16-08-2025, 04:43 PM
Chapter 11: Stains of Desire
The boutique's counter was a quiet island in the dimly lit store, the cashier scanning the five kurtis and the wine-red saree with mechanical efficiency. Nivi stood beside Raghavan, her body still buzzing from the trial room teases, her pussy tingling with the heat sparked by each piece.
The emerald V-neck had framed her full tits, the deep cut teasing her hardened nipples through the sheer fabric; the crimson slits had flashed her thick thighs, the material riding up to hint at her round ass; the black back-cut had bared her smooth spine, dipping low enough to make her feel exposed and alive; the royal blue cinched her slim waist, flaring over her hips like a second skin; and the white chiffon had teased the shadows of her curves, her nipples poking faintly against the thin layer.
Each kurti had ignited a fire in her core, the mirror reflecting a woman whose body screamed desire—breasts straining, ass curving, pussy growing wetter with every glance from Raghavan. Anand's neglect seemed a distant memory; this was her awakening, her clit throbbing as she imagined wearing them, his eyes devouring her at work.
Raghavan handed over his card, his voice casual but low, edged with a growl. "These will look fucking incredible on you, Nivi. Can't wait to see you strut into the office, tits and ass on display like that."
His eyes met hers, a spark there—subtle but burning, making her pussy clench. He knows I'm soaked from trying them on, she thought, her wetness seeping through her panties, thighs slick.
Imagining his cock hardening under that desk when I walk in tomorrow, my ass swaying in the crimson slits, tits bouncing.
She leaned against the counter, her 38-inch ass shifting, the leggings tight against her curves, drawing his gaze. "You're spoiling me, sir," she said, voice soft but teasing, her nipples hardening under her kurti, pressing against the fabric like they begged for attention. She didn't hide it, letting him see how he affected her. My body's his canvas now, her mind purred.
He chuckled, deep and rough, signing the receipt. "Spoiling? This is just the start. You deserve to feel seen, Nivi—your tits full, your ass round, your pussy aching for eyes on it."
His gaze raked her body—breasts, waist, hips—and her pussy throbbed harder, a fresh gush of wetness soaking her panties, smearing her thighs. The cashier handed back the bags, oblivious, but Nivi felt the heat—his words a promise, her clit pulsing with need.
He's thinking about grabbing my tits, fucking my ass in these, she thought, a slow burn building: I'm not just flirting anymore. This is real, dangerous, and my pussy's dripping for it.
They walked out to the car, the night air cool against her flushed skin, the bags swinging in his hand. Coimbatore’s streets buzzed with life—scooters whizzing, the distant sizzle of bhajjis frying—but Nivi's focus was on the ache between her legs, her panties sticking to her wet folds.
"Thank you," she said, sincere now, the temple’s warmth lingering. "Not just for the clothes, but... for today. For listening." Her voice softened, deepening: He sees my pain, my fire—makes me feel whole, my pussy wet from his care.
He opened the door for her, his body close, breath warm on her neck.
"You don't have to thank me, Nivi. Just wear them. Let those tits bounce, that ass sway."
His eyes dropped to her cleavage, then her thighs as she slid in, the seat leather cool under her ass. Fuck, I'm so wet, she thought, shifting, feeling the dampness spread, her pussy lips slick against the fabric. If he knew how soaked I am, he'd pin me here, fingers sliding into my dripping cunt.
The drive was silent at first, the city lights blurring past, tension thick like the wetness between her thighs. Raghavan's fingers tapped the wheel, his gaze flicking to her legs, her side view.
"Tell me," he said, voice low and rough, "which one's your favorite? The black back-cut? Bet it makes your ass look irresistible." His tone teased, but his eyes were dark, hungry.
She crossed her legs, the movement pressing her swollen clit, a jolt of pleasure shooting through her. "The crimson slits," she admitted, voice sultry, indirect. "Feels like it'll ride up, show too much thigh, make every man stare at my ass, want to grab it."
