Misc. Erotica Daddy's Little Princess - By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

Daddy's Little Princess

By 

Novelist Casanova

Daddy's Little Princess 

The village nestled deep in the heart of Tamil Nadu like a living emerald dropped from the sky. Golden sunlight of late afternoon poured over endless fields of swaying sugarcane, their tall green stalks whispering secrets to the breeze. Paddy fields stretched in neat rectangles, shimmering with water mirrors that caught every passing cloud, young rice plants standing bright and tender in the mud. Coconut groves rose tall on the edges, fronds heavy with clusters of nuts, swaying gently as if nodding to the rhythm of village life. Mango orchards stood proud nearby, branches loaded with ripening fruit that glowed orange-red against dark leaves. Banana plantations hugged the low-lying areas, broad leaves unfurling like green flags, bunches hanging heavy and full. Drumstick trees lined the narrow paths, long pods dangling like green fingers pointing toward the horizon. Tamarind trees spread wide canopies, their sour pods already turning brown, while neem trees stood sentinel with delicate leaves filtering the light into dappled patterns on the red earth below.

A small river wound through the village outskirts, its clear water gurgling over smooth stones, reflecting the deepening orange of the evening sky. Kingfishers flashed blue along the banks, diving for silver fish. Peacocks called from distant thickets, their cries sharp and proud. The air carried the rich smell of wet earth, ripe fruit, blooming jasmine from roadside bushes, and the distant smoke of cow dung fires starting for evening meals.
At the very center of this fertile paradise stood the grand Lord Murugan Temple, its towering gopuram carved with intricate stories of gods and warriors, painted in vivid reds, blues, and golds that caught the last rays of sun and burned like fire against the sky. The temple walls gleamed whitewashed, cool stone steps leading up to the sanctum where lamps already flickered inside. Bells hung silent now, waiting for evening puja.
Right beside the temple, sharing the same sacred compound, rose the enormous Kalyana Mantapam built for divine unions and human ones alike. Its massive structure commanded the eye even from far across the fields. Tall white pillars lined the front, each one carved with dancing figures, lotus motifs, and mythical beasts, rising to support a wide sloping roof tiled in deep red. The entrance arch soared high, framed by two giant stone elephants trumpeting silently toward the heavens, their trunks curled upward in blessing. Ornate brass lamps hung from chains along the veranda, unlit yet but ready to blaze gold when night fell. Marble steps, cool and wide, led up to the main hall, flanked by rows of banana trees planted fresh for the coming wedding, their leaves tied with yellow turmeric threads. Torches stood ready along the outer walls, promising to turn the entire mantapam into a glowing palace once darkness settled.
As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in strokes of crimson, saffron, and deep violet, the Kalyana Mantapam stood bathed in that final warm glow. Shadows lengthened across its grand facade, turning the carved pillars golden, the red roof tiles almost liquid fire. The air grew cooler, carrying the promise of night, of rituals, of secrets yet to unfold within those sacred walls.
The village held its breath in that perfect evening hush.




