Abir's heart pounded as Priya's lips lingered on his, her soft, exploratory kiss igniting a spark that burned through years of high school restraint. Her warmth pressed closer, and he pulled her tighter, one hand cupping her cheek, the other finding the curve of her waist through her soft blue salwar kameez. Joita, seated beside them in the deserted classroom at Rovery College, watched with a satisfied, almost predatory smile, her crimson kurta clinging to her curves, her eyes glinting with mischief. The golden haze of late afternoon filtered through the blinds, casting sultry shadows that danced across their entwined forms, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and unspoken promises.
Priya's breath hitched as Abir deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing hers with a gentle hunger that made her tremble. His fingers slid down her spine, teasing the hem of her kameez, grazing the warm skin beneath. She responded, tentative but eager, her hands roaming his chest, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his kurta, exposing a sliver of tanned skin. Joita's low chuckle broke the silence, her voice a velvet purr. "Go on, Priya," she murmured, leaning closer, her breath hot against Abir's ear. "Touch him like you've always wanted."
The foreplay unfolded like a delicate ritual—Priya's fingers traced his collarbone, her nails grazing lightly, sending shivers through him, while Abir's hand slipped under her kameez, brushing the soft curve of her hip. His lips moved to her neck, kissing softly at first, then nipping with just enough force to draw a gasp, her body arching toward him. Joita watched, her hand resting on Priya's shoulder, guiding her with a gentle push. "Don't hold back," Joita whispered, her tone both encouraging and commanding.
With a knowing glance, Joita stood, pulling Priya to her feet and guiding her to straddle Abir's lap, facing him, her thighs bracketing his. "Let me show you," Joita purred, her hands on Priya's hips, positioning her. Abir's arousal was evident, straining through his pants, and Priya's eyes widened, a mix of nerves and desire as Joita whispered instructions. "Move with him, like this," Joita said, guiding Priya's hips in a slow, circular grind against Abir. He groaned, hands gripping Priya's waist, and thrust upward, entering her with a gentle but firm motion that made her gasp, her fingers clutching his shoulders.
Joita stayed close, her hands steadying Priya, her voice a sultry guide. "Slow at first," she murmured, and Abir followed, his thrusts deliberate, deep, and rolling, each one drawing a soft moan from Priya's lips. Her body trembled, adjusting to the rhythm, her cheeks flushed as she leaned into him. Joita's fingers brushed Priya's hair back, her voice coaxing, "Now faster—let him feel you." Abir's thrusts quickened, sharp and precise, a staccato beat that made Priya's moans rise, her nails digging into his arms. The girls moved together, Joita's hands guiding Priya's hips, amplifying the intensity, until Priya's breaths came in short, desperate gasps, her body trembling with exhaustion.
Sensing her fatigue, Joita smirked, easing Priya off Abir's lap and taking her place with a fluid grace. "Watch and learn," she teased, straddling him, her curves pressing against him as she guided his arousal into her with a single, confident motion. Her style was bolder, more commanding—her hips rolled in deep, grinding circles, then shifted to a fierce, rhythmic bounce that drew a guttural groan from Abir. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing his chest, her lips capturing his in a searing kiss as she rode him with unapologetic intensity. Priya watched, catching her breath, her eyes wide with awe and a flicker of envy, her fingers absently tracing her own lips as Joita's moans filled the room.
Their climax came in a rush, Joita's cries mingling with Abir's as they collapsed together, sweat-slicked and breathless. Priya's shy smile returned, a silent promise of more, as the classroom's golden light bathed them in a warm afterglow.
---
The next day, in the sweltering afternoon heat, Abir sat alone in a classroom at Rovery College, his mind a tangle of yesterday's heat—Joita's boldness, Priya's unexpected fire. The five female students from the previous encounters occupied the front bench, their chatter hushed, their glances sharp and conspiratorial. Abir's gut tightened; they were up to something, their eyes darting to the door with an expectant edge, their whispers too low to catch. He packed his book into his bag, ready to escape the charged atmosphere and head home, when the door swung open.
Joita entered, her presence a burst of energy, her kurta a vibrant emerald that clung to her curves, her dupatta trailing like a tease. Before she could reach Abir, the five girls called out, "Joita!" in unison, their voices sharp with purpose. She paused, arching a brow, and sauntered over to them. Abir watched, curiosity prickling as they huddled, their voices low and urgent, heads bent together like conspirators. The doe-eyed girl gestured animatedly, while the cropped-hair one smirked, her eyes flicking to Abir. He strained to hear, but their words were a murmur, leaving him on edge, his mind racing with questions.
After a moment, Joita broke away, striding toward Abir with a familiar smirk, the five girls trailing behind her like a curious entourage. She stopped in front of him, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "You won't believe this," she said, her voice low and teasing. "They've got a demand. They want us to… perform in the women's washroom. And they want to watch, up close." She paused, letting the words sink in, her smirk widening. "If we don't, they'll report us to the principal."
Abir's jaw dropped, shock rooting him to the spot. The five girls stood behind Joita, their expressions a mix of daring and barely concealed excitement—the freckled one bit her lip, the long-braided one's eyes sparkled with challenge, and the cropped-hair girl grinned like she'd already won. His mind reeled, torn between disbelief and the absurd thrill of their audacity. "Joita, that's… blackmail," he stammered, his voice low, searching her face for a sign of outrage.
But Joita's smile only deepened, her eyes dancing with delight. "Let's fulfill their desire," she purred, leaning closer, her breath warm against his cheek. "We shouldn't make them angry." Her tone was playful, but the glint in her eyes told him she was relishing every second of this twisted game, her boldness thriving on the risk.
Abir stared at her, his heart racing, knowing Joita was fully enjoying the blackmail, her fearless allure pulling him into the vortex of temptation once again.