18-05-2025, 03:52 AM
Episode 45: The Dream That Devoured
The night cloaked Arjun’s room in heavy silence, broken only by the soft creak of the ceiling fan. He lay in bed, his body still humming from the release earlier, his phone dark on the bedside table. The stolen photo of Meera—leaning against the tree, arm raised, black saree taut—was a secret that burned in him, layered over the memories of the Ranga Falls trip: her drenched churidar, the perfect curve of her ass, the fleeting glimpse of her navel. Sleep came slowly, pulling him under like a warm tide, and when the dream took hold, it was vivid, searing, and all-consuming.
The Dream
The dream was Ranga Falls, but transformed—a golden twilight bathed the scene, the waterfall’s roar softened to a hypnotic hum. Warm mist hung in the air, fragrant with jasmine and wet earth, wrapping the clearing in a private, surreal glow. The students and teachers were gone, leaving only Arjun, standing on the rocky bank, his breath shallow, his body heavy with longing.
Meera appeared under the falls, summoned by his desire. She wore the cream churidar from the trip, its fabric glowing, almost translucent, clinging to her like liquid light. The water cascaded over her, molding the churidar to her hourglass figure—her slender waist, flared hips, soft chest, and the round, breathtaking shape of her ass, outlined with sculptural precision.
Her arms were raised, loosening her hair, and the sleeveless kurta revealed her armpits—smooth, glistening, a delicate hollow catching the golden light. Wet strands of hair clung to her neck, droplets sliding down her arms, pooling at her collarbones. She was ethereal, a goddess of water and light, her lips curved in a faint, unaware smile.
Arjun stood frozen, his heart pounding, unable to move. She was untouchable yet so close, her beauty a weight he couldn’t bear. Then Priya emerged from the mist, her green kurta vibrant but dimmed by Meera’s radiance. Priya’s smile was teasing, her eyes holding a bold, intimate purpose that made Arjun’s chest tighten with awe and aching jealousy.
Priya stepped close to Meera, her movements slow and deliberate, the air between them charged with quiet intensity. She circled behind Meera, her hands finding Meera’s hips, fingers pressing gently against the wet churidar, where the fabric clung to the full, rounded curve of Meera’s ass. Meera’s body tensed, a soft shiver rippling through her, her breath catching in a faint gasp.
Priya’s hands tightened, holding Meera’s ass with a tender but possessive grip, her fingers tracing the sensitive curve through the soaked fabric. She leaned in, her breath warm against Meera’s lower back, and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the round, perfect shape of her ass, just above the waistband. The fabric, wet and taut, amplified the sensation, and Meera trembled, her knees buckling slightly, a quiet moan escaping her lips.
Her ass, so sensitive under Priya’s touch, quivered with each lingering kiss, Meera’s body swaying as if struggling to stay upright, her gasps soft but sharp, betraying the intensity of the moment.Priya lingered there, her hands still holding Meera’s hips, her lips brushing the curve of Meera’s ass once more, drawing another shiver, another gasp, Meera’s fingers clutching the air for balance.
The intimacy was slow, reverent, Priya’s touch both commanding and gentle, and Meera’s responses—trembling, vulnerable—made her seem both divine and achingly human.
The dream shifted, the falls fading into a warmer, softer space—a room bathed in golden light, like the changing room but intimate, surreal. Meera was in the black saree now, the sleek fabric dbanging her like a shadow, the sleeveless blouse baring her arms. Priya stood close, her fingers brushing Meera’s waist, just above the pleats, her touch light but deliberate. The pallu slipped, revealing the smooth plane of Meera’s midriff, her skin glowing in the warm light. Priya’s hands slid to Meera’s belly, her fingers tracing slow, teasing circles around the sensitive skin, drawing a soft tremble from Meera, her breath hitching as the touch grew closer to her navel.
Priya knelt, her breath warm against Meera’s midriff, and kissed the skin just below her navel, then above, then to the side, each kiss slow and deliberate, building the tension. Meera’s body quivered, her hands hovering in the air, her gasps sharper now, her belly trembling under Priya’s lips.Finally, Priya’s lips found Meera’s navel—that round, deep mark Arjun had glimpsed in the breeze.
The kiss was soft, lingering, Priya’s lips pressing gently into the sensitive dip, her breath warm and teasing. Meera shuddered, a low moan escaping her, her body trembling as the sensation rippled through her core. Her navel, delicate and responsive, quivered under Priya’s touch, Meera’s fingers clutching the edge of a nearby table for support, her eyes fluttering closed in a moment of unguarded vulnerability.
