Ananya(Student) - How I gave my measurements to the tailor(11 videos)-Scene-28-GOLD!*

[Assanlisan]

Bro… update?

[ashuezy2]

Scene 26

The steam from the shower was slowly dissipating, but the heat between us remained. Sonu had been sent away to his quarters, leaving me and my mother alone in the master bedroom. I walked out of the bathroom, a white towel wrapped tight around my chest, water dripping from the ends of my hair onto my bare shoulders.

I looked back at Mom. She was sitting at her vanity, applying moisturizer to her legs. She was smiling—a genuine, proud smile. This was our first real moment together as women, not just mother and daughter.

I picked up the hair dryer and plugged it in. The hot air blasted against my scalp. Mom gave out a soft laugh, looking at me through the mirror. She was surprised by how comfortable I was, standing there half-naked after what we had just done, and how easy I made her feel about her secret life.

"You are a naughty one, aren't you?" she teased, her eyes twinkling. "First Saloni, and now this driver. You are surprising me, Ananya."
I turned off the dryer for a second, meeting her gaze. "I am learning from you, Mom."
Mom’s expression turned serious for a fleeting second. "Listen, Ananya, I need not tell you, but your father must not even get a hint of this, or we all will be in trouble."

I nodded silently. I wondered what the deal really was between Mom and Dad. They shared the same bed, ate at the same table, yet lived in parallel universes. I wanted to cross the line and ask—does he know anything? does he suspect?—but I couldn't gather enough courage yet. The bond was new; I didn't want to break it with heavy questions.

Mom stood up and walked to her closet, pulling out a daring, low-cut blouse.
"I have some friends coming over today," she announced casually. "I will introduce you to some of them."
"What for, Mom?" I asked, resuming drying my hair. "Usual get-together or something else?"
Mom paused, holding the blouse against her chest. "Let's say... I lost a bet. And I have some debts to settle."
I lowered the dryer. "Lost a bet?"

"Yeah," Mom sighed, though she didn't look too upset about it. "I overcommitted myself to my friends. I promised I could bring a new woman into our group—someone fresh. But she was pregnant and couldn't get out of her house, so I need to pay back the group for the disappointment."

"Was this Sneha Mehra?" I asked, recognizing the name of the new neighbor.
"Yeah," Mom confirmed, slipping into her blouse. "Her family recently moved in. She lives in a joint family, and her mother-in-law keeps track of her movements like a hawk. I even went to her house, tried to lure her out for 'coffee,' but that old mother-in-law is too careful. She wouldn't let Sneha out of her sight."
She turned to me, zipping up her skirt.

"So, since I couldn't deliver Sneha... the group demands a penalty. They are a bunch of Lusty moms."

Two hours later, the living room had transformed. The heavy curtains were drawn against the afternoon sun, creating a dim, club-like atmosphere. The air was thick with expensive perfumes—Chanel, Gucci, Dior—mixing with the smell of imported wine.

The "friends" arrived. Mrs. Kapoor, Mrs. Gupta, Mrs. Singhania—women I had seen at Diwali parties acting like saints were now lounging on our sofas, holding wine glasses, their sarees dbangd loosely to show off cleavage and midriffs.
They looked at me with hungry, assessing eyes as Mom introduced me.

"This is Ananya," Mom said, her hand on my shoulder. "She knows."

A ripple of excitement went through the room. "She knows?" Mrs. Kapoor giggled, sipping her wine. "Does she play?"
"She's learning," Mom winked.

Suddenly, the music changed. The soft lounge jazz was replaced by a heavy, thumping bass beat coming from the Bluetooth speaker.

The main door opened.

A man walked in. He wasn't a guest. He was wearing a tight security officer uniform that looked like it had been bought at a costume shop, sunglasses, and combat boots. He was huge—muscular, oiled, and radiating aggressive energy.
The women cheered, clapping their hands.

" Officer!" Mrs. Gupta shouted. "Someone here has been a bad girl!"

The stripper didn't smile. He walked into the center of the room, scanning the group. He locked eyes with Mom.
"Sunita," he barked, his voice deep and commanding.

Mom stepped forward, trembling slightly, acting the part of the nervous victim, though I saw the flush of excitement on her neck.

