Ankita, Miss. Fortune Ch. 01

We're done with the flashback.

Back to the present now--where choices matter, and consequences don't wait.

This is part 3 in Ankita's Adventures series. Ankita's not the same girl anymore.

Misfortune? She's done with it.

This time, she'll be Miss. Fortune instead.

I

Since the accident with Ajay and Rishabh, life had shifted in ways Ankita hadn't fully processed. She had graduated with distinction, secured a spot in a postgraduate programme, and even landed a winter internship in her first year itself. Academically, things were progressing well.

And in other areas of her life, things had taken an interesting turn.

Since confiding in Zoya about the episodes with Chirag and Eashan, and later with Ajay and Rishabh, Ankita had been trying to figure out what she truly wanted from her experiences. Zoya, ever curious, had been more than willing to help her explore those questions.

At first, Ankita recalled the thrill of surrendering to the moment, or in the case of Chirag and Eashan, naively following instructions. But the more she reflected, the more she realised how exposed, rather than empowered, those moments had left her feeling. The cons, she concluded, far outweighed the pros.

She couldn't keep waiting for things to fall into place. She was done with that. She wasn't waiting for accidents anymore; she would orchestrate them.

She preferred to take the initiative, to steer the moment with intent, while still leaving just enough room for the unexpected to slip in and shake her world.

On a still Sunday morning, Ankita lay in bed, the sheet a whisper against her bare skin, her body warm from sleep, her thoughts drifting back to the moment that decision had quietly taken root.

It was a month ago, when the girls were looking for a cook for their apartment. Ankita had begun receiving cheeky texts from Zoya whenever a male cook came by to inquire.

Zoya: Talking to a male cook. You can come outside wearing whatever you want... or don't want.

Ankita would giggle but still step out fully and decently dressed. But once they finalised the cook--the one who could make both the tastiest Jain meals and the creamiest Italian--Ankita slowly began revealing her true colours.

It started innocently enough. One morning she opened the door for him in just her bathrobe.

"Good morning, bhaiya!" she'd chirp, turning on her heel with a swift little spin. The robe, which barely skimmed past her mid-thigh, would flare up just enough to flash a bit more than intended or so it would seem. "I've laid out the ingredients for today. You can get started. I just got out of the shower. I'll change and be right back."

The truth was, while Ankita did have a habit of bathing early, her showers were actually far too early to coincide with the cook's arrival. She would always be wearing her inners underneath, but she kept up the illusion of a freshly bathed girl caught mid-transition, letting him imagine she was naked under the robe. That imagination was part of her performance.

A few minutes later, she would reappear, dressed in her usual cottons--soft, comfy, casual--skipping along as she always did. Over the course of weeks, the routine evolved. The robe stayed on longer. Bit by bit, the length of her tops and the height of her pants began to shrink--just enough to gaslight the man into believing she had always dressed like that. Eventually, it came down to Ankita roaming around him in nothing but panties and a crop top. It wasn't just the physical exposure that thrilled her, it was the knowledge that she was deciding when and how to reveal more.

And she made sure he knew it was a privilege. If someone rang the doorbell while the cook was around, Ankita would casually pull on a pair of lounge pants before answering it--always in full view. A quiet little reminder that what he saw, others didn't.

It worked even better than she'd imagined. His leaves became rare. The food got better. Homemade dal tasted like a reward. And to top it off, she could practise her craft leisurely.

Zoya, caught up in her own schedule, wouldn't be home when the cook arrived. So, every evening, Ankita would recount what she wore and how he reacted.

The night she first stepped out of her room wearing nothing but her crop top and panties, Zoya had barely taken two bites before raising an eyebrow and blurting, "Seriously? Just your top and panties? Nothing else?"

"Yep," Ankita replied, matter-of-factly. "I mean, I did have my bra on. Going braless is still a couple of days away. You see, the booty shorts could only carry me so far, and I didn't have any shorter T-shirts that wouldn't cross the line I've set. So, this seemed like the next logical step."

She leaned in, conspiratorially.

"And these new boy-short style panties I got? Zoya, they're unreal. So soft. So... sinfully ass-hugging. I can't even begin to describe how good they feel."

Ankita didn't need to add any extra drama to her stories for Zoya--her reactions were just as intense even without any cinematic flair. But sometimes, she just couldn't help it.

"So, how did he react?" Zoya had asked, barely containing her excitement.

"His jaw dropped when I came outside. And when I turned around and walked away, I heard an audible groan."

They had burst into laughter at his completely predictable response.

Zoya paused, her fingers lightly tapping against the table. She looked like she was debating something, her brows furrowed just enough for Ankita to notice.

"Ankita?" she started, hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"Is there any... um..." Zoya trailed off, exhaling sharply as if she had changed her mind halfway through speaking. But then, shaking her head slightly, she pushed forward. "Can I ask you something?"

Ankita looked at her with piqued interest. "Of course."

Zoya hesitated again, this time rubbing her palms together as if warming herself up for the question. "Okay! So... I've seen you in just a bra a couple of times--you know, when you're holding your shirt in your hand, searching for the iron." She spoke carefully, almost thinking through her words in real-time.

"But I just realised... I've never seen you in just your panties."

She let the words settle in the air before quickly adding, "Not that I'm, like, keeping track or anything--just something I noticed." She let out a small, awkward laugh, brushing a hand through her hair. "I mean, it's kind of funny, right? You're totally fine dressing like that around the cook, but not around me?"

She tried to keep her tone playful, even laughed a little, but she had to know Ankita would pick up on the curiosity laced underneath.

