Misc. Erotica The Astrologer and My Wife (COMPLETED)- By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

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THE ASTROLOGER AND MY WIFE

By Novelist Casanova 

I am Shiva Shankar.
In Bangalore, that name meant something. I was a successful advocate — high-profile cases, politicians, businessmen, men who needed a lawyer who could walk into a security officer station and make the inspector stand up. Money had come. Then more money. A large house, cars, a name that juniors repeated in court corridors. I had built all of it myself.
My cousins had wanted the same life.

They used to sit in my house years ago and talk about becoming advocates like me, buying land like me, living like me. They copied my words, my clothes, even the way I spoke to people. But they did not have the stomach for the work. One by one they sold the properties their fathers had left them — first a site, then a house, then the last piece of land — just to keep up appearances. By the time they understood they would never become me, there was nothing left to sell.
Santosh was one of them.

He had been the loudest. Always talking about deals, always acting bigger than he was. Then came the accident on the Hosur road. A lorry hit their car from the side. Santosh’s chest was crushed. His broker Venkatesh was thrown out and almost cut in half. Both died on the spot. I had gone to Bangalore that morning, stood in the hospital, and looked at what was left of a cousin who had spent his whole life trying to become me and failed.

I came back with that image still in my head.
Successful. Wealthy. Respected.
The cousins who wanted to be like me had sold their properties. Santosh was dead.
I thought nothing could touch what I had built.
I was wrong.


Then there was Sudha.
I had married my wife when she was very young. There were fifteen years between us. When I first saw her, she was barely out of college — tall for a girl from her side, fair, with long thick black hair that fell down her back. She had large dark eyes, a straight sharp nose, and full lips. Even then my wife’s body had already taken the shape that would stay with me for the rest of my life — full, heavy breasts, a narrow waist, and wide hips that made every saree sit differently on her than on other women.
Years had only added to that.
After marriage and after our son, my wife’s breasts had grown heavier. Her hips had widened. Her waist had remained narrow. When my wife walked through our house in a saree, the cloth followed the exact line of her body. Men in the court compound, drivers, even my own juniors, looked at her longer than they should have. I used to feel proud of that. My wife was mine. I had taken her young, and I had kept her.
My wife knew how possessive I was.

Because of that, she made sure she wore her saree modestly whenever she stepped outside. The pallu was always properly over her chest. The blouse was never low. The petticoat sat high enough. She did not give other men an extra reason to stare. At home my wife was mine to pull onto my lap and undress. Outside she kept herself covered the way a respectable advocate’s wife should, because she knew I would not tolerate another man’s eyes staying on her body.
My wife was always clean and fresh.

She bathed twice a day. Her hair smelled of jasmine. Her body smelled of soap and a light oil she put after her bath. Even after cooking, even after a long day, my wife stayed neat — saree properly pinned, blouse clean, mangalsutra in place. She prayed every morning in front of the small pooja shelf. She kept a tilak on her forehead. She believed in God, in fasting, in temples, and in astrology. If someone mentioned a good time or a bad time, she listened. If an astrologer said something about Rajesh’s future, she took it seriously. That part of her was real. My wife was a religious woman.
I loved hugging my wife when she was naked.

After her bath, before she put on her nighty, I would pull her naked body against me with nothing between us. Her full, heavy breasts pressed into my chest. Her nipples rubbed against me. My arms went around her narrow waist and then lower, over the wide curve of her ass, holding both cheeks in my hands. Her stomach was soft against mine. Her pussy was warm against my thigh. I used to stay like that for a long time — just hugging my naked wife, smelling the soap on her, feeling every part of her naked body against me. That hug made me feel that my wife belonged only to me. No saree, no blouse, no panties. Just my wife, clean, fresh, and completely naked in my arms.
That was the best time for me to enjoy fucking my wife.
After the bath, when my wife was still naked and warm and smelling of soap, I would keep hugging her for a while and then take her to the bed. I would lay her down, spread her thighs, and push my cock into her clean pussy while her body was still wet from the bath. I used to fuck my wife slowly at first, feeling how soft and fresh she was, then harder, holding her heavy breasts, kissing her mouth, keeping her naked under me until I finished inside her. No saree in the way. No panties to pull aside. Just my naked wife, freshly bathed, taking my cock. That was the time I enjoyed my wife the most.
Whenever I was alone with my wife at home, I made her sit on my lap on the sofa in the living room while we watched TV.

I would pull my wife down onto me. Her wide ass settled over my cock through my pants. I lifted her saree and petticoat together up to her waist, then slid my hand inside her panties. My fingers would find her pussy at once — warm, soft, already beginning to wet. I rubbed her clit slowly at first, then pushed one finger inside her and opened her while the television kept playing in front of us.
“Shiva… not here…” my wife would whisper, but she never got off my lap.
I kept her there — her back against my chest, my hand inside her panties, two fingers now moving in and out of her pussy. I could feel how wet my wife was getting. The front of her panties would turn damp against my palm. I played with her clit in tight circles until her thighs started shaking on either side of my legs.
“Stay still. Watch the TV.”
She tried. Her breathing would break. Her full breasts would rise and fall under her blouse. I never stopped until I made my wife cum. I liked feeling her pussy clench hard around my fingers, liked the way she held my wrist and bit her lip so she would not moan too loud. I would keep my hand inside her panties even after she finished, feeling the wetness I had pulled out of her, sometimes lifting my fingers to look at how shiny they were before putting them back on her clit.
I did this whenever I wanted.

After Rajesh left for college, I would call my wife to the living room, make her sit on my lap on the sofa, lift her saree and petticoat, put my hand inside her panties, play with her pussy, and make her cum. After that I would often fuck my wife right there on the sofa — pulling her panties aside and pushing my cock into the same wet pussy my fingers had just opened. Her full breasts filled my hands. Her tight pussy took my cock the same way it had when she was newly married. I never got tired of it.
I was possessive.

I did not like other men standing too close to my wife. I did not like the way some of my clients smiled when she brought tea. I used to watch their eyes drop to her breasts and her hips, and I used to pull my wife closer in front of them on purpose — a hand on her waist, a look that told them she belonged to me. At night I would fuck my wife harder after those moments, reminding both of us that no one else would ever have her.
My wife was the kind of woman other men imagined and never got.

At home she was quiet, disciplined, respectful, clean, and religious. She touched my feet during festivals. She kept the house running. She still blushed when I made her sit on my lap on the sofa and put my hand inside her panties. To the outside world she was the respectable wife of Advocate Shiva Shankar. To me she was the girl I had married too young, whose body I used whenever I wanted.
Fifteen years younger.
Still the most beautiful woman I had ever put my hands on.
That was my wife.

My wife wanted our son to become a successful advocate like me.
From the day Rajesh started college, that was the only future she kept in her mind. She would sit with my son in the evenings and ask what he had studied that day. She made sure his notes were complete. If he had a presentation, she listened to him practise. If he needed books, she told me to buy them the same day. She did not want him to struggle the way some of my cousins had struggled. She wanted him to walk into court with the same confidence I had.

She loved my son in a way that showed in small things.
She woke up early and kept his breakfast ready before he left. She packed his bag. She reminded him about class timings. When he came home tired, she sat with him and let him talk. She never raised her voice at him. In her eyes, my son was not just our boy. He was the one who would one day carry my name forward.
She gave him every kind of education help she could.
Tuition when he needed it. Extra notes from seniors. Quiet in the house when he was studying. She even stopped the television in the living room if he said he had an important portion to finish. She believed that if he worked hard, God would help him, and that if we supported him completely, he would pass and become an advocate like his father.

My son had just written his final year exams.
The papers were over. The waiting had started. Every morning my wife asked if the results would come that day. Every evening she sat near the pooja shelf and prayed for him. She kept telling me that he had written well, that he would pass in all subjects, that soon he would enroll and stand beside me in court. The whole house was waiting for those results.
That was my wife’s biggest hope.
Not jewellery. Not more property. Not another car.
She wanted my son to become what I had become.
And she was ready to do anything for that.


Recently one of my friends invited me and my wife for his sister’s wedding. We decided to attend.
I got ready first. I wore my black suit and a white shirt, fixed the collar, and sat on the edge of the bed waiting. From the bathroom I heard the shower stop. A few minutes later she came out with a white towel wrapped around her naked body. Water was still running down her shoulders and over the upper curve of her breasts. Her long black hair was wet and sticking to her neck. She looked fresh, clean, and soft in a way that immediately made my chest tighten.
She stood in front of the cupboard and opened it.
First she loosened the towel and let it fall to the floor.
For a few seconds my wife stood completely naked in front of me. Her full, heavy breasts were uncovered. Her nipples were still tight from the bath. Her narrow waist, her wide hips, her ass, her pussy — everything was open to my eyes. A strong wave of heat went through me. My cock hardened at once inside my pants, and for a moment I could only stare.
I got up from the bed, naughty and playful, already restless.
I pulled her against me and put both hands on her ass, squeezing her ass cheeks, hugging her body to mine so her pussy rested against my thigh. I kissed her mouth and did not let her go. She made a small surprised sound against my lips, then laughed softly under her breath.
My wife said,
“Shiva, no… we really have to leave now, we’ll get late for the wedding.”
I answered against her mouth,
“Stay like this for a little longer. You’re still naked and I can’t just look at you and walk out. Come to the bed.”
I kept hugging her and would not let her pick up her clothes. I kissed her neck, then the top of her breasts, while my cock stayed against her stomach through my pants. She shivered slightly when my mouth touched her neck, and her hands came up to my chest, half pushing, half hugging me back.
My wife said,
“After the reception, Shiva. I promise. If we start now we will definitely get late.”
I kept hugging her and said,
“Just a few minutes, please. I don’t think I can control myself after seeing you like this.”
I refused to let her dress. Every time she reached for her white panties, I pulled her back into my arms and hugged her again. She laughed again, a little breathless now, and tried to twist away, her wet hair brushing against my face.
My wife said,
“You’re being so naughty today. Leave me now, I have to get dressed properly.”
I hugged her waist and answered,
“No. After I fuck you. Just stay naked a little longer for me.”
She pulled harder this time and slipped out of my hands. I felt a sharp frustration as she escaped, and I tried to catch her again, but she had already picked up her white panties. She bent a little, stepped into her panties quickly, and pulled her panties up over her hips until her panties sat against her pussy. Then she took her white bra, slipped her arms through her bra straps, settled her bra cups over her full, heavy breasts, and fastened her bra hooks behind her back. I watched every movement, still hard, still unwilling to let the moment end.

Before she could pick up her red petticoat, I came up behind her.
I was fully hard and horny. I wrapped both arms around her from behind and hugged her tightly against my chest. My right hand went straight down, slid inside the front of her white panties, and closed over her pussy. My fingers spread over the soft, smooth lips of her pussy. There was no hair. Her pussy was completely clean shaved. The soft warmth of her pussy under my palm made my cock throb.
I spoke against her ear,
“So soft… completely clean and so smooth. I love the way you keep it.”
My wife blushed deeply. A faint pink rose on her cheeks and neck. She did not push my hand away at once. She stayed inside my hug, her back against my white shirt, breathing a little faster while my fingers kept gently holding her pussy inside her panties.
My wife said in a low, shy voice,
“I keep it like this just for you, so you can enjoy whenever you want.”
I could feel her stomach tighten under my arm as I kept my right hand inside her panties, cupping her clean-shaved pussy, and kissed the side of her neck. She tilted her head slightly, giving me more space without fully meaning to.
I asked her,
“How do you manage to keep it so smooth every single time?”
She turned her face a little toward me, still shy, still smiling, her eyes soft, and answered,
“I do it carefully after my bath, only for you. You really like it this way, don’t you?”
I said,
“I love it. More than you know.”
I slowly took my hand out of her panties, turned her around to face me, and hugged her fully. She was only in her white bra and white panties. Her full breasts pressed against my chest through the bra. My hands went around her bare waist and down over her ass as I hugged her tightly, my hard cock against her lower stomach through my pants. For a moment I just breathed her in — the soap on her shoulders, the jasmine in her hair, the warmth of her body against mine.
She hugged me back.

Her arms went around my neck. She rested her face against my shoulder for a moment, and I felt her body soften against mine before she spoke near my ear.
My wife said,
“Wait until we come back home, hmm? I know you want me right now, but I’m not going anywhere. I’m yours. After the function, when we come back, you can take me properly. I’ll be here only for you.”
The softness in her voice settled something in me, but it also made me want her more. I hugged her tighter and said,
“Promise me.”
My wife whispered,
“I promise,”
and kissed the side of my neck once. The small kiss sent another rush of heat through me.
I did not leave it there.
I turned her around again, pulled her white panties down from behind over her ass and thighs, and gently bent her forward. She held the edge of the cupboard, her breath catching. Her round ass was fully in front of me. I spread her ass cheeks with both hands and looked at her asshole.
It was clean. Completely shaved. Soft and pink.
A thick, possessive hunger rose in me.
I leaned closer and sniffed her asshole.
The smell was clean and warm — a faint mix of fresh soap from her bath, the natural musk of her ass, and a soft, intimate scent that belonged only to her body. There was nothing dirty in it. It was private, feminine, and it went straight to my cock.
I said,
“Even here… so clean.”
I leaned in and kissed her asshole once, slow and deliberate, pressing my lips against the soft ring of her asshole. My wife shivered hard. Her thighs tensed. A small broken moan left her throat.
“Shiva… ahh…”
I kissed her asshole again, then parted my lips and tasted it.
My tongue pressed against the soft, clean surface of her asshole. The taste was mild and warm — clean skin, a light soapy freshness from her bath, and underneath it a soft, intimate musk that made my cock throb harder. I licked once more, slow and open-mouthed, tasting her asshole properly.
My wife’s reaction was immediate.
Her fingers gripped the cupboard tightly. Her ass cheeks clenched under my hands. Her thighs shook. Another moan, longer this time, slipped out of her mouth as she tried to keep her voice down.
“Shiva… please… ahh… what are you doing…”
I kept my mouth on her asshole a moment longer, tasting her again, and in that moment I decided clearly in my mind —
I have to enjoy my wife’s asshole.
Not just kiss it. Not just look at it. One day I would take it properly.
I kissed her asshole once more, then spoke against it.
“Let me fuck your ass tonight.”
My wife stayed bent over for a moment, breathing faster, her fingers still gripping the cupboard, her ass still slightly trembling from my mouth. Then she answered clearly and firmly, though her voice still carried the shyness and the heat of what I had just done.
“Not tonight, Shiva. Tonight you can take only my pussy when we come back home. My ass is not for today.”
The way she said it stayed in my mind. Tonight she was giving me her pussy. Her ass would come another day.
I pulled her white panties back up over her ass and hips. She was still blushing deeply when she picked up her red petticoat, her hands a little unsteady. She drew her petticoat up over her panties and tied the string at her waist. When she reached for her red blouse, I took it from the cupboard first and held it away from her, still not fully ready to let the moment end.
My wife looked at me and said,
“Shiva… please give me the blouse now.”
I smiled and answered,
“Wear it after we come back.”
She pulled the blouse from my hand with a small, flustered smile, put her blouse on over her bra, and checked the fit of her blouse around her breasts.
Finally she took out her red silk saree.
I stood close behind my wife while she tucked one end of her saree into her petticoat, made the pleats, and brought the pallu of her saree over her left shoulder. She pinned her pallu properly so that her pallu covered her chest. Her saree sat modestly on her body — her pallu in place, her blouse not low, her petticoat hidden underneath. Even then she looked stunning. Her saree followed the line of her full breasts, her narrow waist, and her wide hips. She put on her gold bangles, checked her mangalsutra, and turned towards me with the same small naughty smile, though her cheeks were still faintly pink.
My wife said,
“After the function, Shiva. Now come, let’s go before we get late.”
That was my wife.
Clean, fresh, modestly dressed in her red silk saree, her red blouse and her red petticoat, her white bra and her white panties underneath — ready to attend a wedding as the respectable wife of Advocate Shiva Shankar.
I had not been able to stop her from wearing her saree.
But even in that modest saree, I could not stop looking at my wife. The hunger was still sitting heavy in my body.
Tonight she had promised me her pussy.
And after tasting her asshole, I had already decided — one day I would enjoy my wife’s asshole completely.


