14-05-2025, 10:01 PM
Billing counter was quiet.
Two dress, the tighter one and other one.
Folded neatly.
Packed in a shiny white bag.
Anusha gave her card.
I looked at her once.
She smiled.
Tight smile.
I asked, "I asked why are you, buying tighter one?"
She said, “No. It’s for you.”
I blinked.
“What?”
She turned her head toward me.
Eyes calm.
Bright.
Serious.
“You’re my only friend, Pavi.”
My throat went still.
I didn’t answer for one second.
Then I looked down.
At the bag.
At her fingers holding it.
Then back at her face.
She wasn’t joking.
She meant it.
The heat that came into my chest that second?
It wasn’t from the AC.
It was something else.
Something proud.
Something tender.
I didn’t argue again.
I just nodded.
And smiled.
That small type of smile that holds too much.
--------------------------------------------------------
Auto ride back.
We sat close again.
No space between.
Her hip was pressed to mine.
My saree was thick, cotton.
Her chudi was thin.
Soft.
Our thighs brushed slightly with every speed bump.
Her shoulder rested against mine for a few seconds.
Then moved.
Then came back again.
We didn’t speak.
But we were breathing the same air.
And every time the wind came in from the side?
My braid lifted softly.
Touched her cheek.
She didn’t move away.
And I didn’t apologise.
I just smiled quietly to myself.
--------------------------------------------------------
We reached.
Paid.
Stepped out.
Sun was sharp again.
My slippers clicked gently on the tiles.
We walked toward the gate.
Prakash was standing there again.
Same post.
Same eyes.
I didn’t turn my face.
Didn’t greet.
But I felt him.
His eyes.
Sticking to my saree.
Dragging along my waist.
Climbing the pallu.
Stopping at my braid.
That filthy, quiet stare.
But I walked past him like wind.
Not even dust can touch me now.
Only inside?
One small voice laughed —
“Watch, dog. You’re time not today.”
--------------------------------------------------------
Lift door opened.
We stepped in.
She looked at me.
Softly.
Shy.
But bold.
“Come pavi, let’s go to my flat for five minutes.”
I didn’t even think.
Just said, “Okay.”
And stayed.
--------------------------------------------------------
Her flat was on the right side.
Same floor.
We walked in.
Her door opened.
Warm air inside.
Not fan.
Just that sweet, homely air.
The room smelled of rose perfume.
And washing powder.
Few soft cushions on the sofa.
A small blanket folded and kept near TV.
Her slippers slipped off with a soft sound.
She stepped in lightly.
I entered behind her.
Then she closed the door.
And turned the latch.
I paused.
Turned my head slightly.
She was right behind me.
Close.
I heard her breath.
Near my braid.
Then I felt it.
--------------------------------------------------------
Her hands touched my waist.
Then wrapped fully.
She hugged me from behind.
Tight.
Her chudi fabric pressed against my blouse.
I felt her full.
Her breasts against my back.
Soft.
Round.
They settled in perfectly, like puzzle.
Her stomach touched my waist.
Her thighs behind mine.
The heat of her skin passed through the layers.
I froze slightly.
But not out of fear.
Out of weight.
That silent weight of another body surrendering behind you.
Then…
She bent her face.
And pressed her lips on the back of my neck.
--------------------------------------------------------
It was slow.
Not loud.
Just one soft kiss.
Right on my sweaty neck — the spot where my braid had been resting all day.
Her lips were cool.
Then warm.
Then cool again.
I shivered.
Her mouth moved gently.
Pressed again.
Another kiss.
Just below the first one.
Her breath came hot between each kiss.
It touched my skin.
Made the tiny hairs on my nape stand.
My blouse shifted slightly.
The back neck was loose.
The braid moved a bit.
Swung to one side.
And her lips explored the open space left behind.
I didn’t move.
I just felt.
--------------------------------------------------------
My body reacted before my thoughts.
My breasts inside the bra tightened.
Nipples hard again.
Pressed against the blouse.
Painfully soft.
My thighs were clenching now.
Not wide.
Not open.
Just one slow pressure pulling inward.
My lips parted slightly.
Just to breathe.
My spine felt hot.
From neck to lower back.
Her hands were still around my waist.
Fingers pressing gently.
Possessive.
Like she didn’t want to let go.
But not rough.
Still innocent.
Still warm.
--------------------------------------------------------
Emotion came in strange ways.
A little pride.
That she wanted me.
A little guilt.
That I was letting her.
A little thrill.
That the door was locked.
And her body was fully behind mine.
Our hips aligned.
Her breasts resting softly against my back.
And my heart?
It had stopped beating normal.
It was pulsing in my ears.
In my breasts.
In that place deep inside.
Where sweat had already started collecting again.
--------------------------------------------------------
Her lips came lower now.
Almost near shoulder.
Still kissing.
Still slow.
Still breathy.
That moment was holding itself.
Not asking to move forward.
Just living there.
Between two bodies.
Two women.
Two silences.
--------------------------------------------------------
I turned slowly.
My braid slid over my shoulder.
The kisses had stopped now.
But the heat was still there — behind me, inside me.
When I faced her, she was already close.
Eyes lifted.
Face soft.
We stood chest-to-chest.
My blouse touched her chudi.
I could feel her breath on my lips.
We didn’t talk.
Just stood like that.
Her hand was still touching my waist.
I lifted mine.
Placed it slowly on her shoulder.
Then around her back.
I hugged her.
Gently.
Our bodies came full together.
Stomach to stomach.
Breast to breast.
I could feel her softness against mine.
I took one breath in.
