Misc. Erotica Lockdown: A Wife’s Sacrifice for Her Husband and Sons- By Novelist Casanova
#1
Date: 02 .05. 2025
Title:  Lockdown: A Wife’s Sacrifice for Her Husband and Sons
Word Count: 9,698
Author:  Novelist Casanova

 

 Lockdown: A Wife’s Sacrifice for Her Husband and Sons


Chapter 1 – The Beginning of the Bargain


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It was past 10 PM. The streets of Bangalore were silent under the curfew. Even the dogs had stopped barking, as though the city was holding its breath with me.

I stood outside a modest two-story house, my hands trembling, palms sweaty. My breath fogged the thin silk of my yellow chiffon saree. I hadn’t worn this one in years—it was Arun’s favorite. He always said yellow made me glow. But tonight, I felt anything but glowing.

The yellow blouse clung to my skin, sticky with sweat and nerves. I adjusted the pallu across my chest, making sure it covered as much as it could.  As a result of running almost a hundred meters to get into the Auto before the cops could question me or lathicharge me and send home, the the Brown Colour Panties I was wearing underneath my Yellow Saree and Yellow Petticoat, had bunched up and had got caught between my Ass Crack, itching my Asshole.  The saree sat low on my waist, as it always did, but tonight it felt more like a noose than fabric.

The iron gate creaked. I turned.

Mahesh stood there.

The ward councillor. The man who'd always undressed me with his eyes during temple festivals. Who lingered too close at the ration shop. Who made my skin crawl even when he smiled.

He was wearing a loose white shirt and lungi, and chewing something—probably betel leaves, as always. His eyes scanned me, slowly, shamelessly, lingering on the blouse, the pallu, my bare midriff.

“You wore yellow,” he said, a half-smile creeping on his face. “Good girl.”

I didn’t respond.

“Come in, Sudha,” he said, pushing the gate open. “No one’s watching. It’s lockdown, remember? The world’s asleep.”

I took a step inside. My slippers echoed on the stone tiles. He led me in through the hall. A dim lamp flickered above.

“You could have come yesterday,” he said casually, walking ahead, “but I knew you’d call back. You need me more than your pride, Sudha.”

I clenched my fists, swallowing the rising bile.

We reached the bedroom. The curtains were drawn. There was a bottle of whiskey and two glasses on the table.

Mahesh turned toward me, stepping closer.

“Beautiful, as always,” he muttered. “Tell me, Sudha… how does a simple maths teacher afford such a beautiful wife?” He chuckled.

I stood still, not replying.

His hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. “Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you. In fact... you might even enjoy tonight.”

I flinched.

He leaned forward, and before I could step back, he kissed my cheek. Then another—this time, closer to my lips.

I jerked my face away.

“That’s enough,” I said, my voice a whisper. “I didn’t come for this.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t come for pleasure. You came for a hospital bed. I’m just giving you the cost.”

My breath caught.

He reached again. I stepped back.

But when he grabbed my waist and pulled me against him and began kissing my lips nicely.

“No,” I said firmly. “Not tonight.”

I turned, wiping his saliva off my lips and walked toward the door. My heart pounded so loudly I could hear it echo in my ears.

“I’ll wait,” he called after me, calmly. “The virus won’t wait, Sudha. But I will. You’ll be back. When you’re ready to do what it takes to keep him breathing.”

I walked out into the cold Bangalore night. The street was empty. The world was still.

But inside me, everything was breaking.

The auto dropped me a street away from our home. I didn’t want the neighbors asking questions, even if it was lockdown and no one dared step outside. I wrapped my yellow chiffon saree tighter around me, trying to hide the shame I carried back from Mahesh’s doorstep.

The street was dimly lit. A dog barked from somewhere far off, and the distant sound of an ambulance siren echoed in the silence—a haunting lullaby we had gotten used to.

I walked slowly, dreading what I might see when I opened the door. My body was numb, but my mind was screaming.

Inside our house, the faint glow from the night lamp in the hall lit the path toward our bedroom. My heart ached as I tiptoed past my sons’ room. Through the half-open door, I saw all three of them huddled together on the floor—Nakul, Arjun, and little Varun. They had fallen asleep on a single mattress laid out in the living room, too scared to sleep alone while Appa was sick.

Their faces were calm. They trusted me. They believed in me.

And I… I had nothing left to give them. Except this fight.

I pushed open the bedroom door gently.

He was coughing. Again.

Arun lay on the bed, his chest heaving like he had just run miles. His shirt was soaked with sweat. The pulse oximeter blinked red—78.


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I rushed to his side, sat next to him, and gently lifted his head.

“Arun… can you hear me?” I whispered, my voice breaking.

His eyes fluttered open. He looked at me, dazed.

“Su… Sudha,” he rasped. “You’re back. You said you were going to the pharmacy…”

I nodded, lying. “Yes. I just went to check… for another oxygen canister. They didn’t have one.”

He tried to sit up, but his arms gave way.

“I’ll be fine,” he whispered. “Don’t worry the boys. I’ll fight this.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. I forced a smile.

“You’ll be okay,” I said softly, placing a damp cloth on his forehead. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I sat by his side for hours, holding his hand, listening to his strained breathing. Each second felt like a war.

I stared at the wall, thinking of Mahesh’s smirk, his touch, his disgusting confidence that I’d return.

And worst of all—he was right.

I looked at Arun’s pale face.

He had built everything. He taught me how to use an ATM card. He carried our children to college when they were babies. He told bedtime stories every night—even when he was exhausted. He kissed me gently every morning before leaving for college.

He was my husband.

He was a father.

And he was dying.

The hospital had rejected us again this morning. No beds. No oxygen. No hope.

And Mahesh… he held the key.

All he wanted was one night. One woman.

And in exchange… I’d get my whole family back.

I closed my eyes and whispered a prayer.

The next morning came, but there was no light in my heart.

Arun had barely made it through the night. His coughing had worsened. His body burned with fever. And his oxygen levels had dropped to 74.

I had tried every hospital again—called numbers saved in the corners of old notebooks, messaged distant relatives, even begged a family we knew from our temple WhatsApp group.

Everyone said the same thing.

“We’re sorry, Akka… there’s no bed available. Even my uncle is waiting.”

“I wish I could help, Sudha… but they’re saying only politicians can pull strings now.”

“Try the ward councillor. Maybe he can…”

I sat in the kitchen, hands folded on the table, the yellow saree still clinging to me from last night. I hadn’t changed. I hadn’t bathed. What was the point?

The pressure cooker hissed on the stove. The boys were watching cartoons with the volume low, too scared to ask questions about Appa. Little Varun kept whispering, “When will Appa get up?”

