02-10-2026, 03:15 PM
That evening, Mohan and Padma were getting ready for an office friend’s party.
Padma had chosen the black saree from the boutique — tissue silk, almost weightless, dark enough to look modest until she moved. It clung at the hips, then fell in a sheer haze. She stood at the full-length mirror finishing her face: a smooth base, kohl drawn a little heavier than usual, a small black bindi, berry on the mouth. Her long hair was down in thick waves over one shoulder, the other side of her neck bare.
The matching blouse was cut deep and fitted close, the back open, collarbones and the upper swell of her chest left visible. Her mangalya chain lay against warm skin. Small gold drops at her ears. A simple watch. Nothing else to interrupt the black.
She drew the pallu loosely over one shoulder so it barely covered her waist, then stepped into the matching heels — thin straps at the ankle, the arch lifted. The fall of the saree changed at once. Silk that had hung straight pulled across her hips and tightened over the curve of her ass, the pleats sitting higher, her waist sharper. She turned once, slowly. The blouse stayed fitted at her ribs; below it the black clung, then broke, and the heels made every shift of her weight look deliberate.
For once she did not look away from herself. She did not feel as if she were wearing someone else’s clothes. She felt beautiful, and she knew it.
Mohan came out of the bedroom fastening his watch and stopped with his hands still on the clasp.
? Mohan: “Padma…”
She found him in the glass. Her mouth curved, slow.
? Padma: “What?”
? Mohan: “Turn around.”
She did. The pallu slipped. Standing in the heels she was taller, closer to his mouth, and the silk moved with her hips instead of hiding them.
He came up behind her. She felt him before he touched her — the pause, the way his eyes travelled the open back, the dip of her waist, the place the saree sat low and tight across her ass.
? Mohan: “You look incredible.” His voice had dropped. “Those heels… everyone is going to watch you walk in. I’m already watching.”
Colour rose in her cheeks. She didn’t lower her eyes, and she didn’t fix the pallu.
? Padma: “Don’t exaggerate…” It came out softer than she meant, almost breath.
He set one hand at her waist, thumb on bare skin just above the silk, and leaned in until his mouth was near the curve of her neck. He didn’t kiss her. He only stayed there, close enough that she felt the warmth of it.
? Mohan: “I’m not exaggerating. If we didn’t have to leave, I wouldn’t let you out of this room.”
For a second she leaned back into him — jasmine, heat, the party already less important than the way he was looking at her in the mirror. Then she picked up her clutch.
? Padma: “Come on. We’ll be late if you keep standing there like that.”
His hand dragged once along her waist, low enough that she felt it, before he stepped away.
? Mohan: “If you walk ahead of me in those, I won’t be thinking about the party.”
? Padma: “Then walk behind me. Quietly.”
They left the bedroom together. In the corridor her heels clicked, unhurried. Each step tipped her hips and set the tissue silk shifting over her ass, the pleats pulling tight, then loosening again. Mohan stayed half a step back and did not look away.
At the lift he went ahead to bring the car around. Padma returned to the apartment, switched off the lights, locked the door, and checked the handle once.
Padma came through the lobby doors in the black heels, and the talk about the wiring died.
Vinay was still pointing at the junction box. He forgot it. The electrician and the other two men turned with him. None of them lowered their voices.
“Arre, dekh kaise chal rahi hai,” Vinay said. “Matak ke. Ek dum matak ke.”
The electrician let out a short breath. “Yeh Mohan sir ki biwi hai na? Padma? Aaj toh poori nikal ke aayi hai. Figure dekho… face alag, body alag.”
She heard her name and kept walking. The pallu had slipped. Tissue silk pulled tight over her hips with every step, then loosened, then pulled again. The heels lifted her ass and made the sway slower, heavier.
“Face toh sundar hai,” the third man said, not quietly. “Par body usse aage nikal gayi. Badi mamme… blouse mein kaise bhare hue hain, upar se gehra cut. Collarbone ke neeche tak nazar jaati hai, aur phir seedha wahin atak jaati hai.”
Vinay’s eyes stayed on the black silk. “Aur peeche dekh. Badi gand. Saree chipki hui hai, chhupa nahi rahi. Matak ke chal rahi hai jaise pata ho hum dekh rahe hain.”
Padma’s ears burned. She did not turn. Her clutch was tight in one hand. Each click of the heel set her hips shifting again, and she knew the silk was doing exactly what they were saying — clinging, lifting, showing the round of her ass and the full line of her chest under the deep blouse.
The electrician laughed under his breath. “Kaam rehne de, Vinay. Jab tak yeh gate tak jaayegi, wiring yaad nahi rahegi. Itni badi mamme, itni badi gand, aur chal bhi aisi… yar, aise kaun ghoomta hai shaam ko.”
