02-11-2025, 08:44 PM
Scene 6 : Peeping
I was riding steadily with the rumble of my powerful motorcycle and the woman clinging tightly to my back.
Deepa didn't need to be told to hold on. Her arms were wrapped around my waist, fierce and immediate. My new body, solid and warm beneath her hands, was a shocking contradiction to the "safe brother" she had known. She pressed herself flush against me, her face buried against the back of my neck. I could feel her breath, uneven and hot, ghosting against my collar.
But what hit me most was the heat; a radiant, warmth coming from her chest where it pressed against my spine. Her heart hammered against me.
When I pulled the bike up outside her apartment complex, I cut the engine and the sudden silence felt deafening. She reluctantly unwound her arms.
Senthil: We're here.
She slowly lifted the helmet off her head. Her hair was a mess, her lips still slightly swollen from the intensity of the kiss.
Deepa: Senthil. My family... they are out of town. My parents left yesterday for two days for a wedding in Chennai.
The statement was not an excuse, but a clear invitation. She wasn't just offering a few minutes; she was offering private time.
Deepa: (Her voice was a soft, urgent demand) Come inside. Please.
I didn't hesitate. I parked the bike neatly.
We entered her flat. She locked the door behind us.
She dropped her purse and keys on a table and spun around. The college teacher was gone, replaced by a sudden free bird. A wildness sparked in her eyes.
Deepa: I am so free now! Nobody here! No calls, no parents, no rules! God, I haven't been truly alone like this in years!
She walked quickly into her bedroom, her posture completely different loose, confident, and suddenly radiating a fierce, suppressed energy.
Deepa: I just need to change out of this saree. It feels too tight. Wait here.
She went into her room, I walked toward the bedroom door. She hadn't fully closed it; she'd left a deliberate gap a small, teasing invitation to observe.
My heart starting racing, from the sudden, powerful rush of victory.
I walked slowly, and leaned down, peeking through the open slit in the door.
Deepa stood with her back to me, the olive green saree already puddled on the floor. She was wearing only a simple, pale bra and panties. My breath caught in my throat.
Her breasts were large, heavy, and full, spilling slightly over the thin lace of the bra. And her nipples they were dark, deeply pigmented, and already hard, thrusting against the fabric. Was it the chill of the air conditioning, or was it the arousal that began on the back of my bike?
She reached up, her head tilted back, her eyes half-closed. She grasped both breasts over the bra and began to massage her chest with a desperate urgency, rubbing the lace and the hardening nipples. Then, with a quick, practiced motion, she plucked both nipples through the fabric, releasing a soft, suppressed gasp.
The expression on her face was one of pure, raw sensory focus. Her lips were parted, a silent moan, and her face was flushed. She wasn't preparing for me; she was releasing a tension that had clearly been building for years, a tension my kiss had finally broken.
She was not just aroused; she was starved. And she was waiting for me to walk in and satisfy that hunger.
I was riding steadily with the rumble of my powerful motorcycle and the woman clinging tightly to my back.
Deepa didn't need to be told to hold on. Her arms were wrapped around my waist, fierce and immediate. My new body, solid and warm beneath her hands, was a shocking contradiction to the "safe brother" she had known. She pressed herself flush against me, her face buried against the back of my neck. I could feel her breath, uneven and hot, ghosting against my collar.
But what hit me most was the heat; a radiant, warmth coming from her chest where it pressed against my spine. Her heart hammered against me.
When I pulled the bike up outside her apartment complex, I cut the engine and the sudden silence felt deafening. She reluctantly unwound her arms.
Senthil: We're here.
She slowly lifted the helmet off her head. Her hair was a mess, her lips still slightly swollen from the intensity of the kiss.
Deepa: Senthil. My family... they are out of town. My parents left yesterday for two days for a wedding in Chennai.
The statement was not an excuse, but a clear invitation. She wasn't just offering a few minutes; she was offering private time.
Deepa: (Her voice was a soft, urgent demand) Come inside. Please.
I didn't hesitate. I parked the bike neatly.
We entered her flat. She locked the door behind us.
She dropped her purse and keys on a table and spun around. The college teacher was gone, replaced by a sudden free bird. A wildness sparked in her eyes.
Deepa: I am so free now! Nobody here! No calls, no parents, no rules! God, I haven't been truly alone like this in years!
She walked quickly into her bedroom, her posture completely different loose, confident, and suddenly radiating a fierce, suppressed energy.
Deepa: I just need to change out of this saree. It feels too tight. Wait here.
She went into her room, I walked toward the bedroom door. She hadn't fully closed it; she'd left a deliberate gap a small, teasing invitation to observe.
My heart starting racing, from the sudden, powerful rush of victory.
I walked slowly, and leaned down, peeking through the open slit in the door.
Deepa stood with her back to me, the olive green saree already puddled on the floor. She was wearing only a simple, pale bra and panties. My breath caught in my throat.
Her breasts were large, heavy, and full, spilling slightly over the thin lace of the bra. And her nipples they were dark, deeply pigmented, and already hard, thrusting against the fabric. Was it the chill of the air conditioning, or was it the arousal that began on the back of my bike?
She reached up, her head tilted back, her eyes half-closed. She grasped both breasts over the bra and began to massage her chest with a desperate urgency, rubbing the lace and the hardening nipples. Then, with a quick, practiced motion, she plucked both nipples through the fabric, releasing a soft, suppressed gasp.
The expression on her face was one of pure, raw sensory focus. Her lips were parted, a silent moan, and her face was flushed. She wasn't preparing for me; she was releasing a tension that had clearly been building for years, a tension my kiss had finally broken.
She was not just aroused; she was starved. And she was waiting for me to walk in and satisfy that hunger.
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