It got stuck halfway.
She held tighter.
Then I asked softly, “Why are you doing this, Anusha?”
--------------------------------------------------------
She whispered.
Straight.
Honest.
“Your skin is soft, Pavi… I wanted to touch you.”
I smiled.
Laughed once under my breath.
“You too…”, I whispered.
Then I tilted my head, “But what you’ll get touching me? You should be touching your boyfriend, no?”
She smiled.
Eyes clear.
“I have boyfriend, Pavi,” she said, “but he’s not in Chennai…”
Her hand was still on my waist.
She added softly, “...or maybe he’s not this much soft.”
I laughed again.
Still holding her.
“Still… what would you get touching me?”
She looked down.
Then whispered, “I don’t know… I just want to touch.”
I raised one eyebrow.
“What’s in that touch?”
She didn’t answer for one second.
Then said, “No idea. Soft.”
Paused.
Then added, “After that temple queue… after touched your hip…. I couldn’t forget.”
I looked at her fully now.
“So now you want to touch and hug, ah?”
She smiled.
Nodded slowly.
Didn’t blink.
I let my hands drop to her waist.
Held her gently.
Then said softly…
“Fine. Come.”
--------------------------------------------------------
She stepped closer.
There was no gap now.
Only heat and breath.
Her right hand moved.
Touched my waistline.
I felt her fingers slowly sliding over the blouse border.
Then slipping under.
Cool touch.
Bare skin.
She pressed gently on my stomach.
Then circled her finger softly.
My navel caught her fingertip.
It twitched slightly.
Her finger dipped in.
Then out.
Playing softly.
I inhaled.
The blouse lifted slightly with her movement.
My saree pallu shifted, sliding off one side of my chest.
Her hand was still circling my navel.
I couldn’t speak.
My breath had changed — small, open gasps through my lips.
My thighs were closing slowly.
Clenching.
The panty inside was damp again.
My knees felt loose.
Her body was still full against mine.
--------------------------------------------------------
Then she leaned forward.
Tilted her head.
And placed one small kiss…
On my chin.
Her lips were warm.
Soft.
Wet.
The kiss was not strong.
Just enough to make me feel it.
I closed my eyes for one second.
And that moment?
That second?
I felt something strange.
Something slow.
A leak.
Inside the panty.
Not urine.
Not sweat.
It was that wetness.
That slow drip that only comes when the body is feeling too much.
I moaned softly.
Not even realising it came out.
Just one sound.
Like breath breaking.
She didn’t stop.
--------------------------------------------------------
She bent down.
Slow.
Very slow.
Her face came to my waist.
She moved the pallu to one side.
Pushed it gently.
Then touched her lips to my navel.
Direct.
Wet kiss.
Her mouth pressed deep.
She kissed it once.
Firmly.
Her lips stayed there.
Breathing.
The moist skin of her mouth made my stomach jump slightly.
My waist jerked.
Her nose brushed the bottom curve of my stomach.
Her hair touched my hips.
She was still holding my waist.
And my body?
Was giving up.
My legs softened.
My chest was rising too fast.
My hands were shaking a little.
My panty was soaked now.
My skin was full of sweat.
And inside my heart?
I was falling.
No thoughts.
No control.
Only heat.
Only ache.
Only this girl at my stomach.
Worshipping.
Owning.
Loving.
--------------------------------------------------------
Trriingggg...
My phone rang.
--------------------------------------------------------
The phone rang loud near the sofa.
My body jerked.
Anusha lifted her head from my navel, her hair brushing my stomach one last time.
I took a breath.
Picked up the phone with trembling fingers.
Kartik.
I cleared my throat once.
Answered.
“Haan?”
His voice came flat.
Courier had come.
My credit card renewed.
He gave the OTP fast, didn’t even ask how I was.
Then cut the call.
I stood there, blouse wet near my waist, my panty soaked with something that wasn’t just sweat.
My knees were still loose.
Anusha was looking at me from down, her eyes full.
Waiting.
Wanting.
But I had to go.
--------------------------------------------------------
I bent slightly.
Lifted her face with one hand.
Kissed her softly on her chin.
Her lips parted a little.
I whispered.
“You come and touch me whenever you want, okay?”
She didn’t speak.
Just nodded once.
Like a girl who got permission to sin.
I smiled.
Then pulled my pallu properly over my chest.
Tucked it once.
Adjusted my saree crease.
“I need to run down. Courier.”
She stepped back.
Still quiet.
I opened the door.
Walked out.
--------------------------------------------------------
Inside the lift, I leaned on the wall.
Closed my eyes for one second.
My navel was still wet from her kiss.
My panty was pressing damp between my thighs — the soft hair down there was sticky now.
I breathed in.
Shaky breath.
Anusha’s fingers…
Her lips…
That kiss on my stomach…
It had set a fire.
Not outside.
Inside.
A slow burn.
A curl of heat sitting deep in my lower belly.
And it was not going away.
“I need something to turn this off now…” I told myself.
But what?
Anusha can’t finish what she starts.
And Arjun?
He’s not home.
Not now.
My thighs rubbed softly as I stood.
I pressed my back to the lift wall.
Closed my eyes again.
Tried to think of something clean.
But all I could feel was her mouth on my skin.
My breath was still not steady.
My heart?
It was beating wrong.
Not in chest.
But low.
Between.
Like something was begging.
Whispering.
--------------------------------------------------------
The lift opened.
Ground floor.
I stepped out.
Cool air hit my face.
I walked toward the security gate slowly.
Looked around.
No Prakash.
Just one courier boy in blue.
Thin moustache.