Priya lingered, kissing the navel once more, her hands resting on Meera’s waist, steadying her as Meera’s trembling deepened, her gasps soft but raw, betraying the intensity of the sensitive spot.
Priya rose slowly, her hand gently lifting Meera’s arm, exposing the smooth, glistening hollow of her armpit. She leaned in, her breath brushing the sensitive skin, and kissed it with slow, deliberate care, her lips soft but firm against the delicate hollow.
Meera’s body trembled harder, a sharp gasp escaping her, her armpit—so private, so intimate—reacting with a shiver that ran through her entire frame.
The golden light caught the faint sheen of her skin, amplifying the moment, making it sacred and searing. Priya kissed the armpit again, her hand steadying Meera’s arm, drawing another moan, Meera’s body swaying as if overwhelmed by the sensitivity of the touch.
Meera turned, her eyes meeting Arjun’s across the dream’s impossible space. Her gaze was soft, unreadable, neither inviting nor rejecting, but piercing enough to break him. She stepped closer, the black saree swaying, her armpit visible as she raised a hand to brush her hair back.
Arjun wanted to move, to touch her, to kiss her where Priya had, to feel her tremble under his lips. But he was frozen, a silent observer, drowning in her beauty and Priya’s intimacy.The dream grew brighter, the light swallowing the room, the falls roaring back into focus.
Meera stood under the water again, churidar and saree blending, her curves glowing, her navel a beacon in the mist. Priya’s laughter echoed, but Meera’s eyes stayed on Arjun, a fleeting connection that shattered him.
The Wake-Up
Arjun woke with a sharp gasp, his chest heaving, his body flushed and trembling. The sheets were tangled, his shirt damp with sweat, his body marked by the release the dream had pulled from him.
He pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to steady his breath, but the images clung—Priya’s slow, intimate kisses on Meera’s ass, belly, navel, and armpit, Meera’s trembling and gasping, the sensitive parts of her body responding with unbearable intensity.
The dream had been too real, too vivid, weaving the day’s moments into something eternal, something sacred and forbidden.He lay still, staring at the ceiling, his heart slowing but his mind racing. Priya’s possessive touches, her lips claiming Meera’s most sensitive parts, had amplified his longing and his pain.
Meera’s trembling, her vulnerability, made her more reachable yet still untouchable. The navel—round, deep, perfect—was the center of it all, a mark he’d seen but could never touch. Her ass, quivering under Priya’s kiss, and her armpit, shivering with each press of lips, were now sacred details, burned into him by the dream’s golden light.
He reached for his phone, the photo of Meera still there, but he didn’t open it. The dream was enough, too fresh, too raw.
He didn’t know how to face tomorrow, how to see her in the classroom and pretend the falls, the dream, hadn’t changed him.
Back at college – The Next Day
Monday morning at St. Mark’s felt heavier, the campus settling back into routine as if the trip had never happened. Students moved through the corridors, some still whispering about the falls, others buried in books. Arjun walked to math class, his bag slung over his shoulder, his steps slow, his mind a storm of Meera.She was already there, standing at the chalkboard, writing equations in her precise script. She wore a soft green saree, the cotton dbanging neatly, the pleats sitting modestly at her waist. The blouse was half-sleeved, covering her arms, nothing revealing—a stark contrast to the churidar, the black saree, the dream.
Her hair was tied in a low bun, her bangles clinking faintly, and she looked every inch the teacher—composed, professional, untouchable. But to Arjun, she was the Meera of the falls, of the dream, her navel, armpits, and ass hidden but unforgettable.
He took his seat, his eyes tracing her every move. The way her pallu shifted as she turned, the way her hand rested on her hip—it was all layered with memory. The dream had made her larger, her beauty sharper, and he couldn’t look at her without seeing Priya’s lips on her navel, her shivers under the kisses to her ass and armpit.
His notebook stayed blank, his pen untouched, his thoughts consumed by her.She taught with her usual calm, her voice steady, but Arjun barely heard the math. Every gesture—tucking her hair behind her ear, leaning over a student’s desk—felt like an echo of the dream, of the falls.
When she passed his desk, collecting worksheets, the faint scent of jasmine brushed over him, and his breath caught, his hands clenching under the table. She didn’t notice, didn’t pause, but the moment sent his mind reeling back to the dream, to her trembling, to the navel he’d seen.
In the Staff Room – Meera and Priya
During the lunch break, Meera sat in the staff room, a cup of tea cooling beside her. The green saree glowed softly in the light, the half-sleeve blouse modest but fitted, her arms partially covered. She was grading papers, her focus steady, but a faint smile played on her lips, a remnant of the trip’s freedom. Priya dropped into the chair across from her, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“So,” Priya said, leaning forward, “still dreaming about the falls? You were the star of that trip, you know.”
