06-09-2025, 07:23 PM
(This post was last modified: 06-09-2025, 07:26 PM by divyanair. Edited 2 times in total. Edited 2 times in total.)
Chapter Four: Tangled Touches
Dawn crept softly over the Bangalore campus, cloaking the grounds in a silvery stillness. Pale light spilled between buildings, carving sharp shadows along deserted walkways, while the air hung heavy with the mingled scent of wet soil and jasmine, stirred gently by a whispering breeze. Deepika stood outside her staff quarters, her caramel skin glistening with a thin sheen of anxious sweat, her wavy black hair tumbling in loose, tangled waves down her back, clinging to her neck in the humid air. At 5’6”, her curvaceous figure was a vision in a pale blue kurta, the soft cotton clinging to the full swell of her breasts, the fabric stretched taut across their curves, and black leggings that molded to her round, firm ass and shapely thighs, accentuating every contour. Her coral lips, glossy and full, trembled as she paced, her slender fingers gripping her phone, its dim glow illuminating the sharp angles of her tense face, her dark eyes wide with urgency. She’d swiped through every cab app—Ola, Uber, a local taxi service—but each flashed the same cruel message: “No cabs available.” Her train to Kerala, the lifeline to her village wedding, was leaving in under an hour, the railway station too far to reach on foot. Her suitcase, bulging with sarees, gold jewelry, and wedding essentials, loomed by the door, its weight a silent accusation. Her body thrummed with nervous energy, her skin prickling as if charged, a lingering heat from a late-night video call pulsing low in her belly, making her thighs clench, her breath uneven, her pussy tingling with a restless warmth she couldn’t shake.
Desperate, Deepika hoisted her suitcase, the leather handle biting into her palm, and hurried toward the main road, her heels clicking sharply on the pavement. Each step sent her breasts swaying, the kurta’s thin cotton rubbing against her sensitive nipples, sending faint, electric sparks through her chest that made her gasp softly. Her heart pounded, her caramel skin flushed hotter, her wavy hair swaying, sticking to her damp neck and shoulders. She waved frantically at passing vehicles—cars speeding by, bikes roaring past, autos ignoring her outstretched hand, their taillights mocking her in the dim light. Her breath hitched, her coral lips bitten raw, a knot of panic tightening in her chest, her body trembling with urgency, the heat between her thighs growing despite the morning chill. “Please, someone,” she whispered, her voice cracking, her eyes darting, her skin burning with frustration and that unresolved pulse of desire, her pussy throbbing faintly as her nerves frayed.
A two-wheeler slowed, its engine sputtering like a wounded animal. The rider, Shankar, a wiry Karnataka-native night watchman, had a scruffy beard and a weathered face etched with long, sleepless shifts, his stained khaki uniform hanging loose on his lean frame. His sharp eyes raked over Deepika’s curves—her heaving breasts, her round ass, the sliver of caramel skin exposed where her kurta rode up at her waist—his cock stirring in his trousers, a slow, hungry throb warming his groin. “Station? Rs. 500,” he grunted, his voice rough, the price inflated to exploit her desperation.
Deepika’s coral lips parted in shock, her dark eyes flashing with indignation—Rs. 500 was robbery—but the train’s departure loomed like a guillotine. Her fingers trembled as she fished out the cash, her skin prickling with unease, her stomach twisting with a mix of anger and necessity. “Okay, fine,” she said, her voice quivering, handing over the crumpled notes. “But go fast.” Shankar’s smirk deepened, his cock twitching as he pocketed the money, his eyes lingering on the curve of her breasts. “One stop—picking up my son, Kiran, from a friend’s place. Study sleepover,” he said gruffly. Deepika nodded, her heart sinking but her options gone, climbing onto the bike. Her round ass settled on the narrow, cracked seat, the kurta riding higher, exposing more of her waist, the leggings clinging to her thighs, the fabric stretched taut against her skin, warm and slightly damp with sweat.
Shankar revved the engine, the vibration humming through Deepika’s body, sending a jolt through her thighs that made her pussy pulse, her breath catching. She gripped his waist, her slender fingers digging into his sides, her breasts pressing against his back, the kurta’s thin cotton offering little barrier to their soft, warm weight. Shankar’s cock hardened fully, the feel of her curves against him igniting a raw lust, his pulse racing as they sped through the empty streets, the cool air whipping past. Deepika’s mind was a storm—I can’t miss this train—her nipples tightening against the kurta, the friction of the fabric against her sensitive peaks sending shivers down her spine, her pussy throbbing with a mix of anxiety and that lingering heat, her thighs clenching around the seat. The bike’s jolts made her breasts bounce against Shankar’s back, each movement heightening her awareness of her body, her skin hypersensitive, her coral lips parting in a silent gasp as the vibration pulsed between her legs, her pussy growing wetter, the heat overwhelming her focus.
They stopped at a small, rundown house, where Kiran, Shankar’s adult son, emerged, his lanky frame awkward, his messy hair falling into nervous eyes still heavy from a late-night study session. His limited experience with women made his cock stir instantly at Deepika’s glowing caramel skin, her breasts and ass outlined by the tight kurta and leggings, the sight sending a tight ache through his jeans. “Get on,” Shankar barked, and Kiran climbed behind Deepika, sandwiching her between father and son. The bike sagged under their weight, Deepika’s body pressed tight—her breasts squashed against Shankar’s back, her ass brushing Kiran’s crotch, the heat of their bodies trapping her, her caramel skin flushing hotter, her heart pounding like a drum. The leggings clung to her thighs, the kurta’s hem riding up, exposing the soft curve of her waist, her body tingling with the closeness, her pussy aching with a forbidden warmth that made her breath uneven.
