Banging On The Palace On Wheels

Following lunch we were taken in buses for a trip to an open air medieval observatory. After a while my attention flagged. I mean there is just so much of sun dials and their ilk I can take. Despite an interesting narration by an obviously well informed guide, I found myself dragging my feet and at the outer fringes of the flock following him. The faint whiff of a faintly familiar perfume made me aware that my goddess was nearby. I turned around and there she was, right beside me.

"Losing interest in the history of this country that your country ruined, Dr. Hill?"

How could I be goaded by those beautiful brown eyes, or by that aristocratic nose? Oh, how do I fuck you my haughty queen?

"Ruined the country or its history, Mrs. Sapru?" Well at least that got her to laugh. Whether it was at my witty turn of speech or my horrible mispronunciation of her name, who cares? Because if you get a woman to laugh, said an ancient English sage, you have a woman you can fuck. And, of course, it led to an intense tutoring session on pronunciation. We finally decided on sup roo, and ul ka as in ulna.

Just then her daughter caught up with us. Pre ya emerged as the preferred pronunciation of that name. What's in a name anyway - they looked spectacular in their form hugging saris, mother and daughter, with their sculptured midriffs showing, both eminently fuckable, the women not their midriffs. Whereas the mother was graceful and her movements languid, the daughter was coltish and her movements quick and jerky, quite attractive nonetheless.

But I cared not for the daughter, only the mother, at least for the moment. To succeed you have to be goal specific and I wanted to succeed absolutely - for the ghosts of my ancestors; for family, for me, for my legacy in family folklore.

Later we were taken to a carpet making place. We were shown how carpets were made, starting with the raw fiber and ending with the magnificent end product. There was a huge inventory of the finished product and the ladies invited me to join them in their buying spree. I would have gone with them to hell if it meant I could stay in their company.

That is when I discovered that they were loaded with money. They were buying stuff for Pre-ya's new farm house just outside Delhi. I learnt that a 'farm' in modern Delhi had nothing to do with farming whatsoever. They bargained sternly and with authority for each carpet, wearing the seller down a few thousand rupees for each item. But they bought at least a dozen to be shipped directly to Delhi. Translated into pounds I could have afforded one, maybe two, at the most.

The next day the train stopped at Jaislamer, a sleepy town on the edge of the Indian desert. A trip to the town was punctuated by another buying spree by mother and daughter. Original stuff I was told that could not be bought elsewhere. Again it was furnishings for Priya's fabled new farm house.

It turned out that Mr. Sapru was head of one the biggest business houses in India. And his wife and daughter were no wallflowers either. Alka had attended Harvard Business School ( her father had been a bigwig in the Indian Foreign Service) and was on the board of several of the largest manufacturing companies in India.

And her daughter was an MBA from the Indian Institute of Management in Ahmedabad. As Alka put it - why send your child abroad when the best was in India. Priya was the head of a very successful start up company, manufacturing the entire gamut of kitchen appliances adapted to Indian conditions. Goodness gracious, brains and beauty! How on earth was I going to honor my family's tradition? I mean I was brainy enough to match their braininess but clueless as how to achieve my objective of fucking Indian cunt, which to me right now meant fucking Alka's cunt. Oh, what a cunt!

The closest I got to that cunt was holding Alka's hand that night as we all danced in a circle to live music from a band of rustic musicians. It was on the grounds of a luxury hotel, so the band could not have really been that rustic, and the dance was hold the hand of the person next to you and do something with your arms and legs without upsetting the whole circle. It was a warm hand to be sure, but it stayed lifeless and neutral in my hand till it was time to disengage.

That night I invoked the ghosts of Percy and Will and Clarence and all the rest to show me how to fuck my Indian goddess and preserve my family's reputation. Things looked bad, mainly because I was overwhelmed and as I said earlier, clueless. I am neither a slouch nor a sniveling loser. Had this been Britain and I was dealing with a woman born and brought up there I would have found a way to her cunt by now, given our proximity and my burning desire. Had Alka been an Indian working class woman of the nineteenth century or early twentieth century the accumulated advice of my ancestors would have guided me. But this independent, intelligent, extremely rich twenty first century Indian goddess was giving me a permanent hard on, with no clue on how to relieve it.

