The midday sun filtered through the curtains of Abir's bedroom, casting a warm, golden haze over the modest space—his study desk cluttered with books, a single bed neatly made, the air tinged with the faint scent of sandalwood from a nearby incense burner. Abir stood frozen in the doorway, his hand still on the knob, staring at Ananya, one of the five female students who'd watched his reckless dances with Joita and Meera. Her presence here, in his home, felt like a spark in a powder keg. Her simple kurta hugged her slender frame, her long hair loose, and her eyes—bold and unapologetic—fixed on him with a hunger that made his pulse race.
Ananya stepped past him into the room, uninvited, her movements confident as she sank onto the edge of his bed, crossing her legs with deliberate grace. "Nice place," she said, her voice soft but laced with intent, her gaze never wavering. Abir closed the door, his throat dry, the weight of her earlier words—*I saw them leave this morning*—hanging heavy. "What do you want, Ananya?" he asked, his voice cautious, though a flicker of curiosity stirred within him.
She leaned forward, her smile teasing, but her eyes betrayed a nervous edge. "I've wanted to say something… since that first day in the classroom, with Joita." She paused, biting her lip, then continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I saw… your manly weapon. The way it moved with her. I've been thinking about it ever since." Her cheeks flushed, but her gaze held firm. "I want to touch it, Abir. Just once. But I couldn't say it in front of the others. That's why I'm here. And I'm not leaving until my wish is granted." Her tone sharpened, a playful threat creeping in. "Or I might scream, call the neighbors. You don't want that, do you?"
Abir's breath caught, her words igniting a mix of shock and arousal. The audacity of her blackmail, so like the five girls' washroom demand, stirred the same reckless thrill Joita had awakened. Without another word, he unzipped his pants, freeing his arousal, already stirring from her bold confession. Ananya's eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping as she slid off the bed, kneeling before him. Her fingers reached out, tentative at first, tracing the length of his "manly weapon" with a careful, almost reverent touch. The contact sent a jolt through him, his arousal hardening fully under her gaze, and she wrapped her hand around it, stroking slowly, her movements cautious but deliberate.
"Don't… do that," Abir rasped, his voice strained, trying to cling to control as her strokes quickened, her grip tightening. Ananya looked up, her eyes gleaming with defiance. "Okay," she murmured, and before he could react, she leaned forward, taking him into her mouth. Her lips closed around him, warm and wet, sucking with a slow, teasing rhythm, like savoring a lollipop. The sensation was overwhelming—her tongue swirling, her soft hums vibrating against him, pushing him to the edge. Abir's control snapped; he grabbed her head, fingers tangling in her hair, and thrust into her mouth with forceful, measured pumps, her muffled gasps only fueling his intensity. She took him deeper, her hands braced on his thighs, her eyes watering but gleaming with excitement as she surrendered to his dominance.
After a moment, he pulled out, his arousal slick with her saliva, glistening in the dim light. Ananya licked her lips, her breath ragged, a wicked smile spreading across her face. "Now the real dance," she whispered, standing and shedding her kurta, revealing smooth skin and curves that begged to be claimed. Abir's desire surged, and he pushed her toward the bedroom door, pinning her against the frame in a standing split position, one of her legs hooked high over his shoulder. The doorway creaked under their weight as he entered her with a brutal thrust, her scream sharp and unrestrained, echoing through the empty house. His thrusts were relentless, a series of rapid, piston-like slams that made her body jolt against the frame, her hands clawing at the wood for balance. "Abir… yes!" she gasped, her voice breaking, her hips bucking to meet him despite the force.
He varied the style, shifting to slow, grinding rotations, his hips circling deep inside her, dragging out every sensation until her knees buckled, her cries turning to desperate whimpers. He fisted her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat, his other hand squeezing her breast with bruising force, her nipple hardening under his rough palm. The door rattled with each thrust, the risk of it swinging open adding a pulse of adrenaline—neighbors could be just outside, the house too quiet to hide her screams.
