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

[novelistcasanova]

As I wore my Saree and went to the Kitchen, I brewed fresh filter coffee, humming softly to myself.  The soft clink of the coffee tumblers faded into the background as Mahesh followed me back into the bedroom, his eyes still sleepy, but curious.

I walked toward the bathroom, loosening the yellow saree as I moved, letting it slip off my shoulder slowly — one inch of bare skin at a time.
I looked over my shoulder, smiled, and whispered, “Join me?”
He said nothing — only followed, the answer written in the heat rising in his gaze.
Inside, warm water began to fall from the shower like gentle summer rain. The air quickly fogged with steam, the light turning soft and golden.
I unhooked my white bra, letting it slide down my arms and drop quietly to the floor. My White panties followed, soaked with the remnants of last night. I stepped into the shower and turned, letting the water stream down my body, my eyes locking with his through the glass.
He stood frozen for a moment at the door. Then, like he was drawn by something magnetic, he stepped inside — his fingers brushing along my hip as he passed me, naked now, like the first time all over again.
We stood under the water together. No rush. No need.
He pressed his forehead against mine, water dripping down both our faces. My hands moved to his chest, spreading the soap slowly over his skin — a ritual, not a routine.
“I could get used to this,” he murmured.
I smiled, rubbing slow circles across his shoulders, “Then maybe you should start.”
I turned my back to him and reached for the shampoo. He took it from my hand and lathered it gently into my hair, fingers massaging my scalp with care that made me melt inside.
When I turned back around, he cupped my face with both hands and kissed me—slow, deep, warm. His lips moved with intention, like he was memorising not just the shape of my mouth, but the moment itself.
The water streamed between us, down our chests, over our thighs, around our toes. But we didn’t move.
His hands slid down my back, resting on the curve of my hips. Mine circled his neck. Our foreheads touched again, eyes closed.
There was no moaning. No begging. Just breath and warmth, skin on skin, and the unspoken language of two bodies that knew each other too well, and yet — somehow — rediscovered something new every time they touched.
We didn't make love in the shower. We didn’t need to.
The water finally stopped, but the warmth between us lingered.
Mahesh reached for a soft white towel and opened it with a tender flourish, wrapping it gently around me. He didn’t just dry me — he cherished me.
With every slow stroke of the towel across my back, across my shoulders, down my thighs — it was as if he was sealing last night’s promise into my skin. He knelt before me and gently patted my calves and feet dry, his eyes soft, reverent.
Then, without a word, he reached for the black bra — which was inside my hand bag — and helped me wear it, slipping the straps over my shoulders and fastening the hook with a smile against the nape of my neck.
Next came the matching black panties, smooth satin brushing against my thighs as he helped me step into them. His fingers lingered for a moment as he pulled them gently up — tracing the curve of my hips as if memorising them all over again.
“You’re dangerous in black,” he murmured, his lips brushing just behind my ear.
I smiled. “Wait till you see the yellow.”
He picked up my yellow petticoat and helped me tie it around my waist, his knuckles grazing my belly, stealing a soft sigh from me. Then the yellow blouse, snug and glowing against my brown skin — he slid my arms into it, hooked the buttons slowly, kissing my shoulder between each one.
And finally, he unfolded the yellow saree, dbanging it around me with the elegance of a sculptor working on his masterpiece.
“You wear the sun,” he whispered, tucking the pleats into my waist and adjusting the pallu across my chest with care. “And today, you’ll own it.”
I turned to him, cupped his cheek, and kissed him deeply — slowly — as if sealing a promise between our lips.
When we pulled apart, breathless and smiling, he whispered, “Let’s go.”