Misc. Erotica On the Day of Ayudha Pooja (COMPLETED)- By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

On the Day of Ayudha Pooja

By Novelist Casanova 

The house in Koramangala sat on a wide corner plot, three floors of white walls and tall windows, with a long driveway that curved past the garden before it dropped into the basement ramp. From the upper balcony I could see the tops of the trees along the main road. My husband had bought the place after the big political case closed. The boys still called the top floor theirs. My room faced the garden. The basement was the only place big enough for all the vehicles at once.
We had come down to wash the vehicles. The servants had already laid out the buckets, the sponges and the long green hose. Three cars waited under the high concrete ceiling—the black SUV, the white sedan, and the older silver one—plus the two bikes and my white Activa near the ramp. Water already trickled toward the drain. My husband and the boys had changed into shorts and old T-shirts. I had stayed in my white cotton nighty. My white bra sat under it, cups snug over my heavy breasts. My pink panties rested low under my wide hips against my pussy.
I was still bent over the front tyre of the black SUV with the sponge when the first cold spray hit my back. I straightened, pushing my long wet hair off my face, large eyes blinking against the water. My husband stood ten feet away holding the green hose nozzle in both hands, already smiling. The boys were laughing before the water even reached me.
“Appa, again,” the youngest said.
“Rajesh,” I said. “The cars first.”

He squeezed the trigger. Water slammed across my full breasts and soft stomach. My white cotton nighty soaked through at once and clung tight. Underneath, my white bra showed clear through my wet nighty, cups stretched over my heavy breasts, the deep cleavage visible where the fabric had gone thin. Lower, my pink panties went translucent the moment the water reached them. The hem of my nighty lifted with the force and stuck wet to my thick thighs.
My husband walked closer. He aimed the nozzle lower and held it. The next burst went straight under my nighty. Cold water rushed up between my thick thighs and drove hard against my pink panties, soaking the cotton right over my pussy. I gasped, my full lips parting. I stepped back. My panties plastered tight against my pussy lips and the soft crease where my thighs met. I could feel every seam and the way the thin cotton had gone see-through over the shape of my pussy and the curve of my wide hips. The boys howled. The middle one nearly dropped his bucket.

I turned toward the workbench for a dry cloth, my heavy breasts shifting inside my white bra, and saw the driver. He had moved behind the big concrete pillar near the tool rack. Only his shoulder and one arm showed at first. Then he shifted, getting bolder. His white uniform pants were already tight around a thick boner. He glanced once toward my husband and the boys, then slowly pulled his cock out through the open fly. His cock stood hard and thick in his fist. He began masturbating, slow strokes at first, eyes fixed on me through the gap beside the pillar—on my beautiful face with the water running down my cheeks and full lips, on my heavy breasts outlined under the wet nighty, on my wide hips and the pink panties plastered over my pussy, on my thick thighs. He kept his hand moving on his cock.
I looked back at my husband and the boys. They had not seen him. My husband lifted the nozzle again.
“One more,” he said. “Then we do the Activa.”
He sprayed full force across my soft stomach and then lower, lifting my nighty and driving the water straight against my pink panties. The cotton clung so tight the shape of my pussy showed through, my wide hips and thick thighs glistening. My nipples had stiffened inside my white bra, hard points poking against the cups over my heavy breasts. The youngest was laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach. My husband kept the spray moving, slow, watching my face while the water ran under the hem and down my thick thighs.

Behind the pillar the driver grew bolder. He pulled his cock fully out and stroked faster, fist tight around the thick shaft, eyes locked on my heavy breasts under the wet nighty, on the deep cleavage, on my pussy under the soaked pink panties, and on the way my thick thighs pressed together. His cock stayed thick and rigid in his hand. He did not look away from my body or my face.
I stayed where I was. I laughed when the youngest pointed at how my nighty stuck to me, my full lips curving. I let my husband pull me closer by the wrist so he could rinse the sponge water off my arms. I did not turn toward the pillar again. The basement echoed with their voices and the slap of water on concrete. I kept my eyes on my husband and the boys and let the rest of it stay behind the concrete where it could not touch the morning.



My husband dropped the hose and stepped in close. His arms came around my waist from the front, pulling me against him. Water dripped from both of us onto the concrete. He leaned in, mouth aiming for mine.
“The boys are right here,” I said, turning my face. My full lips brushed his cheek instead. “Stop. They’re watching.”
He only laughed, low in his chest. His hands slid lower, gripping under my wide hips, and he lifted me clean off the floor. My thick thighs locked around his waist for a second before he turned and set me down on the soapy stretch of concrete near the SUV. The foam was cold against my back through my white nighty.
“Rajesh—”
He caught both my ankles in his hands and started walking backward, dragging me across the wet floor. My white nighty rode up at once. The hem climbed past my knees, then past my thick thighs, until it bunched above my waist. My pink panties showed fully—plastered tight over my pussy, the elastic sitting low on my wide hips. The boys burst out laughing. The youngest clapped his hands.
I tried to push my white nighty down with one hand. My husband kept pulling. Another drag and my white nighty climbed higher still, sliding up over my soft stomach until the lower edge of my white bra came into view. The cups strained over my heavy breasts. My large eyes went wide. Heat rushed into my face.
“Enough,” I said, voice tight. “The boys—”
He only grinned wider and gave one more slow pull. My white nighty bunched under my arms. My white bra and my pink panties were both out in the open now, soap suds streaking across my thick thighs and the curve of my wide hips. The boys were laughing so hard the middle one had to lean on the car door. I covered my face with one forearm, embarrassed, my full lips pressed together, while my other hand tried and failed to tug my white nighty back down.
Behind the big pillar the driver’s hand had gone still for a second. Then it moved faster. His cock jerked in his fist. Thick white cum shot out in heavy spurts, striping the concrete at his feet and coating his fingers. His eyes stayed locked on my white bra stretched over my heavy breasts and my pink panties soaked over my pussy the whole time. When the last pulse left him he tucked his cock away, wiped his hand once on his pants, and stepped quietly out from behind the pillar. He walked toward the ramp without looking back, shoes leaving wet prints, and disappeared up the slope while the boys were still laughing and my husband still held my ankles.
I stayed on the soapy floor a moment longer, my white nighty bunched high, face hot, listening to the sound of his footsteps fade.


I pushed myself up off the soapy concrete, my white nighty still clinging wet to my heavy breasts and wide hips, the hem stuck to my thick thighs. My full lips curved even while heat stayed in my face. I grabbed the long broom stick leaning against the workbench and turned toward them.
“Oh, so this is how it is now? All of you ganging up and laughing at me?” I said, voice light but warm. “Come here then. Let’s see who is laughing after this.”
My husband was already backing away, still grinning, water dripping from his T-shirt.
“Sudha, put that down… we were only playing,” he said, hands half-raised, laughing. “The boys started it.”
“The boys started it?” I said, stepping after him and tapping the broom lightly across his upper back. “And you held the hose like you had no part in it? Stand still, Rajesh. At least take it properly.”
He ducked and spun, still smiling.
“I am taking it, I am taking it… slowly, slowly…”
The boys shouted and ran to his side, feet slipping in the suds.
“Appa, we are with you! Don’t worry!” the middle one called, half-laughing, half-breathless. “Amma can’t catch all of us!”
“Oh, she can’t?” I said, turning the broom toward them, my large eyes bright. “Then all of you. Come. Since you are all on his side today, you can all take a little of this too.”
They scattered across the wet floor, laughing so hard they could barely run straight. I chased the youngest first.
“Amma, no, no, I didn’t do anything!” he shrieked, dodging behind the white sedan. “It was Anna!”
“It was both of you,” I said, tapping the broom gently against his back while he yelped and laughed. “And you were clapping the loudest. Come here.”
Then the middle one, then my husband again when he tried to pull one of them clear. Every time the broom landed they yelled and laughed louder, voices bouncing off the concrete. My heavy breasts shifted inside my white bra with each quick step. Soap streaked my thick thighs. For a few minutes the basement was only noise and movement and the three of them trying not to get caught, all of them happy, all of them loud.
When they were breathless and still grinning I lowered the broom, chest rising.
“All right… enough now,” I said, softer. “Look at all of you. Soaked, laughing like children. Go up. Take your baths properly. Change into the new clothes. Be ready when we start the pooja. Go on.”
My husband ruffled the youngest one’s wet hair, still smiling.
“You heard Amma,” he said. “Upstairs. All of you. Before she picks that broom up again.”
The boys were still laughing as they headed for the ramp, wet shorts slapping against their legs.
“Amma, you also come fast,” the youngest called back.
“I will,” I said. “After I finish here. Go.”
My husband looked back once, the smile still on his face, and followed them. Their voices faded up the slope and into the house.
I stayed. I swept the soapy water toward the drain with long strokes of the broom, pushing the foam and the dirt into the channel. Then I took the hose and rinsed the open stretch of concrete until the suds cleared and the floor shone wet under the basement lights. When the last of the water ran away I set the broom in the corner against the pillar, bristles down. My white nighty was heavy with water. My pink panties still clung between my thick thighs. I wiped my hands once on the nighty, turned, and walked up the ramp into the house.



I left my slippers at the bottom of the stairs and went up barefoot, the wet hem of my white nighty brushing my thick thighs with every step. The marble was cool under my feet. The staircase itself was wide, polished stone with a dark wood handrail that my husband had chosen because it looked solid, expensive. Framed photographs lined the wall—wedding pictures, the boys as babies, one of my husband in his black advocate’s coat outside the court. Higher up, the landing opened into a long corridor with tall windows that let in the late morning light. Everything smelled faintly of the fresh flowers the maids had already placed for the pooja.
This house had come after the big cases. My husband was an advocate. He did not take ordinary matters. He stood in court for the men who could not afford to lose—politicians, the ones with money that never quite showed on paper. He knew how to move it, how to keep it quiet, how to make a crore look like a gift or a settlement or something that never needed explaining. The cars downstairs, the diamond he had fastened around my neck only yesterday, the way the boys never asked where things came from—he handled all of it so cleanly that even I sometimes forgot to wonder. People in the city knew his name. security officer officers stood when the advocate entered a station. Judges listened longer when he spoke. Inside these walls we simply lived with what that power bought.
I reached our bedroom at the end of the corridor. The door was open. My husband stood near the wardrobe in his white shirt and white dhoti, the cloth still half-wrapped, one end in his hand while he looked for the pin. His hair was damp from the bath. He glanced up when he heard me, and his eyes stayed on me longer than usual.
“You’re still in that nighty,” he said, voice lower. “It is stuck to you everywhere. I can see your white bra… and those pink panties. You look too sexy like this. I almost don’t want you to change.”
I stayed in the doorway, my white nighty heavy and cold against my heavy breasts and wide hips, my pink panties still damp between my thick thighs. His gaze dragged slowly over the shape of my white bra and the way my pink panties clung, and I saw the temptation move across his face.
“I will change,” I said. “But first go to the boys. The youngest still doesn’t know how to tie his dhoti properly. He was struggling with it last year and he’ll do the same today. Help them. Make sure they look right before everyone comes.”
He nodded, but his eyes did not leave my body at once. He folded the end of his own dhoti once more, still looking.
“All right. I’ll see to them,” he said. “But you standing there like this… it is difficult to walk away.”
“And tell them not to run down before we call,” I added. “I don’t want them dirty again.”
“I will,” he said. He picked up the small gold pin from the table, fixed his dhoti, and walked past me toward the boys’ rooms. His hand brushed my arm, then lingered a second at my waist, fingers pressing lightly over the wet nighty above my wide hips. “You also get ready. Don’t take long… or I might come back before you finish.”
I watched him go down the corridor, white shirt bright against the walls, then stepped fully into the bedroom and closed the door behind me.