The next day was Jodhpur, the second biggest city in Rajasthan- another riot of forts and palaces. It was in the palace of the former Maharaja, now a five star hotel that I got my first glimmer of hope. As had now become usual, if three days qualifies as usual, Alka and I spent a lot of time in each other's company.

After lunch we went off together to explore the palace grounds. We walked through the palatial grounds to the open air pool at the edge of a cliff which overlooked the city down below. There was no one in the pool, but I cared not, for following Alka's swishing sari clad behind was heaven. When she leaned over the railing and commented on how beautiful the sight of the city down below was, the sight of her perfect arse straining against her sari had me wanting to lift her sari up and bang her exposed butt right there.

Though it seemed an eternity, it was but an instant before she turned right around and off we went traipsing past acres of manicured lawns back into the belly of the former palace now refurbished as a Taj hotel. I mean literally into the belly - the basement, to inspect the spa. Since there were no customers there at that time, we were taken on a guided tour of the magnificent facilities. Standing beside the rose scented water filled central pool with rose petals liberally strewn on its serene surface, I pictured myself behind Alka, giving it to her energetically as she held on to the edge with both hands, taking my thrusts gracefully and with a smile on her lovely face. That got me all hot and bothered, with nowhere to go.

Just then I felt her hand enclose mine. Unlike last night it was anything but lifeless. Her fingers and thumb played sensuously with mine and then just as suddenly it was over. I turned to find her looking up at me with an enigmatic smile, and walking away.

So what was all that about? I asked myself, as we walked to the bus that would eventually take us back to the Palace on Wheels. Should I test the waters by running my hand over her buttocks or take hold of her hand and squeeze it seductively?

Should I make a move based on my impression that she had sent a clear 'I am interested, come fuck me' signal? I was horny, I wanted this woman, I wanted to fuck her like there was no tomorrow, but I did not want to screw up. What if squeezing my hand was just a gesture of friendship? What if what I thought was a signal that she was ready to be fucked was really an emancipated woman from a different culture telling me she saw a kindred soul?

I decided I would do nothing but just follow that delicious behind back to the bus. And that is what I did. Call me a wimp. But family honor is more important to me than your worthless assessment.

But first the bus took us to an emporium of sorts to buy genuine Indian handicrafts. Once again I was invited to join mother and daughter on their buying spree. Once again I accepted and stared at them with what I thought was well veiled delight as they bargained their way through a mountain of purchases.

I learnt that they had come on this trip on a whimsy. The whole family, both husbands included, was supposed to have gone to an exclusive resort on an Indian Ocean island for much needed vacation. At the last moment, things had happened and both husbands had to go off to different parts of the globe to put out fires. In answer to my question, "How on earth did you get tickets at such short notice for this train?" Alka gave me one of her enigmatic looks. This time I surmised it meant - when you have so much money, the world is your oyster, get with it you English boor.

I got the distinct impression that they had decided to slum it on this Palace on Wheels excursion, to see how lesser mortals lived. It was more of an amusing diversion than anything else. How could I make myself an amusing diversion for this formidable woman? How do I get her to fuck me?

Alka provided the answer.

After we got back to the train, we shared a table for dinner.

By the way, the food on this train was out of this world, delicious. They served what they called Continental, Chinese, or Indian fare. No matter what they called it, it was all mouth-watering. I am partial to Indian fare, having been brought up on Indian takeaways. The Indian food served here was so scrumptious that I was literally salivating for the next course.

Said Alka, seeing me masticating away on Murgh Makhani, using my fingers, " I see, the Englishman is going Native." That was my cue to gush on and on about Indian cuisine, caring not a bit about her attempt at sarcasm.

"Well," she said," I have a book on Rajasthani cooking, that I picked up the other day, complete with illustrations. Would you like to see it?"

Given my present state of gastronomic satisfaction with Indian cuisine there was only one thing I could have said, "Of course." I did not have clue what this Rajasthani cuisine was, except that it sounded Indian.

