04-07-2025, 03:15 PM
(This post was last modified: 23-07-2025, 06:28 PM by Haran000. Edited 2 times in total. Edited 2 times in total.)
The morning light crept in, gently rousing me from sleep. My brother was already awake, a familiar presence beside me. I reached under the blanket, my fingers tracing the contours of his head, a gesture that always brought a quiet comfort. With a sigh, I finally rose, straightened my bed, and then, with practiced stealth, I crept upstairs, making sure to stay out of my mother's line of sight. My secret mission: a glimpse of Asha, our neighbor. Every morning, she hung her family's laundry in the backyard, and I knew that with just one innocent bend, I might catch a glimpse of her cleavage – an event that, without fail, would spark a fight with my younger brother.
I brushed my teeth, gazing at the sky like some profound nature enthusiast, though my true focus lay elsewhere. Soon, Asha emerged, a bucket laden with wet clothes swinging at her side. She began hanging them, her movements deliberate, her gaze occasionally drifting in my direction. I watched from the corner of my eye, a silent sentinel, awaiting that tell-tale bend. First, a saree, then a langa, unfurled and clipped to the line. Then, with a practiced grace, she unhooked her white 34DD bra, placing it on the line with a gentle snap of the clip. How did I know the size? A small, almost embarrassing detail: they often discarded the bra boxes after purchase, and I, in my strange obsession, had once retrieved one, the label a revelation.
The bucket was nearing empty. She bent to retrieve the last few items at the bottom.
And there it was. The sight I’d anticipated: her breasts, folding inward, creating a four-inch valley between them. Four inches on the outside—what, then, was the full measure? My little brother, on his own, paid silent homage to Asha's allure, standing at attention like a dutiful soldier. That was the trigger. I bolted downstairs, making a beeline for the common bathroom outside our house. Slipping inside, I quickly shed my shorts, and engaged in my early morning "pumping workout."
If this was the effect of a casual glimpse, what awaited me at Nisha teacher’s tuition?
The wall clock chimed ten. Tuition, I knew, was where I should be, but here I sat, mesmerized by the flickering images on the television screen. It was well past ten-thirty when Nisha's voice cut through the air, her call from outside the gate, "Sister-in-law, isn't Shiva there?"
A wave of exhilarating anticipation washed over me at the sound of her voice.
"Yes, he's here," my mother responded. "Where did he go? I told him to study, but he's just sitting and watching TV."
"Tell him I asked him to come, sister-in-law," Nisha urged.
"Okay, Nisha," my mother replied.
Five minutes later, my mother appeared, relaying Nisha's summons. I grabbed my math notes and headed out. The gate was empty. As I approached the door, Nisha's voice drifted from inside, "Come, Shiva."
"Good morning, Teacher," I greeted her, stepping into the cool.
She was engrossed with her phone, adjusting something on the screen. As she turned, she presented a striking figure: a white T-shirt clinging to her form, accentuating her breasts, making them bulge like taut cheeks, paired with a vibrant green midi skirt. Nisha, who usually favored sarees for college, dressed differently here. I settled into a chair, my gaze drawn to her chest. She came and sat beside me, her hand reaching for my right. It was the first time she’d touched me, and her skin felt incredibly soft. She shifted closer, our elbows brushing, and a pleasant warmth radiated from her body.
"Don't call me Teacher here," she murmured.
"Okay, Nisha Sister," I replied, a subtle manipulation, hoping to project an air of innocence.
"Don't call me Sis, just Nisha is fine."
"How can I?" I feigned surprise. "You're older than me."
"Shiva, didn't I say not to call me Sis? Just call me Nisha."
"Okay, Nisha," I conceded.
A faint smile touched her lips, and I mirrored it with a small, innocent grin of my own.
"You have to come at ten o'clock, go home for lunch, and then come back. I'll send you home in the evening. You have to study here all day."
"Okay, Teacher..."
"There you go, calling me Teacher again."
"Okay, Nisha."
As we spoke, Asha arrived, her child nestled in her arms. My eyes, like sunflowers tracking the sun, instinctively turned towards her. The beautiful woman was resplendent in a yellow cotton saree, its fabric dbanging gracefully, revealing the subtle curve of her left.
I offered a brief, silent smile. Until then, Asha had never spoken directly to me.
"Oh Shiva, what's this?" Asha exclaimed, a hint of surprise in her voice. "You've never come to our house before."
