4 hours ago
Chapter Eight: Day 7 – Sunday, 24 May 2020
**The Last Game (Part Two: The Trophy)**
The word "Sir" lingered in the air like smoke from a spent match, curling between them in the heavy silence of the living room. Radha stood there, utterly naked, the afternoon light slanting through the half-drawn lace curtains and tracing golden edges along her curves. Her skin glowed warm under the soft glow, every inch exposed: the heavy swell of her breasts with their dark, pebbled nipples; the soft give of her stomach, marked by faint silver lines from a life of quiet longing; the dark triangle of hair between her thighs, already glistening with the evidence of her arousal. The mangalsutra hung between her breasts like a pendant of irony, catching the light with every shallow breath she took. The pile of their discarded clothes—the saree, petticoat, blouse, his briefs—sat on the table like a conquered battlefield, the white panty perched on top as if mocking the finality of her surrender.
Nikhil sat rooted to his chair, the Ludo board a forgotten relic before him, his body a taut wire of contradictions. His mind was a maelstrom, thoughts colliding like cars in a pile-up
The words were soft as a sigh, but they struck Radha like a live wire, jolting through her. *He's asking,* she thought, breath hitching, a rush of relief flooding the panic like cool water on embers. *Not running. Not laughing. Asking because he wants to believe—to take.* The vulnerability in his tone—the crack, the wide-eyed plea—twisted something tender in her chest, mingling with the triumph of seeing her work take root. *He's still the boy I shaped, timid and trembling, but he's reaching. For me.* Her nakedness shifted in that instant, from raw exposure to deliberate offering, the humiliation alchemizing into heat that pooled low in her belly. She leaned forward just a fraction, her breasts swaying gently, nipples grazing the table's edge with a shiver of sensation, and locked eyes with him—steady, unblinking, a beacon in her own storm. *Give him the key. Let him unlock it himself. Make him see the power is his.*
The world realigned in that breath. Nikhil's eyes widened a fraction more, the flush deepening to scarlet, his grip on the table loosening as if the words had cut his strings. *Sir. She said Sir. To me.* The title unlocked a floodgate, the chaos in his head shifting from paralysis to tentative motion. The panic didn't vanish—it swirled, laced with the guilt (*Teacher. Wife. Sin.*) and the wildfire desire (*Naked. Wet. Mine.*)—but a spark of boldness ignited, small but insistent. *She wants this. Me. Owning her.* His hands unclenched, trembling fingers hovering in the air like they were learning to fly. He swallowed hard, throat bobbing, the flush burning hotter. *Start small. Don't ruin it.* His voice came again, hoarse and cracking, eyes flicking from her face to her breasts and back: "C-Can I... touch your breasts?"
The question was innocent, laced with wonder, but it landed on Radha like a spark on tinder. *Touch. From the boy who hid his eyes when I walked by.* The simplicity of it—the hesitation, the plea—sent a jolt straight to her core, her nipples tightening further, wetness slicking her thighs. Humiliation bloomed, hot and sharp—*Explaining my body to my student like a lesson plan*—but it fed the fire, her body thrumming with the wrongness of it all. *He's so new. So careful. Let him learn. Let him own.* She lifted her gaze just enough to meet his, voice soft but firm, a guide in the storm: "Sir, you own them. Touch, squeeze, bite—whatever you want. No asking."
The permission was a key turning in a lock. Nikhil's hands moved before his brain could second-guess, fingers trembling as they reached out, hovering an inch from her left breast. *Own them. She said own.* The word echoed, drowning the guilt for a heartbeat, his palm finally cupping her—warm, heavy flesh yielding under his touch. It was nothing like the hurried fumbles in his fantasies or the flat images on his phone; it was real, soft yet firm, the weight surprising him, spilling slightly between his fingers as he squeezed tentatively. *So warm. So... alive.* His thumb brushed her nipple by accident, feeling it harden instantly under his touch, peaking like a small, dark button. *It's... hard. Like... like mine gets.* The discovery hit him like a revelation, his cock twitching in response, a fresh wave of heat flooding his face and chest. *Boobs get hard too. Like cocks. God, it's real. She's reacting to me.* Emboldened, he squeezed firmer, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger, watching her breath hitch, a soft gasp escaping her lips. *She's gasping. For me. Because of me.* The power of it—the control—made his head spin, fear receding just enough for curiosity to surge. He leaned in, mouth hovering near her right nipple, breath hot against her skin, voice thick with awe: "C-Can I... taste?"