As Shankar raced toward the station, the bumpy road jostled Deepika, her ass grinding against Kiran’s hardening cock, the pressure sending a sharp thrill through her core, her breasts bouncing against Shankar’s back, the kurta’s fabric rubbing her nipples raw, each touch igniting sparks that made her thighs tremble. Kiran’s hands, resting on her waist, grazed the soft, warm skin above her leggings, his fingers brushing the exposed strip at her kurta’s hem, the touch light but deliberate. Deepika tensed, her breath catching, her mind dismissing it as the bike’s motion. Just the road, she thought, her coral lips bitten harder, her heart racing, her skin burning. Kiran’s cock throbbed against her ass, his inexperience fueling his daring, his hands sliding up her waist, fingers trembling as they brushed the sides of her breasts, the kurta’s thin cotton no match for the heat of his touch. Deepika’s nipples ached, a sharp jolt of sensation shooting through her chest, her caramel skin flushing deeper, her pussy clenching with a strange, forbidden heat, echoing Shreya’s thrill at the tailor’s. Is he doing this on purpose? she wondered, her body tingling, her mind warring between shock and a growing arousal she couldn’t name, her pussy now slick, soaking through her leggings, the warmth spreading.
Kiran grew bolder, his fingers squeezing her waist firmly, then cupping the sides of her breasts, his thumbs grazing her nipples through the kurta, sending electric waves to her core, her breath hitching, her coral lips parting in a soft moan. His cock pressed harder against her ass, grinding with each bump, his breath hot and ragged on her neck, the intimacy overwhelming her senses. Deepika’s mind swirled—This is wrong, but why’s it so intense?—her pussy throbbing, her body leaning into the touch despite her guilt, the mysterious thrill consuming her, her thighs quivering, her skin alive with sensation. Shankar, oblivious, pushed the bike to its limit, weaving through early traffic, but the city’s congestion slowed them, the delays heightening Deepika’s panic. Her breasts pressed tighter against his back, the friction making his cock throb, his hands gripping the handlebars hard, his mind clouded with lust. Kiran’s groping turned blatant, his hands fully cupping her breasts, squeezing softly, his fingers rolling her nipples, his cock grinding harder against her ass, each movement sending waves of heat through Deepika’s body, her coral lips trembling, her pussy pulsing, her thighs slick with arousal, her mind a tangle of shame and desire.
They reached the station 10 minutes late, the platform deserted, the train’s echo long faded. Deepika’s heart sank, her caramel skin flushed with frustration and lingering arousal, her wavy hair clinging to her sweaty neck, her kurta damp against her breasts. “No,” she gasped, sliding off the bike, her breasts bouncing, her ass tingling from Kiran’s touch, her leggings damp between her thighs, the slickness betraying her body’s response. Shankar’s eyes lingered on her curves, his cock still hard, while Kiran grinned, his dick throbbing, savoring the feel of her body. “Thank you,” Deepika muttered, her voice shaky, her coral lips trembling as she grabbed her suitcase, her body buzzing with unresolved heat, her mind a storm of guilt, anger, and forbidden pleasure, the weight of her failure pressing against the ache in her core.
Hours earlier, the campus was cloaked in midnight stillness, the air cool with the sweet scent of jasmine drifting from the hostel gardens. Shreya lay in her roommate Priya’s bed in the girls’ hostel, the fan whirring overhead, its breeze brushing her fair skin, cooling the humid night. Priya had stormed off to her family home after another breakup with her boyfriend, Vijay, their on-off relationship fracturing again, leaving Shreya uninformed. Dressed in a loose white top, the cotton soft and slightly sheer, and a tight black skirt that hugged her round ass and slender thighs, with a lacy black panty underneath—her Chapter Three saree blouse tucked away for the Kerala wedding—Shreya’s fair skin glowed in the moonlight filtering through the window, her curly black hair fanned across the pillow, framing her delicate face. Her breasts, pert and full, rose with each breath, the top clinging to their curves, her nipples faintly visible through the thin fabric, her ass accentuated by the skirt’s snug fit. She had often watched Priya and Vijay’s midnight makeouts from her own bed, their wet kisses and groping hands stirring a forbidden thrill in her chest, a heat that mirrored the tailor’s bold touches, making her pussy tingle, her skin flush. She’d shared this with Arjun, who teased, “I’ll sneak in one night, babe, and we’ll have our own fun.” The memory made her smile in her sleep, her coral lips parted, her body warm, her panty snug against her pussy, a faint pulse of anticipation lingering from the thought of Arjun’s promise, her thighs shifting restlessly.
The door creaked softly, Vijay slipping in, his lean Karnataka-native frame silent in the shadows, his messy hair and rough stubble catching the moonlight. His intimacy was mostly with Priya, and his cock stirred at the thought of patching up after their fight, his pulse quickening with expectation. Unaware of Priya’s absence, he saw a figure in her bed and assumed it was her, the darkness masking Shreya’s curly hair. He slid onto the bed, his breath uneven, his hand brushing the sheet aside, his fingers grazing Shreya’s bare thigh just below her skirt, the skin soft and warm, like silk under his touch. Shreya stirred, a soft moan escaping her coral lips, her body shifting instinctively, her thighs parting slightly, the skirt riding up to reveal the smooth curve of her leg. Mistaking the touch for Arjun sneaking in as promised, she sighed, her mind hazy with sleep, forgetting she was in Priya’s bed, the fan’s breeze cooling her flushed skin.
