20-09-2026, 09:51 AM
She stopped a foot in front of him. She did not look at his face. She looked at the floor.
Preethi came next. She peeled herself off the far wall and walked across the teak with her arms still crossed but her elbows lower now, and she stopped beside Meera, and she looked at the floor too.
Anupama came. Two precise steps forward. Her hands came off the pearl choker and dropped to her sides, and she took her place on Meera’s other side, and she looked at the floor.
Samyuktha came last. She came out from behind the velvet couch with her shoulders hunched and her arms crossed tight and her chin tucked into her chest, and she walked to the end of the line and stopped, and she looked at the floor hardest of all.
Four of them. Shoulder to shoulder. Arms at their sides or nearly so. Looking at the teak.
Selvam looked at the top of four heads. Jasmine. Loose dark hair. Braided jasmine coming undone. The lamplight catching the pearl at Anupama’s throat and the gold at Preethi’s waist and the bare plane of Samyuktha’s back where the single strap crossed her shoulder blades.
He stepped closer. Close enough that the warmth of them came up off their skin in a wave, jasmine and salt and the particular heat of women who had been running and stopping and standing very still.
He bent his head. His mouth was near Preethi’s ear, near enough that his breath moved the loose hair at her temple.
“Front hooks,” he said. Quiet. The word carrying the length of the line. “All four of you. Good girls.”
Preethi’s breath caught. He heard it. A small sharp pull through her nose, the sound of a woman who had been told something she had not expected to be told.
“Like someone told you what Daddy likes,” he said.
The words hung in the air between them. The music went on under them. The tabla kept its four-count. The strings held.
Preethi’s head came up first.
She turned to face him, slow, the gold chain shifting at her waist, and she brought both hands up between them and held them out flat, palms down, fingers spread. The nails were long. Manicured. Deep red, the colour of something that had been done that afternoon. She turned her hands over, showing him the underside, the white crescents at the tips catching the lamplight.
“Sir,” she said. Her mouth was curved. The smirk sat at the left corner and did not move. She bit her lower lip and let it go. Bit it again. “Sir, look at these.”
He looked.
“These nails,” she said. She wiggled the fingers. The red caught the light. “These nails are too long.”
The room did not move. The music kept going. The tabla held its four-count.
“Too long for what,” Selvam said.
“Too long for... ” She turned her hands over again, showing him the nails from the top, and she brought them up to the front of her blouse, to the place where the embroidery met skin, and she hooked one nail under the edge of the fabric and let it rest there, not pulling, just resting, the red tip warm against the gold thread. “Too long for this, sir. I’ll rip it. I’ll ruin the embroidery.”
Her eyes held his. The smirk had not moved. Her lower lip was still caught between her teeth, the bite mark pink where the tooth had pressed.
“You need help,” he said.
“I need help.” She said it back to him without blinking. “Sir, I’m asking nicely.”
Behind her, Meera made a sound. Not a laugh. Something quieter than a laugh, the particular exhale of a woman watching somebody else do the work she had been about to do.
Selvam reached out and took Preethi’s wrist. The bangles shifted against his fingers, gold on gold, warm from her skin. He turned her hand over so the palm faced up and he looked at the nails from the underside, the red tips, the white crescents.
“These are long,” he agreed.
“They’re too long, sir.”
“They are.”
He let go of her wrist. Her hand stayed where he had put it, palm up, fingers loose, the nails catching the light.
He stepped closer. Close enough that the warmth coming off her skin was a thing he could feel on his own face, and he brought both hands up between them and found the front of her blouse with his fingers.
The hooks were there. Three of them, small brass things set into the embroidered edge, running down the center line from the neckline to high above the navel. He could feel them under his thumbs, cool against the fabric.
He looked at Preethi’s face. She was looking at his hands on her blouse, not at his eyes, her lower lip still caught between her teeth, the smirk gone now, replaced by something quieter, something that sat in the crease between her eyebrows.
He worked the top hook first. His thumb found the small brass catch and pressed it sideways, and the hook came loose with a click that was louder in the quiet room than it had any right to be. The fabric parted an inch at the neckline, and the shadow underneath it deepened.
Preethi’s breath came out through her nose. A short, controlled pull. Her stomach jumped under his hands the way it had jumped under his mouth.
He worked the second hook. Same motion. The click was quieter this time, or maybe the room had gotten louder ... the tabla had not changed but the air around it had, the four-count carrying something it had not carried before.
The fabric parted another inch. The shadow underneath it ran deeper, and he could see the line where the embroidery ended and skin began, a clean edge of gold thread against the brown of her, and under the gold thread, nothing.
No bra.
He had not been expecting that. He had been expecting a bra ... thin lingerie, maybe, or the kind of thing actresses wore under stiff embroidery to keep the shape ... and there was nothing. The blouse was doing all the work. The embroidery was the structure. The hooks were the only thing holding it on.
Preethi’s stomach jumped again under his hands.
“Fuck you are so perky.” He thought a bra was holding them.
He had the rest giggle.
He looked at her and asked “May I?” but didn’t wait for the answer. His thumb found the third hook and pressed it sideways, and the click came, and the blouse fell open down the center line from her throat to the dip above her navel, and the embroidery parted in two neat halves, and there was nothing underneath it at all.
Her breasts sat high and full and entirely bare in the lamplight, the nipples dark and already hard, the skin smooth and warm where the gold thread had been pressed against it all evening.
Preethi did not cross her arms. She did not cover herself. She looked down at the open blouse and then up at him, and the smirk came back, slow, starting at the left corner and taking its time.
