08-05-2025, 01:26 PM
I went directly to the kitchen.
The dosa pan was too hot today.
Even standing near it was making my thighs sweat.
The flame was high, and I had to hold the ladle with both hands steady — the batter was thick, and cold when I touched it, but the moment it fell on the hot tawa… it hissed up sharply.
Chhhh...
That white circle started forming.
Slow. Spreading wide.
The smell of the ghee came sharp into my nose.
I didn’t move fast.
I just stayed near the flame.
The grey shorts were already sticking to me — I had worn them without anything under. No panty. Just direct cloth on skin. And now the inside was getting wet, slowly. Not just sweat — something else too. Some old feeling, something I didn’t want to name.
The black t-shirt was loose when I wore it.
Now it was soft and sticky.
I could feel the cloth brushing against my nipples.
Because I wasn’t wearing bra also.
The cotton was pressing directly onto the points — it was like they were showing themselves without permission.
Every time I leaned forward a little to check the dosa edge, my breasts would swing softly inside, shifting under the shirt, the fabric rubbing slowly, making them feel… too alive.
I stood like that for one extra second.
Letting my body stay close to the flame.
Letting my thighs touch.
Letting my ass push gently against the tight cloth of the shorts — the line of it had already gone in.
I didn’t adjust it.
I liked how it felt.
-----------------------------------------
The water sound from the bathroom had stopped.
Fifteen minutes.
Then, that soft door latch sound.
I didn’t turn.
But I heard his footsteps.
Light. Slow. Barefoot on the tiles.
I flipped the dosa once more — the edges had crisped up nicely.
I knew he was behind me.
I could feel it.
The air behind my neck had changed.
I didn’t say anything.
I just pulled the dosa to the side.
Lifted the ladle again for the next one.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw him.
Arjun.
Fully dressed.
Hair wet. Shirt fitting nicely. Sling bag on one shoulder.
But his eyes…
They were not ready to go out.
They were stuck on me.
On my back.
My thighs.
My t-shirt.
My shorts.
He didn’t even try to hide it.
-----------------------------------------
I smiled softly to myself.
Still looking at the tawa.
“You’re staring too much, da.”
His voice came slow.
“You’re sweating too much, pavi.”
I didn’t turn.
“So what? Women shouldn’t sweat?”
He didn’t answer.
I could hear his breathing change slightly.
I poured the next dosa.
Bent forward just a little more.
And when I bent...
I felt it.
The breasts dropped forward, swinging free inside the shirt.
The shorts pulled tighter between my cheeks, climbing up deeper.
I could feel the cloth entering — soft pressure between my lips.
There was no panty to block anything.
It was just cotton rubbing cotton.
And skin burning under.
I stood back slowly.
Letting him see everything.
Letting him imagine everything.
Without one single word.
-----------------------------------------
He came closer.
Not touching.
Just enough to make the space between us hotter.
The stove flame was nothing compared to his body behind me.
I could feel his breath near my shoulder.
And the back of my t-shirt was soaked now.
Sticking to my spine.
From neck to lower back, the cloth had pasted itself like skin.
Even my inner thighs had started sweating.
The shorts were useless now — they were just small wet cloth hiding a much bigger heat.
I turned slightly.
Glanced at him.
His eyes dropped straight to my chest.
I didn’t move.
I just asked softly, “Want dosa, da?”
He smiled.
“I want something else.”
-----------------------------------------
At the table, we sat quietly.
I gave him the plate.
Our fingers brushed once — just for a second — but it felt sharp.
I sat slowly opposite him.
Crossed one leg.
The shorts rode higher.
My bare thigh touched the wooden seat.
I could feel the coldness first.
Then warmth.
The sweat was already there.
I adjusted my t-shirt once.
But it didn’t help.
My nipples were still poking out.
The cloth was too thin.
I saw him look once.
Then look down at his food quickly.
He was trying to behave normal.
But his ears were already pink.
-----------------------------------------
“Pavi,” he said softly after a few bites.
“You were blushing.”
I wiped a drop of chutney from my chin.
“From when?”
“When I saw you.”
He smiled shyly.
“In this t-shirt.”
I dipped another piece of dosa.
Bit it slowly.
Didn’t answer.
Some chutney dropped again on my lower lip.
I wiped it with one finger.
Sucked that finger softly, watching him.
His eyes didn’t move from my mouth.
I could see it.
The way his shoulders shifted.
The way his thigh brushed mine under the table.
He was burning.
So was I.
