Misc. Erotica Saving our Son from the Rowdy (COMPLETED) - By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

Saving our Son from the Rowdy 

By Novelist Casanova 

 
I am Rajesh. I work as a central government employee in Bangalore. I am tall myself — six-foot-two — and the height in my sons comes from my father’s side. Manish, Rakesh and Rahul are all taller than me. Manish is six-foot-five, Rakesh six-foot-seven, and Rahul six-foot-six. They have broad shoulders and long limbs. We live in a quiet middle-class area, in a modest two-bedroom house with a small front yard and a narrow balcony. The house is simple — cream-coloured walls, tiled floors that need polishing every few months, a steel almirah in the bedroom, and a dining table that has seen all three of my sons grow up. They are in college now. The house feels quieter than it used to.
My wife Sudha is thirty-eight. She still looks younger. She has a soft, oval face with high cheekbones, large dark eyes that turn slightly upward at the corners, a straight nose, and full lips that always look a little moist even without lipstick. Her skin is fair with a warm undertone, smooth across her face and neck, slightly softer and fuller on her arms and thighs. Her hair is long, thick, and black, usually tied in a loose bun or left open down her back when she is at home. She has a full figure. Her breasts are heavy and round, still firm enough that they fill a blouse completely and spill a little at the sides when she bends. Her waist is not as narrow as it once was, but it still curves in before flaring into wide, soft hips and a full backside. Her thighs are thick and smooth, and when she walks in a saree the movement of her hips is slow and natural.
She always wears a saree at home during the day — cotton or chiffon, usually with a simple blouse. At night she changes into a loose nighty that ends above her knees and plain cotton panties underneath. Nothing else. I used to notice the way the nighty clung to her breasts and hips when she moved around the bedroom before sleeping.
When we were younger, before the boys, I used to enjoy her body a lot. In the early years of our marriage we had sex often. I liked the way her breasts felt in my hands, heavy and warm, the way her nipples hardened quickly when I sucked them. I liked pushing into her and feeling how wet she became, the soft sounds she made when I moved deeper. She would hold my shoulders or my back, sometimes dig her nails in when it felt good. Her body would tighten around me near the end. Afterwards she would rest her head on my chest, breathing slowly, one leg still over mine. Those nights felt easy. We both wanted it. I would call her Sudha in bed, close to her ear, and she would answer softly.
After Manish was born things slowed down. After Rakesh it slowed more. By the time Rahul came, sex had become rare. My wife was tired most nights. The boys needed attention. Work kept me late. Even when we did it, it felt different. Her body was softer, fuller. Her breasts were heavier, her hips wider. I still found her beautiful when I looked at her, but the strong urge I used to feel had faded. I would lie beside her and feel nothing strong enough to act on. Sometimes weeks would pass. Then a month. She never complained. She would turn on her side in her nighty, pull the sheet up, and sleep. I told myself it was normal after three children. The heat had simply gone.
We settled into a quiet routine. My wife managed the house, cooked, looked after the boys’ studies when they were younger. I went to office, came back, ate, watched television, and slept. The house stayed clean. The boys grew tall and strong. Life was peaceful. I rarely thought about the nights we used to have. When I did, it felt like something that belonged to another time.



Even after the heat between us faded, I still hated the way other men looked at my wife.
In our area everyone knew her. She went to the market twice a week, to the vegetable shop, the small grocery, the temple on Fridays. She always wore a saree — usually a simple cotton one with a matching blouse — pallu pinned or dbangd over her shoulder. The men noticed anyway. The vegetable seller would keep talking longer than necessary, eyes dropping to the curve of her breasts when she bent to pick tomatoes. The auto drivers near the main road would slow down and stare when she walked past with a bag. Even the young men who sat outside the tea stall in the evenings would turn their heads when she came back from the temple, saree pallu fluttering a little in the breeze.
I saw it more than once. From the balcony I watched her cross the street. A man on a bike would turn his head fully, eyes fixed on the way her hips moved under the saree. Another time, at the grocery, the shopkeeper leaned too far over the counter while handing her change, gaze openly on the neckline of her blouse. She never seemed to notice, or she pretended not to. She would adjust her pallu, say thank you, and walk home. I would stand at the window and feel a tight, ugly heat in my chest. Not desire. Anger. She was my wife. They had no right.
Inside the house it was the same. When the plumber came to fix the kitchen tap, his eyes kept sliding to her as she stood nearby in her saree, one hand on her hip. When the boys’ friends visited, some of them glanced at her longer than they should when she brought water or tea. I would clear my throat or call her name sharply from the other room. She would come, and the looks would stop. Later she would ask me quietly if something was wrong. I would say no.
At night she changed into her nighty and panties and moved around the bedroom without thinking. The nighty was loose, but it still showed the weight of her breasts and the shape of her hips when she bent to fold clothes or switched off the light. I lay on the bed and watched her sometimes, the old irritation rising again. Other men looked at her like that every day. They saw the same body I had stopped reaching for. The thought made me angry, yet I still did not pull her close. I would turn to the wall, listen to her settle under the sheet, and stay silent.
The boys never said anything. They were tall and strong by then, and people in the area already treated them with a certain caution. Still, I noticed the looks. Every time my wife stepped out in a saree, some man’s eyes followed her. I hated it. I hated that I no longer wanted her the way I once had, and I hated even more that others clearly did.


My sons were all tall and well-built, and a large part of that came from regular training.
We had turned the small room on the terrace into a home gym. It had a basic setup — a barbell with plates, a pair of dumbbells, a pull-up bar fixed to the wall, a flat bench, and a couple of resistance bands. Nothing fancy, but enough. Manish, Rakesh and Rahul used it almost every morning before college. I joined them three or four times a week. I am six-foot-two myself, and working out with them kept me from going soft. We would take turns on the bench, do squats, pull-ups, and shoulder presses while the early morning air was still cool on the terrace. Sweat would darken their T-shirts. Their shoulders and arms had thickened over the years. Rahul especially had filled out; at six-foot-six he looked solid when he locked out a set of presses.
In the evenings they had basketball practice at college. Manish and Rakesh were in the college team. Rahul played regularly too, though he was more aggressive under the basket. After practice they would come home tired, drink water, eat, and sleep early most nights. On weekends they sometimes went to the local ground near our area for pickup games. I had watched them a few times. They moved well for their size, and other players gave them space.
My wife would have breakfast ready by the time we finished the morning workout and came down. She stayed in her saree, moving between the kitchen and the hall, calling us to eat before the boys left for college. Those mornings felt ordinary and steady.
Life felt settled. The boys were strong and focused. They were all in law college, and I was simply waiting for them to finish. Once they completed their degrees I planned to get them married one by one, find good girls from decent families, and see them settled. After that, once I retired, my wife and I would travel. We had already talked about it a few times — going to different places in India, maybe abroad if the savings allowed. Nothing grand, just the two of us moving around without the old worries. The house was quiet, the routine was fixed, and everything ahead looked peaceful. I was content.


In our area everyone knew Dharma’s name, even if most people never said it out loud.
He was not from our street. He stayed two lanes away, in a larger house with a high compound wall and a black Scorpio always parked outside. People said he had started as a local strongman years ago, collecting money from shops and settling fights for a cut. Over time he grew. Now he controlled parts of the area — who could open a new shop, who paid protection, who stayed quiet when something happened. His men moved in small groups, three or four at a time, on bikes or in the Scorpio. They did not need to raise their voices. Shopkeepers lowered their eyes when the vehicle slowed near their counters. Auto drivers changed routes if they saw his men standing at a corner.
Dharma himself was in his early forties and heavily built — thick neck, broad shoulders, heavy arms and a solid chest that stretched his plain shirts. His skin was dark, almost black in the shade, with a rough, uneven texture. His face was ugly. A long, pale scar ran from the corner of his left eye down across his cheek and ended near his jaw. His nose was broad and slightly flattened. His mouth was the worst part — thick lips that never fully closed, always a little wet, with uneven, yellowish teeth that showed even when he was not speaking. When he did speak his voice stayed low and calm, but the sight of that mouth made people look away quickly. He wore a gold chain that sat against his dark skin at the open collar. The calm way he carried himself, combined with that face, made everyone more careful around him.
Stories moved quietly. A man who refused to pay had his shop shut for a week. Another who argued too much was found with broken fingers. More recently, our neighbour Santosh, his wife Lydia, his father Chellappan and his mother Kasiamma had died in what the security officer called an accident. Their car had gone off the road at night. No one in the area believed it was an accident. Santosh had owed money and had started talking to the wrong people. After that, even the men who used to sit outside the tea stall became quieter when Dharma’s Scorpio passed.
He had a younger brother named Chakravarthy. Chakravarthy was louder, younger, in his late twenties, and liked to move with two or three of Dharma’s men. He drank in the evenings, picked small fights, and expected people to step aside. Most did. He was not as controlled as his brother, but everyone understood that touching him meant dealing with Dharma. The two of them were close. Dharma looked after him, gave him money, and let him use the men when he wanted. In return Chakravarthy stayed mostly inside the area Dharma already controlled.
I had never spoken to either of them. I kept my head down, paid my bills, and stayed inside after dark. My sons knew the name too. They had grown up hearing the same low talk in college and on the street. None of us had any reason to cross them. Or so I thought. Life still felt steady. The morning workouts continued, the boys went for their evening basketball practice, and my wife moved through the house in her saree as usual. I was still waiting for them to finish law college, get married one by one, and for the quiet years after retirement to begin.


A few weeks ago I took my wife to a movie after a long time. Just the two of us. The theatre was half empty. During a song sequence there were long, close lip-lock scenes — slow kisses, hands moving over bodies, the actors pressed together. I felt a slow heat start low in my stomach, something I had not felt in months. When I glanced at her she was watching the screen without blinking, lips slightly parted.
In the dark I leaned closer. She turned her face toward me. I kissed her. Her lips were soft and warm. I tasted the light sweetness of the soft drink she had earlier, mixed with the natural taste of her mouth. She kissed me back slowly, her tongue touching mine for a few seconds before we pulled apart. Neither of us spoke. On the way home the silence stayed.
That night, after the boys had gone to their rooms, she changed into her nighty as usual. I stopped her before she could switch off the light.
“Sudha,” I said.
She turned. I stepped closer and pulled the nighty up and off her. She stood in her bra and panties, looking at me with a small, surprised smile. I unhooked the bra and let it fall. Her breasts were heavy and full, nipples already tightening in the air. I pushed her panties down her thighs and she stepped out of them. For the first time in years I looked at her completely naked.
Her body was still soft and full. The weight of her breasts, the curve of her waist into wide hips, the thickness of her thighs. Between her legs her pussy was neat, the outer lips full and smooth, a little darker than the rest of her skin, already glistening. Lower, her asshole was small and tight, a neat darker ring between the soft cheeks of her ass. I had forgotten how she looked like this. The sight made my cock hard immediately.
I made her lie back on the bed. I spread her thighs and ran my fingers over her pussy, feeling how wet she had become. She exhaled softly. I pushed two fingers inside her pussy. She was tight — tighter than I expected after three children — warm, and the inner walls of her pussy gripped my fingers. I stroked in and out slowly while my thumb moved over her clit. Her hips lifted a little. Her breasts shifted with each breath, nipples stiff.
When I pushed my cock into her pussy she gasped. I went in deep in one steady push. The tight walls of her pussy clenched around my cock, hot and snug, pulling my cock deeper. I stayed still for a moment, feeling how completely her pussy wrapped my cock. Then I started to fuck her. Long, deep strokes. Each time I pulled my cock back, the tight walls of her pussy dragged along the length of my cock; each time I pushed my cock in, she took my cock fully, her ass lifting slightly off the bed. The wet sound was clear. Her heavy breasts bounced with the rhythm. I reached under her and gripped her ass, fingers pressing into the soft flesh near her tight asshole, and pulled her harder onto my cock.
She moaned, low and open. Her hands held my arms. Her pussy kept squeezing my cock, the inner walls fluttering tighter every time my cock bottomed out inside her. I fucked her steadily, watching her face, the way her mouth stayed open, the way her eyes half-closed. She was enjoying it. I could feel it in the way she met my thrusts, in the way her pussy stayed open and wet around my cock. Near the end the walls of her pussy tightened hard around my cock and she came with a shaky breath, her thighs trembling against my hips. I kept moving my cock through it, then pushed my cock deep and finished inside her pussy, grinding against her while she held me.
Afterwards we lay still. She was breathing hard, skin warm and damp. She turned her head and looked at me.
“That was good,” she said quietly.
“Yes,” I answered.
She smiled, small and tired, and rested her hand on my chest. For the first time in a long while the old distance felt thinner. I stayed with my cock inside her pussy a little longer, feeling the walls of her pussy still pulsing softly around my cock, and did not pull out.


