Misc. Erotica A Wife’s Revenge

[novelistcasanova]

I opened the front door and stepped inside first. He followed. I turned back at once, looked carefully up and down the street through the open doorway to check if any neighbour was still watching, then closed the door firmly from inside and locked it.

The moment I turned around, his hands shot forward.
Both of his palms grabbed my ass cheeks hard over my purple saree, my petticoat and my panties. The feeling was sudden and rough — his fingers dug into the soft, full flesh of my ass cheeks, squeezing and lifting them apart slightly, the heat of his palms burning through the layers of the purple saree, the petticoat and my panties straight onto my ass cheeks. He grabbed my ass tightly with both hands, as if he had been waiting months for exactly this grip. Then his fingers began moving, feeling up the shape of my panties through the purple saree and petticoat, tracing the panty line slowly from the top of my ass cheeks down along the edges where my panties sat against my skin.
He spoke against my ear, voice thick and shameless.
“I am such a big fan of your ass, madam. Every time you walk away from my auto I stare at these cheeks. I go home and I cannot stop thinking about them. Your ass in this purple saree is perfect… I have been waiting so long to grab it like this.”
I told myself, coldly and clearly, that I was doing this for my husband. I forced my body to stay still and controlled the urge to push him away.
“Take your hands off my ass,” I said, my voice steady. “You only asked for a hug and a kiss. That is all.”
He did not remove his hands. Instead he squeezed my ass cheeks once more and spoke in a lower, firmer tone.
“Do you want me to take you to Market Ravi or not?”
“Yes,” I answered at once.
“Then do not interrupt me while I am doing something.” His fingers continued tracing the panty line of my panties through the purple saree and petticoat. “Without me you will never meet him. Remember that.”
The indirect threat was clear. Without his help I had no path to Market Ravi. For the sake of revenge — for the sake of my husband’s broken pride and the tears I had watched him shed — I tolerated it. I stayed still and let his hands remain on my ass cheeks.
He stepped even closer, his breath hot on my face, and leaned in to kiss my lips.
Before his mouth could touch mine, a loud mechanical sound came from the street — the harsh beep and hydraulic noise of a towing vehicle. His head snapped toward the door. Panic flashed across his face.
“My auto!”
He released my ass cheeks at once and ran to the door, unlocked it, and rushed outside. I followed as far as the doorway and watched him argue quickly with the towing men, waving his hands, showing papers, raising his voice. After a short, tense exchange he managed to stop them. He turned back toward me and gestured urgently.
“Come now, madam! We have to go to Ravi’s place immediately. If we miss him today we will not find him for the next six months. He is shifting again.”
The words hit me hard. Six months. I could not wait six months. My husband’s pain would not wait six months.
I locked the house quickly, checked the latch twice, and walked fast toward the auto. When I reached it he was already in the driver’s seat, engine ready. He looked at me with open hunger still in his eyes.
“You will not break the promise, madam. I will get the hug and the kiss. Right?”
I met his gaze and answered without hesitation.
“I promise.”
“Get inside.”
I began climbing into the back seat. As I stepped up, he spoke again, eyes fixed on my lower body.
“Look at this ass… so round in the purple saree…”
His right hand suddenly grabbed my ass cheeks over my purple saree, my petticoat and my panties. His fingers pressed in, and the tip of one finger touched my asshole through the purple saree, the petticoat and my panties. A sharp, embarrassed heat flashed through me.
Even while holding my ass, he continued talking in a thick voice.
“So soft… so full… I can feel the shape of your panties perfectly. This ass is even better up close.”
I quickly sat down on the seat to stop him from touching me any further and to avoid more embarrassment.
He started the auto at once and pulled away from the colony gate, driving fast toward the direction of Market Ravi. I sat in the back in my purple saree, still carrying the vivid feeling of his rough hands on my ass cheeks, the way his fingers had traced my panty line, and the brief, unwanted touch on my asshole, and stared ahead. The only thing that mattered now was reaching the tall, dark-skinned man who could make Santosh suffer.


The auto raced through the streets as fast as the driver could push it. The vehicle shook and rattled over every uneven patch of road. Dust rose behind us. I sat in the back in my purple saree, one hand gripping the side bar, the other resting tightly on my market bag. My eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead, but every part of me was alert.
The driver was enjoying this completely.
I could hear it in his voice and see it in the way he kept glancing at me through the rear-view mirror. For months he had only been able to watch my ass from a distance while dropping me home. Now he had me alone in his auto, dependent on him, unable to walk away. The power of that situation was clearly feeding him. His shoulders were relaxed, his tone loose and confident, as if he had all the time in the world to say whatever he wanted.
“Madam, how do you maintain your body so well?” he asked, eyes flicking to the mirror again. “Even after children your waist is still so neat, your ass so round… what do you do? Gym? Some special oil? Tell me.”
I did not answer. I kept my face calm and looked out at the passing shops. Inside, I forced myself to stay still. Every crude question made something tight and cold twist in my stomach, but I reminded myself why I was sitting here. My husband’s broken face. The tears on our bedroom floor. The silence that had swallowed our home. That was the only reason I was tolerating this man’s mouth.
He continued, undeterred, clearly enjoying the fact that I could not stop him.
“You rich women are so clean. Always nice white skin complexion, soft, glowing. Not like the women in my area. Everything about you looks expensive and well-kept. Even the way you sit is different.”
Again I gave him nothing. No reply, no expression. I simply breathed slowly and kept my hands folded. Controlling myself had become a deliberate act. I counted the turns of the auto. I focused on the destination. I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me react.
After a few more minutes his voice dropped lower, more shameless, as if the silence itself was encouraging him.
“I keep wondering… how you would look in just your bra and panties. Your heavy breasts, your waist, that ass… without the purple saree covering everything. I think about it every time I drop you.”
The words landed heavier than the previous ones. A sharp heat of anger and embarrassment moved through my chest. I turned my head toward him.
“Stop.”
He laughed — a short, satisfied sound that told me he was enjoying every second of this control. He slowed the auto just a little and spoke while still watching me in the mirror.
“You want me to stop the auto here and you can get down and go home? Then how will you meet Market Ravi?” He laughed again, louder this time. “I am the boss now, madam. Only I can take you to him. Nobody else will help you. Remember that.”
I faced forward once more and sat quietly.
Inside I was controlling every reaction. My jaw was tight. My fingers pressed hard into the handle of the market bag. I wanted to open the door and leave. I wanted to slap the words out of his mouth. But I did none of those things. I stayed seated, breathing evenly, because the only path to Market Ravi currently ran through this man’s auto. Without him I had nothing. With him I still had a chance to make Santosh suffer the way my husband had suffered.
So I tolerated the talk.
I tolerated the stares in the mirror.
I tolerated the crude enjoyment in his voice.
I sat in silence while he drove as fast as he wanted, and I kept the single cold purpose fixed in the centre of my mind: reach Market Ravi, hire him, and begin the punishment. Everything else — the driver’s power, his comments, his laughter — was something I forced myself to endure for that one goal.