Misc. Erotica The Goddess (COMPLETED) - By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

He released my bare breasts and reached for the white bra on the chair.

“We are finished with the measurements, madam,” he said, still completely professional.
“I will help you put everything back on.”
My legs were still unsteady. The deep, unfinished heat between my thighs continued to throb, and the maroon panties remained wet against my pussy. Shyness burned on my face, yet I stood still and allowed him to continue.
He held the white bra open. I slipped my arms through the bra straps. He brought the cups over my heavy breasts — still wet and sensitive at the nipples from his mouth — and settled them carefully into place. His fingers brushed my breasts as he adjusted the cups, then moved to my back and fastened the hooks one by one. Each small contact sent another faint pulse of heat downward. When the white bra was secure he smoothed the straps on my shoulders and checked the underband once more, his hands lingering a second longer than necessary.
Next he took the yellow blouse. He held it open for me. I slipped my arms into the sleeves. He brought the yellow blouse around my body and began fastening the front hooks from the bottom upward. His fingers brushed the soft curve of my breasts through the white bra with every hook he closed. When the last hook was done he smoothed the yellow blouse over my chest with both palms, pressing lightly as if ensuring it sat correctly, before stepping back.
Finally he picked up my yellow saree. He tucked the first end into the waist of the white petticoat, brought the yellow saree around my waist, made the front pleats with neat movements, and arranged the pallu over my left shoulder. His hands brushed my waist, my hips, and the side of my breast once more while he finished the dbang. By the time the yellow saree sat properly on my body again I was fully covered, yet the wetness in my maroon panties and the heavy ache between my legs remained, quietly alive under the layers of clothing.
He stepped back and gave a small, professional nod.
“All done, madam. The blouse will be ready according to the style you chose. You can collect it in one hour.”
I adjusted the pallu of my yellow saree with slightly trembling fingers, still feeling the lingering heat and the memory of his mouth on my bare breasts, when the curtain of the measuring space was suddenly pulled aside.
Sathyavathi stood there, holding a small paper bag from the bra and panties shop across the street. She looked at me, then at the young tailor, then back at me.
“I finished,” she said.
“Are your measurements done? We should go. The blouses at the other shop will be ready soon.”
I nodded, keeping my voice steady with effort.
“Yes. Just finished.”
I stepped out of the small curtained space beside her. The young tailor remained inside, already turning back to the cutting table with my orange blouse pieces, his expression once again only that of a polite, professional tailor. I walked out of the shop with Sathyavathi, the yellow saree moving around my legs, the deep, unfinished heat still pulsing quietly between my thighs with every step.


Sathyavathi and I stepped out of the tailor shop into the busy market street. The afternoon sun was sharp. I adjusted the pallu of my yellow saree once, still feeling the quiet, unfinished heat between my legs with every step.
“Shall we have lunch?” I asked.
“There is a decent hotel near the bus stand. We can eat and then collect the blouses.”
Sathyavathi nodded, then added,
“Yes. But first I need to use the toilet.”
We walked a short distance until we found the public ladies’ toilet attached to the side of a small municipal building. It was a typical town market toilet — narrow, cemented, and functional. The outer door was a simple metal one with a faded “Ladies” board above it. Inside, a short corridor led to three separate stalls with wooden doors that did not close properly. The walls were half-tiled in old white tiles, many of them cracked or stained. A single tap with a plastic mug sat near a small drainage hole for washing. The smell of phenyl mixed with dampness hung in the air. A cloudy mirror was fixed above a broken washbasin. The floor was wet in places from earlier users.
We entered. Sathyavathi went straight into the left stall and closed the door as best as she could. I stayed outside near the washbasin, waiting for her.
Two town women were already inside. One stood near the mirror, adjusting her saree. The other was washing her hands. They glanced at me, then at the closed stall where Sathyavathi had gone, and began speaking to each other in low but clearly audible voices.
“These two are from the forest village, no?” the first woman said.
“Look at them. So fair, so full-bodied. The way that yellow saree sits on her… and her friend is the same.”
“I know,” the second replied, still drying her hands.
“The men in the market have been talking since morning. At the bus stand, near the jewellery shops, even at the tea stall — everyone is saying how hot and sexy the village women who came today are. Especially these two. Some of the shop men are completely restless.”
The first woman looked at me again through the cloudy mirror and smiled slowly. Her eyes moved over the shape of my heavy breasts under the yellow blouse and the way the yellow saree rested on my hips.
“Beautiful face, heavy breasts, proper hips…” she said, her voice dropping.
“No wonder the men here are going crazy. Honestly… I would love to taste her. Spread her open and make her melt on my tongue.”
She let out a soft, open giggle. The second woman laughed under her breath as well.
Then they both turned and came toward me.
“You are from the forest village, aren’t you?” the first woman asked, her eyes moving openly over my body.
“All of you girls from there are so beautiful. Fair skin, heavy breasts, wide hips… the men in this town lose their minds the moment you step off the bus.”
Before I could answer, she stepped closer and openly cupped both of my ass cheeks over the yellow saree, squeezing firmly.
“Even the ass is perfect,” she said, still smiling.
“Round and soft.”
She became bolder. With both hands she lifted my yellow saree together with the white petticoat, raising them high until they bunched around my waist. My maroon panties were fully exposed. She grabbed both of my ass cheeks over the maroon panties, squeezing and spreading them slightly for the other woman to see.
“Look,” she told her friend, still holding my ass.
“See how good it feels. No wonder the shop men go crazy.”
The second woman stepped in. Together they turned me and bent me forward slightly over the washbasin. One of them hooked her fingers into the waistband of my maroon panties and pulled them down to my mid-thighs in one smooth movement. Cool air touched my bare pussy and the tight ring of my asshole.
“Look at this,” the second woman said, her voice low and admiring.
“So clean… so soft. The pussy is beautiful. And the asshole is neat and tight. No wonder the men in this town are restless about the village girls.”
I felt a sharp mix of embarrassment and unexpected pride. My face burned, yet the open appreciation made the heat between my legs throb harder.
One of the women bent down. She pressed her mouth fully against my pussy and tasted me — her tongue sliding once, slowly and deliberately, between my pussy lips.
“Ah—!”
I exclaimed sharply and jumped forward in shock. In the same instant I grabbed my maroon panties and yanked them up, then quickly dropped my white petticoat and yellow saree back into place, heart pounding.
The woman pulled back and let out a soft, open giggle. Her friend laughed under her breath as well. Both of them looked at me with amused, satisfied expressions.
Just then the stall door opened and Sathyavathi stepped out, smoothing her saree. The two town women immediately stepped away, still giggling among themselves, and walked out of the ladies’ toilet, their quiet laughter fading as the door closed behind them.
I stood at the washbasin, face hot, the lingering wet feel of the woman’s tongue on my pussy still vivid, while Sathyavathi washed her hands, unaware of exactly what had taken place in the short time she had been inside the stall.