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sakurasan · 05-09-2026, 07:01 PM

Chapter 10 In the Air

Rohan and Isha sat alone.

“That was new,” Rohan said.

“That was intense,” she said.

Kunal came back freshened and took the same seat beside her.

“The past ten minutes never happened,” he said. “If I hear either of you bring it up again, I will kick his ass.”

“That is not fair,” Rohan said. “Why will you kick me if she brings it up.”

A shiver went through her at that. “Can you give him a kick right now.”

All three of them laughed.

“Anyway. I have designer friends in Mumbai,” Kunal said. “Your samples are already with them for size. Next set lands before the weekend.”

“Mumbaikar sarees. Hmm.”

“Not only sarees. Lehenga choli. Ghagra choli. Madisar. Anarkali. The lot.”

“But.”

“No buts. They are cousins of the saree only.”

“Isha, it is only for the pictures.”

She had no answer. The words would not come.

“Okay.”

Saturday morning the caravan stood in the Empress Garden parking lot. Rohan and Kunal waited at its door. Isha came out in a lehenga choli. The dupatta was thin and transparent, almost not there at all. Both men went still. Her hourglass hips showed clean through it.

Rohan went in and came out in a sherwani. Kunal went in after him and came out in one too.

“Director is also getting ready,” she said. “What is cooking today.”

“I am starring too,” Kunal said. “Wedding-hall boring is finished. This weekend we do the funny ones.”

“Nice. How exactly.”

“I make Rohan chase you. He is going to be on his knees a lot this weekend. I come in between you two, and he still has to win you.”

“Nice. A competition. I am loving it.”

All three of them laughed.

Both men let her walk two steps ahead. Neither could keep his eyes off the shake of her hips.

Inside the park Kunal stopped them in a stretch clear of people. He set the camera for the frame, then came back. The remote sat in his pocket.

“In this one I lift her and run,” he said. “Rohan chases with a rose. She tries to take it.”

They took their places. Kunal lifted her. Her belly rested on his shoulder. She leaned for the rose in Rohan’s hand. His two-day beard brushed her flank, and the lift held her there, and she went stiff under it.

After the take he showed them the frame. Rohan pointed at the screen.

“You always say I do not know how to pose. Now look who does not know.”

Isha shot back, “You are not wearing a lehenga.”

Kunal grinned. “I know the right treatment for this.”

He came in close and tickled her hips. She reached for Rohan. “Help.”

Rohan took her hands and held them out of the way. “Let him.”

Kunal tickled harder. She jerked and twisted like a fish out of water, laughing against her will, until the stiffness broke and her body went soft for the lens.

They shot through the morning.

After lunch they were back at the parking area by the caravan. She went in to change into the madisar. The cloth defeated her. She stood in blouse and petticoat, called Rohan through the screen, and asked him to help.

He looked at the folds and shook his head.

“I do not know this one.”

He called for Kunal.

Her face went sharp. Rohan read it. “He is a professional. Fixing the dress is part of his job.”

“Whatever. But you stay with me.”

Kunal stepped in. His look was flirty and quick. Her underbelly tingled before he touched her.

He took the saree and wrapped it around her. At each tuck into the petticoat his finger slid between her skin and her panties, deeper than the cloth needed. He worked that tuck around her whole waist. She almost wet her panties, her breath gone thin.

Rohan stood to the side in the groom set. He thanked the pheta that covered the hard line of his cock.

Sunday the caravan was back in the Empress Garden parking lot. Rohan and Isha went inside. Only one set of costumes waited. Kunal stood in a sleeveless t-shirt and shorts, already casual.

“Not starring today,” she said.

“Today’s theme,” Kunal said. “You two romancing. Forgetting the world in this park. My job is only behind the lens.”

Something warm moved through both of them. Every evening they already did that on a bench under a tree. This was the same thing, made into pictures.

Kunal saw the look they shared and left them a breath of it, then cut in.

“I need a lot of PDA. No shy stuff. Either of you.”

“Hmm,” Rohan said. “Lots of kisses then.”

She blushed. “Shh. Do not talk like that.”

“Okay. Get dressed quick. With these clouds I do not know how much light we have.” He stepped out.

Rohan’s clothes were easy. Hers was a mint-gold tissue embroidered stitched saree set, lace-strap sleeveless blouse. She went behind the curtain. He dressed fast at the mirror. She got the blouse on and stared at the rest. The stitched saree made no sense in her hands.

“I am ready,” Rohan said. “Do you need help.”

She knew he would be no use either.

“Call Kunal.”

“Right away.”

He went. Kunal came in with a grin.

“Man ready for the job.”

“Help me.”

He sorted the saree, held it open like a barrel, and nodded for her to step in. She moved. He stopped her.

“You cannot do this with a petticoat.”

A tremor went through her. She stood like a deer in headlights.

“Quick. We are losing light.”

She untied the knot. The petticoat fell. She stepped into the open cloth as fast as she could. He pulled it up and zipped her in. As he fixed the fall, her breasts rose and fell under the lace-strap blouse with no bra. He sat her facing the mirror and worked the makeup from behind her, the sky forgotten. She started to relax.

The shoot began. She and Rohan liplocked through frame after frame, at least twenty times that day. By the break he did not even want lunch. He had already taken so much of her mouth he felt full. All day she wore the look of a seductress. It sent a shiver through both men. Neither wanted to admit it.

That night she tossed and turned in bed. Standing in just her panties before Kunal flashed again and again. That had been the danger, she told herself. From that moment to now the heat had not left. Her pussy was still hungry. She wanted to book a cab, go to Rohan’s room, and ravage him where he slept.

At the same hour Kunal sat at his computer editing the day’s frames. She had shaken over dropping the petticoat. On the stool she breathed hard while he fixed her, breasts bouncing in that lace-strap top, and from his angle he had a clear look inside. He saw her nipples. His cock went huge. He turned her to the mirror and did the whole makeup from behind after that, her body hiding his crotch so she would not see it. His cock stood hard in his shorts again now. He stopped on a shot of her looking into the lens just after a kiss. The look was intense. He had seen that face on girls already deep in heat. He was on the right track. This was no longer help for Rohan. It had gone far past that. He wanted to bed that beauty. He decided to escalate.

Her phone lit while her thumb hung over the taxi app. A notification landed. She opened it. Files from Kunal. As they loaded, the previews looked like couples in a garden. She took them for today’s work. Then the first image opened full. A different couple. More forest than park. What caught her eye was the bare skin. They did not seem to be wearing anything.

He had sent implied nudes. A girl behind a tree, side silhouette with no cloth. A couple in a hug, objects placed to hide what mattered. More of the same.

