Yesterday, 04:27 PM
Naresh led her onto the small floor. The music was slow. He stood in front of her and showed her the steps with his hands, moving his feet once, then again, so she could follow. My wife watched his feet, then tried. She moved carefully, the yellow chiffon saree shifting around her legs. The white petticoat flashed at her ankle. Her cheeks were already dark with blush. She kept her eyes down.
“Like this,” he said. “Small steps. Do not think too much.”
She nodded, shy. Her hands stayed near her waist at first. When he reached for one of them she let him take it. He placed her palm lightly on his shoulder. She blushed harder. Her other hand held the edge of the pallu tight against her chest. The yellow blouse stretched a little when she moved. Her heavy breasts rose and fell with her nervous breathing.
They turned slowly. She danced shyly, steps small, body stiff. Every time his hand rested on her waist she glanced toward me. I stayed at the table and gave her a small smile. She saw it. Her shoulders loosened a fraction. Naresh spoke near her ear, voice low, telling her she was doing well, that no one was watching her feet. She listened. The stiffness in her arms eased. She let the pallu slip a little lower on her shoulder.
He guided her through another turn. This time his palm stayed longer on the curve of her waist, just above the low line of the white petticoat. She did not pull away. Her wide hips began to follow his rhythm instead of fighting it. The yellow chiffon saree clung and released with each step. A small smile touched her mouth, still shy, but no longer frozen. He was making her comfortable, speaking softly, moving with her instead of pulling her. Her blush remained, yet her body had started to answer the music. She looked at me again. I smiled. She stayed in his arms and kept dancing.
Naresh grew bolder. His hand slid from her waist to the side of her hip, fingers pressing into the yellow chiffon saree. He drew her closer. My wife’s breath caught. The yellow blouse tightened across her heavy breasts as her chest rose. A flush spread down her neck.
“You are shaking,” he said near her ear. “Relax. Just follow me.”
“I… I am not used to this,” she answered, voice small. She was feeling the heat low in her body now and struggled to control it. Her steps faltered. She bit her lower lip.
I watched from the table. The way his palm moved over the curve of her backside under the yellow chiffon saree, the way her wide hips answered without her permission, made me hard. My cock pressed against the black pants.
Naresh gestured for a hug, arms opening.
“Come closer,” he said. “Like this. Trust me.”
She hesitated. Her eyes found mine across the floor. She stood still, the pallu clutched tight.
“My husband is watching,” she whispered.
I lifted my chin once and nodded. She saw it. Her shoulders dropped. She stepped into him.
“He is not angry,” Naresh said, smiling. “See?”
I picked up my phone, stood, and moved to the high chair at the end of the bar. I sat where I could see them clearly and started recording. Naresh noticed me. He saw I was not angry. He grew bolder still. He pulled her into a complete embrace, arms wrapping fully around her waist, chest pressed to her breasts, one hand low on her backside.
“Feel this,” he murmured. “Your body wants it.”
She felt all of it. A soft sound left her mouth. Her body melted against him for a second before guilt flashed across her face. She glanced toward me.
“Rajesh…” she said, torn.
I met her look and gestured again, open palm, telling her to feel free. The guilt eased.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Her arms came up. She hugged him back, cheek near his shoulder, the yellow chiffon saree crushed between them. Her hips shifted once, seeking.
“Good,” Naresh said against her hair. “Just like that.”
The struggle left her body. She let herself feel it, horny and open now, while I sat at the bar with the phone raised, recording every place his hands moved on her.
I walked closer, phone still in my hand, and stopped near them. Naresh kept one arm around her waist. My wife looked at me, cheeks flushed, the yellow chiffon saree pressed against his body.
“This is her first time in a pub,” I said. “She has only seen these places in movies. She is shy. Give her the best first experience. Make her comfortable. Let her feel everything properly.”
Naresh smiled and nodded, his hand steady on her back.
