Misc. Erotica Santhosh’s Funeral

[novelistcasanova]

Arjun’s face changed at once. The easy confidence disappeared. His eyes widened slightly. For a second he looked properly shocked. I could almost see the thoughts moving behind his eyes—rich advocate, powerful man, yet standing here calmly after everything he had said and done. He must have decided I was liberal in a way he hadn’t expected.

He immediately lowered his head a little.
“Sir… I’m sorry. I didn’t know. The way I spoke about her… I shouldn’t have said those things. Please forgive me.”
I looked at him for a moment, then gave a small nod.
“It’s okay.”
He still looked uncertain.
I continued, “Come. I’ll introduce you properly.”
I placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him toward the kitchen. My wife was standing near the counter, pouring water into steel glasses for some of the older relatives. She looked up when we entered.
“Sudha,” I said, keeping my tone normal and warm. “This is Arjun. He was the one who saw the accident and helped with the security officer and ambulance. He stayed till the end. Good man. I spoke to him outside.”
I deliberately added more.
“He seems genuine. Helped the family when no one else was there. You can trust him.”
My wife’s expression softened immediately. The earlier shyness mixed with respect. She folded her hands politely.
“Thank you for helping them, Arjun,” she said quietly. “It must have been difficult.”
Arjun joined his hands in return, still a little careful.
“It was the least I could do.”
After a short exchange about the accident, my wife glanced toward the hall and said,
“I should go back… people are waiting. You must also have to leave soon, no?”
Arjun nodded. As she stepped past him to leave the kitchen, he raised his arms slightly for a goodbye hug—more restrained this time, testing.
Because I had already spoken so well of him, my wife did not hesitate. She stepped into the hug freely, arms going around him without any of the earlier formality. Her heavy breasts pressed against his chest through the white kurti once more. Arjun’s hands rested on her back, one of them a little lower than necessary, but she didn’t notice. She hugged him the way she would hug any man her husband had personally introduced and praised.
When they separated I took out my visiting card and held it out to him.
“Come to the house anytime,” I said clearly. “Don’t hesitate.”
Arjun took the card, looked at it, then looked at me. Something new settled in his eyes.
“I will, sir.”
He glanced once more at my wife, then walked out of the kitchen.
I stood there with the mild smell of her still in the air and the knowledge of what I had just done sitting heavy and exciting in my chest.
We left the funeral earlier than most.
In the car my wife sat quietly, still in the white kurti top and white leggings, eyes red from crying. I drove without speaking much. The image of Arjun’s hands under her kurti kept replaying in my head—the way he had squeezed her ass, the way she had hugged him back so innocently. My cock stayed half-hard the entire drive.
The moment we stepped inside our house and the main door locked behind us, I turned to her.
I didn’t wait.
I pulled the white kurti up and over her head. She raised her arms in surprise but didn’t stop me. Next I hooked my fingers into the waist of the white leggings and pushed them down her thick thighs along with her dark green panties in one motion. She stepped out of them, standing in front of me in only her white bra. I reached behind her, unhooked the white bra, and pulled it off. Her heavy breasts spilled free.
“Rajesh…?” she began, voice soft and confused.
I didn’t answer with words. I pushed her back against the living room wall, lifted one of her thick thighs, and pushed my cock inside her in a single hard thrust. She gasped loudly, hands gripping my shoulders.
I fucked her harder than I had in a long time—deep, steady strokes that made her heavy breasts bounce with every impact. Her back rubbed against the wall. Soft wet sounds filled the quiet house. She clung to me, legs trembling.
“Ahh… Rajesh… what has happened to you…?” she breathed against my ear, voice already breaking. “You’re… so rough today…”
I kept going, gripping her wide hips, watching her face as pleasure overtook the confusion. Her eyes half-closed, lips parted, soft moans turning into louder ones with each thrust.
“I don’t know… but don’t stop…” she whispered later, arms tightening around my neck. “It feels so good… I love this…”
She came first, body shaking, a long broken moan leaving her throat as her insides clenched around me. I followed soon after, burying myself deep and finishing inside her with a low groan.
We stayed pressed together against the wall for a while, both breathing hard. Her heavy breasts were warm against my chest. Sweat cooled on our bodies.
She stroked the back of my neck gently and asked again, quieter this time,
“Really… what happened to you today?”
I kissed the side of her head and said nothing about Arjun, nothing about the hugs, nothing about the dirty heat that had built while I watched another man feel her up.
I simply held her there, still inside her, and let the silence answer for me.
My phone started ringing while we were still upstairs.
One relative after another.
“Rajesh, where are you? They’re taking the bodies for burial. It’s getting late.”
“Everyone is waiting. Come fast.”
I pulled my clothes back on quickly. My wife was still naked on the bed, heavy breasts rising and falling, dark green panties and white bra lying on the floor where I had dropped them. She looked at me with that same soft, confused expression from earlier.
“Go,” she said quietly. “I’ll come later if needed.”
I drove back to Ulsoor faster than usual. By the time I reached, the bodies were already being moved. Santhosh, Kasiammal and Chellappan. The same three who had meant nothing to me.
I left the burial ground without lingering.
