Misc. Erotica A Wife’s Revenge

[novelistcasanova]

A Wife’s Revenge

“I crossed the night and made sure 

he never saw another morning.”

By 

Novelist Casnova 

---

A Wife’s Revenge

Our first-floor house sat in a quiet upper-middle-class colony in Bangalore. The lanes outside were neat, lined with old trees and parked cars. Early morning light was soft and grey. Somewhere a pressure cooker whistle was going off in a neighbouring house. The air inside our bedroom carried the mild leftover smell of last night’s jasmine oil and the starch of the college uniforms hanging on the wooden stand near the window. The ceiling fan was turning slowly above the bed.
I woke up already kissing my husband’s lips back, but in my half-sleep I was still trapped inside the naughty dream.
In the dream some ugly guy—dark skinned, with filthy lips and mouth—was holding my face with his rough, dirty hands. The strong smell of sweat, beedi, and stale oil clung to him. He kissed me hard, forcing his thick tongue inside my mouth. I shamelessly kissed him back, opening wider, sucking on his tongue, and letting the filthy taste spread across mine. The dirty, bitter, smoky flavour of his mouth was making my pussy throb. I moaned into the kiss, pressed my heavy breasts against his stained shirt, and moved my lips hungrily against his as if I had no shame left. The more filthy the taste became, the wetter and hotter I felt between my legs.
That same shameless hunger was still controlling me when my real mouth moved against my husband’s. I kissed him deeply, eyes still closed, thinking for those few seconds that it was still that ugly dark-skinned guy. The unbrushed morning smell and taste of my husband’s mouth—warm, heavy, slightly stale—mixed with the dream, and the filthy combination was making me even hornier. I sucked on his lips, pushed my tongue against his, and let out a soft, needy sound while my cream color panties were already turning damp.
My husband loved that kiss. He kissed me back with equal heat, one hand sliding into my hair, holding my head in place as if he did not want the moment to end. His mouth moved hungrily against mine, matching the shameless way I was sucking and tasting him.
After a long moment he pulled back just enough to speak against my lips, voice low and thick with pleasure.
“Sudha… the way you are kissing me this morning… I love it. Don’t stop.”
Only then did I properly wake up and realise it was my husband. The leftover filthy pleasure from the dream was still pulsing through my body as I pulled back a little more and spoke against his lips.
“Ram… brush your teeth first. Your mouth is not fresh.”
He laughed quietly and ignored me. His hands already slid under the white nighty, pushing it higher and higher until the white nighty gathered above my heavy breasts. He lowered his head and took one full breast into his mouth, tasting the nipple slowly, sucking with soft wet sounds. Then he moved to the other breast and did the same, licking and tasting each one carefully while I still tried to push his head away half-heartedly.
“Not now… the boys are getting late for college. I have to prepare breakfast and pack their tiffin. Ram, stop…”
He did not stop. His right hand slid down, went inside the waistband of my cream color panties, and two of his fingers found my pussy and started to play with it—rubbing slowly, pressing, collecting the wetness that was already gathering from the dirty dream. I knew what that meant. When my husband played with my pussy like this early in the morning, he wanted to fuck me. But if he continued, he would be late for the supermarket. His workers would already be waiting outside the shutter.
I caught his wrist inside the cream color panties and held it.
“Ram… if you keep playing like this you will want to fuck me, and then you will be late. Your workers will be standing outside the shop already. Tonight I will give you everything, okay? Everything. Now get up.”
He groaned softly against my breast, gave the nipple one last slow lick, then reluctantly pulled his right hand out of my cream color panties. He sat up, still looking at my breasts where the white nighty was still pushed up.
“Tonight you promised,” he whispered, almost pouting.
“Yes, tonight. Now go brush your teeth and get ready. I am getting up.”
I pushed the white nighty back down over my breasts, swung my legs off the bed, and walked to the bathroom in the white nighty and cream color panties. Inside the bathroom I brushed my teeth thoroughly, washed my face, and then took a proper shower. Warm water ran over my body while I soaped myself. After finishing I towelled myself dry completely inside the bathroom, then wore the same cream color panties and the same white nighty again before coming out.
I went straight to the kitchen to start the morning work, still in the white nighty and cream color panties. I lit the stove, put water for filter coffee, and started the boys’ tiffin. Three steel boxes. Three different preferences. The youngest still wanted only curd rice with a little pickle. The middle one wanted chapati and potato. The eldest wanted whatever his friends were eating that week. I moved between the counter and the stove like a proper busy housewife, the white nighty shifting over my body with every movement, the cream color panties sitting low on my hips.
