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From: tariat@aol.com (TariaT)
Subject: {ASS}  "Raga" by Taria  #1/2
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RAGA

by Taria

____________________________


   "Let me just turn the radio off..."

"No.  Leave it on."

   "OK.  Usually you want it off, though.  How about this?  This OK?"

"No...not that one."

   "This?  Boom-ba-boom...yeah, baby--"

"No.  You know I can't stand Metal."

   "Well, there's nothing ON.  Commercial...commercial...Talk Show..."

"Wait--stop!  Right there--back a little--"

   "THIS?!  Twangy-twangy?  Arab music?"

"Not Arab, Indian.  From India.  It's a sitar.  Leave that on."

   "You gotta be kidding.  Sounds like somebody's torturing a cat."

"Well, that's what I want.  Just leave it."

   "You're weird.  Now...where were we...?"

_______________________


The Prince looked down at the girl as she knelt before him.

She was striking, there could be no doubt about that.  The girl was fairer than
most women he had known, and he glimpsed her pale skin through the gaps in the
silk scarves that were wound about her.  Her hair was dark, at least as far as
he could tell.  Her eyes, too, though at the moment they were downcast as she
awaited his direction.  It was difficult to tell much about her from this
position.  But then, her concealment only added to the sweetness of his
anticipation.  He spoke, dispassionately.

"Raise your head, girl."

Her chin snapped upwards, as if jerked by an invisible string.

So young!  His eyes widened, and his gaze softened as he took in the smooth
curves of her face, her jawline.  Her cheeks still showed hints of youthful
baby-fat.

"My child--"

The girl looked right back at him, and dared to speak.  "I came of age several
years past, Great Rajah.  I am in truth no child, though I am told that I seem
much younger."  Then her eyes opened wide at what she had done, and she lowered
her lashes as a bright blush spread across her cheeks.

He chuckled, and murmured "no child indeed!  But you must know, Little One,
that I am no Rajah yet.  I am but the eldest son, the rajaputra.  And so shall
I remain for some time, I have no doubt."  

The girl looked at him from beneath her long, dark lashes.  "I have heard
otherwise, Great Rajah," she said in a low voice.  "Do the people not sing and
tell of the deeds of the Mighty Prince?  Of his fierce prowess in the arts of
war and..."  The red blush bloomed again, twin patches of red on either side of
her small face.

The Prince chuckled once more, and his broad smile reflected his amusement. 
"What a bold Little Sparrow you are!  Go on--finish the thought.  The arts of
war and..."  Defiantly, she raised her chin further.  "And the arts of...love,
Great Rajah.  For it is whispered that you are a mighty and skilled warrior
indeed, in both battlefield and...bed-chamber."

She had spirit, that was certain.  A slip of a girl--a child, really--matching
words with him.  He could only imagine how much it had taken for her to speak
up like that, there on her knees before the most feared warrior in the Raj.  He
gazed silently at her from between shaggy brows and half-closed lids.  Her
lower lip was trembling.  Small wonder.  She was likely frightened by the tall,
craggy man with close-trimmed black beard and piercing eyes.  Was she a novice,
then?

He spoke, soft words in his softest voice.  "So, Little One?  Have you come to
test my mettle, then?  What do you know of swords, let alone sheathed ones? 
Even if you are as old as you say, you do not have the look of one
well-acquainted with...battle."

The lower lip trembled more noticeably, and the pale girl stammered for a
moment before regaining her composure.  "It may be even as you say, Great
Rajah," she said.  "But if I lack experience I am still not unskilled.  Perhaps
you will find me a fair partner, even for one of your great ability at
swordplay."

The Prince looked at the girl kneeling in front of him and nodded.  "Perhaps,"
he mused.  "Perhaps."  He clapped his hands once, sharply.  "Let us see what
you speak of.  Dance then, Little One.  Dance!"

_______________________________


   "Yeah, baby, yeah.  Feel me, baby?  My rock-hard rod?"

"Mmm."

   "I'm hard for you, baby.  And we're gonna fuck, yeah."

"Mmm."

   "That's right.  I'm gonna fuck you hard, till you beg for more."

"   "

   "You want it, don't you, baby?  Don't you?"

"   "

   "You want it...I can tell.  Let's get rid of those clothes now."

"Mmm."

