Sitting so close to her, I looked at her profile, her long hair still wet, fell like a satiny black curtain against her face as it trailed its length down over the curve of her large boobs and down between her thighs as she sat there next to me. And quite unexpectedly I noticed, through the embroidered aquamarine kurta, that she wasn't wearing a brassiere. Her long wet hair had left damp patches at various spots on her kurta because of which a section was plastered to her back and her side facing me, the bulge of her left breast clearly showing as skin. That explained why I had perceived her bust as looking fuller than usual. As I continued to ogle her, my penis once again engorging within the confines of my jeans, I saw the kurta had a three-inch slit on the side; I assumed on both sides as I saw the bulge of her waist peek through the cut in her top.