She reached the gate. Mohan’s car was turning into the drive. Behind her the four of them were still watching, still talking, their voices carrying over the stone — matak, figure, face, the blouse, the ass the heels would not let the saree hide. She heard every word, and she did not walk any faster.
Padma settled in the car, carefully arranging the black saree so the pleats wouldn’t get caught under her.
Mohan started the car.
For the first few minutes, he kept glancing at her with a smile.
? Padma: “Why do you keep looking at me?”
? Mohan: “Because you look beautiful.”
She smiled and looked out the window.
? Mohan: “Seriously, Padma. The saree, the blouse, your makeup… everything looks perfect together.”
? Padma: “Enough. You’re making me embarrassed.”
? Mohan: “I’m just telling you the truth.”
She laughed softly.
As they drove through the evening traffic, Mohan continued complimenting her occasionally, while Padma tried to change the subject, her heart beating just a little faster under the weight of his continuous, admiring gaze.
Arriving at the Party
The party was being held at a nicely decorated venue arranged by Mohan’s office friends. Warm fairy lights framed the entrance, paired with lush floral decorations, a welcome board, and a small stage prepared for the evening’s program. Soft music hummed through the speakers as guests trickled in.
Mohan parked the car and walked around to open Padma’s door.
Padma stepped out, the sheer black silk fluttering gently in the evening breeze.
Almost immediately, a few people near the entrance noticed her.
Mohan’s colleague smiled broadly, stepping forward to greet them.
? Colleague: “Mohan! Finally, you’ve brought your wife. Padma, right?”
? Padma: “Yes, nice to meet you.”
? Colleague: “You look wonderful.”
Another colleague walked over, holding a drink and looking thoroughly impressed.
? Another Colleague: “That saree is beautiful, Padma ji. Extremely elegant.”
Padma thanked them politely, smoothing her pallu over her fitted blouse.
Within minutes, several people were crowding around to introduce themselves. The men in Mohan's office were noticeably eager to stay in her circle, making charming conversation and lingering just a little longer than usual.
? Friend: “Mohan never told us you were such a saree person.”
? Padma: “I’m not usually... this was a special choice.”
? Friend: “Honestly, when I saw you walking in through the gate, for a second I thought Mohan was arriving with some movie heroine or a top model!”
Padma blushed, offering a shy, graceful smile as Mohan beamed with pride beside her.
The women at the party noticed her too, their eyes meticulously tracing her look from head to toe.
One came over and complimented the cut of her blouse design, while another asked where she had bought such a unique tissue-silk dbang.
A few other women exchanged quiet, sharp looks afterward, subtly adjusting their own heavy jewelry and comparing their outfits to her effortless style.
One whispered envy-filled praise to her friend:
? Woman: “Look at her... she looks so naturally elegant without even trying.”
Padma stood at the center of the room, feeling the intoxicating mix of admiring eyes, whispered envy, and the thrilling knowledge that all eyes were firmly on her.
the host invited everyone toward the lavish buffet spread arranged near the garden area.
The banquet counters were filled with a delicious array of appetizers, regional delicacies, and sweets. Waiters moved through the crowd carrying trays of chilled fruit juices, sparkling mocktails, and freshly fried snacks.
Mohan brought two glasses of fresh watermelon juice over to where Padma was standing with a small group of colleagues.
? Mohan: “Here, take this. You haven’t had anything since we arrived.”
? Padma: “Thanks, Mohan.”
She took a slow sip, her dark eyes scanning the vibrant room over the glass. Nearby, a colleague’s wife pointed toward the dessert counter, which featured warm gulab jamuns, chilled rasamalai, and rich almond halwa.
? Colleague's Wife: “Padma ji, you must try the rasamalai. It’s excellent!”
? Padma: “Oh, I will. It looks wonderful.”
Even while serving herself at the buffet, Padma could feel the subtle weight of lingering gazes. Men offered polite way for her at the counters, while women continued to cast subtle, appreciative—and envious—looks at the way the black saree dbangd gracefully as she moved.
After enjoying the food, sweets, and lighthearted conversation with Mohan’s team, the party slowly began to wind down around late evening.
Returning Home
They said their goodbyes to the hosts and walked out into the cool night air toward the parking lot. The quiet humming of the night felt serene after the bustling hall.
Mohan unlocked the car, and Padma settled into the passenger seat, letting out a soft sigh of relief as she eased her heels out of her feet.
Mohan got into the driver's seat, started the engine, and looked over at her with a soft, affectionate smile as he pulled onto the quiet highway.
? Mohan: “You really were the star of the evening tonight, Padma.”
Padma looked out the window, a warm, shy smile curving her lips as she adjusted her black pallu over her lap.
? Padma: “I just enjoyed myself, Mohan. It was a nice night.”
As the streetlights flashed rhythmically across the dark interior of the car, Padma felt a quiet sense of satisfaction and she giving credits to Rajan for picking the saree.. but she forgot to remember the designer !!
