EllenChapter 27 A Passage to India
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Caste Into India free porn video
Caste Into India
By Felix Nine
A year ago, if you had told me that more than half a dozen
governments and at least 50 of the most powerful and influential
businesses in the world would be taken over by a clandestine
movement with at most only five to eight thousand members. I
would have thought you a paranoid crank. If you had gone on to
tell me that they would enact their conquest via so called astral
travel, I would have known you were a paranoid crank and a
complete idiot.
Call me an idiot then because I know this to be the case. I know
this because I don't just know of this group. I'm one of its
victims. It was a year ago today, on May the 23rd 2005 that I had
my old life ripped from me and was set on this path. At that time
I was known to the world as Nils H. Grayson. At 38 the C.E.O. of
Grayson Industries, an international corporation well on its way
up the Fortune 500 list.
I had a private jet, nine cars, three homes, a personal fortune
of over a billion dollars and any woman I wanted. N.H. Grayson
still has all these things, though I'm not sure if he's still a
devotee of the charms of supermodels. I speak of myself as if I
were another person because that's the situation I and many other
formerly powerful men now find ourselves.
Let me tell you how it happened.
One year ago I was in Bombay having just finished a deal that
would take Grayson Industries into India and net me another 20 or
30 million annually. As I do on all my business trips, I had
concentrated strictly on business. As I went from airport to
boardroom, to hotel, to the end of the deal and then back to the
airport. I couldn't tell, or care if I was in New York, London,
Tokyo or any other point on the globe. All that mattered to me
was the deal.
I had no interest in local color, perhaps if I had stayed
strictly to that regimen I wouldn't be where I am now.
The meetings in Bombay had gone better then I had anticipated. We
were closing the deal a full two days sooner then I thought
possible. Tonmay Ganasalla, who I was negotiating with, had a
reputation for being a hard-nosed businessman. For some reason he
had been surprisingly easy to swing to my viewpoint. He told me
that he would be compensated in ways later. I had no clue that
this mysterious statement meant.
To celebrate the early closing of the deal, I thought I'd take in
some of the sights of Bombay. Tonmay the head of the Indian
company with whom I'd just made the deal invited me to what he
called a special restaurant, a place "undiscovered or ruined by
common tourists."
The restaurant proved to be nice enough, but the food wasn't all
that remarkable with the guests dining on curry and drinking tea.
The meal was also nothing I hadn't had before. Then Tonmay said
that it was time for the house speciality. Two Indian women
brought it out; one appeared to be in her late 50's while the
other appeared to be in her mid to late 20's.
Both women wore well-made green saris; the attractive younger one
also had a bare midriff and a tantalizing flash of cleavage. Both
I later found were from one of the lower castes, which if I had
known at the time would have lead me to wonder what a Bramin like
Tonmay was doing in a restaurant owned by them.
The "special dish" proved to be, of all things, a salad! However,
I was not paying for this, so if my host wanted to think of it as
special, so be it. The salad proved to be rather bland. The only
thing I found notable about it were pieces of a crunchy, slightly
bitter root that I found liberally sprinkled throughout the dish.
We made small talk and ate the salad. I was mainly thinking that
I was ready to make it back to the airport and fly back to
Atlanta so I could cap this deal off and prepare for the next
one. At least I think that's what I was thinking when my head
fell forward to land in my half-finished salad.
I awoke, I know not how much later, to find I was being jostled.
I could tell I had just awakened from a deep sleep, my head was
resting against the glass of a small window. Looking out of the
window I saw what looked like a train station.
Still groggy I looked to see who was shaking me. I was surprised
to see the older of the two women who had brought in the salad.
Had I fallen asleep in the restaurant? That was when I took in my
surroundings and saw that I was on a train. A densely packed,
dingy train.
The woman was saying, "Nabeela! Nabeela! It is time to go, get
out of that seat and follow me!"
Forget the fact that I had just come to in some train in India,
had no idea why I was there, or what this woman was going on
about, or who this Nabeela was. This was not the part of the
first part of my experience that shocked me the most. The part I
found most amazing of all was that the woman was speaking Hindi,
and I understood her!
My first thought was to demand to know what was going on, to
demand she tell me where I was and how I had come to be there.
For some reason I didn't do it. Instead I obediently got up and
followed the woman down the crowded passageway of the train.
Let me emphasize that I have always been a man who is used to
making his way in the world and giving orders not taking them.