She did not know how to answer. She dropped the phone and put both hands on her pussy, working her labia hard, rubbing until sleep took her without her noticing.

For now, blue ticks. He went to sleep happy.

The next day he toned it down. A couple on white sand, bikini bottoms only, the rest of them bare to the light. He sent the set and waited. Blue ticks. No reaction.

The afternoon after that her replies landed. Thumbs-down on every frame. Kunal grinned at the phone. She had not told him to stop sending. That was the first win. The thumbs-down was the second. He kept going.

Sunday he took them trekking above Kune Falls.

“Kunal, how much longer,” Rohan said.

“Don’t worry. Just one kilometre more.”

“What is today’s theme,” she said.

“You two are going to be acrobatic dancers.”

“Can we really pull that off.”

“We throw you in the air a couple of times,” Kunal said, grinning, “and it will come out fine. Trust your director.”

They reached an empty stretch with the upper falls in view and the stream running past.

“No caravan today,” she said.

“Not possible up here. See that small tent. I set it up for you.”

“Isha, you first,” Rohan said. “Kunal will take an hour on you anyway. I am dipping in the river.”

Kunal and Isha started toward the tent. Rohan went for the water.

Kunal’s hand settled on her back and drew her in close enough that only she heard.

“So. All thumbs-down.” He pulled a sad face.

“You are one big bad boy, aren’t you. Why send those to me.”

“Maybe.” He tipped his head, eyes on hers. “But aren’t they beautiful. You know how much thumbs-down hurts an artist. Especially from a girl who looks like you.”

“They were beautiful. I looked at them many times. But they are never for me.”

“Never say never.” Softer now. She drew breath to protest. “Don’t answer. We will not do anything you do not like. Come. Get dressed for today.”

She went into the tent. The costume was a thin white Bengali silk saree with a red border. The blouse was strapless, seashell cups in front, a scarf tie at the back.

She had sensed he would pull something like this after last week. She had come prepared: strapless bra, boyshorts underneath.

She put on the saree. She took off her own blouse. She could have tied the cups in front and turned the piece around herself. The pictures had worn down her resistance to showing him more skin. She wanted Kunal to come in and help her dress. She held the blouse to her chest and called out.

“Can you come in and help me.”

From the stream Rohan looked back. Kunal and Isha walked toward the tent like lovers, his hand on her back. Kunal was making progress. If Rohan kept giving them this privacy, maybe he would get the dream he had asked for: Isha satisfied. That was why he had always left them the caravan. Even today he had said Kunal would take an hour, a clue so Kunal would stay with her.

Now he saw her call him into the tent. Kunal went in. Rohan’s pulse kicked. His conscience knew Kunal would only help her dress. His head painted it differently. The tent walls went clear. Kunal was stripping her and taking her there. When he first asked Kunal, his mind had been only on her pleasure. Now, for a second, he wished he could really see them together. A voyeur’s need rose in him. He scolded himself for how uncivil the thought had become. Her pleasure was the point, not his eyes. He turned into the water and let them have the tent.

Inside the tent she stood with her back to the flap. Both hands held the seashell cups hard to her breasts, the pallu folded over them. She heard him come in.

“Knot them.”

Kunal sucked in a breath at the sight. The bare line of her back. The strapless bra. The saree already around her hips. He stepped in close and set his fingers at the bra clasp first. She had half expected that. The hooks opened. She let the bra fall, pulled it free from under the cups, and dropped it on the floor. His hands took the scarf ends at her back and drew the blouse tight until the cups sat firm on her. He tied the knot.

He turned her to face him. The pallu stayed in one of her hands.

He looked at her.

“Wrong wrap. You cannot dance in this.”

She put the pallu in his hand. He found the tucked end at her waist and pulled. The white cloth came free. She turned as he drew it, slow circle after slow circle, the red border sliding off her hips, her thighs, until the whole length was in his arms and her back was to him in the strapless blouse alone.

She stayed that way a second longer than she needed. She smiled to herself. Boyshorts, not panties like last week. From behind, they held her like skin, tucked into the crack of her ass. The cloth held every round with nothing left to guess. His cock went hard in his shorts.

He turned her to face him. Eyes on the saree in his hands, then on her.

He started at her waist. The first wrap went low and tight. His knuckles brushed her belly as he tucked the cloth under her waistband, finger to skin, and pulled until it bit. She drew a breath and stayed. He walked the tuck around her, palm sliding over her hip, the small of her back, the other hip, each press seating the cloth. Heat climbed through her. She turned when his hand asked her to turn.

He gathered the front into fan pleats, one fold at a time between her thighs. His fingers worked between her thighs, cloth warm against her pussy. She shifted her feet wider so he could set the fan clean. Her pussy pushed against the thin cloth as his knuckles passed. She let it. He locked the pleats at her waist with a hard tuck and his thumb stayed a beat too long on the soft skin above the waistband.

Another wrap went higher and tighter, cloth climbing her ribs. His hands smoothed it under her breasts, around her back, across her belly. Her nipples pressed the seashell cups. Her mouth stayed open. He lifted her arm for the pallu, ran it over her shoulder, fingers trailing the side of her breast as he set the fall. The wrap sat locked at the waist, fan clean in front, body free to be thrown and caught.

He stepped back once and looked at her.

“Now you can dance. Let’s go.”

“No makeup today?”

“Only natural,” he said. “Water will wash it off anyway.”

They came out of the tent sooner than Rohan had hoped. His face fell for a second. He left the stream and went in to change.

The shoot began at the edge of the water. Kunal wanted Rohan to throw her and catch her. Rohan froze with his hands on her waist.

“What if she breaks her leg.”

“We are standing in water,” Kunal said. “Worst case she gets wet.”

“How are you sure.”

Isha tipped her head at Kunal.

“You throw me. Let him learn.”

Kunal grinned and took her waist. He threw her. She left the water and came back into his hands, his grip hard on her hips, then her thighs, then the round of her ass as he set her down laughing. Rohan watched and still would not try the high throw. The rest of the day she posed more with Kunal than with him, lifts and catches with his hands learning the same places again and again for the lens.

On the ride home she still felt that grip on her hips, her thighs, her ass.

Monday a new file landed. A girl in a halter-neck top, back fully open. After a run of thumbs-down, the scared face came back.

Kunal: Want to try this next.

Isha: No way.

Kunal: Okay.

Through the week he watched. A few of the earlier thumbs-down flipped to the scared face. He kept sending.

Thursday he sent a woman in a tribal saree, side pose. The frame gave almost no detail. She was not wearing a blouse. Isha sent a thumbs-up.

Kunal: We are doing this then. This weekend.

Isha: No.

Kunal: No?

Isha: Yes.