My husband came into the kitchen a few minutes later after brushing his teeth and taking a shower, dressed for the shop, still looking a little hungry-eyed. He stepped behind me, lifted the back of my white nighty with both hands, and stared at the full round shape of my ass covered only by the cream color panties. Then his right hand slid down, went inside the waistband of my cream color panties, and two of his fingers pushed between my legs into my already wet pussy. He moved those fingers slowly, collecting my juices, and then brought his hand up to his mouth to taste them. I bit my lip and leaned back against him for a second.
Just then the boys’ voices rose from the bedroom. My husband quickly pulled his hand out of my cream color panties, dropped the white nighty back down, and stepped away as if nothing had happened.
I laughed softly, shook my head, and went back to the dosa batter. My cream color panties were already a little damp between my thighs.
“Later. Breakfast first.”
I finished the breakfast quickly. The boys ate, talked, and got their bags ready. After everyone finished, my husband picked up the car keys. He was going to drop our three sons at college and then open the supermarket.
I walked with them to the main door in my white nighty and cream color panties and stood there, watching as the boys climbed into the car. My husband was about to get into the driver’s seat when he suddenly stopped, came back up the steps, and pushed me gently inside the house, closing the door behind him.
He pressed me against the wall and kissed me deeply. His mouth was open, warm, and hungry. His tongue slid against mine, tasting me slowly at first and then with more urgency. One of his hands held the back of my neck while the other rested on my waist, fingers pressing into the soft curve under the white nighty. The kiss turned wetter, longer, more erotic with every second—his lips pulling at mine, his breath mixing with mine, the quiet sound of our mouths moving together filling the small entrance.
I kissed him back with equal heat, my body melting against his for those few stolen moments. For a second the memory of that ugly dark-skinned guy’s filthy mouth from the dream flashed again, making the real kiss with my husband feel even hotter and more shameless.
The moment I felt the hard boner of his cock pressing firmly against my stomach through his pants, I pulled back a little and placed my palm on his chest.
“Nothing now, Ram. Tonight. I already promised you everything tonight.”
He did not move away. Instead he looked down at my body in the white nighty and spoke in a low, begging voice.
“Sudha… just once. Show me your pussy before I go. Please.”
“No, Ram. The boys are waiting in the car. Go.”
“Please… just for a second. I keep thinking about it. Let me see it once.”
I sighed, still smiling, and slowly lifted the front of my white nighty. My husband quickly pulled my cream color panties down to my thighs. His eyes locked on my clean, clean-shaved pussy.
“So beautiful… clean and clean-shaved. Perfect.”
He grabbed my pussy with his right hand, gave it a gentle shake, then pushed his middle finger inside. He moved the finger once, slowly, then pulled it out glistening and put it straight into his mouth, sucking my juice with a soft sound. Only after that did he pull my cream color panties back up, let the white nighty fall, and step away.
I laughed, turned him around, and gave his ass a playful spank with my hand before pushing him toward the door.
“Go. Drop the boys and open the supermarket. Your workers will be waiting. Go.”
He grinned, rubbed the place I had spanked, and looked at me with that soft, loving hunger he always had for me. I stood in the white nighty and cream color panties, watching him with equal love, feeling proud of this decent, slightly naughty husband who still could not leave the house without trying to taste my mouth and my pussy properly.
He finally left. I stood at the open door, watching the car drive out of the colony gate with my three sons and my husband inside, still smiling to myself like a busy housewife who loved her husband deeply.
After they left, the house became quiet again. I finished my own coffee standing at the kitchen window, still in the white nighty and cream color panties, looking down at the neat row of parked cars and the small garden. My body felt warm and a little restless from all of my husband’s morning touches, that long erotic kiss, the way he had grabbed and tasted my pussy, and the leftover shameless heat of the dirty dream, but the day was still ordinary and happy.
This was our life.
Upper-middle-class Bangalore. Three growing sons. A husband who ran a clean, honest supermarket two streets away and still could not stop tasting my breasts or playing inside my cream color panties or kissing me like that before leaving for work. A house that smelled of dosa and detergent and the mild sweetness of the agarbathi I lit every morning near the small puja shelf.
I was proud of this life.
I was proud of the way my body still made my decent husband lose a little control every morning.
And I was still completely loyal to him.
That was how the day began.
That was how every ordinary, happy day began.



