10-01-2026, 10:15 AM
Devika stepped into her empty apartment, the morning light streaming through the windows failing to dispel the heaviness settling in her chest. She locked the door behind her and leaned against it, eyes closing as the weight of the previous night crashed down upon her consciousness.
Sex. Real sex.
Not the careful touching and intimate favors she'd rationalized away with Pathan in the lab. Not the mouth-to-mouth feeding and stolen kisses with Seenu. Not even the bold encounter where she'd pleasured Vishnu with her mouth in the boys' toilet. Those had been transgressions, certainly—boundary violations that would horrify the woman she'd been when she first arrived in Pune.
But last night was different.
Last night, she had crossed the final line.
Her legs carried her to the bedroom where she sank onto the edge of the bed, fingers gripping the mattress as memories flooded back with crystalline clarity. Dattu's weathered hands on her body. Vishnu's younger, more aggressive touch. The way they'd looked at her—not as a professor or even as a woman, but as their shared possession.
Wife. Mother.
The roles she'd played with disturbing ease.
Devika's hands trembled as she unwound her saree, the fabric sliding away to reveal skin marked with evidence of the night's activities. Faint bruises on her hips where fingers had gripped too hard. A love bite on her inner thigh that would need careful concealing. Her body told the story her mind struggled to process.
The first time she'd had sex since arriving in Pune. The first time she'd been with anyone except her cheating husband Rajeevan in years. And instead of it being a moment of careful deliberation or passionate romance, it had been crude and overwhelming—two men at once, father and son, in a cramped apartment that smelled of engine grease and desperation.
She walked to the bathroom, turning on the shower with mechanical precision. As steam began to fill the small space, her mind replayed the worst detail—the one that made her stomach clench with conflicting emotions.
Vishnu's fingers. Her ass.
Devika had never allowed Rajeevan to touch her there in all their years of marriage. It had been an unspoken boundary, a line she'd drawn without conscious thought. Yet last night, with whiskey clouding her judgment and pleasure overwhelming her defenses, she'd let Vishnu explore that most intimate place.
Let him? Or encouraged him?
The water cascaded over her body as she stepped under the spray, washing away the physical traces while the emotional aftermath clung stubbornly to her psyche. His fingers had pressed inside, testing her resistance, finding none. The sensation had been uncomfortable at first, then...
Then what?
Pleasure? Shame? Both?
She scrubbed at her skin with more force than necessary, angry at herself for not stopping him. Angry that some treacherous part of her body had responded to the invasion. Angry that even now, standing alone in her shower, the memory sent a confusing jolt of arousal through her core.
"What's wrong with me?" she whispered to the tiles, her voice lost beneath the sound of running water.
The practical concerns began to surface as she toweled herself dry. Tomorrow—today, actually, given the hour—she would have to walk into that college and face Vishnu. The same student who had fucked her, who had explored parts of her body she'd never offered to anyone, who had watched his own father take her with apparent satisfaction.
How did one make eye contact after that?
How did one discuss biology diagrams and cellular mitosis with someone who knew exactly what sounds you made when climaxing?
Devika dressed in fresh clothes, choosing a modest churidar instead of her usual saree. The cotton felt protective somehow, a barrier between her transformed body and the world's judgment. She made coffee but left it untouched on the counter, her stomach too unsettled to accept anything.
This has to be the first and last time.
The resolution formed clearly in her mind, spoken aloud to the empty kitchen as if saying it would make it true. "First and last. It won't happen again."
But even as the words left her lips, doubt crept in through the cracks of her certainty.
What if Vishnu demanded another encounter? What if Dattu called, his rough voice heavy with expectation? They held power now—the knowledge of what she'd done, what she'd allowed, what she'd enjoyed despite herself. Would they use that knowledge to coerce her? Threaten to tell Seenu, or worse, spread rumors throughout the college?
Her phone sat on the table, its screen dark and silent. No messages from either of them yet, but the day was young.
What if her body betrayed her again?
That question frightened her more than any external threat. Because the most disturbing truth wasn't that two men had seduced her—it was that she had surrendered willingly. Had responded with enthusiasm. Had discovered depths of desire she hadn't known existed within her supposedly proper, conservative self.
Devika paced the small living room, thoughts spiraling in dizzying circles. She needed perspective. Needed someone to help her make sense of what had happened and, more importantly, how to prevent it from happening again.
Saradha.
The name surfaced with inevitable certainty. The senior professor was the only person in Pune who knew even fragments of Devika's complicated entanglements. Saradha had been the one to first suggest embracing male attention rather than fighting it. Her advice had been questionable at best, often pushing Devika toward increasingly risky behavior.
But who else could she tell? Who else would listen without immediate condemnation?
Devika sank onto the sofa, exhaustion finally catching up with her sleepless night. Tomorrow—later today—she would find Saradha in the staff room. Would confess what had happened. Would ask for guidance even knowing the advice might be tainted with Saradha's own twisted perspectives.