Kunal: We have a yes from you.

she first wanted to argue that was a yes to no. but She could already see his sad puppy face. She typed okay.

Kunal: Great. Pack your bags. We leave for Amboli Friday night.

Friday night Isha stood at the gate with one bag and watched the empty road. She wore a soft cotton saree from her old collection, blouse to match, easy for a long night drive. The thought would not leave her. This weekend she would stand in front of Kunal with no blouse on. Last week he had unhooked her bra, and the feel of it was still echoing in her back. That had felt too intimate. She decided not to pack one for the trip. Her breasts moved free now with every breath inside the blouse.

The car rolled up. Kunal at the wheel in a short sleeveless kurta and pyjama, arms open to the night. Rohan shotgun in a t-shirt and jeans. She pulled the back door. Camera gear filled the seat to the roof. No place for her.

“Can you two geniuses tell me where I am supposed to sit.”

Rohan tapped his lap.

“Here.”

Irritation and heat hit her together. She threw the bag onto the gear pile and climbed across his thighs, cotton saree riding up as she settled. Her bare breasts shifted under the blouse against his chest.

“I am sixty kilos. Can you survive the trip.”

“I am going to carry you like this all my life. This world and the next.”

“Big talk, lover boy.”

Kunal laughed once from the wheel.

“My plan was the bike. But your fiancé forced me here.”

“A long drive tonight, rain any minute,” Rohan said. “Bike is risky.”

The irritation left her. The logic was clean.

“Yeah. Rohan is right. We can adjust.”

The drive went on.

“Where are we going in Amboli,” she said.

“Estate owned by a client who is also a friend,” Kunal said. “Vintage house. Forest. Meadow at the back. Gatekeeper stays far from the house. Cook comes twice a day, leaves food, cleans, goes. Perfect for private shoots. I have used it a lot.”

“Sounds like the best.”

“We should keep the best for last, right,” he said.

Only then it landed. This adventure with Kunal was ending. This month had been different: the roads, the shoots, the posing. Her parents had never taken her on a vacation. She had turned down Rohan’s travel plans more than once. She cursed herself for ever thinking it would run forever. She kept her voice light.

“Yeah. All good things have to come to an end.”

“Someone sounds like she will miss me,” Kunal said. “Don’t worry. I will hang with you both even after you marry. I am not giving my friend away completely.”

“Another big talker. Let’s see.”

“You will see.”

By eleven they stopped for a restroom break. Kunal and Rohan were back at the car first. Rohan had pulled on a thick sweater. When she came out, he was behind the wheel.

“Come,” Kunal said, and patted his thigh.

She paused. Protest rose, then died. Rohan was at the wheel and did not mind his fiancée on another man’s lap. Why should she. She climbed on the same way, across Kunal’s thighs, her back to the door. Her weight settled as the drive began.

“Sorry, Isha,” Rohan said. “He needs to start work early tomorrow.”

“She will not mind,” Kunal said. His arms came around her. “Don’t you, beautiful.”

She left that hanging. Saying yes would make the lap official. His tattoo sat close under her eyes. She traced a line on his forearm.

“Is it all just random calligraphy.”

“You tell me.”

She twisted the arm to see clean. The letters locked.

“Wow. It is Rohan’s name.”

Rohan’s eyes left the road for a second. He had never looked that close. He had never known.

“You should not have done this.”

“Why will I not,” Kunal said. “It is my skin.”

“You wear his name. You two are worse than a couple.”

Both men protested at once.

She laughed and, without thinking, kissed his arm where the first letter of Rohan’s name sat.

Above the talk, everything stayed light. Under it, both of them were already elsewhere.

The moment she had settled on his lap, her scent had closed around him. Raw organic musk from warm skin, thicker at her neck and under her arms, the soft animal heat of a body that had waited too long. When she leaned in to read the tattoo, honey from her hair mixed into that musk and went straight to his head. He held his cock down by will alone, soft cloth and pyjama fighting a losing war. Then her mouth touched his arm. Heat punched straight to his groin. His cock thickened hard under the cleft of her ass, a thick hot ridge, and pulsed once, twice, lifting her a fraction with every beat.

Through her saree and his clothes she felt a penis for the first time in her life. A hot iron rod under her ass, alive, knocking up in slow heavy throbs that fluttered her pussy with every pulse. She had no word for it. Only that it was shameless. She had sat on Rohan’s lap so many times and never once felt this from him. He always kept himself in check. First time on Kunal and his cock was already drumming under her, no control at all. Guilt flicked through her chest for even feeling it. Her pussy answered louder. Shut up. We are finally getting to know a cock.

After a moment of silence she started a new topic. The talk died as sleep took them. Kunal’s arm came around her waist. His other hand rested higher, palm open on the side of her ribcage, the edge of his thumb almost under the outer curve of her breast. She looped both arms around his neck for balance and felt his breath at her temple as the drive went on.

Whenever Rohan could take his eyes off the road he looked at them. The two of them asleep like that. His cock ached. He watched and watched and almost came from the sight alone.

After a while looking was not enough. He lowered the window a fraction. Cold air slid into the car.

Still asleep, both of them hunted warmth and locked tighter. Kunal’s hands went under her pallu, found the bare skin of her midriff, and pressed in on both sides for her heat. The pallu slipped to her waist. Her free breasts rose close to his face. She pulled his head in. Her breasts were his pillow. His mouth sat in her cleavage. Hot breath poured down between soft bare flesh.

The new sight almost finished Rohan. He prayed not to come without a touch. He did not stop. On empty stretches he changed speed so their bodies slid on each other, her breasts dragging across Kunal’s cheek and arm, both of them pulling tighter after every slide.

Once she half woke. Her breasts were rubbing on Kunal’s arms. His nose was almost in her cleavage. She saw Rohan driving with a smile and fixed her pallu, then slept again. It slipped when he slowed them into the next slide.

They reached by three. The house was vintage, rooms enough for all of them. Rohan and Isha took rooms side by side. Kunal took the one opposite.

By nine Kunal and Isha were up and at breakfast. Rohan was still knocked out from the drive. Kunal brought a dark cotton saree, the cloth almost half the usual width, fashion tape in his other hand.

“Wear it like last week’s wrap,” he said. “But this one stops above the knee.”

“Sure. I learnt that wrapping. Will do.”

“After you are ready, come to my room. Makeup is there. And wake your sleepyhead fiancé.”

“Poor guy. He drove all night.”

She bathed and dressed. No blouse. The thin dark cloth wrapped high and tight the way he had taught her, cut off above her knees, thighs bare to the morning. She taped the pallu across her bare chest until it held, soft cotton stuck to skin, breasts only a layer of cloth and tape from open air. She cracked her door, checked the hall was empty, and went to Rohan’s room first.

