Adultery August 15th (COMPLETED) - By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

August 15th 

by 

Novelist Casanova 

I am Sudha.
I stood a little taller than most women in the village, with a fair, smooth complexion and long, thick black hair that I usually tied in a neat plait or loose bun. My eyes were large and dark, framed by naturally arched brows. I had a straight, sharp nose and full lips. My body had filled out after marriage — full, heavy breasts, a narrow waist, and wide hips that the saree always followed closely when I walked. Even at this age, men in the village still glanced at me longer than necessary.
I was the principal of Sudha Memorial college.
The college stood in a small remote village in Tamil Nadu, built years ago by my late father. He had raised it with one clear purpose — to give proper education to the underprivileged children from the neighbouring villages who otherwise had no chance. After he died, the responsibility had fallen on me. Every morning I unlocked these same doors, checked the registers, and made sure the children from the poorer homes got at least a few hours of learning.
It was 5 PM on the evening of 14th August.
The District Education Office had already issued a circular based on the heavy rain warning from the India Meteorological Department. Tomorrow, Independence Day, was declared a holiday because of the expected continuous downpour. I had announced the same to the students and teachers in the morning assembly. The classrooms were already empty. Only the sound of the ceiling fan and the occasional crow outside filled the compound.
I was wearing my red saree with a matching red blouse. Underneath the saree I had worn my red petticoat. Over my breasts sat my white bra, and between my legs I wore my white panties. The red saree was neatly pleated and pinned at the shoulder. The blouse fitted close around my full breasts. My mangalsutra rested against my neck as usual.
My phone vibrated on the desk.
I unlocked it. My husband was already home, waiting for me.
Husband:
I’m already hard thinking about you. Come home soon. I want that red saree on the floor tonight.
I felt my cheeks warm. A small smile pulled at my lips as I typed back.
Me:
I’m still in the office… don’t talk like that now.
Husband:
Why not? I’m lying naked on the bed. My cock is already stiff. I’m stroking it slowly thinking about your heavy breasts.
My face grew hotter. I bit my lower lip and glanced at the closed office door.
Me:
You’re impossible… I’m still at college.
Husband:
I don’t care. When you walk in, I’m going to pull your saree down to your waist and suck your nipples through the blouse until they get hard. Then I’ll open the blouse and take your bare breasts in my mouth.
I pressed my thighs together under the desk, blushing harder.
Me:
Stop messaging like this… my face is getting red.
Husband:
Good. I want it red. Tell me what you’re wearing under the saree.
Me:
My usual… white bra and white panties.
Husband:
I’m going to remove both with my teeth tonight. First I’ll push your red blouse up and suck your nipples until you start breathing fast. Then I’ll pull your petticoat up and press my mouth between your legs over those white panties.
A soft, embarrassed breath left me. I shifted slightly in the chair.
Me:
You’re so shameless…
Husband:
You like it. I’m going to drag those white panties down your thighs slowly and look at your pussy before I do anything. I want to see how wet you are when you reach home.
I felt heat spreading between my legs. My fingers hesitated over the phone.
Me:
I’m in the principal’s office…
Husband:
And I’m stroking my cock thinking about spreading your legs on this bed. I’m going to eat your pussy until your thighs start shaking. I won’t stop even when you try to push my head away. I’ll keep licking until you drip on my face.
My breathing had become uneven. I pressed my thighs tighter.
Husband:
After that I’ll turn you over, keep your red saree on, pull it up to your waist and push my cock into you from behind. I’ll hold your heavy breasts while I fuck you deep. I want to hear the sound of my body hitting your ass.
A quiet sound escaped my throat. I covered my mouth with one hand.
Me:
You’re making it very difficult to sit here…
Husband:
Good. Stay there a little longer and keep reading. I want you to feel it. Tonight I’m going to fuck you slowly first, then hard. I’ll make you tell me how wet you got sitting in that chair reading my messages.
I sat there staring at the screen, face burning. Between my legs I could already feel my white panties starting to stick lightly to my pussy.
Husband:
Don’t put the phone down yet. Tell me the truth. Are you getting wet?
I stayed silent for a few seconds, the ceiling fan turning slowly above me. Finally I typed.
Me:
…Yes.


I locked the phone and placed it face down on the desk. My cheeks were still warm, and between my legs the slight wetness in my white panties had not gone away. I took a slow breath, straightened my red saree, and called out.
“Narasimhan… come inside.”
He entered the office a few moments later, holding the attendance register against his side.
Narasimhan was only five years younger than me. He was a rustic man with dark skin, a rough face, and uneven features that most people would call ugly. His hair was thick and slightly unkempt. Years of outdoor work had left his hands hard and his body lean but not attractive. He lived alone in the small tiled house behind the college building, the same quarters my father had given him when he first joined as the attender.
He stood in front of my desk and waited.
I kept my voice steady and practical.
“Tomorrow is Independence Day. Even though the college is closed because of the heavy rain warning, I will still hoist the flag. Be here by 7:30 in the morning. Clean the area around the flagpole properly before I arrive. Keep the flag ready. Only you and I will be there.”
Narasimhan nodded slowly.
“Yes, Madam. But the rain is going to be very heavy. The ground will become muddy, and the flag will get completely wet.”
I looked at him directly.
“That does not matter. We have hoisted the flag every year since my father started this college. We will do it tomorrow as well. Just be ready on time.”
He gave a short nod.
“I will be ready, Madam. I stay just behind the college, so I can come early and clean everything.”
“Good,” I said. “You can go now.”
Narasimhan turned and left the office, closing the door quietly behind him. I sat back in my chair for a moment, still feeling the faint warmth between my thighs from the messages my husband had sent. Outside, the empty college compound remained silent.


I locked the principal’s office door and tested the handle once to make sure it was properly shut. The corridor outside was already dark. I switched off the last tube light near the entrance and stepped into the open college compound. The evening sky had turned a deep grey. The air felt heavy and still, carrying the clear smell of coming rain. A few dry leaves moved slowly across the ground with the weak breeze.
My red Honda Activa stood under the small asbestos shed near the main gate, exactly where I had parked it in the morning. I walked towards it, the pleats of my red saree shifting against my legs with each step. The blouse felt slightly warm against my full breasts after sitting in the office for so long. My white bra held them firmly in place, and I could still feel the faint dampness in my white panties from the messages earlier.
I unlocked the Activa, lifted the side stand, and sat on the seat. The red saree spread around me as I settled. I adjusted the front pleats carefully so they would not get caught in the chain, then pulled the loose end of the saree firmly over my left shoulder and tucked it once at the waist. I turned the key, pressed the starter, and the engine came to life with a low, steady sound.
I rode out through the college gate and onto the narrow village road. The wind immediately pressed against my body. The red saree clung lightly to my stomach and thighs. My heavy breasts shifted slightly inside the blouse with the movement of the scooter. I kept both feet firmly on the footboard and held the handle with a steady grip. The road was mostly empty. A few streetlights had already come on, casting dull yellow patches on the tar.
As I rode past the small row of houses, the saree kept fluttering at the edges. I felt the petticoat underneath moving softly against my legs. The white panties remained snug between my thighs, still carrying that slight wetness from earlier. I did not stop anywhere. The short ride home took only a few minutes, but every turn of the road made the red blouse press and release against my breasts, reminding me that I was still fully dressed exactly as I had been in the office.


I slowed the Activa as I reached our house and turned into the small compound. The gate was already open. I rode in carefully, stopped near the side wall, and switched off the engine. For a moment I sat on the seat without moving, both feet flat on the ground, listening to the quiet of the evening. The sky above the house had grown darker. The first light smell of rain hung in the air.
I put the side stand down and got off the scooter. The red saree settled around my legs again as I stood. I locked the Activa, removed the key, and walked towards the front door. My slippers made soft sounds on the cement floor of the veranda. The door was unlocked, as usual when my husband was already home. I pushed it open and stepped inside.
The house felt still. I closed the door behind me and bent down to remove my slippers, placing them neatly near the wall. The red saree shifted as I bent, the blouse pulling slightly across my full breasts. I straightened and stood for a second in the small living room, listening.
There was no sound of the boys. No television, no running footsteps, no voices from the other rooms. I walked a few steps further and called out once in a normal voice.
“Boys?”
No reply came. I understood immediately. My three sons were still outside, playing somewhere in the neighbourhood lanes as they did most evenings. They would return only when it became fully dark or when they got hungry. For now the house remained quiet. Only my husband was inside.
I adjusted the end of my red saree over my shoulder once more and walked deeper into the house, still wearing everything exactly as I had worn in the college — red saree, red blouse, red petticoat, white bra and white panties.


I walked straight into the kitchen without going to the bedroom to change. The lights were already on. The small kitchen felt warm from the residual heat of the afternoon. I had not removed even a single piece of clothing. My red saree was still dbangd exactly as it had been in the college office, the pleats neat at the waist, the loose end resting over my left shoulder. The matching red blouse continued to fit closely around my full breasts. Underneath, my red petticoat hung against my legs, and my white bra and white panties remained in place.
I washed my hands under the tap, rubbing the soap slowly between my palms and between my fingers before rinsing them. Water droplets clung briefly to my wrists before I wiped them on the edge of a towel. I opened the vegetable basket and took out onions, tomatoes and green chillies. Placing the wooden chopping board on the counter, I began slicing the onions first. The knife moved in steady, practiced motions. Each time I leaned forward slightly, the red blouse pressed against my heavy breasts, and I could feel the soft weight of them shifting inside my white bra.
I heated the pan on the stove and poured a little oil. While waiting for it to warm, I continued chopping. The red saree stayed properly in place, but the movement of my arms made the fabric at my waist shift gently against my stomach and hips. My white panties felt slightly warm between my legs from the earlier messages and the scooter ride. I did not stop to adjust anything. I kept working — adding the onions to the pan, stirring them as they began to soften, then reaching for the tomatoes.
The smell of the hot oil and onions slowly filled the kitchen. I stood there in my full college clothes, red saree still pinned and dbangd, preparing dinner as if it were any other evening, the faint memory of my husband’s messages still present somewhere under the ordinary movements of my hands.


I heard soft footsteps behind me while I was still stirring the onions in the pan. My husband had come into the kitchen. He did not speak at first. He simply walked up and stopped very close behind me. I felt the warmth of his body before he even touched me.
His hands settled on my waist over my red saree. The saree wrinkled slightly under his fingers as he held me. He stepped closer until his chest pressed lightly against my back.
“You took so long,” he said in a low voice, close to my ear. “I’ve been hard since those messages.”
I kept stirring, though my hand had slowed.
“I had to give instructions for tomorrow,” I replied quietly. “The boys are still outside.”
“I know.” His right hand slid upward and cupped my heavy breast over my red blouse. He squeezed it firmly. “I’ve been thinking about these since you left. Did you get wet reading my messages?”
I swallowed.
“A little… don’t start now. I’m cooking.”
He ignored that. His thumb moved across my nipple through my red blouse and white bra until it hardened.
“Only a little?” he asked, pressing his cock against my ass through my red saree. “Your voice is already changing.”
I tried to keep my tone normal.
“The onions will burn.”
“Let them.” His other hand began gathering my red saree and red petticoat upward along my thigh. “I want to feel you first.”
My red saree and red petticoat rose higher. Cool air touched my exposed thigh. He kept lifting until both my red saree and red petticoat were bunched around my waist. His fingers found the edge of my white panties and simply pulled them to one side.
“You’re already sticky,” he muttered, rubbing the head of his cock slowly along my pussy lips. “You were wet in the office, weren’t you?”
I gripped the kitchen counter with my free hand. My voice came out lower than before.
“Don’t talk like that… they might come back any time.”
“Then I’ll be quick,” he said, still rubbing himself against me. “But I’m going to fuck you right here. Keep holding the counter.”
I felt the thick head of his cock press more firmly between my pussy lips. He did not push inside yet. He only held himself there, breathing against my neck, one hand still squeezing my breast over my red blouse while the onions continued to sizzle quietly in the pan.


He pushed the thick head of his cock between my pussy lips and slowly forced himself inside me. I was already so wet that he slid in easier than I expected. I felt every inch stretching my pussy open as he sank deeper, until his lower stomach pressed tightly against my bare ass. A shaky breath left my mouth. My fingers tightened hard on the kitchen counter.
“Ah…”
He was fully inside me now. My pussy clenched around his cock on its own. One of his hands squeezed my heavy breast roughly over my red blouse and white bra, pinching my nipple through the layers. The other hand gripped my hip, holding my red saree and red petticoat high around my waist. My white panties stayed pulled to the side, completely useless.
He pulled back and thrust in again, harder this time.
“Fuck… you’re dripping,” he groaned against my neck.
I bit my lip but could not stop the soft moan that followed. My pussy was soaked. Each time he pushed his cock deep into me, wet sounds filled the kitchen. I pushed my ass back against him without thinking, wanting him deeper. My full breasts swung heavily inside my white bra with every thrust. The red blouse strained across them.
He started fucking me in a steady, strong rhythm. His cock slid in and out of my wet pussy with short, powerful strokes. The slap of his body against my ass grew louder. I could feel my pussy lips gripping him every time he pulled back. My legs were already trembling.
“Yes… keep going,” I whispered, my voice thick with need.
He groaned and fucked me faster. One hand left my breast and reached down between my legs, finding my swollen clit. He rubbed it firmly in circles while his cock kept driving deep into my pussy. The double sensation made my mouth open. A longer moan slipped out before I could stop it.
“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he muttered. “Your pussy is sucking my cock.”
I was. I could feel how slippery I had become. My white panties were completely shifted aside, and my pussy was openly taking every hard thrust. I pushed back harder to meet him, my heavy breasts bouncing inside the blouse with the force. The red saree remained bunched at my waist, exposing everything from behind.
He rubbed my clit faster and thrust deeper. My thighs started shaking. The pleasure built quickly and sharply. I gripped the counter so hard my knuckles turned light. Another moan broke from my throat, louder this time.
“Don’t stop… fuck me…”
He obeyed. He held my hip tightly and pounded into my wet pussy with strong, deep strokes, his fingers still working my clit, while I stood bent over the kitchen counter in my red saree, moaning under my breath, completely lost in how good his cock felt inside me.


His cock was driving deep into my wet pussy with short, powerful thrusts. Every stroke made a clear wet sound. My white panties remained pulled to the side, and my red saree and red petticoat stayed bunched tightly around my waist. I was bent over the kitchen counter, both hands gripping the edge, my full breasts swinging heavily inside my white bra and red blouse with every impact of his body against my ass.
“I’m close,” he growled against my neck, fucking me harder.
I was already there. My pussy kept clenching around his cock on its own. The pressure in my lower stomach built fast and sharp. His fingers rubbed my swollen clit in tight, firm circles while his cock kept thrusting deep. My legs started shaking badly.
Suddenly I heard faint voices outside the compound wall — children’s voices, laughing and calling to each other. My heart jumped.
“Wait… the boys…” I whispered urgently, trying to straighten up.
He did not stop. He held my hip tighter and kept pounding his cock into me.
“They’re still far,” he muttered. “Just take it.”
The risk made everything sharper. My pussy gripped his cock harder with every stroke. A broken moan left my mouth as the pleasure suddenly peaked, mixed with fear.
“Ahh… ahh… I’m coming… hurry…”
My whole body tensed. My pussy began pulsing strongly around his cock as I came, the orgasm rolling through me in waves while I kept listening for the front gate. I pushed my ass back and held the counter for support, moaning through clenched teeth so I would not be too loud.
“Ahh… nnnh… ahh…”
He groaned deeply and buried his cock as deep as he could.
“Fuck… take it… I’m coming inside you…”
I felt his cock throb hard inside my pussy. Thick, hot cum began shooting into me in strong spurts. His cock kept grinding against my ass while it emptied itself, filling me completely. He moaned roughly with every spurt, trying to keep his voice low.
“Ugh… ahh… fuck…”
Outside, the children’s voices seemed a little closer. Panic mixed with the last waves of my orgasm. My pussy continued to flutter weakly around his cock as the final pulses of his cum spilled into me. Slow, sticky trails of his cum began to leak out around his cock and onto my white panties that were still shifted to the side.
“Pull out… quickly…” I whispered, breathing hard.
He slowly pulled his cock out. I immediately pushed my red saree and red petticoat down, trying to cover myself. My white panties were still wet and sticky with his cum. I stood upright on slightly trembling legs, face flushed, heart beating fast, listening carefully for the sound of the front door while the forgotten onions continued to burn lightly in the pan.