After my husband and sons left, the house became quiet. I finished my coffee at the kitchen window, still in the white nighty and cream color panties, then started my daily chores.
I first cleared the breakfast vessels. I washed every plate, tumbler, and spoon with soap, rinsed them under running water, and stacked them neatly on the stand to dry. I wiped the kitchen counters, swept the floor, and then mopped it until the tiles shone. I collected the boys’ scattered socks and notebooks from the hall and put them back in their places. I folded the bedsheets, adjusted the pillows, and switched off the bedroom fan. I dusted the TV stand, the dining table, and the small puja shelf. I lit a fresh agarbathi near the gods and stood there for a few seconds with my eyes closed.
While doing all this I played my favourite Ilayaraja songs on YouTube from my phone. The soft melodies filled the house. I hummed along under my breath as I moved from room to room, the white nighty shifting over my body with every step, the cream color panties sitting low on my hips.
Once the house looked clean and settled, I went to the bathroom and took another shower. Warm water ran over my body while I soaped myself thoroughly. After finishing I stepped out, towelled myself dry completely, and walked into the bedroom still covering myself with the towel.
In the bedroom I removed the towel and wore a white bra, black panties, and a white petticoat. Over them I dbangd my purple saree and pinned the matching purple blouse. I adjusted the pleats carefully, tucked the saree firmly at the waist, and checked myself once in the mirror. The purple colour sat well against my skin. My heavy breasts filled the purple blouse nicely. The white petticoat stayed hidden underneath, and the black panties sat smooth under the petticoat.
I picked up my market bag, locked the main door, and stepped out of the house. The morning sun was stronger now. Instead of walking I raised my hand and stopped a regular auto that usually waited near the colony gate. The auto driver was a middle-aged man who knew me as the supermarket owner’s wife. He looked at me as I climbed in. His eyes moved over the purple saree, the way it clung to my hips and chest, and the shape of my body under the matching purple blouse. He got affected. His gaze lingered a little longer than needed while he started the auto, and I noticed the quiet struggle in his face as he tried to keep his eyes on the road.
I sat in the back, the purple saree spread around me, and looked out at the passing lanes. The mild sound of my anklets mixed with the auto’s noise. At the market I got down, paid him, and went from shop to shop choosing fresh vegetables — tomatoes, onions, green chillies, coriander, beans, and a small piece of ginger. I checked the quality with my fingers, bargained lightly the way I always did, and filled my bag. The sellers knew me. They spoke respectfully. I smiled, paid, and took another auto back home.
The purple saree swayed around me as I walked the last few steps to the house. The white petticoat brushed my legs underneath. The black panties stayed neat under everything. I hummed the same Ilayaraja song again under my breath as I unlocked the door, a busy housewife returning home after finishing her morning work, still carrying the warm leftover feeling of my husband’s morning touches and promises for the night.
This was still our ordinary, happy life.


I was proud of my body.
Even after three sons, my heavy breasts still filled every blouse properly. My waist still curved in. My hips stayed wide and round. When I walked in a saree, the pleats moved with a soft rhythm that drew eyes without me doing anything extra. I knew it. I had always known it.
In the mornings, when my husband could not stop tasting my breasts or sliding his fingers between my legs, a quiet satisfaction settled inside me. When men stared a little too long at the way my saree sat on my chest and hips, the same satisfaction returned. I never smiled at them. I never encouraged. But I noticed. And I liked noticing.
I loved the feeling of men getting affected by me while I remained completely loyal to my husband.
It was a private thrill. A small, secret heat that lived under my ribs. I could walk to the market fully covered, fully respectable, and still feel the weight of their eyes. I could stand at the vegetable shop, bargain for tomatoes, and sense the seller’s gaze dropping for half a second to the shape of my breasts under the blouse. I never looked back. I never gave them anything. But the knowledge that they were looking, that my body still had that power, made something warm move low in my stomach.
I teased without teasing.
A slight adjustment of the pallu. A slower step when I knew someone was watching. The way I stood with my weight on one hip while waiting for the auto. Nothing open. Nothing shameful. Just enough for me to feel the quiet current of attention, and then I would return home to my husband, cook his favourite dinner, and keep every promise I made to him in the morning.
That was the buried part.
I was a loyal wife. I loved my husband. I was proud of the life we had built. And still, deep under all of that, I carried this soft, constant awareness of my own body and the effect it had on men. I never crossed the line. I never wanted to cross the line. But the line itself excited me. The fact that I could stand so close to it, feel the heat of their stares, and still walk back into my house as my husband’s wife, untouched and faithful, gave me a strange private pleasure.
It was always there.
Quiet.
Controlled.
Mine.


