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The Rajmata (Queen Mother) sat behind the thin veil of a curtain and watched as her daughter-in-law, the Maharani spread herself out under the looming figure of Samar Singh, the Chief of the Royal Guard.
Samar Singh, just twenty years old and a virgin had been drafted by the Rajmata (Queen Mother) to impregnate Maharani Samyukta. The lad was a battle-scarred veteran of many a battle, but a complete novice at what he was about to do. His forearms and chest had cuts and nicks but his back was free of marks of any woman having clawed him in the desperation of her orgasmic burst.
“This has to go well,” thought the 46 year old widowed Rajmata, grimly. “It has to be clinical, quick and she must become pregnant in just this one encounter.”
The King was impotent and this was the time tested fix for the problem; spiriting the Queen away to the Himalayan ashram of a sage. What was different was that instead of the sage being prevailed upon to beget the kingdom a successor, the Chief of Guards had been asked by the Rajmata to do the deed. Her logic was simple; the seed and graft with a warrior clan would produce a better heir than the product of an intellectual with soft hands. She wanted to stabilize the reign of her young son, whose own succession had been shaky.
The choice of Samar Singh over the sage was her very own, very private decision. The sages were preferred for they were ascetic, unattached and there was no scope for any complications. Complications could arise from the biological father resurfacing; emotional bonding between the Queen and the impregnator; political machinations and so on. For all these reasons, from time immemorial, Indian Kingdoms had preferred to have the problem solved by approaching sages and ascetics who were well disposed towards their particular kingdom. Royalty and the Spiritual gurus knew each other for generations. While the sages were not celibate, they followed a prescribed way of life which never crossed paths with the rest of the world. And thus the insurance against complications.
The Rajmata sighed. Samar Singh had grown up in front of her. He was the King’s playmate of childhood days. His father was the General of the Army; the head of their family had been so for generations. So would Samar Singh, after his father’s time, become the General.
It had not taken much time to convince the lad of his duty towards kingdom in impregnating the Maharani. The Rajmata expected no less from the loyal soldier; he came from a clan and family that had served the Royal Family well. But the quick acceptance of the proposal sowed the seed of doubt in her mind; would Samar Singh be as clinical as she had instructed him to be? Would he avoid caresses, touching and lingering kisses? Would he avoid the prolonging of pleasure? Finally, she had decided to be a silent spectator to the deed, ensuring that neither soldier nor the queen would be sidetracked by lust.
It was indeed corrupting and she reflected on the wisdom of the ages in entrusting this delicate task to the spiritually inclined ascetics. She found herself wondering whether she had erred; even her own son did not know she had different plans.
The ascetics were reputed to do the same deed differently. Her mind wandered back to the account rendered by one of the elderly maids in her own mother’s palace. That lady had been part of an entourage in another principality, where the queen had been dispatched to get an heir after that king had been discovered impotent. These things were done very quietly with just a handful in the know, for the impotence of a king was political dynamite. If a king was to be a strong ruler, how could he be impotent? The psychology of the masses of those who were ruled was such. And so, there was no direct knowledge; just the grapevine and the gossip circles.
The Rajmata had been a young princess at the time, being educated at her mother’s place in the art of statecraft. It was during one of those sessions that the salacious bit on the impregnation by a sage had been disclosed.
He sat in deep meditation, she was told. They married and had sex only for procreation, never for pleasure. They measured their spiritual powers by restraint and by capturing the vitality of their own living being through yoga and the forsaking of every thing material.
It was not that they repressed desire; they never allowed it to overcome them. They felt it come to them as their bodies are of flesh. But in their yogic state, they observe their own reaction and behavior as an outsider might observe them. As they watched themselves, they developed the power to control themselves. It was not about repression and avoidance. It was about acknowledgement and harnessing.
That power, sexuality being the most potent of the powers, when harnessed, led to spiritual awareness, growth and sublimation.
Some engaged in tantric sex as the path to sublimation. They drifted on the darker side of spirituality. At that fringe, there were those who used powers Pendik Escort to perform magic and use their power to manipulate, destroy and command.
