09-12-2025, 12:47 AM
(This post was last modified: 09-12-2025, 02:22 AM by ashuezy2. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Scene 18
I woke up on my alarm. My whole body felt tight throughout the night. I got out of bed and walked straight to the bathroom because I needed something—anything—to wash the night out of my head.
I turned the water on as hot as it could go. Steam filled the bathroom instantly, turning the mirror into a white fog. I stripped off my clothes. I looked at my body in the glass—my breasts, my waist, the dark triangle between my legs.
I stepped under the stream. It felt like the world finally held me. The water hit my shoulders, heavy and burning, like it was trying to melt the memory off me.
![[Image: onVykZ8I_o.gif]](https://images2.imgbox.com/ce/13/onVykZ8I_o.gif)
I closed my eyes. But the darkness brought the images back. Flash. My mother’s hand jerking my father off. Flash. The black strap-on glistening with oil. Flash. The white fluid splashing on her face in the shop.
My breathing hitched. The heat of the water felt like hands. I reached for the soap. I lathered my hands, making them slick and slippery—just like my mother’s hands had been with the oil.
I couldn't help it. My hand moved down. I touched my own breasts, squeezing them hard, mimicking the way Remo had held her. My nipples hardened instantly under the scalding water. I slid my hand lower, over my flat stomach, down to my wet curls. I slipped a finger inside myself.
"Ahhh," I gasped, leaning my forehead against the cold tile wall.
It felt wrong. It felt dirty. But it felt real. I rubbed myself faster, washing away the confusion with pleasure, trying to understand the hunger that drove my mother to do those things. The steam swirled around me, heavy and suffocating, as I chased a release that felt more like a punishment than a joy.
When I finally stepped out, my skin was red and raw. I wrapped a towel around me, feeling like a stranger in my own body.
I couldn't sit at the table with them. With her. With him. The kitchen felt wrong, suddenly they felt wrong.
My mother was humming, cutting apples. My father was reading his newspaper, looking fresh and professional. Both pretending to be normal. Both performing a life that wasn’t real.
My throat closed up. "I’m leaving early," I choked out, grabbing my bag.
"Eat something—" my father said, looking up with that same pathetic, worshipful expression he wore last night when he was on his knees.
"I’ll get something on the way," I shouted back.
I rushed out the door before I could scream at them. Fresh air hit me like a slap. I didn't breathe easier, but at least I could breathe.
The campus was bustling, loud, messy. Students everywhere. Laughter, scooters, chai stalls, morning gossip. And yet—I felt like a ghost walking through the noise.
My friends were sitting under the big neem tree near the canteen. Saloni waved at me, her tight kurta hugging her chest. Ishita gave a tiny smile. The two boys nodded shyly. The romantic guy—the one with the silver ring—lit up like a puppy when he saw me.
Their world was still the same. Mine wasn’t. I walked toward them, trying to fix my face so it didn’t show the terror sitting under my skin.
"Hey Dude... what happened?" Saloni whispered the moment I sat down. She could read me like a book.
"Nothing," I said too quickly.
She raised an eyebrow. "You look like you saw a ghost."
I swallowed the truth. I couldn't let it out. Not this truth. So I said quietly, "I just had... a really bad night."
Saloni didn't pull back. She shifted closer on the bench. Her thigh pressed against mine—warm, solid, and deliberate.
"Talk to me," she said.
Her voice was soft, steady, and low. It wasn't just friendly; it was intimate. She reached out and took my hand. She didn't just hold it; she stroked the inside of my palm with her thumb, a slow, sensual rhythm that sent a shiver up my arm.
"I saw something I wasn’t supposed to," I whispered, looking at her lips.
Saloni’s face softened instantly. She didn't ask what it was. Instead, she leaned in. I could smell her perfume—vanilla and spice. Her breath brushed my ear.
"You’re shaking, Anu," she murmured.
She moved her hand from my palm to my knee. She squeezed gently, her fingers lingering on the fabric of my jeans, inching slightly upward. It was a touch meant to ground me, but in my heightened state, it felt electric.
"You’re safe now," she whispered, her eyes dark and focused on mine.
She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me into her side. My face buried into the soft curve of her neck. I could feel the warmth of her skin, the rise and fall of her chest.
"Whatever it is... we’ll deal with it," she hummed against my hair.
She rubbed my arm up and down, her nails grazing my skin lightly. It was soothing, but it was also a reminder that bodies were warm, soft, and hungry. I closed my eyes, letting the morning noises of college wash over me, leaning into Saloni’s embrace, realizing that I didn't want to pull away. I wanted to sink deeper into the heat.