Outside the grand entrance of the Kalyana Mantapam, a massive board stood proud on tall wooden stands wrapped in fresh banana leaves and strings of marigold. Bold letters in bright gold paint declared Rajesh Weds Sudha in both Tamil and English, the names shining under the last orange light of the setting sun. Below the names, tomorrow's date glowed large and clear, promising the sacred union tomorrow morning at eight. Jasmine garlands dbangd thick around the edges of the board, white and yellow flowers woven tight, releasing their heavy sweet perfume into the cooling evening air. Small electric bulbs framed the board, still unlit but ready to sparkle white and gold once full darkness arrived.
Inside the vast main hall of the Kalyana Mantapam, the air buzzed with low voices, laughter, and the soft clink of metal bangles. Long rows of white plastic chairs stood arranged facing the raised mandap stage, where a small altar already held brass lamps, turmeric paste, kumkum, and fresh coconuts waiting for tomorrow's rituals. Ceiling fans spun slow overhead, stirring the warm air scented with incense, camphor, and the faint sweetness of sandalwood paste.
Men filled one side of the hall, all Tamil men of the village and nearby towns, dressed in crisp white dhotis wrapped neatly around their waists and white shirts buttoned high. Some older men wore their dhotis tucked high, sleeves rolled up, gold chains glinting at their necks as they spoke in deep voices about land, crops, and the groom's family prestige. Younger men stood in small groups, white dhotis hugging their hips, shirts open at the collar, eyes darting often toward the women's side with quiet hunger.
On the other side, married women gathered in bright clusters, their sarees dbangd with perfect grace over full, ripe bodies. Their boobs pushed heavy and round against tight blouses, nipples sometimes poking hard over the blouse when they moved or laughed. Low-tied sarees revealed deep navels glistening with a light sheen of sweat from the warm evening, pallu slipping deliberately low to show the soft dip of waist and the beginning swell of hips. Their ass cheeks swayed full and firm under the saree folds as they walked, panty lines clearly visible over their ass cheeks over the saree when they turned. Faces carried that homely beauty, large expressive eyes lined with kohl, full lips painted red, cheeks rounded with a natural glow, yet their bodies screamed raw sensuality, thick thighs rubbing together under the petticoat, mangalsutra pendants swinging between deep cleavage as they bent to adjust saree pallu or whisper gossip. Every gesture teased, every laugh made boobs jiggle softly inside blouses, drawing stolen glances from the men.
Among them moved the unmarried girls, young and bold in their half sarees, the short saree pallu barely covering their boobs, leaving midriffs completely bare to show tight flat stomachs and tempting navels. Their blouses hugged small but perky boobs, nipples poking sharp over the blouse fabric whenever a cool breeze slipped through the hall. Half sarees tied low on hips revealed the top edges of panties peeking just above the petticoat knot, panty lines sharp over their firm ass cheeks over the half saree as they swayed past groups of young men. Long hair braided with jasmine flowers swung down their backs, hips rolling deliberately as they walked, thighs flashing smooth and toned beneath the short hem. They giggled among themselves, eyes sparkling with mischief, bending forward to pick up fallen flowers or adjust anklets, letting boobs strain forward over low blouse necklines, teasing the boys who pretended not to stare but whose eyes followed every jiggle of ass cheeks and bounce of boobs. Their laughter rang clear and tempting, bodies moving like invitations, promising everything while giving nothing yet.
The hall pulsed with that electric undercurrent of anticipation, bodies close, scents mixing, eyes meeting and sliding away, everyone waiting for the night to deepen and tomorrow's rituals to begin.




As the last sliver of sun disappeared behind the coconut groves, the grand hall of the Kalyana Mantapam slowly quieted. Ceiling fans continued their lazy circles, pushing warm air across rows of white plastic chairs now half-empty. The sharp smell of incense lingered, mixing with the growing odor of arrack and beedi smoke drifting from the men's side.
Old women claimed corners near the walls, spreading thin mats on the cool marble floor. They sat cross-legged in their faded sarees, pallu tucked firmly over shoulders, mangalsutra resting heavy between boobs that sagged softly inside old blouses. Their voices dropped to low murmurs, gossiping about family alliances, tomorrow's muhurtham timing, and which relative brought the best sweets. Some pulled grandchildren onto their laps, rocking them gently until small heads drooped against wrinkled shoulders. Children curled up soon after, tiny bodies wrapped in shawls, breathing slow and even as sleep took them.
Married women drifted apart from their earlier lively groups. A few still stood chatting in low tones, boobs rising and falling under tight blouses, navels exposed deep and round below low-tied sarees. Others found places to sit on the floor or on spare chairs pushed against pillars. They adjusted saree pallu to cover more modestly now, though panty lines still showed clearly over ass cheeks over the saree when they shifted weight from one hip to the other. Some leaned back against the wall, eyes half-closed, exhaustion from the day's preparations pulling at them. A young mother nursed her baby discreetly under the cover of her pallu, boob partially exposed as the child suckled, nipple dark and wet. Most eventually lay down on mats, sarees fanning out around them, hips curving softly, thighs pressed together under petticoats, falling into light sleep or quiet rest.
On the men's side the mood turned heavier, looser. Groups of men huddled around low wooden benches dragged into circles. Bottles of arrack passed from hand to hand, clear liquid glinting in the dim hall lights. They laughed loud at first, slapping thighs wrapped in white dhotis, white shirts untucked and sleeves rolled high. Cards snapped down on makeshift tables made from stacked chairs, bets whispered in quick Tamil. Smoke curled thick from beedis clenched between teeth, eyes growing red and glassy. As bottles emptied, voices slurred, laughter turned to yawns. One by one men slumped forward, heads dropping onto arms folded on tables, dhotis loosening at the waist. Some stretched out full length on the marble floor, white dhotis riding up to expose hairy thighs, snoring almost immediately from the mix of long day's tiredness and strong drink. Others leaned against pillars, eyes closed, mouths slack, bottles still gripped loosely in hands.
The hall settled into a deep, uneven hush. Only the slow whir of fans, occasional soft baby whimpers, distant snores from drunk men, and the quiet rustle of sarees when a woman shifted in sleep broke the stillness. Outside, crickets took over the night chorus, while inside the Kalyana Mantapam everyone waited, bodies relaxed, minds drifting toward tomorrow's dawn and the wedding that would bind two lives forever.