He asked another “May I?” and bent down to with his mouth about to reach her exposed breast.
Before his lips could touch her exposed breasts a faint voice came from the side.
“Sir, may nails are also too long.”
He turned his head. Anupama was standing shoulder to shoulder with Meera, her hands at her sides, and she had one hand held out the way Preethi had held hers out, palm up, fingers spread, the red nails catching the lamplight. Her nails were shorter than Preethi’s. Neater. The same deep red, but filed closer to the quick, the white crescents smaller.
“Sir,” she said. “My nails are also too long. For the hooks.”
He looked at her hand. Then at her blouse. The cream fabric, the single thin strap across her shoulder blades, the backless cut that meant there was no front to it at all ... the hooks would be at the side, under the arm, or at the neck, wherever the strap fastened.
He removed Preethi’s blouse and dropped it on the floor. He came close to Anupama.
He unhooked her blouse with the same focus one hook at a time.
She whispered “No bra, sir.”
“Excellent.”
He pulled her blouse open to expose her dark nipples that was getting hard.
“My nails…” two voices trailed off at the same time. Meera and Samyuktha, both holding their hands, giggling.
“One at a time,” he smiled back at them.
He did Meera next.
While opening Meera’s breasts he kind of lost control and used his thumbs to brush her left nipple while looking into her eyes.
Meera bit her lips in pleasure while Samyuktha cleared her throat, signaling it’s her turn. He took his thumb off Meera’s nipple and stepped back half a pace, and Meera’s eyebrow went up and she did not say anything, but the bit mark on her lower lip was red where she had pressed her teeth into it.
Samyuktha was last. She had come closer without his noticing, close enough that the warmth of her was a thing he could feel against his forearm.
Her hands were still crossed over her chest, the fingers laced tight, the red nails digging into her own forearms, and she was looking up at him with her chin tucked and her eyes wide and the giggle sitting in her throat like something she could not swallow.
“Sir,” she said. “Sir, my nails are also... ”
“Too long.”
“Too long, sir.” She nodded fast, twice, her hair swinging. “I’ll rip it. I’ll ruin the chiffon.”
“The saree is already on the floor, dear.”
“The blouse, sir. The blouse.”
He looked at her hands. The nails were the shortest of the four, filed close, the red neat and even, and she was holding them so tight against her arms that the crescents had gone white at the tips.
He let the silence do the work.
“Sir,” she said. Her voice was thin. “Sir, please.”
He stepped into her. Close enough that the warmth coming off her bare back hit his chest before his hands got to her, and he found the single thin strap where it crossed her shoulder blades with two fingers and followed it down to the side, to the place where it fastened under her arm.
He removed her blouse.
“No bra. Good girl.”
He bent down to kiss her breasts and he heard footsteps running and 8 breasts swarmed around him in a tight hug.
Eight breasts pressed against him from four sides, warm and bare and slightly damp at the edges, and his face was somewhere in the middle of them, and he could not see anything except skin and lamplight and the gold chain at Preethi’s waist pressing into his cheek.
“Sir... ”
“Sir, you can’t just... ”
“Sir, that’s not fair, you have to... ”
Four voices at once. Overlapping. The Telugu lilt and the flat Tamil and the measured Malayalam and the thin Kannada, all of them talking at the same time, and his hands were full of bare skin and he did not know whose was whose.
Preethi began to button his shirt.
“Skin to skin.” she said giggling.
Her fingers found the top button of his shirt and worked it loose, the red nails careful against the white cotton, and the fabric parted an inch at his throat.
“Skin to skin,” she said again, giggling, and her bare breasts pressed harder against his ribs as she leaned into the work.
He could not see her hands. He could feel them ... the red nails catching on the second button, the small tug as it came free, the warm air hitting his chest where the shirt opened. Her breath was on his collarbone, short and warm, and she was laughing under it, the giggle running through the words.
“Your nails and not too long for my shirt buttons?” He teased while letting her completely take off his shirt.
“Our nails are not too long for your buttons, sir,” she said.
The cool air hit his back and then the warmth of four bodies closed around him again, bare skin against bare skin, and his hands found hips and waists and the gold chain at Preethi’s navel pressing into his palm.
There were breasts wherever he looked.
They crushed into his chest ... two from Preethi, warm and full and slightly damp at the edges, the nipples hard against his sternum. They pressed into his left bicep from Meera, the skin there smoother than the skin on her waist, the nipple catching on the muscle every time he moved his arm. They were against his right bicep from Anupama, fuller like Preethi’s and firmer, the dancer’s muscle under them, and when he turned his head to the right her pearl choker was against his jaw and her bare breast was against his shoulder and he could feel the goosebumps on it where the cool air had hit before the warmth of him had closed the gap.
He grabbed two of them with his palms and another one with his fingers, and the fourth one was against his back where Samyuktha had pressed herself into him from behind, her bare breasts warm and small and firm against his shoulder blades, and her arms were around his waist from behind, her red nails digging into his stomach above the belt.
He could not tell whose nipple was whose against his palm. He did not try. He let his hands move where they moved and the skin moved with them, warm and bare and slightly damp, and the giggling had stopped being giggling and become something lower, something that ran through the four bodies pressed against him like a current.
Then he bent his head and took one nipple into his mouth, and the girl it belonged to ... he could not tell which ... made a small sound and her fingers tightened in his hair. He reached out with both hands and found two more, filling his palms with them, squeezing slow, and the two of them pressed closer against his arms, breathing harder. Preethi, still at his back with her arms around his waist, leaned around his shoulder and looked down at him over the bare skin of the other three.
