19-09-2026, 09:13 PM
He slept on me in that complete embrace and I spoke into his neck with my breasts under his chest and his cock still wet against my pussy, the blindfold still on, Market Ravi’s weight still holding the last of the cot in place.
“I came to ask your help because I wanted you to kill Santosh or beat him until he could not stand, he is my husband’s cousin, and I offered myself for that and I let you fuck me for that on that cot, and now karma has taken him, my curse and my family’s curse, a heart attack, brought dead, and I did not even have to ask you to lift your hand.” I said.
Delight went through me in two places at once and I did not put either of them into my mouth. I was delighted Santosh was dead and I was delighted Market Ravi had satisfied me completely, and the two delights sat in my belly together, warm and wrong, and I kissed the sweat on his neck because I could not keep still under them.
“I have never been taken like that, your cock was worth this room and worth the blindfold and worth coming inside me on that cot after I said no, I enjoyed myself, I came on you, and I would have paid this price even if he was still breathing, that is how much you were worth doing on that cot.” I said.
I hugged him tighter and rubbed my cheek on his while the blindfold kept his face from me, and Market Ravi held me heavy with his cock still wet against my pussy and I took the silence as listening.
He spoke at last, the voice going into my neck, low and satisfied.
“I enjoyed fucking you on that cot, your pussy and your breasts and the way you surrendered when I would not pull out, you were worth the wait and you were worth every minute on that cot, I have not enjoyed a woman like this.” Market Ravi said.
He pulled me up from that cot and dressed me. He put my maroon panties at my feet and I stepped in, and he drew them up my thighs and over my ass until the waistband settled on my hips with his cum still wet inside them. Then he found my white bra and put my arms through the bra straps and closed the front hooks over my breasts, then tied my white petticoat at my waist with the string low below my navel, then held my yellow blouse while I pushed my arms into the sleeves and closed the front hooks between my breasts, then gave me my yellow chiffon saree. I tucked it myself with the pleats at my waist and the pallu on my shoulder, my fingers shaking.
“Come.” Market Ravi said.
The blindfold stayed on and his hand took my elbow and I went with him through the small slum house with his enjoyment still in my body and his cum still inside the maroon panties. He opened the door and the lane air touched my face, and that was when his hand changed on my waist.
He got hard against my hip while the door was still open. He turned me into the frame and kissed my lips through the dark of the blindfold, hungry again, as if that cot had not finished him. His hand went under the yellow chiffon saree and lifted it along with the white petticoat, the low string sliding, and then that same hand slid inside the maroon panties, palm against my wetness, and his fingers found my pussy and moved in and out while the maroon panties stayed on me.
I did not hold back. I opened my mouth to the kiss and rolled my hips onto his hand shamelessly, enjoying every stroke of his fingers inside the maroon panties, the wet sound, the pressure on my clit, the way the yellow chiffon saree and the white petticoat stayed bunched at my waist so he could have me in the doorway. Heat gathered low and I chased it, shameless, my thighs open around his wrist, my tongue in his mouth, my body asking for more instead of hiding from it.
“Ravi… I am close… don’t stop… I am enjoying it… ah…” I said against his mouth.
He did not stop. He kept his fingers in my pussy inside the maroon panties through the kiss until I came on his hand, shaking in the doorway, enjoying the coming as openly as I had enjoyed the fingers, the moan breaking into his lips so the lane would not take all of it.
“Ah… I am coming… mm… ah…” I said.
He worked me through the after-waves inside the maroon panties and kept kissing my lips. His mouth left mine only long enough to whisper against it.
“My lips are filthy, my mouth is filthy from your pussy on that cot, you don’t have to kiss me now.” Market Ravi said.
“I don’t mind, I don’t mind a filthy mouth, I still want it.” I said, and I kissed his filthy mouth anyway, open, shameless, tasting whatever of me was still on him after I had come on his hand.
I found his ear with my mouth, still shaking, still kissing back toward his jaw, and whispered into it.
“I love you. I will come back. I will come back to that cot, I will come back to your hand, don’t think this doorway is the last time.” I said.
He drew his hand out and pulled the maroon panties down my thighs. I stepped out of them because my legs had no argument left. He put the maroon panties away.
“These stay with me, a souvenir from that cot, they are sweaty from you and wet from me and that is what I want.” Market Ravi said.
“Okay, keep them, you can keep them if that is what you want.” I said.
The yellow chiffon saree fell back around my legs and the white petticoat sat bare against my pussy. His hand left my elbow and another hand took it. I felt handed over, finished with, kissed and brought off inside the maroon panties at the door and then given to the auto driver after that cot.