I woke up on my alarm. My whole body felt tight throughout the night. I got out of bed and walked straight to the bathroom because I needed something—anything—to wash the night out of my head.
I turned the water on as hot as it could go. Steam filled the bathroom instantly, turning the mirror into a white fog. I stripped off my clothes. I looked at my body in the glass—my breasts, my waist, the dark triangle between my legs.
I stepped under the stream. It felt like the world finally held me. The water hit my shoulders, heavy and burning, like it was trying to melt the memory off me.
I closed my eyes. But the darkness brought the images back. Flash. My mother’s hand jerking my father off. Flash. The black strap-on glistening with oil. Flash. The white fluid splashing on her face in the shop.
My breathing hitched. The heat of the water felt like hands. I reached for the soap. I lathered my hands, making them slick and slippery—just like my mother’s hands had been with the oil.
I couldn't help it. My hand moved down. I touched my own breasts, squeezing them hard, mimicking the way Remo had held her. My nipples hardened instantly under the scalding water. I slid my hand lower, over my flat stomach, down to my wet curls. I slipped a finger inside myself.
"Ahhh," I gasped, leaning my forehead against the cold tile wall.
It felt wrong. It felt dirty. But it felt real. I rubbed myself faster, washing away the confusion with pleasure, trying to understand the hunger that drove my mother to do those things. The steam swirled around me, heavy and suffocating, as I chased a release that felt more like a punishment than a joy.
When I finally stepped out, my skin was red and raw. I wrapped a towel around me, feeling like a stranger in my own body.
I couldn't sit at the table with them. With her. With him. The kitchen felt wrong, suddenly they felt wrong.
My mother was humming, cutting apples. My father was reading his newspaper, looking fresh and professional. Both pretending to be normal. Both performing a life that wasn’t real.
My throat closed up. "I’m leaving early," I choked out, grabbing my bag.
"Eat something—" my father said, looking up with that same pathetic, worshipful expression he wore last night when he was on his knees.
"I’ll get something on the way," I shouted back.
I rushed out the door before I could scream at them. Fresh air hit me like a slap. I didn't breathe easier, but at least I could breathe.
The campus was bustling, loud, messy. Students everywhere. Laughter, scooters, chai stalls, morning gossip. And yet—I felt like a ghost walking through the noise.
My friends were sitting under the big neem tree near the canteen. Saloni waved at me, her tight kurta hugging her chest. Ishita gave a tiny smile. The two boys nodded shyly. The romantic guy—the one with the silver ring—lit up like a puppy when he saw me.
Their world was still the same. Mine wasn’t. I walked toward them, trying to fix my face so it didn’t show the terror sitting under my skin.
"Hey Dude... what happened?" Saloni whispered the moment I sat down. She could read me like a book.
"Nothing," I said too quickly.
She raised an eyebrow. "You look like you saw a ghost."
I swallowed the truth. I couldn't let it out. Not this truth. So I said quietly, "I just had... a really bad night."
Saloni didn't pull back. She shifted closer on the bench. Her thigh pressed against mine—warm, solid, and deliberate.
"Talk to me," she said.
Her voice was soft, steady, and low. It wasn't just friendly; it was intimate. She reached out and took my hand. She didn't just hold it; she stroked the inside of my palm with her thumb, a slow, sensual rhythm that sent a shiver up my arm.
"I saw something I wasn’t supposed to," I whispered, looking at her lips.
Saloni’s face softened instantly. She didn't ask what it was. Instead, she leaned in. I could smell her perfume—vanilla and spice. Her breath brushed my ear.
"You’re shaking, Anu," she murmured.
She moved her hand from my palm to my knee. She squeezed gently, her fingers lingering on the fabric of my jeans, inching slightly upward. It was a touch meant to ground me, but in my heightened state, it felt electric.
"You’re safe now," she whispered, her eyes dark and focused on mine.
She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me into her side. My face buried into the soft curve of her neck. I could feel the warmth of her skin, the rise and fall of her chest.
"Whatever it is... we’ll deal with it," she hummed against my hair.
She rubbed my arm up and down, her nails grazing my skin lightly. It was soothing, but it was also a reminder that bodies were warm, soft, and hungry. I closed my eyes, letting the morning noises of college wash over me, leaning into Saloni’s embrace, realizing that I didn't want to pull away. I wanted to sink deeper into the heat.
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