“How about me?” she said, and her red nails walked up his stomach toward his chest.
He turned around and grabbed both of Preethi’s breasts and bit her nipples and pulled them until she screamed, her back arching, the gold chain biting into his palm as she pressed harder against him.
“Sir... ” Her voice cracked. “Sir, that’s... ”
He did not let go. He kept his teeth on her, pulling slow, and her hands found his hair and gripped, the red nails scbanging his scalp, and the sound she made was not a word at all.
Meera’s hand came between them. He felt her fingers on his wrist, warm and deliberate, and she pulled his hand away from Preethi’s breast with a firmness that surprised him.
“Sir.” Her voice was level. The eyebrow was up again.
Preethi’s nipple came out of his mouth with a small wet sound, and she gasped and her hands stayed in his hair, the nails still pressed into his scalp, and her chest was heaving against his.
“Sorry,” he said. He did not sound sorry. He sounded like a man who had found something he wanted and was not going to pretend otherwise.
Preethi’s mouth was open. Her lower lip was swollen where she had been biting it, and the smirk was gone entirely, replaced by something wide-eyed and unguarded, and she was looking at his mouth like she wanted it back where it had been.
He took her lips and started biting her lips.
He had her lower lip between his teeth when the hands came down.
Not Preethi’s hands ... hers were still in his hair, the nails still pressed into his scalp ... but the other six, all at once, as if the four of them had decided the same thing in the same half-second without saying it. Six hands dropping from his shoulders and his arms and his back and going down, fast, the red nails catching the lamplight as they went, and before he could register which hand belonged to which girl they were at his waist, at the knot of the veshti, at the pleats where the white cloth sat folded against his hips.
He felt the knot give on the first pull ... Preethi’s nails at the front, working the pleats loose with the same quick fingers that had undone his shirt buttons ... and the white cloth shifted at his hip, and something in his chest tightened the way it tightened when a launch window was closing faster than he had calculated.
He took a step back.
Preethi’s hands came up off the knot and locked around his neck instead. Both arms, bare and warm, the gold bangles sliding down to her elbows, and her mouth found his before his head had finished turning, and she kissed him the way she had been dancing ... sharp, no hesitation, her teeth catching his lower lip and pulling.
“Not so fast ladies.”
They giggled.
“We want to see that cock the internet is raving about, Mr. Chief Minister.” Meera teased him.
“Let me taste all of your breasts first please.”
“Only since you asked nicely.”
They all stood and Selvam began to tasted each breast in peace. As he started sucking on a nipple of Meera’s she held his head while others caressed his chest and waited for their turn.
First he took Meera’s left breast into his mouth and held it there, his tongue flat against the nipple, and Meera’s fingers tightened in his hair and her breath came out through her nose in a long controlled pull. The skin under his lips was smooth and warm and tasted of jasmine and salt, and he could feel the muscle underneath it, the dancer’s discipline holding her still while his mouth worked.
He did not hurry. He took his time on the left one, his tongue circling the nipple slow, his lips closing over it and pulling, and Meera’s fingers moved in his hair without her seeming to decide to move them, and the sound she made was low and steady, the same flat voice she used at the dinner table but pitched half a register down.
Then he took Anupama’s right breast and did exactly the same thing.
Then he slapped their breasts gently and watched them bounce, the skin warm under his palm, the nipples still wet from his mouth, and the sound they made was small and sharp and entirely involuntary ... a gasp from Meera, a controlled exhale from Anupama, and from Preethi, who was watching from behind his shoulder with her arms still around his waist, a giggle that broke in the middle into something lower.
He turned to Preethi and took her left breast into his mouth and bit down, and she shrieked and her nails went into his scalp and her back arched, and he held her there with one hand on her hip and the other on the gold chain at her waist, and he worked the nipple with his tongue the way he had worked the others, slow and deliberate, and Preethi’s voice climbed and broke and climbed again.
Samyuktha and Meera grabbed his cock and whispered. “Mr. Chief Minister, you are rock hard please let us see it.
He undid the knot.
His fingers worked the pleats loose. One pull. The white cloth fell.
The room stopped.
His cock stood thick and dark in the lamplight. Full hard. The head slick. A vein ran the length of the shaft. Heavy between his legs.
Preethi stared.
“I have seen a lot of leading men.” Her voice came out slow. “None of them look like this.”
Her eyes went from his cock to his chest to his shoulders and back down. She didn’t rush it. She took her time.
“All of you.” Her finger traced a line through the air. “This body. And that.” Her finger stopped at his cock. “Telugu cinema. Nothing like this.”
Anupama stepped forward. Her hands came up.
“May I?” she said.
He nodded.
She took his cock in both palms. Flat. Measured. Her thumbs met at the base. Her fingers stretched along the shaft. She lifted him carefully. Held him at eye level. Her expression didn’t change.
“The proportion is... ” She stopped. Started again. “The proportion is not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“Something smaller.” She didn’t look away from his cock. “Something more… proportional. This is outside the frame.”
She held him a moment longer. Her thumbs pressed gently against the vein. Testing. Then she lowered him and stepped back. Her pearl choker swayed.
Samyuktha made a sound.
It came out in Kannada. A single phrase, low and flat, her eyes wide.
Preethi turned. “What did she say?”
Samyuktha’s cheeks went dark. “I said... ” She swallowed. “I said this cannot be real.”
Preethi laughed. Full and sudden. The sound bounced off the high ceiling.
“It’s real,” she said. “And it’s right here.”
