Misc. Erotica A Wife’s Revenge

[novelistcasanova]

A Wife’s Revenge

“I crossed the night and made sure 

he never saw another morning.”

By 

Novelist Casnova 

---

A Wife’s Revenge

Our first-floor house sat in a quiet upper-middle-class colony in Bangalore. The lanes outside were neat, lined with old trees and parked cars. Early morning light was soft and grey. Somewhere a pressure cooker whistle was going off in a neighbouring house. The air inside our bedroom carried the mild leftover smell of last night’s jasmine oil and the starch of the college uniforms hanging on the wooden stand near the window. The ceiling fan was turning slowly above the bed.
I woke up already kissing my husband’s lips back, but in my half-sleep I was still trapped inside the naughty dream.
In the dream some ugly guy—dark skinned, with filthy lips and mouth—was holding my face with his rough, dirty hands. The strong smell of sweat, beedi, and stale oil clung to him. He kissed me hard, forcing his thick tongue inside my mouth. I shamelessly kissed him back, opening wider, sucking on his tongue, and letting the filthy taste spread across mine. The dirty, bitter, smoky flavour of his mouth was making my pussy throb. I moaned into the kiss, pressed my heavy breasts against his stained shirt, and moved my lips hungrily against his as if I had no shame left. The more filthy the taste became, the wetter and hotter I felt between my legs.
That same shameless hunger was still controlling me when my real mouth moved against my husband’s. I kissed him deeply, eyes still closed, thinking for those few seconds that it was still that ugly dark-skinned guy. The unbrushed morning smell and taste of my husband’s mouth—warm, heavy, slightly stale—mixed with the dream, and the filthy combination was making me even hornier. I sucked on his lips, pushed my tongue against his, and let out a soft, needy sound while my cream color panties were already turning damp.
My husband loved that kiss. He kissed me back with equal heat, one hand sliding into my hair, holding my head in place as if he did not want the moment to end. His mouth moved hungrily against mine, matching the shameless way I was sucking and tasting him.
After a long moment he pulled back just enough to speak against my lips, voice low and thick with pleasure.
“Sudha… the way you are kissing me this morning… I love it. Don’t stop.”
Only then did I properly wake up and realise it was my husband. The leftover filthy pleasure from the dream was still pulsing through my body as I pulled back a little more and spoke against his lips.
“Ram… brush your teeth first. Your mouth is not fresh.”
He laughed quietly and ignored me. His hands already slid under the white nighty, pushing it higher and higher until the white nighty gathered above my heavy breasts. He lowered his head and took one full breast into his mouth, tasting the nipple slowly, sucking with soft wet sounds. Then he moved to the other breast and did the same, licking and tasting each one carefully while I still tried to push his head away half-heartedly.
“Not now… the boys are getting late for college. I have to prepare breakfast and pack their tiffin. Ram, stop…”
He did not stop. His right hand slid down, went inside the waistband of my cream color panties, and two of his fingers found my pussy and started to play with it—rubbing slowly, pressing, collecting the wetness that was already gathering from the dirty dream. I knew what that meant. When my husband played with my pussy like this early in the morning, he wanted to fuck me. But if he continued, he would be late for the supermarket. His workers would already be waiting outside the shutter.
I caught his wrist inside the cream color panties and held it.
“Ram… if you keep playing like this you will want to fuck me, and then you will be late. Your workers will be standing outside the shop already. Tonight I will give you everything, okay? Everything. Now get up.”
He groaned softly against my breast, gave the nipple one last slow lick, then reluctantly pulled his right hand out of my cream color panties. He sat up, still looking at my breasts where the white nighty was still pushed up.
“Tonight you promised,” he whispered, almost pouting.
“Yes, tonight. Now go brush your teeth and get ready. I am getting up.”
I pushed the white nighty back down over my breasts, swung my legs off the bed, and walked to the bathroom in the white nighty and cream color panties. Inside the bathroom I brushed my teeth thoroughly, washed my face, and then took a proper shower. Warm water ran over my body while I soaped myself. After finishing I towelled myself dry completely inside the bathroom, then wore the same cream color panties and the same white nighty again before coming out.
I went straight to the kitchen to start the morning work, still in the white nighty and cream color panties. I lit the stove, put water for filter coffee, and started the boys’ tiffin. Three steel boxes. Three different preferences. The youngest still wanted only curd rice with a little pickle. The middle one wanted chapati and potato. The eldest wanted whatever his friends were eating that week. I moved between the counter and the stove like a proper busy housewife, the white nighty shifting over my body with every movement, the cream color panties sitting low on my hips.
My husband came into the kitchen a few minutes later after brushing his teeth and taking a shower, dressed for the shop, still looking a little hungry-eyed. He stepped behind me, lifted the back of my white nighty with both hands, and stared at the full round shape of my ass covered only by the cream color panties. Then his right hand slid down, went inside the waistband of my cream color panties, and two of his fingers pushed between my legs into my already wet pussy. He moved those fingers slowly, collecting my juices, and then brought his hand up to his mouth to taste them. I bit my lip and leaned back against him for a second.
Just then the boys’ voices rose from the bedroom. My husband quickly pulled his hand out of my cream color panties, dropped the white nighty back down, and stepped away as if nothing had happened.
I laughed softly, shook my head, and went back to the dosa batter. My cream color panties were already a little damp between my thighs.
“Later. Breakfast first.”
I finished the breakfast quickly. The boys ate, talked, and got their bags ready. After everyone finished, my husband picked up the car keys. He was going to drop our three sons at college and then open the supermarket.
I walked with them to the main door in my white nighty and cream color panties and stood there, watching as the boys climbed into the car. My husband was about to get into the driver’s seat when he suddenly stopped, came back up the steps, and pushed me gently inside the house, closing the door behind him.
He pressed me against the wall and kissed me deeply. His mouth was open, warm, and hungry. His tongue slid against mine, tasting me slowly at first and then with more urgency. One of his hands held the back of my neck while the other rested on my waist, fingers pressing into the soft curve under the white nighty. The kiss turned wetter, longer, more erotic with every second—his lips pulling at mine, his breath mixing with mine, the quiet sound of our mouths moving together filling the small entrance.
I kissed him back with equal heat, my body melting against his for those few stolen moments. For a second the memory of that ugly dark-skinned guy’s filthy mouth from the dream flashed again, making the real kiss with my husband feel even hotter and more shameless.
The moment I felt the hard boner of his cock pressing firmly against my stomach through his pants, I pulled back a little and placed my palm on his chest.
“Nothing now, Ram. Tonight. I already promised you everything tonight.”
He did not move away. Instead he looked down at my body in the white nighty and spoke in a low, begging voice.
“Sudha… just once. Show me your pussy before I go. Please.”
“No, Ram. The boys are waiting in the car. Go.”
“Please… just for a second. I keep thinking about it. Let me see it once.”
I sighed, still smiling, and slowly lifted the front of my white nighty. My husband quickly pulled my cream color panties down to my thighs. His eyes locked on my clean, clean-shaved pussy.
“So beautiful… clean and clean-shaved. Perfect.”
He grabbed my pussy with his right hand, gave it a gentle shake, then pushed his middle finger inside. He moved the finger once, slowly, then pulled it out glistening and put it straight into his mouth, sucking my juice with a soft sound. Only after that did he pull my cream color panties back up, let the white nighty fall, and step away.
I laughed, turned him around, and gave his ass a playful spank with my hand before pushing him toward the door.
“Go. Drop the boys and open the supermarket. Your workers will be waiting. Go.”
He grinned, rubbed the place I had spanked, and looked at me with that soft, loving hunger he always had for me. I stood in the white nighty and cream color panties, watching him with equal love, feeling proud of this decent, slightly naughty husband who still could not leave the house without trying to taste my mouth and my pussy properly.
He finally left. I stood at the open door, watching the car drive out of the colony gate with my three sons and my husband inside, still smiling to myself like a busy housewife who loved her husband deeply.
After they left, the house became quiet again. I finished my own coffee standing at the kitchen window, still in the white nighty and cream color panties, looking down at the neat row of parked cars and the small garden. My body felt warm and a little restless from all of my husband’s morning touches, that long erotic kiss, the way he had grabbed and tasted my pussy, and the leftover shameless heat of the dirty dream, but the day was still ordinary and happy.
This was our life.
Upper-middle-class Bangalore. Three growing sons. A husband who ran a clean, honest supermarket two streets away and still could not stop tasting my breasts or playing inside my cream color panties or kissing me like that before leaving for work. A house that smelled of dosa and detergent and the mild sweetness of the agarbathi I lit every morning near the small puja shelf.
I was proud of this life.
I was proud of the way my body still made my decent husband lose a little control every morning.
And I was still completely loyal to him.
That was how the day began.
That was how every ordinary, happy day began.



After my husband and sons left, the house became quiet. I finished my coffee at the kitchen window, still in the white nighty and cream color panties, then started my daily chores.
I first cleared the breakfast vessels. I washed every plate, tumbler, and spoon with soap, rinsed them under running water, and stacked them neatly on the stand to dry. I wiped the kitchen counters, swept the floor, and then mopped it until the tiles shone. I collected the boys’ scattered socks and notebooks from the hall and put them back in their places. I folded the bedsheets, adjusted the pillows, and switched off the bedroom fan. I dusted the TV stand, the dining table, and the small puja shelf. I lit a fresh agarbathi near the gods and stood there for a few seconds with my eyes closed.
While doing all this I played my favourite Ilayaraja songs on YouTube from my phone. The soft melodies filled the house. I hummed along under my breath as I moved from room to room, the white nighty shifting over my body with every step, the cream color panties sitting low on my hips.
Once the house looked clean and settled, I went to the bathroom and took another shower. Warm water ran over my body while I soaped myself thoroughly. After finishing I stepped out, towelled myself dry completely, and walked into the bedroom still covering myself with the towel.
In the bedroom I removed the towel and wore a white bra, black panties, and a white petticoat. Over them I dbangd my purple saree and pinned the matching purple blouse. I adjusted the pleats carefully, tucked the saree firmly at the waist, and checked myself once in the mirror. The purple colour sat well against my skin. My heavy breasts filled the purple blouse nicely. The white petticoat stayed hidden underneath, and the black panties sat smooth under the petticoat.
I picked up my market bag, locked the main door, and stepped out of the house. The morning sun was stronger now. Instead of walking I raised my hand and stopped a regular auto that usually waited near the colony gate. The auto driver was a middle-aged man who knew me as the supermarket owner’s wife. He looked at me as I climbed in. His eyes moved over the purple saree, the way it clung to my hips and chest, and the shape of my body under the matching purple blouse. He got affected. His gaze lingered a little longer than needed while he started the auto, and I noticed the quiet struggle in his face as he tried to keep his eyes on the road.
I sat in the back, the purple saree spread around me, and looked out at the passing lanes. The mild sound of my anklets mixed with the auto’s noise. At the market I got down, paid him, and went from shop to shop choosing fresh vegetables — tomatoes, onions, green chillies, coriander, beans, and a small piece of ginger. I checked the quality with my fingers, bargained lightly the way I always did, and filled my bag. The sellers knew me. They spoke respectfully. I smiled, paid, and took another auto back home.
The purple saree swayed around me as I walked the last few steps to the house. The white petticoat brushed my legs underneath. The black panties stayed neat under everything. I hummed the same Ilayaraja song again under my breath as I unlocked the door, a busy housewife returning home after finishing her morning work, still carrying the warm leftover feeling of my husband’s morning touches and promises for the night.
This was still our ordinary, happy life.


I was proud of my body.
Even after three sons, my heavy breasts still filled every blouse properly. My waist still curved in. My hips stayed wide and round. When I walked in a saree, the pleats moved with a soft rhythm that drew eyes without me doing anything extra. I knew it. I had always known it.
In the mornings, when my husband could not stop tasting my breasts or sliding his fingers between my legs, a quiet satisfaction settled inside me. When men stared a little too long at the way my saree sat on my chest and hips, the same satisfaction returned. I never smiled at them. I never encouraged. But I noticed. And I liked noticing.
I loved the feeling of men getting affected by me while I remained completely loyal to my husband.
It was a private thrill. A small, secret heat that lived under my ribs. I could walk to the market fully covered, fully respectable, and still feel the weight of their eyes. I could stand at the vegetable shop, bargain for tomatoes, and sense the seller’s gaze dropping for half a second to the shape of my breasts under the blouse. I never looked back. I never gave them anything. But the knowledge that they were looking, that my body still had that power, made something warm move low in my stomach.
I teased without teasing.
A slight adjustment of the pallu. A slower step when I knew someone was watching. The way I stood with my weight on one hip while waiting for the auto. Nothing open. Nothing shameful. Just enough for me to feel the quiet current of attention, and then I would return home to my husband, cook his favourite dinner, and keep every promise I made to him in the morning.
That was the buried part.
I was a loyal wife. I loved my husband. I was proud of the life we had built. And still, deep under all of that, I carried this soft, constant awareness of my own body and the effect it had on men. I never crossed the line. I never wanted to cross the line. But the line itself excited me. The fact that I could stand so close to it, feel the heat of their stares, and still walk back into my house as my husband’s wife, untouched and faithful, gave me a strange private pleasure.
It was always there.
Quiet.
Controlled.
Mine.


At the market the afternoon sun was already sharp. I moved from one vegetable stall to the next with my bag hanging from my wrist, the purple saree dbangd properly, the matching purple blouse fitting snugly across my chest. Every few steps another man’s face caught my eye and pulled me straight back into the morning dream. A dark-skinned seller arranging onions had the same heavy jaw. Another man weighing tomatoes had the same thick, slightly cracked lips. Each time the resemblance struck, the memory of that filthy mouth returned with full force — the bitter, smoky taste, the rough tongue pushing inside, the way I had shamelessly sucked on it while my cream color panties grew wet. A slow heat began spreading low in my stomach. My black panties under the white petticoat felt warmer. I kept my face calm and continued bargaining, but inside the horny feeling was rising steadily, wave after wave, every time another dark face reminded me of the dream.
I selected the vegetables carefully — firm tomatoes, fresh coriander, green chillies, beans, a piece of ginger — yet my mind kept slipping. By the time the bag was full, my breathing had grown a little shallow and the space between my thighs felt slick.
I stopped the same regular auto near the market entrance. The driver glanced at me as I climbed in. I sat on the back seat, arranged the purple saree over my knees, and looked out at the passing streets. Halfway through the ride the auto took a sharp turn. My pallu slid off my shoulder without me noticing. The purple blouse was suddenly fully visible to him — the round upper curve of my breasts, the way the blouse stretched across them, the deep line of my cleavage. Cool air touched the exposed skin. Only when I felt that coolness did I realise. I quickly caught the pallu and pulled it back over my chest, covering myself again. My heart beat faster. The driver said nothing, but I sensed his eyes had already taken everything in. The knowledge that he had seen made the heat between my legs throb harder.
When the auto stopped at the colony gate I paid him the exact amount and stepped down. The fifty-foot path from the gate to my front door suddenly felt long. I walked slowly, the purple saree shifting around my hips and thighs with every step. I did not look back, yet I knew he was still seated in the auto, watching the movement of my ass under the saree. The awareness of his stare made my black panties feel even tighter against my already wet pussy. I kept my back straight and walked until I reached the door, unlocked it, and stepped inside.
The moment the door closed behind me the house felt silent and private. I went straight to the bedroom. First I removed the purple saree, folding it carefully over the chair. Then I unhooked the matching purple blouse and slid it off my arms. I untied the white petticoat and let it fall to the floor. Standing only in the white bra and black panties, I unhooked the bra, freed my heavy breasts, and finally pushed the black panties down my legs. Completely naked, I felt the mild afternoon air on every part of my body — my breasts, my stomach, the clean-shaved mound between my thighs.
I lay down on the bed. The leftover heat from the dream and from the market was still strong and insistent. I closed my eyes. First the dark-skinned man’s face appeared — his filthy lips, his thick tongue, the bitter taste of that dream kiss. My right hand moved down. I parted my legs wide and began touching myself without any shame. My fingers slid through the wetness that had already gathered, circling slowly over my clit, then pressing harder. I pushed one finger inside, then two, moving them in and out while my thumb kept rubbing. Soft wet sounds rose from between my legs. My breasts rose and fell with my breathing.
Then, shamelessly, the auto driver’s face joined the dream. I saw him again in the rear-view mirror, staring at my exposed breasts when the pallu fell. I saw him watching my ass for those full fifty feet. The thought that he had got hard because of me made my fingers move faster. I rubbed my clit in tight circles, pushed my fingers deeper, and let both images mix — the ugly dark-skinned man’s filthy mouth kissing me and the auto driver staring at my body. My hips lifted off the mattress. My thighs trembled. A low, broken moan escaped into the pillow as the orgasm broke through me — sharp, long, and strong — leaving my pussy pulsing hard around my own fingers.
The moment the last wave faded, embarrassment crashed over me. I had touched myself and come hard thinking about a dream and about the auto driver. Shame heated my face. I blushed deeply, pulled the bedsheet over my naked body, and turned onto my side, knees drawn in. I lay there for a long time, cheeks still warm, feeling both satisfied and guilty at the same time.
Eventually the heaviness of the orgasm pulled me into a nap.
When I woke the light in the room had shifted to late afternoon. I sat up slowly, still naked under the sheet. I rose from the bed, took a fresh pair of panties from the cupboard, and slipped them on. Then I pulled my white nighty over my head and let it fall loosely over my body. The white nighty settled against my breasts and the new panties. I went to the kitchen, ate a quiet lunch of leftover rice and curd, and washed the plate. Afterwards I began preparing evening snacks for my sons and my husband — chopping onions and green chillies, heating oil in the pan, and making fresh bajjis and a small batch of mixture. The ordinary smells of frying and spices slowly filled the house again. The earlier heat, the shame, and the memory of the dream settled into the background. By the time the snacks were ready and arranged on a plate, I was once more only the busy wife in her white nighty, waiting for her family to return home.



Night settled over the house. The boys had finished their snacks, finished their homework, and gone to bed. The television was switched off. The kitchen was clean. Only the mild smell of the evening bajjis still hung in the air.
I was still in my white nighty and the fresh panties when my husband came out of the bathroom after his shower. His hair was damp. He looked at me the same way he had looked at me in the morning — hungry, soft, and a little impatient.
I walked up to him without saying anything at first. I took his hand and led him into our bedroom. I closed the door quietly behind us.
“Tonight I promised you everything,” I said.
He smiled, already pulling me closer.
“I have been thinking about this since morning, Sudha. The way you kissed me… the way you let me taste you at the door…”
“I know,” I answered, my voice low. “That is why I am here. No stopping tonight.”
He kissed me deeply. His mouth was fresh now, warm and clean. I kissed him back with the same heat I had given him in the morning, but this time there was no need to stop.
He lifted the white nighty up and over my head in one slow movement. I stood in front of him in only the fresh panties. His eyes moved over my heavy breasts, my stomach, and the clean-shaved shape under the panties.
“You are so beautiful like this,” he whispered. “Every time I see you I forget how to talk.”
He reached out and cupped both breasts, squeezing them gently.
“These… I wanted them in my mouth the whole day.”
He lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking slowly, then moved to the other.
I pushed the fresh panties down my legs and stepped out of them. Completely naked, I climbed onto the bed and lay back, opening my legs for him.
“Come,” I said softly. “I am already wet for you.”
My husband removed his lungi and came over me. He kissed my mouth again, then my neck, then each breast, then the soft skin of my stomach, moving lower.
“I want to taste you properly first,” he murmured against my thigh.
His mouth settled between my legs. He licked me slowly at first, tasting the wetness that was already there, then with more hunger, sucking on my clit while his hands held my hips down.
“Ram…” I breathed, holding the back of his head. “Yes… just like that…”
When he finally rose and positioned himself between my legs, I reached down and guided his cock to my entrance.
“Put it inside,” I whispered. “I want to feel you.”
He pushed inside me in one long, steady thrust. I was wet and ready. He filled me completely.
“So tight… so warm,” he groaned against my neck. “You feel even better than this morning.”
He began moving with deep, controlled strokes. His hands held my waist. His mouth returned to my breasts.
“Harder,” I told him, wrapping my legs around him. “I can take it. Give me everything.”
He fucked me with steady hunger, sometimes slow and deep, sometimes faster when he could not hold back.
“Sudha… I am not going to last long if you keep talking like that.”
“Then don’t last,” I answered, pulling him deeper. “Come inside me. I want it.”
The pleasure built quickly. My breathing turned uneven. My fingers dug into his back.
“Ahh… Ram… I’m close… don’t stop…”
He thrust deeper and faster. My pussy started tightening around him.
“Mmm… ahh… yes… right there… Ram…”
The orgasm broke through me hard. My back arched. My legs locked around him.
“Ahhh… ahhh… Ram… I’m coming… I’m coming… mmm… ahhh…”
I kept moaning through the waves, soft and broken, while my pussy pulsed tightly around his cock. He kept thrusting through my orgasm, then buried himself fully and came inside me with a low, rough sound against my neck.
“Sudha… take it… all of it…”
For a long time afterwards we stayed joined, his weight warm on top of me, his cock still pulsing softly inside. He kissed the side of my face and whispered,
“I needed this the whole day. Every time I closed my eyes at the shop I saw you in that white nighty.”
I ran my fingers through his damp hair and answered quietly,
“I know. That is why I kept my promise. You can enjoy me like this whenever you want.”
Eventually he pulled out and lay beside me. I stayed naked under the bedsheet, my body still open and satisfied, the mild ache between my legs reminding me of how thoroughly he had enjoyed me.
“Sleep,” he said, pulling me against his chest. “Tomorrow morning I will want you again.”
“Then take me again tomorrow,” I replied, already closing my eyes.
Outside, the colony was quiet. Inside our bedroom, everything felt ordinary and complete again.
This was still our life.
A loyal wife.
A hungry husband.
A promise kept at night.


To Be Continued..

[Hotgiri]

Awasome story, please add hot gif in sex scene

[novelistcasanova]

I was so tired after getting fucked the night before. My body still carried the deep, pleasant ache between my legs and the heavy satisfaction of having given my husband everything he had asked for. I had fallen asleep on my tummy, one arm bent under the pillow, face turned to the side. The bedsheet had slipped down during the night and now covered only the lower half of my back, leaving my bare ass fully exposed to the mild morning air.

Early grey light was already filtering through the curtains when I first felt his hands. My husband was awake before me. His palms settled on my ass cheeks with slow, careful pressure. He cupped them, felt their weight, then squeezed gently, watching my ass cheeks rise between his fingers. He spread them a little and let them fall back, then repeated the movement, as if he had all the time in the world. I stayed in half-sleep, too exhausted to open my eyes fully, but every touch registered clearly on my skin.
He was speaking on the phone in a low voice so he would not wake me completely.
“Yes, Mesthri… moulding today at nine, correct?”
The Mesthri’s voice came through the speaker, slightly rough from the early hour.
“Yes sir. Everything is ready on site. Labour is already standing. The centering is checked. Only the jalli lorry is pending. We are waiting for it near the gate. Once it comes we can start pouring.”
“Good. Check the levels once more before I reach. I will be there in five minutes. Don’t start anything until I come. I want to see the alignment myself.”
“Okay sir. We will wait. Everything else is in place.”
My husband hung up and placed the phone on the side table.
He kept one hand on my ass the entire time he spoke. His fingers occasionally brushed the soft inner curve where my cheeks met. When he spread them a little wider, cool air touched my asshole. A wave of shyness moved through me even in half-sleep. He was looking at it. The pad of his finger traced the tight ring once, very lightly. I remembered his request for anal — the quiet conversation we had months ago, and the promise I had given him for the day after our new six-floor house construction on the same street was completed. Only a couple of months remained. The thought made me feel shy and warm at the same time. My tired body still responded with a small, involuntary clench.
He leaned down until his mouth was near my ear. His breath was warm against my skin.
“Sleep, Sudha. You gave me everything last night. Your mouth, your pussy, your whole body. Take rest today. I have to go for the moulding.”
He kissed my bare shoulder, lingering there for a few seconds. Then he moved lower. I felt his lips press against the left ass cheek, soft and warm, then the right. He kissed each one slowly, as if tasting the skin. His hands returned to spread my cheeks open carefully, holding them apart so that my asshole was fully exposed to him. The next moment his tongue touched me there — soft, wet, deliberate. He tasted my asshole with slow, circling movements, pressing gently, licking the tight ring as if it already belonged to him.
“Mmm… ahh…”
A small, surprised sound left my mouth before I could stop it. My body tensed for a moment, thighs pressing into the mattress, then relaxed again under his hands. The wetness of his tongue stayed cool on my skin even after he pulled back.
He patted one ass cheek gently with his palm and spoke in a low, affectionate voice.
“Sleep. I’ll come back once the moulding starts properly.”
I turned my face a little on the pillow, still half-asleep, and spoke without opening my eyes fully.
“Wait… I will make breakfast quickly.”
My hand reached out, found my yellow panties on the side of the bed, and began pulling them up my legs. My yellow panties slid over my thighs. My husband stopped me with a firm but gentle hand on my wrist.
“No. It’s okay. I have to be there early to see if everything starts well. The jalli lorry will come soon. You rest. You already gave me more than enough last night.”
He kissed the back of my head once, adjusted the bedsheet so that it covered my lower body properly, and stepped away. I heard him move around the room — picking up his keys, checking his wallet — then the soft sound of the bedroom door closing. A few minutes later the main door shut, and the distant noise of his car starting reached me through the window.
I stayed on my tummy for a short while after he left, my yellow panties still only halfway up my thighs, the mild wetness from his tongue still cool on my asshole. Then I pushed myself up. I pulled my yellow panties all the way up over my hips, smoothed them into place, and reached for my white nighty. I slipped my white nighty over my head and let it fall loosely down my body, covering my breasts and settling over my yellow panties.
I walked to the bathroom. Inside I brushed my teeth, washed my face with cool water, and freshened up properly. The mild ache between my legs and the lingering coolness on my asshole reminded me of everything that had happened since the previous night, but I pushed the thoughts aside and focused on the morning.
When I came out, I went straight to the kitchen and began preparing breakfast for our sons. It was Sunday, so there was no college. Outside, beyond the open main door, I could hear them already playing inside the gate — their voices rising and falling as they ran around the small compound, laughing and calling to each other. I heated the stove, made soft idlis and a simple coconut chutney, and kept everything ready on the dining table.
The ordinary Sunday morning settled around me again. My white nighty moved softly with every step. My yellow panties sat comfortably underneath. The house smelled of fresh idlis and the mild sweetness of the agarbathi still burning near the puja shelf. Outside, my sons continued playing inside the gate, their happy noise filling the quiet colony air while I waited for them to come in and eat.



