Yesterday, 04:11 PM
I was about to open the car door when the milk man knocked on the gate. I turned and saw him. The moment my eyes met his, heat rushed into my pussy. My Dark Blue Panties grew wetter under my white petticoat and white chiffon saree. I struggled to keep my face still, but something that was controlling me made my lips curve into a smile. He opened the gate himself and walked in. Each step he took toward me made my thighs press together. I was horny and excited even while shame burned in my chest.
Something that was controlling me pushed the smile wider. I looked at his ugly face and the way his eyes moved over my purple blouse and the pallu of my white chiffon saree, and I kept smiling. He stopped a few feet from me and spoke shyly.
“About this morning… the wind… I am sorry if I saw too much,” he said.
The memory of my nighty lifting and my pink panties showing made my pussy clench. I felt excited. “It is okay,” I said. My voice came out softer than I meant.
He shifted his weight. I asked, “Do you know where the nearby market is? I need to buy groceries.”
“I know the place,” he said. “If you want, I can come with you today and show you.”
I wanted to say no. The words sat on my tongue. Something that was controlling me moved my mouth instead. “Sure,” I said. “Get inside.”
I opened the car door and sat in the driver’s seat. My white chiffon saree spread over my thighs. He walked around and sat in the front passenger seat right next to me. The door closed. My Dark Blue Panties were soaked against my pussy. I gripped the steering wheel and tried to steady my breathing while he sat so close.
The car began moving. The milk man sat in the front passenger seat and kept looking at me. His eyes moved from my face to the purple blouse under my white chiffon saree and down to where the saree covered my thighs. I felt uncomfortable at first. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. My Dark Blue Panties were still wet against my pussy.
“What is your name, madam?” the milk man asked.
“Sudha,” I said.
“I am Chandru, madam,” he said. “I am from a small village in Mandya. My family is poor. I started this milk delivery on your street only recently. The money is small, but I send whatever I can to my wife and two daughters.”
While the milk man talked about his family I stayed normal. I nodded, kept my eyes on the road, and answered only when needed. Nothing unusual stirred in me.
Then the milk man spoke again. “This morning… when the wind lifted your nighty and showed your pink panties… I still cannot forget it, madam.”
The moment the words left his mouth, something that was controlling me pushed heat straight into my pussy. A giggle rose and I could not hold it. I giggled shamelessly while I drove. The sound made the milk man bolder and excited. He turned more toward me, his eyes bright.
“Did you like what you saw, Chandru?” I asked, still giggling. My voice came out playful. My Dark Blue Panties grew wetter against my pussy.
The milk man stared at my thighs under the white chiffon saree. “Yes, madam,” he said, voice thicker. “You are so beautiful. Your body is hot. Your legs are so much better than my wife’s. Your breasts look fuller. Your waist is narrower. Your hips and ass are rounder. My wife is nothing in front of you, madam. Even her panties never looked like your pink ones this morning.”
His comparisons made me naughtier. Another giggle slipped out. Heat spread through my belly and my pussy clenched. I pressed my thighs together while I drove, feeling extremely horny, my Dark Blue Panties soaked completely as the milk man kept looking at me and describing how every part of his wife fell short of mine.
The milk man grew bolder in the front passenger seat. His eyes stayed on the way my white chiffon saree dbangd over my thighs. He shifted a little closer so his knee almost brushed the edge of my saree. I could feel the heat of his look moving from my purple blouse down across my waist and over the round of my hips.
“Your husband is a very lucky man, madam,” he said, voice low. “He gets to come home to you every day. He gets to see what is under that saree… even your panties. I keep thinking how nice it must be for him.”
Something that was controlling me sent a fresh pulse of heat straight into my pussy. My panties grew heavier with wetness. I pressed my thighs together under the white chiffon saree, but the pressure only made the ache sharper. A small sound left my throat. I kept both hands on the steering wheel and stared at the road, yet my hips shifted once on the seat without my permission.
