17-07-2025, 10:19 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-08-2025, 10:06 PM by Zoz34. Edited 2 times in total. Edited 2 times in total.)
To the readers its slow burn story driven content....but there will be plenty of action...so pls patience....I am sure you will enjoy it
It all started on a weekend I’ll never forget. I’m Aarav—Aarav Sharma. 22. And nothing would ever be the same again.
Every end of summer meant just one thing—Pawna.The long drive out of the city, the slow fade of traffic into fields, the air getting thinner, cooler, as if brushing off the grime of Mumbai. The lake always came into view suddenly—like a secret—but this time, it wasn’t the water I kept glancing at.
It was Meher.
In the passenger seat, legs folded up, slippers off, her toes resting against the dashboard. Sunlight dusted her bare smooth thighs. She was scrolling and giggling into her phone, not even glancing at me. Like I wasn’t even there.
That voice—light, breezy—could sanything:"I missed you.""I faked it."
"I'm done with you."And still sound soft.
She shifted, and my eyes dropped—fuck, right there.
Just above her jeans, her black top slid up an inch, and that’s all it took. That little strip of bare waist—smooth, tight, fuckable. The curve between her ribs and hip, teasing like it knew I was watching. My mouth went dry..
Riya was in the backseat, sprawled like it was her room. She was just barley 18,Meher cousin . One foot pressed against the window, the other leg bent, knee poking between the seats. And with her—Kunal.Mid-twenties.Tattooed arms.That lean, gym-bulked look with the too-thin hoodie He hadn’t said a word to me, not since we left the city. But I could feel him—like static. Like something humid crawling up the back of my neck.
They weren’t subtle.
Riya’s fingers kept drifting onto his thigh, brushing, tapping. Once, she leaned in and whispered something right into his chest—and he grinned, lazy, like he knew exactly what game he was playing.
I kept my eyes on the road. But my chest felt tight. My jaw, locked.
I wasn’t sure if I was angry. Or jealous.
Or scared of what this weekend would turn into.
Then came the poke.Riya’s toe, bratty and bare, jabbed into my shoulder. “Stop at the mart, Aarav,” she whined, like I was their fucking Uber driver.I didn’t respond.
Meher turned to look at me. Just a flick of her eyes—cool, unreadable—and I gave in. Like always. I turned the wheel toward the tiny village tucked between the trees.
The place was barely a town.
Just two rusted boards, some sleepy shops, a paanwala asleep in his chair.
Meher opened her door, arms raised to fix her bun. And for a moment—fuck—
Her side profile: the soft swell of her breast under the loose top, the shadow between her thighs where the denim hugged low, the waistband dipping just enough to make me forget to breathe.
She walked past me slowly, “Mumma’s not coming.”
I blinked. “What?”
Meher:She cancelled. Work thing. She’s staying back in Pune.
Aarav:So… we’ve got the house to ourselves.
Behind us, Riya : “Fucking finally! I’m swimming in my bra, I swear.”
Kunal laughed. That short, deep laugh that sounded like he'd already undressed her in his head.
Meher didn’t turn back. She just walked toward the shop, hips swaying. Slow. Deliberate.Like she knew I was watching.Like she wanted me to.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t.
My skin felt too tight.
No parents. No rules. Just... them. Just us.
I thought of the lake. Of wet bikinis, clingy fabric. Riya’s soaked white top, her nipples stiff under it. Kunal’s abs glistening, cock probably half-hard in his shorts, swaggering around like he owned the place.And Meher.Meher in a swimsuit.
Meher :“Riya, grab party stuff. Mixers, drinks… anything fun.”
Riya:And condoms?
Kunal chuckled behind me.
Riya doesn't have any shame and fear for a 18 year old.
Kunal joined me a second later.
Arms crossed, his body language loose, like he had all the time in the world to fuck someone’s life up.
kunal:She always this quiet?”
I said nothing.
“Girls like her…” he licked his bottom lip, eyes on the door she’d just walked through “…usually aren’
t.”I wanted to hit him.Instead, I just smiled like an idiot.
Meher is leaving for Delhi next month—for her post-graduation. I’d asked her more than once why she couldn’t just study here, in our own city. She always gave the same answer: better facilities, better exposure. Maybe. Or maybe Delhi just gives her more space—to breathe, to explore, to be someone without me. That thought sits in my chest like a stone.
She’s twenty-two, like me. But there’s something in her—something more woman than girl. Dusky skin that glows warm in the sunlight, like caramel melting over satin. Just 5’3”, but her body… god. That tight little waist that I could circle with one hand, flaring into wide, round hips. A soft, toned ass that sways without even trying—wrapped in those cotton salwars that hug like sin.
And her breasts—full, teasingly high, always pushing at the edge of her kurti like they knew they were being watched. I've seen men get distracted mid-sentence when she walks by. She doesn’t even try. That’s the worst part. That ripe, youthful figure… it makes men stare. Makes them imagine. Some have even said it—how did a guy like me end up with a girl like her?
But they don’t know the history,we are childhood sweetheart.
