The night of love of the beautiful Rajput princess.
Act III of an erotic tale taking place in Rajasthan
I speak to her softly, words she does not understand. I speak to her slowly, looking into her eyes, chastely touching her to avoid scaring her away, playing with the glittering jewels that embellish her forearms: the bracelets of gold, the silvery springs, the hoops of hemp and bone, the jewels encrusted with ruby and diamonds suspended with complex assemblies of rings, bracelets charm which swivel under the call of my fingers and sound like small plaintive bells. She looks at me without understanding, without detaching her eyes from me, shy but almost conquered, she relaxes and let herself go gently, little tamed animal or a clever courtesan.
I caress her softly, without precipitating my gestures, smoothing her long ebony fleece under my impetuous fingers brushing the roundness of her coppery flesh
from shoulders to the hip,
I let them be installed there on these large and comfortable supports, like anxious instruments of conquest. She does not react, her eyelids drop slightly, she slowly opens her mouth, she lay her hands on my thighs and lets herself slide on me into a gesture of complete abandonment. I hear the complaints of the canopy bed which throne in the center of the vast bedroom of the Jag Mandir.
like a docile servant. I surveyed her body as a skillful traveler awakening in her unsuspected shivers.
Like a slave, I obeyed the least of her desires, accelerating the skillful gestures to magnify the spasms of her body, modulating the complaints that escaped from her throat, slipping my fingers, than my mouth, over her conquered flesh tracing mysterious furrows that ignited my senses, her delirious passion.
She groaned, she cambered, she twisted with pleasure, she gently handled my lingham, without never letting suspects her state of neophyte or experienced courtesan. The exacerbated explosion of the sexual pleasure with this woman, did never let me guess it expressed ecstasies of a beginner or pleasures entertained by use.
She was beautiful, and satisfy. Little princess now ready to serve her new master according to the law of Manu. Was she one of them, daughter of those courageous women whose names are engraved on the satis of the Maharanas in the village of Ahar, immolated alive in the flame, they accompanied that way the sacrifice of their husbands to the defense of the fatherland against the invader.
I saw her disappear slowly towards the place where her multicolored clothing's lay scattered on the shiny pavement of the Jag Mandir.
She threaded them one by one, with slow and elegant gestures. A tiny underwear of lace which hardly veil her vagina still half-opened, alluring baggy pants of white satin, an impudent cholis supporting her milky breasts and which revealed her smooth belly to the navel, a lengthy and complicated sari trimmed with fringes of glittering gildings, deployed in loosely folds from shoulders to ankles, a orhni of diaphragm fabric covering her head and unfolded to the birth of her hips,
she then tied with application a fine silver chain extending from behind her left ear to an imposing gold ring inlayed with invaluable jewels suspended from one of her nostril, she finally fixed with great care a curious little filigree jewel on her forehead, she was beautiful in her young bride clothing, she was really the young and lovely Rajput bride.
This morning at the time of my departure, she was there
wearing the same clothing, the same invaluable jewels, she accompanied my host. The prince greeted me affectionately of a namaskar by joining together the palms of his hands. She had not raised her eyes on me.
Later when contemplating the Taj Mahal, jewel built by Shah Jahan for his beloved wife
Mumtaz Mahal, I could not refrain from remembering the strange night of love with the lovely
Rajput bride hidden forever in my memories of Rajputana.
Marco Polo or the imaginary journy (Contes et légendes, août 1996, translated from french, 1998) © 1996 Jean-Pierre Lapointe
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