The milk man noticed. His breathing changed. “Sometimes I feel jealous of him, madam,” he continued, leaning slightly toward me. “He gets to know the colour of your panties every day. Even this morning… those pink ones. If I could be with you the way he is… even once… I think the whole reason for my life would be fulfilled. I would not need anything else after that.”
Another giggle slipped out of me, softer and longer this time. The sound made him bolder. He stared openly at the place where my white chiffon saree stretched over my lap. My pussy clenched hard inside my soaked panties. I felt naughty and exposed even though the saree still covered me. My nipples hardened against my white bra. I bit my lower lip and tried to focus on driving, but every word he spoke about my panties and about being with me once made the wetness spread further.
The market came into view ahead. The milk man pointed toward a quiet side lane just before the main entrance.
“Stop the car in that corner, madam,” he said, still looking at me. “Park there. We can get down and do the shopping.”
I turned the wheel. The white chiffon saree shifted across my hips as I guided the car into the corner. My panties clung completely against my pussy, wet and warm, while I slowed the car and prepared to stop.
We got down from the car and walked into the market. The milk man stayed a step behind me at first, carrying the kattapai. Near the vegetable stalls I saw Prema. She stood in front of an onion seller, one hand on her hip, the other pointing at the heap of onions. Her shoulders were tight and her voice already sharp.
“This price is too much,” Prema said loudly. “Last week it was less. Do not try to cheat.”
The seller shook his head and answered back. Prema kept bargaining, her free hand cutting the air. I walked up to her. The milk man looked at Prema once, then quietly turned and left without a word, disappearing into the crowd. As I watched him go, something felt suspicious about the way he slipped away so fast. At the same time disgust rose in me. My stomach tightened. I could not believe I had actually got horny talking to him in the car, smiling at that ugly bastard, letting him sit so close while he spoke about my panties and my husband. The wetness still clung inside my panties under my white chiffon saree, and the memory made my face burn. I said nothing about him to Prema.
Prema turned, saw me, and her face lit up. Her eyes widened and she stepped forward quickly, both hands reaching for my arms.
“Sudha!” she said, squeezing my arms. “Look at you! You have become so hot and sexy since our high college days. That saree, the way it sits on you… your body looks amazing.”
Warmth spread across my cheeks. I laughed, still feeling the heat from earlier, and squeezed her hands back.
“So do you, Prema,” I said. “You look even better than before.”
We both giggled. She pulled me into a quick hug, her cheek brushing mine, and we laughed the way we used to after college. While she chose vegetables I told her about the old teachers we used to fear and the games we played after class. She answered with her own memories, still smiling, her hands moving easily over the vegetables. My white chiffon saree shifted as we walked between the stalls. Underneath, my panties stayed wet, but I kept my face calm and did not mention anything that had happened that morning.
After the shopping we carried the bags to my car. I drove Prema home. Her house was inside our area, just ten streets away from ours. I stopped outside her gate. A small kolam was still fresh near her doorstep, and the faint smell of camphor drifted from inside. Prema looked at the kolam for a second before she turned to me.
“Come to my house next time,” I said. “We can sit and talk properly.”
She shook her head, one hand resting lightly on the gate.
“We finished a special pooja this morning,” she said. “For the next ten days we are not supposed to step into anyone else’s house. You come to my place instead. I will do the evening lamp before you arrive.”
I nodded. My fingers tightened once on the steering wheel.
“Okay,” I said. “We will meet at your house.”
She smiled, the tension from the market already gone from her face.
“Can we meet tomorrow?” she asked. “I will keep the prasad ready.”
“Yes,” I said. “Tomorrow is fine.”
We exchanged numbers. She got down with her bags, adjusting the edge of her saree the way she always did before entering her own gate, then looked back at me once more.
“Call me,” she said.
I drove the short distance home. The house was still empty when I reached. I carried the groceries inside, locked the door, and stood for a moment in the hall, my white chiffon saree heavy on my body, my panties wet against my pussy, the disgust and the leftover heat still mixed together inside me.
I reached the house and stopped the car just outside the gate. For a moment I sat with both hands on the steering wheel, the engine still running. My white chiffon saree had ridden slightly up my thighs during the drive. I smoothed it down, feeling the damp cling of my panties against my pussy, then switched off the engine and got out.