A narrow corridor led from the main hall to the bride’s room tucked at the far end of the Kalyana Mantapam. The door stood slightly ajar, letting only a thin line of dim corridor light spill inside. The room itself lay in near total darkness, lights switched off long ago. Thick curtains blocked the small window, trapping the warm night air heavy with the scent of jasmine from wilting garlands hung earlier on the walls and the sweet musk of sleeping girls.
My friends, the unmarried girls from the village and nearby houses, had claimed the bride’s room for the night. Mats and thin blankets spread across the cool tiled floor. They lay in a loose circle, half sarees already rumpled from tossing and turning. A few snored softly, chests rising slow under short blouses, but most stayed awake, voices dropping to husky whispers in the dark.
"Shh… listen, that Ramesh from the next street… his cock must be so thick," one girl murmured, voice thick with lust. "I saw him lift sacks at the market last week. His arms bulged, and I kept imagining him shoving that cock deep inside my pussy until I scream."
She giggled low, then tugged her half saree skirt higher along her thighs, bunching the material at her hips. Her petticoat followed, pushed up in folds until the white edge of her panties showed in the dim light sneaking under the door. Fingers slid under the waistband of her panties, pushing the cotton down just enough to expose her pussy lips. She spread her thighs wider, knees falling apart on the mat. Two fingers rubbed slow circles over her clit, then dipped lower to glide along her slick pussy lips. Her breathing turned quick and shallow.
Another girl answered in a filthy whisper. "Forget Ramesh. I want Kumar anna… the one who fixes bikes near the temple. His hands are so rough and black from grease. I dream about him grabbing my boobs, squeezing them hard over my blouse, then ripping my panties down and fucking my pussy from behind while I bend over his workbench. His balls slapping my ass cheeks every thrust."
She lifted her own half saree skirt high, petticoat dragged up to her navel. Panties tugged to the side, exposing her swollen pussy lips already glistening. She shoved two fingers straight inside her pussy, pumping slow at first, then faster. Her other hand grabbed her boob over the blouse, squeezing the soft mound, thumb rubbing her nipple until it poked sharp over the tight material. Juices coated her fingers, making wet sucking sounds in the quiet room as she fucked herself deeper.
"Mmm… yes… imagine Suresh… tall, dark, always staring at my ass cheeks when I walk past," a third girl breathed. "I want him to slap my ass cheeks red, spread them wide, then push his fat cock into my asshole while he rubs my clit. I would cum so hard my pussy would squirt all over his hand."
Her half saree skirt bunched at her waist now, petticoat shoved high. Panties peeled down her thighs to her knees. She spread her pussy lips wide with two fingers, middle finger circling her clit fast while her other hand pinched her nipple over the blouse. Hips bucked up off the mat, ass cheeks clenching as she rubbed harder, pussy making sloppy wet noises. Sweat beaded on her exposed navel, trickling down toward her busy fingers.
The whispers grew filthier, voices overlapping in the dark. "I need Vikram to crush my boobs in his big hands, bite my nipples until they hurt so good, then ram his cock so deep in my pussy his balls kiss my asshole." Fingers plunged faster inside pussies, clits rubbed raw, boobs squeezed and pinched over blouses. Panties dangled from spread thighs, half saree skirts and petticoats rucked up shamelessly, pussy lips swollen and dripping, the room filling with the raw, slick sounds of girls masturbating to their secret crushes.
One by one their breaths hitched higher, bodies trembling on the mats, fingers working frantically inside pussies and over clits, chasing release in the thick, aroused darkness of the bride’s room while the rest of the Kalyana Mantapam slept on.