Meera laughed, shaking her head. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“Not a chance,” Priya teased.
“You in that churidar, then the black saree? Meera, you were serving looks. I’m still recovering from that pose against the tree. You knew you were hot.”Meera’s cheeks flushed, but she swatted Priya’s arm playfully.
“I only did that because you wouldn’t stop nagging. And this?” She gestured to her saree.
“Back to normal. No more of your nonsense.”Priya grinned, undeterred.
“Normal? Please. You’re still glowing from yesterday. Don’t think I didn’t notice you enjoying the attention.”
“Attention?” Meera raised an eyebrow, her tone mock-serious.
“The only attention I got was you harassing me for photos.”
“And you loved it,” Priya shot back, her voice warm.
“Admit it, you felt like a queen out there. Green saree or not, you’re still killing it.”Meera laughed, shaking her head, but the smile stayed.
“You’re impossible.”“And you’re gorgeous,” Priya said, softer now, sincere.
“Don’t hide that, okay?”Meera didn’t respond, but her smile deepened, and she turned back to her papers, a quiet warmth settling over her. The trip had been a moment of freedom, a chance to be more than the teacher she always was, and Priya’s teasing, playful as it was, reminded her of that.
Arjun’s Struggle
In the afternoon session, Arjun sat through another of Meera’s classes, his mind a battlefield. The dream had changed him, made her presence overwhelming.
Every time she moved—adjusting her pallu, writing on the board—he saw the dream-Meera, trembling under Priya’s kisses, her navel glowing, her armpit and ass quivering with sensitivity. The green saree, modest and unrevealing, couldn’t erase what he’d seen, what he’d dreamed. The photo in his phone was a secret he carried, a piece of her he could return to, but it was also a weight, a reminder of how far he’d fallen.
When the bell rang, he lingered, pretending to pack his bag, watching as Meera gathered her things and left the room. Her saree swayed with her steps, the half-sleeve blouse covering the arms he’d seen bare, and he felt the familiar ache, the need to see more, to hold onto her.
He didn’t follow her—not like at the falls—but the urge was there, sharper than ever.He walked home, the dream clinging to him, the photo a silent promise in his pocket. Meera was no longer just his teacher. She was a vision, a fire in his soul, and he didn’t know how to let her go.
To be continued…
The night cloaked Arjun’s room in heavy silence, broken only by the soft creak of the ceiling fan. He lay in bed, his body still humming from the release earlier, his phone dark on the bedside table. The stolen photo of Meera—leaning against the tree, arm raised, black saree taut—was a secret that burned in him, layered over the memories of the Ranga Falls trip: her drenched churidar, the perfect curve of her ass, the fleeting glimpse of her navel. Sleep came slowly, pulling him under like a warm tide, and when the dream took hold, it was vivid, searing, and all-consuming.
The Dream
The dream was Ranga Falls, but transformed—a golden twilight bathed the scene, the waterfall’s roar softened to a hypnotic hum. Warm mist hung in the air, fragrant with jasmine and wet earth, wrapping the clearing in a private, surreal glow. The students and teachers were gone, leaving only Arjun, standing on the rocky bank, his breath shallow, his body heavy with longing.
Meera appeared under the falls, summoned by his desire. She wore the cream churidar from the trip, its fabric glowing, almost translucent, clinging to her like liquid light. The water cascaded over her, molding the churidar to her hourglass figure—her slender waist, flared hips, soft chest, and the round, breathtaking shape of her ass, outlined with sculptural precision.
Her arms were raised, loosening her hair, and the sleeveless kurta revealed her armpits—smooth, glistening, a delicate hollow catching the golden light. Wet strands of hair clung to her neck, droplets sliding down her arms, pooling at her collarbones. She was ethereal, a goddess of water and light, her lips curved in a faint, unaware smile.
Arjun stood frozen, his heart pounding, unable to move. She was untouchable yet so close, her beauty a weight he couldn’t bear. Then Priya emerged from the mist, her green kurta vibrant but dimmed by Meera’s radiance. Priya’s smile was teasing, her eyes holding a bold, intimate purpose that made Arjun’s chest tighten with awe and aching jealousy.
Priya stepped close to Meera, her movements slow and deliberate, the air between them charged with quiet intensity. She circled behind Meera, her hands finding Meera’s hips, fingers pressing gently against the wet churidar, where the fabric clung to the full, rounded curve of Meera’s ass. Meera’s body tensed, a soft shiver rippling through her, her breath catching in a faint gasp.
