19-01-2026, 07:48 PM
My dad rolled his old TVS 50 out from under the mango tree, the engine still quiet in the night. He placed my two heavy bags carefully on the side carrier of the TVS 50, then tied them tight to the saree handle on the side where we ladies in saree sit on one side and grab that handle for balance. He adjusted his white shirt over his chest, tucked the ends into his dhoti wrapped firm around his hips, and stood waiting, keys in hand.
My mom followed me to the yard, her white saree moving slow over her white bra and white panties, mangalsutra swinging between her heavy boobs with every step. She grabbed my hands tight, eyes soft and full of love, and said, "Sudha, take good care of your husband and your three sons. Feed them well, keep them happy. And next time you come, bring my three grandsons Manish, Rakesh, and Rahul. I miss them so much, my heart aches every day without hearing their voices."
I nodded, throat thick with emotion. "Sure mom, I will bring them. They ask about you all the time."
As I started walking toward my dad’s TVS 50, my mom came following close behind, her ass cheeks round and full under the saree, pallu tucked neatly but slipping just enough to show her deep navel. She stopped opposite to my dad, facing him across the bike, and spoke in a bold tone so I could hear clearly. "Be careful on the road. Wait until the sleeper bus comes. Help her get inside with the bags, make sure she is safe, and then come straight home. No wasting time."
Then she turned her face toward my dad, lowered her voice soft and teasing, thinking I would not catch the words. "You better come home quick, or I will call the neighbour over. I will stand in front of him in only my white bra and white panties, let him see my full boobs, my round ass cheeks, my pussy lips outlined over the panties. If you are too late, I will let him remove my bra and panties, squeeze my boobs, spread my thighs, and fuck my pussy deep while you are still out."
My dad’s eyes widened, jealousy and heat flashing fast across his face. He gripped the TVS handle tight, voice rough and low. "No need for that talk. I will come as quickly as possible. Wait for me naked if you want, but only mine."
My mom smiled wicked and satisfied, her nipples poking harder over the white bra under her blouse, her pussy probably already wet inside the white panties from the filthy tease. She stepped back, adjusted her pallu over one shoulder, and watched as my dad kicked the starter, the engine coughing to life in the quiet night.
I climbed onto the TVS 50 sideways behind my dad, sitting on one side like we ladies in saree always do, grabbing the saree handle tightly with one hand while holding my white saree pallu secure with the other so it would not fly open. My boobs rested sideways against his back over my purple blouse, nipples rubbing softly with the vibration. My maroon colour panties felt damp against my pussy lips from the long goodbye, from watching my mom’s naughty game with my dad, from the thought of the long sleeper bus ride ahead. My dad revved the engine once, gave my mom one last hungry look, and we rolled slowly toward the highway, the red earth road dark under the stars, the night thick with promise, love, jealousy, and that raw Tamil heat only a family like ours carries.
The TVS 50 hummed along the dark red earth road toward the highway, engine vibrating steady under us. I sat sideways behind my dad, legs together on one side like all village women do in saree, one hand gripping the saree handle tight, the other holding my white saree pallu secure so it stayed in place. My purple blouse squeezed my heavy boobs, nipples rubbing softly against the blouse with every bump, maroon colour panties hugging my ass cheeks and pussy lips snug, still warm and slightly damp from the goodbye at home.
My dad started talking, voice loud over the wind and engine, repeating the same old Army stories he had told us a zillion times before. How he marched in the rain at the border, how he faced the enemy without fear, how duty and country come first always. The stories never changed, word for word, and sometimes they felt boring, going on and on. But deep inside, those same stories raised me as a patriotic girl. I grew up saluting the flag in my heart every time he spoke, feeling proud of my father, proud of my husband who wore the uniform now. Because of him, I am always patriotic, even when the words repeat. He even got me married to an Army Jawan, making sure my life stayed tied to the same honour and sacrifice.
After some minutes the highway lights appeared ahead. My dad slowed the TVS 50, stopped at the edge of the road near the bus stop shelter, killed the engine. I slid off sideways, careful not to let my saree open, and started adjusting my white saree. I tugged the pallu back over my shoulder, smoothed the pleats at my waist, and pulled the saree a little lower on my hips without thinking. The border sat well below my navel, exposing most of my deep navel in the dim highway light.
My dad noticed right away, eyes dropping to my waist, then looking up at me with a small frown. "Sudha, you are wearing your saree well below your navel. Is that okay in Chennai?"