So after dinner, we lurched our way back to our compartment, as the train reeling from side to side, moved on. Alka picked up the book, which was a glossy, hard bound, coffee table sized book and came to my cabin. We sat side by side on the unoccupied bunk bed and perused that book.

Alka obviously knew a thing or two about the subject. She gave me an in depth analysis of the food, the chefs and the people of Rajasthan. She really held my interest with this commentary, so much so that for a while I forgot my horniness and infatuation with her. But then the top of her sari fell off and exposed the top of her low cut blouse and the soft tops of her breasts. That did it.

From then on my eyes were riveted to those two mounds and the valley in between. And the way they deliciously came to life with movements of her arms.

"Charlie," she said, following my gaze," are you even listening to a word or are you just going to stare at my breasts?"

I should have been embarrassed, but I was not. There was something in the way she said it, that made it less of a rebuke and more of a let's see where this leads to, kind of remark.

I decided to follow my instincts and said," I don't know. What should I do?" And smiled into those beautiful brown eyes.

"You could start by at least being embarrassed."

"Why?"

"Because that is the proper thing to be," and then taking a ninety degree turn as women often do, " Have you been hitting on me?"

An American expression that I could pretend not to understand, "What do you mean?"

"Have you been trying to seduce me?" But of course me lovely, except that I did not have a clue how to.

Aloud, I said, "Of course not, what makes you say that?"

"Nothing tangible, just a feeling."

I was getting somewhere at last. Just do not ruin it, I cautioned myself.

"Did you want to be seduced?" We were sitting so close to each other that I could feel her breath when she turned and looked at me. And she looked at me for some time, before she said," I don't know, but I could be persuaded."

Aha, I thought, aha, now we could be definitely going somewhere. I picked up a magnificently manicured hand and began pressing the sinews in that soft organ.

"Looking for a place to stick a needle in, doctor?" said she, quietly.

"Nope, I am not the needle sticking kind. I am more of the nerve activity mapping kind." And right now all nerves mapped their way to my penis. Because, there is simply nothing more sensual than rubbing the soft hand of a fuckable female. Done right, it hardens the penis to diamond density and softens the female into accepting that dense pole up her vagina. But, maybe not this female, for she just looked at me with an amused expression on her heavenly features.

She said," And that is supposed to seduce me?" but said softly with a voice fraught with tension. Aha, maybe I was getting to her.

I was so close to my goal. So close to fucking Indian cunt, so close to preserving the family's honor, calm down, I told myself, many a slip between cup and lip. Cannot slip up now, I wanted her so much. I wanted to possess her like nobody had before - hold her firmly, rub myself all over her, stick my tongue in her mouth and stick my cock in her cunt and bang her like there was no tomorrow.

So, I gently embraced her like she was a fragile doll, and rubbed my face against hers. She responded by grasping my head in her hands and running her hands through my hair, while her lips grazed my face. And then we were into a mind blowing, soul finding, tongue dueling tongue, kiss, that went on forever.

Now, I knew what I had to do. Now, at last I was in familiar territory. Years of satisfying women and making them mine had prepared me. I knew what I had to do next.

To all you wannabe fuckers out there, I say - get down on your knees and worship the cunt you want to fuck; with your mouth. If you can do that well, the woman who belongs to that cunt is yours forever. And remember to not get too carried away by your ability. For though it is important, it is not everything. It is the sight of the dominant male in a submissive position before her that really gets to a woman. It quixotically brings out the maternal instinct in her. And it is this maternal instinct, no matter what they say to the contrary, that makes women into great fuckers. Or at least that is my theory, and I am sticking to it.

I knelt down in front of her, my knees cushioned by the soft and thick carpet, and gently lifted her sari and form fitting petticoat out of the way, spread her legs, and exposed her designer panties. Softly, I removed them, caressing her legs as I did so, while she watched curiously. Then I parted her legs further and there it was nestling in a trimmed bush, lips glistening - my goal.