"You promised the group a new recruit," the stripper announced, walking around her, his baton tapping against his palm. "You failed. Debts must be paid."

He stopped behind her. He reached out and ripped the Velcro of his pants, tearing them away to reveal a tiny, neon thong bulging with his package.

The room erupted. The women were hooting, whistling, and clapping.
"Penalty time!" Mrs. Singhania yelled, raising her glass.

The stripper grabbed Mom’s waist and spun her around, pressing his crotch against her stomach. He looked at the cheering crowd, then back at Mom.

"Take her now!" a woman shouted from the back.
"Take her now! Take her now!" the group chanted in unison, chanting for my mother's public humiliation.

I stood back, leaning against the wall, watching the spectacle. I was looking at my mom, but the woman in the center of the room wasn't the mother who scolded me about grades. She was in her own zone, channeling a version of herself I had never seen—her wild college days brought back to life by adrenaline and lust.

She wasn't shying away from the stripper. She was backing into him. She started moving her hips, dry humping his thigh through his tear-away pants. He moved behind her, gripping her waist, grinding his hardness against her ass.

"Go, Sunita!" Mrs. Kapoor screamed, laughing hysterically.

One of them—I think it was Mrs. Singhania—grabbed a handful of popcorn from a bowl and literally threw it on them. Corns bounced off Mom’s cleavage and the stripper’s oiled chest. They didn't care. They were feeding off the energy.

The stripper wasted no time. He spun Mom around and shoved her down onto the ornate dining chair that had been pulled into the center of the rug.

"Sit," he commanded.

He started his dance. It was aggressive and hypnotic. He gyrated in her face, his package swaying inches from her nose. I just watched how a man could seduce a MILF like that—using sheer confidence and the roar of the small crowd.
The other women couldn't sit still anymore. They stood up from their sofas and moved in close, forming a tight circle around the chair, just like it happens in bachelor parties. They were clapping to the beat, their eyes glued to the show.

"Time to pay up!" the stripper shouted.

He reached down. With practiced efficiency, he stripped Mom. The blouse was unhooked, the saree unraveled, the petticoat pulled down. Within seconds, she was fully naked, sitting exposed under the chandelier.
She didn't cover herself. She threw her head back, accepting her fate.
The stripper grabbed a condom wrapper with his teeth, ripped it open, and rolled it on. He lifted Mom’s legs, dbanging them over the armrests of the chair.

"Look at her!" he yelled to the group.
"Yes!" the women chanted.
He drove into her.

Mom screamed, a sound of pure release. He started pounding her right there in front of everyone. Her breasts bounced violently with every thrust. The women cheered, leaning in to slap her ass or touch the stripper’s flexing muscles. This was the bet—total submission to the group's pleasure.

When he stopped, he was pulling out and leaving Mom panting and slumped in the chair, the show wasn't over. The other women wanted their share. They swarmed him. Mrs. Gupta was grabbing his ass, Mrs. Kapoor was licking sweat off his chest. It was a feeding frenzy of repressed housewives taking what they wanted.

I was sitting in the back, overwhelmed but unable to look away.
The stripper pushed through the crowd of aunties. He looked straight at me. He pointed his baton.
"You," he said, breathless and sweating. "Come forward."
The room went quiet for a split second, then erupted again.

"Ananya! Ananya! Ananya!" the women chanted, cheering me on with my name.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I stood up. My legs felt heavy, but the pull of the group was stronger. I walked into the center of the circle.

Mom looked up from the chair, her hair messy, her body glowing with sweat. She smiled weakly but proudly. She rolled off the chair and crawled to the side, joining the circle.
"Sit," the stripper ordered me, pointing to the same chair my mother had just vacated.
I sat down. The seat was still warm from her body.

"The Queen," the stripper announced, placing a hand on my shoulder. "This is your induction."
He reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a can of whipped cream. He shook it violently. Shhh-shhh-shhh.
He stepped between my spread legs. He didn't enter me—not yet. He held his still-hard cock in his hand. He sprayed a mountain of white, fluffy cream all over the shaft and the head.

"Taste it," he commanded, holding it to my lips. "Show them you belong."

