Misc. Erotica Chaitali ki diary: Day 1 in Noida

[Mohit.Kumar]

Behind the vendor, a younger assistant emerged, wiping grease-stained hands on his vest. His gaze locked onto Chaitali’s wide hips straining against her saree. He grinned, stepping closer. "Kitni bottle, Didi?" he asked, his voice oily smooth. Chaitali giggled, flattered by the attention. "Puri crate chahiye," she said, tilting her head. The vendor chuckled, nudging his assistant. "Dekho, yeh Didi toh party karne wali hai"

The assistant leaned against the counter, invading her space. His eyes dropped to her sweat-slicked collarbone. "Aap akeli itni beer piyogi?" he teased, his knuckles brushing her arm. Chaitali felt a familiar warmth spread through her belly. "Nahi, dost log hain," she breathed, shifting her weight. Her breasts swayed heavily, the damp fabric clinging tighter. The vendor winked, sliding the crate toward her. "Didi ka face dekha, discount de diya" She beamed, oblivious to his leer.

Behind the stall, the assistant grabbed the crate. "Main gaadi tak le chalta hoon," he offered smoothly. Chaitali giggled, flattered. "Kitna achha ladka hai" His rough hand "accidentally" grazed her hip as he walked beside her. Dust coated her sandals, grit grinding between her toes with each step. The assistant’s gaze lingered on her wide hips rolling beneath the thin saree. "Dilli ki ladkiyan aisi hoti hain?" he murmured. Chaitai flushed, her heavy breasts bouncing. "Mai Bangalan hoon," she corrected softly, pride mixing with the thrill of his attention.

The Omni's door screeched open. Abdul came out, grabbing the crate. "Shukriya, Didi," he grinned, his gaze lingering on her sweat-darkened blouse. Rashid tapped the dashboard. "Cigarette?" Chaitali gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth. "Bhool gayi" She spun, her wide hips bumping the van doorframe.

The assistant grinned. "Paan shop hai chowk pe," he offered, jerking his chin down the dusty track. "Sab milta hai." Chaitali beamed, her innocent eyes crinkling. "Kitna achha" She followed him eagerly, her sandals kicking up puffs of dust. The assistant glanced back, openly admiring the pronounced sway of her wide hips beneath the thin saree. "Didi ka naam?" he asked, slowing his pace to match hers.

Chaitali giggled, pushing fogged glasses up her nose. "Chaitali," she breathed, her heavy breasts bouncing with each step. The assistant nodded, his gaze lingering on the damp patch spreading across her blouse. "Chaitali Didi," he murmured, stepping closer. His rough hand brushed hers—a fleeting, deliberate contact that sent a familiar warmth pooling low in her belly. She didn't pull away. "Aap?" she asked softly. "Rajesh," he replied

Rajesh guided her toward the paan shop, his rough fingers brushing hers again as they walked. The narrow path smelled of urine and rotting fruit. He stopped beneath a faded awning. "Ek packet cigarette," Chaitali chirped to the paanwalla, whose eyes lingered on her heavy breasts straining her blouse. Rajesh stepped closer behind her, his breath hot on her neck. His knuckles grazed the small of her back, pressing into the soft flesh above her waistband. She felt the thick ridge of his erection against her wide hip.

The paanwalla slid a packet across the counter. Chaitali fumbled with her purse, her fingers clumsy with the familiar thrill of male proximity. She hastily paid the shopkeeper.

Rajesh guided her back towards the Omni, his rough hand settling possessively on the small of her back, fingers pressing into the yielding flesh above her waistband. Dust coated her sandals, grit grinding painfully into her blistered heels with each step. "Didi," Rajesh murmured, his voice low and intimate beside her ear, "Phone number dedo na? Kabhi milne ka plan bana sakte hain." His thumb traced the damp polyester clinging to the curve of her hip.

Chaitali giggled, a breathy, flattered sound escaping her lips. Without hesitation, she fumbled in her purse, pulling out a slightly crumpled Vatika Real Estate business card. Her fingers brushed his as she handed it over, lingering a moment too long. "Yeh lo," she said. "Call kar lena kabhi." She swayed her wide hips unconsciously, her heavy breasts bouncing beneath the sweat-darkened blouse as she moved towards the waiting van.

Rajesh watched her go, his gaze fixed on the pronounced roll of her hips beneath the thin saree. "Pakka," he called after her, tucking the card into his pocket, his grin widening as he openly admired the thick curve of her backside straining against the cheap fabric with each step.

Chaitali returned alone to the van, clutching the cigarette packet. Rashid leaned out the driver's window, his eyes raking her body—the sweat-darkened hollow between her breasts, the way her blouse clung to the heavy swell beneath. She handed him the packet, her fingers trembling slightly. Rashid snatched it, his knuckles grazing her palm. "Accha," he grunted, tearing the plastic open with his teeth, his gaze never leaving the damp patch spreading across her blouse. Abdul shifted impatiently beside him, his thick fingers drumming on the dashboard, eyes locked on the pronounced sway of her wide hips as she climbed back into the cramped rear seat.

The Omni roared back onto the rutted track, bouncing violently. Abdul twisted fully around, his thick forearm dbangd over the headrest. "Didi," he rumbled, his voice thick with dust and desire, "beer ka intezaam ho gaya."  Rashid chuckled darkly, steering the van toward a skeletal structure shrouded in shadow—a half-collapsed godown with corrugated tin walls groaning in the wind. He killed the engine beside a pile of discarded cement sacks.

