Ananya(Student) - How I gave my measurements to the tailor(4 videos) - Scene 8-GOLD!*

[ashuezy2]

Scene 6 - Gold Scene

Finally, the machine stopped. Remo walked over to me. He held the finished blouse on a hanger. It was beautiful. It was shaped perfectly, stiff with the inner lining, curved to match the plaster shell they had taken from my body.

"It is ready," Remo said.

He wasn't looking at the floor anymore. He was looking right at my face. He was smiling. It wasn't a polite shopkeeper smile. It was the smile of someone who shared a dirty secret.

"Go," he said, pointing to the trial room—a small wooden cubicle with a curtain. "Try it. We need to check the fit."
I stood up, grabbing the hanger. "Fine."

Remo stepped closer. He lowered his voice so Masterji wouldn't hear (or maybe Masterji didn't care).
"You were very brave today," Remo whispered. "You are the first one to get your mould done."

I frowned. "The first?"

"Yes," he nodded. "But not the first to show us."
He leaned against a pile of fabric rolls. "Daily women come here in our shop. We see them. They all do it."
I froze. "What?"

"The aunties, the college girls," Remo said casually. "They come inside. They open their blouses. They let us measure them... skin to skin. They like it."

"I don't believe you," I snapped. My face felt hot. "That is not possible. This is a decent market. Ladies don't just... show their breasts to tailors."

Remo laughed softly. "You think you are the only one with a secret body? You think they don't want to be touched?"
"You are lying," I said. "You are just trying to make me feel better about your trick."

Remo didn't argue. He grabbed my arm gently.

"Come here," he whispered. "Don't stare. Just watch carefully."
He pulled me slightly to the side, near a rack of hanging suits. From here, I had a clear line of sight to the "other corner"—another measuring partition on the far side of the shop.

I looked.

There was a woman standing there. She was older, maybe 40. She was heavy, wearing a bright red saree. Another assistant—a young boy—was measuring her.

The curtain was open just a crack.

I watched. The woman wasn't shy. She was facing the boy. She unhooked her blouse. She didn't take it off; she just opened the front. It was hanging, all buttons were open.

She wasn't wearing a bra.

Her heavy breasts hung loose, resting on her stomach. The boy wasn't measuring her shoulders. He was holding the tape measure across her nipples. His hands brushed against her bare skin.

She didn't slap him. She didn't cover up. She was smiling. She lifted her arms, lifting her heavy chest for him, letting him see everything.

I gasped and pulled back. Remo blocked my view.
"See?" Remo whispered, his breath hot on my ear. "She comes every week. She doesn't need a blouse. She needs the attention."

I stared at Remo. My world tilted. The shop wasn't just a tailor shop. It was a place where women came to be seen, to be touched, to be open. And I was just the newest member of the club.