“Sure, sir,” he said. “I could already feel it. Her body is warm. She is nervous, but she is not pulling away. Do not worry. I know how to make her comfortable. I will go slow.”
My wife’s eyes widened a little. She looked between us.
“Rajesh…” she said softly.
“It is okay,” I answered. “Listen to him. Enjoy.”
Naresh turned back to her and pulled her fully into his embrace. She hugged him without pulling away this time, arms resting on his shoulders. The yellow blouse crushed softly against his chest. He bent his head and kissed her cheek, slow and warm, just beside her ear.
“Feel free,” he told her. “Enjoy yourself. No one will judge you here. Your husband wants you to have this.”
“I… I do not know how,” she whispered. Her voice shook.
“You do not have to know,” Naresh said, kissing her cheek again. “Just stay like this. Feel my hands. Breathe. That is enough for now.”
She closed her eyes for a second. A small shiver moved through her. When she opened them she looked at me again. I stayed where I was and gave her a quiet nod. Her body loosened further in his arms. The pallu slipped a little lower on her shoulder.
“Like this?” she asked, almost to herself.
“Yes,” Naresh murmured. “Exactly like this. You are doing well.”
She hugged him closer, the yellow chiffon saree shifting around her wide hips as she let herself stay there, shy still, yet no longer holding back. Naresh kept her against him, one hand moving slowly on her back, speaking low so only she could hear, while I stood on his side and watched every small change in her face.
Naresh looked at me while he held her. His hand rested low on her back, over the yellow chiffon saree.
“Your wife is beautiful, sir,” he said. “Really beautiful. The way she moves, the way she blushes. You are lucky.”
“Thank you,” I answered, keeping my voice even, as if we were only talking about the music.
He turned to her and began kissing her cheeks, soft presses, one side then the other. Then his mouth moved to her neck, just below the ear, slow and warm. My wife’s breath stopped. She tried hard to control herself. Her hands tightened on his shoulders. A small tremor ran through her body. The yellow blouse rose and fell quickly. She closed her eyes, lips pressed together, fighting the feeling that was spreading under her skin.
“Naresh…” she whispered, voice unsteady. “People are here.”
“No one is watching us closely,” he murmured against her neck. “Your husband is right here. He does not mind. Relax. Let yourself feel it.”
She hugged him tighter for a moment, then tried to ease back, but her body did not fully obey. The pallu had slipped lower. Her wide hips stayed pressed to him. I stood close, phone lowered now, watching. My cock was hard inside the black pants. Every kiss he placed on her neck, every small sound she tried to swallow, made the heat worse. Yet I kept my face calm. I shifted my weight, looked around the pub once, then back at them, pretending this was ordinary.
“She is still shy,” I said, tone casual. “Go slow with her.”
“I am,” Naresh answered, kissing the side of her throat again. “She is doing well.”
My wife opened her eyes and looked at me. Guilt and want fought on her face. I met her gaze and gave a small, easy nod, as if nothing unusual was happening. She saw it. Her resistance softened another fraction. She stayed in his arms, still trying to control the trembling in her legs, while he continued to tempt her with his mouth on her skin and I stood on her side, hard and quiet, letting it happen.
Naresh hugged her closer, both arms firm around her waist. The yellow chiffon saree bunched between them. He kissed her cheek again, then the corner of her mouth, light and testing. My wife made a small sound and turned her face a fraction, not away, only unsure. He followed, kissing along her jaw, then lower, open-mouthed presses down the side of her neck. Each kiss was slower than the last.
“Your skin is warm,” he said against her throat. “You are trying so hard not to feel this. Stop fighting.”
“I… I should not,” she whispered. Her voice shook. She hugged him back without meaning to, arms tightening around his neck. The yellow blouse pressed fully to his chest. Her heavy breasts flattened against him. A tremor ran through her wide hips.
He kissed the hollow of her neck, then the place just above the blouse line. She gasped softly. Her fingers curled into his shirt. She was still trying to control it, breath short, eyes half-closed, but her body had begun to lean into every kiss.
