Adultery NAZRIN AN INNOCENT WIFE (With pics)

[kangaani]

Super. I guess the boys would have reached her house already.

[Samadhanam]

Hot updat

[Cuckoldindian]

Update 14:

Nazrin glanced at the clock on the wall, the red digital numbers glaring back at her like accusatory eyes. It was 11 PM, much later than she had intended to be up. The candles had burned low, leaving the room in a flickering half-light that threw eerie shadows across the walls. Her hand hovered over her phone, the message she had sent feeling like a confession hanging in the air.

 
Her thoughts wandered to Muthu and Praveen. She wondered if they were asleep, their young bodies exhausted from a day of classes and their secret nights spent feeding their insatiable hunger for explicit content. Her mind painted a picture of them, sprawled out on their beds in their cramped hostel room, the blue glow of their phone screens the only light in the darkness.
 
With a sigh, Nazrin allowed herself to succumb to the weight of the evening's events. Her body felt heavy, laden with desire that hadn't fully been satisfied. Her eyes grew heavy, and she lay down on the couch, the plush cushions enveloping her in a warm embrace. The candles had burned down to nubs, casting an eerie glow across the room, throwing dancing shadows across her semi-naked form.
 
Her mind drifted back to Arun's confession, the way his eyes had searched hers for understanding and acceptance. She knew that he was now inextricably linked to her, his secret shared, his desire laid bare. It was a heady feeling, knowing that she had such power over him.
 
As she lay there, the candles slowly guttered and died, leaving the room in darkness. Her thoughts grew hazy, the edges of her consciousness blurring like the shadows around her. She felt the soft cushions of the couch beneath her, the warmth of the room lulling her into a state of relaxation she hadn't felt in months. And she drifts away to sleep.
 
The next morning, the harsh beep of her alarm clock jolted Nazrin out of her slumber at 7 AM. She sat up with a start, her heart racing as the events of the night replayed in her mind. The candle wax had hardened on the floor, and the scent of coconut oil and sex clung to the air. She looked around, her eyes adjusting to the early light that filtered through the windows. It was all too real.
 
She was wearing only the matching bra and panty set, the fabric clinging to her skin like a second layer. The sight of herself, half-dressed and surrounded by the trappings of their secret rendezvous, brought a fresh wave of arousal. Her hand reached down to her panties, her fingers slipping under the waistband to stroke her bare skin. The fabric was damp with her desire, a testament to the passion that had been building since her first encounter with the students.
 
Her phone buzzed again, pulling her from her thoughts. She picked it up, her heart racing as she read the message from Muthu and Praveen. They were cutting class, seeking excitement elsewhere. The thought of their young, eager bodies out in the world, filled with the promise of mischief, made her core tighten with need.
 
Nazrin took a deep breath, her hand hovering over the keyboard. "What kind of fun?" she typed, her pulse quickening as she sent the message. It was a simple question, but one that held a world of possibility. The anticipation was delicious, a sweet agony that made her mouth water.
 
Muthu's reply came almost immediately. "Since we are horny for the past days," he wrote, the words sending a shiver down her spine, "we have hired a hooker. We are gonna fuck her."
 
Nazrin's hand froze over her phone, her mind racing. A hooker? Her two young students? The thought was shocking, yet undeniably arousing. It was a stark reminder of the power dynamics at play, and the thrill of it all made her wet.
 
Her heart racing, she typed back, "A threesome?" The message sent, she waited with bated breath.
 
Praveen's response was swift, his excitement palpable. "Yeah, Ma'am," he confirmed.
 
Nazrin felt a jolt of excitement at their invitation. The line between teacher and student had blurred to the point of non-existence, and she was now just another participant in their sexual escapades. Her mind raced with the implications of their offer, the risks and the rewards.
 
"Ma'am, wanna join?" Muthu's text was like a siren call, tempting her to cast aside the last vestiges of propriety. Her heart pounded as she considered the offer, the thought of watching her students lose their innocence before her eyes both exhilarating and terrifying.
 
Nazrin took a moment to compose herself, her hand shaking slightly. "Nice try, boys," she replied, her voice echoing in the quiet of the room, "but not this time. I have to go for a lecture today." She tried to keep her tone light, but the thrill of the situation was palpable, her body pulsing with desire.
 
Her words seemed to hang in the air, a challenge that only served to inflame the boys' curiosity. The silence was filled with unspoken tension, the unspoken promise of future encounters that would push the boundaries even further. The thought of watching Muthu and Praveen with another woman was like a drug, a tantalizing glimpse of something she hadn't yet experienced.
 
With a sigh, Nazrin set her phone aside, her heart racing. She could feel the heat of their desire through the screen, a silent symphony that played on the strings of her own yearning. The boys had signed off with a flurry of goodbye emojis, their excitement palpable despite the digital divide.
 
Rising from the couch, she padded across the cold tiles of the living room floor, her bare feet leaving wet prints from their recent escapade. She could feel the stickiness of their combined passion on her skin, a reminder of the power she wielded over these young men. In the bathroom, she turned the shower to a steaming hot, the hiss of the water a cacophony that drowned out the whispering thoughts of her conscience.
 
As the water cascaded over her, she closed her eyes and let the memories of the night wash over her. She remembered the way Arun's eyes had widened when she had touched herself, the raw hunger in his gaze as he watched her pleasure herself. The sound of his voice, so earnest and innocent as he spoke of his first time, was like a symphony to her ears.
 
The steam from the shower clung to her skin as she stepped out, wrapping herself in a towel. Her mind was racing with thoughts of Muthu and Praveen, the two boys who had set her on this path of self-discovery. They had unlocked something within her, something primal and insatiable.
 
Dropping the towel, Nazrin moved through the house naked, the cold air raising goosebumps on her skin. Her breasts bounced gently with each step, the pearls of water from her shower catching the light and creating a mesmerizing pattern. The kitchen was a stark contrast to the warmth of the bathroom, the cold tiles sending a shiver down her spine.
 
With a grace that seemed almost predatory, she pulled out the ingredients for breakfast: eggs, toast, and a banana. The banana caught her eye, and she couldn't help but smirk at the phallic shape. It was as if the universe were playing along with her newfound sexual prowess, offering her a silent wink of encouragement.
 
The cold tiles of the kitchen floor sent a shiver up her spine, making her nipples peak in the chilly air. She leaned against the counter, the cool granite sending a thrill through her body as she cracked the eggs into a sizzling pan. The sound of the eggs meeting the heat was strangely satisfying, echoing the crackling tension that filled the house.
 
As she flipped the toast, Nazrin's eyes strayed to the banana, still lying on the counter. A wicked smile played on her lips as she picked it up, running it along her collarbone and down to her stomach, teasing the sensitive skin. She couldn't help but think of how it would feel inside her, filling her up the way she had fantasized about the students. The fruit's softness was a stark contrast to the hardness she craved, but the thought of their young, eager bodies was enough to keep the ache alive.
 
But just as she was about to slip the banana into her pussy, the shrill ring of the phone pierced the silence. She jumped, dropping the banana onto the counter with a clatter. The mood was shattered, reality crashing into her fantasy like a wave against the shore. She snatched the phone, her heart racing as she saw Fahim's name flash on the screen.
 
"Hello," she said, her voice breathless, hoping he wouldn't suspect anything amiss.
 
"Naz, Hows my wifey?" Fahim's voice was a coarse caress over the phone line, a stark reminder of the reality she had so neatly compartmentalized in the corner of her mind.
 
Nazrin felt her anger spike, the banana still in her hand a silent witness to her thoughts. "What do you mean?" she said, her voice cold, "You're the one leaving me here alone tow nights."
 
Fahim's voice took on a slightly defensive tone. "It's just work, Naz. You know I wouldn't leave unless I had to."
 
Nazrin squeezed the banana in her hand, the fruit's softness a poor substitute for what she truly desired. "Fine," she said, her voice tight with frustration, "when will you come home?"
 
Fahim's tone softened, the hint of contrition in his voice barely masking his annoyance at her question. "I'll be back tomorow night, I promise," he said, the words feeling like a hollow echo in the vast cavern of their crumbling marriage.
 
Nazrin rolled her eyes, the banana in her hand a silent protest to his empty promises. "Fine," she said, her voice a brittle shell of its usual warmth. "But you better not come home smelling like a bar."
 
Fahim's sigh was audible even through the phone. "I won't," he said, his tone weary. "I'll be home as soon as I can."
 
Nazrin nodded, though he couldn't see her. She knew his schedule was tight, but the lack of physical connection was starting to wear on her. "Ok, I have to get ready for college," he added, the words cutting through her thoughts like a knife.
 
With a curt "Alright, see you tomorow," she hung up the phone, the silence in the kitchen suddenly deafening. The banana lay forgotten on the counter, a symbol of her unfulfilled desires. She took a deep breath and placed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. She had a full day ahead, and she needed to keep her mind sharp.
 
The eggs sizzled in the pan as she flipped them onto a plate, the crunch of the toast echoing in the empty house. She carried her breakfast to the dining table, her thoughts a whirlwind of the night before and the day to come. The chair's legs scbangd against the floor, a harsh sound that brought her back to reality.
 
Nazrin took a bite of her toast, the butter melting in her mouth, but the flavor did little to quell the hunger that had nothing to do with food. Muthu and Praveen's message was a siren's call, a temptation that whispered of the forbidden. She imagined them, eager and inexperienced, with their newfound plaything, and the thought made her cheeks flush.
 