The night after the movie did not change much.
Over the next six months I fucked my wife only once or twice. Work kept me busy — files, meetings, targets that never really ended. In the mornings I still joined the boys on the terrace for the workout when I could. In the evenings I drove them to college for basketball practice or picked them up after. Law college exams were coming closer. I spent time checking their notes, talking to their professors when needed, making sure nothing slipped. By the time I reached home most nights I was tired. The urge that had come back for one evening stayed weak.
My wife understood. She never asked why the gap had returned. She continued the same routine — saree during the day, nighty and panties at night — and managed the house without complaint. When I did reach for her those one or two times, she responded the same way she always had: quietly, without pressure. Afterwards she would rest her hand on my arm for a minute, then turn and sleep. She never pushed.
She had always been loyal. In all the years of our marriage I never saw her look at another man the way some women did. She kept her sarees modest — pallu properly placed, blouses that covered fully, nothing that drew extra eyes when she went to the market or the temple. Even at home, when relatives visited or the boys’ friends came, she stayed covered and spoke little. I knew she did it partly for me. She had seen how the looks from other men irritated me, and she adjusted without me having to say much.
Life stayed steady on the surface. The boys trained hard. Their height and build made them stand out on the basketball court. I focused on their studies and their game. My wife kept the house running. The quiet distance between us in bed remained, but it no longer felt sharp. I told myself this was normal. Once the boys finished law college and settled, things would ease. Until then, work and their future came first.



I knew all three of my sons had girlfriends. My wife and I had already decided we would get them married one by one after they finished law college. Until then we stayed quiet about it and let them focus on studies and basketball.
One afternoon my wife and I were at home when our neighbour knocked hard on the door. He was out of breath.
“Rahul is fighting Dharma’s brother Chakravarthy in the market,” he said. “Chakravarthy has ten men with him.”
The moment Manish and Rakesh heard, they grabbed their bike keys and left. My wife and I took the car and drove fast toward the market. By the time we reached, the fight was already over. Chakravarthy and his ten men were on the ground. Blood ran from Chakravarthy’s nose and mouth. Two of his men held their ribs. Another had a swollen eye. My three sons stood over them, breathing hard, shirts torn at the sleeves. People from the shops and the tea stall had gathered. Some of them were laughing openly at Chakravarthy and his men. No one stepped forward to help them.
I felt cold fear spread through my chest. This was exactly what I had not wanted. I got out of the car and shouted at my sons.
“Enough! Get on your bikes and go home now!”
They looked at me, then at the men on the ground, and left without arguing. My wife and I drove back in silence.
At home I closed the door and turned on Rahul.
“What the hell were you thinking?” I said. “Do you know whose brother that is?”
Rahul wiped blood from his knuckle and answered.
“At the market Chakravarthy started harassing my girlfriend. He grabbed her hand and spoke dirty. I told him to stop. He swung at me. I hit him back. Then his men came at me. Manish and Rakesh reached and we finished it.”
My wife stood beside me, face tight. She looked at Rahul, then at Manish and Rakesh who had just walked in. None of the boys spoke after that. I stood there with my hands on my hips, heart still beating fast, already thinking about what Dharma would do once he heard.


I knew how powerful Dharma was. He was not just a local rowdy. He had political reach. Ministers took his calls. security officer officers in the area looked the other way when his name came up. Cases against his men disappeared. People who crossed him either paid heavily or vanished. I had stayed clear of all that for years. Now my sons had put us directly in his path.
While I was still standing in the hall, our neighbour walked in without knocking. His face was tight, eyes wide with worry.
“Dharma has gone to the hospital to see Chakravarthy,” he said, voice low and hurried. “He will come here any time. You should leave or do something.”
Manish stepped forward, shoulders squared, jaw set hard.
“Let him come. We will beat the shit out of him too.”
I turned on him sharply, heat rising in my chest, one hand already half-raised.
“Shut up!” I shouted, voice cracking with fear more than anger. “You don’t know what you are saying.”
Rakesh stood a step behind, fists loose at his sides, breathing steady but eyes fixed on me.
“Dad, we can handle his entire gang. You saw what happened in the market.”
I looked at all three of them. My chest felt heavy, throat tight. I forced my voice lower.
“I did not raise rowdies,” I said, each word slow. “I am raising future advocates and judges. Not boys who fight in the street like this. This ends now.”
I stood quiet for a moment, thinking, fingers pressing into my palms. Then I decided.
“All three of you will go to your grandmother’s house in Vellore tonight. Stay there until I call. No arguments.”
My wife understood at once. Her face had gone pale, but she moved quickly, no questions, and went inside to pack their bags. The boys looked at each other, then at the floor, and did not fight me. Within twenty minutes we were in the car. We dropped them at the bus stop. The Vellore bus was already there. I watched them board with their bags. Rahul turned once, eyes meeting mine for a second, then looked away. The bus moved.
On the way back home my wife sat silent, hands clasped tight in her lap, shoulders stiff. After a while she turned her head slightly toward me, voice low.
“What will we do now?”
I kept my eyes on the road, knuckles pale on the steering wheel, the fear still sitting heavy under my ribs.
“We will go home, get ready, and go to Dharma’s house,” I said. “We will apologise. We will ask him to spare the boys. We have no other choice.”
She nodded slowly, lips pressed together, one hand rising to touch the edge of her saree pallu.
“If he asks for money, we will arrange it. But we have to go and speak to him.”
“Yes,” I answered, throat dry. “As soon as we reach home we will change and leave.”
We reached home as the street lights came on. The house felt empty. I locked the door, the click loud in the quiet, and my wife and I went inside to get ready, both of us moving without speaking, the weight of what waited ahead sitting between us.


As soon as we stepped inside and locked the door, my wife turned to me, one hand already on the bedroom doorframe, her voice quick but steady.
“Just give me five minutes, Rajesh. I will get ready.”
My wife went inside without waiting for an answer. I stood in the hall for a second, the quiet of the empty house pressing in, then picked up my phone. My fingers felt stiff as I called Manish. While the line rang I walked toward the bedroom to grab my wallet from the side table.
The bathroom door was closed. On the bed my wife had already laid out the clothes she would wear — maroon panties, a white bra, a white petticoat, the yellow chiffon saree with its thin gold border, and the matching yellow blouse. I looked at the yellow chiffon saree and the yellow blouse for a moment, then stepped back out as Manish answered.
“Dad?” His voice came clear, the low hum of the bus engine behind him.
I moved into the living room, phone to my ear, shoulders still tight.
“Are you all on the bus? Everything okay?”
“Yes. We got seats together. Rahul is quiet. We will reach by morning.”
I let out a slow breath, one hand resting on the back of the sofa.
“Good. Stay at your grandmother’s house. Do not come back until your mother and I call. No arguments, no messages to anyone here. Just stay there.”
“We understand,” he said. There was a short pause. “You and Mom be careful.”
“We will. Call me once you reach.”
I stayed on the line a little longer, listening to the bus sounds, making sure nothing had gone wrong, then ended the call. The phone felt warm in my palm. I turned toward the bedroom just as my wife stepped out.
My wife had changed into the yellow chiffon saree and the matching yellow blouse. The yellow chiffon saree sat neatly at her waist, the thin gold border running along the edge of the pallu she had dbangd over her left shoulder. The yellow blouse fit close across her chest. Her hair was still slightly damp at the ends from washing her face. My wife looked beautiful. The yellow chiffon saree and yellow blouse made her skin look warmer, and the way the saree moved when she walked showed the full shape of her hips and the curve of her breasts beneath the yellow blouse. For a second I just stood there, phone still in my hand, watching my wife.


The car keys were already in my hand. My wife stood half a step from the door in the yellow chiffon saree and matching yellow blouse, the thin gold border of the pallu resting along her left shoulder, fingers lightly pinching the edge so it would not slip. The hall was quiet. I reached for the latch.
The door swung inward before my fingers touched it.
Dharma filled the frame. Four of his men stayed pressed just behind him, their bodies cutting off the street light. His face was dark and still, the long pale scar dragging the skin beneath his left eye. His thick lips hung slightly open, wet at the corners. He looked straight at me, broad chest and heavy shoulders blocking the doorway, the gold chain at his collar catching a dull gleam.
“Where is your son?”
The words came low, almost gentle. My mouth went dry. The keys bit into my palm as my fist closed. Beside me, my wife’s fingers loosened on the pallu. The yellow chiffon saree shifted, the edge sliding a fraction lower on her arm.
“He is not here,” I said. The sound of my own voice felt thin in the sudden quiet. “He left. He will not come back.”
Dharma’s eyes moved past me with slow weight and settled on my wife. They travelled over the yellow blouse, over the soft swell beneath the chiffon, then rose to her face. One of the men behind him shifted his stance. The air in the hall tightened.
“I asked for the boy.” Dharma’s scar did not move when he spoke. His wet lips shaped the words carefully. “Not stories.”
My wife took one small step forward. Her breath had shortened; I could see the quick rise of her chest under the yellow blouse. The pallu slipped farther, catching at the crook of her elbow and baring more of the blouse and the upper curve of her breasts.
“Please.” Her voice stayed low, but it did not shake. “He made a mistake. We will do whatever you want. Just leave him.”
Dharma did not answer. His gaze remained fixed on her, on the fallen pallu, on the yellow chiffon saree pulled slightly off her shoulder, on the way the blouse held the weight of her breasts. I stood motionless, heart hammering hard enough that I felt it in my throat, the cold keys digging deeper into my palm, unable to look away from his eyes or from the slow slide of the saree against my wife’s skin.


