10-01-2026, 12:06 PM
The week that followed crawled by with agonizing slowness. Days blurred into one another, each morning bringing the same routine—preparing lectures, facing classrooms full of students, navigating the minefield of male attention that had become her daily existence.
Vishnu kept his distance, just as he'd promised. When they crossed paths in hallways or during lectures, his eyes would find hers briefly before sliding away, respectful of the boundaries she'd drawn. The restraint surprised her. She'd expected pushiness, demands, threats perhaps. Instead, he gave her space.
Pathan was different.
Each time she passed him in the corridor, Devika found herself offering a small smile—barely there, just a curve of lips that acknowledged his presence without inviting conversation. Pathan would grin back, that familiar crude confidence lighting his features, but he too seemed content to wait.
Saradha became her anchor during those uncertain days. They'd meet in the staff room during breaks, sharing chai and whispered conversations that always circled back to the same warnings.
"Stay strong," Saradha would say, her hand squeezing Devika's briefly. "Don't let them manipulate you again."
"I know. I'm trying."
"Remember—you have the power. They want you. Don't give it away so easily."
Devika would nod, absorbing the advice like a shield against her own weakness. But even as she agreed with Saradha's wisdom, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered doubts.
Seenu remained frustratingly absent. Department meetings pulled him away, administrative duties consumed his schedule. The few times Devika glimpsed him in the hallways, he'd offer a distracted wave before disappearing into his office. Part of her felt relieved—one less complication to navigate. But another part, the part awakened by whiskey and forbidden touch, felt strangely abandoned.
By Friday evening, exhaustion settled into Devika's bones. She returned to her empty apartment, kicked off her sandals, and collapsed onto the sofa with a defeated sigh. The walls seemed to press inward, emphasizing the loneliness that had become her constant companion.
She turned on the television without really caring what played. Some romantic film filled the screen—a couple dancing in the rain, their bodies pressed close, desire palpable in every movement. Devika watched with detached interest at first, her mind wandering to meal planning and tomorrow's lesson prep.
Then a scene shifted. The couple stumbled into a bedroom, clothes shedding, hands exploring with desperate urgency. The camera panned across skin, lingered on curves and muscles, captured the raw intimacy of two bodies coming together.
Heat bloomed low in Devika's belly.
She tried to look away, to change the channel, but her hand remained frozen on the remote. Images flooded her mind unbidden—not the actors on screen, but memories far more visceral.
Vishnu's hands gripping her waist. Dattu's weathered lips against hers. The weight of their bodies pressing her into the mattress. The stretch and burn as they filled her completely.
"No," she whispered to the empty room. "Stop thinking about it."
But the memories refused to obey. Each detail surfaced with crystalline clarity—the taste of whiskey on Dattu's tongue, the way Vishnu had whispered her name while inside her, the sensation of fingers exploring territory no one else had ever touched.
Devika's breathing quickened. Her nipples hardened against the fabric of her blouse, sensitive to even the slightest friction. Between her thighs, moisture gathered—her body responding with shameless eagerness to thoughts that should have filled her with guilt.
She squeezed her legs together, trying to quell the ache building there. It didn't help. If anything, the pressure intensified the sensation, making her squirm against the sofa cushions.
"This is wrong," she told herself firmly. "You're better than this."
But her hand had already moved, sliding beneath the folds of her saree, seeking the heat that pulsed with increasing urgency. Her fingers found slick flesh, swollen and ready, and a moan escaped her throat before she could stop it.
"Vishnu..."
The name slipped out unbidden, flavored with longing. Her fingers circled her clit with practiced efficiency, building rhythm that matched the throbbing between her legs.
"Dattu..."
Another moan, this one deeper, more desperate. She imagined his rough hands on her body, his experienced touch coaxing pleasure from depths she hadn't known existed.
Guilt surged through the arousal—sharp and acidic. What kind of woman masturbated while thinking about her student and his father? What had she become?