I asked.
“Is any courier came for in the name of kartik?”
He nodded.
He handed the cover.
I checked.
Yes.
Bank seal.
He showed the app screen.
“OTP, madam.”
I typed the 6-digit code Kartik gave.
Beep.
Done.
He thanked.
Started walking out.
I turned slowly.
But something in my eyes caught the side.
--------------------------------------------------------
Electric room.
The door was half-open.
Light was on inside.
I paused.
Just looked.
And inside…
Prakash.
Wires in his hand.
Box open.
Screwdriver hanging from his lips.
Sweat on his neck.
He didn’t see me.
He was busy doing something.
Fixing.
Bending.
I just stood there.
Watching.
Then a voice inside my body whispered.
That same slow voice that came in temple queue.
“What if…”
My hand gripped the card tighter.
I looked around.
Left.
Right.
Nobody.
I missed the small black camera near pillar.
I took a slow breath.
Then stepped toward the electric room.
One step.
Two.
Three.
The floor was warm.
My petticoat string shifted on my waist with each step.
My chest was breathing different.
My fingers were shaking slightly.
But not from fear.
From that unfinished kiss.
From that unburnt fire.
From that queen’s hunger that no one knows about.
--------------------------------------------------------
I stepped inside.
Cooler air.
Dusty smell.
Machine sound.
Prakash still had his back to me.
I looked at him once.
Then turned.
Held the door.
And closed it.
Softly.
Then slowly turned the latch.
Locked.
Silence.
Just me.
And my dog.
--------------------------------------------------------
The electric room smelled of dust and old wires.
Warm inside.
Not suffocating… just that stale, sweaty air.
I stepped in fully.
The door clicked behind me.
My slippers scratched the floor — dry, gritty.
Prakash’s back was facing me.
Bent near the meter box.
His shirt was loose and sweaty — wet patch under the arms, brown collar.]
He hadn’t seen me yet.
He was busy, like a dog digging in some garbage hole.
I held the courier envelope.
Stepped closer.
There was a small concrete shelf under the sealed window.
I placed the envelope down softly.
My fingers were trembling.
But not from fear.
My chest was breathing harder now.
Not loud.
But deep.
I looked at his backside once more.
Then without thinking…
Without warning…
I reached forward.
Between his legs.
--------------------------------------------------------
My hand slid right between his thighs.
From behind.
His pants were loose — thin fabric, dirty cotton.
I pressed my fingers.
Direct.
Right on that spot.
That thick, fat thing.
I felt it under the cloth.
My fingertips pressed deep.
It was heavy.
Soft.
But not small.
Wide.
That round shape came fully under my palm.
It was hot.
Like it was breathing.
The cloth was damp.
I pressed once more.
Just to feel the whole weight.
Then—
His body jerked violently.
--------------------------------------------------------
“Arrey!” he shouted, twisting.
His whole body jumped forward like someone shocked him.
And me?
I lost balance.
His backside hit my front.
My hip slid backward.
My foot slipped slightly on the dust.
And—
I fell.
--------------------------------------------------------
First my elbow hit the floor.
Hard.
A small scratch.
Then my back landed — right over the dusty tiles.
Thud.
My saree pleats spread wide, opening like a fan under me.
The fall pulled my pallu down over my stomach.
My blouse lifted slightly from the back.
My butt hit hard.
Dust came up in small clouds around me.
I gasped.
More shocked than hurt.
The petticoat got twisted.
My whole hip was open and exposed in that sitting position.
One thigh bent.
The other stretched out.
I could feel the floor heat through the saree.
The sweat on my spine mixed with the dirt now.
I sat there.
Blinking.
Breathing heavy.
The elbow pain was sharp, but not serious.
My ego?
Burning.
--------------------------------------------------------
I looked up at him.
Still squatting near the meters, looking confused.
I shouted.
Loud.
From the ground.
“Are you mad or what?!”
He turned.
Eyes big.
I pointed at my saree.
“See! My whole saree got dirty now!”
He stepped forward nervously.
I didn’t let him talk.
“Why you jumped like electric shock hit you?”
“No control on body also now? I thought only eyes are the problem”
“My back is full dust now, idiot!”
“You don’t know who’s behind you?”
“If you jump like this in bedroom, your wife will run away!”
He stood frozen.
Hands by his side.
I rubbed my elbow.
Still sitting.
“You’re worse than my washing machine!”
“Seriously! How are you even working in this society?”
He bent slightly.
“Tch… sorry madam… you okay?”
I ignored his sorry.
Held my hand out.
He bent down.
Held my wrist.
--------------------------------------------------------
His palm was thick and hot.
Rough fingers.
Dry calluses.
But his grip was strong.
He pulled me up slowly.
My saree rubbed against his leg as I stood.
My blouse was still slightly lifted in the back.
His touch didn’t shake me.
But my thighs felt something again.
Some deep pulse from earlier.
I brushed off the dust from my butt, petticoat, and pleats.
Angrily.
Looked down at my hip.
“Shit, full red mark now,” I muttered.
Still scolding, I turned to him again.
“Why the hell you jerked like that?!”
He scratched his head.
Looked nervous.
“Madam… just noting all flat electricity meter counts,” he mumbled.
“Part of duty… daily record.”
I stared at him.
He looked small now.
Ugly.
Shirt was filthy.
Pants stained.
Face oily.
Hair dry and stiff.
But something about it...
That filth…
That sweat…
That powerless dog energy…
It made something inside me twitch.
A low, dirty hunger that had no manners.
No logic.
Just heat.
And memory.
Of lips on my skin.
