Misc. Erotica Swathi an innocent teacher

[rathikreeda]

Part 4: Heat in the Quiet
The days passed with a familiar rhythm. Swathi's classes continued as usual — her notes were meticulous, her delivery poised, her eyes scanning the room with practiced grace. And yet, she felt it. The shift.
They had started watching her differently.
Not just the usual admiration she was used to from her students — this was layered. Intense. Sharper. Like every moment she leaned against the desk, every time she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, every movement of her fingers as she turned a page… was being catalogued.
Not by everyone.
Just those three.

---

Friday afternoon. The corridor outside her department was mostly deserted. The last lecture of the week had just ended, and Swathi stayed behind to collect papers. The classroom door creaked slightly behind her.
Ajay entered, half a step too casual.
"Everyone’s gone," he said, sliding into the first bench. "Thought you might need help."
Swathi didn’t look up. “What kind of help?”
He tilted his head. “The kind that gets you home faster on a Friday.”
She turned, eyes cool, amused. “You’re not my assistant, Ajay.”
He smiled, slow. “No, ma’am. Just… interested.”
She watched him for a second. There was a spark there. Cocky, sure. But also sincere. A different kind of boldness — not crass, not careless. Just close.
“I can carry those for you,” he offered, standing now, motioning to the stack of files.
“I can carry them myself,” she said, but didn’t stop him when he walked around the desk and picked up a few.
The room felt warmer suddenly.
Ajay moved closer as he lifted the papers. “Your perfume’s really nice, Ma’am.”
Swathi arched a brow, unbothered. “You’re too close.”
He didn’t step back. “And you haven’t moved away either.”
She met his eyes then — unflinching. “You’re walking a thin line.”
Ajay looked at her — not arrogant now, just… watching.
Then, as if realizing he’d said enough, he stepped back.
“I’ll leave the files on the staff table,” he said, voice quieter.
She nodded. “Good. And Ajay…”
He turned halfway in the doorway.
“Be careful with what you’re doing.”
He gave her a look. Not disrespectful. Just charged. “I don’t think I’m doing anything you don’t already know about.”
Then he left.

---

That night, Swathi stood in front of the mirror at home, her saree unwrapped halfway, blouse still clinging to her skin from the long, humid day. Her fingers traced her collarbone absently.
There was no guilt in her eyes.
Just thought.
Just heat.
Just a whisper of what she hadn’t said out loud.


Part 5: Unspoken & Undone
Monday afternoon. The library was quieter than usual. Sunlight streamed in through high windows, dust hanging lazily in the beams. Swathi walked between the rows of shelves with a stack of borrowed books pressed against her waist.
In one of the last rows, tucked near the sociology section, she found Aditya — sitting cross-legged on the floor, half-leaning against a low shelf. He had a pen between his lips and a textbook in his lap, completely unaware of the way his shirt was slightly open at the neck, or how his hand absentmindedly rubbed along his thigh as he read.
Swathi paused.
He looked up, startled — pen falling from his mouth. “Ma’am! Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
She gave a small smile. “What are you doing on the floor?”
Aditya stood up quickly, brushing dust off his jeans. “Just needed some quiet. Too many distractions in the reading hall.”
He smiled — not like Sai or Ajay. Not bold. Not charged. Just boyish. Unaware.
She stepped closer, arms folded with the books pressed under them. “You’ve been doing well in class.”
He beamed. “That’s because you explain things better than anyone else.”
She looked at him for a second longer. “You don’t even realize how much you say without meaning to, do you?”
He blinked. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said, brushing past him, shoulder grazing his as she walked by. “Get back to reading.”
And he did — not realizing that she glanced over her shoulder twice before turning the corner.

---

Later That Night
Rain fell gently outside the windows of their apartment. The bedroom was dim, warm, lit by the soft yellow lamp by the headboard. Swathi sat cross-legged on the bed in a loose cotton nightie, drying her hair with a towel. Rahul stepped out of the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips, water trailing down his chest.
He watched her for a moment. She looked calm, but not entirely relaxed — as if thoughts were still lingering behind her eyes.
“You seem tired,” he said, running a hand through his wet hair.
Swathi smiled faintly. “Long day. A few library runs. Students catching up. The usual.”
He sat beside her. “Still giving extra help?”
“Mmm,” she hummed. “They’re keeping me busy. Sai’s bold, Ajay’s careful, and Aditya… he doesn’t even know how much trouble he might be one day.”
Rahul’s brow raised at that. “Trouble?”
“Not like that,” she said quickly, chuckling. “He’s sweet. Too sweet. He says things with no idea how they sound.”
Rahul leaned in, nuzzling her damp shoulder. “You know, every time you talk about them, I want to pretend I’m not listening.”
Swathi turned toward him. “But you are.”
“I am,” he murmured, kissing her skin. “Because I imagine how they look at you. And then I remember… you’re mine.”
His hand slid up her thigh, fingers brushing under the hem of her nightie.
Swathi breathed in sharply. “Jealous?”
“Turned on,” he said, voice roughening. “It’s sick, isn’t it?”
“No,” she whispered, leaning back onto the pillows, pulling him gently over her. “It’s honest.”
He kissed her — slow at first, deepening quickly. His hands roamed over her body with familiarity, but tonight there was a hint of urgency. Possession. Not dominance — but a silent claiming.
She arched under him, nightie pulled up around her hips, her legs wrapping around his waist.
“Tell me again,” he said into her neck, breath hot. “They look at you…”
“…like I’m something they want but can’t have,” she whispered, grinding slowly against him.
“And I’m the only one who gets this,” he growled, sliding into her.
She gasped — soft, breathless, clutching at his back as their bodies began to move. The rhythm was slow, heavy, their mouths never far from each other.
Not a word spoken as the storm outside faded into silence.
Just the sound of skin, breath, heat — and the delicious ache of being desired by everyone… but undone by only one.