Her mind wandered to Arun, the way his body had responded to her touch. She had never felt so powerful, so desired. The college was a minefield of potential encounters, and she knew that today, she would be looking at him differently. The idea of seeing him in the hallowed halls of academia, knowing the secrets they shared, was exhilarating.
 
The crunch of the toast was a stark reminder of the mundane world she was about to re-enter, the cold butter a stark contrast to the warmth that had filled her the night before. But as she swallowed the last bite, she felt a thrill of anticipation. Today was going to be different. She had tasted the forbidden fruit, and she liked it.
 
Her mind raced with the knowledge that Muthu and Praveen would be absent from college, off on their own adventure with a hired hooker. The thought made her squirm in her seat, the juices between her legs reminding her of her own unquenched thirst. She took a deep breath, trying to focus on her lecture notes spread out before her. But her eyes kept drifting to the empty chair across the table, the phantom imprint of Arun's body still lingering in the fabric.
 
Nazrin could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as she thought about the way his cock had felt in her hand, the power she had held in that moment. She knew she would see him today, and the anticipation was a delicious torture. As she bit into the banana, she imagined it was Arun's cock, the sweetness of the fruit mingling with the bitter taste of desire.
 
The juice from the banana trickled down her chin, and she licked it away, her eyes never leaving her reflection in the mirror. She knew what she had to do. With a newfound sense of purpose, she walked into her bedroom. The wardrobe stood open, a sea of fabrics and colors beckoning to her.
 
Her gaze fell on the modern dresses she had bought for special occasions, but none of them felt right for college. The thought of wearing something so proper after the night she had felt like a lie. Instead, she reached for the lingerie drawer, her hand lingering on the red lace push-up bra and panty set. It was bold, it was daring, and it was exactly what she needed to feel in control today.
 
The fabric felt like a whisper against her skin as she slid the bra on, her breasts lifting and swelling over the cups. She watched in the mirror as the lace pushed her cleavage together, creating a tantalizing view that was usually reserved for her husband's eyes. But today, she felt like a woman reclaiming her sexuality, a creature of desire and power.
 
The panties were a second skin, hugging her curves and leaving nothing to the imagination. She stepped into the sleeveless chudithar with a sense of defiance, the deep neckline exposing the swells of her breasts. The leggings clung to her legs, showcasing the firm muscles she had worked so hard to maintain. The outfit was a declaration of war against the mundane, a silent proclamation of the passion that burned within her.
 
As she moved to the mirror, Nazrin caught a glimpse of herself, the red lace peeking out from beneath the fabric. The sight of her own reflection sent a jolt through her, the curves and contours of her body laid bare for her to see. Her hand moved to her neckline, her fingers tracing the edge of the chudithar. It was too much, too provocative, and she knew it.
 
With a sigh, she reached for her shawl, wrapping it around her shoulders with a sense of resignation. The soft fabric was like a blanket, smothering the flames of her desire, but she knew it was necessary.
 
Nazrin walked out the door, the early morning light casting a soft glow over the quiet street. The chill of the early morning air did little to cool the heat that emanated from her body. Each step she took felt like a declaration, her hips swaying with a confidence that was both new and exhilarating.
 
The books in her arms were a prop, a reminder of her role as a college professor, a façade that was slowly crumbling away. She knew that beneath the shawl, the tight chudithar and blouse were working their magic, the fabric hugging her curves in a way that was impossible to ignore. Her every movement seemed to be a silent invitation, a promise of what lay beneath.
 
The college grounds were already bustling with activity, students rushing to their early morning classes, their eyes drawn to her like moths to a flame. She could feel the weight of their gazes as she walked, the whispers following her like a shadow. It was a heady feeling, a cocktail of power and desire that made her blood hum in her veins.
 
Her chudithar whispered against her skin with each step, the fabric clinging to her like a lover's embrace. The occasional gust of wind played with the edges of her shawl, teasing the lacy red bra she wore underneath. She knew the students couldn't see it, but the thought of their reactions if they could was thrilling.
 
Her hips swayed with an unconscious grace, the fabric of her chudithar clinging to her curves with every step. The boys watched her with a hunger that was unmistakable, their eyes devouring the hint of red lace peeking from her neckline. The girls, too, couldn't help but cast envious glances, their own desires stirring at the sight of the woman who walked with the confidence of a queen.
 
Her chudithar clung to her like a second skin, the fabric whispering sweet nothings to the cool morning air. She could feel the heat of her own arousal, the dampness between her legs growing with each step she took. The bricks of the college path seemed to pulse with the rhythm of her heart, each footfall a silent declaration of her newfound power.
 
The classroom door loomed before her, a gateway to the world she had so neatly compartmentalized. But as she pushed it open, she felt the weight of their gazes, the air thick with the scent of anticipation. The students' whispers fell silent as she entered, their eyes following her every move. The room was a sea of young faces, hungry for knowledge, hungry for her.
 
Nazrin moved to the front of the class, her hips rolling with an unmistakable confidence. The red lace of her bra peeked through the neckline of her blouse, a siren's call that none of them could ignore. She felt their eyes on her, a silent symphony of lust and desire that played across their faces. The girls watched her with a mix of admiration and envy, while the boys' gazes were more blatant, their eyes roaming her body with unabashed hunger.
 
Her eyes searched the room, finally landing on the two empty seats at the back, where Muthu and Praveen used to sit. A pang of longing shot through her, the absence of their mischievous smiles and eager glances leaving a void in her soul. But she knew where they were, knew what they were doing. The thought of them with that prostitute sent a thrill of excitement through her, the illicit nature of their rendezvous only fueling her desire.
 
"Alright," she announced, her voice a low purr that seemed to resonate in the quiet classroom, "you all know the drill. Read the next chapter, and if you have any doubts, come to me." The words hung in the air, a challenge to the students, a promise of personal attention that was not purely academic.
 
Nazrin sat down at her desk, her chair groaning slightly under her weight. She spread out the students' assignments before her, the pages a sea of ink and hope. But her eyes kept drifting to the empty seats at the back, the ghosts of Muthu and Praveen's smirks haunting her thoughts. She picked up a red pen, her hand hovering over the first paper as her mind replayed the images they had sent her.
 
The room was silent, save for the rustle of pages and the occasional cough. Then, as if on cue, a student timidly approached her, his eyes glued to the floor. "Ma'am, I have a doubt," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own breathing.
 
Nazrin looked up from her papers, her heart racing at the prospect of a distraction from the thoughts that consumed her. She leaned forward, genuinely eager to help, her shawl slipping slightly to reveal the tantalizing curve of her breasts. The student's gaze flickered upwards, his pupils dilating as he took in the sight of her red lace bra.
 
"Ma'am, I don't understand this question," he mumbled, his voice thick with nerves.
 
Nazrin took a deep breath, pushing aside the tumultuous emotions that swirled within her. "Show me," she said, her voice firm but gentle. As he moved closer, her heart skipped a beat. The scent of his cologne mingled with the faint smell of sweat and youth, sending a fresh wave of desire crashing over her. She took the paper from his trembling hand, her eyes lingering on his fingers for a moment longer than necessary.
 
The student stumbled over his words, his gaze flickering up to her breasts and back down to the paper. She could see the effort he was making to focus, his eyes glassy with lust. Her own desires grew, the memory of her recent encounters a siren's song in her ears. With a swift movement, she corrected her shawl, the red lace vanishing from view.
 
"Now, let's see," she said, her voice a gentle coo that belied the turmoil within her, "What is it you don't understand?"
 
The student looked up at her, his eyes flickering briefly to the spot where the shawl had revealed the edge of her crimson lingerie. She watched as the color rose in his cheeks, the heat of his gaze palpable even as he tried to focus on the assignment. "The question is about the properties of capacitors," he stuttered, holding out the page as if it were a peace offering.
 
Nazrin took it, her own heart racing as she leaned in closer to him, the warmth of his body soaking into her. "Ah, yes," she said, her voice low and soothing, "This is quite simple, really."
 
Her fingers traced the lines of the circuit diagram, her nails gliding over the paper as she explained the concept. The student's breath hitched, his eyes transfixed by the way the light played across her skin, highlighting the delicate veins that pulsed with life beneath the surface. She could feel his gaze on her, a silent plea that she knew all too well.
 
As she spoke, she watched him, his eyes darting between the paper and her face. Each word she said seemed to hang in the air, a sweet promise of what could be, a whisper of the forbidden. When she finally handed the paper back to him, their fingers brushed, a spark that ignited a fire in her belly.
 
The student took the page, his gaze lingering on her breasts before he turned and walked back to his seat, the sway of his hips hinting at his own growing arousal. Nazrin felt a thrill run through her as she watched him go, the power of her sexuality intoxicating. She had always been a teacher, but never before had she felt like a siren luring sailors to their doom.
 
Her eyes fell to the pile of assignments before her, but her mind was racing with thoughts of Muthu and Praveen. What were they doing right now? Were they with the hooker? Did they miss her? Her thoughts grew more and more frantic, her hands trembling slightly as she picked up the red pen once again.
 
