Misc. Erotica A Wife’s Revenge

[novelistcasanova]

They loved the sound. The man behind me squeezed even harder, twisting my breasts inside the white bra until my nipples burned against the fabric. The man in front rubbed and pressed my pussy through the white panties in rough, circular motions, the heel of his palm grinding against my clit while his fingers tried to push the thin cloth between my pussy lips. Their breathing turned loud, ugly, and excited. Clear boners strained hard under their clothes.

The driver recovered and tried to fight them, still struggling to force his cock fully back into the underwear. One of the men turned and kicked him hard in the stomach. He folded and went down to his knees, gasping.
The two men pushed me backward toward the narrow wooden bench. The one in front yanked at the waistband of my white panties, trying to drag them down my hips. The one behind kept mauling my breasts, his mouth open against the side of my neck, hot breath washing over my skin. I struggled, twisting my shoulders and trying to push their hands away, but they were stronger and fully aroused. My white bra straps slipped halfway down my arms. One of my breasts almost spilled free. The front of my white panties was already being pulled low enough that the upper part of my clean-shaved mound was visible.
They were going to bang me on the cement floor of the small room.
The man in front succeeded in dragging my white panties down to mid-thigh. Cool air touched my bare pussy for a second before his rough hand covered it completely, two fingers pushing between the lips and rubbing hard. The man behind me had pulled the white bra down under my breasts so that both heavy tits sat fully exposed and bounced with every movement. He squeezed them from below, thumbs scbanging across my nipples. Their cocks were out now — thick, dark, and fully hard — and they were trying to force me down onto the bench so they could push inside me.
I kept fighting, but my strength was not enough. One of them had already spread my knees with his leg. The head of his cock was rubbing against the entrance of my pussy when the door of the room slammed open with a loud crack.
A strong, dark-skinned, muscular man stepped inside first. Behind him came a tall, dark, and handsome man who looked like an advocate. The muscular man’s eyes took in the entire scene in one hard, instantaneous glance — my exposed breasts, my white panties around my thighs, the two men on me, the driver still on the floor.
The driver lifted his head and shouted at once, voice raw.
“Ravi Anna! They are trying to bang this lady!”
Ravi moved immediately and without wasted motion. He grabbed the man who still had his hand on my bare pussy, spun him around by the shoulder, and struck him across the face with a heavy, open-handed blow that sent him crashing into the wall. The second man received a hard punch to the ribs and then another to the side of the head. Both men scrambled up, faces already swelling, and fled the room without looking back.
Ravi stood over the place they had been, breathing evenly, then turned to me. His expression was serious and controlled. He did not stare at my exposed breasts or the white panties still tangled around my thighs. Instead he picked up my folded purple saree, blouse and petticoat from the bench and held them out to me with his face slightly turned away.
“Wear your clothes.”
He turned his back completely, giving me full privacy like a gentleman. The tall advocate also looked away toward the wall. My hands were shaking slightly as I took the clothes. I pulled my white panties back up first, then stepped into my petticoat and tied it quickly. I hooked my white bra properly again, slipped my arms into the purple blouse and fastened every hook, then wrapped the purple saree around my body with hurried but steady movements until I was fully covered once more. In the corner the driver was still breathing hard, pulling on his lungi and khaki shirt with clumsy hands.
Only when I was completely dressed did Ravi turn back to face me. His voice was calm and direct.
“Who are you? Why are you here?”
Before I could answer, the tall, dark, handsome advocate spoke.
“Both of you finish dressing properly and come to the first floor. Ravi Anna will speak there.”
We followed them out of the small side room, up a narrow staircase that smelled of damp wood and cigarette smoke, and into a larger, better-lit room on the first floor that clearly belonged to Ravi. The door closed behind us. The path I had fought to open — through every touch, every kilometre of dark road, and every shame I had accepted — was finally here.


We entered the room on the first floor. It was larger and cleaner than the small side room downstairs. Two separate beds stood opposite each other with a low wooden table between them. On the table were a few bottles of soft drinks, a plate of chips, and some plastic glasses. The single window was half open, letting in the mild night air and the distant sound of insects.