Vijay leaned in, his lips brushing her neck, the stubble grazing her sensitive skin, sending a shiver through her body, her pussy tingling through her panty. His hand slid up her thigh, fingers tracing the edge of her lacy panty, the fabric soft and slightly damp, the touch igniting a spark in her core. Shreya’s eyes fluttered open, her fair skin flushing pink, her nipples hardening under the thin top, her breath catching as she murmured, “Arjun,” her voice thick with sleep, her body responding with a slow arch, her pussy pulsing with a forbidden thrill. Vijay’s cock hardened in his jeans, the warmth of her thigh under his fingers driving his desire, his lips capturing hers in a deep, hungry kiss, his tongue exploring her coral lips, the taste sweet and warm. Shreya kissed back passionately, her body igniting, her hands sliding to his shoulders, pulling him closer, her breasts pressing against his chest, the top’s fabric rubbing her nipples, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through her, her pussy growing wetter, soaking her panty.
Vijay’s hand slipped under her top, his fingers finding her breast, cupping its soft weight, squeezing gently, his thumb brushing her nipple, the peak hard and sensitive, making her gasp into his mouth, her coral lips trembling. His other hand slid under her skirt, grazing her ass over the lacy panty, the fabric clinging to her curves, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, his cock grinding against her thigh, the denim rough against her skin. Shreya moaned softly, her pussy throbbing, the mysterious thrill from the tailor’s shop surging back, her mind still clouded, believing it was Arjun, her body aching for more. This is so intense, she thought, her fair skin burning, her thighs trembling, her panty slick with arousal, her hips grinding instinctively against his touch, the heat overwhelming her senses.
The makeout deepened, Vijay’s lips trailing to her neck, sucking softly, his stubble grazing her skin, sending shivers down her spine, her pussy pulsing harder. His hand squeezed her breast firmly, fingers rolling her nipple, each pinch sending a wave of pleasure to her core, while his other hand gripped her ass, pulling her closer, his cock throbbing against her thigh, the friction driving her wild. Shreya’s fingers tangled in his hair, her coral lips gasping, her hips rocking, her panty soaked, her body alive with sensation, her mind swirling with desire and confusion. Why does this feel so right? she thought, her skin flushed, her pussy aching for release, her thighs slick with arousal. Suddenly, Vijay whispered, “Priya, I’m sorry, baby,” his voice low and desperate.
Shreya’s eyes snapped open, her fair skin paling as reality crashed in—this wasn’t Arjun. Her heart pounded, her breasts heaving, her nipples still hard, her panty drenched, her body buzzing with shock and lingering arousal. “Vijay? Oh my God!” she whispered, her voice trembling, yanking her skirt down, her ass tingling from his grip, her skin burning with a mix of shame and thrill. Vijay froze, his cock still hard, his face flushed, his eyes wide with panic. “Shreya? Shit, I thought you were Priya!” he stammered, scrambling off the bed, his dick straining in his jeans, his hands shaking. Shreya’s mind reeled, her pussy throbbing, the intense makeout leaving her torn—That felt so wrong, but so good—her coral lips swollen, her body craving more despite the mistake, her thighs trembling, her panty clinging to her slick skin. Vijay muttered an apology, bolting from the room, leaving Shreya alone in the dark, her fair skin flushed, her breath uneven, her mind a tangle of guilt, arousal, and the forbidden thrill that refused to fade.
Outside, Ashwin, on a late-night stroll, glimpsed Vijay entering the hostel, his chubby frame hidden in the shadows. Jealousy flared, thinking Vijay was with Priya, but picturing Shreya nearby made his cock twitch, his taboo crush burning, his mind racing with images of her curves, his dick hardening in his trousers. Karthik, in his dorm, texted Shreya a flirty goodnight, unaware, his kinky thoughts of tying her up keeping his dick hard, his fantasies vivid. Arjun slept, oblivious, his dreams of Deepika’s caramel skin and coral lips stirring his cock, his desire for her unshaken.
Back at the station, the platform was empty, the train to Kerala long gone, leaving Deepika stranded in Bangalore’s early morning chaos. Her caramel skin glistened with sweat, her wavy black hair damp and clinging to her neck, her kurta and leggings molded to her curves, the fabric stretched tight across her full breasts and round ass, her coral lips trembling as she clutched her suitcase. The weight of her luggage—sarees, jewelry, wedding essentials—made the unreserved compartment unthinkable, the crush of passengers and long journey to Kerala too overwhelming. She swiped through her phone, the screen’s glow harsh against her tired eyes, but every app showed the same: no available trains, all seats booked for days. At the inquiry counter, a gruff clerk snapped, “No tickets, ma’am, fully packed,” his voice dismissive. A transport strike had halted all buses, the roads eerily quiet, leaving her no path to her village. Her heart sank, her caramel skin flushing with frustration, her body still buzzing from Kiran’s touches, her pussy tingling with unresolved heat. Defeated, she realized she’d have to return to her campus quarters and try again tomorrow, her mind heavy with failure, her body aching with a mix of exhaustion and arousal.
