Misc. Erotica The Rice Pulling Scam: A Tale of Seduction and Betrayal By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

Morning came wrapped in the stillness of the Andhra countryside. The mist blanketed the trees and tiled rooftops like a secret waiting to be uncovered. Distant cries of birds echoed through the estate, carried on the cool breath of dawn. I lay still for a moment, cocooned in the soft folds of my white nighty, the cotton clinging gently to my skin after the night’s warmth.

I sat up slowly, brushing my long hair away from my face, the scent of sandalwood lingering from the incense still smouldering in the corner of the room. The air was cooler than I expected. It kissed my arms and neck as I stepped off the bed, bare feet pressing into the cool tiled floor.
The bathroom was modest — old brass fittings, a bucket and mug near the stone platform, and a mirror slightly cracked at one corner. I removed the nighty, folding it neatly on a stool beside the door.  Standing only in my dirty White Bra and Dirty Brown Panties I touched the water.  The water was cold at first, but the sharpness of it cleared my mind, grounding me in the reality of where I was — and what I had come here to do.
Removing my dirty White Bra and dirty Brown Panties, I washed myself in silence, the sound of water trickling like whispers in an otherwise quiet morning. As I stepped out, I dried myself quickly and wrapped a towel around my body. My skin tingled from the contrast between steam and breeze.
In front of the mirror, I wore my brand new White Panties over my clean shaved pussy, and wore my White Bra over my Boobs.  I wore my white petticoat and fastened the strings firmly at my waist over my White Panties. Then, I reached for my blouse — crisp white with elbow-length sleeves, its back tied with small cloth knots. I adjusted it carefully over my White Bra, its fabric snug and clean against my skin. Lastly, I unfolded my party saree — white, with a bold red and black border. The fabric was soft, familiar, and symbolic of everything I was still chasing. I dbangd it in one smooth motion, pleating it neatly below my navel, the pallu falling over my shoulder with practiced elegance.
In that reflection, I saw more than a woman — I saw someone poised between belief and ambition, wrapped in silence before the storm.
I stepped out into the early morning air, the mist still clinging to the ground like an uncertain future. The estate was silent, as though it too was holding its breath. I walked toward the prayer hall where the Swamiji had said the activation would happen.
He was already seated on the floor, surrounded by bowls of rice, a strange copper box, and old palm-leaf scriptures. His eyes were closed, his breathing measured. He looked calm — too calm.
“Today is the day,” he said, without opening his eyes. “The planetary hour is near. You must be ready.”
My heart beat faster. I’d already given him everything. One hundred crores — borrowed from lenders, sold land and pledged gold. All of it. I had crossed the point of no return. This device, this ritual, was all I had left.
“Swamiji… will I really get the power? Will I be respected like the other MLAs?”
He opened his eyes, slow and deliberate, and fixed them on me. “You will,” he said, his voice low and full of conviction. “But… there is one final requirement. To activate the rice pulling energy, the body of the one desiring power must be spiritually and physically awakened — through union with the energy of the guru.”
I blinked. The words didn’t make sense at first. My lips parted, but no sound came.
“Union… with me,” he added softly.
The mist outside felt colder now, the stillness more menacing.
I stood there, frozen.
He continued, “You must allow me to share my energy with you. Only then will the device respond.”
My mind whirled. This was not what I’d expected. I thought of my sons. Of my husband, indifferent to faith but loyal to me in his own quiet way. Of my dreams of power, respect, reverence — the kind I had yearned for all my life.
Everything now hung on a moment I couldn’t undo.
My heart was loud in my chest.
“I… I need a moment,” I said, stepping back.
“Choose quickly,” he said, “or the planetary alignment will pass, and all will be lost.”
I stood on the edge of something I couldn’t name — a cliff between ambition and dignity, desperation and self-worth. The Swamiji's words echoed in the silent room, each one landing heavier than the last.
“You must allow me to share my energy with you... Only then will the device respond.”
For a moment, everything blurred — my dreams of becoming an MLA, the power I believed I deserved, the humiliation of being dismissed by the Party Leader, the cold rejection from my atheist husband who had no understanding of how much I craved validation, reverence... control.
I had come too far. Sold too much. Risked everything. One hundred crores weren’t just numbers — they were my last cards in a political game I barely understood.
I looked into the Swamiji’s eyes and saw no divine spark. Only greed. Only lust masked behind saffron robes and fake scriptures. But I had believed. I had wanted to believe.
“Is there truly no other way?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
“Not in this life,” he said.


