29-09-2025, 09:24 AM
(This post was last modified: Yesterday, 12:38 AM by Mohit.Kumar. Edited 5 times in total. Edited 5 times in total.)
This story is a work of fiction. All the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this story are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters are over 18 years of age.
The fluorescent lights of Vatika Real Estate's Gurgaon office hummed with a low, persistent buzz, casting harsh shadows on the polished granite reception counter where Chaitali Ghosh fumbled with a stack of property brochures. Her thick-framed spectacles slid down her nose as she bent forward, the strained buttons of her crisp white Vatika shirt pulling taut across the generous swell of her breasts beneath a practical, beige bra. The snug black trousers hugged the wide curve of her hips and the full shelf of her backside, fabric whispering faintly with every shift of her weight as she tried to align the brochures just right. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, dampening a stray wisp of dark hair escaping her neat bun – the air conditioning battling inadequately against the late afternoon heat and the sheer effort of concentration etched on her dusky, earnest face.
Near the water cooler, a loose knot of five property brokers – Arjun, Vikram, Rohan, Deepak, and Manish – pretended to discuss client leads while their eyes remained glued to Chaitali’s bent form. Vikram, lean and perpetually smirking, nudged Arjun hard in the ribs. "Yaar Arjun, dekha tune? Saali ka gaand toh dekho, ekdum dhakka maarne wala item hai" he hissed, his voice a low, lewd rasp. "Poori reception desk hilaa degi agar ek baar chad jaaye uspe" He mimed a crude thrusting motion with his hips, drawing muffled snickers from Deepak and Rohan.
Arjun, older and paunchy, wrinkled his nose, adjusting his cheap polyester tie. "Haan, gaand toh hai moti… par chehra dekha tune? Kitni buddi lagti hai yaar," he muttered dismissively, swirling the lukewarm water in his plastic cup. "Chashma pehenti hai, aur body bhi… thoda jyada hi healthy lagti hai. Hum jaise young blood ke liye nahi hai." He took a loud slurp, his eyes briefly flicking over Chaitali’s straining shirt buttons before looking away with a bored expression.
Nearby, Deepak leaned against the wall, his gaze fixed lower. "Arre yaaron, face toh cover kar lo kisi din… but base? Dekho na uske boobs… shirt ke button toh todne wale hain ekdum" He chuckled darkly, imagining the fabric giving way. "Poori bra bhar ke rakha hai… ekdum doodh ki tanki jaisa. Haath lag jaaye toh daba ke nikal denge." His fingers twitched unconsciously.
Rohan, younger and quieter, shifted uncomfortably. The visual of the fabric straining against her full backside, hinting at the underwear beneath, held him captive.
Chaitali straightened abruptly, pushing her glasses firmly up the bridge of her nose. A sharp intake of breath pulled her shirt tighter across her chest. "Arre Baba" she exclaimed softly in Bengali, noticing a misplaced brochure. Her hips bumped the counter as she leaned sideways to retrieve it, the movement sending a visible jiggle through her ample curves beneath the taut black trousers. The unintentional display drew a collective, sharp inhalation from the group by the cooler.
Deepak’s throat went dry. "Dekho yaar," he whispered hoarsely, "usse chhedne mein kitna maza aayega... ekdum rasgulla jaisi." The image of his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of her hips, pulling her back against him, flooded his mind. He could almost feel the heat radiating from her body through the fabric. "Poori body hilaa denge hum... ek baar mauka mila toh."
Manish, usually silent, finally spoke, his voice low and thick. "Chashma utaar ke dekho... woh expressions jab dard hoga na usmein..." He trailed off, picturing Chaitali’s eyes widening behind her smudged lenses, her mouth forming a shocked ‘O’ as unfamiliar hands grabbed her. "Aur haan... kapde faadne mein toh maza hi aa jayega." The thought of buttons popping, fabric tearing to reveal the sturdy bra beneath, sent a jolt through him.
Chaitali turned towards the filing cabinet, her wide hips brushing against the drawer handle. The movement pulled her trousers impossibly tighter across the full swell of her backside, the faint outline of her cotton panties becoming momentarily visible beneath the strained fabric.
Deepak choked on his water. ".Dekha tune?" he gasped, nudging Vikram hard. "Panties ka line clear dikh raha tha... ekdum thick thighs ke beech mein jam gaya hua." His knuckles whitened around his cup. "Saali ko bend karke wahi se utha lena chahiye... poori garmi niklegi uski chut se."
