Misc. Erotica Santhosh’s Funeral

[novelistcasanova]

My wife stayed leaning against my shoulder for a long while. The room was quiet except for the soft, steady sound of the ceiling fan turning above us. One of her hands rested lightly on my thigh. The white nightie had shifted with her position, the soft cotton slipping slightly off one shoulder and revealing the smooth upper curve of her heavy breast. Underneath, only her black panties covered her. I could feel the warm weight of her body against my side.

After a few moments she lifted her head slowly and looked at me. Her large dark eyes searched my face. A mild pink still lingered on her cheeks from earlier.
“Tell me honestly…” she said in a low voice, almost careful. “When he was hugging me like that… when his hand was under my kurti… did you feel jealous? Or angry?”
I kept my eyes on her face. The way she asked the question, soft and serious, made the memory of the funeral hall rise again — Arjun’s dark hand disappearing under her white kurti, the slow movement of his fingers over her ass, the clear shape of her black panties under the white leggings.
I leaned closer until my mouth was just beside her ear. My lips almost brushed the soft skin there. I lowered my voice to a whisper.
“Jealous.”
I felt her body tense slightly against my side. Her fingers tightened a little on my thigh.
I stayed close to her ear and continued in the same low, quiet voice.
“He was lucky. He got to enjoy your ass like that… feeling the full shape of it under the kurti… squeezing it… then tracing the lines of your black panties through the leggings while you just stood there and hugged him back.”
My wife’s cheeks turned a deeper pink almost immediately. She pulled back just enough to look at my face properly. Her eyes were wide, lips slightly parted in disbelief. For a second she only stared at me.
Then a small, disbelieving laugh escaped her throat.
“Rajesh…!” she whispered, half shocked, half amused. “What are you saying…”
She covered her mouth with one hand, but another soft giggle slipped out between her fingers. Her heavy breasts moved gently under the white nightie with the small laughter. I felt a quiet chuckle rise in my own chest. The sound of both of us giggling in the otherwise silent bedroom felt strangely light after the heavy, tense day at the funeral.
She shook her head, still smiling and clearly embarrassed, and lightly hit my chest with the back of her hand.
“You’re terrible…” she said, voice still low and laughing. “Talking like that about your own wife’s ass… in detail…”
But she didn’t move away from me. She stayed close, her heavy breasts pressing softly against my arm through the white nightie. The quiet giggles slowly faded, leaving a warmer, more charged silence between us. Her hand was still on my thigh. My hand still rested on hers. The memory of Arjun’s hand on her body earlier that day sat between us now, no longer hidden, and neither of us tried to push it away.



The quiet giggles faded completely. My wife was still close against my side, her heavy breasts resting softly against my arm through the white nightie. Her hand remained on my thigh. The pink on her cheeks had not fully gone away.
I looked at her for a moment, then spoke in a calm, thoughtful voice.
“Actually… I want to find out something.”
She turned her face toward me, waiting.
“I want to know if the way he touched you was only casual consoling… or if he was simply enjoying you.”
My wife’s expression shifted. The light embarrassment from earlier mixed with something more serious. She looked down at her lap for a second, fingers lightly playing with the edge of the white nightie.
“Of course he was enjoying,” she said quietly. “I realised it later… when I thought about how his hand moved. It wasn’t just a normal hug. The way he kept his hand under the kurti… the way he felt my ass and then followed the panty lines so slowly… he was enjoying it. And now I feel a little bad that I didn’t stop him properly.”
I kept my face calm, even as the words sent a slow heat through my stomach.
“Did he enjoy it?” I asked, still in the same even tone.
My wife glanced at me, then gave a small, almost reluctant nod.
“Of course he must have,” she said. “Any man would. The way he held me… the way his hand didn’t leave my ass until someone called me… he was taking his time. He was enjoying my body while pretending it was only consolation.”
She bit her lower lip slightly after saying it, as if the honesty of her own words surprised her.
I listened without changing my expression. Inside, the dirty heat had grown sharper. The clear confirmation that Arjun had deliberately enjoyed her ass, that he had taken his time feeling her black panties through the white leggings while she hugged him, made my cock thicken under my trousers. But I kept my face steady and controlled. I did not let the arousal show.
I only nodded slowly, as if I was simply processing the information.
“I see,” I said quietly.