But I didn’t say anything.
-----------------------------------------
After eating, he stood up.
Washed the plate.
Came to the kitchen again.
I was still sitting.
My breasts were heavy now, nipples stiff inside the wet t-shirt.
My shorts were soaked from inside — full, soft wetness stuck between the folds.
He came near.
Held the back of the chair gently.
Then touched my waist.
Pulled me up softly.
My chest pressed against his shirt.
My stomach touched his.
His hand stayed on my waist.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Then he kissed me.
-----------------------------------------
It started soft.
Just lips.
His mouth was warm.
He pressed slowly.
Then opened a little.
I opened mine too.
Let him in.
Our tongues met.
Touched.
Moved slow.
Deep.
Messy.
My body leaned forward.
My breasts squashed softly against him — he could feel everything.
There was no bra in between.
Just wet cotton and naked skin.
His hand went lower.
To my hip.
Then my backside.
Then...
He grabbed my bare ass through the shorts.
Squeezed hard.
The cloth was thin.
My flesh was soft.
I moaned into his mouth.
My fingers gripped his shirt.
He kissed deeper.
Hungrier.
But still gentle.
Still full of that boy love.
When he pulled back, I was shaking.
-----------------------------------------
He smiled.
Picked his bag.
Opened the door.
And left.
-----------------------------------------
I stood in the hall.
Breathing slow.
My lips were wet.
My t-shirt was sticking completely to my chest and belly now.
My shorts had become useless — the cloth had climbed inside fully.
My inner thighs were wet.
Between my legs, the skin was slippery.
And that place?
It was aching softly.
Missing something.
I started cleaning.
Moving like a dream.
The heat from outside had entered fully.
By 10 AM, the tiles were warm under my feet.
The fan above was slow.
Not helping.
I was sweating again.
Behind my knees.
Between my ass.
Under my breasts.
The back of my neck was wet.
Even my arms were shining.
I looked down.
My t-shirt had dark patches everywhere.
The shorts had stuck like second skin.
I touched my belly once.
Felt the sweat.
Felt the heat.
I knew I couldn’t stay like this.
I smiled to myself.
“Bath,” I whispered.
But not fast.
I would peel these clothes off like a fruit.
One slow touch at a time.
From the sweat on my spine...
To the wetness between my thighs.
-----------------------------------------
I walked slowly to the bathroom.
One step at a time.
My thighs rubbed slightly.
The cloth pulled deeper.
And I could feel my own wetness pressing against the inside of the shorts.
When I entered the bathroom, I didn’t switch on the light.
I liked the dimness.
The morning sunlight was peeking from the small glass window.
Soft orange patches on the floor.
I locked the door.
And stood in front of the mirror.
My chest was rising.
Falling.
I could see the shape of my nipples.
Round. Pointed. So clear under the t-shirt.
I touched one.
Just once.
It was hard.
Alive.
I pulled the shirt up.
Slowly.
It peeled off from my back — sticky sound.
Then from my shoulders.
Then from my breasts.
The air touched them.
Made them firm instantly.
They were full.
And brown.
With darker tips.
My nipples were like small buttons, standing straight now, aching slightly.
I looked at them.
My own mouth watered a little.
-----------------------------------------
I removed the shorts next.
Hooked my thumbs in the waistline.
Pulled down slowly.
It came down tight.
The cloth was wet.
And it had stuck between my lips.
So it came down with a drag.
Pulled across my clit.
I gasped softly.
Not pain.
Just… that tingling burn.
The way only wet cloth can give when it’s pulled from too sensitive skin.
I stepped out of it.
Now I was naked.
Completely.
I stood still.
Let the air touch every part.
My thighs were glistening.
The skin behind my knees was shiny.
My ass was soft and sore, still remembering Arjun’s grip.
And that place between my legs?
Still pulsing.
Still full.
I turned on the shower.
-----------------------------------------
The water came slow at first.
Cold.
Touched my shoulder.
I flinched slightly.
Then I moved under it.
Let it fall on my head.
Neck.
Breasts.
Stomach.
Thighs.
The sound filled the bathroom.
Like tiny kisses hitting my skin.
My breasts bounced once under the flow.
Water rolled down the curves.
Passed over the nipples.
Down the under-curve.
Between my legs.
Over my mound.
I spread my feet slightly.
Let the water wash everything.
The soap was soft.
The lather felt silky.
My hand moved across my chest.
Slowly.
Circling.
Pressing.
Under the breasts.
Over them.
