Misc. Erotica Sudha Sweet Stall (COMPLETED) - By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

The whole day we were sad. The shutter of Sudha Sweet Stall stayed down on the ground floor and the basement under it stayed empty, the vessels cold, the steps quiet, no 10 AM walk, no trays coming up, no customers on the road. My husband sat on the first floor and did not go to the counter. He sat at the dining table and he sat on the cot and he looked at the window that opened toward the road and he did not count notes because there were almost no notes to count. The three sons moved quietly between the second and third and fourth floors, coming down for food and going back up, their voices smaller than they used to be when the stall was number one.

After I came up from the basement I had put on another pair of panties under the pink petticoat so I could walk the first floor in the pink chiffon saree, the pink blouse, the white bra, the mangalsutra on my chest, and I kept my face the same. I went to the kitchen and I cooked lunch, rice and sambar and a little pickle, my hands on the vessels, my gold bangles sounding, and I served them at the dining table as if this were any other day. I put the rice on the plates. I poured the sambar. I set the water. I sat with them and I told the boys to eat and I told my husband to eat, and under that ordinary talk I waited.
“Eat, the rice is hot, do not sit looking at the window, we will open when we open, now eat,” I said, keeping my thighs together under the pink saree.
In the afternoon I made coffee and I served it to my husband on the first floor, the cup in his hands, his eyes still on the road, Mary Sweets still open opposite us, and I sat near him and I did not speak about last night and I did not speak about the auto and I did not speak about the empty basement. In the evening I served a small dinner, the same plates, the same dining table, the four floors of the beautiful house sitting over a stall that was not working, and after the three sons went back to their floors I washed the vessels and I wiped the table and I settled the hall.
At night I took off the pink chiffon saree and I took off the pink blouse and I took off the pink petticoat and I took off the white bra. I put my thumbs in my panties and I pulled them down over my ass and over my shaved pussy and over my thighs and I dropped them with the rest. I put on my nighty. The nighty fell over my heavy breasts and over my waist and over my hips and over my ass, my shaved pussy bare under it, my nipples against the nighty, my long black hair down my back. I lay on the cot on the first floor beside my husband and I pulled the sheet to my waist and I closed my eyes and I pretended to sleep with no panties on, the gold anklets off, the earrings off, the perfume faded, the closed stall below us, the other shutter still open across the road, and tomorrow already sitting in my chest while his breath went slow beside me.






The phone buzzed under the pillow. I opened my eyes on the first floor in the dark, my husband still asleep beside me, his breath slow, the three sons still on the second and third and fourth floors. I slid my hand under the pillow and I took the phone and I got off the cot without shaking it. The nighty moved over my breasts and over my hips, my shaved pussy bare under it, my feet quiet on the floor, and I went to the balcony and I shut the door behind me so the house would stay asleep.
“Watch and enjoy,” Ranga said.
I stood at the balcony in my nighty with the phone against my ear and I looked across the road. Mary Sweets was already burning, quietly, no crowd yet, no shouting, no one on the pavement noticing, only a low fire eating the inside behind the shutter and a thin smoke going up. I held the railing and I watched and I enjoyed it. I was so happy I had to press my lips together. The shop that had taken our road was going while my husband slept on the cot behind the door. The laugh was going. The rumours were going. Justice was sitting on the other side of the street and nobody had even turned their head. My nipples were tight under the nighty. My shaved pussy was bare under it. My face stayed still and inside I was glad.
While I was still enjoying the burning, his voice came again.
“Now come down to the basement and let me inside, you said after, I am at the door, come,” Ranga said.
“I am coming, I will let you inside, I am coming now,” I said, and I locked the phone.
I looked once more at the quiet fire across the road, then I turned from the railing in my nighty and I walked back through the first floor, past my husband sleeping on the cot, past the dining table, down the stairs, toward the empty basement door.