Chaitali hummed softly, oblivious, as she wrestled a jammed drawer. Her bent posture stretched the black trousers into a taut canvas across her hips, the cotton underwear seam digging deep into the cleft, outlining each fleshy curve. A bead of sweat traced the dark hollow at the base of her spine before vanishing beneath the waistband. Rohan’s breath hitched—he could almost smell the humid warmth trapped beneath the fabric.
Arjun scowled, swirling his stale water. "Yaar Vikram, seriously? Itna excitement kyun? Dekho na uski kamar... ekdum moti hai," he muttered, pinching his own paunch disdainfully. "Aur yeh chashma... buddhiyon ki tarah lagti hai. Shaadi-shuda aunty hai?" He flicked a dismissive hand toward Chaitali’s straining shirt. "Doodh toh hai, par plastic ki bottle jaisa lagega chhune mein... natural nahi."
Beside him, Manish wrinkled his nose as Chaitali bent again, the waistband of her trousers digging into soft flesh. "Skin bhi dekha hai? Ekdum kala kaluta... ghar pe haldi laga ke rakhti hogi," he sneered quietly. "Saand ko chadhaoge toh bhi na chade... bas timepass ke liye thokne layak hai." He mimed a limp thrust, drawing a crude chuckle from Deepak.
Vikram’s eyes remained locked on the sweat-damp patch blooming between Chaitali’s shoulder blades. "Teri soch hi choti hai, yaar," he retorted, licking his lips. "Iske jism mein aag hai... dekho na kaise hilti hai har step mein." He watched her hips sway toward the coffee machine, the black fabric straining across each heavy cheek. "Gaand pe haath maarne mein jo sound aayegi... *thapp*... wohi bass bajega poore office mein."
Chaitali glanced up, her spectacles catching the fluorescent light as she spotted the group clustered near the water cooler. A warm, smile spread across her face. "Arre, aap logon ko thand paani chahiye?" she called out in her thick Bengali-accented Hindi, her voice carrying a friendly lilt. She walked toward them, her heels clicking on the marble floor. Each step made her hips roll gently, the taut black trousers whispering with the friction of thick thighs rubbing together. She stopped before Vikram, her ample chest rising and falling slightly with the effort.
Vikram stiffened, caught off guard by her sudden proximity. The faint scent of sweat mixed with coconut oil hit his nostrils. "Haan... haan, Didi," he stammered, his eyes darting to the damp patch darkening the armpit of her shirt. Chaitali leaned past him to grab a stack of paper cups from the cooler shelf, her breast brushing against his forearm. The unexpected warmth and softness made him flinch. "Aap logon ka meeting ho gaya kya?" she asked cheerfully, oblivious to the tension crackling around her as she handed him a cup.
Deepak stepped forward, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "Meeting toh baad mein, Didi," he purred, deliberately crowding her space. "Pehle aapka introduction hona chahiye na? Hum sab brokers hain... aapke naye colleagues."
Chaitali beamed, adjusting her slipping glasses. "Arre wah Main Chaitali Ghosh," she chirped, extending a soft, slightly damp hand toward Vikram first. Her forearm brushed against Deepak's chest as she leaned past him, the heat radiating through his shirt making his breath catch. Vikram took her hand limply, his eyes fixed on the way her shirt gaped slightly between strained buttons, revealing a sliver of beige bra strap and sweat-damp skin. Her palm felt warm and unexpectedly calloused against his smooth fingers.
"Kaafi busy lag rahe ho aaj, Didi?" Rohan interjected smoothly, stepping closer on her other side. His thigh pressed against the curve of her hip through the trouser fabric. He inhaled subtly – the scent of her exertion mingled with faded talcum powder and someg distinctly, densely feminine. "Poora din counter pe khadi rehti ho... pair dard nahi karte?" His gaze dropped meaningfully to her thick ankles straining against her sensible heels.
Chaitali laughed,"Arre Baba, kya karein? Naukri hai na" She shifted her weight, the movement causing her trouser seam to bite deeper into the cleft of her backside, momentarily outlining the full, rounded swell of each cheek and the distinct press of her panties' elastic waistband against the soft flesh above it.
Deepak's knuckles whitened around his cup. He leaned in, his breath hot near her ear. "Didi ka naam sunke hi dil khush ho gaya... Chaitali... jaise koi rasgulla ka naam ho." His gaze dropped pointedly to her chest. "Doodh peeti ho kya itni sehat ke liye?" He chuckled low, the sound vibrating near her temple.
