22-08-2026, 07:02 PM
Sathyavathi turned to the young worker with a practical smile.
“You selected a good one for her. Now select two or three for me as well. Something that will suit my skin tone. Not too heavy.”
He nodded at once, still standing close behind me.
“Of course, madam.”
He moved toward the shelves, but his eyes kept returning to me. Even while he pulled out a deep maroon saree and a soft green one, his gaze slid slowly over the full shape of my heavy breasts under the yellow blouse, the narrow line of my waist, the way the orange saree rested on my hips, and the faint, familiar outline of my maroon panties that he already knew from the inside. The look was open hunger carefully wrapped in polite service. Each time our eyes almost met I forced my face toward the floor or toward Sathyavathi, yet the heat between my legs answered him without shame. Fresh wetness gathered against the front panel of my maroon panties, making them cling more tightly to my pussy. I tried hard to keep my gaze away, but the weight of his stare kept pulling at me.
He returned with the two sarees and held them up for Sathyavathi.
“These two will suit you best, madam. Please choose.”
While she examined the borders and the fall of each saree, he stepped closer to me again.
“Madam, shall I take this saree for packing? You have decided on it.”
Before I could answer or step back, his hands were already at my waist. He began removing the orange Kanchipuram saree with the same practised speed he had used earlier. The pallu came off my left shoulder first. Then he unwound the remaining length from around my waist, his fingers brushing deliberately across my lower stomach and the upper curve of my hips through the white petticoat as he worked. In less than a minute the entire orange saree was off my body and folded neatly over his arm. I stood on the quiet first floor in only my yellow blouse, white petticoat and the maroon panties underneath.
Cool air touched the bare skin of my waist and the soft lower part of my stomach above the white petticoat. I crossed my arms quickly over my chest, but the sudden lightness and exposure were already complete.
He walked past me toward the place where my yellow saree still lay folded on a low stool, picked it up, and turned as if preparing to help me put it back on.
At that same moment the shop owner came fully up the stairs and stopped right beside Sathyavathi. He stood next to her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched, while she continued comparing the maroon and green sarees in her hands.
His eyes moved openly and slowly over me. They travelled across the heavy shape of my breasts inside the yellow blouse, lingered on the way the yellow blouse stretched over the white bra, then dropped to the narrow waist above the white petticoat, the soft swell of my hips, and the way the white petticoat clung to the upper part of my thighs. A clear, thick bulge had already risen at the front of his white dhoti. The hard outline of his cock pushed strongly against the thin white dhoti and twitched once as he looked.
He pretended to speak only to Sathyavathi, his voice calm and business-like.
“Both are pure Kanchipuram silk, madam. Very good zari work. This maroon one has a richer border and will look elegant for functions… the green one is lighter, better for daily wear. You can choose according to your need. The thread count is high in both.”
While the words left his mouth in a normal shopkeeper tone, his eyes never left my body. His right hand dropped to the front of his white dhoti. He began rubbing slowly over the hard shape of his cock, pressing and stroking the thick ridge through the white dhoti as if merely scratching an itch on his thigh. The movement was deliberate and continuous. He kept explaining colour fastness and the quality of the silk to Sathyavathi, yet his palm continued to move up and down the length of his cock, and his gaze stayed fixed on the yellow blouse and the white petticoat that now left so little of my shape to the imagination.
I stood frozen between the two men, the orange saree gone, my yellow blouse and white petticoat the only covering left on my body, the heat between my legs rising shamelessly once more while I tried not to look at either of them. The wetness in my maroon panties had grown heavier. My nipples had tightened inside the white bra and pressed visibly against the yellow blouse. I could do nothing except remain still, arms loosely crossed, while the owner rubbed himself openly through his white dhoti and the young worker held both the orange saree and my yellow saree, waiting.
The young worker came toward me holding my yellow saree in both hands. I stepped forward at once and reached for it, fingers closing on the folded silk.
“I will wear it myself,” I said quickly, trying to pull the yellow saree from his grip.
“Just give it to me. Is there a trial room here?”
He did not release it. His fingers stayed firmly closed around the yellow saree.
“There is no trial room on this floor, madam,” he replied in the same calm, professional voice.
“It is only a small shop. I will dbang it for you properly. It will be faster and the fall will come correct.”
A restless heat moved through my chest and settled low in my stomach. Every part of me wanted to snatch the yellow saree, turn my back, and cover myself as fast as possible. I already felt used — first by his fingers under the orange saree earlier, then by the open stares, and now by the owner’s shameless rubbing. Standing here any longer in only the yellow blouse and white petticoat felt dangerous. Yet refusing completely would only keep me exposed. The longer I argued, the longer both men could look.
“…Alright,” I said at last, the word tight and reluctant.
“Do it fast.”
I lowered my arms and stood still, though my fingers kept curling and uncurling at my sides.