I buried my face in my palms and finally cried.

For the first time since this nightmare began, I broke down—quietly, like a woman who knew she had no right to scream. I let the tears flow, silent and endless. No one heard me in the kitchen.

I looked at the small Ganesh idol near the fridge.

And I whispered, “Please forgive me.”

I wiped my tears, stood up slowly, and walked into the bedroom.

Arun was still breathing—barely.

I bent down, touched his feet gently, and looked at him.

“Just hold on,” I said. “I’ll fix this. I promise.”

Then I stepped out onto the balcony.

My hands shook as I unlocked my phone. My thumb hovered over Mahesh’s number for a long time. I looked up at the grey sky. The city was silent, helpless, defeated.

And I pressed call.

The phone rang once. Twice.

Then he picked up.

Mahesh (casual, smirking): “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back.”

Me (quietly): “I’m ready. Just arrange the bed. I’ll do whatever you ask.”

There was a pause.

Then I heard him exhale sharply.

Mahesh: “Tonight. 8 PM. Same place.”

He hung up.

I stared at the blank screen, my reflection visible in the dark glass. My face looked unfamiliar—eyes sunken, lips cracked, saree dull. But somewhere beneath it all was a mother. A wife. A woman who had chosen to protect her family… at a cost no one would ever know.

I turned back to the kitchen.

The pressure cooker had stopped hissing. The house was quiet again.

And I had already crossed the point of no return.





Chapter 2 – The Night of Sacrifice

The clock struck 7:15 PM.

After taking my shower and wrapping a white Towel around me, I stood in front of the mirror in our dim bedroom. The light flickered—just like my heart. My hands moved like someone else's as I tied my hair into a loose bun. The jasmine flowers Arun had bought me two days before he fell ill still hung, dried and lifeless, on the nail near the dresser.

I picked up my White Panties and began wearing is over my clean shaved Pussy, and wore my White Bra over my Boobs.

I picked out the yellow chiffon saree again. I didn’t know why.

Maybe because Mahesh had noticed it. Maybe because Arun had loved it. Maybe because… it was the last piece of who I used to be before tonight.

I wrapped it carefully, hands trembling. The saree sat well below my navel, as usual—but tonight, it didn’t feel romantic. It felt exposed. I wore the same yellow blouse. Tight. Modest. Familiar.

I looked at myself for a long time.

A wife. A mother. A woman about to walk into a room she never wanted to be in.

I stepped out quietly. My sons were asleep—exhausted from worry and fear. I bent down and kissed each of their foreheads.

Then I went to Arun.

He was asleep too—breathing heavily, labored and slow. I sat beside him one last time, touched his cheek gently.

“I’ll be back soon,” I whispered. “Stay. Please stay.”

And I left.

The streets were even quieter tonight. Bangalore was under full lockdown. Not a soul in sight. The auto I had arranged through a friend picked me up a street away. The driver didn’t ask questions.

At 7:50 PM, I stood once again in front of Mahesh’s iron gate.

It was open.

I walked in.

Mahesh’s door creaked open. He stood there, smirking faintly, his white Banian and Lungi, as though he’d been expecting this moment for days.

I had worn my yellow saree — the one Arun always said brought out the glow in my skin. I don’t know why I wore it. Maybe it was the last trace of control I had over my dignity.

As I stepped into the room, the weight of what I was about to do sank in like cold metal against my chest. My hands trembled slightly as I clutched the pallu tighter around me.

Mahesh closed the door behind me.

He didn’t speak at first. He walked toward me slowly, like a man confident of the outcome.

“I knew you’d come,” he said softly. “You’re doing the right thing, Sudha. After tonight, your husband will live. Your boys… they’ll grow up with a father.”

His words felt like knives wrapped in honey.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said, voice cold. I looked away.

He stepped closer, raising his hand toward my cheek.

And suddenly, I froze.

My mind flooded with images:

Arun coughing in his sleep.

My boys laughing over collegework.

The promise I had made to myself when I was 19 — that I’d never let the world buy pieces of me.

My heart pounded. Something inside me screamed.

“Stop,” I said.

Mahesh paused. Surprised.

“What?”

“I can’t do this.” I stepped back, clutching my saree tightly. “I thought I could. I convinced myself this was strength. That this was sacrifice. But this… this is not who I am.”

His expression darkened. His voice shifted.

“Sudha, don’t act like a saint now. You came here knowing the deal.”

“I came here to save my family. But not like this. I won’t sell my soul for a hospital bed.” My voice was rising now. I didn’t care.

“You think you’ll find another way?” he snapped. **“There are no beds. No one will help you. And your husband—”

“If he dies, I’ll live with that. But I won’t let you touch me and pretend I did something noble.”

There was silence. Thick and electric.

Mahesh backed away, the smugness gone from his face.

“Get out,” he muttered.

“Gladly.”

I turned and walked out, my head held higher than when I’d entered.

Outside, the night air hit me like a second breath.

I had nothing — no money, no hope, and no idea how I’d save Arun.

But I had myself.

And in that moment, that was enough.

As I got into the Auto and went to another hospital.

The hospital turned me away again.

"No beds, Ma'am. Not even in the corridors."

Those words had become a chorus. Repeated at every reception counter. Every phone call. Every desperate knock on every doctor’s door.

That night, I sat on the bench outside St. Mary’s Hospital. It was 3 AM. My phone battery was dead. Arun was home, unconscious, slipping further away. And I had nothing left — not even a plan.

I thought of going back to Mahesh.

Yes, I thought about it.

Not for myself.

For Arun. For my boys. For the life we had built.

But as the thought grew louder, something inside me wanted to go back to Mahesh and surrender to him and save my husband’s life and my family.  I had no other choice now.

As I went back to Mahesh house, he was waiting in the same white Banian and Lungi. The same betel-stained smile. But this time, he didn’t speak right away. He just watched me walk in, slowly closing the door behind me.

I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the thin yellow chiffon saree over my shoulder for the third time, not because it was slipping… but because I needed something to do with my hands. The air in the bedroom was thick—not with heat, but with his silence. The ceiling fan whirred above lazily, matching the pace of my breath. Slow. Heavy. Restless.  Since I had made up my mind to sleep with Mahesh, I was feeling horny.

Mahesh hadn’t spoken to me since that petty fight we had a couple of hours ago.

I glanced at him through the mirror.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, legs slightly spread in that careless way, wearing nothing but his white banian and that dark blue checkered lungi, creased and riding high on his thighs.

I turned to him, arms folded across my chest. The saree’s soft fabric clung to my waist, and I was suddenly aware of how the chiffon revealed the outline of my navel, the yellow blouse hugging me tight.