She had no other choice.
As dawn light strengthened outside her windows, Devika closed her eyes and tried to summon the courage for whatever came next.
Sex. Real sex.
Not the careful touching and intimate favors she'd rationalized away with Pathan in the lab. Not the mouth-to-mouth feeding and stolen kisses with Seenu. Not even the bold encounter where she'd pleasured Vishnu with her mouth in the boys' toilet. Those had been transgressions, certainly—boundary violations that would horrify the woman she'd been when she first arrived in Pune.
But last night was different.
Last night, she had crossed the final line.
Her legs carried her to the bedroom where she sank onto the edge of the bed, fingers gripping the mattress as memories flooded back with crystalline clarity. Dattu's weathered hands on her body. Vishnu's younger, more aggressive touch. The way they'd looked at her—not as a professor or even as a woman, but as their shared possession.
Wife. Mother.
The roles she'd played with disturbing ease.
Devika's hands trembled as she unwound her saree, the fabric sliding away to reveal skin marked with evidence of the night's activities. Faint bruises on her hips where fingers had gripped too hard. A love bite on her inner thigh that would need careful concealing. Her body told the story her mind struggled to process.
The first time she'd had sex since arriving in Pune. The first time she'd been with anyone except her cheating husband Rajeevan in years. And instead of it being a moment of careful deliberation or passionate romance, it had been crude and overwhelming—two men at once, father and son, in a cramped apartment that smelled of engine grease and desperation.
She walked to the bathroom, turning on the shower with mechanical precision. As steam began to fill the small space, her mind replayed the worst detail—the one that made her stomach clench with conflicting emotions.
Vishnu's fingers. Her ass.
Devika had never allowed Rajeevan to touch her there in all their years of marriage. It had been an unspoken boundary, a line she'd drawn without conscious thought. Yet last night, with whiskey clouding her judgment and pleasure overwhelming her defenses, she'd let Vishnu explore that most intimate place.
Let him? Or encouraged him?
The water cascaded over her body as she stepped under the spray, washing away the physical traces while the emotional aftermath clung stubbornly to her psyche. His fingers had pressed inside, testing her resistance, finding none. The sensation had been uncomfortable at first, then...
Then what?
Pleasure? Shame? Both?
She scrubbed at her skin with more force than necessary, angry at herself for not stopping him. Angry that some treacherous part of her body had responded to the invasion. Angry that even now, standing alone in her shower, the memory sent a confusing jolt of arousal through her core.
"What's wrong with me?" she whispered to the tiles, her voice lost beneath the sound of running water.
The practical concerns began to surface as she toweled herself dry. Tomorrow—today, actually, given the hour—she would have to walk into that college and face Vishnu. The same student who had fucked her, who had explored parts of her body she'd never offered to anyone, who had watched his own father take her with apparent satisfaction.
How did one make eye contact after that?
How did one discuss biology diagrams and cellular mitosis with someone who knew exactly what sounds you made when climaxing?
Devika dressed in fresh clothes, choosing a modest churidar instead of her usual saree. The cotton felt protective somehow, a barrier between her transformed body and the world's judgment. She made coffee but left it untouched on the counter, her stomach too unsettled to accept anything.
This has to be the first and last time.
The resolution formed clearly in her mind, spoken aloud to the empty kitchen as if saying it would make it true. "First and last. It won't happen again."
But even as the words left her lips, doubt crept in through the cracks of her certainty.
What if Vishnu demanded another encounter? What if Dattu called, his rough voice heavy with expectation? They held power now—the knowledge of what she'd done, what she'd allowed, what she'd enjoyed despite herself. Would they use that knowledge to coerce her? Threaten to tell Seenu, or worse, spread rumors throughout the college?
Her phone sat on the table, its screen dark and silent. No messages from either of them yet, but the day was young.
What if her body betrayed her again?
That question frightened her more than any external threat. Because the most disturbing truth wasn't that two men had seduced her—it was that she had surrendered willingly. Had responded with enthusiasm. Had discovered depths of desire she hadn't known existed within her supposedly proper, conservative self.
Devika paced the small living room, thoughts spiraling in dizzying circles. She needed perspective. Needed someone to help her make sense of what had happened and, more importantly, how to prevent it from happening again.
Saradha.
The name surfaced with inevitable certainty. The senior professor was the only person in Pune who knew even fragments of Devika's complicated entanglements. Saradha had been the one to first suggest embracing male attention rather than fighting it. Her advice had been questionable at best, often pushing Devika toward increasingly risky behavior.
But who else could she tell? Who else would listen without immediate condemnation?
Devika sank onto the sofa, exhaustion finally catching up with her sleepless night. Tomorrow—later today—she would find Saradha in the staff room. Would confess what had happened. Would ask for guidance even knowing the advice might be tainted with Saradha's own twisted perspectives.
She had no other choice.
As dawn light strengthened outside her windows, Devika closed her eyes and tried to summon the courage for whatever came next.
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