“See how you hug me now,” he murmured. “Your husband is watching and he is calm. He wants you to enjoy. Give in a little more.”
She looked at me over his shoulder. I stood with one hand in my pocket, face relaxed, as if we were only talking. Inside, my cock throbbed hard against the black pants. I gave her another small nod.
“It is fine,” I said, voice ordinary. “Stay with him.”
Naresh smiled against her skin and hugged her tighter, lifting her slightly so her feet almost left the floor. He kissed her neck again, longer this time, tongue tasting the salt there. She moaned, quiet and broken, and hugged him fully, the yellow chiffon saree shifting around her legs, the white petticoat brushing his thigh. The struggle was still in her face, but it was weaker now. She let him tempt her, kiss after kiss, hug after hug, while I watched and let it continue.
Naresh hugged her even closer, one hand sliding up her back beneath the pallu, the other low on her waist. He kissed her mouth this time, soft at first, only the corner, then fuller when she did not turn away. My wife made a helpless sound against his lips. Her arms hugged his neck tighter. The yellow chiffon saree pressed and shifted between their bodies. Her heavy breasts flattened against his chest with every breath.
“Open a little,” he whispered on her mouth. “Just a little.”
She did. Her lips parted. He kissed her deeper, slow and warm. She kissed him back for a moment before guilt made her pause. She pulled her mouth away, breathing hard, forehead against his.
“Rajesh is right there,” she said, voice thin.
“And he is fine,” Naresh answered. He hugged her again, lifting her so her feet barely touched the floor. He kissed her cheeks, her closed eyes, the line of her jaw, then returned to her neck, sucking gently now. She shivered hard. Her wide hips rolled once against him without her deciding to. The white petticoat brushed his thigh. She hugged him as if she needed the support, fingers gripping his shirt.
“I cannot stop shaking,” she whispered.
“Do not stop,” he said against her throat. “Let it happen. Hug me tighter.”
She did. She hugged him fully, body melting, the yellow blouse warm against him, the pallu fallen almost to her elbow. Another soft moan left her. I stood a step away, hand still in my pocket, face calm, watching every kiss and every tighter hug. My cock ached inside the black pants. She glanced at me once, eyes wet and lost, and I only nodded, easy and quiet, letting Naresh keep kissing her neck and holding her against him while the music moved around us.
The music dipped. The DJ’s voice came over the speakers, calling Naresh by name and asking him to come up. Naresh smiled, kissed my wife’s cheek one last time, and walked to the small stage. The DJ congratulated him in front of everyone, saying he would soon choreograph songs for movies, that his work was already getting noticed. People clapped. My wife watched, eyes bright, impressed. She turned to me.
“He is going to work in movies?” she said.
“That is what the DJ said,” I answered.
The DJ then called another woman onto the stage and began congratulating her too, speaking about her own projects. My wife stayed close to me now, the yellow chiffon saree still warm from Naresh’s hands. She leaned in and spoke low.
“He was kissing me too much,” she said. “On my cheeks, on my neck. Again and again.”
“That is how a pub is,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “It is a different world here. People get close. They kiss, they hug, they dance. Feel free. Enjoy yourself.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then she whispered, so only I could hear.
“But this is wrong. And… it was making me horny.”
The words hit me hard. My cock swelled fully inside the black pants, a huge boner pressing tight against the cloth. I shifted my stance so it would not show, face still ordinary, as if we were only talking about the music.
“It is natural,” I said. “When you dance close, when someone kisses your neck, the body feels it. Do not worry. Enjoy yourself. That is why we came.”
She looked at me, cheeks still flushed, the yellow blouse rising with her breath. She nodded slowly, the conflict clear on her face, while I stood beside her with the boner hidden and my expression easy, letting her believe everything was normal.
The DJ finished with the other woman and looked out over the floor. His eyes stopped on my wife. He smiled into the microphone.