The sudden beep of her phone pierced the silence, jolting her back to reality. A WhatsApp message from the trio's group, the screen lighting up with the glow of a secret that only she knew. Her heart pounded in her chest as she glanced at the notification, the anticipation making her feel almost dizzy.
 
Her trembling hand unlocked the screen, revealing the message from Praveen. "You missed out," it read, accompanied by a winking emoji. Her thumb hovered over the play button of the attached video, the thrill of the unknown making her breath hitch. With a furtive glance around the classroom, she muted the volume and pressed play, her pulse racing with excitement.
 
The grainy footage showed Muthu standing behind a girl on a stained mattress, her face obscured by the camera angle. She was dressed in cheap, garish makeup, her body language screaming of desperation and resignation. The sight of his bare back, muscles tensing with each thrust, sent a jolt of arousal through Nazrin. The way his hips slapped against the girl's ass, the wet sounds of their coupling echoing through the otherwise silent classroom, made her bite her lip to stifle a moan.
 
The scene switched to Praveen, his eyes locked onto the camera as he sat on the edge of the bed, his cock in his hand. He was stroking himself with a fervor that was both mesmerizing and disturbing. The camera zoomed in, and Nazrin could see the precum glistening on his tip, a silent testament to his excitement. She watched, her breath shallow, as he leaned back and beckoned the prostitute closer.
 
The girl was on her knees before him, her eyes hollow as she took his cock into her mouth. Nazrin's own mouth went dry as she watched Praveen's face contort with pleasure, his hand buried in the prostitute's hair, guiding her movements. The noises were muted, but she could almost hear the wet sucking sounds, the sloppy gagging that accompanied each deep throat. Her own hand crept up to her neck, her fingers tracing the line of her throat as she imagined herself in the girl's place.
 
The camera angle changed again, the shaky footage a testament to the excitement of the moment. Now it was Muthu, his cock standing tall and proud as the hooker eagerly took him in, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement. Nazrin's chest tightened, her heart racing as she watched the scene unfold. She could feel her own desire rising, a tide that she had no power to stem.
 
The next video was even more explicit, the camera now focused solely on the prostitute's face. She was on her knees, her makeup smeared and eyes glazed over, as Praveen's cock filled the screen. His hand gripped her head, guiding her movements as he thrust into her mouth with a brutal rhythm. The sounds of their encounter were muted, but the raw, animalistic passion was clear in every frame.
 
Nazrin watched, transfixed, as the prostitute's cheeks hollowed with each bob of her head, her lips stretched wide around Praveen's shaft. The girl's eyes flickered up to the camera, a silent plea for release that only served to fuel Nazrin's own desire. She could see the muscles in Praveen's thighs tense, the veins bulging as he approached climax. His moans grew louder, his hips bucking wildly as he neared the edge.
 
The video ended with a close-up of Praveen's cock, still pulsing with the aftermath of his orgasm. The camera panned up to his face, a smug smile playing across his lips as he wiped the last remnants of his cum from the girl's cheek. Nazrin felt a strange mix of envy and arousal, her hand instinctively moving to her own face, tracing the path the semen had taken on the prostitute's skin.
 
Her phone beeped again, snapping her out of her reverie. Muthu had sent a message. "Ma'am, we are just starting," it read, the words like a promise of more to come. Her heart skipped a beat, her thoughts racing. She quickly scanned the room, the students oblivious to the storm brewing within her. The classroom felt stifling, the air thick with the scent of desire that only she could smell.
 
The next message from Praveen made her pulse quicken. "Lots more to come," he teased, the anticipation in his words a tangible force. Her hand slid down to her chest, her palm pressing against the lace that barely contained her breasts. Her nipples were hard, straining against the fabric, aching to be touched, to be seen. The thought of them watching her, planning their next move, filled her with a thrill that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
 
As the bell rang, the students shut their books with a collective sigh. The sound was like a gunshot in the stillness of the room, a harsh reminder of the reality she had briefly escaped. They looked up at her, the hunger in their eyes unabated. Nazrin took a deep breath, gathering her composure as she stood. Her chudithar clung to her like a second skin, the fabric whispering sweet nothings to the air as she moved.
 
The corridor was a blur of faces and footsteps as she made her way to Arun's classroom. Her heart raced with each step, the anticipation of seeing him, of feeling his touch, overwhelming. The air was thick with the scent of chalk and teenage angst, the walls echoing with the whispers of a hundred illicit thoughts. She pushed open the door, her eyes scanning the room for her prey.
 
But the Arun wasn't there, there was a save for the ghostly figure of Reema miss, her eyes glazed over with boredom as she stared out the window. The sight of Nazrin brought her back to reality with a start. "Ma'am?" she asked, her voice high-pitched and uncertain.
 
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Nazrin began, her voice a soft purr that seemed to wrap itself around the room, "but I was wondering if I could borrow Arun for a moment."
 
Reema miss looked up at her with a hint of confusion, her gaze flickering over Nazrin's attire. "I'm afraid Arun did not come for class today," she replied, her eyes lingering on the swell of Nazrin's breasts.
 
Nazrin felt a twinge of disappointment, her heart sinking slightly. She had been looking forward to seeing him, to feeling the power she held over him. "Is he...unwell?" she asked, her voice tight.
 
Reema miss shrugged. "He said he had some personal matters to attend to," she replied, her eyes still lingering on Nazrin's outfit. "Your dress is very...different," she said, her voice filled with a blend of curiosity and envy.
 
Nazrin felt a spark of irritation, but she knew better than to let it show. She turned to leave, her shawl slipping slightly to reveal the red lace beneath. "Oh, this old thing?" she replied with a laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I picked it up from a street vendor last week."
 
Reema miss took a step closer, her gaze lingering on the tantalizing glimpse of crimson fabric. "It suits you," she murmured, her voice dripping with a hint of something that could have been envy or desire.
 
Nazrin forced a smile, her mind racing with questions about Arun's whereabouts. "Ok, thanks," she said, her voice cool and detached despite the tumult of emotions that roiled within her. She turned away from the classroom, the sound of her heels echoing down the hallway as she made her way to the staff room.
 
The corridor felt like a prison, the walls closing in on her with each step she took. The whispers and glances from the students were a constant reminder of the double life she was leading, the illicit thrill of her secret encounters now a stark contrast to the mundane reality of her workplace. She clutched her shawl tightly around her, as if it could somehow shield her from the judgments of her colleagues, as if it could keep her from falling further down the rabbit hole of desire.
 
The staff room was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where she could be alone with her thoughts, with the video that played on repeat in her mind. She pushed the door open, the heavy wood groaning with the weight of a thousand secrets. The room was empty, the silence a stark contrast to the cacophony of the college outside.
 
Nazrin made her way to her desk, her heels clacking against the tiles like a ticking clock. She slid into her chair, the leather cool against her skin. Her eyes fell on the pile of marking she had brought with her, but the words on the pages were a blur. Her thoughts were consumed by the images from the video, the sounds of passion echoing in her ears.
 
Her hand hovered over her phone, her thumb poised over the message from Muthu. "Ma'am, we are just starting," it read. She swiped to the next video, her heart racing. The footage was blurry, but she could make out the two students, their bodies entwined with the hooker's. Her breath grew shallow, her chest rising and falling with each beat of her pulse. The sound of her own panting filled her ears, a symphony of desire that seemed to drown out the rest of the world.
 
Nazrin's eyes darted around the empty staff room, the desks and chairs mere props in the theater of her mind. The silence was deafening, the weight of it pressing down on her like a thick blanket of lust. The air was thick with the scent of her arousal, a scent that seemed to cling to her skin and make her ache for more.
 
Her hand hovered over her phone, the screen dark and silent, the promise of more videos a siren's call she could not resist. With trembling fingers, she unlocked the device, her eyes drawn to the unread messages from the WhatsApp group. Her heart raced as she tapped the screen, the footage from the trio's rendezvous coming to life before her eyes.
 
The video was grainy, the lighting poor, but the passion was unmistakable. The prostitute's moans were muffled, but the way her body moved, the arch of her back, the way she took them both, was a symphony of desire that had Nazrin's knees weakening. She watched, transfixed, as Muthu and Praveen took turns with the girl, their faces contorted with pleasure, their bodies slick with sweat. Her own breath grew shallow, her chest rising and falling in time with the rhythm of their thrusts.
 
Her hand hovered over her phone, the screen a reflection of the room's stark fluorescent lights. She could feel the heat between her own legs, a pulsing need that grew with every passing second. But she didn't dare touch herself here, not with the door unlocked and the echo of footsteps just outside. Instead, she clenched her thighs together, the fabric of her chudithar whispering against her skin, the pressure adding to the ache that grew within her.
 
The video played on, a silent film of raw passion that she watched with hungry eyes. The prostitute's moans were almost silent, the muffled sounds of their encounter a tease that had Nazrin's own breath coming in ragged gasps. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, the red lace of her bra straining against the fabric of her blouse, her breasts swollen and heavy with desire. She squeezed her thighs tighter, the pressure building, the friction sending waves of pleasure through her body.
 
The room grew hotter, the air thick with the scent of her arousal. Her palms grew slick with sweat, her fingers slipping on the phone as she watched Muthu and Praveen's rhythmic dance of lust. She could feel the beads of moisture forming on her forehead, trickling down her neck, the heat of her desire a stark contrast to the coldness of her marriage. The air conditioner hummed in the background, but it might as well have been a mile away for all the good it did.
 
