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

[novelistcasanova]

He broke the filthy kiss. Saliva still connected his thick lips to mine for a second. He looked down at my pussy. His cock was wet with my spit, hard against my stomach, the head shining, and he wanted what he had said. I offered it. I was happy. He had killed Santosh for me, and I wanted him to enjoy the body I had given.

He picked me up, naked, one arm under my ass, one under my back, my breasts against his chest, and he carried me the few steps to the table between the vessels. He laid me on the table. The wood was cold under my ass and under my back. I lay back. My breasts were bare, nipples tight. I opened my thighs, wide, giving him the place he had asked for instead of my mouth.
He came between my thighs. He held his cock at the base and he rubbed the head of it on my pussy, slow, spreading my wetness and his spit together, the head catching on my clit, then sliding lower to my opening. I lifted my hips a little on the table so he could find me. He pushed. The head of his cock opened my pussy.
“Ahh…” I went, the sound small, afraid of the stairs.
He went deeper, thick, the shaft filling me inch by inch, stretching me, until his hips met mine and his cock was inside me on the table, buried, his stomach on mine, his ugly face over my face.
“Ahh… nn…” he went, low, his cock twitching inside my pussy.
I held his back. I felt full. I liked it. He stayed there, shaking, his spit still on my lips, and I moved under him on the table, a small lift of my ass, so he would feel I was enjoying what I had offered.
“Ahh…” I went again, into his neck, happy, full.
He pulled his cock back until only the head of his cock was inside my pussy, the shaft shining, and he stopped there so I felt the stretch at my opening. Then he pushed his cock in again, slow, deep, his hips meeting mine on the table, his stomach on mine, his cock filling my pussy all the way. He did it again. Long strokes. Out to the head of his cock. In to the base of his cock. The table took my ass each time his cock came forward. His hands left the wood and went to my breasts, squeezing, lifting, his thumbs rubbing my nipples until my nipples stood harder in his palms.
I took his cock. I liked his cock. I was happy. He had killed Santosh for me, and I had offered myself, and now I wanted his cock to feel that I was enjoying it, not only lying there. I lifted my ass on the table to meet his cock. I opened my thighs wider. My pussy took every stroke of his cock, wet, gripping his cock when he pulled his cock back, opening when he pushed his cock in. My breasts moved in his hands. My nipples dragged on his thumbs. My breath broke against his shoulder.
“Ahh… ahh… nn…” he went, low, trying not to wake the stairs, his ugly face tight, his cock swelling inside my pussy.
“Ahh…” I went into his shoulder, the sound small, my nails on his back, my hips moving with his cock, wanting his cock deeper.
The vessels stayed silent. The table creaked once under my ass. He fucked my pussy harder, the long strokes turning short, deep, his cock hitting the end of my pussy, his balls against my ass, not cumming yet. I stayed open for his cock. I enjoyed his cock. I offered more, a lift of my hips, a tightening of my pussy around his cock, happy, full, the basement dark around the table.
He put his hands under my ass on the table and he held my ass up so his cock could go deeper. Every stroke of his cock went to the end of my pussy. His balls hit my ass. His stomach pressed my breasts flat when he came down. My nipples dragged on his chest. I wrapped my thighs around his waist and I pulled his cock in, offering, happy, wanting his cock to take all of my pussy.
He fucked my pussy faster. The table moved a little under my back. My breasts bounced when he lifted. He bent and he sucked my left nipple, wet, then my right nipple, his cock never leaving my pussy, short deep strokes while his mouth was on my breasts. I felt it in my clit. I felt it where his cock filled me. I liked it. I moved my hips to meet his cock.
“Ahh… ahh… your pussy…” he went, low, his ugly face tight, his cock swelling inside my pussy.
“Ahh… deeper…” I went into his shoulder, the sound small, my nails on his back, my pussy gripping his cock.
He was close and he was holding it. His thrusts went uneven. His cock throbbed. He did not cum. He stayed inside my pussy, fucking, enjoying what I had offered, and I stayed open on the table, happy, full, waiting for the last of it.
He could not hold it. His cock swelled inside my pussy, thicker, the head deep, his thrusts going short and uneven, his balls tight against my ass, his hands crushing my breasts, thumbs still on my nipples. His ugly face went into my neck. His breath broke. I felt his cock throb, once, hard, and I knew he was there. I lifted my ass on the table and I pulled him in with my thighs so his cock would stay buried when he came. I was happy. I wanted his cum. He had killed Santosh for me, and this was the rest of what I had offered, my pussy open, my breasts in his hands, my mouth still wet from his spit.
“Cum inside my pussy,” I said, small, into his shoulder.
“Ahh… ahh… I—” he went, the moan breaking, and his cock pulsed.
He came inside my pussy. Thick. A lot. The first pulse hit deep, hot, then another, then another, his cock jerking, filling me, his stomach hard on mine, his hands shaking on my breasts. I felt every pulse. I held his back. I liked it. My pussy gripped his cock and took his cum, wet, tightening around him, until his cock had nothing left and only twitched inside me, spent, still buried.
He stayed on me, shaking, his spit still on my lips, his cock softening in my pussy, his cum warm and already leaking out around his cock, down my ass, onto the table. I lay under him, naked, thighs still open, breasts under his chest, nipples against him, happy, thoroughly enjoyed, the offering done, the vessels silent, my husband asleep above the stairs.
He pulled his cock out of my pussy. His cum ran out of me at once, warm, down my ass, onto the table between the vessels. He stood between my open thighs, breathing hard, his cock wet, spent, still shining, and he looked at my pussy as if he wanted to remember it.
“Your pussy is perfect, tight, I enjoyed your pussy, I will not forget your pussy,” Ranga said, his ugly face soft for a second, his eyes on where his cum was leaking out of me.
I sat up on the table. My breasts were bare. My thighs were still open. I pulled the nighty back on, over my head, over my breasts, over my hips, the nighty sticking a little where his cum had touched my ass. He picked up his shirt and his trousers from the basement floor and he put them on, stuffing his cock away still wet, buttons slow, his breath still short.
“Don’t worry, cops are my friends, next day they will give the report that Santosh died and his shop burnt from an electrical short circuit,” Ranga said.
I walked him to the back door. Before he went I hugged him. It was a heartfelt hug. My arms went around his neck. My breasts pressed his chest through the nighty. My face went into his shoulder. I held him there because he had killed Santosh for me and he had enjoyed the body I offered and I was happy. He held me back, his hands on my waist.
“Thank you,” I said, into his shoulder.
He let go. At the door he looked at me, naughty, his thick lips almost smiling.
“All the best for your shop, open it, fill it, one day I will come back for your sweet,” Ranga said, and he kissed my lips, slow, warm, his mouth gentle on mine, a kiss I wanted to keep, not the wet messy one from before.
Then he went out into the dark. I shut the back door. I stood in the empty basement with his cum in my pussy and that kiss still on my lips, the official story already in my head with the fire across the road, then I turned toward the stairs.


