Misc. Erotica Chaitali ki diary: Day 1 in Noida

[Mohit.Kumar]

Chaitali scrambled out, her sandals sinking into the dusty earth. She instinctively smoothed her crumpled saree over her wide hips, her gaze darting eagerly towards the dhaba. Young men in grease-stained vests lounged near parked trucks, their eyes instantly drawn to her ample curves swaying beneath the thin fabric. A slow smile spread across Chaitali’s face, her dark eyes brightening.  She adjusted her pallu, deliberately letting it slip lower on her shoulder, exposing more of her breasts. Rashid strode ahead, ignoring her, heading for the counter where a burly man stirred a massive pot of steaming rice. Chaitali lingered near a group of truckers, flashing them a wide smile. One young man, barely out of his teens with oil smudged on his cheek, grinned back, his eyes fixed on her deep cleavage. "Kaha se ho, Didi?" he called out, his voice cracking slightly. Chaitali giggled, the sound high and breathy. "Gurgaon se," she chirped, shifting her weight to make her hips sway. "Kaam pe ayi hoon." The men chuckled appreciatively, their collective gaze like a physical caress.

Rashid leaned against the stained counter, shouting his order over the clatter of plates. "Chaar biryani pack karo" The cook, sweat pouring down his thick neck, barely glanced up. "Dum lag raha hai, Bhai," he grunted, wiping his brow with a filthy rag. "Thoda time lagega." Rashid scowled, drumming his fingers impatiently on the greasy surface. Chaitali drifted closer, drawn by the rich aroma of spices and the simmering tension of male attention. She positioned herself beside Rashid, her shoulder brushing his arm. Her wide hips pressed against the counter’s edge, her heavy breasts straining against the hastily fastened buttons. She could feel the truckers' stares burning into her back. Rashid’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move away. Chaitali leaned forward slightly, peering into the steaming pot. "Kitna masala daala?" she asked the cook, her voice dripping with innocent curiosity. The cook finally looked up, his eyes widening as they travelled from her flushed face down to the deep V of her blouse. A slow, appreciative grin spread across his face. "Bas itna ki dil jala de," he rumbled, his gaze lingering on her cleavage.

Rashid’s hand clamped down on Chaitali’s elbow, pulling her back sharply. "Chup chaap khadi rah," he hissed under his breath, his eyes darting toward the truckers. Their collective gaze was palpable—hungry, amused, undressing her with crude appreciation. Chaitali giggled nervously, shifting her weight to make her hips sway beneath the thin saree. The floral talc on her neck mingled with the scent of biryani and diesel fumes. Rashid’s grip tightened, his knuckles digging into the soft flesh of her arm. He leaned in close, his hot breath hitting her ear. "Truck wale dekh rahe hain," he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. "Unse baat karne ka mann hai?" Chaitali’s breath hitched. She glanced toward the young trucker with oil-smudged cheeks. He grinned back, bold and inviting. She nodded, a shy smile playing on her swollen lips. Rashid’s smirk was cold. "Ja," he commanded, releasing her arm with a shove. "Dost bana le. Main dekh raha hoon."