As she spoke, my gaze fixated on her strawberry-like lips, and my own lips trembled almost imperceptibly.
"For tuition, Asha Aunty," I explained.
Immediately, Asha's eyes reddened slightly. A silent smile played on my lips.
"Hey, why are you calling me Aunty?" she challenged.
"You're married, aren't you, Aunty?"
"Hey, do you call someone Aunty just because they're married?"
"Okay, I won't call you Aunty."
"Didn't I say not to call me Aunty?"
"What should I call you? You tell me."
"What do you call Nisha?"
"Nisha."
"Then call me Asha too."
With that, Asha went back inside.
"My sister is very proud of her beauty, Shiva," Nisha explained, a slight smile playing on her lips. "You called her Aunty, that's why she's speaking angrily. Don't mind her."
"Yes, Teacher, your sister is good-looking," I observed, "but your brother-in-law is not at all good-looking. Why did she marry him?"
"Well, we don't have parents," Nisha explained, a hint of sadness in her voice. "But we have an aunt. She forced my sister to marry him, blabbing 'marriage, marriage.'"
"Oh..."
"By the way, Teacher," I continued, a mischievous thought forming, "maybe your brother-in-law doesn't have a younger brother. If he did, maybe you would have married him..."
Nisha’s patience seemed to fray slightly. "You came here to study, so study. Why do you care?"
"Sorry, Teacher," I mumbled.
"Call me Nisha."
After that, I focused on my studies. Nisha taught me various concepts, though my gaze often drifted towards her, taking in her presence. The details of our academic session aren't crucial here. Later, I returned home for lunch, then made my way back to Nisha's place.
As I entered, Asha was in the midst of feeding her child. Seeing me step into the house, she quickly pulled the end of her saree over herself, a hasty attempt at concealment. A fleeting wish to see her breast crossed my mind, but I silently went and settled into the chair.
Then, a thought struck me: if I acted shy now, she might perceive it as an acknowledgment, that I understood such things and was deliberately averting my gaze.
So, I looked directly at Asha’s saree pallu, a calculated move. My intention was for her to see my direct gaze and wonder, "Why is he looking like this? Doesn't he know he shouldn't look like that?" At most, I hoped she’d conclude, "Oh, he's innocent."
I continued to look at her. She gave me a peculiar glance, then a small smile. She truly was beautiful. I returned an equally innocent smile.
"Where is Nisha Teacher, Asha?" I asked.
"Oh, she might be in the kitchen. She'll be here."
My eyes remained fixed on the slight movements of the saree's edge where the child nursed beneath the fabric.
"Why are you looking like that?" Asha asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice.
"Why are you hiding Nikhil's face, Asha?" I felt a faint tremor of doubt, wondering if my act of innocence was becoming too transparent.
"He's drinking milk."
"Oh... are you not showing his face so he doesn't get the evil eye?" I truly didn't know what else to say; the words simply tumbled out.
Asha looked at me in silent surprise.
"I mean," I quickly clarified, "my grandma says small children get the evil eye, right?"
"Yes... that's right."
Not wanting to overplay my hand, I glanced towards the kitchen, feigning a search for Nisha. Just then, Nisha appeared.
"Good afternoon, Nisha," I greeted her.
"Yeah, afternoon," she replied.
"Hey Shiva," Asha interjected, "it's been ten minutes since you came. Why didn't you say good afternoon to me?"
"Hehe," I chuckled, "because you're not my teacher."
"My sister is your teacher, isn't she?" Asha challenged playfully.
"Yes... she is."
"Your teacher's sister is also your teacher."
Nisha laughed. "What kind of logic is that, Akka?"
"What?" Asha retorted. "I'm older here, did he wish me?"
"Good afternoon, Asha," I conceded.
"Okay," she replied, satisfied.
It must have been two-thirty. I listened to Nisha, my gaze fixed on her face. Gradually, my eyes drifted to her lips. They were like rose petals, stirring a flurry of evocative thoughts within me. My eyelids drooped lazily, and my pupils descended, drawn to the swell of her breasts beneath the T-shirt. Uff...
"Are you listening, Shiva?" Nisha's voice cut through my thoughts.
A jolt of fear shot through me. Had she suspected something?
"Yes, I'm listening," I quickly responded.
"Okay, now we need to take the differentiation here..." she began to explain, her voice resuming its instructional tone.