The late afternoon sun was warm on my shoulders. I walked to the gate, my purple blouse pulling across my breasts with each step, and pushed the gate open. The hinges gave a low creak. I drove the car inside, parked it under the small shade, then walked back out to close the gate behind me.
That was when I saw the neighbour. He was an old man from the house across the lane. He stood near his own gate with his arms folded, not pretending to look anywhere else. His eyes moved slowly from my face down over my purple blouse, lingered on the way the white chiffon saree sat across my hips, then travelled lower. He looked like a pervert. There was no shame in the way he stared. My stomach tightened. A flush of pure dislike rose under my skin. I turned away from him and walked back toward the car, feeling his gaze follow the movement of my ass under the saree.
I opened the rear door. The grocery bags were piled on the seat. Each time I bent to lift one, the white chiffon saree stretched tight across my hips and ass. I knew he was still watching. I could feel it without turning around. Disgust sat heavy in my chest. My panties were wet against my pussy, and the knowledge that he could see the outline of my body made me want to pull the saree closer around myself. I worked faster, arms full, the handles of the bags cutting into my fingers. I did not look in his direction again.
I pushed the front door open with my shoulder, stepped inside, and set every bag on the dining table. The house was quiet. Only the low hum of the refrigerator filled the silence. I locked the door, then stood for a second with my back against it, breathing. The white chiffon saree felt heavy on my body. The wetness in my panties had not dried. I walked straight to the bedroom, already wanting the saree and blouse off.
I picked up my white nighty, a fresh pair of panties, and a white towel, and laid them over the back of my husband’s computer chair. I turned toward the bed. My fingers had just caught the edge of the pallu of my white chiffon saree when a sudden wind moved through the closed bedroom and hit me full across the front of my body.
Right after the wind hit me I smelled it. The scent was warm, close, familiar—the same one that had clung to my neck and between my thighs on those other days. I knew it at once.
Oh my god… what is this smell? Why do I know it? Why does it make my knees weak like this?
Heat flooded my pussy the moment I breathed it in. The panties I was still wearing grew heavy and wet against me. A soft, helpless giggle rose in my throat. My cheeks burned.
My god… what is happening to me? Why am I standing here letting this happen?
Something that was controlling me filled the wind and moved my hands.
My fingers loosened the pin. I drew the white chiffon saree slowly off my shoulder. The white chiffon saree dragged across my purple blouse, caught for a second on the curve of my breasts, then slipped free and fell down over my hips until it pooled around my feet.
Mm… why does taking it off feel so good? I should stop.
My hands rose to my purple blouse. I unhooked the front one small hook at a time. Each hook released made my breasts shift inside my white bra. I shrugged the purple blouse off my shoulders and let it fall. My breasts rose and fell, my nipples already hard and pressing tightly against my white bra.
Uff… my nipples are hard. Why are they hard already? Why am I enjoying this?
I reached behind me and found the hooks of my white bra. I opened them slowly. The straps slid down my arms. I held the white bra against my breasts for one breath, then let it drop. My breasts were fully bare. They felt heavy. My nipples stood hard, aching as the wind and the loved smell moved over them.
Oh god… what is wrong with me? Why do I want the wind to keep touching them?
Next I untied the knot of my white petticoat. The knot gave. The white petticoat loosened at my waist, slipped over the round of my hips, and slid down my thighs. I stepped out of it, one foot then the other.
Mm… I cannot believe I am doing this. Why does every piece that comes off make me wetter?
Finally I hooked both thumbs into the sides of my panties. They were soaked through. I pushed them down. The wet panties clung to my pussy for a long second, peeling away slowly, then dropped to my ankles. I stepped free of them and stood completely naked.
Oh my god… I am naked. Completely naked. And I do not want to cover myself. Why am I enjoying this so much?
The wind possessed me completely now. The familiar smell wrapped around my naked breasts, across my hard nipples, down my stomach, and between my open thighs. Another giggle left me, shaky and breathless. I blushed harder, legs slightly apart and weak from the scent I loved, my pussy wet and throbbing, the ache growing sharper with every breath.