I looked at the women. I looked at Mom. They were all watching, waiting to see if I had the courage.
I opened my mouth. I leaned forward and licked the cream off him. The women cheered wildly, their applause filling the room as I tasted the sweetness and the musk, officially taking my place in their circle.

I was still fully dressed in my tight jeans and a fitted ribbed tank top that clung to me like a second skin, outlining every curve but hiding the main attraction.

The stripper wiped the remaining cream from himself and looked at me. His eyes roamed over my torso. The tank top was strained across my chest, the fabric stretching thin over the mounds underneath.
"Too much cotton," he announced to the room, his voice booming over the bass. "A Queen shouldn't be hiding behind cheap fabric."

"Take it off!" Mrs. Gupta screamed, clapping her hands.
"Strip her!" Mrs. Singhania chanted.
The stripper stepped behind the chair. He leaned down, his breath hot on my ear. "Stand up."
I stood up, my legs trembling. He didn't ask me to undress. He grabbed the hem of my tank top.

With one violent motion, he ripped the shirt upward. My arms got tangled for a second before he yanked it over my head and tossed it into the crowd of cheering women.
I stood there in my bra. It was a black, lacy thing, struggling to contain the breasts.
The cleavage spilled over the cups.

"Oh my god," Mrs. Kapoor gasped, leaning in closer. "Look at the size of them."
"Bigger than Sunita's," someone whispered loud enough for Mom to hear.
The stripper moved around to face me. He reached for the clasp between the cups.
"Let's see the goods," he growled.

Click.

The bra fell away. My breasts swung free, heavy and pale under the chandelier light.
The room went silent for a heartbeat.

It wasn't just the size of the breasts that stopped them; it was the nipples. They were massive—dark, puffy areolas that dominated the pale skin, with long, thick teats that stood violently erect in the cool air. They looked swollen, almost unnatural in their prominence.

"Holy shit," the stripper breathed, breaking character for a second. He stared at them, mesmerized. "I have never seen..."

The silence broke into a cacophony of shock and lust.
"Look at those nipples!" Mrs. Gupta shrieked, actually reaching out to poke one with a manicured finger. "They are huge! They are like thumbs!"
"Sunita!" Mrs. Singhania yelled, turning to my naked mother who was sitting on the floor. "You hid this from us? Your daughter is a freak! A beautiful freak!"
Mom looked at me. She looked at the chest that was captivating the entire room. There was no jealousy in her eyes, only a dark satisfaction.
"I told you she was special," Mom purred, crawling closer on her hands and knees.

The stripper recovered his composure. He reached out with both hands. He didn't grab the breast tissue; he grabbed the nipples directly. His fingers couldn't even cover the areolas completely.
He tweaked them.
"Ahhh!" I cried out, the sensation sharp and electric.
"These aren't nipples," the stripper laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "These are cup cakes. And I'm going to eat them."
He looked at the women.
"Who wants a turn before I destroy her?" he asked.
The aunties surged forward, their hands reaching out to touch, to pinch, to verify that the massive, dark peaks on my chest were real.

I didn't speak. I didn't try to cover myself. I just stood there, breathing shallowly, watching the circle of women close in. They looked like they were in a trance, their eyes fixed on the dark, swollen peaks of my chest. They weren't the polite, tea-sipping ladies of Vasant Vihar anymore; they were greedy, curious, and desperate to touch the youth they had lost.
I waited for the first one to break the seal.

It was Mrs. Gupta. She stepped forward, her diamond bracelets jingling. She didn't hesitate. She reached out with both hands and grabbed me.

Her hands were soft, manicured, and warm. She cupped the weight of my breasts, lifting them slightly.
"So heavy," she whispered, her eyes wide with envy. "Real, heavy flesh."
She squeezed.
"Ah," I gasped, the sound escaping my lips involuntarily.
She focused on the left nipple. She took the thick, dark teat between her thumb and forefinger and rolled it. It was a pinch that hovered right on the edge of pain.
"Look at how it swells," she announced to the group, pulling on it like it was taffy. "It’s like a rubber eraser. Tough. Responsive."

