Misc. Erotica My Wife's Evening College (COMPLETED) - By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

My Wife's Evening College... 

By Novelist Casanova 

Our small village in Tamil Nadu lay nestled between wide stretches of lush green paddy fields that turned golden under the late afternoon sun. Narrow red earth paths curved gently between clusters of low mud-walled houses with sloping thatched roofs made of dried palm leaves. Tall coconut palms and sturdy banyan trees stood like silent guardians along the lanes, their thick trunks wrapped in vines and their broad canopies casting deep cool shadows. Jasmine bushes grew wild near every home, filling the air with their heavy sweet perfume even in the heat. Small stone temples dotted the landscape, their gopurams painted in faded bright colors, where temple bells hung motionless until the evening puja. Beyond the fields stretched quiet irrigation canals lined with swaying tall grass, and distant hills rose soft and hazy on the horizon. The village held a timeless stillness, where every element breathed slow sensual life under the constant embrace of the hot Tamil sun.
My wife was the hottest woman in our entire village. Her face was perfectly oval with high sharp cheekbones, full pouty lips always painted deep red, and large dark eyes framed by thick long lashes that made every glance feel like an invitation. Jet-black hair fell in thick glossy waves down her back, reaching past her waist, often tied loosely with fresh jasmine flowers that brushed against the small of her back. Her neck was long and elegant, the gold mangalsutra hanging exactly between her massive boobs, the black beads resting heavy against her warm cleavage.
Her boobs were huge, perfectly round and impossibly firm, thrusting forward no matter which blouse she chose, always creating a deep inviting cleavage even when she dbangd her saree pallu modestly over them. They pulled the blouse so taut that her dark nipples poked visibly hard over the blouse with the slightest movement of air. Her waist was narrow and cinched, flaring dramatically into wide fertile hips that promised a seductive roll with every step. The saree was always tied deliberately low on her hips, leaving a wide strip of smooth stomach exposed, her deep round navel sitting like a dark tempting well right in the center.
Her ass cheeks were plump, full and round, jiggling noticeably even at rest, the saree hugging their shape so closely that the clear outline of her panties showed over her ass cheeks over the saree. Thick juicy thighs held the promise of softness when they rubbed together. Her legs were long and shapely, ankles slim and decorated with delicate gold chains that added a quiet tinkling charm to her presence.
The slow heavy village heat seemed to cling to her beauty, making every detail of her body glow with a hidden fire that no other woman in the village could match.


I was the luckiest man in the village to marry her and enjoy her stunning beauty every single day. As a government employee with the Government of Tamil Nadu, I had a steady salary and respect that made her parents see me as the perfect match for their daughter.
My wife had never wanted marriage at that young age. She burned with the desire to study further, to enroll in college and pursue her degree in sociology like she had dreamed since college. Her parents refused to let her go, insisting that after completing twelfth standard she must marry and settle down properly in life. They chose me for her, and the wedding happened quickly in the village temple under mango trees heavy with fruit.
Before the marriage, when she sat crying silently in her room, heartbroken that college doors were closing forever, I went to her quietly. I held her hand and promised with all my heart that after our marriage I would support her completely. I would make sure she finished her degree, no matter how long it took or how much effort it demanded from both of us. Her tear-filled eyes looked up at me, searching for truth, and when she saw I meant every word she nodded slowly and agreed to the marriage.
In the five years since our wedding night, my wife gave birth to three strong sons. Each pregnancy made her body change in ways that only increased her fire. Her boobs grew even larger and heavier, now so full and round that they strained every blouse she wore, the deep cleavage always visible no matter how carefully she dbangd her saree pallu. Milk had made her nipples darker and more prominent, poking hard over the blouse even when she was not feeding the youngest boy. Her hips widened further into broad fertile curves, making her walk slower and more swaying, the saree always tied low to show the deep inviting navel that had become even more pronounced after three deliveries.
Her ass cheeks turned plumper and juicier, jiggling heavily with the slightest movement, the panty line clearly visible over her ass cheeks over the saree whenever she bent or walked fast. Thick thighs filled out more, rubbing together with a sensual whisper under her saree, promising endless softness. Her waist stayed relatively narrow despite the births, creating an hourglass shape that drew hungry stares from every man in the village. The mangalsutra now rested deeper in her cleavage, the gold pendant nestling perfectly between her massive boobs like it belonged there forever.
Five years of marriage, three sons, and endless nights of passion had only made her hotter and sexier. Her beauty had ripened like the mangoes in our backyard, sweet and heavy, impossible to ignore, turning heads and stirring forbidden thoughts in every corner of our quiet village.