My wife watched me for a reaction. When she found none on my face, she leaned a little more against my shoulder again, still thoughtful, still a little guilty, while the heat I was carefully hiding continued to build.


My wife remained quiet for a short while, still leaning against my shoulder. Her fingers lightly traced small circles on my thigh over my trousers. The white nightie had slipped a little more on one side, the soft cotton resting loosely over the full shape of her heavy breast. After a few moments she lifted her head and looked at me again.
“Did you feel bad?” she asked softly. “When I told you he was enjoying it… when I admitted he was feeling my panties… did it make you feel bad?”
I met her eyes and kept my voice calm and steady.
“No,” I said. “It was friendly. That is all.”
She watched my face carefully, as if trying to make sure I meant it.
I continued in the same even tone.
“He was only comforting you. You were crying at the funeral. He saw that and tried to console you in his own way. Maybe his hands moved more than they should have, but the intention was still to comfort. There is no need for you to feel guilty about it, and there is no need for me to feel bad either.”
My wife’s shoulders relaxed a little. Some of the worry left her expression. She gave a small, relieved nod.
“You really don’t mind?” she asked once more, quieter.
“I don’t mind,” I told her. “It was a funeral. People were emotional. He was trying to help you feel better. That is how I see it.”
She let out a soft breath and rested her head against my shoulder again. Her heavy breasts pressed warmly against my arm through the white nightie. One of her hands stayed on my thigh.
“Alright…” she whispered. “If you say it was only friendly, then I will also think of it that way.”
I stroked her arm slowly, keeping my face calm and reassuring, while the real heat of what she had confessed earlier continued to sit quietly inside me, carefully hidden.


The room stayed quiet for a while after my last words. My wife’s head remained on my shoulder. Her breathing was slow and soft. I thought the conversation had ended.
Then she spoke again, even quieter than before.
“There is… one more thing.”
I turned my face slightly toward her.
She kept her eyes down, looking at her own hand on my thigh. A deeper pink had risen on her cheeks. Her fingers had stopped moving.
“When he was feeling me… under the kurti… when his hand was on my ass and then tracing over my panties through the leggings…” she paused, swallowing once. “Without me even realising… I leaked a little. My panties got wet.”
The words hit me harder than anything she had said so far.
My cock, already half-hard from the earlier conversation, thickened fully and pressed firmly against my trousers. A sharp, heavy heat flooded through my stomach and lower. For a second I had to stay completely still so the sudden arousal would not show on my face or in my breathing.
I kept my voice calm.
“It’s natural,” I said.
My wife finally looked up at me, eyes uncertain.
“Natural…?”
“Yes,” I continued, still controlled. “The body sometimes reacts on its own. You were emotional, he was holding you tightly, his hand was moving on you… the body can respond even when the mind is not thinking that way. It doesn’t mean anything wrong. It’s just natural.”
She searched my face for any sign of anger or disgust. When she found none, some of the tension left her shoulders again. She gave a small, embarrassed nod and looked down once more.
“I felt ashamed when I realised later…” she admitted in a whisper. “That my panties were wet because of another man’s touch.”
I stroked her arm slowly, keeping every movement steady even as my cock stayed fully hard and throbbing under my trousers.
“There is nothing to be ashamed of,” I told her quietly. “It was a natural reaction. That is all.”
My wife leaned a little more against me, accepting the words. But inside me the knowledge that her black panties had gotten wet while Arjun felt her up at the funeral burned hotter than anything else that day. I sat there with a calm face, comforting her, while the dirty heat of her confession kept growing stronger with every second.


My wife remained quiet for a few more seconds after my last words. Her fingers had started moving again on my thigh, small restless movements. Then she spoke, voice low and heavy.
“Even if you say it is natural… I still feel guilty.”
She lifted her head from my shoulder and looked at me properly. Her large dark eyes were serious now.
“I keep thinking about it. Another man felt my ass… felt my panties… and my body reacted. I leaked. At a funeral. I feel dirty when I remember it.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but she shook her head slightly and placed her hand over mine.
“Please… change the topic,” she said softly. “I don’t want to talk about that anymore tonight.”
I nodded once.
She shifted a little on the bed, pulling the white nightie down properly over her thighs, and then asked in a quieter, more normal tone,
“Tell me about the burial. How did it go? Santhosh… and his parents…”
I leaned back against the headboard.
“It was the usual. The bodies were lowered. People stood around. Some women cried loudly for show. Most of the men were already checking the time.”
