Misc. Erotica Lockdown: A Wife’s Sacrifice for Her Husband and Sons- By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

Chapter 9 – A Dream Worth the Price

They say when one storm ends, another quietly brews in the sky.
I thought I had walked away from my past forever. But sometimes, the future drags it back into your path.
This time… it came wrapped in a dream.



One evening, our neighbour Mr. Ranganathan rang the bell. A retired bank officer, he was a kind man who had always admired our children’s discipline and Arun’s quiet nature.

He stepped in and said casually, “I’m selling my house next door, Sudha. I’m retiring to Coimbatore to live with my daughter.”
My heart skipped a beat.
That house. That beautiful, spacious two-storey home with a garden and space for the boys to grow freely—it had always been a silent dream. I had often imagined standing on its terrace, drying clothes, watching the sunrise, planting jasmine along its walls.
“How much?” I asked, breath caught.
“Five crores. You know the market in Koramangala. I’ve already got an offer from a builder.”
He left a few minutes later, leaving behind a storm in my chest.
That night, as I folded laundry, I brought it up with Arun.
“What if we bought Ranganathan sir’s house?”
He laughed softly. “Sudha, even our dreams don’t cost that much. Five crores is no joke.”
He kissed my forehead and said gently, “It’s a nice thought. But we’ll get there one day, I promise.”
But I wasn’t willing to wait.
Because for once, I wanted more. Not for me—but for them. For Arun. For our boys.
A better home. A brighter space. A symbol that our struggles were behind us.
That night, long after the house had fallen asleep, I sat in the kitchen alone.
And then… almost unwillingly… I picked up my phone.
My finger hovered over the number.
Mahesh.
The name that once triggered guilt now sparked something else.
Not desire.
Not weakness.
Just… a cold awareness of power.
The man who once owned a piece of my past… might now hold the key to my future.
I closed my eyes and dialed.

---

“Hello?” His voice was amused, lazy, almost expecting me.
“It’s me,” I said.
A pause.
“Well, well… Look who remembered my number,” he chuckled.
“I want to meet,” I said quietly. “There’s something I want from you.”
He laughed softly.
“I knew you’d come back. What is it this time?”
I took a deep breath.
“Five crores.”
Silence.
Then a slow, dangerous laugh.
“You’ve become expensive, Sudha.”
“No,” I replied, voice cold. “I’ve become clear. You once told me you’d give anything for one night with me. I’m asking you to prove it.”
The night was quiet, but inside me, a storm of desire and determination raged. The old ceiling fan whirred above us, its rhythm slower than my racing thoughts.
I went to my husband and lied to him that I was going to meet my friend Mala to discuss a Property deal which we are Brokering for and I would stay with her the night.  My husband agreed.
I took a nice shower and came out and wore my White Panties over my clean shaved Pussy, and wore my White Bra over my Boobs, and wore a Yellow Petticoat over my White Panties.
I chose the yellow saree carefully — soft cotton, dbangd low, pleats tucked loose at my waist over my Yellow Petticoat, Yellow blouse just tight enough to hold his gaze. I knew Mahesh. I knew the texture he liked against his skin, the colors that stirred him.
As I went to Mahesh’s house, the door was open for me and as I walked into the bedroom, the light from the night lamp caught the gentle sheen of my skin. I stood near the dresser, pretending to adjust my braid, arching slightly so the open back of my blouse played a silent tease.
I heard the rustle of his newspaper pause. Then… silence. That was the moment. I turned slowly.
His eyes had already found me — lingering not with hunger, but curiosity.
I smiled softly. “You’re staring, Mahesh.”
“You’re glowing,” he said, folding the paper.
I walked over to him and sat on the edge of the bed, one knee barely touching his thigh. “You always said yellow suits me,” I whispered, brushing a loose curl behind my ear.
“It does. Too well.”
I reached for his hand and placed it gently on my bare waist. “Feel it?” I said. “That’s not just skin. That’s a dream.”




He raised an eyebrow, amused. “A dream?”