Of thighs burning for relief.
Of my queen-throne waiting to be claimed.
--------------------------------------------------------
His eyes were still on me.
That same dirty stare.
Even after I had shouted. Even after I had fallen like a fool and scratched my elbow.
Still staring.
My back was aching slightly now — from that fall. Some dust had slipped inside my blouse too, itching near the hooks. My pleats were loose. My ass was still stinging where it had hit the floor.
But my eyes?
Burning.
That fire came back inside me. The same temple fire. The same one from the tank. The one that doesn’t cool down with bath or soap or saree change.
Only one thing can cool it.
I stepped close to him. No shame. No pause.
Just rage.
Just power.
--------------------------------------------------------
My hips brushed the side of the metal board. My saree pallu was half fallen from my shoulder, my waist was still dusty, but I didn’t fix anything.
He was looking down now — maybe to escape my eyes. Maybe to hide his guilt. I didn’t care.
I stepped in closer.
Right into his space.
The gap between us melted.
His chest was only two fingers from my shoulder.
His breath came hot — I could feel it hitting just below my neck.
I raised my face slightly.
Then said it.
Straight.
Dirty.
--------------------------------------------------------
“Why did you stare at me when I was walking with my neighbour?”
No reply.
I moved one step closer — our hips brushed once.
Still he kept quiet.
I tilted my head.
“Next time I catch you staring like that — I’ll pull out your eyes and feed them to pigs. You want that?”
His whole body flinched.
Good.
--------------------------------------------------------
I didn’t move away. My hand was still near my waist. Saree crease half untucked from the fall, my petticoat string had become a little loose.
But my face?
Still tight.
I asked again, slower this time — voice low like poison.
“Tell me… anyone will come inside?”
He cleared his throat, eyes still avoiding mine.
“No, madam… only for staff. No kids, no residents.”
I licked my bottom lip slowly. My mouth was dry, but my body was wet inside. Between my breasts, under my arms, behind my knees — the sweat was creeping again.
I raised my eyebrow.
“Any staff?”
He said quick:
“No madam. I’m the only one inside. Nobody going to come”
--------------------------------------------------------
I smiled.
Soft.
But not sweet.
That queen smile.
The one that comes when I know no one can stop me.
And then — I grabbed his dick.
--------------------------------------------------------
Straight.
From front.
My full palm.
Over the dirty fabric of his pants — thick, soft cotton — my fingers pushed in deep. Right on it.
That disgusting cock.
That same black snake that ruined me on the terrace.
Now in my hand again.
And I squeezed it.
Hard.
--------------------------------------------------------
His body twitched.
A soft moan escaped his lips.
He tried to bite it back.
But I heard.
That sound wasn’t pain.
It was pleasure.
I twisted it once — my wrist turning sharp, the dick under the cloth bending slightly.
My fingers couldn’t close properly — the size was too big. Even through the pants, it was fat and heavy. I could feel the heat, the shape, the pulse.
It was alive.
It was waiting.
And it was mine again.
--------------------------------------------------------
I leaned forward — my mouth near his ear now.
My chest brushed his upper arm softly.
My saree blouse was still slightly loose from the back, and I could feel the strap biting into my shoulder.
But I didn’t care.
I whispered into his skin:
“Tell me,.. did you fuck your wife with my face in your head?”
His mouth opened.
But only breath came out.
Then he forced it.
“No madam…”
My grip tightened.
My lips touched his earlobe slightly when I asked next:
“Why not?”
His body shifted once — I felt his thigh move. But he didn’t pull away.
He just whispered, like a small boy caught stealing:
“I… I can’t remove you from my mind…”
--------------------------------------------------------
I laughed.
Not softly.
Low.
Cruel.
Dirty laugh.
The kind that tastes good in throat.
Then — without warning — I slapped him.
--------------------------------------------------------
CHHATT!
My right palm hit his cheek flat. The sound echoed in that small electric room. My hand stung slightly — dry sweat sticking on his skin.
His head turned from the impact.
But he didn’t protest.
Didn’t speak.
I raised my hand again.
“Tell me properly. How many times you masturbated thinking of me?”
He looked down.
No answer.
Another slap.
CHHHATTT!!
Louder this time. My ring made a soft cut on his jawline. His body jerked. His eyes closed tight.
Still no answer.
--------------------------------------------------------
I smiled wider now.
Dirty satisfaction pouring inside me.
My hand was still holding his cock.
Still gripping.
Still squeezing.
That thing was growing under my fingers now — getting harder, fatter, bolder.
But his voice?
Still quiet.
So I said coldly — sharp like blade:
“Useless… shameless… no guts to answer to me?”
--------------------------------------------------------
The air between us was full heat now.
My armpits were wet. My blouse strap had soaked through. My inner thigh was rubbing softly with every breath. The crease of my panty was sticky now — damp from standing like this, sweating in rage.
The dust from floor had climbed to my calves.
My ass still stung from the fall.
But my body?
Ready.
I looked at his face.
Still down.
Then I whispered, with queen calm:
“It’s too hot here.”
I untucked my pallu once.
Fixed my pleats.
Adjusted my hip string.
Then looked into his eyes.
“Go to the terrace.”
My voice dropped now — dangerous soft.
“I want to teach you some good habits.”
He didn’t hesitate.
“Why Madam?” immediately after my anger look.
"Okay Madam."
--------------------------------------------------------
We didn’t move yet.
My hand was still near his crotch.
The heat inside that small electric room had wrapped around both of us like a dirty blanket. Wires on the wall. Dust on the floor. My saree still sticking to my back.
And me?