Mrs. Kapoor pushed in from the right. "Let me feel."
She grabbed my other breast. Her touch was rougher, hungrier. She dug her fingers into the soft tissue, kneading me like dough.
"Ananya," Mrs. Singhania purred, sliding her hands around my waist to press her face between my breasts. "You smell like sex."
I was being pulled in three different directions. I felt like a doll being passed around a nursery. Hands were everywhere—pinching, squeezing, weighing, slapping.

"I want to taste," Mrs. Kapoor declared.

She didn't wait for permission. She leaned down and latched onto my right nipple.
It was shocking. Her mouth was hot and wet. She sucked hard, her tongue swirling around the sensitive skin of the areola. It sent a jolt of electricity straight to my groin. I threw my head back, my hands gripping Mrs. Kapoor’s shoulders for balance.

"Mmm," Mrs. Kapoor moaned, vibrating against my chest. "Sweet."
Mrs. Gupta got jealous. She attacked the left one. Now I had two middle-aged women suckling on me, competing to see who could draw more reaction.



"Yes," Mom’s voice floated from somewhere on the floor. "Drink her in. She has plenty to give."
I looked down. I saw the tops of their heads, their hair sprayed and styled, buried in my chest. I felt their tongues flicking against the hard nubs of my nipples. It was surreal. It was perverse. And god help me, it felt incredible.

Through the haze of sensation, I looked at the stripper.
He was watching the spectacle with a dark grin. He adjusted his thong, clearly enjoying the show. He wasn't rushing them. He knew that the more worked up I got, the wetter I would be for him.
He caught my eye. He winked.

"Get her ready for me, ladies," he called out, his voice cutting through the moans. "Tenderize the meat. Because once I start, I won't be gentle."
I shivered. The women sucked harder, treating my breasts like lollipops, preparing me for the destruction he had promised.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 27

The living room was a blur of sensation. I was the center of a feeding frenzy. Mrs. Kapoor and Mrs. Gupta were relentless, their mouths working overtime on my chest, their tongues fighting for dominance over my nipples. My head rolled back, my hair sticking to my sweaty neck, and the sound coming from my throat wasn't a protest—it was a surrender.

"Ohhh! God!" I moaned loudly, the sound vibrating through the room.
I didn't mind it. I didn't mind it at all. The shame had evaporated, replaced by a drugging, heavy heat. I grabbed Mrs. Kapoor’s hair, holding her head against my breast, urging her to suck harder. The wet suction, the pinch of teeth, the sheer adoration of these older women... it made me feel like a slut.

"Enough!" Mrs. Singhania barked, her eyes wild.
She didn't wait. She shoved Mrs. Gupta aside with her hip. She pulled Mrs. Kapoor back by her shoulders.
"Give her some space!" Mrs. Singhania commanded, though she didn't step in to take their place. She looked at me, swaying on my feet, my chest glistening with saliva.
"She wants her mother," Mrs. Singhania announced, reading the look in my glazed eyes.

I looked down through my lashes. I saw my mom sitting on the rug, naked, watching me with that same dark pride she had shown in the shower.
"Mom," I gasped, reaching a hand out towards her. "Come here."
The room went quiet. The aunties stepped back, forming a tight circle, their breathing heavy. They wanted to see this. The ultimate taboo.

Mom didn't hesitate. She rose to her knees. She crawled towards me, her bare breasts swaying. She looked like a lioness reclaiming her cub.
She stopped in front of me. She reached up and cupped my breasts, weighing them in her hands.
"You amateurs," she scoffed softly at her friends, wiping their spit off my skin with her thumb.
She looked up at me. "Do you want me, Ananya?"
"Yes," I whispered.
Mom leaned forward. She opened her mouth wide and engulfed my left breast.

It was different. It wasn't frantic like the others. It was possessive. She knew exactly how sensitive I was. She swirled her tongue around the areola, then latched onto the nipple and pulled.
"Ahhh! Mom!" I cried out, my knees buckling.

The aunties gasped.

Mom pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lip to my nipple. She looked at her friends, smirking.
"This is not the first time I am doing this," she boasted, her voice husky. She squeezed my breast, making the flesh bulge between her fingers.

"She has amazing melons," Mom declared, looking at Mrs. Singhania. "Better than mine ever were. And they taste... sweet."

