10-11-2025, 06:46 PM
Chapter 106: Heat and Hesitation
The Monday morning sun spilled through Nivi's apartment window, painting the room in soft gold, the hum of Coimbatore's streets filtering in—vendors shouting about fresh mangoes, the faint clatter of a passing cycle. Nivi stirred, her nighty soft against her skin, the memory of last night's voyeuristic thrill at Rajendar's house burning in her mind—the woman's wild rhythm, his strong grip, her own daring note left on the door. Her body tingled, a restless heat pooling between her thighs, the weekend's unmet craving sharper now. She rose, the kids' giggles echoing from their room, and headed to the wardrobe, the trolley of outfits a quiet spark of her bold new self.
She chose a teal kurta, the fabric light but clinging to her fuller breasts and rounded hips, paired with shimmering navy leggings that hugged her legs with a subtle sheen. The matching dupatta dbangd loosely, teasing her neckline as she tied her hair in a low ponytail. In the kitchen, her mother-in-law was already up, stirring chai, her saree a vibrant yellow swirl.
“Morning, starlet,” she said, a naughty grin spreading.
“Still glowing from that whiskey man's secrets?”
Nivi laughed, grabbing a cup, the teal kurta brushing her thighs.
“Stop it, Amma. Just getting ready for work.” Her cheeks warmed, the image of Rajendar's bedroom flashing—his flushed face, the woman's fierce hips. She shook it off, helping the kids with breakfast, their toy car zooming across the table.
Her mother-in-law handed her the phone, eyes twinkling.
“Time for your Instagram magic. Let's get a post before you go.” They stepped onto the balcony, the morning breeze cool, and Nivi posed against the railing, one hand on her hip, the teal kurta catching the light, the navy leggings shimmering.
“Smile like you own the day,” the older woman said, snapping shots. Nivi picked one—a soft grin, the kurta's neckline hinting at her curves—and posted it to “NiviGlow” with the caption: “Monday vibes ? #WorkLook #IndianStyle.” The phone buzzed with instant likes, her heart fluttering.
The kids dashed off to catch the college bus, their shouts fading, and Nivi grabbed her bag, the teal dupatta slipping slightly.
“See you tonight,” she called, stepping out, the apartment door clicking shut. The bus ride was bumpy, the city alive with scooters and street carts, the air thick with spices and petrol. She settled by a window, the sun warming her face, and opened Instagram, her follower count now over 7,000 from just ten posts. Comments flooded in—“Stunning!” “More pics, queen!” “Show that glow!”—some bold, asking for sexier shots. Already 7k? she thought, a thrill running through her. They want more.
The bus swayed, and she leaned against the window, the teal kurta soft against her skin. Inspired, she snapped a selfie—sunlight kissing her face, her ponytail loose, the navy leggings gleaming as she crossed her legs. She posted it: “Sun-kissed on the go ☀️ #MorningVibes #NiviGlow.” Likes poured in, the notifications a steady ping, fueling her confidence. I could post more, she thought, her body tingling, the image of Rajendar's heated encounter sneaking back, making her thighs press together.
At the office, the familiar hum greeted her—keyboards clacking, the printer's buzz, the faint scent of ink and coffee. She settled at her desk, the teal kurta swaying, and dove into work—spreadsheets, client emails, the usual rhythm. But her mind wandered, the scene from last night vivid—the woman's moans, Rajendar's groans, her note hanging on the door. Her pussy throbbed, the craving from the weekend surging, her navy leggings tight against her skin. He's not what I thought, she mused, her pen tapping, the heat distracting her.
The boys' gang—Ashwin, Dinesh, and Ashok—swarmed the tea station mid-morning, their laughter cutting through the haze.
“Nivi, you're killing it on Instagram!” Ashwin boomed, waving his phone.
“Saw that bus selfie—7k followers? You're a star!”
Dinesh grinned, stirring his chai.
“Yeah, those leggings are working overtime. More leg shots, huh?” His tone was teasing, his glasses slipping.
Ashok smiled shyly, sipping his tea.
“The teal looks nice. Keep posting—I shared it.” His voice was soft, his eyes lingering on her kurta's curves.
Nivi laughed, pouring her chai, the teal dupatta slipping to show her neckline.
“Thanks, boys. Just having fun with it.” She stirred sugar, the clink grounding her, but the heat in her body pulsed, Rajendar's bedroom scene replaying. Was that woman someone regular? she wondered, her fingers tightening on the cup.
The day rolled on—meetings, data checks, Saritha and Lakshmi chatting about their kids at lunch, the canteen's rice and rasam a familiar comfort. But Nivi's mind stayed restless, her body aching with need, the weekend's intensity—Vikram's touch, Raghavan's thrusts, now Rajendar's fire—fueling her. She caught herself glancing at the clock, work dragging, her thoughts split between routine and desire.