The nipples were too sensitive — I touched one and it felt like lightning.
I moaned softly.
Bit my lower lip.
-----------------------------------------
When my hand went down, I paused.
Just stood still.
Then gently — I washed there.
Between the lips.
The skin was tender.
And slippery.
Just let the water and fingers clean around.
And I remembered Arjun again.
How he kissed me.
How he pulled me.
But before that?
My knees softened a little.
I had to lean on the wall.
My whole body was alive again.
And somewhere inside… Anusha’s smile flashed suddenly.
I don’t know why.
But her face came.
That temple morning.
That accidental thigh touch.
And her perfume.
I smiled slowly.
Dirty smile.
Closed my eyes.
Let the water rinse all my sins.
But not remove them.
Just rearrange them.
-----------------------------------------
After bath, I dried myself slowly.
Towel hugged me tight.
I came out to the bedroom.
Still damp.
The fan was slow.
I stood near the cupboard.
Picked a proper saree.
Red.
Because I was feeling like a queen today.
First, I wore panty — soft cotton, maroon colour.
Pulled it up gently over my hips.
It slid smoothly over the wet skin.
The band sat just right on my waist.
Tight. Secure.
Then came the bra — padded, front open.
I slipped my arms in.
Hooked the front.
Lifted both breasts and placed them properly.
They sat heavy.
Full.
Perfect.
The fabric covered the nipples — but not their hardness.
It was still poking slightly through.
Then the blouse — sleeveless, deep back.
I tied it gently.
Felt the stretch against my skin.
Then came the petticoat — tight cotton, waist strings.
I pulled it up.
Tied the knot firmly.
Tucked it once.
It was holding my hips like a lover.
Finally…
The red saree.
I pleated it slowly.
Step by step.
Tucked it in.
Covered the pallu over my left shoulder.
The mirror showed my full body.
Red.
Brown.
Soft.
Shiny.
The saree was hugging every inch — waist, ass, bust.
I looked at myself.
And smiled.
-----------------------------------------
Then makeup.
Only little.
I dabbed compact on my cheeks.
Touched kajal under my eyes.
One red bindi.
One soft swipe of lipstick.
Cherry red.
My lips came alive instantly.
From tired housewife…
To dangerous queen.
I was ready.
-----------------------------------------
I sat on the sofa.
The saree folded gently under my thighs.
The petticoat edge touched my knees.
The waist knot was tight.
My hips felt hugged.
I leaned back.
One breast slipped a little in the bra.
I adjusted it softly.
My phone was on the table.
I picked it.
Called home.
The kids’ voices came loud.
“Maa! Maa!”
I smiled.
Spoke slowly.
Asked about lunch.
Laughed with them.
My voice became soft.
Warm.
The way only a mother can sound.
My thighs shifted gently under the saree.
The pallu slipped down slightly.
I pulled it back.
Wrapped it.
Like habit.
Like decency.
But my body underneath?
Was still hot.
-----------------------------------------
It was 11 AM.
The bell rang.
One sharp ting-tong.
I stood.
Walked slowly.
Opened the door.
And there he was.
Prakash.
Security.
His clothes were dirty.
Shirt stained. Pant dusty.
But his face was glowing.
Happy.
Excited.
He was holding something.
He raised his hand.
“Madam… got the ring,” he said proudly.
“From the ditch.”
-----------------------------------------
My body froze for one second.
Then my inner voice said:
“Aah… my dog fetched it back.”
I looked at his hand.
The ring was there.
Shining a little.
I took it.
Checked it.
It was mine.
He stood straight.
Waiting for my response.
I looked at him once.
“How you got it?”
He smiled wide.
“I came early today, madam… before duty. Went to backside… cleaned the ditch with hand. Found the ring. Was stuck in mud.”
I made a soft face.
“Chee…”
But inside?
I was smiling.
Proud.
Powerful.
He continued.
“Then I cleaned it, went home, bathed, changed dress, and came on duty. Now gave it.”
I nodded.
Didn’t say much.
But inside me?
There was a warm heat.
A quiet pleasure.
A filthy thrill.
“My dog obeyed.”
Without shouting.
Without begging.
Just one silent humiliation.
And he did it.
He crawled.
Dug in the filth.
Washed himself.
And brought it back to me.
I looked at the ring in my palm.
Gold.
Wet.
And mine.
Then looked at his face.
Still smiling.
Still proud.
He didn’t even know what he had done.
But I knew.
And I whispered in my heart:
“Good Dog.”