Mohan pulled into the complex and turned toward visitor parking.
? Padma: “Drop me at the lobby gate. I’ll go up and open the apartment while you park.”
? Mohan: “Sure. I’ll be right behind you.”
She stepped out into the cool night. The courtyard took the click of her heels as she walked toward the entrance, sheer black pallu gathered in one hand, the party still warm on her skin. Just before the lobby tiles the path was carpeted, and her steps went quiet.
Near the watchman’s cabin, Vinay and two delivery men were leaning on the counter, backs to her, looking out toward the drive. They did not hear her stop a few feet behind them.
“Yaar, shaam ko nikalti dekhi thi?” one of the couriers said. “Mahine bhar se plain cotton mein. Aaj kaali saree. Blouse ka cut itna gehra tha, mamme upar se bhare dikh rahe the. Soft, heavy… aise blouse mein kaun baandhta hai.”
Vinay gave a low laugh and shifted his belt. “Tumne peeche nahi dekha. Tissue silk hips pe chipki hui thi, aur gand — badi, gol, heels pe aur bahar. Matak ke chal rahi thi. Pet patla, kamar itni patli ki haath poora aa jaaye, aur upar neeche itna bhara. Mohan sir lucky hai. Meri biwi hoti aisi, bedroom se bahar nahi nikalne deta.”
The third man leaned in, not nearly quiet enough. “Face bhi. Honth berry colour mein the, thode geele se. Soch, woh honth, woh mamme haath mein, pet pe muh, aur peeche se pakad ke… yaar, aisi aurat ko kaun sirf dekhega. Mard toh sopega kaise chodna hai. Khada karke, saree upar karke, us badi gand ko pakad ke. Quiet lagti hai, par body bol rahi thi.”
All three smirked.
One of the couriers didn’t stop. He was still half-turned toward the drive, talking to the other two, not yet seeing her in the shadow behind them.
“Main bataun kaun sa scene pasand hai?” he said, voice low and filthy. “Usse bed pe lita ke nahi. Seedha upar. Woh ride kare, jaise dance kar rahi ho dick pe. Aankhein band, honth khule, enjoy karti hui. Upar se mamme dance karein — bade, bhaari, har jhatke pe hilte hue. Main uski badi gand pakad ke neeche kheenchun, muh mein ek boob le lun, aur doosri taraf ungli uski ass crack pe rakh ke khelun. Wahan ki khushboo loon. Tissue silk hata ke, heels ab bhi pair mein, aur woh matakti rahe mere upar.”
Vinay huffed a laugh. “Bas kar.”
“Bas kya,” the man said. “Aisi body ho toh yahi sochta hai na mard. Pet patla, mamme bade, gand gol, honth soft. Ride karwati rahe, aankhein band, aur main uski gand faila ke smell karun jab tak woh khud na kahe ruk.”
Padma become angry and hot at the same time and she had heard every word. The picture sat in her head whether she wanted it or not — her on top, eyes closed, his hands on her ass, mouth on her breast, finger in the crack, breathing her in. Heat flooded her face and lower, sharp and humiliating. Her heel struck the loose stone.
Padma turned sharply on her heel, her black silk saree rustling loudly as she pulled the pallu tight across her chest.
Her face was burning with rage and humiliation.
? Padma: (murmuring under her breath) “Bastards… dirty swines… disgusting pigs…”
She didn't wait another second. Holding her saree pleats clear of her heels, she marched angrily toward the elevator, her heels clicking loudly against the marble floor.
The three men stood frozen in pure panic. As soon as the elevator doors slid open and Padma stepped inside, they dispersed immediately—the two delivery guys hurrying toward their parked bikes without saying another word, while Vinay frantically tried to look busy behind his counter.
A minute later, Mohan walked up from the basement parking.
He noticed Vinay standing rigid near the watchman cabin, his head bowed low, avoiding eye contact completely out of sheer guilt and fear that Padma might tell her husband. Mohan, entirely unaware of what had just transpired, stopped briefly near the gate and offered a friendly smile.
? Mohan: “Vinay, had your dinner?”
Vinay swallowed hard, his throat dry as he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
? Vinay: “Y… yes, sir. Just finished.”
? Mohan: “Good. Good night, Vinay.”
? Vinay: “Good night, sir…”
Mohan stepped into the lift, completely oblivious to the watchman's sweating forehead and trembling hands.
When Mohan unlocked the apartment door, the living room was silent. He placed his car keys on the counter and walked down the hallway toward the bedroom.
Mohan came in a few minutes later, keys still in his hand, and found her in the bedroom with the pallu crumpled on the chair and the heels kicked off by the bed.
? Mohan: “You came up fast. Everything all right?”