She turned  to me and attacked the other one, sucking aggressively while the circle of women watched in stunned, envious silence, witnessing a mother devour her daughter in the middle of the living room.

The living room was a pressure cooker of taboo. My mother was on her knees, her mouth still latched onto my nipple, claiming me in front of her friends. The air was thick with the smell of aroused women and the cologne of the stripper who had been patiently watching the appetizer round.

"Enough," a deep voice boomed over the bass of the music.
The stripper stepped forward, his shadow falling over me and my mother. He grabbed Mom by her shoulders and physically pulled her away from my chest.

A wet pop echoed as her mouth detached from my nipple. Mom looked up, dazed and flushed.
"You ladies have had your fun," the stripper growled, looking at me with dark, hungry eyes. "I've seen enough foreplay. 
Now it’s my turn to finish this."

He didn't waste time with gentle positioning. He grabbed my waist with massive, oiled hands.
"Up," he commanded.
He hoisted me into the air effortlessly. Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking my ankles behind his back. I was eye-level with him now, suspended, helpless.
He didn't bother walking to a wall. He stood right in the center of the rug, surrounded by the naked and half-naked aunties.
He lined himself up. I looked down and saw the thick, angry purple head of his cock pressing against my wet entrance.
"Take your medicine, Slut," he sneered.
He thrust upward, slamming into me with the force of a battering ram.
"OH MY GOD!" I screamed, throwing my head back as he filled me completely. He was huge, stretching me far beyond what Sonu - The Driver had done.

He began to pound me. He held me tight against his body, his hips snapping forward with brutal regularity. Every thrust knocked the breath out of me. I was bouncing in his arms, my breasts flopping wildly against his chest.
It was chaos. Even as I was getting fucked in mid-air, the aunties wouldn't back off.
Mrs. Kapoor was behind him, reaching around to slap my ass as it bounced against his thighs. Smack. Smack.
Mrs. Singhania was kissing my neck, licking the sweat off my skin, whispering filth into my ear while the stripper drove into me.

"Look at her take it!" Mom yelled from somewhere below, her voice hoarse with excitement. "Break her!"

The stripper’s breathing turned into guttural grunts. His grip on my waist tightened until I thought I would bruise. His thrusts became erratic, desperate.

"I'm gonna blow," he groaned, his neck muscles corded.
He looked down at Mom, who was on her knees near his feet, watching the connection point between my legs.
"Where do you want it, Sunita?" he demanded.
Mom looked me dead in the eye. There was no motherly protection there, just the cold calculation of a woman paying a debt.

"Inside her," Mom commanded. "Fill her up. Make sure it stays."
"Yes, ma'am," he grunted.

He buried himself deep inside me, holding me still against him. I felt him pulse—one, two, three massive waves of hot cum flooding into me, coating my insides. I whimpered, overwhelmed by the fullness and the sheer degradation of it.

He held me there for a long moment, letting every drop drain into me, before finally lowering me until my feet touched the rug. My legs wobbled so hard I almost fell, cum already leaking down my inner thighs.
The stripper zipped up his tear-away pants, collected his duffel bag.

"Let me know ladies when is next time," He said and let himself out. Job done.

The energy in the room shifted instantly. The manic lust evaporated, replaced by the casual normalcy of a kitty party ending. The aunties started picking up their discarded blouses and sarees, fixing their hair in the mirrors.

"Oh, Sunita darling," Mrs. Gupta cooed, pecking my naked mother on the cheek as she stepped into her petticoat. "What an afternoon. You really are the best host."

"Amazing," Mrs. Kapoor agreed, buttoning her blouse over her sweaty breasts. She turned to me, cupping my face and giving me a soft kiss on the lips. "And Ananya... you were spectacular, sweetheart. Such a natural."

Mom stood up, naked and proud.
"Well, a debt is a debt," Mom smiled graciously, as if she had just served excellent tea instead of her daughter. "You know me, girls. I’m always a sport."

"You certainly are," Mrs. Singhania said, hugging Mom. "Debt paid in full, I'd say. We'll see you next week at my place? 
It's cards theme."

"Wouldn't miss it," Mom replied, waving as they filed out the door, leaving us alone in the wreckage of the living room.