Still holding dog by the leash.
Two dress, the tighter one and other one.
Folded neatly.
Packed in a shiny white bag.
Anusha gave her card.
I looked at her once.
She smiled.
Tight smile.
I asked, "I asked why are you, buying tighter one?"
She said, “No. It’s for you.”
I blinked.
“What?”
She turned her head toward me.
Eyes calm.
Bright.
Serious.
“You’re my only friend, Pavi.”
My throat went still.
I didn’t answer for one second.
Then I looked down.
At the bag.
At her fingers holding it.
Then back at her face.
She wasn’t joking.
She meant it.
The heat that came into my chest that second?
It wasn’t from the AC.
It was something else.
Something proud.
Something tender.
I didn’t argue again.
I just nodded.
And smiled.
That small type of smile that holds too much.
--------------------------------------------------------
Auto ride back.
We sat close again.
No space between.
Her hip was pressed to mine.
My saree was thick, cotton.
Her chudi was thin.
Soft.
Our thighs brushed slightly with every speed bump.
Her shoulder rested against mine for a few seconds.
Then moved.
Then came back again.
We didn’t speak.
But we were breathing the same air.
And every time the wind came in from the side?
My braid lifted softly.
Touched her cheek.
She didn’t move away.
And I didn’t apologise.
I just smiled quietly to myself.
--------------------------------------------------------
We reached.
Paid.
Stepped out.
Sun was sharp again.
My slippers clicked gently on the tiles.
We walked toward the gate.
Prakash was standing there again.
Same post.
Same eyes.
I didn’t turn my face.
Didn’t greet.
But I felt him.
His eyes.
Sticking to my saree.
Dragging along my waist.
Climbing the pallu.
Stopping at my braid.
That filthy, quiet stare.
But I walked past him like wind.
Not even dust can touch me now.
Only inside?
One small voice laughed —
“Watch, dog. You’re time not today.”
--------------------------------------------------------
Lift door opened.
We stepped in.
She looked at me.
Softly.
Shy.
But bold.
“Come pavi, let’s go to my flat for five minutes.”
I didn’t even think.
Just said, “Okay.”
And stayed.
--------------------------------------------------------
Her flat was on the right side.
Same floor.
We walked in.
Her door opened.
Warm air inside.
Not fan.
Just that sweet, homely air.
The room smelled of rose perfume.
And washing powder.
Few soft cushions on the sofa.
A small blanket folded and kept near TV.
Her slippers slipped off with a soft sound.
She stepped in lightly.
I entered behind her.
Then she closed the door.
And turned the latch.
I paused.
Turned my head slightly.
She was right behind me.
Close.
I heard her breath.
Near my braid.
Then I felt it.
--------------------------------------------------------
Her hands touched my waist.
Then wrapped fully.
She hugged me from behind.
Tight.
Her chudi fabric pressed against my blouse.
I felt her full.
Her breasts against my back.
Soft.
Round.
They settled in perfectly, like puzzle.
Her stomach touched my waist.
Her thighs behind mine.
The heat of her skin passed through the layers.
I froze slightly.
But not out of fear.
Out of weight.
That silent weight of another body surrendering behind you.
Then…
She bent her face.
And pressed her lips on the back of my neck.
--------------------------------------------------------
It was slow.
Not loud.
Just one soft kiss.
Right on my sweaty neck — the spot where my braid had been resting all day.
Her lips were cool.
Then warm.
Then cool again.
I shivered.
Her mouth moved gently.
Pressed again.
Another kiss.
Just below the first one.
Her breath came hot between each kiss.
It touched my skin.
Made the tiny hairs on my nape stand.
My blouse shifted slightly.
The back neck was loose.
The braid moved a bit.
Swung to one side.
And her lips explored the open space left behind.
I didn’t move.
I just felt.
--------------------------------------------------------
My body reacted before my thoughts.
My breasts inside the bra tightened.
Nipples hard again.
Pressed against the blouse.
Painfully soft.
My thighs were clenching now.
Not wide.
Not open.
Just one slow pressure pulling inward.
My lips parted slightly.
Just to breathe.
My spine felt hot.
From neck to lower back.
Her hands were still around my waist.
Fingers pressing gently.
Possessive.
Like she didn’t want to let go.
But not rough.
Still innocent.
Still warm.
--------------------------------------------------------
Emotion came in strange ways.
A little pride.
That she wanted me.
A little guilt.
That I was letting her.
A little thrill.
That the door was locked.
And her body was fully behind mine.
Our hips aligned.
Her breasts resting softly against my back.
And my heart?
It had stopped beating normal.
It was pulsing in my ears.
In my breasts.
In that place deep inside.
Where sweat had already started collecting again.
--------------------------------------------------------
Her lips came lower now.
Almost near shoulder.
Still kissing.
Still slow.
Still breathy.
That moment was holding itself.
Not asking to move forward.
Just living there.
Between two bodies.
Two women.
Two silences.
--------------------------------------------------------
I turned slowly.
My braid slid over my shoulder.
The kisses had stopped now.
But the heat was still there — behind me, inside me.
When I faced her, she was already close.
Eyes lifted.
Face soft.
We stood chest-to-chest.
My blouse touched her chudi.
I could feel her breath on my lips.
We didn’t talk.
Just stood like that.
Her hand was still touching my waist.
I lifted mine.
Placed it slowly on her shoulder.
Then around her back.
I hugged her.
Gently.
Our bodies came full together.
Stomach to stomach.
Breast to breast.
I could feel her softness against mine.
I took one breath in.
It got stuck halfway.
She held tighter.
