“The cows have come and have brought us good fortune. In our stalls, contented, may they stay! May they bring forth calves for us, many-coloured, giving milk for Indra each day. You make, O cows, the thin man sleek; to the unlovely you bring beauty. Rejoice our homestead with pleasant lowing. In our assemblies we laud your vigour.” – The Rig Veda
Dearest Priya,
I know that you can never read this letter. Even if I could find you again, it is forbidden for me to touch pen and paper. Such things are not permitted for temple girls. I feel that I must try, though, to set down these thoughts which are buzzing in my head like flies. A girl was attacked earlier this week. I heard it on the radio. She was a tourist from Sweden, and a group of men attacked her in a temple in Dhar. They held her down and they took turns with her. Nobody will find them of course. The newspapers are aflame with anger, but listen on the street corners and you will hear people say “oh, she was improperly dressed, she showed her breasts and legs, ants will go where the sugar is.”
I think of that girl and I ask myself this: what is the difference between her and me?
My temple name, like yours, is Priya. It means “beloved”. I was born in a village in Karnataka, by the banks of the Krishna river. My real name is forbidden to me, but I test its flavour on my tongue late at night when nobody can hear. My real name is Namit and I am a devadasi. I was sold to the temple priests when I was a girl. When I arrived at the temple, the priests took my clothes and they shaved my head, and they told me that I belonged to the goddess Rati. When I cried for my mother they beat me, and so I soon learned not to cry any more. I don’t remember her any more except for her voice, which I sometimes hear in my dreams, singing me to sleep.
I fell asleep that first night curled around another new girl, her name was Ishana. She told me her real name, too, but that is my secret to take to my grave.
My first memories of the temple, despite the fear and homesickness, are happy ones. As a young servant, I was taught to sing and dance. We rose early each day to exercise our bodies, and spent all day in the temple gardens learning the sacred dances. It is hard to dance all day, but our bodies were young and pliant and our muscles soon hardened to the work. We danced, naked and hairless, for the priests and the tourists. They watched us so intently, and I remember how I came to love the sensation of being watched, the feeling of men’s eyes on my naked body. We whirled and stretched and bowed, and they feasted on us with their gazes, at our hairless slits and willowy limbs, and swelling breasts. I would smile for them and display myself shamelessly while they clapped and cheered and shouted for more. I was innocent, of course, and had no idea why they found us so bewitching.
Along with the exercise and dancing, we learned to sing and to play the sarod. We were taught to speak Hindi, Sanskrit, and English, but reading and writing were forbidden to us. My mother tongue of Kannada was forgotten. Meal times were my favourite time in those early days, when all the girls would talk and laugh among themselves. We ate no meat or milk, and only occasionally were permitted spiced foods, but were encouraged to eat lots of fruit. “It will make you taste sweet, Priya” said the priests when I asked. It took me a long time to understand that comment.
So I spent my childhood in play, in song, and in dance with other girls my age. As I got older, friends of mine began to leave our group and to join the women of the temple in adult duties that were kept secret from children. When Ishana left the garden of children to join the sisters, I wept uncontrollably, though I knew I would see her again. Like the other girls, she came to visit us one last time, painted head to toe in brilliant dyes. Some of the sisters looked after the children, and my favourite of these was Aarushi because she was kind and plump, and could sing like a bird.
I had been at the temple for almost six years when my blood first came. The older girls had dropped dark hints about moon cycles and stomach cramps, so I wasn’t completely unprepared. I was dancing in the gardens with some younger girls when one of them began staring at me with wide eyes. “Priya, Priya!” she shouted, “you’re bleeding!” and she pointed at the place between my legs where my lips and thighs had been painted red.
I ran terrified to Aarushi who laughed when she saw how frightened I was. She and the other sisters took me to a grove behind the temple, where the sisters spend their periods. They built me a hut from coconut and mango leaves, and laid rushes for me to sleep on. I was given jaggery and tamarinds to eat to help my menses flow, and made to rest. A priest from the temple came to see me daily and he taught me to meditate and how to focus on the breath. I spent nine days in the resting place, and then came my wedding.
I was awoken that morning when the sun rose. The sisters came to greet me and they were singing as they came. Aarushi came into my hut and embraced me saying “Come, Priya. It is your wedding day today! There is so much to do.”. I helped the sisters to tear down the hut and we stored the leaves and rushes in a burlap sack. Next, the sisters took me to their chambers in the temple where they washed my body and my head. Once I was clean, they carefully shaved me, removing all the hair from my head and my pubis, then bathed me again.
