Misc. Erotica The Slum Wife's Sacrifice - By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

The Slum Wife's Sacrifice

“She traded her tight pussy for her rowdy husband’s life, one filthy fuck at a time.”

Our small slum in Chennai breathed with a quiet, stubborn beauty that no outsider ever noticed at first glance. Narrow lanes twisted between rows of tightly attached small houses, their low walls painted in faded blues, greens, and yellows that somehow stayed vibrant even after years of sun and rain. Each house leaned gently into the next, sharing common walls like old friends who refused to stand apart, their tiled roofs sloping low and overlapping in places, creating tiny shaded corridors where cool air lingered even in the afternoon heat.

Stray dogs lounged on the doorsteps, tails thumping lazily against the cracked cement, while a few goats and lambs wandered freely, nibbling at whatever green shoots pushed through the edges of the lanes. Murugai trees stood tall here and there, their slender trunks rising above the rooftops, branches heavy with clusters of bright orange-red flowers that dropped petals like soft rain onto the ground below. The petals collected in small drifts near the doorways, mixing with the dust and turning the paths into delicate carpets of color.
Old men sat on wooden benches outside their homes, white dhotis tucked high, bare chests glistening with sweat as they talked in low, rumbling voices about old fights, old prices, old politicians. Their laughter carried far, rough and warm, blending with the constant chatter of children running barefoot through the lanes. The children chased each other in dizzy circles, shrieking with joy, kicking up tiny clouds of dust that caught the sunlight and sparkled for a second before settling again.
At every important corner stood small temples, simple but alive with devotion. The Mariyamma temple sat under a sprawling neem tree, its red-painted stone idol garlanded fresh every morning with jasmine and marigold, the fragrance hanging thick in the air. Nearby, the Kaliamma shrine glowed with rows of small oil lamps even in daylight, the black stone figure fierce and protective, her eyes seeming to follow every passerby. Smaller shrines to Vinayagar and Ayyappa dotted the lanes too, each one decorated with turmeric paste, kumkum dots, and strings of dried mango leaves that rustled softly whenever a breeze passed through.
Smoke from morning cooking fires drifted upward in thin blue curls, carrying the sharp smell of mustard seeds popping in hot oil, the sweetness of jaggery melting, the earthiness of curry leaves. Radios played old Tamil film songs from open windows, the melodies weaving through the voices of women calling children home, men bargaining over vegetables, and the distant clang of temple bells that rang every evening without fail.
In that small, crowded, beautiful slum, life moved slow and steady, wrapped in noise and color and unbreakable routines, the kind of place where every corner held a memory and every face carried a story.



The best part of our small slum was the women, and every single one of us carried heat in our walk, our laughter, our very breath. We wore sarees dbangd so low on our hips that the petticoat knot sat right above our pussy lips, the saree pallu pulled tight across our boobs and tucked deep into the waist, forcing our boobs to thrust forward proudly. The blouses were always short, ending just below our boobs, sleeves barely covering the shoulders, front hooks straining to hold the heavy mounds inside. When we walked the lanes to fetch water or buy milk, our ass cheeks swayed and jiggled under the saree, the panty line visible over our ass cheeks over the saree whenever we bent even slightly. Our navels stayed exposed, deep and round, glistening with sweat in the Chennai heat, drawing every eye that dared to linger. The saree hugged our thighs with every step, outlining the shape of our hips and the soft roll of our bellies, nipples often poking hard over the blouse when a breeze slipped past or when we laughed too loud. Married women like me kept the mangalsutra resting heavy between our boobs, the black beads and gold pendant swinging with each bounce, a constant filthy reminder of vows while our bodies screamed invitation.
The younger girls, barely out of their teens, wore kurti tops and leggings that left nothing to imagination. The kurti tops were short and fitted, ending right at the top of their hips, hugging their boobs so the nipples poked clearly over the kurti top whenever they moved fast or raised their arms. Some girls chose kurti tops in bright colors, the outline of their boobs and nipples shamelessly visible over the kurti top, especially when sweat made the kurti top stick to their boobs. The leggings were skin-tight, showing every line of their thighs, the panty line visible over their ass cheeks over the leggings, the seam running straight down the center of their ass cheeks like an arrow pointing to their pussy lips hidden beneath. When they bent to pick up something or chased after younger siblings, their ass cheeks flexed and jiggled, the leggings pulling so tight that the shape of their pussy lips pressed outward over the leggings. They walked with hips swinging, boobs bouncing freely under the kurti tops, laughing loud and fearless, turning heads from old men on benches to boys loitering near the temple steps.
At home, the moment we stepped inside our own four walls, everything changed. We stripped down to nighties and nothing else. No bra, no panties, ever. The nighties were thin, long till our ankles, usually plain nighties in soft pastels or bold prints, the neckline low enough to show deep cleavage. Without bra, our boobs moved loose and heavy under the nighty, nipples poking hard over the nighty with the slightest chill or when we felt eyes on us even inside our own house. Without panties, the nighty rubbed directly against our pussy lips and ass cheeks with every movement, the long hem brushing our ankles but still riding up our thighs whenever we sat, bent, or walked fast, making the nighty bunch between our ass cheeks and expose flashes of our bare thighs. If we needed to run to the corner shop for salt or vegetables, we never bothered with bra or panties. We simply grabbed a thin towel or shawl, wrapped it loosely around our boobs over the nighty, the ends barely meeting at the back, our nipples still poking against the towel, the long nighty swaying free from our hips down to our ankles so our thighs flashed with each hurried step and our ass cheeks jiggled under the thin nighty. Neighbors watched openly, some smirking, some staring hungry, but we walked like queens, mangalsutra swinging between our barely covered boobs, owning every filthy glance that followed us down the lane and back.
That was our slum: small, loud, crowded, alive, and dripping with the raw, shameless beauty of its women.


Our women married for love, fierce and stupid love that chained them to this slum forever. No matter how many times the men drank too much, shouted too loud, or disappeared for days with other women, our women stayed. They told themselves it was loyalty, it was passion, it was the way a Tamil wife’s heart worked, but deep down they knew the truth: our women were emotional fools who would let any man do anything to them in the name of that same burning love. The moment a man whispered sweet words, looked at our women with hungry eyes, or simply acted kind for an hour, their pussy lips would soften, their boobs would ache under the blouse, and they would open their thighs without a second thought.
The married women were the easiest to fuck. A stranger passing through the lane, a neighbor’s cousin visiting for a festival, even the local mechanic who fixed the water pump, all it took was a few soft words and a smile that felt real. “You look tired, akka, let me carry that bucket for you,” he would say, and their hearts would flutter like collegegirls. Within minutes our women would find themselves in some dark corner behind the Mariyamma temple or inside an empty house during afternoon naps, saree pallu pulled aside, blouse front hooks unhooked one by one, boobs spilling out heavy and ready. They grabbed our women’s boobs, squeezed their nipples until they moaned low and broken, then shoved their saree and petticoat up to their waist, spread their thighs, and rammed their cock straight into their dripping pussy. Our women never said no. The mangalsutra would swing wildly between their bouncing boobs while another man’s balls slapped against their ass cheeks, his cock pounding deep, and they would cry out in guilt and filthy pleasure, thinking of their husbands the whole time yet unable to stop their pussy from clenching around the stranger.
Love made our women weak like that. One sweet compliment about how beautiful their navel looked when the saree slipped low, one hand rubbing their ass cheeks over the saree in the crowded market, and they melted. They told themselves it was just once, just to feel wanted again, just because their husbands were too busy with rowdy fights or drinking arrack to touch them properly anymore. But it happened again and again. The postman who lingered too long at their door got his cock sucked behind the Murugai tree, cum leaking down their thighs while they wiped their mouths and hurried back home with the mangalsutra sticky against their sweaty boobs. The temple priest’s assistant who helped light the lamps at Kaliamma shrine ended up shoving them against the wall after evening puja, saree unwrapped in frantic pulls, panties shoved down to their ankles, cock sliding into their pussy while they bit their lips to keep from screaming loud enough for the whole slum to hear.
Our women were emotional fools, yes, but they owned it in the filthiest way. Every betrayal felt like proof of how deeply they could love, how much they would sacrifice their dignity just to feel a cock inside their pussy one more time, even if it wasn’t their husband’s. The guilt came later, hot and sharp, making them cry into their pillows while their pussy lips still throbbed from the fucking, cum drying on their thighs. Yet the next day, when another man smiled at them, rubbed their hips over the saree, or whispered “You deserve better, akka,” they would fall all over again, boobs heaving, pussy leaking into their panties, ready to let him do anything because love had already broken them open long ago.
That was the real pulse of our slum: not just the temples, the children, the goats, but the married women walking around with secret cum stains under their sarees, hearts full of stupid love, pussy always ready for the next sweet-talking man who knew exactly how easy our women were to fuck.


Such a beautiful slum came with a heavy curse that swallowed most families whole: Rowdism. Almost every man in our lanes called himself a rowdy, chest puffed out like the heroes in the old Tamil cinema posters plastered on every wall. They watched films on cracked television sets in tea shops, imitating the swagger of Vijayakanth, Rajinikanth, and the new crop of mass heroes, learning to roll up their dhotis high on their thighs, dbang gold chains across bare chests, grow thick mustaches, and speak in low growls laced with threats. Being a rowdy was seen as the coolest thing a man could be in our slum, the only real path to respect, fear, and quick money. Boys as young as fifteen started hanging around street corners, practicing knife flips, drinking cheap arrack from plastic cups, and picking fights over nothing just to prove they had the guts. Their mothers cried in corners, fathers stayed silent, but the girls, oh the girls fell hard for them.
Most girls in the slum lost their hearts to these rowdies without a second thought. A rowdy would flash a knife in the market, settle a dispute with a single glare, or throw a few hundred rupees at a girl's family for a festival, and she would melt, convinced this was real love, the kind worth dying for. They dreamed of being the loyal girlfriend standing behind her rowdy boyfriend, ready to cook, fuck, and cry for him through every security officer raid and rival gang clash. The rowdies knew it too; they used that power to get pussy whenever they wanted, grabbing girls in dark lanes, lifting kurti tops high over boobs, shoving leggings and panties down to ankles or tearing them aside, ramming cock into eager pussy while whispering promises of protection and forever. The girls gave it freely, emotional fools blinded by the thrill of danger and the fake heroism, boobs bouncing freely under short kurti tops or tight t-shirts as they rode rowdy cock in abandoned rooftops or behind the Kaliamma temple, panties shoved to one side, ass cheeks jiggling with every thrust.
In the lanes, when girls bent to pick up water pots or chase younger siblings, their short skirts flipped up showing panties wedged between ass cheeks, panty line visible over ass cheeks over the skirt, or leggings pulled so tight that the seam dug straight into their pussy lips, outlining every detail for anyone watching. Kurti tops rode up exposing flat bellies and deep navels, nipples poking hard over the kurti top or t-shirt when a breeze hit or when they laughed too loud around the rowdies. Upskirts happened constantly in the crowded narrow paths. Girls climbing steps, squatting to wash clothes at common taps, or running from sudden rain flashed panties across ass cheeks and the outline of pussy lips over the material. The rowdies loved it, slapping ass cheeks playfully over leggings or skirts, rubbing cock against ass cheeks in passing crowds, knowing the girls would spread thighs later in some hidden spot, panties dragged down, pussy open and dripping for their rowdy lovers.
I was only among those girls.





My name is Meena, a Tamil wife whose body turns heads in every lane of our small Chennai slum. I carry the same irresistible fire that actress Bhanupriya once set on screen: long jet black hair cascading down my back in thick waves, sharp kohl-lined eyes that smolder with quiet intensity, full pouty lips always painted deep red, high cheekbones, and a face that mixes innocent beauty with raw sensuality. My figure screams desire from every angle: massive heavy boobs that strain against any blouse I wear, nipples poking hard over the blouse the moment a breeze touches me or when I feel eyes on my chest, deep round navel that peeks out shamelessly whenever my saree sits low on my wide hips, thick juicy thighs that rub together with every step, and round firm ass cheeks that jiggle and bounce under the saree pallu or inside my nighty at home.
I always wear saree outside, dbanging it dangerously low so the petticoat knot rests just above my pussy lips, the saree pallu pulled tight across my boobs and tucked deep into my waist, forcing my boobs to thrust forward like ripe fruits begging to be grabbed. The blouse is always short, ending right below my boobs, front hooks struggling to contain the heavy mounds, sleeves barely covering my shoulders, nipples often visible as hard points poking over the blouse when I laugh, bend, or walk fast through the lanes. The mangalsutra dangles heavy between my boobs, black beads swinging with every bounce, a filthy symbol of my marriage while my body radiates invitation. My ass cheeks sway hypnotically under the saree, panty line visible over my ass cheeks over the saree whenever I bend to pick up something or adjust my pallu, drawing hungry stares from rowdies, neighbors, and strangers alike.
At home, like all the women in our slum, I strip down to my nighty and nothing else. No bra, no panties ever. The nighty is thin, long till my ankles, neckline plunging low to show deep cleavage, the material so light that my boobs move loose and heavy underneath, nipples poking hard over the nighty with the slightest movement or when the evening air cools. Without panties, the nighty rubs directly against my pussy lips and ass cheeks every time I walk, sit, or bend, the long hem riding up my thighs to expose bare thighs and sometimes flashing the lower part of my ass cheeks. If I need to step out to the corner shop, I wrap a thin towel or shawl loosely around my boobs over the nighty, ends barely meeting at my back, nipples still poking against the towel, lower half swaying free so my thighs flash and ass cheeks jiggle with each step.
My body is built for sin and loyalty at the same time: boobs so full they spill over when I lean forward, ass cheeks round and plump that demand squeezing, pussy lips always soft and ready under the nighty or hidden beneath panties when I wear saree, navel deep enough to collect sweat beads that trickle down toward my pussy. I know every man who sees me wants to grab my boobs, spread my thighs, shove his cock into my pussy, but I carry myself like a queen, mangalsutra swinging proudly, heart locked only on my husband Shiva, even as my sexy body betrays me with every jiggle, every poke of nipples, every sway of ass cheeks. That is me, Meena, the loyal hot wife in a slum full of easy pussy and broken vows.

Just like all the young girls in our slum, I fell in love hard and fast, the kind of love that made my boobs heave and my pussy lips tingle every time he looked at me. Back then Shiva was my boyfriend, a fierce rowdy with a reputation that scared most people but set my heart racing. He promised me everything in that low, possessive growl of his, “You are only mine, Meena, no one else will ever touch you,” and I said yes without hesitation, my voice trembling with stupid, emotional joy. I loved him completely, loved the way he owned me with his eyes, his words, his rough hands that grabbed my hips over my skirt or shirt whenever we met in secret corners.

He rode an RX 100 bike, black and mean, the engine roaring like his temper, and I loved pillion riding with him more than anything. I would climb behind him in my navy blue skirt and white shirt college uniform, boobs crushing against his back, nipples poking hard over the white shirt from the vibration of the bike, thighs hugging his hips tight as he sped through Chennai streets at night. The wind whipped my hair, lifted the hem of my navy blue skirt to expose my thighs and flash my panties, made my ass cheeks jiggle against the seat, and I clung to him, feeling safe and filthy at the same time, my pussy getting wet under my panties from the thrill of speed and his possessive grip on the handlebars. Every sharp turn pressed my boobs harder against him, every acceleration sent jolts straight to my clit, and I would moan softly into his ear, loving how he owned the road and owned me.

Shiva was very possessive, the kind that made other girls jealous and me feel cherished in the dirtiest way. He would not let any man come close to me, not even to talk. If a rowdy friend glanced at my boobs bouncing under my white shirt or stared at my ass cheeks over my navy blue skirt, Shiva would shove him back with a glare that promised blood, snarling “Eyes off my girl, or I will cut them out.” I loved that possessiveness, loved how he grabbed my waist in public, pulled me close so my boobs rubbed against his chest over my white shirt, marked me as his in front of the whole slum. It made my pussy lips swell with pride and desire, knowing no other cock would ever get near me because Shiva guarded my pussy like it belonged only to him.

Those days were pure thrill: late night rides on the RX 100, his hand sliding back to squeeze my thigh over the navy blue skirt, stopping in dark spots where he would lift my white shirt high, grab my boobs, pinch my nipples until I gasped, then shove his cock into my pussy while I rode him on the bike seat, ass cheeks slapping against his balls, panties shoved to one side. In the lanes or when I bent to pick up something in my college uniform, the short navy blue skirt flipped up showing panties wedged between ass cheeks, panty line visible over ass cheeks over the skirt, flashing panties across ass cheeks and the outline of pussy lips over the material every time I climbed steps, squatted, or ran. Shiva loved it, slapping ass cheeks playfully over the navy blue skirt, rubbing cock against ass cheeks in passing crowds, knowing I would spread thighs later in some hidden spot, panties dragged down, pussy open and dripping for my rowdy boyfriend.

I loved every filthy second, loved being his, loved the way his possessiveness wrapped around me tighter than any uniform ever could. That was how our love started, raw and reckless, my boobs bouncing under the white shirt, pussy dripping under the navy blue skirt, heart foolishly surrendered to the rowdy who swore I was his alone forever.



My boyfriend Shiva was crazy about me, and that obsession made me feel like a queen every single day. Ever since he dropped out of college to dive fully into rowdism, he carried himself with dangerous swagger, but for me he turned soft in the filthiest, most possessive way. He always had money to spend on me, stacks of cash from whatever shady deals or fights he won, and he never said no when I asked for anything. He brought me expensive gifts: gold bangles that jingled on my wrists, new white shirt and navy blue skirt sets for my college uniform, fancy hair clips, even a small silver anklet that tinkled against my ankles when I walked. Every gift came with his rough hands grabbing my waist over the navy blue skirt, pulling me close so my boobs crushed against his chest, whispering “Only for my queen, Meena.” I melted every time, my pussy lips tingling under my panties, heart pounding with stupid emotional pride.

He always picked me up after college at the same spot behind the Mariyamma temple and dropped me back at the exact same place every day, never letting me walk the lanes alone. In the morning he roared up on his RX 100 to drop me at college, but after classes ended I waited hidden behind the temple, heart racing until his bike engine cut through the afternoon quiet. He pulled up, eyes dark and hungry, then took me straight inside the empty temple where the air hung thick with incense and no one ever disturbed us at that hour.

Inside the cool, shadowed sanctum, he inspected me like I was his prized possession. He started with my hair, fingers combing through the strands to smooth any mess from the college day, tucking loose pieces behind my ears. Then he moved to my white shirt, tugging the collar straight, running his palms over my boobs to check if the bra outline showed even a little over the shirt, unbuttoning one hook if needed to peek inside and rehook it himself, making sure everything stayed hidden from prying eyes. He lifted my navy blue skirt high, exposing my panties completely, fingers sliding along the edges to adjust them so the panties sat perfect over my pussy lips and between my ass cheeks, no twist, no wedgie, just right for his liking. His thumbs sometimes rubbed my pussy lips over the panties lightly, making my clit throb, but he stopped short, growling “No one sees my girl’s pussy or ass cheeks like this except me.” I stood there trembling, boobs heaving under the white shirt, nipples poking hard over the shirt from his possessive touch, pussy leaking into my panties as he claimed every inch of my uniform with his hands.

After the inspection, he took me to the ice cream shop near the main road, the one with fancy flavors no one in the slum could afford daily. He bought me the most expensive ones: chocolate brownie sundae piled high with nuts, strawberry scoops dripping with syrup, whatever I pointed at. He sat me on the bench outside, pulled me close so my thighs touched his, and fed me spoonful by spoonful, wiping cream from my lips with his thumb, sucking it off while staring into my eyes. “Open wide, queen,” he said softly, feeding me another bite, his free hand resting on my thigh under the navy blue skirt, squeezing gently. People stared, but he glared them down, making me feel protected, loved, filthy with desire all at once. My pussy leaked more into my panties from the attention, boobs rising and falling fast under the white shirt.

Only after spoiling me with ice cream and that deep, winning love did he ride me back to the same temple spot, kiss me hard enough to bruise my lips, and leave me there to walk the last stretch home alone so no one connected us too openly. Every day he picked me up at the temple, inspected me inside like his private property, spoiled me rotten, and dropped me back at the same place, winning my heart deeper with that mix of danger, possessiveness, and sweet filthy care, turning me into his emotional fool, ready to spread my thighs for him whenever he wanted, pussy always aching for the rowdy who treated me like his personal queen.



My boyfriend Shiva always said he wanted to fuck me only after marriage, that he would wait until I was officially his wife, mangalsutra around my neck, vows spoken in front of the temple fire. “Your pussy is mine forever, Meena, but I want it right, when you are my wife,” he would growl, kissing my lips hard but pulling back before things went too far, leaving my pussy lips throbbing under my panties, my boobs aching under the white shirt. I respected it, loved how he controlled himself for me, even though every time he inspected me in the temple my pussy leaked into my panties from his possessive hands.

One morning, as usual, he picked me up behind the Mariyamma temple before college. I waited in the shadows, heart racing, then climbed behind him on the RX 100 for the short ride to the temple entrance. He took me straight inside the empty sanctum where the oil lamps flickered low and the air smelled of incense and stone. He started the inspection like always: smoothing my hair, tugging my white shirt collar straight, running palms over my boobs to check the bra stayed hidden over the shirt. Then he lifted my navy blue skirt high, exposing my panties. His fingers slid along the edges to adjust them, but this time his breathing changed, heavy and ragged. He stared at my panties covering my pussy lips, eyes dark with hunger.

