Adultery Madhu's Day Out by OnlineSlut

[sarit11]

In the couple of minutes that took me to leave the station and to ascend to ground level, I had bumped into at least a dozen people, all men. Some hands had found their destination, a poke on my breasts, their momentary half-cupping, a gentle but definite nudge on my midriff, and brushes against my ass. All of them were of the smallest magnitude of time possible, in the smallest magnitude of time that was available before the act seemed too obvious. Except for the fifteen second ride on the escalator, where a man behind me whose face I didn't see, made sure that his groin was tightly pressed against my left ass cheek. Well, it would be better if I said that it was me who made sure of that.

So here I was, at the inner circle of the main market. I smiled into my watch, it was exactly noon.

I looked around to see a plethora of high-end shops, offices, showrooms of the biggest brands, leading coffee chains and eateries. But that was not my mind focussed on. It was looking at the roadside vendors, people who sold things on the roadside, either wandering around or sitting on a thin cloth with all their items on display. Even though it was the high-end market area of the capital, it was inevitably splattered with such vendors, a ubiquitous sight all over India. They formed almost a complete ring inside the inner circle of this market, sitting opposite to and facing the elite shops, almost as if daring them.

These shops were manned by men from the lower classes. Those who lived on the edge of the pompous city's outer circle made their living by selling cheap items on the inner circle of its most glorious bazaar. They were the –w,.'s, the book-w,.', the ice cream-w,.', the jewellery-w,.', the mehendi-w,.', and so on. Then they were other men, the homeless people, and the beggars, those who made their living scavenging on the rich environment. And then there were those men who just came to the bustling market to enjoy the sight and feel of the lovely high-class ladies who wandered about the place.

It was these three categories of men, present in abundance, which brought water in my mouth.

"How much is this book for?" I asked the book-w,.', pointing at a random book among the many spread out on the pavement. He was a dark fat middle-aged man who was sitting alongside his 'shop' of second-hand or stolen books.

"Fifty," he replied, eyeing me up and down, and I was sure he was imagining me naked.

"And what about that?" I pointed at another random book, now almost kneeling down on one knee to properly see the books.

He did not reply. I knew he wouldn't. Because now in my almost kneeling down position, I was bent slightly forwards, making my kurta fall away from my body. I looked up at him and saw his eyes looking down my hanging kurta, at my cleavage.

"How much?" I asked again, in a louder voice.

"That too fifty," he replied, diverting his eyes away in a jerk.

Again, I pointed at another book. But he couldn't make out which book I was asking for.

"Which one are you asking for, madam?" he asked.

"Oh God! That one, can't you see?" I said in a slightly irritated voice, bending down even more to point at a book at the far end.

"Can't you see?" I scolded him, making sure that I stayed in that bend down position.

"Yes madam I can see," he said. I looked at him. He was not looking in the direction in which I was pointing but instead right down my kurta. Now that I was bending down more than before, I was sure he could see my deep cleavage, along with the top of my milky-white breasts covered by the cusps of my striking black bra.

"What?" I asked.

"Fifty, that too fifty," he said, this time not bothering to divert his gaze away.