I nodded. “A house. That one on the 5th Cross, Koramangala, my neighbor Mr. Ranganathan’s. He’s selling it.”
My fingers traced his wrist slowly, rhythmically, like how I’d caress a new sari before wearing it.
“I want it. In my name.”
He leaned back. “Five crores, Sudha. That’s not a simple dream.”
I moved closer, until my breath touched his cheek. “Neither was making me fall for you,” I whispered. “But I did it.”
I pressed my lips gently to his collarbone — not a kiss of lust, but of promise. I unpinned my saree slowly, letting it slip over my shoulder, revealing the curve of my yellow blouse.
His hand moved around my waist instinctively, pulling me in. I whispered into his ear, “Tonight, I’m not asking. I’m showing you how much I want it. How much you can give me, if you want to.”
I pushed him gently onto the bed, climbed over him with grace, with power. Not rushed. Not desperate. Every touch was intentional — a map to a future I was sketching in his mind with the ink of skin and breath.
My saree loosened. His shirt came undone. Fingers explored familiar territory with fresh meaning. We weren’t just making love. I was negotiating with passion, and he was signing with surrender.
As I began removing my Yellow Blouse and Yellow Petticoat and was only in my White Bra and White Panties, he began taking me into his complete embrace hugging me only in my White Bra and White Panties.
His voice, husky now, said against my neck, “If I buy it, you’ll never leave me, right?”
I smiled and kissed his lips slowly. “Buy it… and you’ll never have to ask again.”
He nodded. “In your name?”
I paused, staring into his eyes. “Yes. Because I want something that belongs to me. Completely.”
His hands gripped my waist. “Then it’s yours, Sudha. The house. The name. Everything.”
“All I want is you, Sudha,” he exclaimed.
He slid his hand up my back, fingertips pausing at the hook of White Bra. I gave him a slow nod. He unhooked it gently, as if unwrapping a gift he had long possessed but never truly opened. The fabric slipped down, revealing the soft curve of my shoulders, the rise of my breath.  The moment he saw my naked boobs, his mouth began to water.
As I was only in my White Bra now, “you wear power beautifully, Sudha,” he whispered, voice low and rough with need.
“No,” I whispered back, “I wear you beautifully.”
As he began hugging me only in my White Panties and began kissing my lips, I began kissing his lps back passionately.  Passionately, not with urgency, but with a simmering tenderness. My fingers tangled in his hair as he pulled me closer, his lips tracing a path from my neck down my collarbone. I arched slightly, allowing him access to more of me, not just my body — but my will, my longing, my demand.
He cupped my naked breasts, kissed my lips and looked into my eyes. I shivered, pressing my chest into his palm, letting the warmth of his skin melt into mine.
I slowly leaned back, pulling him on top of me. The White Panties I had worn around my waist loosened with one gentle tug as he began polling it down, beneath me like a second skin surrendered.
“Sudha…” he murmured, eyes dark with devotion and awe.
I placed a finger on his lips. “Don’t talk. Just show me that you see me.”
And he did.
His mouth worshipped every inch — my stomach, my thighs, the inside of my wrist — as though memorising the geography of his woman all over again. I guided his hands, his lips, his movements, not out of submission, but out of a quiet, feminine authority.
Spreading my legs, as he began kissing my pussy lips passionately, “mmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmm,” I began to moan.  He was enjoying himself eating my pussy, and holding his face gently, “Tell me the House is mine,” I whispered, his breath hot against my Pussy.
“It is,” he breathed, voice breaking, kissing and sucking my Pussy and areas around my pussy. “Everything. The house. The future. You. Everything is yours, Sudha…. Can I fuck you now?,” as he asked, looking at my eyes with his mouth close to my Pussy, “enjoy,” as I whispered, pinching his cheeks, all of a sudden began inserting his cock inside my Pussy and sleeping on top of me and hugging me tight me began making love to me.
As I began hugging him back, taking him into my complete embrace and began wrapping my legs around him pulling me against me, “mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” I moaned loud, as he cock went deeper inside my Pussy.
As he began kissing my neck passionately and continued making love to me, “mmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmm,” I began to moan holding his face, as I was horny and I nearing my orgasm.  “Enjoying my Pussy, Mahesh?” as I asked, holding his face in a horny tone, he started to get more excited, “mmmmmmm….. I love your Pussy, Sudha … mmmmmmmmmmm mmmm,” he began to moan.  Clearly he was about to cum at any moment.  
We moved together, slowly, as though the rhythm was dictated not by urgency but by promise. Each time his hips met mine, it wasn’t just love—it was a signature. A contract. A vow unspoken.
As he was enjoying himself making love to my Pussy, “mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmm,” I began to moan as I was about to cum.  The moment I held his face and began kissing his lips passoiniately, he could not take it any more, “aaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaa,” as he moaned and began cumming deep inside my pussy, hugging him tight, crushing my boobs against his chest, “aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah,” I moaned and began cumming all over his cock.
Afterward, we lay tangled in each other’s arms. My head rested on his chest, his fingers lazily running through my hair. His other hand traced the outline of my waist, over the curve of my hip where the petticoat’s knot used to be.
“Do you really want it in your name?” he asked softly.
I smiled into his skin. “I’ve lived my whole life in Rented House, Mahesh.  But now, I want something of my own. Just one thing.”
He kissed the top of my head. “You’ll have it. The house is yours, Sudha. Tomorrow, I’ll call the broker.”
I looked up at him and whispered, “Then tonight, let me thank you again.”
And as I climbed on top of him once more, slow and confident, I knew:
This wasn’t just about pleasure.
This was ownership of desire,
of space,
of my name — on the gate of that house on 5th Cross.