Ananya(Student) - How I gave my measurements to the tailor(11 videos)-Scene-28-GOLD!*

[ashuezy2]

Scene 11



It was Saturday, inside "Renu Ladies Tailoring". I wasn't wearing a hoodie today. I was wearing a tight kurta, emboldened by the attention I got yesterday. 


I stood at the counter. Masterji was busy with a customer. I asked for Remo. They pointed to the back, to the "other corner."

I walked towards him. He was standing by a worktable, his back to me.

"Remo," I said.
He turned around. He looked surprised to see me. He wiped his hands on a rag.

"Madam?" he said, polite and distant.
"The blouse," I started, my voice shaky. "It fit perfectly. I got a lot of attention in college yesterday. Thank you."
He nodded, turning back to his work. "Good. I told you I know my job."

I took a step closer. "But that is not why I came."
He stopped moving. He looked at me over his shoulder. I wanted his attention. I wanted him to look at me the way he did in the trial room, I wanted his passion.

He was however smoothing the edges with sandpaper.

"I am going to complete it," he said, touching the hard white nipple of the cast which he made from my chest. "I will put it in front of the shop. The perfect shape."

I laughed nervously. "Just don't write my name on it."
He looked at me intently. "What is your name?"

"Ananya," I whispered.

He tested the name on his tongue. "Ananya."

Then, his face changed. He looked guilty.
"Look, Ananya," he said, stepping back. "Forget about what happened in the changing room. I am not like that. I just... I got caught in your storm."

I frowned. "My storm? I am not a storm."
I stepped into his space. "It was my first time, Remo. I have never been touched like that."

He stared at me. The guilt vanished, replaced by that dark, hungry look I remembered.
"Then why are you here?" he asked softly. "You came back the next day. Now that you are here again, talking to me... it means you loved it."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"You loved what I did. You loved the way I touched you."
I didn't answer. I couldn't deny it. My silence was the answer.

The air between us got heavy. I knew this wasn't just a one-time mistake. It was a lifestyle.
"Do you do that often?" I asked, my curiosity burning. "With women?"

Remo leaned against the table, crossing his arms. He looked at the curtained trial rooms.
"Women ask for things," he said simply. "They ask for younger men. Some have different fantasies. Some want roleplay."
He looked back at me. "Their husbands ignore them. They come here for a fitting, but they want to be touched. I just like to please them."

I swallowed hard. I thought about the silver ring the boy at college gave me. Then I looked at Remo’s hands—the hands that pleased lonely wives.

"And..." I asked, my voice trembling. "Do they pay you in return for spending time with them?"
Remo smiled. It was a slow, wicked smile.

Remo leaned back against the table, crossing his arms. He didn't deny it.

"Yes," he said, his voice low. "I get some tips. Money, gifts... other things."

I felt a sting of jealousy. "I asked him... and you thought I was like them? Just another bored woman?"
Remo shook his head. He stepped closer, invading my space again.

"No," he whispered. "When Masterji called me and I saw you the first time... standing there in that hoodie... I knew you wanted it. You were hiding, Ananya. But people who hide have the darkest secrets."

I understood his ways then. He was a wild one. He could smell desperation.
I took a breath. I had to know everything.

"What else do you do inside?" I asked, looking at the curtained trial rooms. "Just touch or...?"
Remo grinned. It was a dirty grin.

"Everything," he answered. "Hands. Mouth. Tongue. Sometimes, if the shop is empty or Masterji goes for chai... I lift their sarees and give them what they are missing at home. I fuck them right there against the mirror."
My mouth went dry. "And... do these women meet you outside as well?"

"Sometimes," Remo shrugged. "Hotels. Their cars. But mostly? They like it here. They like the risk. They like that their husband might be waiting in the car outside while I am deep inside them. The danger makes them wet."

He leaned in, his eyes locking onto mine.
"You tell me, Ananya," he challenged. "You are so curious. What do you want?"

I looked at him. I looked at his rough hands. "I don't know yet."
Then, the idea formed. The memory of the woman in the red saree from yesterday flashed in my mind.

"Is it possible that I can spend some time with you?" I asked.

Remo looked confused. "You mean here? I work here."

"Yes," I said, my voice gaining confidence. "I like it here. I can come after my college. I like what I saw yesterday... that 40-year-old woman in the changing room. The way he was touching her. The way she liked it."

Remo’s eyes widened. He licked his lips.

"Oh," he purred. "You like peeking, don't you? You like to watch."
He laughed softly. "I see what you want. You want to learn."
He nodded slowly. "Okay. Here is the deal. You come after college. I will tell you all about them. I will show you."

He didn't wait to seal the deal with a handshake. He moved his hand behind me.
He grabbed my ass.

He didn't just touch it. He squeezed the flesh of my buttock hard through my kurta. He pulled me against his hips.

"But I need a tip too," he growled.

I gasped, feeling his hardness press against my stomach.

"Not here," I whispered, pushing his chest. "Not in the open."
He let go, but his eyes promised that next time, he wouldn't stop.

My eyes then landed on a woman sitting on the bench near the entrance. She looked different. She was young, maybe twenty-two. She wore a heavy red silk suit. Her arms were stacked with chooda (red bridal bangles) that clinked every time she moved. Her sindoor was fresh and bright red in her hair partition. But she looked bored. She was scrolling through her phone, sighing.

"Tell me about her," I whispered to Remo, nodding towards the girl. "This young married one. I can see she is just married."

Remo wiped his hands on a rag and followed my gaze. He smirked.

"Ah," Remo said softly. "That is Meenal. Married three months ago. Rich husband in South Delhi."
"What is she doing here?" I asked. "She looks like she has everything."

Remo leaned in, his voice low and dirty. "She has gold. She has clothes. But she has a husband who works until midnight. She comes here complaining that her blouses are 'loose.' They are never loose. She just wants to feel hands on her body that aren't asleep."

I watched Meenal cross her legs. The silk rustled.
"Who takes care of her here?" I asked. "You?"

Remo nodded. "Usually me. She likes the... heavy touch. She likes to be told what to do."

I felt a spike of heat in my belly. It was the same feeling as when I watched the woman in the red saree.
"I want to see," I commanded. "I want to see you take care of her."

Remo looked at me. He saw the darkness in my eyes. He liked it.
"Okay," he whispered. "Go to the back. Behind the fabric rack, there is a gap in the partition wall of Trial Room 2."

He winked. "Go. I will take her in."

I slipped behind the heavy rolls of velvet fabric. I found the gap. It was a small hole drilled into the wood, hidden by a calendar on the outside, but clear from the dark back room.

I waited. My heart was pounding.
A minute later, the door to Trial Room 2 opened. Remo walked in, followed by Meenal.

The room was small. Meenal stood in the center. The chooda on her arms made a loud clack-clack sound.
"It is tight here, Bhaiya," she complained, pointing to her chest. But her voice wasn't angry. It was breathy.
"Let me check," Remo said.

He didn't ask permission. He walked behind her. He placed his hands on her waist.
Meenal stopped breathing. She didn't move away.
Remo’s hands moved up. He slid his palms over the silk of her kurta, tracing her ribs. He reached around and cupped her breasts from behind.

"Is it tight here?" he whispered into her ear.

Meenal dropped her head back against his shoulder. "Yes, oh yes." she moaned. "There too."

I watched through the peephole as Remo’s thumbs circled her nipples through the red silk. The new bride wasn't fighting him. She was grinding her hips back against him, desperate for the touch of the tailor while her red bridal bangles shook with pleasure.