Back home, Sonia straddled Rohan on the couch, her camisole hiked up, her breasts spilling out, her clit glistening. She recounted the stairwell fuck, Mr. Rao’s thrusts, the stockboy’s fingers, every detail explicit, her voice dripping with lust. Rohan’s hands gripped her ass, his cock hard against her. “You’re my fucking whore,” he growled, pulling her onto him, her pussy wet as she rode him, their rhythm fueled by her sins. “Tomorrow,” he said, mid-thrust, “the train again. Two guys. Make it public. I’ll watch.”
Sonia nodded, her orgasm crashing through her, the kids asleep, the neighbors unaware, her craving endless. Priya’s threat lingered, but it was just another thrill, another edge to dance on.
The morning after the Diwali festival, Sunday, Sonia woke with her body still thrumming from the stairwell encounter and the school closet tryst. The apartment was alive with the usual chaos—Arjun and Nia arguing over cartoons, their acceptance of their mother’s nudist ways as unshakable as ever. Sonia slipped into a white camisole, its thin spaghetti straps and sheer fabric clinging to her 34DD breasts, nipples pressing hard against the cotton, the hem ending just at her ass cheeks. No panties left her bare, her vaginal hair trimmed into a sharp arrow pointing to her swollen, visible clitoris, glistening with her constant arousal. The sleeveless armholes gaped, revealing the full side curves of her breasts, nearly popping out as she stretched, her armpits exposed and adding to the raw vulnerability of her look.
Rohan sat at the kitchen table, his eyes dark with hunger as he sipped coffee. “Last night was fucking filthy,” he said, his voice low, recalling the delivery boy’s thrusts on the stairs, Mr. Rao’s pounding in the school closet, and the supermarket stockboy’s fingers. “You let them all have you, my whore.” His jeans were tight, his arousal evident. “Today’s dare is dirtier. The train to the city center. Pick two guys, fuck them both, and walk back to me with their cum on your face and pussy. I’ll clean you up—lick every drop—before I fuck you.”
Sonia’s core clenched, her clit throbbing at the depravity. “You want me marked,” she whispered, straddling him, the camisole riding up to expose her bare ass and the arrow of hair, her clit brushing his thigh. Her breasts bounced, spilling out through the armholes, nipples grazing his chest. “I’ll give you a story you’ll never forget.”
Arjun burst in, Nia trailing. “Mom, you’re naked again,” he said, grinning, unfazed by her exposed body. Nia giggled, “Mom’s always like that!” Sonia laughed, tugging the camisole down, though it barely covered her clit, visible as she stood. “Go play, kids,” she said, ruffling their hair, her heart racing at the normalcy of their acceptance.
By 10 AM, Sonia was on a crowded train to the city center, wearing a sheer emerald green saree with gold zari, the fabric so thin it hugged her curves like liquid, her 34DD breasts outlined, nipples faintly visible through the sleeveless red blouse. The blouse’s string ties barely held her breasts, the deep neckline gaping with every move. No bra or panties left her pussy exposed beneath the saree, her trimmed arrow and clit visible as she walked, the fabric shifting with each step. Rohan’s car would be waiting outside the station, his eyes on her.
The train swayed, packed with commuters and students. Sonia stood near a pole, the breeze from an open window tugging her pallu, revealing her blouse’s neckline. Two young men, maybe 21, in casual tees, caught her eye, their gazes hungry as they stared at her exposed midriff and the arrow of hair peeking through the saree. She smiled, letting the pallu slip further, her breasts straining against the blouse, nipples hard and obvious.