Abir spun her around, bending her over the edge of his study desk, her palms slapping against the scattered books. In a modified doggy style, he pinned her wrists behind her back with one hand, his other gripping her hip as he thrust with savage intensity, each slam pushing her forward, her breasts dragging across the desk's surface. Her screams grew louder, a mix of pain and ecstasy, her body trembling as she begged, "Harder… don't stop!" He obliged, switching to a pile-driver angle, lifting her hips slightly to plunge deeper, the desk creaking under the force, books tumbling to the floor. Her cries echoed, raw and unfiltered, her hair spilling like ink across the wood.
For the final act, he pulled her to the bed, laying her flat for a missionary variant, her legs hooked over his arms, folding her nearly in half. His thrusts were explosive, each one a full-body collision, his weight pinning her down as he mauled her breasts, twisting her nipples until she howled. Ananya's eyes rolled back, her nails raking bloody trails down his arms, her climax crashing through her in shuddering waves. Abir followed, his release a roar as he buried himself deep, their bodies locked in a sweaty, trembling embrace.
The room fell silent, save for their ragged breaths. Ananya lay sprawled on the bed, her kurta discarded, her skin marked with red handprints and flushed arousal. She looked up at him, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. "Worth the wait," she murmured, her voice hoarse but content.
But Ananya wasn't done. After half an hour, as Abir caught his breath, she climbed onto his lap, her eyes glinting with renewed hunger. She guided him inside her with a slow, deliberate motion, her warmth enveloping him as she whispered, "This isn't over yet." She began to ride him, her hips rolling in a fierce, rhythmic dance, her breasts bouncing with each upward thrust. Her moans filled the room, a new song of pleasure, her hands gripping his shoulders as she set a relentless pace, her body claiming him as much as he'd claimed her. Their dance of pleasure continued, a wild, uninhibited spiral, her screams mingling with his groans as they chased another peak, the bed creaking under their fervor.
Finally, they collapsed, exhausted, the room heavy with the scent of sweat and sandalwood. Ananya dressed slowly, her eyes never leaving his, a silent promise of more as she slipped out, leaving him alone in the quiet house.
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The next day, in the sweltering afternoon heat, Abir's mind was a storm of overthinking. The classroom at Rovery College felt like a trap, the memory of the five girls' lustful stares, Ananya's bold visit, Meera's office ravishment, and Joita's reckless games weighing on him. He couldn't bear to stay, the walls closing in with their whispers. Needing air, he climbed to the college rooftop, the open space a refuge from his spiraling thoughts.
When he reached the top, rain greeted him—a sudden, warm downpour that drenched the concrete and blurred the horizon. And there, in the heart of the storm, was Joita, her figure a vision of raw, untamed allure. She stood under the rain, arms outstretched, her kurta soaked and clinging to every curve like a second skin, the fabric nearly transparent, outlining the lush swell of her full breasts, the taut peaks of her nipples straining against the cloth. Her hips, wide and inviting, swayed slightly as she spun, the wet material hugging the curve of her ass, each movement a provocative dance that made Abir's breath catch. Her dark hair clung to her shoulders, dripping rivulets down her cleavage, her skin glistening with a lustful sheen that turned the rain into a lover's caress. From Abir's eyes, she was a goddess of desire, her curvy body a siren's call, every inch radiating a primal heat that set his blood on fire.
Mesmerized, Abir walked toward her, his steps automatic, drawn by the magnetic pull of her presence. He reached her, rain soaking his own clothes, and pulled her close, his hands finding her waist, her wet curves molding against him. He leaned in, lips brushing her ear, his voice a low growl. "You really drive me crazy."
Joita's smile was slow, wicked, her eyes gleaming through the rain. "How much?" she teased, her voice a sultry challenge.
Abir answered with a bite to her earlobe, sharp and possessive, drawing a soft gasp from her lips as the rain poured around them, their bodies pressed together in the storm.