Radha's pulse thundered, the innocent question igniting her like dry leaves in a breeze. *Taste. From the boy who used to stutter my name.* The naivety in his voice—the wonder, the crack of uncertainty—made her feel both maternal and utterly debased, the humiliation of being reduced to this (her body a map for his exploration) twisting with a fierce, aching pride. *He's discovering me. Owning me inch by inch. And it's because I let him.* Her nipples ached under his gaze, wetness gathering between her thighs, the saree long gone a distant memory. She arched her back slightly, offering, voice a husky whisper: "Sir, you own my mouth too. Taste. Suck. Bite. No asking."
Nikhil's mouth closed over her nipple, hot and tentative, tongue flicking the hardened peak before sucking gently, teeth grazing just enough to draw a sharper gasp from her. The taste—salt and skin and her—flooded his senses, his free hand kneading her other breast in clumsy rhythm, fingers learning the shape, the give, the way it made her breath stutter. *She's moaning. Soft. For me.* The sound undid him, his cock leaking steadily now, the briefs a damp prison. He switched breasts, sucking harder, biting a little, emboldened by her gasps, the way her hands fisted the tablecloth. *This is power. Real. She's mine to touch.* But the fear lingered, a shadow at the edge: *What if I hurt her? What if she stops?*
Radha's hands gripped the table, the dual assault of his mouth and hands sending sparks skittering across her skin. *My student. Sucking my tits like they're his birthright.* The wrongness crashed over her—the age gap, the power she had wielded over him, the fact that this boy had once hidden under his desk when she entered the room—making her clit throb, humiliation pooling hot in her belly like molten lead. *I broke him once. Now he's breaking me open.* She wanted to guide, to teach, but held back, letting him explore, letting him claim the territory she had guarded for years. *He's so careful. So new. Like a boy with his first sweet. Let him find his way.*
Nikhil pulled back at last, lips wet and swollen, eyes glazed with discovery and hunger. His hands, gaining confidence, slid down her sides, tracing the curve of her waist, the soft swell of her hips, fingers trembling as they reached the dark triangle between her thighs. *Pussy. Real. Up close.* He had glimpsed it yesterday, but now, inches away, it was overwhelming—the neat thatch of hair, the swollen outer lips parting slightly to reveal pink inner folds, the faint glisten of her arousal catching the light. His finger hovered, then traced the seam gently, feeling the slick heat. *So wet. Slippery. Warm.* Curiosity overrode the fear for a moment, his voice emerging hoarse, barely a whisper, laced with boyish fascination: "Ma—Sir... which... which hole is for... for what?"
The question hung, innocent and clinical, but it struck Radha like a slap of pure humiliation—*Explaining my body to my student. Like a diagram on the board.* Her cheeks burned, the degradation sinking deep, making her clench around nothing, wetness slicking his fingertip. But the wonder in his eyes—the genuine, unjaded curiosity—twisted it into something tender, intoxicating. *He's never seen one. Never touched. And I'm his first lesson.* She shifted her hips, opening wider for him, voice steady despite the flush creeping down her neck: "Sir, you own it all. The top—" she guided his finger to her clit, circling it once, gasping softly at the touch—"that's my clit. For your mouth, your fingers. To make me come." She slid his finger lower, to the entrance, pushing it inside an inch. "This... this is for you. Your cock. Whenever you want. Deeper. Fill me."
Nikhil's finger breached her, the wet heat enveloping him, tight and velvet-soft. *So warm. Clenching.* He pushed deeper, exploring the inner walls, curling experimentally until he found it—the rough, spongy patch that made her hips buck. *G-spot. From the internet. Real.* "Here?" he asked, voice thick, rubbing it slowly, watching her face contort with pleasure.
Radha's back arched, a moan spilling out before she could bite it back. *God, he's found it. Already. Rubbing my G-spot like he was born to it.* The humiliation surged—*My student, fingering me like a textbook*—but it fueled the fire, her wetness coating his hand, thighs trembling. "Yes, Sir... there... harder... oh God..."