“You’re not going to say anything?” I asked sharply, breaking the silence. My voice came out firmer than I felt.

He didn’t respond. Just kept looking down at his phone, not scrolling, not typing—just staring. As if not talking was going to teach me a lesson.

I stepped closer, he finally looked up, his voice dry. “You made your choice,”

My lips parted, breath quick. “Don’t twist it, Mahesh. I am here for you,” I said.

He stood up slowly.

Suddenly the room felt smaller. My back touched the wall. My chest was heaving, but I couldn’t tell if it was from rage or desire.

His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. His fingers traced down the curve of my jaw, to the corner of my lips.

“But I loved how you looked when you’re angry in this saree.”

The heat between us shifted. I felt my cheeks flush. “Don’t try to distract me,” I said, though my voice trembled.

His thumb lightly touched my lower lip. “Who’s distracting whom?”

And then—without warning—his lips captured mine.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was hungry. Desperate. Like we were both aching to be understood in a language only our bodies spoke fluently.

My hands found his shoulders. His banian was warm, damp with the day's heat. I could feel the strength of him beneath the fabric. He pushed me gently against the wall, his palm resting on my waist, slowly sliding over the softness of my saree-covered stomach.

I let out a small moan. “Mahesh…”

He pulled away for just a moment, forehead resting against mine. “Say you are my, Whore,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

I smiled faintly, breathless. “Only if you kiss me like that again.”

He grinned.

His hands were no longer hesitant.

They slid down my back, tracing the delicate fabric of my yellow chiffon saree. The same saree I had dbangd to feel strong… was now surrendering, fold by fold, under his touch.

My breath caught as he gently pulled the pallu away from my shoulder, letting it fall to the floor. The air brushed across my skin, and so did his lips. Soft. Searching. The anger, the silence, the pride—they all melted like ghee on a hot pan.

“Mahesh…” I whispered, clutching his banian, my fingers curling into the fabric as if it were the only thing keeping me from falling. But I wasn’t falling—I was floating. Sinking into him.

He kissed my collarbone, then lower. “I’m still angry, you know…” he murmured against my skin.

I giggled, breathless. “Then punish me gently…”

He looked up, eyes dark and playful. “Oh, I will.”

His hands moved to my waist, pulling me close, pressing me against him. I could feel every breath he took, every inch of him, through the thin fabric of my blouse and petticoat. I wasn’t shy—no, not anymore.  There was fire beneath the forgiveness. Longing buried in the quarrel.

He untied the knot of my petticoat slowly, deliberately, never breaking eye contact.

“You wore this saree to make me weak, didn’t you?”

I smirked. “Maybe…”

His laugh was soft, low, masculine. “Whore.”

“Yours.”

The petticoat loosened, sliding over my hips, falling to the floor with a whisper. I stood in my yellow blouse, white bra, and white panties, flushed, exposed, yet completely unashamed.

He ran his fingers down my spine, one by one, like tracing a secret. “You’re mine,” he said.

“Always,” I whispered, pulling his banian upward. He raised his arms, letting me lift it off. His chest was warm, his skin kissed by the day’s heat. I leaned in, pressing my lips to his shoulder, then down to his chest.

I could hear his heartbeat. Steady. Deep. Alive.

Then, his lungi loosened under my fingers. I hesitated. He kissed my forehead.

“Take it off.”

And I did.


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We moved to the bed—no words now. Just sighs. Just gasps. The sheets tangled around our limbs as we rediscovered the map of each other’s bodies. Every touch was an apology. Every kiss, a confession. He explored me like I was new, even though he knew every curve, every scar, every soft place he’d kissed a hundred times before.

“Say you love me… Say it,” he whispered against my ear, as he hovered above me, his body pressed into mine like the hours of silence before had never existed. My skin responded to his touch as if it had waited all day—waited for him to pull me out of my pride and into his arms.

The soft yellow blouse clung damply to my back. Mahesh’s palm slid beneath it, fingertips grazing the clasp of my white bra. His breath was warm on my neck as he whispered, “Shall I take this off too?”

I tilted my head, exposing my throat to him.

He chuckled—low, intimate—and in a single motion, the clasp opened. I shivered as the bra slipped away and his fingers gently traced the curve of my bare back. “You feel great,” he said, “like fire under silk.”

I touched his face. “I was angry… now I’m only burning.”

My blouse soon joined the pile of clothing on the floor. I lay beneath him now in nothing but my white cotton panties. My hair spread over the pillow like a dark curtain. He looked at me—really looked at me. And not with lust. With something deeper. As if he could see all the parts of me I never showed anyone else.

He trailed kisses down my chest, slow and reverent, taking time to explore me like a familiar song he hadn’t sung in a while.

When his lips closed over my nipple, I gasped—sharp and needy. My hands gripped his hair, urging him closer. He responded with soft groans, circling me with his tongue, one breast, then the other, until I was writhing beneath him.

“You like when I kiss you here?” he murmured, eyes locking with mine.

I nodded, breathless. “Don’t stop…”

He didn’t.

His kisses traveled down my stomach, pausing at the waistband of my panties. He looked up again, waiting. Asking.

I bit my lower lip and whispered, “Take me. I’m yours.”

His fingers slid the last barrier down my thighs, and I felt the cool air kiss every inch of newly exposed skin. My thighs parted instinctively as he lowered himself between them.

He kissed me there.

Softly at first—like worship. Then slowly, deliberately, tasting me like he wanted to remember this moment forever. I moaned—long and low—and arched against him. His tongue worked magic. Gentle licks turned into firm strokes, as he held my hips still, refusing to let me escape the pleasure building inside me.

“Mahesh… oh god… I—”

He didn’t stop until I shattered beneath him. My body trembled. My fingers clenched the bedsheet. I cried out his name like a prayer whispered in the dark.

And when I collapsed, breathless, he came up, smiling—his face soft, eyes warm.

I pulled him to me, kissed him deeply, tasting myself on his lips. The fire wasn’t out—it was just beginning.

I wrapped my legs around him. “Make love to me,” as I whispered, he slid his erect cock inside my Pussy with ease, with depth, with love. Our rhythm was unhurried, our moans low, our bodies swaying together like the wind and the ocean. I clung to him, kissed his shoulder, whispered how much I needed this… needed him.

Each movement built the pressure between us and the moment he inserted his cock deep inside my Pussy, I could not hold it any more, “aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa,” I moaned and the moment he shot is cum deep inside my pussy, I came all over his cock.   We cried out, limbs tangled, hearts pounding. His name on my lips. Mine in his breath.