But the yogis at the ashrams were not on The Dark Side. The kingdoms wouldn’t patronize such an ashram. The oldest ashrams had already conquered and therefore could not be attracted by material blandishments. They had age-old alliances with specific kingdoms. And for these yogis, sexuality was something they commanded; it did not command them. That is why sending a queen to a sage was acceptable. But it was fascinating to hear of how it was done.
And that old maid had told them.
“He sat cross-legged, deep in meditation. It was an appointed time so when we entered his space we were surprised to see him in meditation. On hindsight, it was silly to have expected a bed or something like that,” she recalled, with all the wisdom and nuance of a woman that had experienced the world.
“Our Queen was a fragile, delicate beauty. She was overwhelmed by his presence, but also by the complexity of the task at hand; she was expected to subject herself to him and be impregnated. She was quivering with tension and knew not how to progress.”
“The ladies of the ashram held her and led her up to where the yogi sat. The Queen had her hands folded in supplication to the spiritual master. The women gently slid the well-tucked cloth around her waist and the several yards of cloth wrapped around her unraveled. It didn’t quite fall to the ground, but we all dropped our eyes instinctively. We had seen her nude so often while bathing, massaging and soothing her. But that day, it didn’t seem right.”
“Her bodice remained where it was, her breasts held in the restraining confines of the band of cloth around her chest. The lady did not know what to expect. The yogi remained seated with eyes shut. They moved her forward so that she was now directly in front of him, up close. His head was at the level of her groin. The two women on either side of the queen continued to walk towards the yogi, crossing him, still gently holding the Queen in their grip.”
“The only way the queen could have continued to retain her balance was to spread her legs. She instinctively understood what was expected of her. Her hands continued to be folded in prayer and she now closed her eyes. Her ankles grazed his knees because he was sitting cross legged and his knees jutted out. She came to stand over him, feeling the stray whiskers of his long beard tickle the insides of her thighs. If they had walked further, her groin would have been at his forehead. But they didn’t walk.”
“She was now trembling. She did not know what was expected of her. She felt the cool breeze of those Himalayan climbs caress her most private parts. Her eyes were full of tears. Her face was red. She was ready to turn and flee. She might well have any moment then, when they gently pressed her shoulders down, willing her to sit.”
“She bent her knees to comply and come down to the level of where he was sitting. As far as she could make out he was still sitting unmoved. Scared as she was she quickly opened a narrow slit in her eyelids to see what he was doing. He was doing nothing.”
“We were all transfixed; no one had been asked to leave, no one had been told any rules of engagement. It was as if we were not there. My body was burning as with head bowed, but eyes straining upward I could see that she was straddling him and standing in front of him. The space was lit only with dim diya lamps (small oil lamps). The light and shade contrast in illumination was dramatic, even if dim. And I saw our Queen bend her legs and lower her body. We could see the legs spread dramatically. I am sure if he had opened his eyes, he would have seen her gaping yoni (cunt). But his eyes were shut.”
“What was to happen next? What use an open and waiting yoni in front of a meditating and austere ascetic? She continued to lower her body. The two women on either side supported her to help keep balance. One hand was on the small of her back and the other between her shoulder blades. Suddenly, the hand which was passively on the small of her back, gently pushed forward.”
“She gasped loudly as her pubic hair caressed the outline of a bobbing lingam (penis) and the gates of her yoni scraped the monster. Arising from between his legs was a lance of flesh, bobbing and bouncing at an upward pointing angle. Instinctively, she drew up her knees, and her bottom descended into the receptacle of his lap. Equally involuntary was her guttural groan when the lingam speared her. It was if she had fallen on a sword and it had pierced her being.”
“In one fluid movement, her ass had snugly fit into his lap. It was another matter that the snug fit had placed her at a point where her yoni was splayed open and his lingam had stabbed into her as far as her womb. There was no obstruction from his thighs, while he still sat cross-legged. Her legs were raised and crossed his waist. The hands which Pendik Escort Bayan were folded in supplication were now clutching at his shoulders. They were no longer needed to be folded to indicate her reverence for him; she had subjected herself in the most primeval way.”