I closed the bedroom door and crossed to the tall cupboard. The room was quiet, the late morning light falling across the wide bed and the polished floor. I opened the cupboard doors. Rows of folded clothes sat in neat stacks. I reached for the panty pack first and slid out a pair of maroon panties, plain cut, the colour deep against my fingers. Next I took a white bra from the shelf, then a white petticoat, a yellow blouse, and the yellow chiffon saree that had been kept aside for today. I carried them to the bed and laid them out in a line—maroon panties, white bra, white petticoat, yellow blouse, yellow chiffon saree—smoothing each one once so nothing would crease.
I picked up a fresh towel from the rack, my white nighty still heavy and cold against my heavy breasts and wide hips, my pink panties damp between my thick thighs. I walked into the bathroom and shut the door. The tiles were warm under my feet. I turned the shower on and waited until the water ran hot, steam already rising and clouding the mirror. Then I pulled my white nighty up over my head and let it drop. My white bra came next. I reached behind, unhooked it, and shrugged it off. My heavy breasts fell free, full and soft, nipples already tight from the cooler air. I hooked my thumbs into my pink panties and pushed them down my thick thighs, stepping out of them. For a moment I stood naked, wide hips and soft stomach and the dark triangle of hair above my pussy visible in the steam.
I stepped under the spray. Hot water struck my shoulders first, then ran in heavy streams over my heavy breasts, tracing the deep cleavage and spilling from the undersides. I tipped my head back. Water poured over my face, into my large eyes, over my full lips. I reached for the soap and worked it between my palms until it foamed. My hands moved slowly over my neck, then down to my heavy breasts. I cupped them, lifting the weight, thumbs circling my nipples until they stiffened harder under the slick soap. The water beat against my chest. Soap slid between my breasts and down my soft stomach.
I soaped lower, over the curve of my wide hips, then between my thick thighs. My fingers parted my pussy lips gently, washing carefully, the hot water rushing over the sensitive skin and making me draw a slow breath. I stayed there a moment, one hand braced on the wall, the other moving in small circles, feeling the heat and the slip of soap and the way my body answered even this. Water streamed down my thick thighs and pooled at my feet. Steam filled the small room. My full lips stayed parted. My large eyes stayed half-closed under the spray.
I rinsed slowly, turning so the water could clear every part of me—my heavy breasts, the dip of my waist, the full round of my wide hips, the length of my thick thighs. When the soap was gone I stood under the hot stream a little longer, letting it pound against my shoulders and run in continuous lines over my body, the sound of the water loud in the quiet bathroom. Only when my skin had flushed warm all over did I reach for the tap and turn it off.


I stepped out of the bathroom, towel loose around my heavy breasts and wide hips, steam still rising from my thick thighs. The bedroom was bright. My full lips curved. It was Ayudha Pooja morning and the happiness sat easy in my chest. I could already hear the boys moving somewhere down the corridor, their voices light.
I let the towel fall. I stood beside the bed, water still sliding from the undersides of my heavy breasts down my soft stomach, gathering at the top of my thick thighs. My large eyes moved over the clothes I had laid out. I reached for my maroon panties first. I lifted one foot, then the other, and drew them slowly up my thick thighs. The elastic settled low beneath my wide hips. I pulled them snug so the front rested close over my pussy, then smoothed both sides with my palms, feeling the fit against me.
I took my white bra next. I slid my arms through the bra straps and brought the bra cups up beneath my heavy breasts, lifting their full weight. The bra cups closed over the deep cleavage. I reached behind my back, fastened the hooks, and adjusted each bra strap until my breasts sat high and rounded inside my white bra. My nipples, still tight from the shower, pressed lightly against the inside of the bra cups. I ran my fingers once along the top edge of the bra cups, settling everything.
My white petticoat waited. I stepped into it and drew it up over my maroon panties and wide hips. I tied the string low, below my navel, the way my mother had shown me years ago, so it sat smooth. It brushed over my thick thighs as I let it fall. I turned once, watching how it moved with me.
I picked up my yellow blouse and slipped it on over my white bra. The sleeves fitted close. I buttoned the front slowly, one by one, my yellow blouse closing neatly over my heavy breasts. When the last button was done I smoothed my yellow blouse down at my waist, feeling my white bra and the full shape of my breasts held in place beneath the bra cups.
Last was my yellow chiffon saree. I shook it out so the length floated, then began making the pleats with careful fingers. Each fold dropped straight. I tucked the pleats into my white petticoat at the waist. I wrapped the rest of my yellow chiffon saree around my wide hips, drawing it close, then brought the pallu over my left shoulder so it dbangd softly across my heavy breasts and my yellow blouse. I pinned it in place. My yellow chiffon saree looked bright and festive against me.
I turned fully toward the mirror. My large eyes were clear. My full lips smiled. My yellow chiffon saree shifted over my thick thighs and wide hips when I moved, the pallu resting lightly over my yellow blouse and my white bra beneath, the bra straps just visible at my shoulders. I touched the edge of the pallu once, then reached for my bangles. The happiness stayed. Everything felt right for the day. I was ready.



I was still standing in front of the mirror, fingers resting on the pallu of my yellow chiffon saree, when the bedroom door opened. My husband stepped inside and closed it behind him. In his hand he carried a long flat box. He did not speak at once. He only looked at me—my yellow chiffon saree dbangd over my wide hips and thick thighs, my yellow blouse fitted over my white bra, the bra straps just visible at my shoulders, my heavy breasts rising softly beneath the pallu.
“Turn around,” he said, voice quiet. “I have something for you.”
I turned. He opened the box. The diamond necklace lay against dark velvet, stones catching the light in a clean bright line. My large eyes widened. My full lips parted.
“Rajesh…”
He lifted it out and stepped behind me, both of us facing the mirror. His hands came around my neck. I watched in the glass as he settled the diamonds against my skin, just above the neckline of my yellow blouse, the weight of them resting where my heavy breasts began. He fastened the clasp. The stones sat cool and perfect. I could see them shine against the yellow of my chiffon saree, see how they drew the eye straight to the curve of my breasts and the line of my throat.
“Look,” he said, his mouth near my ear. “See how it sits on you. It was made for this. You look so beautiful. More than beautiful. I paid crores for it—real money, the kind that does not show on any paper—and still it looks richer because it is on you.”
My chest rose. Pride and happiness moved together under my yellow blouse. I touched the diamonds once with my fingertips, watching them flash in the mirror above my white bra and the full shape of my heavy breasts.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “It is too much. But thank you.”
His hands stayed on my shoulders. In the mirror his eyes met mine.
“Thank me properly,” he said. “Not with words. With your mouth.”
I turned in his arms. My yellow chiffon saree shifted over my wide hips and thick thighs. I rose onto my toes, my full lips finding his. The kiss was slow at first, then deeper. I opened for him, tasting him, my tongue moving against his while my heavy breasts pressed to his white shirt and the diamonds rested cool between us. His hands slid down to my waist, holding me close. I kissed him harder, happier, the festive morning and the weight of the necklace and the feel of his mouth all mixing until I forgot, for a moment, to breathe. When I finally drew back my large eyes were bright and my full lips were wet.
“Like that?” I asked.
He smiled, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.
“Like that.”


My husband kept his hands at my waist, thumbs resting just above the tied edge of my white petticoat beneath my yellow chiffon saree. The diamonds sat cool against my throat. In the mirror I could still see how they shone above the neckline of my yellow blouse, how they drew the eye to the full rise of my heavy breasts.
“Do you know how lucky I am?” he said, voice low, mouth close to my ear. “To have married a wife this beautiful… this hot. Standing here in your yellow chiffon saree, that necklace on you, your heavy breasts filling your yellow blouse the way they do… I have been hard since I walked in. I want you right now. Right here, before we go down.”
His hips pressed lightly against my wide hips. I felt the heat of him through the layers. My full lips parted. I was about to turn and kiss him again when voices rose in the corridor—loud, happy, the youngest calling my name and the middle one answering. Footsteps came fast toward our door.
We stepped apart at the same moment. My husband smoothed his white shirt. I touched the pallu of my yellow chiffon saree, settling it over my white bra. The door opened and the boys spilled in, already dressed in their new shirts and dhotis, faces bright.
“Amma, are you ready? Appa, everyone is waiting downstairs,” the eldest said, grinning.
“We are coming,” I answered, smiling. My large eyes met my husband’s for a second. He smiled back, small and private. “Go. We will follow.”
We went down together. In the basement the vehicles stood clean and waiting. I took the small plate of white naamam paste and red kumkumam and moved from one to the next—the black SUV, the white sedan, the silver car, the two bikes, my white Activa. I marked each bonnet and handlebar with the naamam, then the bright kumkumam dots on top, the way we always did. My husband lit the lamp. We offered the flowers, broke the coconut, placed the lemons under the wheels. The boys stood close, watching, quiet for once. The diamond necklace shifted against my yellow blouse every time I bent.
When the pooja was finished our four servants stood in a line near the ramp—two women and two men, all in their work clothes. My husband nodded to me. I handed each of them a new set of clothes wrapped in paper, then a steel plate heaped with sweets, and finally a small envelope of money. Their faces changed at once. They smiled, thanked us, pressed their palms together.
“Happy Ayudha Pooja,” I said. “Wear the new clothes. Share the sweets at home.”
They bowed and stepped back, happy. Yet even while they smiled, the two male servants kept their eyes on me. I felt it—the way their gazes moved over my yellow chiffon saree where it clung to my wide hips and thick thighs, over the diamonds resting above my heavy breasts, over the shape of my yellow blouse. They had looked at me like that for years, wanting, waiting for some chance that never came. My husband never noticed. He was already speaking to the boys about the cars.
I kept my face calm and festive. I knew what those looks meant. I also knew that if I ever spoke of it, my husband would ruin them without hesitation. The only reason I stayed silent was that they came from poor houses and had wives and children waiting for the money and the sweets I had just placed in their hands. Otherwise I would have ended them long ago. I turned back to my husband and the boys, the diamonds bright at my throat, and let the morning continue.