And when it was over, when the silence returned—it was no longer cold.

It was warm. Intimate. Healing.

He held me close, chest against mine, fingers stroking my hair.

“Do we still have to talk about the fight?” I asked drowsily.

He kissed my forehead. “No. You already punished me enough... by wearing that yellow saree.”

I smiled into his chest, drifting off, wrapped in his arms.

As we both fell asleep, when I woke up the ceiling fan hummed lazily above, and our sweat-slicked skin clung to the sheets beneath us. My legs were still tangled around Mahesh’s. His chest rose and fell slowly, his arm dbangd possessively across my waist.

But as my body cooled and the room grew quiet again, I turned my face into his neck and whispered, “Come with me.”

He blinked, half-asleep. “Hmm?”

I kissed his collarbone. “Let’s shower… together.”

That woke him.

He looked down at me with a smile, his fingers already tracing circles on my bare hip. “You sure you’ll behave in there?”

I grinned, sliding my hand down his torso. “I make no promises.”

We rose together, our naked bodies brushing, still warm from lovemaking. The bathroom light flickered to life. Steam began to swirl in the air as I twisted the tap of the overhead shower.

The first drops hit my skin like a soft sigh. Cool at first. Then warm. Comforting.

Mahesh stepped in behind me, his arms immediately wrapping around my waist, pulling my back flush against his chest.

The water rained over us—washing away the sweat, the salt, the traces of the fight, and the proof of our passion. My wet hair clung to my neck. His lips kissed it away, one drop at a time.

“You smell like sandalwood and sin,” he whispered against my ear.

I laughed softly. “And you smell like soap and trouble.”

His hands roamed lower, slick with water. My body arched into him, my breasts rising, nipples hardening as the spray danced over them. His hands found them, cupping them from behind, fingers teasing, kneading slowly, as if relearning their shape.

I turned to face him, water cascading between us. Droplets trailed down his chest. I bent slightly, pressing my lips to his skin, following the trail down his torso.

He groaned, low and deep. “Sudha…”

I looked up, licking the water from my lips. “You started it.”

Our mouths met again—this time wetter, more primal. Our bodies pressed into each other as the water rushed around us. The slick heat of our skin, the steam fogging the mirrors, the thrill of touching again in this different rhythm—it was intoxicating.

He lifted me, strong arms under my thighs, pressing me against the cold tile. I gasped as he entered me again—slowly, deeply. The contrast of heat and cold sent sparks through my spine.

We moved together under the shower—breathing, panting, whispering each other’s names. The water muffled our moans but couldn’t hide our hunger. My arms around his neck. His lips on my shoulder. The world beyond the bathroom disappeared.

When we finally collapsed into each other’s arms, he set me down gently. I leaned into his chest, both of us soaked, trembling.

He stroked my wet hair. “No more fighting?”

I kissed his heart. “Only if it ends like this every time.”

He laughed. “Dangerous woman.”

I smiled, pressing closer. “Your woman.”

The water slowed to a trickle.

Wrapped in a towel and in his arms, we stepped out—cleaner, calmer, closer. Our fight was long forgotten. All that remained was skin, steam, and love.

The shower had washed away everything—anger, sweat, even the silence that had sat heavy between us all evening. And now, the bathroom was filled with nothing but the quiet drip of water and his breath against my neck.

Wrapped in a soft towel, I stepped out into the bedroom, water still glistening on my skin. Mahesh followed, his towel hanging low on his waist, his eyes on me—not with hunger this time, but with care.

“You’ll catch a cold,” he murmured, rubbing my shoulders with another towel. His fingers were gentle, slow.

I smiled. “Are you dressing me now?”

He smirked. “Maybe I am.”

He picked up my white cotton bra, matching white panties, the soft yellow petticoat, the snug yellow blouse, and finally, the delicate chiffon saree—still smelling faintly of jasmine from the folds.

I sat on the edge of the bed as he knelt before me.

He held the panties out. “Lift one leg.”

I did. Then the other. He slid them up slowly, his fingers grazing my thighs, sending little shivers up my spine. When the fabric settled on my hips, he looked up with a raised brow.

“Perfect fit,” he said, teasing.

Next came the bra. He stood behind me, holding it open. I slipped my arms through the straps. His fingers expertly clipped the back, brushing down my spine afterward.

“Too tight?” he asked, his voice warm against my ear.

I shook my head, leaning into him. “Just right.”

He helped me into the yellow petticoat, tying the string with a playful tug. Then came the yellow blouse, which he fastened slowly, his fingers deliberately brushing the curve of my breasts with every hook.

When I reached for the saree, he stopped me. “Let me.”

I stood still as he took the chiffon fabric in his hands, gathering as if  he’d done a dozen times to me—he was slow, focused.

He tucked the pleats into my waist, adjusted the fall over my shoulder, and stepped back to admire me.

“You look…” he paused, smiling faintly, “...like my heart wrapped in sunlight.”

I blushed, tucking my hair behind my ear. “You and your lines.”

“They’re always true.”

Just then, a honk echoed from outside.

“Auto’s here,” he said, peeking through the curtain.

I sighed. 

That’s when I realized I was married to Arun, I have three sons, and all the things.  That sound of the Auto sort of woke me up completely and brought me back to reality. 


To Be Continued....  
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Nice. next part plz
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#3
Chapter 3 – The Morning After


I walked back home before dawn.
The sky was still dark, the streets still empty, but the weight on my shoulders was heavier than ever. My saree clung to me not because of the chill in the air… but because of the shame, the guilt, and the silence I had brought back with me.
I turned the key slowly, not wanting to wake the boys. Inside, the house was still and asleep—just as I had left it. As if nothing had happened. As if the woman who had walked out last night hadn’t torn a piece of her soul and left it behind in someone else’s room.
Arun was still breathing—better now. The oxygen cylinder had arrived. The ambulance had already called. Mahesh had kept his word.
And I had kept mine.
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I walked to the washroom. Locked the door. Turned on the tap. I didn’t even remove my saree. I just stood under the cold water, letting it soak me from head to toe.

The water washed away nothing.
No sin. No memory. No betrayal.
I sat down on the floor of the bathroom, hugging my knees to my chest, shivering.
But I didn’t cry.
Not yet.
The hospital called around 8 a.m. The ambulance arrived by 9. Arun was taken in. The boys stood by the gate, watching, confused but hopeful.
“Appa is going to be fine,” I told them.
They smiled. They believed me.
And for a moment, I allowed myself to believe it too.
That night, after putting the boys to bed, I stood in front of the mirror.
I didn’t recognize the woman staring back.
She looked… older. Not in age, but in soul. Her eyes were tired. Her lips had forgotten how to smile. Her body stood straight, but her heart had folded inwards like a paper boat in a storm.
I placed a hand on the mirror.
“You saved them,” I whispered. “You did what you had to do.”
But another voice—one deeper, one more real—whispered back:
“At what cost?”