Ankita locked eyes with Zoya as she pushed her chair back and stood up. Brushing away the breadcrumbs clinging to her fingers, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts. Without a word, she bent at the waist, sliding them down her legs in one slow, fluid motion before stepping out of them.

Zoya slowly blinked. The rest of her was frozen--caught off guard--but her eyes, they were already betraying her. Ankita could see Zoya's gaze taking in the smooth skin of her long legs, right up to the cute, sexy boy-short panties. No one spoke a word. Ankita sat down and both began eating. Not long after, she asked Zoya, "You want more rice?"

Zoya nodded, trying not to choke on the water she was drinking. Ankita calmly got up, took Zoya's plate along with her own, and walked back to the kitchen counter where the extra rice was.

And as soon as she turned and walked away, she heard the familiar groan--the same sound she had heard earlier that morning. She knew what had happened. Instead of turning completely around, she just turned her head over her shoulder, still showing off her ass to Zoya. With her eyebrows raised high and lips curled into a teasing smile, she looked directly at the stunned girl.

"I didn't... I didn't mean it, Ankita," Zoya mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's just--the way your ass moved, and your hips, and your thighs--God, I didn't mean to... to make that noise."

She paused, eyes wide. "I mean--I wasn't trying to! It just sort of... happened."

"You know my eyes are up here, right?" Ankita teased the poor girl who was still talking to her ass. Zoya quickly shifted her gaze.

"I am sorry."

"Don't be. It would've been insulting if you'd reacted in any other way." Ankita replied, not turning around. Her bare legs and boy-short panties still very much on display, her teasing smile unchanged.

After staying that way for another moment, she turned and served the rice.

Ankita returned and sat back down beside Zoya, still radiating that teasing glow but allowing the air between them to settle a little.

Zoya, clearly eager to move the focus away from her flustered reaction, cleared her throat. "So..." she began, stirring the food with her spoon like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. "How are things at college? Made any new friends?"

Her tone was casual--but not just casual. There was a soft lilt to it, a subtle weight beneath the words that didn't escape Ankita's notice.

Ankita raised an eyebrow, caught the layered question immediately, and replied with her usual blend of candour and cheek. "I've made some decent friends. They're good people. I've only just gotten comfortable with the group. I haven't had time to get comfortable with them," she said, shooting a look that made Zoya squirm.

"Let's see... We've had drinks at Darsh's place a couple of times, but even then--other than your usual downblouse--I haven't really hit it off."

Zoya had laughed again. That was almost a month ago.

Ankita smiled at the memory, hearing Zoya's half-choked laughter in her head as clearly as if it had just happened.

She glanced at the time. The morning light had grown brighter, casting long streaks of gold across her bed. Her phone alarm buzzed faintly on the side table, but she ignored it, sinking back into the pillow. Somehow, that memory had lingered--more than the teasing, more than the skin or the stolen glances--it was that stunned, almost reverent look on Zoya's face that returned to her now.

Another day was waiting to unfold, and even though it was a Sunday, the cook would still be coming on time. And this time, Zoya would be there to witness the magic. The thought sent a small thrill through Ankita's body as she squirmed slightly on the bed, her mind already wandering through the possibilities of what could unfold today. And especially what happened last night, she wanted to see if she can push it futher.

Just as she was slowly rolling onto her side, the doorbell rang.

Ankita sat up straight and crossed her legs on the bed. In one smooth motion, she slipped her hands under her T-shirt, fingers finding the clasp of her bra with practiced ease. A quick flick, and the tension disappeared as the straps loosened around her shoulders. She eased them down her arms, the fabric dragging lightly against her skin, teasing as it slid past her elbows. With a familiar manoeuvre, she pulled the bra out through one sleeve and tossed it aside.

The sudden freedom sent a shiver through her--her breasts settling naturally, the cool air grazing her skin. She felt the shift immediately, the way her nipples tightened in response, sensitive and aware. Rolling her shoulders, she took in the quiet thrill of it before hopping off the bed and striding towards the door.

This is it. Today is the day.

II

As Ankita opened her bedroom door, her excitement evaporated. Zoya stood near the entrance, hugging her boyfriend Nikhil. Ankita blinked, then quietly closed the door and stepped back into her room.

Without much interest, she took off her crop top, put on a bra, then a proper T-shirt, pulled on her pyjama pants, and walked out--feeling completely ordinary.

Just as she was about to say hello to the couple, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," she said.

It was the cook.

He looked at her from head to toe. She caught it, that little flicker of disappointment in his eyes. And strangely enough, it hurt more than she expected.

"Arey! Nikhil-baba is here?" he said, recovering quickly. "Let's make something special for him--South Indian breakfast, just the way he likes."

That had become their new pattern. For nearly a month now, ever since Zoya had officially gotten together with Nikhil, his visits had grown more frequent. Which, on paper, was no big deal. But Ankita had just made up her mind: it was time. Time to open the door for the cook wearing nothing but a T-shirt and panties. Braless. And to stay that way--or, if the mood struck, maybe even undress a little more.

But every time she planned to do it, Nikhil showed up instead. Like he had some sixth sense.

And Ankita knew the code. Sisters before misters. So, when Nikhil was around, she played nice. No games. No hints. No lingering glances. But she was starting to miss it. Miss the little thrills. The electric tension. Miss walking around with her bottom half barely covered and knowing someone was struggling to look away.

She tried to compensate--flashing some skin during her internship, pushing dress codes in the college. But none of it felt quite the same. There was a difference between showing a sliver of cleavage in public and lounging in panties in front of a man who knew it was for him. That intimate imbalance, that unspoken power--that's what she missed.

Even her late-night talks with Zoya had slowed down. Now it was either dinner with all three of them or Ankita eating alone in her room, watching something on her laptop.