For the past 15 years since graduating from Harvard with a
Masters degree in Business I've swum with the sharks and the
sharks ether got out of my way or got eaten by me. Yet, as soon
as this woman spoke to me I obeyed her command without
hesitation. My head felt as if it were stuffed with wet cotton,
but I was otherwise awake and in command of my faculities.
I followed the woman's large swaying rump down the passageway. At
the end of the car first she and then I exited into bright
sunlight, stifling heat and humidity. Although the train had been
hot, walking into the open air was like stepping into a sauna.
The instant the humid air hit me, I could feel the sweat start to
pour out of me. I reached up to wipe away some that I felt
trickling down my neck and got a surprise when my hand bumped
into something that got in my hand's way.
My hand had collided with a female breast, a breast that I seemed
to possess. My foggy mind came into sharper focus as the
adrenaline from this hit me. My heart pumped faster and
everything, which until then had seemed hazy like a dream, became
clear as I came fully aware.
I looked down, and the hand I saw was slender, delicate and a
rich brown. I turned it back and forth like a baby discovering
for the first time that he has these things and can control them.
In addition, I saw the swelling of two pert breasts, which I
could not only see, but feel were covered with sweat under a
green blouse that only came to just a few inches below them.
Beneath the green blouse was a bare midriff that swelled into
wide hips and long legs that were covered in a green sari. I
recognized the clothing. I had seen them on the young woman who
had been with the older woman in the restaurant.
I ran the hand I saw over the breasts and confirmed that I was
their owner. That was when the woman who I now was sure was the
older woman from earlier came up to me and in a harsh voice
commanded.
"Nabeela! You're making a spectacle of yourself, stop your
dawdling and come with me at once." #
My inner self wanted to tell her to piss off and give me an
explanation at once.
What I did was drop my hand at once, like a boy caught sneaking a
cookie, looked straight ahead and without a sound followed her as
she set off walking away from the train station.
She walked out into some grungy little town that somehow I knew
was not Mumbai though I had never seen it before. I gave no
thought to doing anything but follow her down the street. Just
doing this required some concentration as the streets she headed
down were incredibly crowded and in very ill repair.
As I moved after her. I found my mind trying to juggle the jobs
of dodging the seeming army of people dashing about, or the truly
destitute sprawling at the edges of the street. While at the same
time dealing with the strange new sensations that came with
running a perspiring female body draped in a long unfamiliar
garment.
As I obediently followed her I could feel my breasts which were
unrestrained bouncing up and down, there was also the feel of the
skin. It is hard to imagine this; you do not know just how
submerged the feelings of one's own skin is. I noticed that this
body that I seemed to be in, had very soft skin. Legs rubbing
together, hand surreptitiously stroking the bare stomach, the
texture of the clothing touching it. I was doing all I could not
to fall flat on my face as I kept my eyes on the woman ahead and
avoiding the teaming crowds.
I don't know how long it took, all this stimuli and a slight
return of the mind numbness made keeping track of the time hard.
At last she stopped. She came to a four-story building that
looked as if it had weathered the blistering heat of this town
somewhere between half a century and a millennium.
She went up a creaking stairway to the third floor and unlocked a
door with a key. Following her in, I found myself in a dimly lit
room. The room, I could tell was the home of at least four
people. Four narrow beds were wedged into it. There were no other
rooms; the only other furniture was a large old wooden wardrobe,
and a small battered desk and mirror and a cane backed chair. The
older woman told me to sit in the chair and I did.
On doing this I found myself looking into the mirror at a face
that wasn't mine. It was the woman I had seen earlier but who I'd
not really looked at closely. Now, staring into her or it would
seem my eyes I did.
`I? looked to be in my mid 20's. I had large dark brown eyes that
seemed almost black, my skin colour was a smooth blemish free tan
like a light mahogany, with a prominent nose and a somewhat weak
chin. However the large clear eyes and full lips made the face
very attractive.
I had thick black hair gathered into an intricate hairdo atop my
head, undone it looked to be at least two feet in length. Gold
earrings, necklace and rings contracted the deep tanned skin. I
saw that I wore light make up and had a Hindi dot on my forehead.
"Taking in your new home Mr. Grayson?" asked the older woman who
stood behind me and to my left.
I still wanted to demand an explanation, but again as soon as the
thought of action formed something damped it down.
"Look at me girl," She ordered, and I complied turning from the
mirror to meet her eyes. "I'm going to be very generous and give
an explanation of what has happened to you. This will also serve
to show you that your fate is inescapable and tell you just what
is expected of you from now until we decide to make things
different."
