This story is inspired by something I witnessed recently. It got me so worked up, I couldn’t exorcise it until I “wrote” this. And before you ask, no, none of the characters are based on me. I think the non-horny part of your brain can probably guess where the “largely a true story” part ends and where the “complete fiction” begins. I say “wrote” because I had an AI generate it, and then I revised it.
Some context: Sohini is about to get married. She’s getting dressed for the big day, and has just put on her “blouse.” In traditional Indian attire, the blouse is often basically just an ornate bra. It’s paired with another garment which is draped over the chest to hide the cleavage.
The blouse fabric was stiffer than Sohini expected, the gold-thread embroidery scratching faintly against her nipples as she adjusted the mirror’s angle. Her fingers hesitated near the plunging neckline—too much skin, too little coverage—but wedding tradition demanded this ornate glorified bra called a “blouse”. At least she’d have a cloth to drape over her chest when she went out and got married. Outside, the clock chimed, marking the hour before her groom would arrive. She exhaled, watching her perky and full c-cup breasts rise with the movement. The blouse was designed to cover the minimum amount required. It didn’t help that it didn’t seem to fit quite right. It warped and created pockets that flashed the cinnamon brown swells and curves beneath. But maybe that’s how it was supposed to be, Sohini mused, since no one would see the blouse’s neckline anyways, covered as it would be by the draping cloth.
Robert’s knuckles rapped the dressing room doorframe twice before he shouldered his way in, camera straps crisscrossing his chest like bandoliers. His gaze dropped instantly, lingering where the blouse gaped slightly at her sternum, revealing a shadowed dip between her breasts. Sohini’s hands flew up instinctively, fingers splaying over the plunging neckline. "You’re early," she said, voice wavering. The words weren’t an accusation—just a fact, delivered with the polite confusion of someone who’d never seen a bridal “getting ready” photoshoot.
He didn’t apologize. Instead, Robert lifted his Nikon with practiced ease, the lens extending like a predator’s focus. "Gorgeous lighting in here," he murmured, though his attention wasn’t on the window’s glow. The blouse shuddered with each breath she took, the edge of her dark cocoa left areola barely visible at the embroidered neckline of the blouse. Sohini shifted her weight, the silk of her petticoat whispering against her thighs. She felt uncomfortable, but didn’t know to demand he leave - after all, she was paying a pretty penny for this photographer.
“Do, um, do we want to do pictures now? For the pictures of me getting ready? Or should we wait later, um…when I’ve put more on?” Sohini asked hesitantly. Robert smiled a little too widely as he said, “no, this is good. We’ll get some really amazing shots of you getting ready. Then later we’ll do fully dressed shots. It’s what we usually do.”
Robert’s thumb hovered over the shutter button. His pulse thudded in his throat. The bride was a fucking dream—dark cinnamon brown skin flushed warm under the dressing room’s bulbs, her nervous fingers still tangled in the neckline she couldn’t quite fix. He zoomed in subtly, framing the shot just so: the way one nipple threatened to escape the embroidered edge if she moved wrong. "Relax," he lied, smiling. "This is totally normal. Let’s do some shots of you putting on earrings."
Sohini hesitated, then dropped her hands—slowly—to pick up a golden jhumka from the vanity. The earrings dangled between her fingers, catching light in delicate filigree patterns. "Just... like this?" she asked, tilting her head to fasten one. The movement pulled her blouse across her chest, warping the stiff and poorly fit fabric just enough to reveal the retroussè curve of her pert left breast. Robert snapped three shots in rapid succession, the camera’s shutter clicking like a hungry tongue. "Perfect," he breathed. "Now the other one."
She obeyed, unaware of how the angle exposed the faint sheen of sweat along her ample cleavage. The second earring trembled as she lifted it—Robert could see the tiny tremors in her wrist, the way her breath hitched when she caught his reflection watching her. His jeans grew uncomfortably tight. The blouse ended well above her navel, flaunting a toned, dark caramel waist. He adjusted the lens manually, focusing on the moment her tongue darted out to wet her lips in concentration.
