The women's washroom at Rovery College was silent, the usual campus buzz replaced by a charged stillness, the fluorescent lights casting a stark glow on the gleaming tiles. The air held a faint antiseptic scent, laced with the electric tension of what was about to unfold. Abir's pulse thundered as the five female students ushered him and Joita inside, their footsteps echoing with intent. The doe-eyed girl, her cheeks flushed with anticipation, locked the main door with a sharp click, sealing them in. The cropped-hair girl, her smirk sharp, pointed to a western toilet cubicle, its door ajar. "Do it in there," she commanded, her voice edged with excitement. "And we're watching."
Joita, her emerald kurta clinging to her curves, turned to Abir, her eyes gleaming with mischief and defiance. "Do as they wish," she murmured, leaning close, her breath hot against his ear. "Or they'll report us to the principal." Her tone was playful, but the blackmail's weight pressed against him, her lips curving into a smile that reveled in the reckless game.
Abir sighed, a mix of resignation and illicit thrill, his body already betraying him with a stir of arousal at the audacity of the situation. "Fine," he muttered, meeting Joita's gaze. The five girls watched, their expressions a blend of bold curiosity and eager anticipation. The freckled one stepped forward, her hands outstretched. "Clothes off," she said, her voice trembling with eagerness. Joita complied, peeling off her kurta and dupatta with deliberate grace, revealing smooth, bare skin. Abir followed, shedding his shirt and pants, his arousal evident as the cool air hit him. The freckled girl clutched their clothes, her eyes darting between them with a flush of envy.
Naked and exposed, Abir's arousal surged, the girls' gazes and the confined space igniting a primal heat. Joita led him into the cubicle, the door left open, the five girls crowding just outside, their eyes locked on every move. Inside the tight space, Joita took charge, her dominance electric. She pushed Abir against the tiled wall, her lips crashing onto his in a fierce, commanding kiss, her tongue claiming his with a hunger that drew a groan from his throat. Her hands roamed, nails raking his chest, then lower, teasing his arousal with featherlight touches that sent shivers through him. She straddled him, her thighs pressing against his, guiding his hands to her breasts, urging him to squeeze as she nipped his earlobe, whispering, "Make them jealous."
The five girls watched, transfixed—the long-braided one bit her lip, her breath hitching; the cropped-hair girl's smirk faded into parted lips, her eyes heavy with desire. But a spark of realization hit Abir mid-kiss: this was Joita's game, her desire to play with fire, to push boundaries until they burned. Defiance flared within him—he'd make her feel the flames. With a low growl, he flipped her around, pinning her against the cubicle wall, her back to his chest. His thrusts began, rough and unyielding, entering her with a force that made her gasp, her hands bracing against the tiles. "You wanted this," he rasped, determined to make her scream, to teach her the cost of her reckless tease.
He varied his styles, each a lesson in intensity. First, deep, grinding thrusts, his hips rolling against her, filling the cubicle with her sharp moans. Joita's cries were loud, raw, teetering on the edge of pain as she arched back, her trembling body betraying her enjoyment. The doe-eyed girl clutched her friend's arm, whispering, "She's… feeling everything," her body swaying as if caught in the rhythm. Abir shifted to quick, forceful thrusts, each one slamming into Joita, her screams echoing off the tiles, a mix of pleasure and strain. The freckled girl's hand drifted to her thigh, touching herself lightly, her cheeks burning, while the cropped-hair girl licked her lips, murmuring, "Look at her face—she's lost in it." Then, slow, torturous strokes, dragging out every sensation until Joita's knees buckled, her cries turning to desperate whimpers. The long-braided girl leaned closer, her fingers brushing her own collarbone, her breath syncing with Joita's.
The sharp-eyed girl interrupted, her voice commanding. "Enough in there. Bring her out—do it against the sink. We want to see you in the mirror." Abir paused, catching his breath, and Joita, panting, nodded with a shaky smile, still reveling in the chaos. They stepped out, the five girls parting, their eyes gleaming with lustful anticipation. Abir pressed Joita against the sink, her back to him, her reflection in the mirror a vision of flushed cheeks and parted lips. He tangled one hand in her hair, pulling it back firmly, exposing her neck as he entered her again, standing, his thrusts deep and rhythmic. Each surge was mirrored in the glass, her breasts swaying with the motion, her screams louder now, bouncing off the tiled walls, a blend of pleasure and pain as his grip on her hair tightened. The girls watched, some openly touching themselves—the freckled one's hand pressed harder against her thigh, the long-braided one's fingers grazed her neck, their breaths hitching in sync with Joita's cries.
Their climax hit like a storm, Joita's scream peaking as her body shuddered against the sink, Abir following with a guttural groan, their reflections a blur of sweat and surrender. The girls stood frozen, holding their breath, their faces a mix of awe, arousal, and satisfaction. The sharp-eyed girl spoke, her voice cool but approving. "You're free to leave—for today." The others nodded, their lustful gazes lingering as Abir and Joita gathered their clothes, dressing in silence. They left the washroom, the door clicking shut behind them, the five girls remaining inside, their whispers echoing faintly.
---
The next afternoon, Abir sat in a classroom at Rovery College, a book open before him, but the words blurred under the weight of his thoughts. The washroom's intensity—Joita's screams, the girls' ravenous stares—clung to him like a fever. The five female students were there again, seated at the front bench, their eyes no longer subtle but openly lustful, tracking his every move with a hunger that made his skin prickle. The doe-eyed one licked her lips, her gaze lingering on his hands; the cropped-hair girl smirked, whispering something that made her friends giggle, their eyes locked on him. Abir's mind spiraled, overthinking their intentions, the blackmail, the way their presence twisted his world. He couldn't focus, the book a prop in his restless hands.
The door opened, and Professor Meera entered, her presence commanding. Her sleeveless black blouse clung to her form, barely containing her full breasts, the fabric taut and revealing. Her white saree, almost see-through, draped elegantly over her curves, hinting at the silhouette beneath, her dark hair pinned with a single loose strand adding a touch of allure. Her sharp eyes and confident stride silenced the room. "Abir," she said, her voice firm but laced with curiosity. "I need to see you in my office. Now."
Confused, Abir's stomach churned as he gathered his things and followed her, the five girls' gazes burning into his back. In her office, a small, book-lined space with a heavy wooden desk, Meera gestured to a chair in front of it. He sat, hands clenching the armrests, and asked, "Why did you call me, ma'am?"
Meera didn't sit. She paced slowly, moving from his left to his right, her saree swishing softly, her eyes fixed on him with an intensity that made his throat dry. She stopped, leaning against the desk, her blouse straining slightly as she crossed her arms. "Yesterday, I went to use the women's washroom. The door was locked from inside, and I heard… moaning. Quite loud. Then, after a while, I saw you and Joita leave." She paused, her gaze piercing. "So, Abir, what were you two doing in there?"
Abir's blood turned to ice, fear rooting him to the chair, his mind blank as Meera's words hung in the air, a new threat looming over the reckless dance of temptation.