After the girls in the bride’s room reached their peaks one by one in the darkness, their fingers plunged faster inside slick pussy lips, clits rubbed raw until bodies arched off the mats. Soft gasps turned to muffled moans, thighs quivering as juices leaked down to wet ass cheeks and soaked panties bunched at knees. After the last shudder, they collapsed, breaths slowing, half sarees still rucked up, panties tugged haphazardly back into place or left dangling. Soon the room filled only with even breathing and light snores, the girls fallen into peaceful, sated sleep on their scattered mats.
In the next room, my parents had settled long ago. Appa lay on a cot in his white dhoti and white shirt, snoring deeply after the day’s arrangements. Amma curled beside him on a mat, saree pallu pulled over her shoulder, mangalsutra resting between her boobs, her breathing steady and calm. The small lamp they kept burning for the night cast a low warm glow over their peaceful forms before Amma reached up and switched it off, plunging their room into quiet dark.
But inside the bride’s room, I lay flat on the narrow bed prepared for me, completely unsettled, heart hammering loud enough I feared it would wake the sleeping girls around me. My yellow saree dbangd over my body, saree pallu slipped slightly to one side, yellow blouse hugging my boobs tight with front hooks done up neatly. The yellow petticoat tied low on my hips pressed against my lower belly. Underneath, my white bra cupped my boobs firmly, white bra straps digging slight lines into my shoulders, white bra cups squeezing my boobs so every breath made nipples rub against the inside of the white bra, turning them harder and more sensitive with each restless shift. My maroon panties hugged my pussy and ass cheeks snug, the maroon panties waistband sitting just below my navel. Tension coiled deep in my belly, making my pussy lips throb softly inside the maroon panties, a slow slickness building between my pussy lips, soaking the crotch of my maroon panties until the maroon panties grew damp and warm against my clit. Every small movement of my thighs rubbed my pussy lips together over the wet maroon panties, sending tiny jolts up my spine, my clit swelling and pulsing with forbidden anticipation. My nipples poked hard over the yellow blouse, straining against the white bra cups, aching for touch I refused to give myself. Sweat gathered in my navel, trickled down toward the low knot of my yellow petticoat, mixing with the growing wetness seeping from my pussy into my maroon panties. Guilt twisted sharp in my chest, love for Arjun burned hotter, fear of tomorrow’s wedding clashed with the desperate need to run. My hips shifted involuntarily, ass cheeks clenching inside the maroon panties, pussy clenching empty and needy, juices leaking more until the maroon panties clung wetly to my pussy lips and clit.
Arjun waited far beyond the village, hidden on the highway in his friend’s old car, engine off, lights dimmed, heart probably racing as fast as mine. His friends, two loyal boys from our circle, crouched just outside the Kalyana Mantapam walls in the shadows of banana trees, ready to guide me through the sugarcane fields the moment I slipped out. They checked their watches by moonlight, whispered plans, waited for my signal or my sudden appearance.
I stared at the dark ceiling, counting slow breaths, willing the last sounds in the mantapam to fade completely. Every snore from the hall, every creak of the old building, felt like an eternity. My boobs rose and fell fast under the yellow blouse, nipples rubbing mercilessly inside the white bra, pussy throbbing wet inside maroon panties, body alive with restless fire while my mind screamed only one thought: soon, very soon, I would run to him.