Behind Sathyavathi the shop owner continued to feast his eyes without any attempt to hide it. His gaze moved slowly over the bare skin of my navel above the white petticoat, tracing the soft dip and the way my stomach rose and fell with each restless breath. Then his eyes climbed to the heavy shape of my breasts inside the yellow blouse, lingering on the way the yellow blouse stretched over the white bra and the clear outline of my tightened nipples. He looked down again at the length of my legs under the white petticoat and the sharp panty line of my maroon panties that showed through the thin white petticoat across the full round curve of my ass. All the while his right hand kept moving on the front of his white dhoti, stroking the thick, hard shape of his cock with open, rhythmic pressure. The white dhoti tented clearly with every upward stroke of his palm.
The young worker stepped in front of me and began dbanging my yellow saree. He tucked the first end into the waist of the white petticoat at my right hip, his knuckles pressing against the bare skin of my lower stomach for a second longer than needed. He brought the yellow saree around my waist once, the silk sliding across the white petticoat. Then he started making the front pleats. His hands worked close to my lower stomach, folding the yellow silk with neat, practised movements, each pleat pressed flat before being held in place.
The tension in my body kept climbing. My thighs pressed together under the white petticoat. Fresh wetness had already gathered against the front panel of my maroon panties. I watched his hands carefully, waiting for the moment the dbanging would end so I could step away.
When he reached the final tucks below my navel, his right hand suddenly changed direction. It slipped under the waist of the white petticoat. The movement was smooth and unhurried. Before I could fully react, the same hand pushed further down, fingers sliding over the soft skin of my lower stomach, and went straight inside my maroon panties.
His fingers touched my pussy at once — already wet, already swollen from everything that had happened earlier. Two fingertips pressed firmly between my pussy lips and rested there, feeling the exact heat and wetness.
A sharp breath caught hard in my throat. My whole body tensed. I bit down on my lower lip with enough force to taste the faint metallic edge of it, forcing any sound to stay trapped inside. My right hand shot downward, catching his wrist tightly through the white petticoat and the yellow saree, fingers digging into his skin in a silent, desperate order to stop.
At that exact moment the shop owner’s body jerked once beside Sathyavathi. His hand clamped hard over the front of his white dhoti. A muffled, stifled grunt left his throat as he came inside the white dhoti. Thick pulses of cum soaked the white dhoti from within while his eyes stayed locked on the exact place where the worker’s hand had disappeared under my yellow saree and white petticoat.
I kept my fingers locked around the worker’s wrist, teeth still pressed into my lower lip, the heat of his fingers still resting directly against my pussy, while the owner finished spilling himself into his white dhoti only a few feet away. The restless ache between my legs throbbed harder than before, and I could do nothing except stand there, caught between the two men, the yellow saree only half-dbangd on my body.
“You selected a good one for her. Now select two or three for me as well. Something that will suit my skin tone. Not too heavy.”
He nodded at once, still standing close behind me.
“Of course, madam.”
He moved toward the shelves, but his eyes kept returning to me. Even while he pulled out a deep maroon saree and a soft green one, his gaze slid slowly over the full shape of my heavy breasts under the yellow blouse, the narrow line of my waist, the way the orange saree rested on my hips, and the faint, familiar outline of my maroon panties that he already knew from the inside. The look was open hunger carefully wrapped in polite service. Each time our eyes almost met I forced my face toward the floor or toward Sathyavathi, yet the heat between my legs answered him without shame. Fresh wetness gathered against the front panel of my maroon panties, making them cling more tightly to my pussy. I tried hard to keep my gaze away, but the weight of his stare kept pulling at me.
He returned with the two sarees and held them up for Sathyavathi.
“These two will suit you best, madam. Please choose.”
While she examined the borders and the fall of each saree, he stepped closer to me again.
“Madam, shall I take this saree for packing? You have decided on it.”
Before I could answer or step back, his hands were already at my waist. He began removing the orange Kanchipuram saree with the same practised speed he had used earlier. The pallu came off my left shoulder first. Then he unwound the remaining length from around my waist, his fingers brushing deliberately across my lower stomach and the upper curve of my hips through the white petticoat as he worked. In less than a minute the entire orange saree was off my body and folded neatly over his arm. I stood on the quiet first floor in only my yellow blouse, white petticoat and the maroon panties underneath.
Cool air touched the bare skin of my waist and the soft lower part of my stomach above the white petticoat. I crossed my arms quickly over my chest, but the sudden lightness and exposure were already complete.
He walked past me toward the place where my yellow saree still lay folded on a low stool, picked it up, and turned as if preparing to help me put it back on.
At that same moment the shop owner came fully up the stairs and stopped right beside Sathyavathi. He stood next to her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched, while she continued comparing the maroon and green sarees in her hands.
His eyes moved openly and slowly over me. They travelled across the heavy shape of my breasts inside the yellow blouse, lingered on the way the yellow blouse stretched over the white bra, then dropped to the narrow waist above the white petticoat, the soft swell of my hips, and the way the white petticoat clung to the upper part of my thighs. A clear, thick bulge had already risen at the front of his white dhoti. The hard outline of his cock pushed strongly against the thin white dhoti and twitched once as he looked.
He pretended to speak only to Sathyavathi, his voice calm and business-like.