I quickly adjusted my red saree and washed my hands. The onions had burned slightly, so I had to start that part of the dinner again. By the time the food was ready, I heard the boys returning. Their voices and footsteps filled the house as they came in, laughing and arguing about their game. I served dinner quietly — rice, the freshly made side dishes, and some curd. We all sat together and ate. My husband spoke normally with the boys as if nothing had happened in the kitchen earlier. I kept my eyes on my plate, still feeling the sticky wetness of his cum inside my white panties under the red saree.
After dinner the boys went to their room. I cleared the plates and wiped the kitchen counter. My body still carried the smell of sex and sweat under the red saree. I went to the bathroom, locked the door, and removed everything — my red saree, red blouse, red petticoat, white bra and the stained white panties. I stood under the shower and let the warm water run over my full breasts, stomach and between my legs. I washed his cum away slowly, cleaning my pussy with my fingers until no stickiness remained. The water felt soothing after the rough kitchen fucking.
When I came out I dried myself and changed into a simple cotton nighty. It was loose and comfortable, reaching mid-thigh. I did not wear any bra or panties under it. My hair was still slightly damp when I switched off the lights and went to our bedroom.
My husband was already in bed. He looked tired. The moment I lay down beside him, he turned toward me, pulled me closer, and placed his arm heavily over my waist. Within a minute his breathing became deep and even. He had fallen asleep.
I lay still on my back. His arm stayed across my stomach, and part of his upper body rested against my side and chest. The weight of him was warm and familiar. I could feel his slow breathing against my shoulder. The nighty had ridden up a little, but I did not adjust it. I simply stayed under his arm, listening to the quiet house, and slowly closed my eyes.


to be continued  

[novelistcasanova]

I woke up slowly the next morning. The bed beside me was already empty. For a few seconds I lay still under the nighty, feeling the slight coolness of the morning air on my legs. Then I heard movement in the room.


My husband was standing near the cupboard, already dressed in a formal shirt and trousers. He was packing a small bag in a hurry. His face looked tense and pale.
I sat up, still half-asleep.
“What happened?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. “Why are you ready so early?”
He turned to me. His voice was heavy.
“Santosh and Venkatesh are dead.”
I stared at him, not understanding at first.
“What…?”
“My cousin Santosh and his broker Venkatesh,” he said, zipping the bag. “They died last night in a car accident on the Hosur road near Bangalore. It was brutal, Sudha. The car was hit by a lorry from the side. The whole front was crushed. They said Santosh’s chest was completely smashed in. Venkatesh was thrown out and the lower half of his body was almost severed. Both of them died on the spot. It was not quick or clean. The security officer said the car was unrecognisable.”
I felt a cold shock settle in my stomach at first. Then something else rose inside me.
He looked at me directly.
“I have to go to Bangalore immediately. The bodies are in the hospital. The family is waiting. You should come with me.”
I stared at him.
“Come with you? For them?”
“Yes. Pack quickly. All the relatives will be there. It will look bad if only I go. You are part of the family.”
My voice hardened.
“I am not coming.”
He frowned.
“What do you mean you are not coming? This is a death in the family.”
“Santosh deserved to die,” I said clearly. “Have you forgotten how he insulted me last year in front of everyone? The way he spoke about me? The filthy words he used? I have not forgotten. I will not go and pretend to cry for a man who disrespected me like that.”
My husband’s face tightened.
“Sudha, watch your words. He is dead.”
“I don’t care that he is dead,” I shot back, anger rising fully now. “And Venkatesh? That cheat? He deserved it even more. How many people did he rob by selling property that never belonged to him? Acting as if it was his, taking money from poor families and disappearing? You know what kind of man he was. Why should I go and stand there for him?”
“You are talking nonsense,” he said, his voice rising. “Two people are dead. This is not the time for your grudges. The college is closed because of the rain anyway. Just cancel the flag hoisting and come with me.”
“I will not cancel anything,” I said firmly, sitting up straighter. “I am hoisting the flag today. My father started this college. We have done it every year for twenty years. Rain or no rain, I will be there. I am not coming to Bangalore to cry over two men who deserved what they got.”
He stared at me, anger clear on his face.
“You have gone mad. Relatives will ask why my wife did not come. What am I supposed to tell them?”
“Tell them the truth,” I replied without hesitation. “Tell them I refused. I have nothing to do with Santosh or that fraud Venkatesh.”
He picked up the bag sharply, his movements rough.
“Fine. Stay here then. Do whatever you want with your flag.”
Without another word he walked out of the room. A few moments later I heard the front door slam hard and the sound of his bike starting roughly. He left angrily, the noise of the engine fading down the road.
I sat on the bed in my nighty, breathing a little fast, the morning light coming through the window, the house suddenly very quiet.


I sat on the bed for only a short while after the sound of his bike faded. Anger was still burning in my chest. He had not understood me at all. He had shouted, called me stubborn, and left as if my duty meant nothing.

I stood up sharply.
I pulled a clean white towel from the shelf and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door harder than necessary. I turned on the tap, wet my toothbrush, squeezed toothpaste onto it, and began brushing my teeth with quick, forceful strokes. Foam filled my mouth. I spat into the sink, rinsed, and wiped my lips with the back of my hand.

Still angry, I lifted my nighty, sat on the toilet, and relieved myself. When I finished, I cleaned myself properly, flushed, and washed my hands thoroughly under the running water.
Then I pulled the nighty up over my head and dropped it on the small stool. Completely bare now, I stepped under the shower and turned the water on. Cold water hit my shoulders and ran down my back, over my full breasts, across my stomach, and between my thighs. I let it pour over me for a long moment, eyes closed, jaw tight.

He had not understood. Santosh had insulted me openly and Venkatesh had cheated people for years, yet my husband expected me to drop everything and cry with the relatives. All I asked was to hoist the flag the way my father had done for twenty years. That was not stubbornness. That was respect.
I took the soap and began washing myself properly. First I rubbed it between my palms until it lathered, then soaped my face and neck. I moved down to my arms, scrubbing from my shoulders to my wrists. Next I soaped my full breasts, lifting each one slightly to clean underneath, then ran the soap across my stomach and around my waist. I bent forward a little and washed my back as far as I could reach. Turning, I soaped my hips and the upper part of my thighs. Then I lifted one leg onto the low bathroom ledge, soaped the inner thigh, the outer side, and down to the calf and foot. I repeated the same with the other leg. Finally I washed between my legs thoroughly, cleaning my pussy and the area around it with careful but firm strokes before letting the water rinse everything away.

I stood under the stream a little longer, breathing hard, still furious, watching the soap suds disappear down the drain.
Finally I turned the shower off. Water dripped from my hair onto my shoulders and down my back. I reached for the white towel, unfolded it, and began drying myself — first my face and neck, then my arms, my breasts, my stomach, my hips, and between my thighs. I rubbed the towel over my legs and feet until my body was only slightly damp.
I wrapped the white towel around myself for a moment and stood there, staring at nothing, still angry that my husband had left without understanding why the flag mattered.


I stepped out of the bathroom with the white towel still wrapped around my body. The bedroom was quiet. My husband’s side of the bed was empty, the argument from earlier still sitting heavily in my mind. I walked to the cupboard and opened both doors.
I took out a pair of maroon panties and a white bra. Next I chose a white petticoat and a matching white blouse. Finally I pulled out my white saree — the one with the thin Indian tricolour border of saffron, white and green running along the edge. I carried everything to the bed and laid them out neatly one by one.
I loosened the white towel and let it fall to the floor. Standing completely bare, I picked up the maroon panties. I bent forward slightly, stepped my right foot into one leg hole, then my left foot into the other. Slowly I pulled the maroon panties up along my calves, over my knees, and higher along my thighs. The maroon panties slid over the curve of my ass and settled against my pussy, the front panel of the maroon panties pressing lightly between my legs as I adjusted them over my hips until the maroon panties sat snug and smooth.

Next I took the white bra. I slipped my arms through the straps of the white bra and brought the cups forward, settling the white bra carefully over my full, heavy breasts. The white bra cradled each breast as I reached behind my back with both hands. My fingers found the hooks of the white bra and fastened them one by one, the white bra tightening gently around my chest and lifting my breasts into place. I adjusted the straps of the white bra on my shoulders, then ran my hands once under each cup of the white bra to make sure my breasts sat fully and comfortably inside.

I picked up the white petticoat. Holding the waistband of the white petticoat open, I stepped into it and drew the white petticoat up over my legs. The white petticoat rose along my thighs, over the maroon panties, and settled around my waist. I gathered the string of the white petticoat, pulled it firm, and tied a tight knot so the white petticoat stayed secure. The white petticoat fell in a clean line down to my ankles, covering the maroon panties completely, yet I could still feel the soft press of the maroon panties against my pussy underneath.

Then I put on the white blouse, pushing my arms through the sleeves of the white blouse and settling the white blouse over the white bra. I checked the fit in the mirror — the white blouse sat close around my breasts without gaping.

I began dbanging the white saree. I tucked one end of the white saree into the white petticoat at my right waist, made the pleats carefully, and secured them. I brought the remaining length of the white saree around my body and over my left shoulder, adjusting the border so that the tricolour edge showed clearly. I pinned the white saree at the shoulder with a small safety pin so it would not slip.

From the small drawer I took out the Indian flag badge and pinned it carefully on the left side of my white blouse, near my heart. I stood in front of the mirror and applied only light makeup — a little powder on my face, a thin line of kajal, and a soft touch of lipstick. Nothing heavy. Just enough to look presentable.

I checked myself once more. White saree with the tricolour border, white blouse, white petticoat, maroon panties and white bra underneath, the national badge pinned in place. My hair was still slightly damp but neatly combed.
I was ready to leave for the college.

[novelistcasanova]

I walked quietly to my sons’ room and opened the door just enough to look inside. All three of them were still deeply asleep under their blankets. It was only 7 AM. None of them moved. I closed the door softly and stepped back into the corridor.

I needed someone to watch the boys until I returned from the college. The old couple next door were the only ones I could ask. The old man was almost the same age my father would have been. For years he had looked at me with open lust — staring at my breasts, my hips, finding excuses to stand too close. I had always ignored it and tolerated him because he and his wife were otherwise helpful. Today I had no choice.
I walked the short distance to their house and knocked.
The old man opened the door. The moment he saw me standing there in the white saree with the tricolour border, his eyes moved slowly over my body. They paused on the curve of my full breasts under the white blouse, then dropped to my hips where the white saree clung lightly.
“Happy 80th Independence Day, Sudha,” he said. His voice was already thicker than usual.

Before I could reply or step back, he reached out and pulled me straight into a tight hug. His arms went around my back and waist and pulled me firmly against him. My full breasts pressed hard against his chest. The white blouse and white bra were crushed between us. I felt the heat of his body through the layers.
He began kissing my face without any hesitation. First his mouth landed on my right cheek, wet and deliberate. Then he moved to my forehead, then down near my left ear. His lips stayed longer near the corner of my mouth, brushing the edge of my lips. Each kiss was slow. He was clearly enjoying the feel of my skin under his mouth and the way my body was held tightly against him.
I stood rigid, arms stiff at my sides. The anger from the morning was still fresh — my husband had shouted at me, dismissed the flag, and left without understanding anything. As the old man’s mouth moved across my face and his arms kept me pressed tightly to his chest, something unexpected stirred low in my stomach. A thin, unwanted heat began to spread. Letting this old man hold me and kiss me like this suddenly felt like a small, private punishment. My husband had not valued me. Now another man was taking open pleasure from my body.
I clenched my teeth and did not push him away.


The old man kept me tightly in his hug. While his mouth continued moving slowly across my cheek and near my ear, one of his hands began to shift on my back.
His fingers first rested flat between my shoulder blades over the white blouse. Then they moved downward a little and found the horizontal band of my white bra through the blouse. He rubbed his fingertips along it, tracing the line of the white bra from one side toward the middle of my back. He felt the exact shape and thickness of the white bra under the white blouse.

He did not stop there. His fingers followed the strap of the white bra upward along my shoulder blade, then came back down again, grabbing the back band more firmly this time as if confirming how the white bra held my full breasts from behind. The white bra shifted slightly against my skin under his fingers.
“What colour bra are you wearing today, Sudha?” he asked in a low voice, his mouth still close to my ear. His fingers continued to move over the white bra through the blouse.
I kept my arms stiff at my sides. My voice came out quiet and controlled.
“Uncle, don’t be naughty.”
He gave a soft, amused breath against my cheek and did not remove his hand. Instead he spread his fingers wider and grabbed the whole back band of the white bra once more, feeling how tightly it held my breasts.
The anger at my husband was still hot in my chest. He had left without understanding me. Now this old man’s fingers were openly exploring the white bra on my back, and the wrongness of it sent another thin wave of heat down between my legs. I stood still and allowed it, teeth lightly clenched, while his hand kept moving slowly over the white bra under my white blouse.


His hand left the back of my white bra and began sliding lower down my spine over the white blouse. He moved slowly, deliberately, until his palm reached the upper curve of my ass. There he stopped for a second, then spread his fingers and grabbed the flesh of my ass through the white saree.
I felt him searching.
His fingers moved in small, circling motions, pressing through the white saree and the white petticoat underneath until he found the exact outline of my panties. Once he located the waistband and the soft shape of the panties covering my ass, he began rubbing more firmly. He traced the edge of the panties from the side of my hip toward the middle, then cupped one full ass cheek and squeezed, feeling how the panties sat tightly against my ass.
“These panties…” he muttered near my ear, his voice thicker now. “I can feel them clearly. What colour are they, Sudha?”
His fingers kept moving, sliding along the centre of my ass over the panties, then lower, almost toward the place where the panties disappeared between my ass cheeks.
“Uncle… don’t be naughty,” I said, but the words came out softer than before.
He ignored the protest and squeezed my ass again, this time slower and harder, openly enjoying the feel of the panties under the white saree. The repeated rubbing made the panties shift slightly against my pussy.
The anger at my husband flared hotter inside me. He had shouted, dismissed everything that mattered to me, and left. Now this old man’s hand was on my ass, openly feeling my panties, treating my body as if he had every right. Instead of pure disgust, a sharp, unwanted heat spread between my legs. My pussy began to feel warm and slightly wet inside the panties. Letting him do this suddenly felt like the only quiet way to punish my husband for not understanding me.
I did not push the old man’s hand away. I stood there in his hug, teeth clenched, breathing a little faster, while his fingers continued to explore the shape of my panties through the white saree and the heat between my legs kept growing.


The old man’s fingers were still on my ass, openly feeling the shape of my panties through the white saree, when we both heard footsteps coming from inside the house. He slowly removed his hand and loosened his arms around me just as his wife appeared in the doorway.
She smiled when she saw me and came forward. Her hug was normal and motherly — short, clean, without any of the hunger her husband had shown. I returned it politely and stepped back, trying to steady my breathing. Between my legs the panties still felt warm and slightly damp from the unwanted heat his hands had created.
I turned to her and spoke as normally as I could.
“Aunty, I have to go to the college to hoist the flag. The boys are still sleeping. Can you both look after them until I return? Please make them some breakfast also.”
The old man stood a little to the side, still watching me with the same hungry expression. He shook his head.
“The rain warning is very strong, Sudha. It will pour heavily today. Why go out in this weather? The college is closed anyway.”
“I will be back soon, Uncle,” I said, keeping my voice steady even though my pulse was still uneven. “I just need to hoist the flag and return. It will not take long.”
The old lady touched my arm gently.
“Don’t worry about the boys. We will take care of them. You go and come. I will make breakfast for them when they wake up.”
I opened the small purse I carried, took out some money, and placed it in her hand the same way I always did when they helped with the children. She closed her fingers around the notes without any protest or extra comment.
The old couple locked their own house and walked with me the short distance to my home so they could stay with the boys. I went to the compound, unlocked my red Honda Activa, and sat on it. The white saree with the tricolour border settled around my legs as I started the engine.
As I rode out toward the college, the morning air moved against my face and body. The white saree fluttered lightly at the edges. But the physical memory of what had just happened remained. Between my legs the panties still felt warm and damp. The strange, angry heat the old man’s hands had left on my body had not faded. I kept my eyes on the road, the national badge pinned on my white blouse, and rode toward the empty college.


I rode the red Honda Activa through the open college gate and parked it under the small shed near the entrance. The compound was completely empty and silent. No students, no teachers, only the quiet morning air and the grey sky that already looked heavy with rain.
I looked around for Narasimhan. He was not near the flagpole. He was not in the corridor or near the main building. The entire front area of the college was deserted.
I walked around the side of the building toward the back, where his small tiled house stood. The path was uneven. My white saree with the tricolour border moved around my legs as I walked. I reached his door and knocked once.

