Two weeks had passed, and Shalini hardly recognized the woman she saw in the mirror anymore.
She'd told herself that night with Ayu at Malika's second home — the night she let him finally breach her, claiming her in a trembling, sweaty burst of release that made her cry out until her voice went hoarse — would be her last sin. But it was a lie, a delicious, filthy lie.
That moment had unlocked something deep and unstoppable inside her, a craving that refused to sleep. She still replayed it in her mind on lonely nights — the way Ayu had moaned against her throat, the feel of him sliding fully into her under those dim sheets, how she'd clutched him desperately, crying out as he filled her, how afterward he'd licked her clean with worshipful devotion, kissing every inch of her thighs while she shook and gasped. That night had burned a new path in her heart.
And since then, she'd let herself sink further.
Flashes tore through her memory as she stood now in her cramped kitchen, stirring chai, her body still tingling with aftershocks.
Malika had made sure Shalini didn't fade away after that night. Every couple of days she'd call, urging Shalini to come over, teasing her with talk of Ayu is waiting, reminding her of how powerful she looked lying back while Ayu worshipped every secret inch of her.
In the mirror, Shalini watched herself these days — no longer the modest teacher in prim kurtis, but a bold, fearless queen. Her clothes had changed dramatically since that night: skin-tight shorts hugging her hips, flimsy sports bras with a plunging neckline that almost spilled her curves, semi-sheer leggings that clung to her thighs and left nothing to imagination, sometimes even pantyhose under a loose tunic that slipped off one shoulder. She saw the way Ravi and Prayush couldn't tear their eyes away, and it thrilled her to the bone.
Flashback:
She had let Ravi unbuckle her sports bra one afternoon during coaching, feeling his hands shake as he fumbled with the hooks, lips worshipping the curve of her side while Prayush kissed slowly down her calves, breath hot on her skin. The two boys had been left alone with her in the teacher's cabin for an hour, and she'd let them explore — nothing too final, no breach, but everything else was fair game. Their eager tongues on her toes, their soft, sweet kisses on the arches of her feet, the way Ravi dared to brush his lips around her armpit while she trembled, letting out a shameful moan — it all replayed now like a decadent film.
They had grown bolder too. Prayush had once pinned her gently against the cabin wall, hands stroking under her semi-see kurti, praising her softness, worshipping the way her scent made his head spin. Ravi had even begged her to let him worship between her legs, and she had — spreading for him on her teacher's chair while he buried his face in her thighs, licking, praising, tasting.
In those weeks, Shalini discovered she could manage all three men in her orbit — Ravi's hungry, almost reverent adoration, Prayush's aggressive but respectful desire, and Ayu's raw, obedient worship.
Flashback:
Ayu, that same week, had pulled her onto his lap at Malika's house, letting his tongue work in teasing circles until she couldn't think straight, making her moan until her throat burned, then lifting her, carrying her to the bed, and taking her again with that same eager sweetness, murmuring praises in between.
Shalini's mind still reeled from that memory — how she'd stared up at the ceiling, her own voice loud and helpless while he rocked into her, his kisses trailing from her shoulder to her jaw. Afterward, she'd found herself smiling, running her fingers through Ayu's hair, thinking this is what I was born for.
She could never tell Avi, of course. He still saw her as the stable mother, strict but loving, hard-working. And so she lied easily: telling him she had extra exams to supervise, or her friend was ill, or she was busy with papers late into the night.
But inside? She was drunk on the rush.
The new clothes made her bold. She had even dared a pair of black mesh leggings one day, thin enough that her red thong peeked through, sending Ravi and Prayush into silent agony while she bent to pick up their test papers. She would catch them looking, breathless, and give them a wicked, encouraging wink.
It was the same confidence Malika had taught her — Own it, Shalu, she would say, if you are going to be worshipped, then be the goddess.
Flashback:
Just a day ago, she'd sat on the desk in her own coaching classroom, wearing a skin-tight white sports bra with a low neckline, letting the boys kneel at her feet. She ordered Prayush to kiss the arch of her foot while Ravi's mouth pressed softly to the inside of her thigh, their desperate moans echoing around the empty classroom. She let them stay there, faces buried against her, just worshipping.
Flashback:
And then, at Malika's house, Ayu had asked — voice trembling — if he could taste her again, really taste her this time, and she had let him. His tongue had moved so tenderly, so worshipfully, she thought she might die from how good it felt. Her moans had been loud and wild, echoing off Malika's walls.
---
Standing now, stirring her chai with trembling fingers, Shalini felt no shame. Only a deep, delicious thrill.
She was changed.
The shy woman who had taught math in sensible kurtis was dead.
In her place was a woman who let three young men worship her body, who craved their eager hands, their hungry mouths, who let them see every sinful inch of her.
Her mind still burned with the memory of Ayu taking her fully, and how sweet it felt to cross that final boundary — her flower no longer hers alone.
She licked her lips, a tiny smile growing on her face.
Shalini took a sip of the hot chai, letting the burn travel down her throat as if to ground herself, though her mind kept replaying each fevered, glorious sin from these past weeks. She shifted in her kitchen, the smooth cotton of her new, scandalously high-cut shorts brushing against the sensitive skin of her thighs — thighs still carrying faint bite marks from Ayu's worship two days ago.
Everywhere she turned now, she felt their invisible hands. Ravi's trembling lips on her ankles, Prayush's heated breath near the curve of her waist, Ayu's reverent mouth between her legs, each of them a living, pulsing reminder that she was no longer simply a teacher, a mother, a woman burdened by routine. She was a goddess. A prize.
And Malika had been the one to show her that path.
Shalini still remembered how Malika had coaxed her after that first night at the second house, gently but firmly: "You can let them worship you, Shalu. They are willing. They crave you. You deserve that."
And she had believed her.
Each time she recalled the boys' eager eyes, their trembling, sweaty adoration, she felt an electric thrill all the way to her core. Even last night, as she lay alone under her thin bedsheet, she had traced her own lips with shaking fingers, remembering how Ayu's kisses had tasted after he'd finished worshipping her flower. She had whispered his name into the darkness, arching her back against the mattress, breathless, shameless, fully awake to the new life she'd chosen.
Today she was supposed to meet Malika again. They had planned it over the phone, Malika's voice teasing and a little conspiratorial:
"Wear something bold, Shalu — something so tight it will drive those boys crazy if they even glimpse you."
Shalini smiled faintly now, eyes drifting to a new set of leggings folded on the counter. They were nearly see-through, a bold wine color, barely enough to cover a red thong she'd bought to match. She felt her stomach twist in excitement, picturing Ravi's stunned face, Prayush's hungry grin, Ayu's wide, worshipful eyes.
How had she become this woman?
She didn't know — only that she couldn't, wouldn't, go back.
The thrill of having three young men kneel for her, craving her scent, praising her body, was an intoxicating power. And if she was honest, she liked how they made her feel softer and stronger at once, worshipped and in control, free and shameless in a way she never imagined possible.
She laughed under her breath as she rinsed her spoon, shaking off a stray drop of chai.
Yes — tonight she would slip into those leggings, slide her feet into sleek black sandals with little gold chains, tie her hair in a teasingly messy bun. She would let Malika style her makeup again, deepening her eyes with smoky liner, accentuating the fullness of her lips.
And then, she would open the door for Ravi and Prayush, pretending for a moment she was still their teacher, before watching their eyes devour her, worship her, transform her all over again.
The old Shalini was gone.
A new Shalini — fierce, fearless, deliciously worshipped — was here to stay.