Just then, Asha's phone rang. She answered it.
"Yes?"
"Yes, I ate."
Nisha glanced at me, then put a finger to her lips. "Shhh... you be quiet."
I nodded in acknowledgment.
"Yes, Nisha also ate. The baby just fell asleep," Asha continued her conversation.
As she talked on the phone, I kept writing, Nisha observing me from her side.
The phone call ended.
"Shiva, look here," Asha called out.
I looked up. "What, Asha?"
"You have to leave after six-thirty, okay?"
"Why?"
"My brother-in-law doesn't like other men coming when he's not home," Nisha interjected, her voice matter-of-fact.
"Why?"
"He gets angry."
"Why?"
"He just gets angry, don't ask why." Asha picked up Nikhil again and went into the bedroom.
"Why, Nisha?" I pressed.
"We are two women in the house, and I'm not even married yet, that's why."
"I don't understand."
"I'll tell you later, you study."
For some reason, my mom called Nisha.
"Oh, sister-in-law, I'm coming..." Nisha said, and went outside.
Nisha didn't return for almost fifteen minutes. I solved two problems in her absence. Then, I saw Asha go into the kitchen. A sudden thirst came over me. Nisha was outside, Asha was in the kitchen.
I considered going to my own house for water and then returning. As I stood up and stepped outside, Asha called out, "Where are you going, Shiva?"
"I'm going to drink some water."
"Don't we have water here? Come and drink."
I agreed and walked into the kitchen.
Asha had her back to me, pouring hot water into Nikhil’s baby food bowl. As I reached for a glass from the water filter beside her, I don't know if she momentarily forgot my presence, but she suddenly turned around. Her butt brushed against my leg, and I looked. In a startling flash, Asha’s face was directly in front of mine, and her strawberry upper lip touched my lower lip.
As my mouth opened in surprise, her lower, thick lip found its way between mine.
A tremor of panic ran through my body, and I pursed my lips instinctively. She quickly pulled her neck back.
For a moment, we both stared into each other's eyes, stunned, our breaths mingling between our lips. My vision blurred, and only Asha's lips remained in sharp focus.
Fear gripped me. As I opened my mouth to apologize, Asha lifted her face, capturing my upper lip. Her hand moved behind my head, pulling me closer, and then, with an astonishing intimacy, she began to suck and savor my upper lip. I remained innocent, frozen like a statue, my self-control unwavering.
Asha kept smooching my lips…
.
.
To be continued………….
Check out my other story here:
https://xossipy.com/thread-69378.html
I brushed my teeth, gazing at the sky like some profound nature enthusiast, though my true focus lay elsewhere. Soon, Asha emerged, a bucket laden with wet clothes swinging at her side. She began hanging them, her movements deliberate, her gaze occasionally drifting in my direction. I watched from the corner of my eye, a silent sentinel, awaiting that tell-tale bend. First, a saree, then a langa, unfurled and clipped to the line. Then, with a practiced grace, she unhooked her white 34DD bra, placing it on the line with a gentle snap of the clip. How did I know the size? A small, almost embarrassing detail: they often discarded the bra boxes after purchase, and I, in my strange obsession, had once retrieved one, the label a revelation.
The bucket was nearing empty. She bent to retrieve the last few items at the bottom.
And there it was. The sight I’d anticipated: her breasts, folding inward, creating a four-inch valley between them. Four inches on the outside—what, then, was the full measure? My little brother, on his own, paid silent homage to Asha's allure, standing at attention like a dutiful soldier. That was the trigger. I bolted downstairs, making a beeline for the common bathroom outside our house. Slipping inside, I quickly shed my shorts, and engaged in my early morning "pumping workout."
If this was the effect of a casual glimpse, what awaited me at Nisha teacher’s tuition?
The wall clock chimed ten. Tuition, I knew, was where I should be, but here I sat, mesmerized by the flickering images on the television screen. It was well past ten-thirty when Nisha's voice cut through the air, her call from outside the gate, "Sister-in-law, isn't Shiva there?"
A wave of exhilarating anticipation washed over me at the sound of her voice.
"Yes, he's here," my mother responded. "Where did he go? I told him to study, but he's just sitting and watching TV."
"Tell him I asked him to come, sister-in-law," Nisha urged.
"Okay, Nisha," my mother replied.