There was a small gap near the edge of the door. Through it I could see inside. Narasimhan was standing near a low wooden table, wearing his usual khaki pants and khaki shirt. He was carefully ironing the national flag, moving the iron slowly over the cloth so that every fold became smooth and neat. The saffron, white and green colours looked bright under the dim light of his room.
I knocked again, a little harder.
He switched off the iron, picked up the flag carefully with both hands, and came to the door. When he opened it, he stood there holding the neatly folded national flag against his chest.

“Good morning, Madam,” he said.
“Good morning, Narasimhan. Is the flag ready?”
“Yes, Madam. I finished ironing it just now.”
We walked together from his small house toward the flagpole in the front compound. The ground was still dry, but the sky looked darker than before. At the base of the flagpole, Narasimhan opened the flag properly and began tying the small string of flowers to the top corner, the way it was always done on Independence Day. His dark, rough fingers worked carefully, making sure the flowers sat neatly against the saffron band.

Once the flowers were secured, he attached the flag to the rope and held it ready.
“Everything is ready, Madam,” he said, standing straight beside the pole. “We can hoist it whenever you want.”
I stood there in my white saree with the tricolour border, the national badge pinned on my white blouse, looking at the flag in his hands. The empty college compound was completely quiet around us.


I looked at the flag in Narasimhan’s hands and then at the empty college compound.
“Go to the office,” I told him. “Play the National Anthem on the speaker. I will hoist the flag when it starts.”
Narasimhan nodded.
“Yes, Madam.”
He gave me the rope, made sure the flag was properly attached, and walked quickly toward the main building. I watched him disappear into the corridor that led to the principal’s office. A few moments later I heard the faint click of the speaker system being switched on.
I stood alone at the base of the flagpole, holding the rope firmly in both hands. My white saree with the tricolour border hung neatly around me. The national badge was pinned on my white blouse near my heart. The sky above was grey and heavy, but I did not look at it.
Then the first notes of the National Anthem began to play from the office speakers, clear and steady in the empty compound.
I tightened my grip on the rope and began pulling.

The national flag started rising slowly up the pole. I kept my eyes on it as it climbed higher — the saffron band, the white band with the Ashoka Chakra, the green band, and the small string of flowers tied at the top. With every pull of the rope I felt a strong, quiet pride in my chest. This was the same flag my father had hoisted for twenty years. Rain or no rain, closed college or open, it would fly today.

I continued hoisting it steadily, hand over hand, until the flag reached the top of the pole and caught the morning air. It opened fully and began to wave against the grey sky while the National Anthem continued to play across the silent college ground.

[novelistcasanova]

The National Anthem continued to play clearly from the office speakers, the notes spreading across the completely empty college compound. I stood at the base of the flagpole with my right arm raised in a firm salute. My palm was flat, fingers held straight and tightly together, thumb pressed close. My eyes stayed fixed on the national flag flying at the top of the pole.

The flag moved slowly in the morning air. The saffron band at the top, the white band with the navy-blue Ashoka Chakra in the centre, and the green band at the bottom were all fully open. The small string of fresh flowers tied to the upper corner swayed gently with every movement of the cloth. I kept my back straight, shoulders level, chin slightly raised, and my gaze locked on the Chakra. I did not blink often.

My white saree with the thin tricolour border hung neatly around my body. The pleats at my waist were still in place. The loose end of the pallu rested properly over my left shoulder. The white blouse fitted close around my full breasts, and the national badge remained pinned firmly on the left side near my heart. Underneath, the white petticoat, white bra and panties sat exactly as I had worn them at home.
A single cold drop of water fell on my right cheek.
I felt it clearly, but I did not move.
A second drop landed on the back of my raised hand, just below the knuckles. Then another touched my hair. Within a few seconds, light scattered drops began falling across my shoulders and the upper part of my white saree. I registered the coolness of each one, yet my arm remained high in salute and my eyes did not leave the flag.
The National Anthem was still playing. I had been taught since childhood that once the anthem began, the body stayed still until the final note. My father had stood the same way for twenty years. I would not lower my hand or step away for a few drops of rain.
I continued to stand straight, palm raised, eyes on the flag, as the light rain slowly increased around me in the silent compound.


The light drops quickly turned into a steady rain. Within less than a minute the water began falling harder, thicker, and colder. I felt it strike my hair, my forehead, my cheeks, and the back of my raised hand. The sound of the rain hitting the ground and the leaves around the compound grew louder, but the National Anthem continued to play clearly over it.
The white saree with the tricolour border started absorbing the water at once. First the upper part near my shoulders grew damp, then the section across my chest, then the pleats at my waist. I felt the cold wetness seep through the white blouse and touch the white bra underneath. The saree became heavier with every passing second.
Still I did not lower my arm.

My right hand remained high in salute, palm flat, fingers straight. My eyes stayed locked on the national flag at the top of the pole. The flag itself was already getting wet; the saffron, white and green cloth hung heavier and moved less freely in the rain. The small string of flowers at the top corner drooped under the water.
Rain ran down my face in thin lines. Some of it entered the corner of my eye, but I did not wipe it. The anthem was not finished. My father had never broken a salute for weather, and I would not be the first in our family to do so.
I stood straight and still as the rain continued to soak deeper into my white saree, the cold water spreading across my shoulders, my back, and the front of my body while the National Anthem played on.


The rain did not ease. It fell in a continuous, heavy sheet now. My white saree with the tricolour border was no longer just wet in places — it was fully soaked and growing heavier with every second. The wet white saree clung to my shoulders and upper arms first, then slowly began sticking to the rest of my body.
I felt the white blouse tighten against my full breasts as the rain saturated it. The wet white blouse pressed the white bra firmly against my body. Within moments the shape of the white bra became clearly visible through the clinging white blouse — the outline of the bra cups, the way the white bra held and lifted my heavy breasts, even the faint line of the bra straps on my shoulders. The cold wetness of the white blouse and the white bra together made my nipples tighten.
Still I did not lower my saluting hand.
My right arm remained raised, palm flat, fingers together. Rain ran down my wrist and along my forearm. My eyes stayed fixed on the national flag, which was now also heavy with water and hanging lower than before. The National Anthem continued to play from the office speakers, the notes steady and clear above the sound of the rain.
I was fully aware of how the wet white blouse had begun to reveal the white bra underneath. I could feel every inch of the soaked white blouse sticking to the curve of my breasts. But the anthem was not yet over. I kept my back straight, my shoulders steady, and my gaze on the flag, refusing to break the salute even as the rain continued to plaster the white saree and white blouse tighter against my body.


The rain continued to pour without any break. Water ran in thin streams down my face, along my neck, and under the collar of the white blouse. My white saree with the tricolour border was now completely soaked from top to bottom and had become heavy against my body.
The lower part of the white saree and the white petticoat underneath began sticking tightly to my hips and thighs. Every fresh sheet of rain made the wet layers cling more closely. I felt the white petticoat plaster itself against the full curve of my ass, following every rounded shape. In front, the wet white petticoat pressed between my thighs and against my pussy, the soaked white petticoat settling into the soft cleft and holding there. Through the transparent wetness of the white saree and white petticoat, the outline of my panties became clear — the waistband cutting across my hips, the triangular shape covering my pussy, and the way the panties hugged the cheeks of my ass from behind.
I was fully aware of how much was now visible.
In my mind the thoughts came one after another while I kept my eyes on the flag.
The panties are completely outlined. The wet petticoat is stuck to my pussy. Anyone looking can see the exact shape of what I am wearing underneath. Narasimhan will see everything if he looks at me now. My ass, the line of the panties, the place between my legs — all of it is showing. But the National Anthem is still playing. I cannot lower my hand. I cannot pull the saree away. I cannot move.
My right arm remained raised in salute, palm flat, fingers straight. Rain dripped from my wrist onto my shoulder. The wet white saree and white petticoat stayed glued to my hips, my ass and my thighs, clearly showing the full outline of my panties underneath. The cold, clinging wetness of the white petticoat against my pussy made me even more conscious of how exposed the lower half of my body had become, while the anthem continued and I forced myself to stand completely still.


A sudden strong gust of wind swept across the open college compound. It caught the wet pallu of my white saree and lifted it completely away from my body. The soaked end of the pallu flew upward and backward, leaving the front of my waist and stomach fully uncovered.
My bare navel was now completely exposed to the rain and to anyone looking. The wet white petticoat sat low around my waist, the knot of the drawstring clearly visible. Rain struck my open stomach directly and ran down in thin streams over my navel, continuing lower toward the waistband of the white petticoat. The cold water made my stomach tighten.
I felt the exact moment the pallu left my body and did not return. The wind kept it displaced, fluttering wetly behind me. My white blouse was still stuck to my full breasts, the white bra clearly outlined underneath. Below, the wet white saree and white petticoat remained plastered to my hips and thighs, showing the shape of my panties. And now my bare navel and the wet skin of my stomach were fully open as well.
Still I did not lower my saluting hand.
My right arm stayed raised, palm flat, fingers together. Rain ran down my face and neck and over the newly exposed skin of my stomach. My eyes remained fixed on the national flag at the top of the pole. The National Anthem was still playing. I kept my back straight and my gaze steady, standing completely still while the wet pallu stayed blown aside and my bare navel remained open to the rain and to Narasimhan’s eyes.


Narasimhan had returned from the office after switching on the National Anthem. He now stood a short distance away from the flagpole, slightly to my right side, under the partial shelter of a small tree. From where he stood he had a clear, uninterrupted view of my entire body.

I remained frozen in salute, right arm raised, eyes fixed on the flag. The rain continued to pour over me without mercy.
He could see everything.
The wet white blouse was fully stuck to my full breasts. The exact shape of the white bra — the bra cups, the way they lifted and held my heavy breasts, the straps on my shoulders — was clearly outlined through the clinging white blouse. My nipples, tightened by the cold rain, made small pointed shapes against the wet layers.
Lower down, the soaked white saree and white petticoat were plastered so tightly to my hips, my ass and my thighs that they had become almost transparent. The maroon colour of my panties was now clearly visible through the wet layers. The full triangular shape of the maroon panties covering my pussy, the waistband, and the way the maroon panties hugged both cheeks of my ass stood out sharply against the wet white petticoat. Between my legs the soaked white petticoat had settled into the soft cleft, making the maroon panties and the shape of my pussy even more obvious.
And because the wet pallu had been blown aside by the wind and had not come back, my bare navel and the wet skin of my stomach were completely exposed. Rain continued to run down over my open navel and disappear under the waistband of the white petticoat.
He is looking at me. He can see everything. The white bra, my breasts, the maroon panties, the shape of my pussy, my bare navel… all of it is open to his eyes. I cannot cover myself. I cannot even lower my hand until the anthem ends.
I felt a sharp wave of embarrassment rise in my chest, but I could not move.
From the corner of my eye I noticed the clear bulge that had formed inside his khaki pants. His cock was hard. He was standing there with a visible boner, openly staring at my soaked body. His eyes kept moving slowly from my wet breasts down to the maroon panties and then to my exposed navel. He was not even trying to hide how much he was enjoying the sight. The more he looked, the more the bulge in his khaki pants seemed to push outward.
He is getting hard just from watching me. He is enjoying this. Look at how he is staring… he is fully turned on. My body is completely on display for him in this rain and he is loving every second of it.
The embarrassment burned hotter, mixed with the strange, angry heat that had been sitting low in my stomach since morning. I kept my arm raised in salute, face wet with rain, and forced my eyes to stay on the flag while Narasimhan continued to watch me with open, hungry pleasure.


The final lines of the National Anthem played across the rain-soaked compound. I kept my right arm raised in salute, palm flat, eyes fixed on the wet national flag at the top of the pole. Water ran continuously down my face, over my neck, across my bare navel and along the wet white saree that clung to every part of my body.
I could still feel Narasimhan’s eyes on me.
From the corner of my vision I knew he had not looked away. The clear bulge in his khaki pants remained. He was still openly enjoying the sight of my wet white blouse showing the full shape of my white bra, the maroon panties visible through the soaked white petticoat, and my bare navel exposed to the rain. He was taking his time, staring, getting more aroused with every second I was forced to stand still.
Let him watch.
The thought came clearly, sharp with the anger that had been sitting in my chest since morning. My husband had shouted at me. He had dismissed the flag. He had left without understanding anything that mattered to me. He had not valued me.
Now this man is staring at my wet body and getting hard from it. Let him. Let him enjoy the full shape of my breasts under the wet blouse. Let him stare at my maroon panties and my bare navel. Let him stand there with a boner while I finish the salute. This is what my husband gets for not understanding me.
A strange, cold satisfaction mixed with the embarrassment and the unwanted heat between my legs. I did not adjust the wet pallu. I did not try to cover my navel or pull the white saree away from my hips. I remained exactly as I was — fully soaked, fully visible, arm raised in salute — and allowed Narasimhan to keep watching and enjoying every exposed part of my body until the last note of the National Anthem finally ended.


The last note of the National Anthem faded into the sound of the heavy rain. I finally lowered my saluting hand. My whole body was shivering. The white saree with the tricolour border was completely soaked and heavy. The white blouse stuck tightly to my breasts, the white bra clearly visible underneath. The maroon panties showed through the wet white petticoat. My bare navel was still exposed where the pallu had been blown aside. I had not eaten any breakfast, and the cold had started to sink deep into my bones.

Narasimhan stepped closer, rain running down his khaki shirt.
“Madam, you are completely wet and cold. Come to my room. I will make some hot tea. You should not stand out here like this.”
I shook my head at once.
“No. I will go home. The boys are waiting.”
“Madam, please,” he said. “It is only tea. My house is small and poor, but you should not refuse even a poor man’s hospitality when you are shivering like this. Just one cup of tea to warm yourself, then you can go.”
I looked at him for a moment. My teeth were beginning to chatter. The rain showed no sign of stopping. After a short silence I gave a small nod.
“Alright. Just one tea. Then I am leaving.”
We began running through the rain toward the back of the college. I pulled the wet pallu up over my head with one hand to cover my hair, but it did little against the heavy downpour. The soaked white saree clung to my legs and made it hard to run properly. Halfway along the muddy path my foot slipped badly. I fell forward and, in pure reflex, grabbed Narasimhan’s khaki shirt to stop myself.

I pulled him off balance with me.
We both went down hard into the thick mud. My body landed half on top of him, my full breasts pressing against his chest through the wet white blouse. For a moment we were locked in a messy hug, arms and legs tangled, the wet mud cold against my side. Before I could push myself up, Narasimhan rolled us over. As we turned, his arm stayed firmly around my waist and his chest rubbed against my breasts. Then, with a clear cheeky smile on his dark face, he deliberately rolled us two more times in the mud.
Each extra roll was slower and more controlled than it needed to be. He kept his body pressed against mine, letting my heavy breasts crush against his chest, letting his thigh push between my legs for a second, letting his hand slide lower on my back over the wet white saree. I felt the hard shape of his cock through his khaki pants brush against my hip and lower stomach during the second roll. He was clearly enjoying every second of having my wet, muddy body against him. Mud smeared across my white saree, my white blouse, and the side of my breast where the blouse had shifted. The maroon panties under the wet white petticoat pressed against his leg as we turned.
“Narasimhan!” I gasped, finally pushing against his chest with both hands.

He stopped rolling and helped me sit up, still wearing that small, satisfied smile. His eyes dropped briefly to my mud-streaked white blouse where the shape of my white bra and the push of my nipples showed clearly. We were both covered in mud. My white saree with the tricolour border was now stained brown across the front, sides, and pallu. Mud streaked my white blouse and even the edge of my white bra where the blouse had moved.
We got to our feet. Narasimhan looked at my shivering, mud-covered body and spoke in a practical voice.
“Madam, you are full of mud and completely wet. I have hot water ready inside. Come. First clean yourself, then drink the tea.”

Before I could argue further, he took my upper arm gently but firmly and guided me the short remaining distance to his small tiled house behind the college. He pushed the door open and stepped aside so I could enter first. The moment I stepped inside, the sound of the rain became slightly muffled. I stood there in the middle of his small room, water and mud dripping from my ruined white saree onto the floor, cold, shivering, and still wearing every soaked, muddy layer of clothing I had put on that morning.

[novelistcasanova]

Narasimhan guided me inside and closed the door behind us. The heavy sound of the rain immediately became softer. His small room was simple and clean. In one corner there was a tiny kitchen area with a single stove and a few steel vessels. Attached to the side was a narrow bathroom. The bathroom door was so low that even I would have to bend my head slightly to enter.


