It all started with ragging

The first office party after our marriage was a big annual event at Rohan’s IT company in Bangalore — a lavish rooftop gathering at a 5-star hotel with open bar, live music, and almost the entire team plus spouses. Rohan had been excited for weeks. “This time my Rani is coming as my real wife,” he told me while fucking me the night before, his hands roughly kneading my full C-cup breasts. “And you’re going to look like the hottest woman there.”
I spent the whole day preparing. I chose a deep emerald green chiffon saree with a thin gold border — the kind that clung to every curve and turned slightly transparent under bright lights. The matching low-cut blouse was backless, with just a few hooks and a deep plunging neckline that put my real cleavage on full display. No bra. My breasts were now sensitive enough that even the soft fabric made my nipples harden. I did my makeup dramatically: winged kohl, bold red lipstick, a big bindi, and long wavy hair extensions that fell over one shoulder. Gold jhumkas, bangles, and a thin mangalsutra completed the look of a newlywed traditional wife.
Rohan couldn’t keep his hands off me in the car. He kept sliding his palm under my pallu, pinching my nipples until I was squirming and leaking a little from the special pills he made me take.
At the party, heads turned the moment we entered. Rohan walked tall, his arm possessively around my waist, introducing me as “Aparna, my wife.” His colleagues — mostly men in their late 20s and 30s — stared openly at my chest and the way the saree hugged my widened hips. A few of the senior guys who had been Rohan’s batchmates gave knowing smirks, as if they suspected something.
Rohan made me drink wine even though I was nervous. After a couple of glasses, I was glowing. He pulled me to the dance floor for a slow couple song. While everyone watched, he pressed me close, his hard bulge rubbing against me through the thin saree. His hand boldly cupped my ass, fingers digging into the flesh while he whispered, “They all want to fuck you, jaanu. But you’re mine.”
Later, when the party got louder and people were drunk, Rohan dragged me to a dimly lit corner near the pool. He pushed me against a pillar, yanking my pallu down so my breasts nearly spilled out. “These tits are killing me all night,” he growled, bending to suck hard on one nipple right there, risking anyone seeing. I moaned softly, biting my lip, my hands in his hair.
One of his close teammates, Arjun, walked by and froze for a second, catching a glimpse of my exposed breast before Rohan casually covered me. Instead of getting angry, Rohan smirked and said, “Want a better look later?” Arjun laughed nervously but didn’t say no.
The real fun started after midnight when many had left. Rohan took me to one of the reserved poolside cabanas. He made me kneel on the cushions in my saree, pallu completely off, blouse hooks open. My heavy breasts hung free as I sucked him deep, red lipstick smearing on his cock while the distant music played. Then he bent me over, hiked up the saree and petticoat, and fucked me hard from behind, my tits swinging and slapping with every thrust. I had to bite the pallu to muffle my moans.
Halfway through, Arjun appeared at the entrance. Rohan didn’t stop. “Watch how my wife takes it,” he said proudly, pounding me deeper. Arjun stroked himself while staring at my bouncing breasts and flushed face. Rohan finally came inside me with a groan, then made me turn around and show Arjun my leaking, well-fucked pussy and cum-covered tits.
That night set the tone for our married life in Bangalore. From then on, every office party became an opportunity for Rohan to show off his perfectly feminized, big-breasted wife — dressed in the sexiest sarees, used in corners and cabanas, and occasionally shared with his most trusted friends.
When we got home at dawn, he fucked me again in the same ruined emerald saree, whispering how proud he was of his Rani.
“Next party, maybe I’ll let them touch these real tits,” he said, squeezing them possessively.
I shivered, already wet at the thought.