American Mom is blessed by an Indian Goddess, Well, now for some completely different! I have always enjoyed stories from our fellow writers from India, especially those who have approached incest from almost a mystical/religious aspect. It has long been on my mind to create a story in homage and appreciation to our Indian writers. Finally, here it is. I hope it is enjoyed and that I haven’t trampled on anyone’s faith. I’m sure it is rife with geographical and theological errors and I pray I haven’t offended anyone. I look forward to everyone’s comments. Enjoy!
Oh, and as always, this is a work of fiction. All characters exist only in my imagination and any coincidence is purely accidental.
*
BEHOLD — YOU ARE THE CHOSEN OF DANTESHWARI. EMBRACE THE BLESSINGS AND THE REBIRTH SHE OFFERS YOU NOW. OPEN YOUR HEART AND NOW LOVE FOR ALL ETERNITY. ACCEPT THE SACRED GIFTS OF LOVE AND FAMILY AND BE AS ONE. YOU ARE THE BLESSED OF DANTESHWARI!
The words are spoken by a voice so beautiful, it almost makes one weep with joy to hear it. I am in a warm, safe place. Mist seems to roil around me, but there is a presence — someone standing before me. I am in a prone position and I suddenly realize that I am terribly aroused. Between my legs, I am moist and feverish. It is all I can do to not fling my pelvis upwards, seeking something to bring me relief. I am wearing a gauzy material wrapped around me, but allowing me to reveal my nakedness beneath and to show my sex, flowered and glistening, ready for love.
A shadowy body moves in the mist. I suddenly see a cock, long and thick, beautiful to behold. I look up, but I do not see a face. Still, I want him — I want it. I offer myself up to him, thrusting my pubic mound forward, suddenly aching to have him. I squint, seeking his face as that lovely cock comes closer and closer. Scant inches away I can feel his need, his desire, his heat mixing with mine to become a fiery blaze. The words come again, “ACCEPT THE SACRED GIFTS OF LOVE AND FAMILY AND BE AS ONE. YOU ARE THE BLESSED OF DANTESHWARI!” I can almost feel the head of the cock beginning to brush my slick labia and…
I sit upright in my bed, my heart is pounding and I can scarcely breathe. “Noooo,” I sigh. I look around and I can see Joseph asleep under the sheet next to me. It is a hot night and I can feel the humid air wrap around me like a thick, sodden blanket. I can hear animal and insect noises coming from the forest. I realize that I am very horny. The ache between my legs is almost unbearable. That was such a weird dream! I have never had such an erotic dream — so intense and so real!
I turn and cuddle up to my husband. I kiss the nape of his neck and as I whisper, “Joseph, love me. I need you to love me,” I drape my arm over his body and slip my fingers into his underwear. I wrap my hand around his cock and stroke it gently. “Wake up and love me, honey.”
My husband swims up out of sleep and makes a ‘Hurumph’ noise and pushes my arm away from him. “Darling, please — I want you to make love to me,” I say, hating to hear the pleading in my voice.
“Christine, it’s the middle of the night,” My husband growls in a sleepy voice. “You’re too old for such foolishness. I’ve got to be up early for goodness sakes.” He scoots away from me and burrows his head deeper in the pillows. For a moment, I want to argue with him, but I open and then close my mouth. I try and ignore the hurt I feel and I quietly slip out of bed and pad quietly out of the room and down to the bathroom.
There is a window in there that I have often found myself standing at in the early hours just before sunrise. When the dawn comes, the sun begins to illuminate the forest — jungle really, that surrounds our village. It is beautiful and it is at that those moments than I am truly glad to be in India.
Joseph and I are missionaries. We’ve been in India for almost fifteen years. We have lived and worked in this small village in the Bastar District in the state of Chhattisgavh. For Joseph, it is his calling — his work, although I don’t he’s ever been truly happy here. He has had little success in converting the local peoples, although they tolerate his efforts very politely and patiently. Our son, Jeff has lived here since he was three years old. It is really the only world he has ever known and he tells me he wants to live here forever, despite the attractions and bright lights of America that he knows of from our periodic visits home.
I run a school here. There has been some friction between Joseph and me for a long time in that while his church has languished, my school has thrived. Over the years, I know that I’ve helped pave the way for many a child from our village to lead a better life.
And over the years, I have come to love India. In truth, although I sometimes get homesick for the United States, like my son, I too believe I could live out my life here. There is something magical and powerful about this land — something ancient and majestic that calls out to me, that has captured my heart. I was raised a Christian and still believe in God, but I quickly became enraptured in this place where religious toleration is so vital to much of its culture. Its easy acceptance of polytheism has entranced me — there is room for my God, but room for so much else as well.
My life would be a very good one except that my marriage to Joseph has turned to ashes over the years we have lived here. My husband was once a passionate lover and we enjoyed each other’s company for many years, but as India seemed to awaken and expand my reality, Joseph seems to have shrunk in body and in spirit. I cannot honestly recall the last time we made love — honest, true passionate love.
Still, as barren as that part of my life is, I feel fortunate. I have a wonderful, healthy son who has a good heart, I have my school and I have made many friends here in the village. My roots have sunk deep here. The villagers take me as one of their own, accepting this blonde, forty-six year old woman as if I were born here.
As I watch the dawn approach, my mind again turns to my erotic dream and to that perfectly formed cock. Just picturing it in my mind makes me wet between my legs. Standing beside the window, I slip my fingers through the waistband of my panties and into my furry bush, finding my slippery labia lips and spreading them apart.
As I have done many times in the years since Joseph misplaced his ardor, I begin to masturbate, imagining that long, thick penis inside me, fucking me, making me moan! I plunge fingers in and out of my pussy, clinging to the window sill with my other hand. As the heat of pleasure grows between my legs, I let my imagination build a body around that hard penis. It is muscular, a young man’s body, strong — capable of taking control of me, mastering me, making me — yes, making me orgasm!
I try and stifle my cries of pleasure as I begin to tremble, two fingers plunged deep in my pussy while my thumb feathers over my engorged clitoris, fanning the flames and taking me over the edge. I close my eyes, seeing myself kissing that young man’s chest, licking his nipples as he makes me cum, filling me with his fiery seed. He seems so familiar.
Pages:
[