I left the balcony and I crossed the first floor on the balls of my feet, one step, then another, tiptoeing slowly so the wood would not speak, so the cot would not move, so my husband would not open his eyes and see me in the nighty going toward the stairs. His breath stayed slow on the pillow. His shoulder stayed under the sheet. The dining table sat in the dark with the day’s plates already washed. I held the hem of the nighty at my thigh so it would not brush the chairs, my shaved pussy bare under it, my heavy breasts moving with each careful step, my nipples tight from the night and from what was waiting below, and I reached the top of the stairs and I went down them one by one.
Each step took me farther from the cot and closer to the empty basement. I was happy. I was delighted. I was victorious. The quiet fire was still in my head, the other shutter dying across the road while nobody on the pavement had even turned, the laugh going with the smoke, the rumours going with the smoke, the name on our shutter already alive again in my chest. My gold anklets were off. My earrings were off. Only the nighty was on me. Only the mangalsutra was on my chest. My long black hair hung down my back and I gathered it once with one hand so it would not catch on the railing.
At the bottom the basement air met me, cooler, thicker, the old smell of sugar and ghee still sitting in the dark even though the stoves were cold and the vessels were silent and the five workers were long gone. I stood still until my eyes found the shapes of the trays and the steps that used to bring sweets up to the ground floor. Then I took the phone out of my palm and I called Ranga, my mouth close to the phone, my voice almost a whisper so it would not climb the stairs.
“Come from the back door of the basement, not the road, not the ground floor, the back door, I am inside, I will let you in,” I said.
“I am coming, open it, wait there,” Ranga said.
I walked through the empty basement toward the back door, past the cold vessels, past the place where I used to pull the saree low on my hips at 10 AM so the workers could look, past the place where I had given him the filthy kiss and my grey panties that morning. My nighty whispered against my ass and against my thighs. My shaved pussy felt the air. My breasts felt the nighty. I put my hand on the latch of the back door and I did not open it yet. I waited for him there, excited and happy, my palm damp on the metal, my breath short, my nipples pushing the nighty, my clit already tight from the fire and from the deal and from the man who was about to walk through that door. I did not go up. I did not check the cot again. I stood in the empty basement, victorious, the quiet burning still on the other side of the road, and I waited for the back door to take the rest of the price.


The back door opened and Ranga came into the empty basement, the same ugly scary face from the auto, dark in the low light, his shoulders filling the doorway, the smell of the road still on him, and he held out his phone between us before he even touched the nighty.
“Look, you watch this, this is what you asked, look properly,” Ranga said.
I stepped closer in my nighty, my bare feet on the basement floor, my heavy breasts moving under the nighty, my shaved pussy bare, and I looked at the small screen. The video was inside Mary Sweets after the quiet fire. Santosh’s dead body lay on the floor of his own shop, charred black from head to foot, the face gone, the mouth open in that cooked shape, the hands drawn up and stiff and cracked, the whole body ruined and stuck where he used to stand and laugh at my husband and laugh at me. I watched the first seconds and my breath went short and happy.
While I was watching, Ranga came behind me and started hugging me from behind. His arms went around my waist over the nighty, wrapping me, hugging my 28 waist, his chest pressing my back, his mouth coming into my long black hair, his cock already hard against my ass through the nighty, the head of it rubbing the line of my ass as he hugged me tighter so I had to stay on the phone. My breasts rested on his forearms. My nipples tightened against the nighty. My shaved pussy warmed and opened a little as if the video and the hugging were one thing.
“It was all for you, this body, this shop, I did it for you, you watch, you do not look away,” Ranga said, hugging me, speaking into my hair.
I turned my head to the right, my cheek toward his ugly face, my full lips near his thick lips, my neck open to his mouth, and I thanked him and I went back to the screen and I kept watching and I kept enjoying. His hugging pulled my ass back onto his cock. The nighty was a thin thing between my ass cheeks and him. I could feel how hard he was. I could feel my clit pulse each time the video showed the black body on the shop floor. I was so happy I had to keep both hands on the phone so I would not moan up the stairs. I was delighted. I was proud of Ranga. Proud that this dark ugly man was hugging me in my own basement while the man who had humiliated us was only a burnt shape on a screen.