Chapter 4: "Guilt Never Sleeps" 
I looked… older. Not in age, but in soul. My eyes were tired. My lips had forgotten how to smile. My body stood straight, but my heart had folded inwards like a paper boat in a storm.
I placed a hand on the mirror.
“You saved them,” I whispered. “You did what you had to do.”
But another voice—one deeper, one more real—whispered back:
“At what cost?”


Chapter 5 – The Secret That Lived Between Us
There is a silence that speaks louder than words—a space between two people where truth floats like dust in sunlight.
That space had grown between Arun and me.
He didn’t notice. Or maybe he did, but chose to ignore it, trusting me completely. And that trust... that unshaken, innocent trust… was what hurt the most.
Each time he smiled at me, I died a little inside.
Because I had saved his life…
But I had also buried a secret between us.
One Sunday morning, I was ironing his shirt when I heard him talking to the boys in the next room.
“Your Amma is a hero, you know,” he said gently.
“When I was in that hospital bed, I didn’t know if I’d make it. But every time I opened my eyes, I remembered her… and I fought harder to stay.”
My hands froze on the iron box. My eyes stung.
I switched off the plug and went into the kitchen, pretending to chop onions—but it wasn’t the onions that made my tears fall that day.
It was his love. His pride.
His belief in me.
I started writing in a notebook at night.
Not a diary. Not poetry. Just… truths. Words I couldn’t say out loud. Words I feared would shatter everything if ever spoken.
“I did not cheat.
I did not desire.
I only surrendered—to pain, to fear, to desperation.
I made a choice.
And it is killing me quietly.”
Some nights, I thought about telling him.
About sitting Arun down and saying it plainly:
“I did something terrible. But I did it for you. For us.”
And then I would picture his face changing. The love draining from his eyes. The silence that would follow.
Would he understand?
Would he forgive?
Or would I lose him forever?
One evening, while folding clothes, Arun stood behind me and gently wrapped his arms around my waist. He kissed my shoulder lightly.
“You’re so quiet these days,” he murmured.
“Did the battle to save me take everything from you?”
I nodded. It was the truth… and yet not the whole of it.
He turned me to face him and cupped my cheeks.
“I owe you my life,” he whispered. “Whatever you went through… I’ll spend the rest of my life repaying it.”
I wanted to fall into his arms and cry. Tell him everything. Let the burden go.
But I didn’t.
Because sometimes, love is not about sharing pain.
Sometimes, it’s about protecting the other from it—forever.
That night, I tore the pages from the notebook and burned them in the kitchen sink.
The truth would live in me, not on paper.
The guilt. The sacrifice. The silence.
It would all stay with me, quietly folded into the corners of my soul—unspoken, unseen, but never forgotten.

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#4
Chapter 6 – The Strength in Silence
A month passed.
Life began to resemble its old rhythm again. The boys were back to college. Arun, now stronger, resumed online classes, once again becoming “Master Arun” to a hundred eager minds.
And I, too, slipped into my old role—the quiet keeper of the home, the invisible pillar that held the family upright.
But something within me had changed.
Not broken.
Not destroyed.
Just... transformed.
In the mirror, I looked the same: hair neatly tied, bindi in place, saree well-dbangd.
But beneath that familiar appearance was a woman who had walked through fire—and survived. A woman who had paid a price so high, even her own heart trembled to remember it.
And yet, she was standing.
There were moments when the silence pressed too close. Moments when I would stare at Arun, laugh at something he said—and wonder how I was even able to smile.
But there was strength in silence, I learned. Not weakness.
Strength in choosing not to destroy someone else’s world with your truth.
Strength in bearing guilt like a crown only you could see.
Strength in waking up each day, making breakfast, holding your son’s hand, and saying—
“Yes, life must go on.”
My friend Mala visited one afternoon. She brought fruits and sweets and sat with me on the veranda.
She looked at me long and hard, then whispered, “Did you… do it?”
I didn’t answer.
She held my hand gently.
“I would’ve done the same,” she said softly. “You saved your family.”
I looked into her eyes and saw no judgment—only understanding. Only pain. Only sisterhood.
That day, I learned something else: sometimes, silence does not need to be filled. It only needs to be shared.
One rainy evening, as thunder rolled over Bangalore’s skies, Arun lit a lamp and placed it at the pooja shelf. He folded his hands in prayer.
I stood beside him.
We were two people who had both fought death—he from the inside, me from the outside. Both of us scarred. Both of us holding on to love.
And in that shared moment of silence, I felt a sliver of peace.
The world may never know my truth.
But I do.
And somehow, that’s enough.

[b]Chapter 7 – When the Past Knocks Again
[/b]

It had been almost six months.

Life had quietly settled into a new rhythm. The boys were growing fast—college, tuitions, mischief. Arun had become even more of a family man after recovering, more loving than ever. I had begun to breathe again, move on… at least on the surface.

But the past has a way of knocking when you least expect it.

And sometimes, it doesn’t knock.

It barges in.

It was a warm Tuesday morning.

I was buying vegetables at the corner market when I heard the unmistakable voice behind me.

“Sudha ma…”


[Image: Gemini-Generated-Image-b3l3feb3l3feb3l3.png]




I turned, and there he was.

Mahesh.
Ward Councillor Mahesh. In crisp white shirt and a confident smile. He had trimmed his beard and looked more polished, more powerful.
But to me, he still looked like the man who knew my silence.
Who had bargained with my pain.
Who held a part of my dignity like a trophy he thought he deserved.
I froze.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“Didn’t expect to see me?”
He smiled, a cold curve of his lips. “You disappeared after the hospital. I thought we could talk. In private.”
I felt the world narrow around me—the noise of honking bikes, the smell of coriander, the weight of my yellow saree on my shoulder.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said, turning to leave.
He chuckled.
“I kept my promise, Sudha. Your husband’s alive because of me. And I haven’t forgotten our… understanding.”
I stopped. My hands clenched around the vegetable bag.
He leaned in.
“You were special. I think we should meet again. Maybe for coffee this time? Or… the same arrangement?”
I spun around and met his gaze—this time, without fear.
“The woman who came to you that night… died the next morning.”
“I buried her. I won’t let you dig her out again.”
I walked away without another word.
My hands trembled, but my feet didn’t stop.
That night, I couldn’t eat. Arun noticed.
“Is everything okay, Sudha?” he asked.
I smiled faintly. “Just a headache.”
He pressed my forehead gently and whispered, “Then rest. You’ve done enough for all of us.”
If only he knew.
Later, when the house was asleep, I stood in the balcony and looked at the sky.
The wind was soft. The stars unbothered.
But I knew now what I had to do.
I had survived shame, grief, and guilt. I had earned my peace. I would not let Mahesh take it again.
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#5
Chapter 9 – A Dream Worth the Price

They say when one storm ends, another quietly brews in the sky.
I thought I had walked away from my past forever. But sometimes, the future drags it back into your path.
This time… it came wrapped in a dream.