I looked at Mom. She was picking up the discarded wine glasses, completely unfazed, naked except for her petticoat.
"Go shower, Ananya," she said casually, wiping a smudge of whipped cream off the armrest of the chair. "Your father will be home in an hour. We need to air this room out."

I didn't move. I felt... electric. Used, yes, but buzzing with a strange, dark power. I had been the center of attention. I had been the Slut.

"Did I do okay?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly.
Mom stopped. She walked over to me, grabbed my face, and kissed my forehead.
"You paid me debt.," she whispered proudly. "And you enjoyed it. I saw your face, beta. You are exactly like me."
"I... I think I liked it," I confessed.

"Good," she smiled, handing me my discarded tank top. "Now go scrub yourself. And remember—not a word to Rajesh. He lives in the daylight. We live in the dark."

Hours later, the house was a fortress of normalcy. Dinner was served. Dad ate his dal and rice, complaining about the stock market, completely unaware that his wife and daughter had been spit-roasted and fondled by his social circle just hours prior.

Around midnight, I couldn't sleep. My body was sore, my mind racing. I crept down the hallway toward the master bedroom. The door was slightly ajar—Mom always left it cracked for airflow.
I heard voices.

"I need it, Sunita," Dad’s voice whined. It wasn't his authoritative office voice; it was pathetic, needy. "It’s been a week."
I peeked through the crack. Dad was sitting on the edge of the bed, naked. Mom was standing by the dresser, looking bored, wearing a black silk robe.

"You are insatiable, Rajesh," Mom sighed, opening the drawer where I knew she kept the black leather harness.
"I can't help it," Dad groaned, rubbing his face. "But... before we start... I have to ask."
"Ask what?" Mom snapped, strapping the harness around her hips.
Dad looked up at her, his eyes glazed with lust. "Do you ever... do you ever think about bringing someone else in? Someone... younger? Or maybe one of your friends from the kitty parties?"
I stifled a gasp. The irony was suffocating. If only he knew that Mrs. Kapoor had her tongue down my throat this afternoon.
"I wouldn't mind," Dad continued, licking his lips. "Mrs. Gupta... she has big hips. Or maybe a college girl? To watch? To help you?"

"Shut up, Rajesh," Mom said sharply, tightening the buckles. She played the role of the offended, decent wife perfectly. "You know it can't happen. You and your wild fantasies. My friends are respectable women. They would be horrified if they heard you talking like this."
"But I want it badly," Dad pleaded, almost whimpering. "Just try asking them, Sunita. Please?"
Mom rolled her eyes. She walked over to him, the black dildo protruding from her hips like a weapon.
"I will try," she lied smoothly. "But you know they will never agree. They are not like us, Rajesh. Now stop talking."

"Yes, Sunita," Dad whispered, obediently.
He didn't need further instruction. He scrambled onto the bed. He got on his hands and knees, assuming the doggy style position, burying his face in the pillows. He spread his legs wide, presenting himself to her.
"Is it ready?" he asked, his voice muffled.
"Ready for you," Mom said coldlly.
She climbed onto the bed behind him. She grabbed his hips with the same dominance the stripper had used on me.
"Take it," she commanded.
She thrust forward.
"Ohhh!" Dad groaned, a sound of pain mixed with intense pleasure. "Yes! Yes, break me!"
I watched as my mother, the woman who had been used by a stripper hours ago, became the master. She pounded my father, riding him hard.
Dad reached down. His hand moved furiously. He jerked himself, stroking his erection in time with her thrusts.
"I'm close!" Dad cried out. "Don't stop! Don't stop!"

Mom slammed into him one last time. Dad arched his back, letting out a high-pitched cry as he spilled his seed onto the bedsheet, finding his relief in the only way he was allowed—under the heel of the woman who was playing him for a fool.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 28

Back in the real world—or what was left of it. I was at college, theoretically preparing for the upcoming semester exams. The notice boards were full of schedules for practicals, but the atmosphere on campus had shifted. The winter sun brought everyone out onto the lawns. The segregation between seniors and juniors was dissolving, replaced by a hormonal soup of glances and tension.

And I was the main course.