I was relaxing on the balcony with a steel tumbler of filter coffee, still wearing my white nighty and yellow panties. The Sunday morning air was mild and carried the distant smell of someone frying something in the next street. Below me, inside the gate, my three sons were playing freely — running across the small compound, shouting each other’s names, kicking a plastic ball against the boundary wall. I leaned on the railing with one hip, sipping slowly, watching them with a soft smile while the leftover ache between my legs and the cool memory of my husband’s tongue on my asshole still lingered quietly in my body.
From the neighbouring balcony, our neighbour stepped out. He was a middle-aged man my husband strongly disliked. His wife hated me just as much. The moment his eyes found me he stopped, smiled too widely, and raised his hand.
“Good morning, Sudha!”
I gave him a small, polite nod, nothing more.
“Good morning.”
He leaned both forearms on his railing and continued, already looking at me more than necessary.
“I saw Ram leave very early today. House construction, no? Moulding is happening?”
“Yes,” I answered, keeping my voice even and calm. “Moulding is starting this morning. He has gone to the site to supervise.”
While the words left my mouth, his eyes were already travelling over me without shame. My white nighty was loose and simple, yet the morning light showed everything clearly — the heavy round shape of my breasts, the way my white nighty rested on them, the soft curve of my stomach, and the full outline of my hips and thighs where the hem of my white nighty ended just above my knees. His gaze dropped lower, lingering on the bare skin of my legs and then returning again and again to my chest. Under his white dhoti the clear outline of a hard boner began to rise and push forward. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to hide it against the railing, but the tent only became more obvious.
Behind him, his wife stepped out onto the same balcony. She stood just behind his shoulder, arms folded tightly across her chest. Her face was tight with jealousy and anger. She had seen the way her husband was staring. She had seen the boner under his dhoti. Her eyes moved from his face to my body and back again, burning with dislike. Last time she had disrespected me openly in front of the other women in the colony. I had not forgotten. This was my quiet way of punishing her.
I felt the familiar thrill move through me, sharper now because she was watching.
So I teased him more. I tempted him deliberately to make her angrier.
I turned my body fully toward their balcony, resting both elbows on the railing, and shifted my weight slowly from one hip to the other. The movement made my white nighty pull tight across my heavy breasts, showing their full round shape and the mild outline of my nipples for several long seconds before my white nighty loosened again. I lifted the steel tumbler of coffee to my lips very slowly, the action raising my chest higher and holding it there. I knew exactly what both of them were seeing. His eyes darkened. The boner under his dhoti twitched and grew thicker. Behind him, his wife’s jaw tightened. Her fingers dug into her own arms.
I answered his next question about the construction in the same calm, polite voice, still watching my sons play below, still taking small sips of coffee. Every few seconds I adjusted my standing position just enough to make my white nighty shift again over my breasts and hips. Each time his stare grew hungrier and the tent in his dhoti became more shameless. Each time his wife’s face burned hotter with helpless anger.



Watching his wife’s face burn with jealousy and anger made me deeply happy inside. Every tight line around her mouth, every hard stare she threw at me, felt like quiet payment for the way she had disrespected me last time. I kept my expression polite and calm, but inside I was smiling.
The neighbour cleared his throat. His voice came out thicker than before.
“Sudha… won’t you invite me for a coffee at least? We are neighbours after all.”
He was horny. The tent under his white dhoti had not gone down even a little. I looked first at his wife — held her eyes for a full second so she would understand exactly what I was about to do — then looked back at him and gave a small, sweet smile.
“Okay. Come. Both of you.”
His wife’s face changed at once. Complete jealousy flooded her features. She grabbed his arm from behind and began begging in a low, urgent voice.
“Don’t go. Please. Stay here. Why do you need coffee there? I will make it for you.”
He pushed her hand off his arm without even looking at her.
“I am going. You stay if you want.”
He turned and left their balcony. His wife stood frozen for a second, then nervously followed him down the stairs. I watched from my railing as they opened their gate and crossed the short distance to ours. My sons were still playing inside the compound. The neighbour smiled at them, ruffled the youngest one’s hair, and said a quick good morning. Then he walked up the steps and entered my house. His wife followed two paces behind, her face tight and anxious.
I closed the balcony door and turned to them in the living room.
“Please sit. I will heat the coffee.”
They sat on the sofa. I went into the kitchen, still in my white nighty and yellow panties. I lit the stove and placed the filter coffee decoction on to warm. A few moments later I heard the sofa creak. The neighbour stood up and walked into the kitchen. His wife remained seated in the living room, but her eyes never left us. She could see everything through the open kitchen doorway.
He came and stood close to me near the stove. His breathing was already heavier. I turned slightly toward him, letting my white nighty brush against his arm, and spoke in a soft, normal voice about the coffee while my body did the real talking. I reached up to take the steel tumblers from the shelf, the movement lifting my chest and making my white nighty pull tight across my heavy breasts. I knew his eyes were fixed there. I leaned forward a little more than needed to check the flame, giving him a clear view of the round shape of my breasts and the mild outline of my nipples under my white nighty. When I straightened, I shifted my weight onto one hip so that the hem of my white nighty rose a little on that side, showing more of my thigh.
He swallowed hard. The boner under his white dhoti was fully hard now and clearly visible. Behind him, in the living room, his wife was watching every single movement. Her eyes were shiny. She was almost crying from jealousy and helplessness.
I poured the hot coffee slowly into two tumblers, my movements unhurried and deliberate, letting him stand there and suffer while his wife sat a few feet away and suffered even more. I belonged to my husband. They both knew it. And still I made them feel it with every small, teasing motion of my body inside my own kitchen.
He took the steel tumbler of coffee from my hand and sipped it slowly. His eyes closed for a second.
“This is very good, Sudha. Really good. Your husband is a lucky man.”
I smiled politely and answered in a calm voice.
“He loves my coffee. He loves my cooking also. That is why I make it every day.”
The neighbour looked at me over the rim of the tumbler, his gaze dropping once more to my heavy breasts under my white nighty. The boner under his white dhoti was still fully hard. He spoke again, voice lower and thicker.
“If you were my wife I would not leave this kitchen at all.”
I laughed softly — a clear, deliberate laugh that carried into the living room. I wanted his wife to hear it. I wanted her to feel every word. The sound of my laughter was my way of punishing her further for the disrespect she had shown me earlier.
I turned toward the upper shelf as if I had just remembered something.
“Can you help me for a moment? That small vessel is too high for me.”
He put the tumbler down at once and came closer. Without waiting he placed his hands on my waist and lifted me up easily. My white nighty rode up a little with the movement. I reached for the small steel vessel, took it, and then he began lowering me.
While he lowered me his hands slid down from my waist. Both palms grabbed my ass cheeks firmly over my white nighty and yellow panties. He did not stop there. He pulled me hard against his body, crushing my heavy breasts against his chest, and locked me in a full, tight embrace. The hard boner under his white dhoti pressed thick and hot against my stomach. He was going crazy. His breathing turned rough. One of his hands squeezed my ass cheek tighter while the other slid up my back, holding me in place so I could not step away. He buried his face near my neck and spoke in a thick, shaky whisper.
“Sudha… you smell so good… I can’t think properly…”
His chest pressed harder against mine. Suddenly he spoke again, voice even lower, almost disbelieving.
“You are not wearing a bra…?”
I felt my face grow warm. I blushed, but I still answered clearly enough for his wife to hear from the living room.
“No… I am not.”
The moment the words left my mouth his body tensed against me. The boner under his white dhoti jerked harder against my stomach. He let out a rough breath and squeezed my ass cheeks even tighter.
“And… your panties?” he asked, his voice almost breaking. “What colour are you wearing right now?”
I stayed in the embrace on purpose, resting my arms loosely around his shoulders, hugging him back just enough to make the moment clearer for his wife. This was the lesson I wanted her to learn. I answered slowly, deliberately, teasing him and punishing her at the same time.
“Yellow,” I said softly against his ear. “I am wearing yellow panties.”
“My God, Sudha…” he muttered, pressing his boner harder against me. “Yellow panties and no bra… you are going to make me lose my mind…”
“Your coffee is still getting cold,” I said in the same calm, controlled voice while his body burned against mine.
“I don’t care about the coffee,” he muttered, almost shaking. “Just stay like this for a minute… please…”
His hands kept moving on my ass cheeks, squeezing, pulling me tighter through my white nighty and yellow panties, as if he could somehow push himself inside me if he held on long enough. I let him have those few extra seconds, fully aware that his wife was seeing and hearing every shameless detail — that I was not wearing a bra, that I was wearing yellow panties, and that I was allowing her husband to hold me like this.
From the living room his wife saw and heard everything. Jealousy and anger exploded on her face. She jumped up, rushed into the kitchen, and grabbed her husband’s arm.
“Enough! Come out!”
She pulled him hard out of the embrace and pushed him toward the main door.
“I did nothing!” he protested, still looking back at me with hungry, frustrated eyes. “I only helped her take the vessel!”
She shoved him out of the house and closed the door behind him. Then she turned and came back to me. Her eyes were wet. She bent down and touched my feet with both hands.
“I am sorry, Sudha. I am very sorry for disrespecting you last time. Please forgive me.”
I looked down at her for a long moment. Then I raised my hand and slapped her hard across the face. The sound filled the kitchen.
“If you ever disrespect me again,” I said in a cold, clear voice, “I will make your husband my slave. Do you understand?”
Her face crumpled. She held her cheek and began begging at once.
“No… please… I am sorry… I will never do it again… please don’t… I am sorry…”
I pointed to the door.
“Go home.”
She stood up quickly, still holding her burning cheek, and almost ran out of the house. I watched her leave, then closed the door quietly.
When it comes to revenge, I am a boss at it.

[novelistcasanova]

After I closed the door on the neighbour’s wife, I stood still for a few seconds in the quiet kitchen. The revenge had settled something inside me. I felt calm again.

I went to the main door and called my sons back inside. They came running, still full of Sunday energy. I served them the idlis and chutney I had prepared earlier, watched them eat, and tried to relax. I sat on the sofa in my white nighty and yellow panties, sipping the last of my coffee, thinking the morning’s tension was finally over.
That was when a worker from our construction site came running through the gate, breathing hard.
“Amma! Please come! Santosh Anna is yelling at Ram Sir. He is not allowing the moulding to continue. He is creating a big scene!”
I stood up at once.
“What happened?”
“Dust from our site fell on his side, Amma. But he is using it as an excuse. He is shouting and stopping everything. Ram Sir is trying to talk, but Santosh Anna is not listening.”
I sent the worker back immediately.
“Go. Tell them I am coming.”
I quickly called my friend who lived two houses away and asked her to come over and look after the boys for a while. The moment she arrived, I went into the bedroom. I removed my white nighty and yellow panties. I wore my brown panties, my white bra, my yellow leggings, and my red kurti top. I slipped on my sandals and almost ran out of the house toward the construction site.
When I reached, the scene was already ugly.
Santosh, my husband’s cousin who lived in the house right next to our new construction, was standing in the middle of the road, shouting at the top of his voice. Labourers had stopped work. The mesthri and workers stood to one side, unsure what to do. Several neighbours and relatives from the surrounding houses had come out and were watching.
Santosh was completely disrespecting my husband.
“Who do you think you are, Ram? Just because you are building a six-floor house you think you can throw dust on my property? This is my house! My compound! You people have no manners!”
My husband was trying to speak calmly.
“Santosh, it is only some dust from the jalli. We will clean it. The moulding has to continue today. Please—”
“Please? Don’t ‘please’ me!” Santosh cut him off loudly, stepping closer. “You have become arrogant after buying this site. You think money makes you big? You are still the same soft man who cannot even raise his voice!”
He pushed my husband’s shoulder with his hand. My husband stumbled half a step back but did not raise his own hand. He looked helpless. Around us, the watching relatives and neighbours said nothing. Some of them even seemed to enjoy the public humiliation.
Santosh continued, his voice growing uglier.
“Everyone knows you. Soft. Spineless. You cannot even control your own site. Go home and sit. Let real men handle construction.”
My husband finally took out his phone and called the security officer. Two constables arrived after some time. Both sides spoke. Money quietly changed hands. The constables told everyone to settle it themselves and left without doing anything.
The moulding somehow continued after that, the workers returning to their places in silence. But my husband walked to the corner of the site and sat down on a stack of cement bags. His shoulders were bent. His face was tight. He was trying not to cry in front of everyone, but his eyes had already filled.
I stood there watching him, the red kurti top sticking to my back with sudden heat, and felt my own eyes burn. Tears rolled down my cheeks. The public disrespect, the helplessness on my husband’s face, the way Santosh had pushed him and called him spineless in front of relatives and neighbours — all of it cut deep.


That night the house felt different.
My husband barely spoke during dinner. He sat at the table, eyes fixed on his plate, and ate only a few mouthfuls. The boys sensed something was wrong and stayed quieter than usual. After they went to bed, my husband sat on the edge of our bed in the dark for a long time. I sat beside him. When I touched his shoulder, I felt it shaking.
In the morning he broke for the first time.
I woke to the sound of quiet crying. He was sitting on the floor near the window, head in his hands. When I knelt beside him he did not look up at first. His voice came out rough and wet.
“He is four years younger than me, Sudha. Four years. I taught that boy how to ride a bicycle. I held the back of the seat while he wobbled down this same street. His mother… if my mother had not arranged her marriage to my mother’s elder brother, that woman would never even have come to Bangalore. We helped them settle. We helped them find a house. And today that same boy pushed me in front of everyone and called me spineless.”
He wiped his face with the back of his hand, but fresh tears kept coming.
“I stood there like a fool. I could not even raise my voice properly. The relatives were watching. The neighbours were watching. The workers were watching. And I just… took it. I called the security officer like a helpless man, and even they left after taking money. What kind of man am I?”
I held him while he cried. His body felt smaller somehow, folded in on itself.
I thought the pain would pass in a day or two.
It did not.
Days turned into a week, then longer. Happiness slowly left our house. My husband still went to the supermarket and to the construction site, but he returned each evening with the same bent shoulders. He ate very little. At night I felt him lying awake beside me for hours. Sometimes, when he thought I was asleep, I heard him crying quietly into the pillow. In the mornings his eyes were red and swollen. He tried to smile at the boys, but the smile never reached his eyes.
Our sons began to notice. The youngest started asking why Appa was not playing with him. The middle one became quieter. The eldest watched his father with a worried face he tried to hide. The light, teasing, slightly naughty atmosphere that used to fill our home was gone. Meals became silent. Evenings felt heavy. I cooked the same food, wore the same clothes, spoke the same soft words, but nothing could bring my husband back to the man he had been before that Sunday.
I watched him suffer every single day.
I watched him force food down his throat and then leave half of it. I watched him sit on the sofa staring at the television without seeing it. I watched him hold our sons a little too tightly, as if he was afraid he had already failed them somehow. At night, when he finally fell into a shallow, restless sleep, I lay beside him and felt the weight of his broken pride filling the room.
I reflected on our family.
I looked at my three sons and thought about the home we had built together. I thought about the ordinary mornings when my husband used to lift my white nighty and taste me with hungry playfulness. I thought about the way he used to laugh. All of it felt distant now. The man who once begged to kiss me before leaving for the shop now sat in silence, hollowed out by a public humiliation he could not forget.
Only after many days of watching this slow destruction did something hard and cold finally settle inside my chest.
A wife is not just a body that gives pleasure at night.
A wife is not just someone who cooks and keeps the house.
A wife must also make sure that the man who makes her husband cry will himself cry.
The man who makes her husband suffer must suffer more.
Revenge stopped being a passing anger. It became everything. I could still smile at my sons, still cook, still lie beside my husband at night, but underneath all of it a single cold purpose had taken root. Santosh had broken something in my husband in front of the whole street. I would not rest until that debt was paid in full. I wanted Santosh to feel the same helplessness. I wanted him to sit somewhere alone and cry the way my husband had cried on our bedroom floor. I wanted his pride crushed. I wanted his days restless and his nights bitter.
I became a woman who lived for revenge.
I did not tell my husband what had formed inside me. I only held him when he cried, kissed the top of his head, and let the decision harden fully in my heart while our family continued to live under the heavy shadow of that one public insult.


One day I went to the market wearing my purple saree and matching purple blouse. Underneath I wore my white bra, my white petticoat, and my white panties. The morning sun was already sharp. I walked between the fruit and vegetable stalls with my bag on my wrist, but my mind was not on the tomatoes or the coriander.
I still could not digest what Santosh had done.
All these years he had taken help from my husband. My husband had taught him to ride a bicycle when he was a small boy. My husband’s mother had arranged the marriage that brought Santosh’s mother to Bangalore. We had helped them settle, helped them find a place, stood by them in small ways for years. And in return that same man had stood in the middle of the street, pushed my husband, called him spineless in front of relatives and neighbours, and broken something inside him that had not healed even after so many days. Every time I remembered my husband’s quiet crying and the silence that had settled over our house, a cold anger moved through my chest.
That was when I heard the name.
Near the far end of the fruit market a sudden commotion rose. People stepped back quickly. A vendor was on the ground, holding his head. Three or four men stood around him. In the centre stood a tall, dark-skinned, muscular man with a hard face and thick arms. Someone near me whispered the name with fear.
“Market Ravi…”
I stopped and watched.
Market Ravi’s gang was beating the vendor who had not paid his hafta. The blows were heavy and without mercy. The vendor cried and tried to cover his face, but no one stepped forward to help him. The entire market had gone quiet. Shopkeepers looked away. Buyers moved back. Everyone was scared of the tall, dark-skinned man who stood there giving orders with a small movement of his hand. He looked completely in control. When the vendor finally pulled out money with shaking hands, Market Ravi gestured once and the beating stopped. The gang moved away as if nothing had happened. The market slowly returned to its noise, but the fear remained in the air.
I stood there in my purple saree, the white petticoat soft against my legs, and felt something click into place inside me.
This was the kind of man who could make another man suffer.
This was the kind of man who could break Santosh the way Santosh had broken my husband.
I watched Market Ravi walk away through the crowd, people parting for him without being told, and the decision settled firmly in my mind.
I would hire him.
I would pay him.
I would have him beat Santosh until the pride and the arrogance were gone.
The first step of the ladder had appeared in front of me in the middle of the vegetable market, and I knew I was going to take it.



I stayed near the fruit stalls a little longer, listening.
Other vendors and the people around them were already talking in low, nervous voices. One man selling bananas shook his head and muttered to the shopkeeper beside him.
“That Market Ravi… completely dangerous. Once he decides something, nobody can stop him.”
Another vendor, still glancing toward the direction Ravi had gone, spoke quickly.
“Don’t even look at him properly. Last month he broke a man’s leg for short payment. Everyone knows. Just give the hafta on time and stay alive.”
A woman buying onions pulled her daughter closer and whispered,
“Never mess with Market Ravi. His gang does not forgive. Even the security officer think twice.”
Their fear only confirmed what I already felt. This was the right man. This was the kind of force that could make Santosh cry the way my husband had cried. This was the man who could break the pride that had publicly crushed my family.
I needed to meet him.
I did not know how to contact him. I walked from stall to stall and tried asking carefully. I stopped at a coriander vendor first.
“Do you know where Market Ravi sits? I need to speak to him about something.”
The man looked at me, then quickly looked away.
“I don’t know anything, Amma. Please buy what you need and go.”
I asked another vendor who sold tomatoes.
“Can someone take me to Market Ravi’s place? I will pay for the help.”
He shook his head hard and stepped back.
“No one will take you, Amma. We don’t go near him unless we have to. Please don’t involve us.”
One by one, every person I asked refused. Some pretended not to hear. Some simply turned to another customer. Nobody was ready to take me to him. The fear in their eyes was thicker than the heat of the market.
Finally an old lady selling green chillies looked at me for a long moment. Her gaze moved over my purple saree, my matching purple blouse, and the way I stood. She spoke in a low, warning voice.
“Child, you are too beautiful. Market Ravi is not a man you should go looking for. If he sees you, he will enjoy you. Be careful. Go home to your husband.”
She was trying to scare me.
Little did she know that I was ready to die for my husband. The image of him sitting on the bedroom floor crying, the memory of his bent shoulders and sleepless nights, the silence that had swallowed our family’s happiness — all of it sat heavier in my chest than any fear she could offer. I wanted to meet Market Ravi so badly that my hands had started to tremble around the handle of my bag. I was ready to give him as much money as he asked. I was ready to stand in front of that tall, dark-skinned, muscular man and tell him exactly what I needed done to Santosh.
I thanked the old lady politely, adjusted my purple saree, and continued walking through the market with a new, hard determination. Someone in this place would eventually point me in the right direction. I would find Market Ravi. I would hire him. And I would begin the punishment my husband deserved to see.


I was losing hope.
No vendor would take me to Market Ravi. No one even wanted to speak his name for too long. Every refusal had been the same — quick eye contact broken, a shake of the head, a sudden interest in some other customer. The old lady’s warning still sat in my ears, but it did not change the hard decision inside me. I still needed him. I still wanted Santosh punished until he cried the way my husband had cried on our bedroom floor. Yet after asking one last shopkeeper near the banana stall and receiving only a nervous, almost angry refusal, the chance felt smaller than ever. My hands had grown slightly unsteady around the handle of my market bag. I decided to go home for the day and think of another way.
That was when I saw the same regular auto driver.
He was parked near the market entrance under the partial shade of a neem tree, one elbow resting on the open window frame, pretending to wait casually for any customer. I knew better. This was the same man who had watched my ass for the full fifty feet the last time he dropped me at the colony gate. The moment his eyes found me in my purple saree, his entire posture changed. He sat up straighter. His fingers tightened once on the steering wheel. He was waiting for me again.
I started walking towards the auto.
Today he was bolder than before. His eyes moved openly and without shame over my body as I came closer. First he looked at my heavy breasts under the matching purple blouse, watching the way they shifted with each step. Then his gaze slid down to the curve of my waist where the purple saree was tucked firmly, lingering on the mild dip of my navel that showed for a second whenever the pallu moved. He stared at the shape of my thighs pressing against the purple saree with every step, at the soft swing of my hips, at the way the pleats of the saree parted slightly when I walked. He did not even try to hide it. His eyes travelled slowly, hungrily, taking in everything my purple saree and purple blouse revealed and suggested, as if he was already imagining what lay underneath — my white bra, my white petticoat, my white panties.
Before I could open my mouth to tell him the destination, he spoke first, voice a little thicker than usual.
“Come, madam. I will drop you.”
I climbed into the back seat. As I stepped in and turned to sit, his eyes dropped lower at once. He watched the way the purple saree stretched tightly across my ass for those few seconds. He saw the faint panty line of my white panties show clearly when the saree pulled against my skin as I settled onto the seat. He stared at the narrow span of my waist, at the soft roundness of my hips, at every small adjustment I made while arranging the pleats of my purple saree over my knees. He was completely shameless today. His breathing had grown slightly heavier. I could feel the weight of his stare even after I sat down fully and looked straight ahead.
I ignored him completely.
My mind was still fixed on Market Ravi. The tall, dark-skinned, muscular man who had stood in the middle of the market and ordered the beating of the vendor without a single change in his expression. The man whose name made other grown men lower their voices and look away. The man I needed. Nobody in the entire market had been ready to take me to him, and the weight of that failure sat heavier in my chest than the auto driver’s hungry, open stares. I looked out at the passing streets, the shops, the people, and said nothing. Inside me the same cold purpose kept repeating itself: I had to find Market Ravi. I had to hire him. I had to begin the punishment that would make Santosh suffer.
The auto moved through the familiar lanes while the driver continued to glance at me in the rear-view mirror, still enjoying the full view of me in my purple saree, still hoping, perhaps, for another long look at my ass when I finally stepped down. I sat still, hands resting on my market bag, and let him look. My focus remained only on the tall, dangerous man I had not yet reached, and on the quiet, burning need to make my husband’s pain mean something.