I felt my cheeks warm, but I smiled quick and lied smooth. "Yes dad, it is normal in Chennai. All women wear like this now."
But the truth burned hotter in my mind. In Chennai we wear our sarees well below our navels sometimes to tease men, especially when we don’t wear our bra and panties underneath. The low dbang lets the deep navel show full, draws eyes to the smooth hips, makes boobs look fuller under the blouse, and when pussy lips slide free inside the saree without panties, every step feels naughty and exciting, thighs rubbing, men staring hard. That secret habit makes a loyal Tamil wife feel alive with forbidden thrill.
Today though, wearing my saree well below my navel was just an accident. In the hurry to get ready, dressing my mom in white bra and white panties, packing the bags, saying goodbye, I did not notice how low I tied the petticoat string. It slipped down in the rush, and I only felt it now under my dad’s gaze.
My dad nodded slowly, not pushing more, but his eyes lingered on my exposed deep navel for a second longer before he looked away toward the road. "Okay then. Just be careful in the city."
I adjusted the pallu again, covering my deep navel a little more, mangalsutra resting between my boobs over the purple blouse. The highway stretched empty for now, the sleeper bus not yet in sight. My dad stood beside the TVS 50, bags still tied to the saree handle, waiting with me in the quiet night. My pussy lips tingled inside my maroon colour panties, not from lying to him, but from the memory of Chennai’s naughty ways, from the long journey ahead, from the slow build of something restless and warm inside my body. The stars watched above, and the road waited for the bus that would carry me away.
Headlights cut through the dark highway first, then the low rumble of the engine grew louder. The AC sleeper bus pulled up slow and heavy to the stop, red and white body shining under the sodium lamps, windows tinted black. The bus hissed to a halt, doors sliding open with a pneumatic sigh, cool air spilling out into the warm night.
An ugly man in a white shirt and grey track pants stepped down from the lower berth entrance first. He walked straight to the roadside bush, tugged the elastic waistband of his track pants down over his hips, pulled his cock out, and peed long into the darkness, water splashing loud on leaves. While standing there, he turned his head slow, observed me standing in my white saree with purple blouse, pallu adjusted over one shoulder, deep navel still exposed below the low dbang, and observed my dad beside the TVS 50 with the Ex-Army sticker pasted on the side. He finished, shook his cock once, tugged the track pants waistband back up over his hips, and climbed back into the bus without a word.
My dad got off the TVS 50, untied the two bags from the saree handle on the side carrier. He lifted them one by one, heavy with my dirty panties and bras in one, murukku, porulangai urundai, and athirasam in the other. The driver’s helper, the man who opens the bus door, handles the luggage, and distributes water bottles to the passengers, jumped down from the bus right after. He wore a tight t-shirt stretched over his chest and short shorts that ended high on his thighs. His eyes went straight to me, ogling my heavy boobs over the purple blouse, my deep navel shining in the light, my round ass cheeks under the white saree. A thick cock grew hard and erect inside his shorts, head of cock pushing visible against the thin shorts as he stared at me, mouth open a little.
I pulled the ticket printout from my blouse front pocket, held it out to him. "This is my ticket."
The helper glanced at it quick, eyes still dropping to my boobs and deep navel, nodded, and in a hurry opened the side luggage compartment under the bus with a loud metal click. My dad handed him the bags. The helper took both bags from my dad, shoved them deep inside among the other suitcases, slammed the compartment door shut, and locked it with a key from his pocket. His erect cock stayed hard in his shorts, pointing toward me the whole time.
My dad turned to me, placed a hand on my shoulder over the white saree, voice low and firm. "Be safe inside, Sudha. Call when you reach Chennai. Call your husband will pick you up. Tell your husband to be safe in the Army. Be proud that your husband is also an Army Jawan."
I nodded, throat tight again, mangalsutra heavy between my boobs over the purple blouse. "Yes dad. I will. Take care."
The helper waved me toward the door. "Come madam, upper berth, your seat number."
I climbed the narrow steps into the cool darkness of the AC sleeper bus, white saree rustling against my thighs, maroon colour panties still hugging my pussy lips warm and slightly damp from the ride and the night’s emotions. My dad watched from outside until I disappeared up the stairs, then he kicked the TVS 50 starter, engine roaring back to life. The bus doors closed with a final hiss, and as the vehicle pulled away from the stop, I settled into my berth, heart beating slow, the highway stretching ahead into the unknown, the ugly man somewhere in the bus already watching from the shadows.
