P1: Me in cab with 3 men

I settled into my lower berth by the window, the gentle rocking of the train already lulling me as it pulled out of Gurgaon station. The afternoon sun filtered through the glass, warming my skin. At just 5 feet tall, I had to adjust the thin pillow behind my back to sit comfortably, my legs tucked up slightly on the seat. My C-cup breasts pressed softly against the fabric of my simple white kurti as I leaned back, and I absentmindedly smoothed down the material over my 34-24-34 figure. The train's rhythmic clatter filled the air, mixing with the low hum of conversations from other passengers.

I stared out at the passing fields and villages blurring by, my mind wandering. It was mid-2026, and I had only graduated a few months ago from my engineering college in Hyderabad. Those four years felt like a whirlwind—late-night study sessions, group projects that sometimes turned into fun outings, and the constant pressure to excel. Now here I was, heading back to Hyderabad for a job interview at a mid-sized tech firm. My family back in Gurgaon had been supportive about the trip, but their not-so-subtle hints about marriage lingered in my head. "You're 22 now, Pamini. Good boys from our community are waiting," my mom had said just last night while packing my bag. I didn't have a boyfriend, never really had time for one during college, and the thought of settling down already made my stomach twist. I wanted to build my career first, stand on my own feet. That's why this interview mattered so much.

My fingers traced the edge of the window sill as the train picked up speed. I shifted my weight, crossing my ankles, feeling the slight bounce of the berth beneath me. The compartment wasn't too crowded— a middle-aged couple across from me, a few students further down. I pulled out my phone to review the company details one more time, but my thoughts kept drifting. The way my hips swayed when I walked, the soft curve of my waist that always drew a second glance despite my petite frame... I wondered if looking professional tomorrow would be enough. I had chosen a modest salwar suit for the interview, but right now, in my travel clothes, I felt relaxed, the dupatta loosely draped over my chest.

Hours passed in that comfortable haze. I dozed off for a bit, waking to the vendor's calls for chai and samosas. I bought a cup, sipping it slowly, the hot liquid warming my hands as I held the paper cup between my palms. The landscape changed from dusty plains to greener stretches as we neared Hyderabad. My excitement mixed with nervousness—I imagined acing the technical round, landing an offer, proving to my family that I could do this on my own terms.

Finally, the train slowed, announcements crackling over the speakers. I gathered my small bag, standing up carefully in the narrow space, my short height making me reach up on tiptoes to pull down my luggage from the rack. The motion stretched my body, my curves shifting under the kurti as I balanced myself against the berth. The platform came into view, bustling with people, and I stepped off onto the station, the familiar humid Hyderabad air hitting me as I joined the crowd heading toward the exit.

---

I stepped out of the auto-rickshaw near my friend’s apartment in the city after the long train ride the previous day, my body still aching from the journey. My friend, Priya, had welcomed me warmly, letting me crash at her place for a couple of nights. We chatted late into the evening about old college memories, but sleep came quickly—tomorrow’s interview loomed. The company was on the outskirts, a solid two-hour journey from the heart of Hyderabad. I was already annoyed just thinking about it as I woke up early, dressed in my crisp salwar suit that hugged my petite 5-foot frame, the fabric draping over my 34-24-34 curves. The dupatta felt slightly restrictive in the growing morning heat.

The cab ride there was bumpy and slow, traffic crawling as we left the city behind. By the time I reached the office gates, sweat was already starting to bead on my skin. The security guard checked my ID and appointment letter carefully, scanning them before nodding me through. Inside, I walked another half kilometer across the sprawling campus—my short legs making each step feel longer, my hips swaying slightly with the effort, the material of my kameez clinging lightly to my lower back.

The interview itself went decently. It lasted about thirty minutes in a quiet conference room. The two panelists asked sharp technical questions about my projects and coding experience. I answered clearly, my voice steady despite the nerves, sitting straight in the chair with my hands folded in my lap, feeling the soft press of my C-cup breasts against the fabric as I breathed. They smiled at the end, saying, “We’ll let you know about the next steps soon. Thanks for coming.” I thanked them politely and left the building, a small wave of relief washing over me.

