So, every day the incident happens at my house. My maid's 17-year-old son has been coming to my place to work. He started hanging around and doing drugs, so his mother has now put him to work here too. For the past two months he's been coming to our apartment. His mother cooks meals and cleans the house.But the thing is, he never pays attention to my work around the house, and whenever I'm at home he's always staring at my butt and boobs. One day, when he was folding our washed clothes, I suddenly went out onto the balcony and saw him sniffing my bra and panties. When he saw me, he got embarrassed and walked away. But I didn't say anything to him.

What should I do?I got turned on, After that incident, I stayed at home wearing only a short hot-pants outfit and revealing tops

He grabbed me by my shoulders while greeting me and tried to touch my ass .. He was clicking some of my pics while I was dancing . He was trying to have a good view of my cleavage as well,could feel him staring at my cleavage whenever my saree slipped even slightly.once I noticed it… I stopped pretending not to enjoy the attention. Crowded room, everyone around us… yet it felt like he was only focused on me. And honestly, the way he looked at me like he couldn’t control himself made me feel confident, desired, and secretly turned on by the whole situation. [ check profile for saree reference]

The bus was packed shoulder to shoulder, humid air mixed with the smell of sweat, perfume, and diesel. I had managed to get the last corner seat near the window, my dupatta slipping slightly as the vehicle jerked through traffic. Every bump made people stumble into each other, bodies pressing in tight with nowhere to move.

I could feel eyes on me from the moment I sat down.

A guy stood beside my seat, one hand gripping the overhead rod while the other stayed suspiciously close to my shoulder. At first I ignored it. Crowded minibuses are always messy. But then the touching became slower… deliberate. His thigh brushed against mine again during a sharp turn, lingering a second too long.

I looked up at him.

He gave me that shameless half-smirk like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Sorry,” he muttered, though neither of us believed it.

The conductor shouted for people to move back, squeezing even more passengers inside. Suddenly there was barely any space left between us. His body was almost pressed against my side now, and every time the bus bounced, he leaned harder into me. My heart was racing—not from fear alone, but from the intensity of being trapped in that moment with dozens of strangers pretending not to notice.

I crossed my legs tighter and stared out the window, pretending to stay calm. But he bent slightly closer.

“Long route?” he whispered near my ear.

I ignored him.

Another sharp brake.

This time his hand landed on the side of my seat, fingers almost brushing my waist. The tension became unbearable. The noise of honking outside, people arguing with the conductor, old Bollywood music crackling from the driver’s speaker—it all blurred together while I stayed frozen in that tiny corner.

“You look nervous,” he said quietly.

“And you’re too close,” I shot back.

He laughed softly, like the crowd itself was protecting his confidence.

The bus kept moving through narrow roads while the evening heat made everything feel slower, heavier. I could sense him watching every little reaction from me—the way I adjusted my top, the way I kept shifting uncomfortably whenever someone pushed from behind.

An old woman sitting nearby glanced at us once, then looked away again. Nobody wanted involvement. In crowded public transport, people learn to mind their own business.

The guy leaned down again, voice low enough that only I could hear.

“If you’re uncomfortable, tell me to move.”

But there was nowhere for him to move.

That was the worst part.

I finally turned toward him properly, glaring hard enough to wipe that smug expression off his face.

“Try anything stupid again and I’ll scream,” I warned.

For the first time, his smile faded a little.

The next few minutes passed in silence except for the rattling engine and occasional jerks of the minibus. He still stood there beside me, but now careful not to touch me again. I kept my chin high, eyes fixed outside, refusing to look shaken even though my pulse was still pounding.

When my stop finally came, I pushed through the crowd and stepped down onto the street, breathing fresh air like I’d escaped a pressure cooker. Before the bus pulled away, I glanced back once.

He was still standing in the same place near the corner seat, watching silently as the minibus disappeared into traffic.