Most of the relatives were still standing around, talking in low voices, making plans for the next rituals. I nodded at a few of them, said the expected words, and walked to the car. The images from earlier in the day refused to leave my mind — Arjun’s dark hand under my wife’s white kurti, the way he had squeezed her ass, the way she had hugged him back so innocently while he felt her panty lines, the crude words he had whispered about her body while I stood there and listened.
My cock had stayed half-hard through the entire burial.
When I reached home the house was quiet. Our three sons were already asleep. I locked the main door and went upstairs.
My wife was in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed in her white nightie. Underneath she wore only her black panties. No bra. Her heavy breasts rested soft and free under the nightie. She looked up when I entered, eyes still slightly red from the funeral.
“You’re back,” she said softly. “Was it… difficult?”
I removed my shirt and sat beside her on the bed.
“It was the same as always. People standing for name’s sake. No one really cared.”
She nodded slowly. After a small silence I turned toward her and spoke, keeping my voice calm but direct.
“That man today… Arjun. Why did you hug him back like that?”
My wife looked at me, a little surprised by the question.
“He was consoling me,” she said. “I was crying. It would have looked rude if I just stood there stiff. Basic manners, no?”
I watched her face.
“Both times you hugged him fully. Arms around his neck. You didn’t pull away even when his hand went lower.”
She lowered her eyes for a second, then spoke more quietly.
“The second time… near the kitchen… I felt his hand properly. He put it under my kurti. He was feeling my ass… and then he was tracing over my panties through the leggings. I felt his fingers following the panty lines.”
My cock thickened the moment the words left her mouth.
I kept my expression steady.
“And you still didn’t stop him?”
“You had already introduced him as a good man,” she said, voice soft. “You spoke so well about him. I didn’t want to create a scene in front of everyone. And… I thought maybe it was just how some men console. I didn’t know what else to do.”
She looked at me again, searching my face.
“Did I do something wrong?”
I reached out and rested my hand on her thigh over the white nightie. Her soft, warm flesh yielded under my palm. The memory of Arjun’s hand on the same place earlier that day mixed with her honest confession and made the heat in my stomach stronger.
“No,” I said after a moment. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
But inside, the dirty images had only become clearer — and sharper.
My wife kept looking at me, still uncertain. Her fingers were lightly twisting the edge of the white nightie near her thigh. The soft cotton had ridden up a little, showing more of her thick thigh. Underneath, only her black panties covered her. Her heavy breasts moved gently with each small breath she took.
“Should I have pushed him off?” she asked quietly. “When his hand went under the kurti… when he was feeling my panties through the leggings… should I have stopped him properly?”
I stayed silent for a few seconds, watching her face carefully. Her large dark eyes were searching mine for any sign of anger or disappointment. A mild pink still lingered on her cheeks from the earlier confession. The memory of Arjun’s dark hand sliding under her white kurti and tracing the lines of her black panties over the white leggings rose sharply in my mind again. My cock stirred under my trousers.
I shook my head slowly.
“No. It would have looked bad.”
She waited, lips slightly parted, waiting for me to explain further.
“Think about it carefully,” I said, keeping my voice calm and even. “It was Santhosh’s funeral. The hall was full of relatives. People were already watching everything. If you had suddenly pushed him away or raised your voice, every head would have turned. Someone would have asked what happened. Within minutes people would have started whispering. ‘Why did Sudha push that man away?’ At a funeral, that kind of talk spreads very fast. It would have created an unnecessary scene.”
My wife listened without interrupting. Her eyes lowered for a moment to where my hand still rested on her thigh over the white nightie. I could feel the soft warmth of her thick thigh under my palm. She shifted slightly, and the nightie moved with her, the fabric sliding a little higher.
“So it was better I stayed quiet?” she asked, voice soft.
“Yes,” I said firmly. “You handled it properly. He was only consoling you in his own way. Maybe his hands moved more than they should have, but you didn’t make a drama out of it. That was the correct thing to do in that situation. Creating a scene at the funeral would have been far worse.”
She let out a small, slow breath. Some of the tension left her shoulders. Her heavy breasts settled softer under the white nightie. She looked at me again, still a little unsure, but clearly wanting to believe my words.
“I was worried you would be angry,” she admitted after a moment. “Especially after I told you he felt my panties. I kept thinking about it on the way back. Whether I should have said something right there.”
I moved my hand a little higher on her thigh, still over the nightie, feeling the soft give of her flesh. The contrast between my calm words and the dirty heat building in my stomach was sharp.
“I’m not angry,” I told her. “You did what was needed. You didn’t embarrass anyone. You didn’t create a problem for the family on a day like that. That is what matters.”
My wife nodded slowly, accepting the explanation. She shifted a little closer on the bed. The movement made her heavy breasts sway gently under the white nightie. One of her hands came to rest lightly over mine on her thigh.
“Alright… if you say it was okay, then I won’t think about it too much,” she said.
I stroked her thigh once, slow and deliberate, feeling the soft warmth under the nightie while the memory of Arjun’s hand doing the same thing earlier stayed sharp and exciting in my mind.
“Good,” I said. “Just leave it.”
But as she leaned a little against my shoulder and the house stayed quiet around us, neither of us had truly left it behind.