“Thank you, I am proud, I am happy, this is what I wanted, I will not forget this, you hug me, I am watching,” I said, my voice still low, my mouth turned to the right, my eyes still on the charred body, my breasts rising and falling on his arms.
He whispered against my neck, his thick lips brushing me, his breath hot, still hugging me from behind, his cock dragging slowly against my ass as he spoke.
“After that kiss I was desperate, after your mouth in this same basement, after your panties in my hand, I wanted to do this for you and I wanted to enjoy you after, I finished him so I could have you tonight in this nighty, you keep watching, then I take you, I have been hard since the auto,” Ranga said.
I watched the video until the end, hugging back against him without putting my arms around him, only pressing my ass and my waist into his hugging, my shaved pussy dripping down my inner thigh, my nipples scbangd by the nighty, my full lips open, the empty vessels around us, my husband asleep above, and the price I had promised already rubbing my ass in the dark while Santosh’s dead body stayed locked on the phone.


He did not lock the phone. He opened the video again and we rewatched it in the empty basement, the small screen lighting my nighty and lighting his ugly face over my right shoulder. The charred body filled the picture a second time, black and stiff on the floor of Mary Sweets, the mouth open, the hands drawn up. I watched and I enjoyed it again. My happiness was already making me horny. The justice in my chest went down into my nipples and into my shaved pussy and I stood in the nighty getting wet from how glad I was.
Ranga stepped back only enough to take his clothes off. He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the basement floor. He opened his trousers and pushed them down with his underwear and stepped out of them and then he was naked behind me, dark, ugly the way I had wondered on the cot, his cock hard before it found my ass through the nighty. He came back against me naked.
Only after that his left hand came up over the nighty and grabbed my left breast, the whole breast in his palm, the nipple caught through the nighty. His right hand lifted the nighty up over my hips and over my ass until it sat bunched at my waist, and he grabbed my shaved pussy and just held it, his whole palm covering my pussy and my clit, not rubbing yet, only holding while we looked at the video.
“He cried like a coward, he begged to spare his life, he said please, he said he would close the shop himself,” Ranga said, his mouth at my right ear, his palm owning my pussy.
The more he talked about how Santosh suffered, the happier I got, and the happier I got the hornier I got, and his hand holding my pussy made both things worse. My clit swelled against his palm. My wetness sat on his fingers. I smiled to the right.
“I did not spare him, he screamed, he called for help, nobody came, you are looking at what is left,” Ranga said, squeezing my left breast, still only holding my pussy.
More talk. More happiness. More horny. I giggled into my throat so it would not climb the stairs. My inner thighs opened a little so he could hold more of me. My ass rubbed back on his naked cock by itself. I turned my face to the right and looked at him and smiled, delighted, shaky, my full lips open.
“I am so happy,” I said, and I went back to the screen, his left hand on my breast, his right hand holding my pussy, his words about Santosh’s suffering pushing more happiness into me and that happiness pushing more wetness into his palm while the dead body played again on the phone.


He thumbed the video forward to another part and held the phone in front of my face while his right hand stayed on my shaved pussy and his left hand stayed on my left breast. The screen jumped to Santosh’s mouth, still a man’s mouth in that clip, not yet the black shape from the end.
“Here, listen to him,” Ranga said, close to my right ear. “Money, he is saying money, any amount, he will close the shop, he will leave the road. I did not take it. I beat the shit out of him anyway. You watch his face.”
On the phone the voice came small and broken, offering notes, offering the shutter, offering anything if they would stop. I watched that part and the happiness went through me again, down my chest, down into the pussy Ranga was holding. While I watched he slowly began playing with me, the holding turning into a slow rub, his fingers sliding through my wetness, his palm dragging on my clit, not rushing, just playing, as if the begging on the screen and my pussy were one thing. Each time Santosh offered money I got happier. Each time I got happier I got wetter. His fingers noticed. He did not say anything about that. He only played slower.