My wife listened, her expression softening with genuine sadness again.
“Arjun told me something earlier,” I added after a moment. “About the accident.”
She looked at me.
“He said he was the one who saw it happen. According to him, Santhosh suffered a lot. The car hit the divider first, then another vehicle. Santhosh was trapped. Arjun said it took time for them to pull him out. He was still conscious for a while… in a lot of pain… before he died.”
My wife’s face fell. Her hand went to her chest.
“Aiyyo…” she whispered. “He suffered like that…? And Kasiammal and Chellappan also…”
“Yes,” I said. “Arjun described it in detail. He said it was brutal. Santhosh didn’t go quickly.”
She closed her eyes for a second, absorbing the cruelty of it. The earlier guilt about her wet panties and Arjun’s hands was temporarily pushed aside by the fresh sadness of the accident.
I watched her face in the soft bedroom light — the genuine sorrow, the way her heavy breasts rose and fell under the white nightie with each deeper breath — and kept my own expression calm, even as the darker thoughts from earlier continued to sit quietly underneath.
My phone started ringing on the side table.
Both of us looked at it. The name on the screen was unfamiliar at first, then I remembered — I had saved Arjun’s number after giving him my card at the funeral.
I picked it up and, without saying anything to my wife, put it on speaker and placed the phone between us on the bed.
“Hello, Rajesh sir,” Arjun’s voice came through, rough but polite.
“Arjun,” I said. “Tell me.”
There was a short pause on the other end. Then he spoke carefully.
“Sir… I am calling because I keep thinking about the funeral. The way I hugged your wife… both times. Especially the second time near the kitchen. I feel I held her longer than I should have. My hand… may have moved more than it needed to. I was only trying to console her because she was crying, but if she felt anything wrong, I am truly sorry.”
My wife’s eyes widened slightly. She sat up straighter on the bed, the white nightie shifting over her heavy breasts. As Arjun continued speaking, her expression slowly changed from surprise to something softer.
Arjun’s voice went on.
“I keep remembering it and I feel uneasy. I don’t want any misunderstanding. If she felt uncomfortable even a little, please tell her I apologise. I won’t be able to sleep properly thinking I crossed a line.”
My wife’s face filled with genuine sympathy. The earlier embarrassment faded, replaced by quiet concern. She leaned closer to the phone and spoke in her soft, kind voice.
“Arjun… please don’t feel like that. It was nothing. You were only trying to comfort me when I was crying. I didn’t feel anything wrong. Please don’t trouble yourself over it.”
I joined in immediately, keeping my tone easy, warm and completely reassuring.
“She’s right. The hugging was nothing wrong at all. You were only consoling her at a difficult time. There is absolutely nothing to worry about. In fact, I was fine with it. She needed the comfort, and you gave it. That is all.”
My wife glanced at me while I spoke. The calm, open way I defended the hugs made her shoulders relax further. She clearly felt sorry for Arjun now.
I continued smoothly.
“Feel free for hugs next time also. There is no issue. And don’t hesitate to come to our house anytime. You are welcome.”
There was a short silence on the line. Then Arjun’s voice came again, a little more careful.
“Sir… when you say feel free for hugs… you mean even tomorrow morning when I come? The same way I hugged her at the funeral?”
The direct question sent a sharp pulse of heat straight through my cock. I kept my face completely calm and my voice steady, even as the arousal thickened hard under my trousers.
“Yes,” I said clearly. “The same way is fine.”
My wife’s eyes flicked toward me for a second, but she said nothing. She still looked soft with sympathy for him.
Arjun’s voice came again, a little more settled.
“Thank you for saying that, sir. Actually… if it is okay, I will come tomorrow morning. I wanted to talk a little more about Santhosh… about the accident and some things he had mentioned earlier.”
“Come,” I said without hesitation. “Morning is fine.”
“Alright, sir. Thank you. Good night.”
“Good night, Arjun.”
I ended the call.
The bedroom became quiet again. My wife sat looking at the phone for a few seconds longer, her expression soft with leftover sympathy for the man who had apologised so sincerely. Then she slowly leaned back against the headboard. The white nightie rose and fell with her breathing.
I sat beside her with the same calm expression, while the knowledge that I had just given Arjun open permission to hug her the same way again tomorrow morning kept the dirty heat burning steadily and strongly inside me.