But even the shame couldn't stop the need. Her body had tasted something forbidden and now craved it with relentless hunger. The conservative walls she'd built around herself—years of traditional upbringing, marital duty, professional propriety—had crumbled the moment she'd allowed those two men to touch her.
Once you explore sex with someone other than your husband, she realized with startling clarity, the fears fade. The boundaries dissolve. And the wanting only grows stronger.
Her lonely nights in this Pune apartment, waiting for Rajeevan's brief video calls filled with lies and empty promises, had primed her for this fall. She'd been starving without realizing it, and Vishnu and Dattu had offered a feast.
Now her body remembered. Demanded more.
Devika's thoughts shifted, seeking safer territory. Seenu's face appeared in her mind—the HOD who watched her with barely concealed hunger, who'd kissed her in his office, who clearly desired her but lacked Vishnu's boldness or Dattu's raw intensity.
Pathan's image followed. The crude student who'd cornered her in the lab, forced a kiss that she'd both resisted and returned, watched adult films with her while his hands explored her body with increasing confidence.
Both wanted her. Both had made their intentions clear. Maybe...
"Why not Pathan?" she whispered aloud, testing the idea.
Yes. Pathan made sense. He'd already crossed boundaries with her—the kiss, the videos, the touches that grew bolder each time. He was younger than Dattu, more controlled than Vishnu, less complicated than Seenu with his position of authority.
She could trust him. Couldn't she?
Her fingers moved faster now, pressing deeper as arousal built toward inevitable release. In her mind's eye, she saw Pathan's lean body, felt his eager hands on her skin, imagined him pushing inside her with the desperate hunger he'd shown in every stolen glance.
"Yes, Pathan," she moaned to the empty room, lost in fantasy. "I know how much you're trying to be good. How hard you're studying."
Her back arched off the sofa, thighs trembling as pleasure coiled tighter.
"Tomorrow you'll get your chance," she gasped out, fingers working frantically between her legs. "You can fuck your dream Malayali girl as hard as you need—"
The orgasm hit with devastating force, ripping through her body in waves of sensation that left her gasping and shaking. Moisture flooded her fingers as she squirted, soaking through her saree onto the sofa cushions beneath her.
For several long moments, Devika lay boneless and spent, her breathing ragged in the silent apartment. The television continued its romantic drama, oblivious to the far more explicit scene that had just unfolded on her sofa.
Slowly, reality crept back in. The post-orgasmic haze lifted, leaving shame in its wake.
"What am I doing?" she whispered, sitting up shakily.
She'd just masturbated while fantasizing about her students. Plural. She'd promised herself—actually spoken aloud—that Pathan would "get his chance" tomorrow.
Devika stood on unsteady legs and made her way to the bathroom. She cleaned herself mechanically, avoiding her reflection in the mirror as if eye contact might force her to confront truths she wasn't ready to face.
Back in the bedroom, she changed into a nightgown and climbed beneath the covers. The ceiling fan whirred overhead, a white noise that failed to quiet her racing thoughts.
She needed men. Needed their touch, their desire, their validation. The realization settled over her like a heavy blanket—uncomfortable but undeniable.
All she wanted was a dick and romance. The crude thought made her wince, but its honesty cut through every rationalization she'd constructed.
Pathan. Tomorrow she would seduce Pathan.
But how? She couldn't simply call him and demand he fuck her. That would give him too much power, too much leverage. He'd take advantage, tell his friends, maybe even blackmail her for more.
No. It had to be subtle. Calculated. She needed to make him feel like the aggressor while maintaining control of the situation.
Scenarios played through her mind, each more complicated than the last. Perhaps she could summon him for extra tutoring? No, too obvious. Pretend to need help with something? He'd see through that immediately.
Maybe during a practical class, when they were already in close proximity...
Her thoughts grew fuzzy as exhaustion finally claimed her. Sleep pulled her under before she could formulate a complete plan, leaving only the certainty that tomorrow would bring another boundary crossed, another line erased.