It was beautiful, just as I had fantasized it would be these last few eventful days. Gently, I pushed her, indicating that I could gain better access if she lay down, or at least backed up against the side of the coach as far as she could go. I grabbed a pillow and placed it behind her head. Then I brought my mouth to her cunt and grazed my lips from the top to bottom of her mound, followed by licking those delicious fleshy lips alternating with tickling her prominent clitoris. I pushed back her exquisite thighs, exposing her divine cunt some more, and rested her bent legs on my shoulders. Now I penetrated her with my tongue, working it into her cunt, moving it in and out, fucking her with it. And she responded by moving against my tongue and flooding her tunnel with slick fluid.

And then I completely changed direction. I reached back and began playing with her feet (pedicured to perfection), starting at the toes and working my way to her ankles.

Women react differently to this foot massage maneuver. From giggling as they find it ticklish, through complete indifference, to enhanced responsiveness as it hits a definite sensual spot. A thrill ran through Alka's body telling me to which kind she belonged and encouraging me to really get into it.

I extracted my face from her cunt and moved up her body, trapping her bent legs firmly beneath me as I went, till I reached her face. Her mouth accepted mine with eagerness, telling me that she had no problem with the taste of her cunt. My god, my goddess, was turning out to be quite a sensual woman!

Between us we got her blouse and bra out of the way, and at last I could feast on those gorgeous orbs in their native, naked glory. Light brown nipples that sprang to attention at the slightest teasing of my tongue. I could have stayed there forever, for her hands had found my head and held it in a vice grip.

My hands had found her cunt down below. Two fingers were sawing in and out of her vagina, while a thumb encouraged her clitoris. But we had to move on, move on to the main event. So I removed my fingers from her cunt and stood up, preparatory to getting my clothes off and getting down to the nitty gritty of fucking her, of fucking Indian cunt in India.

The time spent in preparation for this main event had served me well, for she stayed in that bent up position. The only change was that her fingers had replaced mine and she was now playing shamelessly with her cunt, as I got up and quickly divested myself of all my garments.

"Big one," she muttered appreciatively, when my excited member came into view. Well, maybe slightly longer than your average white English penis, it was its width that was impressive and the helmet or glans most impressive. Most women I had fucked had difficulty accommodating it and very few would even attempt to take it up their arse holes. Razia was one who did, I remembered fondly. Repeatedly at that! My god that girl was something else. And now she was getting fucked by an undeserving Pakistani.

But to heck with her and onto this exquisite creature spread out in a seductive, fuckable pose in front of me. She occupied the bed, breadth wise, her legs bent, her cunt at the edge. So, after I had rid myself of all my clothes, I stood up on bent legs to get both our sexual organs aligned.

Just then I came to my senses," I do not have a condom," I gasped. She shrugged her shoulders and screwed her face into the international expression of 'who cares'.

"Have you got one?" I asked. "No," she said tersely, and waited. What the heck, take a chance, Charlie boy, I thought. My desire to fuck her, trumped my caution.

I inserted my cock slowly, and patiently worked it into that slick tunnel. She was tight or I was really big for her because the process took a long time. A deliciously long time!

Finally I was sunk in to the root.

I had arrived! I had done it! I had pronged an Indian cunt within the time limit. I let out a sigh of relief and lowering my lips to hers, sealed the moment with a soul searching, mind boggling, tongues entwining kiss. Then I rose up in preparation of a merciless hammering and roughly got hold of her perfect breasts after lifting her legs over my shoulders and parting them as far as they could go. This was my triumphal moment. I was transformed. I felt like Caesar entering Rome, like Napoleon at Austerlitz.

Briefly, I looked down and met her eyes and saw the pained expression in them. Quickly, I averted my eyes, squeezed her breasts savagely and watched my prick withdraw till only the tip was in and then I rammed it back in, all the way back, forcing my way into her grudgingly yielding vagina, with her legs all bent offering her cunt shamelessly. This was all about me and my family's quest, at least for the moment. I lowered myself back on her, my arms pushing her legs, forcibly keeping them way apart. I took hold of her head firmly in my hands and forced my tongue into her mouth.

In honor of the moment the train had picked up speed. This meant it lurched a great deal from side to side. And since she was lying across the tracks, in a manner of speaking, I discovered the real joy of fucking in a train. If I timed it right, I could move in just as the train thrust her at me, enabling me to reach her depths with ease and elicit appreciative gasps from her. And vice versa as it took her away from me.