The call had ended, but the silence in the bedroom felt heavier than before.
My wife remained leaning against the headboard, the white nightie soft over her heavy breasts. After a long moment she turned her face toward me, her voice low and slightly uneasy.
“Not like in the morning at Santhosh’s funeral…” she said. “If he hugs me the same way again… the same way he put his hand under the kurti and felt my panties… I might get wet again.”
The words went straight to my cock.
I kept my face calm, but the heat inside me thickened immediately.
“It’s okay,” I said quietly.
She looked at me, searching for any sign that I was disturbed. When she found none, I leaned a little closer and spoke in the same even voice.
“Let me see how wet you are.”
My wife’s eyes widened.
Before she could answer, I reached down and slowly lifted the white nightie up her thighs, past her hips, and higher until it rested above her waist. She did not stop me. Her black panties came into full view, stretched across her soft lower stomach and the thick curve of her hips. I hooked my fingers into the waistband and pulled them down her legs in one steady motion, sliding them off her feet and dropping them on the bed.
Her pussy was bare in front of me.
I looked at it carefully. The soft lips were slightly parted. A clear wetness already glistened between them, catching the dim bedroom light. She was wet.
My cock throbbed hard under my trousers.
My wife’s cheeks turned deep pink. She tried to close her thighs, but my hand was already resting on one of them.
“It’s not because of him,” she said quickly, voice embarrassed. “Don’t think that. It’s not because of Arjun.”
I kept looking at her wet pussy for another second, then raised my eyes to her face.
“I’m going to take it,” I said.
Her blush deepened further. She shook her head once, soft and flustered.
“No…” she whispered, but the word had no real force behind it, and her thighs remained open under my hand.
I did not give her time to close her legs.
I shifted down the bed, placed both hands on her thick thighs, and pushed them wider apart. Her black panties lay discarded beside us. Her pussy was fully open in front of my face — soft, slightly swollen, the clear wetness already shining on the inner lips and the small patch of dark hair above.
I leaned in and dragged my tongue slowly through the wetness from the bottom of her pussy all the way up to her clit.
My wife’s whole body jerked.
“Rajesh…” she gasped, one hand flying to my hair.
I did not stop. I licked her again, slower this time, spreading her soft pussy lips with my thumbs so my tongue could go deeper. The taste of her was strong and clean, mixed with the unmistakable slickness of fresh arousal. I sealed my mouth over her and sucked gently, then harder, feeling her clit swell under my tongue.
“You heard the call,” I murmured against her wet pussy, voice low and rough. “I told him he can hug you the same way tomorrow morning. And look at you… already this wet.”
“No…” she breathed, hips twitching. “It’s not because of that… don’t say that…”
I ignored the protest and pushed my tongue inside her, fucking her slowly with it while my nose pressed against her clit. Her thick thighs trembled on either side of my head. The wet sounds of my mouth on her pussy filled the quiet bedroom. I licked upward again and focused on her clit, circling it, flicking it, then sucking it between my lips in a steady rhythm.
My wife’s breathing turned into short, broken gasps. Her heavy breasts rose and fell hard under the white nightie that was still bunched above her waist. One of her hands gripped the bedsheet; the other stayed tangled in my hair.
“I told him yes,” I said between long, deliberate licks. “Feel free to hug her the same way. And your pussy got wet just hearing it.”
“No… Rajesh… it’s not… ahh…” she tried to deny, but her voice cracked as I sucked her clit harder. “Not because of the call… please…”
I slid two fingers into her while I kept licking. She was soaked. My fingers went in easily, the wet heat of her pussy closing around them at once. I curled them upward and stroked the soft inner wall in time with my tongue on her clit.
Her back arched.
“Tomorrow morning he’ll be here,” I whispered against her. “And I already told him he can hold you the same way he did at the funeral.”
“It’s not—” her protest broke into a long, helpless moan as I sucked her clit and pressed my fingers deeper at the same time. “Rajesh… I’m going to…”
I did not slow down. I licked and sucked and stroked her steadily, watching her thick thighs shake harder, watching her soft stomach tense, watching her heavy breasts move under the nightie with every desperate breath.
Her orgasm hit suddenly.
Her pussy clenched tightly around my fingers. A sharp cry left her throat as her whole body locked and then trembled hard. Clear wetness flooded against my mouth and over my hand. I kept licking her through it, slower now, drawing out every pulse until her thighs tried to close around my head and her voice turned into soft, broken whimpers.