I could not wait any longer in the suffocating dark. My heart pounded so hard I felt it in my thighs. Slowly I reached for the small switch beside the bed and flicked it on. A single low-watt bulb glowed yellow overhead, casting soft shadows across the scattered mats and sleeping girls.
All my friends lay sprawled in deep, exhausted sleep after their secret pleasures. Their half sarees remained hiked high, skirts bunched and twisted above their waists. Petticoats stayed pushed up in messy folds, exposing smooth thighs, panties, pussy lips, ass cheeks, and assholes in shameless abandon. Hands rested in different states: some still tucked inside panties, fingers curled loosely against pussy lips, others fallen out to the side, glistening with dried juices.
The girl closest to me, Priya, slept on her back with legs spread wide. Her half saree skirt and petticoat rode up past her navel, pink panties tugged down to mid-thigh, leaving her pussy lips fully exposed. The outer pussy lips lay parted slightly in sleep, inner pussy lips dark pink and slick, clit peeking swollen at the top. Dried juices streaked her full, rounded thighs, inner sides shiny under the bulb light. One hand stayed inside the lowered pink panties, middle finger still nestled between her pussy lips.
Next to her, Lakshmi lay curled on her side, facing away. Her blue half saree and petticoat bunched at her hips, white panties pulled halfway down her thighs, exposing her ass cheeks completely. The round, firm ass cheeks parted just enough to show her tight asshole and the lower edge of her pussy lips glistening below. Her long, toned thighs pressed together, trapping the white panties in a twisted roll, wet crotch darkened and sticky. Her hand had fallen out beside her hip, fingertips still glossy.
Meena slept flat on her stomach, face turned to the side, mouth slightly open. Her green half saree skirt and petticoat twisted high above her waist, green panties dragged down to her knees, leaving both ass cheeks fully bare. The plump ass cheeks spread naturally in sleep, revealing her tight asshole and her pussy lips visible from behind, swollen and wet with juices that had leaked down the insides of her slim, muscular thighs in shiny trails. Both hands rested outside her green panties, palms up, fingers curled.
Saranya had rolled onto her back with knees bent and feet flat on the mat, legs fallen open even wider. Her red half saree and petticoat stayed rucked above her waist, red panties tugged completely off one ankle and dangling from the other, her pussy fully on display. The outer pussy lips gaped open slightly, inner pussy lips dark and puffy, clit erect and shiny, a pool of dried cum smeared across her thick thighs in sticky streaks. Her thighs quivered faintly with each deep breath.
Divya lay on her tummy hugging a pillow, half saree skirt and petticoat pushed up carelessly to her lower back. Yellow panties pulled down to her mid-thighs, exposing her entire ass cheeks and her asshole. The firm, rounded ass cheeks parted in sleep, showing her tight asshole and the lower part of her pussy lips peeking from underneath, still glistening. Her slender, smooth thighs spread slightly, yellow panties twisted around them, the soaked crotch darkened to deep gold where it had pressed against her pussy lips and clit earlier. Her hand rested on her lower back, fingers shiny.
Every girl breathed slow and even now, bodies relaxed in post-orgasm peace, half sarees and petticoats still raised shamelessly, panties of pink, white, green, red, yellow either pulled down to thighs or ankles or tugged aside, pussy lips, clits, ass cheeks, and assholes exposed in raw, filthy detail, thighs streaked with dried juices, evidence of their frantic rubbing and whispered lusts laid bare under the dim bulb.
I watched for a long moment, my own maroon panties growing even damper between my thighs from the sight, pussy lips throbbing harder inside the wet maroon panties. Then, certain no one would stir, I slipped off the bed. Bare feet silent on the cool tiles, I tiptoed past the sleeping circle, careful not to brush any mat or kick a stray anklet. At the door I paused once more, listening to their soft snores, then eased the door open just enough to slide through. I closed it behind me with the softest click and stepped into the dim corridor, pulse racing, ready to run toward the waiting shadows outside the Kalyana Mantapam.