“Fuck, Meena… I can’t wait anymore,” he muttered, voice breaking. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my panties and pulled them down slowly, shoving them to my ankles. I stepped out nervously, thighs trembling, pussy lips exposed to the cool temple air for the first time. He lifted my navy blue skirt higher, bunched it around my waist, then turned me around and bent me over the stone ledge near the idol, spreading my ass cheeks gently with his hands.

He stared at my pussy and asshole from behind, breath hot against my thighs. “Look at this beautiful pussy, Meena… tight virgin pussy lips all pink and perfect, just for me. And this tight little asshole… fuck, it belongs to me too. No one else will ever see this, touch this, fuck this. You are mine, queen.” His voice shook with raw emotion and lust, fingers parting my pussy lips slightly, thumb rubbing my clit once, making me gasp.

He lost control completely. He unbuckled his belt, shoved his trousers and underwear down, his thick cock springing free, hard and veined, pre-cum leaking from the tip. He rubbed the head of his cock along my pussy lips, coating it with my juices, then positioned himself at my entrance. “This is going to hurt a little, baby, but I will make you feel good after. You are mine now.”

He pushed forward slowly, the head of his cock stretching my virgin pussy lips, inch by inch. Pain shot through me sharp and burning as he broke through, my pussy walls gripping him tight, but mixed with it was a new filthy pleasure, my clit throbbing from the fullness. I whimpered, tears in my eyes, but grabbed the ledge, pushing back slightly. He groaned deep, balls eventually resting against my ass cheeks as he buried his cock fully inside my pussy.

“So fucking tight… my pussy… all mine,” he moaned, holding still for a moment to let me adjust. Then he started moving, slow thrusts at first, pulling his cock almost out before sliding back in, each stroke easier, my pussy getting slicker, pain fading into raw sensual bliss. My boobs bounced under the white shirt, nipples poking hard over the shirt as he fucked me deeper, faster, one hand grabbing my boob over the shirt, squeezing, the other rubbing my clit in circles.

I moaned louder, body shaking, the new feeling overwhelming: his cock filling my pussy, stretching my pussy walls, balls slapping my ass cheeks, his fingers on my clit sending sparks through me. Mnmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmm I moaned as I was about to cum.

The moment “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” he moaned and came deep inside my pussy, I could not hold it anymore “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.... aaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” I moaned and began cumming all over his cock.

His cock pulsed, shooting thick hot cum deep into my pussy, filling me completely, leaking out around his cock as my pussy clenched and spasmed around him, waves of orgasm crashing through me. My ass cheeks quivered, thighs shaking, tears of pleasure mixing with the pain that had turned into pure filthy joy. He stayed buried inside me, hugging me from behind, kissing my neck, whispering “You are perfect, Meena… my wife in every way now.”
We stayed like that until his cock softened inside my pussy, cum dripping down my thighs. He pulled out gently, cum leaking from my pussy lips, then pulled my panties back up, adjusting them over my sore pussy, lowered my navy blue skirt, fixed my white shirt. He kissed me softly, wiped my tears, helped me straighten up, and then rode me the rest of the way to college on his RX 100, dropping me at the gate with one last possessive kiss. “Soon we marry, queen. But your pussy is mine forever from today.”

[novelistcasanova]

That day I did not go to college. After Shiva came deep inside my pussy, filling me with his hot cum, we stayed locked together inside the empty Mariyamma temple, his cock still buried in my sore pussy, my ass cheeks quivering against his balls, cum slowly leaking out around his cock and dripping down my thighs onto the stone floor. Pain and pleasure mixed in my body like fire and honey: the sharp sting from losing my virginity lingered in my pussy walls, but the fullness, the throbbing aftershocks of my orgasm, made my clit pulse with filthy satisfaction. I clung to the ledge, boobs heaving under the white shirt, nipples still hard over the shirt, tears streaming down my cheeks from the overwhelming rush.
I began crying softly, scared and emotional, thinking about what we had done. “Shiva… what if I get pregnant? What will my family say? They will kill me… us…” My voice broke, body shaking, pussy clenching around his softening cock one last time. He pulled out gently, cum pouring from my pussy lips in thick white streams, soaking my thighs and the navy blue skirt bunched at my waist. He turned me around, hugged me tight against his chest, kissing my forehead, wiping my tears with rough thumbs.
“Don’t cry, queen. You are mine now. No one can take you from me. Not your family, not anyone.” He looked around the dim temple, eyes landing on the small idol of Mariyamma, where a simple gold mangalsutra lay as an offering among the flowers and lamps. Without hesitation he took it, the black beads and gold pendant still warm from the lamp flame.
He lifted my hair, tied the mangalsutra around my neck, the pendant settling heavy between my boobs, resting right above my still-heaving cleavage under the white shirt. “With this mangalsutra, in front of Mariyamma, you are my wife now, Meena. No priest, no ceremony needed. You belong to me forever. Your pussy, your boobs, your ass cheeks, your everything is mine. We are married.” His voice was raw, emotional, possessive, eyes shining with love and triumph. I touched the mangalsutra, fingers trembling, feeling the weight of it like a chain of fate and desire. Tears fell harder, but they were mixed with joy now, stupid foolish love flooding my heart. I nodded, whispering “Yes… I am your wife, Shiva.”
He kissed me deeply, tongue claiming my mouth, hands grabbing my boobs over the white shirt, squeezing gently, then sliding down to rub my cum-soaked pussy over the navy blue skirt. We stayed in the temple until the pain in my pussy eased a little, until the cum stopped dripping so much down my thighs. He adjusted my panties back over my leaking pussy lips, smoothed my navy blue skirt down, fixed my white shirt so no one would suspect anything, then rode me home on the RX 100, one arm around my waist, the new mangalsutra swinging between my boobs with every bump.
Now I am the mother of three sons, all born from Shiva’s cock filling my pussy over the years, each time raw and filthy, each time ending with his cum deep inside me while I moaned and came all over his cock. My boobs grew heavier with every pregnancy, nipples darker, ass cheeks fuller, but Shiva still grabs them possessively, still fucks my pussy like the first time. He continues deep in rowdy activities, running with gangs, settling scores with knives and threats, now on the security officer encounter list, always one step ahead of raids, always hiding when cases pile up. I wait for him in our small house, mangalsutra heavy between my boobs, saree dbangd low on my hips, pussy ready for whenever he returns, loyal and emotional fool that I am, loving my rowdy husband more than life itself, even as danger circles closer every day.




One night, a cop who had always stayed loyal to my husband slipped him a secret warning in a dark alley near the slum. The cop whispered low, voice tense, “Shiva anna, you are on the encounter list now. The higher-ups gave orders. They are planning to kill you in a fake shootout soon. Run, anna. Hide fast.” My husband’s face hardened, but he nodded once, slapped the cop’s shoulder in thanks, and disappeared into the shadows.
From that moment my husband began to abscond. He left our small house before dawn, taking only a few clothes and his knife, moving to an abandoned fisherman’s hut on the outskirts near the Marina Beach backwaters. Only I knew the exact location: a single-room shack hidden behind tall weeds and palm trees, roof leaking in rain, walls cracked but safe from prying eyes. No one else in the slum, not even our sons, knew where their father hid. I visited him in secret at night, dbangd in a dark saree, pallu pulled low over my boobs to hide my face, mangalsutra tucked inside the blouse so it did not glint under streetlights.
When I reached the hut that first night, my husband pulled me inside quickly, bolted the door, and hugged me tight against his chest. His hands grabbed my ass cheeks over the saree, squeezed hard, but his eyes were heavy with fear and anger. “The cops are searching everywhere for me, Meena. They want me dead. One wrong move and they will shoot me like a dog. I can’t come home. I can’t see our boys.” His voice cracked, raw and emotional, the strong rowdy breaking for the first time.
I started fearing for my family, especially our three sons. Tears filled my eyes as I clung to him, boobs crushing against his chest over my blouse, mangalsutra swinging between us. “What will happen to us? The boys are small. If they kill you… if they come for us… I can’t lose you. They need their father. I need my husband.” My pussy lips ached under my panties from his touch, but terror overpowered the desire. I cried against his shoulder, body shaking, imagining security officer raiding our house, dragging me away, our sons left alone.
My husband held me tighter, one hand rubbing my back over the saree, the other sliding down to grab my ass cheeks again, possessive even in fear. “I will not die that easy, Meena. But you have to be strong. Keep the boys safe. Bring me food, information. And come to me whenever you can. Your pussy, your boobs, your everything keeps me alive.” He kissed me fiercely, tongue deep in my mouth, hands squeezing my boobs over the blouse, nipples hardening under his palms.
I left the hut that night with my heart torn, saree damp from tears and sweat, mangalsutra heavy between my boobs like a promise and a burden. The inciting fear had taken root: my husband was hunted, our family on the edge of destruction, and only I could save him now, even if it meant crossing lines I never imagined, my loyal pussy and emotional heart ready to do anything for the rowdy who owned me completely.
I had never seen my husband this weak. He was always the strongest man I knew, the rowdy who made others tremble with one look, but that night in the fisherman’s hut he broke. He stood by the small window, staring into the dark backwaters, shoulders shaking, and tears rolled down his rough cheeks. Silent at first, then low sobs escaped him. He knew the cops would track him down eventually, corner him in some lane or empty plot, and shoot him dead in an “encounter,” claiming he resisted arrest. The thought of never seeing our three sons again, of leaving me alone to raise them, crushed him.
I walked up behind him quietly, my saree rustling softly, and hugged him from behind, my boobs crushing against his back over my blouse, mangalsutra pressing between us. My arms wrapped around his waist, hands resting on his belly, holding him tight. “I will save you, my husband. I swear on our sons, I will do anything to keep you alive.” My voice trembled, tears wetting his shirt.
He shook his head, voice hoarse and broken. “You can’t, Meena. No one can. They have orders from the top. I am finished.” He began crying harder, body shuddering in my embrace, the powerful rowdy reduced to a frightened man fearing for his life and family.
His right-hand man Dhamu, who had come with me to keep watch, stood in the corner, head lowered, eyes wet too. My husband wiped his face roughly, turned to Dhamu, and said in a low voice “Dhamu, take her home in your auto. Make sure no one follows. She has to be safe with the boys.”
Dhamu nodded silently, started the auto outside. I kissed my husband one last time, tasting salt from his tears, then climbed into the auto, saree pallu clutched tight over my boobs, mangalsutra heavy against my chest. As the auto pulled away through the dark lanes, I began crying helplessly, loud sobs shaking my body. They would shoot my husband for sure. Our sons would grow up fatherless. I would lose the only man I ever loved. The fear clawed at my chest, making my pussy clench in grief under my panties.
Dhamu slowed the auto in a quiet stretch near the canal, turned to me with serious eyes. “Meena akka, stop crying. There is a way to save Shiva anna. But you have to listen to me completely, and do exactly what I say.”
I wiped my tears, nodded desperately. “Anything, Dhamu. Tell me. I will do anything to save my husband.”
He took a deep breath. “The MLA’s personal assistant, Govindan, is the only man who can pull strings to remove all cases and cancel the encounter order. He is very close to the MLA, handles all his dirty work, controls the security officer stations in this area. One word from Govindan, and the encounter list gets torn up. Shiva anna walks free, no questions asked. But Shiva anna can never know about this meeting. His ego will clash, he will refuse help from politicians, and he will die proud instead of alive.”
My heart leaped with sudden hope. “Then take me to Govindan. I will beg him, do whatever it takes. Just save my husband.”
Dhamu looked at me steadily. “Govindan is powerful, akka. He can make the entire security officer force back off with one phone call. He has done it for others. He has the MLA’s ear, controls money, cases, everything. If you convince him, Shiva anna will be safe forever. The boys will have their father. You will have your husband back home, fucking you every night like before, no more hiding.”
Tears of relief mixed with my earlier grief. Hope bloomed hot in my chest, pushing aside the terror. My husband could live. Our family could stay whole. I nodded fiercely, mangalsutra swinging between my boobs as the auto jerked forward again. “Take me to him, Dhamu. I will save my husband. Whatever the price.” My pussy clenched with determination under my panties, emotional fool ready to sacrifice anything, even my dignity, to keep the rowdy I loved alive.


Dhamu stopped the auto near our lane, looked at me with steady eyes, and said “Meena akka, wait for my call. I will use my contacts to arrange a meeting with Govindan. It might take a day or two, but I will make it happen. Stay strong for Shiva anna and the boys. Do not tell anyone, not even family.” I nodded, tears still wet on my cheeks, mangalsutra heavy between my boobs under the saree pallu. He waited until I stepped inside our house safely, then drove away into the night.
In the evening, while I was cooking for the boys, my phone rang. Dhamu’s voice came through low and urgent. “Akka, I got it. Appointment with Govindan tomorrow morning. He agreed to meet. I will come pick you up at seven sharp. Wear something simple, nothing flashy. And remember, Shiva anna must not know. This stays between us.” My heart jumped with fresh hope, fear mixing with determination. “I will be ready, Dhamu. Thank you. This will save my husband.” I hung up, hands trembling, boobs rising and falling fast under my blouse.
After feeding the boys and putting them to sleep, I slipped out quietly to the nearby Mariyamma temple. The evening lamps glowed soft, jasmine fragrance thick in the air. I wore my dark saree low on my hips, pallu tucked tight across my boobs, mangalsutra resting heavy between them, swaying with each step. I knelt before the goddess, hands folded, eyes closed tight.
I offered fresh jasmine flowers at the idol’s feet, the white petals bright against the red kumkum. “Mariyamma, protect my husband. He is a rowdy, but he is a good father, a good man to me. Do not let them kill him. Give me strength to save him, whatever the cost. Keep our sons safe. Let Govindan help. Let my husband come home to me, to fuck me again, to hold me, to live.” Tears fell onto the stone floor as I prayed, pussy clenching under my panties from the emotional storm, fear and hope twisting inside me like a knife. I touched the idol’s feet, whispered “Save him, Amma. I will do anything for him.”
I stayed there until the lamps dimmed, mangalsutra sticky with sweat against my boobs, saree clinging to my thighs. When I walked back home, hope burned stronger than the fear. Tomorrow I would meet the man who could pull my husband from death’s edge. My loyal heart, my emotional fool soul, my pussy ready to sacrifice if needed, all of it focused on one thing: bringing my husband home alive.




The next day I woke up early, heart pounding with nervous hope, the mangalsutra heavy between my boobs under the nighty. I slipped out of bed quietly so the boys would not wake yet, went to the kitchen, and prepared breakfast: hot idli with sambar and chutney, the steam rising thick with the smell of mustard seeds and curry leaves. I packed their college lunch boxes with rice, rasam, and vegetable poriyal, tying each one carefully. When the boys stirred, I helped them dress in their uniforms, combed their hair, kissed their foreheads, and told them with a calm smile “Today amma is going to bring your appa back home. He is returning from Bangalore. Be good at college, eat your lunch, and come straight home after. Amma will be waiting with appa.” It was a lie to keep them from worrying, but their eyes lit up with joy, believing their father was safe and coming back. I sent them off early with the neighbor aunty who walked them to college, watching until they disappeared around the corner, my boobs tight with emotion under the nighty.
Once the house was empty, I opened my old suitcase under the bed and picked out the clothes for the meeting: a bright yellow saree, matching yellow blouse, yellow petticoat, white bra, and maroon panties. I laid them neatly on the chair, the yellow saree folds shining in the morning light, then grabbed a towel and went inside the bathroom.
I locked the door, removed my nighty completely, standing naked except for the mangalsutra resting between my boobs. I filled the bucket with hot water, steam rising, and took the razor and shaving cream. First I sat on the low stool, spread my thighs wide, and applied cream generously over my pussy lips and mound area. The cool cream made my clit twitch slightly. I took the razor slowly, gliding it in smooth strokes from top to bottom, removing every trace of hair, careful around the sensitive edges of my pussy lips so the skin stayed smooth and bare. I rinsed the razor after each pass, watching the cream and tiny hairs swirl down the drain, my pussy now completely shaved, pussy lips plump and exposed, glistening slightly from the hot water and my own building tension.
Next I turned around, bent forward slightly, spread my ass cheeks with one hand, and applied cream around my asshole. The sensation made me clench involuntarily. I shaved carefully in small gentle strokes, circling the tight asshole until it was smooth and clean, no hair left, the area pink and sensitive from the razor’s touch. I rinsed with hot water, feeling the warmth trickle between my ass cheeks and down my thighs.
Then I raised my arms one by one, applied cream to my armpits, and shaved them smooth too, long slow strokes until both armpits were bare and silky. I rinsed everything with hot water, soaping my boobs, navel, thighs, and ass cheeks, letting suds slide over my shaved pussy and asshole, the heat soothing the slight sting. I dried myself slowly with the towel, patting my pussy lips gently, feeling the fresh smoothness, then wrapped the towel around my boobs loosely and stepped out of the bathroom.
My mangalsutra swung between my still-damp boobs as I walked to the chair where the yellow saree, yellow blouse, yellow petticoat, white bra, and maroon panties waited. I stood naked for a moment, breathing deep, ready to dress and face whatever Govindan would demand to save my husband. Hope and fear twisted in my belly, my shaved pussy tingling with nervous anticipation, emotional fool heart set on bringing my husband home alive no matter the cost.
I toweled my boobs slowly, circling the towel over each heavy mound, drying the water droplets that clung to my nipples, making them harden further from the rough texture. I patted my navel, letting the towel glide down my belly, then spread my thighs slightly to dry between them, the towel rubbing gently over my shaved pussy lips and clit, sending a small shiver through my body. I turned, bent forward a little, and dried my ass cheeks, sliding the towel between them to pat my shaved asshole clean and dry. I wrapped the towel loosely around my boobs again, ends barely meeting at my back, nipples poking against the towel fabric, and stepped out of the bathroom into the bedroom.
My mangalsutra swung between my boobs under the towel as I walked to the chair. I let the towel drop to the floor, standing naked once more, shaved pussy and asshole smooth and bare, boobs swaying free, nipples erect in the morning air.
I picked up the maroon panties first. Holding the waistband open with both hands, I stepped my right foot through the right leg hole, then my left foot through the left leg hole. I pulled the maroon panties upward slowly, the material gliding along my thighs, inch by inch, until the crotch reached my pussy. I tugged higher, the front panel sliding over my shaved mound and settling snug against my pussy lips, covering my clit completely. The back panel hugged my ass cheeks, the seam sliding deep between them to rest against my shaved asshole. I adjusted the waistband over my hips, smoothing it flat so the maroon panties sat perfectly, the legs hugging the lower part of my ass cheeks, the crotch pressing intimately against my pussy lips, making my clit throb once with filthy awareness.
Next I picked up the white bra. I slid the straps over my shoulders, letting the cups fall under my boobs. I reached behind my back, fingers locating the bra hooks, and fastened them one by one with slow, deliberate clicks: first hook, second hook, third hook, each one tightening the white bra around my boobs. The cups lifted my heavy boobs, cradling them fully, the plain material hugging every inch, straps settling secure on my shoulders. I adjusted the front center gore so the white bra sat even, nipples now hidden but pressing lightly against the cups, the mangalsutra nestling perfectly in the deep cleavage the white bra created between my boobs.
I stood there, maroon panties snug on my hips and hugging my shaved pussy and asshole, white bra supporting and lifting my boobs, mangalsutra dangling heavy between them. My heart raced with hope and nervous fear for the meeting with Govindan, emotional fool ready to dress in the yellow saree and face whatever he demanded to bring my husband home alive. The yellow blouse, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree waited next on the chair, but I paused, breathing deep, feeling the maroon panties rub against my pussy lips with every small shift of my hips, the white bra hugging my boobs like quiet armor for the sacrifice ahead.


I picked up the yellow petticoat from the chair, holding the waistband open wide with both hands, the bright yellow petticoat soft and light against my palms. I stepped my right foot through the waistband first, then my left, the yellow petticoat sliding upward along my thighs in a slow, teasing glide, the inner hem brushing the sensitive inner sides of my thighs where they met my maroon panties and shaved pussy lips. The yellow petticoat whispered against my shaved mound as I pulled higher, the waistband catching for a delicious moment on the flare of my hips, then easing over them with a gentle tug that made my ass cheeks jiggle slightly under the maroon panties.
I settled the yellow petticoat around my waist, the nada hanging loose at my left side. I reached to the left hip, fingers finding the nada, and began tying it slowly, sensually. I pulled the nada tight against my left hip, the string digging just a little into the soft flesh above my hip bone, knotting it in a firm double bow that rested high on my left hip, not below my navel. The knot pressed against my left hip, the yellow petticoat now cinched snug, hugging my waist and hips perfectly, the front panel dbanging over my maroon panties and shaved pussy lips, the yellow petticoat thin enough to hint at the outline of my pussy lips when I shifted weight.
The back of the yellow petticoat stretched taut across my ass cheeks, outlining every round contour, the maroon panties underneath wedged deeper between my ass cheeks, the seam rubbing my shaved asshole with every tiny movement. I smoothed my hands down the sides of the yellow petticoat, fingers gliding over my hips and the side knot, feeling how the yellow petticoat molded to my body like a second skin, accentuating the flare of my ass cheeks and the dip of my navel that peeked just above the high waistband. I turned slowly, watching in the small mirror, my ass cheeks jiggling under the yellow petticoat with the motion, the side-tied nada pulling the yellow petticoat tighter on my left hip, making my hips sway in a filthy, erotic rhythm.
My mangalsutra dangled between my boobs still cradled in the white bra, swinging with every breath, the pendant brushing the tops of my boobs as my nipples poked hard against the bra cups from the sensual act of tying the nada. The yellow petticoat felt deliciously possessive, hugging my shaved pussy and asshole beneath the maroon panties, the side knot a constant reminder of my hips and the body I was preparing to offer if needed to save my husband. My pussy lips throbbed under the maroon panties and yellow petticoat, wet with nervous anticipation, emotional fool heart racing as I reached for the yellow blouse and yellow saree next, ready to complete the look that would face Govindan and whatever filthy bargain he demanded.



