Discovering Kama Sutra

D

Of course I had heard the name Mallinaga Vatsyayana countless times before I entered the house, starting work as a serving girl, and not always in the warmest of terms.

“That young dreamer,” scoffed the old gossips of Benares, “thinks he’s writing the secret to spiritual enlightenment. Well, so he says, and if he really believes it, more fool him.”

“Calls himself a writer,” others frowned disapprovingly, “he’s besmirching the paper he writes on.”

“Sacrilege,” spat the Hindu priests, averting their eyes in disgust as he passed, “simply sacrilege.”

My own family warned me when I took the job that he was not a man of good reputation. “He’s not the sort of man a nice girl ought to be associated with,” my mother said anxiously. “You should hear the things they’re saying in the village.”

“What things?” I asked. But nobody ever quite said. All I knew was that Mallinaga Vatsyatana’s ‘masterpiece’ was either the butt of everyone’s jokes or the source of their deep-seated disapproval. Still, the only thing I knew for sure was that he was a writer, and he was willing to pay me to bring him meals and sweep his floors, so I took the job. He was a man of education and philosophy – how shocking could his mysterious writings really be?

I have to admit I entered his house with some trepidation after what I had heard in the village, but he was nothing out of the ordinary. Tall and lean, with deep, gentle eyes and a kind, slightly absent-minded smile, he looked exactly like a philosopher should.

“Your duties will speak for themselves,” he told me when I arrived. “If something is dirty, clean it. If I call you, answer me and do as I ask. Can you read, girl?”

I shook my head.

“What a pity – but I dare say you might have an appreciation for the spiritual, if properly instructed. My work is little appreciated for its true nature.”

“What is your work?” I asked, burning with curiosity to know what it was which met with such strong reactions from everyone I knew.

“It is about a way of living higher and more spiritual than most can grasp,” he replied.

It sounded dull and far beyond my knowledge or understanding. But how could such a thing lead to such censure? My curiosity was not remotely sated by this vague reply.

The house was large and opulent, but the other servants were hushed on the topic of his work, shaking their heads when I brought it up, indulgent of the whims of their master but slightly disapproving, even embarrassed. I realised that if I were ever to find out what it was he was writing, I would have to do it alone. I had not been working in the house for more than a few days before I found an opportunity to enter Mallinaga’s chamber, under the pretence of dusting if anyone came to disturb me. It was late in the evening, and I had heard no sound of scratching quill for hours. I was sure that my master must have retired for the night. Noiselessly pushing open the door, my vision was immediately captured by sheaves and sheaves of parchment spread out on the desk. Tightly-knit writing, unintelligible to me, was crammed into every inch of available space, so that barely any of the original white remained. Stacks of notes were piled high, ink and quills were jumbled into a little pot in the centre. The sheer quantity of the work was astonishing. But, when I drew closer to examine the papers more carefully, what made me gasp were the pictures.

All were of men and women, naked, most of them contorted into strange and obscene positions. Was it a torture manual? But then I looked closer. The nearest picture showed a woman, her back arched, her legs bent beneath her so that the back of her head rested on her feet, thighs apart, and a man, on his knees, supporting the arch of her back as he penetrated her. My eyes widened. These pictures were – the priests had been right, this was forbidden, it was wrong! But why, then, did I feel my flesh getting warm, my nether regions moistening with arousal?

“Are you going to censure me too?”

I actually screamed at the sound of Mallinaga’s voice, low and despondent, coming from a darkened corner of the room. I whipped around and saw him watching me, his chin on his palms, frowning, preoccupied.

“I- I was-”

“Curious, I expect. And now you’re horrified. I’m a pervert in your eyes.”

“No!” The word came out of my mouth before I could consider what my true feelings were. “Well I- I was shocked,” I confessed. “I’ve never seen such things done before.”

“And? Do you believe that there can be a spiritual level to such things?”

I stared. Why was he asking me, a serving girl, such questions?

“Erotic pleasure is a desire we all have. To repress it is nonsensical. To embrace it can be dangerous – but with my work, I can find ways to harness it, to bring spiritual completion, how to make something which so many people think of as base and crude into something profound, something beyond temporal comprehension.”

I didn’t know what to say. I only understood half the words issuing from his lips. He was clearly agitated, frustrated at people misunderstanding him. I couldn’t lie – I was also shocked, scandalised even. But I was also strangely excited, my heart thudding in my chest, my thighs moist, my breasts tingling. Knowing that I shouldn’t, half of me incredulous at my own behaviour, I took a step forward and boldly took one of his hands, placing it over my left breast.

“I’m just a simple girl,” I said. “I don’t understand concepts like that. But you could show me.”

“You – you mean,” Mallinaga looked at me with his dark, sincere eyes.