Uff… whatever this is… why does it feel so good? Why can’t I stop wanting more?
Something that was controlling me pushed the smile wider. I looked at his ugly face and the way his eyes moved over my purple blouse and the pallu of my white chiffon saree, and I kept smiling. He stopped a few feet from me and spoke shyly.
“About this morning… the wind… I am sorry if I saw too much,” he said.
The memory of my nighty lifting and my pink panties showing made my pussy clench. I felt excited. “It is okay,” I said. My voice came out softer than I meant.
He shifted his weight. I asked, “Do you know where the nearby market is? I need to buy groceries.”
“I know the place,” he said. “If you want, I can come with you today and show you.”
I wanted to say no. The words sat on my tongue. Something that was controlling me moved my mouth instead. “Sure,” I said. “Get inside.”
I opened the car door and sat in the driver’s seat. My white chiffon saree spread over my thighs. He walked around and sat in the front passenger seat right next to me. The door closed. My Dark Blue Panties were soaked against my pussy. I gripped the steering wheel and tried to steady my breathing while he sat so close.
The car began moving. The milk man sat in the front passenger seat and kept looking at me. His eyes moved from my face to the purple blouse under my white chiffon saree and down to where the saree covered my thighs. I felt uncomfortable at first. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. My Dark Blue Panties were still wet against my pussy.
“What is your name, madam?” the milk man asked.
“Sudha,” I said.
“I am Chandru, madam,” he said. “I am from a small village in Mandya. My family is poor. I started this milk delivery on your street only recently. The money is small, but I send whatever I can to my wife and two daughters.”
While the milk man talked about his family I stayed normal. I nodded, kept my eyes on the road, and answered only when needed. Nothing unusual stirred in me.
Then the milk man spoke again. “This morning… when the wind lifted your nighty and showed your pink panties… I still cannot forget it, madam.”
The moment the words left his mouth, something that was controlling me pushed heat straight into my pussy. A giggle rose and I could not hold it. I giggled shamelessly while I drove. The sound made the milk man bolder and excited. He turned more toward me, his eyes bright.
“Did you like what you saw, Chandru?” I asked, still giggling. My voice came out playful. My Dark Blue Panties grew wetter against my pussy.
The milk man stared at my thighs under the white chiffon saree. “Yes, madam,” he said, voice thicker. “You are so beautiful. Your body is hot. Your legs are so much better than my wife’s. Your breasts look fuller. Your waist is narrower. Your hips and ass are rounder. My wife is nothing in front of you, madam. Even her panties never looked like your pink ones this morning.”
His comparisons made me naughtier. Another giggle slipped out. Heat spread through my belly and my pussy clenched. I pressed my thighs together while I drove, feeling extremely horny, my Dark Blue Panties soaked completely as the milk man kept looking at me and describing how every part of his wife fell short of mine.
The milk man grew bolder in the front passenger seat. His eyes stayed on the way my white chiffon saree dbangd over my thighs. He shifted a little closer so his knee almost brushed the edge of my saree. I could feel the heat of his look moving from my purple blouse down across my waist and over the round of my hips.
“Your husband is a very lucky man, madam,” he said, voice low. “He gets to come home to you every day. He gets to see what is under that saree… even your panties. I keep thinking how nice it must be for him.”
Something that was controlling me sent a fresh pulse of heat straight into my pussy. My panties grew heavier with wetness. I pressed my thighs together under the white chiffon saree, but the pressure only made the ache sharper. A small sound left my throat. I kept both hands on the steering wheel and stared at the road, yet my hips shifted once on the seat without my permission.
The milk man noticed. His breathing changed. “Sometimes I feel jealous of him, madam,” he continued, leaning slightly toward me. “He gets to know the colour of your panties every day. Even this morning… those pink ones. If I could be with you the way he is… even once… I think the whole reason for my life would be fulfilled. I would not need anything else after that.”
