Misc. Erotica The Goddess (COMPLETED) - By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

I felt so sorry for my helpless husband that the shame of what Arjun had just done to me in front of him burned even hotter than the filthy taste still coating my mouth and throat.


I took his hand without speaking and led him home. His fingers were stiff and cold in mine. He did not look at me even once as we walked the short distance back to our house. The silence between us was heavy and painful, filled with everything he had been forced to watch only minutes earlier — Arjun’s bare, stinking chest crushing my heavy breasts, the slow deliberate grinding of that thick hard cock against my stomach, the way I had been made to kiss him back and swallow mouthful after mouthful of his sour, filthy saliva while my husband stood only a few metres away, fists clenched, completely unable to stop any of it.

The moment the door of our house closed behind us, I turned to him.
“Come,” I said softly.
“Inside the bedroom.”
I led him in and shut that door as well, closing out the rest of the village and the river and Arjun. Then I stood in the centre of the room, facing my husband, and began to remove my clothes one piece at a time so he could watch every moment and understand that what I was about to give him was willing, complete, and only for him.
First I untied the end of my saree. I unwrapped it slowly from my body and let the long cloth fall to the floor in a soft heap around my feet. Next I unhooked my blouse, slid it off my shoulders and down my arms, and dropped it beside the saree. I reached behind my back with both hands, unhooked my bra, and pulled the straps down. My heavy breasts came free, full and soft, the nipples still slightly tight from everything that had happened. I pushed my petticoat down over my hips and stepped out of it. Finally I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties, bent slightly, and slid them down over my thighs and calves until I could step out of them completely.
I stood fully naked in front of my husband.

My heavy breasts, my clean-shaved smooth pussy, my wide hips, my thick thighs, my bare ass — everything was uncovered and available only for his eyes. The foul taste of Arjun’s saliva was still thick on my tongue, the memory of his hard cock rubbing against me was still fresh on my skin, but here, inside our bedroom, I belonged only to my husband.

I took both of his hands and placed them on my breasts, pressing his palms firmly into the soft, heavy weight so he could feel their warmth and shape.
“I belong to you,” I told him, looking straight into his eyes.
“Only you. Not him. Never him. My body is yours alone.”
I leaned forward and kissed him — slowly and deeply — wanting to replace the rotten taste of Arjun’s mouth with the familiar, clean taste of my husband’s. I kissed him for a long time, letting my tongue move gently against his, giving him the softness that had been forced from me earlier.

Then I knelt on the mat in front of him. I opened his pants with both hands, freed his cock, and wrapped my fingers around it. I stroked him slowly for a few moments before leaning down and taking him into my mouth. I sucked him with care and attention, using my tongue along the underside, taking him as deep as I could, letting my lips stay tight around his cock. I wanted him to feel that this mouth — which only a short while ago had been forced to fill with another man’s filthy saliva — was now willingly, lovingly giving pleasure only to him. I looked up into his face while I sucked, letting him see the truth in my eyes, and continued until he was fully hard and wet from my mouth.
I guided him down onto his back on the mat. I climbed over him, straddled his hips, and took his cock in my hand. I rubbed the head slowly between the soft, clean-shaved lips of my pussy, wetting him with my own moisture, before I lowered myself onto him inch by inch. I took him inside me slowly, feeling every part of him stretch and fill me, until I was sitting fully on his cock and he was buried to the root in my pussy.
I rested there for a long moment, letting him feel how wet and open and willing I was for him, before I began to move.

I rose and fell in long, deliberate strokes. I rolled my hips in slow, deep circles so he could feel every part of my inner walls rubbing against him. My heavy breasts swayed and bounced gently with the movement. I took his hands and guided them over my body — first to my breasts so he could squeeze and hold their weight, then down my waist, then to my ass cheeks so he could grip them and feel them move as I rode him. I moaned softly for him, real sounds of pleasure, giving him freely what Arjun could only take by force and threat.
“You feel so good inside me,” I whispered as I moved on him, my voice low and steady.
“This is yours. Only yours. I am yours.”
I stayed with him as long as he needed, never rushing. When he wanted to change position I let him without any hesitation. I lay on my back and opened my thighs wide for him, pulling my knees up so he could get between them and thrust down into me as deeply as he wanted. I felt his weight settle over me, his cock driving in and out of my clean-shaved pussy, and I wrapped my arms and legs around him, holding him close. Later I turned onto my hands and knees so he could take me from behind. He gripped my hips and then reached under to hold my heavy breasts while he fucked me with stronger strokes. I pushed back to meet him each time, giving him everything.
I let him lift my legs over his shoulders and go even deeper. I let him hold my wrists down if he needed to feel in control again. Each time he moved inside me I reminded him with my body and my voice that I was giving this freely — that the man at the river could only take by force, by threat, by making me swallow his filthy saliva in front of my husband, but here in our bedroom I belonged completely and only to him.
When he finally came, I held him tightly inside me. My legs wrapped around his waist, my arms around his back, my face pressed against the side of his neck. I kept him buried deep while his cock pulsed and flooded my pussy with his cum. I stroked his hair and kissed his shoulder and the side of his face, staying joined with him until his breathing slowly calmed.
“I am yours,” I whispered against his skin, over and over.
“Only yours. Always. No one else.”
Even after that, the helpless jealousy and the memory of what he had been forced to watch did not fully leave his eyes. But for a little while, with my naked body wrapped around his, his cock still soft and wet inside me, and his cum warm and deep in my pussy, he could feel again that I still belonged only to him. And I made sure he felt it with every part of me — my mouth, my breasts, my clean-shaved pussy, and the soft, repeated words I kept giving him until he finally closed his eyes and rested against me.


