The student’s eyes widened, and Sonia “dropped” her purse, bending slowly to retrieve it. The saree hiked up, revealing her thigh and a hint of her bare hip, no panties to shield her. He moved closer, his voice low. “Need help, ma’am?” His fingers brushed her arm as he handed her the purse, then lingered on her midriff, tracing the curve where the saree tucked in. Sonia’s breath hitched, her skin electric under his touch. She glanced at Rohan’s car, knowing he was watching, his arousal mirroring hers.
“Careful,” she whispered, leaning forward to let her blouse gape, her breasts nearly spilling out. His hand slid to her hip, bold now, his fingers grazing the bare skin above her saree’s waistband. The crowd was oblivious, but the risk of being seen—by anyone but Rohan—sent her heart pounding. The bus screeched to a stop, and she boarded, her body buzzing. Inside, an older man, maybe 40, pressed against her in the packed aisle, his hand sliding along her bare midriff, then lower, brushing where her saree clung to her ass. Sonia leaned into him, letting his fingers explore, her eyes half-closed with pleasure. She stepped off at her stop, her legs trembling, the stranger’s touch lingering like a brand.
That afternoon, Sonia attended a parent-teacher meeting at Arjun and Nia’s school, her craving unquenched. She chose a sheer crimson saree with silver sequins, the fabric shimmering like liquid fire, paired with a noodle-strap white blouse that barely covered her 34DD breasts. The blouse’s deep scoop neckline left little to the imagination, her nipples faintly visible, no bra or panties to dull the risk. Her hair was in a loose bun, tendrils escaping to frame her face, her kohl-rimmed eyes and red lipstick amplifying her allure.
In the classroom, she leaned over to discuss Arjun’s math grades with Mrs. Sharma, a stern teacher in her 50s. The pallu slipped, exposing her blouse’s neckline, her breasts straining against the fabric. A father across the table, balding and flustered, stared openly, his pen frozen mid-air. Sonia adjusted slowly, her fingers brushing the saree to prolong the exposure, her core tightening at his gaze. Mr. Rao, a young teacher in his late 20s, approached with a file, his eyes lingering on her cleavage. “You’re… quite noticeable today, Mrs. Sonia,” he said, his voice thick. She smiled, crossing her legs to let the saree ride up, flashing her thigh and a hint of her bare hip.
During a break, Sonia stood by the water cooler, “spilling” water on her saree. She dabbed it with a napkin, pulling the pallu aside to reveal her blouse fully, her breasts bouncing as she moved. A group of fathers and a teenage volunteer, maybe 16, gasped, their eyes wide. Sonia laughed it off, her heart racing, knowing Arjun and Nia were in the corridor, giggling at her antics. “Mom’s showing off again,” Arjun said to Nia, who nodded, unfazed. Sonia ruffled their hair, her body alive with the thrill of being seen.
The next morning, Tuesday, Sonia visited her neighbor, Mrs. Gupta, to borrow sugar, still in her black camisole, its thin straps and loose fit ending at her ass cheeks. Her 34DD breasts bounced freely, nipples visible through the sheer fabric, no panties leaving her exposed. Mrs. Gupta, a chatty woman in her 40s, welcomed her into the living room, where her teenage son, Aryan, 17, sat doing homework. Sonia leaned against the counter, the camisole riding up to reveal her bare hips, her breasts swaying as she chatted about the weather.