That morning, a slow Sunday, she had really believed Nikhil wouldn't come over early. She had let herself hope.

Then the doorbell rang.

She walked to the kitchen, still thinking about it all, when something the cook had said struck her.

"Let's make something special for Nikhil-baba."

Her eyebrows drew together. She turned to him.

"Bhaiya?" she asked. "How did you know Nikhil was here? You hadn't seen him yet."

He gave her a calm look and went back to his cutting board. "Didi, I've been cooking here for quite some time now. I've started to understand both of you girls a little."

He paused, looked her over again--like he already knew everything about her.

Ankita froze. Am I that predictable?

The thought hit her hard. "Did he just judge me? No--worse. He read me. Saw right through my carefully constructed illusion, my curated mystery, my entire charade."

She was livid. Not just offended--betrayed. The whole point was control. She was the one who chose what to reveal, when, and to whom.

And if he thought he'd figured her out, like she was some simple, obvious girl?

That was it. The cook's private show had officially ended.

She turned around and stomped angrily out of the kitchen and into her room. From the corner of her eye, she saw Zoya and Nikhil watching her with confused, blank expressions as she furiously left.

She closed the door behind her and fell onto the bed. When she woke up, it was late afternoon, and she felt as hot as she did famish.

As Ankita debated whether to eat in the dining room or in her own room, Zoya stormed in, her petite frame practically vibrating with energy.

"What problem do you have with Nikhil?"

Ankita blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Do you hate him?"

"What? No! Are you crazy? I like him. He's cool." Then, realising how that might sound, she quickly added, "But I don't like him like him. I'm not trying to take him away from you."

Zoya didn't respond. She just stared--hard. Ankita glanced over her shoulder, wondering if Nikhil would walk in at any moment.

"He left hours ago," Zoya said. "He just came in to say good morning."

There must have been something about Ankita's utterly blank expression, because Zoya sighed, then softened. "In his own sweet way..." she trailed off, her face suddenly colouring.

"Anyway!" She straightened, regaining her earlier intensity. "That's not why I'm here. Why do you hate him?"

"What gave you that idea, genius?"

"You stomped back to your room. I thought you were mad that he showed up early."

"No, duffer. I was annoyed at the cook. Which is not really important right now. Like I said, I don't hate him."

Zoya visibly relaxed, as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She sat down on Ankita's bed, but after a beat, something else struck her. She frowned. "Then why do you act so different around him? You go all quiet. Like you go into a shell of your own. And--" she gestured at Ankita's outfit, "--you're wearing full pants and all."

What... the... fuck? Ankita stared. "Zo? What are you saying?"

Zoya didn't repeat herself.

Ankita narrowed her eyes. "Let me get this straight. You think I don't wear short clothes in front of your boyfriend, which means I don't like him, and that upsets you?"

"No! That's not--" Zoya fumbled, flustered. She mumbled something under her breath.

"What?"

Zoya exhaled sharply, then spoke in a much softer voice, staring at her feet, her toes curling into each other. "You wear less around the cook, but more around Nikhil. It makes me feel like he's... like he's even less special than the cook."

Ankita froze.

"You want me to expose myself in front of your boyfriend?" she asked slowly.

Zoya's head snapped up. "No! That's not what I said. Ugh, just let it go! You won't get it."

She was about to brush it off and walk away when Ankita grabbed her shoulders, her grip firm but not forceful.

Zoya sighed, but when she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, hesitant--almost shy. "I want you to want to expose yourself to Nikhil."

Ankita stared at her, utterly thrown.

"Look," Zoya continued quickly, "I know you don't like him that way. I'm not worried you'll develop feelings for him. It's just... I like him. And I like you." She hesitated, unsure if Ankita would take it the wrong way. "I feel like I'm caught between two different worlds, and I was just wondering--would it really be so bad if those worlds came together?" she finished.

Ankita didn't think--she just pulled Zoya into a tight hug. She was still bewildered by what she thought Zoya was asking of her, but she'd get it clarified later. Right now, they needed a girls' night.

Zoya echoed her thoughts, saying, "We also haven't been spending as much time together. You haven't been sharing enough stories with me."

"Where do you want to start?" Ankita murmured as she broke the hug.

Zoya held on a second longer before pulling back. There was something unreadable in her eyes, but Ankita didn't press. Instead, she smirked. "You do know I meant stories, right?"

Zoya huffed a laugh. "Obviously."

Ankita rolled her eyes but got up, heading to the kitchen. When she returned with a bowl of fried rice, Zoya was already sprawled on the bed, watching her expectantly.

Ankita shook her head, settling in beside her.

And just like that, story-time began.

III

"Well, I've been trying different things--both at the office and college," Ankita began.

"As you know, my internship has evening shifts, so that I am left with no excuse to skip college. I test things out at work, and if they go well, I push further at college. At first, I wasn't sure how to go about it, so I started small--the classic moves, bending down just a little more than necessary and letting the boys sneak a peek. That one never fails."

She smirked before continuing.

"Randomly, while we're in a meeting, I untie my hair and, without breaking eye contact with my boss, tie it up again. I like how he stutters whenever I do that. Then I decided to take it up a notch.

The first time I showed up for Casual Friday, I wore a pair of snug high-rise jeans--the ones that made my ass look practically sculpted--and tucked a plain white shirt into them. The shirt was just thin enough, and my bra was unpadded, so that my nipples showed through when the air conditioning kicked in. I hadn't planned it... not exactly.

I walked into his cabin and stood in front of him. Then I turned around.

Slowly.

Twice.