Emboldened, Nikhil leaned in, breath hot against her thigh. *Taste. I need to taste.* His tongue darted out, flat and tentative, licking from entrance to clit, the salty-sweet tang exploding on his tongue. *She's wet for me. Dripping.* He groaned, lapping deeper, spreading her with his thumbs to see more, sucking her clit into his mouth while his finger curled inside. Radha's hands flew to his hair, hips rocking, the room filling with her broken moans. *My student. Licking me like I'm his feast.* The wrongness spiraled her higher, the coil tightening until it snapped—she came hard, thighs clamping around his head, crying out "Sir!" as waves crashed through her, body shuddering, wetness flooding his mouth.
Nikhil pulled back, face slick with her release, eyes wide with awe and triumph. *She came. Screaming. From my tongue.* He licked his lips, savoring the taste, the discovery making him bolder. Radha, panting, reached for him, fingers brushing his briefs. He hesitated, hands hovering, the fabric tented obscenely. *Can't. Not yet. Not in front of her. She'll see how small I am. How inexperienced.* His voice came out small, ashamed: "Ma'am... I... I can't take these off. Not yet."
Radha's heart softened, the vulnerability cracking her open further. *He's still the boy. Scared to be bare for me.* She slid off the table, knelt before him, hands gentle on his thighs. "Let me, Sir." She tugged the briefs down slowly, inch by inch, his cock springing free—thick, veined, flushed dark, the tip leaking steadily. Nikhil groaned, hands fisting at his sides, exposure hitting like cold water. *She's seeing me. All of me. Ugly? Small?* But her eyes—dark, hungry—made him throb harder.
He wanted it—*Her mouth. On me*—but the words stuck, fear clamping down. Radha saw it, the unspoken plea in his wide eyes. *He wants me to suck him. But he's too shy to command.* The thought made her ache—*My student, hard for me, too afraid to take.* She leaned in without waiting, lips brushing the tip, tongue flicking the pre-cum, tasting salt and him. "Like this, Sir?" She took him deeper, slow and wet, hollowing her cheeks, hand stroking the base in rhythm, head bobbing gently.
Nikhil's head fell back, a broken moan tearing from his throat. *Her mouth. Hot. Wet. Sucking me like... like she wants it.* The sensation overwhelmed—tighter than his fist, warmer than any dream, her tongue swirling the underside, teeth grazing just enough to spark lightning. He lasted seconds, hips jerking involuntarily, coming in thick spurts across her face—ropes painting her cheeks, lips, chin, one drop sliding toward her eye. *On her face. My teacher's face. Marked.* Guilt and triumph warred as he watched it glisten, but the sight—her, claimed by him—made his cock twitch, spent but stirring.
Radha wiped a drop from her lip, tasting him, eyes locked on his, the warm stickiness cooling on her skin a badge of her fall. *Came on my face. My student. Owning me already.* The humiliation was exquisite, making her clench around nothing, arousal dripping down her thigh.
Nikhil sank back into the chair, spent, staring at her in dazed disbelief, cum still dripping from her chin. "I... I still can't believe it. I own you, Ma'am?"
Radha crawled closer, kneeling between his legs, cum glistening on her skin like tears of surrender. "Call me Radha, Sir. Not Ma'am. Not anymore."
He tested it, voice soft: "Radha."
The name felt like power on his tongue, heavy and sweet.
She leaned in, voice husky: "What can I do to prove it? To make you believe?"
Nikhil's mind raced, the boldness flickering brighter. *If I can do anything...* The word came out hesitant but growing firmer: "If I can do anything to you... means you're my... rakheil."
Radha froze, the Hindi word—*whore*—striking like a lash, shock rippling through her, cheeks burning crimson. *Rakheil. From his mouth. My student.* The degradation sank deep, making her gasp, but beneath it bloomed a dark, thrilling heat—*He's realising. Taking the power. Finally.* She met his eyes, voice steady despite the flush: "Yes, Sir. I am your rakheil."
Nikhil's flush deepened, but a spark ignited, voice stronger: "It... it feels better in Hindi."