I tried to focus on my notes, but it was impossible. My body, awakened by the stripper, measured by Remo, tasted by Mom and my best friend, was too much for a simple kurta to hide. The fabric strained against my chest, the side slits riding high on my hips.

I was getting seen. Really seen.

My phone buzzed incessantly in my bag. Someone had leaked my number on a bathroom stall or a WhatsApp group. It was flooded with messages from unknown numbers.

“Hey baby, show bobs.” “One night rate?” Dick pic. Dick pic. Video of a hand jerking off.

A week ago, I would have cried. Now? I just swiped the notifications away, a small, arrogant smirk playing on my lips. I ignored them all, not because I was offended, but because they hadn't earned my attention yet.

I was on my way to the library, clutching a stack of books against my chest—a futile attempt to hide the cleavage.

"Oye! Madam!" a heavy voice boomed.

I stopped. A wall of a man stepped in front of me. He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a tight black t-shirt that showed off his gym muscles and jeans that hung low. He had that distinct, aggressive swagger.

It was Sushil Dahiya. A senior. A Jatt with a reputation.
"I am talking to you, beautiful," he said in his broken, confident 'Jatt English'. "How many times I call you? How many message I send? You too busy to reply to Sushil?"

I looked up at him. He smelled of strong musk and manly sweat.
"I don't know who you are," I lied, trying to step around him.

He moved faster than a big man should. He blocked my path with a thick arm, leaning against the lockers, trapping me.
"Don't know me?" he laughed, stepping into my personal space. "You will know me."
He looked down. His eyes weren't on my face. They were glued to the shelf of my breasts resting on my books.

"Heavy load you carrying," he grinned, his eyes dark.

Before I could react, he reached out. He didn't grab; he brushed the back of his hand against my breast, right over the nipple. It was deliberate. It was a test.

"Size is too big for college, Madam," he whispered, making a dirty joke loud enough for people passing by to hear. "You hiding watermelons in there? Need help to carry?"

My nipples hardened instantly against the fabric. The shock hit me, but not the fear. The fear was gone.
"Get out of my way," I said, my voice low. "Or I will complain to the Dean."
Sushil laughed. "Complain? Go. Tell Dean that Sushil like your... personality."
He stepped back slowly, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. You go study."

He let me pass. But as I walked away, I felt his eyes burning into me. I exaggerated my walk, swaying my hips, letting my ass roll in my jeans. I knew exactly what he was looking at.

I disappeared into the library, my heart pounding—not from panic, but from the thrill of the hunt. I knew he would follow me.
I picked a table in the back corner, hidden by the stacks. I opened a book.
Five minutes later, the chair opposite me scbangd back.
Sushil sat down. He didn't say a word. He just stared at me, chewing gum, his legs spread wide under the table, his knee brushing against mine.
He tore a piece of paper from his notebook. He crumpled it into a ball and flicked it at me. It bounced off my chest.
I picked it up and unfolded it.

I WANT YOU.

I looked at him. He winked.
I slowly crumpled the paper back up. I didn't write back. I stood up, walked to the dustbin, and dropped it in. Then I gathered my books and walked out, leaving him sitting there with a smirk.

It was evening when I finally left the campus. The sun was setting, casting long shadows.
He was waiting for me outside the main gate, leaning against a black Scorpio with tinted windows. He wasn't hiding.
I didn't panic. I didn't run. I wanted to see what he would do.
I walked past him, keeping my head high, pretending to ignore him.
As I passed his bumper, he lunged.

THWACK.

His heavy hand connected with my ass. It wasn't a tap; it was a hard, possessive slap that stung through the denim and sent a jolt straight to my core.
"Goodnight, Madam," he called out.

I stumbled slightly, then steadied myself. I stopped. I turned my head over my shoulder.
I couldn't help it. I smiled back at him—a dirty, knowing smile that told him I wasn't going to the Dean.
He saw the smile. He grinned, pointing his phone at me.

I made the sign with my hand—thumb to ear, pinky to mouth. Call me.

His name was Sushil Dahiya. And I had a feeling he was going to be my next practical exam.

[ashuezy2]

New gif added.

[blackdesk]

Sexxxxxxxxxxxxy

[hotandluking]

NIce hot story...thanks for the effort.