Ragini Bhabhi – Part 3 (Thanking her saviour with her behaviour)

Hello and namaste to all the ISS readers and writers. I am Saurav “Sam” here, continuing with the third part of my story. Read the first two parts before jumping on to this one.

The next morning felt awkward as hell. I woke up with my head pounding and my body still remembering everything from last night. The heat, the way she held me, the way we were right there and then, that sudden change of mind. So close, and still nothing happened.

When I stepped out to leave for college, I noticed her door wasn’t fully closed. Just a small gap was there, so I was hoping maybe I’d get to see her for a second.

She came out right then, but not in her usual saree. Just a plain nightie, a shawl wrapped around her chest, hair tied up loosely like she hadn’t slept properly. She looked tired. Not sad, not angry. Just tired in a way that made my chest feel tight.

And she didn’t look at me. Not even once. She bent to pick up the milk packets and got up, but her eyes didn’t move at all. “Bhabhi,” I said quietly. Not calling her. Not questioning her. Just acknowledging her, hoping she’d at least look up for half a second.

She froze before she nodded with her head, which almost looked like she regretted doing even that. Then she turned around and walked inside fast, shutting the door with a loud thud. The sound stayed in my head the whole day. Honestly, the whole week.

Was she punishing herself for what happened? I think yes. The surprising thing was that she didn’t wear a saree even once, which was a common wear for her, and hence it felt like she was punishing me.

Only salwar kameez or those long nighties, nothing that flowed or clung or moved the way her sarees did when she used to walk past me.

By Friday, I had almost convinced myself she would avoid me forever. But then Rudresh bhaiya invited me for dinner again. I couldn’t say no without looking suspicious, so I went.

Ragini moved around the dining table like she was running on autopilot. Not once did her eyes slide toward me. Not even accidentally. She served without speaking. Every motion was stiff, controlled, as if she was scared her emotions might spill if she moved too naturally.

“Everything alright, Ragini?” Rudresh asked, noticing her tension.

“Just tired,” she murmured in Hindi before disappearing into the kitchen.

I ate quickly, making some excuse about assignments. Rudresh walked me to the door. “Wonder what’s with her,” he told me, where I didn’t react much. Just as I was about to leave, his boss arrived.

Then began the same old shit; he even asked bhaiyya if he was home early. Then I got to know he was there to try his hand at Ragini, and as I was about to go in, I heard, “Why is a beautiful wife staying home alone?”

The image of that pot-bellied boss leering at her made me sick. No wonder she’d stopped wearing sarees—she was trying to make herself invisible.

Days turned into weeks. Our interactions became limited, but she’d send awkward messages via her hubby- “Food extra if you want.” But I always replied with polite declines. The distance felt necessary, but it left a space in my days.

Then came the night everything shifted again. I think it was around 11 PM. I was studying when loud shouts erupted from outside. I looked through my window to see Rudresh staggering. Three men from the neighbourhood surrounded him, shouting about money he owed from drinking bets.

I was studying around 11 when loud shouting started outside. Drunk voices, thudding sounds. I looked out the window and saw Rudresh, totally wasted, surrounded by three guys from the colony. They were shouting about some money he owed from drinking bets.

“Tujhe lagta hai humse bach jaayega, behenchod?” (You think you’ll survive?) one of them snarled, shoving him hard against the wall.

Rudresh stumbled just as Ragini ran out, her face white with fear. “Chhod do use, please!” (Please leave him), she begged, trying to get between them.

One guy laughed, a nasty sound. “Ya toh tu uska karz chuka de?” (you pay the loan on his behalf)

After listening to this, I remember running out of my room with a cricket bat in hand that I had kept near the door. “I will break your fucking legs if you touch her!!!” I screamed. At that moment, there were people around, so they just whispered a few curses and backed off.

Ragini dropped to her knees beside Rudresh, sobbing after looking at his condition. Her bangles kept clinking as she tried to lift his head. He was out cold, drunk beyond sense, eyes rolled back, a small cut bleeding near his temple.

“Help me, Sam,” she said between sobs.

We somehow got him inside, dragging and carrying him to their sofa first and then into the bedroom. Quickly, locals called the doctor and treated him. Ragini kept apologising between breathless hiccups, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, he doesn’t usually, he didn’t eat anything today, he—”

The doctor and the people around left while I stayed back. I kept consoling her, it was fine, and when he finally could speak, we stepped out for him to rest. The moment we reached the living room. She just started crying.