The station’s exit was a mess of honking autos and shouting vendors, the air thick with diesel fumes and dust. No cabs responded to her apps, the strike choking the city. Dragging her suitcase, its wheels scbanging the ground, Deepika’s breasts bounced with each step, the kurta’s thin cotton rubbing her nipples, sending faint jolts through her chest, her leggings clinging to her thighs, damp with sweat and arousal. She spotted a share auto, its rickety frame nearly full with passengers crammed shoulder-to-shoulder. She waved desperately, her kurta riding up, the side slit exposing a sliver of her caramel hip, her wavy hair swaying. The driver, a wiry man with a paunch and greasy hair, nodded, his eyes lingering on her curves, his cock stirring faintly in his trousers. “Hop in, ma’am, it’s tight,” he said, his voice gruff. Deepika squeezed in, her round ass barely fitting, half of it perched precariously on the bench’s edge, her suitcase wedged by her feet, her caramel skin glistening, her breath uneven as she adjusted, the kurta’s slit widening, exposing more of her hip and thigh.
As the auto prepared to leave, an old handicapped man, leaning heavily on a cane, approached, his weathered face creased with a plea for a spot. His thin frame and gray hair stirred a pang of guilt in Deepika, her heart torn—her own spot was already precarious, her ass barely accommodated, but compassion tugged at her. The driver shrugged, his eyes flicking to her breasts, and said, “Ma’am, sit on his lap,” pointing to the gentleman next to her, a stocky 40-something Karnataka native named Mahesh, with a thick mustache and a sweaty shirt that clung to his broad chest. Mahesh smirked, his cock twitching in his trousers, patting his lap. “Plenty of room,” he said, his voice low and rough, his eyes locked on her ass, the hunger in his gaze unmistakable.
Deepika’s coral lips parted in reluctance, her dark eyes flashing with hesitation, but with no other choice, she nodded, her heart pounding, her skin flushing hotter. She slid onto Mahesh’s lap, her round ass pressing against his thighs, the warmth of his body seeping through her leggings, her breasts bouncing as she adjusted, the kurta stretching tight, the side slit gaping to reveal the curve of her hip and thigh. Mahesh’s cock hardened instantly, the pressure of her ass against him sending a jolt of lust through his body, his hands resting on her hips, fingers grazing the exposed skin at her waist through the kurta’s slit, the touch warm and deliberate. Deepika tensed, her breath catching, her mind racing—He’s just holding me steady—but her caramel skin burned, her nipples tightening against the kurta, the fabric rubbing her sensitive peaks, sending shivers through her chest.
The auto lurched forward, the bumpy road jostling Deepika, her ass grinding against Mahesh’s hardening cock, the friction sending a sharp thrill through her core, her pussy pulsing, her leggings growing damp. Mahesh’s hands slid up her waist, fingers brushing the sides of her breasts through the kurta, the touch bold under the guise of balance. “Careful, ma’am,” he murmured, his voice thick, his fingers groping her waist, then her thigh, his touch lingering, squeezing softly. The old man, seated beside them, leaned closer, his cane across his lap, his frail hand slipping through the side slit of Deepika’s kurta, “accidentally” brushing her thigh over her leggings, the fabric smooth and warm under his fingers. His touch lingered, gripping her thigh for “support” as the auto swayed, his fingers creeping higher, groping the soft flesh, his eyes glinting with a sly, hungry spark. Deepika’s breath hitched, her caramel skin flushing deeper, her nipples aching, a familiar heat igniting—like the forbidden thrill on Shankar’s bike. Are they doing this on purpose? she wondered, her pussy throbbing, the slickness soaking her leggings, her body trembling with a mix of shame and arousal.
Mahesh grew bolder, his hands sliding to cup her breasts through the kurta, fingers grazing her nipples, the peaks hard and sensitive, each touch sending electric waves to her core, her coral lips parting in a soft moan. His cock pressed harder against her ass, grinding with each bump, the heat of his arousal searing through her leggings, making her thighs tremble, her pussy aching. The old man’s fingers crept higher through the kurta’s slit, groping her thigh near her pussy, the leggings tight against her skin, his “grip” a thin excuse, his breath ragged, his touch firm and invasive. Deepika’s mind swirled—This is so wrong—but the touches—Mahesh’s hands squeezing her breasts, his fingers rolling her nipples, his cock grinding against her ass; the old man’s fingers digging into her thigh, so close to her pulsing core—ignited a fire she couldn’t suppress, her body leaning into the sensation, her skin alive, her pussy slick with arousal, her breath uneven, her coral lips trembling.
The auto reached the campus gates, Deepika sliding off Mahesh’s lap, her breasts heaving, her ass tingling, her leggings damp with sweat and arousal, the slickness clinging to her thighs. “Thank you,” she muttered, her voice shaky, grabbing her suitcase, her wavy hair falling across her flushed face, her coral lips swollen. Mahesh adjusted his trousers, his cock still hard, his eyes dark with lust, while the old man smirked, his hand lingering in the air, his fingers flexing as if savoring her thigh. The driver watched her swaying ass, his dick twitching, as she hurried to her quarters, her heels clicking, her body buzzing with forbidden pleasure.
Alone in her room, Deepika collapsed onto her bed, her heart pounding, her caramel skin flushed, her pussy still throbbing, the weight of her stranded state mingling with the intense, shameful arousal. Tomorrow, she’d need another way to Kerala, her desires tangling further, her mind reeling with guilt and the thrill that refused to fade. The campus night held its secrets, Shreya’s and Deepika’s encounters weaving a web of unspoken tensions, the Kerala trip looming with promise and peril.