I picked up the yellow blouse from the chair, holding it open in front of me, the short sleeves and front hooks gleaming in the morning light. I slid my right arm through the right sleeve first, the yellow blouse gliding over my shoulder, then my left arm through the left sleeve, the yellow blouse settling loosely over my white bra. The cups of the white bra peeked slightly at the deep neckline as I pulled the yellow blouse closed across my boobs.
I started hooking the front hooks one by one, slowly, sensually, each click a small erotic sound in the quiet room. First hook at the bottom: I pinched the two ends together just below my boobs, the yellow blouse edges meeting right under the lower curve of my heavy boobs, and pushed the hook through the eyelet, fastening it with a soft snap that pulled the yellow blouse snug against the undersides of my boobs. My boobs lifted slightly with the tension, nipples poking harder against the white bra cups beneath.
Second hook midway: I grabbed the next set of ends higher up, fingers brushing the soft undersides of my boobs over the yellow blouse, and hooked it deliberately, the yellow blouse squeezing my boobs together more firmly, creating deeper cleavage where the mangalsutra rested heavy and swaying. The white bra straps stayed visible at my shoulders, but the yellow blouse hugged my boobs so tightly that my nipples pressed outward, tiny peaks visible over the yellow blouse as hard points begging for attention.
Third hook near the top: I pulled the final ends together just under my collarbone, fingers lingering on the soft boobs over the yellow blouse, and fastened the hook with a slow push, the yellow blouse now fully closed, ending right below my boobs, the hem sitting just under the lower curve of my boobs, leaving my navel and midriff completely exposed. The yellow blouse stretched taut across my boobs, every breath making my nipples rub against the white bra cups inside, sending small jolts straight to my clit under the maroon panties and yellow petticoat.
I smoothed my hands over the yellow blouse, palms gliding up from the hem just below my boobs to the neckline, feeling how it squeezed my boobs together, accentuating their round fullness, the front hooks straining slightly with each inhale. I turned side to side, watching my boobs bounce gently under the yellow blouse, nipples poking hard over the yellow blouse, the mangalsutra swinging between them like a filthy promise. The yellow blouse ended provocatively short, right below my boobs, exposing my deep navel and the soft roll of my belly above the yellow petticoat tied high on my left hip, making my body look even more inviting, more ready to be grabbed, squeezed, offered.
The yellow blouse felt possessive and erotic, hugging my boobs so tightly that every movement reminded me of the body I was preparing to display, to beg with, to perhaps offer to Govindan if it meant saving my husband. My pussy lips throbbed wet under the maroon panties and yellow petticoat, emotional fool heart pounding as I reached for the yellow saree next, ready to dbang myself in sacrifice and hope.


I picked up the yellow saree from the chair, the long bright folds heavy in my hands, and held one end against my left hip where the yellow petticoat nada was tied. I began dbanging the yellow saree slowly around my waist, the first turn gliding over my hips and ass cheeks, the yellow saree hugging my maroon panties underneath, the material sliding sensually against my shaved pussy lips through the yellow petticoat as I wrapped it twice more, tucking the folds deep into the yellow petticoat at my waist, the tuck pulling tight just above my navel, forcing the yellow saree to sit dangerously low on my hips, the petticoat knot pressing against my left hip like a secret mark.
I pulled the remaining yellow saree pallu over my left shoulder, letting it fall down my back in slow, teasing waves, the end brushing my ass cheeks over the yellow petticoat and yellow saree layers. I adjusted the pallu across my boobs, pulling it tight so the yellow saree crushed my boobs together under the yellow blouse, the mangalsutra now fully visible in the deep cleavage, pendant nestling between my boobs, swaying with every breath. The yellow saree pallu dbangd low, exposing most of my boobs above the yellow blouse neckline, nipples poking hard over the yellow blouse, tiny peaks begging under the thin yellow saree layer.
I smoothed the yellow saree over my boobs with both hands, palms gliding down from collarbone to navel, feeling how the yellow saree molded to my boobs, accentuating their heavy roundness, the front tuck pulling the yellow saree taut across my ass cheeks, making them jiggle with every small step. The yellow saree clung to my thighs when I walked, outlining their thickness, the maroon panties seam rubbing my shaved asshole and pussy lips beneath the layers, wetness seeping into the maroon panties crotch as I missed my husband desperately.
My pussy throbbed hard under the maroon panties and yellow petticoat and yellow saree, clit swollen and aching, remembering how my husband used to grab my hips over my saree, pull me close, shove his cock into my pussy from behind while the mangalsutra swung wildly between my bouncing boobs. I imagined him here now, unhooking the yellow blouse front hooks one by one, squeezing my boobs over the white bra, lifting my yellow saree and yellow petticoat, shoving the maroon panties aside, ramming his thick cock deep into my wet pussy until I screamed his name. My pussy lips clenched at the thought, more wetness soaking the maroon panties, nipples throbbing painfully hard over the yellow blouse, emotional fool tears pricking my eyes as horny desire mixed with grief for my missing husband.
I turned in front of the small mirror, ass cheeks jiggling under the yellow saree and yellow petticoat, boobs bouncing gently under the yellow blouse and yellow saree pallu, mangalsutra swinging like a filthy reminder of my vows and my need. The yellow saree looked perfect, low and provocative, ready to beg Govindan, to beg on my knees if necessary, my shaved pussy dripping under the layers, heart aching for my husband’s cock inside me again, ready to do anything, sacrifice anything, to bring him home safe so he could fuck me raw like before.

[novelistcasanova]

I sat at the small wooden dressing table, the yellow saree pallu dbangd over my left shoulder, yellow blouse hugging my boobs tight, yellow petticoat tied high on my left hip, maroon panties rubbing my shaved pussy lips underneath. My mangalsutra rested heavy between my boobs, black beads and gold pendant warm against my cleavage from the morning heat.

I opened the small tin box of kumkum, dipped my ring finger into the bright red powder, and applied a large round bindi in the center of my forehead, pressing firmly so the kumkum dot stayed perfect, a traditional Tamil mark of married devotion and strength. Next I took the kajal stick, lined my upper and lower eyelids slowly, drawing thick black lines that made my eyes look deep and determined, the kajal extending slightly outward in the classic Tamil style to sharpen my gaze.
I picked up the small bottle of red liquid sindoor, tilted my head back slightly, and applied it along the parting of my hair with careful strokes, the bright red line running from forehead to crown, symbol of my marriage and my unbreakable bond with my husband, even while he hid from danger. The sindoor felt sticky and warm, a quiet reminder of the vows we made and the life I fought to protect.
I opened the jasmine flower basket, the strong sweet fragrance filling the room instantly. I took a long string of fresh jasmine gajra, white buds threaded tight, and pinned it into my long black hair at the back, tucking the ends so the jasmine garland hung down my back like a cascade of white against the yellow saree pallu. I added a second smaller string above my left ear, the jasmine buds brushing my earlobe and cheek, their scent mixing with my sweat and worry, calming my racing heart as I missed my husband’s rough hands in my hair, his voice calling me his queen.
I wore small gold jhumkas in my ears, the dangling bells tinkling softly against my neck with every turn of my head. I slipped gold bangles onto both wrists, the stack clinking together in the traditional Tamil rhythm, each sound a reminder of my status as a married Tamil wife, determined to bring her husband home safe. I added a thin gold chain around my waist over the yellow saree and yellow petticoat, the chain resting low on my hips, accentuating the flare and the way my ass cheeks moved under the layers.
Finally I applied a light coat of red lipstick to my full lips, pressing them together slowly, the color making them look soft and composed. I dabbed a tiny bit of attar behind my ears, on my navel, and between my boobs where the mangalsutra rested, the rose scent blending with jasmine to create a soothing, traditional aroma that steadied my nerves.
I stood up, adjusted the yellow saree pallu once more so it fell perfectly over my left shoulder, exposing my boobs cleavage and the mangalsutra, nipples poking hard over the yellow blouse, pussy aching with worry under the maroon panties, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree. I missed my husband so fiercely it hurt: his strong arms around me, his voice promising forever, his presence that made our house a home. My pussy lips clenched under the layers with longing, emotional fool tears pricking my eyes again as desperate hope mixed with fear. I was ready, dressed in full Tamil traditional glory, jasmine in my hair, sindoor in my parting, kumkum on my forehead, gold on my body, mangalsutra claiming me as wife, to face Govindan, to beg humbly, to plead for mercy, to do whatever it took to save the rowdy husband I loved more than life. Dhamu would arrive soon, and I waited, heart racing, boobs heaving under the yellow blouse, ready for whatever came next.


Dhamu arrived exactly at seven, the auto engine rumbling outside our house. He honked once, a short sharp sound that cut through the morning quiet. I took a deep breath, adjusted the yellow saree pallu over my left shoulder one last time, making sure the mangalsutra rested perfectly between my boobs, nipples poking hard over the yellow blouse, then locked the front door and stepped out.
The moment Dhamu saw me walking toward the auto in the bright yellow saree, yellow blouse ending just below my boobs, yellow petticoat tied high on my left hip, his eyes widened. A visible cock bulge formed instantly in his lungi, the lungi tenting forward as his cock hardened. His friend sitting next to him in the auto, another rowdy in a similar lungi, stared from my face down to my exposed navel, then lower to where the yellow saree hugged my hips and ass cheeks, and his cock also bulged hard in his lungi, the outline clear and thick.
For a moment both men looked embarrassed, shifting in their seats, hands moving awkwardly to cover their lungi bulges, faces flushing red. Dhamu cleared his throat, voice rough. “Meena akka, why have you dressed so perfectly? I told you to make it simple, nothing flashy.”
His friend, still ogling me from head to toe, eyes lingering on my boobs heaving under the yellow blouse, the mangalsutra swinging in my cleavage, the jasmine garland in my hair, spoke up before I could answer. “No, Dhamu, she is perfect like this. Look at her, anna. This will grab Govindan’s full attention. He won’t be able to say no to anything she asks.” His voice was thick with lust, cock bulge twitching visibly in his lungi as he stared at my navel and the way the yellow saree dbangd low on my hips.
I felt my cheeks burn, but I kept my head high, emotional fool heart pounding with worry for my husband. As I climbed into the auto, lifting one leg over the side, the yellow saree and yellow petticoat rode up slightly, flashing my thighs and the lower edge of my maroon panties over my ass cheeks. Dhamu’s friend leaned close to Dhamu and whispered, voice low but clear enough for me to hear. “I better walk home now, anna. If I sit next to her the whole way, I will be tempted to fuck her right here.”
The filthy words hit me like a slap, strange heat flooding my body. My pussy lips clenched hard under the maroon panties, wetness seeping into the crotch, clit throbbing suddenly even though I stayed loyal to my husband in my heart, never thinking of another cock. The comment made me strangely horny, my boobs heaving faster under the yellow blouse, nipples poking harder over the yellow blouse, shame and unwanted arousal twisting in my belly.
Dhamu slapped his friend playfully on the back of the head, laughing low. “Get out, you bastard. Walk home before you make a fool of yourself.” The friend climbed down, still staring at my ass cheeks under the yellow saree as he adjusted his lungi bulge one last time, then turned and walked away quickly.
Dhamu started the auto engine, the vehicle jerking forward. I sat behind him, yellow saree pallu slipping slightly to expose more of my boobs cleavage and mangalsutra, pussy still throbbing wet under the maroon panties, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree, mind racing with fear for my husband and the strange, forbidden heat from that whispered comment. We drove toward Govindan’s office in silence, the auto bouncing over potholes, making my boobs jiggle under the yellow blouse, my loyal heart heavy but determined to beg and save the only man whose cock I ever wanted inside my pussy.



Dhamu drove fast through the Chennai streets, the auto bouncing over potholes, making my boobs jiggle hard under the yellow blouse, nipples rubbing painfully against the white bra cups, mangalsutra swinging wildly between my boobs. The yellow saree pallu slipped lower with every jolt, exposing more of my boobs cleavage and deep navel above the yellow petticoat tied high on my left hip. My shaved pussy lips throbbed wet under the maroon panties, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree, the auto vibrations sending small shocks to my clit.
We reached Govindan’s office building, a tall concrete structure with MLA posters plastered on every wall. Dhamu parked the auto at the gate, and we stepped down. All the men loitering near the entrance, security guards, office boys, visitors in dhotis and shirts, turned shamelessly to stare at me from head to toe. Their eyes devoured my boobs heaving under the yellow blouse, the mangalsutra nestling in my cleavage, my exposed navel and the way the yellow saree dbangd low on my hips, outlining my ass cheeks. Some licked their lips openly, others adjusted their dhotis where cock bulges formed, the ogling more intense than usual, as if my desperate beauty today screamed for attention. It was nothing new in the slum, but today it felt too much, too hungry, making my cheeks burn and my pussy clench nervously under the maroon panties.
Dhamu and I waited at the gate, my saree pallu clutched tight over my boobs to hide some of the cleavage. A voice called from inside. “Dhamu, come in. Bring the woman.” Dhamu nodded, took my elbow gently, and led me through the gate into the cool office corridor.
At the end of the room sat Govindan behind a large wooden table, dressed in a white shirt and white dhoti, dark skinned and ugly as fuck, thick mustache, pot belly straining the shirt buttons, eyes small and mean. The moment he saw me walking toward him, his mouth watered visibly, tongue darting out to wet his lips, gaze locking on my boobs under the yellow blouse, then sliding down to my navel and the yellow saree low on my hips. His eyes darkened with raw lust.
His assistant, a thin man in shirt and trousers, gestured us closer. “Come, sit.” Dhamu and I moved toward the two chairs in front of the table, but the assistant raised a hand sharply, signaling us not to sit. Fear gripped me instantly. We stopped, scared and nervous, standing toward Govindan’s left side of the table. Dhamu stood closest to Govindan, and I stood to Dhamu’s left, slightly behind, my boobs rising and falling fast under the yellow blouse, nipples poking hard over the yellow blouse, mangalsutra trembling between them, pussy clenching tight under the maroon panties, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree, heart hammering with terror for my husband and the power this ugly man held over his life.


Dhamu stepped forward slightly, voice respectful but firm. “Sir, this is Meena, Shiva’s wife. I brought her here because Shiva is in serious trouble. He is on the encounter list. The cops are planning to kill him soon. Only you can help us. Please talk to the MLA, sir. Pull some strings, remove the cases, cancel the encounter order. You are the only one with that power.”
Govindan leaned back in his chair, white shirt stretched over his pot belly, white dhoti riding high on his thighs, eyes never leaving me. He ogled me shamelessly from head to toe, gaze starting at the jasmine garland in my hair, sliding down to my kajal-lined eyes, my red lips, then lingering long on my boobs heaving under the yellow blouse, the mangalsutra swinging in my deep cleavage, my exposed navel above the yellow petticoat tied high on my left hip, the yellow saree dbangd low on my hips and hugging my ass cheeks. His tongue darted out to wet his lips again, dark eyes hungry and bold.
He ignored Dhamu completely at first, speaking directly to me in a low, filthy voice. “Look at this face, Meena. Such beautiful eyes, lined with kajal like a goddess. Full red lips, perfect for... many things. High cheekbones, that innocent yet seductive look. Jasmine in your hair, sindoor in your parting, kumkum on your forehead. You came dressed to kill, didn’t you? Every man in this office is hard just looking at you.”
I ignored his words, heart hammering, fear for my husband overpowering any shame. My boobs rose and fell fast under the yellow blouse, nipples poking hard over the yellow blouse, mangalsutra trembling between them. I clasped my hands in front of me, voice shaking but steady. “Sir, please. My husband is a good man to our family. He has three small sons. They need their father. The cops will kill him in an encounter. Please, sir, talk to the MLA. Save his life. I beg you. Do whatever is needed, but save my husband.”
Govindan smiled slowly, ugly teeth flashing, eyes still roaming my boobs, my navel, the way the yellow saree outlined my hips and ass cheeks. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping lower. “Such a pretty plea from such a beautiful face. Those eyes begging, those lips trembling. Yes, Meena, I see your desperation. But saving a rowdy like Shiva is not cheap. We will discuss what you are willing to give.”
I swallowed hard, pussy clenching nervously under the maroon panties, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree, but kept my gaze on him, emotional fool tears welling in my eyes. “Anything, sir. Just save my husband. Please. He is everything to me and our sons.”
Dhamu shifted uncomfortably beside me, but stayed silent. Govindan’s stare never wavered, mouth still watering slightly, the room thick with tension as he openly ogled my face and body, deciding how far he would push the wife who came to beg for her rowdy husband’s life.


Govindan leaned forward over the table, elbows planted wide, white shirt buttons straining across his pot belly, white dhoti riding high on his thick thighs. His small dark eyes stayed locked on me, never blinking, mouth still wet from earlier. He spoke slowly, voice thick and bold, ignoring Dhamu completely.
“Such a beautiful neck, Meena. Long, graceful, perfect for kissing, for biting. The way it curves when you tilt your head to beg, like now. That jasmine garland brushing it, sindoor line running down your hair, kumkum dot shining on your forehead. You look like a goddess come to plead. Every man in this room wants to wrap his hand around that neck and pull you close.”
His gaze traced down my neck to the mangalsutra resting in my cleavage, then lingered on my boobs heaving under the yellow blouse, nipples poking hard over the yellow blouse, the yellow saree pallu slipping lower to expose more skin above my navel. I ignored every filthy word, heart slamming against my ribs, fear for my husband drowning out the shame and the strange heat his stare stirred in my pussy under the maroon panties, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree.
I clasped my hands tighter in front of me, voice trembling but clear. “Sir, please listen to me. My husband is everything to our three sons. They are small, they need him. The security officer will kill him in an encounter. He has done wrong things, but he is a father, a husband. Please, sir, talk to the MLA. Remove the cases. Cancel the encounter order. Save his life. I am begging you on my knees if I must. Do not let my children grow up without their father.”
Govindan smiled wider, ugly and slow, eyes still devouring my neck, my boobs, the way my mangalsutra swung with my quick breaths. “Such sweet words from such a beautiful neck. Keep begging, Meena. I like the way your voice shakes, the way your neck trembles. We will see how much you really want to save him.”
I swallowed hard, tears welling in my kajal-lined eyes, but refused to look away, emotional fool heart breaking and burning at once. “Anything, sir. Just save my husband. Please. He is all we have. Do not let the cops take him from us.”
Dhamu shifted nervously beside me, silent, while Govindan’s stare grew heavier, bolder, the room thick with his lust and my desperate plea, my pussy clenching tight under the layers from fear and unwanted tension, loyal to my husband yet standing here, neck exposed, begging this ugly powerful man to spare the rowdy who owned my life.


Govindan pushed back his chair slowly and stood up, the white dhoti stretched tight across his fat thighs and belly. A huge cock bulge tented the front of his white dhoti prominently, the thick outline of his hard cock pushing against the thin white dhoti material, impossible to miss. He stepped around the table, coming closer to me and Dhamu, eyes fixed on my exposed midriff.
He stopped just in front of me, gaze dropping shamelessly to my waist and navel. “Look at this waist, Meena. So narrow, so perfect, curving in just right above those wide hips. And this deep navel, round and inviting, like a little hole waiting to be filled. The way it dips in the center, sweat already collecting there from your nervousness. A man could spend hours licking that navel, tonguing it deep while holding this tiny waist in his hands.”
His voice dripped with filthy lust, mouth watering again as he stared at my navel, the gold chain around my waist glinting above the yellow petticoat and yellow saree low on my hips. Dhamu, who had always respected me like an elder sister, who had protected me all these years, now stood frozen beside me. His eyes followed Govindan’s stare to my waist and navel, then lower to my hips under the yellow saree. A visible cock bulge grew in his lungi, hardening fast, tenting the front as lust overtook respect for the first time.
I ignored every word, every stare, every cock bulge in the room. My boobs heaved faster under the yellow blouse, nipples poking hard over the yellow blouse, mangalsutra trembling between them with my quick breaths. Tears filled my eyes but I kept my voice steady, pleading. “Sir, please. My husband’s life is in your hands. The cops will kill him in an encounter. Our three sons will lose their father. Please talk to the MLA. Remove the cases. Stop the encounter. I am begging you, sir. Save my husband’s life.”
Govindan chuckled low, stepping even closer, his cock bulge almost brushing my hip through the yellow saree. “Such a devoted wife. Begging so sweetly with that beautiful waist and deep navel on display. We will see how much you really want him alive, Meena.”
Dhamu swallowed hard beside me, his own cock bulge throbbing in his lungi, eyes still locked on my navel, shame and lust warring on his face. I stood firm, pussy clenching nervously under the maroon panties, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree, emotional fool heart breaking for my husband, ignoring the filth around me, focused only on the plea that might bring him home safe. “Please, sir. Do not let my children become orphans. Save him. I will do whatever you ask, but save my husband from the cops.”