Meera was already kneeling. Her cheek found the side of his cock. Warm skin against warm skin. She looked up at his face.
“How do you walk around with this all day?” Her breath was warm against his shaft. “Is it heavy?”
“Manageable,” he said.
She snorted. “I doubt that.”
Her mouth opened. She took the head. Slow. Her lips closed around him. Heat. Wet. She held him there, tongue pressing flat.
Preethi dropped to her knees on his left. Both hands wrapped around the shaft below Meera’s mouth. She worked upward in long slow licks. Her tongue found the vein. Traced it.
Anupama knelt on his right. Her hands cupped his balls with the care she gave to ritual objects. Her mouth descended. Unhurried. Thorough. Her pearl choker swayed against his inner thigh.
Samyuktha took the base. Both hands around the shaft. She watched the other three for two seconds. Her eyes wide. Then she found her angle and put her mouth to the side. Worked upward toward Preethi’s tongue.
Four mouths. Warm. Wet. Moving.
His hand went to Preethi’s hair. His other hand found Meera’s jaw.
“She’s being too gentle with the balls,” Preethi said against his shaft. Her voice vibrated. “Anupama. You’re being too gentle.”
Anupama lifted her mouth. A thin strand of saliva connected her lip to his balls. She wiped it with her thumb.
“I am being precise.” Her voice was level. “Not gentle. There’s a difference.”
She demonstrated. Her mouth closed over his right ball. Suction. Firm. Steady.
Selvam’s breath caught. A sound came out of his chest. Low. Deep. Pulled from somewhere he hadn’t expected.
Anupama held for three seconds. Then released. She looked at Preethi.
“Was that gentle?”
Preethi grinned against his shaft. “Point taken.”
Samyuktha looked up at Meera. Her mouth still working the side of his cock.
“How are you managing the girth?” Samyuktha’s words came muffled. “My jaw is locking.”
Meera pulled off. A wet sound. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“I’m not managing it.” She looked at Samyuktha over his cock. “I’m committed.”
She took him back. Deeper this time. Her throat worked.
“I want the head.” Preethi’s hands tightened on the shaft. “Meera. My turn.”
Meera shook her head without pulling off. The vibration ran through him.
“You just got there.” Preethi’s nails dug into his thigh. “I’ve been waiting since we knelt down.
Meera pulled off. Saliva ran down his shaft. She wiped her mouth.
“Fine. The head is yours. For one minute.”
“Two minutes.”
“One and a half.”
They switched. Meera moved to the shaft. Preethi took the head. Her mouth closed over him with a sound that was almost a groan.
Samyuktha shifted to the other side. Her hands found new purchase on his thighs.
Anupama stayed where she was. Her mouth on his balls. Steady. Unhurried.
“I’m not moving,” she said against his skin. “I’ve found my place.”
Nobody argued.
Selvam looked at the ceiling. The wall. The far corner. His breathing had changed. His hips wanted to move. He kept them still.
“This isn’t fair,” he said.
Samyuktha looked up. Her mouth was red. “Fair to whom?”
“Anyone in this room.”
Preethi pulled off. A wet pop. “Life is not fair.”
She took him deep. All the way. Her nose pressed against his stomach. Her throat worked. Her eyes watered.
The rotation kept going. Preethi to Meera. Meera to Samyuktha. Samyuktha back to the base. Anupama never moved from the balls.
His hand tightened in Preethi’s hair. His other hand found Meera’s shoulder. His breathing came in shorter pulls.
He was close.
They felt it. All four of them. Their rhythm changed. Slower. More deliberate. Their faces tilted up. Close together. Negotiating in low voices.
“I initiated,” Meera said. Her lips were swollen. “First ropes are mine.”
“Initiation does not grant monopoly.” Preethi’s hand was on his thigh, her nails pressing half-moons into his skin.
“I want to taste it.” Anupama sat back on her heels. Her pearl choker was crooked. “I’ve been curious since the balls. I’m not leaving without tasting it.”
“I’m the youngest.” Samyuktha’s voice was thin. “I have the most to learn. That should count.”
Selvam looked down at the four of them. Their faces tilted up. Red mouths. Wet chins. Eyes bright.
“I’ll do my best to be equitable,” he said.
He meant it.
The first pulse hit Meera’s cheek. White. Thick. A stripe across her skin from jaw to temple. Her eyes closed. Her mouth opened.
The second landed on Preethi’s lips. She caught it. Swallowed. Then opened for more.
The third crossed Anupama’s upturned face. Across her nose. Her cheek. The pearl choker caught a drop. She didn’t wipe it. She brought her finger to her mouth. Tasted. Her eyes widened.
The fourth landed on Samyuktha’s chin. Ran down her throat. She made a small sound. Her tongue found the drop on her collarbone.
He stroked himself through the last pulses. Slow. His hand wet. All four of them stayed still. Receiving it. Their faces marked. Their mouths open.
Anupama licked her lips. Her finger traced the line on her cheek.
“It’s not what I expected.” She tasted again. Slowly. “It’s better than I expected.”
Samyuktha nodded. Her finger found the drop on her throat. She brought it to her mouth. Her eyes never left his cock.
“She told us at dinner.” Preethi wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She was smiling. The smirk was back. Full force. “She told us this evening would be worth attending.”
She looked at Meera.
Meera was still on her knees. Her cheek striped. Her mouth curved. The same slow smile from the dinner table. Taking its time.
Worth attending.
Selvam’s hand rested on Preethi’s head. His other hand found Anupama’s shoulder. The four of them stayed where they were. On their knees. On the teak. In the lamplight.