Dawn crept softly over the Bangalore campus, cloaking the grounds in a silvery stillness. Pale light spilled between buildings, carving sharp shadows along deserted walkways, while the air hung heavy with the mingled scent of wet soil and jasmine, stirred gently by a whispering breeze. Deepika stood outside her staff quarters, her caramel skin glistening with a thin sheen of anxious sweat, her wavy black hair tumbling in loose, tangled waves down her back, clinging to her neck in the humid air. At 5’6”, her curvaceous figure was a vision in a pale blue kurta, the soft cotton clinging to the full swell of her breasts, the fabric stretched taut across their curves, and black leggings that molded to her round, firm ass and shapely thighs, accentuating every contour. Her coral lips, glossy and full, trembled as she paced, her slender fingers gripping her phone, its dim glow illuminating the sharp angles of her tense face, her dark eyes wide with urgency. She’d swiped through every cab app—Ola, Uber, a local taxi service—but each flashed the same cruel message: “No cabs available.” Her train to Kerala, the lifeline to her village wedding, was leaving in under an hour, the railway station too far to reach on foot. Her suitcase, bulging with sarees, gold jewelry, and wedding essentials, loomed by the door, its weight a silent accusation. Her body thrummed with nervous energy, her skin prickling as if charged, a lingering heat from a late-night video call pulsing low in her belly, making her thighs clench, her breath uneven, her pussy tingling with a restless warmth she couldn’t shake.
Desperate, Deepika hoisted her suitcase, the leather handle biting into her palm, and hurried toward the main road, her heels clicking sharply on the pavement. Each step sent her breasts swaying, the kurta’s thin cotton rubbing against her sensitive nipples, sending faint, electric sparks through her chest that made her gasp softly. Her heart pounded, her caramel skin flushed hotter, her wavy hair swaying, sticking to her damp neck and shoulders. She waved frantically at passing vehicles—cars speeding by, bikes roaring past, autos ignoring her outstretched hand, their taillights mocking her in the dim light. Her breath hitched, her coral lips bitten raw, a knot of panic tightening in her chest, her body trembling with urgency, the heat between her thighs growing despite the morning chill. “Please, someone,” she whispered, her voice cracking, her eyes darting, her skin burning with frustration and that unresolved pulse of desire, her pussy throbbing faintly as her nerves frayed.
A two-wheeler slowed, its engine sputtering like a wounded animal. The rider, Shankar, a wiry Karnataka-native night watchman, had a scruffy beard and a weathered face etched with long, sleepless shifts, his stained khaki uniform hanging loose on his lean frame. His sharp eyes raked over Deepika’s curves—her heaving breasts, her round ass, the sliver of caramel skin exposed where her kurta rode up at her waist—his cock stirring in his trousers, a slow, hungry throb warming his groin. “Station? Rs. 500,” he grunted, his voice rough, the price inflated to exploit her desperation.
Deepika’s coral lips parted in shock, her dark eyes flashing with indignation—Rs. 500 was robbery—but the train’s departure loomed like a guillotine. Her fingers trembled as she fished out the cash, her skin prickling with unease, her stomach twisting with a mix of anger and necessity. “Okay, fine,” she said, her voice quivering, handing over the crumpled notes. “But go fast.” Shankar’s smirk deepened, his cock twitching as he pocketed the money, his eyes lingering on the curve of her breasts. “One stop—picking up my son, Kiran, from a friend’s place. Study sleepover,” he said gruffly. Deepika nodded, her heart sinking but her options gone, climbing onto the bike. Her round ass settled on the narrow, cracked seat, the kurta riding higher, exposing more of her waist, the leggings clinging to her thighs, the fabric stretched taut against her skin, warm and slightly damp with sweat.
Shankar revved the engine, the vibration humming through Deepika’s body, sending a jolt through her thighs that made her pussy pulse, her breath catching. She gripped his waist, her slender fingers digging into his sides, her breasts pressing against his back, the kurta’s thin cotton offering little barrier to their soft, warm weight. Shankar’s cock hardened fully, the feel of her curves against him igniting a raw lust, his pulse racing as they sped through the empty streets, the cool air whipping past. Deepika’s mind was a storm—I can’t miss this train—her nipples tightening against the kurta, the friction of the fabric against her sensitive peaks sending shivers down her spine, her pussy throbbing with a mix of anxiety and that lingering heat, her thighs clenching around the seat. The bike’s jolts made her breasts bounce against Shankar’s back, each movement heightening her awareness of her body, her skin hypersensitive, her coral lips parting in a silent gasp as the vibration pulsed between her legs, her pussy growing wetter, the heat overwhelming her focus.
They stopped at a small, rundown house, where Kiran, Shankar’s adult son, emerged, his lanky frame awkward, his messy hair falling into nervous eyes still heavy from a late-night study session. His limited experience with women made his cock stir instantly at Deepika’s glowing caramel skin, her breasts and ass outlined by the tight kurta and leggings, the sight sending a tight ache through his jeans. “Get on,” Shankar barked, and Kiran climbed behind Deepika, sandwiching her between father and son. The bike sagged under their weight, Deepika’s body pressed tight—her breasts squashed against Shankar’s back, her ass brushing Kiran’s crotch, the heat of their bodies trapping her, her caramel skin flushing hotter, her heart pounding like a drum. The leggings clung to her thighs, the kurta’s hem riding up, exposing the soft curve of her waist, her body tingling with the closeness, her pussy aching with a forbidden warmth that made her breath uneven.