Govindan stepped even closer, his white dhoti bulge massive and obscene now, the thick cock outline straining hard against the white dhoti front. His eyes dropped shamelessly to my boobs, locked on the heavy mounds squeezed together under the yellow blouse, nipples poking hard over the yellow blouse, the mangalsutra swinging deep in my cleavage with every scared breath.
He licked his lips slowly, voice low and bold. “And these boobs, Meena. So full, so heavy, pushing against that tight yellow blouse like they want to burst free. Look how they rise and fall when you beg, how the nipples poke hard over the yellow blouse, begging to be pinched, sucked. Perfect round boobs, perfect for grabbing, squeezing, burying my face between them. A woman with boobs like these should never beg alone, she should be on her knees offering them.”
Dhamu, who had treated me like an elder sister for years, now stood rigid beside me, his own cock bulge throbbing visibly in his lungi, eyes glued to my boobs under the yellow blouse, lust overtaking years of respect. His breathing grew heavier, hands twitching at his sides, unable to look away from my heaving boobs and the mangalsutra nestled between them.
I ignored every filthy word, every hungry stare, every cock bulge in the room. My pussy clenched tight under the maroon panties, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree, fear and loyalty warring inside me. Tears spilled down my cheeks but my voice stayed strong, pleading. “Sir, please. My husband does not deserve to die like this. The cops will shoot him in an encounter. Our three sons will lose their father forever. Please talk to the MLA. Cancel the order. Remove the cases. Save my husband’s life. I am on my knees begging you, sir. Do not let my children become fatherless.”
Govindan chuckled darkly, eyes still devouring my boobs, the way they bounced slightly with my sobs, nipples hard and prominent over the yellow blouse. “Such devotion. Those boobs heaving while you cry for him. We will see how much you are willing to do for your rowdy husband, Meena.”
I wiped my tears with the yellow saree pallu end, mangalsutra trembling between my boobs, emotional fool heart breaking but refusing to waver. “Anything, sir. Just save him. Please. Let him come home to us. Do not let the cops take him away.” My pussy ached with worry under the layers, clit throbbing from the tension, but my mind stayed fixed only on my husband, loyal and desperate, ignoring the lust filling the room as I begged this ugly powerful man to spare the life of the rowdy who owned me completely.


Govindan circled slowly around me, white dhoti still tented with his massive cock bulge, eyes dropping to my ass cheeks under the yellow saree. He stopped behind me, close enough that I felt his hot breath on my neck, staring down at the way the yellow saree dbangd over my round ass cheeks, the panty line visible over my ass cheeks over the yellow saree where the maroon panties wedged tight between them.
He spoke low, voice thick with lust. “And this ass, Meena. So round, so full, jiggling under that yellow saree every time you shift. Look at that perfect shape, those plump ass cheeks begging to be grabbed, slapped, spread. The panty line visible over your ass cheeks over the saree, showing exactly how tight those panties hug your asshole and pussy lips. A man could bury his face between those ass cheeks for hours, or bend you over and fuck you from behind while watching them bounce.”
Dhamu, standing to my right, could not stop staring at my boobs under the yellow blouse. His eyes stayed locked on my heaving boobs, nipples poking hard over the yellow blouse, the mangalsutra swinging in my cleavage. His cock bulge throbbed visibly in his lungi, harder now, years of treating me like an elder sister shattered by raw lust as he watched my boobs rise and fall with my quick, scared breaths.
I ignored every word, every stare, every cock bulge straining in the room. My pussy clenched tight under the maroon panties, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree, fear for my husband drowning out the humiliation and the unwanted heat pooling in my clit. Tears streamed down my cheeks but I kept pleading, voice cracking with desperation. “Sir, please. My husband will be killed in an encounter. Our three sons will have no father. They are small, innocent. Please talk to the MLA. Cancel the order. Remove the cases. Save my husband’s life. I am begging you on my knees, sir. Do not let my children lose him.”
Govindan moved back in front of me, cock bulge still huge in his white dhoti, eyes flicking from my ass cheeks to my boobs then back to my tear-streaked face. “Such a loyal wife. Begging so hard for a rowdy. Those ass cheeks trembling under your saree, those boobs heaving while you cry. We will see how far that loyalty goes, Meena.”
I wiped my tears with the yellow saree pallu end, mangalsutra trembling between my boobs, emotional fool heart shattering but refusing to break. “Anything, sir. Just save him. Please. Let him come home to us. Do not let the cops take him away from his sons, from me.” My pussy lips throbbed with worry under the layers, clit pulsing from tension, loyal to my husband yet standing here, ass cheeks ogled, boobs lusted after, begging this ugly powerful man to spare the rowdy who owned my entire life.

[novelistcasanova]

Govindan reached out suddenly, grabbed both my hands in his rough palms, and pulled my arms up and around his thick neck. He wrapped my arms tight around him, then hugged me completely into his embrace, crushing my boobs against his fat chest over my yellow blouse, the mangalsutra trapped between us. His arms locked around my waist, hands sliding down to grab my ass cheeks over the yellow saree, squeezing hard, his huge cock bulge in his white dhoti rubbing against my navel and lower belly through the yellow petticoat and yellow saree.

He turned his head toward Dhamu, still holding me tight in his embrace, voice low and bold. “Look at her, Dhamu. Such a perfect wife. If she lets me sleep with her, lets me fuck her pussy now, I will save Shiva. I will call the MLA right now, cancel the encounter, wipe every case clean. One fuck with this hot Tamil wife, and her rowdy husband lives.”
I struggled in his grip, arms still wrapped around his neck by force, boobs crushed against him, nipples poking hard over the yellow blouse from the unwanted contact. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I begged, voice breaking. “No, sir, please. Anything else. I will do anything else for you. Work for you, serve you, beg on my knees, but not that. Save my husband’s life. Save him from the cop encounter. Our sons need him. Please, sir, do not ask this. I am loyal to my husband. I love him.”
Govindan ignored my pleas completely. He lowered his head and began kissing my neck all over, wet sloppy kisses trailing from my earlobe down the side of my neck, tongue licking the sensitive skin, teeth grazing lightly, his breath hot and heavy. His hands squeezed my ass cheeks harder over the yellow saree, pulling me tighter so his cock bulge ground against my pussy area through all the layers.
Dhamu stepped closer, eyes still lusting at my boobs under the yellow blouse, his own cock bulge throbbing in his lungi. He spoke softly, voice thick with conflict but pushing. “Akka, please listen. Shiva anna will die if this does not happen. Govindan sir can save him with one call. One fuck, akka. Just now. Let him fuck you. Save anna’s life. The boys need their father. Think of them.”
I shook my head frantically, tears falling faster, body trembling in Govindan’s embrace as he kept kissing my neck, sucking lightly on the spot where my pulse raced. “No, Dhamu. I cannot. I love my husband. I am loyal to him. My pussy belongs only to him. Please, sir, anything else. Save him without this. I beg you.”
Govindan chuckled against my neck, tongue tracing a slow line up to my earlobe, one hand sliding up to grab my boob over the yellow blouse, squeezing roughly. “Keep begging, Meena. Your loyalty makes it sweeter. But your husband dies tomorrow unless you say yes. Decide fast.”
Dhamu pleaded again, voice cracking. “Akka, please. For Shiva anna. For the boys. Let him sleep with you. Let him fuck you now. It is only one time. Save him.”
I struggled harder, arms still forced around Govindan’s neck, pussy clenching in fear and unwanted heat under the maroon panties, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree, boobs crushed and groped, neck wet from his kisses, emotional fool heart tearing apart between loyalty to my husband and the desperate need to keep him alive for our sons. “No... please... save him... anything but this... I love him... I cannot...” My voice broke into sobs, body shaking, torn and desperate.



Govindan kept his arms locked around my waist, hands gripping my hips over the yellow saree, fingers digging into the soft flesh above the yellow petticoat knot. He pulled me even tighter against his body, his hard cock bulge in the white dhoti rubbing insistently against my lower belly through all the layers. He lowered his head again and began kissing my face all over: wet kisses on my forehead over the kumkum dot, on my kajal-lined eyelids, on my cheeks, on my red lips, tongue darting out to lick the corners of my mouth, breath hot and heavy with lust.
Between kisses he spoke boldly against my face. “I am giving you this chance only because you are so beautiful, Meena. So hot, so sexy. Look at you, dressed like this, jasmine in your hair, sindoor in your parting, gold on your body. A woman this hot should use her beauty wisely. Make full use of your beautiful face, your boobs, your ass cheeks, your pussy. Use them to save your husband. One fuck with me now, and he lives. Refuse, and he dies tomorrow.”
With one hand still gripping my waist, he used the other to tug the yellow saree pallu slowly away from where it covered my boobs. He dragged the pallu aside, letting it fall and rest between my boobs, the yellow saree material bunching in my deep cleavage, exposing my boobs fully under the tight yellow blouse. The mangalsutra now lay openly between my boobs, pendant resting on the yellow blouse fabric stretched taut over my mounds, nipples poking hard over the yellow blouse.
Govindan ogled my boobs shamelessly, eyes dark with hunger, mouth watering again. “Look at these boobs, Meena. So full, so round, pushing against that yellow blouse like they want to be freed. Nipples hard over the yellow blouse, begging for attention. Perfect boobs for squeezing, sucking, fucking. Use them, Meena. Offer them to me now, and your husband walks free.”
Dhamu stood frozen to my right, eyes locked on my exposed boobs under the yellow blouse, nipples visible as hard points over the yellow blouse, his cock bulge throbbing painfully in his lungi. He swallowed hard, voice hoarse. “Akka... please... Shiva anna will die. Just let sir fuck you now. Save him. For the boys. For anna.”
I struggled weakly in Govindan’s embrace, arms still forced around his neck, boobs crushed against his chest, pussy clenching in fear and shame under the maroon panties, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree. Tears poured down my face as I begged again, voice breaking. “Sir, please. Save my husband. Save him from the cop encounter. I will do anything else. I will work for you, serve you, give you money, anything but this. I am loyal to my husband. I love him. Do not ask me to betray him. Please, sir, save his life.”
Govindan ignored my pleas, kissing my cheeks again, then my lips roughly, tongue pushing against my closed mouth while one hand slid up to grab my boob over the yellow blouse, squeezing hard. “Your loyalty is touching, Meena. But your husband dies unless you let me fuck you now. Decide. Your pussy or his grave.”
I sobbed harder, body shaking, emotional fool heart tearing apart, loyal to my husband yet trapped in this ugly man’s arms, boobs groped, pussy throbbing with fear, begging through tears. “No... please... save him... anything but my body... I love him... do not make me...” My voice dissolved into broken cries, torn between fidelity and the desperate need to keep my husband alive for our sons.




Govindan tightened his grip on my waist, pulling me harder against his body, his cock bulge in the white dhoti grinding roughly against my navel through the yellow saree and yellow petticoat. He leaned in suddenly, trying to kiss my lips, mouth open and wet, breath hot and sour. I turned my face away quickly, pushing against his chest over his white shirt with both hands, arms still forced around his neck but straining to break free.
He froze for a second, then anger flashed across his ugly face. He shoved me back slightly, not letting go completely, voice rising loud and furious. “How dare you insult me, you slum bitch? You come here begging, dressed like a whore with your boobs hanging out and your ass cheeks jiggling, and now you push me away? I was going to make one call and save your rowdy husband. Now I will make sure the cops encounter him today itself. He dies tonight. You hear me? Tonight!”
Terror exploded in my chest, knees buckling, tears flooding my eyes instantly. My pussy clenched in pure fear under the maroon panties, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree, boobs heaving wildly under the yellow blouse, nipples poking hard over the yellow blouse from panic and sobs. “No, sir, please! Do not do this! I am sorry! Save him! Please, sir, do not kill him! My sons... they need their father! Please, I beg you!”
Govindan stepped back fully now, face twisted with rage, pointing at the door. “Get out! Both of you! Get the fuck out of my office before I call security and have you thrown out like street dogs!”
I collapsed into helpless crying, body shaking, hands covering my face, mangalsutra swinging between my boobs as sobs wracked me. “Please... sir... save him... do not let them kill him... I am sorry...”
Dhamu rushed forward, voice desperate. “Sir, please calm down! Do not get angry! She is scared, sir. She did not mean to insult you. Shiva anna will die if you do this. Please, sir, think again.”
Govindan’s voice boomed louder, furious. “I said get out! Or I call security right now! Chase you both out like beggars! And you, Meena, you think you are special? I have fucked all the top heroines in Tamil cinema. Actresses with better boobs, tighter pussy, bigger names. I asked to fuck you just for a little fun, because you look hot in this yellow saree, but now you touched my ego. You insulted me! Your husband dies today because of your arrogance!”
Dhamu grabbed my arm gently but firmly, pulling me toward the door while I cried uncontrollably, boobs bouncing under the yellow blouse with each sob, pussy throbbing with terror under the layers. “Akka, come. We have to leave. Sir is angry. Come.”
Govindan yelled after us as Dhamu dragged me out of the office room. “Go! Let the cops shoot him! Tell your sons their mother was too proud to save their father!”
The door slammed behind us. I stumbled in the corridor, crying helplessly, knees weak, mangalsutra sticky with tears against my boobs, pussy aching with grief and fear, emotional fool heart shattered, knowing my refusal might have just signed my husband’s death warrant. Dhamu held my arm, guiding me out of the building, his own face pale, cock bulge gone now, replaced by worry and guilt as we left the office behind, my desperate plea turned into a nightmare.


I stumbled out of the office building, tears blinding me, body shaking with sobs. My boobs heaved under the yellow blouse, nipples poking hard over the yellow blouse from the cold shock and grief, mangalsutra swinging wildly between my boobs with every broken step. The yellow saree pallu slipped lower, exposing more of my cleavage and navel, but I did not care. My pussy clenched in despair under the maroon panties, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree, legs weak as I walked toward the auto parked at the gate.
Dhamu followed close behind, face dark with anger. He grabbed my arm gently but firmly, pulling me to a stop. “Akka, what have you done? You screwed up the only chance we had! Shiva anna is as good as dead now! You pushed him away! You insulted Govindan sir! He was ready to save anna with one phone call, and you ruined it!”
His voice rose, polite but yelling in frustration, eyes flashing. “Akka, why? Why could you not just agree? One time with him, and anna lives! The boys get their father back! But you had to be loyal, had to be proud. Now what? Cops will shoot him today or tomorrow. You killed him, akka!”
I cried harder, collapsing against the auto side, boobs pressing against the metal edge through the yellow blouse, tears soaking the yellow saree pallu. “I could not, Dhamu... I love him... I cannot give myself to another man... I am loyal to my husband... please... there must be another way...”
Dhamu sighed heavily, anger mixing with pity. “Get in the auto, akka. We cannot stand here crying.”
I climbed into the back seat, yellow saree and yellow petticoat bunching around my thighs, maroon panties damp from fear and tears. I sat hunched, boobs still heaving with sobs, mangalsutra sticky against my wet cleavage. Dhamu sat in the driver’s seat, turned back to look at me through the small mirror, voice softer now but still edged with frustration.
“Akka, listen to me. Govindan sir was our last hope. You saw his anger. He will make sure the encounter happens fast now. Shiva anna... he trusted me to protect you, but I failed. You failed him too. What do we do now? Tell me. The boys are waiting at home. How will you face them without their father?”
I covered my face with both hands, sobbing uncontrollably, boobs bouncing with each cry under the yellow blouse, pussy aching with guilt and terror under the layers. “I do not know... I love him so much... I could not let that man touch me... but now... now he will die... because of me... please, Dhamu... help me... find another way... save my husband...”
Dhamu stared at me in the mirror, eyes conflicted, voice low. “Akka, there is no other way. You saw him. His ego is hurt. He will not help now. Unless... unless you go back and apologize, do what he wants. Let him have you now. It is the only way left.”
I shook my head violently, tears flying. “No... I cannot... I love my husband... I belong only to him... please... find another way...”
The auto sat silent except for my broken sobs, Dhamu turned back facing the road now, hands gripping the handlebars tight, both of us lost in fear and regret, my loyal heart shattered, knowing my refusal might have doomed the rowdy husband I loved more than life itself.


Dhamu started the auto engine, the vehicle jerking forward slowly through the narrow Chennai lanes. He drove in silence for a minute, then turned his head back again, eyes meeting mine in the small mirror. His voice came low, careful but firm, carrying the weight of reality.
“Akka, look at yourself. You are hot. You are sexy. Every man who sees you wants to fuck you. Your boobs so full and heavy under that yellow blouse, nipples always poking hard over the yellow blouse when you breathe fast. Your ass cheeks round and jiggling under the yellow saree, panty line visible over your ass cheeks over the saree every time you walk. Your navel deep and exposed, hips wide and swaying. Even the boys from Shiva anna’s own gang lust after you. They stare at your boobs when you pass, whisper about how they would love to grab your ass cheeks, spread your thighs, shove their cock into your pussy. They respect anna, so they never act, but they want you badly. You know it. Every rowdy in the slum wants to fuck you.”
I cried harder, hands covering my face, boobs shaking with sobs under the yellow blouse, mangalsutra sticky against my wet cleavage. “Dhamu... stop... I love my husband... I cannot think like that...”
He kept talking, voice steady, turning back every few seconds to look at me. “Akka, sex is nothing. It is just exchange of pleasure. Bodies meeting for a few minutes. A cock going in and out of a pussy. Moans, sweat, release. Nothing more. It does not take your love for anna. It does not change who you belong to in your heart. It is just flesh doing what flesh does. One time, akka. One short exchange of pleasure with Govindan sir, and Shiva anna lives. You keep your husband. The boys keep their father. That is all.”
I shook my head, tears falling onto my boobs over the yellow blouse, voice choked. “But... it feels like betrayal... I promised him... only him...”
Dhamu slowed the auto at a signal, turned fully to face me, eyes serious. “Akka, listen. Fifteen minutes. That is all. Fifteen minutes of giving pleasure to Govindan sir. Let him touch your boobs, squeeze them, kiss your neck, put his cock in your pussy. Let him cum inside you. Fifteen minutes, and Shiva anna comes home safe. No more hiding. No more fear of encounter. He will hold you again, fuck you again, be father to the boys. Do this for him. Do this for your sons. They are waiting at home, asking when appa will come back. Do you want to tell them their father is dead because you said no to fifteen minutes? Think of their faces, akka. Think of them growing up without him. Fifteen minutes, akka. That is all it takes to save him.”
My sobs quieted slowly, chest aching, pussy clenching under the maroon panties, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree from the weight of his words. I thought of my three sons, their small faces, their questions about appa. I thought of my husband hiding in that hut, waiting for death. Loyalty warred with love for my children, with fear of losing everything. Tears kept falling, but my voice came out small, broken.
“Fifteen minutes... only that... for him... for the boys...”
Dhamu nodded, voice gentle now. “Yes, akka. Just fifteen minutes. Let Govindan sir have you now. Save Shiva anna. Save your family.”
I stared out the auto window, boobs still heaving under the yellow blouse, mangalsutra heavy between them, emotional fool heart cracking open. After a long silence, I whispered through tears. “Okay... take me back... I will do it... for my husband... for my sons...”
Dhamu exhaled in relief, turned the auto around sharply, engine roaring as we headed back toward Govindan’s office, my decision made in despair and love, ready to give my body for fifteen minutes to save the rowdy husband I adored, the father of my children, the only man whose cock I ever wanted inside my pussy until this moment.

[novelistcasanova]

Just then Govindan’s black car pulled out from the office compound, windows tinted dark, engine roaring as it sped past us. Dhamu cursed under his breath, eyes following the car. At that moment one of Dhamu’s contacts, the middleman who had arranged our meeting, came rushing out from the gate, face red and angry.