After the birth of our third son my wife had quietly given up all hope of ever returning to college. The days blurred into endless cycles of feeding babies, washing clothes, cooking meals, and keeping the house spotless while I went to my government office. She never complained out loud but I saw the light dim in her large dark eyes whenever anyone mentioned studies or degrees. We had moved to Chennai for my job transfer, and the government quarters we were allotted felt like a small upgrade from village life, with concrete walls, a tiny balcony, and running water that sometimes came hot. Still the routine weighed heavy on her, her massive boobs always full from nursing, her wide hips swaying slower under the saree as fatigue set in earlier each day.
But I never forgot the promise I made before our wedding night. I wanted to keep my word no matter how many years had passed. One afternoon at the office a colleague mentioned an evening college in a quiet part of the city that allowed married women to continue their interrupted degrees. Classes ran from five in the evening until nine, perfect for housewives who finished daily chores first. I listened carefully, asked questions, and the next day I took half-day leave to visit the place myself.
The college building was old and worn, paint peeling from the walls, ceiling fans creaking slowly overhead, wooden benches scarred from years of use. The small office smelled of old paper and damp concrete. The clerk behind the counter handed me the application form for B.A. Sociology, explaining that admissions were still open for a small batch. He listed the requirements: her twelfth standard marks card, transfer certificate if any, marriage certificate for proof of age relaxation, and most importantly a recent passport-size photograph of my wife. The fee was modest, payable at the time of submission. I nodded, folded the form carefully, and promised to return soon with everything.
When I reached home that evening the children were playing in the small living room and my wife was in the kitchen, stirring dal in a steel vessel, her saree pallu tucked at her waist to keep it out of the way. Her boobs pushed heavily against the blouse, nipples poking hard over the blouse from the steam rising in the hot kitchen. Sweat beads rolled down her exposed midriff, collecting in the deep navel that looked even more inviting after three pregnancies.
I waited until she turned off the stove and wiped her hands on the edge of her saree. Then I sat her down on the cot, pulled out the application form, and told her everything. The evening college existed, the timing suited her perfectly after finishing household work and putting the boys to sleep, and I had already collected the form. She stared at the paper in my hand, eyes wide, lips parted in disbelief. For a long moment she said nothing, just looked from the form to my face and back again.
"Rajesh, you really went there? For me?" she whispered, voice trembling with emotion she had buried for years.
I nodded and placed the form in her hands. Tears filled her eyes but she smiled through them, the same full pouty red lips curving up in a way that made my cock stir inside my trousers.
"I will join. I want to finish my degree so badly," she said, clutching the paper to her massive boobs, the mangalsutra shifting between them with her quick breaths.
The next morning I reminded her about the passport-size photograph. She agreed to get it taken soon. I left for office with a strange mix of pride and anticipation growing in my chest, knowing this small step was about to open a door we both thought had closed forever.