There was one thing about Arjun that was different from the other sand smugglers, and it was the only thing I ever liked about him.
The other men simply took what they wanted. When they desired a woman they had claimed, they grabbed her on the river path, dragged her into the thick bushes or behind the large trees, pushed her down onto the earth, and forced their cocks into her. They enjoyed the struggle. They liked holding a woman’s wrists above her head, pulling her panties aside, and thrusting into her while she cried and begged. The resistance was part of their pleasure. Arjun was not like that with me.
He made it clear, again and again, that he did not want to force his cock inside my body.
He wanted me to give myself to him.
After the days of crushing me against his bare, stinking chest, after the long wet kisses that filled my mouth with his sour, filthy saliva, after he had beaten my husband bloody and made me kiss him back under the threat of more violence, Arjun began to speak about it directly. He would pull me tightly against his shirtless body on the river path, his thick arms locked around my waist, the hard, heavy shape of his cock pressing firmly against my lower stomach through his black shorts and my saree, and he would tell me exactly what he wanted in that rough, low voice while his foul breath washed over my face.
“I can take you whenever I want,” he said one afternoon, rubbing his hard cock slowly against me in deliberate circles as he spoke.
“I am stronger than you. Your husband is already broken and afraid. I can drag you behind those trees right now, pull your panties down, and fuck your pussy until I fill it. No one will stop me.”
His hand slid down and openly squeezed my ass through the saree while he continued grinding against me.
“But that is not what I want from you, Sudha. I don’t want to hold you down and force my cock into a woman who is only fighting me. That kind of fucking is easy. I have done it before.”
He pressed his forehead against the side of my head, his thick, sweaty chest crushing my heavy breasts, and spoke more slowly, making sure I felt every word.
“I want you to come to me on your own. I want you to walk into the bushes with me without me dragging you. I want you to stand in front of me and remove your saree yourself. I want you to unhook your blouse and your bra and show me your heavy breasts because you have decided to. I want you to push your petticoat and your panties down and step out of them. I want you to lie down on the earth, open your thighs, and offer me your clean-shaved pussy.”
His hips kept moving, the thick length of his cock rubbing insistently against me as he described it.
“When I finally push inside you, I want to feel a woman who is giving herself to me. I want your legs to open willingly. I want your pussy to take my cock without me having to force it in. I want to enjoy you properly… slowly… deeply… knowing that you chose to give me your body. That is the fucking I am waiting for.”
I hated him.
I hated the dark, ugly face, the small hard eyes, the thick filthy mouth that had forced so much sour saliva into mine. I hated the strong sour smell of his sweat that clung to my blouse and my skin after every hug. I hated the way he had humiliated my husband and made me powerless in front of him. And yet, in the middle of all that deep hatred, there was a small, unwilling respect for this one boundary he had set and refused to cross.
He could have dragged me into the bushes on any day, the way the other smugglers did with their women. He had the strength, the power, and the complete absence of fear. But he chose not to. He was waiting for a different kind of breaking — not the breaking that comes from being held down and forced open, but the slower, heavier breaking that comes when a woman finally stops fighting and places her own body in a man’s hands.
That was the only thing I liked about him.
It made the danger quieter and far more dangerous at the same time. The other women were simply taken, used, and sent home. I was being patiently prepared. Every time Arjun crushed me against his bare chest and rubbed his hard cock against me, every time he filled my mouth with his filthy saliva and made me swallow it in front of my husband, every time he forced me to kiss him back under the threat of more violence, it was all part of the same purpose. He was not only enjoying small pieces of my body. He was waiting for the day I would stop resisting completely and give him everything myself — my breasts, my mouth, my clean-shaved pussy, my submission — freely and without him having to force a single thrust.
And both of us knew that day was coming closer.
I could feel it in the way he held me a little longer each time.
I could feel it in the growing hardness of his cock against my stomach.
I could feel it in my own exhausted, fraying will.
Arjun was waiting for me to offer myself.
And the worst part was that a dark, tired part of me already understood he would not have to wait forever.