Radha nodded, the word tasting like ash and honey on her tongue. "Haan, Sir. Main aapki randi hoon."
The sound of it—her voice, her language, admitting it—made his cock stir again, half-hard already.
"What can I do to prove it?" she asked, eyes downcast, the perfect image of submission.
Nikhil hesitated, then the command came, bold for the first time: "I... I've never entered your bedroom. So tomorrow, when my mom leaves, welcome your owner there. Strip for me. Put everything at my feet. I will walk on them to your bed. So I believe you've given me all."
Radha's breath caught, the command landing like a velvet lash across her skin. *My bedroom. The marital bed. Stripping like a servant, clothes piled at his feet like offerings.* The humiliation was exquisite, a sharp bloom in her chest that sent fresh heat pooling between her thighs, her body betraying her with a clench of need. *He's commanding. Already. The boy who used to stutter my name.* She met his eyes, voice steady despite the flush creeping down her neck: "Yes, Sir. Tomorrow, your bedroom awaits."
Nikhil nodded, the power settling over him like a cloak he was still learning to wear, heavy but thrilling. His cock, spent but stirring, twitched against his thigh, the sight of her on her knees—face painted with him, body open and waiting—making his head spin. But beneath the rush was a crack of vulnerability, the weight of fourteen years of fantasies crashing against the reality of this moment. He swallowed, voice dropping to a raw whisper, the words spilling out before he could stop them: "I... I have my own fantasies, Radha. Things I've thought about for years. But I never... I never dared imagine them with you. Not like this. It was always... revenge. Breaking you because you broke me. But now..." He trailed off, eyes flicking to the floor, shame mixing with the heat. "I need a little time. Maybe tomorrow. To... to figure out how far I can go."
Radha's heart stuttered, the confession hitting her like a cool wind on fevered skin. *Revenge? Breaking me?* The words echoed, stirring a dark, unexpected thrill in her belly—the idea that her own cruelty had planted these seeds in him, that the power she wielded had twisted into something she now craved to receive. But confusion flickered too, a momentary shadow: *He wants time? After everything?* She tilted her head, voice gentle but probing: "Take all the time you need, Sir. What else?"
Nikhil's flush deepened, his hands clenching on his thighs, the vulnerability cracking open further. "It's... it's my first time. I'm a virgin. Never even kissed a girl." He hesitated, the admission burning his throat, eyes dropping to her marked face. "And... when women lose virginity, they bleed, right? I always thought... I wanted to lose it to a virgin girl. Someone like me. Pure. But..." His voice cracked, eyes lifting to hers, raw and pleading. "But I also want to enjoy with you. All of you. It's... it's confusing."
Radha froze, the words sinking in like stones in still water, rippling through her. *Virgin? He thinks of me as... experienced. Tainted.* Confusion washed over her, sharp and strange—a pang of something almost like hurt, mingled with the absurdity of it. *I'm thirty-six, married for twelve years, and he sees me as the forbidden fruit, not the safe harbor.* The humiliation twisted anew, her nakedness suddenly feeling more exposed, her body a map of a life he imagined as wild and sinful while she had spent years in quiet, aching celibacy. But then the corner of her mouth lifted, a slow smile breaking through the confusion, warm and knowing. *He's so innocent. So pure in his mess.* The thought softened the sting, turning it into tenderness, her arousal flaring at the irony—he, the virgin conqueror, offering her his first everything. "Sir," she said softly, reaching up to trace a finger along his jaw, "you're not the only virgin here. My... my ass. That's untouched. For you. If you want it. Tomorrow."
Nikhil's eyes widened, breath hitching, the offer hitting him like a spark to gunpowder. *Her ass. Virgin. For me.* The fantasies he had buried—the dark ones, the revenge ones—flared hot, his cock hardening fully again, the confusion in his head melting into raw want. *She wants me to take it. Her first. Mine.* "Tomorrow," he whispered, voice thick, hand covering hers on his jaw. "In your bedroom. Everything at my feet."
Radha nodded, the smile lingering, her body thrumming with the promise. *Tomorrow. He takes my last virginity. The boy owns the teacher completely.* She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his thigh, sealing the vow. "Yes, Sir. Tomorrow."