“And we have someone new tonight,” he said. “The beautiful lady in the yellow saree. Come up for a moment. Let everyone see you.”
My wife froze. Her hand tightened on my arm. The yellow chiffon saree seemed suddenly brighter under the lights.
“Rajesh…” she whispered. “He is calling me.”
“Go,” I said, voice calm. “It is only for a minute. I am right here.”
She hesitated, then walked forward. The pallu slipped a little as she climbed the two steps. Naresh was still on the stage. He reached for her hand at once. She let him take it. His fingers slid between hers and locked, palm to palm, holding tight. The contact was clear even from where I stood. Sexual tension moved between them immediately, thick and visible in the way her shoulders rose and the way he did not let go.
She stood beside him, cheeks dark, the yellow blouse tight across her heavy breasts. The DJ congratulated her for being there and asked the room to clap. People did. Naresh kept their fingers interlocked the whole time, thumb moving slowly over the back of her hand. My wife’s breath changed. She glanced at me once, eyes wide. I felt the tension reach me. My cock hardened fast inside the black pants, pressing full and obvious against the cloth. I shifted my stance, face still easy, and gave her a small nod.
The clapping grew louder. Someone from the floor called out for one jodi dance. Others joined, cheering, telling them to dance together. My wife’s face tightened with nerves at first. She looked at me, then at Naresh, their fingers still interlocked. The yellow chiffon saree seemed too bright on the small stage.
The DJ laughed into the microphone and cheered them on as well.
“One dance,” he said. “What style do you want? Romantic?”
Voices from the crowd answered at once.
“Romantic! Romantic!”
Naresh glanced at my wife, then at the DJ.
“Romantic,” he said.
The DJ started a slow song. The lights dropped lower. Naresh drew her against him. The dance turned erotic at once. One arm hugged her waist. He kissed her cheek, then her neck, open-mouthed and slow, while his other hand moved freely over her body. He felt her thoroughly. His palm slid up her side, over the yellow blouse, cupping and squeezing the full weight of her heavy breast. He pressed her wide hips hard to his, fingers gripping her backside through the yellow chiffon saree. Then he bent lower and kissed her navel directly, lips pressed to it, lingering there while the crowd watched.
My wife became totally horny. I could see it clear on her face. Her eyes half-closed, lips parted, cheeks flushed deep. Every kiss made her shiver. She stopped trying to follow steps and simply let him move her. Her mouth stayed open. Soft sounds escaped her. The nervousness was gone. Only want remained. Her body rolled into his hands and his mouth without shame now.
People cheered. Some whistled. At the bar one bartender leaned toward the other.
“Look at that,” he whispered. “Kissing her neck, her navel… he is almost fucking her on stage. And her face… she is completely gone.”
I stood below them, cock fully hard and throbbing inside the black pants. My wife’s pallu had fallen to her elbow. She glanced down at me once, eyes heavy and lost with total horniness, while Naresh kept kissing her neck and her navel, hands owning her body under the slow music, and the whole room cheered the erotic dance.
The song ended. The whole floor cheered for Naresh and my wife. People clapped and whistled. They both smiled and thanked the crowd, then stepped down from the stage together. On the side of the stage the other woman had started singing as people asked her to. Her voice rose over the speakers.
My wife and Naresh walked toward me. The yellow chiffon saree was slightly loose now, the pallu resting lower on her arm. Her cheeks were still flushed. Naresh kept close beside her.
“Did you see how good she danced?” he said to me, smiling. “She followed everything. Natural.”
“I saw,” I answered.
He put his arm around my wife’s shoulder and drew her against his side. She let him. The yellow blouse pressed lightly to him.
“Your wife is so good to romance,” he said. “The way she moves, the way she responds. Perfect for this place.”