As Shankar raced toward the station, the bumpy road jostled Deepika, her ass grinding against Kiran’s hardening cock, the pressure sending a sharp thrill through her core, her breasts bouncing against Shankar’s back, the kurta’s fabric rubbing her nipples raw, each touch igniting sparks that made her thighs tremble. Kiran’s hands, resting on her waist, grazed the soft, warm skin above her leggings, his fingers brushing the exposed strip at her kurta’s hem, the touch light but deliberate. Deepika tensed, her breath catching, her mind dismissing it as the bike’s motion. Just the road, she thought, her coral lips bitten harder, her heart racing, her skin burning. Kiran’s cock throbbed against her ass, his inexperience fueling his daring, his hands sliding up her waist, fingers trembling as they brushed the sides of her breasts, the kurta’s thin cotton no match for the heat of his touch. Deepika’s nipples ached, a sharp jolt of sensation shooting through her chest, her caramel skin flushing deeper, her pussy clenching with a strange, forbidden heat, echoing Shreya’s thrill at the tailor’s. Is he doing this on purpose? she wondered, her body tingling, her mind warring between shock and a growing arousal she couldn’t name, her pussy now slick, soaking through her leggings, the warmth spreading.
Kiran grew bolder, his fingers squeezing her waist firmly, then cupping the sides of her breasts, his thumbs grazing her nipples through the kurta, sending electric waves to her core, her breath hitching, her coral lips parting in a soft moan. His cock pressed harder against her ass, grinding with each bump, his breath hot and ragged on her neck, the intimacy overwhelming her senses. Deepika’s mind swirled—This is wrong, but why’s it so intense?—her pussy throbbing, her body leaning into the touch despite her guilt, the mysterious thrill consuming her, her thighs quivering, her skin alive with sensation. Shankar, oblivious, pushed the bike to its limit, weaving through early traffic, but the city’s congestion slowed them, the delays heightening Deepika’s panic. Her breasts pressed tighter against his back, the friction making his cock throb, his hands gripping the handlebars hard, his mind clouded with lust. Kiran’s groping turned blatant, his hands fully cupping her breasts, squeezing softly, his fingers rolling her nipples, his cock grinding harder against her ass, each movement sending waves of heat through Deepika’s body, her coral lips trembling, her pussy pulsing, her thighs slick with arousal, her mind a tangle of shame and desire.
They reached the station 10 minutes late, the platform deserted, the train’s echo long faded. Deepika’s heart sank, her caramel skin flushed with frustration and lingering arousal, her wavy hair clinging to her sweaty neck, her kurta damp against her breasts. “No,” she gasped, sliding off the bike, her breasts bouncing, her ass tingling from Kiran’s touch, her leggings damp between her thighs, the slickness betraying her body’s response. Shankar’s eyes lingered on her curves, his cock still hard, while Kiran grinned, his dick throbbing, savoring the feel of her body. “Thank you,” Deepika muttered, her voice shaky, her coral lips trembling as she grabbed her suitcase, her body buzzing with unresolved heat, her mind a storm of guilt, anger, and forbidden pleasure, the weight of her failure pressing against the ache in her core.
Hours earlier, the campus was cloaked in midnight stillness, the air cool with the sweet scent of jasmine drifting from the hostel gardens. Shreya lay in her roommate Priya’s bed in the girls’ hostel, the fan whirring overhead, its breeze brushing her fair skin, cooling the humid night. Priya had stormed off to her family home after another breakup with her boyfriend, Vijay, their on-off relationship fracturing again, leaving Shreya uninformed. Dressed in a loose white top, the cotton soft and slightly sheer, and a tight black skirt that hugged her round ass and slender thighs, with a lacy black panty underneath—her Chapter Three saree blouse tucked away for the Kerala wedding—Shreya’s fair skin glowed in the moonlight filtering through the window, her curly black hair fanned across the pillow, framing her delicate face. Her breasts, pert and full, rose with each breath, the top clinging to their curves, her nipples faintly visible through the thin fabric, her ass accentuated by the skirt’s snug fit. She had often watched Priya and Vijay’s midnight makeouts from her own bed, their wet kisses and groping hands stirring a forbidden thrill in her chest, a heat that mirrored the tailor’s bold touches, making her pussy tingle, her skin flush. She’d shared this with Arjun, who teased, “I’ll sneak in one night, babe, and we’ll have our own fun.” The memory made her smile in her sleep, her coral lips parted, her body warm, her panty snug against her pussy, a faint pulse of anticipation lingering from the thought of Arjun’s promise, her thighs shifting restlessly.
The door creaked softly, Vijay slipping in, his lean Karnataka-native frame silent in the shadows, his messy hair and rough stubble catching the moonlight. His intimacy was mostly with Priya, and his cock stirred at the thought of patching up after their fight, his pulse quickening with expectation. Unaware of Priya’s absence, he saw a figure in her bed and assumed it was her, the darkness masking Shreya’s curly hair. He slid onto the bed, his breath uneven, his hand brushing the sheet aside, his fingers grazing Shreya’s bare thigh just below her skirt, the skin soft and warm, like silk under his touch. Shreya stirred, a soft moan escaping her coral lips, her body shifting instinctively, her thighs parting slightly, the skirt riding up to reveal the smooth curve of her leg. Mistaking the touch for Arjun sneaking in as promised, she sighed, her mind hazy with sleep, forgetting she was in Priya’s bed, the fan’s breeze cooling her flushed skin.