He looked at me standing there, muddy and shivering in the soaked white saree, and gave a small smile.
“Welcome to my little palace, Madam.”
I did not reply. Water and mud continued to drip from my white saree onto the floor.
Narasimhan quickly went to the kitchen corner, poured hot water from a large vessel into a steel bucket, and carried it into the bathroom. He placed it carefully on the floor inside, then came back out.
“Madam, please take a bath. You are full of mud and completely wet. You will catch cold if you stay like this.”
I shook my head.
“It is okay, Narasimhan. I will manage. Just give me the tea and I will leave.”
“No, Madam,” he insisted, his voice firm but respectful. “You are shivering. The mud is all over your saree and blouse. Please take a bath first. The hot water is ready. I will prepare tea for you while you clean yourself.”
I stood there for a moment, still cold, the wet white saree heavy on my body and mud streaked across the front. The thought of hot water was suddenly very tempting. I was muddy from the fall, my white saree and white blouse were ruined, and the rain had left me chilled to the bone.
Finally I gave a small nod.
“Alright.”
I walked to the low bathroom door, bent my head slightly, and stepped inside. The small bathroom was narrow. The steel bucket of hot water stood on the floor, faint steam rising from it. Behind me I heard Narasimhan’s voice from the room.
“Take your time, Madam. I will make the tea.”
I closed the low bathroom door behind me and stood alone in the tiny space, the hot water waiting, my soaked and muddy white saree still clinging to my body.


I closed the low bathroom door behind me. The small space was quiet except for the muffled sound of rain outside. In the corner the steel bucket of hot water sat with faint steam rising from it. After the cold rain and the muddy fall, the heat coming from the bucket felt almost impossible to resist.
I stood there for a few seconds, still shivering, then slowly began to undress.
First I untied the wet, muddy white saree with the tricolour border. The heavy, soaked white saree clung tightly to my body as I peeled it away from my waist and hips. It dragged slowly over my stomach and the full curve of my ass before I finally pulled it free. I had nowhere else to put it, so I carefully hung the muddy white saree over the top of the low bathroom door.

Next I removed the wet white blouse. It was stuck to my full breasts and to the white bra underneath. I peeled it slowly off my shoulders and down my arms. As the wet white blouse came away, my heavy breasts settled more freely inside the damp white bra. I hung the white blouse beside the saree on the door.
Then I untied the white petticoat. It was stained with mud and plastered tightly to my thighs and ass. I pushed it down over my hips. The wet white petticoat slid over the maroon panties and down my legs until I stepped out of it. I placed it over the door as well.

Now I stood only in my white bra and maroon panties. Both were damp from the rain. The white bra still held my full breasts, the wet bra cups clinging to the soft weight of them. The maroon panties sat snugly against my pussy and the curve of my ass, the front panel slightly stuck to me from the earlier rain and the strange heat of the morning.
Without thinking much further, I reached behind my back and unhooked the white bra. The straps slid down my arms as I pulled it forward and off. My full, heavy breasts came free, nipples still tight from the cold. They swayed slightly as I moved. I hung the white bra over the door.
Finally I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of the maroon panties and pushed them down. The maroon panties peeled away from my pussy and slid over my hips and ass. I bent forward a little as I pushed the maroon panties down my thighs and calves, then stepped out of them completely. I placed the maroon panties on the door with the rest of my clothes.
I was completely naked.
I dipped the small plastic mug into the steel bucket and poured the first mug of hot water over my shoulders.
Oh… this feels so good.
The heat spread across my cold body in a sudden, deep wave. A soft sound left my throat. Another mug of hot water ran down my back, over the full curve of my ass, and down the backs of my thighs.
The cold is going away… my whole body is opening up to the heat.
I poured more hot water over my full breasts, watching it stream between them, over my nipples, and down my stomach. The heat soaked into the soft weight of my breasts and made them feel heavy and warm. I ran my hands slowly over my breasts, washing away the last traces of mud and cold.
My breasts feel so soft and warm now… the water is perfect.
Then I poured hot water lower, letting it run over my bare navel, down across my lower stomach, and directly between my legs. The heat touched my pussy and made me draw a short breath.
Even there… it feels so nice. The heat is spreading everywhere.
I stood with my legs slightly apart and poured another mug slowly over my pussy and the inner sides of my thighs, feeling the hot water clean every part of me.
I was so cold and muddy… now my whole body feels clean and alive. This hot water is exactly what I needed.
I washed the mud from my arms, my hands, and my legs, letting the hot water run over every inch of my naked body. My arms, my breasts, my stomach, my ass, my thighs, and the sensitive place between my legs all glowed with the heat of the water. For the first time since the morning, my entire naked body felt clean, warm, and deeply relaxed in the small bathroom of Narasimhan’s house.


I was still standing under the last pours of hot water, eyes half-closed, enjoying the warmth on my naked body, when Narasimhan’s voice came from the other side of the low bathroom door.
“Madam, let me take your clothes. I will wash them and iron them properly. They are full of mud.”
My eyes opened at once.
I saw his dark hand reach up to the top of the bathroom door and take my maroon panties first. He pulled them away. A sudden tightness gripped my chest.
“Narasimhan— wait—”
But his hand had already returned. He took my white bra from the top of the door. Then the wet white blouse. Then the muddy white petticoat. Finally he took the heavy, mud-stained white saree with the tricolour border.
In just a few seconds, every single piece of clothing I had been wearing was gone from the top of the door.
I stood frozen, completely naked.
“Narasimhan, it’s okay,” I said quickly, my voice rising with real panic now. “I will wash them myself later. Please leave them. Give them back.”
“Don’t worry, Madam,” he replied from the other side, already moving away with all my clothes in his arms. “You just finish your bath. I will clean everything and keep them ready.”
I heard his footsteps move further into the room. The sound of him walking away with my clothes made my stomach drop.
There was nothing I could do.
The bathroom door had no lock. All my clothes were gone. I had no blouse, no petticoat, no saree, no bra, no panties. Nothing to cover myself with.
I stood there naked in the small bathroom, water still dripping from my body onto the floor. The only things left on me were my jewellery — the mangalsutra around my neck, a thin gold chain, the rings on my fingers, the bangles on my wrists, the waist chain around my middle, and the silver anklets and toe rings on my feet. Nothing else covered my full breasts, my stomach, my pussy, or my ass.

I was completely helpless.
Naked in Narasimhan’s bathroom, while he held every piece of clothing I owned in this house, and I had no way to step out without being fully exposed in front of him. The reality of my situation settled over me like a heavy weight. I had walked into this bathroom as the college principal. Now I stood here with nothing.


I stood naked in the small bathroom, arms crossed tightly over my full breasts, listening. From the kitchen corner of his room I could clearly hear the sound of water and the movement of cloth. Narasimhan was washing my clothes.
“Narasimhan,” I called out, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s okay. Please give my clothes back. I will manage.”
His reply came calmly from the other side.
“Don’t worry, Madam. The mud is coming off quickly. Your saree and blouse will be clean soon. I will iron them properly also.”
I bit my lip hard. I was completely naked. Only my mangalsutra, gold chain, bangles, rings, waist chain, silver anklets and toe rings remained on my body. Nothing covered my breasts, my stomach, my pussy or my ass.
A few moments later I heard him approach the bathroom door again.
“Madam, another bucket of hot water is ready. I am keeping it here near the door.”
I heard the soft sound of the steel bucket being placed just outside. Then his footsteps moved away again, back toward the kitchen area where he continued washing my clothes.
I waited two seconds, then quickly opened the low bathroom door just enough to reach out. My naked body stayed mostly inside. I grabbed the handle of the fresh steel bucket of hot water, pulled it inside, and immediately shut the door again. My heart was beating fast.
I was still safe behind the door — but still completely naked, with all my clothes in his hands.
I dipped the mug into the new bucket and poured hot water over my shoulders once more. The heat spread across my bare breasts and down my stomach.
It still feels so good… but I have no clothes left.
I poured another mug over my back and the curve of my ass, then slowly over my pussy and thighs. The warmth loosened my body again, but the helplessness stayed tight in my chest. Outside I could still hear him washing my white saree, my blouse, my petticoat, my bra and my maroon panties, while I stood naked in his bathroom with nothing to wear.


I finished bathing and stood in the small bathroom, water still dripping from my naked body. Thin streams ran down between my full breasts, over my stomach, and along the insides of my thighs. My wet hair clung heavily to my neck and the tops of my shoulders. The only things left on me were my mangalsutra resting between my breasts, the thin gold chain, the bangles on my wrists, the rings on my fingers, the waist chain around my middle, and the silver anklets and toe rings on my feet. Nothing else covered my body.
I waited for Narasimhan to return my clothes.
After a few minutes there was a soft knock on the low bathroom door.
“Madam, I have something for you.”
I opened the door just enough to look out while keeping my naked body hidden behind it. Narasimhan stood there holding only one of his old white shirts — a faded, oversized white shirt that clearly belonged to him. The white shirt looked soft and worn from years of use. There was no sign of my white saree with the tricolour border, no white blouse, no white petticoat, no white bra, and no maroon panties.

My stomach tightened at once.
“Where are my clothes?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
“They are still very wet, Madam,” he said calmly, holding the white shirt out toward me. “I washed them carefully, but in this heavy rain they will take time to dry. Please wear this for now.”
I stared at the single oversized white shirt in his dark hands. The reality settled over me slowly and completely. All my clothes were gone. He had taken every piece. There was nothing else for me to put on. The bathroom door had no lock. The rain outside was still pouring heavily on the roof. I could not step out of the bathroom naked in front of him.
I had no choice.

Slowly, I reached out my hand. My fingers closed around the faded white shirt he was offering. The white shirt felt light and thin between my fingers. I pulled it inside the bathroom and immediately shut the low door again.
I stood there completely naked in the small space, water still dripping from my naked breasts and thighs, holding only his old oversized white shirt in both hands.


I stood naked in the small bathroom, holding Narasimhan’s old oversized white shirt in both hands. Water still dripped slowly from the ends of my wet hair onto my shoulders and down between my full breasts. My nipples were still slightly tight from the earlier cold. The waist chain rested against my stomach. Below it, my pussy and the full curve of my ass remained completely uncovered.
I had no choice.

I opened the white shirt and slipped my right arm into one sleeve, then my left arm into the other. The sleeves were long and loose, coming down past my wrists. I pulled the white shirt up over my shoulders. The faded material settled against my naked body. It was far too big for me. The shoulder seams drooped halfway down my upper arms. The chest of the white shirt hung loosely over my full breasts, offering almost no support or coverage.

I tried to bring the two front panels together.
The white shirt refused to close properly. A wide gap remained down the centre of my chest. The inner curves of both my breasts stayed clearly visible. When I moved even slightly, the gap opened further, revealing more of the soft weight of my breasts and the dark of my nipples. I pulled the bottom of the white shirt down as far as it would go. The hem only reached the upper part of my thighs. Most of my thighs remained completely naked. If I bent even a little, the white shirt would ride up and expose my pussy and the lower curve of my ass.

I stood there in only his oversized white shirt.
My wet hair stuck to my neck and the tops of my shoulders in dark strands. Every time I breathed, the loose white shirt shifted across my naked breasts. The gap at the front stayed open. The cool air of the bathroom touched my exposed thighs and the uncovered place between my legs. I was more covered than when I had been fully naked, yet I felt even more exposed — because now I would have to walk out in front of him wearing only this.
I held the front of the white shirt closed with one hand, took a slow breath, and prepared to open the bathroom door.

[novelistcasanova]

I opened the low bathroom door and stepped out into the main room.

Narasimhan was standing near the small kitchen corner. The moment he saw me, his eyes moved slowly over my body. He took in the way his oversized white shirt hung loosely on me — the wide gap down the front that showed the soft inner curves of my full breasts, the way the hem only reached the upper part of my thighs, leaving most of my legs uncovered. My wet hair still clung to my neck and shoulders. Under the thin white shirt I wore nothing.

I kept one hand tightly holding the front of the white shirt closed.
He poured tea into a steel glass and brought it toward me.
“Sit, Madam. Drink it while it is hot.”
I sat carefully on the only wooden chair, pressing my knees together and keeping the white shirt pulled as far down my thighs as possible. The moment I sat, the shirt rode up slightly. Cool air touched the higher part of my thighs.
Narasimhan placed the steel glass in my hand, then pulled a low stool close — much closer than needed — and sat down near my legs. His knees were almost touching mine. From that position he had a clear view of my uncovered thighs and the gaping front of the white shirt.

I lifted the glass to drink. As I raised my arm, the oversized white shirt slipped off my left shoulder and fell open further across my chest. The soft weight of my left breast became more visible. The edge of the white shirt now rested against the side of my breast, leaving most of it exposed.
Narasimhan immediately reached out.
“Let me adjust it, Madam.”
His dark hand took the edge of the white shirt near my shoulder. Instead of simply pulling it up quickly, his fingers moved slowly. The back of his hand brushed against the side of my breast. He let his knuckles rest there for a moment longer than necessary, feeling the soft warmth of my breast against his hand, before he finally drew the white shirt back over my shoulder.
Then his hand moved lower.
Pretending to fix the hem of the white shirt on my thigh, he placed his palm on my thigh just below the edge of the shirt. His fingers spread slightly. He slid his hand upward a few inches under the pretence of adjusting the shirt, the rough tips of his fingers touching the soft inner part of my thigh. The heat of his palm stayed against my thigh for several long seconds before he slowly withdrew his hand.

I sat frozen, the steel glass of tea still in my hand, the oversized white shirt barely covering me, while Narasimhan remained seated very close, his eyes still resting on the places he had just touched.


I sat frozen on the wooden chair, the steel glass of tea still in my hand. The place on the side of my breast where his knuckles had rested still felt warm. The higher part of my thigh where his palm had stayed tingled. Narasimhan remained seated very close on the low stool, his eyes moving openly over the gap in the white shirt and the length of my uncovered thighs.
I finally found my voice.
“Narasimhan… stop.”
The words came out tighter than I intended.
He looked at me with the same calm expression, as if he had only been helping.
“I was only adjusting the shirt, Madam.”
I pulled the oversized white shirt closed more firmly across my chest with one hand and pressed my knees tighter together. The thin white shirt still gaped easily. Every small movement made it shift and open again. Under it I wore nothing. My full breasts, my stomach, my pussy and the curve of my ass were only a single layer of loose, oversized white shirt away from his eyes and hands.

Outside, the rain continued to pour heavily on the roof of his small house. The sound was constant and loud. All my clothes — the white saree with the tricolour border, the white blouse, the white petticoat, the white bra and the maroon panties — were somewhere in this room, wet, washed, and completely under his control. I had nothing else to wear. The college compound outside was empty. No one would come. No one would hear.
We were completely alone.

I sat there in his old white shirt that barely reached mid-thigh, my wet hair still sticking to my neck and shoulders, the taste of the tea forgotten in my mouth. The reality of my situation settled over me fully and heavily. I was the principal of the college, sitting half-exposed in the attender’s small house behind the empty building, wearing only his shirt, while he sat close enough to touch me again whenever he wanted.
Narasimhan did not move away from the stool. He simply watched me, waiting, while the heavy rain kept falling outside and I remained trapped in the thin white shirt with nothing underneath.


Narasimhan remained seated on the low stool, very close to my legs. The rain outside continued to hammer on the roof. I sat on the wooden chair holding the front of his oversized white shirt closed with one hand, my knees pressed together.
For a long moment neither of us spoke.
Then he leaned forward.

Without asking, he took hold of both edges of the white shirt near my chest. In one steady movement he pulled the white shirt fully open. The thin white shirt slid off my shoulders and down my arms, leaving my full breasts completely uncovered in front of him. The cool air of the room touched my nipples. The white shirt now hung uselessly from my elbows, offering no cover at all.
I froze.
“Narasimhan… what are you doing?”
His hands were already on me.
Both of his dark, rough palms came up and closed over my breasts. He squeezed them firmly, feeling their full weight, his thumbs moving across my nipples.
“Madam… I have wanted this for a long time,” he said in a low voice, still squeezing my breasts.
“Stop… leave my breasts—”
He did not stop. He kneaded them slowly, openly, as if he had every right. Before I could push him away, one of his hands left my breast and moved straight down between my legs. His fingers pressed against my pussy. He rubbed the soft lips firmly, then pushed one thick finger between them, feeling how warm and slightly wet I already was.
I gasped and grabbed his wrist.
“Narasimhan! Take your hand away… this is wrong.”
“It does not feel wrong, Madam,” he replied, his finger still moving inside the soft folds of my pussy while his other hand continued to squeeze my breast. “Your body is already responding.”
I tried to pull his wrist away, but his hand stayed firmly between my legs. The respectful distance that had always existed between principal and attender disappeared in that single moment. He was no longer just the college attender. His hands were on my breasts and inside my pussy, and there was no going back from this.
Outside, the rain kept falling heavily. Inside the small house, I sat on the chair with his white shirt pulled wide open, his hands claiming my body, the last barrier between us completely broken.