“I want you to take me,” I whispered, dragging his hand down my body until it was between my thighs. The material of my dress hindered us, but I knew he could still feel the heat radiating from my arousal.

“This isn’t just carnal pleasure,” he assured me. “This is something more. This is tapping into a higher power. I’ll show you what I mean. Yes, that’s the best way, I’ll show you!”

The pictures flashed before my eyes again and doubt tugged at me – was any of this really more than just lust and desire? But those emotions overwhelmed my doubts as Mallinaga grabbed my waist, hoisting me up and pushing me backwards onto his desk, scattering the lewd, carefully inked drawings onto the floor, quills toppling from their jug and skittering across the desk as they caught my elbow. Before I could orient myself, my skirts had been pushed up over my thighs, bunching around my stomach, and Mallinaga’s hands were peeling off my undergarments, tossing them carelessly on the floor. I knew a little of the pleasures of men – there had been flirtation, and the occasional kisses, wandering hands and hastily shed clothing bringing tastes of forbidden delights, but never before had I felt the strong, burning lust conjured by the hot pant of a man’s breath on my exposed sex.

I let my head roll back as I felt his warm, wet tongue gently probing my glistening folds, tasting my arousal, just penetrating my lips. It was sinful, it was wrong, but it felt so good. My back arched as he penetrated further, stroking his clever tongue over the entire length of my cunt before fastening his lips around my clitoris. He sucked, pulling it into his mouth, and gently took it between his teeth, teasing it so lightly that the pleasure was agonising but not nearly enough, nowhere near to satisfying me.

“Harder,” I moaned, and felt suddenly ashamed, disgusted that I was acting like a wanton whore. But the feeling was immediately dissolved in a renewed wave of pleasure as he nipped down on my bud, sending a wave of pleasure so sharp that it was almost like pain. Biting my lips to stop myself screaming, it took me a few moments to notice that whilst his teeth and tongue were teasing and torturing my clitoris, he had put two fingers inside me, and was pumping them in a slick rhythm in and out, giving the exquisite sensations a deeper, more profound base, keeping rhythm with the throbbing, pulsing desire thrumming inside me.

Was this really something spiritual? Was this a desire that I should be embracing? Was I really seeing the work of a genius in practice? Or was I just another woman giving way to her vices? The thoughts whirled half-formed through my head as I rode the mounting ecstasy, savouring the ever-harder thrusts of his fingers, reaching in as far as they could and scraping down my walls, blunt nails digging and dragging inside me, the pain-tinged pleasure sending all my inhibitions to scatter on the floor with the papers. Suddenly the gentle teasing of my swollen bud was replaced by his hand, thumb and forefinger pinching and pulling, slightly too hard for comfort, but that only increased the intensity of the sensation. His tongue moved downwards, pushing its way entirely inside me, licking and caressing, pushing me apart, marking out every crevice and sending me tumbling, falling uncontrollably into an orgasm so powerful it felt as though my soul had left my body. As the white light faded from my eyes I realised I was sobbing, and Mallinaga was embracing me, stroking my hair comfortingly. I clung to him, the shuddering of my body slowly fading as my breathing returned to normal.

“Was it too much for you?” he asked gently. “How did it feel?”

“Like – like the world was ending,” I gasped. But part of me was screaming no! It was flesh and flesh, nothing more, and I shouldn’t have done it. That part of me was quiet, though, next to the part which could feel his flesh warm and firm against mine, feel the evidence of his own arousal against my bare thigh. “I – should I -?” My question was unfinished, but it was nevertheless answered.

“That was only the beginning of the lesson,” Mallinga promised. “Come. He took my hands and pulled me upright. Before I had a chance to react, he was kissing me, not bruising and passionate as I would have expected, but lingering and gentle, coaxing open my lips and pressing his tongue lightly against mine, caressing it, encouraging me into response. After the intense, wild completion I had just experienced, the kiss was stirring the embers of the fire and coaxing them into flames once more. I allowed him to explore deeper into my mouth, and in turn I moved my tongue against his, caressing the roof of his mouth, tracing the line of his teeth, tasting my own essence on his tongue. The flavour of myself was strangely arousing, a powerful drug which we were both tasting. I wanted to be closer to him, moulded to his body until there was no space between us. I pressed my form against him, feeling the toned muscle of his chest, the comforting broadness of his shoulders, and his arousal, standing rigidly to attention, promising me that there was so much more to come.

He pulled away slightly and I knew I should feel relieved, knew that I had disgraced my virtue enough for one night for the sake of consoling my master, but the only relief I felt was when he shrugged off his shirt and embraced me once more, unlacing my dress so that it slid from my body. I kicked it off from around my ankles and pressed my skin to his, feeling him smooth, heated and eager against me. He pushed me back on the desk again, giving me one last, searing kiss before laying me flat on my back, legs draped over the side, his palms pushing my breasts, kneading and squeezing, thumbs finding my nipples and teasing them into hard nubs.