Vijay leaned in, his lips brushing her neck, the stubble grazing her sensitive skin, sending a shiver through her body, her pussy tingling through her panty. His hand slid up her thigh, fingers tracing the edge of her lacy panty, the fabric soft and slightly damp, the touch igniting a spark in her core. Shreya’s eyes fluttered open, her fair skin flushing pink, her nipples hardening under the thin top, her breath catching as she murmured, “Arjun,” her voice thick with sleep, her body responding with a slow arch, her pussy pulsing with a forbidden thrill. Vijay’s cock hardened in his jeans, the warmth of her thigh under his fingers driving his desire, his lips capturing hers in a deep, hungry kiss, his tongue exploring her coral lips, the taste sweet and warm. Shreya kissed back passionately, her body igniting, her hands sliding to his shoulders, pulling him closer, her breasts pressing against his chest, the top’s fabric rubbing her nipples, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through her, her pussy growing wetter, soaking her panty.
Vijay’s hand slipped under her top, his fingers finding her breast, cupping its soft weight, squeezing gently, his thumb brushing her nipple, the peak hard and sensitive, making her gasp into his mouth, her coral lips trembling. His other hand slid under her skirt, grazing her ass over the lacy panty, the fabric clinging to her curves, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, his cock grinding against her thigh, the denim rough against her skin. Shreya moaned softly, her pussy throbbing, the mysterious thrill from the tailor’s shop surging back, her mind still clouded, believing it was Arjun, her body aching for more. This is so intense, she thought, her fair skin burning, her thighs trembling, her panty slick with arousal, her hips grinding instinctively against his touch, the heat overwhelming her senses.
The makeout deepened, Vijay’s lips trailing to her neck, sucking softly, his stubble grazing her skin, sending shivers down her spine, her pussy pulsing harder. His hand squeezed her breast firmly, fingers rolling her nipple, each pinch sending a wave of pleasure to her core, while his other hand gripped her ass, pulling her closer, his cock throbbing against her thigh, the friction driving her wild. Shreya’s fingers tangled in his hair, her coral lips gasping, her hips rocking, her panty soaked, her body alive with sensation, her mind swirling with desire and confusion. Why does this feel so right? she thought, her skin flushed, her pussy aching for release, her thighs slick with arousal. Suddenly, Vijay whispered, “Priya, I’m sorry, baby,” his voice low and desperate.
Shreya’s eyes snapped open, her fair skin paling as reality crashed in—this wasn’t Arjun. Her heart pounded, her breasts heaving, her nipples still hard, her panty drenched, her body buzzing with shock and lingering arousal. “Vijay? Oh my God!” she whispered, her voice trembling, yanking her skirt down, her ass tingling from his grip, her skin burning with a mix of shame and thrill. Vijay froze, his cock still hard, his face flushed, his eyes wide with panic. “Shreya? Shit, I thought you were Priya!” he stammered, scrambling off the bed, his dick straining in his jeans, his hands shaking. Shreya’s mind reeled, her pussy throbbing, the intense makeout leaving her torn—That felt so wrong, but so good—her coral lips swollen, her body craving more despite the mistake, her thighs trembling, her panty clinging to her slick skin. Vijay muttered an apology, bolting from the room, leaving Shreya alone in the dark, her fair skin flushed, her breath uneven, her mind a tangle of guilt, arousal, and the forbidden thrill that refused to fade.
Outside, Ashwin, on a late-night stroll, glimpsed Vijay entering the hostel, his chubby frame hidden in the shadows. Jealousy flared, thinking Vijay was with Priya, but picturing Shreya nearby made his cock twitch, his taboo crush burning, his mind racing with images of her curves, his dick hardening in his trousers. Karthik, in his dorm, texted Shreya a flirty goodnight, unaware, his kinky thoughts of tying her up keeping his dick hard, his fantasies vivid. Arjun slept, oblivious, his dreams of Deepika’s caramel skin and coral lips stirring his cock, his desire for her unshaken.
Back at the station, the platform was empty, the train to Kerala long gone, leaving Deepika stranded in Bangalore’s early morning chaos. Her caramel skin glistened with sweat, her wavy black hair damp and clinging to her neck, her kurta and leggings molded to her curves, the fabric stretched tight across her full breasts and round ass, her coral lips trembling as she clutched her suitcase. The weight of her luggage—sarees, jewelry, wedding essentials—made the unreserved compartment unthinkable, the crush of passengers and long journey to Kerala too overwhelming. She swiped through her phone, the screen’s glow harsh against her tired eyes, but every app showed the same: no available trains, all seats booked for days. At the inquiry counter, a gruff clerk snapped, “No tickets, ma’am, fully packed,” his voice dismissive. A transport strike had halted all buses, the roads eerily quiet, leaving her no path to her village. Her heart sank, her caramel skin flushing with frustration, her body still buzzing from Kiran’s touches, her pussy tingling with unresolved heat. Defeated, she realized she’d have to return to her campus quarters and try again tomorrow, her mind heavy with failure, her body aching with a mix of exhaustion and arousal.
