The Dance of Love Divine

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.