Five minutes later, my mother appeared, relaying Nisha's summons. I grabbed my math notes and headed out. The gate was empty. As I approached the door, Nisha's voice drifted from inside, "Come, Shiva."
"Good morning, Teacher," I greeted her, stepping into the cool.
She was engrossed with her phone, adjusting something on the screen. As she turned, she presented a striking figure: a white T-shirt clinging to her form, accentuating her breasts, making them bulge like taut cheeks, paired with a vibrant green midi skirt. Nisha, who usually favored sarees for college, dressed differently here. I settled into a chair, my gaze drawn to her chest. She came and sat beside me, her hand reaching for my right. It was the first time she’d touched me, and her skin felt incredibly soft. She shifted closer, our elbows brushing, and a pleasant warmth radiated from her body.
"Don't call me Teacher here," she murmured.
"Okay, Nisha Sister," I replied, a subtle manipulation, hoping to project an air of innocence.
"Don't call me Sis, just Nisha is fine."
"How can I?" I feigned surprise. "You're older than me."
"Shiva, didn't I say not to call me Sis? Just call me Nisha."
"Okay, Nisha," I conceded.
A faint smile touched her lips, and I mirrored it with a small, innocent grin of my own.
"You have to come at ten o'clock, go home for lunch, and then come back. I'll send you home in the evening. You have to study here all day."
"Okay, Teacher..."
"There you go, calling me Teacher again."
"Okay, Nisha."
As we spoke, Asha arrived, her child nestled in her arms. My eyes, like sunflowers tracking the sun, instinctively turned towards her. The beautiful woman was resplendent in a yellow cotton saree, its fabric dbanging gracefully, revealing the subtle curve of her left.
I offered a brief, silent smile. Until then, Asha had never spoken directly to me.
"Oh Shiva, what's this?" Asha exclaimed, a hint of surprise in her voice. "You've never come to our house before."
As she spoke, my gaze fixated on her strawberry-like lips, and my own lips trembled almost imperceptibly.
"For tuition, Asha Aunty," I explained.
Immediately, Asha's eyes reddened slightly. A silent smile played on my lips.
"Hey, why are you calling me Aunty?" she challenged.
"You're married, aren't you, Aunty?"
"Hey, do you call someone Aunty just because they're married?"
"Okay, I won't call you Aunty."
"Didn't I say not to call me Aunty?"
"What should I call you? You tell me."
"What do you call Nisha?"
"Nisha."
"Then call me Asha too."
With that, Asha went back inside.
"My sister is very proud of her beauty, Shiva," Nisha explained, a slight smile playing on her lips. "You called her Aunty, that's why she's speaking angrily. Don't mind her."
"Yes, Teacher, your sister is good-looking," I observed, "but your brother-in-law is not at all good-looking. Why did she marry him?"
"Well, we don't have parents," Nisha explained, a hint of sadness in her voice. "But we have an aunt. She forced my sister to marry him, blabbing 'marriage, marriage.'"
"Oh..."
"By the way, Teacher," I continued, a mischievous thought forming, "maybe your brother-in-law doesn't have a younger brother. If he did, maybe you would have married him..."
Nisha’s patience seemed to fray slightly. "You came here to study, so study. Why do you care?"
"Sorry, Teacher," I mumbled.
"Call me Nisha."
After that, I focused on my studies. Nisha taught me various concepts, though my gaze often drifted towards her, taking in her presence. The details of our academic session aren't crucial here. Later, I returned home for lunch, then made my way back to Nisha's place.
As I entered, Asha was in the midst of feeding her child. Seeing me step into the house, she quickly pulled the end of her saree over herself, a hasty attempt at concealment. A fleeting wish to see her breast crossed my mind, but I silently went and settled into the chair.
Then, a thought struck me: if I acted shy now, she might perceive it as an acknowledgment, that I understood such things and was deliberately averting my gaze.
So, I looked directly at Asha’s saree pallu, a calculated move. My intention was for her to see my direct gaze and wonder, "Why is he looking like this? Doesn't he know he shouldn't look like that?" At most, I hoped she’d conclude, "Oh, he's innocent."
I continued to look at her. She gave me a peculiar glance, then a small smile. She truly was beautiful. I returned an equally innocent smile.
"Where is Nisha Teacher, Asha?" I asked.
"Oh, she might be in the kitchen. She'll be here."
