Misc. Erotica Chaitali ki diary: Day 1 in Noida

[Mohit.Kumar]

Meanwhile, in a cramped Noida office thick with stale smoke and cheap aftershave, Harish leaned back in his creaking leather chair. The blinds were drawn against the afternoon glare, the only light flickering from the large TV mounted on the wall. Rashid perched on the edge of a cluttered desk, Salman slouched low on a stained sofa. On screen, a dusky woman with wide hips straining against a cheap saree was bent over a low cot, her large, heavy breasts swinging freely as a muscular young man gripped her hips, driving into her with rhythmic, wet slaps. Her choked moans filled the room.

Harish took a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing bright in the dimness. His eyes, flat and assessing, tracked the frantic movement on screen – the bounce of her ample ass, the way her dark nipples dragged across the rough cotton sheet with each thrust. Rashid shifted his weight on the desk, knuckles white where he gripped the edge, a bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple despite the AC’s weak hum. Salman’s low chuckle was a dry rasp, devoid of humor, as the young man on screen slapped the woman's flank, leaving a red bloom on her dusky skin. Her answering whimper, high and desperate, seemed to hang in the smoky air long after the sound faded.

The silence wasn't passive; it was thick with concentration, a shared focus honed like a blade. Rashid’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips unconsciously, his gaze fixed on the point where the man’s thick cock disappeared into the yielding flesh. Harish exhaled a plume of smoke that curled towards the screen, momentarily obscuring the woman’s contorted face – eyes squeezed shut, mouth slack and wet. He noted the tremor in her thighs, the involuntary clench of her fingers in the bedsheet, the raw, animal surrender in every jerky movement. It wasn't arousal tightening Salman's jaw, but a predatory appreciation, a cataloging of vulnerability laid bare.

"Arre yaar," Rashid groaned, shifting uncomfortably in his jeans, "isko toh dekho... kya maal hai yaar. Bas ek aisi mil jaaye... thick, dusky, kuch bhi karne ko taiyaar." He gestured at the screen, his eyes fixed on the woman's bouncing backside.

Harish chuckled, swirling cheap whiskey in a stained glass. "Mere paas ek bilkul aisi hai... Chaitali naam hai. Bengali. Receptionist hai Vatika mein." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Ekdam rand... seedha bolti hai 'haanji sir'. Pichle mahine hi... Humne pakda tha use Sector 54 mein."

Rashid's eyes widened. "Sach? Tune choda?" Salman sat up straighter, the sofa springs groaning.

Harish grinned, teeth stained yellow. "Arre bhai, chaar log the... Amit, Raj, Khanna sahab aur main. Uske baad office party... SUV mein le gaye, Fortuner. Uske mote thighs faila ke... ek ek karke sabne choda usko." He mimed thrusting roughly. "Gaadi ki seat piche gira di... uska saara makeup bigad gaya tha, blouse phaad diya tha Amit ne. Uske doodh bahut bade hain yaar... latak rahe the." Rashid leaned in, breathing shallowly. "Aur? Kya bolti thi?"

"Bas haanji sir... haanji sir..." Harish imitated Chaitali's breathy, submissive voice. "Jab Raj ne uski choot mein ungli daali... tab bhi haanji sir. Jab Khanna ne muh mein diya... ghut ghut karti thi par haanji sir hi bolti thi." He took a long swig. "Aur uski gaand? Bhai... ekdum chaudi, gol. Ek baar Amit ne gaand maarne ko kaha... toh bas haanji sir boli aur apni saree utha li."

Rashid's hand drifted unconsciously to his crotch. "Yaar... number de na uski. Ek baar milne ka mauka."

Harish shook his head, a predatory gleam in his eye. "Nahi bhai. Yeh maal sirf Khanna sahab ke permission se chalta hai."

Rashid leaned forward, desperation tightening his voice. "Arre yaar, ek baar ke liye arrange kar de na? Bas ek ghanta. Hum dono... Salman bhi." Salman nodded vigorously, knuckles white where he gripped the sofa arm. "Teri ek bottle Royal Stag pakki," Rashid pleaded.

Harish studied their hungry faces. He pulled out his phone, cracked screen glowing. *Khanna sir, Rashid-Salman NOIDA office wale... Chaitali didi se intro karwana tha. Ek baar milne ka chance.* He hit send, the WhatsApp chime echoing in the tense silence.

Khanna’s reply vibrated: “Kitne log?” Harish grinned. “Sirf do.”

The phone buzzed again. “Bhejta huon.” Harish chuckled, imagining Chaitali’s flustered face—those wide, dark eyes blinking rapidly, that pouty mouth forming a silent ‘oh’ as she processed the order. Rashid and Salman exchanged hungry glances, already shifting plans in their heads.