At the market the afternoon sun was already sharp. I moved from one vegetable stall to the next with my bag hanging from my wrist, the purple saree dbangd properly, the matching purple blouse fitting snugly across my chest. Every few steps another man’s face caught my eye and pulled me straight back into the morning dream. A dark-skinned seller arranging onions had the same heavy jaw. Another man weighing tomatoes had the same thick, slightly cracked lips. Each time the resemblance struck, the memory of that filthy mouth returned with full force — the bitter, smoky taste, the rough tongue pushing inside, the way I had shamelessly sucked on it while my cream color panties grew wet. A slow heat began spreading low in my stomach. My black panties under the white petticoat felt warmer. I kept my face calm and continued bargaining, but inside the horny feeling was rising steadily, wave after wave, every time another dark face reminded me of the dream.
I selected the vegetables carefully — firm tomatoes, fresh coriander, green chillies, beans, a piece of ginger — yet my mind kept slipping. By the time the bag was full, my breathing had grown a little shallow and the space between my thighs felt slick.
I stopped the same regular auto near the market entrance. The driver glanced at me as I climbed in. I sat on the back seat, arranged the purple saree over my knees, and looked out at the passing streets. Halfway through the ride the auto took a sharp turn. My pallu slid off my shoulder without me noticing. The purple blouse was suddenly fully visible to him — the round upper curve of my breasts, the way the blouse stretched across them, the deep line of my cleavage. Cool air touched the exposed skin. Only when I felt that coolness did I realise. I quickly caught the pallu and pulled it back over my chest, covering myself again. My heart beat faster. The driver said nothing, but I sensed his eyes had already taken everything in. The knowledge that he had seen made the heat between my legs throb harder.
When the auto stopped at the colony gate I paid him the exact amount and stepped down. The fifty-foot path from the gate to my front door suddenly felt long. I walked slowly, the purple saree shifting around my hips and thighs with every step. I did not look back, yet I knew he was still seated in the auto, watching the movement of my ass under the saree. The awareness of his stare made my black panties feel even tighter against my already wet pussy. I kept my back straight and walked until I reached the door, unlocked it, and stepped inside.
The moment the door closed behind me the house felt silent and private. I went straight to the bedroom. First I removed the purple saree, folding it carefully over the chair. Then I unhooked the matching purple blouse and slid it off my arms. I untied the white petticoat and let it fall to the floor. Standing only in the white bra and black panties, I unhooked the bra, freed my heavy breasts, and finally pushed the black panties down my legs. Completely naked, I felt the mild afternoon air on every part of my body — my breasts, my stomach, the clean-shaved mound between my thighs.
I lay down on the bed. The leftover heat from the dream and from the market was still strong and insistent. I closed my eyes. First the dark-skinned man’s face appeared — his filthy lips, his thick tongue, the bitter taste of that dream kiss. My right hand moved down. I parted my legs wide and began touching myself without any shame. My fingers slid through the wetness that had already gathered, circling slowly over my clit, then pressing harder. I pushed one finger inside, then two, moving them in and out while my thumb kept rubbing. Soft wet sounds rose from between my legs. My breasts rose and fell with my breathing.
Then, shamelessly, the auto driver’s face joined the dream. I saw him again in the rear-view mirror, staring at my exposed breasts when the pallu fell. I saw him watching my ass for those full fifty feet. The thought that he had got hard because of me made my fingers move faster. I rubbed my clit in tight circles, pushed my fingers deeper, and let both images mix — the ugly dark-skinned man’s filthy mouth kissing me and the auto driver staring at my body. My hips lifted off the mattress. My thighs trembled. A low, broken moan escaped into the pillow as the orgasm broke through me — sharp, long, and strong — leaving my pussy pulsing hard around my own fingers.
The moment the last wave faded, embarrassment crashed over me. I had touched myself and come hard thinking about a dream and about the auto driver. Shame heated my face. I blushed deeply, pulled the bedsheet over my naked body, and turned onto my side, knees drawn in. I lay there for a long time, cheeks still warm, feeling both satisfied and guilty at the same time.
Eventually the heaviness of the orgasm pulled me into a nap.
When I woke the light in the room had shifted to late afternoon. I sat up slowly, still naked under the sheet. I rose from the bed, took a fresh pair of panties from the cupboard, and slipped them on. Then I pulled my white nighty over my head and let it fall loosely over my body. The white nighty settled against my breasts and the new panties. I went to the kitchen, ate a quiet lunch of leftover rice and curd, and washed the plate. Afterwards I began preparing evening snacks for my sons and my husband — chopping onions and green chillies, heating oil in the pan, and making fresh bajjis and a small batch of mixture. The ordinary smells of frying and spices slowly filled the house again. The earlier heat, the shame, and the memory of the dream settled into the background. By the time the snacks were ready and arranged on a plate, I was once more only the busy wife in her white nighty, waiting for her family to return home.