Then I asked softly, “Why are you doing this, Anusha?”
--------------------------------------------------------
She whispered.
Straight.
Honest.
“Your skin is soft, Pavi… I wanted to touch you.”
I smiled.
Laughed once under my breath.
“You too…”, I whispered.
Then I tilted my head, “But what you’ll get touching me? You should be touching your boyfriend, no?”
She smiled.
Eyes clear.
“I have boyfriend, Pavi,” she said, “but he’s not in Chennai…”
Her hand was still on my waist.
She added softly, “...or maybe he’s not this much soft.”
I laughed again.
Still holding her.
“Still… what would you get touching me?”
She looked down.
Then whispered, “I don’t know… I just want to touch.”
I raised one eyebrow.
“What’s in that touch?”
She didn’t answer for one second.
Then said, “No idea. Soft.”
Paused.
Then added, “After that temple queue… after touched your hip…. I couldn’t forget.”
I looked at her fully now.
“So now you want to touch and hug, ah?”
She smiled.
Nodded slowly.
Didn’t blink.
I let my hands drop to her waist.
Held her gently.
Then said softly…
“Fine. Come.”
--------------------------------------------------------
She stepped closer.
There was no gap now.
Only heat and breath.
Her right hand moved.
Touched my waistline.
I felt her fingers slowly sliding over the blouse border.
Then slipping under.
Cool touch.
Bare skin.
She pressed gently on my stomach.
Then circled her finger softly.
My navel caught her fingertip.
It twitched slightly.
Her finger dipped in.
Then out.
Playing softly.
I inhaled.
The blouse lifted slightly with her movement.
My saree pallu shifted, sliding off one side of my chest.
Her hand was still circling my navel.
I couldn’t speak.
My breath had changed — small, open gasps through my lips.
My thighs were closing slowly.
Clenching.
The panty inside was damp again.
My knees felt loose.
Her body was still full against mine.
--------------------------------------------------------
Then she leaned forward.
Tilted her head.
And placed one small kiss…
On my chin.
Her lips were warm.
Soft.
Wet.
The kiss was not strong.
Just enough to make me feel it.
I closed my eyes for one second.
And that moment?
That second?
I felt something strange.
Something slow.
A leak.
Inside the panty.
Not urine.
Not sweat.
It was that wetness.
That slow drip that only comes when the body is feeling too much.
I moaned softly.
Not even realising it came out.
Just one sound.
Like breath breaking.
She didn’t stop.
--------------------------------------------------------
She bent down.
Slow.
Very slow.
Her face came to my waist.
She moved the pallu to one side.
Pushed it gently.
Then touched her lips to my navel.
Direct.
Wet kiss.
Her mouth pressed deep.
She kissed it once.
Firmly.
Her lips stayed there.
Breathing.
The moist skin of her mouth made my stomach jump slightly.
My waist jerked.
Her nose brushed the bottom curve of my stomach.
Her hair touched my hips.
She was still holding my waist.
And my body?
Was giving up.
My legs softened.
My chest was rising too fast.
My hands were shaking a little.
My panty was soaked now.
My skin was full of sweat.
And inside my heart?
I was falling.
No thoughts.
No control.
Only heat.
Only ache.
Only this girl at my stomach.
Worshipping.
Owning.
Loving.
--------------------------------------------------------
Trriingggg...
My phone rang.
--------------------------------------------------------
The phone rang loud near the sofa.
My body jerked.
Anusha lifted her head from my navel, her hair brushing my stomach one last time.
I took a breath.
Picked up the phone with trembling fingers.
Kartik.
I cleared my throat once.
Answered.
“Haan?”
His voice came flat.
Courier had come.
My credit card renewed.
He gave the OTP fast, didn’t even ask how I was.
Then cut the call.
I stood there, blouse wet near my waist, my panty soaked with something that wasn’t just sweat.
My knees were still loose.
Anusha was looking at me from down, her eyes full.
Waiting.
Wanting.
But I had to go.
--------------------------------------------------------
I bent slightly.
Lifted her face with one hand.
Kissed her softly on her chin.
Her lips parted a little.
I whispered.
“You come and touch me whenever you want, okay?”
She didn’t speak.
Just nodded once.
Like a girl who got permission to sin.
I smiled.
Then pulled my pallu properly over my chest.
Tucked it once.
Adjusted my saree crease.
“I need to run down. Courier.”
She stepped back.
Still quiet.
I opened the door.
Walked out.
--------------------------------------------------------
Inside the lift, I leaned on the wall.
Closed my eyes for one second.
My navel was still wet from her kiss.
My panty was pressing damp between my thighs — the soft hair down there was sticky now.
I breathed in.
Shaky breath.
Anusha’s fingers…
Her lips…
That kiss on my stomach…
It had set a fire.
Not outside.
Inside.
A slow burn.
A curl of heat sitting deep in my lower belly.
And it was not going away.
“I need something to turn this off now…” I told myself.
But what?
Anusha can’t finish what she starts.
And Arjun?
He’s not home.
Not now.
My thighs rubbed softly as I stood.
I pressed my back to the lift wall.
Closed my eyes again.
Tried to think of something clean.
But all I could feel was her mouth on my skin.
My breath was still not steady.
My heart?
It was beating wrong.
Not in chest.
But low.
Between.
Like something was begging.
Whispering.
--------------------------------------------------------
The lift opened.
Ground floor.
I stepped out.
Cool air hit my face.
I walked toward the security gate slowly.
Looked around.
No Prakash.
Just one courier boy in blue.
Thin moustache.
I asked.