At around 6 PM I took my wife in my car.
She sat beside me in her red silk saree, red blouse and red petticoat, her pallu properly over her chest. The smell of jasmine from her hair filled the car. I kept looking at her while driving. The same body I had just hugged, the same pussy I had held inside her panties, the same asshole I had kissed and tasted, was now sitting modestly next to me, dressed for a wedding.
I was still horny.
Every few seconds my eyes left the road and went to her. Her full breasts under the red blouse. Her narrow waist. Her wide hips under the red silk saree. And again and again my mind went back to her asshole — clean, shaved, soft, the smell of soap and warm musk, the taste of it on my tongue. My cock stayed hard inside my pants.
My wife noticed.
“Shiva, focus on the road,” she said softly. “You’ll meet with an accident if you keep looking at me like that.”
I slowed the car a little at a signal, turned my face toward her, and held her jaw gently with my left hand. My thumb brushed her cheek.
“I love you,” I said.
Her eyes softened at once. She smiled, a little shy, a little loving. Then she reached across with her left hand and closed her fingers over my cock through my pants. She held it firmly, feeling how hard I was, and spoke in a low voice.
“Don’t worry. After the wedding we will go home. I’ll take care of it. You know I will.”
She leaned in and kissed my cheek once, soft and warm, while her hand still rested over my cock. Then she slowly took her hand back and sat properly again, adjusting her pallu.
I turned back to the road, still hard, still thinking of her asshole, but the promise of later sat in my mind as we continued toward the hall.
When we reached, the reception had already started.
My friend came forward and welcomed us with a wide smile. He took us toward the stage where the bride and groom were standing and introduced us to them. A photographer began taking pictures of us with the wedding couple. My wife stood beside me, smiling politely, her hands folded in front of her, still looking clean, fresh, and modest in her red silk saree.
That was when I noticed the videographer.
He was not covering the couple the way he should have. His camera kept turning toward my wife. On the large screen behind the stage, her face appeared first. Then the camera slowly moved down — over her neck, over the way her red blouse sat on her full breasts, over her narrow waist, over the curve of her hips under the red silk saree. He was zooming in on every part of my wife’s body.
Everyone in the hall could see it.
It was only a small gathering, but they were all high-profile people — businessmen, advocates, a couple of politicians, families with money. I saw men looking at the screen. Some smiled. Some kept staring. They were openly enjoying the way my wife looked on the big display while she stood there innocently posing for the photographer with me and the wedding couple, not understanding what the videographer was doing.
A hot anger rose in my chest.

Jealousy followed it at once.
I did not show it on my face. I kept standing straight in my black suit, smiling for the still photographs, but inside I was burning. My wife’s body — the same body that belonged only to me, the same pussy and ass I had touched less than an hour ago — was being shown to every man in that hall without her even realising it.
When the pictures were done, we started leaving the stage.
I shook hands with the groom and then with the bride. My wife also stepped forward to wish them. She smiled politely and raised her hand for a simple handshake with the groom.

What happened next shocked me.
The groom looked at my wife, and for a clear second his eyes changed. He was completely horny. Instead of a normal handshake, he suddenly wrapped both arms around my wife’s waist and pulled her into a complete embrace. His chest pressed hard against her full breasts through her red blouse and red silk saree. His arms locked around her waist tightly. I could see the lust on his face as he held her.
While hugging her, he said near her ear,
“Thank you so much for coming… it means a lot.”
His voice was thick. He kept my wife in his complete embrace a moment longer than anyone should have allowed, openly enjoying the feel of her body against him.
My wife hugged him back.
She did not suspect anything. The groom was only as old as her younger brother, and to her it felt like a normal, respectful greeting at a wedding. She placed her arms around him politely and hugged him in return, still smiling innocently, not realising that he was holding her out of pure lust.
Even the bride froze.

I saw the bride’s face change at once — shock first, then jealousy. Her eyes filled and she looked as if she was about to cry.
After a few seconds my wife broke the embrace, stepped back, and lowered her eyes with a small, polite smile. Without thinking anything wrong, she turned and began following me down from the stage.

As my wife stepped down the stage steps, the red silk saree moved with her hips. From behind, the shape of her ass was clear under the saree, and her pantyline sat visibly over each ass cheek on the saree with every step.
My friend was standing near the steps. His eyes went straight to my wife’s ass. He openly ogled the curve of her ass and her pantyline over her ass cheeks on the saree, not even trying to hide it.
The videographer noticed too.

His camera dropped lower and focused fully on my wife’s ass as she went down the steps. On the huge screen behind the stage, her ass filled the frame — the round shape under the red silk saree, her pantyline sitting clearly over each ass cheek on the saree with every step. All the men in the hall were watching the screen. I saw several of them shift in their seats. Some had clear boners pushing against their pants. A few men in dhotis adjusted themselves, their cocks hard while they stared at my wife’s ass and her pantyline on the big screen.
My wife kept walking down innocently, still thinking the groom’s hug had only been a normal wedding greeting, not knowing that every man in that hall was looking at her ass.
I walked ahead of her, my jaw tight.
Outside I still looked calm.
Inside I was angry, jealous, and fully aware that other men had already started looking at my wife the way only I was supposed to look at her.


My friend guided us toward the dinner area in the basement.
We went down the steps and entered the basement dining hall. The buffet was arranged along one side. High-profile guests were already standing in small groups with plates in their hands. My friend walked ahead of us, but I noticed at once that he was paying more attention to my wife than to me. His eyes kept going to her face, then down over her red silk saree, then back to her face again as he spoke.
“Please, both of you take dinner. Everything is fresh.”
We joined the buffet line.
Even the serving men behind the counters were ogling my wife. Their eyes moved over her full breasts under the red blouse, her waist, and the way the red silk saree sat on her hips. They were supposed to be serving food, but most of them were looking at her more than at the plates.
We reached the dessert section.
One man was serving gulab jamun. He looked at my wife longer than the others. When she stopped in front of him, he picked up one soft gulab jamun with a spoon and held it out toward her with a smile.
“Madam, please taste this and tell me how it is.”
My wife, still polite and innocent, asked,
“Can you give me a spoon?”
He shook his head and said,
“No need for spoon, madam. Take it in your hand only. It tastes better that way.”
My wife hesitated for a second, then took the gulab jamun in her fingers. She brought it to her mouth and took a small bite.
That was when the videographer came down to the basement.
He had left the stage area above and followed us down with his camera. He moved closer and raised it straight toward my wife’s face. On the huge screen connected in the basement hall, her mouth filled the frame — her soft lips closing around the gulab jamun, her white teeth taking a bite, the sweet syrup touching her tongue, the way her mouth moved as she chewed. He kept the camera locked on her lips, her teeth, and the half-eaten gulab jamun inside her mouth.

Around twenty men in the basement hall turned to the big screen.
They stopped talking and watched. Some smiled. Some just stared. A few older men stood with their mouths slightly open, actual drool collecting at the corners of their lips as they watched my wife’s mouth on the screen — her lips, her teeth, the gulab jamun, and the soft movement of her chewing. They were openly enjoying the sight like a feast.
My wife still did not understand.
She swallowed and answered the serving man with a soft smile,
“It’s good.”
He immediately held out a paper towel toward her. While she took the paper towel to wipe her fingers, he took back the half-bitten gulab jamun from her hand and quickly placed a fresh whole one on her plate. My wife thanked him and moved ahead with her plate, still not suspecting anything — not the serving man, not the videographer who had come down to the basement for her, not the men watching her mouth on the big screen.
I was standing right behind her, getting my own plate served.
The moment my wife walked away, the same man looked down at the half-bitten gulab jamun in his hand — the exact portion where her mouth had touched. He put that same bitten piece into his own mouth, closed his eyes, and chewed slowly, openly enjoying the taste of my wife’s saliva mixed with the sweet syrup.
I saw everything.

A sharp anger rose in my chest again. First the videographer on stage. Then the groom. Then her ass on the big screen. Now even in the basement her mouth was being fed to every man in that hall, and a serving man was tasting her saliva.
I took my plate and followed her without saying a word, my jaw tight, while that man still stood there with a small satisfied smile on his face.


We sat down with our plates and had dinner.
My wife ate quietly, still polite, still unaware of how many eyes had already been on her that evening. I sat beside her, but the food had no taste. The videographer, the groom’s hug, her pantyline on the screen, the serving man tasting her saliva — all of it kept turning in my head.
After dinner we went for ice cream.
We were standing near the dessert corner with cups in our hands when four men began to gather around us. They did not arrive together. One came first. Then another. Then the third and fourth joined, until the four of them had slowly closed in. All high-profile guests — money, position, clean clothes, careful smiles. But I could read them at once. They were horny.

One of them took the lead and kept my wife busy with quiet conversation.
He stood a little closer than necessary and spoke softly, asking about the saree, about whether she attended such functions often, about how long we had been married, about whether she liked Bangalore. My wife answered each question with simple honesty, smiling politely, seeing nothing wrong in his tone.
While he held her attention, the other three looked at her freely.
Their eyes moved without hurry — from her face to her neck, from her neck to her full breasts under the red blouse, then down over her waist and the fall of the red silk saree on her hips. They took her in from head to down as if she was standing there only for them.
“You look very graceful in this saree,” the first man said. “Do you always dress like this for weddings?”
“Thank you. This is just a normal saree,” my wife replied.
While she spoke, the second man’s gaze stayed on her chest. The third studied her waist. The fourth watched her hips.
“Your husband is well known, of course,” the first man continued. “But anyone would notice you in a hall like this.”
“You are being too kind,” my wife said softly.
Again the other three used the moment. Their eyes travelled over her breasts, her stomach, her hips, and the soft dbang of her saree without the slightest attempt to hide it.
I stood beside her and answered for both of us, polite on the surface, burning underneath.
“We don’t come to many functions. Work keeps us busy.”
“She prefers staying simple. That is her nature.”
“We came only for the function. After this we will be heading home.”
The first man kept the conversation going. The other three kept looking. My wife remained untouched by any of it, still eating her ice cream, still believing these were only well-mannered guests.

Behind her, the catering boys had stopped pretending to work.
Several of them were staring at her ass. The red silk saree showed the round shape of it clearly from behind, and her pantyline sat visibly over each ass cheek on the saree. One boy had gone further. He stood half-hidden behind a wide pillar in the corner of the basement, hand inside his pants, jerking off while his eyes stayed fixed on my wife’s ass and pantyline.

The videographer was still in the basement.
He moved behind her and raised his camera to her back. On the huge screen, her ass filled the frame — the curve under the red silk saree, the pantyline sitting clearly over each ass cheek. The image stayed there long enough for every man in the hall to take it in.
I saw all of it at once.
The man keeping her busy with soft questions. The other three undressing her with their eyes. The catering boys staring. The boy behind the pillar using her body for his own pleasure. The videographer feeding her ass to the entire hall.
Anger and jealousy sat heavy in my chest.
Outside, I remained calm and answered with proper words.
Inside, I was on fire — watching strangers enjoy my wife from every side while she stood there with her ice cream, still not suspecting a single thing.


I was burning inside.
I had seen enough for one evening — the videographer, the groom, the men around the buffet, the catering boy behind the pillar, the big screen filled with my wife’s body. I took my wife’s hand and began walking her out of the basement hall toward the car. I wanted to take her home before anything else happened.
Outside, the ground was almost empty.
Only a few serial sets and decorative lights were still on. The music from inside sounded distant. Our car was parked a little away under one of the lights. We reached it, and I opened the door for my wife.
That was when my friend came running.
“Shiva… wait. You both forgot the souvenirs.”
He came up to us holding the return gifts. I took two from his hands, one for me and one for my wife, and thanked him.
He shook my hand first.
“Thank you for coming, Shiva. It meant a lot.”
Then he turned toward my wife.
Instead of a simple thank you, he stepped in and hugged her.
My wife did not suspect him. She thought it was only a polite goodbye after the wedding, so she hugged him back.
The moment her body came against him, I saw the change in his face.
He was horny. Fully turned on. His eyes darkened for a second as her full breasts pressed into his chest through her red blouse and red silk saree. His breathing changed. But he still spoke like a perfect gentleman.
Over her shoulder he looked at me and said in a warm, grateful voice,
“The bride and groom are truly blessed. Guests like you make the whole function complete. Thank you for coming, sister.”
While saying those polite words, his hands moved lower.
Both of his palms settled on my wife’s ass cheeks over her red silk saree. He grabbed them openly, squeezing and feeling the shape of her ass, and through the saree he pressed enough to feel her panties over each ass cheek. His fingers moved once, cheeky and deliberate, enjoying the soft curve under his hands while his body stayed pressed against hers. He was clearly hard with lust, yet his face and voice remained soft and respectful, as if he was only thanking a guest.
My wife felt his hands on her ass at once.
Her body stiffened. The polite smile left her face. She shifted uncomfortably in his arms and then quickly took his hands off her ass, stepping back with a startled, embarrassed look.

For a second no one spoke.
I stood there holding the souvenirs, jaw tight, watching the man who had called me friend get turned on while hugging my wife, feel up her ass and panties over her saree, and still pretend to be a gentleman right in front of me.
Outside I still did not raise my voice.
Inside the anger that had been building all evening rose even higher.

To Be Continued..!

[novelistcasanova]

I took my wife home in the car.

I did not speak a single word.
She sat beside me in her red silk saree, still slightly shaken from my friend’s hands on her ass, but I kept my eyes on the road. The anger from the whole evening sat heavy in my chest. I drove in silence. She tried to glance at me once or twice, but I did not look back.

By the time we reached the house, my wife had already understood.
She could see it on my face. I was angry. I was jealous. She did not ask questions. She did not argue. She simply followed me inside and up to the bedroom, quiet and ready to cooperate.

The moment the bedroom door closed, I turned to her.
I pulled the pallu of her red silk saree off her shoulder and began unwrapping the saree from her body. She stood still and let me do it. I opened the saree fully and dropped it on the floor. Then I untied her red petticoat and pushed it down over her hips until it fell at her feet. She stepped out of it without resistance. I opened her red blouse, pulled it off her arms, and threw it aside. Her white bra and white panties were all that remained.
I reached behind her, unhooked her bra, and pulled it off. Her full, heavy breasts came free. Then I hooked my fingers into the sides of her white panties and pulled them down her legs. She lifted each foot and stepped out of them. My wife stood completely naked in front of me, knowing exactly why I was like this, and she did not stop me.
I pushed her onto the bed. She lay back at once and opened her thighs for me. I got between them. My cock was already hard from the anger and the hunger of the entire evening. I rubbed the head of my cock against her pussy once, felt that she was wet enough, and pushed inside her in one firm stroke.
“Ahh… Shiva…”
I began fucking her hard.