His arm stayed around her. My cock throbbed hard inside the black pants. The boner was immediate and full. I kept my face calm and nodded, as if the words were ordinary, while heat spread through me from watching his arm on her and hearing him speak about how good she was to romance. She glanced at me once, still breathing a little fast, the yellow chiffon saree warm against his body.
“Like this,” he said. “Small steps. Do not think too much.”
She nodded, shy. Her hands stayed near her waist at first. When he reached for one of them she let him take it. He placed her palm lightly on his shoulder. She blushed harder. Her other hand held the edge of the pallu tight against her chest. The yellow blouse stretched a little when she moved. Her heavy breasts rose and fell with her nervous breathing.
They turned slowly. She danced shyly, steps small, body stiff. Every time his hand rested on her waist she glanced toward me. I stayed at the table and gave her a small smile. She saw it. Her shoulders loosened a fraction. Naresh spoke near her ear, voice low, telling her she was doing well, that no one was watching her feet. She listened. The stiffness in her arms eased. She let the pallu slip a little lower on her shoulder.
He guided her through another turn. This time his palm stayed longer on the curve of her waist, just above the low line of the white petticoat. She did not pull away. Her wide hips began to follow his rhythm instead of fighting it. The yellow chiffon saree clung and released with each step. A small smile touched her mouth, still shy, but no longer frozen. He was making her comfortable, speaking softly, moving with her instead of pulling her. Her blush remained, yet her body had started to answer the music. She looked at me again. I smiled. She stayed in his arms and kept dancing.
Naresh grew bolder. His hand slid from her waist to the side of her hip, fingers pressing into the yellow chiffon saree. He drew her closer. My wife’s breath caught. The yellow blouse tightened across her heavy breasts as her chest rose. A flush spread down her neck.
“You are shaking,” he said near her ear. “Relax. Just follow me.”
“I… I am not used to this,” she answered, voice small. She was feeling the heat low in her body now and struggled to control it. Her steps faltered. She bit her lower lip.
I watched from the table. The way his palm moved over the curve of her backside under the yellow chiffon saree, the way her wide hips answered without her permission, made me hard. My cock pressed against the black pants.
Naresh gestured for a hug, arms opening.
“Come closer,” he said. “Like this. Trust me.”
She hesitated. Her eyes found mine across the floor. She stood still, the pallu clutched tight.
“My husband is watching,” she whispered.
I lifted my chin once and nodded. She saw it. Her shoulders dropped. She stepped into him.
“He is not angry,” Naresh said, smiling. “See?”
I picked up my phone, stood, and moved to the high chair at the end of the bar. I sat where I could see them clearly and started recording. Naresh noticed me. He saw I was not angry. He grew bolder still. He pulled her into a complete embrace, arms wrapping fully around her waist, chest pressed to her breasts, one hand low on her backside.
“Feel this,” he murmured. “Your body wants it.”
She felt all of it. A soft sound left her mouth. Her body melted against him for a second before guilt flashed across her face. She glanced toward me.
“Rajesh…” she said, torn.
I met her look and gestured again, open palm, telling her to feel free. The guilt eased.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Her arms came up. She hugged him back, cheek near his shoulder, the yellow chiffon saree crushed between them. Her hips shifted once, seeking.
“Good,” Naresh said against her hair. “Just like that.”
The struggle left her body. She let herself feel it, horny and open now, while I sat at the bar with the phone raised, recording every place his hands moved on her.
I walked closer, phone still in my hand, and stopped near them. Naresh kept one arm around her waist. My wife looked at me, cheeks flushed, the yellow chiffon saree pressed against his body.
“This is her first time in a pub,” I said. “She has only seen these places in movies. She is shy. Give her the best first experience. Make her comfortable. Let her feel everything properly.”
Naresh smiled and nodded, his hand steady on her back.
“Sure, sir,” he said. “I could already feel it. Her body is warm. She is nervous, but she is not pulling away. Do not worry. I know how to make her comfortable. I will go slow.”
My wife’s eyes widened a little. She looked between us.