Dhamu leaned out of the auto. “Hey, what happened? Where is Govindan sir going?”
The contact spat on the ground, voice loud and furious. “You idiot! You brought the wrong whore! Boss was horny as hell, ready to fuck her right there, but she insulted him, pushed him away. Now he is going straight to Actress Sindhu’s house to fuck her and get this tension out. After that he is heading to the MLA’s place to confirm the encounter. He said go ahead, kill all those rowdies tonight. Shiva is first on the list. You screwed up, Dhamu! You brought a proud bitch who thinks she is too good for sir’s cock!”
Fear slammed into me like a fist. My boobs tightened under the yellow blouse, pussy clenching in terror under the maroon panties, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree. Tears burst fresh from my eyes, sobs choking me. “No... no... please... they will kill him... my husband... my sons...”
Dhamu turned to me quickly, voice urgent. “Akka, get inside the auto properly. We are following him.”
I scrambled deeper into the back seat, yellow saree riding up my thighs, exposing more of my thighs and the lower edge of my maroon panties over my ass cheeks. Dhamu floored the accelerator, the auto lurching forward, chasing after Govindan’s black car through the traffic. My boobs bounced hard under the yellow blouse with every bump, mangalsutra slapping against my cleavage, pussy throbbing with panic under the layers.
Dhamu glanced back at me through the mirror, voice tense. “Akka, we have to catch up. If we can stop him before he reaches the MLA, maybe we can fix this. But you have to be ready. He is angry. You saw what he wants. One fuck, akka. Let him have you. Save Shiva anna.”
I cried harder, hands pressed to my boobs over the yellow blouse, nipples aching from the fear and motion. “I... I will do it... please... just save him... do not let them kill my husband...”
The auto raced through the streets, engine screaming, my heart breaking and reforming in desperate resolve, loyal wife ready to give my body now to save the rowdy husband I loved, the father of my sons, before the cops took him forever. Govindan’s car ahead, taillights flashing, carrying the man who held my husband’s life and my body’s fate in his ugly hands.


Dhamu pushed the auto to its limit, engine screaming as he took a shortcut through narrow slum lanes, wheels bouncing over broken concrete and potholes. The auto shook violently with every bump, jerking my body forward and back. My boobs jiggled wildly under the yellow blouse, heavy boobs bouncing hard against the white bra cups, nipples rubbing painfully and poking harder over the yellow blouse with each jolt. My entire body trembled, ass cheeks slapping against the seat through the yellow saree and yellow petticoat, maroon panties riding up deeper between my ass cheeks, the seam catching tight against my shaved asshole and pulling into my pussy lips.
The rough ride made the maroon panties wedge even tighter, the crotch bunching uncomfortably against my clit and pussy lips, the back seam digging into my asshole like a thin rope. I squirmed in the back seat, trying to ease the discomfort without touching, spreading my thighs wide apart then bringing them together, shifting my hips side to side, clenching and unclenching my ass cheeks to loosen the wedgie. I lifted my hips off the seat slightly, rocking forward and back, hoping gravity would pull the maroon panties back into place. My boobs continued to bounce with the motion, mangalsutra slapping against my cleavage, navel exposed and glistening with sweat above the yellow petticoat.
Dhamu swerved around a corner, auto tilting dangerously, my ass cheeks sliding on the seat, maroon panties pulling tighter still, the seam now fully embedded between my ass cheeks and pressing hard against my asshole. I gasped softly, spreading my thighs wider again, rocking my hips in small circles, trying to shake the maroon panties loose without using my hands, all the little tricks women do when no one is watching.
He finally slammed the brakes in a small empty stretch near the main road, parking the auto under a streetlight. The main road ahead was almost deserted, only a few trucks rumbling past in the distance. Dhamu turned back to me, breathing heavy from the chase. “Akka, Actress Sindhu’s house is five kilometers from here. Govindan sir’s car has to pass this road. We can stop him here. Get out and stand with me. When the car comes, wave him down. We have to talk to him before he reaches the MLA.”
I nodded through tears, climbed down from the auto, yellow saree and yellow petticoat falling back into place but the maroon panties still caught deep between my ass cheeks. I stood next to Dhamu on the roadside, uncomfortable, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I spread my thighs slightly apart again, rocking my hips forward and back in small discreet movements, clenching my ass cheeks tight then releasing, trying to dislodge the wedged maroon panties without reaching down to adjust them. My boobs jiggled softly with each shift under the yellow blouse, nipples still hard over the yellow blouse, mangalsutra swaying between them.
Dhamu glanced at me, noticing my discomfort. “Akka, stand still. The car will come any minute. We have to stop him.”
I bit my lip, spreading my thighs wider for a moment, then bringing them together sharply, hoping the motion would free the maroon panties seam from my asshole. The maroon panties stayed stubbornly wedged, rubbing my pussy lips and clit with every small movement, wetness seeping into the crotch from the chase and fear. I rocked my hips again in tiny circles, clenching my ass cheeks repeatedly, desperate to adjust without touching, emotional fool heart racing with terror for my husband while my body betrayed me with unwanted friction under the yellow saree. We waited in the dim streetlight, my boobs rising and falling fast, pussy throbbing under the trapped maroon panties, ready to flag down the car that carried the man who could still save my husband—or destroy him forever.


Dhamu noticed Govindan’s black car approaching fast on the main road, headlights off in the bright afternoon sun. He grabbed my arm, voice urgent. “Akka, that is Govindan sir’s car. Quick, look seductive. Make him stop. He has to see you want him.”
Before I could respond, Dhamu grabbed the yellow saree pallu along with the yellow petticoat at my left hip where the nada was tied. He pulled both down in one firm tug, lowering them several inches below my navel, exposing more of my belly, the lower part of my navel, and the soft skin just above my hips. The yellow saree and yellow petticoat now sat dangerously low, almost revealing the top edge of my maroon panties over my shaved mound.
I gasped, boobs heaving under the yellow blouse, nipples poking hard over the yellow blouse, mangalsutra swinging between my boobs. To my shock, right across the road, a big lorry was parked under a tree, engine off. The lorry driver and his cleaner sat in the open cabin, both stroking their cocks furiously, eyes locked on me, cock heads glistening as they jerked off watching my exposed belly and low saree.
I whispered in panic, cheeks burning. “Dhamu... those two men in the lorry... they are watching me... they are jerking off their cocks...”
Dhamu glanced over, then turned back to me, voice sharp but polite. “Akka, ignore them. If you want to go fight with them and stop Govindan sir’s car, go ahead. Or stand here and let them watch. Shiva anna’s life is on the line. Do you want to save him or argue with two lorry men jerking off?”
I put my head down, shame flooding me, pussy clenching under the maroon panties, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree. I let the two men watch, their hands moving faster on their cocks, eyes devouring my exposed navel and low hips. My boobs rose and fell fast under the yellow blouse, nipples hard over the yellow blouse, mangalsutra trembling with my shaky breaths.
Dhamu reached up suddenly, grabbed the white bra strap on my left shoulder through the yellow blouse neckline, and pulled it out slightly, revealing the white bra strap gently showing on my shoulder between my neck and yellow blouse. He did the same with the right white bra strap, pulling both white bra straps out so they hung clearly visible on my shoulders between my neck and yellow blouse, making my boobs look pushed up and more prominent under the yellow blouse, nipples poking even harder over the yellow blouse.
The two lorry men got more excited, hands jerking faster on their cocks, eyes wide on my exposed boobs and low navel. They groaned low, then both came hard, thick cum shooting all over the lorry floor, splattering the dashboard and their thighs, their cocks pulsing and spurting until they slumped back, breathing heavy.
By that time Govindan’s expensive big car approached, headlights off in the afternoon sun. Dhamu stepped into the road, waving both hands frantically. “Sir! Stop! Please!”
The car slowed, then halted with a screech. Govindan rolled down the window, face still angry, eyes immediately locking on my low yellow saree, exposed navel, visible white bra straps on my shoulders between my neck and yellow blouse, and heaving boobs under the yellow blouse. I stood trembling, pussy throbbing with fear and shame under the maroon panties, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree, emotional fool ready to beg again, to offer myself now, to save my husband before it was too late.


Dhamu ran toward the car window, hands folded in pleading gesture. “Sir, please wait! Meena akka has changed her mind. She wants to apologize for the disrespect. She is ready now. Please, sir, give her one chance. She will do whatever you want to save Shiva anna.”
Govindan did not even look at me. He kept his eyes on the road ahead, face cold and furious, voice sharp. “Too late, Dhamu. I am going to the MLA right now. The encounter happens sooner. All rowdies die today. Shiva first. Tell his wife to live with her pride. She insulted me. No second chance.”
Fear crashed over me like ice water. My boobs tightened under the yellow blouse, nipples poking harder over the yellow blouse, mangalsutra trembling between my boobs with my panicked breaths. “No, sir! Please! I am sorry! Save my husband! Do not let them kill him! I beg you!”
Dhamu moved fast, cheekily opening the back door of Govindan’s car and gently but quickly pushing me inside, making me sit next to Govindan on his left side. Dhamu climbed in next to the driver, closing the door behind him.
The driver, a young man in shirt and trousers, kept glancing at me through the rearview mirror while the car idled. His eyes flicked repeatedly from the road to my boobs heaving under the yellow blouse, then down to my exposed navel and low yellow saree on my hips, a visible cock bulge growing in his trousers as he ogled me shamelessly, biting his lip, unable to look away.
Govindan exploded in rage, turning toward Dhamu. “What the hell are you doing? Get this bitch out of my car! She disrespected me! I said no!”
I leaned forward, tears streaming, hands clasped in front of me, voice breaking. “Sir, I am so sorry! I was scared! Please forgive me! I apologize for the disrespect. Save my husband! Please, sir, do not let the cops kill him in the encounter. He has three sons. They need their father. I beg you, sir!”
Govindan glared at me, face twisted in anger, eyes flicking once to my boobs heaving under the yellow blouse, nipples hard over the yellow blouse, the low yellow saree exposing my navel and the soft skin below. He turned back to Dhamu. “You think bringing her back changes anything? She insulted my ego. She pushed me away like I was dirt. I have actresses begging to fuck me. She is just a slum wife. Get her out!”
I sobbed louder, hands reaching toward him but stopping short. “Sir, please forgive me! I was wrong! I apologize from my heart! Save my husband! I will never disrespect you again. Please, sir, have mercy on him, on our sons. Do not kill him!”
Dhamu pleaded from the front seat. “Sir, she is sorry. She will listen now. Give her one chance. Shiva anna is loyal to you also. Please, sir.”
Govindan leaned back, still furious, eyes cold. “She sits here begging like a dog. But she insulted me. Her apology is worthless. Shiva dies today. No mercy. Get her out of my car before I call security and have you both beaten.”
The driver kept stealing glances through the mirror, eyes locked on my boobs and exposed navel, cock bulge throbbing visibly in his trousers, hand twitching on the steering wheel as if fighting the urge to adjust himself.
I cried harder, body shaking, pussy aching with fear under the maroon panties, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree, boobs rising and falling fast under the yellow blouse, emotional fool heart shattered but still clinging to hope, terrified of what his anger meant for my husband’s life in the cop encounter. The car stayed still, tension thick, Govindan refusing to soften, my desperate pleas falling on deaf ears as he held onto his rage.


The car was spacious and expensive, black leather seats wide enough for three people to lie down comfortably, soft and cool against my thighs through the yellow saree and yellow petticoat. The back seat had plenty of room, almost like a small bed, air conditioning humming low, windows tinted dark so no one outside could see inside. The dashboard glowed with soft blue lights, the smell of expensive perfume and leather thick in the air.
Govindan turned to the driver, a young man named Kumar in shirt and trousers, voice cold. “Kumar, take the car to my guest house. I am going to punish this bitch before I decide about her husband.”
Kumar nodded, eyes flicking to me in the rearview mirror, then started the engine. The car moved smoothly forward.
Govindan grabbed my left cheek with his right hand, slapping hard across my face, the sound sharp in the quiet car. Pain exploded on my cheek, tears springing fresh. He slapped my right cheek next, harder, my head snapping to the side. “You think you are special, Meena? You insulted me. You pushed me away like I was some street dog.”
He slapped my left cheek again, then my right, alternating, each slap stinging my face red and hot. I cried out in pain, boobs heaving under the yellow blouse, nipples poking hard over the yellow blouse from shock and sobs. “Sir... please... I am sorry...”
He slapped my left cheek once more, then my right again, five more times in quick succession, left right left right left, each slap landing with a loud crack, my cheeks burning crimson, tears streaming down my face. “You think you are too good for my cock? I fuck top heroines daily. Actresses with bigger boobs, tighter pussy, better bodies. They beg me to fuck them. You are nothing. Just a slum wife with nice boobs and ass cheeks.”
I sobbed, voice small and broken. “Yes, sir... I am nothing... I am sorry... I apologize for disrespecting you... please forgive me...”
Govindan shifted closer, grabbed my waist with his left hand, and pulled me across his lap face down. He lifted the yellow saree and yellow petticoat high over my ass cheeks, exposing the maroon panties wedged between them. He spanked my left ass cheek hard with his right palm, the slap echoing loud in the spacious car. Then my right ass cheek, again and again, alternating, ten hard spanks on each side, the slaps ringing sharp and fast, my ass cheeks jiggling violently with every hit, burning red and throbbing with pain. Each spank made my body jerk forward, boobs crushing against the leather seat through the yellow blouse, nipples rubbing painfully inside the white bra cups.
I cried out louder with every spank, tears soaking the seat, hands reaching back instinctively to soothe my stinging ass cheeks. Govindan slapped my hands away again and again. “Keep your hands off. This is punishment. You think you are special? You are nothing. Say it louder.”
I sobbed, voice choked with pain. “I am nothing, sir... I am sorry... I apologize... please forgive me...”
He kept spanking, another fifteen hard slaps on my left ass cheek, then fifteen on my right, alternating in sets, the pain building to a fiery burn, my ass cheeks quivering red and swollen under his palm, each spank making my ass cheeks bounce and sting worse. Pain shot through me, sharp and hot, but the words he had said earlier, that he would save my husband after punishing me, made me tolerate it, biting my lip to keep from screaming too loud, rubbing my ass cheeks desperately after each set of slaps, ass cheeks trembling under my palms.
Dhamu turned from the front seat, voice worried. “Sir, please be gentle. She is scared. She is sorry. She will obey now.”
Kumar, the driver, snapped at Dhamu without turning. “Be quiet, Dhamu. Let sir punish her. She deserves it.”
Dhamu fell silent, eyes flicking back to me over his shoulder, watching Govindan spank my ass cheeks again, the slaps loud in the spacious car. I cried in pain, ass cheeks burning red, rubbing them desperately after each hit, body shaking on Govindan’s lap, boobs crushed against the leather seat through the yellow blouse, pussy clenching in fear and shame under the maroon panties, yellow petticoat, and yellow saree. Govindan kept spanking, voice furious. “You insulted me. You think your loyalty makes you special? I have fucked women better than you every day. Say it. Say you are nothing.”
I sobbed harder, voice choked. “I am nothing, sir... I am sorry... I apologize... please forgive me...”
Govindan spanked my ass cheeks one more time, hard, then stopped, breathing heavy. “Keep crying, bitch. We have a long drive to the guest house. You will learn respect there. And maybe, if you behave, I will think about saving your rowdy husband.”
I lay across his lap, ass cheeks stinging, tears soaking the seat, boobs pressed flat under the yellow blouse, emotional fool heart terrified but holding onto the tiny hope that this punishment might still lead to my husband’s life being spared. The car sped on toward the guest house, the spacious interior feeling smaller with every slap, every word, every second of my shame and pain.




Govindan grabbed the yellow saree pallu dbangd over my left shoulder. He tugged it hard, unwrapping the yellow saree from my waist in quick pulls, dragging the long folds off my hips and ass cheeks, letting them pool on the floor around my ankles. He pulled the remaining yellow saree completely off my body, tossing it aside, leaving me only in the yellow blouse and yellow petticoat.
Kumar, the driver, kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror, eyes wide on my boobs under the yellow blouse and my exposed navel above the yellow petticoat. “Sir, she is a great babe. I started having a boner the moment I saw her in the office. Look at her boobs in that yellow blouse, nipples poking hard over the yellow blouse. Her navel so deep.”
Govindan nodded, voice thick with anger and lust. “Yes, Kumar. I had a boner the moment I saw her too. That is why I made the offer. If she let me fuck her pussy, I would save her husband. But she pushed me and insulted me. That is why I am punishing this bitch now.”
He grabbed the yellow blouse front hooks, unhooked them one by one with rough fingers, pulling the yellow blouse open and shoving it off my shoulders. The yellow blouse fell to the seat, leaving me in the white bra. He untied the yellow petticoat nada on my left hip, tugged it down over my hips, shoving the yellow petticoat to my ankles and kicking it aside.
I was now only in white bra and maroon panties, boobs heaving under the white bra cups, nipples poking hard over the white bra, mangalsutra dangling between my boobs, navel fully exposed, maroon panties wedged between my ass cheeks and hugging my shaved pussy lips.
I cried in shame and pain, body trembling on the seat. “Sir... please... I am sorry... save my husband... do not do this...”
Govindan slapped my left cheek hard again, then my right, voice furious. “Shut up, bitch. You are nothing. I fuck heroines daily. They beg for my cock. You insulted me. Now you pay.”
Kumar laughed from the driver seat, eyes still on me in the mirror. “Sir, look at her in just white bra and maroon panties. Her boobs look even bigger now. I want to see her naked, sir.”
Govindan grabbed my waist, pulled me closer, voice low and angry. “She will be naked soon enough. But first, punishment. She thinks she is special. She is not.”
I sobbed, boobs bouncing under the white bra, pussy clenching in fear under the maroon panties, emotional fool heart breaking but clinging to the hope that enduring this would still lead to my husband’s life being saved from the cop encounter. The car sped on toward the guest house, the spacious interior filled with my cries, Govindan’s rage, and Kumar’s lustful stares through the mirror.


We neared the guest house, the car slowing as tall iron gates with high walls and tall trees came into view.  Kumar honked twice, sharp and loud. The security guard, a tall man in khaki uniform, stepped out from the booth, recognized the car, and quickly opened the heavy gates. The car rolled inside smoothly, tires crunching on gravel driveway, and the guard closed the gates behind us with a loud clang that echoed in the quiet compound.
As we entered deeper inside the grounds, Govindan’s anger had softened into something darker and hungrier. He reached for me again, grabbed my waist gently this time, and pulled me onto his lap, making me sit facing him in my white bra and maroon panties. My thighs spread over his legs, maroon panties pressing against his white dhoti bulge, ass cheeks resting on his thick thighs. He kissed my left cheek softly, lips lingering, then my right cheek, breath warm and heavy.
“Do not worry, Meena. I will enjoy you now. Right after, I will meet the MLA and save your husband. The encounter will be canceled. Cases dropped. Shiva lives. You just give me what I want.”
His hands slid up my waist, fingers tracing the soft skin on both sides, then moving to my deep navel. He rubbed my navel slowly with his thumbs, circling the deep hollow, dipping one thumb inside to feel the depth, making me shiver. “Such a deep navel. So perfect. I will fill it later. But first, your boobs, your ass cheeks, your pussy... all mine for now.”
I trembled on his lap, boobs rising and falling fast under the white bra, nipples hard over the white bra, pussy clenching under the maroon panties from fear, shame, and the strange heat of his touch. Tears still wet on my cheeks, but his promise—save my husband—kept me from pulling away. “Sir... please... save him... do whatever you want... just save my husband...”
Govindan kissed my cheek again, softer, hands still feeling up my waist and navel, thumbs pressing into the deep hollow. “Good girl. You will enjoy it too. Then your rowdy husband comes home to you. But now... you are mine.”
The security guard watched from the gate as the car moved past, eyes locking on me in just white bra and maroon panties through the tinted window. His face lit up with excitement, a wide grin spreading as he stared openly at my boobs under the white bra, nipples poking hard over the white bra, my exposed navel, and maroon panties hugging my shaved pussy lips and wedged between my ass cheeks. He winked at Kumar through the driver window.
Kumar grinned back, raising his hand for a high-five. The guard reached through the open driver window and slapped Kumar’s palm hard, both men laughing low. “Lucky day, sir has a hot one,” the guard muttered, eyes still on my boobs and low navel.
I stared at the exchange, fear twisting in my belly. Something felt wrong—very wrong. The wink, the high-five, the way they laughed. My pussy clenched under the maroon panties, thighs pressing together instinctively, boobs rising and falling fast under the white bra. I hugged my boobs tighter over the white bra, trying to hide, but the car was already moving deeper into the compound toward the main building, carrying me toward whatever Govindan planned next, the spacious interior now feeling like a trap closing around me.


The car rolled to a stop under the grand portico of the guest house, engine purring to silence. Kumar stepped out quickly, walked around to the back door, and opened it wide with a polite bow. “Sir, we are here.”
Govindan looked at me in his lap, still only in white bra and maroon panties, boobs pressed against his chest, nipples poking hard over the white bra, mangalsutra resting between my boobs. I whispered nervously, voice small. “Sir... shall I wear my saree and get down?”
He shook his head, hands still on my waist, fingers rubbing my navel. “No need. I am going to remove them anyway. Do not worry. This is a private place. No one will see you except me and Kumar. You stay like this.”
He opened the door wider, stepped out of the car while still holding me, lifting me in his arms so I sat on his lap facing him, my thighs wrapped around his waist, ass cheeks resting on his forearms through the maroon panties. I wrapped my arms around his neck tight for support, hugging him close, boobs crushing against his shirt, mangalsutra trapped between us. My legs wrapped tighter around his waist, pussy pressing against his cock bulge in the white dhoti through the maroon panties, body trembling as he carried me inside the house in the same position.
Kumar stayed by the car, watching us go. He called out to Dhamu, who had followed in the auto behind. “Dhamu, how did you come?”
Dhamu answered from the auto. “By auto.”
Kumar nodded, grinning. “Go bring your auto to take her home later. We will take care of her well. Sir will enjoy her, then send her back to her husband with good news.”
I turned my head slightly in Govindan’s arms, voice shaky. “Sir... please let Dhamu be with us... he is like my brother...”
Govindan kissed my cheek again, hands squeezing my ass cheeks over the maroon panties as he carried me through the doorway. “Let him go bring that auto. After we are done, he can take you home or straight to your husband and give him the good news that he will be safe. You agreed to this. Now be quiet and enjoy.”
I nodded weakly, arms still wrapped around his neck, boobs bouncing gently against his chest with each step, pussy throbbing under the maroon panties from fear and his grip. “Yes, sir... I agree...”
Dhamu hesitated at the car, eyes on me in Govindan’s arms, then turned and walking as fast as he could to go back and bring his Auto. Govindan carried me inside the house, doors closing behind us, the spacious hallway lit soft, my boobs pressed to him, ass cheeks in his hands, emotional fool heart clinging to his promise to save my husband after he finished enjoying me. The guest house swallowed us, quiet and private, my fate now fully in his hands.