When I was washed and denuded, the sisters painted my body with sweet smelling pastes. They painted me head to toe with red dye, and layered swirls of yellow and pink and blue. When they had finished, they allowed me to look at myself in a mirror and I laughed out loud at this strange creature with the rainbow skin. They gave me silver bangles to wear on my ankles and wrists. These were decorated with bells that tinkled gaily as I moved. Lastly, they pierced my nose with a small ring and gave me a chain running from my nose to my ear. I was permitted to visit the children for a final time and they ran to meet me in a mad rush, crying “Where have you been, Priya? Why are you painted that way?” and they wanted to touch me and play with my bangles, but the sisters scolded them and shooed them away. I waved them goodbye and the sisters took me to the temple.
I hadn’t eaten all day, and I was ravenous, so was overjoyed when the sisters brought me a spiced milk drink. I hadn’t had milk since I came to the temple, and spicy foods were a rare luxury, so I drained every last drop. The flavour was sweet and heady. I didn’t know it, but the milk was heavily laced with cannabis resin and a little while later, I began to feel dizzy and strange. I was fascinated by the sound of my bells and I joined in ecstatically with the sisters as we danced and chanted. As night fell, we danced our way out of the temple and into the street outside where a bonfire was already blazing. A crowd was already gathering expectantly, awaiting the celebrations.
One of the sisters took my hands and we danced together around the fire. When we had danced a complete circle we stopped in front of the crowd. She held my hands in hers and sang “Who brings us these hands, to whom are they given? Priya brought us these hands, to Kama she gives them. Love is the giver, love is the taker. Enter, oh Priya, the temple of love!” and she kissed my hands gently. I blushed at the attention I was receiving. The bhang had made my heart race and my head swim, and I felt relaxed and gay.
A second sister took my hands and danced with me around the fire, then knelt before me and sang “Who brings us these feet, to whom are they given?” and now the crowd joined in with her, singing “Priya brings us these feet, to Kama she gives them. Love is the giver, love is the taker. Enter, oh Priya, the temple of love.” and she lifted my feet and she kissed them gently. The bhang had made my skin exquisitely sensitive and I felt strange new feelings as she kissed my toes, sucking them gently. I laughed as she walked back into the crowd and was replaced with another sister. Again we danced, and when we stopped, she sang to the joyful throng of people gathering to watch “Who brings us these lips? To whom are they given? Priya brings us her lips, to Kama she gives them. Love is the giver, love is the taker. Enter, oh Priya, the temple of love” and she placed her hands on my hips and softly kissed me on the mouth. I had never been kissed before, and the sensation was strange and intoxicating. She sucked gently on my lower lip and flicked her tongue into my mouth. I felt a throb of heat between my legs as our tongues met, and I sucked her back into my waiting mouth. She teased me, puling my upper lip and explored me wetly. She broke away relutantly and gave me a lingering look as she rejoined the sisters.
A fourth sister came forward and took me around the fire. When we stopped she sang “Who brings us this belly, to whom is it given? Priya brings us her belly, to Kama she gives it. Love is the giver, love is the taker. Enter, oh Priya, the temple of love.” and she knelt before me and kissed my belly with warm, open mouthed kisses. She closed her eyes in bliss as she kissed and sucked at my navel and my body hungered for something I couldn’t name. I felt my virginal pussy fluttering and hot. When she stood up, her face was red from my body paint and I realised I had been holding my breath.
The fifth sister then took me around the fire. She cupped my breasts in her hands, and stroked them gently. I felt my legs quivering, and closed my eyes. I felt her squeezing my nipples, and pulling them gently as she sang “Who brings us these breasts, to whom does she give them? Priya brings us her breasts and to Kama she gives them. Love is the giver, love is the taker. Enter, oh Priya, the temple of love.” and she lowered her head to suckle gently on my nipples and I cried out in pleasure and I felt that I was wet between my legs. She teased and nuzzled my breasts, kissing them all over before we parted. I held her tightly and she had to struggle to pull away from me, laughing at my lustful expression.
