swayed and reciprocated up and down. My cock seemed to swell in his soft tight interior, striving for the release that it could not quite find even when his penis shot a stream fountaining above my belly, chest, and chin and into my open mouth. I gathered semen around my mouth with my hands and licked them off. Still, his erection did not recede as he rested on my soft bulk, kissing my forehead, lips, cheeks, ears, and chins.
The raja: Now, for the best part.
He stood. My cock exposed to the cool air after the warmth of his interior shivered at attention. He reached for my anus and pulled out the jade stalk. He inserted it into his own waiting rectum and pushed his own phallus into me, squeezing my cock between my fat and his firm belly, mounting me as firmly as possible, filling me with his warmth and fragrance. He lay across my thick fatness, and his lips touched mine with a new fire. Beads of sweat ran down his symmetric face. Noses touched. I lowered my eyes as he gazed into mine. We shook as a prophet must shake in the presence of archangels, but ours was a lusty rather than a holy communion. Our breaths seemed demons puffing steam from volcanoes. I heard the hammering of my heart in unison with his, faster, ever faster. My tears flowed as his ministrations tore an orgasm from me, pressurized expressions that matched his creamy release into my depths.
We must have slept after this exertion. I became aware of his weight upon me as tinkling belly approached with warm moist cloths to clean us after such an encounter. The raja woke and rolled off me onto the mass of pillows, and he began to kiss me lovingly.
The raja: This was perfect.
I whispered: I hoped it would be.
His attendants and mine brought refreshments, and, after his command, climbed into the tented bed with us. They massaged every thumb-span of our skins and the muscles hidden below. Soft music played in the distance, the room swam, and I went out for the night.
I woke to full sunlight streaming into the chamber, but the raja was gone. The jade stalk remained, and an ivory rose rested beside it from him. The functionary appeared and assured me that I should take both back to my chambers. I only wondered whether I would ever have another night with the raja as I watched the roaring fires of one of the more distant mountains.