There was no slow build. I held her thighs open and drove into her pussy with deep, angry thrusts. Her full breasts shook with every stroke. The bed moved under us. My wife cooperated fully — keeping her thighs open, holding my arms, taking every thrust without complaint.
And while I fucked her, the whole wedding began replaying in my mind.
First the videographer — his camera locked on her body, her face, her chest, her waist, her ass filling the big screen while high-profile men watched. I thrust harder into her pussy as that image burned through me.
Then the groom.

The way his eyes changed. The way he pulled her into a complete embrace. The way his chest pressed against her full breasts. The way he thanked her in that thick, horny voice while holding her longer than he should have. My cock slammed deeper into her as anger mixed with possession.

Then the basement.
The serving man making her take the gulab jamun in her hand. Her lips closing around it. The videographer coming down just to film her mouth. Twenty men watching her lips and teeth on the screen. Old men drooling. And that bastard later eating the exact bitten piece, tasting her saliva. I fucked her harder, breathing heavily, using her body to push the memory out of me.
Then the four men around her with ice cream.
One keeping her busy with soft questions. The other three looking at her from head to down without shame. Catering boys staring at her ass. Her pantyline sitting clearly over each ass cheek on the red silk saree. The boy behind the pillar jerking off while watching her. The big screen again, this time filled with her back and ass. My thrusts grew rougher, more emotional.
And then my friend.

Standing outside near the car. Hugging her. Looking at me like a gentleman while his hands grabbed her ass cheeks over the saree and felt her panties. The same ass I had kissed and tasted before the wedding. The same body that belonged only to me.
That memory broke something in me.

My throat tightened. My eyes burned. While I kept thrusting into her pussy, tears filled my eyes and started falling onto her face and breasts. I fucked her harder, but the anger had turned into something raw and emotional.
“You’re mine, Sudha… only mine. No one else is allowed to look at you like that. This body belongs only to me.”
My wife looked up at me, saw the tears, and understood everything. She held my arms tighter and opened her thighs even more for me.
“I know, Shiva… I know you’re angry. I’m yours… only yours. Take me. I’m right here.”
I kept fucking her deeply, emotionally, almost desperately, burying my cock into her pussy again and again as if I was claiming her from every man who had touched her with their eyes that night. Tears kept falling. My thrusts stayed strong and possessive. She cooperated with all of it — moaning, holding me, keeping her body open, letting me use her the way I needed.
“You belong only to me,” I said again, my forehead against hers. “Say it.”
“Ahh… Shiva… I’m only yours… this body is only yours… ahh…” she moaned under me, pulling me closer.
I kept driving into her with all the jealousy, love, and pain of that evening, watching her full breasts shake, listening to her broken moans, feeling her pussy grip my cock while my tears fell on her. She was mine. Every part of her was mine. And she was giving herself to me completely because she knew I was angry and jealous and needed to feel it.
The pressure built fast.
My thrusts grew shorter and heavier. My cock swelled inside her pussy. Tears were still falling from my eyes when the climax hit me.
“Ahh… Sudha… ahh… you’re mine… only mine… I’m cumming… nnnh—”
I buried myself fully inside her and came hard.
“Ugh… ahh… ahh…”
Thick spurts of cum shot deep into her pussy as I held her hips tight and emptied myself inside her. My cock pulsed again and again. Emotional, broken sounds kept leaving my throat with every spurt while my tears fell onto her breasts.
“Ahh… Shiva… I can feel you cumming inside me… ahh… it’s okay… I’m yours…” my wife moaned under me, holding me through it, her pussy clenching around my cock as I kept pouring into her.
“Nnnh… ahh… mine… only mine…” I groaned, still thrusting weakly through the last pulses, still crying, still emptying everything into her.
My cock throbbed until the last of my cum was deep inside her pussy.
I stayed over her, still inside her, breathing hard, tears still on my face.
My wife lay under me, naked, her pussy filled with my cum, her hands on my back, her eyes soft and understanding as she looked at me in the quiet bedroom.
I had taken her angrily.
I had taken her emotionally.
And she had cooperated through all of it, knowing exactly why.


I stayed inside her for a long time after I finished.
My breathing slowly settled. The tears on my face began to dry. My wife’s hands moved gently over my back. Her pussy was still full of my cum. The bedroom was quiet.
After a while I pulled out of her and lay beside her on the bed. She turned toward me at once. I looked at her naked body — the same body every man at that wedding had tried to enjoy with their eyes — and the possessiveness rose in me again, softer now, but still strong.
“You don’t know what all happened tonight,” I said.
My wife listened without interrupting.
I told her everything.
I told her about the videographer who kept focusing only on her, first on stage and then again in the basement. I told her how her face, her chest, her waist, and later her ass and pantyline filled the big screen while high-profile men watched. I told her about the groom who got horny and pulled her into a full embrace under the excuse of thanking her. I told her about the serving man who made her taste the gulab jamun with her hand and then ate the half-bitten piece just to take her saliva. I told her about the four men who surrounded us near the ice cream, one keeping her busy with quiet questions while the other three looked at her from head to down. I told her about the catering boys staring at her ass, and the one behind the pillar who was jerking off while watching her. And finally I told her about my own friend — how he hugged her near the car, spoke like a gentleman, and still grabbed her ass cheeks over the saree and felt her panties.
My voice stayed low, but the anger and jealousy were still in it.
“They were all looking at you like you belonged to them,” I said. “I was standing right there, and still they did it. You’re my wife. Only mine.”
My wife did not argue. She did not get defensive. She simply moved closer, brushed my hair back with her fingers, and kissed my forehead softly.
“I didn’t understand most of it, Shiva,” she said quietly. “I thought they were only being polite. I didn’t know they were looking at me like that.”
She kissed my forehead again and kept brushing my hair, comforting me the way only she could. After a moment she asked gently,
“How are you feeling now?”
I looked at her face, still close to mine, and answered honestly.
“After fucking you… I am feeling fine. The anger is less. When I am inside you, everything else becomes smaller.”
My wife understood at once.
She understood that when the jealousy and anger became too heavy, fucking her was the only thing that could settle me. She understood that my body needed hers to forget the eyes, the hands, and the screens of that night. There was no judgment in her expression — only quiet acceptance.
“Then whenever it becomes too much,” she said softly, still brushing my hair, “come to me. I am here. You can take me and forget.”
I put my arm around her naked waist and pulled her against me. Her full breasts pressed into my chest. Her leg came over mine. She stayed like that, kissing my forehead once more, her fingers moving slowly through my hair, while I held her with all the possessiveness that the night had left in me.
Outside, the house was silent.

Inside our bedroom, my wife lay naked in my arms, filled with my cum, comforting me after a night when too many men had tried to enjoy what belonged only to me — and she already understood that when the fire rose again, fucking her would be the way I found peace.

[novelistcasanova]

The next morning when I woke up, my wife was already in the kitchen.

I could smell the coffee. I got out of bed and walked toward the kitchen. She was standing near the stove in her nighty, hair loosely tied, looking soft and domestic in the morning light. When she heard my footsteps and turned, I saw it at once on her face — she was still emotional from last night, still carrying what I had told her.
She looked at me carefully.

“Are you still thinking about the wedding?” she asked in a low voice. “About all those incidents?”
Before I could answer, she added softly,
“I am not wearing any bra or panties under this nighty. If you want, you can fuck me now. It’s okay.”
For a moment I just stood there looking at her.
Then I smiled.

I walked up to her, wrapped my arms around her, and hugged her from the front. Her body came against me through the thin nighty — her full breasts soft without a bra, her waist, the bare shape of her ass under the cloth. She hugged me back at once and began comforting me, her hand moving slowly over my back.
“It’s okay, Shiva… I’m here,” she whispered.

I held her tighter, breathing her in, the anger from last night already smaller in her arms.
That was when we heard my son’s footsteps from the hallway.
We broke the hug at once.

My wife stepped back toward the stove, and I cleared my throat and spoke normally.
“I’ll get ready for court.”
She nodded, still looking at me with quiet understanding.
I went to the bedroom, bathed, wore my formal clothes, took my bag, and left for court.
The day moved fast.

I argued the matter with a clear head. The judge ruled in my favour. Outside the courtroom, juniors and a few seniors came up and praised the way I had handled the arguments. Phones began ringing with congratulations. Clients smiled. For a few hours the world returned to what it always was for me — work, respect, and success.
Slowly, without me forcing it, the wedding incidents began to fade into the background.
The videographer, the groom, the men at the buffet, the catering boy, even my friend’s hands on my wife’s ass — all of it became quieter under the weight of the win and the praise around me.
By afternoon, Advocate Shiva Shankar was fully back in his own world.
And for a while, the fire from that night stayed behind.

[novelistcasanova]

I was going home happy.

In the car I kept thinking about the day. The case was over. The client was the son of a high-profile man, and my fees had come in cash — ten crores. For the first time in a long while I was not thinking about court, juniors, or the next hearing. I was thinking about my wife and my son. I decided I would take both of them to Thailand. A proper trip abroad. Good hotels, some rest, and a change from Bangalore. The whole drive home I was planning it in my head and smiling to myself.
The moment I entered the house, that happiness broke.
My son was sitting on the sofa in complete shock. My wife stood near him, also in shock, her face full of worry and sadness. The air in the house was heavy.
As soon as she saw me, my wife came running and hugged me tightly. Then she began crying against my chest.

A sudden fear went through me.
“What happened?” I asked, holding her. “Tell me what happened.”
My son looked up, eyes red, and his voice came out broken.
“Appa… I failed. I failed in the exams.”
For a second I just stood there with my wife still crying against me.
I accepted it faster than they did.
“It’s okay,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Failed papers can be cleared. He can write them next semester and pass. This is not the end.”
But my wife pulled back from the hug and shook her head at once. There was a kind of desperation in her face I had rarely seen.
“No, Shiva. I don’t want him to carry backlogs. I wanted him to pass this time itself.”
Her voice was full of pain and urgency.

“I told all my friends he would become a successful advocate like you. Some of them I even told he might become a judge one day. If he fails now, what face will I show them? It will bring me shame.”
She looked at our son, then back at me, and the desperation only grew sharper.
“I don’t care what it takes. He has to pass this time itself. I will do anything for that. Anything. I cannot sit and watch him carry this failure.”
My son lowered his head further. My wife’s eyes were still wet, but behind the tears there was a fierce, restless determination. In that moment it was clear — this was not ordinary sadness. She was prepared to go to any length to make him clear his exams now.

The ten crores, Thailand, the happy plans I had made in the car — all of it suddenly felt far away.
The entire mood in the house was spoilt.
What I had walked in carrying as a victory had turned, within minutes, into the first real crack in our home.

[novelistcasanova]

Over the next one week, the house did not return to normal.

My son stayed in his room most of the time. He barely spoke. He did not open his books. He did not watch television. He simply sat with the failed result sitting somewhere behind his eyes, quiet and broken. Every time I passed his door, I found him either staring at the wall or lying on the bed with his face turned away.
My wife was worse.
And she was adamant.

This was not ordinary sadness. It was the pain of a mother who had given everything and still watched her son fail. Throughout the exam months she had sat with him every evening and checked his notes. If he did not understand a portion, she made him read it again. If he felt sleepy at night, she went to the kitchen and made coffee for him with her own hands, brought it to his table, and stayed awake so he would not fall asleep over the books. There were many nights when she did not sleep at all. She would sit on the chair near him, keep his water ready, keep his coffee ready, and wait until he finished the last page. She had done all that with one hope only — that my son should pass this time itself.

Now that hope had broken, and the pain sat openly on her face.
She stopped focusing on anything. The same woman who used to keep the house running with care now moved through the rooms like she had lost her centre. She forgot to eat. Morning coffee would go cold on the table. Lunch would remain untouched. At night she would sit with a plate in front of her, take two small bites, and then push it away.
She cried often.
Sometimes in the kitchen. Sometimes in our bedroom after locking the bathroom door. Sometimes while just sitting on the sofa with her hands in her lap. When I tried to talk to her, she would wipe her face quickly and say she was fine, but her eyes remained swollen and helpless.
Even in bed she was not the same.
When I pulled her close at night and tried to fuck her, she turned her face away. Her body stayed stiff. There was no wetness, no small smile, no cooperation like before. She would hold my wrist and shake her head.

“Not now, Shiva. I don’t feel like it.”
I tried once after her bath also, the time I used to enjoy her most. She was clean and fresh, but her mind was not with me. When I hugged her naked body, she rested her head on my chest for a moment and then quietly moved away.
“I can’t. All I can think of is my son. I want him to pass.”
That refusal hurt me more than I showed. My wife, who used to sit on my lap on the sofa and let me put my hand inside her panties, now had no interest in my touch at all.
“I worked so hard for him, Shiva,” she said one night, her voice breaking. “I stayed awake with him. I made coffee whenever he felt sleepy. I helped him study every day. I cannot accept this. He has to pass this time. I want my son to pass.”
I felt sorry for her.
Watching my wife like that hurt more than the failed result itself. So one evening I took her out of the house. I thought if I made her sit away from those rooms, away from our son’s closed door, she might listen. We sat in the car for a while, then I took her to a quiet place and tried to make her understand.
“Sudha, listen to me. He is still young. Failed papers can be written again. Next semester he can clear everything. This is not the end of his life. Don’t destroy yourself like this.”
She shook her head at once.

“No, Shiva. Not next semester. This time itself.”
I held her hand and tried again.
“You stayed awake for him. I know that. I saw you making coffee at midnight. I saw you sitting near him when he studied. I am not saying your effort was small. I am saying one delay will not finish him. Let him write again and pass.”
My wife pulled her hand back. Her eyes were already filling.
“You don’t understand. I did not lose so many nights of sleep for backlogs. I told my friends he would become a successful advocate like you. I told some of them he might even become a judge. If he fails now, what face will I show them? He has to pass this time. I want my son to pass.”
I kept speaking, slowly, carefully, trying to bring her down from that pain.
“People will forget the result. What matters is that he becomes an advocate one day. That can still happen.”
She remained adamant.
“No. I cannot wait. I cannot sit and watch him carry this failure. He has to pass now.”
There was no space left in her for any other thought. No interest in talking about Thailand, money, court, or rest. No interest in my body. No interest even in the small comfort I was trying to give her.
I felt helpless.

I was a successful advocate. I had just won a huge case. I had money, name, and respect. But none of that could stop my wife from crying, or make her eat, or bring her back to my bed. I did not know how to take that pain out of her. Every word I said came back against her same answer — he has to pass this time.
That night, after we returned home and she again sat without eating, I made a decision.
If my words could not reach her, then maybe God would.
My wife had always been religious. She prayed every morning. She believed in temples. If there was any place that could calm her and give her a little strength, it was there.
“Tomorrow I will take you to the temple,” I told her.
She looked at me for a long moment, eyes still wet, and did not refuse.
The house that had always felt ordered and warm now carried a silence that neither money nor my court victories could fill.
And through all of it, one thing remained unchanged in my wife.
She wanted my son to pass.
Nothing else mattered to her anymore.