Outside, the real frustration hit. Ola and Uber showed no cars nearby—hardly surprising in this remote area. I sighed deeply, slinging my bag over my shoulder, and started walking toward the main street half a kilometer away. The sun beat down mercilessly. With every step, sweat built up. My forehead glistened, droplets tracing down my neck and slipping between my breasts, soaking into the bra beneath. The salwar suit stuck to my body now, the thin fabric outlining the curve of my waist and the swell of my hips. My thighs rubbed together slightly under the pants, damp and warm. I could feel the back of my kameez plastered to my skin, tracing the line of my spine down to my lower back. My short height made the walk feel even more exhausting, my feet aching in my simple flats.

I paused midway, pulling out my water bottle from the bag. I drank deeply, the cool liquid soothing my throat, then poured some over my face and neck without hesitation. No makeup to ruin anyway. Water trickled down my cheeks, over my collarbones, and disappeared into the damp valley between my breasts, offering a brief, refreshing chill against my overheated skin. I wiped my face with the edge of my dupatta and kept walking, waving at passing cabs that ignored me completely.

Finally, near the main road, I spotted a cab parked on the side. The window was open, and inside, a man was reclining in the driver’s seat with a newspaper spread over his face, apparently resting. He looked relaxed, one arm draped casually. I hesitated only a second before approaching, my drenched clothes making me self-conscious as the fabric clung even more noticeably to my petite figure.

“Excuse me,” I said, my voice a bit breathless from the walk, leaning slightly toward the open window. “Will you be able to drive me to somewhere near where I can stay?”

---
I stood there by the open window, feeling the heat radiating off the road, my salwar suit clinging heavily to my damp skin. The man lowered the newspaper from his face and looked at me. His eyes didn’t stay on my face for long. They dropped straight to my chest, lingering on the way my soaked kameez had turned nearly transparent over my breasts. I could feel his gaze tracing the outline of my C-cups, the darker shade of my nipples faintly visible through the wet fabric. His eyes flicked down to my thighs too, where the material stuck to my skin, outlining their shape. A flush of heat—different from the sun—crept up my neck.

He sat up a little, a slow smile forming. “Sure, miss. Come, sit in the front seat here,” he said, patting the passenger seat beside him. “I just finished my meal and was resting. Give me ten more minutes and we’ll leave.”

I didn’t have much choice. No other cabs were in sight, and the sun was merciless. I opened the door and slid into the front seat, keeping my bag on my lap at first. The seat was warm. As I settled, my wet clothes pressed against the upholstery, making everything feel even stickier. My breasts rose and fell with each breath, the damp fabric shifting slightly and making the outline of my nipples more obvious.

He started the AC but kept it low, asking questions as the minutes ticked by. “Where are you coming from? Interview? What do you do?” Then they turned personal. “Do you have a boyfriend?” His eyes kept drifting back to my chest, watching the way my body moved when I shifted uncomfortably. I answered briefly, trying to stay polite, but my annoyance was building.

I caught my reflection in the side mirror and froze. Oh god. The wet white kameez had become almost see-through. My nipples were clearly visible—small, dark brown circles pressing against the fabric, the shape of my breasts fully outlined. I quickly crossed my arms over my chest, trying to cover myself, my palms pressing softly against the soft, damp mounds. He noticed immediately and grinned, a lazy, knowing smile that made my stomach tighten with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

“Why don’t you have any makeup on?” he asked casually, still glancing over. “Haven’t seen a girl without it in almost two years.”

“I don’t usually wear much,” I muttered, adjusting my dupatta, which was also damp and not helping much.

He leaned back, eyes roaming again. “Btw miss, for a beauty like you, you don’t need makeup though.” His voice dropped a bit. “Those reddish-pink lips… they look so natural.” Then, without any hesitation, he added, “And I’d say around 36D cup, right?”

My face burned. I corrected him quickly, voice small, “34C actually…” The words slipped out before I could stop them. Mortified, I hid my face in my palms, elbows resting on my bag, trying to shrink into the seat. My heart was racing, a confusing mix of irritation and strange awareness of how my body felt—sweaty, exposed, breasts heavy under my hands.

He chuckled softly but didn’t push further. After a few more minutes of awkward silence broken by light comments, he finally said, “Okay miss, go sit in the back seat. We’ll go and find you somewhere to stay.”