The dresser’s edge dug into Sohini’s thigh as she leaned forward slightly, trying to see the earring’s clasp in the mirror. Robert shifted his stance, blocking the door with his body as he captured it all: the accidental gaping neckline, the way her nipples hardened under the scratchy embroidery, the flustered little gasp when she realized how much skin she was showing and still didn’t tell him to stop.
"Actually," Robert said, voice smooth as silk, "there’s a shot I think would be perfect—all my clients love it. Could you write something for your groom? A note, maybe?" He gestured to the vanity’s writing station, already moving a chair out for her. Sohini blinked, then nodded—too trusting, too eager to please—and bent over the desk with pen in hand. The misshapen blouse bent and plunged obscenely as she leaned forward, her perky right breast swaying loose inside the warped cup like ripe fruit waiting to be plucked.
Robert’s pulse hammered in his throat as he framed the shot: her cleavage spilled forward like melted caramel, the gold embroidery barely containing the swell of her tits. He zoomed in until he could see every goosebump rising on her skin, the way her nipples pebbled against the fabric when his camera whirred too close. "Hold that pose," he murmured, though she hadn’t been posing at all—just trembling, pen hovering over parchment, unaware of how her submission fueled his hunger.
The shutter clicked again, capturing the moment her tongue darted out nervously. Robert’s fingers tightened on the camera. He could already taste the salt of her sweat, imagine the heat of her skin if he "accidentally" brushed against her while "adjusting the lighting." Sohini shifted her weight, and the blouse surrendered another inch, the embroidery straining over her nipple like a gilded cage.
"Do I—" Sohini’s voice cracked as she glanced down at herself, her fingers fluttering over the exposed slope of her breast. "Does this look alright? The tailor said it would fit better." Robert set the camera down slowly, his palms slick with anticipation. "Let me help," he murmured, stepping closer. His knuckles grazed her collarbone as he tugged the fabric upward—a performative gesture that only dragged the neckline tighter across her nipples, making them jut against the gold thread. "There," he lied, his thumb lingering near her areola. "Perfect."
She exhaled, unaware of how his gaze dropped to her chest—to the way her breasts heaved with each shallow breath, the blouse now so misplaced the top edges of both dark chocolate areolas peaked out. Robert’s pulse throbbed in his groin as he traced the embroidery’s edge with one finger, pretending to smooth a wrinkle. The pad of his thumb brushed her nipple through the fabric, and Sohini gasped—but didn’t pull away. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, the silk of her petticoat whispering against her dampening skin.
Robert adjusted the strap next, his fingers lingering where it bit into her shoulder. He could feel the heat radiating from her, smell the jasmine oil in her hair as he leaned in, ostensibly to inspect the fit. His other hand "slipped," grazing the side of her breast, and Sohini shuddered—but still didn’t protest. The camera lay forgotten on the dresser, its lens fogged with the humidity of her breathless anticipation. Robert’s voice dropped to a whisper. "You’re stunning," he said, and this time, he wasn’t talking about the blouse.
Sohini’s cheeks darkened, her grip tightening on the vanity’s edge. “Really?” she asked, blushing.
“The most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen - truly” came the reply. “I’ve never seen a bride as… put together as you, you really look exceptionally gorgeous.”
Sohini blushed and smiled to herself as she lowered her gaze. Robert seized the moment, thumbing the loose laces at her back. "But honestly?" He sighed, shaking his head like a disappointed artist. "This fabric doesn’t do you justice. The groom should see the real you—natural. Raw." His fingers traced her spine, pausing at the knot holding her together. "Let’s try a shot without it first, yeah? Artistic. Just for the album."