Another giggle slipped out of me, softer and longer this time. The sound made him bolder. He stared openly at the place where my white chiffon saree stretched over my lap. My pussy clenched hard inside my soaked panties. I felt naughty and exposed even though the saree still covered me. My nipples hardened against my white bra. I bit my lower lip and tried to focus on driving, but every word he spoke about my panties and about being with me once made the wetness spread further.
The market came into view ahead. The milk man pointed toward a quiet side lane just before the main entrance.
“Stop the car in that corner, madam,” he said, still looking at me. “Park there. We can get down and do the shopping.”
I turned the wheel. The white chiffon saree shifted across my hips as I guided the car into the corner. My panties clung completely against my pussy, wet and warm, while I slowed the car and prepared to stop.
We got down from the car and walked into the market. The milk man stayed a step behind me at first, carrying the kattapai. Near the vegetable stalls I saw Prema. She stood in front of an onion seller, one hand on her hip, the other pointing at the heap of onions. Her shoulders were tight and her voice already sharp.
“This price is too much,” Prema said loudly. “Last week it was less. Do not try to cheat.”
The seller shook his head and answered back. Prema kept bargaining, her free hand cutting the air. I walked up to her. The milk man looked at Prema once, then quietly turned and left without a word, disappearing into the crowd. As I watched him go, something felt suspicious about the way he slipped away so fast. At the same time disgust rose in me. My stomach tightened. I could not believe I had actually got horny talking to him in the car, smiling at that ugly bastard, letting him sit so close while he spoke about my panties and my husband. The wetness still clung inside my panties under my white chiffon saree, and the memory made my face burn. I said nothing about him to Prema.
Prema turned, saw me, and her face lit up. Her eyes widened and she stepped forward quickly, both hands reaching for my arms.
“Sudha!” she said, squeezing my arms. “Look at you! You have become so hot and sexy since our high college days. That saree, the way it sits on you… your body looks amazing.”
Warmth spread across my cheeks. I laughed, still feeling the heat from earlier, and squeezed her hands back.
“So do you, Prema,” I said. “You look even better than before.”
We both giggled. She pulled me into a quick hug, her cheek brushing mine, and we laughed the way we used to after college. While she chose vegetables I told her about the old teachers we used to fear and the games we played after class. She answered with her own memories, still smiling, her hands moving easily over the vegetables. My white chiffon saree shifted as we walked between the stalls. Underneath, my panties stayed wet, but I kept my face calm and did not mention anything that had happened that morning.
After the shopping we carried the bags to my car. I drove Prema home. Her house was inside our area, just ten streets away from ours. I stopped outside her gate. A small kolam was still fresh near her doorstep, and the faint smell of camphor drifted from inside. Prema looked at the kolam for a second before she turned to me.
“Come to my house next time,” I said. “We can sit and talk properly.”
She shook her head, one hand resting lightly on the gate.
“We finished a special pooja this morning,” she said. “For the next ten days we are not supposed to step into anyone else’s house. You come to my place instead. I will do the evening lamp before you arrive.”
I nodded. My fingers tightened once on the steering wheel.
“Okay,” I said. “We will meet at your house.”
She smiled, the tension from the market already gone from her face.
“Can we meet tomorrow?” she asked. “I will keep the prasad ready.”
“Yes,” I said. “Tomorrow is fine.”
We exchanged numbers. She got down with her bags, adjusting the edge of her saree the way she always did before entering her own gate, then looked back at me once more.
“Call me,” she said.
I drove the short distance home. The house was still empty when I reached. I carried the groceries inside, locked the door, and stood for a moment in the hall, my white chiffon saree heavy on my body, my panties wet against my pussy, the disgust and the leftover heat still mixed together inside me.
I reached the house and stopped the car just outside the gate. For a moment I sat with both hands on the steering wheel, the engine still running. My white chiffon saree had ridden slightly up my thighs during the drive. I smoothed it down, feeling the damp cling of my panties against my pussy, then switched off the engine and got out.