Narasimhan did not wait any longer.
He stood up from the low stool, took hold of both my arms just above the elbows, and pulled me up from the wooden chair. The oversized white shirt, still open at the front, slipped further off my shoulders as he guided me the few short steps to the narrow wooden cot in the corner of his small room. The thin mattress was covered with an old, faded sheet. He pushed me down onto it. My back met the mattress, and the cot creaked softly under my weight.

I tried to sit up immediately.
“Narasimhan… don’t. Please don’t do this.”
He climbed onto the cot and moved over me, placing one knee between my thighs to keep me from closing them. His dark hands took the open edges of the white shirt and pushed the shirt firmly upward. The thin white shirt slid up over my stomach and was bunched tightly above my full breasts, leaving them completely uncovered. My heavy breasts settled naturally on my chest, nipples still slightly tight. The white shirt now rested in a useless pile of cloth just under my collarbones, offering no cover at all.
“I gave you this job when no one else would. I gave you this room to live in. Is this how you repay me?”
He did not answer. Instead he lowered his head. His mouth closed over my right nipple. He sucked it firmly into his mouth, drawing the soft flesh in, while his rough hand came up and closed over my left breast. He squeezed the full weight of my left breast hard, his thumb and fingers digging into the soft flesh as he continued to suck. The wet heat of his mouth and the roughness of his palm sent a sharp, unwanted jolt through my body.
“I trusted you… I treated you like family in this college… and you do this to me?”
He switched to my left breast, taking the nipple deep into his mouth and sucking harder, while his hand moved to squeeze and knead my right breast. Spit from his mouth left my nipples wet and shining. My breasts moved and shifted under the pressure of his hands and mouth. I tried to push at his shoulders, but his body remained heavy over mine.

After long moments of sucking and squeezing both breasts, he moved lower. His strong hands gripped the soft inner sides of my thighs and pushed them wide apart on the cot. The cool air of the room touched my pussy at once. I tried to bring my knees together, but his grip was firm and unyielding. He held my thighs open, exposing everything between my legs completely to his eyes.
“Leave me… you are crossing a line you can never come back from.”
He stayed there, kneeling between my widely spread thighs, looking down at my uncovered breasts still marked by his mouth and hands, and at my open pussy, while the heavy rain continued to hammer on the roof of the small house. The white shirt remained bunched above my chest. I lay on the narrow cot, thighs held apart, completely exposed to him, the last of the respectful distance between us already gone.


Narasimhan stayed kneeling between my widely spread thighs. With one hand he unbuttoned his khaki pants and pushed them down just far enough. His thick, dark cock sprang free, already fully hard and heavy. The head was swollen and slightly wet at the tip.
“After everything I did for you… this is what I get?”
He moved closer between my open legs. The thick head of his cock pressed directly against the soft lips of my pussy. He rubbed it slowly up and down along my pussy lips, spreading the wetness that was already there.
“Madam… I have waited a long time for this,” he said in a low, rough voice.
Then he positioned the head at my entrance and began to push forward.
“Ah—! No… take it out… please… I am your principal…”
The thick head stretched my pussy open as it forced its way inside. I felt the slow, steady burn of being filled. Inch by inch his cock sank deeper into me. My walls gripped tightly around the thick cock. He kept pushing without stopping until his lower stomach pressed firmly against mine and the full length of his cock was buried completely inside my pussy.
“It’s inside me… Narasimhan… pull out… you are destroying everything between us…”
He held still for a moment, deep inside me, breathing heavily. I could feel his cock throbbing against the walls of my pussy.
“I can’t pull out now, Madam,” he said. “Your pussy is holding me so tightly.”
Then he began to move.
He pulled his cock back slowly until only the thick head remained inside me, then thrust forward again, filling me completely in one long stroke. The narrow cot creaked under the force. Outside, the rain hammered hard on the roof.
“I helped you… I protected you… and you use me like this…”
“You feel too good, Madam,” he groaned, beginning a steady rhythm. “I can’t stop.”

Each time he drove his thick cock deep into my pussy, my full breasts swayed and bounced on my chest. The white shirt remained bunched uselessly above them. The wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of my pussy grew clearer with every thrust, mixing with the heavy rain outside.
“Madam… your pussy is so tight… so warm…” he said between thrusts, fucking me harder.
I gripped the edge of the cot with both hands. My thighs remained spread wide under his grip.
“Stop… please… you will not be able to look me in the face after this…”
“I don’t care about that now,” he answered, driving deeper. “No one is coming. Only rain. Only us. Just take my cock.”
He kept thrusting into me with strong, steady strokes, holding my thighs open, using my pussy openly on the narrow cot while the rain continued to pour without pause and my protests grew more broken with every thrust.


Narasimhan kept driving his thick cock in and out of my pussy with strong, steady strokes. The narrow cot creaked under us in rhythm with his thrusts. Outside, the rain continued to hammer on the roof without pause.

At first I only felt the stretch and the shock of being taken. But slowly, against my will, my body began to change.
Each time his cock pushed deep inside me, it rubbed firmly against a sensitive place along the front wall of my pussy. A warm, unwanted pleasure started to build there. My walls began to grip his cock tighter on their own. Wetness increased, making the sound of his thrusts clearer and more slippery. My full breasts swayed heavily with every impact of his body against mine.
I bit my lower lip and turned my face slightly to the side.
“This is wrong… stop it…” I said, but my voice had grown weaker.
Narasimhan noticed the change even if I tried to hide it. My pussy had become wetter and hotter around his cock. He groaned with open enjoyment and began fucking me harder, holding my thighs wide apart, watching my breasts bounce.
“Madam… you are getting wetter…” he said between thrusts, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Your pussy is sucking my cock now.”
“No… I’m not… don’t say that…” I protested, even as another wave of pleasure spread through my lower stomach. “Take it out… I don’t want this…”
He thrust deeper, rubbing firmly against that sensitive place inside me again.
“Your body is saying something else, Madam. Feel how tight you are holding me.”
“It’s not… I’m not enjoying it… stop lying…” I said quickly, gripping the edge of the cot harder. My walls clenched around his cock on their own with the next stroke. I bit back a sound that wanted to escape my throat.
“Then why is your pussy so wet?” he asked, fucking me with steady, strong strokes, clearly enjoying every response of my body. “Why does it keep gripping my cock?”
“Because you’re forcing it… that’s all… it doesn’t mean anything…” I answered, turning my face further away so he would not see the flush on my cheeks. The pleasure kept rising despite my words. Every deep thrust pushed me closer to the edge while I continued to deny it out loud.
He kept driving into me, holding my thighs open, openly enjoying the way my body reacted even as my mouth kept refusing it. The wet sound of his cock moving in and out of my pussy filled the small room, mixing with the heavy rain, while my protests grew more breathless and less convincing with every stroke.


Narasimhan did not slow down.
He kept driving his thick cock deep into my pussy with strong, steady strokes, holding my thighs wide open on the narrow cot. Each thrust rubbed firmly against the sensitive front wall inside me. The wet sound of his cock sliding in and out grew louder and more slippery. My full breasts bounced heavily with every impact of his body against mine. The white shirt remained bunched uselessly above my chest.
The unwanted pleasure that had been building suddenly sharpened.

A tight, rising pressure gathered low in my stomach and between my legs. My pussy began to clench around his cock in short, involuntary pulses. Heat spread outward through my thighs and up into my belly. My breathing turned uneven. I could feel myself being pushed closer and closer to the edge with every deep stroke.

“Narasimhan… stop… I’m telling you to stop…” I said, but my voice came out broken and breathless.
He felt the change in my body at once. My walls were gripping him tighter, wetter, more desperately. He groaned with open satisfaction and fucked me harder, angling his cock to hit that same sensitive place again and again.
“You’re close, Madam,” he said, his voice thick. “I can feel your pussy tightening around me.”
“I’m not… don’t say that… pull out…” I protested, even as my hips gave a small, involuntary movement toward him. The pressure inside me kept climbing. My toes curled. My fingers dug hard into the edge of the cot. Every thrust pushed me nearer to the peak I did not want to reach.
He held my thighs firmly apart and kept thrusting deep and steady, watching my breasts sway, listening to the wet sounds of my pussy taking his cock, clearly enjoying how close he had brought me. The rain outside continued to hammer on the roof without pause. Inside the small room, my body was trembling on the edge of orgasm while my mouth still tried to deny it, and Narasimhan showed no intention of stopping before he pushed me all the way over.


Narasimhan kept thrusting deep and hard, his thick cock rubbing firmly against the sensitive place inside my pussy with every stroke. The pressure that had been building finally broke.
My whole body tightened at once.
“No… wait… I’m—”
The orgasm hit me in strong, uncontrollable waves. My pussy began to pulse and clench hard around his cock, gripping him tightly with each spasm. A broken, unwilling sound escaped my throat as the pleasure tore through my lower stomach and spread down my thighs. My back arched slightly off the narrow cot. My full breasts rose and fell rapidly. My legs trembled in his grip while my walls kept contracting around his thick cock again and again.
This is for my husband.

The thought cut through the forced pleasure with sudden clarity. He had shouted at me that morning. He had dismissed the flag. He had left me alone without understanding anything that mattered. He had not valued me.
Let him know what happens when he treats me like that. Let this man use my body. Let me cum on someone else’s cock because my husband didn’t care.
“Ahh… nnnh… stop…” I gasped, even as my pussy continued to cum on Narasimhan.
He did not stop. He held my thighs wide open and kept thrusting through my orgasm, fucking me steadily while my body shook under him. The wet, sucking sounds of my pussy climaxing around his cock filled the small room along with the heavy rain outside.

“That’s it, Madam… cum on my cock,” he groaned, clearly enjoying every pulse of my orgasm. “Your pussy is squeezing me so hard…”
“I didn’t… want this…” I managed between broken breaths, my voice shaking as another strong wave rolled through me.
But inside the story I told myself was different.
I am punishing him. This is what he gets. My husband left me angry and alone, and now the attender is making me cum. Let him feel this betrayal even if he never knows.
My walls kept clenching and releasing around Narasimhan’s cock, milking him involuntarily while the pleasure forced its way through my body. He watched my face and my bouncing breasts with open satisfaction, continuing to drive his cock deep into my spasming pussy until the last strong pulses of my orgasm finally began to fade, leaving me trembling and wet beneath him on the narrow cot, the white shirt still bunched above my chest, the rain still pouring outside, and the bitter, angry justification still burning in my mind.


Narasimhan was still buried deep inside my pussy, his thick cock throbbing against my sensitive walls as the last waves of my orgasm faded. My body remained trembling under him on the narrow cot. The white shirt was still bunched above my breasts. Outside, the rain continued to pour heavily on the roof.
He leaned down over me.

Before I could turn my face away, his mouth covered mine.
His lips were rough and wet. I could taste the salt of his sweat and the faint bitterness of tobacco on them. The kiss was immediate and filthy — open-mouthed, hungry, with no gentleness. His tongue pushed past my lips and into my mouth, thick and insistent, sliding against my own tongue. I froze for a second, shocked by the invasion.
His filthy mouth… on mine…
I hesitated, body stiff under him.
Then the same angry thought that had carried me through the orgasm returned, sharper now.
My husband left me. He shouted. He didn’t understand. Let him feel this too. Let me kiss this man back.

I opened my mouth wider and kissed Narasimhan in return.
I pushed my tongue against his, meeting the filthy kiss with equal pressure. Our mouths moved wetly together. Saliva mixed between us. He groaned into my mouth and kissed me deeper, sucking on my tongue, biting my lower lip, then pushing his tongue back in as if he wanted to claim every part of me. I answered every movement, kissing him back with deliberate, angry intensity while his cock remained buried inside my pussy. The wet, messy sound of our mouths joined the sound of the rain outside.

The principal and the attender were locked in a deep, filthy kiss on the narrow cot, my lips moving against his without restraint, punishing my husband with every second I refused to pull away.

[novelistcasanova]

The phone in my bag started ringing.

I pushed at Narasimhan’s chest and sat up on the narrow cot. The oversized white shirt hung open on my body, every button undone, the two sides falling loosely on either side of my full breasts. My pussy was still wet and open from what he had just done to me. I reached for my bag on the floor, pulled out the phone, and saw my husband’s name on the screen.
I answered.
“Hello.”
His voice came through immediately, loud and angry.
“Where the hell are you? Did you hoist your stupid flag and finish your little drama?”
The words hit me like a slap. Anger flared hot in my chest.
“Don’t you dare call it stupid,” I said sharply. “That flag means more to me than anything. More than your relatives. More than your cousin. My father fought for this country. We have hoisted that flag every year for twenty years. I will never apologise for it.”
“Are you listening to yourself?” my husband shouted. “Santosh is dead! His body is lying in the hospital in Bangalore right now. Venkatesh’s body has already been sent to his village. Everyone is asking me, ‘Where is your wife?’ What am I supposed to tell them? That she stayed back to play with a flag while the family is in mourning?”
While he was yelling, Narasimhan stepped in front of me, now completely naked. His thick, dark cock was still hard and wet from my pussy. He stood close, looking at my body without shame. Then he reached out and slowly pulled both sides of the open white shirt further apart, holding it wide so that my full breasts, my stomach, my pussy and my thighs were completely exposed to him.
I let him.
I stood there with the phone pressed to my ear, the white shirt hanging completely open on my shoulders, and allowed Narasimhan to look at every part of me.
This is for you, I thought toward my husband. This is what you get for calling my flag stupid. For shouting at me. For not understanding.
“I don’t care what the relatives think,” I told my husband, my voice cold and steady. “I am not coming to Bangalore. I already made that clear.”
“You will regret this, Sudha,” he snapped. “The whole family is watching. They will all ask where my wife is while Santosh’s body is here. You’re embarrassing me.”
Narasimhan was still standing naked in front of me, openly staring at my exposed body. A thin trail of saliva was still on the corner of his mouth from our earlier filthy kiss. I reached up with my free hand, wiped the saliva from his lip with my thumb, brought my thumb to my own mouth, and slowly licked it clean. Then I looked at him and gave a small, quiet giggle.
It was punishment.
My husband was still shouting on the other end of the phone about duty and family and how I had failed him. I barely listened. I stood in the small room with the white shirt hanging fully open on my body, completely exposed to the naked college attender, licking his saliva off my thumb and smiling quietly while my husband yelled, the rain still falling heavily outside.


My husband was still shouting on the phone.
“Do you even understand what you’re doing, Sudha? Santosh’s body is here in Bangalore. Everyone is asking where my wife is. You’re making me look like a fool in front of the entire family!”
While his angry voice filled my ear, Narasimhan stepped even closer. His dark hands slid inside the open white shirt from both sides. He pulled me into a complete embrace. My full breasts pressed against his naked chest. His thick, hard cock rubbed against my lower stomach and the soft hair above my pussy.
His hands moved over my naked back under the white shirt, rough palms spreading wide and rubbing slowly up and down my spine. Then they travelled lower, following the curve of my waist, gripping it firmly, before sliding further down. Both of his hands closed over my ass cheeks. He squeezed them openly, fingers digging into the soft rounds of my ass, pulling me harder against his body so that his cock was trapped tightly between us.

I did not stop him.
Instead, I lifted my left hand, held his jaw firmly, and pulled his face to mine. I kissed his filthy lips without hesitation. My mouth opened against his. I pushed my tongue inside and tasted him — the wetness of his saliva, the faint bitterness, the heat of his mouth. I kissed him deeply and shamelessly, sucking on his tongue, letting our spit mix, while my husband continued to yell in my ear.
This belongs to my husband… and I am giving it to you.
The thought burned through me as I kissed the ugly attender more hungrily. I held his jaw tighter and moved my mouth against his with deliberate, filthy intensity, tasting every bit of his saliva, while his hands kept squeezing and rubbing my ass cheeks under the open white shirt. My breasts remained crushed against his chest. His cock stayed hard and pressing against me.

On the phone my husband was still raging about duty, about the dead body in Bangalore, about the relatives who would ask where I was. I barely heard the words. I was too busy kissing Narasimhan’s filthy mouth and letting him feel every part of my body under the open white shirt, punishing my husband with every second of the shameful embrace.