Abdul shoved his door open, the hinges screaming protest. He hauled the crate out, the bottles clinking loudly in the sudden silence. Rashid slid out, slamming his door with a metallic clang that echoed off the tin walls. Chaitali scrambled after them. The air tasted of rust and stale water. Abdul opened the crate, pulling out a dripping bottle. He wedged the cap against the rusted edge of the van’s bumper and slammed his palm down. The cap flew off with a sharp hiss. Foam bubbled over his thick fingers. He lifted the bottle, took a long, greedy swig, his throat working visibly. Then, without wiping the rim, he thrust the wet bottle toward Rashid. "Le, Bhai," he grunted, foam dripping onto the dust.

Rashid snatched it, his eyes never leaving Chaitali’s flushed face. He took a deep pull, his Adam’s apple bobbing, cold beer trickling down his stubbled chin. He lowered the bottle, his gaze darkening as it traced the damp patch spreading visibly beneath her blouse where her heavy breasts strained the cheap fabric. "Didi," Rashid rasped, stepping closer, the bottle dangling loosely in his hand. He thrust it toward her. The glass was slick with condensation and Abdul’s saliva. "Peekar dekho." His voice was low, commanding. "Thanda hai."

Chaitali hesitated. She giggled nervously. "Main toh..." she began, her protest weak even to her own ears. Her wide hips shifted unconsciously beneath the thin saree, drawing Abdul’s hungry gaze. Rashid didn’t relent. He pushed the wet bottle firmly against her trembling hands. The cold glass shocked her skin. "Aree lo na," he insisted, his thumb brushing her damp lower lip. "Garmi se rahat milega."

She took the bottle. The rim tasted faintly metallic, mixed with Abdul’s saliva. She tilted her head back, the cold liquid hitting her throat—bitter, fizzy, unfamiliar. She coughed, beer dribbling down her chin onto her sweat-darkened blouse. Rashid chuckled low in his throat. "Thoda sa hi pee," he murmured, his knuckles grazing the side of her heavy breast as he steadied the bottle. Chaitali gasped, the sensation sharp and unexpected. She took another tentative sip, the bitterness fading into a strange warmth spreading through her chest. Abdul watched, mesmerized, as her throat worked, the damp fabric clinging tighter to her breasts with each swallow.

Abdul cracked open another bottle with his teeth, foam spraying. He thrust it at Rashid, then opened a third for himself. "Arre, Didi," Abdul boomed, wiping beer foam from his stubble with the back of his hand. He leaned against the van’s dented flank, his eyes locked onto Chaitali’s flushed face. "Tum Bangalan auraton ka toh kamaal hai Shaadi ke baad bhi itna josh" He took a long swig, grinning. "Sabko pata hai... Dilli mein pati, Gurgaon mein sab brokers." Rashid snorted, nudging Chaitali’s hip with his knee. "Sach hai na, Didi? Harish Bhai toh roz tumhare saath meeting karta hai." Chaitali giggled, the beer buzzing in her veins. She shifted her weight, her wide hips brushing Rashid’s thigh. "Par woh toh kaam ki baatein hain," she protested weakly, her eyes bright, her smile wide and guileless. The lie tasted sweet.

Rashid leaned closer, his beer-slick fingers tracing the damp curve where her blouse met her saree’s waistband. "Kaam?" he murmured, his breath hot and beery against her ear. "Tumhara boss... subah subah kamre mein kaunse kaam ki baat karta hai?" He chuckled darkly. "Sabko maloom hai Khanna Saab kaise tumhe 'promote' karte hain." Chaitali flushed deeper, the heat pooling low in her belly. She took another gulp of beer, the bitterness now familiar, comforting. Her heavy breasts felt loose, swaying gently beneath the thin fabric as she laughed. "Aap log toh bahut shararti ho" she breathed, her gaze darting between them, innocent yet inviting.

Abdul slammed his empty bottle onto the van’s bumper, foam dripping onto the dust. "Shararti nahi, Didi," he countered, cracking open a fresh bottle. "Hum toh sach bolte hain." He stepped forward, the bulge in his trousers straining against the faded fabric as he invaded her space. "Bengali auraton ka blood hi garam hota hai... shaadi ke baad bhi aag nahi bujhti." His rough hand landed possessively on her wide hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh above her waistband. Chaitali swayed into the touch, her thick thigh brushing his, the beer humming warmly through her veins. She giggled, the sound breathy and unrestrained. "Arre, aisa mat bolo" she protested weakly, her eyes bright, her lower lip glistening with beer.

Rashid’s calloused thumb traced the damp edge of her blouse where it strained against her heavy breast. "Dekho na Abdul Bhai," he murmured, his voice thick. "Didi ka face kitna gulabi ho gaya... jaise rasgulla." He leaned closer, his beer-scented breath hot on her neck. "Sab Bengali biwiyaan aise hi hoti hain... ghar mein chulha jalaati hain, bahar aake mardon ko jalati hain." His knuckles brushed the underside of her breast, sending a jolt through her. Chaitali gasped. She took another long pull from her bottle, the bitter fizz mingling with the thrill coiling low in her belly. Her wide hips rolled unconsciously, grinding against Rashid’s thigh. "Main toh seedhi-saadhi hoon," she breathed, her voice slurring slightly, her innocent facade crumbling under the alcohol and their hungry stares.

Abdul cracked open a third bottle, foam spilling over his thick fingers. He shoved it into Chaitali’s hand, replacing her empty one. "Seedhi-saadhi?" he scoffed, his laughter echoing off the tin walls.

Chaitali giggled, the beer buzzing warmly in her veins.  Abdul leaned in closer, "Seedhi-saadhi Didi," he teased, his voice thick with beer and desire. Chaitali flushed crimson, the heat spreading down her neck to her heavy breasts. She took a long, shaky gulp of beer, the bitterness now familiar, almost sweet. Her thick thigh shifted, pressing harder against Rashid’s leg. A bead of sweat traced the deep valley between her breasts, catching the dim light filtering through the cracked tin roof.