The late afternoon sun was warm on my shoulders. I walked to the gate, my purple blouse pulling across my breasts with each step, and pushed the gate open. The hinges gave a low creak. I drove the car inside, parked it under the small shade, then walked back out to close the gate behind me.
That was when I saw the neighbour. He was an old man from the house across the lane. He stood near his own gate with his arms folded, not pretending to look anywhere else. His eyes moved slowly from my face down over my purple blouse, lingered on the way the white chiffon saree sat across my hips, then travelled lower. He looked like a pervert. There was no shame in the way he stared. My stomach tightened. A flush of pure dislike rose under my skin. I turned away from him and walked back toward the car, feeling his gaze follow the movement of my ass under the saree.
I opened the rear door. The grocery bags were piled on the seat. Each time I bent to lift one, the white chiffon saree stretched tight across my hips and ass. I knew he was still watching. I could feel it without turning around. Disgust sat heavy in my chest. My panties were wet against my pussy, and the knowledge that he could see the outline of my body made me want to pull the saree closer around myself. I worked faster, arms full, the handles of the bags cutting into my fingers. I did not look in his direction again.
I pushed the front door open with my shoulder, stepped inside, and set every bag on the dining table. The house was quiet. Only the low hum of the refrigerator filled the silence. I locked the door, then stood for a second with my back against it, breathing. The white chiffon saree felt heavy on my body. The wetness in my panties had not dried. I walked straight to the bedroom, already wanting the saree and blouse off.
I picked up my white nighty, a fresh pair of panties, and a white towel, and laid them over the back of my husband’s computer chair. I turned toward the bed. My fingers had just caught the edge of the pallu of my white chiffon saree when a sudden wind moved through the closed bedroom and hit me full across the front of my body.
Right after the wind hit me I smelled it. The scent was warm, close, familiar—the same one that had clung to my neck and between my thighs on those other days. I knew it at once.
Oh my god… what is this smell? Why do I know it? Why does it make my knees weak like this?
Heat flooded my pussy the moment I breathed it in. The panties I was still wearing grew heavy and wet against me. A soft, helpless giggle rose in my throat. My cheeks burned.
My god… what is happening to me? Why am I standing here letting this happen?
Something that was controlling me filled the wind and moved my hands.
My fingers loosened the pin. I drew the white chiffon saree slowly off my shoulder. The white chiffon saree dragged across my purple blouse, caught for a second on the curve of my breasts, then slipped free and fell down over my hips until it pooled around my feet.
Mm… why does taking it off feel so good? I should stop.
My hands rose to my purple blouse. I unhooked the front one small hook at a time. Each hook released made my breasts shift inside my white bra. I shrugged the purple blouse off my shoulders and let it fall. My breasts rose and fell, my nipples already hard and pressing tightly against my white bra.
Uff… my nipples are hard. Why are they hard already? Why am I enjoying this?
I reached behind me and found the hooks of my white bra. I opened them slowly. The straps slid down my arms. I held the white bra against my breasts for one breath, then let it drop. My breasts were fully bare. They felt heavy. My nipples stood hard, aching as the wind and the loved smell moved over them.
Oh god… what is wrong with me? Why do I want the wind to keep touching them?
Next I untied the knot of my white petticoat. The knot gave. The white petticoat loosened at my waist, slipped over the round of my hips, and slid down my thighs. I stepped out of it, one foot then the other.
Mm… I cannot believe I am doing this. Why does every piece that comes off make me wetter?
Finally I hooked both thumbs into the sides of my panties. They were soaked through. I pushed them down. The wet panties clung to my pussy for a long second, peeling away slowly, then dropped to my ankles. I stepped free of them and stood completely naked.
Oh my god… I am naked. Completely naked. And I do not want to cover myself. Why am I enjoying this so much?
The wind possessed me completely now. The familiar smell wrapped around my naked breasts, across my hard nipples, down my stomach, and between my open thighs. Another giggle left me, shaky and breathless. I blushed harder, legs slightly apart and weak from the scent I loved, my pussy wet and throbbing, the ache growing sharper with every breath.
Uff… whatever this is… why does it feel so good? Why can’t I stop wanting more?
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