After the servants left with their new clothes and plates of sweets, the basement grew quiet again. My eyes went straight to the new white Honda Activa parked near the ramp. My father had bought it only weeks ago, on my birthday, and it still looked untouched. No matter how many expensive cars stood beside it, the Activa was mine.
My husband noticed where I was looking. He came closer, the teasing smile already on his face.
“Look at you,” he said, voice warm. “Three cars right here and your whole face changes the second you see that Activa. Every time. Your father really does know you better than anyone.”
I touched the handlebar, the diamonds shifting softly against my yellow blouse. My full lips curved.
“It is special to me,” I said. “He gave it on my birthday and I still haven’t taken it out properly. Today feels right. I want to ride it to the temple, do a proper pooja for it, and bring it back blessed before I start using it.”
He studied me for a moment, then his smile turned slower, the playfulness slipping into something lower.
“Before you go anywhere,” he said, stepping in, “tell me one thing. What colour bra are you wearing under that yellow blouse? I can see the bra straps, but I want to hear you say it.”
Heat moved into my cheeks. I laughed, small and surprised.
“White,” I said. “My white bra.”
His eyes dropped, following the line of my yellow chiffon saree over my wide hips.
“And the panties?” he asked, quieter now. “What colour are they? Don’t make me guess. Tell me.”
“Maroon,” I answered, still smiling, my large eyes on his. “My maroon panties.”
He let out a slow breath. His hand settled on my waist, thumb pressing just above where my white petticoat was tied.
“White bra, maroon panties, this saree sitting on you like that… your heavy breasts, your wide hips… and you are about to ride off to the temple looking like this. I am already hard just standing here. Come here.”
He pulled me in. The kiss was deep from the first second, his mouth open against mine, hungry. I kissed him back, my full lips parting, my heavy breasts pressed to his chest, the diamonds cool between us. When he finally drew back, his forehead rested against mine and his voice had gone rough and soft at the same time.
“I love you,” he said. “You know that, don’t you? More than all of this. More than anything I have ever won in court. I love you.”
My large eyes stayed on his. My full lips were still wet from the kiss.
“I love you too,” I said. “Always. You know I do.”
He kissed me again, shorter this time, then spoke against my mouth.
“Tonight, when everyone is gone and the house is quiet, I am going to fuck your brains out. I am going to keep you in that white bra and those maroon panties and I am not going to stop until you can’t even say my name properly. Remember that while you are riding.”
I laughed, breathless, my hands still on his shirt.
“Rajesh…”
He stepped back just enough to look at me, the smile turning a little tighter, a little jealous.
“Go,” he said. “Take your Activa. Do your pooja. Just… don’t let that priest bastard hug you too much, all right? I have seen the way he looks at you. The way he finds reasons to come close. Don’t give him anything. Come straight back to me.”
“I won’t,” I said, smiling, touching his face once. “Only the pooja. Then I come home to you.”
I untied the ribbon, swung my leg over the seat, my yellow chiffon saree shifting over my thick thighs as I settled. The engine started clean. I looked at him once more, still feeling the kiss and the weight of what he had said, and rode up the ramp into the daylight.


To Be Continued ..! 

[novelistcasanova]

I rode the white Activa through the late morning streets, the yellow chiffon saree shifting over my thick thighs every time I slowed for a turn. The diamonds sat cool against my throat above my yellow blouse. Halfway to the temple I realised I had not brought my purse. For a second I thought of turning back. Then I kept going. It felt wrong to go home and come out again. I could pay the priest the next time.

I parked the Activa just inside the temple gate and walked in. The courtyard was quiet. No crowd. The old priest saw me from the inner steps and came forward at once. His eyes moved over me before his mouth did—over the yellow chiffon saree on my wide hips, over the diamonds, over the way my yellow blouse held my heavy breasts. The look was open.
“Sudha,” he said, smiling too widely. “You have come alone today. Where is your husband? Such a big advocate now, so successful. Why doesn’t he come to the temple anymore?”
He stepped closer than he needed to. I shifted the pallu and answered lightly.
“He is at home with the boys. I came because my father gifted me this Activa on my birthday. I wanted the pooja done for it today.”
“New vehicle,” he said, but his eyes stayed on my yellow blouse. “Very good. Come. First I will bless you.”
I took a small step back.
“It is all right, just the vehicle—”
He reached out and pulled me in before I could finish. His arms closed around me in a complete embrace, tight, right there in the empty courtyard. No one else was near. He pressed me fully against him. My heavy breasts flattened to his chest through my yellow blouse. His hands moved on my back at once, feeling me, palms sliding down over the yellow chiffon saree toward my waist and the top of my wide hips. I felt the hard shape of his boner push against my stomach through his dhoti, thick and unmistakable.
He began to murmur, then the sounds changed. Soft moans left him, low and helpless.
“Ahh… mmmh… ahh…”
His hips jerked in small tight movements against me. The boner in his dhoti rubbed harder. His breathing broke into more soft moans.
“Mmmh… ahh… Sudha… ahh…”
Then his whole body tightened. He groaned and moaned into my neck, arms locking around me, and I felt the sudden wet heat spread through the front of his dhoti as he came, pulsing against my soft stomach while the soft moans kept spilling from him, out of control.
“Ahhh… mmmh… ahh…”
When the last pulse faded I gently but firmly broke the embrace and stepped out of his arms. A bright, delighted happiness rose in me so suddenly I almost laughed. My large eyes shone. My full lips curved into a real smile. I felt light, pleased, strangely glad it had happened.
“Swami,” I said, voice warm and light, “I forgot my purse at home. I don’t have the money for the pooja with me today. I will bring it next time.”
He blinked, chest still rising, one hand half-covering the wet patch on his dhoti. Then he laughed, covering it.
“Money?” he said, glancing at the diamonds. “With a necklace like that you can pay me in stones if you want.”
I laughed too, the sound bright and happy, letting the joke sit between us.
“Next time,” I said, still smiling. “Today just bless the Activa.”
He nodded, still dazed and smiling, and walked with me to the scooter. He did the pooja there—kumkumam on the handlebar, flowers, a short aarti. I stood beside it, yellow chiffon saree neat again, the delighted feeling still warm in my chest. When he finished he looked at me once more, longer than necessary, then stepped back.
“It is done,” he said. “Ride safely.”
I thanked him, started the Activa, and rode out of the temple gate, still smiling, the morning feeling lighter than when I had arrived.

[novelistcasanova]

I rode out of the temple gate still smiling, but the feeling shifted as soon as the Activa picked up speed. Guilt settled under the diamonds. My husband had told me not to let the priest hug me too much, and I had let him. I had stood there while his hands moved on me and his boner pressed against my stomach, and I had only stepped away after he finished. The delighted warmth from a few minutes ago turned thin. I told myself it was only a blessing, only an old man, but the words did not sit right.

Near the main road an old friend waved from the side. I slowed and stopped. She walked over, smiling, eyes going to the white Activa.
“Sudha! Why are you on this? You have so many cars at home. What happened?”
I laughed, the pride coming back easily.
“My dad gifted it on my birthday. I just took it to the temple for pooja. First proper ride.”
“Nice,” she said. “You did the pooja with that old priest?”
“Yes.”
Her face changed. She lowered her voice.
“That man is unlucky, Sudha. Last week a family of four came—Santosh, his wife Lydia, his father Sellapan, his mother Kasiamma. They brought their car for pooja. He did everything. Next day they left on a long trip and the whole family died. Brutal accident. Car crushed. All four of them gone. Just like that.”
The words landed cold. My large eyes widened. My full lips parted. For a second the road noise disappeared.
“Be careful,” she said. “I don’t know what it is, but be careful.”
I nodded. She glanced at her watch.
“I’m getting late. I’ll call you.”
She walked off. I started the Activa again and rode. For the first few minutes the Santosh family stayed in my head—the crushed car, the four names. Then the road opened, almost empty, and the wind hit me hard. I twisted the throttle. The Activa surged. The guilt and the story both slipped. I remembered that Priyanka Chopra bike ad and leaned into the ride the same way, the speed feeling good under me. Why should boys have all the fun. The wind pushed my pallu aside and sent it streaming between my boobs, the yellow chiffon lifting so my yellow blouse and the full shape of my heavy breasts showed clear, the white bra straps visible at my shoulders, the deep cleavage open to anyone looking.
Men on the opposite side turned their heads. Their eyes locked on my boobs in the yellow blouse, feasting, some slowing their bikes to look longer. I ignored them. Let them look. An auto came toward me, the driver staring openly, mouth slightly open, eyes fixed on the way the wind held my pallu between my boobs and how my heavy breasts moved with the ride. I did not pull the pallu back. I kept my speed, large eyes on the road, full lips curved, thinking only one thing as I passed him: you bastards can only watch. The Activa flew under me, the road empty ahead, and I rode faster.



I was still riding fast, the wind holding the pallu of my yellow chiffon saree between my boobs, my heavy breasts moving freely under my yellow blouse, when the black Pulsar came up on my left. Two young men. One thin, one broader in the shoulders. They matched my speed for half a second. The broader one leaned in, fingers quick, and the diamond necklace was gone from my throat before I could close my hand. The weight vanished. They twisted the throttle and shot ahead.
Shock locked my arms for a moment. Then it broke. I opened the Activa fully and went after them. The Pulsar cut through the thinning traffic. I followed, heart hammering, large eyes fixed on the glint of the diamonds still swinging in the thin one’s fist. They turned off the main road into the older streets. I stayed with them. Horns blared behind me. My yellow chiffon saree snapped in the wind, pallu flying, my yellow blouse and the full shape of my heavy breasts open to the air, but I did not care. The necklace was all I could see.
They ducked into the slum lanes. The road narrowed between tin roofs and hanging wires. The Pulsar slowed only enough to thread the turns. I followed, handlebars scbanging once against a wall, mirror cracking. My thick thighs gripped the seat. The engine screamed under me. People stepped back when they saw the white Activa coming fast. A dog ran. Someone shouted. The two men glanced back, saw me still there, and pushed harder. The thin one held the necklace high for a second like he was taunting, then tucked it against his chest.
The lanes grew tighter. Gullies now, barely wide enough for the bikes. I smelled drainage and cooking smoke. My full lips were pressed tight. My large eyes stung from the wind. They took a sharp left into a dead lane that ended at a half-open shutter. An empty spare-parts godown. The Pulsar braked hard and slid inside. I did not stop. I rode straight after them, tyres hitting the concrete ramp, and killed the engine only when I was fully inside the dim warehouse. Dust rose. The shutter rattled behind me. The two of them were already at the far end near a rusted metal table, breathing hard, the diamonds still in the thin one’s hand. I kicked the stand down, swung off the Activa, my yellow chiffon saree clinging to my wide hips and thick thighs, and walked toward them.