Chaitali giggled, mistaking the crude comment for clumsy concern. "Arre Baba, doodh toh roz peeti hoon" she chirped, patting her stomach unconsciously. "Ghar se lassi bhi lati hu lunch mein... dekho?" She gestured vaguely toward her desk, utterly oblivious to Vikram's choked cough beside her.
Deepak seized the opening, his rough palm unexpectedly settling on the small of her back. "Achha? Lassi? Mujhe bhi pilaogi kya Didi?" His thumb pressed firmly into the dip above her waistband, feeling the warm give of soft flesh beneath damp polyester. The contact lingered too long, his fingers splaying possessively across her lower spine.
Chaitali merely beamed, mistaking the invasive touch for clumsy camaraderie. "Haan ji, kal se extra bottle pack karungi" Her hips swayed slightly as she turned toward the cooler, brushing against Vikram's thigh.
Vikram seized the moment. "Didi, ek baat puchni thi... aapke ghar kaunse area mein hai?" His voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur. "Hum brokers ko locality knowledge chahiye hota hai na." He exchanged a loaded glance with Deepak.
Chaitali adjusted her slipping glasses, cheeks flushed from the lingering warmth of Deepak's hand on her back. "Arre, Sector 56 mein rehti hoon... Green View Apartments," she chirped, oblivious to Rohan's gaze tracing the sweat-damp outline of her bra strap through the shirt. "Bas do bedroom flat hai... chota sa, par accha hai"
Vikram exchanged a swift, predatory glance with Deepak. Sector 56 was a modest, middle-class enclave – isolated, quiet. Perfect. "Didi, ek suggestion tha," Vikram purred, stepping closer, his polished shoe nudging her worn heel. "Aapko property market ka thoda orientation dena chahiye humlog. Clients ko handle karne mein help milegi." He gestured toward the empty conference room down the hall, its frosted glass door offering a sliver of privacy. "Five minutes? Bas baith ke thoda discuss karenge?"
"Kitna accha socha aapne Bilkul sahi" She beamed, mistaking their predatory focus for professional mentorship. "Chaliye na, meeting room mein?" She gestured eagerly, her wide hips brushing against Deepak as she turned, the fabric of her trousers straining audibly across her backside. The scent of her sweat, warm and musky, intensified in the confined space near the cooler.
Chaitali led the way, her heels clicking a staccato rhythm on the marble. Each step emphasized the heavy sway of her hips, the black trousers pulling taut over the full shelf of her buttocks with every shift. Vikram followed close behind, his gaze fixed on the damp patch darkening the seat of her pants where it clung to the deep cleft. He could almost feel the humid heat radiating from her skin, smell the intimate salt-tang mingling with coconut oil. Deepak's knuckles brushed against the small of her back, "accidentally" grazing the elastic waistband of her panties digging into soft flesh. She didn't flinch, humming a tuneless Bengali song, utterly unaware of the five pairs of eyes dissecting her every jiggle and curve.
The private meeting room swallowed them whole – cool, sterile air thick with the scent of stale coffee and dust. Chaitali gestured vaguely toward the oval table. "Baithe na sab?" she chirped, her thick Bengali accent softening the Hindi words. As she leaned forward to pull out a chair for Vikram, her strained shirt gaped dangerously between the buttons. Deepak, directly behind her, got an eyeful: the sweat-slicked valley between her heavy breasts straining against the practical beige bra, the damp fabric clinging to the deep under-curve. A low groan escaped Rohan as the taut black trousers stretched impossibly tighter across her wide hips, the fabric whispering obscenely with the movement, outlining the distinct, thick band of her cotton panties riding high.
Vikram slid into the chair Chaitali offered, his thigh deliberately brushing against hers as she straightened. "Didi, shaadi ho gayi hai?" he asked, his voice smooth as silk. His gaze lingered on the flushed skin of her neck where a stray curl stuck damply. Chaitali blinked, adjusting her spectacles. "Haan ji, 15 saal ho gaye," she replied warmly, oblivious to the predatory stillness settling over the room.
Deepak leaned back, chair creaking. "Patidev kya karte hain?" Chaitali beamed. "Bank manager hain, Sector 14 mein."