Night settled over the house. The boys had finished their snacks, finished their homework, and gone to bed. The television was switched off. The kitchen was clean. Only the mild smell of the evening bajjis still hung in the air.
I was still in my white nighty and the fresh panties when my husband came out of the bathroom after his shower. His hair was damp. He looked at me the same way he had looked at me in the morning — hungry, soft, and a little impatient.
I walked up to him without saying anything at first. I took his hand and led him into our bedroom. I closed the door quietly behind us.
“Tonight I promised you everything,” I said.
He smiled, already pulling me closer.
“I have been thinking about this since morning, Sudha. The way you kissed me… the way you let me taste you at the door…”
“I know,” I answered, my voice low. “That is why I am here. No stopping tonight.”
He kissed me deeply. His mouth was fresh now, warm and clean. I kissed him back with the same heat I had given him in the morning, but this time there was no need to stop.
He lifted the white nighty up and over my head in one slow movement. I stood in front of him in only the fresh panties. His eyes moved over my heavy breasts, my stomach, and the clean-shaved shape under the panties.
“You are so beautiful like this,” he whispered. “Every time I see you I forget how to talk.”
He reached out and cupped both breasts, squeezing them gently.
“These… I wanted them in my mouth the whole day.”
He lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking slowly, then moved to the other.
I pushed the fresh panties down my legs and stepped out of them. Completely naked, I climbed onto the bed and lay back, opening my legs for him.
“Come,” I said softly. “I am already wet for you.”
My husband removed his lungi and came over me. He kissed my mouth again, then my neck, then each breast, then the soft skin of my stomach, moving lower.
“I want to taste you properly first,” he murmured against my thigh.
His mouth settled between my legs. He licked me slowly at first, tasting the wetness that was already there, then with more hunger, sucking on my clit while his hands held my hips down.
“Ram…” I breathed, holding the back of his head. “Yes… just like that…”
When he finally rose and positioned himself between my legs, I reached down and guided his cock to my entrance.
“Put it inside,” I whispered. “I want to feel you.”
He pushed inside me in one long, steady thrust. I was wet and ready. He filled me completely.
“So tight… so warm,” he groaned against my neck. “You feel even better than this morning.”
He began moving with deep, controlled strokes. His hands held my waist. His mouth returned to my breasts.
“Harder,” I told him, wrapping my legs around him. “I can take it. Give me everything.”
He fucked me with steady hunger, sometimes slow and deep, sometimes faster when he could not hold back.
“Sudha… I am not going to last long if you keep talking like that.”
“Then don’t last,” I answered, pulling him deeper. “Come inside me. I want it.”
The pleasure built quickly. My breathing turned uneven. My fingers dug into his back.
“Ahh… Ram… I’m close… don’t stop…”
He thrust deeper and faster. My pussy started tightening around him.
“Mmm… ahh… yes… right there… Ram…”
The orgasm broke through me hard. My back arched. My legs locked around him.
“Ahhh… ahhh… Ram… I’m coming… I’m coming… mmm… ahhh…”
I kept moaning through the waves, soft and broken, while my pussy pulsed tightly around his cock. He kept thrusting through my orgasm, then buried himself fully and came inside me with a low, rough sound against my neck.
“Sudha… take it… all of it…”
For a long time afterwards we stayed joined, his weight warm on top of me, his cock still pulsing softly inside. He kissed the side of my face and whispered,
“I needed this the whole day. Every time I closed my eyes at the shop I saw you in that white nighty.”
I ran my fingers through his damp hair and answered quietly,
“I know. That is why I kept my promise. You can enjoy me like this whenever you want.”
Eventually he pulled out and lay beside me. I stayed naked under the bedsheet, my body still open and satisfied, the mild ache between my legs reminding me of how thoroughly he had enjoyed me.
“Sleep,” he said, pulling me against his chest. “Tomorrow morning I will want you again.”
“Then take me again tomorrow,” I replied, already closing my eyes.
Outside, the colony was quiet. Inside our bedroom, everything felt ordinary and complete again.
This was still our life.
A loyal wife.
A hungry husband.
A promise kept at night.


To Be Continued..