The trophy was claimed.
And the seven days had only just begun.
**The Last Game (Part Two: The Trophy)**
The word "Sir" lingered in the air like smoke from a spent match, curling between them in the heavy silence of the living room. Radha stood there, utterly naked, the afternoon light slanting through the half-drawn lace curtains and tracing golden edges along her curves. Her skin glowed warm under the soft glow, every inch exposed: the heavy swell of her breasts with their dark, pebbled nipples; the soft give of her stomach, marked by faint silver lines from a life of quiet longing; the dark triangle of hair between her thighs, already glistening with the evidence of her arousal. The mangalsutra hung between her breasts like a pendant of irony, catching the light with every shallow breath she took. The pile of their discarded clothes—the saree, petticoat, blouse, his briefs—sat on the table like a conquered battlefield, the white panty perched on top as if mocking the finality of her surrender.
Nikhil sat rooted to his chair, the Ludo board a forgotten relic before him, his body a taut wire of contradictions. His mind was a maelstrom, thoughts colliding like cars in a pile-up
The words were soft as a sigh, but they struck Radha like a live wire, jolting through her. *He's asking,* she thought, breath hitching, a rush of relief flooding the panic like cool water on embers. *Not running. Not laughing. Asking because he wants to believe—to take.* The vulnerability in his tone—the crack, the wide-eyed plea—twisted something tender in her chest, mingling with the triumph of seeing her work take root. *He's still the boy I shaped, timid and trembling, but he's reaching. For me.* Her nakedness shifted in that instant, from raw exposure to deliberate offering, the humiliation alchemizing into heat that pooled low in her belly. She leaned forward just a fraction, her breasts swaying gently, nipples grazing the table's edge with a shiver of sensation, and locked eyes with him—steady, unblinking, a beacon in her own storm. *Give him the key. Let him unlock it himself. Make him see the power is his.*
The world realigned in that breath. Nikhil's eyes widened a fraction more, the flush deepening to scarlet, his grip on the table loosening as if the words had cut his strings. *Sir. She said Sir. To me.* The title unlocked a floodgate, the chaos in his head shifting from paralysis to tentative motion. The panic didn't vanish—it swirled, laced with the guilt (*Teacher. Wife. Sin.*) and the wildfire desire (*Naked. Wet. Mine.*)—but a spark of boldness ignited, small but insistent. *She wants this. Me. Owning her.* His hands unclenched, trembling fingers hovering in the air like they were learning to fly. He swallowed hard, throat bobbing, the flush burning hotter. *Start small. Don't ruin it.* His voice came again, hoarse and cracking, eyes flicking from her face to her breasts and back: "C-Can I... touch your breasts?"
The question was innocent, laced with wonder, but it landed on Radha like a spark on tinder. *Touch. From the boy who hid his eyes when I walked by.* The simplicity of it—the hesitation, the plea—sent a jolt straight to her core, her nipples tightening further, wetness slicking her thighs. Humiliation bloomed, hot and sharp—*Explaining my body to my student like a lesson plan*—but it fed the fire, her body thrumming with the wrongness of it all. *He's so new. So careful. Let him learn. Let him own.* She lifted her gaze just enough to meet his, voice soft but firm, a guide in the storm: "Sir, you own them. Touch, squeeze, bite—whatever you want. No asking."
The permission was a key turning in a lock. Nikhil's hands moved before his brain could second-guess, fingers trembling as they reached out, hovering an inch from her left breast. *Own them. She said own.* The word echoed, drowning the guilt for a heartbeat, his palm finally cupping her—warm, heavy flesh yielding under his touch. It was nothing like the hurried fumbles in his fantasies or the flat images on his phone; it was real, soft yet firm, the weight surprising him, spilling slightly between his fingers as he squeezed tentatively. *So warm. So... alive.* His thumb brushed her nipple by accident, feeling it harden instantly under his touch, peaking like a small, dark button. *It's... hard. Like... like mine gets.* The discovery hit him like a revelation, his cock twitching in response, a fresh wave of heat flooding his face and chest. *Boobs get hard too. Like cocks. God, it's real. She's reacting to me.* Emboldened, he squeezed firmer, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger, watching her breath hitch, a soft gasp escaping her lips. *She's gasping. For me. Because of me.* The power of it—the control—made his head spin, fear receding just enough for curiosity to surge. He leaned in, mouth hovering near her right nipple, breath hot against her skin, voice thick with awe: "C-Can I... taste?"
