The old assistant's voice trembled, not with age, but with an unseen wonder. "46!" he yelled, the number echoing in the small tailor shop.
The chief tailor, his hands still smoothing the fabric of another customer's garment, shot a look of disbelief. "Take the measurement correctly, you old fool," he snapped instinctively. "Else I will dock your pay, just like the Gupta ma'am fiasco."
Undeterred, the old assistant adamantly insisted, "I swear on your aunt! This is the third time, and the measurement is 46."
The chief tailor, muttering an excuse to the uninterested customer, briskly moved towards the measurement room, his voice rising with each step. "I swear, if I come there and the measurement is wrong when I tape it... You'll..."
He flung open the creaking door of the small room. The flickering bulb chose that moment to illuminate the scene fully. The sight that greeted him sent a jolt through his loins, his blood vessels inside his trousers feeling like they might burst.
Reshmi stood with both hands raised. Her black sleeveless blouse and floral red bra hung discarded on a rustic hook behind her, revealing her heavy, dusky breasts that rose and fell with each breath. At 5'11" without heels, her erect nipples were positioned directly in the poor tailor's eyeline. The ends of the measuring tape pressed firmly against them, yet her face held no trace of lust, only simmering fury. She was incensed that her regular tailor, Preeti, had absconded two weeks prior, and they hadn't even bothered to find a replacement for ladies' measurements.
"Saab, see! 46! I told you..." the old man remarked, holding up the tape.
The chief tailor waved him away impatiently. "Take the notes, old man, and see how a master works."
"Well," Reshmi retorted, her voice sharp, "the master is a miser who didn't even find a replacement. I swear, if it wasn't urgent, I'd have taken my business somewhere else."
Fighting through the sudden rush of lust, the chief forced a semblance of professionalism. "I'm really sorry, Mrs. Mitra," he said, his voice a little strained. "You have been our regular customer, and it's been a year since your last visit. Your old measurements won't work anymore, that's why I asked this fool to take fresh ones. I swear, I will hurry up, and you'll be on your merry way." He surreptitiously wiped a bead of drool from the corner of his mouth as he tightened the tape ends, his impudent fingers grazing her dark brown areolas. "Mrs. Mitra, let me know how tight you want the blouse to be."
The chief's boner was now comfortably nestled between Reshmi's saree-clad thighs. He moved with exaggerated care to avoid stepping on her fallen hem. To his dismay, she remained impassive, standing poignantly with no hint of arousal. After several adjustments, he confirmed the measurement: 46.
Reshmi noticed a wet stain blooming on the chief's trousers. She scoffed softly. "I'd better get the designer blouse within the promised two days." And she left immediately after dressing herself.
"Mrs. Mitra has changed a lot, isn't it, Master?" the frail old assistant ventured.
"A lot would be an understatement," the chief muttered, shaking his head as he made a gesture mimicking large breast cups. "How does a woman go from 36D to 38H in a year? And they didn't sag at all! It was all natural. Man! If she comes again, I will rub myself on her busty boobs."
On her way back home, Reshmi spotted the familiar group of degenerates who habitually catcalled passing women. Nothing has changed in this shithole, she thought with a sigh. Suddenly, one of them called out, "Where you going with that heavy luggage? Let us help you, sweetheart." Their lewd giggling abruptly ceased as Reshmi's knuckles connected with the delinquent's jaw, sending him sprawling onto the pavement. The chief tailor's earlier thought echoed in her mind: No. Scratch off my desires. Not worth it. The rest of the hooligans hastily helped their fallen comrade to his feet and retreated, a promise of future retaliation lingering in the air.
Reshmi's physicality and demeanor had undergone a significant transformation during her short-term project in Sydney. Her older self would have dissolved into tears at a catcall or even at the mere exposure of her body to a male tailor. Sayan, her husband, also had a demanding travel schedule, frequently spending months in Nepal and Bangladesh. He was on the verge of missing his nephew's highly anticipated wedding, the most lavish affair their ancestral home had ever seen. The quality of the room one could secure during the week leading up to the event dictated their social standing amongst the relatives. This year, the women had collectively decided to share the hall and downstairs bedrooms, leaving the men to occupy the upper floor. Reshmi had never adhered to the family's unspoken hierarchy, and she certainly wasn't keen on sharing the limited AC with ten other guests during the sleepovers. She firmly requested a folding straw-bed from her mother-in-law, along with the keys to the terrace, where she could find solitude under the night sky. Reshmi couldn't wait to escape the throng and enjoy the peace of sleeping alone. After carefully hanging the mosquito nets, she curled up within the bedsheet, welcoming the cool summer night breeze. But the thing about humid weather there was its persistence, offering no escape even in the darkest hours. Without hesitation, she unbuttoned her night pajamas, embracing the glory of the full moon. Its silvery reflection accentuated her exposed curves, making her appear as alluring as a mermaid to lost sailors in uncharted waters. The gentle breeze caressed her skin, causing her distinct areolas to tighten, her nipples hardening like pebbles. She reveled in every sensation, a familiar warmth building within her. Her soft fingers slipped easily in and out of her dark pussy, creating muffled sounds of wet slams against her skin. Reshmi's mind drifted back two decades, to the night she was deflowered just two nights before her marriage. It was a similar night, though punctuated by thunder and lightning, and she had diligently learned the art of keeping her marriage as vibrant as possible. As reality seeped back in, her fingers slowed, and she lay with her eyes wide open, reliving her sensuous time in Sydney.