The next evening after I finished office work I told my wife it was time to get the passport size photograph taken for her college admission. My mother had moved permanently to stay with us in Chennai after my father passed away last year. She now lived in our government quarters, taking full charge of the household and the three boys. She cooked, cleaned, fed the children, played with them, and put them to bed every night without fail. My wife no longer had to worry about rushing back or leaving the boys alone. She could take her time for important things like this college admission step. She changed into her favorite purple saree with a matching purple blouse that hugged her massive boobs so tightly the deep cleavage showed clearly even with the pallu dbangd over her shoulder. The saree was tied low on her wide hips, exposing the deep round navel that always drew my eyes. Her mangalsutra rested heavy between her boobs, the gold pendant nestling in the soft valley. The purple color made her jet black hair shine brighter and her full red lips look even more inviting. Her ass cheeks looked plumper than ever under the saree, the panty line visible over her ass cheeks over the saree as she walked ahead of me toward the nearby photo studio on the quiet street.
We reached the small shop just as the street lights came on. The photographer was an ugly middle aged man with a pockmarked face, greasy hair, crooked yellow teeth, and a pot belly hanging over his belt. His small eyes lit up the moment he saw my wife standing in the doorway. He stared openly at her boobs pushing hard against the purple blouse, then lowered his gaze to her exposed midriff and the deep navel, finally lingering on the way her hips filled the purple saree. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he welcomed us with a wide crooked smile.
"Come in, come in, madam, sir. Very good evening. What photos you want today?" he asked, voice thick and oily, eyes never leaving my wife's boobs.
I stepped forward and said we needed passport size photographs for her college admission. He nodded quickly and gestured toward the small curtained room at the back.
"Passport photo, very simple. Come inside, madam. Better light there," he said, holding the curtain open for her.
My wife walked in first, her ass cheeks jiggling under the purple saree with each step. The photographer followed her inside and pulled the thin curtain across the doorway, but he left a small gap of about six inches where the two halves did not quite meet. I stayed outside at the reception counter, pretending to look at old photo samples on the wall, but my eyes were fixed on that narrow gap. Through it I could see everything clearly in the bright bulb light of the inner room: the plain blue backdrop, the old camera on its tripod, and my wife standing there waiting.
The photographer pointed to a spot right in front of the backdrop.
"Madam, please stand here. Face the camera straight. Passport photos look better standing for full face and shoulders," he instructed, then turned to her directly. "Madam, may I know what these photos are for? Job, or passport?"
My wife stood straight, adjusting her purple saree pallu slightly over her massive boobs. Her boobs rose and fell with her breath, nipples poking hard over the purple blouse from the cool air inside the studio. The low tied saree showed her deep navel fully, and her wide hips flared out seductively in the bright light.
"For college admission. I am joining evening degree after many years," she answered softly, a small proud smile on her full red lips.
The photographer bent down in front of her to adjust the camera height. His face came level with her boobs, eyes fixed on the deep cleavage where the mangalsutra disappeared. Then he reached out slowly and took a strand of her jet black hair that had fallen across her cheek. He glided his fingers through it, tucking it behind her ear with deliberate care. His knuckles rubbed along the side of her neck, lingering a second too long, then he smoothed another loose strand down the side of her face, his thumb almost touching the corner of her full red lips.
"Hair must be perfect for passport photo, madam. Very important," he murmured, voice low, breath warm near her ear.
From my position at the reception I watched every second through the curtain gap. My wife stood still, cheeks flushing slightly, but she did not pull away. The way his rough fingers moved through her hair, the way he stood so close that his pot belly almost touched her boobs, the way his eyes kept dropping to her navel and the low tied purple saree all of it sent a strange new feeling straight to my cock. My cock hardened inside my trousers, throbbing strangely at the sight of this ugly man touching her hair so boldly while she stood there obediently for the photo. Jealousy mixed with a filthy arousal I had never felt before, making my balls tighten and my breath come faster. I stayed rooted there, peeking through the narrow opening, unable to tear my eyes away, my cock now fully erect and pushing hard against my trousers as he finally stepped back to click the shutter.
He took several shots, bending low again each time to check the frame, his face inches from her boobs, eyes greedy. My wife kept her posture straight, boobs thrusting forward, nipples hard over the purple blouse, unaware or perhaps pretending not to notice the way the photographer's gaze devoured her body. The air in the small room grew thick with unspoken tension, and from my hidden spot at the reception I felt that new horny feeling twist deeper in my gut, promising something dangerous and exciting was already beginning.