I stood frozen, heart pounding in my chest, the heavy silence pressing down like a suffocating blanket. His words echoed in my mind — “You must allow me to share my energy with you.” It was not just a request. It was a demand wrapped in shadows.
The room felt smaller, the air thick and warm against my skin. I could smell the faint scent of his sandalwood perfume mingling with the musty incense. His eyes, dark and hungry, searched mine for an answer, but all I felt was a whirlwind of fear, desire, and desperation.
My hands trembled at my sides. I thought of my three sons, my husband who barely understood me, the village that watched my every move, and the lofty dream of becoming an MLA — a dream that now seemed more fragile than ever.
Could I surrender my dignity for power? For respect?
But what choice did I have?
The weight of my sacrifices crushed my resolve.
I whispered, “If this is the only way…”
His hand cupped my cheek gently, a dangerous tenderness, and the world narrowed to the heat of his lips meeting mine.
As the Swamiji began kissing my lips, I immediately hated the taste of his lips.  As the Swamiji’s lips began munching my lips with his dry lips with an unexpected urgency — not gentle, but insistent, claiming and demanding. My breath caught, heart pounding wildly in my chest as a storm of emotions crashed within me: fear, confusion, and the dizzying pull of surrender.
His hands cradled my face, fingers tracing the line of my jaw as his kiss deepened, pressing against my resistance. The warmth of his breath mingled with mine, and for a moment, time seemed to dissolve — leaving only the weight of his presence and the bitter taste of a choice I wasn’t sure I wanted to make.
I closed my eyes, trying to steady my racing thoughts, to find the strength buried beneath the turmoil. But the Swamiji’s kiss was relentless, a reminder that I had stepped far beyond the path I once walked — into a world where power came at a price I was only beginning to understand.
Swamiji's voice dropped to a low whisper, laced with command.
“Lift your saree… bend over. Only then will the energy flow.”
My heart froze. His words felt like a knife twisting in my chest, stripping away the last shreds of hope and dignity.
No.
I pulled back sharply, eyes blazing with defiance.
“I will not do that.”
My voice was steady, cold — a wall against his lustful demands. Despite everything, some lines could never be crossed.
He stared at me, surprised — maybe even angered — but I stood my ground. I might be desperate, but I was not broken.
Swamiji's eyes darkened as he leaned closer, his voice a harsh whisper that cut through the room like a blade.
“If you don’t lift your saree and petticoat above your waist and bend over, you will lose your Ward Councillor post... and end up on the streets as a beggar.”
His words hammered at me, threatening everything I had worked for, everything I dreamed of becoming. The weight of his threat crushed my pride and hope alike.
My hands trembled as they moved to the saree’s border. Every fiber of my being screamed to resist, to fight back, but the fear of losing it all was sharper, more immediate.
Slowly, hesitantly, I grabbed my White Saree along with my White Petticoat and lifted, inch by inch — until the cool air brushed against my bare skin.  As I lifted my White Saree along with my White Petticoat and bent over revealing my White Panties I was wearing underneath, my breath hitched, the room spinning with shame and despair.
I closed my eyes, swallowing the bitter taste of my submission, praying silently for strength to survive what was to come.
As Swamiji's hand reached out, fingers brushing the delicate fabric of my white panties, and began grabbing my White Panties and began pulling my White Panties down, a cold wave of panic surged through my clean shaved Pussy and Asshole. My heart pounded fiercely, each beat echoing the turmoil inside — fear, shame, and an overwhelming guilt that clawed at my soul.
Was I betraying my husband? Betraying myself? The very thought twisted like a knife in my chest.
Trembling, I fought to steady my breath, desperate to hold onto some fragment of control as the weight of what I was doing pressed down harder with every passing second.
I closed my eyes, searching for a sliver of strength to face the impossible choice laid before me.
As he knelt behind me, a surge of conflicting emotions crashed through my body — desire tangled with shame, fear battling a strange helplessness. My body seemed to betray my heart, responding despite the storm raging inside me.
Every touch, every whisper of his breath sent ripples through me, awakening sensations I never wanted to feel in this moment. Yet my mind screamed in protest, caught between the hunger for power and the bitter taste of guilt.
I closed my eyes, fighting to hold onto who I was, even as the lines between strength and surrender blurred in the quiet shadows of that room.
All of a sudden the Swamiji began kneeling behind me and placing his hands on my Ass Cheeks and spreading my Ass Cheeks he began kissing my Pussy lips passionately, “mmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmm,” I moaned.  Taking his lips off my Pussy, “your pussy tastes yummy, Sudha,” he whispered and began touching my Pussy.
His fingers moved with a cold certainty, tracing paths that ignited sensations I hadn’t expected to feel — waves of warmth spreading through me despite the fear and shame tightening around my heart.
As Swamiji began fingering my Pussy with his middle finger, “mmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmmmmm,” I began to moan.  Grabbing my Ass cheeks and feeling up my Ass Cheeks with his left hand as Swamiji began fingering my Pussy nicely with his right hand, “mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmmmmm mmmmmm,” I began to moan, and I was about to cum.
Fingering my Pussy nicely, the moment Swamiji gave a strong kiss on my Asshole, “aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah,” I moaned and came all over his fingers because my body betrayed me, trembling as a sudden rush overwhelmed my senses, leaving me breathless and shaking.
But beneath the fleeting pleasure, guilt sank deeper — heavier than any touch.
How could I feel this way? How could my body respond when my mind screamed resistance?
I was caught between two worlds — the desire for power and the crushing weight of betrayal.
Tears blurred my vision as I grappled with the stark reality: I had lost more than just money today.
As the Swamiji’s lips began licking and tasting my pussy, a deep self-loathing washed over my heart. How had I let myself come to this? Every touch felt like a betrayal — not just of my body, but of my dreams, my family, my very soul.
And yet, my body responded in spite of me, trembling with sensations I could neither control nor welcome. A flood of heat overwhelmed me, and I couldn’t stop the shameful release that betrayed my mind’s desperate resistance.
The moment he took his lips and tongue off my Pussy, a heavy guilt crushed down on me. I hurried to cover myself, pulling up my white panties first, then my petticoat, and finally wrapping my saree tightly around me, as if the fabric alone could shield me from the storm inside.
I closed my eyes, swallowing the tears of regret, wondering how I had fallen so far — and what price I would have to pay next.
Tasting his middle finger which fingered my pussy and made me cum, “your body is ready. Now, let us make love and activate the device.” as he exclaimed, I quickly began pulling up my White Panties and began wearing them properly.
He led me by the hand into a dimly lit chamber, the soft flicker of candles casting dancing shadows on the walls. The air was thick with a mix of incense and something darker — a tension I could hardly bear.
Every step felt like sinking deeper into a web I couldn’t escape. My heart pounded, caught between fear, desire, and a desperate hope that this sacrifice might finally bring me the power I craved.