Rohan snorted softly. Vikram shot him a silencing glare before turning a saccharine smile on Chaitali. "Kitne bacche hain Didi?".
Chaitali’s expression softened, warmth spreading across her dusky cheeks. "Ek beta hai. Class 10 mein padhta hai," she murmured, fingers unconsciously tracing the worn gold of her mangalsutra beneath her shirt collar. The mention of her son made her posture soften, hips settling more comfortably against the chair edge, the taut black fabric straining where her thighs met the seat. "Bahut bright hai... maths mein top karta hai," she added proudly, unaware of Deepak's gaze dropping to the pronounced swell of her breast shifting beneath the white cotton as she breathed.
Vikram leaned forward, elbows propped on the polished table. "Patidev ko aapke job ke baare mein kya kehte hain?" His tone was deceptively light, but his knuckles whitened where they gripped the edge. Chaitali shifted, her wide hips causing the chair to groan faintly. "Bank manager hai... samajhdaar aadmi hai," she said, a flicker of unease crossing her face. "Office mein ladkiyon ka kaam... achha nahi samajhte," she admitted softly, fingers twisting the mangalsutra chain tighter. "Par mujhe zaroorat hai... ghar chalane ke liye," she added, the words catching in her throat.
Deepak seized the opening. "Didi ki zaroorat hum bhi samajh sakte hain," he murmured, his chair scbanging closer. His knee pressed deliberately against her thigh beneath the table.
"Didi tension mat lo," Deepak said. "Hum sab help karenge... personal training bhi denge." His other hand slid under the table, palm flattening against her knee, fingers inching upward along the inner seam of her trousers.
"Kal se hum regular guide karenge," "Aap chinta met karo."
"Haan Didi, hum sab broker hai na? Humari responsibility hai aapko settle karana." Rohan and Manish exchanged a loaded glance as they stood, chairs scbanging harshly. Chaitali blinked, relief softening the anxious lines around her eyes. "Dhanyavaad bhaiyya," she murmured, adjusting her slipping spectacles. "Aap logon ne dil ko thandak di." She rose, the black trousers whispering tautly across her wide hips as she smoothed her shirt, unaware of Deepak’s lingering gaze tracing the sweat-darkened outline of her bra beneath the fabric.
Vikram clapped Arjun’s shoulder too hard. "Kal subah office mein milte hai, Didi. Hum sab discuss karenge property listings... aur aapki training."
Chaitali’s smile widened, relief flooding her dusky features. "Dhanyavaad, bhaiyya Aap logon ne dil ko thandak di." As they shuffled toward the door, Deepak lingered, his gaze raking down her body—pausing at the sweat-darkened triangle between her shoulder blades, then the way her black trousers clung like a second skin to the heavy swell of her hips. "Dress code pe bhi baat karenge," he muttered, fingers twitching as if already imagining the rasp of zipper teeth. Chaitali nodded eagerly, mistaking the hunger in his eyes for earnest concern. "Ji, zaroor Main ready rahungi."
Chaitali returned to her reception counter, humming softly as she straightened brochures, her wide hips bumping the edge with each small movement. The fabric of her trousers groaned faintly across her thighs. Across the floor, Vikram leaned against a cubicle partition, watching the unconscious sway of her backside. "Kal subah," he murmured to Deepak, his voice thick. "Pehle toh uske specs utaarne hain... dekhna hai woh aankhen."
Deepak nodded, knuckles white around his phone. "Conference room lock kar denge... ekdum soundproof." He imagined Chaitali’s startled gasp muffled against the polished table, her thick thighs trembling against his hips. "Gaand pe haath maarke... ekdum laal karna hai."
Chaitali bent to retrieve a fallen pen, her black trousers straining into twin moons across her backside, the cotton panty seam digging deep into the cleft. The fluorescent light caught the damp patch darkening the fabric just below her waistband. Rohan’s breath hitched—he could almost taste the humid salt on his tongue. Manish smirked, nudging him. "Kal tak soch le... kaunsi position mein chahiye Didi ko? Bend over desk? Ya phir..." He mimed a crude thrust. "Dono ka mix... ekdum horny."
Across the room, Vikram watched Chaitali straighten, her thick thighs rubbing together with a faint whisper of polyester. Her shirt gaped open slightly as she stretched. "Gaand mein ungli daalenge pehle... ekdum," he murmured, voice thick. "Dekhenge kitna tight hai."