Fading into the past, where she had blossomed out of her conventional cocoon, Reshmi began to succumb to night dreams. However, she was jolted out of her trance by the sound of someone opening the metal door hatch. She quickly pulled up the sheet and turned her back towards the door in a pretense of sleep. In her haste, the swift movement caused the sheet to unfurl, offering a complete view of her bubble butt. She desperately hoped the intruder would leave soon. To her dismay, the footsteps drew closer and then stopped beside her.
"Kakima, you don't have to pretend to be asleep," said Bapi, exhaling a thick cloud of cigarette smoke from his lips and nostrils. "I wish our family could look beyond the jealousy and nominate you for the ritual."
Reshmi sat up, squinting in her half-asleep state. "After what happened ten years ago, I highly doubt your mother or grandmother would even entertain the idea," she replied.
Bapi offered her a drag from his cigarette, but she declined with a nod. "Can you blame my dad for trying?" he giggled. "It's not easy hearing him moaning your name almost every night while reconciling with Mom."
Reshmi was now fully awake. She stepped out of her mosquito net, her nakedness radiant in the moonlight. Bapi's raging boner visibly acknowledged her busty presence, and he, too, seemed taken aback by her transformation. "They aren't 40 anymore, are they?"
Reshmi mouthed quietly, "46." She moved closer to Bapi. "Hug it out, groom-to-be! Don't be so formal now." The tight embrace instantly transported them back to their playful childhood, when Reshmi used to bathe him and then join him in the water.
"You know," Reshmi murmured while her hands cupped his blushing cheeks "I could literally feel the drool forming in your mouth. The ritual doesn't forbid you to taste them before it happens."
Bapi flicked away the last of his cigarette and gently tugged on Reshmi's left nipple with his tongue. His coarse lips then enveloped her distinct areola, sucking it whole while his tongue danced wildly over her erect, hard nipple. Within moments, he had to use his other hand to support the weight of her left breast, his grip tightening as little droplets of spit escaped the corner of his mouth. With a childlike enthusiasm, he continued to suckle, and Reshmi's back arched against the terrace wall. Bapi's animalistic urge surged, and he began to nibble on her slick, wet areola. His palm sank deeper into the soft flesh, sending a jolt of electricity through Reshmi's senses. She arched her back further, catching a fleeting upside-down view of the neighboring house. Bapi pulled her back towards him, concern in his eyes, and they both panted in shared excitement. His boner throbbed for more, but the unspoken rules of the household were clear. Sensing his struggle, Reshmi took his engorged cock in her hand and guided him towards the foldable bed. Bathed in the moonlight, a delicate sheen of sweat glistening on her skin, Reshmi looked like a goddess. As soon as they were inside the mosquito net, she instructed Bapi to lie down, a playful glint in her eyes. She climbed over his erect cock, pushing it gently against his abdomen, and positioned her waxed and wet pussy lips over its shaft.
"Kakima!..." Bapi exclaimed, his voice a mixture of surprise and anticipation.
Reshmi interrupted him with a soft smile. "Relax, Bapi! You won't penetrate me. But you can rub over the heaven's door." She noticed the pre-cum beginning to bead at the tip, swiped it with her index finger, and tasted it. "Your wife-to-be will be a lucky woman. Now, let's make it ready for her." Reshmi began to slide her hips, teasing him from the base of his balls to the very tip, mimicking the sensation of penetration. Bapi could hardly believe that his teenage fantasy was unfolding before him. Each slide made them forget the world outside the net, the familial boundaries, and Reshmi accelerated her rhythmic hip motions, a low moan escaping her lips.
The humid night clung to their naked skin, each bead of sweat a glistening testament to the oppressive heat. Reshmi straddled him, her ample form a warm, weighty presence against his lean body. Her wetness was immediate, a slick heat that enveloped his already erect cock. Bapi groaned, his hands instinctively reaching for her generous waist, his fingers digging into the soft folds of her skin. Reshmi moaned softly, the sound a low rumble in her chest as she began to grind against him, her movements slow and deliberate, each rotation igniting a fresh wave of desire. Her heavy boobs, unbound and gloriously free, bounced with each movement, their sheer size and softness a hypnotic spectacle for Bapi.
"Aaah, Kakima!" he gasped, his voice thick with lust. "Just like I always imagined… you naked beneath the moonlight."