I sat in the back of the auto, looking out at the familiar lanes, still wondering how I would ever meet Market Ravi. Every refusal in the market kept replaying in my mind. The fear in the vendors’ eyes, the old lady’s warning, the way people stepped back at the mere mention of his name — all of it sat heavily in my chest. I needed that tall, dark-skinned, muscular man. I needed him to break Santosh. Yet I had no path to him.
The auto stopped at the colony gate. I paid the driver the exact amount, stepped down, and opened the gate. The path from the gate to my front door was a full fifty feet. I began walking.
I knew he was still sitting in the auto behind me. I knew his eyes were fixed on my ass cheeks under the purple saree. I knew he could see the faint panty line of my white panties each time the saree pulled tight with my steps. And I knew, with a cold certainty, that his hand was under his folded lungi, moving slowly over his underwear and then inside it, jerking off while he watched me walk away.
Halfway to the house something flashed through my mind.
What if he knew Market Ravi?
I stopped. I turned around and began walking back toward the gate. The driver was still watching me, his hand clearly moving under the lungi. His face was flushed. He was completely horny. The moment I reached the gate and stood on my side, he quickly pulled his hand out and sat up straighter, pretending nothing had happened.
I called him.
“Come here.”
He stepped out of the auto and stood on the other side of the gate. I kept my voice low and direct.
“Do you know Market Ravi?”
He looked at me for a second, surprised, then nodded.
“Yes, madam. He is from my slum.”
“Does he live there?”
“No. He doesn’t stay in the same place. But I know where he is these days.”
My heart beat once, hard.
“Can you take me to him?”
“Yes.”
I did not waste time.
“I need his help. I need him to punish a certain man. That is all.”
The driver studied my face. Then he spoke with a strange mix of respect and warning.
“Market Ravi is the right man for that, madam. He is deadly. Once he takes money for a job, he finishes it. He has broken bones, put people in hospital for months, made strong men cry and beg. security officer also think twice before touching him. If you want someone punished properly, he is the one.”
I felt a cold satisfaction at his words.
“Then take me to him. I will pay you double the charge for whatever distance it is.”
He suddenly laughed — a short, knowing laugh.
“Only I can take you to him, madam. Nobody else in this market will dare. Ravi keeps changing places. Even people from the slum don’t always know where he is. If I don’t take you, you will never meet him.”
I opened my mouth to offer more money. He cut me off.
“I don’t want money.”
I stared at him.
“Then what do you want?”
He looked straight at me, bold and shameless now that he knew he had the only key I needed.
“I have been watching you for months, madam. Every time I drop you I watch your ass. I go home and I cannot sleep. I want a hug and a kiss from you. That is the price.”
“No,” I said at once.
He shrugged, already stepping back toward his auto.
“Then I will never take you. And nobody else will either. You can keep asking the whole market. You will never find Market Ravi without me.”
I stood there at the gate, the purple saree still warm from the walk, my white panties and white bra invisible underneath, and felt the corner close around me. He was right. No one else had helped. No one else would help. If I walked away now, the only path to the man who could punish Santosh would close forever. My husband’s broken face, his quiet crying, the silence that had swallowed our home — all of it rose in front of my eyes.
I agreed for my husband.
I looked around quickly. A few people in the neighbouring houses were watching from their balconies and windows. I opened the gate wider and spoke in a low voice.
“Come inside.”
He stepped through at once. As he followed me up the fifty-foot path toward the house, he began talking boldly, no longer pretending.
“Your ass looks so good in this purple saree, madam. The way it moves when you walk… I have jerked off so many times sitting in the auto just watching you. Now I am this close…”
I ignored every word. I kept walking, eyes fixed on my front door, because this shameless auto driver was currently the only way I had to reach Market Ravi. Every step I took with him behind me was for revenge. Every comment he made about my ass and my body was something I forced myself to accept in silence, because my husband’s pain still sat heavier in my chest than any temporary disgust.
We reached the house.

[novelistcasanova]

I opened the front door and stepped inside first. He followed. I turned back at once, looked carefully up and down the street through the open doorway to check if any neighbour was still watching, then closed the door firmly from inside and locked it.

The moment I turned around, his hands shot forward.
Both of his palms grabbed my ass cheeks hard over my purple saree, my petticoat and my panties. The feeling was sudden and rough — his fingers dug into the soft, full flesh of my ass cheeks, squeezing and lifting them apart slightly, the heat of his palms burning through the layers of the purple saree, the petticoat and my panties straight onto my ass cheeks. He grabbed my ass tightly with both hands, as if he had been waiting months for exactly this grip. Then his fingers began moving, feeling up the shape of my panties through the purple saree and petticoat, tracing the panty line slowly from the top of my ass cheeks down along the edges where my panties sat against my skin.
He spoke against my ear, voice thick and shameless.
“I am such a big fan of your ass, madam. Every time you walk away from my auto I stare at these cheeks. I go home and I cannot stop thinking about them. Your ass in this purple saree is perfect… I have been waiting so long to grab it like this.”
I told myself, coldly and clearly, that I was doing this for my husband. I forced my body to stay still and controlled the urge to push him away.
“Take your hands off my ass,” I said, my voice steady. “You only asked for a hug and a kiss. That is all.”
He did not remove his hands. Instead he squeezed my ass cheeks once more and spoke in a lower, firmer tone.
“Do you want me to take you to Market Ravi or not?”
“Yes,” I answered at once.
“Then do not interrupt me while I am doing something.” His fingers continued tracing the panty line of my panties through the purple saree and petticoat. “Without me you will never meet him. Remember that.”
The indirect threat was clear. Without his help I had no path to Market Ravi. For the sake of revenge — for the sake of my husband’s broken pride and the tears I had watched him shed — I tolerated it. I stayed still and let his hands remain on my ass cheeks.
He stepped even closer, his breath hot on my face, and leaned in to kiss my lips.
Before his mouth could touch mine, a loud mechanical sound came from the street — the harsh beep and hydraulic noise of a towing vehicle. His head snapped toward the door. Panic flashed across his face.
“My auto!”
He released my ass cheeks at once and ran to the door, unlocked it, and rushed outside. I followed as far as the doorway and watched him argue quickly with the towing men, waving his hands, showing papers, raising his voice. After a short, tense exchange he managed to stop them. He turned back toward me and gestured urgently.
“Come now, madam! We have to go to Ravi’s place immediately. If we miss him today we will not find him for the next six months. He is shifting again.”
The words hit me hard. Six months. I could not wait six months. My husband’s pain would not wait six months.
I locked the house quickly, checked the latch twice, and walked fast toward the auto. When I reached it he was already in the driver’s seat, engine ready. He looked at me with open hunger still in his eyes.
“You will not break the promise, madam. I will get the hug and the kiss. Right?”
I met his gaze and answered without hesitation.
“I promise.”
“Get inside.”
I began climbing into the back seat. As I stepped up, he spoke again, eyes fixed on my lower body.
“Look at this ass… so round in the purple saree…”
His right hand suddenly grabbed my ass cheeks over my purple saree, my petticoat and my panties. His fingers pressed in, and the tip of one finger touched my asshole through the purple saree, the petticoat and my panties. A sharp, embarrassed heat flashed through me.
Even while holding my ass, he continued talking in a thick voice.
“So soft… so full… I can feel the shape of your panties perfectly. This ass is even better up close.”
I quickly sat down on the seat to stop him from touching me any further and to avoid more embarrassment.
He started the auto at once and pulled away from the colony gate, driving fast toward the direction of Market Ravi. I sat in the back in my purple saree, still carrying the vivid feeling of his rough hands on my ass cheeks, the way his fingers had traced my panty line, and the brief, unwanted touch on my asshole, and stared ahead. The only thing that mattered now was reaching the tall, dark-skinned man who could make Santosh suffer.


The auto raced through the streets as fast as the driver could push it. The vehicle shook and rattled over every uneven patch of road. Dust rose behind us. I sat in the back in my purple saree, one hand gripping the side bar, the other resting tightly on my market bag. My eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead, but every part of me was alert.
The driver was enjoying this completely.
I could hear it in his voice and see it in the way he kept glancing at me through the rear-view mirror. For months he had only been able to watch my ass from a distance while dropping me home. Now he had me alone in his auto, dependent on him, unable to walk away. The power of that situation was clearly feeding him. His shoulders were relaxed, his tone loose and confident, as if he had all the time in the world to say whatever he wanted.
“Madam, how do you maintain your body so well?” he asked, eyes flicking to the mirror again. “Even after children your waist is still so neat, your ass so round… what do you do? Gym? Some special oil? Tell me.”
I did not answer. I kept my face calm and looked out at the passing shops. Inside, I forced myself to stay still. Every crude question made something tight and cold twist in my stomach, but I reminded myself why I was sitting here. My husband’s broken face. The tears on our bedroom floor. The silence that had swallowed our home. That was the only reason I was tolerating this man’s mouth.
He continued, undeterred, clearly enjoying the fact that I could not stop him.
“You rich women are so clean. Always nice white skin complexion, soft, glowing. Not like the women in my area. Everything about you looks expensive and well-kept. Even the way you sit is different.”
Again I gave him nothing. No reply, no expression. I simply breathed slowly and kept my hands folded. Controlling myself had become a deliberate act. I counted the turns of the auto. I focused on the destination. I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me react.
After a few more minutes his voice dropped lower, more shameless, as if the silence itself was encouraging him.
“I keep wondering… how you would look in just your bra and panties. Your heavy breasts, your waist, that ass… without the purple saree covering everything. I think about it every time I drop you.”
The words landed heavier than the previous ones. A sharp heat of anger and embarrassment moved through my chest. I turned my head toward him.
“Stop.”
He laughed — a short, satisfied sound that told me he was enjoying every second of this control. He slowed the auto just a little and spoke while still watching me in the mirror.
“You want me to stop the auto here and you can get down and go home? Then how will you meet Market Ravi?” He laughed again, louder this time. “I am the boss now, madam. Only I can take you to him. Nobody else will help you. Remember that.”
I faced forward once more and sat quietly.
Inside I was controlling every reaction. My jaw was tight. My fingers pressed hard into the handle of the market bag. I wanted to open the door and leave. I wanted to slap the words out of his mouth. But I did none of those things. I stayed seated, breathing evenly, because the only path to Market Ravi currently ran through this man’s auto. Without him I had nothing. With him I still had a chance to make Santosh suffer the way my husband had suffered.
So I tolerated the talk.
I tolerated the stares in the mirror.
I tolerated the crude enjoyment in his voice.
I sat in silence while he drove as fast as he wanted, and I kept the single cold purpose fixed in the centre of my mind: reach Market Ravi, hire him, and begin the punishment. Everything else — the driver’s power, his comments, his laughter — was something I forced myself to endure for that one goal.

[novelistcasanova]

The auto suddenly slowed and then came to a full stop at the edge of a crowded, low-lying slum. Narrow lanes twisted between rows of tightly packed houses with tin and tarpaulin roofs. Electric wires hung low and tangled. The air carried the thick smell of stagnant water, frying oil, and damp earth. A few children ran barefoot across the open space near the entrance. Women stood in small groups with steel vessels, watching the auto with mild curiosity before turning back to their work.

The driver turned in his seat and looked at me directly.
“Wait here, madam. Do not get down.”
He switched off the engine, pulled the key out, and stepped onto the broken ground. Without another word he walked into the narrow opening between two houses and disappeared from sight. I remained alone in the back seat of the auto, still wearing my purple saree, my hands resting tightly on the market bag in my lap. Minutes stretched. I watched the entrance of the slum without blinking, counting the people who passed, listening to distant voices and the cry of a child somewhere deeper inside. My body stayed still, but my mind kept turning over the same cold purpose: find Market Ravi, hire him, make Santosh suffer.
After a long wait the driver reappeared. An old man in a faded, once-white lungi walked slowly beside him. The old man’s face was deeply lined, his back slightly bent. They stopped a few feet away from the auto. I watched the driver take a hundred-rupee note from his shirt pocket and place it carefully in the old man’s open palm. The old man folded the note at once and pushed it deep into the fold of his lungi. Then they began speaking in low, serious voices. Sitting so close, I could hear almost every word.
“Ravi’s name is on the encounter list now,” the old man said, glancing around once before continuing. “Cops are looking for him seriously this time. They will kill him if they find him. That is why he is hiding properly. Even people in the slum don’t know the exact place anymore.”
The driver’s voice came next, quieter but urgent.
“Then who knows where he is?”
“Only Loki knows. These days Ravi trusts only him. Nobody else.”
“Where is Loki?”
The old man raised a thin hand and pointed in a rough direction while giving a short address.
“Scrap metal market. He sits there in the evenings near the big godown on the left side. If anyone can take you to Ravi now, it is only Loki.”
The driver nodded once, thanked the old man in a low voice, and walked back toward the auto. He climbed into the driver’s seat, inserted the key, and started the engine. For a moment he did not look at me. When he spoke, his tone was practical and focused.
“We have to meet Loki in the scrap metal market. Through him we will find Ravi.”
He pulled the auto back onto the main road and began driving with clear purpose, faster than before, changing lanes whenever he could. The earlier crude, teasing mood had thinned. In its place was a man who was actually working a lead.
After a short stretch of silence he spoke again, eyes on the road.
“If a rowdy’s name comes on the encounter list, the cops usually don’t arrest. They encounter. They finish it.”
The words landed heavily inside the auto. For a moment a sharp, cold fear moved through my chest. I sat very still in the back seat and prayed silently, without moving my lips, that Market Ravi should not be encountered by the security officer before he had the chance to punish Santosh. The thought of coming this far — enduring the driver’s hands, his comments, his power — only to lose the one man who could make Santosh suffer, made my fingers tighten hard around the handle of the market bag.
The driver glanced at me once in the rear-view mirror. Something in my silence must have reached him. His next words came steadier, almost reassuring.
“Don’t worry, madam. If we find Loki, we will find Ravi. I will make sure of it.”
I looked at the back of his head and, for the first time that day, felt a thin but real thread of trust form toward him. He was still the same man who had grabbed my ass cheeks and spoken shamelessly about my body. That had not changed. But right now he was also the only person who had paid an old man from his own pocket, walked into a slum to ask questions, and was driving from place to place without complaint to locate Market Ravi. The determination in the way he held the steering wheel and the way he followed each new piece of information showed that he was genuinely trying.
I nodded once, even though he could not see it clearly from the front.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “I am trusting you to find him.”
He did not reply with any crude comment this time. He simply pressed the accelerator harder and turned the auto toward the scrap metal market. The vehicle moved forward with purpose, and inside my chest the same cold purpose moved with it: reach Loki, reach Ravi, and begin the punishment that my husband’s suffering demanded.


It was around six in the evening when the driver spoke again, his voice cutting through the steady rattle of the auto.
“Madam, I am hungry. Are you hungry?”
The simple question pulled me out of the narrow tunnel of thoughts I had been travelling in for hours. Only then did I realise I had not eaten any lunch. The entire afternoon — the crowded market, the repeated refusals, the search for Market Ravi, the slum, the old man’s words about the encounter list — had been driven by one cold, continuous anger toward Santosh. Food had not entered my mind even once. My stomach was empty, yet until that moment I had not felt it.
“I have not eaten since morning,” I said quietly.
He nodded as if he had expected the answer and turned the auto toward a smaller side road.
“There is a small roadside idli shop nearby. I will stop there. Will you have something?”
“Okay.”
He drove for another full thirty minutes. The light faded slowly around us. The sky turned from pale orange to deep grey, then almost black. By the time the auto finally slowed, it was properly dark. In the middle of the long, empty stretch of highway, under a few sparse trees, stood a tiny hotel made of coconut leaves — a low, rough tent-like hut with one weak yellow bulb glowing inside. The structure looked temporary, held together by bamboo poles and dried palm fronds. An old lady sat just outside the open front, working over a large steel steamer, her hands moving with long practice.
The driver stopped the auto on the gravel shoulder a few feet away. We both got down. The evening air smelled of fresh rice batter, steam, wood smoke, and the mild dust of the highway. The old lady looked up as we approached the small coconut-leaf hut. Her face was lined and calm.
“What do you have?” the driver asked.
“Idli, dosa, masala dosa,” she answered without stopping her work, still turning the idlis with a wet cloth in her hand.
The moment the words “masala dosa” left her mouth, my empty stomach responded at once. Saliva gathered under my tongue. The long day of anger and nothingness hit me fully.
“Give me masala dosa,” I told her.
The driver ordered idlis for himself and received them on a plain steel plate. I stood near the open side of the hut while the old lady spread batter on a small, well-used tawa. The first masala dosa came golden and crisp, folded around soft, spiced potato filling. She placed it on a plate and held it out to me. We stood there in the almost-dark, only a few feet from the quiet highway, and began eating.
I washed my hands first with water from a plastic mug that hung from a nail near the entrance. The water was lukewarm. Then I tore a piece of the hot masala dosa and put it in my mouth. It was better than I expected — crisp at the edges, soft inside, the potato filling perfectly seasoned. I had not realised how deep the hunger had become. I finished the first dosa quickly and asked for another. Then a third. I stood there in my purple saree, the pallu resting over one shoulder, eating one masala dosa after another while the mild night wind moved the cloth gently around my legs.
The driver stood a short distance away with his plate of idlis, but his eyes were not on his food. He watched me openly and without any attempt to hide it — the way I tore the dosa with my fingers, the way I brought each piece to my mouth, the way my lips closed around the food, the way I chewed. After a while he spoke, still watching.
“You like it, madam?”
“Yes,” I answered between bites, not looking at him. “It is delicious.”
He kept his gaze fixed on my mouth. His voice dropped lower, thick with open, shameless appreciation.
“Your lips are so beautiful when you eat… the shape of your mouth, the way your tongue touches the food, even your teeth. Everything looks soft and clean.”
I noticed the clear, hard outline of a boner rising under his lungi as he stood there watching me. He made no effort to turn away or adjust himself. He simply remained in place, plate held loosely in one hand, eyes locked on my mouth, fully hard while I continued eating under the weak yellow bulb of the coconut-leaf hut.
I did not react. I gave him only a small, calm smile and returned my attention to the masala dosa. Piece after piece, I fed the hunger that the long day of revenge-focused anger had created, letting the simple roadside food settle into my empty stomach while the highway stayed dark and almost empty around us.


We finished eating near the small coconut-leaf hut. The last pieces of masala dosa and idli were gone. The driver turned to the old lady and spoke.
“Pour two coffees.”
I finished the final corner of my third masala dosa, then walked the few steps to the plastic mug again. I washed my hands thoroughly under the thin stream of water. After that I cupped a little water in my right palm, took it into my mouth, gargled once, and turned toward the low bushes at the edge of the highway shoulder. I spat the water cleanly onto the dark leaves.
The driver watched every movement. His eyes stayed fixed on my mouth and on the way I spat. The outline of the boner under his lungi, which had not gone down while I was eating, grew clearer again. His voice came low and thick.
“Spit on me next time, madam.”
I did not reply. The old lady handed him two steel glasses of hot filter coffee. He held one out to me.
“Coffee.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking the glass carefully by the rim.
I stood under the weak yellow bulb and began drinking. The coffee was strong and slightly bitter, the way roadside filter coffee often is, but it felt good after the long day. The driver held his own glass and did not drink. He simply stood there with the untouched coffee in his hand, his eyes moving slowly over my face, my lips, my throat as I swallowed, and lower over my body in the purple saree. He spoke while watching me.
“You are so beautiful, madam. Whatever you do looks beautiful. Even washing your mouth. Even the way you spit. Even the way you are drinking this coffee right now.”
I ignored the lustful comments the same way I had ignored everything else since the market. I gave him only a small, calm smile and continued drinking my coffee in slow sips, looking out toward the dark highway instead of at him.
When the glass was half empty he suddenly stepped closer. He took my coffee glass from my hand without asking and placed his own untouched glass in my palm instead. Then, without any hesitation, he raised my half-finished glass to his mouth. He placed his lips exactly where mine had been, tilted the glass, and drank. He tasted the coffee that still carried the mild warmth of my mouth and the trace of saliva that would have touched the rim. His eyes stayed on me the entire time he swallowed.


I continued drinking the coffee he had given me, standing under the weak yellow bulb of the coconut-leaf hut. The strong filter coffee settled warmly in my empty stomach after the long day of nothing but anger and movement. The night air on the highway was cooler now. A single lorry passed in the distance, its headlights sweeping briefly across the gravel before disappearing again into the dark.
The driver did not stay in one place. He walked slowly around me in a small, deliberate half-circle, openly enjoying the full view of my body in the purple saree. His eyes moved without haste — first over the heavy shape of my breasts under the matching purple blouse, then down the neat curve of my waist, then lower to the way the saree dbangd over my hips and the full round outline of my ass. He took his time, as if the empty highway and the old lady’s quiet presence gave him complete permission.
After a moment he stepped closer behind me. His right hand came to rest on my ass — not the sudden rough grab from inside the house earlier, but a slow, deliberate touch. His palm settled over both cheeks through the purple saree, the petticoat and my panties, feeling the weight and the shape. His fingers spread slightly, pressing in just enough to confirm the softness, then moved in a gentle caress that followed the full curve downward.
“Your ass is tempting me so much, madam,” he said in a low voice near my ear, close enough that I felt the warmth of his breath. “This panty line… I can see it every time you move even a little. It is making me go crazy. How come you rich women are so hot? Always covered properly in saree, yet always tempting us like this. Your body does not hide anything even when it tries.”
I did not reply. I kept the steel glass at my lips and continued drinking the coffee in small, steady sips, looking toward the dark stretch of highway instead of at him. Inside I controlled every reaction. The same cold purpose that had carried me through the market, the slum, and his earlier hands on my body still held me in place. My husband’s broken face, the tears on the bedroom floor, the silence that had swallowed our home — those images kept me still while the driver’s palm rested on my ass. After a few more seconds he finally stepped back.
He turned to the old lady who was wiping her hands on a cloth.
“How much?”
“Three hundred,” she answered.
He reached into his shirt pocket for the notes. I shook my head at once and lowered the glass.
“No. I will pay.”
I placed the half-finished coffee glass carefully on the low wooden stool next to the old lady and walked the short distance to the auto to take money from my bag. I bent down near the open back seat, pulled the bag closer with one hand, and began opening the zipper with the other, searching for the notes in the dim light.
That was when his voice came from directly behind me, already moving closer.
“I already paid. Let’s go, before we miss Loki.”
Before I could straighten fully, both of his hands grabbed my ass completely. Both cheeks filled his palms and fingers at once over the purple saree, the petticoat and my panties. The grip was firm, sudden, and fully claiming — his fingers sank into my soft ass cheeks, lifting them slightly, holding the entire weight and shape of my ass in both large hands as if it belonged there. The heat of his palms burned through every layer straight onto my ass cheeks. He squeezed once, hard enough for me to feel the strength in his fingers, then gave a short, possessive pat that sent a clear message of ownership.
“Get inside.”
The sudden full grip shocked me. My entire ass had gone inside both of his hands. I felt the complete enclosure of his fingers around both of my ass cheeks, the way he held the full roundness without any gap, the way he tested the softness and the weight in that single long second. I knew he must have enjoyed every part of it — the size, the give of my ass cheeks, the way my ass filled both of his hands so perfectly that nothing was left outside his grip.
To stop him from enjoying my ass any longer, I pulled away at once. I straightened, stepped forward quickly, and rushed into the back seat, sitting down hard and pressing my back against the seat so there was no more space for his hands to return.
He climbed into the driver’s seat without comment, started the engine, and pulled the auto back onto the dark highway, heading toward the scrap metal market. I sat in silence, the vivid, complete feeling of that full claiming grab still clear on both of my ass cheeks — the heat, the pressure, the way my entire ass had disappeared inside both of his hands. My eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead. The only thing that mattered remained unchanged: reach Loki, reach Market Ravi, and make Santosh suffer. Everything else I continued to tolerate for that single purpose.


The auto had only been moving for a few minutes when the driver suddenly pulled out his phone. He dialled a number with one hand while steering with the other, then spoke quickly in a low, urgent voice. I could not hear every word over the engine, but the tone was sharp and hurried. After less than a minute he hung up abruptly and shoved the phone back into his shirt pocket.
He turned his head slightly toward me without slowing down.
“Hold the grill tightly, madam. I am going to ride fast. Loki will leave soon. If we miss him tonight we will not find him again easily.”
I gripped the metal grill of the auto with both hands at once. The moment my fingers closed around the cold bars he pressed the accelerator hard. The auto shot forward, rattling violently over the uneven highway. The wind rushed against my face and pulled at the pallu of my purple saree. Trees and dark fields blurred past on both sides. The vehicle leaned into every small curve. I kept my hold firm and fixed my eyes on the road ahead.
Inside I began praying silently, the same way I had prayed earlier about Market Ravi.
Loki should not leave.
We must meet him tonight.
Please let him still be there.
Every hard bump and every sharp turn fed the same cold urgency that had driven me since the market. If Loki left before we arrived, the thin path to Market Ravi would close again. I could not allow that. My husband’s broken face, the days of silence in our house, the tears I had watched him hide — all of it sat behind my closed teeth while the auto raced through the night.
Exactly fifteen minutes later the driver slowed and turned off the main road. We entered a wide, poorly lit area filled with stacks of scrap metal, old machinery, and large godowns. The air smelled of rust and oil. He stopped the auto in front of one of the bigger structures. A single tube light glowed weakly above a half-open shutter.
“We are here. Loki’s godown.”
It was already eight o’clock.
While the driver switched off the engine I took out my phone. My husband would be wondering by now. I typed a short message:
I am at Kasi Aunty’s funeral. Will be late. Don’t wait for dinner.
I sent it. A few seconds later his reply came.
Okay.
Just one word. No questions. No concern about the time. I stared at the screen for a moment and felt the familiar tightness in my chest. He was still not thinking about anything properly. The public humiliation by Santosh had left him hollow. He accepted my message without curiosity because nothing outside his own pain registered clearly anymore.
I locked the phone, slipped it back into my bag, and looked at the half-open shutter of the godown. The driver was already stepping down. I followed, the purple saree moving around my legs, the cold purpose inside me sharper than ever. Loki was somewhere behind that shutter. Through Loki lay Market Ravi. Through Market Ravi lay the punishment Santosh still had not received.

[novelistcasanova]

I stepped out of the auto behind the driver into the poorly lit scrap metal yard. The ground under my sandals was uneven, mixed with small pieces of rusted iron and gravel. As I stood up fully after the long fast ride, I felt the familiar discomfort of my panties having ridden up and caught deep in my ass crack. The tight pull between my cheeks was sharp enough to make me pause. Still standing near the auto, I reached back over my purple saree and petticoat with my right hand, hooked my fingers under the edge of the fabric, and carefully pulled my panties out of my ass crack. I adjusted them properly into place so they sat smooth against my skin again, then used both hands to smooth the pleats of my purple saree around my hips and legs until everything looked neat once more. Only after that did I follow the driver toward the half-open shutter of the godown.