“Is any courier came for in the name of kartik?”
He nodded.
He handed the cover.
I checked.
Yes.
Bank seal.
He showed the app screen.
“OTP, madam.”
I typed the 6-digit code Kartik gave.
Beep.
Done.
He thanked.
Started walking out.
I turned slowly.
But something in my eyes caught the side.
--------------------------------------------------------
Electric room.
The door was half-open.
Light was on inside.
I paused.
Just looked.
And inside…
Prakash.
Wires in his hand.
Box open.
Screwdriver hanging from his lips.
Sweat on his neck.
He didn’t see me.
He was busy doing something.
Fixing.
Bending.
I just stood there.
Watching.
Then a voice inside my body whispered.
That same slow voice that came in temple queue.
“What if…”
My hand gripped the card tighter.
I looked around.
Left.
Right.
Nobody.
I missed the small black camera near pillar.
I took a slow breath.
Then stepped toward the electric room.
One step.
Two.
Three.
The floor was warm.
My petticoat string shifted on my waist with each step.
My chest was breathing different.
My fingers were shaking slightly.
But not from fear.
From that unfinished kiss.
From that unburnt fire.
From that queen’s hunger that no one knows about.
--------------------------------------------------------
I stepped inside.
Cooler air.
Dusty smell.
Machine sound.
Prakash still had his back to me.
I looked at him once.
Then turned.
Held the door.
And closed it.
Softly.
Then slowly turned the latch.
Locked.
Silence.
Just me.
And my dog.
--------------------------------------------------------
The electric room smelled of dust and old wires.
Warm inside.
Not suffocating… just that stale, sweaty air.
I stepped in fully.
The door clicked behind me.
My slippers scratched the floor — dry, gritty.
Prakash’s back was facing me.
Bent near the meter box.
His shirt was loose and sweaty — wet patch under the arms, brown collar.]
He hadn’t seen me yet.
He was busy, like a dog digging in some garbage hole.
I held the courier envelope.
Stepped closer.
There was a small concrete shelf under the sealed window.
I placed the envelope down softly.
My fingers were trembling.
But not from fear.
My chest was breathing harder now.
Not loud.
But deep.
I looked at his backside once more.
Then without thinking…
Without warning…
I reached forward.
Between his legs.
--------------------------------------------------------
My hand slid right between his thighs.
From behind.
His pants were loose — thin fabric, dirty cotton.
I pressed my fingers.
Direct.
Right on that spot.
That thick, fat thing.
I felt it under the cloth.
My fingertips pressed deep.
It was heavy.
Soft.
But not small.
Wide.
That round shape came fully under my palm.
It was hot.
Like it was breathing.
The cloth was damp.
I pressed once more.
Just to feel the whole weight.
Then—
His body jerked violently.
--------------------------------------------------------
“Arrey!” he shouted, twisting.
His whole body jumped forward like someone shocked him.
And me?
I lost balance.
His backside hit my front.
My hip slid backward.
My foot slipped slightly on the dust.
And—
I fell.
--------------------------------------------------------
First my elbow hit the floor.
Hard.
A small scratch.
Then my back landed — right over the dusty tiles.
Thud.
My saree pleats spread wide, opening like a fan under me.
The fall pulled my pallu down over my stomach.
My blouse lifted slightly from the back.
My butt hit hard.
Dust came up in small clouds around me.
I gasped.
More shocked than hurt.
The petticoat got twisted.
My whole hip was open and exposed in that sitting position.
One thigh bent.
The other stretched out.
I could feel the floor heat through the saree.
The sweat on my spine mixed with the dirt now.
I sat there.
Blinking.
Breathing heavy.
The elbow pain was sharp, but not serious.
My ego?
Burning.
--------------------------------------------------------
I looked up at him.
Still squatting near the meters, looking confused.
I shouted.
Loud.
From the ground.
“Are you mad or what?!”
He turned.
Eyes big.
I pointed at my saree.
“See! My whole saree got dirty now!”
He stepped forward nervously.
I didn’t let him talk.
“Why you jumped like electric shock hit you?”
“No control on body also now? I thought only eyes are the problem”
“My back is full dust now, idiot!”
“You don’t know who’s behind you?”
“If you jump like this in bedroom, your wife will run away!”
He stood frozen.
Hands by his side.
I rubbed my elbow.
Still sitting.
“You’re worse than my washing machine!”
“Seriously! How are you even working in this society?”
He bent slightly.
“Tch… sorry madam… you okay?”
I ignored his sorry.
Held my hand out.
He bent down.
Held my wrist.
--------------------------------------------------------
His palm was thick and hot.
Rough fingers.
Dry calluses.
But his grip was strong.
He pulled me up slowly.
My saree rubbed against his leg as I stood.
My blouse was still slightly lifted in the back.
His touch didn’t shake me.
But my thighs felt something again.
Some deep pulse from earlier.
I brushed off the dust from my butt, petticoat, and pleats.
Angrily.
Looked down at my hip.
“Shit, full red mark now,” I muttered.
Still scolding, I turned to him again.
“Why the hell you jerked like that?!”
He scratched his head.
Looked nervous.
“Madam… just noting all flat electricity meter counts,” he mumbled.
“Part of duty… daily record.”
I stared at him.
He looked small now.
Ugly.
Shirt was filthy.
Pants stained.
Face oily.
Hair dry and stiff.
But something about it...
That filth…
That sweat…
That powerless dog energy…
It made something inside me twitch.
A low, dirty hunger that had no manners.
No logic.
Just heat.
And memory.
Of lips on my skin.
Of thighs burning for relief.