Ravi sat down on the edge of one bed. The tall, dark, handsome advocate sat beside him. Ravi gestured with his hand toward the opposite bed.
“Sit.”
The auto driver and I sat down on the other bed, facing them across the small table. For a moment the room was quiet except for the low hum of the ceiling fan.
The advocate looked at me directly, his expression calm and professional. He extended his right hand across the table.
“I am Rajesh.”
I shook his hand. His grip was firm and brief.
“I am Sudha.”
He nodded once, released my hand, and sat back slightly beside Ravi. Then he asked the question that had been waiting since the moment we entered.
“Why are you here?”
I looked at both of them — the strong, dark-skinned, muscular Ravi and the tall advocate named Rajesh — and the entire weight of the last many days rose into my throat at once. My eyes burned. I did not try to stop the tears that came.
“My husband’s name is Ram,” I began, my voice already thick. “He runs a supermarket. He is a decent man. Soft. He has never hurt anyone. Santosh is his cousin… four years younger. When Santosh was a small boy, my husband taught him how to ride a bicycle on our street. My husband’s mother is the reason Santosh’s mother even came to Bangalore. She arranged the marriage. We helped them settle. We helped them find a house. For years we stood by them.”
My hands had closed tightly in my lap. Tears ran freely down my cheeks now.
“One Sunday Santosh stood in the middle of the road in front of our new construction site and humiliated my husband in front of everyone. Relatives. Neighbours. Workers. He pushed him. He called him spineless. He shouted that my husband was soft and useless. My husband could not even raise his voice. He called the security officer, but the security officer took money from both sides and left. My husband sat on a stack of cement bags and cried. After that day he stopped eating properly. He stopped sleeping. Our house became silent. Our sons started asking why their father does not smile anymore. Every morning I watched him sit with red eyes, broken, remembering the shame.”
I wiped my face with the back of my hand, but fresh tears kept coming. My voice shook, yet the words remained clear.
“I am his wife. A wife is not only for giving pleasure at night or cooking food. When someone destroys her husband’s pride and makes him cry like that, she has to answer. I searched for a man who could make Santosh suffer. I found out about you, Ravi. People in the market are terrified of your name. That is why I came. That is why I travelled all this way at night, why I tolerated everything that happened downstairs, why I am sitting here in front of you now.”
I looked straight at Ravi, my eyes still wet, my voice low and steady despite the tears.
“I came to ask you to kill Santosh.”
The room stayed silent after I finished. The ceiling fan continued its slow rotation. On the table the untouched chips and soft drinks sat between us. I did not look away. The pain of the last many days, the image of my husband’s bent shoulders, and the cold decision that had brought me here were all still written clearly on my face.
Ravi listened to the last of my words in silence. For a moment he simply looked at me across the low table, his expression hard and unreadable. Then he spoke, his voice flat and final.
“No.”
Before I could react, his phone rang on the table. He glanced at the screen, answered it at once, and stood up while listening. His face grew tighter with every second. The muscles along his jaw flexed. He spoke only a few short words in a low, clipped voice, then walked out of the room without looking at any of us, closing the door firmly behind him. The ceiling fan continued its slow rotation. The untouched chips and soft drinks remained on the table between the two beds.
The tall advocate stayed seated. After a moment of silence he turned his head and looked at me directly. He lifted one hand and gestured to the empty space on the bed beside him.
“Sudha. Come. Sit here.”
I rose from the opposite bed. The purple saree shifted around my legs as I walked the short distance and sat down next to him. The mattress dipped slightly under my weight. The auto driver remained where he was on the other bed, watching quietly, his earlier excitement now replaced by a tense stillness.
Rajesh turned his body a little toward me. His voice was calm, steady, and serious.
“Sudha, our situation is not good right now. The cops are behind Ravi. They are pushing hard these days. We are leaving this place early in the morning. Because of that, we cannot help you with what you are asking.”
The words landed heavily inside my chest. For a second the entire long day — the vegetable market, the driver’s repeated hands on my ass, the dark highway, the forced removal of my clothes, the attack in the small room downstairs — threatened to become meaningless. My eyes burned almost immediately. Tears gathered and spilled over. I turned fully toward him on the bed, my hands coming together in my lap, and began begging. My voice broke more than once.