Radha's pulse thundered, the innocent question igniting her like dry leaves in a breeze. *Taste. From the boy who used to stutter my name.* The naivety in his voice—the wonder, the crack of uncertainty—made her feel both maternal and utterly debased, the humiliation of being reduced to this (her body a map for his exploration) twisting with a fierce, aching pride. *He's discovering me. Owning me inch by inch. And it's because I let him.* Her nipples ached under his gaze, wetness gathering between her thighs, the saree long gone a distant memory. She arched her back slightly, offering, voice a husky whisper: "Sir, you own my mouth too. Taste. Suck. Bite. No asking."
Nikhil's mouth closed over her nipple, hot and tentative, tongue flicking the hardened peak before sucking gently, teeth grazing just enough to draw a sharper gasp from her. The taste—salt and skin and her—flooded his senses, his free hand kneading her other breast in clumsy rhythm, fingers learning the shape, the give, the way it made her breath stutter. *She's moaning. Soft. For me.* The sound undid him, his cock leaking steadily now, the briefs a damp prison. He switched breasts, sucking harder, biting a little, emboldened by her gasps, the way her hands fisted the tablecloth. *This is power. Real. She's mine to touch.* But the fear lingered, a shadow at the edge: *What if I hurt her? What if she stops?*
Radha's hands gripped the table, the dual assault of his mouth and hands sending sparks skittering across her skin. *My student. Sucking my tits like they're his birthright.* The wrongness crashed over her—the age gap, the power she had wielded over him, the fact that this boy had once hidden under his desk when she entered the room—making her clit throb, humiliation pooling hot in her belly like molten lead. *I broke him once. Now he's breaking me open.* She wanted to guide, to teach, but held back, letting him explore, letting him claim the territory she had guarded for years. *He's so careful. So new. Like a boy with his first sweet. Let him find his way.*
Nikhil pulled back at last, lips wet and swollen, eyes glazed with discovery and hunger. His hands, gaining confidence, slid down her sides, tracing the curve of her waist, the soft swell of her hips, fingers trembling as they reached the dark triangle between her thighs. *Pussy. Real. Up close.* He had glimpsed it yesterday, but now, inches away, it was overwhelming—the neat thatch of hair, the swollen outer lips parting slightly to reveal pink inner folds, the faint glisten of her arousal catching the light. His finger hovered, then traced the seam gently, feeling the slick heat. *So wet. Slippery. Warm.* Curiosity overrode the fear for a moment, his voice emerging hoarse, barely a whisper, laced with boyish fascination: "Ma—Sir... which... which hole is for... for what?"
The question hung, innocent and clinical, but it struck Radha like a slap of pure humiliation—*Explaining my body to my student. Like a diagram on the board.* Her cheeks burned, the degradation sinking deep, making her clench around nothing, wetness slicking his fingertip. But the wonder in his eyes—the genuine, unjaded curiosity—twisted it into something tender, intoxicating. *He's never seen one. Never touched. And I'm his first lesson.* She shifted her hips, opening wider for him, voice steady despite the flush creeping down her neck: "Sir, you own it all. The top—" she guided his finger to her clit, circling it once, gasping softly at the touch—"that's my clit. For your mouth, your fingers. To make me come." She slid his finger lower, to the entrance, pushing it inside an inch. "This... this is for you. Your cock. Whenever you want. Deeper. Fill me."
Nikhil's finger breached her, the wet heat enveloping him, tight and velvet-soft. *So warm. Clenching.* He pushed deeper, exploring the inner walls, curling experimentally until he found it—the rough, spongy patch that made her hips buck. *G-spot. From the internet. Real.* "Here?" he asked, voice thick, rubbing it slowly, watching her face contort with pleasure.
Radha's back arched, a moan spilling out before she could bite it back. *God, he's found it. Already. Rubbing my G-spot like he was born to it.* The humiliation surged—*My student, fingering me like a textbook*—but it fueled the fire, her wetness coating his hand, thighs trembling. "Yes, Sir... there... harder... oh God..."