Reshmi leaned forward; her dark eyes gleaming in the silvery light. "Did you, Bapi? Did you dream of me like this?" Her voice was husky, laced with a playful seductiveness that sent shivers down his spine.
"Every damn night," he confessed, his gaze fixated on the way her heavy boobs swayed, the dark circles of her areolas clearly visible. He couldn't resist any longer. Driven by an animalistic urge, his hands left her waist and lunged upwards, cupping the weighty mounds. Reshmi gasped, her movements faltering for a moment before she resumed her grinding, seemingly emboldened by his touch.
"They feel even better than I imagined," Bapi breathed, his thumbs tracing the distinct boundaries of her dark areolas, feeling the immediate hardening of her nipples beneath his touch. He squeezed gently, eliciting a sharper moan from Reshmi.
"Careful, Bapi," she warned, though her hips continued their rhythmic dance against his erection. "Remember the rules."
"I do. And that’s killing me," he muttered, his fingers now kneading the soft flesh, reveling in their yielding texture. He pulled the left boob closer, his mouth watering at the sight of the prominent nipple. Without hesitation, he latched on, his lips and tongue engulfing the hardened peak.
Reshmi cried out, her back arching as a wave of sensation coursed through her. Her hands gripped his shoulders tightly, her nails digging slightly into his skin. The rhythmic grinding of her hips intensified, a primal expression of her own building pleasure.
Bapi suckled with fervor, the taste of her a potent aphrodisiac. He moved from one boob to the other, lavishing attention on each, his hands continuing to explore her torso, tracing the curve of her ribs, the softness of her stomach. He yearned to touch the slick heat between her legs, but the unspoken boundary held him back, fueling his frustration and intensifying the pleasure of what he could do.
"Oh, Bapi," Reshmi panted, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "You always were a greedy one."
"Only for you, Kakima!" he replied, his mouth still latched onto her nipple. He pulled back slightly, his eyes filled with raw desire. "Your boobs are heaven. So soft… I could suck on them forever."
Reshmi chuckled, a throaty sound that vibrated against his lips. "And what about this?" she whispered, her hips rotating against his throbbing cock. "Doesn't this feel good too?"
"It's torture, Kakima" he groaned, his teeth gritting. "Pure, exquisite torture. Knowing I can't bury myself inside you while you grind on me like this…"
"Patience, Bapi," she purred, leaning down to nuzzle his neck. Her heavy breasts brushed against his chest, the sensation sending another jolt of desire through him. "Sometimes, the wanting is the best part."
He reached up, his hands cupping her plump cheeks, his thumbs stroking the smooth skin. "You're a tease, Kakima."
"And you love it," she retorted, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She leaned down further, her lips hovering inches from his. "Don't you?"
He didn't need to answer. His hard cock, pressed firmly against her wet folds, spoke volumes. He tightened his grip on her boobs, squeezing them firmly as she resumed her grinding, the friction building to a fever pitch. He could feel her slickness coating his shaft, a tantalizing reminder of what lay just beyond his reach.
"Faster," he urged, his voice hoarse. "Grind faster."
She obliged, her movements becoming more frantic, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her heavy breasts bounced wildly, and Bapi tightened his hold, reveling in the feel of them in his hands, the taste of her on his lips. He slapped her soft mounds playfully, the sound echoing in the humid night air, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from her.
"You like that, don't you?" he growled, his voice thick with primal desire.
"Yes," she moaned, her head thrown back, her dusky skin flushed with passion. "Don't stop."
The rhythmic grinding continued, a desperate dance against the frustrating barrier of their self-imposed restraint. Bapi's breath hitched, his body tensing as the wave of release washed over him. He groaned, a guttural sound ripped from his throat, and his pent-up cum erupted, a hot, thick stream that coated his belly. He shuddered, his body convulsing as the last drops spilled forth.
The air hung thick with the scent of their mingled sweat and arousal. Reshmi, her own breath ragged, slowed her movements, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks of their shared intensity. The tension that had crackled between them began to dissipate, replaced by a heavy exhaustion.
"Damn," Bapi breathed, his voice hoarse, a sheen of sweat coating his skin. "That was… intense."
Reshmi chuckled softly "Indeed."
The humid night air offered little relief from the sticky residue of their passion. They decided to end their nocturnal rendezvous, their bodies heavy with spent energy. Turning to each other, they settled into a close embrace, a silent acknowledgement of the intimacy they had shared. Bapi, his lips still tingling from the taste of her, instinctively sought the comfort of her breast, his mouth latching onto her nipple like a newborn seeking solace. Reshmi, her own body still warm and yielding, cradled his head in her hands, her fingers gently stroking his hair.
The gentle suckling, a primal rhythm in the stillness of the night, lulled them into a state of drowsy contentment. The exhaustion of their shared passion, the heat of the night, and the closeness of their bodies conspired to weave a spell of deep, dreamless sleep.
DeviKamasutra 
Not a "simple" housewife
Not a "simple" housewife
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