Priya’s hands tightened, holding Meera’s ass with a tender but possessive grip, her fingers tracing the sensitive curve through the soaked fabric. She leaned in, her breath warm against Meera’s lower back, and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the round, perfect shape of her ass, just above the waistband. The fabric, wet and taut, amplified the sensation, and Meera trembled, her knees buckling slightly, a quiet moan escaping her lips.
Her ass, so sensitive under Priya’s touch, quivered with each lingering kiss, Meera’s body swaying as if struggling to stay upright, her gasps soft but sharp, betraying the intensity of the moment.Priya lingered there, her hands still holding Meera’s hips, her lips brushing the curve of Meera’s ass once more, drawing another shiver, another gasp, Meera’s fingers clutching the air for balance.
The intimacy was slow, reverent, Priya’s touch both commanding and gentle, and Meera’s responses—trembling, vulnerable—made her seem both divine and achingly human.
The dream shifted, the falls fading into a warmer, softer space—a room bathed in golden light, like the changing room but intimate, surreal. Meera was in the black saree now, the sleek fabric dbanging her like a shadow, the sleeveless blouse baring her arms. Priya stood close, her fingers brushing Meera’s waist, just above the pleats, her touch light but deliberate. The pallu slipped, revealing the smooth plane of Meera’s midriff, her skin glowing in the warm light. Priya’s hands slid to Meera’s belly, her fingers tracing slow, teasing circles around the sensitive skin, drawing a soft tremble from Meera, her breath hitching as the touch grew closer to her navel.
Priya knelt, her breath warm against Meera’s midriff, and kissed the skin just below her navel, then above, then to the side, each kiss slow and deliberate, building the tension. Meera’s body quivered, her hands hovering in the air, her gasps sharper now, her belly trembling under Priya’s lips.Finally, Priya’s lips found Meera’s navel—that round, deep mark Arjun had glimpsed in the breeze.
The kiss was soft, lingering, Priya’s lips pressing gently into the sensitive dip, her breath warm and teasing. Meera shuddered, a low moan escaping her, her body trembling as the sensation rippled through her core. Her navel, delicate and responsive, quivered under Priya’s touch, Meera’s fingers clutching the edge of a nearby table for support, her eyes fluttering closed in a moment of unguarded vulnerability.
Priya lingered, kissing the navel once more, her hands resting on Meera’s waist, steadying her as Meera’s trembling deepened, her gasps soft but raw, betraying the intensity of the sensitive spot.
Priya rose slowly, her hand gently lifting Meera’s arm, exposing the smooth, glistening hollow of her armpit. She leaned in, her breath brushing the sensitive skin, and kissed it with slow, deliberate care, her lips soft but firm against the delicate hollow.
Meera’s body trembled harder, a sharp gasp escaping her, her armpit—so private, so intimate—reacting with a shiver that ran through her entire frame.
The golden light caught the faint sheen of her skin, amplifying the moment, making it sacred and searing. Priya kissed the armpit again, her hand steadying Meera’s arm, drawing another moan, Meera’s body swaying as if overwhelmed by the sensitivity of the touch.
Meera turned, her eyes meeting Arjun’s across the dream’s impossible space. Her gaze was soft, unreadable, neither inviting nor rejecting, but piercing enough to break him. She stepped closer, the black saree swaying, her armpit visible as she raised a hand to brush her hair back.
Arjun wanted to move, to touch her, to kiss her where Priya had, to feel her tremble under his lips. But he was frozen, a silent observer, drowning in her beauty and Priya’s intimacy.The dream grew brighter, the light swallowing the room, the falls roaring back into focus.
Meera stood under the water again, churidar and saree blending, her curves glowing, her navel a beacon in the mist. Priya’s laughter echoed, but Meera’s eyes stayed on Arjun, a fleeting connection that shattered him.
The Wake-Up
Arjun woke with a sharp gasp, his chest heaving, his body flushed and trembling. The sheets were tangled, his shirt damp with sweat, his body marked by the release the dream had pulled from him.
He pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to steady his breath, but the images clung—Priya’s slow, intimate kisses on Meera’s ass, belly, navel, and armpit, Meera’s trembling and gasping, the sensitive parts of her body responding with unbearable intensity.
The dream had been too real, too vivid, weaving the day’s moments into something eternal, something sacred and forbidden.He lay still, staring at the ceiling, his heart slowing but his mind racing. Priya’s possessive touches, her lips claiming Meera’s most sensitive parts, had amplified his longing and his pain.
Meera’s trembling, her vulnerability, made her more reachable yet still untouchable. The navel—round, deep, perfect—was the center of it all, a mark he’d seen but could never touch. Her ass, quivering under Priya’s kiss, and her armpit, shivering with each press of lips, were now sacred details, burned into him by the dream’s golden light.