My husband’s voice kept shouting through the phone, harsh and continuous.
“You’re embarrassing me in front of everyone! Santosh is dead and you’re nowhere to be found! What kind of wife are you?”
Narasimhan could clearly hear the angry tone coming from the phone. He slowed down. The hungry grip of his hands softened. He simply placed both palms over my ass cheeks under the open white shirt and held them there, no longer squeezing roughly. When I looked up at his dark, ugly face, I saw something unexpected in his eyes — a quiet, almost pitying look, as if he felt sorry that I was being yelled at like this.
Without saying anything, he pulled me into a complete embrace.
This time it was different. His arms wrapped fully around my back under the white shirt, holding me firmly but without the earlier lustful force. My full breasts pressed against his naked chest. His chin rested near my temple. He simply held me, steady and silent, while my husband continued to rage on the other end of the phone.
The sudden comfort of his arms hit me harder than I expected.

After the morning’s argument, the rain, the exposure, and everything that had just happened on the cot, this quiet, solid embrace felt like the first soft place I had been allowed to rest. My body loosened slightly against him. The anger and the shame and the forced pleasure all seemed to quiet for a moment inside the circle of his arms.
I turned my face slightly toward his ear and whispered, so low that only he could hear.
“Thanks.”
He did not reply with words. He only tightened his arms a little more around me under the open white shirt, still holding my ass cheeks gently in his hands, and continued to stand there with me while my husband kept shouting on the phone and the rain continued to fall outside.


My husband continued yelling on the phone, his voice harsh and unrelenting. Every angry word that reached my ear only made the heat in my chest burn hotter. He still did not understand. He still refused to respect what the flag meant to me. The more he shouted, the clearer my decision became.
I would punish him.

Behind me, Narasimhan’s hands stayed firm on my hips. His thick cock remained buried deep inside my pussy, stretching me open. He leaned forward slightly, his naked chest pressing against my back under the open white shirt, and spoke close to my ear in a low, steady voice that only I could hear.
“I am here for you, Madam. You don’t have to face this alone.”
The words landed differently than they should have. After the way my husband had been shouting since morning, the quiet claim in Narasimhan’s voice created a strange, bitter comfort. I did not answer him out loud. Instead, I shifted my stance on the narrow cot, planted my feet a little wider, and deliberately brought my inner thighs inward.
I pressed both of my inner thighs tightly against the thick cock that was buried inside me. The soft, warm skin of my inner thighs closed around his cock from both sides, gripping it firmly while it stayed deep in my pussy. I held the pressure, squeezing his cock between my thighs, feeling the hard length trapped and surrounded by my inner thighs. Then I released just enough to slide my thighs slightly up and down along the sides of his cock, stroking him with the slow, controlled pressure of my legs.
You wanted to shout at me? You wanted to call my flag stupid? Fine. I will teach you a lesson.

I clenched my inner thighs harder around Narasimhan’s cock, milking the thick length with deliberate force. I could feel every ridge and vein of his cock pressed between my thighs while the head and upper part remained buried inside my wet pussy. The sensation made him groan quietly against my ear.

Feel this. While you yell in my ear, I am giving my body to another man. I am gripping his cock with my thighs and letting him stay inside me. This is your lesson.
While my husband continued his angry shouting, I kept using my inner thighs to grip and stroke Narasimhan’s cock. I squeezed him tightly, then loosened, then squeezed again, giving him a slow, steady thigh-fucking around the cock that was still inside me. My full breasts hung open under the white shirt and swayed gently with the small movements of my hips and thighs. Wetness from my pussy coated the upper part of his cock and made the sliding of my thighs smoother and filthier.

You don’t respect me. So I will give what belongs to you to the college attender. Let him enjoy my thighs. Let him enjoy my pussy. This is how I teach you.
I stayed on the call, phone pressed to my ear, open white shirt hanging from my shoulders, and continued to punish my husband by giving every deliberate clench and stroke of my thighs to Narasimhan’s cock. Outside, the rain kept falling hard on the roof. Inside the small room, I focused only on the thick cock trapped between my thighs and the private, angry pleasure of teaching my husband a lesson he would never even know about.


I turned my head slightly, still gripping Narasimhan’s cock tightly between my inner thighs. The thick length of him remained buried deep inside my pussy. With my left hand I reached up, held his rough jaw firmly, and pulled his face closer to mine. My voice came out as a low, deliberate whisper against his mouth.
“Do you like my body?”
His dark hands, which had been resting on my hips, slid down and held my ass cheeks with slow, careful pressure. He squeezed the soft rounds of my ass gently, fingers spreading across them. Then he lowered his head. His mouth closed over my right nipple first. He sucked it firmly into his mouth, drawing the soft flesh deeper, his tongue moving in slow circles around the tightened tip. The wet heat of his mouth made my breast tingle. While he sucked, he whispered against my skin in a thick, hungry voice.
“Yes, Madam. I have been dreaming of fucking you ever since the day you chose me to work in this college.”

He released my right nipple, leaving it wet and shining, and immediately moved to my left breast. His mouth opened wide and took my left nipple in, sucking harder this time, pulling more of the soft weight of my breast into his mouth. His tongue pressed flat against the nipple as he sucked. His hands never left my ass cheeks; he kept holding them, kneading them slowly while he fed on my breasts one after the other.
“Every time I saw you in those sarees,” he whispered between long sucks, his lips still brushing my wet nipple, “I imagined this. Your heavy breasts in my mouth… your tight pussy around my cock… everything.”
He switched back to my right nipple and sucked it again, slower and deeper, as if he intended to take his time tasting both of them properly.
For a brief moment something cold moved through my chest.
Ungrateful. I gave him the job. I gave him this room to live in. And all these years he was only waiting for the chance to fuck me.

But the anger at my husband was stronger. The idea of punishing him — of giving this ugly attender every part of the body my husband thought belonged only to him — sent a fresh, sharp wave of heat through my pussy. My walls clenched hard around the cock still buried inside me. The punishment itself made me wetter.
I pulled the phone away from my ear.
Without saying another word to my husband, I ended the call and dropped the phone onto the cot.

Then I stepped back just enough to pull the oversized white shirt off my shoulders completely. I slid my arms out of the long sleeves and let the white shirt fall to the floor in a soft heap. Now I stood fully naked in front of Narasimhan — only my mangalsutra resting between my breasts, the thin gold chain, the bangles on my wrists, the waist chain around my middle, and the silver anklets and toe rings on my feet. My full breasts (still wet and slightly swollen from his mouth), my stomach, my pussy and my ass were completely uncovered for him.

I looked him straight in the eye and spoke clearly, my voice steady.
“Then enjoy fucking me. Make your dream come true.”
Delight and hunger flashed across Narasimhan’s dark, ugly face. Without hesitation he bent down, slid one strong arm under my bare thighs and the other around my naked back, and lifted me off the floor in a full cradle carry. My wet breasts pressed against his chest as he held me. He carried me the short distance to the narrow cot and laid me down on the old mattress with surprising care. Then he climbed over me, his thick, wet cock still hard and ready, finally free to continue the dream he had been carrying for years.


Narasimhan laid me down fully on the narrow cot. The old mattress dipped under the weight of my naked body. My wet hair spread in dark strands across the thin, faded pillow. The only things left on me were my mangalsutra resting between my breasts, the thin gold chain, the bangles on my wrists, the waist chain around my middle, and the silver anklets and toe rings on my feet. Everything else had been removed. My full, heavy breasts lay soft and exposed on my chest, nipples still slightly wet from his earlier sucking. My stomach rose and fell with my breathing. Below the waist chain, my pussy and the full length of my thighs were completely open to his eyes.
He knelt between my legs on the cot, his dark, ugly face looking down at me with open, almost disbelieving hunger. His thick cock stood hard and heavy between his own thighs, the head still glistening with the wetness from my pussy. I did not close my legs. Instead I bent my knees slowly, planted my feet on the mattress, and let my thighs fall wide apart. The movement opened my pussy fully to him — the soft outer lips of my pussy parting slightly, the pink inner lips visible, the wetness from earlier still coating my pussy.

I looked up at his face and spoke with deliberate, clear intention. My voice was steady.
“Take everything you have dreamed of. My husband does not deserve my body today. Use me however you want. This is his punishment.”
Narasimhan’s breathing grew heavier at once. His eyes moved slowly over my open body — from my full breasts, down across my stomach and waist chain, and finally to the wet, spread pussy I was offering him. He placed both of his rough, dark hands on my inner thighs, palms warm against my thighs. He pushed outward, spreading my legs even wider on the cot until the muscles in my thighs stretched. His thumbs rested very close to the outer lips of my pussy, almost touching, holding me open for his view.
“Madam…” he said, his voice low and rough with years of bottled lust and sudden gratitude. “I will. I will take everything.”

He stayed kneeling between my widely spread thighs for a long moment, simply looking. His gaze stayed fixed on my pussy, then rose to my breasts, then returned lower again, as if he wanted to memorise every part of the body he had only imagined before. His cock twitched visibly in the air between us. Outside, the rain continued to hammer hard on the roof of the small house. Inside, I lay completely naked and open on his cot, legs held apart by his hands, offering my breasts, my pussy, and every inch of my body as the deliberate instrument of my husband’s punishment, waiting for the college attender to finally begin taking what he had dreamed of for so long.


Narasimhan leaned down over me while my legs remained spread wide on the narrow cot. His dark hands left my thighs and came up to cup both of my full breasts. He pushed them together slightly, then lowered his head and took my right nipple into his mouth once more.

He sucked it deeply, pulling the soft weight of my breast into his mouth, his tongue pressing and circling the tightened nipple. At the same time he spoke against my wet breast, his voice thick with gratitude and years of held-back lust.
“Thank you, Madam… thank you for letting me have this.”
He released my right nipple and immediately moved to the left one. He opened his mouth wider and sucked harder, drawing more of my breast in, making my heavy breast rise and fall with the force of his sucking. His rough hand squeezed the other breast firmly while he fed on me.

“I used to watch you walk through the college… imagining your breasts in my mouth like this. Thank you for giving them to me now.”
I did not push his head away. Instead I lifted both hands, slid my fingers into his thick, slightly rough hair, and held his head against my chest. I pulled him more firmly onto my breast, offering him more of the soft weight, letting him suck as deeply as he wanted. When he switched back to my right breast, I guided his mouth onto it myself and pressed his face down, giving him full access.
“Take them,” I whispered, still holding his head. “My husband does not deserve them today. Enjoy both of them. This is part of his punishment.”
Narasimhan groaned against my wet nipple and sucked with open hunger, moving from one breast to the other without pause. He squeezed, licked, and pulled each nipple deep into his mouth, thanking me between every few sucks, while I kept my hands in his hair and deliberately fed him my breasts, the rain still hammering on the roof outside and the narrow cot creaking softly under our shifting weight.


Narasimhan slowly released my left nipple from his mouth. A thin string of his saliva still connected his lower lip to my wet nipple for a second before it broke. He looked up at my face once, eyes dark with hunger and gratitude, then began kissing lower.
His mouth moved down the centre of my chest, between my full breasts, leaving a wet trail of saliva on my skin. He kissed the soft undercurve of each breast, then continued downward. His lips pressed against my stomach, just above my navel. He licked a slow, deliberate line across my stomach, tasting my skin, while both of his hands remained on my waist, holding me in place on the narrow cot.

I kept my thighs spread wide for him. I did not close them even a little. My pussy stayed fully open and visible below the waist chain as his mouth travelled lower.
He kissed around my navel, then dipped his tongue into it briefly, circling the small dip before continuing down. His lips and tongue moved over the soft skin of my lower stomach, closer and closer to the waist chain. He licked along the thin gold chain itself, following it from one side of my waist toward the middle, then lower still, until his mouth was only inches above the soft hair above my pussy.
“Every part of you, Madam…” he murmured against my lower stomach, his breath warm on my skin. “I have dreamed of tasting every part.”
I slid one hand back into his hair and spoke clearly, my voice low but steady.
“Then taste it. Enjoy every part of me. My husband does not get this today. This is for you. Keep going.”
Narasimhan groaned softly at my words. He kissed lower again, his mouth now brushing the soft hair just above my pussy, his hands tightening on my waist, while I kept my legs open and waited for him to take the next part of the body I was deliberately offering as my husband’s punishment. The rain continued to pour hard on the roof of the small house, and the narrow cot remained the only witness to how completely I was giving myself to the college attender.


Narasimhan’s mouth finally reached my pussy.
He did not tease for long. He pressed his face between my open thighs and licked a long, slow stroke from the bottom of my pussy all the way up to the top, his tongue flat and wet against my soft lips. The heat of his mouth made my hips twitch. He licked again, slower this time, spreading my outer lips with his tongue and tasting the wetness that had already gathered there.
“Madam… you taste even better than I dreamed,” he murmured against my pussy, then pushed his tongue deeper between my lips.
I reached down with both hands and slid my fingers into his thick hair. Instead of pulling him away, I held his head firmly and pushed his face harder against my pussy.
“Don’t stop,” I said, my voice low and clear. “Eat it properly. My husband does not get this. This is your reward for today. Enjoy my pussy.”

Narasimhan groaned and obeyed. He opened his mouth wider and began sucking on my soft pussy lips, drawing them into his mouth one after the other. Then he pushed his tongue inside me, thick and insistent, fucking me with it in short, deep strokes. His nose pressed against the soft hair above my pussy. His hands gripped my inner thighs and kept them spread wide on the cot so he could bury his face completely.

I kept both hands in his hair and held him there, guiding his mouth exactly where I wanted it. When his tongue found my clit I pressed his head down harder and rolled my hips slightly against his face, giving him full access, deliberately feeding him my pussy as part of the punishment I had chosen for my husband. The wet, filthy sounds of him eating me filled the small room, mixing with the heavy rain outside. He licked, sucked, and pushed his tongue deep inside me without pause, thanking me with every hungry movement of his mouth while I held him in place and let the college attender devour what no longer belonged to my husband today.

[novelistcasanova]

Narasimhan lifted his face from between my thighs. His mouth and chin were wet with my juices. He climbed fully over me on the narrow cot, his dark body covering mine. The thick head of his cock pressed against the soft, open lips of my pussy. He rubbed it up and down a few times, coating himself in my wetness, then began to push inside.


He entered me slowly.
Inch by inch his thick cock stretched my pussy open again. He did not thrust hard at first. He sank into me with deliberate control, as if he wanted to feel every part of the dream he had carried for years. My walls gripped him tightly as he filled me. He kept pushing until his lower stomach met mine and the full length of his cock was buried deep inside my pussy.
He stayed completely still for a moment, buried to the hilt, breathing heavily against my neck.
“Madam… finally…” he whispered, his voice thick with gratitude and lust. “Thank you for letting me inside you. I have wanted this for so long.”
I wrapped both of my legs around his waist and locked my ankles behind his back. Then I pulled him even deeper into me, using my legs to force his cock as far inside my pussy as it would go. My full breasts pressed against his naked chest. The waist chain between us dug lightly into my stomach.
“Take it,” I said clearly against his ear. “This is my husband’s punishment. Fuck me properly. Make your dream come true.”

Narasimhan groaned deeply at my words. He drew his cock back slowly until only the thick head remained inside my pussy, then pushed forward again in one long, savouring stroke, burying himself completely once more. He repeated the movement — slow, deep, and full — as if he was memorising the exact feeling of my pussy around his cock, while I kept my legs wrapped tightly around him and offered him every inch as the deliberate price my husband would never know he was paying. Outside, the rain continued to hammer on the roof of the small house behind the empty college.


Narasimhan began to move inside me with long, deep strokes.
He pulled his thick cock almost all the way out of my pussy, then pushed it back in slowly until his lower stomach pressed hard against mine. Each stroke was deliberate and full, as if he wanted to feel every inch of my walls gripping him. The narrow cot creaked steadily under the rhythm. My full breasts shifted and pressed against his chest with every thrust. The wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of my pussy grew clearer in the small room.
“Thank you, Madam…” he groaned against my ear as he drove deep again. “Thank you for giving me your pussy like this.”
I kept my legs wrapped tightly around his waist and answered without hesitation.

“This is my husband’s punishment. He does not deserve my body today. Take more. Fuck me deeper.”
Narasimhan obeyed. He pushed his hands under my ass cheeks, lifted my hips slightly off the mattress, and began thrusting with longer, heavier strokes. His cock rubbed firmly along the sensitive front wall of my pussy with every entry. The force made my breasts bounce between us. He buried himself to the root again and again, thanking me between thrusts in a rough, grateful voice.

“I dreamed of this for years… thank you for letting me fuck you…”
“Then don’t hold back,” I told him, digging my heels into his lower back to pull him even deeper. “Use my pussy properly. Every stroke is for my husband’s lesson. Give me everything you have imagined.”
He groaned loudly and increased the power of his thrusts, fucking me with deep, steady strokes on the narrow cot while the rain continued to pour outside. I held him with my legs and arms, offering my open body without reservation, turning each grateful thrust of the college attender into another private act of punishment against the man who had shouted at me that morning.