The jeans lifted my ass just right. I knew it. He knew it. And I wasn't pretending otherwise. Then when I turned to face him, his eyes dipped almost instantly--right to my chest. He blinked once, swallowed, then tried to look back up. But I saw the hesitation.

I tilted my head, pretending not to notice. "Sir?" I asked sweetly. "Is this okay for Casual Fridays?"

The man practically exhaled in relief when he realised I was actually asking about my outfit. His lips parted. "Y-yes. Yes, that's... that's fine," he stammered.

"He mumbled my tasks for the day, his voice cracking once or twice. The way he squirmed was delicious. He never once looked me in the eye again that morning."

Her voice dipped slightly, her eyes gleaming. "Also, I've stopped wearing camisoles under my shirts--both at work and college. So, whenever I bend, a downblouse is practically guaranteed. Even when I don't, from the right angle, the gap between my buttons teases just enough--contrasting bra, a hint of skin. And on days when my top turns sheer in the sunlight, the way their eyes light up when they catch a glimpse is just..." she let out a small, knowing laugh.

"The only downside to experimenting at college is the moral police. Tight tops, plunging necklines? Immediate trouble. But then I realised--loose, oversized tops were the perfect loophole. One bend, and the neckline gapes wide open, flashing more than any fitted shirt ever could. I tested it out with my new group, and let's just say--the feedback has been amazing." She chuckled, clearly enjoying the memory.

"One time, at the office, I wore a form-fitting short shirt that ended just at the waistband of my pants. So, definitely not tucked in. And whenever I stretched my arms or simply raised my hands, my midriff would show. I saw my boss freeze mid-sentence so many times that day--it was just crazy. At college, I tried something similar, but with low-rise jeans and shorter tops. Not tight tops, mind you--just short ones. It allowed the boys to peek at and appreciate my belly, but what I also realised was that with the low-rise jeans, my panties would peek out whenever I sat down. That was a new avenue.

I've tried it with bikini-cut panties and one day even with thongs. I think on the day I wore a thong, I became hyper-aware of my surroundings, and the reactions from some of the boys--and even some of the girls--were just a little too much for me to handle. If only I could wear thongs daily.

Then, just a couple of days ago, after reaching college, I slipped off my panties and, after a deep breath, tucked them into my bag. That was something else entirely. Sure, I've been exposed before. Ajay and Rishabh have seen me bare, but that was accidental. It just happened. I had no say in it, and it was behind closed doors, with people I already knew. This... this was different. This time, I chose what to reveal. I had no idea who might see, and that's what made it so intoxicating. It wasn't just about being looked at--it was about choosing to be looked at. About offering the moment, but not knowing who would catch it.

And the thrill of that? God, Zo, it was unreal. Every time I sat down, I felt it. The tingle on my skin, the rush in my chest, the air brushing against places I probably shouldn't have left bare. It felt like I was holding my breath all day. Like I was waiting for someone to notice... or maybe daring them to.

That was the pivot, I think. It was the most I'd dared outside--the moment when I felt most at the mercy of destiny. And it was absolutely wonderful. At the end of the day, I did put my panties back on since I had to get ready for the office. But that evening, my shirt was suspiciously unbuttoned at the top. How strange! I didn't even have to bend for my cleavage to show, and when I did, my push-up bra did wonders--I could see the effect it had on my colleagues. I've never felt so hot before."

When Ankita paused, she noticed Zoya grab a cushion and place it between her thighs. Her breaths were uneven, a familiar sound--one that instantly reminded Ankita of when Ajay was cupping her pubic mound. Ankita moved closer, settling right in front of her. She thought deeply for a moment before she spoke.

"I realised then--I want more. I want to go out braless, to step outside without underwear and without a backup in my purse. My end goal... is to be seen, fully. And it was driving me crazy because I had no clue how to make it happen. I wanted my first 'accident' to be with someone I trust completely. So, I decided I'd try something with you."

Zoya's eyes widened. She didn't bother hiding the way her fingers slipped beneath the cushion, her gaze dreamy as she locked eyes with Ankita. Ankita moved even closer. Before Zoya could work herself to a climax or say anything, Ankita placed a finger against her lips.

"Before that," she whispered, "I need to tell you about yesterday."

Yesterday

"Saturdays were half-days at work, so our gang decided it was time for a long-overdue party. It was a no-brainer that the location would be Darsh's place. Our group--about five or six girls and just as many boys--had settled into a pattern. Most of them were either hostellers or lived as paying guests with limited freedom, so now and then, they just needed an excuse to crash at Darsh's father's apartment. Drink, eat, dance, unwind.

Despite it being a Saturday night, we'd all agreed that--for once--we'd head back to our own places afterward. Sundays were precious, a rare chance to sleep in, and those of us with evening internships--like me--were already pushing it by coming straight from work.

I had packed light: a dark oversized jersey and sky-blue booty shorts. The group had grown closer over the past two months, and frankly, I wanted to take full advantage of the agreed-upon dress code: BE COMFORTABLE AND RELAXED.

As expected, I was the last to arrive. Dressed in a collared T-shirt tucked into a pair of fitted jeans, I was as modest as I could manage under the circumstances. The living area was already buzzing with conversation. As always, Darsh had shifted the sofas to the balcony to make room for the gang, and--as always--the low couch remained vacant. My spot. Ankita's spot.

I felt the boys' gazes trail over me, assessing my outfit, my curves. After the usual greetings, I made my way toward Darsh, who was seated farthest away. Bending right at the waist, I leaned in slightly.

"Can you show me where I can change?"

He nodded at my cleavage and got up, guiding me to his bedroom.

"I can't imagine this is the first time I've entered your bedroom," I mused, twirling lightly as I took in the space.