And then, the unthinkable happened. The door to the staff room creaked open, the sound echoing through the stillness like a gunshot. Nazrin's heart stopped, her hand flying to her phone as if it were a hot coal. She locked the screen with trembling fingers, shoving it into her bag as she frantically rearranged her shawl to cover her exposed cleavage. She took a deep breath, forcing her heart to slow, her cheeks to cool, her thoughts to clear.
 
In strode Mr. Srinivasan, his eyes sweeping the room before landing on her with a knowing smile. "Ah, Nazrin," he said, his voice a velvety purr that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand unspoken secrets. "I was just looking for you."
 
Her heart hammered in her chest, the beat a frantic tattoo against her ribs. She forced a smile, her hand tightening on the edge of the desk. "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice steady despite the maelstrom of emotions that swirled within her.
 
Mr. Srinivasan's eyes took a leisurely stroll over her body, lingering on the red lace that peeked out from beneath her shawl. His gaze was like a caress, a silent promise of what could be. "I noticed you weren't in class," he said, his voice low and intimate. "Is everything okay?"
 
Nazrin swallowed hard, the lie sticking in her throat like a dry lump of chalk. "Yes, everything's fine," she replied, her voice a shade too high. She took a deep breath, willing her pulse to slow, her hand sliding down to her side to clutch the phone. "Just had some...personal matters to attend to."
 
Srinivasan took a step closer, his footsteps measured and deliberate. "Ah, I see," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "Well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me." The way he emphasized "anything" had Nazrin's heart skipping a beat, her thoughts racing back to the videos on her phone. Was he one of the guys, watching her? Did he know her secrets?
 
Her hand tightened around the phone, the cold plastic a reassuring presence in her grasp. She forced a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "Thank you, Mr. Srinivasan," she said, her voice a careful dance between professionalism and flirtation. "But I'm quite capable of handling my own affairs."
 
Srinivasan's smile grew, his eyes darkening. "I'm sure you are," he murmured, taking another step closer. Nazrin's heart raced as she watched him, his gaze a silent invitation that sent a shiver down her spine. The scent of his cologne, usually so comforting, now seemed suffocating, a reminder of the boundaries she had crossed.
 
Her eyes darted to the phone in her bag, the weight of its contents pressing on her like an unbearable secret. She forced a laugh, hoping to deflect his attention. "I'm just fine," she said, her voice light, her eyes not quite meeting his. "But thank you for checking in."
 
Mr. Srinivasan's gaze lingered on her a moment longer before he nodded. "Your dress," he said, his voice a warm caress that sent a shiver down her spine. "It looks very nice, very fitting. I've been looking for something similar for my daughter."
 
Nazrin felt a twist in her stomach. Daughter. He had a daughter her age. The reality of his words hit her like a slap in the face. But she kept her cool, her smile never wavering. "Oh, thank you," she replied, her voice a smooth river of lies. "I picked it up from a boutique downtown. They have quite a collection if you're interested."
 
Srinivasan leaned against her desk, his weight making the wood creak. "Maybe you could help me select something," he suggested, his tone casual yet filled with an undercurrent of something darker. "You have such good taste, after all."
 
Nazrin's eyes widened, but she kept her smile in place. "I don't know," she murmured, her voice a delicate dance around the truth. "I'm quite busy these days." She didn't dare look down at her phone, the screen still filled with the images of Muthu and Praveen's escapades. The memory of their rapt expressions, the raw need etched on their faces, sent a tremor of excitement through her body.
 
Mr. Srinivasan leaned in closer, his cologne enveloping her in a cloud of sweetness that seemed almost sinister. "Please, Nazrin," he said, his voice low and earnest. "My daughter's birthday is coming up, and I want to make sure she has something special." His eyes fell to her chest, lingering on the red lace that peeked out from her shawl. "You know, she's about your size."
 
Nazrin's heart hammered in her chest, the implication of his words like a fist squeezing her insides. She took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "Mr. Srinivasan, I'm sure I could give you some suggestions," she offered, her eyes never leaving his. "But I don't think it would be appropriate for me to go shopping with you."
 
Srinivasan's smile grew, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Nonsense," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through her very bones. "Today after college, we will go. I'll be waiting near the gate." He didn't wait for her response, turning on his heel and leaving the room. The door swung shut with a finality that echoed through the silence, leaving Nazrin to her racing thoughts.
 

[Cuckoldindian]

Update 15:

 
The rest of the day was a blur of half-hearted lessons and furtive glances at her phone. The videos played on a loop in her mind, the images of Muthu and Praveen with the hooker a stark reminder of the world she was now a part of. She couldn't focus, her thoughts consumed by the impending rendezvous with Srinivasan, the thrill of the forbidden mixing with a hint of fear.
 
As the final bell rang, releasing the students into the cacophony of the college, the male teachers began to drift into the staff room. Each one approached her with a purposeful stride, their eyes lingering on the swell of her breasts beneath the flimsy shawl. They all had something to say, a question to ask, a comment to make, all thinly veiled excuses to get a closer look.
 
Nazrin excused herself, the words sticking to her tongue like a sweet, forbidden fruit. She gathered her bag, the weight of her phone a constant reminder of the fire burning within her. She walked towards the gate of the college, her hips swaying with a newfound confidence. The whispers of the students and the knowing glances of her colleagues seemed to only add to the thrill. She was the cobra, slithering through the tall grass, unseen but deadly.
 
"Okay, Srinivasan is your father's age," she whispered to herself, her breath hot against her skin. "Just go with him, choose a dress, and leave immediately." In her mind, it was a simple errand, a mundane task to complete before returning to the safety of her home, her marriage, her sanity. But the throb between her legs told a different story, a tale of desire that had been awakened by the two young men whose videos she couldn't stop watching.
 
As she approached the gate, the din of the college receded into the background, replaced by the steady thrum of anticipation in her veins. There he was, Srinivasan, sitting astride his motorbike, his eyes scanning the horizon as if searching for a mirage in the concrete jungle. His gaze settled on her, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a knowing smile. He patted the seat behind him, the leather warm and inviting.
 
Nazrin took a deep breath, her chest rising with the effort. She corrected her shawl with trembling fingers, ensuring that the red lace remained hidden from view. With a confidence that she hadn't felt in years, she sailed towards him, the fabric fluttering around her like the wings of a fiery bird. The students' eyes followed her, their whispers like a siren's song in her ears, urging her closer to the flame.
 
"Srinivasan," she called out, her voice a blend of innocence and challenge. "How can I come in your bike?" She paused, the question hanging in the air like a ripe fruit, ripe for the picking. "It will not look appropriate. We will take an auto."
 
He looked at her, his eyes dark with understanding. "Nazrin," he said, his voice a gentle coax, "you're like my daughter. No one will think bad." His words were a warm embrace, a promise of familial comfort, yet the glint in his eyes told a different story. He leaned closer, his breath a whisper of temptation. "Besides, it's just a quick trip."
 
With a sigh that was more of resignation than anything else, she swung her leg over the bike, the fabric of her chudithar rustling as she settled into place. Her thighs gripped the seat, her body taut with the effort not to touch him, her hand clutching the metal bar at the side like it was the only thing keeping her afloat in a sea of desire. The bike roared to life beneath them, the vibration traveling up her spine and straight to her core. She felt the heat of his body against her back, the solidity of his form a stark contrast to the emptiness she felt next to Fahim.
 
They drove through the crowded streets, the bike weaving in and out of traffic with a practiced ease that had her clutching the bar tighter. Each bump in the road sent her body jolting forward, her breasts pressing against the firm planes of his back, the fabric of her blouse and the barrier of his shirt the only things separating them. With every jostle, she could feel her nipples tighten, the fabric of her bra a tease against the sensitive tips.
 
The warmth of his body seeped through the layers of clothing, the vibration of the engine a relentless drumbeat that matched the pulsing ache between her legs. Her eyes remained fixed on the road ahead, her breath coming in shallow gasps that she hoped he wouldn't notice. The city was a blur of color and sound, the mundane sights of her everyday life suddenly tinted with a veneer of the illicit.
 
Suddenly, the bike took a sharp turn, and she felt herself slipping to the side. Strong arms encircled her waist, pulling her closer to his body. "Hold me," Srinivasan instructed, his voice a low murmur against the cacophony of the street. "Or you will fall down."
 
Nazrin's hands obeyed without thought, reaching around to grasp his shoulders. Her breasts pressed against his back, the heat of his skin searing through the fabric of her blouse. This was the first time in years she had been so close to a man other than Fahim, and the sensation was intoxicating. The engine's purr between her legs grew louder, a physical echo of the need that pulsed through her. Her nipples tightened with every bump, the friction a sweet torment that had her biting her lip to stifle a gasp.
 
The bike pulled to a stop in front of a small shop, the neon lights casting a garish glow over the mannequins in the window. She felt his body stiffen beneath her arms, his breath hitching as she slid off the bike. Her shawl had slipped down, the red lace of her bra clearly visible in the harsh light. She straightened, her cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. Srinivasan's eyes followed her descent, lingering on the exposed swell of her breasts before meeting her gaze with a look that was unmistakable.
 