She’s mine. She always has been. But Delhi? Delhi doesn’t care about that.It feels like she is parting away.
It all started on a weekend I’ll never forget. I’m Aarav—Aarav Sharma. 22. And nothing would ever be the same again.
Every end of summer meant just one thing—Pawna.The long drive out of the city, the slow fade of traffic into fields, the air getting thinner, cooler, as if brushing off the grime of Mumbai. The lake always came into view suddenly—like a secret—but this time, it wasn’t the water I kept glancing at.
It was Meher.
In the passenger seat, legs folded up, slippers off, her toes resting against the dashboard. Sunlight dusted her bare smooth thighs. She was scrolling and giggling into her phone, not even glancing at me. Like I wasn’t even there.
That voice—light, breezy—could sanything:"I missed you.""I faked it."
"I'm done with you."And still sound soft.
She shifted, and my eyes dropped—fuck, right there.
Just above her jeans, her black top slid up an inch, and that’s all it took. That little strip of bare waist—smooth, tight, fuckable. The curve between her ribs and hip, teasing like it knew I was watching. My mouth went dry..
Riya was in the backseat, sprawled like it was her room. She was just barley 18,Meher cousin . One foot pressed against the window, the other leg bent, knee poking between the seats. And with her—Kunal.Mid-twenties.Tattooed arms.That lean, gym-bulked look with the too-thin hoodie He hadn’t said a word to me, not since we left the city. But I could feel him—like static. Like something humid crawling up the back of my neck.
They weren’t subtle.
Riya’s fingers kept drifting onto his thigh, brushing, tapping. Once, she leaned in and whispered something right into his chest—and he grinned, lazy, like he knew exactly what game he was playing.
I kept my eyes on the road. But my chest felt tight. My jaw, locked.
I wasn’t sure if I was angry. Or jealous.
Or scared of what this weekend would turn into.
Then came the poke.Riya’s toe, bratty and bare, jabbed into my shoulder. “Stop at the mart, Aarav,” she whined, like I was their fucking Uber driver.I didn’t respond.
Meher turned to look at me. Just a flick of her eyes—cool, unreadable—and I gave in. Like always. I turned the wheel toward the tiny village tucked between the trees.
The place was barely a town.
Just two rusted boards, some sleepy shops, a paanwala asleep in his chair.
Meher opened her door, arms raised to fix her bun. And for a moment—fuck—
Her side profile: the soft swell of her breast under the loose top, the shadow between her thighs where the denim hugged low, the waistband dipping just enough to make me forget to breathe.
She walked past me slowly, “Mumma’s not coming.”
I blinked. “What?”
Meher:She cancelled. Work thing. She’s staying back in Pune.
Aarav:So… we’ve got the house to ourselves.
Behind us, Riya : “Fucking finally! I’m swimming in my bra, I swear.”
Kunal laughed. That short, deep laugh that sounded like he'd already undressed her in his head.
Meher didn’t turn back. She just walked toward the shop, hips swaying. Slow. Deliberate.Like she knew I was watching.Like she wanted me to.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t.
My skin felt too tight.
No parents. No rules. Just... them. Just us.
I thought of the lake. Of wet bikinis, clingy fabric. Riya’s soaked white top, her nipples stiff under it. Kunal’s abs glistening, cock probably half-hard in his shorts, swaggering around like he owned the place.And Meher.Meher in a swimsuit.
Meher :“Riya, grab party stuff. Mixers, drinks… anything fun.”
Riya:And condoms?
Kunal chuckled behind me.
Riya doesn't have any shame and fear for a 18 year old.
Kunal joined me a second later.
Arms crossed, his body language loose, like he had all the time in the world to fuck someone’s life up.
kunal:She always this quiet?”
I said nothing.
“Girls like her…” he licked his bottom lip, eyes on the door she’d just walked through “…usually aren’
t.”I wanted to hit him.Instead, I just smiled like an idiot.
Meher is leaving for Delhi next month—for her post-graduation. I’d asked her more than once why she couldn’t just study here, in our own city. She always gave the same answer: better facilities, better exposure. Maybe. Or maybe Delhi just gives her more space—to breathe, to explore, to be someone without me. That thought sits in my chest like a stone.
She’s twenty-two, like me. But there’s something in her—something more woman than girl. Dusky skin that glows warm in the sunlight, like caramel melting over satin. Just 5’3”, but her body… god. That tight little waist that I could circle with one hand, flaring into wide, round hips. A soft, toned ass that sways without even trying—wrapped in those cotton salwars that hug like sin.
And her breasts—full, teasingly high, always pushing at the edge of her kurti like they knew they were being watched. I've seen men get distracted mid-sentence when she walks by. She doesn’t even try. That’s the worst part. That ripe, youthful figure… it makes men stare. Makes them imagine. Some have even said it—how did a guy like me end up with a girl like her?
But they don’t know the history,we are childhood sweetheart.
She’s mine. She always has been. But Delhi? Delhi doesn’t care about that.It feels like she is parting away.
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