Darsh, ever the gentleman, was busy pulling the curtains shut. By the time he turned back around, I stood at the edge of his bed--legs hooked over the frame, arms spread wide and I fell backwards, my body sinking into the mattress like I owned it. My T-shirt snapped out of my jeans and had ridden up past my belly button, revealing a stretch of bare skin that caught the light. The denim had dipped low on my hips, just enough to hint at the sky-blue waistband beneath.

I sighed aloud, stretching like a cat. "God, these jeans are suffocating."

My fingers wandered lazily to the button. I popped it open with a casual flick, then the next one, letting the denim relax a little. "There," I murmured to myself, just loud enough to carry. "That's better."

Darsh was still standing in place. Watching. Or trying not to.

I didn't look at him. Didn't need to.

"I don't know why I wear these when I know they'll end up curled up somewhere," I went on, almost dreamily. "Low-rise looks great until you try sitting in them. Maybe next time I'll skip jeans altogether."

I brushed a hand down my stomach and let it rest on my hip. Still no word from him.

"Is everything okay?" I finally asked, turning my head slightly, just enough to catch him in my peripheral vision.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah. Yes. Just... let me know if you need anything. There's hot water in the washroom and face wash in the..."

I propped myself up on one elbow, meeting his gaze with a slow smile. "Thanks, Darsh. That's sweet. But I brought my own stuff. I'm just going to change and be back out in a bit."

He nodded quickly.

I swung my legs off the bed and walked toward him. With both palms, I pressed lightly against his chest, guiding him backward. "Now, if you don't leave, I'll shut the door with you inside, and you'll just have to sit there and watch me change." My voice was mock-serious, but the glint in my eyes said otherwise.

He let out a nervous laugh, hands raised in surrender. "I don't have enough alcohol for that."

I gave him one last exaggerated push, barely putting any strength into it, and he let himself stumble back into the hallway.

As he left, I closed the bedroom door but--like you might expect--left it slightly ajar. So careless of me. Even in the brightly lit room, I noticed the sliver of a different shade of light peeking in from the kitchen. I stepped into the bathroom, splashing water on my face--mostly just to buy time. To think.

Nothing.

I knew I couldn't just walk out topless right off the bat. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to be topless. My only plan involved that slightly open door and the hope that someone would wander into the kitchen at just the right moment.

I stepped back into the room with only that thought in mind. I positioned myself in front of the bed, my back to the door. Sure enough, I could sense movement in the kitchen--small sounds of shifting, the faint clink of glassware.

Time to start the show.

I had a choice to make. I started with my jeans--partly because of what I had on underneath. The thin, sky-blue thong wasn't just sexy--it created the illusion of bare skin. If I kept my shirt on but removed my jeans with my back to my potential audience, it would look like I was completely bottomless.

I took my time. I slid my jeans down, inch by inch, letting the waistband of my thong settle low on my hips.

I didn't turn around. I didn't have to. The faintest shift in movement from the kitchen told me enough.

When I was sure I had their full attention, I bent forward right from the waist, reaching for my shorts, stretching just enough to give them a perfect view.

The crashing sound from the kitchen was immediate.

"Everything's okay! Everything's okay!" Darsh's voice rang out--rushed and nervous.

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Should've bet money on it being Darsh. Always the perfect host.

I smirked, slipping into my shorts quickly before stepping out of the room to check what had happened. A few of the boys had gathered, picking up what looked like a fallen ice container. Without hesitation, I crouched down to help, fully aware of the attention on me.

Once everything was settled, Richa's voice rang out from across the room. "Ankita, where did your pants go?"

I glanced at her, then at the others who were clearly waiting for my reaction. From the corner of my eye, I caught Darsh looking away, a slight blush on his face.

With a teasing smile, I tugged my T-shirt up just enough to reveal my belly button. "Right here. Drawstrings and all," I said, giving the waistband a playful snap.

Richa had clearly been trying to throw me off, but she quickly realised I wasn't the type to get embarrassed. The room had gone silent, eyes drawn to my exposed waist and stomach.

I chuckled again, dropping my T-shirt back down before turning toward the bedroom. "I'll just get out of this T-shirt and come back more comfortable," I announced, heading back inside.

Audaciously, I left the door slightly open once again and reached for the hem of my T-shirt, my back still facing the gap. I peeled it off slowly, letting the fabric slide up my body before tossing it onto the bed. Standing there in nothing but my matching sky-blue lacy bra and shorts, I paused--just for a few extra seconds. Just in case someone happened to be watching.

Then, casually, I slipped the oversized jersey over my head and stepped out of the room.

The moment I re-entered the living area, Alka let out a playful wolf whistle, drawing laughter from the group. A few of the girls smacked her arm in mock reprimand, but I just grinned and sank onto the low couch, crossing my legs and raising my drink.

During the cheers, I caught sight of Darsh--his face still visibly pale from earlier. That confirmed it. He'd seen my thong-covered ass. If that even counted as "covered."

But then, to my surprise, I noticed a similar expression on Hrushabh's face.

Hrushabh had been my first friend in college, mostly by accident--his name sounded strikingly like Rishabh. Because of that same mix-up, he had also been the first boy I ever deliberately flaunted my cleavage to.

And judging by his expression now, I had to wonder... maybe that extra pause before putting on my jersey had been worth it after all.

After a while, something shifted. Earlier, everyone had been sitting randomly, but now all the boys had somehow ended up directly opposite me, while the girls had clustered on my side. Whether it happened naturally or the boys orchestrated it under the guise of Antakshari, I couldn't tell. Either way, it was suspiciously convenient.

I only noticed it when it was the boys' turn to sing. Gaurav was up, and he was absolutely killing it for his team--until he suddenly froze mid-line.