[novelistcasanova]

The next morning my son was still depressed.

He sat at the dining table without touching his breakfast. My wife stood beside him and tried to console him, speaking softly, telling him not to lose heart, telling him that they would find a way. He only nodded, eyes down, and did not answer much.
I looked at my wife and said,
“Get ready. We are going to the temple.”
I asked my son to come with us. He refused at once.
“I don’t want to go anywhere, Appa.”
My wife understood his pain. She placed her hand on his shoulder and said,
“It’s okay. You stay at home. I will go with Appa and come back.”
She went into the bedroom and came out after some time wearing a pink chiffon saree and a pink blouse. The saree sat lightly on her body and made her look stunning, even with the sadness still on her face. I took her in the car and drove to the temple.
The temple was almost empty.
My wife stood in front of the deity and began to pray. Within a few minutes her shoulders started shaking. Tears ran down her face as she folded her hands and whispered to God about our son, about the failed result, about how badly she wanted him to pass this time. I stood a little behind her and watched, feeling helpless again.
That was when the priest noticed her.

He came closer, saw her crying, and asked gently what had happened. My wife, who had been holding everything inside for a week, opened up to him. She began telling him about our son’s exams, about the sleepless nights she had spent helping him study, about the coffee she made when he felt sleepy, about her shame in front of her friends, and about how she could not accept the failure. While speaking she started crying again.
The priest listened and consoled her.
Then he took out a small piece of paper, wrote an address on it, and placed it in her hand.

“There is an astrologer named Deva,” he said. “Go to him. He will have a solution for this.”
The moment she heard that, a little hope came into my wife’s eyes. She turned to me at once.
“Shiva, take me there. Please. He said this man will have a solution.”
I looked at the paper and shook my head.
“Astrology is bullshit, Sudha. These people only scare you first and then sell you a remedy. They talk about planets and timing until you become desperate, and then they take money. There is no science in it. They use your pain and your belief. That is how the scam works.”
My wife was in no mood to listen.
“I don’t care what you think. Just take me to that address.”
I saw the same adamant look on her face that I had been seeing all week. There was no space left for my argument. She was holding that paper as if it was the first real chance she had found for our son.
I started the car.
Against my own judgment, I took my wife toward the address the priest had given her.


I drove toward the address the priest had given.
The city roads slowly ended. After some time the car entered a remote village in Tamil Nadu. The streets became narrower. There were fewer houses, more trees, and a quiet that felt far away from Bangalore. My wife sat beside me holding that piece of paper tightly in her hand.

She was nervous, but she kept talking as if she needed to convince herself.
“He will definitely have a remedy, Shiva. I know this will work. The priest himself gave this address. There must be a reason.”
I did not answer.

She continued, looking out of the window and then back at me.
“Stars decide so many things. Even rich people go to astrologers before they start a business or a marriage or a new house. If they can believe, why can’t we? For our son’s future this will work. I can feel it.”
I kept my eyes on the road and remained quiet. I still thought it was a scam. But I also knew that if I argued now, she would only become more adamant. So I said nothing and followed the address until we reached the place.

Deva’s house stood a little away from the other houses.
It was secluded, with a compound wall around it and trees on both sides. In front of the gate there was a huge hoarding board. On it his name was painted in large letters — ASTROLOGER DEVA — along with pictures of planets, a palm, and lines promising solutions for education, marriage, court cases, and family problems. The board was so big that it was impossible to miss even from the road.
I parked the car and we got down.
A maid came out from the house and welcomed us. She looked at my wife first, then at me, and folded her hands.

“Please come. Swami is inside.”
She guided us through the front yard and into the house. The inside was quiet and dim. We followed her down a short corridor until she stopped before a room and opened the door.

“Please sit. I will tell Swami you have come.”
She led us into the astrologer’s room.
That was how we entered Deva’s place — my wife full of hope, and I still silent, already regretting that I had brought her there.

[novelistcasanova]

A few minutes later the astrologer came in.

He was wearing a saffron dhoti and a white shirt. At first glance he looked simple — an old man in his early sixties. But his face was ugly. Dark, uneven skin. A thick nose. Sunken cheeks. Yellowed teeth when he opened his mouth. His eyes were small and sharp, and they moved over us quickly as he entered the room.
He greeted us with a small fold of his hands.

“Sit, sit.”
He went to his wooden seat at the other end of the room and sat down. In front of him there were two chairs. He pointed toward them.
“Please sit.”
We sat down opposite him. My wife kept her hands together on her lap, still holding that hope in her face. I sat straight, watching him.

Deva looked at me for a moment and asked,
“You are an advocate?”
For a second I was caught off guard.
“How do you know that?”
He smiled a little, showing those yellowed teeth.
“I saw the advocate sticker on your car when you came in.”
The answer was so ordinary that I felt foolish for even asking. I sat back and said nothing.
Then he looked at my hands.
“Show me your palm.”
I stretched my right hand toward him. He took my palm in his rough fingers, turned it toward the light, and began looking at the lines. My wife leaned forward slightly, watching him as if the answer to our son’s future was already sitting in those lines.
I let him see my palm, still not believing a word of what this man was going to say.

Deva kept my right palm open under the light.
Then his thumb stopped on one point.
“There is a mole here,” he said. “On the right palm.”
He pressed the spot once and looked up at me.
“A mole on the right palm is not ordinary. It shows a man who rises through his own effort. Money will come. Name will come. People will stand up when you enter a room. But the same mole also shows hidden tension in the house. Success outside, unrest inside. The man earns well, but the peace of the family will be tested.”
He turned my palm a little more.

“This line here is strong. That is why you became an advocate and rose so fast. This other line is broken in one place. That is why, even after wealth, some worry will sit in the house and will not leave easily.”
He released my hand and sat back.
“Now tell me your date of birth.”
“30th October, 1974,” I said.
Deva closed his eyes for a moment, as if placing the date in his mind, then opened them again.
“30.10.1984. Scorpio lagna influence is heavy. A man born on this date will have a sharp mind, strong speech, and the power to dominate a room. Court, argument, authority — these will follow him. Wealth will also follow, especially after middle age. What other men take twenty years to build, this native can build faster.”
My wife listened as if every word was settling into her.
He continued.
“But the same date also shows a restless period around the family, especially connected to children and education. When the native’s name is high outside, one problem will rise inside the house and disturb the wife more than the husband. The wife will suffer first. The husband will try to control it with logic. That will not work. This period will not pass through money or argument. It will pass only through a remedy.”
He looked at me directly.
“Your future is not weak. You will remain successful. More money will come. Your name in the city will stay. But the present trouble in the house is sitting on the child’s education. Until that is corrected, the unrest will remain.”

I sat there listening, still unconvinced.
To me it sounded like a clever man reading a successful advocate’s face and then wrapping common family worry in the language of stars. But beside me, my wife’s breathing had already changed. Hope had come back into her eyes.
Deva had not even asked about our son yet.
And still he had spoken as if he already knew why we were sitting in that room.

My wife could not sit quietly any longer.
She leaned forward and said,
“Swami, we did not come here for my husband. We came for our son. The priest in the temple gave us your address and told us you would have a solution.”
Before Deva could answer, the door opened again.
A young man came in wearing a saffron dhoti and a saffron shirt. He looked like an assistant. Without speaking much, he went and sat near the door, close enough to hear everything, far enough not to enter the conversation. His eyes moved once over my wife and then settled on the floor.
Deva did not look at him. He looked only at my wife.
“Then tell me why you are here,” he said. “Do not lie to me. If you hide even a small thing, the remedy will not work. I want full trust.”
My wife swallowed and nodded.

Deva continued, his voice slower now.
“I do not want half words. I want to know exactly what you want from me. Not what the priest said. Not what your husband thinks. What you want. Say it clearly.”
The room became very still.
My wife sat with her hands on her lap, the young assistant at the door, and Deva waiting for her to open her mouth. I remained silent beside her, watching the old man who had already started taking control of the room.

[novelistcasanova]

My wife sat still for a moment, then she began.

“Swami, our son has just written his final year LLB exams. The results have already come. We thought he would pass in all subjects. He failed in a few papers.”
Her voice was already shaking.
“I wanted him to become a successful advocate like his father. From the day he started college I sat with him and helped him study. I checked his notes every evening. If he did not understand a portion, I made him read it again. If he felt sleepy at night, I went to the kitchen and made coffee for him and stayed awake so he would not fall asleep over the books. There were many nights when I did not sleep at all. I sat near him until he finished the last page.”

She wiped her eyes once and continued.
“I told my friends he would pass. I told them he would become an advocate like my husband. Some of them I even told he might become a judge one day. Now he has failed, and I cannot accept it. I cannot show my face to those friends. I do not want backlogs. I do not want him to write next semester. I want him to pass this time itself.”
Deva listened without interrupting. The young assistant near the door also did not move.

My wife’s voice broke completely.
“For one week I have not been able to eat properly. I keep crying. I cannot think of anything else. I came here because the priest said you would have a solution. That is why I am here, Swami. I want my son to pass. That is all I want from you. Please tell me what must be done.”
She folded her hands toward him.
I sat beside her and listened to the whole thing again, now spoken to a stranger. Every sleepless night, every cup of coffee, every hope she had built around our son came out of her mouth in that room.
Deva still did not smile.
He only looked at my wife, as if he was measuring how desperate she really was.


The astrologer sat quietly after my wife finished.
The room remained still. The young assistant near the door did not move. My wife kept her hands folded, waiting. I watched the old man’s ugly face and tried to read him.
At last he spoke.
“Your son’s result has already come. That means the damage is sitting on paper. Ordinary prayer will not be enough now.”
My wife leaned forward at once.
“Then there is a way, Swami?”
The astrologer looked at her for a long time before answering. His small eyes moved over her face, then down over her pink chiffon saree, then back to her eyes.
“There is a way. But first I must see the boy’s details. Name. Date of birth. Time of birth if you have it. Without that I cannot say the exact remedy.”
My wife answered immediately.
“His name is Rajesh. I will give you everything you ask. Please just tell me he can pass this time.”
The astrologer raised one hand.
“Do not run. First the details. Then I will see whether the obstacle is only in the child’s chart, or whether it is coming through the mother also. In many houses the son’s education is blocked because of the mother’s period, not the boy’s.”
Those words made my wife sit even straighter.
“If it is because of me, I will do whatever is needed.”
The astrologer nodded slowly, as if that was the answer he wanted to hear.
“Good. Write the boy’s name and date of birth and give it to me. After that I will tell you what the stars are asking.”
He looked at me once, then back at my wife.
I still thought the whole thing was a performance. But I could see what he was doing. He was no longer talking to me. He was talking only to her desperation.


The astrologer took the paper from my wife after she wrote our son’s name and date of birth.
He looked at it for a long time. Then he shook his head slowly, as if the news was already bad.
“This is not the boy’s fault,” he said. “The obstacle is sitting on the mother.”
My wife froze.
“On me?”
“Yes. The child’s education is blocked because of your period. Your prayer, your sleepless nights, your coffee at midnight — none of that can open this. The block is coming from you.”
He spoke with such certainty that the colour left her face.
“Swami… I only wanted him to pass. I did everything for him.”
“That is why it is more dangerous,” the astrologer said. “A mother’s hunger for the child’s success, if it sits on the wrong star, becomes a lock. Until that lock is opened through you, the boy will not pass. Not this time. Not later also, if the same period continues.”
My wife’s hands started shaking.
“Then what should I do? Tell me. I will do it.”
The astrologer looked at her pink chiffon saree, then at her pink blouse, then straight into her eyes.
“Before remedy, I must know the present state of the body also. Stars do not work only on paper. Answer me truthfully.”
He paused.
“What bra are you wearing now?”
For a second I thought I had heard wrong.
My wife stared at him, stunned.
“Swami…?”
“I asked you a simple question. What bra are you wearing? Colour. Type. Do not hide.”
Her voice came out small.
“White bra.”
“And panties?”
She swallowed, her face turning red.
“Black panties.”
Near the door, the young man in the saffron dhoti and saffron shirt shifted. I saw it clearly. He was horny. His eyes had gone to my wife’s chest, then lower, and stayed there while she answered. He wet his lips once and did not look away.
The astrologer continued as if this was only part of the reading.
“White bra. Black panties. Pink chiffon saree. The pink chiffon saree and pink blouse are showing devotion, but the white bra and black panties are showing the body that must carry the remedy. This is why the block is sitting on you.”
My wife sat there frightened and ashamed, still believing she had to answer him if she wanted our son to pass.
I sat beside her, jaw tight, watching an ugly old man scare the life out of my wife — and a young assistant at the door getting hard just from hearing that she was wearing a white bra and black panties under her pink chiffon saree.


The astrologer sat back and looked at my wife as if the next step was already decided.
“The lock is sitting on your body,” he said. “Paper and prayer will not open it. I have to examine what is touching your body right now. The white bra and the black panties must come off and come to me first. Only then I can see the exact remedy.”
My wife stared at him, shocked.
“Swami… I have to remove them?”
“Yes. There is a room adjacent to this one. Go there. Remove your white bra and black panties. Come back and give them to me. Do not fold them. Do not hide them. I need to examine them with my own hands.”
My wife shook her head at once. Her face turned red.
“No… I cannot do that. Please ask for something else. I will pray. I will do whatever else you say. But this… I cannot.”
The astrologer did not raise his voice. He spoke politely, almost gently, and that made it worse.
“Then your son will not pass. The block will remain on him. He will carry these papers again and again. The shame you are afraid of will stay. I am not forcing you. I am only telling you what the stars are asking. If the white bra and black panties do not come to me, I cannot give the remedy.”
My wife’s eyes filled.
“Swami, please… there must be another way.”
“There is no other way,” he said, still polite. “If you go back like this, the boy’s result will remain as it is. If you want him to pass this time, do what I said.”
That was the sentence that broke her.
She sat still for a few seconds, breathing fast, looking down at her lap. Then the same desperation from the past one week rose again on her face. She wiped her eyes and nodded.
“I will do it. My son has to pass.”
She got up, walked to the adjacent room, and closed the door.
I sat there unable to believe what was happening.
My wife, the same woman who wore her saree modestly because she knew I was possessive, had just gone inside to remove her white bra and black panties after an old man threatened our son’s future in a calm voice. Anger rose hard in my chest. I wanted to stop her. I wanted to take her out of that house. But her crying, her untouched plates, her sleepless nights sat in front of me, and I remained in the chair, jaw tight, watching.
Near the door, the young man was openly enjoying it. His eyes stayed on the adjacent door, waiting for her to come back. I could see he was horny.
A few minutes later my wife returned.
She came back wearing only her pink chiffon saree and pink blouse. There was no white bra under the pink blouse now. There was no black panties under the pink chiffon saree. In her hands she was holding the white bra and the black panties.
She walked up to the astrologer and gave them to him.
He took the white bra first, then the black panties, and placed both in front of him on the low table. The white bra and black panties of my wife were now lying openly before that ugly old man.

The young assistant at the door stared at them and then at my wife’s body under the pink chiffon saree, his breathing heavier.
I sat there angry, stunned, and helpless, unable to believe that this was really happening in front of my eyes.

[novelistcasanova]

The astrologer picked up my wife’s white bra from the table.