Padma looked at him in the mirror. The anger was still in her mouth, but the sight of him — shirt open at the collar, watching her the way he had before they left — loosened it.
? Padma: “Fine. Come here.”
He crossed the room and stopped behind her. His hands settled on her waist, thumbs on the bare skin above the black silk.
? Mohan: “I watched you all night. Couldn’t look anywhere else. This saree, your face, the way you walked… I kept thinking about getting you home.”
She leaned back into him.
? Padma: “Then stop thinking.”
He kissed the side of her neck, slow, then the line of her shoulder where the blouse ended. She turned in his arms. The tissue silk shifted between them. Mohan cupped her face, thumb along her cheek, and kissed her properly — berry lipstick, jasmine, the long breath she let out against his mouth.
? Mohan: “You’re beautiful. You know that?”
? Padma: “Show me.”
He walked her back to the bed. The saree loosened under his hands; the pallu fell; the blouse opened. He looked at her the way he had in the mirror downstairs, only closer now — collarbones, the full weight of her breasts, the soft stomach, the hips the silk had been clinging to all evening. He kissed down her chest, took a nipple into his mouth, and groaned when she held his head there.
Padma pulled him up and onto the bed with her. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders and drew him between her thighs, saree bunched at her waist, nothing else in the way. He entered her slowly. Her eyes half closed. Her hands found his back.
? Mohan: “Padma…”
? Padma: “Don’t talk. Stay.”
He moved deeper, forehead against hers, one hand under her, gripping the curve of her ass and lifting her into him. She met him, breath breaking, the anger from the lobby burning off into heat. He kissed her mouth, her throat, the top of her breast, murmuring that she was beautiful, that he had wanted this since he saw her in the heels, that he loved the way she felt around him.
He kissed her again and didn’t stop. The blouse came open under his hands, then the saree, then everything else, until both of them were naked on the bed. Mohan looked at her — breasts, stomach, the spread of her hips — and settled between her thighs. He set the head of his cock against her pussy and pushed in slowly.
Padma’s mouth opened. Her eyes closed. She breathed fast, a thin hiss leaving her, and pulled him down into a hug. He started to move, deep careful strokes, arms around her. She held on and, under the pleasure, the night came back: the good compliments at the party, and the dirty ones in the corridor. One voice stuck. I want her on top. Riding. Eyes closed. Boobs dancing. My hands on that big ass.
It tempted her.
? Padma: “Mohan. Wait.”
? Mohan: “What?”
She drew off him. His cock slipped out, a few drops falling onto the mattress. She made him lie back and came over him, kissing his mouth. Mohan went still, then eager, hands already at her waist. She reached between them and rubbed him along her pussy, slow, slick, both of them breathing harder.
She took him in her left hand, set him where she wanted, lifted her hips, and slid down. He rose into her easily. Both of them swore under their breath. Sweat had already started at her spine. She began to move, up and down, taking her time, feeling every bit of it. Mohan lay under her, unsure what to do with his hands.
Padma caught one of them and put it on her breast. He felt her, pressed, and she broke open into sound — haa… hmmm… haa… mmm… aah… ah — riding him while he held her there. Then his other hand found her ass, big in his palm, and he squeezed. Her pace picked up.
? Mohan: “What a beauty you are. What breasts. What an ass, Padma.”
? Padma: “Yes, baby. You like them so much?”
? Mohan: “So much.”
She bent lower, lying on his chest, kissing his mouth. He put both hands on her ass and worked it like dough, pulling her down onto him. She fed one breast into his mouth. He licked and sucked, greedy, like he couldn’t leave it. She remembered the corridor — gand kitni badi hai, matak matak ke chal rahi hai — and something in her went wild. In her head only: Yes. I have a big ass. Men want to fuck me different ways. I want it different too. Harder.
Mohan stayed a delicate lover, even now.
? Mohan: “You’re smooth… I’m really liking this. I love the way you do it. Love you, wife. You’re divine.”
? Padma: “Yes, baby. Love you.”
Inside, the other words still pulled. She wanted it rougher because of them. She remembered Rajan’s mouth in the lobby, and then, unbidden, Rajan with Ananya — what a bad man, thinking of her while he was with someone else. Her pussy tightened, suddenly sensitive. The riding turned into small sensual movements, hips grinding more than dancing, both of them hugging close.
It was too much for Mohan. He swelled inside her, control slipping, and she was the one setting the pace. He wanted to slow down. She didn’t stop.
? Mohan: “Baby, I want to cum.”
? Padma: “Is it, baby… do it, baby.”
She moved faster, yes, baby, yes, still hugging him. He pressed her ass and slid a finger into the crack. That undid her. A few more movements and she came, shaking on him, and Mohan followed, spilling deep, both of them locking up and then going slack.
They lay exhausted, sweating, not moving. Her face stayed on his chest. His hands were still on her ass. In the quiet she could hear both things at once — his love, and the filthy voices she had carried all the way home.