Dust hung in the shafts of light from the high windows. I walked toward them, my yellow chiffon saree sticking to my wide hips and thick thighs, the pallu half off my shoulder so my yellow blouse and the full shape of my heavy breasts showed clear. The diamonds swung in the thin one’s fist.
“Give it back,” I said, voice steady. “You don’t know who my husband is. He is Rajesh Mani. Advocate. He will find you before night. Give the necklace now and walk away.”
They only looked at me. The sweet sharp smell of ganja was thick around them. Their eyes were red. The muscular one laughed once, short. The leaner one—the thin one—did not laugh. His gaze dropped straight to my yellow blouse, to the deep cleavage, to the way my heavy breasts rose when I breathed. He was lusting already, open, no attempt to hide it.
“Aunty is talking big,” the muscular one said. “We don’t care about advocates.”
I stepped closer to him, trying to keep my eyes on the necklace.
“Listen to me. My husband—”
His hand came up fast and slapped me across the face. The sound cracked in the empty godown. My head snapped sideways. Heat exploded on my cheek. My large eyes watered. Before I could speak again he slapped me a second time, harder, palm flat against my full lips.
The leaner one moved at once. He stepped between us and pulled me back against him, arms coming around me from behind in a tight hug, his chest to my back, his hands locking over my yellow blouse just under my heavy breasts.
“Enough, da,” he said to the muscular one, voice rough. “Don’t hit her. She’s already here.”
His arms stayed around me. I felt his breath on my neck, hot, and the way his body pressed close while he held me away from the other man. The muscular one stared, chest rising, then spat on the concrete and turned half away, still clutching nothing. The leaner one did not let go. His hug tightened, one palm sliding slowly across the front of my yellow blouse, feeling the weight of my heavy breasts through the cloth while he kept his eyes on his friend.
“Easy,” he murmured near my ear, almost gentle. “I won’t let him hit you again.”
I stood inside his arms, cheek burning, full lips stinging, the smell of ganja all around us, my yellow chiffon saree twisted at my wide hips, and did not yet pull free.



“Please,” I said, voice shaking, one hand on my burning cheek. “Give the necklace back. Take my Activa. The white one outside. It is new. Take the bike and give me the necklace. Please.”
The muscular one only stared, red-eyed, the sweet stink of ganja and unwashed sweat thick around him. His face was ugly—pocked skin, thick lips, crooked teeth. He stepped in and slapped me hard across my full lips. Pain burst. I stumbled back.
“Anand, stop,” the leaner one said, moving between us. He was no better—thin, greasy hair, stained teeth, the same sour stink rising off his shirt. “She’s offering the bike.”
“Move, Babu,” Anand snapped.
I did not stay. I turned and ran. My yellow chiffon saree twisted around my wide hips and thick thighs as I circled the rusted table, then the stacked tyres, breath tearing. Anand came after me, heavy steps, hand raised. I ducked behind a metal rack. He swung and missed. I ran again, sandals slipping on the dusty concrete, heavy breasts bouncing under my yellow blouse, large eyes wet, full lips stinging. He caught my pallu once and yanked. I spun free and kept running until my legs shook.
Finally I darted behind Babu and pressed close, gasping. He turned at once and pulled me into a complete embrace, arms locking around me, my heavy breasts crushed to his stinking chest, my face against his shoulder. The hug was tight, sudden, and somehow comforting after the running and the slaps. I clung to him, thick thighs trembling, yellow chiffon saree bunched at my wide hips.
“Babu… please,” I whispered into his shirt.
Anand spat, necklace still in his fist.
“Keep her,” he said. “I’m going.”
He walked toward the side door. Panic rose.
“Anand, wait—please, the necklace—don’t leave—”
He stopped, turned, and came back fast, hand raised to slap me again. I jerked behind Babu, hiding fully against his back, arms wrapped around his waist. Anand’s palm stopped in the air. He cursed, shoved the necklace into his pocket, and walked out. The door banged. His footsteps faded.
I stayed inside Babu’s embrace, cheek throbbing, ass still sore from earlier, breathing hard against his stinking shirt, the empty godown quiet around us.


Babu’s arms stayed around me. The godown was quiet now, only our breathing and the distant sound of the lane outside. I pulled back just enough to look at his face—ugly, greasy, the sour stink of him still thick—but I made my voice soft and steady.
“Babu, please listen to me properly,” I said. “Take the Activa. It is new, white, hardly used. You can sell it today and get good money. That necklace is not worth what you think. Only a few thousands, nothing more. My friends gave it to me years ago, small gifts over time, so many memories tied to it. That is the only reason I am running after it. It has no real value. You will gain more if you keep the bike and help me get the necklace back from Anand. Please.”
He did not answer about the bike or the necklace. His hands came up and held my face, palms rough on my cheeks, thumbs resting near my full lips. He turned my head gently, looking at me as if he had never seen anything so clean.
“You are so beautiful,” he said, voice low and almost careful. “This face… these large eyes looking at me like this, these full lips still soft even after he hit you. I have never held a woman’s face that felt like yours. Even with the marks, you look gentle. Pretty in a way that does not belong in this place.”
His thumbs stroked once under my eyes, slow. Then the tenderness shifted. His gaze dropped from my face to my yellow blouse, to the deep cleavage, to the heavy breasts that had been crushed against him moments ago.
“And your body,” he said, the words rougher now, breath warmer on my skin. “These heavy breasts filling your yellow blouse, the way they moved when you were running from him. Your wide hips under this saree, your thick thighs. You are standing here in front of me, smelling sweet, looking like this, and still talking about bikes and necklaces. I am not thinking about the Activa right now. I am thinking about how you feel in my hands.”
His palms stayed on my face, holding me there, eyes moving between my full lips and the swell of my heavy breasts beneath the yellow chiffon saree. He was not listening to the offer at all. I felt the stink of him, the heat of his touch, and the way his breathing had already turned heavy while he looked at me.


Babu’s hands stayed on my face, thumbs resting near my full lips. The sour stink of him filled the small space between us. His eyes moved from my large eyes down to my yellow blouse, to the heavy breasts rising under it, then back again.
“Listen,” he said, voice low and rough. “Anand will not give that necklace back for a bike. He is high and he does not care. But he listens to me. If you let me fuck you right here, on that table, I will call him and make him bring it back. I will get it for you. That is the only way. You let me have you, and I bring the necklace.”
My full lips parted. I shook my head, the movement small inside his hands.
“No,” I said, voice tight. “Babu, no. I am offering you the Activa. It is worth more. Take the bike and help me. Do not ask this. I cannot. Please.”
His thumbs pressed a little harder against my cheeks. He did not step back.
“The bike is not what I want right now,” he said. “I want you. Your heavy breasts, your wide hips, this body in this saree. You let me fuck you and I swear I will get the necklace back from him. You say no, he is already gone with it and you will never see it again. Choose.”
I tried to turn my face away. His hands held me there. My large eyes stung. My thick thighs shifted under the yellow chiffon saree as I stood trapped between his grip and the empty godown.
“No,” I said again, softer now, almost begging. “Please don’t say that. Just take the bike. I will not do this. No.”
He watched my full lips while I spoke, breathing slower, heavier, still not letting go of my face.


Babu’s hands left my face and settled lower, gripping my waist through the yellow chiffon saree, fingers pressing just above the tie of my white petticoat. He stepped in until the sour stink of him filled every breath I took. His palms were hot on my wide hips.
“Aunty, I have been hard since the moment I pulled you behind me,” he said, voice rough and close. “I want to make love to you so badly it is hurting. Right here, on this table. I want your heavy breasts in my hands, your thick thighs open, your whole body under me. It is worth more to me than any bike or any money. I would do anything for it. You let me fuck you now and I will get that necklace back from Anand the second I finish. I will call him while you are still catching your breath and he will bring it. You will have it in your hand before you even leave this place.”
He started walking me backward, slow and steady, his grip firm, guiding me toward the rusted table. My sandals scbangd the dusty concrete. The edge of the table met the back of my thick thighs. My large eyes stayed on his ugly face, my full lips parted.
“No, Babu,” I said, pushing lightly at his chest. “I already told you no. Take the Activa. It is new, you can sell it today and get more than that necklace is worth. Do not ask me for this. I cannot do it. Please.”
He did not stop. He kept me cornered, thumbs stroking once over the saree at my waist, his breathing heavier.
“Aunty, it will be fast,” he said, trying to soften the roughness and only half managing. “I am not going to keep you here for long. You lie back, I take what I need, and it is over. Then I call him. You fix your saree, you take the necklace, and you go. No one outside will ever know. I am already losing my mind looking at you in this yellow blouse, at these heavy breasts, at the way your wide hips feel in my hands. Just say yes. Let me have you once and you walk out of here with the necklace.”
My hands stayed on his chest. My yellow blouse stretched tight over my heavy breasts as I breathed fast. My thick thighs pressed against the table behind me.
“No,” I said, voice smaller now, almost breaking. “I can’t do that. Please don’t keep asking. There has to be another way.”
He did not move back. His eyes dropped from my full lips to the deep cleavage showing above my yellow blouse, and his fingers tightened on my waist while he waited.



Babu’s fingers tightened on my waist. He leaned in until his sour breath touched my full lips, his ugly face filling my vision.
“Aunty, there is no other way,” he said, voice flat now. “Anand will not come back for a bike. He will not come back for talk. You say no and I walk out that door too. Then the necklace is gone. You can stand here alone or you can lie on this table for a few minutes and leave with it. That is the only choice left. I am not waiting anymore.”
He started to step back, hands leaving my waist, already turning toward the side door Anand had used.
My large eyes followed him. Inside my head the words started, fast and tangled, like I was arguing with myself.
If I let him go now the necklace is finished. Rajesh gave it to me yesterday. Crores. Black money that can never be reported. How do I walk back into that house and tell him it is gone? The boys will see my face. He will ask. He always asks.
My thick thighs pressed harder against the table. My heavy breasts rose and fell under the yellow blouse.
But this? Letting Babu fuck me on a dirty table? He is ugly. He stinks. His hands were already all over me. If I say yes he will not be gentle. And if Anand does not bring it back after, then I have done this for nothing.
He took another step toward the door.
There is no other way. He said it and he is right. Anand is high and gone. Babu is the only one who can call him back. A few minutes. That is all he asked. Fast. Then I get the necklace and I leave. No one at home will know. The marks on my face I can explain. The necklace I cannot.
My full lips parted. The conflict sat sharp in my chest, then settled.
I have to. For the necklace. For Rajesh. Just this once.
“Wait,” I said, the word coming out small but clear. “Babu, wait.”
He stopped, half-turned, looking back at me. I swallowed, my full lips dry, and met his eyes.
“Don’t go,” I said. “Just… wait.”