--------------------------------------
The dosa pan was too hot today.
Even standing near it was making my thighs sweat.
The flame was high, and I had to hold the ladle with both hands steady — the batter was thick, and cold when I touched it, but the moment it fell on the hot tawa… it hissed up sharply.
Chhhh...
That white circle started forming.
Slow. Spreading wide.
The smell of the ghee came sharp into my nose.
I didn’t move fast.
I just stayed near the flame.
The grey shorts were already sticking to me — I had worn them without anything under. No panty. Just direct cloth on skin. And now the inside was getting wet, slowly. Not just sweat — something else too. Some old feeling, something I didn’t want to name.
The black t-shirt was loose when I wore it.
Now it was soft and sticky.
I could feel the cloth brushing against my nipples.
Because I wasn’t wearing bra also.
The cotton was pressing directly onto the points — it was like they were showing themselves without permission.
Every time I leaned forward a little to check the dosa edge, my breasts would swing softly inside, shifting under the shirt, the fabric rubbing slowly, making them feel… too alive.
I stood like that for one extra second.
Letting my body stay close to the flame.
Letting my thighs touch.
Letting my ass push gently against the tight cloth of the shorts — the line of it had already gone in.
I didn’t adjust it.
I liked how it felt.
-----------------------------------------
The water sound from the bathroom had stopped.
Fifteen minutes.
Then, that soft door latch sound.
I didn’t turn.
But I heard his footsteps.
Light. Slow. Barefoot on the tiles.
I flipped the dosa once more — the edges had crisped up nicely.
I knew he was behind me.
I could feel it.
The air behind my neck had changed.
I didn’t say anything.
I just pulled the dosa to the side.
Lifted the ladle again for the next one.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw him.
Arjun.
Fully dressed.
Hair wet. Shirt fitting nicely. Sling bag on one shoulder.
But his eyes…
They were not ready to go out.
They were stuck on me.
On my back.
My thighs.
My t-shirt.
My shorts.
He didn’t even try to hide it.
-----------------------------------------
I smiled softly to myself.
Still looking at the tawa.
“You’re staring too much, da.”
His voice came slow.
“You’re sweating too much, pavi.”
I didn’t turn.
“So what? Women shouldn’t sweat?”
He didn’t answer.
I could hear his breathing change slightly.
I poured the next dosa.
Bent forward just a little more.
And when I bent...
I felt it.
The breasts dropped forward, swinging free inside the shirt.
The shorts pulled tighter between my cheeks, climbing up deeper.
I could feel the cloth entering — soft pressure between my lips.
There was no panty to block anything.
It was just cotton rubbing cotton.
And skin burning under.
I stood back slowly.
Letting him see everything.
Letting him imagine everything.
Without one single word.
-----------------------------------------
He came closer.
Not touching.
Just enough to make the space between us hotter.
The stove flame was nothing compared to his body behind me.
I could feel his breath near my shoulder.
And the back of my t-shirt was soaked now.
Sticking to my spine.
From neck to lower back, the cloth had pasted itself like skin.
Even my inner thighs had started sweating.
The shorts were useless now — they were just small wet cloth hiding a much bigger heat.
I turned slightly.
Glanced at him.
His eyes dropped straight to my chest.
I didn’t move.
I just asked softly, “Want dosa, da?”
He smiled.
“I want something else.”
-----------------------------------------
At the table, we sat quietly.
I gave him the plate.
Our fingers brushed once — just for a second — but it felt sharp.
I sat slowly opposite him.
Crossed one leg.
The shorts rode higher.
My bare thigh touched the wooden seat.
I could feel the coldness first.
Then warmth.
The sweat was already there.
I adjusted my t-shirt once.
But it didn’t help.
My nipples were still poking out.
The cloth was too thin.
I saw him look once.
Then look down at his food quickly.
He was trying to behave normal.
But his ears were already pink.
-----------------------------------------
“Pavi,” he said softly after a few bites.
“You were blushing.”
I wiped a drop of chutney from my chin.
“From when?”
“When I saw you.”
He smiled shyly.
“In this t-shirt.”
I dipped another piece of dosa.
Bit it slowly.
Didn’t answer.
Some chutney dropped again on my lower lip.
I wiped it with one finger.
Sucked that finger softly, watching him.
His eyes didn’t move from my mouth.
I could see it.
The way his shoulders shifted.
The way his thigh brushed mine under the table.
He was burning.
So was I.
But I didn’t say anything.