I nodded quickly, grabbing my bag and stepping out. As I moved to the back, I felt his eyes follow me again, watching the sway of my hips and the cling of the wet fabric to my ass and thighs. I climbed into the rear seat, pulling the door shut, still covering my chest with my arms as the cab started moving.

---

I shifted uncomfortably in the back seat as the cab started moving, still trying to keep my arms crossed over my damp chest. The AC was cooling the air, but my clothes remained stuck to my skin, the thin fabric outlining every curve of my 5-foot frame. My nipples were still faintly visible, and I could feel the cool air making them tighten slightly against the material.

The driver pulled out his phone and called someone, speaking quickly in a language I didn’t understand—maybe Telugu or something local. His tone was casual, but he glanced at me in the rearview mirror a few times. A few minutes later, he stopped the cab near a busy street lined with small shops. “Wait here, miss,” he said, stepping out. He returned shortly with some packets of food—samosas and cold drinks—offering me one. I took a sip of the drink, grateful for the coolness, but declined the food, my stomach still knotted from the heat and embarrassment.

As he started driving again, he asked over his shoulder, “Is it okay if I call my friends to travel with us? They are going the same way.”

I hesitated, not really knowing why he was asking or what else to say. I was already relying on him as my only ride. “Um… okay,” I replied softly, my voice uncertain.

About five minutes later, the cab slowed down again. Two tall, muscular men with thick beards approached from the side of the road. They looked strong—broad shoulders, arms filling out their shirts, the kind of build that made them tower over my petite height. They opened the back doors, one sliding in on my left and the other on my right, sandwiching me between them. The seat felt much smaller now. I was squeezed in the middle, my 34-24-34 figure looking tiny compared to their solid frames. My thighs pressed against theirs through the damp salwar pants, and my shoulders brushed their arms.

I managed a small, polite smile. They smiled back, one with a nod, the other murmuring a greeting. The cab moved forward again, and we started talking lightly—mostly them asking about my interview and where I was staying. Their voices were deep, friendly at first.

The road soon turned bad, full of potholes and uneven patches. Every bump made the cab jolt. My body bounced with the motion, my C-cup breasts jiggling noticeably under the still-damp kameez. The fabric clung and shifted with each movement, rubbing against my sensitive nipples. I tried to steady myself by holding onto the seat in front, but the confined space made it hard. My left thigh kept brushing against the man on that side, and my right shoulder pressed into the other whenever we hit a deeper pothole. The heat from their bodies mixed with mine, making me even more aware of how sweaty and exposed I still felt.

One of them chuckled lightly after a bigger bump. “Roads are terrible here,” he said, his arm grazing mine as he adjusted. My breasts bounced again, the soft, heavy motion impossible to hide in the tight squeeze between them. I could feel their occasional glances, the warmth of their presence on both sides making the back seat feel smaller and warmer than before.

---

I sat squeezed tightly between the two muscular men, their broad shoulders and thick thighs pressing against my petite body with every movement of the cab. The conversation flowed casually at first, but it quickly turned more personal. The man on my right, with a neatly trimmed beard and deep voice, asked, “So, a beautiful girl like you must have a boyfriend waiting back in Gurgaon, right?” I shook my head, feeling my damp hair brush my neck. The man on my left smiled, his arm resting along the back of the seat behind me. “No boyfriend? Hard to believe. You’re so pretty… those natural reddish-pink lips and this figure…” His eyes dropped briefly to my chest, where my still-damp kameez clung transparently to my C-cup breasts.

The road grew worse, full of deep potholes. The cab bounced harder, jolting us repeatedly. My breasts bounced openly with each impact, the soft flesh jiggling heavily under the thin, wet fabric. My nipples, already hardened from the AC and constant friction, rubbed against the material, sending little sparks through me. I tried to brace myself, but my short frame made it difficult. Their bodies stayed pressed close—my outer thighs rubbing against theirs, my shoulders brushing their arms. One of them reached out casually during a big bump, his hand lightly steadying my shoulder. “Careful,” he murmured.

Then, without warning, a cyclist lost balance right in front of us and fell. The driver slammed on the brakes hard. The cab lurched forward violently. I was thrown toward the front seat, my body jolting uncontrollably. Before I could hit anything, a strong hand from the right shot out and grabbed my right breast firmly, pulling me back into the seat. His large palm cupped the soft, heavy mound completely, fingers spreading over the damp fabric. Instead of letting go immediately, he adjusted his grip—my hardened nipple sliding right between his first and middle finger. He gave a deliberate, slow squeeze, the pressure sending a sharp jolt of sensation through my breast, pinching the sensitive peak gently but firmly.