Emboldened, Nikhil leaned in, breath hot against her thigh. *Taste. I need to taste.* His tongue darted out, flat and tentative, licking from entrance to clit, the salty-sweet tang exploding on his tongue. *She's wet for me. Dripping.* He groaned, lapping deeper, spreading her with his thumbs to see more, sucking her clit into his mouth while his finger curled inside. Radha's hands flew to his hair, hips rocking, the room filling with her broken moans. *My student. Licking me like I'm his feast.* The wrongness spiraled her higher, the coil tightening until it snapped—she came hard, thighs clamping around his head, crying out "Sir!" as waves crashed through her, body shuddering, wetness flooding his mouth.
Nikhil pulled back, face slick with her release, eyes wide with awe and triumph. *She came. Screaming. From my tongue.* He licked his lips, savoring the taste, the discovery making him bolder. Radha, panting, reached for him, fingers brushing his briefs. He hesitated, hands hovering, the fabric tented obscenely. *Can't. Not yet. Not in front of her. She'll see how small I am. How inexperienced.* His voice came out small, ashamed: "Ma'am... I... I can't take these off. Not yet."
Radha's heart softened, the vulnerability cracking her open further. *He's still the boy. Scared to be bare for me.* She slid off the table, knelt before him, hands gentle on his thighs. "Let me, Sir." She tugged the briefs down slowly, inch by inch, his cock springing free—thick, veined, flushed dark, the tip leaking steadily. Nikhil groaned, hands fisting at his sides, exposure hitting like cold water. *She's seeing me. All of me. Ugly? Small?* But her eyes—dark, hungry—made him throb harder.
He wanted it—*Her mouth. On me*—but the words stuck, fear clamping down. Radha saw it, the unspoken plea in his wide eyes. *He wants me to suck him. But he's too shy to command.* The thought made her ache—*My student, hard for me, too afraid to take.* She leaned in without waiting, lips brushing the tip, tongue flicking the pre-cum, tasting salt and him. "Like this, Sir?" She took him deeper, slow and wet, hollowing her cheeks, hand stroking the base in rhythm, head bobbing gently.
Nikhil's head fell back, a broken moan tearing from his throat. *Her mouth. Hot. Wet. Sucking me like... like she wants it.* The sensation overwhelmed—tighter than his fist, warmer than any dream, her tongue swirling the underside, teeth grazing just enough to spark lightning. He lasted seconds, hips jerking involuntarily, coming in thick spurts across her face—ropes painting her cheeks, lips, chin, one drop sliding toward her eye. *On her face. My teacher's face. Marked.* Guilt and triumph warred as he watched it glisten, but the sight—her, claimed by him—made his cock twitch, spent but stirring.
Radha wiped a drop from her lip, tasting him, eyes locked on his, the warm stickiness cooling on her skin a badge of her fall. *Came on my face. My student. Owning me already.* The humiliation was exquisite, making her clench around nothing, arousal dripping down her thigh.
Nikhil sank back into the chair, spent, staring at her in dazed disbelief, cum still dripping from her chin. "I... I still can't believe it. I own you, Ma'am?"
Radha crawled closer, kneeling between his legs, cum glistening on her skin like tears of surrender. "Call me Radha, Sir. Not Ma'am. Not anymore."
He tested it, voice soft: "Radha."
The name felt like power on his tongue, heavy and sweet.
She leaned in, voice husky: "What can I do to prove it? To make you believe?"
Nikhil's mind raced, the boldness flickering brighter. *If I can do anything...* The word came out hesitant but growing firmer: "If I can do anything to you... means you're my... rakheil."
Radha froze, the Hindi word—*whore*—striking like a lash, shock rippling through her, cheeks burning crimson. *Rakheil. From his mouth. My student.* The degradation sank deep, making her gasp, but beneath it bloomed a dark, thrilling heat—*He's realising. Taking the power. Finally.* She met his eyes, voice steady despite the flush: "Yes, Sir. I am your rakheil."
Nikhil's flush deepened, but a spark ignited, voice stronger: "It... it feels better in Hindi."