“Please… please help me. Santosh does not deserve to live. He broke my husband in front of everyone — relatives, neighbours, workers. He pushed him. He called him spineless. After that day my husband stopped eating properly. He stopped sleeping. Our house became silent. Our sons started asking why their father does not smile. I watched him cry on our bedroom floor. I watched him sit with red eyes every morning. Only if Santosh dies I will be happy. I will be at peace. Please. I am willing to pay anything you ask. Any amount. Just do this one thing for me.”
Rajesh looked at me for a long moment without speaking. His expression remained controlled, but something thoughtful and assessing moved behind his dark eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice was slower and clearer.
“Sudha, I am Rajesh Mani. You must have heard about me. I am the richest criminal lawyer in Bangalore. This is not about money. I have enough money. More than enough.”
As he said his full name — Rajesh Mani — I truly looked at him for the first time.
He was tall. Dark-skinned. Handsome in a sharp, controlled way. The shape of his mouth, the clean line of his jaw, the steady weight of his eyes on my face — it was the same face from the dream that had woken me that morning. The memory returned in a sudden, vivid, physical rush. I remembered the dark-skinned man’s filthy mouth covering mine. I remembered opening my lips shamelessly, sucking on his thick tongue, tasting the bitter, smoky flavour while my cream-colored panties grew wet between my thighs. I remembered moaning into that kiss without any restraint.
A slow, unwanted heat began spreading low in my stomach. My nipples tightened against the white bra under my purple blouse, becoming noticeable even to me. Between my legs, under the petticoat and white panties, a familiar slick wetness started to gather along the lips of my pussy. My breathing changed for a second — a soft, almost invisible hitch. I was shamelessly getting horny just sitting beside him, the dream and the real man overlapping so strongly that the inside of my mouth tingled with the ghost of that morning kiss.
I kept my face as calm as I could manage. My hands remained folded in my lap. But the heat continued to build steadily while I sat next to Rajesh Mani on the bed, the tears of desperation still drying on my cheeks, and the cold purpose that had brought me all this way now mixed with a sudden, shameful physical hunger I had not expected.



I was totally horny.
The man from the dream that had haunted me for many days was sitting right beside me on the bed. The same dark skin. The same sharp, clean jaw. The same mouth I had kissed so shamelessly in my sleep, night after night. Everything else that had driven me through this long day — the vegetable market, the auto driver’s hands on my ass, the dark highway, the forced removal of my clothes, Santosh’s name, my husband’s tears — began to blur and fade to the far edges of my mind. All I could feel was the slow, heavy heat spreading low in my stomach and then lower, between my thighs, and the tight, aching pull of my nipples against the white bra under my purple blouse.
I spoke first, my voice coming out softer and thinner than I expected.
“Sir…”
Rajesh Mani turned his body a little more toward me on the bed. The mattress shifted under his weight. A faint, almost gentle smile touched the corner of his mouth. He shook his head once, slowly.
“Don’t call me Sir. Call me Rajesh.”
The way he said his own name — low, calm, and intimate — sent a fresh, liquid wave of heat rolling through my lower belly. My toes curled slightly inside my sandals. He continued looking at me, his dark eyes steady and warm in a way that made it difficult to draw a full breath. The air between us felt thicker than it had a moment earlier.
“Sudha… have we seen each other before?”
He leaned in slightly, closing more of the space between us on the bed. His knee came close enough that I could feel the mild heat of his body through the purple saree. His voice dropped even lower, soft enough that it seemed to travel directly across my skin instead of through the air.
“I feel like we have met somewhere. I can’t explain it… but your face, your eyes… it feels familiar. Like I have already touched you in some other life. Like I already know the sound of your breathing when you are close. Like I have already tasted your mouth.”
The words melted something deep and previously solid inside me. My pussy clenched hard once under the white panties and petticoat, a distinct, wet contraction that left a fresh slickness along the lips. I could smell the mild, clean scent of his cologne mixed with the warmer smell of his skin. My answer came out softer and more unsteady than I intended.