“Isha,” he said, voice rough with sleep. “You look gorgeous.”

She had been too shy to warn him she would come blouseless. She had braced for him to reject it, tell her to cover up. He only stared, mouth soft, eyes dragging from her chest down her bare midriff to the short fall of cloth on her thighs. No complaint. Only hunger.

“Kunal gave me this. Here is yours. He asked us for makeup.”

“You go ahead. I will join after I get ready.”

“Breakfast is ready. Don’t forget that too.”

She left while he was still looking. Kunal’s door closed behind her.

Kunal whistled when she entered. Heat climbed her face. He sat her on the bed, cleaned her skin, and started temporary tattoos down her bare back and along her arms. His fingers lingered. He flirted through every line and took his time. Nearly an hour. He was almost done when Rohan came in dressed.

“You are ready,” Kunal said. “Get your groom ready quick.”

She began matching tattoos on Rohan.

The morning shoot went clean. Rain took the rest of the day indoors.

After dinner the wood chimney kept the main room warm. Isha had changed into a thin nighty from her bag. Nothing under it. The fire made that feel natural. Kunal sat beside her, camera between them, and went on with lens, exposure, and holding still for a slow shutter.

“Frame me,” he said.

She lifted the camera. He stood in the firelight and walked her through the settings with his finger on the dial until she got a clean shot of his face.

“Good. You have an eye.”

Pride warmed her more than the chimney.

Rohan stood from the chair, already heavy-eyed from the drive.

“I am done for tonight,” he said. “Wake me if you need me.”

He went to his room. The door stayed slanted open. In a few minutes his breathing turned slow and even.

He put the camera in her hands.

“Now you try on a person who moves.”

He stepped into the firelight. He pulled his kurta over his head and tossed it on the chair. She stared and forgot the camera for a second. Broad shoulders and a wide upper back narrowed to a tight waist, an inverted triangle standing in front of her. His stomach showed six hard ridges down to the dark line of hair. Heat climbed her face. He struck a simple pose, arms loose, chin lifted.

“Shoot.”

She clicked. He came behind her to check the small screen, chin at her neck, chest against her back, his front rubbing her through the thin nighty as he tilted the camera in her hands. From Rohan’s room came a mild snore. Neither of them spoke.

“Again,” he said, and moved to a new pose.

This time when he walked back to the fire she saw it. A thick line in his shorts, heavy enough to shift and swing with every step. She had no word for it. Heat ran straight to her pussy.

She still held the camera. Her eyes kept dropping to his shorts and jumping away. Her voice came out thin.

“Your life feels like a dream. Do you always love it.”

He took the camera from her hands and set it on the chair. He stepped closer, bare chest almost at her face, and smiled.

“Most times.”

“When do you like it the most.”

“Helping girls prepare gifts for their men.” He winked.

Heat climbed her neck. She laughed once, short, and pushed two fingers into his chest. He caught her wrist and turned her palm up, tracing one line with his thumb.

“Why don’t you try a gift set for Rohan. My poor boy will have a blast if you surprise him on the honeymoon.”

“I do not want you putting me in your third folder.”

His thumb stopped. Then he laughed under his breath and drew the line again, slower.

“So he ratted me.”

“He cannot keep secrets from me.”

He guided her to the sofa with his palm on her lower back and sat her next to him.

“I sent you only from the intimate folder. Not Explicit.”

She went still. Intimate was the second drive. Explicit the third. She had never opened Explicit. Curiosity for what lived there sharpened in her chest.

“Has Rohan also seen these pics.”

“He is no saint. You just tamed him to wait till marriage.”

“Is that not how all couples do.”

“Each their own.” His thumb found her palm again.

“You know I cannot pose like those.”

“I never asked for those. For the gift set, surprise him in western clothes. Modern ones. He has never seen you like that. It will shock him. I know you are not comfortable. We have to go past comfort sometimes.”

“If you think that will surprise him, I am fine. I really want to do something nice for him.”

“He will go bonkers.”

“How are we going to do that.”

“Next two weeks I am free on weekdays. Evenings. I will tell Rohan we are doing bridal specials. He drops you at the studio.”

“All indoor.”

“Blue screen and props. We will take care.”

“Okay. Let us do it then.”

He grinned and tugged her toward the rug by the chimney.

“Sit between my legs. Let me pamper my model.”

She settled between his thighs. His fingers dug into her scalp, hard enough that she gasped. Then a moan slipped out. He worked her neck the same way, thumbs pressing deep, and she tipped her head to give him more. Under the nighty his palms ran down her bare back with that same hard rub. She moaned again, softer, and leaned into him.

He lightened his hands once, waiting for her to stop him. She only pressed back into his palms. He brought one hand around to her belly and rubbed slow circles under the thin cloth. Her breath went short. His fingers drifted lower, toward her pussy.

From Rohan’s room came a cough.

She sat up fast. His hand fell away.

“Let me check on him.”

In Rohan’s room he lay on his side, still out, one arm under the pillow. He had slept through the cough. Guilt sat heavy in her chest. She lay down beside him, put her arms around him, and shut her eyes there. Going back to the fire felt impossible.

Kunal watched the slanted door a moment, then left them alone and went to his own bed.

In the morning Rohan woke and found her there. He kissed her head and went to get ready.

Clouds sat low when Kunal led them out. Today was the final shot. Isha wore the short blouseless saree again, pallu taped across her bare chest. Rohan matched her in the same dark cloth. Kunal had on a sleeveless t-shirt and shorts.

He took them to a cliff barely fifty metres from the house. The top sat level with the yard, but they had to drop ten feet and climb ten feet to reach the flat circle of rock, wide enough for a pose and not much more.

“One shot today,” Kunal said. “On top of that. When we stand there, the two mountains behind you do the work.”

He climbed the side closer to the house first and set the camera with the zoom locked. Then he came back and walked them through the pose with his hands.

“Too complex,” Rohan said. “Show us.”

Kunal climbed. Rohan lifted Isha up to him. Kunal hauled her onto the rock, then Rohan went to the camera.

Kunal lifted her again. He set her on his hip. Her right leg wrapped behind him, her left came across the front, thighs closed over his belt so her pussy sat hard against his hip bone through the thin saree. His right hand caught her left thigh and straightened the leg. His left hand braced her bare spine and tipped her back until she hung almost perpendicular to him, breasts lifted under the taped pallu, throat open to the sky. Wind yanked at the cloth. He pinched the edge between his fingers and held it so her chest stayed covered for the lens.

He leaned in. Their mouths were a breath apart. The demo should have stopped there. Skin on skin from hip to breast did the rest. Her eyes shut. Her lips parted. He kissed her.

She took it. They froze like that, mouths locked, her body hanging off his strength.

Behind the camera Rohan clicked and clicked. Kunal had given him the vogue hold he promised. Isha was not fighting it. A shiver ran through her where her inner thigh gripped Kunal’s hip, and Rohan caught that too.

The kiss ran long. Kunal pushed his tongue into her mouth. She let it in, wet and deep, and at that second lightning split the sky. They broke. He set her on her feet. Fat raindrops hit the rock.

“Rohan, take the camera home. Now,” Kunal shouted.

Rohan grabbed the gear and ran for the house as the rain opened hard. Kunal stood over Isha and cupped his palms above her head. Water sheeted through his fingers and soaked them both. He scanned the drop for a way down. Rain killed the fashion tape. The pallu loosened and she clapped both hands over it, holding the wet cloth to her chest. Wind tugged hard. For a second the edge slipped and he saw the side of her breast, soft and rain-wet, before she dragged the pallu tight again. He yanked his sleeveless t-shirt over his head and pulled it down over her. She let go of the cloth only long enough for the shirt to cover her. The wet cotton stuck to her tits and nipples.

Wind shoved her into him. She hugged his bare torso to stay upright. Her face came level with his chest, the inverted triangle hard under rain, water pouring off his nipples in thin streams. The kiss on the rock was still in her mouth. She put her lips on his nipple and drank the rain off it.

He felt it. He looked down. She looked up. He took her mouth again. This time both tongues pushed in at once, fighting for depth, spit and rain mixing as he fucked her mouth with his tongue. Thunder rolled over them and neither cared.

Rohan came back from the house with umbrellas. Rain cut the view to grey. The next lightning flash showed them locked together, kissing. He stepped closer. Another flash gave him the full picture.

They were not stopping. Kunal’s hands had gone up under her wet saree. Both palms gripped her bare ass and squeezed, fingers digging in, pulling her pussy against the thick line in his shorts. Her moan went into his mouth. The kiss did not break. Thunder rolled over the cliff and neither of them looked his way.

Rohan stood in the rain with the umbrellas and watched.

Lucifer8797 · 05-09-2026, 07:03 PM

 

 Isha poses during the shoot different dresses  

 

 Isha in Kunal imagination after this its no longer as help for Rohan  

  
Isha sleeping in car in Kunal lap   

Kunal showing pose to rohan with Isha

 
Kunal and Isha started kissing

Lucifer8797 · 05-09-2026, 07:04 PM

Kunal removed t-shirt and Made Isha wear it and kiss continued

Lucifer8797 · 05-09-2026, 07:05 PM

 
 Isha shoot in cottage different dresses

 Isha clicking picture of Kunal in cottage

 Isha between Kunal knees and he massaging her head

Yash120 · 05-09-2026, 09:53 PM

Fucking awesome story

Ajay Kailash · 05-09-2026, 10:32 PM

Awesome update

Hotgiri · 06-09-2026, 09:38 AM

Hi lucifer,

Very hot pics, could you please add gif instead of pics where there is intimate moments between Kunal and Isha

jiivajothii · 06-09-2026, 09:46 AM

Excellent updates

jiivajothii · 06-09-2026, 09:51 AM

Rohan should understand and accept that he is not match for girl like isha and she needs a real man.bwith his small cock He can't satisfy her or give any happiness. She deserves to live with a real man like kunal. Only He can't give her healthy babies. Rohan has to give her freedom and make isha and kunal to accept and marry each other. Rohan should leave the country.

kangaani · 06-09-2026, 10:12 AM

(06-09-2026, 09:51 AM)jiivajothii Wrote: Rohan should understand and accept that he is not match for girl like isha and she needs a real man.bwith his small cock He can't satisfy her or give any happiness. She deserves to live with a real man like kunal. Only He can't give her healthy babies. Rohan has to give her freedom and make isha and kunal to accept and marry each other. Rohan should leave the country.

Very true. It is the real happiness Rohan can give to isha

Mprit · 06-09-2026, 03:23 PM

Good going

sakurasan · 07-09-2026, 08:11 AM

(06-09-2026, 09:51 AM)jiivajothii Wrote: Rohan should understand and accept that he is not match for girl like isha and she needs a real man.bwith his small cock He can't satisfy her or give any happiness. She deserves to live with a real man like kunal. Only He can't give her healthy babies. Rohan has to give her freedom and make isha and kunal to accept and marry each other. Rohan should leave the country.

Interesting ideas. Keep them flowing

sakurasan · 11-09-2026, 03:21 PM

Chapter 11 The Bell

Kunal’s fingers slid into the cleft of her ass and pressed. Her moan went into his mouth. Then he saw the umbrellas. He dragged his hands out of her saree. She broke the kiss, breath ragged, lips swollen.

Rohan walked in.

“Isha. Kunal. You still there,” he shouted over the rain, loud and late, as if the storm had kept him from seeing a thing.

She shifted. Space opened between their chests. Kunal took an umbrella from Rohan first, then lifted her with his other arm and lowered her until Rohan caught her against him.

They walked back under the cloth. Inside, Rohan shook water from his hair. Rain still hammered the roof. He checked his phone, then sniffed hard. His nose was already running. A cough sat in his chest.

“I checked the weather. It is not going to stop.”

“But you both should still do that shot.”

“It is remotely possible. Let us start for home now.”

He coughed into his fist. Isha touched his arm.

“It is okay, Kunal. Better we head home.”

Kunal let it go. They packed and left the estate under the same grey sky.

In Amboli town they stopped for lunch. While they waited for the food, Isha took the camera and scrolled. The cliff still stopped her cold. Her thumb froze on the dial. Her nipples went hard under the blouse before she could stop them. She wanted to zoom until his mouth on hers filled the whole screen.

“Rohan,” she said, eyes still on the frame. “Kunal is suggesting a bridal special shoot. Just me.”

Rohan had been carrying a quiet worry all morning. The pre-wedding work was ending. Kunal still had not fucked her. Time was running out. Her words lit him up.

“Great,” he said. “We should use every hour he can spare for us.”

“Yeah.” She set the camera down. “How many brides get this kind of photographer in the family.”

Kunal had meant to raise it with Rohan himself. Hearing her take the lead pleased him more. She was eager. He heard it under the polite words.

“Pleasure is mine,” he said. He tipped the camera toward her once. “You make that thing hungry.”

His eyes held hers a second too long. Something low in her belly answered before her mouth could.

After lunch she fed Rohan cough syrup. Kunal drove. Rohan had her on his lap.

They left Amboli behind. Kunal and Isha traded songs and talked film, shot by shot, whose frames stayed with them. Rohan’s head grew heavy on her shoulder. His breathing slowed. Sleep took him.

She pushed his head lower until his cheek found her breast. She drew the pallu off her chest, covered him with it, cloth warm over his back and shoulders, and settled the end back on her own. His mouth rested on the soft blouse over her nipple through the cloth.

Kunal looked over at them. Envy stung.

“Hmm. He gets the baby treatment. You never cared for me like this.”

“He feels cold.”

“I was cold that night too.”

“Okay. Next time I will cover you like this too. Now let my baby sleep peacefully.”

“Okay, okay. Keep your baby safe. Feed it inside if you want. I will not complain if you feed me later.”

“Bad boy. That is all you think about.”

She pinched Kunal’s chest hard enough to make him hiss, then hugged Rohan tighter. His face stayed pressed into her breast through the cloth. She kept him there.

By night she reached her flat with her bag in one hand and a bunch of carrots she had picked up at lunch. Riya and Sneha were in the hall with their laptops open.

“Late again,” Riya said, and looked at the carrots. Her eyebrows climbed. “What are those.”

“From the hills there. Fresh.”

Sneha took one out of the bunch and held it up, long and thick and straight. She turned it slowly like she was checking a specimen.

“Do not cook these,” Sneha said.

“Why not.”

Riya already had another in her hand. “We will eat them fresh. In our rooms.”

Isha frowned. “They taste better that way. Sweet.”

Sneha clicked her tongue. “The mouth that is going to eat this still does not know taste.”

“What is that supposed to mean.”

Riya leaned back on the sofa, grinning. “Your man keeps you busy every evening. We are not so blessed.”

An old instinct made her open her mouth. She wanted to scream that she and Rohan were not doing anything. The words stopped in her throat. They had always seen her as naive. Why not let them see her like this too.

Her face stayed blank. She said nothing.

“Take what you need,” she said, and set the bunch on the table.

Sneha nodded toward the carrots. “So we manage on our own.”

Isha went still. The mouth that still did not know taste. Her pussy. Her face burned. She understood.

Riya picked one. Sneha took the thickest. Each walked off to her room with a carrot held at her side like a prize, still grinning.

Isha looked at what was left. She chose one, thick as her wrist. The shape hit her at once, the same thick line she had seen in Kunal’s shorts. She went to her room and shut the door.

Monday evening Rohan drove her to the duplex. He used his key card and got them in. At the far left, Kunal was adjusting lights in the main bay, green screen already bright behind him.

“Finally,” he said. “I thought you two got lost.”

Rohan walked her through. At the left corner an L-shaped mirror filled the wall. He slid a screen shut across it and made a changing room.

“Isn’t this setup nice.”

She thought of getting naked with only a screen between her and the floor. At least in the caravan they had stood outside. Here she could not send Kunal out of the studio. Anyway, her mouth only said, “Yes.”

He took her toward the right. A big billiards table sat there.

“So studios have these,” she said.

Rohan chuckled. “We did not have space upstairs.”

Kunal called from the ladder. “Models love to pose with it. Makes them look elegant. And of course we mainly use it to play.”

The far right end held gear and props, storage for his outdoor shoots. She saw the familiar reflectors and stands that had taken her seat in the car only yesterday. At the centre sat the workstation: one big monitor facing the door, a soft massage chair. Too comfortable for one, a tight squeeze when she and Rohan sat in. He took a remote and pressed it. A loud bell rang upstairs.

“See,” he said. “Anytime you press this, I will be down in a minute.”

She wanted him gone for the secret shoot. She kept her eyes soft so he would not feel pushed out.

“Meaning you will not be here,” she said.

“I have to prepare for tomorrow,” Rohan said. “I have no work here anyway.”

Kunal came down and wiped his hands. “You are an independent woman. You can manage a few hours without your fiancé.”

“Of course I can.”

Kunal tossed her a bag. “Then go get dressed.”

He turned to Rohan. “Thanks for the delivery. Go prep your lectures.”

As she shut the sliding screen, she heard Rohan’s footsteps leave for the stairs. Inside the bag: a shiny nylon T-shirt and jeans. She knew Kunal did not like the bra. She stripped to her panties and pulled the clothes on. They were tight.

“Kunal, this is not my size,” she said through the screen. “I am not lean like your models.”

“Bought for you. Push that ass in and come out.”

She forced them on and looked in the mirror. She looked more like a student on campus than a teacher.

When she came out, Kunal made nothing of it, as if she had always dressed like this. He did her makeup. The shoot ran like any other day.

When they were done, she changed back into her college saree and came out. Kunal stood by the workstation with the bell remote behind his back. She reached for it. He stepped aside and kept it out of her hands.

“What childishness. I need to go home.”

“Let’s trade for the remote.”

“Okay. What do you want.”

“Remember the cliff. I need that kiss again.”

“That was a one-time thing. Ask something else.”

He made a sad puppy face. “Oh. It was two times. Did I taste bad? You did not like it?”

“I did not mean that. It was nice.”

“If you did not mean that, then why not give me one.”

“Okay. Just one thank-you kiss.”

They leaned in. She lifted her head. He looked down. Their mouths met. Then he gripped both her ass cheeks over the saree and lifted her until their lips were level. Tongues found each other and stayed. She reached behind him and pressed the remote. The bell broke them apart. She fixed her saree and lipstick as Rohan came down.

On the drive they made small talk. Kunal was still in her mouth. She could feel him there, taste him. She took her kerchief and wiped her lips again and again.

At her building she leaned toward Rohan.

“You better not catch my cold,” he said.

Relief went through her. Her usual goodbye had already been taken, from another mouth.

“Okay. But this is back when you fix that throat. Rest well till then.”

“Of course. You too. Get some rest. I believe Kunal is a taskmaster.”

“You have no idea.”

Tuesday the bag held crop tops and leggings. Kunal kept the lens on her open belly, the navel, the soft line above the waistband. The shoot ran. When they were done she went for the remote before she changed.

He reached for it. She put both hands behind her back and held it there. He came in. She pushed him off with her breasts. Their chests pressed and fought, cloth to cloth, her nipples hard under the crop top.

He closed the last inch. She took his mouth first this time. He held her face in both hands and tipped her head to the wall. The kiss went wild. His hands left her face, ran her back, then cupped her breasts over the thin cloth and squeezed. She pressed the remote behind her. The bell rang. She laughed and ran for the changing screen.

Wednesday, before the last change, her pussy was shouting at her. You are having all the fun. What about me. After the Friday drive I am getting only those stupid carrots. I need the feel. She calmed it. Today I will take care of you.

She held a thin apple shorts in her hand. She took the panty off too before she pulled them on.

Kunal called wrap. She walked to the workstation and stood quiet. He understood. She was waiting for the kiss. He came close. She pulled his shirt, sat him in the chair, and climbed onto his lap.

The kiss was slow. For her the lips were a formality. Her pussy wanted the feel. Under the thin shorts she felt his cock pulse against her, the same thick line from the car. Ten minutes later he broke for air.

“Happy?” she said.

“Very happy. I do not need dinner now.”

She pressed the remote. The bell rang. She slid off him slowly and pulled the screen shut.

Thursday she wore a single thick cocktail dress, a slit running up her thighs. Cool air moved between her legs and kept her nipples hard. Between clicks Kunal came in close and pinched them through the cloth.

“They are not showing well,” he said.

After wrap she climbed onto his lap. They kissed, broke for air, kissed again.

“You know Rohan is the luckiest person in the world,” he said.

“Are you not getting the same luck right now.”

“These are just teasers. He gets the main picture.”

She could sense where he was heading. She kissed him to shut him up.

“These teasers are killing me,” he said anyway.

She tried to close his mouth again. He held her face and kept her there a full minute.

“Just once,” he said. “Why don’t you give me a special screening.”

She could not find words. If Rohan had not been upstairs, she would never have kissed Kunal at all. His being in the same building made this feel like a game, not cheating. When Kunal asked for sex, that same nearness flipped. Rohan was too close. How could she fuck Kunal with him one floor above.

Her answer was a wetter kiss, tongue pushed into his mouth. When she came up for air she said, “This feels nice. But you know I cannot do anything more. I love Rohan and he is my world.”

Kunal left it there. He rang the bell. She stood up and went to change.

That night her pussy and her brain went to war.

Her pussy shouted first. We are desperate. We need it now. Carrots are a joke. Give us him.

Her brain answered hard. To hell with lust. Love is the life. Rohan is the life.

Then a worse thought rose. For one second today, when Kunal asked for the screening, she had pictured the upstairs empty. Pictured herself saying yes. She cursed herself for that second. What kind of fiancée even runs that picture.

Her brain found the only door that still let her sleep. Rohan saw the kiss with Kunal. He even clicked it. He is fine with that much. We are not doing more. Kisses stay. The rest stays shut.

Her body took that line and drifted under.

Friday at wrap she was on his lap again. Soft cotton jeggings, a matching denim T-shirt that sat like a second skin, nothing under either. Kunal was in shorts. The thick line of his cock showed clean.

She sat as she had all week. Then her pussy begged for better contact. She lifted her right leg, straddled his hips, and faced him. His nose found her neck. She hugged him tight. Her pussy lips kissed the impression in his shorts through the thin cotton.

For one second Kunal went still. Who was chasing whom. Then he took her lower lip into his mouth and chewed. She rolled her hips slow. The chew sharpened. She let out an ah. He left her lip and kissed her neck.

“Show some mercy. Just once.”

“I already told you.”

“I love him too. That stays. This is only bodies talking.”

“Someone else’s body is a sin.”

“Sin starts after marriage. You are still free. Soon I will not even get to ask for a kiss.”

“We kiss only because Rohan has not tied the knot yet. My heart and my body are his.”

“Is that so. You gave him milk that day. My turn now.”

He bit her nipple through the T-shirt.

"Idiot. That hurts. Rohan was sleeping."

“Maybe not that day. After marriage you will feed him every day. Poor me can only dream.”

“You talk too much.”

She put the other nipple in his mouth. He went from one to the other, biting, then buried his face between her breasts and shook it there. Her fingers slid into his hair and held him. She let him play. Her pussy started to leak.

She pulled his head back.

“So what is your plan for the weekend.”

He came up for air. “Rohan is dropping me at the airport very early. Guwahati.”

“So far.”

“Don’t start missing me. Back Monday afternoon.”

“Why would I. You know we have college every other Saturday. Rohan and I will be busy.”

“I have a model too. She will be waiting at the airport.”

“Oh. A couple, or just a girl.”

“Aspiring heroine. Just a girl. And there is a good chance you might know her.”

He opened his phone and turned it to her. A young size-zero beauty looked back from the screen.

“She passed out last year from our department,” Isha said. “She does the lead in a lot of the cultural events.”

“Yeah. She is a free spirit.”

“I heard. Where do you both stay.”

A different feeling grew in her, ugly, and she had no word for it.

“A hotel near the location.”

He said it easy. He did not read her face.

“Same room?”

Her arms locked around his neck.

He looked at her then and laughed. “Listen to you.”

“I am only asking.”

“Sure.” He laughed and buried his face between her breasts again.

Her hips started to move. Their crotches rubbed slow. She held him there. It hurt, deep. That girl was stealing something that belonged only to her.

The wall clock hit eight. Her brain said enough. She pressed the bell. They broke apart. She went behind the sliding screen to change.

Outside, Rohan was talking to Kunal.

“What time do I wake you.”

“Four. Flight is early.”

Rohan’s voice gave her clarity. What was wrong with her. Why should she feel sad. Kunal hung out with girls all the time. That was his work. How silly of her.

She came out, hugged Rohan, and walked out.

Early next morning Kunal came out of his room ready. Rohan was already in the hall, the screens on, his hand inside his shorts. Isha filled the frames in western wear.

“How do you like the pics.”

“A different girl in every dress.”

“Different good?”

“Sex bombs. You turned my goddess into a bomb.”

“That I do. Enjoy your multiple wives. Don’t rat me this time. Surprise gift.”

“I promise.”

“I don’t kiss and tell. I will not hide anything from you either.”

“I understand.”

Late that evening Isha stood at her window. Below, a shoulder-high turnstile opened on the back gate. A narrow lane ran past it, wide enough for two-wheelers only, and beyond that an empty plot where the apartment kids played. The open ground usually calmed her when her head was a mess. Tonight it did not. Kunal had asked for just once, again and again. Her body was defying her every day.

Then the date landed. One year ago, this hour, this window.

She had looked down. Meera was in the lane with a man, their bodies locked, close to sex on the empty stretch. Her blood had boiled.

Meera was in IT, a distant relative of Sneha’s. She had lived with them a few months before Riya moved in. Same age as Isha. They had become friends at once. Meera video-called her fiancé in New York almost every night. Isha had even been on the call once, a small hello as a roommate. The wedding date was fixed. Isha had believed it was all clean until that sight. It changed everything. She felt she did not know Meera at all. She started avoiding her. Meera became the example she took to Rohan, the girl a woman should never be. Nothing he said went in. From this same window she watched Meera come home late with that man, night after night.

Meera caught her at the window one evening, understood the silence, and came up.

