PROFESSOR GAURI

[sominoru]

The engine of Gauri's two-wheeler comes to a stop just outside the glass-and-steel entrance of the college building. She pulls off her helmet, her thick, dark hair spilling out in waves, sticking slightly to her neck from the heat of the ride. The morning is bright, but her eyes are sharper—calm, confident, always scanning. She tucks the helmet under one arm and strides toward the stairs, heels clicking against the marble with quiet authority.

She wore a fitted rose blouse that barely covered her enormous breasts, her pallu tucked into high-waisted pink saree that hugged her curvy hips. The top buttons of her blouse were low, revealing a lot of cleavage. Her skin glowed in the morning sun. 

Inside her office, the air-conditioning hums. She settles behind her desk, removing her riding gloves slowly, deliberately, as though peeling away a layer of something more than leather.

It was a 1 hour drive in the traffic and it made her shoulders stiff. She stretched her arms to feel better when she heard her phone vibrate.
 
A soft ping. Her phone lights up.
Siraj: "Hey... morning.."
She types a reply.
**Gauri: "Come see me. Need to talk. Personal."

---

Siraj walks in five minutes later, awkward smile on his face, backpack slung on one shoulder. He always looked younger than he was—boyish, even—but Gauri had known there was something more. Something hidden.
"Close the door," she says gently, not looking up right away.
He obeys.
She finally raises her eyes to meet his, steady and unreadable.
"Siraj. What the hell are you doing?"
He frowns. "doing what?"
"About your messages.. sexting me.. your Professor!."
His face turns red instantly. He shifts from foot to foot. "I... I didn't mean for you to—"
"It's okay," she says softly, cutting him off. "Really. It's natural. Attraction happens. Especially when you interact closely."
He blinks. "So... you're not mad?"
She smiles, warm but distant. "Of course not. But I want you to understand something. I care about you, Siraj. You're my student. A valuable one. And this—this doesn’t have to be more than that."
He nods, but she can see the hurt behind his eyes.
She softens. "Come sit."
He hesitates, then sits across from her.
"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he says quietly.
"You didn't," she says. Then, after a pause, more gently: "And you're sweet. But infatuation and connection aren’t always the same."
He gives a half-laugh, self-conscious. "Maybe I got confused. Or just hopeful."
"Hopeful is okay," she replies. "But hope needs boundaries."
He sighs, nodding. "Yeah. Got it."
"You can't come to my home whenever you want okay?"

She watches him. The vulnerability is real. But so is the flicker in his gaze when her pallu shifts slightly away from her blouse as she leans forward.
She notices.



She didn’t stop it. She did not scold him for staring at her. 

Her silence stretched, thick with suggestion. She let him look. Let him feel the weight of it — not permission exactly.
Then she rose.
Slowly.
The sound of her chair rolling back was a whisper against the stillness of the room. She walked toward him, heels quiet on the carpet now, deliberate. She stopped just a breath away — not touching, not even close enough to brush against him. But close enough that he could smell her perfume, warm and subtle and expensive.
Siraj’s breath caught in his throat.
Gauri tilted her head, studying him like a question she already knew the answer to.

"Siraj! Your behavior is wrong! Don't you think? Is this how you behave with your colleagues once you start working? In professional environments you need to behave professionally!"

"I told you before and I am telling you again now! Focus on the right things."

He nodded. But his eyes strayed again. Her blouse pulled just tight enough to trace the shape of her full chest, she did not adjust her pallu. She saw his gaze linger.

"I am focusing on the right things!", he said absentmindedly while staring at her large mountain like breasts that stood inches away from him. 

And Siraj, to his own surprise, he didn’t look away.
His voice was quieter when he finally spoke. “Do your shoulders hurt?”
She raised an eyebrow, lips parting slightly. “Excuse me?”
He looked at her, steadier now. “Your posture. You carry a lot… weight. I mean, responsibility.” He smiled nervously, but didn’t back down. “All that tension sits in the shoulders. I could help. If you want.”

Gauri studied him for a beat. Not laughing. Not dismissing. Just watching him like he was something new.
She rolled one shoulder, slow and deliberate. “You give massages now?”

“I’ve learned a few things,” he said, voice steadier than he felt. “Friend is a physiotherapist. Taught me how to spot tension. How to work it out.”

"Siraj! This is what I don't like! Okay! I am your Professor! You are my student! We can't cross boundaries like this. How can you be so comfortable to offer me a massage?"