A man stood at the entrance, leaning one shoulder against the metal frame under the weak tube light. He was roughly built, with a stained shirt and a hard face. The driver walked up to him and began speaking in a low, urgent voice, asking about Loki and mentioning the earlier contact. The man did not answer immediately. His eyes had already left the driver’s face and locked onto me. He looked openly and without any attempt to hide it. His gaze moved first to my heavy breasts under the purple blouse, lingering on their round shape, then slid down to the neat curve of my waist, then lower to the full outline of my hips and the way my purple saree stretched across my ass. He stared as if a clean, high-class woman in a proper purple saree was something he had never seen standing this close in his life.
The driver noticed the direction of the man’s eyes. His jaw tightened at once. He turned back to me, voice sharp with sudden jealousy and real caution.
“Madam, wait inside the auto. It is not safe here.”
I hesitated for a second, still standing on the gravel. He stepped closer to me and spoke more firmly, lowering his voice so only I could hear, convincing me with clear urgency.
“These guys are animals. They have never seen high-class women like you in real life. If you stand here they will definitely enjoy you… they will fuck you without thinking twice. Sit inside the auto until I finish talking. Please.”
The open hunger in the other man’s stare made the warning feel real. I nodded once and turned back toward the auto. As I tried to climb into the back seat, the driver’s both hands suddenly came forward and grabbed my ass cheeks hard over my purple saree, my petticoat and my panties. His fingers sank deep into both of my ass cheeks at the same time, holding the full round weight of my ass cheeks, squeezing and spreading them slightly while he felt their softness and shape without any hesitation.
“These kinds of juicy high-class asses should not be available to unnecessary rowdies,” he said in a thick, possessive voice while his hands continued to grip and feel me. “Asses like yours are like laddoo to them, madam. Soft, full, perfect. If they get even one chance they will enjoy this ass the whole night. They will not leave it. That is why I am telling you to sit inside.”
A sharp jolt of awareness went through my body as both of his hands kept pressing and lifting my ass cheeks, openly enjoying the complete handful each palm held. I quickly pulled myself forward, climbed the rest of the way in, and sat down hard on the seat, pressing my back firmly against it so his hands had no more space and were forced to leave my ass.
He took his hands off my ass cheeks, gave the man at the entrance one hard, warning look, and walked into the godown with him. I sat alone in the auto under the weak tube light. The feeling of both his large hands still burned clearly on my ass cheeks — the pressure, the heat, the way my entire ass had filled his grip. Fifteen full minutes passed. The night air carried the smell of rust, old oil, and metal. From deeper inside the godown came the occasional sound of heavy things being moved and low male voices.
Finally the driver came back out alone. He walked straight to the auto, leaned in slightly through the open side, and spoke in a low, hurried voice.
“Five thousand rupees. I need it now.”
I opened my bag without asking any questions, counted the notes under the dim light, and handed them to him. He took the money, turned at once, and went back inside with the same man. Another stretch of waiting followed. When he emerged the second time his expression had changed — more focused, almost relieved, the earlier tension replaced by clear purpose.
“Quick. We have to go to a lodge named Priya Lodge. It is thirty minutes from here. Loki said Ravi is in Priya Lodge right now.”
He climbed into the driver’s seat, started the engine at once, and pulled the auto away from the scrap metal market into the dark road. I sat in the back in my purple saree, one hand holding the metal grill, the night air rushing past my face again. The path to Market Ravi was still open. That single fact remained the only thing that mattered.


The driver pressed the accelerator the moment we left the scrap metal market behind. The auto shot forward into the dark highway, engine straining, the whole vehicle rattling hard over every uneven patch of road.
“Hold the grill tightly, madam,” he called over the noise of the wind and the engine. “I am going to ride as fast as I can.”
I gripped the metal grill with both hands at once. My fingers closed around the cold bars and stayed locked there. The night air rushed against my face and pulled at the pallu of my purple saree. Trees, milestones, and the occasional lorry flashed past in the darkness. The driver did not slow down even once. He leaned forward over the handle, eyes fixed on the road, pushing the auto to its limit.
We crossed Hosur. The familiar border signs disappeared behind us and the auto continued deeper into Tamil Nadu. The highway remained long and poorly lit. Only the single headlight of the auto cut a narrow path through the blackness. After some more hard riding the driver suddenly turned off the main road onto a smaller, darker side road. The surface became rougher. The trees closed in on both sides. There were no street lights, no shops, no other vehicles. Only the sound of the straining engine and the night insects.
The darkness and the isolation made the road feel scary. For a moment a cold thread of fear moved through my chest. I was alone with this shameless auto driver, far from Bangalore, far from my house, on an unknown road at night, going to meet dangerous men for the sake of revenge.
I forced the fear down and spoke to myself inside my head, clearly and firmly.
I am doing this for my husband.
Ram, I will avenge that bastard Santosh.
I watched you cry on our bedroom floor. I watched you stop eating and stop sleeping. I watched our home lose its happiness because of him.
I let this auto driver grope me. I let him feel up my ass cheeks with both hands again and again. I promised him a hug and a kiss. I tolerated every crude word and every touch.
All of this is for you.
But I will always be your wife. Nothing he does changes that.
I will not stop.
I will find Market Ravi. I will make sure Santosh suffers the way you suffered.
I will make sure Santosh dies.
This fear is nothing. This darkness is nothing. This man and his hands are nothing.
Only your pain matters. Only revenge matters.
The internal words settled the fear. My grip on the grill stayed tight. My back stayed straight. The auto continued racing down the dark narrow road while I kept the single cold purpose fixed in the centre of my mind: reach Priya Lodge, meet Loki, reach Market Ravi, and begin the punishment that Santosh still had not received.


We reached Priya Lodge. The place was only about a hundred metres ahead, partially hidden among thick trees and almost swallowed by the darkness of the night. The single headlight of the auto swept across the rough path and then went dark as the driver slowed down deliberately. To avoid any immediate hostility he turned the auto off the main approach and parked it carefully near a dense patch of bushes, away from the gate where nobody was standing in the open. He switched off the engine. For several long seconds he simply sat still, both hands on the handle, staring at the lodge through the windscreen.
I could see the clear conflict on his face. Priya Lodge was guarded by Ravi’s men — rough-looking figures standing near the narrow gate and along the short path that led to the building. Some leaned against the low compound wall, others stood with arms crossed, all of them alert. The driver kept glancing at me, then at those men, then back at me again. He was possessive. He knew exactly what would happen the moment those men saw a high-class woman in a clean purple saree walking into their space. His jaw worked once. His fingers tightened on the handle.
He spoke without looking at me fully, his voice low and reluctant, almost unwilling.
“Madam… those men standing there… they will look at you. They will want you. Are you sure you want to go in?”
I answered without any hesitation, my voice steady.
“It doesn’t matter. I have to meet Ravi. Take me.”
He let out a short, heavy breath through his nose, then nodded once.
“Okay. Come.”
We both got down from the auto. He locked it, checked the door once, and we began walking toward Priya Lodge side by side. After only a few steps he spoke again, voice low and instructive, eyes fixed ahead on the men near the gate.
“Madam, cover yourself properly. Pull the pallu tighter. Make sure nothing sways when you walk… especially your ass. Don’t move fast. If you walk fast your breasts will bounce and it will tempt them the same way it is already tempting me. Walk slow and steady.”
I nodded once.
“Okay.”
I adjusted the pallu of my purple saree, pulled it more firmly across my chest, and slowed my steps deliberately. I kept my movements controlled and even, making sure my hips did not sway more than necessary and that my breasts stayed as still as possible under the purple blouse. The path was narrow, uneven, and poorly lit. Dry leaves and small stones shifted under my sandals. The lodge itself was small — a low two-storey building almost completely hidden among the thick trees, with only a few dim yellow lights visible through the branches. The air smelled of damp earth, cigarette smoke, and something metallic.
As we came closer, Ravi’s men turned their heads one by one. Their eyes locked onto me at once. They looked at me from head to toe without any attempt to hide it. First my face, then the heavy round shape of my breasts under the purple blouse, then the neat curve of my waist, then the full outline of my hips and the way the purple saree stretched across my ass with each careful step. I saw more than one of them shift their weight. Clear boners rose under their lungis and trousers. The hunger in their stares was open, heavy, and completely unfiltered. They looked at me the way men look at something they want to take.
At the gate the driver stopped and spoke to the two men standing there. His voice was firm but respectful.
“I am Gopi. From Ravi’s area. Loki sent me. We need to meet Ravi.”
One of the men looked at me again, longer and more openly this time, his eyes moving slowly over my body once more. Then he took out a cheap mobile phone, made a short call, and spoke a few rapid words in a low voice. He listened, nodded once, and gestured with his chin toward the entrance.
“Go inside.”
We walked past the gate into a small, dimly lit reception area. The floor was bare cement. A rough wooden counter stood against one wall. Two more men sat behind it. The moment we entered, both of them stared at me the same way the men outside had — head to toe, slow and shameless. One of them stood up, let his eyes travel over my breasts, my waist, and my hips again, then spoke to the driver in a flat voice.
“Both of you. Adjacent room. Searching.”
They led us toward a small side room next to the reception. The door was already half open. The air that came out of it smelled of cigarette smoke, cheap disinfectant, and old sweat. I stepped in after the driver, the purple saree moving softly around my legs with each controlled step, fully aware that every pair of eyes in the place was still following the movement of my body. The path to Market Ravi was now only a few doors away. I kept my back straight and my face calm. Everything I had tolerated until this moment had brought me here. I would not stop.

[novelistcasanova]

The side room was small and poorly lit. A single tube light flickered on the ceiling. The walls were bare cement, stained in places. There was no furniture except a narrow wooden bench against one wall. The air smelled of cigarette smoke, cheap disinfectant, and old sweat.

Two young men stood waiting inside. Both were ugly — rough-skinned, with hard eyes and unwashed clothes. The moment the door closed behind us, one of them spoke in a flat, commanding voice.
“Both of you. Take off your clothes. Stand only in your underwears. Searching.”
I stared at him, shocked.
“No.”
The word came out immediately. The second man stepped forward, his face tightening with anger.
“What no? This is the rule. Everyone who wants to meet Ravi Anna gets searched properly. No exceptions.”
Before I could say anything more, the auto driver began undressing without protest. He unbuttoned his khaki shirt, pulled it off, and dropped it on the bench. Then he untied his lungi, let it fall, and stepped out of it. He stood in front of us wearing only a white banian and a pair of dirty dark blue underwear. His body was lean and dark. More than the two men who had given the order, it was the driver who was getting openly excited. The outline of his cock was already rising hard under the dirty dark blue underwear. His eyes stayed fixed on me with clear hunger, waiting to see me in only my bra and panties.
He turned to me, voice low but urgent, trying to convince me.
“Madam, take your clothes off. Stand only in your bra and panties. It is just the protocol here. Everyone who comes to meet Ravi Anna has to do this. Security reasons. Nothing else. Just remove the saree and blouse. It will be over quickly.”
I looked from the driver to the two ugly men. My heart was beating hard. I tried once more, keeping my voice calm but firm.
“I am just a housewife. I came only to see Ravi Anna and talk to him. That is all. There is no need for this.”
The first man shook his head at once.
“Doesn’t matter who you are. Anyone who wants to meet Ravi Anna gets searched. Everything. Now take the saree off.”
Both men stood watching me, waiting. The driver stood to the side in his white banian and dirty dark blue underwear, his excitement growing more obvious by the second, his eyes moving over my body in the purple saree with open, impatient hunger. He spoke again, softer this time, still trying to push me toward agreeing.
“Madam, listen to me. It is only protocol. If you refuse they will not let you go further. You came this far for a reason. Just do it.”
I stood there in my purple saree, the tube light flickering above, the cold purpose that had brought me all the way from Bangalore still sitting hard in my chest. I was thinking. Every step until now — the market, the driver’s hands on my ass, the long dark ride, the fear — had been for one reason only. If this search was the final door standing between me and Market Ravi, I had to decide whether I was willing to open it. The two men waited. The driver waited, already hard, already imagining me in only my bra and panties. The room felt smaller with every second that passed.


I stood in the small, flickering room and made the decision.
My hands moved to the edge of my purple saree. Inside my head I spoke to my husband, quietly and clearly, while my fingers began working on the cloth.
Ram, forgive me.
I am removing my clothes in front of these three men for you.
I am doing this so I can reach Market Ravi.
I am doing this so I can have that bastard Santosh killed and settle the score for everything he did to you.
I still see you sitting on our bedroom floor crying. I still see the way you stopped eating properly, the way you stopped sleeping, the way our house lost all its happiness because of him.
This shame is for you.
I will always be your wife. Nothing that happens in this room changes that.
But I will make Santosh pay with his life.
I pulled the pallu of my purple saree away from my shoulder. The soft material slid across my upper body as I began unwrapping it. I turned slowly, freeing the pleats from around my waist one by one. The purple saree loosened and came away in long folds. All three men watched without blinking. The two ugly young men stood completely still, their mouths slightly open, eyes following every movement of the cloth. The auto driver in his white banian and dirty dark blue underwear was already breathing harder through his mouth. The outline of his cock had risen fully hard, tenting the dark blue fabric heavily as he stared.
I folded the purple saree roughly into a bundle and placed it on the narrow wooden bench. Now I stood in only my purple blouse, my petticoat, my bra and my panties. I reached both hands behind my back and began opening the hooks of the blouse one by one. Each hook released with a small, clear sound in the quiet room. The purple blouse loosened across my chest. I slid it off my shoulders and down my arms, then dropped it on top of the folded saree. My heavy breasts were now covered only by my white bra. The moment the blouse left my body, a thick, hungry silence filled the small room. All three men stared at the full, round shape of my breasts straining against the white bra, at the deep line of my cleavage, at the way my breasts moved slightly with my breathing.
I untied the string of my petticoat at the waist. The knot came free. The petticoat loosened and I let it fall in a soft heap around my ankles. I stepped out of it carefully, one foot and then the other, and kicked it aside with my sandal. Now I stood in the centre of the room wearing only my white bra and white panties. The flickering tube light moved over my bare stomach, the neat curve of my waist, the clean skin of my thighs, and the simple lines of the white underwear that still covered me.
The three men went crazy.
The two ugly men shifted hard on their feet. Their eyes locked onto my breasts and then dropped to the way my white panties sat snugly on my hips and between my thighs. Clear, thick boners rose under their trousers and lungis, pushing outward without any attempt to hide. One of them swallowed loudly. The other wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
The auto driver looked the most undone of all — and the most possessive. His mouth had fallen slightly open. His cock jerked visibly inside the dirty dark blue underwear, the hard shape straining against the fabric. But along with the raw hunger in his eyes there was a clear, jealous tension. Without a word he stepped forward, put both of his arms around my bare waist, and pulled my body tightly against his. He then took my wrists and lifted both of my arms up, placing my hands behind his neck so that my white-bra-covered breasts were pressed flat against his white banian. His fully hard cock in the dirty dark blue underwear pushed thick and hot against my lower stomach. He held me in that close embrace, using his own body to block the two men’s view of me. He was too excited — his breathing came rough and uneven against the side of my face — yet his voice came out low and fierce as he spoke to the other two men over my shoulder.
“Nobody touches her. She is with me. You will not put your hands on her.”
He kept both arms firmly around my waist, holding my body pressed to his, while my arms stayed around his neck. His hard cock continued to throb against my stomach through the thin underwear. The two men made low, annoyed sounds at being blocked, but the driver did not loosen his hold or step aside. He stayed pressed against me, possessive and openly aroused, as if I already belonged to him.
I kept my face calm even as my white-bra-covered breasts stayed crushed against his chest and his hard cock remained pressed against my stomach. The cold purpose inside me had not moved even an inch. I had crossed one more door. Market Ravi was closer than ever. Everything I had given so far — every touch I had tolerated, every crude word, every kilometre of dark road — had brought me to this moment. I would not stop.


I stood in the small, flickering room and made the decision.
My hands moved to the edge of my purple saree. Inside my head I spoke to my husband, quietly and clearly, while my fingers began working on the cloth.
Ram, forgive me.
I am removing my clothes in front of these three men for you.
I am doing this so I can reach Market Ravi.
I am doing this so I can have that bastard Santosh killed and settle the score for everything he did to you.
I still see you sitting on our bedroom floor crying. I still see the way you stopped eating properly, the way you stopped sleeping, the way our house lost all its happiness because of him.
This shame is for you.
I will always be your wife. Nothing that happens in this room changes that.
But I will make Santosh pay with his life.
I pulled the pallu of my purple saree away from my shoulder. The soft material slid across my upper body as I began unwrapping it. I turned slowly, freeing the pleats from around my waist one by one. The purple saree loosened and came away in long folds. All three men watched without blinking. The two ugly young men stood completely still, their mouths slightly open, eyes following every movement of the cloth. The auto driver in his white banian and dirty dark blue underwear was already breathing harder through his mouth. The outline of his cock had risen fully hard, tenting the dark blue fabric heavily as he stared.
I folded the purple saree roughly into a bundle and placed it on the narrow wooden bench. Now I stood in only my purple blouse, my petticoat, my bra and my panties. I reached both hands behind my back and began opening the hooks of the blouse one by one. Each hook released with a small, clear sound in the quiet room. The purple blouse loosened across my chest. I slid it off my shoulders and down my arms, then dropped it on top of the folded saree. My heavy breasts were now covered only by my white bra. The moment the blouse left my body, a thick, hungry silence filled the small room. All three men stared at the full, round shape of my breasts straining against the white bra, at the deep line of my cleavage, at the way my breasts moved slightly with my breathing.
I untied the string of my petticoat at the waist. The knot came free. The petticoat loosened and I let it fall in a soft heap around my ankles. I stepped out of it carefully, one foot and then the other, and kicked it aside with my sandal. Now I stood in the centre of the room wearing only my white bra and white panties. The flickering tube light moved over my bare stomach, the neat curve of my waist, the clean skin of my thighs, and the simple lines of the white underwear that still covered me.
The three men went crazy.
The two ugly men shifted hard on their feet. Their eyes locked onto my breasts and then dropped to the way my white panties sat snugly on my hips and between my thighs. Clear, thick boners rose under their trousers and lungis, pushing outward without any attempt to hide. One of them swallowed loudly. The other wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
The auto driver looked the most undone of all — and the most possessive. He was exactly my height, so when he stepped forward our bodies lined up directly. Without a word he put both of his arms around my bare waist and pulled me tightly against him. He took my wrists and lifted both of my arms up, placing my hands behind his neck so that my white-bra-covered breasts were pressed flat against his white banian. Because we were the same height, his fully hard cock strained so strongly that the dirty dark blue underwear was pulled into a sharp V-shape. The thick head of his cock had slipped out through the right leg hole of the underwear and was now rubbing directly against my inner thighs and over the front of my white panties, the hot bare skin of his cock sliding against the thin cloth covering my pussy.
He held me in that close embrace, using his own body to block the two men’s view of me. He was too excited and he could not stop talking. His breathing was already rough against the side of my face. Every time the bare head of his cock rubbed over my white panties he had to pause and control himself hard.
“Nobody touches her. She is with me. You two stay back.”
His hips jerked forward once involuntarily, dragging the exposed head of his cock firmly across my pussy through the panties. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay still, clearly trying not to cum.
“Madam, don’t worry… I won’t let them come near you. You are safe with me.”
His cock throbbed hard between my thighs, the bare tip leaving a wet smear on my white panties. A low, strained sound escaped his throat. He was breathing faster, fighting the urge to push harder against me.
“These bastards are looking at you too much… I don’t like it.”
He pressed his forehead briefly against the side of my head, eyes half-closed, struggling to hold back. His arms tightened around my waist as another strong pulse ran through his cock. The V-shape of his underwear stretched even tighter.
“Your body is pressed against me properly now… they can’t see anything.”
His voice had become thicker and uneven. He was fully hard and leaking, the wet heat of his cock head noticeable every time it rubbed over my pussy through the thin white panties. He kept talking only to distract himself from cumming.
“Just stay like this… I will handle them.”
He continued holding me tightly, my arms still around his neck, the bare head of his cock still rubbing between my inner thighs and directly over my pussy through my white panties with every small breath he took. The two men made low, annoyed sounds at being blocked, but the driver did not loosen his hold or step aside. He stayed pressed against me, talking continuously between strained breaths, possessive and openly fighting the desperate need to cum inside his underwear, as if I already belonged to him.
I kept my face calm even as my white-bra-covered breasts stayed crushed against his chest and the hot, exposed head of his cock kept rubbing over my white panties. The cold purpose inside me had not moved even an inch. I had crossed one more door. Market Ravi was closer than ever. Everything I had given so far — every touch I had tolerated, every crude word, every kilometre of dark road — had brought me to this moment. I would not stop.
I whispered close to the driver’s ear, my voice low and controlled even while the bare head of his cock continued rubbing thick and hot over the front of my white panties.
“You are too excited. Break the hug. Let go.”
He shook his head at once, arms tightening around my bare waist instead of loosening. His cock twitched hard between my thighs.
“No. I don’t want them to see you like this… only in bra and panties. Stay against me. Let me cover you.”
Before he could finish the sentence, the two ugly men lost all patience. They stepped forward together and shoved him hard with both hands. His arms were torn away from my body. He stumbled sideways and almost fell, one hand frantically trying to push his cock back inside the dirty dark blue underwear that was still stretched in a deep V-shape.
The first man came straight at me. His rough right hand shot between my legs and grabbed my pussy hard over the thin white panties. His fingers dug in, squeezing the soft mound and the lips beneath the cloth with full strength. Pain and a shocked jolt of sensation shot upward through my stomach. At the same moment the second man moved behind me, reached around with both hands, and seized my heavy breasts through the white bra. He squeezed them brutally, pressing his fingers deep into the full flesh, lifting and crushing them together.
I cried out.

[novelistcasanova]

They loved the sound. The man behind me squeezed even harder, twisting my breasts inside the white bra until my nipples burned against the fabric. The man in front rubbed and pressed my pussy through the white panties in rough, circular motions, the heel of his palm grinding against my clit while his fingers tried to push the thin cloth between my pussy lips. Their breathing turned loud, ugly, and excited. Clear boners strained hard under their clothes.

The driver recovered and tried to fight them, still struggling to force his cock fully back into the underwear. One of the men turned and kicked him hard in the stomach. He folded and went down to his knees, gasping.
The two men pushed me backward toward the narrow wooden bench. The one in front yanked at the waistband of my white panties, trying to drag them down my hips. The one behind kept mauling my breasts, his mouth open against the side of my neck, hot breath washing over my skin. I struggled, twisting my shoulders and trying to push their hands away, but they were stronger and fully aroused. My white bra straps slipped halfway down my arms. One of my breasts almost spilled free. The front of my white panties was already being pulled low enough that the upper part of my clean-shaved mound was visible.
They were going to bang me on the cement floor of the small room.
The man in front succeeded in dragging my white panties down to mid-thigh. Cool air touched my bare pussy for a second before his rough hand covered it completely, two fingers pushing between the lips and rubbing hard. The man behind me had pulled the white bra down under my breasts so that both heavy tits sat fully exposed and bounced with every movement. He squeezed them from below, thumbs scbanging across my nipples. Their cocks were out now — thick, dark, and fully hard — and they were trying to force me down onto the bench so they could push inside me.
I kept fighting, but my strength was not enough. One of them had already spread my knees with his leg. The head of his cock was rubbing against the entrance of my pussy when the door of the room slammed open with a loud crack.
A strong, dark-skinned, muscular man stepped inside first. Behind him came a tall, dark, and handsome man who looked like an advocate. The muscular man’s eyes took in the entire scene in one hard, instantaneous glance — my exposed breasts, my white panties around my thighs, the two men on me, the driver still on the floor.
The driver lifted his head and shouted at once, voice raw.
“Ravi Anna! They are trying to bang this lady!”
Ravi moved immediately and without wasted motion. He grabbed the man who still had his hand on my bare pussy, spun him around by the shoulder, and struck him across the face with a heavy, open-handed blow that sent him crashing into the wall. The second man received a hard punch to the ribs and then another to the side of the head. Both men scrambled up, faces already swelling, and fled the room without looking back.
Ravi stood over the place they had been, breathing evenly, then turned to me. His expression was serious and controlled. He did not stare at my exposed breasts or the white panties still tangled around my thighs. Instead he picked up my folded purple saree, blouse and petticoat from the bench and held them out to me with his face slightly turned away.
“Wear your clothes.”
He turned his back completely, giving me full privacy like a gentleman. The tall advocate also looked away toward the wall. My hands were shaking slightly as I took the clothes. I pulled my white panties back up first, then stepped into my petticoat and tied it quickly. I hooked my white bra properly again, slipped my arms into the purple blouse and fastened every hook, then wrapped the purple saree around my body with hurried but steady movements until I was fully covered once more. In the corner the driver was still breathing hard, pulling on his lungi and khaki shirt with clumsy hands.
Only when I was completely dressed did Ravi turn back to face me. His voice was calm and direct.
“Who are you? Why are you here?”
Before I could answer, the tall, dark, handsome advocate spoke.
“Both of you finish dressing properly and come to the first floor. Ravi Anna will speak there.”
We followed them out of the small side room, up a narrow staircase that smelled of damp wood and cigarette smoke, and into a larger, better-lit room on the first floor that clearly belonged to Ravi. The door closed behind us. The path I had fought to open — through every touch, every kilometre of dark road, and every shame I had accepted — was finally here.


We entered the room on the first floor. It was larger and cleaner than the small side room downstairs. Two separate beds stood opposite each other with a low wooden table between them. On the table were a few bottles of soft drinks, a plate of chips, and some plastic glasses. The single window was half open, letting in the mild night air and the distant sound of insects.
Ravi sat down on the edge of one bed. The tall, dark, handsome advocate sat beside him. Ravi gestured with his hand toward the opposite bed.
“Sit.”
The auto driver and I sat down on the other bed, facing them across the small table. For a moment the room was quiet except for the low hum of the ceiling fan.
The advocate looked at me directly, his expression calm and professional. He extended his right hand across the table.
“I am Rajesh.”
I shook his hand. His grip was firm and brief.
“I am Sudha.”
He nodded once, released my hand, and sat back slightly beside Ravi. Then he asked the question that had been waiting since the moment we entered.
“Why are you here?”
I looked at both of them — the strong, dark-skinned, muscular Ravi and the tall advocate named Rajesh — and the entire weight of the last many days rose into my throat at once. My eyes burned. I did not try to stop the tears that came.
“My husband’s name is Ram,” I began, my voice already thick. “He runs a supermarket. He is a decent man. Soft. He has never hurt anyone. Santosh is his cousin… four years younger. When Santosh was a small boy, my husband taught him how to ride a bicycle on our street. My husband’s mother is the reason Santosh’s mother even came to Bangalore. She arranged the marriage. We helped them settle. We helped them find a house. For years we stood by them.”
My hands had closed tightly in my lap. Tears ran freely down my cheeks now.
“One Sunday Santosh stood in the middle of the road in front of our new construction site and humiliated my husband in front of everyone. Relatives. Neighbours. Workers. He pushed him. He called him spineless. He shouted that my husband was soft and useless. My husband could not even raise his voice. He called the security officer, but the security officer took money from both sides and left. My husband sat on a stack of cement bags and cried. After that day he stopped eating properly. He stopped sleeping. Our house became silent. Our sons started asking why their father does not smile anymore. Every morning I watched him sit with red eyes, broken, remembering the shame.”
I wiped my face with the back of my hand, but fresh tears kept coming. My voice shook, yet the words remained clear.
“I am his wife. A wife is not only for giving pleasure at night or cooking food. When someone destroys her husband’s pride and makes him cry like that, she has to answer. I searched for a man who could make Santosh suffer. I found out about you, Ravi. People in the market are terrified of your name. That is why I came. That is why I travelled all this way at night, why I tolerated everything that happened downstairs, why I am sitting here in front of you now.”
I looked straight at Ravi, my eyes still wet, my voice low and steady despite the tears.
“I came to ask you to kill Santosh.”
The room stayed silent after I finished. The ceiling fan continued its slow rotation. On the table the untouched chips and soft drinks sat between us. I did not look away. The pain of the last many days, the image of my husband’s bent shoulders, and the cold decision that had brought me here were all still written clearly on my face.
Ravi listened to the last of my words in silence. For a moment he simply looked at me across the low table, his expression hard and unreadable. Then he spoke, his voice flat and final.
“No.”
Before I could react, his phone rang on the table. He glanced at the screen, answered it at once, and stood up while listening. His face grew tighter with every second. The muscles along his jaw flexed. He spoke only a few short words in a low, clipped voice, then walked out of the room without looking at any of us, closing the door firmly behind him. The ceiling fan continued its slow rotation. The untouched chips and soft drinks remained on the table between the two beds.
The tall advocate stayed seated. After a moment of silence he turned his head and looked at me directly. He lifted one hand and gestured to the empty space on the bed beside him.
“Sudha. Come. Sit here.”
I rose from the opposite bed. The purple saree shifted around my legs as I walked the short distance and sat down next to him. The mattress dipped slightly under my weight. The auto driver remained where he was on the other bed, watching quietly, his earlier excitement now replaced by a tense stillness.
Rajesh turned his body a little toward me. His voice was calm, steady, and serious.
“Sudha, our situation is not good right now. The cops are behind Ravi. They are pushing hard these days. We are leaving this place early in the morning. Because of that, we cannot help you with what you are asking.”
The words landed heavily inside my chest. For a second the entire long day — the vegetable market, the driver’s repeated hands on my ass, the dark highway, the forced removal of my clothes, the attack in the small room downstairs — threatened to become meaningless. My eyes burned almost immediately. Tears gathered and spilled over. I turned fully toward him on the bed, my hands coming together in my lap, and began begging. My voice broke more than once.
“Please… please help me. Santosh does not deserve to live. He broke my husband in front of everyone — relatives, neighbours, workers. He pushed him. He called him spineless. After that day my husband stopped eating properly. He stopped sleeping. Our house became silent. Our sons started asking why their father does not smile. I watched him cry on our bedroom floor. I watched him sit with red eyes every morning. Only if Santosh dies I will be happy. I will be at peace. Please. I am willing to pay anything you ask. Any amount. Just do this one thing for me.”
Rajesh looked at me for a long moment without speaking. His expression remained controlled, but something thoughtful and assessing moved behind his dark eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice was slower and clearer.
“Sudha, I am Rajesh Mani. You must have heard about me. I am the richest criminal lawyer in Bangalore. This is not about money. I have enough money. More than enough.”
As he said his full name — Rajesh Mani — I truly looked at him for the first time.
He was tall. Dark-skinned. Handsome in a sharp, controlled way. The shape of his mouth, the clean line of his jaw, the steady weight of his eyes on my face — it was the same face from the dream that had woken me that morning. The memory returned in a sudden, vivid, physical rush. I remembered the dark-skinned man’s filthy mouth covering mine. I remembered opening my lips shamelessly, sucking on his thick tongue, tasting the bitter, smoky flavour while my cream-colored panties grew wet between my thighs. I remembered moaning into that kiss without any restraint.
A slow, unwanted heat began spreading low in my stomach. My nipples tightened against the white bra under my purple blouse, becoming noticeable even to me. Between my legs, under the petticoat and white panties, a familiar slick wetness started to gather along the lips of my pussy. My breathing changed for a second — a soft, almost invisible hitch. I was shamelessly getting horny just sitting beside him, the dream and the real man overlapping so strongly that the inside of my mouth tingled with the ghost of that morning kiss.
I kept my face as calm as I could manage. My hands remained folded in my lap. But the heat continued to build steadily while I sat next to Rajesh Mani on the bed, the tears of desperation still drying on my cheeks, and the cold purpose that had brought me all this way now mixed with a sudden, shameful physical hunger I had not expected.



I was totally horny.
The man from the dream that had haunted me for many days was sitting right beside me on the bed. The same dark skin. The same sharp, clean jaw. The same mouth I had kissed so shamelessly in my sleep, night after night. Everything else that had driven me through this long day — the vegetable market, the auto driver’s hands on my ass, the dark highway, the forced removal of my clothes, Santosh’s name, my husband’s tears — began to blur and fade to the far edges of my mind. All I could feel was the slow, heavy heat spreading low in my stomach and then lower, between my thighs, and the tight, aching pull of my nipples against the white bra under my purple blouse.
I spoke first, my voice coming out softer and thinner than I expected.
“Sir…”
Rajesh Mani turned his body a little more toward me on the bed. The mattress shifted under his weight. A faint, almost gentle smile touched the corner of his mouth. He shook his head once, slowly.
“Don’t call me Sir. Call me Rajesh.”
The way he said his own name — low, calm, and intimate — sent a fresh, liquid wave of heat rolling through my lower belly. My toes curled slightly inside my sandals. He continued looking at me, his dark eyes steady and warm in a way that made it difficult to draw a full breath. The air between us felt thicker than it had a moment earlier.
“Sudha… have we seen each other before?”
He leaned in slightly, closing more of the space between us on the bed. His knee came close enough that I could feel the mild heat of his body through the purple saree. His voice dropped even lower, soft enough that it seemed to travel directly across my skin instead of through the air.
“I feel like we have met somewhere. I can’t explain it… but your face, your eyes… it feels familiar. Like I have already touched you in some other life. Like I already know the sound of your breathing when you are close. Like I have already tasted your mouth.”
The words melted something deep and previously solid inside me. My pussy clenched hard once under the white panties and petticoat, a distinct, wet contraction that left a fresh slickness along the lips. I could smell the mild, clean scent of his cologne mixed with the warmer smell of his skin. My answer came out softer and more unsteady than I intended.
“Me too… Rajesh.”
He came even closer. Now his knee fully touched mine through the layers of my purple saree. The air between our faces grew warm and shared. I looked at his lips — the same lips from the dream — and felt my own lips part slightly without any permission from my mind. The dream was no longer a memory that belonged to sleep. It was happening in real time, in this room, on this bed. I continued speaking, my voice low and slightly trembling.
“In fact… I have seen you in my dream many times. For many days. The same face. The same mouth. The same way you look at me right now.”
Something dark and intent shifted in his eyes when I said that. He raised one hand and rested it on the bed just beside my thigh, close enough that I could feel the heat of his fingers through the purple saree. Then he slowly brought his face nearer until his lips were only a few centimetres from mine. I could feel the faint, rhythmic warmth of his breath against my open mouth. My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my throat and in my wrists. My nipples were so tight they hurt with every small movement against the white bra. Between my legs I was already thoroughly wet; the white panties clung to my pussy lips with the moisture.
His next words were barely above a whisper, yet every syllable sank straight down between my thighs and made my inner muscles flutter.
“Then maybe this time we should not stop at a dream, Sudha.”
I wanted to kiss his lips badly.
Every part of me that had stayed cold, controlled, and sharpened by revenge for the entire night was dissolving under the weight of his voice and the nearness of his mouth. The only thing left inside my body was the shameless, hungry, almost painful need to close that last small distance and feel his mouth on mine the way I had in the dream — open, deep, wet, and without any restraint. My eyes half-closed on their own. My breath mixed with his in the narrow space between our lips. The rest of the room — the auto driver sitting on the opposite bed, the untouched drinks and chips on the table, the name Santosh, even the memory of my husband’s broken face — all of it faded into a distant, unimportant background while I sat there on the edge of the bed, lips parted, body leaning forward by a fraction, waiting for the kiss I had already tasted in my sleep.


The door opened and Ravi stepped back into the room.
The charged, narrow space between my face and Rajesh’s mouth broke at once. I stood up from the bed so quickly that the mattress shifted. I did not fully know whether it was fear or respect or both that made me rise, but my body moved before my mind finished deciding. The auto driver scrambled to his feet as well, standing stiffly near the opposite bed.
Ravi’s eyes moved between the three of us. The earlier hardness was still on his face, mixed with tiredness. Rajesh remained seated for a second longer, then spoke in a calm, steady voice that carried clear authority.
“You sleep, Ravi. I will make sure everything is okay tonight. In the morning you will leave from here. I will do all the legal work tomorrow and take care of it. I will save you.”
Ravi looked at Rajesh for a long moment. The trust and respect he held for the tall advocate were plain on his face. He gave a short nod.
“Okay, Rajesh.”
Then Ravi’s gaze shifted to the auto driver. His voice turned flat and final.
“You. Get out.”
The driver did not argue. Fear moved openly across his face. He muttered something that might have been “Yes, Anna,” and left the room quickly, closing the door behind him with more force than necessary. Only the three of us remained for a few more seconds before Ravi also turned and walked out, presumably to another room to rest.
The moment the door shut again, the air in the room changed.
Rajesh stood up. He reached out and took my right hand in his. His palm was warm and dry, his fingers firm around mine. He looked directly into my eyes.
“Come to my room, Sudha. We will stay together tonight.”
He did not wait for a spoken answer. He simply kept hold of my hand and led me out of the room, into the narrow corridor, and toward another door a short distance away. I followed him without resistance, my fingers still closed inside his. The heat that had built between my legs while we sat on the bed was still present and growing. I could smell him clearly now — the mild cologne and the warmer scent of his skin — with every step. My free hand rose almost on its own and rested on his upper arm, then slid higher until I was hugging his arm lightly against my side as we walked.
My heavy breasts brushed against his arm through the purple blouse and white bra with each step. My pussy remained slick inside the white panties. The revenge that had carried me across half the night was still somewhere inside me, but it no longer occupied the front of my mind. What occupied it now was the feeling of his hand holding mine, the solid shape of his arm under my fingers, and the knowledge that I was walking into his room to stay with him until morning.

[novelistcasanova]

We stepped inside his room. Rajesh closed the door behind us and turned the lock from the inside with a soft, final click. The sound sealed the rest of the lodge away. For a moment I simply stood there, the purple saree still and quiet around my legs, and felt as if I had walked into the continuation of the dream that had been following me for many days.

The room was larger than the one we had left. A wide bed, a wooden chair, a small table, and a single wardrobe. The lighting was low and warm.
Rajesh turned to me and spoke in the same calm voice he had used all evening.
“Help me with the coat.”
I moved toward him at once. My hands rose to his shoulders and slid the black coat off his arms the way a wife would remove her husband’s coat after a long day. The black coat came away smoothly. I carried it to the wall and hung it carefully on the single nail that was fixed there. When I turned back he was already unfastening the strap of his wristwatch. He placed the watch on the table with a quiet metallic sound, then pulled the bottom of his white shirt free from the waistband of his black pants. The white shirt hung loose over his trousers now.
He walked to the wooden chair and sat down to remove his shoes.
Something shameless and already heated moved inside me. Before he could bend fully, I stepped forward and knelt on the floor in front of him. The purple saree pooled around my knees on the cement. My fingers found the laces of his right shoe and began untying them.
“It’s okay, Sudha,” he said, looking down at me. “I can do it.”
“It’s okay,” I answered softly, without raising my head.
I loosened the laces completely, eased the shoe off his foot, and set it aside. Then I did the same with the left shoe. When both shoes were removed I reached for his socks, sliding them down his ankles and off his feet one after the other. The simple act of kneeling in front of him, handling his shoes and socks, made the heat between my legs thicker and more insistent. My white panties were already damp. My breasts felt heavy inside the white bra.
I was still on my knees when he leaned forward. Both of his hands came up and held my face — palms warm against my cheeks, fingers resting lightly near my ears. He tilted my head up just enough and pressed his lips to my forehead in a slow, lingering kiss.
The moment his mouth touched my forehead, I began to melt.
Whatever cold, sharp purpose had carried me through the market, the auto, the dark roads, and the violence downstairs softened and dissolved under that single kiss. My eyes closed. My hands rested on his knees. The dream and the real room became the same place. I stayed kneeling in front of him, his hands still cupping my face, the warmth of his lips still present on my forehead, and felt myself opening in a way that had nothing left to do with revenge.


Rajesh’s hands were still lightly holding my face when he spoke again, his voice quiet and steady above me.
“I will drop you home in the morning, Sudha.”
The promise settled into the warm air of the room. He released my cheeks and straightened up. I remained kneeling for a moment longer, then slowly rose to my feet, the purple saree falling back around my legs.
He began undressing without any hurry. First he unbuttoned the white shirt completely, pulled it off his arms, and placed it over the back of the chair. His bare upper body was dark, solid, and well-defined under the low light. Next he removed the thin white banian, dragging it up over his head and dropping it onto the shirt. Finally he unfastened his black pants, pushed them down his legs, and stepped out of them. He stood in front of me wearing only a pair of black underwear.
The sight of him in nothing but the black underwear sent a fresh, heavy wave of heat straight between my thighs. My eyes moved over the dark skin of his chest, the line of his stomach, and the clear, thick shape of his cock resting heavily against his left thigh inside the black underwear. My white panties, already damp, grew wetter. My nipples tightened almost painfully inside the white bra. I could not look away.
He walked to the wide bed, pulled the blanket back, and sat on the edge. Then he looked at me and spoke in the same calm voice.
“Come. Join me.”
I walked toward the bed. The purple saree whispered around my legs with each step. When I reached him he shifted to make space. I climbed onto the mattress and lay down beside him. The bed was firm and cool at first. He reached over, drew the blanket up, and covered both of our bodies with it, enclosing us together in the shared warmth and darkness under the blanket.
Under the blanket the heat of his body reached me immediately.
I lay on my back first, the purple saree still fully wrapped around me, my white bra and white panties underneath. His bare arm rested only inches from mine. The mild scent of his skin mixed with the leftover cologne filled the small space under the blanket. My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my throat and in the tips of my breasts. Between my legs the wetness had already soaked through the white panties; I could feel the damp white panties clinging to the lips of my pussy with every small breath I took.
I turned slightly onto my side, facing him. The movement made my heavy breasts shift inside the white bra, and the sensitive nipples scbangd lightly against the inner cups of the white bra. A soft, involuntary pulse went through my pussy. My thighs pressed together for a second, trapping the wet heat there.
I blamed the dream.
This was happening because of the dream. The same dark face, the same mouth, the same body I had kissed and wanted so shamelessly in my sleep for many nights. That was why my white panties were already soaked. That was why my nipples stayed tightly peaked inside the white bra. That was why my pussy kept throbbing in slow, heavy waves. It was the dream still controlling my body, not the real man lying only a hand’s width away. I told myself this again and again while the wetness continued to spread through the white panties and my breathing stayed uneven.
Every time I breathed I could smell him. Every time the blanket shifted I felt the warmth of his bare chest and the solid shape of his body so close to mine. My white panties were thoroughly soaked now. The thin white panties stuck to my pussy lips, and each tiny movement sent a slow, aching throb deep inside me. My nipples remained tightly peaked, rubbing against the white bra with every rise and fall of my chest. I could feel my own pulse between my legs, steady and heavy.
The cold purpose that had carried me through the entire night — the market, the driver’s hands, the dark roads, the demand for Santosh’s death — had dissolved completely. What remained was only this shameless, open hunger that I kept blaming on the dream.
I lay there beside Rajesh Mani under the same blanket, my body reacting without any restraint, and felt myself wanting nothing more than to stay exactly where I was.


Under the blanket Rajesh turned toward me fully. His right hand came to my waist, fingers spreading over the purple saree and gripping me firmly, pulling my body closer until my heavy breasts almost touched his bare chest. He looked straight into my eyes, then slowly over my entire face, studying every feature in the low light.
“Don’t worry about Santosh,” he said, his voice low and certain. “I will make him suffer before he dies. I will make sure of it. He will feel everything your husband felt, and then I will kill him. You have my word.”
I stared at his lips — the same lips from the dream — and the words left me before I could stop them.
“I have seen you in my dream… many times. For many days. The same face. The same mouth. Every time I woke up I was already wet because of you.”
His eyes darkened. His fingers pressed harder into my waist through the purple saree. A slow breath left him.
“So that is why you looked at me like that downstairs,” he said quietly. “You already knew my mouth. You already tasted me in your sleep.” He leaned even closer, his nose almost brushing mine. “Then tonight we will not stop at a dream, Sudha.”
The heat between my thighs pulsed harder. My white panties were soaked and clinging. My nipples ached inside the white bra. I wanted to kiss his lips so badly that my own mouth parted without permission.
He saw it.
“Now let me taste your lips.”
He closed the last small distance and pressed his mouth to mine.
The kiss was slow at first, then deepened at once. His lips were warm and firm. I kissed him back passionately, opening my mouth under his, my tongue meeting his without any hesitation. The hunger was exactly the same as the dream, only stronger. I sucked on his lower lip, then pushed my tongue deeper, moaning softly into his mouth. His right hand tightened on my waist, pulling me flush against him so that my heavy breasts crushed against his bare chest through the purple blouse and white bra. My left hand rose and gripped the back of his neck, holding him there while I kissed him harder.
The dream was no longer a dream.
It was real. His mouth was real. The weight of his body under the blanket was real. The wet heat soaking through my white panties was real. I kept kissing him with the same shameless need I had felt every morning while waking up, only now there was no fading, no interruption, no husband beside me. Only Rajesh Mani’s mouth moving against mine, open and deep and relentless, while my body melted completely into the kiss I had already tasted in my sleep.


The kiss did not end.
Rajesh kept his mouth on mine, deeper now, slower, tasting me thoroughly. His tongue slid against mine in long, deliberate strokes while his right hand left my waist and began gathering the purple saree and the petticoat upward together. The cool air of the room touched my bare calf first, then my knee, then the soft skin of my outer thigh. I shivered against his mouth and kissed him harder.
His palm travelled higher, warm and firm, sliding along my thigh under the raised purple saree and petticoat. He stroked the smooth skin slowly, up and down, as if memorising the shape of my leg. Then his hand moved inward, brushing the sensitive inner thigh, higher and higher until his fingers reached the edge of my white panties.
He broke the kiss just enough to speak against my lips, his voice low, smooth, and tempting.
“Don’t hold back, Sudha… enjoy every second of this. Your body already knows what it wants.”
His hand slid fully over my ass, cupping the round cheek over the white panties, squeezing with open hunger and pulling me tighter against him.
“Feel how soft you are here… how perfectly you fill my hand. Let yourself enjoy it.”
I loved it.
A soft, broken sound left my throat into his mouth. My white panties were already soaked; now the heat of his palm on my ass made fresh wetness spill out. My nipples scbangd desperately against the white bra. I held his face with both hands, thumbs stroking his cheeks, and pulled my mouth away just long enough to kiss him everywhere — his upper lip, the corner of his mouth, his jaw, the side of his neck, then back to his lips again with even more hunger.
He squeezed my ass harder and whispered between kisses, still smooth, still encouraging.
“That’s it… kiss me the way you want. There is no one here to stop you. Enjoy my mouth. Enjoy my hand on your ass. This is only for you.”
“I have never felt anything like this,” I whispered against his mouth, voice shaky and thick. “Never… not even in the dream… Rajesh…”
“Then take more,” he murmured, kissing me deeper while his fingers dug into the soft flesh of my ass cheek over the white panties, lifting and kneading it. “Don’t think. Don’t stop yourself. Let your body enjoy everything I am giving you.”
I kept holding his face, kissing him wildly — lips, chin, the tip of his nose, then his mouth once more — my body pressing fully against his under the blanket. Every time his hand moved on my ass a fresh pulse of pleasure went straight to my wet pussy. His smooth words kept melting whatever control I had left, tempting me to open further, to take more, to stop resisting the shameless heat flooding through me. I was lost in the kisses, the whispers, the feeling of his palm owning my ass over the white panties, and the impossible reality that the man from my dreams was finally touching me like this and telling me to enjoy every second of it.

[novelistcasanova]

The phone rang from the pocket of the black coat hanging on the wall.

Rajesh broke the kiss with a low, irritated breath. He pulled his hand out from under the purple saree and petticoat, pushed the blanket aside, and stood up from the bed. I watched him walk across the room, still wearing only the black underwear, the thick shape of his cock clearly visible against his left thigh. He reached into the black coat, took out the phone, and answered it in a calm, professional voice.
I hated the interruption.
The heat between my legs was still throbbing, my white panties soaked and clinging, my nipples tight inside the white bra. I could not stay on the bed alone. I quickly stood up, the purple saree falling around my legs, and walked toward him. He was already deep in conversation, listening carefully, speaking short replies. When I reached his side he did not stop talking. Instead he simply lifted his left arm, wrapped it around my waist, and pulled me against his bare body. Then he leaned down and planted a slow, warm kiss on my forehead while continuing the call.
I was still completely horny.
Standing pressed against him, smelling his skin, feeling the solid heat of his chest against my heavy breasts, only made the ache worse. My left hand moved on its own. I slid my fingers under the waistband of his black underwear from the front, went lower, and wrapped my palm around his thick cock. It was hot, heavy, and already half-hard. The moment I closed my fingers around it, a strong shiver ran through my entire body. Fresh wetness spilled into my white panties. My knees weakened. I was totally horny, holding his cock inside the black underwear while he stood talking on the phone as if nothing unusual was happening.
Rajesh looked down at me. His eyes darkened. He finished a sentence on the phone, then raised his right hand, held my face gently, and brought his lips to mine. I kissed him at once, open and hungry, still gripping his cock. He smiled against my mouth — a small, knowing smile — then pulled back just enough to continue the conversation, his voice steady again, while my hand stayed wrapped around him inside the black underwear and my body trembled with shameless need.


I could not stop at only holding him.
While Rajesh continued speaking on the phone in that calm, controlled voice, I slowly pulled the front of his black underwear downward. The thick, dark length of his cock sprang free, heavy and already swelling in my hand. The moment I saw it fully — black, thick, veined, the head smooth and slightly wet — something inside me went completely crazy. The dream had never shown me this. The real sight of his cock made my mouth water and my pussy clench hard inside the soaked white panties.
I released him only long enough to drop to my knees on the floor in front of him. The purple saree pooled around me. With both hands I pulled the black underwear down further, past his thighs, until it rested around his knees. His cock stood out fully now, thick and dark, pointing toward my face. I wrapped my right hand around the base and simply looked at it for a few seconds, breathing harder, my nipples aching inside the white bra.
Then I began to enjoy myself.
I stroked him slowly from base to head, watching the skin move, feeling him grow even harder in my palm. I leaned closer and let my warm breath brush over the head without touching it with my mouth yet. My left hand cupped his balls gently, rolling them while my right hand kept the slow, teasing rhythm. I looked up at his face while I did it, eyes half-lidded, and gave the head of his cock a soft, deliberate squeeze.
A low sound escaped him in the middle of a sentence on the phone. He controlled it quickly, but I felt his cock throb strongly in my hand. I smiled and stroked him again, slower, tighter, letting my thumb circle the wet tip and spread the moisture. Every time he tried to keep his voice steady on the call I gave him another long, teasing pull, or brushed my lips just close enough that he could feel the heat of my mouth without receiving the real touch yet.
I was enjoying every second of it — the weight of his black cock in my hand, the way it twitched when I teased the head, the power of making the calm Rajesh Mani struggle to finish his conversation while I knelt at his feet in my purple saree, white bra and soaked white panties, shamelessly playing with him.


Rajesh finished the last sentence and ended the call. He tossed the phone onto the table without looking at it. The moment his hands were free he reached down, cupped the back of my head with one warm palm, and slowly pulled my face forward.
I was still on my knees on the floor. The purple saree had spread open around my legs. My white bra still covered my heavy breasts, the nipples already tight and scbanging against the inside of the cups. My white panties were so thoroughly soaked that the thin material clung tightly to the lips of my pussy and the wetness had begun to spread onto my inner thighs. I looked up at him for a long second — at the dark skin of his stomach, at the line of hair leading down, at the thick black cock already standing hard and heavy only inches from my face — then I opened my mouth and leaned in.
The smooth, swollen head of his cock touched my lower lip first. I parted my lips slowly and let the thick head slide onto my tongue. The heavy, salty taste of his cock filled my mouth at once. A soft, helpless moan vibrated around the head of his cock as I took more of him.
“Sudha…” he groaned above me, voice already rough. “Just like that…”
My lips stretched wide around the thick shaft. I sank lower, centimetre by centimetre, feeling every ridge and every raised vein of his cock pass over my tongue. The head pressed against the soft back of my throat. My right hand wrapped tightly around the remaining length of his cock that I could not yet fit inside my mouth, stroking it in slow, firm pulls while I began to suck in earnest.
Rajesh’s fingers tightened in my hair. I pulled back until only the head of his cock remained between my lips. I circled the head with my tongue, slow and deliberate, tasting the clear wetness that was already leaking from the tip.
“You taste so heavy…” I whispered against the head of his cock, my voice thick and shaky. “I’ve wanted this since the dream…”
I flicked the underside of the head, then sealed my lips around it and sucked hard for a few seconds before sinking down again, taking him deeper than before. The wet, rhythmic sounds of my mouth working on his cock filled the quiet room. Saliva gathered quickly and spilled from the corners of my lips, running down the dark shaft of his cock in thin, shiny lines and coating my stroking fingers.
“Fuck… your mouth…” he muttered, breathing harder. “Don’t stop, Sudha. Take it deeper.”
I moaned again around his cock, the vibration making his hips twitch forward slightly. My free left hand rose and rested on his bare thigh for balance while I sucked him with long, hungry movements — pulling back until the head almost left my mouth, swirling my tongue under and around it, then pushing forward until my nose nearly touched the dark skin of his stomach. Each time I took him deep I held still for a moment, throat fluttering around the head of his cock, before sliding back up.
“You’re throbbing on my tongue…” I breathed when I pulled off for air, stroking his wet cock with my hand. “So thick… I can barely fit you.”
“Then keep trying,” he answered, voice low and strained, looking down at me. “I want to feel your throat again.”
I sank back down at once, eyes half-closed, saliva shining on his black shaft and dripping onto the floor between my knees. My right hand stroked in perfect rhythm with my mouth, twisting slightly on the upstroke. My white panties were so wet that I could feel the moisture spreading further between my thighs every time I shifted my weight on my knees. My nipples stayed tightly peaked inside the white bra, scbanging sensitively against the cups with every bob of my head.
I kept sucking his cock slowly and deeply, giving him the most shameless, devoted attention while I knelt at his feet in the purple saree, still fully dressed on top and completely undone underneath.