The station’s exit was a mess of honking autos and shouting vendors, the air thick with diesel fumes and dust. No cabs responded to her apps, the strike choking the city. Dragging her suitcase, its wheels scbanging the ground, Deepika’s breasts bounced with each step, the kurta’s thin cotton rubbing her nipples, sending faint jolts through her chest, her leggings clinging to her thighs, damp with sweat and arousal. She spotted a share auto, its rickety frame nearly full with passengers crammed shoulder-to-shoulder. She waved desperately, her kurta riding up, the side slit exposing a sliver of her caramel hip, her wavy hair swaying. The driver, a wiry man with a paunch and greasy hair, nodded, his eyes lingering on her curves, his cock stirring faintly in his trousers. “Hop in, ma’am, it’s tight,” he said, his voice gruff. Deepika squeezed in, her round ass barely fitting, half of it perched precariously on the bench’s edge, her suitcase wedged by her feet, her caramel skin glistening, her breath uneven as she adjusted, the kurta’s slit widening, exposing more of her hip and thigh.
As the auto prepared to leave, an old handicapped man, leaning heavily on a cane, approached, his weathered face creased with a plea for a spot. His thin frame and gray hair stirred a pang of guilt in Deepika, her heart torn—her own spot was already precarious, her ass barely accommodated, but compassion tugged at her. The driver shrugged, his eyes flicking to her breasts, and said, “Ma’am, sit on his lap,” pointing to the gentleman next to her, a stocky 40-something Karnataka native named Mahesh, with a thick mustache and a sweaty shirt that clung to his broad chest. Mahesh smirked, his cock twitching in his trousers, patting his lap. “Plenty of room,” he said, his voice low and rough, his eyes locked on her ass, the hunger in his gaze unmistakable.
Deepika’s coral lips parted in reluctance, her dark eyes flashing with hesitation, but with no other choice, she nodded, her heart pounding, her skin flushing hotter. She slid onto Mahesh’s lap, her round ass pressing against his thighs, the warmth of his body seeping through her leggings, her breasts bouncing as she adjusted, the kurta stretching tight, the side slit gaping to reveal the curve of her hip and thigh. Mahesh’s cock hardened instantly, the pressure of her ass against him sending a jolt of lust through his body, his hands resting on her hips, fingers grazing the exposed skin at her waist through the kurta’s slit, the touch warm and deliberate. Deepika tensed, her breath catching, her mind racing—He’s just holding me steady—but her caramel skin burned, her nipples tightening against the kurta, the fabric rubbing her sensitive peaks, sending shivers through her chest.
The auto lurched forward, the bumpy road jostling Deepika, her ass grinding against Mahesh’s hardening cock, the friction sending a sharp thrill through her core, her pussy pulsing, her leggings growing damp. Mahesh’s hands slid up her waist, fingers brushing the sides of her breasts through the kurta, the touch bold under the guise of balance. “Careful, ma’am,” he murmured, his voice thick, his fingers groping her waist, then her thigh, his touch lingering, squeezing softly. The old man, seated beside them, leaned closer, his cane across his lap, his frail hand slipping through the side slit of Deepika’s kurta, “accidentally” brushing her thigh over her leggings, the fabric smooth and warm under his fingers. His touch lingered, gripping her thigh for “support” as the auto swayed, his fingers creeping higher, groping the soft flesh, his eyes glinting with a sly, hungry spark. Deepika’s breath hitched, her caramel skin flushing deeper, her nipples aching, a familiar heat igniting—like the forbidden thrill on Shankar’s bike. Are they doing this on purpose? she wondered, her pussy throbbing, the slickness soaking her leggings, her body trembling with a mix of shame and arousal.
Mahesh grew bolder, his hands sliding to cup her breasts through the kurta, fingers grazing her nipples, the peaks hard and sensitive, each touch sending electric waves to her core, her coral lips parting in a soft moan. His cock pressed harder against her ass, grinding with each bump, the heat of his arousal searing through her leggings, making her thighs tremble, her pussy aching. The old man’s fingers crept higher through the kurta’s slit, groping her thigh near her pussy, the leggings tight against her skin, his “grip” a thin excuse, his breath ragged, his touch firm and invasive. Deepika’s mind swirled—This is so wrong—but the touches—Mahesh’s hands squeezing her breasts, his fingers rolling her nipples, his cock grinding against her ass; the old man’s fingers digging into her thigh, so close to her pulsing core—ignited a fire she couldn’t suppress, her body leaning into the sensation, her skin alive, her pussy slick with arousal, her breath uneven, her coral lips trembling.
The auto reached the campus gates, Deepika sliding off Mahesh’s lap, her breasts heaving, her ass tingling, her leggings damp with sweat and arousal, the slickness clinging to her thighs. “Thank you,” she muttered, her voice shaky, grabbing her suitcase, her wavy hair falling across her flushed face, her coral lips swollen. Mahesh adjusted his trousers, his cock still hard, his eyes dark with lust, while the old man smirked, his hand lingering in the air, his fingers flexing as if savoring her thigh. The driver watched her swaying ass, his dick twitching, as she hurried to her quarters, her heels clicking, her body buzzing with forbidden pleasure.
Alone in her room, Deepika collapsed onto her bed, her heart pounding, her caramel skin flushed, her pussy still throbbing, the weight of her stranded state mingling with the intense, shameful arousal. Tomorrow, she’d need another way to Kerala, her desires tangling further, her mind reeling with guilt and the thrill that refused to fade. The campus night held its secrets, Shreya’s and Deepika’s encounters weaving a web of unspoken tensions, the Kerala trip looming with promise and peril.
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