You step out of the CS building into the late afternoon haze, the Mumbai sun dipping low and golden, casting long shadows across the leafy campus paths. The air is thick with the scent of blooming frangipani and distant street food vendors firing up their carts—smoky tandoori chicken mingling with exhaust from passing autos. Your body hums with residual energy, muscles loose and powerful, skin still tingling from her nails raking down your back. Your cock, finally sated but heavy in your jeans, twitches at the memory: the way Professor Ananya Sharma's tight, dripping pussy clenched around you, milking every last drop as you bred her deep.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out, a slow smirk curling your lips.
Unknown Number: *Come to my apartment tonight. 8 PM. I need more. Address attached. Don't make me wait, Arjun.*
Attached is a location pin—Bandra, upscale, far from the cramped hostel life you knew in your past timeline. Another message follows almost immediately:
*Bring that stamina. I'll be ready for you to ruin me again.*
Heat surges straight to your groin. You can almost hear her husky voice, feel the ghost of her thick ass rippling under your palms as you spanked it raw. Your shaft thickens again, pressing insistently against fabric already stained from earlier leaks. The system's gifts—no refractory period, endless endurance—make the anticipation excruciatingly sweet.
You pocket the phone and head back to the hostel, the walk a deliberate tease: every step rubbing your sensitive head, building that low, throbbing ache. By the time you push open the dorm door, you're half-hard, pulse steady but hungry.
Your roommates are sprawled out—Vicky on his bunk scrolling hentai on his laptop, moaning exaggeratedly at some tentacle scene; Fatty demolishing a packet of Parle-G with chai; Karan doing push-ups in the corner, sweat glistening on his toned arms.
They pounce immediately.
"Arre, lover boy returns!" Vicky cackles, pausing his video. "What was that 'meeting' with Professor MILF? You were gone two hours, bhai."
Fatty grins, crumbs on his shirt. "You look... satisfied. Like you ate the whole cafeteria."
Karan drops for a final rep, breathing hard. "Spill, Mehta. She's way out of league for freshmen."
You just smile—slow, confident, the kind that makes them quiet down. "Gentlemen's secrets."
But inside, the power thrums. In your old life, you'd have stammered, shrunk away. Now? You're the one they envy.
You shower quick—hot water cascading over upgraded muscle, steam thick with cheap hostel soap. Your cock stands proud under the spray, thick and veined, demanding attention. You stroke it lazily, thumb circling the slick head, imagining Ananya on her knees, full lips stretched around you, tears in her eyes from deepthroating every inch. But you stop short. Save it for her.
By 7:30, you're out—new clothes bought impulsively online with today's reward (delivered same-day, because money talks), crisp shirt hugging your broad chest, jeans tailored just right. The cab ride to Bandra is torture: city lights blurring, her jasmine scent still in your nose, cock straining the whole way.
Her building is sleek—marble lobby, security that waves you up without question. She opens the door on the first knock.
Fuck.
She's in a black silk robe, barely tied, gaping open to reveal nothing underneath but skin—creamy, flushed, heavy breasts spilling free, dark nipples already peaked and begging for your mouth. The robe stops mid-thigh, hinting at the thick curves below. Her hair is loose, wavy, lips bare and swollen like she's been biting them waiting.
"Finally," she breathes, pulling you inside by your shirt. The door slams. She presses against you immediately—soft, yielding tits crushing to your chest, hips grinding so you feel her heat through fabric. "I've been wet since you left. Touch me."
You don't ask. You claim.
Your mouth crashes to hers—rough, possessive, tongue invading as you back her against the wall. She moans deep, submissive, hands fumbling with your belt. You pin her wrists above her head with one hand, the other yanking her robe open fully. Her body is a feast: full, heavy breasts swaying, wide hips, thick thighs parting instinctively, pussy already glistening—swollen lips parted, clit peeking, a trail of arousal slicking her inner thighs.
"Look at you," you growl against her throat, biting down hard enough to mark. "Desperate little slut for a student's cock."
She whimpers, arching. "Yes—your slut. Professor by day, your whore by night."
You release her wrists only to spin her around, press her chest to the cool wall. Her ass pushes back—plush, round, perfect. You spank it once—sharp, echoing crack. She gasps, flesh blooming pink. Again. Harder. Until she's trembling, sobbing pleas.
"Please—fuck me—breed me again—"
You free your cock—thick, raging, precum dripping in strings. You rub the head along her slit, teasing her entrance, coating yourself in her juices. She's drenched, clenching at nothing.
"Beg properly."
"Please, Arjun—sir—master—fill your professor's needy cunt. Pump me full until I'm dripping your cum. Want you to knock me up—make me yours—"
The words snap your control. You thrust in deep—one brutal stroke burying you to the hilt. She screams, walls spasming wildly around your girth, so tight it borders pain. You don't ease in. You fuck her against the wall—hips slamming, balls slapping her clit with every drive. Her tits bounce against plaster, nipples scraping.
You wrap one hand in her hair, yank her head back, the other around her throat—light choke, feeling her pulse thunder. "Take it, good girl. Such a greedy breeding bitch."
She comes instantly—hard, squirting down your shaft, legs shaking. You don't stop. Pound through it, overstimulating until she's babbling, tears streaming.
You pull out, drag her to the bedroom—king bed, dim lights, silk sheets. You push her down on all fours, bind her wrists quick with her discarded robe belt—loose enough to escape, tight enough to restrain. She tests it, moans approval.
"Blindfold me," she whispers. "Use me."
You oblige—another silk tie over her eyes. Then worship: mouth on her tits, sucking nipples until they're raw, biting down as she arches. Down her soft belly to her pussy—devouring her, tongue fucking deep, sucking her clit until she squirts again, soaking the sheets.
Only then do you mount her from behind—slow at first, savoring her blind submission, then rough. Hair-pulling, spanking, choking. You thumb her tight ass, pressing in knuckle-deep while railing her cunt.
"Mine," you growl. "This hole too—one day."
"Yes—anything—"
You flip her, spread her legs wide, pin her bound hands above. Missionary now—deep, grinding strokes hitting her cervix. Her blindfold is soaked with tears of overstimulation, body writhing through orgasm after orgasm—four, five, until she's limp, voice hoarse.
Finally, you unleash—bury deep, roar as you flood her. Thick ropes painting her womb, overflowing, leaking out as you keep thrusting lazily through it.
"Feel that?" you murmur, kissing her sweat-slick neck. "Bred like you begged."
She clenches weakly, aftershocks milking you. "More... please... your stamina..."
You smile darkly, already hardening inside her again.
The night is young. And you're just getting started.
As you pull the blindfold off, her eyes meet yours—glazed, possessive, utterly claimed.
"You're not leaving tonight," she says. "Or ever, if I have my way."
You chuckle, low and dangerous, rolling her onto you for round three.
The system pings softly in your mind—new notification glowing:
+50,000 EXP gained. Level up imminent.
Perfect.