In the darkness of her bedroom, Devika slept fitfully, her dreams filled with hands and mouths and the weight of bodies pressing her into surrender.
Vishnu kept his distance, just as he'd promised. When they crossed paths in hallways or during lectures, his eyes would find hers briefly before sliding away, respectful of the boundaries she'd drawn. The restraint surprised her. She'd expected pushiness, demands, threats perhaps. Instead, he gave her space.
Pathan was different.
Each time she passed him in the corridor, Devika found herself offering a small smile—barely there, just a curve of lips that acknowledged his presence without inviting conversation. Pathan would grin back, that familiar crude confidence lighting his features, but he too seemed content to wait.
Saradha became her anchor during those uncertain days. They'd meet in the staff room during breaks, sharing chai and whispered conversations that always circled back to the same warnings.
"Stay strong," Saradha would say, her hand squeezing Devika's briefly. "Don't let them manipulate you again."
"I know. I'm trying."
"Remember—you have the power. They want you. Don't give it away so easily."
Devika would nod, absorbing the advice like a shield against her own weakness. But even as she agreed with Saradha's wisdom, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered doubts.
Seenu remained frustratingly absent. Department meetings pulled him away, administrative duties consumed his schedule. The few times Devika glimpsed him in the hallways, he'd offer a distracted wave before disappearing into his office. Part of her felt relieved—one less complication to navigate. But another part, the part awakened by whiskey and forbidden touch, felt strangely abandoned.
By Friday evening, exhaustion settled into Devika's bones. She returned to her empty apartment, kicked off her sandals, and collapsed onto the sofa with a defeated sigh. The walls seemed to press inward, emphasizing the loneliness that had become her constant companion.
She turned on the television without really caring what played. Some romantic film filled the screen—a couple dancing in the rain, their bodies pressed close, desire palpable in every movement. Devika watched with detached interest at first, her mind wandering to meal planning and tomorrow's lesson prep.
Then a scene shifted. The couple stumbled into a bedroom, clothes shedding, hands exploring with desperate urgency. The camera panned across skin, lingered on curves and muscles, captured the raw intimacy of two bodies coming together.
Heat bloomed low in Devika's belly.
She tried to look away, to change the channel, but her hand remained frozen on the remote. Images flooded her mind unbidden—not the actors on screen, but memories far more visceral.
Vishnu's hands gripping her waist. Dattu's weathered lips against hers. The weight of their bodies pressing her into the mattress. The stretch and burn as they filled her completely.
"No," she whispered to the empty room. "Stop thinking about it."
But the memories refused to obey. Each detail surfaced with crystalline clarity—the taste of whiskey on Dattu's tongue, the way Vishnu had whispered her name while inside her, the sensation of fingers exploring territory no one else had ever touched.
Devika's breathing quickened. Her nipples hardened against the fabric of her blouse, sensitive to even the slightest friction. Between her thighs, moisture gathered—her body responding with shameless eagerness to thoughts that should have filled her with guilt.
She squeezed her legs together, trying to quell the ache building there. It didn't help. If anything, the pressure intensified the sensation, making her squirm against the sofa cushions.
"This is wrong," she told herself firmly. "You're better than this."
But her hand had already moved, sliding beneath the folds of her saree, seeking the heat that pulsed with increasing urgency. Her fingers found slick flesh, swollen and ready, and a moan escaped her throat before she could stop it.
"Vishnu..."
The name slipped out unbidden, flavored with longing. Her fingers circled her clit with practiced efficiency, building rhythm that matched the throbbing between her legs.
"Dattu..."
Another moan, this one deeper, more desperate. She imagined his rough hands on her body, his experienced touch coaxing pleasure from depths she hadn't known existed.
Guilt surged through the arousal—sharp and acidic. What kind of woman masturbated while thinking about her student and his father? What had she become?
But even the shame couldn't stop the need. Her body had tasted something forbidden and now craved it with relentless hunger. The conservative walls she'd built around herself—years of traditional upbringing, marital duty, professional propriety—had crumbled the moment she'd allowed those two men to touch her.