"I want the same dress for my daughter," he said, his voice a gruff whisper that sent a shiver down her spine. His eyes remained glued to her chest, his expression a blend of hunger and something that looked suspiciously like pride. Nazrin felt a thrill of power, her hand rising to adjust the shawl with a deliberate slowness that made his gaze follow the movement.
 
As they stepped into the coolness of the shop, the doorbell jingling a greeting, she was aware of the heat of his body so close to hers. The scent of his cologne mingled with the sweet aroma of fabrics, a heady mix that made her feel light-headed. She took a step away, the coolness of the air-conditioned space a stark contrast to the warmth of the outside world. Srinivasan followed, his eyes never leaving hers.
 
The man behind the counter was in his late 30s, with a balding head and a paunch that stretched the buttons of his shirt. His eyes widened when he saw them, his gaze flickering between Nazrin's flushed face and Srinivasan's unreadable expression. "How can I help you?" he asked, his voice a nasal whine that seemed to pierce the tension in the air.
 
Nazrin took a deep breath, the chilly air of the shop making her nipples peak beneath the red lace. She could feel the dampness between her legs, the fabric of her chudithar clinging to her skin. "I need a dress," she said, her voice a whisper of need. "Something for a special occasion."
 
The shopkeeper's eyes grew greedy as he took in her appearance, his gaze lingering on the sliver of exposed skin between her shawl and her blouse. Srinivasan stepped closer, his hand coming to rest on her waist. It was a possessive gesture, a declaration of ownership that had her pulse racing. "For my daughter," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in her very bones. "Something that will make her feel as beautiful as she truly is."
 
The shopkeeper nodded, his eyes darting from Srinivasan's hand to Nazrin's face. "Of course," he said, his voice a sycophantic purr. "This way, please." He led them through racks of colorful saris and salwar kameez, the fabrics whispering against their legs as they passed. When they reached the adult section, tucked away in the corner like a dirty little secret, Nazrin felt a thrill of excitement mingled with dread. This was it, the moment she had been dreading and craving all at once.
 
"What size do you need?" the man asked, his eyes flicking to Nazrin's chest before dropping to her hips.
 
"Large," she murmured, her voice thick with desire. The simple word felt like a declaration of rebellion, a shout into the void that she was taking up space, that she was more than the sum of her parts. The shopkeeper nodded, his gaze lingering on the red lace peeking out from beneath her shawl before he turned away to rummage through the racks.
 
Moments later, he returned with a black chudithar that had a grand design of gold thread woven through it, the material shimmering like a dark pool of water under the harsh lights of the shop. He laid it on the table with a flourish, the fabric whispering against the wood like a secret shared between lovers. The sight of it made Nazrin's stomach flip, the color and style a stark contrast to the traditional garments she usually wore. It was a declaration of her newfound sexuality, a manifesto of desire that she hadn't even known existed within her.
 
Slowly, she reached out and touched the fabric, the softness sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine. "What do you think?" she asked Srinivasan, her voice a soft caress that seemed to hang in the air, thick with meaning.
 
Without taking his hands from her waist, Srinivasan leaned in, his breath a warm whisper in her ear. "I think a white chudithar in size medium will be perfect for my daughter," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver of excitement through her. The shopkeeper nodded, his eyes flicking from Srinivasan's hand on Nazrin's waist to her face, which was now a mask of innocence.
 
Nazrin felt a thrill of power at the blatant lie. "Mr. Srinivasan, my size is large," she said, her voice a silken purr that seemed to caress the words. "You said your daughter is the same size as me." She turned to look at him, her eyes wide and innocent, a challenge in the tilt of her head. The air grew heavier, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.
 
Srinivasan's gaze dropped to her chest, his eyes lingering on the red lace that peeked out from her shawl. He took a step closer, his hand moving to her shoulder, his thumb brushing the bare skin above the fabric. "Ah, but my daughter's chest is smaller," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. "This one will be perfect."
 
Nazrin felt the heat of his body against her back, the pressure of his hand a silent reminder of the power he held. Her eyes fell to the black chudithar on the table, the shimmering fabric whispering seductively to her. "Whatever," she thought, "let's just buy what he says and get out of here."
 
The shopkeeper, seemingly oblivious to the tension, disappeared into the depths of the store, returning moments later with a white chudithar in a medium size. The fabric was adorned with a delicate pattern of flowers that seemed to bloom against the starkness of the color. He laid it out with a flourish, his eyes lingering on the garment before flicking back to Nazrin's face. There was a knowing smile on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the game being played.
 
"It's perfect," Nazrin said, her voice a seductive purr that made Srinivasan's grip on her waist tighten. "Let's take this one." She turned to look at him, her eyes hooded and filled with a desire that was no longer just for the dress. His gaze met hers, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something darker in his eyes. Something that mirrored the need that had taken root within her.
 
"Nazrin," Srinivasan said, his voice a velvet command that had her heart skipping a beat. "Try this chudithar in the trial room."
 
Her eyes widened in shock. "But, Srinivasa," she protested, her voice trembling, "it will be a bit small for me, won't it?" She took a step back, trying to put some distance between them, but his hand on her waist was like an iron band, unyielding.
 
Srinivasan leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "Just try it, Nazrin," he murmured, his voice a silky command. "For me." His eyes held hers, the challenge in them unmistakable. She felt a thrill of excitement and fear mingle, a potent cocktail that made her knees go weak.
 
With trembling hands, Nazrin picked up the white chudithar, the fabric whispering against her palms like the promise of a lover's touch. She slipped into the cramped trial room, the walls closing in around her like a lover's embrace. The mirror reflected her flushed face, her eyes dark with desire and trepidation.
 
Her current chudithar dropped to the floor, the fabric pooling around her ankles like a forgotten secret. She stepped out of it, her skin feeling the coolness of the air-conditioned room like a caress. The red lace of her underwear stood out starkly against her olive skin, a stark reminder of the woman she had become.
 
The white chudithar was indeed smaller than she had anticipated, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. She tugged it up, the tightness causing her breasts to spill over the top. Her hands trembled as she tried to adjust the hooks, the mirror's reflection showing her the image of a woman on the edge of a precipice. The dress hugged her in all the right places, accentuating her hips and highlighting the small of her waist. It was a size too small, and she knew it, but the thrill of wearing something so tight, so revealing, was intoxicating.
 
The fabric of the dress was so fine that she could see the outline of her red lace bra, the color a stark contrast against the purity of the white. Her breasts swelled, the lace cutting into her flesh in the most delicious way. She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with the effort, the fabric straining against her skin. The feeling was exquisite, a sweet agony that had her biting her lip to keep from crying out.
 
With trembling hands, she reached for her shawl, the soft fabric wrapping around her like a lover's embrace. She pulled it over her shoulders, the light material barely covering the swollen mounds of her breasts. The shawl clung to the curves of her body, the sheer fabric doing little to hide the evidence of her arousal. She looked at herself in the mirror, the sight of her own desire reflected back at her in the glass.
 
With a deep breath, Nazrin stepped out of the trial room, her eyes locking with Srinivasan's. The look in his eyes was one of pure hunger, a hunger that she hadn't seen in a man's gaze since her college days. The shopkeeper's jaw had gone slack, his eyes bulging as they took in the sight of her. The fabric of the white chudithar clung to her body, the red lace of her bra clearly visible through the thin material.
 
"It's... it's too tight," she managed to say, her voice a tremulous whisper.
 
Srinivasan stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers. "No," he said firmly, "it's perfect." He reached out and took the shawl from her before she could react, his fingers brushing against her bare shoulder. "The shawl does suit the color," he murmured, his eyes dark with a hunger that she recognized all too well. "But it doesn't do justice to your beauty."
 
The shopkeeper nodded, his eyes unable to tear away from the swell of her breasts that threatened to spill over the top of the white chudithar. "Yes, ma'am," he agreed, his voice thick with desire, "you look... incredible." His gaze dropped to her chest, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Nazrin felt a thrill of power at the way both men were looking at her, their eyes devouring every inch of her exposed skin.
 
Srinivasan's hand came to rest on her shoulder, his grip firm but not painful. "Turn around," he said, his voice low and commanding. It was a simple instruction, but the way he said it made her stomach flip. With trembling legs, she did as she was told, the fabric of the dress whispering against her thighs as she moved.
 
The coolness of the shop floor seeped through the thin material of the chudithar, sending a shiver down her spine. In the mirror, she could see his eyes travel down her body, lingering on the curve of her ass. The dress was so tight that it left nothing to the imagination, the fabric hugging her curves like a second skin. The red lace of her panties peeked out from the bottom, a sultry smile in the sea of white.
 
"I will get changed," she murmured, her voice a barely audible whisper. She knew what he wanted, what they both wanted. But she had to maintain some semblance of control, some shred of dignity in this twisted dance they were engaged in.
 
With a shaky hand, Nazrin opened the door to the trial room, the bell tinkling a farewell. She stepped inside and took a deep breath, the coolness of the room a stark contrast to the heat that was building within her. The white chudithar fell to the floor, pooling at her feet like a discarded shroud. She stood before the mirror, the red lace of her underwear stark against the paleness of her skin. The dress had been like a second skin, a declaration of her rebirth into this world of desire and lust. But now, she needed to shed it like a snake shed its skin, to reveal the creature beneath.
 