“Rajesh…” she said softly.
“It is okay,” I answered. “Listen to him. Enjoy.”
Naresh turned back to her and pulled her fully into his embrace. She hugged him without pulling away this time, arms resting on his shoulders. The yellow blouse crushed softly against his chest. He bent his head and kissed her cheek, slow and warm, just beside her ear.
“Feel free,” he told her. “Enjoy yourself. No one will judge you here. Your husband wants you to have this.”
“I… I do not know how,” she whispered. Her voice shook.
“You do not have to know,” Naresh said, kissing her cheek again. “Just stay like this. Feel my hands. Breathe. That is enough for now.”
She closed her eyes for a second. A small shiver moved through her. When she opened them she looked at me again. I stayed where I was and gave her a quiet nod. Her body loosened further in his arms. The pallu slipped a little lower on her shoulder.
“Like this?” she asked, almost to herself.
“Yes,” Naresh murmured. “Exactly like this. You are doing well.”
She hugged him closer, the yellow chiffon saree shifting around her wide hips as she let herself stay there, shy still, yet no longer holding back. Naresh kept her against him, one hand moving slowly on her back, speaking low so only she could hear, while I stood on his side and watched every small change in her face.
Naresh looked at me while he held her. His hand rested low on her back, over the yellow chiffon saree.
“Your wife is beautiful, sir,” he said. “Really beautiful. The way she moves, the way she blushes. You are lucky.”
“Thank you,” I answered, keeping my voice even, as if we were only talking about the music.
He turned to her and began kissing her cheeks, soft presses, one side then the other. Then his mouth moved to her neck, just below the ear, slow and warm. My wife’s breath stopped. She tried hard to control herself. Her hands tightened on his shoulders. A small tremor ran through her body. The yellow blouse rose and fell quickly. She closed her eyes, lips pressed together, fighting the feeling that was spreading under her skin.
“Naresh…” she whispered, voice unsteady. “People are here.”
“No one is watching us closely,” he murmured against her neck. “Your husband is right here. He does not mind. Relax. Let yourself feel it.”
She hugged him tighter for a moment, then tried to ease back, but her body did not fully obey. The pallu had slipped lower. Her wide hips stayed pressed to him. I stood close, phone lowered now, watching. My cock was hard inside the black pants. Every kiss he placed on her neck, every small sound she tried to swallow, made the heat worse. Yet I kept my face calm. I shifted my weight, looked around the pub once, then back at them, pretending this was ordinary.
“She is still shy,” I said, tone casual. “Go slow with her.”
“I am,” Naresh answered, kissing the side of her throat again. “She is doing well.”
My wife opened her eyes and looked at me. Guilt and want fought on her face. I met her gaze and gave a small, easy nod, as if nothing unusual was happening. She saw it. Her resistance softened another fraction. She stayed in his arms, still trying to control the trembling in her legs, while he continued to tempt her with his mouth on her skin and I stood on her side, hard and quiet, letting it happen.
Naresh hugged her closer, both arms firm around her waist. The yellow chiffon saree bunched between them. He kissed her cheek again, then the corner of her mouth, light and testing. My wife made a small sound and turned her face a fraction, not away, only unsure. He followed, kissing along her jaw, then lower, open-mouthed presses down the side of her neck. Each kiss was slower than the last.
“Your skin is warm,” he said against her throat. “You are trying so hard not to feel this. Stop fighting.”
“I… I should not,” she whispered. Her voice shook. She hugged him back without meaning to, arms tightening around his neck. The yellow blouse pressed fully to his chest. Her heavy breasts flattened against him. A tremor ran through her wide hips.
He kissed the hollow of her neck, then the place just above the blouse line. She gasped softly. Her fingers curled into his shirt. She was still trying to control it, breath short, eyes half-closed, but her body had begun to lean into every kiss.
“See how you hug me now,” he murmured. “Your husband is watching and he is calm. He wants you to enjoy. Give in a little more.”
