03-09-2025, 10:22 PM
Chapter Three: Tangled Bonds
The Bangalore college campus buzzed with late afternoon heat, a few days after the physics gang—Arjun, Karthik, Shreya, and Ashwin—had received Deepika’s wedding invite under the banyan tree. The trip to her Kerala village loomed, and the air still carried the jasmine scent from that charged night, now mixed with the tension of secrets: the boys’ lustful fantasies about Deepika, Shreya’s flirty texts with Karthik, and Ashwin’s taboo crush on his cousin. Deepika, ever the poised lecturer, had her own plans to wrap up before leaving.
In her staff quarters, Deepika adjusted her salwar kameez, the soft cream fabric clinging to her caramel skin, outlining her full breasts, slim waist, and round ass. The V-neck kameez hinted at her cleavage, her dupatta loosely dbangd, and the tight salwar hugged her hips, accentuating her curves. Her wavy black hair fell over her shoulders, coral lips curved in a determined smile as she clutched her wedding invitation and resignation letter. She headed to the principal’s office, her heels clicking on the tiled corridor, unaware of the eyes that followed her swaying ass.
The principal, Mr. Gupta, sat behind his heavy wooden desk, a 55-year-old man with a bald head gleaming under the fluorescent light, his unattractive face marked by deep lines and a thin mustache. His stocky frame, slightly hunched, filled out a crumpled white shirt, his belly straining against the buttons, his short legs crossed under the desk. His small, sharp eyes lit up as Deepika entered, her presence a stark contrast to the stale air of his cluttered office, filled with dusty files and a creaking fan.
“Sir, I wanted to invite you to my wedding in Kerala,” Deepika said, her voice soft yet firm, placing the ornate invitation on his desk. “And… I’m submitting my resignation notice. I’ll be moving after the wedding.” She handed over the letter, her fingers brushing the desk, her dupatta shifting slightly, teasing the edge of her V-neck.
Mr. Gupta leaned forward, his eyes flicking to her breasts, then back to her face. “Deepika, it’s a shame to lose you,” he said, his voice gravelly, a faint smirk tugging his lips. “I’m not sure if I can attend, with my schedule, but you’ll always have my blessings.” His gaze lingered on her coral lips, his cock stirring faintly in his trousers, hidden by the desk.
Deepika smiled, grateful. “Thank you, sir. That means a lot.” Following tradition, she stepped around the desk to his side, bending to touch his feet for blessings. As she leaned down, her dupatta slipped off her shoulder, falling to the floor, and the V-neck of her kameez gaped open, revealing the deep curve of her cleavage, her full breasts straining against her bra. The tight kameez pulled across her hips, outlining her round ass, the fabric stretching to showcase every curve. Mr. Gupta’s breath caught, his cock hardening as he stared, her caramel skin glowing in the light, her wavy hair brushing her back. Deepika, focused on the gesture, didn’t notice his hungry gaze.
She stood, adjusting her dupatta, her breasts bouncing slightly as she smoothed the kameez, unaware of the effect. “I hope you can make it, sir,” she said, turning to leave, her ass swaying with each step. Mr. Gupta watched from behind, his small eyes fixed on her tight salwar, her hips moving like a tease he couldn’t touch. His dick throbbed, his fingers twitching as she closed the door.
Alone, Mr. Gupta leaned back, his stocky frame creaking the chair, his bald head slick with sweat. A wave of disappointment hit him—Deepika, with her caramel skin and perfect curves, would soon be gone, her lectures and her body out of his reach forever. His cock pulsed with frustration, his mind burning with jealousy toward her husband, the man who’d get to fuck her every night, feel her breasts, grab her ass, hear her moans. “Fucking lucky bastard,” he muttered, his voice bitter, his dick straining as he imagined her husband pinning her down, her coral lips gasping in pleasure he’d never know. He pulled a small key from his pocket, hands trembling, and unlocked a drawer in his desk. Inside, nestled among papers, was a small airtight plastic bag, sealed tight to preserve its contents—a pair of Deepika’s used pink panties, soft and worn. He opened the bag, the faint scent hitting him like a drug, his cock throbbing as he pressed the fabric to his face, inhaling deeply, the musky trace of her body sending a jolt through him. His mind drifted to a forbidden memory from a year ago.
It was a college trip to a science exhibition in Mysore, the bus rumbling through the night, the gang and other students asleep in their seats. Deepika, then a new lecturer, sat next to Mr. Gupta, her body warm against his in the cramped space. She wore a fitted kurta, the deep green fabric clinging to her curves, outlining her full breasts and round ass, her caramel skin glowing faintly in the dim bus lights. Her wavy black hair spilled over her shoulders, her coral lips parted slightly as she dozed, her head resting against the window, her breaths slow and steady. The hum of the bus and her closeness drove Mr. Gupta wild, his cock stirring in his trousers, his bald head sweating as he stole glances at her. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, the kurta stretched tight, hinting at the bra beneath. Aroused by her warmth, he couldn’t resist—his hand moved slowly, hesitating at first, then groping her breast over the kurta, the soft, heavy weight filling his palm. His fingers traced the curve, feeling the firmness through the fabric, her nipple hardening slightly under the pressure, the kurta catching on its outline. Deepika stirred faintly, a soft murmur escaping her lips, her body shifting closer in her sleep, her ass brushing his thigh, unaware of his touch. His cock hardened painfully, his breath ragged as he squeezed gently, savoring the fullness of her breast, the heat of her skin seeping through the thin material. His heart pounded, guilt mixing with arousal, but he couldn’t stop, his fingers lingering, tracing the edge of her bra through the kurta, her warmth driving him mad. He withdrew his hand reluctantly, his dick throbbing, the moment searing into his memory. Later, during a rest stop, Deepika stepped off the bus for a break, leaving her bag open beside him. His hands shook as he glanced around, then rifled through it, his fingers finding the pink panty folded neatly inside. The soft fabric felt like a prize, her scent faint but intoxicating. He slipped it into his pocket, his cock pulsing with the thrill, knowing he’d keep this secret forever.
Back in the present, Mr. Gupta sealed the panty back in the airtight bag, tucking it into the drawer and locking it tight, his cock still hard as he adjusted his trousers. His disappointment deepened—she’d leave soon, her curves lost to him, her husband the one to enjoy her body night after night. “Why him?” he growled, his jealousy burning, his dick aching with the thought of her caramel skin under another man’s hands. He leaned back, the image of Deepika’s cleavage and ass burned into his mind, knowing he’d cling to her stolen panty and the memory of her warmth long after she was gone.
Meanwhile, across campus, Shreya was caught up in her own preparations for Deepika’s wedding, determined to wear a saree for the first time to steal the spotlight. Her fair skin flushed with excitement and nerves, she convinced Ashwin to join her for a quick blouse stitching at a nearby shop with a “Quick Stitching” board. “Come on, Ashwin, it won’t take long,” she said, her curly black hair bouncing as they walked, her loose kurta and leggings swaying with her 32-24-34 figure, her round ass and full breasts hinting at her curves, a contrast to her usual kameez and dupatta from the banyan tree day.
Ashwin nodded, his chubby 5’4” frame and 73 kg feeling awkward but thrilled to be near her. His light brown skin and bright eyes hid his taboo crush, his mind flashing to brushing her breast years ago in college. “Alright, Shreya, but let’s make it quick,” he said, his voice shy, his dick twitching at the thought of her closeness.
The tailor shop was cramped, tucked in a narrow alley off the campus road, the air thick with fabric dust and the hum of a sewing machine. The tailor, a lecherous 40-something Bangalore man named Manjunath, with greasy hair, a paunch, and beady eyes, grinned as they entered, his gaze locking on Shreya’s curves under her kurta. “Blouse for saree? Come,” he said, his voice oily, wiping his hands on his stained vest, his cock stirring in his trousers. He led Shreya behind a thin curtain to a narrow space with a mirror and measuring tape. Ashwin sat outside on a rickety chair, pretending to scroll his phone, his heart racing, dimpled cheeks red.
Behind the curtain, the air was stuffy, Manjunath’s paunch brushing the mirror as he stood close. “Remove the kurta, ma’am, for proper blouse measurement,” he said, his beady eyes hungry. Shreya hesitated, her fair skin flushing pink, her curly black hair falling over her shoulders. Not even Arjun had seen her like this, and the thought made her heart pound. But the wedding was near, and she needed the blouse. “Okay, be fast,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she slipped off her kurta, revealing a lacy black bra cradling her 32B breasts, her slim torso bare above her leggings, her round ass outlined. She crossed her arms, her nipples hardening in the cool air, her coral lips bitten in shyness, yet a strange flutter stirred in her—a mysterious thrill she couldn’t name.
Manjunath’s cock hardened, his paunch heaving as he stared at her fair skin, her full breasts rising with each breath. “Good, ma’am,” he said, his voice thick, picking up the tape. Under the guise of measurement, he stepped closer, his hands grazing her shoulders, then sliding to her breasts, the tape brushing her nipples through the bra. “For chest,” he muttered, his fingers lingering, groping her soft breasts gently, squeezing as if to adjust the tape. Shreya gasped, her nipples aching, a forbidden heat spreading through her. Why does this feel so… intense? she thought, her body tingling with shame and an unexpected pleasure, her fair skin turning red. She should’ve stopped him, but the touch, so bold and unfamiliar, sent a mysterious thrill through her, like a secret she didn’t understand. He moved to her back, his hands grazing her upper arms, “measuring” for the blouse fit, his fingers pressing her skin, his cock pressing lightly against her leggings. “Perfect, ma’am,” he whispered, his breath hot on her neck, his paunch brushing her.
Outside, Ashwin pretended to look away, his chubby frame tense, but he stole glances through a gap in the curtain. Seeing Shreya in her bra, her curves exposed, her breasts groped by Manjunath’s hands, made his cock throb in his shorts. Jealousy burned—how could that sleazy tailor touch her?—but arousal overwhelmed him, his taboo crush raging. He imagined his own hands on her breasts, feeling their softness again, her ass under his grip. His light brown skin flushed, bright eyes wide, he shifted, his dick hard, torn between fury and desire, peeking again as his heart pounded.
Shreya’s thoughts swirled—This is wrong, but why does it feel so alive? The tailor’s hands, rough and intrusive, sparked a pleasure she hadn’t expected, her body betraying her shyness. She quickly pulled her kurta back on, her nipples still hard, her ass tingling. “When’s it ready?” she asked, her voice shaky, avoiding Manjunath’s lecherous grin. “Tomorrow, ma’am, quick stitching,” he said, his cock still hard, pocketing the measurement. She paid a deposit and left, her fair skin flushed, joining Ashwin outside. “Let’s go,” she said, her voice quiet, unaware of his glances or his raging arousal.
As they walked back, Ashwin’s mind churned, jealous of the tailor’s touch, turned on by Shreya’s vulnerability, his taboo desire deeper than ever. Shreya, her body still warm, couldn’t shake the mysterious pleasure, her thoughts tangled with guilt and curiosity.
The next morning, Deepika woke early in her staff quarters, the pre-dawn light filtering through her window, casting soft shadows on her caramel skin. She stood at 5’6”, her wavy black hair loose, her coral lips set in focus as she prepared to leave for her hometown in Kerala. The train was due in a few hours, and her bags were packed—sarees, jewelry, and wedding essentials neatly arranged. She slipped into a simple kurta and leggings, the fabric hugging her full breasts and round ass, her curves impossible to hide even in haste. Her mind raced with wedding plans, Anil’s steamy video call from that night still lingering, making her body tingle.
She grabbed her phone to book a cab to the railway station, her fingers tapping quickly. The app loaded, but every cab was unavailable—either booked or too far. “Come on,” she muttered, her heart racing, her caramel skin flushing with tension. She tried another app, then another, but the screen kept showing “No cabs available.” Her train was leaving soon, and the station was too far to walk. Deepika paced, her heels clicking, her breasts bouncing slightly, her ass swaying as she dialed a local taxi service, only to hear it was busy. “Shit, not now,” she whispered, her voice tight, her coral lips trembling. The clock ticked closer, and her bags sat by the door, mocking her. She glanced out the window, the campus still quiet, no one to help. Her pulse quickened, the pressure mounting, her body tense as she faced the risk of missing her train, the start of her new life with Anil.
The campus morning held its breath, the gang’s secrets—Mr. Gupta’s stolen panty, Shreya’s forbidden thrill, Ashwin’s taboo lust—ready to unravel in the heat of Deepika’s Kerala village.
The Bangalore college campus buzzed with late afternoon heat, a few days after the physics gang—Arjun, Karthik, Shreya, and Ashwin—had received Deepika’s wedding invite under the banyan tree. The trip to her Kerala village loomed, and the air still carried the jasmine scent from that charged night, now mixed with the tension of secrets: the boys’ lustful fantasies about Deepika, Shreya’s flirty texts with Karthik, and Ashwin’s taboo crush on his cousin. Deepika, ever the poised lecturer, had her own plans to wrap up before leaving.
In her staff quarters, Deepika adjusted her salwar kameez, the soft cream fabric clinging to her caramel skin, outlining her full breasts, slim waist, and round ass. The V-neck kameez hinted at her cleavage, her dupatta loosely dbangd, and the tight salwar hugged her hips, accentuating her curves. Her wavy black hair fell over her shoulders, coral lips curved in a determined smile as she clutched her wedding invitation and resignation letter. She headed to the principal’s office, her heels clicking on the tiled corridor, unaware of the eyes that followed her swaying ass.
The principal, Mr. Gupta, sat behind his heavy wooden desk, a 55-year-old man with a bald head gleaming under the fluorescent light, his unattractive face marked by deep lines and a thin mustache. His stocky frame, slightly hunched, filled out a crumpled white shirt, his belly straining against the buttons, his short legs crossed under the desk. His small, sharp eyes lit up as Deepika entered, her presence a stark contrast to the stale air of his cluttered office, filled with dusty files and a creaking fan.
“Sir, I wanted to invite you to my wedding in Kerala,” Deepika said, her voice soft yet firm, placing the ornate invitation on his desk. “And… I’m submitting my resignation notice. I’ll be moving after the wedding.” She handed over the letter, her fingers brushing the desk, her dupatta shifting slightly, teasing the edge of her V-neck.
Mr. Gupta leaned forward, his eyes flicking to her breasts, then back to her face. “Deepika, it’s a shame to lose you,” he said, his voice gravelly, a faint smirk tugging his lips. “I’m not sure if I can attend, with my schedule, but you’ll always have my blessings.” His gaze lingered on her coral lips, his cock stirring faintly in his trousers, hidden by the desk.
Deepika smiled, grateful. “Thank you, sir. That means a lot.” Following tradition, she stepped around the desk to his side, bending to touch his feet for blessings. As she leaned down, her dupatta slipped off her shoulder, falling to the floor, and the V-neck of her kameez gaped open, revealing the deep curve of her cleavage, her full breasts straining against her bra. The tight kameez pulled across her hips, outlining her round ass, the fabric stretching to showcase every curve. Mr. Gupta’s breath caught, his cock hardening as he stared, her caramel skin glowing in the light, her wavy hair brushing her back. Deepika, focused on the gesture, didn’t notice his hungry gaze.
She stood, adjusting her dupatta, her breasts bouncing slightly as she smoothed the kameez, unaware of the effect. “I hope you can make it, sir,” she said, turning to leave, her ass swaying with each step. Mr. Gupta watched from behind, his small eyes fixed on her tight salwar, her hips moving like a tease he couldn’t touch. His dick throbbed, his fingers twitching as she closed the door.
Alone, Mr. Gupta leaned back, his stocky frame creaking the chair, his bald head slick with sweat. A wave of disappointment hit him—Deepika, with her caramel skin and perfect curves, would soon be gone, her lectures and her body out of his reach forever. His cock pulsed with frustration, his mind burning with jealousy toward her husband, the man who’d get to fuck her every night, feel her breasts, grab her ass, hear her moans. “Fucking lucky bastard,” he muttered, his voice bitter, his dick straining as he imagined her husband pinning her down, her coral lips gasping in pleasure he’d never know. He pulled a small key from his pocket, hands trembling, and unlocked a drawer in his desk. Inside, nestled among papers, was a small airtight plastic bag, sealed tight to preserve its contents—a pair of Deepika’s used pink panties, soft and worn. He opened the bag, the faint scent hitting him like a drug, his cock throbbing as he pressed the fabric to his face, inhaling deeply, the musky trace of her body sending a jolt through him. His mind drifted to a forbidden memory from a year ago.
It was a college trip to a science exhibition in Mysore, the bus rumbling through the night, the gang and other students asleep in their seats. Deepika, then a new lecturer, sat next to Mr. Gupta, her body warm against his in the cramped space. She wore a fitted kurta, the deep green fabric clinging to her curves, outlining her full breasts and round ass, her caramel skin glowing faintly in the dim bus lights. Her wavy black hair spilled over her shoulders, her coral lips parted slightly as she dozed, her head resting against the window, her breaths slow and steady. The hum of the bus and her closeness drove Mr. Gupta wild, his cock stirring in his trousers, his bald head sweating as he stole glances at her. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, the kurta stretched tight, hinting at the bra beneath. Aroused by her warmth, he couldn’t resist—his hand moved slowly, hesitating at first, then groping her breast over the kurta, the soft, heavy weight filling his palm. His fingers traced the curve, feeling the firmness through the fabric, her nipple hardening slightly under the pressure, the kurta catching on its outline. Deepika stirred faintly, a soft murmur escaping her lips, her body shifting closer in her sleep, her ass brushing his thigh, unaware of his touch. His cock hardened painfully, his breath ragged as he squeezed gently, savoring the fullness of her breast, the heat of her skin seeping through the thin material. His heart pounded, guilt mixing with arousal, but he couldn’t stop, his fingers lingering, tracing the edge of her bra through the kurta, her warmth driving him mad. He withdrew his hand reluctantly, his dick throbbing, the moment searing into his memory. Later, during a rest stop, Deepika stepped off the bus for a break, leaving her bag open beside him. His hands shook as he glanced around, then rifled through it, his fingers finding the pink panty folded neatly inside. The soft fabric felt like a prize, her scent faint but intoxicating. He slipped it into his pocket, his cock pulsing with the thrill, knowing he’d keep this secret forever.
Back in the present, Mr. Gupta sealed the panty back in the airtight bag, tucking it into the drawer and locking it tight, his cock still hard as he adjusted his trousers. His disappointment deepened—she’d leave soon, her curves lost to him, her husband the one to enjoy her body night after night. “Why him?” he growled, his jealousy burning, his dick aching with the thought of her caramel skin under another man’s hands. He leaned back, the image of Deepika’s cleavage and ass burned into his mind, knowing he’d cling to her stolen panty and the memory of her warmth long after she was gone.
Meanwhile, across campus, Shreya was caught up in her own preparations for Deepika’s wedding, determined to wear a saree for the first time to steal the spotlight. Her fair skin flushed with excitement and nerves, she convinced Ashwin to join her for a quick blouse stitching at a nearby shop with a “Quick Stitching” board. “Come on, Ashwin, it won’t take long,” she said, her curly black hair bouncing as they walked, her loose kurta and leggings swaying with her 32-24-34 figure, her round ass and full breasts hinting at her curves, a contrast to her usual kameez and dupatta from the banyan tree day.
Ashwin nodded, his chubby 5’4” frame and 73 kg feeling awkward but thrilled to be near her. His light brown skin and bright eyes hid his taboo crush, his mind flashing to brushing her breast years ago in college. “Alright, Shreya, but let’s make it quick,” he said, his voice shy, his dick twitching at the thought of her closeness.
The tailor shop was cramped, tucked in a narrow alley off the campus road, the air thick with fabric dust and the hum of a sewing machine. The tailor, a lecherous 40-something Bangalore man named Manjunath, with greasy hair, a paunch, and beady eyes, grinned as they entered, his gaze locking on Shreya’s curves under her kurta. “Blouse for saree? Come,” he said, his voice oily, wiping his hands on his stained vest, his cock stirring in his trousers. He led Shreya behind a thin curtain to a narrow space with a mirror and measuring tape. Ashwin sat outside on a rickety chair, pretending to scroll his phone, his heart racing, dimpled cheeks red.
Behind the curtain, the air was stuffy, Manjunath’s paunch brushing the mirror as he stood close. “Remove the kurta, ma’am, for proper blouse measurement,” he said, his beady eyes hungry. Shreya hesitated, her fair skin flushing pink, her curly black hair falling over her shoulders. Not even Arjun had seen her like this, and the thought made her heart pound. But the wedding was near, and she needed the blouse. “Okay, be fast,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she slipped off her kurta, revealing a lacy black bra cradling her 32B breasts, her slim torso bare above her leggings, her round ass outlined. She crossed her arms, her nipples hardening in the cool air, her coral lips bitten in shyness, yet a strange flutter stirred in her—a mysterious thrill she couldn’t name.
Manjunath’s cock hardened, his paunch heaving as he stared at her fair skin, her full breasts rising with each breath. “Good, ma’am,” he said, his voice thick, picking up the tape. Under the guise of measurement, he stepped closer, his hands grazing her shoulders, then sliding to her breasts, the tape brushing her nipples through the bra. “For chest,” he muttered, his fingers lingering, groping her soft breasts gently, squeezing as if to adjust the tape. Shreya gasped, her nipples aching, a forbidden heat spreading through her. Why does this feel so… intense? she thought, her body tingling with shame and an unexpected pleasure, her fair skin turning red. She should’ve stopped him, but the touch, so bold and unfamiliar, sent a mysterious thrill through her, like a secret she didn’t understand. He moved to her back, his hands grazing her upper arms, “measuring” for the blouse fit, his fingers pressing her skin, his cock pressing lightly against her leggings. “Perfect, ma’am,” he whispered, his breath hot on her neck, his paunch brushing her.
Outside, Ashwin pretended to look away, his chubby frame tense, but he stole glances through a gap in the curtain. Seeing Shreya in her bra, her curves exposed, her breasts groped by Manjunath’s hands, made his cock throb in his shorts. Jealousy burned—how could that sleazy tailor touch her?—but arousal overwhelmed him, his taboo crush raging. He imagined his own hands on her breasts, feeling their softness again, her ass under his grip. His light brown skin flushed, bright eyes wide, he shifted, his dick hard, torn between fury and desire, peeking again as his heart pounded.
Shreya’s thoughts swirled—This is wrong, but why does it feel so alive? The tailor’s hands, rough and intrusive, sparked a pleasure she hadn’t expected, her body betraying her shyness. She quickly pulled her kurta back on, her nipples still hard, her ass tingling. “When’s it ready?” she asked, her voice shaky, avoiding Manjunath’s lecherous grin. “Tomorrow, ma’am, quick stitching,” he said, his cock still hard, pocketing the measurement. She paid a deposit and left, her fair skin flushed, joining Ashwin outside. “Let’s go,” she said, her voice quiet, unaware of his glances or his raging arousal.
As they walked back, Ashwin’s mind churned, jealous of the tailor’s touch, turned on by Shreya’s vulnerability, his taboo desire deeper than ever. Shreya, her body still warm, couldn’t shake the mysterious pleasure, her thoughts tangled with guilt and curiosity.
The next morning, Deepika woke early in her staff quarters, the pre-dawn light filtering through her window, casting soft shadows on her caramel skin. She stood at 5’6”, her wavy black hair loose, her coral lips set in focus as she prepared to leave for her hometown in Kerala. The train was due in a few hours, and her bags were packed—sarees, jewelry, and wedding essentials neatly arranged. She slipped into a simple kurta and leggings, the fabric hugging her full breasts and round ass, her curves impossible to hide even in haste. Her mind raced with wedding plans, Anil’s steamy video call from that night still lingering, making her body tingle.
She grabbed her phone to book a cab to the railway station, her fingers tapping quickly. The app loaded, but every cab was unavailable—either booked or too far. “Come on,” she muttered, her heart racing, her caramel skin flushing with tension. She tried another app, then another, but the screen kept showing “No cabs available.” Her train was leaving soon, and the station was too far to walk. Deepika paced, her heels clicking, her breasts bouncing slightly, her ass swaying as she dialed a local taxi service, only to hear it was busy. “Shit, not now,” she whispered, her voice tight, her coral lips trembling. The clock ticked closer, and her bags sat by the door, mocking her. She glanced out the window, the campus still quiet, no one to help. Her pulse quickened, the pressure mounting, her body tense as she faced the risk of missing her train, the start of her new life with Anil.
The campus morning held its breath, the gang’s secrets—Mr. Gupta’s stolen panty, Shreya’s forbidden thrill, Ashwin’s taboo lust—ready to unravel in the heat of Deepika’s Kerala village.
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