The corridor stretched long and narrow, lit only by a few weak bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Marble floor cold under my bare feet. I moved slow, placing each step with care, toes first then heel, so no sound echoed back to the sleeping hall. My yellow saree rustled only slightly with each careful movement, saree pallu tucked tight over my shoulder to keep it from slipping. My maroon panties crotch stayed damp, pussy lips still throbbing from the sight of the girls and from the fear pulsing through me.
I reached the wide stone staircase at the end of the corridor. Steps wide enough for three people side by side. I climbed them one by one, hand sliding along the smooth railing, breath held tight in my chest so my boobs barely moved inside the yellow blouse. At the top the terrace opened vast and open to the night sky.
The terrace covered the entire roof of the Kalyana Mantapam, a huge flat expanse of red oxide floor tiled in neat squares. Low pabangt walls ran around all four sides, carved with simple lotus patterns, painted white and glowing under the moonlight. Potted jasmine plants stood in rows along the edges, flowers closed for the night but still releasing heavy perfume. A few plastic chairs scattered here and there from earlier evening gatherings. In one corner a small water tank stood on brick legs, metal tap dripping slow into a bucket below. The whole space felt empty and exposed, wind cool against my face and arms, carrying distant sounds of crickets and the low hum of the village settling into sleep.
At the far end, away from the staircase, a small room rose like a separate box on the terrace. The room was simple, built of the same whitewashed stone as the mantapam walls, with a flat concrete roof and a single wooden door painted green. One small window faced the terrace, shutter closed but slats loose enough to let thin lines of moonlight slip inside. The room had been used for storing puja items earlier in the day, but now it stood quiet, door slightly ajar as if someone had stepped out for air.
I needed to reach the pabangt wall nearest the highway side to flash the small torch I carried tucked in my saree pallu, the signal for Arjun's friends waiting below in the shadows. My thighs rubbed together as I walked, maroon panties shifting against my pussy lips, keeping the dampness fresh and warm. Every few steps I paused, ears straining for any sound other than the wind. My heart slammed against my ribs, making nipples poke harder over the yellow blouse.
Halfway across the terrace, movement caught my eye. The green door of the small room creaked wider. A tall figure stepped out into the moonlight.
Rajesh, my fiancé, stood there in his white shirt and black trousers, sleeves rolled to elbows, top button open. His hair neat, face calm but eyes sharp in the dim light. He had come up here alone, perhaps to breathe or think before tomorrow's rituals. He saw me immediately, frozen mid-step in my yellow saree, torch hidden in my fist.
Our eyes locked across the wide terrace. No words yet. Only the night wind and the distant village dogs barking far away.
I swallowed hard. My fingers tightened around the torch in my saree pallu. I forced one more step forward, pretending I had come up for air, for a last look at the stars before the wedding dawn. But my legs felt heavy, knees weak. Rajesh did not move at first. He just watched me, head tilted slightly, like he was piecing something together.
Then he took a slow step toward me. Another. His footsteps deliberate on the red oxide floor, each one echoing louder in my ears than the last. I backed up half a step, yellow saree catching on my heel. My breath came short, boobs rising fast under the yellow blouse, nipples rubbing against the white bra cups with every quick inhale.
"Sudha," he said quietly, voice low and even, carrying across the open space. "What are you doing up here alone at this hour?"
I opened my mouth but no sound came. My mind raced. The torch burned against my palm like fire. Arjun's friends waited below, hidden among the banana trees, eyes on the parap3t wall for my signal. One flash, and they would know to meet me at the edge of the sugarcane. One flash, and I could still run.
Rajesh kept walking closer. Ten steps away now. Eight. His eyes flicked to my hand, still hidden in the saree pallu, then back to my face. Something shifted in his expression, a subtle tightening around his mouth.
"You look... nervous," he said, stopping five steps from me. "Like you're waiting for something. Or someone."
My thighs clenched together, maroon panties pressing damp against my pussy lips. Sweat trickled down my navel under the yellow petticoat. I could smell the jasmine from the pots, sharp and cloying, mixing with the faint tobacco scent from Rajesh's shirt. My pulse thundered in my ears. If he took two more steps, he would see the torch outline in my fist. If he asked to see my hand, everything would end.
"I just... needed air," I managed, voice barely above a whisper. "The room was too hot. The girls are sleeping."
He nodded once, slow. But he did not smile. His gaze dropped to my hips, then lower, as if reading every tremble in my body. The wind lifted the edge of my saree pallu for a second, exposing the low tie of my yellow petticoat. I grabbed it quickly, pulling it back.
Rajesh took one more step. Three steps away now. Close enough that I could see the moonlight catch in his eyes, dark and unreadable.
"You were going to the parap3t wall," he said, not a question. "To look toward the highway."
My stomach dropped. He had seen me walking that way. He had been watching from the small room window. Suspense coiled tight in my chest, squeezing my boobs against the yellow blouse. One wrong word, one sudden move, and he could grab my wrist, pull the torch free, understand everything.
The terrace felt smaller suddenly, the open sky pressing down. No escape except past him, down the stairs, back to the sleeping hall. Or forward, to the pabangt, risking him following. My pussy lips pulsed inside the maroon panties, fear and forbidden thrill twisting together.
Rajesh waited. Silent now. Watching. Waiting for me to speak, to lie, to run.
The night held its breath with us.