Babu stopped and turned fully. His ugly face watched me, greasy hair falling over his red eyes, the sour stink of him stronger as he stepped back toward the table. My large eyes stayed on him. My full lips felt dry. My chest rose and fell faster under the yellow blouse, heavy breasts shifting with each breath. I had already decided inside my head. There was no clean exit left.
“Aunty,” he said, voice low, “you called me back. Say it properly. Say you will let me.”
I swallowed. My fingers curled against the edge of the table. My thick thighs pressed together under the yellow chiffon saree, then loosened again. Heat sat in my cheeks from the earlier slaps and from something else I did not want to name.
“If I let you,” I said, the words careful, almost thin, “you will call Anand the moment it is over. You will make him bring the necklace back. You will put it in my hand before I leave this place. That is the only reason. Do you promise?”
He nodded once, already closer. His gaze dropped to the deep cleavage above my yellow blouse, then rose again to my full lips. One hand lifted like he meant to touch my face, then settled instead on my waist, thumb stroking once over the saree.
“I promise,” he said. “You let me fuck you and I get it back. Immediately.”
My hands stayed at my sides for a second, then rose and pressed lightly against his chest, feeling the heat and the stink of his shirt. My large eyes searched his ugly face. My wide hips shifted against the table edge. I drew a slow breath that made my heavy breasts push against the yellow blouse.
“Then… all right,” I said, voice small. “Do it fast. And then you call him.”
Babu’s mouth curved. He stepped in fully, both hands gripping my waist through the yellow chiffon saree, pulling me closer so my thick thighs brushed his. His breathing had already turned heavier.
“Lie back, aunty,” he said, guiding me. “I will not take long.”
The metal was cold through the saree when he pressed me onto it. My wide hips settled on the edge. I leaned back on my elbows, yellow blouse stretching across my heavy breasts, pallu slipping further. My large eyes stayed open. My full lips parted. I waited, feeling the rough table under me and the weight of what I had just agreed to.


Babu stood between my thick thighs where they hung off the edge of the table. His hands went to the pallu of my yellow chiffon saree and pushed it aside. The yellow blouse was already stretched across my heavy breasts. He stared at the deep cleavage, then at my full lips, breathing through his mouth so the sour stink of him washed over me.
I hated it. Hated his ugly face this close, hated the greasy hair, hated the way his red eyes moved over me like I was already his. My large eyes stayed open and cold. My hands stayed braced on the table. I told myself to feel nothing.
His palms slid up and cupped my heavy breasts through the yellow blouse. He squeezed, rough, testing the weight. My nipples tightened inside my white bra at once, hard points pressing against the bra cups. A small shiver ran through me that I did not want. A soft sound escaped before I could stop it.
“Mmmh…”
He felt it. His mouth curved.
“Aunty, your body is already answering,” he said, voice thick.
“Don’t talk,” I said. My full lips barely moved. “Just finish.”
He did not finish. His fingers found the hooks of my yellow blouse and opened them one by one, clumsy and slow. The yellow cloth parted. My white bra showed, bra cups full and strained over my heavy breasts, bra straps cutting into my shoulders. He pushed the bra cups down. My heavy breasts spilled free, nipples stiff in the cool air of the godown. He stared, then bent and took one nipple into his mouth.
I jerked. The wet heat of his tongue was sudden. I hated the sound he made, the smell of him, the feel of his unshaven chin on my soft skin. But my nipple swelled harder against his tongue. Another soft sound left me, helpless.
“Ahh… mmmh…”
My wide hips shifted on the table without my permission. A low pulse started between my thick thighs, right where my maroon panties sat under the white petticoat. Wetness gathered. I felt it and clenched my teeth.
His hand left my other breast and dragged down over my soft stomach, over the yellow chiffon saree, until it reached the hem. He pushed the saree and the white petticoat up together, bunching them at my waist. My maroon panties were exposed, already damp at the centre. He pressed his fingers there, right over my pussy, and rubbed once through the cloth.
My thick thighs tried to close. They did not. My large eyes stung. I hated every second. My body did not. My pussy clenched under his fingers, more wetness soaking into the maroon panties, and a soft broken sound caught in my throat.
“Mmmh… ahh…”
He lifted his head from my nipple, lips wet, and looked at my face.
“See?” he said. “You hate me. But this does not.”
His fingers kept moving, slow, over the damp maroon panties, while my heavy breasts rose and fell fast, soft sounds still slipping from my full lips no matter how tightly I tried to hold them back.


Babu’s fingers hooked into the sides of my maroon panties. I felt the elastic stretch as he began to pull them down. My thick thighs tensed, then opened wider on their own. I hated the way he looked at me—ugly face intent, red eyes fixed between my legs, sour stink rising as he bent closer—but my hips lifted to help him.
He drew the maroon panties down my thick thighs, over my knees, and off. Cool air hit my pussy. I was dripping. Shame burned, but something hotter sat under it. He stared at the slickness shining there, then dropped to his knees between my legs.
“Aunty,” he said, voice thick, “you are soaked for me.”
I did not turn my face away this time. My full lips parted. My heavy breasts rose and fell fast, bare above the open yellow blouse, nipples stiff. I hated him. I hated that I wanted his mouth.
Then his tongue was on me. The first lick was slow and deep, dragging through my pussy lips and up to my clit. A shameless sound left me at once.
“Ahh… yes… mmmh…”
I hated how good it felt. Hated his greasy hair against my thick thighs, hated the wet sounds, hated that it was Babu. But my pussy clenched and more wetness spilled onto his tongue. My wide hips rolled forward, chasing his mouth. He groaned and licked harder, tongue pushing inside me, then back to my clit, sucking with steady pulls that made my thick thighs shake.
“Mmmh—ahh… don’t stop… ahh…”
The words came out broken and needy. My hands gripped his hair and held him there. My large eyes stayed half-open, watching his ugly face buried between my legs while pleasure coiled tight and low. I was close. So close. My pussy pulsed against his tongue, hips grinding shamelessly, soft desperate sounds spilling from my full lips.
“Ahh… mmmh… I’m… ahh…”
He sucked my clit harder, tongue flicking, and the edge rushed up. My whole body tightened. I hated him. I was about to cum on his mouth anyway.


Babu’s mouth stayed locked on my clit, sucking hard while his tongue flicked fast. My thick thighs shook on either side of his ugly face. The sour stink of him was everywhere, but I did not care. Pleasure had taken over. I hated him and I was grinding on his tongue anyway, shameless, wide hips rolling, heavy breasts bouncing above the open yellow blouse.
“Ahh… mmmh… Babu… ahh…”
The coil snapped. My pussy clenched hard, then pulsed in sharp waves. I came with a broken cry, full lips open, large eyes squeezed shut.
“Ahhh—mmmh… yes… ahh…”
Wetness gushed against his mouth. My whole body jerked. My hands fisted in his greasy hair and held him there while the orgasm rolled through me, thick thighs clamping around his head, hips bucking. He groaned and kept licking, drinking it, tongue pushing through every pulse. Soft helpless sounds kept spilling from me.
“Mmmh… ahh… ohh…”
I hated how good it was. Hated that it was his mouth making me cum. My body did not stop. The waves kept coming, my pussy fluttering against his tongue, until I finally collapsed back on the table, chest heaving, heavy breasts rising and falling fast, full lips wet, still trembling.
He lifted his head slowly. His ugly face was shiny with me. He licked his lips once, red eyes fixed on my open pussy, and smiled.
“Aunty,” he said, voice rough, “you came so hard for me.”
I lay there, yellow chiffon saree bunched at my waist, maroon panties gone, body still twitching, hating him and hating how badly I had needed it.



Babu stood up between my thick thighs, his ugly face still wet from me. He looked down at my open yellow blouse and the heavy breasts spilling free above the pushed-down bra cups. His hands went to the remaining hooks. He opened them the rest of the way, slow, then pushed the yellow blouse off my shoulders and down my arms. It fell to the table beside me.
I hated the way he stared. My large eyes stayed on his greasy hair and stained teeth. But my nipples were still stiff, and my chest rose fast.
“Aunty, sit up,” he said.
I did. He reached behind me and unhooked my white bra. The bra straps slid down my arms. He pulled the bra away and dropped it. My heavy breasts hung completely bare now, full and soft, nipples tight in the cool air. He cupped them once, rough, thumbs brushing the peaks. A soft sound left my full lips.
“Mmmh…”
He pushed the bunched yellow chiffon saree and the white petticoat higher, then worked them down over my wide hips. I lifted without thinking. He pulled both off together, dragging them down my thick thighs and off my feet. They joined the rest of my clothes on the dusty floor.
I was naked. Completely. My wide hips and thick thighs open on the edge of the table, my pussy still swollen and wet from his mouth, my heavy breasts bare, my soft stomach rising with each breath. The sour stink of him mixed with the smell of my cum. I hated being this exposed to him. My body did not close. My legs stayed apart. My full lips parted as he looked at every part of me, red eyes moving slowly from my face down to my pussy and back again.
“So beautiful, aunty,” he said, voice thick. “All of you.”
His hands settled on my bare waist, thumbs stroking the skin just above my hips, while I sat there naked and trembling, waiting for whatever came next.

[novelistcasanova]

Babu stepped in closer between my open thick thighs. His ugly face filled my vision, greasy hair falling forward, sour stink strong as he leaned down. His hands stayed on my bare waist. I hated how near he was. My large eyes stayed open. My full lips parted on their own.

He kissed me. Not soft. His mouth pressed hard against mine, tongue pushing in at once, tasting of me. I made a small sound against his lips.
“Mmmh…”
I hated it. Hated his stained teeth, the wet slide of his tongue, the way he groaned into the kiss like he had been waiting years. But my full lips moved with his. My tongue met his without permission. My heavy breasts pressed to his stinking shirt as he pulled me closer, bare nipples dragging against the rough cloth. My wide hips shifted on the table. Wetness still leaked from my pussy onto the metal.
He kissed me deeper, one hand sliding up to cup the back of my neck, the other grabbing my bare waist hard. His tongue licked into my mouth, slow then hungry. Soft sounds kept leaving me, muffled against him.
“Ahh… mmmh…”
My hands rose and grabbed his shoulders. I did not push him away. My thick thighs tightened around his hips, holding him there while he kissed me like he wanted to crawl inside my mouth. I hated every second. My body kissed him back anyway, full lips swollen, large eyes half-closed, breathing fast through my nose while the kiss turned messier, wetter, more desperate.
He finally pulled back just enough to speak against my mouth, voice rough.
“Aunty… you taste so good.”
Then he kissed me again, harder, and I let him.
Babu pulled back from the kiss, breathing hard. His hands went to his pants. He shoved them down just enough. His cock sprang out, thick and hard, already wet at the tip. The sour stink of him was stronger now. I looked down at it between my open thick thighs and hated how my pussy clenched at the sight.
“Aunty,” he said, voice rough, “spread more.”
I did. My wide hips shifted on the cold table. He grabbed his cock and rubbed the head through my wet pussy lips, up and down, coating himself. A soft sound left my full lips.
“Mmmh…”
He pushed in. Slow at first. The stretch burned. My large eyes widened. My heavy breasts rose as I gasped. He sank deeper, inch by inch, until his hips met mine and he was fully inside. My pussy gripped him, wet and tight. I hated it. Hated his ugly face above me, hated the greasy hair falling forward, hated that it was Babu. But my body opened for him anyway.
He started to move. Short, careful thrusts at first, then longer. The table creaked under us. My thick thighs shook. Each time he pulled back and pushed in, a soft helpless sound slipped from me.
“Ahh… mmmh… ahh…”
My hands grabbed his arms. My full lips stayed parted. He fucked me steadily, not fast yet, his cock dragging through my pussy, hitting deep. Pleasure built low and hot. My nipples stayed stiff. My wide hips began to rock up to meet him without permission. I was not close. Not yet. But every thrust made it harder to remember why I hated this.
“So tight, aunty,” he groaned, grabbing my bare waist harder, thrusting a little deeper. “You feel so good.”
I turned my face to the side, large eyes half-closed, soft sounds still leaving me with every stroke, my body taking him while my mind tried and failed to stay cold.