The area began to wake up to the fire. Voices started on the road. Someone shouted. I came up the stairs from the basement in my nighty, his cum still in my pussy, and I went to the balcony. My husband was already there.
“Where did you go, I woke up and you were not on the cot, I called once, I thought you were in the bathroom, then I heard the road, what happened,” my husband said, turning from the railing, his lungi on, his face still thick with sleep.
“I went down to check, I heard the noise and I could not sit, I went to the basement door and I looked out, there is a fire across the road, come and see,” I said, and I stood beside him as if that was the only place I had been.
The fire engine came. We watched. After a time they brought Santosh’s dead body out and they carried it, covered, then the cover shifted and we saw him, charred, burnt completely, black from head to foot, the face gone, the hands drawn up, not a man anymore, only what the fire had left.
“Santosh is dead, look, they are bringing him out,” I said.
My husband stared. He put his hand on the railing.
“He is burnt completely, I can see it from here, poor man, I did not like him, I would not wish this on him, they are carrying him like that in front of everyone,” my husband said, his voice low, kind, sorry.
I did not feel sorry. I looked at the charred body being carried and I kept my mouth still. I only felt the stall, the four floors, the three sons, and I let my husband be the kind one while I kept my happiness inside my own chest.


The same night the news came that Mary Lydia had hanged herself and died. Santosh was already gone, and Mary Sweets had no one left to open it. I heard it on the first floor and I kept my face still, happy inside, while my husband felt sorry for her and I let him.
A couple of days later my husband called the five workers back from their states. They came, and we went to the railway station, and I welcomed each of them with a hug, the same men he had sent off when the money was thin, and they came home with us. They started working, and the basement filled again, and my husband stood at the counter, and the shutter opened, and people came back because the other shop was gone. Business began picking up, and the four floors were alive again over a stall that had my name on it.
Every now and then I went down to the basement in only my nighty, no bra and no panties underneath, the nighty thin over my breasts and over my ass and over my pussy. I stood near the vessels and I let them feast their eyes on me so they would stay. They got bolder every day. First they only looked. Then they looked longer, at my breasts, at my hips, at my ass when I turned. Sometimes one of them hugged me, his chest against my breasts through the nighty, his hands at my waist, and I let the hug last, and I felt him get hard against me, and I smiled and I sent him back to the stove. My husband did not know. The trays kept coming up.
I watched the road turn toward us, the workers back, my husband at the counter, happily ever after.

The End

Regards
Novelist Casanova