Adultery A Girl Chooses a Coach by misterwho

[Ramesh_Rocky]

The bare expanse of her back was absolutely fabulous. Many a man in that room felt the impulse to reach out and feel the soft, silky, sensuous inviting skin.

Aruna had shifted overseas along with her husband who worked in an IT firm and had come visiting for a family function. The banquet room was milling with all manners of relatives and friends, male and female, old and young.

But none was so daringly dressed or as beautiful or as sexy as Aruna.

"Such a simple and naïve girl she was when she was here! Look at her now!" wondered an aunt. She was the same girl who knew nothing of anything- including sex and sexuality – to the point that the same aunt, along with her mother and others had worried: 'what would happen to this girl?'

Unknown to them, Aruna had learned everything on the lap of her 'daddy-uncle' – Uncle Sudhir. She continued to sit on his lap like she did as a baby girl all through the years. Finally when she was about to get married she crossed the line.

Uncle and niece fucked. He took her virginity. She luxuriated in the sense of lust and experimented on his lap. Finally, she got married and learned more about sex with her overeager and totally inexperienced husband. She realized that Uncle Sudhir was the real thing. Then she came back to him and teased and fucked him one last time before they left for overseas.

Her taut young body, those pert breasts and the excitement of innocence mixed with naughtiness never left Sudhir's mind. But the niece-turned-minx was gone. He saw her from across the room and noted that Aruna was more woman like than before. She had not noticed him yet. Perhaps she did not remember. That, though seemed unlikely given the vigorous and intensely pleasurable sex they had together.

Aruna was of course looking to spot her 'daddy-uncle' but she was sure she would bump into him if she just went around completing her rounds of "hi"s and Hellos"s.

Some of the male cousins lingered around her, especially the younger unmarried ones. She didn't smell of perfume that any one of them had smelled before. It seemed like the perfume of her body and that conjured up intoxicating visions in the minds of the uninitiated.

The back of her blouse had just two tethers, one up near the neck and the other at the absolute bottom, giving them large expanses of her bare back to feast their eyes on. The front of her blouse was just as minimalist with just two triangular panels of cloth designed to contain her breasts – just enough. Not to cover, not to support – but just to hold and provide a modicum of modesty for a family occasion. Otherwise, in shape, cut and contours it left nothing to imagination.

As she leaned forward to talk to the elders sitting down, the blouse slung forward. Her luscious mango-breasts bulged and the sides of those slopes those men longed to lick and taste that delectable flesh which was pressed outward from the sides of that insufficient cover provided by her blouse.

And lean she did. While her chiffon saree was bunched to cover the most open parts of her breasts she managed it depending on whom she was leaning to talk to.

When amidst the conservative -which is not the same as older- she wrapped herself with the upper part of the saree. Her back was covered and that part which ran across her breasts was folded so that nothing – or not much – could be seen through the gauze-like chiffon.

But when she was amidst those who were easy to get along with, or those who she was bold enough to tease, the saree dbang slipped as if magically and unintended. Her deep cleavage and the tops and sides of her breasts were open for them.

If any old enough uncle (mama) had the gaze and the guts he could have seen her nipples gently pressed against the blouse, too, seen from the correct angle. She allowed cousins unfettered access to look down the blouse if they were standing next to her.

And then there was the waist. The front of her saree dipped below the gentle curve of her tummy, exposing navel and more flesh. When she laughed her stomach rippled and one old man imagined that ripple being caused by the workings of his tongue. In fact, when she reached across to place back her drink glass on a tray that was too far away, he watched with bated breath as the dressed dipped and the torso stretched out – and he imagined he saw the top of her pubic hairline. But he could not be sure.

The saree barely seemed to cling to her hips. Some of the more virile men wanted to hold that curve and pull her in to him. Others just watched that gentle roll of flesh bounced as she walked.

But the real action was her ass. She wore heels and she tied her saree such that her ass jutted out prominently. It rolled as she walked inviting looks, comments and lust.