Dharma’s phone rang. The sharp tone cut through the tight silence of the hall. He pulled it from his pocket without taking his eyes off my wife, answered, and listened. His thick lips stayed parted. The scar on his cheek did not shift. After a few seconds he spoke, voice still low.
“Vellore. Grandmother’s house. They are on the bus.”
He ended the call and slipped the phone away. His gaze returned to my wife, then moved to me. The men behind him stayed still.
Cold fear slammed through my chest. My fingers crushed the car keys harder. My wife’s face drained of colour. The yellow chiffon saree had already slipped lower on her shoulder; now her hand rose halfway, then stopped, as if she had forgotten what she meant to do.
“Please,” I said. My voice came out rough. “They are only boys. They made a mistake. Don’t go after them. We will do anything you ask. Just spare them.”
My wife stepped closer to him, the pallu hanging loose at her elbow, the yellow blouse fully visible across her chest. Her eyes were wet, but she kept them on his face.
“They are our sons,” she said, words quick and thin. “Rahul started it because of a girl. The others only came to help him. Please. Leave them. Punish us instead. We are here.”
Dharma looked at her for a long moment. His dark eyes moved over the fallen yellow chiffon saree, the curve of her breasts under the yellow blouse, then back to her mouth. He did not smile. His wet lips remained slightly open.
“You are asking me to forget what they did to my brother.”
My wife’s hands had begun to tremble. She pressed them together in front of her waist, the gold border of the saree brushing her wrists.
“We are begging you,” she said. “They will never come near him again. We will make sure. Please. Don’t touch them.”
I stood beside her, throat locked, heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my teeth. The keys had gone warm and slick in my fist. Dharma’s men watched from the doorway. No one moved. The only sound was my wife’s unsteady breathing and the faint rustle of the yellow chiffon saree as her shoulders rose and fell.


Dharma moved in close enough that the heavy smell of his sweat and cheap cologne settled over us. His eyes stayed on the yellow blouse, on the full weight of my wife’s breasts where the yellow chiffon saree had already slipped down to her elbow. She drew her shoulders in, breath turning shallow, the pulse visible at the base of her throat.
Something strange moved through me as I watched him look at her. A low, unwanted heat gathered in my stomach and slid lower. My cock stirred against my trousers even while fear still locked my chest. I hated the feeling. I could not push it down.
“You keep saying you will do anything,” he said, voice low and unhurried, wet lips barely parting. “I want to hear exactly what that means.”
My wife’s fingers tightened on the edge of the fallen pallu. She looked at me for a second, eyes wide and bright with fear, then turned back to him. Her voice came out careful.
“We can pay you. However much you want. We will arrange it tonight if that is what it takes. Just leave our sons alone.”
He reached out and hooked one thick finger under the pallu, drawing it the rest of the way off her shoulder so the yellow chiffon saree slid down her arm and caught at her wrist. The yellow blouse was left completely bare, stretched across her chest. Her nipples had stiffened beneath the cloth. A slow flush rose from her neck and spread across the upper curves of her breasts. The sight of her standing like that in front of him made my cock thicken further, shame burning under my skin while the hardness only grew.
“I am not interested in your money.”
Her hands lifted halfway as if to cover herself, then fell. She shook her head, lips pressing together, shoulders tense.
“No. Not that. Please. There has to be something else.”
Dharma leaned in a fraction more. His gaze moved openly over the yellow blouse, over the quick rise and fall of her breasts, then returned to her face. His tone stayed soft, which made the words heavier.
“Your boys put my brother in the hospital. Either you let me fuck you tonight in your own bed, and you cooperate fully—move the way I want, make the sounds I want, give me real pleasure instead of just lying there—or I send my men to Vellore before morning. If you hold back, if you make this difficult, the deal is off. That is the only choice.”
My wife’s face lost its colour. She looked at me, eyes wet and searching, mouth parted as if waiting for me to speak. When I stayed silent her shoulders sagged. A shaky breath left her. My own breathing had turned uneven. The ache in my cock felt obscene against the fear still sitting in my chest, yet I could not look away from the way her body had reacted under his eyes.
“If I agree… and if I do everything you say… you will not touch them? None of them?”
“Not if you give me what I want. All of it.”
She closed her eyes. One tear slipped free and traced down her cheek. When she opened them again her voice was low and unsteady, but clear.
“All right. But not here. We will go to the bedroom. I will… cooperate.”
Dharma’s wet lips curved. He turned toward the door.
“All of you wait outside.”
His men left. The door shut. He looked at me next, then glanced once at the obvious hardness straining against my trousers.
“You as well. Leave.”
I started to move. My wife’s hand caught my wrist at once, cold and tight, nails pressing in. She faced Dharma, the yellow chiffon saree still hanging from her arm, the yellow blouse bare across her chest.
“Let him stay with me,” she said, voice quiet but firm despite the tremor in it. “Please. I don’t want to be alone with you in there.”
Dharma studied her for a long moment—the tremble running through her body, the exposed yellow blouse, the way she held onto me—then gave a short shrug.
“He can watch. But you remember what I said. Full cooperation. No holding back.”
He turned and walked toward the bedroom. My wife followed, fingers still locked around my wrist, free hand clutching the edge of the yellow blouse as if she might still cover herself. I went with them, cock throbbing shamelessly with every step, heart pounding hard, the fear and the heat tangled so tightly I could no longer separate them.


Dharma pushed the bedroom door open and stepped inside. The light was low. He turned and waited near the bed, arms folded, watching us with his wet lips slightly parted.
My wife stopped just inside the room. For a second she stood with her back to me, the yellow chiffon saree still hanging from her arm, the yellow blouse bare across her shoulders. Then she turned. Her eyes were already wet, tears gathering and spilling. She stepped into me and wrapped both arms around my waist, hugging me tightly, pressing her face hard against my chest as a sob broke out of her. The yellow blouse flattened against me. I felt the quick, uneven beat of her heart and the soft weight of her breasts shaking with every breath.
“I’m sorry,” she cried, voice muffled and breaking, shoulders heaving as she kept hugging me. “I’m so sorry, Rajesh. I don’t want this. I’m only doing it for our sons. If there was any other way I would never let him touch me.”
Her fingers clutched the back of my shirt. I hugged her back, one palm moving slowly between her shoulder blades, the other at the back of her head. My cock was hard against her stomach. She must have felt it. Outwardly I kept my face soft and my voice gentle.
“I know,” I said quietly against her hair. “I know why you’re doing it. I’m here.”
She hugged me a moment longer, then loosened her arms and lifted her face. Tears streaked her cheeks. Her eyes searched mine, lips trembling. She glanced once toward Dharma waiting by the bed, then back at me, voice dropping lower.
“Wait here,” she said, almost pleading. “Don’t come inside. It will only make you uncomfortable. He told me I have to cooperate with him fully… move the way he wants, give him pleasure. I don’t want you to see all of that. Please. Just stay out here.”
My chest tightened, but the heat in my cock only grew sharper at her words. I nodded, keeping my expression concerned and emotional, one hand still resting on her arm.
“All right,” I said softly. “I’ll wait. If you need me, just call.”
She gave a small, shaky nod, wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, and turned away. She walked into the bedroom, yellow chiffon saree trailing from her arm, yellow blouse bare, and pulled the door until it was almost closed, leaving only a narrow gap.
I stood in the hall for a few seconds, heart pounding, then moved quietly to the side window that looked into the bedroom. The curtain was half drawn. I positioned myself just beside the frame where I could see through the gap without being easily noticed, cock still hard and throbbing, shame and excitement twisting together as I watched my wife step toward the bed where Dharma waited.


My wife pushed the bedroom door shut from inside. The latch clicked softly. Through the narrow gap in the curtain I watched her turn, shoulders drawn tight, the yellow chiffon saree still hanging from her arm and the yellow blouse bare across her chest. Her hands trembled at her sides.
Dharma stood up from the edge of the bed. He walked toward her without hurry, heavy steps quiet on the floor, and stopped close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. The scar on his cheek pulled as he looked down at her. His wet lips stayed slightly parted. She took a small step back until her shoulders touched the closed door, breath quickening, the yellow blouse rising and falling fast.
“I’m doing this only for my sons,” she said, voice low and unsteady, eyes wet but fixed on his face. Her fingers curled into the yellow chiffon saree at her side. “Not because I want you. Not for any pleasure. Just so you leave them alone. That’s the only reason.”
Dharma’s thick hand lifted and rested on the door beside her head, caging her in without quite touching her yet. His gaze moved over the yellow blouse, over the stiff peaks of her nipples pressing against the cloth, then returned to her mouth. He gave a slow nod, the movement almost gentle.
“I heard you,” he said, voice still soft. “It doesn’t matter why. Just cooperate fully. Move when I tell you. Make the sounds I want. Give me everything. Do that and your sons stay safe. Hold anything back and the deal changes.”
My wife’s throat worked. A fresh tear slipped down her cheek. She pressed her lips together, shoulders shaking once, then gave a small, tight nod. Her free hand rose halfway as if to cover the yellow blouse, then dropped again. She stayed against the door, chest heaving, waiting.
From the window I watched, cock hard and aching inside my trousers, the shame sharp and useless. I had always hated other men looking at her. Now I stood hidden, breath shallow, unable to look away as Dharma leaned in closer and my wife remained still, ready to do exactly what he had ordered.


Dharma’s hand stayed braced on the door beside my wife’s head. He leaned in slowly, the heavy scent of his sweat and cologne closing around her. She pressed back against the wood, shoulders tight, the yellow blouse pulling across her breasts with every quick breath. Her eyes stayed open, wet and fixed on his face.
When his mouth came close she turned her head sharply to the side, lips pressing together.
“Your mouth… it’s filthy,” she said, voice low and strained, breath hitching. “Don’t. Please.”
Dharma did not stop. His thick wet lips found the corner of her mouth anyway, then slid fully over her lips. She made a small sound of protest in her throat and tried to keep her mouth closed. He kept kissing her, slow and insistent, tongue pushing at the seam of her lips. After a few seconds her resistance softened. Her lips parted. She let his tongue into her mouth, a light tremor running through her shoulders as she began to kiss him back, hesitant at first, then deeper, eyes squeezing shut while fresh tears slipped down her cheeks.
From the window I watched her mouth open under his, the yellow chiffon saree still hanging loose from her arm, the yellow blouse bare and stretched tight over her breasts. My cock throbbed hard against my zipper. The old possessive anger tried to rise, but the heat in my groin drowned it. I stood perfectly still, breath shallow, staring at the way her lips yielded to his, at the slow wet movement of their mouths, shame burning while my cock ached with nothing but excitement.
Dharma’s free hand rose and cupped the side of her neck, thumb stroking just under her jaw as he kept kissing her. She made another small, muffled sound against his mouth, shoulders shaking once, but she did not pull her lips away. Her hands stayed at her sides, fingers curled tight into the yellow chiffon saree, cooperating while tears continued to track down her cheeks and his tongue moved inside her mouth.


To Be Continued..!

[novelistcasanova]

Dharma’s hands moved to the yellow chiffon saree still hanging from my wife’s arm. He unwound it slowly, the yellow chiffon saree sliding free, and let it drop to the floor in a soft heap beside her feet. She stood against the door in only the yellow blouse and the white petticoat, the white petticoat clinging to her waist and hips. Her arms hung at her sides, fingers curled tight. A deep flush spread across her chest and neck.