She looked at me over his shoulder. I stood with one hand in my pocket, face relaxed, as if we were only talking. Inside, my cock throbbed hard against the black pants. I gave her another small nod.
“It is fine,” I said, voice ordinary. “Stay with him.”
Naresh smiled against her skin and hugged her tighter, lifting her slightly so her feet almost left the floor. He kissed her neck again, longer this time, tongue tasting the salt there. She moaned, quiet and broken, and hugged him fully, the yellow chiffon saree shifting around her legs, the white petticoat brushing his thigh. The struggle was still in her face, but it was weaker now. She let him tempt her, kiss after kiss, hug after hug, while I watched and let it continue.
Naresh hugged her even closer, one hand sliding up her back beneath the pallu, the other low on her waist. He kissed her mouth this time, soft at first, only the corner, then fuller when she did not turn away. My wife made a helpless sound against his lips. Her arms hugged his neck tighter. The yellow chiffon saree pressed and shifted between their bodies. Her heavy breasts flattened against his chest with every breath.
“Open a little,” he whispered on her mouth. “Just a little.”
She did. Her lips parted. He kissed her deeper, slow and warm. She kissed him back for a moment before guilt made her pause. She pulled her mouth away, breathing hard, forehead against his.
“Rajesh is right there,” she said, voice thin.
“And he is fine,” Naresh answered. He hugged her again, lifting her so her feet barely touched the floor. He kissed her cheeks, her closed eyes, the line of her jaw, then returned to her neck, sucking gently now. She shivered hard. Her wide hips rolled once against him without her deciding to. The white petticoat brushed his thigh. She hugged him as if she needed the support, fingers gripping his shirt.
“I cannot stop shaking,” she whispered.
“Do not stop,” he said against her throat. “Let it happen. Hug me tighter.”
She did. She hugged him fully, body melting, the yellow blouse warm against him, the pallu fallen almost to her elbow. Another soft moan left her. I stood a step away, hand still in my pocket, face calm, watching every kiss and every tighter hug. My cock ached inside the black pants. She glanced at me once, eyes wet and lost, and I only nodded, easy and quiet, letting Naresh keep kissing her neck and holding her against him while the music moved around us.
The music dipped. The DJ’s voice came over the speakers, calling Naresh by name and asking him to come up. Naresh smiled, kissed my wife’s cheek one last time, and walked to the small stage. The DJ congratulated him in front of everyone, saying he would soon choreograph songs for movies, that his work was already getting noticed. People clapped. My wife watched, eyes bright, impressed. She turned to me.
“He is going to work in movies?” she said.
“That is what the DJ said,” I answered.
The DJ then called another woman onto the stage and began congratulating her too, speaking about her own projects. My wife stayed close to me now, the yellow chiffon saree still warm from Naresh’s hands. She leaned in and spoke low.
“He was kissing me too much,” she said. “On my cheeks, on my neck. Again and again.”
“That is how a pub is,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “It is a different world here. People get close. They kiss, they hug, they dance. Feel free. Enjoy yourself.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then she whispered, so only I could hear.
“But this is wrong. And… it was making me horny.”
The words hit me hard. My cock swelled fully inside the black pants, a huge boner pressing tight against the cloth. I shifted my stance so it would not show, face still ordinary, as if we were only talking about the music.
“It is natural,” I said. “When you dance close, when someone kisses your neck, the body feels it. Do not worry. Enjoy yourself. That is why we came.”
She looked at me, cheeks still flushed, the yellow blouse rising with her breath. She nodded slowly, the conflict clear on her face, while I stood beside her with the boner hidden and my expression easy, letting her believe everything was normal.
The DJ finished with the other woman and looked out over the floor. His eyes stopped on my wife. He smiled into the microphone.
“And we have someone new tonight,” he said. “The beautiful lady in the yellow saree. Come up for a moment. Let everyone see you.”