“She held on to the powerful shoulders waiting for a thrust which never came. Her wet lips were parted in expectation of a kiss that was never planted. Her breasts ached for the pressing of his chest which never happened. Her yoni walls, held open thus, spread apart by the impossibly large lingam, watered, the way an eye might water if it has not blinked. She felt herself pour out in an unexpected but inevitable sexual response. She felt herself running like a stream, down past their point of coitus, the fluid tickling her ass as it dripped off into a puddle below them.”
“The Queen told us everything. She recounted this experience over and over again. She never got over it. She had never been fucked by a man so virile. She had never felt so massively plowed upon. And she had never felt so much with no movement. And no man had ever controlled himself in this fashion. She confessed in her bedchamber afterwards to us to having conquered many, before and after marriage. But none had ever been like this. Indeed, she even confessed that this one experience had left her a hungering soul, searching for the experience once more. The yogi would’nt turn and look at her. And no man ever felt that way again. But that was not for the want of her trying.”
“She could not stop repeating what happened to those of us who were in her inner circle. And none of us could ever after be touched by a man without comparing and imagining what our queen had experienced with the yogi.”
“Even though he did nothing, it felt as if his lingam had swollen in proportions after it had entered her. She felt a hum, a vibration in the monster embedded in her. It was if that pillar of flesh was talking to the sheath that encapsulated it. She quivered, trembling on the brink of what she thought might be an orgasm! Impossible! He had not moved; it could not be an orgasm.”
“As the vibration built up inside her, she wiggled her hips. She wanted. Scraping. Riding. She wanted to be mauled. She didn’t want to melt away in orgasm. She wanted it to be torrential. Her sexual instincts told her to heave and fuck the cock in her; that was how torrential orgasms were experienced. Ride. Touch. Scrape. Grind. Pound. But no, move as she might, she could not get him to fuck back.”
“She was now desperate. She wriggled her legs free of the hands of the women who held her apart and propped her up. She locked her legs around his back. Her arms went around him and her hands wrapped around his neck. She hoisted herself up, giving up the depth of his penetration for control over his lingam. Her yoni was trained. She knew how to fuck. She did’nt want conversation between yoni and lingam; she wanted a duel. She wanted to fuck. She wanted to conquer him. “
“She ground down with her hips on the cock below. She bounced up and down in loud grunts and squeals. She was oblivious to the surroundings and to those of us who were there to lend gravitas to a serious matter of State. She only knew the lingam in her and the pleasure it promised her. She worked and twisted her yoni on it seeking pleasure and seeking the conquest of the unconquerable.”
“She was delighted when his hands gripped her bottom, fingers digging deep into the flesh of her ass. She felt conquest within reach. But her delight gave way to despair as he held her firm, rendering her unable to move. ‘Feel. Experience. Watch,” he commanded her, his eyes opening at last. The power in them was visible, obvious and she felt unable to disobey.”
“Her face went red as a beetroot with shame and embarrassment. The object of her veneration had become the object of her lust. When he opened his eyes he was talking to the lustful woman in her. She half expected to be reproached. But all he had said to her was to experience. It was as if he sanctioned her the pleasure, but by different menas. He closed his eyes again.”
“She whimpered as her impending orgasm dwindled. And then gasped as she felt the lingam grow; yet again. She smiled as she felt the fullness, she allowed herself a gratified laugh. She could not care less for either the yogi or the spectators. Her own desperate desire was the only thing that mattered. She could not take any more deprivation.”
“She was glad it was growing. The pressure on her inside made up for the lack of movement. She was also glad it was growing only after entering her. The thought of taking in something as large as it felt now was scary. She glued her pubis to his groin, ensuring that if she could not move, at least she could swallow him whole.”
“Once again the lingam started humming and vibrating in the fullness of its flesh. It was engorged like a balloon at its apex, there was no way it could take in more; yet energy continued Escort Pendik to pour into the cock. Every cell in the pillar of flesh was energized and it radiated outward from its base to the cockhead. To the queen, it felt like rippling movements in the cock. It was as if every cell at every point on the cock was caressing and talking to every cell on the wall of her cunt. She closed her eyes, mind focusing on the conversation between yoni and lingam.”
