100 % consensual desert diary ▪ lifelong naked servant of Meera and her circle ▪ remote Rajasthan dunes ▪ sand floors, camel-milk baths, village orgies under the stars, permanent servitude ▪ Adults only
1 The Night She Took Me
Meera (20, waist-long hair, silver anklets that chime) saw me spying while she bathed at the oasis. That same night she and eight of her friends dragged me into the dunes, stripped me under the moon, and bound my hands with her crimson veil. She straddled my face, let goaded me to open my mouth, and claimed me with her first hot stream while whispering, “From now on you breathe, drink, and come only when I say.” Then she used me until sunrise while the others watched and waited their turn.
2 Under the Stars
Every night Meera leads me naked on a thin silver chain to the tallest dune. Whoever wants me that night — married women, young widows, visiting cousins — forms a silent line in the sand. Meera decides the order. Some grind on my tongue until they flood the desert, some milk their breasts into my open mouth, some ride me hard while Meera strokes herself beside us. When they finish I’m covered in sand, milk, and scent, and Meera licks it all from my lips.
3 Sandstorm Week
A week-long sandstorm trapped the whole village indoors. Meera kept me naked in the center of her courtyard while fifty women rotated through the storm, using me on woven mats soaked with sweat and rain. The air turned thick with their taste. When the wind howled loudest they held me down together and took turns until I was lost in a sea of bodies.
4rem;">4 The Old Well
Before dawn Meera lowers me naked into the ancient stone well with a rope around my chest. Women come for water and “miss” the bucket on purpose, letting warm streams rain down on me. By the time she pulls me up I’m shaking, drenched, marked by the entire village. She makes me kiss the hot stones clean before leading me home across the burning sand.
5 Festival of Colors
Our festival lasts days. They cover me in bright powders and fresh camel milk, then hunt me laughing through the narrow lanes. When they catch me — always — Meera pins me in the dust and every woman takes what she wants while drums echo between the mud walls. At night the bonfire shows rivers of colored release running down my skin.
6 Moonlit Nights
During the fasting moon the women break their thirst only on me. Meera ties me spread to a wooden cot beneath the palms. One by one they feed me sweets from their lips, then relieve the day’s heat straight into my waiting mouth. By midnight I have served the desires of the entire circle while Meera combs my hair and calls me her good boy.
7 The Hidden Room
Behind the goat pen stands a small locked room. I live there now, naked on a straw mat, collar chained to the wall. Meera keeps the only key. She brings whoever she chooses — a lonely widow at 4 a.m., a laughing group of girls on holiday, sometimes thirty women in one night. The walls remember every sigh.
8 Forever Hers
I am twenty-seven now. Meera is twenty-five and more commanding than ever. My old life is a forgotten story. The men of the village still believe I left for the city. Every woman over eighteen knows exactly where to find me. Meera’s crimson veil has become a permanent silk collar around my throat. Each morning she kisses me and says the same words:
“You are mine, Vikram.
This village is mine.
And I share my property
whenever I want,
with whoever I want.
Forever.”