My wife froze. Her hand tightened on my arm. The yellow chiffon saree seemed suddenly brighter under the lights.
“Rajesh…” she whispered. “He is calling me.”
“Go,” I said, voice calm. “It is only for a minute. I am right here.”
She hesitated, then walked forward. The pallu slipped a little as she climbed the two steps. Naresh was still on the stage. He reached for her hand at once. She let him take it. His fingers slid between hers and locked, palm to palm, holding tight. The contact was clear even from where I stood. Sexual tension moved between them immediately, thick and visible in the way her shoulders rose and the way he did not let go.
She stood beside him, cheeks dark, the yellow blouse tight across her heavy breasts. The DJ congratulated her for being there and asked the room to clap. People did. Naresh kept their fingers interlocked the whole time, thumb moving slowly over the back of her hand. My wife’s breath changed. She glanced at me once, eyes wide. I felt the tension reach me. My cock hardened fast inside the black pants, pressing full and obvious against the cloth. I shifted my stance, face still easy, and gave her a small nod.
The clapping grew louder. Someone from the floor called out for one jodi dance. Others joined, cheering, telling them to dance together. My wife’s face tightened with nerves at first. She looked at me, then at Naresh, their fingers still interlocked. The yellow chiffon saree seemed too bright on the small stage.
The DJ laughed into the microphone and cheered them on as well.
“One dance,” he said. “What style do you want? Romantic?”
Voices from the crowd answered at once.
“Romantic! Romantic!”
Naresh glanced at my wife, then at the DJ.
“Romantic,” he said.
The DJ started a slow song. The lights dropped lower. Naresh drew her against him. The dance turned erotic at once. One arm hugged her waist. He kissed her cheek, then her neck, open-mouthed and slow, while his other hand moved freely over her body. He felt her thoroughly. His palm slid up her side, over the yellow blouse, cupping and squeezing the full weight of her heavy breast. He pressed her wide hips hard to his, fingers gripping her backside through the yellow chiffon saree. Then he bent lower and kissed her navel directly, lips pressed to it, lingering there while the crowd watched.
My wife became totally horny. I could see it clear on her face. Her eyes half-closed, lips parted, cheeks flushed deep. Every kiss made her shiver. She stopped trying to follow steps and simply let him move her. Her mouth stayed open. Soft sounds escaped her. The nervousness was gone. Only want remained. Her body rolled into his hands and his mouth without shame now.
People cheered. Some whistled. At the bar one bartender leaned toward the other.
“Look at that,” he whispered. “Kissing her neck, her navel… he is almost fucking her on stage. And her face… she is completely gone.”
I stood below them, cock fully hard and throbbing inside the black pants. My wife’s pallu had fallen to her elbow. She glanced down at me once, eyes heavy and lost with total horniness, while Naresh kept kissing her neck and her navel, hands owning her body under the slow music, and the whole room cheered the erotic dance.
The song ended. The whole floor cheered for Naresh and my wife. People clapped and whistled. They both smiled and thanked the crowd, then stepped down from the stage together. On the side of the stage the other woman had started singing as people asked her to. Her voice rose over the speakers.
My wife and Naresh walked toward me. The yellow chiffon saree was slightly loose now, the pallu resting lower on her arm. Her cheeks were still flushed. Naresh kept close beside her.
“Did you see how good she danced?” he said to me, smiling. “She followed everything. Natural.”
“I saw,” I answered.
He put his arm around my wife’s shoulder and drew her against his side. She let him. The yellow blouse pressed lightly to him.
“Your wife is so good to romance,” he said. “The way she moves, the way she responds. Perfect for this place.”
His arm stayed around her. My cock throbbed hard inside the black pants. The boner was immediate and full. I kept my face calm and nodded, as if the words were ordinary, while heat spread through me from watching his arm on her and hearing him speak about how good she was to romance. She glanced at me once, still breathing a little fast, the yellow chiffon saree warm against his body.
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