Manju Aunty looked at Karan, her breath slow and steady now, eyes slightly narrowed with mischief.
Manju Aunty: “Sit down for a minute.”
Karan pulled the chair closer and sat, watching her every move. She stood in front of him, hands on her hips, eyes locked with his. Slowly, with complete control, she tucked her pallu tighter and folded it around her waist again—this time deliberately, the fabric sinking into her curves, the folds pressing deep.
Then she turned slightly sideways, letting him see the smooth, oiled skin of her waist glistening just under the edge of the saree. It was almost like she had oiled it on purpose.
Manju Aunty: “Let’s see if you can control those hands of yours.”
Karan swallowed hard, fingers gripping the sides of the chair. His eyes scanned her curves helplessly, especially the crease where her hip fold met her soft belly. His breathing turned heavy. One deep breath later, he stood up—unable to resist anymore, hand moving toward her waist…
Ding-dong.
The sudden bell made both of them freeze. Aunty blinked. Karan pulled his hand back instantly.
Manju Aunty (adjusting her pallu quickly): “Wait… plumber. I had called him to fix the tap in the back room.”
She opened the door, and the plumber came in casually with his tools. He greeted her, then walked straight to the other room to work. The air was heavy with unspoken tension. Karan leaned on the wall, pretending to be calm.
Aunty walked past him slowly toward the kitchen—again, the same teasing sway in her hip. This time, Karan picked up a flat steel spatula from the table without saying a word.
As she passed, he gave her oiled waist a sudden tight slap with the spatula—smack! The sound echoed. She gasped, biting her lip, and turned to look at him with shock and something else… something wilder in her eyes.
He did it again. Smack. Her skin turned a soft red.
Manju Aunty (whispering): “Are you mad? The plumber’s here…”
Karan (low voice): “He won’t come out until he’s done. And you’re tempting me too much, Aunty.”
He slapped her waist again, slower this time, making her body shudder. Her breathing turned ragged. She didn’t stop him.
Minutes later, the plumber walked out, said the work was done, collected his money, and left.
The door shut.
Silence.
Aunty turned to Karan, eyes burning with desire now. She reached behind her back, undid her pallu, and let it fall to the floor, revealing her bare waist, curves now fully glistening.
Manju Aunty: “Now no one’s here. No more distractions. Come… enjoy what you’ve been craving.”
Karan didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the bottle of oil from the kitchen shelf, walked to her, and gently pushed her to lie back across the dining table. Her saree bunched up around her hips, exposing her smooth waist completely.
He poured the oil slowly over her waist, letting it trail down her skin. His hands followed the path, rubbing it in with slow, firm pressure.
Then—smack! He slapped her waist with his bare hand. A sharp, wet sound filled the room.
Manju Aunty (moaning softly): “Do it again…”
He did. Again and again. Her waist glistened under the ceiling light, red and slick, each slap making her hips twitch and breath deepen.
She was lost now—completely giving in.