Her pussy throbbed harder, dripping onto the seat, the leather warming under her leaking wetness. He's imagining it, his cock hard, throbbing, wanting to bury it in my soaked pussy.
He groaned softly, shifting in his seat, his bulge visible.
"Damn, Nivi. You'd kill me in that." His hand brushed her knee, accidental but electric, sending a fresh gush from her pussy. "But that's the point—make them want your tits, your ass, but you're untouchable." Except for you, her mind whispered: I want him to touch, to claim my wet cunt.
Her wetness spread, soaking the seat, her scent faint in the air, her clit aching for friction.
By the time they reached her gate, her pussy was throbbing, thighs slick with her juices, the leather marked with her arousal—a damp spot where she'd sat, grinding subtly against the seat.
"Goodnight, sir," she said, stepping out, bags in hand, her ass bouncing as she walked away.
He watched, she knew, his eyes on her curves. Fuck, I left my pussy juice on the seat, she thought, wicked thrill: Will he notice? Smell my wet cunt?
Inside, her mother-in-law greeted her with a knowing smile, eyes on the bags. "Shopping? You look... flushed, dear."
Nivi's cheeks burned: She suspects, but she supports.
"Just some new things," Nivi said, voice light.
Upstairs, on the balcony, Nivi glanced down at the car, heart pounding.
Raghavan was still there, bent over the passenger seat, his face close—sniffing the damp spot, then licking it? Her breath caught, pussy clenching hard, a fresh drip soaking her panties. He's tasting my pussy juice, she thought, wild heat surging. My cum on his tongue, his cock hard from my scent. Fuck, that's filthy, hot—my clit throbbing just watching.
She fled inside, body on fire: He craves my wet pussy like that—raw, desperate. That night, in bed, Anand snoring oblivious, Nivi's fingers slipped under her nightie.
She touched her swollen clit, rubbing slow, then fast, picturing Raghavan's tongue on the seat, the gang's silent want.
I'm a slut for this, she thought, her pussy clenching as she came hard, juices gushing, shaking. And I fucking love it.
Continues....
The boutique's counter was a quiet island in the dimly lit store, the cashier scanning the five kurtis and the wine-red saree with mechanical efficiency. Nivi stood beside Raghavan, her body still buzzing from the trial room teases, her pussy tingling with the heat sparked by each piece.
The emerald V-neck had framed her full tits, the deep cut teasing her hardened nipples through the sheer fabric; the crimson slits had flashed her thick thighs, the material riding up to hint at her round ass; the black back-cut had bared her smooth spine, dipping low enough to make her feel exposed and alive; the royal blue cinched her slim waist, flaring over her hips like a second skin; and the white chiffon had teased the shadows of her curves, her nipples poking faintly against the thin layer.
Each kurti had ignited a fire in her core, the mirror reflecting a woman whose body screamed desire—breasts straining, ass curving, pussy growing wetter with every glance from Raghavan. Anand's neglect seemed a distant memory; this was her awakening, her clit throbbing as she imagined wearing them, his eyes devouring her at work.
Raghavan handed over his card, his voice casual but low, edged with a growl. "These will look fucking incredible on you, Nivi. Can't wait to see you strut into the office, tits and ass on display like that."
His eyes met hers, a spark there—subtle but burning, making her pussy clench. He knows I'm soaked from trying them on, she thought, her wetness seeping through her panties, thighs slick.
Imagining his cock hardening under that desk when I walk in tomorrow, my ass swaying in the crimson slits, tits bouncing.
She leaned against the counter, her 38-inch ass shifting, the leggings tight against her curves, drawing his gaze. "You're spoiling me, sir," she said, voice soft but teasing, her nipples hardening under her kurti, pressing against the fabric like they begged for attention. She didn't hide it, letting him see how he affected her. My body's his canvas now, her mind purred.
He chuckled, deep and rough, signing the receipt. "Spoiling? This is just the start. You deserve to feel seen, Nivi—your tits full, your ass round, your pussy aching for eyes on it."