Arjun scowled, swirling his water. "Yaar, seriously? Uski skin... ekdum kala kaluta. Sweat mein chamak raha hai." He wrinkled his nose. "Saali ko dekh ke mood kharab ho gaya."
Chaitali hummed softly at her desk, oblivious. Her thighs rubbed together as she shifted, the damp fabric of her trousers rasping against her inner skin. A trickle of sweat traced the deep cleft of her backside before soaking into her panties. She sighed, stretching her neck—the movement pulling her shirt tight across her breasts, the wet patches beneath her arms darkening.
Near the water cooler, a loose knot of five property brokers – Arjun, Vikram, Rohan, Deepak, and Manish – pretended to discuss client leads while their eyes remained glued to Chaitali’s bent form. Vikram, lean and perpetually smirking, nudged Arjun hard in the ribs. "Yaar Arjun, dekha tune? Saali ka gaand toh dekho, ekdum dhakka maarne wala item hai" he hissed, his voice a low, lewd rasp. "Poori reception desk hilaa degi agar ek baar chad jaaye uspe" He mimed a crude thrusting motion with his hips, drawing muffled snickers from Deepak and Rohan.
Arjun, older and paunchy, wrinkled his nose, adjusting his cheap polyester tie. "Haan, gaand toh hai moti… par chehra dekha tune? Kitni buddi lagti hai yaar," he muttered dismissively, swirling the lukewarm water in his plastic cup. "Chashma pehenti hai, aur body bhi… thoda jyada hi healthy lagti hai. Hum jaise young blood ke liye nahi hai." He took a loud slurp, his eyes briefly flicking over Chaitali’s straining shirt buttons before looking away with a bored expression.
Nearby, Deepak leaned against the wall, his gaze fixed lower. "Arre yaaron, face toh cover kar lo kisi din… but base? Dekho na uske boobs… shirt ke button toh todne wale hain ekdum" He chuckled darkly, imagining the fabric giving way. "Poori bra bhar ke rakha hai… ekdum doodh ki tanki jaisa. Haath lag jaaye toh daba ke nikal denge." His fingers twitched unconsciously.
Rohan, younger and quieter, shifted uncomfortably. The visual of the fabric straining against her full backside, hinting at the underwear beneath, held him captive.
Chaitali straightened abruptly, pushing her glasses firmly up the bridge of her nose. A sharp intake of breath pulled her shirt tighter across her chest. "Arre Baba" she exclaimed softly in Bengali, noticing a misplaced brochure. Her hips bumped the counter as she leaned sideways to retrieve it, the movement sending a visible jiggle through her ample curves beneath the taut black trousers. The unintentional display drew a collective, sharp inhalation from the group by the cooler.
Deepak’s throat went dry. "Dekho yaar," he whispered hoarsely, "usse chhedne mein kitna maza aayega... ekdum rasgulla jaisi." The image of his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of her hips, pulling her back against him, flooded his mind. He could almost feel the heat radiating from her body through the fabric. "Poori body hilaa denge hum... ek baar mauka mila toh."
Manish, usually silent, finally spoke, his voice low and thick. "Chashma utaar ke dekho... woh expressions jab dard hoga na usmein..." He trailed off, picturing Chaitali’s eyes widening behind her smudged lenses, her mouth forming a shocked ‘O’ as unfamiliar hands grabbed her. "Aur haan... kapde faadne mein toh maza hi aa jayega." The thought of buttons popping, fabric tearing to reveal the sturdy bra beneath, sent a jolt through him.
Chaitali turned towards the filing cabinet, her wide hips brushing against the drawer handle. The movement pulled her trousers impossibly tighter across the full swell of her backside, the faint outline of her cotton panties becoming momentarily visible beneath the strained fabric.
Deepak choked on his water. ".Dekha tune?" he gasped, nudging Vikram hard. "Panties ka line clear dikh raha tha... ekdum thick thighs ke beech mein jam gaya hua." His knuckles whitened around his cup. "Saali ko bend karke wahi se utha lena chahiye... poori garmi niklegi uski chut se."
Chaitali hummed softly, oblivious, as she wrestled a jammed drawer. Her bent posture stretched the black trousers into a taut canvas across her hips, the cotton underwear seam digging deep into the cleft, outlining each fleshy curve. A bead of sweat traced the dark hollow at the base of her spine before vanishing beneath the waistband. Rohan’s breath hitched—he could almost smell the humid warmth trapped beneath the fabric.
