The spectator (A story of my life)

[mvids]

The city was all lit up, like a giant party was about to start. It was two days before Diwali, and Kolkata was already buzzing with excitement. I was in my office on the 16th floor, watching the lights from my window.

I was done with work for the day, feeling happy and relaxed. My family business has been around for generations, and it's doing well. But today, I wasn't thinking about work. Diwali was in the air, and I was excited too.

Suddenly, I heard a faint ticking sound. I looked around the office, but I couldn't see anything unusual.  It must be the building's AC unit, I thought.

Then I saw our car pull up downstairs. I left the office and came down by lift.  There she was, my Sayantani, waiting for me outside the car.  She was beautiful, as always.  Her milky fair skin glowed in the evening light, her big eyes sparkling with anticipation.  Her voluptuous figure was perfectly framed by a blue linen saree, the matching sleeveless blouse exposing her shapely hands.  A small beauty spot rested just above her pink, juicy lips.  She was so quiet, so shy, but her smile was radiant.

"Ready for Diwali shopping?" she asked, her voice soft and sweet.

"Always," I replied, feeling excited. We were going to Bara Bazar Market, a huge market full of Diwali decorations. I could already smell the sweets and incense, hear the people talking, and feel the warmth of the city.

I took her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin against mine.  She squeezed my hand gently, her eyes sparkling with joy.  Tonight, as we stepped into the bustling city, I felt like I was walking into a dream.

I opened the car door for her, and she gracefully slid into the seat. As she settled in, I noticed something new. The blouse, almost backless, revealed her entire back, a smooth expanse of bright skin.  The curve of her spine was a beautiful line, leading down to the delicate curve of her waist.  Her shoulders were slender and graceful, the skin there as soft and smooth as a baby's.  A tiny mole, like a dark star, rested just below her shoulder blade.  It was a sight that took my breath away.  I couldn't help but smile, picturing the crowd of Bara Bazar witnessing this beautiful spectacle.

[qazmlp]

Nice premise and erotic setting for exhibition

[sri7869]

Good start

[Projectmp]

Nice. Waiting for next update

[mvids]

Part 2 :

As I sat in the car, my mind raced back twenty years. The backless blouse brought back a memory, a vivid memory of a hot summer day. My mother, Aditi Chatterjee, had worn a backless blouse that day. It was the annual day of my college, and she had come to watch me perform. She was the most beautiful woman I knew, a vision in a white saree, her hair pulled back in a neat bun. Her skin, like my wife's, was milky white, smooth as silk. Her eyes, like a goddess, held a quiet intensity. She had a few small black moles scattered around her neck and back, a stark contrast to her fair complexion, but somehow they only made her more beautiful.

My mom was a vision of curves and grace. Her natural breasts were full and rounded, her backside, a perfect, tempting curve. Her lips, a little pouty, were always slightly parted, giving her an alluring look. She had a habit of licking her lips, which only added to her appeal. Her teeth were pearly white, her tongue a delicate pink. She was a woman who could stop traffic, a woman who could make any man's heart skip a beat. But beneath that alluring exterior, she was shy, quiet, and incredibly kind. She was a contradiction, a beautiful, innocent woman who could captivate anyone with a single glance.

And on that hot summer day, when she wore that backless blouse, she was an apsara, a celestial being. The sweat on her back glistened in the sunlight, making her seem even more alluring. My friends, who didn't know she was my mom, were stunned. They couldn't believe their eyes. They had never seen such beauty before.

The inter-college drama competition was about to begin. I was backstage, getting ready with my friends, Aniket, Rahul (my cousin, a year younger than me), and Jamal. We were all pumped up, doing our last-minute rehearsals. We were going to win this competition, I knew it. We had been practising for weeks, and we were ready to give it our all.

Suddenly, I saw my mom walk into the auditorium. She was sitting in the front row, her eyes scanning the stage. Then, she saw me. She got up from her seat and walked towards the backstage door. My heart skipped a beat. I knew she was coming to see me, to support me. She always did. I took a deep breath and smiled. I was ready. I was ready to give the best performance of my life, for my mom, for my friends, and for myself.

The backstage was a dimly lit, chaotic space, a whirlwind of costumes, props, and nervous energy. The air hung thick with anticipation, a mix of sweat and stage makeup. We were all crammed into a small space, a huddle of teenage boys, prepping for our big moment. Then, the door creaked open, and a shaft of light sliced through the darkness, illuminating the figure standing in the doorway.

It was my mom.

She looked stunning, even in the dim light. Her presence filled the room, her smile radiating warmth and a quiet confidence that made everyone else in the room seem to shrink a little. Her silk saree, a vibrant shade of emerald green, clung to her figure, highlighting the curves of her back and the delicate grace of her neck. Aniket and Jamal, both notorious for their brashness, were suddenly struck speechless. Jamal, the most outspoken of the two, let out a low whistle, his eyes glued to my mom. "Look at her," he said, his voice a low murmur, "Who is this item?"