I decided to pleasure him for how he had punished Santosh. I put my right hand behind me, felt down his naked stomach, and found his cock against my ass. I grabbed it. It filled my fist, thick, hard, hot, the head already wet. I stroked it once, twice, and then I just held it and kept watching the phone, my breast in Ranga’s left hand, my pussy in his right, his cock in mine.
The upstairs was quiet. I took the phone from him and I placed it on the table beside a cold vessel, the video still playing, that begging still coming out of the speaker small and far. Then I turned around in his arms. The nighty stayed bunched at my waist. My heavy breasts came against his dark chest, nipples dragging on him. I held his cock between us with my right hand and I put my mouth on his filthy mouth.
His lips were wet and thick and already open. He spit into the kiss at once, not a little, a smear of it on my tongue and on my front teeth, the old smoke taste from the morning still in him, sour, heavy, and he pushed his tongue in as if my mouth was another pussy he had grabbed. I took it. I sucked his tongue. I let the spit run to the corner of my lips and down toward my chin. He licked that too, licked my chin, came back to my full lips and kissed me messier, panting into me, his teeth knocking mine, his hand still on my ass now that I had turned, my fist tight on his cock between our stomachs. The kiss made a wet sound in the basement. I was afraid the stairs would hear it. I still did not pull away. I kissed him filthier, I opened wider, I let him use my mouth the way he had used it for the advance, and only then I spoke into that spit.
“You did this,” I said against his mouth, my lips sliding on his. “I am so happy I don’t know what to do with it. Let me show you. Don’t talk for a minute.”
I went down on my knees on the basement floor. The concrete was cold under me. I gathered my long black hair with both hands and I put it in a ponytail so it would not fall over my face, pulling it tight at the back of my head, my breasts hanging forward in the bunched nighty, my mouth now level with his cock, his spit still on my lips, the phone still talking on the table, my husband still asleep above. I looked up at his ugly scary face, holding his cock at the base, and I waited one breath so the thank you would stay in my body and not become a speech.


I stayed on my knees on the mat on the basement floor. The mat was rough under my knees and under my shins, a small worn mat near the cold vessels, and I settled my weight on it so I would not slip. My nighty fell down over my hips and over my ass and spread around my knees, the hem touching the mat, my heavy breasts hanging forward inside the nighty, the nipples tight against it when I bent. Under the nighty my shaved pussy was bare and wet, my clit touching nothing but air, my inner thighs closed until I opened them a little to kneel properly.
I had pulled my long black hair into a ponytail with both hands before I came in front of him, pulling it tight at the back of my head so my face stayed open and the hair would not fall into my mouth. In front of me Ranga stood naked. His dark ugly body filled the space between the vessels. His cock stood thick and hard close to my mouth, the head already wet, a string of it shining, the smell of his cock mixing with the old sugar and ghee that never left the basement. I looked at his cock the way I had looked at the phone, happy, horny, thankful, my full lips already parted.
I brought my right hand up and I held his cock at the base. My fingers did not go all the way around. I felt him twitch in that grip, hot, heavy, the vein under my thumb. I leaned in until my mouth almost touched him and I kissed the head first, only a kiss, my full lips closing on the wet head, filthy from the spit still on my mouth from his kiss, leaving a shining mark on his cock. I kept the kiss there a second longer than a wife should keep a kiss on another man’s cock, and I tasted salt.
“Let me, you don’t talk, you just take it,” I said, my voice low so it would not climb the stairs to the cot.
He breathed out above me, a thick sound, and he moaned once, small, and his cock twitched again in my hand while I kept my lips on the head and got ready to open.