The music had stopped at some point. Nobody had noticed.
Preethi came next. She peeled herself off the far wall and walked across the teak with her arms still crossed but her elbows lower now, and she stopped beside Meera, and she looked at the floor too.
Anupama came. Two precise steps forward. Her hands came off the pearl choker and dropped to her sides, and she took her place on Meera’s other side, and she looked at the floor.
Samyuktha came last. She came out from behind the velvet couch with her shoulders hunched and her arms crossed tight and her chin tucked into her chest, and she walked to the end of the line and stopped, and she looked at the floor hardest of all.
Four of them. Shoulder to shoulder. Arms at their sides or nearly so. Looking at the teak.
Selvam looked at the top of four heads. Jasmine. Loose dark hair. Braided jasmine coming undone. The lamplight catching the pearl at Anupama’s throat and the gold at Preethi’s waist and the bare plane of Samyuktha’s back where the single strap crossed her shoulder blades.
He stepped closer. Close enough that the warmth of them came up off their skin in a wave, jasmine and salt and the particular heat of women who had been running and stopping and standing very still.
He bent his head. His mouth was near Preethi’s ear, near enough that his breath moved the loose hair at her temple.
“Front hooks,” he said. Quiet. The word carrying the length of the line. “All four of you. Good girls.”
Preethi’s breath caught. He heard it. A small sharp pull through her nose, the sound of a woman who had been told something she had not expected to be told.
“Like someone told you what Daddy likes,” he said.
The words hung in the air between them. The music went on under them. The tabla kept its four-count. The strings held.
Preethi’s head came up first.
She turned to face him, slow, the gold chain shifting at her waist, and she brought both hands up between them and held them out flat, palms down, fingers spread. The nails were long. Manicured. Deep red, the colour of something that had been done that afternoon. She turned her hands over, showing him the underside, the white crescents at the tips catching the lamplight.
“Sir,” she said. Her mouth was curved. The smirk sat at the left corner and did not move. She bit her lower lip and let it go. Bit it again. “Sir, look at these.”
He looked.
“These nails,” she said. She wiggled the fingers. The red caught the light. “These nails are too long.”
The room did not move. The music kept going. The tabla held its four-count.
“Too long for what,” Selvam said.
“Too long for... ” She turned her hands over again, showing him the nails from the top, and she brought them up to the front of her blouse, to the place where the embroidery met skin, and she hooked one nail under the edge of the fabric and let it rest there, not pulling, just resting, the red tip warm against the gold thread. “Too long for this, sir. I’ll rip it. I’ll ruin the embroidery.”
Her eyes held his. The smirk had not moved. Her lower lip was still caught between her teeth, the bite mark pink where the tooth had pressed.
“You need help,” he said.
“I need help.” She said it back to him without blinking. “Sir, I’m asking nicely.”
Behind her, Meera made a sound. Not a laugh. Something quieter than a laugh, the particular exhale of a woman watching somebody else do the work she had been about to do.
Selvam reached out and took Preethi’s wrist. The bangles shifted against his fingers, gold on gold, warm from her skin. He turned her hand over so the palm faced up and he looked at the nails from the underside, the red tips, the white crescents.
“These are long,” he agreed.
“They’re too long, sir.”
“They are.”
He let go of her wrist. Her hand stayed where he had put it, palm up, fingers loose, the nails catching the light.
He stepped closer. Close enough that the warmth coming off her skin was a thing he could feel on his own face, and he brought both hands up between them and found the front of her blouse with his fingers.
The hooks were there. Three of them, small brass things set into the embroidered edge, running down the center line from the neckline to high above the navel. He could feel them under his thumbs, cool against the fabric.
He looked at Preethi’s face. She was looking at his hands on her blouse, not at his eyes, her lower lip still caught between her teeth, the smirk gone now, replaced by something quieter, something that sat in the crease between her eyebrows.
He worked the top hook first. His thumb found the small brass catch and pressed it sideways, and the hook came loose with a click that was louder in the quiet room than it had any right to be. The fabric parted an inch at the neckline, and the shadow underneath it deepened.
Preethi’s breath came out through her nose. A short, controlled pull. Her stomach jumped under his hands the way it had jumped under his mouth.
He worked the second hook. Same motion. The click was quieter this time, or maybe the room had gotten louder ... the tabla had not changed but the air around it had, the four-count carrying something it had not carried before.
The fabric parted another inch. The shadow underneath it ran deeper, and he could see the line where the embroidery ended and skin began, a clean edge of gold thread against the brown of her, and under the gold thread, nothing.
No bra.
He had not been expecting that. He had been expecting a bra ... thin lingerie, maybe, or the kind of thing actresses wore under stiff embroidery to keep the shape ... and there was nothing. The blouse was doing all the work. The embroidery was the structure. The hooks were the only thing holding it on.
Preethi’s stomach jumped again under his hands.
“Fuck you are so perky.” He thought a bra was holding them.
He had the rest giggle.
He looked at her and asked “May I?” but didn’t wait for the answer. His thumb found the third hook and pressed it sideways, and the click came, and the blouse fell open down the center line from her throat to the dip above her navel, and the embroidery parted in two neat halves, and there was nothing underneath it at all.
Her breasts sat high and full and entirely bare in the lamplight, the nipples dark and already hard, the skin smooth and warm where the gold thread had been pressed against it all evening.
Preethi did not cross her arms. She did not cover herself. She looked down at the open blouse and then up at him, and the smirk came back, slow, starting at the left corner and taking its time.
He asked another “May I?” and bent down to with his mouth about to reach her exposed breast.
