Misc. Erotica My confessions of being most embarassed

[pragya_rao]

The scorching Saturday afternoon sun beat down mercilessly on the narrow lanes of Alambagh Market in Lucknow as Pragya, Aanya, and their mom Nalini stepped out of the auto-rickshaw. The heat was unbearable, making their clothes stick to their bodies in all the wrong—and revealing—ways. As usual for their weekend shopping trips, all three had dressed in comfortable yet figure-hugging outfits: crisp white leggings that clung tightly to their thick thighs and wide hips, paired with colorful kurtis—Pragya in a light green one, Aanya in vibrant red, and Nalini in soft pink. The thin cotton fabric of the kurtis stretched across their full, heavy breasts and accentuated the soft curves of their waists and the prominent roundness of their g@nds, leaving little to the imagination in the humid weather. Sweat had already started trickling down their backs, making the leggings semi-transparent in patches and outlining the shape of their assets even more boldly.

They walked together through the crowded market, baskets in hand, bargaining for vegetables, spices, and some new bangles. Nalini led the way, her mature, voluptuous figure drawing occasional glances, while her daughters followed, giggling about something from college.

As they passed a group of old uncles sitting on a bench outside a tea stall in their society complex area near the market, one wrinkled, grey-haired man in a faded kurta couldn't hold back. His eyes fixed shamelessly on their swaying backsides, and he muttered loudly enough for them to hear:

"Arre wah... moti g@nd market ja rahi hai... teeno ki ek se badhkar ek!"

The crude words hung in the hot air. Pragya and Aanya froze mid-step, their cheeks flushing instantly with shock. They had never heard such a vulgar word like "g@nd" used so openly, especially directed at them. In their minds, the comment replayed—his leering tone calling out their plump, jiggling g@nds in those tight white leggings. A strange mix of embarrassment and shy amusement bubbled up inside them. Pragya bit her lip, imagining how their full, fleshy behinds must have looked bouncing slightly with each step in the heat, the fabric stretched taut. Aanya felt a similar tingle of forbidden thrill, her face turning pink as she pictured the old man's hungry stare on their shapely g@nds. They weren't used to such raw, dirty language—it felt shocking, yet it left them oddly aware of their own bodies.

Nalini, however, spun around immediately, her eyes blazing with anger. "Kya bola aapne?! Besharam buddhe! Ghar ki auraton ke baare mein aisi gandi baatein? security officer bulaun kya?!" she shouted, her voice sharp and protective. She stepped forward, gesturing angrily with her hand, scolding him loudly in front of everyone. The other uncles looked away awkwardly, but the old man just smirked weakly and muttered something under his breath before turning silent.

Pragya and Aanya stood there stunned, exchanging quick glances. Though outwardly they looked horrified and supported their mom by nodding, inside their minds raced with the uncle's words. The image of their "moti g@nd" being commented on so boldly made them feel exposed, a little amused at the absurdity, and deeply shy. Their white leggings suddenly felt even tighter against their skin, the scorching heat making them hyper-aware of how their curves were on display. They hurried ahead with Nalini, who continued muttering about "dirty old men," but the sisters couldn't shake off the lingering, embarrassed thrill of the moment for the rest of their shopping trip.