Babu’s thrusts grew longer, deeper. His cock dragged out almost to the tip, then pushed back in until his hips slapped against my wide hips. The table rocked under me. My heavy breasts bounced with every stroke, bare and soft, nipples stiff. The sour stink of him mixed with the wet sounds of my pussy taking him.
I hated the look on his ugly face—mouth open, red eyes half-closed, greasy hair stuck to his forehead. I hated the way he grabbed my thick thighs and held them open. But my body kept answering. My pussy clenched around him, wetter with every thrust. Soft sounds left my full lips without stop.
“Ahh… mmmh… ahh…”
My large eyes stayed half-open, watching his cock disappear into me. My hands grabbed his shoulders, fingers digging in. My wide hips had started to lift on their own, meeting him, chasing the drag of his cock inside me. Pleasure sat low and heavy, building slow. I was not there yet. It still felt like it could tip either way.
“Aunty,” he groaned, voice breaking, “you are taking me so well. Your pussy is sucking me in.”
He leaned down and kissed me again, messy and open, tongue pushing into my mouth while he kept fucking me. I kissed him back. My full lips moved with his. A softer sound vibrated against his mouth.
“Mmmh…”
He pulled back just enough to watch my face. His hands slid under my ass and grabbed, lifting me a little so he could thrust deeper. The new angle made my breath catch. My thick thighs trembled. My heavy breasts pressed to his chest. I hated how good the deeper strokes felt. My pussy fluttered around him, more wetness spilling, but the peak stayed just out of reach.
“Don’t stop,” I heard myself whisper, the words small and shameful. “Not yet.”
He smiled, ugly and pleased, and kept moving, steady and deep, fucking me on the table while I lay there naked, taking every stroke, soft sounds still spilling from my full lips.


Babu’s hands stayed under my ass, grabbing hard, holding my wide hips up so every thrust went deep. His cock slid out slow, then drove back in, the wet sound loud in the empty godown. My heavy breasts bounced harder now, bare nipples dragging against his stinking shirt whenever he leaned close. The sour smell of him was all over me.
I hated his ugly face above mine, the way his red eyes watched my full lips part with every stroke. I hated that my thick thighs were wrapped around his waist, pulling him in. But my pussy kept clenching, greedy, more slickness coating him each time he pushed deep. Soft sounds left me without pause.
“Ahh… mmmh… deeper… ahh…”
The words came out broken. My large eyes fluttered. My hands grabbed his greasy hair and held on. Pleasure sat heavier now, low in my belly, tightening with every long thrust. Still not enough to tip me over. Just enough to make my hips roll up to meet him, shameless, chasing it.
“Aunty,” he groaned, voice rough against my ear, “you are so wet. Your pussy is holding me so tight. I can feel you getting close.”
He shifted his angle, grinding his hips when he was buried deep, the base of his cock rubbing my clit. A sharper sound tore from my full lips.
“Ahh—mmmh…”
My whole body jerked. My heavy breasts pressed flat to his chest. My thick thighs shook around him. I hated how the grind made my clit throb. I hated that I pushed back against it, wanting more. He did it again, slower, deeper, staying inside while he rocked against me. The coil wound tighter. My breathing turned ragged. Soft desperate sounds spilled out of me.
“Mmmh… ahh… like that…”
He smiled against my neck, ugly and pleased, and kept the same deep grinding rhythm, fucking me steadily on the cold table while my body answered every movement and my mind tried and failed to stay quiet.


Babu kept the deep grind, hips rocking against mine while his cock stayed buried. Each slow circle rubbed my clit just right. My thick thighs locked tighter around his waist. My heavy breasts were crushed to his chest, nipples stiff and sensitive. The sour stink of him filled my nose, but the pleasure was louder.
I hated the ugly sounds he made in my ear. I hated that my wide hips were rolling with him, meeting every grind. Soft broken noises kept leaving my full lips anyway.
“Ahh… mmmh… ahh… yes…”
My large eyes squeezed shut. The coil in my belly pulled tighter, sharper. My pussy clenched around him in quick pulses. He felt it and groaned, grinding harder, deeper, the base of his cock pressing firm against my clit.
“Aunty,” he rasped, “you are going to cum on my cock. I can feel it. Let go.”
My hands grabbed his shoulders hard. My full lips parted wide. The edge rushed up fast this time. My whole body tightened. Then it broke.
“Ahhh—mmmh… I’m cumming… ahh…”
My pussy pulsed hard around his cock, wave after wave, wetness spilling as I came. My thick thighs shook. My heavy breasts heaved against him. Soft desperate sounds spilled out of me while the orgasm rolled through, long and shameless. He kept grinding through it, fucking me through every pulse, his ugly face buried in my neck, until the last tremor left me trembling and open beneath him on the table.


Babu did not stop. Even while my pussy was still pulsing around him from the orgasm, he pulled back and thrust in hard again. The table scbangd on the concrete. My heavy breasts bounced with the new pace. Over-sensitive, I gasped, full lips open, large eyes wet.
“Ahh… mmmh… too much…”
I hated how he kept going, ugly face tight with pleasure, greasy hair stuck to his forehead, sour stink stronger as he fucked me faster. But my body was still open, still wet, still taking him. My thick thighs stayed wrapped around his waist. My wide hips jerked with every deep stroke.
He grabbed my ass harder, lifting me into each thrust. His cock slammed in, wet sounds loud, hitting deep. Soft broken sounds kept leaving me even through the sensitivity.
“Ahh… ahh… mmmh…”
“Aunty,” he groaned, voice strained, “I am close. Your pussy is still squeezing me. I am going to cum inside you.”
My hands grabbed his arms. My full lips trembled. I hated the words. My pussy clenched anyway at the thought. He thrust faster, harder, the table rocking under us, his hips slapping against my wide hips. Pleasure and raw feeling mixed. I was not cumming again yet, but every stroke dragged another soft sound from my throat while he chased his own end inside me.



Babu’s thrusts turned short and desperate. His ugly face twisted. He grabbed my thick thighs hard and slammed in deep, holding there. A rough groan tore out of him.
“Ahh… aunty… mmmh…”
I felt his cock swell and pulse. Hot cum shot inside me, thick spurts flooding my pussy while he stayed buried. My large eyes widened. My full lips parted on a soft sound.
“Mmmh… ahh…”
He kept grinding through it, hips jerking, emptying himself. More heat spread inside me. My heavy breasts rose and fell against his chest. My wide hips stayed lifted, taking every pulse. I hated the feel of him cumming in me. My body clenched around him anyway, milking the last of it.
When he finally stilled, he dropped his forehead to my shoulder, breathing hard, sour stink heavy. His cock was still inside, softening slowly, cum already leaking out around him onto the table. My thick thighs trembled. My full lips were swollen. I lay there naked under him, chest heaving, the empty godown quiet except for our breathing.
He lifted his head after a moment, red eyes hazy, and looked at my face.
“Aunty,” he said, voice rough, “I finished. Now I will call Anand.”
His hand was already reaching for his phone.


Babu stayed inside me a moment longer, cock softening, cum leaking out around him and onto the table. Then he pulled out. The sudden emptiness made my thick thighs twitch. More of his cum spilled from my pussy, warm, running down toward my ass. I hated the feel of it. My heavy breasts rose and fell as I caught my breath. My full lips were still parted. My large eyes watched him.
He tucked himself away with one hand and pulled his phone from his pocket with the other. His ugly face was flushed, greasy hair stuck to his forehead. He dialled. The ringtone sounded thin in the empty godown. It rang. No answer. He tried again. Same. He lowered the phone and looked at me.
“Aunty, he is not picking,” he said, voice still rough. “He must have gone to his usual place. We will go there. I will find him and get the necklace.”
I pushed myself up on my elbows. My yellow chiffon saree and white petticoat lay on the floor with my white bra and maroon panties. Cum continued to leak from me. My wide hips shifted on the cold table.
“You promised,” I said, voice small but clear. “You said immediately.”
“I know,” he answered. “Get dressed. We will go now. I will not leave until you have it.”
He stepped back, giving me space. I slid off the table, thick thighs unsteady, and reached for my clothes. The sour stink of him was still on my skin. My heavy breasts hung bare as I bent. I hated every second of what had just happened. But the necklace was still out there, and he was the only one who could bring it back. I started to dress, fingers shaking, while he watched.



I was pulling my maroon panties up my thick thighs, cum still leaking from my pussy, when Babu’s phone rang. He answered at once.
“Anand? Where are you?”
I could hear Anand’s voice, loud and slurred, through the speaker. Babu listened, then glanced at me—naked from the waist up, heavy breasts bare, yellow blouse still open on the table.
“She is here,” Babu said. “I already had her. Now bring the necklace.”
Anand laughed on the other end. The sound was ugly.
“You fucked her?” he said, clear enough for me to hear. “Then I want to fuck her as well. Bring her. I am not giving the necklace until I get my turn too. Tell aunty to come. I will fuck her and then she can have it.”
Babu looked at me. My large eyes widened. My full lips parted. My hands paused on the maroon panties. The sour stink of both of them seemed to fill the godown again.
“Aunty,” Babu said, phone still at his ear, “he wants you too. He says he will only give the necklace after he fucks you.”
I stood there, thick thighs bare, wide hips marked from Babu’s hands, heavy breasts rising fast. The necklace was still with Anand. There was no other way left. My voice came out small.
“Tell him… we are coming.”