Narasimhan pulled his thick cock almost all the way out of my pussy, then stopped. With both hands he gripped my left leg and lifted it high, resting my calf against his shoulder. The new angle opened my pussy even more. He pushed forward again and sank deeper than before in one long, heavy stroke.
“Ahh…”
A real moan left my mouth this time. The change in position made his cock rub harder against the sensitive front wall inside me. He held my raised leg firmly against his shoulder and began thrusting with deep, powerful strokes, using the new angle to bury himself completely with every movement.
“Madam… you feel even tighter like this,” he groaned, fucking me steadily. “Thank you for letting me take you deeper.”
I reached up with one hand and held the back of his neck, looking into his dark face while his cock drove in and out of my pussy.

“Don’t hold back,” I told him, my voice low and urgent. “Fuck me as deep as you want. My husband will never give me this. This is his punishment. Take everything.”
Narasimhan’s grip on my raised leg tightened. He leaned further over me and began thrusting harder, the new angle letting him sink so deep that his lower stomach slapped against the back of my thigh with every stroke. My full breasts swayed heavily from the force. The wet sound of his cock pounding into my open pussy filled the small room, mixing with the continuous rain outside.

“Yes… like that…” I moaned, keeping my leg high against his shoulder and pulling him closer with my hand on his neck. “Don’t stop. Make your dream complete. Use my pussy properly.”
He obeyed without hesitation, fucking me deeper and harder in the new position on the narrow cot, thanking me with every powerful thrust while I kept my body open and offered him the maximum depth as the continuing price of my husband’s lesson.


Narasimhan’s control finally broke.
He dropped my raised leg, grabbed both of my thighs roughly, and pushed them back toward my chest, folding me open on the narrow cot. Then he began fucking me hard and fast. His thick cock drove into my pussy with short, powerful strokes, the wet slap of his lower stomach against my ass filling the small room. The cot creaked loudly under the force. My full breasts bounced heavily with every thrust. The waist chain between us shifted and dug lightly into my stomach.
“Madam… I can’t go slow anymore,” he groaned, pounding into me. “I’ve waited too many years… thank you for letting me fuck you like this.”
I did not ask him to slow down. Instead I reached down, grabbed the backs of my own thighs, and pulled them even wider and higher for him, offering my pussy as openly as possible.
“Then don’t hold anything back,” I said, my voice rough with the impact of his thrusts. “Take all of it. I want you to enjoy every stroke.”

Narasimhan’s eyes darkened with pure hunger. He leaned over me, planted both hands on the mattress beside my shoulders, and drove his cock into my pussy with full force. Each thrust was deep and heavy, stretching me open again and again. The wet, filthy sound of my pussy taking his cock grew louder and faster. Sweat from his dark chest dripped onto my breasts. He kept thanking me between rough breaths while he chased the dream he had carried for so long.

“Thank you… thank you, Madam… your pussy feels so good…”
I matched his intensity. I pushed my hips up to meet every hard stroke, letting him bury himself to the root each time, giving him maximum depth and maximum pleasure without holding anything back. The rain outside continued to hammer on the roof, but inside the small house the only thing that mattered was the college attender finally fucking me with years of stored lust while I deliberately gave him everything I had to give.


Narasimhan’s thrusts grew shorter and heavier. His thick cock pounded deep into my pussy with rising urgency. I could feel him swelling even thicker inside me. The wet, rapid sound of our bodies meeting filled the small room. My full breasts bounced hard with every impact. Sweat ran down his dark chest and dripped onto my stomach and the waist chain.

I was close too. The constant deep friction against the sensitive front wall of my pussy had built a tight, rising pressure low in my belly. My walls began to flutter and grip his cock in short, involuntary pulses. My thighs trembled in his grip.
“Narasimhan…” I said, my voice broken by his thrusts. “I’m close… don’t pull out.”
He looked down at me, eyes dark and intense, still driving hard into my pussy.

“Madam… I want to fill you,” he groaned. “Please let me cum inside. Thank you for giving me this… thank you for letting me have you completely.”
I wrapped my legs tightly around his waist again and locked my ankles behind his back, pulling him as deep as he could go.
“Do it,” I told him. “Cum inside me. I want to feel every drop. Don’t waste any of it.”

Narasimhan’s rhythm turned almost frantic. He fucked me with short, powerful strokes, burying his cock to the root each time, chasing his climax while thanking me under his breath. The pressure inside my own pussy tightened further with every thrust. We were both right at the edge — his cock throbbing hard inside me, my walls clenching around him in warning pulses — while the rain continued to pour outside and the narrow cot creaked under the final, desperate rhythm of his dream coming true.


Narasimhan’s thrusts turned short, heavy and urgent. His thick cock pounded deep into my pussy with rising force. I could feel him swelling even thicker inside me, the head flaring against my walls. Sweat from his dark chest dripped onto my breasts and stomach. The wet, rapid slap of his body against mine filled the small room.
I was right there with him.

The pressure low in my belly had become almost unbearable. Every deep stroke rubbed hard against the most sensitive place inside my pussy. My walls fluttered and clenched around his cock in quick, involuntary pulses. My thighs trembled violently in his grip. My breath came in short, broken gasps. I was balanced right on the edge, so close that every thrust threatened to push me over.

“Narasimhan… I’m so close…” I whispered, voice shaking. “Don’t stop… just like that…”
He groaned against my neck, fucking me with short, powerful strokes, clearly fighting to last a few more seconds.
“Madam… me too… your pussy is gripping me so tight… I can’t hold it much longer…”

He kept driving into me, harder, deeper, both of us trembling on the edge together. My full breasts bounced with every impact. My pussy kept tightening around his cock in warning spasms. The tension stretched unbearably — one more thrust, then another, both of us straining not to fall yet, the rain hammering outside as if matching the desperate rhythm.

Then he slammed into me one final time and held himself deep.
“Ugh… ahh… Madam… I’m cumming—”
His cock pulsed hard. Thick, hot cum shot deep into my pussy in strong, heavy spurts. The first jet flooded against my walls, then the next, and the next, filling me while he stayed buried to the root.

The moment I felt him start to cum, my own orgasm tore free.
“Ahhh… ahh… yes… I’m cumming… ahh—”
My pussy clenched violently around his spurting cock, milking him in strong, rhythmic contractions. A long, helpless moan ripped from my throat as the pleasure crashed through my lower stomach and down my shaking thighs. My back arched hard off the cot. My legs locked tightly around his waist.
I pulled his face down and kissed his filthy lips with complete surrender. My tongue pushed deep into his mouth, tasting his hot saliva. I moaned into the wet, messy kiss while my pussy kept cumming around his cock.
“Mmmhh… ahh… mmm… fill me…”
Narasimhan groaned loudly into my mouth, still pulsing inside me, still spilling the last of his cum deep into my pussy while I kissed him with open, shameless hunger. Our spit mixed and ran from the corner of my lips. I held the back of his head and kept kissing him through every remaining spasm, giving him my mouth, my tongue, and the final contractions of my orgasm without holding anything back.

When the strongest waves finally faded, he remained buried deep inside me, both of us trembling, his cock still twitching with the last small pulses. Warm cum filled my pussy completely and began to leak out around him onto the mattress. He kissed me slowly and wetly a few more times, then whispered against my swollen lips, breathing hard.

“Thank you, Madam… thank you for letting me cum inside you… for giving me everything I dreamed of.”
I answered by pulling his filthy mouth back to mine and kissing him once more, soft and deep, fully spent, fully filled, and fully surrendered on the narrow cot as the rain continued to pour outside.

[novelistcasanova]

Narasimhan stayed buried deep inside me long after the last pulses of his cock had faded. His heavy body rested on mine, chest to chest, both of us breathing hard. The narrow cot felt small under our combined weight. Warm cum slowly leaked out around his softening cock and ran down between my ass cheeks onto the old mattress. Outside, the rain continued its steady, endless fall on the roof of the small house.

Neither of us spoke for a while.

His face remained close to mine. Every few moments he leaned in and placed soft, lingering kisses on my lips — slower and gentler than before, but still tasting of the same filthy saliva we had shared during climax. I did not turn away. I kissed him back quietly, tasting him, letting the aftermath settle between us.
My full breasts remained pressed against his damp chest. The waist chain was caught lightly between our stomachs. My legs stayed loosely wrapped around his waist, holding him inside me even as his cock grew softer. The strong, sharp pleasure of the orgasm had faded into a deep, heavy warmth that filled my entire lower body. My thighs still trembled slightly. My pussy felt open, used, and full of his cum.
Narasimhan lifted one hand and slowly brushed a strand of wet hair away from my face. His dark eyes looked at me with a mixture of exhaustion, satisfaction, and lingering gratitude. He kissed the corner of my mouth once more, then spoke in a low, rough whisper.

“I never thought this day would actually come, Madam.”
I did not answer immediately. I simply lay under him, feeling the slow drip of his cum from my pussy, the weight of his body, and the quiet intimacy that follows when two people have taken everything from each other. The anger that had driven me earlier was still present somewhere in the background, but for the moment it was quiet. In its place was the simple, heavy reality of the afterglow — naked, filled, and still joined with the college attender on his narrow cot while the rain kept falling outside and the rest of the world remained far away.


The heavy tiredness after the long, intense fucking pulled me under. Still lying on the narrow cot with Narasimhan’s cooling cum inside me and the open white shirt nowhere in sight, I closed my eyes. The sound of the rain on the roof and the solid weight of his body nearby faded as sleep took me.
When I opened my eyes again, the light in the small room had changed. It was already evening. The rain had softened to a light drizzle. I sat up slowly on the cot. My body felt used and heavy. Between my legs I could still feel the sticky remnants of what he had left inside me.
On a small wooden stool near the wall, all my clothes were neatly arranged.
My maroon panties, white bra, white petticoat, white blouse, and the white saree with the tricolour border had all been washed, dried, and carefully ironed. They looked fresh and clean, as if the morning’s mud and rain had never touched them. Narasimhan was not in the room. I could hear faint movement somewhere outside near the back of the house.

I stood up and began dressing in silence.
First I stepped into the maroon panties and pulled them up over my hips, settling them against my pussy that still felt tender and slightly swollen. Next I picked up the white bra, slipped my arms through the straps, and fastened the hooks behind my back, adjusting the cups over my full breasts. Then I stepped into the white petticoat, drew it up, and tied the string firmly at my waist. I put on the white blouse, settling it over the bra. Finally I dbangd the white saree with the tricolour border around myself, making the pleats carefully and pinning the pallu at my shoulder. The national badge was still attached to the blouse.
I had just finished adjusting the saree when my phone rang.
It was my husband.
I answered.
His voice was quieter than before, tired and heavy.
“I reached Bangalore. I’m at the hospital now. Sudha… Santosh died very badly. His head was completely crushed in the accident. The doctors said he must have suffered a lot before he died. The whole family is in shock. His mother hasn’t stopped crying.”
He paused. I remained silent, listening.
“Nobody here asked where you were,” he continued. “They were all too busy with the body and the arrangements. I… I’m sorry for what I said this morning. About the flag. I shouldn’t have called it stupid. I was angry and I disrespected something that matters to you. I’m sorry.”
The apology landed in my chest like a sudden weight.
I stood in the small room of the college attender, fully dressed again in my clean white saree, the same clothes Narasimhan had removed, washed and ironed, and felt the first real wave of guilt rise inside me. While my husband had been dealing with a brutally crushed body and a grieving family, I had been on this narrow cot, spreading my legs for the attender and telling him to take everything as punishment. The anger that had felt so justified earlier now sat uneasily beside the quiet, tired remorse that his apology had woken.
I held the phone to my ear and did not speak for a long moment, the clean white saree resting against my body that still carried the memory of everything that had happened in this room.


I stood in Narasimhan’s small room fully dressed again in the clean white saree with the tricolour border. The national badge was still pinned to my blouse. The guilt from my husband’s apology sat heavily in my chest. I picked up my phone and small bag and turned toward the door.
Narasimhan stepped in front of me holding a steel tiffin carrier and a small paper bag.
“Madam… some rice and curry. You have not eaten since morning. Please take it.”
I did not look at his face. I kept my eyes on the doorway and spoke quietly.
“It’s okay. I have to go home now. The boys will be waiting.”
I stepped past him without taking the food parcel and walked out of the small house. I crossed the wet compound toward my red Honda Activa parked under the small shed. The evening light was fading. My sandals made soft sounds on the damp ground.
Just as I reached the scooter and put my hand on the handlebar, Narasimhan came up behind me. Before I could react, his strong arms went around my waist. He bent down, drove his shoulder into my stomach, and lifted me clean off the ground in one powerful movement. The world tilted. My full breasts pressed against his back. The white saree with the tricolour border hung upside down around my body as he settled me firmly over his shoulder.

“Narasimhan! Put me down right now!” I gasped, gripping his shirt with both hands.
He did not answer. He simply tightened his arm across the back of my thighs and started walking toward the main college building. My body bounced slightly with each of his steps. The pallu of my white saree slipped and trailed down his back. I kicked my legs and pushed against him, but his grip remained solid.
“Stop… please… put me down… where are you taking me?” I demanded, my voice rising.
He kept walking steadily across the compound and into the corridor of the main building, carrying me over his shoulder like a prize, heading straight toward the principal’s office while I struggled and protested, the clean white saree that he himself had washed and ironed now dishevelled around my upside-down body.


Narasimhan carried me through the corridor and straight into the principal’s office — my own office. He pushed the door shut with his foot. The room was dim and quiet. He walked to the large wooden desk where I usually sat and signed papers, the same desk from which I ran the college.
In one strong movement he lifted me off his shoulder and set me down on the edge of the desk. My sandals slipped off and fell to the floor. The white saree with the tricolour border was already dishevelled from being carried upside down. Before I could slide off or stand up, he stepped between my knees and pushed the white saree and the white petticoat up together, gathering both high around my waist. The cool air of the office touched my thighs and the front of my maroon panties.
“No… I can’t…” I said, trying to push the saree back down and close my legs. “Narasimhan, I can’t do this again…”
He ignored my hands. His dark fingers hooked into both sides of my maroon panties. In one firm pull he dragged them down over my hips and thighs. I tried to hold them, but he kept pulling until the maroon panties slid past my knees and off my feet completely. He dropped them on the office floor beside my sandals.

Now I sat on the edge of my own principal’s desk with my white saree and white petticoat bunched around my waist, my maroon panties gone, and my pussy fully exposed to him in the fading evening light. My full breasts rose and fell quickly under the white blouse as I breathed hard. The guilt from my husband’s apology and everything that had already happened in his room pressed heavily on me.
“Please… I can’t… don’t…” I said again, my voice tight with both resistance and the weight of what I had already allowed, thighs trying to close even as he stood firmly between them.


Narasimhan placed both of his rough hands on my inner thighs and pushed them firmly apart on the edge of the desk. I tried to resist, but he held them open. The cool air of the office touched my exposed pussy. Without another word he lowered his head between my legs.

His mouth covered my pussy at once.
He licked a long, slow stroke from the bottom of my pussy all the way up to the top, his tongue flat and hot against my soft lips. Then he licked again, slower, spreading me open with his tongue and tasting the wetness that was already there. He closed his lips around my soft folds and began to suck gently, making quiet, wet sounds in the silent office.

“No… I can’t… stop…” I whispered, gripping the edge of the wooden desk with both hands. The guilt sat heavy in my chest even as his tongue moved over me.
He did not lift his head. He pushed his tongue inside my pussy, thick and insistent, then pulled it out and circled my clit with steady pressure. His hands kept my thighs spread wide on the desk so I could not close them. Each lick and suck sent unwanted sparks of pleasure through my lower stomach. My breathing grew uneven. My full breasts rose and fell faster under the white blouse.
“Narasimhan… please… I can’t let this happen again…” I said, my voice already weaker. My fingers tightened on the desk. The pleasure was building despite the guilt, despite my words. His tongue kept working over my clit and dipping inside me, focused and hungry, while I sat on the edge of my own principal’s desk with my white saree and petticoat bunched around my waist, maroon panties gone, and the college attender’s mouth locked between my open thighs.