-----------------------------------------
After eating, he stood up.
Washed the plate.
Came to the kitchen again.
I was still sitting.
My breasts were heavy now, nipples stiff inside the wet t-shirt.
My shorts were soaked from inside — full, soft wetness stuck between the folds.
He came near.
Held the back of the chair gently.
Then touched my waist.
Pulled me up softly.
My chest pressed against his shirt.
My stomach touched his.
His hand stayed on my waist.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Then he kissed me.
-----------------------------------------
It started soft.
Just lips.
His mouth was warm.
He pressed slowly.
Then opened a little.
I opened mine too.
Let him in.
Our tongues met.
Touched.
Moved slow.
Deep.
Messy.
My body leaned forward.
My breasts squashed softly against him — he could feel everything.
There was no bra in between.
Just wet cotton and naked skin.
His hand went lower.
To my hip.
Then my backside.
Then...
He grabbed my bare ass through the shorts.
Squeezed hard.
The cloth was thin.
My flesh was soft.
I moaned into his mouth.
My fingers gripped his shirt.
He kissed deeper.
Hungrier.
But still gentle.
Still full of that boy love.
When he pulled back, I was shaking.
-----------------------------------------
He smiled.
Picked his bag.
Opened the door.
And left.
-----------------------------------------
I stood in the hall.
Breathing slow.
My lips were wet.
My t-shirt was sticking completely to my chest and belly now.
My shorts had become useless — the cloth had climbed inside fully.
My inner thighs were wet.
Between my legs, the skin was slippery.
And that place?
It was aching softly.
Missing something.
I started cleaning.
Moving like a dream.
The heat from outside had entered fully.
By 10 AM, the tiles were warm under my feet.
The fan above was slow.
Not helping.
I was sweating again.
Behind my knees.
Between my ass.
Under my breasts.
The back of my neck was wet.
Even my arms were shining.
I looked down.
My t-shirt had dark patches everywhere.
The shorts had stuck like second skin.
I touched my belly once.
Felt the sweat.
Felt the heat.
I knew I couldn’t stay like this.
I smiled to myself.
“Bath,” I whispered.
But not fast.
I would peel these clothes off like a fruit.
One slow touch at a time.
From the sweat on my spine...
To the wetness between my thighs.
-----------------------------------------
I walked slowly to the bathroom.
One step at a time.
My thighs rubbed slightly.
The cloth pulled deeper.
And I could feel my own wetness pressing against the inside of the shorts.
When I entered the bathroom, I didn’t switch on the light.
I liked the dimness.
The morning sunlight was peeking from the small glass window.
Soft orange patches on the floor.
I locked the door.
And stood in front of the mirror.
My chest was rising.
Falling.
I could see the shape of my nipples.
Round. Pointed. So clear under the t-shirt.
I touched one.
Just once.
It was hard.
Alive.
I pulled the shirt up.
Slowly.
It peeled off from my back — sticky sound.
Then from my shoulders.
Then from my breasts.
The air touched them.
Made them firm instantly.
They were full.
And brown.
With darker tips.
My nipples were like small buttons, standing straight now, aching slightly.
I looked at them.
My own mouth watered a little.
-----------------------------------------
I removed the shorts next.
Hooked my thumbs in the waistline.
Pulled down slowly.
It came down tight.
The cloth was wet.
And it had stuck between my lips.
So it came down with a drag.
Pulled across my clit.
I gasped softly.
Not pain.
Just… that tingling burn.
The way only wet cloth can give when it’s pulled from too sensitive skin.
I stepped out of it.
Now I was naked.
Completely.
I stood still.
Let the air touch every part.
My thighs were glistening.
The skin behind my knees was shiny.
My ass was soft and sore, still remembering Arjun’s grip.
And that place between my legs?
Still pulsing.
Still full.
I turned on the shower.
-----------------------------------------
The water came slow at first.
Cold.
Touched my shoulder.
I flinched slightly.
Then I moved under it.
Let it fall on my head.
Neck.
Breasts.
Stomach.
Thighs.
The sound filled the bathroom.
Like tiny kisses hitting my skin.
My breasts bounced once under the flow.
Water rolled down the curves.
Passed over the nipples.
Down the under-curve.
Between my legs.
Over my mound.
I spread my feet slightly.
Let the water wash everything.
The soap was soft.
The lather felt silky.
My hand moved across my chest.
Slowly.
Circling.
Pressing.
Under the breasts.
Over them.