[Image: Gemini-Generated-Image-oaeu3xoaeu3xoaeu.png]

One evening, our neighbour Mr. Ranganathan rang the bell. A retired bank officer, he was a kind man who had always admired our children’s discipline and Arun’s quiet nature.

He stepped in and said casually, “I’m selling my house next door, Sudha. I’m retiring to Coimbatore to live with my daughter.”
My heart skipped a beat.
That house. That beautiful, spacious two-storey home with a garden and space for the boys to grow freely—it had always been a silent dream. I had often imagined standing on its terrace, drying clothes, watching the sunrise, planting jasmine along its walls.
“How much?” I asked, breath caught.
“Five crores. You know the market in Koramangala. I’ve already got an offer from a builder.”
He left a few minutes later, leaving behind a storm in my chest.
That night, as I folded laundry, I brought it up with Arun.
“What if we bought Ranganathan sir’s house?”
He laughed softly. “Sudha, even our dreams don’t cost that much. Five crores is no joke.”
He kissed my forehead and said gently, “It’s a nice thought. But we’ll get there one day, I promise.”
But I wasn’t willing to wait.
Because for once, I wanted more. Not for me—but for them. For Arun. For our boys.
A better home. A brighter space. A symbol that our struggles were behind us.
That night, long after the house had fallen asleep, I sat in the kitchen alone.
And then… almost unwillingly… I picked up my phone.
My finger hovered over the number.
Mahesh.
The name that once triggered guilt now sparked something else.
Not desire.
Not weakness.
Just… a cold awareness of power.
The man who once owned a piece of my past… might now hold the key to my future.
I closed my eyes and dialed.





“Hello?” His voice was amused, lazy, almost expecting me.
“It’s me,” I said.
A pause.
“Well, well… Look who remembered my number,” he chuckled.
“I want to meet,” I said quietly. “There’s something I want from you.”
He laughed softly.
“I knew you’d come back. What is it this time?”
I took a deep breath.
“Five crores.”
Silence.
Then a slow, dangerous laugh.
“You’ve become expensive, Sudha.”
“No,” I replied, voice cold. “I’ve become clear. You once told me you’d give anything for one night with me. I’m asking you to prove it.”
The night was quiet, but inside me, a storm of desire and determination raged. The old ceiling fan whirred above us, its rhythm slower than my racing thoughts.
I went to my husband and lied to him that I was going to meet my friend Mala to discuss a Property deal which we are Brokering for and I would stay with her the night.  My husband agreed.
I took a nice shower and came out and wore my White Panties over my clean shaved Pussy, and wore my White Bra over my Boobs, and wore a Yellow Petticoat over my White Panties.
I chose the yellow saree carefully — soft cotton, dbangd low, pleats tucked loose at my waist over my Yellow Petticoat, Yellow blouse just tight enough to hold his gaze. I knew Mahesh. I knew the texture he liked against his skin, the colors that stirred him.
As I went to Mahesh’s house, the door was open for me and as I walked into the bedroom, the light from the night lamp caught the gentle sheen of my skin. I stood near the dresser, pretending to adjust my braid, arching slightly so the open back of my blouse played a silent tease.
I heard the rustle of his newspaper pause. Then… silence. That was the moment. I turned slowly.
His eyes had already found me — lingering not with hunger, but curiosity.
I smiled softly. “You’re staring, Mahesh.”
“You’re glowing,” he said, folding the paper.
I walked over to him and sat on the edge of the bed, one knee barely touching his thigh. “You always said yellow suits me,” I whispered, brushing a loose curl behind my ear.
“It does. Too well.”
I reached for his hand and placed it gently on my bare waist. “Feel it?” I said. “That’s not just skin. That’s a dream.”


[Image: Gemini-Generated-Image-b8t723b8t723b8t7.png]


He raised an eyebrow, amused. “A dream?”