He stepped back half a pace and looked at her, eyes moving over the yellow blouse stretched across her breasts, the stiff points of her nipples clear beneath the yellow blouse, then down to the white petticoat hugging the curve of her hips and the soft line of her waist. His wet lips parted further.
“Beautiful,” he said, voice low. “Even like this.”
My wife turned her face away, eyes squeezing shut, shame burning hot on her skin. Her shoulders drew in. She crossed her arms loosely over the yellow blouse for a moment, then let them fall again, remembering she was not allowed to hold back.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered, voice thick. “Please.”
Dharma ignored the words. He stepped in again and kissed her lips, slower this time, tongue sliding into her mouth. She hesitated, a small sound of distaste catching in her throat, then parted her lips and kissed him back, tears still wet on her cheeks. While his mouth stayed on hers his hands settled on her waist, thumbs pressing into the soft skin just above the white petticoat.
He broke the kiss and sank to his knees in front of her. His thick hands pushed the white petticoat a little lower on her hips, baring the smooth skin of her waist and the small dip of her navel. He leaned forward and pressed his wet lips to her navel, kissing it openly, tongue flicking once against the sensitive skin. My wife’s stomach tightened hard. A sharp breath left her. Her hands flew to his shoulders as if to push him away, then stopped and simply rested there, fingers digging into his shirt.
“Don’t,” she said, voice shaking, head tipped back against the door. “I hate this.”
Her body answered anyway. Her waist trembled under his mouth. Her thighs pressed together inside the white petticoat. Another involuntary shiver ran through her as he kissed lower along the soft skin of her belly, lips wet and unhurried. She kept her eyes shut, tears slipping free, mouth parted, hating every second while her stomach fluttered and her nipples stayed stiff and aching beneath the yellow blouse.
From the window I watched, cock throbbing painfully against my zipper, breath caught in my throat. The sight of her standing there in the yellow blouse and white petticoat, Dharma on his knees kissing her bare waist and navel, her body reacting even as she whispered that she hated it, sent a fresh wave of shameless heat through me. I did not look away.



Dharma stayed on his knees in front of my wife. She was still fully dressed in the yellow blouse and the white petticoat. His thick hands rested on her waist over the white petticoat. He leaned in and pressed his wet lips to the small strip of her belly that showed above the white petticoat, kissing her navel slowly, tongue flicking once against it. Then he kissed lower, right along the top edge of the white petticoat.
My wife’s stomach tightened. Her hands flew to his shoulders, fingers digging in as if to push him away, then stilled. Her head tipped back against the door, eyes squeezed shut, tears slipping free. The yellow blouse rose and fell quickly with her breathing.
“This feels wrong,” she whispered, voice shaking. “Please… don’t.”
Her waist trembled under his mouth anyway. Another light shiver ran through her as he kept kissing the bare strip of her belly above the white petticoat. She kept her eyes closed, lips parted, body answering even while fresh tears ran down her cheeks.
Dharma finally rose to his feet. He stayed close, one hand resting on the door beside her head, the other settling on her waist over the white petticoat. The yellow blouse was still fully buttoned. He looked at her face, at the wet tracks on her cheeks, and leaned in until his mouth was near her ear.
“Your husband is outside,” he said, voice low and steady. “The door is closed. He can’t see anything. No one is watching you. So stop holding back. Let your body feel this. Move with me. Enjoy it. You promised full cooperation. It will be easier if you stop fighting what you’re already feeling.”
My wife’s breath caught. She shook her head once, a small shaky motion, eyes still shut. Her hands hovered near his chest but did not push.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I don’t want to feel any of this.”
His thumb stroked slowly over her waist through the white petticoat. A light tremor ran through her stomach. He kissed the side of her neck, wet lips lingering, then spoke again against her skin.
“Your body is already answering. No one will know. Not your husband. Not anyone. Just cooperate. Give me the pleasure I asked for. Let yourself have it too.”
She made a soft, broken sound. Her head stayed tipped back against the door. For a moment she remained rigid, then her shoulders loosened a fraction. Her hands settled on his upper arms, fingers curling into his sleeves. Fresh tears slipped free, but her hips shifted, a tiny involuntary movement toward him. Her breasts rose and fell faster under the yellow blouse.
“Just… don’t talk anymore,” she said, voice thin. “Do what you came to do. I’ll try.”
From the window I watched, cock throbbing hard against my zipper, breath shallow. She was still fully covered in the yellow blouse and white petticoat while Dharma kissed her navel and belly and spoke against her neck. She believed I could not see. She was starting to yield, just a little, and the lie he had told her made the shameless heat in me even sharper. I stayed perfectly still, unable to look away.


Dharma stepped back from my wife. He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor, then undid his trousers and pushed them down along with his underwear. He stood fully naked in front of her. His cock was thick, dark, and fully erect, heavy and curving upward, the head already slick. The scar on his face and the rough darkness of his skin made the size of it stand out even more in the low light.
My wife’s eyes dropped to his cock. Her breath caught. She pressed back harder against the door, the yellow blouse and white petticoat still fully on, shoulders drawing tight. A fresh flush spread up her neck. Her hands stayed clenched at her sides.
Dharma moved closer again. He took one of her hands, fingers wrapping around her wrist, and guided it forward until her palm met the hot length of his cock. He closed her fingers around it. Her hand trembled. She did not pull away. The thick shaft pulsed against her palm, too wide for her fingers to fully close.
“Hold it,” he said, voice low. His wet lips stayed near her ear. “Feel how hard I am for you. Your husband is outside. He can’t see. No one can. So stop thinking. Stroke it. Let yourself enjoy touching me. Your body already wants to. Cooperate fully. Give me this.”
My wife’s eyes stayed shut. Tears clung to her lashes. Her fingers twitched around his cock, a small, uncertain movement, then stilled. Her chest rose and fell quickly under the yellow blouse. She made a soft, shaky sound in her throat but kept her hand where he had placed it, the heat and weight of his cock filling her grip.
“I… I don’t know if I can,” she whispered, voice thin and breaking. Her thumb shifted once, almost by accident, along the underside.
Dharma’s hand stayed over hers, guiding a slow stroke up the length of his cock, then back down. His other hand rested on her waist over the white petticoat, thumb moving in a light circle.
“You can. You’re already doing it. Don’t fight it. Enjoy how it feels in your hand. Move with me. No one will ever know.”
From the window I watched her fingers wrapped around his thick cock, the yellow blouse and white petticoat still covering her, her face turned away in shame while her hand obeyed. My own cock throbbed painfully against my zipper. The sight of her holding him, stroking under his guidance while she believed I could not see, sent a sharp, shameless wave of heat through me. I stayed silent, breath shallow, unable to look away.



Dharma’s mouth moved over my wife’s breasts without hurry. He kissed the full weight of one breast, lips wet and open, then the other, pressing slow kisses across the curves, tasting her skin from the underside up to the stiff peaks. His tongue dragged in long strokes over her nipples before he took as much of one breast into his mouth as he could, sucking deeply.
Between kisses he spoke against her skin, voice low and soft.
“These feel so good in my mouth. So full. So warm. Don’t fight it. Just let yourself enjoy this. Let me suck them properly. You already promised to cooperate.”
My wife’s head tipped back against the door. A broken sound left her throat.
“My god… no…”
Her shoulders shook. She tried to stay still, tried to keep control, but her back arched, pushing her breasts harder into his mouth. Her fingers tightened around his cock. Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks. He switched to the other breast, licking the full curve, sucking slow and deep while his hand kneaded the one he had just left.
“See how your nipples get harder when I do this?” he murmured, tongue circling one stiff peak before drawing it back into his mouth. “Your body wants it. Stop holding back. Enjoy how it feels. Give me this.”
Another soft moan escaped her.
“My god… no… I can’t…”
Her thighs pressed together inside the white petticoat. A light tremor ran through her stomach. She kept whispering the same thin protest, voice shaking, while her body answered—nipples aching and wet from his tongue, breasts swelling under his mouth, hips shifting in small helpless movements she could not stop. His free hand stayed on her waist over the white petticoat, holding her close as he continued to kiss and suck, tempting her in that same low, steady voice.
From the window I watched, cock throbbing painfully. Her bare breasts filled his mouth, the white petticoat still around her waist, her fingers wrapped around his cock as she struggled and failed to stay unaffected. The soft way he kept convincing her, and the way her body yielded anyway, sent a sharp shameless heat through me. I stayed hidden, breath uneven, unable to look away.


Dharma kept his mouth on my wife’s breasts, sucking slowly and deeply, switching from one to the other. His tongue worked over her nipples, lips pulling at the full weight of each breast, wet and unhurried.
My wife’s breathing changed. The resistance in her body grew weaker. Her back stayed arched, breasts pushed into his mouth. A soft, shaky moan left her, longer this time.
“Ahh… please…”
Her fingers, still wrapped around his cock, stroked him once, then again. Her free hand rose. She grabbed his face with both hands, palms against his cheeks, trying to ease him back. Her voice came out thin and unsteady.
“Enough… that’s enough.”
Dharma did not stop. He sucked harder, drawing more of her breast into his mouth, tongue flicking her nipple while his hands kneaded the heavy flesh. My wife’s grip on his face loosened. Her arms trembled. Another broken sound escaped her.
“Wait… I can’t…”
Her thighs pressed tighter together inside the white petticoat. Her knees softened. She sagged a little against the door, strength leaving her as he continued. Her hands slid from his face to his shoulders, no longer pushing, just holding on. Her head tipped back, eyes half-closed, lips parted, small helpless sounds slipping out while her breasts stayed swollen and sensitive under his mouth.
From the window I watched her grow weaker, the way her body yielded even after she tried to stop him. My own cock throbbed hard. I stayed hidden, breath uneven, unable to look away.


Dharma’s mouth stayed on my wife’s breasts, sucking deep and slow, tongue working over her nipples, lips pulling at the full weight until her knees went weak. A shaky moan left her. Her hands pushed at his shoulders, not hard, but enough to create space. She tried to twist away, body overwhelmed, one step sideways as if she meant to slip past him.
“Wait… too much…”
He grabbed her waist with both hands, fingers sinking into the soft flesh above the white petticoat, and pulled her straight back against him. Her bare breasts pressed to his chest. Before she could speak again his mouth found hers. He kissed her, thick wet lips covering hers, tongue pushing in.
This time she kissed him back. Her lips parted fully. Her tongue met his, hesitant for only a second, then moving with him, deeper, needier. A soft sound vibrated against his mouth. Her right hand found his cock again and wrapped around the thick shaft, stroking him in long, unsteady pulls while they kissed. Heat rushed to her face. She broke the kiss just enough to speak, cheeks flushed deep, eyes half-closed, breath uneven.
“I hate you,” she whispered, voice thin and shaky, even as her hand kept stroking his cock and her mouth stayed close to his.
Dharma smiled against her lips, the scar on his cheek pulling. He held her waist tighter, keeping her body flush to his, and kissed her again, slower, letting her set more of the pace this time. She answered, kissing him back with open, wet urgency, right hand moving steadily on his cock, left hand resting on his shoulder, no longer pushing him away. Her breasts rose and fell against his chest, nipples still stiff and sensitive from his mouth. The white petticoat stayed around her waist. She blushed harder, but she did not stop.
From the window I watched her kiss him back, really kiss him, while her hand worked his cock and her body stayed pressed to his. My own cock throbbed painfully. The sight of her yielding like that, saying she hated him even as she stroked him and opened her mouth for his, sent a sharp shameless heat through me. I stayed hidden, breath shallow, unable to look away.