Govindan carried me inside the guest house, my thighs wrapped around his waist, ass cheeks resting on his forearms through the maroon panties, boobs pressed tight against his chest over the white bra, mangalsutra trapped between us. My arms stayed wrapped around his neck, hugging him for support as he walked through the wide hallway into the large living room. The living room was spacious, with long leather sofas, a wide glass coffee table, thick carpets, and tall windows with heavy curtains blocking the afternoon sun. The room felt private, isolated, air conditioning cool against my exposed skin in just white bra and maroon panties.
He dropped me gently onto my feet beside the large sofa. His hands stayed on my waist, fingers rubbing my navel. “I will take a shower first. I stink. I want to fuck you fresh. Wait here, do not move.”
I nodded quickly, voice small. “Yes, sir... I will wait...” He smelled of sweat and anger, and the thought of him fucking me fresh made my pussy clench under the maroon panties, a mix of fear and the strange heat from his earlier promise to save my husband.
To my horror, as Govindan turned toward the hallway leading to the stairs, Kumar, the driver, suddenly came up behind me from the entrance. He grabbed my waist from behind, hugging me tight against his chest, his hard cock bulge in his trousers rubbing against my ass cheeks through the maroon panties. I froze in utter shock, boobs heaving under the white bra, nipples poking hard over the white bra.
Kumar spoke over my shoulder to Govindan. “Sir, let me enjoy Meena first. I will make her shower and prepare fresh for you after. Please, sir.”
Govindan paused at the foot of the stairs, chuckled low. “Fine, Kumar. Enjoy Meena. But do not take too long. I want her clean and ready when I come out.”
I exclaimed in shock, voice trembling. “Sir... I only agreed to you... not anyone else...”
Govindan laughed casually, eyes on my boobs under the white bra and my exposed navel. “You agreed to save your husband. That means you give me what I want. Kumar is part of this. He will enjoy you now. Then I will. Do not complain. Be good.”
He started climbing the stairs toward his bedroom, disappearing upstairs without another word. Kumar tightened his hug, hands sliding up to grab my boobs over the white bra, squeezing hard. “Relax, Meena. I will be quick. Then sir will fuck you fresh. Your husband will be saved.”
I stood trembling in my white bra and maroon panties in the middle of the spacious living room, boobs crushed in his hands, pussy clenching in fear under the maroon panties, emotional fool heart racing with horror and betrayal, but the promise of saving my husband kept me from fighting too hard. The upstairs shower started running, Govindan cleaning himself, while Kumar’s cock bulge rubbed against my ass cheeks, the guest house silent except for my shaky breaths and his low chuckle. Something felt deeply wrong, but I had no choice now, trapped in this private place, body exposed, waiting for whatever came next to keep my husband alive.


The driver grabbed my hands suddenly, pulling my arms up and wrapping them around his neck. He hugged me tight from the front, crushing my boobs against his chest over the white bra, his hard cock bulge in his trousers rubbing against my navel through the maroon panties. He began kissing my face all over: wet kisses on my forehead over the kumkum dot, on my cheeks, on my lips, tongue pushing against my closed mouth, breath hot and heavy with lust.
I struggled weakly, voice breaking. “Please stop, Kumar... I am a mother... please... I have three sons... do not do this...”
The driver ignored my pleas, hands sliding behind my back to unhook the white bra hooks one by one with quick fingers. The white bra loosened, straps sliding down my shoulders as he pulled it off completely and removed it aside. My boobs bounced free, heavy and round, nipples erect and dark from fear and unwanted arousal, mangalsutra now resting directly between my naked boobs, pendant brushing my cleavage.
He carried me to the large sofa in the living room, placing me down on my back, my boobs spreading slightly to the sides, nipples pointing up, navel deep and exposed, maroon panties hugging my shaved pussy lips and wedged between my ass cheeks. My body was beautiful and sexy in its naked vulnerability: full heavy boobs with dark erect nipples, deep round navel begging to be licked, wide hips flaring out, thick thighs spread slightly in fear, shaved pussy clean and smooth under the maroon panties, pussy lips plump and outlined over the maroon panties, ass cheeks round and firm, mangalsutra shining between my boobs like a symbol of my marriage now being defiled.
The driver stared at my body, mouth open, cock bulge throbbing in his trousers. “Fuck... I cannot believe my luck. Such a beautiful Tamil wife. Look at these boobs, so big and soft, nipples hard like they want sucking. That deep navel, shaved pussy under those maroon panties, ass cheeks perfect for grabbing. Shiva anna is lucky, but today you are mine.”
He removed his shirt quickly, then pulled his trousers and underwear down, his thick cock springing free, hard and veined, pre-cum leaking from the tip. He grabbed the waistband of my maroon panties. I immediately reached down with both hands, holding the top of my maroon panties tightly at my hips, fingers gripping the waistband hard, refusing to let go. “No... please, Kumar... do not remove them... I cannot... I am loyal to my husband... please stop...” My voice cracked with unwillingness, tears streaming, body shaking as I clung desperately to the maroon panties, trying to keep them in place.
The driver ignored my begging, hands stronger than mine. He pulled the maroon panties down over my hips despite my grip, forcing my fingers to slip as he removed them completely from my thighs and ankles, leaving me naked. My shaved pussy was fully exposed now, pussy lips smooth and pink, clit swollen slightly from fear and tension, asshole clean and tight between my round ass cheeks.
I cried harder, arms trying to cover my boobs, legs pressing together tightly. “Please... Kumar... stop... I am a mother... I love my husband... do not do this...”
The driver ignored me, kneeling between my thighs, spreading them wide with his hands, eyes devouring my naked body.

[novelistcasanova]

The driver spread my thighs wide apart with strong hands, knees pushing my legs open on the sofa. He climbed on top of me, body heavy, chest pressing down on my naked boobs, nipples crushed against him. His thick cock head nudged my shaved pussy lips, parting them slowly. He pushed forward, inserting his cock inside my pussy inch by inch, stretching my pussy walls tight around his girth.

The feeling hit me instantly: a sharp burning stretch as his cock filled my pussy, the head pushing deep, my pussy walls gripping him unwillingly, the invasion hot and full, every vein on his cock rubbing my inner walls. My clit throbbed from the pressure, pussy clenching around the intruder even as my mind screamed no, the unwanted fullness making my pussy leak against my will, body betraying me with slickness coating his cock. Pain mixed with a strange deep pressure, each thrust forcing my pussy to open more, pussy lips hugging his cock base, balls eventually resting against my asshole.
He began enjoying himself, fucking my pussy with steady thrusts, cock sliding in and out, balls slapping my ass cheeks with every push. He kissed my neck all over, wet and sloppy, tongue licking my skin, teeth grazing. “Thank you God... thank you for giving me one of the best pussies in the world today... so tight, so wet, so perfect... thank you for this shaved pussy, this hot Tamil wife... I am blessed...” He murmured the little prayer between thrusts, voice reverent and filthy, hips slamming harder.
My body reacted against my will: pussy walls fluttered around his cock, clit swelling from the constant friction, wetness leaking down my asshole and onto the sofa, boobs bouncing with each thrust, nipples rubbing his chest, sending unwanted jolts through me. The genuine feeling was violation and confusion—my pussy stretched and filled by a stranger’s cock without consent, the deep pressure building low in my belly, pussy clenching involuntarily, betraying my loyalty, shame flooding me as my body responded with slick heat and pulsing need even as tears fell from my eyes. My pussy gripped his cock tighter with every stroke, clit throbbing painfully, hips twitching up slightly against my mind’s protest, the unwanted pleasure mixing with pain and horror.
I sobbed beneath him, voice broken. “Please... stop... Kumar.... do not do this...”
The driver ignored me, thrusting deeper, cock pounding my pussy, balls slapping my asshole, mouth on my neck, murmuring thanks to God again. “God... thank you... best pussy ever... so tight... so wet... I am lucky today...”
My pussy spasmed around his cock, body shaking, emotional fool heart torn between betrayal of my husband and the raw physical reaction I could not stop, boobs bouncing, mangalsutra slapping between them, pussy leaking more with every unwanted thrust, waiting for Govindan to finish showering while this stranger enjoyed my body in the spacious living room.


The driver lowered his mouth to my left boob, sucking my nipple hard into his warm mouth, tongue swirling around the erect nipple, teeth grazing lightly as he pulled the nipple deep. At the same time his cock kept thrusting into my pussy, stretching my pussy walls with every push, balls slapping my asshole. The dual sensation overwhelmed me: my nipple throbbed in his mouth, sharp jolts of pleasure-pain shooting straight to my clit, making my pussy clench tighter around his cock, wetness flooding my pussy even as tears fell. My boob ached from the sucking, nipple swollen and sensitive, while his cock filled my pussy deep, rubbing every inner spot, the fullness and friction building an unwanted pressure low in my belly.
He switched to my right boob, sucking the nipple deep, tongue flicking fast, hand squeezing the left boob roughly, pinching the left nipple between fingers. My boobs bounced with his thrusts, nipples throbbing in his mouth and hand, sending electric shocks through my body, my clit pulsing painfully, pussy spasming around his cock involuntarily, wetness dripping down my asshole onto the sofa. The feeling was betrayal and torment: my boobs being sucked pulled at my core, heightening the stretch and fullness in my pussy, body reacting with slick heat and pulsing need even as my mind screamed no, shame burning as my pussy gripped his cock tighter, hips twitching up slightly against my will.
He looked up into my eyes while sucking my nipple, mouth latched tight, tongue flicking the hard nipple, gaze intense and guilty-inducing, making the shame flood me deeper. I turned my face away, unable to meet his eyes, tears streaming. “No... please...”
He kept sucking my nipples alternately, mouth wet and hot, cock pounding my pussy, balls slapping my asshole. My body betrayed me further: pussy walls fluttered around his cock, clit swelling from the constant pounding and sucking, wetness leaking down my asshole onto the sofa, boobs bouncing with each thrust, nipples throbbing in his mouth, hips twitching up slightly against my mind’s protest. The genuine feeling was violation and confusion—my pussy stretched and filled by a stranger’s cock without consent, the deep pressure building low in my belly, pussy clenching involuntarily, shame burning as my body responded with slick heat and pulsing need even as tears fell, loyalty to my husband shattering with every unwanted thrust and suck. I cried louder, turning my face away, body shaking under him. “No... please... stop... I cannot... ”
The driver kept fucking my pussy, cock pounding deep, mouth sucking my nipples alternately, enjoying himself with low grunts. “Fuck... so good... your pussy is perfect... tight and wet... your boobs taste amazing...”
My pussy throbbed with fear and unwanted sensation, boobs aching from his sucking, mangalsutra slapping between them, emotional fool heart torn apart, waiting for Govindan to finish showering while this stranger enjoyed my body in the spacious living room.


The driver kept thrusting his cock deep into my pussy, balls slapping my asshole with every hard push. He brought his hands down, grabbing my ass cheeks underneath, fingers digging into the round flesh, squeezing and spreading my ass cheeks wide as he fucked me faster. His grip pulled my ass cheeks apart, exposing my asshole more, making his cock slide even deeper into my pussy, the head hitting my inner walls with intense pressure.
The feeling built relentlessly: his cock stretching my pussy walls wide, rubbing every sensitive spot inside, the thick girth filling me completely with each thrust, my pussy clenching tighter around him against my will. My clit throbbed from the constant pounding, wetness leaking out around his cock, coating his balls and dripping down my asshole. My pussy started fluttering, inner walls spasming involuntarily, the deep pressure coiling low in my belly, pleasure rising sharp and unwanted even as shame burned through me. My boobs bounced wildly under his chest, nipples scbanging against him, sending jolts straight to my clit, my thighs trembling, hips lifting slightly to meet his thrusts despite my tears, body chasing the edge against every scream in my mind.
Mnmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmm I moaned as I was about to cum.
The moment “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” he moaned and came deep inside my pussy, I could not hold it anymore “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.... aaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” I moaned and began cumming all over his cock.

[novelistcasanova]

His cock pulsed hard, shooting thick hot cum deep into my pussy, filling me completely, leaking out around his cock as my pussy clenched and spasmed wildly around him, waves of orgasm crashing through me against my will. My pussy milked his cock, pussy walls contracting over and over, clit throbbing painfully, wetness squirting slightly onto his balls, ass cheeks quivering in his grip, boobs heaving, mangalsutra slapping between them. Shame flooded me as my body betrayed me fully, cumming hard on a stranger’s cock, tears mixing with the unwanted pleasure, loyalty to my husband shattering in the living room while Govindan showered upstairs.

The driver stayed buried inside my pussy, cock softening slowly, cum leaking down my asshole, breathing heavy against my neck. “Fuck... Meena... your pussy is amazing... so tight... you came so hard... sir will love this.”
I lay beneath him, sobbing quietly, pussy still pulsing around his cock, boobs aching, body spent and trembling, emotional fool heart broken but clinging to the hope that this violation would somehow lead to my husband being saved from the cop encounter. The spacious living room felt colder now, silent except for my shaky breaths and the driver’s satisfied sigh, waiting for Govindan to return.



The driver pulled his cock out of my pussy slowly, cum leaking from my pussy lips down my thighs and onto the sofa. He got up, breathing heavy, cock still hard and glistening with my wetness and his cum. He bent down, picked up my white bra from the floor, then my maroon panties where they had been tossed aside. He held them out to me in one hand.
He grabbed my arm gently, helping me stand from the sofa. My legs shook, thighs sticky with cum, pussy sore and throbbing from the fucking. He guided me toward the bathroom door in the living room corner, supporting my waist as I walked unsteadily, naked except for the mangalsutra dangling between my boobs.
He spoke softly. “Meena, freshen up for sir. He wants you clean and ready when he comes back.”
I took the white bra and maroon panties from his hand, hating myself for what I had done, for letting him fuck my pussy, for cumming on his cock against my will. My boobs ached from his sucking, nipples swollen and sensitive, pussy still leaking cum, ass cheeks stinging from earlier slaps. Without saying a word, I collected the white bra and maroon panties in my arms, covering my boobs and pussy as best I could, walked into the bathroom, and closed the door from the inside with a soft click.
I locked it, leaned against the door, tears falling again. My pussy still pulsed with aftershocks, pussy lips swollen and sore, boobs heavy and red from his mouth. I hated myself, hated the betrayal, hated how my body had reacted, cumming hard while my heart screamed for my husband. I turned on the shower, hot water pouring down, standing under it naked, letting it wash away the cum from my pussy and thighs, soaping my boobs, navel, ass cheeks, trying to scrub away the shame, but the guilt stayed, heavy and raw.
Outside, the driver waited, the guest house quiet except for the running water, Govindan still showering upstairs, my emotional fool heart shattered but still clinging to the hope that this violation would lead to my husband being saved from the cop encounter. I showered longer than needed, dreading what came next when Govindan returned to claim me.



I stood under the hot shower, water cascading over my naked body, washing away the cum from my pussy lips and thighs, soap suds sliding down my boobs and navel. My pussy still throbbed sore from the fucking, pussy lips swollen, clit sensitive. I hated myself for what I had done, for letting the driver fuck my pussy, for cumming on his cock against my will, for betraying my husband even if it was to save him. Tears mixed with the water, guilt heavy in my chest.
I turned off the shower, stepped out dripping, picked up the towel, and dried myself slowly. I patted my boobs, circling the towel over each mound, drying the water droplets that clung to my nipples, making them harden again from the rough texture. I dried my navel, letting the towel glide down my belly, then spread my thighs slightly to dry between them, the towel rubbing gently over my shaved pussy lips and clit, sending a small shiver through my body. I turned, bent forward a little, and dried my ass cheeks, sliding the towel between them to pat my shaved asshole clean and dry.
I wrapped the towel loosely around my boobs, ends barely meeting at my back, nipples poking against the towel fabric, and stepped out of the bathroom into the living room.
The driver waited there, holding my white bra and maroon panties in his hand. He walked to me, took my hand gently like I was his lover, and led me upstairs to Govindan’s room. I followed silently, boobs swaying under the towel, ass cheeks jiggling with each step, mangalsutra swinging between my boobs.
He opened the bedroom door and sent me inside, still only in my white bra and maroon panties now (I had put them back on after drying). Govindan stood there, fresh from his shower, towel around his waist, cock already half-hard under the towel.
Govindan came straight to me, eyes roaming my boobs under the white bra and my exposed navel. He asked the driver. “Kumar, how was she?”
The driver grinned, voice thick with satisfaction. “Sir, the best pussy ever. So tight, so wet, so smooth after shaving. Her pussy lips hugged my cock perfectly, clit swollen and throbbing, pussy walls milking me when she came. Nothing compared to all the pussies of the heroines we both have fucked. Those actresses are loose, but Meena’s pussy is fresh, tight like a virgin, gripping my cock so hard I almost came too soon. Best fuck of my life, sir.”
Govindan laughed low, eyes still on my boobs and navel. “Good. Now she is all mine again.”
I stood trembling in white bra and maroon panties, pussy still sore under the maroon panties, boobs heaving under the white bra, emotional fool heart heavy with guilt and fear, waiting for whatever Govindan would do next to punish me or enjoy me, clinging to the hope that this would lead to my husband being saved from the cop encounter. The bedroom door closed behind us, the spacious room quiet except for my shaky breaths and the men’s low chuckles.


Govindan nodded, eyes on my naked body. “Did she cooperate well, Kumar?”
The driver shook his head. “No, sir. She begged me to stop, said she is a mother, said she loves her husband. But I did not care. I only wanted to enjoy her pussy even if she wanted or not. She cried the whole time, but her pussy was wet and tight. She came hard on my cock anyway.”
Govindan grabbed my waist from behind with both hands, turning me around to face him. My boobs bounced slightly from the motion, nipples erect and dark, mangalsutra swinging between them. He looked down at me, voice low. “Will you cooperate now, Meena? Or do I need to punish you more?”
I nodded yes quickly, tears in my eyes, voice trembling. “Yes, sir... I will cooperate...”
He held my hand, fingers wrapping around mine, and took me to his bed. The bed was large, white sheets crisp, pillows stacked high. He stopped at the edge, released my hand, and said. “Remove your white bra and maroon panties. Face your ass to me and remove your maroon panties slowly. I want to see.”
He got naked quickly, pulling off his towel, his thick cock already hard again, veined and ready, balls hanging heavy. He stood watching me.
I began removing my white bra first. I reached behind my back, fingers finding the bra hooks, unhooked them one by one with shaky hands: first hook, second hook, third hook, the white bra loosening around my boobs. I slid the straps down my shoulders slowly, letting the cups fall away from my boobs, the white bra dropping to the floor. My boobs bounced free again, heavy and round, nipples erect and sensitive from earlier sucking, mangalsutra now resting directly on my chest between my boobs.
I turned my back to him, facing my ass toward him as he asked. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my maroon panties at my hips, pulled them down slowly over my hips, the maroon panties sliding down my ass cheeks, revealing my round ass cheeks inch by inch. I bent forward slightly to lower them further, ass cheeks spreading a little as the maroon panties peeled away from my shaved asshole and pussy lips. I pulled them down my thighs, past my knees, to my ankles, stepped out of them one foot at a time, leaving me completely naked. My shaved pussy was fully exposed from behind, pussy lips smooth and pink, clit slightly swollen, asshole tight and clean between my ass cheeks.
I stood naked before him, boobs heaving, pussy throbbing with fear and shame, mangalsutra dangling between my boobs, emotional fool heart racing, ready for whatever Govindan would do next to punish me or enjoy me, clinging to the hope that this would lead to my husband being saved from the cop encounter. The bedroom door was closed, the spacious room quiet except for my shaky breaths and Govindan’s low chuckle as he stepped closer.