“I’m so tired, Sam,” she tells me in a soft tone. “He doesn’t see me; his boss sees me too much. And you…”

She looked at me then, really looked at me for the first time in days. I sat down next to her, still breathing hard from dragging Rudresh inside and almost getting into a fight. The second my thigh touched the sofa. She grabbed my hand.

“That day we almost…” She swallowed hard. “We almost crossed a line. And I should feel ashamed, I know. But Sam, I have never, never, felt that way before. Not as someone’s wife. Not as someone’s responsibility. Just as me.”

“Bhabhi…”

“I know,” she said quickly, wiping her face with the end of her dupatta. “I’m married. This is my life. I’m not running anywhere. I’m not leaving him. But thank you… for making me feel beautiful again. Like a woman, not furniture.”

That broke something in me. And fixed something else. “You deserve to feel beautiful every day. Not just once.”

She looked down. She didn’t let go of my hand. And God, I wanted to pull her closer. Hold her. Tell her she wasn’t alone. That someone saw her, every part of her, even the parts she kept buried.

But I didn’t. I stood up. Gently took my hand back. Said bye and asked her to take care.

However, that night, when I left their flat, I told myself I’d control it now. No more crossing lines. But that weekend morning ruined that plan in two seconds.

Ragini stepped out in a peach saree that honestly stole my breath. After a week of plain salwars, seeing her like this felt like someone had switched the lights back on.

The saree hugged her just right, showing every gentle curve without trying. Her hair was open, falling over her shoulder, and there was this warm glow on her face, which really was gorgeous.

When her eyes met mine, she didn’t look away.

Instead, she smiled. Soft. Warm. Real.

“Thank you for last night,” she said.

Just four words—but they did something to me. I just nodded, because if I opened my mouth, I wasn’t sure what would come out.

After that, we settled into a friendly relationship. Close, but never alone in the same room. I’d go over for dinner when Rudresh invited me, sit at the table, laugh at harmless jokes, pretend everything was normal.

She moved around the house quietly, gracefully, but always with just enough distance to keep us from slipping again. And the sarees came back. All kinds. Light chiffons, soft cottons, bright ones on Sundays, simple ones on weekdays. Each one made her look like she’d stepped out of some old Indian painting.

But I made sure my eyes stayed respectful—never lingering, never tracing her form the way they used to. Still, the tension stayed. That invisible pull. That awareness. The thing neither of us ever mentioned again.

We both pretended it wasn’t there. And then came the shopping trip. The one moment that snapped our careful truce in half.

A loud, impatient knock startled me one Saturday afternoon. I opened the door to find Ragini already dressed to go out. “We’re buying groceries,” she tells me, “and you’re carrying bags,” and I laugh.

The command in her voice made me smile. “Yes, bhabhi.”

At the market, she was different—lighter, teasing me as we moved between shops. When we reached the saree section, she held up a transparent pink saree with a face that was like a happy kid. “Do you like this one?” she asked.

“It’s… nice.”

She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “You have a fetish for navels, and I buy transparent sarees. What does that tell you?”

I laughed awkwardly. “That we’re both terrible people?”

“Or that we know what we want,” she countered, purchasing the pink saree without hesitation.

When we returned, Rudresh and his boss were waiting outside our building, both looking furious.

“Where were you?” Rudresh demanded. “We’ve been waiting for an hour! Mr Sharma wanted to discuss the project over lunch.”

The boss’s eyes narrowed at me. “I see you found better company.”

Ragini’s temper flared. “I was grocery shopping! Should I sit around waiting for you whenever you decide to show up?”

Mr Sharma smirked. “Pretty wives should be available when needed. Especially if they want their husbands to succeed.”

Rudresh, instead of defending her, nodded apologetically. “She didn’t know, Sir. Next time—”

“Next time I’ll still have my own life!” Ragini snapped before storming into her apartment.

I went to mine, seething at how they’d treated her. After showering, I was towel-drying my hair when another knock came—harder this time. I opened the door to find Ragini wearing the transparent pink saree we’d bought hours earlier. Without a word, she pushed past me into my room.

“Bhabhi, what—”

“I’m having dinner here tonight,” she declared, hands on her hips. The sheer fabric did nothing to hide the shape of her body beneath.

