Michael woke up to the melodious sounds of a sweet
voice singing in a language which made no sense to his
ears. Opening his eyes he slowly realized where he was
– India. He was visiting with his friend Rajiv
Chatterji and currently lying down in the guest room
of Rajiv’s parents’ home.
Stretching his well muscled black body he felt his
feet stick out of the bed which was unable to
accommodate his tall frame.
“Sounds like Mrs. Chatterji singing” he mused. Pulling
his feet to the side of the bed he decided to finally
make an entrance to the prayer room where he had heard
Radha Chatterji pray and sing every morning at nine in
the morning after her husband left to teach at the
Delhi University.
Silently he padded across the hallway into the prayer
room. The sight that greeted him made his mouth water,
as it had since he first laid his eyes on her at the
airport when she came to receive her son and him a
week ago. He saw the sexy back of Mrs. Chatterji in a
diaphanous outfit, which she later told him, was a
chiffon sari.
He stood at the entrance, marveling at her profile,
and sexy voice, which beckoned him in. She was
kneeling on the floor in front of an idol. He came and
stood at her side and got a clear view of her
cleavage. The creamy swells of her breasts made him
want to lick them like the chocolate ice cream he so
loved as a kid.
“This is Rajiv’s mother, for Chrissakes!”, he reminded
himself. That thought however, did nothing to quell
his libido.
“Ahem,” he cleared his throat to get Radha’s
attention.
Startled, she looked up, and smiled at the Denzel
Washington type, only younger and sexier. Slowly she
stood and let him take in her exotic beauty. A red
sari wrapped around her deliciously curvy body, her
belly visible. Gold bangles jingled on her slender
wrist, as she straightened her sari, which was wrapped
from her waist to the upper reaches of her right
shoulder.
“I didn’t hear you come in, Michael,” her husky voice
caressed him like maple syrup, smooth on the tongue.
Her limpid brown eyes and luscious red lips reeled in
his drowning senses.
“I just wanted to say a quick hello to god.” he said.
“Yeah right, rather you wanted to pay homage to the
goddess”, he thought, and grinned.
Radha smiled and touched his large chest. “Well,
that’s nice of you.”
Her hand looked petite on that broad chest, she
thought. Continuing to stare at his muscular physique,
she wondered what it would be like to rest her head on
it after an hour of passion. Startled at the
lascivious thought, she looked into his eyes and saw
desire reflected there. Her heart beat faster, and to
hide her confusion, she turned away from him and
looked at the statue of Lord Krishna.
He couldn’t believe his luck. He could sense a
response to his desire in her. He wondered whether he
dared touch her, as he had so many times in his
fantasies. A wolfish smile crossed his face. “No harm
giving it a try,” he thought.
“Who is this idol?” he asked, nonchalantly.
In a whisper, she replied “That is Lord Krishna, and
his consort, Radha.”
“Consort, you said – not wife?”
“No – she was his divine lover. They were never
married.”
“Oh, that’s interesting, ” he said to the back of her
head, which was decorated with jasmine flowers. He
wanted to pull her long hair down, and bury his face
in the sweet scent of the flowers.
Slowly he covered the few inches between them. As his
breath tickled her nape, he asked, “What is he doing
up there in the painting with so many women?”
Feeling him so close to her, Radha closed her eyes and
said, “They are the shepherdesses who loved him.”
“Quite a ladies’ man, wasn’t he?”
His hands encircled her bare stomach. She took a deep
breath, and continued staring at the statue of the
Dark God of Love, Krishna, who fulfilled so many of
his women until they were ready to follow him to the
ends of time. It seemed as if there was a mischievous
smile playing on the god’s face, and she felt he
encouraged her to fulfill her fantasy of him with this
man, who seemed to be his look-alike.
Kissing her neck, he whispered, “What did he do with
so many women?”
Leaning back into his arms, she breathed “Ras-leela,
the Dance of Love.”
His hands moved up her blouse, under the sari and felt
her voluptuous breasts, and he asked “What does the
Dance of Love mean?”
Feeling his hands open the delicate hooks of her
blouse, she replied, “He fucked them one by one.”
Her generous breasts fell into his hands, and the
blouse dropped to the floor. Cupping and twisting the
nipples, he felt them spring to life. He asked, “Did
he do them one after the other?”
Radha could barely stand. She was in full arousal, her
vagina wet and demanding satisfaction. “They fucked
through the night. He divided himself into different
men, yet all the same, and fucked each woman at once.”
He pressed his hard penis into her cleft and asked,
“What attracted them to him?”
Radha moaned as his hands and mouth wove their magic
on her body, and her anticipation of him drove her
wild. She tried to answer, “His flute.”
He began to unwrap her sari, turning her round and
round, asking as he did so, “He played the flute well,
did he?”
She raised her hands and helped him take off the sari.
With her sari off, she felt the fullness of his
manhood against her stomach. Boldly she reached down,
and pulled his boxers off. She felt all nine inches of
him slide through her petite hands, and as she
massaged his prick and balls through the curly hair,
she murmured, “They never wanted him to stop playing
his flute, and yet they wanted to take it away from
him.”
Unable to hold back anymore, he ripped her under-skirt
off, leaving her chocolate-brown body nude in all its
glory. He laid her down on the cool marble floor and
as he sucked on her brown nipples, he brushed his
black fingers on her wet and willing clitoris. She
buckled against him like a fine spring.
“And why would they want to take it away?” he asked as
he positioned himself above her.
“Because it pounded their senses and they could think
of nothing else.”
She gasped as he slid into her. “Like this?” he
whispered as he drove forcefully into her welcoming
wetness.
“Yes and harder still!”
Her body began to tremble, and reached a peak faster
than she had ever experienced before. She stared up at
her pounding god and felt the arousal return and take
hold of her.
“Yes!” she screamed. “Take me and give me your divine
fuck, my lord”
Her throaty voice drove him over the edge as he fucked
her even harder. He felt himself spurt and pulse in
her. Still joined together, they caught their breath.
The musky scent of raw sex and burning incense
mingled, creating a heady environment that made them
want to continue fucking. She felt him harden in her
again. She couldn’t believe his fervor.
He stared into her eyes, and was about to begin the
Dance of Love once again, when the telephone rang,
shattering the moment.
He got off her and picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Michael? This is Rajiv. I called to tell that dad and
I are caught in busy traffic and it will be a while
before we are back. I hope mom is entertaining you.”
Michael looked down at Radha, who had crawled over and
was stroking his prick. “Sure Rajiv, we are in the
prayer room.”
“Is she still praying?”
Michael watched her slide his prick into her mouth and
give it a delicate suck. “I think she is going to be
paying homage to Lord Krishna’s flute for a while.