My eyes remained fixed on the slight movements of the saree's edge where the child nursed beneath the fabric.
"Why are you looking like that?" Asha asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice.
"Why are you hiding Nikhil's face, Asha?" I felt a faint tremor of doubt, wondering if my act of innocence was becoming too transparent.
"He's drinking milk."
"Oh... are you not showing his face so he doesn't get the evil eye?" I truly didn't know what else to say; the words simply tumbled out.
Asha looked at me in silent surprise.
"I mean," I quickly clarified, "my grandma says small children get the evil eye, right?"
"Yes... that's right."
Not wanting to overplay my hand, I glanced towards the kitchen, feigning a search for Nisha. Just then, Nisha appeared.
"Good afternoon, Nisha," I greeted her.
"Yeah, afternoon," she replied.
"Hey Shiva," Asha interjected, "it's been ten minutes since you came. Why didn't you say good afternoon to me?"
"Hehe," I chuckled, "because you're not my teacher."
"My sister is your teacher, isn't she?" Asha challenged playfully.
"Yes... she is."
"Your teacher's sister is also your teacher."
Nisha laughed. "What kind of logic is that, Akka?"
"What?" Asha retorted. "I'm older here, did he wish me?"
"Good afternoon, Asha," I conceded.
"Okay," she replied, satisfied.
It must have been two-thirty. I listened to Nisha, my gaze fixed on her face. Gradually, my eyes drifted to her lips. They were like rose petals, stirring a flurry of evocative thoughts within me. My eyelids drooped lazily, and my pupils descended, drawn to the swell of her breasts beneath the T-shirt. Uff...
"Are you listening, Shiva?" Nisha's voice cut through my thoughts.
A jolt of fear shot through me. Had she suspected something?
"Yes, I'm listening," I quickly responded.
"Okay, now we need to take the differentiation here..." she began to explain, her voice resuming its instructional tone.
Just then, Asha's phone rang. She answered it.
"Yes?"
"Yes, I ate."
Nisha glanced at me, then put a finger to her lips. "Shhh... you be quiet."
I nodded in acknowledgment.
"Yes, Nisha also ate. The baby just fell asleep," Asha continued her conversation.
As she talked on the phone, I kept writing, Nisha observing me from her side.
The phone call ended.
"Shiva, look here," Asha called out.
I looked up. "What, Asha?"
"You have to leave after six-thirty, okay?"
"Why?"
"My brother-in-law doesn't like other men coming when he's not home," Nisha interjected, her voice matter-of-fact.
"Why?"
"He gets angry."
"Why?"
"He just gets angry, don't ask why." Asha picked up Nikhil again and went into the bedroom.
"Why, Nisha?" I pressed.
"We are two women in the house, and I'm not even married yet, that's why."
"I don't understand."
"I'll tell you later, you study."
For some reason, my mom called Nisha.
"Oh, sister-in-law, I'm coming..." Nisha said, and went outside.
Nisha didn't return for almost fifteen minutes. I solved two problems in her absence. Then, I saw Asha go into the kitchen. A sudden thirst came over me. Nisha was outside, Asha was in the kitchen.
I considered going to my own house for water and then returning. As I stood up and stepped outside, Asha called out, "Where are you going, Shiva?"
"I'm going to drink some water."
"Don't we have water here? Come and drink."
I agreed and walked into the kitchen.
Asha had her back to me, pouring hot water into Nikhil’s baby food bowl. As I reached for a glass from the water filter beside her, I don't know if she momentarily forgot my presence, but she suddenly turned around. Her butt brushed against my leg, and I looked. In a startling flash, Asha’s face was directly in front of mine, and her strawberry upper lip touched my lower lip.
As my mouth opened in surprise, her lower, thick lip found its way between mine.
A tremor of panic ran through my body, and I pursed my lips instinctively. She quickly pulled her neck back.
For a moment, we both stared into each other's eyes, stunned, our breaths mingling between our lips. My vision blurred, and only Asha's lips remained in sharp focus.
Fear gripped me. As I opened my mouth to apologize, Asha lifted her face, capturing my upper lip. Her hand moved behind my head, pulling me closer, and then, with an astonishing intimacy, she began to suck and savor my upper lip. I remained innocent, frozen like a statue, my self-control unwavering.
Asha kept smooching my lips…
.
.
To be continued………….
Check out my other story here:
https://xossipy.com/thread-69378.html
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