The cool air inside the AC sleeper bus hit my face as I stepped fully in, the dim blue night lights running along the ceiling. On my right stretched a row of single sleeper berths, narrow and curtained. On my left ran the double sleeper berths, wider for couples or families. The helper followed close behind me, eyes fixed low on my round ass cheeks moving full and heavy over the white saree, panty line visible over my ass cheeks over the saree as I walked slow up the narrow aisle.
I turned around to ask where my seat was, but even before the words left my mouth, he said quick, "Your seat is there madam," pointing up at the upper single berth right above a lower one.
He came too close then, body almost against mine, and his hard cock inside his short shorts rubbed against my left ass cheek over the saree, thick and erect, head of cock nudging firm through the layers. I ignored it, pretended not to feel, and reached for the small ladder steps to climb up to my upper berth fast.
As I lifted one leg to the first rung, my white saree pulled tight and low on my hips, pallu slipping to the side, and my deep navel came into full view of the passenger sitting below in the lower berth, his eyes widening at the sight of my exposed deep navel and the smooth waist above the petticoat knot.
In a hurry to climb quick so I would not give too much darshan of my navel, I tried to hurry up the ladder. The helper whispered low behind me, "Careful madam, I got you."
He grabbed my waist from behind with both hands, fingers digging into my hips over the saree, and began “helping” me climb. In the process of “helping”, he nicely grabbed my ass cheeks over my saree, squeezing the full round flesh hard, feeling up my panties nicely over the saree and petticoat, palms sliding slow and deliberate over my ass cheeks.
By the time I put one leg on the upper berth edge to take the next step, his right hand middle finger moved between my thighs from behind over my saree, nudged right against my pussy over the saree, petticoat, and maroon colour panties, pressing firm on my pussy lips through all the layers.
My pussy lips tingled hot and wet inside my maroon colour panties from the sudden filthy touch, clit swelling a little under the pressure. I pulled myself up fast, sat uncomfortably on the narrow upper berth mattress, heart pounding loud in my chest, boobs heaving inside my purple blouse, nipples erect and poking over the blouse. I tugged the thin curtains closed around my berth quick, blocking out the aisle, the helper, the staring passenger below.
Inside the small dark space, I sat with knees together, white saree bunched around my thighs, mangalsutra resting heavy between my boobs, mind spinning with shame, anger, and a secret warm pulse between my legs that I hated but could not stop. The bus rumbled forward again, carrying me deeper into the night, the helper’s touch still burning on my ass cheeks and pussy over the saree.
My mom followed me to the yard, her white saree moving slow over her white bra and white panties, mangalsutra swinging between her heavy boobs with every step. She grabbed my hands tight, eyes soft and full of love, and said, "Sudha, take good care of your husband and your three sons. Feed them well, keep them happy. And next time you come, bring my three grandsons Manish, Rakesh, and Rahul. I miss them so much, my heart aches every day without hearing their voices."
I nodded, throat thick with emotion. "Sure mom, I will bring them. They ask about you all the time."
As I started walking toward my dad’s TVS 50, my mom came following close behind, her ass cheeks round and full under the saree, pallu tucked neatly but slipping just enough to show her deep navel. She stopped opposite to my dad, facing him across the bike, and spoke in a bold tone so I could hear clearly. "Be careful on the road. Wait until the sleeper bus comes. Help her get inside with the bags, make sure she is safe, and then come straight home. No wasting time."
Then she turned her face toward my dad, lowered her voice soft and teasing, thinking I would not catch the words. "You better come home quick, or I will call the neighbour over. I will stand in front of him in only my white bra and white panties, let him see my full boobs, my round ass cheeks, my pussy lips outlined over the panties. If you are too late, I will let him remove my bra and panties, squeeze my boobs, spread my thighs, and fuck my pussy deep while you are still out."
My dad’s eyes widened, jealousy and heat flashing fast across his face. He gripped the TVS handle tight, voice rough and low. "No need for that talk. I will come as quickly as possible. Wait for me naked if you want, but only mine."
My mom smiled wicked and satisfied, her nipples poking harder over the white bra under her blouse, her pussy probably already wet inside the white panties from the filthy tease. She stepped back, adjusted her pallu over one shoulder, and watched as my dad kicked the starter, the engine coughing to life in the quiet night.