Arjun scowled, swirling his stale water. "Yaar Vikram, seriously? Itna excitement kyun? Dekho na uski kamar... ekdum moti hai," he muttered, pinching his own paunch disdainfully. "Aur yeh chashma... buddhiyon ki tarah lagti hai. Shaadi-shuda aunty hai?" He flicked a dismissive hand toward Chaitali’s straining shirt. "Doodh toh hai, par plastic ki bottle jaisa lagega chhune mein... natural nahi."
Beside him, Manish wrinkled his nose as Chaitali bent again, the waistband of her trousers digging into soft flesh. "Skin bhi dekha hai? Ekdum kala kaluta... ghar pe haldi laga ke rakhti hogi," he sneered quietly. "Saand ko chadhaoge toh bhi na chade... bas timepass ke liye thokne layak hai." He mimed a limp thrust, drawing a crude chuckle from Deepak.
Vikram’s eyes remained locked on the sweat-damp patch blooming between Chaitali’s shoulder blades. "Teri soch hi choti hai, yaar," he retorted, licking his lips. "Iske jism mein aag hai... dekho na kaise hilti hai har step mein." He watched her hips sway toward the coffee machine, the black fabric straining across each heavy cheek. "Gaand pe haath maarne mein jo sound aayegi... *thapp*... wohi bass bajega poore office mein."
Chaitali glanced up, her spectacles catching the fluorescent light as she spotted the group clustered near the water cooler. A warm, smile spread across her face. "Arre, aap logon ko thand paani chahiye?" she called out in her thick Bengali-accented Hindi, her voice carrying a friendly lilt. She walked toward them, her heels clicking on the marble floor. Each step made her hips roll gently, the taut black trousers whispering with the friction of thick thighs rubbing together. She stopped before Vikram, her ample chest rising and falling slightly with the effort.
Vikram stiffened, caught off guard by her sudden proximity. The faint scent of sweat mixed with coconut oil hit his nostrils. "Haan... haan, Didi," he stammered, his eyes darting to the damp patch darkening the armpit of her shirt. Chaitali leaned past him to grab a stack of paper cups from the cooler shelf, her breast brushing against his forearm. The unexpected warmth and softness made him flinch. "Aap logon ka meeting ho gaya kya?" she asked cheerfully, oblivious to the tension crackling around her as she handed him a cup.
Deepak stepped forward, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "Meeting toh baad mein, Didi," he purred, deliberately crowding her space. "Pehle aapka introduction hona chahiye na? Hum sab brokers hain... aapke naye colleagues."
Chaitali beamed, adjusting her slipping glasses. "Arre wah Main Chaitali Ghosh," she chirped, extending a soft, slightly damp hand toward Vikram first. Her forearm brushed against Deepak's chest as she leaned past him, the heat radiating through his shirt making his breath catch. Vikram took her hand limply, his eyes fixed on the way her shirt gaped slightly between strained buttons, revealing a sliver of beige bra strap and sweat-damp skin. Her palm felt warm and unexpectedly calloused against his smooth fingers.
"Kaafi busy lag rahe ho aaj, Didi?" Rohan interjected smoothly, stepping closer on her other side. His thigh pressed against the curve of her hip through the trouser fabric. He inhaled subtly – the scent of her exertion mingled with faded talcum powder and someg distinctly, densely feminine. "Poora din counter pe khadi rehti ho... pair dard nahi karte?" His gaze dropped meaningfully to her thick ankles straining against her sensible heels.
Chaitali laughed,"Arre Baba, kya karein? Naukri hai na" She shifted her weight, the movement causing her trouser seam to bite deeper into the cleft of her backside, momentarily outlining the full, rounded swell of each cheek and the distinct press of her panties' elastic waistband against the soft flesh above it.
Deepak's knuckles whitened around his cup. He leaned in, his breath hot near her ear. "Didi ka naam sunke hi dil khush ho gaya... Chaitali... jaise koi rasgulla ka naam ho." His gaze dropped pointedly to her chest. "Doodh peeti ho kya itni sehat ke liye?" He chuckled low, the sound vibrating near her temple.
Chaitali giggled, mistaking the crude comment for clumsy concern. "Arre Baba, doodh toh roz peeti hoon" she chirped, patting her stomach unconsciously. "Ghar se lassi bhi lati hu lunch mein... dekho?" She gestured vaguely toward her desk, utterly oblivious to Vikram's choked cough beside her.