Radha nodded, the word tasting like ash and honey on her tongue. "Haan, Sir. Main aapki randi hoon."
The sound of it—her voice, her language, admitting it—made his cock stir again, half-hard already.
"What can I do to prove it?" she asked, eyes downcast, the perfect image of submission.
Nikhil hesitated, then the command came, bold for the first time: "I... I've never entered your bedroom. So tomorrow, when my mom leaves, welcome your owner there. Strip for me. Put everything at my feet. I will walk on them to your bed. So I believe you've given me all."
Radha's breath caught, the command landing like a velvet lash across her skin. *My bedroom. The marital bed. Stripping like a servant, clothes piled at his feet like offerings.* The humiliation was exquisite, a sharp bloom in her chest that sent fresh heat pooling between her thighs, her body betraying her with a clench of need. *He's commanding. Already. The boy who used to stutter my name.* She met his eyes, voice steady despite the flush creeping down her neck: "Yes, Sir. Tomorrow, your bedroom awaits."
Nikhil nodded, the power settling over him like a cloak he was still learning to wear, heavy but thrilling. His cock, spent but stirring, twitched against his thigh, the sight of her on her knees—face painted with him, body open and waiting—making his head spin. But beneath the rush was a crack of vulnerability, the weight of fourteen years of fantasies crashing against the reality of this moment. He swallowed, voice dropping to a raw whisper, the words spilling out before he could stop them: "I... I have my own fantasies, Radha. Things I've thought about for years. But I never... I never dared imagine them with you. Not like this. It was always... revenge. Breaking you because you broke me. But now..." He trailed off, eyes flicking to the floor, shame mixing with the heat. "I need a little time. Maybe tomorrow. To... to figure out how far I can go."
Radha's heart stuttered, the confession hitting her like a cool wind on fevered skin. *Revenge? Breaking me?* The words echoed, stirring a dark, unexpected thrill in her belly—the idea that her own cruelty had planted these seeds in him, that the power she wielded had twisted into something she now craved to receive. But confusion flickered too, a momentary shadow: *He wants time? After everything?* She tilted her head, voice gentle but probing: "Take all the time you need, Sir. What else?"
Nikhil's flush deepened, his hands clenching on his thighs, the vulnerability cracking open further. "It's... it's my first time. I'm a virgin. Never even kissed a girl." He hesitated, the admission burning his throat, eyes dropping to her marked face. "And... when women lose virginity, they bleed, right? I always thought... I wanted to lose it to a virgin girl. Someone like me. Pure. But..." His voice cracked, eyes lifting to hers, raw and pleading. "But I also want to enjoy with you. All of you. It's... it's confusing."
Radha froze, the words sinking in like stones in still water, rippling through her. *Virgin? He thinks of me as... experienced. Tainted.* Confusion washed over her, sharp and strange—a pang of something almost like hurt, mingled with the absurdity of it. *I'm thirty-six, married for twelve years, and he sees me as the forbidden fruit, not the safe harbor.* The humiliation twisted anew, her nakedness suddenly feeling more exposed, her body a map of a life he imagined as wild and sinful while she had spent years in quiet, aching celibacy. But then the corner of her mouth lifted, a slow smile breaking through the confusion, warm and knowing. *He's so innocent. So pure in his mess.* The thought softened the sting, turning it into tenderness, her arousal flaring at the irony—he, the virgin conqueror, offering her his first everything. "Sir," she said softly, reaching up to trace a finger along his jaw, "you're not the only virgin here. My... my ass. That's untouched. For you. If you want it. Tomorrow."
Nikhil's eyes widened, breath hitching, the offer hitting him like a spark to gunpowder. *Her ass. Virgin. For me.* The fantasies he had buried—the dark ones, the revenge ones—flared hot, his cock hardening fully again, the confusion in his head melting into raw want. *She wants me to take it. Her first. Mine.* "Tomorrow," he whispered, voice thick, hand covering hers on his jaw. "In your bedroom. Everything at my feet."
Radha nodded, the smile lingering, her body thrumming with the promise. *Tomorrow. He takes my last virginity. The boy owns the teacher completely.* She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his thigh, sealing the vow. "Yes, Sir. Tomorrow."
The trophy was claimed.
And the seven days had only just begun.
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