I looked up. He was staring at me. And I froze too.

I was curled on the low couch, legs tucked under me, sipping my drink. Each time I reached for snacks, I leaned forward into the circle, practically crawling with my hands to grab something from the centre. This time was no different--or so I hoped. Because as I stretched forward, my jersey slipped up at the back, revealing the curve of my bare lower back. And on top of it, from Gaurav's angle, he had an unmissable view of my bra-clad breasts--and more.

I eased back into my seat, chewing slowly, scanning the boys' faces. Their expressions were just a little too guilty. This wasn't a one-off slip. It had been happening all night. Every snack break, I'd been giving them a 10-15 second preview: lace bra, flat stomach, the whole deal. A silent show they couldn't resist.

Which explained the seating arrangement. Had they really planned it? Were they that clever? I had to admit--I was impressed.

Out of nowhere, Darsh offered to place a small bowl of snacks on the couch for me. I waved him off, insisting there was no need for such formality. Subconsciously or not, he played along with the innuendo, replying that formal was the last thing he was being around me.

That cinched it. I had the beginning of a plan.

From then on, I made sure to put a little more effort into my reaching and bending. The girls stayed cheerfully unaware, but by the time the drinks had worked their magic, the boys had memorised the shape of my breasts, the lacework of my bra, and exactly where it turned sheer.

It was after dinner that I finalised the plan--when I overheard Harshad talking to Darsh. He was asking if he could crash for the night. His landlord had left town unexpectedly and locked him out. Darsh didn't hesitate, saying that Gaurav and Hrushabh were staying too since their hostel curfew wouldn't let them back in.

"The more, the merrier," he added.

And that got me thinking--what if I managed to stay over too?

I was already tipsy, and my little bending-and-flashing game had required me to act even drunker than I actually was. Passing the I shouldn't drive in this state test? Child's play. The boys would be thrilled. And since the girls had no idea what was really going on in my head, I could deflect any of their "concerns" with ease.

As expected, as the night wound down, a few boys began talking about changing into their sleepwear. The girls started gathering their things, hugs and goodbyes swirling around the room.

I took my chance.

"Hey, Darsh!" I called out, letting a playful hiccup punctuate my words. "Would it be a problem if I crashed here for the night? I don't think I should be driving like this."

I let my body sway, just enough to seem unsteady. The boys jumped in at once--of course it wasn't safe for me to drive, I should stay, no question about it. But the girls? More sceptical.

A few offered to drop me home. I waved them off. "You'll have to go completely out of your way. Don't worry about me, seriously."

Minu wasn't letting it go. She pulled me aside, her expression tight.

"Ankita, are you sure?"

"Sure about what?" I blinked innocently. "I don't wanna go out now. Instead I will just pass out here and leave early in the morning."

She hesitated, then leaned in, voice lowered. "Ankita... you'd be the only girl here. With four boys."

I laughed. "Minu! You're worried about me? These are our guys. What do you think they'll do? If anything, you should be more worried about what I might do to them."

That earned a reluctant snort, but she pressed on. "Yes, and that's exactly why I'm asking. You've said before you don't wear undies to bed. And sometimes..." She narrowed her eyes. "You sleep completely naked. You don't want some middle-of-the-night wardrobe malfunction."

Oh, Minu. Bless you!

She had no idea she'd just upgraded my entire plan. Up until now, I'd only planned to tease the boys a little before bed and again in the morning--maybe use the shower as an excuse. But this? This was pure gold.

I patted her arm. "Don't worry. I'll manage."

Eventually, the gang dispersed--leaving behind four drunk boys and one very wicked me.

Darsh turned to me with a courteous smile. "Which room would you like to set up your mattress in?"

Still keeping up the act, I giggled, swaying on my feet. "Boys... I think I'd rather sleep in the hall." I let my voice slow, thick with false sincerity. "I'm not sure I'm ready to let you see me in my nightdress."

They froze.

I hiccupped again for good measure, then added softly, "Seriously. I'll be wearing much less than I am now. So maybe... best I don't sleep in any of your rooms."

For a second, there was silence--then they burst into laughter, brushing it off as me just messing with them.

"Yeah, yeah," one of them chuckled. "Probably best to let a girl have her own space."

Like a good guest, I helped carry the spare mattress to the hall. Who was I kidding? I was just enjoying every opportunity to bend down and give them a show. Once everything was set up, I bid them goodnight and switched off the lights.

Now, I had options. I could've slept as I was. Or, at most, without my undies. After all, I was pretty sure I'd just scared the boys off.

But what if they decided to grow a little courage?

I didn't want to disappoint them.

In one smooth motion, I stripped everything off, stuffed my clothes into my bag, and slipped under the blanket. The cool air kissed every inch of my bare skin, sending a thrill down my spine. The rush of my own nudity--right in the middle of Darsh's house--was deliciously wicked.

Would I actually go through with this? I wasn't sure.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, a voice broke the silence.

"Ankita... are you awake?" Darsh's voice cut through the stillness.

"Yes?" I murmured, not bothering to adjust my position.

"You decent?"

"No," I said plainly, "not wearing anything. Whatcha want?"

A pause. "Just thought you might want something to help with the buzz."

"Okay," I replied, like it was the most casual thing in the world. "Give me a sec... Alright, you can turn on the light."

The room flooded with brightness--and there they were. All four boys, grouped together, trying very hard not to look like they were staring.

I chickened out. But only a little.

I pulled the blanket up to my neck, leaving one eye peeking out. What I hadn't realised was that I'd wrapped it the wrong way--landscape instead of portrait. It only covered me up to mid-thigh, no more modest than my usual shorts.