_______________________________


With a sinuous, graceful motion, the girl rocked back on her heels and unwound
from where she knelt on the rich carpets.  She stood upright for a moment,
cupping her palms in front of her in the supplicant's posture.  The  Prince
feigned boredom, but behind his lazy glance he reassessed the motionless young
woman before him.  Though the silken scarves swathed about her still hid much,
they could not fully conceal the pleasing roundness of her curves, the swell of
her bosom, the womanly hips he had missed earlier.  Bemused at the way this
girl mixed a child's freshness with the ripeness of a woman, the Prince did not
hear the light strains of music commence in the next chamber.  But the girl was
aware of the faint plucking of the sitar, and as a slow, stately rhythm
asserted itself she began to dance.

Slowly she extended her arms and spread them apart.  Bright fuscia and
turquoise silk wrappings fell away from her forearms, revealing thin chain
bracelets of gold at her wrists.  Her arms traced intricate patterns in the
air, the gold wristlets sparkling with reflected candlelight.  Tiny bells
dangled from the bracelets, and as her hands became more animated these
tinkled, a faint tintinnabulation that matched the rhythms of the instruments
as they played.

So mesmerized was the Prince by the movements that he scarcely noticed as the
rest of her body began to sway.  The girl's hips began to move back and forth
in slow, sensuous circles, a counterpoint to the elaborate motions of her arms.
 She moved in place, her unshod feet rooted to the spot where she stood before
the Prince.  

Then the song from the next chamber changed.  The measured rhythm set by the
stringed instruments quickened, and turned more insistent, more determined; the
thumping of a tabla and the jangle of a tambourine insinuated themselves into
his consciousness.  As the change took hold, the girl's hips swayed more
rapidly, and she allowed the swaying to turn her body.  Her feet separated and
she spun in a tight circle, the movement billowing out the silk that
encompassed her.  As her body moved in time to the music, the Prince leaned
forward in his seat, all pretense of disinterest abandoned.

The girl sensed the change in the man as he watched her, and her lips curved
upwards in a langorous, sensual smile.  She continued to turn about, swaying
her hips faster and harder.  Again the music increased in tempo and in volume,
and as the dancer matched the new rhythm she moved closer and closer to the
Prince until mere inches separated them.

With her nearness, the sumptuous hangings and furnishings of his chamber faded
to the background of the Prince's consciousness.  The heavy, sweet scent of
incense suffusing the room no longer meant anything to him.  His eyes were
locked to the figure before him, his nostrils filled with the tang of her
perfume and her body.  His ears were filled with the sound of the raga that
echoed through the chamber and through his mind, urgently pounding and
throbbing.

Although he reclined before the whirling dancer, every one of his muscles
clenched as his body tensed.  Her scent and her movements thrilled him,
awakening him in ways he had not expected.  Suddenly the girl inclined her
torso in such a way that the edge of her wrap dangled into his hand.  He
grasped at it without conscious thought.  She spun around him, whirling in a
large circle with him at its center.  He sat, clutching the end of the swatch
as a child would a sweet, and watched with wide eyes as the silk billowed out
and unwound.  As the girl completed her whirling the Prince found himself bound
in a broad, bright silk cocoon that draped around his shoulders.  He smiled at
the cleverness of her maneuver, but the smile froze on his face as she moved
back into his field of vision.

All signs of the demure girl who had knelt before him were gone.  In her place
was a woman who had emerged from the chrysalis of her silk wrappings, wrappings
which now covered him, still warm and fragrant from their nearness to her body.
 Her thick, dark hair tumbled free from its confinement, and her pale, curved
shoulders shone in the candlelight that illuminated the chamber.  And her
magnificent breasts riveted his eyes, brilliant near-white globes tipped by
small hard pink points.  

The music soared; the woman writhed and thrashed with abandon, her eyes tightly
shut, her body one with the raga.  The Prince was overwhelmed, the woman's
movements and sudden nakedness enveloping him, enflaming him.  All at once he
felt himself at the center of an explosive frenzy of climactic sensations, of
music and movement and passion.  And then the raga ceased, and the sudden
cessation of sound and motion hit him with such force that he rocked back
against his cushions.  The woman sank down onto the carpets before him, spent
from the fury of her dance.

The Prince arose and moved toward the woman on her knees.  He drank in the
sight of her, her exposed bosom heaving as she panted for breath, her slender
hands resting on her upper thighs, her buttocks resting against her heels,
which were tucked beneath her.  She remained still as he approached, her eyes
focused down on the floor in front of her.  Yet for all of her composure she
still seemed tense and uneasy.  Perhaps it was her nakedness -- she was clad
only in a gauzy veil hanging from a thin strand of pearls around her waist. 
And perhaps it was more than that, the Prince thought to himself.

The Prince circled around her slowly, and reached out to caress the girl's bare
shoulder.  The kneeling girl twitched almost imperceptibly, but enough that the
gold bell earrings and bracelets she wore jangled softly, as if in warning.