Nazrin closed the door and stepped out of the dress, the fabric slithering down her legs like a lover's reluctant goodbye. She was left standing in nothing but her red lace bra and panties, the light from the single bulb casting shadows that played across her skin. Her heart pounded in her chest, the beat echoing in her ears like a drum that grew louder with every passing second. She knew what she wanted, what she needed, and it was a hunger that could no longer be ignored.
 
Her eyes dropped to the panties, the wetness seeping through the fabric like a dark secret. The sight sent a jolt of lust through her, making her knees weak. She reached down, her fingers tracing the dampness, the fabric sticking to her skin. It was a reminder of the fire that burned within her, a fire that had been smoldering for weeks, fueled by the illicit exchanges with Muthu, Praveen, and now, Srinivasan. The urge to touch herself, to ease the ache, was overwhelming, the need to feel something, anything, more intense than ever before.
 
Nazrin took a deep breath and pushed the thoughts away, focusing instead on the task at hand. She slipped back into her own chudithar, the fabric feeling foreign against her sensitized skin. The dress she had been wearing to the store was a safe cocoon, a barrier that she had worn as armor against the world. But now, it was a reminder of her mundane existence, the life she was slowly leaving behind.
 
Her eyes searched the tiny room for the shawl she had brought, the one that had been her shield of modesty. But it was nowhere to be found. A cold fist of panic clenched her stomach. It had to be with Srinivasan, the one man whose eyes she hadn't wanted to see her so exposed. She stepped out of the trial room, her heart racing as she met his gaze.
 
Srinivasan's eyes roved over her, the hunger in them unmistakable. He held her shawl in his hand, the fabric a silent reminder of his power. "You forgot this," he said, his voice low and seductive. The shopkeeper had retreated behind the counter, his eyes glued to the floor, pretending not to see the drama unfolding before him.
 
Nazrin took the shawl, her hands shaking as she wrapped it around her shoulders, the fabric feeling like a lifeline in the storm of desire that raged within her. She pulled it tight, the material a flimsy shield against Srinivasan's gaze. His eyes never left hers as she took the packed dress from the shopkeeper, his hand brushing against hers, sending a jolt of electricity up her arm.
 
"Thank you," she murmured, the words feeling heavy and thick on her tongue. The shopkeeper's eyes flicked to their joined hands before dropping to the floor again, his cheeks flushed with what could only be embarrassment or arousal. She could feel Srinivasan's eyes on her, his gaze like a brand that seared her skin, leaving a mark of ownership she hadn't felt in years.
 
They stepped out into the brightness of the day, the sun's glare a stark contrast to the darkness of the shop's interior. The heat washed over her, a stark reminder of the world outside their bubble of desire. He led her to his motorbike, the black beast gleaming in the sunlight. Without a word, Srinivasan swung his leg over the seat, the bike's engine rumbling to life beneath him. Nazrin took a deep breath, her heart racing, as she climbed onto the back, the vibration of the bike sending a shiver through her.
 
As they pulled away, she clutched at the white plastic bag containing the dress, the fabric of the chudithar whispering against her thighs, a silent promise of what was to come. She wrapped the shawl tighter around herself, the fabric a flimsy shield against the wind that whipped at her hair, trying to pull her back to reality. But she didn't want reality, not now, not when she was on the edge of a cliff that promised so much more.
 
"Drop me near the bus stand," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the roar of the bike's engine.
 
"Nazrin," he said, his voice a gentle command, "I want to drop you at your house."
 
Her heart skipped a beat at his words. "No," she said, her voice firm. "The bus stand is fine."
 
"Nazrin," he said, his voice a velvet rumble that seemed to resonate through her entire being. "Let me take you home."
 
As they approached a speed bump, she braced herself, her grip on the plastic bag tightening. But the bike jolted more than she had anticipated, sending her lurching forward. Instinctively, her arms snaked around Srinivasan's waist, her boobs pressing against his back as she clung to him. The fabric of her shawl fluttered in the wind, a crimson flag of surrender. She felt the heat of his body through his shirt, the muscles tensing beneath her fingertips. The bike's engine roared as it cleared the bump, and she couldn't help the little gasp that escaped her lips.
 
Srinivasan glanced over his shoulder, his eyes meeting hers. For a moment, she was lost in the dark depths of his gaze, the wind playing with the strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. "Where do you live?" he asked, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to vibrate through her chest.
 
Nazrin took a deep breath, her breasts pressing against his back with the movement. She could feel the heat of his body seep into her, the fabric of his shirt a scant barrier between them. She recited her address, her voice a breathless whisper that seemed to be swallowed by the roar of the engine. The words felt like a confession, a secret shared between lovers in the throes of passion.
 
As they approached her house, the bike's engine grew quieter, the rumble a gentle purr that seemed to echo the racing of her heart. She was acutely aware of every bump and curve of the road, the sensation of his body against hers, the way his muscles tightened and released with each shift of the gears. The world around them was a blur, a mosaic of color and sound that faded into the background as she focused solely on the feel of his warmth and the scent of his cologne.
 
When they pulled up to her house, the bike's engine cut off, the sudden silence a stark contrast to the symphony of desire that had filled her ears. She felt his body tense as he turned to look at her, the heat of his gaze making her skin tingle. She knew what was coming, the moment of truth where she had to decide if she was going to invite him in or if she was going to step away and pretend that none of this had ever happened.
 
Nazrin's legs felt like jelly as she swung them over the side of the bike, the concrete beneath her feet a cold shock after the heat of their bodies. She handed him the plastic bag with the dress, their fingers brushing for a second that felt like an eternity. She watched as he took it, his gaze never leaving hers, the promise of what lay within the bag a silent understanding between them.
 
"Nazrin," Srinivasan said, his voice low and gruff, "I've never seen you like this before." His eyes searched hers, the hunger in them unmistakable. "Two weeks ago, you were a different woman."
 
She met his gaze, a defiant spark in her eyes. "I've always been the same woman," she said, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions churning within her. "It's just that now, you're finally seeing me."
 
Srinivasan's hand reached up to her chin, tilting it so she had to look at him. "I like it," he said, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down her spine. "Don't change." His thumb traced the line of her jaw, his eyes never leaving hers.
 
Nazrin's breath hitched in her throat. "Ok," she murmured, the word a soft surrender. "Now it's time. I will go." She stepped back, breaking the contact, the absence of his touch leaving her feeling cold.
 
With a nod, Srinivasan started the bike again. "Take care, Nazrin," he said, the engine rumbling between them. She turned to walk inside the house. The door was a heavy weight against her hand, the coolness of the metal a stark contrast to the heat of her skin.
 
As she locked the door behind her, the reality of what had just happened crashed down around her. She leaned against it, her eyes closed, trying to catch her breath. The house was quiet, a stark contrast to the maelstrom of emotions that swirled within her. Her heart raced, her pulse pounding in her ears like a drum that demanded she acknowledge the truth of her desires.
 
She needed a fuck tonight.
 
The words echoed through Nazrin's mind as she moved through the quiet house, the emptiness of the rooms a stark reminder of Fahim's absence. The walls seemed to close in around her, the air thick with the weight of her desire. She couldn't ignore it anymore, couldn't pretend that the simmering need within her would just go away. It was a hunger that gnawed at her, a hunger that had been growing ever since she had started her secret life with Muthu, Praveen, Arun and now, Srinivasan.
 
Srinivansan was her father's age, a thought that should have repulsed her, but instead, it only added to the allure. He was a man of experience, of power, and of control, and she craved that more than she cared to admit. His touch had been like a brand, leaving a mark on her soul that she couldn't ignore. The way he had looked at her in the shop, the way his eyes had devoured her body, had made her feel alive in a way that Fahim hadn't in years.

[Cuckoldindian]

I know i haven't been regular with updates, But Please understand that i hit a wall in writing the story. 

DO NOTE THAT I WILL NOT ABANDON THE STORY. I WILL COMPLETE IT.

As usual you comments and suggestion is appreciated. 

THX.

[sexycharan]

Awesome

[Nil12110]

Nice update..... ..
Welcome back... Writer...
Egarly waiting for next one...
..nice work.. Keep it up...

[hwifenew]

amazing update, keep building the sexual tension

[Vettaiyyan]

Interesting thing is she started hating her husband now. She will turn more bold.

[tomdickharry2024]

I know i haven't been regular with updates, But Please understand that i hit a wall in writing the story. 

DO NOTE THAT I WILL NOT ABANDON THE STORY. I WILL COMPLETE IT.

As usual you comments and suggestion is appreciated. 

THX.

Appreciate your efforts sir! Thank you.

[rohitkapoor]

Nice story Perchance!

[Rahulcool]

It's was extraordinary keep going

[magneticpersonality]

Excellent updates
Thatz a fantastic come back buddy

[ShaziaMirza]

I've been enjoying your captivating story, particularly the assertive role of the female protagonist.


However, I noticed an inconsistency in the description of traditional Indian attire in the recent updates. A dupatta is not a shawl, it is a scarf-like garment worn with traditional outfits like the salwar-suit or churidar-suit. The kameez is the tunic in a salwar-suit, while the trousers are the salwar. In a churidar-suit, the churidars are the tight-fitting pants that distinguish it from the salwar-suit.


For clarity, a salwar-suit is composed of a kameez (tunic) and salwar (trousers), and a churidar-suit features a kameez with churidars (tighter trousers). Using the correct terminology will enhance the authenticity of your story for readers familiar with these garments.