Govindan made me sit on the edge of the bed, the white sheets cool against my naked thighs. He knelt down in front of me, hands on my knees, spreading my legs wide apart. He pushed me back gently until I lay down facing the ceiling fan, my boobs spreading to the sides, nipples erect and pointing upward, mangalsutra resting between them on my chest. My shaved pussy was fully exposed, pussy lips smooth and pink, clit slightly swollen from earlier tension, asshole tight between my ass cheeks.
He lowered his head between my thighs, mouth hovering over my pussy. He started by kissing the inner sides of my thighs slowly, tongue tracing lines up toward my pussy lips, breath hot against my skin. He spread my pussy lips with his thumbs, opening me wide, then licked my clit in slow circles, tongue flat and firm, flicking the swollen clit tip repeatedly. “Aaaahhh... mmmmmm...” Moans escaped my mouth, low and unwilling, my clit throbbing under his tongue, pleasure shooting through me.
He sucked my clit into his mouth, lips sealing around it, tongue swirling fast, pulling the clit gently with suction. “Ooooohhh... ahhhh... mmmmm...” My moans grew louder, body arching slightly, pussy leaking wetness onto his chin. At the same time he slid two fingers into my pussy, curling them upward to rub my inner wall, hitting that sensitive spot deep inside. “Aaaahhh... ohhhh... mmmmmm...” My pussy walls clenched around his fingers, clit pulsing in his mouth, the combined sucking and fingering sending waves of intense pleasure through my body.
He added a third finger to my pussy, stretching me wider, thrusting them in and out while his tongue lapped my clit relentlessly, circling, flicking, sucking hard then soft. “Mmmmmmm... aaaahhh... ohhhh... mmmmmm...” Moans poured from my lips, hips lifting off the bed, boobs heaving, nipples hardening further, ass cheeks clenching as my thighs trembled around his head. My pussy gushed wetness, coating his fingers and chin, clit swelling bigger under his tongue, the pressure building fast low in my belly.
My body loved it against my will: pussy spasmed around his fingers, clit throbbing painfully, wetness dripping down my asshole onto the sheets, boobs bouncing with each gasp, nipples aching, hips grinding against his mouth and hand despite my tears. The pleasure intensified: pussy walls fluttering wildly, clit on the brink of exploding, pressure coiling tighter and tighter, moans escaping louder and deeper. “Aaaahhh... mmmmmmm... ohhhh... mmmmmm...” My thighs shook, ass cheeks quivering, boobs rising and falling fast, mangalsutra swinging between them.
Mnmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmm I moaned as I was about to cum.
He kept sucking my clit hard, fingers curling faster inside my pussy, taking me right to the edge, body shaking, boobs heaving, pussy clenching desperately, pleasure unbearable, tears mixing with the heat, but he slowed just enough to hold me there, not letting me cum yet, keeping me teetering on the brink of orgasm, moans spilling from my mouth, body reacting with slick heat and pulsing need even as my mind screamed for my husband. “Aaaahhh... mmmmm... ohhhh... please...” My hips bucked slightly, pussy spasming, clit throbbing, on the very edge, waiting for release that he controlled.


Govindan kept his three fingers buried deep inside my pussy, thrusting them faster now, curling the tips upward to grind hard against my G-spot with every stroke. He knelt closer toward my right side, body leaning over me, left hand squeezing my left boob firmly, pinching my erect nipple between thumb and finger, twisting slightly. He switched to my right boob, squeezing the heavy mound, rolling the nipple hard, making my boobs bounce and ache under his rough grip.
His fingers pounded my pussy relentlessly, three thick digits stretching my pussy walls wide, the rough pads pressing and rubbing my G-spot in fast, firm circles. My pussy clenched around his fingers, pussy walls spasming wildly, wetness gushing out to soak his hand and drip down my asshole onto the sheets. My clit throbbed painfully, swollen and begging, every deep thrust sending electric jolts through my core, pleasure coiling so tight in my belly it hurt. My boobs heaved under his squeezing hand, nipples throbbing from the pinching, the pain-pleasure shooting straight to my pussy, pushing me closer to the edge.
“Aaaahhh... mmmmmm... ohhhh... sir...” Moans spilled from my mouth, louder and broken, body arching off the bed, hips bucking up to meet his fingers, ass cheeks clenching tight. My thighs trembled violently around his wrist, pussy fluttering and spasming around his thrusting fingers, wetness squirting with each hard curl. The pleasure built to a breaking point: pussy walls gripping his fingers like a fist, clit pulsing on the verge of explosion, pressure in my belly unbearable, boobs bouncing wildly, nipples aching in his pinching grip, mangalsutra slapping between my boobs.
Mnmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmm I moaned as I was about to cum.
My pussy spasmed harder around his fingers, pussy walls contracting in powerful waves, clit exploding under the relentless rubbing, wetness flooding out in a gush, hips bucking up hard off the bed, boobs bouncing frantically under his squeezing hand. The orgasm crashed over me, intense and unstoppable, body shaking violently, moans tearing from my throat.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” I moaned and began cumming all over his fingers.
My pussy clenched and pulsed around his fingers in rhythmic spasms, pussy walls milking him hard, clit throbbing wildly, waves of pleasure ripping through me, wetness squirting onto his hand and the sheets, ass cheeks quivering, thighs shaking uncontrollably, boobs heaving, nipples throbbing in his grip. The climax lasted long, body convulsing, moans spilling endlessly, “Aaaahhh... mmmmmm... ohhhh...” emotional fool body surrendering completely to the intense, unwilling orgasm while my heart broke for my husband.
Govindan kept fingering my pussy through the waves, slowing only as my spasms faded, fingers coated in my cum, pussy still twitching around him. He pulled his fingers out slowly, cum dripping from them, licked them clean with a low groan. “Good girl... you came so hard. Your pussy is perfect. Now you are ready for my cock.”
I lay there panting, pussy still pulsing, boobs rising and falling fast, mangalsutra sticky with sweat between my boobs, tears on my cheeks, body spent from the hard orgasm, emotional fool heart shattered but clinging to the promise that this violation would save my husband from the cop encounter. The bedroom was silent except for my shaky breaths and Govindan’s satisfied chuckle as he positioned himself between my thighs.




Govindan climbed over me on the bed, body heavy and warm, positioning himself in a 69 with him on top. His thick cock hovered near my cheek, hard and veined, pre-cum leaking from the tip, the musky scent filling my nose. He lowered his head between my thighs, spreading my legs wider with his shoulders, mouth directly over my shaved pussy. He licked my pussy lips slowly from bottom to top, tongue flat and broad, tasting my wetness. “Mmm... so sweet, Meena... your pussy tastes like honey...” He parted my pussy lips with his thumbs, tongue diving in to lap at my inner walls, then flicking my clit fast and light.
The feeling was electric: his tongue on my pussy, swirling around my clit, sucking it gently into his mouth, the wet heat making my clit throb harder, pussy leaking more wetness onto his tongue. At the same time his cock brushed my cheek, hot and heavy, the salty pre-cum smearing on my skin. My body reacted against my will: pussy clenching, clit pulsing under his tongue, pleasure building fast, boobs heaving, nipples aching, hips lifting slightly to press my pussy closer to his mouth.
He shifted lower, tongue tracing down to my asshole, licking the tight ring in slow circles, pushing the tip inside slightly, tasting me there while his fingers rubbed my clit. The dual sensation overwhelmed me: tongue probing my asshole, warm and wet, fingers circling my clit, pleasure spiking through my core, pussy dripping onto the sheets, ass cheeks clenching around his tongue. My mouth opened in a moan, and his cock head slipped past my lips. The taste hit me: salty pre-cum, musky skin, thick and warm on my tongue. I began sucking his cock unwillingly, lips wrapping around the head, tongue swirling the tip, taking more of his cock into my mouth as my body surrendered to the pleasure from his tongue on my asshole and fingers on my clit.
The feeling of sucking cock while getting my pussy and asshole tasted was intense: his cock filling my mouth, stretching my lips, the salty taste coating my tongue, pre-cum leaking down my throat as I sucked deeper, boobs bouncing with each bob of my head. Below, his tongue lapped my asshole, pushing inside, fingers rubbing my clit fast, pussy clenching empty but dripping, pleasure building in waves from both ends. My clit throbbed under his fingers, asshole pulsing around his tongue, mouth full of his cock, moans muffled around the thick shaft, pussy aching for more, body reacting with heat and wetness, hips grinding against his face, boobs jiggling, mangalsutra slapping between them.
“Mmmmmm... aaaahhh... mmmmmm...” Moans vibrated around his cock as I sucked harder, tongue swirling the head, lips sliding up and down his cock, body betraying me with every lick and thrust, pleasure coiling tight, pussy and asshole throbbing under his mouth, clit on the edge, moans escaping louder around his cock, emotional fool body loving the filthy sensations against my will, heart aching for my husband but lost in the overwhelming pleasure taking me closer to the brink.




Govindan kept his thick cock deep in my mouth, thrusting slowly while his tongue lapped my pussy lips and clit. He pulled his cock back slightly, letting me breathe around the head, then spoke low. “Do not suck my cock too much, Meena. I might cum in your mouth. I want to cum deep inside your pussy.”
I looked up at him, eyes wet, boobs heaving under him, mangalsutra dangling between my boobs. “Sure, sir... I will be careful...” But a naughty impulse took over, shame and arousal mixing. With him on top, I tilted my head slightly upward and to the right, tongue darting out to lick his asshole, circling the tight ring slowly, tasting the musky saltiness. He groaned deep, cock twitching in my mouth.
“Fuck... yes... I love that, Meena... keep kissing my asshole... do not worry, I will save your husband at least for this asshole kiss...”
I began to please him more, holding his ass cheeks with both hands, spreading them gently, tongue pressing flat against his asshole, licking in slow circles, then pushing the tip inside slightly. At the same time he buried his face deeper between my thighs, tongue plunging into my asshole, rimming the tight ring, then sliding lower to suck my clit hard. His fingers spread my ass cheeks wider, tongue probing my asshole deep, tasting me there while his thumb rubbed my clit in fast circles.
The feeling was filthy and intense: his tongue inside my asshole, warm and wet, stretching the tight ring, fingers rubbing my clit, pleasure spiking through my core, pussy dripping onto his chin. My pussy clenched empty, clit throbbing under his thumb, asshole pulsing around his tongue, body reacting with heat and wetness, boobs bouncing slightly with my gasps, mangalsutra swinging between them. My mouth full of his cock, moans muffled around the thick cock, pussy aching for more, body betraying me with every lick and thrust, pleasure building fast from both ends.
“Mmmmmm... aaaahhh... mmmmmm...” Moans vibrated around his cock as I sucked deeper, tongue swirling the head, lips sliding up and down his cock, while my tongue also licked his asshole in circles, body grinding against his mouth, pussy aching, asshole throbbing, pleasure coiling tight, emotional fool body loving the filthy sensations against my will, heart aching for my husband but lost in the overwhelming pleasure taking me closer to the brink.
Govindan groaned louder, cock swelling in my mouth. “Fuck... your tongue in my asshole... keep going, Meena... I am close... but I want to cum in your pussy...” He pulled his cock from my mouth with a wet pop, pre-cum stringing from my lips to the tip. He flipped positions quickly, moving down between my thighs, spreading my legs wider, mouth latching onto my clit again, sucking hard while two fingers thrust deep into my pussy, curling against my G-spot fast and rough.
“Aaaahhh... mmmmmm... ohhhh...” Moans tore from my throat, hips bucking up to meet his mouth and fingers, pussy spasming around his digits, clit throbbing under his sucking lips. My boobs bounced with each gasp, nipples aching, ass cheeks clenching, mangalsutra slapping between my boobs. Pleasure built to a breaking point: pussy walls fluttering wildly, clit pulsing on the verge of explosion, wetness flooding his mouth, pressure in my belly unbearable, hips grinding hard against his face, moans spilling louder and deeper.
Mnmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmm I moaned as I was about to cum.
My pussy spasmed harder around his fingers, pussy walls contracting in powerful waves, clit exploding under his tongue, wetness squirting onto his chin and the sheets, hips bucking up hard off the bed, boobs bouncing frantically, nipples throbbing. The orgasm crashed over me, intense and unstoppable, body shaking violently, moans tearing from my throat.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” I moaned and began cumming all over his fingers and tongue.
My pussy clenched and pulsed around his fingers in rhythmic spasms, pussy walls milking him hard, clit throbbing wildly, waves of pleasure ripping through me, wetness squirting in small bursts, ass cheeks quivering, thighs shaking uncontrollably, boobs heaving, nipples aching. The climax lasted long, body convulsing, moans spilling endlessly, “Aaaahhh... mmmmmm... ohhhh...” emotional fool body surrendering completely to the intense orgasm while my heart broke for my husband.
Govindan kept licking and fingering my pussy through the waves, slowing only as my spasms faded, fingers coated in my cum, pussy still twitching around him. He pulled his fingers out slowly, licked them clean with a low groan. “Good girl... you came so hard. Your pussy is perfect. Now you are ready for my cock.”
I lay there panting, pussy still pulsing, boobs rising and falling fast, mangalsutra sticky with sweat between my boobs, tears on my cheeks, body spent from the hard orgasm, emotional fool heart shattered but clinging to the promise that this violation would save my husband from the cop encounter. The bedroom door was closed, the spacious room quiet except for my shaky breaths and Govindan’s satisfied chuckle as he positioned himself between my thighs.



Govindan kissed my pussy lips softly at first, lips brushing the smooth shaved outer lips, then pressing firmer, sucking gently on each pussy lip one by one. He parted my pussy lips with his thumbs, tongue sliding along the inner edges, tasting my wetness. “Your pussy is ready for my cock, Meena. So wet, so swollen... perfect for me.” His tongue flicked my clit lightly, then sucked it into his mouth, lips sealing around the swollen clit, pulling it gently.
He turned around, positioning himself on top of me, spreading my legs wide with his knees. His thick cock head nudged my pussy lips, parting them slowly. He pushed forward, inserting his cock inside my pussy inch by inch. The feeling was overwhelming: his cock stretching my pussy walls wide, the thick head opening me up, hot and hard, every vein rubbing my inner walls as he slid deeper, filling me completely. My pussy clenched around his cock, pussy lips hugging the base, clit throbbing from the pressure, a new fullness that made my pussy leak more wetness, pleasure blooming deep inside, pushing away thoughts of my husband, replacing them with the raw sensation of being taken, stretched, claimed. It felt different—thicker, hotter, deeper than anything before, my pussy adjusting to his girth, inner walls fluttering around his cock, pleasure spiking with every inch.
He looked down at me, cock buried fully inside my pussy, balls resting against my asshole. “How does my cock feel inside your pussy, Meena? Tell me.”
I gasped, voice shaky. “Sir... your cock is so thick... stretching my pussy walls wide... the head pushing so deep... rubbing every spot inside me... it feels so full... so hot...”
He interlocked his fingers with mine, both hands pressing over my head on the pillow, pinning my arms down. His cock began fucking my pussy with slow, deep thrusts, pulling almost out before sliding back in fully, balls slapping my asshole gently. “You like my cock in your pussy, Meena? Forget your husband for now. Feel how good this is.”
“Aaaahhh... mmmmmm... yes, sir... it feels so good...” Soft moans escaped my mouth, body arching up to meet his thrusts, pussy clenching around his cock, clit rubbing against his pelvis with every push, pleasure building fast, boobs bouncing under him, nipples aching, mangalsutra swinging between my boobs. My pussy walls gripped his cock tighter, wetness coating him, hips lifting to take him deeper, moans spilling softly. “Mmmmmm... aaaahhh... ohhhh...”
The new feeling consumed me: his cock filling my pussy completely, stretching and rubbing every sensitive spot, pleasure flooding my body, pushing thoughts of my husband aside, replacing them with the intense, raw sensation of being fucked deep and slow, pussy loving every thrust, clit throbbing, body surrendering to the pleasure against my will, soft moans growing louder as he fucked me steadily, hands interlocked over my head, owning me completely in that moment.

[novelistcasanova]

Govindan dug his cock deeper and deeper inside my pussy, hips rolling slow and deliberate, the thick head pushing against my deepest walls, stretching my pussy to its limit. My pussy walls gripped his cock tight, pussy lips hugging the base, clit throbbing from the pressure as he ground his pelvis against me. He released my hands from their interlocked position over my head, fingers sliding down to grab my face with both palms, thumbs brushing my cheeks, tilting my head up to meet his gaze.

He looked into my eyes, voice low and filthy. “Look at this angelic face, Meena... so innocent, kajal-lined eyes, red lips, kumkum dot shining on your forehead like a goddess. But below... this whore’s body. Heavy boobs bouncing with every thrust, nipples hard and dark, deep navel begging to be filled, wide hips flaring out, shaved pussy dripping wet around my cock, ass cheeks jiggling when I fuck you. You are an angel’s face on a whore’s body. Made to be fucked. You feel it, don’t you? My cock owning your pussy.”
His words hit me like fire, shame and heat flooding my core, making my pussy clench harder around his cock, clit pulsing against his pubic bone. My boobs bounced with his thrusts, nipples aching, mangalsutra slapping between my boobs, thoughts of my husband fading under the raw pleasure, replaced by the new, overwhelming feeling of his cock filling me completely, stretching and rubbing every sensitive spot inside my pussy, pleasure building fast and unstoppable.
“Aaaahhh... mmmmmm... ohhhh...” Soft moans escaped my lips, body arching up to meet his deep thrusts, pussy spasming around his cock, wetness coating him, hips grinding back against him. My ass cheeks clenched, thighs trembling, clit throbbing with every grind, pleasure coiling tighter in my belly, boobs heaving, nipples aching for more touch.
He kept fucking my pussy, cock digging deeper, slow but powerful thrusts, balls slapping my asshole, hands still holding my face, forcing me to look into his eyes. “Feel how your pussy loves my cock, Meena. So wet, so tight... you forget your husband already, don’t you? This is what you need. A real cock owning your pussy.”
“Mmmmmm... aaaahhh... yes, sir... it feels so good...” My moans grew softer, breathy, body surrendering to the pleasure, pussy clenching rhythmically around his cock, clit on the edge, wetness dripping down my asshole, boobs bouncing, mangalsutra swinging, emotional fool heart lost in the new, intense feeling of being fucked deep and slow, husband’s memory fading under the building ecstasy, pleasure taking me right to the brink again.
Mnmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmm I moaned as I was about to cum.
My pussy spasmed harder around his cock, pussy walls contracting in powerful waves, clit throbbing on the verge of explosion, wetness flooding out, hips bucking up involuntarily, boobs bouncing wildly under his gaze. The orgasm hovered right there, intense and unstoppable, body shaking, moans spilling louder and deeper. “Aaaahhh... mmmmmm... ohhhh... sir...” My thighs shook, ass cheeks quivering, boobs rising and falling fast, mangalsutra swinging between them, right on the edge of cumming hard, pleasure unbearable, waiting for him to push me over.




Govindan dug his cock deeper and deeper inside my pussy, hips slamming forward with brutal force, the thick head battering my deepest walls, stretching my pussy to its absolute limit. My pussy walls gripped his cock desperately, pussy lips stretched wide around his girth, clit grinding against his pubic bone with every violent thrust. He released my hands from their interlocked position, both palms sliding down to wrap around my neck, fingers squeezing tight, choking me hard enough to make my vision blur at the edges, breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
The choking intensified everything: pressure building in my head, pussy clenching even tighter around his cock, pleasure spiking sharp and overwhelming, boobs bouncing wildly with each slam, nipples aching, mangalsutra slapping against my chest. My pussy spasmed around his cock, clit throbbing painfully, wetness flooding out, hips bucking up involuntarily to meet his brutal thrusts, ass cheeks clenching, thighs trembling. The orgasm rushed closer, intense and unstoppable, body shaking, moans tearing from my throat despite the tight grip on my neck.
Mnmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmm I moaned as I was about to cum.
He leaned down suddenly, mouth crashing against my lips in a rough, possessive kiss, tongue forcing into my mouth. I kissed him back instinctively, lips parting, tongue meeting his, body surrendering completely to the pleasure. The moment his cock swelled inside my pussy, he moaned into my mouth.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” he moaned and came deep inside my pussy, thick hot cum shooting in powerful spurts, filling me completely, overflowing around his cock and leaking down my asshole.
I could not hold it anymore “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.... aaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” I moaned and began cumming all over his cock.
My pussy clenched and spasmed wildly around his cock, pussy walls milking every drop of cum from him, clit exploding in waves of pleasure, wetness squirting hard against his cock base, ass cheeks quivering, thighs shaking uncontrollably, boobs heaving, nipples throbbing, mangalsutra slapping between them. The climax ripped through me, body convulsing, moans muffled against his lips, intense and overwhelming, pleasure drowning out everything—my husband, my loyalty, my guilt—leaving only the raw, filthy ecstasy of cumming hard on his cock while he filled my pussy with cum.
He kept thrusting through our orgasms, cock pulsing inside my spasming pussy, cum leaking out around him, dripping down my asshole and onto the sheets. My pussy continued to clench and flutter, aftershocks rippling through me, clit hypersensitive, body trembling beneath him, spent and shaking, emotional fool heart lost in the aftermath, clinging to the shattered hope that this intense violation had secured my husband’s safety from the cop encounter. The bedroom was filled with our heavy breaths, his cock still buried deep inside my pussy, cum pooling beneath my ass cheeks, the moment hanging heavy between us.