"Are you still afraid then, Little Sparrow?" murmured the Prince.  The girl
opened her mouth to speak, but nothing issued forth.  Behind her, the Prince
smiled.  He moved his mouth close to her ear and whispered "after a dance of
such fire and passion, I could hardly imagine that one such as you feared
anything."  He moved his body around until he was beside her, and sank down to
his haunches.  "Or anyone," he breathed, his lips touching the small pink ear,
his wiry beard mingling with the dark curls of her hair that cascaded down.

The Prince rested his fingers lightly on the girl's shoulder.  With the softest
of touches he ran the edges of two fingers across her shoulder to her
collarbone, and then up the slope of her neck.  He traced the line of her jaw,
and continued under her chin to move down her chest.  With deliberate slowness
he let his fingers trail down to the curve of her left breast, which still
gleamed with perspiration from her dance.  Down the slope he traveled, pausing
only when he reached the nubbin of peaked flesh that lay at the center of a
small rough pink circle.  Separating his two fingers, now slick from their
journey, the Prince caught the girl's nipple between them and squeezed.  The
nipple hardened and protruded.  The girl moaned inaudibly.  The Prince smiled
again.

___________________________________


"Ummmm."

   "Yeah, baby, I love your tits.  You got nice tits."

"Um."

   "I love squeezin' 'em like this.  What tits, man!"

"Um."

   "Yeah, you like it rough on them titties.  Don't you?"

"   "

   "That's OK, baby.  I know what you like."

_____________________________________


The Prince was astounded at how much he was enjoying himself.  When he had
retired for the evening he had expected nothing more than an ordinary night of
bed-mussing.  His body had craved physical release; he had not thought to find
anything of greater significance.  Indeed, when he had first laid eyes on the
girl he was disappointed.  A mere child, unversed in the ways of the body? 
What sport would there be in her?

But now, as he sat close to the girl on sumptious carpets, he was more excited
than he could remember.  True, she was young and inexperienced.  But what man
would not respond to the vision before his eyes?  She was splayed out before
him, still on her knees but now resting her weight back on her arms, her torso
fully extended.  Her eyes were closed tightly and small moans were issuing
forth from between slightly parted lips.  Moans, he noted thoughtfully, that
accompanied his caresses and feather-touches to her breasts, her nipples, her
ribs, her belly.  If she was truly untouched by any man until now, more was the
pity.

As the Prince's hands rubbed down her sides and around to her back, the girl's
eyelashes fluttered.  With a final sigh she opened her eyes fully and
straightened her back until she was sitting upright.  She shook her head once,
to clear it of the haze of pleasure that had clouded her judgement.  She tilted
her head, and looked directly at the Prince with mock-disapproval in her eyes.

"The Great Rajah attempts to distract me from my purpose!" she rebuked.  "Would
the Mighty One have me punished, then?  Flogged?  Beaten?"

"I will personally remove the head of any who dares to lay hands on my Little
Sparrow," the Prince avowed, and even he was surprised by the intensity with
which he spoke.  The girl's eyes brightened for a moment with strong emotion. 
Satisfaction?  Fear?  It seemed to be something more than that.  But
immediately the look was gone, replaced by a sly smile of anticipation.

The girl's hands rose from where they rested on her thighs and flew to his
midsection.  Deft fingers found the knot that held his sash tight, and then
pulled at it, loosening it.  Her soft hands traveled inside the Prince's
now-open robe, grazing his chest.  Once again, the Prince was amazed.  The
merest touch sent his nerves atingle, as even this almost incidental contact
brought forth a deep response.  Why, he had not reacted this way in years, not
since his first time with a woman, when he was but a boy.

Truly, this was bliss.  The Prince closed his eyes and felt her slide his open
robe back over his shoulders and down his arms until it dropped behind him.  He
kept them shut as the softest hands he had ever felt rubbed his neck and
shoulder blades, caressed his upper arms, and smoothed his wiry chest hair.  A
deep, rich sigh of pleasure escaped him as he felt the delicate touch of the
graceful fingers he had watched so closely during the girl's dance.  And he
remained motionless as her fingers traced the outlines of long-healed battle
scars, as if to soothe old wounds he had long since forgotten.