Before his lips could touch her exposed breasts a faint voice came from the side.
“Sir, may nails are also too long.”
He turned his head. Anupama was standing shoulder to shoulder with Meera, her hands at her sides, and she had one hand held out the way Preethi had held hers out, palm up, fingers spread, the red nails catching the lamplight. Her nails were shorter than Preethi’s. Neater. The same deep red, but filed closer to the quick, the white crescents smaller.
“Sir,” she said. “My nails are also too long. For the hooks.”
He looked at her hand. Then at her blouse. The cream fabric, the single thin strap across her shoulder blades, the backless cut that meant there was no front to it at all ... the hooks would be at the side, under the arm, or at the neck, wherever the strap fastened.
He removed Preethi’s blouse and dropped it on the floor. He came close to Anupama.
He unhooked her blouse with the same focus one hook at a time.
She whispered “No bra, sir.”
“Excellent.”
He pulled her blouse open to expose her dark nipples that was getting hard.
“My nails…” two voices trailed off at the same time. Meera and Samyuktha, both holding their hands, giggling.
“One at a time,” he smiled back at them.
He did Meera next.
While opening Meera’s breasts he kind of lost control and used his thumbs to brush her left nipple while looking into her eyes.
Meera bit her lips in pleasure while Samyuktha cleared her throat, signaling it’s her turn. He took his thumb off Meera’s nipple and stepped back half a pace, and Meera’s eyebrow went up and she did not say anything, but the bit mark on her lower lip was red where she had pressed her teeth into it.
Samyuktha was last. She had come closer without his noticing, close enough that the warmth of her was a thing he could feel against his forearm.
Her hands were still crossed over her chest, the fingers laced tight, the red nails digging into her own forearms, and she was looking up at him with her chin tucked and her eyes wide and the giggle sitting in her throat like something she could not swallow.
“Sir,” she said. “Sir, my nails are also... ”
“Too long.”
“Too long, sir.” She nodded fast, twice, her hair swinging. “I’ll rip it. I’ll ruin the chiffon.”
“The saree is already on the floor, dear.”
“The blouse, sir. The blouse.”
He looked at her hands. The nails were the shortest of the four, filed close, the red neat and even, and she was holding them so tight against her arms that the crescents had gone white at the tips.
He let the silence do the work.
“Sir,” she said. Her voice was thin. “Sir, please.”
He stepped into her. Close enough that the warmth coming off her bare back hit his chest before his hands got to her, and he found the single thin strap where it crossed her shoulder blades with two fingers and followed it down to the side, to the place where it fastened under her arm.
He removed her blouse.
“No bra. Good girl.”
He bent down to kiss her breasts and he heard footsteps running and 8 breasts swarmed around him in a tight hug.
Eight breasts pressed against him from four sides, warm and bare and slightly damp at the edges, and his face was somewhere in the middle of them, and he could not see anything except skin and lamplight and the gold chain at Preethi’s waist pressing into his cheek.
“Sir... ”
“Sir, you can’t just... ”
“Sir, that’s not fair, you have to... ”
Four voices at once. Overlapping. The Telugu lilt and the flat Tamil and the measured Malayalam and the thin Kannada, all of them talking at the same time, and his hands were full of bare skin and he did not know whose was whose.
Preethi began to button his shirt.
“Skin to skin.” she said giggling.
Her fingers found the top button of his shirt and worked it loose, the red nails careful against the white cotton, and the fabric parted an inch at his throat.
“Skin to skin,” she said again, giggling, and her bare breasts pressed harder against his ribs as she leaned into the work.
He could not see her hands. He could feel them ... the red nails catching on the second button, the small tug as it came free, the warm air hitting his chest where the shirt opened. Her breath was on his collarbone, short and warm, and she was laughing under it, the giggle running through the words.
“Your nails and not too long for my shirt buttons?” He teased while letting her completely take off his shirt.
“Our nails are not too long for your buttons, sir,” she said.
The cool air hit his back and then the warmth of four bodies closed around him again, bare skin against bare skin, and his hands found hips and waists and the gold chain at Preethi’s navel pressing into his palm.
There were breasts wherever he looked.
They crushed into his chest ... two from Preethi, warm and full and slightly damp at the edges, the nipples hard against his sternum. They pressed into his left bicep from Meera, the skin there smoother than the skin on her waist, the nipple catching on the muscle every time he moved his arm. They were against his right bicep from Anupama, fuller like Preethi’s and firmer, the dancer’s muscle under them, and when he turned his head to the right her pearl choker was against his jaw and her bare breast was against his shoulder and he could feel the goosebumps on it where the cool air had hit before the warmth of him had closed the gap.
He grabbed two of them with his palms and another one with his fingers, and the fourth one was against his back where Samyuktha had pressed herself into him from behind, her bare breasts warm and small and firm against his shoulder blades, and her arms were around his waist from behind, her red nails digging into his stomach above the belt.
He could not tell whose nipple was whose against his palm. He did not try. He let his hands move where they moved and the skin moved with them, warm and bare and slightly damp, and the giggling had stopped being giggling and become something lower, something that ran through the four bodies pressed against him like a current.
Then he bent his head and took one nipple into his mouth, and the girl it belonged to ... he could not tell which ... made a small sound and her fingers tightened in his hair. He reached out with both hands and found two more, filling his palms with them, squeezing slow, and the two of them pressed closer against his arms, breathing harder. Preethi, still at his back with her arms around his waist, leaned around his shoulder and looked down at him over the bare skin of the other three.