Dharma stayed between my wife’s legs, hands resting on her inner thighs, holding them gently apart. He looked down at her pussy, at the neat outer lips glistening with wetness, slightly swollen and flushed. His wet lips parted. He spoke low, almost to himself, but loud enough for her to hear.
“Your pussy is beautiful. So soft. So wet already. I’ve never seen anything like this. Perfect.”
Heat rushed to my wife’s face. She turned her head farther into the pillow, cheeks burning deep pink, eyes squeezed shut. Her thighs tried to close a little, but his hands kept them open. A shaky breath left her. The white petticoat stayed bunched under her breasts, her bare breasts rising and falling quickly.
“Don’t say that,” she whispered, voice thin and embarrassed. “Please.”
Dharma smiled faintly. He leaned down and pressed his lips to the inside of her right thigh, kissing the soft flesh slowly, then the left, working his way higher. Each kiss was wet and unhurried. My wife’s stomach tightened. Her hips shifted once on the bed. He moved closer, mouth hovering just above her pussy, breath warm against her wet outer lips. Then he kissed her pussy directly—open-mouthed, slow, lips pressing against her outer lips, tongue flicking lightly over the slick entrance.
“Ahh… mmm…”
A sharp, soft moan left her. Her back arched a fraction. Her hands grabbed the sheet. Fresh heat flooded her face and chest. She bit her lower lip hard, trying to stay quiet, but another sound slipped out.
“Ohh… wait…”
Her hips lifted toward his mouth for a second before she forced them back down. Tears of overwhelm clung to her lashes even as her pussy grew wetter under his kiss.
From the window I watched him praise her pussy, watched her blush and hide her face, watched his mouth move from her inner thighs to kiss her pussy directly while those soft sounds left her. My cock throbbed painfully against my zipper. The slow, deliberate way he tasted her, and the way her body answered with those moans despite her embarrassment, sent another sharp wave of shameless heat through me. I stayed hidden, breath shallow, unable to look away.


Dharma settled fully between my wife’s thighs. His hands slid under her hips, lifting her pussy closer to his mouth. He kissed her outer lips again, slower this time, then parted them with his tongue and licked a long, wet stroke from her entrance up to her clit.
“Ahh… ohh…”
My wife’s back arched off the bed. Her hands grabbed the sheet tighter. He did it again, tongue flat and firm, then focused on her clit—circling it, flicking it lightly, then sucking the swollen bud between his lips. Wet sounds filled the room. Her thighs trembled on either side of his head. The white petticoat stayed bunched under her breasts, her bare breasts rising and falling fast, nipples stiff.
“Mmm… please… ahh…”
She tried to twist her hips away, overwhelmed, but his hands held her steady. He licked deeper, tongue pushing inside her pussy, then returned to her clit, sucking in steady pulses. Her stomach tightened hard. Fresh wetness slicked his mouth and chin. A broken moan left her, higher than before.
“Ohh… I can’t… ahh… wait…”
Her legs shook. One hand left the sheet and grabbed his hair, not pushing him away anymore, just holding on. He sucked her clit harder, tongue flicking fast, then slow, reading every twitch of her body. Her pussy clenched around nothing. Her breathing turned ragged. The tension in her belly snapped.
“Ahh—ohh—mmm…!”
She came with a sharp, helpless cry, hips bucking against his mouth, thighs clamping around his head, pussy pulsing and gushing against his tongue. He kept licking her through it, gentler now, drawing out every wave while she shook and moaned, voice breaking, tears of pleasure mixing with the ones already on her cheeks. Her whole body went tight, then soft, chest heaving, the white petticoat still rucked up, breasts flushed and nipples aching.
Dharma finally lifted his head, lips and chin wet with her, and looked at her wrecked face. She lay there panting, eyes half-closed, cheeks deep red, one arm thrown over her face, body still trembling with the aftershocks.
From the window I watched every second—his mouth on her pussy, the way she fought and then broke, the sounds she made when she came. My cock throbbed so hard it hurt, leaking against my trousers. The sight of her cumming on his tongue, completely undone, sent a brutal wave of shameless heat through me. I stayed hidden, breath shaky, hand pressed hard against the front of my trousers, unable to look away.



Dharma stayed between her thighs a moment longer, licking his lips, clearly pleased. He moved up her body, the white petticoat still bunched under her breasts, and grabbed her chin, turning her face toward him. Before she could speak he kissed her, open-mouthed and deep, his wet lips smeared with her juices pressing against hers.
My wife made a small, startled sound against his mouth. She tasted herself immediately. For a second she tried to turn her head.
“Your mouth… it’s covered in…” she whispered, voice shaky, cheeks burning.
He held her face steady and kissed her again, slower.
“Taste yourself,” he said against her lips, low and rough. “You came so hard on my tongue. I want you to know how good you taste.”
Her resistance faded. Her lips parted. She kissed him back, tongue meeting his, licking the taste of her pussy from his filthy mouth. A soft moan slipped out between them.
“Mmm… ahh… this is wrong…”
“You love it,” he murmured, smiling into the kiss, one hand cupping her bare breast, thumb brushing her stiff nipple. “Keep kissing me. Lick it all off.”
She did. Her hand grabbed his shoulder. She kept kissing him, slower, deeper, tasting herself on his lips and tongue while her body still trembled. Her face stayed flushed deep pink, breath uneven, but she did not pull away.
From the window I watched her kiss him back, watched her tongue move against his, cleaning the taste of her own pussy from his wet lips while he spoke to her like that. My cock throbbed painfully, leaking against my trousers. The sight sent a brutal, shameless wave of heat through me. I pressed my palm harder against the front of my trousers, breath shaky, unable to look away.

[novelistcasanova]

Dharma shifted fully over my wife. He pushed the white petticoat higher, bunching it under her breasts. One hand gripped her thigh and spread her wider. His thick cock, still slick from her hand earlier, pressed against her pussy. He rubbed the broad head slowly up and down her wet slit, coating himself, nudging her clit.

My wife’s breath hitched. Her hands grabbed his upper arms. She looked down between them, eyes half-lidded, cheeks already pink.
“It’s… too big,” she whispered.
“You’ll take it,” he said. He lined up and pushed.
The head of his cock stretched her open. She gasped.
“Ahh… ohh… slow…”
He sank in slowly, thick cock spreading her pussy, filling her inch by inch until he was buried deep, hips flush against hers. A long moan left her. He stayed still, cock throbbing inside her, and looked at her face.
“Do you like my cock?” he asked, voice low. “Tell me.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. She turned her face aside, blushing hard, pussy clenching around him. Her voice came out small and shaky.
“Yes…”
He smiled and rolled his hips once, slow and deep.
“Say it properly.”
She bit her lip, eyes wet, face burning. Her nails dug into his arms.
“Yes… I like your cock…”
He began to move, long, steady strokes, pulling almost all the way out before pushing his cock back in deep. Wet sounds filled the room. She moaned with every thrust, blushing darker, breasts bouncing lightly, the white petticoat bunched above her waist.
From the window I watched his cock slide in and out of her, watched her blush and admit she liked it, heard her say the words. Jealousy burned hot in my chest even as my own cock throbbed painfully, leaking against my trousers. The sight of her taking him, answering him, enjoying it, made me ache with shame and raw need at the same time. I pressed my palm hard against myself, breath shaky, unable to look away.


Dharma kept his pace slow and deep, cock sliding almost all the way out before pushing back in, filling her completely each time. The wet sound of her pussy taking him was clear in the room. My wife’s hands stayed on his arms, nails biting into his skin. Her breasts moved with every thrust, nipples stiff, the white petticoat still bunched under them.
He leaned down, mouth close to her ear, hips rolling steadily.
“You feel so tight around my cock. Tell me how it feels.”
She blushed harder, face turned to the side, breath coming in soft gasps. Her pussy clenched around him on the next deep stroke. A shaky moan left her.
“Ahh… it feels… full… so full…”
“You like being full of my cock?”
Her eyes squeezed shut. She nodded, small and embarrassed, cheeks burning. Her voice came out thin.
“Yes… I like it…”
He smiled against her neck and thrust a little harder, cock driving deep. She cried out softly.
“Mmm… ohh… ahh…”
Her legs wrapped loosely around his waist, heels resting on the back of his thighs, pulling him in without thinking. He kept the rhythm steady, one hand sliding up to cup her breast, thumb rubbing her nipple while he fucked her. She moaned again, hips lifting to meet him, still blushing, still trying to hide her face even as her body answered every stroke.
From the window I watched his cock move in and out of her, watched her admit she liked it, watched her legs pull him deeper. Jealousy twisted sharp in my chest. At the same time my own cock throbbed painfully, leaking more against my trousers. The sight of her blushing and taking him, enjoying it, made the heat almost unbearable. I pressed my palm harder against myself, breath uneven, unable to look away.


Dharma’s thrusts grew a little firmer, cock driving deep and steady, the wet slap of his hips against her getting clearer. My wife’s moans came more often now, soft and broken. Her legs stayed wrapped around him, heels pressing into the back of his thighs, pulling him in each time he pushed forward. The white petticoat remained bunched under her breasts, her bare breasts bouncing lightly with every stroke.
He grabbed her chin and turned her face toward him so she had to look at him.
“Look at me while I fuck you. Tell me you want my cock deeper.”
Her cheeks burned bright red. She tried to glance away, but his hand held her face. Her pussy clenched hard around him. A shaky breath left her.
“I… I want it deeper…”
“Say my cock.”
She bit her lip, eyes wet with embarrassment and pleasure, voice small.
“I want your cock deeper… ahh…”
He gave her exactly that, hips snapping forward, burying his cock to the hilt. She cried out, back arching.
“Ohh… mmm… yes… ahh…”
Her nails dragged down his arms. She kept her eyes on his for a few seconds, blushing furiously, then her gaze dropped between their bodies, watching his cock disappear inside her again and again. Her hips began to move with him, meeting his thrusts, shy but needy. He smiled, clearly enjoying how she answered, and kept fucking her at that deep, steady pace, one hand still on her face, the other squeezing her breast.
From the window I watched her say it, watched her look at him while his cock filled her, watched her hips start to chase his. Jealousy burned hot and ugly in my chest. At the same time my cock throbbed so hard it hurt, leaking steadily against my trousers. The sight of her blushing, asking for more, moving with him, made the shame and the arousal crash together until I could barely breathe. I pressed my palm tighter against myself, eyes locked on them, unable to look away.