He was indeed soothed, and relaxed as a man could be while remaining awake.  So
lulled was the Prince that he nearly did feel sleep overcome him.  But then the
girl moved closer, her arms snaking around his waist to his back, her
unfettered breasts jutting forward until they rested against his broad chest,
the scent of her hair filling his nostrils as she drew near.  She pressed her
palms against the Prince's back and puller herself tightly to him, her heated
body pressing against his.  He took her into his embrace, holding her as close
as she held him.  She tilted her head upward, and her smooth soft cheek rubbed
against his bearded chin.  The Prince inclined his head.  Their lips met.

They kissed deeply, his tongue running across her parted lips and then between
them into her mouth.  For all her passion, there was an innocence about her
kiss, a sense that this was something new to her.  She was like a newly-ripened
fruit, bursting with a sweet robust flavor that exploded into the mouth at the
very first taste.  The Prince devoured her, and after a short while she began
to do the same.  Their tongues danced with each other like a pair of snakes
mating, curling over and under and around each other in passionate twists and
twirls.  They ran across each other's teeth and lips, seeking and exploring.  

After an endlessly long moment the girl pulled her mouth away gently,
regretfully, and unlocked her arms from the Prince's back.  But her eyes
remained locked to his as she pulled back, smoldering with the fevered passion
that burnt in his own gaze.  She blinked and shook her head, and then swallowed
once, hard.  The girl licked her already-moist lips and spoke in a husky voice.
 "My Rajah..."

"My Sparrow..." he answered, without conscious thought.

The girl giggled, a tinkling sound not unlike that of the belled earrings and
bracelets she wore.  "O sweet and romantic Prince," she said, and a smile
flashed across her face.

Her smile vanished, and once more she looked at him with hot intensity.  "I beg
the Great Rajah to stand upright," she intoned, "so his proud and mighty sword
may be revealed."

The Prince scowled at her.  "You mock me," he said sourly.  "The Little Sparrow
enters my room with proper deference and knowing her place.  But after a bit of
flitting about--" (he waggled his large hands, birdlike,  mimicking the
movements of the girl's dance) "--I behold not a Sparrow but a sharp-tongued
Crow!"

The girl giggled again and fought to stifle a wide grin.  She was not
altogether successful.  "As my Rajah commands, so shall I be.  A crow, is it? 
Then I shall cry "caw! caw!" forevermore at your bidding.  But still do I beg
of you to arise, Lord Rajaputra.  Let me worship at your feet as I so desire to
do."

The Prince grumbled and then grunted as he shifted his weight.  "As you wish,
Lady Sparrow" he said.  "As you wish.  So the day has come when the mightiest
warrior of the Raj must heed the commands of one who would serve..."

The words trailed away as the Prince felt the hands of the girl at his waist
once again.  With no discernable effort, the girl found and freed the knots
that secured his loincloth.  The unbound cloth fell to the floor and landed
between his feet, and he stood completely unclothed in front of the kneeling
girl.  With the same softness of touch she had displayed earlier, the girl
cupped his testicles in her left hand.  She held them carefully, as if they
were the rarest and most fragile of birds' eggs.  Then she took his
still-flaccid penis between the thumb and index finger of her other hand,
lifting it slightly.  She moved her head forward, licked her lips to moisten
them, and then shaped her mouth in a succulent "O."  With the barest touch, she
kissed the tip of his organ, and then took it into her mouth.  She moved her
head in small circles as she kissed and moistened the crown of his manhood.  

The Prince watched her with wide eyes, his mouth dropping open.  "How now?!",
he exclaimed.  "What is this?  You come to me protesting your inexperience in
the arts of love, yet you worship my lingam like the High Priestess of Holy
Siva!"

The girl pulled her mouth away and looked up at him, an impertinent expression
on her face.  "From what I have heard of the Great Rajah's lingam, perhaps
after tonight I shall ascend to that exalted position."

The Prince snorted.  "You must be a novice indeed, to expect from a man the
lingam of a god!  If you truly expected a mighty lingam of six handspans from
me, I am afraid you shall be sadly disappointed, Lady Sparrow."

The girl giggled, and once again cupped his royal jewels in her soft hand. 
"Hush, now Mighty Prince.  For Nimitta is completed and it is now time for the
Parshvatoddashta."  She waggled her index finger at him in admonishment.  "It
would not do for you to make me laugh during THAT, as you well know!"  Meekly,
the Prince nodded and pursed his lips tightly.  Again the silvery laugh of the
girl rang out, and then she bent back to her task.

_______________________________


   "Oh, Jesus, yeah, suck my dick!"

"Marrrrgh."

   "Man, what a great little cocksucker--"

"   "

   "Oh yeah, baby, but harder.  Yeah, suck me off..."

"   "

   "A fucking Hoover upright's what you are, oh yeah..."

