Ananya(Student) - How I gave my measurements to the tailor(11 videos)-Scene-28-GOLD!*

[ashuezy2]

Scene 28

Back in the real world—or what was left of it. I was at college, theoretically preparing for the upcoming semester exams. The notice boards were full of schedules for practicals, but the atmosphere on campus had shifted. The winter sun brought everyone out onto the lawns. The segregation between seniors and juniors was dissolving, replaced by a hormonal soup of glances and tension.

And I was the main course.

I tried to focus on my notes, but it was impossible. My body, awakened by the stripper, measured by Remo, tasted by Mom and my best friend, was too much for a simple kurta to hide. The fabric strained against my chest, the side slits riding high on my hips.

I was getting seen. Really seen.

My phone buzzed incessantly in my bag. Someone had leaked my number on a bathroom stall or a WhatsApp group. It was flooded with messages from unknown numbers.

“Hey baby, show bobs.” “One night rate?” Dick pic. Dick pic. Video of a hand jerking off.

A week ago, I would have cried. Now? I just swiped the notifications away, a small, arrogant smirk playing on my lips. I ignored them all, not because I was offended, but because they hadn't earned my attention yet.

I was on my way to the library, clutching a stack of books against my chest—a futile attempt to hide the cleavage.

"Oye! Madam!" a heavy voice boomed.

I stopped. A wall of a man stepped in front of me. He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a tight black t-shirt that showed off his gym muscles and jeans that hung low. He had that distinct, aggressive swagger.

It was Sushil Dahiya. A senior. A Jatt with a reputation.
"I am talking to you, beautiful," he said in his broken, confident 'Jatt English'. "How many times I call you? How many message I send? You too busy to reply to Sushil?"

I looked up at him. He smelled of strong musk and manly sweat.
"I don't know who you are," I lied, trying to step around him.

He moved faster than a big man should. He blocked my path with a thick arm, leaning against the lockers, trapping me.
"Don't know me?" he laughed, stepping into my personal space. "You will know me."
He looked down. His eyes weren't on my face. They were glued to the shelf of my breasts resting on my books.

"Heavy load you carrying," he grinned, his eyes dark.

Before I could react, he reached out. He didn't grab; he brushed the back of his hand against my breast, right over the nipple. It was deliberate. It was a test.

"Size is too big for college, Madam," he whispered, making a dirty joke loud enough for people passing by to hear. "You hiding watermelons in there? Need help to carry?"

My nipples hardened instantly against the fabric. The shock hit me, but not the fear. The fear was gone.
"Get out of my way," I said, my voice low. "Or I will complain to the Dean."
Sushil laughed. "Complain? Go. Tell Dean that Sushil like your... personality."
He stepped back slowly, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. You go study."

He let me pass. But as I walked away, I felt his eyes burning into me. I exaggerated my walk, swaying my hips, letting my ass roll in my jeans. I knew exactly what he was looking at.

I disappeared into the library, my heart pounding—not from panic, but from the thrill of the hunt. I knew he would follow me.
I picked a table in the back corner, hidden by the stacks. I opened a book.
Five minutes later, the chair opposite me scbangd back.
Sushil sat down. He didn't say a word. He just stared at me, chewing gum, his legs spread wide under the table, his knee brushing against mine.
He tore a piece of paper from his notebook. He crumpled it into a ball and flicked it at me. It bounced off my chest.
I picked it up and unfolded it.

I WANT YOU.

I looked at him. He winked.
I slowly crumpled the paper back up. I didn't write back. I stood up, walked to the dustbin, and dropped it in. Then I gathered my books and walked out, leaving him sitting there with a smirk.

It was evening when I finally left the campus. The sun was setting, casting long shadows.
He was waiting for me outside the main gate, leaning against a black Scorpio with tinted windows. He wasn't hiding.
I didn't panic. I didn't run. I wanted to see what he would do.
I walked past him, keeping my head high, pretending to ignore him.
As I passed his bumper, he lunged.

THWACK.

His heavy hand connected with my ass. It wasn't a tap; it was a hard, possessive slap that stung through the denim and sent a jolt straight to my core.
"Goodnight, Madam," he called out.

I stumbled slightly, then steadied myself. I stopped. I turned my head over my shoulder.
I couldn't help it. I smiled back at him—a dirty, knowing smile that told him I wasn't going to the Dean.
He saw the smile. He grinned, pointing his phone at me.

I made the sign with my hand—thumb to ear, pinky to mouth. Call me.

His name was Sushil Dahiya. And I had a feeling he was going to be my next practical exam.