Rajesh closed the last three steps between us in one smooth motion. His arms opened wide, then wrapped around my waist over the yellow saree, pulling me into his complete embrace. My chest crushed against his through the yellow blouse and his white shirt, the sudden contact sending a jolt through me. He hugged me tight, one hand sliding up my back to rest between my shoulder blades, the other pressing firm at the small of my back, fingers splaying over the low knot of my yellow petticoat.
I stiffened at first, torch still clenched in my fist hidden between our bodies. My maroon panties crotch pressed against his thigh through the saree layers, the damp pussy lips throbbing harder from the pressure. My breath caught, shallow and quick.
He lowered his head, lips brushing my ear. "Sudha," he whispered, voice low and thick with emotion. "You are so beautiful tonight. This yellow saree on you... the way it dr@93s over your hips, your navel showing deep above the petticoat knot... I cannot take my eyes off you."
His arms tightened, hugging me closer until no space remained. My thighs parted slightly from the force, pussy lips rubbing against the seam of my maroon panties. He lifted one hand to cup the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, tilting my head so my face rested against his shoulder.
"I cannot wait for tomorrow morning," he continued, voice dropping even lower, almost a growl. "When I tie the mangalsutra around your neck, make you my wife in front of everyone. You will be mine completely. My wife. My Sudha."
His words sank into me like hot oil. Guilt stabbed sharp in my chest, mixing with the forbidden thrill of his body against mine. The torch dug into my palm, a reminder of Arjun waiting below, of the signal I had not yet given. My arms stayed limp at my sides for a long moment, then slowly, hesitantly, I lifted them. My hands rose to his shoulders, then wrapped around his neck, fingers linking at the nape. The movement pulled my body even tighter against him.
He exhaled against my hair, a low sound of satisfaction. "Yes... like that. Hold me, Sudha. Feel how much I want you."
His hand slid lower, palm cupping one ass cheek over the saree, squeezing gently but firmly. My ass cheeks clenched inside the maroon panties, pussy lips parting slightly from the motion, fresh slickness leaking into the cotton crotch. The terrace wind blew cooler now, lifting the edge of my saree pallu again, exposing more of my waist. He did not let go. Instead he hugged me tighter, rocking us slowly side to side, as if we were already dancing at our own wedding.
"Tomorrow you will wear my mangalsutra," he murmured. "And every night after that, you will sleep in my arms. I will make you mine over and over."
My heart hammered against his chest. The torch slipped slightly in my sweaty palm. Arjun's friends still waited below, eyes on the pabangt. One flash, and everything changed. But Rajesh held me so completely, arms locked, body warm and solid, words wrapping around me like another embrace. Suspense thickened the air between us. My arms stayed around his neck, fingers trembling. I did not pull away. Not yet.
The moonlight poured over us, turning the terrace silver, the small room behind him dark and waiting.

To Be Continued ..!!