Narasimhan kept his mouth sealed over my pussy. His tongue worked steadily on my clit in firm, wet circles while two of his fingers pushed inside me and curled upward. The double sensation made my thighs tremble on either side of his head. I was gripping the edge of the desk so hard my knuckles had turned light. The guilt was still there, heavy and sharp, but the pleasure was rising faster than I could fight it.
“No… I can’t… ahh… stop…” I gasped, even as my hips gave a small, involuntary push toward his mouth.
He only held my thighs tighter and sucked my clit between his lips, flicking it rapidly with his tongue. The pressure in my lower stomach tightened to the breaking point. My walls clenched around his fingers. My breathing turned into short, broken sounds.

Then it hit me.
“Ahhh… ahh… I’m cumming… nnnh—”
My pussy pulsed hard against his mouth. The orgasm tore through me in strong waves. My thighs shook violently on the desk. A long, helpless moan left my throat as my walls contracted again and again. Wetness flooded out of me onto his tongue and lips. Narasimhan did not pull away. He kept his mouth locked in place and drank everything that came from me — every pulse of wetness, every wave of my climax — swallowing as I came on his tongue while sitting on the edge of my own principal’s desk.
My head fell back. My full breasts rose and fell rapidly under the white blouse. The white saree and petticoat remained bunched around my waist. I kept cumming in trembling waves against his mouth, the guilt still burning somewhere in my chest even as my body surrendered completely to the college attender’s tongue one last time.


My orgasm was still fading when Narasimhan stood up between my open thighs. His mouth and chin were wet with me. His thick cock was fully hard again, straining against his khaki pants. He quickly opened them and freed himself. The swollen head of his cock, still glistening from earlier, pressed directly against my sensitive, freshly cum-soaked pussy and rubbed slowly along the wet lips.

He did not try to force his way inside immediately. Instead he stayed there, the thick head resting against me, and looked into my eyes.
“Madam… please,” he said, his voice low and rough with need. “Let me fuck you once more. Right here on this desk. I’m still so hard for you.”
I was still sitting on the edge of my own principal’s desk, white saree and white petticoat bunched high around my waist, maroon panties gone, thighs open, pussy wet and throbbing from the orgasm he had just given me with his mouth. The guilt from my husband’s apology sat heavy in my chest. I placed my hands on his stomach and tried to keep some distance.
“Narasimhan… I can’t. Not again. I already let it go too far today.”
He did not step back. He kept the head of his cock pressed gently but firmly against my pussy, moving it in small, slow circles that spread my wetness over him. His dark eyes stayed on mine, hungry and insistent.
“You already gave yourself to me earlier,” he said quietly. “Your body is still open for me. Just one more time. Let me feel you again before you go home.”
The thick head of his cock continued to rub against my sensitive pussy lips while he spoke, waiting for my answer on the edge of the desk in the quiet, dim principal’s office.


I kept my hands on his stomach, trying to hold him back. The thick head of his cock continued to rest against my wet pussy, warm and insistent. Guilt pressed hard against my chest. My husband’s apology from the phone call was still fresh in my mind.
“I can’t, Narasimhan,” I said, my voice tighter than before. “What happened earlier was already a mistake. I used you to punish my husband. I shouldn’t have. I need to go home.”

He did not move away. Instead he placed one dark hand on my bare thigh, just above the knee, and slowly slid it higher. His other hand stayed near the base of his cock, keeping the swollen head pressed against my pussy lips, rubbing in small, deliberate circles that made my wetness spread further over him.
“You say it was a mistake,” he answered quietly, “but your body is still open for me. You’re still wet. You came on my tongue only a minute ago. Your pussy is ready again.”
His hand on my thigh moved higher until his fingers brushed the soft outer lips of my pussy, spreading them slightly so the head of his cock could rest more directly against my entrance. He leaned a little closer, his chest almost touching my full breasts under the white blouse.

“You already let me inside you today, Madam. You already let me cum inside you. One more time on this desk will not change what has already happened. Just let me feel you once more before you leave.”
I turned my face slightly away, breathing faster. The guilt was real and heavy, yet the slow, continuous rubbing of his cock against my sensitive pussy kept sending unwanted sparks through me. My hands remained on his stomach, neither fully pushing him away nor pulling him closer, while he continued to persuade me with both his voice and the steady, patient pressure of his cock against my open body.


The thick head of his cock kept rubbing slowly against my wet pussy. His fingers stayed on my outer lips, holding me open just enough. The guilt was still heavy in my chest, but my body had already begun to betray me again. Each small circle of his cock against my entrance sent another soft pulse of heat through me. My breathing had grown uneven.

I tried once more.
“Narasimhan… this is wrong. I should go…”
My voice came out weaker than I intended. My hands, which had been pushing lightly against his stomach, slowly lost their strength. My fingers rested against his skin instead of resisting. He felt the change immediately. He leaned closer, the head of his cock pressing more firmly against my entrance without pushing inside yet.

“Just once more, Madam,” he whispered. “You already gave yourself to me today. Let me have you again on this desk. Then you can go home.”
I closed my eyes for a second. The memory of my husband’s angry voice that morning, the way he had dismissed the flag, the long hours of anger and heat that had followed, and the apology that came too late all mixed together inside me. My thighs, which had been trying to close, slowly relaxed open again on the edge of the desk.

When I opened my eyes, I looked at him and gave the smallest nod.
“...Alright. Once more. Then I go.”
The moment the words left my mouth, something shifted in Narasimhan’s dark face — relief mixed with sharp hunger. He did not smile. He simply moved closer between my thighs, the thick head of his cock now resting exactly at my entrance, ready to push inside the principal’s open body on her own desk one final time.

[novelistcasanova]

The moment I gave permission, Narasimhan moved with quiet certainty.


He placed both hands on my inner thighs and pushed them wider apart on the edge of the wooden desk. The white saree and white petticoat remained bunched high around my waist. My full breasts rose and fell under the white blouse with every unsteady breath. He stepped in closer until the thick head of his cock rested exactly against the soft, wet entrance of my pussy.
He did not thrust hard.

Instead he began to push forward slowly, watching my face as the swollen head of his cock stretched me open once more. I felt the familiar thick pressure as he sank into me inch by inch. My walls, still sensitive from the earlier orgasm, gripped him tightly. He kept the movement deliberate and controlled, filling me gradually until his lower stomach finally met mine and the full length of his cock was buried deep inside my pussy.

A soft, broken sound left my throat.
He stayed completely still for a moment, fully inside me on the edge of my own principal’s desk, both of us feeling the weight of what was happening again. His dark hands held my thighs firmly open. My maroon panties lay forgotten on the office floor. Outside, the last of the evening light was fading. Inside the quiet office, the college attender was once more buried to the hilt inside the principal, the thick heat of his cock pulsing deep inside me as he prepared to take the final round I had just allowed.


Narasimhan remained buried deep inside me for several long seconds, simply feeling the way my pussy gripped his thick cock. Then he began to move.
He pulled back slowly until only the swollen head remained inside me, then pushed forward again in one long, deep stroke that filled me completely. The wooden desk creaked softly under the shift of our weight. He repeated the movement — slow, full, deliberate — drawing almost all the way out before sinking back in to the root. Each stroke rubbed firmly along the sensitive walls of my pussy. My full breasts shifted under the white blouse with every deep thrust.

Neither of us spoke at first.
The only sounds in the principal’s office were the quiet, wet slide of his cock moving in and out of me and the soft creak of the desk. His dark hands stayed on my thighs, holding them open on the edge of the table. My hands rested behind me on the wooden surface for support. The white saree and white petticoat remained bunched around my waist. My maroon panties lay on the floor where he had dropped them.
Every slow, deep stroke carried the weight of everything that had already happened that day — the rain, the stolen clothes, the first time on his cot, the anger at my husband, the guilt, and the fact that I had just given him permission again. He fucked me with steady, measured thrusts on my own desk, as if he wanted to feel every inch of the final chance I had allowed him, while I stayed open beneath him and took each long stroke in silence.


Narasimhan’s slow, deliberate rhythm gradually changed.
He tightened his grip on my thighs and began thrusting harder. Each stroke became deeper and more forceful. The wet sound of his thick cock driving into my pussy grew louder in the quiet office. The wooden desk shifted slightly under the increasing power of his movements. My full breasts bounced harder under the white blouse with every impact of his lower stomach against me.
He lifted my legs higher, hooking them over the crooks of his arms so that my knees were pushed back toward my chest. The new angle opened my pussy even more. He drove into me with strong, steady strokes, using the solid edge of the desk for leverage. Each time he buried himself to the root, a soft, involuntary sound escaped my throat. The white saree and white petticoat stayed bunched uselessly around my waist. My maroon panties remained on the floor.
“Madam…” he groaned between harder thrusts, “your pussy feels so good like this…”
He kept my legs locked in his arms and fucked me with rising intensity on the principal’s desk, the thick length of his cock sliding in and out of my wet pussy in deep, powerful strokes. The desk creaked in rhythm with him. Outside, evening had fully settled. Inside the office, the college attender was openly using the principal’s body on her own desk, holding my legs wide and driving into me harder with every thrust while I remained open and took everything he gave.


The harder thrusts began to change something inside me.
At first the guilt had kept my body stiff, but the deep, steady friction of his thick cock rubbing against the sensitive front wall of my pussy started to melt that resistance. Each powerful stroke sent a stronger wave of heat through my lower stomach. My walls began to grip him tighter on their own. Wetness increased, making the sound of his cock sliding in and out of me clearer and more slippery.

I stopped merely taking it.
My hands left the desk and moved to his arms, holding on as he fucked me. When he drove in especially deep, a soft, broken moan escaped my throat before I could stop it. My full breasts rose and fell faster under the white blouse. My hips, which had been still, began to meet his thrusts in small, involuntary movements, pushing back against him so that his cock sank even deeper into my pussy.

The guilt was still present — I could feel it sitting in my chest — but it was no longer alone. Pleasure was mixing with it, growing stronger with every hard stroke. I looked up at his dark face while he held my legs open and used my body on the desk. My mouth opened slightly as another moan slipped out.
“Ahh… deeper…”
The word left me almost without permission. Narasimhan’s eyes darkened at the sound. He tightened his grip on my legs and fucked me harder, clearly feeling the way my pussy had begun to respond and pull him in. The wooden desk creaked steadily beneath us as the college attender continued to drive his thick cock into the principal, and I, despite the guilt, started giving myself back to the rhythm.


Narasimhan felt the change in my body and locked onto it.
He adjusted his stance between my open thighs and began fucking me with deep, focused strokes aimed exactly at the place that made my pussy tighten around him. Every thrust rubbed hard and steadily against that sensitive front wall inside me. The wet, rhythmic sound of his cock driving into my pussy filled the principal’s office. My full breasts bounced heavily under the white blouse. The white saree and petticoat remained bunched around my waist.

The pressure built fast.
A tight, rising heat gathered low in my stomach and spread downward. My walls started fluttering and clenching around his thick cock in short, involuntary pulses. My thighs trembled in his arms. My breathing turned into broken, open gasps. I was being pushed closer and closer to the edge with every deep, deliberate stroke.

“Narasimhan… I’m close…” I whispered, my voice shaking.
He did not slow down. He held my legs firmly and kept thrusting deep and steady, watching my face, clearly determined to take me all the way. The desk creaked under the force. My pussy gripped his cock tighter with each stroke, the pleasure coiling harder and sharper inside me. I was right at the edge — so close that every movement of his cock threatened to push me over — while he continued to fuck me with focused intensity on my own desk, driving me toward the climax he fully intended to give.


Narasimhan kept driving his thick cock deep into my pussy with the same focused, powerful strokes. The pressure inside me finally broke.
“Ahhh… ahh… I’m cumming… nnnh—”
My pussy clenched hard around his cock as the orgasm tore through me. Strong pulses gripped and milked him in rhythmic waves. My back arched off the desk. My thighs shook violently in his arms. A long, helpless moan spilled from my throat while my walls contracted again and again around the thick length buried inside me.

The tight, wet squeezing of my climax pushed him over the edge at the same time.
“Ugh… ahh… Madam… I’m cumming too—”
He slammed into me one final time and held himself deep. His cock pulsed hard. Thick, hot cum shot into my pussy in strong, heavy spurts. I felt every jet flooding deep against my walls while my own orgasm continued to milk him. He groaned loudly, hips jerking as he emptied himself inside me for the second time that day.
“Ahh… yes… fill me… ahh…” I moaned, still clenching around him, taking every drop while my body trembled on the edge of the desk.

He stayed buried to the root, cock throbbing and spilling the last of his cum into my pussy as the final waves of my orgasm slowly faded. Warm wetness filled me completely and began to leak out around his cock onto the wooden surface of my own principal’s desk. Both of us remained locked together, breathing hard, his thick cock still pulsing inside me while the quiet office held the sound of our shared climax.


Narasimhan remained buried deep inside me for a long moment after the last pulses faded. Both of us were breathing hard. Warm cum slowly leaked out around his cock and onto the wooden desk. Outside, evening had fully settled. Inside the principal’s office, the only sound was our uneven breathing.
Eventually he pulled out. I felt the sudden emptiness and the thick wetness he left behind. He stepped back. I slowly slid off the desk onto unsteady legs. My white saree and white petticoat were still bunched around my waist. My maroon panties remained on the floor where he had dropped them earlier.
I began to dress in silence. I pulled the white petticoat down and tied it. I adjusted the white saree around my body and pinned the pallu at my shoulder with slightly trembling hands. When I looked for the maroon panties, Narasimhan had already picked them up and held them without offering them back. I did not ask for them.
I turned to face him fully. My voice came out quiet but clear.
“This can never happen again. Promise me.”
Narasimhan looked at me for a long second. Then he gave a small, serious nod.

“I promise, Madam.”
He stepped closer, placed one hand lightly on my waist, and leaned in. He kissed me once — slow and lingering — on the lips. I could still taste myself on his mouth from earlier. The kiss was not hungry this time. It felt final. When he pulled back, he looked at me and spoke softly.

“Go home, Madam.”
I did not answer. I walked out of the principal’s office, out of the college building, and to my red Honda Activa. I started the scooter and rode away from the compound. The cool evening air moved under my white saree and white petticoat against my bare, cum-smeared pussy. The memory of his last kiss and the promise sat quietly beside the guilt.

The road home was quiet. By the time I reached the house, darkness had fallen. I parked the Activa, went inside, and closed the door. The boys were somewhere in their room. My husband’s side of the bed was empty.

I went straight to the bathroom, removed the white saree, white blouse, white petticoat and white bra, and stood under the shower. I washed my body thoroughly — my breasts, my stomach, between my legs — trying to clean away the entire day. The water ran over me for a long time.

When I came out I changed into a simple nighty. I stood for a moment in front of the small prayer shelf, closed my eyes, and prayed quietly, asking for strength and forgiveness.
Then I lay down alone on the bed.

As I pulled the sheet over myself, one clear thought settled in my mind:
I will never let anyone fuck me again.
I closed my eyes. The house remained quiet around me.

The End.

Regards
Novelist Casanova

[SinSoul]

Amazing story. The emotions felt very real. Loved it.

[novelistcasanova]

Amazing story. The emotions felt very real. Loved it.

Thank you

[Saibabugvs]

Once again a complete story with excellent story telling skills. Like your style. Please write something on wife swapping

[raasug]

The story is excellent ! Narration is superb ! Justification for her act of adultery is "Tit for Tat" ! Though it is her justification for the time being, can she get rid of her guilt feeling in the yeras to come ?

Great reading for me !

[aravindkkumar08]

Back to back stories by author kudos. No dragging. As usual routine story but narration is super. As requested earlier why don't you try continuing amutha story just requst

[novelistcasanova]

Once again a complete story with excellent story telling skills. Like your style. Please write something on wife swapping

Thank you so much, Saibabugvs! ❤️ Really glad you enjoyed my storytelling style. As for wife swapping… hmm, that’s an interesting suggestion! ? Let’s see what story ideas come up.

[novelistcasanova]

The story is excellent ! Narration is superb ! Justification for her act of adultery is "Tit for Tat" ! Though it is her justification for the time being, can she get rid of her guilt feeling in the yeras to come ?

Great reading for me !

Thank you so much, Raasug! ❤️ I’m really glad you enjoyed the story and the narration. And yes, that question about whether she can truly escape her guilt is something I wanted the reader to think about. ?

By the way, how are you doing? Hope you’re keeping well and everything is going smoothly on your side. It’s always nice to hear from you. Take care and stay well! ?

[LovePookie]

Exellent dude

[novelistcasanova]

Back to back stories by author kudos. No dragging. As usual routine story but narration is super. As requested earlier why don't you try continuing amutha story just requst

Thank you so much, Aravind! ❤️ Glad you enjoyed the narration. And yes, I haven’t forgotten your request for an Amutha continuation. ? Let’s see what I can do with her story!

[ananth1986]

another "GEM" of your story.
Thank you