Dharma’s pace quickened, cock driving into her harder and deeper, the wet sound of her pussy growing louder with every thrust. My wife’s moans turned higher, more desperate. Her legs tightened around his waist, heels digging in, pulling him in as far as he could go. Her breasts bounced with the force of it, nipples stiff, the white petticoat still bunched above her waist. Her face was flushed deep red, eyes half-closed, lips parted.
He leaned down, mouth against her ear, hips snapping steadily.
“You’re getting close. I can feel your pussy squeezing my cock. Tell me.”
She gasped, back arching. Her nails dragged down his back. A broken moan left her.
“Ahh… ohh… yes… I’m close… mmm…”
“You want to cum on my cock?”
Her cheeks burned hotter. She nodded quickly, shy and overwhelmed, voice shaking.
“Yes… I want to… ahh… please…”
He angled his hips, cock grinding against her clit with every deep stroke. Her whole body tightened. Her thighs trembled around him. She clung to him, breathing ragged, soft cries spilling out as the pleasure built sharp and fast.
“Ohh… mmm… ahh… don’t stop… I’m… ahh…”
Her pussy fluttered and clenched around his cock, right on the edge, hips rolling up to meet him, chasing it. She kept her face buried against his shoulder, blushing furiously, body shaking, so close she could barely speak.
From the window I watched her fall apart under him, watched her admit she was close, watched her pussy grip his cock as she begged without words. Jealousy cut deep. At the same time my own cock throbbed painfully, leaking hard against my trousers. The sight of her so near orgasm on him, blushing and desperate, made the heat almost unbearable. I pressed my palm tighter against myself, breath shaky, eyes locked on them.


Dharma kept the same deep, steady rhythm, cock grinding against her clit with every thrust. My wife’s body locked up. Her pussy clenched hard around him, thighs shaking, back arching off the bed. A sharp cry broke from her.
“Ahh—ohh—mmm… I’m cumming… ahh!”
She came hard, pussy pulsing and squeezing his cock in tight waves, wetness flooding around him. Her nails dug into his back. Her legs trembled and pulled him deeper. She buried her face against his neck, moaning through it, voice breaking, hips jerking helplessly as the orgasm rolled through her. The white petticoat stayed bunched under her breasts, her bare breasts pressed to his chest, nipples stiff and sensitive.
He fucked her through it, slower now, letting her ride every pulse. When the strongest waves passed she was left panting, clinging to him, face flushed deep red, eyes wet. She didn’t let go. Her arms stayed wrapped around his neck. A small, shaky sound left her, almost soft.
“Mmm… that was… ahh…”
She lifted her head just enough to look at him, cheeks burning, and kissed him. It was brief, messy, but she initiated it. Her pussy still fluttered around his cock. She kept her legs around him, holding him inside her, breath uneven against his mouth.
“Don’t stop yet,” she whispered, voice thin and embarrassed, but clear. “It feels… good.”
Dharma smiled, scar pulling, and kissed her back, slower. He started moving again, gentle thrusts, cock sliding through her sensitive, still-spasming pussy. She moaned into his mouth, blushing harder, but she kissed him again, arms tightening, body staying open and close to his.
From the window I watched her cum on his cock, watched her cling to him afterward, watched her kiss him and ask him not to stop. Jealousy burned sharp and hot in my chest. At the same time my own cock throbbed painfully, leaking steadily. The sight of her liking it, wanting more, made the shame and arousal crash together until my hand was pressed hard against myself, breath shaky, eyes unable to leave them.


Dharma kept moving inside her, slow deep thrusts, cock sliding through her still-sensitive pussy. My wife stayed wrapped around him, legs locked at his waist, arms around his neck. She kissed him again, longer this time, tongue slipping into his mouth, soft moans vibrating against his lips. The white petticoat remained bunched under her breasts. Her bare breasts pressed to his chest, nipples dragging against his skin with every roll of his hips.
He broke the kiss just enough to speak, voice low, hips never stopping.
“You like my cock now?”
She blushed hard, face still close to his, eyes half-closed. Her pussy clenched around him. A shaky breath left her.
“Yes… ahh… I like it…”
“Tell me what you want.”
Her cheeks burned brighter. She hid her face against his shoulder for a second, then whispered, voice small but clear.
“Fuck me… keep fucking me with your cock… mmm…”
He smiled and gave her a firmer thrust, cock driving deep. She moaned, back arching, nails digging into his shoulders.
“Ohh… yes… ahh… like that…”
Her hips started moving with him again, meeting his strokes, shy at first, then more sure. She kissed his neck, his jaw, then his mouth, messy and needy, still blushing but no longer trying to hide how much she was feeling. Wet sounds grew louder as he fucked her steadily, one hand sliding down to grip her ass and pull her onto his cock with every thrust.
From the window I watched her ask for it, watched her move with him, watched her kiss him while his cock filled her. Jealousy twisted hard in my chest. At the same time my own cock throbbed painfully, leaking against my trousers. The sight of her enjoying him so openly now, blushing and still begging for more, made the heat almost unbearable. I pressed my palm tighter against myself, breath uneven, eyes locked on every movement.


Dharma thrust deeper, cock driving into her with steady force, one hand gripping her ass and pulling her onto him. My wife moaned into his mouth, hips rolling to meet him, the white petticoat still bunched under her breasts. Her eyes were half-closed, face flushed, lost in the rhythm.
Then her gaze shifted. Over his shoulder, through the narrow gap in the curtain, she saw me.
Her body jolted. Her eyes widened. A sharp gasp left her. She stared straight at me, lips parted, cheeks burning even darker. Dharma felt her tense and paused, cock buried deep.
“What?” he asked, low.
She didn’t answer him. Her eyes stayed locked on mine through the window. Shame, shock, and something hotter flashed across her face. Her pussy clenched hard around Dharma’s cock. A shaky, broken sound escaped her.
“Ahh… Rajesh…”
Dharma turned his head slightly, following her look, then smiled when he understood. He didn’t stop. He rolled his hips, slow and deep, making her feel every inch while she watched me watching her.
“He’s seeing everything,” Dharma murmured against her ear. “Seeing how much you like my cock. Does that make you wetter?”
She bit her lip, eyes still on me, face blazing red. Her hips moved despite herself, taking him deeper. A soft, helpless moan left her.
“Mmm… yes… ohh… I can’t…”
She kept looking at me, blushing furiously, body trembling as Dharma fucked her right in front of me. Her hands clutched his shoulders. She didn’t tell him to stop. She didn’t look away.
From the window I met her eyes. My chest burned with jealousy so sharp it hurt. At the same time my cock throbbed painfully, leaking hard against my trousers. The sight of her seeing me, knowing I was watching, and still moving on his cock, still moaning, made the shame and arousal crash together until I could barely breathe. I pressed my palm tighter against myself, unable to look away from her face.


Dharma kept fucking her, slow deep thrusts, cock sliding in and out while she stared at me through the gap in the curtain. My wife’s face stayed flushed deep red. Her eyes didn’t leave mine. Every time he pushed in, her lips parted and a soft sound escaped her. The white petticoat was still bunched under her breasts, her bare breasts moving with his rhythm.
Dharma grabbed her chin and turned her face back toward him for a moment, then let her look at me again.
“Keep watching him,” he said, voice low, hips rolling steadily. “Let him see how good my cock feels inside you. Tell him.”
She bit her lip hard. Shame and heat warred on her face. Her pussy clenched around Dharma’s cock. She looked straight at me, voice shaky and small.
“It… it feels good… ahh…”
“Louder.”
Her cheeks burned. She moaned as he thrust deeper, eyes locked on mine.
“Your… his cock feels so good… mmm… ohh… I’m sorry… ahh…”
Dharma smiled and picked up the pace just a little, cock driving into her harder. She cried out, back arching, but she didn’t look away from me. Her hands clutched Dharma’s shoulders. Her hips kept meeting his thrusts, shy and helpless. Tears of overwhelm shone in her eyes, yet her body stayed open and responsive, taking every stroke while I watched.
“Ahh… ohh… Rajesh… I can’t stop… mmm…”
From the window I stared back at her, chest tight with jealousy so sharp it ached. At the same time my cock throbbed painfully, leaking steadily against my trousers. Hearing her say it while looking at me, seeing her blush and still fuck him, made the shame and arousal crash together until my hand was pressed hard against myself, breath shaky, eyes unable to leave her face.


I stood beside the bed with my trousers and underwear shoved down to mid-thigh, the cool air of the room hitting my skin while her hand stayed wrapped around my cock. She stroked me in long, slow pulls, her palm warm and a little slick from the pre-cum already leaking from the tip. Dharma’s cock moved inside her in deep, unhurried strokes, each one pushing a soft, wet sound from her pussy and making her breasts shift against his chest. The white petticoat was still bunched high under her breasts, leaving her completely bare from the waist down.
My wife turned her face toward me first. Her cheek came to rest against Dharma’s, their skin pressed together, both of them looking at me while he kept fucking her. Her eyes were wet, full of pity and heat. Her hand never stopped moving on my cock, thumb sliding over the sensitive head on every upstroke, spreading the wetness. When she spoke her voice was soft, breathless from the steady thrusts.
“Look at him standing there like that, so hard and hurting because of me. Please let him join us, let him push inside me too, just this once. I can’t bear seeing him left out while you’re enjoying me so deeply.”
Dharma’s cheek stayed pressed to hers. His hips rolled in the same deep rhythm, cock sliding almost all the way out before sinking back in, making her breath catch each time. He looked straight at me, voice low and final.
“No. Not today. I’m not sharing her with anyone until I’ve finished.”
Her face fell, but she didn’t stop stroking me. The slow, steady motion of her hand continued, fingers tightening just a little around my cock as another of Dharma’s thrusts pushed a quiet moan from her throat. She kept her cheek against his, eyes locked on mine, full of apology. Her voice trembled when she spoke to me.
“I’m sorry, Rajesh. I asked him, but he won’t allow it. At least let me keep doing this for you while he takes me. Step back whenever you need to… I’ll be all right, I promise.”
She turned her face a fraction toward Dharma, lips close to his jaw, cheek still pressed to his, and added in the same soft, shaky tone,
“Enjoy yourself today. Take everything you want from me. I’m not holding anything back anymore.”
Dharma’s mouth curved against her cheek. He answered by driving his cock deeper, grinding his hips so the base pressed hard against her clit. Her back arched. A longer moan left her. Her hand on my cock sped up for a few strokes, then settled back into that slow, maddening rhythm, thumb circling the wet head. Her pussy clenched visibly around him; I could see the way her stomach tightened and her thighs trembled. She was getting close again. Her eyes flicked between my face and his, cheeks burning, breath coming faster, soft sounds spilling out every time he pushed in.
“Ahh… mmm… you’re so deep… ohh…”
She kept stroking me, bringing me right to the edge with her, my cock throbbing hard in her fist, pre-cum coating her fingers, while Dharma fucked her steadily toward her own peak. She stayed cheek to cheek with him, blushing, looking at me with that mix of sorrow and raw pleasure, hand never leaving my cock as her body started to shake.
I stood there barely breathing, her warm slick hand working me closer and closer, watching his cock drive into her, jealousy and brutal heat crashing together until my legs felt weak.

