Indra’s string of sexual exploits had left him with a member as swollen as his ego.
“And that’s the problem,” he whined to his Chief Concubine, Kamadevi, as she stroked his engorged penis sympathetically. Not even she, with her inexhaustible youth and vitality, her centuries of training in the tantric sexual arts, could satisfy her king. She had flung entire harems of ravenous celestial nymphs upon that erection, and they had come away exhausted and fulfilled, leaving the king’s scepter standing taller than ever.
“I can give it another try,” Kamadevi said, licking her lips.
Indra shrugged. “I never mind that, but…” Kamadevi was on her knees before he could finish, “…you know that’s not going to work. I need a real solution!”
Kamadevi mumbled her apologies through a full mouth.
So it was that Indra set off on his elephant in search of sexual satisfaction. He roamed far and wide, and the women of every land he passed through threw themselves upon him; if the tales of his unquenchable lust did not convince them, there was no resisting the sight of his enormous throbbing manhood.
“It’s even larger than the elephant’s,” they whispered in amazement. “So hard,” they squealed as they mounted the pole, “but so tender,” they murmured when it was deep within them.
Even the queens of neighbouring realms were tempted off their thrones, and rival kings cowered under the shadow of Indra’s staff. In this way did Indra’s empire expand.
But Indra’s appetite remained insatiable. “Is there no one who can fell my mighty phallus?” he thundered from atop his elephant.
“There is one,” answered an old sage. “Yonidevi, the Cosmic Queen.”
And so Indra began his arduous ascent towards the court of the Cosmic Queen, his departure mourned by millions of women who had been forever ruined by his sexual prowess; the ultimate sexual experience was a curse they would never wish on their daughters, for it had left them with a yearning that no other sex could fill.
Indra arrived at the gates of Yonidevi’s palace, wearied from his journey, but still cocked for action.
“The Queen has been expecting you,” said the gatekeeper, and led Indra to the royal chambers. Indra had never seen a palace of such immense dimensions; even his elephant was dwarfed by the sculptures in the courtyard. Indra was ushered into the royal bedroom and instructed to undress and wait. The bed was vast like an ocean; the satin caressing his buttocks indescribably soft. Then Indra felt a rumbling beneath him. The bed quaked and sheets cascaded, nearly throwing Indra off. From under the sheets emerged Yonidevi, naked, dark as the night, titanic. Her breasts were Himalayan peaks, her navel a swirling abyss, and between her legs yawned an unfathomable canyon.
As Indra’s gaze expanded to take in her colossal beauty, his organ pulsated violently, straining against its own enormity to reach the vastness that lay before it.
“Come, Indra,” said Yonidevi sleepily, “I have not been pleasured in aeons.”
Immediately he was upon her, tasting her hilly lips, feasting on her columnal nipples, before plunging his manhood into her cavernous depths. He pumped and whirled his third arm within her, straining with his most concerted sexual effort to gratify this being who was the very cosmos herself. His appendage thrilled in delight, he could feel orgasm approaching, climax visible on the horizon like the crest of a looming tsunami, OH! he screamed in ecstasy, OH! until at the very last moment he lost all sense of himself and disappeared, entirely, into the chasm of the cosmos.
“Have you started?” yawned Yonidevi. But Indra was gone forever.