Epilogue
Back in the present, the oil lamp had long since burned out. Parvati pulled me closer under the sheets, her hand resting protectively on my belly.
“You became exactly what the Goddess intended,” she whispered.
I nestled against her, content. “And I’m grateful every single day.”
It has been eight years, and Vijay has been declared dead by the government.
Parvati’s hand slid lower, tracing the curve of my belly before slipping under the thin nightie. Eight years had deepened our intimacy in ways I once could never have imagined. What began as hesitant surrender had bloomed into confident, eager submission.
I shivered as her fingers found the familiar gold mangalsutra resting between my full breasts. “My wife,” she murmured, voice husky with desire. “My good little housewife.”
That was one of our newer games — one I had come to crave. I arched into her touch, letting the heavy saree I had worn earlier that evening pool around my hips. The deep red silk still carried the faint scent of temple incense and my own arousal.
“Yes, Parvati ji,” I whispered obediently, the honorific now a sweet kink between us. I turned onto my back and spread my thighs willingly, bangles chiming softly. My body had changed again over the years — fuller hips from pregnancy, heavier breasts, and a deeper, more constant ache of need that only she could satisfy.
She reached for the thick, realistic strap-on we now kept in the bedside drawer — the same one she had used on our wedding anniversary all those years ago, now joined by a few new toys we both enjoyed. As she fastened it, I dropped to my knees on the bed like a proper devoted wife, taking her into my mouth first. I worshipped it slowly, eyes locked on hers, tongue swirling around the head while the mangalsutra swayed between my breasts. The old shame had transformed into a delicious thrill — I *loved* being her needy, cock-hungry wife.
Parvati’s hand slid around to rest possessively on my slightly softer belly — the ghost of where our second child had grown. “Imagine if I could put another one in you,” she whispered hotly against my ear, thrusting slower, deeper. “Watch your belly swell again while you serve me.”
The words sent a filthy thrill through me. I clenched hard around her, a fresh gush of wetness coating the toy.
Parvati groaned, fingers tightening in my long hair. “That’s it, Uma. Such a perfect slut for your Parvati.”
She pulled me up, positioned me on all fours, and entered me in one smooth, deep thrust. I cried out, pushing back eagerly, the slap of skin against skin mixing with the rhythmic chime of my bangles and the heavy swing of my breasts. Every thrust made the mangalsutra slap wetly against my chest — a sound that once filled me with humiliation now made me clench harder around her.
“Harder,” I gasped, voice breaking beautifully. “Claim your wife… remind me who I belong to.”
She obliged, one hand reaching around to pinch my sensitive nipple while the other held my hip. The mix of pleasure and that familiar edge of dominance sent me spiraling. I came hard, walls fluttering around the thick toy, a gush of wetness soaking the sheets as I moaned like the desperate housewife I had fully become.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, sweaty and satisfied. Parvati kissed the back of my neck, her hand gently cupping one of my breasts.
Outside, the Durga temple stood silent under the stars — guardian of curses turned blessings, and of a life I had finally learned to cherish.
Discussion (0)