I gasped as his caresses became rougher, his thumbs squeezing my nipples like a vice, sending sensation shooting through me which I couldn’t identify as pain or pleasure. It was just feeling, and it was wickedly good, warding away my conscience and leaving me craving nothing more than the feelings of desire coursing through my body. At that moment I didn’t care about his reputation or mine, I just wanted him inside me, thick and hot and stretching me around him.

I didn’t have to wait long. Leaning down to put his hot lips to my breasts, my stomach, planting sensuous, open-mouthed kisses on every bit of heated flesh he could find, he took my right leg and hooked it over his shoulder, stroking from thigh to calf and back, firm and slow. It felt like fire and ice everywhere he touched, and I was longing for it to continue. I had never felt such sensations in my life – surely this was what he had been talking about. At this moment I didn’t want to doubt him, not if it meant what we were doing was wrong. It felt so right, so perfect as he pushed himself into me in one fluid thrust, my slick passage making it easy for him to slide himself into me. Bending my leg back at an angle, tilting me slightly off the desk, he withdrew slowly only to thrust again, harder, causing my entire body to arch off the desk in response and then fall back again with a thump. The shock of the impact mingled with the sensation of Mallinaga’s thick cock spearing me, driving into me at an angle that was making me almost blind with pleasure. It felt like my entire body was on fire, the hard wood and the ache of my shoulders as they braced my weight, the angle of my leg as he thrust again and again, all these sensations came together to form one wave of lust which made me hunger for more, wanting it to last forever but needing to feel that sweet, perfect completion.

With a suddenness which left me gasping in defied lust and thwarted pleasure, Mallinaga pulled out, leaving me empty and desperate at the loss. Before I could say or do anything, though, he was flipping me, pushing my breasts against the desk, my prominent hip bones bruising on the hard wood, my arms the only cushion available for my head. The discomfort meant very little to me though, because soon he was in me again, spreading my legs, gripping my thighs and pulling me onto him, over and over, driving deeper and harder than I could have imagined possible, striking that spot inside me which was so desperate to be touched, to be abused. This new angle felt even more sensational than the last, his thick cock stretching my walls wider, further, harder. My entire body rocked with the urgent motions of Mallinaga’s thrusts, rubbing my breasts magnificently against the hard wood.

Perhaps seeing that this added sensation and texture was only adding to my arousal, Mallinaga drove yet further forward, allowing me to hook my legs around his back, linking my ankles just above his buttocks, taking him in as far as I could. He changed the rhythm from hard, needy thrusts to long, fluid motions, exploring the different angles the position allowed, hitting spot after spot inside me with dizzying pleasure, each thrust leaving me quivering and so, so close.

It was almost too much for me when he leant down over me, clothing my body with his, putting his hands under me to cup my breasts, kneading them gently, lovingly. I could feel his stomach, hard and slicked with sweat, pressing against my buttocks, I could hear his breath, panting and ragged, close to my ear. The combination of the sounds of our lust and the feeling of the things his body was doing to me sent me once again over the edge. I clamped down around him and cried out as every nerve in my body seemed to explode, sending jagged stars of pleasure shooting through me. Dimly, through the haze of my bliss, I felt the warm wetness which told me that he had climaxed inside me, my body taking him in and driving him to that same sweet distraction. He remained over me, inside me, covering me as we both recovered, grounding ourselves once more.

It was only once he pulled out and straightened up, maybe moments, maybe minutes later, that I noticed the hard wood of the desk was biting into me, uncomfortable in the extreme. How had I not noticed it? Had I been so wrapped up in pleasure that I hadn’t felt it? Maybe that is what he had meant. Making love – giving in to your erotic desires – for a wonderful moment it had taken me entirely away from the cares of the world, made everything about the pleasure, the quest for completion. I smiled gently as I sat up, feeling certain that I could never regret experiencing such a feeling.

The answering smile on Mallinaga’s face told me that he, too, had found something more from our love-making than mere physical gratification.

“It’s not a matter of what they believe,” he said, half to me, half to himself, standing naked in the room with a pensive look on his face. “I know in myself that I am correct, that I hold the key to something real. You felt it too, didn’t you?”

“I did,” I agreed. “I felt it.”

“Right! There is much to do! I’ll complete my work, if not for others then for myself and for generations of the future. What you’ve given me tonight – not only yourself, but your faith in me – thank you!”

I took his hand, feeling calm and at peace.

“Perhaps you could name it after me,” I joked.

He smiled. “I would love to do you that honour – but my work already has a name – the bond of sexual desire – the Kama Sutra.”

About the author

George B. J. Martin

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