_______________________________


The Prince groaned at the pressure of the young girl's lips on his organ.  Her
technique was masterful; in the darkness of the night-chamber the Rajaputra
would have thought her the finest courtesan in all the Raj, not some
inexperienced girl-woman.  As she teased him lovingly with the Pincers, the
Bahiha-Samdansha and Antaha-Samdansha, the Prince wondered if he should
reevaluate his estimation of her experience.

Her attentions were exquisite.  With baited breath the Prince filled his senses
with the girl's tender ministrations.  She squeezed the head of his penis
between those soft lips, now and again flicking it with her tongue.  Then she
would let it dip inside her hot, moist mouth and squeeze his shaft with the
o-ring of her lips.  This was slow torture, the deliberate slowness only adding
to the delight he felt.

As he stood, towering over the kneeling girl as she pleasured him, he struggled
to focus on the Tantric pattern.  What would come next?  He could not remember,
but the girl knew.  He smiled at the fierceness of her tiny, sharp suckings, at
the touch of her pursed lips up and down his length.  Chumbitaka, he thought,
the Kissing.  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he admired her
thoroughness.  I must remember to thank her teacher, he thought to himself,
whoever she may be.

Suddenly she took him deep inside her mouth.  The Prince gasped in the shock of
her passionate movement and increased suction.  His arousal, which had been
building slowly and pleasantly, leapt as she attacked him with ferocity.  So
now I am the mango, he thought.  Never had he experienced the Amrachushita, the
Mango-Sucking, with such intensity before.  He could feel the unbearable
pressure building in his loins, and knew he would be done for in scant moments.

His blood screaming within him, the Prince gently placed a hand on the girl's
bobbing forehead and disengaged himself from her mouth.  The girl looked up at
him in surprise and, he thought, some irritation.

"What is amiss, O Greah Rajah?" she asked with some asperity.  "Has your
servant offended you in some way?"

The Prince chuckled.  "No," he responded.  "I doubt I could find one who could
offend me less than you, Little One."  He curled one finger under her chin and
tilted it upwards so that he could look into her deep, dark eyes.  "But I would
not have this wonder end so soon," he said in a soft voice.  The Prince sank to
his knees, matching the girl's posture as he kneeled opposite her.  He leaned
forward and lightly placed his lips on hers, which were still slick from her
worship of his lingam.  They kissed deeply for a long moment, savoring each
other.

The Prince pulled away, but only a few inches.  "I would taste more than just
your mouth," he murmured huskily.  The girl stared for a moment, and then
caught his meaning.  Her lips parted and she looked deeply into his eyes,
trapped by what she saw within them.  Then she blinked to clear the image from
her vision, and smiled at him wistfully.  She looked at him, her gaze full of
tenderness and gratitude, her eyes glistening.

"Oh, Great Rajah," she whispered.  "Truly you are the most wondrous of men!" 
He narrowed his eyes skeptically.  He started to speak, but the girl put a
finger to his lips to stop him.  "Do not think me ungrateful that I refuse,"
she said.  "I hunger for the Quivering Kiss, for the Circling of your Tongue,
for the gentle touch of your lips on my Yoni."  She breathed in raggedly, and
the Prince could see that she spoke the truth.  "I live for the moment when the
Mighty One bestows such favors on a mere servant.  But not tonight," she
continued.  "I do not wish to be...distracted from the pleasure of my most
wondrous Prince on this night."

They held each other's gaze in silence, and then the Prince reached out and
lightly ran the backs of two fingers down the girl's cheek.  He continued,
caressing her neck, the valley between her naked breasts.  His fingers traced
the curve of her belly, touched at the jewel that adorned her belly button, and
stopped at the band of pearls that encircled her waist.  Then, slowly and
deliberately, he moved aside the veils that covered her nether portions and
reached beneath them.  As his fingers grazed the damp tuft of her silky hair
the girl gasped, and then she moaned as he expertly parted her hidden lips and
probed briefly between them.  The Prince withdrew his fingers and held them up
before his eyes.  In the soft, rich candlelight they gleamed, glistening with a
thin coating of her.  Looking straight into her eyes the Prince brought his
slick fingers to his mouth and took a small taste, and smiled.  The girl made a
small "ah!" and then grasped his hand between her own.  She pulled his hand to
her and leaned forward to take his damp fingers into her own mouth.  She sucked
greedily at them, licking her juices off, and then passionately attacked his
mouth with her lips and tongue and teeth.

"Now, Mighty Rajah!" she demanded.  "Please -- I cannot bear this any longer!"

Neither could the Prince.

_______________________________


Concluded in #2/2

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