She moved closer to me and began to talk and her lecture went on
for some time, so let me sum it up.
To put the overly fantastic into simple terms I, or more to the
point my body and much of my memories had been kidnapped by a
secret society made up of women in India trained in the use of
amazing occult abilities.
The salad I'd eaten had contained chosalla root, a plant unknown
to all but this order called the Ojasa Sudati Parivartanam
(O.S.P.) which roughly translated meant the powerful women who
will change the World. The chosalla root first loosens the seal
that holds the soul in the body. The two women and Tonmay, the
man with whom I was doing business, were all members of the
O.S.P. As soon as I had eaten this root, I had fallen into a
trance and been taken to a back room where the older woman, a
high member of the Order, had transferred the souls of myself and
the younger woman who was a lower level member.
I was told the reason I could now understand Hindi was that as
the effect of the root wore off my soul was grafting itself onto
the body that now housed it. Meaning that while I still knew who
I was, and reacted to things as Harry Grayson, my mind and body
was that of Nabeela Shyaamalajee. I would not be able to read,
speak or understand English but only Hindi.
I was Nabeela, while also knowing myself to be Grayson. At the
same time, Nabeela had my body and access to my knowledge, which
she had been trained to use. It was now, I was informed, being
used to advance the agenda of the O. S. P.
And what was their agenda? Simply enough the conquest of the
World. In the last four years, they had replaced two thirds of
the leaders in government and business in India. I was one of the
first of their move West.
The last thing the older woman told me was that the best thing I
could do would be to settle and let Nabeela's mind/body do the
thinking for me. I could try to protest, but I should know that
indeed the body is destiny. If I were to try this, and others
had, all it would mean is that I would be regarded as a mad lower
class slut. She also added that if I behaved myself there was a
chance of my life and body being returned to me, after that is,
they had done everything they needed with it and my business.
Then she left me on my own. I have not seen her again in the year
since then.
As the Sun went down the three other inhabitants of the apartment
returned. They too were victims of the O.S.P.
It was hard enough finding it out but I was able to discover that
the three women I was to share this cramped living space with all
used to be important men. There was the Minister of Agriculture
in India, Tonmay the businessman with whom I had thought I was
meeting. Now he was a saucy plump little thing who it seemed was
well on his way to giving into the situation while the last woman
was a tall thin woman even darker than I, who had been the
British Foreign Secretary.
That is who we were deep down, to the world we were four young
Indian girls of a low caste and perhaps even lower morals. I
found that I had a job too. I was a maid working for an upper
class family. The pay was next to nothing and the wife treated me
like chattel. The oldest son however was another matter.
Badal, a student of engineering and so full of himself that he
almost needed a second body himself just to house the extra ego
seemed to regard the world as his for the taking. And me as his
without ever asking. Whenever his mother's eye was off him, which
thankfully wasn't often, his hands found their way onto my rear.
"I see you're demanding I take those tasty breasts of yours
again," he would say in response to the slight hint of cleavage
from a dark blue blouse I was wearing with a half sari. He would
then work himself behind me and treat himself to a feel of my
nipples.
The most disconcerting thing about all this was that while my
Grayson self would rebel at this and want to bash his smug face
in. The Nabeela body would react quite differently. It seemed the
girl was more than a bit loose, and I had all her hardwired
reactions.
It was at these times that I now not only found the unique feel
of feeling with a woman's skin, but also the feel of a woman
becoming aroused! The nipples hardening, a moistness coming
between my legs, and from there a growing warmth that's unlike
anything I had felt as a man.
And that is where I find myself today. As a member of a secret
society of women subverts my business and does what I do not know
with my body, I spend my days laboring like a slave while fending
off the horny son of a family on it's way up.
How then you might ask am I able to write these words? A
fortuitous happenstance that I doubt the Order ever thought
about. You see I am ambidextrous, I can write as well with my
left hand as I can with my right. I have also found that I am
able to access my Grayson side by using my left hand.
As the year wore on my three companions have given themselves
over totally to the bodies that now house their beings. This
writing has kept me in touch with my former self. If it had not
been for this, I'm sure I too would have become Nabeela by now.
There are effects, I have grown used to this body's feel and
doubt that I will ever lose Nabeela's taste for bitter tea or the
longing for fine silk clothing that seems to be a very strong
part of her.
However I am still me, and I am gaining more and more command of
this body under my thoughts and feelings. What I will do next I
don't know. But the O.S.P. are wrong to think that H.N. Grayson
is out for the count yet!
Dani
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