As evening neared, the office quieted, the hum of keyboards fading. Nivi packed her bag, the teal kurta creased, the navy leggings dusty from the day. She'd planned to visit Rajendar with files, keep their bond growing, but hesitation gripped her. What if he read my note? she thought, her pulse racing. Will he be angry? Or… try something? The memory of his gaze on her curves, now paired with his bedroom vigor, made her pussy throb harder. Who was that woman? I couldn't see her face. The uncertainty—his potential reaction, the mystery of the saree and sandals—held her back.
She stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder, the teal dupatta catching on her chair. Mohan approached, his smile easy, his shirt sleeves rolled up.
“Nivi, heading out? Let me drop you today.” His voice was smooth, his eyes tracing her kurta's fit, lingering on her hips.
Her breath caught, the weekend's craving surging, Rajendar's wild scene amplifying her need. I can't face him tonight, she thought, her body buzzing, the navy leggings tight against her thighs. Mohan's offer was tempting, his past desire clear in his gaze, the memory of their blowjob competition a spark. I need something, she admitted, her pussy aching, the restraint from yesterday's encounter with him crumbling.
“Sure, Mohan,” she said, her voice soft but bold, a smile tugging her lips.
“Let's go.” She adjusted her dupatta, the teal kurta swaying as she stepped away from her desk, her heart pounding with anticipation.
He grinned, gesturing to the door.
“Car's in the lot. After you.” His tone was flirty, his eyes flicking to her leggings, a hungry edge there.
They walked through the office, the lights dimming, colleagues gone, the air cool against her skin. The parking lot was quiet, Mohan's beat-up Maruti parked under a flickering streetlamp, the city's pulse a distant hum—autos honking, a vendor's call fading. Nivi's sandals clicked on the pavement, the teal kurta fluttering, the navy leggings shimmering in the low light. Her body thrummed with need, the image of Rajendar's encounter mixing with Mohan's closeness, her decision to skip Rajendar's a bold leap.
Mohan opened the car door, his hand brushing her arm, a spark shooting through her.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice low, his smile teasing.
She nodded, sliding in, the leather seat cool against her leggings, her bag on her lap. The chapter closed as they pulled out of the lot, the city's lights blurring past, Nivi's mind a storm of desire and uncertainty, the night open with possibility.
The Monday morning sun spilled through Nivi's apartment window, painting the room in soft gold, the hum of Coimbatore's streets filtering in—vendors shouting about fresh mangoes, the faint clatter of a passing cycle. Nivi stirred, her nighty soft against her skin, the memory of last night's voyeuristic thrill at Rajendar's house burning in her mind—the woman's wild rhythm, his strong grip, her own daring note left on the door. Her body tingled, a restless heat pooling between her thighs, the weekend's unmet craving sharper now. She rose, the kids' giggles echoing from their room, and headed to the wardrobe, the trolley of outfits a quiet spark of her bold new self.
She chose a teal kurta, the fabric light but clinging to her fuller breasts and rounded hips, paired with shimmering navy leggings that hugged her legs with a subtle sheen. The matching dupatta dbangd loosely, teasing her neckline as she tied her hair in a low ponytail. In the kitchen, her mother-in-law was already up, stirring chai, her saree a vibrant yellow swirl.
“Morning, starlet,” she said, a naughty grin spreading.
“Still glowing from that whiskey man's secrets?”
Nivi laughed, grabbing a cup, the teal kurta brushing her thighs.
“Stop it, Amma. Just getting ready for work.” Her cheeks warmed, the image of Rajendar's bedroom flashing—his flushed face, the woman's fierce hips. She shook it off, helping the kids with breakfast, their toy car zooming across the table.
Her mother-in-law handed her the phone, eyes twinkling.
“Time for your Instagram magic. Let's get a post before you go.” They stepped onto the balcony, the morning breeze cool, and Nivi posed against the railing, one hand on her hip, the teal kurta catching the light, the navy leggings shimmering.
“Smile like you own the day,” the older woman said, snapping shots. Nivi picked one—a soft grin, the kurta's neckline hinting at her curves—and posted it to “NiviGlow” with the caption: “Monday vibes ? #WorkLook #IndianStyle.” The phone buzzed with instant likes, her heart fluttering.
The kids dashed off to catch the college bus, their shouts fading, and Nivi grabbed her bag, the teal dupatta slipping slightly.
“See you tonight,” she called, stepping out, the apartment door clicking shut. The bus ride was bumpy, the city alive with scooters and street carts, the air thick with spices and petrol. She settled by a window, the sun warming her face, and opened Instagram, her follower count now over 7,000 from just ten posts. Comments flooded in—“Stunning!” “More pics, queen!” “Show that glow!”—some bold, asking for sexier shots. Already 7k? she thought, a thrill running through her. They want more.