I gasped, my face flushing hot. He finally pulled his hand away, murmuring, “Sorry, miss… I didn’t want you to get hurt.” His voice was low, almost casual.

The driver was busy scolding the cyclist outside, shouting in the local language and waving his hands. The man on my right leaned back, a small smile playing on his lips. “You’re really soft,” he said quietly, almost to himself, but loud enough for us to hear. His eyes lingered on my chest, where my right breast still tingled from his touch, the nipple visibly stiff and prominent through the fabric.

The man on my left turned his head, looking jealous. “Really?” he asked, his tone half-teasing, half-curious. “That soft?” He glanced down at my body, then back at my face. “Lucky guy… I would have liked to check too.”

I sat there embarrassed, arms crossed again, but the tight space made it hard to hide much. My heart was racing, a confusing mix of shock, lingering sensation, and the heat of their bodies on both sides. The conversation continued in a low, flowing way—they asked more about my college days, complimented my “innocent yet attractive” look without makeup, and joked lightly about how small and cute I looked between them. Another couple of smaller bumps made my breasts bounce again, drawing more subtle glances. The left man’s hand rested casually on the seat near my thigh, occasionally brushing it as the cab rocked.

After a minute or two, the driver finished dealing with the cyclist, got back in, muttered something about reckless riders, and started driving again. The cab moved forward once more, the three of us still pressed close in the back seat.

---
I sat there between the two muscular men, still feeling the lingering tingle on my right breast from the sudden grab earlier. The cab continued down the bumpy road, my body rocking gently with each smaller jolt, making my damp C-cup breasts bounce softly in the confined space. The conversation, which had been light and complimentary, slowly shifted into more intimate territory.

The man on my right, still smiling from before, leaned in a little closer, his deep voice low. “So tell us, miss… what’s your body count? A girl as pretty as you must have some experience.”

I felt my cheeks burn. I looked down at my hands, which were fidgeting in my lap. “I… I’m a virgin,” I admitted quietly, my voice barely above the hum of the engine.

Both men exchanged a quick glance, then the right one chuckled softly. “Virgin? At your age? You’re missing out on so much fun. The pleasure, the touches, the way a body can feel when it’s properly explored…” The left man nodded, his arm still resting behind me. “Exactly. A beauty like you with this petite figure—those soft curves, that tiny waist, and these full breasts… you deserve to know how good it can feel. No boyfriend means no one has even shown you yet? That’s almost a shame.”

They kept talking in that flowing, teasing way, asking more questions—how I felt about sex, if I had ever touched myself, what kind of things I fantasized about. Their words made my skin feel hotter, a strange mix of embarrassment and curiosity stirring inside me. The road bumps continued, causing my thighs to press repeatedly against theirs and my breasts to jiggle noticeably, the wet fabric doing nothing to hide the shape of my hardened nipples.

Then the man on my left turned toward me more directly. “Miss, if you don’t mind… can I feel your boobs? Just for a moment. They look so soft.”

I blinked, heart racing. “No,” I said quickly at first, shrinking back a little between them. But he asked again gently, his eyes sincere yet hungry, “Please? I promise I’ll be careful.” Something in the moment—the heat, the closeness, the earlier touch, their compliments—made me hesitate. After a few seconds, I whispered, barely believing myself, “Yes… okay.”

His large hand moved slowly, sliding under my crossed arms and cupping my left breast through the damp kameez. His palm was warm and firm, gently squeezing the soft flesh. He kneaded it slowly, thumb brushing over my nipple in small circles. The sensation was intense—my nipple stiffened further between his fingers, sending warm waves through my chest. I let out a small, shaky breath, my body tensing then relaxing slightly in the tight seat.

The man on my right watched, then joined in without asking. His hand came up to my right breast, massaging it more boldly. His fingers focused on my nipple, rolling it gently between his thumb and forefinger, pinching and tugging lightly. The dual attention made my breasts feel heavier, more sensitive, the fabric sliding wetly over my skin with every movement of their hands.

“Hey… what are you doing?” I murmured, my voice breathy and uncertain, though I didn’t push their hands away.