“I don’t know how to cook much,” I protested weakly.

She laughed, a real, unforced sound. “Then I’ll teach you.”

We ended up making paneer together in my small kitchen. Under the yellow kitchen lights, her body glowed right through that transparent pink saree. Every time she reached for a spice jar or leaned over to stir the gravy.

The saree would move across her waist, giving me a clear flash of that deep navel I’d been dreaming about for months. She’d use the end of her pallu to dab at the sweat on her neck, and by god, it was hot.

She kept finding excuses to get close—brushing past me to get a spoon, reaching right in front of me for the salt, guiding my hand on how to chop onions “properly.” Her arm would press against mine. Her hip would graze my thigh.

After we ate, she helped clean up. “Rudresh texted. He’s staying at his boss’s place tonight for ‘work discussions.'” She made air quotes, her expression bitter.

“Thank you for dinner,” I said, trying to keep things neutral.

“Do you want me to leave early?” she asked, challenging me.

I cracked a smile. “Let’s watch a movie.”

We settled on my couch, some Bollywood romance playing in the background. She sat closer than necessary, her thigh pressing against mine. Halfway through, she began talking about Rudresh, her voice trembling.

“He didn’t even notice this saree. I wore it for him, but he was too busy pleasing that bastard boss.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Sometimes I think he’d offer me to that man if it meant a promotion.”

I pulled her into a hug, my hand instinctively rubbing her bare back where the blouse dipped low. “He doesn’t deserve you, bhabhi.”

She pulled back slightly, looking at me with knowing eyes. “You’re horny too.”

I stiffened. “No, I was just—”

She laughed, a teasing sound. “Relax, I’m joking!” But then her expression turned serious, and she suddenly kissed me.

I pulled back, shocked. “Bhabhi, what are you doing?”

“I want this, Sam,” she whispered fiercely. “I need to feel wanted. Just once, let me have this.”

“We can’t,” I said, even as my body screamed yes.

“Oh really?” She stood up, untucking her pallu and letting it fall. Then she slowly pulled the saree tighter around her waist, and my eyes went towards the deep curve of her navel. “You sure you don’t want this?”

That was it… In one step, I closed the gap between us, burying my face right into her waist. My lips found that perfect navel I’d been dreaming about for months. She let out a soft moan, her fingers playing on my hair as I kissed and licked every inch of her stomach.

I dragged her back to the couch, our mouths crashing together with desperate hunger. My hands went to the hooks of her blouse, fumbling until it finally came open. Through her bra, I could see that her nipples were already hard.

I pulled the cups down, revealing full breasts with light brown areolas and long nipples that begged for attention. I took one in my mouth, sucking hard while my hand kneaded the other.

She arched against me, crying out as I switched between them, biting gently, lavishing attention on what I’d only dreamed of touching. I sank to my knees, pushing her saree up to reveal that she wore nothing underneath.

I didn’t hesitate, burying my face between her legs, tasting her sweetness. She trembled and gasped above me. Her climax was swift and violent, her thighs clamping around my head as she cried out my name.

Before she could recover, she pushed me onto the couch, her inexperience making her blowjob clumsy but incredibly erotic. The sight of Ragini bhabhi on her knees, taking me in her mouth, was almost enough to make me finish right there.

I reached for my wallet, scrambling for a condom. My hands shook as I tore the packet open. But in my nervous haste, I fumbled—the condom slipped from my fingers, falling between the couch cushions.

“Fuck,” I muttered, searching blindly.

That’s when she stilled. “Wait.”

I froze, panting. “What?”

Her eyes were wide, suddenly clear. “We… we can’t. Not like this.”

The shift was so abrupt it felt like a physical blow. “Bhabhi—”

“No, Sam.” She pulled away, covering herself, her movements frantic. “This is wrong. What if someone comes? What if Rudresh—”

“You said he wasn’t coming back!”

“I know what I said!” she snapped, her voice trembling with regret and fear. “Just… go. Please.”

I was confused, like “this is my room?” and suddenly she realised it as well. Pretty shocking, and she walked out, as I slid down to the floor, head in my hands. The condom still sat somewhere on my couch, thinking about what went wrong.

One thing I was confident about was that this complicated dance between us was far from over. It made my mind clear, “I’m going to suck and fuck her pussy.”

If you have any feedback or meetups in your mind, drop your texts to: [email protected] or my Tele username: @basicasf