I opened my mouth the way I open for a kiss and I took the head of his cock in. The head was thicker than it looked. It stretched my full lips into a wet ring and sat on my tongue, hot, heavy, already leaking, the salt spreading to the sides of my mouth at once. I closed my lips around the ridge and I held his cock there so I could feel every small pulse against my tongue. My right hand stayed at the base of his cock, thumb pressed to the vein, fingers not meeting, and I could feel the head swell inside my mouth when I tightened that hand.
I went down only an inch. His cock slid over my tongue and bumped the beginning of my throat and I stopped and I came back to the rim of the head, slow, my lips dragging, a thin string of spit connecting my mouth to his cock when I almost let his cock out. I did not let his cock out. I took the head again. In an inch. Out to the ridge. In an inch. Out. Each time my tongue pressed the underside and rubbed that one spot under the head, the spot that made his stomach jump. My lips made a small wet sound I was afraid of. I kept it as small as I could.
My heavy breasts hung inside the nighty and swung forward when I leaned, the nipples scbanging the nighty. Under the nighty my shaved pussy was so wet my inner thighs had started to stick. My clit throbbed every time the head of his cock stretched my lips. I looked up at his ugly face with his cock in my mouth so he would see I was still happy.
His hand came to my ponytail. He closed his fist in the hair I had tied and he only rested it there at first, heavy on the back of my head, not pushing. He moaned once, low, a sound that stayed in his chest.
I sucked the head of his cock gently and I let my tongue work under it in a slow circle, then I took the inch again and came back, spit shining on his cock down to my fingers. I came off his cock only enough to breathe.
“I am happy,” I said, very low, the words almost not a sentence, and I put the head of his cock back in my mouth before I could say anything that did not belong on that mat.
I put the head of his cock back in my mouth and this time I took more. Not all of his cock. Enough that my lips slid down the shaft and my tongue had to make room and my right hand had less of his cock to hold. I went down until the head touched the beginning of my throat and I stayed there for a long pull, sucking, then I came back up to the ridge shining with spit and I went down again.
My heavy breasts swung inside the nighty with each pull. The nighty stayed around my knees on the mat. Under it my shaved pussy kept dripping, a slow wet line on my inner thigh. My clit throbbed in time with my mouth. I looked up at his ugly face with his cock stretching my full lips so he would see I was still happy.
His stomach jumped. His knees bent a little and then locked. The hand in my ponytail tightened and then loosened as if he remembered the stairs. His hips twitched toward my mouth and he stopped them himself, a small shake in his thigh against my shoulder.
He moaned.
“Ahh… nn… ahh…” he went, the sound staying in his chest. He did not speak. His head tipped back once and came forward again so he could look at my mouth on his cock.
I came off his cock just to breathe and I kept my hand moving on the wet shaft. His cock twitched in my fist. A fresh wetness came from the head onto my thumb. He moaned again, longer, and his other hand found the edge of the table and held it.
“Ahh… don’t… ahh…” he went, and then he bit it back, only breath and that sound, his stomach going tight.
“You taste like the kiss,” I said, almost to his cock, and I took his cock into my mouth again before the stairs could hear anything else. He answered with another low “ahh…” over my head, and his hips gave one more small push he could not stop.
He began to use my ponytail. Not a hard pull. Small pulls that brought my mouth a little deeper onto his cock and then let me come back, as if he was learning how much of his cock my throat would take without a sound that would climb the stairs. I let him. Each pull slid his cock over my tongue. Each release let me breathe through my nose against his stomach.
Spit ran down his cock and over my fist and dripped onto the mat between my knees. I stroked the wet shaft I could not fit, my hand and my mouth meeting in the middle, twisting once on the way up, tightening on the way down. Under the nighty my shaved pussy kept leaking. My breasts swung. My lips stayed stretched around his cock.
The phone on the table had gone quiet. Only the vessels and his breath and the small wet sound of my mouth were left in the dark.
His thigh shook against my shoulder. His stomach jumped again. The hand in my ponytail pulled, stopped, pulled. He moaned into his closed mouth.