He held it with both hands for a moment, looking at the cups, then slowly brought the white bra close to his face. I watched, stunned, as he sniffed the inside of the white bra cups.
He sniffed once.
Then again, longer.
My wife sat opposite him with her eyes down, her full breasts now sitting freely under the pink blouse. The young man at the door stared at the white bra in the astrologer’s hands, openly horny.
The astrologer kept the white bra near his nose and spoke as if he was still reading the stars.
“Yes. The block is here. The heat of the body has sat inside this white bra. This is why the boy’s papers are not opening. The mother’s chest is carrying the lock.”
He sniffed the white bra again, pressing his nose into one cup.
“This smell is not ordinary. It is sitting heavy. Until this is examined fully, the remedy cannot start.”
My wife’s face burned with shame. She did not lift her eyes.
I sat there watching an ugly old man sniff my wife’s white bra in front of me and call it a reading. Anger rose in my throat. The young assistant at the door swallowed hard, enjoying every second of it.
The astrologer finally lowered the white bra, but he did not give it back.
He kept it in front of him, as if it now belonged to the so-called remedy.


Then the astrologer picked up my wife’s black panties.
My wife’s body stiffened at once. She looked at the black panties in his hands and then quickly looked down, her fingers tightening on her lap. Shame spread across her face. She shifted in the chair, clearly uncomfortable, as if she wanted to snatch them back but could not.
He opened the black panties slowly and brought the inner part close to his nose.
He sniffed.
Then he sniffed again, deeper, pressing his nose into the centre of the black panties.
A small sound of embarrassment left my wife’s throat. She turned her face away. Her ears had gone red. She pulled the pallu of her pink chiffon saree a little closer, though it could not hide what was already happening.
“Swami…” she whispered, unable to say more.
The astrologer kept the black panties against his nose and spoke as if this too was only part of the reading.
“The bigger block is here. The heat of the mother’s lower body has sat inside these black panties. This is stronger than the white bra. This is why the boy’s result is locked. Until this is examined, the path will not open.”
He sniffed the black panties once more, slowly, openly.
I sat there watching him and a hard mix of anger and jealousy rose in my chest.
Those black panties belonged to my wife. I was the only man who had the right to touch them, smell them, pull them down. And now this ugly old man was sniffing them in front of me, talking about blocks and stars, while my wife sat embarrassed and helpless in her pink chiffon saree and pink blouse, with nothing underneath.
The young man at the door was breathing faster, his eyes fixed on the black panties and then on my wife’s lap.

The astrologer finally lowered the black panties, but he did not give them back either.
He placed them beside the white bra, as if both now belonged to him.
My wife remained seated, uncomfortable, ashamed, and unable to lift her face.
I remained seated too, angry and jealous, burning inside, still unable to believe I was watching this happen.


The astrologer did not speak for a while.
He sat there thinking, taking his own time, with my wife’s black panties still in his hands. Then he lifted them again. This time he did not hide what he was doing. He pressed his nose first to the pussy area of the black panties and sniffed slowly. Then he turned the black panties and sniffed the asshole area as well, longer, as if he was reading something there.
My wife sat frozen, embarrassed and frightened. I sat beside her, angry, my hands tight on my knees.
At last he lowered the black panties and looked at her.
“There is only one remedy left,” he said. “If you offer yourself to me for one night, I can make your son pass.”
The words hit the room like a blow.
My wife stared at him, shocked.
“Swami… what are you saying?”
Anger burst through my chest.
“This is enough. We are leaving.”
The astrologer did not look at me. He kept his eyes on my wife and continued in the same calm voice.
“That is the only option I have. The block is sitting on your body. The white bra and black panties have already shown it. Prayer will not open this. Money will not open this. If you want your son to pass this time, you have to offer yourself to me for one night.”
My wife shook her head, tears already coming.
“No… there must be some other way.”
“There is no other way,” he said. “And no other astrologer will help you. They will take your money, give you a stone, give you a puja, and send you home. The boy will still fail. I am the only one who can remove this lock. If you walk out now, the result will remain as it is. If you want him to pass, this is the remedy.”
He had cornered her with the one thing she could not fight — our son.
My wife sat there crying, looking at the white bra and black panties on the table, then at me, then at him. The desperation of the whole week came back onto her face. The sleepless nights. The coffee at midnight. The shame in front of her friends. The same sentence she had kept repeating in the house.
“He has to pass this time.”
At last her voice came out small and broken.
“If that is the only way… if it will make my son pass… then I will do it.”
I stared at her, unable to speak.
The young man at the door shifted, openly excited.
The astrologer nodded slowly, as if he had been waiting for exactly that answer.
My wife had agreed.
Not because she wanted him.
Because she was desperate to make our son pass.

[novelistcasanova]

The astrologer looked toward the young man at the door.

“Take her to my bedroom. Show her the room. Tell her to wait there. I will come.”
Then he turned back to my wife.
“Go with him. Wait in that room. I will come there and fuck you. That is the remedy. Do not come out until I finish.”
I stood up at once.
“This is a scam. You are a scammer. You used my wife’s pain and now you want her body. We are leaving.”
The astrologer’s face did not change.
“Sit down, Advocate. If you take her out of this house now, I will not only stop the remedy. I will do the puja the other way. The boy will fail again. He will fail the next time also. The papers will remain closed for him. Forever.”
My wife caught my arm, frightened.
“Shiva, don’t. Please don’t speak like that.”
“Sudha, he is cheating you. There is no star in this. He wants to fuck you. That is all.”
The astrologer looked only at her.
“Let him talk. If he stops you, the lock will become permanent. I have already seen the black panties and the white bra. The block is confirmed. If you walk out after coming this far, the boy’s education will burn.”
My wife started crying.
“Please, Swami, don’t do that. Don’t say he will fail forever. I will do what you asked. Please don’t put that on my son.”
Then she turned to me, still holding my arm, her voice breaking.
“Shiva, please. I have to let this happen. I have to do it for our son. If you fight with him now, he will ruin Rajesh. Please don’t stop me.”
“I cannot let this man touch you.”
“You have to,” she said, helpless and cornered. “I stayed awake for him. I made coffee for him. I cannot watch him fail again. If this is the only way, I will go. Please forgive me. Please let me do it.”
The room filled with that fight — my anger, her fear, and the old man’s calm threat sitting over both of us.
At last my wife looked at me with no strength left.
“I have already made up my mind. There is no other way. He has to pass this time.”
The young assistant waited at the door. My wife got up slowly. The pink chiffon saree and pink blouse moved over her body with nothing underneath — no white bra, no black panties. Those were still lying in front of the astrologer.
She looked at me once more, crying, ashamed, and completely cornered.
Then she followed the young man out of the room toward the bedroom.
I remained standing there, angry, helpless, and burning, while the astrologer sat in his seat as if the fight had already gone the way he wanted.



The astrologer got up from his seat and walked toward the bedroom.
I followed him.
Inside the bedroom my wife was already standing near the bed, nervous, squeezing the pallu end of her pink chiffon saree with both hands. The pink blouse sat on her full breasts with no white bra underneath. The pink chiffon saree sat on her hips with no black panties underneath. She looked frightened and cornered.
The astrologer walked toward her, lifting his arms as if he was about to hug her.
“Wait,” I said.
He stopped and turned to me.
“How exactly are you going to break this lock you keep talking about? I want it clearly. I am an advocate. I will not accept loose words.”
The astrologer looked at me and answered without shame.
“I will perform puja. The puja will open the boy’s papers. Fucking your wife is the reward for helping your son pass.”
“If you fuck her now, and then my son does not pass, what happens?” I asked. “What proof do we have that your puja works? What if this is only a trick to take my wife first? What if after tonight you say the stars changed again? What guarantee is there that the result will actually change?”
My wife, still squeezing her pallu end, looked at him and supported me.
“Yes, Swami. What if he does not pass after this? Then what happens to me? Please answer him.”
I continued.
“If the remedy is truly for our son, then the result should come first. Why should my wife be given to you before the papers are opened? If you are as powerful as you say, make him pass first. Then talk about your reward.”
The astrologer stared at us for a while. The young assistant remained near the door.
At last the old man nodded.

“Fine. I will make your son pass first. Then I will fuck her. Do not think I am a small man. I have turned failed papers into pass marks. I have opened locked houses. I have made people come back to me when they thought they could escape. If I take this up, your son will pass.”
My wife looked at me. I looked at her.

After everything that had happened in that house, this was the only thing that sounded even a little fair.
“Alright,” I said. “If he passes first, then we will see.”
We slowly came out of the bedroom and stood again in the same room where we had first sat and talked.
The astrologer sat back in his seat. My wife’s white bra and black panties were still on the table in front of him.

“For now I will perform puja keeping this white bra and these black panties,” he said. “Go home and tell your son to apply for reevaluation in all the papers he has failed. He will pass in all of them. After he passes, you must bring your wife back to me. Then I will fuck her as the reward for helping your son pass.”
My wife lowered her eyes and agreed.
“Yes, Swami. If he passes, I will come.”
I got up, already thinking one thing in my mind — after my son passes, I will forget this bastard forever.
My wife also got up.

That was when the astrologer stood up as well.
“Remember this. If you do not come back, if you do not let me fuck your wife after the boy passes, I will do puja the other way. I will destroy his life. The papers will close again. His future will burn.”
My wife got scared at once.
Even I felt a cold fear go through me.
She folded her hands and said quickly,
“I will definitely come, Swami. If my son passes, I will come. I promise.”


We walked out of that room with her white bra and black panties still left behind on his table, and with that threat sitting on both of us.

[novelistcasanova]

Before we could leave, the astrologer raised his hand.

“Wait. There are strict instructions. If you break even one, the puja will not work. The boy will fail again.”
He looked only at my wife.
“First. Go home and tell your son to apply for reevaluation as soon as the portal opens. Do not delay even by one day. If the application is late, the papers will remain locked.”
My wife nodded quickly.

“We will apply as soon as it opens, Swami.”
“Second. Until the reevaluation results come, do not wear your bra and panties. Nothing under the blouse. Nothing under the saree. If you wear them again before the result, the block will sit back on your body and the boy will fail.”
Her face burned. She looked frightened.

“I will not wear them, Swami.”
“Third. You should not have sex with your husband until the result comes. No fucking. Nothing. If he puts his cock in you before the papers open, the puja will break and your son will carry this failure again.”
My wife got even more scared and answered at once.
“We will not, Swami. I will not let it happen.”
Then the astrologer spoke only to her, pointing at her.

“Fourth. You will not touch yourself. Do not put your own hand on your pussy. Do not rub. Do not play. If you do that, the lock will sit again, and this time it will not open. Do you understand?”
My wife swallowed, her voice small and frightened.

“I understand, Swami. I will not touch myself. I will follow all four. I will not break any instruction.”
He nodded, as if the matter was sealed.
Then he stepped close to her.

Before I could move, he put both hands on her ass over the pink chiffon saree and squeezed her ass cheeks. My wife froze. A small frightened breath left her mouth. He kept his hands there for a moment, feeling her ass with no panties underneath, and then spoke near her ear.
“Go with your husband now. After the boy passes, come back. Then I will take the rest. If you do not come back, if you do not let me fuck you after he passes, I will do puja against the boy. I will destroy his life.”
That sentence went into me also.

Until then I had called him a scammer in my mind. Now, after everything that had happened in that room, a real fear sat in my chest. What if his puja against our son was real? What if we walked away and the papers closed forever? I was an advocate, I did not believe in this — and still I got scared for my son.
He released her ass and sent her toward me.
“Go.”
We walked out of that secluded house.
My wife sat in the car in her pink chiffon saree and pink blouse, with no bra and no panties underneath. She was still scared. I was scared too. I started the engine and drove away from the huge hoarding board of Astrologer Deva, burning inside, the feel of his hands on her ass sitting in my mind, and his threat against our son sitting even heavier.
Neither of us spoke for a long time.
The instructions were already sitting on her.
And because both of us were now frightened for our son, she had already decided to follow every one of them.

[novelistcasanova]

I took my wife home.

She sat beside me in the car in her pink chiffon saree and pink blouse, with no bra and no panties underneath. Neither of us spoke much. The astrologer’s instructions and his threat against our son were still sitting on both of us.
In a couple of days, my wife made our son apply for reevaluation.
The moment the portal opened, she stood behind him until every failed paper was entered and submitted. She did not delay even by one day. After that, the waiting began.
I gave one month leave to the servants and the watchman.

I did it on purpose. If they stayed in the house, they would have seen my wife walking around without a bra and without panties under her saree and nighty. They would have clearly found out. They would have seen the shape of her breasts, her ass, and her pussy, and they would have felt horny looking at her. I could not allow that. So I sent them away for the whole month and kept the house only for us.
For the next one month, until the reevaluation results came, my wife followed the instructions exactly.
She did not wear a bra. She did not wear panties. Not under her saree. Not under her nighty. In the morning, when she walked through the house, I could see the shape of her full breasts under the blouse and the nighty. I could see her nipples. I could see the round shape of her ass and the line of her pussy under the saree and under the nighty. Her body was right in front of me every day, and I was not allowed to take it.
She was struggling too.

It was not only me who was horny. I could see it on her. Some afternoons she would suddenly press her thighs together and sit very straight. Sometimes she crossed her legs tightly and kept them that way for a long time. When the feeling became too much, she got up, went to the bathroom, and washed her face and wrists with cold water. A few times she took an extra bath in the middle of the day, standing under cold water longer than needed, then came out pretending she had only gone to freshen up.
She kept herself busy so her mind would not go there.

She cleaned shelves that were already clean. She folded clothes again. She stood in the kitchen making tea even when nobody had asked for tea. When I came close, she moved to another chair. On the sofa, where I used to make her sit on my lap, she now sat at the far end, back straight, thighs pressed together, pallu held tightly over her chest.
One evening after we came back from the market, she sat on the bed and told me the thing she had been holding in.

“Shiva, the more I try to control myself, the worse it is becoming. When those men look at me like that, I feel it in my body. I don’t want it, I feel ashamed even saying this, but their eyes on my breasts and my ass are making me horny. I come home and I have to press my thighs together just to sit. I don’t know why it is happening, but I can’t stop it.”
I understood it.
I had seen those men looking at her. I had seen how clearly her body showed under the saree. I was jealous, but I also understood that a whole month without sex, without a bra, without panties, and with strangers staring at her was doing something to her body that she could not fully control.
At night it was worse.
She came to bed in her nighty with no bra and no panties, then immediately turned to her side and pulled the pillow against her stomach. When her nipples tightened under the nighty, she folded her arms over her breasts. When her pussy felt too warm, she pressed her thighs together under the sheet and breathed slowly through her mouth, trying to kill the feeling without putting her hand there. More than once I saw her get up, drink a glass of water, walk around the room, and come back only after the heat had gone down a little.

One night she could not control herself.
I was already in bed when she suddenly sat up, pulled the nighty over her head, and threw it aside. My wife was completely naked in front of me — full heavy breasts, nipples tight, narrow waist, wide hips, her pussy uncovered. She came over me, hugged me, and pressed her pussy against my cock through my pants.

“Shiva, I can’t hold it anymore. I have been trying the whole month, I swear I have, but my body is not listening. Please fuck me just once. I know we are not supposed to, but I feel like I will go mad if you don’t take me now.”
Her voice was shaking. Her body was hot. For a few seconds she was begging me like she used to when she wanted me.
Then her face changed.
The fear came back.
She pulled away from me, sat back on the bed, and covered her breasts with her arms. Tears came into her eyes.
“No. I can’t. I have to follow the instructions for our son. If we do this tonight and he fails because of us, I will never forgive myself. I have to control myself, Shiva. Please don’t pull me back. Let me stop.”
She picked up the nighty with unsteady hands, put it back on, and turned to her side again.