The nipples were too sensitive — I touched one and it felt like lightning.
I moaned softly.
Bit my lower lip.
-----------------------------------------
When my hand went down, I paused.
Just stood still.
Then gently — I washed there.
Between the lips.
The skin was tender.
And slippery.
Just let the water and fingers clean around.
And I remembered Arjun again.
How he kissed me.
How he pulled me.
But before that?
My knees softened a little.
I had to lean on the wall.
My whole body was alive again.
And somewhere inside… Anusha’s smile flashed suddenly.
I don’t know why.
But her face came.
That temple morning.
That accidental thigh touch.
And her perfume.
I smiled slowly.
Dirty smile.
Closed my eyes.
Let the water rinse all my sins.
But not remove them.
Just rearrange them.
-----------------------------------------
After bath, I dried myself slowly.
Towel hugged me tight.
I came out to the bedroom.
Still damp.
The fan was slow.
I stood near the cupboard.
Picked a proper saree.
Red.
Because I was feeling like a queen today.
First, I wore panty — soft cotton, maroon colour.
Pulled it up gently over my hips.
It slid smoothly over the wet skin.
The band sat just right on my waist.
Tight. Secure.
Then came the bra — padded, front open.
I slipped my arms in.
Hooked the front.
Lifted both breasts and placed them properly.
They sat heavy.
Full.
Perfect.
The fabric covered the nipples — but not their hardness.
It was still poking slightly through.
Then the blouse — sleeveless, deep back.
I tied it gently.
Felt the stretch against my skin.
Then came the petticoat — tight cotton, waist strings.
I pulled it up.
Tied the knot firmly.
Tucked it once.
It was holding my hips like a lover.
Finally…
The red saree.
I pleated it slowly.
Step by step.
Tucked it in.
Covered the pallu over my left shoulder.
The mirror showed my full body.
Red.
Brown.
Soft.
Shiny.
The saree was hugging every inch — waist, ass, bust.
I looked at myself.
And smiled.
-----------------------------------------
Then makeup.
Only little.
I dabbed compact on my cheeks.
Touched kajal under my eyes.
One red bindi.
One soft swipe of lipstick.
Cherry red.
My lips came alive instantly.
From tired housewife…
To dangerous queen.
I was ready.
-----------------------------------------
I sat on the sofa.
The saree folded gently under my thighs.
The petticoat edge touched my knees.
The waist knot was tight.
My hips felt hugged.
I leaned back.
One breast slipped a little in the bra.
I adjusted it softly.
My phone was on the table.
I picked it.
Called home.
The kids’ voices came loud.
“Maa! Maa!”
I smiled.
Spoke slowly.
Asked about lunch.
Laughed with them.
My voice became soft.
Warm.
The way only a mother can sound.
My thighs shifted gently under the saree.
The pallu slipped down slightly.
I pulled it back.
Wrapped it.
Like habit.
Like decency.
But my body underneath?
Was still hot.
-----------------------------------------
It was 11 AM.
The bell rang.
One sharp ting-tong.
I stood.
Walked slowly.
Opened the door.
And there he was.
Prakash.
Security.
His clothes were dirty.
Shirt stained. Pant dusty.
But his face was glowing.
Happy.
Excited.
He was holding something.
He raised his hand.
“Madam… got the ring,” he said proudly.
“From the ditch.”
-----------------------------------------
My body froze for one second.
Then my inner voice said:
“Aah… my dog fetched it back.”
I looked at his hand.
The ring was there.
Shining a little.
I took it.
Checked it.
It was mine.
He stood straight.
Waiting for my response.
I looked at him once.
“How you got it?”
He smiled wide.
“I came early today, madam… before duty. Went to backside… cleaned the ditch with hand. Found the ring. Was stuck in mud.”
I made a soft face.
“Chee…”
But inside?
I was smiling.
Proud.
Powerful.
He continued.
“Then I cleaned it, went home, bathed, changed dress, and came on duty. Now gave it.”
I nodded.
Didn’t say much.
But inside me?
There was a warm heat.
A quiet pleasure.
A filthy thrill.
“My dog obeyed.”
Without shouting.
Without begging.
Just one silent humiliation.
And he did it.
He crawled.
Dug in the filth.
Washed himself.
And brought it back to me.
I looked at the ring in my palm.
Gold.
Wet.
And mine.
Then looked at his face.
Still smiling.
Still proud.
He didn’t even know what he had done.
But I knew.
And I whispered in my heart:
“Good Dog.”
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