"Yes?" I asked sweetly.

"We were thinking of making some coffee... you know, to sober up. Want some?"

The adrenaline had already sobered me up, but I wasn't about to let this moment slip.

"Sure," I said. "Could you make me a black coffee?"

"I don't know how."

Black coffee was the easiest thing to make. I could've just shouted, Step 1: boil water. Step 2: add coffee. But my focus wasn't on the coffee--it was on the four pairs of eyes glued to me. Something was warming up inside me, and I decided to lean into it.

"Tell you what," I said, stretching under the blanket. "Throw me my jersey from my bag, and I'll make black coffee for all of us. Best thing to sober up."

The boys practically lunged for my bag.

In the chaos that followed, Darsh ended up holding my bra, Gaurav grabbed my thong, Harshad got my jersey, and Hrushabh clutched my shorts.

They all froze. Staring at their hands. Then back at me.

"You really do sleep in the nude," Darsh blurted out.

I raised an eyebrow. "You sound surprised."

"I am," he admitted. "I mean, you did say it once during a truth-or-dare game, but I always thought you were lying."

"Nu-huh." I shook my head.

Then, turning to Harshad, I added, "Look, I'm not coming out from under this blanket with all the lights on. Do one thing--switch them off, I will come to you and take my jersey, and then I'll make us coffee."

It wasn't like Harshad was the furthest from me. In fact, he was the closest. There were so many ways I could've handled this situation, but somehow, everything was playing out exactly as I wanted.

As Harshad moved toward the switchboard, the boys kept their eyes on me. I gave a small nod of approval, and he flipped off the lights.

Before their eyes could adjust to the darkness, I moved.

I rose from the mattress, completely bare, and walked swiftly--but without any apparent urgency--right through them. My arm brushed against one. My hip grazed another. I was fairly sure someone got a brief feel of my ass.

At last, I reached Harshad. He was gripping my jersey like a lifeline. I tugged it free, and his knuckles grazed the underside of my breasts.

A flick of my wrist, and the jersey was over my head.

A flick of a switch, and the kitchen's soft counter lights glowed to life behind me.

Behind me, the kitchen lights spilled onto the floor, casting my silhouette in a long, dark shadow.

A sharp inhale came from one of the boys.

I didn't turn. Instead, I glanced down at my jersey. It barely reached mid-thigh--maybe a little higher, but that wouldn't normally cause such a reaction. Or would it?

Smirking to myself, I got to work. The coffee only took a couple of minutes.

"Darsh," I called over my shoulder, keeping my tone casual, "you'll have to grab the cups for me."

I paused deliberately, then turned quickly, the motion causing my jersey to lift slightly before settling back in place.

"They're either in the upper cabinets or the bottom ones," I continued, my eyes meeting his. "And I'm not reaching for either."

Darsh rushed in beside me, dropping to his knees to pull the cups from the bottom cabinet. He was so close--his face just inches from me, close enough to feel the heat coming off my skin. I could hear his breath falter for just a second, sense the slight tension in his movements as he reached for the cups.

Finally, he retrieved the cups and handed them to me, his fingers brushing against mine for just a moment longer than necessary. I poured the coffee, taking my time, before stepping out of the kitchen and back into the living room.

I lowered myself onto my mattress and, with a swift motion, pulled the blanket over my legs--a perfect display of ironic modesty, after everything I had done tonight.

The boys followed, settling in around me, each of them still holding onto some part of me--my bra, my thong, my shorts. Hrushabh spun my shorts lazily in one hand before extending that hand towards me, his gaze sharp.

"You really are naked under that jersey, aren't you?"

I let the words hang in the air.

Slowly, I stretched, feeling the pleasant pull in my muscles as the hem of my jersey inched up beneath the blanket. The fabric lifted just enough to tease against my skin before settling back down as I relaxed again. I reached for my coffee, took a slow sip, and let a smile creep onto my lips.

"Why? You want to find out?"

Hrushabh's face was a picture of panic. "No! No! That's not what I meant. I was just curious. Absolutely--"

I let out a slow, knowing laugh, cutting him off. Without reaching for my shorts, I stretched my legs out from underneath the blanket, baring everything beyond my knees, and leaned back on my hands, tilting my head slightly. "Yes," I said smoothly. "I find it comforting. I'm used to it. Wearing clothes to bed feels... restrictive now." My lips curled into a smirk as I let my words hang in the air. "Anything else?"

Hrushabh fumbled for words before shaking his head. "No. That's all."

Only then did I take the shorts from his extended hands, my fingers lightly grazing his as I did.

I turned to Darsh, arching a brow. "And you? Anything else?"

Darsh hesitated, then held out my bra. When I didn't move to take it, he let his hands fall and said, "Yes, actually," watching me closely. "Did you know that when you stood in front of the kitchen lights, your jersey became see-through?"

I widened my eyes just slightly. "What?"

His smirk deepened. "Yeah. Your silhouette was perfectly outlined. We couldn't exactly see through it, but... let's just say the view was unforgettable."

A slow, warm pulse ran through me. The thought of them seeing me like that--unknowingly exposed--sent a sharp thrill up my spine.

"And speaking of exposure..." Hrushabh added, shifting slightly. "You, uh, left the door open while changing. I saw you without your shirt... just in your bra."

My lips parted. "What?" I repeated, this time in mock surprise, but I didn't break eye contact. "Hmm. I suppose I should be more careful."

"And I saw you bottomless," Darsh chimed in. "At least, I thought you were. Now that we know you were in a thong, it makes sense, but still... you should be careful."