Another night it happened to both of us.
The hunger became too strong. I pulled her nighty off. She pulled my clothes off. We were both naked on the bed, hugging each other, my cock against her stomach, her full breasts against my chest, her pussy wet against my thigh. We were just about to make love. I was already at the mouth of her pussy when she suddenly held my wrist.
“Shiva, stop. We can’t. If we do this, our son will pay for it. We have to control ourselves tonight. Please. Let’s sleep.”

I stayed like that for a few seconds, shaking with the need to push inside her. Then I moved away. She moved away too. We lay down naked, breathing hard, not touching each other except for her hand finding mine under the sheet. That was how we slept — both naked, both horny, both holding back only for our son.
More than anyone else in that house, my wife was waiting for the reevaluation results.
Not only so that our son would pass. She was waiting so that these instructions would finally get off her body. She wanted to wear her bra and panties again. She wanted to sit on my lap again. She wanted me to take her after her bath, hug her naked body, and make love to her the way we used to.
I tried as much as I could to avoid taking my wife to the market.
But some things she had to buy, and she had to go. When I took her there, I understood why I had been trying to stop it. Everyone was ogling her. The saree sat on her body with nothing underneath, and the shapes of her full breasts, her narrow waist, her ass, and her pussy were clearly seen. Shopkeepers stared. Men on the road stared. Some looked once and looked again. Some turned fully and watched her walk. I could see they were getting hard just looking at my wife.
It made me totally jealous.
I walked beside her with my jaw tight, watching strangers enjoy the same body I was forbidden to touch at home.
At home I was horny all the time.
More than once she had to catch my wrist before my hand went under her nighty.
“Don’t, Shiva. I want it as much as you do. I am waiting for the result more than anyone. The moment it comes and these instructions are over, you can take me properly and we can enjoy like before. Until then we have to think of our son.”
The whole month passed like that.
Waiting for the result.
Watching my wife.
Keeping other men in the house away from her.
And my wife waiting more than anyone else — not just for our son to pass, but so she could finally come out of those instructions and we could enjoy making love again.

[novelistcasanova]

The astrologer’s call came first.

My wife’s phone rang in the afternoon, and when she saw the number her whole face changed. For a second she did not even want to touch it. Then she put the call on speaker, and the old man’s voice filled the room, calm and certain, as if he already knew what we were about to see.
“The reevaluation results have been announced. Do not sit there wasting time. Check your son’s result now and call me after you have seen it.”
He cut the call before she could answer.
The three of us sat together in front of the laptop. My son’s hands were shaking so much that he could barely open the page. My wife sat on one side of him, holding the edge of the table. I sat on the other side, watching the screen as if the next few seconds would decide the entire mood of our house. Nobody spoke. The only sound in the room was the slow opening of that result page.
Then the marks came up.
He had passed in all the subjects.
My son did not believe it. He kept staring at the screen as if the letters would change the moment he blinked. I pulled the laptop toward me and checked again, slowly, because I also needed to be sure. Name: Rajesh Kumar. M. Register number: 41023111036. Every paper he had failed was now showing pass. I went through it line by line, once more, and only then I sat back.
My son had passed in all the subjects.
The house that had been silent for weeks suddenly broke open.
My son let out a sound that was half laugh and half cry, the kind of sound a boy makes when he has been carrying shame for too many days and it finally falls off his back. My wife started crying at once, but this time the crying was different. It was not the helpless crying of the past one month. It was relief. She covered her mouth, then her face, then looked at the screen again and cried harder, as if her body had been holding its breath from the day the first result had come.
I felt a pressure leave my chest after so many days. The ten crores, the court praise, even the ugly fear of that astrologer’s room — all of it became smaller beside this one thing. It had been a long time since our family had been this happy.
“He has passed,” I said, my voice thicker than I expected. “All subjects. I checked the name and the register number myself. It is confirmed.”
I took out money and put it in my son’s hand.
“Go and buy sweets for the entire street. Give them to everyone you see. Today this house is celebrating, and I want the whole street to know it.”
He looked at the money, looked at both of us, and then ran out of the house with a happiness I had not seen on his face since the first result had broken him.
The door closed behind him.
My wife turned to me and hugged me tightly. She was still crying, her face pressed against my chest, her body shaking with the kind of relief that comes only after too many sleepless nights.
“He passed, Shiva. He really passed. I was so scared that I would never see this house happy again. After all these days of crying and waiting, our son has come back to us.”
I held her and let her cry against me.
For that one moment, the month of instructions, the hunger we had swallowed every night, and the ugly room of the astrologer all sat far away.
Our son had passed.
And our house, after a long time, was full of joy.


After our son ran out with the money, the house became quiet again.
My wife and I looked at each other.
For the first time in a month, the instructions were no longer sitting on her body. She had passed through all those days of pressing her thighs together, taking extra baths, stopping my hand at night, and holding herself back only for our son. Now he had passed. I could see it in her eyes even before she came closer — she was preparing herself to make love.
She hugged me and rested her face against my chest.

“Shiva, you don’t know how much I was controlling myself. Every day I felt it. Every night I felt it. I would lie beside you and my body would ask for you, and I still had to stop. The worst part was not even that. The more I tried to control, the more other men’s eyes started doing something to me.”
I took her into my complete embrace.
My arms went around her back and I pulled her whole body against mine. Her full breasts pressed into my chest through the nighty. There was no bra under the nighty, so I could feel her nipples tightening as she spoke. I lifted the nighty from behind, put both hands on her naked ass cheeks, and grabbed them. Then I gently placed one finger on her asshole and began playing with it, slow circles around the tight ring, while she talked.
She paused, ashamed, then she told me.
“That day near the vegetable shop, the man weighing the tomatoes kept looking at my breasts under the blouse. There was no bra, so he could see the shape clearly. He asked me the same thing twice just to keep me standing there. While he was looking, my nipples became tight and I felt wet between my thighs. I came back to the car and sat with my thighs pressed together because I did not want you to know.”
My cock began hardening against her stomach.
It was slow at first, just a heat in my lower belly, then it thickened as I pictured that man staring at her breasts. I squeezed her ass cheeks and kept playing with her asshole. A small breath left her mouth. Her nipples became even tighter against my chest. I felt a little wetness start on her inner thighs.
I asked her against her ear, “So that man was looking at your breasts and your nipples became tight just from his eyes? Tell me properly. Did he keep looking at them the whole time you were standing there?”
She laughed softly, a little shy, thinking I was only opening up so she could feel safe. Her ass cheeks clenched in my hands when my finger pressed her asshole a little more.
“Yes,” she said. “He was looking only at my breasts. I felt so ashamed, Shiva.”
“And you still stood there,” I said. “Your pussy got wet in the market because a stranger was staring at your breasts. Say that again.”
She hid her face in my chest and laughed softly once more. Her body reacted even as she laughed. Her hips pushed back a little into my hands. Her asshole tightened under my finger.

“Why are you talking like this?” she asked. “I thought you would get angry. You are making it easy for me to tell you.”
She did not know I was getting turned on slowly, shamelessly, with every sentence.
“And that evening near the flower stall,” she continued, “two young men were standing behind me. I could feel them looking at my ass. The saree was sitting on my body with no panties, so they could see the shape of my ass cheeks and the line of my pussy. One of them even came a little closer, as if he wanted to smell me. I should have felt angry. Instead I felt horny. I walked faster, but the wetness had already come.”
My cock was fully hard now, pressed between us. I grabbed both her ass cheeks harder and rubbed my finger over her asshole again. She let out a small sound and her thighs pressed together, then opened a little.

“They were looking at your ass and the line of your pussy, and you got wet,” I said. “Did you like that they could see everything under the saree?”
She hit my chest lightly and laughed, still thinking this was comfort, while her asshole twitched under my finger.
“Shiva, don’t ask like that. I am telling you because you are not shouting at me.”
Then her voice became even smaller.
“There was one more thing. In the market, while we were walking through that crowded lane, a man came behind me and put his hand on my ass over the saree. He squeezed my ass cheeks and kept walking with me, as if it was an accident. There were no panties under the saree, so he could feel the full shape of my ass. I should have pushed his hand away. I should have called you. Instead I let him. I kept walking, and he kept his hand on my ass cheeks, squeezing them through the saree, and I felt my pussy get wet while he did it. Only when the crowd opened a little I moved away. I did not tell you because I was ashamed.”

I hugged her so tightly that her full breasts flattened against my chest. I kept her nighty lifted from behind and grabbed her naked ass cheeks the same way that man had, then gently played with her asshole again. My cock jerked against her. A thin line of wetness from her pussy touched my thigh.
“You let a stranger squeeze your ass cheeks in the market and your pussy got wet,” I said. “Tell me how long he kept his hand there.”
She laughed softly again, covering her face, but her body did not laugh. Her ass cheeks opened a little in my hands. Her asshole clenched and then softened under my finger. Her breathing had become heavier.
“Not very long. Maybe ten steps. I can’t believe I am telling you this and you are still holding me like this.”
That was when the change settled fully inside me.
I was no longer only jealous. I wanted to see it. I wanted other men to feel up my wife. I wanted to watch a man put his hands on her ass cheeks, on her breasts, and even enjoy fucking her while I stood there and took it. The thought made me shamelessly hard. She thought I was giving her comfort. I was getting completely turned on by every word, and her body was reacting with me — nipples tight, pussy wet, asshole twitching under my finger.
“I understand,” I said against her neck. “I saw them looking. I just did not know you were letting it happen, and that it was making you wet.”
She stayed in that complete embrace, breathing against my chest, still smiling a little from the way I had spoken to her, her naked ass cheeks in my hands.
That was when her phone rang.
It was the astrologer.

My wife became scared at once. I became shamelessly horny.
The thought went through me immediately — he was calling because the result had come, and now I might get to watch him fuck my wife. I did not say that. I kept my face calm, as if I was only on her side. Inside, my cock gave another jerk against her stomach.
She looked at the phone, then at me, nervous and frightened. I still had her nighty lifted from behind, my hands still on her ass cheeks.
“Shiva… shall I block his number?” she asked. “He will want me to sleep with him now. I don’t want that old man to fuck me. I am scared. But if I refuse, he will do puja against our son. I don’t know what to do.”
She trusted me. She thought I would save her from it.
I spoke as if I was only protecting her.
“Don’t block it. Keep it on speaker. Ask him if there is another way. I am here with you.”
She nodded, scared, and put the call on speaker.
“Yes, Swami,” she said.
The astrologer’s voice came into our house.
“Did you check the result?”
“Yes, Swami,” my wife said. “Our son Rajesh Kumar. M, register number 41023111036, has passed in all the subjects. Every paper he failed has now come as pass. We checked his name and register number ourselves. We are very happy, Swami.”
“Good,” the astrologer said. “The puja worked. Now remember your promise.”
My wife’s fingers tightened on the phone. Her whole body went stiff in my hands. She so badly wanted to avoid getting fucked by him. I could feel the fear in her ass cheeks, in her breathing, in the way she pressed closer to me for protection.
“Swami, please,” she said. “Our son has passed and I am grateful. Is there anything else I can do instead of this? I will do puja, I will come to the temple, I will give whatever offering you ask. Please don’t ask me to sleep with you. I am frightened.”
I held her and spoke only a little, as if I was supporting her.
“She is very scared, Swami. That is why she is asking.”
It sounded like I was on her side.
I was not stopping him.
“The promise is the promise,” the astrologer said. “I will come to your house. Let her wear a yellow saree, a yellow blouse, and a yellow petticoat. She should wear her bra and panties also, any colour she wants. I will come there in one hour and decide.”
My wife’s eyes filled. She looked at me, waiting for me to refuse for her.
I only pressed her ass cheeks gently and told her, “He is coming. Wear what he said. We should not make him angry because of our son.”
She thought I was choosing our son’s safety.
She did not suspect that I was excited to watch him fuck her.
“Yes, Swami,” she said at last, her voice small. “I will wear them. I will wait.”
Then she hung up.
The phone went silent. She stood in my complete embrace, nighty still lifted from behind, my hands still on her naked ass cheeks, frightened of the next one hour. I held her as if I was only comforting her.
Inside, I was already waiting for the astrologer to walk into our house.

[novelistcasanova]

After the call, my wife did not move away from me and instead hugged me tightly with her face pressed into my chest, her whole body nervous, her breasts shaking against me through the nighty while my hands were still under the nighty from behind holding her naked ass cheeks, and in the mirror behind her I could see those same ass cheeks sitting in my hands.

“I don’t want him to come here, Shiva, I don’t want that man to touch me,” she said against my chest.
I held her as if I was on her side and spoke slowly, as if I was protecting her, “I am with you, I am not saying he should fuck you, if it is only a hug and a kiss I can accept that, let him come, let him hug you, let him kiss you, and then we will send him, nothing more than that.”
I said it like a husband standing with her, but inside me even that image was enough, the astrologer’s ugly arms around my wife, his mouth on her lips, his hands on her back, and the thought made my cock stay hard against her stomach while I kept pretending I was only calming her.
She shook her head against my chest and said, “I can’t, Shiva, have you seen him, he is so ugly, dark sunken face, those teeth, that smell, how can a woman kiss those lips, even a hug from him makes my body go stiff, I don’t want his mouth on me.”
I looked over her shoulder into the mirror where her nighty was still lifted from behind and my hands were on her naked ass cheeks, and I squeezed them slowly while I used the one fear she could not fight, “Then think of our son, he said if we don’t keep the promise he will do puja against Rajesh, not just fail him again, destroy his life, after everything we suffered this month, after he has just passed, do you want to take that risk, I am not asking you to let him fuck you, I am saying if a hug and a kiss can close this, we should not make him angry.”
The words scared the life out of her and her body stiffened in my hands, and in the mirror I saw her ass cheeks clench and then loosen again as the fear went through her while she held me tighter and breathed fast against my chest.
“Don’t say he will destroy our son, please don’t say that,” she whispered.
“That is what he said, you heard him, we should not test that old man,” I told her, still looking at her ass cheeks in the mirror, my fingers moving over them under the nighty, my cock still shamelessly hard from the thought of that ugly man hugging her and kissing her in our own house.
She was quiet for a long moment and then she understood the corner she was in and said in a small voice, “If it is only a hug and a kiss I can do that, nothing more, he can hug me, he can kiss me, but he should not put his hand inside, he should not take off my saree, he should not fuck me, only that much, Shiva, only because of our son.”
I hugged her as if I had saved her and said, “Yes, only hug and kiss, nothing more.”
She believed I was on her side, and in the mirror I kept looking at her naked ass cheeks in my hands, already imagining the astrologer holding that same body when he walked into our house.