“She says she could feel him inside her womb. It was as if a million hands were beating upon a million drums on the walls of her yoni. The surface of the drums, skins stretched taut, were vibrating, and resonating to the hands that were beating on them. Those skins perhaps were akin to the throbbing tunnel of flesh which was firmly holding the lingam. Except that this drum was beating back on the hands that were thumping it. She smiled as she felt her yoni vibrate back in return.”
“It was if the two were vibrating to each other. The lingam’s vibrations responded to the yoni’s counter beat. The lingam resonated to that stimulus. The rhythms of cock and cunt danced with each other. There was no movement, but at the level of the cells there was complete rejoicing, jostling, caressing and grinding.”
“She laughed as she felt satisfaction from watching the performance. His energy radiated from his lingam into her. She was caught up in his momentum and responded from somewhere deep within. At some point, both bodies of flesh started to vibrate on the same frequency and the resonances merged.”
“Suddenly, it was no longer two drums beating against one another. The skins were moving together. When one curved outward, the other curved inward. And when one curved inward the other curved outward. The curves and sinuations of both drums were matched. They ceased to be two; there was only one.”
“The crescendo began when instead of beating as two, they merged as one. Vibrations, instead of canceling out, rose to a crescendo. Their energy fields merged. There was an explosion. She felt a deep stab of heat, shock and release as the waves of the explosion radiated beyond the amalgam of yoni and lingam. She always maintained that it was not two explosions. It hit her being. She flailed. Her nervous system was staggered by the electric release of charge let into her system. In the high voltage shock that ensued, all control was lost. Her nails dug in, drawing blood. Her head lolled about, thrown back. Saliva brimmed at her wet and open lips. Eyes rolled about in her head. Her hips jerked and convulsed, the wet masses of flesh sliding ineffectually.”
“He did not stir, nor talk, nor blink. She blabbered. She called out to god, to her mother and to him and pleaded to be fucked. She banged against him aimlessly. She sobbed, tears running down her cheeks. She screamed and hollered, her voice carrying to the bachelor quarters at the far end of the ashram and the mountains beyond. Her hips ground down on him and she moaned and babbled like an insane woman. She beat her body against his chest till her physical energy was drained. And when she could do no more she fell back.”
“Her bottom was in his lap and she lay on the floor in front of him. Her legs were splayed open, heels on the floor behind him, knees up. His cock, once jutting upward, was now pulled downward embedded as it continued to be in the body lying on the floor in front. The energy from his lingam continued to flow to her. She lay, drained, occasionally twitching or thrashing as waves continued to lash her. From the flood of semen in her, from the openness of her own womb to him, and from the stab of heat she just knew that the mission was accomplished. She had been impregnated.”
“Experiencing the yogic power of another was such; the woman lay in front of him drained from having released as much energy as he had for a brief moment. He could continue, she could not. That surge from her to match him came from drawing on resources she did not know existed. And now came the exhaustion. Even as she luxuriated in the tremors and aftershocks of the main orgasm, she passed out. The yogi sat there impassively. When the erection receded and slipped out of her, she slid to the floor. We silently gathered our satiated and consummated queen in our arms and withdrew, leaving the sage to his meditation,” the old maid had concluded.
The Rajmata had often wondered in her princess years if she would ever experience a similarly sublime form of sex. But her own husband had no problems impregnating her and the Kingdom had exploded in ten days of feasting and rejoicing in the news from the palace. And yet their son now had this problem and she had chosen for her own daughter-in-law a less exotic method. Such was the reality of palace politics.
The gasp that shook the Rajmata from her reverie was not from those distant memories. It was from her daughter-in-law, who had just discovered that the Chief of Royal Guards was a good deal thicker in his endowment than the Maharaja.
That gasp was the signal for the Rajmata to assert her authority over the deed that was being undertaken. No gasps, no exploration, no desires. It was her job to make sure that he just made her pregnant and walked away with no lingering feelings or plans.
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