The auto driver took me through the narrow lane with the blindfold still on, my yellow chiffon saree tucked, my yellow blouse closed, no maroon panties under the white petticoat, my body still twitching from those fingers, the whisper still in that other ear, that filthy taste still on my mouth. The lane was uneven under my slippers. Someone’s radio leaked from a window. A dog went past my ankle. He held my elbow and walked me between the brick walls and the hanging wires until the heat of the auto’s metal reached my hand.
He helped me in.
His right hand went between my ass crack over the yellow chiffon saree and the white petticoat, the press sudden and too familiar through both layers, and I moved uncomfortably, twisting my hips away from that right hand, and sat down quickly on the seat with the bag near my feet and the white petticoat bare against my pussy and my face hot under the blindfold.
Then the auto driver pulled the blindfold off my eyes.
Afternoon light hurt. I blinked and saw the narrow lane again, and the ugly strict face in front of me, and my own yellow chiffon saree sitting on my lap as if nothing in that house had happened except a ride home.
The auto driver started the auto and the narrow lane began to move under us. I sat with the bag near my feet and the yellow chiffon saree tucked and the yellow blouse closed and no maroon panties under the white petticoat, afternoon light still sharp after the blindfold, his ugly strict face in the front seat as if he had only been waiting outside that slum house the whole time.
He talked like a caring brother.
“Sit properly, Sudha, the road is broken here, hold the bar, you have had a long afternoon, I will put you down at your gate, don’t worry, I am here, nothing will happen to you in my auto.” the auto driver said.
The words were kind. The voice was not.
It went into my ear and the cot came back with it, not as a memory I had chosen, as a slap. That low satisfied mouth against my neck. I enjoyed fucking you on that cot. That whisper against my lips. My mouth is filthy from your pussy. I told myself a brother’s voice could sit near another man’s. I told myself the dark had mixed them. I told myself I was tired and full of delight and that was why the front seat sounded like the man who had just sent me out.
Then he said my name again, softer, the way Market Ravi had said it when he told me to come, and the lie I had been living in since the door opened cracked down the middle.
I looked at him.
Not at his face first. At his hands on the steering. The same thickness that had tied the white petticoat below my navel. The same right hand that had gone between my ass crack over the yellow chiffon saree when he helped me in. A caring brother does not know a woman’s waist like that.
My eyes dropped to his pant pocket.
A maroon edge was peeking out.
Not a rag. Not a cloth. My maroon panties. Still folded the way they had been pulled off my thighs in that doorway. Still dark where they were wet. The souvenir I had said okay to. The souvenir Market Ravi had pressed into his fist and put away.
Market Ravi had not put them away.
The man driving had.
The shock did not come as a thought. It came as a fall. There was no second man behind that slum-house door. There was no Market Ravi sending me out. There was no brother waiting in the lane. This ugly bastard had taken me in under a blindfold, fucked me on that cot, come inside me, lifted my yellow chiffon saree and my white petticoat at the door, put his hand inside my maroon panties, made me come, let me kiss his filthy mouth, let me whisper I love you into his ear, let me promise I would come back, and then he had walked me through the narrow lane talking like family and sat down in his own auto with my maroon panties in his pant pocket like proof he had stolen a whole woman and she had thanked him for it.
I did not say a word.
If he found out I had caught him he could harm me. The lane was still his. The auto was still his. I kept my face turned to the passing walls and held the yellow chiffon saree at my knee until my fingers hurt, and I let him talk like a brother while the maroon edge in his pant pocket kept flashing the truth I could not swallow.
Embarrassment sat in me heavier than the delight had. I had let this ugly bastard fuck me on that cot. I was more ashamed that I had enjoyed it, shamelessly, that I had come on his fingers in the doorway, that I had told him I loved him and that I would come back. The white petticoat sat bare against my pussy and his cum was still in me and I could not even pull the truth up into my mouth.
I waited.
I waited through every turning until our house came into view, patient, quiet, the curse sitting behind my teeth. The moment the auto reached our house I got down and went inside without looking at his face again, walking quickly, quietly, cursing myself for being this dumb, for trusting a voice in the dark, for saying okay to the maroon panties, for whispering love into the ear of the man who had only been driving me home.
The auto reached our house and I got down before it had fully settled. I took five hundred rupees from the bag and put them in his hand without lifting my eyes to that ugly strict face, the yellow chiffon saree already pulled around me as if it could hide the bare white petticoat and what he had left inside me.
“Wait, Sudha, listen, I have not finished—” the auto driver said.