I kept looking at her in the mirror and did not take my hands off her.
From behind, under the lifted nighty, I gently grabbed her naked ass cheeks and squeezed them slowly, feeling how warm they were, how they filled my palms, how they tightened and then softened each time my fingers pressed in. In the mirror I could see everything at once — her nervous face against my shoulder, her nighty bunched at her waist, my hands on her ass, and the way her thighs were slightly apart as if her body had not decided whether to hide or stay open.
I spoke against her ear as if I was only joking, but my voice came out lower than I wanted.
“Don’t forget your promise to me. After the function you said that one day you would give me your asshole, and I have been carrying that in my mind since that night. Today you look so different that I am remembering it again. I am holding your ass and looking at you in this mirror and I cannot stop thinking that you promised me that part of your body.”
Her body reacted before her mouth did.
A small shiver went down her back. Her ass cheeks clenched in my hands. She held my shoulders tighter, her fingers pressing into my shirt, and when she looked at me her eyes were already wet. This was not only fear. There was love sitting openly on her face, the same love with which she had stayed awake for our son, made coffee at midnight, and given her whole life to this house.

She swallowed once and then spoke, still holding me.
“Shiva, my body belongs to you. I am your wife. If you want my asshole, take it. If you want me in any way, I will give it. That promise was for you, not for anyone else. You can do anything with me because I love you, and I have always been yours. I am not saying no to you. But I am worried about that astrologer. I don’t know what he will decide when he comes here, and I am scared he will ask for more than a hug and a kiss. I can give my body to you because you are my husband. That old man is different. Even thinking of his hands on me is making me nervous.”
As I looked at her face, I saw that she looked different today.

She was not just beautiful in the way I had always known. The love in her eyes, the slight tremble in her lower lip, the way she was breathing through her mouth, all of it made her look hotter in a new way. Another man was going to come into our house and enjoy her. That thought itself changed her face for me. She looked more desirable, more open, more like a woman who had already been touched by other men’s eyes and hands, and my cock stayed hard against her stomach because of that.
I lifted the nighty from the front.

Her full breasts came into view, heavy and uncovered, nipples already tight. I held them in my hands and felt how warm they were, how her nipples hardened even more between my fingers. At the same time I still grabbed her ass from behind, so in the mirror I could see my hands on her breasts and on her ass together. A thin wetness showed on her inner thighs. Her stomach tightened. She bit her lower lip and looked down at my hands as if she could not believe we were doing this with the astrologer already on the way.

Her voice came out shaking, but she did not stop after one short line.
“Do you want to fuck me now, Shiva, before he comes? I know you are horny. I have seen you controlling yourself all these days, getting up from the bed, walking away, holding your own need because of those instructions. I was controlling myself too, but I also saw what it was doing to you. If you take me now I will let you. My body is already asking for you after this whole month. I am wet, I am scared, and I don’t know whether I want you to take me first so that at least I go to him as your wife, or whether we should wait because he said he would decide after he comes. Tell me what you want. I am standing here with my nighty lifted and your hands on my breasts and my ass, and I need to hear it from you.”
Before I could answer, we heard the front door.
Our son had come back.

We pulled apart at once. I dropped the nighty down over her breasts and her ass. She quickly smoothed it with both hands, wiped her eyes, and we went to the living room as if nothing had been happening.
He was still happy from the sweets and the result. I told him to go to my mother’s house in the next street and stay with her for some time. He agreed without asking too much.
Then he asked for money.

I took out more cash and put it in his hand.
“This is for your pocket. Buy sweets for Paati also, and for her neighbours. Tell them you passed in the reevaluation. Give them properly and stay there.”
He took the money, smiled, and went off.
The door closed behind him.
The house was ours again, and the astrologer was still coming in one hour.

[novelistcasanova]

I had just come back to the living room when my phone rang.

It was the astrologer.
He asked for directions in that same calm voice, saying he had left the village and was coming toward Bangalore, and that he needed to know how to reach our house. I gave him the way to Koramangala, telling him where to turn after the main road, which signal to take, and how the house would come after the inner street. I could hear from his breathing and the noise behind him that he was already nearing the city.
“If there is any confusion after you enter Koramangala, call me,” I told him. “I will bring you to the door.”
He agreed and hung up.
I went back to the bedroom.
My wife was still standing there in her nighty, nervous, waiting for me to say something. I looked at her and told her, “Get ready for him. He will be here in fifteen minutes.”
The sadness came onto her face at once.
She opened the closet slowly, as if her hands did not want to do it, and took out a yellow chiffon saree, a yellow blouse, and a yellow petticoat. Then she picked up a white bra and maroon panties and placed all of them on the bed. For a moment she stood looking at those clothes, her shoulders low, her eyes wet. After that she picked up a white towel and went inside the bathroom to take a shower.
I came back to the living room.
That was when the phone began ringing again.


I answered the call.
The astrologer’s voice came through again, calmer than before, as if he had thought something over on the way.
“I have changed my mind,” the astrologer said. “I will not enjoy your wife. I know it would be hard for you. You are an advocate, she is your wife, and I have already taken her white bra and black panties and made both of you follow my instructions for one month. That is enough. Give me one lakh as fees and the matter is closed. I will not come to your house.”
I stood in the living room, shocked.
The whole morning had been sitting on one thought — he was coming, she was getting ready, and I was going to watch him decide what to do with her. Now he was stepping back, and instead of relief a shameless disappointment went down my chest and into my cock.
“What is the problem, Swami?” I asked. “Why this sudden change? Is my wife not hot enough for you?”
The astrologer gave a small ugly laugh.
“Your wife is hot,” he said. “Any man would love to fuck her. I have seen her body. I have sniffed her white bra and black panties. I have seen her standing in that pink chiffon saree with nothing underneath. That is not the problem. The problem is she is not interested. On the phone itself I could hear it. She is frightened. She does not want me. If I come there, she will stand stiff and waste my time.”
“So you truly don’t want to fuck my wife?” I asked, and I could hear the hunger in my own voice even though I tried to hide it.
“I would love to fuck your wife,” the astrologer said. “I wanted her from the moment she put her bra and panties in my hands. But what is the use if she will not cooperate? I don’t want a woman who is only saying yes because she is scared of puja. One lakh is enough. Transfer it.”
I should have felt relief.
Instead I became more excited and more disappointed at the same time. He was not going to hug her. He was not going to kiss her. He was not going to fuck my wife in front of me. My cock stayed hard in my pants from the very thought he was now trying to cancel.

That was when I began teasing him.
“Are you sure you don’t want to enjoy my wife, Swami?” I asked. “She is in the shower right now. She has already taken out the yellow chiffon saree, the yellow blouse, the yellow petticoat, the white bra and the maroon panties. She placed them on the bed and went inside to bathe because I told her you would be here in fifteen minutes. She is getting ready for you. Are you really going to take one lakh and miss that?”
There was a pause.

I heard the change in his breathing, and that sound itself made my cock jerk.
“She is bathing now?” the astrologer asked. “Really? She took out the yellow saree and went to shower for me?”
“Yes,” I said. “She is in the bathroom, naked, taking a shower for you. The yellow saree is waiting on the bed. The white bra and maroon panties are on the bed. She thinks you are coming to decide. Are you sure you don’t want to come and enjoy her?”
The astrologer’s voice thickened and became openly horny.
“Really? She is naked in the shower right now? Getting ready for me? Don’t lie to me. If she has kept the yellow saree on the bed and gone to bathe, I am coming. I want to see her like that. I want to enjoy her. Tell me again. She is really preparing for me?”
I could hear the excitement in his breathing. The calm he had used to refuse her was gone.

I stood in the living room holding the phone with my cock hard, outwardly steady, inwardly shamelessly excited that I had pulled him back toward my wife.

[novelistcasanova]

I did not hang up.

“Wait, Swami,” I said. “I will show you.”
I switched the call to video and walked through the house with the phone in my hand, my cock still hard from his breathing on the line. I went behind the house, where the bathroom door opened to the back, and I stood there for a second listening to the water. Then I opened the bathroom door slowly.
My wife was in the shower.
She had her eyes closed and was applying soap all over her body. Both her hands were moving over her full breasts first, rubbing the soap around her nipples until they became tight and slippery. Then her hands went down her stomach, over her waist, and onto her ass cheeks, soaping them slowly, squeezing them a little as she washed. After that she brought her hand between her thighs and applied soap over her pussy, rubbing carefully, her fingers moving over the clean-shaved skin while water ran down her shoulders.

I turned the phone toward her.
“See,” I told the astrologer, keeping my voice low. “This is my wife. Look at her. She is soaping her breasts, her ass, her pussy. She does not even know I am showing you.”
On the screen I saw his ugly face change.

His small eyes opened wider. His mouth stayed slightly open. He stared at her wet soapy breasts, then at her hands on her ass cheeks, then at her fingers moving over her pussy. I could see he was getting hard just from the video.
“Really,” the astrologer said, his voice thick. “She is applying soap like that? On her breasts? On her pussy? Don’t close the door. Let me see her properly.”
She turned a little under the water, still soaping her body, and her full breasts and wet ass came even more clearly onto his screen. He swallowed, openly horny.
“Look at her,” I teased him. “Any man would love to fuck her. You said that yourself. Are you sure you don’t want to enjoy this?”
“I am coming,” he said, breathing heavier. “Keep her like this in my mind. I want her. I want to enjoy her.”
I slowly closed the bathroom door so that my wife would not see the phone, then I took the call back to the living room, my hand shaking a little, my cock shamelessly hard, the image of her soapy wet body still sitting on his screen and in my head.


I did not end the video call.
I walked from the living room to the bedroom, kept the phone low, and opened the door only slightly so that my wife would not notice me standing there. Then I turned the camera toward the bathroom door and whispered to the astrologer, “Watch now, Swami. She is coming out.”
The bathroom door opened.
My wife came out with the white towel wrapped around her body, her wet hair sticking to her neck and shoulders. She stood near the bed and began towelling herself, first her arms, then her breasts under the towel, then her stomach, then her thighs. After that she removed the white towel completely and placed it on the chair.
She was standing in the bedroom with nothing on.
Her full breasts, her nipples, her waist, her ass cheeks, and her pussy were all in front of the slightly open door. I held the phone steady. On the screen I saw the astrologer’s eyes lock on her.

She picked up the maroon panties from the bed.
She bent a little, put one foot in, then the other, and pulled the maroon panties up over her thighs and over her ass. The maroon panties sat tight on her pussy and her ass cheeks. The astrologer’s breathing became heavier.
“She is wearing the maroon panties now,” I whispered.
Then she picked up the white bra, put her arms through it, settled her full breasts into the white bra cups, and hooked it at the back. Her breasts lifted and filled the white bra. He swallowed on the video, openly horny.
“White bra now,” I said. “Look at her breasts.”
“I am looking,” the astrologer said, his voice thick. “Don’t move the phone.”
She picked up the yellow petticoat, stepped into it, and tied it at her waist over the maroon panties. Then she wore the yellow blouse over the white bra and began hooking it in front. Her breasts sat heavy inside the yellow blouse. After that she took the yellow chiffon saree, tucked it into the yellow petticoat, wrapped it around her waist, and brought the pallu over her chest.
She stood in front of the mirror and applied slight makeup — a little on her eyes, a little on her lips — getting ready for him without knowing he was already watching her do every step.

With each thing she wore, the astrologer became more excited.
When she pulled up the maroon panties, he let out a low sound. When she hooked the white bra, his mouth stayed open. When she tied the yellow petticoat and wore the yellow blouse and then the yellow chiffon saree, he was breathing as if he could already put his hands on her.
“She is getting ready for me,” the astrologer said. “Yellow saree, yellow blouse, yellow petticoat, white bra, maroon panties. I want to fuck her. I am coming to enjoy her.”
I stood behind the slightly open bedroom door with the phone in my hand, my cock shamelessly hard, watching my wife finish her makeup for the man who was now too horny to refuse her.


I came back to the living room with the video still on and lowered my voice.
“Swami, listen to me before you reach,” I whispered. “She will not readily let you fuck her. She is loyal to me. In her mind she is still my wife, and even after everything she will try to stop at a hug and a kiss. If you come and ask her straight, she will freeze.”
The astrologer was still breathing heavy from what he had just seen.
“Then what should I do?” he asked.
“I cannot act like I am letting you fuck her just like that,” I said. “If I stand there and say yes too openly, she will suspect me. I am going to act as if I am on her side. I will hold her, I will talk like I am protecting her, I will even tell you not to go too far. That is only acting. You are the one who has to scare the shit out of her. Talk about the puja. Talk about what will happen to our son if she refuses. Put the consequences on her until she has no way left except to give herself.”
He looked at me on the video and nodded.
“I understand,” the astrologer said. “I will handle the fear. I know how to put the puja on her. Once she is scared, her loyalty will not stand.”
“Good,” I whispered. “I am on your side. Don’t worry about me. We will work as a team. You enjoy her. I will watch. From outside it will look like I am only trying to save her and save our son.”
The astrologer smiled that ugly smile.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I will handle it. I just want your support, that is all. When I scare her, you should not stop me. Stay on her side with your mouth, and stay on my side with your silence. I am coming to enjoy her.”
A shameless excitement went through me when he said that.
My cock was hard in my pants. My hand was slightly shaking on the phone. I could already see him in our house, scaring her, taking her, and me standing there pretending I was only protecting my wife.

“Come,” I said. “We are ready.”
Then I hung up.
The living room became quiet, but my body was not quiet. I stood there excited, waiting for the sound of his arrival.

[novelistcasanova]

To Be Continued ..!

[novelistcasanova]

My wife came to the living room.


She looked stunning and sexy. The yellow chiffon saree sat close on her body, the yellow blouse held her full breasts, the yellow petticoat was tied at her waist, and I knew the white bra and maroon panties were underneath. Her wet hair was still a little loose, her slight makeup was on, and the way she walked into the room made her look more desirable than she had looked all month. I looked at her and felt a shameless excitement in my cock, because I already knew he was on the way to fuck her. I did not let that show on my face.

The neighbouring house also belonged to me. A few alteration works were going on there, and two construction guys had been working in that house for some days. I had seen them in the morning itself, moving around the back side, near the wall that faced our bathroom.

Before I could speak, she came closer, nervous and upset.
“Shiva, something happened in the bathroom. I don’t know how, but the bathroom window was open. After I came out of the shower and was towelling myself, I saw those two construction guys working in our other house standing there. They were watching me. I was drying my breasts, my stomach, my ass, my thighs, everything, and they saw all of it. I saw them looking at my breasts, my ass, my pussy, and they were jerking off watching me. I felt so ashamed. How did that window open?”
I asked her more, as if I was only checking.
“You saw them only after you came out? Both of them were standing there? What exactly were they looking at while you were towelling yourself?”
She answered innocently, still shaken, not understanding what her words were doing to me.

“Yes, only after I came out. I had already finished my shower. I was standing there with the white towel, drying my breasts first, then my stomach, then I turned a little and dried my ass cheeks. That is when I saw both of them at the window. They were looking at my breasts and my pussy, and both of them had taken out their cocks and they were jerking off. I felt so dirty, Shiva.”
“Did they say anything?” I asked.
“No. They just kept looking and jerking off. I closed the window after I saw them properly. I don’t know how long they had been standing there while I was in the shower.”
Deep inside I was feeling horny.