“Both are pure Kanchipuram silk, madam. Very good zari work. This maroon one has a richer border and will look elegant for functions… the green one is lighter, better for daily wear. You can choose according to your need. The thread count is high in both.”
While the words left his mouth in a normal shopkeeper tone, his eyes never left my body. His right hand dropped to the front of his white dhoti. He began rubbing slowly over the hard shape of his cock, pressing and stroking the thick ridge through the white dhoti as if merely scratching an itch on his thigh. The movement was deliberate and continuous. He kept explaining colour fastness and the quality of the silk to Sathyavathi, yet his palm continued to move up and down the length of his cock, and his gaze stayed fixed on the yellow blouse and the white petticoat that now left so little of my shape to the imagination.
I stood frozen between the two men, the orange saree gone, my yellow blouse and white petticoat the only covering left on my body, the heat between my legs rising shamelessly once more while I tried not to look at either of them. The wetness in my maroon panties had grown heavier. My nipples had tightened inside the white bra and pressed visibly against the yellow blouse. I could do nothing except remain still, arms loosely crossed, while the owner rubbed himself openly through his white dhoti and the young worker held both the orange saree and my yellow saree, waiting.
The young worker came toward me holding my yellow saree in both hands. I stepped forward at once and reached for it, fingers closing on the folded silk.
“I will wear it myself,” I said quickly, trying to pull the yellow saree from his grip.
“Just give it to me. Is there a trial room here?”
He did not release it. His fingers stayed firmly closed around the yellow saree.
“There is no trial room on this floor, madam,” he replied in the same calm, professional voice.
“It is only a small shop. I will dbang it for you properly. It will be faster and the fall will come correct.”
A restless heat moved through my chest and settled low in my stomach. Every part of me wanted to snatch the yellow saree, turn my back, and cover myself as fast as possible. I already felt used — first by his fingers under the orange saree earlier, then by the open stares, and now by the owner’s shameless rubbing. Standing here any longer in only the yellow blouse and white petticoat felt dangerous. Yet refusing completely would only keep me exposed. The longer I argued, the longer both men could look.
“…Alright,” I said at last, the word tight and reluctant.
“Do it fast.”
I lowered my arms and stood still, though my fingers kept curling and uncurling at my sides.
Behind Sathyavathi the shop owner continued to feast his eyes without any attempt to hide it. His gaze moved slowly over the bare skin of my navel above the white petticoat, tracing the soft dip and the way my stomach rose and fell with each restless breath. Then his eyes climbed to the heavy shape of my breasts inside the yellow blouse, lingering on the way the yellow blouse stretched over the white bra and the clear outline of my tightened nipples. He looked down again at the length of my legs under the white petticoat and the sharp panty line of my maroon panties that showed through the thin white petticoat across the full round curve of my ass. All the while his right hand kept moving on the front of his white dhoti, stroking the thick, hard shape of his cock with open, rhythmic pressure. The white dhoti tented clearly with every upward stroke of his palm.
The young worker stepped in front of me and began dbanging my yellow saree. He tucked the first end into the waist of the white petticoat at my right hip, his knuckles pressing against the bare skin of my lower stomach for a second longer than needed. He brought the yellow saree around my waist once, the silk sliding across the white petticoat. Then he started making the front pleats. His hands worked close to my lower stomach, folding the yellow silk with neat, practised movements, each pleat pressed flat before being held in place.
The tension in my body kept climbing. My thighs pressed together under the white petticoat. Fresh wetness had already gathered against the front panel of my maroon panties. I watched his hands carefully, waiting for the moment the dbanging would end so I could step away.
When he reached the final tucks below my navel, his right hand suddenly changed direction. It slipped under the waist of the white petticoat. The movement was smooth and unhurried. Before I could fully react, the same hand pushed further down, fingers sliding over the soft skin of my lower stomach, and went straight inside my maroon panties.
His fingers touched my pussy at once — already wet, already swollen from everything that had happened earlier. Two fingertips pressed firmly between my pussy lips and rested there, feeling the exact heat and wetness.
A sharp breath caught hard in my throat. My whole body tensed. I bit down on my lower lip with enough force to taste the faint metallic edge of it, forcing any sound to stay trapped inside. My right hand shot downward, catching his wrist tightly through the white petticoat and the yellow saree, fingers digging into his skin in a silent, desperate order to stop.
At that exact moment the shop owner’s body jerked once beside Sathyavathi. His hand clamped hard over the front of his white dhoti. A muffled, stifled grunt left his throat as he came inside the white dhoti. Thick pulses of cum soaked the white dhoti from within while his eyes stayed locked on the exact place where the worker’s hand had disappeared under my yellow saree and white petticoat.
I kept my fingers locked around the worker’s wrist, teeth still pressed into my lower lip, the heat of his fingers still resting directly against my pussy, while the owner finished spilling himself into his white dhoti only a few feet away. The restless ache between my legs throbbed harder than before, and I could do nothing except stand there, caught between the two men, the yellow saree only half-dbangd on my body.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)