The bus swayed, and she leaned against the window, the teal kurta soft against her skin. Inspired, she snapped a selfie—sunlight kissing her face, her ponytail loose, the navy leggings gleaming as she crossed her legs. She posted it: “Sun-kissed on the go ☀️ #MorningVibes #NiviGlow.” Likes poured in, the notifications a steady ping, fueling her confidence. I could post more, she thought, her body tingling, the image of Rajendar's heated encounter sneaking back, making her thighs press together.
At the office, the familiar hum greeted her—keyboards clacking, the printer's buzz, the faint scent of ink and coffee. She settled at her desk, the teal kurta swaying, and dove into work—spreadsheets, client emails, the usual rhythm. But her mind wandered, the scene from last night vivid—the woman's moans, Rajendar's groans, her note hanging on the door. Her pussy throbbed, the craving from the weekend surging, her navy leggings tight against her skin. He's not what I thought, she mused, her pen tapping, the heat distracting her.
The boys' gang—Ashwin, Dinesh, and Ashok—swarmed the tea station mid-morning, their laughter cutting through the haze.
“Nivi, you're killing it on Instagram!” Ashwin boomed, waving his phone.
“Saw that bus selfie—7k followers? You're a star!”
Dinesh grinned, stirring his chai.
“Yeah, those leggings are working overtime. More leg shots, huh?” His tone was teasing, his glasses slipping.
Ashok smiled shyly, sipping his tea.
“The teal looks nice. Keep posting—I shared it.” His voice was soft, his eyes lingering on her kurta's curves.
Nivi laughed, pouring her chai, the teal dupatta slipping to show her neckline.
“Thanks, boys. Just having fun with it.” She stirred sugar, the clink grounding her, but the heat in her body pulsed, Rajendar's bedroom scene replaying. Was that woman someone regular? she wondered, her fingers tightening on the cup.
The day rolled on—meetings, data checks, Saritha and Lakshmi chatting about their kids at lunch, the canteen's rice and rasam a familiar comfort. But Nivi's mind stayed restless, her body aching with need, the weekend's intensity—Vikram's touch, Raghavan's thrusts, now Rajendar's fire—fueling her. She caught herself glancing at the clock, work dragging, her thoughts split between routine and desire.
As evening neared, the office quieted, the hum of keyboards fading. Nivi packed her bag, the teal kurta creased, the navy leggings dusty from the day. She'd planned to visit Rajendar with files, keep their bond growing, but hesitation gripped her. What if he read my note? she thought, her pulse racing. Will he be angry? Or… try something? The memory of his gaze on her curves, now paired with his bedroom vigor, made her pussy throb harder. Who was that woman? I couldn't see her face. The uncertainty—his potential reaction, the mystery of the saree and sandals—held her back.
She stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder, the teal dupatta catching on her chair. Mohan approached, his smile easy, his shirt sleeves rolled up.
“Nivi, heading out? Let me drop you today.” His voice was smooth, his eyes tracing her kurta's fit, lingering on her hips.
Her breath caught, the weekend's craving surging, Rajendar's wild scene amplifying her need. I can't face him tonight, she thought, her body buzzing, the navy leggings tight against her thighs. Mohan's offer was tempting, his past desire clear in his gaze, the memory of their blowjob competition a spark. I need something, she admitted, her pussy aching, the restraint from yesterday's encounter with him crumbling.
“Sure, Mohan,” she said, her voice soft but bold, a smile tugging her lips.
“Let's go.” She adjusted her dupatta, the teal kurta swaying as she stepped away from her desk, her heart pounding with anticipation.
He grinned, gesturing to the door.
“Car's in the lot. After you.” His tone was flirty, his eyes flicking to her leggings, a hungry edge there.
They walked through the office, the lights dimming, colleagues gone, the air cool against her skin. The parking lot was quiet, Mohan's beat-up Maruti parked under a flickering streetlamp, the city's pulse a distant hum—autos honking, a vendor's call fading. Nivi's sandals clicked on the pavement, the teal kurta fluttering, the navy leggings shimmering in the low light. Her body thrummed with need, the image of Rajendar's encounter mixing with Mohan's closeness, her decision to skip Rajendar's a bold leap.
Mohan opened the car door, his hand brushing her arm, a spark shooting through her.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice low, his smile teasing.
She nodded, sliding in, the leather seat cool against her leggings, her bag on her lap. The chapter closed as they pulled out of the lot, the city's lights blurring past, Nivi's mind a storm of desire and uncertainty, the night open with possibility.
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