Thank you for considering this feedback, and I look forward to the next part of your intriguing narrative. Keep up the good work!

[Herbiee]

This is turned out to be one of the best stories here. Slow erotic mode, unique story path, unpredictable scenarios, especially your writing style. Every moment of this story scenes are described in a literary language writing style. that makes this story more special.
Thank you for the story. Thank you for Nasrin.

[Cuckoldindian]

Update 16:

The house was a prison of silence, each tick of the clock a mocking reminder of her unfulfilled needs. She moved through the rooms, her thoughts a chaotic symphony of desire and doubt. Her hand trailed along the cool marble countertops, the smoothness a stark contrast to the roughness of her thoughts. She needed release, needed to feel the heat of a man's body against hers, needed the raw, unbridled passion that had been missing from her life for so long.

 
Her phone lay on the dining table, a silent sentinel of her secret life. She picked it up, her heart racing as she unlocked the screen. No messages from Muthu or Praveen, their absence like a cold shower on her feverish skin. The group chat was eerily quiet, the last message from hours ago a ghostly echo of their past encounters. She felt a pang of disappointment, the ache between her legs growing more insistent.
 
With trembling fingers, she scrolled through her contacts, her eyes finding Arun's number. She needed someone to ease this burning need, someone who knew what she was craving. Someone who would take her without question or judgment.
 
The phone rang once, twice, three times before it was picked up. "Hello?" A man's voice, not Arun's, filled the line. Her heart skipped a beat. It was his father.
 
Nazrin's mind raced, trying to come up with an excuse for her call. "Is Arun there?" she asked, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. The line was silent for a moment, the tension thick as the seconds ticked by.
 
"No, he's out," the man said, his tone cold and suspicious. "Who is this?"
 
Nazrin's heart hammered in her chest. "It's Mrs. Nazrin," she replied, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. "I'm his teacher, and I take extra tutions for Arun as well."
 
"Ah, Mrs. Nazrin," Arun's father said, his tone warming slightly. "Thank you for helping him out."
 
Nazrin's pulse slowed, the lie slipping out with surprising ease. "It's no trouble," she replied, her voice still a soft whisper. "When do you expect him back?"
 
"I'm not sure," Arun's father said, the doubt in his voice palpable. "But he's a good boy. He'll be home soon enough."
 
Nazrin felt a mix of relief and frustration. "I just wanted to make sure," she said, her voice a soft purr. "He normally comes to my house for tuitions, and today he didn't. I was getting concerned." She hoped the concern in her tone was enough to cover the desperation she felt.
 
"Ah, I understand," Arun's father said, his voice filled with understanding. "He's been quite preoccupied lately. I'll have a talk with him about his priorities."
 
Nazrin felt a flash of anger, but she pushed it down. "No, no, it's okay," she said, her voice a soft coo. "It's not a problem. I just wanted to check. Maybe he's feeling under the weather."
 
"Possibly," Arun's father said, his voice distant. "I'll ask him to give you a call once he gets home."
 
Nazrin's heart sank, the anticipation of hearing Arun's voice dissipating like mist in the morning sun. "Thank you," she murmured, the disappointment thick in her voice. "Please tell him not to worry about it. We can reschedule."
 
"I will," Arun's father said, his voice firm. "And again, I'm sorry for any inconvenience." The line went dead, and Nazrin was left with the cold reality of her empty house and her unfulfilled desires. She slammed the phone onto the table, the sound echoing through the silence like a gunshot.
 
With a frustrated groan, she sank into a chair, her fingers tracing the outline of her phone on the polished wood. The need within her was a living, breathing entity, a beast that demanded to be fed. Her eyes fell on the group chat, the unread messages a taunting reminder of the fire that burned within her.
 
Nazrin: Guys, what are you doing? How was your day?
 
Her thumb hovered over the send button, the message a lifeline thrown into the sea of their digital world. The screen of her phone flickered in the dim light of the room, the glow a beacon of hope amidst her desperation. Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for their response, the anticipation a delicious agony that made her nipples peak beneath her bra.
 
Muthu was the first to respond. "Ma'am, today was an amazing day with the prostitute," his message read, the words a teasing whisper that sent a shiver down her spine. Her mind conjured images of the two of them, their young, virile bodies entwined with the anonymous woman's. The thought made her wet, a betrayal that she reveled in, a secret that she cherished.
 
Then, Praveen's message popped up, bold and unfiltered. "Ma'am, we fucked her a lot." The simplicity of the words was like a punch to the gut, a declaration of their prowess that she found utterly intoxicating. Her eyes widened as she read, her hand instinctively moving to cover her mouth, a silent gasp escaping her lips. The message was a blatant challenge, a declaration that they were men of experience, capable of giving her the pleasure she so desperately craved.
 
Nazrin's fingers danced over the screen of her phone, typing out a response with a shaky hand. "Was she good?" The question hung in the digital ether, a silent plea for more. She needed to know, needed to feel the heat of their experiences, to live vicariously through their words and imagine what it would be like to be the one they were describing.
 
Her hand drifted down to her chest, her thumb circling her hardened nipple through the fabric of her bra. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through her, a reminder of the power she wielded over these young men. With a swift movement, she unclipped the clasp, her breasts spilling out into the cool air of the room. They were full and heavy, the areolas dark and puckered, begging for attention.
 
With a shiver of anticipation, Nazrin stood up, her phone still clutched in her hand. She stepped out of her chudithar, the fabric pooling around her ankles like a discarded mask. The red lace panties she had chosen that morning felt tight and constricting, the fabric sticking to her damp flesh. She peeled them off, dropping them to the floor with a whisper of sound, leaving her completely naked.
 
Her reflection in the mirror caught her eye, and she couldn't help but admire the way the soft light from the lamp caressed her curves. Her skin was flushed with desire, her nipples tight buds of need. The sight of her nakedness only served to fuel the fire within her, the hunger for validation and pleasure growing more insistent with each passing second.
 
Nazrin walked over to the couch, her bare feet whispering against the cold marble floor. She sat down with a soft sigh, laying back against the plush cushions. With one hand, she spread her legs wide, the coolness of the fabric a stark contrast to the heat that radiated from her core. Her other hand trailed down her stomach, the touch featherlight as it reached the dampness between her thighs. She hovered over her clit for a moment, her breath hitching in anticipation before she finally gave in to the craving.
 
Her fingertips danced over her slick folds, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through her body. Her eyes remained glued to the phone, the glow of the screen a silent companion to her solitary indulgence. The messages from Muthu and Praveen continued to roll in, each one more explicit than the last. "We came so much," Muthu wrote, the smugness in his words almost tangible. Praveen's response was a simple yet effective, "It was wild."
 
With a trembling hand, Nazrin held her phone to her mouth, her voice thick with need. "Ah, tell me more," she moaned, her other hand buried deep within her pussy, the sound of her wetness a symphony of desire. She couldn't type, her focus solely on the delicious friction she was creating, her hips rising and falling with the rhythm of her own ministrations. "I can't... I'm busy," she managed to gasp out, the moan trailing off into a whimper.
 
The phone vibrated in her hand, the screen lighting up with an incoming WhatsApp video call from Muthu and Praveen. She stared at the icons for a moment, the anticipation of seeing them almost too much to bear. But she knew she couldn't, not like this, not with the rawness of her need laid bare. Instead, she let it go to voicemail, the ringing echoing through the quiet room like a taunting reminder of what she was missing.
 
With shaky legs, she stood up and moved through the house, turning off the lights one by one. The darkness enveloped her, a comforting cloak that matched the tumult of her thoughts. She laid back down on the couch, her heart racing as she hit the accept button on the call. The screen flickered to life, the image of the two young men, their eager faces staring back at her from the abyss.
 
Muthu and Praveen couldn't see her, their faces illuminated by the stark light of their room, but she could see them clearly. The darkness around her became a cocoon, allowing her to reveal herself without the fear of judgment or discovery. The room felt hot, her skin slick with anticipation as the cool air from the AC kissed her skin. She watched as they spoke, their eyes wide with excitement, their voices hushed whispers that seemed to carry on the very fabric of the night.
 
Nazrin started fingering again, her breath hitching as she felt the first stirrings of an orgasm. Her eyes remained locked on the phone, her hips bucking slightly with each stroke. She was lost in the sensation, the sound of her wetness a siren's call that grew louder with each passing second. Her thumb found her clit, circling it with a firm, steady pressure that had her biting her lower lip to keep from crying out.
 
Muthu's voice broke the silence, a soft whisper that seemed to echo through the darkness. "Ma'am, are you fingering?" The question hung in the air, a declaration of their shared understanding, a silent invitation to indulge in their fantasy. She felt a thrill run through her at his words, the taboo nature of their conversation only serving to heighten her arousal.
 
"Yeah, Muthu," she moaned, her voice a breathy pant. "Ahh... yeah..." Her eyes never leaving the screen, she watched as Praveen leaned closer to the camera, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Tell me," she gasped, her hand moving faster, her body arching with need. "Tell me how you fucked the hooker."
 
Praveen's voice was a low growl as he began to recount their encounter, his words painting a vivid picture of lust and debauchery. "Ma'am," he began, his voice thick with desire, "first, we had her strip. She was so shy at first, but we knew what you liked. We made her kneel before us, her eyes on the floor. Then we started with her boobs. Oh, she had such big, beautiful boobs. I watched as Muthu took one in his mouth, his teeth grazing her nipple. She moaned, just like you're doing now."
 