The right man leaned in closer, his beard brushing my shoulder lightly as he continued massaging and playing with my nipple. “It will feel good, just enjoy,” he said softly, his voice reassuring. “Relax… let us make you feel nice after that long, hot day.”

Their hands kept moving—squeezing, caressing, teasing my sensitive peaks—while the cab rocked along the road, pressing us even closer together. My breathing had grown a little heavier, a confusing warmth building between my thighs as I sat trapped between their strong bodies.

---

I sat squeezed between them, my breathing quick and shallow as their hands continued exploring my breasts through the damp fabric. The man on the right kept rolling my nipple between his fingers, pinching and tugging with just enough pressure to send sparks down my spine, while the left man’s palm kneaded the soft, heavy flesh of my left breast, squeezing in slow, rhythmic motions. Their touch was confident, warm against my cool, sweaty skin.

“Such perfect tits for a small girl,” the right man murmured, his voice low and husky. “So soft and full… 34C feels exactly right in my hand.” The left one added, his fingers slipping under the edge of my kameez, brushing bare skin. “You’re getting wetter down there too, aren’t you, virgin? Your body is responding so nicely.” More talk flowed between them—compliments about how my petite frame looked trapped between their muscular bodies, how my reddish-pink lips parted with each gasp, how they wanted to show me all the pleasure I had missed.

My heart was racing wildly. I felt overwhelmed, embarrassed, yet a growing heat pooled between my thighs with every touch and word. The right man reached forward and pulled out a dark sunscreen sheet from the side pocket, quickly sticking it over the rear windows and the back of the front seats. The cab interior became much more private, the outside world completely blocked out. “Now no one can see inside,” he said with a grin. “It’s fine… just relax and enjoy.”

The road bumps continued lightly, making my body jostle against theirs. The right man’s fingers found the thread holding my salwar kameez together at the side. He loosened it slowly, then pulled the top upward. I felt the wet fabric slide up my belly, over my ribs, and pool near my neck, exposing my torso completely. Cool AC air hit my damp skin, making me shiver. Before I could react much, the left man reached behind me, his strong fingers unclasping my bra with practiced ease. He pulled it off completely, tossing it aside. My bare C-cup breasts bounced free in the cold air, nipples stiff and dark brown, standing out prominently on my petite chest.

“Oh god…” I whispered, my arms instinctively moving to cover them, but the right man gently pulled my hands away, pinning them lightly against my sides with his stronger grip.

They both leaned in. The left man cupped my left breast from below, lifting it slightly as his mouth descended. His warm, wet tongue circled my nipple slowly before he took it fully into his mouth, sucking deeply. The right man did the same on the other side at the same time—both of them sucking my breasts simultaneously. Their beards brushed against my soft skin, adding a rough contrast to the wet heat of their mouths.

The sensation was intense. I could feel their tongues flicking and swirling around my sensitive nipples, lips pulling and sucking with rhythmic pressure. My left nipple was drawn deep into the left man’s mouth, his teeth grazing lightly while he kneaded the flesh around it. On the right, the suction was stronger, sending sharp, electric pleasure straight down to my core with every pull. My breasts felt fuller, heavier, tingling all over as they worked both sides at once. The cold AC air mixed with their hot mouths created a maddening contrast, making my nipples throb and ache deliciously. Soft, involuntary moans escaped my lips as my back arched slightly, pushing my chest toward them. Their free hands roamed— one stroking my exposed belly, the other sliding down toward my thigh, brushing the waistband of my salwar pants suggestively.

I was lost in the dual sensations, heart pounding, body trembling between their strong frames as the cab continued moving.

I moaned softly, my body trembling between the two strong men as they continued sucking my bare breasts with increasing hunger. Their tongues swirled around my sensitive nipples, lips pulling and sucking deeply, sending waves of unfamiliar pleasure through me. My C-cup breasts felt swollen and wet from their saliva, nipples throbbing with every tug.

The man on my right slid his large hand down my belly, his fingers slipping under the waistband of my salwar pants and panties in one smooth motion. I gasped as his thick fingers found my pussy. I was already wet — wetter than I had ever been. He rubbed my swollen clit in slow circles, then gently parted my slick folds, sliding one finger inside me. The sensation was overwhelming. Something deep inside my core started twisting and tightening with every stroke.