Deepak seized the opening, his rough palm unexpectedly settling on the small of her back. "Achha? Lassi? Mujhe bhi pilaogi kya Didi?" His thumb pressed firmly into the dip above her waistband, feeling the warm give of soft flesh beneath damp polyester. The contact lingered too long, his fingers splaying possessively across her lower spine.
Chaitali merely beamed, mistaking the invasive touch for clumsy camaraderie. "Haan ji, kal se extra bottle pack karungi" Her hips swayed slightly as she turned toward the cooler, brushing against Vikram's thigh.
Vikram seized the moment. "Didi, ek baat puchni thi... aapke ghar kaunse area mein hai?" His voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur. "Hum brokers ko locality knowledge chahiye hota hai na." He exchanged a loaded glance with Deepak.
Chaitali adjusted her slipping glasses, cheeks flushed from the lingering warmth of Deepak's hand on her back. "Arre, Sector 56 mein rehti hoon... Green View Apartments," she chirped, oblivious to Rohan's gaze tracing the sweat-damp outline of her bra strap through the shirt. "Bas do bedroom flat hai... chota sa, par accha hai"
Vikram exchanged a swift, predatory glance with Deepak. Sector 56 was a modest, middle-class enclave – isolated, quiet. Perfect. "Didi, ek suggestion tha," Vikram purred, stepping closer, his polished shoe nudging her worn heel. "Aapko property market ka thoda orientation dena chahiye humlog. Clients ko handle karne mein help milegi." He gestured toward the empty conference room down the hall, its frosted glass door offering a sliver of privacy. "Five minutes? Bas baith ke thoda discuss karenge?"
"Kitna accha socha aapne Bilkul sahi" She beamed, mistaking their predatory focus for professional mentorship. "Chaliye na, meeting room mein?" She gestured eagerly, her wide hips brushing against Deepak as she turned, the fabric of her trousers straining audibly across her backside. The scent of her sweat, warm and musky, intensified in the confined space near the cooler.
Chaitali led the way, her heels clicking a staccato rhythm on the marble. Each step emphasized the heavy sway of her hips, the black trousers pulling taut over the full shelf of her buttocks with every shift. Vikram followed close behind, his gaze fixed on the damp patch darkening the seat of her pants where it clung to the deep cleft. He could almost feel the humid heat radiating from her skin, smell the intimate salt-tang mingling with coconut oil. Deepak's knuckles brushed against the small of her back, "accidentally" grazing the elastic waistband of her panties digging into soft flesh. She didn't flinch, humming a tuneless Bengali song, utterly unaware of the five pairs of eyes dissecting her every jiggle and curve.
The private meeting room swallowed them whole – cool, sterile air thick with the scent of stale coffee and dust. Chaitali gestured vaguely toward the oval table. "Baithe na sab?" she chirped, her thick Bengali accent softening the Hindi words. As she leaned forward to pull out a chair for Vikram, her strained shirt gaped dangerously between the buttons. Deepak, directly behind her, got an eyeful: the sweat-slicked valley between her heavy breasts straining against the practical beige bra, the damp fabric clinging to the deep under-curve. A low groan escaped Rohan as the taut black trousers stretched impossibly tighter across her wide hips, the fabric whispering obscenely with the movement, outlining the distinct, thick band of her cotton panties riding high.
Vikram slid into the chair Chaitali offered, his thigh deliberately brushing against hers as she straightened. "Didi, shaadi ho gayi hai?" he asked, his voice smooth as silk. His gaze lingered on the flushed skin of her neck where a stray curl stuck damply. Chaitali blinked, adjusting her spectacles. "Haan ji, 15 saal ho gaye," she replied warmly, oblivious to the predatory stillness settling over the room.
Deepak leaned back, chair creaking. "Patidev kya karte hain?" Chaitali beamed. "Bank manager hain, Sector 14 mein."
Rohan snorted softly. Vikram shot him a silencing glare before turning a saccharine smile on Chaitali. "Kitne bacche hain Didi?".
Chaitali’s expression softened, warmth spreading across her dusky cheeks. "Ek beta hai. Class 10 mein padhta hai," she murmured, fingers unconsciously tracing the worn gold of her mangalsutra beneath her shirt collar. The mention of her son made her posture soften, hips settling more comfortably against the chair edge, the taut black fabric straining where her thighs met the seat. "Bahut bright hai... maths mein top karta hai," she added proudly, unaware of Deepak's gaze dropping to the pronounced swell of her breast shifting beneath the white cotton as she breathed.