I turned then, only enough, and spat on his face.
“Get out. Take the five hundred and get out of this street and don’t stand at my gate, don’t say my name, get out.” I said.
I opened the gate and went in and I did not look back. The house took me the way a locked room takes a woman who has been too long in a lane. I crossed the living room and went into our bedroom and then into our bathroom and shut the door and only then did my hands start their work. I pulled the yellow chiffon saree off my body and let it fall. I opened the yellow blouse and took it off. I opened the white bra and took it off. I untied the white petticoat from below my navel and let that fall too, and then I was naked in my own bathroom with his cum still on my thighs and the doorway and the cot and the maroon panties in his pant pocket all standing on my skin.
I stood under the shower and turned it hard and angry. Water hit my breasts and my belly and ran down between my legs and I scrubbed as if heat could take a man’s name off a body. I cursed myself under the water, dumb, stupid, cheap in my own mouth, a married woman who had offered herself in a slum house, who had come on a stranger’s fingers at an open door, who had kissed a filthy mouth and whispered love into an ear that belonged to an auto driver, who had said okay to her own maroon panties and then sat in his auto like a fool while the proof peeked from his pocket. I cursed the blindfold. I cursed the delight. I cursed the moment I had said I would come back. The water went from hot to hotter and I stayed in it until my skin hurt and the cursing had no new words left.
I came out towelling myself and put on white panties and a white nighty over them, the cotton plain and clean, nothing yellow, nothing maroon, nothing from that lane. My hair was wet on my shoulders. My face was washed. I walked to the living room because I could not stay in the bathroom forever.
The front door opened and my husband came in with a happy smile I had not seen on him in months, the kind of smile that belongs to a man who has been released.
“Sudha, karma did it, our curse did it, Santosh is gone, he cannot stand in our life anymore, it is over.” my husband said.
For one breath the slum house tried to stand up inside me.
Then it fell.
I forgot the cot and the filthy mouth and the maroon edge in the pant pocket and the spit on that face and the angry shower. I forgot I had been cheated. I went to my husband and put my arms around him in the white nighty and held him the way a wife holds the only man she is supposed to hold, my wet hair on his shoulder, my face in his neck, and I let his happy smile come into me until there was no lane left in the room.
“It is over,” I said.
Soon the construction of our house was completed. We rented out all the four houses, and my husband’s younger brother settled on the fifth floor.
Regards
Novelist Casanova
“I came to ask your help because I wanted you to kill Santosh or beat him until he could not stand, he is my husband’s cousin, and I offered myself for that and I let you fuck me for that on that cot, and now karma has taken him, my curse and my family’s curse, a heart attack, brought dead, and I did not even have to ask you to lift your hand.” I said.
Delight went through me in two places at once and I did not put either of them into my mouth. I was delighted Santosh was dead and I was delighted Market Ravi had satisfied me completely, and the two delights sat in my belly together, warm and wrong, and I kissed the sweat on his neck because I could not keep still under them.
“I have never been taken like that, your cock was worth this room and worth the blindfold and worth coming inside me on that cot after I said no, I enjoyed myself, I came on you, and I would have paid this price even if he was still breathing, that is how much you were worth doing on that cot.” I said.
I hugged him tighter and rubbed my cheek on his while the blindfold kept his face from me, and Market Ravi held me heavy with his cock still wet against my pussy and I took the silence as listening.
He spoke at last, the voice going into my neck, low and satisfied.
“I enjoyed fucking you on that cot, your pussy and your breasts and the way you surrendered when I would not pull out, you were worth the wait and you were worth every minute on that cot, I have not enjoyed a woman like this.” Market Ravi said.
He pulled me up from that cot and dressed me. He put my maroon panties at my feet and I stepped in, and he drew them up my thighs and over my ass until the waistband settled on my hips with his cum still wet inside them. Then he found my white bra and put my arms through the bra straps and closed the front hooks over my breasts, then tied my white petticoat at my waist with the string low below my navel, then held my yellow blouse while I pushed my arms into the sleeves and closed the front hooks between my breasts, then gave me my yellow chiffon saree. I tucked it myself with the pleats at my waist and the pallu on my shoulder, my fingers shaking.
“Come.” Market Ravi said.
The blindfold stayed on and his hand took my elbow and I went with him through the small slum house with his enjoyment still in my body and his cum still inside the maroon panties. He opened the door and the lane air touched my face, and that was when his hand changed on my waist.