I pulled my maroon panties the rest of the way up, the damp cloth sticking to my pussy where Babu’s cum was still leaking. My hands shook as I reached for my white bra. I hooked it behind my back, bra cups lifting my heavy breasts, bra straps settling on my shoulders. The yellow blouse came next. I fastened the hooks one by one, covering myself again, then stepped into the white petticoat and tied it low. Finally the yellow chiffon saree. I wrapped it quickly, pallu over my shoulder, fingers clumsy.
Babu watched every movement. His ugly face was calm now, phone still in his hand.
“Aunty, he is at the old house behind the market,” he said. “Ten minutes on the bike. He will not give the necklace until he has you. You already know that.”
My large eyes stayed on the floor. My full lips pressed tight. My thick thighs ached. I hated what was coming. But the necklace was still with Anand.
“Let’s go,” I said.
We walked out to the Pulsar. I sat behind him, arms around his waist because there was nowhere else to put them, my heavy breasts pressed to his back through the yellow blouse. The sour stink of him was all over me. He started the bike. We rode out of the narrow lanes, past the tin roofs, toward the place Anand was waiting. My wide hips shifted on the seat with every bump. Cum soaked further into my maroon panties. I kept my eyes on the road ahead and did not speak.


The Pulsar stopped in front of a small, half-built house at the edge of the slum. Anand was already outside, leaning against the wall, the necklace swinging from his fingers like he owned it. His ugly face split into a hard grin the second he saw me climb off the bike. The sour stink of ganja and sweat hit me even from a few steps away.
“Look at you,” he said, voice loud, eyes dragging over my yellow chiffon saree, stopping on my wide hips, then locking on my yellow blouse and the heavy breasts pushing against it. “Babu already fucked you and you still came here. Good. Because I am not giving this back until I fuck you too. Same as him. You get on that bed inside, you take my cock, and only then this goes around your neck. No talking. No bike. No other deal.”
He shook the necklace once so the stones flashed. My large eyes stayed on it. My full lips parted. My thick thighs felt weak, cum from Babu still damp in my maroon panties.
“Anand,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “he already had me. Please. Just give it. I won’t say anything. Let me go.”
“No,” he snapped, stepping in fast, the smell of him flooding over me. “I want to fuck you. Right now. I want those heavy breasts in my hands and that pussy around my cock. You walk in there and let me, or I throw this necklace in the drain and you go home with nothing. Decide, aunty. Now.”
Babu stayed by the bike, silent. Anand grabbed my wrist hard enough to hurt and yanked me forward.
“Inside,” he said, low and rough. “I am already hard. Do not make me wait.”
My heavy breasts rose sharply under the yellow blouse. There was no other way. I let him drag me through the open door.



Anand dragged me through the low doorway into a single dirty room. A narrow bed with a stained sheet sat against the wall. The sour stink of ganja was thicker inside. He kicked the door shut and shoved me toward the bed. My thick thighs hit the edge. My yellow chiffon saree twisted around my wide hips.
“Take it off,” he said, already pulling at his own shirt. “Everything. I want you naked like you were for Babu.”
My large eyes flicked to the necklace still in his fist. My full lips pressed tight. My hands went to the hooks of my yellow blouse. I opened them one by one, fingers shaking. The yellow cloth parted. My white bra showed, bra cups full over my heavy breasts. He watched, red eyes fixed, breathing hard.
“Faster, aunty.”
I shrugged the blouse off. Then the bra. My heavy breasts fell free, nipples stiff in the stale air. He stared, mouth open. I untied the white petticoat, pushed the yellow chiffon saree and petticoat down together, and stepped out of them. Only my maroon panties were left, damp with Babu’s cum. I hooked my thumbs in and pulled them down my thick thighs, off. I stood naked in front of him, wide hips and heavy breasts bare, pussy still swollen.
Anand shoved his pants down. His cock was already hard, thick, pointing at me. He grabbed my waist and pushed me back onto the bed. The sheet was rough under my ass. He climbed over me at once, ugly face close, sour breath on my full lips.
“Open your legs,” he said. “I am going to fuck you now.”
My thick thighs parted. He grabbed his cock and rubbed the head through my wet pussy lips, then pushed in hard. I gasped. He sank deep in one stroke, stretching me, and started to thrust.


Anand thrust hard from the first stroke, no slow start. His cock slammed deep into my pussy, hips slapping against my wide hips. The narrow bed creaked. My heavy breasts bounced hard with every thrust, bare nipples stiff. The sour stink of him filled my nose as he fucked me.
I hated his ugly face above me, mouth open, red eyes locked on my full lips. I hated the way he grabbed my thick thighs and shoved them wider. But my pussy was still wet from Babu, and it took him easily. Soft sounds tore out of me with each hard stroke.
“Ahh… mmmh… ahh…”
My large eyes watered. My hands grabbed the stained sheet. My wide hips jerked under him. He leaned down and sucked one nipple into his mouth, biting lightly while he kept thrusting deep and fast. Pleasure spiked sharp even through the hatred. My pussy clenched around his cock.
“Aunty,” he groaned against my breast, “you are so fucking wet. Babu left you ready for me.”
He fucked me harder. The bed banged the wall. My thick thighs shook. Soft broken sounds kept spilling from my full lips no matter how much I hated him. My body rocked with every slam of his hips, taking him, wet and open, while he chased his own pleasure inside me.


Anand pulled out suddenly and flipped me onto my stomach. My heavy breasts pressed into the stained sheet. He grabbed my wide hips and yanked them up, then shoved his cock back into my pussy from behind in one hard thrust. The new angle went deeper. I cried out, full lips open against the sheet.
“Ahh—mmmh…”
He fucked me fast and rough, hips slamming against my ass, the wet sound loud in the small room. My thick thighs shook. My large eyes squeezed shut. I hated the way he grabbed my hair and pulled, arching my back, hated his sour stink and his ugly grunts. But my pussy clenched around him with every deep stroke, more wetness spilling, my body pushing back without permission.
“Ahh… ahh… mmmh…”
“Take it, aunty,” he growled, thrusting harder. “You came here for this. Your pussy is sucking me in.”
He reached under me and rubbed my clit roughly while he fucked me. The pleasure spiked sharp. My heavy breasts dragged against the sheet. Soft desperate sounds poured out of me. I was getting close again, hating it, hips rocking back to meet his cock anyway, the coil tightening fast with every slam.



Anand’s fingers rubbed my clit harder while his cock slammed deep from behind. His thrusts turned short and frantic. His ugly face twisted.
“Aunty… I am cumming… ahh… I am cumming inside you…”
He buried himself deep and came, hot cum pulsing into my pussy in heavy spurts. The sudden heat and the way his cock jerked inside me pushed me over. My pussy clenched hard around him and I came right after, cumming all over his cock while he was still shooting inside me.
“Ahhh—mmmh… ahh… yes…”
My thick thighs shook. My wide hips jerked back against him. Wetness gushed around his pulsing cock. He groaned through it, grinding deep, emptying himself while my orgasm rolled over his. Soft desperate sounds spilled from my full lips into the stained sheet. He held my hips tight until the last pulses from both of us faded.
Then he pulled out. Cum leaked from my pussy down my thick thighs. I collapsed onto the bed, heavy breasts heaving, full lips parted, large eyes half-closed. I hated him. My body was still trembling.
Anand stood, breathing hard, and picked up the necklace from the small table. He tossed it onto the bed beside my face. The stones landed cool against my cheek.
“There,” he said, voice rough. “You got what you came for. Get dressed and go.”
I reached for it with a shaking hand, fingers closing around the necklace, while his cum continued to leak from me onto the stained sheet.


I closed my fingers around the necklace and sat up slowly. Cum leaked from my pussy onto the stained sheet and down my thick thighs. My heavy breasts hung bare, nipples still stiff. My large eyes stayed on the stones in my hand. My full lips were swollen. I hated both of them. But the necklace was mine again.
Anand was already pulling his pants up, not looking at me. I reached for my maroon panties first and pulled them on, the cloth sticking to the mess between my legs. Then my white bra. I hooked it, bra cups lifting my heavy breasts, bra straps on my shoulders. The yellow blouse next, hooks fastened with shaking fingers. White petticoat tied low. Yellow chiffon saree wrapped around my wide hips, pallu over my shoulder. I stood, unsteady, and fastened the necklace around my throat. The weight returned, cool against my skin above the yellow blouse.
“Go,” Anand said, flat. “Before I change my mind.”
I walked out. Babu was still by the Pulsar. He looked at the necklace, then at my face, and said nothing. I climbed on behind him without a word. He started the bike and rode me back through the narrow lanes to the empty godown where my white Activa waited. He stopped. I got off. My thick thighs ached. Cum soaked my maroon panties. I did not look at him.
I started the Activa, the necklace safe under my yellow blouse, and rode out of the slum toward home.


The white Activa carried me out of the slum lanes and back onto wider roads. The necklace sat under my yellow blouse, cool against my skin, the weight of it steady above my heavy breasts. Cum from both of them had soaked through my maroon panties and was drying sticky between my thick thighs. Every bump made me feel it. My large eyes stayed on the road. My full lips were pressed tight. The wind pushed the pallu of my yellow chiffon saree aside, but I did not fix it.
I rode straight to the house in Koramangala. The gate was open. I rolled the Activa down the basement ramp and parked it where it had been that morning. My hands shook when I switched off the engine. For a moment I just sat there, wide hips on the seat, breathing. Then I swung off, smoothed the yellow chiffon saree over my thick thighs, and walked up the stairs into the house.
My husband was in the hall with the boys. They were still in their new clothes from the pooja. He looked up when he heard me.
“You took long,” he said. “Temple was crowded?”
“A little,” I answered. My voice came out even. “I am going to change.”
He nodded. The boys were arguing about something on the television. I walked past them, the necklace hidden under my yellow blouse, and climbed the stairs to our bedroom. Inside, I locked the door. I stood in front of the mirror and touched the diamonds once. Then I began to undress, peeling the yellow chiffon saree and everything under it away, needing to wash both of them off my skin before anyone could see.



I locked the bedroom door and stood in front of the mirror. The necklace rested against my throat, bright above the yellow blouse. I unhooked it first. My fingers closed around the stones. I walked to the small steel locker built into the wardrobe, the one only my husband and I knew the code for. I opened it, placed the necklace inside on the top shelf, and shut the door. The lock clicked. It was safe.
Then I opened the hooks of my yellow blouse and shrugged it off. My white bra came next. I unhooked it and let my heavy breasts fall free. The white petticoat and yellow chiffon saree followed, pooling at my feet. Last were the maroon panties, stuck to me with dried cum. I peeled them down my thick thighs and dropped them.
Naked, I walked into the bathroom. I turned the shower on hot and stepped under it. Water poured over my heavy breasts, down my soft stomach, between my thick thighs. I soaped myself slowly, washing my pussy carefully, cleaning away what Babu and Anand had left inside me. My large eyes stayed open under the spray. My full lips were pressed tight. The hot water ran over every place they had touched. I stayed there until my skin was flushed and clean, until the smell of them was gone.
When I came out I dried myself. I put on a fresh white bra, bra cups lifting my heavy breasts, bra straps settling on my shoulders. Then dark green panties, pulling them up my thick thighs until they sat snug over my pussy. Over both I slipped on a white nighty, thin and soft, the hem falling to my knees. The locker stayed closed. Downstairs I could hear the boys laughing and my husband’s voice answering them. I smoothed my hair in the mirror, my face calm, and unlocked the door. I walked down to join them.



