Adultery NAZRIN AN INNOCENT WIFE (With pics)

[Cuckoldindian]

Update 14:

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

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