He got hard against my hip while the door was still open. He turned me into the frame and kissed my lips through the dark of the blindfold, hungry again, as if that cot had not finished him. His hand went under the yellow chiffon saree and lifted it along with the white petticoat, the low string sliding, and then that same hand slid inside the maroon panties, palm against my wetness, and his fingers found my pussy and moved in and out while the maroon panties stayed on me.
I did not hold back. I opened my mouth to the kiss and rolled my hips onto his hand shamelessly, enjoying every stroke of his fingers inside the maroon panties, the wet sound, the pressure on my clit, the way the yellow chiffon saree and the white petticoat stayed bunched at my waist so he could have me in the doorway. Heat gathered low and I chased it, shameless, my thighs open around his wrist, my tongue in his mouth, my body asking for more instead of hiding from it.
“Ravi… I am close… don’t stop… I am enjoying it… ah…” I said against his mouth.
He did not stop. He kept his fingers in my pussy inside the maroon panties through the kiss until I came on his hand, shaking in the doorway, enjoying the coming as openly as I had enjoyed the fingers, the moan breaking into his lips so the lane would not take all of it.
“Ah… I am coming… mm… ah…” I said.
He worked me through the after-waves inside the maroon panties and kept kissing my lips. His mouth left mine only long enough to whisper against it.
“My lips are filthy, my mouth is filthy from your pussy on that cot, you don’t have to kiss me now.” Market Ravi said.
“I don’t mind, I don’t mind a filthy mouth, I still want it.” I said, and I kissed his filthy mouth anyway, open, shameless, tasting whatever of me was still on him after I had come on his hand.
I found his ear with my mouth, still shaking, still kissing back toward his jaw, and whispered into it.
“I love you. I will come back. I will come back to that cot, I will come back to your hand, don’t think this doorway is the last time.” I said.
He drew his hand out and pulled the maroon panties down my thighs. I stepped out of them because my legs had no argument left. He put the maroon panties away.
“These stay with me, a souvenir from that cot, they are sweaty from you and wet from me and that is what I want.” Market Ravi said.
“Okay, keep them, you can keep them if that is what you want.” I said.
The yellow chiffon saree fell back around my legs and the white petticoat sat bare against my pussy. His hand left my elbow and another hand took it. I felt handed over, finished with, kissed and brought off inside the maroon panties at the door and then given to the auto driver after that cot.
The auto driver took me through the narrow lane with the blindfold still on, my yellow chiffon saree tucked, my yellow blouse closed, no maroon panties under the white petticoat, my body still twitching from those fingers, the whisper still in that other ear, that filthy taste still on my mouth. The lane was uneven under my slippers. Someone’s radio leaked from a window. A dog went past my ankle. He held my elbow and walked me between the brick walls and the hanging wires until the heat of the auto’s metal reached my hand.
He helped me in.
His right hand went between my ass crack over the yellow chiffon saree and the white petticoat, the press sudden and too familiar through both layers, and I moved uncomfortably, twisting my hips away from that right hand, and sat down quickly on the seat with the bag near my feet and the white petticoat bare against my pussy and my face hot under the blindfold.
Then the auto driver pulled the blindfold off my eyes.
Afternoon light hurt. I blinked and saw the narrow lane again, and the ugly strict face in front of me, and my own yellow chiffon saree sitting on my lap as if nothing in that house had happened except a ride home.
The auto driver started the auto and the narrow lane began to move under us. I sat with the bag near my feet and the yellow chiffon saree tucked and the yellow blouse closed and no maroon panties under the white petticoat, afternoon light still sharp after the blindfold, his ugly strict face in the front seat as if he had only been waiting outside that slum house the whole time.
He talked like a caring brother.
“Sit properly, Sudha, the road is broken here, hold the bar, you have had a long afternoon, I will put you down at your gate, don’t worry, I am here, nothing will happen to you in my auto.” the auto driver said.
The words were kind. The voice was not.
It went into my ear and the cot came back with it, not as a memory I had chosen, as a slap. That low satisfied mouth against my neck. I enjoyed fucking you on that cot. That whisper against my lips. My mouth is filthy from your pussy. I told myself a brother’s voice could sit near another man’s. I told myself the dark had mixed them. I told myself I was tired and full of delight and that was why the front seat sounded like the man who had just sent me out.
Then he said my name again, softer, the way Market Ravi had said it when he told me to come, and the lie I had been living in since the door opened cracked down the middle.
I looked at him.
Not at his face first. At his hands on the steering. The same thickness that had tied the white petticoat below my navel. The same right hand that had gone between my ass crack over the yellow chiffon saree when he helped me in. A caring brother does not know a woman’s waist like that.
My eyes dropped to his pant pocket.