I nodded. “A house. That one on the 5th Cross, Koramangala, my neighbor Mr. Ranganathan’s. He’s selling it.”
My fingers traced his wrist slowly, rhythmically, like how I’d caress a new sari before wearing it.
“I want it. In my name.”
He leaned back. “Five crores, Sudha. That’s not a simple dream.”
I moved closer, until my breath touched his cheek. “Neither was making me fall for you,” I whispered. “But I did it.”
I pressed my lips gently to his collarbone — not a kiss of lust, but of promise. I unpinned my saree slowly, letting it slip over my shoulder, revealing the curve of my yellow blouse.
His hand moved around my waist instinctively, pulling me in. I whispered into his ear, “Tonight, I’m not asking. I’m showing you how much I want it. How much you can give me, if you want to.”
I pushed him gently onto the bed, climbed over him with grace, with power. Not rushed. Not desperate. Every touch was intentional — a map to a future I was sketching in his mind with the ink of skin and breath.
My saree loosened. His shirt came undone. Fingers explored familiar territory with fresh meaning. We weren’t just making love. I was negotiating with passion, and he was signing with surrender.
As I began removing my Yellow Blouse and Yellow Petticoat and was only in my White Bra and White Panties, he began taking me into his complete embrace hugging me only in my White Bra and White Panties.
His voice, husky now, said against my neck, “If I buy it, you’ll never leave me, right?”
I smiled and kissed his lips slowly. “Buy it… and you’ll never have to ask again.”
He nodded. “In your name?”
I paused, staring into his eyes. “Yes. Because I want something that belongs to me. Completely.”
His hands gripped my waist. “Then it’s yours, Sudha. The house. The name. Everything.”
“All I want is you, Sudha,” he exclaimed.
He slid his hand up my back, fingertips pausing at the hook of White Bra. I gave him a slow nod. He unhooked it gently, as if unwrapping a gift he had long possessed but never truly opened. The fabric slipped down, revealing the soft curve of my shoulders, the rise of my breath.  The moment he saw my naked boobs, his mouth began to water.
As I was only in my White Bra now, “you wear power beautifully, Sudha,” he whispered, voice low and rough with need.
“No,” I whispered back, “I wear you beautifully.”
As he began hugging me only in my White Panties and began kissing my lips, I began kissing his lps back passionately.  Passionately, not with urgency, but with a simmering tenderness. My fingers tangled in his hair as he pulled me closer, his lips tracing a path from my neck down my collarbone. I arched slightly, allowing him access to more of me, not just my body — but my will, my longing, my demand.
He cupped my naked breasts, kissed my lips and looked into my eyes. I shivered, pressing my chest into his palm, letting the warmth of his skin melt into mine.
I slowly leaned back, pulling him on top of me. The White Panties I had worn around my waist loosened with one gentle tug as he began polling it down, beneath me like a second skin surrendered.
“Sudha…” he murmured, eyes dark with devotion and awe.
I placed a finger on his lips. “Don’t talk. Just show me that you see me.”
And he did.
His mouth worshipped every inch — my stomach, my thighs, the inside of my wrist — as though memorising the geography of his woman all over again. I guided his hands, his lips, his movements, not out of submission, but out of a quiet, feminine authority.
Spreading my legs, as he began kissing my pussy lips passionately, “mmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmm,” I began to moan.  He was enjoying himself eating my pussy, and holding his face gently, “Tell me the House is mine,” I whispered, his breath hot against my Pussy.
“It is,” he breathed, voice breaking, kissing and sucking my Pussy and areas around my pussy. “Everything. The house. The future. You. Everything is yours, Sudha…. Can I fuck you now?,” as he asked, looking at my eyes with his mouth close to my Pussy, “enjoy,” as I whispered, pinching his cheeks, all of a sudden began inserting his cock inside my Pussy and sleeping on top of me and hugging me tight me began making love to me.
As I began hugging him back, taking him into my complete embrace and began wrapping my legs around him pulling me against me, “mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” I moaned loud, as he cock went deeper inside my Pussy.
As he began kissing my neck passionately and continued making love to me, “mmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmm,” I began to moan holding his face, as I was horny and I nearing my orgasm.  “Enjoying my Pussy, Mahesh?” as I asked, holding his face in a horny tone, he started to get more excited, “mmmmmmm….. I love your Pussy, Sudha … mmmmmmmmmmm mmmm,” he began to moan.  Clearly he was about to cum at any moment.  
We moved together, slowly, as though the rhythm was dictated not by urgency but by promise. Each time his hips met mine, it wasn’t just love—it was a signature. A contract. A vow unspoken.
As he was enjoying himself making love to my Pussy, “mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmm,” I began to moan as I was about to cum.  The moment I held his face and began kissing his lips passoiniately, he could not take it any more, “aaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaa,” as he moaned and began cumming deep inside my pussy, hugging him tight, crushing my boobs against his chest, “aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah,” I moaned and began cumming all over his cock.
Afterward, we lay tangled in each other’s arms. My head rested on his chest, his fingers lazily running through my hair. His other hand traced the outline of my waist, over the curve of my hip where the petticoat’s knot used to be.
“Do you really want it in your name?” he asked softly.
I smiled into his skin. “I’ve lived my whole life in Rented House, Mahesh.  But now, I want something of my own. Just one thing.”
He kissed the top of my head. “You’ll have it. The house is yours, Sudha. Tomorrow, I’ll call the broker.”
I looked up at him and whispered, “Then tonight, let me thank you again.”
And as I climbed on top of him once more, slow and confident, I knew:
This wasn’t just about pleasure.
This was ownership of desire,
of space,
of my name — on the gate of that house on 5th Cross.
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#6
To Be Continued...!
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#7
Awesome .. once a slut is always a slut
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#8
[Image: Gemini-Generated-Image-f9e6u8f9e6u8f9e6.png]
The next morning when I woke up, the sun filtered in softly through the curtains, casting golden light across the bedsheets — now wrinkled and scented with the echoes of last night.

Mahesh still slept beside me, his arm resting over my stomach protectively, like he was guarding something precious. His face, usually stern with the weight of politics and ward meetings, now looked peaceful… almost boyish.
I ran my fingers through his thick hair gently, feeling the warmth of his breath on my neck. There was something deeply satisfying about watching him sleep, completely undone by me — by my body, my will, my tenderness.
I slowly got up from the bed, careful not to wake him. I wrapped myself in the same yellow saree, now dbangd lazily over my bare skin, still carrying his scent and my victory.
I walked to the mirror.
My reflection smiled back — flushed cheeks, slightly messy hair, the lingering blush of a woman not just loved, but heard.
The woman in the mirror was no longer just Arun’s wife.
She was Sudha. The one who made him beg. The one who now owned her desire. The one who would soon own that house.
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#9
[Image: Gemini-Generated-Image-npuxr4npuxr4npux.png]

As I wore my Saree and went to the Kitchen, I brewed fresh filter coffee, humming softly to myself.  The soft clink of the coffee tumblers faded into the background as Mahesh followed me back into the bedroom, his eyes still sleepy, but curious.