Only then did I lift my mouth from her.
My wife lay panting, white nightie still pushed up, black panties somewhere on the bed, her pussy shiny and swollen and still twitching mildly. Her cheeks were deep red. She looked at me with wet, dazed eyes, still trying to form the same denial even as her body continued to tremble from the orgasm the phone call had helped create.
I stayed between my wife’s open thighs for a few more seconds.
Her pussy was still soft and shiny from the orgasm, the inner lips slightly swollen, a thin trail of wetness slowly running down toward the bedsheet. Her thick thighs remained loosely open on either side of me. The white nightie was still bunched high above her waist, leaving her heavy breasts and soft stomach fully exposed. Her black panties lay crumpled near the foot of the bed. Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. A light sheen of sweat glowed on the upper curve of her breasts and along her collarbone.
I finally lifted myself up and moved to lie beside her.
She turned her head on the pillow to look at me. Her large dark eyes were still a little dazed, cheeks deeply flushed, lips parted. A few strands of her long black hair were stuck to her temple and neck. She looked thoroughly used by pleasure and still slightly embarrassed by how hard she had come.
I gave her a small, easy smile and spoke in a light, almost casual voice.
“I was just kidding.”
My wife blinked slowly, as if she needed a second to register the words.
“About everything I said while I was down there,” I continued, keeping my tone gentle and warm. “About the call… about Arjun hugging you tomorrow morning… about your body reacting to it. I was only teasing you. Don’t take any of it seriously.”
For a moment she simply stared at me. Then the tension that had been sitting in her shoulders and in the corners of her eyes slowly melted. A soft, relieved smile began to form on her lips. The leftover worry in her expression faded, replaced by something warmer and more trusting.
“You were teasing…?” she asked, her voice still a little husky from the orgasm.
“Yes,” I said. I reached out and carefully brushed a damp strand of hair away from her face, my fingers lightly grazing her cheek. “I just wanted to see your reaction. That’s all. Nothing more.”
Her smile grew fuller, softer. She shifted closer on the bed until her body faced mine completely. The white nightie was still pushed up, so when she moved, her heavy bare breasts pressed warmly against my chest. The soft weight of them settled against me. One of her thick thighs slid over mine. She leaned in and kissed my lips — slow, grateful, and full of quiet affection.
The kiss lasted several seconds. I could feel the softness of her mouth, the mild remaining taste of her own wetness on my lips, the gentle way her hand came up to rest against my cheek. When she finally pulled back just enough to speak, her forehead stayed close to mine. Her voice was soft and completely sincere.
“You’re the best husband,” she whispered against my mouth. “Really. The way you handle everything… the way you never make me feel bad or dirty… the way you protect me even with words… you’re the best.”
She kissed me again, longer this time. Her heavy breasts remained pressed against my chest. Her fingers lightly stroked my cheek and then the side of my neck. I kissed her back with the same slow tenderness, letting her believe every calm, loving word I had just spoken, while the real heat of what I had told Arjun on the phone — and what would happen the next morning — stayed carefully hidden behind the gentle expression I showed her.
We stayed close for a long time after the kiss.
Eventually the heat of the moment settled. My wife pulled the white nightie back down over her body, the soft cotton covering her heavy breasts and soft stomach once more. She reached for her black panties but did not put them back on. She simply left them near the pillow and lay down properly beside me under the thin bedsheet. I switched off the bedside lamp. The room fell into soft darkness broken only by the mild glow coming through the curtains.
We lay on our sides, facing each other. Her heavy breasts rested against my chest through the nightie, the warm weight of them steady and familiar. One of her thick thighs was dbangd loosely over mine. Her long black hair was spread across the pillow, a few strands falling over her cheek and neck. For a while neither of us spoke. Only the ceiling fan turned slowly above us, moving the warm air.
Then, into the quiet, I spoke.
“Today… at the funeral…”
My wife’s eyes opened fully in the dark. I felt her body become more alert against me. She waited without interrupting.
“When Arjun was hugging you… when he put his hand under your kurti and felt your ass… when he was tracing your panty lines through the leggings…” I paused, feeling the exact moment her breathing changed. “I felt horny watching him enjoy you.”
The silence that followed was thick and heavy.