I walked down the stairs in the white nighty, the thin cloth soft against my fresh white bra and the dark green panties underneath. My heavy breasts shifted lightly with each step. My thick thighs brushed together under the hem. The house smelled of the evening sweets and the flowers still left from the pooja. My face was calm. The locker upstairs stayed shut.
In the hall the boys were on the sofa, still in their new clothes, arguing over the remote. My husband sat in his chair, phone in his hand. He looked up when he heard me. His eyes moved over the white nighty, then to my face.
“Changed already?” he said. “You look tired.”
“Long day,” I answered, voice even. I sat on the edge of the sofa near the youngest. My large eyes stayed soft. My full lips curved in a small smile. “The temple was crowded. I am fine now.”
He nodded and went back to his phone. The boys pulled me into their talk about the cars and the pooja. I listened, one hand resting on the youngest one’s head, the white nighty settling around my wide hips. No one asked about the necklace. No one looked closely enough to see anything else. I sat there with them, answering when they spoke, the weight of the day held quiet behind my calm face, the diamonds safe upstairs where only I could reach them.


The evening settled slowly. The boys stayed loud for a while, then grew sleepy after dinner. I sent them upstairs one by one, the youngest clinging to my white nighty until I walked him to his room. My husband remained in the hall, still on his phone, the advocate even at home. I cleared the last plates myself, the thin white nighty brushing my thick thighs, the fresh white bra and dark green panties soft underneath.
When the house finally quieted I stood at the sink a moment longer than needed. My large eyes stared at the running water. My full lips stayed neutral. The locker upstairs held the necklace. My body still remembered the godown table and the narrow bed, even after the hot shower. I turned the tap off and dried my hands.
My husband came into the kitchen. He stopped behind me, one hand resting lightly on my waist over the white nighty.
“You have been quiet since you came back,” he said. “Everything all right at the temple?”
“Yes,” I answered, not turning yet. “Just tired. The ride was long.”
His thumb moved once against the nighty. I felt it through the cloth, above the dark green panties. I kept my voice even.
“The boys are asleep,” I said. “I am going up too.”
He nodded. I walked past him toward the stairs, the white nighty shifting around my wide hips, and climbed to the bedroom where the locker waited, closed and silent.


I reached the bedroom and closed the door halfway. The locker sat inside the wardrobe, shut. I did not open it. I sat on the edge of the bed in the white nighty, the fresh white bra and dark green panties soft against my skin. My heavy breasts rose and fell under the thin cloth. My thick thighs rested together. My large eyes stayed on the floor. My full lips were still.
Footsteps came up the stairs. My husband entered. He had changed into his night clothes. He looked at me sitting there, quiet, and closed the door behind him.
“You really are tired,” he said. He came and sat beside me. His hand rested on my knee over the white nighty. “Lie down. I will switch off the lights.”
I nodded. I lay back against the pillows, the white nighty settling over my wide hips. He turned off the main light, leaving only the small lamp. The room went dim. He lay down next to me, not touching more than that. For a while neither of us spoke. I listened to his breathing and to the quiet house. The necklace was safe. The day was over. My eyes closed. I let the stillness hold me until sleep began to come.


The small lamp stayed on. My husband shifted closer on the bed. His hand moved from my knee up along my thick thigh, over the white nighty, slow. I felt the warmth of his palm through the thin cloth. My large eyes opened again. My full lips parted slightly.
“I told you this morning,” he said, voice low near my ear, “that tonight I would not let you sleep early. You remember.”
His hand slid higher, resting on my wide hip, thumb stroking once. The white nighty had ridden up a little. Under it the dark green panties and the fresh white bra were all that separated us. My heavy breasts rose under the nighty as my breathing changed.
“The boys are asleep,” he continued. “The house is quiet. You came back safe. Let me have you now.”
I turned my face toward him. My full lips curved, small and tired, but real. My hand came up and rested on his chest.
“I remember,” I said softly. “I am here.”
He leaned in and kissed me, gentle at first, then deeper. I kissed him back. The white nighty bunched higher as he pulled me closer, his body warm against mine, the day finally beginning to loosen its hold.


His kiss was still warm on my full lips when the guilt rose, sharp and sudden. I pulled back. My large eyes filled. My hand stayed on his chest. The white nighty had ridden up around my wide hips.
“Rajesh,” I said, voice breaking, “I have to tell you. Today the necklace was snatched. Two men. I chased them. I let them fuck me. Both of them. So they would give it back. It is in the locker now. I am sorry.”
He went still. Then his arms came around me, pulling me tight against his chest. His voice was low, steady, no anger in it.
“You are more valuable than that diamond,” he said. “More than any necklace. You should have let it go. You should not have risked yourself for it. Nothing is worth you getting hurt. Nothing.”
Love flooded through me so fast my full lips trembled. My large eyes closed. I pressed my face into his neck, thick thighs curling closer to him under the white nighty. He held me, one hand stroking my back, the other resting on my wide hip.
After a moment his voice changed, quieter.
“Did you enjoy it?” he asked. “When they fucked you. Did your body enjoy it?”
I hesitated. Then I nodded against his chest, small and honest.
“Yes.”
He exhaled. I felt him harden against my stomach through the white nighty. His hand on my wide hip tightened, then slid lower, fingers pressing over the dark green panties. The comfort was still there, but now it was mixed with heat. He kissed my temple, then my full lips, slower, deeper.
“Tell me,” he murmured, already pulling me closer. “I want to know.”

[novelistcasanova]

His hand stayed on my wide hip, fingers pressing over the dark green panties through the white nighty. I felt him hard against my stomach. My large eyes opened and met his. Love and guilt and the new heat sat together in my chest. My full lips parted.

“They were rough,” I said, voice small. “Ugly. They smelled. But my body… it got wet. I came. More than once. I hated them and I still came.”
He listened, breathing deeper. His thumb stroked once over the dark green panties, right where my pussy was. The white nighty had bunched higher. My heavy breasts rose under the fresh white bra.
“You came for them,” he said, not angry, just low and intent. “And now you are here, wet again just from telling me.”
He kissed me, open and slow. I kissed him back, full lips moving with his. His hand slipped under the white nighty, under the waist of the dark green panties, and found me already slick. A soft sound left my throat against his mouth.
“Mmmh…”
“I want you,” he murmured. “Right now. Let me feel what they felt.”
He pushed the dark green panties down my thick thighs. I lifted my hips to help him. The white nighty stayed on, bunched at my waist. He freed himself and moved between my legs. When he pushed inside, slow and deep, I wrapped my thick thighs around him and held on, large eyes open, full lips parted, taking him while the love and the confession and the heat all mixed together.



He sank in slow, deeper than either of them had been, and stayed there. My thick thighs tightened around his waist. My heavy breasts pressed to his chest through the white nighty and the fresh white bra. My large eyes stayed on his face. My full lips parted on a soft breath.
“You are mine,” he said, voice low, starting to move. “Even after them. Still mine.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “Yours.”
He thrust gently at first, then longer, the white nighty bunched at my waist, dark green panties already off. Each stroke was steady. My pussy, still sensitive, clenched around him. Soft sounds left me, different from the ones in the godown.
“Ahh… mmmh… Rajesh…”
His hand slipped under the nighty and cupped my heavy breast through the white bra, thumb brushing the nipple until it stiffened. He kissed me while he moved, deep and unhurried. I kissed him back, full lips open, arms around his shoulders. The guilt was still there, but it was smaller now, held inside the way he touched me, the way he filled me, the way he kept saying my name like it mattered more than the necklace ever had.
He rocked into me, slow and sure, and I met him, wide hips rising, taking every gentle thrust while the small lamp burned and the house stayed quiet around us.


His thrusts stayed slow and deep, each one filling me completely before he drew back. My thick thighs stayed wrapped around him. The white nighty was bunched under my arms now. He pushed the fresh white bra up so my heavy breasts spilled free against his chest. My nipples dragged over his skin with every movement. My large eyes stayed open, watching his face. My full lips brushed his between soft sounds.
“Mmmh… ahh… like this…”
“I love you,” he said against my mouth, voice rough with it. “More than any necklace. More than anything they took.”
“I love you too,” I answered, the words breaking on a thrust. “Only you.”
He kissed me harder and moved a little faster, still gentle, still deep. My wide hips rose to meet him. My pussy clenched around his cock, wet and tight. The pleasure built clean this time, nothing like the godown or the narrow bed. Soft sounds spilled from my full lips into his. My hands grabbed his back. My heavy breasts pressed to him. I felt the edge coming, slow and sure, and I did not fight it.
“Rajesh… I’m close…”
“Cum for me,” he said. “Only for me.”
He thrust deeper and stayed there, grinding gently, and the wave rose. My body tightened around him, ready.



He ground against me, deep and steady, and the wave broke. My pussy clenched hard around his cock. I came with a soft cry against his mouth, full lips open, large eyes squeezed shut.
“Ahh… Rajesh… mmmh…”
My thick thighs locked around him. My heavy breasts pressed tight to his chest. The orgasm rolled through me clean and long, nothing like the ones before. He kept moving through it, gentle thrusts, kissing my face, my full lips, my closed eyes. When the last pulse faded he pushed deep one final time and came inside me, warm and slow, groaning my name against my neck.
We stayed like that, joined, breathing together. The white nighty was tangled around us. My fresh white bra was still pushed up. His hand stroked my wide hip, calming. My large eyes opened. I looked at him and felt only the love, the guilt smaller now, held safely between us.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He kissed my forehead.
“Sleep,” he said. “I have you.”
I closed my eyes again, his body still warm over mine, the necklace locked away, the house quiet, and let myself rest.


He stayed over me a little longer, his weight gentle, his hand still stroking my wide hip under the tangled white nighty. My heavy breasts rose and fell against his chest. My full lips brushed his shoulder. My large eyes were wet again, but not from guilt this time.
“Rajesh,” I whispered, voice thick, “I don’t deserve you. Any other man would have thrown me out. You just held me. You still love me. I am so lucky to have you.”
He lifted his head. His thumb wiped the corner of my eye. Then his hand slid down between us, resting over my pussy, still sensitive, still his.
“This belongs to me,” he said, quiet and sure. “Your pussy is mine. Only mine. If something like today ever happens again—if you ever have to do what you did—you come home and remember it is still mine. They can touch it. They can fuck it. But it comes back to me. Always. Do you understand?”
Love and relief swelled so hard my full lips trembled. I nodded, large eyes locked on his.
“Yes, Rajesh,” I said. “It is yours. Only yours.”
He kissed me, slow and deep. I kissed him back, arms tight around his shoulders, feeling the truth of his words settle inside me more securely than the necklace ever could. The white nighty was tangled, the fresh white bra still pushed up, and none of it mattered. I was his. Completely. And I had never felt luckier.

The End 

Regards
Novelist Casanova