Aarushi came forward and clasped my hands, beaming with pride. We laughed together as we danced around the fire and when we stopped, she stood behind me and teased the entrance to my anus with her finger. She rubbed some kind of oil into my sphincter and gently teased me open, singing “Who brings us this ass, and to whom does she give it? Priya brings us her ass, and to Kama she gives it. Love is the giver, love is the taker. Enter, oh Priya, the temple of love.” The oil was thick and slippery. She pushed her finger inside me to the first knuckle and twisted it gently, coating me inside, then she sank to her knees. Her hands parted my cheeks and her mouth kissed my puckered rosebud. The nerve endings were so sensitive that my knees buckled and I moaned my pleasure. Her tongue flicked and twisted, pushing gently at my tight hole, softening and loosening me. I relaxed for her, and her kisses became slower, more passionate. She sucked and nibbled at me. Her tongue lapped me like a kitten drinking water.
Aarushi embraced me before returning to the sisters. Lastly, Ishana stepped forward and I gasped and clapped my hands with joy. I hadn’t seen her since she left the Garden of Children. I was about to shout my greeting, but she placed her finger on my lip and shook her head. She slipped her hand between my legs and fondled my wet mound. I shuddered and closed my eyes. My wetness was dripping from my pussy and slathering over my legs. She tenderly opened me up like a flower, and slipped two fingers inside me. She looked into my eyes and sang “Who brings us this pussy, to whom does she give it?” and the crowd sang with her chanting “Priya brings us her pussy, to Kama she gives it. Love is the giver, love is the taker. Enter, oh Priya, the temple of love.”
The sisters swarmed me then all at once. They surrounded me, singing and cheering. Their hands ran over my body, touching my breasts and my pussy and my face. I tingled everywhere that I was touched, and they probed and fingered my most intimate places. I melted for them, it was too overwhelming. They threw the sack of leaves from my hut onto the fire and I jumped through the flames. With that, I was a woman, a child of Rati and a bride of Kama. I was given more bhang to drink, and blindfolded, and I entertained my wedding guests by dancing for them. As the bhang took effect, I began to see colours and patterns shifting in the darkness behind my blindfold, and the jingling bells on my bracelets rang out above the clapping and the singing, and seemed to call me away to some other place, far far away. I danced ecstatically, whirling and chanting, and as I danced, I felt the hands and tongues of strangers on my body. Their caresses made me tingle and shiver all over.
At last I heard one of the priests shout, “Who will be the groom for our bride?” and a cheer went up from the guests. I felt hands grabbing my wrists and gently binding them in silk, then attaching them to something above my head. Blindfolded, restrained, and drugged with bhang, I was achingly sensitive, and when a rough pair of hands parted my legs and grabbed my burning pussy I moaned and writhed in pleasure. He pulled me open and unceremoniously sank into me. There was a moment’s resistance and then my hymen gave way and my body exploded in pleasure. I felt my hot canal squeezing him as my first orgasm erupted. His hands found my breasts and began to knead and pinch roughly and the pleasure carried me away. My legs turned to jelly and I hung from my bindings as he fucked me. He only lasted a couple of minutes, but I orgasmed throughout. My first initial clenches turned into slow continuous waves milking him into my womb.
When he pulled out of me, I felt his milk dripping down my legs. I only had a moment to recover before my next groom came up behind me. He pushed the head of his prick against my lubricated ass and slid his shaft into me. Even with the oil and the bhang he had to work hard to gain entry, for I was very tight, and there was some pain. I whined and pulled away from him, but he rubbed my pearl for me, and I melted, unable to resist. He took me quickly and roughly and I was relieved when I felt his spunk shooting inside my fundament.
Five more grooms filled me with their milk that evening, one rubbed his root between my oiled breasts and his seed covered my nipples. One had his pleasure between my feet, one taught me to stroke his cock with my hands. The groom who entered my mouth played with my nipples throughout, and they were so supremely sensitive that I came just from having my breasts stroked. His cock seemed the most delicious thing in the world and I gagged and swallowed as he slipped between my lips. When he exploded into my mouth, there was so much that he overflowed, running from my mouth and over my chin. I gulped at him willingly, and relished his flavour.