Rajesh could not stay still any longer. His fingers tightened in my hair and he slowly pulled my mouth off his cock. A thin string of saliva still connected my lower lip to the shiny head of his cock as I looked up at him, breathing hard, my chin wet, my eyes glassy with need.
“Come here,” he said, voice rough and low.
He bent down, took both of my arms, and pulled me up to my feet. The moment I stood he claimed my mouth in a deep, open kiss, tasting his own cock on my tongue. I moaned into the kiss and pressed my body against his. My heavy breasts crushed against his bare chest through the purple blouse and white bra. The soaked white panties clung tightly between my thighs.
His hands moved with clear hunger. First he found the edge of the purple saree and began unwrapping it from my body in long, continuous pulls. As each fold of the purple saree left my skin, cool air touched me and made me shiver. He kept kissing me while he worked, until the entire purple saree finally fell to the floor around my feet.
“I’ve wanted to unwrap you like this since the moment you sat beside me,” he murmured against my mouth.
Next his fingers went to the hooks of my purple blouse at the back. One by one he opened them slowly. I felt every hook release. He pulled the purple blouse off my shoulders and down my arms, then dropped it onto the floor. Now only the white bra covered my heavy breasts. My nipples were so tight they pushed visibly against the white bra.
He tugged the string of the white petticoat. It loosened and slid down my legs. I stepped out of the white petticoat, standing in front of him in only the white bra and the soaked white panties. His eyes moved over me openly.
“Look at you…” he said, voice thick. “Already shaking.”
Then his hands went to the hooks of my white bra. One by one the hooks opened. He pulled the white bra forward and off my arms. My heavy breasts spilled free. The cool air of the room touched my bare nipples and made them tighten even more. A soft, broken sound left my throat. He immediately cupped both breasts in his hands, squeezing them gently, brushing his thumbs over the hard nipples.
“These have been teasing me all night under that blouse,” he said, lowering his head to suck one nipple slowly and deeply while still squeezing the other breast.
Finally he hooked his fingers into the sides of my soaked white panties and dragged them down my thighs, past my knees, until they dropped to my ankles. I stepped out of the white panties and stood completely naked in front of him. The air felt cold on my wet pussy.
Rajesh pushed his own black underwear the rest of the way down and kicked it aside. Now he was fully naked too. His thick black cock stood rigid between us, still wet from my mouth, the head glistening. He pulled me hard against him so that the full length of his cock pressed hot and heavy against my bare stomach. My naked breasts flattened against his chest. I could feel the wetness from my pussy smearing onto his thigh.
“You’re completely dripping,” he murmured against my mouth, one hand sliding down to cup my bare ass and squeeze it firmly. “I’ve been wanting to feel this naked body against me since you first looked at me like you already knew me.”
“Then feel me,” I whispered back, already dizzy with need, my voice shaking. “I’m yours right now, Rajesh… do whatever you want…”
He guided me backward until the edge of the bed touched the back of my knees. I sat, then lay down fully on the mattress. Rajesh climbed over me, his body covering mine. He kissed my mouth again, deeper than before, then moved lower — kissing my neck, the upper curve of my left breast — before closing his lips around my nipple and sucking it slowly and deeply. At the same time his right hand slid between my open thighs and cupped my bare pussy. Two of his fingers easily slid through the thick wetness and began stroking my clit in slow, firm circles.
I arched hard under him, one hand holding the back of his head to keep his mouth on my breast, the other gripping his shoulder. My pussy clenched around nothing, already aching to be filled, while his fingers continued their deliberate, expert play between my thighs, spreading my wetness and making my hips rock helplessly against his hand.


I held Rajesh’s head against my breast while his fingers kept stroking my pussy. He spread the thick wetness slowly, then slid one finger inside me. My inner walls clenched around it at once. A second finger joined the first, stretching me gently, curling upward until he found the sensitive spot that made my hips jerk. Soft, broken sounds kept leaving my mouth without my control.
“Rajesh… please…” I whispered, my voice already unsteady and thick with need.
He kissed lower. His mouth left my breast and dragged down the soft skin of my stomach, leaving a slow, wet trail. He paused at my navel, kissed it, then continued downward. When he reached the place between my thighs he settled there, using both hands to push my legs further apart. For several long seconds he only looked at my bare pussy — open, glistening, the lips already swollen and shiny with wetness. I could feel his warm breath against me. The anticipation alone made my pussy clench visibly.
Then he lowered his head.
His tongue opened me with one long, deliberate lick from the very bottom of my pussy lips all the way up to my clit. My whole body jerked hard. A sharp, helpless moan tore out of me. He did it again, even slower, pressing his tongue flatter, tasting every part of me thoroughly. Then he focused on my clit. He circled it with the tip of his tongue, flicked it lightly, then sucked it gently between his lips while the two fingers inside my pussy kept moving in a steady, curling rhythm.
“You taste even better than I imagined,” he murmured directly against my pussy, his voice low and rough. “So wet… so open for me.”
He sucked my clit again, firmer this time. My thighs trembled hard around his head. I gripped the blanket with one hand and tangled the other in his hair, trying to keep his mouth exactly where it was. Every time his tongue circled my clit a fresh, heavy wave of pleasure rolled up through my stomach and made my breasts rise and fall rapidly. My nipples stayed tightly peaked in the cool air of the room, aching with every breath.
Wet, intimate sounds filled the quiet room as his mouth worked on my pussy and his fingers kept thrusting. He varied the pressure — sometimes soft and teasing, sometimes firm and relentless. Occasionally he slid his tongue inside my pussy alongside his fingers, pushing deep, before returning to my clit and tormenting it with slow, focused suction.
“Don’t stop… please don’t stop…” I gasped, my hips lifting off the mattress on their own to press my pussy harder against his mouth. “Your tongue… Rajesh… I’m already so close…”
He didn’t stop. He licked and sucked me with complete hunger, reading every tremor of my body. My legs began to shake uncontrollably. The pleasure built in deep, rolling waves that made my toes curl tightly and my stomach muscles tighten. I could feel myself dripping onto his tongue and fingers. My moans grew louder and more broken. I was completely lost in the feel of his mouth owning my pussy, the man from my dreams tasting me without any mercy, pushing me higher and higher toward the edge while I lay open and trembling under him.
When my legs were shaking hard and I was only seconds from cumming, Rajesh slowly pulled his mouth away from my pussy. I whimpered at the sudden loss, my hips still lifting helplessly toward his face, trying to follow his tongue. He rose up over me on his knees, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked down between my open thighs at my bare, glistening pussy. His thick black cock stood rigid and heavy. He wrapped one hand around it and stroked himself once, slow and tight, spreading my wetness that still shone on his lips onto the shaft.
“I need to be inside you now,” he said, voice rough and low.
He moved forward and positioned himself between my thighs. The thick, swollen head of his cock pressed against my pussy lips. He rubbed it slowly up and down along my wet folds, coating the head thoroughly in my wetness. Each time the head dragged over my clit my whole body jolted and a fresh moan spilled from my mouth. He did this several times, teasing me, until my hips were rocking up to chase the contact.
Then he lined the head of his cock properly against my entrance and began to push inside me.
The stretch was immediate and intense. The thick head of his cock forced my pussy open centimetre by centimetre. I cried out as the shaft followed, long and heavy, sinking deeper and deeper into me. My inner walls clenched and fluttered around the invading thickness. He kept pushing in one slow, continuous thrust until he was buried completely inside my pussy, his hips pressed flush against mine, his balls resting against my ass. I could feel every ridge and vein of his cock throbbing deep inside me.
He stayed completely still for a long moment, letting me adjust to the fullness, breathing hard against my neck.
“You’re so tight…” he groaned, the words vibrating against my skin. “So wet and tight around my cock. I can feel you pulsing.”
“Move…” I begged, my voice broken. I wrapped my legs tightly around his waist and locked my ankles behind his back. “Please, Rajesh… fuck me. I need it.”
He began to move.
He pulled his cock almost all the way out until only the head remained inside my pussy, then slid back in to the hilt in one long, deep stroke. The thick friction dragged against my sensitive walls and made my eyes roll back. He set a steady, powerful rhythm — long strokes that filled me completely each time, the wet sound of his cock moving in and out of my pussy filling the quiet room. The bed creaked softly under the force of his hips.
My heavy breasts swayed and bounced with every thrust. He lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me deeply, tongue sliding against mine in time with the movement of his cock. One of his hands gripped my thigh hard, keeping me open for him, while the other braced beside my head. I moaned into his mouth with every stroke, my pussy clenching and releasing tightly around his thick cock, already climbing again toward another peak.
He fucked me with controlled, relentless hunger — deep, deliberate, and steady — while I held onto his shoulders and took every inch he gave me, the dream and the real man finally fused into the same overwhelming pleasure.

[novelistcasanova]

The pleasure inside me climbed past any point I could control.

Every deep, heavy thrust of Rajesh’s thick cock dragged against the most sensitive places along my inner walls. The thick shaft stretched my pussy perfectly on every stroke. The swollen head rubbed deep inside me while the base of his cock ground firmly against my swollen clit each time he bottomed out. My pussy began to tighten harder and harder around his cock. The muscles fluttered and clenched in irregular, uncontrollable spasms. My legs shook violently around his waist. My thighs trembled beyond any control I had left. My bare breasts heaved with every broken, gasping breath. My nipples stayed tightly peaked, scbanging against the hard muscle of his chest with each powerful movement of his body.
“Rajesh… I’m going to cum…” I gasped against his mouth, my nails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders. “Don’t stop… please don’t stop… I’m so close…”
He answered by fucking me even deeper. He kept the same powerful rhythm but added a firm, deliberate grind of his hips against mine at the end of every stroke. The base of his cock rubbed directly over my swollen clit again and again. The tension inside my lower belly coiled tighter and tighter, like a knot being pulled to its limit. Then it snapped.
My pussy clamped down hard around his thick cock.
“Ahhh… ahhh… Rajesh… mmmhh… ahhh…!”
A long, broken moan tore out of my throat and turned into a high, helpless cry. My inner walls pulsed and spasmed in strong, rhythmic waves, gripping and releasing his shaft over and over with powerful contractions.
“Nnnh… ahhh… I’m cumming… ahhh… ahhh…!”
Fresh, warm wetness spilled out of my pussy in a sudden rush. It coated his cock completely and dripped down onto the bed beneath us in sticky strands. My whole body trembled hard under him as the orgasm rolled through me in heavy, endless waves. My back arched clean off the mattress. My toes curled tightly. My pussy kept milking his cock in helpless, rhythmic contractions that I could not stop even if I wanted to. Soft, broken moans kept spilling from my open mouth with every pulse of pleasure.
“Ahh… ahh… mmm… ahhh… ahh…”
The feel of my climaxing pussy gripping and pulsing around his cock so tightly pushed Rajesh over the edge. His steady rhythm broke completely. He drove his cock as deep as it would go, burying himself to the hilt inside my spasming pussy, and let out a low, guttural groan against the side of my neck.
“Sudha… take it… take all of it… nnngh…”
His cock throbbed violently inside me. Thick, hot spurts of cum pumped deep into my pussy in heavy, rhythmic pulses. I felt every single jet of it — the first strong bursts flooding me, then the continuing pulses filling me completely until I could feel the warm wetness of his cum mixing with my own juices. He kept grinding his hips against mine through his orgasm, his cock jerking and spilling everything he had while my pussy continued to clench and flutter around him, drawing out every last drop. Soft, satisfied moans still left my lips with each fading spasm of my orgasm.
“Mmm… ahh… ahh… mmm…”
We stayed tightly hugging each other afterward, both of us trembling. His cock remained buried deep inside my pussy, still twitching with the final aftershocks. My inner walls kept pulsing softly around his shaft in slow, fading waves. The blanket had half-fallen off the bed onto the floor. My legs were still wrapped tightly around his waist, hugging him, holding him deep inside me. The only sounds in the room were our rough, uneven breathing and the faint wet shift of his cock still seated deep in my cum-filled pussy.
The dream had become completely real. I had taken every inch of him and every drop he gave me, and I had given him everything in return.


We stayed tightly hugging each other for a long time.
Rajesh’s cock remained buried deep inside my pussy, slowly softening but still thick enough that I could feel every small twitch. My inner walls continued to pulse around him in soft, fading waves. His warm cum and my own wetness mixed inside me and slowly leaked out around the base of his cock, wetting my inner thighs and the sheet beneath us. My legs were still wrapped around his waist, hugging him, holding him close. My bare breasts remained pressed against his chest. I could feel the rapid beat of his heart gradually slowing against my own.
His face stayed buried against the side of my neck. His warm breath washed over my skin with every exhale. One of his hands stroked slowly up and down my side, from the curve of my waist to the outer edge of my breast and back again. The other hand rested under my hip, keeping me against him. I kept my arms around his shoulders, fingers lightly tracing the damp skin of his back.
The room was quiet except for our breathing. The air smelled of sex, sweat, and the mild scent of his skin. My body felt heavy and open and completely used in the best way. A pleasant, deep ache remained between my legs where his cock had stretched me. My nipples were still sensitive, brushing against his chest with every small movement.
After several long minutes he lifted his head and looked at me. His dark eyes were softer than I had ever seen them. He raised one hand and brushed a few strands of hair away from my face, then leaned down and placed a slow, gentle kiss on my lips — not hungry this time, just warm and lingering.
“You felt even better than the dream,” he said quietly against my mouth.
I smiled, still a little breathless.
“It didn’t feel like a dream anymore,” I whispered back. “It felt real. Completely real.”
He kissed me again, softer still, then rested his forehead against mine. His cock slipped a little further out of my pussy as it softened, and a fresh trickle of his cum followed it, warm against my skin. Neither of us moved to separate fully. We stayed hugging, bodies sticky and close, breathing the same air, while the last tremors of pleasure slowly faded from our limbs.


We stayed tightly hugging each other for a long while afterward.
Rajesh’s cock had softened inside me but still rested thick and warm within my pussy. Every small shift of our bodies made me feel the slick mixture of his cum and my own wetness slowly leaking out around his shaft and down the curve of my ass onto the sheet. My inner walls continued to give occasional soft, involuntary pulses around him, the last echoes of the intense orgasm. My bare breasts remained pressed against his chest; I could feel the steady slowing of his heartbeat against my own. One of his hands rested under my hip, keeping me close, while the other stroked slowly up and down the damp skin of my side. My legs stayed wrapped around his waist, hugging him, heels resting lightly against the backs of his thighs.
I traced small, idle circles on his back with my fingertips, feeling the residual tremble that still lived in my own thighs and lower belly. A playful, naughty curiosity rose in me as the heavy physical satisfaction settled deeper into my bones. I shifted slightly under him so I could see his face more clearly. The low light of the room caught the dark shine of his eyes and the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead.
I spoke in a soft, teasing voice, still a little breathless.
“How was my pussy?”
Rajesh let out a low, quiet laugh against the side of my neck. The vibration of it travelled through my skin. He lifted his head and looked at me properly, dark eyes still heavy with pleasure. His hand slid down between our bodies and gently cupped my cum-filled pussy from below. His fingers felt the swollen, wet lips and the sticky heat where his cock had been only minutes earlier. He gave my pussy a slow, affectionate squeeze, feeling the softness and the lingering wetness.
“Your pussy was perfect,” he said, voice low and honest. “Tight… wet… the way it gripped me when you came… I felt everything. Every pulse. Every time it tried to pull me deeper.”
I smiled, a little shy and a little proud at the same time. Then I spoke more softly, almost confessional, the words leaving me before I could stop them.
“You are the only one other than my husband who has gotten to have my pussy.”
Rajesh’s eyes darkened with something deeper and more intense. His fingers continued to stroke my wet pussy lips slowly, spreading the mixture of our fluids, as he answered.
“That’s why it was so tight,” he murmured. “I could feel it the moment I pushed inside… the way it stretched around me, the way it held me so completely. It felt like it had only ever belonged to one man before tonight.”
I looked into his eyes and felt a quiet, full happiness settle inside my chest — warm, heavy, and unexpected. The revenge, the long night, the fear, even the dream itself, all felt distant. What remained was the simple, physical truth of my body still open and filled under his hand, and the calm certainty in my own heart.
“I’m happy,” I whispered. “Really happy right now.”
I tightened my legs around his waist, hugging him closer, and felt another small trickle of his cum slip out of my pussy onto his fingers. He kept his hand there, cupping me gently, while we continued to hold each other in the quiet room, skin against skin, breathing the same air.


We remained tightly hugging on the bed, skin against skin.
Rajesh’s softened cock still rested inside my pussy, thick enough that I could feel its warm weight with every small breath. A slow, continuous trickle of his cum mixed with my own wetness leaked out around his shaft and ran down the curve of my ass onto the sheet. My inner walls gave occasional soft, involuntary pulses around him, the last echoes of the intense orgasm. My bare breasts stayed pressed against his chest; I could feel the steady beat of his heart under my cheek. One of his hands rested under my hip, keeping me close, while the other remained cupped gently over my cum-filled pussy, fingers resting against the swollen, sensitive lips.
I traced the line of his shoulder with my fingertips, following the damp skin down to his upper arm, and spoke softly. The words came from a place that still felt half-dreamlike, as if the boundary between sleep and reality had not fully returned.
“I used to wake up wet almost every morning because of you,” I said, my voice quiet and open. “The same dark face… the same mouth… I fantasized about kissing you for a long time. I imagined your hands on my breasts, on my waist, between my legs. I imagined taking you inside my body. Sometimes I felt guilty when I opened my eyes and saw my husband sleeping beside me, but I still couldn’t stop the dreams. They kept coming. And tonight God made my dream come true. You are real. Everything I imagined is real. Your cock is still inside me right now.”
Rajesh looked at me for a long moment. His dark eyes searched mine in the low light. His fingers moved slowly over my pussy, feeling the wetness and the softness, not with hunger this time but with quiet possession.
“Will you forget me after tonight, Sudha?” he asked, his voice low and steady.
I shook my head at once. The movement made my heavy breasts shift against his chest.
“No. I won’t forget you.”
A small chuckle left me. I brushed my thumb across his lower lip, feeling the warmth of it, and added almost playfully,
“You’re my Dream Boy.”
Rajesh gave a low, amused breath that I felt more than heard. He squeezed my pussy lightly — just enough to make a soft, wet sound — and answered,
“I’m not a boy anymore. I’m forty-two.”
I smiled, still feeling the pleasant, deep ache between my legs where his cock had stretched me open. My voice dropped to a whisper, honest and full.
“You were great,” I told him. “I loved every second. The way you kissed me… the way your mouth felt when you licked my pussy… the way your thick cock filled me so completely. I enjoyed everything. More than I ever thought I could. My body is still trembling because of you. My pussy is still open and full of your cum because of you.”
I tightened my legs around his waist, hugging him closer, and rested my forehead against his. Our breaths mixed in the small space between our faces. The quiet happiness in my chest remained steady and full. The dream had not only come true — it had been better, heavier, and more real than anything I had imagined while lying alone in my own bed at home.


We remained tightly hugging, his softened cock still resting warmly inside my pussy, the slow leak of his cum continuing to wet my inner thighs. The heavy satisfaction in my body had settled into a deep, pleasant ache. I kept tracing small circles on his shoulder while our breathing stayed slow and matched.
Rajesh looked at me with a faint, playful glint in his dark eyes. His voice came out low and lightly teasing.
“Then come with me to my house, Sudha. We can enjoy like this every day.”
I let out a soft breath that was almost a laugh and shook my head against the pillow.
“I love my husband,” I said clearly, though my legs were still wrapped around Rajesh’s waist and his cock was still inside me. “I won’t leave him.”
Rajesh’s expression softened at once. He accepted the words without argument. His hand left my pussy and rose to my face. He gently pinched both of my cheeks between his thumb and fingers, the way someone might tease a person they had grown fond of, and spoke in the same quiet, amused tone.
“I know. I’m not asking you to leave him. I’m only saying I’m here… for extra pleasure. Whenever you need it.”
The simple honesty in his voice made a small laugh rise from my chest. I laughed softly, and he laughed with me — low and brief, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine. The laughter made his softened cock shift slightly inside my pussy and caused another warm trickle of cum to slip out of me. We stayed hugging through the quiet laughter, skin sticky and close, the weight of the long night finally easing into something lighter and almost tender.


The quiet laughter faded. We remained tightly hugging on the bed, his softened cock still resting inside my pussy, our skin warm and sticky where our bodies touched. My bare breasts stayed pressed against his chest. The slow leak of his cum continued to wet my inner thighs and the sheet beneath us. For a long moment neither of us spoke. Only our breathing filled the room.
Then Rajesh lifted his head slightly and looked at me with steady, serious eyes. His voice was low and certain.
“Don’t worry about Santosh anymore. Sleep peacefully tonight. I will kill him. When it is done I will give you the good news myself.”
A heavy calm settled over me at his words. The cold purpose that had driven me through the entire day and night finally felt as if it had been placed in someone else’s hands. I nodded once.
“Send me his address, his location, and a clear photo,” Rajesh continued. “Everything you have. I will take care of the rest.”
I reached for my phone on the side table without fully separating from him. His cock slipped a little further out of my pussy as I moved, and a fresh trickle of cum followed. I unlocked the screen, opened WhatsApp, and sent him Santosh’s home address, the approximate location of the construction site, and the most recent clear photo I had of him. The messages showed as delivered. I placed the phone back on the table and turned fully into Rajesh’s arms again.
“Thank you,” I whispered against his chest. “Thank you, Rajesh.”
He wrapped both arms around me and pulled me closer. I wrapped my arms around him in return. We hugged each other tightly, legs tangled, my face resting against the side of his neck, his hand slowly stroking the damp skin of my back. The last of the tension left my body. The revenge, the long search, the fear, the shame, and the overwhelming pleasure all settled into a deep, exhausted quiet.
Slowly our breathing evened out. His hand on my back grew still. My eyes closed. Still hugging each other, still sticky and open and close, we both drifted into sleep.

[novelistcasanova]

To Be Continued...!

[Hotgiri]

Sir could you please add gif and pic in erotic scene

[novelistcasanova]

By the time I woke up the next morning, Rajesh had already risen.