Once you explore sex with someone other than your husband, she realized with startling clarity, the fears fade. The boundaries dissolve. And the wanting only grows stronger.
Her lonely nights in this Pune apartment, waiting for Rajeevan's brief video calls filled with lies and empty promises, had primed her for this fall. She'd been starving without realizing it, and Vishnu and Dattu had offered a feast.
Now her body remembered. Demanded more.
Devika's thoughts shifted, seeking safer territory. Seenu's face appeared in her mind—the HOD who watched her with barely concealed hunger, who'd kissed her in his office, who clearly desired her but lacked Vishnu's boldness or Dattu's raw intensity.
Pathan's image followed. The crude student who'd cornered her in the lab, forced a kiss that she'd both resisted and returned, watched adult films with her while his hands explored her body with increasing confidence.
Both wanted her. Both had made their intentions clear. Maybe...
"Why not Pathan?" she whispered aloud, testing the idea.
Yes. Pathan made sense. He'd already crossed boundaries with her—the kiss, the videos, the touches that grew bolder each time. He was younger than Dattu, more controlled than Vishnu, less complicated than Seenu with his position of authority.
She could trust him. Couldn't she?
Her fingers moved faster now, pressing deeper as arousal built toward inevitable release. In her mind's eye, she saw Pathan's lean body, felt his eager hands on her skin, imagined him pushing inside her with the desperate hunger he'd shown in every stolen glance.
"Yes, Pathan," she moaned to the empty room, lost in fantasy. "I know how much you're trying to be good. How hard you're studying."
Her back arched off the sofa, thighs trembling as pleasure coiled tighter.
"Tomorrow you'll get your chance," she gasped out, fingers working frantically between her legs. "You can fuck your dream Malayali girl as hard as you need—"
The orgasm hit with devastating force, ripping through her body in waves of sensation that left her gasping and shaking. Moisture flooded her fingers as she squirted, soaking through her saree onto the sofa cushions beneath her.
For several long moments, Devika lay boneless and spent, her breathing ragged in the silent apartment. The television continued its romantic drama, oblivious to the far more explicit scene that had just unfolded on her sofa.
Slowly, reality crept back in. The post-orgasmic haze lifted, leaving shame in its wake.
"What am I doing?" she whispered, sitting up shakily.
She'd just masturbated while fantasizing about her students. Plural. She'd promised herself—actually spoken aloud—that Pathan would "get his chance" tomorrow.
Devika stood on unsteady legs and made her way to the bathroom. She cleaned herself mechanically, avoiding her reflection in the mirror as if eye contact might force her to confront truths she wasn't ready to face.
Back in the bedroom, she changed into a nightgown and climbed beneath the covers. The ceiling fan whirred overhead, a white noise that failed to quiet her racing thoughts.
She needed men. Needed their touch, their desire, their validation. The realization settled over her like a heavy blanket—uncomfortable but undeniable.
All she wanted was a dick and romance. The crude thought made her wince, but its honesty cut through every rationalization she'd constructed.
Pathan. Tomorrow she would seduce Pathan.
But how? She couldn't simply call him and demand he fuck her. That would give him too much power, too much leverage. He'd take advantage, tell his friends, maybe even blackmail her for more.
No. It had to be subtle. Calculated. She needed to make him feel like the aggressor while maintaining control of the situation.
Scenarios played through her mind, each more complicated than the last. Perhaps she could summon him for extra tutoring? No, too obvious. Pretend to need help with something? He'd see through that immediately.
Maybe during a practical class, when they were already in close proximity...
Her thoughts grew fuzzy as exhaustion finally claimed her. Sleep pulled her under before she could formulate a complete plan, leaving only the certainty that tomorrow would bring another boundary crossed, another line erased.
In the darkness of her bedroom, Devika slept fitfully, her dreams filled with hands and mouths and the weight of bodies pressing her into surrender.
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