16-08-2025, 05:17 PM
Chapter 21: Whispers Over Wine
Tonight’s not just dinner; it’s the spark turning to flame.
Raghavan’s eyes traced her, dark and appreciative, as the waiter poured wine, the deep red liquid swirling in crystal glasses. “Nivi,” he said, voice low, a growl beneath the politeness, “you look... radiant tonight. That kurti—it frames you perfectly, like it was made to show off every graceful line.” His compliment was direct but subtle, his gaze lingering on her breasts, the way the fabric hinted at their fullness, then drifting to her lips, painted a soft red. He’s imagining peeling this off, tasting me again, she thought, her clit pulsing gently, wetness stirring between her thighs. She shifted, crossing her legs, the movement pressing her pussy, a quiet thrill. “Thank you, sir,” she replied, voice sultry, indirect.
“I wanted to feel... new tonight. Bold.” Her eyes met his, a naughty spark implying more—their shared secrets, her arousal from his words.
As appetizers arrived—spicy paneer tikkas and crisp salads—they eased into conversation, forks clinking softly. “Tell me about your future, Nivi,” he said, leaning forward, his hand brushing the stem of his glass. “After this morning’s bold step—what’s next? You’ve reclaimed so much already.” His tone was caring, probing, and she felt it—a warmth beyond desire, his support wrapping around her like the wine’s rich flavor.
She sipped her wine, the liquid warm on her tongue, her pussy throbbing faintly as his gaze held hers. “My past... it’s been a cage,” she confessed, voice soft, revelations unfolding. “Anand dazzled me young—charming, but full of lies.
He was older, experienced, and I was naive, falling for it. Marriage, kids—they changed my body, gave me curves I never had, but he stopped seeing me.
Just bills and booze.” Her ass shifted in the chair, the fabric teasing her skin, wicked thoughts mingling: While he ignored me, you see everything—my tits, my hips, my fire. “Future? I’ll pay his debts, then divorce. Live for the kids, Amma. But I want more—freedom, to feel alive.”
Her nipples hardened under his stare, pussy wetting her panties. He’s listening, wanting my story and my body.
Raghavan nodded, his past spilling out in return, voice steady but vulnerable. “My past mirrors yours in ways—married young, ambitious, but it crumbled under work’s weight. No kids, but the loneliness... it’s a quiet killer. Built this firm from nothing, but success came with isolation.”
His eyes traced her curves again, subtle compliment in his gaze. “You’ve brought life back to it, Nivi. The office—it’s buzzing now.” He chuckled, a naughty glint. “My men follow you like shadows—Ashwin with his jokes, Dinesh sneaking glances, even Ashok’s silent worship.
It’s funny, really; they come in early just to catch a glimpse of your sway.” His words were light, teasing, but implied heat—their hunger for her ass, her breasts, mirroring his own.
She laughed softly, leaning forward, breasts pressing against the table, her pussy clenching at the image. They’re all hard for me, she thought, wetness smearing her thighs.
“Funny? I’ve noticed—their eyes on my curves, whispering. But you... you enjoy it too, don’t you? Watching them chase what you sparked.” Her voice was naughty, indirect, a sultry challenge. Revelations deepened: He’s not jealous; he’s proud, like I’m his creation.
He grinned, wine glass pausing at his lips.
“Guilty. It’s amusing—half the staff thinks work’s secondary now. They show up for you, Nivi. Your walk, your laugh, those outfits this week... it’s like you’ve cast a spell.”
His tone turned funnier, exaggerated. “If productivity drops more, I might go bankrupt—blame it on the daily fashion show.” But his eyes darkened, serious beneath the joke, tracing her hips. He’s implying my power, she thought, pussy throbbing harder. The office is mine, but he’s the one who unleashed it.
As mains arrived—aromatic biryani and buttery naans—they delved deeper, plates steaming. “You’ve transformed, Nivi,” he said, voice earnest, a compliment woven in. “Six years ago, you were... unformed, quiet, nothing standing out. Now? You’re everything—curves that command, confidence that captivates. Those five days weren’t just clothes; they were for you to see your power, grow into it. The men ache for you, but it’s your inner fire that’s grown—irresistible.”
His words hit like wine, warm and heady, his gaze on her breasts, her lips. He’s right, she revelations crashed: I was nothing; now I’m a force, tits and ass owning rooms, but it’s my spark that’s bloomed.
She sipped her wine, pussy dripping now, thighs slick under the table.
“You’re right,” she admitted, voice soft, naughty. “Those days... they woke me. The stares, the whispers—they make me wet with power. But the office... I’ll tone it down.
Can’t have you bankrupt from distracted workers.” Her tone was funny but serious, implying restraint—office as playground, but not the main stage. Revelations solidified: My power’s real, but I control it now. Keep the fire mild there, save the blaze for... here.
He laughed, low and appreciative, his foot brushing hers under the table, accidental but electric. “Smart as always, Nivi. But don’t dim too much—I enjoy the view.” His compliment lingered, eyes on her curves, and her clit throbbed, wetness soaking her panties. He wants me burning, she thought, the conversation weaving past and future, office whispers and personal flames.
As plates emptied, forks set down, the biryani’s spices fading, Nivi felt full—not just from food, but from revelations: Her past a shadow, future hers to claim, power understood and wielded. The night stretched ahead, empty plates a quiet end to dinner, but the beginning of whatever came next.
Continues...
Tonight’s not just dinner; it’s the spark turning to flame.
Raghavan’s eyes traced her, dark and appreciative, as the waiter poured wine, the deep red liquid swirling in crystal glasses. “Nivi,” he said, voice low, a growl beneath the politeness, “you look... radiant tonight. That kurti—it frames you perfectly, like it was made to show off every graceful line.” His compliment was direct but subtle, his gaze lingering on her breasts, the way the fabric hinted at their fullness, then drifting to her lips, painted a soft red. He’s imagining peeling this off, tasting me again, she thought, her clit pulsing gently, wetness stirring between her thighs. She shifted, crossing her legs, the movement pressing her pussy, a quiet thrill. “Thank you, sir,” she replied, voice sultry, indirect.
“I wanted to feel... new tonight. Bold.” Her eyes met his, a naughty spark implying more—their shared secrets, her arousal from his words.
As appetizers arrived—spicy paneer tikkas and crisp salads—they eased into conversation, forks clinking softly. “Tell me about your future, Nivi,” he said, leaning forward, his hand brushing the stem of his glass. “After this morning’s bold step—what’s next? You’ve reclaimed so much already.” His tone was caring, probing, and she felt it—a warmth beyond desire, his support wrapping around her like the wine’s rich flavor.
She sipped her wine, the liquid warm on her tongue, her pussy throbbing faintly as his gaze held hers. “My past... it’s been a cage,” she confessed, voice soft, revelations unfolding. “Anand dazzled me young—charming, but full of lies.
He was older, experienced, and I was naive, falling for it. Marriage, kids—they changed my body, gave me curves I never had, but he stopped seeing me.
Just bills and booze.” Her ass shifted in the chair, the fabric teasing her skin, wicked thoughts mingling: While he ignored me, you see everything—my tits, my hips, my fire. “Future? I’ll pay his debts, then divorce. Live for the kids, Amma. But I want more—freedom, to feel alive.”
Her nipples hardened under his stare, pussy wetting her panties. He’s listening, wanting my story and my body.
Raghavan nodded, his past spilling out in return, voice steady but vulnerable. “My past mirrors yours in ways—married young, ambitious, but it crumbled under work’s weight. No kids, but the loneliness... it’s a quiet killer. Built this firm from nothing, but success came with isolation.”
His eyes traced her curves again, subtle compliment in his gaze. “You’ve brought life back to it, Nivi. The office—it’s buzzing now.” He chuckled, a naughty glint. “My men follow you like shadows—Ashwin with his jokes, Dinesh sneaking glances, even Ashok’s silent worship.
It’s funny, really; they come in early just to catch a glimpse of your sway.” His words were light, teasing, but implied heat—their hunger for her ass, her breasts, mirroring his own.
She laughed softly, leaning forward, breasts pressing against the table, her pussy clenching at the image. They’re all hard for me, she thought, wetness smearing her thighs.
“Funny? I’ve noticed—their eyes on my curves, whispering. But you... you enjoy it too, don’t you? Watching them chase what you sparked.” Her voice was naughty, indirect, a sultry challenge. Revelations deepened: He’s not jealous; he’s proud, like I’m his creation.
He grinned, wine glass pausing at his lips.
“Guilty. It’s amusing—half the staff thinks work’s secondary now. They show up for you, Nivi. Your walk, your laugh, those outfits this week... it’s like you’ve cast a spell.”
His tone turned funnier, exaggerated. “If productivity drops more, I might go bankrupt—blame it on the daily fashion show.” But his eyes darkened, serious beneath the joke, tracing her hips. He’s implying my power, she thought, pussy throbbing harder. The office is mine, but he’s the one who unleashed it.
As mains arrived—aromatic biryani and buttery naans—they delved deeper, plates steaming. “You’ve transformed, Nivi,” he said, voice earnest, a compliment woven in. “Six years ago, you were... unformed, quiet, nothing standing out. Now? You’re everything—curves that command, confidence that captivates. Those five days weren’t just clothes; they were for you to see your power, grow into it. The men ache for you, but it’s your inner fire that’s grown—irresistible.”
His words hit like wine, warm and heady, his gaze on her breasts, her lips. He’s right, she revelations crashed: I was nothing; now I’m a force, tits and ass owning rooms, but it’s my spark that’s bloomed.
She sipped her wine, pussy dripping now, thighs slick under the table.
“You’re right,” she admitted, voice soft, naughty. “Those days... they woke me. The stares, the whispers—they make me wet with power. But the office... I’ll tone it down.
Can’t have you bankrupt from distracted workers.” Her tone was funny but serious, implying restraint—office as playground, but not the main stage. Revelations solidified: My power’s real, but I control it now. Keep the fire mild there, save the blaze for... here.
He laughed, low and appreciative, his foot brushing hers under the table, accidental but electric. “Smart as always, Nivi. But don’t dim too much—I enjoy the view.” His compliment lingered, eyes on her curves, and her clit throbbed, wetness soaking her panties. He wants me burning, she thought, the conversation weaving past and future, office whispers and personal flames.
As plates emptied, forks set down, the biryani’s spices fading, Nivi felt full—not just from food, but from revelations: Her past a shadow, future hers to claim, power understood and wielded. The night stretched ahead, empty plates a quiet end to dinner, but the beginning of whatever came next.
Continues...