The Governess on horseback

“Ah, yes. Time for my next treatment.” It was several days later. Governess Augusta, a full-figured blonde stalwart of empire in the prime of her life, stood naked in the inner sanctum of a Hindu temple. Its ancient stone majesty towered high over her head, making her feel very small by comparison, though she represented an empire whose power spanned the globe. “Now, you’re sure this ritual will unlock my inner energies?”

“Oh, yes. You might even be able to read minds.”

“She certainly can’t now,” said one of the dozen or so beautiful Indian women all standing around the nude Governess, clad in resplendent saris. Padma gave her a nudge, and said “As you know, Governess, nudity is a sign of great sacredness in India. Consider the story of Krishna and the gopis.”

“Ah, yes. We all know that story.”

“So I don’t need to explain that I’m doing you a great honour. First, let me anoint you.” With practiced hands she daubed the Governess’ enormous white breasts and rose-pink vulva, having already shaved her pussy bare in honour of the occasion. The Governess gasped, feeling the heat began to blaze, but managed to control her stifled whimpers as the Indian girls expertly concealed their laughter.

“Now,” said Padma politely, “mount the wooden horse, and we shall veil you.”

A few moments later a strange, humped object, mounted on wooden wheels, cloaked in a white veil, rolled out the front door of the temple, into the middle of downtown Bombay, where it rapidly drew thousands of curious stairs from chai-wallahs, imperial bureaucrats and more women in saris.

Padma had clearly explained the ancient ritual to Governess Augusta. It was a way of empowering female rulers to have long and prosperous reigns. In honour of Parvati, the goddess of feminine energy, the lady monarch was mounted on a wooden horse and paraded through the city over which she ruled, her nudity shielded by a veil so as to taunt her subjects with her mystery and inaccessibility.

Unfortunately, however, as soon as the horse got out into the street, a young street urchin (he was eighteen) ran up to it and pulled the veil off, leaving the horrified Governess displayed to thousands of entertained Indians with no clothes on and her tits and pussy painted crimson red. She was tied to the horse, of course, for safety’s sake, and all her screams of “STOP!” to the strong man pulling her through the centre of town fell on deaf ears.

He was of the naked-lady-on-wooden-horseback-pulling caste, and knew precisely what his role was. A big circuit of the city, so as many as possible of Governess Augusta’s subjects got the chance to bear witness to her majesty and glory. Perhaps she had some newfangled ideas, but he knew his place.