I walked toward the bathroom, loosening the yellow saree as I moved, letting it slip off my shoulder slowly — one inch of bare skin at a time.
I looked over my shoulder, smiled, and whispered, “Join me?”
He said nothing — only followed, the answer written in the heat rising in his gaze.
Inside, warm water began to fall from the shower like gentle summer rain. The air quickly fogged with steam, the light turning soft and golden.
I unhooked my white bra, letting it slide down my arms and drop quietly to the floor. My White panties followed, soaked with the remnants of last night. I stepped into the shower and turned, letting the water stream down my body, my eyes locking with his through the glass.
He stood frozen for a moment at the door. Then, like he was drawn by something magnetic, he stepped inside — his fingers brushing along my hip as he passed me, naked now, like the first time all over again.
We stood under the water together. No rush. No need.
He pressed his forehead against mine, water dripping down both our faces. My hands moved to his chest, spreading the soap slowly over his skin — a ritual, not a routine.
“I could get used to this,” he murmured.
I smiled, rubbing slow circles across his shoulders, “Then maybe you should start.”
I turned my back to him and reached for the shampoo. He took it from my hand and lathered it gently into my hair, fingers massaging my scalp with care that made me melt inside.
When I turned back around, he cupped my face with both hands and kissed me—slow, deep, warm. His lips moved with intention, like he was memorising not just the shape of my mouth, but the moment itself.
The water streamed between us, down our chests, over our thighs, around our toes. But we didn’t move.
His hands slid down my back, resting on the curve of my hips. Mine circled his neck. Our foreheads touched again, eyes closed.
There was no moaning. No begging. Just breath and warmth, skin on skin, and the unspoken language of two bodies that knew each other too well, and yet — somehow — rediscovered something new every time they touched.
We didn't make love in the shower. We didn’t need to.
The water finally stopped, but the warmth between us lingered.
Mahesh reached for a soft white towel and opened it with a tender flourish, wrapping it gently around me. He didn’t just dry me — he cherished me.
With every slow stroke of the towel across my back, across my shoulders, down my thighs — it was as if he was sealing last night’s promise into my skin. He knelt before me and gently patted my calves and feet dry, his eyes soft, reverent.
Then, without a word, he reached for the black bra — which was inside my hand bag — and helped me wear it, slipping the straps over my shoulders and fastening the hook with a smile against the nape of my neck.
Next came the matching black panties, smooth satin brushing against my thighs as he helped me step into them. His fingers lingered for a moment as he pulled them gently up — tracing the curve of my hips as if memorising them all over again.
“You’re dangerous in black,” he murmured, his lips brushing just behind my ear.
I smiled. “Wait till you see the yellow.”
He picked up my yellow petticoat and helped me tie it around my waist, his knuckles grazing my belly, stealing a soft sigh from me. Then the yellow blouse, snug and glowing against my brown skin — he slid my arms into it, hooked the buttons slowly, kissing my shoulder between each one.
And finally, he unfolded the yellow saree, dbanging it around me with the elegance of a sculptor working on his masterpiece.
“You wear the sun,” he whispered, tucking the pleats into my waist and adjusting the pallu across my chest with care. “And today, you’ll own it.”
I turned to him, cupped his cheek, and kissed him deeply — slowly — as if sealing a promise between our lips.
When we pulled apart, breathless and smiling, he whispered, “Let’s go.”
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#10
Later That Morning – Koramangala BDA Complex

The black car pulled up in front of the registration office. A typical Bangalore morning bustled outside — auto rickshaws honking, coconut vendors shouting, young techies on bikes zooming past. But for me, time had slowed.
I stepped out in my yellow saree — the same one that changed everything.
Mahesh walked beside me in a crisp white shirt and black trousers, his presence radiating quiet pride. As we entered the BDA Complex, the staff nodded respectfully. Everyone knew him. But today, he wasn’t here for himself.
He was here for me.
We sat before the registrar. The documents were laid out. I watched Mahesh take the pen, glance at me once — and then, without hesitation, sign the papers.
Under “Owner’s Name”:
Mrs. Sudha.
The registrar stamped the final document. THUD.
That sound echoed inside me like thunder in the heart.
It was done.
We stepped outside into the sun. The yellow saree shimmered. I blinked back tears, overwhelmed.
Mahesh turned to me, held my hand, and said softly, “This house… this name… is only the beginning.”
I looked at him — my lucky charm, my partner, the man who made me beg once and now begged to give me the world — and smiled.
The 5 Crore dream was no longer a dream.
It was mine.
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#11
When Mahesh and I Went to my New House and Open the Gates. The front door creaked open slowly, revealing the quiet emptiness of the house that now bore my name.
Sunlight poured through the windows, casting warm golden streaks across the floor. The walls were bare. The air was still. And yet… it already felt like home.
I stepped in barefoot, the coolness of the marble floor kissing my feet. Every sound echoed — my anklets, the soft rustle of my yellow saree, the beating of my heart.
Mahesh followed me inside, locking the door gently behind us.
I turned to him, eyes filled with emotion. “This house is mine… because of you.”
He smiled, but I could see it in his eyes — how much joy it gave him to see me happy. To see me powerful. To see me owning something I had only dared to dream of.
I walked to the center of the living room, sunlight bathing me in gold, and slowly turned to face him.
Then, without a word…
I let the saree slip.
The pallu slid off my shoulder, falling to the floor like silk surrendering to gravity.
I held his gaze — unwavering.
I reached behind and unhooked my yellow blouse, letting it part open and slide down my arms.
The black bra followed.
Then the petticoat.
The black panties.
Every barrier between us — gone, just like the doubt, the fear, the hesitation that once kept me small.
I stood naked before him, in the middle of our new home, bathed in sunlight, proud and open — not just in body, but in heart.
“This is yours,” I whispered. “Not just the house… me. Again. Entirely.”
[Image: Gemini-Generated-Image-p9vxecp9vxecp9vx.png]
Mahesh walked toward me, slowly. Reverently. As if I were made of light.
He touched my cheek, then my lips, then my shoulder — as if confirming that I was real. Then he kissed me. Deeply. Passionately. Gratefully.
His hands traced every inch of me, his lips followed. And there, in the echo of empty walls and sunlit floors, we made love — not on a bed, but on the clean marble of our new beginning.
There were no curtains, no furniture, no noise — just the sounds of breath, of skin, of soft moans and whispered names. Of two people claiming each other again… not out of lust, but from overflowing love and quiet triumph.
When it was over, I lay on my back, wrapped in his arms, our clothes scattered around us like petals of a flower that had bloomed too suddenly in a room not ready.
The house was still empty.
But our love had filled it first.
[Image: Gemini-Generated-Image-2dcmu32dcmu32dcm.png]
The House at Koramangala was all Mine!!  Mine!!!


The End

Regards 
Novelist Casanova
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#12
(14-06-2025, 08:48 AM)Arul Pragasam Wrote: Awesome .. once a slut is always a slut

Because of her Family Situation .

Thank you for the Support  Namaskar
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#13
Amazing end(beginning) for sudha.
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#14
It looks like she has fallen in love with Mahesh, the man that gave her everything. This relationship is not over. Very good dude.
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#15
Lovely story, enjoyed it... People sometimes misunderstand that she has become a slut, but tt really shows that if a woman know her power, she can win any war. enjoyed the short n erotic episodes..
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Enjoy the seduction of Nalini by Two Health Inspectors in the story  Nalini And the Unseen Virus
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#16
As i said you are the best erotic writer no one beats u in terms of story telling the way u describe it makes me leak
The way u express the characters emotions is very good
YOU ARE AMAZING
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#17
(14-06-2025, 02:08 PM)Bigil Wrote: It looks like she has fallen in love with Mahesh, the man that gave her everything. This relationship is not over. Very good dude.

He is ready to give anything she asks for, just for a night with her.

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Thanks for the Support  Namaskar
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#18
Excellent
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#19
(14-06-2025, 04:47 PM)tweeny_fory Wrote: Lovely story, enjoyed it... People sometimes misunderstand that she has become a slut, but tt really shows that if a woman know her power, she can win any war. enjoyed the short n erotic episodes..

Exactly.

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Thank you so much for the Support  Namaskar
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#20
Hi bro. Can we chat?
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