His Little Courtesan (15 page)

His
ability to manipulate his form in the slow, acrobatic poses of the yogi
hypnotized her. She had seen a yoga master before, but never one so magnificent
in the smooth current of physical unity that submerged the beauty of each
individual part of his physique. She held her breath, hypnotized by his sheer
physical presence as she watched each rippling muscle flow like the graceful
ribbon of water from the fountain behind him. More impressive even than the
artistic grace was the power of his masculinity, which flared from his body
like a firestorm from the surface of the sun.

Jane
hunkered behind the dense foliage, feeling very much like a voyeur as a jolt of
purely sexual energy tore through her body. The insides of her thighs were
instantly kissed by the first creamy signs of her voyeuristic interest, and she
struggled against the indecency of her need to continue watching. The yogi's
movement reminded her of the imperceptible opening of a flower—almost as
though his body had somehow learned how to slow down the streams of time. Had
she not seen his original position, and recognized the significant difference
between that and his final pose, she would have questioned whether he had moved
at all.

When he
finally raised his head again, his dark brown eyes came to rest in the
direction of her hiding place for a fraction of an instant, and he allowed the
corners of his mouth to rise slightly in an almost imperceptible smile. Jane
turned her back to him, leaning against the trunk of tree, and panted with a
knot of anticipation growing in her chest. She had never lusted after anyone
other than Philip and felt both excitement and shame in how her body responded
to the stranger's primal sexuality. She had two choices—to continue to
view the man's sensuality from behind the veil of leaves and shame herself with
her lust, or to flee in obedience and not permit herself satisfaction. She
chose the latter.

Aware of
only the sounds of her footfalls and heaving for breath in the hot, humid air,
Jane ran along the path and into the house. Without pausing, she raced into
Philip's study and collided into his arms.

"Janie?
Are you well?" her handsome husband asked, as he held her shaking body
close to his. "Are you injured?"

"I
saw a master yogi," she panted, crushing her cheek to his chest. "I
was practicing my meditation and skills as you had requested, and heard the
sound of chanting. I followed the path to the grounds temple where a festival
was being held. Oh, Philip, beg your forgiveness! My thoughts were indecent as
I watched him. I fled when the desire lit inside me. Please forgive me."

"Your
thoughts are your own, my darling," Philip said gently, lifting his chin
to face him. "Did you bring yourself to pleasure?"

"No,
Philip," she answered, lowering her red face.

"Did
you wish to?"

"Yes.
I am sorry."

"Jane?
Look at me." His low voice was soft, caressing and slightly husky, as a
notable erection began to alter the tailoring of his trousers. "You have
no need to apologize. You obeyed me by not pleasuring yourself, and you came to
me with your need. Because of that, you will be rewarded."

"Rewarded?"

He
smoothed his hand down her cheek and rested it on her throbbing breast, then
began to slowly unbutton her tunic with practiced ease. The deliberate leisure
with which he was disrobing her caused her to moan; the sensation punctuated
with his delicate little nibbles at the nape of her neck. He lowered her to the
thick, soft carpet and sat across from her with his knees touching hers, then
closed his eyes while slowly and deliberately inhaling. She gasped as a hot
current of sensation arced between them, and fought the growing urge to grab
his rigid cock in her hands and plunge it into her ravenous womanhood. Every
nerve in her body longed to pounce upon it, to empty him until he was sapped of
his juices and they were both left drained.

Philip
had other plans. The masterful and delicate teasing of his fingers and his
careful probing were meant to inspire a slow growing chain reaction, designed
to drive her to the source of all sensation within.

The
opening of her tunic and a shock of cool air hitting the surface of her
tingling breasts made it seem as though Philip had a thousand fingers; yet he
had still not touched her. Once her bare breasts were exposed, he began to blow
ever so lightly in little circular patterns over the two deep pink aureoles.
Her nipples spiked and hardened in response, reaching out in fervent need for
the touch of his fingertips.

The
sound of the temple music drifted through the open windows and filled every
corner of the room. "Dear Lord!" she moaned, throwing her head back
to offer the full length of her throat and chest to him, and invite further
tantalizing meanderings. "Do I hear chanting? The music was your doing,
wasn't it?" she gasped, feeling her breath being pulled from her lungs.

Philip
responded by tracing a wispy trail of warm air along the length of her neck and
down the valley between her peaked breast. Her nipples awakened to stand like
soldiers against the thrilling sensations created by the breeze of his mouth.

"Please,
Philip, I beg you to ease my suffering. I will do whatever you wish of me if
only you will allow me release. Bring me to pleasure before I explode! "

"I
will," he murmured, pausing briefly as he trailed his breath down a
scintillating path to her navel. "When we are both ready."

Jane
groaned as the feelings raged through her starving body in a surging tide of
yearning. Her distended nipples rose and fell with her heaving breasts, crying
out for the crushing attention of a hot, wet mouth and strong, demanding lips.
His breath caressed her, teasing her with the promise of greater delicious
torment delivered by magical fingers and an enormous, ravenous cock.

Shrugging
the tunic from her shoulders, Jane stretched her back across the carpet and
soundlessly invited him to use her body for his pleasure.

In one
swift motion, Philip reached under her waistband and yanked the loose pyjama
pants down below her knees. He raised himself over her body and locked her in a
full embrace, melding her to his chest with fiery fingers pressing upon her
back. Closing her eyes to inhale his scent and losing herself in the
hypnotizing music that bathed her senses, Jane felt him shift his body as he
stripped himself of the confines of clothing.