Nazrin's breath hitched in her throat, her hand moving faster as she imagined their hands on her body, their mouths worshipping her in ways Fahim never had. "And then?" she gasped, her voice a desperate plea for more.
 
Praveen's eyes gleamed with excitement as he continued his narrative. "After that, ma'am, we had her lie down on the bed. She was wet, just like you are now. Muthu took one of her boobs in his hand, squeezing it as he sucked on the other. I could see the desire in her eyes, the way she was begging for more." His voice grew hoarse, his words a caress that sent shivers down Nazrin's spine. "I couldn't wait any longer. I spread her legs and dived right in, my tongue flicking over her clit, tasting her sweetness."
 
Nazrin's moan filled the darkness of her room, the sound a symphony of pleasure that matched the rhythm of her own hand. She could almost feel Praveen's mouth on her, the gentle pressure of his tongue as it explored her folds. Her hips bucked against her hand, her eyes glazed over with desire as she listened to him recount their depraved encounter.
 
"Ma'am," Praveen's voice was a purr, "you remember how shy she was when we first saw her. But as we started to touch her, she melted. Like butter on a hot pan. And when she saw us both, naked and hard, she couldn't resist. She took us in her mouth, one by one."
 
Nazrin's eyes fluttered shut as she listened to the story, her hand moving faster, her thumb pressing harder on her clit. She could feel the echoes of the hooker's mouth on her, the wetness of her tongue, the suction as she drew her into a symphony of pleasure. Her moans grew louder, filling the room with the sweet sound of her release.
 
"Ma'am," Muthu's voice cut through the darkness, "then she started to suck on Praveen's cock. She was so eager, her eyes closed in ecstasy as he guided her, her mouth moving up and down with such passion." Nazrin's breathing grew ragged, her hand a blur between her legs as she pictured the scene. The hooker, her mouth full of Praveen's cock, her eyes glazed with desire, her body writhing with each movement. "And then," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to have her too."
 
Her breath hitched as she heard the rustle of fabric and the soft moan of the woman on the phone, the sound of two hungry mouths devouring each other's flesh. "Muthu," she gasped, "what did you do?" Her hand paused for a moment, the anticipation almost too much to bear.
 
"Ma'am," Muthu said, his voice tight with restrained lust, "I just couldn't help myself. I had to have a taste of that sweet pussy." The image of him, standing over Praveen and the hooker, his cock standing proud and ready, filled Nazrin's mind. She could almost feel the weight of his body as he drove into her, the sound of their joined moans a symphony of pleasure that she craved with every fiber of her being.
 
The video call grew more intense, the sounds of their encounter with the hooker a backdrop to Nazrin's own solo performance. She watched, mesmerized, as Praveen's hand moved to his own cock, stroking it in time with her own movements. The sight of his fist pumping in the dim light, the glisten of precum at the tip, had her panting, her need for release growing more urgent.
 
"Ma'am," Praveen's voice was strained, his eyes never leaving hers, even though she knew he couldn't see her in the darkness. "We can't see you, it's too dark there."
 
Nazrin's heart skipped a beat, the thrill of the forbidden pulsing through her. With a seductive smile, she moved the phone closer to her chest, the dim light from the screen casting an ethereal glow on the outline of her heavy breasts. She watched as the young men leaned closer, their eyes widening in anticipation.
 
Muthu's voice grew eager, the desire in his eyes mirrored by the tent in his pants. "Ma'am, let us see," he urged, his hand moving to adjust the camera angle. The image grew blurry as they both stripped off their clothes, their lean, muscular bodies coming into view. Her own hand stilled for a moment, the sight of their naked forms stealing her breath away.
 
both of them took over the camera, the image now showing them standing, their cock in hand, stroking it slowly as they watched her. Casting a stark glow on his taut abs and the trail of dark hair that led down to his groin. His eyes were fixed on her, a silent invitation that sent a jolt of electricity through her body.
 
Her own hand was a blur between her legs now, her thumb circling her clit with an urgent rhythm that mirrored the racing of her heart. The room was a symphony of soft sounds, the wet slap of her palm against her flesh, the harsh rasp of her breath, the low moan that grew louder and more desperate with each passing second.
 
The video call was a lifeline to a world of passion she hadn't known existed, a window into the minds of two young men who knew exactly what she needed. And as Praveen's hand moved faster, his eyes never leaving hers, she felt a rush of pleasure so intense it was almost painful. Her body arched, a silent scream caught in her throat, as her orgasm crashed over her like a wave. Her muscles clenched around her fingers, her body shuddering with the force of her release, and she watched as Muthu and Praveen did the same.
 
Her eyes widened in shock as Muthu brought his hand into view, a clear glob of cum on his fingertips. "Look what you've done to us, ma'am," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. Praveen followed suit, their combined offering a visual testament to her power over them. The sight of their seed, a stark contrast against their dark skin, was almost too much to handle. She felt a twinge of satisfaction, her own body still pulsing with the aftershocks of pleasure.
 
Nazrin lay there panting, her hand still buried in her wetness, as the reality of what she had just done washed over her. Her chest heaved, the room spinning slightly from the intensity of her climax. The silence was broken only by the soft rustling of their breath on the other end of the line, their chests rising and falling in unison with hers.
 
"Thank you guys," she murmured, her voice still thick with the aftermath of pleasure. The words hung in the air, a benediction that acknowledged the power she had wielded over them. She watched as they both nodded, their faces a mix of satisfaction and awe. "That was... amazing."
 
Muthu leaned in closer to the camera, his eyes shining with a mischievous glint. "Ma'am," he said, his voice a low purr, "you know we couldn't see you clearly. But that doesn't mean we weren't imagining you."
 
Praveen nodded in agreement, his hand still moving over his now-softening cock. "It's like we were there with you," he murmured, his voice a blend of satisfaction and longing. "Your moans, your breathing, it was all so... intense."
 
Nazrin's cheeks flushed with a mix of arousal and embarrassment at the thought of their vivid imagination. She took a deep breath, willing her racing heart to slow down. "Okay, okay," she said, a hint of a laugh in her voice. "What's the plan tomorrow, coming to college or bunking again?"
 
Muthu's grin grew wider, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Ma'am," he said, his voice low and seductive, "why don't we combine the two? We can have some... kinky experiences at college."
 
Praveen's eyes gleamed with excitement as he nodded eagerly. "Yeah," he added, "we can make it an adventure, a secret that no one else will ever know."
 
Nazrin felt a thrill run down her spine at the thought of bringing their illicit desires into the hallowed halls of the college. "But how?" she asked, her voice still breathy from her recent climax. "How can we manage that?"
 
"Leave that to us, ma'am," Muthu said with a smug smile. "We've got a few ideas. You just need to wear something that lets us know you're in the mood."
 
Nazrin's mind raced with the possibilities, the thrill of their plan setting her pulse racing once again. "Like what?" she asked, curiosity piquing.
 
Muthu leaned closer to the camera, his grin wicked. "Ma'am, tomorrow, wear something that makes us crazy"
 
Nazrin's mind raced with the possibilities, her heart thumping with excitement. The thought of bringing their secret world into the public eye was thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. "But what if someone finds out?" she asked, her voice a breathy whisper.
 
"Ma'am, that's what makes it even better," Praveen replied, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "The thrill of the risk, the danger of being caught."
 
Nazrin couldn't help but be drawn in by their enthusiasm. The thought of turning the mundane college environment into a playground of passion was too tempting to resist. She swallowed hard, her hand still resting between her legs, the warmth of her desire lingering. "Alright," she conceded, her voice a sultry purr. "But what should I wear?"
 
Muthu leaned back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Wear something that makes us crazy, ma'am," he said, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur. "Something that says 'I'm all yours for the taking.'"
 
Nazrin's mind raced as she contemplated their audacious plan. The thrill of their encounters had been escalating, and she found herself craving the danger, the rush of adrenaline that came from their secret trysts. "Okay," she murmured, her hand moving in a lazy circle around her still-sensitive clit. "But you have to promise to be careful."
 
Muthu's smile grew wider, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "We'll be as careful as we can, ma'am," he assured her, his voice low and reassuring.
 
With a final, lingering look, Nazrin removed her hand from between her legs and reached for the phone. She ended the call with a tap of her finger, the image of the two young men disappearing into the blackness of the screen. The room felt eerily quiet without the sounds of their shared release, and she was left with the sticky residue of their conversation clinging to her skin.
 
Exhaustion claimed her as the adrenaline from her climax slowly drained away. Her eyes grew heavy, and she let herself drift off to sleep, naked on the couch. The fabric was cool against her flushed skin, a stark contrast to the fire that had consumed her just moments before. Her dreams were filled with images of Muthu and Praveen, their hands and mouths everywhere, worshipping her body as she lay in the center of their attention.

[Fuckstar]

I just can't help but wonder what Praveen and Muthu must have planned for her next..... I sometimes imagine how great would it have been if this story would have been in hindi.....

[Aiewstas]

Very hot! Thanks.

[Rahulcool]

Nice update bro in between the add some pictures bro keep rocking bro

[snowy69]

Awesome update bro...
Can't wait for the college adventure...