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

[novelistcasanova]

When Mahesh and I Went to my New House and Open the Gates. The front door creaked open slowly, revealing the quiet emptiness of the house that now bore my name.
Sunlight poured through the windows, casting warm golden streaks across the floor. The walls were bare. The air was still. And yet… it already felt like home.
I stepped in barefoot, the coolness of the marble floor kissing my feet. Every sound echoed — my anklets, the soft rustle of my yellow saree, the beating of my heart.
Mahesh followed me inside, locking the door gently behind us.
I turned to him, eyes filled with emotion. “This house is mine… because of you.”
He smiled, but I could see it in his eyes — how much joy it gave him to see me happy. To see me powerful. To see me owning something I had only dared to dream of.
I walked to the center of the living room, sunlight bathing me in gold, and slowly turned to face him.
Then, without a word…
I let the saree slip.
The pallu slid off my shoulder, falling to the floor like silk surrendering to gravity.
I held his gaze — unwavering.
I reached behind and unhooked my yellow blouse, letting it part open and slide down my arms.
The black bra followed.
Then the petticoat.
The black panties.
Every barrier between us — gone, just like the doubt, the fear, the hesitation that once kept me small.
I stood naked before him, in the middle of our new home, bathed in sunlight, proud and open — not just in body, but in heart.
“This is yours,” I whispered. “Not just the house… me. Again. Entirely.”

Mahesh walked toward me, slowly. Reverently. As if I were made of light.
He touched my cheek, then my lips, then my shoulder — as if confirming that I was real. Then he kissed me. Deeply. Passionately. Gratefully.
His hands traced every inch of me, his lips followed. And there, in the echo of empty walls and sunlit floors, we made love — not on a bed, but on the clean marble of our new beginning.
There were no curtains, no furniture, no noise — just the sounds of breath, of skin, of soft moans and whispered names. Of two people claiming each other again… not out of lust, but from overflowing love and quiet triumph.
When it was over, I lay on my back, wrapped in his arms, our clothes scattered around us like petals of a flower that had bloomed too suddenly in a room not ready.
The house was still empty.
But our love had filled it first.

The House at Koramangala was all Mine!!  Mine!!!

The End

Regards 
Novelist Casanova