The picture of those two construction guys from my own neighbouring house watching my wife towel her breasts, her ass, and her pussy, then jerking off while she stood wet and uncovered, made my cock harden in my pants. I kept my face calm and answered her as if it was nothing.
“It’s okay. They are only doing the alteration work in the other house. These labourers stand anywhere. Don’t think about it now. He is on the way.”
She looked at me, still shaken.
“Already?” she asked. “Shiva, I am nervous. First those men watched me, and now this astrologer is coming. I don’t want him to come inside and start touching me. If he asks for more than a hug and a kiss, what do I do?”
I went to her and held her as if I was on her side, though the image of those two men jerking off to her wet body was still sitting in my mind.
“I am with you,” I said. “Don’t panic. Be friendly with him when he comes. Don’t stand like you are fighting him from the first minute. We will sit and talk. We will try to make him understand. If we speak properly, maybe he will stop at a hug and a kiss.”
She looked at my face and trusted me.
“You will stay with me, no?” she asked. “You will not leave me alone with him.”
“I will stay,” I said. “We will sit together and talk. Just be polite, be friendly, and let me handle the talking with you. We should not make him angry.”
She swallowed and nodded.
“Alright. I will be friendly. I will sit and talk. I will try to make him understand. Only don’t let him take more than that, Shiva.”

I held her hand and pretended I was protecting her.
Inside, I was excited, horny from her innocent answers, and waiting for the astrologer to walk in and begin.

[novelistcasanova]

The doorbell rang.

My wife looked at me once, nervous, and I went with her to open the door. The astrologer was standing there in his saffron dhoti and white shirt, ugly face, small sharp eyes, and the moment the door opened those eyes went straight to my wife. He looked at her yellow chiffon saree, her yellow blouse, her full breasts, her waist, her ass, from her face down to her feet, without any shame.
“Come in, Swami,” I said.
My wife folded her hands and welcomed him in a small voice.
“Please come inside.”
She turned and walked into the house first.
We followed her.

I walked a little behind him, and I could see everything. His eyes were all over my wife as she walked. The yellow chiffon saree moved over her ass. The yellow blouse held her breasts from behind. He looked at her ass cheeks, then at the curve of her waist, then again at her breasts when she turned her face a little. He was ogling her openly, as if she already belonged to him.
That look made me horny.
My cock began hardening in my pants while I kept my face polite.
After she took him into the living room, I asked him, as if I was only being friendly.
“How is she, Swami? My wife got ready as you said.”
The astrologer did not take his eyes off her.
“I can’t control myself,” he said. “Looking at her like this, I can’t control myself.”
Those words went straight into me.
My wife stood there embarrassed, holding the pallu of her yellow chiffon saree. I stood beside her as if I was only the host. Inside, I was shamelessly hard, because the way he was ogling her and the way he said he could not control himself was exactly what I had been waiting for.


We took him into the living room.
My wife sat on the sofa first, nervous, holding the pallu of her yellow chiffon saree. I sat beside her, close enough that she would feel I was on her side. The astrologer sat opposite us, his small eyes moving over her yellow blouse, her full breasts, her waist, and then lower, over her lap, as if he was already undressing her in his mind. I saw that look and my cock hardened, but I kept my face calm.
My wife tried to start the way I had told her.
“Swami, our son Rajesh Kumar. M has passed. Register number 41023111036, all subjects. We are grateful. I got ready as you said. Please, if a hug and a blessing are enough, take that. I am a married woman. I cannot give more than that.”
I placed my hand on her shoulder, pretending I was supporting her.
“She is nervous, Swami. That is why she is speaking like this. Please understand her.”
The astrologer did not look at me. He looked only at her.
“Understanding will not keep the puja standing,” he said. “I made your son pass. The reward was decided. If I walk out of this house without taking what was promised, I will turn the puja the other way. The boy will not remain passed. His life will close again.”
My wife’s body stiffened beside me.
“Please don’t say that, Swami. He has just passed. Don’t put that on my son.”
I held her hand as if I was protecting her.
“Swami, she is frightened. Don’t scare her like that. We called you inside with respect.”
My words sounded like I was on her side.
I was not stopping him.
He stood up, came around the table, and stood in front of her. His eyes went over her yellow blouse and then to her lips.
“Then get up,” he said. “A hug first. If you refuse even that, I will take the puja back tonight.”
My wife looked at me, waiting for me to refuse for her.
I squeezed her hand and said softly, “Get up. Only a hug. We should not make him angry because of our son.”
She stood up slowly, shaking.

The astrologer took her into his complete embrace.
His ugly arms went around her waist over the yellow chiffon saree. Her full breasts pressed into his chest through the yellow blouse and the white bra. He pulled her tighter, and I saw his hands slide down and rest on her ass over the saree. My wife’s face turned toward me, helpless, her eyes wet.
“Shiva…”
“It’s only a hug,” I said, still pretending. “Let him. Think of Rajesh.”
Inside, I was watching his hands on her ass and getting shamelessly hard.


The astrologer did not leave the hug.
He kept my wife in his complete embrace and began moving his hands over her ass cheeks through the yellow chiffon saree, squeezing them slowly, feeling the maroon panties underneath. Her body went stiff. She tried to pull her chest back, but he held her waist and brought her full breasts against him again.
“Swami, enough,” she said, her voice shaking. “You hugged me. Please leave me now.”
He looked at her lips.
“The promise was not a hug,” he said. “You agreed that if your son passed, you would sleep with me. He has passed. A hug is only the start.”
She turned toward me at once.
“Shiva, I can’t. We only spoke about a hug and a kiss. I can’t sleep with him.”
That line had been only between me and her in the bedroom. The astrologer had never agreed to it. I knew that, and still I spoke as if I was on her side.
“Swami, she is nervous. Let it stay at a hug and a kiss for now. Don’t take everything in one minute.”
He held her jaw with one hand, kept the other hand on her ass, and put his mouth on her lips.
He enjoyed it at once.

He kissed her slowly first, then deeper, pressing his ugly mouth on her mouth as if he had been waiting for those lips since the day she gave him her bra and panties. He sucked her lower lip, then covered her whole mouth, making a wet sound. My wife made a small frightened noise. For a second she kept her lips closed. He kissed her harder, and I saw her fingers clutch the pallu of the yellow chiffon saree.
Watching him enjoy her lips made me shamelessly horny. My cock hardened in my pants. I could not take my eyes off his mouth on her mouth.
“Open your mouth,” he said against her lips. “If you stay stiff, I will take it that the promise is broken and turn the puja against the boy.”
“Please, Swami, don’t,” she whispered.
I rubbed her back gently, pretending I was comforting her.
“Let him kiss you. We will talk after that.”
She gave in a little.

Her lips opened. He pushed his tongue into her mouth and began tasting her properly, moving his tongue over her tongue, sucking her lips again and again, not leaving her mouth. He was enjoying her kiss like a hungry man. Saliva shone on her lips when he pulled back for a second and then he kissed her again, deeper.
Her body started reacting even while she tried to control it.
Her nipples tightened under the yellow blouse and the white bra. I saw it. A small shiver went down her waist. Her ass cheeks clenched in his hand and then loosened. Her breathing became heavier against his mouth. She tried to turn her face away, then her lips moved with his for a moment before she caught herself and stiffened again.
“No… Swami… I don’t want this,” she said into the kiss, but her mouth was already wet from him.
He kept kissing her and squeezed her ass harder. His other hand came up over the yellow blouse and felt her breast over the white bra. Her nipple was already tight under his palm. She broke the kiss and turned her face into my shoulder, breathing fast, ashamed that her body had answered him.
“Shiva, he is touching my breast. This is more than a kiss. He wants to sleep with me. My body is reacting and I don’t want it to.”
The astrologer did not take his hand away. His mouth was still wet from her lips.
“Yes,” he said. “That is what you agreed when the boy’s result was still locked. Now the result has come. Her lips are sweet. If she gives me only a closed mouth and a stiff body, I will do the puja against him tonight.”
My wife started crying against me, her nipples still tight, her lips still shining from his kiss.
“Don’t say that. I hugged you. I kissed you. Don’t bring my son into this again.”
I held her and looked at him as if I was warning him, but my cock was hard from watching him enjoy her lips and from seeing her body react while she tried to protest.
“Swami, she is crying. Don’t scare her more.”
He smiled at me over her shoulder, understanding I was with him.

“Then let her stay in my hands a little more,” he said. “A crying wife is still a wife who promised to sleep with me after the boy passed.”
My wife remained between us, kissed, felt up, frightened, her body warm and betraying her, still trying to hold the private line she had drawn with me.

[novelistcasanova]

The astrologer pulled her back from my shoulder and took her mouth again.

This time he did not start slow. He kissed her as if her lips already belonged to him, sucking them, licking them, pushing his tongue inside, enjoying the wetness she had tried to refuse. My wife made a small sound of protest into his mouth and still her lips moved with his for a few seconds before she tried to close them again.

I stood so close that I could see everything.
Her eyes were wet. Her fingers were holding my shirt with one hand and the pallu of the yellow chiffon saree with the other. Under the yellow blouse her nipples were tight. I was shamelessly hard watching him enjoy her mouth.
His hand left her breast and went down.
He lifted the yellow chiffon saree at her hip, then put his hand under the yellow petticoat as well, because the maroon panties were under the yellow petticoat. His palm covered her ass over the maroon panties first. He squeezed both ass cheeks, then brought the same hand between her thighs from behind and pressed it against her pussy over the maroon panties.
Her whole body jerked.
“Swami, don’t,” she said, breaking the kiss. “Not there. That is enough. Shiva, he is putting his hand on my pussy.”
I held her waist from the side, pretending I was stopping it, and said, “Swami, she is letting you kiss her. Don’t put your hand there so fast.”
He did not remove his hand.
He kept it pressed on her pussy over the maroon panties, under the yellow petticoat, and looked at me while he answered her.
“If I take my hand away, the promise is broken. I can feel she is already warm here. A woman who kisses with a wet mouth cannot say her body is not in this.”
My wife shook her head, crying, trying to press her thighs together, but his hand stayed between them under the yellow petticoat.

“That is not true. I am trying to control myself. I am not giving you that. I only kissed you because of my son.”
Even as she said it, her body reacted.
I saw her stomach tighten. Her ass cheeks clenched over his hand. The maroon panties under his palm became warmer. A small breath left her mouth when he rubbed her pussy through the maroon panties, slow and firm. She bit her lower lip and turned her face into my neck, ashamed.
“Shiva, my body is doing something. Make him stop.”
I kissed the side of her head as if I was protecting her.
“He is only touching over the maroon panties. Don’t fight so much that he talks about the puja again. I am here.”
She trusted that line.
The astrologer used it.
He rubbed her pussy over the maroon panties more openly now, two fingers pressing the slit through the maroon panties while his mouth came back to her lips. She tried not to open her mouth, then opened it with a helpless sound when his fingers pressed harder. Her hips made a small movement she did not want, then she froze and whispered,
“No… I don’t want to feel this… I don’t want to surrender.”
He smiled against her lips.
“Then why is this maroon panty getting wet?”
My cock jerked when he said that.
My wife looked at me with wet eyes, still loyal, still trying to control herself, while his hand stayed under the yellow petticoat, on her maroon panties, and her body kept answering him.


The astrologer did not take his hand off her pussy.
He kept rubbing her over the maroon panties, under the yellow petticoat, while he kissed her again and enjoyed her lips. My wife tried to hold her thighs together, then they opened a little when his fingers pressed the wet line of the maroon panties. She turned her face from his mouth and looked at me, ashamed.
“Shiva, he is not stopping. Tell him this is enough.”
I held her closer, still pretending I was on her side.
“Swami, her maroon panties are already wet. You felt that. Don’t pull them aside yet.”
That was the first time I said “yet.”
She heard it and looked at me, confused, but she still trusted me. The astrologer heard it too. He understood I had opened a door for him.

He slipped his fingers inside the maroon panties.
My wife’s mouth opened in a shocked breath. His fingers were on her pussy now, on the wet lips, rubbing her directly under the yellow petticoat. She caught his wrist through the yellow chiffon saree and the yellow petticoat.
“No, Swami, not inside the panties. I did not agree to this. I agreed to sleep with you only if there was no other way, and even then I was going to stop at a kiss.”
“Your son has passed,” he said against her cheek. “There is no other way. This pussy is part of the promise.”
Her body reacted harder.
Her nipples pushed against the white bra and the yellow blouse. Her ass cheeks tightened. A little wetness smeared on his fingers. She bit my shirt and tried to control the sound in her throat, but a small moan still came out.
“I don’t want to moan for him,” she whispered to me. “I am your wife. I am trying to control myself.”
I kissed her hair and spoke as if I was comforting her.
“Then don’t fight the hand so much. If you keep pushing him, he will talk about the puja again. Let him touch. I am holding you.”
She closed her eyes.
The astrologer used that moment. He rubbed her clit under the maroon panties, then slid one finger between her pussy lips. Her hips jerked. She shook her head, crying, and still her pussy clutched his finger for a second before she tried to pull away.
“Swami… take your finger out… please…”
He did not.
He kept that one finger inside her pussy, slow, enjoying her, and looked at me over her shoulder. I looked back at him and did not stop him. My cock was fully hard. I was helping him enjoy my wife and watching her slowly lose the fight between her loyalty and her body.
“Shiva,” she said, almost surrendering, “if I let this happen, it is only because of our son. Don’t think I want him.”
“I know,” I told her.
I said it like a husband on her side.
Inside, I wanted him to keep going.


The astrologer kept one finger inside her pussy under the maroon panties and used his other hand on her yellow blouse.
He opened the hooks of the yellow blouse one by one. My wife caught his hand when the first hook opened.
“Don’t open the blouse, Swami. My breasts are only for my husband.”
He opened the second hook anyway.
“Then why are these nipples so tight?” he asked. “A loyal wife can still finish a promise.”
I stood behind her and helped him without looking like I was helping him. I held her arms gently, as if I was only stopping her from pushing him too hard.
“Sudha, if he opens the blouse, it is still not the last thing. Don’t shout. Think of Rajesh.”
She looked at me with wet eyes, hurt and trusting at the same time.
“You are telling me to let him open my blouse?”
“I am telling you not to make him angry,” I said.
The yellow blouse came open.
The white bra was in front of him, full cups holding her breasts. He pulled both cups down and her breasts came out, heavy, nipples tight. He stared at them, ugly face hungry, and then put his mouth on her right nipple.
My wife’s back arched.
“Ah… no… don’t suck…”
He sucked her nipple anyway, loudly, enjoying it, while his finger kept moving inside her pussy under the maroon panties. Then he left the right nipple wet and took the left nipple into his mouth. Her hand went to his head as if to push him away, then stayed there, shaking.

I watched her breasts in his mouth and felt my cock ache.
Her body was surrendering faster than her words.
“Shiva, he is sucking my breasts,” she cried. “This is not a kiss anymore. Tell him to stop.”
I wiped her tears with my thumb and spoke close to her ear, still pretending I was on her side.

“Let him suck a little. Your body is already answering him. If you pull away now, he will say you broke the promise. I am here. I am holding you.”
A helpless sound came from her throat.
The astrologer lifted his mouth from her breast, saliva shining on her nipple, and looked at me.

“She is getting wetter,” he said. “The maroon panty cannot hide it.”
My wife closed her eyes, ashamed.
“I don’t want to get wet for him. I love you, Shiva. I am only standing here because I am scared for our son.”
“I know you love me,” I told her.
Then I looked at the astrologer and did not take her breasts away from him.

That was how I helped him enjoy my wife, while she stood between us with her yellow blouse open, her white bra pulled down, her nipples wet from his mouth, and his finger still inside her pussy.