Vikram leaned forward, elbows propped on the polished table. "Patidev ko aapke job ke baare mein kya kehte hain?" His tone was deceptively light, but his knuckles whitened where they gripped the edge. Chaitali shifted, her wide hips causing the chair to groan faintly. "Bank manager hai... samajhdaar aadmi hai," she said, a flicker of unease crossing her face. "Office mein ladkiyon ka kaam... achha nahi samajhte," she admitted softly, fingers twisting the mangalsutra chain tighter. "Par mujhe zaroorat hai... ghar chalane ke liye," she added, the words catching in her throat.
Deepak seized the opening. "Didi ki zaroorat hum bhi samajh sakte hain," he murmured, his chair scbanging closer. His knee pressed deliberately against her thigh beneath the table.
"Didi tension mat lo," Deepak said. "Hum sab help karenge... personal training bhi denge." His other hand slid under the table, palm flattening against her knee, fingers inching upward along the inner seam of her trousers.
"Kal se hum regular guide karenge," "Aap chinta met karo."
"Haan Didi, hum sab broker hai na? Humari responsibility hai aapko settle karana." Rohan and Manish exchanged a loaded glance as they stood, chairs scbanging harshly. Chaitali blinked, relief softening the anxious lines around her eyes. "Dhanyavaad bhaiyya," she murmured, adjusting her slipping spectacles. "Aap logon ne dil ko thandak di." She rose, the black trousers whispering tautly across her wide hips as she smoothed her shirt, unaware of Deepak’s lingering gaze tracing the sweat-darkened outline of her bra beneath the fabric.
Vikram clapped Arjun’s shoulder too hard. "Kal subah office mein milte hai, Didi. Hum sab discuss karenge property listings... aur aapki training."
Chaitali’s smile widened, relief flooding her dusky features. "Dhanyavaad, bhaiyya Aap logon ne dil ko thandak di." As they shuffled toward the door, Deepak lingered, his gaze raking down her body—pausing at the sweat-darkened triangle between her shoulder blades, then the way her black trousers clung like a second skin to the heavy swell of her hips. "Dress code pe bhi baat karenge," he muttered, fingers twitching as if already imagining the rasp of zipper teeth. Chaitali nodded eagerly, mistaking the hunger in his eyes for earnest concern. "Ji, zaroor Main ready rahungi."
Chaitali returned to her reception counter, humming softly as she straightened brochures, her wide hips bumping the edge with each small movement. The fabric of her trousers groaned faintly across her thighs. Across the floor, Vikram leaned against a cubicle partition, watching the unconscious sway of her backside. "Kal subah," he murmured to Deepak, his voice thick. "Pehle toh uske specs utaarne hain... dekhna hai woh aankhen."
Deepak nodded, knuckles white around his phone. "Conference room lock kar denge... ekdum soundproof." He imagined Chaitali’s startled gasp muffled against the polished table, her thick thighs trembling against his hips. "Gaand pe haath maarke... ekdum laal karna hai."
Chaitali bent to retrieve a fallen pen, her black trousers straining into twin moons across her backside, the cotton panty seam digging deep into the cleft. The fluorescent light caught the damp patch darkening the fabric just below her waistband. Rohan’s breath hitched—he could almost taste the humid salt on his tongue. Manish smirked, nudging him. "Kal tak soch le... kaunsi position mein chahiye Didi ko? Bend over desk? Ya phir..." He mimed a crude thrust. "Dono ka mix... ekdum horny."
Across the room, Vikram watched Chaitali straighten, her thick thighs rubbing together with a faint whisper of polyester. Her shirt gaped open slightly as she stretched. "Gaand mein ungli daalenge pehle... ekdum," he murmured, voice thick. "Dekhenge kitna tight hai."
Arjun scowled, swirling his water. "Yaar, seriously? Uski skin... ekdum kala kaluta. Sweat mein chamak raha hai." He wrinkled his nose. "Saali ko dekh ke mood kharab ho gaya."
Chaitali hummed softly at her desk, oblivious. Her thighs rubbed together as she shifted, the damp fabric of her trousers rasping against her inner skin. A trickle of sweat traced the deep cleft of her backside before soaking into her panties. She sighed, stretching her neck—the movement pulling her shirt tight across her breasts, the wet patches beneath her arms darkening.