Padma had chosen the black saree from the boutique — tissue silk, almost weightless, dark enough to look modest until she moved. It clung at the hips, then fell in a sheer haze. She stood at the full-length mirror finishing her face: a smooth base, kohl drawn a little heavier than usual, a small black bindi, berry on the mouth. Her long hair was down in thick waves over one shoulder, the other side of her neck bare.
The matching blouse was cut deep and fitted close, the back open, collarbones and the upper swell of her chest left visible. Her mangalya chain lay against warm skin. Small gold drops at her ears. A simple watch. Nothing else to interrupt the black.
She drew the pallu loosely over one shoulder so it barely covered her waist, then stepped into the matching heels — thin straps at the ankle, the arch lifted. The fall of the saree changed at once. Silk that had hung straight pulled across her hips and tightened over the curve of her ass, the pleats sitting higher, her waist sharper. She turned once, slowly. The blouse stayed fitted at her ribs; below it the black clung, then broke, and the heels made every shift of her weight look deliberate.
For once she did not look away from herself. She did not feel as if she were wearing someone else’s clothes. She felt beautiful, and she knew it.
Mohan came out of the bedroom fastening his watch and stopped with his hands still on the clasp.
? Mohan: “Padma…”
She found him in the glass. Her mouth curved, slow.
? Padma: “What?”
? Mohan: “Turn around.”
She did. The pallu slipped. Standing in the heels she was taller, closer to his mouth, and the silk moved with her hips instead of hiding them.
He came up behind her. She felt him before he touched her — the pause, the way his eyes travelled the open back, the dip of her waist, the place the saree sat low and tight across her ass.
? Mohan: “You look incredible.” His voice had dropped. “Those heels… everyone is going to watch you walk in. I’m already watching.”
Colour rose in her cheeks. She didn’t lower her eyes, and she didn’t fix the pallu.
? Padma: “Don’t exaggerate…” It came out softer than she meant, almost breath.
He set one hand at her waist, thumb on bare skin just above the silk, and leaned in until his mouth was near the curve of her neck. He didn’t kiss her. He only stayed there, close enough that she felt the warmth of it.
? Mohan: “I’m not exaggerating. If we didn’t have to leave, I wouldn’t let you out of this room.”
For a second she leaned back into him — jasmine, heat, the party already less important than the way he was looking at her in the mirror. Then she picked up her clutch.
? Padma: “Come on. We’ll be late if you keep standing there like that.”
His hand dragged once along her waist, low enough that she felt it, before he stepped away.
? Mohan: “If you walk ahead of me in those, I won’t be thinking about the party.”
? Padma: “Then walk behind me. Quietly.”
They left the bedroom together. In the corridor her heels clicked, unhurried. Each step tipped her hips and set the tissue silk shifting over her ass, the pleats pulling tight, then loosening again. Mohan stayed half a step back and did not look away.
At the lift he went ahead to bring the car around. Padma returned to the apartment, switched off the lights, locked the door, and checked the handle once.
Padma came through the lobby doors in the black heels, and the talk about the wiring died.
Vinay was still pointing at the junction box. He forgot it. The electrician and the other two men turned with him. None of them lowered their voices.
“Arre, dekh kaise chal rahi hai,” Vinay said. “Matak ke. Ek dum matak ke.”
The electrician let out a short breath. “Yeh Mohan sir ki biwi hai na? Padma? Aaj toh poori nikal ke aayi hai. Figure dekho… face alag, body alag.”
She heard her name and kept walking. The pallu had slipped. Tissue silk pulled tight over her hips with every step, then loosened, then pulled again. The heels lifted her ass and made the sway slower, heavier.
“Face toh sundar hai,” the third man said, not quietly. “Par body usse aage nikal gayi. Badi mamme… blouse mein kaise bhare hue hain, upar se gehra cut. Collarbone ke neeche tak nazar jaati hai, aur phir seedha wahin atak jaati hai.”
Vinay’s eyes stayed on the black silk. “Aur peeche dekh. Badi gand. Saree chipki hui hai, chhupa nahi rahi. Matak ke chal rahi hai jaise pata ho hum dekh rahe hain.”
Padma’s ears burned. She did not turn. Her clutch was tight in one hand. Each click of the heel set her hips shifting again, and she knew the silk was doing exactly what they were saying — clinging, lifting, showing the round of her ass and the full line of her chest under the deep blouse.
The electrician laughed under his breath. “Kaam rehne de, Vinay. Jab tak yeh gate tak jaayegi, wiring yaad nahi rahegi. Itni badi mamme, itni badi gand, aur chal bhi aisi… yar, aise kaun ghoomta hai shaam ko.”