He stood near the bed fully dressed in a sharp black advocate’s suit, crisp white shirt, and dark tie. The early light coming through the half-open window fell across his dark face and the clean, formal lines of the suit. He looked completely different from the naked man who had been inside me only hours earlier — controlled, powerful, already belonging to the day.
I was still completely naked under the thin blanket. My body carried the pleasant, deep ache between my legs and the dried traces of his cum on my inner thighs. My heavy breasts rested soft against the mattress. He leaned down over me and pressed his lips to mine, waking me with a slow, warm kiss.
The moment his mouth opened against mine, the taste of his saliva touched my tongue. It was warm, slightly salty, and unmistakably him. A sharp, helpless rush of heat went straight between my legs. This was exactly how the dream had always begun — the same dark face lowering toward me, the same mouth claiming mine while I was still half-asleep. Only now it was real. I kissed him back at once, still half-asleep, my mouth opening wider under his. His tongue slid against mine and more of his saliva mixed with mine. The taste drove me crazy. My nipples tightened hard. Fresh wetness gathered in my pussy even though it was still sore and used from the night. I moaned softly into the kiss, sucking on his tongue, chasing more of that taste, my naked body shifting restlessly under the blanket. The dream and the morning became the same thing. Every fantasy I had woken up wet from was finally happening in the real world, with his real saliva on my tongue and his real body standing over me in an advocate’s suit.
After a few lingering, wet moments he broke the kiss and smiled faintly, eyes studying my sleepy, flushed face.
“Brush your teeth first,” he said.
I giggled, the sound soft and shy in the quiet morning room, still tasting his saliva on my tongue. He took my hands and helped me sit up, then stand. The blanket fell away. I stood completely naked in front of him, the cool air touching my bare skin, my nipples tightly peaked from the kiss. Without thinking I stepped forward and wrapped both arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, pressing my bare breasts against the front of his formal black suit. The contrast of my naked body against the expensive cloth made my skin feel even more sensitive. His hands slid down my back and grabbed both of my ass cheeks firmly, fingers sinking into the soft flesh, holding me hard against him.
“Don’t tell your husband about what we did last night,” he said, voice low and clear near my ear. “Keep it secret.”
“I won’t,” I answered at once, my cheek against the side of his neck. “Why would I tell my husband?”
He gave my ass cheeks one more slow, possessive squeeze, then released them. His hands rose and cupped both of my bare breasts, squeezing them with deliberate pressure, thumbs brushing over the nipples. He lowered his head and sucked each nipple once — slow, wet, and thorough — before letting them go with a soft sound.
“Alright. Get ready. The auto driver Gopi is waiting outside to take you home. Don’t worry about Santosh. I have already planned everything.”
He turned me toward the bathroom door and gave my bare ass a light, sharp spank that left a brief sting.
“Go.”
I giggled again, the sound higher this time, and walked into the bathroom naked. The door closed softly behind me.
Inside the small bathroom the air was cooler. I found a new toothbrush still in its clear plastic and a small tube of toothpaste the lodge had provided. I brushed my teeth thoroughly, watching my naked reflection in the mirror for a moment — the marks of the night still faintly visible on my neck and breasts — then rinsed and spat. I picked up the small green Medimix soap kept on the edge of the basin, stepped under the shower, and turned on the water. Warm water ran over my hair, my shoulders, my heavy breasts, and down between my legs, washing away the dried cum and the scent of sex. I soaped my body slowly, hands moving over my own skin, lingering on the places his mouth and hands and cock had claimed.
While I was bathing I heard voices just outside the bathroom door. A man’s rough voice spoke to Rajesh.
“…as you ordered, we have brought Santosh. Ravi Anna is asking what to do with him now.”
Rajesh’s reply came calm, clear, and without hesitation.
“Beat the shit out of him and wait. I will come along with her.”
A bright, cold happiness spread through my chest at those words. Santosh was already in their hands. The public humiliation, the tears on my husband’s face, the long silence in our house — all of it was about to be answered. I closed my eyes under the warm water, soaped my body more thoroughly with the Medimix soap, and continued my bath with a deep, quiet satisfaction settling inside me. The revenge I had come for was finally in motion.
I finished my bath, dried my body carefully, and stepped out of the bathroom with the towel wrapped tightly around me. The towel covered my heavy breasts and reached down to mid-thigh. My hair was still damp and clung in dark strands to the sides of my neck and shoulders. The pleasant, deep ache between my legs and the lingering taste of Rajesh’s saliva on my tongue were still very present.
Rajesh stood near the window, talking to someone on his phone in a low, controlled voice. When he heard the bathroom door open he turned. His eyes moved over me slowly — over the white towel wrapped around my body, over the bare tops of my breasts where the towel met my skin, over my bare legs. He ended the call without looking at the screen and walked toward me with steady steps.
“Sudha,” he said, voice calm but already darker. “I have a surprise for you.”
Before I could ask what it was, he reached out and loosened the front of the towel with both hands. The towel opened, exposing my heavy breasts and my clean-shaved pussy to him completely. I quickly caught the edges of the towel with both hands and held it open myself, keeping it from falling to the floor, standing there holding the towel apart while he looked.
His gaze dropped openly to my bare breasts, still slightly marked from the night before, and then lower to my pussy. Heat rose in my cheeks. I felt shy standing exposed in the morning light while he remained fully dressed in his black advocate’s suit, yet I continued holding the towel open for him.
He did not give me more time. His right hand went straight between my legs and grabbed my pussy firmly, squeezing the soft lips and the flesh inside. A sharp jolt of pleasure mixed with residual soreness shot upward through my lower belly. Fresh wetness gathered under his fingers at once. I was horny again, almost immediately. My fingers tightened on the edges of the towel as my hips shifted slightly against his hand.
“Do you want it?” I asked, my voice already softer and thinner. “Do you want my pussy again?”
“Yes,” he answered, still squeezing my pussy, his fingers pressing deeper between the lips. “But I want to share it with Ravi.”
I looked at him, startled, still holding the towel open. His fingers continued to move slowly over my pussy lips, spreading the new wetness, rubbing my clit with deliberate pressure.
“Ravi is the one who caught Santosh for you,” Rajesh continued in the same steady voice. “He is the reason your husband’s humiliation is being answered right now. He is the one risking himself, the one doing the dirty work, the one who will carry the weight of what happens to Santosh. He is also leaving the country soon — I don’t have to reveal where or why. Before he disappears, he deserves some real pleasure. Not money. Not thanks. Something only you can give him. Your body. Your pussy. You and me together, giving him that.”
As he spoke, his fingers kept working slowly between my legs. The words sank in. Ravi had done what I came all this way for. He had taken the risk. He was the one beating Santosh at this very moment. The cold, practical part of my mind began to accept it. Yes… he deserved something. The man who was delivering my revenge deserved to take pleasure from the woman who had asked for it. A complicated, dark heat spread through my stomach as the realization settled.
“Will you be with me?” I asked, looking into his eyes, still holding the towel open. “Stay with me while it happens?”
Rajesh’s hand on my pussy softened into a slower, deeper caress. He leaned closer and spoke near my mouth, his breath warm against my lips.
“I will. I’ll be right there with you the whole time.”
His fingers gave my pussy one more firm, lingering squeeze, feeling how wet I had become at his words and at the thought of what was coming, before he finally released me. I stood in front of him still holding the towel open, the morning light on my bare breasts and pussy, the revenge and the new, dangerous desire twisting tightly together inside me. Yes… Ravi deserved it. And I was going to give it to him.


Rajesh took out his phone again, dialled a number, and spoke only a few short words.
“Come to the room.”
A minute later there was a knock. Rajesh opened the door. I quickly pulled the towel closed around my body, covering my heavy breasts and my pussy completely, holding the front tightly with one hand. Ravi stepped inside.
Ravi was still the same strong, dark-skinned, muscular man from the night before, but in the morning light he looked slightly awkward. His eyes went to me first. Even though the towel now covered me from chest to mid-thigh, something in his expression showed he was aware of what he had almost seen. A clear shyness passed over his face. He quickly looked away toward Rajesh, as if even the knowledge of my nakedness under the towel was too much for him to hold steadily.
“Rajesh… what do you want us to do with Santosh?” he asked, voice lower than usual. “My men are waiting. He is already beaten badly.”
Rajesh did not answer immediately. Instead he turned his head and looked straight at me, waiting. The decision was being placed in my hands one final time.
I kept the towel wrapped firmly around my body. My voice came out steady and cold.
“Kill him. But make sure I don’t get caught. No connection to me or my husband.”
For a second the room was silent. Then both Rajesh and Ravi laughed — short, confident, almost amused laughs.
“We are experts in this,” Rajesh said, still smiling faintly. “Don’t worry about that part.”
Ravi nodded and took out his own phone. He dialled, waited only a moment, then spoke in a flat, clear command.
“Finish him. Make it clean. No loose ends. Do it now.”
He ended the call and put the phone away.
A deep, cold satisfaction spread through my entire chest. I stood there with the towel wrapped tightly around my body and thought of everything Santosh had done. The way he had pushed my husband in front of the relatives and neighbours. The word “spineless.” The tears on my husband’s face that morning on the bedroom floor. The silence that had swallowed our house for so many days. Santosh had deserved to die. And now the order had been given. In a few minutes the man who had broken my husband’s pride would no longer exist.
I looked at Ravi, then at Rajesh, and felt the revenge settle into place inside me like a final, heavy stone. The towel remained closed around my body, but the heat that had started earlier when Rajesh spoke about sharing me with Ravi was still present under it, mixed now with the cold, complete satisfaction of knowing Santosh’s end had been ordered.

[novelistcasanova]

Rajesh looked at Ravi and spoke in a calm, clear voice that carried quiet authority.

“She is all yours.”
Ravi’s eyes moved to me for a second. Even though the towel was wrapped tightly around my body, covering me from chest to mid-thigh, the knowledge of what lay underneath made a mixture of surprise and raw hunger pass over his face. He turned back to Rajesh and nodded with genuine respect, almost gratitude.
“Thank you, Rajesh.”
Without waiting any longer, Ravi began removing his clothes. He gripped the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up over his head in one motion, dropping it onto the floor. The same strong, dark-skinned, muscular chest and arms from the night before came into view — broad shoulders, thick pectorals, the hard lines of his stomach. He unbuckled his belt with a metallic sound, unbuttoned his trousers, and pushed them down his legs along with his underwear in one go. He stepped out of the clothes and stood fully naked. His thick cock was already half-hard, heavy and dark, hanging between his muscular thighs. He breathed a little faster, waiting, his eyes flicking once more toward the towel wrapped around me.
I kept the towel closed tightly with one hand and looked at Rajesh. The idea of being given to Ravi alone felt distant and mechanical — like completing a necessary transaction rather than feeling any real desire. The only reason my body had stayed wet and responsive since the morning kiss was because Rajesh was present. His saliva, his hands, his cock from the night before — that was what kept the heat alive under the towel. Without him it would only be a formality. I needed him with me.
“You take your clothes off as well,” I said to Rajesh, my voice quiet but firm. “I want you to join. If you are not with me, then giving pleasure to Ravi will only feel like a formality. I won’t enjoy it. I need you there.”
Rajesh held my gaze for a long moment. Something dark and approving moved in his eyes. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, then began undressing with steady, unhurried movements. He removed the black advocate’s suit jacket first and laid it over the back of the chair. Next he loosened the tie, pulled it free, and dropped it. He unbuttoned the crisp white shirt one button at a time, pulled it off his arms, and set it aside. His dark, solid chest and stomach came into view. He unbuckled his belt, opened his trousers, and pushed them down along with his black underwear. He stepped out of them and stood fully naked. His thick black cock, already familiar to me from the long night, hung heavy and half-hard between his legs, the same cock that had filled me and left me aching.
Now both men stood completely naked in the morning light of the room. Ravi’s stronger, more muscular frame contrasted with Rajesh’s taller, leaner, more controlled body. I remained wrapped in the towel, looking from one to the other. The cold satisfaction of Santosh’s ordered death still sat solidly in my chest, while a new, darker heat began to rise under the towel at the reality of what was about to happen — two men, one of them the man from my dreams, both waiting for me.


Rajesh stepped closer first. He took the edges of the towel from my hands with deliberate care. His fingers brushed the backs of my hands as he opened the towel slowly, the soft white material sliding across the outer curves of my breasts and down my stomach as it parted. He let the towel fall to the floor in a quiet heap at my feet. I stood completely naked between the two men in the morning light of the room. Cool air touched my bare breasts at once, tightening my nipples into hard points. The same cool air reached the still-sensitive skin of my pussy, which was already beginning to grow wet again from the simple fact of being exposed in front of them.
Rajesh raised both hands and cupped my face. His palms were warm and slightly rough against my cheeks. His thumbs rested just under my eyes. He leaned in and kissed me deeply — the same hungry, open-mouthed kiss from the night before. His tongue slid against mine without hesitation, and the familiar taste of him flooded my mouth. I melted into the kiss at once. My arms rose almost on their own and wrapped around his neck, pulling his body closer. My heavy breasts pressed fully against the hard plane of his bare chest. The contact made my nipples scbang against his skin. A soft, helpless moan vibrated from my throat into his mouth as the heat between my legs returned in a sudden, heavy pulse. Fresh wetness gathered along the lips of my pussy.
“I’ve been wanting to kiss you like this again since I woke up,” he murmured against my lips between kisses, his voice low and intimate.
“Then don’t stop,” I whispered back, already breathless, my lips brushing his as I spoke.
While I was lost in Rajesh’s kiss, Ravi moved behind me. I felt the heat of his body first — a solid wall of warmth against my back. Then the rough, strong texture of his hands settled on the narrow curve of my waist. His palms were larger and more calloused than Rajesh’s. They slid upward slowly, mapping the soft skin of my sides, until they reached the undersides of my heavy breasts. He cupped them firmly from behind, fingers spreading wide to take their full weight, and squeezed. The pressure sent a sharp jolt of pleasure straight down to my pussy. My nipples were trapped between his thick fingers as he kneaded my breasts with open, unrefined hunger. Each squeeze pushed my breasts upward and together against Rajesh’s chest.
“She’s softer than I expected,” Ravi said in a low, rough voice behind me, almost to himself, as his fingers continued to dig into the soft flesh of my breasts.
At the same time I felt the thick, hot length of Ravi’s cock press against the soft curve of my ass. He shifted his hips forward and let his cock settle fully between my ass cheeks. The heavy shaft was already half-hard and growing harder, rubbing slowly up and down the cleft of my ass. The head of his cock dragged against the base of my spine with every small movement of his hips. The dual sensation was overwhelming — Rajesh’s mouth claiming mine with deep, wet, continuous kisses while Ravi’s hands owned my breasts and his cock dragged hot and insistent between my ass cheeks.
“You feel that?” Rajesh asked quietly against my mouth, still kissing me between words, his breath mixing with mine. “That’s the man who finished Santosh for you. Let him touch you.”
“I feel it…” I moaned into Rajesh’s mouth as Ravi’s cock pushed more firmly between my ass cheeks and his hands squeezed my breasts harder, thumbs now roughly brushing over my nipples. “Don’t let go of me.”
“I’m not letting go,” Rajesh answered, deepening the kiss again, his tongue sliding deeper into my mouth.
I kept kissing Rajesh without breaking away, moaning softly and repeatedly into his mouth every time Ravi’s fingers tightened on my breasts or his thick cock dragged hotter and more insistently between my ass cheeks. My body stood trapped between them, completely naked and already wet, the man from my dreams at my front and the man who had delivered my revenge at my back. My pussy throbbed in slow, heavy pulses, the wetness beginning to coat my inner thighs as I remained pressed between the two naked men.


Rajesh guided me toward the bed with one hand on the small of my back. My legs felt unsteady. When we reached the edge he turned me and gently pushed my shoulders until I sat, then lay down fully on my back. The mattress was cool against my bare skin. My heavy breasts settled to the sides. My thighs fell open without resistance.
He climbed over me and settled between my spread thighs. I felt the heavy weight of his body and the thick, hot head of his black cock as he began rubbing it slowly along my already wet pussy lips. He dragged the head up and down, coating himself in my wetness, pressing deliberately against my clit on every upward pass. Each contact made my hips twitch.
“You’re already so wet for me again,” he said, looking down between us.
“I can’t help it,” I whispered, my voice shaky. “Not when it’s you.”
Behind me I felt the mattress dip heavily as Ravi knelt near my head. His strong, dark thighs framed my face. His thick cock, now fully hard, hung above my mouth.
Rajesh lined the head of his cock against my entrance and pushed inside my pussy in one slow, continuous, deep thrust. The familiar stretch made me cry out — a long, broken sound that filled the room. Centimetre by centimetre his thick shaft sank into me until he was buried completely, his hips pressed flush against mine. I could feel every ridge of his cock throbbing inside my still-sensitive pussy.
“Ahh… Rajesh…”
He began to fuck me with steady, powerful strokes — pulling almost all the way out and then sliding back in to the hilt. The wet sound of his cock moving inside my pussy filled the air. At the same time Ravi leaned over and guided the thick head of his cock to my open mouth. I accepted it willingly, parting my lips and letting him push inside. The heavy, salty taste of his cock spread over my tongue as he fed me more of his length.
I sucked Ravi’s cock with focused attention, but my eyes stayed locked on Rajesh’s face above me. Every time Rajesh bottomed out inside my pussy a helpless moan vibrated around Ravi’s cock. My heavy breasts swayed and bounced with each deep thrust. Ravi’s hand rested on the side of my head, steadying me, while he slowly moved his cock in and out of my mouth in rhythm with Rajesh’s strokes. I was filled at both ends, yet every real pulse of pleasure still came from the cock stretching my pussy — the cock that belonged to the man from my dreams.


Rajesh fucked me deeper. He shifted his weight, hooked his hands under my thighs, and pushed them farther apart and higher, opening my pussy completely for his cock. Each new stroke sank even farther inside me. The thick head of his cock rubbed hard against the deepest point of my pussy, sending sharp sparks of pleasure up my spine. The wet, rhythmic sound of his cock thrusting in and out of my soaked pussy filled the room.
Ravi’s cock moved in and out of my mouth in the same steady rhythm. Every time Rajesh drove forward, Ravi pushed a little deeper between my lips. My heavy breasts swayed and bounced hard with every thrust, the soft flesh moving in time with the dual penetration. I reached up with my right hand and wrapped my fingers around the thick base of Ravi’s cock, stroking what my mouth could not take, while I continued to suck him with wet, focused pulls.
But my eyes and my focus never left Rajesh.
I watched the way his dark eyes stayed locked on my face, reading every expression. I watched the controlled tension in his jaw each time my pussy clenched around his cock. I felt the perfect, thick stretch of his cock filling me again and again — the same cock that had claimed me throughout the night, the same cock that had turned the dream into reality. Every real wave of pleasure still came from him.
“Look at me,” Rajesh said, voice low and rough as he thrust deeper. “Keep looking at me while you take both of us.”
“I’m looking…” I moaned around Ravi’s cock, the words muffled and broken. “Only at you…”
Ravi groaned above me, a deep, guttural sound. One of his rough hands settled on my left breast, squeezing the soft flesh firmly in time with the shallow thrusts of his cock into my mouth. His fingers trapped my nipple and pinched it with each forward movement. The dual sensation of being filled at both ends — Rajesh’s thick cock stretching my pussy so perfectly and Ravi’s cock sliding over my tongue — made my inner walls clench tightly around Rajesh again and again.
The pleasure built steadily, layer upon layer. Yet every true, deep pulse of it still originated from the man who had been in my dreams. Ravi’s cock in my mouth and his hand on my breast only intensified the feeling; the real heat, the real climbing tension, came from Rajesh’s cock claiming my pussy with those deep, relentless strokes while his dark eyes refused to look away from mine.


Rajesh’s thrusts grew harder and deeper. The controlled rhythm he had maintained until now broke into something more urgent and primal. His hips slammed against mine with increasing force, driving his thick black cock all the way to the very end of my pussy on every single stroke. The wet, heavy, rhythmic sound of our bodies meeting filled the room — skin against skin, his cock plunging into my soaked pussy over and over. He leaned down over me, still holding my thighs wide open with his hands, and claimed my mouth in a deep, open, hungry kiss even while Ravi’s thick cock continued to fill my mouth from above. For several long seconds I was kissing Rajesh around the shaft of another man’s cock, tasting both of them at once — Rajesh’s familiar mouth and the heavy, salty presence of Ravi on my tongue.
The tension that had been coiling tighter and tighter inside my lower belly suddenly snapped.
My pussy clamped down hard around Rajesh’s thick cock. A loud, broken, almost desperate moan tore from my throat and vibrated strongly around Ravi’s shaft.
“Mmmmph… ahhh… Rajesh… mmmhh… ahhh…!”
My body began shaking uncontrollably under them. My inner walls pulsed and spasmed in powerful, rhythmic waves, gripping and releasing Rajesh’s cock over and over with a force I could not control. Fresh, warm wetness flooded out of me in a sudden rush, soaking his entire shaft and dripping down onto the bed beneath us in sticky strands. My back arched hard off the mattress. My toes curled tightly. My heavy breasts heaved and swayed as the orgasm rolled through me in heavy, endless, crashing waves. I continued moaning around Ravi’s cock with every pulse, the sounds muffled and raw.
“Nnnh… ahhh… I’m cumming… ahhh… ahhh…!”
The tight, rhythmic, milking pulses of my climaxing pussy around his cock pushed Rajesh over the edge. He drove himself as deep as he could possibly go, burying every thick inch inside me until his hips were pressed flush against mine, and broke the kiss only long enough to groan against my open mouth.
“Sudha… take it… take all of it… nnngh…”
His cock throbbed violently inside me. Heavy, hot spurts of cum pumped deep into my pussy in strong, rhythmic pulses. I felt every single jet of it — the first thick bursts flooding me, then the continuing pulses filling me completely until I could feel the warm wetness of his cum mixing with my own juices. My pussy continued to milk him helplessly, clenching and releasing around his spurting cock in time with my fading moans, drawing out every last drop while my body shook beneath him.
Ravi slowly pulled his cock out of my mouth. A thin, shiny string of saliva still connected my lower lip to the swollen head of his cock. He stayed kneeling beside my head, one strong hand wrapped tightly around his thick, wet shaft, stroking himself slowly as he watched us finish together — watched my pussy still pulsing and fluttering around Rajesh’s cock, watched the final deep shudders that ran through Rajesh’s body as he emptied himself completely inside me.
I lay trembling between them, soft broken moans still leaving my lips with every fading wave of my orgasm, my pussy completely full of Rajesh’s cum, while Ravi waited for his turn, stroking his cock and watching everything.



After the last waves of our shared climax faded, the room fell into a heavy, breathing silence. My body still trembled in small aftershocks. My pussy continued to flutter weakly around the thick cock that was still buried inside me. Rajesh remained over me for a few more seconds, forehead resting against mine, before he finally began to move.
He slowly pulled his cock out of my cum-filled pussy. I felt every centimetre of the thick shaft sliding free — the stretch easing, the sudden emptiness, the warm rush of his cum that immediately followed and leaked out of me in a thick, sticky stream onto the bed beneath my ass. A soft, involuntary sound left my throat at the sensation of being emptied.
Rajesh shifted to the side and sat beside me on the mattress. He stayed close enough that his bare, warm thigh pressed continuously against mine. One of his hands came to rest gently on my lower stomach, just above my pussy, the weight of his palm grounding me, keeping me connected to him even as he withdrew. His thumb stroked my skin in small, calming circles.
Ravi moved between my open thighs at once. The mattress dipped under his heavier, more muscular frame. He knelt there and looked down at my freshly fucked, cum-smeared pussy for a long moment. His breathing was already heavy. His dark eyes stayed fixed on the place where Rajesh’s cum was still leaking out of me, coating my swollen pussy lips and the inner skin of my thighs.
Then he reached down, wrapped one rough hand around his thick cock, and rubbed the swollen head slowly along my wet lips. He dragged it up and down, coating himself thoroughly in the mixture of my wetness and Rajesh’s cum. The hot, blunt contact against my sensitive, just-fucked pussy made me shiver hard. A fresh, helpless pulse of heat went through my lower belly even though I was still tender.
Rajesh’s hand on my stomach pressed a little more firmly, steadying me. He looked at Ravi and spoke in a calm, clear voice.
“Take your time. Enjoy her. She’s ready for you.”
Then he leaned all the way down to me. His lips brushed the side of my neck first, placing a slow, warm kiss there. He kissed higher, just under my ear, then returned to the sensitive curve of my neck and lingered, letting his tongue taste my skin for a moment. The soft, romantic attention made my eyes flutter.
He whispered against my neck, so only I could hear.
“Listen to me, Sudha. When he pushes inside, think it is me. Think it is my cock filling you again. Enjoy every second as if I am the one fucking you.”
He placed another lingering kiss on my neck, then moved to the corner of my jaw.
“I’m right here. I’ve got you. Let yourself feel everything. I want you to enjoy it while I’m holding you.”
His words and the gentle kisses on my neck sank straight into me. A deeper, more intense heat bloomed low in my stomach. The fact that he was guiding me, protecting me, kissing me so tenderly, and telling me to enjoy another man while still claiming me emotionally made me feel even more attached to him. My love for the man from my dreams sharpened in that moment. I turned my face slightly toward him, listening, already beginning to follow his instruction in my mind as Ravi continued to rub his thick cock along my open, cum-filled pussy, preparing to take his turn.
“I’ll think of you,” I whispered back, my voice soft and shaky. “Only you.”
Rajesh kissed my neck one more time, slow and approving, while his hand kept stroking my stomach in calming circles.


Without waiting longer, Ravi pushed inside me in one firm, continuous thrust. The thick, blunt head of his cock pressed against my entrance and then forced my already sensitive, cum-filled pussy open again. Centimetre by centimetre his heavier shaft sank into me, stretching me in a different, thicker way than Rajesh had only minutes earlier. I felt every inch of the new invasion — the slow burn of the stretch, the way my inner walls had to yield around the extra girth, the heavy pressure as he bottomed out completely. The new fullness made me gasp sharply, the sound high and broken.
“Ahh…!”
My back arched slightly off the bed. My hands flew to the sheet and gripped it hard enough that my knuckles whitened. I could feel every ridge and vein of Ravi’s cock as he rested fully inside me, his hips pressed flush against mine, his balls resting heavily against my ass. The mixture of Rajesh’s cum and my own wetness made the entry slick and wet, yet the stretch was still intense enough to make my toes curl tightly and a fresh, visible tremor run through both of my thighs. My pussy clenched around the new thickness in helpless, rhythmic pulses, trying to adjust to the different shape.
While Ravi began fucking me with deep, powerful strokes — pulling almost all the way back so that only the head of his cock remained inside me, then driving in with steady, heavy force that made the bed shift and the mattress creak — Rajesh leaned over my upper body with deliberate gentleness. He stayed close on my right side, his bare, warm thigh pressed continuously against mine, the contact constant and grounding. One of his hands cupped my left breast carefully, lifting its heavy weight as if it were something precious. His thumb brushed once, slowly, over the tightly peaked nipple, feeling how hard it had become, before he lowered his head.
He took my nipple into his mouth and sucked it slowly and lovingly. His tongue circled the tight peak with patient, focused care, flicking the very tip and then pressing flat against it, while his lips maintained a warm, wet seal. The contrast was overwhelming — Ravi’s thick cock slamming deep into my freshly used pussy with raw, powerful strokes that forced the air from my lungs, and Rajesh’s mouth treating my breast with soft, almost reverent attention that made my chest ache in a completely different way.
Rajesh lifted his mouth just long enough to speak against my wet, glistening nipple, his voice low, calm, and intelligent.
“Feel how thick he is. Your pussy is taking him so well. Let the pleasure from his cock rise all the way through you. I want to watch you enjoy every stroke.”
He returned to sucking my nipple, even slower and deeper this time, while his free hand stroked my hair back from my face and cupped my cheek with quiet possession. I turned my head toward him on the pillow, moaning with every heavy, wet thrust of Ravi’s cock. Rajesh’s words sank into me and unlocked something. He wasn’t controlling me — he was simply reading my body and putting precise language to the pleasure I was already capable of feeling. The smart, open encouragement made the sensations sharper and clearer. My pussy began to respond more freely around Ravi’s thick shaft, growing wetter with every thrust, clenching with genuine hunger rather than only residual sensitivity, while my attachment to Rajesh only deepened because he was the one who knew exactly how to make me feel it fully.