Of my queen-throne waiting to be claimed.
--------------------------------------------------------
His eyes were still on me.
That same dirty stare.
Even after I had shouted. Even after I had fallen like a fool and scratched my elbow.
Still staring.
My back was aching slightly now — from that fall. Some dust had slipped inside my blouse too, itching near the hooks. My pleats were loose. My ass was still stinging where it had hit the floor.
But my eyes?
Burning.
That fire came back inside me. The same temple fire. The same one from the tank. The one that doesn’t cool down with bath or soap or saree change.
Only one thing can cool it.
I stepped close to him. No shame. No pause.
Just rage.
Just power.
--------------------------------------------------------
My hips brushed the side of the metal board. My saree pallu was half fallen from my shoulder, my waist was still dusty, but I didn’t fix anything.
He was looking down now — maybe to escape my eyes. Maybe to hide his guilt. I didn’t care.
I stepped in closer.
Right into his space.
The gap between us melted.
His chest was only two fingers from my shoulder.
His breath came hot — I could feel it hitting just below my neck.
I raised my face slightly.
Then said it.
Straight.
Dirty.
--------------------------------------------------------
“Why did you stare at me when I was walking with my neighbour?”
No reply.
I moved one step closer — our hips brushed once.
Still he kept quiet.
I tilted my head.
“Next time I catch you staring like that — I’ll pull out your eyes and feed them to pigs. You want that?”
His whole body flinched.
Good.
--------------------------------------------------------
I didn’t move away. My hand was still near my waist. Saree crease half untucked from the fall, my petticoat string had become a little loose.
But my face?
Still tight.
I asked again, slower this time — voice low like poison.
“Tell me… anyone will come inside?”
He cleared his throat, eyes still avoiding mine.
“No, madam… only for staff. No kids, no residents.”
I licked my bottom lip slowly. My mouth was dry, but my body was wet inside. Between my breasts, under my arms, behind my knees — the sweat was creeping again.
I raised my eyebrow.
“Any staff?”
He said quick:
“No madam. I’m the only one inside. Nobody going to come”
--------------------------------------------------------
I smiled.
Soft.
But not sweet.
That queen smile.
The one that comes when I know no one can stop me.
And then — I grabbed his dick.
--------------------------------------------------------
Straight.
From front.
My full palm.
Over the dirty fabric of his pants — thick, soft cotton — my fingers pushed in deep. Right on it.
That disgusting cock.
That same black snake that ruined me on the terrace.
Now in my hand again.
And I squeezed it.
Hard.
--------------------------------------------------------
His body twitched.
A soft moan escaped his lips.
He tried to bite it back.
But I heard.
That sound wasn’t pain.
It was pleasure.
I twisted it once — my wrist turning sharp, the dick under the cloth bending slightly.
My fingers couldn’t close properly — the size was too big. Even through the pants, it was fat and heavy. I could feel the heat, the shape, the pulse.
It was alive.
It was waiting.
And it was mine again.
--------------------------------------------------------
I leaned forward — my mouth near his ear now.
My chest brushed his upper arm softly.
My saree blouse was still slightly loose from the back, and I could feel the strap biting into my shoulder.
But I didn’t care.
I whispered into his skin:
“Tell me,.. did you fuck your wife with my face in your head?”
His mouth opened.
But only breath came out.
Then he forced it.
“No madam…”
My grip tightened.
My lips touched his earlobe slightly when I asked next:
“Why not?”
His body shifted once — I felt his thigh move. But he didn’t pull away.
He just whispered, like a small boy caught stealing:
“I… I can’t remove you from my mind…”
--------------------------------------------------------
I laughed.
Not softly.
Low.
Cruel.
Dirty laugh.
The kind that tastes good in throat.
Then — without warning — I slapped him.
--------------------------------------------------------
CHHATT!
My right palm hit his cheek flat. The sound echoed in that small electric room. My hand stung slightly — dry sweat sticking on his skin.
His head turned from the impact.
But he didn’t protest.
Didn’t speak.
I raised my hand again.
“Tell me properly. How many times you masturbated thinking of me?”
He looked down.
No answer.
Another slap.
CHHHATTT!!
Louder this time. My ring made a soft cut on his jawline. His body jerked. His eyes closed tight.
Still no answer.
--------------------------------------------------------
I smiled wider now.
Dirty satisfaction pouring inside me.
My hand was still holding his cock.
Still gripping.
Still squeezing.
That thing was growing under my fingers now — getting harder, fatter, bolder.
But his voice?
Still quiet.
So I said coldly — sharp like blade:
“Useless… shameless… no guts to answer to me?”
--------------------------------------------------------
The air between us was full heat now.
My armpits were wet. My blouse strap had soaked through. My inner thigh was rubbing softly with every breath. The crease of my panty was sticky now — damp from standing like this, sweating in rage.
The dust from floor had climbed to my calves.
My ass still stung from the fall.
But my body?
Ready.
I looked at his face.
Still down.
Then I whispered, with queen calm:
“It’s too hot here.”
I untucked my pallu once.
Fixed my pleats.
Adjusted my hip string.
Then looked into his eyes.
“Go to the terrace.”
My voice dropped now — dangerous soft.
“I want to teach you some good habits.”
He didn’t hesitate.
“Why Madam?” immediately after my anger look.
"Okay Madam."
--------------------------------------------------------
We didn’t move yet.
My hand was still near his crotch.
The heat inside that small electric room had wrapped around both of us like a dirty blanket. Wires on the wall. Dust on the floor. My saree still sticking to my back.
And me?
Still holding dog by the leash.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)