I climbed onto the TVS 50 sideways behind my dad, sitting on one side like we ladies in saree always do, grabbing the saree handle tightly with one hand while holding my white saree pallu secure with the other so it would not fly open. My boobs rested sideways against his back over my purple blouse, nipples rubbing softly with the vibration. My maroon colour panties felt damp against my pussy lips from the long goodbye, from watching my mom’s naughty game with my dad, from the thought of the long sleeper bus ride ahead. My dad revved the engine once, gave my mom one last hungry look, and we rolled slowly toward the highway, the red earth road dark under the stars, the night thick with promise, love, jealousy, and that raw Tamil heat only a family like ours carries.
The TVS 50 hummed along the dark red earth road toward the highway, engine vibrating steady under us. I sat sideways behind my dad, legs together on one side like all village women do in saree, one hand gripping the saree handle tight, the other holding my white saree pallu secure so it stayed in place. My purple blouse squeezed my heavy boobs, nipples rubbing softly against the blouse with every bump, maroon colour panties hugging my ass cheeks and pussy lips snug, still warm and slightly damp from the goodbye at home.
My dad started talking, voice loud over the wind and engine, repeating the same old Army stories he had told us a zillion times before. How he marched in the rain at the border, how he faced the enemy without fear, how duty and country come first always. The stories never changed, word for word, and sometimes they felt boring, going on and on. But deep inside, those same stories raised me as a patriotic girl. I grew up saluting the flag in my heart every time he spoke, feeling proud of my father, proud of my husband who wore the uniform now. Because of him, I am always patriotic, even when the words repeat. He even got me married to an Army Jawan, making sure my life stayed tied to the same honour and sacrifice.
After some minutes the highway lights appeared ahead. My dad slowed the TVS 50, stopped at the edge of the road near the bus stop shelter, killed the engine. I slid off sideways, careful not to let my saree open, and started adjusting my white saree. I tugged the pallu back over my shoulder, smoothed the pleats at my waist, and pulled the saree a little lower on my hips without thinking. The border sat well below my navel, exposing most of my deep navel in the dim highway light.
My dad noticed right away, eyes dropping to my waist, then looking up at me with a small frown. "Sudha, you are wearing your saree well below your navel. Is that okay in Chennai?"
I felt my cheeks warm, but I smiled quick and lied smooth. "Yes dad, it is normal in Chennai. All women wear like this now."
But the truth burned hotter in my mind. In Chennai we wear our sarees well below our navels sometimes to tease men, especially when we don’t wear our bra and panties underneath. The low dbang lets the deep navel show full, draws eyes to the smooth hips, makes boobs look fuller under the blouse, and when pussy lips slide free inside the saree without panties, every step feels naughty and exciting, thighs rubbing, men staring hard. That secret habit makes a loyal Tamil wife feel alive with forbidden thrill.
Today though, wearing my saree well below my navel was just an accident. In the hurry to get ready, dressing my mom in white bra and white panties, packing the bags, saying goodbye, I did not notice how low I tied the petticoat string. It slipped down in the rush, and I only felt it now under my dad’s gaze.
My dad nodded slowly, not pushing more, but his eyes lingered on my exposed deep navel for a second longer before he looked away toward the road. "Okay then. Just be careful in the city."
I adjusted the pallu again, covering my deep navel a little more, mangalsutra resting between my boobs over the purple blouse. The highway stretched empty for now, the sleeper bus not yet in sight. My dad stood beside the TVS 50, bags still tied to the saree handle, waiting with me in the quiet night. My pussy lips tingled inside my maroon colour panties, not from lying to him, but from the memory of Chennai’s naughty ways, from the long journey ahead, from the slow build of something restless and warm inside my body. The stars watched above, and the road waited for the bus that would carry me away.
Headlights cut through the dark highway first, then the low rumble of the engine grew louder. The AC sleeper bus pulled up slow and heavy to the stop, red and white body shining under the sodium lamps, windows tinted black. The bus hissed to a halt, doors sliding open with a pneumatic sigh, cool air spilling out into the warm night.
An ugly man in a white shirt and grey track pants stepped down from the lower berth entrance first. He walked straight to the roadside bush, tugged the elastic waistband of his track pants down over his hips, pulled his cock out, and peed long into the darkness, water splashing loud on leaves. While standing there, he turned his head slow, observed me standing in my white saree with purple blouse, pallu adjusted over one shoulder, deep navel still exposed below the low dbang, and observed my dad beside the TVS 50 with the Ex-Army sticker pasted on the side. He finished, shook his cock once, tugged the track pants waistband back up over his hips, and climbed back into the bus without a word.