“How about me?” she said, and her red nails walked up his stomach toward his chest.
He turned around and grabbed both of Preethi’s breasts and bit her nipples and pulled them until she screamed, her back arching, the gold chain biting into his palm as she pressed harder against him.
“Sir... ” Her voice cracked. “Sir, that’s... ”
He did not let go. He kept his teeth on her, pulling slow, and her hands found his hair and gripped, the red nails scbanging his scalp, and the sound she made was not a word at all.
Meera’s hand came between them. He felt her fingers on his wrist, warm and deliberate, and she pulled his hand away from Preethi’s breast with a firmness that surprised him.
“Sir.” Her voice was level. The eyebrow was up again.
Preethi’s nipple came out of his mouth with a small wet sound, and she gasped and her hands stayed in his hair, the nails still pressed into his scalp, and her chest was heaving against his.
“Sorry,” he said. He did not sound sorry. He sounded like a man who had found something he wanted and was not going to pretend otherwise.
Preethi’s mouth was open. Her lower lip was swollen where she had been biting it, and the smirk was gone entirely, replaced by something wide-eyed and unguarded, and she was looking at his mouth like she wanted it back where it had been.
He took her lips and started biting her lips.
He had her lower lip between his teeth when the hands came down.
Not Preethi’s hands ... hers were still in his hair, the nails still pressed into his scalp ... but the other six, all at once, as if the four of them had decided the same thing in the same half-second without saying it. Six hands dropping from his shoulders and his arms and his back and going down, fast, the red nails catching the lamplight as they went, and before he could register which hand belonged to which girl they were at his waist, at the knot of the veshti, at the pleats where the white cloth sat folded against his hips.
He felt the knot give on the first pull ... Preethi’s nails at the front, working the pleats loose with the same quick fingers that had undone his shirt buttons ... and the white cloth shifted at his hip, and something in his chest tightened the way it tightened when a launch window was closing faster than he had calculated.
He took a step back.
Preethi’s hands came up off the knot and locked around his neck instead. Both arms, bare and warm, the gold bangles sliding down to her elbows, and her mouth found his before his head had finished turning, and she kissed him the way she had been dancing ... sharp, no hesitation, her teeth catching his lower lip and pulling.
“Not so fast ladies.”
They giggled.
“We want to see that cock the internet is raving about, Mr. Chief Minister.” Meera teased him.
“Let me taste all of your breasts first please.”
“Only since you asked nicely.”
They all stood and Selvam began to tasted each breast in peace. As he started sucking on a nipple of Meera’s she held his head while others caressed his chest and waited for their turn.
First he took Meera’s left breast into his mouth and held it there, his tongue flat against the nipple, and Meera’s fingers tightened in his hair and her breath came out through her nose in a long controlled pull. The skin under his lips was smooth and warm and tasted of jasmine and salt, and he could feel the muscle underneath it, the dancer’s discipline holding her still while his mouth worked.
He did not hurry. He took his time on the left one, his tongue circling the nipple slow, his lips closing over it and pulling, and Meera’s fingers moved in his hair without her seeming to decide to move them, and the sound she made was low and steady, the same flat voice she used at the dinner table but pitched half a register down.
Then he took Anupama’s right breast and did exactly the same thing.
Then he slapped their breasts gently and watched them bounce, the skin warm under his palm, the nipples still wet from his mouth, and the sound they made was small and sharp and entirely involuntary ... a gasp from Meera, a controlled exhale from Anupama, and from Preethi, who was watching from behind his shoulder with her arms still around his waist, a giggle that broke in the middle into something lower.
He turned to Preethi and took her left breast into his mouth and bit down, and she shrieked and her nails went into his scalp and her back arched, and he held her there with one hand on her hip and the other on the gold chain at her waist, and he worked the nipple with his tongue the way he had worked the others, slow and deliberate, and Preethi’s voice climbed and broke and climbed again.
Samyuktha and Meera grabbed his cock and whispered. “Mr. Chief Minister, you are rock hard please let us see it.
He undid the knot.
His fingers worked the pleats loose. One pull. The white cloth fell.
The room stopped.
His cock stood thick and dark in the lamplight. Full hard. The head slick. A vein ran the length of the shaft. Heavy between his legs.
Preethi stared.
“I have seen a lot of leading men.” Her voice came out slow. “None of them look like this.”
Her eyes went from his cock to his chest to his shoulders and back down. She didn’t rush it. She took her time.
“All of you.” Her finger traced a line through the air. “This body. And that.” Her finger stopped at his cock. “Telugu cinema. Nothing like this.”
Anupama stepped forward. Her hands came up.
“May I?” she said.
He nodded.
She took his cock in both palms. Flat. Measured. Her thumbs met at the base. Her fingers stretched along the shaft. She lifted him carefully. Held him at eye level. Her expression didn’t change.
“The proportion is... ” She stopped. Started again. “The proportion is not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“Something smaller.” She didn’t look away from his cock. “Something more… proportional. This is outside the frame.”
She held him a moment longer. Her thumbs pressed gently against the vein. Testing. Then she lowered him and stepped back. Her pearl choker swayed.
Samyuktha made a sound.
It came out in Kannada. A single phrase, low and flat, her eyes wide.
Preethi turned. “What did she say?”
Samyuktha’s cheeks went dark. “I said... ” She swallowed. “I said this cannot be real.”
Preethi laughed. Full and sudden. The sound bounced off the high ceiling.
“It’s real,” she said. “And it’s right here.”
Meera was already kneeling. Her cheek found the side of his cock. Warm skin against warm skin. She looked up at his face.