His gaze raked her body—breasts, waist, hips—and her pussy throbbed harder, a fresh gush of wetness soaking her panties, smearing her thighs. The cashier handed back the bags, oblivious, but Nivi felt the heat—his words a promise, her clit pulsing with need.
He's thinking about grabbing my tits, fucking my ass in these, she thought, a slow burn building: I'm not just flirting anymore. This is real, dangerous, and my pussy's dripping for it.
They walked out to the car, the night air cool against her flushed skin, the bags swinging in his hand. Coimbatore’s streets buzzed with life—scooters whizzing, the distant sizzle of bhajjis frying—but Nivi's focus was on the ache between her legs, her panties sticking to her wet folds.
"Thank you," she said, sincere now, the temple’s warmth lingering. "Not just for the clothes, but... for today. For listening." Her voice softened, deepening: He sees my pain, my fire—makes me feel whole, my pussy wet from his care.
He opened the door for her, his body close, breath warm on her neck.
"You don't have to thank me, Nivi. Just wear them. Let those tits bounce, that ass sway."
His eyes dropped to her cleavage, then her thighs as she slid in, the seat leather cool under her ass. Fuck, I'm so wet, she thought, shifting, feeling the dampness spread, her pussy lips slick against the fabric. If he knew how soaked I am, he'd pin me here, fingers sliding into my dripping cunt.
The drive was silent at first, the city lights blurring past, tension thick like the wetness between her thighs. Raghavan's fingers tapped the wheel, his gaze flicking to her legs, her side view.
"Tell me," he said, voice low and rough, "which one's your favorite? The black back-cut? Bet it makes your ass look irresistible." His tone teased, but his eyes were dark, hungry.
She crossed her legs, the movement pressing her swollen clit, a jolt of pleasure shooting through her. "The crimson slits," she admitted, voice sultry, indirect. "Feels like it'll ride up, show too much thigh, make every man stare at my ass, want to grab it."
Her pussy throbbed harder, dripping onto the seat, the leather warming under her leaking wetness. He's imagining it, his cock hard, throbbing, wanting to bury it in my soaked pussy.
He groaned softly, shifting in his seat, his bulge visible.
"Damn, Nivi. You'd kill me in that." His hand brushed her knee, accidental but electric, sending a fresh gush from her pussy. "But that's the point—make them want your tits, your ass, but you're untouchable." Except for you, her mind whispered: I want him to touch, to claim my wet cunt.
Her wetness spread, soaking the seat, her scent faint in the air, her clit aching for friction.
By the time they reached her gate, her pussy was throbbing, thighs slick with her juices, the leather marked with her arousal—a damp spot where she'd sat, grinding subtly against the seat.
"Goodnight, sir," she said, stepping out, bags in hand, her ass bouncing as she walked away.
He watched, she knew, his eyes on her curves. Fuck, I left my pussy juice on the seat, she thought, wicked thrill: Will he notice? Smell my wet cunt?
Inside, her mother-in-law greeted her with a knowing smile, eyes on the bags. "Shopping? You look... flushed, dear."
Nivi's cheeks burned: She suspects, but she supports.
"Just some new things," Nivi said, voice light.
Upstairs, on the balcony, Nivi glanced down at the car, heart pounding.
Raghavan was still there, bent over the passenger seat, his face close—sniffing the damp spot, then licking it? Her breath caught, pussy clenching hard, a fresh drip soaking her panties. He's tasting my pussy juice, she thought, wild heat surging. My cum on his tongue, his cock hard from my scent. Fuck, that's filthy, hot—my clit throbbing just watching.
She fled inside, body on fire: He craves my wet pussy like that—raw, desperate. That night, in bed, Anand snoring oblivious, Nivi's fingers slipped under her nightie.
She touched her swollen clit, rubbing slow, then fast, picturing Raghavan's tongue on the seat, the gang's silent want.
I'm a slut for this, she thought, her pussy clenching as she came hard, juices gushing, shaking. And I fucking love it.
Continues....