“Ahh…” I whimpered, my hips twitching involuntarily.

The left man lifted his mouth from my breast just enough to kiss me. His beard brushed my cheek as his lips captured mine in a deep, hungry kiss. His tongue pushed into my mouth, exploring, while his hand continued massaging and pinching my left nipple. The right man kept fingering me, now adding a second thick finger, stretching me gently while his thumb rubbed my clit faster. The twisting feeling inside me grew stronger, like a coil winding tighter and tighter in my lower belly. My virgin pussy clenched around his fingers, juices coating his hand as unfamiliar pleasure flooded my body.

“You’re so tight and wet,” the right man murmured against my breast before sucking harder. “Your little virgin pussy is sucking my fingers so greedily.”

The left man broke the kiss, breathing heavily. “First time feeling this, right? Just let it build… you’re going to cum soon.” His fingers joined in, one hand still on my breast while the other reached down to spread my thighs wider, giving his friend better access.

I was lost. My petite body shook between their muscular frames. The car kept moving, but all I could focus on was the relentless fingering, the wet sounds coming from between my legs, and the twisting, building pressure inside me. My moans grew louder, breathy, and desperate. Something was about to break —

The cab finally slowed down and came to a stop. I blinked, dazed, my bare breasts heaving, pussy still throbbing around the right man’s fingers.

The driver turned around with a smirk. “We’ve reached. This is my house,” he said, pointing to a modest single-story house on a quiet side street. “I want to give it on rent. You can stay here tonight… if you want.”

I sat there panting as they finally pulled their hands away from my body. My pussy felt empty and aching, still throbbing from their fingers. The twisting sensation inside me slowly faded, leaving me frustrated and needy. I quickly pulled my kameez down, adjusting my bra and clothes with shaky hands, my face burning with embarrassment. The men helped me straighten my dupatta, their touches lingering a little longer than necessary.

We stepped out of the cab. The evening air felt cooler on my still-flushed skin. The driver — whose name I learned was Rajesh — led us toward a modest single-story house with a small garden in front. “This is my place,” he said proudly. “I’ve been thinking of renting it out. Come, I’ll give you a tour.”

I followed them inside, trying to pay attention as he showed me the living room, small kitchen, and two bedrooms. But my mind was elsewhere. My pussy still felt wet and swollen, my nipples sensitive against my bra. Every step made my thighs rub together, sending little sparks through me. *What is wrong with me?* I thought. I was half-listening to Rajesh explaining about the rent and facilities, nodding absently while my body craved more of those intense feelings. I wanted someone’s fingers back on my clit, back inside me. The ache between my legs was becoming unbearable.

After the short tour, the three men glanced at each other. “We’ll take a quick shower,” Rajesh said with a casual smile. “Make yourself comfortable.”

I nodded and sat on the edge of the bed in one of the bedrooms, my heart still racing. The moment they disappeared into the bathroom, my hand moved almost on its own. I leaned back against the pillows, pulled my salwar pants and panties down to my knees, and slipped my fingers between my slick folds. I was soaking wet. I rubbed my swollen clit in quick circles, then pushed two fingers inside my tight virgin pussy, trying to recreate what they had done to me earlier. Soft moans escaped my lips as that twisting pleasure started building again. My other hand squeezed my breast through my clothes, pinching my nipple. I closed my eyes, lost in the sensation, hips gently rocking against my own hand.

I didn’t hear the bathroom door open.

Suddenly, all three men stood there — Rajesh (the driver) and his two muscular friends — wearing only towels wrapped low around their waists. Their strong, wet bodies glistened under the light. They froze for a second, staring at me with my hand buried between my spread thighs, fingers still moving inside my pussy.

“Oh my my…” the man who had been on my right earlier said with a wide grin, his eyes dark with lust. “You are this horny already? You should have asked us, baby. We would have helped you feel even better.”

I froze, mortified, my fingers still buried deep inside me, my face burning red as I looked at their half-naked, muscular bodies.

AUTHOR NOTE : SORRY IT WAS A LONG ONE BUT YAH NEEDED TO ESTABLISH THE SCENARIO. BUT COMMENT DOWN HOW IS IT. AND SUGGEST SOME THINGS TOO. PLEASE COMMENT DOWN IT HELPS.