She hesitated, but his hands were already moving—slow, professional—undoing the laces with deliberate care. The blouse sagged forward, and Sohini clutched it reflexively, palming her nipples through the now unsupported cloth. Robert’s breath hitched. "Trust me," he murmured, guiding her hands away. The silk slithered down her arms, pooling at her wrists like melted gold. The camera’s flash caught the exact moment her breasts sprang free, her areolas puckering in the sudden cool air. She rushed to cover them.
Robert framed the shot perfectly: her arms crossed over her chest, fingers digging into her own flesh, the flush creeping down to her collarbones. "Now," he coaxed, stepping closer, "pick it up again—slowly. Show me—the groom—how a bride gets dressed." His lens focused on her trembling hands as they lifted the blouse, the gold thread catching the light just before it brushed her nipples. Sohini’s breath stuttered, her thighs pressing tighter together as the embroidery scraped over her sensitive skin. Robert zoomed in, capturing every twitch, every shiver—the way her body betrayed her even as she tried to hide.
The blouse slipped from her fingers halfway up, straps falling back to the crook of her elbow, the concave empty cups dangling at her navel. Robert exhaled sharply through his nose, adjusting his stance to keep the shot steady. "Again," he ordered, voice rough. This time, he reached out to "help," his fingers grazing her wrist as she lifted the fabric—guiding her hand to deliberately drag the rough embroidery across her nipple. Sohini whimpered, her hips jerking forward instinctively. Robert caught it all: the way her back arched, her mouth falling open, the wet spot blooming on her petticoat.
"Almost there," he lied, stepping closer so his thigh brushed hers. His free hand settled on her waist, thumb pressing into the dip above her hipbone. Sohini trembled but kept lifting the blouse—higher now, past her collarbones—until Robert made a soft, approving noise. "Wait—that angle." The blouse now was higher than it was designed for, and the cups stretched as they cradled the undersides of her breasts. Her breasts were squeezed together and pushed upwards, the mahogany nipples pointing accusatorially at Robert as he captured their picture.
“Okay, now lower,” Robert instructed. Sohini complied, lowering the cups until they barely clung to her smooth mocha mounds. “Stop,” Robert commanded. Robert tilted her chin up with two fingers, using the motion to subtly nudge her elbows wider apart. The stiff blouse warped and gaped open, exposing her fully. The camera shutter clicked mercilessly, capturing every twitch of her nipples in the air-conditioned chill.
His hands slid lower under the pretense of "adjusting the fit," palms skimming the underside of her breasts. Robert pressed upward slightly, testing the weight—then squeezed, just enough to make her gasp. "For symmetry," he muttered, kneading her flesh into position. “Makes for better pictures.”
His thumbs circled her nipples slowly, the puckered areolas catching on his calluses. Sohini's knees buckled; Robert caught her against his chest, feeling her rapid heartbeat through his shirt. The strap of his camera dug into her bare shoulder before he angled for the next shot: her left breast cupped in his hand, the right one exposed freely, its pert swell beckoning a male touch.
"Last one," Robert whispered, though he had no intention of stopping. He shifted his grip, rolling her nipples between his fingers until they darkened to deep cocoa. The camera captured that too—her eyelids fluttering, her breath coming in sharp little pants. Robert watched, transfixed, as a drop of sweat trailed down her sternum and disappeared between her breasts.
He reached out again—supposedly to help—but instead palmed her fully, his fingers sinking into the plush warmth. They were perfection: the weight just heavy enough to spill over his grip, the nipples stiffening instantly under his touch. Her skin tasted like sandalwood when he ducked his head to lick, his tongue circling her right areola while his thumb rolled the left. The camera dangled forgotten from his wrist, lens smudged with her essence.
Sohini whimpered when he bit down on the stiff chocolate nub—not hard, just enough to make her hips jerk forward. Robert groaned into her cleavage, inhaling the heady mix of jasmine and salt. He could die here, smothered between these tits, and consider it a life well-lived. His thumbs traced the undersides reverently, memorizing every dip and swell. "Christ," he muttered against her flesh. "You were made for this."