Rajesh’s other arm wrapped firmly but tenderly around my shoulders. He pulled my upper body against him so that the bare skin of my back and the side of my heavy breast pressed fully to his chest. The embrace was solid, warm, and constant — a steady point of contact while the rest of my body was being taken hard. He turned my face toward his with gentle fingers on my jaw, angling me exactly where he wanted me, and kissed me deeply yet softly. His tongue slid against mine in a slow, deliberate, calming rhythm that stood in complete contrast to the hard, relentless thrusts of Ravi’s cock pounding into my pussy.
Between the kisses he spoke against my lips, his voice low, precise, and close enough that I felt the words more than heard them.
“Your body is already answering him. Feel the way your pussy opens for every stroke. Stay with that feeling. I’m right here with you.”
I moaned into Rajesh’s mouth with every powerful thrust of Ravi’s cock. The sounds were broken, wet, and helpless, muffled by the ongoing kiss. Each time Ravi drove deep, a new moan was forced out of me and directly into Rajesh’s mouth. Ravi’s rough hands gripped my hips hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough that I knew there would be marks later. He fucked me faster now, chasing his own release with heavy, urgent strokes. The wet, heavy, rhythmic sound of his thick cock slamming into my cum-filled pussy filled the room — a raw, unmistakable noise of skin against skin, of slickness being forced deeper, of the mattress shifting under the force of his hips.
Rajesh kept kissing me through all of it. He adjusted the pressure of his mouth to match the intensity of my moans — softer when I trembled, deeper when a louder sound tore out of me. One of his hands stayed cupped around the back of my head, fingers threaded lightly in my hair, holding me in the kiss so I could not turn away. The arm around my shoulders kept my upper body securely against him, grounding me.
The dual sensation sharpened everything to a fine edge: the brutal, deep strokes of Ravi’s cock stretching and filling my sensitive, already-used pussy over and over, and the intelligent, steady presence of Rajesh kissing me, speaking to me, and giving me a clear point of focus so the pleasure could rise without confusion or guilt. My moans grew longer and more helpless into his mouth. My pussy began to respond with stronger, wetter clenches around Ravi’s thrusting cock, the inner walls gripping and releasing in time with the heavy rhythm, while my attachment to the man kissing me only deepened.
Rajesh kept sucking my breasts with the same gentle, focused attention. He switched from one nipple to the other without any haste. First he took my left nipple fully into his mouth, sealing his lips around the tight peak and drawing on it with slow, wet pressure. His tongue pressed flat against it, then circled, then flicked the very tip before he sucked again, deeper. When he finally released it, the nipple was darker, wet, and even more sensitive. He moved immediately to the right breast and began the same careful process — lips, tongue, slow suction — as if he had all the time in the world and nothing else mattered except the way my body responded to his mouth.
Between each shift from one breast to the other he returned to my lips. He kissed me through every moan that left my throat, catching the broken sounds directly into his mouth and answering them with the slow, deliberate slide of his tongue against mine. The kisses were not rushed. They were timed to the rhythm of my breathing and the intensity of the sounds I could not control.
His hand stroked my hair back from my face, fingers threading lightly through the damp strands, and then rested against my cheek. His thumb moved in small, calming arcs near the corner of my mouth, feeling the way it opened with every new moan. While he did this he spoke against my skin, his voice low, precise, and close enough that the words vibrated through me.
“Your pussy is gripping him harder now. I can see it in the way your stomach tightens. Stay with that. Let the feeling climb exactly as it wants to.”
The dual sensation was overwhelming and continuous. Ravi’s thick cock continued to pound my freshly used pussy without restraint. Each stroke was long and powerful, forcing me open again and again. I felt the blunt head of his cock reach the deepest point inside me, the thick shaft dragging against my sensitive walls on every withdrawal, the wet, heavy slap of his hips against my ass and the backs of my thighs. The sound of it was loud and raw in the room — slick, rhythmic, unmistakable.
At the same time Rajesh’s mouth and arms kept me intimate and closely held. His attention never left my face or my breasts. He watched every expression, adjusted every kiss, and spoke only when the words would land with exact effect. The combination of the rough, relentless fucking and Rajesh’s intelligent, steady presence pushed me higher and higher. My moans grew shorter and more desperate into his mouth. My thighs began to tremble uncontrollably around Ravi’s hips. My lower belly tightened in visible waves. The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter with every heavy thrust of Ravi’s cock and every soft, knowing word Rajesh spoke against my skin, building toward a peak I could no longer hold back or control.


Every deep, heavy thrust of Ravi’s thick cock pushed me closer to the edge. My pussy clenched and fluttered around him in irregular spasms, trying to pull him deeper. My thighs trembled hard against his hips. My stomach tightened in visible waves. I could feel the peak gathering behind my clit and deep inside my core, rising higher with each stroke, until I was shaking from how near it was.
Rajesh kept his mouth close to mine, kissing me through the rising sounds I could no longer control. His hand stayed cupped against my cheek, steady and warm.
“You’re right there,” he said softly against my lips. “I can feel it in the way your body is shaking. Let it come.”
Ravi fucked me harder, shorter, more urgent strokes now, his breathing ragged, his fingers digging into my hips. The wet, slapping sound of his cock driving into my cum-filled pussy grew louder and faster. My moans turned high and broken.
“Nnnh… ahhh… ahhh… Rajesh… I can’t… ahhh…!”
The peak finally broke over me.
A long, trembling cry tore out of me and went straight into Rajesh’s mouth as my pussy clamped down hard around Ravi’s thrusting cock.
“Ahhh… ahhh… I’m cumming… ahhh… nnnh… ahhh…!”
My inner walls seized in powerful, rhythmic pulses, gripping and releasing Ravi’s thick shaft in strong milking waves. My back arched clean off the bed. My thighs shook violently. I came hard all over his cock — fresh, warm wetness spilling out of me in a sudden rush, coating his entire shaft and dripping down onto the bed as the orgasm crashed through my body in heavy, uncontrollable surges. I kept moaning and crying out into Rajesh’s mouth with every pulse, the sounds raw and helpless.
“Ahh… ahh… mmmhh… ahhh…!”
The tight, rhythmic gripping of my climaxing pussy and the way I was cumming all over his cock triggered Ravi instantly. He drove himself as deep as it would go one final time and came with a rough, guttural groan that vibrated through his whole body.
“Nnngh… fuck… ahh…!”
Thick, hot spurts of cum pumped into my pussy in heavy, forceful pulses. I felt every jet of it flooding me — the first strong bursts, then the continuing throbs as he emptied himself completely, his cum mixing with everything Rajesh had already left inside me. His cock jerked and twitched with each spurt while my still-spasming pussy milked him for more, still cumming around him.
“Ahh… ahh… nnnh…” I moaned through the fading waves, my body still shaking between them.
Ravi stayed buried deep for several long moments afterward, breathing hard, his cock still twitching inside my oversensitive pussy as the last drops left him. Rajesh continued holding my upper body with quiet care, placing soft, lingering kisses on my open mouth and the tops of my breasts, his hand gently stroking my hair.
Both men’s cum and my own wetness slowly leaked out of my pussy around Ravi’s thick shaft, warm and sticky, running down the curve of my ass onto the bed. I lay between them, completely used and satisfied, my body shared exactly as Rajesh had arranged. The revenge was complete. Santosh was dead. And through every rising second that took me to the edge and every broken sound of my climax, Rajesh had stayed present, precise, and close.
Ravi remained buried deep inside me for a long while afterward. His thick cock was slowly softening, yet it still stretched my sensitive pussy enough that I felt every small twitch and every gradual decrease in hardness. The mixed cum — his and Rajesh’s — continued to leak out around his shaft in warm, sticky rivulets that ran down the curve of my ass and onto the already wet sheet. His breathing stayed heavy and uneven. He looked down between my open thighs, watching the way my swollen pussy lips remained stretched around him, and let out a low, almost disbelieving sound from deep in his chest.
“My god… what a pussy,” he said, voice still rough with leftover pleasure. “So tight… so wet… I felt every single pulse when you came all over my cock. It kept gripping me even after you finished.”
Rajesh, still holding my upper body against his chest, glanced at Ravi with a calm, satisfied expression. One of his hands continued to stroke my hair in slow, absent movements. His voice was even and clear.
“You deserve it, Ravi. After all, you killed Santosh for her.”
He then leaned closer to my ear. His lips brushed the outer shell as he whispered so only I could hear, the words warm against my skin.
“Thank him.”
I turned my head slightly on the pillow toward Ravi. My voice came out soft and still a little shaky from the intensity of the orgasms that had just torn through me.
“Thank you, Ravi.”
Ravi looked at me for a long moment. He was still half-hard inside my pussy, the last of his cum continuing to seep out around his cock. A faint, almost respectful smile touched the corner of his mouth. He shook his head slowly.
“This was nothing. In fact I should thank you. If you had not let me fuck you, I would never have known such a beautiful pussy existed… or that this kind of enjoyment was even possible. I will remember the way it felt — how wet you were, how hard you came on my cock — for a long time.”
Rajesh let out a low, amused breath that I felt more than heard against the side of my head. He stroked my hair once more and spoke with light humour in his voice, the words carrying easily across the small space between the three of us.
“Then both of you should thank me. I made her revenge possible, and I made sure your wish to enjoy a pussy like hers actually came true.”
For a moment the room stayed quiet except for our slowing breaths and the faint wet sound of Ravi’s cock still resting inside me. Then a small, breathless laugh left my throat. Ravi gave a short, rough laugh of his own, the sound vibrating through his body and into mine where we remained joined. Rajesh smiled against the side of my head, the curve of his mouth felt clearly on my skin. The shared laughter was low and genuine, rising between our still-connected, cum-slick bodies in the quiet morning light of the room.
After the laughter faded, Ravi finally pulled his softened cock out of my pussy. A fresh rush of mixed cum followed him and spilled onto the sheet. He moved to my left side and lay down. Rajesh shifted fully onto my right. I remained in the middle.
Rajesh turned toward me and rested one arm across my waist. Ravi settled on my other side, his heavier body warm against my left arm and hip. I lay between them, still naked, still leaking their cum, my body pleasantly sore and completely used. The three of us stayed like that in the quiet room — Rajesh on my right, Ravi on my left, and me in the middle — until our breathing evened out and sleep took us one after another.

[novelistcasanova]

A phone rang from somewhere among the pile of clothes on the floor. Ravi stirred on my left side, reached for it, and sat up. He glanced at the screen, then stood and walked a few steps away toward the window to answer the call in a low voice.

Rajesh, still lying on my right, watched him go. Then he turned to me and gave a small, clear gesture with his hand — an upward motion that told me it was time to rise. He sat up fully and helped me off the bed, his hand steady under my elbow as I stood on slightly unsteady legs. The mixed cum of both men had dried in places on my inner thighs and still felt sticky between my legs.
I began dressing by myself. First I stepped into my white panties and pulled them up over my hips, the thin white panties settling against my still-sensitive, cum-smeared pussy. Next I put on my white bra. I slipped my arms through the straps, brought the two front panels together between my breasts, and fastened the front hook until the white bra sat securely around my chest. Then I stepped into the white petticoat and tied the string at my waist. After that I slipped my arms into the purple blouse, brought the front panels together, and fastened the hooks from the front one by one until the purple blouse closed neatly over the white bra. Finally I picked up the purple saree, dbangd it over my shoulder, and began wrapping it around my body with practiced movements until it sat neatly in place. When I finished, I was fully dressed once more — white panties, white bra, white petticoat, purple blouse, and purple saree — standing in the middle of the room as if the long night and morning had not left me thoroughly used.
Ravi ended his call and came back. He began putting his own clothes on without speaking — underwear, trousers, shirt — while Rajesh also dressed. Rajesh pulled on his black pants, then the crisp white shirt, buttoning it with steady fingers. He slipped his arms into the black advocate’s coat last, adjusting the collar and cuffs until he once again looked like the controlled, formal man who had first spoken to me about Santosh.
The three of us stood in the room fully clothed, the bed behind us still disordered and marked by everything that had happened. The revenge was complete. The pleasure had been taken. And now the morning continued.


It was 5:00 AM when we left the room and walked out of the lodge together. The early morning air outside was still cool and the light was only beginning to strengthen. Ravi’s men were waiting near two vehicles. The auto driver Gopi stood a little apart from them in his khaki shirt and lungi, watching us approach. Without unnecessary words the men guided us toward the highway, and Gopi followed as well.
A short distance down the road the scene came into view. Santosh’s car had been crushed against the side of a heavy lorry. Metal was torn and folded. Glass glittered across the asphalt in the pale 5:00 AM light. One of Ravi’s men parked close by and we stepped out. Gopi remained a few steps behind us, silent. From a distance it looked exactly like a fatal road accident — the kind that happened often on these highways and drew little lasting attention.
I walked closer. Through the shattered driver’s window I could see Santosh’s body still strapped in the seat, head tilted at an unnatural angle, blood dark across his face and shirt. He was clearly dead.
Rajesh’s hand rose toward my face as if to turn me away or cover my eyes. I caught his wrist gently and stopped him.
“I want to see his dead body.”
I stood there in the quiet 5:00 AM air and looked fully at what remained of the man who had pushed my husband, called him spineless, and broken the quiet happiness of our home. The same cold satisfaction that had settled in my chest when the order was given now deepened into something final and complete. A short, quiet laugh left my mouth as I continued to stare at the corpse inside the wrecked car. Santosh was dead. The revenge was no longer a plan or a promise. It was finished, visible, and irreversible under the early morning sky, while Gopi in his khaki shirt and lungi, Ravi’s men, and Rajesh stood nearby.


Rajesh turned toward the auto driver Gopi and called him closer with a short gesture. Gopi stepped forward in his khaki shirt and lungi.
“Take her home safely,” Rajesh told him. “No stops. Straight to her house.”
Gopi nodded. Rajesh then reached into the inner pocket of his black advocate’s coat, took out a visiting card, and placed it in my hand. His fingers brushed mine for a moment longer than necessary.
“Call me,” he said quietly. “Whenever you need to.”
I closed my fingers around the card and gave a small nod. Then Gopi and I began walking toward the auto, which he had parked a short distance away from the lodge and the accident site. The early 5:00 AM light was still pale. Our footsteps were quiet on the road.
Behind us I could still hear Rajesh’s voice, low and precise, giving instructions to Ravi and his men.
“Leave Santosh’s body exactly where it is. Make it look untouched. Then leave the spot. Go into hiding and stay there until I call you. No contact until then.”
The words settled into me with final clarity. Santosh’s corpse would remain on the highway as a clean accident. The men who had carried out the killing would disappear until Rajesh decided otherwise. Everything had been arranged.
A deep, quiet happiness moved through my chest — the happiness of knowing the man who had humiliated my husband was dead, and that the revenge I had crossed half the night for was now complete and irreversible. I reached the auto, climbed into the back seat, and settled the purple saree around my legs. Gopi started the engine. The auto pulled away from the lodge and the wreckage, carrying me back toward Bangalore while the pale morning light strengthened around us.



I stood a moment longer in front of the wrecked car, looking at Santosh’s dead body. The cold satisfaction in my chest pushed me forward. I leaned closer to the shattered window, gathered saliva in my mouth, and prepared to spit on the corpse.
Rajesh’s hand closed firmly around my upper arm and pulled me back a step.
“Don’t,” he said in a low, sharp voice. “No DNA. Nothing that connects you to this. Leave him exactly as he is.”
I looked at him, the spit still in my mouth, then swallowed it and gave a short nod.
“Alright.”
Rajesh released my arm and turned toward the auto driver Gopi, calling him closer with a short gesture. Gopi stepped forward in his khaki shirt and lungi.
“Take her home safely,” Rajesh told him. “No stops. Straight to her house.”
Gopi nodded. Rajesh then reached into the inner pocket of his black advocate’s coat, took out a visiting card, and placed it in my hand. His fingers brushed mine for a moment longer than necessary.
“Call me,” he said quietly. “Whenever you need to.”
I closed my fingers around the card and gave a small nod. Then Gopi and I began walking toward the auto, which he had parked a short distance away from the lodge and the accident site. The early 5:00 AM light was still pale. Our footsteps were quiet on the road.
Behind us I could still hear Rajesh’s voice, low and precise, giving instructions to Ravi and his men.
“Leave Santosh’s body exactly where it is. Make it look untouched. Then leave the spot. Go into hiding and stay there until I call you. No contact until then.”
The words settled into me with final clarity. Santosh’s corpse would remain on the highway as a clean accident. The men who had carried out the killing would disappear until Rajesh decided otherwise. Everything had been arranged.
A deep, quiet happiness moved through my chest — the happiness of knowing the man who had humiliated my husband was dead, and that the revenge I had crossed half the night for was now complete and irreversible. I reached the auto, climbed into the back seat, and settled the purple saree around my legs. Gopi started the engine. The auto pulled away from the lodge and the wreckage, carrying me back toward Bangalore while the pale morning light strengthened around us.


The auto moved fast along the highway. Gopi drove without wasting time, the engine running hard in the early morning. I sat in the back seat with the purple saree settled around my legs and the visiting card still closed in my hand. A deep, steady happiness filled my chest. Santosh was dead. The man who had pushed my husband, called him spineless, and broken the quiet of our home was now a corpse on the roadside. The revenge had been won. Every kilometre that put more distance between me and the wreckage only strengthened the satisfaction. My mood was light and complete in a way it had not been for many days.
After some time Gopi spoke from the front seat without turning his head.
“You remember the promise, madam?”
I looked at the back of his khaki shirt.
“I waited the entire night,” he continued. “While you were inside with them, I waited. You promised me a hug and a kiss.”
I knew he was right. Nothing that had happened — reaching Ravi, the order, the killing, the final sight of Santosh’s body — would have been possible if this man had not brought me here in the first place. I smiled once, small and clear.
“First take me home.”
He did not argue. He simply pressed the accelerator and continued driving. The sky lightened further as we entered the familiar edges of Bangalore. By the time the auto finally slowed and stopped in front of my house it was 5:45 AM. The colony was still quiet. A few birds had begun to call.
I stepped down from the auto, purple saree moving around my legs, and walked to the gate. I opened it. Behind me I heard Gopi switch off the engine and get down. When I glanced back he was already following me through the open gate, still in his khaki shirt and lungi, coming after me up the short path toward the house.


Gopi followed me the full fifty feet from the gate to the house. I walked ahead in my purple saree, the early 5:45 AM light still pale around us. I did not need to look back to know what he was doing. I could feel the weight of his eyes on the movement of my ass under the purple saree with every step I took. The same hungry attention he had given me the previous day when he first agreed to take me to Market Ravi was present again now.
I told myself to let him look. He deserved that much. Without him I would never have reached Ravi. Without him I would never have met Rajesh — the man from my dreams made real. The hug and the kiss I had promised were a small price for everything that had followed: the revenge completed, Santosh dead on the highway, and the long night in which my body had been taken and given exactly as it needed to be. Let him ogle my ass while he walked behind me. He had earned the view.
We reached the portico of the house. The front door was still closed. The colony remained quiet. I stopped, turned around fully, and looked past Gopi toward the gate and the street beyond. No one was outside. No neighbour stood on a balcony. No early riser walked the road. Inside the house my three sons and my husband would still be sleeping at this hour. The silence confirmed it.
I stood on the portico in my purple saree, the auto driver waiting a few steps below me in his khaki shirt and lungi, and felt the last stretch of the long night settle into place. The gate was behind us. The house was in front of me. And the promise I had made was now due.


I stood on the portico, looked at Gopi one last time, and opened my arms.
He came forward at once. The moment his body reached mine both of his hands went straight to my ass. He grabbed both cheeks firmly over the purple saree, the petticoat and my white panties, fingers sinking into the soft flesh and pulling me hard against him. At the same time his mouth covered mine in a passionate, open kiss. His tongue pushed in without hesitation. The strong, filthy smell of cheap alcohol rose from his breath and skin, but I ignored it completely. I kissed him back with clear purpose, my lips and tongue meeting his, giving him exactly what I had promised.
“I waited the whole night for this,” he muttered against my mouth between kisses, still squeezing my ass. “Your ass… I’ve been thinking about it since yesterday.”
I did not pull away. I opened my mouth wider under his and kissed him properly.
“You brought me to Ravi,” I said quietly when our lips separated for a second. “You made everything possible. Take what I promised.”
He groaned low in his throat and kissed me harder. While we kissed, the hard length of his cock pressed against me through the folded lungi and his underwear. He shifted his hips and rubbed it slowly all over my thighs, dragging the thick shape up and down against the purple saree that covered my legs.
“So soft… both sides,” he said roughly, hands still kneading my ass cheeks. “I could feel this all night in my head.”
I remained in his arms on the quiet portico at 5:45 AM, kissing him back without pulling away, while the last debt of the long night was paid in full. His cock continued to rub insistently over my thighs, his fingers kept digging into my ass, and I let him have the hug and the kiss he had been waiting for since the previous evening.


I did not stop at the kiss.
While Gopi’s hands still gripped both of my ass cheeks firmly over the purple saree, the petticoat and my white panties, I reached down with my right hand. I lifted the fold of his lungi, pushed my fingers inside the front of his underwear, and wrapped them around his cock. It was already fully hard — thick, hot, and heavy against my palm. I pulled it free into the open air of the portico. The pale 5:45 AM light touched the dark, swollen length as it stood out from his body, the head already shiny with wetness.
I wrapped my left arm around his shoulder, holding myself steady against him, and began stroking his cock with my right hand. My fingers closed tightly around the shaft and moved up and down in a steady, deliberate rhythm, spreading the clear wetness from the tip down the length of him. I kept kissing his mouth while I stroked him, giving him the same open, purposeful kisses as before.
“Thank you,” I said against his lips between strokes. “For taking me to Ravi. For making everything possible.”
He groaned into my mouth, his fingers digging harder into my ass cheeks.
“Madam… your hand…” he muttered, voice rough. “I’ve been hard since last night thinking about this.”
I tightened my grip and stroked him faster, twisting my wrist slightly on each upward pull. The thick shaft throbbed strongly against my palm. His hips began to push forward into my fist.
“You waited the whole night,” I said quietly, still kissing him between words. “Take it now.”
“Faster… please…” he breathed against my mouth. “I’m close already…”
I did not slow down. I kept kissing him and working his cock with steady, focused attention, my left arm locked around his shoulder, my right hand moving without pause. The wet sound of my fist on his cock mixed with his increasingly rough breathing in the quiet morning air of the portico.
His body tensed. A low, guttural sound rose from deep in his throat.
“I’m going to cum… madam… ahh—”
His cock swelled even harder in my hand, then began to pulse. Thick ropes of cum shot out of him onto the portico floor between us as he came with a heavy, broken groan against my mouth. I continued stroking him through every spurt, slower but firm, drawing out the last of it while my lips stayed on his.
“That’s it,” I murmured as the final tremors left his body. “It’s done.”
Only when his cock stopped twitching did I slow my hand completely and let it rest, still held loosely in my fingers. The promise had been paid in full. The long night was over.


When the last pulses had left his body, I released his cock and let the fold of his lungi fall back into place. I stayed close to him for a moment longer, then wrapped both arms around his shoulders and gave him a proper hug. My heavy breasts pressed against his khaki shirt. I held the embrace for several clear seconds before speaking near his ear.
“Thank you, Gopi. For everything.”
He nodded against the side of my head, still breathing heavily, his hands resting once more on my waist over the purple saree. I stepped back, straightened the fall of my saree, and looked at him directly.
“Go now.”
He hesitated only a second, then turned and walked down the short path to the gate. I watched him open it, step through, and close it quietly behind him. A moment later I heard the auto engine start and the vehicle pull away into the still-quiet 5:45 AM street.
I stood alone on the portico for a brief breath, the visiting card still in my hand, the mixed memories of the night settled deep in my body. Then I turned, unlocked the front door, and went inside the house. The interior was dark and silent. My husband and our three sons were still asleep. I closed the door softly behind me, shutting out the last of the long night, and stood for a moment in the familiar hallway of my own home. The revenge was complete. Santosh was dead. And I had returned.


I went inside the bedroom, closed the door quietly, and undressed. The purple saree, purple blouse, white petticoat, white bra and white panties came off one by one and were set aside. I stepped into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and let the warm water run over my body, washing away the last traces of the long night — the dried cum, the sweat, the lingering scent of both men. When I finished I dried myself, stepped into a fresh pair of black panties, and pulled a soft white nighty over my head. The thin white nighty settled loosely around my bare breasts and hips.
I went to the kitchen and began preparing breakfast as usual — lighting the stove, setting water to boil, taking out the vessels. The familiar routine felt almost unreal after everything that had happened.
Through the open kitchen window I began to hear raised voices from the direction of Santosh’s house. A woman’s scream first, then more voices joining, crying and shouting. Words carried clearly in the still morning air: accident… highway… Santosh is dead…
I stood at the counter and smiled to myself, a small, private smile that no one else could see.
A few moments later I heard footsteps behind me. My husband’s arms came around my waist from behind, drawing me back against his chest in a familiar morning hug. He rested his chin near my shoulder. Through the window the sounds of crying from Santosh’s house continued.
“What happened there?” he asked, still holding me.
I kept my eyes on the vessel in front of me and answered in a calm, even voice.
“Santosh died in an accident.”
My husband was silent for a second, taking in the news and the distant wailing. Then he spoke near my ear, his voice low and rough with emotion.
“I cursed that man so many times after what he did to me. Every day I cursed him. And it worked.” He was quiet for a moment, then added, almost ashamed yet unable to stop the words, “I know it’s wrong to say this… but I am so happy that Santosh died.”
I stood still in his arms, the soft white nighty against his chest, and smiled to myself. Inside my mind I thanked the two men who had made it possible — Rajesh, who had ordered it and held me through everything, and Ravi, who had carried it out. The revenge was complete. My husband’s pain had been answered.
I placed my hand over his arms where they crossed my stomach and simply remained there with him while the distant crying continued.

---

In a couple of months the construction of our house was finished. The six floors stood complete on the same street. We shifted fully into the new home, arranged the rooms, and settled into a quiet, steady happiness. The humiliation and the long silence that had once filled our days were gone. My husband smiled again. Our sons played in the finished house without the shadow that had followed them for weeks.
And every time I remembered the long night — the risk I had taken, the places I had gone, the things I had allowed — I felt a deep, private pride. Santosh was dead because I had decided he would not be allowed to live after what he had done to my husband. I had taken the risk. I had crossed the night. And I had won.
I was happy. And I was proud.

The End 

by 

Novelist Casanova 

[vk64]

I like ur story very much
Because you always complete the story

[rodrigo_]

Loved your ending. No affair bullshit. Task done, back to pavilion.

[Voiden]

She was so cold, and hot too. Marvelous!