A maroon edge was peeking out.
Not a rag. Not a cloth. My maroon panties. Still folded the way they had been pulled off my thighs in that doorway. Still dark where they were wet. The souvenir I had said okay to. The souvenir Market Ravi had pressed into his fist and put away.
Market Ravi had not put them away.
The man driving had.
The shock did not come as a thought. It came as a fall. There was no second man behind that slum-house door. There was no Market Ravi sending me out. There was no brother waiting in the lane. This ugly bastard had taken me in under a blindfold, fucked me on that cot, come inside me, lifted my yellow chiffon saree and my white petticoat at the door, put his hand inside my maroon panties, made me come, let me kiss his filthy mouth, let me whisper I love you into his ear, let me promise I would come back, and then he had walked me through the narrow lane talking like family and sat down in his own auto with my maroon panties in his pant pocket like proof he had stolen a whole woman and she had thanked him for it.
I did not say a word.
If he found out I had caught him he could harm me. The lane was still his. The auto was still his. I kept my face turned to the passing walls and held the yellow chiffon saree at my knee until my fingers hurt, and I let him talk like a brother while the maroon edge in his pant pocket kept flashing the truth I could not swallow.
Embarrassment sat in me heavier than the delight had. I had let this ugly bastard fuck me on that cot. I was more ashamed that I had enjoyed it, shamelessly, that I had come on his fingers in the doorway, that I had told him I loved him and that I would come back. The white petticoat sat bare against my pussy and his cum was still in me and I could not even pull the truth up into my mouth.
I waited.
I waited through every turning until our house came into view, patient, quiet, the curse sitting behind my teeth. The moment the auto reached our house I got down and went inside without looking at his face again, walking quickly, quietly, cursing myself for being this dumb, for trusting a voice in the dark, for saying okay to the maroon panties, for whispering love into the ear of the man who had only been driving me home.
The auto reached our house and I got down before it had fully settled. I took five hundred rupees from the bag and put them in his hand without lifting my eyes to that ugly strict face, the yellow chiffon saree already pulled around me as if it could hide the bare white petticoat and what he had left inside me.
“Wait, Sudha, listen, I have not finished—” the auto driver said.
I turned then, only enough, and spat on his face.
“Get out. Take the five hundred and get out of this street and don’t stand at my gate, don’t say my name, get out.” I said.
I opened the gate and went in and I did not look back. The house took me the way a locked room takes a woman who has been too long in a lane. I crossed the living room and went into our bedroom and then into our bathroom and shut the door and only then did my hands start their work. I pulled the yellow chiffon saree off my body and let it fall. I opened the yellow blouse and took it off. I opened the white bra and took it off. I untied the white petticoat from below my navel and let that fall too, and then I was naked in my own bathroom with his cum still on my thighs and the doorway and the cot and the maroon panties in his pant pocket all standing on my skin.
I stood under the shower and turned it hard and angry. Water hit my breasts and my belly and ran down between my legs and I scrubbed as if heat could take a man’s name off a body. I cursed myself under the water, dumb, stupid, cheap in my own mouth, a married woman who had offered herself in a slum house, who had come on a stranger’s fingers at an open door, who had kissed a filthy mouth and whispered love into an ear that belonged to an auto driver, who had said okay to her own maroon panties and then sat in his auto like a fool while the proof peeked from his pocket. I cursed the blindfold. I cursed the delight. I cursed the moment I had said I would come back. The water went from hot to hotter and I stayed in it until my skin hurt and the cursing had no new words left.
I came out towelling myself and put on white panties and a white nighty over them, the cotton plain and clean, nothing yellow, nothing maroon, nothing from that lane. My hair was wet on my shoulders. My face was washed. I walked to the living room because I could not stay in the bathroom forever.
The front door opened and my husband came in with a happy smile I had not seen on him in months, the kind of smile that belongs to a man who has been released.
“Sudha, karma did it, our curse did it, Santosh is gone, he cannot stand in our life anymore, it is over.” my husband said.
For one breath the slum house tried to stand up inside me.
Then it fell.
I forgot the cot and the filthy mouth and the maroon edge in the pant pocket and the spit on that face and the angry shower. I forgot I had been cheated. I went to my husband and put my arms around him in the white nighty and held him the way a wife holds the only man she is supposed to hold, my wet hair on his shoulder, my face in his neck, and I let his happy smile come into me until there was no lane left in the room.
“It is over,” I said.
Soon the construction of our house was completed. We rented out all the four houses, and my husband’s younger brother settled on the fifth floor.
The End
Regards
Novelist Casanova
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