[Innocent_Pervert]

The first evening function was held in the large courtyard of the wedding house. Fairy lights hung between the trees. Music played at a low volume while people slowly gathered.
I was standing near the entrance with Papa and Chacha when she finally came out.
She wore the deep red lehenga.
The blouse was short, heavily embroidered, and stretched tight across her chest. Her heavy tits filled it completely — round, soft, and clearly straining the fabric. The deep cleavage was impossible to miss. Her entire midriff was bare: smooth, slightly rounded, and warm under the lights. The lehenga sat low on her wide hips and moved with the full weight of her ass and thighs every time she took a step.
She walked into the courtyard without hurry.
That was when the older men started noticing.
A group of uncles in their fifties and sixties stood near the drinks table. The moment she passed, their conversation stopped. One of them, a heavy-set man with grey in his moustache, openly stared at her chest. His eyes moved slowly from the tight blouse to the bare stomach and then down to the heavy sway of her hips. He didn’t look away even when his wife said something to him.
Another older relative, taller and thinner, tracked her as she walked. When she stopped to greet someone, he tilted his head slightly to keep the side view of her breasts in sight. The way the blouse pushed outward with every breath she took held him completely.
Chacha noticed the stares and smiled into his glass.
A third man, one of the senior uncles from the other side of the family, actually turned his whole body to watch her. His eyes stayed fixed on the soft curve of her midriff and the place where the lehenga began over her thick hips. When she moved again, his gaze dropped to her ass and stayed there for several long seconds.
My sister kept walking as if she felt none of it.

But she felt all of it.
She passed close to me, close enough that I could see the fine embroidery stretched over the heavy roundness of her tits.
“They’re looking,” I said under my breath.
“I know.” Her voice was calm. “Old men always look the longest. They don’t even try to hide it.” She adjusted the edge of her blouse with one hand, making her breasts shift under the tight cloth. “Remember their faces. Later you’ll tell me which one stared at my chest and which one stared at my ass.”
She walked deeper into the courtyard.
More heads turned. Two older men standing near the stage followed her with their eyes the entire way. One of them said something low to the other and both of them laughed quietly, still watching the way her heavy hips moved under the red cloth.
She finally stopped near Maa and the other women. Even there, the older men’s eyes kept returning to her — to the tight blouse, the bare soft stomach, the thick curve of her body in the lehenga.
She had been in the courtyard for less than five minutes.
Already the older men had claimed their view.
And she had made sure I watched every single one of them do it.

The sangeet had properly started by the time the dhol picked up pace. Women were being pulled into the centre of the courtyard one after another. Clapping, laughing, the usual wedding noise.
My sister had been standing near the edge with a couple of cousins when two of the younger girls grabbed her hands and dragged her into the circle.
She didn’t resist.
The red lehenga moved with her. The heavy skirt swayed around her thick hips and full thighs. The short blouse stayed stretched tight across her chest. Every time she stepped and turned, her heavy tits shifted and bounced inside the embroidered cloth — clear, soft weight that the tight blouse could not hide. The bare midriff above the low waistband flexed and caught the fairy lights.
She danced without trying to be delicate.
Older men who had been standing in groups with drinks slowly turned. One senior uncle with grey hair stopped talking mid-sentence and simply watched the way her breasts moved. Another, heavier, kept his eyes fixed on the bounce and the soft jiggle that followed each step. A third man actually stepped closer to the edge of the circle, glass forgotten in his hand, openly following the heavy sway of her chest and the roll of her hips under the red cloth.
She raised her arms once and the blouse pulled even tighter. The deep cleavage became sharper. The side swell of her tits was visible for a second with every turn.
Chacha stood a few feet away from me, not even pretending to look elsewhere. His eyes stayed on her breasts and the bare strip of her stomach as she moved.
She stayed in the circle longer than the other girls. When the beat slowed she finally stepped out, slightly breathless, the heavy red fabric still swinging around her hips. A thin sheen of sweat made the skin of her midriff glow under the lights.
She walked straight toward me, ignoring the eyes that still followed her.
“You saw them,” she said quietly, not looking at the men.
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“At least four older ones. Two of them didn’t look away even once.”
She reached up and adjusted the shoulder of her blouse. The movement made her tits rise and settle again inside the tight cloth.
“Tomorrow I’m wearing something that shows more,” she said. “Tonight I want the names. The ones who stared at my chest the whole time. You’ll point them out to me later when no one is watching.”
She walked past me toward the main group of women, the heavy lehenga shifting over her ass with every step.
Behind her, two of the older uncles were still looking.
She had given them the clear view they wanted.
And she had made sure I watched them take it.