"Open
your eyes," he commanded, hovering over her like a hungry tiger waiting to
devour his prey. The afternoon light streamed through the windows and cast
shadows over the peaks and canyons of her breasts, the flat plain of her tummy,
and the naked delta that led inexorably to the cavern of her longing. The
shadows themselves were an aphrodisiac, luring her senses to respond to the
combination of purity and sexual power that emanated from his body over hers.
Slowly, she responded with the spreading of her thighs, offering an invitation
to be plundered by his solid rod of flesh that bobbed impatiently against his
stomach; tilting her pelvis towards him in a silent plea to bring an end to the
sweet torture.

 
Philip explored the lines of the shadows
that danced over her body with his fingers, tracing a delicate, lacy path to
encircle her breasts, over her quivering belly, and through the indentation of
her navel—dragging it in delicious agony to the moist pool of her sex.
Her breath quickened as he made a passing stroke along the trembling rim of her
swelling, neglected clit and she groaned as he brought a damp finger to his
mouth.

He
murmured, "Honey of the Gods," before duplicating the tantalizing
stroke, igniting her body once again with his marvelous fingers. Jane writhed
and thrashed under him, tossing her head from side to side as an outlet for the
tumultuous sexual energy that he was mining from her very core.

"Breathe…"
he coached, touching her again with the delicacy of a fluttering butterfly
wing; lingering over her breasts while gently pulling and rolling her nipples
between his thumb and forefinger. She obeyed, practicing the tantric art taught
by Usha—imagining that her breath was drawn not just through her lungs,
but through the entirety of her body. This breathing radiated through her in a
suffused glow, enhancing both her desire and her control. She reached to wrap
her hand around his velvety, pulsing phallus, and stroked the surface with the
pads of her fingers.

She
caressed the gleaming head before trailing lightly along the sensitive skin of
his scrotum, awakening him with her touch.

Shifting
from the languorous tempo of his gentle caresses to a more insistent, stronger
contact, he sank his mouth onto her straining breast and suckled greedily,
pausing briefly to roll a hardened nipple between tongue and teeth. With a
primal growl in response to his amazing mouth, Jane wrapped her ankles around
the firm muscles of his ass. She used her legs to pull him into her, guiding
the glistening tip of his cock against the tingling skin of her outer labia.
Her bare womanly lips parted slightly, and reached for him with a promise of
hot refuge. Without hesitation, he drove his powerful rod straight into the
depths of her hungry vault, stroking the length of her smoldering channel with
smooth, demanding plunges.

He
reached his hands to either side and grabbed her ankles, unwrapping them from
around his thighs. Carefully, he urged her newly discovered flexibility to a
different dimension and brought them high over her head, with orders for her to
hold her legs in place. Folded in half, her arms wrapped around her knees as
she pressed the hot flesh to her face, Jane allowed him unimpeded access to her
glazed slit. With a grunt, he immediately slid further inside… until she felt
his cock reach its supreme depth, permitting his abdomen to press heavily
against the fully exposed flesh of her aching pussy.

"Breathe,"
Philip urged again. "Release yourself to me."

The
lyrical chanting continued to fill the room, bringing with it memories
encircling the soothing sounding of the flowing river, the fluttering shadows
and rays of light, the scent of cardamom and cinnamon, and the white heat of
Philip's attention. Together, they merged with the powerful, incessant rhythm of
his unassailable body, transporting Jane through a whirl of time, space, and
sensation.

The
flame inside of her roared as he plunged back and forth, with his belly
tickling and teasing her pulsating clit until a cascade of pure release
descended upon her like a crashing waterfall. Jane's eyes rolled to the back of
her head as she felt her soul turn to vapor, and she clutched him to her chest
with a grip that threatened never to be released. He joined her, gasping out
his own climax with an explosion of breath that bathed her in the glory of his
exertion.

She
opened her eyes to witness the expression of pure, transcendent ecstasy on his
face, then closed them again as she welcomed his collapse into her open arms.

When
they awoke, the shadow of the setting sun had painted the room a deep,
crimson-gold.

"Do
you know what this color reminds me of?" Philip asked, nestling Jane under
his protective arm.

Jane
just smiled and nuzzled happily against him, feeling peace at last.

"Rise and shine, my darling. A special day awaits
us."

Jane grumbled, hiding her head under a pillow.
"Is that your daily greeting to me now? I am so sore."

"You will loosen up with more practice,"
Philip chuckled. "It is time we got some fresh air. Quickly, now."

"Philip? It's raining," Jane lifted her
weary head to look at the drops splattering against the window.

"You love the rain. You have been a remarkable
student and have learned your lessons well, so I think it's time that you are
further rewarded for your work. Let's take a walk."

"In the rain?"

"In the rain."

Jane sat up, wincing at the ache in her protesting
body. Three days of lovemaking, tantric breathing, and trying to find positions
that were comfortable for her body, had been exhausting in the best way
possible. She felt well-used and well-loved.

Philip handed her a simple white dress.

"What is this? It looks like a nightgown for a
toddler." Jane wrinkled her forehead in confusion.

"My little girl needs to be able to play in the
rain and not be hampered by clothing."

Jane grinned, slipping the dress over her head and
turning her back for him to tie the wide ribbon around her waist. She had
missed 'Papa' in the recent 'grown up' activities of their bedroom. "My
hair, Papa?"

"What about it?"

Jane pouted. "It's a mess and needs
brushing."

Philip ruffled the red nest over her face. "It certainly
does. Where is your hairbrush?"

"In the bureau, I believe."

Jane missed the hint of mischief in Philip's eyes when
he retrieved the wide, boar-bristled brush that she had had since childhood. He
balanced it in his hands, admiring the raised, intricate carvings of birds,
flowers and nuts on the back.