[novelistcasanova]

I sat on the edge of the bed beside her, trousers and underwear still down around my thighs, my cock hard, flushed dark, and glistening at the tip. My left hand moved slowly through her hair, brushing the damp strands back from her forehead, fingertips tracing lightly along her scalp and behind her ear in gentle, repeated strokes. Dharma’s cock slid in and out of her in long, deep, unhurried thrusts, each one drawing a soft, wet sound from her pussy and making her bare breasts shift against his chest. The white petticoat remained bunched beneath them.

She was kissing him, slow and deep, lips parted, tongues sliding together with quiet, slick sounds. At first her right hand stayed wrapped around my cock, stroking in the same steady rhythm. But as the pleasure climbed higher she slowly drew her hand away. She placed it on Dharma’s shoulder instead, fingers curling into his skin, fully turning her body and attention toward him. Her kisses grew hungrier, more open. Her hips began to roll with his, meeting every deep stroke, taking his cock as far as it would go.
Dharma spoke against her mouth, voice low and rough, hips never losing their pace.
“That’s it. Let go of everything else. Just feel my cock inside you. You’re getting so tight. Let it build.”
She moaned into the kiss, the sound soft at first, then stretching longer, shakier.
“Mmm… ahhh… yes… it feels so good… so deep… ohhh… I’m getting close… don’t stop… ahhh…”
Her pussy fluttered and clenched around him. Her thighs trembled against his hips. She kissed him harder, tongue sliding deep into his mouth, soft continuous moans spilling out between their lips as he ground the base of his cock against her clit at the end of every thrust. Her breathing turned ragged. Her back arched. She clung to him with both hands now, completely absorbed, face flushed deep red, eyes half-closed, lost in the feeling. I kept brushing her hair, slow and steady, watching every reaction.
“Ohhh… mmm… I’m almost there… ahhh… it feels so full… ohhh… I’m gonna cum… please… cum inside me… fill me… ahhh…”
Dharma groaned against her lips and drove in deep, hips pressed tight, cock throbbing hard as he came. Thick pulses of cum flooded her pussy. The sudden heat and the feeling of him pulsing inside her pushed her over the edge. Her moan broke into a long, helpless cry right against his mouth.
“Ahhh—ohhh—mmmm… yes… ahhh…”
Her pussy clamped down and spasmed in deep, rhythmic waves around his cock, cumming hard, wetness gushing and soaking them both as her whole body shook. She kept kissing him through it, messy and desperate, tongue still moving against his while her inner walls milked every drop from him. The orgasm rolled through her for a long time. Aftershocks made her tremble and whimper softly against his lips, her pussy continuing to flutter around his spent cock. She stayed pressed close to him, breathless and flushed, completely undone.
I sat beside her the entire time, fingers still gently brushing through her hair, watching her fall apart with him, my own cock throbbing painfully, untouched now, as she gave herself fully to the pleasure.


Dharma stayed inside her for a few moments longer, breathing hard against her neck. Then he lifted his head and kissed her properly—slow, gentle, lips soft against hers, no urgency left. My wife kissed him back weakly, still trembling, eyes half-closed, one hand resting on his shoulder. When he pulled out, a soft, shaky breath left her. His cum and hers leaked from her pussy onto the sheet. The white petticoat was still bunched around her waist. She lay there flushed and spent, chest rising and falling.
He stood up and dressed without hurry, pulling on his trousers and shirt. Once he was clothed he bent down beside the bed again. He cupped her cheek and kissed her lips one more time, light and brief. She looked up at him, eyes wet, face still pink.
“Your sons are safe,” he said, voice low and calm. “I won’t harm them. That’s a promise. Tell them to stay out of my way from now on.”
She nodded slowly, lips parted, too exhausted to speak. He straightened, glanced once at me where I still sat on the edge of the bed, then turned and walked out. The front door opened and closed. His men left with him. The house fell quiet.
My wife remained on the bed, the white petticoat wrinkled around her waist, thighs still parted, breathing uneven. She turned her head toward me, eyes searching my face, one hand reaching weakly in my direction. I took it. Neither of us spoke for a long moment. The only sound was her soft, tired breathing and the faint stickiness of everything that had just happened.


We looked at each other in the quiet room.
My wife’s eyes were red-rimmed and wet, still glassy from everything that had just happened. Shame sat heavy in them, but underneath it there was relief, and something softer—almost grateful—that I was still there. Her cheeks remained flushed. Her lips were swollen. She didn’t try to cover herself. The white petticoat stayed bunched at her waist, her thighs slightly open, the mess of Dharma’s cum and hers still visible between them. Her hand stayed in mine, fingers weak but holding on.
I felt too many things at once. Relief that our sons were safe, sharp and immediate. Guilt for how hard I had stayed the entire time, for how much I had wanted to watch. A lingering, shameless heat still pulsed in my cock even now. And beneath all of that, a strange tenderness. She had done this for our boys. She had looked at me while it happened. She was looking at me now, fragile and exposed, waiting to see if I would turn away.
Her voice came out small and rough.
“Are you angry with me?”
I shook my head. My thumb moved slowly over the back of her hand.
“No.”
She searched my face, as if trying to make sure. A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye and ran into her hair. She didn’t wipe it. Her grip on my hand tightened just a little.
“I kept looking at you,” she whispered. “Even when I… when it felt good. I didn’t want to forget you were there.”
My chest ached. The jealousy was still there, duller now, mixed with the warmth of her hand and the sight of her lying open and tired in front of me. I leaned forward and pressed my lips to her forehead, gentle, lingering. She closed her eyes and let out a long, shaky breath, shoulders finally loosening.
We stayed like that, just looking at each other, hands clasped, the room smelling of sex and sweat, both of us too raw to speak more yet, but neither of us letting go.


My wife’s fingers tightened around mine. She took a slow breath, then spoke again, voice still rough and small.
“Can you help me sit up? My legs feel weak.”
I nodded. I slid one arm behind her shoulders and the other under her knees, careful of the mess between her thighs, and helped her sit on the edge of the bed. The white petticoat fell a little but stayed bunched around her waist. She winced softly as she moved, then leaned her head against my shoulder. Her bare breasts pressed lightly against my arm. She didn’t try to cover them.
“I can still feel him,” she whispered. “Inside. It’s… strange.”
I didn’t answer right away. My hand moved in slow circles on her back. The heat in my cock had finally started to fade, leaving behind a dull ache and the heavier mix of relief and guilt. I pressed my lips to the top of her head.
“The boys are safe,” I said quietly. “That’s what matters tonight.”
She nodded against my shoulder. A few more tears slipped out, silent. She wiped them with the back of her free hand, then looked up at me. Her eyes were tired, searching.
“Do you still want me? After this?”
The question sat between us. I looked at her—flushed, messy, vulnerable, the woman I had watched fall apart under another man—and felt the answer clearly.
“Yes.”
She let out a shaky breath and closed her eyes again, resting against me. Outside, the street was quiet. Inside, we stayed on the edge of the bed, her head on my shoulder, my arm around her, neither of us ready to move yet, both of us holding on.


We stayed like that for a while, her head resting on my shoulder, my arm around her back. The room was quiet except for our breathing. Eventually she shifted, wincing a little as she moved her thighs together. The mess between them had started to cool. She looked down at herself, then at me, cheeks still faintly pink.
“I need to clean up,” she said softly. “Can you… stay with me?”
“Yes.”
I helped her stand. Her legs were unsteady. She leaned on me as we walked slowly to the bathroom. I turned on the tap and wet a towel with warm water. She stood in front of me, the white petticoat still loose around her waist, and let me wipe her gently—first her inner thighs, then carefully between her legs. She flinched once when the cloth touched her sensitive pussy, then relaxed. Her hands rested on my shoulders for balance. Neither of us spoke while I cleaned her. When I finished she took the towel from me and wiped my hands too, her touch light.
Back in the bedroom she pulled the white petticoat off completely and dropped it on the floor. She stood naked for a moment, looking at the rumpled bed, then turned to me.
“Lie down with me?”
I nodded. We got into bed together. She curled on her side facing me, one leg dbangd over mine, her head on my chest. My arm went around her. Her skin was warm. She was quiet for a long time. Then her fingers traced a slow line on my stomach.
“Thank you for not leaving,” she whispered.
I tightened my arm around her and pressed my lips to her hair.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She let out a long breath and closed her eyes. Outside, a dog barked once in the distance. Inside, we lay still, her body tucked against mine, the weight of the night settling over both of us as sleep finally began to pull at the edges.


My wife’s breathing slowly evened out against my chest, but she wasn’t fully asleep. Her fingers kept moving in small, absent circles on my stomach. After a while she spoke again, voice low and tired.
“When I saw you at the window… I thought you would hate me. But you came inside. You held my hand. You told me to enjoy it.”
I stared at the ceiling. The memory of her eyes finding mine while Dharma was inside her was still sharp.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” I said quietly. “You were already doing it for the boys. I didn’t want you to feel alone in it.”
She was silent for a moment. Then she shifted closer, her bare breasts pressing against my side, one thigh sliding higher over mine.
“It felt good,” she admitted, almost ashamed. “Even while I was looking at you. Especially while I was looking at you. I don’t understand it.”
My arm tightened around her. A dull heat stirred again low in my stomach, but I didn’t act on it. I just kept holding her.
“You don’t have to understand it tonight.”
She nodded against my chest. Her hand stilled. We lay there in the dark, her body warm and naked against mine, the smell of sex still faint on her skin, both of us awake but no longer speaking. Outside, the night stayed quiet. Inside, her heartbeat was steady under my palm, and for the first time since Dharma had walked through our door, the fear had finally loosened its grip.


We lay in the dark, her head on my chest, my arm around her. The silence stretched. My heart was beating harder than it should have. I took a breath and spoke before I could stop myself.
“I enjoyed it.”
My wife went still against me. She lifted her head slowly and looked at my face in the low light. Her eyes were wide, searching.
“What?”
“Watching him with you,” I said, voice low. “Seeing you… respond. Hearing you. I hated it and I loved it at the same time. I couldn’t look away. Even when you saw me. Especially then.”
She stared at me for a long moment. Then the corner of her mouth twitched. A small, tired smile appeared, disbelieving.
“You enjoyed it?” she repeated, almost laughing under her breath. “My husband, who gets angry if the vegetable man looks at me too long… enjoyed watching another man fuck me?”
Heat rushed to my face. I looked away, but she caught my chin and turned me back.
“You’re blushing,” she said, softer now, teasing. “Rajesh… you were hard the whole time, weren’t you? Even when you were holding my hand and telling me to enjoy it.”
“Yes.”
She let out a quiet, breathy laugh and dropped her forehead against my shoulder, shoulders shaking once.
“I can’t believe it. All these years you’ve been so possessive… and tonight you sat there brushing my hair while he was inside me, and you liked it.”
She lifted her head again, eyes warmer now, still amused, still a little shy.
“You’re terrible,” she whispered, but she was smiling. “And I’m… glad you told me.”
She settled back against my chest, one hand resting over my heart, the teasing fading into something gentler. I held her tighter, face still warm, the confession hanging between us, strangely lighter than I had expected.