The blouse slipped to the floor again as Robert backed her against the vanity, his mouth never leaving her skin, his throat sucking the supple flesh as far into his mouth as possible. His knee nudged her thighs apart while his hands kneaded her supple coffee-colored breasts rhythmically, squeezing in time with her shallow breaths. The vanity mirror fogged with each ragged exhale Sohini released, her reflection flickering between panic and helpless arousal. Robert didn't care which won—so long as she kept arching into his touch like a fucking dream.
Robert released her left breast from his mouth with a wet pop. Sohini moaned. He pinched her nipples sharply between thumb and forefinger, relishing the way her whole body jerked. The gold embroidery had left faint marks across her chocolate areolas, crisscrossing like ceremonial bindings. Robert dragged his tongue over them slowly, tasting salt and metallic thread residue. "Fuck," he muttered against her sternum, thumbs pressing deep into the yielding flesh until her tits bulged around his fingers. They were perfect: warm as a woman’s love, soft as a dream, yet firm enough to bounce back the second he released them.
Sohini gasped when he suddenly lifted both breasts toward his face , cupping the swell of their undersides, pressing them together around his nose. Her nipples brushed his cheekbones as he inhaled deeply—jasmine oil, bridal sweat, and the unmistakable musk of a woman already wet for him. Robert groaned, rolling his head side to side to feel every inch against his stubble. The camera swung from his elbow, lens bumping against her hipbone with each movement. He didn't give a shit if it broke—not when he could bury himself in this decadent Indian flesh forever.
"Eva Green’s got nothing on these," Robert slurred into her cleavage, punctuating each word with a bite. His teeth sunk easily into the yielding tit-flesh, leaving dark brown crescents along the pristine mahogany skin as Sohini's breathing hitched. She whimpered when he suddenly sucked one entire areola and then some into his mouth, her nipple scraping against his palate as his tongue worked it roughly. The other got the same treatment—Robert alternating between them like a man starved, his grip bruisingly tight where he held her waist still.
Sohini's back arched sharply when his knee pressed higher between her thighs, the silk petticoat riding up until the damp fabric clung to her shaved skin. "Please—" she gasped, then froze as the word registered. Robert grinned against her right tit, releasing it with a wet pop to trace the vein throbbing beneath its skin with his tongue. "Please what, princess?" He pinched both nipples simultaneously, twisting just enough to make her cry out. The camera swung wildly from his wrist, its strap tangled in her bangles.
Her own hands finally moved—not to push him away, but to fist in his hair as Robert dropped to his knees. The blouse hung open around her waist like a gilded frame as he buried his face between her thighs, inhaling deeply before dragging his tongue through slick folds. Sohini's knees trembled; Robert held them apart with calloused palms, his thumbs pressing into the dimples above her knees. "Fuck," he muttered against her clit, the vibration making her jolt. "You taste like saffron and sin."
Robert didn't ask permission before standing abruptly and flipping her onto the vanity, scattering cosmetics as he hiked her petticoat up around her hips. The mirror reflected her stunned expression—lips parted, eyes glazed—as he positioned himself behind her without ceremony. One hand fisted in her hair while the other guided his cock along her soaked slit, smearing her arousal in thick streaks. "Say it. Say what you need," he growled, thrusting home in one brutal motion. Sohini shrieked, words beyond her whorish mind. Her nails gouged the vanity's wood as Robert set a punishing pace, his hips slapping against her ass with each snap forward.
Her ample breasts swung wildly beneath her, the weight of them pulling deliciously with every thrust. Robert released her hair to grope them greedily, squeezing hard enough to make her sob. He pinched her nipples in time with his strokes—twisting, pulling—until they stood dark and swollen against her flushed cinnamon skin. Droplets of sweat rolled down the valley between her tits, past where Robert's thumbs pressed deep into yielding flesh, until they flew off the ends of the rippling mounds. "Fucking perfect," he snarled, watching in the fogged mirror as her tits bounced violently, the dark brown areolas puckered tight from his rough treatment.