She reached the gate. Mohan’s car was turning into the drive. Behind her the four of them were still watching, still talking, their voices carrying over the stone — matak, figure, face, the blouse, the ass the heels would not let the saree hide. She heard every word, and she did not walk any faster.
Padma settled in the car, carefully arranging the black saree so the pleats wouldn’t get caught under her.
Mohan started the car.
For the first few minutes, he kept glancing at her with a smile.
? Padma: “Why do you keep looking at me?”
? Mohan: “Because you look beautiful.”
She smiled and looked out the window.
? Mohan: “Seriously, Padma. The saree, the blouse, your makeup… everything looks perfect together.”
? Padma: “Enough. You’re making me embarrassed.”
? Mohan: “I’m just telling you the truth.”
She laughed softly.
As they drove through the evening traffic, Mohan continued complimenting her occasionally, while Padma tried to change the subject, her heart beating just a little faster under the weight of his continuous, admiring gaze.
Arriving at the Party
The party was being held at a nicely decorated venue arranged by Mohan’s office friends. Warm fairy lights framed the entrance, paired with lush floral decorations, a welcome board, and a small stage prepared for the evening’s program. Soft music hummed through the speakers as guests trickled in.
Mohan parked the car and walked around to open Padma’s door.
Padma stepped out, the sheer black silk fluttering gently in the evening breeze.
Almost immediately, a few people near the entrance noticed her.
Mohan’s colleague smiled broadly, stepping forward to greet them.
? Colleague: “Mohan! Finally, you’ve brought your wife. Padma, right?”
? Padma: “Yes, nice to meet you.”
? Colleague: “You look wonderful.”
Another colleague walked over, holding a drink and looking thoroughly impressed.
? Another Colleague: “That saree is beautiful, Padma ji. Extremely elegant.”
Padma thanked them politely, smoothing her pallu over her fitted blouse.
Within minutes, several people were crowding around to introduce themselves. The men in Mohan's office were noticeably eager to stay in her circle, making charming conversation and lingering just a little longer than usual.
? Friend: “Mohan never told us you were such a saree person.”
? Padma: “I’m not usually... this was a special choice.”
? Friend: “Honestly, when I saw you walking in through the gate, for a second I thought Mohan was arriving with some movie heroine or a top model!”
Padma blushed, offering a shy, graceful smile as Mohan beamed with pride beside her.
The women at the party noticed her too, their eyes meticulously tracing her look from head to toe.
One came over and complimented the cut of her blouse design, while another asked where she had bought such a unique tissue-silk dbang.
A few other women exchanged quiet, sharp looks afterward, subtly adjusting their own heavy jewelry and comparing their outfits to her effortless style.
One whispered envy-filled praise to her friend:
? Woman: “Look at her... she looks so naturally elegant without even trying.”
Padma stood at the center of the room, feeling the intoxicating mix of admiring eyes, whispered envy, and the thrilling knowledge that all eyes were firmly on her.
the host invited everyone toward the lavish buffet spread arranged near the garden area.
The banquet counters were filled with a delicious array of appetizers, regional delicacies, and sweets. Waiters moved through the crowd carrying trays of chilled fruit juices, sparkling mocktails, and freshly fried snacks.
Mohan brought two glasses of fresh watermelon juice over to where Padma was standing with a small group of colleagues.
? Mohan: “Here, take this. You haven’t had anything since we arrived.”
? Padma: “Thanks, Mohan.”
She took a slow sip, her dark eyes scanning the vibrant room over the glass. Nearby, a colleague’s wife pointed toward the dessert counter, which featured warm gulab jamuns, chilled rasamalai, and rich almond halwa.
? Colleague's Wife: “Padma ji, you must try the rasamalai. It’s excellent!”
? Padma: “Oh, I will. It looks wonderful.”
Even while serving herself at the buffet, Padma could feel the subtle weight of lingering gazes. Men offered polite way for her at the counters, while women continued to cast subtle, appreciative—and envious—looks at the way the black saree dbangd gracefully as she moved.
After enjoying the food, sweets, and lighthearted conversation with Mohan’s team, the party slowly began to wind down around late evening.
Returning Home
They said their goodbyes to the hosts and walked out into the cool night air toward the parking lot. The quiet humming of the night felt serene after the bustling hall.
Mohan unlocked the car, and Padma settled into the passenger seat, letting out a soft sigh of relief as she eased her heels out of her feet.
Mohan got into the driver's seat, started the engine, and looked over at her with a soft, affectionate smile as he pulled onto the quiet highway.
? Mohan: “You really were the star of the evening tonight, Padma.”
Padma looked out the window, a warm, shy smile curving her lips as she adjusted her black pallu over her lap.
? Padma: “I just enjoyed myself, Mohan. It was a nice night.”
As the streetlights flashed rhythmically across the dark interior of the car, Padma felt a quiet sense of satisfaction and she giving credits to Rajan for picking the saree.. but she forgot to remember the designer !!