My wife slowly lifted her head from the pillow. Even in the low light I could see the surprise land on her face. Her large dark eyes searched mine carefully. After a few seconds she raised one hand and gently held my face, her soft palm resting against my cheek, her thumb lightly brushing near the corner of my mouth. The gesture was full of quiet love and attention.
“Really…?” she whispered, her voice soft and careful. “You felt that?”
“Yes,” I said.
She kept holding my face, her eyes moving over my features as if she wanted to make sure she understood correctly.
“You felt… horny?” she asked again, still in that same gentle, loving tone. “Watching another man touch me like that… at a funeral… right in front of you?”
“Yes,” I repeated. “I watched him enjoy your body… and it made me hard.”
Her thumb continued its slow, tender movement against my cheek. She did not pull away. Instead she stayed close, her heavy breasts still pressed to my chest, her thick thigh still over mine, and asked another quiet question.
“When exactly did you feel it the most…?” she whispered. “When he first hugged me… or when his hand went under the kurti… or when he was feeling my panties?”
I looked into her eyes in the dark.
“When his hand was under the kurti,” I answered honestly. “When I saw him properly holding your ass and tracing the lines of your panties through the leggings… that was when it hit me the strongest.”
My wife’s breath left her slowly. She kept her hand on my face, holding me with care, her expression a mixture of surprise, tenderness, and something deeper that she had not yet put into words. The confession sat openly between us now, and she was receiving it with love instead of anger.
My wife’s hand stayed on my face for a long time.
Her soft palm cupped my cheek completely, fingers resting lightly near my ear, her thumb moving in slow, tender strokes just beside the corner of my mouth. In the dim light coming through the curtains, her large dark eyes were shiny with quiet emotion. She shifted closer on the bed until the full weight of her heavy breasts pressed firmly against my chest through the white nightie. The soft warmth of her body settled against me. One of her thick thighs slid higher over mine. Her long black hair fell forward, a few strands brushing my neck and shoulder.
Then she spoke, her voice low, steady, and full of love.
“I love you more than anything in this world,” she whispered. “More than my own life. You know that, don’t you?”
I nodded once, slowly.
She leaned in. First she placed a gentle, lingering kiss on my forehead. Her lips were warm and soft. Then she kissed my right cheek, slow enough that I felt the full shape of her mouth. Then she kissed my left cheek the same way. Finally she brought her lips to mine and gave me a slow, tender kiss that lasted several seconds. When she pulled back just a little, she kept holding my face with both hands now, her palms framing my cheeks completely.
“Tell me openly,” she said, her voice still soft and loving. “What do you want me to do for you? Don’t hide anything from me. Tell me.”
I stayed silent. The words felt heavy in my throat. My chest rose and fell against the soft weight of her heavy breasts. She felt my hesitation immediately. Without speaking, she leaned in again and kissed the corner of my mouth — slow, reassuring, full of patience. Then she rested her forehead lightly against mine.
“I love you,” she whispered against my lips. “Whatever it is… you can tell me. I am your wife. There is nothing you cannot say to me. Tell me.”
I swallowed once. My voice came out low and careful when I finally spoke.
“At Santhosh’s funeral… when I watched Arjun with you… something started inside me.”
She did not interrupt. Her thumbs continued their slow, loving movement across my cheeks. Her eyes stayed fixed on mine in the dark.
“I want…” I paused again, struggling with the weight of the honesty. She waited without pressure. After a few seconds she gave me another soft kiss on the lips, just long enough to encourage me, then pulled back and kept listening.
“I want to watch him fuck you.”
The words hung in the dark between us, clear and irreversible.
My wife’s hands remained on my face. For several long seconds she simply looked at me. I could see the surprise in her eyes, but underneath it there was no rejection — only deep attention and love. Then she spoke, still gentle.
“But he is ugly, Rajesh…”
I did not deny it. I only kept looking at her.
She was quiet for a few more seconds. Her thumbs kept stroking my cheeks. Then her expression softened further with pure devotion. She leaned in and kissed my forehead once more — slow and deliberate. She kissed both of my cheeks again. Finally she kissed my lips, longer this time, pouring everything she felt into it.
When she pulled back, her voice was soft and absolute.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered against my mouth. “If that is what you want… I will do it for you.”
Her arms came around me completely. She hugged me tightly, pressing her heavy breasts fully against my chest, her face burying into the side of my neck for a long moment. I felt the warmth of her breath against my skin. Then she pulled back just enough to look into my eyes again. Her own eyes were shiny now, emotional.
