Abir froze, his body rigid beneath Joita's warmth, the words echoing in his mind like a thunderclap: *Go ahead. Watch all you want.* The five girls hovered just inches away now, their semicircle tight and unyielding, eyes gleaming with a mix of audacity and raw curiosity. One of them, with wide doe eyes and flushed cheeks, leaned in so close he could hear her shallow breaths; another, bolder with cropped hair and a sly grin, crossed her arms but couldn't hide the way her gaze darted hungrily between him and Joita. The air thickened, charged with their presence, turning the classroom into a stage for something forbidden and exhilarating. Abir's heart hammered, a storm of shock and thrill warring within him—part of him wanted to bolt, to shatter this reckless bubble, but another, deeper part, the one Joita had awakened, craved the exposure, the validation of their desire laid bare.
Joita, perched on his lap facing him, her full breasts pressed firmly against his chest like a deliberate promise, sensed his hesitation and turned it to her advantage. Her lips curved into that wicked, seductive smile, and without a word, she closed the distance, capturing his mouth in a kiss that was all fire and command. It started soft, her lips brushing his with a teasing pressure, but deepened swiftly—her tongue slipping past his parted lips, tasting him with a hunger that made his head spin. Abir's shock melted under her assault; he followed her lead, his hands sliding up her back, fingers tangling in the loose fabric of her kurta as he kissed her back with equal fervor. The kiss was a clash of breaths and sighs, her teeth nipping his lower lip, drawing a low groan from him that vibrated against her mouth. Her breasts shifted with each press, soft and insistent against his chest, igniting sparks that raced down his spine.
The five girls watched, transfixed, their expressions a tapestry of vicarious thrill. The doe-eyed one bit her lip hard, her cheeks blooming crimson as if the kiss were her own, her hands clasped tightly in her lap to steady the tremble. The cropped-hair girl's grin faded into parted lips and heavy-lidded eyes, her body leaning forward unconsciously, as though pulled by the magnetic pull of Joita's bold claim.
But Joita wasn't one to linger on preliminaries. With a soft, throaty hum against his lips, she broke the kiss just long enough to shift her hips, grinding down onto him in a slow, deliberate circle that reignited yesterday's fire. Abir's arousal, already straining, met her movement, and the primal dance began anew, raw and unfiltered under the girls' gaze. He gripped her hips with bruising force, lifting her slightly before pulling her down onto him in one rough, deep thrust that made her gasp into his mouth. Their rhythm built swiftly—first, a series of short, staccato thrusts, quick and teasing, his hips snapping up to meet her descent, each impact drawing a sharp, breathy cry from Joita that echoed off the walls. The girls reacted in waves: one with long braids clutched her friend's arm, her eyes wide and unblinking, a soft "Oh…" escaping as if she could feel the jolt; another, freckled and fidgety, uncrossed her legs only to recross them tighter, her face a mask of flushed envy, whispering, "He's so… intense."
Abir varied the pace, his hands roaming possessively—one sliding up to squeeze her breast through her kurta, thumb circling the hardened peak until she arched with a moan, the other anchoring her hip to control the depth. He shifted to long, languid strokes, pulling her down fully before grinding in a circular motion that made her tremble, her head falling back against his shoulder as pleasure rippled through her. The doe-eyed girl mirrored the arch, her hand fluttering to her own collarbone, breath hitching in sync; the cropped-hair one licked her lips, her bold grin returning as she murmured to her neighbor, "Look at her face—she's lost in it." Joita's moans grew louder, uninhibited, her nails raking his arms as she rode the waves, and Abir responded with a fiercer style—powerful, upward surges that lifted her slightly off his lap before slamming her back down, each thrust a claim that shook the bench and sent tremors through the air.
The girls were a chorus of subtle shifts and stifled sounds: the freckled one fanned herself with a stray paper, her eyes glued to the way Joita's curves jolted with every surge, while the long-braided girl leaned so close her knee brushed the bench, her expression a blend of awe and longing, as if each powerful movement painted a vivid picture on her skin. The dance consumed Abir and Joita, their bodies slick with sweat, breaths mingling in ragged harmony, until climax shattered over them—Joita's cry peaking in a shuddering release, Abir following with a guttural groan, holding her tight as the world blurred.
The girls lingered a moment longer, their faces a mosaic of flushed satisfaction and unspoken questions, before one cleared her throat with a nervous laugh, and they retreated, whispering feverishly as they filed out. Abir and Joita remained tangled, chests heaving, the afterglow wrapping them in a hazy warmth. "You're insane," he murmured, nuzzling her neck, but his voice held only affection.
Joita chuckled, her fingers tracing his jaw. "And you wouldn't have me any other way."
---
The next day, the classroom at Rovery College bathed in the same golden haze, Abir sat on his familiar bench, his body still humming from the previous encounters, a mix of anticipation and wariness knotting in his gut. The five girls were absent today, but their shadow lingered in his mind, a reminder of how Joita's boldness had reshaped his world. He flipped through his notebook absently, thoughts drifting to her—the way her laughter had echoed in high school hallways, the unspoken confessions that had simmered between them for years.
The door swung open, and Joita entered, her presence a rush of jasmine and heat, her kurta a deep crimson that hugged her curves like a second skin, dupatta trailing like an afterthought. But she wasn't alone. Trailing behind her, with a shy smile that didn't quite hide the spark in her eyes, was Priya—Abir's high school friend, the quiet one whose lingering glances and soft-spoken words had always hinted at more. A year his junior like Joita, Priya had harbored a secret crush on him back then, her blushes and accidental touches fueling fantasies he'd never voiced. Now, in her first semester at Rovery, she stood taller, her simple salwar kameez in soft blue accentuating her slender frame, her hair loose in gentle waves.
"Surprise," Joita purred, her voice laced with mischief as she sauntered over, Priya in tow. Abir's eyes widened, his notebook slipping from his fingers. "Priya? What—how?"
Priya's cheeks pinked, but she met his gaze steadily, a newfound confidence blooming under Joita's encouraging nudge. "Joita… convinced me to come," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of that old shyness, but her eyes held a bolder light. "We talked about high school. About you."
Joita slid onto the bench beside him, her thigh brushing his, while Priya hesitated only a moment before taking the spot on his other side, close enough for her arm to graze his. The air crackled with possibility, Joita's hand finding Abir's knee under the table, her touch light but electric. "She's been dying to see you again," Joita teased, leaning in to whisper, "And I thought we could… share the dance."
Abir's breath caught, the weight of their nearness—Joita's bold heat on one side, Priya's tentative warmth on the other—stirring the embers anew. Priya's fingers brushed his hand, tentative at first, then bolder, intertwining with his. The classroom faded, the world narrowing to this charged triangle, high school ghosts coming alive in a haze of temptation.
Priya leaned in, her eyes fluttering shut, and pressed her lips to his—a soft, exploratory kiss that deepened with surprising hunger, her mouth warm and yielding, tasting of unspoken years. Abir's free hand cupped her cheek, pulling her closer as Joita watched with a satisfied smile, the dance evolving once more.