My cheeks burned. I couldn't believe he'd said that. It was disrespectful, crass, and completely out of line. I wanted to disappear, to melt into the shadows and escape the humiliation. But Rahul, ever the voice of reason, quickly stepped in, his voice a low growl. "Mind your words, Jamal! She's Joy's mom and my aunty!"

Jamal, caught off guard, mumbled a quick apology, but his eyes continued to linger on my mom. He was notorious for his inappropriate behaviour, and I knew he was only trying to impress the others with his boldness. I could see his eyes tracing the curve of her neck, the way her silk saree clung to her figure, the delicate curve of her back. He was clearly checking her out, even as he mumbled apologies.

Aniket, usually the most talkative of the group, was suddenly struck speechless. He stood there, transfixed, his eyes glued to my mom as she moved towards us. The air around her seemed to shimmer with a subtle fragrance, a familiar blend of her usual scent and something else, something new. It was a heady mix of sweaty smell and a subtle perfume that lingered in the air, arousing a strange sense of longing within everyone.

Later, Rahul told me that my mom had a unique way of applying her perfume. She'd mix it with a half bucket of water and pour it over herself, ensuring that every part of her body smelled heavenly. I didn't know how he knew this at the time, but it all made sense later.

Today, the familiar scent was laced with a hint of sweat, a subtle musk that made her seem even more alluring. She came to me, her touch gentle and reassuring. "Good luck, Joy," she whispered, her voice soft but firm. "Make us proud." She hugged me softly, her lips brushing against my cheek in a quick kiss.

Then, she moved to Rahul, repeating the same words, the same gesture. She turned to Aniket, a question in her eyes. "What's your name?" she asked. Aniket mumbled something incoherent, but Rahul quickly answered, "He's Aniket." My mom smiled, her fingers gently brushing through Aniket's hair, a false moustache adorning his face. "You're looking cute," she said, her voice was fun filled.

Aniket, blushing furiously, blurted out, "You're looking gorgeous, aunty!"

It was my mom's turn to blush.

Jamal, ever the charmer, was the last one to receive my mom's blessing. He stood there, a smirk playing on his lips, his eyes glued to her as she approached. His gaze lingered on her, taking in every detail, from the way her saree dbangd around her to the delicate curve of her body. There was a predatory glint in his eyes, a hunger that made me uneasy.

My mom, oblivious to his intentions, asked his name, her voice soft and warm. "Jamal," he replied, his voice soft but his eyes never leaving hers. She wished him luck, her fingers gently brushing through his hair, a gesture that would have been sweet under different circumstances. But with Jamal, it felt...off.

Then, he did something that made my blood run cold. He pulled her into a hug, mimicking the way she'd hugged me and Rahul. But there was nothing innocent about his embrace. His arms tightened around her, his chest pressed against hers. His hand lingered on her bare shoulder, his touch lingering a little too long, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her neck. He held her close, his body pressed against hers, and I could feel the heat radiating off him, a heat that seemed to singe the air around them.

My mom, startled, seemed to stiffen momentarily, but she didn't pull away immediately. Her gaze was fixed on the floor. I saw the flicker of discomfort in her eyes, a fleeting fear that was quickly masked by a polite smile.

I watched in horror as Jamal's hand slid down her back, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her spine, his touch lingering on the soft skin of her shoulder. His hand slid down to her waist and rested firmly there. His breath was warm against her ear, his voice a low murmur, "Aunty, you're so...so soft." My mom blushed hard and turned crimson red.

The hug seemed to stretch on forever, a silent battle of wills playing out between them. Finally, Jamal released her, his fingers lingering on her back for a moment longer than necessary before he pulled away. His eyes, filled with a strange mix of desire and admiration, followed her as she moved away dizzily, leaving him standing there, his gaze lingering on her retreating figure.

He was a predator, I knew it, and my mom, for all her strength and grace, was his prey. And I, helpless to stop him, could only watch in silent horror as he turned to his phone, a smirk playing on his lips, and began to record her retreating figure. "What a soft back," he muttered to himself, his voice dripping with a possessive possessiveness that made my stomach churn.

The play was over, and everyone was clapping and cheering. But I couldn't enjoy it. I was still thinking about Jamal and how he acted around my mom. It felt creepy, like he was sizing her up.

After the play, we were all hanging out backstage. My mom was getting lots of compliments, and she was happy, but I could tell she was a little nervous too. She wasn't her usual self.

I kept watching Jamal. He was talking to Aniket and Rahul, and they were laughing together. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but it felt like they were talking about my mom in a way that made me uncomfortable.

Later, I heard Jamal talking to Rahul. He said something like, "Your mom is really something, huh? So pretty and... attractive." It made me sick to my stomach.

I didn't know it then, but what they were saying was like a warning. Jamal was obsessed with my mom, and it was going to cause a lot of trouble.

[Nil12110]

Nice theme... And great start
Keep it up..... Egarly waiting for next update...

[Projectmp]

Amazing

[mvids]

Thank you for your comments. I'll post the update soon.

[bicks]

Nice Hot build up. Keep the good work up
Bicks

[Projectmp]

"Stop quoting the entire story"
Humble request to the literate folks

[xossissippi]

Very promising start! expecting great updates further. Good luck!