Govindan slowly woke up from his brief rest after fucking me, eyes opening to find me lying beside him on the bed, naked, pussy still leaking his cum, pussy lips swollen and pink, boobs rising and falling with shaky breaths, mangalsutra resting sticky between my boobs, nipples erect from the cool air. He propped himself on one elbow, hand sliding over my waist, fingers tracing my navel, then cupping my left boob, thumb brushing my nipple.
“You did well, Meena. I will keep my word. I am going to save your husband now.”
He reached for his phone on the nightstand, dialed a number, and put it on speaker. The MLA answered quickly. “Govindan, what is it?”
“Sir, cancel the encounter on Shiva. Remove all cases against him. Make it disappear. I have a reason.”
The MLA chuckled. “For that hot wife of his you mentioned? Fine. Done. No encounter. Cases closed by evening.”
Govindan hung up, turned to me with a satisfied smile. “See? Your husband is safe now. Go take a shower. Rest if you want. You are free to go home soon. I will not touch you again today.”
I nodded weakly, body still trembling from the earlier orgasm, pussy aching with aftershocks, boobs sensitive from his earlier sucking. “Thank you, sir... I trust you... I will shower and rest...”
He helped me pull the white sheet over my naked body, covering my boobs and pussy. I slid off the bed, legs shaky, walked naked to the attached bathroom, ass cheeks jiggling with each step, mangalsutra swinging between my boobs. Inside, I turned on the shower, hot water pouring down over my naked body, washing away the cum from my pussy lips and thighs, soap suds sliding down my boobs and navel. I soaped my boobs, circling my palms over each mound, fingers brushing my nipples, making them harden again. I washed my navel, letting soap pool inside the deep hollow, then spread my thighs to clean between them, soaping my shaved pussy lips and clit, fingers rubbing gently over the sensitive pussy lips, asshole clean and tight. I rinsed everything, water cascading over my ass cheeks and down my thighs.
I stepped out dripping, picked up the towel, and dried myself slowly. I patted my boobs, circling the towel over each mound, drying the water droplets that clung to my nipples, making them harden further from the rough texture. I dried my navel, letting the towel glide down my belly, then spread my thighs slightly to dry between them, the towel rubbing gently over my shaved pussy lips and clit, sending a small shiver through my body. I turned, bent forward a little, and dried my ass cheeks, sliding the towel between them to pat my shaved asshole clean and dry.
I wrapped the towel loosely around my boobs, ends barely meeting at my back, nipples poking against the towel fabric, and stepped out of the bathroom. I lay back on the bed, pulling the sheet over me again, boobs pressing against my arms, pussy throbbing faintly, body exhausted. I rested there, eyes closing, breathing slowing, emotional fool heart clinging to the hope that my husband was truly safe now, that this nightmare had ended, that I could go home to my sons soon.
After some time, I sat up, picked up my phone from the nightstand, and called Dhamu. “Dhamu... come pick me up... I am ready to go home...”
Dhamu’s voice came through relieved. “Akka, I am already on my way in my auto. I was waiting nearby. I will be there in ten minutes. Shiva anna is safe because of you. Rest easy.”
I hung up, tears of relief falling, pussy still sore under the sheet, boobs aching, mangalsutra heavy between them. I trusted Govindan’s word now, trusted the call had been real. I waited quietly, wrapped in the sheet, body spent but heart lighter, knowing my husband would live, that I had endured everything to bring him home safe to me and our sons. The guest house bedroom felt less like a prison now, the spacious room quiet except for my soft breaths, waiting for Dhamu’s auto to take me back to my life.


I began taking my short nap under the white sheet, body exhausted, pussy still sore and leaking thick, warm cum in slow sticky trails down my inner thighs, the slick sensation pooling under my ass cheeks on the sheets, making them cling slightly to my skin. My pussy lips were swollen and flushed a deep pink, glistening with a mix of his cum and my own wetness, clit still hypersensitive and throbbing faintly with aftershocks, every tiny pulse sending a ripple of lingering pleasure-pain through my core. My boobs rose and fell with shaky, uneven breaths, nipples erect and dark from earlier sucking and pinching, the skin around them slightly red and tender, tingling with every shift of the sheet. The mangalsutra rested sticky with sweat between my boobs, the gold pendant warm against my cleavage, black beads clinging to my damp skin. The air in the bedroom smelled of sex—musky cum, salty sweat, and the faint rose attar I had dabbed between my boobs earlier—mixed with the clean linen scent of the sheets now soiled beneath me, the room heavy and humid from our bodies.
The bedroom door opened quietly. Govindan entered with another man—the MLA, older, powerful-looking in a white shirt and white dhoti, eyes sharp and hungry, the scent of his expensive cologne cutting through the sex-smell. They stood at the foot of the bed. Govindan shook my shoulder gently to wake me. I jolted upright, sheet slipping down to expose my boobs, nipples hardening instantly in the cool air-conditioned draft, mangalsutra swinging between them with a soft metallic clink. I pulled the sheet up quickly, scared and confused, heart pounding so hard I felt it in my throat.
Govindan smiled coldly. “Wake up, Meena. This is the MLA. He has ordered to save your husband. But he wants to fuck you now.”
I stared in shock, boobs heaving under the sheet, pussy clenching in fresh terror, the lingering cum inside me shifting with the movement, warm and sticky. Govindan slowly pulled the white sheet off me, exposing my naked body completely. He grabbed my arm, helping me stand from the bed, my boobs bouncing free, nipples erect, mangalsutra swinging between them, shaved pussy exposed, pussy lips swollen from earlier fucking, ass cheeks still red from spanking. He turned me slowly, showing my naked body to the MLA from every angle: my heavy boobs with dark nipples, deep navel, wide hips, round ass cheeks, shaved pussy between my thighs.
The MLA went crazy looking at me naked, eyes widening with raw lust, mouth watering visibly, breath quickening. He stepped forward, grabbed my boobs with both hands, squeezing the heavy mounds roughly, thumbs rubbing my erect nipples, making them throb. My boobs are beautiful, full and round like ripe mangos, heavy enough to overflow his palms, soft yet firm, nipples dark and erect like chocolate buds begging to be sucked, the perfect size for a man’s hands to grab and crush, skin smooth and warm, cleavage deep where my mangalsutra nestles like a filthy invitation, the gold chain cool against my hot skin.
He turned me around, grabbed my ass cheeks and spread them wide, exposing my shaved asshole and pussy. My pussy is beautiful, shaved clean and smooth, pussy lips plump and pink like rose petals, glistening with wetness, clit swollen and peeking out like a hidden pearl, tight entrance begging to be filled. My asshole is perfect, tight and pink, wrinkled ring clean and inviting, surrounded by round firm ass cheeks that jiggle when slapped or spread. He groaned low. “Fuck... what a body. These boobs are perfect, so heavy, nipples hard as diamonds. And this ass... ass cheeks round and firm, asshole tight and pink, pussy shaved and wet like a whore’s dream. I have to fuck this now.”
Govindan laughed. “This is the bitch, sir. Fuck her and enjoy her. She is all yours.”
Meena this is MLA and he has ordered to save your husband he wants to fuck you now and I was in shock and Govindan left the room.
The MLA released me from the hug, stepped back, and began taking his clothes off: unbuttoning his white shirt, revealing his hairy chest, then untying his white dhoti, letting it fall to the floor. His cock was already hard, thick and dark, balls hanging heavy.
I stood naked, scared, arms hanging at my sides, legs trembling. I had no choice but to surrender, accept my fate, let him fuck me to secure my husband’s life. He stepped close again, grabbed my waist, pulled me against him, boobs crushing against his bare chest, nipples scbanging his skin. He lifted me slightly, my legs wrapping around his waist for support, pussy pressing against his cock bulge. He carried me to the bed, placed me on my back, climbed over me, spreading my legs wide with his knees.
His cock head nudged my pussy lips, parting them slowly. He pushed forward, inserting his cock inside my pussy inch by inch, stretching my sore pussy walls again, the thick girth filling me completely. My pussy clenched around his cock, pussy lips hugging the base, clit throbbing from the pressure, wetness leaking despite my fear.
He began fucking me hard, cock slamming deep, balls slapping my asshole, hips pounding against mine. He grabbed my ass cheeks with both hands, squeezing and spreading them wide, lifting my hips to take him deeper. He sucked my left boob into his mouth, nipple hard between his lips, tongue swirling fast, teeth grazing lightly, then switched to my right boob, sucking hard, hand pinching the left nipple.
My body reacted against my will: pussy spasming around his cock, clit pulsing with every thrust, wetness coating him, boobs bouncing under his mouth, nipples aching from his sucking. Pleasure built fast, pussy clenching tighter, clit throbbing, ass cheeks quivering in his squeezing grip, thighs trembling around his waist. My moans escaped despite my tears. “Aaaahhh... mmmmmm... ohhhh...”
He fucked me harder, cock digging deep, balls slapping my asshole, hands crushing my ass cheeks, mouth sucking my boobs alternately, tongue flicking my nipples. My pussy walls fluttered around his cock, clit on the edge, wetness squirting slightly, hips bucking up involuntarily, boobs bouncing wildly, mangalsutra slapping between them.
Mnmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmm I moaned as I was about to cum.
The moment “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” he moaned and came deep inside my pussy, I could not hold it anymore “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.... aaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” I moaned and began cumming all over his cock.
My pussy clenched and spasmed wildly around his cock, pussy walls milking every drop of cum from him, clit throbbing painfully, wetness squirting hard, ass cheeks quivering in his grip, thighs shaking uncontrollably, boobs heaving under his mouth, nipples throbbing. The climax ripped through me, intense and overwhelming, body convulsing, moans tearing from my throat, pleasure drowning out everything—my husband, my loyalty, my guilt—leaving only the raw, filthy ecstasy of cumming hard on his cock while he filled my pussy with cum.
He kept thrusting through our orgasms, cock pulsing inside my spasming pussy, cum leaking out around him, dripping down my asshole and onto the sheets. My pussy continued to clench and flutter, aftershocks rippling through me, clit hypersensitive, body trembling beneath him, spent and shaking, emotional fool heart lost in the aftermath, clinging to the shattered hope that this intense violation had secured my husband’s safety from the cop encounter. The bedroom was filled with our heavy breaths, his cock still buried deep inside my pussy, cum pooling beneath my ass cheeks, the moment hanging heavy between us.

[novelistcasanova]

The MLA kept thrusting deep inside my pussy until his cock softened, cum leaking slowly from my pussy lips down my thighs and onto the sheets. He pulled out with a wet sound, cum dripping from his cock head onto my navel. He rolled off me, breathing heavy, cock glistening with our mixed juices.

Govindan entered the bedroom carrying my yellow saree, yellow blouse, and yellow petticoat from his car, along with my maroon panties and white bra. He placed them on the chair beside the bed. “Get dressed, Meena. Your husband is safe. I will not touch you again.”
The MLA got off the bed, began to get dressed: pulling on his white dhoti, tying it at his waist, then buttoning his white shirt over his hairy chest. I sat up slowly, boobs swaying, pussy still throbbing and leaking cum, ass cheeks sore from his grip.
I began wearing my clothes. First the maroon panties: I held the waistband open with both hands, stepped my right foot through the right leg hole, then my left foot through the left leg hole. I pulled the maroon panties upward slowly, the maroon panties gliding along my thighs, inch by inch, until the crotch reached my pussy. I tugged higher, the front panel sliding over my shaved mound and settling snug against my pussy lips, covering my clit completely. The back panel hugged my ass cheeks, the seam sliding deep between them to rest against my shaved asshole. I adjusted the waistband over my hips, smoothing it flat so the maroon panties sat perfectly, the legs hugging the lower part of my ass cheeks, the crotch pressing intimately against my pussy lips, making my clit throb once with lingering sensitivity.
Next the white bra: I slid the straps over my shoulders, letting the cups fall under my boobs. I reached behind my back, fingers locating the bra hooks, and fastened them one by one with slow, deliberate clicks: first hook, second hook, third hook, each one tightening the white bra around my boobs. The cups lifted my heavy boobs, cradling them fully, the plain material hugging every inch, straps settling secure on my shoulders. I adjusted the front center gore so the white bra sat even, nipples now hidden but pressing lightly against the cups, the mangalsutra nestling perfectly in the deep cleavage the white bra created between my boobs.
Then the yellow petticoat: I stepped into the waistband, pulled it up my thighs, the yellow petticoat gliding over my hips. I tied the nada on my left hip, pulling it snug against my left hip bone, knotting it in a firm double bow high on my left hip, the yellow petticoat hugging my waist and hips perfectly, hem falling to my ankles.
Then the yellow blouse: I slid my arms through the short sleeves, the yellow blouse settling over my white bra. I hooked the front hooks one by one: bottom hook just below my boobs, middle hook squeezing my boobs together, top hook under my collarbone, the yellow blouse ending right below my boobs, exposing my navel and midriff, front hooks straining slightly with each breath, nipples pressing against the white bra inside.
Finally the yellow saree: I held one end against my left hip, wrapped the first turn around my waist over the yellow petticoat, tucking the folds deep into the waistband, pulling tight to sit low on my hips. I wrapped again, tucking neatly, then pleated the front carefully, tucking the pleats into the waistband, the yellow saree hugging my hips and ass cheeks. I dbangd the pallu over my left shoulder, pulling it across my boobs, tucking the end into my waist, the pallu falling down my back, exposing my navel and the deep cleavage above the yellow blouse neckline.
The MLA, now dressed, stepped close, eyes roaming my re-dbangd body. “Meena, I enjoyed your pussy thoroughly. So tight, so wet, gripping my cock like it never wanted to let go. Your pussy milked every drop of cum from me. You came so hard on my cock. Call me anytime you need help. Your husband is safe now.”
He left the room, door closing behind him.
Dhamu arrived soon after, auto waiting outside. He entered the bedroom, saw me fully dressed in yellow saree, yellow blouse, yellow petticoat, white bra underneath, maroon panties hugging my pussy again. He looked relieved, eyes soft. “Akka... you did it. Shiva anna is safe. The encounter is canceled. Cases gone. Thank you for saving him. You are a true wife. I pray for you both. Come, let me take you home to the boys.”
I nodded, tears of relief falling, pussy still sore under the maroon panties, boobs aching under the white bra and yellow blouse, mangalsutra heavy between my boobs. I followed Dhamu out, emotional fool heart lighter but scarred, knowing I had endured the ultimate sacrifice to bring my husband home safe, ready to face my family with the secret buried deep, pussy throbbing faintly with every step as Dhamu’s auto took me back to my life.


I made Dhamu promise that no one should know how I saved my husband. We sat in his auto on the way home, the engine rumbling low through the narrow lanes. I looked at him, voice steady despite the ache in my pussy and the soreness in my boobs under the yellow blouse. “Dhamu, swear to me. No one ever knows. Not my sons, not anyone in the slum, not even Shiva. This secret stays between us. I did what I did for him, for our family. Promise me.”
Dhamu nodded solemnly, eyes on the road. “I swear, akka. No one will know. You sacrificed everything to save Shiva anna. The secret dies with me. You are a true wife. I respect you more than ever.”
Meanwhile, the MLA became addicted to my pussy. He kept meeting me secretly in his car, parked in dark corners or abandoned plots on the city outskirts. The first time was a week later—he called me late at night, voice thick with lust. “Meena, come to me. I need your pussy again. Your husband is safe, but I cannot stop thinking about how tight and wet you were.”
I went, dressed in a simple saree low on my hips, blouse tight around my boobs, mangalsutra heavy between them. In the back seat of his luxury car, he pulled me onto his lap, lifted my saree and petticoat, shoved my panties aside, and inserted his cock inside my pussy in one hard thrust. I gasped, pussy stretching around his thick cock, pussy lips hugging him tight, clit throbbing from the sudden fullness. He fucked me hard, cock slamming deep, balls slapping my asshole, hands squeezing my boobs over my blouse, nipples poking hard over the blouse as he pinched them through the material.
Mnmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmm I moaned as I was about to cum.
The moment “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” he moaned and came deep inside my pussy, I could not hold it anymore “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.... aaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” I moaned and began cumming all over his cock.
He came inside my pussy every time, thick hot cum filling me, leaking out around his cock and down my ass cheeks onto the leather seat. After each fuck, he gave me money, jewelry, promises. With his help, I bought houses secretly—one big house outside the slum, spacious with a garden, then ten more in the same lane, all in my name, paid for with cash he slipped me after fucking my pussy raw in his car.
Each meeting was the same: I would climb into the back seat, he would lift my saree and petticoat, pull my panties down to my knees, spread my legs wide, insert his cock inside my pussy, fuck me hard until we both came, his cum filling my pussy while my pussy clenched and spasmed around his cock. I hated myself every time, but the houses, the security for my sons, the knowledge that Shiva was free and alive, kept me going back, emotional fool heart torn but body surrendering to the filthy bargain that had saved my family.
Dhamu never asked questions, never judged. He drove me to those secret meetings sometimes, waited in silence, then drove me home after, always praying quietly for Shiva anna’s safety, for my strength. I kept the secret buried deep, pussy sore and leaking cum after each encounter, boobs aching from his rough hands, mangalsutra heavy between them like a reminder of my vows, now stained by what I had to do to protect them all. The big house outside the slum became our new home, safe and quiet, Shiva back with us, unaware of the price I paid, my pussy forever marked by the men who used it to keep him alive.


One day Dhamu parked the auto in a dark, quiet lane near the big house outside the slum. The engine idled low, the only sound besides my shaky breaths. I sat in the back seat, saree low on my hips, blouse hugging my boobs tight, mangalsutra heavy between my boobs, nipples still poking hard over the yellow blouse from the lingering heat of the MLA’s fucking. My pussy throbbed sore under the maroon panties, cum still leaking slowly from my pussy lips, soaking the crotch of the maroon panties, the wetness sticky against my shaved pussy and asshole.
I leaned forward, voice soft but firm. “Dhamu... you have done so much for me. You introduced me to Govindan, to the MLA. Because of you, Shiva is alive, we have houses, money. I know you want me. I see it in your eyes every time you look at my boobs under my blouse, at my ass cheeks jiggling under my saree. I am ready. If you ask, I will let you fuck me.”
Dhamu’s hands tightened on the handlebars, cock bulge visibly forming in his lungi, thick and hard, tenting the thin material. He stopped the auto completely, turned back to me, voice hoarse with years of pent-up desire. “Akka... you mean it? I have wanted your pussy since the day I saw you. Your boobs in your blouse, nipples poking hard over the blouse, your ass cheeks swaying in your saree... I dream about fucking you. But you are Shiva anna’s wife. I respect you.”
I nodded, pussy clenching with anticipation under my panties, wetness seeping into the crotch from the confession. “I mean it, Dhamu. You saved our lives. I owe you everything. Fuck me. Take my pussy. I will give it to you willingly.”
He climbed into the back seat with me, hands shaking as he grabbed my waist over my saree, pulled me close, kissed my neck softly, then harder. “Thank you, akka... I will fuck you good.”
He lifted my saree and petticoat, pulled my panties down to my knees, spread my legs wide, inserted his cock inside my pussy in one deep thrust. I gasped, pussy stretching around his thick cock, pussy lips hugging him tight, clit throbbing from the sudden fullness. He fucked me hard in the auto, cock slamming deep, balls slapping my asshole, hands squeezing my boobs over my yellow blouse, nipples poking hard over the yellow blouse as he pinched them through the material.
Mnmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmm I moaned as I was about to cum.
The moment “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” he moaned and came deep inside my pussy, I could not hold it anymore “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.... aaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” I moaned and began cumming all over his cock.
My pussy clenched and spasmed wildly around his cock, pussy walls milking every drop of cum from him, clit throbbing painfully, wetness squirting hard, ass cheeks quivering in his grip, thighs shaking uncontrollably, boobs heaving under his hands, nipples throbbing. The climax ripped through me, intense and overwhelming, body convulsing, moans tearing from my throat, pleasure drowning out everything—my husband, my loyalty, my guilt—leaving only the raw, filthy ecstasy of cumming hard on his cock while he filled my pussy with cum.
He kept thrusting through our orgasms, cock pulsing inside my spasming pussy, cum leaking out around him, dripping down my asshole and onto the auto seat. My pussy continued to clench and flutter, aftershocks rippling through me, clit hypersensitive, body trembling beneath him, spent and shaking, emotional fool heart lost in the aftermath, accepting the new reality that my pussy now belonged to him too, a silent payment for saving my family, for introducing me to the men who made me rich and kept Shiva alive.

[novelistcasanova]

After that day, Dhamu fucked me regularly, in his auto, in empty houses, always secret, always grateful, always making me cum hard on his cock. My pussy belonged to him now too, a silent payment for saving my life, for introducing Govindan and the MLA, for the wealth that changed everything. The big house outside the slum became our sanctuary, Shiva home, unaware, my pussy aching from the secrets it held, boobs bouncing under my blouse every time Dhamu fucked me, mangalsutra swinging between them like a reminder of my vows, now shared with the men who owned my body to keep my husband safe.

Years passed. Shiva lived free, never knowing the price I paid. Our sons grew up strong, safe in the big house, the ten additional houses rented out quietly, money flowing in to secure our future. I kept my secret locked deep, pussy forever marked by Govindan, the MLA, and Dhamu, the three men who used it to rewrite our fate. My mangalsutra still rested between my boobs, a symbol of love and sacrifice, my emotional fool heart carrying the weight of it all with quiet strength.
One evening, I walked through the garden of our big house, saree low on my hips, blouse hugging my boobs, mangalsutra swaying gently. Shiva called from the balcony, voice warm. “Meena, come inside. Dinner is ready.”
I smiled, pussy aching gently with old memories, boobs rising with a deep breath. I had saved him. I had saved us. And that was enough.

The End.

Regards 
Novelist Casanova