The photographer clicked a few more shots, then lowered the camera and stepped even closer to my wife. His small greedy eyes roamed over her purple saree, stopping at the deep cleavage between her massive boobs and then sliding down to her exposed midriff.
"Madam, you look like you are from some nice village. Where are you from originally? Which district?" he asked, voice dripping with fake curiosity, standing so close his pot belly nearly brushed her boobs.
My wife, proud and naive, smiled wider, her full red lips parting as she began to speak without hesitation.
"Yes, we are from a small village near Trichy. Very peaceful place with lots of paddy fields and coconut groves. My husband is from there too. We moved to Chennai only because of his government job," she said, voice warm with nostalgia, mangalsutra rising and falling between her boobs as she talked.
The photographer nodded eagerly, eyes locked on her boobs. In the name of adjusting her pose for a better passport photo he reached out with both hands toward her saree pallu.
"Madam, your pallu is slipping a little. Let me fix it properly so the photo comes neat," he said, fingers already touching the edge of the purple pallu.
He tugged the pallu aside slowly, sliding it off her right shoulder inch by inch. The purple blouse came fully into view, stretched tight over her huge boobs, the deep cleavage now completely exposed without any cover. Her dark nipples poked hard over the purple blouse, clearly visible in the bright light. His mouth watered visibly, saliva gathering at the corners of his lips as he stared openly at her boobs, pretending to adjust the pallu further by pulling it lower down her arm.
While his left hand kept the pallu pulled aside, his right hand moved downward under the pretext of straightening the lower edge of the saree. His rough fingers glided across her smooth stomach, then deliberately brushed over her deep round navel, circling the sensitive rim once before pressing lightly into the center. The touch lingered for several seconds, his fingertip rubbing slow circles around her navel while his eyes remained fixed on her boobs.
My wife continued talking, completely absorbed in her pride for our village, not noticing how intimately he was touching her navel.
"In our village we have a big temple with stone carvings. Every year there is a big festival with music and dance. The fields are so green in the rainy season, and the air smells of jasmine all the time," she went on, eyes shining, boobs heaving with each excited breath, nipples stiff and prominent over the blouse.
The photographer kept the pallu pulled aside longer than necessary, his rough fingers still lingering near her navel, thumb now tracing the outer edge of the deep hollow. His breathing grew heavier, eyes wide and hungry, drinking in every detail of her massive boobs barely contained by the purple blouse and the way her stomach quivered slightly under his touch. Drool escaped the corner of his mouth and he quickly wiped it with the back of his hand, but his gaze never left her exposed cleavage and navel.
From my hidden spot at the reception, peeking through the six inch curtain gap, I watched the entire scene. The sight of this ugly man pulling her pallu aside, staring at her boobs with open lust, his mouth watering, and now his fingers brushing and rubbing her navel while my wife innocently talked about our village gave me extra time to ogle her boobs myself. Her nipples poked even harder over the purple blouse from the cool air hitting her exposed cleavage and the unexpected touch on her navel. My cock throbbed painfully inside my trousers, harder than before, balls tight with that same filthy new arousal. Jealousy burned hot in my chest, but the sight of her proud innocent face, her massive boobs on full display, and that rough hand lingering on her navel made me hornier than I had ever been. I gripped the reception counter edge, breath shallow, unable to move or speak, lost in the raw sensual moment unfolding before my eyes.
The photographer finally let the pallu fall back over her boobs and withdrew his hand from her navel, but not before giving one last slow rub across the sensitive dip. He stepped back to the camera, adjusting it with shaking hands.
"Perfect, madam. Now one more shot. Keep smiling like that," he said, voice hoarse.
My wife smiled brightly again, still lost in memories of our village, while I stood there trembling with forbidden excitement, my cock leaking precum inside my trousers from the twisted thrill of watching another man ogle, touch, and brush my wife's boobs and navel so boldly.