My dad got off the TVS 50, untied the two bags from the saree handle on the side carrier. He lifted them one by one, heavy with my dirty panties and bras in one, murukku, porulangai urundai, and athirasam in the other. The driver’s helper, the man who opens the bus door, handles the luggage, and distributes water bottles to the passengers, jumped down from the bus right after. He wore a tight t-shirt stretched over his chest and short shorts that ended high on his thighs. His eyes went straight to me, ogling my heavy boobs over the purple blouse, my deep navel shining in the light, my round ass cheeks under the white saree. A thick cock grew hard and erect inside his shorts, head of cock pushing visible against the thin shorts as he stared at me, mouth open a little.
I pulled the ticket printout from my blouse front pocket, held it out to him. "This is my ticket."
The helper glanced at it quick, eyes still dropping to my boobs and deep navel, nodded, and in a hurry opened the side luggage compartment under the bus with a loud metal click. My dad handed him the bags. The helper took both bags from my dad, shoved them deep inside among the other suitcases, slammed the compartment door shut, and locked it with a key from his pocket. His erect cock stayed hard in his shorts, pointing toward me the whole time.
My dad turned to me, placed a hand on my shoulder over the white saree, voice low and firm. "Be safe inside, Sudha. Call when you reach Chennai. Call your husband will pick you up. Tell your husband to be safe in the Army. Be proud that your husband is also an Army Jawan."
I nodded, throat tight again, mangalsutra heavy between my boobs over the purple blouse. "Yes dad. I will. Take care."
The helper waved me toward the door. "Come madam, upper berth, your seat number."
I climbed the narrow steps into the cool darkness of the AC sleeper bus, white saree rustling against my thighs, maroon colour panties still hugging my pussy lips warm and slightly damp from the ride and the night’s emotions. My dad watched from outside until I disappeared up the stairs, then he kicked the TVS 50 starter, engine roaring back to life. The bus doors closed with a final hiss, and as the vehicle pulled away from the stop, I settled into my berth, heart beating slow, the highway stretching ahead into the unknown, the ugly man somewhere in the bus already watching from the shadows.
The cool air inside the AC sleeper bus hit my face as I stepped fully in, the dim blue night lights running along the ceiling. On my right stretched a row of single sleeper berths, narrow and curtained. On my left ran the double sleeper berths, wider for couples or families. The helper followed close behind me, eyes fixed low on my round ass cheeks moving full and heavy over the white saree, panty line visible over my ass cheeks over the saree as I walked slow up the narrow aisle.
I turned around to ask where my seat was, but even before the words left my mouth, he said quick, "Your seat is there madam," pointing up at the upper single berth right above a lower one.
He came too close then, body almost against mine, and his hard cock inside his short shorts rubbed against my left ass cheek over the saree, thick and erect, head of cock nudging firm through the layers. I ignored it, pretended not to feel, and reached for the small ladder steps to climb up to my upper berth fast.
As I lifted one leg to the first rung, my white saree pulled tight and low on my hips, pallu slipping to the side, and my deep navel came into full view of the passenger sitting below in the lower berth, his eyes widening at the sight of my exposed deep navel and the smooth waist above the petticoat knot.
In a hurry to climb quick so I would not give too much darshan of my navel, I tried to hurry up the ladder. The helper whispered low behind me, "Careful madam, I got you."
He grabbed my waist from behind with both hands, fingers digging into my hips over the saree, and began “helping” me climb. In the process of “helping”, he nicely grabbed my ass cheeks over my saree, squeezing the full round flesh hard, feeling up my panties nicely over the saree and petticoat, palms sliding slow and deliberate over my ass cheeks.
By the time I put one leg on the upper berth edge to take the next step, his right hand middle finger moved between my thighs from behind over my saree, nudged right against my pussy over the saree, petticoat, and maroon colour panties, pressing firm on my pussy lips through all the layers.
My pussy lips tingled hot and wet inside my maroon colour panties from the sudden filthy touch, clit swelling a little under the pressure. I pulled myself up fast, sat uncomfortably on the narrow upper berth mattress, heart pounding loud in my chest, boobs heaving inside my purple blouse, nipples erect and poking over the blouse. I tugged the thin curtains closed around my berth quick, blocking out the aisle, the helper, the staring passenger below.
Inside the small dark space, I sat with knees together, white saree bunched around my thighs, mangalsutra resting heavy between my boobs, mind spinning with shame, anger, and a secret warm pulse between my legs that I hated but could not stop. The bus rumbled forward again, carrying me deeper into the night, the helper’s touch still burning on my ass cheeks and pussy over the saree.
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