Mohan pulled into the complex and turned toward visitor parking.
? Padma: “Drop me at the lobby gate. I’ll go up and open the apartment while you park.”
? Mohan: “Sure. I’ll be right behind you.”
She stepped out into the cool night. The courtyard took the click of her heels as she walked toward the entrance, sheer black pallu gathered in one hand, the party still warm on her skin. Just before the lobby tiles the path was carpeted, and her steps went quiet.
Near the watchman’s cabin, Vinay and two delivery men were leaning on the counter, backs to her, looking out toward the drive. They did not hear her stop a few feet behind them.
“Yaar, shaam ko nikalti dekhi thi?” one of the couriers said. “Mahine bhar se plain cotton mein. Aaj kaali saree. Blouse ka cut itna gehra tha, mamme upar se bhare dikh rahe the. Soft, heavy… aise blouse mein kaun baandhta hai.”
Vinay gave a low laugh and shifted his belt. “Tumne peeche nahi dekha. Tissue silk hips pe chipki hui thi, aur gand — badi, gol, heels pe aur bahar. Matak ke chal rahi thi. Pet patla, kamar itni patli ki haath poora aa jaaye, aur upar neeche itna bhara. Mohan sir lucky hai. Meri biwi hoti aisi, bedroom se bahar nahi nikalne deta.”
The third man leaned in, not nearly quiet enough. “Face bhi. Honth berry colour mein the, thode geele se. Soch, woh honth, woh mamme haath mein, pet pe muh, aur peeche se pakad ke… yaar, aisi aurat ko kaun sirf dekhega. Mard toh sopega kaise chodna hai. Khada karke, saree upar karke, us badi gand ko pakad ke. Quiet lagti hai, par body bol rahi thi.”
All three smirked.
One of the couriers didn’t stop. He was still half-turned toward the drive, talking to the other two, not yet seeing her in the shadow behind them.
“Main bataun kaun sa scene pasand hai?” he said, voice low and filthy. “Usse bed pe lita ke nahi. Seedha upar. Woh ride kare, jaise dance kar rahi ho dick pe. Aankhein band, honth khule, enjoy karti hui. Upar se mamme dance karein — bade, bhaari, har jhatke pe hilte hue. Main uski badi gand pakad ke neeche kheenchun, muh mein ek boob le lun, aur doosri taraf ungli uski ass crack pe rakh ke khelun. Wahan ki khushboo loon. Tissue silk hata ke, heels ab bhi pair mein, aur woh matakti rahe mere upar.”
Vinay huffed a laugh. “Bas kar.”
“Bas kya,” the man said. “Aisi body ho toh yahi sochta hai na mard. Pet patla, mamme bade, gand gol, honth soft. Ride karwati rahe, aankhein band, aur main uski gand faila ke smell karun jab tak woh khud na kahe ruk.”
Padma become angry and hot at the same time and she had heard every word. The picture sat in her head whether she wanted it or not — her on top, eyes closed, his hands on her ass, mouth on her breast, finger in the crack, breathing her in. Heat flooded her face and lower, sharp and humiliating. Her heel struck the loose stone.
Padma turned sharply on her heel, her black silk saree rustling loudly as she pulled the pallu tight across her chest.
Her face was burning with rage and humiliation.
? Padma: (murmuring under her breath) “Bastards… dirty swines… disgusting pigs…”
She didn't wait another second. Holding her saree pleats clear of her heels, she marched angrily toward the elevator, her heels clicking loudly against the marble floor.
The three men stood frozen in pure panic. As soon as the elevator doors slid open and Padma stepped inside, they dispersed immediately—the two delivery guys hurrying toward their parked bikes without saying another word, while Vinay frantically tried to look busy behind his counter.
A minute later, Mohan walked up from the basement parking.
He noticed Vinay standing rigid near the watchman cabin, his head bowed low, avoiding eye contact completely out of sheer guilt and fear that Padma might tell her husband. Mohan, entirely unaware of what had just transpired, stopped briefly near the gate and offered a friendly smile.
? Mohan: “Vinay, had your dinner?”
Vinay swallowed hard, his throat dry as he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
? Vinay: “Y… yes, sir. Just finished.”
? Mohan: “Good. Good night, Vinay.”
? Vinay: “Good night, sir…”
Mohan stepped into the lift, completely oblivious to the watchman's sweating forehead and trembling hands.
When Mohan unlocked the apartment door, the living room was silent. He placed his car keys on the counter and walked down the hallway toward the bedroom.
Mohan came in a few minutes later, keys still in his hand, and found her in the bedroom with the pallu crumpled on the chair and the heels kicked off by the bed.
? Mohan: “You came up fast. Everything all right?”
Padma looked at him in the mirror. The anger was still in her mouth, but the sight of him — shirt open at the collar, watching her the way he had before they left — loosened it.
