Misc. Erotica Chaitali ki diary: Day 1 in Noida

[Mohit.Kumar]

Harish emerged from the office. "Chalo, Chaitali Didi,". "Rashid tumhe naya project site dikhaega. Mein aur Salman yahan kam sambhalenge."

Chaitali blinked, her gaze darting between Harish’s impassive face and Rashid’s eager grin. Rashid stepped forward, his hand already finding the small of her back again, fingers splaying possessively over the damp polyester. "Chaliye Didi," he urged, steering her toward the exit. His palm felt unnaturally hot, pressing her forward. Salman lingered in the doorway, his dark eyes tracking the sway of her wide hips beneath the crumpled saree as Rashid guided her out into the blinding afternoon glare.

The heat hit Chaitali like a furnace blast, thick with dust and exhaust fumes. Rashid didn’t pause, propelling her across the cracked asphalt toward a battered white Maruti Omni van parked crookedly near a pile of construction debris. Its windshield was webbed with cracks, the side panels dented and streaked with dried mud. Rashid yanked open the passenger door with a protesting screech of metal. "Yeh hamara office ka gaadi hai," he announced, gesturing her inside with false chivalry. The vinyl seat was cracked and sticky, radiating trapped heat that seeped through her thin petticoat the moment she sank onto it. The smell hit her—old sweat, stale tobacco, and something sour, like curdled milk left in the sun.

Rashid slammed the driver’s door, the entire van shuddering. He jammed a key into the ignition, twisting it with a grinding whine until the engine coughed to life, belching blue smoke. As he pulled away, the suspension groaned under every pothole, jolting Chaitali violently. Her heavy breasts swung painfully against the confines of her blouse, the damp fabric chafing her nipples with each lurch. Rashid’s hand "accidentally" brushed her thigh as he shifted gears, his knuckles rough against her skin. "Site thoda door hai," he said, his eyes fixed ahead, but a smirk played on his lips.

He turned onto a deserted service road flanked by skeletal construction frames and mounds of excavated earth. The air grew thick with dust, coating Chaitali’s lips with grit. Rashid drove slower now, one hand resting loosely on the gearstick, the other drifting onto her knee. His fingers traced idle patterns on the soft flesh above her saree’s waistband. "Aap bahut soft ho, Didi," he murmured, his thumb pressing deeper into the yielding flesh. Chaitali stared rigidly ahead, her knuckles white where she gripped the cracked vinyl seat, the sour smell of the van mixing with the floral talc on her neck.

The van lurched violently into a rutted dirt track hidden behind half-built concrete pillars. Rashid killed the engine. Silence swallowed them—only the tick of cooling metal and the distant drone of a generator.

"Site," Rashid announced "Chalo, Didi." He shoved his door open, the hinges creaking. Chaitali scrambled out, her sandals sinking into fine, powdery silt that coated her blistered heels instantly. The air tasted of wet cement and decay.

Rashid was already moving toward a skeletal structure—bare concrete pillars rising like broken teeth against the bleached sky. He didn't wait, forcing Chaitali to stumble after him, her wide hips brushing against stacked rebar rods slick with rust. "Yahan dekhiye," he called back, gesturing vaguely at a gaping foundation pit filled with muddy, stagnant water. Chaitali hesitated at the crumbling edge, peering down. Below, the water reflected nothing but a distorted smear of sky and her own anxious face. Rashid’s hand clamped onto her elbow, pulling her closer than necessary. "Careful, Didi," he breathed, his chest pressing against her shoulder blade. His other hand slid down to the small of her back, fingers splaying wide over the sweat-damp polyester. "Aap gir jaogi." His thumb dug into the dip above her waistband, pressing hard enough to make her gasp. The scent of his cheap aftershave mixed with the raw earth smell, thick and suffocating.

He guided her away from the pit, steering her toward a shadowed alcove formed by unfinished brick walls. Dust motes danced in the harsh sunlight slicing through gaps in the masonry. Rashid leaned against a stack of cement sacks, pulling Chaitali with him into the shade. The sudden dimness felt intimate, charged. His hand never left her back, now rubbing slow, possessive circles low on her spine. "Thak gayi ho?" he murmured, his gaze dropping to the damp patch spreading visibly beneath her blouse where her heavy breast strained the fabric. Before she could answer, his free hand rose, calloused fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from her sweat-slicked temple. The touch lingered, tracing the curve of her jawline down to her chin. "Aapka face bahut garam hai," he observed, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh beneath her lower lip. Chaitali froze, her breath catching as his fingertip traced the outline of her mouth. The rough pad scbangd her bottom lip, parting it slightly. She tasted dust and salt.

Footsteps crunched on gravel nearby. Rashid didn’t pull away. A broad-shouldered man in a faded orange vest and dusty trousers rounded the corner, wiping his brow with a grimy forearm. His dark eyes, sharp and assessing, flickered from Rashid’s possessive grip on Chaitali’s arm to her flushed, disheveled state—the smudged kajal, the sweat-darkened hollow between her breasts, the way her cheap saree clung to her wide hips. A slow grin spread across his weathered face. "Arre, Rashid Bhai" he boomed, his voice echoing off the bare concrete. "Kya naya maal laya hai?" He stepped closer, the scent of dried sweat and raw earth rolling off him. He didn’t wait for an introduction; his gaze, bold and appraising, roamed Chaitali’s body from her trembling knees to her heaving chest. "Abdul," he announced, thrusting a thick-fingered hand toward Rashid, ignoring Chaitali completely. "Site ka malik." His grin widened, revealing stained teeth. "Iska naam kya hai?" He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest.