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shellyshalini

Forbidden Desire of Shalini - The Awakening

“Some choices look innocent when you make them. You only understand their consequences later.”

Hello everyone!

I’m Shelly, and I’m starting a new fictional story series here on Xossipy.

My main character, Shalini, aka Shelly, is 22, independent, curious, and trying to find her place in a changing world. Like many young adults, she is learning about relationships, friendship, attraction, family expectations, and the freedom that comes with growing up.

But Shalini is not always sure where to draw the line.

The story is written from Shalini aka Shelly’s perspective. You won’t just read about her journey—you will experience the world through Shelly’s eyes, her thoughts, feelings, doubts, choices, and the way she sees the people around her.

A normal day can become an unexpected encounter.
A simple conversation can create a new connection.
And sometimes, one small decision can change everything.

The story has an Indian setting and atmosphere, with familiar places, relationships, social situations, and everyday experiences that you may connect with.

What to expect:

• Episodic chapters
• Indian characters and settings
• Relationships and emotional conflicts
• Personal choices and consequences
• Character development
• Unexpected twists
• Mature themes as the story progresses

I’ll be posting the story chapter by chapter, so you can follow Shelly’s journey from the beginning.

This is not just about what happens to Shelly.
It is about how Shelly sees it, feels it, and chooses to respond.

If you enjoy character-driven Indian fiction with drama, relationships, mystery, and mature themes, welcome to Shelly’s world.

DISCLAIMER

This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, locations, events, and situations are fictional and created for entertainment purposes. Any resemblance to real persons or events is purely coincidental.

All characters appearing in mature situations are 18 years or older.

Any visual materials used with the story are AI-generated and do not represent any real person, living or dead.

18+ only. Please read responsibly.

Episode 1 starts soon...

Meet the Characters

Shalini aka Shelly (Nickname), 22
Curious. Independent. Restless.
She completed her graduation last year and is now pursuing a computer course in accounting, hoping to build a corporate career and an independent life. She believes she knows her limits—until she starts discovering that curiosity can change everything.

Rohan
Her elder brother. Protective, trusting, and completely unaware of the secrets unfolding around him.

Bikram
The quiet driver who sees more than he says. Sometimes the person standing closest to you knows exactly where your boundaries lie.

Arjun
Shelly’s boyfriend. He encourages her curiosity, but he may not be prepared for where that curiosity takes her.

Rupam
An unexpected presence who enters Shelly’s life at a time when everything is already becoming complicated.

Sunny
Confident, impulsive, and always ready to push the limits. His arrival adds a new kind of temptation to Shelly’s increasingly complicated world.

Naman
Sunny’s friend. Charming, observant, and difficult to read. He meets Shelly as a stranger—but first impressions don't always remain that way.

Mohit
Quiet, shy, and seemingly innocent. He stays in the background at first, but Shelly soon discovers that even the quietest people can have their own secrets.

Chotu
The familiar milk boy from the neighbourhood. Young, cheeky, and surprisingly observant—he notices more than people expect.

Bineet — The Young Security Guard
Young, observant, and closer to Shelly’s world than she initially realizes. He sees a side of Shelly’s situation that others don't, making her question whether she truly understands the people around her.

Jatin — The Tailor
A tailor whose involvement goes beyond simply making clothes. His work brings him unexpectedly into Shelly’s increasingly complicated world.

Sailen Uncle
The stern landlord, an ex service man with an observant eye. He seems like just another authority figure—until his unexpected appearances put secrets at risk.

Shelly's story isn't really about who enters her life.

It's about who she becomes after they do.

shellyshalini · 01-10-2026, 02:52 PM

Episode 1 — The Boundary Line

The summer sun slanted through the dusty window of our living room, drawing warm rectangles across the worn floor. I sat cross-legged on the sofa with my laptop, but I couldn’t focus—the same line of code had blurred in front of me for the past ten minutes.

My name was Shalini, though everyone close to me called me Shelly. I was twenty-two and had completed my graduation the previous year. Six months ago, I had moved to this city in North East India to pursue a professional computer course in Accounting. I wanted to build a corporate career and, more importantly, an independent life of my own.

It was a new chapter for me, and I was enjoying the freedom that came with it.

At least, most of the time.

For now, I was staying with my elder brother, Rohan. He worked an office job but also ran a small car-rental business on the side.

Footsteps from the back of the house pulled my attention away from the screen.

Bikram was home today.

No rentals meant he had stayed behind. A glass clinked in the kitchen, and a little knot of anticipation tightened in my chest.

Bikram drove for Rohan’s rental business and stayed in the servant’s quarters within our apartment complex. When work was slow, he sometimes drifted through the house—eating with us, watching television, or sitting on the veranda.

He was quiet but somehow magnetic: tall, broad-shouldered, with hands that moved with the steadiness of someone used to heavy work. There was a rawness to him that felt entirely different from anyone I had known before.

And lately, I had begun noticing him.

Earlier that morning, I had stood before my mirror adjusting the strap of my dress. Watching the soft light catch the sharp lines of my jaw and smooth skin, I understood why strangers sometimes compared my North-Eastern features to a sleek Korean beauty.

I smiled faintly at my reflection.

Most people saw me as quiet and composed. They didn't necessarily see the curious side of me—the part that liked discovering new things, testing my confidence, and wondering what might happen if I stepped slightly outside what was expected of me.

That side had become more noticeable since I started seeing Arjun.

He had been my boyfriend for two years. Loving and open-minded, he encouraged me to enjoy life fully before we settled down. He liked seeing me experiment with clothes and become more confident about how I presented myself.

“Let yourself be seen, Shelly,” he’d say over the phone. “Feel what it does to you. Tell me later.”

It started small: a sleeveless top, a shorter skirt.

Then I began noticing Bikram’s reactions.

Walking past him, I sometimes caught his gaze lingering on me. At first, I felt shy. Then I became curious.

I started telling Arjun about those moments.

He listened with quiet fascination, and one evening he pushed the fantasy a little further.

“Picture him,” he suggested. “Right there in the house. Imagine what it would feel like.”

The idea lodged itself in my mind.

That night, lying on my bed with the fan whispering above me, I found myself thinking about Bikram—the tilt of his head, the way he moved, and the strange sensation of being seen by someone I had never expected to notice me.

When I told Arjun, he listened before saying simply, “Whatever you feel, I’ll be here.”

His acceptance made the fantasy feel safer.

And somehow, that made it harder to forget.

So here I was today, wearing a deep green kurta that hugged my shape just enough to make me feel daring. I had added silver earrings and smoothed the fabric at my waist more times than necessary.

The kitchen door was ajar.

I could hear Bikram humming under his breath—something earthy and old, like a local folk tune.

I closed my laptop and stood.

I told myself I was only going to the kitchen.

Nothing more.

My feet were cold on the tiles as I walked, every small sound seeming louder than it should have been.

I pushed the kitchen door open slowly—

Then the doorbell rang.

I froze.

Rohan was home much earlier than I expected.

The possibility I had been quietly building in my mind vanished beneath the ordinary sounds of his arrival—footsteps, greetings, the rustle of a bag.

“Shelly?” he called.

“Coming.”

I retreated to my room.

But my thoughts wouldn’t let go.

All evening, the image of Bikram humming in the kitchen kept returning to me, leaving me unsettled and strangely curious about what might happen when there were fewer people around, when the house was quiet.

I told myself I would wait.

Timing mattered.

Still, somewhere inside me, I knew this curiosity wasn't going to disappear simply because I ignored it.

I sat at my laptop and pretended to work, while my mind returned to the same question.

Would I push the boundary and turn the fantasy into something more?

Or would I protect what I already had and leave the feeling unexplored?

The house settled into night.

And somewhere between curiosity and caution, I knew a choice was beginning to take shape.

This was only the beginning.

shellyshalini · 01-10-2026, 02:56 PM

EPISODE 2 -Deliberate Choices

The disappointment from yesterday still lingered as I woke up, my body restless and aching for a release that never came. Yesterday, my fantasy died in my throat, leaving me frustrated and wet, with nothing but my boyfriend's comforting texts to ease the tension.

But today felt different. I heard Bikram's footsteps in the hallway around noon—too early for my brother's arrival. My heart skipped. He was home.

The afternoon heat clung to my skin as I stepped into the living room, my heart already racing beneath the thin fabric of my tight orange dress. It was one of those dresses my boyfriend loved—the kind that hugged every curve, stopping just above my thighs, with a neckline that dipped dangerously low. I had put it on deliberately, knowing Bikram was in the house, probably in the back room where he stayed when there were no rentals.

My phone buzzed. A message from my boyfriend: "Are you wearing it? The one I like?"

I smiled and typed back: "Yes. And I'm already wet thinking about what you said."

His reply came instantly: "Good girl. Touch yourself for me. Think about him. Think about those strong hands on your body." There was an unspoken understanding: we both liked being seen, and both of us consented without saying a word.

I positioned myself near the door to my room. Through the gap I left just a crack open, I could see Bikram settling in his usual spot at the back of the house. He didn't know I was watching him.

My phone buzzed again. My boyfriend: "Today's the day. Don't waste it. Make him watch you. Make him crave you."

I bit my lip, my fingers already trembling. I decided to do it differently this time. Not on the sofa where he might walk in openly. No—I would let him discover me. From behind the door, half-hidden, where he would think I didn't know he was there.

He’d watched me before—in the shower, dressing, in small private scenes—and always from a respectful distance, believing that I was not aware.It wasn’t spoken aloud, but we both enjoyed it; the unspoken agreement felt clear between us.

I let the door slide open a few more inches, just enough for a clear view of me if someone stood in the hallway. Then I leaned against the wall, my back to the door, and slowly pulled the hem of my dress up. My thighs were bare, glistening from the sweat of anticipation. I parted my legs slightly, giving a perfect angle.

My fingers found my pussy, already slick and swollen. I moaned softly, letting the sound float into the corridor. I knew Bikram was nearby. I let my fingertips circle my clit, slow and teasing, while my other hand reached up to pinch my nipple through the thin fabric.

I heard a faint shuffle. A breath caught. My skin tingled—he was watching. I could feel his gaze like a physical weight on my exposed body.

I didn't turn. I didn't acknowledge him. Instead, I let my head fall back, a louder moan escaping my lips as I pushed one finger inside myself. The wetness coated my hand, and I imagined it was him—his dark fingers, his rough palms sliding over my thighs.

"I want you to see what you do to me," I whispered, lips moving as if to no one. "I want you to want this."

My fingers pumped faster, my hips bucking against my own hand. I pictured Bikram's hungry eyes in the doorway, his hand gripping his own cock through his pants, aching to replace my fingers. I let the fantasy build, my breath coming in ragged gasps, until my whole body tensed and I came with a sharp cry, my juices dripping down my inner thighs.

I stayed still for a long moment, breathing heavily. Then I heard the soft, deliberate footsteps retreating. He was gone—but he had seen everything.

I picked up my phone, my hand still shaking. I texted my boyfriend: "He watched. I came so hard. He doesn't know I saw him watching."

His reply came instantly: "Perfect. Next time, let him do more if you want."

I smiled, my thighs still quivering. The disappointment of yesterday was a distant memory now. Tonight, or tomorrow, or whenever my brother was away, I would let Bikram's hands take over. And he would know how much I wanted it.

shellyshalini

EPISODE 3-First Opportunity with our own Driver

The morning air feels different today. Lighter. Charged with something electric that hums beneath my skin as I stand at my bedroom window, watching the empty street below. The local strike means no cars will be rented, no passengers to shuttle around city's chaotic roads. And my brother, Rohan, left for his office at exactly nine, the sound of his motorcycle fading like a promise into the distance.

I hear Bikram's voice from the living room, speaking to someone on the phone. "Yes, no bookings today... whole day free." The words settle in my chest like warm honey. Whole day. Free. Just him and me in this house.

I slip into my shortest skirt—black, barely covering the curve of my ass, its hem riding high on my thighs. I pair it with a loose white top that falls off one shoulder, revealing the strap of my bra. No, not a bra. I remove it, letting my nipples brush against the thin fabric. I want him to see everything.

I grab a broom from the corner and begin sweeping the living room floor, swaying my hips deliberately with each stroke. The TV is on, some sports channel, but Bikram isn't watching. His eyes follow me, dark and heavy, as I bend low near the coffee table, letting the skirt ride up and expose the bare curve of my ass. I wear nothing underneath. The thought makes my thighs clench.

"You been busy this morning," he says, his voice low, rough like gravel. I glance over my shoulder, meeting his gaze. A slow smile curves my lips.

"Just cleaning, Bikram. Someone has to keep the house tidy."

I sweep closer to the sofa where he sits, legs spread wide, one arm dbangd over the backrest. He looks relaxed, but I see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers tighten on the cushion. I let the broom brush against his knee as I pass, then turn to sweep in the opposite direction, bending deeply, giving him a full view of my exposed flesh.

His hand shoots out, catching my wrist. The broom clatters to the floor. He pulls me toward him, and I stumble, falling into his lap, my skirt riding up to my waist. His other hand cups my cheek, fingers rough and warm, and he tilts my face toward his.

"You know what you're doing," he growls, his breath hot against my lips. "All morning, teasing. Bending over. Showing me that tight little ass."

I don't answer. I just look at him, my eyes half-lidded, my lips parted. He takes that as permission. His mouth crashes onto my neck, kissing hard, biting the sensitive skin where my pulse pounds. I gasp, my fingers gripping his shoulders. His lips trail down, wet and hungry, leaving a burning trail to my collarbone, my shoulder.

He yanks my top down, exposing my bare breasts. The air hits my nipples, making them tighten into hard peaks. He doesn't wait. His mouth closes over one, sucking fiercely, his tongue flicking against the sensitive tip. I moan, arching into him, my fingers tangling in his hair.

"More," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "Please."

He switches to the other breast, giving it the same rough attention, biting gently, then soothing with his tongue. I feel the wet heat pooling between my legs, soaking the inside of my thighs. I grind against his lap, needing friction, needing him.

He pulls back, looking at me with dark, hungry eyes. Then he slides off the sofa, kneeling before me. His hands grip my thighs, parting them wide. He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along my inner thigh, each one drawing closer to my aching center. I can feel my own arousal, slick and warm, trickling down.

"So wet," he mutters against my skin. "And I haven't even touched you yet."

He leans in, and I feel his breath on my pussy, hot and teasing. Then his tongue drags through my folds, slow and deliberate, collecting my wetness. I cry out, my hips bucking against his face. He grips my hips, holding me still, and begins to lick me in long, languid strokes, tasting every inch of me.

His fingers find my entrance, and he pushes two inside me, deep and sudden. I gasp, my walls clenching around him. He curls them, stroking that spot inside me that makes my vision blur, while his thumb presses firmly on my clit, circling in rhythm with his thrusts.

"That's it," he growls against my skin. "Ride my fingers shelly. Let me feel you come."

I obey, for the first time he called me Shelly instead of Shalini Madam. My hips move against his hand, fucking his fingers, chasing the pleasure that builds in my core. The sounds of my wetness fill the room, mixing with my moans and his heavy breathing. The pressure builds, tighter and tighter, until I shatter, my body convulsing, my cry loud and raw as waves of pleasure crash through me. He keeps pumping, drawing out every spasm, until I collapse against him, trembling and breathless.

He pulls his fingers out, glistening with my release, and brings them to my lips. I open my mouth, tasting myself—sweet and salty, the taste of my own desire. I suck them clean, my eyes locked on his, the hunger in his gaze telling me this is far from over.

shellyshalini · 02-10-2026, 05:16 PM

EPISODE 4-A Dangerous Audacity

The taste of myself lingers on my tongue as I slide off Bikram’s lap, my legs still shaky. He watches me with a satisfied smirk, one hand resting on his thigh, the other reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face.

“That was just the beginning,” he says, his voice low and rough. “We have the whole day.”

I nod, my heart racing. The thought of more—more of his hands, his mouth, his fingers—sends a fresh wave of heat through me. I pick up the broom and set it aside, then settle onto the sofa beside him, my thigh pressing against his. He doesn’t pull away.

For the next few hours, we lose ourselves in each other. He pulls me onto his lap again, fingers finding their way under my skirt, stroking my wet folds, sliding inside me with slow, deliberate thrusts. I come twice more before the clock strikes two, each orgasm louder than the last, my cries muffled against his shoulder. The house is empty, the strike keeping the streets quiet, and I let myself be utterly wanton.

But then my phone buzzes. I ignore it the first time. The second time, Bikram glances at the screen. “Rohan,” he says, his hand stilling inside me.

I grab the phone, my breath catching. The message is short: “Meeting ended early. Coming home in an hour.”

My heart sinks. An hour. That’s all we have left. I look at Bikram, my lips forming an apology, but he just shrugs, pulling his fingers out and bringing them to his mouth, licking them clean.

“Tomorrow,” he says. “We’ll have more time.”

I nod, but disappointment coils in my chest. I pull my skirt down, straighten my top, and try to compose myself before Rohan walks through the door.

Dinner that evening is a quiet affair. Rohan sits in the living room, watching some news channel, while I set the table. Bikram is already seated, his eyes following me as I move. I bring the dishes—rice, dal, sabzi—and place them in front of him. As I lean over to set down his plate, his hand shoots out, cupping my left breast through my thin kurta. I freeze, my eyes darting to Rohan. He’s engrossed in the TV, oblivious.

“Bikram,” I whisper, my voice strained. “Not now.”

But his thumb finds my nipple, rolling it gently, and a bolt of pleasure shoots through me. I bite my lip to keep from moaning. He squeezes once, firmly, then releases me, his expression utterly nonchalant as he picks up his spoon.

My heart pounds through the rest of the meal. Every time I pass him to serve more food, I feel his gaze on my hips, my ass. The risk of being caught, the thrill of being touched so boldly while my brother sits just a few feet away—it makes my skin tingle, my thighs clench under the table.

After dinner, I retreat to the kitchen to wash the utensils. The water runs cold over my hands, but my body still burns. I hear footsteps behind me, and then Bikram’s chest presses against my back, his arms caging me against the sink.

“You liked that,” he murmurs into my ear, his breath warm. “Didn’t you?”

I don’t answer, but my body does—leaning back into him, my ass pressing against his hardening bulge. His hands slide around my waist, up to my breasts, cupping them through the fabric. He squeezes, kneads, his fingers finding my nipples again.

“Bikram, please,” I gasp. “Rohan is just in the next room. He could come in any second.”

“Then let him,” he growls, his lips brushing my neck. “Let him see how his little sister is being enjoyed.”

I shake my head, panic and arousal warring inside me. “No. Not here. Not now. Please.”

He holds me for a long moment, his hands firm on my breasts, then relents. He steps back, but his eyes are dark, demanding. “Then tomorrow morning. Bring me tea. Before your brother wakes up.”

I nod, my breath shaky. “I will. Six in the morning.”

He smiles, a slow, predatory curl of his lips. “Good. And wear that short skirt again. Nothing underneath.”

He leaves me trembling at the sink, water still running, my body aching for more. I know I should stop this, but the stolen touches, the risk, the submission—specially controlled by a person who have been working for us being paid by my own brother.....it all feels too good to resist. Tomorrow morning will come soon enough. And I’ll be ready.

shellyshalini

EPISODE 5-The Growing Boundary-Madam to Jaanu

That night, I lay in bed, my body still tingling from the kitchen encounter. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Bikram’s fingers sliding inside me, heard his low chuckle as he found me already wet. The memory sent a fresh wave of heat through my core. But guilt followed close behind—Rohan had been just a few feet away, completing his meal. If he had finished early... I shuddered.

Yet the fear only sharpened the pleasure. My boyfriend Arjun’s voice echoed in my mind: Enjoy every moment, no regrets. I hugged my pillow, my thighs pressing together, aching for more. The night stretched, a battle between caution and craving. By the time the first pale light crept through my curtains, desire had won.

I slipped out of bed, my heart already racing. I chose the shortest skirt again—a different one, even tinier, in a soft pink that hugged my hips. A loose white blouse, barely buttoned. No underwear. The cool morning air kissed my bare skin as I walked to the kitchen, my bangles chiming softly.

I made tea with careful hands, the ginger and cardamom scent grounding me. Two cups. I carried the tray to Bikram’s room, knocked gently, and pushed the door open.

He was awake, lying on his side, the thin sheet dbangd low over his hips. His eyes found me immediately, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Again,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. “You keep surprising me, jaanu.”

For the first time ever, my own driver called me "jaanu"—a word lovers and boyfriends used, not someone who should, by all usual rules, be murmuring it to me.From Shalini Madam to shelly and now Jaanu. The word hit me like a warm wave—intimate and possessive. It wrapped around my chest, squeezing my heart, and sent a deep throb between my thighs as I imagined myself as his most beautiful, classy girlfriend, someone ordinarily beyond his reach. I felt claimed and desired in a way that made my skin prickle. I swallowed; a tiny thrill coursed through me. I felt claimed, desired in a way that made my skin prickle. I swallowed, my mouth dry, and a tiny thrill coursed through me. I set the tray down and sat on the edge of his bed, my skirt riding up to the top of my thighs. He reached out and pulled me closer, his hand sliding around my waist, his lips meeting mine in a deep, lingering kiss. His tongue brushed against mine, tasting of sleep and warmth. I melted into him.

“Good morning,” he murmured against my lips. “I love waking to your bangles.”

His hand found my breast through the thin blouse, his thumb circling my nipple until it hardened. I gasped softly, my hands trembling as I lifted my tea. He took his cup with his other hand, but his eyes never left me. He sipped, watching me, his fingers still working my nipple, toying with the button.

“Drink,” he said softly. “You need your energy.”

I obeyed, the warm liquid soothing my throat, but my senses were overwhelmed by his touch. He set his cup aside and used both hands now, unbuttoning my blouse slowly, pushing it open. My breasts were exposed, my nipples tight in the cool air. He leaned in and took one into his mouth, licking and sucking gently while I tried to keep my cup steady.

“Bikram,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Rohan... he’s still sleeping.”

He ignored me, his mouth working my breast, his hand sliding down my belly, under the skirt. His fingers found my wetness, tracing my slit, not entering—just teasing. I arched into him, my protests dissolving into a soft moan.

Then he pulled away, his eyes dark. In one swift motion, he tugged my blouse off my shoulders and pushed me onto my back, pulling the skirt down. I lay completely naked, my body exposed, my heart pounding.

“Please,” I begged, my voice barely audible. “Not now. He could wake any moment. But I promise—when he goes to the bathroom for his bath this morning, you can finger me. I’ll be in the kitchen. Please, just wait until then.”

He held my gaze, his hand resting on my inner thigh. A frustrated sigh escaped him, but a slow smile touched his lips. He leaned down and kissed my forehead, then my lips, soft and lingering.

“You’re testing my patience, jaanu,” he said. “But I’ll hold you to that promise. Don’t forget.”

He helped me sit up, handed me my clothes. I dressed quickly, my fingers clumsy. As I reached the door, he called out.

“The kitchen. During his bath.”

I fled to my room, my heart hammering. I changed back into my night clothes—a simple cotton kurta—just as I heard Rohan’s alarm. I took a deep breath, steadying myself.

At around eight, I heard the bathroom door click shut, the shower start. Rohan was in. I had maybe twenty minutes. My pulse raced as I walked to the kitchen, pretending to prepare breakfast. But I’d already set everything out in advance, my hands trembling with anticipation.

Bikram appeared behind me, no footsteps, just sudden warmth and the smell of him. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. I felt his hardness pressing into my lower back.

“You’re already waiting for me, aren’t you, Jaanu?” he murmured in my ear, his breath hot.

“Yes,” I breathed.

He turned me around, lifted me onto the kitchen desk near the gas stove. My kurta rode up, and his hand slid between my legs. He found me soaked, slick and ready.

“So wet already,” he said, a low, approving hum. “You really are my eager wife.”

His fingers plunged inside me—two at once—and I gasped, gripping the edge of the desk. He moved in a steady rhythm, his thumb circling my clit, his other hand holding my hip. I bit my lip to stifle my moans, the sound of the shower still running in the background.

It didn’t take long. The tension built, coiling tight in my belly. I came with a shuddering gasp, my body clenching around his fingers, wave after wave of pleasure washing over me. I sagged against his chest, panting, while he kissed my neck.

“Next time,” he said, pulling his fingers out slowly, “you have to satisfy me.”

I nodded, still dizzy, my mind spinning. I didn’t know when. But I knew it would happen.

He left me there, vulnerable and wet on the kitchen desk, and I heard the bathroom door open a few minutes later. Rohan stepped out, towel around his waist, calling for breakfast. I smoothed my kurta, wiped the desk, and set the plates with trembling hands.

The morning stretched on, every glance from Bikram a silent promise. And deep inside, anticipation burned brighter than fear.

shellyshalini · 02-10-2026, 05:24 PM

EPISODE 6 : Willing Submission

The week that followed was a slow torture of stolen moments—a hand brushing my waist as I passed, a whisper in my ear while Rohan was in the other room, a quick kiss behind the kitchen door that left me breathless. I teased him too, letting my skirt ride high when I bent to pick something up, wearing other revealing dresses I owned. But my brother was always nearby, or Bikram had to be away most of the time as he drive our rental car. Every night I touched myself, thinking of his fingers, his mouth, his words ringing in my ears.

Then one morning, I heard Bikram's voice from the living room, rough and tired. "Bhaiya, I have fever. I don't think I can drive today. The vehicle can stay."

Rohan's reply was distracted, already late for work. "Okay, rest. I'll call another driver."

My heart stopped. Then it started racing, fluttering like a thousand butterflies had taken flight in my stomach. I stood frozen in the hallway, gripping the wall. This was it. The day I had been waiting for.
I watched my brother finish his tea, grab his bag, and leave. The door clicked shut. The house fell silent.

I didn't go to my computer class. I texted a quick excuse and turned my phone off. Bikram emerged from his room, a thin smile on his lips. He was dressed in a loose kurta, no fever in his eyes—just heat.
"Come here, jaan," he said softly.

I walked into his arms, and he held me tight, his lips pressing against my forehead. "We have the whole day," he murmured. "Nothing to rush. Just you and me."

I nodded, my voice lost.

He let me go and gestured toward the kitchen. "First, make me breakfast. I want to watch you cook."

I obeyed, my hands trembling as I chopped vegetables. He came up behind me, his chest against my back, his hands sliding around my waist and up to my breasts. He cupped them through my blouse, thumbs stroking my nipples while I tried to keep chopping.

"Keep going," he whispered. "Don't stop."

I focused on the knife, but my breath hitched with every squeeze. His hips pressed into my backside, and I could feel his hardness growing. He held me like that for long minutes, teasing, until the vegetables were done.
Later, we sat on the sofa watching TV, but neither of us saw the screen. He pulled me onto his lap, his hand sliding under my skirt, fingers tracing my inner thigh. "Sit close," he commanded, and I obeyed, spreading my legs slightly. His fingers found my wetness, stroking slowly, while the TV droned on. I bit my lip, my hips twitching against his hand.

At lunch, he made me sit beside him on the floor, my plate in front of me. He fed me with one hand, the other slipped under my kurta, playing with my pussy. I ate blindly, moaning softly between bites, feeling his fingers glide through my folds, never entering, just teasing.

After lunch, he brought out a tub of vanilla ice cream. "Lie down on the bed," he said, his voice low and commanding.

I did, my heart pounding. He pulled off my skirt and blouse, leaving me naked on the sheets. He opened the ice cream and scooped a dollop onto my belly, then slowly dripped more onto my mound, letting it melt between my thighs. I shivered as the cold touched my hot skin.

He knelt between my legs. "Now I eat," he said, and lowered his mouth to my pussy.

The cold ice cream met the warmth of his tongue. He lapped at the melting sweetness, spreading it over my clit, dipping inside me, licking and sucking until I was gasping, my hands tangled in his hair. The contrast of cold and hot, sweet and salty, drove me wild. I came with a broken cry, my hips bucking against his face.

He didn't stop until every drop was gone. Then he crawled up beside me, pulled me into his arms, and held me close. "You're like a wife taking care of her husband," he said softly. "And from now on, whenever we are alone, you won't wear clothes. If you obey, I'll give you a surprise."

I nodded, still trembling, my body humming with pleasure.

He pulled me into bed, my head on his chest. We talked—about everything and nothing. I pressed a kiss to his chest, then bit his nipple gently. He gasped, then laughed, pulling me tighter.

"Shelly" he whispered. "I love you, jaanu."

My heart swelled. "I love being like this with you," I murmured.

He turned serious. "How many times have you thought of me? And for how long?"

I felt a blush heat my cheeks. "Many times. For weeks. I'm so lucky I got you in real."

He was quiet for a moment. "Am I the only one you think of?"

The question hit me like a sudden weight. I knew my answer could change everything. But I chose honesty, to avoid future complications.

"No," I said softly. "You're not the only one. I think of Chotu—the milk delivery boy. The paper hawker. Even the sabjiwala who sits in our goli."
Instead of anger, I saw a flash of excitement in his eyes. His hand slid down between my legs, and this time he pushed three fingers inside me roughly. I gasped, arching into him.

"Good girl," he growled. "You're not just a wife material. You're also a sexy randi maal."

The word sent a shock through me—dirty, forbidden, thrilling. His fingers pumped hard, fast, curling inside me, and I came again, screaming into his shoulder.

We lay tangled afterward, sweaty and spent. I fell asleep in his arms, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. When I woke, it was thirty minutes later, the afternoon sun streaming through the curtains.
He brushed his lips against my forehead, a whisper of heat that lingered longer than a greeting. “Next time,” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate, “I’ll give you a real surprise.”

He paused, the promise folding into the space between us, then added with a half-smile, “And yes, I’ll bring protection this time—so we can take our time and go all the way.”

When he first mentioned the surprise, I had been a little curious and also worried, imagining that he might mean full-fledged sex, something with inherent risk. But when he revealed that he will bring protection and mentioned the surprise again, I felt relief shiver through me. Anticipation bloomed fresh in my chest, the fear of pregnancy gone, leaving only the eager certainty that I could enjoy to the core. I was curious, too, about what the surprise might be. The day was far from over.

shellyshalini

EPISODE 7: Testing the Limits- The Tailor Shop

It had been a few days since that stolen afternoon—days filled with stolen glances and whispered promises, but no real opportunity. Bikram was busy with rentals, and Rohan seemed to be home more often. I was beginning to ache with unfulfilled want, the memory of his fingers and tongue still fresh on my skin.

Then came the doorbell. It rang at eleven in the morning, sharp and unexpected. I was in my nightie, hair uncombed, lazily scrolling through my phone. I frowned. Rohan was at work. Who could it be?

I opened the door and my breath caught.

Bikram stood there, a tired smile on his face, his kurta dusted with grime. Before I could speak, he stepped inside and pulled me into his arms, crushing me against his chest. I let out a squeak of surprise, then melted into him, my arms wrapping around his neck.

“How?” I whispered into his shoulder.

“Car broke down,” he murmured against my hair. “Gave it to the garage. Already informed Rohan bhaiya. It’ll take the whole day to fix.”

He pulled back, his dark eyes burning into mine. “We have the whole day, jaan.”

My heart raced. I jumped up in excitement, wrapping my legs around his waist, and he laughed softly, carrying me inside. He set me down in the hallway and cupped my face.

“Listen,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Today we’re not cooking. We’re going out. A restaurant, then a tailor shop. I want you ready in half an hour. Wear your sexiest dress. The one that makes me want to tear it off you.”

I nodded, trembling with excitement. He gave me a quick, hard kiss and pushed me toward the bathroom.

I bathed in record time, but when I tried to lock the door, Bikram’s hand stopped it. “No,” he said through the crack. “I want to watch.”

Heat flooded my cheeks, but I obeyed. I left the door ajar and let the water run over my body. I could feel his gaze on my wet skin, on the curve of my back, the swell of my breasts. I soaped slowly, deliberately, knowing he was watching. His breathing grew heavier, but he didn’t touch me. Just watched.

When I stepped out, I dried myself quickly and slipped into my orange sundress—the shortest one I owned, with a deep neckline that barely held my breasts. I added high-heeled sandals that made my legs look endless, and painted my lips a glossy red. When I walked into the living room, Bikram let out a low whistle.

“Sex bomb,” he said, pulling me close. “Chalo, let’s go before I change my mind and keep you here all day.”

We took an auto to a small restaurant a few blocks away. The moment we stepped inside, I froze. Behind the counter, clearing a table, was Chotu—the milk delivery boy. He was wearing a waiter’s apron, and when he saw me, his mouth fell open.

I felt a flutter of embarrassment and something else—a dark thrill. Bikram guided me to a corner table, his hand resting possessively on my lower back. Chotu approached, his eyes roaming over my bare legs, the curve of my cleavage.

“Didi… aap?” he stammered. “Driver ke saath? Aur itna sexy bann ke?”

Bikram just smiled, ordering two thalis. Chotu nodded, but his gaze kept dropping to my chest. I bit my lip, feeling a dampness bloom between my thighs.

Under the table, Bikram’s hand slid onto my thigh, his fingers crawling higher. I gasped softly, trying to keep my face neutral as he traced the edge of my panties. Chotu returned with our food, and I could barely eat—every time Bikram’s fingers pressed against my wetness, I lost my train of thought.

Chotu lingered, asking Bikram questions. “Kaise pataya isko, itni hot maal?” he whispered, thinking I couldn’t hear. “Humko bhi chance milega kya?”

Bikram chuckled, his fingers still moving inside me. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. When we finally left, I was aching, soaked, and utterly dizzy.

“What did you tell him?” I asked as we walked to the next auto.

“That maybe someday,” Bikram said with a wink. “If you behave.”

My stomach flipped.

We reached Queen Tailor Shop, a large establishment with four helpers busy at sewing machines. The main tailor, Jatin, was a wiry man with sharp eyes. He greeted Bikram like an old friend. “Aayi aapki maal? Bahut sundar hai.”

Bikram nodded. “Proper measurements chahiye. Tight fit, so her curves show.”

Jatin led me into a back room, a curtain drawn for privacy. Bikram followed. “Body-to-body measurement karna padega,” Jatin said, picking up a measuring tape. “Haan, sahi se lo,” Bikram replied.

My heart pounded as Jatin approached. He wrapped the tape around my waist first, his fingers brushing my ribs. Then my bust, the tape sliding under my breasts, his knuckles pressing against my nipples through the thin fabric. I shivered.

He measured my hips, his hands lingering on my bottom, fingers squeezing slightly. Then he knelt and ran the tape down my thigh, his thumb grazing my pussy through the cloth. I let out a tiny moan, and I saw his lips curl.

“bheegi hai,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Bikram stood watching, arms crossed, a dark smile on his face.

When the measurements were done, Jatin stood and wrote notes. “Three days,” he said. “Aap aa kar le jana.”

Bikram looked at me. “You’ll collect it, right?”

I nodded, understanding the unspoken promise—a reason to come back, alone, for another taste of Jatin’s hands.

The helpers stared at me as we left, their eyes hungry. I felt like a prized possession.

As we stepped out, Bikram pulled me close. “Now for the real surprise—You have to wait for few days more.”

My cheeks burned. “What if someone sees us here like this?”

“Then they see,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re mine, Shalini. And I want to keep you close always.”

I took a shaky breath. The risk only made me hotter.

“Let’s go to home,” I whispered.

shellyshalini

EPISODE 8 : The Terms of Change-Visiting Tailor Shop Again

Days slipped by in a soft blur of stolen glances and shy smiles. From the kitchen doorway Bikram would watch me as I passed in my kurta, his gaze lingering like a quiet promise. Change moved through the house in small, electric moments. Each morning I noticed a new look in Chotu’s eyes, the milk boy’s teasing words edged with suggestion, but I kept him at a careful distance while my brother was near.At night the house hushed and my thoughts grew louder. I would lie awake, my fingers drifting over my skin, picturing Bikram’s hands—rough, steady—where my own rested. Jatin’s brash touches threaded through those memories, leaving a confusing ache that mingled desire with caution.I had longed for a day that felt like this, and at last it arrived. One bright noon Bikram’s voice came over the phone like a warm summons, "Shelly, the dress is ready. You must go to the tailor shop today.”

I arrived at the tailor shop a little before 1 PM, my heart already fluttering with nervous anticipation. I had worn my favorite patiala suit today—a soft cotton kameez over loose churidar pants, modest and comfortable. My hair was tied back, and I wore minimal makeup, wanting to seem casual. But inside, I was anything but calm.

The bell above the door jingled as I stepped inside. The four helpers looked up from their machines, their eyes following me with that familiar hunger. I felt my cheeks warm, but I held my head high.

Jatin emerged from behind a rack of half-finished suits, his sharp eyes lighting up when he saw me. His lips curled into a warm, knowing smile.

“Aaye Didi” he said, his voice smooth and welcoming. “Patiala suit mein bhi aap bomb lag rahe ho. hot and beautiful.”

I blinked, surprised by the the easy compliment. Did Bikram share our secret with him? Did Jatin know about those stolen moments, about the way Bikram’s hands had explored my body? The thought made me feel exposed, but also thrillingly seen.

“Thank you, Jatin ji,” I said softly, keeping my voice steady. “You called about the dress?”

He nodded, gesturing toward the back room. “Ready hai, bag mein pack kar diya. Pehle andar aaiye, ek baar measurement confirm karna chahta hoon.”

I frowned slightly. “But the stitching is done, na? Why measure again?”

He smiled, his eyes glinting. “Bas confirm kar loon. Aap ka fitting perfect ho, isliye do baar check better hai. Chaliye, andar.”

I knew his intention. I felt it in the way his gaze lingered on my curves, in the slight tremor of his voice. But I acted as if I didn’t understand, nodding slowly and following him past the curtain.

The back room was small, cluttered with bolts of fabric and a long wooden table. The curtain fell behind us, muffling the sounds of the sewing machines. Jatin picked up the measuring tape, but his fingers were already reaching for me.

He started with my waist, his hands pressing against the soft cotton of my kameez. Then his knuckles brushed my ribs, sliding upward. When the tape circled my bust, his fingers lingered—pressing against my nipples through the fabric. I felt them stiffen under his touch, and a tiny gasp escaped my lips.

“Aap ki body bahut responsive hai,” he murmured, his voice low.

I bit my lip, trying to stay quiet. But when his thumb grazed my nipple again, a soft moan slipped out. I couldn’t help it. The sensation shot straight through me, pooling warmth in my belly.

Hearing my moan, Jatin grew more confident. He set the measuring tape aside and cupped my full breast in his palm, squeezing gently, testing. I didn’t push him away. I couldn’t. My body was singing.

“Kya maal pataya hai Bikram ne,” he said, his eyes dark and appreciative. “Madam, aapke liye mera service aaj se free hai. Aap koi bhi naya kapra chahein to mere paas aa jana. Bina hesitation.”

My breath hitched. His fingers trailed down from my breast, over my stomach, until he reached the drawstring knot at my waist. With a swift, practiced motion, he untied it. My churidar pants loosened and slid down, pooling at my ankles.

I stood there in my red thong, barely covering my ass, the fabric a thin line between my cheeks. Jatin’s eyes widened, his lips parting.

“Aap to…” he whispered, shaking his head. “Aap to too much sexy ho. Red thong, aur aap ka figure… wah”

His hand reached out, fingertips sliding along the edge of my panty, dipping slightly beneath the fabric. I gasped and stepped back, catching his wrist.

“Jatin ji,” I said, my voice breathy but firm. “Ruko. Aaj nahi.”

He paused, looking at me with question in his eyes.

I swallowed, my heart pounding. I have to take a decision to fulfill my wildest fantasy of being touched and played by multiple man at a time and I will not get so many opportunities like this to fulfill my darkest fantasy and I have decided to throw the dice “ Jatin ji, Main aapki regular customer banungi. Lekin mera ek condition hai… Aap apne helpers ko bhi mera measurement lene doge. Unhe bhi mauka milega.”

Jatin's expression shifted from surprise to understanding—then to admiration. He chuckled, shaking his head slowly.

“Bahut Badi randi ho tum,” he said, but there was no scorn in his voice. Just respect—and excitement. “Theek hai. Condition maan li. Aaj hi trial karna hai kya?”

I shook my head, bending down to pull my pants back up. I tied the knot firmly, smoothing my kameez over my hips. “Aaj time nahi hai. Lekin jald hi aaungi.”

He nodded, watching me with new eyes—like he had discovered something precious and dangerous.

When I stepped out from behind the curtain, the four helpers stared at me. Their machines had gone silent. Their eyes roamed over my body, undressing me with invisible hands. I felt naked under their gaze, exposed and vulnerable—but also alive, electric with heat.

I knew what I had just done. The dice had been thrown. Each one of them—Jatin, the helpers, perhaps others—would eventually get a chance to taste me. And I was excited.

I collected the bag from the counter, my fingers trembling slightly. Jatin smiled at me, a silent promise in his eyes.

As I walked out of the shop, the noon sun hit my face, but I felt a chill of anticipation run through me. My phone buzzed. A message from Bikram.

“Mil gaya kapda? Sab theek hai?”

I typed back quickly: “Mil gaya. Sab bahut interesting hai. Ghar aake batati hoon.”

He sent a smiling emoji. I tucked my phone into my purse, clutching the bag close to my chest. The dress was inside—but I had promised Bikram I wouldn’t open it. Not yet. The mystery added to the thrill.

I walked home slowly, my body still tingling from Jatin’s touch, my mind already racing with what would come next.

shellyshalini · 04-10-2026, 11:39 AM

EPISODE 9-The Game involving Milk Boy

The next few days passed quietly, but not without purpose. I kept the packet from Jatin's shop unopened in my wardrobe, just as I had promised Bikram. The mystery of what lay inside—the dress, the surprise—kept my excitement simmering beneath the surface. I busied myself with writing, my special hobby that mixed real life with fantasy, weaving our stolen moments into stories that made my heart race.

But today, I decided I couldn't wait any longer. I needed to push Bikram for the surprise. So at 5:30 AM, I slipped into my shortest white skirt—the one that barely reached mid-thigh—and a white top that I deliberately dampened near the sink until the fabric clung to my skin like a second layer, revealing the outline of my red thong bikini bra beneath. I applied glossy pink lipstick, took a deep breath, and padded barefoot to Bikram's room with a cup of steaming tea. He was awake, sitting on the edge of his cot, scrolling through his phone. When I entered, his eyes lit up, sweeping over my body with hungry appreciation. "Good morning, darling," I said softly, setting the tea on his bedside table. He pulled me onto his lap, his hand sliding up my thigh, fingers brushing the hem of my skirt. "You look incredible," he murmured against my neck, pressing a kiss there. "Eager for the surprise?"

I nodded, my voice catching. "You said it would come soon. I want it. I want to know what you've planned." He smiled, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Patience, my sweet. But I have exciting news. Rohan is looking for another car to expand his rental business. I've found a perfect offer—from someone far away. Rohan will need to go out of station to close the deal. I've arranged everything so you and I will have the house to ourselves for at least two days." My heart leaped. "But what if he takes you with him?" "I've thought of that too. He won't. You'll see when the time comes." I kissed him, my excitement mounting. I felt the hardness pressing against my thigh through his pajamas. A playful idea sparked in my chest. I let my hand drift down, brushing over the fabric, feeling him twitch beneath my touch. Bikram groaned softly, his hand tangling in my hair. "You're playing with fire, Saini." I smiled, leaning down to press my lips against the bulge. Through the thin cotton, I kissed him—slow, deliberate, letting my breath warm the fabric. His hips lifted slightly, and I could taste his need in the air. But when he tried to guide my head lower, I pulled back, shaking my head. "Not yet," I whispered, my voice steady even as my heart hammered. "I'm not ready for that." He paused, then chuckled, releasing my hair and leaning back on his hands. "Fair enough. You set your own pace." His eyes danced with that mischievous glint I loved. "But you've given me an idea."

I stayed on his lap, my skirt riding up dangerously high, skin against his rough pajamas. "What kind of idea?" He reached for his tea, took a sip, then set it aside. "I met Chotu yesterday. He mentioned you. Said you look very sexy when you go out in the mornings. How you tease him with those short skirts and low-cut tops." A flush crept up my neck. I hadn't realized Chotu noticed me that much. "He said that?"