Sohini's moans turned shrill when Robert suddenly bent her over further, wrenching her arms behind her back to use as leverage. The new angle made her breasts sway even more obscenely, loudly slapping against each other with each brutal thrust. Robert's grip on her wrists kept her arched painfully, her caramel tits presented like offerings—round and full and glistening with sweat. He slapped her right breast without warning, the unsuspecting mammary rippling and swinging wildly from the impact. "Look at yourself," he commanded, forcing her chin up toward the mirror. Her reflection showed ruined makeup, swollen lips, a reddening right udder, a bite-marked left udder, and the wet, glistening mess between her legs where he pistoned in and out.
The orgasm hit her suddenly—back bowing, thighs quaking, breasts shuddering—as Robert's relentless pace finally tipped her over the edge. He didn't slow, using her convulsing cunt to milk his own release moments later. Hot spurts painted her inner walls as he ground deep, his hands returning to her abused tits to knead them through the aftershocks. Panting, he rested his forehead between her shoulder blades—still gripping her breasts possessively, the cinnamon flesh bulging from his fingers—as their combined fluids dripped onto the scattered bridal jewelry below.
Robert pulled out with a wet plop, his softening cock dragging along her swollen folds. Sohini shuddered, still slumped over the vanity with her blouse hanging open and petticoat hiked up around her waist. The mirror reflected her wrecked form—mascara smudged, lipstick kissed away, angry red marks on her breasts where Robert had gripped her. "I’ve never done this before," she said softly, voice hoarse, fingers trembling as she reached to adjust her ruined garments. Her dark eyes flicked to the discarded camera. "But I’m guessing we should probably finish the photoshoot so I can go and get married."
Robert smirked, palming himself lazily as he watched her attempt to restore order—his cum leaking down her inner thigh when she shifted. "Yeah, probably," he agreed, though his gaze lingered on the bite marks purpling along the undersides of her breasts. He lifted the camera strap from where it had tangled around her bangles, deliberately grazing her nipple with his knuckles as he did so. Sohini inhaled sharply but didn't pull away—her body still thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure mingled with guilt.
Adjusting the lens with practiced ease, Robert framed her disheveled reflection in the viewfinder—the blouse hanging around her midriff, her nipples still hard from his attentions. "Tilt your chin up," he instructed, waiting until she obeyed to snap the shot. The shutter clicked, capturing the exact moment Sohini's tongue darted out to wet her swollen lips—her expression caught between bridal demureness and carnal knowledge. Robert exhaled through his nose, already feeling himself stir again at the dichotomy.
Finally, he let her cover herself. Sohini fumbled with the blouse, accidentally putting her breast through the armhole twice. He zoomed in on her trembling fingers as they attempted to retie the blouse's laces, the gold thread catching the light just before it obscured her perfect breasts once more.
The scent of jasmine and sex clung to the air as Sohini bent to retrieve a fallen bangle, her petticoat still dampened between her thighs. Robert admired the way her ass strained against the silk when she moved, the fabric clinging to every curve like a second skin. "Eyes down," he ordered, snapping another shot when she complied—her lashes casting shadows across cheeks still flushed from exertion.
Outside, the distant sound of wedding drums grew louder—the groom's procession nearing. Sohini's eyes flicked toward the window, her body tensing as reality intruded. Robert didn't lower the camera. Instead, he captured every micro-expression—the way her throat worked as she swallowed, how her fingers twitched toward the bite marks, now hidden after she draped the traditional cloth over her blouse. Modesty maintained, as far as the outside world knew. Fully dressed in bridal attire, she looked jaw-droppingly gorgeous—gold jewelry, ornate embroidery, and vivid colors elegantly hiding the lusty curves underneath. The shutter clicked again just as she inhaled—preserving forever the moment before she stepped back into her role as blushing bride.