“Me too… Rajesh.”
He came even closer. Now his knee fully touched mine through the layers of my purple saree. The air between our faces grew warm and shared. I looked at his lips — the same lips from the dream — and felt my own lips part slightly without any permission from my mind. The dream was no longer a memory that belonged to sleep. It was happening in real time, in this room, on this bed. I continued speaking, my voice low and slightly trembling.
“In fact… I have seen you in my dream many times. For many days. The same face. The same mouth. The same way you look at me right now.”
Something dark and intent shifted in his eyes when I said that. He raised one hand and rested it on the bed just beside my thigh, close enough that I could feel the heat of his fingers through the purple saree. Then he slowly brought his face nearer until his lips were only a few centimetres from mine. I could feel the faint, rhythmic warmth of his breath against my open mouth. My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my throat and in my wrists. My nipples were so tight they hurt with every small movement against the white bra. Between my legs I was already thoroughly wet; the white panties clung to my pussy lips with the moisture.
His next words were barely above a whisper, yet every syllable sank straight down between my thighs and made my inner muscles flutter.
“Then maybe this time we should not stop at a dream, Sudha.”
I wanted to kiss his lips badly.
Every part of me that had stayed cold, controlled, and sharpened by revenge for the entire night was dissolving under the weight of his voice and the nearness of his mouth. The only thing left inside my body was the shameless, hungry, almost painful need to close that last small distance and feel his mouth on mine the way I had in the dream — open, deep, wet, and without any restraint. My eyes half-closed on their own. My breath mixed with his in the narrow space between our lips. The rest of the room — the auto driver sitting on the opposite bed, the untouched drinks and chips on the table, the name Santosh, even the memory of my husband’s broken face — all of it faded into a distant, unimportant background while I sat there on the edge of the bed, lips parted, body leaning forward by a fraction, waiting for the kiss I had already tasted in my sleep.


The door opened and Ravi stepped back into the room.
The charged, narrow space between my face and Rajesh’s mouth broke at once. I stood up from the bed so quickly that the mattress shifted. I did not fully know whether it was fear or respect or both that made me rise, but my body moved before my mind finished deciding. The auto driver scrambled to his feet as well, standing stiffly near the opposite bed.
Ravi’s eyes moved between the three of us. The earlier hardness was still on his face, mixed with tiredness. Rajesh remained seated for a second longer, then spoke in a calm, steady voice that carried clear authority.
“You sleep, Ravi. I will make sure everything is okay tonight. In the morning you will leave from here. I will do all the legal work tomorrow and take care of it. I will save you.”
Ravi looked at Rajesh for a long moment. The trust and respect he held for the tall advocate were plain on his face. He gave a short nod.
“Okay, Rajesh.”
Then Ravi’s gaze shifted to the auto driver. His voice turned flat and final.
“You. Get out.”
The driver did not argue. Fear moved openly across his face. He muttered something that might have been “Yes, Anna,” and left the room quickly, closing the door behind him with more force than necessary. Only the three of us remained for a few more seconds before Ravi also turned and walked out, presumably to another room to rest.
The moment the door shut again, the air in the room changed.
Rajesh stood up. He reached out and took my right hand in his. His palm was warm and dry, his fingers firm around mine. He looked directly into my eyes.
“Come to my room, Sudha. We will stay together tonight.”
He did not wait for a spoken answer. He simply kept hold of my hand and led me out of the room, into the narrow corridor, and toward another door a short distance away. I followed him without resistance, my fingers still closed inside his. The heat that had built between my legs while we sat on the bed was still present and growing. I could smell him clearly now — the mild cologne and the warmer scent of his skin — with every step. My free hand rose almost on its own and rested on his upper arm, then slid higher until I was hugging his arm lightly against my side as we walked.
My heavy breasts brushed against his arm through the purple blouse and white bra with each step. My pussy remained slick inside the white panties. The revenge that had carried me across half the night was still somewhere inside me, but it no longer occupied the front of my mind. What occupied it now was the feeling of his hand holding mine, the solid shape of his arm under my fingers, and the knowledge that I was walking into his room to stay with him until morning.