Misc. Erotica Chaitali ki diary: Day 1 in Noida

[Mohit.Kumar]

Chaitali blinked, her gaze drifting to the crate. Condensation dripped from the green bottles nestled in soggy cardboard. She flashed Rashid a wide, eager smile, her swollen lips stretching. "Haanji" she replied. Her fingers, trembling slightly, fumbled with the bottle’s cap. The metal was icy, biting into her skin. She wedged it against the edge of the seat, palm slamming down hard. The cap flew off with a sharp pssht, spraying cold foam onto her wrist and the damp polyester clinging to her thigh. The sudden chill made her gasp, her nipples tightening painfully against the coarse bra fabric.

Rashid snatched the bottle without looking, his fingers brushing hers. He tilted his head back, taking a long, greedy gulp. Beer trickled down his stubbled chin, dripping onto his shirt. He thrust the bottle back towards her, foam still bubbling at the neck. "Le, tu bhi pi" he commanded, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. Chaitali took it, her fingers wrapping around the cold glass. She lifted it to her lips, the rim wet with his saliva. She hesitated only a second – the illicit thrill warming her belly – before tilting it back. The cold, bitter liquid flooded her mouth, washing away the lingering musk of Abdul. She swallowed, the chill spreading down her throat, contrasting sharply with the van’s stifling heat. A trickle escaped, tracing a cold path down her neck and disappearing into her cleavage. She giggled, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. "Bahut thanda hai" she said, her voice slightly slurred already, her cheeks flushing deeper.

Rashid grunted, keeping one hand loosely on the steering wheel as they bounced along the rutted track. With his other hand, he gestured impatiently for the bottle again. Chaitali leaned forward eagerly, her heavy breasts pressing against the driver's seat headrest as she passed it to him. He took another swig, then held it out sideways towards her without slowing down. "Share karte hain," he stated, a smirk playing on his lips. Chaitali understood. She shuffled closer on the vibrating seat, her hip bumping against the crate. When Rashid lifted the bottle to his lips, she craned her neck, her lips seeking the opening simultaneously. Their mouths touched the cold glass together. Rashid drank deeply, then tilted the bottle slightly, letting the beer flow into Chaitali’s waiting mouth. She sucked greedily, her lips brushing his knuckles, cold liquid and warm foam spilling over their joined fingers. The shared intimacy, the taste of beer mixed faintly with the salt of his skin, sent a jolt through her. She moaned softly against the bottle, her eyes half-closed.

The Omni hit a deep pothole, jolting them violently. Beer sloshed over Rashid’s hand and Chaitali’s chin. She giggled, a high, breathy sound that made her breasts tremble beneath her damp blouse. Rashid pulled the bottle away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His gaze flicked down to her chest. The top buttons of her blouse had popped open again during the jostling, revealing the swell of her dusky cleavage and the edge of her floral bra, damp with sweat and spilled beer. "Dekho, tumhare doodhon ne bottle gira di," he chuckled darkly, nodding towards the wet patch darkening the thin fabric clinging to her heavy right breast. Chaitali looked down, looking surprise. "Arre, haan" she exclaimed, her voice thick with playful innocence. Instead of buttoning up, she used a corner of her crumpled saree pallu to dab clumsily at the dampness, her movements deliberately slow, pushing her breast up slightly, making the deep valley between them more pronounced. She caught Rashid watching in the rearview mirror and flashed him a wide smile, her tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of beer on her lower lip.

The van shuddered to a halt beside a roadside dhaba, its corrugated tin roof shimmering in the heat haze. A faded hand-painted sign proclaimed "Haji Biryani" in peeling red letters above a cloud of greasy smoke billowing from a tandoor. Rashid killed the engine. The sudden silence was filled with the low murmur of truckers hunched over steel plates. The air hung thick with the pungent aroma of biryani spices, fried onions, and woodsmoke. Rashid turned in his seat, his eyes scanning Chaitali’s disheveled state – the gaping blouse, her flushed cheeks, the faint smear of dried saliva still visible at the corner of her swollen lips. "Button kar lo," he ordered sharply, jerking his chin at her chest. "Yahan log hain." Chaitali pouted slightly but obeyed, her thick fingers fumbling clumsily with the tiny pearl buttons. The damp fabric resisted, pulling tight across her full breasts. She managed to fasten three buttons, leaving a deep V of cleavage exposed, the bra clearly visible beneath. Rashid grunted, seemingly satisfied. "Chalo," he commanded, climbing out. "Harish Bhai aur Salman ke liye biryani le lenge."