You didn’t see me in the market that day, Priya, my sister in name. You were sitting outside a cafe with your friends, dressed in a saree. I was decked in flowers, naked, begging for the festival. Tourists and well wishers brought gifts and money to lay at the feet of me and my sisters, and we blessed them with our kisses, and laughed at them when they slapped our naked asses or pushed their fingers into our oiled vaginas. I was giving milk on that day, and my breasts were swollen. When men played with my nipples, I ached and sighed, and my thin milk would run over their fingers. Some of them liked to lower their mouths to my breasts and suckle there like babies, and that wonderful feeling in my belly made me wet as always.
You were busy with your girlfriends and your smartphone, and you paid no attention to me. I am beneath you, I know that, but I saw you, and I listened to your conversation. It struck me as incongruous. I listened to your conversation, Priya, while strangers groped and fingered me. I listened to your fear of dishonouring your parents. I overheard you talk about boys, how you must lower your eyes or be thought a whore, while I danced naked in the streets for gifts of money. I heard you talking about the Swedish girl, raped in a temple, and I thought deliciously back to my wedding night.
Ironically, I have no fear of assault, for I am sacred. No devadasi has been harmed for over one hundred years. I read the story in a book. A sister of the temple was attacked by a drunken farmer, and left for dead by the side of the road. The townspeople hunted him down, fearing the retribution of the Gods, and they beat him to death. Nobody has dared harm one of my sisters ever since. Why would they bother? I am, after all, available for any visitor to the temple. If they bring gifts for the goddess, they can use my mouth and my pussy for their pleasure. Men can suckle on my swollen breasts in public, or roughly finger me in crowded market squares, but I am _safe_. I walk, bare breasted and painted, through the city, and none may touch me. Like a cow, says Ishana.
The day after my wedding I was branded by the temple. I was given more drugged milk and was tied down by my sisters. They rubbed my body with oil and teased me expertly. The sister who had kissed my mouth, whose name I discovered was Saumya, now taught me the secrets of my body: she circled my pearl lightly with one finger, around and around, first making small circles, then larger ones. She stroked along the shaft so that my clitoris swelled like a budding flower and teased underneath, pushing back the hood. Another sister was slowly stroking around my breasts, rubbing the oil into my skin with the palms of her hands. She softly stimulated my nipples with a touch light as breath until I began to moan and writhe, at which point she started to squeeze and pinch them, rolling them between her fingers.
As I approached my orgasm, Saumya slipped two fingers inside me and stroked my g-spot, stroking it as though beckoning it closer. I began to wail with unbearable pleasure, and the moment I reached my orgasm, I spurted my nectar all over Saumya’s hand, and the branding irons bit into my breast and my cheek. I screamed in agony and pleasure, jerking wildly on the table as my pussy squirted and clenched. My brands make me safe. Even if I were clothed, even if I had hair, I would be marked as a sacred whore, simultaneously untouchable and divine, pure and defiled.
After I was marked, I was allowed to rest for a few days until the brands were healing. I spent my days dancing in the temple, and my nights with Saumya, learning the ways of love. I came to understand, finally, how fruit would make us sweet, and I feasted hungrily on her honey, and she on mine. The priests would visit the sisters’ quarters late at night and take what they wanted. We welcomed them, made them feel like kings. We shared them between us, all partaking in the sweetness of their milk, and the pleasure of their firmness inside our bodies.
One of these late night visits took hold in my belly, and when my time was due, I gave birth to a son. He wasn’t allowed to stay with the sisters, but he will be raised a priest. Many of the temple’s visitors paid extra to entertain a pregnant sister. My swollen belly and milky breasts attracted a certain kind of man, and I was happily receiving their gifts in my womb and my rear until the day I gave birth. I grew to love the sight of my rounded belly glazed with semen and milk.
After the child had been weaned, I began taking a herbal tea every day. This medicine helps to sustain the flow from my breasts. Many of the sisters give milk for their whole lives, and I hope to be among them. My nipples are extraordinarily sensitive now, and they leak milk at the barest touch. Tourists come to visit our temple and suckle from our teats. Whenever a man or woman sucks my breasts, I become terribly wet, and I beg them to touch me with their hands, or to fill me with their cocks and I cum for them. Would you do that if you were permitted, Priya, I wonder?
Do you wish you could walk naked through the market? What is it like to wear the saree? Are you worried about marriage, Priya? Would you be happier if you married the temple, and became a bride for the city? Does it matter that I willingly give myself for pleasure, am I just a whore? Am I no better than the cow?
Are you happier than I am, sister? Are you more free?
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/8bkenu/beloved_str8lesprostlac