[Innocent_Pervert]

The call came in the afternoon while we were still sitting around the dining table after lunch.
Papa put the phone on speaker. One of the cousins from the other side of the family was speaking quickly, almost excitedly. A wedding date had been fixed for the following week — a full three-day affair. Mehendi, sangeet, wedding, reception. The entire extended family was expected. No one was allowed to skip it.
“Sabko aana padega,” Papa said after he hung up, rubbing his forehead. “Travel arrange karte hain. Rooms bhi book karne padenge.”
Maa simply nodded and began listing things that would need packing — sarees, jewellery, the good set of utensils for the journey. Her voice was calm, practical. Only the faint carefulness in the way she moved still carried the memory of the previous night.
Chacha leaned back in his chair, a small private smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Taau already looked like he was calculating room allotments and who would sleep where. My sister listened without interrupting. Her expression stayed calm, almost pleased, as if the news had handed her exactly the stage she wanted.
A family wedding meant shared cars, shared floors, late nights, alcohol, thin walls, and almost no real privacy. It meant all of us locked inside the same house and the same functions for days.
That evening I walked past her room. The door was half open.
She stood in front of the full-length mirror, already out of her day clothes. She wore only a cream petticoat tied low on her hips and a thin black blouse that she had not yet fully fastened. Her long, thick black hair was still completely loose — heavy, glossy waves falling all the way down her back and over one shoulder.
I stopped in the doorway.
Her body looked even fuller without the outer layer of clothes. The blouse was tight across her chest; the heavy, round weight of her breasts pushed hard against the fabric, creating a deep, soft line of cleavage even from the side. When she reached up to adjust the thin strap, the blouse shifted and the soft, pale underside of her breast became briefly visible — full, heavy, the skin smooth and slightly flushed. Her midriff was completely bare. It was soft and slightly rounded, with that natural curve that never went flat. The petticoat sat low enough to show the deep flare where her waist widened into thick, heavy hips and a full, rounded ass that filled the cloth completely.
She noticed me in the mirror and did not hurry to cover herself. She simply continued looking at her own reflection, turning a little so the light caught the side of her breast and the smooth skin of her stomach.
“Wedding hai,” she said quietly. “Teen din. Same floor. Same corridors. Same late nights.” She reached behind her back with both hands to fasten the blouse, the movement making her breasts shift and press together heavily under the thin cloth. “I’m going to wear things that don’t hide anything. You’re going to stay close and watch who looks. Especially Chacha. Especially anyone else who still thinks she is the only one worth watching.”
She finally pulled the blouse closed and began hooking it properly. Each movement made the heavy weight of her chest settle and rise again. When she was done, she reached for the folded lehenga lying on the bed — deep red, heavily embroidered with gold and pink work — and held it up against her body. The fabric dbangd over her wide hips and fell in a way that already showed how much of her shape it would reveal once it was on. She pressed it against her waist for a moment, studying how the waistline sat on her soft midriff and how the heavy flare of the skirt would sit on her thighs.
“Start packing,” she added, still looking at herself in the mirror. “And keep your phone free. Once we’re there I’ll tell you exactly what I need from you. Every day.”
She let the lehenga fall back onto the bed and turned fully toward me for the first time. The tight black blouse left almost nothing to the imagination. Her heavy breasts sat high and full, the deep cleavage clear, the soft weight of them obvious with every breath she took. The bare strip of her midriff looked warm and smooth above the low petticoat.
“Close the door when you leave,” she said.
I did.
The wedding had been announced.
And my sister was already deciding how she was going to use every single day of it.