“I know you think I am a bad person. It is not that simple.”

“Your fiancé is on a screen. You are with someone else. What is not simple. I hate people like you.”

“My fiancé is a distant cousin. Arranged. The man you saw is my ex. He wanted closure. Don’t moral-security officer me. I have only been good to you.”

It did not land. Isha stopped speaking to her. Meera asked more than once. Isha still skipped the wedding.

Now the shame sat in her. Rohan’s words from that week came back, clear.

“That is her personal life.”

“They are not married yet. It is not cheating.”

“People live a little before they marry. That does not make them bad.”

Had he meant it, or had he only said it to calm her down. The question stayed. She smiled anyway. Fate had put her in Meera’s shoes, and at least she did not have a girl like her old self standing at a window to judge her.

Three evenings the rain hammered the studio door. Water shone on the driveway. Inside, her skin went hot the moment he touched her. Kunal put her in Wonder Woman, Supergirl, the rest of that lot, and said Rohan was a sucker for it. The shoot was a cover. He called wrap earlier each night than the last. His hands found her under the dress. She let him roam, and when he went lower she closed her legs or locked them around him. He begged like a fool. She laughed, and waited for the next line.

“You two are still innocent virgins. What will you even do on the first night. Sit on the bed and play dumb charades.”

“Your kids will grow up in the city. If they find out their mother was a virgin on her wedding night, they will call you uncool.”

“Rohan drives you around in the day. With my training, you can drive him at night.”

“What we will have is nothing more than a gym workout. A bit more satisfying. Rohan will never mind you hitting the gym.”

“Just one night, I will confer on you a PhD in night art. Then you both can live as doctors.”

She laughed and kissed his mouth shut. He thought he was getting somewhere. The moment he tried to undress her, the zipper moving an inch, a couple of buttons coming undone, she reached for the remote. For her the clothes were the last defense. If they came off, she would not be able to stop herself.

At night she stood naked at the mirror in her room. Her breasts and ass were red, still holding the crush of his hands. She turned a little, watched the marks move, and stayed. She liked how she looked after him. The kiss rule was long forgotten. Only the clothes still mattered.

Thursday the bag held Catwoman. Behind the sliding screen she worked the thin black latex up her legs. It caught, then sucked on, a wet shine, stretch so tight the cloth became her skin. One zipper ran the whole back, nape to the cleft of her ass. She got her arms in and pulled the neck. The latex sealed over her breasts and sat them high and apart, each swell packed, nipples showing as two hard points. It cinched her waist until the hourglass was a drawn line, then poured over her hips and locked her ass into two round halves that moved only as much as the rubber allowed. Between her thighs the seam ate in and held her pussy in a single black split.

She looked in the L-shaped mirror and went cold. If not for the colour, she was naked. Worse than naked. Bare skin would have given her a little bounce, a little lie. This dress held every muscle in place and showed the truth of her: the heavy chest, the narrow middle, the wide shelf of hip, the fat of her ass sitting round and high. She could see the shape of her cunt through the latex. Her mouth went dry. Her pussy went wet inside the rubber.

The mask was the last piece. She put it on.

The woman in the glass was gone. A sexy animal looked back, ears up, mouth cut out, eyes shining in the holes, body all black muscle and sex. Isha was somewhere under that. The cat was what the lights would get.

She did not walk to the marks. The naughtiness sat too high. Kunal was at the camera with his back to her. She climbed onto his back, legs around his waist, and bit his ear, then his neck, a mock cat attack, small sharp bites through the mask’s open mouth.

He caught her hips, swung her around to the front, and put her on the floor. He lay down next to her. She climbed on top of him to attack again. They rolled, latex squeaking on the studio floor, his hands on her packed ass, her thighs locking, both of them laughing into the next bite.

The kisses took over the way they always did, only the chair was gone and the floor was under them. In the roll his velcro shirt came open. Her hand went to his chest.

“Your boobs look almost like mine,” she teased.

“Yours are God’s gift. Mine is hard work.”

She cupped his chest. “Whatever. But they are the same.”

He pressed hers over the latex. “See. This is dough. Now try mine.”

She pressed and got nowhere.

“Okay. Yours is stone. But cats bite, you know.”

She bent and took his nipple in her mouth and chewed.

Kunal saw the camera standing idle. She had come straight to the action. No posing left to hide behind. He thought this was the night. His hand found the zipper at her back and slid it halfway down.

The top went loose. She felt it at once. She stood, picked up the remote, and sat in the chair, holding it up.

He lost it. He came close and closed his hand over the one that held the remote.

His voice went serious.

“You are so worried about not cheating on Rohan. You are cheating on yourself. Be true to yourself first. Then think about others.”

She went still. The laugh died. He felt he had landed wrong. He squeezed in next to her and took the mask off. Her face was all tears. He hugged her. The tears ran onto his chest.

He had hit it. Every night she had felt she was not being true. It was killing her. She had no words for it. He had named it, and she had no answer.

He thought he had offended her. He kept saying sorry. He drew the zipper back up, slow. Her tears made him sad. If Rohan saw her like this, he would be devastated. Kunal waited.

After a long time she came up for air. She had composed herself.

“This never happened. Okay?”

He zipped his own lip shut.

“Now go change. We will shoot tomorrow.”

He pressed the bell.

Rohan came down surprised. The bell had never been this early. He took her home. The ride was silent. She gave him nothing. He came back. Kunal was on him before he sat down.

“This is because of you. She is suffering. She needs a release. She cannot cheat.”

“You promised you would try.”

“I tried my best. She is different from the other girls. She needs only you. You fuck her. I cannot watch her suffer anymore.”

Rohan sat with both things at once. He felt pride that she had held, for him, and he felt the fear that his dream of her taking a bigger cock would die.

“Okay. Promise me you will try once more tomorrow. If she still holds, I will take care of her.”

“Okay. But if she holds back tomorrow, I will kidnap you both and lock you in a room until she is pregnant.”

She was home this early for the first time in two weeks. Clothes and plates had piled. She put her bag down and worked through them, then fell into bed. His words kept playing. She was cheating on herself. She shut her eyes and asked the universe to take her through the next day.

That night Rohan understood her better than people thought. She was holding at the studio only because he sat so close, one floor up, waiting on that bell. He was praying the Mumbai trip would give her the space she needed.

Kunal had not had sex with anyone since he first met her in the café. At the start it was coincidence. After Rohan asked, he was fully in Isha. Assam should have been a release. He could not even flirt. He had no interest in that girl. That was when he understood how much hold Isha had on him. He was sure he would fail tomorrow. A part of him wished for that, so he could try to move on. This was getting dangerous for everyone he loved.