My wife’s voice was quiet in the dark, but the words landed clearly.
“I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. The way he kissed me, the way he… used his mouth, the way his cock felt when he was deep inside me. I kept trying not to, but my body wanted it. And when I saw you watching, it made everything stronger.”
A hot, ugly twist of jealousy moved through my chest. Anger followed right behind it—anger at Dharma, at the situation, at myself for how hard I had been the entire time. My jaw tightened. I didn’t speak. Instead I sat up and started pulling my clothes off. Shirt first, then I shoved my trousers and underwear the rest of the way down and kicked them off the bed. I lay back down naked beside her, cock already half-hard again from her words and from the anger burning under my skin.
She watched me, eyes wide in the low light. She didn’t move away.
“Rajesh…”
“Keep talking,” I said, voice rough. My hand settled on her waist, fingers pressing in. “Tell me exactly what you liked.”
She swallowed. Her hand came to rest on my bare chest, tentative. She could feel how tense I was.
“I liked when he sucked my breasts until I couldn’t think. I liked how thick he felt when he first pushed in. I liked… cumming on his cock while you were holding my hand. I’m sorry. I know it hurts you. But you asked me not to hold back.”
My cock hardened fully at her confession. The jealousy and anger didn’t fade; they mixed with the heat until I couldn’t separate them. I rolled toward her, naked body pressing against hers, and looked down at her face.
“And now?” I asked, low. “What do you want now?”
She met my eyes, cheeks flushed again, and didn’t look away.

[novelistcasanova]

I pushed her onto her back and moved over her. My cock was hard, flushed, aching with the jealousy still burning in my chest. She looked up at me, eyes wide, and opened her legs without being told. I grabbed both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. With the other I guided my cock to her pussy. She was still wet and open from Dharma. I pushed in hard, one deep stroke, burying myself completely.

She cried out, back arching off the bed.
“Ahh—!”
I didn’t give her time to adjust. I pulled back and slammed in again, hips snapping, the wet sound sharp in the quiet room. My grip on her wrists tightened. I looked down at her face, voice low and rough.
“You liked how deep he was? Then feel this.”
Her pussy clenched around me. She bit her lip, cheeks flushed, but she didn’t try to pull her hands free. Her legs shifted wider. I kept the pace hard and steady, cock driving deep with every thrust, watching her take it.
“Mmm… Rajesh… ahh…”
She moaned my name, breathless, body rocking under mine. I stayed buried on the next stroke, grinding hard, letting her feel every inch while the anger and heat twisted together inside me.


I released her wrists and grabbed her hips instead, fingers digging in as I yanked her onto my cock with every thrust. The pace stayed hard, deep, relentless. Her breasts bounced with the force of it. She reached up and clutched my forearms, nails biting into my skin, but she didn’t push me away. Her pussy gripped me tightly, still slick and swollen.
“Tell me again,” I said, voice rough, hips slamming against hers. “Tell me how much you liked his cock.”
Her face flushed darker. She moaned, back arching, eyes half-closed.
“I liked it… ahh… I liked how thick he felt… mmm… but you’re fucking me harder… ohh…”
The words fed the jealousy. I drove in deeper, grinding at the end of each stroke so she felt me fully. She cried out, legs wrapping around my waist, heels pressing into my back, pulling me in even as I punished her.
“Ahh… Rajesh… yes… like that… don’t stop…”
Her moans grew louder, more broken. She met my thrusts now, hips lifting, taking every rough stroke. I watched her face, the flush, the way her lips stayed parted, the pleasure mixing with the way she still answered me. My cock throbbed inside her, anger and heat driving me harder, but I held back from the edge, keeping the pace punishing and steady.


I flipped her onto her stomach without pulling out, then yanked her hips up so she was on her knees. I grabbed a handful of her hair and pushed back in hard, cock driving deep from behind. She cried out into the pillow, back arching, ass raised for me. The new angle let me fuck her even deeper, each thrust sharp and punishing.
“You came on his cock while I watched,” I said against her ear, voice tight, hips snapping. “Now you’re going to take every bit of this.”
She moaned, loud and broken, fingers clutching the sheet. Her pussy clenched hard around me with every stroke.
“Yes… ahh… I did… ohh… punish me… mmm… harder…”
I pulled her hair just enough to lift her head, making her feel the control, and slammed in faster. The wet sound of her pussy taking my cock filled the room. Her breasts swayed beneath her. She pushed back against me, meeting the rough thrusts, voice shaking.
“Ahh… Rajesh… it feels so deep like this… ohh… don’t stop…”
Jealousy burned hotter with every word. I kept the pace brutal and steady, cock throbbing inside her, watching her ass ripple with each thrust, feeling her tighten and tremble but not letting either of us finish yet. She stayed on her knees, taking it, moaning my name into the dark.


I kept her on her knees, one hand tight in her hair, the other gripping her hip as I fucked her hard and deep from behind. My cock drove into her pussy with sharp, punishing thrusts, the wet sound louder now, her ass rippling every time I slammed in. She was moaning continuously, voice breaking, pushing back to meet me.
“You’re close,” I said, rough against her ear. “I can feel you squeezing me. You going to cum on my cock this time?”
She nodded frantically, face pressed to the pillow, then turned her head enough to speak, breathless and shaky.
“Yes… ahh… I’m close… ohh… please… don’t stop… make me cum… mmm…”
I yanked her hair a little harder and angled my hips, grinding deep so every thrust rubbed her just right. Her whole body started to tremble. Her pussy fluttered and clenched around my cock, tighter and tighter. She cried out, back arching hard, thighs shaking.
“Ahh… Rajesh… ohh… I’m gonna… ahh… so close…”
I didn’t let up. I kept the pace brutal and steady, cock throbbing inside her, driving her right to the edge and holding her there. She shook beneath me, moaning my name, pussy gripping me desperately, right on the verge, while I stayed in control, jealousy and heat still burning as I fucked her through the build-up.
I kept the hard, deep pace, cock driving into her from behind, one hand in her hair, the other locked on her hip. Her pussy clenched tight around me, thighs shaking, moans turning into broken cries.
“Cum for me,” I said, voice rough. “Now.”
She shattered. Her back arched hard, a sharp cry tearing out of her as her pussy spasmed and pulsed around my cock, cumming in strong waves.
“Ahh—Rajesh—ohh—mmm…!”
The tight, rhythmic squeezing pushed me over. I slammed in deep and stayed there, grinding hard as I came, cock throbbing, filling her with thick spurts while she shook and moaned beneath me. I held her hips tight, riding it out, jealousy and release crashing together until I was spent.
I stayed buried inside her for a long moment, both of us panting, her body still trembling with aftershocks. Slowly I loosened my grip on her hair and leaned over her back, chest against her, breathing hard against her shoulder. She reached back and rested her hand on my thigh, weak but holding on.
Neither of us spoke. The room was quiet except for our breathing. I was still inside her, cock softening, her pussy fluttering occasionally around me, the anger finally easing into something heavier and quieter as we stayed like that in the dark.
I slowly pulled out and lay down beside her. She turned onto her side to face me, still breathing hard, skin flushed and damp. For a moment she just looked at me. Then a small, tired smile touched her lips.
“That was… great,” she said softly. Her voice was hoarse. “Really great. You haven’t fucked me like that in years.”
She reached out and rested her hand on my chest, fingers tracing lightly over my skin.
“My husband is back to form,” she added, the smile growing a little. There was relief in her eyes, and something warmer. “I missed this. I missed you wanting me this much.”
I covered her hand with mine. The jealousy had cooled into a dull ache, but the satisfaction of having her like this—marked by me again, looking at me like that—sat heavier. I pulled her closer until her head rested on my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I’m back.”
She let out a long breath and curled against me, one leg sliding over mine. Her body was warm and loose. Neither of us spoke for a while. Outside, the night stayed still. Inside, she stayed pressed to me, her hand over my heart, both of us tired and tangled together in the dark.


My wife was quiet for a moment, then a soft, unexpected laugh slipped out of her. She pressed her face against my chest, shoulders shaking lightly.
“We should probably thank Dharma,” she said, voice muffled and amused. “He fixed our sex life in one night.”
I stared at the ceiling, then let out a short, rough laugh of my own. The absurdity of it hit me all at once.
“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks, Dharma. Appreciate the help.”
She laughed harder, the sound warm against my skin. I felt her smile. She lifted her head and looked at me, eyes still tired but brighter now.
“I’m serious. You haven’t touched me like that in so long. If he hadn’t shown up…” She trailed off, then shook her head, still smiling. “This is insane.”
“Completely insane,” I agreed.
We both laughed again, quieter this time, the tension of the night finally cracking. She settled back against me, her arm dbangd over my waist, and I held her closer. The laughter faded into soft breaths. For the first time in hours, the room felt almost normal—just the two of us, naked and exhausted, sharing a ridiculous, private joke in the dark.


My wife suddenly sat up a little, eyes widening.
“We forgot to call the boys.”
I reached for my phone on the side table. It was late, but I dialed Manish anyway. He picked up on the second ring, voice alert.
“Dad? Everything okay?”
“Yes,” I said. I glanced at my wife and winked. She pressed a hand over her mouth, shoulders already shaking with silent laughter. “We spoke to Dharma. It’s settled. You can all come back in the morning. Take the first bus.”
“Really? He agreed?”
“He did. Just stay out of trouble from now on. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Thanks, Dad. Tell Mom we’re fine.”
I hung up. My wife burst out laughing the moment the call ended, falling back against the pillow.
“You winked,” she said, grinning. “While telling our son we ‘discussed’ it with Dharma.”
“Well, we did discuss it,” I said, mouth twitching. “Extensively.”
She laughed harder, then curled into me again, still smiling.
“They’re coming in the morning,” she said, softer now. “Everything’s okay.”
I put the phone aside and pulled her close. She rested her head on my chest, the laughter fading into a contented sigh. We lay there, the worst of the night behind us, our sons safe and on their way home, her warm and naked against me in the quiet dark.


My wife yawned against my chest, the sound soft and tired. Her body had gone heavy and loose against mine. I reached over and switched off the bedside lamp. The room fell into darkness.
“Sleep,” I said quietly.
“Mmm. You too.”
She shifted closer, one arm dbangd over my waist, her bare leg still tangled with mine. I pulled the sheet up over both of us. Her breathing slowed within minutes, warm and even against my skin. I lay awake a little longer, one hand resting on her back, feeling the steady rise and fall. The house was silent. Outside, nothing moved.
Eventually my eyes closed. The last thing I felt was her warmth pressed to me and the quiet relief that the night was finally over. We slept.



The boys returned the next morning, tired from the bus but smiling when they saw us. My wife hugged each of them tightly. I stood beside her, one hand on her waist, and felt nothing but relief.
In the weeks that followed, something in me had shifted. I no longer burned with anger when other men looked at her. When we went out and eyes followed the sway of her saree, I felt a quiet, private heat instead. I liked that they wanted her. I liked knowing she would come home with me.
And at home, I wanted her constantly. We fucked regularly again—sometimes slow and close, sometimes rough and hungry, often with her telling me, blushing, about the looks she had gotten that day. She would smile against my mouth and say I was back to form. I would pull her closer and prove it.
Our sons stayed out of trouble. The house was full again. At night my wife slept naked against me, warm and satisfied, and I slept easily, no longer possessive, just glad to have her, glad to want her, glad for the strange night that had brought us back to each other.

The End

Regards 
Novelist Casanova