“Nn… ahh… ahh…” he went, and his hips gave those same small pushes he kept trying to hold back.
I came off his cock long enough to wipe my chin on my shoulder and I looked up at him.
“Slow, I will take it, don’t pull too much,” I said, and I put his cock back in my mouth and met the next small pull with my own down-stroke so the ponytail and my thank you were doing the same work.
I pulled off his cock and a string of spit followed my lips. I licked his cock from the base to the head, one long lick, my tongue flat, looking up at his ugly face while I did it, then I licked the head in a circle and I put his cock back in my mouth.
This time I went as far as my throat would take. The head pushed in and my throat closed and my eyes watered at once and I stayed there, nose almost at his stomach, my right hand on his thigh so I would not fall forward on the mat. I could not breathe well. I could feel his cock pulse against my tongue. I stayed until the water in my eyes ran to the sides and then I came off his cock gasping, a wet sound I tried to swallow, spit hanging from my lips to his cock.
His knees bent. His hand crushed my ponytail and then remembered itself and loosened. His stomach went hard.
“Ahh… fuck… ahh…” he went, the moan breaking, his hips jerking once toward my face.
I breathed with my mouth open against the head of his cock.
“Wait, I can do it again,” I said, and I put his cock back in my mouth before the gasp could turn into a louder sound, and I went down until my eyes watered a second time.
I sucked his cock harder. I put both hands on his ass and I held him there so I would not drift back, my fingers on his ass cheeks, my mouth working the wet shaft in longer pulls, spit loud now no matter how careful I was. My nipples scbangd the nighty each time I went forward. Under the nighty my clit throbbed with no hand on it, happiness and horny still the same thing, the burnt shop on the other side of the road sitting in my mouth with his cock.
His ass tightened in my hands. His thighs opened a little. The fist in my ponytail shook. He leaned his other hand heavier on the table so his knees would not give.
“Ahh… nn… ahh… ahh…” he went, one moan after another, his stomach jumping, his cock swelling against my tongue as if he was close and fighting it.
I came off his cock only to breathe against his wet shaft.
“Enjoy, I am not stopping, just don’t finish yet,” I said, low, and I took his cock back in and sucked harder, my hands pulling his ass toward my face, my eyes up so he would see I was still happy while I did it.
I took my mouth off his cock and I turned him with both hands on his hips. He understood and he faced the table, his palms going onto the wood beside the quiet phone, his ugly back to me, his ass in front of my face. I stayed on my knees on the mat. I kept his cock in my right fist, reaching through his thighs, and I stroked his cock slowly so his cock would not go soft while I moved.
I put my face lower, between his ass cheeks. For a moment the smell of his asshole hit me, strong, dark, like his filthy mouth but heavier, heat and sweat, and I did not pull away. I kissed his asshole the way I had kissed his filthy mouth, wet, open, my full lips first. Then I put my tongue on his asshole. The taste of his asshole sat on my tongue at once, bitter, dirty, a taste that belonged in a basement and not on a wife, and I kept my tongue on his asshole and I licked.
He went still. Then his back arched and a moan came out of him that he tried to push into the table.
I licked his asshole slowly, circling with the tip of my tongue, then flattening my tongue and licking his asshole, then circling again, the smell of his asshole in my nose, the taste of his asshole in my mouth with the spit, and I stroked his cock at the same time, spit running over my fist and over his cock. My ponytail hung down my back. My nighty stayed around my knees. My shaved pussy dripped onto the mat.
“Ahh… ahh… nn…” he went, his thighs opening, his ass pushing back onto my mouth a little as if he could not help it, his cock jumping in my fist.
“Stay like this, hold the table,” I said against his asshole, and I kissed his asshole again and kept my tongue on his asshole, filthy, stroking his cock, thanking him in a place my husband would never see.
I licked his asshole deeper. I pushed the tip of my tongue against the tight ring and I worked it there, spit running down his ass cheeks onto my chin, the smell of his asshole still in my nose, the taste of his asshole still on my tongue. At the same time I stroked his cock faster, my fist wet, twisting over the head of his cock on every up-stroke, coming down to the base.