"And I am carrying a lot of weight? You can't talk like that Siraj! You can't comment on my body like that!", Gauri scolded him angrily. As she was scolding her breasts were shaking and Siraj couldn't help but be aroused by that sight. 

"But, Maa'm your shoulder feels a bit stiff. Is it true or not?"
It was true. Heavy traffic in the morning while driving made her shoulder hurt. She could definitely use a shoulder massage. 

"Listen! You are lucky that I did not inform the HOD about the texts you sent me. Then we have to inform your parents. Do you want your parents to know about your behavior?", she shouted at him. 

Siraj became nervous. "I am sorry maam. I made a mistake. Will never do it again!"

"That's okay! Never send me sex messages or flirt with me again!", she calmly told him. 

Siraj became very quiet. He had gone too far and only now he realized his actions. 

Gauri took a deep breath! "Listen, don't feel too bad! You are at that age when your hormones make you do things. But, it is important to be respectful of others"

A moment passed. She stood, turning her back to him, facing the wide window that overlooked the city. Her blouse was — soft, thin — and the curve of her spine beneath it was visible in the light.
“Close the blinds,” she said, not turning around.
He hesitated just a second, then moved. The whisper of the blinds drawing shut seemed louder than it should have been. The room dimmed, private now, like the rest of the world had stepped out for a smoke.
She spoke again, softer. “We keep this between us. Understood?”
“Yes,” he said. Almost a whisper.
She didn’t ask him to come closer.
She didn’t have to.
He stepped behind her, hands rising slowly to hover just above her shoulders. He could feel the heat of her skin through the silk. He hesitated — not out of fear now, but reverence.
“Go on,” she said, voice low, laced with something dangerous.
He placed his hands gently on her shoulders, feeling the tension gathered there — firm muscle, soft skin, the pulse of control beneath it all. He began to press, thumbs moving in slow, careful circles.
She tilted her head slightly to the side, exposing her neck, her breath steady but slower now. Controlled. Still in charge.
But letting him in.
Her blouse shifted with each movement of his hands. He could get a nice view of her deep cleavage from behind her. 

Siraj’s hands moved slowly, deliberately over her shoulders, thumbs pressing into the knots of tension beneath the silk. Her skin was warm, soft under his fingertips, and her scent was richer up close — something floral with a darker undertone, like night jasmine and something muskier beneath it.
Gauri didn’t speak, but her breath had deepened just slightly, the subtle shift in her body telling him she was responding.
His fingers slipped a little lower, grazing the tops of her shoulder blades, then down along the curves where the blouse clung to her back. She tilted her head forward, exposing the graceful line of her neck.
Siraj’s eyes dropped — and lingered.
The top two buttons of her blouse were undone now, revealing the more of her breasts beneath the pink fabric, the smooth valley of her cleavage barely contained. The silk had shifted as she leaned forward slightly against the window, giving him the perfect view.
He swallowed hard, his hands pausing for a moment — not out of hesitation now, but awe. She was stunning. Powerful. And she hadn’t told him to stop.
He leaned in slightly, breath brushing the back of her neck. “You’re tense here too,” he murmured, fingers moving to the tops of her arms, drifting inward — slowly, subtly drawing toward the front of her shoulders.
Gauri’s lips parted. Still no words.
Siraj’s fingertips traced the line where her collar met skin. He could feel her breathing now — steady, but deeper. He dipped just a little closer, eyes locked on that view down her blouse, his breath catching as he saw the edge of light brown areola.

Siraj let his fingers pause there, just at the dip of her collarbone, feeling the way her skin warmed under his touch. The silk of her blouse was barely a barrier now — more suggestion than concealment — and it moved with her breath, fluttering ever so slightly as she inhaled.
He leaned in closer, his lips just a whisper away from the nape of her neck. He could feel the soft rise of goosebumps as his breath kissed her skin.
Still, Gauri didn’t speak.
But she didn’t move away either.
Encouraged, Siraj let his hands slide forward — slowly, reverently — until his palms rested over her shoulders, thumbs brushing along the curve where shoulder met chest. His fingers hovered near the line of her blouse, not quite venturing past it yet. Testing. Asking, in touch rather than words.
Gauri turned her head slightly, not enough to look at him fully, but enough that her cheek was angled toward his. Her voice was a whisper — soft, dangerous.