"He did." Bikram's hand slid up my thigh again, fingers pressing into the soft skin just below my hip. "So here's the game. Every morning at six, you'll go to collect milk from him. Wear your most revealing clothes. But you cannot let him touch you. Not a f inger. The day Chotu says 'Mazaa aaya'—the day he admits he enjoyed watching you— you win. And you'll get your surprise." My breath caught. The thought of parading in front of Chotu, feeling his eyes on me, while Bikram watched from a distance—it made my stomach flutter with nervous excitement. "And if I lose?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. "Then you wait longer. And you fulfill one wish of mine without question." I bit my lip, imagining what that wish could be. But I wasn't going to lose. I could feel the heat pooling between my thighs, the challenge lighting a fire inside me. "I'll win," I said, sliding off his lap and smoothing down my damp top. "Ask him to come at six. Rohan sleeps like a log. I can experiment more." Bikram grinned, reaching out to trace the line of my jaw. "I knew you'd say that. I'll arrange it. Now go—before you wake the whole house with that look in your eyes." I kissed him once more, quick and fierce, then slipped out of his room. My heart raced as I padded back to my own room, already planning what I'd wear tomorrow. The shortest skirt I owned. The top that barely covered my breasts. Maybe a little more gloss. The game was on. And I intended to win.

Every morning for the past few days, I had gone to collect milk wearing something scandalous—a short skirt, a low-cut top, a dress that showed just enough to leave Chotu stammering. He had started complimenting me, his eyes lingering, but never spoke the magical words. This morning, I decided to take it further. I let the damp top cling to my breasts, the red bra clearly visible through the fabric. I walked to open the door with deliberate slowness, my hips swaying, my heart pounding. Chotu was already there, his eyes widening as I approached. "Didi, aap aaj bahut sexy lag rahe ho," he said, his voice thick.

I smiled, bending down to pick up the empty milk can—and as I did, I deliberately dropped the clothes I was carrying onto the floor. I bent lower to pick them up, knowing my short skirt rode up, revealing the red thong bikini bottom that barely covered my ass. I could feel his gaze burning into me. When I straightened, Chotu's mouth was hanging open, his eyes fixed on my body. He didn't speak. He just stared, frozen. I knew in that moment—I had won the game. But that night, when I asked Bikram, he shook his head. "He just said 'he did not enjoy fully.'"And somehow, that made me even more excited. I smiled, not disappointed, but thrilled. Because I understood now. Bikram had set this game not for me to win, but to push me further. And the thought of what wish he would demand—what filthy, unrefusable command he had waiting—made my body hum with anticipation. As I lay in bed that night, I shivered, imagining what he would ask of me. Something that would push every boundary I had. Something I couldn't say no to. And I couldn't wait.

Hotgiri · 04-10-2026, 11:39 AM

Awasome story, could you please add gif n pics to story

shellyshalini · 04-10-2026, 11:44 AM

EPISODE 10 : The Edge of Patience

The next morning, I woke before dawn, my body humming with a familiar anticipation. I had lost the game—and that loss thrilled me more than any victory could. Bikram’s unspoken command hung in the air between us, a delicious mystery I was desperate to uncover.

I slipped into my shortest skirt, the white one that barely covered my thighs, and a thin cotton top that left little to the imagination. No bra tonight—just the fabric teasing my nipples as they hardened against the cool air. I applied a fresh coat of glossy pink lipstick, ran my fingers through my hair, and padded silently to the kitchen.

The tea was ready in minutes. I poured it into his favorite cup, the steam curling upward as I carried it to his room. The house was still dark, Rohan’s snores faint from his room down the hall.

Bikram was awake, sitting on the edge of his cot, his phone’s glow illuminating his strong jaw. When I entered, he looked up, and his eyes darkened with immediate hunger.

“Good morning, darling,” I said softly, setting the cup on his bedside table. But I didn’t step back. Instead, I stood in front of him, letting the hem of my skirt barely cover my upper thighs, my hips swaying slightly as I straightened.

He reached out, his hand gripping my waist and pulling me closer until I stood between his legs. “You’re early today,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep and desire. His other hand slid up my bare thigh, fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles on my skin.

“I couldn’t wait,” I whispered. “I want to know what you’ll ask of me now that I’ve lost.”

He chuckled, a low, possessive sound. “Patience, my sweet. You’ll know soon enough. But first…” He tugged me onto his lap, and I straddled him, my skirt riding up even higher. His hand found the bare curve of my ass, squeezing gently.

I gasped as he pressed his lips to my neck, kissing and sucking the sensitive skin just below my ear. “You’ve been so good,” he breathed against me. “So eager to please. But I want more.”

His fingers traced the edge of my panties—the red thong bikini I still wore—before hooking under the fabric and pulling it down. I lifted my hips to help him, and soon the scrap of cloth fell to the floor.

He lay me back on the cot, his body covering mine, his weight a warm, commanding presence. His hands roamed over my breasts, cupping them through the thin top, his thumbs circling my nipples until they peaked beneath the fabric.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he said, his voice a low growl. “About how you’ll look when Rohan leaves. How I’ll have you all to myself.”

I moaned, arching into his touch. “When will he go?”

“Soon,” he promised. “I’ve arranged everything. He’ll leave day after tomorrow afternoon. We’ll have the entire evening, the night, the next morning, whole day—however long you want.”

His words sent a thrill through me. Tomorrow. Just one more day.

He pulled the top over my head, baring my breasts to the cool air. Then his mouth was on them, hot and hungry, sucking and biting until I writhed beneath him. His hand slid between my thighs, fingers finding me already wet, and he pushed inside with a single, smooth motion.

I cried out, gripping his shoulders, my back arching off the cot. “Bikram…”

“Shh,” he whispered, his thumb circling my clit as his fingers worked inside me. “Don’t wake your brother. Not yet.”

I bit my lip, stifling my moans as he brought me closer to the edge. His pace was slow, deliberate, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through my body. I could feel myself tightening around his fingers, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let go for me. Cum for me.”

And I did, my orgasm washing over me in a surge of heat and light, my body trembling against his. He held me through it, his fingers still moving, prolonging the sensation until I was breathless.

When I finally opened my eyes, he was smiling down at me, his expression tender and possessive all at once. “Today” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Today I’ll come early in the evening, be ready for me”

I curled into his side, my heart pounding. The anticipation was almost unbearable. But the promise in his voice was enough to make every second of waiting worth it.