His cock swelled in my fist like it wanted to finish. He tried to hold it back. His thighs opened and then locked. His ass pushed onto my mouth and then pulled forward as if he could run from my tongue. His hands went white on the table. His stomach sucked in and stayed hard. Every time I licked his asshole his cock jumped, and every time his cock jumped he froze, fighting the finish, breathing through his teeth so the moan would not become a shout that would wake the first floor.
“Ahh… wait… ahh… nn…” he went, the sound broken, his knees shaking, his cock leaking over my fingers.
My shaved pussy clenched on nothing. I kept my face between his ass cheeks. I did not make it easier for him. I stroked his cock through the fight and I licked his asshole through the fight and I felt him lose a little and catch himself and lose a little again.
“Don’t finish on the floor, hold it, I am still thanking you,” I said against his asshole, and I licked his asshole again while his cock throbbed in my fist on the edge and did not go over.
His thighs started to shake so hard the table shook with them.
I took my tongue off his asshole. I took my left hand off his ass cheeks. I kept my right hand on his cock and I stroked his cock while I moved him so his cock would not lose the pleasure.
I put both hands on his hips and I turned him around toward me. He turned. The table was at his back. I was still on my knees on the mat in front of him. His cock was in front of my mouth, wet from my spit, the head shining.
I brought my mouth onto the head of his cock and I sucked him the way that makes a man forget the room. I took the head of his cock in, tight lips, tongue rubbing that spot under the head in slow circles, then I went down the shaft and came back up with a long pull. My right hand stroked what my mouth left, twisting over the wet skin of his cock, meeting my lips each time I came up. My left hand held his hip and then cupped his balls and rolled them gently while I sucked.
I looked up at his ugly face with his cock stretching my lips so he could watch my mouth work. My nighty stayed around my knees. My ponytail hung down my back. My heavy breasts hung inside the nighty. My shaved pussy dripped onto the mat.
He shook from the pleasure. His stomach jumped. His knees bent. His hand found my ponytail and used it only to keep my mouth on his cock, not to hurt. He was still fighting not to finish and the fight itself was making his cock harder against my tongue.
“Ahh… like that… ahh… nn… I can’t…” he went, the moans wet, his hips giving small pushes into my mouth he could not stop, his cock leaking straight onto my tongue.
I stayed kneeling in front of him on the mat and I gave his cock all of it, mouth and hand and the look in my eyes, and I held him on that sweet edge while my husband slept above us.


I took my mouth off his cock and I looked up at him from the mat. His cock was wet from my mouth, thick, close, the head shining with my spit, and he was fighting not to finish. I was happy. He had killed Santosh for me. The laugh was gone. The shop across the road was burning. I wanted him to enjoy me. I offered myself. I stayed on the mat and I turned so my ass and my pussy were toward him, my breasts hanging under the nighty, my thighs open, giving him the rest of me.
“Not in your mouth, inside your pussy, I want to cum inside you,” Ranga said, already enjoying the offer, his hand on my ass over the nighty.
Then he removed my nighty. He lifted it over my hips, over my breasts, over my head, and he pulled it off. I was naked on the mat, breasts bare, nipples tight, pussy bare, ass bare, the air of the basement on me. He hugged me naked. His chest came against my breasts, his cock wet with my spit against my stomach, his arms around my waist, his hands spreading my ass, holding the body I had offered.
Then he kissed me. It was a filthy kiss. He spit into my mouth, a wet smear on my tongue, and he pushed his tongue in after it, thick lips open, saliva running to the corner of my lips and down my chin. I took it. I sucked his tongue. I let the spit sit on my full lips and I kissed him back, messy, the taste of his cock and his mouth together, smoke and salt and saliva, my naked breasts pressed to his chest, my pussy against his thigh, happy, waiting for him to put his cock inside me.