He reached for his phone, the photo of Meera still there, but he didn’t open it. The dream was enough, too fresh, too raw.
He didn’t know how to face tomorrow, how to see her in the classroom and pretend the falls, the dream, hadn’t changed him.
Back at college – The Next Day
Monday morning at St. Mark’s felt heavier, the campus settling back into routine as if the trip had never happened. Students moved through the corridors, some still whispering about the falls, others buried in books. Arjun walked to math class, his bag slung over his shoulder, his steps slow, his mind a storm of Meera.She was already there, standing at the chalkboard, writing equations in her precise script. She wore a soft green saree, the cotton dbanging neatly, the pleats sitting modestly at her waist. The blouse was half-sleeved, covering her arms, nothing revealing—a stark contrast to the churidar, the black saree, the dream.
Her hair was tied in a low bun, her bangles clinking faintly, and she looked every inch the teacher—composed, professional, untouchable. But to Arjun, she was the Meera of the falls, of the dream, her navel, armpits, and ass hidden but unforgettable.
He took his seat, his eyes tracing her every move. The way her pallu shifted as she turned, the way her hand rested on her hip—it was all layered with memory. The dream had made her larger, her beauty sharper, and he couldn’t look at her without seeing Priya’s lips on her navel, her shivers under the kisses to her ass and armpit.
His notebook stayed blank, his pen untouched, his thoughts consumed by her.She taught with her usual calm, her voice steady, but Arjun barely heard the math. Every gesture—tucking her hair behind her ear, leaning over a student’s desk—felt like an echo of the dream, of the falls.
When she passed his desk, collecting worksheets, the faint scent of jasmine brushed over him, and his breath caught, his hands clenching under the table. She didn’t notice, didn’t pause, but the moment sent his mind reeling back to the dream, to her trembling, to the navel he’d seen.
In the Staff Room – Meera and Priya
During the lunch break, Meera sat in the staff room, a cup of tea cooling beside her. The green saree glowed softly in the light, the half-sleeve blouse modest but fitted, her arms partially covered. She was grading papers, her focus steady, but a faint smile played on her lips, a remnant of the trip’s freedom. Priya dropped into the chair across from her, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“So,” Priya said, leaning forward, “still dreaming about the falls? You were the star of that trip, you know.”
Meera laughed, shaking her head. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“Not a chance,” Priya teased.
“You in that churidar, then the black saree? Meera, you were serving looks. I’m still recovering from that pose against the tree. You knew you were hot.”Meera’s cheeks flushed, but she swatted Priya’s arm playfully.
“I only did that because you wouldn’t stop nagging. And this?” She gestured to her saree.
“Back to normal. No more of your nonsense.”Priya grinned, undeterred.
“Normal? Please. You’re still glowing from yesterday. Don’t think I didn’t notice you enjoying the attention.”
“Attention?” Meera raised an eyebrow, her tone mock-serious.
“The only attention I got was you harassing me for photos.”
“And you loved it,” Priya shot back, her voice warm.
“Admit it, you felt like a queen out there. Green saree or not, you’re still killing it.”Meera laughed, shaking her head, but the smile stayed.
“You’re impossible.”“And you’re gorgeous,” Priya said, softer now, sincere.
“Don’t hide that, okay?”Meera didn’t respond, but her smile deepened, and she turned back to her papers, a quiet warmth settling over her. The trip had been a moment of freedom, a chance to be more than the teacher she always was, and Priya’s teasing, playful as it was, reminded her of that.
Arjun’s Struggle
In the afternoon session, Arjun sat through another of Meera’s classes, his mind a battlefield. The dream had changed him, made her presence overwhelming.
Every time she moved—adjusting her pallu, writing on the board—he saw the dream-Meera, trembling under Priya’s kisses, her navel glowing, her armpit and ass quivering with sensitivity. The green saree, modest and unrevealing, couldn’t erase what he’d seen, what he’d dreamed. The photo in his phone was a secret he carried, a piece of her he could return to, but it was also a weight, a reminder of how far he’d fallen.
When the bell rang, he lingered, pretending to pack his bag, watching as Meera gathered her things and left the room. Her saree swayed with her steps, the half-sleeve blouse covering the arms he’d seen bare, and he felt the familiar ache, the need to see more, to hold onto her.
He didn’t follow her—not like at the falls—but the urge was there, sharper than ever.He walked home, the dream clinging to him, the photo a silent promise in his pocket. Meera was no longer just his teacher. She was a vision, a fire in his soul, and he didn’t know how to let her go.
To be continued…
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