? Padma: “Fine. Come here.”
He crossed the room and stopped behind her. His hands settled on her waist, thumbs on the bare skin above the black silk.
? Mohan: “I watched you all night. Couldn’t look anywhere else. This saree, your face, the way you walked… I kept thinking about getting you home.”
She leaned back into him.
? Padma: “Then stop thinking.”
He kissed the side of her neck, slow, then the line of her shoulder where the blouse ended. She turned in his arms. The tissue silk shifted between them. Mohan cupped her face, thumb along her cheek, and kissed her properly — berry lipstick, jasmine, the long breath she let out against his mouth.
? Mohan: “You’re beautiful. You know that?”
? Padma: “Show me.”
He walked her back to the bed. The saree loosened under his hands; the pallu fell; the blouse opened. He looked at her the way he had in the mirror downstairs, only closer now — collarbones, the full weight of her breasts, the soft stomach, the hips the silk had been clinging to all evening. He kissed down her chest, took a nipple into his mouth, and groaned when she held his head there.
Padma pulled him up and onto the bed with her. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders and drew him between her thighs, saree bunched at her waist, nothing else in the way. He entered her slowly. Her eyes half closed. Her hands found his back.
? Mohan: “Padma…”
? Padma: “Don’t talk. Stay.”
He moved deeper, forehead against hers, one hand under her, gripping the curve of her ass and lifting her into him. She met him, breath breaking, the anger from the lobby burning off into heat. He kissed her mouth, her throat, the top of her breast, murmuring that she was beautiful, that he had wanted this since he saw her in the heels, that he loved the way she felt around him.
He kissed her again and didn’t stop. The blouse came open under his hands, then the saree, then everything else, until both of them were naked on the bed. Mohan looked at her — breasts, stomach, the spread of her hips — and settled between her thighs. He set the head of his cock against her pussy and pushed in slowly.
Padma’s mouth opened. Her eyes closed. She breathed fast, a thin hiss leaving her, and pulled him down into a hug. He started to move, deep careful strokes, arms around her. She held on and, under the pleasure, the night came back: the good compliments at the party, and the dirty ones in the corridor. One voice stuck. I want her on top. Riding. Eyes closed. Boobs dancing. My hands on that big ass.
It tempted her.
? Padma: “Mohan. Wait.”
? Mohan: “What?”
She drew off him. His cock slipped out, a few drops falling onto the mattress. She made him lie back and came over him, kissing his mouth. Mohan went still, then eager, hands already at her waist. She reached between them and rubbed him along her pussy, slow, slick, both of them breathing harder.
She took him in her left hand, set him where she wanted, lifted her hips, and slid down. He rose into her easily. Both of them swore under their breath. Sweat had already started at her spine. She began to move, up and down, taking her time, feeling every bit of it. Mohan lay under her, unsure what to do with his hands.
Padma caught one of them and put it on her breast. He felt her, pressed, and she broke open into sound — haa… hmmm… haa… mmm… aah… ah — riding him while he held her there. Then his other hand found her ass, big in his palm, and he squeezed. Her pace picked up.
? Mohan: “What a beauty you are. What breasts. What an ass, Padma.”
? Padma: “Yes, baby. You like them so much?”
? Mohan: “So much.”
She bent lower, lying on his chest, kissing his mouth. He put both hands on her ass and worked it like dough, pulling her down onto him. She fed one breast into his mouth. He licked and sucked, greedy, like he couldn’t leave it. She remembered the corridor — gand kitni badi hai, matak matak ke chal rahi hai — and something in her went wild. In her head only: Yes. I have a big ass. Men want to fuck me different ways. I want it different too. Harder.
Mohan stayed a delicate lover, even now.
? Mohan: “You’re smooth… I’m really liking this. I love the way you do it. Love you, wife. You’re divine.”
? Padma: “Yes, baby. Love you.”
Inside, the other words still pulled. She wanted it rougher because of them. She remembered Rajan’s mouth in the lobby, and then, unbidden, Rajan with Ananya — what a bad man, thinking of her while he was with someone else. Her pussy tightened, suddenly sensitive. The riding turned into small sensual movements, hips grinding more than dancing, both of them hugging close.
It was too much for Mohan. He swelled inside her, control slipping, and she was the one setting the pace. He wanted to slow down. She didn’t stop.
? Mohan: “Baby, I want to cum.”
? Padma: “Is it, baby… do it, baby.”
She moved faster, yes, baby, yes, still hugging him. He pressed her ass and slid a finger into the crack. That undid her. A few more movements and she came, shaking on him, and Mohan followed, spilling deep, both of them locking up and then going slack.
They lay exhausted, sweating, not moving. Her face stayed on his chest. His hands were still on her ass. In the quiet she could hear both things at once — his love, and the filthy voices she had carried all the way home.
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