"Careful?" I repeated, dragging my gaze over him before glancing at the others. "You all sound so concerned." I sighed dramatically, tilting my head. "Should I be thanking you for being such gentlemen?"

Darsh cleared his throat. "Well, there's more."

I gave him a look of exaggerated patience. "Oh? By all means, go on."

He exhaled. "Your jersey... hasn't been your best friend tonight."

I raised a brow. "How?"

"It's loose," he continued, his voice a little lower, "and you've been bending a lot. We got... quite a few glimpses down your top."

"It was a treat," Hrushabh muttered under his breath before he was nudged by Darsh's elbow.

I turned to him, amused. "A treat?"

He looked away, clearing his throat, but I caught the way his fingers twitched.

I dragged my gaze over the boys, my pulse hammering but my smirk steady. "So... you were all watching me that closely?"

Silence.

I tilted my head, waiting. "And? What did you think about what you saw?"

Darsh's mouth opened slightly, then closed. The others exchanged glances, unsure.

I leaned forward slightly. "Oh, come on now. You all sound so eager to warn me, but you didn't tell me what you saw. And whether you enjoyed the view or not."

Another beat of hesitation.

Then Gaurav exhaled sharply. "It was fucking hot."

A slow, approving smile spread across my lips. "Go on."

Hrushabh shifted in place, his voice quieter. "You're... gorgeous, Ankita. I couldn't look away."

Darsh groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. "Your body... God, Ankita, the way you move, the way your jersey kept riding up, the way you stretched--it was impossible not to notice."

Hrushabh cleared his throat. "Your tits, Ankita. Fuck. You have no idea what you've been doing to us all night."

I blinked at him, feigning innocence. "Oh?"

He let out a breathless laugh. "That jersey of yours? It slides just enough when you move. When you stretched, when you bent forward--it was all we could look at. And when you weren't bending? You weren't exactly hiding them, either."

Gaurav added, "You know... your bra didn't do much to hide things either. The way it pushed your tits up... made them look even fuller. And some parts? The fabric stretched so much it turned sheer. Honestly, Ankita? You in that bra was just as much of a sight as when you weren't wearing one."

Hrushabh smirked, gaining confidence. "Yeah. Earlier, when you were in the kitchen, we could see everything--the way your nipples got hard through the fabric." He exhaled, eyes dark with memory. "Especially when you stood right in front of the light... it was like a perfect outline. No bra, just you."

Darsh shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "It's unfair, Ankita. The way they move when you talk, when you breathe... I swear, I almost dropped my damn cup when you crossed your arms under them earlier."

I hummed in approval, sitting back as I absorbed their words. Their growing confidence, their confessions--each one sent a delicious thrill through me.

I lifted my hand slowly, and Darsh reluctantly placed my bra in it. Then I turned to Gaurav, who was still gripping my thong a little too tightly. He looked at me, then down at the delicate scrap of fabric, then back up at me again.

"I actually don't have any questions," he muttered.

I smiled, slow and deliberate. "Then I guess you'll have to hold on to them for me."

Gaurav's fingers clenched around the fabric, and the other boys exhaled, shaking their heads with a mix of disbelief and amusement.

"I think I'll sleep now. My coffee's finished," I announced, stretching slowly, letting the silence linger.

The boys blinked, as if waking from a trance, then began getting up one by one--still a little dazed, still very much under my spell.

"Darsh, can you take my cup and turn off the lights on your way back?"

"Sure. Goodnight, Ankita. Thanks for the coffee."

"Thanks for your thong," Gaurav added.

That sent another jolt of heat straight to my core. My thighs clenched involuntarily beneath the blanket, the ache between them almost unbearable.

As the boys left with their cups, I exhaled sharply, my body thrumming with tension. Just as Darsh reached for the switch, I called out, "Boys!"

He froze mid-motion. The others, already inside the room, poked their heads out, curiosity flickering in their eyes. Before they could react, a black jersey smacked against Darsh's face. He pulled it off, confusion turning to something else entirely as his gaze locked onto me.

I sat there, holding the blanket just below my collarbone, my shoulders bare, side-boobs teasingly exposed, the curve of my waist catching the dim light.

"Good night," I said simply, voice steady despite the rush of heat coursing through me.

I fell back onto the mattress, the moment stretching between us--until, finally, the lights flicked off.

Darkness settled. My fingers curled into the sheets, breath shallow, heat pooling deep in my belly. And the moment I was truly alone, I slipped my hand between my thighs and pushed my fingers inside me, letting everything go.

V

"And then?" Zoya practically shouted, snapping Ankita out of her trance. She had been too lost in thought to realise how much time had passed since she stopped speaking.

Ankita turned to look at Zoya--her hair was dishevelled, her breathing unsteady. Ankita's gaze swept over her, taking in every detail. Before she could ask where Zoya's hands had been, Zoya spoke first.

"Don't," she muttered. "I'll wash the cushion, the bedsheets, and the blanket."

Ankita leaned in, bringing her lips close to Zoya's ear, her voice a mere whisper.

"Don't bother. Keep them as they are."

Zoya had to squeeze her eyes shut--tight--just so Ankita wouldn't see them rolling back. She pressed her hands down, forcing herself to stay still, to keep her hips from buckling beneath her.

After a moment, she opened her eyes and met Ankita's gaze, her breath now slow and controlled.

Ankita took in the sight of her roommate's flushed, sweat-slicked face. She let the moment stretch before finally answering.

"This morning, I woke up before everyone else. Got dressed and left for home. But something felt off--wearing only my bra without panties felt... weird." She paused, watching Zoya's expression. "So, I left my bra there instead. With a note that said, 'Figured you should have the full set. Don't say I never gave you anything. ;)'"