“I love you so much,” she said, her voice turning thick with feeling, almost breaking. “I am ready to even die for you if you ask me. This is nothing compared to that. If watching him take me is what you need… then I will give it to you. Without question. Without hesitation.”
She kissed me again — forehead, cheek, lips — each kiss soft, lingering, and full of complete surrender. Her hands returned to my face, holding me as if I was the only thing that mattered in the world.
“Just tell me when,” she whispered, her forehead resting against mine. “I am yours. Completely.”
We lay in silence for a long time after her words.
My wife’s hands were still framing my face, her soft palms warm against my cheeks. Her thumbs rested near the corners of my mouth. Her heavy breasts remained pressed firmly against my chest through the white nightie. Every slow breath she took made them rise and fall against me, the soft weight of them steady and intimate. The ends of her long black hair spilled across the pillow and over my shoulder. The weight of the promise she had just made sat between us in the dark — heavy, real, and irreversible. Neither of us moved for several minutes. Only the ceiling fan turned above us, moving the warm air in slow circles.
Finally I spoke, my voice low.
“Tomorrow,” I said. “We can do it tomorrow. There is no need to rush.”
My wife slowly shook her head. Her large dark eyes stayed locked on mine. A few strands of her long black hair fell across her cheek as she moved. The white nightie shifted slightly with the motion, the soft cotton sliding over the full curve of her heavy breast.
“No,” she whispered. “Today. Now.”
The firmness in her soft voice sent a fresh pulse of heat through me. I looked at her carefully. There was no hesitation left in her expression — only calm, loving resolve. Her lips were slightly parted. Her breathing was controlled.
“Call him,” she said. “Tell him to come to the house now.”
I reached for my phone on the side table. The sudden light from the screen was bright in the dark bedroom, casting a pale glow across her face and the upper curves of her heavy breasts under the nightie. I unlocked it, found Arjun’s number, and dialled. Before the first ring finished, I put the call on speaker and placed the phone on the bed between our bodies. The screen remained lit, illuminating the small space between us.
It rang three times.
Then his voice came through, slightly rough, as if he had already been lying down.
“Hello, Rajesh sir?”
“Arjun,” I said, keeping my tone even. “Are you free right now?”
There was a short pause on the other end. I could hear the mild sound of him shifting, the rustle of a bedsheet.
“Sir… it is almost eleven at night. I was just about to sleep. Is something wrong?”
My wife moved closer to the phone. The white nightie pulled tight across her heavy breasts as she leaned forward. The soft cotton stretched over their full shape. When she spoke, her voice was calm, clear, and steady — but every word carried weight.
“Arjun… if you come to our house right now, you can have me. Completely. Tonight. If you don’t come… then the offer ends. This is the only time I will say it. Decide.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
I watched her face in the phone’s light. Her expression did not change. Her lips remained slightly parted. Her heavy breasts rose and fell with controlled breaths under the nightie. She kept her eyes on the phone, giving him no soft escape, no room to negotiate.
Several long seconds passed.
Then Arjun’s voice returned. It had changed completely — lower, thicker, and charged with sudden hunger.
“I’m coming.”
My wife’s eyes stayed on the phone. She spoke again, still calm but now giving clear instructions.
“Brush your teeth. Take a proper shower. Then come.”
There was another short pause. When Arjun spoke, his voice was even rougher, almost strained.
“Can you… be in a saree?”
My wife looked at me for a brief second. Her large dark eyes met mine in the dim light. Then she answered without hesitation.
“Yes. I will be in a saree.”
She did not stop there. Her voice dropped a little lower, soft but deliberate, clearly tempting him further.
“Should I wear panties under the saree… or not?”
The silence on the other end was sharp this time. I could hear him breathing harder through the speaker — short, uneven breaths he was trying to control.
“Wear them,” he said finally, voice thick. “Please wear them. I want to remove them myself.”
My wife’s lips curved slightly at the edges. The mild smile was small but clear.
“Alright. I will wear panties. You can remove them when you come.”
Arjun’s breathing was fully audible now.
“I’m leaving right now,” he said, the urgency clear and rising in his voice. “I’ll be there as fast as I can. Don’t change your mind.”
“Then don’t waste time,” my wife replied calmly. “Shower. Brush. Come.”
“I’m already moving,” he said, and the line went dead.