From my hidden spot at the reception peeking through the six inch curtain gap I quickly pulled my cock out of my trousers. The thick veined length sprang free already slick at the tip balls heavy and drawn tight. My hand wrapped around the base squeezing hard then began jerking up and down in slow firm strokes keeping my movements quiet so no sound reached the inner room. My eyes stayed locked on the scene as the photographer set the camera aside and stepped right up to my wife again his pot belly almost hugging her massive boobs. His crooked yellow teeth showed in a leering grin as he kept his voice low and friendly.
"Madam so you are joining evening college now? Which college? What subject?" he asked eyes dropping straight to her exposed cleavage where the purple pallu still hung loose from his earlier adjustment.
My wife naive and excited answered without any suspicion her full red lips moving eagerly as she spoke.
"It is a small evening college near our area. B.A. Sociology. It was always my dream to complete my degree. My parents stopped me after twelfth standard for marriage but my husband promised he would help me finish it. Now after three sons I finally get the chance," she said voice full of innocent pride mangalsutra swinging gently between her boobs with each word.
The photographer nodded slowly eyes locked on her boobs.
"Very good madam. Such a beautiful dream. Let me adjust your face angle for one final perfect shot. Tilt your chin a little up," he murmured.
His thick right hand rose to her face. He cupped her oval cheek first thumb rubbing slow erotic circles over the high sharp cheekbone feeling every delicate contour. His calloused pad glided along the smooth line of her jaw savoring the softness then slid his index finger under her chin lifting it gently while his thumb continued stroking the soft hollow below her full pouty red lips. His middle finger joined tracing the plump outer edge of her lower lip then easing inward to rub the wet inner rim where her lipstick ended feeling the slick warmth of her saliva coating his fingertip. He pinched her lower lip lightly between thumb and forefinger tugging it down just enough to expose more of the glistening pink inside letting the soft flesh stretch and quiver before releasing it to snap back plump and shiny. His palm then cupped the entire side of her face fingers spreading wide to cover from temple to chin rubbing in slow sensual circles feeling the warmth of her cheek the tiny flutter of her long dark lashes against his skin when she blinked. He glided his thumb across her high cheekbone again then down to the corner of her mouth pressing softly so her lips parted wider letting him feel the hot moist breath escaping in little puffs against his skin. His other hand rose to join cupping the opposite cheek mirroring the motion thumbs now rubbing both corners of her full red lips in unison fingers gliding along her jawline in filthy intimate strokes.
Then his thumbs moved to the very center of her full red lips. He placed one thumb on the upper lip and one on the lower pressing firmly to spread her lips wide open exposing the wet pink interior of her mouth completely. His thumbs pushed outward stretching her plump red lips apart in a slow deliberate motion revealing the glistening tongue the slick roof of her mouth the tiny strings of saliva connecting upper and lower lip as they parted wider under his pressure. The inner pink flesh quivered visibly the warm moist cavern of her mouth fully displayed to his greedy eyes while his thumbs held her lips spread open like that rubbing the stretched edges in tiny filthy circles feeling every slick ridge every subtle tremble of her soft mouth. Droplets of her saliva gathered on his thumbs making them glisten as he kept her lips pried apart savoring the intimate view the hot breath washing over his skin the way her tongue shifted slightly in innocent confusion without closing her mouth.
Mnmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmm I moaned low in my throat as I was about to cum. The exact moment his thumbs spread her full red lips wide open and held her mouth parted exposing the glistening pink inside my control shattered completely. My cock throbbed violently in my fist the sight of this ugly man's rough thumbs prying my wife's innocent pouty lips apart holding her mouth open like a filthy invitation while she kept talking naively about her dreams sent a white hot surge straight through my balls, “Mnmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmm…” I moaned and I could not hold it anymore “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.... aaaaaaaaaaaah... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...!” I moaned and began cumming all over my hand. Thick hot ropes of cum shot out splattering the reception floor in sticky spurts while I clenched my teeth to stay silent knees shaking vision blurring as the orgasm tore through me harder and faster than any time before. I kept jerking through the aftershocks milking every drop watching his thumbs still holding her lips spread open one last time rubbing the stretched wet edges before finally releasing them to snap shut with a soft wet sound.
All the while my wife kept talking naively completely unaware of how erotic and possessive his touches had become or that I had just exploded watching him spread her lips and open her mouth.
"Sociology is interesting because it teaches about society and people. In our village everyone knows everyone but in city it is different. I want to learn more and maybe help other women who had to stop studies like me," she continued eyes bright voice soft and earnest boobs rising and falling faster from the emotion nipples poking even harder over the purple blouse.
The photographer finally lowered both hands from her face stepping back with a satisfied smirk.
Sir please come tomorrow morning to collect the photos. They will be ready and printed nicely by then. Ten rupees only," he said loudly enough for me to hear clearly his voice thick with hidden amusement eyes flicking toward the gap as if he knew I had been watching the entire time.
My wife nodded happily adjusting her purple pallu back over her boobs still glowing with excitement about her upcoming college life completely unaware of the raw filthy scene that had just unfolded around her or the way I had just jerked off furiously to the moment he spread her lips and opened her mouth. I wiped my hand on the inside of my trousers tucked my softening cock back in heart pounding with shame twisted satisfaction and the dark promise of more to come when I would return tomorrow alone to pick up those photos from this ugly man's hands.

To Be Continued ...