“How do you walk around with this all day?” Her breath was warm against his shaft. “Is it heavy?”
“Manageable,” he said.
She snorted. “I doubt that.”
Her mouth opened. She took the head. Slow. Her lips closed around him. Heat. Wet. She held him there, tongue pressing flat.
Preethi dropped to her knees on his left. Both hands wrapped around the shaft below Meera’s mouth. She worked upward in long slow licks. Her tongue found the vein. Traced it.
Anupama knelt on his right. Her hands cupped his balls with the care she gave to ritual objects. Her mouth descended. Unhurried. Thorough. Her pearl choker swayed against his inner thigh.
Samyuktha took the base. Both hands around the shaft. She watched the other three for two seconds. Her eyes wide. Then she found her angle and put her mouth to the side. Worked upward toward Preethi’s tongue.
Four mouths. Warm. Wet. Moving.
His hand went to Preethi’s hair. His other hand found Meera’s jaw.
“She’s being too gentle with the balls,” Preethi said against his shaft. Her voice vibrated. “Anupama. You’re being too gentle.”
Anupama lifted her mouth. A thin strand of saliva connected her lip to his balls. She wiped it with her thumb.
“I am being precise.” Her voice was level. “Not gentle. There’s a difference.”
She demonstrated. Her mouth closed over his right ball. Suction. Firm. Steady.
Selvam’s breath caught. A sound came out of his chest. Low. Deep. Pulled from somewhere he hadn’t expected.
Anupama held for three seconds. Then released. She looked at Preethi.
“Was that gentle?”
Preethi grinned against his shaft. “Point taken.”
Samyuktha looked up at Meera. Her mouth still working the side of his cock.
“How are you managing the girth?” Samyuktha’s words came muffled. “My jaw is locking.”
Meera pulled off. A wet sound. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“I’m not managing it.” She looked at Samyuktha over his cock. “I’m committed.”
She took him back. Deeper this time. Her throat worked.
“I want the head.” Preethi’s hands tightened on the shaft. “Meera. My turn.”
Meera shook her head without pulling off. The vibration ran through him.
“You just got there.” Preethi’s nails dug into his thigh. “I’ve been waiting since we knelt down.
Meera pulled off. Saliva ran down his shaft. She wiped her mouth.
“Fine. The head is yours. For one minute.”
“Two minutes.”
“One and a half.”
They switched. Meera moved to the shaft. Preethi took the head. Her mouth closed over him with a sound that was almost a groan.
Samyuktha shifted to the other side. Her hands found new purchase on his thighs.
Anupama stayed where she was. Her mouth on his balls. Steady. Unhurried.
“I’m not moving,” she said against his skin. “I’ve found my place.”
Nobody argued.
Selvam looked at the ceiling. The wall. The far corner. His breathing had changed. His hips wanted to move. He kept them still.
“This isn’t fair,” he said.
Samyuktha looked up. Her mouth was red. “Fair to whom?”
“Anyone in this room.”
Preethi pulled off. A wet pop. “Life is not fair.”
She took him deep. All the way. Her nose pressed against his stomach. Her throat worked. Her eyes watered.
The rotation kept going. Preethi to Meera. Meera to Samyuktha. Samyuktha back to the base. Anupama never moved from the balls.
His hand tightened in Preethi’s hair. His other hand found Meera’s shoulder. His breathing came in shorter pulls.
He was close.
They felt it. All four of them. Their rhythm changed. Slower. More deliberate. Their faces tilted up. Close together. Negotiating in low voices.
“I initiated,” Meera said. Her lips were swollen. “First ropes are mine.”
“Initiation does not grant monopoly.” Preethi’s hand was on his thigh, her nails pressing half-moons into his skin.
“I want to taste it.” Anupama sat back on her heels. Her pearl choker was crooked. “I’ve been curious since the balls. I’m not leaving without tasting it.”
“I’m the youngest.” Samyuktha’s voice was thin. “I have the most to learn. That should count.”
Selvam looked down at the four of them. Their faces tilted up. Red mouths. Wet chins. Eyes bright.
“I’ll do my best to be equitable,” he said.
He meant it.
The first pulse hit Meera’s cheek. White. Thick. A stripe across her skin from jaw to temple. Her eyes closed. Her mouth opened.
The second landed on Preethi’s lips. She caught it. Swallowed. Then opened for more.
The third crossed Anupama’s upturned face. Across her nose. Her cheek. The pearl choker caught a drop. She didn’t wipe it. She brought her finger to her mouth. Tasted. Her eyes widened.
The fourth landed on Samyuktha’s chin. Ran down her throat. She made a small sound. Her tongue found the drop on her collarbone.
He stroked himself through the last pulses. Slow. His hand wet. All four of them stayed still. Receiving it. Their faces marked. Their mouths open.
Anupama licked her lips. Her finger traced the line on her cheek.
“It’s not what I expected.” She tasted again. Slowly. “It’s better than I expected.”
Samyuktha nodded. Her finger found the drop on her throat. She brought it to her mouth. Her eyes never left his cock.
“She told us at dinner.” Preethi wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She was smiling. The smirk was back. Full force. “She told us this evening would be worth attending.”
She looked at Meera.
Meera was still on her knees. Her cheek striped. Her mouth curved. The same slow smile from the dinner table. Taking its time.
Worth attending.
Selvam’s hand rested on Preethi’s head. His other hand found Anupama’s shoulder. The four of them stayed where they were. On their knees. On the teak. In the lamplight.
The music had stopped at some point. Nobody had noticed.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)